‘Whoohahahooh! I say chaps, the jolly old ship’s sailin’ straight again, an’ goin’ like the clappers. Whoohahahahoo!’
Joseph looked behind him. The Green Maelstrom was rapidly disappearing in the distance as Pearl Queen rushed due south like a great sea eagle. He scrambled down from the rigging and ran to Finnbarr. Grasping the sea otter’s paw in both of his own, the Bellmaker shook it strongly.
‘Roaringburn, you found it, we’re sailing south!’
The whole crew gave a great cheer, and Finnbarr grinned crookedly as he turned to acknowledge the compliment.
Boom!
The sea otter was knocked flat on his tail as the vessel shuddered from stem to stern. He scrambled upright, shouting, ‘What is it, what’s happenin’?’
The shrew Bandle leaned out over the starboard rail. ‘Look, we’ve just passed a rock stickin’ up out the water, we musta struck it!’
There was an instant flurry of activity; the crew scattered in all directions to inspect the vessel for damage. Finnbarr held the tiller, calling anxiously, ‘Is everythin’ shipshape?’
There was a chorus of ’ayes’. Then Foremole’s head appeared from the for’ard rope locker.
‘Zurr, thurr’m a gurt ’ole in ee shipper ’ere. Hurr, ee watter be a pouren in, oi’m afeared us’n’s a sinken!’
BOOK TWO
The Pearl Queen
13
IT WAS STILL an hour before afternoon tea at Redwall Abbey. Sister Sage put the finishing touches to a raspberry and apple pie and, wiping her paws on a flour-dusted apron, the old mouse stood back and watched Simeon, the blind Herbalist. He was lining hot vegetable pasties on the window ledge to cool, his experienced paws selecting the ones that were ready and replacing them with those fresh from the ovens. Sage poured out two beakers of the cold oatmeal and pennycloud water she had brewed early that morning.
‘Come and have a break, Simeon, I’ve got something here for you.’
The blind mouse felt his way over to the table. ‘Ah, oatmeal and pennycloud, how thoughtful of you, Sage.’
They sat listing the fare they had made, sipping slowly. ‘Raspberry and apple pie, strawberry tarts, nut-bread, vegetable pasties and a mixed fruit cake, that should be enough, Simeon. Oh, my mint tea – where is it?’
The blind ancient restrained Sage from rising. ‘I took it off the stove while you were baking, it’s cooling off in the big pottery jar.’
Sage smiled, patting her friend’s paw. ‘Simeon, I don’t know what I’d do without you!’
Gesturing for silence, Simeon turned his ear towards the window ledge and, as if speaking to nobeast, he said, ‘If those paws touch a single pastie they’ll be washing greasy pots for two seasons!’
There was a gasp of surprise from the other side of the window ledge, followed by a scurry of paws running off. Again Simeon restrained Sage from rising. ‘No problem, I heard those Dibbuns sneaking up on our pasties a while back, little rascals. Though my ears tell me we’ve got a bigger problem coming our way.’
Sage was about to enquire what it was, when the kitchen door swung open and Tarquin L. Woodsorrel breezed in.
‘Phew, it’s a scorcher today! Afternoon chaps, how’re things comin’ along on the jolly old caterin’ front, wot?’
Sister Sage coughed politely. ‘Very well, thank you, Mr Woodsorrel. Is anything the matter?’
Tarquin’s smile would have melted butter. ‘Matter? Why, no, my charming Queen of the Kitchens, matter o’ fact I’m just here in me official capacity as sampler.’
Simeon nodded knowingly. ‘I thought you might be. There’s a carrot and onion flan right behind you, perhaps you’d like to sample that.’
The hungry hare spun around and turned his attentions to an oversized golden pastried creation. He wolfed down a huge mouthful as he spoke. ‘Mmf snch! My very, very favourite. I say, are we havin’ carrot ’n’onion flan for tea, chaps?’
Simeon chuckled, shaking his head. ‘No, I made that specially for you, so you wouldn’t sample the entire teatime menu down to empty plates.’
Tarquin ignored the remark and continued bolting hastily. ‘Grrurrph! ’Scuse me. What a considerate cove you are, Simeon.’
Sage sniffed distantly as she watched Tarquin eating, then rose and went to the kitchen door. Striking a small triangle that hung over the doorway, she remarked pointedly, ‘I think we should get the servers in to take all this temptation out of your way, Mr Woodsorrel. I’m training some of the Dibbuns to take up table serving, you know.’
At the sound of the triangle several Dibbuns trooped in and stood waiting for the trolleys to be loaded. Tarquin congratulated three of his own brood heartily. ‘Excellent! Learnin’ a bit of waitin’ on; your mater will be proud of you when she gets back, wot?’
Sage counted the number of Dibbun serving trainees. ‘Eight? There’s two missing.’
‘Right, paws up all those who aren’t here!’ Tarquin chortled.
Sister Sage turned on him severely. ‘Mr Woodsorrel, it’s no joking matter! These young ones have got to learn their responsibilities to others!’
Tarquin swallowed the last of his flan apologetically. ‘Oh, er, right you are, marm, buckle down, do a bit of thingeeyin’, does ’em the world of good. Now then, you sprogs, which two are absent? Speak up!’
A small squirrel held up his paw. ‘Fink it’s the mousebabe an’ Furrtil the mole, sir,’ he said.
The hare picked crumbs from his whiskers. ‘Mousebabe an’ Furrtil, eh, where would they be at?’
‘If we knew, then we could tell you, Daddy!’ one of the little leverets replied.
Tarquin blinked and twitched his ears. ‘Hmm, quite. What d’you think, Simeon, you know as much about bally Dibbuns as the next chap?’
Simeon put aside his beaker and stood up. ‘Come on, Tarquin, we’d best go and check all the gates. If they’re locked then nobeast has been out today and they should be somewhere inside the Abbey walls.’
‘But apposin’ a gate’s unlockered, Sir?’ the small squirrel tugging Simeon’s robe asked.
The ancient mouse patted the Dibbun’s bushy tail. ‘If a gate’s unlocked that means a major search in Mossflower after tea, my little friend.’
Afternoon tea was taken in the orchard. Mother Mellus sat beneath a gnarled pear tree with Saxtus. The old badger was plainly worried; her pastie lay untouched as she confided to the Father Abbot.
‘It’s always that small wicker gate in the east wall, the one which leads straight into Mossflower Wood. I’ve often said that the lock should be placed higher, so that tiny paws can’t reach it. Ooh! That mousebabe, he’s the one who’s led Furrtil astray, she’s always been a splendid little molemaid, not a moment’s trouble until the mousebabe comes along with one of his wild ideas.’
Saxtus took her paw and squeezed it reassuringly. ‘Brother Fingle and some others are searching upstairs right now, so stop worrying, Mellus. Remember last week when the mousebabe and three others were found sleeping under the Abbot’s bed in the dormitories?’
Mellus took a half-hearted bite of her pastie. ‘I suppose you’re right, friend. Let’s wait and see. I wish we could contact Oak Tom and Treerose, but nobeast ever seems to know what part of the woodlands they’re living in. They have a spring house, a summer residence . . .’
Saxtus squeezed her paw tighter. ‘They’ll be found, now stop worrying and eat!’
But the two Dibbuns were not found anywhere inside the Abbey walls. Afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen, tea was long finished. Tarquin lined up a score of Redwallers, then, pacing up and down in front of them, he gave his orders.
‘Right, listen up in the ranks now! Proceed out of the east wallgate into the forest, spread out in line an’ comb the area. Leave no stone unturned. No questions? Good, let’s make a start then. By the left, quick march!’
High sun lanced down through the leafy greenery of still woodland depths, while somewhere in the distance a cuckoo call echoed through glade and copse. River Mos
s had many tributaries. One of them, a small, slow-flowing stream, had two small visitors on its bank that afternoon. A purloined dormitory sheet from Redwall Abbey was draped over a low willow bough to form a tent, and inside sat the mousebabe and the little molemaid Furrtil, unaware of the upset they had caused, playing at Dibbun games. The mousebabe carried a stick, which he fondly imagined was the sword of Martin the Warrior, while Furrtil was armed with a knotted length of twine, obviously Mariel’s Gullwhacker.
She swiped at an inquisitive gnat with it. ‘Oi be gurtly ’ungered, Marthen, us’n’s missed tea.’
Martin, alias the mousebabe, tied a thread to his stick. ‘Nev mind, Mariel, I catch us a big fish inna river.’
‘Hurr, whurr ee be getten fires to cook’n et?’
The mousebabe thought about this a moment, then tossing aside the thread he lay down. ‘We goin’ asleep then, warriors got to ’ave sleep!’
‘Hurr, but oi doant bee toired.’
‘Course you’re tired,’ the mousebabe snorted impatiently. ‘All a beasts gets tired!’
‘Oi dearly loikes t’go back to ee Abbey furr supper, then oi be sleepen in moi own bed if’n oi toired.’
The mousebabe sat up, throwing a comforting paw about Furrtil’s neck as they both watched the stream drifting by. ‘Mm, I wanna go back to the Abbey too. We sit ’ere ’til they comes’n finds us, eh?’
Furrtil shook her head despairingly at this announcement. ’O gurt seasons! You’m gotten uz lost, b’aint you?’
Her companion fidgeted moodily with a dandelion. ‘Not lost, just don’ know a way back, s’all. They always come an’ find us, you see, always come an’ say, “Likkle rogues, worry us a death, very naughty!”’
The molemaid giggled at the mousebabe’s imitation of Mother Mellus. ‘Hurr hurr, ee sounden same as owd badgermum.’
Slipp and Blaggut were lost too. They had strayed from the main course of River Moss in the shrewboat and now lay becalmed up a tributary. Slipp had decided the blame lay with Blaggut.
‘Yew arf-baked barnacle, what did yer bring us up this ’ere backwater for?’
The searat knew he dare not argue with his Captain, so he shrugged with an injured air. ‘Cap’n?’
Slipp was working himself up into a fine temper, and drawing his cutlass slowly he imitated Blaggut’s voice. ‘Cap’n, Cap’n, is that all y’can say, Cap’n, Cap’n? I’ll Cap’n yer, you useless lump o’ seaslop, now over the side with yer carcass an’ get pullin’ on that ’eadrope afore I carves yer into crabmeat!’
Stifling a sigh of resignation, Blaggut heaved his bulk over the bows, drawing in a swift gasping breath at the stream’s chill. Shouldering the headrope he began towing the shrewboat behind him, but not without protest.
‘I’d be better off paddlin’, Cap’n, s’pose there was h’eels an’ those ’ungry pikefishes swimmin’ in these ’ere waters, I could get meself et up, an’ you’d ’ave t’go it alone . . .’
Slipp snorted at the idea. ‘Pikes’n’eels got more sense than to try an’ eat a big, fat, poison blubbergut like you. Just keep ’eavin’ on that rope ’til I tells yer t’stop!’
The searat heaved, but kept up his complaints. ‘The bottom’s all muddy an’ squishy Cap’n, s’pose I sinks outer sight, sucked under like . . .’
Slipp lay back in the boat, letting sun patterns play over him as the trees went by. ‘No such luck, barrel-bum, this stream’s got too much respect fer itself than to ’ave the likes of you layin’ in the mud like a dirty great porpoise. Pull, ye swab!’
The sun was beginning to dip low as Tarquin halted his searchers. He squinted up at the sky before nodding decisively.
‘That’s as far as we go in this direction, chaps – two little uns like those couldn’t have got further than this.’
Brother Mallen, a young mouse, who himself had been a Dibbun until four seasons ago, held up his paw. ‘Mr Tarquin, sir, you’d be surprised at how far two Dibbuns can go in one afternoon. Maybe we should press on to the River Moss and search over that way.’
‘You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, laddie,’ said the hare, staring down his nose for a moment at the Brother. ‘Take m’word for it, I know about these things. When y’ve got a few seasons under y’belt, like me, you’ll know how to track an’ search expertly. Meanwhile, I suggest we spread out further apart an’ comb the bally old country t’the east, makin’ a sweep down south towards old Saint Ninian’s church. Righto troop, as y’were, thrash the jolly bushes an’ shrubs with your staves, call out the names loud, Furrthingee an’ wotsismouse, no slackin’, be dark before y’know it!’
The Redwallers moved off into the undergrowth, shaking bushes and calling aloud as they moved in a southeastward sweep. Off in the opposite direction to the lost Dibbuns.
Slipp yanked at the headrope impatiently, sending Blaggut sprawling backward into the water. ‘Take me into the bank, over there by that big tree!’ he barked.
Coughing streamwater, Blaggut obediently pulled until the shrewboat was banked, then he looped the headrope round the three-topped oak his Captain had indicated.
‘Cap’n?’
The searat Captain ambled ashore and slumped against the oak as if wearied after a hard day’s toil. ‘Cap’n, Cap’n, there you go again! Now lissen hard, cocklebrains, mark this tree, remember where it is an’ don’t get lost. Take yore mouldy carcass off into these woods an’ get me some vittles.’
Blaggut stared hopefully at Slipp. ‘Vittles, Cap’n?’
‘Aye, vittles, Cap’n! You know wot vittles is, don’t yer? Food to shove in yore face; berries, nuts, fruit, there must be stuff aplenty to eat in this jungle. Get goin’!’
Blaggut’s dull features brightened.
‘Aye, aye, Cap’n, vittles! I’ll bring yer all I kin lay claws on, an’ water to drink as well.’
Slipp glared at the westering sun as if it were partly to blame, then he smiled disarmingly at his servant. ‘We’ve been surrounded by fresh streamwater all day, nitbrains, wot would we need more for? Look, just go an’ get the vittles, will yer, an’ remember the way back.’
Blaggut stumbled off into the woodland muttering to himself. ‘No water, jus’ vittles, an’ remember the way back, got it. No vittles jus’ remember an’ water if y’come back, or was it don’t remember water an’ no vittles on the way back . . .’
Slipp covered his head with both paws and slept.
Mother Mellus and Saxtus, with several of the old and very young, stood on the path outside Redwall Abbey’s west side. They held lanterns high, even though there was a full moon to give good light.
Blind Simeon turned his face south. ‘Is that the search party coming from the direction of Saint Ninian’s?’ he asked.
‘It is indeed,’ said Sister Sage, peering down the path. ‘Though I don’t see the Dibbuns with them.’
‘Have they been eaten by wildbeasts, Mellus?’ one of the leverets piped up.
The old badger cuffed the young hare’s ears gently. ‘Of course not, and don’t let me hear you spreading horrible stories around, by rights you should be in bed!’
Weary and paw-sore, the search party halted in front of the main gate. Tarquin threw the reception committee a tired salute. ‘No sign of the little uns at all, I’m afraid; we covered a wide area, north, east and south, no joy whatsoever.’
The Abbot studied his paws in the moonlight. ‘You did all you could. Come in now, we’ve held supper over for you. Tomorrow we’ll start the search again at first light. Inside, you Dibbuns, come on now, bedtime.’
The Redwallers drifted into the Abbey grounds. Tarquin stayed back with Blind Simeon to secure the main gate for the night.
‘Perhaps we’d better post sentries on the wall, they might wander home during the night,’ said the blind sage as he felt about for the bar-lock. ‘Dearie me, I can’t help wishing that Joseph were here, he’d know what to do.’
Blaggut made his way back to the oak on the streambank, more by luck than judgement. He
shook the sleeping form of his Captain vigorously. ‘Cap’n, Cap’n, guess wot I found?’
Slipp yawned and blinked in the darkness. ‘Don’t tell me, a cask of seaweed grog and a roasted gull!’
‘O, that’s a good un, yer a one you are, Cap’n!’ Blaggut chuckled heartily.
Slipp grabbed hold of the slow-witted searat. ‘I’m an ’ungry one right now, flop’ead, where’s those vittles?’
‘O er, vittles, er, there wasn’t none,’ Blaggut’s voice rattled on with excitement. ‘But I found two liddle beasts asleep, they’re livin’ in a tent jus’ a stroll further up the bank, Cap’n!’
‘You didn’t wake ’em, did yer?’
‘No, Cap’n, bless their liddle ’earts, they looked so peaceful. I came right back ’ere t’let you know.’
Slipp released Blaggut and shook his paw. ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve done today, mate. Now you lead me to ’em, nice an’ quiet like!’
14
THE ONSET OF night in the dungeons of Castle Floret weighed deeply on Mariel and Dandin. They sat on the wide window ledge, tired, hungry and sore, watching the moon hanging like a buttered disc over the valley. Mariel was using the rope which had bound their footpaws to fashion a new Gullwhacker. As she worked she wondered dolefully if she would ever get a chance to use it.
Dandin, half awake and half asleep, was imagining himself back at his beloved Redwall, strolling through the moonlit orchard with his friend Saxtus after supper, as the great Joseph bell softly boomed out the quarter; hearing the distant voice of Mother Mellus from the dormitory windows as she shooed Dibbuns off to bed; sensing the odours of apple, plum, strawberry and pear on the still, fragrant air. He was roused from his reverie by Mariel’s voice.
‘How does he do it? That old Field Marshal will sleep through anything – look at him.’
Meldrum the Magnificent was lying full stretch, his weighty stomach rising and falling to each snore. Dandin watched him, envious of the hare’s capacity to recede into slumber at the wink of an eye.