Loamhedge

22

Badredd and his crew had left the ditch and crossed back into Mossflower Wood. With all manner of fruit, berries and wild vegetables to be had there during this summer season, the vermin had no difficulty finding food. Crinktail and Juppa gossiped as they prepared food for the others. Neither was very optimistic.

Juppa plucked away at a moorhen, which Rogg had brought down with his bow. “I tell ye, ’twill be a long time afore we see the Northlands again. Badredd’s more determined than ever now.”

Crinktail chopped away at dandelion roots and wild celery with a thin-bladed dagger. “Aye, that’s true enough. Where is our fearless chief? I ain’t seen him round lately.”

Slipback strolled in and threw down a sizeable bunch of watercress. “Who, Badredd? That ’un’s takin’ a bath in the stream, tryin’ to get the smell o’ that rubbish off ’im. He ain’t too pleased, I can tell ye, two baths in two seasons is hard on a beast. He only took a bath last spring.”

Flinky emerged from the undergrowth, his tunic full of pears. “Ah sure, any vermin knows that bathin’ weakens ye. How’s the vittles comin’ along, me ould darlin’?”

Crinktail winked fondly at her mate. “They’ll be ready soon enough, ye great starvin’ stoat. Sit by the fire here an’ stir the pot awhile. Ye can give us a song while yore at it.”

Flinky knew more vermin songs than all the crew put together. He sang aloud, hoping the strains might reach Badredd whilst he was taking his bath in the stream not far away. The rest of the crew drifted in to listen, sniggering and nudging a bit at the words.

“Oh hear my song, young vermin,

and take heed to wot I say,

I had a fine young son like you,

who bathed most every day.

Whenever he saw water, straight off he’d dive right in,

a-scrubbin’ an’ a-washin’ of himself, then he’d begin:

Oooooooohhhhhhh! I smell just like a rose,

from me tail up to me nose,

why, even all the blossoms envy me.

An’ all I’ll ever lack,

is a mate to scrub me back,

I’m the cleanest vermin that you’ll ever

see . . . eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

I’m clean as a weasel’s whistle,

shiny as a stoat’s best coat.

Just pass the scented essence,

in camomile I’ll float.

All lathery suds an’ lilac buds an’ pine tree fragrance, too,

with me teeth so white an’ me fur so bright an’ eyes of baby blue.”

The last verse was sung sadly and with great feeling.

“But then one summer dawn,

I had to weep an’ mourn,

I went down to the bathing pool that day.

There was not one poor young hair,

just a sweet aroma there.

Alas, he’d gone an’ washed himself away.

Awayeeeeeeeeeee!”

Badredd strode to the fire, dripping wet. Jiggling a claw in one ear, he gave Flinky a frozen stare. “Get them vittles cooked an’ shut yore stupid gob. When we’ve eaten, we’re movin’ on, fast!”

Flinky returned his stare blankly. “Ah sure, an’ wot’s the hurry, yore ’onour?”

The little fox buckled his cutlass on. “I want to take a look round the back o’ that Abbey, there’s got to be a way in!”

Flinky passed a secret wink to Crinktail, who tried to fob Badredd off with an excuse. “But, Chief, by the time we’ve finished the meal and got round there, it’ll be dark.”

Badredd picked up a bowl and held it forth to be filled. “Good, that’ll be the ideal time to get the job done!”

Abbot Carrul felt much relieved as he surveyed the path and the ditch from the west walltop. “Thank goodness there’s no sign of the vermin. What do you think, Toran, have they gone for good?”

The ottercook had lashed sharp kitchen knives to the tops of two window poles. He and Junty each had one. Toran peered up the path into the gathering darkness.

“Looks like they have, Father, but I’m takin’ no chances. Me an’ Junty’ll stay guard up here an’ keep a weather eye out. If the things are still all clear tomorrow, we’ll do a patrol around the outer wall just to make certain.”

Carrul patted his friend’s stout back. “As you wish, I’ll have food sent up to you.”

It was a fine warm night. Cavern Hole was packed with Redwallers, all happy and relaxed since hearing the news their Abbot brought, that the vermin fear had passed. Granmum Gurvel and her molemaids served a celebratory supper of mushroom and barley soup, harvest-baked loaves and a dessert of apple and blackberry crumble made from fresh ingredients, which the Dibbuns had gathered from the orchard.

Foremole sat down next to Sister Portula, digging into his bowl of crumble and smiling happily. “Gudd arpatoit to ee, marm, ee trubble bee’s gonned naow!”

Portula raised a beaker of October Ale. “Good appetite to you, sir. Hmm, look at young Martha, she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. I wonder what’s the matter with her.”

Foremole pondered the situation for a moment, then pronounced his judgement. “Oi ’spec Miz Marth’s missin’ urr bruther.”

Sister Portula called across to the haremaid. “Don’t fret about Horty, he’ll be back soon, eating us out of house and home, no doubt. You’ll see!”

Martha smiled wanly. “I’m sure he will, Sister, but I can’t help feeling concerned about him.”

Abbot Carrul put aside his supper and stood up. “What you need is a jolly song. Shall I sing you a little ditty I once learned from a sea otter?”

This surprised Martha. “You singing, Father Abbot?”

Carrul raised his eyebrows. “What’s so odd in that, may I ask, miss? Gurvel once said I had a voice like a bird!”

Brother Gelf chuckled. “Aye, a dying duck. Come on then, Carrul, let’s hear ye.”

The Abbot took a deep breath. “Right, here goes. But you must sing this line at the end of each verse. Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!”

All the Redwallers wanted to see their Abbot singing, so they agreed readily. Carrul tapped the tabletop until he had the rhythm, then launched into the song. For an old mouse, he had quite a strong, ringing baritone.

“On the good ship Leakylea,

the captain was a frog,

the mate was a bumblebee,

and the cook was an old hedgehog.

Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

I was born at an early age,

and sent straight off to sea,

with a flea in an iron cage,

on the good ship Leakylea.

Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

We sailed the seas so rough,

and never washed the dishes,

ate pans o’ skilly’n’duff,

and laughed at all the fishes.

Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

We ate all we could chew,

my flea grew bigger’n me,

’cos he’d ate more’n all the crew,

aboard the Leakylea.

Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

The the ship sank in a gale,

I was rescued by my flea,

we’re all that’s left to tell the tale,

of the poor old Leakylea.

Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaaaah!”

Martha applauded, laughing along with the other Redwallers.

Abbot Carrul bowed modestly and winked at Brother Gelf. “Not bad for a dying duck, eh?”

Remembering her responsibility to the Dibbuns, Martha called to them. “Bedtime, little ’uns, come on now!”

Strangely, the three who were most likely to protest—Muggum, Shilly and Yooch—went quietly. The other Abbeybabes made their usual loud protest, but to no avail.

Sister Setiva wagged a severe paw at them. “Up tae your beds, this verra instant, or ye’ll have me tae reckon with!”

Martha watched the last one—Buffle the shrewbabe—scamper through the doorway, where he turned and glared at everybeast. “Kumfuggleworragarrumbubbub . . . Kurch!”

Setiva picked up a ladle and made as if to chase him. “Ah cannae tell what you’re sayin’, ye wee rogue. But, like as no’, ’tis somethin’ verra naughty! Ye’d best get toddlin’ afore I catch up wi’ ye!”

Buffle stood his ground long enough to twiddle a paw to his nose at the shrewnurse, then he bolted off, giggling.

Martha tried hard not to laugh. “Perhaps we’d better go up and tuck them in, Sister?”

Setiva waved a dismissive paw. “Och no, we can do that later. Ah’ve got tae go an’ take supper tae Toran an’ Junty first.”

The haremaid pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll come and help you. Poor old Toran, I’d forgotten about him. Never mind, there’s plenty of crumble left.”

Badredd halted his crew at the east wickergate. There was a small door set in the centre of the Abbey’s rear wall. He held up a paw for silence. Gently pressing his weight against the timbers, the small fox tried the circular iron ring handle. It was firmly locked shut.

Plumnose held up a little lantern close to the door. “Huh, id’s shudd, Chief!”

Badredd had difficulty controlling his voice. “Is it now! Thanks for lettin’ me know, bouldernose!”

Plumnose grinned. “T’ink nodding ob it.” He turned to Halfchop. “Duh likkel door’s locked, I t’ink.”

The rat wiped a ribbon of drool from his chin. “Kachunk!”

Badredd rounded on the pair, hissing viciously. “Shuttup, you two, an’ get back into the trees—go on! Flinky, are ye any good at openin’ locks?”

The stoat scratched his grimy cheek. “Ah, well, there’s locks an’ locks, if ye get my meanin’, yer ’onour!”

Badredd whipped out his cutlass and thrust it under Flinky’s nose. “I never asked ye for a lecture about locks! I said, are you any good at openin’ ’em—well, are ye?”

Flinky heaved a sigh and took the cutlass from his chief’s paw. “Sure an’ I don’t know until I try. Shall I give it an ould go?”

Badredd waved him to the door impatiently. “Well, put a move on, we haven’t got all night!”

Flinky wedged the swordblade between the door jamb and the wall. He slid the blade down until it clinked dully against something.

“Hah, there’s yore problem, Chief, ’tis a bolt. D’ye want me to try an’ chop through it?”

The fox exhaled irately. “Anythin’, just get on with it!”

Flinky requested the aid of Floggo and Rogg. “Come over t’this door, buckoes. Now put yore shoulders to it. Push now. That’ll widen the gap so I can get a grand swing at the bolt. Push, put those ould bows down an’ push!”

The door moved slightly under the pressure, creating a thin space. Flinky took the cutlass in both paws, raising it within the gap. Then he struck, whipping the blade down with all his might.

Piiing! As it struck the iron bolt, the blade snapped in half.

Badredd stared in silent horror at the stoat, who—still holding the handle and half a blade—was hopskipping in agony, both paws numbed by the reverberation of metal upon metal.

The vermin leader’s voice rose to a disbelieving squeak. “Me sword! Me luvly cutlass! Ye’ve ruined it! Idiot!”

Tears squeezed from the corners of Flinky’s eyes as he flung the half cutlass on the ground. “Aarh, it broke its stupid self. Yore s’posed t’be the chief, why didn’t you have a go?”

Badredd seized the broken weapon. “Have a go? I’ll have a go at you if ye ain’t careful, idiot! An’ you lot, a fine crew I’ve got, sittin’ round scratchin’ yerselves among the trees. Up on yer paws, doltheads, we’ll have to find someplace else where we can get in. Jump to it!”

As Badredd strode off in foul mood, Plumnose called to him. “Chief, me an’ Halfchob hab got de door oben!”

Badredd dashed back to where Plumnose and Halfchop stood in the small doorway. Finding the door still closed, he fumed at them. “Ye blither-brained, wobble-nosed, broken-snouted loafheads! Get goin’, afore I carve cobs off’n ye with what’s left o’ me sword!”

But then, as Plumnose pushed the wicker door gently, it swung inward. “Duh, hawhawhaw, oben!”

Halfchop walked through the open door and grinned. “Kachunk!”

Flinky inspected the wall alongside the door. “Well now, ain’t I the clever beast! I must’ve hit the bolt so hard that it broke through the ould soft sandstone it bolts into. See, there’s a chunk of it missin’. Oh, here’s the rest of yer grand cutlass, Chief.”

He presented the fox with the other half of the blade. Flinging it from him, Badredd turned on the crew and hissed, “You lot, keep yore mouths shut, not a sound out of ye. Foller me, don’t go cloghoppin’ all over the place. We’re goin’ to take a look around. Next move is t’get inside the big buildin’. Quietly now . . .”

After taking food out to the west walltop for Toran and Junty, Martha and Sister Setiva returned to the Abbey. Martha stayed in her chair below stairs whilst Setiva went up to the dormitory to check up on the Dibbuns. The shrewnurse was away only for a brief space of time when a dismayed cry reached Martha. Setiva came hurrying back downstairs carrying little Buffle, who was imprisoned in a pillowcase with only his head sticking out.

The Sister’s voice shook with barely controlled anger. “Och, jist let me get mah paws on those rascals. Ah’ll give ’em somethin’ tae remember me by!”

Buffle strained against the pillowcase knotted at his neck. “Goourr, ’ascals!”

A look of fear crossed the haremaid’s face. “What’s happened, Sister?”

Setiva began trying to release Buffle. “Ooh! Those Dibbuns, Muggum, Shilly an’ Yooch. They’ve gone missing. All the rest o’ the wee ones were fast asleep, except Buffle. D’ye see what they did? Trapped ’im in this auld pillowslip so he couldnae follow ’em. Where in the name of all fur have they got to?”

Buffle pulled a paw free and pointed out the Abbey door.

Junty Cellarhog ran his paw around the inside of his bowl and licked it. “Ah, apple’n’blackberry crumble, mate, nothin’ like it!”

Toran gazed longingly back toward the Abbey. “Aye, pity we’re on wallguard all night. If the Abbot sends out a relief, there might be some left when we get off duty.” Toran’s keen eye suddenly noticed three small, white-clad figures trundling across the lawn in his direction. Two were waving sticks and one swinging a ladle. He peered hard.

“Look there, mate, that ain’t no relief!”

It was at that moment when things began happening fast.

Framed in a shaft of golden light from the Abbey door, Martha and Sister Setiva were pointing to the Dibbuns and calling aloud to them. “Come back here this instant, or you’re in real trouble!”

The trio split, Muggum running south and the other two hurrying off to the north.

Toran saw them and chuckled. “Escapin’ Dibbuns, eh? They won’t get far . . .”

Junty interrupted him roughly. “Look, vermin!”

Badredd and his crew were sneaking quickly out across the lawn, trying to grab Muggum, who was heading for the pond where he planned on hiding in the reeds. The little mole was completely unaware of the enemy. Sister Setiva had come out onto the Abbey steps. As soon as she saw the vermin crew, she began dashing to save Muggum.

Junty was already hurtling down the gatehouse wallsteps, calling back to Toran, “Get the other two little ’uns inside!” He shouted at the shrewnurse. “Stay where ye are, Sister. I’ll bring that Dibbun in!”

With his paws, Toran swept up the giggling Shilly and Yooch—this was all one big game to them—then the ottercook turned and pounded toward the Abbey door.

Slipback came within a paw’s length of grabbing Muggum, when Junty fetched him a massive whack to the chest, laying the weasel out flat. Then the big Cellarhog seized the molebabe and ran as fast as his footpaws would carry him, with Badredd and the crew hard on his heels. Without stopping, Junty snatched up Sister Setiva from where she had been standing in his path, rigid with fright.

Thud! Thud!

Two arrows from the bows of the ferrets buried themselves in the Cellarhog’s broad back. He staggered slightly but kept running. Muggum was screeching, the hedgehog’s sharp spines were sticking in his paws as the molebabe tried to struggle free.

Toran sped into the Abbey, dropped both of the other Dibbuns into Martha’s lap. “Get ready to slam the door shut!” He panted as he turned and ran back outside to help Junty.

One arrow grazed Toran’s cheek, another hit Junty in his right shoulder. Toran shot past the Cellarhog, whirled hard, and caught Crinktail across the face with a huge smack of his rudder. He turned and pushed Junty, with both his burdens, up the steps and into the Abbey, roaring, “Bar the door!”

Redwallers, who had come pouring out of Cavern Hole to see what all the commotion was about, assisted the haremaid in slamming and barring the door in the face of the charging vermin crew. Two more arrows made a hollow sound as they flew into the strong oak timbering. A crash and a tinkle sent Foremole and Brother Weld hurrying to the lower windows.

Toran urged others along with him. “Get tables an’ benches! Barricade the lower frames before they get in!”

Badredd waved his broken cutlass. “Keep at it there, crew, we’ve got ’em on the run!”

Flinky watched a dining table blocking a broken window. He muttered out the side of his mouth to Juppa. “Keep slingin’ rocks, but let ’em barricade those windows. They’d eat our liddle gang if’n we got inside. We’d be well outnumbered, mate.”

Juppa looked puzzled. “Well, if’n we ain’t goin’ in, wot’s the next move?”

Flinky had served under lots of different vermin chiefs, all a lot smarter than Badredd. He winked confidently at the weasel.

“Lissen t’me. If’n we ain’t goin’ in, well they ain’t gettin’ out. Did ye see that great orchard we passed as we came through?”

Badredd came marching around, prodding Flinky with his broken blade. “Wot’s that sling doin’ empty? Keep chuckin’ rocks at those windows until I tell ye to stop. Both of ye!”

Flinky loaded a large pebble into his sling. “Ah, we’ll be doin’ that, yer ’onour, right away. I was just tellin’ ould Juppa here what a clever move ye made.”

Badredd was eager to know just what the clever move was. “Aye, well that’s alright. You explain it to ’er, she was never too bright. Go on, tell the long-tailed oaf.” The small fox stood listening to Flinky’s explanation.

“Hoho, we’ve got the sillybeasts locked up tight now. Prisoners in their own Abbey, ’tis called a siege. There’s only a limited supply o’ food an’ drink in there. Take us now, the chief knows we got the orchard an’ the pond. They’ll either starve t’death in the Abbey or surrender after awhile. Ain’t that right, Chief?”

Only a moment before, Badredd thought he had lost the encounter, but the realisation of what Flinky had just said made him shudder with delight. So that was what a siege was all about.

Keeping a straight face, the fox nodded wisely. “Aye, ’tis a siege, sure enough. Now you two keep slingin’.” He swaggered off, shouting orders to the other vermin. Juppa watched him go. “A siege, eh? What a clever idea!”

Flinky launched another stone but missed. He jumped neatly aside as it bounced back at him. “Ah sure, the ould chief is full o’ clever ideas, especially when some otherbeast thinks ’em up for ’im. Little fool, he couldn’t find his bottom wid both paws!” The weasel and the stoat loaded their slings again, laughing hilariously.

Martha had pulled herself from her chair. She sat on the floor, both eyes shut tight, clutching Junty’s paw to her cheek as she rocked back and forth. The Cellarhog was lying where he had fallen, face up. Muggum was wailing as Sister Portula pulled spikes from his side and paws.

Sister Setiva was similarly engaged. “Och, ye’ve got some fine sharp quills on ye, mah guid Cellarhog. Ah’ll be with ye soon as I’ve got them out o’ me. Hauld him still, Martha, how is he?”

With her eyes still shut, Martha kissed his limp paw. “He’s dead, Sister. Junty is dead!”