Eulalia!

Kachooch gathered a few dock leaves. "Put these on it, miz, 'twill stop the bleedin'. I'll fix ye up with a proper dressin' when we stops for a rest."

Barbowla interrupted, "I say we stops now, 'tis not far off'n noon. Once we're rested we'll carry straight on for the Abbey, widout any more halts."

They sat to rest in the covering shade of an ash grove. Kahooch put some salve on Maudie's paw, whilst Yik looked on with great interest. "I bited you 'cos you nearly chokered me, I cuddent breeve."

Luglug flicked the used dock leaves at him. "Be off, ye naughty liddle savage, shame on ye!"

The shrewbabe went off pouting. "I norra naughty samwich, hT'm a Yik, h'an I not like youse anymore!"

Maudie could not help smiling at the aggrieved shrewbabe. "Ain't exactly the type to mince his words, wot!"

Rangval took stock of their surroundings. "By rights we should've pressed on further afore we stopped t'rest. Shure, we'll have t'step up the pace a bit, if'n we want to reach the Abbey tonight."

Luglug stood upright, signalling to the Guosim. "We're ready if'n everybeast else is, how's the paw now, Miz Maud?"

The haremaid went into a fighting stance, shooting off several jabs within a hairsbreadth of the shrew's chin. "Right as rain, old lad, shall we get goin', then? Form up again, chaps, an' let's see you march off smartly. Yik,

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c'mon, up on me shoulders an' see if you can jolly well behave y'self this time. Yik, where's that little terror got to?"

Osbil and Kahooch searched among the Guosim, the otters checked their own babes, to see if Yik was hiding among them. Luglug scratched his head. "That rascal's gone off somewheres, prob'ly found a spot to hide an' sulk, 'cos I spoke sharp to 'im. You lot best carry on t'Redwall, I'll catch up with ye after I've tracked Yik down."

Maudie nodded to Rangval and Barbowla. "You're in charge now, get goin'. I'll stop back an' help Luglug find the little rascal."

Rangval did not bother arguing. "Ah, yore right there, me darlin' commander, we can't hang about all day lookin' for the small villain. Just follow our trail once ye've caught Yik. Should ye get lost, then keep yore eyes peeled fer the two-topped oak, it was riven by lightnin', ye'll recognise it on sight. Right after the oak ye'll come out of the woodlands, Redwall's straight in front of ye then, across a patch of open land. Head for the liddle south wallgate, we'll be waitin' there for ye. Good luck now, an' give that fiend's tail a skelp for me when ye find him!" The main party moved swiftly off, leaving Maudie and Luglug to find the shrewbabe.

The haremaid's first move was to comb the area where they had rested. "He can't have got too far, a tiny babe like him will prob'ly be lurking under some shrubbery."

The Guosim chieftain was not of the same opinion. "Ye'd be surprised just how far some o' these little 'uns can go when they've a mind to, miss. Look 'ere." Away from the tracks where the main party had entered and departed the ash grove, Luglug pointed out some hard cheese crumbs. Maudie inspected them.

"That'll be Yik, he hadn't finished his mornin' meal. Aye, he's headed off this way, see the tiny pawprints." The babe's pawmarks stood out clear on a patch of damp soil. They came across yet more evidence, some blades of grass

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that Yik had knocked awry. Maudie surmised, "Prob'ly swipin' at things, with a twig he's found."

Luglug stepped up the pace. " 'Tis a pretty straight path he's on, let's run 'im down!"

No sooner had they started to run than a bellow of pain rent the air, from somewhere up ahead. "Yaaargh! Gimme that stick, ye liddle murderer!"

Other voices chimed in.

"It's a sh'ew, grab 'im, mates!"

"Cummere, ye likkle maggot.... Yowch, me eye!"

Luglug and Maudie burst through the bushes onto a streambank, straight into trouble.

Yik had come across a half dozen of Gruntan Kurdly's Brownrats. They had been searching for shrews and log-boats along the bankside. Tiring of their task, the vermin lay down in the warm sun, letting it bake their thick mud poultices hard, and catching a much-needed nap. Yik had stumbled upon them, and decided to attack the foebeasts with his stick. The shrewbabe had struck several times, before the vermin were goaded into action. To the bold Yik it was all some kind of a game, he scuttled around the big Brownrats, jabbing and thrusting with his stick, as though it was a Guosim rapier. The rat who had been stuck in the eye by the stick kicked out at his tiny tormentor. He sent Yik headlong into the stream. One of his comrades waded in. Grabbing Yik, he shook him like a rag doll. "Shall we give 'im ter Kurdly, or eat 'im ourselves?" Then Maudie and Luglug arrived on the scene.

A look of surprise was stamped on the rat's features as the Guosim chieftain's blade pierced his throat. He staggered backward into the stream as Maudie skipped neatly forward, relieving him of the babe. Swinging Yik up onto her shoulders she spoke sharply to him. "Stay there an' hold on tight!" Whirling like lightning, Mad Maudie proved why she was the Salamandastron Regimental Boxing Champion.

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Thudbangwallopsmack!

A Brownrat collapsed like a falling brick wall, under four thunderous punches from the haremaid. Luglug had crossed blades with another one, as Maudie spun around, kicking the spear from a vermin's grasp, catching it in midair, and breaking it over its owner's skull.

Little Yik was howling like a wolf, dancing on Maudie's shoulders and tugging at her ears. "Bangbang! Punch 'is nose! Jolly good, more, more!"

As Luglug ran his adversary through, Maudie, who could not duck and weave so well, with Yik dancing and yanking away on her, took a sharp blow to her ribs from a spearbutt. The shrew chieftain leapt in, fending off her attacker. He roared, "Let's git out o' here, miss, double quick!"

They turned and ran back from the streambank. One of the Brownrats took out a carved bone whistle, and began blowing the alarm. Two more vermin jumped from the bushes either side of the fugitives. Fortunately, they were as surprised to encounter the escapers as Maudie and Luglug were to see them pop out like that. Both the haremaid and the shrew kicked out fiercely, knocking their foes aside. They hurtled on their way, with shouts welling behind them from several directions.

"There they go, stop 'em!"

"Stringle, I sees 'em, they're up ahead!"

"Circle out an' cut 'em off, quick!"

Luglug judged by the hubbub building up either side of them, plus the shaking of shrubbery, that they would soon be surrounded. He cut off into the woodlands at a new angle, panting to Maudie, "If'n we don't shake 'em off, we're right in the soup, missy!"

Dodging round tree trunks, the haremaid followed him, with Yik clinging to her ears, thoroughly enjoying his wild ride, squeaking merrily. "Right inna soup, fasterer, mizzymiz, heeheehee!"

Now the pounding of vermin paws was all about them,

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the area was teeming with mud-coated Brownrats. Then Gruntan Kurdly's shouts were heard. He had joined the hue and cry and was running his litter bearers ragged, now that his voice was back to normal. "Move yore slop-coated carcasses! Noggo, can ye see 'em, where in the name o' hellgates are they?"

The scout bellowed back, "I can't see 'em, Boss, but they're somewhere round 'ere, I can 'ear a liddle 'un squeakin'!"

Maudie was reaching up to silence Yik again, when she stumbled and tripped. She had the presence of mind to grab the shrewbabe from his perch on her shoulders as she fell. Clutching Yik close to her, she landed faceup in an old, dried-out streambed. Luglug came leaping in after her. Fortunately the trench bottom was padded thickly, with seasons of moss and dead leaf loam. Maudie cast a swift glance up, at the inward-curving banks above them. A sudden ruse popped into her head, she whispered to Luglug, "Get under this ledge an' cover ourselves with loam, it's our only blinkin' chance, wot!"

They rolled under the curve of the overhead bank, and began building up the masses of crisp, brown leaves and damp moss around them. Yik wrinkled his little nose. "Us right inna soup, I not like it 'ere!"

Luglug muttered fiercely, "Give 'im t'me, miss!"

Maudie passed the babe over to the Guosim chieftain.

The intensity of Luglug's tone scared Yik into silence. "Now you lissen t'me, ye liddle pestilence. We're goin' to hide 'ere as best we can, an' just one word, one squeak, even one loud breath from ye, an' I'll paddle yore tail so 'ard that yore teeth'U hurt. Don't speak, just nod if'n ye unnerstand me!"

The chastened shrewbabe nodded vigorously.

The trio lay to one side of the ditch curve, under a blanket of dead vegetation. Two Brownrats came wandering up the middle of the streambed. Maudie tried to breathe quietly as they drew close to the hiding place. Both rats

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carried spears, which they used to search the dead leaves with, jabbing the points wherever they fancied.

Sssshtukk!

An iron spearpoint almost grazed Maudie's ear as it buried itself in the loam. Gruntal Kurdly gestured irately to his litter bearers as they carried him close to the dry streambed.

"Down, put the thing down, block'eads, d'ye want to tip me inter that ditch, ain't I injured enuff?" The weary bearers placed the litter down gently. In the streambed, one of the Brownrats was raising his spear for a thrust, which if it had landed, would have pierced Luglug's stomach. Kurdly glared irately at the pair. "Wot d'yer think youse two are doin' down there?"

The vermin halted his spear in mid-thrust. "Er, lookin' fer the sh'ews an' that punchin' rabbit, Boss."

The Brownrat chieftain shook his head in disbelief. "An' pray tell me, d'yer see 'em anywhere?"

The rat let his spearpoint droop uselessly. "Er, no, Boss."

Dried mud cracked from their leader's blistered features as he bellowed at the hapless pair. "Then stop foolin' about an' git up 'ere! Go an' do somethin' useful, find me some eggs an' boil 'em up, afore I perish from 'unger, ye numb-brained nincompoops!" The two Brownrats scrambled to obey Gruntan.

Maudie breathed quietly to Luglug, "Good grief, mate, that was a lucky break!"

The Guosim chieftain snorted softly. "A lucky break, y'say? Lyin' no more'n a logboat's length from that evil monster, surrounded by a horde o' vermin. Y'don't mind me askin', miss, but do ye call that lucky?"

Aware of the importance of quietness, Yik whispered, "Wot's a punchin' rabbit, miz, the rat called you h'a punchin' rabbit?"

Maudie glared at Yik. "Don't annoy me, cheeky nose, or I may be jolly well tempted to show you!"

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The shrewbabe wrinkled his nose insolently. "You punch me an' I bite ya again!"

Luglug placed a paw across the shrewbabe's mouth. He whispered urgently as he saw Maudie's paw clench, "Don't ye dare strike a babe, shame on ye...."

Like lightning, the haremaid's paw shot between Luglug and Yik. She had heard the leaves rustle, and glimpsed the flat-scaled head rearing behind the shrews. In seasons to come, the Hon. Maude Mugsberry Thropple, known to her regimental comrades as Mad Maudie, would recall that she had gained the distinction of knocking a snake out cold, with one punch, that day.

And what a punch it was! A sharp, straight right, which hit the reptile's snout like a flying boulder. The snake's eyes immediately clouded over, the coils relaxed, and it lay amid the loam, like a wet piece of string. Luglug tightened his hold on Yik's mouth, he stared in awe at the snake.

"Seasons o' slaughter, where'd that thing come from?"

Maudie blew on her paw, watching the opposite bank-top with relief. The brief incident had gone unnoticed by Kurdly and his vermin, who were painfully occupied in cracking off the mud, which pulled the stings out as it was removed. The haremaid turned her attention back to the unconscious reptile.

"I say, quite a good-sized brute, doncha think?"

Luglug inched away from the snake, his eyes tightly shut. "Ugh, I wonder why I never smelled it, I kin always smell adders, long afore I sees 'em."

Maudie lifted the snake's head, inspected it and let it flop back down. "You couldn't smell it because it ain't an adder, old scout, it's a bally grass snake an' a bloomin' whopper of a beast if ever I saw one."

Luglug nodded agreement, adding, "It's big enough to swallow liddle Yik in one go!"

Reaching out carefully, Maudie broke off several strands

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of hedge parsley, growing nearby. Plaiting them together, she fashioned a tough piece of halter. "Indeed, this brute most likely had friend Yik firmly on today's luncheon menu. Good job I got the old straight right in first, wot!" She began tying the snake's mouth tight with the tough parsley strands, knotting it securely.

Summoning up his courage, Yik struck the snake's snout with a small, chubby paw, scowling at it. "Yik hit ya, jus' like a punchin' rabbit!"

Maudie corrected him indignantly. "Now just a moment, young feller me shrew, there's no such thing as a punchin' rabbit. I am what is known as a boxin' hare, you little curmudgeon!"

The shrewbabe waved a clenched paw under Maudie's nose. "An' I norra likkle amudjin, I be a Yik!"

Luglug ducked his head into the loam. "An' yore both a pair o' noisy nuisances, 'cos I think the vermin's 'eard ye, an' they're comin' over 'ere to take a look!"

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21

The moles carried the unconscious watervole into the gatehouse, laying him out upon the bed. Fenn Bluepaw sniffed in disgust.

"I take it you'll be removing that... thing from my bed as soon as it comes to. Hmph! Filthy paws and matted fur, I'll have to scrub the counterpane and drape it in the orchard, so a good, clean breeze can dry it!"

Abbot Daucus commented drily, "That's what I like about you, Miz Bluepaw, you're so kind and tenderhearted."

The squirrel Recorder bristled. "Well, it's not your bed that scruffy beast's laid out on!"

Daucus nodded. "Right, marm, but if you want him off your bed, you'd be better employed by fetching Sister Atrata, instead of being so harsh upon a senseless creature. Once the good Sister brings him around, then we can move him from your bed."

Benjo Tipps, accompanied by Orkwil Prink, wandered in to view the watervole. Redwall's stout Cellarhog looked slightly rueful. "Mayhap I shouldn't have chucked that bungstarter so hard at him. He might never waken proper."

Orkwil curled his lip when he looked closer at the patient. "It wouldn't be a great loss if'n he didn't, Mister

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Tipps. I've had a few run-ins with this 'un, he's a mean-spirited an' bad-tempered ole watervole."

Sister Atrata entered the gatehouse with Fenn Bluepaw in attendance, still complaining bitterly. "The very idea of it, some raggedy-bottomed, barrel-bellied vole, cooling his paws on my nice, clean bed!"

The Sister silenced her with a single glare. "Yes, thank you, Miz Bluepaw, I've heard enough!" Leaning over the watervole, she opened one of his eyes, giving an instant diagnosis, as she unstuffed a pawful of feathers from the mattress. "Hmm, he's about ready to be wakened. Bring that lamp over here, Orkwil."

Igniting the feathers from the lamp flame, the Sister let them burn for a moment then extinguished them. Holding the smoldering material under the watervole's snout, Sister Atrata allowed him to inhale the acrid fumes. He shot bolt upright, gagging and gasping. The Sister smiled cheerily. "Up you come now, let's get a dressing on that head lump of yours, and a draught of my belladonna potion. You'll be right as rain before you know it!"

Skipper Rorc stepped in, taking charge of the vole. "Not so fast, matey, you've got some questions to answer. C'mon, let's take a stroll on the walltops, this place smells of smolderin' feathers, phew!"

The watervole hung back, he was in a surly mood. "Got to get me 'ead treated first, after wot that spikepig did t'me."

The burly otter squeezed his paw in a viselike grip. "If'n you call Mister Benjo Tipps a spikepig agin, I'll put another lump atop o' the one you've already got. Now watch yore mouth, vole, an' keep a civil tongue in yore 'ead when I talks to ye. Out ye go!"

Skipper pushed the vole in front of him. Together with Benjo and Orkwil, they mounted the steps to the walltop. Orkwil strode alongside Skipper, as he and Benjo walked toward the north parapet, keeping the watervole lodged firmly between them. As they drew close to the northwest

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corner, the vole began dragging his paws, trying to hang back. Skipper shoved him onward, questioning. "Big, fat rascal like you ain't afraid, are ye?"

The vole ducked his head, so that he could not be seen. He crouched along in the cover of the battlements.

Benjo jabbed him in the ribs. "What are ye tryin' to hide down there for?"

Nodding toward the woodlands beyond the north wall, the vole whispered, "They're watchin' us, I'm sure of it!"

The stout Cellarhog hauled him up, above the walltop. "Who's watchin' ye, tell us?"

The watervole wriggled furiously as Benjo held him tight. "The golden fox an' his crew, there's a whole army of 'em!"

Benjo shook him. "Aye, an' yore one of 'em!"

The prisoner's nerve deserted him, he whined piteously. "No, I ain't, ask 'im, that young 'un!"

Orkwil had no sympathy for the vole. "He wasn't one of the fox's crew when I first met up with him, but that doesn't mean much. He's mean an' bad-tempered enough to have joined up with the vermin!"

Skipper stood on the north wall, peering down into the woodland, his keen gaze taking in the path and the ditch. "Well, they don't seem to be nowheres around now. Where d'ye think they've got to, young Prink?"

Orkwil shrugged. "I don't know, Skip, there was a lot o' crewbeasts aboard that ship. If they came chasin' me'n' Gorath, we'd have seen at least a few of 'em by now. Maybe they're hidin', waitin' for daylight."

Skipper hopped back down onto the walkway. "That don't sound like vermin t'me, mate, skulkin' round in the dark an' attackin' by night's more their style. You was with 'em, vole, didn't ye hear any plans?"

Still held in Benjo Tipps's grasp, the vole sneered. "Of course I didn't, they wouldn't tell me anythin'. But they never injured me like yore Mister Tipps did, nor stole my vittles like that young 'un."

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Ignoring the vole's complaints, Orkwil ventured an idea. "Maybe they've moved position. Let's take a quiet patrol, right round the walls, we might spot the vermin."

Skipper nodded. "Good plan, young 'un, let's do it. Benjo, if'n the vole makes a sound, teach him t'be quiet, will ye?"

The Cellarhog drew a short stave hammer from his belt. "Why, thankee, Skip, 'twould be my pleasure. Move along now, my ole vole, an' don't even try to breathe aloud!"

Soft moonshadows dappled the walkway, as the four creatures padded softly toward the eastern walltop. From battlement to battlement they moved, with the three Red-wallers keeping close watch on the trees and woodland floor outside the Abbey. It was a still and tranquil night. Orkwil was enjoying being back at Redwall, he felt very grown-up, and sensible to his new responsibilities. No more would he be the foolish young borrower of other-beasts' property.

They covered the east parapet, without seeing any sign of life or activity outside, even the watervole was starting to walk more confidently.

Slightly ahead of his companions, Orkwil rounded the corner, onto the southern rampants. He was startled to hear a voice hailing them from below. "Ahoy the Abbey, matey!"

Immediately the vole panicked, breaking away from Benjo's grip, wailing fearfully, "It's them! I told you we was bein' watched, it's the fox an' his crew.... Yowhoooo!" In his excitement, the vole had stumbled and fallen down into the Abbey grounds. He made a distinct thud as he landed. This was followed by silence.

Skipper peered down at his slumped form, whispering to his friends, "Knocked senseless agin, an' just as well, too! That didn't sound like no vermin out there. Matter o' fact, I think I knows that voice. Leave this t'me." The otter chieftain shouted back in a gruff voice, "Who goes there, be ye friend or foebeast?"

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An equally tough-sounding voice roared back at him. "If'n ye've got supper on the table an' a drop o' hotroot soup, then I'll be yore friend for life, cousin Rorc!"

Abroad smile spread over Skipper's face, he murmured to Orkwil, "Nip down quietlike an' open the south wicker gate, they're friends down there sure enough!" Skipper leapt up on the battlements, grinning happily. "Well, sink me rudder if'n it ain't Barbowla Boulderdog! Ahoy, mate, who's all the gang ye've brought with ye?"

Barbowla chuckled. "Haharr, 'tis only me liddle family an' some shrewmates I brought along, now don't stand up there chewin' soup all night, Rorc, let us in, will ye?"

Skipper adopted a mock serious expression. "Let ye in? Huh, ye'd eat us out o' house'n'home an' the cook'd resign if I let you lot at our vittles!"

Barbowla's wife, Kachooch, steped forward, paws akimbo. "When yore finished playin' games, ye great pud-den, I suggest ye might think of openin' this liddle door down here. We've got a platoon of tired, hungry babes an' prob'ly a horde o' Brownrats on our tails!"

Skipper suddenly became serious. "Quick, Orkwil, open up an' let 'em in! Benjo, run an' fetch the Abbot, tell Marja Dubbidge to sound the alarm bells, we may need defenders on these walls if'n it's Brownrats!"

Orkwil was almost knocked flat as he unbolted the south wicker gate, a gang of shrew and otterbabes thundered by him, all agog to see what Redwall Abbey was like. These were followed by the Guosim, and Barbowla's clan. He enquired of the last one in, the squirrel Rangval, "Is that the lot, sir, any more to come?"

The roguish creature slammed the door, and locked it. "Ah shure, there'll mayhaps be another three shortly, sir, a haremaid an' two more shrews. But I think we'd best keep the ould door bolted until they're sighted, in case the rats make it here first, y'unnerstand."

The Abbey's twin bells, Matthias and Methusaleh, rang

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out the alarm, disturbing the peaceful night. Within an amazingly short time, the walls were being manned by Redwallers, armed with the first things that came to paw. Rakes, spades, hoes, ladles, window poles and a variety of odd implements.

Abbot Daucas accosted a passing shrew. "Where's your Log a Log, Guosim?"

The shrew tugged his snout respectfully. "Luglug stayed be'ind, Father sir, the haremaid, too, they went lookin' fer a liddle 'un who got lost."

Daucas signalled to Friar Chondrus. "Take these guests to Cavern Hole, please. See to it that they get a full supper."

The shrew, who was Osbil, saluted the Abbot with his rapier. "Beggin' yore pardon, Father, but all Guosim who are fightin' fit will be stayin' on yore walltops, in case o' trouble."

The Father Abbot shook his paw warmly "The Guosim have always been our brave allies, thank you. Chondrus, just take the babes, old ones and mothers to supper. But have enough food prepared for everybeast defending the walls."

Abbot Daucas mounted the walltop, where he stood listening to the conversation between Skipper Rorc and his cousin Barbowla.

"I can't say for certain 'ow many Brownrats there are, Rorc, but there's a horde of the scum, an' Gruntan Kurdly's their leader."

"Kurdly eh, that 'un's been makin' a name for hisself round Mossflower fer a few seasons now. Well, let the rascals come, Redwall's ready for 'em, cousin."

Daucas interrupted. "I'm told there's still a haremaid, plus two more shrews to come yet, one of them is Log a Log Luglug. Keep an eye out for them, and be sure to get them safe inside quickly, if they're being pursued by Brownrats."

Skipper made way for a molecrew, who were trundling supplies of rocks, boulders and sling pebbles to the

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southern walltop. The otter chieftain thwacked his rudder against the battlements, shaking his head at the Abbot. "Stripe me colours, Father, it ain't enough that we may have a crew o' seafarin' vermin on our paws, but now we got Gruntan Kurdly an' his gang callin' to visit!"

Abbot Daucus produced a sling from his voluminous sleeve, and began selecting stones. "Ah well, Skip, it never rains but it pours, or so they say. Let them all come, friends to receive a warm welcome, and foes to get a red-hot reception, eh!"

In the woodlands, a good hour's march north of the Abbey, Vizka Longtooth located his crew, having espied the light from their campfires. The weasel Magger, his second in command, made a place for him by the largest fire. "Yew was right, Cap'n, dere's plenny o' vittles fer everybeast round 'ere. Birds, fish, eggs an' fruit. Glurma! Fetch d'Cap'n summ supper, will ye."

The greasy old ratcook presented Vizka with two hazel-wood skewers, laden with food, which she had been tending by her fire. "Been keepin' 'em special for ya, Cap'n, dat 'un's a woodpigeon, an' dis 'un's a bream!"

The golden fox tore into the roasted bird, spitting out fragments of feather as he gazed around. Bludgullet's crew seemed happy enough, those still not gorging themselves were dozing contentedly in the firelight. Vizka was pleasantly surprised, sea-raiding vermin were usually pretty hopeless at providing for themselves on land. He had expected them to be hungry, and sullen with unspoken complaints. He winked at Magger. "Pore ole Codj couldn't 'ave found vittles like dis, was it yore doin', mate?"

Magger showed his yellow, snaggled teeth in a modest grin. "Aye, Cap'n, me'n Glurma did it twixt us."

Glurma presented her captain with a beaker of liquid. "Drink up, 'tis only willowbark tea, but Magger sent Dogleg an' Patchy back to der Bludgullet, dey should be back by midday wid a keg o' grog for ya, Cap'n."

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Vizka nodded his approval. "Hah, t'ings is lookin' up, mates, ya did good!"

As he ate and drank, Magger moved close to Vizka, speaking in a secretive murmur, "So, wot's da plan fer dat Abbey place, Cap'n?"

The golden fox threw a fishbone into the fire. "I been thinkin', would dis lot be any good at diggin'?"

Magger snorted contemptuously. "Sea Raiders diggin'? Ya mus' be jestin', Vizka, my crew's alright at shipboard tasks, or killin', but I don't see 'em as diggers. Why, are ya plannin' on diggin' inta dat Abbey place?"

Alarm bells began ringing in the golden fox's head. Suddenly he was looking at the weasel Magger in a new light, and he did not like what he had just heard. Magger was calling him Vizka now, not Captain. Also, he had referred to Vizka Longtooth's vermin as his crew. Now Magger was setting himself up as a favourite with Vizka's creatures, providing warm fires, and good vittles, even a keg of grog from the ship. Vizka continued eating in silence.

Though he did not know it, Magger had overplayed his cards. One thing a Sea Raider captain had to be constantly aware of was any threat to his authority. Vizka put aside his supper, lying back he half-closed his eyes, murmuring gently, "I'll let ya know me plans in der mornin'."

Magger nodded and turned away. He did not see Vizka smile, that long, toothy, dangerous smile, which always meant death for somebeast.

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22

From their hiding place beneath the dead leaves in the curve of the dry ditchbed, Maudie saw four hulking Brownrats leaving the campfire. She covered little Yik's head, stopping him from bobbing up.

Alongside her, Luglug hissed urgently, "Y'see, I told ye the vermin heard us. Look, they're comin' over here, I'm sure we've been spotted, what are we goin' to do, mate?"

The haremaid instinctively knew their hideout would be discovered. Yik was wriggling to get out of her grasp, and the snake was moving, too. It had begun to come around, and was writhing feebly to rid itself of the halter, with which Maudie had bound its jaws shut. It was a time for rapid action. She swiftly imparted a scratch plan to the Guosim chieftain. "Got to get out of here jolly fast, old lad. Create some sort of diversion, then make a flippin' run for it, wot?"

The four Brownrats were already descending the far side of the ditch.

Luglug stared wide-eyed at Maudie. "Diversion, wot sort o' diversion?"

The haremaid hardly stopped to ponder the question. "We've got two things goin' for us, bucko, the advantage of

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surprise, an' this whoppin' great snake. Time for gossipin' is done, grab that confounded Yik an' follow me...."

The Brownrats were completely taken by surprise. Whirling the maddened snake with both paws, and yelling like a banshee, Maudie rushed them. "Gangway, chaps! Eulaliiiaaaaaa!"

Two of the rats were knocked aside by the reptile's flailing coils, the other two stood rooted to the spot in dumb shock. With Luglug holding Yik tight to his body, running crouched behind her, Maudie breasted the ditchbank. The haremaid charged straight through the centre of the Brownrat camp, still flailing the big reptile. Gruntan Kurdly almost choked on the hard-boiled egg he had just popped whole into his mouth. Maudie looked like something out of nightmare as she bounded out of the night into the firelight. "Yahaaar! Blood'n'vinegar! Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

More rats went down beneath the windmilling snake's body, then she flung it right at Kurdly. It was not a totally accurate throw, most of the reptile hit the Brownrat leader, but its tail landed in the fire. This move did not improve the snake's temper, it latched furiously onto the Brown-rat's body, constricting as its tail shot out of the flames and beat a frenzied tattoo on Gruntan's head.

Spluttering hard-boiled egg widespread, he whooped aloud in terror, "Gerritoff! Waaaarrrgggh! Oo ... oo! Ger-ritoffameeee!"

Clear of the Brownrat camp, Maudie slowed her pace for Luglug to catch up. From behind them she could hear angry shouts.

"Kill it! Slay the thing, ye mudpawed oafs!"

"Wot was it, 'ow many of 'em was there?"

"Round six if'n ye ask me, seven countin' the snake."

"It was the punchin' rabbit, I saw it with me own two eyes, came straight out the ditch it did!"

Gruntan Kurdly's voice rose to an enraged shriek. "I don't give a bee's be'ind who it was. Gerrem! Killem! Skin

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'em alive an' bring their 'eads to me! Don't jus' stan' there, idjits, go. Go go go!"

Luglug gave a weary sigh as he heaved Yik up onto his shoulders. "We better git movin', fast."

Maudie held out her paws. "Give me the little chap, he'll hold you back."

For some reason best known to himself the Log a Log snapped back at her, "I said we'd better git movin', I can manage him!"

Yik tugged Luglug's ears. "I wanna go wiv 'er, she can run fasterer!"

The shrew chieftain growled at him. "Keep yore mouth shut an' stay up there, young 'un!"

Maudie shrugged. "As you wish, old chap, but let's be goin', wot. Don't want t'get collared by that scurvy lot!"

The haremaid took off at a brisk lope, but soon had to wait for Luglug to catch up again. They pounded on through the darkened woodland, with the noise of pursuit growing behind. Maudie adjusted her pace, running alongside Luglug. "Y'know I can run just as easy with Yik on my back, why don't you let me carry him, wot?"

Yik hauled on his bearer's ears, haranguing him. "Flippin' bloomin' wotwot, I wanna go wiv 'er!"

This made Luglug even more stubborn and irate. "You stop tuggin' my ears, an' watch yore language. I can carry ye as well as anybeast can."

An arrow zipped past Maudie, it quivered in a beech trunk. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. "They must have a few fast front runners ahead of the rest. I wonder how far from Redwall we are?"

Luglug was beginning to pant, but he strove onward. "Keep to this trail an' we'll soon see the two-topped oak. After that we'll come out o' the woodlands an' cross some open fields t'the southside o' the Abbey. I remember this route now, came this way once afore when I was younger."

Maudie nodded. "Save your breath, old chap, those

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blighters are closer than you think." An arrow buried its point in the ground, narrowly missing Maudie's footpaw, another flew close by Yik's ear.

The little shrew shouted, as if it were all some kind of game, "Yah, y'missed me! C'mon, we havta run fasterer!"

Luglug pointed ahead. "See, there's the two-topped oak, straight ahead, not too far now!"

Maudie spied the big, lightning-riven object. Even in the night it stood out above the other trees at the woodland edge. Wild cries of the Brownrats could still be heard behind them, but she knew the front runners would keep silent, hoping that they could outpace their quarry. On an impulse, she slowed, letting Luglug carry on ahead. Crouching down, Maudie scanned about for movement.

There they were! Two Brownrats, tall, slim vermin, running swiftly from tree to tree, pausing briefly to loose off arrows in the direction of the runaways. Now Luglug stopped, looking back at Maudie and calling, "What are ye doin', miz?"

Both the Brownrats were close enough to hear him. In a trice they had loosed off the shafts, which were lying ready on their bowstrings. Maudie ran without looking back, straight for the rats. The first one had another arrow almost ready to fire as the haremaid hit him like a thunderbolt. He collapsed to the ground immediately. Maudie grabbed his bow, whipped about to face the other, sighted and fired. The shaft struck true. With a strangled cry the other rat went down, grasping the shaft, which protruded from his neck.

Then the main body came running into view. Maudie dropped the bow and ran. Luglug was leaning against the riven oak, with Yik still on his shoulders. He was gasping heavily. Grunting with the effort, he lifted Yik free, holding him out to the haremaid. "You'd better carry ..."

Maudie grabbed the Guosim infant, then saw the broken

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arrow buried deep between the Guosim chieftain's shoulder blades, as he turned and slid slowly down the tree trunk. Half drawing his rapier, he gasped, "Take it to Osbil, save the little 'un...." His head fell limply to one side as his eyes clouded over and he gave one last sigh.

There was no time to think. Maudie could make out the faces of the vermin as they came hurrying forward, shouting and yelling. Grabbing the rapier from Luglug's lifeless paw, she swung Yik up on her shoulders and ran. The sight of their victims-to-be spurred the Brownrats forward. However, they reckoned without the speed and determination of a Long Patrol hare. Mad Maudie Mugsberry Thropple ran as she had never run before. The shrewbabe on her shoulders hung on for dear life, with the night breeze blowing his fur back flat.

Out of the woodlands the haremaid rocketed, onto the flatland facing the Abbey's south wall. Her footpaws drummed the earth as she sped onward, with a screeching horde hard on her trail. "Eulaliiiaaaa Redwaaaaallll!" Maudie roared.

Skipper, Benjo, Barbowla and several stout young otters of the Boulderdog family came hurtling out through the south wallgate, running toward the haremaid who was speeding toward them. They shot right past her, halted, then flung a salvo of otter javelins. Unable to stop, the Brownrats stumbled over the bodies of the leading seven vermin who had fallen to the deadly, light throwing weapons.

It halted the horde only for an instant, but that was the short, vital time that saved Maudie and Yik. They were hauled through the gateway by willing paws, who slammed the little door shut as soon as the otters were safe inside. Now slingstones pelted like rain from the walltops, driving back those they did not slay or injure. A great cry rang from the ramparts. "Redwaaaaaaalllll!"

A shrewmum took little Yik from Maudie's shoulders as the haremaid collapsed upon the ground. She was sucking

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in great gulps of air, her entire body quivering from the heroic efforts of her mighty run. Rangval and several of the Guosim defenders hastened from the walltop to congratulate Maudie.

The roguish squirrel pumped her paw and pounded her back heartily. "Ah shure, that was a grand ould run, with a horde o' rascals behind ye, an' carryin' a passenger, too. Not even their arrows could keep up with ye!"

Osbil was among the welcoming committee, Maudie passed Luglug's rapier to him. A silence fell over the shrews. Osbil stared at the blade for awhile, then his eyes met Maudie's gaze. Their exchange was subdued and brief. "Luglug?"

The haremaid nodded. "He was slain by an arrow. I had to leave him by the riven oak. They were almost upon us, I had to run with the little 'un."

Osbil ran his paw gently along the blade. "Did he die instantly?"

Breathing easier now, Maudie hauled herself upright. "He did indeed, or I wouldn't have left his side. We might've made it if he hadn't insisted on carryin' Yik. Right up to the moment he was hit, he refused to pass the little chap over to me. Why?"

Osbil was blinking back tears, but his voice was steady. "Because every Guosim is the responsibility of his chieftain. Luglug was duty-bound to carry Yik. Now I must go an' tell the rest of my tribe. Thank ye for bringin' me his blade, miz."

Maudie watched Osbil ascending the wallstairs. "Wonder why Luglug wanted me t'give him the sword?"

Teagle, one of the coracle paddlers, explained. "Luglug wanted Osbil t'be our new chieftain. That's Guosim law, the father passes his title on to the eldest offspring."

Maudie was surprised. "You mean Osbil is Luglug's son?"

Teagle wiped a paw across her eyes and sniffed. "Aye, an' a good son, too, miz, an' he'll make a fine Log a Log,

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just like his ole dad. Ye'll excuse me now, I've got to join my tribe for the Bladechant."

Piqued by curiosity, Maudie followed Teagle up to the south rampart, where she witnessed the strange Guosim ritual. Osbil was standing up between the battlements, in full view of the attacking Brownrats, singing a loud, dirgelike challenge, kissing the rapier blade, then pointing it toward the foe as he sang out threateningly. The Guosim warriors swayed slowly, chanting the chorus.

"I am Chieftain, son of Chieftains, look upon my father's blade, hark you vermin, spawn of darkness,

Guosim come now, be afraid!

"Hi hey oh Log a Log

Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!

"We will send your bones to Hellgates, every single evil one, bitter tears with blood must mingle, ere your debt is paid and done!

"Hi hey oh Log a Log

Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!

"We are Guosim, born of Guosim, all our words and steel are true, none of ye will be left standin'

that's a warrior's vow to you!

"Hi hey oh Log a Log

Guosim hi hey ooooooooh!"

It was the most eerie thing Maudie had ever heard. Osbil was pointing at the Brownrats with his rapier, as the Guosim fighters either side of him swayed like a field of corn before the gale. So uncanny was the sight and sound that both the Redwallers on the rampart and the Brownrats

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below on the common land ceased fighting, they stood silently watching.

Then Osbil broke the spell. Leaping down from the battlements, he shook his blade on high, and roared in an ululating voice, which was taken up by all the shrew tribe, "Logalogalogalogaloooooog!"

Then the horrifying reality caught Skipper, he thundered down the wallstairs, shouting, "Bar the gate, they're goin' to charge out an' meet the vermin head-on!"

Rangval swiftly shot the bolts tight on the wallgate. Maudie, Skipper and Benjo ran ahead of the Guosim to render assistance. Barbowla and some of his family joined them, the big otter shook his head in disbelief. "Those shrews must be mad. They're outnumbered by vermin at least ten to one, an' they want to charge out an' do battle with 'em!"

Osbil came pounding down to the gate backed by his tribe, every one of them brandishing drawn blades. He bared his teeth at the guardians of the gate. "Stand clear, ye can't stop a Guosim once the Bladechant's been given. We'd be cowards if'n we didn't fight those stinkin' vermin after our Log a Log's been slain by 'em!"

Maudie stood forward until Osbil's blade was touching her. "Aye, and you'd be fat-headed dead fools if you did. Take it from me, old lad, you ain't goin' anywhere, an' I'm jolly well sayin' that for your own good, wot!"

It was a tense moment. The haremaid could feel the rapier point at her throat. Osbil meant business.

"Put that sword down at once. How dare you raise a weapon at a friend inside my Abbey? Put it down, I say!" Abbot Daucus pushed his way through the massed shrews, his face a mask of icy severity. Disregarding the rapier, he struck it to one side.

Osbil scowled darkly. "This is a Guosim thing, Father. It ain't yore quarrel!"

Daucus thrust his chin forward fearlessly. "Oh, isn't it?

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Well, I'm making it my quarrel. As Father Abbot of Red-wall Abbey, I command that you cease this foolishness forthwith. Is that clear?"

Osbil began to wilt. He was still a young shrew, and in the face of the Abbot's superior authority, he became unsure of himself. He replied with a touch of pleading in his tone. "But Father, we've sung the Bladechant, we lose face an' honour if'n we don't go now!"

Daucus began to feel pity for the young shrew, who had just been made Log a Log of his tribe. However, he was not about to back down to Osbil. "Hmm, loss of honour and face, I see. But are there no exceptional circumstances which might call the whole thing off, can you think of anything?"

On a flash of inspiration, Maudie interrupted. "Beg pardon, Father, I've just thought of a jolly wheeze, er, I mean, an answer to the problem." The haremaid edged a little closer to Osbil. "Er, suppose, just suppose I say, that you, bein' the bloomin' high old Logathing, were incapacitated?"

Not comprehending the word, Osbil repeated it. "Incapacitated?"

Maudie edged closer. "Indeed, incapacitated, you know, too hurt or injured to lead the charge. Could your chaps go out there to battle the vermin?"

Osbil shook his head. "Not unless they were led by their Log a Log, our law wouldn't allow that y'see ..." Suddenly he sagged, Maudie quickly supported him, but he was unconscious, out cold. The haremaid's face was the picture of innocence.

"Good grief, the poor chap's just swooned. Fainted away as sudden as y'like, wot?"

The Guosim began crowding round anxiously, but Rangval took over officiously. "Shure, have ye got no sense, crowdin' round the pore beast like that, give him some air. Skipper, will ye take 'em up on the walltops agin, at least

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they can fight the durty ould vermin from up there wid slingstones. Go on now, buckoes, the Father Abbot'll do a grand job of lookin' after yore chief, hurry along now!"

The Guosim hesitated a moment, until Skipper mounted the wallsteps, goading them. "Don't waste yore breath, friend, there's plenty o' our Redwallers up there, if'n the shrews are afraid to go!"

In an instant he was thrust to one side, as the fiercely proud Guosim stampeded en masse up the steps. Aided by Foremole, the Abbot carried Osbil to the Abbey, for Sister Atrata's attention. Foremole Burff shook his dark velvety head. "Burr, oi do 'opes thurr bee's nuthin' badly amiss with ee pore beast, a-swoonin' away loike that."

Abbot Daucus was plainly perplexed by the incident. "Indeed, quite unusual for one so young and healthy. Still, it did solve a problem for us, didn't it?"

Back at the wallsteps, Rangval treated Maudie to a huge, sly wink, having seen the truth of it all. "Shure, I've seen lightnin' strikin' a lot slower than that, marm. Why, that was the swiftest an' neatest ould knockout punch I've ever had the pleasure of seein'. Faith, if'n I'd have winked I would've missed it!"

The haremaid threw a paw about the squirrel's shoulders, whispering as she drew him close, "Keep your blinkin' voice down, old scout, we don't want the whole bloomin' Abbey t'know. Actually, I was only carryin' out me duty, as t'were, doin' what had t'be done, eh wot!" She stifled a giggle.

" 'Twas rather a scorcher of an uppercut, even though I say it m'self. Even better'n the one I gave big Blinky Swif-fleton when I first won the Inter Barracks Title. Nice chap, old Blinky, took an absolute age before he could see straight again, prob'ly how he got the name Blinky, wot!"

Rangval curled his tail in admiration of Maudie. "A real live boxin' hare, eh! Ah, 'tis a pleasure to see a perilous young darlin' like yoreself at work, marm!"

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Maudie gave his shoulder a squeeze, imitating his brogue. "Get away, ye hard-faced rogue, yore no slouch yerself from wot I've seen of yore ould tricks! C'mon, shall we toddle up t'the walltop, just t'see how the battle's goin' on?"

The squirrel made a sweeping bow, indicating the steps. "After you, me long-eared, wallopin' beauty!"

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23

The impetus of furious Guosim stone slingers added to the Redwall defenders had worked like a charm. Gruntan Kurdly had not yet arrived on the scene, and as a result of the ferocious retaliation from the south battlements, the few Brownrats with any authority were thoroughly cowed. Even with their superior numbers, they could make no impression on the high stone walls. So they did what was customary, retreated into the relative safety of the woodland trees, and sat waiting the arrival of their leader.

Skipper greeted Maudie and Rangval, pointing to the deserted field of conflict below. "I think they've had enough for now, mates. Though we'll stay alert up here an' see wot the dawn brings, eh?"

Friar Chondrus hailed them from the Abbey lawn. "Hello up there, are ye too busy fighting, or could you manage a bite o' supper?"

Rubbing his paws with anticipation, Barbowla shouted back as he ushered several of his family to the steps, "Ho, I think we could manage to nibble a few vittles, sir. I'm sendin' a few down t'lend a paw to ye!"

Much to the delight of the otters there was a big cauldron of their favourite soup, watershrimp'n'hotroot. The Guosim were very partial to a small cask of October Ale,

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plus a tray or two of shallot and mushroom pasties. There was white cheese with hazelnuts, apple and plum dumplings, a latticed pear tart with meadowcream, golden-crusted bread, hot from the ovens, and a choice of blackberry cordial or coltsfoot tea.

The cheese was almost melting as Skipper put it on his hot bread. He dipped the lot into his hotroot soup, exclaiming before he wolfed it down, "Eat hearty, mates, but tell me this. Wot beast in his right mind would allow a load o' scruffy vermin inside Redwall to steal this scoff from us, eh?"

Barbowla's sturdy wife, Kachooch, helped herself to a pastie. "I'd let 'em in, but not to eat the vittles. I'd use their heads'n'tails to scrub the pots out with!"

Roars of laughter rose to the summer night's sky. Maudie sat with Rangval and a young hedgehog, who introduced himself as Orkwil Prink. The haremaid sampled everything eagerly, commenting on each dish. "Absolutely topping, I must get the recipe for this pear'n'cream thing, and these pasties, top marks, I'd say! Steady the buffs! Now that's a real drop o' soup, watershrimp'n'hotroot, d'ye say? Hah, I wouldn't mind bein' a bloomin' otter if I could have this twice daily. Well, chaps, I only came here to find a blinkin' badger, but I'd have applied to be born at Redwall if the tucker's all as good as this!"

Skipper's two daughters, Folura and Glingol, were charming some of Barbowla's sons, they began tapping on two wooden bowls, singing a jolly song.

"I once knew an otter who liked apple pie, why oh why, my oh my, he could eat it both night and day, if you asked him why he ate apple pie, he'd laugh and he would say,

An apple's an apple, it ain't a pear, some grows here an' some grows there, bake 'em up in a pie an' serve it to me,

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No strawberry y'see ever grew on a tree, no sir no, dearie me, strawberries don't grow in that way, while carrots are found growing underground,

'cos that's a carrot's way, some grow up and some grow down, we gather them when the harvest comes round, then the cook hangs 'em all in his old pan ... tree and we go to sleep in a dormi... tree!"

Using their rudders against the parapet stones, the sons of Barbowla applauded both ottermaids enthusiastically Then, to display how tough and fearless they were, the young male otters began climbing on the battlements, and slinging stones at the woodland fringes. Naturally, they injured no Brownrats, who had retreated out of slinging range. Skipper's daughters looked suitably impressed, fluttering their eyelashes at every opportunity.

Maudie found herself sitting between Orkwil and Benjo Tipps. Being a hare, she was still doing full justice to the remains of supper, having exchanged introductions with the Redwallers whilst still expressing her appreciation of Abbey food. "By the left! I could get rather used to this scoff, is it always this good, Orkwil, old lad?"

The young hedgehog picked a crumb from his spikes. "Oh, this was just a quick meal the Friar and his helpers threw together. We weren't expectin' guests, y'see, or it would have been more carefully prepared. Er, by the way, Maudie, did I hear you say that you came here to find a badger?"

Maudie ran her paw around the rim of the empty soup cauldron, licking it longingly. "Oh, that? Well, yes, I have, actually. Secret mission from Salamandastron, all very hush hush, wot. Old Lord Asheye, he's my CO. doncha know, sent me specially, prob'ly 'cos I'm jolly good at that sort o' thing. I don't suppose you've stumbled across this badger chap. Huge type, typical badger, wot. He's

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supposed not t'be a great lover of swords an' armour, simple salt o' the earth type, or so I'm led t'believe. Funny thing though, he's supposed to carry a flame an' walk with a thief. Sounds jolly silly, doesn't it, but who am I to argue? Badger Lord an' Major Mullein pleaded with me on bended paw. So I had to agree t'the task, I mean, what's a chappess t'do, wot!"

Maudie was totally unprepared for what Orkwil said next. "The badger's name is Gorath, he's up in Sister Atrata's sickbay, resting. It was me who brought him to Redwall."

Three things happened then. Maudie's ears stood up rigid, her eyes bulged wide and her mouth fell open. "You wha ... Gorbadge in sick ratata bestray, an' you red him to broughtwall!"

Benjo Tipps chortled aloud at the sight and sound of the haremaid's confusion. "Better watch ye don't trip up over yore tongue an' fall down the steps, missy. Well, don't just sit there, young Prink, take the maid up to see yore badger friend. I'm sure she might start talkin' sense after a calmin' stroll o'er the lawn an' through our Abbey."

Skipper nodded after Maudie and Orkwil as they made their way across the lawn. "Where are those two goin', Benj?"

The Cellarhog sat down on the top step. "Orkwil's takin' Maudie to see the badger, she was sent from the Salamandastron mountain to find him."

Skipper watched the two entering the Abbey. "But Gorath didn't come from the badger mountain. I wonder how ole Lord Asheye guessed Gorath was here?"

Benjo took a sip from his tankard of October Ale. "Well ye may ask, Skip, Salamandastron's a mysterious place, plain, ord'nary beasts like us'll never fathom it."

As the pair made their way to the sickbay, Orkwil explained briefly how he was banished from the Abbey, and how he came to meet Gorath. After listening to his narration,

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the haremaid smiled ruefully. "Hmm, your tale isn't too far different from mine, old chap. We both came here pursued by foebeasts, eh!"

The young hedgehog winked at Maudie. "Aye, so we did, but what were you banished from Salamandastron for, were you a thief like me?"

Totally unprepared, Maudie blurted out, "Most certainly not! It was for fightin', actually, all I did was biff Corporal Thwurl an' a few other bods. But how did you jolly well know they were goin' to banish me, wot?"

Orkwil opened the infirmary door quietly. "Oh, it was just somethin' about you, a bit like me, I s'pose. Gorath's in the small back room."

Maudie gazed awestruck at the sleeping badger stretched out on the big bed. "Corks! He's bigger'n old Lord Asheye, though he looks a bit thin' an' wasted, is he ill?"

Orkwil touched Gorath's massive paw gently. "He's been through a lot. A lesser beast would've died from the treatment he received from those Sea Raiders."

Gorath's eyes came open, he struggled weakly to sit up. "Sea Raiders, where are they?"

Orkwil sat on the bed, pressing him back down. "Calm yoreself, mate, there hasn't been hide nor hair of those rascals seen anywhere around. At the moment we're more concerned about a horde of Brownrats outside the south wall. Listen now, there's someone I want ye to meet."

Maudie proffered her paw, introducing herself. "Maudie Mugsberry Thropple of Salamandastron, sah. I was sent to seek you out by Lord Asheye."

Gorath paused a moment. "Asheye, is that's his name? An old badger, completely gray all over, I've seen him in my dreams a few times. What does he want with me?"

The haremaid seated herself on the end of the bed. "Er, I'm not quite flippin' sure, sah. He said I was to observe you, probably has thoughts of me bringin' you back to Salamandastron."

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Gorath interrupted her, the old fire seeming to smoulder in his eyes. "Not until Vizka Longtooth is dead by my paw! Orkwil, go and warn your Abbey friends, those vermin are somewhere near, waiting to attack Redwall. Bring me Tung, give me my weapon...." Again he tried to rise, but Maudie and Orkwil held him down.

Sister Atrata appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing here, this creature is ill, he needs rest. You must leave immediately!" The Sister took a small bowl from the bedside table. Supporting Gorath's head, she raised it to his lips. "Drink some of this, friend, it will help you get well."

The badger took a long, thirsty draught and lay back. His eyelids fluttered, and he gave a deep sigh. Then he began murmuring as though thinking aloud. "Never saw them coming ... no chance at all... have to bury the old ones ... build a new dwelling... all gone now, home, kin-beasts ... Getting cold now, so cold these Northern Isles ... Ice, snow ... Crops ruined again ... Poorbeasts, poorbeasts ... buried in Northern earth ... So cold ... So cold!"

Gorath began trembling and shuddering then. His great, wasted body arched against the bed, paws tightly clasped as his teeth rattled aloud. The pitchfork, Tung, which had been laid next to him, clattered to the floor.

Sister Atrata acted quickly, pouring more liquid from the bowl between her patient's clenched teeth as she snapped out orders at the two visitors. "You, miss, bring blankets from the big chest in the next room. Prink, get hold of Marja Dubbidge, tell her to get a fire lit up here. Look sharp now, both of you, your friend is in a fever!"

Orkwil scurried off to find Marja, the Bellringer. Maudie located the big chest, and pulled fleecy woven blankets from it as she murmured to herself, "Hope the Sis knows what she's doin'. Imagine me havin' t'go back empty-pawed to His Lordship. What would one say? Sorry, sah, I found the badger who carries the flame, but I bloomin' well lost him. Huh, Major Mull'd have my hide!"

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Stumbling over a heap of bedlinen and blankets, the haremaid tottered in to Sister Atrata. "Will that be enough, marm, d'you want me to fetch more, is he goin' to be alright, hadn't you better give him another dose of that jol-lop from the bowl, wot?"

The good Sister treated Maudie to a strict glare. "I'll do all in my power to help him, miz, but please don't start telling me how to do my job. Here, take a corner of this blanket, and help me to cover him."

The haremaid was tucking the blanket about Gorath's shoulders when she noticed the extent, the depth of the flame-shaped scar on his brow. "Great blinkin' seasons, what an awful wound, I saw it when I first got here, but I didn't realise just how jolly big it was, 'til I got up close!"

Sister Atrata nodded. "Yes, I'm just hoping it doesn't affect his recovery, but who knows?"

Maudie stared down at the awesome wound. "Hmm, there used to be an old hare in the veterans' barracks. Got a big rock broken over his head in the vermin wars. Funny old chap, used to sing songs in a language nobeast could understand. They reckon the bang he got from the rock sent him clear off his chump. Beg pardon, marm, made him act strangely."

The Sister lowered her eyes. "I understand, things like that have been known to happen. Though I don't think this badger will lose his mind, he's too fixed by one purpose, to avenge the death of his family."

Maudie gazed out of the window, watching the first pale streaks of dawn illuminating the night sky. "Sounds just like a badger to me, Sister."

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24

Larks rose from the flatlands, twittering in the newborn summer morn at the misty blue sky which promised a long, sunny day. It would have been an idyllic scene, except for two things, a horde of Brownrats in the southern woodland fringe, and a crew of vermin Sea Raiders to the north of the Abbey.

Vizka Longtooth had left the bulk of his creatures under cover, bringing twoscore along with him. They headed down the ditch to Redwall, ready to begin tunnelling operations. The crew he had chosen were not too happy with the scheme, but they kept silent, knowing the golden fox was only waiting on one protestor, to make an example of. Once the Abbey was in sight, they crouched low, approaching it with extreme caution. Vizka halted them when he was level with the main gates, and started issuing orders. "I t'ink we start tunnellin' right here, see." He scratched an X into the ditch wall. "Wot d'ya say, Undril, a gudd place, eh?"

Undril was a large, dull-witted weasel, whom Vizka had chosen to be in charge of the digging. He looked at the mark his captain had made, nodding. "If'n ya says so, Cap'n."

The golden fox gave his crew the benefit of a quick,

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dangerous smile. "Oh, I says so, ya can take me word on it. Now git diggin', all of ya!"

Without any proper tools they went to work, gouging at the soil with spear, sword and dagger points. Vizka toyed with his mace and chain, watching their clumsy attempts, whilst trying to keep his temper in check. He realised it was going to be a long, slow task, requiring a bit of patience, something Vizka was not used to. Already he was feeling irate.

"Dere's too many diggin' at once, yer gettin' nowheres. Undril, split 'em ina two groups. Firty, you'n Gerna go further down dis ditch, try der soil an' see if'n 'twould be easier ter dig a tunnel dere."

Firty and Gerna were both small and puny rats. Glad to be relieved of labouring, they scuttled off south, down the ditchbed. Vizka continued supervising the work. "Jungo, wot d'ya t'ink yore doin'?"

Jungo, the least intelligent of all the Bludgullet's crew, pointed to the shallow depression they had made. "Huh huh, me spear keeps bouncin' back when I tries ter dig wid it, Cap'n."

Vizka explained, as though he were talking to a babe, "Dat's 'cos dere's a root in der way. Bilger, yew 'old der root, while Jungo cuts it wid 'is spearblade." The golden fox watched the proceedings, with a sense of hopelessness weighing upon him.

"Yowch! Der cap'n said cut der root, loaf'ead, not me paw. Ow! See, ya dun it again!"

"Huh huh, sorry, mate, yore paw's all full o' soil, I thought it wuz der root!"

Gruntan Kurdly had finally arrived at the south woodland fringe. His weary bearers set the stretcher down as he cast a scathing eye over his horde. He beckoned Biklo to his side. "Where's all the sh'ews got to?"

The scout, Biklo, nodded in the direction of the Abbey. "In there, Boss."

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Assisted by two bearers, Gruntan wheezed his way to the edge of the trees. He had seen Redwall Abbey before, but not this close up; he tried not to look impressed. "Hmm, are the six liddle boats in there, too?"

Biklo shrugged. "Dunno."

For a rat of his size and bulk, Gruntan could move quite rapidly. He rushed Biklo, felling him with a kick. Standing over the fallen Brownrat, he made a pantomime of shrugging, and aping the scout's voice. "Dunno? Dunno?" Gruntan kicked him again, shouting, "Well, ye'd better get t'know, mudbrains!" He turned on Stringle, his leading officer. "Can't I leave ye alone fer a moment? Ye let the sh'ews git away, now they're in that place. Well, did ye try ter get 'em out, or did ye jus' sit on yore tails all night, waitin' fer me to do it for ye?"

Stringle nipped smartly out of kicking range. "We killed their chief, that Log a Lug sh'ew. They ran an' hid in Red-wall. It wuz too hard t'get 'em out, we charged, but they beat us back. Not jus' sh'ews in there, Boss, they got streamdogs, 'edgepigs, treemouses, loads of 'em. Six of ours was slayed, an' more'n ten injured!"

Gruntan eyed the south ramparts sourly. "An' ye reckon they've got the place well guarded."

Stringle looked grim. "Nobeast could take Redwall!"

Gruntan's stomach wobbled as he gave a mirthless laugh. "Who told ye that? You lissen t'me, mate, there's more ways of killin' a mouse than tellin' it jokes until it dies laughin'."

Stringle scratched his tail. "Wot d'yer mean, Boss?"

Gruntan Kurdly was not prepared to give Stringle explanations, he waved a paw dismissively. "You go an' stay with the horde, tell the cooks to git my brekkist ready. Oh, an' ye'd best send out some scouts to take a look round that Abbey. May'aps one of 'em might 'ave the sense to find a way in." Gruntan continued to stare up at the Abbey walls, bright new prospects opening up before him. "Redwall, eh, now that's a place where I could be a

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real boss. Hah, wouldn't need no liddle boats then, I'd stop all me rovin' about. Oh aye, sittin' in a big, comfy chair, by a nice, warm fire on rainy days, Jus' givin' orders, an' eatin' vittles. Haharr, that'll be the life fer Gruntan Kurdly!"

Stringle dispatched eight scouts to sound out the perimeter of the Abbey. Two female Brownrats, Tantail and Dirril, were alloted to the west wall. Not wanting to walk along the path, which ran in front of the main gates, they chose to inspect the Abbey from the ditch. Ducking their heads, to avoid being seen from the walltops, the two Brownrats marched along the dry ditchbed, straight into Firty and Gerna. Unaware that they had company, both crewrats were digging into the ditchside, just as Vizka had ordered, trying to find a better tunnelling site. The Brownrats watched them in silence, until Firty stopped to mop a grimy paw across his brow. He turned and saw them, bringing his spearpoint to bear on the two big females, who stood head and shoulders over him and Gerna.

"Who are ya, an' worrya doin' 'ere?"

Dirril promptly kicked him in the stomach and wrenched the spear from his grasp. She pointed the weapon toward the Abbey. "Are you from in there?"

Gerna had been digging with his knife, and a sharpened stick. He looked up at the much larger Brownrats, gesturing uncertainly up the ditch with his blade. "Ya better not try anythin' wid us, we're wid Vizka Longtooth, an' he's cap'n of a big crew, see!"

Tantail advanced on him menacingly. "If'n ye don't come from inside o' that Abbey, we don't give a tailflick who y'are, 'cos we're part of Gruntan Kurdly's horde. Now give me dat blade!"

Gerna was scared, his voice trembled as he spoke. "No, I won't, dis is my knife."

With a swift move, Tantail knocked the knife from Gerna's paw. Grabbing the smaller rat by his ears, she

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began pummelling him soundly. "Ye liddle snit, I'll teach ye to wave a knife at me!"

Firty protested as he tried to rise. "Yew leave 'im alone, wait'll Cap'n Vizka 'ears about dis. Git ya paws off 'im!"

All that this earned the unfortunate Firty was a severe beating from his own spearhaft. Both the Brownrats set about their victims, sniggering cruelly. "Cap'n Vizka, eh? Heehee, you've got us really frightened now, mate, he sounds a real terror, does Cap'n Vizka!"

Tantail had Gerna in a headlock, punctuating her remarks with stinging punches and slaps. "Never even heard of 'im. Lissen, snotnose, when ye get back to this Vizka idjit, tell 'im ye met up with two o' Gruntan Kurdly's Brownrats!"

Dirril had already broken the spearhaft over Firty's back, but she continued belabouring the helpless crewrat with the bottom half of it. "Take this message to yore cap'n. Tell 'im to run for 'is life, 'cos Kurdly's horde is here now!"

Back up at the start of the main excavation, Vizka Longtooth was in a calmer mood. The hole in the ditchside was actually beginning to take shape. It was almost the length of a stoat's body. He could tell this because there was a stoat digging in the hole, and just his tail was visible. He was working in there with a weasel, scrabbling out earth, which was being carried off and dumped by the rest of the team. The golden fox was sunning himself on the far ditch-wall when Firty and Gerna staggered up. Nursing various injuries, the pair gasped out their report.

"Cap'n, we wuz attacked an' set on!"

"Dey jumped us an' battered us sumthin' fierce, Cap'n!"

Vizka held up a paw and they both fell silent. "Now, gimme straight answers! Who did this, Firty?"

The small crewrat was nursing a torn ear, he spat out a tooth before speaking. "Two big, brown ratwives I t'ink dey wuz, Cap'n!"

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The workers had stopped to hear what was going on. When Firty said that he and Gerna had been beaten up by a pair of ratwives, they chuckled aloud. Vizka silenced them with a single glance. "Did ya tell 'em you wuz Vizka Longtooth's Sea Raiders?"

Clutching a broken tail, and squinting through a badly swollen eye, Gerna answered. "Aye, Cap'n we told 'em, but der one who was knockin' me round called me snotty nose, an' guess wot she said?"

Vizka shook his head. "I can't guess, so tell me."

Gerna told him, word for word. "She said, when ye gets back ter dis Vizka idjit, tell 'im ye met up wid two o' Gruntan Kurlie's Brownrats. Dat's wot she said!"

The golden fox picked up his mace and chain, addressing the twoscore vermin of the work detail. "Any of youse ever 'eard of a curly Brownrat?" There was a mass shaking of heads. Vizka began swinging his mace and chain, turning to Firty. "An' where'd ya run into dese two big, tough ratwives?"

Firty pointed. "Down der ditch a piece, jus' past der bend, Cap'n." As he spoke, the two Brownrats hove into view.

Whirling his weapon, Vizka broke into a run. "Let's ger-rem! Chaaaarge!" Tantail and Dirril fled, with Vizka and twoscore of the Bludgullet''s crew hard on their tails.

Granspike Niblo was alone on the west wall, she hailed the defenders on the south walltop, shouting and waving her pinafore. "Skipper, hurry, there's something goin' on over here!"

Skipper came bounding across, with Barbowla and an assortment of otters, Guosim shrews and Redwallers following him. "We 'eard some shoutin' o'er there, marm, wot was it?"

Granspike's head only reached to just below the battlements. She stood on tip-paw, pointing. "Down there, in the

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ditch I think. Somebeast shoutin' charge. I think it must've been vermin."

Barbowla looked down into the deserted ditch below. "Well, whoever it was has gone now, Skip. Brownrats, d'ye think?"

The otter chieftain leaned over the battlements. "Mayhaps 'twas, though it might've been them vermin who Orkwil said were chasin' him an' the badger. As y'say mate, they've gone now, so we might never know. Good riddance t'them, says I."

Some of the wallguards stayed to discuss the curious incident, but the majority began trooping over to the south walltop to patrol their former positions. Orkwil was still on the west wall, where he had been joined by Maudie.

The haremaid suddenly twitched her long, keen ears. "I say, what's that bloomin' rumblin' noise?"

The young hedgehog jiggled a paw in his ear. "What noise, I can't hear anyth ..." His voice rose to an urgent bellow. "Here they come agin! Look!"

Everybeast hurried to the battlements, where they stood gaping in astonishment at the spectacle.

It was Vizka Longtooth and his twoscore vermin. This time they were the pursued, not the pursuers. Open-mouthed, wide-eyed, they were running for their very lives, with most of Gruntan Kurdly's horde thundering along in their wake. A cloud of dust rose from the dried-up ditchbed, as the entire mad stampede rumbled by, heading north at top speed. The onlookers' heads swivelled from left to right, following the mad procession as it shot by, in a welter of noise, dust and churned-up weeds and vegetation. Then it was gone, north up the ditch and into the distance.

Orkwil was dancing up and down with excitement, shouting at everybeast. "That was Vizka Longtooth an' some of his crew!"

Barbowla chuckled as he blinked after the vanishing

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dustcloud. "Aye, an' that was Kurdly's Brownrats after their blood. I wonder wot happened there?"

Foremole Burff was shaking with merriment. "Hurr-hurrhurr, who'd a-thought ee foebeasters wurrn't a-gettin' on together. Ho dearie oi!"

Abbot Daucus came skipping up the wallsteps, holding his robe like a mousewife with a trailing gown. "Will somebeast please let me in on the joke?" The Father Abbot's face lit up in a smile when he was told the news. Climbing onto a battlement, he peered northward, but both hunters and quarry were long gone. Daucus dusted off his paws. "Well well, what a lovely surprise, friends. I know this may not sound very charitable, but let me express the hope that the vermin wipe one another out, solving our problem once and for all."

Maudie helped the Abbot down from his perch. "Rather good, wot! I say, Father old thing, d'you think it'd be a jolly good idea to celebrate this cheerful moment, with something like a ... er, er, what's the confounded word I'm lookin' for?"

The Abbot provided it. "A feast?"

Maudie shook his paw heartily. "What a wise mouse you are, t'be sure!"

Rangval seconded the haremaid slyly. "Ah sure, we'd all be delighted to attend yore feast, sir, 'tis a grand ould beast y'are for askin' us!"

Laughingly, the Abbot shook his head. "Well, I walked right into that one, didn't I? A feast, eh, well, why not? Orkwil, go and tell Friar Chondrus to get preparations under way. Skipper, where d'you suggest we hold this affair, Great Hall, or Cavern Hole maybe?"

The otter chieftain was ever practical. "I'd say somewhere outside, Father. We don't want t'be caught nappin' if'n there's vermin still abroad."

Maudie came up with a bright idea. "Why not have it up here on the walltop? Southwest corner, in fact. The scoff could be laid on the wallsteps, with us guard types up

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here, an' other ranks, the oldsters an' young 'uns, down below on the lawn, by the jolly old pond, wot!"

"That's a great idea, then me'n you could have a little word t'gether, marm, about my sudden faintin' fit." The haremaid found herself staring into the angry eyes of the Guosim's new Log a Log, Osbil. Caught unawares, Maudie tried to woffle her way out of a quandary. "Wot, er, Osbil old lad, y'look remarkably chipper, wot! Well well, who'd have thought a stout chap like you would go into a faint, just like that, eh?"

Osbil's paw was on his rapier hilt as he replied. "Aye, just like that. Would ye like to try yore luck one more time, miz, then we'll see wot's faster, yore punch, or my blade-point?"

The smouldering resentment in Osbil's tone alerted Rangval, he stepped smartly between hare and shrew. "Ah now, don't be drawin' yore steel round here, bhoyo. Sure 'twas only to save ye bein' slaughtered by a rat horde that darlin' Maudie did wot she had to. Can ye not see that ye should be thankful to her?"

Now every eye was on Osbil and Maudie as they stood clear of the rogue squirrel. Keeping a watchful eye on the shrew's swordpaw, Maudie shrugged. "He's right, actually, I was only tryin' to save your life--"

Osbil interrupted her sharply. "Aye, an' shame me before all my Guosim, that's a great start for a new Log a Log. Tell me, would you be grateful to somebeast who knocked ye out with a trick punch, an' stopped ye avengin' the death of yore father by the vermin. Would ye?"

The full force of Osbil's predicament dawned upon Maudie; totally humbled, she bowed her head. "I did what I did with every good intention, but how can you forgive me? I wouldn't blame you for drawing your sword this instant, I acted like a thoughtless fool. If there is any way I can make up my stupid actions to you, just say the word, my friend."

Osbil, who had been expecting a challenge, was taken

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aback by Maudie's sincere apology He stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. The situation was saved by Abbot Daucus, who joined the paws of them both.

"I think it was very big of Miz Maudie to apologize like that. If you could realise this, and forget your anger, maybe these Guosim may see that their Log a Log has the qualities of a good chieftain. Well, what do you say?"

Osbil gripped Maudie's paw. "Thanks for savin' my life, friend!"

The haremaid shook Osbil's paw in return. "Aye, an' thanks for sparin' my life, friend. We'll pay Kurdly's lot back tenfold before this business is done, believe me. Luglug wasn't only your dad, he was a fine leader, an' a good pal of mine. Remember, just say the jolly old word an' I'm with you 'til the end, sah!"

Rangval parted their paws, with an expression of comic concern on his face. "Ah sure, 'twas all well said an' grand, but can't we have a bit of an ould feast afore ye go chargin' off to pay back the Brownrats?"

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25

Gruntan Kurdly was not built for speed. He stayed back in his position at the woodland fringe, facing the south Abbey wall. A dozen litter bearers, and the two scouts, Noggo and Biklo, were with him. The rest of the horde, led by Stringle, had gone off to chase the Sea Raiders. Gruntan lounged on the mossy sward, relishing a substantial clutch of partridge eggs, which the scouts had found in some long grass, not far from the ditchside. He swigged nettle beer from a small pail, wolfing down the hard-boiled eggs as fast as his lackeys could peel them. Wiping a grimy paw across his mouth, Gruntan belched happily. "By the 'ells teeth, I do like a good patteridge egg, more tasty than woodpigeons, eh, Laggle?"

The old female rat, who acted as his healer and physician, commented caustically, "I'll tell ye if'n I ever gits the chance to taste one. Sometimes I thinks yore goin' to grow feathers, ye eat so many eggs!"

Gruntan slung a pawful of crushed eggshells at Laggle. "Yew mind yore mouth, granny, go an' do summat useful, fetch me more beer. Noggo, cummere an' talk to me, tell me more about that raggedy bottomed bunch."

The scout had already told Gruntan all he knew, several

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times, but he was obliged to recount it all again. "There wuz about twoscore of 'em, Boss. After our lot run 'em off, me'n Biklo took a look at wot they'd been up to. The main bunch had started diggin' an 'ole in the side o' the ditch, facin' Redwall."

Gruntan probed his snaggle teeth with a hooked claw, spitting out eggshell fragments. "Wot d'ye reckon they was up to?"

Noggo said what he had already surmised the first time. "Only one thing they coulda been doin', Boss, diggin' their way into the Abbey."

Again, Gruntan Kurdly became highly indignant. "But that's our Abbey, not theirs, we're the ones who's gonna take that place. Thud'n'blunder, the nerve o' those animals!" He took a deep swig from the beer pail, coughing and spluttering, as his resentment against Vizka Longtooth's crew heightened. "It ain't right, that's wot it ain't! By cracky, I 'opes Stringle collars a few o' those villains alive. I'll teach 'em to steal our Abbey, I'll skin 'em alive an' feed 'em their hides. Youse lot over there, can't ye even peel the shell off'n a patteridge's egg atween ye? I'm swal-lowin' more shell than egg. 'Ere, Laggle, lookit this 'un!" He tossed the boiled egg to the old healer, who immediately ate it whole. She shook her head.

"Nah, that wasn't fit for ye to eat, yore right. Git them eggs peeled proper, ye lazy lot!"

Gruntan moved back onto his litter, commenting sourly, "Ye can't git nuthin' done right these days. Noggo, wot's that noise, go an' find out. I dunno, can't even take a decent nap now, widout all kindsa funny noises."

Noggo saluted and crept off, following the direction of voices raised in song. It was coming from behind the southwest wall gable.

A small group of young moles were providing the bass line, swaying back and forth as they kept up a constant chant.

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"Rubbledy dum be dum be dum, rubbledy dum be dum be dum."

The main contingent, who were all young Redwallers, marched in a circle, singing the verses aloud.

"I'll sit me down in my bestest gown, an' joyfully I'll sing, when a happy beast attends a feast, he'll eat most anything!

"I think I'll start with a mushroom tart, and some good Friar's cheese, a pastie or two, or maybe a few, and a salad if you please!

"O rumble tumble, fetch me a crumble, that's what I'm yearnin' for, if they're servin' second helpings,

I'll try to manage some more!

"Now bring me a pudd'n an' make it a good 'un

well-drenched with honey sauce, an' a flagon o' rasp'berry cordial, to swig whenever I pause!

"A trifle for me, a flan for you, let's raise our tankards all, what a happy day for a feast we say, at the Abbey of Redwall!"

Before Noggo could return to make his report, Laggle gazed wistfully in the direction of the Abbey. "Sounds like they're 'avin' a feast in there, Boss."

Gruntan, who had been trying to ignore the song, found his interest aroused at the mention of a feast. "Huh, I wonder wot they're 'avin' to eat. Did yew 'ear wot they wuz say in', Noggo?"

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The scout, who was returning, began recounting various dishes. "Er, lessee, there wuz mushroom tart, cheese, pasties, salad, crumble, pudden with 'oney sauce ... ny-eeeerk!"

Gruntan had Noggo by the nose, twisting it viciously "Yew rotten liddle fibber, nobeast has vittles as good as that!"

Laggle confirmed what Noggo had reported. "Noggo wasn't fibbin', I 'eard it meself, an' they was drinkin' raspberry cordial, an' scoff in' flans an' trifles. Me gob was wa-terin' jus' lissenin' to 'em!"

Gruntan released the scout's nose, turning on the old healer. "Then ye must be goin' soft in the 'ead, if'n yew believes all that. Huh, all sorts o' fancy rubbish like crumbles an' trifles. Did they say they was 'avin' 'ard-boiled eggs, betcha they never?"

Noggo kept out of Gruntan's reach. "No, Boss, they never said nothin' about 'ard-boiled eggs."

Gruntan Kurdly spat out an eggshell fragment contemptuously. "Hah, see, I told ye. A feast ain't no good widout 'ard-boiled eggs. Fetch me some nice, soft moss to plug me lugs with, I needs me nap!"

Vizka Longtooth's second in command, the weasel Magger, and the rest of Bludgullet's crew were enjoying the good life in North Mossflower woodlands. They had brought grog from the ship, and gathered eggs, fish, birds, fruit and berries locally. Magger had become quite popular with the vermin crew, he was easygoing, and not given to making the others fear him, like Vizka did.

An air of enjoyment and relaxation pervaded the woodland camp. After grubbing about the cold seas for seasons, suffering hard chores and short rations, the warm climate and sheltered surroundings suited the vermin fine. Nobeast was overeager for the return of their captain, that would only mean more discipline, marching, orders and fighting, to fulfill the golden fox's ambitions. Accordingly

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they lay about, taking their ease, and enjoying the welcome respite whilst they were able.

Two shipmates, a stoat called Saltear and a ferret named Ragchin, were wandering along the ditchbed, picking blackberries. They had almost filled Ragchin's floppy old hat with the fruit, and were sitting on the side of the path, debating what use the berries might be put to.

Saltear sorted out a large juicy one, musing, "Wodja t'ink, Rag, we could make grog outta dese."

Ragchin shook his head. "Nah, takes too long, an' de uthers would only drink it on us. Worrabout cookin' 'em up in a skilly'n'duff?"

Saltear spat into the ditch, not relishing the idea. "Dat Magger'd soon yaffle it down, 'ave ya seen 'im eatin' skilly'n'duff, 'e's like a wildbeast!" He popped the berry he had been holding into his mouth, grinning. "Why don't we jus' eat 'em ourselves?"

Ragchin immediately grabbed a pawful, stuffing them into his mouth, and wolfing them down. "Yore right, Salt, it wuz us wot picked 'em, eh!"

Purple juice was running down both their chins as they devoured the blackberries. Saltear suddenly paused, a berry halfway to his lips, he held up a paw. "Ahoy, kin yew 'ear sumthin', thunder, I think?"

Ragchin stood up, gazing at the sky. "Thunder, on a day like dis, nah, give over, mate...." Then he saw the dust-cloud rising in the south, it was coming from the ditchbed. He pointed. "Dat's wot's makin' der noise, lookit."

Saltear joined him, they stood watching the rising dust-cloud awhile, until a figure at the head of it came into view.

Ragchin could hardly believe his eyes, as more shapes became visible. Grabbing his shipmate's tattered jerkin, he fled, pulling him along. "It's der cap'n, bein' chased by an army o' durty, big Brownrats, mus' be a t'ousand of 'em. Come on!"

The two vermin came hurtling into camp. Magger and some other crew vermin had heard the rumbling, they

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were looking uneasy. Saltear and Ragchin shot past Magger, calling as they hurried to hide in the woodland depths, "Cap'n Vizka's bein' chased by t'ousands o' big rats, real big 'uns, dey're 'eaded dis way!"

Vizka Longtooth and the remains of his tunnelling party were running for their lives. Over a dozen of the Bludgullet's crew were lying behind them, slain and trampled by Kurdly's horde. Though his breath was coming in ragged bursts, the golden fox drove himself on relentlessly, propelled by naked terror. The Brownrats pounded along in his wake, their weird, paint-striped bodies strung with necklets and bracelets made from the bones of past victims, waving clubs and spears.

Vizka plunged onward, out of the ditchbed, and into the woodlands. Magger and the rest of Bludgullet's crew were to be his hope of salvation from the foebeasts. If he could make it to the camp, he would repel the Brownrat horde with the aid of his own considerable numbers. The Brownrats would be hit by a sudden retaliation from the vermin Sea Raiders. Behind him he heard one of his crew give an agonised screech as he fell victim to a stoneheaded axe. The golden fox leapt into the camp, his paws kicking up ashes from campfire embers as he shouted, "Magger, rally der crew! Magger ... Magger?"

The realisation that he had arrived at an empty camp hit Vizka Longtooth like a thunderbolt. There was nothing for it but to keep running. Deserted by his own crew, traitors and cowards who had fled their captain! The golden fox sucked in air, running even faster, this time spurred on by rage. He was a fool to have left Magger in charge back at camp. Ducking and weaving around the trunks of mighty oaks, elms, conifers and other woodland giants, Vizka began outpacing his pursuers, their sounds grew faint in his wake.

He was in the heart of ancient Mossflower now. Sunlight rarely penetrated the overgrown tree canopy, it was a world of misty green gloom. The golden fox's eyes

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searched the area, he knew it was not possible to run ceaselessly. There had to be a refuge, someplace to hide....

There it was! A massive, old beech tree, its huge, knotted trunk supporting widespread boughs, branches and foliage. Resting against it was a small spurge laurel, which had perished from lack of sunlight. Vizka Longtooth went up the laurel, into the lower forks of the beech, with all the agility of a cat. A lifetime spent on shipboard left him no stranger to scaling, after all the masts and rigging he had encountered.

Leaning down, he shoved at the slender, dead laurel, watching as it fell flat on the leafy, woodland floor. He went nimbly upward into the high reaches of the beech, choosing a wide, well-foliaged limb. Vizka settled himself there, knowing he was completely invisible from below. He lay there, tongue lolling, as he panted and gasped, relaxing his body, whilst his mind worked frantically, planning and scheming.

The golden fox was not a beast to be taken lightly. It would not be the first time he had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

It was night before the Brownrats ceased searching the woodlands for Vizka's crewbeasts. They retired to the camp, formerly set up by Magger, where they relit the fire and settled down to consume what food remained there. Stringle sat watching Tantail and Dirril, they were boiling a variety of eggs, which the Bludgullet's crew had gathered. Stringle was quite pleased with himself.

"Haharr, lookit that now! Woodpigeon, coot, plover an' quail eggs. Ole Kurdly'd enjoy that lot, eh?" He watched Tantail and Dirril nodding their heads ruefully, then Stringle laughed aloud. "Hohoho, mates, well, Kurdly ain't gittin' none, 'cos we're gonna eat 'em ourselves!"

Giggling like three Dibbuns, the Brownrats began shelling and gobbling down the eggs. Tantail found the partially full keg of ship's grog, she sampled it, drawing in

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a deep breath. "Whfaw, this is the stuff t'put a curl in yore tail!"

Soon they were all enjoying the fiery liquor, laughing and gurgling uproariously at Dirril's imitation of Gruntan Kurdly, which was fairly accurate. She stuck out her stomach, belching cavernously. "Ahoy there, peel me more eggs, ye swabs, or ye'll find yoreselves sufferin' an attack o' the Kurdlys!"

Stringle swigged more grog, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. "Heeheehee, the ole lardbucket, let 'im wait, we'll camp here an' go back tomorrer, mates. Make the best of it while ye can. Ahoy there, wot's this?"

A band of returning Brownrats swaggered in, dragging a prisoner. It was Magger, with his paws bound behind him and a rope halter about his neck. Their leader, Bladj, gave the weasel a kick, sending him sprawling close to the fire.

"We collared one of 'em, Cap'n, guess wot 'is name is, Maggot, ain't that a daft 'andle?"

Stringle placed his footpaw on Magger's cheek, forcing the terrified weasel's face into the dirt. "Maggot, eh, yore an ugly-lookin' cove. Wot'U we do with ye, Maggot, let y'live, or slay ye?"

Magger gazed fearfully up at the savage, painted face of the Brownrat captain, stammering, "Let me live, sir, I'm no 'arm ter anybeast!"

Tantail tickled his nose with a knifepoint, watching him flinch. "An 'armless maggot, eh, where's yore boss, Fizker summat, that's 'is name, ain't it?"

Magger pronounced his captain's name properly. "It's Vizka Longtooth, an' I don't know where 'e is."

Stringle took a burning stick from the fire. Magger yelped, arching his back, as the Brownrat ran the flaming timber down it, cautioning him, "Then ye'd better find out where this Vizka Longtooth is, if'n ye want to live. Is 'e alive or dead?"

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Taking what he thought was the easy option, Magger whined, "Prob'ly dead by now, I t'ink."

Stringle took Tantail's knife, he held it against Magger's throat. "Prob'ly dead ye think, wot sort o' talk's that? I'll tell ye wot, shall I slit yore gizzard an' see if I think yore prob'ly dead, eh? Now, let me set ye straight about all this, Maggot. I can't go back to Gruntan Kurdly an' tell 'im 'is enemy's 'prob'ly' dead. My boss is a Brownrat warlord, wot 'e wants to 'ear is that ole Vizka Longtooth is stiffer'n a cold frog wot's been flattened by a fallin' tree in a snowstorm. There ain't no prob'lys with Kurdly. So I'm goin' to ask ye jus' once more. Is Vizka dead?"

Magger knew his life depended on the answer, he replied without hesitation. "He's dead!"

Stringle smiled and stroked his captive's head. "Well said, good ole Maggot! Now, tell me agin, but this time say it was me wot killed 'im."

Magger was past caring about the truth, he would have said anything Stringle wanted. "Aye, Vizka's dead, an yore der one wot slayed 'im!"

Stringle waggled the knifepoint close to Magger's eyeball. "Very good! Now don't yew ferget it, keep sayin' it to yoreself, Maggot, ye'll live long'n' 'appy if ye do."

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26

At about the same time the Brownrats had been pursuing Vizka up the ditch, Gorath opened his eyes. The young badger felt strangely calm. There was a little molemaid sitting by the bed, watching him. Raising his head slightly, he smiled at her. "Hello, what's your name, miss?"

She fell from the bedside stool, and shot up, throwing her small, flowered apron over her face as she fled. "Oi'm Dawbul, zurr, you'm ascuze oi, mus' be fetchen Sisarta, zurr!" Gorath could hear her cries as she tottered downstairs. "Eem gurt badgerer bee's wokened, Sisarta, 'urry!"

Gorath sat up. At first he felt dizzy, but the sensation died off as he breathed deeply. He had no idea where he was, except that it was someplace within Redwall Abbey How long had he been here? Within moments he heard a rush of paws pounding the stairs. Next thing he knew, the little sickbay room was full of creatures. Sister Atrata hurried to his side, he sat quite still as she checked him out.

After awhile, the Sister announced to the visitors, "At least he's over the fever, thank goodness. How do you feel, Gorath?"

The young badger touched the deep, flame-shaped scar on his forehead, and spoke quietly. "I feel hungry, Sister." Rangval muttered to Maudie in an audible whisper,

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"Hungry, is he? Faith, an' 'tis goin' to keep the ould cook busy vittlin' that bhoyo up. Will ye look at the size o' the beast, shure I'd sooner be feedin' him for a day than for a season, that's for certain!" For some obscure reason, the roguish squirrel's remark amused Gorath, it made him chuckle.

Abbot Daucus observed the pleasure it gave all the Red-wallers, to see a happy smile on the face of their guest. The Abbot winked at Orkwil, indicating Gorath with a gesture. "Tell your friend why he's fortunate to wake up hungry at this time."

Orkwil grabbed Gorath's huge paw, and started tugging him out of bed. "'Cos we're havin' a feast out in the grounds, d'ye want to come, mate?"

Gorath allowed Maudie and several others to heave him upright, he shuffled once, then regained his balance. "It would be a pleasure to attend your feast, that's if it isn't too much trouble."

Skipper threw a paw around the big badger's shoulder. "Too much trouble, matey? Hahaarharharrrr!" Everybeast pointed their paws at Gorath, breaking out into an old Abbey feasting song.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Yore doubly warm an' welcome here, don't stand on ceremony, we've set a place so never fear, just come along with me.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Ho move ye up an' make a space, let our friend sit at table, to drink the best our cellars brew, an' eat all that he's able.

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"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Come please us with yore company, pray bring yore appetite, sing loud if you've a mind to sing, or dance throughout the night.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!"

Surrounded by happy Redwallers, Gorath allowed himself to be led downstairs, out of the Abbey building. It was a perfect summer afternoon outdoors, with a gentle breeze, and the sun beaming from a cloudless blue sky. Maudie and Orkwil led him to the tables, which had been placed on the lawn betwixt the Abbey pond and the south wall.

Barbowla called down to them from the walltop, "Bring the big feller up here, mates, those little 'uns will pester the life out of him down there, that's if'n Gorath can manage the wallsteps."

Dibbuns, otterbabes and tiny Guosim infants were already clamouring around the big, young badger. Some had perched upon his footpaws, and were beginning to climb upward. Foremole Burff and Granspike Niblo disentangled them from Gorath, reproaching the babes.

"Yurr, coom off'n ee pore beast, get ee daown, oi says!"

"You'm likkle villyuns, ee'm badgerer loike t'be toppled o'er with you'm a clamberin' on 'im loike h'ants!"

Maudie took Gorath's paw. "I say, old lad, Barbowla's right, are you able to manage the wallsteps, wot?"

The badger gave a rumbling chuckle. "I might just be able to, if there's food up there."

There was indeed food to be had on the ramparts, the best Gorath had ever tasted. Seating himself on the top step, he allowed Benjo Tipps to press a tankard of finest

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October Ale upon him. This was followed by Friar Chondrus, who placed a loaded tray close to Gorath's paw.

"This is one o' my mushroom an' leek pasties, I hope ye like it. There's some fresh made cheesebread, an' summer vegetable soup. Oh, an' a portion of tater, onion an' carrot bake to nibble afore dessert. Eat 'earty now, young sir!"

Gorath was joined by Orkwil and Maudie. As he ate with an astounding appetite, the young hedgehog and the haremaid related how Vizka Longtooth and some of his vermin had been chased off by the Brownrats.

Gorath expressed concern over the incident. "I hope Longtooth doesn't run off altogether, I've got a score to settle with that fox!"

Orkwil took a bite of pastie, fanning a paw across his mouth to cool it. "First you've got to get yoreself fit an' well, mate, then ye can think about slayin' yore enemies. I wouldn't worry too much over Longtooth, he'll come slinkin' back around Redwall sooner or later."

Rangval had been sitting close by, eavesdropping on the conversation. He called over to Maudie, "Why don't ye save a few of those good ould uppercut punches for the fox, if'n ye meet him, miss?"

Orkwil replied for the haremaid. "You don't trade punches with a vermin like Longtooth, have ye seen that wicked-lookin' mace an' chain he carries? One swipe o' that would be all it takes!"

Maudie was not impressed. "He could jolly well swipe with his mace all flippin' season, but he wouldn't touch a hair of me if I didn't want the rotter to."

Gorath looked at her curiously. "How so?"

Maudie took a kerchief from her sleeve. Spreading it on the walkway, she placed her footpaws on it, one slightly in front of the other. Then she gave forth a challenge. "Righty-o chaps, anybeast wants to try landin' a bloomin' punch on me, step up. I won't attempt to hit back, word of honour an' all that, wot!"

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No sooner was the challenge out than Log a Log Osbil accepted it. He leapt up, paws clenched tight, milling about in small, businesslike circles. As he stood in front of Maudie, Osbil gave her a sly wink.

"My turn this time, marm, ye'll feel how hard I can punch. Are ye good an' ready?"

Maudie winked cheerily back at her adversary. "Ready as I'll ever be, bucko, you punch away whenever y'feel like. I won't move from this kerchief."

A crowd gathered along the walltop to watch. Some of Osbil's Guosim friends shouted out, "Go on, Chief, give 'er a good 'un!"

"Aye, an' belt 'er harder'n she hit you!"

Osbil never hesitated, he swung a big roundhouse right. Maudie seemed just to sway, ever so slightly. The punch spun Osbil around with its force, but it never touched the haremaid. The Guosim chieftain looked astonished. Maudie grinned at him. "Nice try, old chap!"

Osbil gritted his teeth and threw a huge uppercut. The haremaid bent gracefully backward, letting her opponent strike air. Osbil came back with a flurry of punches. Maudie evaded every one of them, swaying left, right, forward and back, with a lithe ease.

The Guosim were yelling encouragement to Osbil.

"Give 'er the ole one-two, Chief!"

"Try hookin' with yore left!"

"Go for the breadbasket, knock the wind out of 'er!"

Osbil tried them all, and a few more beside, but to no avail. Maudie could not be touched. He gave up and stood there, head bowed, panting heavily. Maudie folded up her kerchief, throwing a paw about Osbil's shoulders.

"Come on, friend, let's have a jolly old tankard of the good October together, what d'ye say?"

The shrew chieftain grinned ruefully. "How did ye learn to do that, mate?"

Rangval bounded between them, hopping about and

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ducking. "Practice, me ould tater, that's how ye learn t'do anythin' well. Go on, go on, try to hit me, I dare ye!"

Osbil merely held out his clenched paw, and Rangval danced straight into it, knocking himself flat. Everybeast roared laughing, except Rangval, who sat up holding his chin. "I took lots o' bobbin' lessons, but none on the weavin'. So I bobbed when I should've weaved, an' that's how ye got me. Oh, an' then there's the duckin' an' divin' lessons, I'll have to start takin' those soon. Then I'll wipe the smiles off yore gobs. Maudie, me darlin', how's about givin' me a few tips?"

The haremaid issued a generous offer. "Why, certainly, old top, in fact I'll give anybeast a list of hints. Who wants to learn, any of you chaps?" Virtually everybeast on the ramparts, young and old, began clamouring for instructions. Maudie held up her paws for silence before giving them the benefit of her experience.

"Right, listen up now, chaps. My old pa was the finest boxin' hare ever to come out of Salamandastron. He could box the blinkin' whiskers off the best of 'em, an' that jolly well includes me. From the time I was only a totterin' leveret, he had me skippin' a rope an' singin' this song. I'll show you, who's got a piece of rope that I can borrow, wot?"

Abbot Daucus untied his white habit cord. "How would this do, miss?"

Maudie tried a few practice skips. "Nicely thank you, Father. Right, here we jolly well go!" She started with slow hops, twirling the rope easily as she broke into the song taught by her father in bygone seasons.

"Duck an' weave an' weave an' duck, you'll learn the noble art, don't lash out an' trust to luck, use science, skill and heart.

Make your paws show him who's boss.

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Hook jab! Punch jab! Feint jab cross!

Show commonsense, have confidence, keep one eye on that blighter, do what he least expects you to, an' you'll become a fighter.

"Make your paws show him who's boss.

Hook jab! Punch jab! Feint jab cross!

Sway an' bob an' bob an' sway, an' keep your guard up tight, tuck in that chin, aye that's the style the way you learn to fight.

Make your paws show him who's boss.

Hook jab! Punch jab! Feint jab cross!"

Maudie repeated the last two lines several times, skipping so fast that the rope became a blur. She finished to enthusiastic applause.

Abbot Daucus retrieved his habit cord, commenting wryly, "If they're all as good as you at Salamandastron, I wonder why they want a badger, you've got a real skill there, miss. Oh dearie me, it looks like you've started something, just look at that lot!"

Everybeast, including the Dibbuns and old ones, down on the lawn was using habit cords, belts, even pieces of trailing vine, as they leapt wildly about. Benjo Tipps, who was far too weighty for such exercise, donated his belt to a pair of shrewbabes. He chuckled as they skipped awkwardly off. "We'll soon be havin' an Abbeyful o' boxin' beasts. Lookit ole Foremole Burff there!" The mole chieftain had forgotten the words, but he bounced about solemnly, chanting. "Duck bobby duck bobby, 'ook duck bob!"

Maudie covered her eyes with a paw. "Good grief, if my old pa could see that, he'd have a flippin' purple fit, wot!"

The feast continued on into the warm summer evening, with other songs, dances and games taking the place of skipping. It was turning dusk as Maudie returned to the

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walltops, after helping to carry up more food from the kitchens. She plumped down beside Friar Chondrus, accepting a beaker of strawberry fizz from him. The haremaid cast a glance at Gorath's empty seat, calling to Orkwil, "I say, old lad, where's our big feller got to?"

The young hedgehog shrugged, but Skipper nodded toward the Abbey building. "Said he was goin' back to the sickbay to put his paws up."

Sister Atrata nodded sagely. "Probably the best thing for him, after recovering from the fever. Orkwil, why don't you and Miss Maudie go and check on your friend. Gorath might not know his way back to the infirmary."

Rangval joined them, rubbing his stomach ruefully. "Sure, a stretch o' the paws might do me a bit o' good, I think I overdid the ould feastin' a touch!"

Orkwil prodded the rogue squirrel's distended midriff. "Overdid the feastin' a touch, did you say? I think you must have a heavier touch than a regiment of starved squirrels, it's a wonder you haven't burst!"

Rangval wrinkled his nose at Maudie. "Faith, will ye lissen t'the creature, I suppose ye'll begrudge me second helpin's when we return t'the feast!"

As dusk darkened to night, lanterns were lit on the ramparts. Down on the lawn some of the elders lit a fire, to roast some of last autumn's chestnuts, which Marja Dub-bidge had stored in the belltower. Skipper Rorc was helping Barbowla and Kachooch to carry sleeping Dibbuns up to the dormitory, when they met Maudie and her two friends hurrying down the stairs into Great Hall. The otter chieftain stood aside to let them pass. "Where are ye off to in such a rush, missie?"

The haremaid's jaw was set in a grim line as she explained. "We're looking for Gorath, he's not in his room."

Barbowla shrugged. "It's a warm night, Maudie, yore big badger might've chose to sleep out in the open. Maybe the orchard, or over by the pond."

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Orkwil shook his head. "Then why would he want to take Tung, his big pitchfork, with him? It ain't in the room, an' Gorath's not in his bed. I'm worried!"

"Owow, git yer paws off me, I ain't done nothin'!"

Benjo Tipps pushed the surly watervole through the doorway. The burly Cellarhog had him tight by one ear.

Skipper Rorc eyed him with dislike. "Ahoy, Benjo, where'd ye come across this mis'rable sneak?"

The Cellarhog gestured with his free paw. "By the little north wallgate, Skip, he tried t'run off but I collared him smartish."

The vole, who had his head bandaged due to his fall from the walltop, squealed unmercifully. "Yeek, yowch! Lemme go, yore 'urtin' my wound!"

Benjo gave his ear an extra tweak, and spoke severely. "If'n ye don't tell us wot you were up to at the wallgate, yore in danger of losin' a lug. Now speak!"

The vole's explanation was a mixture of indignation and self-pity. "I went up t'the healers room, to see if'n that Atrata mouse'd change the dressin' on me injury, but she wasn't there. Suddenly I was grabbed, by that giant stripedog. He 'eld a big pitchfork to me stummick. I thought he was goin' to kill me!"

Orkwil had not liked the vole from their first encounter. He expressed this in no uncertain terms. "Listen, sourface, I'll kill ye meself if'n ye don't tell us where Gorath went. Get on with it!"

Hanging on to Benjo's paw, to ease the pressure on his ear, the vole explained rapidly. "The stripedog said he had business with the golden fox. He made me take 'im t'the north wallgate, said I wasn't to tell nobeast, an' told me to lock the gate after he'd left. So I did, an' that's when this fat spikepig laid paws on me. Yeeeek, yore draggin' me ear off, leggo leggo!"

Benjo squeezed the ear harder. "Tell me, slutchface, who was the fat hedgepig that laid paws on ye? I can't see no fat hedgepig round here, can you, Skip?"

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The otter chieftain scratched his rudder thoughtfully. "We ain't never had a fat 'edgepig at Redwall, only a fine, big, 'andsome Cellarhog!"

The vole caught on fast. "Please sir, ye fine, big, handsome Cellarhog, release me, I beg ye!"

Benjo flung the vole from him contemptuously. "You've overstayed yore welcome at this Abbey, ye wretch. If'n I see ye around here come dawnlight, I'll throw ye from the walltops. Now get out o' my sight!"

As the vole slunk away, Skipper addressed Maudie. "Looks like yore badger friend's gone, miss, an' there's nought ye can do about it."

The haremaid looked at the otter. "Why so?"

Skipper gestured to the woodlands outside the walls. "Mossflower's teemin' with Kurdly's mob, an' a vermin shower o' Sea Raiders, far too dangerous for a young 'un like you t'be wanderin' about round the trees."

Maudie treated the otter to an icy stare. "I have only two words to say t'you, sah. Pish an' tush!"

Skipper looked nonplussed. "An' wot's that supposed t'mean?"

Rangval drew a dagger from his belt and twirled it skillfully. "Ah, shure, it means that darlin' Maudie has a mind of her own, bucko. She's goin' out there to find that great, ould lump of a badger. Oh, an' I'm the very beast who'll be goin' with her!"

Orkwil seconded the rogue squirrel promptly.

"Gorath's my friend, too, count me in, Miz Maudie!"

Skipper shrugged and heaved a gruff sigh. "I'll get some volunteers from the Guosim an' come along with ye. Barbowla, are you game for this?"

Maudie interrupted. "Not possible. I'm afraid, Skip, you'll need every beast available to defend these bloomin' walls if there's a vermin attack."

Abbot Daucus, who had wandered up, and eavesdropped on the conversation, stepped forward. "She's right, Skip, besides, I think a few might accomplish more

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than a whole band of Redwallers out in the woodlands. When do you three plan on leaving?"

Rangval sheathed his blade. "Soon as we can, Father. Now would be a good time, whilst the ould feast is rattlin' on atop o' the walls, an' the countryside's nice'n'quiet out there. Sure, nobeast'd notice us slippin' off quietlike."

The Abbot bowed slightly. "As you wish. Take some provisions from the kitchens, and whatever weapons you may come across. Though we're not greatly stocked with arms at Redwall. Go, and good luck to you. Maudie, should you find Gorath, would you be so kind as to bring him back to the Abbey, if only for a short visit and a brief farewell? Before you persuade him to be spirited off to Salamandastron?"

The haremaid curtsied elegantly. "It'd be my pleasure, Father Abbot. Right, stir your stumps, you chaps, quick's the word an' sharp's the action, wot!"

The Abbot accompanied them to the kitchen, where an obliging old molemum packed three small haversacks with foodstuffs enough to last several days. Maudie seldom carried a weapon, Rangval had all the arms he needed, and Orkwil still carried the knife and club he had taken from the vole. The trio had no need to go looking for more protection. As they were passing through Great Hall, Orkwil crossed to the alcove where the great tapestry hung. The Abbot commented to Rangval and Maudie, "He's probably taking his leave of our Abbey Champion."

The haremaid followed the young hedgehog. "A jolly good idea, from what I've heard of Martin the Warrior, think I'll pay my respects, too, wot!"

Before they reached the alcove, Orkwil's shout of alarm echoed around the vaulted hall. Rangval sprang forward, shouting, "Orkwil, what is it?"

The young hedgehog staggered toward them, dragging with him the limp form of Sister Atrata. Abbot Daucus intercepted him, gently he placed the Sister on the ancient floorstones, supporting her head as he made a rapid examination.

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"She's taken a heavy blow to the back of her head, maybe she was pushed, and struck one of the columns."

Maudie knelt by the frail figure of Redwall's healer. "But why? She never hurt anybeast, the Sister was devoted to healing others. Who could have done this?"

Orkwil cried out, his voice rising to an angry shout. "Look, Martin's sword has been taken, an' I'll wager it was that vole who did it. The Sister must've tried to stop him!"

Maudie stared at the spot on the wall where the great sword had been mounted. "Good grief, you're right, old lad, it's not long since Benjo exiled him from the Abbey. He must have come straight here, committed the crimes and left pretty quick."

Rangval started toward the door. "Aye, well, the Haggard might've left Redwall, but he can't have gotten too far yet. Let's get after him!"

The rogue squirrel and Maudie sped off. Orkwil was last to leave Great Hall. He stood in front of the tapestry for a brief moment, gazing into the eyes of Martin's likeness, which was the centre of the wondrous fabric. The young hedgehog's voice was steely and resolute. "Martin, sir, I'll bring your sword back to Redwall, and I'll make that coward pay. I give you my promise I will." Orkwil Prink bowed swiftly and departed.

Abbot Daucus called for assistance to help with the unconscious Sister Atrata. "Our friend has been cruelly taken from us." He turned back to the picture of Martin the Warrior, his voice shaken by the violence in his beloved Abbey. "Rest assured, friend, Orkwil Prink will keep his promise."

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27

A tranquil summer morn reigned over Mossflower. Dew-drops trembled, like tiny crystal pears, from bough and fern, birdsong echoed melodiously over the woodlands. Berries blushed from ruby to deeper purple as they matured, and flowers of the forest burgeoned into full blossom. However, all of this serenity was soon to be shattered. Gorath the Flame was on the vengeance trail.

The blood of berserk warriors coursed hotly through his veins, Gorath felt totally renewed as he stalked the woodland tracts. The sickness had left him, he was lean and gaunt, yes, but his dark eyes glittered with a frightening intensity. The big badger held his pitchfork, Tung, at the ready, as he passed, silent as a summer breeze, through the countryside.

Vizka Longtooth's deputy, the weasel Magger, had passed an unnerving night amid his captors. He was fearful of the Brownrats, they were big, painted savages decked out barbarously with bones, they treated their prisoners roughly. Their captain, Stringle, roped Magger's neck to a stake in the ground. He lay there helpless, dreading whatever fate lay in store.

The weasel Sea Raider had convinced himself that

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the Brownrats were cannibals. Often in passing they would kick, slap or pinch him, sometimes terrifying him, with a hungry leer. However, for the moment they were satisfying their hunger by breakfasting on the remainder of the stores left behind by the vermin crew of the Bludgullet.

Stringle had commandeered the dregs of the grog barrel, he sat over Magger, gnawing at a roasted trout. As if suddenly noticing his captive, he winked at Magger. "Don't fret, matey, we'll soon be movin' out. Ye must be 'ungry, d'ye want some o' this?" He held the half-eaten fish in front of the weasel's nose.

Magger managed to mutter humbly, "Aye, sir."

Stringle dealt him a smack across the muzzle with the trout. He laughed, calling to a nearby Brownrat, "Ahoy, Bladj, this pore beast ain't 'ad no brekkist, wasn't you in charge o' dishin' out the vittles?"

Bladj was a wicked-looking piece of work, he seized Magger by the jaw, pulling him close and mocked the hapless prisoner. "I musta forgot that ye wanted brekkist, I 'opes you'll accept me apologies. I'll wager ye've not even 'ad a drink, 'ere, mate, try a liddle punch." He punched the weasel's snout so hard that it sent bells ringing in Magger 's ears. Bladj patted his head. "Would ye like some more, or I can give ye lashins o' stick, a nice slap up soup an' a kick bottom pudden?"

Magger had the good sense to refuse. "No sir, der punch wuz enuff!"

Bladj communicated his reply to Stringle. "Sez he don't want no more brekkist, Cap'n."

Stringle smiled indulgently. "That's me trouble, I always spoils prisoners. Maggot, was that wot yore name is?"

Magger nodded dutifully, not wanting to disturb his captor's expansive mood.

Stringle untied the rope from the stake, passing it to Bladj. "Cummon, Maggot, we'll take ye to see yore Uncle Kurdly."

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The Brownrat horde was moving out of the camp at a leisurely pace, when a horrible gurgling scream rent the morning air. Everybeast froze, Bladj cast an uncertain glance at the woodlands. "Wot'n the name o' 'ellgates was that?"

Stringle shrugged. "'Ow should I know, sounded like somebeast yowlin' t'me. It came from over yon, by that ole tree, go an' see wot it was."

Bladj did not sound too eager. "Wot, me?"

The captain turned his spearpoint threateningly toward Bladj. "Aye, you! Go an' see who's doin' the screamin'..." As Stringle spoke, another bloodcurdling scream rang out from the same direction as the first. This was followed by a great, roaring shout.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

Two slain Brownrat carcasses came hurtling out of the tree cover. As they flopped on the grass, another death screech cut the air, followed by a thunderous bellow. "Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

En masse, the Brownrat horde turned and fled the scene. Stringle stood uncertainly for a moment, his voice hesitant. "But, but we don't know who ..."

"Eulaliiiiaaaaa!"

The Brownrat captain fled after his command.

Completely forgotten in the panic, Magger fled straight up the nearest tree and clung motionless amid the foliage. He saw Gorath come striding out of woodlands onto the trail of the departing Brownrats, teeth bared, breathing like a bellows, eyes ablaze. Magger held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. The weasel had seen Gorath kill some-beast before, aboard the Bludgullet, he knew what he was seeing now, a badger in the throes of Bloodwrath. Magger stayed where he was, watching in horrified awe, until the huge, pitchfork-wielding beast was out of sight. Climbing swiftly down from his perch, Magger fled in the opposite direction.

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Deeper into the woodland, another was also descending out of a tree. Vizka Longtooth had caught sight of several Bludgullet crew vermin, they were creeping cautiously about midst the tree trunks, trying to stay clear of Brownrats, whilst they foraged for food. Vizka concealed himself behind a fallen elm trunk, he watched, and listened, gleaning information from them.

Firty and Jungo were digging out some edible roots, debating as to whether they really were edible. "Dese looks alright, mate, wotjer t'ink?"

Jungo sniffed them, pulling a face. "Huh huh, dey smells a bit strong, but I s'pose dey'll do."

The ferret Ragchin upbraided Jungo. "Ahoy, don't yew be eatin' dem, 'tis share'n'share alike, chuck 'em wid der rest!"

Jungo looked highly indignant. "I wuzzent eatin' dem, I wuz only smellin' 'em. Any'ow, who made yew der cap'n, Raggy?"

Ragchin had made himself a spear, by tying a broken knifeblade onto a pole. He leaned on it nonchalantly. "Ain't no more cap'ns round 'ere now, but I'm in charge of youse lot, Glurma said so. Cummon, let's git dis lot back t'camp, so's Glurma kin cook dem up."

Gathering up their forage, the score of crewbeasts stole off through the trees, with Vizka quietly following them. The golden fox did not want to show himself, until he knew which way the land lay.

It was a day for wanderers and ramblers, in that region of Mossflower, one of whom was particularly pleased with himself. The watervole had come upon a magpie, it was fluttering feebly on the ground, dragging one wing, which was obviously injured. The vole finished the magpie's flutters, with a single thrust of Martin's sword. Gathering dry moss, he struck flint to the legendary steel, and soon had a

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small fire burning in the lee of a grassy knoll. Spitting the magpie carcass on a green twig, he set it over the flames, and settled down to admire the blade he had stolen.

The vole was ignorant of the sword's history, or value, to him it was merely something to replace the dagger which Orkwil had taken from him. Granted, it was a fine piece of work, razor-sharp, and perfectly balanced, but a sword was only a big, useful knife to the mean-spirited stream-dweller. He stirred the fire with it, not even bothering to clean off the flawless blade, which had once been part of a meteorite hurtling through space.

Magger had stopped running, he crouched amid some ferns, regaining his breath. Then he smelled the acrid odour of burning feathers. The weasel straightened up, judging the breeze direction until he knew the source of the pungent reek, a small, grassy knoll, only a short walk from where he stood.

The vole pulled the bird clear of the heat, raking away the black ash of burned feathers with the sword.

From directly overhead, a scornful voice caught his attention. "Hah, it's der 'airymouse!"

Bending backward, he looked up into the leering face of Magger. The weasel was standing atop the knoll, holding a boulder over his head. Before the startled vole could move, the big stone crashed down, slaying him outright.

Chuckling to himself, Magger kicked the deadbeast callously to one side. Sitting in his place, he continued roasting the magpie, commenting, "Shouldn't never waste good vikkles!" A moment later, the weasel was crunching into the carcass and spitting out feather stubs. He glanced at the dead vole, treating the body to another kick. "Ain't much of a cook, are ye, 'airymouse. Aye aye, wot's dis yer 'idin' from ole Magger?"

The vole's body had rolled over, to reveal the sword. Magger pulled it from the vole's deathgrip, appraising the wondrous weapon as he wiped it on his ragged jerkin. "By de 'ellfires, worra beauty!" Ignoring the roast birdmeat, he

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sprang up, waving the blade about, marvelling at its lightness and clean lines. "Hoho, blood'n'spit t'the bucko who tries ter stan' in my way, dis is a real cap'n's blade!"

Dashing headlong into the ferns, Magger swished about left and right, whooping with joy as the blade sent fronds willy-nilly, revelling in the feel of the thrumming weapon. He halted, to plant a smacking kiss on the red-stone-pommeled hilt. "Haha, king o' de forest, king o' de sea, king of everyt'ink, dat's me!" Surprised at his own rhyming eloquence, Magger sat down, gazing lovingly at his newfound acquisition. "Hah, I even feels cleverer now I gotten dis!"

Back at the deserted campsite, Rangval took food from his haversack, beckoning to his companions. "Take a rest now, mates, let's have a look at these tracks. Orkwil, try not to disturb anything."

Orkwil and Maudie made their way over to the rogue squirrel. Both opened their packs, they were hungry from hours of tracking.

Maudie cast a cynical eye about as she munched on a scone. "Hmph, it'll be jolly difficult tryin' to make one blinkin' track out from the other. It looks like there's a bloomin' stampede passed through here, wot!"

Taking a pull from a flask of damson cordial, Orkwil knelt. He outlined a broad footpad close by. "Well, here's where Gorath was, headin' that way toward the ditch. Lots of other prints, too."

Rangval gave them a cursory glance. "Brownrats, shure I'm no stranger to their trails. Nobeast passed over the big feller's marks, y'know wot that means?"

Maudie finished her scone. "Indeed, it means our badger was pursuin' the rascals. The way those rats kicked up dirt one could see Gorath was the last chap they wanted to face."

Rangval selected an apple. "Shure, an' I wonder why that was, Maudie darlin'?"

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The haremaid replied nonchalantly, "Who knows, old scout? Gorath never looked to me like a chap who'd be fond of vermin. Perhaps he just got peeved with the blighters, wot!"

Orkwil snorted. "Peeved? Look at the way those Brownrats churned up the grass to get away from him. Gorath's in the grip of Bloodwrath, that's why they were in such a rush to get away!"

Rangval took a bite of his apple. "Hmm, Bloodwrath, is it. I've heard o' that afore, ain't it supposed to drive badgers mad?"

Maudie nodded. "Somethin' like that. Oh well, chaps, up an' at 'em, wot! I suppose we'd best follow his trail. What d'ye say?"

Orkwil began packing his haversack. "You two go ahead, I won't be comin' with ye. I've got to bring Martin's sword back to the Abbey, so I'll have to cast about until I find that vole's tracks, he's the rascal who'll have the sword."

Maudie pointed to the main tracks. "But what about my blinkin' badger?"

Rangval found himself in the position of mediator. "Ah, c'mon now, Maudie me ould beauty. We know where the big feller's bound, he's chasin' the Brownrats. They'll run straight back to their boss, Kurdly, an' he's camped south o' the Abbey wall. Let's lend young Orkwil a paw to find his vole. We can always catch up with Gorath an' Kurdly's bunch later."

Maudie relented. "Oh well, righto, but remember, Orkwil, if we find your sword then you owe me one."

The young hedgehog was frankly relieved. "Good, I'll be in yore debt, marm, let's go this way."

They marched off north, on Orkwil's supposition that the vole would be making for the River Moss. All three spread in a forage line, keeping their eyes out for tracks. Rangval was the first to break trail, he was slightly east of the other two.

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"Ah shure, and ain't I the grand tracker! Look, here's the ould villain's pawmarks. I can tell 'tis him, 'cos there's the dragmarks he made by lettin' the sword point scrape the ground. See, an' here's a slash on this rowan trunk, where he's made a swipe at it, testin' out his fine, new blade I'll be bound, eh!"

Maudie cut across Rangval, getting ahead of him. "I say, chaps, blood'n'fearners on the ground here. The bounder's killed a bird. Hold on, can you smell scorchin' feathers? Quiet now, an' keep your eyes peeled!"

Rangval, who prided himself on his woodcraft, nodded toward the small hillock, which he glimpsed through the trees. "Smoke's still arisin' yonder, that's where yore vole will be, Orkwil."

Maudie took charge. "Rangval, you come over the rise from the back. Orkwil, skirt the hill from the left. I'll take it from the right. When you hear me shout a Eulalia, then charge the blighter. Spread out now."

Glurma, the old, female ratcook of the Bludgullet, looked up from her stockpot, as Ragchin and his group came wandering into the new camp, beneath some willows on a streambank. She challenged them in a harsh voice. "Tell me ye've caught fishes, or kilt birds, but don't say dem scabby ole roots is all yew got?"

There was a good number of the crew sitting about in groups. They watched in disgust as Ragchin's patrol threw their meagre offering on the wilted heap of vegetation, which was all that had been brought in.

Ragchin spat out moodily, "Dat wuz all we could find, ain't nuthin' much out dere."

Glurma flung a few pawfuls of their find into the pot. As steam rose from the boiling mixture, she wrinkled her snout distastefully. "Ugh, ramson bulbs, I could tell dat stink anyplace!"

Jungo's stomach rumbled aloud, he shrugged. "Smells awright ter me, I'd eat anyt'ink, I'm 'ungry!"

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There was a whoosh of flying metal, the mace and chain missed Glurma by a hairsbreadth. The missile struck the cauldron, knocking it over. Sizzling steam and cascading hot water extinguished the fire noisily Vizka Longtooth strode through the camp, and retrieved his weapon. He stood looking about in the hushed silence which followed his dramatic entrance. "Well, did ya t'ink I wuz dead?"

The haglike Glurma cackled aloud. "Heeheehee! I knowed ye'd come back, Cap'n, dat's why I kep' der crew t'gether fer ye!"

The crew did not know how to respond to their captain's appearance, everybeast kept dutifully silent.

The golden fox draped the chain of his mace round Ragchin's neck. He drew the petrified ferret close to him. "I left Magger in charge, where is he?"

Ragchin swallowed hard. "Gone, Cap'n, Magger's gone. We ain't seen 'im since dose big Brownrats attacked."

Vizka showed his long fangs in that familiarly dangerous smile, he spoke almost playfully. "Gone, eh, an' yew thought ye'd take 'is place as leader of der crew, is dat right, shipmate?"

Ragchin denied the accusation vehemently. "No, Cap'n, no, yore der leader, everybeast knows dat!"

Vizka was about to speak, when Maudie's distant cry rang out. "Eulaliiiaaaa!"

The golden fox released Ragchin immediately. "Dat ain't from too far off, roller me, buckoes, an' norra werd outta anybeast!"

Rangval sat by the embers of the fire, staring at the crumpled figure of the vole. "Orkwil, me ould mate, it looks like yore not the only one who wants t'get his paws on that sword."

Maudie placed her footpaw on the boulder that had slain the unfortunate creature. "Rather. Well, that poor fool didn't suffer much, wot. I wonder what scallywag did the deed?"

Rangval averted his face from the still-smoking remains

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of the burnt magpie. "Phwaw! Can ye imagine anybeast wantin' to eat that?"

Orkwil had been casting about the scene, he wandered off toward some ferns, not too far off. "I think I've found tracks here, some kind of vermin. Aye, this'll be him, sure enough." He reached the fernbed, and went into it stooping. "Aye, this is the murderer, he's been slashin' round at these ferns, choppin' 'em all ways with the swo--"

Swooping out of the ferns behind him, the golden fox moved like lightning. Wrapping the mace chain around Orkwil's neck he crossed his paws and tugged hard, calling aloud, "One move an' I snaps 'is neck!"

Maudie and Rangval froze, the haremaid muttering, "You harm one spike of his head an' I'll kill you!"

Vizka tugged on the wooden mace haft. "Yer in no position ter give orders, rabbet. Ahoy, crew!"

There was a noise behind Rangval, he turned to see a whole crowd of vermin coming over the hill. "No good ar-guin', Maudie, the fox is holdin' all the acorns in this game. He's got us for certain!"

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28

It was night. Gorath could look up and see the stars, countless numbers of them, some glittering, others still and unwinking. His grandfather had shown him stars when he was small, hanging in the skies above the Northern Coast, brilliant and cold as blue ice. Not like these stars, some almost gold, warm-looking, suspended in the soft, dark, Mossflower night.

A thought occurred to the young badger. What was he doing here, lying in a depression formed by three hilltops? He recalled a star, like some huge, flaming comet, exploding inside his skull. Then a black veil, enveloping his mind. Two creatures were talking nearby, their voices almost muted. One sounded young, feminine.

"But, Tabura, he looks far too big and powerful to have fainted away as you said."

The other voice was old, husky, with a rumble like far-off midsummer thunder.

"See the scar, he has been sorely wounded some time ago. A dangerous thing for a Warrior of the Bloodwrath. His rage overwhelmed him, he could not control the anger. It is well that we found him before his enemies did, Salixa. Try giving him a little water, he should be coming round. Not too much, just a sip or two."

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Gorath was fully awake, but he held his silence, allowing the one called Salixa to raise his head. He drank sparingly from the scallop shell which was pressed to his lips. The water tasted cold and sweet. Sitting up slowly, Gorath could see he was west of the Abbey, on top of one of the few rises which dotted the flatlands.

Two badgers sat silently watching him. The old male gave a soft, homespun cloak to the younger one, a slender badgermaid. She draped it about Gorath's shoulders as the old one spoke.

"We did not make fire, for fear of being seen by foes."

Gorath felt the pitchfork, lying nearby. He picked it up. "This is called Tung. My name is Gorath, I fear nobeast!"

The old badger nodded. "I can see that you do not know fear, Gorath. This maid is my travelling companion, she is Salixa. I am called Tabura."

The young badger's eyes were wide with recognition. "Did you say 'Tabura'?" The name leapt unbidden to Gorath's tongue.

He detected a slight chuckle in the oldster's voice. "How does one so young know of the Tabura?"

"My grandmother used it often. If my grandfather and she were disputing anything, and he won the argument, she'd say, 'Huh, you're becoming a real Tabura.' Also, if I ever had a question that neither of them could answer, they'd tell me to wait until I met the Tabura, and ask him."

The maid, Salixa, refilled the scallop shell with water, passing it to her elder, who merely wet his lips with it before replying.

"We are different creatures, you and I, Gorath, each at opposite ends of the same scale. Once there were many badgers who were called Tabura, they devoted their lives to peace, and the search for knowledge. There were also the warriors, those who were born with Bloodwrath.

"As vermin conquerors arose throughout the lands, there was a need for more warriors, and fewer wisebeasts. I once had a brother, he was a Bloodwrath badger, just like

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you, Gorath. It is seasons out of mind since I last saw him. Being the warrior he was, his bones have probably long whitened under some far sun. But enough of my mean-derings, tell me, what roads in your short life have brought you here?"

Gorath felt he could immediately trust the Tabura, he related his whole life to him. However, as he spoke his gaze wandered constantly to Salixa. Even though she spoke not a word, and Gorath could not make out her features clearly in the darkness, he could feel understanding, and a silent compassion, flowing from the badgermaid. The Tabura sat with his eyes closed, never interrupting, or questioning. When Gorath had ended his narration, the old badger remained quiet for a long time before speaking.

"Tell me, would you wish me to help you? I can see you have much to learn. A Tabura can be of great assistance to one such as you. I do not require an answer right away, rest here with us tonight. We will speak again in the morning, Gorath."

Apart from his grandparents, Gorath had never known any other badgers. The kinship he felt with Tabura and Salixa was totally natural. He felt obliged to reply. "Tabura, thank you for your offer of help. I accept. Tell me what I need to do."

A rare, slow smile touched the old badger's face. "Salixa and I need to visit Redwall Abbey. It is a place I have heard much about. As you are already acquainted with its creatures, perhaps you'd like to introduce us?"

Gorath rose, pointing in the direction of the huge, dark shape to the east. "But of course, I'd be glad to. We'll go there now, it's no great journey, I'm sure they'll welcome us!"

The Tabura held out his paw. "Lend me your weapon, to use as a staff. Salixa, walk ahead with Gorath, I'll follow at my own pace."

They strolled over the flatlands at a leisurely pace.

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Tabura kept a few steps behind, which Gorath suspected was the old one's way of allowing them to talk together. Salixa stayed quiet at first, letting Gorath take the initiative.

"Are you related to the Tabura, is he your grandfather?"

The badgermaid stooped to pick a small plant, she sniffed it briefly. "Scabious, it's said to be good for rashes, I like the flower, it's a pretty lilac colour. The Tabura is no relation to me, he is kind and wise, like a very old father. He's teaching me to be a healer, I know lots of plants and herbs, even tree barks and roots."

Gorath accepted the scabious flower from her. "How do you come to be with him?"

Salixa glanced back, satisfying herself that the old badger was not listening, before she replied. "I only know what he told me, I must have been too young to recall anything. I had no parents, or kin. The Tabura found me with a small vermin band. He took me from them, I did not even have a name, they called me stripedog and kept me on a rope halter. Tabura named me Salixa, an ancient name for willow trees, he said it was because I was so slender, like a willow sapling."

Gorath nodded. "Good for him, I know what it's like to be called names like stripedog, or stripehound. Were the vermin angry when he took you from them?"

Salixa replied in a matter-of-fact tone, "I recall asking him that same question. He told me never to mention those vermin, ever. Because he had sent them all to a place where they could never inflict their evil, anger or torment on any creature again."

Now it was Gorath's turn to glance back at the Tabura. He found it hard to believe that such a humble, mild-mannered creature could slay a vermin band. Then Gorath looked at Salixa, she was picking another small blossom. "Field gentian, see the little, star-shaped purple flower? The potion made from its roots is very good for wounds."

In that moment Gorath knew why the Tabura had done

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what he did. He also knew that he would mete out the same fate to anybeast who harmed a single hair of the gentle badgermaid.

Osbil and some of his Guosim were on walltop patrol, he spied the three forms crossing the ditch below. "Show yoreselves an' be recognised, are ye friends or foebeasts?"

Gorath replied, "Log a Log Osbil, it's me, Gorath, and I have two friends with me."

Proud to be addressed by his recently inherited title, Log a Log Osbil detailed two of his shrews to admit the badgers. He called down in a loud whisper to Gorath, "Go round to the north wallgate, matey, we've got those Brownrats still camped south of us!"

Gorath and his friends were hurried inside by the Guosim. Abbot Daucus met them at the entrance to Great Hall.

"Gorath, they're out searching for you, come in and bring your friends. I'm afraid the news isn't good. Come into the kitchens, Friar Chondrus will fix you some supper. Then you can hear what's been going on."

The Friar served them a supper of vegetable soup and pasties, crisp from the oven. Gorath introduced his new friends as they enjoyed Redwall's delicious hospitality. When he heard the old badger's name, the Father Abbot was impressed.

"Welcome indeed, sir, most scholars know that the title Tabura is only bestowed on the wisest and most learned badgers. It is a great honour for us to have you as our guest, but what is the purpose of your visit to Redwall Abbey?"

The Tabura bowed courteously to the Abbot, his eyes twinkling. "Most scholars know very little about my title. It is a tribute to your knowledge of badger lore that you address me thus, Father Abbot. There are several reasons for my visit to your wonderful Abbey, not the least of them

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being a desire to sample your good Friar's outstanding cooking."

Chondrus acknowledged the compliment with a radiant smile.

The badger took the Abbot's paw firmly. "I could tell by your face, when we first met, that you are beset with urgent problems of your own, Father. In the light of this, let us put aside my minor requests, and concentrate on your troubles. Explain them, and I will see what help three badgers can offer."

As the Abbot spoke, Gorath found his attention distracted by Salixa, who was listening intently to Abbot Daucus. Gorath was plainly enchanted by the first badgermaid he had ever met. Calmness and serenity seemed to radiate from this slender, sable-furred creature. She possessed the most gentle and compassionate eyes. The young badger was studying her so intently that he had forgotten all about his food.

Everybeast thought that the Tabura had fallen asleep, by the time Daucus had finished relating the current situation, but they held a respectful silence until the wise badger's eyes opened, and he spoke.

"It is late, you all have things to do. Go about your business, or off to your rest. Leave me here, I need to think. See to your own needs, friends, please."

Skipper felt concern for the Tabura. "But wot about yore own rest, sir? You ain't young no more, ye must be tired!"

The old one shook his head. "I have learned discipline of body and mind long ago. The murder of one of your beloved creatures, the theft of your precious sword. One, possibly two bands of foebeasts threatening Redwall, and the three outside your walls, friends, who may be in mortal danger. What are the problems of one old badger, when you have troubles enough at your door? Leave me now."

Abbot Daucus showed the Tabura downstairs to Cavern Hole. "Sit in the big armchair by the hearth, I'll see that

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you aren't disturbed, friend. By the way, what problems, aside from ours, are on your mind?"

The Tabura patted the Abbot's paw, chuckling. "I care greatly for my ward, Salixa, as I am coming to do also for young Gorath. Did you not see them looking at each other? They are the sun and the moon, one is flame, the other is a calm lake. I know their fates are intertwined. I must see to it that no harm touches them, they are both very special creatures."

The Abbot recalled the looks that had passed between both young badgers. He smiled at the old one. "Surely you are the wisest creature that ever lived!"

The Tabura gave Daucus one of his rare smiles. "Or the most sentimental old fool. I bid you good night, Father. We will meet again as the sun rises."

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29

Maudie, Rangval and Orkwil were strung up by their paws from the limb of a big sycamore, which grew at the edge of the camp. Their footpaws barely touched the ground. Four guards--two stoats, a weasel and a fat ferret--lounged against the sycamore trunk. Surprisingly, they had not been beaten or tormented by the Bludgullet's crew. Vizka and his vermin were lounging on the other side of the camp clearing, virtually ignoring their three captives.

Orkwil muttered to his two friends, "It was my fault, gettin' caught like that, sorry, mates."

Rangval winked at him. "Ah, don't fret about it, bucko, shure, it could've happened to anybeast, ain't that right, Maudie darlin'?"

The haremaid looked up at her bound paws. "Right enough, old lad, I didn't spot that confounded fox 'til the last flippin' moment. Sneaky blighter!"

Orkwil could not keep the tremble out of his voice. "Huh, I 'spect they're busy thinkin' up 'orrible ways to slay us, what d'ye think?"

Rangval gritted his teeth angrily. "Shure, I'd give 'em a few ould things t'think about if'n I wasn't trussed up like washin' on a line."

Maudie agreed with him. "Indeed, the cowardly rascals.

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If I was loose enough t'get a few punches at 'em, there'd be teeth fallin' like hailstones around this bloomin' camp!"

Rangval swung to face Maudie, grirLning roguishly. "Tell ye wot, let's bait 'em up a bit, eh?"

Orkwil looked from one to the other, mystified. "Wot d'ye mean, 'bait 'em up a bit'?"

Rangval danced a little jig on his footpaws. "You just listen to us, me ould mucker, ye'll get the hang of it soon enough. Would ye like to start the ball, Maudie darlin'? Go on, give 'em plenty!"

Shouting so that she could be clearly heard, Maudie began insulting the golden fox and his crew. "I think they're goin' to leave us here to die of old age, 'cos they're too jolly scared to fight us!"

One of the guards ran in front of Maudie, waving a spear at her. "Sharrap, rabbet, or I'll gut ya!"

The haremaid swung forward, kicking him under the chin, and laying the guard out flat.

Rangval hooted. "Hahahaharrr! Did ye ever see anybeast so dim? Ahoy over there, any other idiot need a good kick? C'mon, line up over here an' we'll oblige ye!"

Vizka Longtooth saw several of his crew rising and pawing at their weapons. He snarled at them, "Stay where y'are, I'm tryin' ta t'ink!"

The small rat, Firty, piped up indignantly, "But dey're in-sultin' us, Cap'n, dey can't gerraway wid dat. Ain't ya gunna do not'ink?"

Leaning over, Vizka dealt him a fierce cuff on the ear. "I'll do sumt'ink ter you if'n ya don't shurrupp!"

The vermin crew were forced to sit glumly, enduring the prisoners' ribald comments.

Maudie sang out, "Oh, foxy, foxy, could you come over here please, whilst I kick your oversized choppers out?"

Emboldened by the vermins' lack of reprisals, Orkwil chimed in boldly. "Hah, I'm only little, but I can wallop weasels all day. Come an' try yore luck with 'orrible Orkwil!"

Rangval broke out into a raucous ditty.

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"Oh the only good vermin is a dead 'un, me dear ould mother used to say, she was always puttin' paid to rats an' ferrets, when they got in her way.

Ma was also very good at skinnin' weasels, she made all the babies winter coats, an' whenever we needed extra blankets, why, she'd go an' collar two fat stoats!

"So the only good vermin is a dead 'un, they're peaceful wid their paws turned up, an' they're wonderful for fertilisin' roses, but you mustn't dig 'em up.

We often had a ferret's nose to play wid, a liddle game that we called hunt the snout, and we had a sweepin' broom, made from a fox's brush, for dustin' the parlour out!"

Vizka began tying a knot into a rope's end. The slight about the fox had got through to him. "I need dem alive, but dat's all dey gotta be, alive. A taste of rope an' dey'll be singin' a diff'rent song!"

One of the stoats on sentry duty at the camp fringes interrupted Vizka's intentions as he hurried in to report. "Cap'n, dere's one o' der crew outside o' camp, 'e wants ter speak wid ya."

The golden fox continued knotting the rope's end. "Which one of der crew is it?"

The sentry, Dogleg, whispered confidentially, "Magger."

Vizka Longtooth's grip tightened about the rope he was holding, his eyes glinting icily. Then he changed suddenly; swinging the rope in a carefree manner, he called out jovially, "My ole shipmate Magger, I t'ought he wuz slayed. Bring 'im 'ere t'me if'n 'e's alive an' 'appy!"

Dogleg scurried off to get Magger, as Vizka sat smiling from ear to ear.

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The three prisoners were becoming weary of vermin baiting, nobeast seemed to be taking much notice of them. Rangval shouted out a final taunt. "Shure, the only difference ye can tell twixt a vermin's bottom an' his face is that his nose ain't got a tail sticking out of it!" The roguish squirrel gave up further efforts.

Maudie called out, almost halfheartedly, "Too right, old sport, I always say that if looks could kill, then vermin would never stare at each other!" The haremaid gave a snort of disgust. "Oh, what's the bally use? A blinkin' plum pudden's got more feelin's than that rotten lot, wot!"

But Orkwil was enjoying himself, he carried on with his insults, undeterred. "Yah, go an' boil yore mouldy ole bottoms, ye snipe-nosed, twiggly tailed bunch of frog followers!"

Maudie sighed. "I say, old lad, d'you mind leavin' off, wot, you're givin' me a flippin' earache!"

However, the young hedgehog was in full flow. "I could lick ye all with a single quill! Ye droopy-bellied, snotty-snouted, pongy-pawed, whiffle-eared scruffsacks! I'll bet yore grannies were all snigglety wooflers!"

Bonk! One of the guards sprang forward, and dealt Orkwil a stunning blow with his spearhaft, muttering, "My ole grannie wasn't no snigglety woofler, take dat!"

From where she was suspended, Maudie took a peep at her senseless friend. "He's not hurt bad, but he'll have a jolly red lump twixt his ears for a few days, wot. Anyhow, at least we'll get a bit of peace for awhile, what d'you say?"

Rangval shook his head. "A snigglety woofler, wot'n the name o' fur'n'feathers is that?"

The haremaid groaned as she tried to shrug. "Haven't a bally clue, but I'll be sure to remember it whenever I'm baitin' vermin. Hmm, snigglety woofler eh, I rather like that! Good grief, eyes front, bucko, d'you see what I jolly well see?"

Magger edged hesitantly into the camp. Every eye was

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upon the fabulous sword he had thrust into his belt. The weasel nodded uncertainly at Vizka, acknowledging him. "Ahoy, Cap'n."

The golden fox left his mace and chain on the ground. Waving the knotted rope, he greeted his former second in command affably. "Ho ho, Magger, welcome, mate! Sit ya down an' get a bite to eat. It ain't much, but 'tis the best we kin do fer now."

The weasel glanced warily about, staying on his footpaws, and disregarding the offer of food. His paw never strayed far from the sword, as he enquired, "Ain't ya mad at me, Cap'n?"

Vizka's face was the picture of astonished amusement. "Mad at ya, wot would I be mad at ya for, matey?"

Magger replied, having first got his story prepared. "When dose Brownrats attacked I wuz out, lookin' fer vittles ter feed der crew. By der time I got back, yew was all gone an' der camp wuz empty, Cap'n." He avoided looking at Vizka, staring at the ground, and scuffing a footpaw to and fro.

Enjoying Magger's discomfort, Vizka pursued his interrogation, but in a lighthearted tone. "So, wot did ya do den, mate, an' where did ya get dat big, pretty knife, eh?"

One lie followed another as Magger embellished the tale. "I tuk it offen a big Brownrat, Cap'n."

The crew of the Bludgullet watched the exchange in silence, knowing the outcome as Vizka chuckled.

"Ye tuk it, jus' like dat?"

The weasel shook his head stoutly. "No, not jus' like dat, Cap'n, wot 'appened was dis. I surprised four of der rats, layin' round a campfire dey was. One of dem 'ad stuck der sword in d'ground. Dey was restin', so I sneaked in, grabbed der sword an' slayed 'em all. I been lukkin' fer yew ever since, Cap'n."

Vizka began advancing slowly on Magger, all the time keeping his eye on Martin's sword. The weasel sensed he was in trouble, he dropped his paw until he was grasping

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the hilt of the weapon. Vizka stopped within a pace of him, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't do dat, Magger me ole mate. I left my mace on d'ground over dere. Wot could I do agin a blade like dat, I ain't armed, 'cept fer dis cob o' rope. Yew keep yore sword, messmate, ye deserve it after slayin' four Brownrats ta gerrit. Ain't dat right, mates?" The vermin crew nodded dutifully.

Magger looked around at them, relinquishing his hold on the sword. Stars went off inside his head as the knotted rope thudded into his eye. He fell backward with an agonised yelp as Vizka leapt on him, stepping on his sword paw and lashing mercilessly with the rope. Every stroke hit Magger's head, his eyes, jaw, snout, teeth, cheeks and chin. Vizka never let up the savage assault until he was certain Magger was finished.

The blade sliced through Magger's belt as Vizka pulled it free. Breathing heavily, he stood over his victim, bellowing with rage at the prone body. "Traitor! Turntail! Yew ran at the first whiff o' dose Brownrats! Ye deserted me'n'my crew, all yore mates! Now ya come runnin' back 'ere wid ya lies. Carryin' a fancy blade, an' thinkin' Vizka Longtooth is some kinda fool. Well, who's the fool now, scum-brain!"

The golden fox seized Magger by an ear. Raising the weasel's head he swung with the sword. The Bludgullet's crew stared, horrified, as Vizka held up the severed head. His warning was not lost on them.

"Ya see, Magger ain't tellin' lies no more. I can't stand a runaway, or a traitor. Remember dat, all of ya!"

Rangval and Maudie had witnessed the whole shocking incident. Maudie whispered, "As soon as Orkwil wakens, we'd do well to tell him not to mention the sword. Right, bucko, mum's the word!"

The rogue squirrel agreed readily. "Oh, right y'are, marm, 'tis a good job the fox never had that grand ould

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blade afore we started baitin' him. He might've tried it out on us, just for practice."

The haremaid murmured urgently, "Don't talk too bloomin' soon, old chap, he's headed over here lookin' rather like he's become pretty fond of head-choppin', wot!"

Rangval swallowed hard as he watched Vizka approaching. "Shure, I hope he's not about to become a pain in the neck. I like bein' attached t'this ould head o' mine!"

Vizka held the sword forth, until it was at the captives' eye level. "Dis ain't no Brownrat weapon, 'tis a fine blade. Tell me, where've ya seen it afore?"

The keen blade came close to Maudie's throat as she answered. "Seen it before? No, 'fraid not, sah. But let me say, it suits you well. The sword was obviously made for you, it's yours by right of conquest I think."

Vizka stared up at the three friends, suspended from the branch by their paws. He drew back the sword and struck with a yell. "Yaaaaah!"

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30

Soft clouds shrouded the dawn, lending the new day a pearllike sheen. The Tabura sat in the orchard, completely at one with his surroundings. Not a leaf or a blade of grass stirred, it was as if the earth lay still, enjoying the brief, peaceful moment, before the morning bustle of Abbey life.

A young robin landed in the folds of the badger's homespun garment. He sat motionless, watching the little bird. At the sound of approaching voices, the robin flew off into the trees. At his bidding, the badgermaid Salixa had brought Gorath, Abbot Daucus, Log a Log Osbil, Skipper Rorc, Barbowla, Foremole Burff and Benjo Tipps.

They seated themselves round and about the upturned barrow, which the old badger was using as a chair. Friar Chondrus and two helpers trundled up, pushing a trolley laden with breakfast food.

The Tabura declined a bowl of honeyed oatmeal, nodding at the trolley. "None for me just yet, thank you. I will eat after I have spoken. But please, do not let me stop you from breaking your fast, friends. Everything looks so delicious, I hope you will save me a little."

When everybeast was served, the Tabura gave voice to his thoughts. "Gorath, let us face your problem first. It is right and just that the murderer of your kinbeasts should

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pay for his crimes. Therefore you must pursue this fox. I know by the vow you made to yourself that you will seek him, right to Hellgates if need be. But my young friend, it is not the fox that you must worry about, it is yourself that you must fear. Aye, fear I say, for your own Bloodwrath may be the death of you. Go now, but before you do, grant me just one wish."

The young badger took his pitchfork, the frown creasing his brow making the vivid, red scar look even more like a flickering flame. Gorath was frankly puzzled. "Tabura, I am bound in honour to obey one so wise. What is your wish?"

The old badger turned his gaze on the slender badgermaid. "That if Salixa so desires, you will allow her to go with you. To stay by your side and accompany you."

Gorath was lost for words, all he could say was, "But why?"

The Tabura was still staring at Salixa. "Would you go with Gorath if I asked you to do so?"

The badgermaid went to stand at Gorath's side, she replied without hesitation, calmly. "I will go with him because we both wish it."

The Tabura smiled at them both for a moment, then closed his eyes. "Go then, and may the fates be kind to you. With the Father Abbot's permission, I will be staying here, now that Redwall has lost its healer."

Abbot Daucus took the two young badgers' paws. "You must bow to your Tabura's wisdom. Friar Chondrus, will you see they are provided with supplies? Alas, your stay at our Abbey has been all too brief. We wish you well. Be kind to one another, remember, friendship is the greatest gift one creature can offer to another."

With the Friar following them, they departed without another word. The Tabura only opened his eyes after they had gone. There was a moment's silence, then Skipper shook his head in amazement.

"Gorath's a fine, young badger alright, but he's a Blood

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wrath warrior, an' a dangerous beast to be around. I tell ye, I wouldn't allow any daughter o' mine to go off on the loose with one like him. Why did ye let yore daughter go, Tabura?"

The old badger stared at the spot where the pair had been standing a moment ago. "Salixa is no kin of mine, though I care for her as much as any father would for his daughter. You saw the two of them together, they need each other."

Benjo Tipps scratched his headspikes. "But suppose Gorath gets into one of his rages, what could a slip of a maid do then? She could be in peril."

Reaching into his belt pouch, the Tabura brought forth a small, round stone, which he passed to the Cellarhog. "Tell me, friend, what do you think that is?"

Foremole Burff took a swift glance, answering promptly. "Hurr, et bee's a pebble, zurr, make'd o' grannet, oi think?"

Everybeast present nodded in agreement. The old badger took the pebble back and held it up. "A simple pebble, which I took from a stream. One time, maybe before creatures ever walked the land, that was a chip of granite from some mountain. Somehow it fell into a stream, or a river. A small, sharp lump of stone, rough and misshapen. No tool, no chisel or hammer, turned it into a smooth pebble. Completely round, without any keen edges, a perfect little stone ball. It was water, streamwater, running softly through countless ages, which continually washed this stone, finally turning it into a pebble."

Skipper nodded. "You mean that the maid could smooth the rough edges off'n Gorath. But you said the water took countless ages t'do it, sir."

Abbot Daucus answered for the old badger. "Aye, but Gorath and Salixa aren't water and stone, they're living creatures who care for each other. It won't take ages, Skip, believe me!"

The oldster chuckled. "Well said, Father Abbot, maybe someday you might become a Tabura?"

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Daucus smiled modestly. "I hardly think so."

The Tabura accepted a beaker of hot mint tea from Foremole. "We shall see. Now, let us face the problem of these Brownrats. What do you know of them, and their leader?"

The Abbot deferred to Barbowla's explanation. "Wot's to know, they're a vermin horde, an' Gruntan Kurdly's a big, fat, evil, greedy beast. First he wanted the Guosim's log-boats, but then he set his twisted mind on Redwall. Now Kurdly wants this Abbey."

Abbot Daucus spoke out angrily. "But he won't get it, Redwall is too strong to fall into the paws of scum like that!"

Skipper slammed his rudder down hard. "That rat'll only get Redwall over our dead bodies, we'll fight him with everything we've got!"

The Tabura held up his paws until the indignant outcry halted. "Wait now, friends, what you're telling me is that Kurdly is a rat who takes what he wants by brute force and ignorance, because he has a horde behind him."

Osbil drew his rapier. "Aye, but if'n he wants war we'll give it to the villain, hot'n'heavy!"

Draining his beaker, the Tabura nodded to Friar Chondrus. "This is very fine mint tea, may I have more, please? Now, on the subject of your enemies, Father Abbot. I think you would agree that war is the last resort of intelligent creatures. It brings only death and destruction."

Abbot Daucus replied wistfully, "There's no doubt about that, friend, but what are we to do? Vermin aren't beasts you can reason with."

There was a twinkle in the old badger's eyes as he sipped his tea. "Indeed they aren't, that's what I'm relying on. They are not only our enemy, but they have no love for each other, these two vermin armies. My advice is, sit tight within your Abbey, defend it when you have to. Vermin are cruel, murderous, but most of all greedy. I think they'll cancel one another out. I have seen vermin conquerors and armies before, trust me."

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At his camp, south of the Abbey wall, Gruntan Kurdly was reflecting also. He had become accustomed to the thunder of paws, either coming down or going up the ditch nearby. First it was Sea Raiders chasing Brownrats, then it was Brownrats chasing the Sea Raiders. Now it was his own horde again, madly stampeding from north to south. He watched with a jaundiced eye as they stumbled, slobbering and panting, into camp. As a change from boiled eggs, Gruntan was pigging down a mess of small, roasted trout. Hawking loudly he spat out in disgust, narrowly missing his old healer, Laggle. The Brownrat chieftain scowled sourly at her. "Wot did yer give me fishes for, ye ole frowsebag? Fishes ain't good vittles, they got bones in 'em, sharp ones, they got fish skin, too, an' ... an' ... bits, lots o' slimey bits!" Picking up another trout, he regarded it with disgust. "Yurgh! Fishes got eyes, too, an' they stares at ye when yore eatin' 'em!"

He grabbed the nearest Brownrat and slapped his face several times with the cooked trout. "I likes eggs, d'yer know why?"

The unfortunate Brownrat tried to duck another slap from the trout. "'Cos eggs tastes better, Boss?"

Tossing the fish at Laggle, Gruntan wiped his paws on the Brownrat's head before kicking him away. "No, stupid, it's 'cos eggs ain't got bones'n'skin, an' slimy bits, too. Leastways, not when they're boiled proper, an' peeled well."

He turned his attention on Stringle, and the rest, who were lolling about, still huffing and puffing. "So youse lot are back, eh? Hah, the way ye came bowlin' down that ditch, it sounded like you was bein' chased. So tell me, 'ow many was after ye, ten score, twenny score, or was it just a bad-tempered wasp? Stan' up, Stringle, an' let's 'ear the sorry tale!"

Stringle stood, well clear of Gruntan Kurdly, and did his best to put a brave face on things. "We chased those

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seabeasts, Chief, jus' like ye told us to. When they saw us after 'em, they took off like scalded frogs, ain't that right, mates?"

There was a murmur of agreement, then Stringle carried on with his report. "Aye, they ran sure enough, but we charged after the gutless scum. Chased 'em right into their camp we did an' slayed 'em, left, right'n'centre!"

Gruntan raised his eyebrows. "All of 'em?"

Stringle tried hard to look injured and gallant at the same time. "Well, not exac'ly all of 'em, Chief, one or two of the cowards ran off, but we took care o' the main gang. Ye won't be bothered by that lot no more!"

Gruntan took a while to digest this information. "Hmm, an' wot 'appened to their chief, this fox, Fizzy Longteeth? Where'd he go?"

Stringle blurted out, "We catchered 'im!"

Gruntan picked a trout bone from his snaggled teeth. "Ye catchered 'im. Good! Well, where is he?"

Stringle hesitated, moving further away from Gruntan, or any missile he might choose to throw. "Well, that's wot I was goin' t'tell ye, Boss, it was like this, ye see. We 'ad 'im, all trussed up, comin' back 'ere along the ditch we was. When all of a sudden, there's this giant madbeast, wirra great big fork!"

Gruntan belched, then spat out another fishbone. "Wot sort o' giant madbeast?"

Stringle backed away even further. "One o' those stripe'ounds, but big as a tree, wid red eyes. Stabbin' away at us with 'is big fork an' shoutin'!"

Gruntan halted his captain's flow again. "Wot was 'e shoutin'?"