The shrew named Fatch had been swept from a lower yardarm, and now he hung upside down, one footpaw snarled in a rope line. Rufe Brush was the only one who could see Fatch, dangling wrong way up, his head dipping under every time the ship swayed to port. Leaving Durry and Rosie to deal with the topsails, Rufe climbed back down to help the shrew. Battered by the blinding spray Rufe inched out along the low yardarm, calling to the shrew, ‘Hang on, matey, I’m comin’!’
The entire yardarm dipped deep below the sea’s boiling surface. Rufe locked both footpaws and tail around the timbers and reached out, catching Fatch by his ears. He pulled and hauled, the shrew alternately screeching in pain and swallowing water, but Rufe tugged savagely, knowing if he let go, Fatch was lost. With a mighty effort he hauled the shrew right side up, draping him across the yardarm. Rufe snatched the rapier from Fatch’s belt, and hacked loose the rope that had trapped the shrew’s footpaw. Then, fastening the unconscious shrew close to him with his own belt, Rufe clambered down into Finnbarr’s waiting paws and collapsed with Fatch in a heap on the deck.
The sea otter blew stormwater from his whiskers, shaking his head in admiration at the plucky rescue. ‘Yore a brave liddle beast Rufe, I never seen a creature so game in all me born days, an’ that’s a fact!’
Suddenly a single dap of thunder rang out directly above Pearl Queen, followed by an immense lightning bolt that struck the ship. An eerie blue light enveloped every creature aboard, as their fur stood out straight from their bodies. There was a rending crack; the foremast snapped like a twig and was hurled off into the darkness.
‘Durry! Rosie! They’ve gone!’ Rufe Brush screamed. ‘They were up the mast!’
Joseph had to grab Rufe – the young squirrel was about to dive over the side and swim to find his friends. The Bellmaker held the kicking, struggling squirrel fast. ‘Rufe, Rufe, have y’gone mad? You’d be drowned in a trice out there, we can’t even see where the mast went!’
But there was no reasoning with the squirrel. He fought Joseph wildly, striking him with all paws. ‘Let me go! I’ve got to save Durry, he’s all I’ve got!’
Joseph flinched as Rufe’s paws battered his face. He held on grimly until there was nothing else for it.
Whack!
The sturdy Bellmaker laid Rufe senseless with a single blow to the squirrel’s jaw, then he laid him down safe. ‘Poor Rufe, I wish you hadn’t made me do that.’
For what seemed endless hours the crew of the Pearl Queen battled with the elements, fighting to bring their vessel to the land, which now appeared temptingly close, but so difficult to reach. Windblown and soaked they moved with frozen paws and numbed minds, automatically forcing themselves to go about their tasks. Log a Log was standing far out on the prow, watching for hidden rock shoals, and he did not have time to brace himself when Pearl Queen shuddered and ground to a halt. The shrew Chieftain was thrown overboard. Foremole saw him go; he ran to the bows yelling, ‘Shrew overbooooooard!’
The crew dashed for’ard in Log a Log’s wake, stopping sharply as they reached the bows.
‘Hohohoho, lookit me!’ It was Log a Log, standing only waist deep in the water.
Finnbarr Galedeep drew both his swords, brandishing them at the storm and the heaving seas. ‘Haharr, we beat yer, you never got Galedeep an’ the Queen that time!’
Carrying Rufe on his back, Joseph called everybeast to abandon ship and make their way to shore. Foremole moved with a speed not associated with his kind – he fairly scooted through the shallows to the dry land, where, lying flat on the beach, he kissed it fervently. ‘Oo urr, oi luvs ee gudd furm urth!’
The remainder of the night the crew spent miserably, crouching behind a rocky outcrop, as the storm spent its fury over the heaving seas, driving Pearl Queen even further up on to the tideline. Without food or drink they huddled together, utterly spent and fatigued. Through the grey dawn they slept, unaware that the storm had abated, and the tide had slipped silently out leaving Pearl Queen high and dry, listed over at a crazy angle. High rolling clouds drifted westward on a calming breeze while the skies turned deep blue.
The warm sun beating down on his back, mingled with the plaintive cry of seabirds, gradually brought Joseph awake. He sat up stiffly and looked around. They were on a wide sandy beach, backed by huge brown cliffs dotted with greenery. Pearl Queen had been washed up only paces away from where the Bellmaker sat. Sometime before dawn Rufe Brush had regained consciousness, only to cry himself back to sleep with the realization that Durry had been lost at sea. Joseph drew quietly away from his slumbering form, seeing Finnbarr up and about.
The sea otter had boarded his vessel and found food for breakfast, and now he was busy building a fire from dry driftwood he had gathered above the tideline. Smiling kindly, he greeted Joseph. ‘Mornin’ t’ye, Bellmaker, lend a paw ’ere. We’ll get vittles goin’ fer the crew atween us.’
They mixed oatmeal with dried fruit and a little fresh water to make flat moist cakes, which they laid on a metal shield from the ship’s armoury and placed over the fire. Taking dried mint leaves and honey, Joseph put them in a pan Finnbarr had brought from the ship and soon had a fine brew of mint tea boiling.
‘Mmm, is that mint tea an’ oat scones I smell?’ Log a Log came to squat by the fire, followed by the others as the rest of the crew came awake.
Breakfast was taken thankfully. They sat on the sunwarmed sands, glad to be alive after their ordeal on the deep. Finnbarr retrieved a batch of fresh-baked scones from the shield, nodding towards his ship. ‘Straight after brekkist we’d best take a look at the Queen, she’s in need of a new foremast an’ a repair job to ’er hull fer starters, no tellin’ wot else needs doin’.’
Joseph sat with a comforting paw about Rufe. The young squirrel was eating: hunger and thirst had driven him, with the Bellmaker’s urging, to take some breakfast.
Joseph indicated Rufe with a nod of his head. ‘Finnbarr, the first thing we must do is to remember our two friends who were lost in last night’s storm.’
‘Aye, right you are mate,’ said the sea otter, putting aside his breakfast. ‘Let’s do that here an’ now!’
A small stone cairn was built on the shore above the tideline soon afterwards. With Joseph’s help, Rufe had taken a piece of flat timber and burned a message upon it with a heated knife. The crew of Pearl Queen stood around the neat heap of stones as Rufe fixed the wood securely between the top stones facing seaward. Log a Log read the simple message.
‘To the memory of Rosie Woodsorrel, warrior and mother. Also Durry Quill, Cellarmaster. Two Redwall friends.’
Still with his paw about Rufe’s shoulder, Joseph recited some words he had put together for the ceremony.
‘Friend is a very small word,
A little sound we make,
For one who is true, one who will do,
Great deeds for friendship’s sake.
So while I grieve for you, my friends,
Who gave all that you could give,
You’ll be my friends in memory,
For all the days I’ll live.’
Tears ran openly down Foremole’s honest face. ‘Oi doan’t be knowen wot zurr Tarquin an’ ee liddle uns be a doin’ wi’out miz Rose, they’m be gurtly sad!’
Log a Log patted the stones. ‘I know it sounds funny, but I miss that laugh of Rosie’s.’
The shrew Fatch took Rufe earnestly by his paw. ‘Lissen, young un, some good always comes out o’ misfortune. If’n you’d been up that mast then you’d have been lost with ’em. But you ain’t lost, an’ I ain’t neither, cos you risked your life an’ saved mine. Rufe, I’m your friend for life now!’
Though Finnbarr Galedeep was a tough-looking otter, he was deeply touched at the sight of Rufe and Fatch shaking paws together over the cairn. The sea otter turned away, gazing at the high cliffs to forestall a tear dropping. But he soon forgot his sorrow.
‘Stand by crew, git yoreselves armed! We’ve got visitors an’ they’re a-comin’ fast!’
Loud war whoops split the summer morning air as masses of creatures poured down from the cliffs, heading straight for the crew of Pearl Queen.
16
THE TWO DIBBUNS huddled together in terror as the ugly heads of Slipp and Blaggut poked into their makeshift tent. The searat Captain snarled at them. ‘Give us vittles or we’ll eat yer!’
Blaggut was horrified by Slipp’s pronouncement. ‘O Cap’n, you wouldn’t eat two pretty liddle babbies like them, would yer?’
Slipp bit Blaggut’s ear and punched his snout. ‘Will you shuttup an’ let me do the talkin’, doodlenose!’
Despite his smarting ear and throbbing nose, Blaggut winked chummily at the Dibbuns. ‘Never fear, me liddle chicks, ole Cap’n Slipp won’t eat yer, he’s got an ’eart of gold!’
Slipp yanked Blaggut out of the tent and began booting his rump soundly. ‘I told yer once already, scrummitchops, keep yer stupid mouth shut until I tells yer to speak . . . Yowch!’
The mousebabe had regained his confidence and was jabbing his ‘sword’ stick in Slipp’s back. ‘You leava ’im alone, big bully!’ he squeaked.
‘Ooh, me liver’n’kidneys!’
Slipp sat down nursing his back. Blaggut was all concern. ‘Aye aye, liddle feller, that was a naughty thing ter do, you’ve gone an’ ’urted the pore Cap’n’s livers’n’kidney. ’Ere, let me ’elp yer up, Cap’n. Are you shipshape?’
Slipp drew his cutlass, raging, ‘I’ll slice that cheeky snippet in arf afore ’e’s much older, let me at the swab!’
Blaggut placed himself between the mousebabe and Slipp. ‘You kin cut me in three arfs if’n yer like Cap’n, but don’t yew lay a blade near that there h’infant!’
Furrtil had regained her composure by now. She attached herself to Blaggut’s leg, chuckling, ‘Oi loik ee zurr, you’m a funny vurmint!’
‘D’yer ’ear that, Cap’n? The liddle molemaid likes me!’ The searat’s face was a picture of delight.
Slipp’s voice dripped sarcasm that was lost on the unwitting Blaggut. ‘Ho, she likes yer, does she, well ain’t that nice. Why don’t we all siddown an’ ’ave a pickernick?’
The big, slow searat patted his Captain affectionately, nearly knocking him flat. ‘Arr that’s the spirit, Cap’n, I knew you’d see things my way.’
Slipp’s seabooted footpaw began moving in the direction of Blaggut’s behind. The mousebabe brandished his stick, squeaking, ‘You kickim an’ I stick your livers’a-’kiddies . . . !’
Slipp stamped his foot down and glared at the mousebabe. ‘Don’t yew ’ave no vittles at all?’
The mousebabe thought about this for a moment, then replied, ‘Wot’s vikkles?’
Blaggut sat down next to the Dibbun, chuckling, ‘Hoho, bless yer liddle ’eart matey, vittles is food!’
‘Hurr, food!’ Furrtil nodded understandingly. ‘Loik pudden an’ pie an’ cakes an’ soop?’
‘Yes, yes, that’s the stuff,’ Slipp said, nodding eagerly. ‘Pudden’pie’cake an’ soup, where is it, ’ave you got any?’
The mousebabe thought quite deeply about the question then stated matter-of-factly, ‘No!’
Blaggut laughed until tears rolled down his ugly face. ‘That babbie mouse is a cool un, Cap’n!’
Furrtil trundled off into the woodland. Slipp looked after the molemaid curiously. ‘Where does she think she’s off to?’ he asked.
The mousebabe curled his lip scornfully at Slipp’s ignorance. ‘Vurmint your size shoulda know tha’, she gone to get food vikkles for ya, shoopid!’
The searat Captain brought his face close to the Dibbun, sneering nastily. ‘Don’t call me stupid, and I’m a rat, not a vurmint!’
The mousebabe sat himself on Blaggut’s lap in a business-like manner and explained patiently to Slipp, ‘Rats is vurmints. Anybeast know tha’, an’ if you not shoopid then don’ ask shoopid questions.’
Slipp began drawing his cutlass, then thought better of it, blew a snort of exasperation and glared at Blaggut. ‘Why did yer ’ave t’go an’ find this wisemouth, why didn’t yer just bring back vittles like I told yer to?’ he growled.
Blaggut stroked his new friend’s head fondly. ‘’E don’t mean nothin’, Cap’n. You leave the liddle tyke t’me, I wager we kin chat like ole messmates. Avast, ’ere’s the molemaid back wid vittles.’
Furrtil ambled up and emptied her apron. Two apples, some wild plums and a small pile of blackberries tumbled out. The searats began wolfing the fruit.
‘Tsk tsk, you’m maken eeselfs sick piggen et all daown,’ she chided them. ‘Chew ten toimes an’ swaller more slow, ee Muther Mellus allus sayin’ that to Dibbuns.’
Slipp spat out a plumstone. ‘Wot’s a Dibble?’ he asked.
‘Hurr, us’n’s Dibbuns zurr, b’aint Diddles.’
Blaggut polished an apple on his stomach, saying, ‘An’ where does Dibbuns live, in liddle tents like yonder one?’
The mousebabe popped a blackberry into his friend’s mouth. ‘Norra tent, on’y a blanket. We come from a h’abbey, name a Redwall, bigga place than this high.’ He held a tiny paw as far over his head as he could, to indicate the size of the Abbey.
Slipp whispered to Blaggut, ‘Find out where it is.’
The mousebabe shook his head despairingly and pointed an accusing paw at Slipp. ‘No whisp’rin’, s’bad manners. We take you to Redwall inna mornin’, if we c’n find it.’
An hour later the two Dibbuns were sound asleep in their tent. Slipp scoffed at Blaggut who sat at the entrance watching them. ‘Ahoy nurseymaid, d’yew reckon they’ll want a drink o’ water in the night?’
The searat took off his tattered jerkin and carefully covered the two small creatures. ‘Aye, well, if they do, Cap’n, I’ll get it for ’em!’
Slipp tossed an apple core at Blaggut. ‘Well lookit yew, the bold searat, yew butterbrained brute, ’ave y’gone soft all of a sudden?’
‘Don’t cost nothin’ t’be nice to babes,’ Blaggut shrugged. ‘May’ap if somebeast’d been nice to me when I was a liddle shrimp I wouldn’t ’ave growed up t’be no searat, might’ve been good an’ respectable, who c’n tell, Cap’n?’
Slip leapt up and grabbed Blaggut by the throat. ‘You ’ave gone soft!’ he snarled. ‘Well lissen, softrat, when we gets ter this Redwall place there might be plunder an’ killin’ so don’t yew go soft on me then, or else y’ll feel my cutlass across yore gizzard, do y’hear?’
Blaggut gulped and nodded. He knew only too well what his Captain was capable of. When there was loot to be had, murder and treachery became a mere formality to avaricious searats like Slipp. Blaggut took one last look at the two Dibbuns before settling himself down to sleep at the tent entrance, hoping in his heart that the tiny pair were so lost that they would not know the way back to Redwall Abbey on the morrow.
Early sunrays filtered through the slitted windows of the high tower room on to the besieged friends. Nagru’s grey rats packed the narrow winding stairway outside, with the Foxwolf exhorting them on to slaughter. ‘Come on – there’s enough of you! Hack that door to splinters and finish them off. Sourgall, you and Wetchops go and fetch a battering ram, that’ll speed things up!’
The chamber was home to one piece of furniture, an old wooden bench. Meldrum and Dandin held it wedged against the door as a temporary measure. The old hare looked worried.
‘Hear that, the blaggards have gone t’get a batterin’ ram. They’ll smash this door t’smithereens! Look out!’
Dandin hopped to one side at Meldrum’s warning, as a spear ploughed through the damaged woodwork, protruding almost half its length. Nipping in smartly, Mariel grabbed the haft and tugged the weapon through, then began jabbing through the slits in the door at the enemy outside.
‘If I’ve got to go I’m taking a few with me!’ she shouted.
Gael Squirrelking stared despairingly round the small tower chamber. ‘There’s nowhere else for us to go, once they’re through that door we’re finished!’
> The red-backed shrike Glokkpod had been hopping about excitedly, waiting to give good account of himself when the rats came through the door. At Gael’s announcement he ceased his dance, flicking hither and thither with his head as he searched for an avenue of escape. ‘Good littil nest uppa thirr!’ he croaked.
Gael followed the shrike’s eyes upward. ‘Of course!’ he cried out. ‘This is a tower with a pointed top, there’s a small cone-shaped attic up there!’
Meldrum the Magnificent grabbed the crosshilts of a long pike that came thrusting through the door, wrenching it forcibly from its owner. ‘Any port in a storm, wot, let’s give it a try!’
It was a simple crossplanked ceiling, resting on thick wooden beams. Using the butt of the pike, the hare soon knocked two of the centre planks loose. ‘C’mon birdie, do your stuff, up there an’ push those planks t’one side!’ he shouted.
There came a cry from Nagru out on the stairway. ‘Out the way, you four, get on that battering ram with Sourgall an’ Wetchops! Give them space there!’
Anxiously, Mariel watched Glokkpod flap awkwardly upward, calling, ‘Hurry, bird – there’s not a moment to lose. They’re going to start battering the door!’
The shrike shoved and pulled until he had moved one plank aside. Wedging himself in the narrow space he had created, Glokkpod used both talons and beak to shift the other ceiling plank. Suddenly it shot aside with a clatter, and he disappeared through the opening, cackling, ‘Kchakcha, eazy, wassa eazy, good nest uppa hirr!’
Meldrum shot an irate glance at the attic. ‘Glad you’ve found yourself a good nest, old chap, now d’you mind hoppin’ down here an’ helpin’ out?’
Surprisingly the shrike did hop down. Flashing his bright savage eyes at the hare, he demanded, ‘Wharra want, longirrz?’
‘I say, less of the longears. See if y’can help our friends up into the attic, mattressback!’
The shrike’s feathers bristled dangerously as he glared at Meldrum. ‘Don’ta call Glokkpod matrissback!’
With a boom and a crack the battering ram struck the door, sending splinters flying. Mariel placed herself between Meldrum and Glokkpod. ‘Are you two going to stand here insulting one another,’ she said, her voice tight with anger, ‘or do you feel like helping out round here before we’re all killed?’