“Vermin, Mother Abbess, they’re vermin!” Brink reminded her. “If you don’t kill vermin they’ll kill you, or some other innocent creatures who can’t defend themselves. Skipper’s right, marm, they’re young alright, young an’ evil!”
Abbess Lycian stole a hasty glance at the rats on the path below. She turned away quickly, biting on her habit sleeve to stifle the laughter which was threatening to burst forth. “You should take a look down there. They’ve all collapsed in a heap. One of them is kicking the others’ tails. Good gracious, what language! Can you hear it?”
Foremole Grudd shook his velvety head in disgust as he peered down at the rat gang. “They’m a-tryin’ t’stand h’on each uther’s thick ’eads agin, so’s they’m can cloimb up yurr. Boi okey, oi never see’d such bunglybeasts in all moi borned seasons!”
Skipper set his jaw grimly. “Vermin are vermin, no matter which way ye look at ’em!”
However, the Abbess was not one to back down on her principles. “Be that as it may, Skipper Banjon, I will not have them slain. They’re nought but a few scruffy young water rats. I don’t consider them to be a threat to our Abbey, or a danger to us, in their present position. As Mother Abbess of Redwall, I forbid the slaughter of those vermin!”
The Abbess blenched with fright as Skipper grabbed her roughly and pulled her to one side. It was a swift and timely act. The curved scythe blade, with its attached rope, came looping over the walltop. It would have struck Lycian had it not been for Banjon’s intervention. The rope was jerked tight from below, leaving the blade lodged firmly around the angle of a battlement.
Skipper kept his voice calm and level. “Well, marm, what do we do now?”
Loud, hoarse whispers could be heard from the rat gang as they urged their comrade on.
“Gudd t’row mate, up yer go!”
“Aye, get dat big gate h’opened, let’s see wot dey got in der!”
“Yeeheehee! An if’n der cook don’t cook gudd pies, we’ll roast ’im in ’is own h’oven!”
It was the first time any Redwaller had ever seen their Abbess bare her teeth and growl fiercely. “Kindly leave this to me, please!”
As Threetooth’s villainous head appeared over the walltop, Lycian was waiting for him. She dealt him a mighty blow with the teapot, which was still half full of hot tea. It made a peculiar sound. Punngggg! The water rat fell backward with a shocked gurgle, plummeting down onto the rats below.
Flinging the teapot at them, Lycian yelled out in a most un-Abbesslike manner, “Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Redwaaaaaalllll!”
Skipper chortled, but the smile was quickly wiped from his face as Lycian turned to confront him. “Roast the cook in his own oven, eh? Skipper Banjon, my order against killing still stands. But you have my permission to take a party down there, armed with heavy sticks. Give those vermin the beating of their lives and send them packing!”
By this time, everybeast was leaning over the walltop to view the effect of their Abbess upon the would-be raiders.
Molemum Burbee shook her head gravely. “Ee woan’t catcher yon vurmints naow, Skip, they’m taken h’off loik arrers. Burr, an’ moi gurt teapot with ’em!”
Banjon watched the rat gang scurrying off up the ditchbed until they were swallowed up in the darkness. “Good grief, marm, you certainly fixed ’em up right’n’proper. Those vermin are drenched with ’ot tea an’ spittin’ tea leaves. Hah, I fear that’s the last ye’ve seen o’ that best teapot. I could swear it was stuck on one rat’s ’ead!”
Now that the excitement was over, Lycian collapsed into her little folding chair and gulped down what tea was left in her mug. She seemed totally overcome. “Oh dear, I can’t believe I did that! Look, Burbee, my paws are all a-tremble, I’m shaking like a leaf!”
The molemum had almost a full mug of tea, which she kindly donated to her friend. “Ho, you’m a gurt terror, marm, an’ no mistake. But oi wish’t you’m hadden’t given ee best teapot to yon villyuns. Hurr, ’twas far too noice furr ee loikes o’ they’m!”
Grudd Foremole tugged his snout politely. “Off to ee beds naow, marms. Brink’n’Skipper, too, off ee go, zurrs. Me’n moi crew’ll stan’ guard up yurr ’til ee mornen loight. Us’ll give’em owd ’arry if’n ee ratters cooms back yurr agin furr more!”
Panicked, dispirited and chastened, the rat gang did not stop running until they were well into Mossflower Woodlands. Slumped on a streambank, they panted for breath, nursing hot water scalds and spitting tea leaves.
Rashback moaned as he slopped cooling mud on his afflicted back. “Aaaaargh, wot was dat dey t’rowed over us?”
Fleddy had missed most of it. He licked a paw where a bit of the liquid had splattered. “Dunno worrit was, but it don’t tastes bad t’me.”
Obbler sniffed at his companion’s paws. “Smells nice, too, not like dat swamp we felled in. Hawhawhaw! Lookit ole Plug, ’e’s wearin’ a new ’elmet!”
Plugtail, who had been lagging behind, tottered in to join the gang. The teapot was jammed on his head at a rakish angle, the spout covering one ear and the handle sticking out above the other. The rim covered his right eye, so he could only see with the left. Showing not a vestige of sympathy for his plight, the gang laughed at his woeful pleadings as he staggered about.
“Will youse stop laughin’ an’ get dis t’ing off me ’ead?”
Bonggg! Plugtail walked sideways into a tree trunk and tripped over Groffgut’s paws. The gang leader, who was sitting with his back to the trunk, dealt him a hefty kick, snarling, “Gerritoff yerself, thick’ead! Can’t yer see I’m wounded?”
Frogeye, probing at a loose tooth he had suffered in the melee, stared over at Groffgut. “Where are yer wounded, Chief?”
Groffgut returned his stare sourly. “None of yer bizness, squinty lamp!”
Still seated with his back to the tree, the gang leader muttered savagely, “By the ’ellgates an’ bluddtubs, I’ll make dose Wallred crowd sorry dey ever messed wid me, jus’ yew wait’n’see!”
Threetooth, who had now lost every tooth he possessed, winced as he felt the enormous lump between his ears. “It wuz a mistake tryna take a place dat size. I ain’t goin’ back der no more!”
Groffgut sprang up, waving the rusty scythe blade. He chased Threetooth along the streambank. “Yew’ll go where I tell yer to, or I’ll flay yer mangy ’ide. Get back ’ere right now!”
Hoots and guffaws greeted the rearview of Groffgut as he ran after Threetooth.
“Hawhawhaw! Lookit, ’e ain’t got no tail!”
“Haharrharr! Wot ’appened t’yer ole wagger, Chief? Did yer leave it be’ind?”
“Thunderin’ tripes! I bet dat ’urted, ’e’s got even lesser’n ole Plugtail now!”
Groffgut left off chasing Threetooth. Standing with his back to some bushes, he glared hot anger at the scoffers. “One more snigger, go on, jus’ one more laugh from any of yer. Anybeast who t’inks it’s funny, say so, right now, go on!”
The gang fell silent and went back to tending their own hurts. When the teapot landed on Plugtail’s head, he had dashed about madly, trying to get it off. The rope and scythe blade that followed it got tangled about one of his footpaws. Unfortunately, Groffgut got in the way, and the swinging blade slammed into his backside, severing his tail right at the root. The humiliation of a gang leader losing his tail far outdid any pain he felt from the wound. Groffgut knew he had to restore his position with the others. He put on his darkest, most vengeful scowl, grinding out every word savagely.
“I lost me tail in battle, der ain’t no shame in dat, see! But I swear a blood oath afore ye right now, afore dis season’s out, I’ll be wearin’ a cloak made outta the tails o’ them as did this t’me. Aye, an’ a necklace of their eyeballs!”
None of the gang dared to say a word. They knew he was in deadly earnest.
Unaware of the drama that had taken place on the walls, Tiria slept soundly, transported to the realm of dreams. She was in a room, a huge rock chamber.
Cool breezes soothed her brow, yet she could feel radiating warmth upon her back. She felt no curiosity as to her surroundings, nor any compulsion to turn and look at the room. It was the view of the nighttime sea that fascinated her. She was standing at a broad, unshuttered window, staring fixedly at a spot on the moonlit waters, somewhere twixt tideline and horizon. Tiria knew that she was in a high place, far above shore level. Without looking, she knew that Martin the Warrior was standing beside her. His strong voice echoed through her mind.
“Maid of the Wildlough, hearken to what the High Queen Rhulain will say to you. Remember her words, for your very life will depend on it.”
He pointed with his sword to the place in the sea where Tiria was still watching. A shape began to emerge from the moon-burnished waves. Tiria instinctively knew it was the otter lady of her previous dream. The apparition was cloaked and hooded, the face within the hood appearing as a dark void, but the voice was unmistakable—melodious yet commanding.
“Bide ye not on Mossflower shore, hasten to Green Isle.
Thy presence there is needed sore, in coming time of
trial.
Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient
life,
when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as
wife.
Their secrets follow in thy wake, lost symbols will be
found
to aid both Queen and Clanbeast regain their rightful
ground.
Trust in the fool of the sea, to the Lord of the rock
pay heed,
but remember a hawkstar must fly,
on the day thy domain is freed.”
The vision faded like smoke, being drawn down into the sea. Far out between shore and horizon, Tiria saw what looked like the tip of the hood the otterlady had worn, sticking up out of the waters. The young ottermaid was overcome by a sense of loss; then the entire scene vanished into the bottomless well of slumber.
Dawn’s first rosy rays aroused the birds to song all over Mossflower Woodlands as Tiria wakened. She remembered every detail of the dream distinctly—Martin, the rock fortress, the Rhulain and her message. The ottermaid dressed swiftly. Now she knew exactly what she had to do.
BOOK TWO
The Fool of the Sea
13
Riggu Felis, an able general and a cunning tactician, deserved the title of warlord. He sent six scouts out, ahead of his main body of catguards, to comb the woodlands and hills for traces of his enemy. It was midnoon when they picked up the trail, pursuing it to the bank of a wide stream. Being cats, and not overly fond of water, they waited by the shallows for the wildcat and his command to catch up with them.
In the bushes on the opposite bank, the otters lay hidden, watching the catguards. Big Kolun Galedeep and Banya Streamdog crouched alongside the outlaw Leatho Shellhound. After grasping the oar, which was now his favourite weapon, Kolun nudged his friend.
“You were right, mate. They’ve arrived, though there ain’t many of ’em. Wot d’ye think their next move’ll be?”
Leatho never took his eyes off the scouts. “Let’s wait an’ see, Kolun. I wager Felis’ll be along with the rest soon enough. I want to count how many he has with him.”
Banya volunteered her services. “I’ll do that, Shellhound, but wot d’ye want ’em counted for?”
The outlaw explained his strategy. He was the wildcat’s equal when it came to planning ahead. “I know that Felis has two hundred or more catguards in his army. If they’re all with him, then we’ll make this place our battlefield. We could chop’em to ribbons afore they cross the water. Now durin’ the fight, I’ve got a job for you, Kolun. When I gives the word, take yore clan an’ all the Streambattle clan out of here in secret. I’ll hold the cats off with what I’ve got left. You circle round the back, get clear away, then march for the fortress. The slaves’ll be unguarded if Felis has all his guards with him. You can hit the place hard an’ free all our friends.”
Big Kolun grinned. “Good idea, matey, but wot if’n Felis don’t have a full force along with him?”
Leatho nodded. “I’ve thought o’ that. If Banya counts less than the full number, then we’ll decoy ’em. We’ll pull out an’ make a lot o’ noise, so they can follow us easily. I know a good hill, it’s inland, an’ any beast on the high slope can give a good account of themselves there.... Stow it, mates, here comes Felis an’ the rest!”
The catguards gathered in four ranks on the opposite bank; their warlord stood to one side, sheltered by a large willow tree. Weilmark Scaut took the tracker’s report before joining his master.
“Lord, the tracks ended at this stream. The otters ’ave a far greater force than ours.”
A satisfied hiss came from behind the chain mail mask. “Good, just as I had hoped, Scaut. Send six of your guards to cross the stream. Take a score of archers back into the brush. I know they’re waiting for us on the other side of this water, I can feel it. Listen now, they’ll send lances and slingstones at the six in the stream. Check what direction the weapons come from and send your arrows over that way. Then we’ll see what happens.”
The six guards were not too happy to enter the stream, but they had their orders. Immediately as they entered the shallows, a fusillade of slingstones and light javelins dropped four of them.
Big Kolun brandished his oar. “Well, ’ow many of the scum did ye count, Banya?”
The tough Galedeep maid flung off a slingstone. “About fivescore, give or take a few. . . . Look out!”
A volley of arrows hummed viciously down among the otters. Leatho saw two clanbeasts fall, and another injured. “Kolun, give the order to fall back, but keep slingin’. Don’t retreat too far, then cut off into the trees to yore left. Make sure they know we’re runnin’ away.”
A scorecat named Fleng hurried to Riggu Felis and Scaut beneath the willow. “Lord, the otters are beaten, they’re abandonin’ their position!”
Abandoning the cover of the willow, the warlord watched intently as the undergrowth and bushes swayed. He heard the shouts of the fleeing otters. “They’re travelling inland. What do you make of that, Scaut?”
The weilmark’s voice was heavy with scorn. “We’ve got’em beaten, Lord. Otters can’t stand up to yer catguards. Look, they’re well on the run!”
Chain mail chinked as the wildcat shook his head. “It’s just as well that I’m in command and not you!”
Ignoring Scaut, he turned to Scorecat Fleng and issued his commands. “Take your squad and pursue them from this side until you can find somewhere easy to cross the stream. Keep after them, and make as much noise as you can to let the otters know they’re being pursued. Go now, we’ll follow up before dark.”
Fleng saluted smartly with his spear. A moment later, he and his twenty guards were dashing along the bankside, shouting aloud.
Riggu Felis shouldered his war axe. “Get the rest of our force and follow me, Scaut.” He strode off in the opposite direction, to the right.
Issuing orders to his scorecats, the weilmark got everybeast under way. He trotted forward to the warlord’s side, obviously bewildered. “Lord, twenty guards aren’t enough to defeat all those otters. Aren’t we going to follow an’ defeat’em, like you said you would?”
Riggu Felis moved his axe haft sharply, catching Scaut’s bandaged jaw. He gave the puzzled feral cat a contemptuous glance. “Listen, and see if this sinks into your thick head. I will defeat the otters in my own way. I know twenty guards won’t defeat them—they’ll probably all be slain. But I will have won a great victory over the otters. Do you know why, Scaut?”
Keeping his distance from the axe haft, the weilmark stroked his injured jaw ruefully. “No. Why, Lord?”
The wildcat gave a hissing laugh. “Why, indeed! Pay attention, my idiot friend, and I’ll tell you. Those otters have families, the same as any otherbeast. They want to keep their loved ones safe, so they try to fool me by drawing us off inland. I don’t know of any otters who
live at the centre of Green Isle. They make their homes and dens in rivers and along the coast.”
Scaut temporarily forgot his aching jaw. A slow smile spread over his brutal features. “So we’re goin’ to the coast to attack their families, Lord?”
Riggu Felis let his tongue slither out to lick at the gold metal chain mail that masked his lower face. “Aye, Scaut. Imagine how the one called Shellhound and his followers will feel. Picture them coming back, crowing about how they slew a score of my guards, then finding their own families—who I’m sure number a great deal more than twenty creatures—lying dead amid the scorched ruins of their homes. Who will have won the victory then, eh?”
The feral cat officer gazed at his leader in awe. “Truly you are the Warlord of Green Isle, Sire!”
The cruel eyes of Riggu Felis narrowed to slits. “Anybeast who does not agree with that is a deadbeast, Scaut. That is why I left my faithful Atunra back at the fortress today. She will make certain that no upstart brother-killer will ever usurp his father.”
Pitru was still young, but he was a quick learner. Revelling in his position as the fortress commander, he went about his devious plans gleefully. His first task was to seek out minions who would serve him well and obey orders without question. These came in the form of three feral cats: Yund, an old and experienced scorecat; and two of his guards, Balur and his sister Hinso, who were not much older than Pitru. Lady Kaltag largely kept to her tower chambers, allowing her remaining son the run of the fortress, which he took full advantage of. Atunra was not taken into the new commander’s confidence. Pitru and the pine marten had disliked each other for a long time. Pitru knew that Atunra lived only to serve his father.
In the late afternoon, Pitru sat out on the pier with Yund and the other two cats. They basked in the sunlight, nibbling at cooked lake trout and sipping wine. Yund, an intelligent scorecat, knew how to please his young new master. Pitru was delighted with the latest plan they had hatched up together. It concerned the defence of the fortress. They had emptied the catguard barracks and had housed the guards inside the fortress. Half of them were on day duty, some standing by the windows and some up on the sentry posts, armed with bows and arrows. The half who were off duty idled their time away, eating, drinking and sleeping indoors. Each night the rota was changed, and they took the place of their comrades on guard duty. But the master stroke against otter attacks, which Pitru and Yund had devised, was the slaves themselves. They were also taken out of the compound, into the fortress, but only the parents. The young ones and elders were forced to camp in the shade of the fortress, all the way around the building. They would be first to receive the brunt of any assault on the place.