Cornflower and Friar Hugo exited leaning upon each other, their faces crimson with suppressed laughter.
‘Strange creatures,’ Basil mused. ‘Blowed if I can see anything funny about a couple of heroes wanting to be fed so that they can stay alive. Takes all kinds to make a world, young feller, other ranks included.’
Later, as they made a hearty meal, Matthias set about pumping the hare for information.
‘Basil, what’s a viper?’
‘Hmm, a viper? Well, it’s an old poisonteeth worm y’know, an adder. Never had a lot of truck with the slimy fellers meself. You’d do best to stay away from them, old chum.’
Matthias continued probing the hare’s knowledge. ‘Are there any adders around the Mossflower region, Basil? I mean, if there were, then you’d be the very creature to know about them, being an expert and all that.’
Basil puffed out his narrow chest as he absentmindedly ate one of Matthias’s quince tarts. ‘Adders in Mossflower? Now let me see. No, I don’t suppose there are nowadays. There was talk of one a long time back, but I shouldn’t think he’s around any more. Filthy reptiles, adders. Nothing like stags, y’know. Now what the devil was that adder chap’s name? No, I can’t remember it for the life of me.’
‘Could it be Asmodeus?’ Matthias inquired innocently.
Basil Stag Hare dropped a half-eaten apple pie on the bedside table. He was suddenly very serious.
‘Asmodeus? Where did you hear that name?’
‘A little bird told me,’ Matthias replied.
Basil retrieved his apple pie. He munched thoughtfully.
‘Your sparrows, eh? Savage little wallahs. No discipline of course. Darn good fighters, though. But tell me, what do jolly old sparrows know about Asmodeus?’
‘It all has to do with Martin’s sword,’ Matthias explained. ‘You see, one of their kings stole the sword from the north point of the vane on the Abbey roof. That was many years ago. From there the sword has been passed down through sparrow kings until it came into the claws of the late King Bull Sparra.’
‘Not the silly ass who managed to get himself drowned yesterday?’ said Basil through a mouthful of hazelnut junket.
‘The same one,’ Matthias replied. ‘But to cut a long story short, the adder stole the sword from him. That’s why I want to know about Asmodeus, you see.’
‘Play with fire, you’ll get yourself burned,’ warned the hare.
Matthias knew Basil could be manipulated. He was insistent: ‘Oh please, Basil, you must tell me all you know. It was Methuselah’s life-work trying to find that sword. I must continue for his sake.’
The hare gnawed thoughtfully on some bread and salad. ‘Well, if you put it that way, young fellah, anything I can do to help I will. You’ll need a good guide—’
Matthias interrupted: ‘I must find the sword by myself, Basil. Just tell me all you know about the adder called Asmodeus.’
The hare lay back on his bed. He took a long draught of October ale before answering. ‘Quite frankly, old chap, I know nothing about the bally snake. I thought the blighter had died years ago.’
Matthias groaned aloud, but Basil cut him short. ‘Mind you, having said that I think I have a pretty fair idea who will know. Listen, if you strike out north-east across Mossflower Wood, you’ll find a deserted farmhouse beyond the far edge. Now, the chap you want to see is a whopping great snowy owl that patrols between the fringes of the wood and the old sandstone quarry. His name is Captain Snow. Bear in mind though, he’ll eat you on sight if he gets the chance! Military bird, but a real bounder.’
‘Then how do I get to talk with him?’ said Matthias abruptly.
‘Temper, temper, m’lad,’ Basil chuckled. Reaching down to his bedside locker he dug out his dress tunic. It was covered in medals and decorations from a hundred campaigns. The hare selected a medal. Detaching it from the jacket, he tossed it across to Matthias.
‘Here, catch! That’s a medal, donch’a know. Captain Snow gave it to me for saving his life.’
‘You saved the owl’s life?’ said Matthias.
‘I should say I did,’ Basil laughed at the memory. ‘Feathery old fool went to sleep in a rotten dead tree. It got blown down in a gale and trapped the blighter underneath. He’d have died if I hadn’t come along, dug under the thing and pulled him out. Popped out like a shuttlecock under a door. Fellow officer, you understand. Couldn’t leave him there to get flattened; his face is flat enough as it is.’
‘So all I do is show him this medal?’ asked the young mouse.
Basil laughed at his friend’s naiveté. ‘Yes that’s all, but if you don’t want to be scoffed, make sure he sees the medal before he sees you. Tell the old buffer that Basil Stag Hare sent you. And mind your manners! Make sure you call him by his proper rank, “Cap’n”. Oh, and I’d like that medal back sometime. Spoils the look of me number-one dress tunic, missing decoration.’
Matthias studied the medal. It was a silver cross embellished with a spread-winged owl. The ribbon was of faded white silk. Though it was old, it shone bright in the sunlight.
‘Thank you, Basil,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you get it back. Is there anything else I should know?’
‘Not much. Just remember what I’ve said, old chap. This Captain Snow is a night hunter, by the way. He probably sleeps in some old tree all day with one eye open. You mark my words, laddie, old Snow doesn’t miss a thing. He knows all the creatures in his territory; where they live, what trails they use and so on. Ha, they don’t call owls wise for nothing. Bit of a duffer all the same, letting a tree fall on him. Keep your eye on him though. If he catches you napping he’ll chomp you up, medal and all.’
Basil finished his ale and yawned. ‘Now get some sleep, Matthias. I’m fagged out after that snack. My old honourable war wound is beginning to play me up. I must have a bit of a snooze.’
With that Basil closed his eyes. He was soon snoring gently. Matthias realized there was no more to be said, so he decided to have a rest too. Basil Stag Hare: what an amazing old campaigner, the young mouse thought, as he drifted off to sleep.
Shortly after twelve o’clock Matthias awakened. The noontime sunlight flooded the room. Basil was flat on his back snoring stentoriously. Although his shoulder still throbbed, Matthias felt fit and refreshed – well enough to travel. He knew, however, that he must act with stealth and secrecy. If the Abbot or Cornflower or any of his friends knew of his scheme he would have no chance at all. They would make certain he was confined to bed until further notice.
Quietly he arose and dressed himself, hanging his sandals around his neck by their thongs. Taking a clean pillowslip he stocked it with the remainder of the food from the table. Someone had thoughtfully placed his dagger in the bedside locker. It must have been found on the floor of Great Hall. Searching around, Matthias came upon a good stout pole, probably used as a window or curtain opener. He decided it would come in handy.
Carefully he inched the door open, closing it again swiftly as the Abbot and Brother Alf padded by. Matthias listened to Alf’s voice. ‘I looked in on them about ten minutes ago, Father. They’re both sleeping like hibernating squirrels. It’s not likely that they’ll wake until evening.’
The footsteps receded down the passage. Matthias crept from the room, and stole off in the opposite direction.
He was surprised at the ease with which he left the Abbey, slipping off into Mossflower through the side door in the wall, where unknown to him Methuselah’s murderer had also passed on the previous day.
Alone in the woods, Matthias felt a bit wobbly upon his legs. He sat down against a beech tree until the feeling passed. Tying the pillowcase bundle to his pole, he hefted it across his good shoulder and struck off boldly through Mossflower towards the north-east.
MATTHIAS JUDGED BY the sun that it was past mid-afternoon. He had made steady progress through the woods. Nothing untoward had occurred. He had stopped and had a light snack, gained his second wind and pressed forward, taking ca
re not to create too much noise lest he disturb any predators. The young mouse had discovered a path of sorts, skirting the dense underbrush and avoiding patches of marshland. Always keeping the tree moss on his left, he continued eastwards.
Matthias pinned the medal to his habit, telling himself that he might stumble into Captain Snow’s territory at any moment. Lulled by the warm sun, cool shade, and birdsong, he trekked onwards, thinking of nothing in particular and enjoying the sense of freedom amid so much beauty.
Seemingly from out of nowhere a mouse leaped, barring Matthias’s path! He halted, sizing the strange mouse up. It was an odd-looking wild thing. Matthias was not even too sure it really was a mouse.
The creature had spiky fur which stuck out at odd angles all over. Around its brow was bound a brightly-coloured scarf. The stranger was fully a head shorter than Matthias. It stood defiantly blocking his way, glaring at him with the maddest looking eyes he had ever encountered.
Matthias smiled politely and addressed the odd mouse, ‘Hello there! Beautiful afternoon, isn’t it?’
‘Never mind that nonsense,’ it replied in a gruff voice. ‘Who are you? Why are you trespassing on shrew land?’
Matthias paused. So this was what a shrew looked like? He had never seen one before, but he had been told of their bad tempers.
The young mouse decided to fight fire with fire. No point being good mannered with this little hooligan. He snarled in what he hoped was an aggressive manner, ‘Never mind who I am! Who do you think you are, you little raghead?’
The shrew seemed uncertain for a moment, then she stormed back in her low gruff voice, ‘I am Guosim, and you still haven’t told me what you want in shrew territory.’
‘Guosim,’ echoed Matthias. ‘What sort of a name is that? And anyhow, if you don’t want creatures coming across your land, then you should put signs up. As far as I’m concerned Mossflower has always been free to all.’
‘Except this part,’ snapped the shrew. ‘Don’t you know anything? Guosim stands for Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower.’
Matthias laughed scornfully, ‘I couldn’t care less what it stands for! Make way for a Redwall Abbey Warrior. I’m coming through!’
Immediately Matthias took a step forward, Guosim stuck her paws between her lips and emitted a sharp whistle. There was a swift rustle in the undergrowth. Matthias found himself surrounded by at least fifty shrews.
They packed around him, creating an angry hubbub in their deep rough tones. All of them wore coloured headbands, all carried short rapier-like swords. Guosim had difficulty in calling them to order.
‘Comrades,’ she shouted. ‘Tell this mouse what happens to a trespasser.’
The replies that came back were varied.
‘Break his paws.’
‘Skin him alive.’
‘Chop off his nose.’
‘Hang him by the tail.’
‘Stuff his whiskers down his ears.’
A stern-looking old shrew barged Guosim out of the way and whistled sharply. He produced a round, black pebble and held it up.
‘Any comrade who wants to speak must hold the pebble. Otherwise, shut up!’
Complete silence fell. He handed the pebble to Matthias.
‘Now, explain yourself, mouse.’
There were one or two murmurs of dissent. Why should a stranger who was not a shrew have first say? The old shrew danced with rage. ‘Will you lot shut up? The mouse has the stone; shut your traps!’
Silence fell once more. Matthias cleared his throat. ‘Er, ahem. Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, forgive me: as you see, I am a stranger in these parts. I do not intentionally trespass on your land. Had I known I would have taken a different route. You have probably noticed by my habit that I come from Redwall Abbey. Though I am a warrior, we are a healing and helping order. It is usual for all creatures to allow a Redwall mouse to pass in peace. This is the unwritten law.’
The older shrew (whose name was Log-a-Log) took the pebble from Matthias and addressed the others. ‘Right, Comrades. Now we know a bit more about things, let’s have a show of paws. All those in favour of letting the mouse go free.’
Paws went up: Log-a-Log counted them. Exactly half of those present. He called for those against, and took another count.
‘Half one way, half the other. The casting vote is mine. Now let me tell you, I know we take care of our own, but the Redwall mice are a legend in Mossflower. They do no harm to any creature. In fact they do a lot of good.’ Log-a-Log raised his paw. ‘Therefore, comrades, I vote that the mouse goes free!’
There followed an equal number of cheers and boos, a squabble ensued and fighting broke out. Guosim snatched the stone from Log-a-Log and waved it about.
‘Listen to me,’ she roared. ‘I know that Log-a-Log is a wise elder, but I am president of our union, Comrades. The mouse hasn’t told us where he is going.’
There was a brief silence. Another shrew snatched hold of the stone. ‘Aye, that’s right! Where are you off to, mouse?’
The stone was thrust at Matthias.
‘I’ll tell you,’ he said. ‘But my name is not “mouse”. It’s Matthias. Redwall Abbey is in danger from Cluny the Scourge and his horde—’
There was immediate shouting and gruff oaths. Matthias knew the drill; it was surprising how the stone-holder could gain quiet among such a noisy quarrelsome gathering. Matthias continued, ‘As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we at Redwall are under attack by Cluny and his horde. Evidently you have heard his name before. Well, I believe that I have the solution to Cluny. It is an ancient sword that once belonged to a great mouse named Martin the Warrior. To find the sword I must ask Captain Snow the whereabouts of Asmodeus.’
The shrews made a frenzied rush into the undergrowth; Matthias found he was standing alone. After a few minutes Log-a-Log and Guosim ventured stealthily out again. Forgetting the stone, Guosim spoke in an awed voice, ‘D’you mean you actually intend to walk right up and speak to Snow?’
Matthias nodded. Log-a-Log continued where his comrade had left off: ‘You’re going to ask the Cap’n where you can find Giant Poisonteeth, mouse? Er, I mean, Matthias. You are either very brave or raving mad.’
‘A little bit of both, I suppose,’ said the young mouse. ‘Do you know much about Captain Snow and Asmodeus?’
Both shrews trembled visibly. Guosim’s voice had risen an octave. ‘Matthias, you must be crazy! Don’t you know what you’re walking into? Captain Snow … why, you’d be just a snack to him. And as for the other one – Giant Ice Eyes – who could even go near him? He eats as many shrews as he wants. No living creature can stop the poisonteeth!’
A heart-rending moan arose from the shrews in the undergrowth.
Matthias still had the stone. He held it up and addressed them boldly. ‘Guerrilla Shrew Comrades, I do not ask you to do my fighting. Merely point me in the direction of Captain Snow. Who knows? If I finally get the sword I may be able to liberate you.’
Log-a-Log took the stone. ‘Matthias of Redwall, you are on our land. We will escort you. The Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower would never live down the shame of having a stranger fight their battles for them. You may not always see us, but we will be close by. Come now.’
Matthias moved north-eastwards with the company of shrews whose numbers seemed to swell as they went along. At nightfall there were upwards of four hundred members of the Shrew Union seated around the campfire breaking bread with the warrior from Redwall. That night Matthias slept inside a long hollow log with both ends disguised to make it appear solid.
Like Basil, the shrews were masters of camouflage. Their very survival depended upon it.
Half an hour before dawn the young mouse was roused by a shrew who gave him an acorn cup full of sweet berry juice, a farl of rough nutbread and some tasty fresh roots that he could not identify. By dawn’s first light they were on the move again, marching until mid-morning. Matthias saw the edge of Mossflower Wood. The
tall trees thinned out, bush and undergrowth were sparse. Before them lay an open field of long, lush grass dotted with buttercup and sorrel. In the distance he could see the abandoned farmhouse that Basil had spoken of. All the shrews had disappeared with the exception of Guosim and Log-a-Log. The latter pointed to the barn adjoining the farmhouse.
‘You might find Captain Snow in there taking a nap. Now is the best time to approach him, after he has a full stomach from the night hunt.’
The two guerrilla shrews melted back into the woods. Alone now, Matthias crossed the sunny field leading to the barn, just as Basil had taught him: zig-zag, crouch, wriggle, and weave.
He tiptoed into the barn. There was no sign of an owl. In the semi-darkness Matthias could make out various old farming implements rusted with disuse. On one wall there was a huge stack of musty, dry straw bales. He decided to climb up the bales, in the hope of getting near Captain Snow, who most probably would be sleeping perched in the rafters.
Matthias scaled the packed straw. He stood on top and looked about. Nothing. He ventured forwards, and suddenly slipped and fell down a hidden gap between the bales. Scrambling and clutching, he plunged down to the floor.
Matthias’s feet never touched the earth. He landed clean in the gaping mouth of a huge marmalade cat!
CONSTANCE STOOD ON the parapet overlooking the road; dawn was breaking behind her, in the east. However, more important things troubled the badger’s mind. The Abbot came bustling up with Basil limping in the rear. Both creatures looked extremely concerned.
‘Have you seen Matthias?’ the Abbot asked. ‘He’s been missing from his room since yesterday afternoon.’
Basil looked rather shamefaced. ‘All my fault, I’m afraid. Should have kept my eye on the little rascal. We’ll have to organize another search party.’
‘No time for that,’ snapped the badger. ‘Look!’
Down the road in the distance, a long column of dust was rising. The three creatures sniffed the faint breeze. It was unmistakable. Cluny’s army was coming to Redwall!