The pies looked appetising enough, but a taste from each of Luglug’s guests confirmed his worst fears. After just one bite, Maudie and Asio pulled horrible faces, reaching for water to wash away the taste. Asio squinched his eyes hard.
“Burst me beak! Art thou tryin’ t’poison us, Luglug?”
Maudie’s ears shot up stiffly as she gasped out, “By the left! Pie, d’ye call that? Guuurrrgh! It’s enough t’give you the clangs’n’collywobbles for ten seasons. What did they blinkin’ well put in it?”
Log a Log Luglug shrugged. “Some fruit from three seasons back, swampvetch, stinkweed, pounded ransom, an’ swine parsley. The usual stuff young scallywags put in when they wants to upset their elders. I wish we had a decent cook with us, I really do.”
Maudie was not normally one to volunteer, but she saw an opportunity to curry favour with the shrew chieftain. “Say no more, sah, I’m the very chapess you’re lookin’ for, I was assistant cook at Salamandastron. Now, where’s the bloomin’ galley, an’ some fresh ingredients, wot?”
Luglug called some of the older shrews over. “Show Miz Maudie the supplies, an’ get a good fire goin’ under them clay ovens. Do as she tells ye, an’ mayhaps we’ll get somethin’ good to eat t’day.” He shook his head irately at the array of dreadful pies. “Dig a hole an’ bury these, as deep as ye can!”
Maudie had a sudden idea. She approached Luglug, whispering in his ear, “’Scuse me, sah, but how about this for a wheeze…”
Luglug listened to the haremaid’s scheme, then he grinned broadly and smote her heartily on the back. “I don’t know wot a wheeze is, but if’n that’s wot ye call it then I’m all for it!”
He hailed a passing young shrew. “Ahoy, Dinger, was you one o’ the pie-makin’ crew?”
Dinger and several of his young friends smirked maliciously. Their culinary atrocities had not gone unnoticed. Dinger took a sweeping bow. “Aye, me an’ me mates made ’em special for ye!”
Luglug selected two pies, passing one to Maudie. The shrew chieftain winked at Dinger. “That was good of ye, but we ain’t greedybeasts, we’ll share em with ye!” Splaaattt! The pie caught Dinger square in the mouth. Maudie’s pie came a respectable second, landing flat on the forehead of a young shrew close to Dinger. A few of the young shrews got behind Maudie and Luglug, pelting them vigorously with the cream topped pies. That did it! Within moments, Bulrush Bower became the scene of a fully fledged pie fight. Amid howls of laughter, the dreadful missiles flew back and forth between young shrews and their elders. Pies squelched into faces as the shrews slithered and slipped to take aim, or to avoid flying pies.
When the first pie was launched, Asio fled into the cover of a spruce tree, being of the opinion that owls were pretty poor pie fighters. Not so with Maudie and Luglug; caked from tip to tail with squashed cream, crust and filling, they battled on heroically, giggling, gurgling and falling over backward whenever they were hit. It was enormous fun while it lasted, but finally the pies ran out, and everybeast sat down amid the slutchy residue.
Asio flew down to a lower perch, casting a jaundiced owl’s eye over the haremaid and the shrew chieftain. He pointed a wing accusingly at them. “Thou wert the ones that started all this, look at the mess of ye, ah’ve never seen owt like it!”
Young Dinger rose from the debris, blowing pie filling from the tip of his snout. Exchanging reproving glances with Asio, he shook a paw at Luglug and his contingent, exclaiming, “Old ’uns these days, I don’t know, wot’s the world coming to, eh?”
The statement caused roars of unbridled laughter from all the Guosim. Heaving themselves upright, and supporting one another, the entire shrew tribe tottered into the pond shallows to clean up.
There were willing paws aplenty to help Maudie with her cooking, by midnoon her offering was ready. The haremaid did not attempt anything fancy, she prepared food that was plain, but satisfying. Flatcakes with nuts and berries, fresh fruit salad, some shrew cheeses, chopped celery stalks and a cordial of dandelion and burdock. The Guosim chieftain complimented her as they sat eating together.
“This is a perfect feast for a happy summer’s day, I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun!”
Young Dinger called out, “Aye, me, too, Chief. Wot d’ye say we do this once every summer, pie fight an’ all?” There were shouts of agreement from the Guosim.
Asio helped himself to another flatcake. “Mayhaps thou could call it Mad Maudie Day!”
Luglug clinked his beaker with the haremaid’s cup. “Mad Maudie Day it’ll be, thank ye, friend, if’n there’s anythin’ we can do for ye, just ask me anytime.”
Maudie was in like a shot. “Er, actually there is, sah, I was wonderin’ if you could possibly show me the way to Redwall Abbey. I need t’get there, doncha know?” She explained the mission Lord Asheye had sent her upon, asking if the shrews had seen the badger with the flame, who walked with the banished one.
Log a Log Luglug stroked his snout reflectively. “Ain’t seen nobeast like that ’ereabouts, miz, a badger like that’d stick out like a lantern at night. As for takin’ ye to Redwall, well, that’s quite a journey. But nothin’ a Guosim couldn’t manage. I’ll do ye a deal, though: you stay ’ere an’ cook supper for us this evenin’. Then first thing tomorrer we’ll break camp an’ take ye to the Abbey. Is that a bargain?”
Maudie shook Luglug’s outstretched paw. “Rather, I’ll say it is, how’d you like a drop of woodland broth to sup round the fire tonight, wot?”
Mad Maudie (the Hon.) Mugberry Thropple had been trained by the best cooks at Salamandastron. Even the great Lord Asheye always asked for seconds when she served up broths, which were her speciality. That evening she produced a woodland broth which had the Guosim savouring every drop.
Asio assured the shrews solemnly, “Ah tell thee, yon lass is nowt but magic, an’ thee can tek mah word on it!”
After supper, Maudie sat by the campfire with the Guosim as the young ones sang and danced. It was a soft summer night, with the darkened skies reflecting starlight upon the still surface of the pond at Bulrush Bower. Tomorrow she would start the journey to Redwall, and see the fabled Abbey for herself. Asio was dozing, though he opened one eye, to comment on the Guosim music.
“Hmm, tain’t too bad, mayhaps ah’ll give ’em a song later.”
Maudie muttered under her breath, “I blinkin’ well hope not!”
The owl craned his head forward. “Wot did thee say?”
Maudie smiled. “I said, save it for tomorrow, wot!” She watched the little shrewmaids dancing as Dinger and his friends sang the melody.
“Honour your partner, hop one two,
twirl round twice, now tap that paw,
curtsy low, my pretty shrew,
altogether turn once more.
“Guosim maids are small and fair,
nimble as the day is long,
they wear ribbons in their hair,
as they dance we sing this song.
“Two steps forward, one step back,
point that footpaw, shake it round,
grace and charm you’ll never lack,
tripping lightly o’er the ground.
“Guosim maids are neat and bright,
such a lovely sight to see,
spinning round in pale moonlight,
pray, miss, save a dance for me!”
Two elders continued the air with flute and drum, whilst the singers joined the maids, each taking a partner and twirling gracefully off around the lakeshore. Luglug nudged Maudie, whispering quietly, “Ole Asio’s fallen asleep, now ye won’t ’ave the pleasure of ’earing him sing.”
The haremaid whispered back, “I’ve already heard him sing, an’ it wasn’t any bally pleasure!”
Luglug chuckled. “Aye, so have I, an’ I’d much sooner put up with his snores than his singin’, thank ye!”
Gradually the usual Guosim hubbub died down, the dancing ended, and the musicians ceased playing. Round the fire, and the lakeshore, Lu
glug’s tribe lay down for their much needed rest. There was no need of coverlets, it was a warm, windless night. Maudie stretched out on the moss, imagining what Redwall Abbey would look like, as she fell into a slumber. Soon the only sound in the woodland depths was the gentle snoring of Guosim shrews, and the odd crackle as the campfire died into embers.
It was in the gray gloom which precedes dawn, when everybeast was wakened by the piercing wail of a shrewmum.
“Waaaaah! Where’s my liddle Dupper?”
Maudie knocked Asio sideways as she sprang up. She joined Luglug, and several others, who were running to the lakeside. The Guosim mother was scurrying about distractedly, waving her paws.
“Dupper, where’s my baby? Waaaah ’e’s gone!”
The haremaid took charge of the situation. Grabbing the shrewmum by her flowery apron, she halted her, calling sternly, “Please be still, marm, you’ll mess up all the tracks. Now, when did y’last see Dupper, wot?”
Guosim scouts spread out into the surrounding trees, as the mother explained tearfully. “I ’ad Dupper in me paws last night, when I went t’sleep. Oh, where’s the pore liddle tyke got to?”
The gruff voice of a Guosim scout came from the north corner of Bulrush Bower. “Over ’ere, mates!”
Maudie bounded to the spot, ahead of everybeast. She could tell, by the horrified look on the scout’s face, and the ominous drag trail of tracks, what the shrew was going to say.
“The liddle ’un’s been taken by a snake!”
The word struck terror into the Guosim, just the word snake sent them into a gibbering panic. It was Asio who got order, with a deafening hoot. “Whooooohooooo!”
Maudie could see by the state of the shrews that they would not be of any use to her. She nodded to the owl. “Right, quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action, laddie buck, we’ve got t’get that babe back, and jolly well soon!”
Luglug countered grimly. “Not much chance, miz, once a snake’s got ye, that’s that!”
The haremaid grabbed the rapier from Luglug’s belt, and thrust it into his paw, whispering to him, “Bad form, sah, wot? You’re supposed t’be a blinkin’ chieftain among shrews. Look at the example you’re settin’ ’em. A little baby’ll die if ye don’t do anythin’ about it. Now c’mon, stiff upper snout, wot!”
Luglug gritted his teeth. “Yore right, Miz Maudie, let’s get after that evil worm right now!”
The owl, the haremaid and the shrew chieftain sped off into the still darkened woodland depths.
10
Bludgullet was now sailing through the Mossflower woodlands, away from its normal habitat of the open sea. It was a novelty to the vermin crew, sunlight and shade, the absence of wind and tranquil, waveless waters. The only bar to their pleasure was that the ship had to be poled upriver. Without the aid of sail, and with the current, however gentle, running against them, they were forced to propel their vessel to its destination.
Vizka Longtooth kept to his cabin, leaving Codj and a stoat named Bilger in charge of the crew. The pair patrolled up and down the ranks of vermin crewbeasts, who were sweating at their long paddles, punting the ship along. Codj flicked a knotted rope’s end about idly, he was secretly scared to use it. Some of the crew were vicious, bad-tempered beasts, who would not take kindly to being whipped. It was slow progress, and the crew soon became disenchanted with the rustic surroundings. They began complaining aloud.
“Yowch, I’m bein’ eaten alive by h’insecks!”
“They ain’t h’insecks, they’re midges.”
“Huh, they might be midgets, but they got giant teeth!”
“Ain’t there no cool water t’be ’ad aboard dis tub?”
“Aye, an’ we ain’t stopped once fer vittles, I’m ’ungry!”
“I’m gittin’ splinters offen dese paddles.”
“Yew ain’t gittin’ splinters offen der paddles, dat’s wid scratchin’ yore ’ead, mate!”
Codj sniggered openly at his clever remark. The recipient of it, a hulking, boulder-headed weasel, snarled at him.
“D’yer think yore funny, Codj Stumple? ’ow would yer like me t’bust dis paddle o’er yer stumpy be’ind?”
Codj was nettled by the remark about his lack of tail, but he did not fancy his chances against the big weasel. Pretending he had not heard the insult, Codj stalked off to his brother’s cabin.
Vizka was rocking in a hammock, sipping grog. He eyed Codj irritably. “Worrizit now, annuder mutiny on our paws?”
The smaller fox fidgeted with the strands of his rope end. “It’s dat lot out dere, nothin’ but moan moan, alla time. Wot am I s’posed ter do? Yore der cap’n.”
The golden fox heaved himself from the hammock, and peered out the open door at the sky. “It’s gettin’ on fer eventide, tell ’em t’down paddles an’ rest fer the night. Anythin’ else ter report?”
Codj shuffled his footpaws awkwardly. “Ain’t much drinkin’ water left.”
Vizka lashed out, cuffing his younger brother’s ear. “Well, don’t tell me, thick’ead, lower der barrels inta der river. Dis is fresh water we’re sailin’ in, or didn’t dat thought seep into yer brain?”
Codj tried to leave the cabin quickly, but Vizka caught him tight, by his tail stub.
“Next ye’ll be tellin’ me we’re low on vittles. Organise a shore party, an’ gerrinta dat forest out dere. Huh, d’place must be fulla fruits’n’roots, birds, an’ eggs, an’ all kinds’a vittles. Do I have ter tell ya everyt’ink, eh?”
Codj tried to justify himself. “But warrabout der stripe’ound, who’s gonna watch ’im?”
The golden fox shoved his brother contemptuously out through the cabin door. “Don’t talk stupid, dat ole Rock’ead ain’t goin’ nowheres, wid an iron chain holdin’ ’im t’the mast. Der stripe’ound’ll be dead inna few days. I wuz watchin’ ’im dis mornen, ’e ain’t gotten long ter go now.”
Gorath lay slumped alongside the mast, largely forgotten amid the new surroundings. The huge scab on his forehead protruded even further, his matted fur clung to his bones, like an ill-fitting garment. The young badger looked for all the world like a beast close to death. However, behind his closed eyelids, a fierce glimmer remained in his eyes. Deep inside Gorath, the will to live, and the desire to avenge his kinbeasts’ deaths, burned like an unwavering flame. He did not fear death, his only concern was that he might die leaving his enemies alive.
In the early evening, Codj, heading a party of six, which he had paw picked, managing to omit the big, tough, mean crewbeasts, were foraging in the woodlands. It soon became painfully obvious that Sea Raiders were totally ignorant of woodland produce. Codj was bombarded with enquiries from the vermin of his party, about matters which were a mystery to him.
“Ahoy, Codj, didyer reckin dis is a vittle, it’s some sorta juicy, green, rooty thing?”
Codj shrugged. “I dunno, take a bite an’ try it.”
“Yuuurrkk! Tastes ’orrible, all sour’n’bitter!”
The questions began to rile Codj.
“Where’s all der red, rosy apples round ’ere, Codj?”
“Aye, an’ where’s all der trees wot dose strawberries grows on, eh?”
“Dere should be loads of stuff ’angin’ from dese trees, dis is supposed ter be a forest, ain’t it?”
“I likes soup, where does der stuff grow wot ye makes soup out of, dat’s wot I’d like ter know?”
Codj brushed away a wasp that was trying to land on his muzzle. “Aye an’ I’d like ter know, too!”
A skinny rat called Firty cupped a paw to his ear. “Wot’s dat?”
Codj looked around, walked into a beech trunk and roared at Firty, “Wot’s wot? Take no notice if it ain’t sumthin’ yer can eat. Now shurrup!”
But Firty had definitely heard something. “It’s somebeast yellin’ out…. Listen!”
Orkwil Prink was the most weary and miserable of creatures, having spent half the night and a full day trapped in a marshy swamp. He had wakened from his
sleep in the fern bed when foul-tasting, brackish water leaked into his mouth. The danger of his plight dawned upon the young hedgehog rapidly. During the night, he had wandered into the fern grove, thinking it a reasonably safe place to snatch a few hours’ sleep, only to find he had walked straight into a swamp. It was the ferns that had buoyed him up long enough to fall asleep. Then they had collapsed under his weight, he was sinking!
Orkwil managed to grasp onto nearby fern stems, and haul his head free of the mess. He held on tightly, gasping for breath, and spitting out swamp water. Inevitably, he felt himself sinking again. Heaving upward, Orkwil managed to raise his body slightly. Furiously he began scrabbling about, hoping to find firm ground, but his efforts were all in vain. The weight of the miry sludge clogged around the young hedgehog’s spines, dragging him down again. He had no idea of where solid ground lay, it was difficult to see anything in the darkness of night.
Salvation came in the form of a branch; it scratched his snout as he floundered about. Orkwil grabbed the limb, pulling it downward until he could hang on properly. It was an alder tree that had saved his life.
Now Orkwil Prink was suspended in a sort of limbo, half in and half out of the swamp, unable to go anywhere. He hung there, calling out at intervals. “Help! Somebeast save me! Help!” But no help came. Dawn broke slowly, to find him still hanging on to the alder, his voice down to a croak, and his paws numb with fatigue. Now he could see the rest of the tree. Orkwil figured that the alder trunk was rooted to the edge of the swamp, but he had no chance of reaching it. Long hours had taken their toll, now he had only the energy left to cling on for dear life. He wept bitterly as he pictured his inevitable end.
How deep was a swamp, did it reach the earth’s core? No search party would ever find his poor young body. His voice was down to a hoarse whimper, he tried it. “Help, oh heeeeelp.” It trailed off miserably.