Leatho thumped his rudder down in admiration. “Blood’n’thunder, I think we’ll have to call yore missus General Deedero from now on, Kolun!”
The big otter tucked his oar under one arm, puffing out his chest proudly. “Aye, an’ to think she chose me as her husband. Yowch!”
Deedero had caught up with them and stepped on Kolun’s rudder. “Quick march there, dumblepaws, step out lively. An’ you two, Zillo an’ Shellhound, stop skylarkin’ about an’ move yourselves. If’n we don’t get these little ’uns someplace safe by dark, with good hot vittles in ’em an’ a pillow to lay down their heads on, it ain’t no wildcat ye’ll have to worry about. It’ll be me. Understood?”
They stepped out smartly, saluting all the way.
“Aye, marm, very good marm!”
“We’re kickin’ up a bit o’ dust now, marm!”
“Now don’t ye fret, me liddle apple dumplin’, everythin’s goin’ right to plan. Ouch! Will ye stop stampin’ on me rudder like that, er, my sweet honeybee.”
Riggu Felis would have stamped his paw with rage had it not been for the broken blackthorn spike embedded in it. He roared up at the first guard he saw passing a window inside the fortress.
“Open the main gate! Get Atunra and Pitru down here! What in the name of slaughter’n’fangs is going on here? Why are all these otterslaves camped outside in the open? Get that gate open on the double, or I’ll rip ye in half with my own two paws!”
Weilmark Scaut assisted the limping warlord up onto the pier. There was a wild scurry of paws from inside. Then the main gates creaked open.
The wildcat howled at the clutter of catguards milling about within, “You, you, you and you! Get those otterslaves locked back in their compound right now. You, scorecat, attend me!”
The feral cat in question marched up and came to rigid attention. “Lord!”
Hot, angry eyes glared through the chain mail at her. “What do they call you?”
She gulped. “Scorecat Rinat, Sire.”
Her face was sprayed with spittle as Felis thrust aside his face mask and yelled at her, “Get these guards back inside their barracks immediately! Where is my counsellor, Atunra? Where’s that useless son of mine? Why isn’t he here to meet me, eh?”
Rinat’s voice trembled nervously as she replied, “The Fortress Commander is with Lady Kaltag in her chamber, Sire.”
The wildcat shoved her roughly aside. Limping toward the stairs, he struck out at catguards with his axe handle. “Out! Out all of ye, back to your barracks!”
Balur and his sister Hinso were on guard outside of the chamber. Acting on Pitru’s orders, they challenged Riggu Felis. “Halt there, we must announce you!”
Grabbing both guards, the enraged warlord hurled them headfirst down the stairs. With his axe, he dealt the door a blow that left it toppled on one hinge. Scorecat Yund was inside the chamber with Kaltag and Pitru, who signalled him with a sideways glance. He turned, holding his spear horizontally at chest height, barring the wildcat’s path. Without breaking his limping stride, the warlord wrenched the weapon from Yund’s grasp and smashed it in two halves on his head. Lifting the scorecat bodily, Riggu flung him down the stairs also. Now, with no guards left to block him, Riggu confronted his son. His breath from behind the chain mail mask hissed viciously.
Pitru had never seen his father so wrathful. He moved swiftly behind his mother’s chair, crying out, “Stop him, he means to kill me, just like he slew Jeefra!”
The Lady Kaltag faced Riggu fearlessly, her voice calm and slightly ironical. “I stood at my window and watched your arrival. There was no sign of captive otters, bound tightly, being dragged back here for punishment. What happened to your footpaw? Were you wounded doing battle with the foe?”
Riggu Felis stumped over to a table and perched upon its edge. He took a knife from a plate of half-eaten fish and began probing at his footpaw with it. “This is nothing, a broken thorn. Where is Atunra? I need to consult with her.”
Kaltag ignored the question, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she sniffed the air. “What is that horrible smell you bring into my chamber?”
The warlord continued digging at his footpaw, sweeping aside his cloak, which was getting in the way. “Where, what foolishness is this, what smell?”
Pitru pointed at his father. “It’s all over the back of his cloak. Some kind of slop, that’s causing the smell!”
Kaltag’s smile was humourless and icy. “Did those who wounded you also do that—plaster you with filth?”
Riggu Felis grunted as he pulled out the broken blackthorn spike. “A thorn, that’s all it was, a thorn I stepped on!” Skirting the question of his cloak, he pursued his former enquiry. “Where is Atunra? Send her to me now.”
Kaltag shrugged carelessly. “She is of no consequence to me. I have not seen her since you marched away from here to destroy your enemies.”
The wildcat’s blazing eyes sought out his son. “What have you done with Atunra, you little worm?”
Pitru could not meet his father’s gaze, but he was regaining his confidence. He stared at his mother, addressing her in wide-eyed innocence. “Tell him I know nought of his pine marten lackey. As Fortress Commander, I was far too busy organising the defences against the enemies he was supposed to have defeated. I am not Atunra’s nursemaid. Why should I watch over her?”
There was a clatter of dishes as Riggu drove the knifepoint deep into the tabletop. “You stupid young brat! Is that what you call organising defences—allowing half the otterslaves to wander about outside the walls and letting a load of guards idle their time away indoors, eating and sleeping? Hah, Commander! All you’ll ever be is a silk-clad kitten, cringing behind your mother’s skirts!”
Kaltag’s voice dripped scorn as she came to Pitru’s defence. “Well, I hope he never becomes a warlord like you, skulking back here with a wounded paw and a stinking cloak! Where are all the prisoners you vowed to bring back? Scorecat Yund noticed you returned twenty-one guards short. What happened to them, O Mighty One, eh? At least we weren’t attacked, thanks to Pitru’s defence plans!”
Her words stung the wildcat worse than blackthorn spikes. He knew he had lost the argument and was not prepared to bandy further. However, he was determined to have the final word as he swept out of the chamber.
“I’ve ordered the guards back to their barracks and the slaves back to their compound. It is my command that they stay there. I will seek out Atunra now. If any harm has befallen her by either of your doings, then you will see just how merciless a warlord can be!”
Riggu Felis found Weilmark Scaut awaiting him alone on the pier. He barraged him with orders. “Search my fortress from top to bottom, and all the surrounding area. Use all your guards to do it. Find Atunra and bring her to me, dead or alive. I’ll be in my chambers. As of tomorrow, we will no longer seek out the otters.”
Scaut looked puzzled. “Lord?”
The wildcat ripped off his muddied cloak and threw it into the lake, watching the water carry it under. “Why chase about after a bunch of outlaws? I’ll make them come here to me. Don’t look so blank, Scaut. I have what they want—this fortress and a whole lot of otterslaves. Mark my words, they’ll come. Fortunately for me, otters are noble creatures. They won’t leave their own kind in slavery. They’ll make an attempt to liberate them.”
16
Happy sounds of Dibbuns laughing and playing drifted up through the open library window at Redwall Abbey. Old Quelt, Snowdrop and the three young puzzle solvers sat around the long, polished table. The Sister had one paw on Tiria’s farewell letter and the other on the Geminya Tome.
“I think the answers lie somewhere twixt these two. First we need to study the clues Tiria left for us. Then we can look up any references to them in the Tome.”
Girry stifled a yawn. “Is it nearly lunchtime yet?”
Old Quelt looked over his glasses at the young squirrel. “Bored with study already, are we, young sir?”
Girry f
licked a paper pellet he had made through the window. “Huh, there’s no sense in saying that I’m not, sir.”
The Librarian Recorder turned his attention to Tribsy and Brinty. “Has your interest become dulled also, friends?”
The young mole yawned. “Hoo urrh! Oi’m a-doin’ moi bestest, zurr, but ’tis ’ard wurk, a-studyen’ gurt ole books.”
From where he was slumped in his chair, Brinty nodded to the open window. “There’s a lovely sunny day going to waste while we’re stuck in this gloomy library. ’Tisn’t fair!”
Sister Snowdrop sniffed meaningly. “That’s because you lack a true scholar’s dedication.”
Girry slouched over to the window, scowling rebelliously. “That’s alright for you to say, Sister. You’ve been studying since long before we were born, but we’re still young. We want to be outdoors in the summer days, like all the others. Hah, I’ll bet Tiria’s having a great time right now, travelling on a long journey and having all sorts of adventures probably. Somebeasts have all the good fortune!”
Brinty pouted. “Aye, and here’s us, swotting away and getting old’n’dusty. What did her letter say—‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life’? Ancient life! Huh, that’s what we’ll become sitting round here!”
Snowdrop looked to the letter. “That’s exactly what it says: ‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.’ ”
Tribsy sighed. “You’ m read that twoice afore, marm. But et bain’t gotten us’n’s much furtherer.”
Snowdrop tapped the letter decisively. “But these lines mean something important, I’m sure!”
Old Quelt made a suggestion. “Snowdrop, why don’t you and I ponder on this awhile? Meanwhile, our young friends can pop down to the kitchens and ask Friar Bibble to pack a picnic lunch for five. Then we can all meet up at the Abbey pond to do our work. Perhaps the open air will do us good.”
Cheered up by the idea, the three young ones were already making for the door. Brinty called out happily, “That’s the stuff, Mister Quelt. We’ll ponder by the pond!”
The ancient Recorder thought for a moment, then chuckled. “How very droll, ponder by the pond. I like that!”
Many other Redwallers had the same plan. Taking lunch by the pond was quite popular on warm summer days. They spread out around the bank, ever watchful of the Dibbuns, who were drawn like magnets to water. The little ones frolicked gleefully in the shallows.
Hillyah Gatekeeper and her husband, Oreal, were constantly calling out warnings to their twin babes.
“Irgle, come back here. Don’t go too far out, d’you hear me?”
“Stop splashing that water about, Ralg, you’ll soak us all!”
Quelt opened the hamper that the three young ones had brought. “Oh, I say, Bibble’s done us proud! Damson pie, hazelnut crumble, sage and turnip pasties, celery cheese and dandelion cordial. Hmm, I would have enjoyed a cup of tea, though. Cordial always makes me dozy at lunchtime.”
Molemum Burbee came promptly to Quelt’s rescue. “Yurr ole zurr, ’ave summ tea out of our new h’urn!”
The Abbess and Burbee had replaced their lost teapot with an ingenious new invention. It was a small copper boiler, which Brother Perant had donated to their cause. Lycian and Burbee had cleaned it up and mounted it on a little trolley. The urn had a small charcoal heater in its base, enabling them to have a constant supply of hot tea wherever they went, always on tap.
The five puzzlers had plenty of help from the pondside diners. Interest was aroused as they gathered around to hear Girry read again the two relevant lines from Tiria’s letter.
“ ‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.’ ”
Brinty opened up the discussion to their audience. “Well, does anybeast understand that?”
Sister Doral put forward a timid enquiry. “Er, excuse me, but who is Corriam the castaway?”
Tribsy replied through a mouthful of pastie. “Us’n’s doan’t be knowen, marm. That’s whoi we’m arskin’.”
Snowdrop leafed slowly through the Geminya Tome. “Let’s see if there’s any reference to it in here, shall we?”
As they waited on Snowdrop’s study, Hillyah Gatekeeper began rocking back and forth, eyes shut and paws clenched.
Oreal, her husband, looked quite concerned for her. “What is it, dear, are you feeling ill?”
Hillyah opened her eyes. “No, it’s just something that flashed through my mind a moment ago. Ralg, I’ll not tell you again, stop splashing that water about! Oh dear, I’ve gone and lost it again, just when it was right on the tip of my tongue. Most annoying!”
Abbess Lycian poured tea for the harvest mouse mother. “What was it, Hillyah? Were you trying to recall something?”
Hillyah wiped little Irgle’s snout distractedly with her apron hem. “Oh, pay no attention to me, Abbess. It probably wasn’t important anyhow.”
Brinty shouted excitedly as he watched Snowdrop turning the pages of the Tome. “There it is, there it is! No, not there, turn back a few pages, Sister. Stop there! Middle of the page. Do you see? There’s that name, Corriam!”
Finding the line, the little Sister read aloud. “ ‘Corriam’s lance, a gift from Skipper Falloon of the Mossguard. See T.O.A.L. Chap two, F.W.’ ”
Old Quelt polished his glasses hastily. “Let me see that, please. What else does it say, Sister?”
Snowdrop showed him the page. “Nothing else. This was only a note jotted in the margin. All the rest is about the great sword of Martin the Warrior, stuff that we already know, not relevant to our puzzle.”
Girry munched on a slice of hazelnut crumble. “What’s a Chap two supposed to mean, I wonder?”
Quelt answered promptly. “It’s merely short for chapter two. Most scholars know that. T.O.A.L. and F.W.—they’re the letters that are baffling me.”
Hillyah startled them all with a whoop. “I’ve got it! T.O.A.L., Tales of Ancient Life! That’s what I was trying to remember. I’ve seen it somewhere before, I know I have. It’s a book!”
Oreal smiled helpfully. “Where did you see it, dear?”
Hillyah tugged at her apron strings in frustration. “That’s the trouble. I can’t remember!”
Oreal hauled little Ralg from the pond shallows. “Well, don’t get upset about it, my love. You’ll recall everything sooner or later, you usually do. Listen, I’ll see to our babes. Why don’t you go and have a lie-down on the bed in the gatehouse? That always helps.”
Hillyah’s eyes widened in realisation. “Of course, the bed! Come on, you scholars, I’ve got something to show you!”
She bustled off with a crowd in tow, relating to the Abbess, who was keeping pace with her, “When Oreal and I first moved into the gatehouse, long before the twins were born, you understand.... Well, my goodness, that place was in a dreadful mess, after lying empty half a season after Old Gruggle passed on. He was never the tidiest of mole Gatekeepers, but you couldn’t imagine the dust and disorder! So I rolled my sleeves up and went straight to work on it. The first thing I tackled was that big bed in the corner. I think it was put there when the gatehouse was first built, a great, solid old thing. There must’ve been a hundred seasons of dust and fluff underneath it. Anyhow, there I was, flat out underneath the bed with my broom, sweeping and cleaning. Sneezing, too. That was when I saw it.”
Girry leaped over a flower bed as they hurried across the lawns. “What was it, marm?”
Hillyah explained eagerly. “The bed fitted square to the walls in one corner. I noticed that the leg that fitted into that angle was broken off short. It was propped up by two thick books. One was called Gatewatcher’s Poems, written by somebeast named Porgil Longspike, and the other was Tales of Ancient Life, by Minegay. They’re still in the same place, I never got round to asking Brink Cellarhog if he’d make a new bedleg for me.”
Little Sister Snowdrop, walkin
g slightly behind Hillyah, cried out. “Huh, Minegay, I’ll wager that’s one of the names Sister Geminya made up for herself. Same letters!”
Old Quelt was last to arrive inside the gatehouse. He saw three pairs of footpaws sticking out from beneath the big, old four-poster bed. “What have you found, is there anything there?”
Girry’s voice sounded rather hollow and stifled. “Oh, the book’s here alright, sir, but it’s jammed tight, and this bed’s far too heavy to lift!”
Grudd Foremole moved Quelt gently to one side. “You’m cummen out’n thurr, youngbeasts. This yurr bee’s a tarsk furr moi crew. Rorbul, fetch oi summ proppen an’ foive gudd liften beasts!”
Foremole’s sturdy assistant, Rorbul, ambled out of the gatehouse. He returned in a short while with five able-looking moles and two blocks of beechwood from the kindling pile by the north wall. Headed by Grudd Foremole, the crew scrambled under the bed. The watchers saw the big bed slowly begin to rise under Grudd’s directions.
“Yurr naow molers, put ee backs oop agin et an’ lift. Wun, two, h’up she cumms. Hurr, roight crew, ’old et thurr!”
Following some knocking and bumping, Grudd called out, “Hurr, take et daown noice’n’easy, moi ’earties.”
Effortlessly, the bed fell down into its former position. The molecrew emerged, dusting their digging claws off, satisfied with a chore well done.
Grudd passed the books over to Quelt. “Yurr, zurr, they’m cummed to no gurt ’arm.” He tugged his snout politely to Hillyah. “Thoi bed bee’s as furm an’ cumfy as ever ’twas, marm.”