Doomwyte

14

Sometime in the late evening, Bisky regained his senses. A searing pain in his tailtip caused the young mouse to cry out in anguish. He was being bitten by a rat of about his own age, a Painted One. Bisky assessed his situation at a glance. His forepaws were strung to an overhead limb, high up in a massive five-topped oak tree. The tree rat bit him again, sniggering at its own joke.

“Yikkachikka, I eatin’ you, mousey!”

Fortunately, Bisky’s footpaws were unbound. He kicked out hard, catching his foe in the stomach. The vermin lost his breath in a loud whoosh, falling from the bough where he was perched. He hung by his long tail from the smaller branches below, wailing. “Waaaaah! Mouse tryna kill Jeg, ’elpeeeeelp, Mammeeee!”

An older female, presumably Jeg’s mother, came rushing through the foliage, accompanied by three other ratwives. She snapped an order at her companions. “Gerra likkle Jeg backup ’ere, ’urry, ’urry!” Whilst they scrambled to do her bidding, she set about scratching viciously at Bisky’s ribs. “Juss yew ever raise a paw t’my Jeg agin, an’ I scratch yer ’eart out, an’ yer eyes, too, d’yer ’ear?”

The young mouse arched his back in agony, but she continued raking until he called out aloud, “Stop, I hear ye, please stop!”

The torment ceased as she helped the others to haul her son up. Having wiped away his tears, they sat him on the broad limb, a safe distance away from Bisky. They all began stroking and comforting the young Painted One, as they glared at the captive.

Bisky studied them; he had heard of Painted Ones before, but this was his first face-to-face encounter with the savage vermin. They looked like primitive throwbacks of some bygone age, small for rats, but very wiry and agile. Their teeth were filed into sharp points, and their snouts pierced with bone ornaments. Painted Ones covered their bodies with heavy plant dyes, black and dark green. All sorts of straggly vegetation, weeds, vines, leaves and creepers, draped about them like kilts and cloaks, completed the camouflage. Bisky judged by the rustlings and comings and goings all about that there was a great number of the vermin in the five-topped oak, and other nearby trees. All in all, a fierce and barbaric tribe.

Jeg’s mother, Tala, hugged her son close, peering maliciously at Bisky. Jeg stuck out his lower lip, in a sulky manner. “Dat mouse hurted me stummick, an’ I weren’t doin’ nothin’ to ’im!”

Bisky shouted an angry reply. “Ye rotten liar, you were biting me!”

Tala seized a long willow withe from one of the others, and slashed Bisky across his face. “Shuddup, who asked yew t’speak, mouse?”

Jeg set up a blubbering wail, a ruse he often used to get his own way. He pointed a grimy claw at Bisky. “Badmouse! Yew should be slayed! I want ’im killed, Mamee Tala, let Jeg kill d’badmouse!”

Tala stroked her son’s scraggy ears, murmuring soothingly. “Nono, yore Dadda Chigid never said nothin’ about killin’ d’mouse, yew’ll haveter ask ’im!”

Jeg went into a real tantrum then. Wrenching himself free of his mother’s embrace, he climbed into the foliage, and began hurling down twigs and leaves. “My dadda’s the Tribechief, I’ll tell ’im all about yew’s lot. Letting’ d’mouse hurt me stummick, an’ not lettin’ me kill ’im. Yore a bad mammee, yore all bad. My dada will beat yew all for bein’ nasty t’me!”

Bisky flinched as an acorn hit him in the eye. Blinking up at the spoiled young vermin, he found himself murmuring, “I’d like to leave you a day with Brother Torilis, huh, he’d soon teach you a few manners!”

Tala went off to the tunnel hole, to watch for her husband’s return. She took some of her companions with her, leaving three to guard the prisoner.

Bisky tested his bonds by tugging them. They were too well tied for any escape to be possible. He tried them again, but after receiving another slash from the willow withe, he gave up. The young mouse hung there, with bowed head, trying to ignore his bruises and scrapes, wondering how his friends were faring.

Back at Redwall Abbey the two Dibbuns, Furff and the very small mousebabe, had become the hero and heroine of the season. Sister Violet had denied any part in the death of the big raven inside the belltower. Besides being a fat, jolly hedgehog, she was also very tenderhearted, and could not admit a part in the death of anybeast, friend or foe. So, it was left to the two Dibbuns to claim the notoriety, which they did, with absolutely no pretence to modesty, or truth. The raven had been displayed out by the main gate prior to being consigned to the ditch outside. Redwallers viewed it, with awed observations as to its size and ferocity.

“Buhurr, jus’ lukk at ee talyons on yon burd!”

“Aye, and the beak, too, imagine getting a peck off that?”

The tiny mousebabe, draped in a cloak which was ten sizes too large for him, strutted shamelessly back and forth, keeping the onlookers at bay. He waved a ladle, his chosen weapon, and a pan lid, which served as a shield, cautioning everybeast, “Don’t not better get too close, y’might get hurted!”

Furff was in her element, she had appropriated one of Friar Skurpul’s vegetable skewers, which she kept jabbing in the direction of the raven’s carcass, muttering darkly, “Good job Umfry wasn’t ringin’ the bells, the big bird woulda gotted ’im!”

It was not long before Brother Torilis appeared on the scene, complaining to the Abbot, “Really, Father, how long is this disgusting spectacle to continue? Wouldn’t it be wise to remove that object from the premises? It makes me sick just looking at it!”

Abbot Glisam was forced to agree with Torilis. “Aye, Brother, I thought I’d just let our Dibbun warriors bask in the glory for a moment or two. Mister Spikkle, will you help the Brother and me to haul this thing out and tip it into the ditch?”

Corksnout tugged a dutiful headspike at Glisam. “Aye, Father, but I kin do it meself, no reason for you two gennelbeasts to soil yore paws, leave it t’me.”

Brother Torilis breathed an inward sigh of relief, knowing he would loathe touching the dead raven. “Thank you kindly, Cellarhog, I’m obliged t’you.”

The tiny mousebabe interrupted gruffly, “That bees our job, me’n’Furff, we drag ’im out!”

Judging the size of both infants to the raven, the Abbot hid a smile. He took both their paws. “I’ve got a much better idea, why don’t we honour our two warriors with a feast by the Abbey pond, eh?”

No second bidding was needed. The two raven slayers, surrounded by a host of their friends, stampeded off in the direction of the pond, roaring and whooping. “A feast, a feast! Redwaaaaaallllll!”

Brother Torilis followed in the Abbot’s wake, still with a note of complaint in his voice as he watched the charge of the Dibbuns. “But what about bedtime? It’s evening already.” He was almost knocked flat from a buffet on the back by Sister Violet.

“Oh, you can go to bed right now if you’re tired, Brother. We’re going to the feast!”

Abbot Glisam winked at the jolly Sister. “Well said, friend, come on, I’ll race you!”

Torilis cast a stern eye at their receding backs, then continued with his own measured pace.

Friar Skurpul had already been told about the feast, he had the orchard laid out wonderfully. The squirrelmaid Perrit had set out all the food on woven rush mats. Not having to sit on chairs at table was a novelty for the little ones. Moreso, when the Abbot and elders joined them on the grass. Friar Skurpul caused much merriment amidst the Abbeybabes by addressing the Father Abbot as though he were a naughty Dibbun.

“You’m moind yurr manners, Glisam, an’ keep ee paws clean, moi laddo. Dugry, keep yurr eye on that un an’ doan’t let ’im go a-jumpin’ abowt!”

Abbot Glisam’s reply caused further hilarity. “What, me jump about? It’ll take four of you to lift me back up onto my paws after this!”

Even before they had taken a bite of the delicious food, the Dibbuns were up and dancing, pulling mock bellropes and stamping their tiny footpaws to an impromptu song. The very small mousbabe roared out the lines, which (with a lot of help from Sister Violet) he had composed. What it lacked in melody and meter, the song made up for in raucuous exuberance.

“Ho we make’d the bad bird fall down dead,

Fall down dead! Fall down dead!

We pulled onna ropes an’ he falled on his head,

Faaalled…on…his…head!

The naughty bird was goin’ to eat us all,

Eat us all! Eat us all!

’Til us pulled the ropes an’ make’d him fall.

Riiiight…on…his…head!

Y’won’t see that ole bird no more

’Cos his head went crack onna Belltower floor.

Bing bong! Ding dong! Boom crash bang!

The bird falled down anna bells all rang!”

Out at the main gate, Corksnout Spikkle was hauling the raven’s carcass out to the ditch. The taloned limbs stuck out stiffly. Facing the bird’s carcass, the big Cellarhog took one in each paw, and began pulling. His imitation cork nose slid down beneath his chin as he strained away. Adjusting it, Corksnout mopped his brow, turning to address his thoughts to the dead bird. “Whew! I didn’t figger on you bein’ so ’eavy. Still, ye are…beg pardon, I mean was, a fine, big lump of a featherbag. Huh, I should’ve let the Father an’ Torilis ’elp me.”

Standing in the open gateway, with his back to the ditch, the burly hedgehog carried on his one-sided conversation with the dead raven. He was totally unaware of the monstrous head rising up from the ditch behind him. The senses of Baliss had caught odour and movement. The giant snake’s blue-marbled eyes filmed over as he reared high and struck with lightning speed.

Down in the tunnels, Chigid, Chieftain of the Painted Ones, was seething with wrath and pain. The pain, from blazing lantern oil searing his tail and nether parts. The wrath, to destroy the beasts who had inflicted such agonising embarrassment upon one of his lofty position. Standing at the rear of his band, he berated them, until the tunnel walls echoed to his scorn.

“Yaaar yigalig! Idjits! Cowwids! Get back down d’passage, charge an’ killem! Killem all, skin ’em, burn ’em like they burn Chigid. Chaaaarge!”

Pushed forward by the back ranks, the front and centre Painted Ones went, stumbling and tripping toward the ledge, which circled the deep abyss.

Behind the stalagmites which fronted Aluco’s retreat, the friends heard the foebeasts’ warcries. “Yeeeee! Gerrem! Killem! Yeeeeeeeeh!”

Skipper shielded the light from their last lantern, muttering grimly, “Belay, mates, sounds like we got vermin tryin’ t’pay us a visit. Are yore slings loaded?”

Dwink’s paws were shaking with nerves, but he replied boldly, “Aye, I’ve got four stones in mine!”

Bosie patted the young squirrel’s back. “Yer a braw laddie. Remember now, don’t shoot ’til I give ye the word. That goes for all o’ ye!”

Foremole Gullub nodded sagely. “Hurr, Oi ’opes ee plan wurks, zurr!”

The Highland hare replied blithely, “Och, it’ll have tae, ’tis the only one Ah’ve got.”

The yells of the enemy sounded louder now, closer. Umfry Spikkle began twirling his sling rapidly. “Do we lets ’em ’ave h’it now?”

Samolus tweaked Umfry’s snout. “Patience, young un, just do as Bosie says, wait!”

The roar of charging Painted Ones reached a crescendo. This was suddenly interrupted by screeches of dismay, and shouts to halt. “Yaaagh, stopstop! Gebback, back!” Having the excellent sight of an owl in darkness, Aluco whooped exultantly.

“Whoohoo! A load of the villains went straight over the rim, into the pit!”

Bosie began whirling his sling, remarking, “Aye, spilt lantern oil is verra slippy, Ah’m glad they’d forgotten that. Right, mah buckoes. Shoot!”

Each of the defenders had in his sling as many stones as it would hold. They rattled off a hefty volley at their adversaries. Bosie was yelling, “Load as fast as ye can, mah bonnies. Dinnae stop!” Turning aside, he whispered to the tawny owl, “Aluco, can ye see one that ye could capture?”

With his huge eyes dilating, Aluco pointed. “Actually I can see two of the scum in trouble over there. One has fallen stunned at the rim, the other is clinging to the side of the pit.”

The hare smiled admiringly. “Ah wisht Ah had your eyesight. D’ye no think ye could clamber out an’ get one of ’em?”

Aluco responded promptly, “Just don’t hit me with any of those stones, and I’ll collar both the blaggards, and bring ’em back here.” He scuttled out onto the narrow rim, which encircled the pit. Foremole Gullub followed.

“Oi’ll cumm with ee, zurr, jus’ to lend ee a paw.”

Skipper lofted a slingful of stones at the far side. “Good luck, mates, hurry now, we’ll give ye coverin’ fire. Don’t fret, we’ll aim high!”

The loss of their front rank into the abyss, coupled with the savage rain of stones, caused the Painted Ones to retreat momentarily. Aluco hooked the whimpering vermin who had been clinging to the edge. One heave of the owl’s huge talons lifted him onto the rim. Stunning him with a quick wingsweep, the owl began hauling him back. Foremole seized the other Painted One by his tail, dragging him along backward. “Yurr, you’m cumm with Oi!”

Hearing no further warcries from the opposite rim, Bosie called a cease-fire. They sat the two prisoners in the lantern light. Both the painted tree rats huddled fearfully together. Seizing both their ears, Samolus gave them a sharp twist, to gain the vermins’ attention. Bosie drew Martin’s sword, playing the point between his captives’ snout tips.

“Pay heed tae mah words, ye scruffy omadorms. Now, ye have two choices. One, Ah throw yer ears, tails an’ paws intae yon endless pit, after choppin’ ’em off. The rest of ye will follow at a leisurely pace. Och, what a pity, Ah can tell ye dinnae fancy that at all. So, are ye ready tae lissen te mah second option, which’ll mebbe save yer worthless lives?”

Two black-and-green-tattooed heads nodded furiously.

Chieftain Chigid’s mood was not improved when he saw his minions come scampering back empty-pawed. He laid about them with a rock tied to a thin rope. “Yeeeyakkah! Shoopid, daft idjits, wot ’appened?”

One venturesome voice dared a reply. “Chigid, it was slippery down there, an’ oily, d’front uns slid inta the big ’ole. They throwed lotsa stones an’ driv uz back. We couldn’t gerrat ’em!”

Chigid gritted his pointed teeth, snarling, “Dead’eads, git sand an’ soil, spread it onna oil. Cheechaah! I gotta do everythink meself, cummon foller me, I’ll show ’em!”

Even before Chigid and his following had reached the rim, the screams began. The sounds were of Painted Ones in excruciating pain. Sobbing, screeching, wailing and pleading piteously. It had the desired effect—Chigid and his band halted, the fur on the scruffs of their necks rising in horror, as the cries continued.

“Heeeeek! Yowaaaaargh! Oh no, pleaze, mighty Baliss! Owowowoooow! No, pleaze, don’t do that! Yeeeeek!”

A horrified whisper ran through the vermin ranks.

“Baliss ’as gorrem, the giant serpent Baliss!”

“Baliss is torcherin’ ’em t’death slowly!”

The howls broke into sobbing moans. “Oh noooo, Baliss, mercy, pleaze! Arraaaaagh!”

Chigid seized the nearest beast to him, and began throttling the unfortunate. “Baliss? You never said nothin’ about Baliss!”

One of the vermin pointed a quaking claw. “Lookit, Chief…Baliss!”

The screams had ceased. From across the abyss they could see the great, glowing, green eye. Now an awful hiss sounded, echoing around the rim. “Balisssssssss! I sssssmell painted ratssssssss!”

It was more than any vermin’s nerve, including Chigid’s, could stand. They stampeded into a disorderly retreat, everybeast for himself, each scrambling to be first back up the tunnel. Chigid, being the Chieftain, rushed to his former position at the rear, which had now become the front. Everybeast feared Baliss—a bunch of vermin in an underground tunnel more than most, as it turned out.

Aluco shook Bosie’s paw firmly. “An excellent plan, sir, it worked perfectly.”

Wincing, the Laird of Bowlaynee extricated his paw from the owl’s talons. “Och, think nought of it, now let’s get oot o’ this neighborhood whilst the goin’s guid!”

A lot of the numbness had left Skipper’s footpaw, though he still limped a bit as Foremole Gullub assisted him back along the tunnel. Both the captive vermin, now bound together by slings, were made to march at the head of the group. Bosie followed behind, jollying them along with his swordpoint.

“Lead on, mah bonny scum, if’n there’s any chance o’ an ambush, ye’ll be the first tae get it, ye ken.”

It took some time, but they finally reached the spot where the tunnel split two ways, one straight on to the Abbey, the other, which was now on their right, to the place where Bisky had been abducted. Foremole sat back down on the rock where he had previously waited.

Aluco perched beside him, gesturing up to the low ceiling, which he could almost touch with his wingtip. “See the hollow up there? Well, that was left when this rock fell.” He gestured to the big boulder where he and Foremole were perched. It had left a sizeable dent in the tunnel roof. The tawny owl continued, “I brought that down, by scraping round its edges. Nearly killed myself in the process.”

Samolus held the lantern up. “Why are you tellin’ us this, friend?”

Aluco shrugged. “I was thinking of blocking that tunnel completely, so that the Painted Ones couldn’t use it to get at me. But I didn’t, because without the odd vermin to sustain me, I would’ve starved down here. But we could block it now, and stop them ever using the tunnels again.”

Bosie nodded. “Aye, a braw plan, laddie, if’n we did it now yon vermin wouldnae bother us further.”

Gullub stood atop the boulder, tippawed. He inspected the dented rift, nodding knowingly. “You’m roight thurr, zurr, all ee’d need wudd be to shift this yurr stone, an’ ee roof’d cave in. Hurr, ’twuddn’t take much, Oi c’d do et moiself.”

Samolus spread his paws expressively. “Then do it, an’ let’s have a safe passage back home. What d’ye say, friends?”

Skipper cast any further doubts aside. “Right, mates, get further down the tunnel, out o’ the way. Gullub, you jump as soon as it starts to move.”

Aluco eyed the two Painted Ones hungrily. “What do we do about these two villains?”

Bosie pointed to the tunnel that led to the Painted Ones’ camp. He gave both vermin a parting prod with his sword. “Ah’ll count tae three, if’n yore still here then Ah’ll give ye tae the owl. One…”

With their forepaws still bound, the two vermin fled, bumping into each other, down the tunnel.

Foremole Gullub set his huge digging claws into the earth around the stone slab, bellowing out, “Clear ee tunnel, she’m goin’ to collapse!”

They ran back, flattening themselves against the rock walls. Foremole Gullub gave a mighty heave. Nothing happened. He gave another, nothing happened again. Moving his digging claws to another position, the stout mole leader pushed upward and tugged down hard. There followed a grating rumble of rock, soil and timber. Gullub leapt, tucking himself into a ball, he rolled off down the tunnel.

Whuuump! Boom! Cruuuunch! Whoooosh!

Aluco was knocked flat by the blast of displaced air in the confined space. Suddenly everything was dark and filled with choking dust. Shielding their faces, the friends stayed put until silence fell over the scene. Skipper came forward, coughing as he held up the lantern. Bosie looked up and gasped.

“Great seasons o’ salt’n’soup, will ye no look at that!”

The tunnel was completely blocked by soil, rubble, rocks and the mighty trunk of a dead beech tree, which had dropped through the tunnel roof.

Samolus polished the dust-coated emerald on his tunic. “Nothin’ could get past that, ever! Ah well, mates, let’s get back to dear old Redwall, it’s just down the passage a short way. Homeward bound, eh, Skip?”

The Otter Chieftain turned to Dwink, who was standing staring at the dust-coated ground. “Aye aye, mate, wot’s up with you, me ole cove?”

Tears coursed down the young squirrel’s grime-covered face. “We just cut off our last chance of rescuin’ pore Bisky, I’ll never see him again!”

Bosie threw a paw about Dwink’s shoulders. “What’s all this nonsense yer talkin’? The moment Ah get back tae the Abbey, an’ fortify mahself wi’ a bite o’ dinner, Ah’ll rescue Bisky for ye, never fret. Cheer up, mah bonny laddie!”

Dwink’s tears flowed afresh. “But we don’t know where he is!”

Bosie dusted off his, by now, filthy lace cuffs. “Ach, away wi’ ye, yon vermin will be holdin’ Bisky in the ten-topped oaky tree, or someplace like that.”

Aluco corrected Bosie, “It’s the five-topped oak, that’s where they held me prisoner.”

Skipper ruffled Dwink’s ears. “Aye, an’ anybeast who can’t find a five-topped oak in the woodlands needs his no-topped brain a-seen to!”