Horty rubbed at the ear that had been tweaked. “Who, me? I barely uttered a blinkin’ word, it was those two who jolly well started it!”
It was Saro’s shout that put an end to the bickering. “Look, mates, there’s the Bell’n’Badger Rocks!”
36
Floating above the heat-shimmered distance, the tops of both stone monoliths were just about visible on the horizon.
Fenna’s keen eyes confirmed Saro’s discovery. “Hooray! You’re right, there they are, I can see them!”
Shading her eyes, Springald stood on tippaws. “They look like one of those mirages that Old Phredd told us about. I wonder how far off they are?”
Bragoon squinted over the wasteland haze. “A fair bit yet, but if’n we press on ’til they’re in plain sight, I’ll call it a day an’ we’ll make camp. I want to look at those parchments from the Abbey. How does that sound to ye, mates?”
Bragoon and Saro watched the three young ones dashing off ahead, their quarrels all forgotten as they shouted to one another.
Saro scratched her bushy tail. “Ha, lissen to ’em, they’re the best o’ pals agin!”
Fenna was shouting, “I’m going to set up camp with the cloaks an’ staffs. Where are you off to, Horty?”
The young hare had put on a spurt, racing ahead eagerly. “Gangway, m’dears, I’m your cook this evenin’. Had lots of valuable experience, y’know. Oh yes, a chap learns a thing or three from those shrew coves, wot!”
Springald kept pace with Fenna. “I want to help Brag and Saro to study those parchments.”
Bragoon and Saro followed the young ones at a steady lope. “Looks like we’ve lost command o’ the quest, mate. Can ye see those rocks clearly yet?”
The squirrel looked up. “Not quite, but it won’t be long now.”
It turned out that the three front-runners were forced to halt quicker than expected. Horty ground to a stop in a cloud of dust. “By the left, right, an’ knock me blinkin’ sideways! How in the name of onion soup do we get across that bloomin’ thing? Looks like the end o’ the flamin’ earth, wot!”
Fenna and Springald joined him, gasping in disbelief at the awesome spectacle that confronted them.
“Whew! No wonder it’s called the great gorge!”
“Good grief, it must be miles down to the bottom!”
Bragoon and Saro arrived on the scene. The otter ventured a glance down into the black chasm. “If’n ye fell down there, that’d be the last anybeast’d see of ye, eh mate?”
Saro, however, was more concerned with the width of the gorge. “Hmm, that’s a wide ole canyon! Don’t matter ’ow deep ’tis, we’ve got to think ’ow were goin’ to cross it. Any ideas?”
Food was the only idea Horty gave priority to. “Let’s get a fire goin’ an’ we can figure it all out over a jolly good scoff. How’s that for a scheme, wot?”
The otter shook his head. “This is strange country, mate. I don’t feel too easy wid the thought of a fire. Pitch the camp an’ see wot ye can make from the packs, Horty. I’ll go off t’the right along the rim. Spring, you come wid me. Saro, you take the left edge. Fenna’ll go wid ye.”
They set off, with Horty issuing dire warnings. “You chaps get back here before dusk, or I’ll whomp up somethin’ absolutely delicious an’ eat it myself!”
Saro glanced across the gorge as she and Fenna explored along the edge of the precipice. “Those two big rocks are plain t’see now, they mustn’t be more than a couple o’ slingshot distances from the other side. We’re so near, yet so far, eh Fenn?”
The squirrelmaid had noticed something down in the chasm. Suddenly her voice became shrill with excitement. “There, that’s how we’ll get across, come and see!”
Saro lay flat on the edge, staring down at the solution to their problem. “Well spotted, young ’un. I almost walked right by an’ missed that. Let’s go an’ tell the others!”
Horty had created a fruit salad from the rations, with elderflower and dandelion cordial to go with it.
They sat eating as Saro reported, “There’s a tree trunk spannin’ the gorge down that way, Fenna spotted it. About the height o’ Redwall Abbey’s battlement, down it lies. I don’t know where it came from or whatbeast put it there, but it bridges the gap alright. ’Tis the longest trunk I’ve ever seen, lodged twixt a crack on one side an’ a narrow ledge on the other. I think we should be able to get down to it on the rope that Cosbro, the old rabbit, gave us.”
Bragoon gathered up the parchments he was about to study. “Let’s go an’ take a look at it.”
The spot where the tree trunk lay was directly in line with the two rocks across the gorge. Bragoon was thinking hard as he gazed down at the long, old span of timber that bridged the chasm.
Springald watched him as he studied the whole thing—the twin rocks, and the tree trunk wedged inside the gorge. “You know something about this, don’t you?”
The otter spread the map he had brought from Redwall. “See here, this is the Bell an’ the Badger Rocks. Now this spot is where the Lord o’ Mossflower once stood. Ole Briggy said that it was a large tree, which had fallen down long ago. I reckon that tree trunk down there is the one that’s marked on the map. After it fell down, some creatures must’ve rolled it into the gorge to make a bridge. I wager it took a lot o’ beasts t’do the job, but they didn’t know they was doin’ us a favour when they took on the task. Is that rope long enough, matey?”
Saro, who had fetched Cosbro’s rope along with her, dangled its length over the side. “Aye, it falls a bit short o’ the trunk, but it’ll do.”
Satisfied, the otter issued orders. “You three young ’uns, go back an’ break camp. Fetch everythin’ back ’ere with ye. Make as little noise as possible. There’s somethin’ about this area I don’t like. It might be only a feelin’, but I’m takin’ no chances. Saro, me’n you’ll rig this rope up. Remember now, be quiet!”
Horty and the two maids did not take long to pack the gear and break camp. Returning to the spot, they found that Bragoon had broken his staff in two pieces and driven them into a crack near the rim. Saro tested the rope she had tied around the wood. Without further ado, she went silently and skilfully down, using her footpaws on the rock walls for balance. She dropped lightly onto the trunk and twirled her tail several times as a signal that everything was alright. One by one they descended into the dark quiet chasm, Bragoon being last to go.
The five travellers perched precariously on the tree trunk. Saro gave the rope a swift upward flick, bringing it down with them.
Horty peered across the gorge nervously. “I say, Brag old scout, we could do with a torch to light us over this thing, it looks jolly dangerous t’me, wot?”
The otter glared at him. “Ssshhh, don’t talk, yore voice echoes off the side down ’ere!”
Saro knotted herself and the others into a line, with herself at the front and Bragoon at the rear. Getting down on all fours, the five creatures inched out onto the long trunk. It seemed like an eternity, crawling over the wide expanse with nothing beneath them but empty space and total blackness. Sometimes the big log quivered, as one of them stumbled. At moments like this, they crouched there still, until Saro moved forward again.
Bragoon emitted a hushed sigh of relief when they finally made it onto the ledge at the far side. Fenna peered into the gloom, looking fearfully at Saro. The squirrel saw three black holes, which looked like entrances, in the rock face. She nodded and placed a paw to her lips in a gesture of silence. Untying her four friends from the rope, she coiled it about her waist and began climbing up the other side of the gorge. They watched her ascending the rock face with all the grace of a born squirrel climber. Bragoon kept casting anxious glances toward the three dark, forbidding entrances, but no signs of life showed there.
Saro made it to the top in good time. Finding a convenient boulder, she tied a knot about it and lowered the rope to her companions. As they began the upward climb, the otter was still keeping a weather
eye upon the dark holes.
Once all five travellers were safely together on the top of the far side, Horty laughed out loud. “Hawhawhaw! Well, chaps, that’s that! I suppose it’s alright for one t’make sounds now. It’s almost as bad as bein’ hungry, for a brilliant speaker like me not being able to flippin’ well talk. Absolute torture, wot!”
Bragoon could not help smiling at the young hare. “Go on, mate, talk away, even sing if’n ye like.”
Ever willing to oblige, the garrulous hare burst into song.
“Oh it ain’t much fun, when you must keep mum,
an’ they tell you not to speak,
standin’ about with a tight-shut mouth,
an’ your tongue stuck in your cheek,
’cos being silent, makes me violent,
I want to roar an’ shout,
Wheehooh! Yahboo! I’m tellin’ you,
I’ve lots to talk about!
Hello good day, how are you, say,
the sky went dark last night,
but it got bright this morning,
so things turned out alright.
Well there might be rain, but then again,
we’ll face the storm together,
in wind or snow, oh don’t y’know,
let’s talk about the weather!
Wheehooh! Yahboo! I’m tellin’ you,
I’ll whisper, yell or shout,
I’ll natter’n’blab, or chatter’n’gab,
I’ve lots to talk about!”
Saro cast her eyes to the darkening evening sky and sighed. “We’d better stop for supper soon. That’s the only time Horty goes quiet, when he’s eatin’.”
Bragoon watched fondly as the young hare did some fancy high kicks and ear twiddling. “Aye, that rascal’s like a weed on a wall, he grows on ye. I’ll say this, though—Horty’s becomin’ a first-rate cook, I like ’is vittles. We’ll go as far as the Bell an’ the Badgers Rocks afore night comes. I think we could even risk a liddle cookin’ fire. Let ole Horty create us one of his masterpieces. Come on, mate, it ain’t more’n a mile or two now.”
As the laughter and banter of the questers receded into the gathering eventide, a stillness fell over the wasteland.
Three faint screams echoed into the unfathomed depths of great gorge. On the ledge where the tree trunk bridged the space, several cloaked figures turned and padded silently into the three dark holes. These were passages, which led into a single hall-like cavern. The creatures from outside joined masses of others, similar to themselves. A myriad of glittering eyes were riveted on a ledge, where burned a sulphurous, yellow-green column of flame. A huge hunched beast, enveloped in a flowing cloak, stood with its back to them, facing the flame. It turned slowly. Not daring to look upon it, everybeast lay down prostrate, faces to the floor. A concerted moan arose from the masses.
“Mighty Kharanjul, Master of the Abyss! Great Slayer, in whose veins runs the blood of Wearets! Lord of Life and Death! We live only to serve thee!”
The cloak swept back to reveal Kharanjul. He was a gargantuan creature, a primitive and hideous mutation—something between a ferret and a weasel. With neither ears nor any semblance of a neck, his brutal head perched straight onto his hulking shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was a gurgling hiss, forced from between curving, discoloured fangs.
“Where are the three guards who were sleeping at their posts when strangers entered my gorge?”
One of the creatures, who had recently entered the cavern, raised his face and cried out in a reedy voice. “Lord, they are still falling into the chasm. They felt themselves too unworthy to face thy wrath, O Great Slayer!”
Kharanjul picked up a big iron trident. He ran his long misshapen claws across the weapon’s three barbed points. “Nobeast has ever trespassed in my domain and lived to see the sunset that day. Ye will not fail me again, ye spawn of darkness. If those intruders set paw within a league of my gorge, to return whence they came, ye will let me know of it without fail. Double the guards both night and day. If the interlopers are caught, their suffering will be great. They will plead to be cast into the abyss of eternity. I have spoken!”
Still facedown, the masses chanted their reply. “We hear and obey, O Mighty Kharanjul, Great Wearet Lord!”
37
Martha closed the east wallgate behind her but left it unbolted. Her heart pounded wildly as she stole shakily through the night-shadowed woodlands, hugging the wall. The haremaid knew it had been an ill-advised plan, but she realised that the Abbot, or any sane Redwaller, would have forbidden her to venture on this mission alone. Her footpaws were trembling as she turned the corner to the north wall. Willing them to be still, she strove to gain control of her body. Every once in awhile, she heard weapons clanking on the parapet above. The Searats were patrolling the ramparts. The moment it went quiet, she would inch forward again.
Lonna had lit a fire out on the flatlands facing the west Abbey wall. He piled up brush and twigs into a heap, placing it so that from a distance it could be mistaken for himself, seated by the fire in the darkness. Moving off to his left he settled down, accustoming his eyes to the night. Setting a shaft to his bowstring, he watched the battlements. Soon a vermin head poked up cautiously, seeing the decoy by the fire and mistaking it for the badger. The Searat on the wall stood upright. Leaning outward, he peered toward the fire, trying to make sure that it was Lonna who was sitting crouched there. The big bow twanged, and the arrow took the Searat through his skull, sending him slamming backward onto the walkway. Hearing the resultant commotion from the walltop, the badger shifted his position, moving closer to the wall.
Raga Bol’s voice was immediately recognisable as he roared directions to his confused crew. “The stripedog’s somewhere out ’ere, on the far west end. Keep yore ’eads down, ye fools, or ye’ll end like that ’un. Chakka, get over this way, the stripedog’s over ’ere, not on the north side!”
Lonna edged closer, until he could hear Chakka’s reply. “But, Cap’n, there’s somebeast down here, sneakin’ alongside the wall. It ain’t as big as the stripedog, though. Wonder who it could be?”
Crouching, Raga Bol made his way across to the north wall. He risked a swift peek over the space between the battlements. “Gimme yore spear! ’Tis an Abbeybeast tryin’ to reach the big ’un, I’ll wager. Blast yore eyes, gimme the spear afore it gets away!”
Martha made a break and ran for it, out across the path. She stumbled and tripped, going headlong into the ditch, which skirted the outside path. Thunk! The spear quivered in the ditchside.
Raga Bol saw another Searat getting up from a crouch to pass him a second weapon. “Ye missed, Cap’n, but only just! Take my spear, ’tis me lucky one . . . Unngh!”
Bol hurled himself flat as the spear clattered to the parapet beside the slain crewrat. “Down, all of ye, down!”
Lonna was running toward the ditch, firing off arrows with amazing speed, one after another. They pinged off the stonework and shattered against the northwest wall corner, keeping the vermin down.
Martha narrowly avoided the huge bulk that crashed into the ditch beside her. She gasped, “Sir, I came from the Abbey, my name’s Mar . . .”
A massive paw cut off further explanation, as she was grabbed up and tucked beneath the giant badger’s quiver. It bumped against her cheek as he rushed headlong through the ditch going northward, away from the Abbey.
A deep voice sounded close to her ear. “Time for introductions later, let’s get out of range first!”
Martha felt like a Dibbun’s plaything. Everything about the badger was immense—his paw, his long arrows poking from the quiver, the great bow he carried, his colossal frame. Everything! Moonlit spaces flickered past as she and the badger left the ditch and sought the shelter of Mossflower woodlands. Martha saw the badger’s face. It was deeply scarred and roughly stitched, giving him a savage and fearful appearance. But his eyes were soft and gentle, friendly, the eyes of a friend.
Lonna placed her down gently
. “Now, you were saying?”
The haremaid tried not to be intimidated by his size. “Thank you, sir, I was saying . . . We have need of you inside Redwall Abbey. I stole out to get you . . . Oh, my name is Martha Braebuck . . .”
The bigbeast crouched, coming level with her face. “Braebuck? I met your brother and his friends on the side of the high cliffs. Shouldn’t you be in some kind of chair with wheels, miss?”
Martha found herself babbling. “You met Horty, oh, is he alright? Bragoon, Saro, all of them, are they safe? Please tell me about them. Have they been ill or injured in any way? Oh, I’ve been worried out of my mind . . .”
The badger’s paw covered her face as he placed it over her mouth. “Hush, little Martha, your friends are fine. I’d like to stand here all night talking with you, but you say they have need of me inside your Abbey. Can you show me the way back in there? By the way, my name’s Lonna Bowstripe.”
Martha bobbed a small curtsy. Then she was swung up and placed upon the badger’s shoulder as he moved off swiftly.
“Point me in the right direction, Martha Braebuck!” Holding on to his ear with one paw and the bowstring with the other, Martha showed him the way. “Straight ahead, Sir Lonna, you can see the belltower showing above the trees.”
He chuckled. “Just call me plain old Lonna.”
She whispered into his ear. “Lonna it is, you can call me Martha. I only get the full title when I’m being told off.”
Raga Bol sought out Wirga. “Those poison darts, have ye got any of ’em?”
The old Searat drew a rod from her cloak. “Aye, Cap’n, there’s one inside this. ’Tis the tube that I shoot ’em through.”
She unplugged the ends of the rod, letting a dart show from it. “See, my little messenger of death!”