Loamhedge

19

Evening was crimsoning the sky over the western reaches as Birug led his Darrat vermin into camp. The Darrat tribe gathered around to see what he had captured. A huge old rat—almost white, with a few brown flecks—pulled himself out of a hammock which was slung under a rocky ledge. Bulling his way through the crowd, he indiscriminately kicked babes, young ones, females and males out of his way. Studying the bound and hooded creatures lying exhausted on the ground, he addressed Birug in a shrill voice totally unsuited to his bulk.

“Lemme see dem!”

Horty felt the sack being pulled from his head and a knife slitting the rope gag in his mouth. He spat out the gag and found himself looking at the huge, fat one. Immediately the young hare began complaining.

“Y’don’t mind me sayin’, sah, but this is all a bit bally much! Is this the way y’treat jolly peaceable wayfarers, wot?”

A slap from the huge rat silenced him. “Shutcha face, rabbert, d’great Hemper Figlugg don’ like talky rabberts!”

He glared at Springald and Fenna, who had been unhooded and had their gags removed. “Don’ like talky mouses or squirrels either!”

A shrunken and incredibly ugly female pushed her way through to Hemper Figlugg’s side. Ignoring him, she began pinching the three captives, nodding approvingly as she did so. Hemper Figlugg whispered something in her ear.

She nodded, replying aloud. “Burcha Glugg!” The Darrat tribe nodded in agreement and laughed.

Always ready to take advantage of a situation, Horty winked at his two companions. “At least they seem happy, must be a good joke, wot! Burcha Glugg, wasn’t it? Watch this.”

He grinned at the assembly and repeated the words, “Burcha Glugg!”

The Darrat tribe howled with laughter at Horty’s remark. A tiny ratbabe wrinkled his nose at the young hare and squeaked, “Burcha Glugg!”

Horty favoured him with a kindly smile. “Aye old lad, Burcha Glugg, indeed, wot! Yowhoooo, y’little savage. Gerroff!” The ratbabe, who had bitten Horty’s footpaw, clung on grimly. High Kappin Birug pulled the ratbabe off and cuffed it.

Hemper Figlugg nodded at his prisoners. “Glugg cayjizz!”

They were picked up bodily and borne to two large cages, formed of thick branches lashed together, one of which was open. Into this the three companions were thrown. The Darrat tribe dispersed and went about their business. Seeing they were being ignored, Springald began loosing herself from the ropes binding her forepaws and the running rope about her right footpaw. The other two did likewise.

Fenna watched the fat Hemper Figlugg settling himself back into the hammock. “What now, I wonder?”

Springald answered hopefully. “Well, we’re still alive, aren’t we? Where there’s life there’s hope, they say.”

Horty rubbed his stomach—as usual, his mind was on food. “I won’t be alive much longer if somebody doesn’t feed us. Chap gets hungry, bein’ captured an’ all that, wot?” He called out to a passing rat. “Hi there, I say, me old vermin, how about somethin’ to jolly well eat?”

He pantomimed eating and pointed inside his mouth. “Eat! Y’know, just like starvin’ chaps do. Grub, food or whatever you savages call it.”

The rat grinned and pointed to his own mouth. “Glugg!”

Horty clapped his paws together. “Hoho, that’s the stuff. Glugg!”

Something suddenly dawned on Fenna. “Glugg, that must be their word for food. Oh, great seasons!”

Horty winked. “Leave it to me eh, wot! I can translate any bally thing when it comes to food!”

Springald understood all too well. She clapped a paw to her brow. “Glugg, that’s what we are. Food!”

Horty patted her reassuringly. “No no, old gel, you’ve got it all wrong. They said Burcha Glugg—that prob’ly means feed them, or give these bally prisoners some food, they look hungry.”

Just then, four Darrat males bore a big cauldron to the cage. They placed it outside the bars, within the captives’ reach. It was filled with a form of porridge, full of berries and sliced fruit.

One of the rats indicated they should eat. “Burcha Glugg, you eat all up.”

Horty smiled. “Told you so!”

Fenna asked the rat, “What does Burcha Glugg mean?”

The rat shrugged. “Old Darrat way of saying good food.”

Springald’s worst fears were confirmed. She whispered in a shaky voice. “They’re fattening us up before they eat us!”

Horty dipped a paw into the cauldron and scooped some up. “Oh, don’t be silly! Nobeast’d dare to eat us, shockin’ idea. I say, this tastes rather good, wot. Come on, you two!”

They shrank to the back of the cage, shaking their heads. “I couldn’t bear to touch it!”

“Oh Horty, how could you eat at a time like this?”

One of the rats unwound a whip from about his waist, gave it a sharp crack and shouted at the pair. “Eat or whip!” They were forced to dip their paws in and eat. However, with the prospect of what they were being fed for, the food, as good as Horty said it was, turned to ashes in their mouths.

Fenna and Springald could only manage a small mouthful apiece, but Horty bolted the porridge down until his snout and whiskers were crusted with it.

“Mmmch, no sense in a chap bein’ eaten, grmmfff munch, on an empty stomach. Capital stuff, wot!”

Night fell, bringing a cloudless vault of carnelian blue, dusted with stars. Bragoon lay alongside Sarobando, among some rocky hillocks that skirted the Darrat camp. The otter watched as campfires glimmered low.

“Let the vermin settle down, they prob’ly outnumber us by a couple o’ hundred to two.”

Saro chewed on a dandelion stalk. “What then?”

Bragoon raised his head, risking a glimpse of the camp area. “They’re in a cage, over by that long rocky ledge. We’ll have to work out a plan to break ’em out an’ escape without bein’ seen.”

The squirrel lay back and closed her eyes. “Yore good at schemin’, mate. What’s the plan?”

The otter lay down and closed his eyes also. “First a short sleep, wait’ll the camp’s quiet.”

Saro opened one eye. “An’ then?”

Bragoon stuck Martin’s sword into the ground, close to paw. “I don’t know just yet, but ye’ll be the firstbeast I tell when a good idea comes along. I’m goin’ to sleep, wake me in an hour. Otters get good ideas when they take naps.”

Saro rolled over onto her side. “No, you wake me, ’tis your turn.”

Her companion watched the starlight playing along the swordblade. “How can I wake ye when I’m makin’ the plan? You wake me!”

The squirrel grumbled. “Huh, ’tis always me. Alright, you take a nap an’ do all the plannin’, I’ll wake ye in an hour.” The only answer she received was a pretend snore from the otter.

The midnight hour had just passed. Silence reigned over the Darrat camp, broken only by protracted snores mingled with nighttime woodland sounds.

In the cage, Horty sat clasping his stomach and grimacing. Fenna came over to sit by him. “Tummyache, eh?”

The young hare answered dolefully. “Absolute agony, doncha know. No use upsettin’ you an’ Springald, so a chap’s got to be brave an’ silent, even though he’s dyin’. It must’ve been somethin’ I ate.”

Springald overheard him and snorted. “Something? You great glutton, ’tis not something, but how much of that something you ate. That big cauldron’s almost empty!”

Horty winced. “Ah me! Maids can be beautiful but cruel. I only scoffed that porridge because you two wouldn’t touch it after the first mouthful. Ha, ’twas me that saved you a jolly good whippin’. Sacrificed meself for your rotten sakes, that’s all the gratitude a chap gets, wot?”

One of the three guards in front of the cage snuffled and grunted at the sound of Horty’s raised voice. The captives sat in frozen silence until he settled back down with the other two rats. The three guards snorted in soft unison.

Springald whispered, “Look at them—not a care in the world. We’d be that way, too, snoring in the dormitory. Huh, that’s if we’d had the sense to listen to the Abbot and your sister Martha. Wish we were back at Redwall now.”

Fenna murmured, “Wishing isn’t much use. What we should be doing now is escaping while the guards are asleep.”

Horty forgot his pains for a moment. “By jingo, you’re right, old gel. Escape, that’s the bally idea! Right, chaps, anybeast got a scheme or a plan of some type, wot?”

They sat racking their brains for a while, until Fenna admitted limply, “We’ve got no chance, locked in a cage and surrounded by armed guards. They’d cut us down before we managed to get two paces!”

Numbly they stared at one another. A tear trickled down Springald’s cheek; Fenna’s lower lip started quivering. Horty blinked and sniffed.

“We’ve really gone an’ done it now, haven’t we, chaps, wot!”

Then a rope fell from above, close to the cage. Attached to it was a sharp knife and a piece of bark that had charcoal writing scrawled on it: “Hush, take knife, escape. Tie rope to pot. Wait.”

Horty peered up through the bars at the overhead rock ledge. Bragoon’s tough-lined face was staring back at him. The otter held a paw to his mouth, signalling silence. Working feverishly, Springald took the knife and tied the rope to the cauldron handle. At a wave from Fenna, the cauldron rose upward, halting just above the cage.

Gripping the rope firmly, Bragoon began swinging the iron cauldron from side to side until it moved back and forth in mighty sweeps like a giant pendulum. Horty watched it as it swung, lower and lower, whizzing close to the cage front, until it reached the level of the three snoring Ratguards. Then the cauldron jerked outward. Kurblunggggggg! It struck two of the rats, laying them out senseless. The remaining one sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“Wot was th . . .” Podongggg! The cauldron caught the third rat on the return swing, knocking him head over paws.

Springald was sitting on Fenna’s shoulders, slashing at the ropes which kept the wooden roof bars in place. The sharp knife made short work of them.

Hemper Figlugg awoke. He heard the cauldron toll like a muted bell as it hit the last rat. Waddling out of his hammock, he went to investigate the noise. Seeing Fenna’s head poking out of the cagetop, he hastened forward, shouting wheezily, “Burcha Glugg ’scapin’! Wakey wakey, Darrats!”

Borlongggggggg! The swinging cauldron biffed him on the back of his great fat head. Hemper Figlugg performed a somersault, raising a big puff of dust as his back hit the ground. His shout, however, had roused the Darrat horde, who came staggering from under the ledges and thick bushes, grabbing for weapons.

Bragoon roared down to the escapers, “Cut that pot loose an’ grab on to the rope!”

Springald slashed the cauldron free, and they took hold of the rope.

Saro’s head appeared above the high ledgetop. “One at a time, we can’t pull ye all up t’gether!”

Horty grabbed the spear from a fallen Ratguard. Taking charge, he rapped out orders like a veteran sergeant. “Steady the buffs, chaps! Spring, you go first, Fenna next! I’ll hold these bounders off, wot!”

The Darrat had just realised what was taking place. Around half a dozen of the boldest came at the young hare.

Spear at the ready, Horty challenged them bravely. “Step up there, laddie bucks, meet a flippin’ Redwall warrior, wot! Two or ten at a time, doesn’t blinkin’ matter to Bonebreaker Braebuck. Have at ye, scurvy nosewipes! Come on, don’t be shy, ye wiltin’ wallflowers. Wot!”

A big broad mottled rat charged at him, waving a hatchet. A slingstone flew from above, and the rat stood still, tottered, then collapsed in a heap.

Horty threw himself at the other five rats, who had been advancing on him slowly. He was in his element.

“I’m the son o’ the roarin’ buck! D’ye want to visit your ugly ancestors, eh? Well, I’m the one who’ll send ye to Hellgates. Yaaaaaaah!”

At the top of the ledge, Fenna and Springald stood with their rescuers. Bragoon shook his head. “Is he mad? Look at ’im!”

Horty was like a whirling demon, lashing out with his long hind legs as he thwacked wildly about with the spear. Rats went down like ninepins before his onslaught.

Sarobando nodded in admiration. “That young ’un’s got the makins of a powerful warrior, but he’s still a hotheaded learner. Soon as he tires they’ll overpower ’im an’ bring ’im down.”

Springald yelled down to her friend. “Horty, get to the rope, hurry!”

The young hare looked at the pack of rats charging toward him. “Right away, marm, cover me jolly old back, chaps!”

Saro used her sling, while the others pelted the rats with rocks from the ledge as Horty ran for it. He reached the rope and looped it about his waist.

“Haul away!”

Kappin Birug flung a wooden club that caught Horty square between both ears, before bouncing off his head.

Horty grinned. “Yah missed me!” Then he fell unconscious.

Ducking slingstones and a few arrows, the rescuers—along with Fenna and Springald—hauled Horty’s limp figure up onto the ledgetop.

Bragoon peered anxiously down as more archers began appearing. “Better get goin’ an’ move out o’ range. They mean business!”

They struck off into some thick pinewoods, carrying the senseless figure of the hare between them.