Mariel of Redwall - читать бесплатно онлайн полную версию книги автора Brian Jacques (Начало книги) #1

MARIEL OF REDWALL

REDWALL BOOK 4

Old stories told by travelers, Great songs that bards have sung, Of Mossflower summers, faded, gone, When Redwall's stones were young. Great Hall fires on winter nights, The legends, who remembers, Battles, banquets, comrades, quests, Recalled midst glowing embers. Draw close now, little woodlander, Take this to sleep with you, My tale of dusty far-off times, When warrior hearts were true. Then store it in your memory, And be the sage who says To young ones in the years to come: "Ah yes, those were the days."

BOOK ONE

The Maid from the Sea

Abbot Bernard folded his paws deep into the wide sleeves of his garb.

From a viewpoint on the threshold of Redwall Abbey's west ramparts he watched the hot midsummer day drawing to a glorious close. Late evening light mellowed the red sandstone Abbey walls, turning them to dusty scarlet; across the flatlands, cloud layers striped the horizon in long billows of purple, amber, rose and cerise. Bernard turned to his friend Simeon, the blind herbalist.

"The sun is sinking, like the tip of a sugar plum dipping into honey. A perfect summer evening, eh, Simeon?"

The two mice stood silent awhile before Simeon turned his sightless face toward the Abbot.

"Father Abbot, how is it that you see so much yet feel so little? Do you not know there is a mighty storm coming tonight?"

The Abbot shook his head, disbelieving, yet unwilling to deny Simeon's unerring instinct. "A storm? Surely not!"

Simeon chided Abbot Bernard gently. "Perhaps you have other things on your mind, my friend. Maybe you have not felt the cooling breezes die away. The air has

become still and hot, the birds stopped their evensong much earlier than usual, even the grasshoppers and the buzzing bees have ceased what little noise they make. Listen!"

The Abbot cocked his head on one side, perplexed. "I hear nothing."

Simeon chuckled dryly. "That is because you are hearing the sound of silence, Bernard. One thing I have learned in my life is to listen to the sounds of Mossflower country. Every sound carries information; so does every silence. This is going to be a mighty storm, one that we have not seen the like of in many a long season."

Taking Simeon by the paw, Abbot Bernard led his blind companion down the rampart steps and across the lawn toward the main Abbey building.

Simeon sniffed the air. "Mmmm! I smell hot apple pie and raspberry cream pudding, and scones, fresh from the oven too, with damson preserve spread on them. We'd best hurry before the moles get here or there'll be none left."

The Abbot quickened his pace. "How d'you know the moles are coming?"

"Bernard, Bernard, did you ever know Sister Sage to serve raspberry cream pudding and no moles to arrive?"

"Right again, Simeon. Your powers of observation leave me in the shade. Oh, I must tell young Dandin to beat the log alarm. It'll warn anybeast still outdoors to come in."

Simeon grimaced. "Oh dear, do we have to suffer that noise again? Young Dandin is a bit overenthusiastic at beating a hollow log with two clubs."

Abbot Bernard smiled reflectively. "Yes, he does rather put his heart into it, doesn't he. Still, I wish everyone were as willing in their duties as our Dandin. If ever Redwall Abbey gets a bell, I'll be the first to vote him as bellringer."

The two mice made their way between the flowerbeds which dotted the dark greensward. An ominous grumble of thunder muffled its way over the far horizon to the northwest. Abbot Bernard turned in the doorway of the Abbey, attempting to conjure up his powers of smell.

"Hmmm, cider poured cold from the cask, eh, Simeon?"

The blind herbalist wrinkled his nose. "Wrong, it's pear cordial."

The Father Abbot of all Redwall tried not to look amazed. Even though Simeon could not see him, he might sense his Abbot's expression.

Far, far over the horizon, far to the northwest, far across the oily blue green billows which were rising, lashing their tops into rippling white peaks of foam, far over the abysses and deeps of the heaving seas, far from the peace and calm of Redwall Abbey, stood Gabool the Wild.

Clouds of jet black and slate gray boiled down out of the sky to meet the lashing waves. A blast of hot wind like the gust from hell-furnace doors set Gabool's scarlet cape fluttering as he stood on the high cliffs of his island, defying the elements. Thunder boomed out, forked lightning ripped through the lowering vault of the sky. Gabool drew his jewel-hilted sword and waved it at the storm as he roared and laughed in exultation. The deadly curved blade with its sharp double edges hummed and sang against the wind.

Gabool the Wild ruled the seas, he was the dread Lord of Terramort Island, King of the Searats, Warlord of all Rodent Corsairs, Captain of Captains. No creature alive was a fiercer fighter than Gabool. From the lowly position of a young scullyrat he had fought his way up to be the biggest, the most savage, the cruelest and the most ruthless. In all the seas and oceans there had never been a rat like Gabool the Wild. Huge gold hoops

dangled from his ears, his fangs (which he had lost long ago in hard-fought combat) were replaced by sharp jutting gold canines, each one set with a glinting green emerald. Below his weird yellow blood-flecked eyes, an enormous dark beard sprouted and curled, spilling down to his broad chest, silk ribbons of blue and red woven through it. Whenever Gabool moved, his rings, bracelets, medals and buckles jangled. Gold, turquoise, silver, ivoryplunder from the far places of the high seas. Strange weapons with shimmering twisted blades were thrust into the purple sash about his waist. Dangerous to serve and deadly to trust, he stood laughing in the teeth of the gale, satisfied that the creature who had dared go against him was now fish bait on the seabed, Thunder crashed overhead as the skies released a deluge of whipping, lashing rain. Lightning crackled around the rocky tor, illuminating the barbaric figure as if even the high heavens were challenging him.

The Warlord of all Waters threw back his huge head and shrieked out his battle cry to the storm.

"Gaaaabooooool!"

The pitifully tiny figure of a mousemaid was hurled about like a chip of bark in the eastward rush of high roaring seas. Tormented rolling waves, whipped to a frenzy by the screeching wind, billowed and swelled, long combing chariots pulled fiercely along by tossing white stallions of foam and spray.

The mousemaid, partially stunned, dared not even let one paw free to undo the rope about her neck. Her numbed paws clung grimly to a jagged spar of driftwood as she plunged wildly about in the maddened waters, now on top of a wave high as a castle, hurtling down blue green valleys into a trough that yawned like a deep, dark monster mouth, now being spun sideways with the spume, now being flung backwards from greater heights to vaster depths.

The rope became tangled around the wooden spar; painfully the little maid tried to bite at the hemp. Seawater gushed into her mouth, and she retched as the water threatened to choke her. A flailing end of rope struck her across the eyes. Unthinkingly she let go of the spar; it whipped off in a different direction from her. With both paws tearing feebly at the rope circling her neck, she was shaken about like a small fish upon rod and line.

All consciousness was finally beaten from her body when the spar struck her across the head, and the helpless figure was lost amid the pounding crashing seas. Obscured by the boiling cloud curtains above the maelstrom, not even the stars or moon were witness to the fate of the little mousemaid, victim of Gabool's cruel whim.

Close to the north side of the Abbey building, a new construction was under way.

Astride the wooden scaffolding of a half-finished bell tower, young Dandin pounded doggedly away at the hollow beech log.

Thonkthonkthonkthonk!

Though he was a sturdily built little mouse, he felt himself driven aback by the blasting wind. Shaking rainwater from his eyes, he bent his head against the onslaught of the storm and continued stubbornly thwacking the log with two hefty yew clubs. Whenever Dandin raised his gaze slightly he could see the fringe of surrounding Mossflower Woods swaying and hissing, rustling and sighing, like a restless ocean.

"Dandin, come down, you'll catch your death up there!"

The young mouse peered over the scaffold, shielding his eyes against the deluge. Draped about with a clean worn-out floursack, Mother Mellus, the Redwall badger, stamped a huge paw upon the wet sward.

"D'you hear me, young mouse? I said down, this instant!"

Dandin blew rainwater from his whiskers, smiling

roguishly he called back, "Right this instant, marm, just like you say."

Without a backward glance Dandin threw himself from the tower and came plunging earthward to the accompaniment of the badger's startled growls. Not more than a fraction from the ground, he stopped falling and swung there, dangling by a strong vinerope harnessed about his waist. Dandin touched his nose with a wet paw.

"Came as quick as I could, marm ..."

A huge paw cuffed him roughly about the ears as Mother Mellus freed him from the encircling vinerope. Tucking him firmly in her elbow crook like a baby, she hurried in out of the rain, scolding Dandin as he complained loud and long.

"Put me down. I'm not a baby, I can walk ..."

"No, you're not a baby, you're a young pickle, d'you hear, and you should know better. Throwing yourself from a high tower like that! By the weasel's whiskers, you scared me out of ten seasons' growth!"

"I know what I'm doing; it was completely safe. Now will you put me down? I can stand on my own paws, you know ..."

"I'll put you down, you young rip. Next time I'll tan your hide so hard you won't be able to sit down until berrypicking. Just let me catch you jumping from high places like that again! What'd you do if the vines snapped, eh? Then we wouldn't have to dig a grave. You'd go so far into the earth when you hit the ground you'd be able to shake paws with the taproots of an oak. Be still, you little blaggard, or you'll feel the back of my paw. Young Abbey beasts these days, I don't know ..."

Scolding and arguing by turns, the young mouse and the old badger went inside the Abbey. Mother Mellus kicked the huge door shut behind her, leaving the storm to rage on outside.

Across Great Hall in the cozy surroundings of Cavern Hole, Abbot Bernard sat at head of table with Brother Simeon on his left paw and Foremole, the mole leader, on his right. Lanterns twinkled around the homely festive board, moles jostled shoulders with mice, hedgehogs sat next to otters and squirrels. The Abbey infants were allowed to sit at table with their elders; they were mainly woodland orphans gathered in by Mother Mellusbaby mice, small hedgehogs, a young squirrel and twin otters who had been brought by their parents. Little ones who were known as Dibbuns, they were sat on the table edges, facing the Brothers and Sisters of Redwall, the good mice who tended and cared for them.

Redwall fare was famous throughout the length and breadth of Mossflower. The Abbey grew all its own produce, and Redwall cooks were experts.

Foremole had his nose buried in a raspberry cream pudding, speaking in the rustic mole language through mouthfuls of his favorite sweet.

"Hohurr, baint nuthen loik rabserry pudden, no zurr. Oi could eat this yurr pudden till next moleday an' still ax furr more."

Gabe Quill, the hedgehog cellar-keeper, held a noggin of pear cordial up to a lantern, swishing it about as he inspected its bright amber color critically.

"Hmm, what d'you think of that for a touch of good cellar-keepin'?"

A big male otter named Flagg relieved Gabe of the drink and slurped it down in one gulp.

"Very nice, sir. Too good to swill cellars down with."

Gabe's face was a picture of indignation. "Why you 'orrible otter!"

Grubb, a baby mole, looked up at the general laughter. Wiping damson jam from his snout, he shook a small digging paw at Gabe Quill.

"You'm can 'ave an 'orrible owl, but otters is orful, buhurr aye."

Sister Serena, a rotund mouse who ran the Abbey infirmary and sickbay, wiped the jam from Grubb's whiskers and passed him a bowl of honeyed milk as she reprimanded him.

"Hush now, Grubb. Don't correct your elders."

Grubb sucked noisily at the milk, coming up with a cream-coated chin.

"Burr elders, Dandin says oi'm a liddle owd feller, that be maken oi an elder too. Betcher oi'm elder'n they, an' woiser may'ap."

At the head of the table the Abbot paused with a hot scone between paw and mouth. "The log pounding's stopped. Where is Dandin?"

Simeon took a sip from a foaming tankard of October ale. "In the kitchen. Can't you hear him? He's getting a drying-down, dry clothes and a good telling-off from Mellus."

The reprimands of Mellus and the protests of Dandin echoed loudly down the corridor between the kitchen and Cavern Hole.

"Keep still, your ears are saturated!"

"Owow! I won't have any ears left, the way you're going. Ouch! And I'm not wearing that great big habit, it belongs to fatty Brother John."

"Ooh, you ungrateful little scamp! How dare you call Brother John a fatty when he was good enough to lend you his spare robe! Hey, come here, come back, I say ... "

The smack of wet paws on the floor of the passage to Cavern Hole announced the culprit's escape. Dandin scampered in. He sat between Foremole and a squirrel named Rufe Brush. Grabbing a wedge of speckled nut-cheese, he jammed it between two slices of oat farl and began munching, pouring himself a beaker of cold strawberry cordial as he did. Flagg, the big otter, winked at Dandin and passed him a bowl of otters' hotroot sauce to dip his farl into.

"Aye aye, matey, run a-foul of Ma Mellus again, have 'ee? Quick an' dip yer bows nowyonder she comes."

Dandin ducked beneath the table just in time. Mother Mellus came bustling by, a clean linen bonnet tied about her great striped head. She nodded to the Abbot and took her place at the far end of table in a large armchair. Sitting two young mice on her lap and a baby mole on the arm of the chair, she soon forgot Dandin as she occupied herself feeding the Dibbuns, wiping chins and generally taking charge.

"Come on now, little one, eat up your woodland salad. Pudding later."

"No, don't lika sala', wanna pudden."

"Salad first, pudding later. You want to grow up big and strong like me, don't you?"

"No, wanna stay lickle an' eat pudden alia time!"

Abbot Bernard reached beneath the table and nudged Dandin.

"You can come out now, young mouse. Mother Mellus has her paws full with those Dibbuns. You did a fine job as log banger, Dandin, though there was no need to stay out in the storm so long."

Dandin sat up proudly and reached for a raspberry cream pudding.

"Thank you, Father Abbot. I stayed out until I knew all our Abbey creatures were inside, safe and dry. It's my job."

Blind Simeon smiled. "Well done, young Dandin. You're just the type of mouse Redwall Abbey needs. One day when the Abbey is fully built and completed, who knows, you could be our next Abbot."

Dandin wrinkled his nose, not too pleased with the idea. Abbot Bernard laughed heartily.

"No Abbotship for you, eh, young rip? It's easy to see that you come from the line of Gonff the Mousethief. I wish that Martin the Warrior had left ancestors behind."

Simeon held up a paw. "Maybe he did, my friend

not direct descendants, but spiritual ones. Martin was a Warrior and the founder of Redwall; his presence is all around us in these very stones. I have never talked with a creature whom I felt was actually touched by Martin's spirit, but then we have never needed such a one in this time of peace. However, I feel that one day before my seasons have run, I will meet some creature whose life has been touched by the shadow of our Warrior."

Rufe Brush looked up from a plate of hazelnut cream and apple pie.

"Not on a night like this you won't, Simeon. Listen to that rainstorm. Any creature out on a night like this must be drowned by now."

Simeon was about to answer when he suddenly turned his face aside and clasped a table napkin to his nose.

"Whaaaw! Somebeast's eating wild garlic!"

A fat mole named Burgo several places down with a clothespin fitted snugly upon his nose was tucking into a big basin with a spoon. He waved a paw at Simeon.

"Burr, nor c'n oi stan' the smell o' garleck. Oi do dearly luvs the taste of it tho'. 'At's whoi oi keeps moi snowt pegged! Garleck woild soup! Nuthin' loik et, zurr."

Amid the laughter that followed, Dandin turned to Rufe Brush.

"By the fur, Rufe, that rain sounds as if it were trying to knock our Abbey down. You were right, anybeast out in this must be well drowned by now!"

Fort Bladegirt stood at the edge of the high rocks which towered above Terramort cove, the big window of its banqueting hall facing out to sea. It had a courtyard and a high wall which ran around its perimeter where the ground was open, though part of the actual fort building integrated with the outer wall where it overhung the cove. The entire structure was built from solid rock with heavy wooden doors at the entrances both to the fort and courtyard. On three sides it was overlooked by hills. Gabool the Wild had taken it as his by right; indeed whoever owned Bladegirt was absolute King of Searats, as long as he could hold it. Inside the fort chaos and misrule were the order of the day. Corsair rats left their ships to come ashore after long plundering voyages. They made their way to Bladegirt in droves, leaving their ships at anchor in the cove. Roistering, fighting, gambling and drinking, the searats enjoyed their shore leave after the hardships of a life at sea.

In the high banqueting chamber Gabool sprawled on a carved rock throne, which he had made more comfortable by covering it with the skins of his slain enemies. He stared with loving fascination at a great bell dominating the center of the floor; monumental in its size the prize stood, reflecting the torchlights and

revelry through its burnished sheen. Copper, silver, brass and gold had been used in its casting. Heaving himself up, Gabool strode forward, sword in one claw, a chalice of wine in the other as he traversed the perimeter of his greatest prize. Grinning like a child with a new toy, he tapped his swordblade against the marvel-ous bell; the soft musical note vibrated gently like a giant harp strummed by the wind. As he walked, Gabool's restless eyes roved up and down, from the strange figures embossed around the top to the intricate words ranging around the wide base of the great bell.

Gabool was puzzled as to their meaning, but they were pretty decorations which made his prize all the more fascinating to look upon.

"Blood 'n' thunder, Cap'n. Give it a good belt an' let's hear it ring out!" A burly drunken searat named Halfnose pulled a wooden cudgel from his belt and thrust it toward Gabool. With lightning speed the Warlord grabbed the club and crashed it down on Half-nose's skull, at the same time landing a thrusting kick into the drunkard's belly, which sent him reeling into an open cask of wine. Halfnose slumped across the wine, his head submerged. Gabool roared with laughter.

"Drink or drown, seascum. Nobeast comes near Gabool's bell!"

The carousing searats shrieked their appreciation at his joke. Gabool pointed at Halfnose with his sword.

"If he ever gets out o' there, give him a cup of wine t' revive him."

This caused further merriment, except from the table where Bludrigg, Captain of the ship Greenfang, sat with his mates. Though Gabool laughed as heartily as the others, Bludrigg had not escaped his notice. Everyone was laughing, but not BludriggBludrigg the surly, Bludrigg the argumentative, Bludrigg the trouble-causer, the seadeck lawyer. Gabool watched him

closely. Bludrigg, who could sense the scheming mind behind his King's false merriment.

Things between the King of Searats and his Captain had been building to a head for a long time; Gabool decided to settle accounts with Bludrigg now. Gulping wine from the chalice and allowing it to spill freely into his beard, Gabool pretended to stagger drunkenly. He winked in a friendly manner and thrust his. sword point down into a chest of booty. Tottering over to the table, Gabool banged the half-empty chalice down in front of the Greenfang's Captain.

"Bludrigg, me old matey, c'mon, drink up!"

Bludrigg' s face was sullen as he thrust the chalice aside.

"Don't want no wine. I can drink all I want aboard me ship."

All around the hall they stopped drinking, singing and gambling; an air of expectancy settled over the searats. Gabool blinked, as if trying to shake off the effects of the wine, and swayed slightly.

"Food then. Can't have my Captain starvin'. Roast meat, fruit, fish, sugared preserves? Here, bring m' friend Bludrigg some vittles."

Bludrigg's swordclaw fondled the hilt of his sheathed scimitar.

"Leave the food, Gabool. I eat well enough."

Gabool sighed, shaking his head as if in puzzlement. He sat next to Bludrigg and threw a comradely claw about his shoulders.

"Hmmm, no wine, no food, no smile on me old shipmate's face. What d'you want then, bucko?"

Bludrigg shook Gabool's claw off. He stood upright, knocking the chair over behind him, his eyes blazing with suppressed rage at the drunken Warlord.

"I want my share of the plunder. There's been none from the last three sailings. I'm tellin' you, Gabool, I want my portion of the booty an' I'll have it tonight, come hell or high water!"

From around the packed hall there were murmurs of agreement. Gabool spread his arms wide and smiled.

"Blow me down! Is that all? Why didn't you say so sooner?"

Bludrigg was lost for words; the expected clash had not come. Now he felt slightly foolish in front of his crew. He shrugged, mumbling halfheartedly; he tried excusing himself as if he were complaining on behalf of his searats.

"Well, I never thought. . . . It's just that my crew were startin' to complain, they thought you'd forgotten us ..."

Gabool looked injured. He went over to the chest of booty, where his sword stood upright amid a heap of armlets, goblets, baubles and shiny stones. Drawing forth the sword, he turned one or two items over with its point until he found what he sought. Gabool flicked the sword up as a shiny gold coronet studded with gems slid along its blade.

"Aharr, friend Bludrigg, the best for you. A crown fit for a King!"

Bludrigg felt a sudden rush of confidence; he had done it! Gabool was notoriously mean with plunder, but he, Bludrigg, Captain of the Greenfang, had actually got the better of Gabool. The King of Searats had backed down before him. Bludrigg's chest swelled as he accepted the beautiful coronet from Gabool's sword-blade and placed it on his head. A cheer rose from the company as Gabool spread his arms wide. Extending the sword away from Bludrigg, he addressed them.

"See, yer scurvy wave-riders. Pay attention, you jetsam of the oceans, I am Gabool the Wild, this is how I repay me friends. ..." Without warning Gabool swung a powerfully savage blow with his sword. "And reward my enemies!"

Even the hardened searats moaned in horror as the head of Bludrigg thudded to the floor. The coronet

rolled in front of Gabool. He picked it up on the dripping sword blade and held it forth to the assembly. "Would anyone else like to wear the crown, mateys?"

Heralded by the call of seabirds, eastern sunrays flooded warm and golden into a sky of calm blue reflected in the millpond sea below. The angry storm had passed, leaving summer serenity in its wake. The sun warmed the wet bundle on the flotsam-strewn tide-line until it stirred. Seawater and bile flooded from the mousemaid's mouth as she coughed feebly. The damp paw set tiny flies buzzing as it reached for her throat and began weakly grappling with the knotted rope. The wooden spar lay across her back. A seabird landed upon it; the added weight caused the mousemaid to vomit more salt water forth with a gurgling groan. Startled, the bird rose noisily into the air, cheated of the carcass it had taken for dead. Other seabirds began to wheel and circle overhead. A tiny crab tried nibbling at the maid's rough wet burlap dress, gave up and scuttled away.

Finally undone, the rope fell away from her bruised neck. Painfully she shifted the spar and rolled over onto her back. The mousemaid lay still awhile; some of the more venturesome seabirds spiraled lower. Rubbing sand and grit from her face with the back of a paw, she opened both eyes, immediately shutting them again against the glare of sunlight. Small wavelets trickled and lapped gently away from the shore; the tide was ebbing. The mousemaid ventured to explore the wound that the spar had inflicted upon her head. She winced and left it alone. Turning over again, she shielded her eyes with her paws and rested on the firm damp sand, soaking up the life-giving rays of the comforting sun. A large speckled gull landed close to her. Readying its dangerous beak, it stalked slowly forward; the mouse-maid watched it from between her paws. Within a neck-length of her prostrate body the sea gull stood upon

one webbed foot and began bringing its beak down in an exploratory peck.

Thwack\

She swung the wet-sand-weighted end of the rope. It was knotted and her aim was good. The rope's end thudded solidly into the bird's right eye. With a squawk of pain and distress the sea gull did an awkward running takeoff, flopping into the air and dispersing its alarmed companions.

The little mousemaid began dragging herself laboriously up the beach, her throat parched, mouth dry, head aching, limbs battered almost numb by the pounding seas. She reached a tussock of reedgrass in the dry sand above the tideline. Pulling the grass about her, she lay down in the safety of its shelter. As sleep descended upon her weary body, strange thoughts flooded her mind. She could not remember who she was, she had no name she could recall; apart from the stormy seas that had tossed her up, there was no memory of anythingit was all a cloudy gray void. Where had she come from? Where was she now? What was she doing here? Where was she going? Her last thought before sleep enveloped her brain was that she was a fighter. She could beat off a large sea gull with a rope's end, even lying stranded and half-dead from exhaustion, and she had survived the sea.

She was alive!

Dawn arrived clad in hushed rosiness upon the wake of storm-torn night. Abbot Bernard had not lain abed, he was up and about. Concern for his beloved Redwall had driven sleep from his mind; the ravages of gale-force winds and rain would need repairing. He made a swift tour of inspection, finishing up on the east battlements. Leaning back upon the strongly hewn stones, Bernard allowed himself a sigh of relief. There was not much that any weather conditions, no matter how severe, could do to the Abbey. However, there were broken branches and wrecked tree limbs overhanging the ramparts to the east and north, with here and there some ill-fated sapling or hollow woodland monarch toppled against the walls. Inside, the grounds had largely been protected by the outer structurea few crops flattened, fruit bushes in disarray and a loose window shutter on the gatehouse blown awry. The Father Abbot descended the wallsteps thankfully and went to summon Foremole to head a repair crew. They could attend to the damage after breakfast.

The calm after the storm also had its effect upon the inmates of Redwall Abbey. Young creatures tumbled out of the Abbey building into the sunlit morning. Whooping and shouting, they teemed into the orchard

to gather fruit brought down by the winds of the gale. The otter twins Bagg and Runn frisked and bounded around the apple and pear trees to the strawberry patch, then lay on their backs, squeaking with laughter as they gobbled up the juicy fruit, inventing fictitious reasons as to why the berries were lying there.

"Heehee, look what was blown down from the strawberry trees by the wind last night. Heeheehee!"

Durry Quill, Gabe Quill's little nephew, joined them. He sat in the strawberry patch, trying to decide which was the biggest berry, eating all the possible candidates as he listened to the otters. Durry was not at all sure whether he should believe they had come from a strawberry tree.

"Strawb'rry trees, 1 don't see no strawb'rry trees. Where be they?"

Bagg coughed hard to stop himself tittering. He put on a serious face as he explained the logic of fictitious strawberry trees to the puzzled little Durry.

"Teehee, er harumph! What? You never see'd a strawb'rry tree. Dear oh dear. Why, they're great giant things with blue speckly leaves, very light of course, only weigh as much as two goosefeathers. That's why the wind blowed 'em all away. Whoosh! Straight o'er the top of the Abbey walls."

The gullible Durry looked from one to the other, half convinced.

Runn nodded serious agreement and continued the story. "Sright, I see'd it meself from the dormitory window. Way away they blowed, all those poor old great strawb'rry trees, carried off by the wind to the Gongleboo mountains where the Grunglypodds live."

A half-eaten strawberry dropped from Durry's open mouth. "Grunglyboo's mountain where Gronglepodds live, where be that?"

Under a nearby pear tree Dandin stood paws on hips with his friend, young Saxtus the harvest mouse. Both smiled as they listened to the two otters leading Durry

Quill astray with their tall tales. Saxtus bit into a windfall pear and grimaced.

"Don't know why we came out here to eat fruit. Most of these windfalls aren't even ripe yet. Taste this pear, hard as a rock."

Dandin sat down with the otters and Durry. "No, thanks, I'll try my luck with all these berries that fell from the strawberry trees." He looked over the top of a large strawberry at Bagg and Runn. "Strawberry trees indeed! You two should be ashamed of yourselves, telling a poor little hedgehog such whopping great fibs."

Saxtus sat down with them, keeping his normally solemn face quite straight. "Dandin's right, y'know. Otters that tell lies get carried off by the big pink Water-bogle."

Bagg tossed a strawberry into the air. It missed his mouth and bounced off his nose as he remarked airily, "Oh the pink Waterbogle. We've been carried off twice this summer by him, haven't we, Runn?"

Runn giggled. "Teeheehee! I'll say we have. We told him so many whoppers he said he's not carrying us off anymore."

From the direction of the damson and plum trees Simeon's voice interrupted.

"Saxtus! Dandin! Brother Hubert wants you for your Redwall history and recording lessons. He is not getting any younger, and someday we will need a new recorder; traditions must be upheld. Come on, young scamps, I know you're there!"

The two young mice dropped flat in the strawberry patch, Dandin holding a paw to his lips.

"Shush! It's Simeon. Lie lowhe might go away."

The steady pawsteps of the blind herbalist came nearer. Simeon called again.

"Come on, you two. I know you're hiding in the strawberry patch."

Saxtus tugged Bagg's tail and winked at the young

otter. Bagg winked back as he called out, "It's Bagg and Runn, Simeon. We're the only ones here."

Simeon appeared, chuckling. "I'm going to count to three, and if you two otters and that nephew of Quill's aren't off to the Abbey kitchen to help with the chores, I'll tell Mother Mellus to come and fetch you with a hazel twig. As for Saxtus and Dandin, unless you want me to give you an extra lecture on the value of nightshade and campion as herbs, you'll come out now and stop lying there trying to breathe lightly. I may not have eyesight but my ears and nose have never deceived me yet."

Saxtus and Dandin stood up ruefully, wiping away dew from their novices' habits. Wordlessly they followed Simeon to the gatehouse at the entrance to the outer walls. Simeon strode boldly ahead, a smile hovering about his lips.

"Hmm, pity the strawberry trees got blown away in the storm. You could have climbed up one and hidden in its branches."

Brother Hubert sat at his desk in the gatehouse. Though Redwall Abbey was of no great age, he was surrounded by old books, parchments and scrolls. Dust was everywhere. It settled in layers on furniture and shelf alike, providing a fine patina to the tomes and volumes piled willy-nilly, coating the yellowed parchments and writing materials, lazily drifting in a slow swirl around the morning sunlight shafts flooding through the window. Hubert Kept his head bent to the task of recording the Abbey's daily life, the long feathered quill pen waving back and forth as he wrote. Saxtus and Dandin stood in front of him, listening to the scratch of quill on parchment, keeping a respectful silence until Brother Hubert spoke to them. Looking over the top of his spectacles, Hubert blinked severely. "What is punctuality?"

Saxtus spoke out. "The respect we show other creatures by being on time."

"Hmm, you two young Brothers have more respect for strawberries than you do for me, is that not right?"

Saxtus and Dandin stood in silence. Brother Hubert put aside his pen.

"Tell me in turn our Abbey charter. Dandin, you may begin."

Dandin swallowed hard, looked at the ceiling for inspiration, shuffled his paws and began hesitantly.

"Er, to be Brothers and Sisters of peace and goodwill, er, living together in harmony under the protection of Redwall Abbey, er, er, forsaking all unnecessary forms of violence, not only to Mossflower, its trees, grasses, flowers and insects, but to all living creatures ..."

Brother Hubert nodded at Saxtus to continue. He did so with much more confidence and less hesitancy than Dandin.

"To help and comfort the dispossessed, harbor orphans and waifs, offer shelter to all creatures alike, give clothing, warmth and food to any beast or creature that is deemed in need of such. To educate and learn, particularly in the healing arts, comfort the sick, nurse the injured and help the wounded ..."

Dandin received Brother Hubert's nod to continue from Saxtus.

"Er, er, help the wounded. . . . Er, lessee now, er. . . . Oh yes! To take our food from the earth and replenish the land by caring for it, er, husbanding crops and living in harmony with the, er, seasons always. To honor and protect our friends and brethren, only raising paw to do battle when our life at Redwall is threatened by treachery and the shadow of war; at these times every Redwall creature should show courage, fortitude and obedience to the Father Abbot. Albeit the taking of another life must always be justified and never carried out in a wanton manner." Brother Hubert came out from behind his desk.

"Well done, Saxtus, and very clearly spoken. As for you, young Dandin, you stammer and hesitate, you seem to have difficulty in rememberingexcept, that is, until you come to the part that deals with treachery, war and battle."

Dandin looked down at the floor, gnawing at the side hairs of his paw.

Brother Hubert leaned back against the desk, took a beaker of cordial, blew some dust from its rim and took a sip before continuing.

"Right, Saxtus. Tell me what has been going on in Great Hall for three seasons now."

Saxtus stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Going on ... Great Hall . . . er, er. Oh, is it the making of some cloth picture? Is that what you mean, Brother Hubert?"

Brother Hubert polished his spectacles upon his habit sleeve.

"I don't know, are you asking me or telling me? My my, what a pair of little puddenheads. See if you can tell him, Dandin."

This time it was Dandin's turn to brighten up.

"In Great Hall for the past three seasons, actually it's three and a half, the Brothers and Sisters, also many woodlanders, are combining their skills to make a wonderful tapestry. This will depict our founder, Martin the Warrior, showing how he battled with villainous vermin, foxes, rats, stoats, ferrets and weasels, even a huge wildcat like that awful Tsarmina. Martin the Warrior wasn't bothered by those evil beasts, oho no; he got his famous sword and buckled on his bright armor, took up his shield and drove them from Mossflower country. Wham! Blatt! He whirled his deadly blade, the rats screamed, the foxes dived into hiding. Swishl Chop\ Martin was right after them and he whirled his sword an-"

"Enough, enough, you bloodthirsty young scamp. How do you know all this?"

Dandin smiled. A reckless light burned in his bright eyes.

"Because the father of my father's father was Gonff the Prince of Mousethieves, Martin the Warrior's famous companion. He could steal the nose from under your eyes while you were watching and he was a great ballad-maker."

Brother Hubert nodded wisely. "Yes indeed, an unusual fellow, by all accountsthief, rogue, warrior, questor, but all for the good of other creatures. He married the lovely Columbine, if my memory serves me rightly, so he could not have been too bad a creature. Never let me catch you stealing, young Dandin. Wait, there was something I meant to tell you. Ah yes, I have it here somewhere."

He began rummaging among piles of old records until the dust flew, finally coming up with a small object. By this time all three were coughing and spluttering amid the dust. Hubert shepherded them outside into the cool shadow of the ramparts before he presented Dandin with the item. It was a small flute, beautifully made from a piece of straight applewood, bored out by a red-hot iron rod and wonderfully carved, and it had an ornamental letter "G" near the mouthpiece.

"I was looking through some ancient records," Brother Hubert explained. "They said that the family of Gonff lived down at old Saint Ninian's church for six generations. Before Gonff moved away from Redwall Abbey, however, he was presented with a flute by Abbess Germaine, our first Abbey Mother. But apparently Gonff thought it was far too splendid and fancy for himhe preferred a reed flute so he left this behind. I think this is the flute; it carries his initial and looks very old. I'm sure it belongs rightly to you, Dandin. Do you think you can play it?"

Dandin gazed at the flute, his eyes shining. "I'll certainly try, Brother."

Hubert dusted his habit before returning to the gatehouse.

"Good, perhaps we'll hear you at the Abbot's Midsummer Jubilee feast?"

Saxtus squinted at the sun. "When's that, Brother?"

"Three days hence, though some of the older Brothers and Sisters have been planning it for quite a while now. Our Father Abbot is very modest and does not want to cause too much fuss, so we have kept it quiet; we didn't want to get you young ones too excited. Still, I suppose you've got to know at some point ..."

Both young mice leapt for joy, hugging each other and laughing aloud at the prospect of the great event.

"Hurray! Abbot Bernard's Jubilee feast. Redwaaaaaaalll!"

Brother Hubert's dry, dusty old features broke into a wide grin.

"Go on now, be off with the pair of you. No doubt you'll be needed to help with the preparations."

Sister Sage was not on duty serving breakfast that morning. She took herself off for a breath of fresh air on the ramparts, enjoying the soft breeze that drifted over Mossflower Woods.

She came down from her morning stroll along the walltop to join Brother Hubert, and together they watched the two young mice hopping and leaping like wild crickets, across the sunlit lawns and flower beds, toward the Abbey kitchens.

Sister Sage chuckled and shook her head. "Cowslips! Look at those two young 'uns, would you! It makes you feel good to be alive on a summertide."

With that, she hopped off after them, capering madly despite her long seasons. Brother Hubert attempted a small caper, until dust arose from his habit and his glasses fell off. He looked about quickly to see no creature had been watching, then hurried into his gatehouse.

The midday sun glinted off the waters of the far northwest sea as thick-headed revelers from the previous night hauled anchors to sail out and scour the seas or range the coasts in their constant search for plunder and booty, slaves and trinkets. Gabool the Wild watched them from the high window of his banqueting hall, Waveblade, Blacksail, Rathelm and Greenfang, four good craft laden with the rakings and scrapings of seas and oceans, murderers all.

Gabool had conferred captaincy of the Greenfang on Garrtail, an up-and-coming member of the searat brethren, but dull and wholly servile to his master Gabool, Lord of all Waters. Dull Garrtail might be, but Gabool knew that it would not stop him gossiping to the master of the Darkqueen, Saltar, brother of Bludrigg. Garrtail knew that the Darkqueen habitually ranged the seas to the south; he would make sure his path crossed with Saltar. There was little doubt the corsair master of Darkqueen would hear the tale of his brother's death, chapter and verse.

Gabool tore at a leg of roasted kittiwake and chewed reflectively. Saltar had the reputation of being a hard searat to cross. Though they had never matched blades, Gabool knew Saltar to be a corsair hook fighter, using

a vicious metal hook to impale opponents before slaying them with his curved sword. Gabool spat the meat away and hurled the kittiwake leg out of the window, watching it bounce off rocks on the sheer face until it hit the sea below.

He laughed slyly. Two could play at that game!

Taking a long dagger from his waist sash, Gabool went to the far end of the hall. A colored cloth wall hanging, held outward by a wooden rail near the ceiling, reached from on high down to the floor. Gabool pushed it to one side and found the crack in the stonework behind it. He jammed the long dagger, handle first, into the crack so that it was wedged, with the blade pointing outward, then let the wall hanging fall back into place. Though he was a renowned fighter and a fearless one, Gabool never took chances, particularly since the incident with the mousemaid. Standing back, Gabool surveyed the trap. Good, the wall hanging looked like any other in the hall, perfectly harmless.

Now his restless eye was caught by the great bell. He wandered around its wide perimeter, fascinated by the object. Surely no Searat King had ever taken such a magnificent prize. Gabool pinged it with his long curving claws, sounded it by banging his rings and bracelets upon its brazen surface, amazed by the clear musical noises it made, tingling, humming and vibrating. He bared his lips. Leaning close in, he bit lightly at it, making his gold teeth reverberate with the echoes from the bell. Gabool stroked the cool curving object as he crooned softly.

"Speak to me, beauty, we must get to know each other well. I am Gabool the Wild, your owner, but you need not fear me. Your voice will call to my fleet one day, your tones will terrify my enemies. You will be the voice of Gabool when I set you atop of my fort and let your tongue swing free. Then, ah then, you will boom out across the waves so that all the seas will know Gabool is King."

On a sudden impulse Gabool dashed off. Slamming the door behind him, he took the downward stairs three at a time, deeper and deeper into the depths of his own lair. Two guards were standing at the entrance to the prison cells. Gabool whirled upon them with a snarl.

"Get out of my sight and leave me alone here!"

As the guards fled, Gabool made his way to a cell that was little more than a cage. He lounged against the bars, grinning at the pitiful creature locked up inside.

"Well, bellmaker, ready to work for me yet?"

Joseph the Bellmaker was chained by his waist to the wall. The floor of the subterranean cell was awash with sea water which seeped through from outside. Joseph had once been a powerful, well-fleshed mouse, but now his cheeks were sunken and dark circles formed around his eyes. Starvation and ill treatment had taken their ruthless toll on the bellmaker, though as he raised his head, both eyes burned with remorseless hatred for his captor.

"I would sooner be eaten by the fishes of the sea than serve you, rat."

Gabool continued as if he had not heard the prisoner. "You can do it, Joseph, I know you can. A bell tower strong enough to hold the great bell, right on top of my fort, where the whole world will hear it."

Joseph pulled forward, straining at the chain in the enclosed space, his voice shaking with pent-up rage.

"Never. I would not soil my paws with your mad ideas and evil schemes. That bell was made for the badger, the Lord of Salamandastron, enemy of all sea-scum. It will never ring for you!"

Gabool drew his sword and clashed it against the cell bars.

"Hell's guts! D'you think I care who it was made for, you fool? The bell is mine now, mine to do what I like with. Its voice will sound for me alone. I, Gabool, Warlord of the Waves, say this!"

Joseph slumped down, shaking his head in despair.

"You're mad, completely insane and evil. Kill me, do what you want with me, I don't care anymore."

Gabool sheathed his sword. Drawing close to the bars he whispered low, "And your daughter?"

The bellmaker's face betrayed the agony his mind was suffering.

"No, please! You wouldn't harm her, you couldn't! She's so young and, and. . . . Don't you dare hurt my daughter!"

Gabool now sorely regretted drowning the bellmaker's daughter. Still, if the old buffoon thought she was alive, there might be a bit of fun here. Gabool decided to toy with his victim.

"If you build my bell tower I will let you see her again, but not until you've carried out the work."

Joseph tugged at the chain. He bit his lip until blood showed, torn by the decision he knew he had to make.

"Gabool, listen. I would not put a single stone atop another for you. Why? Because it would mean death, torture or slavery for countless other good creatures. Don't you understand, rat, my conscience would not let me, after I saw what they did to the Captain and crew of our ship when searats captured us. I know it means that I may never see my young one again. It tears my heart apart, but I must do the right thing for the sake of others."

Gabool summoned up all his cunning, his black soul driving him on to wickedness, belying the smile on his face as he threw his claws wide.

"Haharr, very stubborn, Joseph, but I can see that you're a good creature. Sometimes I wish that I'd never been born wicked, but decent like you. I suppose I'll have to think of somethin' else now. But hark, bellmaker, I'm sure you'd like to see your daughter again, wouldn't you, matey?"

Tears of gratitude beaded in the unsuspecting prisoner's eyes. "She means more to me than anything. Please let me see her!"

Gabool took the keys from a wallspike. "Hell's gates! I must be getting soft in me old age. Come on, then."

They stood in the banqueting hall, barbarian and bellmaker. Joseph looked around him, dragging his chains as he did.

"Where is she?"

Gabool touched the great bell with his sword. "Not so fast, shipmate. If you won't build me a bell tower, then at least tell me what these little pictures and strange words round the top 'n' bottom of my bell mean."

Joseph shuffled anxiously around the bell, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his daughter as he reluctantly read off the rhyme at its base.

"I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts

unite. I will toll the hours out, all daytime and through

night. I will wake good creatures up, from their beds each

morning, Or toll when they're in danger, a clear and brazen

warning. For all the family, son and daughter, husband and

goodwife, I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave

this life. For many great occasions, for many different

reasons, Listen and my voice you'll hear, throughout the

changing seasons. Though I may boom, clang, peal or toll, command

and use me well. But hark, beware the evil ones who would misuse

this bell."

Gabool stared hard at Joseph. "Trash! I'll have it filed off one day. What about the little drawin's an' pictures round the top, what do they mean, bellmaker?"

Joseph spread his shackled paws. "Only the Lord of Salamandastron knows that. He gave me a parchment with those drawn upon it. Who knows what goes through the minds of the great badger rulers of the fire mountain; they are creatures of destiny. I've told you all I know, now can I see my daughter?"

Gabool led him to the open window.

"Of course, matey, I can't show you the exact spot where she lies, but I can show you how to find her ..."

For Gabool it was but the work of a moment, one swift push!

In the late afternoon the mousemaid cast a long shadow as she wandered the deserted beach alone. Hunger, thirst and attacks of myriad gnats and sandflies had wakened and forced her to desert the hiding place. Over one shoulder she still carried the knotted rope. A long line of pawprints in the sand behind her emphasized the desolation of sea, sand and sky, seemingly inhabited only by predatory seabirds. She had tried gnawing at some young seaweed washed up on the tideline, but the heavy salt taste in the maiden's dry swollen mouth caused her to spit it away. Swaying slightly, she shielded her eyes from the hot orb of the sun and gazed about. Fresh water was nowhere to be had. Turning inland, she made her weary way toward a large outcrop of sand dunes to the south.

Some perverse dogged spirit drove the mousemaid onward, though often she would be toppled over by the hot shifting sand of the dunes. Rolling downhill, she would pick herself up, wipe grit from her eyes and begin climbing again. It was on top of one difficult dune she encountered the first sign of life that was not a seabird. It was a small lizard, eyes half-closed, basking in the heat. The reptile did a sideways shuffle, watching her warily. The maiden tried several times to communicate, managing only a croaking noise. The lizard's head

weaved from side to side as it snapped bad-temperedly at her.

"You norra frog, you make frognoise, wharra you

want?" The mousemaid managed to gasp out a single word:

"Water."

The small lizard moved its head up and down, its throat pulsating.

"Water faraway. You norra lizard, you die soon, never make it to drinkwater, too far. Soon now they

eat you."

She followed the creature's upward nod. Gulls were beginning to circle overhead; the scavengers of the shore, sensing when a living thing was becoming weaker and more defenseless. The maid grasped the knotted rope and swung it, calling at the sky in a hoarse voice, "I'm not finished yet. You'll see!"

When she looked down, the lizard had gone. Without a backward glance she descended the other side of the dune, half stumbling, half falling. The foot of the dune was in shadow. Before her lay a sandy flatland dotted with scrub and coarse grass. The little mousemaid rested awhile in the welcoming shade. Idly her paw sank into the sand as she leaned back. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. The sand was firm and damp just beneath the surface. Realization that she was not on the seaward side of the dunes brought with it the shining hope of one precious thing. Water!

Scrabbling dizzily, her strength failing rapidly, the maid began digging with all paws. Soon she was rewarded by darker, damp sand. Her paws made a delicious scraping noise as she tossed sand out of the shallow hole. Digging with the urgency of desperation, she was finally rewarded with one wet paw. She sat sucking her paw as the moisture seeped through the ground into the hole, forming a small muddy pool. Throwing herself flat, the little mousemaid shoved her head into the hole and drank greedily, disregarding the

gritty sand and ooze, as life-giving water flowed down her throat. New vitality surged through her. Gurgling with delight, she lifted her head and found herself staring into the predatory eye of a gannet that had been sneaking up on her.

Thwackl Thwopl

With eye-blurring speed she belted the knotted rope twice into the bird's face. It stumbled, fell over, sticklike legs buckling under it. The mousemaid advanced, swinging her weapon, with battle light in her eyes and a clear angry voice.

"Come on! What d'you want, the water or me? Come on. I'll fight you, you great featherbed!"

The twirling knot struck the gannet a further three times before it managed to flop off into the air with a half-stunned squawk. The little mousemaid felt the blood thrumming in her veins. She tore up a nearby plant and shook it at the sky.

"That goes for all of you. I'll kill the next one that comes after me. D'you hear?"

She found herself shouting at an empty evening sky. The birds had gone in search of less ferocious prey. Inspecting the plant she had pulled from the ground, she noticed that the root was attached to a fat white tuber. Without further hesitation she began munching upon it. The tuber tasted good, something like raw turnip.

Evening gave way to night as the maid sat at the foot of the dune, bathing the wound on her head with a corner of her burlap smock which she had soaked in water from her newfound well. Dabbing at the cut with one paw and devouring a root held in the other, the mousemaid talked aloud to herself, enjoying the sound of her own voice.

"No name, no memory, no idea where I am. Ha! I know, I'll call myself Storm, because it was the storm that brought me here. Yes, Storm, I like that ..."

She held the rope up and twirled it. "And you are

my faithful Gullwhacker. There, we've both got new names now. This is goodI've got you, the shade from my sandhill, water and food."

Storm settled down in the sand as the warm summer night closed in on her. "Wish I knew who I really was, though ..." Her voice sounded small and lonely amid the scrub and desolation.

A pale golden moon peeped over the dunes at the little mousemaid sleeping by the foot of the hill, clutching a piece of knotted rope, for all the world like some infant in slumber nursing a favorite toy.

The famous kitchens of Redwall Abbey were abustle with activity that night. Friar Alder, the thin, lanky mouse in charge of it all, added wild plumjuice to an enormous hazelnut crumble he had just pulled from the oven. Alder blew on a scorched paw, complaining loudly.

"Not enough time. That's all I've been given, just not enough time. Who do they think I arn, a magician? Less than three days hence and I've got to supervise a fullblown Abbot's Midsummer Jubilee. Berry tarts, cream puddings, twelve different kinds of breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake ..."

Bagg and Runn, the otter twins, followed Alder, waving their paws and repeating his every word in comic imitation.

"Breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake. . . . Owch!"

Friar Alder had turned quickly and dotted them both between the ears with a wooden spoon. "I told you not to mention a surprise cake. Now off you pop, the pair of you. Go and help Dandin and Saxtus."

Dandin and Saxtus were being taught the art of woodland summercream pudding-making by a charming little red squirrelmaid named Treerose, though they

were paying far more attention to the pretty cook than to the recipe.

"Now, to make woodland summercream pudding we need a deep earthenware bowl. Pass me that one, please."

Dandin and Saxtus fought each other to grab the bowl and give it to Treerose. Calmly she took it from them with a disarming smile.

"Great sillies, you nearly broke it, fighting like that. Right, now pay attention. First a thick coating of redcur-rant jelly inside the bowl. Next, roll out your sweet chestnut pastry very thin, like this. . . . Bagg! Runn! Stop eating those blackberriesI need them for the pudding!"

The twin otters bounded away to torment some other creature, their mouths stained purple from the berries. They caught a young bankvole named Petunia and kissed her cheeks until she was covered in purple otter-lip marks. Petunia's mother grabbed them and set about them with a soggy dishcloth. Dandin and Saxtus roared laughing, but Treerose merely pursed her mouth primly and reprimanded them.

"There's nothing funny about those two ruffians. Watch me, or you'll never learn. Now, make sure the sweet chestnut pastry is well bedded into the redcurr-ant jelly around the sides of the bowl, then we coat the pastry with an extra-thick layer of yellow primrose cream. Having done that, we take the blackberries and, starting from the bottom of the basin, we place them on the cream, pressing just lightly enough to make them stick to the cream. Teh tch, you great clumsy fellows, not like that. You'll burst the berries. Wipe your paws and watch me."

Blushing furiously, Dandin and Saxtus wiped their paws as the young charmer carried on efficiently.

"Now I'm going to coat these thick almond wafers with some light honeycream, like so. ... You see how easily they stick to the blackberries when I use them as

the next layer. There, that's that. All that remains now is for me to spoon the applecream into the center until the basin is full. To finish off, cover the whole thing with a short hazelnut pastry glazed with clear honey to give it a nice shiny crust. Open that bottom oven door, please."

"Owch! Ooch! Yagh! Woop!"

"Great silly mice! Use oven cloths to protect your paws. Out of the way! I'll see to it. You two are as much use as moles up a tree."

Dandin and Saxtus sucked their scorched paws and stood watching, red with embarrassment as Treerose, the perfect little Miss Efficiency, swung the oven door wide, popped the pudding inside and shut the door with a few deft movements.

Mother Mellus wandered over, trimming the edges from a strawberry flan. "Hello, Treerose. How are the two star pupils doing?"

"Clumsy as ducks on an iced pond, Mother Mellus."

Treerose turned and flounced off. The badger ruffled the ears of the crestfallen mice.

"Never mind. Tell you whatif you get me some cider from Gabriel Quill to bake my horse chestnuts in, I'll let you try one each."

The pair dashed off happily to the wine cellars. Mellus chuckled as she helped herself to a pawful of apple, cheese and nut salad that Sister Sage was chopping.

"Poor old Dandin and Saxtus. That young Treerose is enough to turn any novice's head and set him on his tail. She does it all the time."

Sister Sage topped the salad off with crushed mint dressing. "Yes, I can remember a young mouse being like that about me when I was a snip of a mousemaid. Brother Hubert, would you believe."

Mellus chuckled deeply. "What? You mean old dusty drawers Hubert? Surely not!"

"Oh, he was quite a handsome young dog at one

time. We studied together under Sister Verity. She was a stern old stickler; 'Hubert/ she'd say, 'stop staring like a hungry owl at Sage and get on with your work.' " Sister Sage patted her rotund little waist. "That was when I fell out of love with Hubert and into love with food. Ah well, that's the salad. What's next? Pears in custard with wild cherries. Mmmm, my favorite!"

In the wine cellars, Dandin and Saxtus followed Gabe Quill. His nephew Durry carried the lantern for them as Gabe pointed out some of his specialties.

"See that liddle keg yonderaye, that un. Well, that's the best wild plum brandy ever fermented in these cellars. They do say it was made by big Brown-spike O'Quill, my ancestor. Marvelous stuff it is, one tot of that'd cure a drownin' fish. That's why Sister Sage or Simeon are the only beasts who use itmedicinal purposes. That big tun barrel at the back now, that's dandelion beer. Very good of a cold winter's night with toasted cheese. This one here, haha, you must try this rascal. Funniest drink I ever did make. It was meant to be buttercup 'n' honey cordial, but I made it too sweet, so I takes a herb here an' a plant there an' chucks 'em in to bitter it a touch. Mercy me! It didn't go any less sweet, no sir, it started a-fizzin' an' bubblin'. Little uns do love it dearly. Here, try some."

Dandin, Saxtus and Durry stood wide-eyed as Gabe Quill tapped the barrel and drew three small beakers off. The bright yellow cordial popped, fizzed and gurgled as if it were alive. Drinking it proved almost impossible. Gabe Quill stood by, quaking with mirth as the three young ones tried.

"Whan! Ooh, it's gone right up my nose!" "Heeheehee! It tickles all the way down!" "Woogolly! It's like having a tummyful of mad butterflies!"

Gabe took a jug over to his cider barrels. "D'you want a drinkin' cider or a cookin' cider?"

"Oh, a cooking one, I s'pose. Whoops, heehee! Er, sorry. It's for Mother Mellus. She's baking horse, teehee, chestnuts, whoo! For the Jubilee, phwaw! That stuff could tickle you to death, Mr. Quill. Hahaha!"

"Well, it's certainly got you young uns all of a-wiggle. You'd never make it upstairs carryin' a jug o' cider. Siddown now an' sip some of this cold motherwort tea.

That'll calm you a bit."

Above stairs in the kitchens, Friar Alder was at his wits' end. The Foremole and his team had decided to make the biggest raspberry cream pudding ever seen in Mossflower country. Alder threw his hat down and danced upon it.

"Flour, raspberries, honey and cream everywhere. I can't stand it!"

Foremole ignored him, but a fat mole named Buxton waved a reassuring paw at the harassed Alder. "Burr, doant you a-froight yerself, maister. Us'ns knows wot we're about."

A young mole named Danty, white with flour from tail to tip, climbed into one of the huge copper stock-pots.

"Hurr aye, doant 'ee fret thoi whiskers, zurr Alder. Yurr, Burgo, tipple some o' they rabserries in yurr, an' moind that garleck doant go near 'em."

Burgo turned indignantly to Foremole, who blanched at the smell of the wild garlic Burgo always carried. His voice sounded squeaky through the peg he wore at the tip of his snout. "Yurr, wot's Danty rubblin' on about? Oi doant loik the smell o' garleck noither. 'At's whoi oi allus pegs me nose up toight. Oh lookit, liddle Grubb's fell in 'ee honey."

Foremole fished Baby Grubb out of the panful of warm honey. "Gurr you'm toiny racsal, wot do 'ee want ter fallen in honey furr?"

Grubb waved a sticky carefree paw. "Hurr, better

fallen in honey than mud, oi allus says. Baint nothen wrong wi' honey. Bees makes et."

Foremole wrinkled his button nose, nodding in agreement. "Ho urr, the choild be roight, he'm be growen up wisely clever. Stan' o'er thurr an' lick thoi-self off, liddle Grubb. Buxton, Drubber, see wot you'm c'n do for zurr Alderhe'm fainted roight away. Doant leave 'im alyin' thurr in yon rabserry pudden mixture."

From the kitchen doors Abbot Bernard stood watching the proceedings, with Simeon chuckling beside him.

"My my, those moles are certainly teaching Friar Alder a thing or two, Bernard. His kitchen will never be the same again."

"Indeed, Simeon. Excuse me a moment, will you? Brother Ash, would you help those little mice to roll that great cheese they're trying to move? If it falls on one of them he'll be flattened. Oh, Treerose, I don't wish to interfere, but is that a woodland summercream pudding I can smell beginning to burn in the ovens?"

Treerose had been bustling about, efficiently attending to several things at once. However, she had forgotten the woodland summercream pudding she had put in the oven some time before. Panic-faced, she dashed off to attend to it.

Simeon nodded in admiration. "Your sense of smell is getting better, Bernard."

"Thank you, Simeon, but I had a double motive. Treerose is very pretty but far too efficient and snippy. It will teach her that even the best of us can make mistakes. Also, I would hate a woodland summercream pudding to be burnt in the ovens, especially hers. To tell the truthand I wouldn't tell herTreerose does make the best woodland summercream I've ever tasted."

Treerose arrived at the ovens, grabbed up a cloth and swung the door wide.

"My pudding. . . . It's gone!"

"I smelled the crust edges just begin to scorch so I pulled it out for you."

She turned to see Rufe Brush standing by her pudding, which was set on the big flat cooling slate. Rufe was a rough-looking squirrel, not given overmuch to hanging about kitchens or joining the growing band of Treerose's admirers. He sniffed at the pudding before sauntering off. "Looks all right to me."

Treerose watched him go. What a fine bushy tail, well-pointed ears and powerful shoulders . . .

Mother Mellus banged a ladle upon a saucepan. "Come on, all you Dibbuns. Bedtime now."

Abbot Bernard yawned. "I think I'll join the Dibbuns, Simeon."

"Me too, Bernard. It's been a long day and we're getting no younger, my friend. I'll just take a stroll first and check that all the outer gates are secured." Simeon the blind herbalist placed a paw on his friend's shoulder.

"Right, I'll come with you."

"No you won't. I can sense your weariness. Besides, what could you see in the dark that i could not feel ten times better? Day and night are alike to me."

"You are right, of course. Good night, Simeon."

"Good night, Bernard. Sleep well."

The Abbot went off to his room, knowing that shortly the kitchen fires would be damped for the night, the cooks would retire and peace would settle over his beloved Redwall Abbey.

As Gabool predicted, the ship Greenfang had crossed bows with Darkqueen, the huge black galley commanded by Saltar. Upon hearing of the death of his brother Bludrigg, the corsair Captain put about, piling on sail and oars as he set course for Terramort Isle. The whips cracked belowdecks as drivers flogged the galley slaves on to greater efforts. The searat atop of the mizzenmast scoured the waves for sight of land; below his claws

the wide sails bellied out on the night breeze. Saltar stood in the bows putting a fine edge to his curved sword on an oilstone. Bleak-eyed and grim-faced, the searat muttered beneath his breath.

"I'll send you down where the fish will eat your flesh and the sea water rot your bones, Gabool the Wild. There was never any love lost between me and Blud-rigg, but he was my brother, and blood must be repaid with blood."

"Terramort rocks sighted off the starb'd bow, Cap'n," the lookout called down. "We can drop anchor in the cove afore dawn with this wind behind us."

Saltar sheathed his sword and began polishing the needletip of his cruel gaff hook, scowling at the dark lump on the horizon which marked the black forbidding rocks of Gabool's pirate kingdom.

"Ledder, douse all lights. When we're close enough to harbor, furl in all sails. Tell the crew to arm up and stand ready. There's killin' to be done tomorrow."

Saltar's first mate Ledder went aft to carry out his orders.

With the hook swinging from a neck cord and his sword at his side, Saltar stood leaning on the forward rail. He had never lost a fight or left an enemy alive. Gabool the Wild might rule Terramort and Fort Blade-girt, but Saltar had heard, as had every other salty searat, the story of how he was nearly bested by a mousemaid.

The corsair spat viciously over the side at the curving bow wave. "Lord of all Seas, King of Searats! Huh! You'll find out tomorrow, Gabool. You'll learn that

Saltar the Corsair is no mousemaid!"

In the banqueting hall of Fort Bladegirt, Gabool stood giving instructions to three fortslaves, dormice who had been captured in a land raid.

"Stand on his shoulders, you. Polish up round the top where the ring is. You, be still, and don't put yer

bare paws on the metalyou'll have pawmarks all over me bell. Of course, you know what that means, don't you?"

Doing his best to stand still and not to touch the bell, the ragged slave called over his shoulder, "Yes, Master. Pawmarks all over the bell mean whipmarks all over our backs."

Gabool slouched down on his throne. He picked idly at a dish of fruits crystallized in sugared honey and poured a goblet of wine.

"That's right, three lashes each for every pawmark. If I were you, I'd rip me shirt up and wrap it round me pawssave yerself a lot of whipping."

The three slaves hurried to comply with the suggestion, tearing up the pitiful remnants of tattered shirts and bandaging their paws with the strips.

A thin gray rat with a patch over one eye came running. "Lord, the Darkqueerirs sails have been sighted."

"Where away?"

"To the north. She should drop anchor here by dawn."

Gabool stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Good, are the troops standin' ready, mate?"

"Aye, Lord. Five score to board the Darkqueen and sail her off once Saltar and his crew step ashore, fifty archers halfway up the cliff and a hundred more fully armed with pikes and spears to form his reception committee, just as you ordered."

"You've done well, Graypatch. Have a cup o' wine and some of these sweetmeats with me. Dawn will soon be here."

Graypatch pulled out a mean-looking dagger and tested its edge. "Last dawn Saltar'll ever see, eh, Lord."

"Aye, he can go and visit his brother Bludrigg at Hellgates, and you, me old shipmate, you can wear a velvet patch when you're Captain of the Darkqueen. Hey, you! Polish harder, put your skinny back into it."

"Yes, Master." The unfortunate slave polished harder.

Gabool laughed. "Maybe you're hungry. D'you like eating fish?"

"Yes, master. I like eating fish."

Gabool winked at Graypatch as he called back to the dormouse slave. "Well, if you don't rub harder, the fish'll like eating you. Hahaha!"

The thin bodies of the slaves shook and quivered with effort as they rubbed and polished at the great bell with all their might. Gabool's jokes were not to be taken lightly.

Gabool and Graypatch took their wine and sweetmeats over to the window, where they could watch the Darkqueen sail in upon the tide.

Graypatch watched the savage Searat Ruler and reflected as he sipped his wine that Gabool was becoming more difficult to tread around. They had been ship-rats together since their young days, Gabool commanding, Graypatch obeyingthat was the way it had always been. However, for some time now Graypatch had been looking more to his own ends. When a Searat King began murdering his Captains on the slightest pretext, times were becoming perilous; now the patch-eyed rat was sure of it. Gabool was drunk with his own power and had become dangerous; anybeast could be slain at his whim. But not Graypatch. Offers of Captaincy and velvet patches did not impress himsuch offers could easily turn into a blade between the ribs if Gabool saw fit. In his fertile brain Graypatch began forming his own plans as he laughed and joked with his unpredictable companion, while all the time the Darkqueen rode the waves to Terramort.

Dawn broke mistily over the dunes, promising another hot summer day. The mousemaid Storm awoke to find herself surrounded by toads. During the night the well she had dug had filled up with water, and all around Storm the toads were closing in on her and the precious water. She closed her eyes again, feigning sleep. Her paw grasped Gullwhacker, the knotted rope, as she watched them through partially closed eyes. It was a dangerous situation; many of the toads were armed with tridents. She waited until a large male natterjack was practically standing over her before springing into action.

Whop!

Gullwhacker came down with such a resounding force upon the toad's head that he was laid out senseless. Storm whirled the rope, shouting aloud. "Back off, slimyskins, or I'll whack you into the middle of next season!"

A huge overweight speckled toad hopped heavily forward, flanked by two tough-looking young ones armed with the fearsome three-pointed tridents. The fat one blinked several times, his throat bulging and quivering.

"Grroikl! This is our land, this is our water. Grrokk!

You are not allowed to stop here. Go now or die, Oyka-mon has spoken. Rrrebb!"

Storm was not about to go and she did not mince her words. "You can speak all you want, fatface. This is my land and my water, this little bit right here. I am called Storm Gullwhacker. I come from the sea and I'm going nowhere. But I'll fight to stay here!"

Oykamon puffed himself up to full swell. "Grriokk! You are very insolent for a mouse. Krrrr! We are too many for you. If you fight you will die here. Grakk!"

Storm sprang forward with a yell, swinging her rope. The toads backed off slightly. She laughed scornfully.

"Right then, I'll die here, but I'll take a few of you with me. Well, come on, froggies. Who's first? Or are you going to sit there clicking and grocking until I die of old age!"

At a signal from Oykamon the toads advanced. Storm dipped the knotted end of Gullwhacker into the well water to make it heavier. Two toads sprang at her. Recklessly she jumped upon one, knocking the wind completely out of him as she scored a bull's-eye on his companion's snout with her weapon. Two more rushed from behind her. Storm thwacked at them wildly. As she did, one young toad ran in on her blind side and stabbed her footpaw with his trident. Maddened with pain, she hurled herself upon him, throttling with one paw and belaboring with the rope in the other. Now toads began hopping in on top of her, their weight carrying her to the ground, although she fought ferociously every bit of the way. Suddenly a cry rang from the dunetops.

"Eeeeuuulaliaaa!"

There was a croak of alarm from the attackers, followed by the pounding of swift paws. In the next moment toads were flying through the air like birds as three hares attacked with lance butts. Teeth bared and eyes wide, the three tall creatures moved with the practiced ease of natural fighters, their long ears streaming

out behind them as they skillfully kicked with big supple hindlegs, each a sandy-colored seasoned warrior, brooking no nonsense from their flabby adversaries. Thudding, thwacking and tossing with immense energy, they drove the toads from Storm. Belaboring and punishing without once using their lance points, the hares defeated the toad band swiftly. Storm sat up nursing her wounded paw as the oldest of the hare trio strode lankily to the well.

"Good egg! I say, young 'un, is this your water? May I?"

Storm nodded dumbly. The hare drank his fill, spitting out the grit.

He pulled a wry face, and made a leggy old-fashioned bow. "Pshaw! Tastes pretty yucky, don't it. Allow me to introduce us. I am Colonel Clary, family name's Meadowclary, of course, but you can call me Clary, everybeast does. This young wag over here is none other than the celebrated Brigadier Thyme, and the young gel is our ward the Honorable Rosemary, Hon Rosie to you. Capital! Now, pray tell me whom I have the honor of addressing, marm, though you're a bit young to be a marm, aren't you."

Storm stood up, favoring her uninjured footpaw. She threw the rope across her shoulders, squinting at the odd trio.

"My name's Storm Gullwhacker. This is my Gullwhackerd'you like it?"

"Hmph!" Brigadier Thyme snorted through his stiffly waxed whiskers. "Adequate for the purpose, I suppose, but there's nothing like a lance butt for dealing with toads, young mouseyou take it from me."

The toads had begun to regroup indignantly. Oykamon repuffed himself.

"Grrogg! I will collect many more toads, we will be as many as the sands of the shore, then you will all die. Krrrrik!"

Hon Rosie had an earsplitting laugh; every creature present winced as she launched into it.

"Whooyahahahah! 'Fraid we'll be long gone by then, you old frogwalloper. Sorry we can't stop around and be slain, wot! Duty calls."

Oykamon spat bad-temperedly. "Krroik! Go then. Death awaits you if you return to this place!"

The other toads shuffled forward aggressively, shaking their tridents.

Colonel Clary strode decisively forward. He twirled his lancetip, disarming the leading toad with a flick. Clary's eyes grew hard.

"Right, pay attention, you slimy rabble! We are the long patrol from Lord Rawnblade of Salamandastron. Nobeast stops uswe range where we please and when, carrying out orders. If you take one more step forward, we will use our lancetips, not the blunt ends. Then you will really see death visit this spot. Back off now, marshspawn. You there, leader chappie, tell all ranks to retreat, or you'll be the first to have your gizzard decorated by lancepoint."

Oykamon croaked out some sullen orders, and the toads retreated hastily.

Hon Rosie turned to Storm. "I say, can you walk on that bally hoof?"

Storm tested her injured footpaw. "I'll be all right. Where are we going?"

"Somewhere you can get proper fodder 'n' drink, old gel. You don't want to be hangin' about this thumpin' great wasteland twiddlin' your paws."

Brigadier Thyme inspected the paw. "Hmm. Not much wrong with that fetlock, young mouse."

The three hares carried satchels across their backs. Hon Rosie took hers off.

"Righto, first-aider Rosie to the rescue, wot? Whoohahahahah! I can't resist bandaging things, jolly good at it. Now, some hart's tongue fern, staghorn clubmoss, dab of salt and bind the blinkin' lot up with

a few strands of maidenhair fern. There! I'll bet you could trip a mouse mazurka with that little lot on. Try it."

Storm tested the footpaw. It felt very comfortable and easy. "Thank you, Rosie. It feels as good as new."

Colonel Clary had been pacing restlessly up and down. He shielded his eyes and took some bearings from the sun.

"Good egg, ladies. Got all the latest in shrubbery foot fashions sorted out now? Top-hole, then we can get going. Actually I was thinking of heading nor'east into the woodland fringes. We could have lunch there and visit old Pakatugg. What d'you say, Thyme?"

"Hmmm, yes, why ever not. Best idea under present circs, wot!"

It took some time for Storm to fall in with the hares' mode of speech. They seemed to treat everything in a very casual offpaw sort of way, but they were usually correct in their judgments.

By early noon they had left the flatlands. Behind them the gritty expanses mottled with sparse vegetation shimmered in the summer heat, with the dunes a hazy half-mirage in the distance. More dunes stood out ahead, paw-sinking shifting sand dunes that were difficult to surmount. Topping one such sandhill, they found themselves facing a fringe of pine-clad woodland, dark green and shady, a haven from the glare of the midday sun.

Brigadier Thyme marked out a vast hornbeam and led them to it. He held up a cautionary paw.

"Keep mum, chaps. Old Pakatugg's closeI can feel it in m' whiskers."

A pointed dart whistled past Thyme's ear, burying itself in the hornbeam. From somewhere close by a gruff angry voice rang out.

"You're a-trespassin' on Pakatugg's land. Who be yer?"

"Clary, Thyme and Rosie, the long patrol of the foot 'n' fur Rangers," Colonel Clary answered. "Oh, and we've got a young thingummy with us. ... A mouse-gel."

Though Storm tried to see who it was, she could make out no sign of a living creature,

"Thingummy mousegel," the gruff voice answered. "What sorta thingummy? Anyhow, how do I know you're you? What's the password?"

Clary snorted impatiently. "Oh, come out, you old buffoon, you know it's us. Listen, I'll even give you the bally password. Takatugg Treefleet, we bring you good things to eat.' There, now come out, you old barkwal-loper."

Storm had to bite her lip so as not to laugh at the odd creature who dropped down from a nearby spruce.

Pakatugg Treefleet was a fat old squirrel. He carried a long hollow blowpipe and a pouch of darts. Sticking out of his ears, wound about his tail and paws and covering all his body were leafy twigs. He resembled a small moving bush with eyes.

"Huh, landotters, what've you brought Paka for lunch?" Pakatugg growled fiercely through the two teeth remaining in his mouth.

Brigadier Thyme sniffed. "We're not landotters, we're hares, and if your manners don't improve, laddie, you won't be dining on oatscones and mountain cheese, followed by berry 'n' barley bake."

Pakatugg nearly tore the knapsack from Thyme's back. "Oatscones, mount'n cheese, where?"

"Hoho, not so fast, laddie buck. Take us to your hide-out first. We want to put the old nosebag on in comfort, y'know."

Pakatugg led them into the woodland to a small gurgling stream. Lilacs, wildrose, shrubs and trees overhung the spot, turning it into a shady green grotto, and the rocky outcrop which edged the stream was covered

in soft moss. Gratefully they sat down. The old squirrel went to fetch them water.

"Real son of the land, old Pakatugg," Colonel Clary whispered to Storm. "No harm in the blighter as long as you feed him and obey his silly little rules. The chap's an absolute fanatic on secrecy, passwords, blindfolds, secret signsthe bally lot. We'll see if he can get you to Red wall."

Storm echoed the strange word. "Redwall, what's that?"

"Oh, it's a jolly placeyou'd love it, all the best mice live there. Hush, here comes Pakatugg."

The odd squirrel set a steaming kettle and five beakers out.

"Rosebay willow'erb tea. Put the kettle on when I saw you comin' a while back. Now, out wi' the grub, landotters."

Digging in their packs, the trio turned out the promised repast, together with some extra delicacies they had brought along. Storm could not recall when she had tasted a meal so delicious. The hares sipped gratefully at the fragrant rosebay willowherb tea, nibbling at this and that. Pakatugg, however, launched himself upon the food, as did the hungry Storm. They practically ended up fighting over candied apple rings. The old squirrel glared at her.

"Yer a tough 'un, mouselet. By my brush y'are."

"Whoohawhawhawhah!" Hon Rosie gurgled as she poured more tea. "I'll say she is. We caught her tryin' to battle with a full toad army, single pawed. Storm Gullwhacker's not short of grit, by a long chalk. By the by, Storm old sport, where d'you come from?"

Storm stuffed the apple ring into her mouth. "Mmmmfff, that's good! Where'm I from? Don't know really, don't know where I was bound either before I met you. Can't remember my name. Called myself Storm 'cos I was thrown ashore by the storm. Came from the sea, I s'pose, me and Gullwhacker here."

Pakatugg chewed on an oatscone and stared hard at the young mouse. "Y'mean you ain't got no name, no home, you can't remember nothin'?"

Clary coughed politely, struck by a sudden idea. "Ahem! Sad, isn't it? That's why we brought her here. We thought you might be able to take her to Redwall. They'd probably find out who she is jolly soongood at riddles an' mysteries, those Abbey thingummies."

Pakatugg stood up, dusting his paws off. "Whohoa! Don't get ahead of yer tail there, landotter. You ain't landin' me with no mousegel as can't remember which season it be."

Storm jumped up indignantly. "Who said I want to be left anywhere with anyone? I've got some say in this, you know. Besides, who needs a squirrel that can't make up his mind whether he's a beast or a tree ..."

Hon Rosie pulled Storm down beside her. "Steady on, old gel. We know you're the bravest of the brave, and all that rot, but you're in a strange land now, among strange creatures; this is dangerous territory. We're only trying to get you back to your own bally kind. I mean, what better for one than to be with one's own creatures, eh?"

Pakatugg gathered up the kettle and beakers. "Huh, y'can dress it up whichway you likes, I'm not bein' saddled with no mindless mouse, by the great 'ornbeam I'm not!"

For the first time, Storm felt alone and unwanted. She walked off out of the squirrel's bower into the surrounding trees, swinging her rope.

"Me and Gullwhacker don't need anybeast. We're all right."

Brigadier Thyme eyed the squirrel coldly. "Now see what you've done, bucko."

Pakatugg pulled his tail over his head and chewed the end. "Oh, all right, then. But mark, you landotters ain't havin' things all yer own way, by cracky yer not!" Cupping his paws he called to Storm: "Come on back

'ere, mouse, afore you ferget who we are. I'll take you to Redwall Abbey, but only on certain conditions ..."

Storm had turned and was walking back. "Conditions, what conditions?"

Pakatugg turned to the hares. "Grub! I need food fer the journey, nice grub like you landotters carry, so I'll take her if you give me all the food out o' those havvysacks."

Clary twitched his whiskers. "I say, steady on. What'll we eat?"

"Oh, we can live off the jolly old land until we make it back to Salamandastron," Hon Rosie interrupted. "We've done it before."

Brigadier Thyme emptied his knapsack out. "So be it. What else, squirrel?"

"Hah well, I don't want everybeast in the world knowin' where my gaff is, see my home's me own secret. So I want the mouse blindfolded when I take 'er to Redwall, so's she can't find the way back to this place."

Hon Rosie looked at Storm. "You can use your Gullwhacker as a blindfold."

Storm nodded agreement. She was becoming curious about this place called Redwall Abbey. Pakatugg made his final demand.

"Lastly, I don't stir paw until tomorrow dawn crackstake it or leave it."

Clary waited for Storm's nod of assent before he spoke.

"Righto, you old vagabond, but you take jolly good care of this mousegel, d'you hear. She's got all the makin's of a top-flight warrior."

Within a very short time Pakatugg had settled down on the mossy bank and was snoring loudly. Clary shrugged as he, too, lay down.

"Cool and snug here. If old Pakatugg says it's a secret place, then y'can bet a bee to an ant it is. We might as well have a rousin' good snooze; tomorrow we travel

to Salamandastron. As for you, young Storm, you're bound for a new life at jolly old Redwall Abbey. What d'you think of that?"

But no answer came from the young mouse. She was curled up asleep on the moss in the green stillness, with Gullwhacker her rope weapon clutched tight in both paws.

Dandin was composing songs for the Abbot's feast. He sat in the shade of a great spreading oak, trilling on his flute, running through old songs, tunes and ditties. Saxtus sat with him, as did several of the moles and Redwall creatures. They joined in choruses of well-known songs and called for Dandin to sing some more. The moles would not be satisfied until Dandin rendered their particular favorite.

"Sing us 'ee song 'bout zur Gonffen an' 'ee gurt cake, Dandin."

Dandin nodded and picked up his flute. It was one of his own special ballads, telling of how his ancestor Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves, stole a cake baked by Abbess Germaine, first Mother of Redwall Abbey. He trilled an introduction on Gonff's own flute before launching into song.

"It happened in the springing time,

When all the leaves were green,

And once again Abbess Germaine,

A-baking cakes had been.

She stirred them good and mixed them fine,

With honey, nuts and flour,

Then put them out to cool awhile,

Until the teatime hour.

But then along came bold Sir Gonff,

His eyes a-twinkling bright.

A cake he'd set his heart upon,

For suppertime that night.

He took the greatest cake of all, from off the window

ledge

And hid it in a secret place, close by the forest edge. The Abbess came to check her cakes, about the mid-noontide And found the mousethief with a bow, and arrows

at his side.

'Why stand you there, O Gonff/ said she, 'With bow and arrows armed?' 'My good Abbess/ the thief replied, 'You must not

be alarmed. I saw an eagle steal your cake, he swooped then

flew away. So I stand guard upon your cakes lest he returns

today.' The Abbess chose another cake, which to Sir Gonff

she gave,

'Take this reward, young mouse/ she said, 'because you were so brave. And when upon each baking day, my lovely cakes

I make, I'll save a special one for you, for your kind action's

sake.' "

The moles fell about, rolling on the grass with helpless merriment.

"Ahurr hurr hurr! Yon zur Gonffen, 'ee wurr a tricky un!"

"Boi 'ecky, 'ee wurr a villyun aroight, a scrumpin' 'ee gurt cake. Hohurrhurr!"

"Come on there," Saxtus called to a mole named Willyum. "What about a song from you, Willyum? You're the champion mole singer, aren't you?"

Willyum heaved his tiny fat body up from the grass; he needed no second bidding. Smoothing down his velvety coat and polishing his nose, he clasped his huge digging paws in front of him and began singing in the traditional manner of the moles, his voice a deep rusty bass, surprising in one so small.

"Oi luvs a woodland stew, oi do; oi do loik apple

tart, An' good October ale that foams is dear unto moi

'eart. Of rabs'rry cream oi oft do dream, et makes moi

eyes to shine, Tis a fact that oi loiks anythin, when oi sets daown

to dine. O mole, mole, daown thee 'ole, doant you'm eat

none o' mine, Else oi won't get a bite to ate, when oi sets down

to diiiiiiinnnnneeee."

He bowed and kissed his paws to the company as they applauded, wrinkling his nose until his round black eyes were almost lost behind chubby cheeks.

Turning to Saxtus, Willyum returned the compliment. "Now et be thoi turn to sing a song, zurr Sackuz."

Saxtus waved his paws, blushing modestly. "No no, I'm the worst singer in the Abbey, my voice sounds like a mad owl with his beak trapped in a log."

Dandin clapped his friend upon the back. "Go on, you dusty old bookworm, you're as dry as Brother Hubert. Ah, I've got an idea! Why don't you recite us a poem? You've learned lots of them from those old books and parchments in the gatehouse. Go on, Saxtus. Have a go!"

Saxtus remained seated, he shuffled and coughed nervously.

"Oh, all right, if you really must, but I'm not too good at this sort of thing. Right, here goes. This is a

rhyme I found on a scroll in the gatehouse some seasons ago, I'm not sure what it means, but I like the words." Saxtus summoned up his courage and began reciting.

"The wind's icy breath o'er the land of death

Tells a tale of the yet to come.

'Cross the heaving waves which mark ships' graves

Lies an island known to some,

Where seas pound loud and rocks stand proud

And blood flows free as water,

To the far northwest, which knows no rest,

Came a father and his daughter.

The mind was numb, and the heart struck dumb,

When the night seas took the child,

Hurled to her fate, by a son of Hellgate,

The dark one called The Wild.

You whom they seek, though you do not speak,

The legend is yet to be born;

One day you will sing over stones that are red,

In the misty summer dawn."

An eerie silence had fallen over the young creatures sitting beneath the oak in the sunlit midday grounds of the Abbey. Saxtus fidgeted with embarrassment as they stared at him. Treerose, the pretty squirrel, was the first to break the silence.

"Well, that was a silly, nasty little rhyme. I didn't like it one bit there's no story and no point to it. What a load of old mumbo jumbo!"

She shot off up the trunk of the oak, showering them with leaves and twigs as she did. To break the mood Dandin began applauding loudly.

"Hurray! Well done, Saxtus. Very good!"

The others joined in until they were interrupted by Mother Mellus.

"Come on, young 'uns. Bring any of those Dibbuns you can find along with you. Lunchtime! Come on, it's being served in the orchardturnip 'n' mushroom flan

with beetroot and scallions, followed by honeysuckle sauce and acorn dumplings. And I want to see clean paws before anybeast gets served!"

As they washed their paws in a rain barrel by the Abbey's south wall, Dandin questioned Saxtus.

"Where in the name of fur did you learn that poem? It was very strange."

"Told you, didn't I. It was on some dusty old scroll in the gatehouse. I read it when Brother Hubert dozed off, now the confounded thing seems to have burnt itself into my memory."

Blind Simeon joined the friends, dipping his paws into the butt with them.

"Yes, some things have a habit of doing that, don't they? Still, who knows, they may come in useful through the seasons to come. I'd be glad I remembered it, if I were you, young Saxtus."

"Would you, Brother?"

"I certainly would. There is much knowledge in ancient writings. Actually, I was standing near the oak when you recited it. You were right, the words do have a certain ring to them. Oh, and Dandin, would you like something to remember also?"

"Yes please, Brother Simeon. What is it?"

"Remember to leave some of those acorn dumplings for us old ones. We can't make it to table as fast as you young 'uns."

Dandin smiled as he winked at Saxtus. "Come on then, Brother. Hold our paws. We'll lead you round to lunch and you'll get as much as anybeastwe'll see to it."

The two young friends led the blind herbalist off to the orchard, astounded by his perception of their movements.

"Dandin, why did you wink at Saxtus when you said you would take me to lunch?"

"I meant nothing, Brother. Why do you ask?"

"Because I remember a similar wink passing between

those two little otter villains Bagg and Runn, when they said they would assist me in to supper. I ended up in the dusty old gatehouse while they dashed off and scoffed up all the oat muffins with clover butter. But you wouldn't do a thing like that to me, would you?"

This time it was Saxtus who winked at Dandin.

"We couldn't, Brother. You're holding our paws far too tight!"

Earlier that same morn the Darkqueen had nosed her bows into Terramort cove. As Ledder gave the order, a double-fluked anchor splashed into the clear water. Saltar the Corsair came ashore with his crew. They were fully armed, but relaxed by the sight of the empty cove. The searats were still wading through the shallows to the shingled beach when the rocks in front of them came alive with a hundred of Gabool's fighters, armed with long spears and cross-hilted pikes. Saltar cursed beneath his breath, but showed no alarm. Standing with his crew, knee-deep in the shallows, he faced the bristling pikes boldly.

"Bilgerats! What's all this about? Where's Gabool?"

Blaggtail, the leader of the shore party shrugged. "In Fort Bladegirt. He said you're to come up."

Ledder waded up level with Saltar, drawing his scimitar. "And what if we choose not to?"

Blaggtail waved his pike twice in the air. Fifty archers stood up in the rocks above his head, each one with a shaft notched to his taut bowstring.

"Gabool said to tell you he only wishes to be hospitable."

The sound of Darkqueen's anchor being hauled up caused Saltar to turn around. His worst suspicions were confirmed the ship was drifting gently out into open water. Graypatch and five score grinning searats lined the decks.

"Don't worry, shipmate," he called out to Saltar in a mocking voice. "She'll come to no harm. We'll take her

for a sail around the bay, while you're jawin' an' chat-tin' with Gabool."

Ledder made as if to hurl his sword at the sneering Graypatch, but Saltar muttered in his ear, "Stow it, mate. Leave this to me."

Saltar strode up the beach, pushing Blaggtail's pike to one side as he went.

"Come on, let's go and see what his High Lordship wants."

The banqueting hall tables were piled high with food and drink. Gabool threw himself down in his throne at the head of the biggest table. He was wearing no sword and smiling expansively.

"Hey, you seascum, here comes the best Captain in me fleet and his brave crew. Sit down, Saltar old messmate, and you, me favorite waverobbers, pull some chairs up and fill those bellies. Only the best for the best."

Saltar's crew fell to with a will, splashing wine, tearing meat, grabbing and stuffing for all they were worth. The King of Searats indicated that Saltar sit next to him. The corsair did as he was bid, one claw on his saber, eating and drinking nothing.

Gabool laughed aloud, ripping a bite from a cooked fish and hurling it over his shoulder. He quaffed wine, slopping it over the table.

"Haharr! Nought like good food and wine, eh, Saltar? I suppose you heard about your brother Bludrigg?"

"No, what about my brother Bludrigg?" Saltar lied with a straight face.

Gabool tore a roasted seabird apart in his claws, burying his face into the carcass as he gnawed through it, and came up grinning.

"Had to kill 'im. Whipped his head off with me sword."

Saltar's expression never altered a flicker. "What for?"

Gabool wiped his greasy claws in his beard. "Dis-

obedience, bein' too greedy, wantin' to take my place as King. Had to kill 'im. Swish! That was that, old Bludrigg lost his head."

Gabool and Saltar's eyes met, betraying nothing, but each waiting for the right moment. Saltar toyed with a goblet of wine.

"Was he armed when you killed him?"

"No, he was tryin' a crown on for size. Haharr!"

Slowly Saltar stood up, his claw grasping the curved sword at his side. "I've heard you're very good at killin' unarmed beasts. How about trying one who's got a weapon?"

Gabool's claw began reaching for a sword hidden beneath the table. "Give us a chance, matey. You can see I'm not carryin' a swordlook."

Now it was Saltar's turn to laugh. "Hoho! Then hurry and get yourself one, King of Searats, although I heard that even armed with a sword you were beaten by a little mousemaid ..."

Gabool sent the table toppling as he kicked it and freed his swordblade, his face a mask of ugliness and cruelty as he launched himself forward.

"That's a lie! A black-hearted lie, and you'll die for it, Saltar!"

Automatically the searats stood back; this was not only a battle to the death between two famous fighters, it was also a contest to decide Kingship.

Gabool the Wild slashed viciously at Saltar; the corsair dodged nimbly to one side, swinging his sword in one claw as he wound the cord of the steel hook round his other and beckoned with it, insulting and taunting in the manner of searats to goad his victim into a false move.

"My brother could've taken you with a cooking ladle, coward!"

Gabool circled, the light glinting off his golden, emerald-studded fangs. "I'm goin' to hang you by your hook and let the gulls rip out your lyin' tongue, crabsbait!"

Suddenly they clashed, sword ringing upon sword. Saltar's hook ripped through Gabool's cloak, pulling him inward. Quick as a flash, Gabool cut his cloak loose with one of the daggers from his waist sash, staggering back as Saltar's clanging blade drove him down the hall.

"You'll die screaming, Gabool. I'll make you call me King before I put you out of your misery."

Smiling inwardly, Gabool allowed Saltar's onslaught to press him backward down the hall, though outwardly the Warlord's expression was grim and he acted as though he were hard-pressed, panting, parrying and dodging the cleaving blade and pointed hooktip. This gave Saltar the feeling that he had gained the upper claw.

"Not as easy as fighting my unarmed brother, eh, Your Majesty?" he taunted Gabool. "But no matter, Saltar the Corsair isn't a mousemaid. I'll finish the job properly, so that when you're hacked to dollrags you'll know it was me who did it!"

Stumbling over footstools, bumping into tables, reeling off walls, Gabool seemed to blunder backward, Saltar's sword threatening to spit him at each thrust, the flailing hook coming to within a hair's-breadth of his throat. Now the King of Searats was down on one knee, a short distance from the hanging wall curtain. Saltar smashed mercilessly downward at him. Gabool's sword, held sideways deflecting the blows, seemed to quaver for one desperate moment. A gasp arose from the piratical assembly. Suddenly Gabool fell, rolled over and, leaping high, snatched a walltorch from its brackets. He regained his stance on the other side of Saltar. Like lightning the corsair turned.

"Aaaaiiieeee!"

Gabool struck Saltar with the blazing torch, driving him backward into the hidden blade behind the wall hanging. The trap worked efficiently; Saltar died

instantly, an expression of pained surprise stamped indelibly upon his brutal features.

Silence fell over the banqueting hall. Gabool spat carelessly at the impaled carcass of his one-time enemy. Turning on his heel, he sprang up on the largest dining table. Scattering cups, food, plates and drink with a series of resounding smashes, the Warlord turned upon the gathering of searats. Gabool's eyes blazed, his rings and bracelets jangled, the gold emerald-studded teeth showed in a ferocious grin through his matted and beribboned beard. Pointing to all corners of the hall with his curving sword, he roared at the top of his lungs:

"I am Gabool the Wild, King of all Searats! Who am I, you carrion of the water? Speak my name, you vermin of the main!"

Swords, daggers, spears and pikes waved in the air. There was not one in all the crowd who dared not shout out aloud: "Gabool the Wild! King of all Searats!"

A pounding upon the hall doors echoed in the silence which followed. Blaggtail threw the doors open, to reveal one of the Darkqueen's prize crew, Shornear, wounded and half-drowned. He staggered in, collapsing in an exhausted heap upon the floor. Raising himself on one claw, he pointed out of the window.

"Lord, Graypatch has sailed off with the Darkqueen\"

Gabool came off the table like a springing panther. Seizing the wretched Shornear, he hoisted him to his paws.

"What! How did this happen?"

"Lord, he had it all planned with the others. I would not go along with his wishes so I was thrown overboard ..."

"Graypatch, my faithful old shipmatewhy would he do this to me?"

"He said that you were too dangerous, too wild and treacherous. Graypatch said to us all that anyrat who followed him would at least be able to sleep at night

without fearing a knife in his back. He said that you were death to any creature your shadow fell upon, friend and enemy alike. I heard him say that he would take his crew to a place of safety where none could follow."

Gabool absently let Shornear drop to the floor.

"Well well, who would have thought it, eh? Me old messmate Graypatch, the one searat I thought I could trust, turned traitor on me. The Darkqueen was my best ship. Blaggtail, is there any more of my fleet anchored around the coves?"

Blaggtail scratched his chin. "Nightwake and Seatalon are beached in the north cove, Lord. They both need careening and recaulking. Crabdaw too, but she was holed and lost her rudder on the rocks. None of them are seaworthy."

Gabool scowled. "Where are the rest of my ships?"

"Waveblade, Blacksail, Rathelm and Greenfang are all on the high seas, Lord, but they should be back by the next full moon."

The Warlord banged the table to emphasize each of his words. "As soon as they come in, turn 'em round and get 'em out to sea again. I want the Darkqueen back, I want to see her heading into Terramort cove with Graypatch's head stuck on the bowsprit and his crew in chains. Whoever does this for me will be made Sea-captain of all me fleet, next only in rank to me." Immediately three rats sprang forward. Gabool hailed them. "Riptung, Catseyes, Grimtooth, pick yourself a crew each. Get those three craft in north cove shipshape again. I want them seaworthy two days from now. Take my houseslaves and chain 'em up as your oarcrews in the galleys. I will hunt Graypatch down, do you hear me! My fleet will track him across the main from tide-send to Hellwaters. There will be no place on land or sea where he will hide from the wrath of Gabool. Now go!"

Just over half a day of being tugged about blindfolded by the ill-tempered Pakatugg was quite enough for Storm. She had been scratched by nettles, poked by branches and bumped by trees, when finally the recluse squirrel called a halt for lunch. They sat down beneath a wide-trunked sycamore which had pushed itself a fair living space in the dense forest. Storm unbound Gullwhacker from where Pakatugg had placed it about her eyes.

"Hoi! Get that blin'fold back on right now, d'you hear!"

The mousemaid blinked and rubbed her eyes at the shafting sunlight of the green woodland aisles.

"Oh, go and boil your tail, squirrel. How do you expect me to eat lunch with a rope round my eyes?"

Pakatugg pulled food and drink from his knapsack and sniffed. "Leave it off then, but only for mealtimes and don't be gazin' all round, tryin' t' get a fix on your bearin's, eh?"

Storm saw that the hares had left a small stone medallion threaded about her neck as she slept. It bore a badger's head and a flat-peaked mountain insignia. She looked up, countering the squirrel's remark.

"Huh, who wants to see your silly old forest! It's not

yours, anyhow. It'd take more than a squirrel dressed as a tree to rule all this. What's for lunch?"

Pakatugg sat on the rucksack, clutching the oatscones and flask he had taken from it.

"Well, I'm havin' these oatcakes and a sup o' this, though I don't know what you're dinin' on. I only said I'd take you t' Redwall, never said I'd feed you as well. That weren't part o' the bargain."

Storm could not believe her ears. She watched Pakatugg smugly munching away at a scone.

"I'd share half of anything I had with a hungry creature, you . . . you greedy branchbound old miser!"

"Right, that's it! I've tooken enough cheek from you, mouse! Shut your mouth an' get yon blin'fold back on, right now!"

Storm tried hard to keep her voice level. "No! I'm not going blindfolded and hungry for you or anybeast!"

Swiftly Pakatugg leaped up and fitted a dart to his blowpipe. "Gotcha now, missie. Do as I bid or I'll deaden your paw fer a season wi' this dart."

As Storm stood up and reached for her rope, the squirrel fired. She threw herself sideways, hearing the thud as a sharp dart buried itself deep in the bark of a nearby pine. Launching herself forward, the mouse-maid thwacked out with her Gullwhacker.

The blowpipe was knocked from Pakatugg's mouth. He sat down hard, his eyes watering copiously as he clutched the end of his nose where the knotted rope had belted him. Storm stood over him, the light of battle in her eyes.

"First you blindfold me, then you starve me, now you try to wound me. Sit still and don't make a move, squirrel, I don't trust you anymore."

Hungrily munching alternate bites from an apple and a scone, she watched the squirrel applying a leaf poultice to his swollen snout. He was muttering fiercely.

"Huh, me, Pakatugg, lettin' a slip of a mouse break me nose!"

Storm shook her weapon grimly. "Listen, squirrel. I'm no slip of a mouse, I'm Storm Gullwhacker, so don't think you can bully and trick a creature smaller than yourself. I've split this food into two equal halves. You can go where you want and take yours with you. I'll find Redwall Abbey on my own, without having to protect my back against you."

Grumpily Pakatugg stuffed half of the provisions into his knapsack. He hurried off down the dim trail, yelling back derisively, "Yah! I'm glad you did that, you liddle fool. You'll never find Redwall alone; you'll die in this forest wi'out Pakatugg to guide you."

Storm saw the slight humor of the situation. "Aye, and I'd never have reached Redwall being blinded, starved and wounded," she called back. "On your way, you nasty old fleabag!"

The mousemaid ate a leisurely meal and rested awhile before packing the remainder of her provisions and setting off to find Redwall alone. There was no trace of Pakatugg, nor any living creature, just the still, green summer forest. Storm tossed her Gullwhacker high in the air. It landed with the knotted end pointing in the opposite direction to that taken by the squirrel. Trusting to luck, she strode off in the direction the knot had pointed.

The afternoon wore on. Hardly a breeze stirred the leafy canopy overhead as the tiny figure trekked resolutely through the maze of tree, bush and fern, noting from time to time the position of the sun, which she tried always to keep at her back, knowing that if it set in the west she must be traveling east. To restore her confidence, in the enveloping silence Storm tried to hum odd snatches of songs, but she could not remember any. With a careless shrug she pushed on, the soft swish of her paws through grass and occasional birdsong the only sound that fell upon her ears. Once, she came on a small stream. The mousemaid drank and

bathed her paws, wondering what Redwall would look like, if ever she was fortunate enough to find it.

Shades of evening turned the forest to a gloomy black-green vault as Storm plodded on, not sure whether she was going in the direction of her goal or traveling in circles. Gradually every tree, leaf and bush began to look the same. Night closed in on the forest and the mousemaid lost her way completely. She strayed from the dim trail and into impenetrable shrouds of wood and vegetation. Storm kept her confidence up by telling herself that being lost in a wood was better than being lost at sea, but the surrounding night and oppressive silence sat heavily upon her spirit. She fervently wished that it was daylight, or that she could meet another living creature. Sitting despondently at the foot of an elm she sipped mintwater from a flask, ate some white cheese studded with dark roast acorns and decided to await the dawn.

Then she saw the light.

Faintly at first, like an elusive will-o'-the-wisp faraway amid the trees. Swiftly and silently Storm made her way toward it. Still some distance away, she could tell it was a campfire of some sort. There was music too. Some creature was playing a stringed instrument and singing a song in a raucous voice.

"If I were a stone I'd lie alone

Amid the earth and clay-o,

Til some good beastie picked me up

And threw me faraway-o.

Lolly too diddle um

Rinky doo skiddle dum.

There's bread 'n' cheese 'n' cider,

Said the hedgehog maid who sat to supper,

But now 'tis all inside 'er."

It was a funny-looking hare dressed in jester's attire, half green, half yellow. He sat by a small campfire, tinkling a curious stringed instrument.

Storm decided there was no use beating about the bush; she had already met some hares who were friendly. Boldly she strode in and sat down on the opposite side of the fire. The hare winked at her and continued.

"Now my grandpa, he was by far

A dreadful fat old liar.

'It's cold in the river tonight/ he said,

As he sat upon the fire,

'Til my old grandma came along

And hit him with the ladle.

There's another egg been cracked/ she laughed,

As she set him on the table.

Doodle oo lolly turn

Tiddly oodly iddly um.

I loved a rabbit's daughter,

And she fed me on pots of tea

Made out of boiling water."

Storm laughed at the odd creature and his comical ditty. He twitched his floppy ears.

"Now then, young mouse me gel, what can we do for you?"

Storm shrugged. "Not a lot, sir. I'm lost, you see. Perhaps I could rest by your fire until dawn."

The hare shook his head sadly. "Lost! I knew a woodpecker once who got lost."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you find him again?"

"Find him? Of course I found the blighterthat's how he came to get lost in the first place. Who lost youor better still, who do you want to be found by?"

"Nobody lost me, and I'm looking for Redwall Abbey, so how could an Abbey find me?"

"Hmm, good question. But no need to fret your mousy little heart, young whatsyourname. I'm going to Redwall, so we can both get lost together."

"You mean you're lost too?"

"Who said I am? Don't talk ridiculous. Never been

lost in m' life, young thingy. Do I look lost? Sittin' here by my own campfire, singin' away and twangin' m'little harolina ..."

To stop any further indignation, Storm commented on the instrument. "Ah, so that's what it's called, a harolina. What a nice instrument. I've never seen one before."

"Never seen a blinkin' harolina? Corks, no wonder you're lost. I say, is that a long patrol medal you happen t' be wearing?"

"This? Oh yes, it was given to me by Colonel Clary, Brigadier Thyme and Hon Rosie ..."

Before Storm could say any more, a dreamy look crossed the jester hare's face, making him look extra foolish.

"Egads! Hon Rosie, the Honorable Rosemary exquisite creature, completely adorable gel, doncha know. Did she mention my name by the way?"

"I don't know. What is your name?"

"Tarquin L. Woodsorrel, though she may have called me Tarkers or jolly old Tark. She did mention me, didn't she? You wouldn't kid a chap, would you? Go on, say she did."

Storm saw that the poor fellow was so agitated that she had to lie a bit. "Oh, Tarkers, yes, she did nothing but talk about you."

"Good egg. I knew it. Go on, go on, what'd she say?"

"Er, let me see. She said you were very handsome, a fine singer and a wonderful player, and she wished you were on patrol with her."

Tarquin L. Woodsorrel fell flat on his back, kicking his long legs ecstatically into the air.

"Absolutelyballyspiffinhunkydory! Whoohoo!"

Storm coughed politely. "Does this mean you'll take me to Redwall Abbey, Mr. Woodsorrel?"

"Abbwall Reddymouse, 'course I will. You can call me Tarquin. I'll call you early. D'y'know I couldn't eat

a thing right now. Rosie, ah Rosie, I could live on that sweet name the rest of my life without eating."

Storm curled up by the fire, yawning loudly. She did not fancy an entire night listening to a lovelorn hare singing the praises of his beloved.

"Oh well, I'd best get some sleep. By the way, my name's Storm Gullwhacker. This rope is my weapon actually the rope's called Gullwhacker."

Sleep was some time coming to the mousemaid as she had to lie there listening to Tarquin composing dreadful love songs and plunking odd chords on his harolina.

"O Rosie the Hon, you're certainly the one, I'll bet my bally life,

With your cute little nosie, beautiful Rosie You'd make a lovely wife . . .

Hmm, lessee now, what rhymes with wife? Strife, knife . . . life. That's it!"

The fire burned to white ash and red embers in the deep nighttime forest.

Almost an hour before he was usually up and about, Abbot Bernard was wakened by the first rays of dawn and a loud knocking on his bedroom door. Hastily stowing his nightcap beneath the pillows, he rubbed sleep from his eyes and tried to look as dignified as a Redwall Abbot should.

"Ahem, the door's open, come right in, please." Bagg and Runn entered, bearing a tray between them.

"Good mornin', Father Habbot, an' a happy Jubilee to you, sir."

The Abbot hid a smile as he propped himself into a sitting position.

"And good morning to you, young otters. I'd completely forgotten about my Jubilee. It's a good job you reminded me. Now, what's all this?"

"It's your breakfast, Father. Meadowsweet and sage tea."

"Aye, and arrowroot curd with strawberries." "And barleytoast spreaded with honey." "Some hot blackberry muffins too." "And cold willowcake and greengage jam ..." The Abbot held up his paws. "Oh, my goodness, how will I get through it all? It's far too much for me.

I'll just have the meadowsweet tea for now. How kind and thoughtful of you. I'll bet you haven't had your own breakfast yet. How about you two helping me to finish all this?"

It was no sooner a word than a bite with two hungry young otters. Bagg and Runn sat on the bed as morning sunlight filled the room, doing full justice to the good breakfast they had prepared while showing the Abbot a barkpaper card they had made for him.

"See, there's you, Father, standing on the lawn by the pond."

"Oh yes. What a good likeness, and that's a splendid tree I'm standing by."

"That's not a tree, it's Mother Mellus. Can't you see her stripes?"

"Of course. I thought this one over here was Mother Mellus."

"No, that's Simeon looking for herbs, and this one is Gabe Quill rolling out a barrel of October ale for your feast."

"Why, so it is. Well done indeed!"

The morning blossomed into sunlight fullness, Redwall Abbey stirred itself into life, lazy blue smoke from its kitchen chimneys drifting toward the woods, where it tangled gently to blend in with tendrils of white mist hanging in the trees. Preparations were well under way, flower garlands decked the long tables set out in the orchard. Creatures from the outlying woodlands and fields began arriving, bringing gifts, food and their families with them. Brother Hubert stationed Dandin and Saxtus on the ramparts over the gatehouse.

"Do a slow patrol of the walls. If you see any creatures coming in who might need assistance, then run down and help them."

Both young mice nodded importantly, proud to be helping in such an adult way. They puffed out their chests, frowned intently and with swinging paws set

out on tour of the high ramparts around the outer Abbey walls.

Friar Alder put the finishing touch to his great masterpiece. Knowing the Abbot's taste for the savory rather than the sweet, he had concocted an invention of his own, Bernard Bread. It was a vast loaf of wheat-and-oat bread, almost the size of a grown badger. Alder opened the big oven doors as he called to his assistant, Cockleburr.

"Lend a paw here, Cockles. The Abbot's surprise is almost done."

A small hedgehog came running, stumbling and tripping over a long white apron, his assistant-cook's hat falling over his eyes.

"Simmerin' seasons, lookit the size of it. Comin', Friar!"

Together they inserted the long wooden paddles and set them in the grooves either side of the bread tray. Sweating and panting, they heaved with might and main until the Bernard Loaf began moving slowly and majestically toward the oven doors.

"Steady! Easy now, here it comes. Push that stonemason's trolley over here. We'll need something to land it on."

With a gentle thud the trolley received its precious burden. Cockleburr stood back, wiping his brow on the corner of his apron.

"Perishin' puddens, Friar. It's a monster! Lookit that crust. It's like a shiny golden mountain, all crispy an' steamin'."

Friar Alder seated himself upon a sack of flour. "So it is, Cockles. So it is. There's leeks, sage, rosemary, bay, turnip, beetroot, onions, mushrooms of six varieties, young cabbage, fennel, cucumber and corn, all floating in a mildpepper and cream gravy. What d'you think of that, young 'un?"

"Frizzlin' frypans, there's no doubt 'bout it, you're a

fantastic Friar, a colossal cook, a stupendous stewer, a ... a. ..."

"All right, Cockles, that's quite enough. I know I do have a certain skill. All that remains is to heat it slightly before we bring it to table this evening. Now, is everything else in order, preserved fruits, berry flans, oh, and the Four Seasons Forest Trifle?"

"Just finishin' the pipin', Friar. I got up early and did the pink rosettes and green leaf shapes with the mint cream, and now all I've got to do is the twirly bits along the edges with yellow buttercup cream."

"Good, you carry on with that while I go and check the wine, ales and cordial lists with Gabriel Quill. Always remember, Cockleburr, the right drinks complement the right food. Right food, right drink success. Wrong food, wrong drinkdisaster. Always remember

that, m'lad."

The excitement of events to come increased with the advance of late afternoon. A pleasant breeze ruffled the grass, taking the edge off the intense summer heat. The young Redwallers and woodland creatures, joined by some of the more active elders, began an impromptu sports day in the Abbey grounds. Dandin and Saxtus, however, stayed faithfully patrolling the walltops, peering over battlements, scanning woodland, path and flatland, highly conscious of their responsible position. Several times that day they had unbarred the main gates to assist with carrying babies, helping the old ones and other useful tasks. Now they rested awhile together on the northern corner of the west wall, watching their companions at play.

"Haha, look at Bagg and Runn. Trust two otters to win the three-legged race. What a pair of scallywags, eh, Dandin."

Dandin had turned. He was shielding his eyes, gazing up the path to the north.

"Here, look at this, Saxtus. There's two creatures coming toward the Abbey. D'you know them?"

Saxtus peered at the odd pair of figures dogtrotting along the dusty path. "Hmm, can't say I've ever seen them before. Looks like a hare and a mouse dressed as a ragbag."

"Go and tell Mother Mellus, will you, Saxtus. I'll stand by with the gate open. She'll prob'ly want to

speak with them."

Trudging silently along beside Tarquin, the mousemaid had her first view of Redwall Abbey. She liked what she saw. With the dusty brown path running across its front, the late afternoon sunlight played over the structure, giving it a faded rosy glow. Behind the stout outer wall with its battlements and ramparts, she could see the high spired Abbey roof, flanked by lower sloping ones, peaceful and serene, standing homely and solid with the summer green forest at its back. Redwall. Now she knew why creatures talked of it with a reverence; it appeared to blend with the surrounding Mossflower country as a haven of rest and tranquillity, in harmony with all nature, like some gentle giant of a mother, sheltering and protecting her children.

The badger and the two young mice stood out upon the path as Tarquin and Storm walked up. Mother Mellus and the hare clasped paws.

"Well well, Tarquin Longleap Woodsorrel, you old bounder!"

"Stap me vitals, Mellus, are you still alive and grow-lin', you old stripedog?"

Saxtus and Dandin stood watching as the twro old friends greeted each other. Dandin eyed the ragged mousemaid. She stood by, swinging a thick knotted length of rope. Unconcerned by her filthy appearance or the sea-scoured, sand-worn, forest-torn, loose burlap sacking dress she wore, the maid stared boldly back at Dandin as badger and hare conversed.

"So, how goes it at Salamandastron? Who rules there now?"

"Oh, the old fire mountain's still there y'know, strong as ever. The Lord badger there is Rawnblade, biggest dog badger you've ever set eyes upon. Some say he's the image of his great-grandsire Sunstripe the Mace. Ha, what a warrior! He can flay a crew of searats before breakfast, and that's on a bad day. But enough of all this fiddle faddle, old stripehead. You'd remember me at old Abbot Thomas's final jubileeI was only a bobtailed leveret then."

"Of course, I remember it well. You were with your father Lorquin. Ah, those were the seasons, eh. Who's your young friend?"

The mousemaid stepped up and spoke for herself. "I'm Storm Gullwhacker. This is my weapon, the Gullwhacker."

Mellus nodded courteously, hiding her amusement at the newcomer's confident and forthright manner. "Welcome to Redwall Abbey, Storm Gullwhacker. Perhaps you'd like to be shown around our home. Dandin, Saxtus, take this young mousemaid inside and see if you can get her some decent clothing and a bath."

While Mellus and Tarquin continued their conversation in the open gateway, Dandin and Saxtus walked inside, accompanied by Storm. Saxtus noticed some of the young ones staring open-mouthed at Storm.

"Er, I say, Storm, we'd best go and find Sister Sage. She'll get you cleaned up and dressed nicely."

Storm swung Gullwhacker deftly, flicking the head off a daisy. "Nobody's washin' an' dressin' me up, mouse. I'm all right as I am."

Saxtus disagreed. "No no, you must do as Mother Mellus says!"

Dandin saw something in the mousemaid's face, something which reminded him of himself. He turned to Saxtus.

"Leave Storm alone, friend. If she says she's all right, then she is. Let her be."

As they strolled through the grounds together, young Red wallers sported and cavorted everywhere. Storm watched them with amusement in her eyes.

"What are they doing, Dandin?"

"They're playing. It's a sort of sports day."

"Sports day, playingwhat's that mean?"

Saxtus was about to explain when a twine-tied leaf-ball rolled in front of them. A baby hedgehog came chasing it. Storm picked up the ball.

"Is this something for playing?"

The little hedgehog stood smiling at her with all the innocence of a Dibbun. "Gorra see how high you c'n frow it."

Storm spun the ball in her paw. "How high I can throw it ... let's see." She tossed the ball into the air. As it came down, she swung with the knotted end of Gullwhacker. It struck the ball spot on, sending it soaring into the sky until it was a mere dot.

Dandin, Saxtus and the Dibbun hedgehog gasped in admiration. Storm smiled.

"Good. I like playing. WhatTl we play next?"

"Yeek!"

Some distance away, Treerose was struck on the back by the falling ball.

Rufe Brush came sauntering over. "What's the matter, squirrel?"

Treerose was furious. She grabbed the ball and came marching over to where the three mice stood. Holding the ball out, she chattered fiercely.

"Who did that? Come on, own up."

Storm did not realize the ball had struck Treerose. She stood forward, grinning cheerfully, and nodded at the squirrel in a friendly way. "I hit the ball high. It's called playing. D'you want to play?"

Treerose went red with temper. "You dirty filthy little ragamuffin, I'll teach you a lesson!"

Swiftly she lashed out, scratching the side of Storm's face with her sharp little dewclaws. Before anybeast could stop her, Storm whacked the knotted rope squarely between Treerose's ears. The squirrel sat flat on her tail in the dust, tears pouring from her eyes.

Storm was perplexed, she rubbed her cheek as she turned to Saxtus. "What's the matter with her? What did she scratch me for?"

Treerose saw Rufe Brush watching and set up a wail. "Waah! She hit me! What are you going to do about it, Rufe Brush?"

Rufe shrugged. "Dunno really. S'pose I'd better shake 'er paw!"

"Boohoohoo! That dirty little scruffbag has broken my skull. Boohoohoo!"

Mother Mellus's huge paw swept Treerose upright and dusted her down. "Stop that wailing or you'll bring on the rain, miss. Stoppit! You're not really hurt, and if I ever hear you insulting a guest of Redwall I'll dust your tail so hard you won't sit down for a season. Now go and get washed with cold water. Your eyes are all squidgy with whining. Be off with you!"

Mother Mellus turned on Dandin and Saxtus. "And as for you two pickles, didn't I tell you to get this mousemaid a bath and some proper clothes?"

"She said she doesn't want any," Dandin protested.

Mother Mellus eyed the rebellious Storm. "Oh, doesn't she. Well, we'll see about that!"

Mellus took a step forward; the mousemaid took a step backward.

"Keep your paws off me, y'great stripy lump, or I'll Gullwhack you!"

"You'll what?"

Storm swung the Gullwhacker. "You heard me, badger. Now back off!"

Mother Mellus looked over Storm's shoulder. She smiled and curtsied. "Good afternoon, Father Abbot."

Storm turned to see who the badger was addressing.

Mellus pounced! The mousemaid was pinioned by two large badger paws, the rope dangling uselessly at her side as Mother Mellus whispered in her ear, "Gotcha, missy! Now let's see if soap and water and a dress will civilize you, you little savage."

Saxtus and Dandin fell about laughing as Mother Mellus carried off a kicking, yelling Storm.

"Yah, lemmego! Paws off, you great lump of an Abbeydog. Fight fair like a warrior, you big stripy trickster. Lemmego. Yaaaaaahhhh. Grrr!"

Tarquin joined them, tinkling away on his harolina. "Oh, corks! Old Mellus has her work cut out there, no mistake. Well then, you chaps Dandin and Saxtus, isn't it? Allow me to introduce myself, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel at y'service. I remember Redwall Abbey quite fondly y'know. Of course, I was only a little sprog last time I was here. D'y'know, I think a chap could do a lot worse than stop here an' become the jolly old resident hare, wot?"

The two young mice immediately took to the garrulous Tarquin. Dandin especially admired the harolina and the skillful way the hare played it.

"That's a beautiful instrument, Mr. Tarquin. I play the flutesee, this is a whistle that belonged to my ancestor. Do you know 'Frog in the Rushes' or 'Otter Hornpipe'? I like 'Fieldmouse Frolic' myself."

In a very short while, young Redwallers had gathered round Dandin and Tarquin, clapping their paws, hopping and dancing as the pair played merrily, complementing each other with instrumental harmonies.

Tarquin's words proved true; Storm was no easy mousemaid to deal with, as Mother Mellus, Sister Sage and Sister Serena soon found out.

"Garrr! Sputch! Gerrat soap out of me face, you murderers!"

Mellus held Storm firmly by the scruff of her neck as she kicked and lashed about in the tub. Sage and Serena

battled gallantly with soap and loofah as bathwater splashed and sprayed all over them and the infirmary floor. Mellus ducked Storm's head under the warm sudsy water, hauling her up for Sister Sage to scrub away at the mousemaid's neck.

"Good golly! You could grow a crop in the muck we're getting off you, missy. Here, give me the soap, Serena. Go and get another bucket of water."

"Arragh! This is worse'n bein' drowned at sea. Grrrmmmfff! Lemmego!"

"Be still, you young rip. I'm soaked to the hide here. Keep her away from that Gullwhacky rope thing, Sage, or she'll cause havoc!"

"Whooshplut! Just lemme get me paws on my rope. I'll show you three torturers ..."

Slipping and sploshing, the three battled furiously

with slippery Storm.

Abbot Bernard and Simeon passed the infirmary door on their way to Cavern Hole.

"My stars, Simeon, it sounds like a fully fledged massacre in there."

"Well guessed, Bernard. You're not far wrong!"

"Still, who knows, young Storm Gullwhacker may prove a clean and valuable member of our little community."

"Yes, clean at least when Mellus, Sage and Serena have finished with her. What about the other one, the hare?"

"Oh, you mean Tarquin. He's to be our first resident hare. He brought a scroll with him from Lord Rawnblade, the Master of Salamandastron. Here, I'll read it to you. It says, 'To Abbot Bernard of Redwall, from Rawnblade Protector of the Shores. It comes to my mind that the ties between your Abbey and my mountain should be strengthened, therefore I send this hare, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel, to you. He is frivolous, a glutton, lovesick and prone to composing dreadful ballads;

added to this he has an odd sense of humor, a strange idea of dress and is disruptive with other hares. Be that as it may, he is a fearless fighter, an excellent scout and totally honest. I hope you will find his services satisfactory. Give my good wishes to Mellus and all the good creatures at Redwall. May the seasons be kind and bring you peace with long prosperity. Rawnblade Widestripe, Lord of Salamandastron.' There, what d'you think of that for a reference, Simeon?"

The blind herbalist gathered up his habit for the stairs ahead. "At least Rawnblade is truthful. The hare has his faults, but he also has good features. The badger Lord would not send him to us if there was not something in his clever mind. Maybe he fears the approach of trouble and has decided that we need a link with Salamandastron. I like the sound of this Tarquin L. Woodsorrel. Maybe Rawnblade's loss will turn out to be Redwall's gain."

"I hope you are right, my friend. Your intuition has

never let us down."

Early evening found Storm Gullwhacker being propelled forcibly out of the main Abbey doors to mingle with the other young creatures of Redwall. She fought halfheartedly as Mellus shooed her out.

"There now, go and play. My my, you look very pretty now, Storm."

"Pretty? What's that supposed to mean? I feel stupid with this dress on and half the hide scrubbed from me. Couldn't I wear my old burlap smock. Please?"

"What? That scruffy old thing? Certainly not, child. I told Sister Sage to burn it."

"Where's my Gullwhacker? You haven't burnt that too, have you?"

"No, don't worry, Storm. We gave it a good scrub in what was left of your bathwater, and it's hanging out of the infirmary windowr to dry. You can have it back tomorrow. Now play outside with the young ones, but

don't get yourself all messed up again. It's nearly time for the Abbot's feast."

Dandin could hardly believe his eyes. Was this pretty mousemaid in the light green linen habit the frowsy-looking terror he had encountered earlier that day? It seemed hardly possible. He held out his paw to her.

"Come on, Storm. I'll take you round to the orchard. You can sit between me and Saxtus at the Abbot's Jubilee feast tonight."

"What's an Abbot's Jubilee feast?"

"Listen, do you like singing, dancing and as much of the very best food and drink as you can swallow?"

"Yes. Is that what it's all about?"

"You'll soon find out. Come on, let's run. There's Durry Quillwe'll race him."

The two young mice dashed off across the lengthening shadows of the Abbey lawn as the birds trilled their evensong to the setting sun.

Rawnblade Widestripe's massive form dwarfed the hares who stood in front of him. The blood of many Salamandastron badger Lords flowed in his veins, and he seemed to fit perfectly into the vast rocky hall of the mountain, seated on his throne with the huge broadsword Verminfate resting lightly in his hefty paw. The wise brown eyes partially closed as he digested the information from the returning hares of his long patrols. Torches flickered in rockwall sconces of the roughly hewn hall, blending with dying rays of the sun as its fiery orb sank into the western seaward horizon. Silence would follow each report until Rawnblade questioned his scouts.

"So, you sent this mousemaid Storm Gullwhacker with Pakatugg to Redwall. A wise move, Clary. They may cross trails with Tarquin Woodsorrel; the Abbey will be a good place for them both. What news of my bell, Shorebuck?"

"None, Lord," a sandy-hued hare leaning upon his spear replied. "No creature we spoke with knows where the great bell may be."

Rawnblade sighed, resting his chin on the sword handle. "Hmmm, three seasons late and nobeast knows the whereabouts of Joseph or the bell. Searats have the

answer, I know it. Only time will tell. Fleetleg, any more about the ship from the northwest?"

A tall, saturnine hare stood forward. "We sighted her earlier this evening, Lord. She was sailing too far off to be certain, but Longeyes says that it could be the Darkqueen."

Rawnblade sat up straight. "Are you sure of this, Longeyes?"

The hare called Longeyes lounged at the window, scanning the horizon. He turned to address Rawnblade.

"I'm practically certain, Lord. My eyes see farther than others. It looked to me like Darkqueen; no other ship in Gabool's fleet has red sails. If she had cut in closer to land, I would have been able to tell you more, but she tacked off windward and traveled north by east."

"Did you see who was at the helm?"

"It was not Saltar, Lord of that I'm sure. I didn't get much of a glimpse, but I'd guess by his build it was the one called Graypatch."

"Graypatch? He's Gabool's best steersrat. It could mean that Gabool has left his island. Darkqueen is the only ship he would sail in if he did."

Brigadeer Thyme ventured an opinion. "M'Lord, if old Gabool has taken to sailin' again, there could be trouble."

Rawnblade arose. He strode across to the window, where he stood gazing at the restless sea ebbing and flowing eternally.

"The prophecies carved on Salamandastron's walls tell of a time coming soon when trouble will become a byword; my destiny and trouble walk the same path paw in paw. Eat and sleep now, my faithful patrols. Our fortunes and fates are written in these rocks. Leave the worrying and wondering to the waves and clouds."

A night mist had fallen when Graypatch anchored offshore. A longboat was lowered to take the reconnais-

sance crew ashore. Graypatch stayed aboard with Frink, his lookout, always watching north and west for signs of Gabool in pursuit.

Graypatch called down to Deadglim, his bosun, "See if you can find a likely spot, mate fresh water and cover in plenty."

Deadglim took the scimitar from between his teeth long enough to answer. "Leave it t' me, Skipper. I've got a nose for likely coves."

Mist-shrouded moonless night enveloped Deadglim as he led the shore party forward into the dunes. He peered into the darkness.

"Not much 'ereabouts, lads. Nought but sandhills. Here, Gurd, gerrup on yer pawstime fer sleepin' when we're back aboard Darkqueen. Gurd?"

Gurd lay still, unable to answer because of the toad trident lodged in his throat. Immediately a score of tridents descended amid the unsuspecting searats. The screams of two wounded pierced the still night.

Deadglim waved his scimitar, yelling at the silent dunes, "Come out an' fight! Show yerselves, you cree-pin' bilgewashers!"

Suddenly the dunes echoed to thunderous croaking as countless toads hopped out, armed with tridents. Deadglim knew his challenge had been a foolish one. Throwing valor to the winds, he took to his paws shouting, "Retreat! Retreat! Back to the longboat!"

From the ship's rail, Graypatch and Deadglim could see the tideline teeming with trident-waving natterjacks. Deadglim shuddered.

"Cap'n, if anybeast ever tells you a toad is slow, don't believe it. We barely made it t' the longboat ahead of those slimy devils. There must be thousands of the croakin' scum."

Graypatch turned from the rail. "Set another course nor' an' east, Fishgill. We'll try our luck farther up the

coast. Jump to it now, you swab. I don't want Gabool hovin' over the briny at our wake!"

Gabool the Wild could not sleep. He paced around and around the bell, chopping at midair with his sword, relating his thoughts to the brazen prize.

"Graypatch'll curse the day he was spawned when I catch up with him. I'll boil his skull an' bring it here for you to see, my beauty see if I don't. Haharr, first Bludrigg an' then his mizzuble brother Saltar. Corsair, huh! He's nothin' but fishbait now. Like the other two, the scratchy liddle mousemaid an' her dear daddy Joseph, haharr! He's the one that made you, isn't he? Gone to fishbait for his foolishness."

Bongggggl

Gabool jumped back with a yell, then he ran around the bell in a wide circle, searching and seeking, but there was nobeast in the room save for himself. Gradually he became calm.

"Haharr, 'twas only the wind playin' tricks."

Striding back to the bell he stroked it fondly. "Belay! So what if yer do talk, you can tell old Gabool all your secrets."

The bell remained silent. The King of Searats gazed up with narrowed eyes at the figures embossed around the top of the bellskirt.

"Hellsteeth! What do it all mean? Tell me, what's all those pretty liddle pictures, mice, badgers, rats, ships, an' all manner o'things? You tell me; I'm your master now. Speak! D'you hear me? Speak!"

But the bell remained still and voiceless, an inanimate metal object.

Gabool's wild temper rose. He spat upon the bell and kicked it. Still no sound came forth. In high bad mood he strode from the room, turning in the doorway and brandishing his sword at the great bell.

"Hell 'n' gullbait! You'll talk to me afore I'm done with yer!"

He slammed the door furiously and strode off to his bedchamber.

Behind him in the empty room the bell tolled one booming knell.

Gabool's nerve deserted him. He cut and ran. Leaping into bed, he threw the covers over his head and lay there shivering.

cxo

Sleep was a long time coming to Gabool the Wild, but when it did he wished that he had stayed awake. Badgers, mice, searats and spectral ships sailing upon phantom waves pursued him down the corridors of his restless imagination. The figures around the bell had come to life to torment him throughout the long dark

night.

Lord Rawnblade too was sleeping. His vast form lay sprawled upon the bed near his armorer's forge in Sala-mandastron mountain. The sword Verminfate lay upon the bed, close to paw as it always was. In his dream the badger Lord found he was looking at the bell that he had commissioned Joseph the Bellmaker to cast for him. It was beautiful, just as he had imagined it would be, shining with a dull sheen, graven round top and bottom with the poem and the mysterious pictures which only badger Lords could interpret. Now a shape was materializing through the burnished curve of the bell metalhis archenemy Gabool the Wild. Curving sword in claw, the Searat King advanced, ornaments jangling, golden emerald-studded teeth glinting in a fiendish smile. Rawnblade's reaction, even in sleep, was instantaneous; he seized his broadsword and leaped from the bed, striking out with savage force. Clangggggl

"Er, I say, M'lord, old chap, are you all right?" Colonel Clary was at his side. Rawnblade came fully awake, rubbing his eyes with one paw, he gazed down at the sword in the other.

"What? Er, oh, yes, thank you. Clary. It was merely a dream."

"My aunt's kittens! That must have been rather a jolly dream, M'lud. Look what you did to that shield!"

Rawnblade stared at the shield which had been in the way of his swordswing. The thick metal plate had been sheared in half. It lay on the floor, completely severed. Absentmindedly the badger Lord tested the unmarked blade of Verminfate.

"No alarm, old friend. Go back to your rest it was only a dream."

"A dream, eh? Something out of the past, perhaps?"

Rawnblade lay back on the bed and held the formidable blade tightly.

"No, this was something from the future. I know it."

Gabriel Quill stood up amid the tables and multicolored lanterns that graced the orchard. He held a tankard of best October ale high and cried, "Righto, everybeast. Let's give a real Redwall toast to our Abbot!"

Every creature stood, raising bowls, beakers, tankards, cups and flagons. The soft summer night echoed as the multitude called aloud in one voice, "Abbot Bernard! Father of Redwall Abbey! Hurraaaaaaah!"

Saxtus sat down with a groan, holding his middle. "Whoof! Shouldn't be yelling like that on an overfull stomach."

Tarquin scoffed as he relieved Saxtus of his plate. Emptying the Forest Trifle, strawberry flan, pear gateau and hazelnut cream junket into his own oversized wooden bowl, he grabbed a spoon and tucked in.

"Haw haw! What's the matter, laddie buck? Little turn too full, is it? Scrumff! Old TarkersTl show you how to navigate yer way round a bowl of tucker, mmm! I say, any more of that summercream pudden stuff left?"

Grubb the Dibbun mole replied as he nodded sleepily forward toward an overheaped plate of woodland sum-

mercream pudding, "Burr, baint no more pudden, zur. Oi snaffled 'ee last o' it. Snurr!"

Buxton and Willyum mole immediately left off eating huge portions of steaming Bernard Bread and dug into either side of Grubb's plate, eating furiously as the baby mole's sleepy head drooped nearer the pudding.

"Ho, save the choild, 'urry up an scoff quick now, lest the hinfant be drownded in yon pudden. Hurr hurr!"

Tarquin joined them indignantly. "I say, you chaps, chew each mouthful twenty times and leave this to me. Bally unthinkable, poor little blighter bein' drowned in a plate of pudden. Do not worry, young sire, help is at spoon. I'll save you. Gromff!"

Storm tried to stop spluttering Gabe Quill's giggly buttercup 'n' honey cordial across the table. She shook with unbridled laughter at the antics of Tarquin and the two moles rescuing the dozing Grubb. The mouse-maid had never been so happy in any of the life she could rememberthe food, the delicious drinks, the food, the kind Abbey creatures, the food, the good friends about her, and, of course . . . the food. Never had she tasted such marvelous things. Alternating between Bernard Bread, blackcurrant pie, summer salad, cheese 'n' nut flan, mintcream cakes and honey-glazed preserved fruits, she held her own with the best trencherbeasts.

Dandin was showing off slightly for her benefit, tossing redcurrants up and catching them in his mouth. He was quite good at it.

"Here, watch this, Storm. Betcher can't catch redcurrants like me."

"Haha! Who can't? I'll show you. Watch!"

Unfortunately the giggly cordial had got the better of her. Storm tossed a redcurrant high and missed it completely. It bounced off Foremole's head and lodged in the ear of Treerose, who was feeling tired and sulky.

"Whahaah! I've gone deaf in one ear. She threw something at me!"

Foremole flicked the offending redcurrant out onto the grass. Taking up a great spoonful of otter's hotroot soup, he held Treerose's nose and poured it down her open mouth.

"Yurr, missie, 'ee doant eat vittles boi stickin' 'em in 'ee earlugs. Daown thy mouth et should be a-goen, loik this, liddle missus."

Treerose was not heard to complain again that night. She was too busy pouring cold water down her throat to kill off the taste of the otter hotroot soup, which it was said could thaw out an icy river in midwinter.

Most of the eating was now over, and speeches began. Abbot Bernard thanked the Friar for supervising the wonderful feast, also the helpers, layers of table, Gabe Quill for the excellence of the drinks and all present for attending. In response various creatures stood up to thank the Abbot, toast Redwall and congratulate their hosts. Rufe Brush called for some dancing but was silenced by an oat scone; dancing and jigging was out of the question after having eaten so much. So the singing began. Never being backward at coming forward, Tarquin was up on his paws, chewing the last of a celery surprise as he tuned his harolina. Finishing the food, he launched into the song of the long patrols.

"Oh, it's hard and dry, when the sun is high

And dust is in your throat,

When the rain pours down, near fit to drown,

And soaks right through your coat.

But the hares of the long patrol, my lads,

Stouthearts they walk with me,

Over hill and plain, and back again,

By the shores of the wide blue sea.

Through mud and mire to a warm campfire,

I'll trek with you, old friend,

O'er lea and dale, in a roaring gale,

Right to our journey's end.

Yes, the hares of the long patrol, my lads,

Love friendship more than gold.

We'll share good days, and tread long ways,

Good comrades brave and bold."

Drubber mole banged his tankard upon the table amid the applause. "Gurr! That'n be a gurt ballad, bringen tears to moi eyes, it do."

Then it was Willyum mole's turn to get up and sing the mole song. He did it solemnly in the correct mole manner and was cheered loudly, though this time it did bring Drubber to tears. He wept unashamedly.

"Burrhoohurr! B'aint nothen loik music to soften a hanimal's 'eart."

Dandin was called upon. He rose and performed a newly written tribute to Abbot Bernard, accompanied by Tarquin on the harolina.

"Long may you rule, Father Abbot,

Long may you reign over all

The woodlands of Mossflower

And the Abbey of Redwall.

When I was a young mouse I learnt at the knee

Of the Father of Redwall,

The lessons for you and the lessons for me

From the Father of us all.

In those good Dibbun days, I learnt many kind

ways,

To be honest, strong and true, And wherever I go, I'll remember always, That I learned them, sir, from you. Long may you rule, Father Abbot, Over all of these creatures and me, And may we all say in our own simple way, Have a happy Jubilee."

Every creature present insisted on singing the song

again, with Tarquin calling out the words from a scroll. It was a huge success, though Drubber broke down completely and had to be comforted by Danty and Buxton.

"Yurr now, doant 'ee take on so, Drub, owd lad. Et be on'y a song."

"Hurr aye, doant be a-sobben naow. Take moi 'anker-chiefy."

Several more singers were called on to perform. Durry Quill sang the comic song "Why Can't Hedgehogs Fly?" The otter twins Bagg and Runn recited the epic poem, "Otter Bill and the Shaking Shrimp." This led to more demand for poems, and Saxtus was finally coaxed up to recite the poem he had memorized in the gatehouse. Nervously Saxtus stood up, clasping and unclasping his paws as he began falteringly.

"The wind's icy breath o'er the land of death

Tells a tale of the yet to come.

'Cross the heaving waves which mark ships' graves

Lies an island known to some,

Where seas pound loud and rocks stand proud

And blood flows free as water,

To the far northwest, which knows no rest,

Came a father and his daughter.

The mind was numb, and the heart struck dumb,

When the night seas took the child,

Hurled to her fate, by a son of Hellgate,

The dark one called The Wild.

You whom they seek, though you do not speak,

The legend is yet to be born;

One day you will sing over stones that are red,

In the misty summer dawn."

In the silence that followed before the applause, Storm Gullwhacker gave vent to a hoarse strangled sob, which echoed amid the startled revelers.

A light morning sea mist hung over the waters around Terramort Isle. The last four ships of Gabool's fleet were returning. They silently nosed into the cove, sails hanging slack, oars shipped as the oily swell carried them noiselessly into harbor. The King of Searats knew they had returned; he had watched them break the night horizon, hours before the mist started to descend. Now Gabool would need all his cunning and slyness if he were to win his Captains over completely. Saltar had never been a popular Captain, neither had his brother Bludrigg; but the fact remained, they were both Captains and he had slain them. Naturally the other four shipmasters, Orgeye, Hookfin, Flogga and Garrtail, would feel their positions threatenedthey would need reassuring. Once they were happy with Gabool's continuing rule, their crews would follow them into the very fangs of Hellgates. The Warlord knew all this and set his plans accordingly.

The morning remained gray and uncertain as hordes of searats marched past the rock portals into Fort Blade-girt. Gabool watched them from the banqueting hall window, voicing his thoughts aloud. "Look at 'em, the rakin's an' scrapin's of the earth, scum from the wharves, taverns an' cellars, their mothers were bilge-

rats an' their fathers were barrelsloppers. Murderers, thieves, pillagers, all of 'em. Haharr, they'd steal the very fires of hell to keep 'em warm of a winter night and singe the Dark One's whiskers. Vermin after me own black heart. Haharrhahaharr!"

The Warlord's description fit every searat from the tip of his ragged tail to the point of his scarred nose. They were clad in motley rags, some wearing worn-out seaboots and threadbare frock coats, others dressed in the tattered silks of corsairs. Brass ear, nose and tail rings were much in evidence, eyepatches, skull bandages, missing ears and fearsome scars. But every searat was armed to the teeth; cutlasses, scimitars, straight swords, sabers, claymores, daggers, dirks, bodkins, spears and pikes bristled everywhere throughout the barbaric mob.

Gabool sat grim-faced on his throne, facing the great bell. All around, the banqueting tables were piled high with food and drink; nervous slaves stood waiting, ready to serve their savage captors. The searat crews crowded in. Those who could not find seating leaned against the walls or slouched upon the floor. Nobody touched a morsel of food. An expectant hush settled over all; the King of Searats was not his usual roaring commanding self. Claws settled upon weapons, ready to fight at a moment's notice, it was a taut and perilous situation. The Captains grouped together at one table, Orgeye of the Waveblade, Hookfin of the Blacksail, Flogga of the Rathelm and Garrtail of the Greenfang, They were joined by the masters of the three ships that were under repair, Riptung of the Nightwake, Catseyes of the Seata-lon and Grimtooth of the Crabclaw. Against these seven Gabool was facing mighty odds, their cold, quick eyes watched him mistrustingly even Garrtail, who now had his own ship and felt equal to other Captains. The threat of instant death hung heavy in the air.

Gabool's heavy sigh broke the stillness. He stood up, slowly drawing his curved sword. He dropped it; the

bright blade clattered on the floor in front of him as he pointed to the nearest rat.

"You there, matey. You've got the look of a poor old searat who don't have two crusts to rub together. What's yer name, shipmate?"