Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Song folded the small tablecloth, which she had embroidered herself. ‘What lies in that direction, Father?’

  Janglur shouldered the tentpack, settling it comfortably on his back. ‘The Abbey of Redwall.’

  The young squirrelmaid’s eyes grew wide with delight. She had never visited there, though she had heard tales of the fabulous place. ‘Redwall Abbey! How wonderful! Oh, Mamma, will it be as nice as you told me it was when I was little?’

  Rimrose smiled at her daughter’s excitement. ‘Even nicer, I imagine. Words can’t fully describe a place like Redwall.’

  Song took Grandma Ellayo’s paw, supporting her as they walked. With Janglur in the lead, they set off as dawn was breaking. It promised to be another hot summer day, but the tree canopy was thick and would shade them as the sun rose higher. Song could not resist a final question to her father. ‘Why are we going to Redwall?’

  Janglur tucked the reed flute into his broad belt. ‘Because we must warn whoever rules at the Abbey that there are Marlfoxes roaming the land.’

  * * *

  2

  Farther south, on the flatlands close to the woodland fringe, a gaily painted cart stood propped straight on its two large wheels. It had a single shaft, crosstreed at the end by a well-worn pushing bar. Stretched over willow hoops a canvas cover was copiously painted in once bright colours, now faded by sun and seasons, though the lettering still read clearly.

  ‘The Sensational Wandering Noonvale Companions Troupe!’

  On the nearby streambank a motley collection of creatures were preparing for a rehearsal. One of them, a theatrical-looking hare, stood forward. He was clad in a rumpled frock coat of lilac silk and a wide-brimmed straw hat, through which his enormous ears poked. He wore floppy yellow boots and carried a silver-tipped cane. The hare’s outfit had obviously seen better seasons, as had the cart and the entire troupe. Nevertheless the hare twirled his cane and boomed out in fine dramatic fashion as if addressing a vast audience.

  ‘Good morrow, one an’ all. I am Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop, h’impresario an’ h’actor manager. I preesent to you the Sensational Wanderin’ Noonvale Companions Troupe! Descendants of a talented tradition! Unrivalled throughout the entire land! Death-defyin’ feats! Hilarious comical plays! Music an’ magical virtuosity, jocular jigs an’ deelightful dancin’! Come one, come all! Witness our mellifluously marvellous, perfectly pleasurable educational entertainment! Entirely free of charge!’ He smiled winningly and continued in a loud stage whisper: ‘Home-made cakes, pasties an’ sundry comestibles, purely for the nourishment of the artistes, gladly accepted with profuse thanks. Ahem!’

  From the cover of the cart a gruff voice interrupted Florian’s speech impatiently. ‘Oh, gerron wiv it afore us all falls asleep!’

  The hare shot an outraged glance at the cart and snorted. Turning back to his imaginary audience, he beamed. ‘H’anda now, my bucolic friends, goodwives an’ rustic spouses – not forgettin’ your charmin’ young ’uns – we reach our fee-nah-lay! The very climax of our prodigious performance! Borrakul Ironchest an’ Elachim Oakpaw, the two strongest h’otters h’ever born, will h’attempt a darin’ display of muscle power, which H’i meself have seen kill ten h’other lesser beasts. If you are h’of a nervous nature, kindly look away, as swoonin’ an’ faintin’ may distract the h’artistes’ attention. These two mighty marvels will lift the h’entire, H’i repeat, the h’entire – disregardin’ me goodself, of course – they will lift the h’entire Wanderin’ Noonvale Companions Troupe . . . h’off thee gerround!’

  Two burly otters, wearing tawdry gold-fringed pantaloons, skipped athletically forward, flexing their muscles and bowing. Puffing forth their chests and showing rows of white teeth in daredevil smiles, they performed a few limbering-up exercises and then went about their business. Seizing both ends of a long wooden bench, they started, with a great show of huffing and puffing, to lift. Standing on the bench were two moles, one dressed in spangled red bloomers, the other in a cloak and turban of jade green. Lying gracefully across the heads of the two moles was a mouse wearing a coronet of imitation flowers and a flowing sky-blue gown. Skilfully perched on one paw placed upon the mouse’s midriff, a hedgehog balanced precariously, his spikes tipped with a mass of pennants, small flags and bunting. Up, up went the bench, with all aboard it wobbling perilously. The hare, Florian, muttered encouragement in a loud stage whisper.

  ‘Keep it goin’ up, chaps, that’s the ticket! Everybeast remain still now, hold y’positions. Up she goes, wot wot!’

  Borrakul and Elachim grunted and strained artistically until they had finally lifted the bench over their heads. Suddenly Borrakul gave out a tremendous bellow.

  ‘Yahwooooch!’

  He released his hold on the bench and grabbed at his rear. Amid howls of dismay, the troupe and the bench came to earth in jumbled disarray. Florian dashed forward, furious. Down on all fours he berated Borrakul, who lay trapped by the bench, still clutching his bottom.

  ‘Great seasons o’ sausages, you blitherin’ bangtailed buffoon! Why did y’let the bally bench drop?’

  Crimson-faced, Borrakul gasped, ‘Because that perishin’ mousebabe shot me with a slingstone!’

  Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop drew himself to his full height, ears twitching, teeth grinding audibly. ‘Oho, he did, did he! Well, ’tis high time I had a serious encounter with that blisterin’ undersized miscreant. Dwopple! Come out o’ that cart, front’n’centre, this instant. Out I say, sir!’

  Florian strode resolutely forward, but the mouse in the blue gown suddenly flung herself dramatically in front of the cart. One paw outstretched, the other across her brow, she declaimed, ‘Oh, mister Florian, I beseech you, sir, touch not a hair of that babe’s tender head. Do nothing you will reproach yourself for in the sunlit seasons lying ahead. Hear a pitiful mother’s plea, and punish not the harmless innocent. Spare him, I beg of you!’

  Runktipp the hedgehog chortled bitterly as he removed the bunting from his spikes. ‘Dwopple a harmless innocent? Huh, that ’un’s about as harmless as a bucket o’ serpents an’ a sack o’ stoats! An’ you ain’t his mother, Deesum, yore only his auntie!’

  Deesum shot Runktipp a haughty glance. ‘A mere detail. Do not quibble, sir. No mother could love a babe as I love Dwopple. Come to me, my precious little mite!’

  Clambering into the cart, she grabbed a small fat mousebabe, who wore a stained oversized smock and a wicked scowl. Hanging from one of his grubby paws was a miniature slingshot. He wriggled and kicked desperately as Deesum smothered him with kisses.

  ‘Garraaagh! Leggo a Dwopple, stoppa kissy me. Blurrgh!’

  Elachim the otter massaged a bruised paw as he glared at the infant. ‘You steamin’ liddle nit, Dwopple, you ruined our re’earsal!’

  Florian interrupted sternly. ‘Indeed you have, ye young ripcurdle. Apologize to the entire troupe, this very flippin’ instant! Say you’re sorry, sir!’

  From over Deesum’s shoulder, Dwopple grinned fiendishly at the company. ‘A soggy!’

  The hare squinched his eyes at Dwopple. ‘Beg pardon, what did y’say?’

  Deesum stamped her paw impatiently. ‘He said he’s sorry, isn’t that good enough for you? Would you like the little fellow to shed salt tears and roll in the dust? Isn’t the word sorry satisfactory to a heartless, driving taskmaster like you?’

  Florian threw up his paws in despair. ‘Tchah! I suppose it’ll have t’be, wot!’

  Deesum patted the mousebabe’s back reassuringly. ‘There now, my little treasure, they’ve all forgiven you, isn’t that nice. Will you give them all a big kiss?’

  The hedgehog, Runktipp, backed off with a horrified face. ‘Let that liddle savage kiss me? No thanks! He’d prob’ly bite the snout off’n me!’

  Florian waggled his cane severely at Dwopple. ‘Absolutely no need t’go kissin’ an’ huggin’ everybeast. Just behave y’self in future, m’laddo, particularly at rehearsals, wot!’

  Turning on hi
s heel, the hare strode grandiloquently off, only to be hit sharply on his bobtail by a missile from Dwopple’s sling.

  ‘Yowhooch! Bandit, fiend, pollywoggle, scallywag! I’ll have y’tail for breakfast, sah!’

  The sight of Florian’s enraged face set Dwopple crying in distress. ‘Wahaaah! Nasty wabbit gonna eat Dwopple’s tail. Boohoohoo! Me on’y a likka baybee. Wahaahaa!’

  Deesum hugged the mousebabe closer to her as she rounded on Florian. ‘You callous monster! Fancy frightening the poor little fellow like that!’

  Florian flung his hat down and danced upon it. ‘Madam, I’ll have y’know that wretch shot me in the posterior, an’ called me a rabbit t’boot!’

  Deesum stamped her paw hard. ’Enough! One more word, sir, and I’ll resign from your troupe and take baby Dwopple with me!’

  Roop, the mole in the spangled bloomers, shook his head dolefully, grumbling in his curious molespeech. ‘Hurr, no such lukk oi doan’t surpose, burr no.’

  Muggle, the other mole, gathered up a pail and trundled towards the stream. She wrinkled her velvety snout at her companions. ‘Ee can stan’ yurr arguin’ all day. Oi’m goin’ to get brekkist vittles readied. Bain’t goin’ to wurr moi jaws out a-shouten.’

  Florian, who liked to issue all the orders, coughed officiously. ‘Ahem, rather! Just what I was about to suggest m’self. Right, troupe, breakfast. Elachim, get a fire goin’. Runktipp, see to the larder, the rest of you make y’selves busy, wot. Quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action, wot wot!’

  Runktipp spread the meagre rations on the bankside where Muggle was boiling water over the small fire Elachim had kindled. The hedgehog scratched his head spikes. ‘Ain’t enough grub left t’keep a fat bumblebee goin’.’

  Deesum glanced at the two shrivelled apples, dandelion stalks, a stale loaf of ryebread which had crumbled into pieces and some half a dozen withered field mushrooms. ‘Oh, seasons of mercy on us, the babe will starve!’

  Ever the optimist, Florian began chopping the scanty provisions up and tossing them into the pail of bubbling water. ‘Nonsense, marm. Fiddlesticks! Nature’s bounty has provided us with sufficient food for a nourishin’ broth. Let’s all eat hearty an’ look forward to better, more prosperous times, wot!’

  The soup was dreadful, but knowing there was nothing else the Wandering Noonvale Companions spooned it down in stoic silence, until Runktipp began eulogizing on past dishes he had eaten, as hungry hedgehogs will invariably do. ‘Crispy ’ot white bread, straight out o’ the oven, that’s the stuff. Goes down a treat with some good yellow nutcheese an’ young onions fresh picked, all washed down with a foamy beaker of dark ale. Hoho! A feast fit fer a king, I say!’

  Borrakul the otter closed his eyes dreamily.

  ‘Pipin’ ’ot scones, matey, spread wid meadowcream an’ served wid fat juicy strawberries coated in honey, with a flagon of cold cider, o’ course. Now that’s a feast fit fer a king!’

  Roop picked something dubious out of his soup bowl, wrinkling his nose as he flicked the offending item into the stream. ‘Burr aye, well, seein’ as ’ow you’m two bain’t kings, whoi doan’t ee use yore mouths furr eatin’ an’ not makin’ us’n’s ’ungrier?’

  The mousebabe, Dwopple, picked up his bowl and began toddling off. Deesum chided her charge brusquely. ‘Dwopple, come back here. Where are you taking that soup?’

  Dwopple nodded to a rock-strewn knoll along the streambank. ‘Diss soop not gudd for baybees. Gunna give ’im to the fosskers.’

  Elachim stared at Dwopple quizzically. ‘Fosskers?’

  Deesum translated. ‘He means foxes.’

  Florian was immediately on the alert. ‘Foxes, what foxes? Where?’

  Another pair of Marlfoxes, identical to the two who had accosted Janglur, rose up from amid the rocks where they had lain watching the Companions since dawn. Their names were Gelltor and Predak, brother and sister. Seeing they had been spotted, the pair approached the camp boldly, their drab cloaks flapping slightly in the light morning breeze. Borrakul cautioned his friends, keeping an eye on the strange pair.

  ‘Careful, mates, they’re carryin’ axes under those cloaks!’

  Florian stood up. ‘Steady in the ranks, chaps, leave this t’me. I’ll do the talkin’. See those strange markin’s? I reckon I heard about these creatures, but I never thought I’d ave the bad luck to see ’em for myself. Marlfoxes they’re called – bad beasts!’

  The foxes stopped a few paces short of the group. Florian walked cautiously out and greeted them. ‘Good day, friends. Beautiful summer mornin’, wot?’

  Gelltor, the male fox, nodded slightly before speaking. ‘Who are you and where do you go?’

  Florian bowed eloquently, sweeping off his hat with a flourish. ‘As you can see by our, ahem, cart, we are the Wandering Noonvale Companions, a purely theatrical group of talented creatures.’

  Predak, the female, moved closer to the fire. ‘What’s in the pot?’

  Deesum dipped a short curtsey. ‘It’s a sort of soupy broth. You’re welcome to join us.’

  Predak leaned over the pot and sniffed. She wrinkled her muzzle disgustedly. ‘Slops!’

  Borrakul picked up a large pebble and tossed it from paw to paw. ‘Nobeast’s forcin’ ye to eat it an’ you weren’t asked to insult it either. Good manners don’t cost much, fox.’

  Predak’s paw edged towards her cloak. ‘Mayhap I’ll teach you a few manners, riverdog!’

  Florian was quickly between them. ‘Tush an’ pish, what’s all this?’

  Predak drew her paw away from the axe beneath her cloak. ‘You’ve told us who you are, but you never said where you were goin’.’

  The hare waved a paw airily. ‘Oh, thither an’ yon, y’know, thither an’ yon. A travellin’ show like ours doesn’t actually go anywhere, we roam as the mood takes us. But you, friend, will you tell us your names, and where you are bound on this summer’s day, wot?’

  The Marlfox’s pale eyes stared insolently at the hare. ‘What we are called is not your concern, and where we go is nobeast’s business.’

  Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop’s ears quivered with indignation. ‘Soho! It’s bad manners an’ insult time, is it? Well, listen t’me, you popbellied, pickle-nosed, lousebound patchquilts! You can both take a runnin’ dive into that stream an’ boil your fat heads, an’ furthermore you can take your mange-ridden hides out of our camp before I assist you with a stout right boot. Good day to ye both!’

  Gelltor had his axe half drawn when the otter Elachim picked up a thick pole used in a balancing act and flicked the air in front of the fox’s face with it. ‘I wouldn’t draw that axe if’n I was you, matey. This pole cracks ’eads easier’n it does eggs!’

  Predak found herself facing Borrakul holding his big pebble ready to throw and backed by the two moles brandishing burning sticks from the fire. Runktipp dashed across to the cart and dragged out a long shining sword, a stage prop which bent and flopped about comically.

  ‘Now back off, both of ye, or get ready t’find out the colour of yore own insides. Move!’

  The Marlfoxes knew they were outflanked and outnumbered, and backed off towards the rocks. Gelltor pointed at the troupe and snarled, ‘We’ll meet again, but ’twill be different next time!’

  Florian threw the hem of his frock coat up across one shoulder and called back in an outrageously dramtic voice. ‘Indeed it will be different! The land will be rid of two rogues when next we cross paths, mark m’words, you spotty villains!’

  Predak pointed beyond the troupe and shouted, ‘We’re not the only two here. There are others behind you!’

  The entire troupe turned and scanned the landscape. After a moment or two Florian scoffed, ‘Not an earthly sight of anybeast. What do they think we are to fall for that one, a bunch of oafs, wot?’

  When they turned back again the two Marlfoxes had vanished as if into thin air. Florian sighed. ‘Wish we could learn that trick. Ah well, comrades, onward ever onward.’

  D
eesum was still looking about fearfully. ‘Onward to where?’

  With a great flourish the hare kicked the cooking pot over, letting the meagre broth spill into the stream. ‘Why, onward to Redwall Abbey of course, m’dear, where else?’

  Roop chuckled and rubbed his stomach gleefully. ‘Hurr, oi dearly luvs ee vittles at Red’all h’Abbey.’

  Florian issued the orders. ‘Attention, troupe! Load up the cart. Borrakul, Elachim, in the shafts please. Runktipp, you and I will walk behind armed with poles to protect our rear. The rest of you ride in the cart. We must get the news to Redwall, there are Marlfoxes in the land!’

  As late morning heat shimmered on the flatlands and grasshoppers chirruped dryly beneath a hot summer sun, the cart trundled off towards Mossflower Wood, with the entire company singing.

  ‘Oh for the open road,

  No dullard’s life for me,

  The world is my abode,

  Performing endlessly.

  I’m free I’m free, companions we,

  Travel the highways happily,

  Performing deeds of derring do,

  And plays of heroes good and true,

  Tumbling singing in merry attire,

  Pray tell me, sir, what’s your desire?

  Come fiddle dum twiddle dum derrydownday,

  A harum scarum hoopallahey,

  Come one come all this day to see

  The Wandering Noonvale Companeeeeeeeeee!’

  At the very heart of Mossflower country the fastness of lordly, wide-trunked trees gave way to an expansive watermeadow, formed in a wide shallow basin at the juncture of two streams. Mid-afternoon heat haze shimmered on the far margin as Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim, stood waist deep at the fringe of the tall reeds with his shrews. Though usually a loud argumentative band, the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower were unusually quiet. Each small scruffy furred fighter, equipped with varicoloured headband and short rapier, watched their leader as he parted bulrush and marshwort. Raising himself on tip-paw, Log a Log shaded his eyes, peering about over the reaches of waterlily, crowfoot and brookweed. A large striped dragonfly hovered near the shrew Chieftain’s face, investigating him. He growled at it. ‘Buzz off!’ Surprisingly, it did. He watched a brown trout fin idly by him, just beneath the surface. Log a Log wished that he could forget his tribe’s troubles and go fishing. Behind him a young shrew chewed noisily at some watercress, and Log a Log turned and fixed him with a severe stare. The young Guosim shrew stopped chewing and swallowed guiltily. An older shrew pointed across Log a Log’s shoulder.