High Rhulain

12

It was a beautiful night outside, still warm from the long, hot summer day. Like a ball of newly churned butter surrounded by stars, the moon reigned over a dark, cloudless sky. Groffgut and his gang lay in the ditch opposite the Abbey’s west wall. They had been passing the time there since midnoon, napping and eating food they had gathered along the way. The water rats had been content during daylight hours, but they were distinctly uneasy now that night had spread its canopy over all. They were awed at the sight of Redwall and none too anxious to pay it a visit or meet its inhabitants. However, it was fairly obvious that their leader was planning something by the way he sat apart from them in the dry ditchbed, focussing his attention on the monumental building which loomed over them.

Pointing his rusty makeshift sword at the west walltop, Groffgut tried to whip up the gang’s enthusiasm. “Willyer lookit dat place, mates? Just sittin’ there, all fulla good stuff fer us!”

Threetooth provided the only response, which was not overly encouraging. “Dey got a h’eagle in dere, an’ anudder big burd, too. I saw dem!”

Groffgut contradicted him, lying blatantly. “O no, yer never! Didden’t I show youse de h’eagle flyin’ away, jus’ afore it went dark?”

Threetooth knew what he had seen, and he said so. “Dat burd was too ’igh up inna sky. ’Twasn’t no h’eagle, neither, it was a seagill.”

Groffgut threw himself on Threetooth and gnawed on his ear. “Are yew callin’ me a liar, eh? I said it was a h’eagle!”

Threetooth was sorry he had spoken. “Owowow! Awright awright, it was a h’eagle. Wowoow! Stop eatin’ me lug’ole, Chief, it was a h’eagle!”

Groffgut kicked him to one side. He curled his lip in scorn at the other vermin. “Yer know the trouble wid youse? Ye’ve all gone soft on me! Yer frykinned of yer own shadders. Right, y’see dis sword?”

He brandished the rusty scythe blade under their noses. “Well, I’ll be usin’ it ter slay anyrat wot’s not wid me. ’Cos if’n yer not wid me, yer agin me, see! Now, up wid yer paws all dose who’s wid the chief o’ dis gang!”

Knowing Groffgut’s dangerous temper, the gang had no option but to raise their paws. Groffgut made a point of counting and naming them to reassure himself.

“Dat’s Frogeye, Plugtail, Rashback, Obbler an’ Fleddy. Oi, Threetooth, is yore paw up or down?”

Threetooth, who had been nursing his chewed ear with both paws, sullenly raised one. “S’up, Chief.”

The gangleader nodded. “Dat’s good, ’cos I’m gunna need yew.” ’

Frogeye knew that he was waiting for somebeast to ask, so he obliged. “Are yer gunna tell us de plan, Chief?”

Groffgut dropped his tone dramatically. “Der’s seven of us, right? Lissen, we sneaks up to dat wall, an’ four of us, me’n Frogeye’n’Rashback, an’ Plugtail, lets Obbler an’ Fleddy climb up an’ stand on our shoulders. Next, the climber gets up onto Obbler’n’Fleddy’s ’eads. It’s easy den. All the climber does is slings my sword up onna rope an’ catch der top o’ that wall, pull hisself over an’ open dat big door to lerrus all in. Good plan, eh mates?”

Threetooth began protesting as he backed off down the ditch. “Y’mean I’ve gorra be de climber? I’m no good at climberin’, I swear I ain’t, Chief!”

Groffgut shoved Rashback and Frogeye forward. “Grab’im!” They seized the unfortunate Threetooth firmly.

Groffgut spat on his rusty blade, eyeing his victim. “I told yer, if’n ye ain’t for me, yer agin me. So, where d’ye want it, eh? In the gut, across yer throat or in yer lousy ’eart, ’old ’im tight, mates!”

Threetooth babbled like a brook in flood. “I don’t wanna get kil’t, I’ll climb, don’t slay me, Chief! I’ll climb der wall for ye!”

Groffgut thrust his face close to Threetooth. “Ho yer’ll climb right enuff, or I’ll skin yer alive afore I kills yer. Plug, where’s dat rope we tied de h’ eagle up wid? Knot it round me sword ’andle, will ye.”

All the gang members were young rats, Obbler and Fleddy the two youngest. The latter was becoming quite taken with the idea of burgling Redwall Abbey, but he had a question to ask of his leader first.

“Ye said der was all sortsa good stuff in dat place, Chief. Wot sorta good stuff?”

Groffgut saw this as an opportunity to fire his gang to great efforts. Unfortunately, he was not good at speech making. “Er, lotsa good stuff! Everythink’s in der, mates.”

Young Fleddy pressed him further. “Y’mean good stuff like nice vikkles, Chief?”

The gang leader nodded sagely. “Aye, more’n yew could eat, loads more!”

Obbler picked his teeth with a grimy claw. “Huh, I ’ope der’s more’n Fleddy kin eat, ’cos I wanna fill me belly, too. I likes h’ apple pie, ’cos I ’ad a bit once, an’ it tasted nice!”

Groffgut clapped him heartily on the back. “Don’t fret yer’ead, mate. They got enuff h’apple pies fer all of us!”

A moment later, Groffgut was sorry that he had spoken. It seemed that the rest of the gang were fond of pies, though each had his own individual favourite.

“An’ strawb’rry pies, too, Chief?”

“My ole granny used ter bake tater pies, wid onions in ’em. D’yer think dey’ll ’ave tater pies like me ole granny’s?”

“Blackberry pies is bestest, big fat juicy ones!”

“Worrabout plum pies, bet they’re juicier, eh, Chief?”

“Roobab pies is good, wid lotsa ’oney on, though. D’yer think dey puts ’oney on their roobab pies in der, Chief?”

Groffgut kicked the last speaker soundly, having heard enough about their favourite pies. “Will youse all shurrup? Yis yis, dey’ve got loadsa diff’rent pies in der. Now let’s gerron wid it, eh!”

Creeping out of the ditch, the gang made it across the path, into the shadow of the wall. Groffgut and the three he had nominated flattened themselves against the wall.

Their leader whispered urgently to Fleddy and Obbler, “Cummon youse two, up yer get. Stand tight, mates!”

It was not as easy as it had sounded. There were muttered complaints as soon as the two younger rats began clambering over the four who formed the bottom line.

“Nyyurk! Don’t stand on me nose like dat, clumsypaws!”

“Oooh, yew stuck yore footpaw in me eye, gerroff!”

“Stop ticklin’ an’ git yer tail outta me ear, willyer!”

Groffgut gasped as his stomach was kicked hard. “I’ll tickle yer ears wid me sword if’n yer don’t shut yer big noisy gobs. Threetooth, it’s yore turn. Gerron top of their ’eads afore yer sling der rope!”

Unknown to the gang, they had been observed as soon as they left the ditch. Abbess Lycian had spotted them as she stood up to pour tea for herself and Burbee. She quickly informed Oreal Gatekeeper, who shot off to the Abbey and brought Skipper, Brink, Foremole Grudd and his entire crew up to the west wall.

They took a secret peep at the rat gang and held a whispered conference. Skipper’s initial idea was to exit the Abbey by the south wickergate, surround the rats and finish them off. The Abbess was horrified by the plan.

“But Skipper Banjon, they’re the same age as your own daughter. How could you kill such young creatures?”

“Vermin, Mother Abbess, they’re vermin!” Brink reminded her. “If you don’t kill vermin they’ll kill you, or some other innocent creatures who can’t defend themselves. Skipper’s right, marm, they’re young alright, young an’ evil!”

Abbess Lycian stole a hasty glance at the rats on the path below. She turned away quickly, biting on her habit sleeve to stifle the laughter which was threatening to burst forth. “You should take a look down there. They’ve all collapsed in a heap. One of them is kicking the others’ tails. Good gracious, what language! Can you hear it?”

Foremole Grudd shook his velvety head in disgust as he peered down at the rat gang. “They’m a-tryin’ t’stand h’on each uther’s thick ’eads agin, so’s they’m can cloimb up yurr. Boi okey, oi never see’d such bunglybeasts in all moi borned seasons!”

Skipper set his jaw grimly. “Vermin are vermin, no matter which way ye look at ’em!”

However, the Abbess was not one to back down on her principles. “Be that as it may, Skipper Banjon, I will not have them slain. They’re nought but a few scruffy young water rats. I don’t consider them to be a threat to our Abbey, or a danger to us, in their present position. As Mother Abbess of Redwall, I forbid the slaughter of those vermin!”

The Abbess blenched with fright as Skipper grabbed her roughly and pulled her to one side. It was a swift and timely act. The curved scythe blade, with its attached rope, came looping over the walltop. It would have struck Lycian had it not been for Banjon’s intervention. The rope was jerked tight from below, leaving the blade lodged firmly around the angle of a battlement.

Skipper kept his voice calm and level. “Well, marm, what do we do now?”

Loud, hoarse whispers could be heard from the rat gang as they urged their comrade on.

“Gudd t’row mate, up yer go!”

“Aye, get dat big gate h’opened, let’s see wot dey got in der!”

“Yeeheehee! An if’n der cook don’t cook gudd pies, we’ll roast ’im in ’is own h’oven!”

It was the first time any Redwaller had ever seen their Abbess bare her teeth and growl fiercely. “Kindly leave this to me, please!”

As Threetooth’s villainous head appeared over the walltop, Lycian was waiting for him. She dealt him a mighty blow with the teapot, which was still half full of hot tea. It made a peculiar sound. Punngggg! The water rat fell backward with a shocked gurgle, plummeting down onto the rats below.

Flinging the teapot at them, Lycian yelled out in a most un-Abbesslike manner, “Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Redwaaaaaalllll!”

Skipper chortled, but the smile was quickly wiped from his face as Lycian turned to confront him. “Roast the cook in his own oven, eh? Skipper Banjon, my order against killing still stands. But you have my permission to take a party down there, armed with heavy sticks. Give those vermin the beating of their lives and send them packing!”

By this time, everybeast was leaning over the walltop to view the effect of their Abbess upon the would-be raiders.

Molemum Burbee shook her head gravely. “Ee woan’t catcher yon vurmints naow, Skip, they’m taken h’off loik arrers. Burr, an’ moi gurt teapot with ’em!”

Banjon watched the rat gang scurrying off up the ditchbed until they were swallowed up in the darkness. “Good grief, marm, you certainly fixed ’em up right’n’proper. Those vermin are drenched with ’ot tea an’ spittin’ tea leaves. Hah, I fear that’s the last ye’ve seen o’ that best teapot. I could swear it was stuck on one rat’s ’ead!”

Now that the excitement was over, Lycian collapsed into her little folding chair and gulped down what tea was left in her mug. She seemed totally overcome. “Oh dear, I can’t believe I did that! Look, Burbee, my paws are all a-tremble, I’m shaking like a leaf!”

The molemum had almost a full mug of tea, which she kindly donated to her friend. “Ho, you’m a gurt terror, marm, an’ no mistake. But oi wish’t you’m hadden’t given ee best teapot to yon villyuns. Hurr, ’twas far too noice furr ee loikes o’ they’m!”

Grudd Foremole tugged his snout politely. “Off to ee beds naow, marms. Brink’n’Skipper, too, off ee go, zurrs. Me’n moi crew’ll stan’ guard up yurr ’til ee mornen loight. Us’ll give’em owd ’arry if’n ee ratters cooms back yurr agin furr more!”

Panicked, dispirited and chastened, the rat gang did not stop running until they were well into Mossflower Woodlands. Slumped on a streambank, they panted for breath, nursing hot water scalds and spitting tea leaves.

Rashback moaned as he slopped cooling mud on his afflicted back. “Aaaaargh, wot was dat dey t’rowed over us?”

Fleddy had missed most of it. He licked a paw where a bit of the liquid had splattered. “Dunno worrit was, but it don’t tastes bad t’me.”

Obbler sniffed at his companion’s paws. “Smells nice, too, not like dat swamp we felled in. Hawhawhaw! Lookit ole Plug, ’e’s wearin’ a new ’elmet!”

Plugtail, who had been lagging behind, tottered in to join the gang. The teapot was jammed on his head at a rakish angle, the spout covering one ear and the handle sticking out above the other. The rim covered his right eye, so he could only see with the left. Showing not a vestige of sympathy for his plight, the gang laughed at his woeful pleadings as he staggered about.

“Will youse stop laughin’ an’ get dis t’ing off me ’ead?”

Bonggg! Plugtail walked sideways into a tree trunk and tripped over Groffgut’s paws. The gang leader, who was sitting with his back to the trunk, dealt him a hefty kick, snarling, “Gerritoff yerself, thick’ead! Can’t yer see I’m wounded?”

Frogeye, probing at a loose tooth he had suffered in the melee, stared over at Groffgut. “Where are yer wounded, Chief?”

Groffgut returned his stare sourly. “None of yer bizness, squinty lamp!”

Still seated with his back to the tree, the gang leader muttered savagely, “By the ’ellgates an’ bluddtubs, I’ll make dose Wallred crowd sorry dey ever messed wid me, jus’ yew wait’n’see!”

Threetooth, who had now lost every tooth he possessed, winced as he felt the enormous lump between his ears. “It wuz a mistake tryna take a place dat size. I ain’t goin’ back der no more!”

Groffgut sprang up, waving the rusty scythe blade. He chased Threetooth along the streambank. “Yew’ll go where I tell yer to, or I’ll flay yer mangy ’ide. Get back ’ere right now!”

Hoots and guffaws greeted the rearview of Groffgut as he ran after Threetooth.

“Hawhawhaw! Lookit, ’e ain’t got no tail!”

“Haharrharr! Wot ’appened t’yer ole wagger, Chief? Did yer leave it be’ind?”

“Thunderin’ tripes! I bet dat ’urted, ’e’s got even lesser’n ole Plugtail now!”

Groffgut left off chasing Threetooth. Standing with his back to some bushes, he glared hot anger at the scoffers. “One more snigger, go on, jus’ one more laugh from any of yer. Anybeast who t’inks it’s funny, say so, right now, go on!”

The gang fell silent and went back to tending their own hurts. When the teapot landed on Plugtail’s head, he had dashed about madly, trying to get it off. The rope and scythe blade that followed it got tangled about one of his footpaws. Unfortunately, Groffgut got in the way, and the swinging blade slammed into his backside, severing his tail right at the root. The humiliation of a gang leader losing his tail far outdid any pain he felt from the wound. Groffgut knew he had to restore his position with the others. He put on his darkest, most vengeful scowl, grinding out every word savagely.

“I lost me tail in battle, der ain’t no shame in dat, see! But I swear a blood oath afore ye right now, afore dis season’s out, I’ll be wearin’ a cloak made outta the tails o’ them as did this t’me. Aye, an’ a necklace of their eyeballs!”

None of the gang dared to say a word. They knew he was in deadly earnest.

Unaware of the drama that had taken place on the walls, Tiria slept soundly, transported to the realm of dreams. She was in a room, a huge rock chamber. Cool breezes soothed her brow, yet she could feel radiating warmth upon her back. She felt no curiosity as to her surroundings, nor any compulsion to turn and look at the room. It was the view of the nighttime sea that fascinated her. She was standing at a broad, unshuttered window, staring fixedly at a spot on the moonlit waters, somewhere twixt tideline and horizon. Tiria knew that she was in a high place, far above shore level. Without looking, she knew that Martin the Warrior was standing beside her. His strong voice echoed through her mind.

“Maid of the Wildlough, hearken to what the High Queen Rhulain will say to you. Remember her words, for your very life will depend on it.”

He pointed with his sword to the place in the sea where Tiria was still watching. A shape began to emerge from the moon-burnished waves. Tiria instinctively knew it was the otter lady of her previous dream. The apparition was cloaked and hooded, the face within the hood appearing as a dark void, but the voice was unmistakable—melodious yet commanding.

“Bide ye not on Mossflower shore, hasten to Green Isle.

Thy presence there is needed sore, in coming time of

trial.

Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient

life,

when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as

wife.

Their secrets follow in thy wake, lost symbols will be

found

to aid both Queen and Clanbeast regain their rightful

ground.

Trust in the fool of the sea, to the Lord of the rock

pay heed,

but remember a hawkstar must fly,

on the day thy domain is freed.”

The vision faded like smoke, being drawn down into the sea. Far out between shore and horizon, Tiria saw what looked like the tip of the hood the otterlady had worn, sticking up out of the waters. The young ottermaid was overcome by a sense of loss; then the entire scene vanished into the bottomless well of slumber.

Dawn’s first rosy rays aroused the birds to song all over Mossflower Woodlands as Tiria wakened. She remembered every detail of the dream distinctly—Martin, the rock fortress, the Rhulain and her message. The ottermaid dressed swiftly. Now she knew exactly what she had to do.