Triss

Redwall, Book 15

Brian Jacques


ISBN 0-399-23723-2


By the same author


Redwall


Mossflower


Mattimeo


Muriel of Redwall


Salamandastron


Martin the Warrior


The Bellmaker


Outcast of Redwall


Pearls of Lutra


The Long Patrol


Marlfox


The Legend of Luke


Lord Brocktree


Taggerung


Castaways of the Flying Dutchman


The Great Redwall Feast


A Redwall Winter’s Tale


Redwall Map and Riddler


Redwall Friend and Foe


Build Your Own Redwall Abbey


Tribes of Redwall: Badgers


Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales


Were days that long, was grass so green, In seasons of youthful desire,


Roaming o’er seas of aquamarine,


Where westering suns drown in fire?


‘Cross mountain, forest and river,


I’d wander, carefree and bold,


Never heeding the days to come,


When I’d wake up, slow and old.


Oh, how the silent summer noon,


Warms dusty memories,


In an orchard, midst my dreams,


‘Neath verdant, shadeful trees.


Come visit me, you little ones,


Hear stories, songs and rhymes,


A roving warrior’s saga,


Of far-gone, golden times.


ÑKroova’s Song


Book One: A Season of Runaways


1


Princess Kurda was considered by all to be a highly skilled swordbeast, the best blade at Riftgard since her grandsire, great King Sarengo.

She was a Pure Ferret, as were all of the royal blood, creamy white from tailtip to nose, with coral pink eyes. Kurda worked hard at being the best. Every morning from breakfast to lunch she could be found practising in her weapon chamber. This particular morning was no exception.


Rows of turnips hung by strings from the rafters. Two squirrel slaves, one a young maid, the other an old grizzled male, stood by, awaiting her commands. The Princess donned a single long-sleeved glove of ecru linen. Pulling it tight on her paw, she nodded at the long rack of swords, her voice curt and imperious. De heavy sabre, yarr!


Triss the squirrelmaid hastily wrapped an oiled rag about her paws and lifted the heavy sabre from the rack by its blade, carefully avoiding getting oil on the leather-bound hilt. Kurda flexed her limbs gracefully.

Without even a glance at Triss, she grabbed the sword, drawing the blade so swift and hard from the squirrelmaid’s grasp that it sliced through the oiled rag and nicked her paw. Triss leaped smartly out of the way, her teeth clenched in pain as the ferret Princess went slashing at the turnips. With deadly accuracy the heavy sabre made the air thrum, chopping through the solid vegetables. Halves of turnip flew everywhere, striking both slaves, bouncing off the floor and caroming from the walls until there was nothing left but straggled roots dangling from the strings. Kurda wiped a scrap of turnip from her cheek with the linen glove, panting slightly. Holding the sabre point forward to Triss, the ferret grated, Clean diss good, I try rapier now, yarr, de rapier.


Triss hurried to select the rapier Kurda had indicated.


The old male squirrel, Drufo, scrambled to clear the floor of turnip pieces, careful to wipe any wet spots, lest the Princess should slip.

It would go badly for both slaves if she did, as they knew from bitter experience.


Fixing her paw firmly in the basket hilt of the rapier, Kurda whipped the keen flexible blade back and forth, enjoying the sound it made.

Triss signalled Drufo with her eyes; he skirted the walls furtively until he arrived behind his young friend. Diligently cleaning the sabre blade upon her oiled rag, Triss watched Kurda work with the rapier.

Poising herself like a dancer, with one paw outstretched, she attacked the root stems on the string ends.


Snick! Whip! Zip!


The blade struck with swift snakelike movements, snicking the roots off at the string, though the last two strikes missed the roots, severing the strings. Kurda snorted with anger. Dropping the sword carelessly, she rapped out more commands.


Get me der straight sword, middle size! You get ready to throw ven I say. Move yourselves!


Drufo ran and picked up two of the larger chunks of cut turnip. Triss grabbed the rapier and selected a long, medium-weight straight sword, with a cross-hilt and fine-honed double blade.


The ferret Princess snatched it impatiently from her, whirling the blade and shouting at Drufo, Trow! Trow!


Throwing both pieces of turnip upward, Drufo covered his head with both paws, jumping out of the way. Kurda slashed up, then sideways, in two speedy movements. She cut one piece, but the other thudded to the ground untouched.


Kurda’s pink eyes blazed with anger at her error. Drufo was bending to pick up the pieces when she whipped the flat of the blade viciously across his back.


Stupid oaf! Ven I say trow, you trow dem proper. Trow high, vot do you tink I am? You t’ick mudbrain bun-glepaws!


Drufo stayed bent over, still protecting his head with both paws as the ferret vented her spleen on him with the flat of the swordblade.

Knowing her old friend was in danger of losing his life, Triss yelled as she began throwing turnip chunks in the air with all the haste she could muster.


Princess, I can throw better than that old fool, look. Hup! Hup! I can send them higher, too. Ready, throw!


The ploy diverted Kurda’s attention. She turned and chopped both chunks as they came down. The squirrel-maid, who was ready with two more, made sure she tossed them high and slow. The sword cut through the chunks easily. Kurda was out of breath, but her temper had improved. She leaned on the sword, nodding and panting. You t’row good, dat’s de vay to t’row turnips, yarr!


The door opened and another Pure Ferret ambled in. He was bigger than his sister and had a silly grin all over his face.


Kurda addressed her brother contemptuously, Vot do you vant, Bladd boomose?


Bladd was used to his sister’s insulting manner. His droopy oversized gut wobbled as he chuckled. Huh huh huh huh, you make a better cook than a swordbeast, yar. You still choppin’ turnips for der stew, liddle sister. Huh huh!


She raised the sword, advancing on him. One day I chop you for der stew, lard barrel. Yarr, I chop you good. Vy you come here, eh?


Bladd shuffled to the door and held it half open, creating a shield between them. He poked his tongue childishly at Kurda. King vant to see you, yarr, he mad about der herrinks. He say come now, quick, or he put a big lock on his door.


Kurda pointed at him with the sword, her bad mood renewed. Sneaknose, you been tellink tales to King about me!


Bladd took off downstairs, laughing idiotically, with his sister hard on his heels.


Triss helped Drufo up as the door slammed behind the two Pure Ferrets.

She steadied the old squirrel.


Are you all right, Drufo? She didn’t cut you, did she?


He smiled, rubbing his back ruefully. Thanks t’you, she didn’t, missie, thanks t’you. Huh, swordbeast? That white streak o’ slime ain’t half the swordbeast yore dad was. White streak o’ slime!


Triss chuckled silently at the way her old friend often repeated phrases.

She set about gathering up the cut turnips. Lend a paw with these, you old grumbler, let’s get them out to the others. Every bit helps.


The squirrelmaid poked her head over the sill of the high chamber window and imitated the harsh skrike of a seagull. Far below a gang of creatures were working, laying a path of pine logs to make a walkway between the sloping grass hill and the rocky shore of the river. It would run from the gates of Riftgard fortress, along its edge, to the jetty. Moored at the pier’s end, facing downriver to the sea, was a ship. It was small, with one square purple sail, a very pretty little craft, skilfully built and wonderfully ornamented.


The workers, an assortment of squirrels, mice, hedgehogs and otters, looked upward at the window. A slim, pretty sea ottermaid named Sleeve murmured, Stan’ aside, mates, ‘ere comes supper, thanks to miz Triss.


As they dropped the turnips down, Triss questioned Drufo about her father, whom she had never known.


Do you remember my father? What was he like, Drufo?


The old squirrel shook his head fondly. Like no other, young ‘un, like no other! There was never a swordbeast born could cross blades with Rocc Arrem, an’ I knows, ‘cos I fought alongside him. We was like brothers.


Triss heaved more turnips over the sill to her friends below. But despite all that, he was slain.


Drufo paused for a moment, his face grim. Brought him down with arrows, more’n a score o’ those dirty Riftgard rats. I remembers it t’this day, but Rocc, yore pa, went down fightin’, snapped his blade an’ hurled it in their faces. Rocc Arrem wasn’t never one to surrender, never!


Triss sighed as she swept the last vegetables up from the floor. Wish I’d have been old enough to fight, they’d have never got him. We’d have still been free, living in the mountains upriver, all of us.


Drufo watched those below gathering the last of the turnips. He looked to the high mountains on either side of the river, thick pinewoods sweeping down their sides to the rocky banks, still patched with last winter’s heavy snows.


The old squirrel voiced his thoughts. Ah, ‘tis a cold hard place to live, this northland, I tell ye, an’ a harder place to be enslaved in than any I know.


Keeping her voice low, the squirrelmaid drew close to Drufo. Once we’ve got the boat built, it’ll be downriver and the open seas for us. We’ll find a better life in those lands beyond the great sea.


Drufo grabbed her paw anxiously. Triss, don’t be foolish, nobeast ever escaped from Riftgard an’ lived to tell of it. You’ve got to ferget those mad ideas!


Triss pulled her paw from his grasp. Four more days, that’s all it’ll take, Drufo. I’m not missing a chance of freedom by being fainthearted.

Shogg the otter and Welfo the hedgehog have been helping me. Our boat should be ready soon. You can escape with us, there’s room for one more!


Drufo looked at Triss anxiously, keeping his voice low. You three don’t know the danger yore in, missy. Y’just don’t know. Stealin’ wood from the King’s new walkway, pilin’ up vittles, an’ tackin’ t’gether rags for a sail, ‘tis too risky. I want no part of it, no part, d’ye hear me? I ain’t goin’ t’be responsible for the death o’ young creatures!


Triss cocked an ear to a sound outside on the stairway. She muttered swiftly under her breath, Stow it, some-beast’s coming!


The door was wrenched suddenly open. Captain Riftun and four of his rats marched into the chamber. Triss and Drufo fell upon all fours, making a pretence of cleaning the floor. Riftun was a mean-natured rat; cruelty was stamped on his narrow face. He leaned on his spear and placed a footpaw hard on the back of Triss’s neck.


So tell me, wot are slaves doin’ alone an’ unattended in a roomful o’

weapons, eh?


Drufo kept his tone humble as he explained. Princess Kurda gave us permission, Cap’n. We been attendin’ her at sword practice. Me’n’Triss is just cleanin’ up. We’re near done, Cap’n.


The rat Captain glanced round the chamber. Looks clean enough t’me, eh, lads?


The four rat guards nodded their agreement eagerly. Aye, Cap’n!


Riftun lashed out with his spearhaft, knocking Drufo flat. Don’t ever let me catch yer alone in here again. Get down t’the walkway an’ report for work. On the double!


Drufo scrambled up and made for the door. Triss was about to rise and go with him, when Riftun brought his spearpoint down to rest at the base of her skull.


Not you. I’ve had you watched, missy. Yore goin’ down in the cages t’keep yore two liddle pals, the otter an’ the spikepig, company. Bet you thought I didn’t know you was makin’ an escape boat. Take ‘er, guards!


Two rat guards grabbed Triss’s paws whilst the other two menaced her with their spears. Drufo tried to intercede.


But, Cap’n, it couldn’t have been ‘er, she’s been with me all the time fer days now. Triss ain’t done nothin’, I swear it!


Riftun gave him a kick that sent him staggering awkwardly down the stairs.

He winked at the four guards. Show me a slave an’ I’ll show yer a liar.

Take ‘er to the cages, she’ll sing like a lark when I’m done with ‘er!


Triss was hauled off downstairs, tight-lipped but struggling. She glimpsed Drufo’s pitiful, frightened face as they dragged her off to the punishment cages.


2


Beyond the trackless seas, far from the fjords and mountains of Riftgard, the late-spring afternoon was mellow as butter and blue as a periwinkle.

Great Abbot Apodemus and his old companion Malbun Grimp sat dozing peacefully on the sunwarmed ramparts of Redwall Abbey’s northeast wall.

Somewhere over the treetops of Moss-flower a blackbird warbled its rich, fruity aria to the season. There was hardly a breeze to be felt. Down below, the Abbey grounds basked still and silent in serene noontide.


Malbun was a wood mouse who held the position of Healer and Recorder of Redwall. She was drifting off into a slumber, both eyelids drooping as her chin dropped toward her chest. An admiral butterfly ventured to perch on Malbun’s nose. She banished it with a twitch of her snout and opened one eye.


Any sign of them coming back yet, Ap?


Apodemus had his eyes closed, but he was not yet asleep. I dunno. Why don’t you go and look, Mai?


Malbun opened her other eye, turning her gaze upon the yellow-necked mouse who was Father Abbot of all Redwall.’Cos I’m only a lowly beast around here. You’re the Abbot, they’re your responsibility.


Apodemus kept his eyes closed, relishing the warmth of the sun upon his ears. Tis a powerful position, being Abbot of Redwall Abbey.


Malbun considered this statement before replying. Aye, so it is.


A slow smile broke the repose of Apodemus’s features. Well, I’m glad you realise that, Mai. 1 order you to go and look to see if the whortleberry gathering party are return-ing!


With a sigh, the Healer Recorder pushed herself upright, smiling as she shuffled to the battlements. That’s a flagrant abuse of power, Father Abbot. I’ll do your bidding, but I’d like it noted, I’m doing it under protest.


The Abbot opened his eyes and winked at his companion. Protest noted.

Now go and look, will you?


Turning her back, Malbun leaned against the battlement. Don’t have to look, I can hear’em.... Listen!


Carrying over the still air, voices could be heard raised in song, young and old alike.


All in the days of spring,


When flowers do bloom about,


We merrily go and sing ho ho,


Whortleberries come out.


Whortleberry, blaeberry, bilberry, too,


They taste so good to me, my friend,


As they must do to you,


And yet I say to you now,


Oh what is in a name,


For whortle bil or blae sir,


The berry’s all the same.


We range the forest far, for,


There’s nobeast will deny,


Nought is half so good, ho ho,


As a whortleberry pie.


Bil whortle blae, blae whortle bil,


All around the woodlands,


Field or valley or hill,


Get ready good old cook, marm,


Stoke up your oven’s fire,


A whortleberry pie this eve,


Is my dear heart’s desire!


Apodemus rose and stretched lazily. We’d best go down and open the gate if we want any pie for supper. Cmon, I’ll race you!


Malbun Crimp’s huge middle shook with laughter. Are you talking to me or that snail just by your footpaw? Race me indeed, we’ll soon need a hoist to get us up and down the wallstairs!


The Abbot gazed ruefully at his considerable stomach. Oh, for the days when we were Dibbuns.


The two old friends linked paws and shuffled off down the broad, red sandstone wallsteps, chunnering away to one another.


I’ll wager that snail would’ve beaten you easily.


Aye, you’re right, Mai, we’re built for comfort, not speed.


Right, and we’ve got the dignity of our positions to consider. Wouldn’t look right, a Father Abbot and a Healer Recorder, charging about like two frantic frogs.


Wandering between vegetable patches and around through the orchard, they came out onto the front lawns. Late daffodils, blue milkwort, buttercup and pink speedwell bordered the soft green grass. Behind them, as they made their way down the gravelled path to the main gate, Redwall Abbey reared high in dusty rose-hued splendour. Arches, buttresses, bell tower, carved gables and long stained-glass windows sat square in the centre of Abbey grounds and stout outer walls. Apodemus stopped a moment, turning to cast a fond eye over the ancient structure, then gripped his friend’s paw a little firmer and sighed. I love our Abbey, Mai. Sometimes I get up early just to look at it in dawn’s light. There’s no place like it, is there?


Malbun patted his paw fondly. No place at all, Ap. We’re lucky to be living here, very lucky!


Between them the two mice lifted the wooden gatelock bar amid ribald calls outside from the Redwallers.


Open up or we’ll scoff all these berries!


Quick, afore we starve t’death!


Hurr you’m never starven t’death with ee gurt stum-mick loike that on ee, zurr!


Huh, take a look at y’self, ole fatty chops!


The huge oaken doors swung open. Apodemus and Malbun jumped smartly aside as the Abbey creatures poured in: squirrels, mice, moles, hedgehogs, some shrews, three otters, even a large old female hare.

All of them carried some form of basket, pail or trug, laden with ripe whortleberries. Abbeybabes, or Dibbuns as they were called, had their paws and faces liberally stained with the purplish blue juice. The Abbot shook his head in mock severity at a molechild who was stained from top to tail.


Dearie me, master Ruggum. You look as if you’ve had a busy day.


Ruggum explained in curious molespeech. Oi wurr doin’ gurtly well, zurr.

Til ee rascal Bikkle pushed oi into ee barsket o’ berries, but oi etted moi way out’n’em!


Bikkle, a tiny squirrel with a huge bushy tail, tried hard to look the picture of innocence as she defended herself. Farver h’Abbot, Ruggum pulled me tail, so I chased’im ane failed into the berries hisself by askident!


Apodemus could not hide a smile as he replied. By askident? Goodness me, that Ruggum’s always having aski-dents. What d’you say, Memm Flackery?


The fat old female hare, who was nurse to all the Dibbuns, pulled off her poke bonnet and fanned her whiskers with it. Fiends, marauders, all of’em, wot! Into the tub with the bloomin’ lot of you, that’s what I jolly well say!


Yells of dismay arose from the Dibbuns.


Waaah! Not more tubs, Memm. Us on’y gotbaffed last night!


Oi’ll be scrubbed to ee shadow if’n you’m put oi in ee tub again, marm.

B’aint that roight, Turfee?


Turfee the mousebabe scowled darkly. They scrubs likkle ones t’death in this h’Abbey.


Gurdle Sprink, the hedgehog Cellarkeeper, eyed Turfee sternly. You mind yore manners, young’un. A bath’ll do ye the world o’ good, then off t’bed with the lot of ye!


A horrified silence fell over the Dibbun contingent, then Ruggum raised a small clenched paw and shouted. Dab!


Immediately the little creatures scattered, all yelling, Dab! Dab! Dab!


Memm Flackery grabbed the two nearest her to stop them escaping. I say, somebeast close the flippin’ gates, sharpish!


Skipper of otters was lithe and brawny. He swiftly closed the gates and dropped the gatelock shut. Catching a hogbabe by her apron strings, he shook his rudderlike tail in puzzlement. Dab? Wot’s Dab s’pposed t’mean, mate?


Crikulus, the ancient shrew Gatekeeper, explained. It’s those riddle scamps’ latest secret society. Dibbuns Against Bedtime, that’s wot Dab means. They don’t like bein’ sent off t’the dormitories early. Huh, I’ll never join’em, I loves my bed. I’d stay there all season if’n I could.


After a deal of chasing, the Dibbuns were rounded up and herded inside the Abbey. Memm and Friar Gooch, the Abbey squirrel cook, followed them in.


Hmm, think I’ll preserve some o’ those berries in honey.


Memm tried not to look crestfallen. Not all of’em, Friar, you are goin’


t’cook some tonight?


Friar Gooch patted her paw. Don’t fret yoreself, marm, I’ve planned some whortleberry sponge puddens with cream’n’crumble toppin’.


The fat Harenurse’s eyes lit up greedily. Oh my aunt’s whiskers, you’re a bloomin’ toff, Gooch, an absoballylutely first-rate grubslinger, wot wot!


Beyond the locked Abbey gates, Ruggum the molebabe and Bikkle the little squirrel sat on the path giggling. They had evaded capture by nipping out a second before Skipper shut the doors.


Hurr hurr hurr, ee Skipper a’most chopped moi tail offen in yon doors.

Oi bee’s most speedy furr a mole-choild, hurr hurr!


Bikkle whirled her bushy tail in delight. Us won’t get barfed an’ sended to bed early no no more!


Ruggum sucked juice from a berry he found on the path. Burr, Bikk, we’m shore t’get catchered if’n uz be a stop-pen owt yurr. Ee Memm bee’s orful farst furr a gurt fatty beast.


Bikkle did not hesitate. She grabbed her friend’s paw resolutely. Cummon, us run’way an’ live inna woods, Ruggs!


Ruggum brightened up at the thought of this capital scheme. You’m roight, Bikk. They’m b’aint goin’ to keep baffin uz an’ senden uz oop t’bed urrly til we’m old an’ dead and buried!


Paw in paw, the two Dibbuns trundled off north up the path, cutting off east into Mossflower woodlands and making plans for the marvellous life that lay ahead of them.


We live up inna tree an’ eat h’apples, an’, an’ ... anyfink!


Boi’okey uz will, an’ never get ee baff, or even ee likkle wash!


Us jus’ play an’ play, all day an’ all night long. Hee-hee!


Burr, they’m big uns be vurry sad us’n’s gonned.


Tchah! Now they’ave to baff each other an’ all go to beds early. That teach’em a lessing, heeheehee!


Spring eventide threaded crimson gold and lavender rays through the leafy woodland canopy. Day’s last long shadows darkened Redwall’s lawns, shading the grass to a rich emerald carpet. Single notes and trills of nightingales echoed from the Abbey orchard, serenading the coming darkness.


Gooch and his trusty assistant cook, a young molemaid named Furrel, checked the rows of earthenware basins as they loaded up trolleys in the kitchens. Both were satisfied that the whortleberry puddings were perfect in every respect. Foremole, Redwall’s traditional mole leader, stood by his trolley, button nose aquiver at the delicious aroma from the basins. Furrel chuclded at the look of bliss upon his face.


Yurr, h’uncle, oi’ll’elp ee load yon trolley, afore yore snout be a fallen off in deloight.


Foremole patted his niece’s paw fondly You’m a gudd an’ koindly mole, Furrel, thankee gurtly moi deary.


Redwall had two dining rooms, the Great Hall, which was used for large feasts or special occasions, and Cavern Hole, a smaller, more comfortable chamber. Abbot Apodemus took his seat in Cavern Hole, alongside Gurdle Sprink.


Rubbing his paws in anticipation, the Cellarhog remarked, I wager in less’n a score o’days’twill be light and warm enough to take our evenin’

meals out in the orchard.


Apodemus watched Redwallers seating themselves. Aye, summer will soon be upon us, Gurdle. Oh, look out, here comes trouble, but don’t they look nice and clean!


Straight from the bathtubs, a horde of Dibbuns in clean smocks came dashing in to claim their favourite places at table. Memm, Sister Vernal, and Malbun shepherded them in, issuing cautions as they tried to keep order.


Don’t run! What’ve you been told about running, eh? Walk nice and slowly now. That includes you, Turfee!


I say, go around the table, you little rip, don’t you dare try to climb over the Father Abbot!


Come here, Toobles; there’s still soap in your ears. Gotcha!


The tiny hedgehog squealed outrageously as Malbun cleaned out the soap with her apron corner. Waaah! I bein’ slayed,’elp me!


Old Crikulus the Gatekeeper covered both ears and closed his eyes tightly, until peace was restored and the Dibbuns seated. Abbot Apodemus rose from his chair to recite a grace.


Be thankful for the season, And happy for the day, Be grateful for the bounty, Which comes to us this way. Good food from the earth is grown, And brought unto our table, By honest toil and labour, Let’s eat, whilst we are able!


The silence was broken by Turfee the mousebabe, banging his spoon upon the table and roaring, Where are me pudden?


Gurdle Sprink glared severely at the rowdy Dibbun for a moment. Then he called out, Aye, where’s that child’s pudden? Bring it right away!


Amid hoots of laughter the puddings were served.


Halfway through the meal, Skipper of otters was pouring out dandelion cordial for some of the little ones, when he glanced around and scratched his rudder.


Where’s liddle Ruggum an’ Bikkle, anybeast seen’em? Sister Vernal looked at Memm. I can’t recall bathing them, can you, Memm?


Not really I say, Malbun old thing, did you scrub those two rascals, wot?


Malbun tapped a paw against her chin thoughtfully. No, marm, but I recall we had two clean smocks left over when we dressed the Dibbuns. J just thought they were extras.


The Abbot addressed the other Dibbuns, who were spooning in whortleberry pudding and swigging cordial as if they had survived a seven-season famine.


Did any of you see Ruggum or Bikkle this evening?


Foremole murmured into the Abbot’s ear, No use ar-skin’ they’m h’infants, they’m busy h’eatin’ puddens.


Memm Flackery chuckled drily. Indeed they are, old scout. You’d get more sense out o’ the puddens than those ravenous scoundrels. Just look at’em eat!


Gooch and Furrel went and took a quick look around the kitchens. The two missing Dibbuns were nowhere to be seen.


Old Crikulus shrugged his narrow shoulders. They’ve prob’ly pinched a couple of puddens for themselves and gone off to eat’em without gettin’

bathed first.


Apodemus was inclined to agree with him. That’s right, they’ll turn up sooner or later. I wager they’re snoozing in some quiet corner. If anybeast should find them, I’d be grateful if you’d bring them both up to my room. I intend to have a severe word or two with the master Rug-gum and miss Bikkle!


Out in Mossflower Woods darkness had descended. Moonshadows and shifting breezes created an eerie pattern through the leafy tree canopy.


Somewhere an owl hooted and a nightjar’s churring staccato rent the woodlands. Ruggum and Bikkle huddled together in the shelter of a fallen beech tree. Both were cold, hungry and frightened little creatures.


Yurr Bikk, oi’m a thinken et bee’s toime t’go’ome. Bikkle was of the same mind as her molefriend. Me wanna go’ome too, but Memm be shoutin’

at us an’ send us to beds wiv no puddens. Me still wanna go’ome, though.


Yurr, then us’ns go roight now, and you be knowen ee way, Bikk?


I not know. You said you knowed.


Hoo urr, you’m gurt fibber, oi never said oi knowed ee way.


They sat looking at one another, then chorused aloud, Waaaaaah, we’s lost!


3


Nightdark waves lapped softly upon the western shores, like a black velvet cloak, endlessly unfolding. A full hon-eydipped moon shed its light over the scene below, softening the rugged formation of the mountain fortress known as Salamandastron. Four creatures, two badgers and two hares, leaned on a smooth, wide windowledge, about halfway up the mountain. Watching the activity of two young creatures below, they conversed in hushed tones.


Lord Hightor, the great badger ruler, heaved a sigh of resignation.

Oh well, if he’s got to go, then I suppose’tis inevitable. Maybe out there Sagaxus will learn a bit of sense. I can’t take much more of that young rip. It’s probably all for the best. If he stays here disobeying me, we’re bound to meet head-on before long. I still have my doubts about it, though!


Hightor’s wife, the Lady Merola, stroked his paw soothingly. It didn’t do you much harm when you ran off for a few seasons as a young badger, you told me so yourself. Two male badgers on the same mountain,’twould never work, even I can see that. Poor Sagaxus, he’s a born rebel. I can’t help worrying about him, he’s got a lot of hard lessons to learn out there. I do hope he’ll be all right.


Colonel Whippscut of the Long Patrol was a hare of the old school.

Twirling his waxed moustached whiskers, he puffed out his medal-clad chest and murmured confidently, All right, m’Lady, h’rumph! Why shouldn’t they be jolly well all right, wot wot? Your son an’ my son leavin’ home for a bloomin’ good adventure or two, do’em a bit o’ good, I say. Keep the blighters out of our fur for a while. D’you know, it’s flippin’ hard t’tell who’s the worst rascal between’em, young Sagaxus or that Bescarum o’ mine. Rogues! Rogues’n’ bounders, the pair of’em!

H’rumph, they won’t come t’much harm, believe me.


The Colonel’s wife, Dunfreda, interrupted him sharply. I should say they won’t come t’much harm, Whippy,’cos you’ll be out there followinem.

Every pawstep of the way!


The Colonel looked slightly deflated. He began blustering, I say, steady on there, old gel. Me, followin’ those two rips for a couple o’ seasons?

What d’you think I am, a bloomin’ stalkin’ duck? H’rumph! Out o’ the question, I’m afraid. I’ve got my command to attend to here, wot wot?


That did it. Dunfreda whipped out a small kerchief and commenced weeping inconsolably. Whoohoohoo, you heartless hare, waaaaah, my poor little Bescarum an’ Merola’s only son, wanderin’ round the world willy-nilly like two homeless waifs. Whoohoowahaaah!


Whippscut raised his eyes in despair, apologising to Lord Hightor, as Lady Merola comforted Dunfreda. Beg pardon, sah, the good lady wife can’t resist a jolly good blubber now’n’again, wot. Here y’are, old gel, take my kerchief. That’n won’t be enough t’stop the tide comin’

in, wot!


Lord Hightor placed a paw about his friend’s shoulders. Dunfreda’s right, you’d best follow them. Keep an eye on that pair. It’ll only be for a season or two, but it will put all our minds at rest. I’ll look after the mountain.


Colonel Whippscut was flabbergasted. Wot, wot, wot? Harrrumph! Y-y-you don’t really mean that.


O’ course he means it, you waxy whiskered clot. Go on, follow the two poor dears, right now, this very instant. Go!


Hightor peered out of the window at Sagaxus and Bescarum on the beach far below. Both were starting to head north, carrying massive backpacks of food, purloined from Salamandastron’s kitchens. The Badger Lord could not resist a chuckle.


Look at that lot they’re carrying,’tis enough to keep a regiment going for a full season. No need to hurry, Whipp-scut. At the rate they’re travelling, you’ll pick up their trail quite easily after breakfast tomorrow morning. Huh, that’s if they’ve left enough vittles in the kitchens for the cooks to make a meal.


Bescarum tried to set the pack more evenly between his shoulderblades, grunting with exertion. Wait f’me, Sagax old lad. Me blinkin’ paws are sinkin’ in the sand with this confounded heavy pack!


Sagaxus, who liked to be called Sagax, was by far the stronger of the pair, though even he was staggering a little as he called back over his shoulder to Bescarum, who preferred the name Scarum.


Good job we don’t have to walk far, then, Scarum. Just round the cove to the rocks at the north spur. Wait’ll Kroova sees all the grub we’ve brought along, eh?


Scarum caught up with his badger pal. Indeed. If we’re runnin’ off t’sea then we need the proper scoff, wot? Yukko! I don’t mind livin’ off the land, but that idea of Kroova’s of livin’ off the sea: raw fish’n’sea weed! Huh, I should jolly well say not!


They edged down below the tideline to where the sand was firmer underpaw.

It made the going easier.


Sagax was smiling happily. No more being sentenced to washing the pots!


Scarum grinned like a demented rabbit. Or scrubbin’ the bloomin’ Mess Hall out!


Or weeding the rock gardens all day!


Or polishing spears’n’shields in the dratted armoury!


Sagax did a fair imitation of his father: I can understand Bescarum, he’s a hare. But you, Sagaxus, you’re supposed to be the son of a Badger Lord! Why your mother even named you Sagaxus I’ll never know. She said you were supposed to be like that old Badger Lord she’d read of, Russano the Wise, her fifth great-grandsire. So she called you Sagaxus, that’s supposed to mean wise also. Huh, now this is your last chance, d’you hear me?


Scarum did an even better impersonation of his father: H’rumph! You’re a rip, sah, an utter flippin’ rip, wot! Y’see these grey hairs ruinin’

me best moustache, eh? Well, you put’em there. H’rumph, if y’were one o’ my patrol I’d clap you in the bally dungeons, wot wot?


Kroova heard them coming. Making the bowline fast to a nubby rock, he leaped down onto the sand. C’mon, mateys, stir yore stumps or we’ll miss the tide!


His boat was a double-sailed ketch, which he had stolen from three searats a season ago. It was a trim-lined little vessel, with fore and aft sails, the latter being set slightly in front of the rudder. Kroova gasped as he helped them heave their packs on board. He loosed the bowline as they skipped aboard.


Stamp me rudder, are y’tryin’ to sink us wid vittles?


Scarum wrinkled his nose at the sea otter. You carry on scoffin’

seaweed’n’sprats. Leave this to us, pal.


Kroova caught the breeze just right and sent the ketch skimming on a northwesterly tack, his hearty laugh ringing out. Haharr, me old mateys, welcome aboard the Stopdogl


Sagax looked at him questioningly. The Stopdog?


Kroova winked and gave him a roguish grin. Aye, that’s the last thing I’eard those three searats hollerin’ after me. ÔStop, dog!’ So that’s wot I called’er, the Stopdogl


Scarum tried to rise gingerly from a sitting position.


Shouldn’t we be doin’ something, paddling or tugging on ropes to make this boat go?


Kroova had the foresail fixed and the sternsail controlled in one paw as he held the tiller with the other. Bless yer’eart, no, mate. This’un goes by’erself, though it needs a h’expert’s paw like mine t’keep’er on course.


Sagax watched the skilful otter intently How did you learn to sail like that? Did your parents teach you?


Kroova shrugged. I never’ad no parents, mate, leastways none that I knows about. Out’ere on the briny, it’s learn fast or perish, an’ I wasn’t about ready to perish!


Scarum began opening one of the backpacks. Talkin’ about parents, I’ll bet my old pa’s whiskers will really curl when he finds I’ve hopped it. As for Mum, she’ll probably blubber till there ain’t a dry kerchief on the flippin’ mountain. Loves a good blubber, though it drives Pa scatty, wot.


Sagax felt his conscience twinging guiltily. Let’s stop talking about parents. Tisn’t as though we’ll never see’em again. We’ll prob’ly drift back to the mountain in a season or two, when we’re too grown up for them to push and shove us around. Huh, bet they’ll be glad to see us then. Come on, Kroova, you old seadog, give us one of your ditties.


Immediately the cheerful sea otter obliged. He had a good voice.


Ho I was born in a storm one winter’s morn, When I was fat an’ tiny,


With the wind for me pa, an’ the sea for a ma, Way out upon the briny.


Let the codfish sing with a dingaling,


An’ the crabs dance wid the shark,


Hey ho again for the rollin’ main,


I’m’appy as a lark!


Ho my first ship was a cockleshell,


I painted it bright red,


Away I’d judder, wid me tail as a rudder, Far o’er the waves I sped,


Then a nice ole whale made me a sail


That helped me to go faster,


So I voyaged free on the deep blue sea,


Wid nobeast for a master!


The little ketch was soon lost in a world of silver-flecked water, scudding out north northwest over moonlit realms, like a willow leaf on a huge immeasurable pond.


By midnoon of the following day, Colonel Whippscut was back at Salamandastron, making his report to Lord High-tor after a fruitless search of the shoreline.


H’rumph, I, er, lost’em, sah!


Hightor’s brows beetled low over his fierce dark eyes. Lost them, Colonel!

How in the name of scut and stripes could you lose two younguns carrying great heavy backpacks? Surely their trail must have been clear enough!


Whippscut shook his head, scratching his waxed moustache until it became like tattered string. H’rumph! Well, had m’breakfast as usual an hour after dawn, took a stroll down t’the blinkin’ beach, an’ there were the tracks, plain as the ears on me bonce, wot. Had followed’em for only a short while, when they bloomin’ well vanished.


Controlling his temper, the Badger Lord stared at his colonel. Where exactly did you lose sight of the trail?


Whippscut gestured back over his shoulder. Round those rocks at the north spur, sah, where the tide washes over at flood. Not a sign o’

the scoundrels. I’ve got a search patrol north along the coast. They’ll find the villains if any-beast can. Did all I could, sah,’pologies!


Hightor placed a huge paw on his friend’s shoulder. No need for apologies, Whipp. You did your best.


A knock sounded on the chamber door. Hightor called briskly, Come!


Sergeant Widepaw, a fine big capable veteran hare, entered. With him was a runner, an extremely bright and pretty haremaid. Both saluted with their lances, then Widepaw spoke, keeping his eyes to the front.


Colonel, sah, M’Lud, no sight o’ the runaways whatso h’ever! H’l did find this,’owever, on the north spur. Sah! He produced a quadrant braided cord of red and green.


The Colonel inspected it, nodding. Bescarum’s paw bracelet, made it for him m’self. What’n the name o’ scut’n’ears would that be doin’ there, wot?


Sergeant Widepaw nodded for the haremaid to step forward. Sah, Mindel’as somethin’ t’say. Carry on, gel.


The haremaid runner bobbed a brief curtsy. I was on afternoon second run yesterday, sah. Spotted a little sailboat near the north spur. There was an otter on board. He didn’t see me, sah, so I carried on, thought nothing more about it, sah. He looked like most sea otters, friendly type.


Lord Hightor and the Colonel exchanged glances. The badger waited until Whippscut had dismissed both hares.


When they had gone, the Colonel banged a clenched paw on the tabletop.

Kroova Wavedog, I might have bally well known!


The hackles rose on Hightor’s broad shoulders. That pirate! How many times have I warned Sagaxus to stay away from him? Kroova is nought but trouble. I wish I had that young sea otter in front of me now, I’d make that rudder of his sting. He wouldn’t sit down for a season!


The realisation of what had happened hit Whippscut. O lack a bally day an’ a half! They’ve run off t’sea with him. No wonder I lost the confounded trail!


Hightor sat at the table, placing his striped head between both paws, his voice weary with resignation. Better not breathe a word to Merola or Dunfreda. No use worrying them further. Just say you lost the tracks over some rocks and shifting sands. I tell you, Whipp, those two have really done it now!


The Colonel twirled his moustache fiercely, tidying it up. You’re right, old friend, the worryin’ will be up to us from now on, wot!


4


Agarnu, King of Riftgard, hated the sea. Just the smell of it could make him queasy. He loathed sailing and detested boats or ships of any kind. He had been this way even when he embarked on that final ill-fated voyage with his father, Sarengo. Agarnu was quite content to rule his kingdom of fjords, mountains, pine forests and pebble beaches from the comfort of his father’s throne.


Only Pure Ferrets could rule Riftgard. Agarnu was a true Pure Ferret, snow white with pink, glittering eyes. Slumping down on the purple cushions of his shell-ornamented throne, he glared out over his gross stomach, which extended right up to his many chins. A false leg, carved from the white bone of some great fish, clicked against the floor, a dreadful reminder of that last voyage. Agarnu had been the only creature to make it back to Riftgard alive.


The peace of his throne room was shattered when Prince Bladd came hurtling in yelling and wailing, Dadda, stop Kurda, she come after me vit der sword!


He scrambled behind the throne as Princess Kurda bounded in, swinging her sword.


Agarnu nodded swiftly to his Ratguards. Six of them penned her in, grasping their spearhafts to form a barrier around the irate Princess.

Agarnu glared at her.


Stop dis fightink, you ‘ear me, Kurda. Now, vot you got to say for youself, eh?


The Princess strode forward with the Ratguards still penning her, but moving along with her as she went. She sighted her brother cowering behind the throne and pointed the sword at him.


Dat fat toad, he been tellink tales again, yarr!


Her father’s pink eyes continued glaring at her. Tales? T’ree barrels of herrink iz not tales. Dey’s food, not practice for der swordplayink, you no do dat vit food!


Kurda curled a contemptuous lip at her father and made some slashing motions in the air with her sword. Tchak! Der be plenty more fishes in der sea.


Agarnu stamped his carved-bone paw irately on the floor. Nodd if you keep choppink dem up for sword practice der von’t. But I not called you two here to talk about dat. Guards, leave us now. Bladd, gedd out from be’ind dat chair. Listen, I haff somet’ink important to talk about vit you both.


As the guards left, Captain Riftun strode in. Agarnu eyed him quizzically.


Yarr, Riftun, vot is it?


The Captain saluted with his spear. I’ve caught the creatures who were stealin’ the walkway wood, yer majesty. Three of em, a squirrel, an otter an’ a ‘edgehog. They was buildin’ an escape boat, stockin’ it up with vit-tles, too. Turnips, carrots an’ chopped ‘errings. Wot d’yer want doin’ with em? I’ve got all three locked up in the punishment cages.


Agarnu snorted and shrugged moodily. Vy tell me all dis? You de Cap’n, do vat you vant, don’t bodder me. A king have udder t’ings to do. Drown dem!


Kurda interrupted. No, I’ll deal wid dem. Live prisoners are good for der sword practice, ‘specially thiefs an’ es-capers!


Agarnu shook his head, regarding his daughter with distaste. Jus’ like you gran’father. Yarr, you a cruel one, Kurda. So be it. Save spoilin’

more barrels of herrink, eh, eh? The King’s stomach shook as he laughed at his little joke.


Kurda pawed her sword edge with anticipation.


Triss and her two friends shuddered with cold. The punishment cage was half submerged in the cold shallows of the fjord, which were fed by icy water from the mountains.


Welfo the hogmaid laughed bitterly. Brrr! Can’t stop me spikes from rattlin’!


Shogg the otter stared gloomily through the boards. Yore spikes’ll soon stop rattlin’ fer good, marm, Cap’n Riftun will see to that. It’s the death sentence fer us, mates, I’ll wager any thin’ on it!


Triss gritted through her chattering teeth, Stop that kind of talk, Shogg, we’re not dead yet. Let’s see what we can do about breaking out of this cage. We’ve got nothing to lose now.


The rest of the slaves labouring on the walkway cast sympathetic glances at the three creatures in the punishment cage. A guard flicked his whip out across their backs.


Get workin’, ye idle scum, lest yer wanna join yore pals in the cage.

C’mon now, get that wood laid, straighten that ground, keep those logs tight’n’even there, ye lazy lot!


Badly fed and poorly clad, the slaves toiled on, unable to stop and remove long pine splinters from their paws, or bandage scuffed, stone-scarred limbs with tufts of moss and grass. They were terrified to stop, lest they too end up in the dreaded cages, where they would face death from exposure, or execution at the sadistic whim of Captain Riftun.


Only when darkness fell were the workers allowed to halt in their chores.

Whips cracked as they were led off to the slave quarters beneath Riftgard.

There they would be fed on a single bowl of grain porridge, some vegetable roots and a pail of water between every group of ten.


Beneath the waning moon, cold night winds swept over the deserted worksite. Activity in the cage, which had begun furiously, had now slackened, owing to the intense cold eating into the bones of the three captives. They had groped around through the floor bars and collected rocks from the riverbed. First they had tried wedging them between the bars to see if the metal could be bent enough for them to squeeze through.

Then Shogg the otter, who was the strongest and most resistant to cold, battered away at the big well-greased padlock on the door grille. Neither method proved successful. Their limbs were growing slower and stiffer as the night advanced.


Welfo began to weep softly. Triss threw a paw about her shoulders and tried to comfort the hogmaid. Hush now, friend. Don’t cry. Keep your chin up, you wouldn’t want to give those vermin the satisfaction of seeing your tears now, would you? We’ll go down fighting to the last if we have to.


Shogg let his rock sink to the cage floor, whispering urgently, Quiet, mates, somebeast’s comin’!


It was Flith, Captain Riftun’s lieutenant. He stood watching them closely. Ceasing their activities, the three prisoners grasped the bars and stared dumbly back at the impassive rat.


Flith poked his spear out and rattled the bars. He tested the padlock by prodding it. Don’t worry, you three. We won’t let yer freeze t’death in there. We ain’t that cold-’earted, are we, ‘edgepig?


Welfo wiped tears from her eyes hopefully. No, Lieutenant.


Flith leaned on his spear and chuckled. Course we ain’t. Not one of us Riftgard rats is goin’ to lay a paw on ye. Princess Kurda is, though.

She’s got somethin’ special planned fer yew three. Goodnight an’ sleep well, now ... if ye can. Heeheeheehee!


Flith padded off, sniggering happily at his own joke. Triss felt her stomach turn over at the thought of Princess Kurda’s unimaginable designs for their fate.


No sooner had the lieutenant gone than another figure appeared from behind a stack of pine logs on the bank. Triss, miss Trissy, are ye all right?


The young squirrelmaid pushed her face to the bars, trying to keep the eagerness in her voice down. Drufo, 1 kept hoping you’d come. Good old Drufo!


The aged squirrel waded into the water, holding an earthenware jug above his head. He brought it close to the bars, but it would not go through.


Come t’the bars, Welfo. You too, Shogg. I’ll hold this while ye sup it. lis some ‘ot veggible soup we made out o’ bits of this’n’that. ‘Tain’t much, but it’ll keep the life in ye.


Heads up, mouths open, they stood side by side whilst Drufo shared the soup out, pouring it, still hot, straight into their mouths. It was meagre stuff, cobbled together with a few pawfuls of grain, turnip, carrot and some wild onion.


Triss had never tasted anything so delicious. They held their mouths open like young fledglings being fed by a mother bird, until the last precious drop had gone.


Sorry that’s all I could manage for ye, Drufo apologised.


Triss felt new life coursing through her. What’s happening inside Riftgard? What’ve you heard, Drufo?


The old squirrel pulled himself to the river side of the cage, so that he could not be seen from the bank. I follered Cap’n Riftun up t’the throne room an’ got me ear close to the door. Good’n’close, Triss. Agarnu was talkin’ to Kurda an’ Bladd, an’ Riftun, too. So, ‘ere’s the gist of it. We’ve got t’get you out o’ this cage, one way or another, quick!

‘Cos instead o’ turnips, Kurda plans on usin’ you three for ‘er sword practice. I don’t like t’bring bad news, but that’s ‘ow ‘tis goin’t’be!


Shogg began shaking the cage bars. Then wot’re ye waitin’ for, Drufo?

Get us out of ‘ere, now!


Welfo clasped Triss’s paw anxiously. But what’ll we do then? They’ve prob’ly smashed our escape boat up. We’ve got no food, no weapons, an’

no place to hide. Riggan the slavecatcher will hunt us down. We’ll be dragged back here for Kurda to slice up with her swords!


Triss had to stifle her friend’s mouth with a paw before she started to get hysterical. Hush now, I’m sure Drufo has a plan. Panicking will get us nowhere. Er, you have got a plan, haven’t you, Drufo?


The old squirrel bit his Up and shrugged. It ain’t much of an idea, but ‘tis yore only ‘ope.


He fumbled an object through the bars to Triss. It was a file, rusted, broken and old, with a piece of rag where the handle once was.


I risked me life getrin’ that. My old bones won’t take this icy water much longer, but ‘ere’s wot you must do. Once you’ve filed through the bars, yore only ‘ope is to steal the King’s new boat an’ sail away to someplace they’ll never find ye. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for ye, Trissy, but that’s it.


You did all you could, old friend. We’ll manage. Now get yourself out of this fjord and back inside before you freeze to death.


Drufo took her paw and clasped it fervently. Yore the model of yore dad, missy. Good luck an’ fortune be with ye!


5


Far from the Northlands and Riftgard, beyond the great seas, dew glinted off the leaves as a warm spring day dawned over Mossflower Wood. Bikkle was still asleep, curled up beneath the beech trunk, covered by last autumn’s dead leaves. Ruggum, however, was up and about, as the molebabe’s confidence had returned with the advent of daylight and sunshine. He dug up coltsfoot roots and found more whortleberries and young dandelion buds. Trundling back to the fallen tree trunk, he wakened his little squirrel friend by tickling her nose with a stem of hedge mustard plant.


Yurr, waken ee oop, gurt dozeychops, oi finded brekkist!


Bikkle rubbed her eyes with grubby paws, sat up and scratched her bushy tail. Hl’m firsty!


Ruggum reached up and grabbed a low-hanging wych hazel branch. Shaking it, he drenched Bikkle’s head with dew, chortling, Hurr hurr, you’m

‘ave a gudd drink, moi dearie!


Bikkle seized another branch and sprinkled him back. They giggled and chuckled, splashing one another with dew and rolling in the dead leaves.


The breakfast was not a roaring success. Bikkle lost notime in telling her friend, I still hung’y, that not nice brekkist, me like warm pasties an’ strawbee juice. When are us goin’ back to the H’Abbey?


Ruggum lay on his back, gently kicking the wych hazel twigs and catching the water in his open mouth. We’m losted. Dunno ee way back to H’Abbey.

Oi ‘speck they’m come a looken furr us’n’s afore long. Whichaways de ee thinken Red’all bee’s, Bikk?


The Dibbun squirrel pointed with her tail. West norf h’east, dat way ...

me fink.


They set off in the direction she had indicated, neither of the two babes feeling very confident.


But it was a warm bright day, almost summerlike, and the anxiety they were causing did not occur to their infant minds. Along the way they found other things to eat and a small stream, where they drank their fill and had a good old paddle.


Gurdle Sprink had discarded his heavy apron and climbed the cellar stairs for the third time that morning. Puffing and panting, the Cellarhog made his way out into the orchard, where he sat down on an upturned wheelbarrow, next to Malbun.


That’s the fourth time I’ve searched those cellars o’ mine. Still not a whisker of those two rogues t’be seen.


The Healer Recorder beat dust from her faded green habit. I’ve been scouring the gatehouse since the crack o’ dawn without any luck whatsoever. Where can they be?


Crikulus, the ancient shrew Gatekeeper, approached. Move up there, Gurdle, my old paws are weary from rootin’ round the dormitories, an’

me back is broken in ten places from crawlin’ round under beds. What a pair o’ pickles those Dibbuns are. Ho there, Memm Flackery, any-thin’

new? The fat Harenurse dug a few warm almond scones from her apron pocket and munched on them worriedly.


Nope, ‘fraid not, old lad. That rotten Gooch won’t jolly well let me search his kitchens anymore! Huh, cooks are like that, ain’t they? Heard the Abbot tellin’ Skipper to round up his otters for a woodland search, though I can’t think for the bally life o’me how the little scoundrels slipped out, wot?


Abbot Apodemus stood at the gate, calling advice to Skipper and two stalwart young otters as they set off north up the path. Find a stream if you can. See if there are any Guosim shrews about, they may have seen our Dibbuns.


Skipper waved his javelin in the air, acknowledging Apodemus. Right y’are, Father Abbot, though if’n shrews ‘ad found ‘em, they’d prob’ly brought ‘em back ‘ere long since. Tis worth a try, though. Don’t fret yoreself, mate. We’ll find Ruggum’n’Bikkle if’n they’re out there. Go in, an’ keep those gates closed now.


The sunny day clouded slowly. It was late afternoon when the two little runaways decided they were even more lost than they had been. All around them the silent vastness of Mossflower seemed to be closing in. Ruggum was making plans for the oncoming darkness.


Hurr, Bikk, us’ns b’aint a-getten caught out in ee open when it bee’s dark, burr, nay marm. We’m lukk abowt furr ee cumfy likkle den an’ camp in thurr, all safe an’ cozy loike.


Bikkle was forced to agree. She pointed off to the sky eastward. Lookit dem clouds, might rain by dark.


Even though they were only Dibbuns, the tiny creatures had instinctive feelings about weather conditions. Wandering farther into the woodland, Ruggum held up a pudgy digging claw.


Oi’m thinken ee bee’s roight, Bikk, breezes starten to move ee treetops.

Us’n’s best foind ee gudd cover, hurr, by ‘okey aye!


As often happens with springtide weather, the change was sudden. Low breezes gathered force, scurrying through the random ranked trunks of oak, beech, alder,sycamore, elm and other forest giants. The tree canopy began swaying, creating a forceful rustling of twig, branch and leaf.

Paw in paw, the two little ones ran through the gusting woods, afraid of being outside the Abbey walls, which represented safety, peace and home. Late noontide darkened as lowering clouds raced to cloak the previously bright day. After an all-too-brief spit-spot of damp, the rains came sweeping in, thick and heavy, driven by the gale, slanting through the leafy canopy and drenching the loamy ground.


Breathless and fearful, the Dibbuns took temporary refuge against the massive trunk of an ancient spreading oak. Still clutching one another’s paws, they stood with their backs against the rough bark. Ruggum cast an angry glance at the skies, resentful of the trick played on him by the elements. Bikkle, scared out of her wits by the stormy event, began to whimper.


Me not like alia this, ho no, not one likkle bit!


Ruggum pulled her around to what appeared to be the lee side of the oak. She gave a sudden squeak. Yeek!


The Dibbun mole blew a sigh of frustration. Worra matta now, marm? B’aint so windy this yurr soide.


Bikkle turned to face the tree. Likkle door wiv words on it, see?


It was a door, let into the broad oak trunk low down.


Ruggum traced the word carved on it with his digging claw. Oi wonders wot ee wurd do say, Bikk?


Bikkle shrugged. I non’t know. Open a door afore uz gets soaked an’

drowned.


Moss, soil and dead vegetation had built up under the door. Ruggum found a stout stick and levered at it whilst Bikkle shoved hard. The door scrunched against the ground as it gave way, fraction by fraction, opening inward. Groaning rusty hinges popped free and the whole thing heeled crazily. This left a space through which they could both enter.


Some Guosim shrews, who had been on their way to visit Redwall, met up with Skipper and his two otters as they entered the fringes of Mossflower.


Spiky-furred little creatures with coloured headbands and short kilts, they all carried rapiers in their broad belts. Guosim were known by the initials of their kind, Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower, and they were traditional friends and allies of Redwall Abbey. Their Chieftain held the title Log a Log. He was always the toughest and wisest of the shrews.


Skipper saluted them cheerily, hugging the leader affectionately.

Haharr, Log a Log Groo, you ole stream-whomper. Yore just the laddo we’re lookin’ for. I bring ye a message from the Abbot.


Groo and his twenty shrews listened as Skipper told them of the two lost Dibbuns. They agreed to help with the search, one of them piping up from the back, We’ll find the liddle snips, an’ old Gooch the Cook’ll reward us with double’elpings of everything. Yum yum!


Log a Log Groo cast a severe eye over the speaker. I’ll reward ye with a pair o’ boxed ears, m’laddo. We don’t need no rewards fer helpin’

friends. That ain’t the Guosim way.


Skipper chuckled. No offence, mate, I know wot yore pal meant. We’ll all get double’elpings if’n we find the Dibbuns. Come on.


They struck off into the woods and soon picked up a trail.


Ruggum and Bikkle stayed in the entranceway of the hole from which an old flight of steps ran down into the darkness beyond. Neither felt brave enough to venture any further. They stood in the doorway, where it was sheltered from the rain. Again, the little mole traced the lettering on the door. He was unable to read or write. Oi wonder wot thiz yurr place be called? Bikkle stared at the lettering, blinked and yawned. Sleepwas beginning to overcome her. The word on the door was written thus: Brockhall.


She pretended that she could read and translated. I can read words better’n you, Rugg. It say, hide in ‘ere from d’rain, Burr, you’m makin’ et oop!


No I not!


Yuss you bee’s!


Bikkle was tired and not prepared to continue the argument, so she changed the subject. Wonder wot down dose steps?


The molebabe ventured to the top step and peered downward into the gloom.

Sumthio’ shoiny!


Bikkle scoffed. You not see’d sumthin’ shiny down d’steps.


Ruggum was a molebabe born to argue. Ho, yuss oi did!


Bikkle sat down. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes, not wanting to get into another debate with her stubborn friend. Well, if it bee’s nice’n’shiny, you go an’ gerrit f’me.


Ruggum needed no second bidding, he was overcome with curiosity. Roight, then, oi’ll goo an’ gerrit to show ee oi speaked true!


Nerving himself up, he descended the steps, hugging the side wall closely.


Bikkle dozed off amid visions of Cavern Hole and a wonderful meal of hot plum pudding with creamy almond sauce, and a beaker of strawberry cordial. She was very partial to anything with the flavour of strawberries. But she was instantly brought back to reality by the sound of a gruff mole shriek, as Ruggum came out of the gloom like a dark-furred cannonball, a shiny golden object gripped in one paw. He grabbed Bikkle with his free paw and pulled her along, out into the rain and wind.


Whooooaaarrr! Coom on! Quick loike!


Bikkle dug her footpaws in, reluctant to be out in the weather. However, the look of shock and dumb terror on Ruggum’s face and the fearful glance he shot over his shoulder at the dark hole behind them soon decided her. Wordlessly she ran headlong beside him, out into the darkness of the storm-torn woodlands.


Brambles snagged their smocks, sodden shrubbery made them stumble, rain beat in their faces. Both Dibbuns fled as though a pack of foxes were after them.


Over here, I see ‘em, there they go!


The strange gruff-sounding voice sent them scurrying even faster, hearts pounding fearfully, sobbing for breath. Suddenly they were seized in a grip of iron. Their tiny footpaws left the ground as they were whirled high into the air.


Haharr, gotcher, me liddle beauties!


6


Skipper of otters held the two limp figures close to him. Log a Log Groo took a swift look at them, shaking his head reprovingly at the otter Chieftain.


Wot were ye thinkin’ of, y’great riverdog? You gone an’ scared the liddle’uns right out their senses. Pouncin’ on’em like that, shame on ye!


Skipper’s face was such a picture of dismay that Log a Log was forced to smile. He clapped his friend’s back. No real harm done, Skip. They’re safe enough now. Let’s get’em back to Redwall. Memm Flackery an’ ole Malbun’ll soon’ave the rascals as right as rain!


Skipper covered the unconscious pair with his cloak. Ain’t nothin’ right about rain, matey. Don’t tell Memm or Malbun this, or they’ll’ave me rudder for rugstrings!


Gurdle Sprink and old Crikulus were keeping watch on the northeast wall battlements. Peering out into the rainswept night, they held their lanterns high.


The Cellarhog was first to hear Skipper’s powerful shout. Ahoy the Abbey, anybeast’ome? We’re comin’ in!


Crikulus swung his lantern to and fro as Gurdle yelled, Come in by the northeast wicker gate, Skip me ole mate!


Hurrying down the wallstairs, the Gatekeeper and the Cellarhog withdrew the bolts on a small gate in the centre of the rampart wall. He held up his lantern.


Over’ere, Skip! Hah, I see you got some Guosim with ye. Welcome, friends, get in’ere outta the weather. Well well, ye found the Dibbuns. Good trackin’, pals!


Blankets were laid near the hearth in front of the fire at Cavern Hole.

Abbot Apodemus watched anxiously as Malbun Grimp tended to the little ones’ bruises and scratches. Skipper warmed his paws by the blaze.


Groo spotted’em east an’ a touch north in the woodlands. I’m surprised two babes could’ve gotten that far alone.


Memm Flackery held a small camphor vial under the Dibbuns’ noses.

Screwing their faces, they coughed and whined as they began to come around. The Harenurse spoke without looking up. Huh, I’m never surprised at anythin’ flippin’ Dibbuns can get up to, wot. Especially these two fiends, wot wot? f say, Groo old lad, what’s that thing you’ve got there?


Log a Log Groo passed the shining object over to the Abbot. It fell from the molebabe’s paw when Skipper grabb ... er, picked’im up.’Tis’eavy enough, I tell ye.


Apodemus inspected the object, holding it near to the firelight. It was bright yellow metal, a thick oblong band, smooth to the touch. On either curve of the oblong a jet black stone twinkled. Sculpted at the centre of the band was a curious inset design.


The good Father Abbot passed the stone on to Crikulus. I can’t make head nor tail of it. You take a look, old one.


Nodding his head, the ancient shrew Gatekeeper spoke. Hmm,’tis a pawring, meant to fit over the broadest partof somebeast’s paw. Very nicely crafted too, from the finest gold. You see these two black stones? They are true jet, rare precious gems. But as for the markings on it, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what they mean.


Ruggum and Bikkle were sufficiently recovered to sit up. They looked at their elders sheepishly. Hurr, zurrs, we’m gotten losted.


Bikkle nodded vigorous agreement, then decided to blame Memm and Skipper.

She pointed an accusing paw at them. Youse locked d’gate on us, we was shutted out. Us knock an’ knock, but nobeast’ear us. So we go for a walk inna woodses.


The Harenurse muttered under her breath. Locked’em out? Fibbin’ little wretches, wot wot!


Foremole Urrm, the traditional leader of all Redwall moles, came trundling in. Urrm had brought supper for the runaways. Yurr, oi saved ee summ workleberry pud-den an’ a beaker of strawbee corjul apiece.

Tho’ you’m b’aint deservin’ of et. You’m a roight pair o’ scallywag-gers, hurr aye!


The Dibbuns hugged Foremole Urrm, then set about eating like ravenous beasts.


Apodemus whispered to the Foremole. Baby Bikkle is a dreadful liar, we won’t get the truth out of her. See if you can coax Ruggum to tell you what happened.


Urrm wrinkled his jolly face as he winked both eyes at the Abbot. You’m leave et to oi, zurr. Oi’ll foind out ee trooth!


Dibbuns liked and trusted the Foremole, and Urrm soon had the molebabe telling all. Licking pudding from his wooden spoon, Ruggum related his story:


Yurr now, let oi think. Ho yuss, we’m was losted in ee furrest, summwhurrs east norf south. Et wurr a comen on to rain, us’n’s run round an’ round looken furr shelter. Ee skoi went all darkened an’ wind blowed an’ rain failed. Et wurr tumble, zurr, jus’ tumble! H’all of ee sudding we foinded a gurt h’oak tree, burr ay, wi’ a likkle door in et. So uzz opinged ee dor an’ getted in owt ee rainwet.


As if not wanting to explain further, the molebabe went silent and began licking his pudding bowl out. Foremole Urrm took the bowl from him and shoved the pawring under Ruggum’s nose.


Tell ee zurr H’Abbot’ow ee gotted this yurr h’object.


Ruggum babbled out a veritable deluge of words. Oi failed down ee gurt’ole wi’ stairs on et an’ grabbed ee h’objeck. Thurr wurr ee gurt monister surrpint an’ ee snowy whoite giant, oi runned away vurry farst afore they eated oi! Ruggum threw himself facedown on the blanket, wrapping it round his head, an indication that he would speak no more to anybeast.


Foremole Urrm took Bikkle upon his lap. Yurr, ee’m a silly ole feller, bain’t ee. You’m a gudd choild, tell oi abowt ee likkle door in ee h’oak tree.


Bikkle dipped her paw in the strawberrry cordial and did a scrawl upon the floor near the hearth. Me fink dat was writted onna door.


The squirrelbabe’s markings were hard to decipher. B o k a I. The gaps in between the letters were filled in with Bikkle’s fanciful swirls.

Urrm studied it, scratching his chin.


Lukks loike ee wurm wriggle to oi.


Malbun, however, grew quite excited. She turned to Crikulus. Can you see what it looks like?


The ancient shrew peered at it and shrugged. I’m afraid not. Should I know?


Without replying, Malbun took a charred twig from the hearth and wrote underneath Bikkle’s attempt the word Brockhall. She compared the word to the letters the Dibbun had made.


See, there’s the B, an o, a k, an a and one of the I’s. It’s Brockhall, sure as the fur on your face, they’ve found Brockhall!


Memm Flackery busied herself wrapping both Dibbuns in their blankets, ready to be carried up to the dormitories. What’n the name of my aunt’s pinafore is Brockhall, wot?


Malbun explained patiently. Brockhall was once the home of badgers, but it was used by Redwallers before the Abbey was ever built. It was so long ago that the exact location of the place has been lost. Crikulus and I read of it in some old gatehouse records. We’ve been researching it, trying to find out more about Brockhall. It’s a vitally important part of our Abbey’s early history. Now the Dibbuns have stumbled upon it purely by accident. Who knows what we might find inside that ancient place?


Memm twitched her long ears fussily. Indeed. Great monster serpents an’ snowy white giants, if Ruggum’s to be believed, wot?


Foremole Urrm brandished the jet-studded gold pawring. Hurr, an’ gurt wunnerful treasures loike this’n, may’ap!


All eyes were fixed on the pawring. It glinted in the firelight.


Gooch the squirrelcook gave voice to what they were all thinking. A store of’idden jewels’n’gold.’Twould be a treasure hunt!


Sister Vernal, normally a shy, austere mouse, leapt up, crying, A treasure hunt! That’s for me! When do we start?


7


The ketch Stopdog plowed her way merrily northward, westering a slight touch. Kroova, having shown Sagax the rudiments of tiller, ropes and sail, was taking a nap beneath the broad seat in the bows, which served well as a tiny cabin. Like a fish to water, the young badger had taken to the seafaring life. He enjoyed the freedom of wind and wave.


Scarum turned his back upon Sagax. Sitting on the bowseat, he began rummaging in the knapsacks, muttering to himself, Nutbread an’ cheese an’ apples, wot wot. That’s the stuff t’put the twinkle in a chap’s eyes. I say, what bounder’s gone an’ scoffed all the blinkin’ apples, eh, wot?


Keeping the ketch on a level keel, Sagax answered the hare. You have, you great stomach on legs. What’re you doing rummaging in those packs again?


Scarum looked up indignantly. Doin’? What’n the name o’ perishin’

barnacles d’you think I’m doin’, eh? I’m makin’ a meal t’keep jolly old body’n’fur together. A chap can’t survive on fresh air, y’know!


Sagax stared severely at his gluttonous friend. That’ll be your fourth meal today, and it’s barely noon. Go easy on those suppliesÑthey’re all we’ve got.


Scarum held up a wedge of thick yellow cheese. Oh, right, well, I’ll just have a smidgeon of this to tide me over until dinner. Hawhaw! Tide me over, wot. Now, there’s a nautical expression for you, me ole heartie, me old seadog, me old barnacle bottom, eh, eh, hawhawhaw!


Sagax quickly lashed the tiller arm to a sailrope. Bounding for’ard, he grabbed the cheese from Scarum’s paw and dropped it back into the knapsack. Then, taking both packs, he made his way aft and stowed them under the stern seat.


You’ve eaten quite enough for one day, mate. I’ll take charge of the supplies. You can just wait until dinner this evening, like me and Kroova.


The hare glared at him and flopped his ears indignantly. You, sah, are a flippin’ grubswiper, a pirate! Huh, de-privin’ a poor young’un like me of vittles. You’ll stunt my growth. I’m warning you, if I die, it’ll be your rotten fault!


His friend chuckled. If you can stay alive until dinner, there’s hope for you. But just put one thieving paw near these rations and I’ll bite it!


Scarum scuffed the deck dolefully. Does this mean I’m goin’ to starve t’death?


The badger hardened his expression. Aye!


The hare’s mood changed in an instant. He became tough and resolute.

Grabbing a coil of rope, he declaimed aloud, Right then, so bloomin’

well be it! I’ll fish for me food, that’s what I’ll jolly well do. Oh yes, us old sailin’ beasts can get along spiffingly on the bounty provided by the briny. Fish, that’s the ticket, whoppin’ great fat tasty fish, wot!


Tying an oversized hook onto the rope, Scarum searched about and came up with two apple cores, which he stuck on the hook. Whirling the lot around his head, he cast it out into the sea. Right ho, come on, little fishies. No, on second thoughts, come on, big fishies, you little chaps stay put. Well, come on, you big chaps, take the blinkin’ bait. I can’t sit around here starvin’, y’know, so get a flippin’ move on!


Wakened by the disturbance, Kroova came out on deck. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he took over the tiller from Sagax. Wot’s ole Scarum up to now, matey?


Oh, him, he’s got to catch a fish before he dies of starvation.


Haharr, him die of starvation, that’s a good’un. He ate more brekkist than both of us, an’ he’s scoffed two more meals since thenÑ


Three, Sagax corrected the sea otter.


Scarum cast a jaundiced eye over their smiling faces. Go on, laugh, you curmudgeons, but when I catch a whoppin’ great fish, you ain’t gettin’ any. Not a confounded morsel, so there!


Kroova’s keen eye caught a large dorsal fin homing in on the line. He leaped up, yelling, Pull that line in, quick! Heave it in, matey!


Scarum defiantly tied the line to the bowsprit. Shan’t! No point in gettin’ jealous an’ shoutin’ at me.


He fell over backward as the line was snapped taut and the ketch took off like an arrow, with Kroova roaring, Shark! We’ve been caught by a shark!


Whipping out a small knife, Sagax dashed to the bow. He raised it to chop at the rope, but Scarum struck his paw aside. The knife dropped into the sea and sank.


Kroova came running. He grabbed the hare by his tunic front. Ye blitherin’ fool, didn’t you’ear wot I said? That’s a shark towin’ us, a full-growed shark, too, by the rate we’re goin’.


Sagax dashed water from his eyes as the ketch set up a bow wave. Aye, and the only weapon we’ve got aboard you just knocked out of my paw!


Scarum fought free of the sea otter’s grip and sat down amidships. Good old mister shark, wot, givin’ us a fine ride, ain’t he? I vote we let him tow us along for a league or two, wot. When he gets tired and packs in pullin’ us, we’ll heave Mm aboard an’ cook him up into a good big scoff. Super idea, wot?


Bumping up and down, the ketch skimmed over the waves. Tt was difficult to stand. Kroova crouched close to the triumphantly grinning hare and berated him.


Belay, ye flop-eared, pot-bellied, wire-whiskered buffoon! Yore trouble is that y’don’t realise we’ve caught a big savage beast’ere, or rather it’s got us. We’re ridin’ the whirlwind an’ yore sittin’ there smilin’. You can’t see the danger we’re in! Ye don’t even know wot a shark looks like!


Scarum twanged the taut line with a carefree paw. Oh, don’t get your rudder in an uproar, old chap. I expect the jolly old shark’s enjoyin’

this as much as I am, wot? Huh, you two are just jealous I was the one who jolly well caught the fish. Anyhow, I bet we get to where we’re goin’ a blinkin’ sight faster’n we would twiddlin’ the tiller an’


tweakin’ those sail ropes. Our friend the shark’ll get worn out, you’ll see. Then all we do is pop the blighter aboard for dinner!


Sagax clung to the stern seat, blinking spray from his eyes. Though he hated to admit it, he was actually enjoying the sensation of speed, never having travelled at such a rate in all his life. The young badger tried to calm his otter friend.


Maybe Scarum’s right. No real need to panic, is there?


Kroova’s head banged the for’ard mastpole as they shot sideways onto a choppy wave. Ignoring the pain, he yelled furiously, I’m surprised at you, mate! That shark could turn any moment an’ smash this vessel to splinters, or it could suddenly dive an’ pull us all down with it.

Hah, wait’ll it gets tired, then pop it aboard fer dinner? Don’t lis-sen t’that fool. If’n we pulled a live shark aboard without a weapon atween us, we’d be the dinner! It’d eat us alive!


The danger they were in suddenly hit Scarum. His jaw dropped. Oh corks, we’re in a bit of a bloomin’ fix, wot.


S’all your fault, Sagax. Y’should’ve let me have a snack instead of makin’ me fish for it. What do we do now, chaps?


The shark made the decision for them by slacking off for a moment, then going into a dive. The Stopdog’s stern began to lift clear of the water.

Kroova had surmised right. They were beginning to be pulled under.


Eulaliiiaaaaaa!


Scarum made a dive for the rope, which was attached to the great seabeast.

Frantically he bared his teeth and savagely tore at the rope fibres like some sort of mad creature. Sagax and Kroova could only sit flabbergasted at the sight of their friend, suddenly gone wild, roaring as he chomped away.


Grrmph grrmph! Y’flippin’ foul fish! Chompchomp-chomp! You ain’t pullin’ us down t’the blinkin’ bottom! Gratch gratch! Can’t have my ma blubbin’ herself t’death! Grrmph! Chomp! Grumff! Grratch! Go an’

find your own dratted dinner! Grripp!


Curling and twirling, the rope strands began to part. Scarum’s jaws began going fifty to the dozen, his large, white buck teeth moving like a blur as he attacked the fraying fibres. Finally there was a loud twang as the rope snapped. All three were thrown flat. The Stopdog splashed down onto an even keel.


Kroova was first up. He dashed over to Scarum, who was lying facedown on the bow seat, and pounded his back delightedly. Haharr, ye did it, shipmate! Stiffen me rudder, I never seen anythin’ like that afore.

Twas tremendous!


Still with his head hard against seat timbers, face down, the young hare called out in a strange language, Gow! Geggoff! Gon’t goo gakk!


Sagax placed his head flat on the seat, level with his friend. Trying hard not to burst out laughing, he explained Scarum’s predicament to Kroova. You’ll never believe this, but he’s got his front teeth stuck in the wood. Scarum must have been biting so hard that when the rope snapped and our vessel slapped down into the water, he was still open-mouthed. His teeth stuck right into the seat!


The hare wailed, Git’s nog gunny, an’ it gurts!


Sagax patted Scarum gently. I know it’s not funny and it hurts. Keep quite still now,’mate. Let’s see if I can get you loose. Kroova, hold his shoulders.


The sea otter braced Scarum’s shoulders. Sagax went to work with his powerful blunt claws. Loosening odd splinters carefully and pulling away the larger fragments, he freed the hare’s teeth. Scarum sat up and clapped a paw across his numbed mouth.


Hanks’agax ... mummff! My teemff hurth!


He had to repeat the phrase until the badger understood.


Oh right, you said, ÔThanks, Sagax, my teeth hurt/ correct?


Scarum nodded his head gingerly and retired beneath the bow seat, where he lay nursing his sore mouth. Kroova was sympathetic.


Never mind, messmate. Yore gob’ll probly be painin’ ye for a while.

But you’ll soon be shipshape.


The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, with the otter and the badger tip-pawing quietly about, so as not to disturb Scarum at his rest. In the early evening, Kroova put tinder to flint and made a small fire with charcoal in a deep stone bowl. Sagax rummaged through the rations and came up with wheat and barley flour, a jar of preserved damsons in honey and a few other ingredients.


Mixing them together with some water from their little water keg, he asked Kroova, Ever had skilly’n’duff, mate?


His friend’s eyes lit up with anticipation. Ho arr, skilly’n’duff, ain’t nothin’ tastier. A sea otter’s favourite vittles, I’d say!


Sagax baked the mixture to a soft doughy pudding, using the damson juice and honey as a sauce. It smelled delicious.


Kroova made his way for’ard and shook Scarum awake. Grub’s up, matey.

Guess wot Sagax made fer us: skilly’-n’duff. Nice’n’ot, with damson juice an’ honey sauce poured over it.


The young hare crawled from beneath the seat and sat up with his head in both paws. He had turned a peculiar unhealthy shade. Boat’s been goin’ up an’ down, up an’ flamin’ well down, all day. Ooh, my mouth hurts like the blazes. I don’t think I’ll be takin’ any supper this evenin’, thank you. Just leave me alone here so I can die quietly, wot.


Kroova went back to the stern seat and accepted a bowl of supper from Sagax whilst he explained, Ole Scarum don’t want no supper.


The young badger was taken aback by the news. Doesn’t want any supper?

Is his mouth still paining him?


Kroova spoke through a mouthful of the hot skilly’-n’duff. Aye, but I knows the real reason. That creature’s seasick.


In the gathering twilight, Sagax found it difficult to see Scarum’s face. He served himself a portion of supper. Seasick, how d’you know?


The sea otter chuckled mischievously. ’Cos he’s gone the colour of a toad’s tummy. There’s one sure way t’tell, though. Watch this.


He called out in a jolly voice to the hare. Feelin’ better, me ole mate?

If the duff doesn’t suit ye, I’ll make ye up a tonic. Some cold water an’ oatmeal with a wild onion chopped in it, mixed up with a touch of beeswax tallow from a candle. That’ll put y’right, wot ye say?


A moan escaped Scarum as he staggered to the side of the ketch and leaned over, retching and heaving. Great rotten fat ruddered cad, that’s what you are. I’d sooner be scoffed by the shark than eat your foul concoction, wot!


Kroova grinned at Sagax and helped himself to more supper. Aye, our ole mate’s seasick sure enough!


Sagax sipped at his beaker of water. Poor Scarum. But with all the food he put away and that excitement today, plus getting his teeth caught fast, he has only himself to blame, really.


While he’s laying around the deck like that, why don’t you go and give a good check round under the bow seat? Ill search back here. There must be some sort of weapon, a knife, anything. I’d feel much safer if we had something better than a few wooden spoons in case of trouble. It’s important that we have at least one weapon.


They lit two small lanterns from the fire bowl and set about their task.

Scarum gradually moaned himself back to sleep again as night shades set in over the trackless deeps of the seas. In a corner beneath the stern seat, Sagax found a sling and some stones wrapped in a roll of old barkcloth. He was unwrapping them when Kroova returned carrying various objects.


Lookit wot I found under a ledge by the forepeakÑa sword, a dagger, an’ this old bow. Pity it ain’t got a string or arrers.


The badger inspected the sword. This is a typical searat blade, curved, with a cross hilt. My father has a collection of them in the armoury.

Rusty blade, with a few nicks in the edge. Sharp, though. I’ll clean it up a bit and it’ll look just fine. Let’s take a look at the dagger there, mate.


The otter tossed the knife in the air, catching it deftly by the blade tip. He turned it this way and that. Good ole apple slicer, this’un.

Ain’t a mark on it. No, wait___Aharr, this’ere pattern burned into the’andle’tis the same as the signs marked on the stern o’ this vessel.

Must’ve belonged to one o’ those searats I borrowed ole Stopdog from.

Cast yore eyes over that, matey.


Sagax took the blade. Holding the lantern close, he inspected the brand.


Hmm, wonder what it means. Some sort of lucky charm, mayhaps?


The otter shrugged as he tested the wood of the unstrung bow. This ain’t much use. Nice bit o’ yew wood, though,’twill do for a walkin’ staff.

Wot was in yore bark-cloth?


Sagax indicated the sling and pebbles. Nothing much, but look at this barkcloth. There’s more funny markings on it, not writings or a pattern.


Kroova brightened up as he inspected the thing. A map, me’eartie, that’s wot it is! 1 reckernize this coastline, up north an’ east of’ere, well beyond yore father’s mountainÑthat ain’t marked on it. But see, I know these bays an’ inlets from long ago. Take this’un. If’n we was to sail due east at dawn, we’d prob’ly run right into it.


Sagax held the lantern closer as he inspected the map. There’s an arrow marked here, straight up a river that runs out over the beach from these tree shapes and dunes. Any idea where that would take us, if we were to find it?


Kroova pondered. Could be that wood’s called Moss-flower, prob’ly, though I ain’t never been up that far.


The young badger’s eyes lit up. Mossflower! My dad and mum are always talking about it, most of the older Long Patrol hares, too. The Abbey of Redwall is supposed to be somewhere in Mossflower area. Have you ever heard of Redwall Abbey, Kroova?


Hah, who ain’t? Redwall Abbey’s supposed t’be a wondrous place, peaceful,’appy, an’ I’ear they’ve got the most marvellous vittles there.

Expert cooks an’ the best of grub.


Sagax rolled the cloth up carefully, though his paw was shaking slightly with excitement. Then let’s make it the destination of the voyage.

There’s a river runs across the shore into the woods, it says so on the map. Why don’t we sail up that way and pay Red wall a visit?


Kroova grinned from ear to ear as he shook his friend’s paw. Aye, shipmate, why not? I don’t think Scarum’ll object, d’you?


The badger cast an eye over his friend’s sleeping figure. The only way he’d object to a voyage was if there was no scoff at the other end.

Once he’s feeling better he’ll jump at the idea. How far do you think this river is?


Scratching his rudder, the sea otter estimated. ’Tis’ard to say. We got dragged off course by the shark today. We’re a bit far west’ard.

But I’ll tack’er east an’ north. Then we’ll see where we are a few days from now.


Sagax could not help shuddering with delight. I’ve heard about that Abbey all my life, but now I’m going there to see it all for myself.


Redwall, here we come!


8


It was Shogg who did most of the hard work, with Triss helping him and Welfo keeping lookout. All through the night the otter and the squirrelmaid toiled valiantly, disregarding the water’s icy temperature. With nought but a broken old rusty file between them, they laboured away in a veritable fever of anxiety, racing against dawn’s light, when the Ratguards would be back outside on duty. Shogg selected one bar at the end of the cage nearest the jetty where the ship lay moored. He crouched, half submerged, whilst Triss perched upon his shoulders and filed at the top of the round iron bar.


Welfo kept shivering and calling out false alarms. Wait, stop, I think somebeast’s coming! Sorry, Triss, it was only a moonshadow on the path.

You can carry on.


Shogg shifted position to stop his limbs stiffening. Stone me, I wish that’ogmaid would make up’er mind. That’s the sixth time she’s said that in the last hour!


Gritting her teeth as she attacked the solid iron with the file, Triss murmured down to Shogg, Poor Welfo, she’s terrified we’ll be caught.

It doesn’t take much to set her nerves on edge, she’s just plain scared.


The otter took hold of the bars to steady himself. Huh. I don’t know why she’s afeared. They can’t kill us twice. How’s it goin’ up there, matey?


Triss clamped her jaws resolutely, ignoring the skrike and screech of metal against metal. Slowly, that’s how’tis going. Once 1 got a decent bite on this iron, the file keeps sticking. Cutting the top of the bar’ll take the best part of the night. Owch! I’ve gone and filed my paw. Stop disturbing me, Shogg, it’s hard enough trying to work in this darkness.


Slightly less than two hours before dawn, Triss managed to file through the bar. Ahah! Good news, mates, I’ve done it! My paws are in a terrible mess, though, but I’m so cold I can’t feel them.


Welfo helped her down, jabbering agitatedly. The guards’ll see it, I know they will. You can see the iron shining silver where you’ve been filing, it sticks out like a cherry on a cake. We’ll all be caught, I’m certain of it!


Brushing iron filings from between his ears, Shogg took hold of Welfo and pressed her face to the bars in lookout position. Give yore gob a rest, missy, an’ keep yore eyes peeled. Leave the bar to us, A bit o’ riverbed mud plastered on the shiny bits’ll disguise’em, trust me.


He was right. Once the cut bar was smeared with mud it looked quite normal and unbroken. Shogg leaned all his strength against the bar, trying to bend it outward. He pushed until his eyes bulged. Phaw! It ain’t budgin’ at all, Triss. Right, I’ll’ave to start on the bottom.

Gimme that there file!


The otter could hold his breath for an incredible amount of time. Triss was of little use in such circumstances, so she joined Welfo on lookout.

Totally submerged, Shogg filed away underwater in complete silence.

It was very heavy going.


Dawn rose mistily. The fjord looked as if it had pale smoke floating upon it. Ratguards herded the main body of slaves out for the final few hours they would need to complete the walkway. The day for the launch ceremony of Agarnu’s ship had finally arrived. Lieutenant Flith peered suspiciously at Triss and Welfo, gesturing with his spear.


Hoi there, you two, where’s yer mate, the otter?


Triss kicked Welfo’s footpaw underwater to keep her silent, taking it on herself to answer the lieutenant. Shogg’s not feeling too good, sir.

He’s sleeping underwater. Comes up whenever he needs air.


At that moment, the otter broke the surface smoothly. He gave Triss a swift wink before facing up to Flith. Down there’s the only place 1 can get a bit o’ peace’n’quiet. That’s unless ye’d like to smuggle me in a big ole feather bed.


Flith sneered at the captive’s cheeky remark. You’ll get all the peace’n’quiet yer need at noon, riverdog. I’eard Princess Kurda sharpeniner best sabre, just to lull ye t’sleep with it. Ain’t that nice of’er, eh?


Shogg liked baiting Flith. He winked insolently at the rat.


Don’t go sittin’ on yore spear, vermin, or you’ll damage yore brains.

Haharrharr!


Flith had no ready answer. He turned away, his face livid.


Shogg whispered to his companions. Noon, eh? I’ll just’ave to try an’

break through before then! He vanished beneath the water noiselessly.


Triss murmured to Welfo, One good thing, mate, the noise of the bar and the file can’t be heard underwater. It deadens the sound.


As Drufo laid logs with the slaves, he muttered instructions to them under his breath. If we’re still’ere when they breaks outta that cage, we’ve got to’elp’em, see. Create a diversion, get in the way o’ the guards, shout, yell, make it look like we’re tryin’ to escape.


The message was passed on from one to another. Hope for the condemned prisoners was widespread. Though they themselves had no chance of escaping, the prospect of three slaves not only avoiding death, but getting clean away from Riftgard, had fired the imagination of all the slaves.


Captain Riftun came out of the fortress to watch the completion of the path to the jetty. He stood beside Lieutenant Flith, bringing him up to date on what was to happen.


Flith listened intently to his captain. King Agarnu ain’t goin’ anywhere on that new ship, not’im;’e’s scared witless o’ the sea. It’ll be Princess Kurda an’ that oaf Prince Bladd who’ll be sailin’. I’ll be goin’, too.


This news surprised Flith. Yore goin’ with’em, Cap’n?’Ow long’ll ye be gone?


Riftun was not one to give away valuable information. For as long as it takes. That’s all you need t’know. Now lissen, you’ll be in charge’ere while I’m gone, so I want to find things in good order on my return.

Got that?


Flith saluted. Aye, Cap’n, ye can rely on me. But there ain’t no reason fer you to go off sailin’, none I can see.


Riftun leaned closer, dropping his voice so the slaves could not eavesdrop on what he was about to say. I’m goin’ to let ye in on a liddle secret, Flith, so keep it to yer-self. Agarnu is only King by blood.’E’s a Pure Ferret, but the law of Riftgard sez that a proper king must not only be of the blood, but that’e must possess an’ wear the crown an’

pawring which is the symbol of’is office.


Flith raised his eyebrows. I never knew that! So wot yer sayin’ is, since he’s got no crown an’ pawring, Agarnu ain’t a real king, just a sort o’ deputy?


Riftun leaned on his spear and nodded. Right! I served under Sarengo, the old king. Now’e was a proper ruler. But then’e went off on that voyage with Agarnu. Hah, I recall well the day Sarengo told Agarnu’e was takinim along. The fat useless fool wept like a baby. But Sarengo wanted to toughen Agarnu up, said’e’d either come back’ere as a king or not at all. They was off to plunder some place called RedwallÑit’s supposed t’be full o’ treasureÑbut they never found it. Agarnu was the only one to make it back to Riftgard alive. Nobeast knows, except Agarnu’imself, wot’appened beyond the seas in that other land called Mossflower. An’ he ain’t never said a word of wot went wrong, or’ow’e lost a leg. Think of it, a king, his crown an’ pawring, fifty good Ratguards an’ a great ship, all lost. Agarnu was close to death’s door when’e crawled ashore off an’alf-wrecked ship’s longboat.


Flith nodded. I recall that. I was only a young Ratguard meself at the time. Ye can’t blame Agarnu fer not wantin’ t’gobackt’sea.


Riftun sniggered humourlessly. No, that’s why’e’s sendin’ Kurda an’

Bladd. They’ve got to find out if King Sarengo’s still alive. If it turns out Sarengo’s dead, they’ve got to bring back’is crown an’ pawring.

Then Agarnu’ll be a real king, an’ so will whichever of’is two brats follows in succession.


Flith thought about this, then scratched his tail. But why d’you’ave t’go, Cap’n?


Riftun puffed out his narrow chest importantly. ’Cos I’m the’ighest-rankin’ rat in Riftgard. I’ve got t’see that the Prince an’

Princess don’t try to murder one another. Kurda’s got nothin’ but hatred for Bladd, an’ young Bladd ain’t as stupid as’e looks. I bet’e’d put a knife twixt’is sister’s ribs as soon as look at’er. So I’m bein’ sent along with a squad o’ Ratguards, in command of everythin’. At noon Agarnu’ll come down t’the new ship with Kurda and Bladd, to formally give the vessel to them. Aye, an’ Kurda’s goin’ to be allowed to execute those three prisoners in the punishment cage, just t’keep the other slaves from gettin’ fancy ideas. Then they’re all goin’ back t’the fortress for a farewell feast. While that’s goin’ on, the ship’ll be provisioned, ready to sail at eventide. So I’m warnin’ ye, Flith, keep things runnin’ smooth while I’m away, or you’ll be the one in the punishment cage when I get back. Is that clear, Lieutenant?


Flith kept his eyes on the ground. Aye, Cap’n, crystal clear!


Riftun stalked off, back to the fortress. Flith watched him go, then turned his attention to the Ratguards who were overseeing the path construction.


Flith tried out his new authority. Youse lot, call yerself Ratguards!

I’d’ave had this job finished three days back if’twas left t’me. Get those slaves movin’, 1 want to’ear yer whips crackin’ louder. You lot are in for it if this path doesn’t reach the jetty in two hours. Wot d’ye expect, the King anis family t’get muddy paws? The Prince an’

Princess’avin’ t’walk over slushy ground? I’ll see this path finished if I’ave to use the carcasses of both guards an’ slaves fer the royal party t’walk over. Get movin’!


Shogg came up for air. Nearly through now, though I’d take me oath these bars are thicker at the bottom than at the top!


Triss cast a sympathetic glance at her friend. Do you want to take a rest and let me have a go at it?


The otter shook his head, chuckling. No, no, matey, you couldn’t’old yore breath long enough underwater. There’s only me who can do this.

You keep watch.


Taking a deep breath, he submerged himself once more.


Princess Kurda put the final touches to her blade on an oiled stone and tested it on her paw. Yarr, der heavy sabre be best for der choppink!

Swishing and slashing at imaginary victims, she prowled into the throne room.


Agarnu eyed the sabre distastefully. Stop wavin’ dat t’ing about. You like Sarengo wit mace’n’chain!


Prince Bladd positioned himself behind Captain Riftun. I not goin’ on dat boat if she be takin’ swords vit her!


Agarnu banged his false leg on the floor decisively. I say you go, den you go! Riftun be dere to proteck you, take some swords you’self if you vant, yarr.


Bladd tried to tough it out in front of his sister. Yarr, I take mace’n’chain, like dey say mine granpa had!


Kurda could not resist baiting him. Mace und chain, yarr, you could not even lift von, fool!


Bladd stuck out his tongue and made a rude noise. Den I tell Riftun to stick his big spear in you!


Kurda’s pink eyes shone wickedly. Nobeast’s spear stop dis sword. Spears, tchah!


Agarnu roared at them both, Stop der fightink, you two!


However, Kurda was bound to have the last word. You watch der vay I deal wid dose slaves, den you try an’ sleep tonight!


The last logs had been laid, completing the walkway to the new ship at the jetty’s end. Flith made his guards herd the slaves to one side.


Shogg popped his head up, dismayed. The file’s snapped, just when I was nearly through!


Welfo sobbed nervously. I can hear the gates being unlocked. They’re coming! Can’t we do something?


The otter set his jaw grimly. I’ll try bashin’ the bar with a rock!


Diving beneath the surface, he located a hefty boulder, which they had previously been using to try to bend the bars. All caution was thrown aside now. The noise of Shogg’s efforts could be heard clearly, echoing round the fjord banks: Thook! Drrongg! Thook! Brrungg!


Lieutenant Flith ran toward the quivering cage. Wot in the name o’ fangs is goin’ on there?


Drufo pushed a Ratguard in the back, sending him sprawling as he yelled to the other slaves, Now, mates, now!


They broke loose^hustling and jostling the guards. Flith was knocked flying into the water. Slaves were roaring and yelling as they grabbed whips from their surprisedcaptors. The bar broke under the pounding from Shogg’s rock. He grabbed it to use as a weapon, wading out of the cage into the fjord, calling to his two friends: Move yoreselves, mates, this is the only chance we’ll get!


Agarnu and his party froze as they emerged from the fortress. Riftun grabbed one of the twelve honour guards accompanying them. Quick, run an’ get the other guards, bring the archers! The prisoners have broke out o’ the cage!


Triss had a tight hold on Welfo’s paw as she raced along behind Shogg.

They splashed through the shallows, avoiding being caught in the melee on the walkway.


Drufo was waving Flith’s spear, cheering them on from the midst of the chaos. Freedom, Triss! You an’ yore pals, go for freedom!


A Ratguard who was close to the ship came running at the three with his whip raised. Shogg struck him down with the cage bar, while Triss and Welfo loosed the mooring ropes from their bollards and climbed aboard.


Shogg followed them and tossed the bar aside. Get the oars, shove ‘er out, the tide’s beginnin’ to turn!


Kurda led the reinforcement guards. Charging into the massed slaves, she hacked left and right with her heavy sabre. The slaves wilted under the menace of shafts upon drawn bows and long pikes being thrust at them.


Drufo still had Flith’s spear. He stood at the jetty end, anxiously glancing from the slow-moving ship to the oncoming guards.


Triss yelled hoarsely at her father’s old companion-inarms. Drufo!

Sling that spear away, swim for the ship! Come on, we’ll pull you aboard!

Throw the spear away!


The old squirrel stood firm, watching Kurda coming toward him. He called back over his shoulder to the young squirrelmaid.


Get away from ‘ere, Trissy. Get away! I ain’t goin’ nowhere! This is as good a day to die as any. Remember me, remember yore father. You’ll be back to free the slaves one day, I know ye will. Now go, don’t waste the chance we gave ye!


Drufo had time for no more words. Kurda was upon him. Chopping the spearhaft in half with a few vicious strokes, she ran Drufo through with her sabre.


Triss saw it all. It was burned into her memory like a red-hot iron.

Shogg shoved her roughly.


You ‘eard ‘im, Triss, use that oar! I’ll loose the sail. Move yoreself quicker, or we’ll all die ‘ere. You, too, Welfo!


Kurda waded into the fjord until it was above her waist. Then she was forced to duck as Bladd shouted at the archers, Shoot dem vit arrows, cut dem down! Fire!


A hail of barbed shafts thudded into the vessel’s stern, some of them falling short into the water, narrowly missing Kurda.


The Princess dashed from the water, quivering with rage, her silken robes sopping wet. Fools! Idiots! I could haff gotten aboard der ship!


As she pointed back at the vessel with her sabre, a healthy breeze caught the single purple sail, billowing it out and sending the ship smoothly seaward down the fjord. Riftun seized the shamefaced Flith and rapped out orders.


They ain’t made it t’the sea yet. Git yore archers an’ spear throwers on the mountainside, chase alongside ‘em. Pour in arrers an’ spears, rocks, anythin’, but stop those slaves makin’ it out to sea. Get goin’, ye useless slob!


Triss wiped blood from an arrow graze on her cheek as she watched the Ratguards mount the rocky slopes in pursuit. It was still quite a way to open water. Looks like they’re coming after us, Shogg. Best steer her over to the far shore or they’ll pick us off easily.


The otter adjusted the tiller, judging the fjord cannily. Can’t take

‘er too close, t’other bankside is very rocky.


Keep those oars pullin’, luck’s on our side so far. I’ope the tide’s not run out altogether, otherwise we’ll get stuck on sandbars at the estuary mouth.


The Ratguards were shooting arrows now. Their range was too far for spears, so the spearbeasts used their slings to hurl stones. Triss and Welfo could see the missiles coming, so it was not hard to row and avoid arrows or stones. Welfo felt a new confidence flooding through her, and the hogmaid winked at Triss. We’ll make it, she’s got the wind behind her pretty good now. Not far to go and head for the open seaÑUnffl Welfo had been looking up at the sail as she spoke, when a big solid pebble from a Ratguard’s sling struck her hard on the side of the head.

She collapsed unconscious to the deck.


Shogg was at her side immediately. Stow yore oar, Triss, tend to our mate. She ain’t bad’urt. I got to look after the tiller an’ not let the bow drift too far over.


Flith stumbled and staggered over sharp rocks and snagging shrubs, exhorting the guards. Pour it into’em, we’ve taken care o’ the’edgepig.

You front lot, get ahead o’ me, down to the estuary! The river mouth narrows there. That’ll be our best chance. We might even get’em stuck on a sandbank if the tide’s run out enough!


Shogg raised himself from the tiller, staring anxiously ahead. Triss, get Welfo down to the cabin out o’ the way. Tide’s still ebbin’ up yonder, I don’t like it. Got to take’er out into midstream now, so keep yore’ead down, matey!


Flith’s advance guard had reached the high peak at the inlet when he joined them. The ship swung out into midstream, heading for the gap.


The searat sniggered joyfully I kin see the bottom from’ere,’tis runnin’

shallow. Hahah! Look, the ship’s draggin’, she’s runniner bow onto a sandbar. Now let em’ave it! I want those other two lookin’ like pincushions! Fill’em full of arrers!


Split inter two groups, you lot. Stay up’ere, keep firin’ arrers. The rest, foller me an’ bring yore spears. We’ll wade out an’ rip’em t’ribbons! It ain’t deep there, we’ll do it easy!


The vessel ground to a shuddering halt. Shogg yelled down the cabin hatch, Up’ere, Triss, quick, she’s run aground!


The squirrelmaid came bounding up on deck. What do we do?


Her otter friend outlined his desperate plan. Leave two lines runnin’

over the stern so we can get back aboard. Me’n’ you’s got to lever’er off this bank with the oars. Come on, we ain’t got much time. Flith’s comm’ down after us!


Shogg vaulted over the stern with two oars, while Triss hung out the two lines, then joined him. They dug the oars into the sandy bottom under the stern and placed the oar-poles over their shoulders.


Shogg gave the word. One, two an’ push! One, two an’ push! That’s the way, keep goin’, I can feel’er movin’ along. One, two an’ push! Push!


Flith came splashing through the shallows, brandishing a spear he had borrowed. He was not more than a boat’s length from his quarry when the ship cleared the sandbar, gliding smoothly into the sea to catch the ebbing tide.


Shogg patted Triss’s back. Good job, shipmate. Up y’go, sharpish now!


Flith hurled himself, spearpoint forward, at the otter. Shogg turned just in time. He dodged the weapon and swung out mightily with the big ship’s oar. Once, twice he cracked it down on the rat, as hard as he could, then, seizing the line, he shinned up aboard the vessel, helped by Triss from above.


Open sea lay deep and blue in front of them, with a good wind scudding the ship out onto the main. Welfo staggered out on deck, holding a damp rag to the side of her throbbing head. She managed a weak smile.


We made it!


Shogg glanced back over the stern, where he saw Flith’s limp form sink beneath the waves as it was pulled out in their wake.


Aye, we made it, friends, we’re safe. Sit awhile an’ rest now. Welfo went back down below as Shogg took the tiller. He watched sadly as Triss sat on the deck and wept bitter tears for old Drufo, the last remaining link with her family.


Prince Bladd was secretly glad that he did not have to go sailing on a long voyage after all. He shrugged happily. Veil, dat’s dat, ain’t got no ship now, yarr!


There had been no vessels moored in the fjord since Agarnu’s ill-fated trip with his father. The stolen vessel had been specially built for Kurda and Bladd.


Now Kurda eyed her father contemptuously. Yarr, only der fool who rules a kingdom by der sea would have no ships!


Agarnu knew she was right. He flinched at the scorn in Kurda’s voice.

Wheeling about on his fishbone leg, he stumped back to the stronghold, blustering, Tchah! No need for der ships. Vy us needs ships? Got everyt’ink else, kingdom, stronghold, yarr! Light der beacon, Freebooters see it. Dey got ships, let dem do der job for us. Jarr!


Kurda gripped her sabre tighter. This was the best idea her father had ever come up with.


She grinned wickedly at Riftun. Jarr, Freebooters! Get dose Ratguards to fix up de beacon, now!


Eventide shades slid from crimson to slatey purple over the sea. On the high rocky point at the estuary a massive pile of pine logs, branches, foliage and dead moss had been erected by the weary Ratguards. Barrels of fish and vegetable oil stood close by. Kurda watched Captain Riftun set light to the beacon fire: it would burn red and gold by night and the oil would make it send up a column of dark smoke by day. Freebooters, vermin pirates and corsairs sailing anywhere in the region would see the signal and come to investigate.


Kurda pointed her sabre blade directly at Riftun. Keep dis burnin’, night an’ day, and you stay’ere! Let me know ven de Freebooters be sighted, yarr?


Firelight reflected off the Captain’s spearblade as he saluted. Yarr, Princess,’twill be as ye command!


Kurda stared out over the restless deeps of wave and water. She spoke her thoughts aloud. No slave escapes Riftgard. I’ll find dem. Ven I do, dey be sorry dey was ever borned. Diss I vow!


9


Dawn had always been the time that Skipper of otters loved best. Rising silently at the first song of larks on the western flatlands beyond the Abbey, he would pad gently out of the dormitory for his morning exercise. This usually took the form of a good brisk swim in the Abbey pond, after which he ran several times around the outer wall-tops. Then he practised with javelin, club and sling. The big sturdy otter was not a beast to let fat grow about his middle. With his appetite sharpened, Skipper slipped quietly into the kitchens. Friar Gooch the squirrelcook and his assistant, the molemaid Furrel, were preparing breakfast.

Knowing Skipper was not a great talker first thing in the morning, they left a tray out for him. With a nod of thanks, he took his food: warm oat scones, a small bowl of shrimp and hotroot soup (a special favourite with otters), and a large beaker of mint and pennycress cordial.

Wordlessly, he left and went to seek someplace quiet, where he could eat and meditate before joining the bustle of Red-wall’s daily life.


Skipper dearly loved the Abbey, having lived on and off there through his young seasons, often leaving to live for a time with boisterous river otters and wild sea otters. But he always returned to Redwall, where he could trace his forebears right back to the famous otter Warrior, the one they had called Taggerung. Abbot Apodemus had tried to press onto Skipper the honour of being Redwall’s Warrior, though he refused on the grounds that he had never felt himself to be the Chosen One.

Skipper did, however, take on the role of Master at Arms to the Abbey, training others in weaponry and warskills, though there had never been the need for anything like that in living memory. Redwall’s seasons of peace and plenty stretched back many, many seasons. But the big otter had chosen to stay in case he was ever needed.


Great Hall was an island of serenity when it was not being used for feasting. Rising sunlight cast soft strips of multicoloured light from the stained-glass windows onto the smoothworn stone floor. Skipper took his tray and settled down with his back against the base of a sandstone column. From there he could view the ancient tapestry depicting Martin the Warrior, the Abbey’s first Champion. Foxes, rats, stoats, weasels and all manner of vermin could be seen fleeing from the armoured mouse who formed the centre of the picture. Martin had a face anybeast could trust: strong, smiling, kindly, yet with raw danger shining in his resolute eyes, which warned any evildoer to beware. He leaned upon a sword. Over the tapestry, on two silver spikes, the real one rested.

Such a blade! It had a red pommel stone and a black bound handle with a cross-hilt. Like any warrior’s weapon, it was proficient, plain and simple. But the blade, double-edged shining steel, had a point like an ice needle. Legend said that it had been forged by a Badger Lord in the fires of Salamandastron, from the metal of a fallen star. With such a sword in his grasp, a warrior could face any odds.


Eating in leisurely fashion, Skipper continued staring at Martin and the blade which rested above the skilfully woven tapestry. For some unknown reason, his eyelids began feeling heavy; and he had put aside the breakfast tray, when a sudden flash of sunlight shimmered on theswordblade. Skipper blinked at the spots of gold and silver dancing across his vision. Martin seemed to be staring at him from the tapestry.

A voice, warm and distant, echoed around the room; the otter was not sure whether it was actually a real sound, or something inside his mind.


Look to the summer, Watch for the maid, A young running slave Who will hold my blade.


Time stood still for Skipper. The sunspots diminished and mist swirled slowly before his eyes.


Hello there, big fellow. Not like you to be taking a nap this early in the day.


Skipper shook his head, coming back to reality at the sight of Abbot Apodemus standing over him.


Er, wot? Er, er, g’mornin’, Father Abbot....


Apodemus looked around at Great Hall. Wonderfully calm in here, isn’t it? I’d join you, only ‘tis too much effort sitting down there and having to heave oneself up again. Pity I’m not as fit as you, Skip.


The otter rubbed his eyes and stood up, respectfully allowing the Abbot to lean on his paw. He supported the old mouse as they walked toward the door, listening to what the good creature had to say.


Cavern Hole’s like a battleground at breakfast rime, far too noisy, between Dibbuns squeaking and scrambling about, and every otherbeast shouting about going on a treasure hunt. Oh dear, it was all too much for me. Let’s take a stroll down to the gatehouse. Malbun and Crikulus are taking their breakfast quietly there, sensible creatures.


Skipper walked along in silence with the Abbot, trying hard to remember what it was he had wanted to tell him. But the otter’s mind was a blank for the present.


Shining dust motes, like tiny slow-motion fireflies, swirled gracefully around the piled-up mass of parchments, scrolls and old volumes on the desk inside the gatehouse. Malbun Grimp and Crikulus the Gatekeeper both had quill pens behind their ears. The quaint pair munched on warm damson scones and sipped elder-bark tea as they sorted through the jumble.

Crikulus moved a pile of scrolls from an armchair and allowed Skipper to plump the Abbot down in it, causing more dust to rise.


The ancient shrew peered over his rock crystal spectacles at them both.

A good mornin’ to ye both. What brings ye here to this dusty dungeon on such a fine day, eh?


Apodemus placed both paws in his wide habit sleeves. This so-called treasure hunt. 1 want your opinion and advice as to such a fanciful venture.


Malbun, a normally placid mouse, became quite animated. She waved her paws about in excitement. Oh, it’s a must, we’ve just got to go, can’t you see, treasure or no! Brockhall must be rediscovered. You’ve no idea how important it is to our Abbey archives!


Malbun’s outstretched paw hit a stack of heavy volumes, which toppled to the floor, causing a veritable eruption of dust. The Healer Recorder went into a fit of sneezing. Assisting the Abbot from his armchair, Skipper shepherded all three creatures out into the sunlight. Malbun stifled her face in a blue spotted kerchief.


Achoo! Achoo! Ah ... Ah ... Achoooooh! Whew, pardon me!


They sat on the wallsteps together. Raising his eyebrows in resignation, the Abbot sighed. Oh well, if it’s that vital I suppose we’ll have to organise the whole thing and do it properly. Skipper, would you like to be in charge of things?


The otter waved his rudder respectfully. My pleasure, Abbot.


Apodemus leaned back, closing his eyes at the bright sun.


Thank you, my friend, I know I can rely on you. Mmm, it’s nice and warm here. Summer’ll soon be upon us.


Skipper began to remember what it was he had been going to say.

Unfortunately his thoughts were interrupted by Memm Flackery, leading a pack of dancing Dibbuns toward them, each one of the little creatures singing uproariously,


Summer summer summer sun, Rumpetty dumpetty dumpetty dum, See birds a-chirpin’ in the air An’ bees a-buzzin’ everywhere. With sun to shine an’ warm my fur, Oh how could I have a care, a care, Oh how could I have a care?


Summer summer summer sun, That’s the time for havin’ fun, Grasshoppers whirr an’ hop around, Flowers come shootin’ out the ground, Butterflies pass without a sound, As bright long days abound, abound, As bright long days abound!


Summer summer summer sun, Can’t catch me ‘cos off I’ll run, I’ll dash into the stawb’rry patch An’ every one I see I’ll snatch. Gobble it up, right down the hatch, A fine tummyache I’ll catch, I’ll catch, A fine tummyache I’ll catch!


Panting and blowing, Memm Flackery plumped down on the wallsteps, mopping her brow with an apron corner. Whoo, I’m getrin’ too blinkin’

old for this lark, wot! Just lookit those little fiends, each one of

‘em could scoff enough breakfast to sink a ship and then sing like a pack of wolves an’ dance the bloomin’ paws from under you!


The Dibbuns swarmed over Abbot Apodemus, sitting on his lap, leaning on his shoulder and clambering on his back.


Goo’ mornin’, Farver H’Abbot, lubberly day izzenit!


Apodemus groaned under the weight of Abbeybabes, chuckling. So, what do you villains want from your Abbot, eh?


Turfee the mousebabe tugged on the Abbot’s whiskers. Us wanna go onna treasure ‘unt with you, h’all of us!


Skipper scooped tiny bodies off Apodemus.


Ahoy there, mates, we can’t take you all. There’s far too many in yore crew, you’d be gettin’ lost all over Moss-flower. Ruggum’n’Bikkle’s the only two we need.


The Dibbuns, who could shed bitter tears at a moment’s notice, set up a heartrending chorus of wails. Waaaaaha-hawaaaaaaahwannagooooo!


The Harenurse tweaked Skipper’s rudder severely. Y’ great heartless beast, sah, fancy upsettin’ my babes like that. S’pose I’ll jolly well have to make the peace. She pulled a tiny mole out of the pack and wiped his eyes. Listen up, young stumptail, I want y’to go and find Fore-mole.

Tell him that Memm will be baking blackberry cream tarts today. Oh, an’ ask him if he can find some jolly helpful creatures t’lend a paw to make ‘em. Run along now, wot!


As if by magic the wailing and weeping ceased. Dibbuns bounced up and down like mad frogs, waving their paws and shouting at the Harenurse.

Me! Me! I ‘elp you, Memm! Me, me, I wanna ‘elp!


Memm shook her head, as if doubtful. Tut tut, I never heard anybeast sayin’ please.


One of the Dibbuns shouted Please!


Memm scratched her ears, turning to Skipper. What d’you say, old lad, d’you think they look like good helpers for makin’ blackberry cream tarts, wot?


Skipper nodded vigorously, watching the hopeful infants. Ho aye, marm, I don’t think ye could’ave a bettercrew in yore kitchens. They looks big’n’strong enough t’me.


There was no time for Memm to reply, as she was grabbed by her apron strings and tugged away to the kitchens by the Dibbuns, all of them yelling and shouting. Cummon, Memm, where our aprons?


I the bes’ berrycream tart baker inna world!


Yurr, uz make lots’n’lots’n’lots, gurt ‘eaps of em!


Looka, me paws be clean, me don’t ‘ave to wash ‘em! Malbun was laughing as she nudged Skipper. Heehee! You’d best go an’ rescue Ruggum’n’Bikkle, they’ve trone off with the rest!


The big otter dashed after the baking party. Ahoy there, you two, get back ‘ere. Yore needed by us treasure ‘unters! Come back ‘ere, I say!


The Abbot rose stiffly, patting Malbun’s paw. Well, I see you’re off to a good start. I wish you luck with your enterprise, old friend!


1O


By midmorning the searchers were leaving Redwall Abbey with Skipper and his two stalwart otter mates acting as guards. The party was composed mainly of grownup creatures, with Ruggum and Bikkle hemmed neatly in the middle of the shrews, still protesting at being excused from their tart-baking duties. Apodemus locked the main gates behind them and climbed up to the north ramparts. He stood watching his creatures trudge away up the path until they cut off at an angle into Mossflower Wood.


The going was fair, as they kept up a leisurely pace through the woodlands.

Log a Log Groo and the Guosim shrews knew the exact location where they had found the two Dibbuns. This took a lot of guesswork out of the route.


Crikulus tramped alongside the shrew leader. D’you happen to know that old Guosim song, ÔFootlecum Durr, I think it was called? I heard one of your beasts singin’ it when you visited the Abbey last winter. I like it.


Log a Log Groo kept his eyes on the path ahead. Even if I did, I couldn’t sing it, old ‘un. I’m more of a dancer than a singer. Hoi, Burrl, you know that’n, don’t ye, ÔFootlecum Durr’? Sing it out good’n’loud for us.


Burrl was a smallish, skinny-looking shrew, but he had a voice like a foghorn. He sang out loud and clear:


Young Footlecum Durr, I do declare, Was a fanciful little shrew. With waxy grease he curled his fur An’ wore a greatcoat o’ blue. His ma was ever so fond of him, That lest his paws should bruise She made for him from aspen skin A brand-new pair of shoes.


Well, pickle my fur, I tell you, sir,


Do you believe the news?


O what to do, a Guosim shrew,


Clompin’ about in shoes!


With laces green, the best you’ve seen,


An’ silver bells each end,


He strutted here an’ swaggered there,


An’ jigged about no end


Til Footlecum took off his shoes,


An’ paddlin’ went one day.


Then a big old owl, the thievin’ fowl,


Swooped down an’ stole’em away.


So now in the night, if you wake in a fright At a strange sound in the air,


Tis only that bird that you have heard


In the shoes of Footlecum Durr.


Too whit too woo, a ding dong clomp,


He’s dancin’ round out there,


Pursued by a shrew, cryin’ out ÔHey you, They’re the shoes of Footlecum Durr!’


Ruggum thought the song was hilarious and shook Burrl’s paw. Gurtly singed, zurr. Fooklum Gurr, ee’m wurr a sillybeast!


It was sometime before midnoon when Log a Log called a halt. This is about where we found the riddle’uns. Let’s’ave lunch an’ see if’n they can tell us which ways they went from’ere to find that big ole tree with the door in it.


Malbun and Crikulus doled out barley farls, soft white cheese and flasks of pale cider. Both were glad to be rid of the extra weight they had been carrying. Skipper split his farl and packed it with cheese. Before he took a bite, he called the two Dibbuns to his side and questioned them. Well, me ole mates, d’ye know where the old oak is from’ere?


Bikkle gestured in a wide arc nonchalantly. H’east nor-fwest, or souf I fink!


Crikulus could not help wagging a stern paw at her. East northwest and south, that’s a great help. Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Ruggum, eh?


The little mole clapped his paws together and chortled. Hurr hurr, oi did loike ee song bowt Fooklum Gurr, zurr!


Malbun stroked the molebabe’s velvet-soft head. Crikulus means do you know the way to the oak tree where you and Bikkle sheltered from the storm?


Ruggum answered candidly. Oi carn’t be sayin’, marm, et wurr dark an’

gurtly rainy ee see.’Tain’t gudd furr foin-den ee way abowt in darkly rainy weathers, burr no!


Sister Vernal’s murmur was audible. They’d have been more useful in the kitchens baking tarts!


Malbun was about to say something when she was knocked suddenly backwards by a big dark bird, which had zoomed down without warning. She clutched her chin and cried out, Aargh, what was that?


Another one followed like lightning, pecking the cheese from Gurdle Sprink’s paw. He swiped at it and missed. The bird swooped away into the trees amid a chorus of harsh cawing.


Skipper roared to his two otters and the shrews, Crows, a whole gang o’ the villains! Protect those two babes, mates. I ain’t got a sling!

Anybeast carryin’ sling an’ stones with’em?


Log a Log drew his rapier, casting an eye at the treetops. The big, dark-feathered scavengers were massing in the branches, watching the Redwallers menacingly. The Guosim leader kept his voice low and spoke calmly.


My shrews never brought slings along, not that chuckin’ stones’d do much good. There’s too many of’em. It looks like we’re in real trouble, mates!


Curdle rubbed at the deep scratches on his paw. Those birds are after our vittles! lis the food they want. What d’ye think, Skip?


The otter nodded, forming a plan in his mind as he spoke. Aye, 1 think yore right, mate. We can’t stand an’ fight, they’ve got us outnumbered.

Best thing we can do is to get out of’ere safe an’ sound. Log a Log, you an’ yore shrews will be up front when we go. Keep the two Dib-buns, old Crikulus an’ Sister Vernal with ye. Malbun, Gur-dle, an’ the rest, you stay close be’ind’em. Me’n’ my two ottercrew’ll cover yore backs.


Skipper sidled casually over to where the two foodpacks were lying.

Sliding his javelin through the handles, he lifted them cautiously off the ground.


The crows began crying out with renewed harshness. Skipper warded off two of them with a swipe of his rudder. They perched boldly on a raised tree root nearby. Hopping along the high branches, the rest of the crows dropped down to lower boughs threateningly Skipper’s keen eyes flicked from side to side, assessing the situation fully. He spoke gently to his friends.


Lissen now, you start movin’ out, slowly does it. But when you’ears me shout Red wall, then go as fast as yore paws’ll carry ye. Log a Log, get out o’ the woods an’ onto the path as quick as ye can. Now, get goin’, easy-like.


As soon as the party tried to shuffle off quietly, the crows dropped even lower, cawing agitatedly Skipper distracted the birds’ attention by grabbing the food packs and laughing loudly.


Haharrhar, ye winged vermin, is this wot ye want? Fresh bread an’ good soft cheese? I wager there’s a few liddle cakes in these packs, too, let’s take a look, eh!


Loosening the straps on the two small knapsacks, he swung them in the opposite direction from the retreating Redwallers. There were cakes, some candied chestnuts, too; the whole lot, together with bread, cheese and cider flask, scattered wholesale, bouncing off treetrunks and spilling into the shrubbery. Squawking and pecking at one another, the scavenging crows fought among themselves as they pounced on the food.

Skipper threw back his head and roared,


Redwaaaaaallllll!


Stunning the birds in his path with thwacks from his javelin, he took off after the main party, who were now plunging headlong through the woodlands. Ruggum and Bikkle had not been scared since the crows’ first appearance, surrounded by big, grown-up Redwallers. They felt perfectly safe. Bikkle was swept along, two shrews holding her paws. Lifting both footpaws from the ground, she was carried onward, giggling as she dangled in the air. It was good fun. Ruggum ran on his own for a while, then stumbled and fell. Before he could be alarmed at the main body passing him by, he was swept up onto Skipper’s powerful shoulders. Grabbing the otter’s ears, the mole-babe hung on, gurgling, Hurrhurrhurr, ee bee’s a gurt game, can ee goo farster, zurr Skip?


By the sound of the crows behind him, Skipper could tell they had decimated the foodpacks. Keeping his eyes on the path ahead, he assured the incorrigible molebabe, Aye, mate, we’d best step the pace up. Those birds’ll be comin’ after us soon. Move on up there, mates, faster!


Some of the older creatures were panting hard, so Skipper’s two ottercrew mates and the Guosim shrews gallantly lent helping paws to speed them on to the safety of the path. Now the crows were on their trail, their raucous cawing echoing louder as they approached. Curdle Sprink slowed his pace, allowing Skipper to catch up with him.


The Cellarhog glanced over his shoulder, puffing and panting. Can’t go on much further, Skip. You go on, I’ll stay’ere an’ make a stand for us. Should’old em off awhile.


Skipper shoved an end of his javelin into the hedgehog’s paws. No such thing, mate. Who’d be left t’brew good ale an’ cordials for the Abbey?

See, there’s the path up yonder. Grab ahold of this javelin with me, we’ll run together!


Ruggum reached over and patted Gurdle’s spiked head. Yurr, coom on, zurr, us’n’s won’t leaven ee behoind!


Log a Log was first onto the path. He shouted to his shrews as they hurried out of the woodlands, Grab some stones, Guosim, we’ll show those scurvy scum!


More Redwallers poured out onto the open path, as they took the shrew’s advice and gathered pawfuls of rough stones. A big crow was flying up behind Skipper, homing in on the back of Ruggum’s neck, when a stone struck it square on the beak. Other crows found themselves pelted with a lively salvo of large pebbles and chunks of rock.


Skipper was last, but finally he made it to the path. Lifting Ruggum down, he picked up stones and began whizzing them off at the angry crows with amazing accuracy, chuckling wolfishly. Haharr, buckoes, come an’

chew on some o’ this!


But the crows would not leave the tree cover, knowing they would be at a disadvantage on open ground. They took to the branches, hopping awkwardly about and cawing harsh disapproval of their would-be quarry’s tactics.


Old Crikulus was a surprisingly good rock thrower. He knocked a crow clean out of its tree with his first try. You great filthy cowards, how d’ye like some of your own medicine, eh, eh? Here, try this’n for size!


The unexpected retaliation was too much for the crows, and they quickly retreated back into the safety of the woods. Skipper hooked his rudder under Ruggum’s smock cord, hauling him back as the molebabe went to chase after the crows with a rock he could scarcely carry.


Cease fire, me ole mate, we’ve sent’em packin’.


Ruggum rolled his rock off among the trees and dusted his paws. He shouted after the distantly cawing birds.


Yurr, an’ doant ee cum back or oi’ll give ee billyoh, you’m gurt villyun rarscals!


The remainder of the journey was uneventful. Skipper and his party reached the Abbey in time for afternoon tea. Abbot Apodemus opened the gates for them.


Great seasons, you lot look as if you’ve been through some sort of adventure. What happened, my friends, tell me?


Skipper made his report as they strolled across the lawns to the Abbey.


The Father Abbot reflected on the story. No treasures found todayÑbut some lessons learnt. Ah well, no great harm done. You’re all back safe and sound, just in time for afternoon tea, I might add.


Sister Vernal smiled eagerly, for teatime was her special favourite.

Oh good, blackberry cream tarts!


Apodemus shook his head woefully as they entered the Abbey. Please, sister, don’t even mention blackberry cream tarts to me. They’ll haunt my dreams for seasons to come.


Malbun stifled a smile. What happened? Did something go wrong with the Dibbuns’ tart baking?


The Abbot was still shaking his head with despair. Did anything go right?

It was the Dab organisation, you remember: Dibbuns Against Bedtime.

On some pretext or other they got Memm and Foremole out of the kitchens, then the rascals ran back and bolted themselves in. Come and see.


When they arrived at the kitchens the door was off its hinges. Gooch the cook and his assistant, Furrel, were sorting through a selection of damaged tools they had borrowed from the wine cellars to unscrew the door hinges.


Gurdle Sprink clapped his paw to his brow. Oh corks, is that my best bungspike? Looks more like a confounded corkscrew!


Memm Flackery emerged from the kitchens, spattered from ears to tail with blackberry preserve and meadow-cream. Steady on, old lad. Don’t blame poor Gooch,’twas me who borrowed your gear.’Fraid we had to, wot!

Those little cads locked us out! We had to break back in, or the jolly old kitchens would’ve never been the same again!


Crikulus peered in at the chaos that had been caused. Hmm, looks like they took to decoratin’ the place with flour, preserve an’ cream. Where are the Dibbuns now?


Foremole Urrm wiped flour from his snout. Oi got’em all locked oop in ee veggible store, zurr. Tukk moi loife in moi paws doin’ et. They’m was fierce h’infants!


Skipper called on his two ottercrew to support him as guards. Right, shipmates, let’s parade these fierce h’infants out an’ see wot they got to say for’emselves!


Some of the Dibbuns were so coated with baking ingredients that they were unrecognisable. Malbun pointed to one, who looked like he could be a mole.


You there, stand up straight and take your paws out of that apron pocket.

What’s your name? Speak up!


The Dibbun licked cream from his chin. Oi’m Roobil, marm.


Friar Gooch pointed accusingly at him. Roobil, that’s him. He was the ringleader!


Malbun Grimp stared at the line of bespattered babes. You know where you are going now, don’t you?


A small voice murmured regretfully, H’up to bed, marm.


Memm eyed Roobil. Tell him he’s jolly well wrong. Explain to him where you wretches are going first, wot wot wot?


Roobil scuffed a footpaw across the floor, leaving a smear of blackberry preserve as he did. Burr, straight in ee barff oi apposes.


The Harenurse waggled a paw under his snout. Correct, sah, straight into the blinkin’ bath, an’ one whimper out of anybeast an’ I’ll bathe you twice!


Sister Vernal lectured the miscreants severely. Look at you, look at these kitchens! Shame on you. Rogues! Right, it’s bath, bed and no supper for the lot of you!


Roobil rubbed his small but bulging stomach ruefully. Us’n’s couldn’t manage no more vikkles to be eaten, marm.


Friar Gooch stamped a paw on the floor. Don’t dare talk back, you dreadful Dibbuns. You should be ashamed o’ yoreselves. Away with you and get bathed. That’s unless you have anything to add, Father Abbot?


Apodemus used his sternest tone. I’ll see you all in Great Hall tomorrow before breakfast. That’s when I’ll decide what must be done. You’re all on Abbot’s Report!


The Dibbuns exchanged shocked glances as they were led off, dumbstruck: Abbot’s Report was a very serious matter.


It was only when they were safely out of earshot that Skipper broke down laughing. Aharrharrharr! Did y’see the liddle faces on’em, harr harr!


Memm Flackery sniffed at the otter’s remark. I fail t’see anythin’ funny at all, sah!


The Abbot tried hard to keep a straight face, but failed. That Roobil, hahaha! We could’ve stood him on the table as an ornament at a feast.

Hohoho! I’ve never seen anybeast with that much preserve and cream on him. He, hahaha, he looked like a little statue!


Suddenly they were all laughing, even Memm. Hawhawhaw! That mousebabe Turfee, he will turn into a bloomin’ statue if all that flour’n’water dries on him, wot!


Everybeast had forgotten about Ruggum and Bikkle, who were still present.

Both were quite peeved at having missed all the fun.


Ruggum viewed the matter sternly. Hurr, they’m surr-pintly vurry naughty beasts. If’n oi wurr ee, zurr h’Abbot, oi’d choppen thurr tails off, burr aye!


With a swift paw gesture the Abbot warned the others to cease their merriment.


Quite right, Ruggum. I hope you and Bikkle never behave as badly as they have. Better go and wash your paws for tea.


Bikkle looked as though butter would not melt in her mouth. Ho no, Farver, we’s very good likkle beasts, not never like those naughty Dibbuns, never ever!


When they had gone, Apodemus turned to the elders. Thank you for not laughing, friends. We’ve got to show an example to the young ‘uns. Friar Gooch, would it be possible for you and Furrel to try and arrange some tea for us? Anything will do.


Gooch bobbed a small bow to the Abbot. I’ll see wot we can do, sir.

Per’aps you’d all like to take tea in the orchard? Tis still a fine day.


Apodemus patted the Friar’s paw. Splendid idea. Thank you, my friend.


Tea in the orchard was extremely pleasant. Gooch provided them with some of his seedcake, thin cucumber sandwiches and hot mint tea. Memm sat next to Malbun Crimp, listening to the account of the crow attack.


The Harenurse poured tea for them both. Crow attack, eh? Doesn’t sound half as blinkin’ bad as the Dibbun attack we put up with back here, little rotters! Oh well, I s’-pose that’s put paid to your hopes of rediscoverin’ that old badger place, what was the name of it, Brockhall?

‘Spect you’ll never find it now, wot?


Malbun blew on her tea to cool it. I’m not givin’ up that easy, and neither is Crikulus. Never fear, I’m thinking up a new plan already.

Crows don’t fly at night. The two Dibbuns weren’t bothered by them when they were lost and alone at night in the woodlands.


Crikulus, who was seated nearby, brightened up. Of course, that’s when we’ll return to search the area!


Memm helped herself to an extra-large slice of seedcake. Huh, wouldn’t be me, old lad, indeed not. Trampin’ all over Mossflower hopin’ t’find some old ruin, wot!


Curdle supped tea noisily. But yore fergettin’ the pawring those Dibbuns found. I’ll wager there’s treasure aplenty t’be found at Brock’all.

That’s somethin’ worth goin’ t’look for, ain’t it?


The Abbot had been listening to the conversation. Folding both paws into his wide sleeves, he leaned back against a pear tree and let the sun warm his old whiskers. Perhaps next time you could take the Dibbuns along with you. Armed with blackberry cream tarts. I wager there’s not a crow alive wouldn’t turn tail at the sight of that.


Foremole shook his head gravely. You’m roight thurr, zurr!


11


Dawn was scarce an hour old when Sagax was wakened by an enormous belch and the sound of Scarum’s voice.


Whoops, I say,’scuse me!


The noise woke Kroova also, and being closest, he dived upon the gluttonous hare, who was in the process of raiding their food supplies.

Sagax helped the sea otter to restrain Scarum, managing to get him in a headlock, whilst Kroova grabbed the hare’s paws and shook them roughly.


Leggo those vittles, ye longeared bandit. We thought you was seasick an’ had sore teeth!


As Scarum strained to reach his mouth with a honeyed oatcake, Kroova knocked it from his grasp. The ever-hungry hare protested volubly.


Gerroff me, you rotters. Can’t y’see I’m jolly well well again? Ain’t a chap allowed t’make a recovery with some bally dignity, wot? Release my starvin’ young body, I say!


Sagax kicked the ration packs out of Scarum’s reach, then he and Kroova got the culprit down and sat on him. The young badger looked at the slack knapsacks with horror.


You thieving flopeared foodbag, don’t tell me you’ve eaten all those vittles while we were asleep?


Scarum became quite moody and self-righteous. Serves y’right for laughin’ at me. I mean, what’s a chap t’do, eh? I made a flippin’

miraculous recovery, no thanks to you two, snorin’ an’ wheezin’, there, after stuffin’ yourselves with skilly’n’duff. So I came t’the conclusion that I’d have to put m’self on the road to recovery with just a measly nibble or two, so there!


Kroova was aghast at the amount of food the hare had bolted. Measly nibble or two, d’ye say? Y’great lollopin’ grub swiper, you’ve near eaten us out o’keel an’ cabin!


Scarum stared up at them pleadingly. I say, messmates, d’you mind not sittin’ on me? It’s makin’ me feel quite ill again, wot.


They released him. Kroova went back and unlashed the tiller, taking up his position as steersbeast. Sagax repacked scraps of food into the depleted packs while Scarum sat in the bow, sulking as his badger friend tried remonstrating with him.


Really, Scarum, you make me ashamed to be in your company. Fancy sitting up half the night stuffing yourself with the ship’s supplies. You’re not the only creature aboard, there’s me and Kroova, too, you know.

Well, what have you got to say for yourself, eh?


The hare nibbled crumbs from his paws moodily. Huh, don’t know what you two’re gettin’ y’selves in such a blue funk about. There must be absolutely loads of scoff an’ scads o’ vittles over that way.


He gestured to starboard. Kroova looked perplexed. Where?


Scarum pointed again, explaining his logic. Over there, of course!

That’s where the land’s supposed t’be, ain’t it? You jolly well said so when y’took a look at that map. Matter o’ fact, you were the chap who said he knew exactly where we were. So, if there’s land over that way, there must be scoff of some kind. Huh, even a duffer could figure that out, wot wot!


Sagax exchanged glances with the sea otter and shrugged. He’s right, of course. We’re not in any great hurry. Why don’t we sail over that way and take a look, no harm done?


Kroova shaded his eyes, peering at the watery horizon. I never said I knowed exactly where we were, I’m just makin’ a rough guess. But the coast is to our starboard side. I’m game to take a chance if’n you are, mates.


Scarum immediately began spouting nautical nonsense. Belay then, me hearties, an’ all that sort o’ bilge scuttle. Lower your jolly old main wotsits an’ turn that thingeeyo handle. Trim up those sail doodlemidads an’ set course for dry land an’ boatloads o’ scoff, wot!


After an hour of heading due east, they were rewarded by the sight of a thin grey strip on the horizon. Sagax was first to see it. You were right, Kroova, looks like land to me. Do you have any idea what part of the coast it is?


Studying the chart, the otter shook his head. Don’t see any hills stickin’ up, or clear landmarks. Could be anywheres, but like you say, mate,’tis land!


After a deal of tacking against an outgoing tide, they felt the Stopdog’s keel scrape sand. It was early noon. Sagax leaped over, landing waist deep in the sea. Throwing the bowrope over his shoulder, he began pulling the vessel closer to shore. Kroova jumped in to assist him, but Scarum went aft and sat playing with the tiller.


No need for three of us t’get our paws soakin’ wet, wot? You chaps are doin’ a splendid job there. I’ll stay back here an’ keep the jolly old mast straight.


Kroova smiled as he called back. ’T’aint a mast, that’s a tiller, antwill look after itself. Now git yore paws wet, sea water’s good for’em!


Scarum’s reply was punctuated by a snort of derision. An’ get eaten by some hungry shark? Tchah, sah, my parents didn’t rear this charmin’

creature to have him end up as a fish’s dinner. Indeed not! He waited until they were level with the beach before making a sprightly hop onto the sand, pulling a face. Yukk! Pretty damp around here, ain’t it? Have t’watch I don’t catch a chill. Righty ho, lead on, shore-party chaps!


Kroova found a broken spar of driftwood on the tide-line. Taking a sea-smoothed boulder, he drove the wood deep into the sand on the lee side of the tideline and tied the rope to it. That should’old’er’til we return. Right, let’s take the lay o’ the land an’ see wot’s wot!


They had landed on a broad beach of grey sand, dotted with areas of shingle. Beyond that lay a shallow rise to scrubby grassland, steepening to flat-topped dunes scattered with small gnarled trees. Kroova had armed himself with the old cutlass they found on board. Scarum had the dagger tucked in the back of his belt, while Sagax held the old unstrung bow like a staff. He pointed up to the dunes with it and began trudging through the sand. That could be a likely place. Come on.


They came across meagre bits of food, some wild onions, sweet young dandelion roots and a patch of drop-water parsley. Sagax took charge of it before Scarum could start stuffing himself. The young badger stowed it in one of the knapsacks, which he had emptied and fetched along.


The hare pouted a bit. Fresh vegetation’s supposed t’be good for scurvy.

We should chew on a bit of that stuff after our voyage, wot!


Kroova whacked him lightly with his rudder. Y’ain’t been long enough at sea t’smell salty, let alone git scurvy.


There was not much else edible to be found. Although one of the trees was a hazel, the nuts were still green and solid. Nonetheless Sagax began picking the biggest ones.


Anything’s better than nothing. We might find some way of cooking these up that’ll make’em taste all right. Where’s that nuisance Scarum got to, can you see him?


Kroova immediately spotted the hare. He was racing along the dunetops like a madbeast, holding in his paw a withered chunk of honeycomb, pursued by a small number of bees.


Yeeehooooo! Gerroff, you rotters, 1 saw it first! Ow-chyowch! Help, chaps, heeeeelp!


There was a crashing noise and Scarum vanished in a dip amid the dunes.

Sagax started to run toward it, but Kroova held him back.


No’urry, matey, let’im get shut o’ those bees first. There’s only a few of’em, ole potbelly won’t come t’much’arm.


They strolled across the dunes, the sea otter pointed out a stunted bush with the remains of a hive in it. It’s an old’un. Those are prob’ly the last few bees movin’ away. Their queen must’ve died. He loaded bits of broken honeycomb into the knapsack. Nice of ole Scarum t’find it for us, though!


On reaching the dip, they found themselves staring down into a mined dwelling. It looked as if it had been some form of hideout. The walls were made of stones and driftwood, shored up by sand, and the roof was a lattice of woven broad-stemmed grass and dried rushes. There was a large hole torn through the roof. A few ancient bees buzzed slowly out into the daylight, followed by Scarum’s complaining shouts.


Go on, away, you miserable insects, be off with you. Bee off? Oh I say, that’s a good’un. Yaaaaagh! What’s that?


The hare sounded so frightened and urgent that the two friends felt bound to investigate. Sliding down the sun-warmed sand into the hollow, they found the door, a crude affair of cordage and rushes. Sagax pulled it to one side, allowing noontide sunlight to stream in.


The petrified hare was lying flat on his back, flanked either side by two skeletons clad in mouldering rags. Scarum lay there, his eyes the only part of him that moved. He rolled them beseechingly at the badger and the otter.


Pull me out of here quick! Quickquickquick!


They reached inside and dragged him out by his footpaws. Scarum began stuffing his piece of honeycomb into his mouth. Good for shock, somethin’

sweet. That’s what my old auntie used t’say Good old auntie, mmff, grrmff, s’good!


Sagax sat down outside the ruined dwelling, peering in. They look like the remains of rats to me. What d’you think?


Kroova went inside and squatted by the grisly things to inspect them carefully. I’d say you was right. This is wot’s left o’ a couple of searats. Lookit this.


He held up two brass earrings, now tarnished to green. Rummaging about in the sand, he came across some carved bone bracelets and a fish-skin eyepatch.


Aye, they’re searats sure enough, lookit those rags of clothin’. Typical searat gear. Wonder’ow they came to perish in this forsaken place?


Sagax pointed with his unstrung bow. Well, look around for yourself.

There doesn’t appear to be any signs of upset, a battle or a struggle.

I think these two rats just starved to death. They seem to be lying there peacefully enough.


The sea otter sifted his paws through the sand around both wretched skeletons. Aye, yore right, mate. Ain’t no traces of vittles, not even fishbones or empty water flagons. Twas starvation finished off these two, all right!


Scarum, who had remained steadfastly outside, peered over Sagax’s shoulder, a look of mixed horror and sympathy on his face. He shook his head sadly.


I say, what an absolutely awful way t’go. Poor blighters. Fancy perishin’

from lack of tuck and a measly drop t’drink. Good grief, it boggles the blinkin’ imagination, wot. I’d jolly well die before I’d let that happen t’me!


Sagax ignored the hare’s inane comments. Kroova, what’s that thing sticking up out of the sand, there, just by your left footpaw?


Digging his paws into the shifting sand, the sea otter pulled forth a smooth, shiny yellow cylinder. Wot, y’mean this? Beats me, mate, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it afore,’Ere, catch!


He tossed the object to Sagax. The young badger had no trouble in identifying it. It’s called bamboo. My father has a piece of it in his collection of searat stuff. He said it comes from the hot lands beyond the ocean. Look, it has a wooden keg-stopper knocked into one end of it!


Sagax tried to dislodge the stopper, but it was fitted so tightly that it would not budge. Kroova emerged from the ruined dwelling. He gazed back inside at the dark, empty, eyeless sockets of the two searat skulls, fixed forever in the eerie grin of death.


That bamboo must’ve belonged to one of’em. Let’s see if I can open it.

There’s prob’ly somethin’ inside.


Kroova spent some time wrestling unsuccessfully with the stopper of the tubby yellow cylinder. He gave up after a while and looked at Sagax.

Wot’s up, mate?


The young badger sat still and tense. He spoke softly. Listen to what I say, you two, especially you, Scarum. Whatever you do, don’t look up. We’re being watched. There’s quite a few of’em up there, I can tell by the way the grass is moving. Listen, can you hear hissing?


Scarum started to look upward to the crater rim. Kroova tugged the hare’s tail sharply. You’eard wot Sagax said. Keep yore’ead down!


Scarum obeyed reluctantly. Hissing, you mean hissing like snakes?


From the corner of his eye, Sagax caught a swift glimpse of a narrow reptilian head, peering down at them from the grassy fringe.


Might be snakes. When I say’now/ get inside that hut as fast as you can. Ready ... now!


Scarum streaked inside, regardless of the skeletons. In practically the same instant he was followed by his friends. Kroova flattened himself, stomach down, peering upward.


Lizards, that’s wot’s watchin’ us. Lizards, a lot of’em!


Rat bones clacked as Scarum scrambled to the otter’s side. Sagax joined him to take a proper look at the lizards.


The reptiles were crowding around the crater’s edge, many black and green-spotted males and light brown mottled females. They stood gazing unwinkingly at the newcomers to their territory, mouths opening and closing, dark snakelike tongues flickering in and out.


Scarum tried buoying his confidence as he watched more lizards pack in round the edge. Ugly blighters, ain’t they? Not as bad as sharks, though. Huh, one of those chaps isn’t big enough to eat me, wot!


Kroova pawed at his cutlass edge, remarking drily, Mebbe not, but there’s more’n a hundred o’ those things waitin’ fer us t’make a move. Little they might be, but they’re predators all right, take my word fer it, mate.


Sagax surveyed the sides of the crater. The question is, how do we get out in a hurry? Those sides are soft sand and pretty steep. I’d say we’re in trouble, They’re waiting on us to make a move, sure enough.


As he was speaking, a female leaned out too far and overbalanced. She came sliding and scrabbling down the slope, landing next to the dwelling entrance. The lizard stood rigid, as if hoping she had not been noticed.


Scarum chuckled nervously and addressed the reptile. How d’ye do, old thing? Just dropped in for a visit, wot?


The lizard backed off, raising first one front leg and then the other, opening her mouth and hissing. Scarum ventured a paw toward her, but she hissed even louder.


The hare waggled his ears severely. Teh tch! Doesn’t seem to speak a word of sense. Must be jolly difficult, not bein’ able to say ÔPass the soup,’ or ÔCan I have another portion of pudden, please.’ Tell y’wot, I’ll send her back to her pals, ignorant lot. That’ll show’em we don’t mean any harm. Like t’go back up to your family, marm, wot wot?


Before Sagax or Kroova could stop him, the hare swept the sand lizard up in both paws and hurled it up among the other lizards. He could not avoid throwing up a certainamount of sand with the reptile. The lizards backed off speedily. Scarum smiled brightly.


Isay, did y’see that? One good turn deserves another. I imagine they were glad to get their pal back, but they don’t seem to like sand bein’

chucked at ‘em, wot?


Sagax gathered up a double pawful of sand. Then let’s try out your theory and chuck some sand!


Kroova loaded his paws with sand, grinning roguishly. Aye, an’ let’s give em yore Salamandastron war cry just to show the blighters we mean business. One, two ...


Eulaliiiaaaaaaa!


The time-honoured battle cry of hares and badgers rang out as the three friends hurled sand at the grass above. Then, taking the slope at a run, they charged up the side, flinging sand and roaring aloud.

Eulaliaaaa! Give ‘em blood’n’vinegar, buckoes! Eulaliiaaaa!


There was not a lizard to be seen when they gained the dunetop once more. Scarum chortled, Hawhawhaw! Frightened of a bit o’ sand, eh, who’d have blinkin’ well believed it? Come out an’ show yourselves, you lily-livered, sausage-skinned, pot-headed, slimy-bottomed cowards, come an’ fight!


Whether by invitation, or just angry inclination, there came a loud hissing noise. Suddenly the dunetops were teeming with not just hundreds, but literally thousands of the sand lizards. All looking rather angry.

The three companions hurtled down from the dunes, sand spraying everywhere from beneath their pounding paws.


As they raced across the low hills away from the crater, Kroova shouted, You and yore big fat mouth, why did ye have t’go an’ challenge those reptiles, ain’t you got no sense at all?


The hare sped past his two friends onto the shore. Steady on there, planktail, 1 didn’t know they could understand me. I just got caught up in the heat of the moment, y’might say, blood roused by the jolly old war cry an’ all that, wot wot!


Suddenly Sagax could not help bursting out laughing. Hahaha! I thought the only thing that’d ever raise your blood would be a double helping of apple pie. Hahaha!


Now that they were in sight of the Stopdog, the humour of the situation hit Kroova and Scarum.


Y’could be right there, old sport, hawhawhaw. I can get jolly warlike if anybeast tries to put a spoon in my soup!


Hohoho! Bet you’d scrap with twice that number o’ lizards fer a steamin’

bowl of skilly’n’duff. Haharr, harr, that’d be a sight t’see, mates!


They made it to the boat in safety. Sagax was loosing the headrope from its driftwood stump when Scarum called out, Look there, the flippin’

lizards have stopped on the dunes. See, they’re all standing there just watchin’ us. Cheerio, you snot-nosed sand slopers, you string-tailed, pop-eyed, spotty-skinned, flirty-clawed sand swif-flers!


Kroova winked mischievously at Sagax and nodded toward the Stopdog.

Leaping aboard, he yelled out fearfully, Look out! The lizards are coming this way fast!


The vessel sailed out from the shallows, with a panicked Scarum splashing madly after it. Wait for me, you bounders! You wouldn’t leave a chum behind to face those leaping lizards alone, would you? Rotters! Lend a paw or chuck me a flippin’ rope, pull me aboard before they get their slimy claws on me. Cads!

ТЕЛЕГРАМ

Канал с обзорами, анонсами новинок и книжными подборками

Книжный Вестник

Бот для удобного поиска книг (если не нашлось на сайте)

Поиск книг

Свежие любовные романы в удобных форматах

Любовные романы

О психологии, саморазвитии и личностном росте

Саморазвитие

Детективы и триллеры, все новинки

Детективы

Фантастика и фэнтези, все новинки

Фантастика

Отборные классические книги

Классика
ВКОНТАКТЕ

Цитаты, афоризмы, стихи, книжные подборки, обсуждения и многое другое

Книжный Вестник
БИБЛИОТЕКИ

Библиотека с любовными романами, которая наверняка придётся по вкусу женской части аудитории

Любовные романы

Библиотека с фантастикой и фэнтези, а также смежных жанров

Фантастика

Самые популярные книги в формате фб2

Топ фб2 книги