Doogy set his jaw grimly. “D’ye know where he lives, sir?”
Muskar nodded upstream. “Mister Lightpaw has a home up that way, on the edge of a pond. I’ve been there before.”
In no mood for chitchat, Doogy grabbed the dormouse’s paw. “Aye, well ye can show me the way. Come on, Muskar. Ah’m wantin’ tae have a wee chat wi’ that saucy robber!”
“Robber!” Muskar echoed in shocked tones. “Do you mean to tell me that Mister Lightpaw’s a robber?”
The Highlander yanked the dormouse energetically along the streambank, muttering fiercely, “Aye, a robber, thief, pilferer, purloiner, looter! Call him what ye will. Yoofus steals anythin’ that comes tae paw. He’d have the eyes oot o’ yer head if’n ye weren’t watchin’ him!”
Muskar Muskar looked bewildered. “Good grief, who’d have thought it! Mister Lightpaw, a thief. And he seemed such a nice and jolly sort.”
Doogy smiled in spite of himself. “Och, it just goes tae show, ye never know who’s livin’ in the area nowadays, eh?”
They followed the streambank, then cut off west. As soon as Doogy and Muskar came in sight of the lake, they immediately spotted Yoofus outside his dwelling, busily polishing the sides of the big drum. Every now and then he would strike the drum a few taps with a stick he had gripped in his thick little tail.
His wife Didjety came out to complain. “Will ye stop beltin’ that great thing, it’s drivin’ me scatty! Yore like a babby with a new toy, so y’are.”
Yoofus gave the drum a few more raps. “Ah sure, ye’ve got no ear for music at all, me little sugar plum. Will ye just hark t’that grand boom!”
He was striking the drum again as his visitors walked up. The volethief showed neither apprehension nor surprise at the sight of Doogy. “Faith, an’ wasn’t I just sayin’ to meself that me good mate Doogy Plumm’d be along soon. I’d an idea that ould Muskar knew the way, so I was sure he’d bring ye. Will ye not listen t’the great boom o’ this drum. ’Tis a sound for heroes an’ warriors, so ’tis!”
Didjety greeted Muskar before questioning her husband. “Who’s that serious-lookin’ squirrel, a friend of yores?”
Yoofus gave the drum a resounding roll with his stick. “That he is, me darlin’, a true blue pal in all weathers. Why don’t ye take Mister Muskar inside an’ put the kettle on for some nice mint tea? Meself an’ Mister Plumm have business t’talk. We’ll join ye in a tick.”
The moment they were alone, Doogy spoke in a flat, dangerous voice. “Where’s mah dirk?”
Yoofus smiled disarmingly. “Dirk? Isn’t that the funny ould long dagger ye carry? Sure ye must’ve mislaid it, matey.”
The Highlander shook his head. “Don’t matey me, ye rogue!” The claymore flashed out, its point pricking the vole’s throat. Doogy meant business. “Hear me, thief. If ah don’t have mah dirk by the time ah’ve counted tae three, ye’ll no’ be drinkin’ tea anymore. One . . . Two . . . !”
The bladetip moved up and down as Yoofus gulped. “Ah wait, wait now, let me think! The dirk, the dirk, now let me see . . . Oh, I remember now, ’tis hangin’ from the back o’ the door inside. I was takin’ care of it for ye!”
Doogy used his claymore to motion the volethief inside. “It better had be, Yoofus, or that bonny wee wifey o’ yores will make a bonny wee widow. Go on, you first.”
Just as the Highlander was retrieving his weapon from the hook behind the front door, Didjety placed a tray of pasties and some long, fat objects on the table alongside her tea service.
“Mister Plumm, sit yoreself down an’ take a sup’n’bite with us. The pasties are filled with wild cherry an’ rhubarb. But if ye fancy somethin’ savoury, then try me sausages. They’re straight out the oven, y’know.”
Doogy enquired, “Sausages, marm? What are sausages?”
The volewife explained. “I invented them meself, sir. I make a mixture of fine ground barley, oats, carrot and mushroom. Then I wrap them in onion skin and bake them slow overnight. Everybeast likes me sausages, have one. Ah no, don’t sit there, Mister Plumm. He doesn’t like bein’ sat upon, do ye, Rockbottom?”
Doogy stood to one side, staring at what he thought had been some kind of stone seat. It looked like stone, though it was covered with a curious square pattern. Yoofus rapped gently on the object. Doogy could not believe what he was seeing. A head emerged slowly from one end of the thing. It resembled a serpent’s head, but it had a much friendlier expression, with a mouth more like a beak. The creature, its neck wrinkled and scaled, looked as if it were from another world.
Didjety stood a short distance from it, holding out a piece of sausage. She spoke to it coaxingly. “Come on then, me beauty. Here’s some of yore mammy’s sausage for ye, me lovely ould Rockbottom.”
Doogy’s eyes grew wider as four scaly little limbs emerged from the beast. Opening its small, pink-tongued mouth, it trundled toward the food in the volewife’s paw.
Totally flabbergasted, Doogy scratched his tail in bewilderment. “Where in the name o’ moles’n’mountains did ye get that beastie? What manner o’ creature is it?”
Didjety fed her small friend fondly. “Ah sure, Yoofus gave it t’me as a gift to keep me company while he’s out rovin’ goodness knows where.”
Doogy grabbed the volethief’s whiskers and tweaked hard. “Where did ye steal it? An’ I want tae know the truth!”
Yoofus came up on tippaw as Doogy tweaked harder. “Owowow! Leggo, ye great murderin’ hooligan. I never stole it—on me honour as a thief, I didn’t. Yowch gerroff!”
Doogy released him, listening whilst the vole related his story. “ ’Twas a curious thing but true, as ye’ll hear. One mornin’ I was sittin’ fishin’ by the lake, with me back up against a sycamore tree. Well, there’s me, tryin’ to catch a sly ould perch I’ve been after all season, when right beside me the earth starts t’move! Hoho, sez I to meself, here comes a mole who’s lost his way. But it wasn’t any mole at all. Somebeast must’ve filled in a hole near the tree with a pile o’ moss an’ dead leaves, ’cos all of a sudden up comes ould Rockbottom, calm as ye like. Then he tumbles over onto the back of his shell, with the effort of climbin’ out, d’ye see. So there’s him, layin’ an’ lookin’ at me, an’ there’s me, sittin’ an’ lookin’ at him. I sez good day, an’ how d’ye do, but the beast doesn’t say a thing back t’me. So I turned him over an’ set him back on his liddle legs. Then, d’ye know what he did? He follered me back home, without a word or a by yore leave. Didjety took to the liddle feller right away, so she did. We named him Rockbottom, an’ he’s been with us ever since. An’ grand ould company he is, too. Aren’t ye Rockbottom, me ould tatercake?”
With eyes twinkling, the creature nodded its head as Didjety stroked it lovingly. “Sure he’s neither beetle, crab nor newt, but I wouldn’t be without me darlin’ pet, not for anythin’!”
The truth hit Doogy like a bolt of lightning. “That beast is a Walkin’ Stone. It’s the thing that auld Gulo the Savage wants tae get his paws on!”
At the mention of Gulo, the little creature shot its head back into its shell.
Didjety scowled. “Well, I don’t give a mouldy acorn who this Gulo is, but he’s not gettin’ me Rockbottom!”
The Highlander nodded decisively. “No, he ain’t, marm, ’cos Rockbottom’s comin’ back tae Redwall Abbey wi’ me!”
Yoofus stood up, placing his paw aggressively on his dagger hilt. “My Didjety’s liddle pet leaves this place over me dead body. So what d’ye say t’that, me bold squirrel?”
Quick as a flash, Doogy drew his dirk, rapping the volethief’s paw sharply. Then he laid the blade on Yoofus’s nose. “That can be easily arranged, mah wee sauncy vole!”
Mister Muskar, who had sat silently downing sausages during the dispute, protested, “But you can’t just march in here and take that creature away from the Lightpaws. That makes you as big a thief as Yoofus, if you’ll pardon my saying, Mister Lightpaw.”
Doogy thrust another sausage into t
he dormouse’s mouth. “Ah’ll thank ye t’stay out o’ this, sir. Rockbottom is goin’ tae Redwall, an’ so is the drum. Yore comin’, too, Yoofus. But before we get tae the Abbey, yore goin’ tae take us tae yon hole in the streambank. D’ye recall it? Ah think that’s where ye hid Rakkety Tam MacBurl’s claymore an’ the banner ye stole when ye escaped from the Abbey.”
Yoofus pushed the blade away from his nose and nodded. “Faith, you ain’t as thick as ye look, Mister Plumm. You’ve had yore eye on me closely. I thought ye’d forgotten the sword an’ the flag. Alright, friend, you win. I’ll go with ye!”
Now it was Didjety’s turn to protest. “Hold fast there! Ye ain’t traipsin’ off an’ leavin’ me here all alone.”
Doogy shrugged. “Then ye’d best come with us, marm.”
The volewife looked around at her neat home. “But who’s goin’ to take care of this place?”
Mister Muskar volunteered. “Myself and my good wife Lupinia will do that, Mrs. Lightpaw. That’s if you’d be good enough to leave us a supply of your delicious sausages?”
Yoofus suddenly took a shine to the idea. “Sure, we’ll take the raft, it’ll be a nice little trip downstream. Ah, ye’ll love Redwall, Didjety me darlin’, ’tis a grand ould place. Right then, let’s get packed!”
Doogy sat down and began loading up a plate. “Not before ah’ve helped mahself tae these vittles!”
He immediately pronounced Didjety’s sausages excellent. “Och, ah never met a sausage until taeday, but ah could happily live on ’em for the rest o’ mah life, marm!”
The vermin must have stolen the raft from some otherbeasts, because it was a stout, well-built craft, and it rode the stream smoothly. Mister Muskar leaped ashore as they passed his dwelling. The dormouse family came out to wave farewell as they drifted off downstream, with Yoofus and Doogy plying the long paddling poles.
The highland squirrel watched the deep quiet stream running silently by, murmuring to himself as he wielded his paddle, “Ah hope Tam’s lookin’ after himself an’ no’ frettin’ about me too much.”
31
Gulo the Savage and his twenty-nine vermin arrived at the broad stream too late. Tam and the hares had gone with the Guosim, sailing two hours or more downstream. The wolverine sat down upon the bank, wearied after his ordeal in the pines and the subsequent race to catch up with his foes. He knew his warriors were exhausted, too. Gulo, however, would permit no signs of fatigue—neither his own nor those of his vermin.
Watching the foxes and ermine flopping down, sorely in need of rest, the tyrant scorned them harshly. “Hah, even as a babe I could fight all day an’ run beasts like ye into the ground. Rest, then, drink the waters an’ cool your paws, for ’twill be woe unto the beast who lags behind when we get going!”
He called Eissaye, an ermine tracker, to his side. “Our enemies do not travel without purpose, methinks. Whither would they be bound to on this water?”
Eissaye shrugged. “Who knows, Lord?”
He squeaked with pain as the wolverine’s claw pierced the lobe of his ear. Gulo dragged him forward until they were face-to-face. His voice brooked no argument. “Thou art a tracker an’ a scout. Who would know better than thee? Now use thy brains before I spill them onto this bank, fool! Tell me, where are they bound?”
With his face screwed to one side, Eissaye gasped out an explanation based on what he had learned of the territory thus far. “Unless the watermice have some secret hiding place downstream, ’tis likely they are going north again, Mighty One. If this water does not go straight to the redstone fortress, it must pass by it someplace that is but a short march from the water. That is where they will go, Lord.”
Gulo released him and sat pensively, licking the blood from his claw. “Well said. The Redwall place would be a wise refuge for my brother and his creatures.”
Eissaye was certain that Askor was not with those they were tracking, but he was not prepared to doubt Gulo’s supposition. “Aye, ’twill be as thou sayest, sire.”
Rakkety Tam stood watch at the stern of Log a Log Togey’s big logboat, gazing back upstream. Skipper joined him. “No sign of ’em followin’ yet, mate?”
Tam eyed the point of the bend they had just negotiated. “No, Skip, but ye can rest assured they’ll be on our trail soon enough. But we’ve got an advantage—we’re afloat on a pretty fast current, an’ they don’t have boats. This is the way to travel, eh?”
The otter chieftain nodded. “Aye, Tam, so ’tis. Those vermin’ll have the paws run offa theirselves, tryin’ to follow the bankside. We could do with sailin’ a bit slower, if’n we want to keep ’em on our tails.”
A shout from Togey in the bow interrupted them. “Ho there, back-water, Guosim, tree ahead!”
Tam grinned wryly. “Well, that’ll slow us down if anything does. Let’s go an’ see this tree!”
The other Guosim craft had pulled into the bank shallows. Aboard the big boat, shrews back-watered energetically with their long paddles, fighting the swift current. A massive old willow had collapsed across the stream, blocking it completely. Heeling about until it was broadside on, the big logboat slowed down, coming to rest against the willow trunk with a gentle bump amidships.
The Guosim chieftain turned to Skipper and Tam, sighing irately. “Well, this is a nice liddle mess we’ve run into. I’ll have t’see wot can be done.”
A young shrew called out from the shallows, “Looks like we’ll ’ave to portage the boats, Chief!”
Log a Log Togey eyed him sceptically. “Portage, y’say? Ten tribes o’ badgers couldn’t lift this craft o’ mine to carry it over that ole monster!”
Lancejack Wilderry leaned against the protruding willow trunk. “Well, what the dickens d’you suggest, sah?”
Togey laughed humourlessly. “I dunno, sah. Ye got any bright ideas yoreself?”
Corporal Butty Wopscutt emerged from under the awning where he had been assisting the Guosim cooks. “Bloomin’ great log, ain’t it, chaps? Can’t go under it or bally well over it, wot!”
Togey glared at him. “Is that all the help ye can offer, matey?”
Wopscutt dusted flour from his paws, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, sorry, sah. Were y’lookin’ for suggestions? Well, how’s about the old fulcrum’n’lever, wot?”
The one called Fiveshrew clapped the hare’s back soundly. “That’s it, fulcrum’n’lever! Ye could shift anythin’ that way!”
Shrews like nothing better than a good argument, and the Guosim crew were no exception. One shrewmate after another exchanged comments vociferously.
“Fulcrum’n’lever . . . rubbish! There’s no movin’ that thing!”
“Ah, who asked you? Get me a fulcrum’n’lever an’ I’ll move it!”
“Huh, you an’ whose army? Ye’d never find a lever long enough t’shift that trunk. Don’t talk twoddle!”
“Ahoy, big gob, I’ll twoddle you if’n I comes over there. I’ll tell ye how t’do it!”
“Oh ye will, will ye? Go on then, clever clogs!”
“S’easy, ye use two o’ the smaller logboats. One fer a fulcrum, the other fer a lever. Ain’t that right, Eightshrew?”
“Oh aye, but while yore leverin’ one end, ye’ll have to get the other end movin’, too.”
“Move the other end . . . why’s that?”
“Don’t ye know nothin’, thicktail? So as the log’ll lie straight in the water an’ get washed downstream outta our way. That’s why!”
Soon everybeast was shouting, with clenched paws raised and snouts butted together truculently.
Log a Log Togey broke up the argument, bellowing, “Rifto, get yore boat over ’ere, that’ll be the fulcrum. Streambob, yore craft’ll do as a lever. Use both of yore crews t’do it. The rest of ye, start shovin’ wid paddles agin the root end o’ that trunk. Come on Guosim, get an ole heavie ho goin’!”
The shrews leaped into action as Log a Log murmured to Tam, “See that? That’s the way to solve a problem Guosim fashion—by d
emocratic an’ sensible debate!”
Skipper stifled a chuckle, whispering to the Borderer, “It looked so democratic an’ sensible there fer a moment, I thought they was all goin’ to knock one another out flat!”
As the shrews went about the business of moving the fallen tree, Tam took Skipper and the hares back up the bank to watch out for signs of Gulo and his vermin pursuing them. As they moved cautiously along, using the trees close to the water as cover, Tam shook his ears in vexation. “Listen to those shrewbeasts singin’ their heads off. The vermin are sure t’hear ’em if they’re in the area!”
Skipper took a more philosophical view. “Well, it ain’t as if ole Gulo don’t know we’re up this way, mate. The Guosim are only singin’ to ’elp the job get done.”
Corporal Butty wrinkled his nose. “I say, catchy little tune, ain’t it, wot?”
Tam set his jaw, trying to ignore the heaving song.
“Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Bend yore backs, each mother’s son.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
’Tis the only way the job gets done.
Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Do yore best, ’tis all I ask.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
Git yore paws into this task.
Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!
Guosim don’t ye slack about.
Lean down haul! One an’ all!
Bring ’er round an’ drag ’er out!”
Since young Eissaye had the best sight and the sharpest ears of all the vermin, Gulo had despatched him to scout ahead. The wolverine was still weary, but reluctant to give up and rest. In high bad temper, he followed up the rear of his command as a threat to any who would dare to stop or drop out.
After a long and arduous march along the streambank, squelching through mud and sliding over wet rocks, Eissaye came hurrying back to report, “Lord, I heard singing ahead!”