Sister Armel knelt down by Rockbottom. He craned his head forward so she could scratch gently under his chin. The Sister obliged, smiling. “Friends, meet the Walking Stone!”
Recognition dawned in Humble’s eyes. “Of course, the Walking Stone! What a funny little fellow he is. Where did you find him, marm?”
Yoofus swelled his chest out proudly. “Sure, ’twas meself that found him, Father.”
Sister Armel interrupted Yoofus. “Wait, don’t tell me! You found this creature not far from a lake. It came out of a hole at the foot of an old sycamore, all thick and overgrown with ivy leaves. Am I right, Mister Lightpaw?”
For the first time he could remember, Yoofus was lost for words. He could only stammer, “Wha . . . Who . . . How?”
Sister Screeve took from her sleeve the copy of the poem which she habitually carried around with her and began reading.
“Where the sun falls from the sky,
and dances at a pebble’s drop,
where little leaves slay big leaves,
where wood meets earth I stop.
Safe from the savage son of Dramz,
here the secret lies alone,
the symbol of all power, the mighty Walking Stone.”
Yoofus stared at the Sister and the Recorder. “How did ye know all that?”
For the sake of manners, Tam had not cut in on Armel and Screeve, but he could hold his impatience no longer. “Mrs. Lightpaw, marm, I’m sure ye can explain all about yore pet to everybeast, but right now I must speak to yore husband on a matter of great importance.”
He nodded toward Cavern Hole. “Down there, Yoofus, now! Skipper, Cap’n Fortindom, Sergeant Wonwill, I’ll need you, too.”
The volethief was slightly put out by the fact that he had not eaten in a while, and he wasted no time in telling them so. “Ah, ’tis a sad thing t’be offered none of the famous Redwall hospitality, so ’tis. Decent vittles haven’t passed me starvin’ ould lips since I don’t know when!”
Captain Fortindom eyed him sternly. “Talk first eat later, laddie buck, wot! You tell MacBurl what he jolly well wants t’know, then we’ll feed ye!”
Yoofus stared around at the tough faces and shrugged. “Ah well, here’s wot happened. We were leavin’ the woodlands after many a hard ould day’s march—meself, the missus an’ Doogy. I was carryin’ Rockbottom an’ rollin’ that drum along. ’Twas me who stole it from under the vermins’ noses, y’know. Then suddenly, without a by yore leave, just as we made it out into the open, out charges a gang o’ vermin!”
Skipper halted him with a gesture. “A gang, ye say? How many is a gang?”
Lying, like thieving, was second nature to Yoofus. He squinted one eye and scratched his chin as if estimating. “Oh, I’d say there was at least a score that I could see, an’ the ould Gulo beast, too. Sure that’s one fierce-lookin’ creature! Have ye not seen the claws’n’fangs on ’im?”
Tam cut in. “Never mind how Gulo looked! Exactly how many fightin’ beasts were with him? Think!”
Yoofus pursed his lips. “Well, as I said, there was about a score, sure but I could hear lots of others, hidin’ amid the trees they must’ve been. I can’t give ye a number for certain. They was armed to the very teeth, though. . . .”
Tam was pawing at his sword hilt. “And Doogy, what about Doogy?”
The volethief nodded. “Will ye give me a chance, I’m just gettin’ t’that! Anyhow, like I said, out charges the vermin, an’ I dealt with the nearest three right away. But I had me darlin’ wife t’think of, so I sez to Doogy, ‘There’s far too many of the villains, we’ll have to cut an’ run fer it. I’ll see ye back at the Abbey.’ I’m sorry about the drum, I had to leave it. But lives are more valuable than some ould drum, now aren’t they?”
Wonwill peered closely at the volethief. “So you an’ yore good lady wife ran for the h’Abbey, sah? All well an’ good, but wot became of Mister Plumm, sah?”
Yoofus grinned disarmingly. “Ho ho, I wouldn’t be frettin’ about Doogy, friend. Now there’s a beast who can look after hisself, ye can rely on that!”
Tam’s jaw tightened. “We know that! But what became of him?”
The volethief shrugged. “Sure, he went one way, an’ me wife an’ I went the other. That’s the last I saw of him. Hah, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not out there now, knockin’ at the gate t’come in. I wouldn’t worry about him.”
Tam began making for the door. “I don’t like it. Doogy could be in real trouble out there!”
Skipper reached the door ahead of Tam and blocked it. “Now hold on, mate. Let’s think a bit afore we sails off with swords drawn. ’Tis dark out there now, an’ we don’t know their numbers.”
The Borderer challenged Skipper. “Doogy Plumm has been my friend through thick’n’thin. I’ve got to go out there an’ help him!”
Captain Fortindom placed himself alongside the otter chieftain. “Listen t’reason, old chap. It may be a trap.”
Tam shook his head. “A trap? In what way?”
The hare captain explained. “Gulo might be doin’ this to draw us out an’ leave Redwall undefended. Who knows? Perhaps Mister Plumm is hidin’, safe someplace, just waitin’ for a chance to make a dash for the blinkin’Abbey.”
The sergeant backed up Fortindom’s statement. “Cap’n’s right, sah. Best thing we can do is mount a full guard on the walls an’ wait, h’at least ’til daylight, eh?”
Tam paced up and down, his paw gripping the hilt of Martin’s sword. Then he gave in to the wisdom of his friends. “Until daybreak, then—but only ’til then. I feel terrible, leavin’ Doogy alone out there. I’ll be watching from the south walltop if you need me.”
Yoofus patted his shoulder. “Ah, don’t go frettin’ yoreself now. Doogy’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
The border warrior eyed him coldly. “If anythin’ has happened to my mate, an’ you’ve been tellin’ a pack o’ lies, ye’ll answer to me for it!”
The hares of the Long Patrol, together with all the able-bodied Redwallers, turned out on the walltops to watch for any sign of Doogy. Even Tergen forgot his depression and came down from the attics to stand on the ramparts.
Inside the Abbey, none of the Dibbuns would go up to bed. They all wanted to stay up and play with their newfound friend, the Walking Stone. To keep the peace, Didjety agreed to sleep in the dormitory with Rockbottom. All the Dibbuns trooped upstairs, following close behind the two.
Didjety allowed Mimsie and Perkle to carry the little tortoise between them. First, however, the volewife laid out specific instructions. “Go careful now, an’ don’t drop him. An’ don’t feed him any more o’ those candied chestnuts. He’ll get a tummyache.”
The questions and enquiries came thick and fast at her. She answered each one in turn.
“Do Rockbottims have baffs, missus?”
“Ah no, ye’d drown him by puttin’ him in a bath.”
“Hah! Wish’t I was a Rockbottim. Doo’s he come outta dat shell an’ have a nightie?”
“Indeed he doesn’t, an’ don’t you try to take him out!”
Abbot Humble chuckled as he watched them disappearing round a bend in the stairway. He turned to old Brother Gordale the Gatekeeper and Sister Armel.
“Poor Mrs. Lightpaw! Imagine having to spend the night with our Dibbuns. What do you say we take some supper up to our friends on the walls?”
Burlop was in the kitchens. He wanted nothing more to do with vermin since the day he had slain one in battle. With his help, and that of some kitchen volunteers, they set about making some hot farls stuffed with different fillings—some savoury, others sweet.
Burlop brought up some cordials from his cellars and heated them. “This should keep the life in ’em. Sometimes the nights can grow chilly up on those ramparts, with nought t’do but stand about.”
Tam was leaning against the corner of the southwest battlement when Armel approached him with food. He had been peering out into the night and did not hear her come. Startle
d, the border squirrel turned suddenly.
The Infirmary Sister apologised. “Sorry, Tam, I didn’t mean to surprise you. Would you like some supper?”
He released his grip on the sword hilt. “I didn’t hear you coming because I was concentrating in the other direction, out there.”
Armel placed the food on the battlement ledge. “Still no sign of Mister Plumm?”
Tam shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ve got a feeling in my bones that he’s not too far away. I’ll wait and see.”
Armel indicated the supper. “Then you can eat while you wait.”
Tam’s eyes never left the woodland fringe. “I don’t feel like eating until I know Doogy’s alright.”
The pretty young squirrel placed the tray firmly under Tam’s nose. “You must eat something, Mister MacBurl!”
A stubborn look crossed the Borderer’s face. “I’ve already said that I don’t feel like eating until I know my friend is safe, Sister Armel!”
She spread her paws expressively. “You’ll have to eat sooner or later, Mister MacBurl. Come on now, I made this supper specially for you.”
Tam knew he was going to lose the argument, so he relented. “Tell you what, let’s share it. I’ll eat half if you will.”
She smiled. “There’s not much difference between Dibbuns and warriors. Sometimes you’ve both got to be coaxed into doing what’s best for you. Right, we’ll share supper!”
Tam bit into one of the farls. “Mmmm . . . cheese and onion! Why didn’t you tell me, that’s one of my favourites!”
Armel took a sip of hot cordial and winked mischievously at him. “I could’ve tempted you into eating, but I like being bossy. Now eat up, Mister MacBurl!”
Tam laughed as he saluted and took a huge bite of the farl. “Right you are, marm. Your wish is my command!”
Together they passed the night hours—eating, drinking and talking. All along the walls, hares and Redwallers were doing the same thing in a common bond of friendship as they kept watch on the darkened plain and woodlands.
Dawn’s first mystic light stole out of the east, pale shades of misty pastels illuminating the sky as the first birdsong trilled softly over the stillness of Mossflower. Then the big drum boomed out, its echoes reverberating around the Abbey and ramparts of Redwall.
Tergen, who had posted himself on the threshold over the main gate at the western wall, shrilled out a harsh message, arousing every creature to action. “Yeeekaaaarrrr! This bird sees vermin yonder. Yeekaaaarrrr!”
Tam’s sword flashed forth in the dawn light. He thundered along the walkway to the threshold, with Armel dashing behind him.
Skipper and Sergeant Wonwill bellowed out orders to the creatures on the walltops.
“Hold yore positions there, don’t leave yore posts!”
“Long Patrol h’archers, up front with Cap’n Fortindom! The rest of ye stay put. Steady in the ranks there!”
Rakkety Tam MacBurl skidded to a halt alongside the goshawk. “Where’s the vermin, Tergen? Where?”
Babooom! Boom! Boom!
Over the deep drum tones, Tergen pointed with his beak. “Yaaaarrreeeeekka! See, over there!”
The breath froze in Tam’s throat as he looked . . . and saw!
38
It was still dark when Doogy wakened, swimming through the black sea of senselessness into a world of pain. The back of his skull throbbed with one massive headache. The sturdy Highlander could neither move nor cry out. Something scratched against his footpaw. Opening one eye slowly, he craned his head to gaze down. He was bound tight by all paws, neck and chest to a stake, which was driven into the ground. A white fox and an ermine were heaping dead boughs, branches, twigs and dried ferns about him. The white fox saw Doogy’s head move.
Checking that the filthy gag was secure around the Highlander’s mouth, the fox called out in a hoarse whisper, “Mighty One, the captive wakens.”
Doogy opened both eyes. In the gloom he saw Gulo the Savage sitting on the drum facing him. The wolverine did not speak for a moment. Doogy swallowed hard. Here he was, helpless, gazing into the insane face of his ferocious foe.
Gulo grinned, his murderous fangs showing through the white-frothed foam that flecked his lips. The wolverine’s nostrils flared wide beneath the glinting joy darting from his maddened, red-rimmed eyes as he peered at his captive.
He chuckled wickedly. “Now we shall see if my brother will save thee. When ’tis day again, I will lay down my challenge to Askor. He knows he can never rule the lands of ice and snow whilst I live. Askor must face me in combat, that is our law! Hear me, treecrawler, thy life depends on the courage of my brother. Do ye think he will defeat Gulo?”
Doogy could not say anything, though he was gnawing at the gag that stifled his mouth. Surely this crazed beast did not think that his brother was alive, and living at Redwall Abbey? Gulo flexed his paws, the long lethal claws curving out from his heavily matted limbs. “A pity our father Dramz is not here to see his favourite son slain by the one he never looked in favour on. I can see ye are a warrior. ’Twill be a rare sight for ye to witness. Combat to the death, winner takes all. The Walking Stone, this great drum, even the Redwall place yonder—and, of course, thy life. ’Tis a fair wager, is it not?”
Then he seemed to completely ignore Doogy. Leaping from the drum, Gulo raced out onto the western flatlands, clods of earth shooting to either side as he stormed about in a wide circle. With his broad chest heaving, the wolverine gazed about—up, down and around.
His voice became a triumphant snarl. “Dramz, my father, do ye see me from Hellgates where I sent thee? When thy name is gone and forgotten, beasts will still speak of me. The Mighty One, Gulo the Savage!”
The ermine Duge looked up from a torch she was fashioning from a wooden stave topped with a broom of moss and twigs. She took a cord binder from the aged fox who had served Gulo the longest, remarking quietly to him, “Only a beast as crazy as Gulo could think that his brother is alive inside that Redwall place.”
The ancient white fox shrugged. “Who can say whether ’tis true or not? My eyes are still sharp, methinks I saw the Walking Stone last evening. ’Twas strapped to the back of the small, hairy creature who fled into that building. Mayhaps Askor is truly in there also. There is hope for us few yet, friend. Askor is a better creature than his brother. Life was easier serving under him. Nothing in this world is certain—he may yet best Gulo in combat.”
Duge knotted the cord around the torchhead, tugging it tight. “Aye, an’ methinks fish may fly an’ birds swim under the waters. Nobeast could best Gulo in combat!”
The old fox nudged Duge. “Silence now, Gulo returns.”
Gulo came back to sit upon the drum again, turning his back upon Doogy. He saw the first faint flush of dawn out to the east beyond the treetops. Indicating a spot close by, he ordered the old fox, “Make fire here. Give me that torch!”
As the fox dug a shallow hole and set steel and flint to tinder over some moss, Gulo began striking the drum with the butt of the torch. Baboom! Boom! Boom!
Doogy spat out raggy bits of cloth from the gag. In the breaking day he took stock of his position. They were on the western flatlands in front of Redwall Abbey, just out of bowshot. He blinked hard, focussing his gaze upon the walltops. There was Tam, Skipper, a crowd of hares and Tergen the goshawk. Furiously, the sturdy Highlander ripped and tore at the cloth bound across his mouth until he felt it was weakened enough. The binding also went around the stake. With a hard forward thrust of his head, Doogy snapped the gag.
His aching skull felt as though it were lifting off his shoulders as he roared, “Haway the Braaaaaawww! Ah’m Wild Doogy Plumm! Hawaaaay!”
He slumped forward, stunned, as a swift blow from the torch stave cracked across his jaw.
Holding his head on one side, the wolverine actually smiled at his prisoner. “Leastways thy friends will know ye are still alive.”
Gulo thrust the torch into the small fire set by the old fox, wa
tching it crackle into flame.
Still smiling, he called out, “Now it begins, my brother. Now it begins!”
Tam was struggling wildly in the restraining grips of Skipper, Wonwill and Fortindom. They held him tight as he tried to free himself, calling out, “Doogy! ’Tis Doogy Plumm that beast has there! I must get to him. Take yore paws off me!”
Sergeant Wonwill whispered sternly in his ear, “Nah then, Mister MacBurl, just you ’old still awhile. Lookit, ole Gulo’s comin’ forward fer a parley. Please, sah, calm down. H’I don’t want t’give ye a straight left an’ put ye asleep, now do I? Be a good h’officer, sah. All the young ’uns are lookin’ at ye!”
The sergeant’s advice filtered through to Tam, despite his agitated state. He saw Wonwill’s hard left paw clenching and took the hint. “Relax, Sarge. I’m alright now.”
Gulo stood within comfortable listening distance of the walltop. Waving the flaming torch, he peered toward the Abbey and shouted, “Heed my words an’ save thyselves grief an’ misery. ’Tis not thee I want, but my brother Askor. Do ye hear me?”
Skipper stood forward, his voice firm and clear. “We hear ye, Gulo. Now you hear me. There ain’t nobeast called Askor at this Abbey. Ye must be mad to think we’d take any brother o’ yores inside our gates!”
Gulo laughed, turning hither and thither as though he were consulting others. “Mad? Nay, waterdog, ’tis thee who is mad! I know that thou art sheltering Askor, aye, an’ the Walking Stone. I mean no harm to ye, but this is none of thy business. ’Tis a blood feud. Ye must send out my brother an’ the Stone. I will meet him in combat, one to one. The life of that one out there depends upon it!”
Paw on sword hilt, Captain Derron Fortindom came to the battlements. “An’ if we don’t?”
The wolverine brandished the lighted torch. “Then I’ll burn thy comrade, an’ yonder drum also!”
Fortindom curled his lip distastefully. “Hmm, about what one’d expect of scum like you. But ye listen t’me, laddie buck. I’ve got eyes in me blinkin’ head, an’ I see that the best ye can put in the field amounts to only six vermin. There’s about thirty times that number in here, all true blue an’ fightin’ fit. What’s to stop us chargin’ out an’ makin’ short work of ye? Tell me that, sirrah!”