Eulalia!

The young hedgehog sighed. "That's twice in two days somebeast's not said my name right. It's Prink, not Stink. Orkwil, not Awful. Orkwil Prink, if y'please!"

Codj sneered, pricking his captive's throat with the swordpoint. "If y'please? Well, don't 'e talk pritty. I asked yew a question, Orful Stink, where do ya come from? Ye'd better speak afore I starts carvin' ya!"

Orkwil answered quickly. "I'm from Redwall Abbey, sir, but I was on a short trip, y'see, an' I wandered into that swa ..."

Codj hauled him upright sharply. "Redwall Abbey, eh, yore jus' the bucko we're lookin' for. Vizka'll want to talk wid yew! Lash 'im up good an' fetch 'im along, mates!"

Orkwil knew it would do no good to protest, the vermin looked like a primitive and murderous crew. Moments later he was bound by all paws to a spearpole, and carried off, swinging upside down between two weasels.

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11

It was dusk by the time they arrived back aboard the Bludgullet. Vizka Longtooth cast a glance at the mudcaked young hedgehog, who was trussed to the spearpole. He shook his head pityingly at his younger brother. "Dat's der queerest kind o' vittles I've seen in a while. Wot d'yer want luggin' dat filthy 'edgepig aboard of a nice ship like dis?"

Codj flourished his sword, pointing it at Orkwil. "Jus' guess where dis 'edgepig comes from."

The golden fox wrinkled his nose. "A swamp by the smell of 'im!"

Codj nodded. "Aye, dat's where we found 'im, but do yew know where 'e lives, eh?"

Vizka stared levelly at his brother and smiled. It was that dangerous smile, which Codj had come to know so well. Vizka reached for Gorath's pitchfork. "I'm gittin' tired o' yore liddle games. Tell me, afore I does sumthin' I'll be sorry for later. Where does 'e live?"

Codj answered promptly. "Redwall Abbey!"

Vizka flung the pitchfork, it stuck deep into the mast, quivering. Grabbing his brother in a hearty embrace, Vizka pounded his back soundly. "At last ye've done summat right, Codj! Haharr, strike me anchor an' gut me grandpa,

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a beast wot actually comes from Redwall Abbey? I knowed dat place was real, I jus' knowed it!"

Bending down, Vizka brought his face level with the captive. "Wot's yer name, liddle muddy matey?"

The young hedgehog replied wearily, "Orkwil Prink, sir."

The golden fox threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "Haharrharrharrr! It suits yer well, Orful Stink! D'ye hear that, mates, the 'edgepig's called Orful Stink!"

The crew laughed dutifully, nobeast dared not to, even Codj. Orkwil closed his eyes resignedly, not even bothering to correct his captor.

Vizka signalled to Bilger. "Sluice 'im down an' clean 'im up, get rid of Orful's Stink. Hahaharrr, that's a good 'un, eh!"

The pails of river water which splashed over Orkwil were both clean and refreshing, he even managed to catch a swift drink. Vizka smiled his famous deadly smile, the long fangs protruding.

"Now lissen, mate, me'n my crew wants ter pay yore Abbey a nice liddle visit. But we don't knows 'ow t'get there. Ye looks like a sensible young 'edgepig, so yew tell me 'ow, an' I'll take yore werd fer it, eh?"

Orkwil shut both eyes tight and clenched his teeth. The very idea of this barbarian fox and his evil crew going to Redwall did not bear thinking about. Though he was cringing with fear inside, Orkwil decided that no matter what happened to him, he would not divulge the location of the Abbey, which had suddenly become so dear to him it meant more than life itself.

Codj prodded the captive with his sword. "Ye'd better tell der cap'n wot 'e wants t'know, or yer name'll be Orful Sorry."

Nobeast laughed at Codj's pun.

Vizka smiled, stroking his two long fangs as he viewed Orkwil's show of resistance. "Lissen, 'edgepig, I knows yer

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can 'ear me. Tomorrer morn I'm gonna git the galley fire burnin', good an' 'ot, an' I'm gonna stick a spit over it. Now I ain't sayin' no more, I'll jus' leave ye for de night, to t'ink about wot I'll do to yer. Never fear, by der time Longtooth's done wid ya, yore name'll be Orful 'elpful. Haharr, 'ow about dat, mates, Orful 'elpful?"

The Bludgullet's crew laughed obediently once more, even Jungo, who had not understood his captain's joke.

Vizka issued orders to his brother. "Cut 'im loose, an' chain 'im next to Rock'ead fer the night. Wake me early tomorrer, d'ye hear? Oh, an' keep an eye on our 'edgepig through the night."

When they came to cut Orkwil's bonds, he kicked and fought furiously. Bilger, Firty and Jungo had to hold him still as Codj severed the rope with his sword. Between them they dragged Orkwil to the mast, where Gorath lay chained. The badger appeared to be either unconscious or dead. Codj was not about to check on Gorath's condition, he stood with his sword ready, as Bilger and the others took a loop in the chain, and padlocked it around Orkwil's waist. Gorath suddenly stirred, so they got out of the way speedily.

Codj beckoned to his messmates. "Let's go an' git some vittles an' grog, the 'edgepig ain't goin' anyplace ... unless the stripe'ound eats 'im!"

Jungo scratched his tail. "Do stripe'ounds eat 'edgepigs? I didn't know dat."

Firty gave him a playful shove. "Codj wuz only jokin'."

Jungo thought about that for awhile, then called out to Orkwil as they headed toward the galley. "Don't worry if'n der stripe'ound eats yer, mate, 'e's only jokin'. Hurr-hurrhurrr!"

When they had gone, Orkwil tapped the badger gingerly. "How did you come to be captured, friend?"

Gorath opened his eyes, his voice sounded hoarse and slow. "I'm from the Northern Isles, they burned my house, and slew my grandparents. The one they call Longtooth

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battered me down with a ball and chain. I woke up chained to this mast. I don't know how long I've been on this ship, lost count of the days. My name is Gorath." He held out a huge, workworn paw. Orkwil clasped it.

"My name's Orkwil Prink, I'm from Redwall Abbey."

The big, young badger suddenly became alert. "Redwall Abbey! I've heard about it, Orkwil, is it as marvellous as they say?"

The young hedgehog's eyes filled with tears. "Even more marvellous, Gorath, I've come to realise that now. That golden fox, Longtooth, he wants to go there with his vermin. I'm sure they plan on attacking it. Listen, friend, we've got to get to Redwall before they do. Could you make it?"

The badger's reply was tinged with bitter irony. "Why of course, Orkwil, but there's a little matter of a steel chain and an iron padlock holding me to the mast. Only for that I'd love to go to Redwall with you. I see you're locked up, too, how do you plan on leaving this ship?"

The young hedgehog inspected the padlock that held him to the chain, then he took a glance at Gorath's lock. "Huh, that shouldn't be too hard, mate, I've dealt with better locks than these rusty ole things."

The badger seized his friend's paw. "D'you mean you could open these locks?"

Orkwil winced. "Aye, providin' you don't break my paw, you've got a grip like a pike's jaw. Find me somethin' like a pin, or a nail, an' I'll have us free in a jiffy!"

They sat there, scanning the deck keenly, but there was no sign of anything useful. Then Orkwil pointed. "What's that thing sticking in the mast?"

Gorath's heart leapt as he caught sight of the object. "That's Tung, my pitchfork. The fox must've forgotten he threw it. He walked off and left it there!"

Orkwil cautioned Gorath. "Keep yore voice down, mate.... Whoops!"

Being locked close to Gorath on the chain, Orkwil was

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suddenly swung into the air as the badger reached up and grabbed the pitchfork, which he pulled loose with a few good tugs. Orkwil hit the deck with a bump, gabbling out instructions to his big friend.

"Get down an' lay low, hide that thing before anybeast comes up on deck, hurry!"

Gorath lay flat, concealing most of the pitchfork with his body. Orkwil kept watch, assuring himself that all was quiet above deck. He ran his paws around the mast, searching until he found what he needed.

"Now go nice'n'easy, friend, there's a nail stickin' out a bit, right about where my paw is now. Could you lever it out quietly with one o' the prongs of your fork?"

Whilst Orkwil kept watch, Gorath probed at the nail-head. Getting the prong of his weapon beneath the lip of the nail, he levered carefully at it. The nail gave a slight creak, then it began to move, bit by bit. Gorath wiggled it from side to side, until it loosened. Putting the pitchfork aside, he braced himself. Gripping the nail in his big, blunt claws, he heaved away, yanking it free of the mast timber. '

They both sat with their backs to the mast, as Orkwil took the nail and went to work. He twiddled it in the keyhole of Gorath's lock. The badger watched anxiously, whispering, "What's happening, is it opening?" He fell silent as the young hedgehog glared at him, wiggling the nail back and forth. Orkwil grinned.

"A good thief can open any lock. There!"

The padlock lay open. Gorath breathed a huge sigh as he loosed the chain from his middle.

Orkwil chided him, "Be still, bigbeast, give me a chance to get my lock off. Wait... wait... ah, there it goes, mate!" The chain clanked to the deck. Orkwil was about to rise, when he sat back down speedily. "Be still, somebeast's comin'!"

It was Codj, coming to check up on the two prisoners. Halting where he knew he was out of the badger's reach,

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the stump-tailed fox peered through the darkness at them both. He was surprised to see Gorath sitting upright, though he could not see that the captives were free. Codj turned away, heading back to his cabin, commenting aloud, "Still alive, eh, Rock'ead, huh, wot keeps ya goin'?" He half-turned as something sounded behind him, but Codj was too late. Gorath's huge paws were around the fox's neck, and he was whispering in his ear.

"I'll tell you what keeps me going, the need to slay my kinbeasts' murderer. Tell me again how you locked them in a farmhouse, and burned them alive. Tell me!"

Orkwil watched in horrified fascination as Gorath shook the already dead fox like a rag. He ran to the badger, tugging at his simple, homespun tunic. "Come on, mate, leave him, we've got to get away from here. We must get to Red-wall an' sound the alarm!"

With the limp form of the fox still clenched in his paws, Gorath turned to face the young hedgehog. Orkwil gasped with fear. The badger's eyes were blood red, his teeth bared like a madbeast. Gorath was in the grip of Bloodwrath. Then something very odd happened. Gorath dropped the carcass of his foe, picked up both Orkwil and his pitchfork and slid over the side of the ship, into the River Moss. By the time they reached the bank, he appeared quite calm. Orkwil attributed his friend's sudden change to the cold riverwater.

"Which way to your Abbey, my friend?"

Orkwil pointed. "Go east, we'll cross to the other bank when we're safe out of this area."

They set off into the nightshaded woodland, with Orkwil leading the way. He had been walking rapidly for awhile, when he noticed that Gorath was dropping behind. The badger's pace was noticeably slower, and he was having to stop, leaning on the pitchfork, with his huge striped head drooping. The hedgehog waited until his friend caught him up, one look at Gorath was all he needed, Orkwil shook his head.

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"Yore in bad shape, everythin' is catchin' up on ye. Rest, an' vittles, that's what y'need, matey. Sit down."

Gorath slumped wearily to the ground. His head wound, thirst, starvation and cruel treatment had finally taken its toll. That, with his brief attack of Bloodwrath, had left him as weak as a Dibbun.

Orkwil scratched his headspikes, trying to think what to do. The answer came to him in a flash, he took command, issuing Gorath with orders. "I've got it! I know this neck o' the woods, mate. Now you stay here, keep that Tung thing with ye, but don't move, sit right here. I think there's a big, ole bed of ferns hereabouts, stay clear of it, 'cos it's a swamp. Someplace along the bank there's a fat, greedy vole. That beast's got two things we need, vittles an' a place to rest. You stop here, I'll come back for ye as soon as I can. Understood?"

Gorath rose with a grunt. "I'm coming with you."

Orkwil folded his paws resolutely. "No, you ain't, I said yore stayin' here!"

"And I said I'm coming with you!"

The pitchfork prongs were a spike's breadth from Orkwil's snout. He hardened his voice as he glared at Gorath. "That's what I said, yore comin' with me. Now stop ar-guin' an' let's get movin', bigbeast!"

The bankvole was quite a good cook, by woodland standards. He was sitting on the edge of the river, just outside of his dwelling, savouring the aroma of a large, speckled trout. Only the previous day he had netted it in a reed snare. It was not often that such a feast was to be had, speckled trout were cunning and swift on the River Moss, but voles, particularly old and greedy ones, were equally sly and quick.

The watervole had been up most of the night, preparing himself an epic breakfast. He had dug a firepit, laying his ingredients on the white-hot charcoal embers. A layer of

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fresh watercress and dandelion leaves, with fragrant mint, pennywort and sorrel. Next came the trout, stuffed with mushrooms and some almonds he had been saving for such an occasion. Topping the lot with a layer of dock-leaves, he covered the pit, and its contents, with loam. Soon it would be baked to a turn.

Sipping a beaker of his own home-brewed cider, the watervole sniffed the delicious aroma permeating through the loam.

"Mmmmm, is that baked trout I can smell, marvellous!"

The vole's paw reached for the club, which lay beside him, as he snarled viciously at Orkwil Prink. "So, it's you agin', well, I'm ready for ye this time, 'edgepig. Try any-thin' wid me an' ye'll join those two water rats, weighted down wid rocks in the swamp!" Waving the club, he scrabbled around with his free paw, and came up with a long dagger. "Aye, I'm good'n'ready, so make yore move, if ye dare!"

Orkwil shook his head, feigning sadness. "Well, there's gratitude for you, after me savin' his life. If I'd known he was goin' to be so nasty I wouldn't have invited you along, my friend."

The vole looked over his shoulder, to see whom the young hedgehog was addressing. His jaw dropped at the sight of the huge badger carrying a pitchfork. Dropping both club and dagger, the terrified beast took to his paws and fled into the woodlands.

Orkwil began raking the loam from off the cooked trout. "Dearie me, I never knew voles could run as fast as that. D'you think it was somethin' I said?"

Squatting down beside the cooking pit, Gorath helped to lift the delicious repast out onto the bank.

"Who knows, perhaps he didn't feel very hungry?" For the first time, Orkwil saw his friend smile. Indicating the fish, the young hedgehog smiled back. "I'll wager you feel hungry, mate. Look, why don't you stop here, eat your fill

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and rest. I can make it to the Abbey alone, yore too weary an' ill to travel far. I'll get help sent out to you, just take it easy, you've been through enough."

Gorath used the vole's dagger to share out the meal. "Eat up and don't talk so much, Orkwil. I'm coming with you, just as I've been ordered to."

The young hedgehog looked oddly at his companion. "Ordered to, wot d'ye mean?"

Gorath explained, "While I was chained to the mast of that ship, I saw things in my mind. A mouse who carried a sword spoke to me, he told me to watch for the young thief. You told me yourself that you were the thief, remember, when you were opening the locks. That mouse halted my Bloodwrath. Do you know what Bloodwrath is?"

Orkwil shook his head, so Gorath continued.

"My grandparents called it the affliction of Badger Warriors. It is a rage for battle that cannot be stopped. When the Bloodwrath strikes I lose all control of myself. Nothing can stand against me in my lust for slaughter, nothing but death itself."

Orkwil's voice sounded very small. "I saw it on the ship, when you seized the fox, it looked as if yore eyes were filled with blood."

Gorath nodded. "Aye, that was Bloodwrath, I would have attacked that full vermin crew. But in this weakened state, they would have overcome me with their numbers. It was the sword mouse who brought me out of it. He appeared in my mind, and told me to go to Redwall with you. So don't try to stop me, little friend, eat this food and we'll be on our way."

Orkwil began wolfing down the food, talking with his mouth full. "Right, I'll try not to stop you, mate. Anyhow, I lost my staff in the swamp, so I couldn't really, could I?"

Gorath passed the vole's club and dagger to him. "You'd best take these."

Orkwil could see Gorath was smiling. He brandished

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the weapons, slitting his eyes fiercely. "There, how do I look now, eh?"

The young badger managed a straight face. "Oh, very savage, a real terror I'd say!"

Orkwil took a last mouthful of food and licked his paws. "Come on, then, let's go to Redwall, mate! Oh, before I forget, there's something there that I want you to see."

They set off along the bankside together, the badger's curiosity was aroused. "What's that?"

"Just a friend of yours, the sword mouse, is that what you called him?" Orkwil winked broadly, and would not say anything further.

Dawn glimmered through the trees onto the River Moss. Vizka Longtooth lay asleep in his cabin, gradually coming awake to the sound of voices outside his cabin door.

"Yew tell 'im, Glurma, 'twas ye wot found 'im!" Firty's remark was followed by the cook's denial.

"Ho no, mate, yew see'd 'im afore I did, I was on'y da one who tripped up over 'im on me way t'the galley."

Jungo interrupted Glurma. "Why don't youse both tell de cap'n t'gether?"

Firty rounded on him irately. "Why don't yew tell 'im, bigmouth, go on. March in dere an' say, 'Cap'n, I got news for ye, Codj is dead'!"

The cabin door flew open, knocking Firty flat, and smacking the rat cook in her bulging stomach. Vizka grabbed Jungo by the neck. "My brudder dead, where, 'ow?"

The hapless weasel's windpipe was constricted, he gurgled, "Gollawolla me, Clap'n, yer krokklin' me!"

Glurma rubbed her stomach with one paw, gesturing with the other. "Over dere by d'mast, 'e's over dere!"

The golden fox rushed to the spot. Hardly paying any attention to the crumpled figure of his brother, he stared wildly around, yelling, "Where's der stripe'ound an' dat 'edgepig?"

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Bilger, who had just appeared on deck, took in the situation at a glance. "Gone, Cap'n!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Vizka felled him with a hard blow, and jumped up and down on him, roaring, "I kin see dey're gone, mud'ead! But who saw 'em, an' where've dey gone to?"

The rest of the crew had turned out to see what all the commotion was about. Vizka rounded on them. "Don't jus' stan' there, do sumthin', go an' track 'em!"

Keeping her distance, Glurma the cook called out, "None of dem kin track, Cap'n, we ain't got a trail follerer aboard!"

Vizka kicked the prone form of Bilger. "Den go an' find one an' bring 'im back 'ere!"

There was a mass scramble as the vermin followed Bilger to the rail, nobeast wanted to stay aboard with their captain in his present mood. About ten made it into the river, when Vizka halted the rest.

"Git back 'ere, it don't take all of youse to find a tracker. Line up there, where I kin see ye!"

The remainder of the crew formed a haphazard line. They stood staring at the deck, as Vizka paced up and down in front of them, glaring.

"Wot a crew, eh? Y'spends yer lives snorin' an' eatin', huh, dat's when yer not swiggin' grog. Lettin' prisoners escape, dat's all yore good for!" He went to the tiller and leaned on it, shaking his head. "An' dere's my pore brudder, deader 'n a stone. Codj was worth more'n all of ya put t'gether, now 'e's gotta be laid t'rest. Dogleg, Patchy, find some sailcloth an' wrap Codj up in it. Bind it round wid dat chain, so 'e'U sink. Firty, make up some nice, fittin' werds to say for when my brudder goes overboard."

The two stoats, Dogleg and Patchy, parcelled the carcass of Codj up in a length of sailcloth. They bound it with the chain which Gorath had been locked to. Six crewbeasts bore the bundle to the rail, where they balanced it. Firty

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stepped forward at a nod from his captain, and dirged the eulogy he had hurriedly put together about Codj.

"Parcelled up in sail an' chain, we won't see young Codj again,

'e's goin' down where der fishes play, one shove'll send 'im on 'is way, while all 'is good ole shipmates wail, fer one pore fox widout a tail!"

Vizka gave the bundle its required shove, sending it overboard. The golden fox wiped water from his eye, which some of the crew mistook for a tear, but it was only caused by a splash as Codj hit the river. A shout came from the bank foliage.

"Ahoy, Cap'n, we found ye a tracker!"

Bilger and his mates scrambled aboard, dragging with them a creature who was not having the happiest of days. It was the watervole. Bilger sent him sprawling with a well-aimed kick. "Dis ole hairy mouse knows der way to dat Abbey place, Cap'n, an' 'e sez dat stripe'ound an' de 'edgepig robbed 'is brekkist jus' afore dawn."

The prisoner attempted to rise, but Vizka booted him flat again. "Wot's ya name, 'airy mouse?"

The watervole snapped abruptly, "I'm a vole!"

Vizka allowed him to stand upright. "Well, if'n ye wants ter stay alive, vole, ye'd best tell me where Redwall Abbey is."

The captive indicated with a sullen nod. "Upriver to the ford, an' south down the road, as far as I know."

Vizka tweaked his captive's snout until tears poured from the vole's eyes. "Yer a feisty ole crab, ain't ya? Well, let me tell ye, I'm der cap'n o' dis ship, so ye'd best show me some respeck, or yer'll be a dead 'airy mouse!"

Still tweaking his victim's snout, Vizka gave orders. "Weigh anchor an' get under way, we'll pole 'er upriver

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t'der ford. Dogleg, give dis 'un a paddle an' put 'im ta work. Fasten 'im on a lead, we don't want 'im slippin' away. Hah, we might need an 'airy mouse when we gits ter Redwall."

By midnoon of that hot, summer day, Bludgullet had progressed well. The vole stared at the entrance hole to his dwelling as they sailed past it. He silently cursed the bad fortune which had thrown him into the paws of Vizka Longtooth and his Sea Raiders. His reverie did not last long, though. A sharp tug on the tethering rope tied around his neck dragged him back to reality. Bilger was shouting at him.

"Keep movin', get dat paddle a-pushin', move yer wobbly ole bottom or I'll move it for ya!"

The watervole spat on his blistered paws, glaring at his taskmaster, as he punted deep with the long paddle.

Soft evening shades were draping over the land as Orkwil and Gorath waded across the River Moss, where it forded the path. Orkwil pointed south. "If we push on, I reckon we might get to the Abbey sometime after supper."

Gorath began plodding wearily down the path. "Do you think there'll be any supper left over?"

Orkwil matched his big friend's flagging pace. "There's always food to be had at Redwall, mate, anytime of the night or day, you'll see."

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12

It was fully dawn when the trio slowed their headlong dash through the woodlands. Luglug beckoned to a strata of sandstone ledges, dotted with bushes and shrubbery. He drew his rapier.

"That place looks like snake land t'me, go careful now. Serpents like these shaded places, with lots o' nooks an' crannies, an' ledges where they can sun themselves."

Maudie whispered to Asio as they crept forward, "Looks jolly silent an' sinister t'me. I wouldn't be at all surprised if the neighbourhood was crawlin' with flippin' snakes, bet there're adders, too, wot!"

The owl scoffed. "Snakes are nowt but snakes, lass. Adders, subtractors, they're all a load o' sneaky worms t'me. Ah've never been fond o' the slippery things."

Maudie froze, fixing her eye on a movement, about halfway up the ledges, by a slender rowan tree. "Luglug, I think I've found our snake. See it, up there, coiled around that rowan root. There's the babe, too!" They ducked behind an old spruce, peering out to get a better assessment of the situation.

Asio blinked. "How's the liddle tyke, my eyes ain't too good from this distance. Is the babby hurt, d'ye think?"

The shrew chieftain shaded his eyes, staring hard. "I

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think I saw him move. Aye, he moved again, see? So, baby Dupper ain't been bitten yet, or he'd be stiff as a board. That's an adder, though, I'm sure!"

Maudie kept her eyes on the ledge. "How d'you know, by the thing's markins?"

Log a Log Luglug wrinkled his snout. "Can't make out any markins, it's in the shade. I can smell it from here, though, that's an adder!"

The owl was skeptical of Luglug's judgement. "Nay, lad, all snakes smell the same, it could be a slow worm for all thou knows!"

However, Luglug was adamant. "That's an adder, I tell ye!"

Maudie treated them both to a severe wiggle of her ears. "Will you chaps stop squabblin' an' help me to figure out how we're goin' to rescue little wot'sisface. There's no way we can sneak up on that slimy rotter, he'd see us comin' from up there on the ledge. By the time we crossed the flat area and climbed those rocks, the blighter could've done away with the poor mite, an' scoffed him t'boot. So, let's stop bickerin' about snake smells, an' face up to the confounded problem!"

Luglug shook his head. "Pity we never brought a bow an' arrows along."

Maudie stamped her footpaw, but quietly. "Really! I'm lookin' for solutions, sah, not wishful blinkin' thinkin'! Asio, any ideas rollin' about in that feathered bonce of yours, wot?"

The owl blinked his huge, yellow eyes. "Aye, lass, ah'll back off a touch, then fly up high in t'sky, then zoom in an' give yon worm ecky thump, just like ah would wi' a lizard!" Before Maudie or Luglug could protest, or agree, Asio shuffled rapidly backward and was lost to view.

The shrew chieftain blew a sigh of frustration. "It's no good talkin' to that stubborn ole fool. Come on, miz, we'll start advancin' careful like, so we can give him some help, if'n he does wot he's goin' t'do!"

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Nipping quietly from tree to bush, the pair stole forward, with Maudie keeping an eye on the snake and its prey, as Luglug watched the sky for signs of the owl. They reached the base of the ledges. Maudie stared upward.

"This is goin' t'be the tricky part, old chap, wot. No sooner do we start scalin' these ledges than that villain will spot us, we'll stick out like toads on a thimble!"

Without warning, a tremendous din rang out from above: Asio's hooting and screeching, mingled with little Dupper's wails, and the vicious hissing of the snake.

Maudie began bounding up the ledges. "Come on, mate, Asio's arrived. Blood'n'vinegar! Eulaliaaaa!"

The sandstone was weathered, soft and rounded, with no real pawholds, but Maudie and Luglug scrabbled up it as if their lives depended on it. They arrived on the scene in the midst of the hubbub. The owl was gripping the reptile's body in his talons as they attacked one another, beak for fang, in a furor of coils and feathers. The shrew-babe was howling lustily, trying to crawl away from the conflict.

Maudie leapt in. Snatching the infant up, she hurried him out of harm's way. Luglug circled the fight with his rapier at the ready, trying to get a good thrust at the snake. It came a moment later, when the snake lunged, open-mouthed, for a strike at Asio. The shrew chieftain thrust the blade right down its throat, dodging to one side as its tail thrashed furiously. The owl held it tight in his talons until he was sure the snake was dead. Luglug retrieved his blade from the reptile's mouth, saluting the owl with it.

"Got the brute, just as it was goin' to strike ye!"

Asio flung the snake's limp carcass over the ledge with a scornful flick of his hooked beak. "Goin' to strike me? Thou must be jestin', lad, yon great string o' scales must've bitten me about four times in all. Aye, he put up a gradely scrap, though, ah'll say that for 'im!"

Maudie was wrapping the shrewbabe back in his little

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shawl. Concern registered in her eyes as she stared at Asio. "Are you quite sure, old lad, that filthy rotter got his fangs into you four blinkin' times, wot?"

The owl blinked. "It were either four or five times, ah weren't countin'. Still, yon worm's slain now, an' the babbie's safe. That's all wot counts, lass!" Asio's legs seemed to buckle, he wobbled a pace or two, then squatted down, his head nodding forward as he watched Luglug cleaning off his blade. "Whoo, ah feel right tired out, 'appen ah'll need a liddle nap afore we carry on back 'ome." He winked lazily at Luglug, then chuckled. "Yeh great pudden'ead, yon worm weren't no adder, it were nowt but a grass snake. Ah were right, weren't ah?"

Putting his rapier aside, the shrew knelt alongside Asio, patting his wing gently. "Aye, mate, you were right, no doubt about it."

The owl's eyes were blinking rapidly as he turned to Maudie. "Ah may forget one or two things, but when ah recall 'em ah'm always right, eh, lass?"

Still holding the shrewbabe, Maudie hurried to Asio's side. However, the great yellow eyes had fallen shut, for the last time. The haremaid knelt, pressing her face against his downy cheek feathers. "My poor, old, brave, muddle-headed friend, you've earned a perilous warrior's rest. Sleep well, Asio Bardwing!"

Maudie and Luglug laid him where he had fallen, they built a neat cairn of sandstone slabs over Asio. It was mid-morning before the task was finished. The shrewbabe was hungry, he began whimpering for his breakfast. Maudie rocked him soothingly, as Luglug recited a few lines over the owl's resting place.

"Friend of the Guosim, courageous one, it is time to bid thee farewell, round campfires at night thy name shall live on, for great stories of thee I will tell!"

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Maudie passed the little one to the shrew chieftain. Taking Luglug's rapier, she saluted her fallen comrade, yelling aloud the Salamandastron war cry, in tribute to him. "Eu-laliiiiiiaaaaaa!"

They returned to Bulrush Bower in time for lunch. Little Dupper's mother was overjoyed to get her baby back unharmed. Luglug and Maudie told her of the owl's heroic sacrifice, how Asio had saved Dupper by doing battle with the adder. The shrewmum was greatly moved, she proclaimed from that day forth, her little one's name would be changed, from Dupper to Asio. Both Maudie and the Guosim tribe were in complete agreement with the decision. They ate a simple lunch, shrewbread, apples and some cheese. When all their baggage was packed, Luglug gave orders.

Shrews are notoriously noisy, they gossip and shout constantly. To gain silence Luglug had to shout out his official title, Log a Log, in an ululating call. Maudie was startled; for such a small creature, he had a resounding voice.

"Logalogalogalooooog!"

The Guosim ceased jabbering and listened to their chief. Luglug was very brief with his announcement. "Get the liddle 'uns on their lines'n'harnesses! Rigril an' Teagle, yore in the scoutin' coracle! Porters an' portagers, move out! We're bound for the Abbey o' Redwall, by the crook-stream an' ripples!"

The Guosim cheered this news to the echo, Redwall was a great place to visit. Everybeast bustled to their chores. Maudie watched the process, sorting out in her mind what it all meant. She saw parents fastening small woven harnesses around the waists of their infants, and others packing equipment upon their backs. Rigril and Teagle had raced off, as soon as Luglug told them they would be in the scouting coracle. The rest, who were mainly sturdy looking males, followed the two scouts. Luglug explained what was happening.

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"That gang who've gone ahead are the portagers, miz. Guosim goes everywhere by logboats, rivers'n'streams, that's the way we travels. Ye see yon fir grove, we've stowed our logboats there. They've got t'be carried, portaged y'see, across t'the crookstream. A shrew needs strong paws an' a broad back to be a portager!"

Maudie saw Guosim, or at least the bottom halves of them, emerging from the grove. The shrews were carrying six fine, long logboats. She chuckled at the sight. It looked like upside down vessels, each with many pairs of legs, tramping away into the woodlands. Luglug did not appear amused.

"There's nought funny about portagin', missy, 'tis a fair ole trek afore we reaches the crookstream an' ripples. We'd best take the lead, c'mon."

Maudie hurried to catch up with the bristly little Log a Log. "I know there's nothin' funny about havin' to carry the jolly old boats, wot. But it looks rather comical, don't it? I say, those portagin' chaps mustn't be able t'see a bally thing, how do they know which way to go, wot?"

The Guosim chieftain explained. "That's why we'll be walkin' in front o' the first logboat. The front shrew will follow our footpaws. The next beast follows his, an' so on. When yore portagin' all ye can see is the ground 'neath yoreself, an' the footpaws o' the one in front of ye."

Having reached the lead position with Luglug, the haremaid looked back. Behind her was a well-ordered procession, the line of logboats, followed by Guosim porters, carrying bundles of camping equipment. To the rear of the porters came the little ones. Each was tethered to their family members by a harness and a lead rope. Bringing up the tail end of the column came a score of young warriors, each with drawn rapier, eager and willing to prove themselves in the event of an attack. Maudie concluded that though Guosim shrews were noisy and argumentative, they could be very well ordered, when each had a specific task to perform.

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The logboat carriers struck up a sort of marching shanty, to keep their footpaws in time with each other.

"We ain't no sailors on the sea, in ships decked out with sails, there ain't no call for cap'n, mate or bosun, but we knows more o' paddlin' boats, on river, pond or stream, than anybeast wot ever sailed the ocean!

"Gimme a good ole logboat, that's the craft to keep me fit, when a logboat ain't carryin' a Guosim, well, the Guosim's carryin' it!

"I bet there's no saltwater beast, a-headed back to home, who's reached the land an' heard his cap'n order,

'All paws on shore now lift this ship, an' carry it on yore 'eads, it looks t'me like we've run out o' water!'

"Gimme a good ole logboat, that's the craft to keep me fit, when a logboat ain't carryin' a Guosim, well, the Guosim's carryin' it!"

Twilight was already covering the woodlands when they reached their destination. The place Guosim called the crookstream and ripples looked peaceful enough to Maudie. She organised supper as the shrews tethered their logboats to the bank, loading them, so they would be ready to move on the morrow. A foraging party brought in some button mushrooms, scallions and early acorns, which Maudie used as a filling for the pasties she was making.

Luglug commented as they sat beneath the bankside willows, "I tell ye, Miss Maudie, I ain't never tasted pasties as

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nice as these in all me seasons. Er, how would ye like to become a Guosim cook? The job's yores if'n ye want it. In fact, I'll make ye Grand Guosim Chef, an' give ye a staff of helpers. Wot d'ye say?"

The haremaid shook her head. "Sorry, 'fraid not, sah, I'm a Salamandastron hare of the Long Patrol. Couldn't imagine m'self balancin' a whoppin' great logboat between my ears, an' singin' portagin' songs. Besides, I've got a jolly old mission to complete. Couldn't very well do that an' toddle off t'be a blinkin' Guosim chef to boot, wot!"

Luglug looked crestfallen, but he made no further mention of the subject.

Maudie was wakened at the crack of dawn next morning. Still yawning, she was thrust into the prow end of the lead logboat, alongside a young shrew named Osbil. The vessel lurched off from the bank, powered by fourteen Guosim, all paddling energetically. The haremaid nodded to her companion. "G'morning, I say, aren't we supposed t'be paddlin', or something like that, wot?"

Osbil replied, without taking his eyes off the stream ahead, "Have ye ever paddled a logboat afore, marm, do ye own yore own paddle?"

Maudie shook her head. "First time I've been in a bloomin' boat, old lad, jolly good, isn't it, 'fraid I don't have a perishin' paddle. S'pose I might borrow yours, wot?"

Osbil continued peering upstream. "Huh, s'pose ye might not borrow my paddle, marm, nobeast in this tribe touches another 'un's paddle, faint done. If'n it's the first time ye've been in a logboat, then ye'd be hopeless as a paddlebeast. Takes at least four seasons f train a Guosim paddler. Them's our rules, marm!"

The haremaid sniffed. "Oh, golly gracious now, can't have me breakin' the flippin' rules, can we. But why aren't you paddlin'?"

Osbil answered without looking at her. "'Cos I'm first

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prowspot, got t'keep me glims on the course ahead, especially as this is the lead logboat."

Maudie gestured upstream. "Well, don't let me stop you, old chap, you keep your eye ... glims peeled, if that's a prowspotter's job. Er, pardon me askin', but what's my purpose aboard this jolly old logboat, wot?"

Osbil winked, and gave Maudie a swift grin. "Prowspot-ter's mate's supposed to sing, so the paddlers can keep in stroke. Just like when yore marchin'."

The sun broke through the foliage which formed a canopy over the crookstream, causing a lacy effect of light and shadow. Dragonflies hovered on the reed-fringed banks, watching the logboat flotilla as it passed by. Crookstream was aptly named, it was a real switchback, with more twists and turns than a corkscrew. Looking back, Maudie marvelled at the skill of the Guosim paddlers. She could see Luglug, standing in the stern of the last logboat, enveloped in a rainbow of spray. As they pushed upstream against the playful, gurgling waters, Maudie broke out into an old Long Patrol barrack-room song, hardly a march, she thought, but quite a good tune. The haremaid had a strong voice, which rang out loud and clear.

"Oh, soldier, I'm askin' ye, where would ye like to be, all on a winter's day?

As onward you push, through the snow-driven slush, on your cold an' weary way, with dew on your nose an' your ears solid froze, an' ice from scut to eyes.

Tell me, tell me, give me a big surprise!

"March on! Left, right! One, two an' a-three!

At last I've found an officer, who's like a mother to me!

"Oh, Sergeant Maclain, I don't wish to complain, it ain't like me to moan, but on this winter day, I'd just love you to say,

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that I should've stayed at home, with a mug of hot soup, an' me ears all a-droop, in an armchair by the fire,

O Sergeant, Sergeant, that's my heart's desire!

"Eyes front! Ears up! Whiskers stiff'n'straight!

one more word from you y'wretch, an' yore through the guardhouse gate!"

The Guosim laughed aloud. Like anybeast who had to obey rules and orders, they appreciated the sentiment of Maudie's song. One bold, young shrew even shouted out, "Yore Sergeant sounds just like our Log a Log, miss!"

He was silenced by Luglug's stern voice from the rear. "Aye, an' one more word from you, mate, an' ye can get out an' push. Now dig those paddles deep!"

As they progressed further upstream, the shrewbabes began to get restless and disobedient. Two of them even leapt into the stream. They were hauled in immediately, and scolded by their family members.

"You liddle rogue, you might've been drowned!"

"Aye, either that or eaten by a big fish!"

Maudie remarked to Osbil, "It's just as well they were on harnesses and leads."

The prowspotter pointed to a long, silvery gleam under the surface. He yelled out a warning. "Ahoy, pike inna water!"

The haremaid saw the pike as it headed for the reeds, avoiding a salvo of slingstones from the Guosim. "Great seasons, look at the size of that villain, wot!"

The great fish's green-gold bulk slid silently off and was lost among the reeds. Osbil commented, "That thing'd take a full-growed Guosim afore ye could wink. As for the little 'uns, huh, they wouldn't make much more'n a snack for a monster like that!"

Throughout the morning Maudie came to realise that besides being a thing of beauty and wonder, the crook

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stream could conceal a host of dangers. Osbil pointed out more pike, a great eel and a number of hunting barbels, all lurking beneath the smooth surface, savage predators in their own domain.

At midday the logboats pulled into a shaded inl^t. Maudie joined Luglug in a stroll along the bank, to stretch their limbs. A shout from around the bend heralded the return of the scouting coracle. Rigril and Teagle came ashore to make their report. "We made it up as far as the ripples, they look a bit lively today, Chief."

Luglug shrugged. "I never knew a time when those ripples wasn't lively. Teagle, wot are ye chewin' yore lip for?"

Teagle was a good scout, well-versed in woodland ways. She explained her concern to the Guosim chieftain. "Two bends up, by the big rock, where it's shallow an' pebbly, we saw a lot of woodpigeon fly overhead, doves, too, an' a few thrush an' blackbird."

Rigril nodded in agreement. "Aye, Chief, an' there ain't no great wind, or signs o' storm. Somethin' scared those birds. Drivin' 'em south, we figgered."

Luglug looked from one to the other. "Vermin, d'ye reckon?"

Teagle stopped gnawing at her lip. "Brownrats, I think. We spotted two of their scouts, but I think they saw us first. Anyhow, we got out o' there fast!"

Maudie took note of Luglug's anxious frown. "Tell me what's on your mind, sah, perhaps I can help. Member of the Long Patrol y'know, an' all that, wot?"

The Guosim chieftain patted her paw, smiling tightly. "Mayhaps ye can, if yore as good at tactics as ye are at cookin'. Let's talk about it over lunch."

The meal was not a cooked one, since they could not risk a fire. As an apology for some of their previous culinary atrocities, the younger shrews put together a very tasty woodland salad, with cheese, hazelnuts and oatbread. While they ate, Luglug explained the position to Maudie.

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"There's a horde o' Brownrats been roamin' this neck o' the woods for a few seasons now, an' I tell ye, they're a bad lot! Their chief is a big 'un called Gruntan Kurdly, he's a born killer, an' he ain't no fool. Ole Gruntan's got a mind sharper'n a dagger."

Maudie helped herself to more salad. "Indeed, an' what d'you think the blinkin' rascal's up to, may I ask?"

Luglug spread his paws meaningly. "Nothin', if'n his scouts ain't seen our scouts. But, if'n they did spot Rigril'n'Teagle, then we're in the soup, an' here's the reason why, miss. That place by where the big rock sticks up, 'tis a perfect spot for an ambush. The stream runs shallow o'er the pebble bed, an' 'tis slow goin' paddlin' a logboat. So, if'n Gruntan knows we've got to pass by there, he'll be layin' in wait for us, take my word!"

Maudie let her ears flop to half-mast (a thing she often did when pondering a problem). "Hmm, I see. Tell me, d'you think he'll have both banks covered, or will he just have his scoundrels waiting on one bank, wot?"

The shrew chieftain scratched his tail. "ProbTy both banks. Don't get me wrong, Miz Maudie, I ain't scared o' fightin' those rats, but we got liddle 'uns along with us, wot do I do about the babes? We could chance makin' a run for it, 'cos when we reach the ripples, the current runs the other way, downhill. Nobeast would catch us once we was on the ripples."

Maudie was staring at the coracle, moored to the bank. "D'you think we could get all the little chaps, plus two good paddlers, into that thing, wot?"

Teagle raised her eyebrows. "It'd be a bit of a squash, marm, but me'n'Rigril could prob'ly manage it."

Maudie addressed her next remark to Luglug. "What d'you have in the way of weaponry, old lad?"

The shrew counted items off on his pawpad. "Every Guosim has his rapier, most carry slings an' stones, an' there's around a score of us with bows an' arrers. Of

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course, if'n push comes to shove, a paddle's as good a weapon as anythin', miss."

The haremaid winked at her friends. "Well, huzzah for us, I say. We can work a flanker on the rotters, bit of a reverse pincer, as I've heard old Major Mull call it. Yes, that's what we'll jolly well do, wot!"

The shrew chieftain gazed blankly at Maudie, he could think of only one thing to say. "Wot?"

It had been said of Gruntan Kurdly that his mind was teetering on the brink of madness. Or to put it in Brownrat parlance, he had butterflies in his head, lots of them. However, no Brownrat, or any other vermin, dared to mention this to the warlord's face. The rare few who had were long dead, or, as Gruntan himself put it, had suffered a dose of the Kurdlys.

Gruntan Kurdly was the biggest of all his horde, both in height and girth. Brownrats smeared themselves with dyes and ochres, mainly yellow and blue, adorning themselves with the bones of their enemies, giving the horde a savage appearance. But none could outdo Gruntan in colour, or barbarity. He was a virtual rainbow of daubs, stripes and blotches of all hues. Around his huge waist, he sported a wide belt hung with skulls, ranging from birds to reptiles, with a few vermin craniums. These were a reminder to his horde, to show them who was warlord.

Gruntan sat on his litter, atop the high rock, watching preparations down below for the proposed ambush. His dozen litter bearers, several of whom were big females, hovered around, rendering him every attention. The Brownrat warlord was inordinately fond of hard-boiled eggs. The horde had recently ravaged the woodpigeon nests, so there was a plentiful supply for their leader. Three of Gruntan's daughters were kept busy shelling the eggs, whilst their father wolfed them down as he questioned his two scouts.

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"Haharr, an' wot did ye see downstream, me beauties, eh?"

Notwithstanding the shower of boiled egg fragments which he was forced to face, Noggo, the chief scout, reported. "Sh'ews they was, Boss, Grousen sh'ews, loads of 'em."

Gruntan spat out a bit of shell, cuffed the ear of the daughter responsible, then continued. "Grousens, ye say, an' did they 'ave 'andsome likkle boats wid 'em? Hoho, I needs some of those boats."

Biklo, the other scout, nodded eagerly. "Aye, I counted them meself, six long 'uns, an' a likkle round 'un, wot their scouts used, Boss!"

Gruntan's eyes grew dreamy as he imagined himself being transported along peaceful streams by boat. He liked boats. For a rat of his size and weight, the warlord was surprisingly quick; suddenly, he grabbed Noggo by the throat. Gruntan whispered hoarsely to him. "Noggo, me ole matey, was you spotted by the Grousens?"

Gulping, the scout tried to shake his head. "The sh'ews never saw us, on me oath, Boss!"

Gruntan released Noggo. He let his sly, glittering eyes rove over both scouts, popping another egg into his mouth. "Hearken t'me, mateys, an ambush only works if'n it's unexpected. T'wont be no ambush at all if'n ye've been seen by the Grousen sh'ews. So, tell me agin, was you spotted by 'em, eh?"

Noggo and Biklo shook their heads vigorously, replying in unison, "No, Boss, we wasn't spotted!"

Spearing another egg on one claw, Gruntan waggled it at the two scouts as he issued his customary warning. " 'Cos if'n you was, guess wot'll 'appen to ye?"

Noggo spoke for them both. "A dose of the Kurdlys, Boss."

Gruntan devoured the hard-boiled egg swiftly. "Haharr, right first time, me beauty!" He beckoned to Stringle, a tall, thin rat, who was his first officer. "Git down there, an' see

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that the crews are well stowed out o' sight on both banks. Keep yore eyes peeled up 'ere on me, I'll give ye the signal when they're comin'."

Stringle saluted with his spear and loped off. Gruntan Kurdly lay back on the litter, with a sigh of satisfaction, chewing happily on another egg. "Noggo, tell me when ye see those sh'ew boats hovin' into sight, will ye? Haharr, there ain't nothin' like some trim likkle vessels to ride the waters on!"

Sounds of the stream, gurgling softly over its pebbled bed, echoed up from below. Gruntan's eyes began to flutter, a half-eaten egg slipped from his paw. He was just about to start a nice nap, when Noggo shook him.

"Ahoy, Boss, 'ere they comes!"

From the top of the tall rock, the logboats looked small as they negotiated a bend in the stream. They were placed with two close to each bank, the coracle was in midstream, flanked by the remaining two boats. Gruntan murmured, "Come on, me beauties, come to ole Gruntan Kurdly!"

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BOOK TWO A Thief Absolved

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13

Evening shades were turning the ancient walls of the Abbey to a dusty rose pink, the soft air was still warm from the long summer day Little Dimp heaved himself laboriously up the north wall steps, toward the outer walltop. Each stair was an effort for the tiny squirrel, but he was determined to succeed. Down below on the lawn, two more Dibbuns, a mousemaid named Flim and an infant mole-maid, Jorty, stood wagging their paws at Dimp. Dibbuns were forbidden to climb the steps, or to be alone up on the ramparts. Both the tiny maids were shocked at the antics of Dimp, and told him so.

"Cumma down now, naughty squiggle, you not apposed t'be uppa there. Comma down, me say!"

"Hurr, you'm getten inna trubble, zurr Dimp, fall on ee skull'ead, or sumpin'. Coom ee daown, yurr!"

Dimp made it up onto the high walkway. He did a brief jig, calling scornfully to the pair below, "Ho, go an' boil yore bottims!"

Squeaking with shock at Dimp's turn of phrase, the little maids threw their pinafores over their faces and dashed off.

"Hi, hello there, is anyone on the wall?"

Dimp went to the battlements, he began scrambling up, to see who was hailing the walltops from outside. "H'l'm

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onna guard h'up 'ere, wot you want?" Levering his chin over the battlement, Dimp stared down. He had never seen anybeast the size of a badger in his life, and certainly not the huge, gaunt creature in a ragged smock, wielding a gigantic pitchfork. The Dibbun fell back onto the parapet, speechless with fright.

Orkwil was further along to the right of the main gate, when Gorath hailed him.

"There was somebeast up there a moment ago, a little squirrel, I think. I may have frightened him off."

The young hedgehog came scurrying back to his friend's side. He looked up to the walltop. "Listen, friend, you'd better make yourself scarce. Hide in the bushes, I'll speak to whoever it is." Whilst Gorath concealed himself at the north woodland edge, Orkwil began hailing the ramparts. "Hello up there, anybeast about? We need to get inside!"

Flim and Jorty were halfway across the lawn when they bumped into Fenn Bluepaw. The Abbey Recorder confronted the little ones sternly. "What's all this squealing and shouting about, why aren't you two inside, getting ready for bed?"

Jorty jumped up and down on the spot. "Marm, et bee's Dimp, he'm bein' gurtly naughty!"

Flim could not wait to inform on Dimp. "An', an', an' guess wot he sayed, marm, Dimp sayed the bot word to us. Ho good my gracious, it was h'awful!"

Fenn Bluepaw looked from one to the other. "'Bot word,' what's that supposed to mean?"

Flim could hold back no longer. "Dimp telled us to boil h'our ... bottims!"

Jorty nodded vigorous agreement. "Hurr aye, an' he'm cloimbed oop on ee walltops, marm!"

The bottom remark went unheeded. No sooner was the walltop mentioned than Fenn stamped her footpaw wrathfully. "Off to the Abbey, you two, this very instant! I'll deal with Master Dimp!"

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Flim and Jorty watched the Recorder striding purposefully to the north wallsteps, where Dimp could be seen, cowering in the shade of the battlements. The little mouse-maid scowled darkly. "Hah, I not like t'be Dimp, Sista Fenn prolibly chop his tail off for bein' naughty!"

Jorty giggled. "Hurhur, or she'm moight boil his bottim!"

Flim clapped a paw to her little friend's mouth. "Goodness me, you've sayed bottim now!"

They trundled off to the Abbey, giggling together.

Orkwil yelled up to the walltop, for the second time. "Anybeast about, we've got to get inside, it's urgent! Hello up there, who's that?"

Fenn Bluepaw appeared at the northwest gable, her face the picture of indignation. "So, 'tis you, Orkwil Prink? The thief who was banished for a season. I shouldn't even be talking to you! Go on, be off, you scoundrel!"

The young hedgehog spread his paws, pleading. "But marm, ye don't understand, I've got to speak with Abbot Daucus, or Skipper, it's really important!"

Fenn picked little Dimp up, turning her face away from Orkwil, and remarking scornfully, "Huh, first a thief, and now a liar, you haven't changed much. Well, you can stand there fibbing all night, but you're not entering this Abbey!"

Gorath had watched the exchange from the cover of some bushes. He left his hiding spot and came to stand beside Orkwil. The badger, not knowing his young friend's predicament, decided to reinforce Orkwil's plea. Cupping both paws around his mouth, he bellowed out to anybeast that might have been within hearing range, "Listen to me, or you'll be sorry when Redwall is attacked!"

Skipper Rorc emerged from the Abbey for his evening patrol of the grounds, which was more in the nature of a leisurely stroll to walk off a big supper. He heard Gorath's resounding voice, and hurried toward the north wall. On the way, he passed Fenn Bluepaw, who was hauling along

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a reluctant Dimp. Skipper nodded. "Evenin', marm, d'ye know who's doin' the shoutin' out there?"

The Recorder squirrel sniffed. "Pay no attention, 'tis only Orkwil Prink trying to get back into our Abbey. Come on, Dimp, don't drag your paws!"

The squirrelbabe pulled back. "Mista Skip, that not Ork'il, it's a monister wiv a hooj fork, I saw 'im!"

Skipper was already running for the wallsteps, he called back, "It didn't sound like Orkwil, I'd best take a look!"

A moment later the otter was on the walltop, staring down at the bedraggled, weary pair. "Wot's all this about an attack, young Prink, an' who's that giant ye've got in tow?"

Gorath spoke for himself. "I'm Gorath. I don't know who you are, sir, but there's a whole crew of sea-raiding vermin who'll be here before too long. Take it from me, that's a fact!"

Skipper vanished from sight, shouting to Orkwil, "Take yore friend to the main gate an' I'll let ye in!"

Abbot Daucus was cutting a slice of yellow cheese to have with his pear as an after-supper dessert, when the door of the Great Hall burst open. Skipper Rorc strode in, flanked by Orkwil Prink and the biggest badger the Abbot had ever seen. Daucus rose hastily from the table, addressing the badger. "If you enter our Abbey as a friend, there is no need to carry a weapon, sir!"

Gorath looked at his pitchfork, Tung, as if just noticing that it was in his paw. He bowed slightly, placing it on the table. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to frighten anybeast. I came here with Orkwil, to warn you that your Abbey may soon be attacked by vermin, a large crew of them, headed by the fox they call Vizka Longtooth--" Gorath broke off, he seemed to wilt, clutching the support of the table. He staggered slightly, slumping down on one of the benches by the table side.

Orkwil spoke. "Gorath's my friend, he was captured on

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the Northern Isles by the vermin. They had him chained up to a ship's mast. He's been beaten and starved."

The Cellarhog, Benjo Tipps, immediately started shoving food from the table in front of the big, gaunt badger. "Pore beast, 'ere, matey, you take yore fill o' good Redwall vittles. Aye, an' there's plenty more where they came from. Orkwil, you can tell us the rest, eh?"

Abbot Daucus took charge then. "Everybeast out, please, I want this hall cleared. Friar Chondrus, bring more food, and some hot soup if you can manage it. Now you just sit still there, Gorath, we'll take care of you, my friend."

The badger tried to nod, but his head fell forward onto the table, and his eyes started to droop.

Daucus gave more orders. "Sister Atrata, kindly fetch your medicines from the sickbay, and any assistants you may need. Skipper, will you and your daughters clear the table off? See if you can lay our friend on it, with a pillow for his head. Orkwil, come to my room, you can enlighten me on the situation. Benjo, you'd better come, too, and Skipper, please join us when you're done here."

The vessel Bludgullet took longer than expected to reach the ford. Overhanging trees, narrow banks and outcrops of rock had to be negotiated to ply the ship upriver. Vizka was forced to admit that whilst a ship at sea could be fleet and nimble, forcing it upland, through a woodland river, was no easy task. The golden fox took command of the operation. He did not spare the rope's end with tardy paddle pushers, driving them to their limit with lashes, blows and curses.

The crew sweated and toiled throughout the night, scratched by foliage, lashed by their captain and plagued by midges and stinging insects. It was backbreaking work. Whenever a rest was called, the vessel would drift backward with the current, and the anchor would have to be dropped.

The sun had been up for some considerable time, and

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there was still no sign of the path or the ford. Vizka kicked the watervole, who had slumped to the deck with fatigue. "Gerrup on ya hunkers, 'airymouse, are ye shore dis is de right way to der fordplace?"

The watervole was hungry, sick to his stomach and resentful. He curled a lip at the Bludgullet's captain. "Huh, which way can this river go, except t'the ford, eh?"

Vizka hauled the unfortunate beast up by the rope, which was tethered about his neck. He bit the watervole's ear until his victim squealed with pain. "I never ast ya fer smart remarks, just a straight answer. So, are we bound der right way fer dat ford?"

The watervole whimpered as he nursed his torn ear. "Yes, yes, this is the right way, sir, I swear it!"

Even as he spoke, one of the vermin, who was in the water, hauling on a headrope, sang out. "Dere's some sort o' path crossin' der water up ahead, Cap'n, dis river's get-tin' shallower!"

Vizka Longtooth released the rope, letting the watervole slump to the deck. He patted the wretched beast's head. "Well done, bucko, you was right, dat'll be der ford." The golden fox glanced about at his crew as he called out a halt. "Drop anchor, an' moor 'er t'der bank."

There was an audible groan of relief from the vermin crew, they flopped down, panting and gasping from their night-long efforts. Vizka knew they were totally exhausted, but he was artful at dealing with his creatures, to get his own way.

"Youse two, Baul an' Widge, stop 'ere ter guard der ship. All d'rest of ya, git ready ter march by mid-mornin'." Vizka put on his dangerous smile, watching the crew for signs of protest, or rebellion. They hung their heads in sullen silence, not even daring to sniff or mutter. Vizka strode up and down, nodding. "Good, good! I gives ya my word dat by tonight ye'll be feastin' like kings, an' sleepin' in Red-wall Abbey. So, wot d'ya says ter dat, me buckoes?" He strode off to his cabin, not waiting for a reply, knowing

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that they would do as he ordered. Or die. Pausing at the cabin door, he turned, pointing at the watervole. "Jungo, yore in charge of dat 'un, make sure 'e don't try ter escape."

Jungo hauled the vole over by his neck tether. "Huhuh, I'll watch 'im like a mudder duck wid an egg, Cap'n. Ahoy, hairymouse, you knows 'ow mudder ducks watches their eggs, don't ya?"

The watervole shook his head. "No sir."

Jungo knocked him flat with a swift kick. "Huhuhu, dey sits on 'em, like dis!"

Abbot Daucus, Benjo Tipps and Skipper Rorc had been joined by Granspike Niblo. They listened intently as Orkwil related his story, telling of the coming danger from Longtooth and his vermin Sea Raiders. Granspike hugged Orkwil fondly.

"You see, Father Abbot, I alius knew there was good in this young feller. Even though he were banished for the season, Orkwil came back to warn us!"

Daucus smiled at the young hedgehog. "Indeed he did, you are a credit to your Abbey, young Prink!"

Orkwil immediately perked up. "Does this mean I'm not banished anymore, Father?"

Skipper gave Orkwil's snout a playful tweak. "I should 'ope not, matey, we'll be needin' beasts like you to defend the walls. How many vermin d'ye reckon Longtooth has with him?"

Orkwil scratched his headspikes. "I never had time to count 'em, but there must be more than eight score at least. What are we going to do if they attack Redwall? We don't have many trained warriors, and it may be some time before Gorath is well enough to fight."

The Abbot gathered both paws into his wide sleeves. "Redwall was never a military stronghold, we'll do what we've always done in times of attack. Our walls are strong enough to face any onslaught of vermin, we'll defend, right, Skipper?"

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The burly otter nodded. "Right, Father. Meself an' ole Benjo here, we've both had a bit of past experience with rovin' vermin. Seems t'me this lot don't sound a lot different, we'll deal with 'em atween us, one way or another. How would ye like t'be an officer o' the guard, young Prink? I think he'd suit the job well, eh, Benjo?"

The Cellarhog winked at Skipper. "Aye, why not, all young 'uns got to grow up sooner or later. I wish that the badger was fit to fight, though. My spikes! Have ye seen the size of him? I'll wager he could do some damage wid that pitchfork o' his!"

Orkwil was bursting with pride at his unexpected promotion. Feeling very important, he ventured an opinion. "My friend Gorath is a real warrior, I've already seen him slay one creature, when we were on the vermin ship. He told me that he suffers from Bloodwrath."

The Abbot sat up straight in his chair. "Great seasons of slaughter! D'you mean to tell me the badger lying on Great Hall table is a beast of Bloodwrath?"

Orkwil hastened to assure his Abbot. "I wouldn't worry too much, Father. Gorath told me that he was saved from the Bloodwrath by a vision of a mouse who carried a great sword."

Pushing his chair to one side, the Abbot rose. "It must have been Martin the Warrior! Come with me, friends, let's take a closer look at this badger."

Down in Great Hall, Gorath was sitting up on the edge of the large banqueting table. Friar Chondrus was refilling a bowl from a cauldron of leek and mushroom soup, whilst Foremole Burff held forth a plate of carrot and turnip pasties. The huge young badger accepted the soup and a pastie, grunting. "My thanks, friends, this is wonderful food!" As he ate, Sister Atrata, who was standing up on the table behind her patient, worked on some of his other wounds. Orkwil approached him boldly.

"How are you doing, mate, feeling better?" As Gorath

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raised his face from the soup bowl, Orkwil gasped and took a backward pace.

The thickly crusted scab, which had formed over the large wound that Vizka had inflicted with his mace and chain, was gone. Centred in the middle of his white forehead stripe was a deep scarlet shape, resembling a large flame. Gorath looked oddly at his friend. "I'm feeling a bit better, what are you staring at?"

Before Orkwil could reply, Sister Atrata explained. "I was bathing that dreadful injury on his head, with some special herbs and hot water, when the scab came loose. It was the size of a small plate. Well, I didn't know how severe the wound was, so just kept on bathing until the scab fell off. I'm afraid no more flesh or fur will ever grow in that spot again. However, the wound beneath was protected, and kept clean by the dried blood which had formed the scab. It isn't raw, or moist, and Gorath says it doesn't pain him anymore."

The badger touched his wide, flame-shaped wound. "It feels fine, thank you, Sister. Could I see it?"

Abbot Daucus extended his paw to Gorath. "If you feel well enough to walk, there's a polished shield on the wall, in an alcove over there. I've seen many a pretty young Red-wall maid using it as a mirror. Come on, take a peek at yourself, friend, it's not so bad."

On reaching the alcove which contained the shield, Gorath staggered right past it. He pointed at the Redwall Abbey tapestry, his voice sending booming echoes around Great Hall. "It's him, it's the warrior with the sword. There!"

Orkwil grasped his big friend's paw. "Hah, see, told you there was somebeast you might want to meet--that's Martin the Warrior!"

Gorath sat down on the floor, gazing at the woven figure. "He saved my life!"

It was impossible not to be impressed by the likeness of

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Martin. His eyes seemed to follow every creature, they were kindly eyes, but brave and resolute. Orkwil had always thought there was something very comforting in looking at Martin, he felt reassured by the sight of the warrior, as did every Redwaller. The Abbot placed something in Gorath's paws, it was the warrior's sword. Though it looked no bigger than a long dagger in the badger's massive grasp, he admired it greatly.

"This is a marvellous blade, whoever forged it must have been a master of the armorer's craft." The badger leaned toward the tapestry as if listening to something. He beckoned to Orkwil. "Would you please bring me my weapon?" Orkwil did as he was requested.

Gorath held the pitchfork until it was close to the tapestry. "This is not a real warrior's thing, but I call it Tung, it isn't as wonderful as your sword, but it has always served me well." Gorath laid Tung alongside Martin's sword by the tapestry. Without another word, he curled up on the floor and slept.

Sister Atrata whispered to Orkwil, "He seems to like it there, I'll bring him blankets, and a pillow. Your friend is still not recovered."

The party tip-pawed away from the sleeping badger, with the Abbot murmuring softly to Skipper, "Anybeast who can talk with Martin is a friend of Redwall."

Benjo Tipps agreed. "Aye, you could tell they was talkin' to each other, just by watchin' Gorath!"

Orkwil cast a backward glance at his friend, slumbering deeply, watched over by the greatest warrior of all. He whispered in Martin's direction, "If you can, sir, get Gorath well, so that he can help us to face those vermin!"

Did the eyes of the figure on the tapestry blink? Or was it just a trick of the flickering candlelight?

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14

Brownrats secreted behind rocks on both sides of the crookstream watched eagerly as the little flotilla of log-boats drew closer. Gripping clubs and spears, they awaited Gruntan Kurdly's signal. Their plan was simple, a straight charge into the shallow, running water would catch the unsuspecting Guosim shrews by surprise. It would be the perfect ambush. At its deepest part, the crookstream ran less than waist high, owing to its heavily pebbled bed.

Gruntan had left his litter, he lay flat on the top of the high rocks, overlooking the scene. He kept up a constant, muttered conversation with himself as he kept track of the logboats. "Haharr, now lemme see, there's two logboats to the right bank, an' two t'the left. Then there's two more in midstream, wid the liddle round boat betwixt 'em. Once they gits level wid this 'ere rock, I'll send my mob out, an' we'll give 'em thud'n'blunder!"

"Er, shouldn't that be blood'n'thunder, Boss?"

Gruntan glared at his scout, Noggo, who with Biklo was lying alongside him. "That's wot I said, izzenit?"

Biklo pointed out the error. "No, Boss, you said thud'n'blunder, not blood'n'thunder."

Gruntan grabbed both scouts' ears and banged their

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heads together. "Avast there, y'swabs, wot sounds better, blood'n'thunder, or thud'n'blunder, eh?"

Noggo blinked hard, trying to uncross his eyes. "Thud'n'blunder, Boss, I likes the sound o' that!"

Gruntan tugged their ears roughly before releasing them. "Aharr, matey, an' so do I. Blubber thrunder it is then!"

Both scouts edged out of his reach, saluting. "Aye aye, Boss, blutter thrumble, or wotever ye say!"

Maudie was in one of the midstream boats, she looked across to Luglug in the other. The shrew chieftain was scanning both banks keenly. "Those rascals ain't much good at hidin', miss, I kin see 'em crouchin' in the rocks both sides of us."

The haremaid allowed her paws to stray near the bow and arrows lying close to her. "Yes, I've spotted the blighters, too, they're all painted up like a dellful of bloomin' daisies. Not the best idea if you don't want to be jolly well seen, is it? So, what d'you say, old Lugathing, we know they're there, an' they know we're here. Shall we open up the ball?" She signalled Rigril and Teagle, who were holding the coracle, filled with shrewbabes, between both logboats. "Right, off y'go chaps, give them paddles a good whack, an' don't stop for anythin'. Good luck!"

Then things developed swiftly. The coracle shot off, with the babes squealing lustily as spray cascaded around them. Luglug roared to the four logboats skirting the banks. "Logalogalogaloooooog!"

They began launching showers of slingstones at the rats in the rocks.

Gruntan Kurdly sprang upright on his high perch, bawling furiously, "Don't just sit there, ye block'eads! Chaaaaarge!"

His first officer, Stringle, leapt upright. "Youse 'eard the boss, cummon, charge! Charge! Ch ..."

A well-aimed slingstone cracked him on the jaw. He

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slumped backward as the other Brownrats came out of hiding. Without somebeast to lead them, they came cautiously forward. Gruntan danced with rage, flinging grass, soil, shale, anything to paw, as he yelled. "Don't stan' around waitin' for winter! Charge, ye fools! Chaaaaarge!"

Now the boats closest to shore began to speed up, half the crews paddling, as the other half continued slinging. Maudie stood erect, a shaft notched upon her bowstring. "Right, give 'em blood'n'vinegar, chaps. Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!" She loosed her arrow, bringing down one of the vermin, who was splashing through the shallows toward them.

The Guosim archers were ruthlessly efficient, they fired off salvos of arrows into the charging rats as they entered the crookstream. Maudie saw Guosim still hurling sling-stones into the forward flank of vermin, as she notched up another arrow, shouting. "One more time, then let's get out of here. Shoot!" Another rain of arrows cut the air, then the Guosim dropped their bows and started paddling energetically.

Now the logboats that had been close to shore came to midstream, ahead of the two carrying Maudie and Luglug. All six craft carried on upstream, their paddlers working hard. The coracle had rounded another bend, and could not be seen, but the logboats were hard in its wake.

Gruntan Kurdly was beside himself with rage, he hopped and danced on top of the big rock, ranting and raving. "Get after 'em, stop 'em, ye blitherin' blisters! I wants those boats, ye sluggardly laggards! Out! Git yore useless bottoms out o' the water an' run along the banks, ye brainless blunderers! 'Tis ten times easier runnin' on land than 'tis in a stream! Are ye deaf, daft or ditherin'? I said git out an' run along the bankside!"

Some of the rats could not hear him clearly amid the stream noise, they continued wading through the water. Gruntan hopped and jumped wildly on top of the high rock, bellowing dreadful oaths and curses. Then he jumped a fraction too far, and disappeared over the edge.

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Noggo stared in bewilderment at where Gruntan had been. "Huh, where's the boss gone?"

Biklo shrugged. "I think 'e fell, 'cos 'e's not 'ere no more, mate!"

Noggo scratched his tail awhile, then he giggled. "Well, 'e can't slay us now, can 'e? The sh'ews musta spotted us, 'cos they was ready for the ambush. The boss said if'n we was spotted, then we was in fer a dose o'the Kurdlys."

Biklo suddenly realised they had been given a new lease on life, due to their leader's mishap. He began chuckling. "Mebbe ole Gruntan fancied 'e was a bird, hahahahaha!"

His companion sniggered uncharitably. "Heeheehee, that's wot comes of eatin' all those eggs, mate. I reckon 'e turned into a Kurdlyburd!" Both rats sat down. Overcome by merriment, they laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Then an agonised wail arose from below.

"Yeeeeeeeooooow ... ooh, 'elp me mates, owow-aaarrrrgh!"

The laughter froze in their throats, Noggo and Biklo crawled to the edge of the rock and peered downward. About halfway down the rockface, a big, old, gorse bush sprouted out of a crevice. Gruntan Kurdly was hanging there, painfully suspended in the thorny branches, wailing.

"Yowch, ooch, yeeek! 'elp me afore this thing breaks!"

Noggo called down instinctively. "We'll 'elp ye, Boss, stay there!"

Gruntan's voice reached new peaks of indignation. "Stay here? Where d'ye think I'm goin', fer a paddle in the water! Get a rope down 'ere t'me, quick!" Looking down, Gruntan spotted his first officer. "Ahoy, Stringle, organise some 'elp an' git me outta this!"

Vermin were called away from chasing the logboats, to assist their leader out of his predicament. The task was eventually achieved, with lots of ropes and harnesses. Gruntan Kurdly was hauled up to the top of the rock, screaming and yowling every pawlength of the way. The big Brownrat was pierced by long, sharp gorse thorns, from

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tailtip to ears. Whilst a team of helpers worked gingerly to remove them, he glared murderously at his two scouts.

"I should peel the hides off'n ye both, aye, an' sling youse into that bush. But I'm givin' ye another chance, git after those logboats an' see where they're bound!"

Wordlessly, Noggo and Biklo dashed off to obey the order.

Maudie and the Guosim had problems of their own. The coracle containing Rigril, Teagle and the shrewbabes had run too far ahead of them. The waterway called the crook-stream'n'ripples was a curious phenomenon. Once they were past the pebbly shallows of the gorge, the water deepened drastically. Even though they were paddling against the current, the going became smoother as they came in sight of a fork. It was there that the water went two ways, following a diverted course to one side, which the Guosim had named the ripples. This tributary thundered off downhill.

Luglug stood in the prow of his logboat, shouting to Rigril and Teagle, as they were swept into the slipwater at the fork. "Pull 'er out, keep to yore midstream, don't let those ripples draw ye in afore we gets to ye, mates!"

Whether he could be heard over the rushing waters and the excited cries of the shrewbabes Maudie could not tell. However, she could see the trouble which the coracle was in. Rigril and Teagle were paddling furiously, trying to hold the little circular craft back, but it bumped against a rocky nub, just beneath the surface.

A groan of dismay arose from the crews of the six pursuing logboats. The coracle had begun to rotate, bouncing off the underwater rock, and slipping right into the ripples. As it hit the opposing downhill current, the paddlers' oars became useless. Spinning like a top, the coracle was lost to sight, skimming swiftly downstream on a perilous course.

Luglug was bellowing. "Put yore backs into it, Guosim, we've got t'catch 'em!"

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Maudie watched breathlessly as the shrew paddlers put all their might into their efforts. Compared with the coracle, the logboats had to struggle against the slipwater at the fork. Immediately they had to back water, and avoid going into collision with one another, as the long, pointed logboats hit the ripples. Gousim rowers dug paddles deep, leaning back, trying to stop their boats going into a spinning motion. The six craft raced off downhill, leaping and juddering into white clouds of enveloping spray.

Maudie put her mouth close to Luglug's ear, she yelled aloud, "These ain't ripples, they're rapids!"

The shrew chieftain's voice was almost lost amid an increasing thunder of water as he bellowed, "Save yore voice an' hang on tight, miss, there's a big 'un comin' up!"

Maudie heard herself scream as the logboat shot off into thin air. It was then that she realised that the "big 'un" was a waterfall.

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15

Abbot Daucus had issued orders that neither of the Abbey bells was to be tolled. If vermin invaders were heading for Redwall, it was not advisable to pinpoint the building's position too soon by ringing its twin bells. Orkwil stood watch on the walltops, with Skipper Rorc, Foremole Burff, and Benjo Tipps. They took the northwest corner of the ramparts, which was the most likely vantage point to catch sight of the Sea Raiders, who would obviously be headed down the path toward them.

Orkwil felt very grown-up and important in his new role. Armed with the dagger and club he had gained from the water vole, the young hedgehog peered out into the darkness.

Leaning over the battlement beside him, Skipper whispered, "No sign o' them yet, mate, how far behind ye do ye figger those villains were?"

Orkwil shrugged. "Can't say really, Skip, but that big, golden fox won't hang back when he finds me'n Gorath gone, an' his brother slain into the bargain."

Benjo rubbed his eyes, concentrating on the path. "Ain't much moon showin', 'tis real gloomy out there. This is the part I don't like, the waitin'."

Skipper let his chin rest on the battlement. "It must be

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midnight now, mebbe they've made camp, restin' up until daylight. Don't forget, they're in strange country, so they might feel like goin' carefully."

Orkwil shook his head. "I don't think careful is a word Longtooth is accustomed to. If he knows the way, he'll be comin' nonstop for Redwall!"

Contrary to Orkwil's opinion, Vizka was an extremely careful creature, especially when it came to his own personal safety. Even now he marched at the centre of his crew, well protected on all sides by vermin bodies. It was past the midnight hour, the path ahead was in total darkness, Vizka cursed softly as a weasel blundered into him. "Ya clumsy oaf, gerrup in front an' send der scouts back ter me!"

The two stoats, Dogleg and Patchy, came marching back. They had the vole on a rope lead, stumbling behind them. Dogleg thrust the prisoner in front of Vizka. "Dis 'un sez 'e kin see der Redwall place, Cap'n!"

The golden fox seized the vole's neck roughly. "Ye'd better be tellin' der truth or I'll gut ya!"

The vole managed to gasp out, "'Tis up yonder, not far, ye'll see it yoreself soon."

Vizka gave orders to the weasel Magger. "Get der crew down dat ditch aside o' de path. Tell 'em t'wait dere an' be quiet. Jungo, Bilger, come wid me, bring dat hairy mouse wid ya!"

Glad of the unexpected rest, the vermin crew slid into the dry ditch. As Vizka and the two crewbeasts went cautiously forward, the watervole pointed ahead. "There 'tis, see, Redwall Abbey. Can I go back to me river now, sir? I've showed ye the way."

Vizka showed his fangs in what he thought was a friendly smile. "Ye did well, hairy mouse, I'll let ya go soon, but first dere's a liddle job I wants ya to do fer me. Jungo, give 'im yore sling an' stones. Bilger, take off 'n yer shirt an' scarf."

The vole looked bemused as Vizka rigged him out in the

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filthy oversized shirt, and draped the scarf about his head like a turban. The golden fox fitted a stone in the sling and placed it in the vole's paw, commenting, "Haharr, don't 'e look like a salty ole Sea Raider now!"

Jungo chuckled. "Huhuhuh, looks real pretty, don't 'e?"

The vole hitched up his floppy shirtsleeves. "Wot am I dressed up like this for, sir?"

Vizka nodded at the Abbey walls as they loomed up in the night. "Yore gonna announce us as visitors. Now, 'ere's wot ya say. Shout out nice'n loud, 'Ahoy in dere. I'm a pore, starvin' seabeast, let me an' me mates in so's we kin get some vittles, kind sirs.'"

The vole stared disbelievingly at Longtooth. "But nobeast'll hear me, they'll all be well abed by now."

Vizka patted his back reassuringly. "Yew let me worry about dat, fatmouse, jus' do as yer told. Go on, an' shout out loud'n'clear now, y'hear?"

The vole scratched his thick fur. "An' then I'm free t'go?"

The golden fox nodded amiably. "Aye, free as a burd. Now yew go an' deliver der message, we'll wait right 'ere." He drew his two crewbeasts into the woodland fringe, watching the vole walk off toward the wall.

Bilger sniggered, sensing his captain's intentions. "Jus' testin' der ground, eh, Cap'n?"

Jungo looked puzzled. "Testin' der ground, wot's dat?"

Vizka cuffed his ear lightly. "Pay attention an' watch dose walls."

Orkwil was first to spot the movement on the path below. He cautioned his friends, "There's somebeast down there, can't make out who 'tis in this dark, but I'll wager that 'un's a vermin!"

Skipper peered down at the strange figure. "Stay where ye are, don't come any further!"

The vole stood still as he carried out Vizka's order to the letter. "Ahoy in there, I'm a pore, starvin' seabeast, let me in so me an' my mates can get some vittles!"

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Orkwil recognised the vole by the tone of his voice. However, before he could do anything, Benjo Tipps flung an oakwood burl, which he used as a barrel stopper. It hit the vole squarely between both ears, felling him. Orkwil gasped at the speed with which the Cellarhog had acted. "Mister Tipps, that wasn't a sea vermin. He's a vole who lives up near the ford!"

Benjo chuckled grimly. "Then why didn't he say so? Looked like a vermin, said he was a seabeast, an' if'n I ain't mistaken, he was carryin' a weapon. Wot d'ye say, Skip?"

Skipper Rorc nodded. "That's a loaded sling he was totin', ye did the right thing, mate. It could've been a trap, no use standin' round an' chattin' with vermin. Strike now an' talk later, that's wot I always do! Now then, young Prink, can ye see any more o' the villains out there?"

Orkwil stared hard, but there was no sign of movement. "No, Skip, there's nobeast about that I can see. D'you think Mister Tipps has slain the vole, he looks awful still just lyin' there."

Benjo patted Orkwil's headspikes. "Don't worry, young 'un, he ain't dead, but he'll have a headache that'll last a day or two when he wakes. If the coast is clear enough after dawn we'll fetch him inside."

"Er, fetch who inside, may I ask?" Friar Chondrus emerged onto the walltop, Granspike Niblo was with him. They brought food for the wall sentries.

Foremole Burff ladled himself a bowl of mushroom soup. "Et wurr summ voler, dressed oop loike ee vermint. Hurrhurr, ole Benjo bringed 'im daown with one shot!"

Orkwil and his friends tucked into fresh, crusty bread, cheese and hot soup, each feeling rather pleased at their night's work thus far.

Vizka Longtooth and his two crewbeasts retreated stealthily back to the ditch. Dropping down into the dried ditchbed, the golden fox left his crew sleeping, but

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wakened the weasel Magger, whom he had come to rely on as his second in command.

Magger noticed the absence of the vole. "Where's der 'airymouse, Cap'n?"

Vizka put aside his mace and chain. "Oh, dat one, we left 'im lyin' around someplace, but de 'airymouse taught me a lesson tonight. Dat Redwall place, it ain't no Abbey fulla soft woodlanders. Gettin' in dere ain't gonna be easy."

Magger replied hopefully, "We've fought battles afore, Cap'n, an' we ain't never lost. Yew kin do it if'n anybeast can, nobeast stands agin Vizka Longtooth an' wins!"

The golden fox leaned back against the ditchside. "So ye say, but I ain't never fought no stripe'ound."

Magger looked questioningly at his captain. "De stripe'ound, 'ow d'yer know 'e's in dere?"

Vizka explained. "Dat 'edgepig was up on der wall, I 'eard 'is voice, dat's 'ow I knows our Rock'ead's in de Abbey, dey escaped t'gether didn't they?"

Bilger, who was half-asleep, opened one eye. "Does dat mean ya ain't gonna try an' take Redwall, Cap'n?"

Vizka picked up his mace and chain, his eyes and his long fangs gleaming in the darkness. "I nearly slayed dat stripe'ound last time I 'it 'im wid this. I'll finish der job next time, you see. Afore dis season's out I'll be cap'n o' Redwall, plannin' an' brains, dat's all it takes!"

On the walltops, Granspike Niblo was clearing away the supper bowls. She smiled fondly at Orkwil. "I'm glad to see ye back 'ome an' behavin' yoreself, Orkwil. You did a good job here t'night, defendin' our Abbey an' sendin' those vermin packin'."

The young hedgehog passed her his empty bowl, shaking his head. "We knocked one ole vole senseless, Gran, that's all. The vermin are still out there, I think Redwall has some hard days ahead. By the way, how's my friend Gorath comin' along, is he better yet?"

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The old Beekeeper shook her head. "He's gettin' better, but that big feller isn't fit yet, not by a long straw. Pore beast's been through a dreadful time, if'n ye ask me."

Foremole Burff chuckled. "Aye, marm, but you'm wait'll ee badgerbeast bee's well agin. Hurrhurr, then ee'll see summ sparks a-flyin', boi okey ee will!"

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Maudie felt she was in the middle of a nightmare in broad daylight. As the logboats soared out over the waterfall they were enveloped in a milky fog of spray, tinged through by a broad spectrum of rainbow colours. The haremaid had released her hold of the logboat, as had the Guosim crews. All about them the air was filled with the roar of cascading waters. It was the strangest of sensations, plunging downward amid all the noise and colour, seeing others falling alongside her, some still holding their paddles. Maudie even had time to think about what had happened to the coracle, and its cargo of shrewbabes. Would the logboats land on top of them? Those poor babies, it didn't bear contemplating.... Splaaaash! Kabooooom!

The Guosim crews hit the water. Maudie was immersed in a world of swirling blue, green and white, with the dull boom of the waterfall echoing in her skull. She was whirling about, like a leaf in a hurricane, water filling her mouth, nostrils and vision. Her body was swept sideways, as she felt herself thrust upward, paws flailing in all directions, toward the surface.

"Whoa, matey, gotcha, up ye come now, bucko!" A huge, fat otter had her by both ears, in a viselike grip.

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The pain of being hauled out by her ears was momentary Maudie felt herself flung up onto a mossy bank, as though she were a bundle of washing. In swift succession, several Guosim were slung onto the bank beside her. Luglug was one of them, he sprawled alongside the haremaid, both coughing and spitting out water and weed fronds. The big otter banged his rudder down on their backs, helping them to expel the debris from their lungs. He pointed to Maudie, laughing as he bellowed out to an equally big female otter, "Hohoho! Lookit this 'un, Kachooch, did ye ever see a shrew with a set o' lugs like that?"

Maudie managed to gasp indignantly, "I say, d'you mind, I'm a blinkin' hare, not a shrew!"

The big female, Kachooch, helped Maudie upright, winking cheerfully at her. "Take no heed o' Barbowla, me deary, he's only joshin'."

Luglug gave the big male's rudder a hearty tug. "Barbowla Boulderdog, you ole gullywhumper, wot are you doin' in these waters? I thought you was livin' on the East River Moss."

Barbowla hauled another shrew from the water and casually tossed him ashore. "Log a Log Luglug, ye whiskery ole knot'ead, don't ye know any better'n tryin' to paddle logboats o'er the ripples? Good job me'n the family was here t'pull yore acorns out o' the soup."

Luglug retrieved his paddle and inspected it for damage. "Didn't have much choice, mate, we was on the run from Kurdly an' his Brownrats. Did ye manage to rescue our liddle 'uns, they was swept away ahead of us."

Kachooch beckoned along the bank with her rudder. "Bless their liddle spikey 'eads, they're in the holt, playin' with me'n Barbowla's grandbabes. Shame on ye, lettin' 'em get away from ye like that!"

Maudie intervened. "It wasn't our fault, marm, we were fightin' off the rats, y'see."

Kachooch pursed her lips angrily. "There's far too many

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o' those brown, ratty murderers for most honest beasts to fight off. They does as they pleases around Mossflower these seasons!"

Barbowla towed an upturned logboat further down the bank, to where a number of his sturdy sons and daughters turned it upright with a joint heave. "That Gruntan Kurdly's like all bullies, he'll meet his match one fine day, an' I hopes I'm around t'see it. Come to the holt an' take a bite with us, yore Guosim's all safe'n'sound. There should be plenty o' plugs'n'dips to go round."

Luglug smacked his lips noisily. "Plugs'n'dips, eh, lead on, me barrel-bellied bucko!"

Maudie accompanied Kachooch, enquiring, "Beggin' y'pardon, marm, but what in the flippin' name o' seasons is plugs'n'dips?"

The big otterwife chuckled. "You'll soon find out, missy."

The otters' holt was on an island further downstream, they took the logboats and paddled to it. Barbowla and his extended family had built the holt like a small fortress, from log and stone chinked with moss and rivermud. Inside it was a scene of comfortable chaos, homely and welcoming. Barbowla and Kachooch had a large number of sons and daughters, all of whom had partners and broods of small otters. Together with the Guosim, and their babes, there was a considerable number of creatures to feed.

Maudie found herself ensconced in a corner, with Kachooch and her eldest daughter, Belford. The haremaid was given a wooden skewer and a clay bowl, whilst Belford went to the main cooking fire in the centre of the holt. Maudie went also, just to see what was going on. There was a massive cauldron into which the cooks were adding a mixture of cheese, cornmeal and finely chopped herbs. The haremaid's curiosity as a cook overcame her. She asked Belford, "I say, it all smells jolly appetisin', what exactly are they doin'?"

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The ottermaid took up a pan. "That's the dips, they say the herbs are a secret recipe. I'll get our dips, you go over there an' get the plugs."

Maudie went to the other side of the fire, where more cooks had a couple of old iron shields, which they were using as roasting pans. She watched them pounding hazelnuts and chestnuts with chopped mushrooms. Pouring honey over the mixture, the cooks made it into lots of tiny cakes, roasting them on the shields. They sizzled as they rolled about, until they were hot and a deep brown colour.

One of the cooks filled a trench-shaped platter, passing it to Maudie. "Yore plugs, mate. Go easy, they're hot. You'll enjoy 'em, if'n you haven't tasted 'em afore!"

The haremaid curtsied politely. "Thank you, I'm sure I jolly well will, wot!"

Back with Kachooch and her daughter, Maudie skewered one of the plugs, dipping it into her bowl, which had been filled with the steaming mixture from the pan. She had to nibble at it delicately, because it was all very hot. However, Maudie voted plugs'n'dips as among the tastiest food she had ever eaten.

"Absobloominlootly scrumptious! Why've I never had this before? Top marks, you chaps, eleven out of ten I'd say!"

One of the cooks, a young fellow with a fine voice, began singing an old otter ballad, in praise of the delicacy.

"When I was a babe my ma would say, Guess what I made for dinner today, blow on your paws an' lick yore lips, 'cos I've cooked up some plugs'n'dips!

"Oh plugs'n'dips you can't go wrong, you'll grow up so big'n'strong, ain't no bones or stones or pips, just good ole fashioned plugs'n'dips!"

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Barbowla joined Maudie and the two otters, helping himself to plugs'n'dips. The haremaid marvelled at how he could swallow them down hot at a single go. The otter chieftain patted his stomach and winked at her. "I tell ye, Miz Maudie, you got to learn to git yore share an' scoff it quick, when you got a family the size o' mine. Moreso when the likes o' Luglug an' his famine-faced gang joins ye for dinner. Huh, lookin' at the size o' them shrews I alius asks meself, where do they put it all?"

Maudie smiled at the big, friendly otter. "Serves you jolly well right givin' the Guosim such wonderful vittles, old chap. I hope Log a Log Luglug thanked you properly for rescuing his shrews, wot?"

Kachooch refilled Maudie's bowl. "Ah, away with ye, missy, we don't need lots o' fancy compliments for doin' wot any decent beast would. Dearie me, though, I'm still chucklin' at that coracle full o' Guosim babbies!"

Selecting a fat plug, Maudie skewered it. "I expect it was quite a task, finding them all in that rough water, how did you do it, marm?"

Kachooch shook with stifled laughter. "We didn't have t'do a thing, they didn't even get their liddle paws wet. The coracle came down, whirlin' like a sycamore seed, with the babes gigglin' an' chortlin' like it was all a big game. Well, there must've been about six or seven of us in the water at the time, we never even saw it comin', did we, Bel?"

Her daughter, Belford, grinned ruefully. "Certainly didn't, Ma, it landed right on our backs, an' skidded across us, straight onto the bank!"

Barbowla showed Maudie the top of his head. "Aye, an' I've got a patch o' fur missin', 'cos I was the one it landed on first!" Barbowla's face was such a picture of injured dignity that Maudie had to struggle to look sympathetic.

"Must've been pretty painful for you, sah. Sorry about that, but we were on the run from the enemy an' all that, y'know. Pity you were injured, eh wot!"

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Barbowla nodded. "Thankee, miz, but it ain't nought to weep over. I'm more worried about Kurdly an' his rat horde. If they're trailin' you an' the shrews, then 'tis for sure they'll bump into us. We wouldn't stand a chance agin the numbers Kurdly commands."

Maudie realised the position their arrival had put the otters in. She grasped Barbowla's paw firmly. "Indeed, sah, that's why I suggest you come to Redwall with us, that'll put your family out of harm's way, wot!"

Kachooch practically wriggled with delight. "Ooh, Red-wall Abbey! I alius wanted to visit there, ain't that where yore cousin Rorc is, Skipper?"

Barbowla shook the haremaid's paw. "Good idea, miz, I'd like to visit the Abbey, ain't never been there afore." He glanced warningly at his wife and daughter. "Not a word o' this to the others, y'hear. The length o' time they takes gettin' ready for a journey, Kurdly'd be here attackin' afore they're half-packed."

Belford contained her excitement. "Yore right, Pa, we'll just say the family's joinin' the Guosim to guide 'em along the stream apiece. Maudie, d'you think Luglug would object to takin' our babes along in his logboats? The rest of us are all strong swimmers, we don't need to ride in boats."

Maudie reassured the otters. "Rather, I'm sure our Log a Log would welcome your plan. Come on, Barbowla, let's have a quiet word with him."

Luglug immediately agreed with the plan, taking them to one side, and lowering his voice. "I'll go along with any-thin' you say, mates, but we'd best do it right now. Two o' my rearguard scouts have spotted the rats, they're startin' to climb down the rocks either side o' the falls. Just leave things as they are an' git yore liddle 'uns into the logboats, matey. The way I figgers, it'll be a close-run thing to shake off those Brownrats an' make it to Redwall Abbey!"

Barbowla's eyes narrowed craftily. "I knows the waterways twixt here an' Redwall better'n most, beggin' yore

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pardon, Luglug. There's lots o' streamlets an back cuts, dead ends an' marshes. Let me lead the way, mate?"

Luglug nodded briefly, explaining to Maudie, "He's right, there's quite a few places an otter can go, where a logboat crew might not see a passage."

The haremaid threw a smart salute to Luglug and Barbowla. "Right y'are, chaps, quick's the word an' sharp's the action, wot, forward the blinkin' buffs I say!"

A party of twelve litter bearers lowered Gruntan Kurdly's carrying stretcher gingerly onto the rocks at the head of the waterfall. The huge Brownrat chieftain moaned and winced as his body made contact with the damp stones. Stringle, the rat officer, approached Gruntan, he had to shout, to make himself heard above the roar of the waterfall.

"Noggo an' Biklo just reported that they've seen the sh'ews, an' some riverdog otters, they're sailin' off, below there, in the logboats!"

Irately, Gruntan cupped a paw about his ear, bellowing, "Wot's that, speak up!"

Stringle shouted louder. "Riverdogs an' Guosims, Boss, sailin' off in logboats...."

Gruntan swung a heavy walking stick across Stringle's shins, causing him to break into a hopping dance of pain. "Wot'n the name o' bursted beetles are ye talkin' about? Silverlogs wailin' on a blow there wid frogstoats? Away, ye blitherin' buffoon, an' see wot those sh'ews are up to! Ahoy, somebeast move this stretcher, afore I'm soaked an' drownded!"

Amid more howls and groans from Kurdly, the bearers moved the litter onto drier ground. Bandaged and poulticed with evil-smelling unguents, Gruntan winced as his healer, Laggle, approached. The old, wrinkled, female rat was carrying what looked like a pair of rusty pincers. She mumbled as she turned her patient roughly, facedown, removing swathes of grimy dressing.

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"Gorra get those gorse spikes out afore they fester, still plenty left in yore tailparts, 'old still now!"

Gruntan squealed like a stuck pig as Laggle went to work with furious energy. "Yow! Wow! Yeeeeek! Ye dod-derin' ole murderer, I'll 'ave ye gutted an' roasted for this. Ayaaargh!"

Smiling with satisfaction, the healer showed him a hefty gorse spike. "I just dug this 'un out o' yer be'ind, nice, ain't it? There's a few more in there, but they're stuck deeper'n this, bigger ones, they are. Once they're out I'll clean the wounds up wid rock salt an' boilin' water. Oh, stop whingein' like a baby will ye!" Chuckling maliciously she went to work again. "Mebbe ye won't feel like eatin', I'll take care o' those waterfowl eggs they're boilin' for ye."

The six logboats, plus the coracle, shot off downstream. Barbowla and all the able-bodied members of his family swam in formation around the flotilla. The shrew and ot-terbabes were virtually uncontrollable, they packed the next to last logboat, which became a scene of chaos. Dancing, singing, quarreling and squealing, they never let up for a moment. Some even leapt overboard, but were soon rescued by the otters.

It was a shrewmum named Frenna who solved the problem. She poured a few flagons of dandelion and burdock cordial into a cauldron; into this she mixed the contents of a few small vials. Placing the cauldron in the midst of the infants, Frenna strictly forbade any of them to drink it, saying it was only for grown-up creatures. She sat at the stern of the logboat, with her back to the little ones. Immediately, like all babes who have been told not to do a thing, they fell upon the mixture and drank it. Fenna signalled to the shrew paddlers. Gently they began to hum and sing a leisurely song.

"Hear the stream flow softly, slowly, see the waters calm and deep, floating on and on forever,

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slipping, dipping into sleep

Way hoooo my baby oooooh ...

Take me to the lands of dreaming, there small birds do sing so sweet, calm noontide sails into evening, where the sun and moon both meet.

Way hoooo my baby oooooh ...

Hush, you stream, be ever tranquil, silent now each paddle blade, trees o'erhead lean down to kiss you, sunlight warm and cool dark shade.

Way ooooh my baby oooooh."

Sitting in the lead logboat with her Guosim friend Osbil, who was still acting as prowspot, Maudie was pleasantly surprised at the silence which had fallen over the vessels. Looking back, she saw the otter and shrewbabes in the second boat, they were all sound asleep. "Well, who'd have thought a few verses of gentle singin' could send those little bounders to dreamland, wot?"

Osbil continued prowspotting as he replied. "Aye, that an' a few drops o' missus Frenna's shuteye potion. 'Tis nought but simple herbs, but it does the job every time, believe me, mate."

Barbowla swam alongside the logboat, issuing directions to the Guosim paddlers. "Better step up the pace, buckoes, Kurdly's rats have all reached the bottom o' the falls, they'll be right on our tail afore long. Stay straight on this course, but keep yore eyes peeled for a big, white willow tree to yore right. I'll direct ye from there."

Osbil saluted with his rapier. "Straight ahead it is, I'll watch out for the willow."

Log a Log Luglug had stationed himself in the coracle, with Rigril and Teagle. They kept to the rear of the log-boats, constantly watching behind for the first sign of Kurdly and his Brownrats. It came sooner than they had anticipated.

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Teagle spied about twoscore of the vermin front-runners in the distance. "Here they come, mates, all painted, well-armed an' ready for the slaughter. They're still a fair way off, but comin' along fast!"

Luglug groaned. "Aye, an' they're comin' along the left bank, too, we could've done without that!"

Rigril shrugged. "Makes no difference, look, there's another lot just appeared on the opposite bank!"

Luglug beckoned to an otter swimming alongside the coracle. "Git up front, matey, tell 'em to put on as much speed as they can. We need to get round that bend up ahead!"

Word went along the line of logboats, on Luglug's command they went into a formation of pairs. Grimly every Guosim bent to their paddles. Headropes were thrown out to the otters. With strong otters to each rope, they sped along in front of the vessels, increasing the overall speed as they towed skillfully. All this was done in complete silence. At this point nobeast wanted to wake the little ones, and cause extra confusion.

Stringle strode back along the right bank, to where the main body were coming from the foot of the waterfall. At the centre of the lines, Gruntan Kurdly was propped up on his carrying litter. Stringle made his way through to the Brownrat leader. "They been spotted, Boss, paddlin' along the stream up yonder, those streamdogs, too. Hah, won't be too long afore we catches 'em up now."

Gruntan did not even acknowledge Stringle's report. He was applying himself greedily to some cold plugs'n'dips, which had been looted from the otters' wrecked holt. Stuffing his mouth with plugs, he drank deeply from the cauldron. The cold mixture slopped down his chin, onto his bandages. Stringle stood waiting until his gluttonous leader could talk.

Gruntan belched aloud. Wiping a grubby paw across his mouth, he announced, "Hmm, that ain't bad grub, it'd

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taste better if'n it was 'ot, though. Lissen, don't slay all those streamdogs when ye catch 'em. Keep one o' them alive, I'd like to know 'ow they makes these vittles." Gruntan wiped his dip-slopped paw on the head of a nearby litter bearer, wincing as he sat up straight. "An ye say you've caught 'em, eh?"

Stringle shook his head, correcting Gruntan. "No, Boss, I only said we've spotted 'em, an' it won't be too long afore we catches 'em."

Gruntan glared at him peevishly, gesturing. "Then don't stand there a-flappin' yer jaw, go an' catch 'em! I gotta 'ave those sh'ewboats!"

Stringle knew there was no point in talking to his boss when he was in such a mood. He saluted and dashed off without further ado.

Gruntan shifted position, wincing again at another thorn, which Laggle had not yet discovered embedded in his rear end. There was a sound from the ranks behind him. What was it, a sneeze, or a snigger? Whirling his head around, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Somebeast laughed just then, who was it, eh?" The horderats remained silent. Gruntan fixed one rat with a stare which commanded an immediate answer. "You there, ugly mug, who was it wot laughed?"

The rat's throat bobbed up and down nervously. "It wasn't me, Boss, I swear on me oath it wasn't!"

Gruntan crooked a grimy claw at him. "Come over 'ere!" He watched the unfortunate approach on shaking paws. "Move yoreself, I said come over 'ere, stan' there!"

The rat stood close to his leader, right on the spot he had indicated. He tried one last plea. "It wasn't me wot laughed, Boss, honest!"

Gruntan bent his head close to the rat. "Well, let's 'ear ye laugh now. Go on, laugh!"

The rat made a feeble attempt. "Er, haha."

Without warning Gruntan seized the cauldron of cold dip and upended it over his victim's head, leaving him

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wearing it, like a monstrous helmet with mixture dripping from it. Gruntan dusted his paws off. "Now let's see ye laugh that off! Hahaharrr!"

The rest of the Brownrats laughed dutifully along with their boss, until he turned on them, bellowing, "Wot are you lot laughin' at? I never told ye t'laugh! Now get movin', double-quick, afore I really give ye somethin' to laugh about!"

Officers roared out orders as the ranks marched off at a rapid pace. Gruntan Kurdly was jounced up and down on his litter, pierced deeper by hidden thorns. However, he gritted his teeth and endured the pain, concentrating on a prize of six logboats.

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Once the logboats rounded the bend, they were out of sight from the rats. Maudie marvelled at their speed, they were going so fast that they were sending up bow waves. The shrewmum Frenna had covered up the babes with quilts and blankets; they slept on, blissfully unaware of everything.

Maudie was first to see the tree, she nudged Osbil. "Aha, one white willow straight ahead on the right!"

The Guosim shrew patted Maudie's back. "We'll make a prowspotter out of ye yet, miss!"

Barbowla came streaking through the water like an arrow. "There's thick bush the other side o' that willow. If'n ye look careful there's a hidden stream there, too. I'll go an' mark the entrance, we needs t'be in that cutoff, behind those bushes, afore Kurdly's crew arrives!"

A dismaying thought struck Maudie. "Er, a moment old chap, are you sure you've thought this plan through, right?"

The big otter forestalled her objection. "I knows wot yore goin' t'say, miz. If'n the rats comes along the bank on that side, they'll be bound t'see us, 'cos they've got to cross the very cutoff water that we're hidin' in. Is that wot you was

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goin' to say?" As Maudie nodded, Barbowla held up a paw. "Don't fret yore pretty, long ears, Miz Maudie, 'tis already taken care of. Now trust me an' git movin'."

Gasping for breath, and exhausted by their efforts, the Guosim paddled their final logboat behind the bushy screen. Luglug, Rigril and Teagle slid in with the coracle. The shrew chieftain had the same misgivings as Maudie. However, before he could speak, Barbowla silenced him.

"Let's 'ave every able-bodied beast out 'ere on the bank with me. Come on, we've got to provide a bridge for the vermin to cross. Luglug, get yore strongest shrews, mate. Aye, an' tell 'em to bring their paddles along, we needs all the muscle we kin get!"

Barbowla led his contingent of Guosim and otters to where a large, fallen tree trunk lay covered by fern and shrubbery. Suddenly the plan became clear to Maudie, she winked at the big otter.

"I say, well done, sah! If we bridge the sidestream with that trunk, then scoot away double-quick in the jolly old logboats, we could fool 'em. Old Kurdlywotsit an' his foul mob should cross the bridge, thinkin' we've carried on along the mainstream. What a super wheeze, they'll go right past us, wot!"

Barbowla began clearing away shrubbery. "No time for gossipin' now, miz, those villains'H be here soon. There's a good growth o' rush an' bush up yon sidestream, we can lay low there until they pass. Ahoy, let's git this ole log a-rollin', you Guosim, use yore paddles to move it. We need t'be quick!"

Everybeast bent their backs to the task. Shrews dug their paddles under the trunk and levered away with them. Maudie joined Barbowla's brawny family, hauling on three stout ropes.

At first nothing happened, then Luglug took over. "On my command, crews ... One, two, heave!" The trunk began to slide across the ferns and damp moss.

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Maudie gave a whoop. "That's the stuff, chaps, keep the blighter movin'!"

Beetles, worms and all manner of crawling insects fled for fresh cover as they were exposed to the daylight by the shifting of their shelter. An old Guosim shrew, who was watching the bankside, whispered hoarsely, "Keep yore voices down now, an' git a move on. I think I can see 'em in the distance!" His urgent entreaty lent power and speed to their limbs, the trunk moved rapidly along, until they were at the sidestream.

Barbowla and his otters leapt into the water, helping to shift the huge log, as the shrews put their paddles to the broken tree's base. Once it was bridging the water firmly, everybeast swiftly trampled the area surrounding both sides. This was to make it look as though the trunk was often used as a crossing. Without taking breath, the shrews were back into their logboats, paddling furiously off down the sidestream, with the otters towing and pushing each craft.

Maudie crouched at the stern of the last boat, alongside Osbil the Spotter, whose keen eyes picked up movement back along the bankside.

"I can see the painted scum, they'll be at that trunk afore long. I wouldn't be surprised if'n they spotted us!"

Maudie glanced upstream, to where the coracle, and the leading logboat, were slipping into the shelter of overhanging trees and rushes. "Not to worry, bucko, we should just about flippin' well make it. Duck your head, old lad, an' hope for the best!"

Barbowla and Kachooch thrust the stern of the last log-boat under cover, just as the leading score of Brownrats arrived at the decoy bridge. Kachooch slipped silently along the line of boats, whispering a caution. "Don't paddle, stay still! If'n they look up this way an' see any movement of boats or trees, they're bound to see us. Lay low now, an' not a sound out of anybeast!"

At the tree-trunk bridge, a dispute appeared to have

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arisen. Kurdly's leading rat, Stringle, was calling across the mainstream to the scout Noggo, who was with a large contingent on the far bank. "Can ye see any sign of 'em upstream?"

Noggo shrugged as he shouted back, "I can't see 'em from 'ere, wot'll we do?"

Stringle sat down in the centre of the log. He looked this way and that, then scratched his head. "Best wait 'ere 'til the Boss arrives!"

Noggo could see the sidestream from the opposite bank. "D'ye think they've gone up there?"

Stringle spat contemptuously into the water. "Yew thick-'eaded dolt, 'ow could they sail through this log I'm sittin' on? Huh, if'n brains was vittles you woulda starved to death when ye was born!"

More rats began arriving on either side of the stream, until both banks were crowded. Everybeast waiting on the arrival of their leader's stretcher.

Peering from beneath the leafy foliage, Luglug grunted. "I can't see a thing, wot's goin' on back there?"

Maudie and Osbil had the best view. Through a screen of rushes the haremaid gave her assessment of the situation. "Looks like there's some sort of confounded conflab goin' on. Wish they'd jolly well move on an' pick someplace else t'do their jabberin'."

Osbil commented, "Somethin' should be happenin' shortly, here comes ole fat-bottom Kurdly on his litter."

One of the shrews clanked his paddle against the log-boat's side. Luglug cautioned him in a severe undertone, "Belay there, mate, d'ye want the vermin to know we're here?"

The shrew apologised. "Sorry, Chief, I swiped at a wasp wot was buzzin' round me snout, huh, I missed it!"

The shrew chieftain glared savagely at him. "I won't miss you if'n you makes any more noise, I'll splinter that

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paddle atwixt yore ears. All of ye, keep yore heads down, an' not a murmur out of anybeast!"

Gruntan Kurdly was on the same bankside as Stringle, grunting with pain he sat up straight on the litter, staring at his officer. "Well, wot are ye waitin' for, next season?"

Stringle tried explaining. "I er, thought we'd better wait fer you, Boss ... er, I think we've lost 'em...."

Gruntan exploded. "Lost 'em, worra ye talkin' about, lost 'em, 'ow could any fool lose six logboats on a straight stream?"

Stringle pointed across at Noggo on the other bank. "Well, that scout couldn't see any sign of 'em up ahead, an' I couldn't see 'em either. So we waited for yore orders, Boss."

Noggo called across, trying to sound helpful. "I was sayin' to Stringle, they might've gone up that side-stream, Boss."

Gruntan Kurdly cast a glance at the tree trunk which bridged the sidestream, he looked across at Noggo. "An wot, pray, gave ye that bright idea?"

Noggo shrugged. "Well, they had t'go somewhere, an' they ain't on the mainstream, so I thought they might've cut off up there, Boss."

Noggo was sorry he had spoken. Gruntan pointed to the bank, where he was sitting upon his litter. "Get over 'ere, now!"

Noggo looked at the stream separating them both. "Wot, y'mean swim, Boss?"

Gruntan bellowed aloud, "No, I mean fly, ye dimwitted dolt. Get over 'ere right now!"

Noggo leapt in and swam across. A moment later he was standing, trembling, alongside his leader.

Gruntan indicated the tree-trunk bridge. "Tell me, 'ow did they git six logboats over that?"

Noggo had his answer ready. "Carried 'em, Boss, they

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was carryin' their boats when me'n Biklo first spotted 'em. Sh'ews kin carry boats, y'know."

Gruntan winced as he pulled a gorse thorn from his tail area. "Right, we'll wait 'ere whilst you go an' take a look. Give us a shout if'n ye spot 'em."

Noggo knew he had no choice, he set off along the less well-defined and more muddy sidestream bank.

Osbil whispered to Maudie, "There's one of the vermin comin' toward us, what'U we do?"

The haremaid murmured as she watched the approaching Brownrat, "Keep lyin', doggo, he might not come up this far. But if he does, don't fret, I'll jolly well stop the blighter. In fact, I'll stop him cold!" Going into a crouch, ready to spring, Maudie clenched her paws tightly. Everybeast in the boats held their breath.

Noggo was talking softly to himself as he neared the rushes and overhanging trees. "Huh, that's wot I get fer tryin' t'be 'elpful. I'll keep me trap shut from now on, I ain't no ossifer!"

He ducked under the tree canopy, and was met by Maudie. She came bounding from the stern of the logboat, poleaxing the unsuspecting Noggo with a thundering right punch, followed by a swift left. There was no need for a third blow, the first two had done the job. Noggo was out for the rest of the day. As Maudie slid back into the boat, everything suddenly went wrong.

An otterbabe squealed out in pain, stung on her nosetip by one of the wasps which had been buzzing about. Before she could be silenced, the little one's piercing wails were echoing about widespread.

Barbowla appeared over the stern of the back logboat. "Ahoy, mates, git those paddles a-slappin', 'tis time we weren't in this place!"

The Guosim crews needed no urging, they shot their boats through the tree canopy and out onto the other side, paddles digging furiously. In the vessel to the rear, Maudie

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and Osbil could see the first of the Brownrats, headed by Stringle, squelching their way along the muddy bank as they came hot in pursuit.

The sidestream was only wide enough to allow the Guosim craft to travel in single file. Prow bumped stern as they fled from Kurdly and his horde. Barbowla, and three of his sturdy sons, formed a rearguard behind the boats.

Maudie called to the otter, "Get up front, friends, I'll organise some sling throwers an' archers. They'll soon be close enough for us to get a shot at 'em, wot!"

Barbowla thrust his weight against the stern, shooting the craft forward. "No, miz, there's too many vermin, ye'd be overrun if'n ye tried to fight 'em. Speed, that's wot we need!"

Another shaded area of trees loomed up. Luglug could be heard calling from up in front. "We're runnin' into the forest, keep goin', mates, Redwall Abbey ain't far now, I recognise this area!"

Gruntan Kurdly was in the rear of the pursuit, bumping about as a score of Brownrats stumbled along bearing his litter. He was alternately urging his horde along, whilst cursing the litter carriers roundly.

"Avast up front, move yore sluggardly hides! I've seen snails wid shells on their backs that'd outrun youse lot. Argh! Go easy wid this stretcher, ye bumble-pawed nits, faint a bundle o' washin' yore totin'! Oof! Ye nearly spilt me into the water, watch where yore goin'. Where's the rest of 'em, they ain't all up front?"

Laggle, the old healer, who was trotting alongside the litter, gestured backward to the mainstream. "Heehee, half o' yore army are still on t'other side o' that mainstream. Prob'ly waitin' for a drought, so as it'll dry up an' they kin walk across."

Gruntan scowled sourly at the insolent Laggle, who was no respecter of rank or title. "Ho, are they? Well, go an' tell 'em if'n they ain't over 'ere in two shakes of a tail,

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there'll be a few attacks o' the Kurdlys runnin' through the ranks!"

He signalled to two vermin who were not engaged in carrying him. "Go an' see if'n we're gainin' on 'em, surely my rats kin run faster'n sh'ews kin paddle boats? Oh, an' when ye report back t'me, well, bring some vittles. I ain't gonna be bumped t'death an' starved inter the bargain. Yowch! Watch those tree branches over'ead, I near got me eye put out then. Can't ye carry an' crouch a bit, too?"

Maudie looked anxiously over the logboat's stern, not encouraged by what she saw. "I say, Osbil old lad, I don't wish to sound like a wet blanket, but those vermin types are gainin' on us, wot!"

The Guosim spotter nodded unhappily. "Aye, they're closin' the gap, miz, I can make out the paint on their mangy hides. We need more speed!"

Barbowla's wife, Kachooch, popped her head over the stern. "We're tryin', but ye can only go as fast as the boat in front when yore sailin' in single file."

"Ah, shure that's true, so 'tis. Ye talk good sense for a riverdog, so ye do!"

The logboat rocked as a creature dropped out of an overhanging beech into the vessel. He was a squirrel, small, but very wiry and agile. Four daggers were thrust into his broad waist sash, he wore a short, embroidered waistcoat, one hooped earring, and sported a woven, multicoloured headband, at a jaunty angle. He winked cheekily at Maudie, then bowed. "Rangval the Rogue at y'service, marm. Pray would ye impart t'me yore own dulcet title?"

Despite the peril of their position, the young haremaid took an immediate liking to Rangval, she curtsied formally. "Maudie (the Hon.) Mugsberry Thropple, pleased to make your acquaintance I'm sure."

Rangval the Rogue performed a somersault neatly. "Faith, an' that's a fine ould gobful of a name ye have there, marm. If'n I may, I'll just call ye Maudie, or prettyface, or

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beautybeast? Ah, but enough o' that ould flannel, I see ye've got problems. An' isn't it the bold Gruntan Kurdly an' his thickheaded horde!"

Maudie took another glance at the rats, who were getting closer by the moment. "It is indeed, I take it you know of him, wot?"

Rangval twitched his nose in the horde's direction. "Shure an' who doesn't know o' that 'un around here. I've been crossin' swords wid that boyo since he first showed his snotty nose in these parts. D'ye need my help now, Maudie, just say the word, me darlin', an' 'tis meself that'll put a spoke in his wheel!"

Osbil interrupted. "Wot could one squirrel do agin that lot?" Before he could speak further, the Guosim spotter was flat on his back with Rangval's dagger tickling his throat.

The roguish squirrel tweaked Osbil's snout. "When I want yore opinion, me ould son, I'll ask for it! Ah, shure but yore only a spiky rivermouse, what would ye know about anythin' or a hatful o' hazelnuts?" Rangval put up his blade and dismissed Osbil. "Now then, Maudie me darlin', tell yer friends to push on upstream an' don't hang about. When ye come to a tidy liddle cover with a sandstone overhang an' some pines nearby, wait for me there. Oh, an' when ye pass by Owch Mansions, hold y'breath an' keep yer head down, an' make no sudden movements."

Barbowla poked his head over the prow. "Owch Mansions, I've never heard o' that place."

Rangval grinned at the big otter. "Barbowla from the falls, isn't it? You don't know me, but I've watched you many a time, good, big family y'have. Shure, let's do the introductions later, I'd best be about me business now. I'll see ye later, so I will!" Rangval shot upward into the fo-liaged terraces and was gone.

Maudie turned to Barbowla. "I say we trust Rangval, he looks like a bit of a blinkin' laddo, but I'll bet he knows his bloomin' way round, wot!"

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The otter slid back into the water. "Ain't much else we can do but trust him, miz. I'll pass the word along to Luglug, t'keep watch for the cove."

Smiling sheepishly, Osbil felt his neck, where Rangval's blade had been a moment ago. "I wonder wot Owch Mansions are, miz?"

Maudie shrugged as the logboat began making better way. "I expect we'll find out soon enough, old lad."

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18

Abbot Daucus woke shortly after dawn. The skies were uniformly cloudy and dull, it was humid, and the dawn chorus of birdsong was absent. The good mouse wandered down to the kitchens, where Friar Chondrus was supervising breakfast preparations. Young ones on kitchen duty were scurrying around as the squirrel Friar issued orders.

"Don't put any hot bread or pastries to cool on the open windowsills, it's started drizzling. Folura, help me with this oatmeal, please."

Daucus took hold of the cauldron handle, his paw protected by a wrapping of sleeve folds. "Here, let me get that, friend, clear the table there!"

Chondrus made room for the cauldron as Daucus swung it quickly onto the tabletop. "Good morning, Father Abbot, have you been to the walltops yet, any news of the Sea Raider vermin?"

Daucus began adding ingredients to the oatmeal. "None yet, Friar. Skipper Rorc, Benjo Tipps, Foremole and Orkwil have been up there all night. I'll take them some breakfast and hear what they have to report. Then I'll have to organise a relief guard, they can't stay up there indefinitely. Have you heard from Sister Atrata, as to our badger, Gorath?"

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Friar Chondrus bent to pull a tray of fruit rolls from the oven. "The sister will be here shortly to collect breakfast for the sickbay. I'll let you know the moment she tells me about Gorath. Folura, Glingal, load up a trolley of vittles, and help Father Abbot up the ramparts with it, please."

Skipper's two fine daughters obliged cheerfully.

"Pore ole Daddy, he must be wet'n'starved."

"Never mind, we'll put a smile on his whiskers!"

Between them, the two ottermaids and the Abbot loaded up a trolley of hearty breakfast food, and headed off to the walltops. Benjo Tipps hurried down, to help them up the wallsteps with the trolley.

Orkwil rubbed a sleepy paw across his eyes, cheered up by the sight of breakfast. He was bone weary, but would not admit it. Abbot Daucus watched as the young hedgehog's snout drooped, almost dipping into his oatmeal bowl. Daucus tweaked Orkwil's ear gently.

"Wake up, mate, oatmeal's for eating, not sleeping in."

Orkwil protested. "I'm not a bit sleepy Father Abbot, honest I'm not!"

Skipper spoke through a mouthful of warm fruit roll. "Ho yes ye are, young Prink, but it ain't anythin' t'be ashamed of, ye did a good night's work on guard here!"

Abbot Daucus smiled at them through the thickening curtain of drizzle. "You all did a splendid night's work, and I thank you very much. But now you can go and have a good sleep, inside where it's dry and warm. Folura and Glingol will keep watch up here, whilst I go and organise some relief sentries. No arguments, off you go, please!"

Orkwil went straight up to the sickbay, where he was confronted by Sister Atrata. "And where pray do you think you are off to, sir?"

The young hedgehog tottered slightly and yawned. "Beg y'pardon, Sister, but I came to see how my pal Gorath is. I'd like to visit him if'n I may." Orkwil leaned up against the door, eyes drooping.

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The good Sister shook her head pityingly. "My my, just look at yourself, Master Prink, almost snoring on your paws. A sound sleep wouldn't harm you, I'm thinking. I had to put your friend in the little side room, since word got round the Abbey that we have a badger visiting us. I couldn't leave him lying on the floor of Great Hall in full view, because the whole population of Redwall wants to see Gorath. So I've hidden him in my private side room. There's an extra bed in there that you can use."

Orkwil was about to protest, but the Sister ushered him into the little room.

"There, that's better than sleeping in wine cellar barrels. Take these warm towels and dry the rain off. Hush now, your friend's still asleep, you can speak to him later, when you've had your rest."

Sister Atrata left quietly. Orkwil blinked in the dimly lit room. He opened one window shutter as he dried himself on the warm, soft towels he had been given. Gorath lay on the big bed, motionless, it was hard to tell whether he was sleeping or unconscious.

Orkwil snuggled beneath the counterpane on the small bed, staring across at his friend. The young badger seemed even more gigantic, stretched out there, though he looked haggard and ill from his shocking ordeal at the paws of Vizka Longtooth and his crew. His face was drawn, and hollow-cheeked, with the huge, red scar on his brow appearing like an angry, scarlet flame. On the bed beside him, still gripped in one paw, was Tung, his pitchfork. Even though he knew Gorath could not hear him, Orkwil murmured reassuringly to his sleeping friend.

"Rest easy, mate, yore safe inside Redwall Abbey now, an' I'm here to see you come to no harm. Guess what, they've made me an officer of the wall guard. I spent all night out on the battlements, watchin' for that fox and his scurvy crew. Hah, they didn't show a whisker. As soon as I've had a little rest I'll be back up on that wall with

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Skipper, Foremole and Mister Tipps. Father Abbot ordered us to take a break, y'see, there's a relief guard on at the moment. At least, I hope there is."

The young hedgehog turned away from Gorath, gazing out into the still drizzling morn. From the window he had a clear view of the northwest wall corner, it was well guarded by relief sentries. Beyond the ramparts, Orkwil could see some flatlands, the ditch running alongside the path and a portion of Mossflower woodland. He lay watching for any movement outside the Abbey, talking softly to himself.

"I know yore out there, fox, aye, an' you'd best stay out there if ye know what's good for you. Redwall isn't an easy nut to crack, it's made of stone, an' guarded by brave-beasts...." The young hedgehog's voice trailed off, his eyelids dropped, sleep had overcome his weariness.

A piece of sailcloth had been erected to form a small shelter in the ditch. Vizka Longtooth and Magger sat beneath it, blinking in the smoke of a little fire, which had been lit to keep the numerous winged insects at bay. The rest of the Bludgullet's crew either sought any cover they could find, or crouched there, suffering the persistent drizzle. Vizka stared bleakly at the closest group. "I don't s'pose youse thought ter bring any vikkles frum der ship wid ya?"

They avoided their captain's eyes and kept silent.

Vizka spat in the muddy ditchbed. "Oh no, I'm der one who has ta thinka dat!"

A voice from the huddled throng piped up swiftly. "But Cap'n, yew said dere was plenny o' vikkles in dat Abbey."

"Who said dat?" Vizka asked the question, knowing that nobeast was foolish enough to own up. The golden fox was no fool either, he knew the value of keeping a loyal crew about him. Thinking quickly, he explained their position, as if confiding in his followers.

"Right, I did say dere was plenny o' vikkles in de Abbey.

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But we ain't gonna get 'em chargin' inter battle. Huh, wot sorta idjit does dat, eh?"

There was immediate agreement all round. Redwall looked too solid and forbidding to be attacked head-on.

Magger nodded eagerly. "So wot's der plan, Cap'n?"

Vizka's mind was racing as he spoke. "Er, this's wot ya do. First, we needs vikkles t'day. Magger, take der crew back up dis ditch, until yer outta sight. Den go inta der forest an' load up wid vikkles, must be plenty growin' in a forest, birds, eggs an' fishes, too. Stay in de forest an' make a big fire, cook every thin' up. Make skilly, an' soup, an roast stuff, to feed all me mates, all me good crew! Well, buckoes, 'ow'll dat do ya?"

There was a mass murmur of agreement. Magger started to move off, then turned to Vizka. "Wot'll yew be doin', Cap'n?"

The golden fox tapped his muzzle with a paw. "Plan-nin', Magger, figgerin' a way so's we kin get inta dat Red-wall an' lay our claws on all dat loot, an' all der vikkles. Leave it ter me, nobeast can lay a plan like Vizka Longtooth, right?"

Magger saluted with his spear. "Right y'are, Cap'n!"

Vizka called after the departing vermin. "Don't let ole Magger scoff every thin', mates, save some fer yer old cap'n, I'll join youse later."

They went off in a lighter mood, bouyed by their captain's words.

When they had gone, Vizka sat alone under the canvas awning, pondering his dilemma. How to conquer an Abbey, which was not only well-defended, but contained a berserk badger who had sworn to kill him. It was not a prospect that he relished, but now that he had committed himself, he could not back down in front of his crew. He knew that if they lost confidence in him, he was little better than a deadbeast. There was always some creature wanting to be captain, he had already witnessed this with Grivel, Feerog and Durgy.

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A noise from behind him on the path caused Vizka to creep out from his shelter and peer over the edge of the ditch. It was a party of moles who had ventured out to inspect the fallen watervole. He could not understand their speech.

"Burr, ee'm h'aloive, but that bee's ee gurt lumpen on ee'm 'ead, a roight mole'ill et bee's!"

"Burr aye, ole Benjo can surrpintly 'url a barrel stopper!"

There were six moles, they lifted the watervole between them and carried him inside the Abbey.

As the main gate of the outer wall slammed shut, Vizka mentally berated himself for a fool. He had missed a golden opportunity: the main gates had stood ajar for vital moments, and he had sent his entire crew off looking for food. They could have captured the moles, and rushed the gates! A huge sigh of regret and frustration came from the golden fox. He laid his forehead against the muddy ditch-side, cursing fate for robbing him of a great chance.

Something tickled the tip of his nose, he drew back and inspected the object. It was a worm, boring its way out of the ditchside wall. Callously, Vizka nipped it in two halves between his pawnails. He watched the worm writhing, then stamped on it. His long fangs showed as a sudden smile came across his features. He had a plan, a superbly simple scheme. His crew would dig their way into Redwall from the side wall of the ditch. A bit lower down, close to the big gate. It would be a foolproof idea!

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19

It was an unfortunate day for the Brownrats of Gruntan Kurdly. Hastened and bullied forward by their irate leader, they dashed along the squelching banks of the sidestream.

Rangval the Rogue, unseen to his enemies, skipped nimbly along in the middle terraces of the woodlands, chortling with delight as they blundered into his cunningly laid traps. He perched in a sycamore, watching the leading half dozen runners vanish amid screams of dismay. Down they went, straight into a deep, natural pit, which he had disguised with ferns and rotten branches. The hole was filled with water, overflowing from the stream.

The others veered sharply away from the bank, only to run into a grove of osier and purple willow, long, whippy branches and boughs. Rangval had tied back or intertwined a lot of the heavier limbs. He shook with laughter as the rats dashed into them.

Thwack! Splat! Whoosh! Thud! Their bungling passage released the lashing boughs. Jaws were shattered, teeth broken, paws damaged and stomachs had the wind driven from them as rats were felled, or cannoned into each other.

Rangval cast a backward glance at the chaos, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ah now, me bold buckoes,

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that's only a taste of wot ye've got to come. I'll teach ye to mend yore wicked ways. Hurry up, now, an' see the grand treat I've got in store for ye!" He halted long enough to hear Gruntan Kurdly roaring.

"Wot'n the name o' boiled eggs'n'bunions are ye doin' swimmin' round in that hole? Gerrout an' capture those boats! An' youse lot, who said ye could lay around in them bushes? Up on yore hunkers an' charge, afore I do a spot of ear slittin' an' tail choppin'!"

Rangval sped on his way, chuckling. "Shure that's the way, Kurdly me ould rat, keep 'em comin'. Boot a few bottoms, that'll move 'em!"

Rangval arrived ahead of the vermin, at his pride and joy, Owch Mansions. He had spent long seasons enticing wasps and hornets to the spot where two golden weeping willow trees formed a thick, low arch from bank to bank. He had specially placed lots of rotten fruit and dead vegetation, full of grubs and aphids, at the foot of each tree.

The wasps had built four nests there, large, globe-shaped structures, which perched between branches. For the hornets, he had a fallen tree, the long-dead and decaying trunk of a wych elm, that he had maneuvered to the waterside. There was a constant coming and going of wasps and hornets around the willow, and a steady, thin hum from the insects.

Rangval treated them with loving care, walking among them unafraid. He grasped the ends of two long, trailing ropes, which had been tied to the branches of both weeping willows. Rangval spoke soothingly as he paced carefully backward. "Ah, me little stripey darlin's, pay no attention t'me, 'tis only yore Uncle Rangval. But listen now, get those fierce ould stings of yores ready. There's a horde of fearful vermin comin' this way. I want ye to give 'em a good, hot, ould welcome, shure I know ye'll do me proud, bein' the fine, savage bunch y'are!"

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Rangval retreated until the ropes were almost taut. Crouching in the undergrowth, the wily squirrel kept the wasp nests in view, listening for sounds of the Brownrats heading toward them.

Stringle's duty as an officer was to make the others carry out Gruntan Kurdly's wishes by hook or by crook. Having already blundered into a few of Rangval's minor traps, they were reluctant to pursue the logboats vigorously. Stringle knew that he would be the first to suffer, if the horde continued to advance in such a laggardly fashion. Gathering the two scouts, Noggo and Biklo, for support, he tried a strategy which he had seen Gruntan use successfully.

Pushing his way to the front, he halted the vanguard, waiting until the rest had caught up en masse. Gruntan was in his litter, somewhere near the middle of the mob. He listened to Stringle's speech, nodding approvingly, as his officer addressed everybeast jauntily.

"Scrag me tail an' plug me ears, wot's all this, mates? The terror o' Mossflower, the great Brownrat horde, an' ye can't catch a few wooden boats full o' scruffy liddle sh'ews! I'll wager they're laughin' at us right now. Them sh'ews is only just upstream, y'know, an' a stream can't go on forever. One good charge an' we'll lay 'em by the tails. All the boss wants is their boats. Once we've captured 'em the chase is over, we kin do wot we like. Go fishin', rob birds eggs or just lay round in the sun for a few days. So wot d'ye say, buckoes, shall we go an' get them logboats?"

Gruntan shouted from his litter. "Aye, go to it, mateys, I'll make a feast fer the first one who brings me back a sh'ews head!"

Stringle had to jump aside as the horde sped by him, roaring, bellowing and whirling their weapons.

Gruntan Kurdly was smiling, he winked at Stringle. "Haharr, well done, bucko, let's get after 'em!" He laid about at the litter bearers with a willow withe. "Cummon,

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yew bottle-nosed, slab-sided, doodly-tailed idlers, git those paws poundin' at the double!"

Rangval heard the horde long before he saw them. Standing out in full view, the roguish squirrel tugged gently on the ropes, which were tied to both willows at strategic limbs. "D'ye hear that, bhoyos, ye'll have company soon, shure an' I hope those stings are well sharpened!"

With Biklo and Noggo in the lead, the horde came thundering along both banks, splashing through the shallows and bulling through the reeds. Biklo was first to spot Rangval up ahead, he stabbed the air with his spear. "That looks like one o' the rascals, watch me take 'is 'ead!"

Rangval laughed. "Faith, an' aren't you the bold feller, take this, vermin, an' bad luck to ye!" He yanked hard on both ropes, then somersaulted up into the trees and vanished.

In a trice, the war cries and shouts of pursuit were transformed into piercing shrieks of agony, under the full onslaught of a wasp attack. The torture was heightened when several vermin tripped against the rotten wych elm trunk, releasing a veritable storm of maddened hornets. The air was filled with the zing and buzz of ill-tempered insects, as they stung and stung again at their helpless victims. Brownrats performed weird dances of pain upon the wrecked wasp nests and the pulpy wood of the hornet lair.

Gruntan leaned his weight sideways, upsetting the litter, as he launched himself into the streamwater. More than one rat died that day, overcome by hundreds of stings, each laden with wasp or hornet venom. Most of the horde fled into the woodlands, attempting to outrun their tormentors. Others, Gruntan among them, tried submerging themselves for long periods, and pressing on upstream.

Rangval the Rogue arrived at the cove as evening was on the wane. Maudie, the otters and the Guosim were standing

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ready for an attack, with weapons drawn. Rangval looked around, slightly disappointed. "Have ye not got an ould bite o' supper for a beast?"

Luglug sheathed his rapier. "We was expectin' Kurdly's crew, never cooked no vittles."

The squirrel chuckled drily. "I don't think they could make it, they was unavoidably detained by some little buzzin' friends o' mine."

Osbil shook a paw at Rangval. "The wasps an' hornets around those two willows, ye mean. Thanks for not tellin' us about 'em, mate!"

Rangval dismissed the indignant young shrew with a shrug. "Ah well, me ould tater, there wasn't much time for explanations, as I recall. I told ye t'watch out for Owch Mansions, tellin' meself ye weren't some thick'eaded horde rats, but intelligent shrews. I trust none of ye were stung by me liddle mates?"

Maudie wiggled her ears at Rangval. "Not to worry, old lad, our Guosim friends were jolly lucky to have one of the finest brains in the blinkin' land along with 'em, wot! 'Twas I who spotted Owch Mansions and brought us safely through to this fair haven!"

Barbowla murmured confidentially to the squirrel, "Miz Maudie's right, but it was she who wouldn't allow us t'cook, for fear we were attacked."

Rangval shook his head in mock sadness. "Ah, 'tis always the way with maids, beauty an' brains, but totally lackin' in the supper department. Right, if'n ye'd all like to get in yore boats, I'll take ye someplace where we'll get an ould bite o' grub!"

With Rangval in the lead vessel, they pressed on. It was fully dark, and drizzling, when the squirrel halted them. He pointed to a medium-sized hill, not far from the bank. "There's my lovely ould home. Rogue's Retreat, I call it."

It was a natural cave inside the hill, the entrance to which was a bushy screen. Portaging the logboats, they

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made their way inside. Setting steel to flint, Rangval soon had a torch lighted.

Maudie gazed around, it was a huge sandstone cavern. "I say, this is splendid, how'd you find it?"

Rangval touched light to several other torches. "Find it? D'ye mind, missy, I made it!"

Barbowla's wife, Kachooch, gave Rangval a playful shove, which almost sent him sprawling. "Ah, away with ye, great, treewallopin' fibber! I was brought up in a holt, just like this. It's a place where the river ran through, when the land was young."

Luglug agreed with her. "Aye, I've heard o' places like this, it was carved out by the water, over countless seasons. Then for some reason the river changed course, an' prob'ly dwindled to yon stream outside, leavin' this place."

Rangval did not seem at all put out by being caught lying, he grinned cheerfully at Maudie. "I'll allow ye the honour of cookin' supper for me, marm. On the way here these Guosim were after tellin' me wot a marvellous cook you are, so carry on, please!"

Maudie found herself smiling at the garrulous squirrel's impudence. "Right ho, you cheeky wretch, but only if you agree t'go a few rounds boxin' with me afterward. I'm the undefeated Champ of Salamandastron, y'know."

Rangval made a show of rolling up his nonexistent sleeves. "Shure, 'tis not often that I have to knock the block off'n a pretty maid to get supper, but I'll do it!"

Assisted by the Guosim helpers, Maudie put on a tidy spread, considering their limited resources. She made a pastry from cornmeal and chestnuts, filling it with preserved fruit and nuts, and working it into a long roll. To complement it, she made a thick, sweet, white arrowroot sauce. With some cheese and apples for starters, and coltsfoot dandelion cordial to drink, it proved a successful supper. They lolled about a fire as the Guosim servers apportioned it out.

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One of the shrewbabes found, to her delight, that the cave had a pretty little echo. She began to sing a song which her mama had taught her.

"Don't run away from yore mamma's side,

'cos the woodland's big an' wide, hold on tight to her apron string, an' y'won't get hurted by anything.

"I'm a good likkle shrew so that's wot I do,

I'm not a naughty likkle shrew like you!

"When you go inna big logboat, sit very still when it's afloat, if you jump an' dance about, my mamma says that you'll fall out.

"I'm a good likkle shrew so that's wot I do,

I'm not a naughty likkle shrew like you!

"Go near a fire an' you get burned, this is a lesson I have learned, one day I'll be big, you see, an' I'll have a pretty likkle shrew like me.

"I'm a good likkle shrew so that's wot I do,

I'm not a naughty likkle shrew like you!"

Rangval lay back, both paws folded across his stomach. "Ah, charmin', well sung, liddle missy, that was grand, grand!"

Luglug drained his beaker, wiping a paw across his mouth. "Don't get too comfortable there, rogue, you've got to box a few rounds with Miz Maudie yet."

The roguish squirrel sighed. "Shure, I'm too stuffed t'move, an' I've never struck a pretty maid in all me life. Just suppose I slew her wid a single blow, which I'm quite capable of doin', havin' laid several o' me best friends low

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in that manner. Now I ask ye, who'd ever cook a fine ould meal like we've just had, widout the beautiful an' fasci-natin' Maudie t'do the honours?"

Luglug lay back, closing his eyes. "I never thought of it that way, mate, yore excused boxin'."

Maudie added, "But only if you sing us a song."

Rangval leapt to his paws eagerly "Faith, I thought ye'd never ask, I'll give ye a ballad that'd have a stone in tears. Silence now for the golden voice o' the woodlands." Placing a paw on his heart he began warbling dramatically.

"As I was lyin' in me bed the other night, sewin' buttons on an' scoffin' skilly pudden, when a thought flashed in me mind just like a light,

Shure bedad, said I, now isn't that a good 'un!

"So I hauled me pore ould body off the bed, kicked the family frog an' put me greasy hat on, an' roved forth to take a beneficial walk,

'cos lately I'd been pilin' too much fat on!

"Well, I'd not got very far along the way, when I met a toad, all big'n'fat'n'warty,

Oh good evenin' to ye, sir, meself did say,

Shut yore gob, said he, which wasn't very sporty!

"So I gave him such a smack I laid him low,

I could see that his ould life was fast a-fadin',

He said, take me off this road, call me friends an' have me towed ...

an' say you'll never strike a young haremaiden!"

Maudie kept a straight face, commenting, "Dreadfully sad tale, wot? So that's why you had to give up fightin'. Hmmmm. Er, I say, chaps, before we drop off to sleep, what's the jolly old plan for tomorrow? Always supposin' we have a plan, wot!"

Barbowla levered himself up on his rudder. "Well o'

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course we have, beauty, the plan's to get to Redwall, safe'n'sound in one piece. Right, Lug?"

The Guosim Log a Log was already half-asleep, he muttered drowsily, "Sleep first, plan tommorer!"

Everybeast was in agreement, except Rangval the Rogue. He was up on his paws, pacing and gesticulating. "Shure, an' is it a plan yore after? Faith, me lucky bhoyos, look no further than meself, aren't I the grandest ould planner ye ever fell over on a day's march!"

Maudie stifled a yawn politely. "Carry on, old thing, the cave floor is yours, what super wheeze have you come up with, wot?"

Rangval gave up pacing, he sat down sulkily. "Ah, ye can go an' boil yore dozy tails for all I care. Saved ye from Kurdly an' his army, didn't I, brought yez all here unscathed. Hah, an' that's all the thanks I gets for me efforts. Here I am, tryin' to help ye, an' yore all yawnin', snorin' an' layin' round like a pile o' fractured frogs. Well, I'll keep meself to meself, thank ye kindly, an' you can all go an' pickle yore ears an' boil yore bums, so there. From now on me lips are sealed!"

Maudie was immediately sorry about their treatment of Rangval. Shaking Luglug and Barbowla into wakefulness, she tried to remedy the situation. "Good grief, sah, please accept our profuse apologies. Confound us for our atrocious bad manners, we never intended hurtin' your feelings. Moreover we are very grateful for what you've done so blinkin' far. In fact, we're all bloomin' ears, please carry on with your excellent scheme, ain't that right, chaps?"

Luglug and Barbowla agreed hastily.

"Right, matey, go on, I'm dyin' to 'ear yore plan!"

"Aye, it'll prob'ly be better'n anythin' we'd think up!"

The change in Rangval was like the sun coming from behind a cloud, he beamed cheerfully at them. "Haharr, wait'll ye hear this, me fine, furry friends. Now, wot ye don't know is that we're only a good day's march from the Abbey, by a secret path known only to meself. But first

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we'll have t'get rid o' those ould boats, huh, can't be carryin' them along with us."

"Whaaaaat? Get rid of my logboats? Never!"

Rangval held up his paws, chuckling at Luglug's reaction. "Ah, shure I don't mean get rid of 'em altogether, ye'll get 'em back easy enough when the time comes. But we've got to travel light. By the mornin' Gruntan Kurdly'll have scouts out all o'er the neighbourhood, searchin' for us an' the boats. He'll be lookin' to the streams an' waterways, but we'll be nowhere near 'em."

The shrew chieftain's face was the picture of misery. "But where'll my six logboats be?"

Rangval patted the Guosim shrew's back. "Not t'worry, me ould tater, they'll be no more'n a paddle's length from where ye now stand. See this." The squirrel went to the cave's north wall, suddenly shouting, "Now close yore eyes tight, go on, close 'em!" They did as he ordered, there was a minute scraping sound, then Rangval called out, "Ye can open 'em now!"

Rangval was gone, vanished into thin air.

Maudie rubbed her eyes in disbelief. "Great seasons, where's the blighter got to, wot?"

Rangval's echoing laugh boomed around the cavern. "Ah shure, I'm right here, me darlin'!" He reappeared, seeming to walk straight out of the wall. They hurried to his side as he revealed all. "It's another small cave behind this 'un, see this crack in the rock? Well, ye just pull on it, like so." The whole rock seemed to move slightly, leaving enough room for Rangval to use as a doorway. "An' that, me ould Luglug, is where we'll hide yore boats. Aye, an' all the other tackle, too, cookin' pots, an' the like. We need t'cover a lot o' ground fast in the mornin', so we'll be trav-ellin' light."

Maudie nodded. "I see, an' I take it you'll be comin' to Redwall with us?"

The roguish squirrel raised his eyebrows. "I take it ye've

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never tasted Redwall vittles, or you wouldn't be askin' such a foolish ould question. I'm with ye every step o' the way, me beauty, I wouldn't miss the chance of nourishin' me fine body with the good Redwall Abbey cookin'. Right, let's get everythin' stowed into the small cave, ready for an early start when day breaks."

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20

Out in the woodlands, smoke billowed into the night, heavy smoke, thick and greasy. It came from wet, rotten vegetation, which had been piled onto a big fire. Hornets and wasps would not venture into the befugged area. Coughing, spitting, sneezing and constantly mopping at their eyes, Gruntan Kurdly and his Brownrats crouched around ten of these fires. None of them even resembled Brownrats. Everybeast who had lived through the stinging attack was heavily coated in greeny-black marsh mud.

Laggle, the old female healer, staggered about, dispensing advice. "Smear it on, thick as ye can, then leave it. No matter 'ow much it itches or stings, leave it. Tomorrer, when that scum an' ooze hardens up wid the sunlight, it'll peel off, an' bring all the stings out along with it."

Gruntan had missed most of the body stings by staying submerged in the stream, though his head was swollen and lumpy, where the wasps and hornets had attacked it. Stringle looked for all the world like a rat sculpture in mud, with holes for his eyes, nostrils and mouth.

Gruntan moved his head in Stringle's direction, slowly and painfully, he winced as he spoke. "Mim a thormem joo bikkupa pakth."

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Stringle scraped some mud from his ears. "Wot was that, Boss?"

Gruntan huffed irately. "A thed, joo bikkup pakth mim a thormem, thoon adda blite!"

Not wanting to anger his boss further, Stringle whispered to old Laggle the healer, "Do ye think the wasps got down his ears an' stung 'im in the brains? 'E ain't makin' sense!"

Laggle waddled over to Gruntan, she tapped his chin. "Open yer mouth ... wide."

Gruntan narrowed his already swollen eyes. "Mopera-mouff, fworra doodad form?"

The old healer was a no-nonsense type, she began prising his mouth open. "I said open yore mouth, Kurdly, yore talkin' rubbish, an' I want t'see why." Laggle took a swift peek inside his mouth, blanched at the odour of his breath, then gave her diagnosis. "Hah, no wonder ye can't talk proper, yore tongue's been stung, about nine or ten times I'd say, by the blisters on it!"

Gruntan touched a paw to his tongue, and winced again. "Me thongueth beed thtunged by d'wopth!"

Laggle shook her head resignedly. "That's wot I just said! Now, wot did ye want t'say to Stringle?"

Gruntan made an effort to speak clearly; it failed. "A thode hib doo bikkupa shooth pakth imma thormem!"

Fortunately, Laggle understood, she translated to Stringle. "He sez 'e told you to pick up the sh'ews tracks, in the mornin'."

The mud statue that was Stringle nodded forlornly. "Un-nerstood, Boss!" He murmured miserably to Laggle, "Huh, that's if'n I'm still alive at dawn!"

Gruntan stirred the fire with a spear, causing fresh billows of stinking smoke to set everybeast hacking and coughing painfully. He crouched low, rubbing both eyes, and muttering darkly. "Wheb I gedd dode lobgoats I'll bake dode shooth thcreeb f'berthy ho yeth, h'l bakem thnoddy!"

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Noggo nudged his scout companion, Biklo. "Wot did the boss say just then?"

Biklo shrugged. "I dunno, but he'll bring bad luck on us all, usin' language like that, mate!"

Noggo licked mud from his muzzle tip, and spat distastefully. "Bring bad luck, does that mean we've been havin' good luck so far?"

The peace and comfort of the hill cavern was broken by Rangval the Rogue. Dawn had just broken when he marched in briskly. "Top o' the mornin' to ye all, the sun's puttin' on a grand show out there. 'Tis too fine a day t'be snorin' an snoozin', right, Maudie, me darlin'?"

Maudie, who had risen early with the squirrel, strode in, towelling her face dry of streamwater. "Right indeed, old lad! Come on, chaps, up on y'paws. Quick's the word an' sharp's the action, wot! Now, we've got some jolly hard paw-sloggin' today, everybeast will be followin' friend Rangval, who knows the secret route to Redwall. So, with the permission of our Log a Log, an' Barbowla, I'll organise the march, wot?"

Some of the Guosim looked as though they were about to dispute the haremaid's role (as was customary with shrews) when Luglug rebuked them sternly.

"The maid's got my say-so, anybeast wants to argue about the crackin' o' hazelnuts, can do so wid me afore we goes further!" The Guosim chieftain allowed one paw to slide down to his rapier hilt. It was sufficient, no shrew wanted to tangle with Luglug. He nodded. "Carry on with yore orders, miz."

There was no mistaking the haremaid's air of command, Major Mullein would have been proud of her. "Pay attention at the back there. We'll be travellin' light an' quiet, fast an' silent as the bloomin' breeze, wot! Files o' four'd be best, don't get strung out or trailed to one side, keep t'gether, that's the ticket. Rangval will take the lead, I'll bring up the rear, Luglug an' Barbowla to the midflanks,

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left'n'right. I want everybeast who's strong an' able enough to pack a babe on their backs. Sorry about brekkers, Osbil an' Belford will provide ye with vittles, to munch on the march. All clear, any questions?"

Kachooch held up her rudder. "Ain't we allowed to sing as we go? I likes marchin' songs, Miz Maudie."

The haremaid shook her head. "Apologies, marm, I like a jolly good marchin' song, too, afraid we'll have to do without 'em. Safety in silence y'know. No more questions? Lead off, Rangval!"

They left the cavern, emerging into the calm summer morn. Maudie listened to the distant trill of birds, the murmur of the nearby stream, and the swish of dew-laden grass underpaw. She kept her wits about her, and her eyes focused into the surrounding woodland. This was not at all an easy task, as she was trying to eat breakfast, a fine yellow pear, some shrewbread and a small amount of hard cheese.

Adding to her difficulties was the shrewbabe, a tiny pestilence named Yik. He had elected to ride on Maudie's shoulders, simply by climbing up there and refusing to come down. The haremaid could not really protest, as it was she who had initiated the idea, so she bore her burden stoically. For awhile, at least, until Yik started to make his presence felt. "Yowch, I say, old lad, don't pull my flippin' ears!"

"I norra hole'ad, jus' makin' ya go fasterer."

"Well, I don't wish to go fasterer, er, faster, so stop tug-gin' on my ears, and don't keep kicking me with your confounded footpaws!"

"No kickin' ya, me paws gettin' itchy, I h'only scratchin' 'em on ya."

"Well, kindly chuck it, or go an' scratch y'paws someplace else. Whoops! What are you up to now, pestilential little bounder?"

"I savin' some breffkist for laterer!"

"Not down the back of my blinkin' tunic you're not. Eat

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it up now, or I'll tell 'em not to jolly well serve you any lunch!"

Osbil dropped back to walk alongside Maudie. "Well, miss, are ye enjoyin' yoreself?"

Maudie treated the young shrew to an icy glance. "Are you blinkin' well jokin', enjoyin' myself, with this bloomin' miniature cad torturing me! Who does he belong to, where's his ma an' pa?"

Osbil took a closer glance at the shrewbabe. "That 'un's little Yik, he don't belong to anybeast in particular, miz, he just turned up one day, didn't ye, mate?"

Yik bounced up and down on Maudie's shoulders, gripping her ears for balance as he squeaked aloud. "Blinkin' flippin' jolly well bloomin'!"

Osbil tried to hide a smile. "That's very nice language to be teachin' a babe!"

This seemed to encourage Yik, who redoubled his efforts. "Blinkblink flipflip jolly jolly bloomers. Heeheehee!"

A low, cautionary whistle came from the flank Barbowla was patrolling. Everybeast halted, Maudie reached up and clamped a paw across Yik's mouth. The travellers stood stock-still, not daring to move. The big otter signalled twice with both paws, pointing off to the left. Barbowla balanced a short otter javelin, watching the four Brownrats, who were barely visible twixt the shafts of light and shade cast by the trees. The vermin moved slowly away, stooping with the mud and marsh ooze plastered thickly on their bodies.

Luglug came from the other side of the marchers. Both he and Barbowla, with weapons at the ready, stole noiselessly through the tree cover toward the Brownrats. They were gone a short time, whilst everybeast kept total silence, not moving a single muscle.

After awhile, the otter and the shrew chieftain returned. Luglug kept his voice low. "Relax, mates, they've gone, the opposite way to where we're goin', thank the seasons. Are you alright, Miz?"

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As soon as Maudie had clamped her paw over Yik's mouth, the indignant babe had bitten into it. She could not shout out, or wriggle to free herself, but was forced to stand there, transfixed by the tiny, sharp teeth.

Luglug assessed the situation at a glance. "Pass the liddle scamp down 'ere t'me, Miz Maudie."

Still attached to the shrewbabe, the haremaid allowed Luglug to hold Yik. Pinching the babe's nostrils firmly, Luglug cut off his air supply, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe. Maudie withdrew her paw smartly.