Mattimeo

Chapter 44

The fighting rooks of General Ironbeak were badly frightened. At first it had been exciting to perch and talk

of the ghost, when none of them really believed there was one. But now they had seen it with their own

eyes, a terrifying phantom that uttered dire warnings. Ironbeak himself could not harm it; the thing had

vanished completely in a trice.

All through the night the sentry posts had been deserted while the rooks huddled together in the

darkened dormitory, whispering of the awesome event. Grubclaw and Ragwing had been right, so had the

wise Mangiz; the great redstone house was a bad place to be. The advent of a golden sunlit morning did

little to change their minds.

That task was left to General Ironbeak, and he set about it with gusto. Sunrays flooded through the

broken dormitory window, turning the raven leader’s black wings an iridescent green, flecked with tinges

of blue. He paced up and down with an aggressive rolling gait as he confronted his command.

“Yaggah! You cuckoo-brained bunch, can you not see it is all a trick the earthcrawlers are playing on

us?”

The rooks shifted uneasily, inspecting their feathers or staring down at their claws. Some of them

looked to Mangiz, but the crow had distanced himself from the whole thing by perching upon a cupboard

with his eyes closed.

Ironbeak carried on ranting. “Kaah! I flew down to attack this so-called ghost, and did it strike me dead,

did it attack me, did it even stay to defend its Abbey? No, it hid away by some silly little trick. It fooled you

all, but it did not fool Ironbeak, nor did it scare him. I am the greatest fighter in all the northlands. An

earthcrawler mouse with bits of metal does not scare me. I will face it right now, or in the middle of a dark

night. Mangiz, is what I say true?”

The seer crow opened one eye. He knew better than to argue with the raven leader.

“The mighty Ironbeak fears no living thing. He speaks true.”

Baby Rollo was taking cooking lessons. Brother Dan and Gaffer were teaching him to make breakfast

pancakes of chestnut flour and greensap milk, studded with dried damson pieces preserved in honey sugar.

The infant bankvole was far more concerned with the tossing of the pancakes than the mixing of them.

Brother Dan was up to his paws in the sticky mixture, and blobs of it clung to his ears and nosetip. Gaffer

discovered he had a sweet tooth for preserved damson pieces. The mole sorted through the supply for the

choicest bits and promptly ate them.

Winifred the Otter caught all three of them like guilty young ones as she entered the kitchen.

“What’s the hold-up out here? There’s a lot of hungry creatures waiting for breakfast out in the — Well,

swish my tail! What in the good name of bulrushes is going on? Rollo, stop sticking those pancakes to the

ceiling, this instant!”

Rollo was in the act of throwing a pancake from the pan at the ceiling. He stopped, and the pancake

flopped neatly over his head, covering him to the neck. Another pancake slowly detached itself from the

ceiling and began to fall. Winifred grabbed a plate and ran to catch it.

“Brother Dan, stop playing round with that batter like a hedgehog in mud and help me.”

Winifred caught the falling pancake as Brother Dan took a plate in his sticky paws and went after

another potential dropper. Gaffer began trying to remove the pancake from baby Rollo’s head. The infant

had eaten a hole in it to give himself some breathing space. Sensibly, Gaffer began eating from between

Rollo’s ears.

“Hurr, bain’t gonna pull this’n offa you’m, Rollyo. Best scoff away both’n uz ’til it be gone. Hurr hurr!”

Cornflower appeared in the kitchen doorway. She tried to look very forbidding, while at the same time

doing her best to stifle the laughter that was bubbling through at the comical scene.

“Shame on all four of you, hahaha, er, hmph! What on earth are you doing, heeheehee, ahem! Gaffer,

will you stop trying to eat that infant’s head and remove the pancake with some flou-flou-

hahahahaoheehee! Flour!”

As she spoke, a pancake dropped from the ceiling squarely onto her nose and hung there like a

tablecloth.

The five of them sat down upon the kitchen floor, laughing uproariously, holding their aching sides as

tears rolled unchecked down their cheeks.

“Waaaahahahahohohoheeheehee! It’s a good job we hadn’t ordered porridge for breakfast.”

“Hoohoohurrhurrhurr! Nor soo — soo — hurr, hurr, soup, missus!”

The happy laughter rang spontaneously out. It was a great relief to have a pause of merriment after so

much siege and sorrow.

Far out upon the western plain, a great dark red bird crashed to earth among the dandelions and kingcups

and lay among the yellow flowers like a red sandstone rock. The great bird’s sides heaved and her neck

pulsed as she greedily sucked in air. Her eyes dilated and contracted, fearsome orbs of tawny umber,

flecked with turquoise and centered with gleaming black, as she scanned the blue sky above for predators.

One wing tucked neatly across her back, the other hanging limply at her side, she made a flapping run

and gained the air. The red bird flew with a painful rolling motion, the injured wing flopping lower than

the good one. Flight was becoming too difficult to sustain, so she came to earth again, this time in a rolling

heap of feathers as she struck the plain floor, scattering buttercup petals in all directions.

The great bird rested momentarily, her huge curved beak gaping open, tongue hanging to one side.

Doggedly struggling to her legs, she walked for a while, the injured wing trailing limply in the dust, her

eyes fixed upon the building in the distance at the woodland edge. It was not so open there. Her beloved

mountains were too far away, so she would try to make the building before sunset. There would be places

where she could lie and rest, nooks and crannies where she could not be caught out. The open plains made

her feel vulnerable; in flight she was a redoubtable hunter and fighter, but crippled like this she could only

keep low and hope there were no flocks of other birds abroad that would relish the chance to attack an

injured bird on the ground.

Flapping and hopping, scrambling and crawling, the great red bird made her way east towards the

building which offered refuge.

On the far flung south reaches of the plateau lands, dawn broke placidly over the copse. Matthias rose and

picked up his sword.

“A good day to settle business, Orlando.”

The badger shouldered his axe. “We travelled a long way to see this dawn, my friend. A good day.”

All around, shrews were girding themselves up for war; bows, arrows, slings, lances, even clubs were

got ready. As Basil lugged the five weasel prisoners along on a makeshift lead, they wailed pitifully:

“No, no, please, don’t make us go down there!”

“We’ll be killed, we won’t stand a chance!”

“We have no weapons, we’ll be slain!”

Basil tugged the lead sharply. “C’mon, step lively there, you wingeing weasels. You’ve lived like

cowards; try to die like heroes. Hmph! Fat chance o’ that, eh, laddie buck? Stop snivellin’ and wipe your

nose, you villainous vermin.”

They broke away from Basil’s grasp and flung themselves in front of Matthias, grovelling shamelessly.

“Spare us please, sir, spare us!”

Sir Harry flapped down from an alder.

“There’s nothing affects a craven

Like the thought of sudden death.

The idea he might not see the night

Or draw another breath.”

Orlando kicked a weasel in the rump as he stepped over the prostrate creatures.

“You know, Matthias, these scum aren’t going to be a bit of good down there. They’ll probably give the

game away with all their sobbing and bawling. Shuttup, you snivelling snotnoses, or I’ll finish you here

and now!”

The weasels fell silent. Matthias leaned on his sword, stroking his whiskers.

“You’ve got a good point there, Orlando, but what do we do with them if we don’t send them ahead of

us on the stairs?”

Orlando hefted his battleaxe. “Let me finish ’em off now, and save a lot of trouble.”

The weasels began moaning afresh. “Stop that crying. D’you hear me, stoppit!” Matthias snorted

impatiently. “Right, here’s what we’ll do, Orlando. I couldn’t let you kill them in cold blood, that isn’t our

way. We’ll set them going southward. Sir Harry, would you accompany them on their way to make sure

they keep going? Sorry about this, but there probably won’t be a lot of space down there for you to fly

about, and you’d get into trouble under the ground.”

Sir Harry shrugged.

“As you wish, as you wish, Matthias.

We each have a role to be filled.

I’ll take these weasels south for a bit,

But the first one to cry gets killed!”

The owl picked the lead rope up in his beak and flapped off, with the five weasels stumbling and

hurrying behind him.

Basil watched them go. “Pity about old Harry. He looked a bit peeved to me. D’you think he’s gone off

in a huff, Matthias?”

The warrior mouse nodded. “I’ve no doubt he has. Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Meanwhile, I’d like a last

word with everybeast. Gather round and listen to what I have to say to you.”

The small army squatted in the copse, while Matthias stood on the top stair of old Loamhedge and

addressed them.

“First, I want to thank you all for your help and for coming this far with me. You have left your homes

and territories far behind. Orlando, Jess, Jabez and myself have good reason to live or die today. You see,

we have young ones to rescue. The rest of you, I cannot ask you to sacrifice your lives for our cause; they

are not your young ones down there.”

Basil Stag Hare stood up. “Beg pardon, old lad, but young Tim and Tess are down there. What’d my

old chum John Churchmouse and his good lady wife say if I came back empty-pawed without their young

uns? Coming with you? I’ll say I am, bucko. You try and stop B. S. Hare esquire!”

Cheek stood by the hare. “I’m with Basil. He’s a grumpy ol’ frump and I like him, so there!”

Basil and Cheek went to stand with Matthias. Log-a-Log drew his short sword.

“Shrews and Guosim are friends of Redwall. I never started a job that I didn’t finish. I go with you.”

The whole of the Guosim moved as one with Log-a-Log to stand at Matthias’s side.

Orlando raised his huge axe. His voice was tight with eagerness as he called: “Come on, Warrior, what

are we waiting for?”

Mattimeo and the slaves had been taken from their darkened cell. Nadaz and several black-robed rats led

them to the edge of the ledge where the statue stood. They were permitted to look over into the depths.

Through the greenish mist, Mattimeo could make out the thin bedraggled forms of scores of young

creatures: squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, mice. They were hauling huge blocks of stone on towropes, and rats

stood guard over them with whips and cudgels, urging them with heavy blows to greater efforts. Other

young ones were lifting the stone blocks into position with pulleys and tackles, while yet other young

woodlanders laid mortar and limestone cement in the gaps that were to receive the stones. Sometimes a

young creature would cry out and fall over exhausted, only to be beaten by the rats until he or she got up,

or lay permanently still.

Numbed by the horror of it, the new slaves were led before the statue and forced to bow their heads

whilst Nadaz spoke to Malkariss.

“I am Nadaz, Voice of the Host. O Ruler of all below earth, these are your new servants. What do you

require me to do with them?”

The hairs rose on Mattimeo’s neck at the sound of the voice emanating from the crystal-toothed statue’s

mouth.

“They have looked upon my kingdom. Soon they will have the honour of building it for me,” it

proclaimed.

From his bowed position, Mattimeo glanced along the line. He saw Vitch chained and held by two rats.

The young mouse nudged Tess.

“Look who’s there, our little slave-driver being rewarded for his services. I hope they chain me next to

him for a while down there.”

Tess stamped her paw hard against the ledge, her eyes blazing. “They can chain me next to who they

like, but I’m not building any filthy underground kingdom for a talking statue!”

The young churchmouse’s angry tones echoed around the rocky cavern. There was a brief silence, then

Malkariss spoke again.

“Take them back and lock them away without light, food or water. They are not ready to serve me yet.”

As they were led up the gloomy winding passages, Tess began to weep. “Oh, I’m sorry I spoke out. I’ve

caused you all to be locked in the dark and starved again.”

“No, you haven’t,” Cynthia Bankvole said bravely. “I’d rather starve than be beaten to death like those

poor creatures.”

Auma seconded her, “Aye, don’t worry, Tess. If you hadn’t spoken out, I would have.”

“That’s it friends, we stick together. Redwallll!” Mattimeo’s voice rang out like the Abbey bells.

He was knocked flat with the butt of a spear before they were flung back into their darkened prison.