Loamhedge

28

Marching all night was a harrowing experience for the younger creatures. Saro and Bragoon, being used to such hardships, plodded doggedly on in silence. Fenna stumbled alongside them, her eyes constantly drooping shut. The squirrelmaid sorely regretted ever leaving Redwall and all its comforts. She did not know which she yearned for most—sleep, food or water. Springald was of a like mind, trudging onward in a straight line with her four companions, keeping quiet and trying not to inhale too much dust.

It was a cruel and forbidding outlook, the wasteland stretching all around, flat, silent and gloomy in the nighttime darkness. After what seemed like an eternity, daylight showed on the eastern horizon, a pale, misty mixture of dove-grey and orange.

Bragoon watched the faint apricot edge of morning sun slowly rising. He spoke softly. “That’s a pretty sight, ain’t it, mates?”

Horty hardly gave it a second glance. “Pretty, y’say? Pretty bloomin’ awful if y’ask me, wot. I’d swap the blinkin’ lot for a drop of water! Can’t we stop now? You said march by night an’ sleep durin’ the day. Well, there’s the jolly old day, an’ I’m pawsore an’ weary. So let’s lay the old heads down, eh chaps?”

Saro pushed him onward. “Not just yet, we’ve got to keep goin’ while ’tis cool. When the day gets hot, that’s the time for sleep. The more ground we cover, the sooner we’ll be out o’ this wasteland. Keep marchin’, don’t stop now.”

None of the travellers wanted to, but they carried on, knowing that it was the only sensible thing to do.

By midmorning, the sun was beating down remorselessly as small dust spirals danced on the hot breeze. There was still no sight of trees or streams amid the dun-hued wastes.

Bragoon finally halted. “We’ll rest here until late afternoon!”

Saro began setting up a lean-to with cloaks and staves, weighting the cloak edges down with pieces of rock.

Horty raised a dust cloud as he slumped down. “If I could only lay paws on the rotters who swiped our grub’n’water. By the left! I’d kick their confounded tails into the middle o’ next season, wot!”

Bragoon rested on his stomach in the small patch of shade. “Don’t think about it, mate, yore only makin’ things worse.”

Springald looked back at the ground they had covered. “Funny how the land seems to wobble and shimmer out there.”

Fenna curled up and closed her eyes. “That’s just the heat on the horizon. It’s a mirage, really.”

Saro shielded her eyes, peering keenly at the spectacle. She nudged the otter, directing his attention to it. “Don’t look like no mirage to me, wot d’ye think, Brag?”

Bragoon squinted his eyes and watched intently. His paw strayed to the sword which lay by his side. “It might be just the heat waves, but it seems t’be movin’ closer toward us. Then again, it could be the earth dancin’. Remember the ground shakin’ like that the last time we was in this territory, Saro?”

The squirrel never let her gaze waver from the shimmering. “Aye, it made a rumblin’ sound, too.”

Horty laughed wildly. “Hawhawhaw! Just listen to ’em, chaps. We’re in the middle of bally nowhere, bein’ baked alive, not a flamin’ drop t’drink or eat. Now what, the ground has to start bloomin’ well dancin’! Am I goin’ off me flippin’ rocker, or is it those two ramblin’ duffers, wot?”

Bragoon and Saro exchanged glances, then went back to their watching.

Horty, however, would not be ignored. Gesturing with his paws, he flopped his ears dramatically.

“They’re tellin’ me the ground’s doin’ a jig. An’ here am I, without a pastie to shovel down me face or a bucket o’ cordial to wet me parched lips! Ah, lackaday an’ woe is the handsome young hare, languishin’ out here an’ losin’ me mind! I’m goin’ mad, mad I tell ye! Stark bonkers an’ ravin’ nuts! ’Tis the dreaded thirstation!”

Springald shook her head. “Thirstation? Shouldn’t that be thirstiness, or just thirst?”

Bragoon whispered to Saro. “That couldn’t be the earth dancin’, or we’d have felt the rumbles.”

Horty continued with his tirade. “Rumbles, rumbles? How could benighted buffoons such as you know about the rumblings of a sad tragic hare, whose life is bein’ cut short by the contagious thirstation an’ tummyrumbles?”

The otter’s tail caught him a firm thwack across the rear. “Shuttup, young ’un, get to sleep an’ quit yore shoutin’!”

Horty subsided meekly, but still muttered to have the last word. “Beaten by the bullyin’ Bragoon into shallow slumber. Goodnight, fair comrades, or is it good day, wot?”

Within a short time, the three young ones were asleep. Sarobando was dozing, too, but Bragoon lay on his stomach, chin resting on both paws. Through slitted eyelids he scanned the wastelands to the rear of the lean-to. They drew closer. Now he could distinguish them, not as heat shimmers but as small, patchy bumps. Moving silently, betrayed only by odd puffs of dust, they edged nearer. Then they halted. One bump detached itself from the pack and advanced.

Saro came awake as Bragoon touched her ear. He nodded toward the moving object, twitching his tail against the squirrel’s footpaw. Saro prepared herself, knowing the signal well. One . . . Two . . . On the third twitch they both attacked. Springing in the air and leaping forward, both beasts threw themselves bodily on the thing. It squeaked aloud. Immediately the ground came alive. Squeaking and whistling, hundreds of small shapes raised an enormous dust cloud as they fled. The captured one wriggled and bit madly, but it could not escape its captors. It was disguised by a cloak woven from tough, coarse grass. Bragoon and Saro swiftly wrapped it into a bundle, trapping the beast within.

Saro drew a small blade. “Haharr, got ye, thief, be still or I’ll slay ye!”

Bragoon crouched with his sword poised, defending his friend’s back against attack. Saro dragged the bundle inside the lean-to, rapping out orders to the trio, who were now awake.

“Grab ahold o’ that. Jump on it if it tries to escape!”

Springald and Fenna held the thing tight. Horty pulled off the covering. It was a small, goldish-brown mouselike beast with a long tail and a white-furred stomach. Temporarily stunned, it lay gazing up at them through huge, dark eyes.

The otter came bounding in; sword upraised he menaced it. “Our food’n’water, where is it? Speak or die, robber!”

The creature gave vent to a piercing cry. “Feeeeeeeeeeee!”

This was followed by a sound from outside, like hundreds of tiny drums.

Saro stepped out of the shelter. “Curl me bush, come an’ take a look o’ this, mates!”

A billowing dust cloud was rising from footpaws drumming the earth. When it settled, a hundred or more of the mouselike beasts stood facing them. They all wore grass cloaks about their shoulders.

Fenna whispered to Saro. “Good grief, what do we do now?”

The older squirrel answered quietly out of the side of her mouth. “Say nothin’. Leave this to me, mate.”

Bragoon emerged from the shelter, dragging his prisoner by the tail. Hoisting the creature up, he swung the sword of Martin. The otter’s voice roared out. “Give us back our food’n’water, or this ’un’s a deadbeast! D’ye understand me? I’ll slay ’im if’n ye don’t obey!”

For an answer, they once again set up a loud drumming with their footpaws: Brrrrrrrrrrr! Then they stood silent, watching Bragoon as the dust settled.

The captive one glared fearlessly up at the otter. “Chiiiiiiirk—kill me! We of the Jerbilrats give nobeast water. Chiiik, sooner give our blood than water!”

Springald was surprised. “Rats? They’re handsome little things. They’ve got beautiful, big dark eyes. They look far too nice to be rats!”

Saro turned fiercely on the mousemaid. “Just shut yore mouth, miss, I don’t care ’ow nice they look. They’ve told ye wot they are—a rat’s a rat, an’ that’s that. Hold yore tongue, an’ leave the talkin’ to Brag!”

The otter yelled back at the massed Jerbilrats. “Hah, so ye can unnerstand me. D’ye think I’m foolin’?”

He struck with the sword, snipping a whisker from the Jerbilrat. As the drumming resumed, Bragoon raised his sword. “Next one takes this robber’s head off. Give us our supplies!”

Fenna whispered urgently to Horty. “He’s not really going to chop off a defenceless creature’s head, is he?”

Horty shrugged. “Simple case o’ survival out here. Either we get the rations back or we peg out an’ perish, wot!”

The Jerbilrat actually smiled at Bragoon. “I die, one less mouth to feed—that saves water. Kill me, riverdog.”

Saro sighed. “Don’t give us much choice, does ’e?”

The otter let his sword drop. “I never slew a helpless beast.”

Saro winked. “I know, mate, we ain’t murderers. Let me try.”

Hauling the Jerbilrat up by its ears, she dealt it a slap. “I know ye ain’t givin’ us our supplies back, but I’ll slap ye round ’til sunset if’n y’don’t tell me where water is.”

Saro made a wavy motion, describing a stream or river. “Water, like this.” She gave the beast a heavier slap. “Talk!”

The Jerbilrat shrugged. “Two days southeast maybe, don’t know.”

Saro struck again. “Then find out, ’cos yore comin’ with us!”

The creature snarled. “I’m Jiboa the Jerchief. I’ll kill you—I’m not afraid to kill, like that riverdog is!”

Saro took a length of rope, knotting it firmly around Jiboa’s neck. She smiled grimly. “Ole Bragoon’s the merciful one, I ain’t so soft ’earted. I don’t take no lip from cheeky-faced rats. Now take us to the water, or I’ll make ye wish my mate had killed ye!”

A swift kick to the rear set Jiboa moving. “Your water might be gone now. Dancing earth can shift streams down great cracks in the ground.”

Saro flicked the rope against the back of his neck. “Ah, go an’ tell that t’the frogs. Ye just get us there.”

Cancelling all plans to sleep by day, the travellers broke camp and set off into the dry, hot morn. They kept glancing back as the entire Jerbilrat pack continued to follow them. When Jiboa thrummed his footpaws, the rats drummed back in answer. He smirked at Saro.

“Feeeeeee! Old toughbeast, eh? Jerbilrats can go without water longer than you and the others. You’ll weaken sooner or later. Then my rats will slay you all, you’ll see.”

Saro jerked the rope sharply, causing Jiboa to fall on his own tail. She winked craftily at him. “Funny ’ow ye can’t do two things at once. Seems every time ye try, then ye fall over.”

Jiboa scrambled upright. “Stupid treejumper, I can walk’n’talk!”

Saro tugged the rope and pulled him over again. “Wrong! Every time you say somethin’ nasty, bump, down ye go. But if’n ye was to shout out that y’can see water, ye’d regain yore sense o’ balance right away. Unnerstand?”

There was neither shade nor shadow when the sun was directly overhead. Horty began complaining once more. “Oh shed a tear for a thirsty young hare, an’ if it’s wet I’ll drink it, wot. I say, you chaps, wouldn’t you just love to wet the old whistle at a cool runnin’ stream? If the odd fish swam by, then one could eat an’ drink at the same jolly old time, wot. Phew, I’m so hot’n’dry that you could make a blanket of my tongue!”

Fenna gave him a sharp nudge. “You’re showing us up in front of those Jerbilrats, moaning and whining like that. They’ll think we’re soft and weak. Now try to behave like a Redwaller, and stop all that nonsense!”

Horty stiffened his ears, saluted and stepped out smartly. “Right, old gel, leave it to Hortwill Braebuck, Esquire. I’ll sing t’the clod-faced old savages, wot, here goes!”

Horty, with his talent for making up songs as he went, launched into an insulting ditty about Jerbilrats. Fenna and Springald giggled as they joined in the refrain at the end of each verse.

“Oh a Jerbilrat’s a creature,

without one redeemin’ feature,

beware of him, pay heed to what I say.

He’ll sneak up on one quite sudden,

and devour one’s pie or pudden,

an’ he’ll rob your bloomin’ water anyday . . . Anyday!

If one ever meets a jerbil,

one must be extremely careful,

an’ keep one’s drinks tight under lock and key,

for ’tis a widely held belief,

that the scruffy little thief,

will sup every single drop quite happily . . . Happily!

For a jerbil’s just a rat,

who has never had a bath,

so be careful that you stay upwind of him.

’Cos the smell would blow one’s hat off,

or put any decent rat off,

an’ kill all the flies around a rubbish bin . . . Rubbish bin!

Jerbil manners are disgraceful,

they’re so spiteful an’ ungrateful,

so arrogant an’ sly an’ so unjust.

Every ugly son an’ daughter,

is a stranger to bathwater,

jerbils wallow round all day beneath the dust . . .

’Neath the dust!”

Horty waved to the Jerbilrats, who were squealing and drumming their footpaws angrily. “What ho, chaps, sorry I can’t warble anymore for you. The old tongue’s all swollen.”

Saro halted Jiboa until the others caught up with her. “This sun is gettin’ too much, let’s take a rest, mates.”

Shading their heads beneath the cloaks, they squatted on the hot earth. Dozing off was unavoidable in the intense heat. Late afternoon shadows were lengthening as Saro was jerked awake. Jiboa had gnawed through the rope. He sped off in a wide arc, trying to get back to the other Jerbilrats.

The squirrel chased after him, shouting out, “Grab ’im, Horty, he’s loose!”

Quick off the mark, the young hare gave chase. He was reaching out to grab Jiboa, when a piercing shriek came from above. “Kyeeeeeeeeee!”

Jiboa threw himself flat, but Horty was knocked ears over scut by a massive shape. A great buzzard—chocolate-and-white plumed—snatched Jiboa up in its fierce, hooked talons. It bore him off squeaking, high into the blue. Three more of the deadly predators swooped down on the Jerbilrat pack, each one seizing a victim, as the rest tried vainly to burrow into the dust. Then they were gone. The rest of them fled westward, thrumming and wailing fearfully.

Then there was silence. Horty sat up, dusting himself off. “Stifle me whiskers! Did you see the size o’ those birds? That’s a pretty awful thing to happen to anybeast, even a Jerbilrat. Fancy bein’ scoffed by a flippin’, flyin’ feather mattress, wot!”

Springald gazed around at the dusty, deserted plain. “Those poor creatures, no wonder life in this area makes them hostile to others. I hate this dreadful place!”

Fenna’s voice sounded small and frightened. “How are we going to find water now that we’re completely alone?”

Bragoon shouldered his sword wearily. “Just press on. Jiboa knew there was water over this way. We’ve got t’keep goin’!”

They staggered onwards, but as evening arrived Fenna collapsed. Saro rushed to her side, fanning her brow and rubbing her paws. The aging squirrel looked up at Bragoon. “Pore young thing, the heat an’ thirst have got to ’er. We don’t even have a damp cloth t’wet ’er lips. Fenna’ll die if’n we don’t get some water soon.”

The otter covered the little squirrel with his cloak. “Right, mates, that’s it. Horty, ye come with me! Spring, ye stay ’ere with Saro an’ Fenna. Me’n Horty will find water, or die tryin’. If’n’ we ain’t back by tomorrer noon, ye’ll know we never made it. But don’t fret, we’ll be long back by then with water!”

Sarobando and Springald shook their friends’ paws.

“Good luck, an’ fortune go with ye!”

“We’ll be alright here, hurry back now!”

Horty bowed gallantly. “To hear is to jolly well obey, marm!”

The two comrades struck off into the gathering dark.

Saro and Springald settled down to their vigil. After awhile, Fenna began murmuring as she tossed and turned feebly. “A beakerful, is that all, Father Abbot? I’m thirsty . . . so very thirsty, Father.”

The mousemaid cradled her friend. “Hush now, Fenn, lie still.”

Softly, Springald began singing an old lullaby, from when they were Dibbuns together at the Abbey.

“Peace falls o’er vale and hill,

silence fades the light,

moon and stars watch over

little ones by night.

Dawn will send the day bright,

larks will sing for thee,

streams of slumber flow now,

round this babe and me.”

Saro smiled. “That’s a pretty song, I remember it from Redwall long ago. Ol’ Sister Ormel used t’ sing it in the dormitory. Happy days, Ormel was a good ol’ mouse.”

Springald sniffed. “I learned it from her, too. Sister Ormel passed on three winters back. She was well loved.”

As they nursed Fenna, in hostile country, far from their beloved Abbey and its friendly creatures, Saro and Springald sat silent with their thoughts of Redwall.

Horty staggered gamely onward, though his paws were wobbling and his body bent with fatigue. Bragoon was in slightly better shape, but every step he took was an effort. Side by side they stumbled along through the night. Then the young hare tripped and fell, bringing the otter down with him.

Through cracked and swollen lips, Horty mumbled, “Beg your pardon, old lad, tripped over a confounded bush. Wonder what oaf left it there, wot.”

He grunted as Bragoon scrambled over him and grabbed a pawful of leaves. Thrusting his nose into them, the otter whooped. “Wahoo! This ain’t no bush, mate. ’Tis a big clump o’ comfrey. There’s water nearby, I’m sure of it. Water!”

Leaping up, they plunged forward with renewed hope and energy. The otter suddenly ground to a halt, pulling Horty back. He pointed ahead, to where a soft glow emanated from behind the bulk of a widespread willow tree. Beyond that, the trickle of running water could be clearly heard.

Drawing his sword, Bragoon thrust the young hare behind him, uttering a quiet caution. “Stick close t’my back, an’ don’t do anythin’ foolhardy. There’s a fire burnin’, t’other side o’ yon tree. I ’ope there’s friendly beasts sittin’ round it.”

Horty snorted. “Fat chance in this neck o’ the woods, pal. All we’ve met is bounders’n’cads since we climbed those cliffs. Huh, friendly y’say, prob’ly so friendly they’ll chop off our blinkin’ heads on sight, wot?”

The otter’s paw clamped over Horty’s mouth. “Stow the gab an’ stay behind me, we’ll soon see!”

There were six reptiles in all—two large frilled lizards, three fat toads and a grass snake—lounging around the fire. They were grilling a mess of bleak and minnow on green twigs. Having made a bit of noise as they approached, both travellers were expected. One of the lizards stood barring their way to the water, which appeared to be a small streamlet flowing away into a dense pine forest. The rest of the reptile crew crouched, ready to back the lizard up.

Bragoon nodded civilly to them, noting that all eyes were on his sword. “Evenin’ to ye, we’ve come for water.”

One of the lizards sniggered nastily, trying to imitate the otter’s voice. “H’evannin’ to ye, we’ve a-come f’waterrrr!”

Horty noticed several large gourds of water nearby. “That’s the jolly old stuff, water, you know, that pleasant liquid which is rather nice t’drink. I say, those tiny fish smell rather toothsome, wot. Don’t suppose you’d like to donate a few to a worthy cause, a hungry but honest hare, eh?”

The reptiles edged around, circling the pair. The largest of the lizards picked up a crude, flint-tipped spear, pointing it at Bragoon.

“Watersss not a free, iz all oursss. You wanta fisssshes an’ drrrrrink, give usss bright a blade!”

Ignoring him, the otter turned to Horty. “I don’t know wot it is wid the beasts in this country, but they seem t’think we’re dim-witted. Our stream, our water, our fish. While pore young Fenna’s dyin’ for a drop o’ water. I’ve taken about enough of all this claptrap, mate. Ye take my sword, don’t do anythin’, just stay there, that’s an order!”

Horty took the weapon and saluted. “As y’say, sah! An’ pray, what d’you intend doin’, if one may ask, wot?”

A slow, savage grin spread across the otter’s tough face. “Nothin’ much, I’m just goin’ t’get us some water.”

Roaring out a warcry, Bragoon launched himself at the reptiles. “Make way fer Bragoon o’ Redwaaaaaallllll!”

Horty could not have moved if he had wanted to. He stood wide-eyed with shock, watching six reptiles take the most fearsome beating he had ever witnessed.

Bragoon broke the spear of one of the lizards over its head, then picked the reptile up and hurled it into the stream. He went at the others like a madbeast. Flinging himself through the air, he butted a toad heavily in its enormous stomach. As air shot out of the toad in a whoosh, he rudderwhipped it hard, thrice across the head, laying it senseless. He turned and grabbed the other lizard, running it forcefully, snout on, into the willow trunk. Seizing the grass snake, he used it like a flail, cracking the jaws of the other two toads with the snake’s head. Bragoon leaped high. Still holding the grass snake, he landed on the two toads’ stomachs, then booted all three toads into the stream. The other lizard sat facing the tree trunk, nursing its broken snout. Knotting the snake around its neck, the otter looped them both to a low branch.

Dusting off his paws and breathing heavily, Bragoon took the sword from the astounded young hare. Putting the swordpoint at the lizard, he growled, “In the future, mind yore manners an’ be polite to visitors!”

The lizard clutched onto the coils of the senseless grass snake around its neck. The snake was looped to the branch above, keeping the lizard on tip-paw. Bragoon put his face close to the reptile and roared thunderously, “Yore all deadbeasts if’n I clap eyes on ye agin! D’ye hear me, slimeguts?”

Dipping a paw into one of the gourds, the otter tasted the water and spat it out in disgust, then called to his companion. “Git yore gob out o’ that stream, young ’un. Wash these things out an’ fill ’em wid fresh water. I’ll get the fish.” He stowed the sword over his shoulder. “Don’t dillydally, mate. Fenna an’ the others’ll be waitin’. Put a move on!”

Horty hurried to do Bragoon’s bidding, holding a conversation with himself as he rinsed and filled the containers. “Seasons o’ soup’n’salad, ’pon my word! That crackpot must’ve been a right terror in his younger days, wot? Curl me crusts! A chap’d do well to stay the right side o’ that otter, he’s a bloomin’ one-beast army!”

Bragoon’s voice cut sharply into his meanderings. “Stop chunnerin’ an’ get ’em filled, ye great gabby windbag!”

Horty filled the last gourd with one paw, saluting furiously with the other. “Chunnerin’, sah, who, sah, me, sah? No, sah, not never, nohow. Last one filled, sah, all correct, wot wot!”

Bragoon had chopped branches with his sword. He and Horty carried the gourds, strung on the wood and yoked across their shoulders, two to each of them. They had drunk sufficient water and chewed on the cooked fish as they trekked back to their friends.

Sighting the lean-to in dawn’s pearly light, they dashed forward, slopping water, with Horty yelling, “Toodle pip there, you idle lot, here come two handsome water carriers. I say, we’ve got fish, too! Jolly good, eh?”

There was no reply from the shelter. Bragoon hurried forward, only to find it deserted.