‘O no, mates, we ain’t no singers, seara . . . er, travellers like us ain’t much good at singin’, are we Blaggut?’
‘I likes singin’, Cap’n. Couldn’t we sing ’em the Slaughter of the Crew of the Rusty Chain, that’s a good ’un?’
Slipp’s furious protests withered under Oak Tom’s stern proclamation, ‘If you’re too shy to sing there’s always the pots to be washed!’
That seemed to decide the issue. Taking up searat performing stances, the pair stood straddle-legged with paws clenched above their heads, and began singing in hoarse, off-key voices:
‘Whoa, the Cap’n of the Rusty Chain,
Ain’t feelin’ much surprise,
’E’s deader’n a duck on the ocean floor,
While the fish nibble out ’is eyes.
An’ the crew of the Rusty Chain,
Ain’t feelin’ too much pain,
O y’can’t wipe yer nose when yer ’ead’s chopped off,
An’ they’ll never see their tails again . . .’
There was a pause as they consulted together, arguing over forgotten verses. Some of the gentler Redwallers closed their eyes and covered their ears as the song continued in the same bloodthirsty mode:
‘O the bosun’s got a spear in ’is liver,
An’ the mate’s got a spear through ’is throat,
An’ they’re usin’ the fat off an’ ole searat,
To set alight to the boat.’
Distressed cries began issuing from some of the Dibbuns, and a dispute arose with Slipp and Blaggut as to the next line.
‘Ho they’ve gone an’ skinned the cook . . .’
Slipp cuffed Blaggut’s ears soundly. ‘Puddenbrains, that’s not ’til the next verse, I knows the line, it goes like this . . .
‘O they carved off the lookout’s ears,
An’ stuffed em up ‘is no –’
‘Enough! Stop this bloodthirsty ballad now!’ They were hauled unceremoniously back to their seats by an irate Mother Mellus as Tarquin called upon the next performer.
‘Sorry about that, chaps, bad form, y’know! Sister Sage, I don’t suppose you’d like to warble us that absolutely splendid ditty about the robin an’ the cuckoo?’
After a bit of persuasion the old Sister got up and began singing. Her voice was loud and clear for one of such great age.
The night wore on as performers came and went: singers, dancers and those who liked to recite poetry. Blaggut had eaten his fill and quaffed enough cordial to float a small boat. His head nodded fitfully, eyes closing as his chin dropped on to his chest. Slipp tweaked his nose, muttering, ‘Wake yerself up, dozeyguts, we’re going’ t’get the treasure.’
They detached themselves stealthily from the gathering, creeping off into the night. Blaggut cast frightened glances about him as he clung to Slipp’s tail.
‘Couldn’t we go back an’ sit by the fire, Cap’n? I don’t like it out ’ere in the dark night, the black shadder might get us both!’
Slipp whirled on his unfortunate companion. ‘Bucketnose! I told yer never t’mention that agin, cummere!’
‘Eeeyoowchee yee!’
‘Stop squealin’, you limpet ’eaded oaf!’
‘I can’t ’elp it, Cap’n, yore bitin’ me ear. Yeek!’
The mousebabe and Furrtil sat proudly with the cup between them. Saxtus looked enquiringly at Mellus. ‘I thought you said that the mousebabe was a rogue and a scamp, the worst of all the Dibbuns?’ he asked.
The old badger mother shrugged. ‘That doesn’t stop him and Furrtil being the best singers. Hahaha, that was the best laugh I’ve had in seasons, the Song of the Pirate Pond Dibbuns. They deserved to win, what do you think Simeon?’
The blind Herbalist seemed preoccupied, ‘What? Er, oh yes, by far the most comical . . .’
Mellus could tell that Simeon’s mind was elsewhere. ‘What’s wrong old friend, are you tired?’ she said.
The blind one felt about until he found the badger’s paw. ‘Slipp and Blaggut have gone, and I didn’t follow them.’
‘But why should you follow them?’
‘Because that one called Slipp is up to no good. Until now I have trailed them whenever they went off alone. Both of them think I am a black shadow that haunts them, and it keeps them out of mischief. But I was a bit slow tonight, I’ve let them get away.’
The badger stood up decisively. ‘Right, leave it to me, I’ll find ’em!’
‘I have a pretty fair idea where they are,’ said Simeon, standing up with her. ‘Gone to dig up the Dibbuns’ treasure at the southeast wall corner.’
The mousebabe and Furrtil picked up their trophy together. ‘Hurr, us’n’s show ee whurr that be at!’ said Furrtil.
Tarquin was starting up another reel for all to join in as the four creatures went off after the searats.
Slipp was digging with the long kitchen knife he had stolen; Blaggut used a piece of stick. Together they dug and sweated until Blaggut felt his stick hit something hollow. ‘Haharr, ’ere it is Cap’n – the secret ’idden treasure of the h’ Abbey.’
Slipp ordered Blaggut out of the hole and began digging feverishly with the knife. In a short while he had unearthed a small rectangular box, of the type used in the Redwall kitchen to store salt or spices. It was oak, bound with brass strip, and had a broken lock. The searat Captain tugged it from the earth and, wiping it on his smock, he clambered from the hole grinning from ear to ear.
‘You was right, mate. You ain’t been right many times in yer life, but you was this time. We got the treasure!’ Throwing open the box he turned the contents out upon the ground. They both stood speechless a moment, looking. It was typical Dibbuns’ treasure: a pawful of mouldy acorns, some fragments of coloured glass, faded ribbons, two hawk feathers and a spinning top made from stone. Just the sort of things a Dibbun would consider precious.
Blaggut scratched his head with a soil-grimed paw. ‘Boggle me braces, Cap’n, that ain’t no treasure, ’tis only liddle beasts’ playthings!’
Slipp picked up the box and hurled it at the wall, smashing it to pieces in his rage. ‘Rubbish an’ pups’ trinkets! Secret ’idden treasure, eh, I’ll secret ’idden treasure those two liddle scum when I get me claws on ’em!’
Walking slightly ahead of Mellus and Simeon, the two Dibbuns materialized out of the night. Mousebabe pointed accusingly at Slipp, his voice shrill with anger, ‘Dirty ole searat, you breaked our treasure box t’bits!’
Slipp raised the long-bladed kitchen knife. ‘Yew snoutfaced liddle spawn, I’ll carve ye to slices!’
‘No, Cap’n, don’t ’arm the liddle uns!’ shouted Blaggut, as he grabbed hold of Slipp.
The bosun reeled back in agony as Slipp slashed the paw holding him from getting at the mousebabe. Slipp rushed at the Dibbun brandishing the knife, and screaming, ‘I’ll bury ye in yer own treasure ’ole!’
He took a leap and was actually in mid-air when Mellus came bowling through like a furred thunderball. The two creatures collided with a roar and a scream, hitting the ground heavily. Simeon hurried forward, feeling the air about him as he called to the Dibbuns, ‘Mousebabe, Furrtil, stay out of the way, come to me!’
Blaggut stood by helpless, his face a frozen mask of horror as Slipp rose from the ground. The great badger lay still, both paws clutching the knife handle as if trying to pull it free from her heart.
The screams of Mousebabe and Furrtil cut the night like shards of broken glass. Simeon’s sightless eyes flickered this way and that as he pleaded, ‘What is it, Mellus, are you all right?’
Blaggut fell on all fours beside the stricken form. ‘Cap’n, you’ve slain the ole badger lady!’
The searat Captain stood trembling. ‘The ole fool did it ’erself,’ he snarled, ‘jumpin’ on me like that! Got wot she deserved, orderin’ me round all the time!’
Tears rolled down Blaggut’s face as he rocked back and forth. ‘You killed ’er, Cap’n! Oh, what’ll we do now, Cap’n?’
&nbs
p; The Dibbuns were still screaming and clinging to Simeon. A brutal sneer lit Slipp’s face as he moved into action. Grabbing the badger chalice, which the little ones had dropped in their fright, he kicked Blaggut upright. ‘Well at least we ain’t leavin’ ’ere empty pawed. Come on, idiot, yore in this with me. Move yerself or stay ’ere an’ get torn t’bits by the Redwallers. I’m savin’ me own skin!’
He slunk off, letting himself out by the small east wallgate. Blaggut followed him into Mossflower, whimpering, ‘O, wot’ve we done, Cap’n? That was an ’appy place, I would ’ave lived there an’ been a searat no more. Now we got to run, we can’t go back to the h’Abbey, ever . . .’
Slipp struck the weeping bosun a heavy blow in his face. ‘Shut yer slobberin’ an’ git movin’, they’ll be comin’ after us soon an’ I ain’t waitin’ for yew!’
Blaggut nodded dumbly and followed his Captain into the night-time depths of the vast woodlands.
Father Abbot Saxtus sat on the ground, next to Mellus’s body, numb with shock. Oak Tom and Tarquin kept the Redwallers back, whilst Brother Mallen and Sister Sage took the Dibbuns and the very old back to the Abbey dormitories.
Tarquin L. Woodsorrel sniffed back his tears and kept a stiff upper lip. ‘Tom, as soon as it’s clear here I’ll get my lance and you get your bow. We’ll track the murderers by night and have them slain by dawn!’
The big squirrel grabbed Tarquin’s paw tight. ‘No! First we must see Mother Mellus at rest, it’s the right thing to do. Those two searats will be lost by now, they don’t know their way around Mossflower. I do! When I’m ready I’ll track them down. No need for you to go, I travel best alone. I’ll leave their carcasses for the ant folk to pick over!’
30
SEVERAL HEDGEHOGS STOOD atop a dune; shielding their eyes against the noonday sun they squinted at the curious procession coming their way. A sturdy female relaxed her grip on a wardub and turned to her mate, saying, ‘They be not rats, Gawjun.’
The male hedgehog, a huge, primitive-looking fellow, shook his warclub in a businesslike manner. ‘Mayhaps they be not rats, Deekeye, but who be a knowin’, strangebeasts could be troublesome. One of they be’s a hog, Gawjun will speak unto him. You there hog! Stand forward an’ cease thy drums a bangin’!’
Bowly Pintips halted his recruiting party and silenced the four leverets, who were enthusiastically battering away at four small mole drums. He signalled Furpp, who was carrying a broom as a banner, to follow him. Both went forward, and Bowly called up to the hedgehog leader.
‘My name don’t be hog, I be Bowly Pintips the Warrior an’ I would parley with you!’
Gawjun and Deekeye met with Bowly and Furpp at a spot halfway between their respective bands. Gawjun glared suspiciously at Bowly, and the young warrior stared back nonchalantly, tossing his hardened oatcakes from paw to paw.
Gawjun nodded approvingly at the youngster’s boldness. ‘Be you with Foxwolf?’ he asked.
‘Nay, I be with Gael Squirrelking against Foxwolf. There be others like me. Our banner is a broom – we will sweep Nagru and his horde out of Southsward.’
‘Big words for a little warrior. What be you doin’ in these parts, Bowly Pintips?’
‘Recruitin’ an army to do battle with the Foxwolf.’
Deekeye began swinging her warclub. Bowly stood motionless as it whirled by his snout, trying hard not to show fear. The female hedgehog let out an unearthly roar:
‘Spike’n’striiiike!’
The warclub struck the ground a hairsbreadth from Bowly’s footpaw. Deekeye grinned ferociously. ‘Recruitin’ army to do battle with Foxwolf, eh! Not before time, say I. What say you, Gawjun?’
The big male bent his head, pressing his brow against that of Bowly until their spikes meshed in an antiquated hedgehog greeting. With his eyes practically touching Bowly’s he gave a fleeting smile. ‘The tribe of Gawjun an’ Deekeye be with thee, Bowly!’
Untangling his spikes with great dignity, Bowly tossed an oatcake high, caught it flat on his footpaw and flicked it up into his grasp. ‘Gather thy tribe an’ follow this mole to his dwellin’, ’tis our meeting place. Come armed!’
Bowly and his recruiting troop marched off, drums beating. The four leverets were all admiration for their companion.
‘I say, well done, old lad!’
‘Spoke their lingo too, good show!’
‘Tough lookin’ crew, but you out toughed ’em well!’
‘Yes, very basic beasts, hedgehogs, don’t y’think?’
Bowly glared at young Foghill. ‘Aye, but not as chattery as hares! Now, where’s those mice you told me about Runtwold?’
‘Oh them, ’bout two hours march west of here, old lad.’
‘Well, get those drums to bangin’ good’n’loud, we’re goin’ to recruit ’em. An’ I’m not ole lad, I’m Bowly Pintips, right!’
Mariel had her paws full in the gatehouse. It was a constant strain trying to hold back Muta and Rab from breaking out to attack the rats on the stairway; both the badger and the otter were growing more impatient by the hour. They did not seem to realize that it was vital the gatehouse be held. Snorting their impatience they lumbered around, banging the door hard with their paws.
Then the mousemaid had an idea. She had been peeking out of the window, watching the arrows and slingstones of her friends on the valley floor as they shot upward to the plateau at the horde in the open drawbridge space. A sideways glance and she could see the horde firing back in retaliation. The Foxwolf and Silvamord could be heard as they yelled commands at their troops:
‘Front rank archers and slingers. Fire!’
‘Over there, you fools! Fire higher!’
‘There! There! Can’t you see them?’
‘Advance out on to the drawbridge, cut down the range!’
The mousemaid waited until forty or fifty archers and slingers were halfway out on to the open drawbridge, then she turned to her two silent companions.
‘Take the drawbridge up. Quick!’
Glad to be doing something, the two beasts threw themselves upon the turning handles. The drawbridge went up like a rocket under their joint berserk strength.
Mariel watched in delight as screaming rats slid backward, though most tried clinging to the rough wood. She let her paw fall in a chopping motion. ‘Down drawbridge!’
Leaping clear of the handles, Rab and Muta kicked the trip lever. There was an ear-splitting squeal and the handles spun in a blur, followed by a loud thud as the drawbridge crashed back down. Three rats were flung into the moat, the others lay stunned and groaning. Muta played with the winding handle like a toy, lifting and dropping the massive structure in small movements. It was a clear warning to the horde that they would not be allowed to use the drawbridge. Nagru was beside himself with fury.
‘A mousemaid and two half-baked casualties controlling the only entrance or exit to my castle. Never! Grutch, take archers up to the south battlements, they should be able to send arrows through the gatehouse window from there!’
The Foxwolf looked around until his eyes rested on a hulking horderat, far taller and stronger built than most. ‘Lumba, take fifty good fighters, use armour, spears and shields, and take the gatehouse. Smash the door and bring me the heads of those three beasts. Silvamord, take a third of our entire force up on to the battlements – it will be much easier to fire on the enemy from there.’
The vixen’s tailed skirts swished as she turned. ‘Where will you be while all this is going on?’
Nagru pointed downwards with the iron claws of his wolf pelt. ‘Right here with the rest of my horde. We must defend this open gateway night and day until the gatehouse is recaptured.’
Silvamord signalled her approval.
‘That’s more like the Foxwolf of old. At last you’re beginning to use that brain like a true commander.’
Dandin lay behind a rock with Meldrum and Iris, watching the activity taking place within the open portal on the plateau. ‘They’re up to something an
d I have a feeling in my stomach it’s not going to do us much good,’ he said.
Meldrum the Magnificent squinted up at the figures beginning to appear on the battlements. ‘That blighter’s doin’ what any sensible General should do. Gettin’ them up high where they can sweep this valley floor with their arrows. We’ll be pinned down an’ slaughtered if we don’t do somethin’ soon.’
The three ducked behind the rock as a short cloud of arrows zipped down from the battlements. Somewhere close by there was a strangled cry as an otter fell to one of the shafts. Iris gnawed her lip anxiously, saying, ‘We’ve got to stay here and face it out until help arrives. I’ve been thinking – Mariel can’t be alone in that gatehouse. She couldn’t raise and lower the drawbridge on her own.’
They kept their heads low as another salvo of arrows quivered into the ground around them. Iris pulled one out, fitted it to her bow and returned fire. She lay watching the path of her arrow’s trajectory in disgust.
‘We have to shoot upwards, they’re out of our range. That arrow didn’t get anywhere near ’em!’
Meldrum loosed a swift shaft in the direction of the drawbridge and was rewarded by a distant squeal. ‘Good job we can still reach those villains in the gateway, isn’t it? Fire away, chaps, keep y’heads down an’ defend our position. Give as good as we get, that’s what I always say, wot?’
An arrow hummed by Mariel’s cheek, bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. She glanced at the window and threw herself flat against the side wall.
‘Muta, Rab, over here – they’re on the battlements firing in at us. Get against this wall, it’s on their blind side.’
As the two warriors joined her more arrows zipped in. Then the door began shuddering under the impact of some heavy object. ‘Look out, they’re knocking at the door!’ Mariel groaned.
Gael Squirrelking stood with his paws around Queen Serena and his son Truffen. The little squirrel felt his father’s paw shake with emotion as he gazed around the crowded sward in front of Furpp’s dwelling. Squirrels crowded everywhere carrying bows, slings and spears. A greying elder approached the King; bowing low, he placed his forehead against Gael’s footpaw.