Tiria shook her head as she watched him swagger off astern. “Skilly’n’duff, what in the name of goodness is that? They never served skilly’n’duff at Redwall. I wonder how much skill it takes to make duff. Oh well, here goes!”
Over the next few days, Tiria became accustomed to the odd habits of Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw. They got on well together. Pandion, too, though for the most part the osprey kept to his perch or sailed aloft scouring the sea for fish. Tiria gradually realised that she had a natural talent for cooking. Virtually any dish she attempted turned out well, even skilly’n’duff. Cuthbert became exceedingly fond of her cheese and leek bake, followed by a dessert of dried apple and preserved plum tart. The pair also began composing songs together and often could be heard singing out lustily.
On the evening of the fourth day out, Tiria was in her galley, baking a large-sized potato, carrot and mushroom pastie. She was singing alternate verses of a duet they had made up the previous day. Cuthbert warbled out his parts from his position as steersbeast. He had a somewhat wobbly baritone. Pandion did an awkward hob jig on his lookout perch, contributing an odd squawk. It was a raucous pirate song, boasting about what infamous creatures the cook and the captain were, with both joining in on the chorus.
“Ho wreck me rudder, stove me planks,
an’ rust me anchor chain,
salute me twice as you walk by,
or ye’ll never walk again, hahaarr!
I’m Tillie the wild’n’terrible, the fiercest cook afloat,
I was born in a storm one icy morn on a leaky pirate
boat,
I can lick me weight in vermin, so don’t dare mess
with me,
I’m a high-falutin’ plunderin’ lootin’ terror o’ the sea!
Ho rip me riggin, batter me bows,
an’ splinter my mainmast,
when I says move out of me way,
ye’d better move right fast, hahaarr!
I’m Cap’n Cuthbert Bloodpaw, an’ me father was a
whale,
so stay clear of me vittles, or I’ll bite off yore tail,
I cut me teeth on a cutlass, oh I was a savage child,
I’m a hairy scarey go anywherey buckoe bold’n’wild!
So tear me tiller, scrape me stern,
an’ gut me galley twice,
I’ll send ye to the ole seabed,
with y’tail tied in a splice, hahaarr!”
As Tiria and the big hare finished their duet, Pandion was squawking uproariously.
Cuthbert scowled up at the osprey. “That bloomin’ bird ain’t got no sense o’ harmony!”
Tiria watched the fish hawk hopping about on his perch. “Aye, he’s just ruined our last chorus there!”
Pandion swooped down to the deck and flapped his wings. “See, it is the big rock, the big rock!”
Tiria peered ahead down the coast at the dark monolith standing out against the crimson sunset in solitary majesty. She gasped. “So that’s Salamandastron!”
20
Through the overhead foliage, midday sunlight dappled a lacy pattern upon the three otters resting in a woodland glade. Big Kolun Galedeep rubbed his midriff ruefully.
“I never realised the journey’d be this long. We should’ve brought some vittles along with us, mate.”
Leatho flicked a curious insect away from his eyelid. “D’ye think ye’ll last the day out, or will ye perish of starvation afore sunset?”
Kolun sighed gustily. “That’s alright for you t’say, Shellhound, but I’ve got to eat to keep up with me size. A midget like you only has to eat once every season!”
Banya Streamdog patted the big fellow’s paw in mock sympathy. “Pore Kolun, it must be awful bein’ a giant. You stay here an’ save yore strength, mate. I’ll go an’ see if’n I can find somethin’ to tempt yore appetite.”
She rose giggling and slid off through the undergrowth, while Leatho continued teasing his big friend.
“Aye, Kolun, rest yore famished rudder a while. Try not to think of that lovely freshwater shrimp’n’hotroot soup Deedero will be cookin’ up back at Summerdell. I’ll wager she’s bakin’ flatcakes an’ a damson pudden, too.”
Kolun’s huge paw shot out, covering the outlaw’s mouth. “Now don’t ye start goin’ on about vittles, y’rascal. It ain’t funny. It’s torture, that’s wot it is!”
Leatho wriggled away from the gagging paw. “Fair enough. I’ll give up if’n ye promise not to smother me with that great mauler of yores.”
They had lain there a while when Banya returned. She dropped some button mushrooms, a pear and a few bilberries into Kolun’s lap.
“There! That should keep the life in ye a liddle longer.”
She slouched down between her two friends. Leaning close to Leatho’s ear, the tough ottermaid dropped her voice to a whisper. “Don’t make any sudden moves, Shellhound. I’ve just found out we’re bein’ followed!”
The outlaw did not stir, his lips scarcely moving as he enquired further. “Who is it, an’ where are they?”
Banya closed her eyes as if she were napping. “Cats, nine of ’em altogether. Don’t know where they came from. They’re not far behind us, but out of sight. I only spotted ’em by accident. I’ve got no idea how long they been trailin’ us. What’ll we do, mate?”
Kolun had been listening in. He twitched an eyebrow. “Nine, eh? That’s only three apiece. Give the word, Leatho, an’ we’ll rush the villains. Shouldn’t take long.”
The outlaw retained his relaxed position. “No, stay where ye are an’ let me think awhile. Take a nap.”
One of the cats came tip-pawing back to where Scorecat Fleng and the remainder of his crew crouched behind some rocks. The scout made his report.
“The ottermaid never saw us. She gathered some vittles an’ gave ’em to the big ’un. They’re takin’ a rest in the woodlands up ahead.”
Fleng peered over the rocks, but the otters were too far off for him to see. “Takin’ a rest, eh? They surely ain’t guessed that we’re on their tails. Good! Now I want ye to get forward to where ye can see ’em. Come back an’ tell me the moment they make a move. The rest of ye lay still back here ’til I gives the word. This should work out nicely.”
Banya began to think that Leatho had taken sufficient time to think. She whispered hoarsely, “Ahoy, Shellhound, are we goin’ to lie here all day?”
The outlaw stirred. He rose with a yawn, then murmured, “Time to go, mateys. I’ve got an idea we can use those cats to our advantage. Banya, keep yore eyes peeled on the trail behind. Let me know when you think we’re out of their sight.”
The three otters strolled off unhurriedly. Banya’s sharp eyes spotted the cat scout. She waited until he had run back to make his report, then winked at Leatho.
“Their spy has just shifted. We’re on our own, but it won’t be for long. They’ll soon be back on the track.”
Leatho went into a swift crouch. “Right, stay low an’ keep goin’, as fast as ye can. I want to get well ahead of ’em. Move yoreself, Kolun!”
The trio sped forward noiselessly.
Day was sinking into dusk as Weilmark Scaut leaned over the pier end. He watched a dozen coracles heading back in. Each one had an otterslave paddling and two guards as passengers. The cats carried a variety of nets, hooks, ropes and grapnels.
Riggu Felis joined his weilmark, the swinging mesh of chain mail on his helmet catching the last sunrays as he addressed Scaut. “Still no trace of her?”
Scaut coiled his long whip slowly. “Nay, Lord. They’ve dragged the lake from end to end without a single sign of Atunra.”
The warlord stamped his footpaw against the pier boards. “Under here, did you make certain they searched beneath this pier? Lots of things get caught twixt the stanchions.”
Scaut saluted with his whip as he replied dutifully, “That was the first place we searched, Sire!”
The chain mail veil rattled as the wildcat hissed angrily. He turned and sa
w his wife and son emerge from the fortress, with a retinue of catguards.
Pitru was clad in an armoured breastplate and greaves, overlaid with flowing red silk. Using his scimitar tip, he clipped blithely at the timber decking as he swaggered up to greet his father.
“A pleasant evening. Did you have any luck with your fishing? Those guards have been at it all day. They should have a fine haul between them!”
Riggu Felis looked the young cat up and down witheringly. “Still strutting around in borrowed finery I see, my wayward whelp, and not short of clever remarks, too. Take my word on it, sooner or later I’ll find my pine marten, and you’ll pay dearly for Atunra’s death!”
Pitru gave his mother a look of wide-eyed innocence. “I can’t imagine what he’s talking about. Poor Atunra, do you know what happened to her, lady?”
Kaltag stared in disgust at the warlord. “The pine marten was not of our blood, yet you search all day for her. Would your time not be better served trying to find and punish the murderer of my son Jeefra?”
Just as the wildcat was about to snarl a reply, a slingstone whirred out of the dusk. The missile clanged as it dented the warlord’s helmet. Temporarily stunned, Riggu Felis fell on all fours.
After a shocked silence, Scaut pointed at the shadowy figures of two otters retreating back into the shrubbery on the left shorebank.
The weilmark began shouting, “Call out the guards! Sound the alar . . . unhh!”
He crumpled over from the savage kick Pitru aimed at his stomach. The young cat grabbed him roughly, hauling him upright. “Silence, fool, we’ll do this my way! Take what guards we have here, and make no noise. They’re in those bushes—it’s otters again. Get over there at the double, now! Go quietly, ambush them, wipe the scum out!”
As the weilmark bent to assist Riggu Felis, Pitru laid his scimitar edge across Scaut’s neck. “Leave him. I’m in command here. Obey me or die. Now go!”
Gathering the guards from the pier and those from the boats, Scaut led them swiftly toward the bushes. Still with reverberations echoing round his head, Riggu Felis staggered upright, regaining his bearings.
Pitru made no move to assist him, remarking with casual insolence, “It seems we’re under attack from the otters again, but don’t let it concern you. I’ve taken care of everything, see!”
He pointed to the catguards plunging into the bushes. Strangely, Riggu Felis nodded calmly. “So you have, and you’ve proved yourself a bigger fool than I thought you were. You don’t know what’s going on, do you?”
He shot Pitru a scathing glance as he marched off toward the rear of the fortress, where the barracks and slave pens were situated.
“You carry on playing your stupid games. I know exactly what those otters are up to—and what to do about it!”
Pitru sneered at his father’s retreating figure. “Doddering old idiot! Leave this to a real warrior.”
The slave pens were only sparsely guarded. Leatho dropped the only catguard in sight with a swinging blow from his loaded sling. Taking the guard’s spear, the outlaw used it as a vaulting pole to reach the top of the high timber fence which surrounded the pens. He bounced a few slingstones off the roof of one crude dwelling. An old otterslave emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Leatho gained his attention with a low whistle.
“Ahoy, friend! ’Tis me, Shellhound. Go quietly now and bring Runka or Memsy to me.”
The oldster nodded, then hurried off. Leatho did not have long to wait until Runka and Memsy, the two young otters he had placed there as spies, arrived alongside the fence. Runka acted as spokesbeast for them both.
“Shellhound, we were wondering when we’d see you again. There ain’t much to report here. Things are no different, apart from the fact that there seems t’be some conflict twixt Felis an’ his son Pitru. For us it’s much the same as usual under the cat’s paw—short rations an’ hard labour. Have ye come to free us?”
Leatho shook his head. “Not tonight, mates, but soon. Let’s say about four nights from now. Can ye have the rest ready t’move at quick notice then?”
Runka nodded. “We’ve got to think o’ the old ’uns an’ the babes. Four nights, ye say? Hmm . . . me’n’Memsy’ll see that they’re ready an’ waitin’. Anythin’ else, Leatho?”
The outlaw replied, “Aye, it’ll be yore job to keep everybeast from gettin’ too excited. Tell ’em to stay calm and not do anythin’ that’d alert the cats. Right, I’ve got to go now. Remember, both of ye, four nights from now, at about this hour.”
Leatho dropped from the walltop, straight into the waiting paws of a dozen catguards who had stolen silently up. He was seized tight with a spearhaft forced across his throat.
Removing his helmet, Riggu Felis thrust his loathsome face close to the captive. “Hah, so you’re the outlaw they call Shellhound, eh?”
Leatho bared his teeth at the wildcat, replying defiantly, “Aye, an’ yore the cat with half a face. I heard a liddle sparrow did that to ye!”
The warlord brought the butt of his axe crashing down on the otter’s head. Then he strode off, calling to the guards who were holding up the unconscious figure, “Bring him round to the pier, but don’t harm him. I want this one alive!”
As the guards laid Leatho’s limp body upon the pier, the warlord snarled at his son, “I captured their leader, the Shellhound, while you were chasing shadows around the bushes.”
Still glaring at Pitru, the wildcat addressed Scaut ironically. “Make your report, weilmark. Did you obey Commander Pitru’s orders? What exactly took place?”
Keeping his eyes to the front, Scaut recounted the ambush. “Lord, we only sighted two otters, but they escaped. It was dark in those bushes. We wasn’t t’know it was Scorecat Fleng an’ eight guards, so we fired on ’em!”
Felis cut him short. “And?”
The weilmark swallowed hard. “An’ we slew Fleng an’ six others, Sire. But we was only carryin’ out orders. Commander Pitru said to ambush anythin’ that moved in the bushes.”
The warlord moved with astonishing speed. Striking the scimitar from Pitru’s grasp, he knocked the young cat flat. Stamping a footpaw down on his chest, Riggu Felis held his single-bladed axe to his son’s throat and spat in his face contemptuously.
“Fortress Commander? Huh, I wouldn’t leave ye in charge of a greasy cooking pot! You mincing young oaf, couldn’t ye see it was another decoy? I knew the otters would try to set their friends free. That’s why I went straight to where you should have been, the slave pens. Now I’ve lost six guards and a scorecat. You deserve to lose your head for such stupidity!”
“Put up that axe and leave my son alone!” Lady Kaltag had picked up the fallen scimitar and was holding it between the wildcat’s shoulder blades. Her voice was frightening in its harsh intensity. “I said, get away from my son, or I swear I’ll slay you!”
The warlord was forced to obey. He put up his axe and stood to one side, smiling scornfully as he freed Pitru. “What a bold warrior the great commander has turned out to be! Does your mother fight all your battles, milkpuss?”
Pitru scrambled upright, gritting through clenched teeth, “One day I will kill you!”
Riggu Felis twirled his battle axe skillfully. “One day, you say—why not now? Come on, ask your mother to give you that fancy sword back, then stand and face me. You won’t get a better chance unless I’m fast asleep, unarmed and have my back turned to you. Give him his sword!”
Without relinquishing the blade, Kaltag berated him. “You would do better facing the real enemy, those otters, instead of trying to take the life of my only living son!”
Riggu Felis kicked the unconscious Leatho before replying. “You are as foolish as your son. I no longer have to do battle with outlaws. How does the saying go? Chop off the snake’s head, and you have killed the body. The rebels have no head now. I have their leader in my claws. Believe me, I have my own special plans for the outlaw Shellhound!”
21
Brantalis the barn
acle goose was enjoying the quiet summer morn. He paddled around the Abbey pond in leisurely fashion, pursuing a dragonfly playfully. The goose liked to spend time in the quiet waters. It was peaceful there amid cool willow shade and bulrushes, surrounded by the tranquil green depths. He often considered spending the rest of his seasons at Redwall, which had so much to offer: good friends, places to take one’s ease and wonderful food. But then the inherent nature of a migratory bird would steal over him, and he would long to be with his kin, his skein, soaring high over uncharted acres of open sky.
His reverie was broken by Abbess Lycian and molemum Burbee, who wheeled their breakfast, atop the tea urn trolley, to the pond bank. They settled down, slicing scones, pouring tea and gossiping. Both were in a somewhat indignant frame of mind.
Lycian pursed her lips. “Ooh, that Old Quelt! Sometimes he can act so superior to those who are younger than him. Huh, he thinks he knows just about everything about everything!”
Burbee poured hot tea into her saucer and blew upon it, supping noisily as she remarked to her friend, “Hurr, they’m alla same at brekkist, a-goin’ on an’ on bowt things they bain’t got ee clue abowt. But ee ole Quelter, he’m the wurstest!”
Sailing sedately up to the bank, Brantalis nodded at them. “I am wondering what has upset you on such a pleasant day?”
Burbee topped up her saucer, answering truculently, “Ee riggul, that bee’s wot h’upsetten’ everybeast!”
The big bird stared down his beak at her. “What is this riggul thing, please?”
The Abbess sighed unhappily. “A riddle is a puzzle, something that’s hard to explain and difficult to solve.”
Brantalis waddled out onto the bank, shaking his tail. “If it is hard and difficult, why do you bother with it? I am thinking it would be better just enjoying your life on such a good day as today.”