The Long Patrol

A young female hare named Deodar stood on a hilltop close to the west shore. She nibbled at a fresh-plucked

dandelion flower, watching a Runner approaching from the northeast. Deodar knew it was Algador Swiftback, even

though he was still a mere dot in the distance. His peculiar long leaping stride marked him out from all the others at

Salamandastron.

Now he would appear on a hilltop, then be lost to sight as he descended into the valley, but pop up shortly atop

another dune, traveling well, with his graceful extended lope serving to eat up the miles easily. The sun was behind

Deodar now, hovering over the immeasurable expanses of sea that lapped the coast right up to the shore in front of the

mountain. She waved and was rewarded by the sight of Algador waving back. Deodar sat on the sandy tor, enjoying

the heat of the sun on her back.

Algador took the last lap at the same pace he had been running all day. He could run almost as fast as his brother,

Riffle, the Galloper of Major Perigord’s patrol. Breathing lightly, he sat down next to Deodar.

“Hah! So you’re my relief. What’ll this be now, miss, your third run o’ the season?”

Deodar stood, flexing her limbs. “Fifth, actually. Where did you cover, Algy?”

Algador made a sweep with his paw. “Northeast from there to there. No sign of Perigord returning yet, and no

signs of Rapscallions or other vermin.”

Deodar closed one eye, squinting along the pawtracks her friend had just made. “Righto, Algy, I’ll follow you out

along your trail then cut west and come back, coverin’ the jolly old shoreline.”

Algador rose and turned to face Salamandastron farther down the coastline. Between patches of green vegetation

growing on its rocky slopes, the mountain took on a light buff tinge. An extinct volcano crater jutted in a flat-topped

pinnacle over the landscape. He nodded in its direction. “How’s Rose Eyes, showed herself lately?”

His companion shook her head. “‘Fraid not, you’ll have to shout your report through the forge door. Lady Cregga

sees nobeast while she’s forgin’ her new weapon. D’you recall the day she broke her old spear, wot!”

Algador could not resist a chuckle. “Hahaha! Will I ever forget it, missie! Standin’ neck high in the sea an’ sinkin’

two Rapscallion ships, was that ever a flippin’ sight. I thought she’d have burst with rage when the spearhaft snapped

an’ she lost her blade in the water!”

Deodar took off into a loping run, calling back, “Can’t stop jawin’ with the likes o’ you all day, must get goin’!”

Algador waved to her. “Run easy, gel, watch out for those shore toads on the way back, don’t take any nonsense

off the blighters. Take care!”

The sun’s last rays were turning the sea into a sheet of fiery copper as Algador entered the mountain. Without

breaking stride he took hallway, stairs, and corridors as though they were hill and flatland, traveling upward from one

level to another. Sometimes he swerved around other hares and called out a greeting, other times he caught a glimpse

of the setting sun through narrow slitted-rock windows. Arriving at a great oak double door, he halted, waiting until

his breathing was normal and mentally going over his report speech. Standing stiffly to attention, he reached out a paw

and rapped smartly upon the door. There was no answer, though he could hear noises from inside the forge room.

Algador waited a moment, knocked once more, and gave a loud cough to emphasize his presence.

A massively gruff voice boomed out, echoing ’round the forge room and the antechamber outside where the hare

stood, “I’m not to be disturbed. What d’you want?”

Algador swallowed nervously before shouting back, “Ninth Spring Runner reportin’, marm, relieved nor’west o’

here this afternoon!”

There was silence followed by a grunt. “Come in!”

Algador entered the forge room and shut the door carefully behind him. It was only the second time he had been in

there. A long unshuttered window, with its sill made into a seat, filtered the last rosy shafts of daylight onto the floor.

Massive, rough-hewn rock walls were arrayed with weapons hung everywhere: great bows, quivers of arrows, lances,

spears, javelins, daggers, cutlasses, and swords. A blackened stone forge stood in the room’s center, its bellows lying

idle, the white and yellowy red charcoal fire embers smoking up through a wide copper flue.

The hare’s eyes were riveted on a heroic figure standing hammer in paw over a chunk of metal glowing on the

anvil. Lady Cregga Rose Eyes, legendary Badger Ruler of Salamandastron.

Her size was impressive: even the big forge hammer in her paw seemed tiny, like a toy. Over a rough homespun

tunic she wore a heavy, scarred, metal-studded apron. The glow from the red-hot metal caught her rose-colored eyes,

tingeing them scarlet as she glared down at Algador. His long back legs quivered visibly, and he felt like an acorn at

the foot of a giant oak tree.

The Badger Lady nodded wordlessly, and Algador found himself babbling out his report in a rush.

“Patrolled north by east beyond the dunes for two days, marm, spent one night by the river, saw no signs of

anybeast. No track or word of Major Perigord so far, no sign of Rapscallions or vermin. Sighted a few traces of shrews

yesterday morn, marm.”

Lady Cregga rested the hammerhead on the anvil horn. “You didn’t contact the Guosim shrews or speak to them?”

“No, marm, ’fraid I didn’t. Traces were at least three days old, campfire ashes an’ vegetable peelin’s, that was all,

marm.”

Cregga took tongs and replaced the lump of metal she was working back in the forge. Then she gave the bellows a

gentle push, flaring the charcoal and seacoal into flame.

“Hmm, pity you missed the shrews. Their leader, the Log-a-Log, might have had some information for us. Never

mind, well done. Ask Colonel Eyebright to come up here, will you?”

“Yes, marm!” The young hare stood motionless to attention.

Lady Cregga watched him for a moment, then unusually she gave a fleeting smile. “If you stand there any longer

you’ll take root. Go now—you’re dismissed.”

Algador saluted and wheeled off so quickly he almost tripped over his own footpaws. Lady Cregga heard the door

shut as she turned back to her work at the forge.

Cutting straight through the main dining hall, Algador made for the Officers’ Mess. He accosted another young

hare coming out, carrying tray and beakers. “Evenin’, Furgale! I say, is Colonel Eyebright in there? Got a rather

important message for him.”

Furgale was a jolly type, obliging too. Placing the tray on a window ledge, he waggled an ear at the Runner. “Say

no more, old pip, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Flinging the door open wide, Furgale danced comically to attention. Closing both eyes tightly, he bellowed into the

small room, “Ninth Spring Runnah t’see you, Colonel Eyebright. Sah!”

Eyebright was every inch the military hare, of average size, silver gray with long seasons, a smart, spare figure in

plain regulation green tunic. Looking up from the scrolls he was studying, Eyebright twitched his bristling mustache at

the messenger. “I’m not deaf y’know, young feller. Send the chap in!”

Algador marched smartly into the Officers’ Mess. “Lady Cregga sends her compliments an’ wishes you to attend

her in the forge room, Colonel, sah!”

The Colonel’s eyebrows rose momentarily, then, fastening his top tunic button, he rose and put aside the scrolls.

“Very good, I’m on m’way!”

He eyed me Runner up and down, a kindly smile creasing his weathered features. “Ninth Spring Runner, eh?

Obviously enjoyin’ the job, young Algy!”

Algador stood at ease, returning his Commanding Officer’s smile. “Very much, thank ye, sah.”

Eyebright’s silver-tipped pace stick tapped Algador’s shoulder approvingly. “Good show, keep it up, won’t be long

before we have y’out gallopin’ for a Long Patrol like that brother o’ yours.”

Algador swelled with pride as the dapper Colonel marched spryly off.

Cregga nodded her huge striped muzzle to the window seat as she poured pennycloud and dandelion cordial for

herself and the Colonel. They sat together, he sipping his drink as he watched the parched badger take a long draught

of hers. “Thirsty work at the ol’ forge, eh, marm?” he said.

The rose-hued eyes flickered in the forge light. “That’s not what I called you up here to talk about, Colonel. I had

the Ninth Runner report to me this evening, and the news is still the same—all bad. No sign of Perigord’s patrol, no

word of Rapscallions, everything’s too quiet. My voices tell me that big trouble is brewing somewhere.”

Eyebright chose his words carefully. “But we’ve no proof, marm, mayhap things being quiet is all for the best. No

news bein’ good news, if y’know what I mean.”

The Colonel tried not to jump with fright as Lady Cregga suddenly roared and flung her beaker out of the window.

“Gormad Tunn and those two spawn of his are out there getting ready to plunge the land into war. I’m certain of it!”

The old hare kept his voice calm. “Tunn and his army could be anywhere, far north, south coast, wherever. We can

only do our best by protecting the west land and the seas in front of us. We can’t just go marchin’ out an’ fightin’ all

over the place.”

Lady Cregga strode to the forge and, seizing a pair of tongs, she rummaged in the fire, pulling out the lump of

metal she was working on. Laying it on the anvil she took up her hammer. “Colonel, how many hares would it take to

guard Sala-mandastron and the shores roundabout?”

The Colonel’s eyebrows shot up quizzically. “Marm?”

Clang!

Sparks flew as Cregga’s hammer smashed down on the glowing metal. “Don’t ’marm’ me! Answer the question,

sir—how many fighting hares could do the job, and are you able to command them?”

Eyebright stood up abruptly. “Half the force would be sufficient to protect this area. As to your second question,

marm, of course I am able to command. Are you questioning my ability or merely insulting my competence?”

The Badger Lady let the hammer drop. Leaving the anvil, she came to stand in front of the old hare, towering

above him. “My friend, forgive me, you are my strong right paw on this mountain. I did not mean to question your

skills as a Commander. I spoke in haste, please accept my sincere apology-”

The pace stick rose, pointing directly at Cregga. Eyebright’s tone was that of a reproving father to an errant

daughter. “I have served you well, Cregga Rose Eyes. Anybeast, no matter what their reputation or size, would be

down on the shore now to give satisfaction, had they called my honor into question as you did. I forgive you those

words, though I will not forget them. Marm, your trouble is that you are eaten up with hatred of Gormad Tunn, his

brood, and their followers. You feel bound to destroy them. Am I not right, wot?”

Cregga hooded her eyes, gazing out of die window at the night seas. “You speak the truth. When I think of the

gallant hares we lost on the beach and in the shallows of the tide on those three days and nights—and what for?

Because Gormad thought his Rapscallion forces great enough to conquer Sala-mandastron. Aye, he tried to make cruel

sport of us, the same way he has done to other more helpless creatures all his miserable life. It will not go on! Soon I

will have made myself a new battlepike. If there is no news by then I intend to take half our warriors and go forth to

seek out and destroy the evil that goes by the name Rapscallion. One day they will be nought but a bad memory in the

minds of good and honest creatures. You have my oath on it!”

Colonel Eyebright left the forge room in resigned silence. Nobeast could swerve the Lady Rose Eyes from her

purpose once her mind was made up.

Down in the dining hall, Algador was taking supper with his friends, all young hares the same age as himself.

Furgale tore into a large salad, speaking with his mouth full, as there were no officers present.

“I say, chaps, when d’you suppose the lists’ll be posted for new recruits to the jolly oP Long Patrol?”

Cheeva, a young female, flicked an oatcake crumb at him. “First mornin’ o’ summer, my pater says. Hope my

name’s on it I’ll bet Algy’s top o’ the bloomin’ list, wot?”

Algador sliced into a hefty carrot and celery flan. “Do you? I’ll pester the life out of Major Perigord until he takes

me as Galloper with Riffle. I think I’m old enough to beat the ears off him in a flat run now!”

Suddenly the room echoed with banging clanging noises, the din reverberating off the walls. Cheeva clapped paws

to her ears, crying, “Great seasons o’ salad, who’s makin’ all the clatter?”

Algador had to shout to make himself heard. He called to Colonel Eyebright, who was passing through on his way

to the mess, “I say, sah, who’s creatin’ that infernal racket?”

The Colonel stopped by their table, gesturing to them to stay seated. “Some badger or other at her forge, why don’t

y’go up there an’ tell her to stop?” He nodded at the smiling young faces turned toward him. “I’ve a feelin’ that you lot

are goin’ to find yourselves Long Patrollin’ sooner than you think!”

At this announcement the young hares cheered wildly, eyes aglow, fired with hope and desire. Heedless of what

lay ahead.

17

“Barradum! Barradum! Barrabubbitybubbityboom!”

Russa peered bad-temperedly from under the edge of a cloak that served her as a blanket. “Hoi, drumface, pack it

in, willyer!”

Rubbadub marched over, his fat face wreathed in morning smiles. Placing a plate of hot food in front of the half-

awake squirrel, he brought his cheerful features right up to her nose. “Boom! Boom!”

Tammo and the rest of the column laughed, spooning down an early breakfast of barley meal mixed with honey

and ha-zelnuts.

Sergeant Torgoch did a very good imitation of a motherly female. “Come on, sleepyhead, rise an’ shine, the

momin’s fine, the lark’s in the air an’ all is fair, the day’s begun, look there’s the sun!”

Midge Manycoats skipped about like a Dibbun. “Oh, mummy, may I go out an’ play? I’ll pick some daisies for

you!”

Torgoch’s voice dropped back to that of a gruff Patrol Sergeant. “Siddown an’ finish yer brekkfist, you useless

Hddle omadorm, or I’ll ’ave yore paws pickled for a season’s ’ard marehin’!”

Wiping his lips on a spotless white kerchief, Perigord buckled on his saber, and flexed his footpaws. “Listen up,

troop, we’re marehin’ due south. Exercise extreme caution out on the flatlands, an’ keep y’r eyes peeled for vermin.

When the blighters have recovered their nerve I wouldn’t be surprised if they chance another crack at us, wot!”

Equipment was packed away into haversacks, and weapons brought to the ready as the Sergeant harangued them.

“Right, you ’card the h’officer, form up an’ stir yer stumps now!”

Grasshoppers rustled and bees hummed about early flowering saxifrage and heathers, and die sun shone boldly

from a sky of cloudless blue. It was a glorious spring morning on the open moorland. Tammo strode along between

Russa and Pasque; the squirrel had her stick, and both hares carried loaded slings. Up in front, Perigord conversed

easily with Riffle, though his eyes roved restlessly over the landscape. “Pretty clear tracks, eh, wot? Seems they ain’t

bothered about coverin’ their trail, I’d say.”

“Aye, sir, mebbe they’ll try somethin’ when we reach that rocky-lookin’ hill up ahead.”

The Major kept his eyes front as he answered, “Hmm, or that little outcrop to the left—Down troop!”

An arrow zipped by them like an angry hornet as they tiirew themselves to the ground. Lieutenant Morio bounced

up immediately. “Just one of ’em, sah. There he goes!”

The sniper, a rat with bow and quiver, had broken cover and was racing toward the rock-rifted hill. Perigord sat up,

his jaw tight with anger as he saw a rip the shaft had torn on the shoulder of his stylish green velvet tunic.

“Just look at that, the blinkin’ cad! Drop the blighter,

Rockjaw Grang set shaft to a longbow that resembled a young tree. He squinted along the arrow, stretching the

flexible yew bow into a wide arc, tracking his quarry.

The rat halted, relieved he was not being chased. He un-slung his bow and began coolly choosing an arrow.

Rockjaw’s shaft took him out like a thunderbolt.

The giant hare shook his head at the fallen rat’s foolishness.

“Yon vermin should’ve kept a runnin’. ’Ey up, there’s more!”

Four more broke cover to the right from behind a low rise; shooting off a few slingstones at the hares, they began

dashing for the hilltop. Regardless of what orders they had been given, the vermin did not want to be caught out alone

by the hares.

Perigord turned to Twayblade and Riffle. “Cut ’em off, try an’ take one alive! Rockjaw, you an’ Midge cover the

hill. The rest of you—about face!”

Tammo shot Russa a puzzled glance. “About face?”

Sergeant Torgoch grabbed Tammo and spun him around roughly. “Don’t question orders, young ’un, do like the h’

officer sez!”

A band of vermin poured out of the woodland toward them. Tammo and Pasque whirled their slings as Perigord

called out, “On my command, two slings, arrows, or one javelin, then go at ’em with a will. Steady now, let the

blighters get closer ...”

Tammo felt his teeth begin to chatter. He ground them together tightly and caused his head to start shaking. The

vermin faces were plainly visible now, painted red with some kind of mineral dye. Yelling, roaring, and brandishing

fearsome weapons, they rushed forward, paws pounding the earth. Perigord leveled his saber at them, remarking almost

casually, “Let ’em have it, chaps!”

Tammo’ s first slingshot missed altogether; in his excitement he whipped the sling too high. His second shot took

a weasel slap on the paw, causing him to drop his spear with a yelp. Then Tammo found himself charging with the

Long Patrol, the war cry of the perilous hares ripping from his throat along with his comrades. Even Russa was

shouting.

“Eulaliaaaaa! ’S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

They met with a clash, Perigord slaying the leading pair before they could blink an eye. Tammo thrust out at a

stoat and missed; the stoat feinted with his cutlass, and as Tammo backed off his foe skipped forward and tripped him.

The young hare fell. He saw the stoat launch himself in a flying leap, cutlass first. Levering himself swiftly aside,

Tammo kept his paw outstretched with the dirk pointed upward. The stoat landed heavily on the blade.

Pulling his blade free, Tammo scrambled up, only to find the vermin fleeing with Long Patrol hares hard on their

heels.

Major Perigord and Rubbadub came marching up, the former cleaning his saber on a pawful of dried grass. “Well

done, young ’un, got y’self one, I see!”

Tammo could not look at the vermin he had slain, and his bead began shaking again as he tried to face the Major.

Shrugging off his tunic, Perigord inspected the torn shoulder. “I know how y’feel, Tamm, but he’d have got you if

you hadn’t got him. Here, see.”

He retrieved the stoat’s cutlass and pointed to the notches carved into the wooden handle. “Count ’em, tell me how

many you make it.”

Tammo took the weapon and counted the notches. “Eighteen, sir!”

Perigord took the blade and flung it away with a grimace of distaste. “Aye, eighteen, though they weren’t all

fightin’ beasts like you an’ me, laddie buck. Those smaller notches you saw were for the very old or the very young,

creatures too weak to defend themselves. Don’t waste your sympathy on scum like that one. Come on now, stop

shakin’ like tadpole Jelly an’ give us a good ol’ De Fformelo Tussock smile. Rub-badub, beat ’em over to that hill

yonder, we’ll form up there.”

Rubbadub’s pearly teeth flashed in a huge grin as he marched off drumming the Long Patrol to him.

“Drmibadubdub drrrubadubdub dubbity dubbity dub. Ba-boom!”

Perigord and Tammo stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.

The patrol squatted on the hilltop, Pasque Valerian tending one or two minor injuries that had been received.

Tway-swished the air regretfully with her long rapier. “Sorry didn’t take any prisoners, Major, but those vermin

weren’t n’ any prisoners either, the way they were fightin’, so ’n’Riffle had to give as good as we jolly well got.”

Perigord watched from the hilltop as the remaining vermin small in the afternoon distance. “No matter, old gel, we

still track ’em. As long as we cut ’em off before they h Redwall Abbey. What d’you make o’ those villains, ussa,

pretty sharp thinkers, wot?”

The squirrel munched on an apple, nodding. “Aye, ’twas a clever move they made. Clear tracks to this hill, then

they must’ve split up a couple of hours afore dawn an’ circled back. Leavin’ a few to the leftVright to distract us, the

rest of the crafty scum went back to the woodland so they could ambush us from be’ind. Knowin’ we’d be expectin’

them to be waitm’ for us, hidin’ about here on this hilltop.”

Rockjaw Grang was watching the retreating vermin and counting their numbers. “Sithee, there’s still enough o’

yon beasts to make a scrap. They must’ve numbered fifty or more when we first met ’em, sir. By my count they still

got’n thirty-two.”

“Hardly enough for eleven bold chaps’n’chappesses like us,” Riffle snorted scornfully. “Thirteen if y’count Tamm

an’ Russa. I say, thirteen, is that unlucky?”

Lieutenant Morio stood up, dusting off his paws. “Aye, unlucky for them when we catch up with ’em. Everybeast

fit now, Pasque?”

The beautiful young hare was closing up her medicine pouch. “Yes, Midge took a slight cheek wound and Turry

nearly lost the tip of an ear. I’ve seen to them both. Now there’s only the Major’s jacket, but I can do that this

evening.”

18?

The twins, Tare and Turry, ragged Tammo unmercifully.

“Heehee! Lookit the long face on ole Tamm!”

“Bet he wishes he’d been wounded, just so’s Pasque could bandage him up an’ bathe his brow a bit!”

“If I were him I’d chop me nose off, that’d get her attention!”

“Aye, she’d say, ‘Goodness nose, what’ve they done to your handsome hooter?’ Hahahaha!”

Pasque joined in the fun. Grabbing Turry she began reban-daging his ear fiercely. “Hello, what’s this ear?

Goodness knows, your bandage has come loose. Here, let me tie it a bit more snugly!”

Turry squeaked as he tried to get away. “Ow ow! You’ve cut off all the blood to me ear! Stoppit!”

Sergeant Torgoch loomed over the playful young ones. “Now then, young sirs an’ miss, I’ll cut off all yore ears an’

cook ’em for me supper if yore not all formed up an’ ready t’march two ticks from now. Up on yore paws, you idle lot!

Where d’you think y’are—on an ’oliday for ’ares? Move y’ selves!”

Pasque marched at the rear with Tammo. She smiled and waved to the Sergeant. To Tammo’s surprise, he smiled

and winked at her.

Tammo scratched his ear, completely puzzled. “Is he always like that, shoutin’ one moment an’ smiling the next?”

“Sergeants are all the same,” the young hare chuckled. “Bark’s worse than their bite. Torgoch is my favorite

Sergeant, he’s always there to look out for you if you get in any trouble.”

The remainder of the day went smoothly enough, with the patrol following the vermin track steadily. Late

afternoon brought them to the banks of quite a sizeable river. Major Perigord halted them within sight of it.

They crouched in a patch of fern, viewing the scene ahead. Through a screen of weeping willow, elder, sycamore,

and holm oak, the river made a welcoming sight, with patches of sun-burnished water showing amid cool islands of

tree shade. Tammo was wondering why they had halted and concealed themselves, when he heard Perigord and

Twayblade discussing their next move.

“Looks very temptin’ indeed, eh, gel?”

“Exactly, good spot for an ambush, I’d say.” Tammo remembered the last time he had rushed forward to water.

The hares were right, this time he would be on his guard.

The Major issued orders in a whisper. “Sergeant Torgoch, take young Pasque an’ scout the terrain downstream.

Cap’n Twayblade, do likewise upstream, take one with you.”

“Permission t’go with you, Cap’n. Please, marm, I’d like a chance t’be a real part of the patrol!”

Twayblade could not help smiling at the eager Tammo. “Stripe me, but you’re a bright’n’brisk ’un. Still, one

volunteer’s worth ten pressed creatures. C’mon then, young Tamm.”

Leaving the edge of the fern cover, Twayblade drew her deadly long rapier and stooped low. “Follow me, Tamm,

duck an’ weave, take advantage of any cover, keep your eyes open an’ do as I do. That is until I give you an order,

then it’s do as I say!”

Tammo enjoyed learning from an expert. He kept low, rolling behind mounds, bellying out to crawl over open

spaces swiftly, then stopping dead and remaining motionless, disguised among bushes. Never traversing in a straight

line, they headed east, keeping with the outer edge of the tree fringe until Twayblade decided they had gone far

enough. She flattened herself against a gnarled dwarf apple tree, and for a moment Tammo tost sight of the Captain.

She blended in with the tree bark until she was almost invisible to the casual observer, and only by staring hard could

the young hare make her out.

“Great seasons, Cap’n,” he chuckled admiringly, “you nearly vanished altogether then! Mayhaps you’ll teach me

that trick, marm?”

Twayblade shook her head vigorously. “Not me. Little Midge Manycoats is the chap, he’ll teach you all about

disguise an’ concealment, he’s the best there is. Righto, let’s make our way to the riverbank an’ follow it back down

t’where we left the patrol. Everythin’ seems to be safe enough hereabouts, but let’s not get careless, Tamm. Keep that

splendid blade o’ yours at the ready, wot!”

They took a drink at the river’s edge; the water was cold and sweet. Splashing through the shallows, they cooled

their footpaws as they went. Tammo noticed a good patch of watercress, fronds streaming out around a limestone rock

beneath the water. He did not stop to gather it, but noted the spot and carried on in Twayblade’s wake. The rest of the

journey back was pleasant and uneventful, and they arrived at the ferns as noontide shadows lengthened.

The Captain made her report: “Well, well, I see you lot’ve had a nice little nap whilst we were gone, wot! Notnin’

to report, the coast’s clear up that way.”

Torgoch and Pasque returned; the Sergeant threw a brisk salute. “River narrows downstream, sah, lots o’ rocks

stickin’ up. That’s where the vermin made their crossin’, still wet paw-prints on the stones. We’d catch ’em up by

midnight if the patrol got Under way smartlike, sah.”

Perigord judged die sun’s angle. “I think we’ll make camp here, Sergeant. No sense in chasm’ our tails off, wot.

Early start tomorrow, good fast march, an’ I’ve little doubt we’ll encounter ’em about high noon. Camp down, troop.”

Insects skimmed and flitted on the river surface in quiet twilight, and the campfire flickered warmly. Tammo and

Russa opened their haversack. The squirrel dug out the last of her pancakes and distributed them, saying, “Warm these

over by the fire, toast ’em up a mite, they’re good!”

Rockjaw spitted his on a willow twig and held it over the flames. “How’s the soup a comin’ along, Rubbadub?”

Corporal Rubbadub pulled a wry face as he took a sip from his ladle. “Brrrrumbum dubadub!”

Lieutenant Mono raised an eyebrow. “As bad as that, eh? Nothin’ hereabouts we can add to it?”

Tammo rose and winked at them. “Wait there. I spotted some fresh watercress earlier on. Won’t be a tick!”

It was slightly eerie being alone in the gathering gloom as Tammo made his way back upriver. Once or twice he

thought he heard noises, and each time he drew his blade and halted, listening, but the only sounds he could make out

were those of the flowing water. The young hare gripped his weapon tightly, chiding himself aloud, “Not very good

form, sah, be-havin’ like a ditherin’ duckwife!”

Squaring his shoulders, he loped onward until the limestone rock showed pale and ghostly through the gloom.

Wading out to it he gathered pawfuls of the fresh watercress, lopping it off below the waterline with his dirk. Carrying

the delicious treat back to the bank, Tammo stuck his blade in a sycamore trunk and began tying the cress in a bundle,

using his shoulder strap to secure it.

Four dark shapes dropped out of the branches overhead, making Tammo their target. Footpaws whamming onto his

back, shoulders, and head drove Tammo flat, stunning him. Before he had a chance to recover and fight back, a cruel

noose slid over his head, pulling tight about his neck. Cords were whipped skillfully around his paws. Tammo was

unable to cry out; groggily he tried to head-butt one of the wraithlike figures, but a heavy stick struck him in the

midriff. Doubled up and fighting to suck air through his wide-open mouth, Tammo was shoved roughly into a cradle

made from woven vines. In a trice he was hoisted up into the tree foliage, high among the leafy branches. A dirty gag

was bound around his mouth, and the noose loosened.

Savage green-black faces came close to his, lots of them—they seemed to be everywhere.

“Mayka move! Goo on, beast, mayka move! Choohakk! Cutcha t’roat an’ eatcha iffya mayka move!”

A paw stroked Tammo’s long ears, and a deep grating voice chuckled, “Choohoohoo! Dis a nicey wan, dis wan

ours!”

19

On the afternoon that the weather cleared and brightened up, there was great activity in Redwall Abbey. Armed

with axes, saws, and pruning knives, the creatures set about the task of dismantling the beech tree mat had collapsed

upon the already unstable south wall. Arven and Shad the Gatekeeper took a long, double-pawed saw, and between

them they tackled the heaviest limb they could reach.

Viola Bankvole stood by as Infirmary Sister, with an array of unguents, salves, bandages, and medicines, in case of

injuries, Mother Abbess Tansy had given her permission for any willing Redwallers, young or old, to join in. She

remarked to her friend Craklyn as they watched the beech being decimated, “Far better to let everybeast take part,

don’t you think? It makes a heavy chore into more of a social activity.”

The squirrel Recorder had her doubts. “We need more organization, Tansy. Look at Sloey and Gubbio—they’re

sitting perched up on that branch with hammers, knocking away at twigs, the little turnipheads!”

Tansy smiled fondly up at the two Dibbuns. “Oh, leave them, they can’t get into much mischief doing that.”

Craklyn pointed lower down the same branch. “But see, Brother Sedum and Sister Egram are trying to saw through

the bottom of the same branch. Look out—there it goes!”

The branch snapped with a sharp crack, Sedum and Egram fell backward with a joint yell, and the two Dibbuns

squeaked in dismay as they plummeted earthward.

“Haharr gotcha!”

Lithe and brawny, Skipper of Otters dropped his ax and leapt beneath the branch to catch Sloey and Gubbio in his

strong paws. Giggling helplessly, the three of them fell into the mass of leafy foliage, the Dibbuns crowing aloud with

excitement, “Again! Do it again! More, more!”

Skipper sat up rubbing his head. “Ouch! You liddle coves—watch where yore a wavin’ those ’ammers!”

Viola was over tike a shot. “I knew it, some creature was bound to get hurt! Come away from there, you naughty

babes! And you, call yourself a Skipper of Otters, have you no sense at all? Stop scrabbling about in those leaves with

the Dibbuns this instant!”

She swept Sloey up in her paws, and the mousebabe, who was still waving her hammer, which was no more than a

small nut mallet, bopped the good Sister an unlucky one between the ears. Viola turned her eyes upward, gave a faint

whoop, and sat down hard.

Skipper shook with laughter as he gave orders to some other Dibbuns who had just arrived on the scene. “Ahoy,

mates, git bandages an’ ointment, fix pore Sister Viola up, she’s sore wounded!”

Full of mischief, the Abbeybabes needed no second bidding.

Viola floundered about helplessly on the grass as they poured ointment on her head and dashed ’round and ’round

her until she was swathed in bandages. Tansy and Craklyn had to turn away, they were chuckling so hard. Then Tansy

caught sight of the cook.

“Mother Buscol, perhaps you and Gurrbowl would like to Set up the evening meal out here? There’s lots of

deadwood from the tree for a fire. Couldn’t we have a chestnut roast and baked parsnips? Craklyn and I will help—I

know, we’ll make honey and maple apples. Is there any strawberry fizz in the cellars? That would be lovely for our

workers!”

Grumbling aloud, the fat old squirrel trundled off to the kitchens for her ingredients. “Lackaday, an’ what’s wrong

with a kitchen oven, may I arsk? Indeed to goodness, look you, a full picnic meal for who knows ’ow many creatures,

an’ everywhere ’tis nought but bushes an’ bangin’. Come on, Gurrbowl, we’ll ’ave to see what can be done!”

Goodwife Gurrbowl the Cellar Keeper shook her head severely at Sister Viola as she passed. “Moi dearie me,

b’aint you’m gotten no sense, Viola, a playin’ wi’ ee Dibbuns an’ gittin’ eeself all messed oop loik that!”

Skipper and his crew, with Arven and the more able-bodied Redwallers, set to with a will, chopping, sawing, and

hauling heavy branches. The work went well. They struck up a song as they toiled:

“Oh, seed is in the ground an’ up comes a shoot, Seed is in the soil an’ down goes a root, Here comes a leaf an’

there goes a twig, Seasons turn as the tree grows big!

Saplin’ bends with the breeze at dawn, Wearin’ a coat of bark t’keep warm, Growin’ lots o’ green leaves ’stead o’

fur, Birds go a nestin’ in its hair.

Some gets flow’rs as they spread root, Some gets berries, some gets fruit, Trees grow t’gether in a glade, All

through summer that’s nice shade.

Lots o’ trees do make a wood, Just the way that good trees should, Ole dead trees when they expire Keep my paws

warm by the fire!”

They had scarcely finished the song when a voice rapped sternly from the deepest section of the foliage, “That’s

still no reason to cut down a tree, is it?”

Skipper looked at Arven strangely. “Did you say somethin’, mate?”

“No, I thought it was you for a moment, Skip.”

The voice sounded out again, quite irritable this time. “Honestly, where there’s no feeling there’s no sense. I’m

trapped in here, you great pair of buffoons. In here!”

Skipper thrust himself into the foliage. “Sounds like an owlbird t’me!”

A deep sigh escaped from the leafy depths. “‘Owlbird?’ Did I call you an otterdog? No! Then pray have the

goodness to at least get the name of my species right. Owl, say it!”

Skipper shrugged his brawny shoulders. “Owl!”

“Thank you!” the voice continued. “Now are you going to stand about jawing all day or do you think you and your

friends can muster up the decency to get me out of here?”

Right at the heart of the foliage was a thick dead limb with a deep weather-spread crack in it, and wedged there

was a female of the type known as Little Owls. She had wide gray eyebrows and huge yellow eyes, which were fixed

in a permanent frown.

Arven climbed over a limb and nodded amiably at her. “Good day to ye, marm. You’ll excuse my sayin’, but we

never cut down your tree, the storm knocked it down.”

The owl moved her head from side to side huffily. “So you say. All I know is that I’m not three days in this nest,

hardly settled down, Taunoc gone hunting for beetles, when the whole world collapses in on me. Knocked

unconscious, completely out! I’ve only just regained my senses, due to your infernal banging and knocking, of

course!”

Skipper put down his ax guiltily. “An’ are ye all right, marm?”

The owl was a very small one, but she puffed herself up Until she filled the entire crack, glaring at the otter. “All

right? Do I look all right? Clutching on here, half upside down, doing my level best to stop three eggs spilling out and

breaking all over the ground. Oh, yes, apart from that and being knocked out, I suppose I’m all right!”

Tansy and Craklyn pushed into the foliage, all concern for the owl’s predicament.

“Oh, you poor bird! Three eggs and your home’s de—

Viola, come quick! Arven, Skipper, hold this branch steady. Stay still, my dear, we’ll have you and your eggs out

of there safely in no time at all!”

The Redwallers flocked in to help; carefully they extricated the Little Owl from the crack. The nest, with its three

eggs intact, was lifted out as gently as possible. Then, chopping away twigs and foliage, they led the bird out into the

open.

Tansy found out that the owl’s name was Orocca. They brought her to the fire, placing the nest on a pile of

blankets. Orocca was small but looked formidably strong and fierce. She ruffled her feathers and sat on her nest,

staring aggressively at everybeast, the pupils of her immense golden eyes dilating and contracting in the firelight.

Mother Buscol gave her warm candied chestnuts, hazelnuts crystallized in honey, and some strawberry fizz.

“Indeed to goodness, bird, you need sweet food to get over your shock. Eat up now, look you, there’s plenty more.”

As Orocca ate voraciously, Viola approached her with herbs and medicines. The owl shot her a glare that sent her

scuttling. Timidly she stood behind Skipper and called to Orocca, “When will your egg babies be born?”

The answer was terse and irate. “When they’re ready, and not a moment before, silly!”

Foremole Diggum and his team arrived at the fire. Diggum clacked his digging claws together in delight. “Hoo arr,

loo-kee, Drubb, ’unny apples an’ chesknutters by ee foire! Gurr, us’n’s be fair famishered. ’Scuse oi, marm, ’opes

you’m doant objeck to molers settin”longside ee?”

To everybeast’s surprise, Orocca actually smiled at Diggum. “Please be seated, sir, I enjoy the company of moles

immensely. I find them wise and sensible creatures, not given to ceaseless chatter and inane questions.”

Foremole and his crew sat, heaping their platters with food.

Arven scratched his head in bewilderment. “Orocca doesn’t seem too fond of us, yet she took to you straight away.

What’s your secret, Diggum?”

Foremole’s homely face crinkled into a knowing grin. “Hurr, oi ’spect ’tis our ’andsome lukks, zurr!”

Striving to keep a straight face, Arven sat next to Diggum. “Oh, I see. But pray tell me, sir, apart from admiring

yourself in a mirror, what else have you been up to this afternoon?”

The mole poured himself a beaker of strawberry fizz. “Us’n’s been a diggen, oi’ll tell ee wot oi found, zurr!”

Later on Arven sought out Tansy, who was in the dormitory with Mother Buscol, bedding down Dibbuns for the

night. Peeping ’round the door, Arven watched in silence, recalling fondly his own Dibbun times. The Abbeybabes lay

in their small beds, repeating after Abbess Tansy an ancient poem. Arven had learned it from Auma, an old

badgermother, long ago.

He listened, mentally saying the lines along with the little ones.

“Night comes soft, ’tis daylight’s end,

Sleep creeping gently o’er all,

Bees go to hive, birds fly to nest,

Whilst pale moon shadows fall.

Silent earth lies cloaked in slumber,

Stars standing guard in the skies,

Til dawn steals up to banish darkness,

I must close my weary eyes.

Safe dreams, peace unto you, my friend,

Night conies soft, ’tis daylight’s end.”

Mother Buscol stayed with the yawning Dibbuns while Tansy drifted quietly outside to see what her friend

wanted. Together they descended the stairs and strolled out into the beautiful spring night, and Arven related what

Diggum Foremole had told him.

i;V “Diggum and his team located the exact spot where the f frouble with the south wall began. Today while we

were deal-jpng with the tree, he and his moles began excavating. I’ve “arranged with him to show us what he found.”

Holding lighted lanterns, Diggum and his stout crew waited them at the edge of a sloping shaft they had dug

into ground near the wallbase.

Tugging his snout courteously to Tansy, the mole Chieftain sted her. “Gudd eventoid to ee, marm, thurr be summat

yurr oi wanten ee t’cast thy eye ower. Oi’ll go afront of ee an’ moi moles’ll foller, keepen furm ’old o’ yon rope.”

Sensibly the moles had pegged ropes either side of the shaft walls, forming a strong banister. Gingerly, everyone

followed Diggum into the shaft. The earth was moist and slippery un-derpaw.

Following Diggum’s advice, Tansy held tightly to the ropes. By lantern light she saw that the shaft leveled out into

a small tunnel, where she was forced to crouch, her gown sweeping its sides.

“Burr, oi’m sorry you’m “abit be gettin’ amuckied oop,” Foremole murmured apologetically. “‘Tis only a place fit

furr molefolk, marm.”

The Abbess patted the broad back in front of her. “Oh, ’tis nothing a washday won’t solve, friend. Lead on, I’m

dying of curiosity to see what you’ve discovered.”

When she did see it, Tansy was almost lost for words. She stood awestruck at what the flickering lantern light

revealed.

“Great seasons o’ sun an’ showers, what is it?”

Book Two: A Gathering of Warriors

20

Between them both, Hogspit and Lousewort knew virtually nothing about scouting ahead for the Rapscallion army.

Their promotion to the rank of Rapscour was greeted with scorn by the twoscore vermin trackers each had under his

command. All day they had trudged steadily north, with the eighty vermin ignoring their commands pointedly. They

went their own way, foraging and fooling about, pleasing themselves entirely.

Lousewort was completely bullied and cowed by Hogspit; the big nasty weasel took every available chance to beat

or belittle his fellow officer. Lousewort bumbled along in Hog-spit’s wake like some type of menial lackey.

It was about early noon when they breasted a long rolling hill with a broad stream flowing through the fields below

it. Hogspit immediately gave his verdict on the area.

“It’ll do fer a camp tonight, I s’pose, good runnin’ water an’ plenty o’ space. Wot more could Damug ask fer ’is

army?”

Lousewort gave his opinion, for what it was worth. “Er, er, not much shelter, though. Wot iffen it rains?”

Hogspit fetched him a clip ’round the ear. “Iffen it rains then they’ll just ’ave ter get wet, blobberbrain. That’s

unless you’ve got ideas of buildin’ lots o’ nice liddle wooden ’uts t’keep ’em dry.”

Lousewort thought about this for a moment. “Er, er, but there ain’t no wood around, mate, an’ even if there was

it’d take too Ion—Yowch!” He jumped as the weasel booted him hard on the behind.

“If brains wuz bread you’d a starved to death afore you was born!”

The conversation was ended when a weasel came panting up the hillside and pointed down to where the stream

curved ’round the far side of the tor. Throwing a smart salute, he rattled out breathlessly to the two officers,

“Boatloads o’ scruffy-lookin’ mice down that way, sirs!”

Hogspit swelled his chest officiously, sneering at the messenger. “Ho, ’tis ’sirs’ now, is it? A lick o’ trouble, a

coupla foebeasts, an’ all of a sudden we’re officers agin, eh! Right then, ’ow many o’ these scruffy-lookin’ mouses is

there?”

Lousewort tried hard to look like a commander of twoscore as he parroted Hogspit’s last words. “Er, er, aye, ’ow

many is there?”

The big weasel silenced him with an ill-tempered stare before turning back to the tracker. “Never mind goin’ back

t’count ’em. Get the others t’gether quick an’ meet us down there. Cummon, dunderpaws, let’s take a look!”

Lying in a hollow not far from the stream bank, both Rap-scours saw the vessels come ’round the bend. There

were six long logboats, each carved from the trunk of a large tree, and seated two abreast at the oars were small

creatures, their fur wiry and sticking out at odd angles. Each of them wore a brightly colored cloth headband and a kilt,

held up by a broad belt, through which was thrust a little rapier. Others of them sat at prow and stern atop supply

sacks, and all of them seemed extremely short-tempered, for they argued and jabbered ceaselessly with one another.

Only an older creature, slightly bigger than the rest, remained aloof, standing on the prow of the lead boat surveying

the river ahead. In all, there were about seventy of them crewing the long logboats.

Hogspit rubbed his paws together. Grinning wickedly, he glanced back to see the tracker leading thirty vermin into

the defile. The weasel sniggered with delight. Thirty Rapscallions would be more than enough to take care of a gang of

scruffy-looking mice. He stuck a grimy claw under Louse wort’s nose, issuing orders to him.

“Huh, this’ll be simple as shellin’ peas. You stay ’ere with this lot, I’ll go out there an’ scare the livin’ daylights

out of those mouses. Be ready t’come runnin’ when I shouts yer!”

Swaggering out onto the stream bank, Hogspit called out to the oldish creature in the prow of the first craft as it

drew level, “Hoi, graybeard! Git them boats pulled in ’ere. I wants ter see wot you’ve got aboard—an’ move lively if

y’know wot’s good for yer!”

For a small beast, the leader had extremely dangerous eyes. He held up a paw and the crews ceased rowing.

Steering the prow ’round with a long pole, he waited until his craft was close enough, then vaulted to dry land on the

pole.

One paw on his rapier, the other tucked into his belt, he looked the weasel up and down. His voice, when he spoke,

was deep and gruff.

“Lissen, swampguts, I know wot’s good fer me, an’ what’s aboard these boats is none o’ yore business—so back

off!”

Hogspit was amazed at the small beast’s insolence. Swelling out his chest, he laid paw to his cutlass handle. “Do

you know who yer talkin’ to? I’m Rapscour Hogspit of Damug War-fang’s mighty Rapscallion army!”

The creature drew his small rapier coolly, quite unimpressed. “Then clean the mud out yore ears an’ lissen t’me,

Spit’og, or whatever name y’call yoreself. I wouldn’t know Damug wotsisname or his army if they fell on me out of a

tree! I’m Log-a-Log, Chieftain o’ the Guosim shrews. So pull steel if y’fancy dyin’!”

Hogspit whipped out his cutlass and charged with a roar.

In the hollow, Lousewort felt his belt tugged urgently by a rat, who squealed, “Is that it, do we charge too?”

Lousewort pulled free of the rat’s tugging paw. “Er, er, no, I want t’see wot ’appens.”

Log-a-Log faced the oncoming Rapscour until he was almost on top of him, then, stepping neatly aside, he tripped

Hogspit, lashing his back smartly with the rapier blade as the big weasel went down.

The shrew circled him teasingly. “Up on yore paws, y’great pudden, or I’ll finish ye where you lie!”

His face ugly with rage, Hogspit scrambled up and began taking huge swings at the shrew with his cutlass. Each

time the blade came down it was either on the ground or thin air. The shrews in the boats sat impassively watching

their leader making a fool of the bigger creature.

Turning aside the bludgeoning cutlass with a flick of his rapier, Log-a-Log mocked his opponent. “It must be a

poor outlook fer this Damug cove if’n this is the way he teaches his officers t’handle a blade. Can’t yer do any better,

bucket-bum?”

Slavering at the mouth and panting, Hogspit cleaved down, holding the cutlass with both paws. The blade tanged

off a rock, sending a shock through him. He spat at his enemy, snarling, “I’ll carve yer guts inter frogmeat an’ dance

on em!”

Log-a-Log wiped the weasel’s spit from his headband, eyes flat with menace. “Nobeast ever spat on me an’ lived.

I could’ve slain ye a dozen times. Here! There! Left! Right! Up’n’down!” Whirling about he pricked Hogspit each

time he spoke, showing him the truth of the statement. Halting, the shrew curled his lip scornfully at the Rapscour and

turned his back on him, saying, “Gerrout o’ my sight, vermin, you’ve done yoreself no honor here today!”

Swinging the cutlass high, Hogspit charged at the shrew’s unprotected back. At the last possible second Log-a-Log

turned and ran him through, gritting up into the coward’s shocked face, “No skill, no sense, and no honor, now y’ve

got no life!”

21?

When the drumbeats ceased that evening, Damug Warfang was standing on the stream bank with the entire

Rapscallion horde spread wide around the valley behind him. He sat down on the head of a drum the rat Gribble had

provided. Facing him in three ranks stood the remains of the trackers, with Lousewort at the front.

The Firstblade shook his head in disbelief at the tale he had heard. “Three hundred shrews in twenty big boats, are

you sure?”

Lousewort nodded vigorously—his life depended on it. The others nodded too, backing him up.

“Let me get this clear,” Damug continued, “they ambushed you, slew thirty of my trackers and a Rapscour, then

got clean away?”

The nodding continued dumbly.

“And not one, not a single one, was slain or taken prisoner?”

More nods. The Greatrat closed his eyes and massaged their corners slowly. He was tired. Four times he had been

over the same ground with them, and still they stuck firmly to their story. He glanced at the carcasses of the thirty-one

vermin lying half in, half out of the stream shallows, creatures he could ill afford to lose, slow and stupid as they had

been.

Turning his gaze back to Lousewort and the living, he sighed wearily. “Three hundred shrews, twenty big boats,

eh? Well take my word, I’ll find the truth of all this sooner or later, and when I do, if the answer is what I think,

there’ll be some here begging me for a swift death before I’m finished with them. Understood?”

The nodders’ necks were sore, but still they bobbed up and down wordlessly.

Damug indicated the slain. “You will dig a pit twelve times as deep as the length of my sword, and when you have

buried these bodies you will stand in the water all night up to your necks. Nor will you eat or drink again until I give

the order. Gribble, detail two officers to stand watch on them.”

Dying campfires burned small red blossoms into the night all around the valley, throwing slivers of scarlet across

the swift-flowing stream. Stars pierced moonless skies, and a wispy breeze played about the sleeping Rapscallion

camp.

Vendace gritted his teeth as the file scraped his neck. “Keep yer ’ead still,” Borumm hissed at him impatiently as

he worked on the fetters binding them together. “It won’t take long now!”

Lugworm was already free—it was he who had managed to steal the file. Fearfully, the stoat whispered to the fox

and the weasel, “You’ll ’ave ter work faster, we ain’t got all night!”

Borumm stifled the rattle of the neckband with both paws. The chains chinked softly as they fell from Vendace’s

body. The fox massaged his neck, eyes glittering furtively in the darkness. “Shut yer snivelin’ face, stoat. C’mon, let’s

get movin’. We need t’be across that stream an’ long gone by dawn.”

Clinging to the rocks in midstream, Lousewort and forty-odd trackers struggled to keep their chins up above water,

sobbing and cursing as the cold numbed their limbs and the icy flow threatened to sweep them away. Already some of

their number, the weaker ones, had been drowned by others trampling diem under in their efforts to stay alive.

Two Rapmark Captains sat hunched in sleep over a small fire on the bank. A ferret ground his chattering teeth as

he glared in their direction. “Look at ’em, snoozin’ all nice’n’warm there, while we’re freezin’ an’ drownin’ out ’ere. It

ain’t right, I tell yer!”

Lousewort hugged a weed-covered nub of rock, coughing water from both nostrils miserably. “Er, er, mebbe

they’ll let us come ashore when it’s light.”

Snorting mirthlessly, a sodden rat pulled himself higher to speak. “Who are you tryna fool, mate? ’Ow many of us

d’yer think’11 be left by tomorrer? Whether ’e knew it or not, Damug sentenced us to die by pullin’ this liddle trick!”

The two sleeping Rapmark Captains were fated never to see dawn. They kicked briefly when the chains of Borumm

and Vendace tightened about their necks. As the officers slumped lifeless, the escapers relieved them of their cloaks

and weapons. Then, grabbing a coil of rope, Borumm plunged into the stream and waded out to where the wretched

vermin clutched feebly at the rocks.

Securing the rope to a jagged rut, Borumm held it tight, and hissed, “You know me’n’ Vendace—we’re your ole

Rap-scours. We’re gettin’ out of ’ere, and anybeast feels like quit-tin’ Damug an’ his army can come along. That one

ain’t the Firstblade his fattier was!”

A ferret took hold of the rope as Vendace and Lugworm waded up, “I’m wid yer, mate! An’ so would you lot be if

y’ve got any sense. Warfang treats ’is own army worse’n ’is .enemies. Lead on, Borumm!”

Vendace silenced the general murmur of approval. “Keep the noise down there. I’ll make it to the other bank wid

this rope an’ lash it tight ’round a rock. Y’can grab on to it an’ make yore way over, but be quick, there’s no time ter

lose!”

Pulling themselves paw over paw along the taut line, the escapers made their way to the opposite side of the

stream.

Borumm perched on a rock with the last few, but when it was Lugworm’s turn to take the rope, Borumm pushed

him aside.

“Where d’yer think yore off to, slimeface?” he snarled.

The stoat’s voice was shrill with surprise. “It was all part o’ the plan, we escape together, mate!”

There was nowhere to run. Borumm grinned wolfishly at him. “I ain’t yore mate, an’ I just changed the plan. We

don’t take no backstabbers an’ traitors wid us. You stay ’ere!”

Borumm swung the bunched chains savagely, and Lugworm fell lifeless into the stream before he even had a

chance to protest about the new arrangements. Lousewort was shocked by the weasel’s action. “Ooh! Wot didyer do

that for? The pore beast wasn’t doin’ you no ’arm, mate!”

Borumm was not prepared to argue. There was only himself and Lousewort left on the rock. He swung the chains

once more, laying Lousewort senseless on the damp stones. Swinging off on to the rope, the weasel hauled himself

along, muttering, “Sorry about that, mate, but if n you ain’t for us yore agin us!”

22

Bubbling and hissing furiously, the tank in Salamandastron’s forge room received a red-hot chunk of metal. Lady

Cregga Rose Eyes held the piece there until she was sure it was sufficiently cooled. Then, slowly, she withdrew die

wet gray steel. It was an axpike head, the top a straight-tipped, double-bladed spearpoint. Below that was a single

battle-ax blade, thick at the stub, sweeping out smoothly to a broad flat edge, the other side of which was balanced by

a down-curving pike hook.

The Badger Warrior turned it this way and that, letting it rise and fall as she tested the heft of her new weapon.

Satisfied that everything about the lethal object suited her, Cregga began reheating it in the fires of her forge. The next

job was to

‘.put edges to the spear, ax, and hook blades—not sharpened edges, but beaten ones that would never need to be

honed on any stone.

She straightened up as the long-awaited knock sounded upon the door, followed by Deodar’s voice.

“Tenth Spring Runner reportin’, marm, relieved on the western tide line this afternoon!”

The rose-eyed badger had waited two days to hear a Runner’s voice. She recognized it as female and roared out a

gruff reply, “Well, don’t hang about out there, missie. Come in, come in!”

The young haremaid entered boldly, slamming the door behind her and throwing a very elegant salute. “Patrolled

north by west, marm, returnin’ along the coast. No signs of vermin or foebeast activity; still no sign or news of Major

Perigord’s patrol whatsoever. Spotted a few shore toads but they kept their distance. Nothin’ else to report, marm!”

Cregga put aside her work, great striped head nodding resolutely. “Well done, Runner, that’s all I needed to know.

Stand easy.”

Deodar took up the at-ease position and waited. The Badger Lady picked up her red-hot axpike head with a pair of

tongs. “What d’you think, missie? ’Tis to be my new weapon.”

The hare gazed round-eyed at the fearsome object. “Perilous, marm, a real destroyer!”

Setting it to rest on the anvil, Cregga squinted at the Runner. “Answer me truly, young ’un, d’you think you’re

about ready to join the Long Patrol?”

Deodar sprang quivering to attention. “Oh, I say! Rather! I mean, yes, marm!”

A formidable paw patted Deodar’s shoulder lightly. “Hmm, I think you are too. Do you own a weapon?”

“A weapon, ’fraid not, marm, outside o’ sling or short dagger. Colonel Eyebright ain’t fussy on Runners goin’

heavy-armed.”

Cregga’s big paw waved at the weapons ranged in rows on the walls. “Right, then let’s see you choose yourself

something.”

She checked Deodar’s instinctive rush to the weaponry. “No hurry, miss, take care, what you decide upon may

have to last you a lifetime. Go ahead now, but choose wisely.”

The young hare wandered ’round the array, letting her paw run over hilts and handles as she spoke her mind aloud.

“Let me see now, marm, nothin’ too heavy for me, I’ll never be as big as Rockjaw Grang or some others. Somethin’

simple to carry, quick to reach, and light to the paw. Aha! I think this’d jolly well fit the bill, a fencing saber!”

Cregga smiled approvingly. “I’d have picked that for you myself. Go on, take it down and try it, see how it feels!”

Reverently, Deodar took the saber from its peg and held it, feeling the fine balance of the long, slightly curving

single-edged blade. It had a cord-whipped handle, with a basket hilt to protect the paw. So keen was its edge that it

whistled menacingly when she swung it sideways.

Suddenly Lady Cregga was in front of her, brandishing a poker as if it were a sword. “On guard, miss, have at ye!”

Steel changed upon steel as they fenced around the glowing forge, Cregga calling out encouragement to her pupil

as she parried blows and thrusts with the poker.

“That’s the way, miss! Step step, swing counter! Now step step step, thrust! Backstep sideswing! Keep that paw

up! Remember, the blade is an extension of the paw, keep it flexible! And one and two and thrust and parry! Counter,

step step, figure of eight at shoulder level! Footpaws never flat, up up!”

With a quick skirmishing movement the badger disarmed her pupil, sending the saber quivering point first into the

door. “Enough! Enough! Where did you learn saber fighting, young ’un?”

Deodar looked disappointed that she had been disarmed. “From my uncle, Lieutenant Morio, but evidently I didn’t

learn too well, marm.”

Cregga pulled the saber from the door, presenting it back to Deodar hilt first. “Nonsense! If you’d learned any

better Fd have been slain. What d’you want to do, beat the Ruler of Salamandastron on your first practice?”

The young Runner took the saber back, smiling gratefully. “No, marm! Thank you for this saber—and the lesson

too.”

That same night the list of new recruits was posted at the entrance to the Dining Hall, and everyone clamored

around it to see who had been promoted to the Long Patrol. Drill Sergeant Clubrush, who was responsible for day-to-

day discipline among the younger set, sat near the doorway of the Officers’ Mess with Colonel Eyebright. The hares

were old friends, being of the same age and having served together many long seasons.

Eyebright tapped his pace stick gently against the table edge. “Stap me, but I wish Lady Cregga hadn’t ordered me

t’post that confounded list. Just look at ’em, burstin’ their britches to be Patrollers, all afire with the stories they’ve

heard, an’ not a mother’s babe o’ them knows what they’re really in for, wot?”

The Sergeant sipped his small beaker of mountain beer. “Aye, sir, ’taint the same as when we was young. You

didn’t get t’be a Patroller then ’til you ’ad t’duck yore ’ead to get through the doorway. I recall my ole pa sayin’ you

had t’be long enough t’be picked for Long Patrol. I’d ’ave gived those young ’uns another season yet, two mebbe, ’tis

a shame really, sir.”

The Colonel turned his eyes upward to the direction of the forge. “Mark m’words, Sarge, ’tis all Rose Eyes’s doin’.

I’ve never known or heard of a badger sufferin’ from the Blood-wrath so badly. I’ve had it from her own blinkin’

mouth that she’s bound to march off from here with half the garrison strength to destroy Tunn an’ his Rapscallions.

Have y’ever heard the like? A Ruler of Salamandastron leavin’ our mountain t’do battle goodness knows how far off.

She’d have had us all go if I hadn’t dug me paws in!”

Clubrush finished his drink and rose stiffly. “Beggin’ y’pardon, sir, I’d best get ’em organized afore supper. Oh

but-tons’n’brass, willyer lookit, there’s young Cheeva sobbin”er ’eart out ’cos she wasn’t posted on the list.”

Eyebright nodded sadly. “She was far too young, her pa an’ I decided we’d leave her a while yet. Better Cheeva

cryin’ now than me an’ her father weepin’ when Cregga’s bloodlust brings back sad results. You go about y’business

now, Sarge, I’ll see to her.”

Drill Sergeant Clubrush marched smartly into the midst of the successful candidates, bellowing out orders.

“Keep y’fur on now, young sirs an’ missies! Silence in the ranks there an’ lissen up please! Right, anybeast whose

name’s bin posted up ’ere—in double file an’ foller me. We’re goin’ up to Lady Cregga’s forge room where I’ll

h’issue you wid weapons I thinks best suited to gentlebeasts. No foolin’ about while yore up there ... Are you lissenin’,

Trowbaggs, I’ll ’ave my beady eye on you, laddie buck! Keep silence in the ranks, show proper respect to the Badger

marm, an’ mind yore manners. Tenshun! By the right ... Wait for it, Trowbaggs ... By the right quick march!”

As they marched eagerly off, Colonel Eyebright went to sit next to the young hare Cheeva, who was sobbing

uncontrollably in a corner. The kindly old officer passed her his own red-spotted kerchief.

“Now, now, missie, this won’t do, you’ll flood the place out. Come on now, tell me all about it, wot?”

Cheeva rocked back and forth, her face buried in the kerchief. “Waahahhh! M ... m ... my n ... n ... name wasn’t p

... p ... posted on m’ r ... r ... rotten ’ole li ... li ... list! Boohoohoo!”

Eyebright straightened his shoulders, adopting a stern tone. “Well I should hope not! It was the unanimous verdict

of the officers who made out that list that you be kept back. D’you know why?”

“‘Co ... co ... cos I’m t ... too yu ... yu ... young! Waaahahaaarr!”

The Colonel’s trim mustache bristled. “Balderdash, m’gel, who told y’that? The reason is that we decided you were

real officer material, needed sorely on this mountain, doncha know! Suppose Searats or Corsairs launched an attack on

us whilst that lot were off gallivantin’. Who d’you suppose we’d be lookin’ for to take up a trainee commandin’

position, eh, tell me that? Long Patrol isn’t the be all an’ end all of young hares like y’self who want t’make somethin’

of themselves. Ain’t that right, young Deodar?”

Without Cheeva seeing him, the Colonel winked broadly at Pxiar, seated nearby. She had had no need to go to the

forge for a weapon; she was polishing her saber blade with a xx. Deodar caught on to the officer’s little ruse right

away. ‘Oh, right you are, sah, I’d have been rather chuffed if I was picked t’be a trainee officer at the garrison here.”

Cheeva looked up, red-eyed and tear-stained. “Would you really?”

Deodar snorted as if the question was totally ridiculous. “Hah! Would I ever? How’s about swappin’ places—I’ll

stay here for officer trainin’ an’ you go bally well harin’ off with that other cracked bunch?”

Colonel Eyebright shook his head sternly. “Sorry, miss, or-ders’ve been posted, you’ve got to go. Soon as I’ve got

you lot out o’ my whiskers I’m goin’ to start Cheeva’s officer trainin’. First task, nip off an’ wash that face in cold

water, miss. Can’t have the troops seein’ anybeast of officer material boohooin’ all over the place, can we, wot?”

Cheeva gave back the kerchief and ran off half laughing and half weeping. “‘Course not, Colonel, sah, thank you

very much!”

Eyebright wrung out the spotted kerchief, smiling at Deodar. “Good form, gel, thanks for your help. And don’t

polish that saber away now, will ye!”

23?

After supper the new recruits laid their paws upon the table and began drumming loudly until the dining hall

reverberated to the noise. This was the prelude to a bit of fun traditional to Long Patrol.

Colonel Eyebright played his part well. Striding from the Officers’ Mess, he held up his pace stick for silence.

When it was quiet he began the ritual with a short rhyme.

“Who are these strange creatures, pray, Say who are you all, Stirring up a din an’ clatter In our dining hall?”

Young Furgale rose in answer in time-honored manner.

“We are no strange creatures, sah, But perilous one an’ all, Tell Sergeant we’re the Long Patrol, We’ve come to

pay a call!”

The Colonel bowed stiffly and marched back to the Mess, where he could be heard announcing to the waiting

Clubrush:

“Wake up from your slumbers, Sergeant, dear, I think your new recruits are here.”

Wild cheering and unbridled laughter greeted the appearance of Clubrush. He dashed out of the Officers’ Mess,

roaring and glaring fiercely like the Drill Sergeant of every recruit’s nightmares. On these occasions a Sergeant always

wore certain things, and Clubrush had dressed accordingly. ’Round his waist he wore a belt with dried and faded dock

leaves hanging from it—these were supposed to be the ears of recruits that he had collected. ’Round his footpaws he

trailed soft white roots—recruits’ guts. Over one shoulder was a banderole of cotton thistles representing tails. AH

over the Sergeant’s uniform were pinned bits and pieces of herb and fauna, supposedly the gruesome bits he had

collected from sloppy recruits. Scowling savagely, he paced the tables, singing in a terri-fyingly gruff voice as he

went:

“You ’orrible lollopy sloppy lot, You idle scruffy bunch! I’ll ’ave yore tails off like a shot An’ boil ’em for me

lunch!

You lazy loafin’ layabouts, ’Ere’s wot I’ll do fer starters If you don’t lissen when I shouts, I’ll ’ave yore guts fer

garters!

O mamma’s darlin’s, don’t you cry, Yore dear ole Sergeant’s ’ere, Those foebeasts, why, they’re just small fry,

’Tis me you’ll learn to fear!

I’ll ’ave yore ears’n’elbows,

You sweepin’s o’ the floors,

An’ long before the dawn shows,

You’ll ’ave marched ten leagues outdoors.

O dreadful ’alf-baked dozy crowd, I’ll stake me oath ’tis true. Long Patrol Warriors, tall’n’proud, Is wot I’ll make

of you!”

Sergeant Clubrush’s fierce demeanor changed instantly as he patted backs and shook paws of the young hares

crowding ’round him.

“Welcome to me Patrol, buckoes, you’ll do us proud!”

Cregga Rose Eyes had a handle for her axpike—a thick pole, taller than herself. The wood was dark, hard, and sea-

washed, like that of Russa’s stick. Long summers gone, somebeast had found it among the flotsam of the tide line.

Now the Badger Lady rediscovered it, lying with a pile of other timber at the back of her forge. She worked furiously,

far into the night, shaping, binding, fixing the awesome steel headpiece to its haft, speaking aloud her thoughts as she

bored holes through wood and metal for three heavy copper rivets.

“Sleep well, Gormad Tunn, sleep on, Damug, Byral, and all your Rapscallion scum! I am coming, death is on the

wind! On the day when you see my face, you and all of your evil followers will sleep the sleep from which there is no

awakening!”

Tammo had been gone too long for Russa Nodrey’s liking. She caught Perigord’s glance as she took up her stick.

“No-beast takes this long t’gather a few pawfuls of ’cress, Major. Somethin’s wrong—I’m goin’ to take a look!”

Perigord buckled on his saber. “Tare, Turry, Rubbadub, guard the camp an’ supplies, the rest o’ you chaps, off

y’hunkers an’ come with us!”

Traveling swiftly and silently they spread out, covering trees, riverbank, and shallows carefully. It was not long

before they picked up Tammo’s trail. Captain Twayblade found the rock where she too had noted watercress growing

underwater.

Pasque waved wordlessly from a short distance up the bank. Keeping voices to a barely audible murmur, they

gathered ’round her. “A bundle o’ watercress. He was here—see, ’tis tied up with his shoulder belt.”

Midge Manycoats inspected the trunk of a nearby sycamore. “There’s a knifepoint mark here. Looks like Tammo

stuck his blade in this tree!”

A pebble struck Rockjaw Grang on the side of his neck. “Owch! ’Ey up, somebeast’s chuckin’ stones!”

Out of the darkness above, a volley of small stones peppered Perigord’s troop, followed by rustling in the high

foliage, sniggering laughs, and reedy voices calling, “Tammo! Tammo! Choohakka choohak! Where poor Tammo?”

Russa shouted aloud at Perigord, “Let’s get out o’ here!”

The Major shot her a puzzled look. “Wot, you mean retreat, run away?”

Shielding herself from the stones with an upraised paw, the squirrel winked several times at him. “Aye, let’s run

fer it afore we’re battered t’death!”

Perigord suddenly caught on; he cut and ran into the shallows. “Retreat, troop, everybeast out o’ here, quick as

y’like. Retreat!”

The Long Patrol were not used to running from anything, but they obeyed the command. Pounding upstream

through the shallows, they halted out of range of the rain of pebbles.

Then Twayblade turned on Perigord, her long rapier flicking angrily at the air. “Retreat from a few stones’ n’

pebbles, what are we, pray—a flight of startled swallows?”

Perigord laid the blame firmly at Russa’s paws. “Ask her!”

The squirrel looked from one to the other. “Well, if y’stop lookin’ all noble an’ outraged for a tick I’ll tell ye.

Really ’twas my fault. I’ve traveled this riverbank afore, an’ if n I’d been thinkin’ clear I’d have stopped you pitchin’

camp where the Painted Ones roam.”

Twayblade ceased twitching her rapier. “Painted Ones?”

Russa’s bushy tail stood up angrily. “Aye, Painted Ones. Tribes o’ little tree rats is all they are, though they paints

their fur black’n’green an’ lives in the boughs an’ leaves ’igh up. Huh! Some o’ the villains even attaches bushtails to

themselves an’ masquerades as squirrels, the liddle blackguards, not fit t’lick a decent squirrel’s paws! But they’re

savage an’ dangerous, almost invisible when they’re among the treetops. Young Tammo’s in a bad fix if y’ask me!”

The saturnine Lieutenant Morio nodded his agreement. “But no doubt you’ve got a plan, marm?”

Russa had. She explained her strategy then slid off among the trees, leaving the hares to carry out their part of the

scheme.

Sheathing his blade, Perigord began gathering flat heavy pebbles. “Slings out, chaps, load up an’ give ’em stones

for supper!”

Meanwhile, Tammo lay bound and gagged. The leader of the Painted Ones was digging teasingly at him with the

point of his captured dirk, giggling wickedly each time his prisoner flinched.

“Ch’hakka hak! ’Ear you friends, alia gone now, soon dissa one cutcha up wirra you own knife. Den we eatcha!

Hakka-chook!”

Tammo had heard Russa and the hares and felt a mixture of anger and sadness when Perigord shouted retrc?.t and

they ran off. Now he felt alone and deserted, certain too that something horrible was about to be inflicted upon him by

the sadistic little tree creatures, who seemed very confident and contemptuous of landbeasts.

Then Tammo’s heart leapt as he heard the night air ring with a familiar war cry:

“Eulalia! ’Tis death on the wind! Eulalia! Charge!”

Whacking, cracking, whizzing all around him, a veritable load of slingstones tore upward into the foliage. One rock

big as a miniature boulder whipped by him, snapping off branches in its path. Good old Rockjaw Grang!

Turning his head to one side, Tammo peered into the gloom and saw small black and green figures retaliating,

loosing peb-, bles from their own slings at the bold enemy below.

Russa had reached the far side of the trees. She skipped nimbly up into a stately elm and turned toward the distant

din of battle. Thrusting the hardwood stick into her mouth she bit down on it and took off like a fish skimming through

water, building up her speed as she raced through the treetops. Bright eyes cut through the darkness as she traveled

even faster, the limbs and leaves passing in a blur, knowing that swiftness was the key to her mission. Sighting the

back of the first Painted One, Russa grabbed her stick in one paw, still hurtling through the top terraces of foliage at a

breakneck pace. She cracked the hardwood stick down between the rat’s ears, then, changing her angle at the same

time and shooting in a downward curve, she battered mercilessly at anybeast in her path.

The hardwood stick was like a living thing in her paws, whacking heads and paws and cracking limbs. Overhead

Russa spotted a glint of steel as a stream of orders was shouted down through the treetops. “Chakkachook! Killa!

Killa!” Swooping upward, she disposed of two more rats with a quick side-to-side jab to tiieir faces. Bulling into the

leader of the Painted Ones, she laid him senseless with a single rap to his skull.

Russa grabbed the dirk and slashed through Tammo’s bonds. “Quick, get behind me an’ lock y’paws ’round my

waist!”

With a swift kick she sent the Painted Ones’ leader from the bough they were standing on. As soon as he started to

fall, Russa leapt after him, with Tammo holding grimly on to her and shouting, “We’re comin’ doooooooown!”

Leaves, twigs, branches, limbs tore madly by in a rushing kaleidoscope of brown, black, and green. Tammo’s heart

seemed to fly up into his mouth as all three plummeted earthward, Russa’s footpaws practically resting on the back of

the rat as his body smashed a path down to the ground for them. They landed with a thrashing crashing sound,

flattening an osier bush as the three bodies hit it.

Major Perigord whirled a slingstone upward, remarking as he let the pebble fly, “Just dropped in to join the jolly

old scrap, wot? Bravo!”

Letting go of Russa, Tammo flopped awkwardly onto the ground. Apart from various scratches he was surprised to

find himself unharmed. Russa yanked the battered and unconscious tree rat leader upright and pushed him into

Rockjaw’s open paws.

“Make light, get me a lantern, somebeast, “urry!” she cried.

Tinder and flint hastily fired a lantern Riffle had brought. Bidding Riffle hold the light close to their captive, Russa

grabbed the leader by one ear, hauling his head upright. Then she pressed the dirkpoint under his chin and called

upward, imitating the tree rats’ speech, “Chakkachook! Dis beast a dead’n, we cuttim ’ead off, you chukka more rocks.

Dissa beast tellya true, chahakachah!”

The slingstones stopped and a mass wail went up from the foliage.

“Yaaahaaaagg! Norra kill Shavvakamalla! Yaaahaaaagg!”

Rockjaw Grang slung the senseless leader over his shoulder.

“Shavvakawot? Sithee, ’tis a big name for a lickle rat!”

Sergeant Torgoch smiled at his friend’s broad accent. “Take ’im back t’camp. We’ll get a good night’s sleep with

their Chief as ’ostage, wot d’ye say, sah?”

Drawing his saber, Perigord began backing his troop out of the area. “Capital idea! But we’d best keep up the

threats, just ’t’make sure they know we mean business. I say, are you hurt, old lad?”

Tammo was limping on his right footpaw. “Little sprain, sah, I’ll be right as rain in a bit.”

The hares backed off, shouting horrible threats into the trees. “I say, you rips up there, leave us alone or we’ll scoff

your jolly old leader. I’m quite serious, y’know. Chop chop, yum yum, eatim alia up, as you blighters say, savvy?”

“Yaaaaahaaaag! No eata Shavvakamalla! Yaaahaaa-haaagghh!”

“Hah! Y’don’t like that, do you? Well keep your bally dis-.’ tance or it’s fricassee of tree rat for brekkers!”

“Aye, an’ we’ll use the leftovers t’make tree rat turnover fer lunch, it’ll go nice with a bit o’ salad!”

“Actually I’d rather fancy a slice of tree rat tart. D’you think there’d be enough of him left t’make one, eh, Rock—

By ’eck, goo an’ get thy own tree rat, Cap’n. I’m doin’ all the carryin’, so this ’un’s mine. Bah goom, ’e’ll make a

grand tree rat ’otpot with a crust o’er ’is ’ead!”

“Yaaaahaggaaaah! Nono tree rats ’otpot, yerra no eatim!”

Major Perigord called a halt to the teasing. “Quite enough now, pack it in, chaps—those rotters’ve got the

message, I think. I say, Rockjaw, I hope you were jokin’ about tree rat hotpot. We’re not really goin’ to eat the

blighter, y’know.”

Rockjaw Grang plodded along with his burden, muttering a single word:

“Spoilsport!”

24

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully, though Peri-gord’s troop knew they were being watched from the

treetops by the Painted Ones. Pairing off, the hares took turns to guard the camp and keep an eye on the

still-

unconscious prisoner.

Tammo and Pasque were on second watch. They sat together, keeping the fire fed with twigs and dried moss.

Tammo eyed the captive’s slumped figure uneasily. “I say, d’you think the rascal will come ’round before

momin’? He looks pretty much of a heap, maybe the fall finished him off?”

Pasque felt the pulse on the rat’s neck and checked his breathing by holding a thin blade of grass close to his mouth

and nostrils. “Not t’worry, he’ll live, though whether or not he’ll ever be the same after you an’ Russa landin’ atop of

him remains t’be seen. Now—I’d best take a look at that footpaw you’ve been hobblin’ about on.”

Tammo dismissed the idea airily. “Oh, that? Hah! ’Twas nothin’ really, I’m fine, thanks!”

Pasque Valerian began pulling herbs and dressing from her bag. “Sorry, but I’ve got to fix it up, Major’s orders. If

you have to travel on that paw all day tomorrow it’d become worse an’ you’d slow us all up. So hold still.”

Pasque damped warm water on dock leaves and crushed gentian stems, binding the poultice to Tammo’s right

footpaw with a thin brown cloth strip. When she was done, Tammo was pleased with the result. The bandage was firm

but not tight, and he could use the footpaw quite freely without twingeing pains.

“Golly, that feels like a new paw now. My thanks to you, marm!”

Pasque fluttered her long lashes comically. “Why, thank ye, young sir, though if you had any of your mother’s

pancakes left I’d charge you two of ’em for my services!”

The leader of the Painted Ones stirred. “Whuuchakka huunhh! Whuuurrg! Shavvakamalla hurtened much lotsa!”

Pasque reopened her medicine bag, showing open disdain for the creature as she treated him. “Hmph! Hurtened

much lotsa, is it? Y’wicked little runt, I’d have hurted you much lotsa more if I could’ve got a clear shot at you. Here,

sit up’n’drink this!”

Averting his head, the rat tried to push away Pasque’s med-icine. Tammo came to her aid. Grabbing the protesting

vermin’s jaws he forced them open, pushing the rat’s head back. “Carry on, chum, pour it down the filthy ol’ throat,

an’ I hope it tastes jolly awful. Give the bounder a bigger dose if he tries spittin’ it out!”

Between them they fixed up the rat’s injuries. Tammo, working under Pasque’s directions, proved capable with

bandage and splint, though whenever his friend was not watching, he would give the bindings an extra sharp tug,

causing the rat to groan. Pasque took the groans as a sign that more medicine was needed, and she dosed him well.

“Oh, do stop moanin’ an’ whinin’, you cowardly little bully. Thank the fates you’re still alive an’ bein’ treated by

civilized hares!”

Morning dawned warm, with the promise of a hot sunny day. Steam rose in drifting tendrils from the mossy

riverbank as Corporal Rubbadub marched about, sounding reveille.

“Rubbadubdub, dubbadubbity dub, baboom baboom ba-boom!”

The Painted Ones’ leader clapped both bandaged paws to his aching head and glared pleadingly at Rubbadub, who

merely smiled and leaned close to the rat’s ear, to give him the full benefit of his skills.

“Boompity boompity boom!”

Major Perigord stretched languidly, issuing morning orders as he did, “Rise’n’shine, troop. ’Fraid we can’t take the

chance of breakin’ our fast hereabouts, what with the flippin’ forces o’ darkness up there in the arboreal verdance,

waitin’ to take a crack at us an’ rescue oP Shavvaka wotsisface. We’ll cross the river lower down an’ don the nosebag

when we’re well away from here. Those painted chaps can have their boss wallah back once we’ve crossed the river.

Break camp, Sergeant.”

Torgoch, looking fresh as a daisy, saluted stiffly. “Right y’are, sah! Midge, Riffle, move y’selves. Tare’n’Turry,

make sure that fire’s well doused before y’leave. Rockjaw, sling that h’injured vermin over y’shoulder. Officers lead

off, other ranks bringin1 up the rear!”

Rockjaw threw the rat over one shoulder, chatting to Lieutenant Mono as he did.

“Wot does the Major mean by ’arboreal verdance,’ sah?”

“Hmm, arboreal verdance, lemme see, I rather think it means treetops, leafy green ones.”

“Oh! Then why didn’t ’e say treetops?”

“Why should he when he knows how t’say words like arboreal verdance?”

Rockjaw cuffed the moaning rat lightly. “Hush thy noise, or I’ll give thee summat to moan about an y’won’t see

your arboreal verdance again!”

They crossed the river at the ford, which was littered with huge rocks, providing good stepping-stones. Behind

them the foliage rustled and trembled as the Painted Ones followed, anxious as to the fate of their Chieftain. Perigord

soon dispelled their fears by frog-hopping the hobbled rat back to the last stepping-stone, where he left him to be

rescued by his own kind. But not without a severe warning.

Fearlessly the Major drew his saber and pointed it at the swaying tree cover. “Listen up now, every slackjawed one

o’ ye! My name is Major Perigord Habile Sinistra, but don’t for a moment think that ’cos I’m left-pawed I can’t use

this blade! If y’don’t improve your ways I’ll return here, me an’ my warriors, an’ we’ll chop y’all up an’ eatcha, got

that! We didn’t eat your leader simply because he’s a coward an’ a bully an’ that’d make him taste bad. If I were you

chaps I’d set about findin’ a new commander today! Now if you’ve understood all that, an’ you probably haven’t if

you’re as dense as oP Shavvachops here, then take heed because I’m perilous an’ don’t make idle threats. I bid ye

good morn!”

Throwing up an elegant front salute with his saber, Perigord wheeled on one paw and marched back to his patrol.

Torgoch nodded admiringly. “Does yore ’eart good t’see a h’officer with steel in ’is backbone layin’ down the law

to vermin, don’t it, Rock!”

The giant hare dusted off his shoulder as if he had been carrying some unspeakable bundle of garbage there. “Aye,

by ’ecky thump! But if’n I’d a been him I’d ’ave told ’em I’d chop off their arboreal verdancy. Sithee, that’d make yon

vermin sit up straight!”

Breakfast time slipped by unnoticed. Having picked up the vermin trail, the patrol marched swiftly onward over the

grasslands in the fine spring morning. Between them, the twins Tare and Turry struck up a lively marching chant.

“As I marched out one sunny day,

O lairo lairo lay!

I met a hare upon the way,

O lairo lairo lay dee!

With ears like silk, and eyes so brown,

And fur as soft as thistledown,

She smiled at me an’ that was that,

My poor young heart went pitter pat!

O pitter pat an’ eyes of brown,

She looked me up an’ looked me down,

I ask you now, what could I do,

I said, ‘Please, may I walk with you?’

We walked together all that day, O lairo lairo lay!

As laughingly I heard her say,

O lairo lairo laydee!

‘Pray tell to me, O brave young sir,

Are you a wild an’ perilous hare

Who thinks of nought from morn ’til night

But march an’ sing an’ charge an’ fight?’

O march an’ sing, O perilous hare,

So I said to this creature fair,

‘To march an’ fight is my intent,

The Long Patrol’s my regiment!’

And then upon that sunny day,

O lairo lairo lay!

She turned from me an’ skipped away,

O lairo lairo laydee!

She said, ‘I fear that we must part,

Sir, I would not give you my heart,

That Long Patrol, alas alack,

Those hares march off an’ ne’er come back!’

O ne’er,come back an’ Long Patrol, While rivers flow an’ hills do roll, I’ll march along my merry way, An’ look

for pretty hares each day!”

Two hours into noon, woodlands were sighted. However, this was no copse but vast expanses of mighty trees.

Russa picked up the pace, smiling fondly. “Yonder lies Mossflower, an’ the Abbey of Redwall within a few days.

What d’yer think o’ that, young Tamm?”

Before Tammo could answer, Perigord interrupted sharply: “Only a few days to the Abbey, you say? By the left!

We’d best put on a stride an’ catch up with those vermin!”

Doubling the pace to a swift lope, they headed toward the shady green vastness of the sprawling woodlands. The

first thing Tammo noticed on entering Mossflower was the silence. It was complete and absolute. The sudden call of a

cuckoo nearby made him start momentarily. Overawed by the ancient wide-girthed splendor of oak, beech, elm,

sycamore, and other towering giants, the young hare found himself whispering to Russa, “Why is it so bally quiet in

here?”

The squirrel shrugged. “Dunno, I’ve never given it a thought. May’aps because out in the open y’can hear the wind,

an’ distant sounds travel on the breeze, but in ’ere, well, ’tis sort o’ closed in like.”

Stirring the moist carpet of dead vegetation with his saber-tip, the Major commented, “Cap’n Twayblade, let ’em

rest their paws awhile here and scrape up a quick snack—no cookin’ fire. Russa, you come with me and we’ll track

ahead. They’ve left plenty o’ trail in this loam.”

When the pair had left, Tammo sat with his friends in dappled sunlit shadows. They munched dried apples, nuts,

and oatcake, washed down with beakers of water.

“I’ve never been to Redwall Abbey, what’s it like?” he whispered to Pasque.

“Can’t help you there, chum. I haven’t either. Neither has Riffle, Tare’n’Turry, or any of us younger ones. Cap’n

Twayblade has.”

The Captain put aside her beaker. “Well, I’ll tell you, chaps, I don’t wish to appear disloyal to Salamandastron, but

Redwall Abbey, by m’life, there’s a place an’ a half! I was only there once, with Torgoch an’ Rockjaw, we were

carryin’ dispatches from Lady Cregga to the of Mother Abbess, con-gratulatin’ her on a onescore season Jubilee, as I

recall. Anyhow, we arrived at Redwall in time for the feast. Remember feat, eh, Rock?”

The burly Rockjaw Grang grinned and nodded, speaking in his odd way. “Bah gum, that were a do I’ll not forget!

Sithee, I’ve ne’er clapped eyes on so much luvly grub in one place: puddens’n’pies, cakes, turnovers, pasties, tarts, you

name it an’ it were there. Trifles, cream, cheeses, soups, an’ more .kinds o’ fresh-baked breads than y’could twitch an

ear at! But by ’ecky thump, I’ve tasted nought like that October Ale they brew at yon Abbey ....”

He sat with a dreamy look on his craggy face as the Sergeant contributed his reminiscences. “Ho yerss, they ’ad all

manner o’ fizzy cordials an’ berry wines too. We sang an’ danced an’ feasted for more’n three days. I declare, you

ain’t never met such obligin’ creatures as those Redwallers, ’omely an’ friendly as the season’s long, they was. If’n

I’m still around when I gets too old to patrol, I’d like nothin’ better than to retire meself to Redwall Abbey, ’tis the

’appiest place I’ve ever seen in all me seasons!”

Riffle could not resist rubbing his paws together gleefully. “Good egg! An’ we’re going to be there in a few days,

wot!”

Faint but urgent a faraway cry echoed through the woodlands.

“Eulaliaaa! Rally the troops! Death on the wind! Eulal-iaaaaa!”

Food and talk were instantly forgotten; weapons appeared as the Patrol leapt to the alert.

“Rally the troops! Eulaliaaaaaa!”

Captain Twayblade’s long rapier thrust toward the cries. “Over that way, I reckon! Eulaliaaaaaa! Chaaaaaaarge!”

They took off like a sheet of lightning, blades and slings whirling, roaring aloud the war cry to let Perigord know

help was on its way.

“Eulaliaaa! ’S death on the wind! Eulaliaaaaa!”

Despite his bandaged paw, Tammo was up with the front-runners, Twayblade, Riffle, and Midge. Straight on they

raced, through bush and shrub, loam flying, leaves swirling, twigs cracking, and startled birds whirring off through the

trees. Pawsounds thrummed fast against the earth like frenzied, muted drumbeats. Sunlight and shadow wove together

as they hurtled onward, bellowing and baying like wolves to the hunt.

25

Bursting over the brow of a humpbacked ridge, the wild charging hares crashed through a grove of rowans down

into a narrow rocky defile and flung themselves like madbeasts into the fray. Major Perigord was backed into a small

cave; beset by yelling vermin, he held the entrance gallantly. A broken javelin tip protruded from his right shoulder,

and he was slashed In several places, but still he wielded his saber like a drum major’s staff, fighting gamely against

overwhelming odds, which threatened to bring him down and get at whoever was behind him inside the cave.

Smashing into the rear of the vermin and scattering them like ninepins, the Long Patrol Hares arrived to their officer’s

rescue.

“Eulaliaaaa! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliaaaa!” Tammo’s dirk, Twayblade’s rapier, and Riffle’s dagger

claimed the first three foebeasts. Rockjaw Grang slew two with ferocious kicks from his mighty hindpaws. Lieutenant

Morio had his face laid open by a cutlass slash as he brought down another with his lance. Perigord flung his saber

after the remainder, who were scrabbling off up the far side of the small ravine. He fell on all fours, shouting hoarsely,

“Run ’em to earth, keep after the scum!”

More than a score of the remaining vermin ran off through the woodlands, with the hares hard on their heels.

Sergeant Torgoch ran alongside Twayblade, trying to keep his eye on the escapers as they fled into the deep tree cover.

“They’re splittin’ up, Cap’n. What now, marm?” he shouted.

Twayblade kept running, watching the vermin starting to fan out, issuing orders as she went. “Lieutenant Mono

stayed behind with the Major, so with Russa that makes us eleven. Torgoch, you take Rubbadub and Midge ...”

Tammo interrupted, his face full of concern. “But where is Russa?” he said. “Has anyone seen her?”

“Probably off somewheres finishing off a few dozen vermin with that stick of hers,” said Twayblade, sounding

more confident than she felt. “Torgoch, Rubbadub, Midge, keep after those to the left. Riffle, go after those who’ve

gone right—Tare’n’Turry, go with him. Tammo, Pasque, Rockjaw, stay with me, there’s about ten of ’em bunched

together keepin’ straight ahead. We’ll stick with them, and everyone keep your eyes skinned for Russa.”

Knowing they were running for their lives, the fleeing vermin dashed helter-skelter, south into Mossflower.

Tammo was beginning to feel weariness weighting his paws, owing to the headlong dash to the defile and the

subsequent fighting. However, he was running with the famed Long Patrol, so he tried hard not to show signs of

fatigue. Keeping his mouth closed, he breathed hard through his nostrils and whacked both foot-paws down resolutely.

As Twayblade shot ahead, a rat tripped over some protruding tree roots in front of her. Before the creature could

recover, she was upon him, dispatching him as he tried to rise. Tammo noted a weasel breaking off from the main body

and slipping behind a hornbeam. Shooting off to one side, he watched the tree as his companions raced past it. Slowing

his pace, Tammo came around the hornbeam. The weasel was smiling, thinking he had shaken off his pursuers.

Turning to head east, he ran straight into Tammo. A look of surprise crossed the vermin’s ugty face and he grabbed for

the hatchet shoved through his belt, but too late. Tammo slew him with a single thrust. The chilling feeling took

control of Tammo as he dashed to join the others, teeth chattering and limbs trembling uncontrollably. He sighted

them up ahead; they were halted, retreating slowly. Rockjaw Grang saw him and called, “Stay where thee are, .Tamm,

’tis bad swampland ’ereabouts!”

Tammo walked forward another few paces until the ground became squishy, where he joined his companions.

Farther out m the swamp the remaining vermin had rushed heedlessly into a dangerous quagmire.

Twayblade nodded in their direction. “Nothin’ we can do about ’em now, chaps. Put up y’weapons.”

Horrified, Tammo stood watching. Nearly all eight of the vermin were in over their waists. They shrieked and

struggled, making the position worse for themselves, grabbing at one another as the bottomless ooze sucked them

remorselessly down. One, a nimble ferret, pulled himself up onto a rotting and managed to scramble along its length as

his weight it down. Behind him, his comrades, who had only their I heads showing above the treacherous surface,

yelled piteously to him.

“Rinkul, ’elp us, mate, do somethin’, ’elp us!” But the ferret was intent on saving only his own skin. Hauling

himself upright, he streaked the length of the sinking trunk, flinging his body forward in an amazing leap. He landed in

some bushes where the ground became tinner and ran off, hop-skipping wildly until he was clear of the main swamp.

Tum-,ing, he watched, as did the hares, the remaining vermin gurgle horribly as the muddy depths claimed them for its

own. Seconds later there was nought but a smooth gray-brown patch i;’mid the green rotting vegetation to indicate

where they had gone down. The ferret, Rinkul, turned and shrugged.

As he squelched his way off over the swamp’s far side, Tammo noticed that he was twirling something.

A sick feeling swept over the already trembling young hare, he fell down on all fours. Pasque was right beside him,

wiping his face with some damp grass. “Tamm, what is it? Are you wounded?” Tammo’s face seemed to have aged

several seasons as he fought to stop shaking, muttering words at the ground in front of him.

Captain Twayblade assisted Pasque to pull the shivering hare upright. She cocked an eyebrow at the younger

creature. “I say, can y’make out what he’s chunnerin’ on about, wot?”

Tears began brimming in Pasque Valerian’s soft brown eyes. “Oh, Cap’n, he said that the ferret was carryin’

Russa’s stick!”

Twayblade sheathed her rapier, grim-faced. “Come on, Rock, we’d best get back to the Major, post haste. Stay

with Tammo, young gel, take y’time bringin’ him back, we’ll go ahead. If y’see the others, tell ’em where we are.”

The kindly Rockjaw Grang took off his tunic and draped it about Tammo’s quivering shoulders. It was so large that

it lapped his footpaws, but it was thick and warm. “There thou goes, sunshine, thee tek it easy now!” he said, patting

Tammo’s face.

It was full noontide when Pasque and Tammo made it back to the defile, accompanied by Sergeant Torgoch,

Rubbadub, and Midge, whom they had met up with on the way. Perigord was seated in front of a fire, his right paw in

a sling that held a large herbal pad to the shoulder. On seeing the Major, Tammo was able to say only one word.

“Russa?”

Perigord’s normally languid face was pale and drawn as he nodded toward the cave. Breaking free of Torgoch and

Pasque, the young hare staggered into the little chamber. A strange scene confronted him. Lieutenant Mono, with a

bandage ’round his face that ran beneath his chin and ended in a bow between his ears, was nursing a tiny badger.

Looking for all the world like an old harewife, he placed a paw to his lips.

“Sshh! I’ve just got him t’sleep!”

In a corner there was a still form, covered by a ragged homespun blanket. Close to it, Russa, also wrapped in a

cloak, was sitting with her back against the sandstone wall. Tammo gave a deep sigh as he sat down next to his

squirrel friend.

“Whew! Thank the seasons you’re alive, mate!”

Russa blinked slowly through clouded eyes. “Not for long, young ’un. They hit me good this time—two arrows an’

a spear. But I gave good as I got, sent a few of ’em along in front t’pave the way for me.”

Tammo put a paw around the squirrel’s narrow shoulders. “Russa, don’t talk like that. You’ll be all right, honest,

you will!”

Russa Nodrey smiled, coughed a little, then swallowed as if clearing her throat. She took Tammo’s free paw,

saying, “None o’ your nonsense now, sit still an’ lissen t’me, Tamm. Tell yore mama I did the best I could, an’ if y’see

Osmunda again, tell ’er I sent my regards. Make yore family proud of you, Tamello De Fformelo Tussock, never do

anythin’ you’d be ashamed to tell ’em. One other thing: you don’t ’ave to be a Long Patroller if’n y’don’t want to.

Mebbe there’s other things y’do better.”

Russa stayed Tammo’s reply by squeezing his paw feebly. “Oh, I’ve seen you fight, Tamm, yore one o’ the best,

but you’ve ’ad a different upbringin’. You ain’t no slayer like those hares out there—at Salamandastron they’re

brought up to it.”

Tammo tried to choke back the tears that fell on Russa’s paw. “You’ll be fine, matey. I’ll tell Pasque to get all her

medicines an’ herbs an’ we’ll ...”

Russa managed to wink at him. “Medicines an’ herbs won’t do me no good now, Tamm. I wish you’d stop soakin’

me paws an’ carryin’ on like that. I’ve got other places t’go, I’ve always been a wanderer, so I wants t’see what ’tis

like on the sunny hillsides by the still meadows ....”

Outside the hares sat listening as Major Perigord related what had happened.

“Russa an’ meself were scoutin’ ahead when we heard roarin’ an’ screamin’. Of course it wasn’t the vermin doin’

the noisemakin’. We reckoned ’twould be innocent creatures captured by those villains, so we’d no choice except to

try an’ rescue ’em. On m’word, we ran straight into it! Thirty-odd assorted blackguards, tormentin’ an’ torturin’ an old

badger-wife an’ a babe. Scoundrels! We gave ’em a taste or two o’ their own medicine, I can tell you! Trouble was

that we were outnumbered by about eighteen t’one—they’d slain the old badger. Well, we fought ’em off best as we

could an’ I pulled the poor dead ol’ badger into the cave with the little ’un still clinging to her. Russa was protectin’

my back, that’s when she Itook two arrows. Then we turned and tried to hold ’em off, shoutin’ Eulalias like nobeast’s

business, hopin’ you chaps’d hear us. Sadly Russa took a spear through her middle, so I bundled her in the cave with

the badgers. That’s when I got the lance in me shoulder, took another few slashes too. Just look at me best green velvet

tunic. Good job you arrived when y’did. I was about ready to go under. By the by, did y’get ’em all?”

Twayblade took the tunic from her brother’s shoulders and inspected it. “Ripped t’bits, be a long time before you

get another like it. Ah, the vermin. Yes, they split up, but so did we, got ’em all barring one, a ferret, he escaped

through a swamp. I shouldn’t think a lone villain would bother the Red-wallers a good deal, wot?”

Sergeant Torgoch poured himself hot mint tea from the canteen by the fire. “Don’t think ’e would, marm. Some o’

those big otters that ’angs about the Abbey’d be only too glad to accommodate ’im, if’n ’e showed ’is nose ’round

there.”

Tammo came walking from the cave, dry-eyed and stone-faced.

“Russa Nodrey has just died, sah.” His voice trembled as he tried to be a soldier worthy of the Long Patrol, but

tears streamed down his face.

Perigord closed his eyes tightly and stood, head bowed.

That night they sealed up the cave with earth and rock. On the front of the pile, Rockjaw Grang placed a huge flat

slab, which Tammo and Pasque had worked on, scraping deep into the sandstone with knifepoints a simple message:

Russa Nodrey and an unknown badger lie within. They died fighting for freedom against cruelty. Seasons may

pass, but we will remember them.

The baby badger slept on, between Pasque and Tammo, wriggling in his slumbers to get closer to them. Tammo

had never seen a badger before; he stroked the infant, glad to have a creature near who knew nothing of killing and

war before that day.

26

Beneath the Abbey’s south wall, Foremole Diggum and his team held the lanterns out over the underground

cavern. Holding on to the moles’ digging claws, Tansy and Arven leaned out at the edge of the shored-up timber

platform that the moles had built at the end of the small tunnel down which they had come. They peered down into the

shadowy depths of what appeared to be a huge abyss, wide, dark, and mysterious.

Far below them water could be heard. Foremole tossed a turnip-sized boulder into the yawning chasm. They

listened, but only silence followed.

Tansy turned to the solemn-faced mole leader. “Where has that rock gone to?” she asked.

Her question was followed by an echoing distant splash. Foremole shook his head gravely. “Daown thurr

summwhurrs, marm, hurr, that’n be’s a gurt deep ’ole.”

They stood awhile, then Tansy backed off the platform gingerly. “Dear me, that’s enough of that! It’s like looking

down from a high building and not seeing the ground. I was beginning to feel quite woozy!”

Foremole Diggum and his crew assisted her back to the surface, offering his irrefutable mole logic as he lit their

way. “Urr, ’tis better feelin’ woozed up on furm ground for gennel beasts such as ee, marm. Oi thinks us’n’s be

’appier talkin’ abowt et all in ee Abbey, thurr be things oi’ve gotter say regardin’ yon gurt ’ole!”

Intrigued by Foremole’s words, they all followed him indoors.

On entering the Abbey, Tansy walked straight into a dispute that had broken out in the kitchens. Amid much paw-

wagging and whisker-twitching, the Abbess placed herself between the dormouse Pellit and a sturdy squirrel called

Butty, whom Mother Buscol was training in the ways of the kitchen. Both creatures argued fiercely, glaring truculently

at each other.

“I won’t be able to get on with me work, she’ll be in the way!”

“Work? Huh, when did you ever work? You spend half y’time sleepin’ on empty veggible sacks by the back

oven!”

“You young skipwaggle, keep a civil tongue in yer head when yore talkin’ to elders’n’betters!”

“Listen, you might be older’n me, but we’ll soon find out who’s better if you call me a skipwaggle again!”

Tansy grabbed a copper ladle and struck it on a cooking pot with a resounding clang. “Silence, please, this instant!

Now, one at a time. What’s this all about? Pellit, you first.”

The dormouse adopted an air of injured innocence. “Mother Abbess, all I said was that the bird shouldn’t be

allowed to live in our kitchens, ’taint right. For one thing, we need the space in that cupboard for storage, there’s little

enough room fer that down ’ere as it is ...”

Tansy’s hard stare and upraised paw halted Pellit. “You’re speaking in riddles, sir. Butty, begin at the beginning!”

The young squirrel explained as best he could: “Well, marm, ’tis the owl Orocca. She’s been lookin”round the

Abbey for somewheres t’put her nest an’ eggs. She searched high’n’low but nowheres suited her until she discovered

our kitchens an’ that big corner cupboard where we store apples. Anyhow, me an’ Shad shifted her in there, owl,

eggs’n’nest. Then before y’know it, old whinin’ whiskers Pellit is moanin’ an’ complainin’ an’ reportin’ the matter to

Sister Viola.” Redwallers gave way as Tansy swept regally across to the cupboard. She opened the door and was

confronted by the great golden eyes of Orocca. The owl snuggled down righteously atop her nest on the middle shelf,

and said, “Hmph! You’ve already wrecked one homesite where I lived, now I suppose you’re going to eject me from

this one?”

With a wry smile hovering on her lips, Tansy turned to Pellit. “D’you know where an auger or a drill can be

found?”

The dormouse answered her hesitantly, “Er, yes, marm, Gurrbowl an’ Foremole Diggum keeps ’em in the wine

cellars for borin’ bungholes in barrels, marm.”

Tansy tapped the cupboard door. “Good! Then go and get some form of drilling tool from them and bore lots of

holes in this door, so that our guest has plenty of fresh air to breathe in her new home. Well, don’t stand staring, Pellit,

hurry along now!”

Turning back to the owl, Tansy bobbed a small curtsy. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. If you need anything at

all, just ask. I’ll detail Mother Buscol to take care of you; should you want to leave your nest, I’m sure you’ll be able

to trust her to keep an eye on the eggs until you return.”

Orocca blinked rapidly, her head bobbing up and down. “My thanks to you, Abbess. This will be a good warm

home for my eggchicks when they break shell. If any of your creatures sees my husband, Taunoc, perhaps they would

tell him where I am.”

Craklyn, who had witnessed the quarrel, patted Tansy’s paw admiringly as they made their way down to Cavern

Hole. “Well, you took care of that wonderfully, but poor old Pellit’s got a face on him like a fractured tail. Did you see

him?”

Tansy folded both paws into her wide habit sleeves. “Actually I’m glad Orocca caused that disturbance. For some

time now I’ve been thinking of making certain changes in the kitchens. Mother Buscol is a bit old to be in charge of

all the cooking, and young Butty is a good hardworking creature and a fine cook. I think he’ll make an excellent Friar

given the chance.”

Craklyn agreed with Tansy, though she had reservations. “What about Pellit? He’s older and has worked in the

kitchens longer than Butty. Won’t it cause bad feelings if you promote fee young squirrel over the dormouse’s head?”

But like a wise Mother Abbess, Tansy had a reason for everything she did concerning her beloved Redwall. “I

don’t think so, Craklyn. The trouble with Pellit is that he’s fat, getting on in seasons, and of course he’s a dormouse.

That’s why he’s always nodding off in the warmth from the ovens. If I left him in the kitchen he’d injure himself

someday. So I’ve decided that he shall be Viola Bankvole’s new assistant—he’s always chatting to her and hanging

about the Infirmary, and the job’s an easy one, so he’ll have plenty of time to rest. Mother Buscol can look after

Orocca and the eggchicks when they arrive. That way she’ll be in the kitchens a lot to keep an eye on our new Friar,

Butty.”

Tansy spoke to Mother Buscol and Viola, and then to Butty and Pellit, before taking her seat in Cavern Hole.

Everyone seemed happy with the new arrangements. Craklyn sat with the other creatures, very impressed with the

know-how and wisdom the seasons had bestowed upon her old friend.

Word had passed around regarding the chasm beneath the outer south wall, and now everybeast was familiar with

the news. Arven opened the discussion.

“So now we know what was causing the wall to collapse. I suppose the continuous action of the water wore the

ground away and formed the big hole. What d’you think, Diggum?”

“Well, zurr, oi thought the same as ee at furst. But me’n’moi moles, we h’explored ee sides o’ the gurt ’ole, an’

guess wot? Us’n’s found that part o’ ee sides o’ yon pit wurr square stones. Aye, they’m been builded thataway boi

summ-beasts long gone, hurr!”

This announcement caused a buzz of speculation. Tansy hid her surprise and silenced the gossip.

“One moment, please! Thank you. I was about to say that this casts a whole new light on things, but it only seems

to deepen the puzzle. Let us not get carried away with wild speculation, friends. Has anybeast a sensible suggestion to

offer?”

Skipper of Otters ventured an idea. “Supposin’ me’n’my crew put some long ropes together an’ went down there

to-morrer, marm. We might find where all that water’s flowin’ to, an’ who knows wot else?”

The mole Bunto scratched his nosetip with a hefty digging claw. “Gudd idea, zurr, an’ may’ap ee’Il take a lukk at

ee carvens on yon stones.”

Foremole Diggum donned a tiny pair of glasses and peered over the top of them at Bunto. “Yurr, ee never told oi

abowt no carven on walls!”

Bunto smiled disarmingly, saying, “Probberly ’cos you’m never arsked oi, zurr!”

Foremole took Bunto’s answer quite logically. “Hurr, silly o’ me. No matter, next toim oi’ll arsk ee!”

That seemed to settle the matter. Tansy looked around the assembly. “Right then, Skipper and his crew will look

into it tomorrow. Any more questions, suggestions, or business? Good, then I’m off to my bed. It’s been a long day.”

An amazingly cultured voice rang out from the doorway: “Excuse me, I do beg your pardon for interrupting, but

does anybeast know the whereabouts of an owl named Orocca, last seen perched on a nest containing three eggs?”

A trim and very dignified-looking male Little Owl opened the door wide and bowed courteously to the Redwallers.

Tansy had long ago given up being surprised by anything; she simply returned his bow with a polite nod of her head.

“Ah, I take it your name is Taunoc, sir. Welcome to Red-wall Abbey. This is our Foremole, Diggum, he will take

you to your wife. Main kitchen, far corner, right in the apple cupboard. You’ll probably find a dormouse there drilling

holes. If he disturbs you, then please send him away.”

The Little Owl bowed once more. “My thanks to you, marm. I bid you a pleasant good night!”

When he had departed with Foremole, there was a moment’s silence. Then both Tansy and Craklyn burst into

helpless laughter. “Whoohoohoo! Oh, hahahaha! Great seasons, did you see the face on him, and such beautiful

manners. Hee-heehee! Oh, dear, what next?”

Craklyn widened her eyes and did a perfect imitation of Taunoc. “‘Last seen perched on a nest containing three

eggs?’ Hahahaha!”

Tansy rose, supporting herself weakly on the chair arm. “Heeheehee! No more business! No more questions! No

more anything, please! I need my bed! Oh, whoohoohoohaha! Sorry!”

Leaning against each other, Recorder and Abbess left Cavern Hole, tears streaming down their faces as they

giggled and whooped.

Bunto looked blankly at Drubb. “Hurr, oi’m glad they’m ’appy, b’aint you?”

“Burr aye, but wot they’m a larfin’ anna chucklen at oi doant know. ’Twas on’y summ owlybird a looken furr ’is

missus.”

Gradually the spring night cast its spell over Redwall. Lanterns nickered, fires guttered, and a stray draft moved the

tapestry in Great Hall before passing on. All was peaceful, calm, from dormitory to cellars.

Beneath the south wall, far down in the Stygian gloom of the chasm, something moved. Something cold, slippery,

and long ... Something moved.

Dawn’s half-light was barely peeping over windowsills when the young squirrel Butty pounded on Tansy’s

bedroom door. Pulling the coverlet over her head. Tansy complained in a sleep-muffled moan, “Go ’way, ’taint light

yet, I’ve only just closed my eyes!”

But the new Friar persisted, thumping the door and shouting, “Mother Abbess, marm, new owlbabes have arrived

in our kitchens! Oh, please come quick, I dunno what t’do!”

Tansy’s footpaws found her old slippers as she threw on a dressing gown and dashed to the door.

“Rouse Sister Viola, Mother Buscol, and Craklyn, and bring ’em straight down to the kitchens. Go quickly and try

not to waken the others!”

Completely in a dither, Butty raced off, yelling aloud, “Owl babies! Just arrived in the kitchens! New little ’uns!”

Abbess Tansy peered around the half-open cupboard door. From beneath Orocca’s fearsome talons, three sets of

massive golden eyes stared unblinkingly back at her. AH of Redwall, clad in a variety of nightshirts, tasseled caps,

dressing gowns, Old sandals, and slippers, packed into the kitchens, hopping up and down eagerly to catch a glimpse

of the new arrivals.

Mother Buscot complimented the owl on her eggchicks: “My my, wot beautiful liddle birds. They’ve got yore eyes,

too!”

A brief smile flitted across Orocca’s solemn features. “Thank you, Buscol. These are my first brood, and I’m glad

they’re all fit and well. My husband, Taunoc, will be pleased, when he eventually gets to see them.”

Craklyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Taunoc hasn’t seen his babes yet? Where is he?”

Orocca lifted her talons, allowing the chicks to stumble forward. “Poor Taunoc was in a worse tizz man that young

squirrel of yours. The moment he heard eggshells cracking he took off in a fluster, muttering about hunting to feed five

beaks now. He’ll be back.”

The little owls were mere fuzzballs, with eyes practically larger than their bodies. When they were not dumbling

and stumbling to stay upright, they were huddling together to keep their balance. Orocca knocked the door open wide

with a sweep of her wing.

Now all the Redwallers could see the three chicks clearly, there were exclamations of delight, particularly from the

Dib-buns, whom Skipper and his otters had lifted onto their shoulders so they could get a clear view.

“Burr, can they’m owlyburds coom out t’play with us’n’s?”

“Why don’t they say noffink yet?”

“‘Ello, likkle owlyburds, d’you want some brekkfist?”

Viola Bankvole, keeping a safe distance from Orocca, took charge. “A sensible idea, why don’t we all go in to

breakfast and leave Orocca to clean up her nest?”

Viola and Tansy ushered the crowd out, while Mother Bus-col and Gurrbowl Cellarmole stayed behind to help the

owls.

Skipper of Otters whacked his tail down hard upon the table-top. “Stow the gab now, mateys, yore Abbess wants a

word!” Nodding thanks to Skipper, the Abbess tucked paws into her dressing-gown sleeves and stood to address the

Redwallers. “Listen carefully now—this won’t take long. Summer’s nearly here, ’tis a beautiful day outside, so here’s

my plan. I say we cancel all work and worries until tomorrow, and let today be one of feasting and celebration for the

three little lives that have arrived into our Abbey. A triple birthday party out in the orchard!”

Cheers of joy rang to the rafters of Great Hall.

Brother Ginko was RedwalFs Bellringer. Today he didn’t stand below and pull on the ropes; instead, he climbed

the stairs to the steepletop chamber, stood on the beams between the two bells, and operated them by pushing with

both paws. The warm brazen sounds rang out over Mossflower.

Larks took to the meadow air, and woodland birds fluttered out over the green tree canopy, adding their morning

songs to the bell tones rising into a bright sunlit sky.

27

Below in the line of trees skirting the east ramparts, a furtive figure slunk close to the wall’s edge. Rinkul the

ferret, last of the vermin band being pursued by the hares, fled south along the woodland edge. Dried swamp mud

clung to his matted fur as he hurried on, chewing roots and berries and casting fearful glances backward. Rinkul hoped

the bells were not ringing to denote that he had been spotted—he could see the figure of Brother Ginko framed against

the open arches of the steeple chamber. He held still awhile, then, satisfied he had not been detected, Rinkul left the

shelter of the Abbey wall to cut off over the south common lands, where he could see a stream mat would provide him

with drinking water.

With the sun warm upon his back and the bells booming in his ears, the ferret lay flat on his stomach, drinking

greedily of the fresh stream water. After a while he rose into a crouch, checking that he was still alone. He stared hard

and long at what he saw. It seemed incredible, but he trusted the evidence of his own keen sight. Redwall’s

battlemented south ramparts were collapsing. The line of high, thick masonry had been breached by the fall of a

massive tree, and farther along, the wall dipped and leaned inward, as if messed about by some colossal paw.

Rinkul backed into the shallows, still staring at the fractured outer wall. Following the stream course southeast to

hide his tracks, he tucked Russa Nodrey’s hardwood stick into his belt.

“Got to find the Rapscallion armies,” he muttered delightedly to himself. “This information’11 make me an officer,

a Rapmark!”

Brother Ginko had his back to the fleeing ferret. He shielded his eyes and stared hard at the two figures loping

steadily down the path from the north toward the Abbey. Hares—it was two hares!

Halting the toll of one bell, he continued ringing the other singly, warning of creatures approaching. Skipper and

Shad came racing out of the Abbey, hard on the heels of Arven, who was belting on the great sword of Martin the

Warrior.

The squirrel Champion cupped both paws around his mouth and yelled upward, “Strangebeasts on the path, Ginko?

”

The Bellringer leaned outward, pointing. “Aye, two hares come out o’ the north!”

The look of concern melted from Skipper’s tough face, to be replaced by one of comic dismay. “Did you say ’ares,

messmate? Lock up the vittles an’ stan’ by fer a famine, prepare to be eaten outta ’ouse’n’ome!”

Breaking cover from the woodlands, Tammo stared excitedly at the soaring towers and gables of the red sandstone

building farther down the path. Pasque’s voice at his side echoed both their thoughts.

“Golly, is that Redwall Abbey? Tis even bigger’n I thought it’d jolly well be. What a beautiful sight!”

Sergeant Torgoch kept his eyes ahead as he said, “None more luvverly, miss! Right, fall inter twos an’ let’s see us

marchin’ up there like Long Patrol an’ not a bunch o’ waddlin’ ducks on daisy day! Chins up, chests out, shoulders

back, tails twitchirT smartly! Keep up at the back there, Grang!”

The giant hare Rockjaw Grang was carrying the baby badger in a sling across his chest. He frowned at the

Sergeant. “BegghT thy pardon, Sarge, but could y’keep thy voice down? Sithee, ah’ve just gotten yon tyke asleep for

his mor-nin’ nap!”

Major Perigord, who was marching at the head of the column, smiled whimsically at the thought of Rockjaw as a

nursemaid. “Don’t fret, Rock. If Galloper Riffle an’ Tuny are already there, they’ll have no shortage of blinkin’

badgermin-ders t’take the little ’un off y’paws, then you can sit down to a good ol’ tuck-in with the rest o’ the chaps,

wot?”

A dreamy look crossed Rockjaw’s face as he wiped a paw across his lips. “Redwall Abbey vittles, by ’eck, lead me

to ’em!’

28

Abbess Tansy and Arven, with a deputation of otters and elders, stood in the open gateway to greet the Long

Patrol. Captain Twayblade broke ranks to embrace the Abbess warmly.

“Mother Abbess, so good t’see you, old friend. You look wonderful!”

“Twayblade, what a lovely surprise. Welcome to our Abbey again!”

Old friends met old friends, and new ones were made as introductions flew thick and fast. The dashing hares of the

Long Patrol were much admired by the Redwallers as they stood there chatting in the Abbey gateway, leaning on their

weapons, smartly clad in their tunics, with medals and ribbons on display. Secretly, even the most humble

Abbeydwellers wished they too could present such a picture—jolly, courteous, and kind, but feared by their enemies

and totally perilous.

Major Perigord winked at Skipper. “What d’ye say, old lad, d’ye think everybeast here would like to march in with

us, make a jolly good entrance, wot!”

Skipper stood smartly to attention at the Major’s side. “Good idea, matey. Ahoy, form up in a line o’ fours, let’s

bring our guests ’ome in style. Arven, Shad, up front ’ere with meVthe Major. Great seasons, I wish we ’ad a band!”

Perigord drew his saber with a flourish and a rattle. “Your word is my command, sah. Rubbadub, beat us in with

your best drums, if y’would!”

Dibbuns whooped in delight and amazement as Corporal Rubbadub milled about, waving his paws and setting up a

dust and a din.

“Baboom! Baboom! Baboombiddy boombiddy boom! Drrrrrapadapdap! Drrrubbadubdub! Bababoom! Bababoom!

Bababoom!”

Cheering aloud and stamping their paws in time to the beat, the cavalcade marched across the lawns to the Abbey

in fine military style. Tammo and Pasque strode alongside Friar Butty and the molebabe Gubbio, chatting animatedly.

The young squirrel Friar had excellent news for them.

“You’ve arrived at a good time, friends. Today we’re bavin’ a great feast to celebrate the birth of three liddle owl-

chicks.”

Pasque’s normally soft voice was shrill with excitement. “I say! Y’mean we’re actually goin’ t’be guests at a

famous Red-wall feast?”

Gubbio grabbed her paw as he hop-skipped to Rubbadub’s drums. “Ho aye, marm, ee’ll ’ave such vittles’n’fun as

ne’er afore!”

As soon as they were inside the Abbey, those hares who had never visited Redwall were led off on a grand tour by

a gang of eager Dibbuns. Other Redwallers went about their tasks to prepare for the festivities, while Abbess Tansy

and her elders retired to Cavern Hole with Perigord, Twayblade, Rockjaw, and Torgoch.

The hares were offered light refreshments of candied fruits and red-currant cordial as they exchanged news and

information with their hosts. Tansy listened carefully to the account of the skirmish in the defile, shaking her head in

sorrowful bewilderment at the death of Russa Nodrey, who had visited Redwall many times in bygone seasons. When

the tale was told, Rockjaw opened the sling, which he had held easily concealed beneath his tunic, and presented the

Abbess with his precious burden.

“Sithee, marm, this is the babby. A grand likkle male an’ good as gold for company on a march, ’e is!”

Tansy could not wait to hold the tiny bundle. She placed a cushion in her lap and laid him on it. He was no more

than a season old, hardly any age at all. Lying flat on his back, the babe yawned and opened his soft dark eyes as the

Abbess inspected him. The badger’s back was silver gray, and his chest and paws were velvety black. He had a moist

brown nose and a snow-white head, sectioned by two thick black stripes running either side of the muzzle from

whiskers to ears, covering both eyes.

Craklyn touched the upturned footpads. “Seasons of winter! Just look at the size of these paws! He’s goin’ to be

big as an oak when he grows to full size!”

Tansy chuckled fondly as she tickled the babe’s tiny white-tipped ears. “Welcome to Redwall Abbey, little sir, and

pray, what name do you go by?”

The baby badger held out his paws to her, growling, “Nun-nee! Nunnee!”

“The little chap’s said that several times,” Major Perigord explained, “only word he seems t’know. We’ve surmised

that it means Nanny, the old badger he was with. She was prob’ly his grandmother or nurse—’fraid we haven’t a clue

as to who his parents are. There was certainly no sign of them where we found him. Had there been two grown badgers

with him, those vermin would’ve given the place a wide berth, wot!”

Foremole Diggum placed a honeyed hazelnut in the babe’s paws, and immediately he began chewing the nut

hungrily.

“Burr,” said Diggum, “‘ee may be a h’orphan, but thurr b’aint nuthin’ amiss wi’ee appetoit, no zurr!”

A bowl of creamy mushroom soup was sent for, and Tansy fed the babe while other matters were discussed. The

Red-wallers knew nothing of Rapscallions, nor had any other vermin been sighted in the region of late. Arven related

the dangerous position of the Abbey’s outer south wall and their plans to rebuild it.

By the time the discussions were near their close, the little badger had licked the soup bowl clean and gone back to

sleep in the Abbess’s lap. Major Perigord had listened pensively to the problems faced by Redwall and its creatures.

He stood abruptly, having reached a decision.

“Well, chaps, my duty as Commanding Officer, Long Patrol, is pretty clear. Until your wall is rebuilt and the

Abbey safe’n’secure once more, me an’ my hares will guard Redwall an’ patrol the area night and day. Couldn’t do

any less, wot! Lady Cregga’d have me ears’n’tail if I didn’t. So, marm, if you are willin’ to accept us, me an’ my troop

are at y’service!”

Bowing low, Perigord presented his saber hilt-first to the Abbess. Abbess Tansy touched the handle, signifying her

approval.

“My humble thanks to you, Major. I am sure that I speak for all Redwallers when I say that we are assured of

safety by your presence, and your gallant offer is warmly accepted!”

Foremole Diggum threw in a gem of mole logic: “Gudd! Then if you’n’s be afinished usin’ gurt long apportant

words, may’ap us’n’s best go an’ get ee feast ready, ho urr aye!”

Midge Manycoats sucked his paw ruefully. “Huh, I’ve just been pecked by perishin’ owlbabes!”

Chuckling, Friar Butty replaced the lid on a steaming pan. “You must taste good to ’em, Midge. Come over ’ere

an’ lend a paw. I’m showin’ Tammo an’ Missie Pasque how t’make Mossflower Wedge.”

Both hares were intrigued by the goings-on in Redwall’s kitchens; it made such a pleasant change from marching

and fighting. Pasque had lined a rectangular earthenware dish with pastry, which Butty was viewing approvingly.

“Well done, missie, we’ll make cooks of you hares yet. Tammo, are you ready with the first layer?”

Tammo wielded a ladle, enjoying himself immensely. “Wot? I’ll say I am. Now don’t tell me, Butty, just watch

this!” He spread the chopped button mushroom and grated carrot mixture on its pastry base, making sure it was level.

“There! Righto, Pasque, you an’ Midge chuck in the next layer!”

Watched by the Friar, the two hares spread sliced white turnip and chopped leeks as a second layer. Then Butty

placed a third layer of diced potato and slivered white cabbage.

He winked at Tammo and stood back, wiping his paws on a cloth. “Go on then, Tanun, I’m not tellin’ you what’s

next, ’tis up t’you.”

Tammo took the lid off a panful of dark rich gravy. “Mmm, smells absolutely super duper! Stand clear, please!” He

poured the gravy over the layered vegetables evenly, watching it soak through, pulling his paw back swiftly to avoid a

slap with Butty’s damp cloth.

“No takin’ secret licks at the pan, or I’ll tell yore Sergeant an’ he’ll have yore tail for supper, or wotever it is he

does. C’mon now, take an end o’ this cover each.”

Gingerly they lifted a big pastry top between them and flopped it gently over the dish. Butty took a knife and

trimmed it while Tammo and Midge crimped the edges. Pasque borrowed Butty’s knife to cut a series of arrowhead

slits in the center, then she brushed the top with a mixture of light vegetable oil and finely chopped spring onions.

The squirrel Friar shook their paws. “Well done, good effort for y’first Mossflower Wedge. Now, how long does it

stand in the oven?”

Pasque and Tammo spoke out together, “Until it tells you it’s done!”

“Right! And when’s that?”

“When the crust is golden brown an’ shiny, an’ there’s no more steam coming out of the slits in the middle!”

“Correct! See, I told you I’d make Redwall cooks out of you. Now, let’s see how good y’are at makin’ Abbey

Trifle ....”

29?

A single lantern had been left burning at the platform dug by the moles beneath the south outer wall. The pale light

flickered, sending its radiance down into the depths of the darkened chasm, where it shone feebly on the spray-

drenched stones by the rushing water. In the dim light, bunched wet scales glistened, savage rows of ivory-hued teeth

showed briefly, and two slitted eyes filmed over. The creature had heard the furry creatures above, it had seen them, so

it waited hungrily, knowing that sooner or later they would be descending into the gloomy rift. Coiling its sinister

length around a rock to prevent it being swept away ... it waited.

Sneezewort sat on the hillslope enjoying the mid-morning sunshine. In an old upturned helmet he was boiling up a

broth of frogspawn and some stream vegetation on his fire. The rat watched his companion approaching, then turned

his gaze upon the helmet, pretending to be engrossed with the task of cooking.

Lousewort came damp-furred and shivering. An enormous lump showed between his ears as he squatted by the fire

to dry his shivering body.

Sneezewort spoke to his former companion without looking up. “Thought yew was supposed ter be an officer

gettin’ punished.”

Lousewort peered hungrily at the mess bubbling in the helmet. “Er, er, well, I ain’t a ossifer no more, mate. Er, er,

that looks good. I’m starvin’.”

Sneezewort stirred the broth with his dagger. “Don’t you ’mate’ me, I ain’t yore mate no more. Why aren’t yer still

Stannin’ up t’yer neck in chains inna river?”

The other rat shrugged noncommittally. “Er, er, they all escaped durin’ the night, with Borumm an’ Vendace, but I

got left be’ind.”

“Left be’ind? Didn’t yer wanna go wid ’em? Better’n free-zin’ yore tail off inna stream, I woulda thought.”

“Er, well, I got knocked over me ’ead an’ left senseless.”

“Harr, harr! Wouldn’t take much t’leave you senseless. Wot ’appened then?”

“Er, er, well, I woke up an’ shouted the alarm. Lord Damug sent Skaup the ferret out wirra ’undred or more, to ’unt

’em down. Er, Lord Damug said t’me that at least I was loyal, stoopid but loyal ’e called me, an”e said that I wasn’t fit

ter be an ossifer an’ told me I’d got me ole job back, servin’ in the ranks. So ’ere I am, mate, we’re back together, jus’

me’n’you.”

Sneezewort snorted as he picked the helmet off the flames between two sticks and set it down by the fireside.

“Hah! So y’think yer can come crawlin’ back t’me, eh? Where’s all yer brother officers now, tell me that? An’

anudder thing, don’t think yore sharin’ my vittles, slobberchops! Go an’ get yore own, y’big useless gully-wumper!”

Lousewort sulked by the fire, looking hurt and touching the lump between his ears tenderly. Then, as if

remembering something, he reached into his sodden garments and drew out a big dead gudgeon, its scales glistening

damply in the morning sunlight.

“Er, er, I stood on this an’ killed it when I jumped off the rock in the stream. D’yer think it’ll be all right to eat?”

Sneezewort nearly knocked the helmet over as he grabbed the fish. “Course it will, me ole mate. Tell yer wot I’ll

do, I’ll shove it in wid this soup an’ cook it up a bit on the fire, while you scout for more firewood, mate. You kin ’ave

the ’ead’n’tail, those are the best bits, I’ll ’ave the middle ’cos yew prob’ly damaged that part by jumpin’ on it, mate!”

Lousewort rose, smiling happily. “Er, er, then we’re still mates?”

Sneezewort’s snaggle-toothed grin smiled back at him. “I was only kiddin’ yer a moment back. We wuz always

mates, me’n’you, true’n’blue! If yer can’t find a spot by yer fire an’ a bit t’spare for yer ole mate, then wot sorta mate

are yer, that’s wot I always says. You nip along now an’ get the wood!”

a Damug squatted at the water’s edge, honing his swordblade against a flat piece of stone as he conveyed his

orders to the

Rapmark Captains.

“There’s plenty of food and water here. We’ll camp by this stream until they bring back Borumm and Vendace and

the others. When they do I’ll make such an example of them that no Rapscallion will ever even think of disobeying me

again.

Gaduss, we’ve got no scouts at present, so you take fifty with you and go north. I want you to do a two-day search

in that direction, but if you find anything of interest before that, report back immediately.”

The weasel Gaduss saluted with his spear. “It shall be done, Firstblade!”

Nearly a full day’s journey up the same stream bank, the water broadened, running through two hills whose tops

were fringed with pine and spruce trees. Log-a-Log, Chieftain of the Guosim shrews, was busily cleaning moss from

the bottom of a beached and upturned logboat, assisted by another shrew called Frackle.

They paused to watch the other shrews fishing. Frackle wiped moss from her rapier blade, nodding toward them.

“Lots o’ freshwater shrimp in that landlocked stretch o’ water,” she said.

Log-a-Log ran his paw along a section of hull he had cleaned off. “Aye, freshwater mussels, too. Minnow an’

stickleback were there in plenty last time I fished that part. Take a stroll over there, Frackle, easy like—an’ don’t look

up at yonder hill on the other bank, we’re bein’ watched by some o’ those thick-’eaded Rapscallion vermin who tried

attackin’ us yesterday.”

Frackle sauntered away, murmuring casually, “Aye, I see the glint o’ the sun on blades up in those trees at the

’illtop, Chief. What d’ye want me to do?”

The shrew Chieftain went back to cleaning his boat. “Just

take things easy, mate. Tell the crews not t’look

suspicious, Pass the word to the archers t’drift back to their boats an’ git their bows’n’arrers ready. We’ll give those

vermin a warm welcome if they comes down offa that ’ill an’ tries crossin’ the stream.”

Panting and breathing heavily after their long run, Vendace, Borumm, and forty-odd Rapscallion fugitives lay flat

among the trees on the hilltop, watching the shrews below.

Borumm stared at the packs that had been unloaded from the boats. “There ain’t time fer Us t’stop an’ forage in

this country. We needs those packs o’ vittles if’n we’re gonna circle an’ make fer the sunny south.”

One of the fugitives crawled up alongside the weasel. “Cap’n Borumm, those are the beasts that set on us. They kin

fight like wolves wid those liddle swords o’ theirs. Huh, you shoulda seen the way that ole Chief one finished off

Hogspit!”

Vendace curled his lip at the vermin in a scornful sneer. “Stow that kinda talk, lunk’ead, yore with real officers

now. Huh, ‘Ogspit? I coulda put paid to ’im wid both paws tied be’ind me back. Bunch o’ river shrews don’t bother

me’n’Borumm none, do they, mate? Phwaw! They’re bakin’ sumthin’ down there, I kin smell it from ’ere. Mmmm!

Biscuits, or is it cake?”

Borumm smiled wickedly at the fox. “Wotever it is we’ll soon be samplin’ it. Right, let’s make a move. Keep

’idden climbin’ down the ’illside, play it slow. I’ll give the word ter charge if they spots us.”

The shrewboats were all cleaned and anchored in the shallows. Log-a-Log and his shrews stood around the

cooking fire, all acting relaxed, but keyed up for action.

“Scubbi, Shalla, take the archers an’ use our boats fer cover. Spykel, Preese, get be’ind those big rocks wid yore

sling team. Lead paddlers, stay back ’ere with me an’ Frackle, ready to jump in the boats an’ launch ’em. Those

vermin are startin’ downhill, too far out o’ range yet. If we ’ave to make a run fer it, stay out o’ midstream and use the