Loamhedge

32

Down on the lawn, Raga Bol turned and strode away from the scene of his defeat. The Searat Rojin limped up to him. “Cap’n, there’s no way we kin get at ’em. Those beasts ain’t as simple as they look.”

Bol carried on walking without even looking back at Rojin. “Have ye only just realised that? Call the crew off. There’s got t’be a way into that Abbey, an’ I’ll find it. Ye can take my oath on it, ’cos I ain’t movin’ from Redwall. ’Tis mine, d’ye hear me? Mine!”

Somewhere southeast, deep along a woodland trail in Mossflower Wood, Flinky stopped running. Breathless and shaking, he collapsed to the ground. The little gang of escaped vermin flopped down beside him. Badredd slunk at the back of the group, with nobeast paying him the slightest attention. Gone were his days as gangleader. Now all the vermin looked to the stoat, Flinky, as their saviour. He had taken them out of the Searats’ clutches.

Panting hard, Crinktail clutched her mate’s paw gratefully. “We did it, we got away!”

Halfchop grinned fondly at Flinky, his new hero. “Kachunk!”

Understanding what his pal meant, Plumnose nodded in agreement. “Wodd duh we doo’s now, Flink?”

The triumphant stoat was never stuck for words, despite trying to regain his breath. “Ah well, Plum, we can’t run anymore tonight. Let’s just stow ourselves under those bushes an’ take a good ould rest while we lay low there an’ ’ide. Tomorrer we’ll ’ead south, where nobeast will ever find us agin. Sure, we’ll find a comfy spot where there’s plenny o’ vittles growin’, clean water an’ grand weather. That’ll do fer us, a good plan, eh?”

Juppa’s voice was full of admiration. “Aye, that it is. We’re with ye all the way, Chief!”

Rolling beneath the bushes, Slipback settled down amid the leaf mold. The rest joined him, with Flinky still chattering on.

“Ah, sure, we musta bin mad, lettin’ greedy ould fools an’ oafs lead us. Ferget all the magic swords, sieges an’ great abbeys. Wot more could a body want than layin’ round in the sun all day, fillin’ yore stummick wid vittles an’ never an argument twixt the lot of us anymore. After wot we bin through, I reckon we deserves a taste o’ the good life, mates!”

Owing to the size of his nose, Plumnose was gifted with a keen sense of smell. His voice carried a note of disgust as he called out in the darkness beneath the bushes. “Duh, sumthink smells h’awful round ’ere!”

Juppa gave vent to a horrified gurgle. “Yurgh, wot’s this?” She shot out of the bushes on to the other side of the trail. Wringing her paws, the weasel performed an anguished little dance.

“There’s a deadbeast in there! Yukk, I put me paw on its face. Creepy crawlies were all over its eyes!”

A mad scramble ensued as the gang ran out from beneath the bushes, shuddering and dusting themselves down.

Flinky was the first to express an urgent desire. “Let’s get outta ’ere, run mates! We’ll keep goin’ ’til it’s light, then I’ll pick a better spot. Keep goin’, don’t stop fer nothin’!”

Their sounds receded south into the distant woodlands, until everything was still and silent once more. The only things that moved were the insects crawling over the lifeless carcass of Jibsnout—lying stretched beneath the bushes where Raga Bol had flung his slain body.

Around the midnight hour, two others came along that same path. The Searats, Glimbo and Blowfly. It was the latter who searched the ground closely for signs of the fugitives.

Sceptical of ever finding them, one-eyed Glimbo complained volubly. “Wot’n the name o’ Hellgates do ye expect to find in this forest at night? We ain’t even got a lantern!”

Blowfly wheezed as he heaved his bulk upright. “I got good blinkers, don’t need no lantern. I’ve tracked ’em this far, an’ I’ll keep on ’til I lays paws on dat scurvy liddle crew!”

He unwound a long whip from about his flabby waist and cracked it. “I’ll teach ’em t’run away. They’ll be lucky to ’ave a hide to their backs by the time they git back to the Abbey!”

Glimbo watched him track on a piece, then come to a halt. Blowfly inspected the ground carefully, going back and forth over the same piece, muttering and cursing.

Glimbo relaxed, leaning against a tree. He scoffed sarcastically, “Ye’ve lost our liddle pals, I thought ye would. Nobeast kin track anythin’ at night through ’ere. Give up, mate, let’s git back t’the crew. They’re prob’ly inside that Abbey now, grabbin’ the loot an’ plunderin’ the place. Yore wastin’ time out in a forest when we could be back there snatchin’ our share.”

Blowfly gave him a surly glare. “Huh, ’tis alright fer you, I’m the one t’blame for lettin’ them escape. ’Tis me who Cap’n Bol will take it out on. I can’t go back empty-pawed!”

His companion did not agree. “Aw c’mon, Bol won’t be frettin’ over a few runaway fools. The cap’n ’as other things t’think about. A kick in the tail an’ a few ’ard words is the most we’ll get. Huh, we’ve ’ad plenny o’ those afore now. Belay there, shipmate, wot are ye doin’?”

Blowfly looked up from his task of striking flint to steel. “Wot I shoulda done awhile back, makin’ a torch. I’ll find these runaways, just ye wait’n’see!”

Glimbo seated himself with his back against the tree trunk. “Well, ye can find ’em on yer own, ’cos I ain’t goin’ anywheres. When ye come back this way widout ’em, gimme a shake. I’ll be right ’ere, takin’ a nap.”

Blowfly held up the burning torch he had fashioned. Silent and stubborn, he trudged off alone into the night.

Lonna Bowstripe saw the glow from between the trees where he sat resting. It appeared like a small floating island of light in the darkness. Silent as a wraith he arose, becoming one with the forest as he stood motionless against the elm trunk. Blowfly walked by within a paw’s reach of the big badger. Staring at the ground, the Searat mumbled bloodthirsty curses as to the fate of the lost fugitives. Lonna saw his face in the torchlight, and a trigger went off in his mind. He recalled brief flashes of the night he had been attacked by the Searats. Blowfly’s coarse, ugly features were instantly identifiable. Swiftly, the badger strung his bow and stole up behind the unsuspecting Searat.

Blowfly was jerked back as the tightly strung bow trapped his neck between wood and twine. The big badger managed to catch the torch before it fell.

Craning his head around painfully, the Searat caught a glimpse of his captor and spoke almost indignantly.

“Yore dead!”

Lonna drew him in until they were face-to-face. Only the pressure on the bow held the Searat upright, his limbs having turned to jelly.

With torchlight flickering over his scarred features and the light glinting in his vengeful eyes, the giant badger resembled some beast straight out of a nightmare.

Blowfly’s tongue suddenly ran away with him. “It was Bol . . . it wasn’t me . . . I wasn’t nowhere near ye. I swear me oath on it, I never did nothin’ . . . Gurgg!”

A sharp tug on the bowstring silenced him. Lonna’s voice left the Searat in no doubt that lies would not save him. “So you never did anything, you were nowhere near, it all had nought to do with you, you are innocent of everything?

“How many times has that same excuse been made? Think of every bully, cheat, plunderer or murderer before you who has lied with those same words. Once a villain is caught with no pack around him, then everybeast is to blame, except himself, of course. He will lie, betray and cheat to save his hide. But sometimes there is justice in the world, and fate catches up with him. So speak truly to me, or you will die slowly. You have my word on it—and I never lie.”

Blowfly sighed with relief. He told Lonna all he needed to know, and he spoke truly. The big badger kept his word: the Searat did not die slowly. A single, mighty jerk of the bow, and Blowfly died quicker than he had ever expected to.

Awakened by flaring torchlight, Glimbo yawned and stretched his paws. “Betcha never caught ’em, I told ye afore y . . . Ukkk!” The Searat’s paw shot to his neck. Blowfly’s long whip was tied around it, holding him fast to the tree he was sitting against.

A deep, forbidding voice warned him, “Be still, vermin!”

Automatically he raised his other paw, trying to free his neck. There was a hissing sound, like an angry wasp. An arrow of awesome length buried its point deep in the tree trunk, a hairbreadth from his neck. Glimbo froze.

Lonna revealed his face in the torchlight, laid another shaft on his bowstring and unhurriedly explained his purpose to the petrified Searat. “You will take me to the Abbey of Redwall. I am going to release you, but play me false, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Is that understood? Speak!”

Glimbo’s good eye rolled about alarmingly in its socket—he was completely terrified. “Unnerstood!”

The badger drew a long knife from his arm sheath and severed the whipcoils with a swift stroke. The Searat shot off like a hare at top speed. Lonna drew back the bowstring, homing in on the fleeing figure.

“Never mind, I’ll find my own way.”