The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  Drawing his dirk, Tammo pushed it through the bars and began prodding the old squirrel, pretending to have some cruel fun with him. Moving to the cage’s far side to avoid the blade, the old creature cast a withering glance at his tormentor.

  ‘Do yore worst, vermin. I ain’t afeared of ye!’

  Tammo’s whisper barely reached his ears. ‘Sorry, old chap. Can’t speak up, they think I’m dumb, y’see. I’m no vermin, this is a disguise. Really I’m a hare of the Long Patrol. I’ll help you if I can.’

  Lying flat, the squirrel rolled over, closer to Tammo so that he could whisper back. ‘Get me some food an’ a blade!’

  ‘I’ll try, but don’t attempt anything on your own. Leave this to me an’ my friend – he’s disguised like me.’

  Before he spoke further, Tammo took a swift look about, and saw Rinkul, leaning on his stick, watching him. Throwing caution to the winds, Tammo dashed at the ferret and dived on him. They went down together. Tammo grabbed Rinkul, pulling him on top of himself and uttering little mute squeaks of distress.

  A Rapmark stoat named Bluggach, who was seated by the fire with the two guards, grabbed his cutlass. ‘Lookit that, the addle-brained oaf, don’t ’e know no better? Damug gave orders not t’touch the dumb ’un! Cummon, mates!’

  Rinkul found himself roughly hauled off Tammo, his protests lost among the angry roars of Bluggach and the two guards as they thrashed him with the flat of their blades.

  ‘Git off that beast. Wot d’yer think yore doin’?’

  ‘We’ve all been ordered to stay clear of ’im!’

  ‘You wanna dig the soil out’n yore ears, ferret!’

  ‘I ain’t gonna report this or Lord Damug’d kill yer, but you gotta learn to obey orders. Teach ’im a lesson, mates!’

  Gathering his rags about him, Tammo fled the scene.

  Midge stuck his head out of a canvas shelter which had been erected between a bush and a rock. He peered into the night at the lumpy figure ambling aimlessly about.

  ‘Tamm, over here, pal! We’ve got our own special quarters!’

  Tammo scrambled gratefully into the shelter and crouched by the fire. Midge passed him some rough-looking barleycakes, a piece of cooked fish and a canteen of strong grog, but Tammo put it aside, saying, ‘Thanks, Midge, but I’ve already eaten. I contacted Rockjaw and he gave me supper. But tell me your news first – how did y’get on with old thingummy Warface?’

  The friends exchanged information, telling each other all they had experienced since arriving at the Rapscallion camp. Tammo tightened his paw round the dirk handle, gritting his teeth. ‘Those vermin we were tracking – remember the one that got away? I’ve seen him, the ferret they call Rinkul. He was the last of the murderers who slew the old badger lady and my friend Russa; the scum still carries her stick. First chance I get I’ll make him pay for them!’

  Midge shook his head. ‘That’s not what we were sent here for, Tamm. You’ll get your chance at Rinkul, but not here – it could cost our lives an’ the safety of Redwall. Let’s rest up a bit, then when all’s quiet we’ll take food to the squirrel. I’ve got a small blade with me, we’ll deliver that to him as well. Rest awhile now.’

  Long after the midnight hour had passed and the sprawling Rapscallion camp lay silent, two figures made their way carefully down to the prisoner in his cage by the stream.

  * * *

  40

  REDWALL’S TWIN BELLS had tolled out the midnight hour, but their muted tones were heard only by the three creatures who were still awake. Abbess Tansy, Friar Butty and Craklyn the Recorder sat around a table in the kitchens, studying the journal of Abbess Germaine. It had been written countless seasons ago when the Abbey was actually under construction. The Little Owl Orocca had watched them awhile, waiting for Taunoc, who had gone off under the command of Major Perigord. When it became apparent he would not be returning that night, Orocca retired to care for her three owlchicks in the kitchen cupboard.

  Butty selected some hot muffins, which his helpers had baked for next morning’s breakfast, took a bowl of curds, flavoured it with honey and stirred in roasted almonds. Brewing a jug of rosepetal and plumflower tea, he set the lot on the table, inviting his friends to help themselves.

  ‘It’s sort of half breakfast an’ half supper, suppfast I calls it, when I’m up very late cookin’ down here. Tell us more about this place called Kotir, marm.’

  Craklyn opened the journal at an illustrated page. ‘This is what it must have looked like, an old crumbling castle, damp, dark, and ruled over by fearsome wildcats, backed by a vermin horde. Martin the Warrior and his friends destroyed it and defeated the enemy, long before Redwall was built. They diverted a river and flooded the valley in which Castle Kotir stood. It sank beneath the waters and was never seen again. Redwall was built from the north side first, I think the south wall was to have been bordered by the lake that had covered Kotir. But our Abbey was not built in one season, nor ten, nor even twenty. You can see by these sketches further on that by the time the north wall was erected, the lake had begun to dry up. Abbess Germaine states that all the soil and rock dug up for the Abbey foundations was dumped into the lake. Well, over a number of seasons the lake became little more than a swamp, the only trace of it being a spring that bubbled up in a hollow some distance from the original lake site. This kept throwing up clear water until it became incorporated in the Redwall plans as an Abbey pond.’

  Tansy blew upon her tea and sipped noisily. ‘The very same pond we have in our grounds today, how clever! But carry on, Craklyn. What happened next?’

  ‘Hmm, it says here, by the time the main Abbey building was in progress, a drought arrived after the winter. Spring, summer and autumn were intensely hot and dry, not a drop of rain throughout all three seasons. Even the Abbey pond shrunk by half its length and breadth. What had once been swamp became firm and hard ground, with tree seedlings taking root on its east side. So they ignored the fact that Castle Kotir, or a lake, or even a swamp had once been there and carried on to build Redwall Abbey.’

  Craklyn closed the journal and dipped a hot muffin in the sweetened curd mixture. Friar Butty flipped through the pages; yellowed and dusty, they seemed to breathe ancient history. He paused at one page with a small illustration at its chapter heading.

  ‘Here ’tis, see! A sketch of the completed Abbey with a dotted line representin’ Kotir an’ where it once stood. There’s the answer!’

  Abbess Tansy brushed muffin crumbs from the parchment. ‘Well I never. They built the south wall right over the part where Castle Kotir’s northwest walltower stood. So after all these seasons the ground has decided to give way, and that hole we were looking down must be the inside of Kotir’s walltower. It would be fascinating to climb down there if it was dry and safe enough.’

  Orocca’s head appeared around the partially open cupboard door. ‘You’ll beg my pardon saying, Abbess, but I wish you’d stop all your noisy yammering and go now. These eggchicks need their sleep!’

  Tansy began gathering the remains of the meal up carefully. ‘I’m sorry, Orocca. Right, let’s away to our beds. We’ll take a look down there first thing in the morning. Shad and Foremole will go with us, I’m sure.’

  As dawn shed its light over the flatlands west of Redwall, Major Perigord sat up in the dry ditchbed where he had passed the night. Captain Twayblade was balancing on a thick protruding root, scanning the dewy fields in front of her.

  Perigord reached up and tugged her footpaw. ‘My watch I think, old gel. Any sign of ’em yet?’

  Twayblade climbed down from her perch. ‘Not a bally eartip. Where d’you s’pose they’ve got to, sah?’

  The Major drew the rags of his once splendid green velvet tunic about him and yawned. ‘Who knows? Torgoch an’ Morio are a blinkin’ law unto themselves when they’re on the loose together. I say there, come on, Taunoc, you jolly old bundle of feathers, up in the air with you an’ scout the terrain, wot!’

  Taunoc peered from unde
r his wing, then struggled from beneath the ferns where he had been sleeping and blinked owlishly.

  ‘Strictly speaking I am a nocturnal bird, not widely given to flapping about in dawnlight like a skylark. What is it you want?’

  With a flourish, Perigord drew his sabre and poked at the sky. ‘I require your fine-feathered frame cleaving the upper atmosphere, lookin’ out for any sign of our friends. That too much trouble?’

  With a short hopping run the Little Owl launched into flight. ‘After a night in a ditch nothing is too much trouble.’

  He soared high, wheeling several times before dropping like a stone. ‘Your Sergeant and Lieutenant are coming now, west and slightly south of here. I suggest you wave to denote your presence, Major.’

  Perigord climbed out of the ditch and waved his sabre. It glittered in the early sunlight as he hallooed the two hares. ‘What ho, you chaps, what time d’you call this to come rollin’ back home? Come on, Torgoch, on the double now!’

  Sergeant and Lieutenant came panting up to the ditch. Throwing themselves flat in the damp grass, they lay recovering breath.

  Morio raised himself up on one paw, his normally saturnine face glowing with pride. ‘We found the place, sah, day an’ a half’s march sou’west o’ here. There’s a rock, stickin’ up like an otter’s tail, top of a rollin’ hill range, and beyond that a valley with a gorge runnin’ through. Looks somethin’ like this.’ In the bare earth of the ditch top he scraped out a rough outline with his knifepoint.

  Twayblade nodded approvingly. ‘Well done, chaps, looks a great spot for a picnic, eh wot?’

  Perigord studied it, obviously pleased by what he saw. ‘Aye, we could shell a few acorns there! Stretch our forces along the ridge and send out a decoy party t’lead ’em into the valley from the south side. If we can get ’em with the gorge at their backs and the hill in front, ’twill be an ideal battleground. Taunoc, time for you t’do your bit, old lad. Fly out an’ scout this place. When you’re satisfied as to its location, seek out Rockjaw Grang and tell him exactly where the battlefield is to be. Got that?’

  Once again the Little Owl heaved himself into the air. ‘I think I am reasonably intelligent enough to understand you, Major. After all, I am an owl, not a hare!’

  When the owl was well away Sergeant Torgoch grinned at Twayblade. ‘Well curl me ears, marm, there goes an ’uffy bird if ever I saw one. Bet ’e counts ’is feathers regular!’

  ‘You, sir, would find yourself counting your ears after an encounter with me, I can assure you!’

  Torgoch almost leapt with fright as the owl landed beside him. The bird stared accusingly at Perigord. ‘You gave me the location and told me to whom I should deliver the information, but you did not mention when the battle is to take place.’

  The Major bowed courteously to Taunoc. ‘Beg pardon, I stand corrected. Shall we say three days, or however long after that the Rapscallions can be delayed? We need to play for all the time we can get. My thanks to ye, sir!’

  Long after the owl had flown, Sergeant Torgoch looked mortified. ‘I really opened me big mouth an’ put me footpaw in it there!’

  * * *

  41

  ABBESS TANSY AND her party were ready for the descent into the pit beneath the south wall. Friar Butty was armed with a stout copper ladle, his chosen weapon. Foremole Diggum and Shad the Gatekeeper had lengths of rope, lanterns and a fine rope ladder, which Ginko the Bellringer had loaned them. Tansy and Craklyn had donned their oldest smocks, and between them they carried a hamper of food.

  It was a good hot summer morning. Tare and Turry of the Long Patrol were pushing a wheelbarrow about on the lawn. Three little owlchicks and the badgerbabe Russano sat on a heap of dry straw in the barrow, taking their daily perambulation.

  Tansy waved to them as they passed. ‘See you later, Bye bye!’

  Waving back, the babies repeated the word they used most often. ‘Nuts! Nuts!’

  Craklyn fell about laughing. Shad opened the food hamper and tossed a pawful of candied chestnuts into the barrow for them. ‘Bye bye, hah! These liddle tykes know wot’s good for ’em!’

  Having lit the lanterns, Friar Butty strung them at regular intervals upon a long rope and lowered it into the depths, providing illumination all the way down. Shad secured the rope ladder and let it unroll into the void. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘Butty next, then Abbess an’ Craklyn. Foremole, you follow last. Remember now, take y’time an’ step easy!’

  One by one they descended into the silent pit, lantern light and shadows dancing eerily around the rough rock walls which surrounded them. Scarcely a quarter of the way down, Foremole pointed a digging claw at the wall in front of him.

  ‘Yurr, thurr be’s ee writin’ that Bunto see’d!’

  Foremole Diggum had remembered that Bunto, one of his mole crew, had seen writing carved upon the wall.

  Craklyn studied it. ‘See these broken rock ends and bits of shattered timber? There must have been a spiral stairway running from top to bottom of the walltower once. There’s a space which may have been a window, all blocked with earth now. This carving is beside it – probably some vermin soldier did it while he was idling away the hours on guard duty at that very window.’

  Tansy tweaked at her friend’s footpaw, which was directly above her head on the ladder. ‘Never mind the architecture, what does the writing say?’

  The Recorder’s voice echoed boomingly as she read out aloud.

  ‘Turn at the lowest stair,

  Right is the left down there,

  Every pace you must count,

  At ten times paws amount,

  See where a deathbird flies,

  Under the hunter’s eyes,

  Radiant in splendour fair,

  Ever mine, hidden where?

  Verdauga, Lord of Kotir.’

  Clinging to the ladder, Tansy looked up at her friend as the echoes faded to silence in the strange atmosphere. ‘Sounds like some sort of riddle to me. Craklyn, what are you doing up there – writing?’

  ‘Scrap o’ parchment and a stick of charcoal always come in useful,’ the old Recorder muttered busily as she scraped away. ‘I never go anywhere without them. This won’t take long. Hmm, Verdauga, he was mentioned in Abbess Germaine’s journal, some sort of wildcat who ruled Mossflower before Martin the Warrior arrived. There, I’ve got it!’

  Foremole Diggum, who was last on the ladder, grunted impatiently. ‘Ho, gudd for ee, marm. Can us’n’s git down thurr naow? Oi’m not gurtly pleased ’angin’ round up yurr!’

  It was a long and arduous descent. When they touched ground at the pit bottom, Friar Butty peered upward to the platform. It looked very small and far off.

  ‘Phew!’ he said, nodding in admiration. ‘Just think, Skipper dived from up there, what a brave an’ darin’ beast! I think if I tried it I’d prob’ly die of fright halfway down.’

  Shad tapped his tail against the mud-coated rocks. ‘Since the waters dried up, mate, you’d die fer sure if you landed ’ere. Right, let’s git the lie o’ the land.’

  He lit another lantern and they moved gingerly on the slippery stones of the dried streambed, staring at their surroundings. It was little more than a stone chamber, with a gaping hole at eye level where the water had flowed in from the right, and another hole beneath their paws to the left, where the stream had exited downward.

  Tansy found a dry rock and sat down. ‘It’s very smelly and cold. We’d best watch we don’t slip and fall down that hole – goodness knows where we’d end up. Well, anyone got some bright ideas? This place looks like a dead end.’

  Craklyn studied the verse she had copied, then took a careful look around. She pointed to a spot, not far above their heads. ‘Look there, up to the left. There’s a hole in the wall, but it’s blocked by rubble and old timbers. I think that was where the stairs finished originally. We must be standing below the old ground level now, where the water carved the floor away.’

  Shad climbed back up the ladder,
swinging it inward until he could reach the hole in the side of the wall. He secured the rope ladder to a splintered wood beam which stuck out. ‘Aye, yore right, marm, this is where the last stair was. I think we might’ve found a passage ’ere. Stand clear while I try an’ unblock it.’

  Huddling beneath an overhang at the cave’s far side, they watched rock, timber and masonry pouring from the hole as the husky otter cleared away the debris. It was not long before he called down to them, ‘Haharr, ’tis a passage sure enough – dry, too. C’mon up, mateys!’

  One by one Shad helped them from the rope ladder into the passage. Foremole discovered a shattered pine beam and, using a dash of lantern oil, soon had a fire burning cheerily.

  ‘Thurr ee go. Oi thinks us’n’s be ’avin’ a warm an’ summ vittles afore us do ought else, bo urr!’

  Abbess Tansy warmed her paws gratefully. ‘What would we do without a good and sensible Foremole?’

  Friar Butty unpacked a latticed fruit tart, some nutbread and a flask of elderberry wine, which he set by the fire to warm. As the friends ate they discussed the verse which Craklyn had copied.

  ‘So,’ said Tansy, ’it wasn’t an idle sentry who carved those words, it was the Lord of the castle himself. But why put it there in plain view?’

  Craklyn explained what she had seen. ‘It wasn’t exactly in plain view, though. I noticed some spike holes in the stone; there must have been a wall hanging or a curtain hiding the verse. Maybe Verdauga was getting old and he carved it there to remind himself.’

  Foremole sliced the tart evenly, shaking his head. ‘Hurr, ’tis a gurt puzzlement tho’, marm. Roight is ee left daown thurr, wot do that mean?’

  ‘I know it sounds odd, but it’s not really. Creatures who hide something and write about it usually try to trick others by arranging the words so they sound strange. Right is the left down there, means that the left passage is the right one to take. I could say that two ways; either the left is the right one to take, or as Verdauga put it right is the left to take. See?’