The Legend of Luke

The voyage to the northern coast was well under way. Fortunately, the weather remained fair with favorable winds. Parug, the rat bosun, however, was not a happy Sea Rogue. Vilu Daskar had sent a command, through Akkla, that he was to report to the captain's cabin. Parug was all of a tremble as he rapped hesitantly on the door. Vilu Daskar was sly and unpredictablewho could tell what he wanted to see his bosun about? Whip in paw, the slavemaster Bullflay opened the door to admit Parug. It did not bode well by the look on Bullflay's ugly face.

"Get in 'ere. Cap'n wants to see you."

Vilu was seated at a table, his wicked bone-handled scimitar before him. Parug came to attention in front of the pirate stoat, shaking visibly. Vilu Daskar sat in silence, his face betraying nothing as he stared levelly at the dithering bosun, who managed to gulp out a word. "Sire?"

Vilu touched the silken scarf at his neck, extending the silence until it became almost unbearable, before he spoke. "There is a thief aboard my ship."

"A th-thief, sire?"

"Yes, Parug, a thief. I have a dagger to match this sword, bone-handled, with a curved silver blade. Last night it was on this table, where it usually is. This morning it is gone."

"G-gone, sire?"

Vilu got up and walked around the table. Halting behind Parug, he dug his claws hard into the bosun's shoulder. Parug whimpered in pain and terror as the stoat hissed viciously in his ear. "Stop repeating everything I say, or I'll slice the foolish tongue from your slobbering mouth. Have you been walking 'round this ship with your eyes shut? Other things are being stolen. Food, water, equipment, ship's gear. Now I want to know the names of those who are robbing me. Do you understand, Parug? Speak!"

The bosun knew his life was at stake. Words babbled from him like water pouring from a barrel. "Sire, cap'n, I've noticed it meself, all kinds o' things are disappearing 'specially vittles an' drink, sire. But on me oath, cap'n, I'm keepin' a sharp weather eye out fer the villains, I swear I am, sire, day'n'night!"

Vilu released him and went to sit back in his chair. "But you haven't a clue who the thieves are, right?"

Parug nodded miserably, unable to stop his head from bobbing up and down. Vilu glanced across at Bullflay. "I don't suppose you've any ideas about the culprits?"

Shuffling awkwardly, the gargantuan weasel shrugged. "Can't think o' none, cap'n, unless 'tis like the crew sez, the Sea Bogle! Some of 'em even sez that"

Bullflay got no further. Vilu Daskar moved like lightning. Clearing the table at a bound, grabbing his scimitar as he did, the stoat laid Bullflay low with a resounding blow to his face from the flat of the glittering blade.

"Enough! Do you suppose I am as big a fool as the idiots who serve me? Don't dare speak to me of Bogles or phantoms! What need would ghosts have of food? You addle-witted moron, the thieves are living breathing beasts, with the same need for food and drink anybeast has! Out! Get out of my sight, both of you. Search the Goreleech from stem to stern!"

Lined up on deck, the crew of the red ship were made to stand fast all morning as a search was made of their living quarters. Vilu Daskar sat beneath an awning, watching as each one was called out to accompany Akkla, Parug and Bullflay below decks.

"Foulscale, yore next, step forward, lively now!" The weasel Foulscale went with the searchers into the crew's accommodation. They searched his hammock and the area around it, and he was then made to gather up his belongings and taken up on deck. Bullflay ordered him to unroll his bundle and display the contents. Then the slavemaster called out, "Righto, crew, take a look at this gear. Is it all the property of Foulscale?"

A brass-earringed searat stepped forward, pointing. "No it ain't, that belt's mine. I'd know it anywheres, sharkskin, wid a green stone in a round brass buckle!"

"I found it lyin' by me bunk!" Foulscale protested.

Vilu Daskar strode over to Foulscale's belongings. With his swordpoint he flicked the belt to its owner, then addressed Foulscale.

"You stole the belt. Get over there with the others!"

Ashen-faced, the weasel walked over to join an evergrowing band of Sea Rogues who had been caught with the property of fellow shipmates among their gear.

It was high noon by the time the search ended. Those who were innocent stood in line, looking greatly relieved. More than a score of vermin, who had been caught in possession of stolen property, huddled miserably around the mainmast, awaiting the consequences.

Vilu Daskar delivered his judgment for all to hear. "I know you are not the thieves I seek. Somebeasts are plundering wholesale from this ship. Make no mistake, I will find them and punish them slowly to the death. There will be an end to thieving aboard my Goreleech. But you who have been caught, you are still guilty of stealing from your shipmates and must be punished. Thank your lucky stars I am in a lenient mood, and keep your paws to yourselves in future. Akkla, Parug, Bullflay, hoist them up by their tails and give them twenty lashes apiece, sluice them with salt water, let them hang there until sunset, then cut them down. The rest of you will witness the floggings as a reminder never to steal while aboard the red ship!"

Vurg and Beau perched on their raft, well hidden by the overhang of the high carved stern. They could not avoid hearing the screams and wails of the miscreants as they were subjected to the whipping. Neither had any pity for Sea Rogues.

"Makin' more noise than a school of confounded bottle-noses, wot. That'll teach 'em honesty's the best policy!"

"Aye, there's only one thing worse'n a thief, Beau."

"Indeed, an' what is that, pray?"

"Two thieves!"

"Haw haw, rather good that, Vurg."

"We'll 'ave t'be more careful of a night from now on, mate. They'll be watchin' for us, y'know."

"Of course they jolly well will, so you do the stealin' an' I'll keep 'em diverted in me Sea Bogle costume, eh?"

Vurg chuckled. "Sea Bogle, wot a load of ole nonsense!"

Beau fixed two horns he had made from dried bladderwrack to his ears. He waggled them and scowled fiercely. "Talk not like that of ye Sea Bogle, old lad, or I'll put a spell from the dark murky deeps upon thee!"

Vurg closed his eyes, enjoying the warm noon sun. "Pity you can't put a spell on yore stummick, stop it needin' so much food, y'great fat fraud!"

"Steady on there, m'good mouse, us Sea Bogles need nourishment if we're to perform properly. No self-respectin' Sea Rogue'd be scared of a half-starved skinny Bogle. Er, any more of that skilly'n'duff left?"

"There's some in the bowl. Help yoreself, I imagine you'll spirit it away without too much trouble. What are you writin' there? The ship's log of our raft, the Floatin' Fender? Put me down as mouse mate, an' you c'n be cap'n Bogle."

Beau was scraping away with a charcoal stick on a strip of canvas, his tongue sticking out at the side of his mouth. "Actually it's a poem I'm composin' about Bogles. Some of those ignorant vermin may be unaware of the tale, so I'm doin' a bit of publicity for meself, doncha know."

Vurg winced as they heard the splash of water, followed by more agonized wailing from the upper decks. "Ooh! Must sting somethin' awful, bein' flogged an' gettin' salt water chucked on the cuts."

The hare was unmoved as he continued writing. "Prob'ly the only decent wash they've had since their dear old mothers used to scrub 'em in the tub when they were babes. There's a thoughtcan you imagine a filthy beastly little pirate babe bein' scrubbed in a tub? I'll wager his language would frazzle his auntie's slippers, wot?"

In the crew's accommodation that night, the vermin who had been released sat nursing their hurts, while others swaggered about, displaying the treasured gear they had thought lost. The rest huddled around the mess table, playing an old searat game with shells and fruit pips. The entire crew jumped with fright as the cabin door slammed open. Parug staggered in as if his paws were made of jelly, grasping a long strip of sailcloth.

The searat Willag helped him to a seat at the table. "Wot's the matter, bosun? Y'look as if y've seen a ghost."

Somebeast passed him a tankard of barnacle grog. He drank the fiery liquor in one long swallow, and it was dribbling down his chin as he stared wildly about.

" 'Twas the Sea Bogle, mates. I saw the Sea Bogle wid me own two eyes, on me affydavit I did!"

A chilled silence fell over the crew. Parug was quite a stolid rat, not given to silly imaginings. The tankard was refilled and Parug took a deep swig before continuing, "I jus' came out to patrol the deck, searchin' for a sign of any thieves. Before I could blink a glim it 'ad me by the throat. Long long arms it 'ad, like steel, I couldn't move! I tell ye, shipmates, I'll never be the same agin after seein' the Bogle. It 'ad great big horns, three eyes, an' a face that was all lit up, glowin'! Covered it was, wid 'orrible flowin' weeds from the bed o' the seas, all wet an' drippin'. Ugh! 'Twas too terrifyin' to describe!"

Willag took a gulp from the tankard Parug had put down. "Why didn't yer run an' tell the cap'n?"

Parug shot him a haunted glance, whispering dementedly, "Cap'n won't 'ear of it, 'e don't believe in Bogles. I couldn't tell 'im, mate, 'e would've slayed me!"

Foulscale temporarily forgot his stinging back. "Did the Bogle speak to ye, Parug? Wot did it say?"

The bosun held up the canvas strip. "It never said nothin', jus' growled an' gave an awful squeak, like a bottlenose dolphin. Then it pressed this sailcloth inter me paw, let go of me neck an' stood there."

Foulscale shook his head in amazement. "So wot did you do?"

"Do? Wotjer think I did? I ran off, fast as I could!"

"Is it still out there, d'ye think?"

"I don't know. Go an' look fer yoreself!"

"Wot? Lissen, mate, I ain't movin' out o' this cabin 'til it's daylight an' the sun's shinin', so there!"

The crew nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.

Willag picked the sailcloth from Parug's shaking paws. "See, there's writin' on it. Wot does it say, Parug?"

"I don't know, I can't read letters or words."

Grigg the searat beckoned to Willag. "Give it 'ere. I can read. Let's see wot it sez."

Grigg read it out in halting tones. He could read, but only just. His voice echoed out in the awed silence.

"From the dark and icy deeps,

Where the dreaded Bogle sleeps,

He'll rise one night and climb aboard your ship,

Bringing fear and deathlike doom,

To your very cabin room,

Beware the Bogle's clammy vicelike grip!

Aye, woe betide that crew,

Sailing on the main so blue,

And to those who don't believe me double grief,

When the Bogle takes a meal,

You will hear a dreadful squeal,

He strikes when nighttime falls, just like a thief!

Aye, who of you can tell,

Give him gifts and feed him well,

Then the Bogle may slide back into the sea,

But if gifts and food be few,

Hearken now, for it is true,

The Bogle may eat you, or even me!

Crack some ribs or crush a skull,

Stuff down hearts 'til he is full,

Rip paws and tails off any poor seabeast,

Lock your cabin doors this night,

Shake with terror, quake with fright,

For the Bogle may invite you to his feast!"

Grigg was quaking so badly when he finished the poem that he dropped the canvas. Willag was the first to move. He dashed to the cabin door and locked it, calling down the long smoky cabin to his mates, "Bar those skylights, batten 'em down tight! Trim the lamps an' clean 'em, we need it good'n'bright in 'ere!"

Fleabitt and the ferret Ringpatch were on duty in the Death Pit. The slaves were sleeping, draped across their oars. Ringpatch, who generally worked on top deck of the trireme, took a quick glance around.

"Hoi, Fleabitt, this lot won't be no trouble fer the rest o' the night. Come on, mate. Let's go up to top deck, it stinks down 'ere. Walloper an' Ching from middle deck'll be up there, my mate Flanjear, too. Top deck ain't like this pest'olewe got a liddle oven up there. Bet they're makin' skilly'n'duff an' suppin' grog."

Fleabitt coiled his whip over one narrow shoulder. "Skilly'n'duff! Why didn't yer say, matey? Lead on, I'm right be'ind yer. Nothin' like a bowl o' the ole skilly'n'duff!"

The moment they were gone, Luke and Ranguvar sat up. All through the bottom deck, oarslaves became alert. Luke's orders were relayed from one to another.

"Those closest to the steps, keep watch. Give the warning if y'hear anybeast comin'!"

"Dulam, Denno, look to your oarports. Vurg will be along with food soon."

"Ranguvar, how's that big staple coming along, nearly out?"

The black squirrel looked up from her labors. " 'Tis a big 'un, set deep an' well rusted, but I've got it on the move, Luke."

"Good, but be careful you don't splinter the wood too much. Bullflay usually stands near there, an' we don't want him to spot anything suspicious."

Norgle the otter tossed something across to Ranguvar. "All taken care of, matey. I'm mixin' tallow with dirt from the deck, that'll disguise it good."

Luke nodded his approval. "Great stuff, matey. See if y'can get more o' that tallow. We'll need it for the oar-chains."

As Luke talked he was busy with his own oarshackles, filing a deep groove into a link close to his paw. "Gricca, have you got those weapons stowed safe?"

An old female hedgehog several rows back answered, "Aye, Luke, all safe'n'sound, they're jammed in slits I cut on the undersides of these benches. Here, you have this'n. 'Tis a fancy liddle toy that Beau found. Duck yore nut, mate, comin' over!"

Luke bent his head as something whizzed by and stuck in the upraised oarshaft. It was a fine curved silver dagger with a bone handle. He plucked it from the oar. "Well, this is a fine sharp gizzard slitter!"

Ranguvar sniffed* the air, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can smell hot scones dipped in honey."

Denno confirmed the squirrel's statement. "So you can, friend. Vurg's here!"

"Ahoy, Vurg, where'd you get these?"

"Ooh, they're still hot from the oven!"

"Pass that bag along, mates, share 'em out!"

Shaking with laughter, Vurg passed another flourbag loaded with hot scones through the oarport. "Go easy, mates, don't crush 'em. Pass the empty bags back an' I'll fill 'em agin. Luke, how's it goin' down here?"

"Fine, Vurg, just fine. Where did all these scones come from? They're delicious. I didn't know vermin could bake as good as this. Did you'n'Beau steal all these? How in the name o' seasons did you get away with 'em?"

Vurg managed to poke his head partly through the oarport. He was grinning from ear to ear. "We never stole 'em, Luke, we baked the scones ourselves. Ole Beau the Bogle has the crew frightened out o' their wits, an' they battened themselves up tight in the crew's accommodation, terrified. So, seein' there wasn't anybeast on deckwatch, we found the galley empty, stoked up the ovens an' went to work. Beau sends his compliments!"

The entire deck of oarslaves, conscious of the need for silence, shook with suppressed mirth until tears popped from their eyes and ribs began to ache. There was a scrabbling from the bulkhead and Beau appeared at the opposite oarport, still in Bogle garb, but with his face covered in flour and honey.

"What ho, chaps, Beau the Bogle baker here. I say, I hope you oarslave types aren't laughin' at my cookin', wot?"

A young vole, closest to the oarport, took Beau's paw and shook it heartily. "No sir, even my ole mum couldn't cook a scone like you do. They're the best anybeast ever tasted. If we're laughin', 'tis because you've taught us how to. Some of us have been down 'ere for long seasons, treated harsh, too, with no reason t'smile. We're 'appy 'cos you've given us back a reason t'live, with yore bravery an' kindness, both you an' mister Vurg. May fortune bless yer both!"

The young vole was so overcome that his tears of merriment turned to real tears, which flowed onto the hare's paw. Beau the Bogle tried to make light of things, though his long ear dipped to wipe moisture from his own eye.

"There, there, young feller m'bucko, 'twas the least we could do, wot? Though if you want more scones I suggest you release my jolly old paw. You've washed it quite clean thank you, but all that oar pullin' has given you a rather powerful grip, an' you seem t'be crushin' me paw t'pulp!"

Ranguvar Foeseeker began to tremble with rage. Her voice shook as it echoed around the deck known as the Death Pit. "All the prisoners aboard this red ship have strong paws through pulling long oars across heavy seas. But those same paws won't always be pulling oars. One day soon they'll be shaking off their chains an' taking up arms against Vilu Daskar and his Sea Rogues. Then we will take vengeance for ourselves, our families and friends and all the lost seasons of our lives. I give you my word!"

Beau took one look at the black squirrel's eyes, and said, "I don't doubt it, marm, not one word!"

Chapter 33

The Goreleech plowed the seas, hours became days and days turned to weeks, the waters grew more tempestuous and the weather changed as the red ship sailed into wintry latitudes. Swathed in a soft cloak of light green wool, head protected by a purple silk turban, Vilu Daskar rested a paw on the scimitar thrust into his waist sash. Bracing himself against the for'ard rail, he gazed north over the gray spume-topped waves, narrowing his eyes against a keening wind. Akkla the ferret stood to one side, awaiting orders from his captain.

It had not been a good trip. Despite the whippings and beatings given to the crew, thievery on a grand scale had prevailed. Both Vilu and Akkla hoped it was not the Sea Rogues who were responsible, but the red ship's vermin were growing sullen, muttering among themselves about the floggings and the shortage of food. The pirate stoat knew that discipline and order had to be retained aboard ship, if he were to stay master, so he had enforced his will. Still superstitious murmurings continued, dark tales of a Sea Bogle haunting the Goreleech. Even though he threatened, ranted and reasoned, Vilu knew he was helpless against the ignorant beliefs held by seagoing vermin. However, with the scent of treasure in his nostrils, he was not about to give up. One idea he pounded into the thick skulls of his crew was that they would follow orders or die. Knowing they were on a ship at sea, with nowhere to run, that and the fear of their murderous captain kept the crew in line.

Vilu spoke to Akkla without looking at him. "I'm going to my cabin. Have the mouse Warrior Luke brought there, then return here and let me know the moment you sight land. Oh, and tell Parug to keep the crew busy. I want the mess deck, galley and accommodation scrubbed and cleaned from bulkheads to deckheads."

Willag dipped a chunk of pumice stone into a wooden pail of cold seawater and began scrubbing half-heartedly at the mess tabletop, complaining, "Huh, clean the mess deck agin. I've wore me paws t'the bone scrubbin' at this stupid table, must've scoured it more'n ten times o'er the past few days!"

Foulscale was on all fours, toiling away at the mess deck flooring, slopping icy seawater everywhere. "Aye, an' it ain't as if there's any vittles t'put on that table, mate. Those scummy slaves look better fed than us!"

Ringpatch the ferret, who had been rubbing the brass-work shiny with a mixture of ashes and fine sand, put down his rag and wiped a filthy paw across his brow thoughtfully. "Yore right there, bucko. D'you think 'tis the slaves who've been swipin' our grub?"

Parug the bosun swung a length of rope, knotted at one end and stiff with pitch and resin. "Oh aye, it has t'be the slaves," he sneered scornfully. "I can just see 'em, cookin' up pans o' skilly'n'duff in the galley, carryin' their oars over their shoulders o' course, wid their footpaws chained to large chunks of deck. You great blitherin' nit! 'Ow could slaves manage that? 'Ave yew got mud fer brains? Now get on wid shinin' those brasses. I wants ter see me face in 'em, or I'll feed yer a taste o' this rope's end!" Luke's paws were bound behind him, and he had a rope halter around his neck. Vilu Daskar sat on the edge of his cabin table, questioning the prisoner. "So, my friend, do you know where we are?"

The Warrior met his captor's eyes fearlessly. "I'm not your friend, but I do know where we arein the northland seas."

"Oh indeed? I know that, too, but where precisely in the northland seas are we?"

Luke shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. One wave looks the same as another out there."

Daskar shook his head, a thin humorless smile on his lips. "Still the Warrior, eh? Listen well, mouse, I did not bring you here to play games with me. How soon will I know exactly where we are? Tell me or I will stop all oarslaves' water rations. That would be easythere's little enough left for me and my crew. So tell me."

As if ignoring the stoat, Luke shuffled past him and looked out of the cabin window at the icy heaving seas. "Take a course east until you sight land, then steer north again. No doubt you will remember a rocky headland that's where you massacred my tribe. Once you see that headland, send for me. I will steer your ship from then on, because only I know the route."

The bone-handled scimitar flashed skillfully, grazing Luke's ear. There was no mistaking the menace in Vilu's voice. "Sure enough, you will steer the Goreleech, chained to the wheel, with this blade at your throat!"

Luke's smile was wintry as the weather outside. "I'll look forward to it, but don't make it too easy for me, will you?"

Vilu's teeth ground audibly as he snarled to the guards, "Get this defiant fool out of my sight!"

As he was hustled from the cabin, Luke managed to put a chuckle in his voice. "Defiant yes, but a fool . . . never!"

When they had chained Luke back to his oar, Ranguvar murmured out of the side of her mouth, "When do we make our move? Everything's ready. I got word that the top deck cut their last chain while you were gone."

Luke pondered the question before replying. "Sometime tomorrow, maybe evenin', I've a feeling we may sight the headland by my old home. I'll be up on deck with Daskar probably. If my tribe see the red ship, they'll be ready for trouble, so we can count on help from them."

Ranguvar had to wait while Bullflay walked past down the aisle, toward the oarslaves at the stern end.

"So, if yore on deck, how will we know, Luke?"

"Hmm, good question, mate. I know, we'll have Beau or Vurg make their way up near the prow. If they hear me shout 'Dead ahead,' that'll be the signal to take over the ship. But if I shout 'Veer north,' you must do nothing. I'll be chained to the ship's wheel by then. Sit tight an' wait until I get word to you."

Ranguvar paused as Fleabitt strode sternward.

"Got it. If Vurg or Beau tells us 'Dead ahead,' the attack is on, but if the message is 'Veer north,' we wait!"

The two messengers in question were undergoing severe hardships. Beau and Vurg were freezing and soaking from the cold weather and pounding seas. Huddled together beneath layers of stolen blanket and sail canvas, they clung grimly to the raft, which was lashed to the Goreleech's lower stern. The hare poked his head out of the wet jumble, catching the backlash of a big wave. He retreated back down, wiping his face on the damp blankets.

"By the bally cringe, old lad, can't last much longer in these inclement latitudes, wot?"

Vurg closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but Beau persisted.

"My jolly old auntie'd say it's cold enough to whip the whiskers off a mole an' wet enough t'drown a lobster. Cold'n'wet wouldn't be so blinkin' bad if I wasn't flippin' well starvin' t'death. What would you sooner do, Vurg, freeze t'death, drown t'death, or starve t'death?"

The mouse opened one eye and murmured, "You didn't say wot wot."

"Wot wot? Why the deuce should I say wot wot?"

Vurg smiled sleepily. " 'Cos you always say wot wot!"

Beau's ears stood rigid with indignation. "I beg your very pardon, sir, I do not. Wot wot? I was merely speculatin' on our demise. I said, would you rather freeze t'death, or drown t'd"

Vurg interrupted him rudely. "I heard what you said first time. Hmph! Freezin' drownin' or starvin' wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't already bein' nattered t'death. Don't you ever stop natterin', mate?"

Beau's indignation switched to injured innocence. "Well, chop off m'tongue, pull out m'teeth an' sew up m'lips. I'll put a cork right in it an' quit assaultin' your dainty shell-like lugholes, old bean. Far be it from me to try an' make companionly conversation with a friend facin' adversity. Not another word, m'lips are sealed!"

Vurg immediately felt sorry for his garrulous companion. "Take no notice of me, Beau, I'm just feelin' sorry for myself. You carry on, wot wot!"

The hare chuckled and ruffled his friend's ears. "Well of course you are, old mouseymate, that's why fate threw us t'gether like this, so I could jolly you up whenever y'feel down in the dumps. My dear old auntie taught me a song about such situations. I say, shall I sing it for you? Cheer you up no end, wot?"

Vurg turned his head aside and pulled a wry face. "Oh well, seein' as I can't escape the sound of yore voice, I s'pose I'll have to listen. At least it'll scare any sharks away if they're hangin' about. Sing on, Beau."

Needing no second bidding, Beau launched into his auntie's song, ears clasped in traditional hare manner.

"When you're feelin' down an' glum,

Don't just sit round lookin' dumb,

Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!

'Cos there's time for all that gloom,

When you're dead an' in the tomb,

Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!

When 'tis rainin' all the day,

An' the skies are dirty gray,

An' you've ate the last plum pudden off the shelf,

Jig an' caper in the wet,

You'll be better off I bet,

Than pullin' faces, feelin' sorry for yourself.

Oh tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!

These few words will cheer you up an' take you far,

Not like that old frumpy duck,

Or a frog who's out of luck,

Or the little maggot who has lost his ma, ah ah ah ah aaaah!

If you laugh there'll be no rain, An' the sun'll shine again,

Then your dear old aunt will bake you apple pie,

So when hedgehogs learn to fly,

Fish will quack an' wonder why?

Tickety boo a fig for you, never say die aye aye,

Aye aye, aye aye, aye aaaaaaaaaaaaaye!"

Vurg threw himself on Beau, stifling his efforts. "What are you tryin' to do, attract the attention of the entire ship's crew?"

That put Beau into a sulk. He wrenched himself away from Vurg, working himself into a huff and muttering, "Huh, bouncin' on a chap just as he's reachin' top note, jolly dangerous thing t'do, wot? An unexploded phrase might've backfired down m'neck an' fractured me warbler. Little you'd care, though. An' I still had another three verses t'sing. There was the line in the second verse about a toad losin' his trousers up a tree, very movin' an' profound part o' the ditty. But I ain't goin' to sing it now. What's the use of one chap singin' to cheer another chap up, if the other chap keeps jumpin' on the first chap's head? Bad form I'd say, ungrateful wretch!"

All that evening and throughout the night, the slaves were forced to row, though only at quarter speed in the wild northern seas, whose tides, rocks and currents had sent many a vessel to its doom. Fleabitt pounded his drum slowly, with a monotonous regular cadence, and Bullflay dozed fitfully, only striding the aisle when he felt the need to stretch his paws. Luke pulled the heavy oar alone, spray whipping through the oarport at odd intervals to wet his face. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind, now that he was near to his old home.

Thoughts of his son Martin raced through the Warrior's imagination. He would be tall now, quick and strong, with the blood of a leader and a fighter flowing in his veins. Martin would know what to do, the moment the Goreleech was sighted. He would get the old and feeble, along with those too young to do battle, together. Having hidden them safely, Luke's son would do as he had been taught by his father: gather together the strong ones, arm them and come to his father's aid, wielding the very sword Luke had passed on to him. As the slaves broke loose and fought to gain control of the red ship, Luke would run her into the coastal shallows, causing the vessel to heel over. He would hail his son from the ship's wheel. Once Martin heard the voice of his father, he would come hurtling through the shallows at the head of his fighters to board the Goreleech. Then Vilu Daskar and his murderers would pay dearly for their monstrous crimes.

Ranguvar Foeseeker's whisper reached Luke, and he looked across at the fierce creature.

"Are we close to the place where you left your son?"

"Not too far nowI ' Luke murmured as he pulled at the oar. "I feel it in my bones, friend."

Grigg the searat gripped the edge of the crow's nest. Leaning forward, he peered into the leaden rainswept dawn at a rocky point in the blurred distance. With all the agility of a searat, he clambered down from the rigging to the deck.

Vilu Daskar was slumbering on a window seat, a charcoal brazier glowing nearby to warm the cabin. Parug the bosun gave a perfunctory rap at the door and entered. "Headland's been sighted, cap'n, dead ahead!"

Daskar leaped from the seat. Grabbing his wool cloak and scimitar, he dashed from the cabin, with Parug at his heels, bellowing to rouse the crew.

"Land ho, all paws on deck!"

Daskar raced for'ard, wind whipping the cloak straight out behind him, calling to Parug as he went, "Get Luke up on deck here, quick!"

Wind thrummed the rigging ropes like harp strings. Daskar perched high in the bows, his eyes shielded by a paw as he noted the headland's position. Jumping down, he gathered his cloak around him and hurried to the stern. Luke was standing by the wheel, bound and surrounded by six vermin. The pirate stoat smiled triumphantly at his oarslave.

"So, 'twas as you said, the point lies dead ahead. A wise decision, mouse, for if you had played me false, then your head would be on the deck for sure! Bind him to the wheel, make sure the ropes are tight!"

Rough paws dragged Luke to the big steering wheel. He was tied to it securely by both paws, and a rope halter was placed about his neck. Vilu held the other end.

"Right, sing out, Luke, give us the course!"

Knowing it was too early to give the signal, the Warrior murmured, keeping his voice low, "Steady as she goes."

Swinging on ropes, just below the stern gallery, Beau and Vurg strained their ears.

"Wot wot, did y'hear what he said, Vurg?"

"No, mate, but I'm sure he didn't shout 'Dead ahead!'"

Groaning, the hare slid down his rope. "Oh fiddlesticks, that means the attack ain't on yet. I'll go an' let Ranguvar an' the others know."

Vilu tugged viciously at Luke's halter. "Looks as if you're sailing her close in to land. Why?"

Moving the wheel a touch north, Luke kept his eyes ahead. "Got to get my bearings. I'm not quite sure that's the right headland. Don't worry, Daskar, your ship's safe. I'm not going to try anything with all those poor slaves chained below. Give the order to ship oars and take her to half sail. We'll go forward nice an' easy if you're afraid."

Vilu gave the halter another savage jerk. "I'm not afraid, mouse, just cautious. I've sailed northern seas beforethey can be treacherous."

Luke smiled fearlessly. "As treacherous as you?"

Vilu Daskar returned the smile. "Not quite."

At midday the rain cleared, though the skies still remained dull and wintry. Luke was close enough to see the shore plainly now. His heart sank, as if a great boulder was forcing it down, causing a heavy ache in his chest. Before him the shoreline lay deserted, only seagrass and some tattered rags fluttering in the wind. Charred wood and broken implements, hoes and rakes, were half buried in the shifting sand. The caves, where once he had settled his tribe, had had the protective shields of driftwood and vegetation ripped from their fronts. They stood empty, like the eyeless sockets of a corpse staring out to sea. Martin his son, Windred and the rest of the tribe were gone from the place.

Sick with grief, he slumped across the wheel. Vilu Daskar was grinning slyly as he brought his face close to Luke's.

"What a shame, my friend. Has your plan gone wrong? What sort of fool did you think you were playing me for? I would have been stupid to let you sail my ship inshore where the creatures of your tribe could have helped you." Luke stared dully as his enemy laughed in his face. "Fool! I am captain of the greatest ship that ever sailed the seas. How do you think I did it? I learned to read the minds of others, to out-think those who thought they were smarter than me. I knew all along that you yearned for vengeance after the slaying of your tribe. All you have lived for is a chance to kill me!"

Luke nodded. "Then you must know there is no treasure?" He felt hot rage sweep through him as Vilu patted his cheek, almost fondly. The stoat's voice was wheedling.

"The old double bluff, eh, Luke. Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. I know that every tribe, no matter how poor and lowly, has some kind of treasure. Right?"

Luke bit his lip, lowering his head as if defeated. "What beast could hide anything from you. But I hold you to your promise. If I show you the way to my tribe's treasure, you must set me and my two friends free."

Vilu leaned upon Luke's shoulder, happily surveying the empty shore. "But of course, I am a creature of my word. All three of you will have your freedom. Now set a true course."

Awkwardly the Warrior mouse maneuvered the wheel around. "It's farther north up the coast. The crosscurrents shouldn't give us much trouble if you pile all sail on and put the oars to a steady half pace."

Ranguvar waited until Bullflay lumbered by before turning to the oarport. Vurg popped his head into view, spray dashing at his face.

"Luke's not given the word yet, friend. But I'd stay ready tonight if I were you. That's when we should be farther upcoast, amid the high rocks and deep water!"

Chapter 34

Ringpatch the ferret came in from watch and slumped down on a pile of old rope and sailcloth, glad to be back in the big smoky crew's cabin, mopping water from his fur.

"Bad night out there, mates. Weather's rough as a toad's back an' cold as a cap'n's 'eart. Any vittles left?"

Foulscale pointed to the empty pan on the table. "Take a look in there, mate. If'n there's anythin' left then save 'arf fer me. Why'n the name o' fishguts aren't we down south somewheres in the warm sun, pickin' ripe fruit offa trees an' plunderin' birds' nests? Wot's to be 'ad up 'ere, apart from yer death o' cold an' starvation, that's wot I'd like ter know?"

Akkla snuggled up to the smoking stove, shaking his head. "Did the ice git down yore ears, Foulscale? We're in the northern waters fer treasure, or 'aven't yew 'eard?"

"Treasure?" Ringpatch crawled over to sit by the stove.

Akkla tossed some old rope into the stove and watched it burn bright as flames licked round the tarry strands. "Aye, treasure. Y'know that Warrior mouse Luke? Well, 'e's steerin' the ship up t'where he stowed 'is tribe's booty. Vilu 'ad a word with 'im, promised t'set Luke an' his two mates free if'n they let the cap'n git 'is paws on the treasure they 'id."

Foulscale showed his blackened teeth in a knowing grin. "Set 'em free, eh? Remember the last lot Vilu Daskar set free, those four 'edge'ogs, d'yer recall that, Willag?"

The searat chuckled with wicked glee. "Oh, I remember it awright. They were 'oldin' back a supply of grain they'd 'arvested. Ole Vilu promises t'set 'em free once he's got 'is claws on the stuff. So they showed 'im where they'd 'idden it. Hawhawhaw!"

One rat had not been a crew member at the time, so he had to ask. "An' did Daskar set 'em free?"

Akkla looked about for more rope to feed the stove. "Course the cap'n did. He 'ad 'em sewed up in the grain sacks with some good 'eavy rocks an' dropped overboard. Vilu's last words to the 'edge'ogs were, 'You leave my ship alive, free t'go where ye will'!"

The Sea Rogues pounded each other's backs and laughed aloud.

"Never tole a lie in 'is life 'as our cap'n. Hohoho!"

"Wonder wot 'e'll think up fer this mouse Luke an' 'is mates?"

"Heehee, bet 'e'll take 'em up ter some clifftop an' set 'em free as birds. Heeheehee!"

"Or introduce 'em t'some new friends, the sharks. Hahahaha!"

"Wotever it is, the cap'n's shore t'give us all a good laugh, mates. Then we can sail south'ard t'the sun an' prime vittles fer a while. Widout Luke an' 'is two mateys though."

Parug the bosun gestured to Foulscale with his knotted rope. "Oi yew, stir yer stumps there, 'tis yore turn t'relieve Ringpatch on watch. Never mind sittin' 'round 'ere laughin' an' jokin'git out on deck wid yer, go on!"

Foulscale shot the bosun a hateful glance. Wrapping a piece of sailcloth around him, he lumbered reluctantly out. Akkla called after him, "Don't let the Sea Bogle git yer!"

Foulscale spat out of the cabin door, and it blew back in his face. "Tchah! Sea Bogle, that'n deserted ship as soon as there wasn't enough grub left t'feed a fly. Sea Bogle only brought bad luck ter this ship, just's well 'tis gone."

He ducked as Parug flung an old seaboot at him, calling, "It won't be Sea Bogles you'll 'ave ter worry about if'n yew stands wid that door open much longer, freezin' us all into our graves. Gerrout on watch, yew idle lump, an' shut that door after yer!"

Beau and Vurg had climbed aboard the red ship, being unable to endure further cold and hardship hanging onto the raft at the stern. Gripping any protrusions available, they made their way along the outside of the Goreleech, avoiding being seen from the after peak, where Luke was tied to the wheel, guarded by ten crew and Vilu Daskar, who had a canvas awning to protect them and a brazier to warm their paws upon. The two friends made it to the foredeck and hid behind a sail-draped hatch cover. From their hideout they could see the shoreline: white sand backed by sheer cliffs which reared into the night.

Beau snuggled down. "Well, it ain't much, Vurgy, but as my old auntie used t'say, somethin's better'n nothin' when y've got nothin', wot?"

Vurg threw an affectionate paw about his comrade. "Shall I tell you wot my ole auntie used t'say, Beau? Well, she always said t'me, if yore hidin' under a hatch cover with a sailcloth over it, an' there's a hare with you, then don't let the hare talk about how 'ungry he is an' don't let 'im sing. There, that's wot my ole auntie used t'say!"

Beau was still in a fine old huff with Vurg. "Food? Who said I was goin' to talk about food, eh, wot? Far too hungry to talk about food. An' I ain't goin' to sing to you no more, after you jumped on my head an' damaged me warbler. Savage mousewretch, that's what y'are. Oh, great seasons of stones, take a look up ahead, Vurg!"

The mouse poked his head from the sailcloth, his gaze following the bowsprit to judge the ship's course.

" Tis the tall rocks, Beau, we're headed straight for the tall rocks!"

Rearing like prehistoric giants to the stormy night skies, hundreds of the monolithic stone pinnacles stood out from the coast for leagues. Waves crashed into white foam at their bases, sending white spume flying high into the air. A peculiar effect, like screaming tortured animals, assaulted their ears, as the gale force winds tore between the awesome columns, whose tops seemed to touch the tempest-driven clouds.

For the first time in his life Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham was robbed of the power of speech. He sat there with his mouth hanging open.

Vurg was the first to recover and do something. "Luke's goin' to smash this ship into the tall rocks! Quick, Beau, climb down to Ranguvar. I think Luke will give the signal very soon now. I'll go astern an' listen out for it. The moment I hear Luke's voice, I'll make my way along the ship's side an' yell at the top of my voice. Go now!"

Vilu Daskar was also feeling something for the first time in his life. Fear! He had seen the tall rocks, once many seasons back when he was younger. However, he had not sailed remotely near them and had vowed never to do so. But now he was in the midst of a storm, his vaunted Goreleech headed straight for the tall rocks, relying only on the skill of a mouse oarslave, bound to the steering wheel. Daskar stood dry-mouthed, sweating despite the cold, paws atremble and stomach churning. Tugging hard on the rope halter about Luke's neck, he yelled shrilly, "Watch what you're doing, go careful with my ship, pull her away from those rocks. Away I say!"

Luke kept his head bent, resisting the rope's tug. "How does it feel, murderer, to have death starin' you in the face?" he gritted out from between clenched teeth. "Think of all the innocent creatures you've sent to their deaths. Go on, tell me how it feels?"

Vilu reached past Luke and managed to get a paw on the wheel. The Warrior mouse sank his teeth into the paw, and with a yelp the pirate stoat withdrew. Vilu's guards drew their weapons. Luke shouted at them without turning his head.

"One move from you, murderer, or any of your scum, and I spin this wheel and send her side onto the rocks!"

Vilu's big mistake had been in binding Luke to the wheel. He was fully in control of steering the ship. The stoat signaled his crew to stay clear. Luke decided then to make his move. Throwing back his head, he roared at the top of his lungs, loud and long, "Dead ahead! Dead ahead! Dead aheeeeaaaaadddd!"

Slipping half in, half out of the lashing churning sea, Vurg scrabbled and clawed his way along the port side until he was amidships. Ahead of him he could see Beau, balancing perilously on Ranguvar's oarshaft as it stuck out from the bowside, waiting for the signal. Vurg clambered up onto the rail, shouting, "Dead ahead! Free the slaves, take the ship!"

In his excitement he had forgotten all else. Next instant Parug and Akkla came rushing from the crew's quarters.

"What's happenin', who's takin' the ship?"

"Somebeast's tryin' to free the slaves! Call to arms! All paws on deck!"

Slaves began pouring from the companionways of the three oardecks, some armed with what they could find, lengths of chain, pieces of timber and pitifully few daggers. Unsure how to proceed, they milled about on the deck, some weeping openly, not knowing what to do with their new-found freedom. These slaves, all from the upper and middle decks, soon found themselves set upon by masses of heavily armed Sea Rogues, veterans in the business of bloodshed. Vurg and Beau rushed to their aid. Laying two searats low with savage kicks from his long hindlegs, the hare grabbed the vermin's cutlasses and tossed one to Vurg, bellowing, "Rally to us, you chaps, don't sit 'round blubberin'. Fight!"

Several of the younger and bolder spirits obeyed, but there were others, too weak and frightened, who were thoroughly intimidated by the fierce horde of the Goreleech 's crew. These wretched creatures ran and hid, and a lot of them tried to push their way back down to the oardecks, to the benches and chains where they had lived for long seasons.

Then Ranguvar Foeseeker arrived upon the scene.

Battering slaves aside like ninepins, Bullflay came screaming out of the companionway, terror stamped upon his ugly features. Behind him, like the shadow of death, was Ranguvar. Laying into the slavemaster with his own whip, the black squirrel was a sight to strike fear into the heart of anybeast, now that she was on the loose. The long whip cracked around Bullflay's ears as Ranguvar Foeseeker went after him, the stormy night echoing to her battle cries.

"Yayalaho! I am the Foeseeker, born in moondark to the crash of thunder! Sing your deathsongs! Yayalahooooo!"

In his panic Bullflay fled straight up the rigging, with Ranguvar hard on his heels, her eyes red with blood-wrath, laughing madly as she closed on her hated foe.

Vilu Daskar felt himself gripped by the icy claws of panic. Never in his wildest imaginings had he dreamed this could happen aboard his red ship.

"Akkla! Parug! Bring the crew astern! Gather to me!"

As the Sea Rogues crowded around, Luke called to his enemy above the din of storm and battle, "What are you goin' to do now, coward? Yore slaves are free and fightin', the Goreleech is bein' driven to the rocks. 'Twas a bad day for you when you murdered my wife!"

As if to emphasize the dilemma, Bullflay's body, choked by his own whiplash, came flying down from aloft and crashed through the afterdeck stairs, taking with it two vermin who were making their way aft. Ranguvar Foeseeker climbed halfway down the rigging, then, with a bloodcurdling yell, hurled herself on a group of Sea Rogues who were hacking at helpless slaves on the main deck.

The pirate stoat turned on Luke, his voice a venomous hiss as he slashed at the bound Warrior with his sword.

"You were the cause of all this, but I will end it here!"

Luke could not protect himself from the wild, vicious onslaught, even though the swinging blade chopped the ropes free from one of his paws. Dulam and Denno were battling their way to the afterdeck when they saw Luke being attacked. Beau and Vurg saw it, too, and fought their way to the shattered stairs, Vurg crying out, "Luke! No! Hang on, mate, we're comin'!"

But Luke was not finished. Fighting his way up through waves of pain, he put all his strength into a single blow. His paw chopped down on that of Vilu Daskar, sending the bone-handled scimitar skimming off into the sea. Then Luke had Daskar in a death grip, crushing him tight against the ship's wheel. Sea Rogues hurled themselves upon the Warrior, trying to free their captain, who was screeching with fright. Pounding willy-nilly at the Warrior, they were about to break the awful grip he had on Vilu Daskar when suddenly Ranguvar Foeseeker was in their midst, armed with two swords. The black squirrel was like a berserk tornado, dealing out death and fearsome wounds, laughing madly into the stricken faces of her foes.

"Yaylaho! 'Tis a fine night to die! Yaylahooooo! Take a deep breath, buckoes, it'll be yore last! I'll hold 'em off, Luke, you hold Daskar tight! Yayalahoooooo!"

Looming up to the red ship was a towering rock, ten times the girth of any craft, with waves riding high up its sides and smashing in foamy cascades. Luke had Daskar's paws twined through the wheel spokes like a captive upon a rack, and the pirate stoat, his back pressed hard against the wheel, began begging and pleading hoarsely for his life as the Goreleech rode side on toward the monstrous column of wave-lashed stone.

"Spare me, Luke. You can have the treasure and freedom for all the slaves. Take the red ship too, but let me go. I speak truly, my word is my bond. Spare my life!"

Luke the Warrior pressed his face close to that of his mortal enemy, crushing him tighter and whispering, "Cowards die a thousand times, a warrior dies only once. The spirits of all you have slain are watching you, Vilu Daskar, and they will rest in peace now that your time has

come. You must die as you have lived, a coward to the last!" ⁵

When the red ship struck the rock, it reverberated from stem to stern. There was a noise like an overhead peal of thunder, then it was shorn in two halves upon the mighty pinnacle of stone. The Goreleech hung there for one awful moment, then the whole stern, from afterdeck to midships, fell. With a huge creaking of sundered timbers it hit the water and sank instantly. Far far below the seas, never to be seen again.

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Book 3

A Warrior's Legacy

Chapter 35

Sunlight lanced through into the cabin of the Arfship, dustmotes swirled lazily about the still lit lanterns. Denno took the rock crystal glasses from his nose end and placed them on the closed book in front of him. Yawning and rubbing his eyes gently, he leaned back and stared up at the noon sky.

"So now you know everything Martin of Redwall, that's the whole story, as best as we could remember."

All eyes were on the stpnefaced warrior, awaiting his reaction. After what seemed an interminable silence, he spoke.

"Am I to understand then that my father wrecked the Goreleech on the big column, knowing that he would die?"

Beau wiped a paw across his eyes and sniffed.

"Aye, that's what he did^old lad, wounded almost t'death, with Ranguvar Foeseeker holdin' off almost an entire vermin crew so Luke an' her could have their revenge on Vilu Daskar, the red ship, an' all that had caused 'em to lose their loved ones. By the fur, blood, tooth an' sword! Two braver warriors never lived!"

Vurg grasped the Warrior mouse's paw tightly. "They did it for youfor all of us, Martin. Everybeast who'd ever suffered by the wickedness of Daskar an' his red ship. Luke was past carin' about what happened to himselfRanguvar, too. Between them their final sacrifice was to rid the land an' seas of a great evil!"

Martin's eyes were like chips of ice.

"I would have done exactly the same in my father's place!"

Dulam felt the hairs rise on his nape as he watched Martin. "I believe you would've, too. That sounded just like yore dad talkin' then. We all would, but for the fact we were at the for'ard end when the ship broke in two."

Martin stared keenly from one to the other.

"Is there anything else I should know? Vurg, you knew him better than most. Tell me."

The old mouse shook his head wistfully. "He gave you all he could, vengeance for your mother an' our tribe, freedom from a terror that the coastlands an' seas lived in fear of. But I remember that day we sailed off from the northlands, he gave you his sword. That blade had never left his paw, or that of his father an' his father before him. It was the most precious thing Luke ever owned! But there was something else, Martin, not from your father alone. When you discovered me in the old cave back there, I had found something buried in the sand. Here!"

Vurg passed the beaded linen bag to Martin. It was the sort of container a mother would use to keep her baby's things in, together with the small possessions she held dear. Martin's paw traced the beautiful pattern of tiny threaded beads worked onto the linen. He eased himself slowly away from the table and left the cabin.

Gonff called after him, "You all right, matey? Need any help or company?" There was no answer from the Warrior. Gonff settled back against a bulkhead. "Best leave him alone awhile. Get some shuteye, mates. I've a feelin' that when he comes back through yon door we'll be leavin' this place. You an' yore pals better pack, Vurg. We ain't leavin' you stranded up in these rocks on a broken ship. You'll have t'keep pinchin' yoreselves to make sure yore not dreamin' when you see Redwall Abbey, mates!"

Martin climbed down the front of the huge main column and sat on a ledge, with the sea almost lapping his footpaws, gazing down into the fathomless deeps. Somewhere far below lay the stern of the Goreleech, with his father, Luke the Warrior, pinning Vilu Daskar against the steering wheel, holding his eneI ny in an eternal embrace. Around them would be strewn the pirate stoat's vermin guard, and Luke's berserk friend Ranguvar Foeseeker. Pride surged through Martin. His father and the black squirrel had kept their vows, they were the bravest of the brave, true warriors.

Martin sat there a long time, staring at the spot where sunlight ended in seagreen haze. From that beaded bag he took a stone, a rounded, medium-sized pebble, banded with various colors. The sort his father might have picked up from the beach, long ago, and brought back to the cave for his wife or little son. Martin held it awhile, until the stone took on warmth from his paws. Then he dropped it gently into the sea, watching it sink rapidly from sight into the depths.

"This is for you, my father, from Sayna, the wife you lost, and Martin, the son you strove to return to. But I have made good your promise, I returned to find you. Ranguvar Foeseeker, I know not if you had any family, but you have two friends forever. Luke the Warrior and Martin of Redwall. I will carry your memories in my heart."

Martin left the tall rock then, with the seas still booming in his ears as they broke against it. In all his life he never went back to that place. On the next ebb tide the skiff Honeysuckle sailed away from Tall Rocks, bound south for Redwall.

Skipper of Otters craned his head back, staring up into the pale blue summer morn. Bella the Badgermother of Redwall waited patiently, already knowing what her burly friend's question would be.

"Of course I can tell the squirrels to set up more scaffoldin' at the south end, marm, but why, pray?"

Bella spread her paws wide, as if the answer were obvious. "Because summer is nearly done and autumn will soon be here."

Sitting back on his powerful tail, the big otter shrugged. "Huh, 'fraid you've lost me, marm. What difference will that make? Autumn always follered summer, 'tis the way o' the seasons. What's that got t'do with scaffoldin'?"

Bella sat beside him, fiddling with the strings of her apron. "Mayhap 'tis just a foolish fancy of mine, Skip, but I'd like to see the south gable built right up as far as it will reach. According to Abbess Germaine and Martin's plans, that's where the weather vane will be, at the highest point."

Columbine approached them and sat down, unfolding a clean white linen cloth to reveal a scone still warm from the window ledge where it had lain to cool. "Taste that and tell me what you think."

Breaking it in two, she gave them a piece each. Bella inspected the pastry, sniffing it appreciatively.

"Smells wonderful. I can see chopped nuts and bits of crystallized honey in there, but tell me, why is the scone pink?"

"Because it's a Redwall Abbeyscone," the pretty mousewife explained. "I used wild cherry juice in the mix, to give it the color of our walls. I plan on making them in the shape of the sandstone blocks we've oised to build our Abbey with. D'you like them, Skip?"

The otter had bolted his piece in one great mouthful, and now he picked crumbs from his whiskers and nibbled them.

"Very tasty, Columbine marm, exceedin' nice! But yore goin' t'need a big oven to bake 'em big as sandstone blocks."

Columbine gave Skipper a playful shove. "Oh, you great puddenheaded riverdog, they'll only be little scones, baked in the shape of the big stones!"

The otter Chieftain scratched his head. "Aye, marm, seems I can't get a thing right t'day. D'you know why autumn follows summer, an' that's why the squirrels must build more scaffoldin', so that we can build the south gable end up to its peak with a weather vane atop? 'Cos I'm bio wed if'n I do, ole pudden'ead that I am!"

Columbine hugged Bella's huge paw. "Oh, what a lovely, wonderful idea! Our south gable built high, with a weather vane sticking up on it. When my Gonff comes marching down the path with Martin and Dinny and Trimp, why, they'll be able to see it from a great distance. How nice!"

A slow smile spread across Skipper's face as the reason for Bella's request dawned upon him.

"Haharr, so that's it! Swoggle me rudder, why didn't I think o' that?"

He fell backward as Bella and Columbine tugged his footpaws, chuckling aloud as they chorused together, " 'Cos you're a great puddenheaded old riverdog!"

Bella made the announcement right after breakfast. It was wholeheartedly supported by all the creatures of Redwall.

Lady Amber added to the excitement. "An excellent idea. I'll get my squirrels to work straight away on the scaffolding. Though 'twill take most of the day erecting it up on the south end, so here's what I suggest. Friends, you've worked hard and long all summer, why not have a day's rest? Perhaps a picnic by the pond can be arranged for early evening. We'll have finished the scaffolding by then, so we'll be able to join you. First thing tomorrow everybeast can pitch in and we'll really go to work and top off that south gable. How's that?" Rousing cheers greeted the Squirrelqueen's scheme. Ferdy and Coggs, the hedgehog Cellarkeepers, trundled barrels, kegs and casks out of the main Abbey door onto the lawn. Baby Gonflet was waiting with his gang of Dibbuns, all armed with wedge stones and prodding sticks. Coggs narrowed his eyes. "Wot are you up to, Gonflet, ye liddle wretch?"

Gonflet waved his barrel-prodding stick dismissively. "You'n'Ferd go now, Cogg. Us take these barrels down to a pond. Not wurry, us good barrel rollers!"

Coggs exchanged glances with his twin brother. "Wot d'ye reckon, Ferdy, shall we let 'em?"

Ferdy smiled at the Dibbuns, who were dancing about and waving their sticks eagerly.

"Aye, they got to learn sometime, I s'pose. But roll that big barrel o' strawberry fizz slow now, Gonflet, an' go easy with those firkins o' elderberry wine. An' the rest of ye, stay be'ind the barrels all the way, don't go runnin' in front. We don't want yore mammas after our blood 'cos you've been run down by some keg or cask!"

Bella walked by, followed by a group of Redwallers carrying canvas and poles.

"We'll make a good leanto," the Badgermother was saying. 'It'll provide shade for the food and the elders can rest there. Mayberry, will you and Catkin get a trolley, line it with blankets and fetch Abbess Germaine down to the pond? Go easy with her, pleaseremember, she's very old and frail."

Mayberry and Catkin, the two ottermaids, bobbed curtsies to Bella and trotted off, feeling very important.

Columbine supervised the kitchens, bringing order and calm to the bustle of cooks and helpers. "Clear those window ledges of scones now. We need room for the turnip and parsley flans to cool. Miz Woodspike, would you like to top those blackberry tarts off with meadow-cream? I don't know anybeast who does it as neat as you do. Mister Pitclaw, could you help me to get the oatloaves out of the ovens, please? Oh, and tell your moles we need more charcoal to heat that back oven for cheese and mushroom flans. No, don't worry about your deeper'n ever pie. I'll watch it while you are gone. Now, let me see, strawberry shortcake, rhubarb crumble, leek and onion turnovers, deep apple pie, is that everything? Oh dearie me, I've forgotten the salad!"

A fat bewhiskered bankvole broke in on Columbine's musings. "Never fret, missus, I been choppin' salad an' mixin' it since hard after brekkist. 'Tis just about made. Gurbee, did we remember to pick some fennel?"

A jolly-looking mole dug both claws into his apron pocket, rocking back and forth as he announced, "Hurr, you'm may 'ave furgitted ee fennyel, zurr, but oi bain't. Oi gurtly loiks moi salad well fennyelled. Burr aye!" Beamingly he pointed to a sizable pile of fennel.

Lady Amber stood high up on the south gable, heading the line of squirrels passing up thick yew scaffolding poles to others, with knives held in their teeth and lengths of stout cord draped over their shoulders. They chatted away nonchalantly, clinging by tails and paws from their perilous positions. Below them the lawns of Redwall Abbey looked like a series of green kerchiefs.

"Chuck me that big 'un with the forked top, Barko. Aye, that's the one. Ashtwig, grab this end while I tie it off to the main platform. Pass more cords up, will ye!"

Swift and sure they toiled away, with a clear blue sky above and a breathtaking void beneath them.

"Looks nice'n'cool down by that pond, they're puttin' a leanto up, see."

"Aye, an' lookit, there's miz Columbine an' the others, carryin' trays o' vittles from the Abbey. What's that noise?"

"My tummy, mate. Mmmm, I can almost smell cheese'n'mushroom flans from up here. Hope they don't start afore we get down."

"If you don't cut the gab an' tie off that pole we'll be up here come this time t'morrow. Shape yoreself, matey!"

Mayberry and Catkin delivered Abbess Germaine to Bella, who was waiting beneath the canvas awning. Both the young ottermaids bobbed another curtsy together.

"Here she is, safe'n'sound, miz Bell!"

"Snug as a bug in a rug with all those cushions an' blankets, miz Bell. We was very very careful with 'er, marm."

Twinkle-eyed, the ancient Abbess peered out of the trolley. "Mm, mm, if they'd pushed me any slower we would've stopped. Two snails passed us on the way, would y'believe!"

Both ottermaids' lower lips began to tremble. Abbess Germaine chuckled, nodding fondly at them. "Mmm, mm, now don't fret, little maids, I was jesting. An old fogey like me couldn't ask for more gentle or better care than you two showed to me. Cheer up now!"

Bella ruffled the ears of both affectionately. "That's why I sent them. Mayberry and Catkin are my two best and most trusted helpers. Run along now, you two."

Smiling and curtsying, they prepared to skip off.

"Thankee, miz Bell. Nice t'be of service to ye!"

"An' you, too, Mother Abbess, just call if'n you needs us!"

Germaine was a bit warm. She shrugged off the blankets as she watched the two ottermaids looking for others to assist.

"Such good little things, Bella. A credit to Redwall, eh?"

"I'll say they are. They're both Skipper's granddaughters, y'know. I was only saying to him the other day Yaaaah! Look out! Everybeast out of the waaaaaay!"

Amid squeaks of dismay and a great bumping and rumbling, Bella seized both Abbess and trolley. Heaving them up in her strong paws, she dashed from the leanto, not a moment too soon. Gonflet and his Dibbuns had let Coggs and Ferdy's cellar stock get away from them. Down the slope a thundering stampede of kegs, barrels, firkins and casks leaped, bounced and spun. In their wake came Gonflet and his gang of little Abbey creatures, hallooing and whooping wildly.

Bella ducked, covering the Abbess with her body as a keg of pennycloud cordial bounced and whizzed by overhead, missing the badger's ears by a whisker. In a trice the leanto was leveled, flattened to the ground. In a resounding boom of splashes the picnic drinks in their oaken containers hit the pond's surface, drenching everybeast within range in a cascade of pondwater.

Dripping from ears to tail, Bella turned to the saturated gang of Dibbuns. Gonflet grinned from ear to ear, pointing with his stick at the array of floating barrels bobbing about in the pond.

"All go'd too fast t'stop, miz Bell. But pond keep d'drinks nice an' cool, I fink!"

Bella could not be angry in the face of the little fellow's irresistible charm, though she hid a smile and tried to sound stern.

"I knew a young mouse one time who was just like you, a scamp, a rascal and a complete pickle!"

Gonflet pawed water from his eye, wrinkling his nose as he stared up at the big Badgermother. "Wot was him name, miz Bell?"

The huge striped muzzle lowered, until it was level with Gonflet's face. "If I recall rightly, his name was Gonff!"

This sent the tiny mouse off into tucks of laughter. Waving his stick, he raced off with his Dibbun gang, shouting, "Heeheehee! Jus' wait I tell my daddy. You a scamp! Raskill! Pickler! That wot miz Bell call you. Heeheehee!"

Creakily Abbess Germaine emerged from the swathe of blankets and cushions in her trolley. She began sorting out poles from the pile of collapsed canvas.

"Hmm, mmm, 'tis some long seasons since I built a leanto. Lend a paw here, Bella, come on!"

The Badgermother sighed as she dragged the canvas aside. "Gonflet was right, though, the pond will keep those barrels nice and cool on a day like this, Mother Abbess!"

That evening the picnic was a huge success. Lady Amber and her squirrels skipped nimbly down the scaffolding, navigating the sheer walls as if they were on level ground, singing as they descended.

"The dull old ground is not for me,

I can't stand it somehow,

Leave me in a good stout tree,

Upon a knotty bough!

'Tis hey ho and up we go,

Above the ground we dwell,

Where every leaf'n'twig we know,

And every branch right well!

A squirrel a squirrel so nimble,

Can climb most anywhere,

A tail in a tree is a symbol,

That I'm at home up there!

So ash, oak, rowan or pine,

Stately elm or beech,

They're all fine, they're all mine,

They're all within my reach!"

While the Redwallers made merry, otters fished the barrels of drink from the pond. Gonflet and his Dibbun gang had everybeast roaring with laughter as they performed a dramatic re-enactment of the barrel incident. Skipper held his sides to stop them aching, tears of helpless merriment streaming from his eyes, as a small mole, acting a barrel of dandelion and burdock cordial, tumbled downhill into the pond. Columbine hauled him out and attempted to give the tiny creature a strict lecture, but was unable to do so because she collapsed laughing.

Lanterns were lit at the pond's edge when evening shadows deepened, the still water reflecting their glow. Mayberry and Catkin performed a graceful dance to the accompaniment of Ferdy and Coggs on drum and fiddle, playing a time-honored favorite called "Bide in the Rushes." Columbine left off serving drinks and sat eating pensively. Abbess Germaine watched her closely.

"An acorn for your thoughts, my dear."

Columbine recovered herself as Gonflet hurled himself into her lap. "What? Oh, er, sorry, Mother Abbess, I was in a bit of a daze. I was just thinking how much I miss GonffMartin and Dinny, too, of course. I wish autumn would hurry and they'd return to Redwall."

Gonflet yawned and looked up at his mother. "I want my daddy. When it be h'autumn, mamma?"

The dancing had stopped, and all eyes turned on Columbine. Gonflet's lids began drooping as she stroked his head and softly recited an old poem.

" 'Round the seasons slowly turning,

Faithful as the stars and moon,

Summer fades, the earth is yearning,

Softly whisp'ring, autumn soon.

Drape the woods in mist one morning,

Now small birds have learned to fly,

Mother Nature's gentle warning,

See green leaves turn brown, and die.

In old orchards on the bough,

Fruit hangs russet, red and gold,

Purple scarlet berries now,

All the rambling hedgerows hold.

Hazel, beech and chestnut, too,

Each displays its burden fair,

They will shed them, all for you,

Ere winter lays their branches bare.

Fields of ripened grain and corn,

Swaying to a murm'ring breeze,

Shaking off the dew of dawn,

When the eye sees signs like these.

Summer's long hot days are ended,

Harvest moons o'er stream and mere,

Tell the tale, as 'twas intended,

Autumn's peaceful dream is here."

Columbine shifted slightly, trying not to disturb her sleeping babe. "Ooh, this fellow's getting heavy these days."

Bella relieved her friend of the burden, scooping Gonflet neatly up in one huge paw. She nodded knowingly. "Little wonder. See, the pockets of his smock are full of wedgestones to use on the barrels. Pity the scamp never bothered to use 'em!"

Abbess Germaine could not help remarking, "Think of the fun we'd have missed if he did. That one'll grow up a bigger rascal than his father. But you're right, Columbine. Redwall isn't the same without Martin, Dinny and your Gonff. Let's hope they'll make it back safely."

Skipper paused, a cheese and mushroom flan halfway to his mouth. "Only beasts I'd be worried about, beggin' yore pardon, marm, are those foolish enough to try an' stop 'em returnin' to our Abbey. Huh, I'd sure enough feel sorry for those!"

Columbine topped the otter's beaker up with October Ale. "I suppose you're right, Skip, but my Gonff attracts trouble no matter where he is. I think he enjoys it."

Abbess Germaine patted the mousewife's paw. "That's why he has two good friendsMartin, who has never been defeated by anybeast, and Dinny, full of caution and sensible mole logic. Don't fret yourself over those three, my dear, they could overcome anything!"

Bella winked at Skipper to lighten the evening's end and take Columbine's mind off worries about Gonff and his friends.

"Getting late, Skip. Come on, you haven't sung tonight. Send us all off to our beds with one of your funny ditties."

The burly otter was only too willing to oblige.

"Good night, sleep tight!

Don't forget t'close the door,

Good night, sleep tight!

Use the bed an' not the floor,

Good night, sleep tight!

Now don't let me hear you snore,

Good night, sleep tight!

An' don't sleepwalk anymore.

Blow out the candle,

Turn down the bed,

Stop yore yawnin', sleepyhead.

Good night, sleep tight!

Up the wooden stairs y'creep,

Good night, sleep tight!

Put on yore nightie, go t'sleep,

Good night, sleep tight!

Stop that talkin' in yore dreams,

Good night, sleep tight!

Don't rip y'sheets to smithereens,

If a nightmare starts t'show,

An' you wake me up, oho,

Out the window you will go . . . good night!"

Leaving the pondside, they trooped slowly back to the AbbeyBella in the lead carrying the sleeping Gonflet, Columbine linking paws with the ottermaids, Ferdy and Coggs pulling the trolley in which the Abbess slumbered, followed by all the other beasts. Skipper brought up the rear of the procession, singing as quietly as his big gruff voice would allow. Everybeast joined in, keeping their voices low, the catchy melody acting as a gentle march, echoing softly over moonlit Abbey lawns.

As they entered the main Abbey door, a vagrant breeze ruffled Bella's fur. She shuddered lightly and whispered to Columbine, "Bit of a chill in the air just then."

Gonflet, who was supposed to be fast asleep, opened one eye and grinned cheekily.

"Soon be's h'autumn now, miz Bell!"

Chapter 36

The Honeysuckle skimmed southward like a playful swallow, Log a Log Furmo proudly showing off her prowess as a skiff to the four creatures from the Arfship. Martin sat in the prow, enjoying the sun, seaspray and breeze, with his faithful friend Gonff alongside him. Together they listened to Trimp attempting to chide Chugger for his lack of respect to the elders.

"I'll not tell you again, Chugg, please stop calling our friends old granpas'tis not very good manners!"

"Tchah! You don't know noffink. They good ole granpas for Chugg. We makin' lorra skillyduffs for 'em!"

Folgrim and Dinny had been appointed assistant cooks, helping Chugger to cook skilly'n'duff. They were on his side.

"Maister Chugg bain't doin' no 'arm, missie, bain't that so, zurr Fol?"

"Aye, let the liddle tyke be, miss. He ain't never 'ad a granpa. Haharr, now he's got four of 'em!"

Trimp appealed to Vurg and his friends. "Please forgive Chugger. I hope he hasn't offended you."

"There, there, don't fret, young gel, wot! He can call us blather-faced bloaters as long as he keeps feedin' us. Jolly little rip, ain't he, Vurg?"

"Aye, an' seein' as we've got no families of our own, 'tis nice t'be chosen as grandsires by him. Ahoy there, cap'n Chugg. Is our skilly'n'duff ready yet?"

The small squirrel gave his concoction a final stir and licked the ladle. Nodding brusquely, he issued orders.

"Skillyduff cookered now. Mista Fol, Mista Din, give ole granpas some first. Miz Trimp, you serve a rest o' my crew!"

Martin and Gonff had difficulty keeping straight faces as they accepted their bowls from Trimp. The hedgehog maid was quietly seething. "Bushtailed little villain, who does he think he is? Issuing orders to me as if I were some sort of lackey!"

Martin blew upon his spoon as he tasted the food. "Mmm, he does make great skilly'n'duff, though. What d'you think, Gonff?"

"Never tasted better, matey. D'you reckon Chugg'd adopt us as ole granpas?"

"No, we're a bit young for that. Why don't we apply to be uncles, like Folgrim and Dinny."

Trimp stamped off to serve the Guosim shrews, muttering, "I don't know, everybeast aboard this boat has got that cheeky-faced villain spoiled rotten!"

Chugger's latest order interrupted her rebellious musing.

"Find more bowls for the sh'ews, miz Trimp!"

Trimp turned on Chugger, paws akimbo, shouting shrilly, "Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir! Perhaps you'd like me to scrub the decks and polish the oars!"

Chugger's reply left her speechless. "No no, do that later, jus' stop shoutin' for now. My ole granpas're gonna take naps. Hush y'noise now!"

It was some days later, and the weather was getting noticeably warmer. Furmo steered the Honeysuckle closer inshore, hallooing the creatures standing paw deep in the shallows.

"Dunespike, old mate, how are ye?"

Splashing about joyfully, the fat old Dunehog Chieftain hailed the boat. "Sure an' I'm all the better for yore askin', Furmo. Come ashore now an' rest yer ould fur!"

Willing paws helped haul the Honeysuckle above the tideline. Murfo and a gang of young male hedgehogs fell over each other assisting Trimp ashore.

"Faith an' fortunes, missie, but yore lookin' grand, grand. Prettier'n ever, though I says so meself!"

Trimp grabbed an oar and vaulted over them onto the sand. "Aye, and still well able to take care of myself, thank ye!"

Martin seized Dunespike's paw and pumped it heartily. "Greetings, Chief, you're looking very well!"

"True, true, I'm gettin' younger by the day, plump as a pear an' brisk as a bumblebee. Well now, c'mon up t'the dwellin' an' loosen off yore belt. We've been watchin' out each day for a glimpse of y'grand little boat. Sure an' the cooks are roastin' the paws off themselves to make ye a grand ould supper. I think we'll even be able to fill Gonff's belly tonight. How are ye doodlin' there, Mousethief?"

Gonff fell into the Dunehogs' speech mode. "Sure an' if'n I look half as grand as yerself, then I'm twice the mouse I used to be, sir!"

Linking paws and chattering away happily, crew and Dunehogs made their way into the sandhills and entered the cunningly disguised dwelling house. Beau and his friends were quite impressed by it all, and the hare expressed his admiration to all the young hedgehogs, while shielding Trimp from them.

"I say, what a super wheeze, a jolly great place like this inside a sand dune, wot! Well done, you chaps, top marks!"

One of the young males was winking slyly at Trimp. "Sure an' I'd forgotten how pretty ye are. A hog'd travel ten rough country leagues an' not see the likes o' ye. I'll wager y'could charm the stars out o' the skies with just a flutter of those eyelashes!"

Beau pretended to think the Dunehog was talking to him. He tweaked the creature's ear sharply.

"Mind y'manners, sir, we haven't even been introduced, wot. Though you seem jolly perceptive for a hedgehog. Mind you, I do strike quite a handsome impression on most creatures."

The Honeysuckle's crew found that the Dunehog hospitality was not lacking. For supper they dined on a fine leek and potato soup, followed by mushroom, radish and seafood stew, with an enormous fruit trifle for dessert. After that they sat about drinking cordials and Seafoam Ale while they were entertained by a Spine-tussling exhibition, some lively Dunehog reels and jigs, and various poems, recitations and ballads. Trimp sat with a group of hogmaids and they all flirted outrageously with the young males, who danced and Spinetussled to vie for their attention. Martin sat with Dunespike and Furmo, watching them with amusement.

Furmo gestured toward them with his tankard. "Don't you wish y'were their age again, Chief?"

Dunespike shook his great head until the spikes rattled. "Away with ye, indeed I do not. They're completely mad, all of 'em! I'd sooner have vittles'n'drink any day!"

Martin gave Dunespike a friendly shove. "You old fogey, look at them. They're young and happy, with not a care on earth. Good luck to them I say, eh, Furmo?"

The Guosim Chieftain nodded his agreement. "They don't have our problems, mate. We've got to figure how t'get a boat of the Honeysuckle's size up a waterfall and past a pine wood full o' painted savages. Aye, an' even when we get by that lot we'll still be battlin' upstream, against the current. 'Tis goin' t'be difficult t'say the least!"

Dunespike poured himself some cordial. "Then why d'ye not find another route?"

"Huh, easy said, Chief, but is there another route?"

"Hmm, let me think. Ah now! What about Northfork!"

Furmo stared over the rim of his tankard at Dunespike. "Northfork? Does it run up this far?"

"Sure it does an' all, two days of a good pawslog from here."

Furmo called across to Folgrim. "Ahoy, mate, d'you know the Northfork stream?"

The scarred otter left off contending for the remains of the trifle with Beau.

"Aye, I know Northfork stream right enough, though I never traveled right up it. I was reared at the southern end of that stream, 'tis where my holt is at."

Furmo thumped the rush mat they were seated on. "Of course! It joins up to the stream we sailed here on, about three days down from my tribe's summer camp. Just one thing, though. How're we goin' to get the Honeysuckle overland to the Northfork stream?"

Dunespike shrugged his powerful shoulders. "An' how else but to carry it? Sure, me an' the Dunehogs will lend a paw t'do the job. A fine lot we'd be if'n we couldn't help out. That's what friends are for!"

Martin clasped paws with the good old Hogchief. "And you surely are a great friend to us, sir!"

Dunespike's huge frame shook with merriment. "Sure an' I wouldn't risk bein' anythin' else to a warrior who can wield a sword like you, Martin of Redwall!"

By first light next morning they were all down on the beach. Dunespike had slept on the idea and awakened with a brilliant solution. Martin and the crew stood on one side, watching as the hedgehog Chieftain put his scheme into action. Two sets of wheels on axles were trundled out from somewhere in the dunes. Dunespike called out orders.

"Here now, Murfo, you an' the lads attend to them wheels. Martin, get that grand ould crew o' yores on the starboard side, an' I'll take the portside with my crowd."

Paddles and stout poles were thrust beneath the skiff's flat bottom to emerge the other side. Everybeast took firm hold of them. Dunespike roared out, "Are y'fit now. Lift!"

The Honeysuckle rose clear of the sand as they lifted. Murfo and the young ones rolled the wheels in for'ard and aft.

"Ah that's grand, let her down now, easy!"

Two Dunehogs with big staples and mallets fixed the axles in position beneath the boat. Dinny whispered to Trimp, "Hurr hurr, ee boat wot doan't sail on ee seas, oi loiks et. Yon Dunespiker be a gurtly h'intelligent 'og, burr aye!"

There was some minor trouble getting the wheeled vessel through the dunes and off the soft sand. However, once they hauled her up through a low gap in the clifftop, the going was good. It was fairly flat scrubland, grass and hardpacked earth, and there was no call to use the pulling ropes. With her sail up, the Honeysuckle caught the wind and rolled along unaided. Beau and the other three elders were aboard her, with Dunespike, Trimp and Chugger. The rest trotted alongside, sometimes even having to tug on the towropes to slow the Honeysuckle's progress.

Gonff laughed. "Just think, if'n there was no woodlands 'twixt here an' Redwall, we could've sailed home by land!"

Later in the afternoon, the land began a mild uphill slope and the breeze died completely. They split into two parties, one for'ard, pulling on the towropes, the rest at the stern, pushing. But the skiff still ran fairly smooth on its wheels, so it would have been no great effort were it not for Chugger. The little squirrel had attached a gull feather to a pole, and he dashed back and forth, tickling the pullers and pushers mercilessly and haranguing them.

"Cummon! Cummon! Run, make 'er go plenny faster, or cap'n Chugg tickle you tails off!"

Trimp decided she had put up with enough. Looping a line about the tormentor, she relieved him of the pole and tied him to the mast. Chugger set up an immediate clamor.

"I a cap'n, lemme go! 'Elp me, ole granpas, mista Din, mista Fol, 'elp Chugg!"

But no help was forthcoming. Quite the opposite, in fact. Beau took hold of the feathered pole and began tickling his adopted grandsquirrel.

"See how you like it, sah, wot! Silence now, or I'll jolly well tickle the tip of y'nose an' make you sneeze ail season. Now, what d'ye say t'that, cap'n Chugg?"

"Choppa you tail off, Beau, an' Chugg not make you any no more skillyduff!"

Beau slumped down beside Vurg, nodding sadly. "No skilly'n'duff eh wot. Ah well, such is the fate of a blinkin' mutineer, old chap!"

That night they set up camp in the lee of a wide stone outcrop at the base of a hill. Log a Log Furmo sat looking at the Honeysuckle speculatively.

"Y'know, Gonff, I think I'll leave those wheels on 'er. Won't do no 'arm to a flat-bottomed craft like the Honeysuckle. Hah, wait'll my missus sees our new boat. She'll be proud as a toad with a top hat!"

Folgrim had been to the top of the hill, to see what the going would be like next day. On his return, the otter called Martin and Dunespike to one side.

"I think I just spotted trouble the other side o' this hill."

The Warrior mouse became instantly alert. "What sort of trouble, Folgrim?"

"Bunch o' ragtag vermin, foxes, stoats an' the like."

Martin was away uphill swiftly, sword in paw. "Let's go and take a look!"

Bellying down, the three friends crawled over the hilltop. Below them on the gorse-strewn plain, several small fires were burning. There was little need to investigate further, for by the light of a half-moon they could estimate the numbers of foebeast below. Dunespike had seen the same band before.

"They were sniffin' 'round in our dunes last winter, but we covered our tracks well an' got the young 'uns safe inside the ould dwellin'. Sure, meself an' some others put on our sheets and stilts an' scared the blaggards off. What d'ye think we should do about 'em, Martin?"

Without hesitation the Warrior answered, "We could defeat them in a fight, but there's no sense in that. I want everybeast to reach their homes safe. Listen now, I think I've got a solution to the problem."

Skipper perched high up on the south gable, his footpaws firmly lodged in a roofbeam gap. From where he stood, the otter Chieftain could see out over the countless acres of Mossflower Wood to the east. He turned slowly, looking across the vast plain to the west.

"Rap me rudder, wot a sight! Now I know why birds are singin' happily. Everythin' looks so different from up 'ere." He shut his eyes momentarily as he caught sight of Lady Amber walking along the topmost scaffold pole as if it were a broad roadway. "Marm, I beg ye, would y'mind not doin' that 'til I'm back on the ground. Some-thin' inside me just did a somersault."

The Squirrelqueen leaped lightly down beside him. "Sorry, Skip, I forgot there was a land dweller up here. Is the weather vane ready yet?"

"Nearly. Ole Ferdy'n'Coggs are doin' as fine a job of smithyin' as I ever saw, marm. Though miz Columbine says there won't be a scrap o' charcoal left in the kitchens t'cook with. They're usin' the open hearth fire to heat the iron an' beatin' it out on the stone floor. I came up 'ere 'cos I couldn't abide the noise. Ding! Bang! Ding! Bang! Me pore ole head's still ringin' inside."

Lady Amber's manner was more practical than sympathetic. "Don't tell me, Skip, you can't abide noise? Hah, 'tis usually you who creates most of the noise 'round here with your big foghorn voice. As for heights, if you haven't got a head for them I don't advise hanging 'round up here, you'll only make yourself ill. Why not pop down to the orchard and help the carpenters. That's far more peaceful."

Skipper tugged oh the pulley rope of the hoist. "Good idea, marm, the orchard it is!"

The hoist was merely a system of counterweights. Skipper stepped aboard a small platform and it descended slowly. On the way down he was passed by the other platform, on which stood a squirrel with two blocks of sandstone going up. They waved to each other as the platforms passed.

"Where are ye bound, Skip?"

"Down to the orchard, matey, t'lend a paw with the beams."

"Tell Gurdle to load mortar on that platform when y'get down. I'll leave one o' these blocks on as a counterweight."

A mole and four mice were waiting at the bottom, and they locked off the platform against a log protruding from the wall. The mole touched his snout in greeting. "They'm needin' more blocks oop thurr, Skip?"

The otter stepped from the platform. "Not at present, Gurdle, 'tis mortar they want."

Gurdle and the mice began shoveling a mixture of sand, crushed limestone and water onto the platform. It would enable the builders to cement the heavy sandstone blocks firmly into place.

At the far corner of Redwall's orchard the carpenters had set up shop. A pit had been dug so that they could cut planking with long double-pawed saws, and there was a bench with vice, chisels and mallets, as well as a fire with augers and pokers resting in it. These would be used to bore holes, so the wood could be jointed with pegs. Seasoned trunks of elm, oak, beech, pine and sycamore were stacked against the wall in piles. Skipper loved the fragrant smells of fresh wood and heaps of bark shavings. A fat whiskery old bankvole with a charcoal stick behind one ear and a long canvas apron glanced up from a pine log he was working on and nodded at the otter Chieftain.

"Afternoon, Skip. D'ye fancy lielpin' me strip the bark off'n this timber? It'll make good skirtin' boards for the upper dormitories. I like pine, got a fragrance all of its own."

Skipper found a spokeshave and began working on the other side of the log. Long pine slivers ran curling from his sharp blade, and Skipper sniffed fondly.

"Yore right, Migglo, 'tis a clean fresh smell. I can feel it clearin' me head up nicely."

A dormouse popped her head up from the sawpit. "Hello, Skip. How's it goin' on the south gable? I spotted you up there earlier. Huh, y'wouldn't get me anywhere that high, not for all the nuts in Mossflower, matey!"

Skipper blew off a shaving that had stuck to his nose. "Aye, leave that to the squirrels an' a gang of crazy mice'n'hedgehogs who likes that sort o' thing. Well, I tell ye, marm, I was surprised 'ow far they'd gotten along. Lady Amber says another couple o' days should bring it to a peak. Then they can set up the weather vane."

Migglo chuckled gruffly through his bushy whiskers. "Amber's squirrels ain't settin' up no weather vane'tis Ferdy'n'Coggs who'll be doin' that job. Hohoho! Waitll ye see those two bulky ole Cellar'ogs wobblin' about up there. They ain't lookin' forward to it, I can tell ye!"

Skipper smiled at the thought of Redwall's twin Cellar-hogs high on the south gable. "No, nor would I fancy it!"

Carrying a big earthenware jug and beakers on a tray between them, Mayberry and Catkin the ottermaids awkwardly bobbed curtsies to all the workers.

"Miz Bella said to bring you a cool drink, mint leaf an' rosehip cordial from the cellars."

"She said it'd wash the sawdust down, sir."

Migglo swigged off a full beaker in one go. "Just the stuff, colder'n ice an' very refreshin'. Thank ye."

Skipper sipped his drink slowly, relishing it. The ottermaids topped up his beaker.

"We didn't know you were a carpenter, Grandpa."

He winked at them. "Just shows yer, me pretties, you don't know half the things yore ole grandpa can do."

"Oh yes we do, we know lots of things you can do."

"Do you now? Like wot?"

"We know you can hide underwater in the pond when 'tis your turn to wash pots'n'dishes."

"Yes, an' we know you can wake everybeast when you talk in your sleep with your big loud voice."

"And we know you can sup more hotroot soup than anybeast, and drink more October Ale and scoff more damson pudden..."

The otter Chieftain squinted fiercely at his two young granddaughters as he advanced on them. "Haharr, me pretties, an' did ye know that I can clip the noses of liddle ottermaids with me spokeshave?"

They fled squealing and giggling from the orchard.

That evening it went cool suddenly. Standing on the outer wall ramparts of the Abbey, Bella and Columbine watched the enchanting sight of summer's last evening. Streaked to the west with slim dark cloud tails, the sunset was awesome. In the final moments the skies turned deep scarlet on the horizon, ranging up through crimson and rose to a delicate pink. Above this it faded to a broad band of buttery amber with soft dark blue pierced by the faint twinkle of early stars. Columbine let her breath out in a long wistful sigh.

"I hope my Gonff can see all of this beauty."

Bella placed a paw gently on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sure he can. I know he'll be thinking of you and the little one here at Redwall, awaiting his return."

A random thought caused the mousewife to cover her mouth, stifling a chuckle. "Unless there's food to be had, of course. Gonff would sooner gaze at a fruit puddin' than a sunset!"

Bella joined in her laughter. "Then I suggest we post a daily lookout on this wall from now on. No doubt we can accommodate his sense of beauty with a big apple pie."

Chapter 37

A lively breeze stopped autumn's first day starting with a gentle mist. The Honeysuckle was positioned just below the brow of the hill, armed with slings and oars, and the crew and their Dunehog allies stood waiting.

Furmo tested the wind direction with a damp paw. "Couldn't ask for a fairer breeze, Martin!"

The Warrior signaled to Folgrim. "Off you go, mate, and don't forget to raise a shout at the right moment."

The smallest of the Guosim shrews was bent double, wearing a cape which Trimp had made for Chugger. He grasped Folgrim's paw and toddled off over the hilltop, with the scarred otter adopting his old hunched hunting pose. Together they looked like a grandsire and his grandchild.

A stringy-looking weasel was arguing with a ferret, disputing over a wooden skewer festooned with insect and moth carcasses, which had been spiked there to roast over the fire. A motley collection of rats and assorted vermin watched them, knowing a fight was inevitable. As the weasel reached for the skewer, the ferret kicked him.

"Getcher dirty paws offa me vittles, longnose!"

The weasel was knocked forward, scorching his paw in the flames. He turned snarling at his tormentor.

"Half o' them are mine. Lift yer paw t'me agin an' I'll chop it off, greedyguts!"

Like a flash, a broad evil-looking blade appeared in the ferret's paw. He aimed another kick at the weasel.

"Yew couldn't chop yer way outta a daisy patch. Back off from those vittles, they're mine!"

The weasel shrugged, as if admitting defeat. Picking up the sharpened skewer, whose end was on fire, he turned to the ferret.

"Ah, wot's a pile o' squashed bugs t'me. You 'ave 'em!"

Bounding forward, he thrust the skewer hard into the ferret's gut. A shriek of agony rang out, and the ferret fell backward dying, stabbed through his stomach.

Callous laughter and coarse remarks greeted the cruel act.

"Haw haw haw! Somethin' upset 'is stummick!"

"Heeheehee! Ole Brango looks jus' like a bug on that skewer, lookit 'im wriggle!"

A fox who had lost interest in the gruesome spectacle happened to turn and look uphill. He caught sight of the two pitiful figures hobbling side by side.

"Oh lucky day, look wot's comin' this way, mates!"

Paws grasped blades as most of the vermin began inching toward the two unfortunate creatures, calling mockingly, "Come an' join us fer dinner, friends."

"Aye, don't be scared. You'll 'ave nought t'be worried about soon, ain't that right, mates?"

The two creatures halted, as if noticing the evil crew for the first time. Slowly they backed off uphill, crying piteously, "Please don't hurt us, we're only poor travelers!"

Speeding up their advance, the vermin began to spread in an arc, trying to cut their quarry off. The poor travelers ran then, scampering uphill and yelling aloud, "Help! Oh, help us somebeast! Help!"

Pulling a rusty ax from his belt, the fox ran after them. "I saw 'em first!"

The skinny weasel dashed past him, snarling. "First there, first served, brushtail!"

As Folgrim and the Guosim shrew reached the ridge-crest, they were yanked aboard the Honeysuckle. Down the hill she thundered, the breeze billowing her sail full out. War cries rang around the hillside.

"Eulaliaaaaa! Redwaaaaaalll! Gorramahoggorraaaaa!"

The vermin were taken completely by surprise. Dinny whacked out with an oar, laying the skinny weasel out cold. Hard round slingstones cracked against skulls, ribs, paws and tails, filling the air like angry hornets in swarm. Heedless of the stupidity of their retreat, the vermin fled off downhill, with the Honeysuckle skimming behind them. Vurg caught the fox by his tail and dragged him along, while Beau hung over the side belaboring him with an oar. "You thoroughly" Whack! "despicable" Thwack whack! "cad!"

A rat who was tripped by one of the for'ard oars leaped smartly up, only to be felled by Furmo, who from his position at the stern walloped him over the head. Onward plunged the vermin in their rout, hotly pursued by a skiff on wheels, leaving in its wake a trail of wounded and senseless creatures.

Finally the remnants of the ragtag vermin band broke, running off in separate directions, but not before Dunespike lassoed one. The terrified ferret was dragged aboard. He lay quivering on the deck of the still traveling craft, staring up into the fearsome scarred face of Folgrim.

Resting his axblade between the ferret's eyes, the otter growled in a menacing voice, "I see I've got yore attention, scumbrain, so lissen hard. We'll be sailin' these regions for the next couple o' seasons, huntin' down vermin an' cleanin' up the land. Yore lot are the first ain't you the lucky ones? We're lettin' you live, so you an' yore cronies can spread the word 'round that we've arrived. Y'see that warrior with the nice sharp sword? He's our leader. Name o' Martin of Redwall, a very fair beast. He believes in givin' vermin a sportin' chance . . . then slay in' 'em!"

Martin prodded the ferret with his bladetip. "Up on your paws, bully, come on!"

Trembling uncontrollably, the ferret rose. The Honeysuckle had slowed down minimally, breasting another rise, then she picked up speed, skimming downhill. Martin swung his sword up high. "Jump or die?"

"Eeyaaaaagh!"

With a pitiful wail the ferret flung himself overboard. They watched him bounce and spin as he rolled downhill until a rock halted his progress with a juicy thud.

The breeze made a hissing sound as it ran through Dunespike's stickles, and he clapped his paws happily.

"An' isn't this the grand ould way t'be travelin'. Sure I've not had this much fun since I caught a jellyfish on me spikes. Cap'n Chugg, sir, do we throw out the anchor at lunchtime, or does eatin' on the move sound like a grand ould idea to ye?"

Chugger gave Dunespike his captain's scowl. "Wot a jellyfish is?"

The hedgehog Chieftain caught him and tickled Chugger until he broke down laughing.

"Yore a jellyfish, ye liddle omadorm, a fat wee jellyfish!"

Chugger rolled about, unable to escape. "Heeheehee 'elp me, mista Fol! Heeheehee, I norra jellyfish, I on'y a likkle Chugg. Heeheehee, 'elp 'elp!"

The Honeysuckle did not stop for lunch; they kept on while the breezes favored progress. During the afternoon the wind deserted the sails, and the skiff rolled to an easy halt, at the fringe of a copse.

Guosim cooks discovered a small spring among the trees, where the water was cool and sweet. Apples, pears and wild berries were plentiful. Lounging in the tree shade, the crew ate and drank their fill.

Dunespike looked about admiringly. "Murfo, me son, does this place not look grand t'ye?"

"Aye, grand, da, grand 'tis!"

"An' a whole lot better'n livin' midst ould sand dunes?"

"Aye, 'twould be, da, 'twould be so!"

"Sure we've got fruit t'pick from the bough an' berries t'gather as we please. What would y'say to livin' here?"

"Oh, grand t'be sure, da. We'd want for nothin'!"

Dunespike cuffed his son's ear fondly. "Well spoken. Take ten o' the lads an' start diggin' a good ould cave beneath these trees. I'll send the rest back t'the dunes for the babies an' the elders. Would that be all right with you, Martin of Redwall?"

Martin was looking up at the sky and replied absently, "Yes, of course it will, Chief, providing you show us where Northfork stream lies."

"Sure, of course I will. What're ye starin' up at the sky for? Don't worry, it won't fall, it's been up there a long time."

Martin spoke to Dunespike, though he was looking at Gonff. "Birds are starting to fly south. The autumn has come."

The Mousethief watched until the birds were out of sight. "We must remember our word, mate. Time for us to fly home."

Following breakfast in the Great Hall of Redwall Abbey, all the creatures sat awaiting the allotment of daily chores. Bella, whose duty it was to apportion the work, was deep in conversation with Abbess Germaine. Eager eyes watched the Badgermother as Redwallers speculated on which way the roster would go for them.

"Hope I'm helpin' Ferdy'n'Coggs in the cellars again!"

"Cellars are closed today; they've got to raise the weather vane on south gable. I'm not goin' up there!"

"Hurr, you'm wuddent be h'allowed oop thurr, zurr. On'y ee squirr'ls be on sou' gable to 'elp with ee vane."

"Hope I don't get picked as cook's helper again. Huh, they had me scrubbin' pots all day last time."

All talk ceased instantly when Bella rapped the table. "Lady Amber and her squirrels will be assisting Ferdy and Coggs to raise the weather vane on the top of south gable."

"Thurr see, jus' loik oi tole ee!"

Bella paused, looking in the direction of the interruption. There was a muffled giggle, followed by respectful silence. She waited a moment before continuing.

"All other building work today will be suspended. Migglo, Mayberry and Catkin, you are today's duty cooks."

The whiskery old bankvole winked at both ottermaids, who wriggled and tittered excitedly, before realizing the importance of their position and sitting up primly.

Bella nodded to the three Redwallers. "Forget any cooking or baking for today. There's enough bread, scones and pastry been readied overnight. Concentrate on a cold buffet, salads, fruitcups and such. Skipper will take watch on the battlements for signs of our returning travelers. Without exception, every otherbeast within our walls is to go to the storerooms for sacks and baskets. Columbine, will you and Gurdle see that ladders and sticks are available, please?"

Some of the elders began smiling and nudging one another, but the younger element looked puzzled. Abbess Germaine allowed Bella to help her up onto the table; then she waved her paws in the air and called out in a reedy quaver, "Then 'tis all to the orchard for fruit harvest!"

Gleeful cheers greeted this announcement, followed by chaos. Redwallers dashed to the storerooms, where Columbine was issuing sacks and baskets as fast as she could.

"Form a line there, don't push, there's plenty for all. Gonflet, take that sack off your head! Gurdle, will you see that all Dibbuns are given berry trugs, thank you!"

Passing out the small baskets to the little ones, the mole chuckled at their antics. "They'm be barskets, not sandals, take 'em off'n ee futtpaws."

Columbine was settling Abbess Germaine down in a wheelbarrow full of soft moss, beneath the shade of a spreading horse chestnut tree. Both of them broke down laughing at the sight of Bella leading the band of pickers in a harvest dance, singing as she went. Clutching Columbine's paw, the ancient Abbess chuckled. "Oh dearie me an' preserve m'paws! It's like seeing a great boulder roll down a mountainside, watching our Bella dance! Heeheehee!"

Columbine skipped aside as Bella hurtled by. "Hahahaha! Maybe so, but there's those not even half Bella's age who can't keep up with her!"

Winding its way through trees and around bushes, the merry dance went on, with everybeast singing their hearts out.

"Now go good son and daughter,

Haste to our orchard fair,

And gather in the harvest,

Which lies a-waiting there.

Ripe apples, ripe apples, are falling to the ground,

As pears so sweet and juicy are lying all around!

Keep singing pretty daughter,

Until the work is done,

So you don't eat the berries,

And leave your mother none.

Blackberries, ripe cherries, don't bruise or break them miss,

For sweetness can be lost, like a faithless lover's kiss!

The gooseberry and greengage,

Are bittersweet my son,

And damson has a heart stone,

You'll find before you're done.

Enchanting, enticing, like wild grape on the vine,

The maidens want to help you, to let their paws entwine!

So pick a berry, sing so merry,

Harvest time is here,

Go skipping 'round our orchard,

My son and daughter dear!"

Bella stood tall. Reaching a high branch, she pulled it down to her face and sniffed deep. "Aaahhh! Nought so sweet as the smell of a good russet apple on the bough. Mmmmm! I could sniff 'em all day!"

Beneath her, a hogwife stood tapping her footpaw, sack held wide open and waiting. "Beg pardon, miz Bell, but could y'leave off sniffin' an' start shakin' afore it goes dark?"

"Oops, silly old me. Sorry!"

The badger gave the bough a mighty shake, releasing ripe russets in a shower. When she looked down, the hogwife was still tapping her footpaws, two apples impaled on her headspikes, another two on her back.

"Tch tch! Miz Bell marm, 'twould be a help if'n you shook 'em into the sack!"

Columbine and Germaine were picking redcurrants, the Abbess keeping a curious eye on Gonflet.

"My dear, what is that little son of yours up to? He's supposed to be gathering raspberries, isn't he?"

Columbine could not help smiling as she watched the little mouse. He would fill both his smock pants with fruit, take a furtive glance left and right, then scurry off to empty his load into a trug hidden beneath the berry hedge.

"Hmm, just like his father, a real mousethief. He's not happy unless he thinks he's stealing something, Mother Abbess. I'll have to turn him upside down and shake him before he goes to bed tonight. Otherwise there'll be raspberries squashed around the dormitory for the rest of the season. Little pickle. He's a good worker, though!"

The harvesting was going well, moles trundling off to the storerooms with laden trollies as the fruit was picked and basketed or bagged up. At midday the cooks borrowed three trolleys to bring lunch for the pickers. Mayberry and Catkin repulsed any advances on the food with frosty glances and severe words.

"Not a single bite until you've washed at the pond!"

"Gracious me, look at those sticky paws. Away with you!"

Migglo gave them a whiskery grin. "That's the stuff, missies! You tell 'em! Go on, yore the cooks, 'tis up to you!"

Emboldened, the ottermaids spared nobeast from censure.

"Miz Bella, have you been pickin' apples with yore nose? You can just go an' wash y'face, this instant!"

"Hmph, shame on you, Mother Abbess. 'Tis up t'you to set an example. Look at yourself, redcurrant juice from tail to ears. Gurdle, help her to get washed, please!"

Columbine's giggles were cut short as they turned their attentions upon her.

"'Tis no laughin' matter, miz Columbine. Shame on you!"

"Aye, woe 'pon you if'n mister Gonff was to see y'now. We'll inspect those paws after you've washed 'em!"

It was a simple and satisfying lunch which had been prepared for the harvesters. Sliced apples, cheese and fresh crusty bread, with new cider or cold mint tea to sip and strawberries with meadowcream for dessert. Columbine sat beneath the chestnut tree with her friends, still shaking her head and smiling over the bossy cooks.

"Honestly, I felt just like a naughty Dibbun, the way those two young snips ordered me off to the pond!"

The Abbess sandwiched a wedge of cheese with bread. "Me, too, bless their hearts. They meant well, though."

Bella snorted. "Meant well? The little tyrantsthey sent me back to the pond twice to wash my snout properly!"

Migglo had been eavesdropping, and he called across to them, "Aye, but they're a credit to ole Skipper, that they are!"

Suddenly, everybeast started with fright as a loud cry rent the air.

"Redwaaaaaaaaaalll!"

Bella was on her paws in a flash, pointing upward. "Look! They've raised the weather vane on south gable!"

Everybeast in the orchard raised their paws and returned the shout to the tiny figures high up on the Abbey building.

"Redwaaaaaaaaaallll!"

Cheering broke out as the Squirrelqueen, Lady Amber, stood out, balancing on the crosspieces of the iron vane, swaying as a light breeze turned its metal arrow topspike. Ferdy and Coggs clung to the North and South struts, waving jubilantly to their friends below. As Columbine gazed up at the completed south wall, she hugged the Abbess. "Oh, they've done it, Mother Abbess. Isn't il beautiful!"

Germaine looked for as long as she could, then shut her eyes tight to stem the tears.

"At last! My Redwall Abbey. I never thought I'd live to see the dream become reality!"

Bella picked the Abbess up as though she weighed nothing, sitting the ancient mouse upon her shoulder to allow her a better view. While Germaine was up there, Bella took advantage of her robe hem to wipe her own eyes.

"Three cheers for Redwall Abbey. May it stand as long as seasons change and the sun rises, my friends!"

Never were three cheers raised so joyously.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

Chapter 38

On a rare boisterous autumn morn, two otters stood waist deep in the waters where Northfork stream merged with the main flow seaward. It was here in the swirl of currents that the finest watershrimp were to be found. Unstaking a long tubular reed net, they hauled it carefully to the bank. The elder of the pair, a sleek tough otterwife, instructed her half-grown son in the rudiments of his tribe's fishing tradition.

"Always haul the net in slow'n'easy, Jiddy. I seen silly beasts lose all their catch many a time, from rushin' things. There now, lookit our net, son, bulgin' with the liddle beauties. Tie the end off good'n'tight, that's it!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Jiddy patted the well-packed net. "Haharr, wait'll Chief Tungro claps eyes on this lot! I bet by next season he'll let me come 'ere alone"

The young otter had no time for further conversation. His mother knocked him flat into the cover of hanging willow fronds. Stifling his mouth with a swift paw, she lay beside him, peering upstream at the strange craft in the distance.

"Strike me rudder, will y'look at that thing. I ain't never seen nothin' like it in these waters. Wait! I'd know that beast standin' in the bows if'n he was the last otter on earth. C'mon, Jid, let's get the bad news back to Tungro!"

They hurried off southward along the bank, toting the loaded net between them, with Jiddy, like most youngsters, besieging his mother with questions.

"It was an otter on that boat, I saw 'im, too. But why's it bad news for Tungro? Does he know the otter?"

"Hah, know 'im? I'll say he does. That's Folgrim, his mad brother. I thought we'd seen the last o' that 'un."

"Mad? Why's he mad? What did he do?"

"Well, he used t'go huntin' vermin, an' when he caught up with 'em he'd, er, he'd . . . Never you mind what he did. Now keep up, an' don't drop that net or 'twill burst!"

The day was rather overcast, though the sun showed at intervals, between masses of gray-white cloud, which the playful wind chased to the southeast. The Honeysuckle rode at half sail, Furmo steering her into the bank, which was crowded with otters. Trimp stood alongside Folgrim, watching him closely.

"My goodness, Fol, they've all turned out to welcome you home. See, there's your brother Tungro!"

Chugger launched himself from the mast onto his friend Folgrim's shoulders. "Tchah! Otters not welcome you, mista Fol. Nobeast laugh or shout 'ello t'you, big long faces on 'em."

Folgrim settled the little squirrel on his strong shoulders. "They got good cause not t'be cheery, mate. My tribe fears me. I was nought but a load o' trouble to 'em."

Chugger growled. "Gurrr! You not t'ubble, mista Fol, you my matey. I choppa they tails off for ya!"

Folgrim slid over the side, still carrying Chugger. "You sit up there an' be'ave yoreself now. Leave this t'me."

Otters parted ranks, fearing to be near the returning warrior. But Tungro waded swiftly forward. Clasping Folgrim's paws tightly, he smiled into the heavily scarred face with great fondness.

"My brother, welcome back to the holt! Come on, matey, bring y'liddle friend, bring all yore friends. Rest and eat!"

The holt was an enlarged bank cave: old and very comfortable, filled with beautifully carved furniture, the speciality of Tungro's tribe, who were master crafts-beasts, and proud of their carpentry skills. Most of the tribe were still wary of Folgrim, so he kept to the company of the Honeysuckle's crew. They sat on elaborately carved benches by the fire, dining on fresh hotroot and watershrimp soup, oatfarls and a riverbank salad.

Martin and Gonff sat at a highly polished table with Tungro, who poured steaming blackberry and sage cordial for them while the cooks served their food.

"You and your friends have worked wonders with my brother. He is not the same savage beast, thanks to you, Martin."

The Warrior sipped his cordial gratefully. "Don't give me the credit, friend. It was young Trimp and little Chugger who wrought the change in Folgrim."

Turning to Gonff, the otter inquired, "Why do you keep staring at me, Mousethief?"

The irrepressible Gonff shrugged. "The more I look at you, the stronger you remind me of somebeast. Martin, would you say Tungro resembles Skipper?"

"Aye, mate, now you come to mention it, he does, very much!"

Tungro sat up at the mention of the name. "Skipper? Is he an otter about old enough to be my father?"

Gonff slapped the table. "I knew it, yore related to him!"

A faraway look entered Tungro's eyes as he unfolded the tale.

"My grandmother gave birth to three sons on the same dayBargud, my father, and his two brothers, Riverwyte and Warthorn. Riverwyte was much like my brother Folgrim, a great fighter and slayer of vermin. Everybeast thought him sick i n t he head because of his love for battle. He left our holt to go roving, and they say his tail was severed by foebeasts. An otter without a rudder, as you know, is like a fish without water. Riverwyte became a woodland dweller, a master of disguises, and he called himself Mask because of this. Travelers told my father that he had been slain, though where, when an' how it all happened we never got t'know. The other brother, Warthorn, was the biggest an' strongest of all three. He left the holt when he was scarce half grown, because he couldn't ever buckle down to my grandfather's strict rule. Warthorn was such a natural leader that nobeast used his given name, they nicknamed him Skipper, which is a title we give to otter Chieftains. Anyhow, he went off to found his own tribe an' hasn't been heard of since. When Bargud, my father, was alive, he'd looV. at me an' say that I was the image of his lost brother Skipper. Then he'd turn to Folgrim an' say that he was the double of Riverwyte, his other brother."

Martin leaned across the table and held Tungro's paw. "Would you like to meet your uncle Warthorn?"

Tungro nodded wistfully. "I'd love to, I've heard so many tales about him, but he'd left this holt long afore 1 was born. Do y'think I ever could meet Warthorn?"

"Certainly, my friend. Journey to Redwall with us, and you will."

A few days later, Log a Log Furmo's large fierce wife, Honeysuckle, was coping with her brood on the stream-bank of their summer camp. Energetically she scrubbed at the wriggling body of her eldest.

"Be still, you liddle worm. I'll teach ye to roll about in that midden of a water margin, filthy shrew!" Flicking out with a wet rag, she caught another young one a stinging slap across the tail. "Git yore paws away from those scones, or I'll chop y'tail off an' bake ye in a pie. Go on, be off with you!"

Four tiny shrewmaids came dashing along the bank, squeaking, "Mamma mamma, daddy's comin' in a big boat wiv a sail!"

Honeysuckle grabbed the nearest one. "Just lookit the bankmud on that smock, an' it was clean on this very morn. Go an' git a fresh one off'n yore granma, not one of those off the rock ledge, they ain't dry yet. So, the great rovin' Log a Log's decided to come home again, has he?"

Furmo's deep rich voice hailed her from upriver. "Honeysuckle, me precious! I'm back, O dew of me life!"

She scowled at Furmo, standing heroically in the prow of the skiff as it sailed inshore. Twirling the corner of a face cloth, she wiggled it down the ear of the little shrew she was attempting to clean up. "Back at the end o' summer, my darlin'; I'll return on the first autumn mist, O jewel o' the woodlands. What time d'ye call this t'be gettin' back, you great useless lump o' Guosimfur, eh?"

Gonff sprinted ashore, with two shrews in his wake, carrying a carved otter footstool and several strings of Dunehog quills and beads in various gaudy colors. He pointed to the name plate on the skiff's bow, planting a genteel kiss on the shrew wife's sud-covered paw.

"O beauteous beast, yore spouse brings ye gifts from afar, an' all borne on a fine vessel that carries yore own fair name. He has done nought but pine f'you night'n'day!"

Honeysuckle melted immediately in the face of Gonff's gallantry. Fluttering her eyelids, she gave him a playful shove, which sent him sprawling in the shallows.

"Oh, mister Gonff, you ole flatterer, fancy callin' that luvly ship after me. Wotever gave you the idea?"

The Prince of Mousethieves stood up, shaking water from his rear end, still spouting eloquently. " 'Twas all your good Furmo's idea, m'lady. We wanted to call the boat Gullyivacker, but he wouldn't hear of it. No no, sez he, we must call it Honeysuckle after my beloved!"

Furmo gasped as Honeysuckle grabbed him from the prow and squeezed the air from his lungs in a mighty embrace.

"Ow ow, I wronged you, me dear one, forgive me. All these wunnerful things you brought back for yore wife. Ow ow, I could cut out me tongue for wot I said about you!"

Furmo managed to gasp out in a stifled mutter, "Cut yore tongue out? No such luck, more's the pity!"

She dropped him in the shallows. "Wot was that you said?"

Furmo scrambled up, thinking quickly. "I said, 'Cut yore tongue out? No no, my duck, yore far too pretty!'"

Vurg and his friends were greatly taken with the shrewbabes, but none more so than Beau. The gluttonous hare allowed the tiny creatures to feed him vast amounts of food at the noontide meal.

"Can you eat more plum pudden, sir?"

"Just try me, laddie. Shove it this way, wot!"

"My mamma maked this salad, sir, d'you like it?"

"Rather! What a clever lady your mamma is. Fill m'bowl up again, there's a good little tyke!"

"D'you like apple'n'pear turnover, sir?"

"Like it? Steer it in my direction, y'young tailwagger, an' I'll show you whether I like it!"

Honeysuckle perched gingerly on the footstool, which she thought was a small chair, casting a jaundiced eye in Beau's direction.

"I'd hate t'be standin' next to that long-eared rabbit in a famine season. Where does he put it all? No thanks to you, Gonff, you fetched 'im 'ere, an' that tribe o' starvin' otters, too. We'll soon be eaten out o' house'n'home!"

Gonff tweaked the shrew wife's cheek slyly.

"Well, me beauty, you don't want vittles goin' stale in the larder. Not while yore away on the nice trip that Furmo's planned for you!"

"Trip? Furmo never told me about no trip."

"Aha, that's 'cos he wants to surprise you, pretty one. How d'you fancy a nice boat trip to Redwall Abbey?"

"Ow ow, bless 'is good 'earl, is there nothin' Furmo wouldn't do fer me? Wot a wunnerful thoughtful beast 'e is!"

Furmo waggled a paw in his numbed ear. "Oh, give yore wailin' a rest an' pass the beer."

"Wot was that you said, Furmo Log a Log?"

"I said, 'My love's unfailin', nothin' but the best for you, my dear!'"

, Squeaks of fright from the little ones caused Martin to leap up, sword in paw. A dark shadow circled overhead, suddenly dropping like a stone into their midst. The great goshawk, Krar Woodwatcher, folded his wings and bowed courteously.

"Oh joyous day, thou hast returned to my fiefdom, Prince of Mousethieves, and thou, too, Martin Warrior of Redwall."

Gonff nodded formally, with appropriate regal disdain. "Lackaday, sirrah, have thou a care, landing in such manner 'mongst the babes of Furmo, our faithful vassal!"

Krar lowered his beak to the ground in the face of such royal displeasure from the Prince of Mousethieves.

"Alas, 'twas not my intention to affright the babes thus, Prince. My hasty landing was prompted by a desire to be in company with thee an' thy noblebeasts once more."

Martin allowed his footpaw to touch the lethal beak. Krar did not see him exchange a wink with Gonff.

"I pray you, Prince Gonff, be not wrathful with our friend Woodwatcher. For we know him to be a good an' honest bird. Tarry with us, Krar, there are victuals aplenty here."

The huge fierce goshawk awaited Gonff's decision. Sensing he had pushed his luck far enough with the dangerous bird, Gonff smiled magnanimously, patting the ground at his side.

"I spoke in haste. Come, sit thee beside me, my faithful friend. It comes to my mind that one who battled with a swan in our defense must surely be worthy of our hospitality!"

Honeysuckle nudged Furmo, almost knocking him over. "D'ye hear that? Why don't you learn to speak like Gonff an' Martin? Proper gentlebeasts they are!"

Beau sat watching in open-mouthed admiration as food vanished down Krar's beak at an alarming rate.

"Great seasons o' starvation, d'you suppose that chap'll be able to fly when he's finished scoffin', wot wot?"

Trimp could not help teasing the hare with a wry comment. "I wonder if the Redwall Abbey kitchens will have enough food to keep up with the both of you?"

Dinny shook his head at the hedgehog maid's observation. "Burr aye, miz, oi 'adn't thought o' that. They'm two'll keep ee cooks gurtly busy, oi'm surrting o' that!"

Traveling upstream was not difficult as they traced back their original path. Tungro's tribe were strong swimmers, and they weaved in and out of the growing flotilla of shrew logboats surrounding the Honeysuckle, lending strong paws wherever they were needed. On a lazy golden afternoon, Gonff lay stretched out beneath the stern awning, tossing hazelnut pieces in the air and catching them in his mouth. Martin was napping nearby, whiskers gently twitching against a curious midge, bent on investigating his face. A fragment of nut, which Gonff had missed, bounced off Martin's nose, and he opened one eye slowly.

"D'you mind not disturbing me? It's not often I get the chance of an odd snooze."

Gonff aimed another piece of nut at his companion. "Snooze? How can you talk about snoozin', mate? We're nearly home! I'll be seein' my Columbine soon, haha, an' that Gonflet o' mine. Wonder if he's grown at all?"

Martin stared up at the changing leaf patterns, blinking as the sun traced through, blurring the edges.

"Oh, I imagine Gonflet will be tall enough to cause us more trouble, young scamp! I lope the work on our Abbey has progressed without too much bother. I bet Bella's missed us, though the kitchen crew will probably be glad you're gone. Pies can lie cooling on windowsills in safety."

"Hah! Not with my Gonflet runnin' loose they won't!"

In one smooth motion, Tungro slid aboard the skiff. He whispered urgently to Martin, "We're due to run into trouble, I think!"

The Warrior lay still, though his paw was seeking his blade. "What makes you think that, friend?"

"Well, I can 'ear a waterfall somewheres up ahead, but that ain't really it. Somebeasts are followin' us. I saw movement in the trees, ripples in our wake, an' I think they're up ahead of us, too!"

Immediately Martin arose, sword in paw. "Sounds like they've got us surrounded, eh, Gonff?"

"You two stop here. I'll go an' take a peek."

Gonff crawled out on deck and took stock of the situation. Tungro's otters were in the water, guarding the shrew logboats, which Furmo had grouped around the Honeysuckle. Only the streamsounds and the distant waterfall broke the ominous silence. Suddenly the soft autumn noontide had grown dangerous. Krar perched upon the Honeysuckle's prow, watching keenly. Folgrim had his ax out, and was standing in the stern of the back logboat. Furmo and his Guosim crouched, rapiers drawn. Gonff held up his paws, signaling everybeast to wait. His eye caught a movement in a tree-shaded shallow.

Then the Mousethief relaxed, waving his paws for the crew to stand down. He shouted then, his voice cutting the stillness. "Haharr, I'll bite y'tail off an' stuff it down yore ear!"

A gruff voice responded from the shallows. "Surrender, mousey, yer surrounded, mate!"

Gonff gave a broad wink to the Guosim shrews. "Surrounded? Y'great lard barrel, stay there. I'm comin' to surround you, ye forty-faced frogflusher!"

Hurling himself from the deck, Gonff hit the water with a loud splash and threw himself onto the creature which sped out from the bank. Streamwater boiled in chaos as the pair met, roaring and bellowing.

"Garraway Bullow, ye bangtailed riverdog, I knowed it was you all along. Take that!"

"Whupperyhoo, Gonffo, don't try t'fool me. You was scared out o'yore mousey wits, admit it!"

"Scared? I been scareder of dead logs floatin' in the water. Only thing I'm scared of is that you won't 'ave supper ready, ye whiskery waterwet puddenwalloper!"

Yelling with delight, Folgrim and Tungro dived into the water. "Auntie Garraway, 'tis us, yore nephews!"

"Oh no, lock the larders, it's Bargud's brats. I .ookit the size of 'em. My pore sister must've starved t'death tryin' to feed 'em. Gonffo, get 'em off me!"

Otters of Garraway's tribe began popping up everywhere, shouting to the otters from Tungro's crew, who yelled back at them. Trimp looked to Martin, who was chuckling and shaking his head at their antics.

"It looks like the two tribes are related. We're surrounded by aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews. Yugggh!"

A large pawful of soggy bankmud caught Martin full on the nose. Both groups of otters were so happy to see each other that they had started a mud fight. The remainder of the Honeysuckle's crew and Furmo's shrews did not hesitate. Laughing madly they leaped into the water, joining in the fun. Right along the bank they fought, slinging heaps of sludgy brown mud at one another, slipping, sliding and splashing as they pelted away furiously. Mud was everywhere! Swiftly aimed globs of the sticky goo splattered, sticking to fur, spikes, muzzles, paws and tails. A practically unrecognizable hedgehog maid stumbled into what appeared to be a small moving mud mound.

"Heehee, is dat you, miz Trimp?"

"Hahaha, of course it is, who're you?"

"On'y a likkle Chugg, take dat!"

"Yutch! You filthy imp, don't chuck mud at me. Throw it at those otters, they started it!"

"Heehee, I frow muds at everybeast, here some more f'you!"

Whizz! Splat! Splotch! Whopp!

Only Krar remained aloof, perched on the skiff's prow, shaking his head in disgust at the undignified spectacle.

"Zounds, 'tis surely a day of fools' delight. These riverdogs are a mad species methinks. Yawch!"

A mud-covered Beau stooped to gather more. "Oh, well hit, Fethringsol. Maybe that'll spoil the great pompous featherbag's appetite, wot!"

Evening had fallen by the time both sides had wearied of mud throwing and washed themselves off in the stream. Queen Garraway Bullow took a last chance to grab her nephews and duck them soundly.

Gonff waded over. "Ahoy, what's goin' on here? Tryin' to drown off yore kin?"

"That's right, Gonffo. Disrespectful rascals, I'll teach 'em to address me as Yore Majesty, not auntie Garraway. Well, friend, we'd best rest up awhile, then I'll have my crew rig blocks'n'tackles to pull yore pretty boat over the waterfall. 'Tis the least I can do for such fighters!"

Folgrim broke the surface, blowing water. "Aye, 'cos if you don't, yore name'll be mud forever!"

Chapter 39

Milk-white mist covered the land up to the height of a tall elm tree. Early dawn silence lay over Redwall Abbey, disturbed only by muted birdsong from afar. It was an hour after dawn. Skipper and Bella leaned on the north battlements, with Gonflet between them. Keeping a paw behind the little mouse, Bella cautioned him, "Stay away from the battlement edge. Your mum'll have a word or two to say if I let you fall."

Gonflet stamped his paws in frustration, peering into the blanket of mist. "When'll my daddy be's com in' back, Skip?"

Skipper sat the tiny fellow on his shoulder, out of harm.

"Oh, don't you fret, mate. He'll come back soon now. Maybe later on, when the mist lifts."

Gonflet tugged the otter's ear. "Phwaw! You say that alla time, every day, Skip!"

Columbine's voice sounded from the lawn below. "Hello, Bella, Skip, where are you?"

"Up 'ere, marm, west corner o' north wall!"

Columbine came up the wallsteps, carrying a tray, which she placed on the wall.

"Gracious, you three are up here early today. Surely there's not much point yet, with all this autumn mist about. Gonflet, shouldn't you still be in your bed?"

"No no, it my turn to watch for daddy. Miz Bell an' Skip 'elpin' me. My daddy come soon, you see!"

Columbine stroked her son's head fondly. "Yes, I'm sure he will. Oh, look, the mist is turning gold! Come and have some breakfast now. The sun will burn all this mist away before long."

Columbine stayed on the ramparts with them. Still surrounded by the cocoon of golden autumnal mist, they ate bowls of hot oatmeal with fresh berries and honey.

With otters hauling and shrews pushing, the skiff Honeysuckle slid over the ditch and out of west Mossflower's trees onto the path. It was the same spot where Trimp had met Ferdy and Coggs a season before.

Gonff called through the mist to Martin, "Hoist the sail, matey!"

Furmo shook his head at the Mousethief. "Wot d'you want the sail spread for, matey? We're in a fog, there ain't a feather o' breeze nowheres to stir her sail."

Taking a brightly colored Guosim headband, Gonff bound it about his brow. He climbed to the prow and struck a pose. "You an' the breeze can do what you like, Log a Log, but if I'm comin' home then I'm goin' to arrive in style, eh, Martin?"

His friend joined him on the prow, drawing his sword and pointing forward in an equally heroic pose. "Right, mate. Let's go home!"

Furmo nodded admiringly at the pair. "That's the way, crewmates. Come on, everybeast, we'll grease the wheels, comb our whiskers, haul the ropes an' sing our friends home every bit o' the way. You all know 'Journey's End.' Trimp, you take the top harmony, I'll do the baritone, an' Garraway the bass. One two three ..."

Away the Honeysuckle rolled down the path, with her crew pulling the head ropes, two tribes of otters and a tribe of Guosim crowding around to push; Martin, Gonff, Dinny and Trimp, the original four who had set out from the Abbey, all standing in the prow. Krar perched on the masthead, keeping a firm grip on Chugger, who still considered himself captain.

Now the sun was beginning to thin the mist, they could see through it. As they rounded a bend by a grove of oaks, the singing suddenly died, and the Honeysuckle rolled to a halt. Everybeast looked up and saw Redwall.

Floating above the golden mist like a vision from some wondrous dream, south gable reared to the soft blue skies, with the weather vane standing proud atop the dusty rose-colored sandstone buttresses. It was a magical, breathtaking sight. For one awestruck moment they all stood, gazing dumbly, then a mighty cheer broke out. Dinny chuckled proudly, through tears he was unable to check, "Yonder be moi 'ome!"

Gonflet sprang from Skipper's shoulders onto the northwest corner battlement, which was higher than I he rest. Skipper held out his paws for the little mouse to jump back down again.

"Come offa there, matey. You can't see anythin' yet in this mist."

Columbine sensed something. She looked up at her son. "Gonflet, what is it?"

"I 'ear 'em, mamma! Lissen! Daddy comes 'ome! Lissen!"

Faintly at first, but growing in volume, the sound of manybeasts singing reached the walltops. Bella scrambled up onto the battlement and laughed aloud with joy.

"There's a ship coming down the path! A ship! Would you believe it, friends, I see them! I see them!"

High into the sunny morning the song rang out.

"Marching home! Marching home!

Jolly friend! Jolly friend!

Trav'ling on, until our journey's end,

So away with all your fears,

Smile with me, forget those tears,

Though the road was long an' dusty we survived.

And arrived!

Tramp tramp tramp tramp,

Lay your head down where you camp,

It ain't your home or fireside.

Tramp tramp tramp tramp,

Moorlands dry or forests damp,

Sharing together side by side.

Marching home! Marching home!

Jolly friend! Jolly friend!

O'er each highland, around each river's bend,

Keep your chin up in the rain,

Soon we'll be back home again,

Though my paws are worn an' weary never fear.

Oh my dear!

Left right left right,

Onward mate by day or night,

Lean on my shoulder now old friend,

Left right left right,

Grey the day or sunlight bright,

Until we reach our journey's end.

Marching home! Marching home!"

Bella's shouts boomed like thunder over the lawns.

"Rouse yourselves, Redwallers, they're back! Turn out the cooks! Open the gates! They've come back home!"

As Ferdy and Coggs flung the outer gates wide, Columbine allowed Gonflet to dash off and meet the ship. He was swept aboard and lifted onto his father's shoulders. Ferdy and Coggs, still in their nightshirts, held the outer wall gates wide open. With all the creatures of Redwall pushing it, the skiff Honeysuckle sailed regally inside, halting in the center of the main lawn. Gonff leaped down with Gonflet still on his shoulders, swept Columbine up and hugged her tight. "Yore Prince o' Mousethieves is returned, milady!"

Chaotic greetings broke out everywhere.

"Oh, Dinny, our faithful Foremole, how we missed you, my friend. Welcome home, welcome home!"

"Hurr, thankee, miz Bell, oi missed ee too, aye, so gurtly that oi be lostened furr wurds, marm!"

"Uncle Warthorn, it is you, ain't it?"

"Well rip me rudder, so 'tis. Don't tell me yore Bargud's sons? Lookit the size o' you both. Wot were ye fed on, boulders'n'logs? Fergit Warthorn, call me Skip. 'Ere, come an' meet Mayberry an' Catkin. I thinks they're yore cousins, but I'll let ye know when I works it out!"

"Ferdy, Coggs, hello there, 'tis me!"

"Why so 'tis, miz Trimp. Y'look taller, I think!"

"Aye, an' pretty as ever. Good to 'ave ye back, me dear!"

"H'i name Chugg, only a likkle squiggle, hut lotsa t'ubble!"

"Me called Gonflet, I lotsa t'ubble, too, Chugg!"

"Ahoy there, Skip, whupperyhoo to ye. Let go o' those two bullies an' shake yore otterkin's paw, ye ole rascal!"

"Haharr, Garraway Bullow, me ole heart's delight. C'mere, me second cousin twice removed an' longtailed on yore granma's side!"

Amid the shouting and laughing as old friends were reunited and new ones made, a small stooped figure, leaning on a blackthorn stick, shuffled across the lawn. Everybeast made way for Abbess Germaine. Mayberry and Catkin hurried forward, assisting her to the Honeysuckle's prow, where Martin stood waiting to meet her. Drawing his sword he knelt, laying it at the old mouse's footpaws. She smiled.

"Martin of Redwall, you have returned to us, my friend."

"Aye, Mother Abbess. It was a good journev, a long and eventful summer. I am happy to be back at Redwall."

The Abbess Germaine waved her stick at the strange craft standing in the middle of the lawn, with a great goshawk perched on its prow.

"An eventful summer indeed, Martin. What is all this?"

"That is Log a Log Furmo's skiff Honeysuckle, named after his goodwife, marm. Yonder noble bird is Krar Woodwatcher, a valiant fighter and a great friend to us. These shrews are Guosim, and we have with us two tribes of ottersthe tribes of Queen Garraway Bullow and the brothers Folgrim and Tungro."

Abbess Germaine silenced Martin by raising her paw.

"Enough. You will confuse my old mind if you carry on further, Martin. Welcome, welcome to you all, peace be with you, may you find happiness and joy within Redwall Abbey. If there is anything you need from me or my Redwallers, please do not hesitate to ask for it."

In the brief silence which followed this announcement, the old hare confronted the Abbess with a courteous, though slightly creaky, bow.

"Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham at y'service, marm. I was, er, wonderin', wot, er, if perchance, you maybe had, er, a slight, hmmmmm, beggin' y'pardon of course, er, er .. ."

Germaine nodded. She understood him completely. "I take it you are hungry, mister Cosfortingham?"

Beau nodded eagerly, still stammering. "Quite, er ah, thank ye, marm, I am mayhap a little, er, shall we say, er, peckish?"

Smiling broadly, the old Abbess took his paw. "I never knew a hare who was not hungry, sir. We have been preparing since the back end of summer for such an event, and we have plenty enough for everybeast including you, sir. Is everything ready, Bella?"

The Badgermother nodded, pointing toward the orchard. "By the time the mist has risen completely. Cooks, servers, cell.irhogs, helpers, to your stations for the feast!"

A mighty cheer arose into the autumn morn as the Redwall helpers hurried off to the kitchens for their trolleys. Paw in paw, all the guests strolled off behind them, chatting animatedly at the prospect of Redwall hospitality.

"A feast eh wot, hope there's enough for all this lot, wot?"

"Burr, zurr, you'm bain't never been to ee Redwall feast. Thurr be enuff gudd vittles to keep twice this yurr number a-goin' furr ee full season. Hurr aye!"

"Ahoy, Ferdy, waitll you see ole Krar take to the vittles. That bird could make you look like a Dibbun at table!"

"We'll see about that, Gonff. What about yon hare?"

"Hoho, don't even ask, matey. His name should've been Famine, not Fethringsol. Don't sit next to him!"

"I sit by you, Gonflet, we eats everyfink all up, eh?"

"Ho yiss, but later, Chugg, come wiv me, we pincha pies off the windowsills, they still coolin'. Heehee!"

"Looks like you've got double trouble there, miz Columbine."

"You could be right, Skip, treble trouble if you count Gonff. But better the trouble that we know, and at least they're home safe and sound!"

"Gurr, 'ome, marm, bain't et a wunnerful won!!"

Epilogue

Extract from the journal of Germaine, Mother Abbess of Redwall Abbey.

It is winter now, a time for sitting 'round the fire in Cavern Hole and storytelling on long dark evenings. By the time next winter arrives our Abbey will be completely built. Never have we had so many welcome and useful guests. This beautiful desk I am sitting at was made by the tribe of Tungro, as is all our furniture what wonderfully skilled craftsbeasts those otters are. His brother Folgrim is to stay here and live with us; he and Skipper have become inseparable. Many of our guests will stay permanently. It gives me great joy, they are good hardworking creatures. Trimp and Chugger are now part of Gonff's family. How could they not be happy with two such as our Prince of Mousethieves and his lovely wife, Columbine. Everybeast here says that I still have many seasons in front of me. I hope so, Redwall is such a joyous place to be. I look forward each morning to breakfast with my close companions, Vurg and Beau. I wish I could have gone sea roving with them in my younger seasons. What adventures they have had!

Martin seems to have regained his old zest for life. He is not the troubled Warrior anymore. It was a wondrous tale he had to tell, both of himself and his brave father, Luke. It was also very sad at times, but does not sadness mingle with joy, to make us grow fully into the creatures we are? Strangest of all, though, he showed me something from a beaded linen bag, which belonged to his poor mother. It was a woven tapestry of his grandsire, who was also called Martin. The picture is of a mouse in armor, bearing a great sword. I was amazed, it looked like Martin himself, to the very life. Though he said to me that it reminded him greatly of Luke, his father. Columbine has had a lovely idea: she thinks that the picture might form a centerpiece for a big tapestry, which would someday hang in Great Hall. When I look at the picture, I know it is our Martin. I think that he and his ancestors have always been warriors, champions, whose spirits exist to inspire good honest creatures.

Martin has also done a remarkable thing. He has decided to give up his sword and live a life of peace. He has done so much to help found our Abbey that no creature could deny him the right to do this. The goshawk, Krar Woodwatcher, has hidden the sword where Martin directed him to put it. The only hint he gave of the great sword's location was to me and no other. These are his words.

Above where autumn's mists do rise,

Where I beheld with mine own eyes,

My dream, my vision, hov'ring there,

One morn upon old Mossflower's air.

Then he said a strange thing to me which I will tell to you.

I stand here in this world alone,

No kin of mine to take the sword,

No son or daughter of my own,

A bitter and a sad reward,

But Redwall in its hour of need,

Will bring forth one to follow me,

To that one, valiant in deed,

I leave a Warrior's legacy.

Then he would talk no more of such matters. Now if I want to find him, I have only to follow the sound of our Abbey babes, the Dibbuns, laughing and playing. Martin will be there, joining in with them; Gonff, too. They are both enjoying a new-found happiness, though I doubt that our Prince of Mousethieves ever really grew up. Perhaps Martin is making up for the lost seasons of his youth, who knows? It does every Redwaller's heart good to see him thus.

Well, my friends, I am tired now, that is the privilege of an old Abbess, burdened with so many long seasons. I will go down to Cavern Hole and sit in my big chair by the fire, with a blanket on my lap. There I can listen to the songs and the stories, watch the young ones dance and play, drink some hot cordial and drift off into a warm sleep, while winter reigns outside in the night. I won't say goodbye to you, because one evening you may drop by to share this good life with us. You know you are always welcome at Redwall Abbey. All you need to bring with you is a ready smile and an open heart.

Germaine, Abbess of Redwall