‘Anybeast interested in lendin’ a paw to fetch water from the pond for that orchard out there? Seems there’s only me an’ my son left t’do it.’
Cregga placed a paw across her brow. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Rusvul. I meant to send Nutwing over to tell you the orchard’s been watered enough for today.’
Nutwing smiled behind his pebble thick glasses. ‘Hmm, mm. Glad I’m not the only creature who forgets things.’
Rusvul had been at Redwall less than three seasons. He had been a wanderer and a warrior, but when his wife died he’d come to stay at Redwall, bringing with him his son Dannflor, a quiet young squirrel. Both were strong and good workers, but Rusvul had changed since the death of his wife. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky creature of former days, but was often quick to take offence, and sometimes difficult to get on with.
He nodded at the creatures assembled in the kitchen, then turned to Dannflor. ‘Let’s put these pails away an’ get washed up afore lunch, son.’
Outside, the Abbey pool seemed to cool Rusvul down a bit. Dannflor washed his paws in silence, watching his father sluice water across his face with both paws, blowing and snorting as it entered his nostrils. Dannflor glanced up at the sky. ‘Wish it’d rain, then there’d be no need t’carry water, eh?’
Rusvul wriggled a paw in one ear to get the water out. ‘Aye, son. Wouldn’t have been a bad idea for somebeast to tell us the orchard had enough water, an’ all.’
Dannflor shrugged good-naturedly. ‘It’s not the Badgermum’s fault she forgot. She carried as much water as both of us earlier on.’
Rusvul nodded grudging agreement. ‘Mebbe she did, but this place needs a leader, an Abbot or an Abbess. I liked ole Abbot Arven. When he was alive things seemed t’run smoother.’
Dannflor dried his paws on the grass. ‘That’s ’cos Arven was a warrior one time, just like you. Prob’ly the reason you got on so well together.’
Rusvul smiled one of his rare smiles, and flicked a pebble at his son. ‘True enough, Dann. Me’n’you are the only warriors left in Redwall now, an’ we get on well t’gether, don’t we?’
Dannflor caught the pebble and skimmed it out over the pond. ‘Of course we get on, ’cos I’m your son an’ yore my dad. But I’ve never been in a fight or seen battle, so you couldn’t really call me a warrior. I was only a Dibbun before we came here, y’know.’
Rusvul’s eyes hardened. He took his son’s paw and held it tight. ‘But you are a warrior, Dannflor, I know it. The blood of warriors runs in yore veins. Never forget that, son!’
They rose together and walked towards the orchard, where lunch was being served in the shade of the trees. Dannflor paced easily beside his father. ‘But Redwall Abbey’s the most peaceful place a creature could wish to be. How will I know when I’ve become a warrior?’
Rusvul stopped and stared at him. ‘Yore name is Dannflor Reguba. In ancient squirrel language the Reguba was the greatest warrior in all the land. I am called Reguba, as my father was before me. When danger threatens an’ you have to face the foebeast, then you will know you are Reguba, bravest of the brave!’
Lunch was a fairly simple one: sliced fruits – apple, pear, greengage and plum – some fresh-baked scones and damson jam, and dandelion and burdock cordial, foamy and cold from Tragglo Cellarhog’s vaults. Rusvul sat chatting with Tragglo, while Dannflor chose to sit next to Cregga. The Badgermum reached out a huge paw and ran it gently over his face.
‘You are troubled, Dann. What’s going on in that mind of yours?’
The young squirrel sucked foam noisily from the top of his beaker. ‘Not so much troubled as puzzled, marm. They say you were once a great warrior. My father likes the company of warriors, but he never seems to talk at any length with you. Why’s that?’
Cregga shrugged lightly, her blind eyes facing straight ahead. ‘Probably because I never talk about my seasons as a fighter. That is all in the dead past to me. Peace and this beautiful Abbey are what matter in my life now. Do you like Redwall, Dann?’
‘Aye, I like it a lot. It’s really home to me.’
Cregga smiled, nodding her great striped head. ‘Good. ’Tis my home too, though I’ve never seen it with my eyes. I was blinded in battle before I ever arrived at Redwall. Do me a favour, Dann, look at it and tell me what you see. You can be my eyes. Go on. Let’s see if we both live in the same place.’
Dannflor held the blind Badgermum’s paw as he spoke. ‘A path runs from north to south, and Redwall stands by the side of it. Mossflower Wood grows around the north and east walls and partially on the south. A big main threshold gate faces the path, with a little gatehouse just inside; the outer walls are high, thick and solid, built from old red sandstone, like the rest of the Abbey. Battlements and a wide walltop run round the outer walls, making it like a safe fortress. Inside there are gardens and lawns, a pond and this orchard. But in the middle of it all stands the Abbey. It is a huge old building, very high, with a weathervane atop the great long roof, and marvellous stained-glass windows, great arches and columns. Built against one side is a belltower with two bells inside, which are tolled at dawn, midday, twilight and softly at midnight. I like the bells. They have a warm, friendly sound, as if they’re watching over us.’
Cregga squeezed the young squirrel’s paw gently. ‘You have a good eye and a kind heart, Dannflor. Your picture of our Abbey is the same as the one I carry in my imagination.’
Whilst they had been talking the sky was starting to cloud over from the southeast, gradually at first, but the clouds increased as a breeze sprang up to drive them along, blotting out the blue summer noon. Friar Butty felt his footpaw twinge again.
‘Hah! I knew it. We’ll have rain before long, friends.’
Splot! Splack! Two large raindrops hit the leaves of a plum tree, one of them rolling down to burst on Foremole Gubbio’s nose.
‘Ee rain bain’t awaitin’ on yore word, Butty, et be yurr right naow!’
As the mole spoke, long-awaited rain came splattering and battering suddenly down, a proper summer storm, driven sideways on the wind. Thunder rumbled afar, with a distant lightning flash flaring briefly in the east. Dust turned immediately to mud, dry yellowed grass was flattened against the wet earth, and a tremendous din of countless large drops pattering against foliage and rapping upon treetrunks as it hissed around the Abbey virtually drowned out all other sound.
Brother Melilot and Rusvul swept the linen spread off the ground, and knotting it loosely into a large sack with foodstuffs and dishes inside they bore it off between them to the Abbey. Cregga Badgermum boomed out over the din, ‘Everybeast inside!’ Ambling sideways, she shielded many elders and young ones with her bulk. Sister Sloey tugged at Tragglo’s apron, rain pouring down her face into her open mouth as she called to him.
‘Mister Tragglo, there’s two Dibbuns not here!’
Dannflor joined them, his fur plastered flat by the downpour. ‘That’ll be the two molebabes, marm, Wugger an’ Blinny. They went off towards the gatehouse as my father an’ I were comin’ up from the pond.’
Tragglo Spearback shooed Sister Sloey off to the Abbey. ‘You get yoreself indoors, marm. Me’n’young Dann’ll find ’em!’
Dannflor and Tragglo dashed across the lawns, heads down, footpaws sloshing and slapping through the wet grass, as the thunder boomed closer and a great fork of jagged lightning rent the sky asunder. Both creatures were driven flat against the gatehouse wall by the wind, and stood there a moment regaining their breath before fighting their way round to the gatehouse door. It was flapping back and forth, for Butty had left it open, and they hurried inside out of the storm. Tragglo cast a quick eye about.
‘Liddle rascals. They ain’t ’ere, Dann, an’ we never passed ’em on the way ’ere.’
The young squirrel wiped rain from his eyes on a window curtain. ‘Let’s think. I know! Maybe they’re up on the walltop. Dibbuns are always being told not to go up there, so that’s the likely place for them to be.’
Sheeting rain swept the ramparts, dancing across the stones and gurgling noisily out of small downspouts, so heavy that visibility was virtually nil. Tragglo and Dannflor were running almost doubled up past the north battlements when a peal of thunder exploded with frightening force directly overhead. In the crackle of chain lightning that followed the hedgehog pointed to the northeast gable end and the two small figures huddled there.
‘Haharr, there they be!’
It was hard to imagine two more saturated and frightened little creatures. The molebabes wailed and threw themselves at their rescuers.
‘Whhauhau! Us’n’s be gurtly drownded, zurrs!’
Tragglo untied his stout canvas apron and placed it over the Dibbuns, then between them he and Dannflor picked them up and started down the east wallsteps, watching carefully where they trod as the steps were awash. Reaching the lawn, they skirted the rear of the Abbey, almost blown around the corner of the belltower by the increasing wind. Wugger and Blinny held tight to the canvas apron covering them as it ballooned and flapped. More thunder banged sharply overhead and lightning sheeted the scene, illuminating it momentarily in an eerie white flash.
Cregga and Sloey were waiting at the door, holding it open against the weather’s onslaught, when the four of them rushed inside, breathless and bedraggled.
Sister Sloey gave Dannflor and Tragglo a towel apiece. ‘You found them! Thank goodness. Where were they?’
The hedgehog rubbed vigorously at his face. ‘Just where you’d expect the rogues t’be, Sister, top o’ the bloomin’ wall at the northeast corner, wetter’n water-weed an’ yellin’ to be saved from a drownin’. Anyways, they’re safe now.’
As the little group passed through the Great Hall more lightning flashed outside, throwing cascades of bright pattern from the coloured stained glass on to the worn stone floor. A fire was burning in the Cavern Hole where all the Redwallers were gathered, towels flapping wetly about and steam rising from damp fur. Sister Sloey and Gurrbowl Cellarmole dried the two Dibbuns off, none too gently. Wugger’s head shook from side to side as the Sister rubbed at it, scolding, ‘Time and time again you’ve been told not to go up on that walltop to play. So what were you both doing up there, eh? Speak up!’
‘Hurr, us’n’s was on’y talkin’ to they funnybeasts in ee woods, marm.’
‘Funnybeasts? What funnybeasts?’
‘Thurr wurr two of ’em, marm. They was whoit’n’blarck’n’blue, a-wurrin’ gurt cloakers!’
Dannflor had trouble keeping a straight face. Wugger was obviously making up some kind of story to justify his visit to the walltop. ‘Two funny creatures, all white and black and blue, wearing great cloaks? What did you say to them?’
‘Us’n’s din’t say nowt. They’m arsked if oi’d cumm down an’ open ee likkle wallgate furr ’em.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘Hurr, us’n’s was a-goin’ to, when ee rain cummed, then us’n’s was too affrighted t’move.’
‘So, what happened to the two funnybeasts?’
Wugger spread both paws and blinked. ‘They’m gonned! Jus’ vanished loik that, zurr!’
Dannflor smiled and winked at Tragglo, who nodded understandingly at the molebabe as if it all made sense.
‘Ho, right you be, Wugger. The two funnybeasts just vanished, y’say?’
Wugger nodded, his little face completely serious. ‘Aye, zurr, that’s roight!’
Sister Sloey wagged a severe paw under his nose. ‘You’ve eaten too many strawberries and made yourself ill. Straight up to bed for you, young mole – you too, Blinny. Both of you have had quite enough for one day, pinching strawberries, playing on the wall in that thunderstorm and telling a pack of fibs. Now not another peep out of either of you. Straight upstairs this instant!’
Looking the picture of dejection, the two tiny moles, fur still standing up from their towelling, were led off to the dormitories by Sister Sloey.
Friar Butty smiled at Nutwing. ‘Black, white an’ blue creatures with great cloaks that vanish into thin air. What’ll they think of next?’
The owl dried his spectacles off on a towel corner. ‘Hmm, mm. I blame their elders, telling tales of strawberry thieves who just went bang and were never seen again save for a red patch on the stairs. Little wonder that Dibbuns grow up telling fibs after hearing stories like that!’
Outside, the mid-afternoon resembled night as the storm roared around Redwall Abbey, lashing its ancient stones and causing the Mossflower treetops to sway wildly in its grip. Snug inside their comfortable Abbey, the creatures of Redwall, now warm and dry, took their ease in safety and calm.
* * *
4
Janglur Swifteye unfastened the tent canvas from his back and tossed it expertly across two rocks which stood a small distance apart on a knoll overlooking a storm-swollen stream. Rimrose and Song weighted the canvas down with flat slabs of sandstone placed on its edges where they lapped the ground, working quickly, their heads bowed against the pelting rain. Grandma Ellayo hurried into the covered space between the rocks and swept out the wet leaves, creating a dry floor inside the makeshift shelter. Janglur dropped the last large slab on the rear of the canvas, making sure it was stretched taut so that it would not fill up and belly inward upon them. Straightening up, he blew rainwater from the tip of his nose, blinking hard against the scything curtains of wind-driven wetness. Rimrose and Song were already inside under cover, and Ellayo called out urgently to her son. ‘Git you in ’ere fast, afore that thunder bangs agin!’
Dropping on all fours, the big squirrel scrambled into the confined shelter space, the others moving aside to make room for him. Ellayo jumped instinctively as a thunderclap sounded overhead. Janglur put a paw about her comfortingly. ‘There now, Mum, no need to be jumpin’ about like a toad on a cinder. Thunder won’t harm ye.’
But Grandma Ellayo was not to be placated. ‘Mebbe thunder won’t, but lightnin’ will. Take that knife o’ yourn an’ bury it, son. Lightnin’ has a way of findin’ knives!’
Janglur knew there was a lot of truth in old wives’ tales. Drawing the long blade he carried sheathed sideways across the back of his wide belt, he scratched a shallow trough, placed the knife inside and covered it. Lying flat on his stomach, he rested his chin on both paws, watching the stream being peppered with torrential rain as it pounded furiously on its course. Song joined him, while Rimrose and Ellayo snuggled down at the back of the shelter. Janglur nodded in their direction. ‘Take a tip from them, Song, an’ rest whilst y’can. Nought else t’do but sleep this storm out.’
The young squirrel watched the rain glumly. ‘When’s it going to stop so we can get to Redwall Abbey?’
Her father shrugged. ‘It’ll stop when ’tis ready to. Must be gettin’ towards eventide now. If it ceases later on we may be able to travel by night. You have a good nap; I’ll wake ye if it clears up.’
Song tried to sleep, but the longer the bad weather continued, the less she felt like sleeping. Twilight lent a strange aspect to woodland and stream, and a weird grey-yellow nimbus hovered over the banksides, cast through with a dull lilac glow. Gradually she began to drift towards slumber, lulled by sound of rainfall and swishing treetops, but then a sharp movement from her father brought her back to instant alertness.
‘Be silent, Song, an’ don’t move. Look at the stream!’
A long logboat thundered by on the roiling current. Seated in the prow were two Marlfoxes, identical to the two they had encountered, and large scrawny water rats, some brown, others black or grey, packed the boat from stem to stern. The majority of the rats were paddling oars, skimming and sculling to keep the craft upright and on course, while the rest were kept busy baling out stream and rainwater with any implements they could lay claw to.
Janglur muttered to Song out of the side of his mouth, ‘Just as well they can’t hear yore grandma snorin’ in this liddle lot. Be still now, here comes another!’
A second logboat forged along in the wake of the fi
rst. Janglur moved forward, poking his head out into the rain, peering upstream.
‘There’s more of ’em, another four if’n I ain’t mistaken. Never seen aught like this afore. I’m goin’ to take a look. You stay put, Song. Y’know where my dagger is if y’need it. Don’t wake your mum or grandma, what they don’t know can’t ’urt ’em. Be back soon!’
Not far from the knoll where they had camped a big gnarled crack willow overhung part of the stream. Janglur Swifteye climbed it with surprising speed and grace for a squirrel of his size and weight. Skipping nimbly out along one of the main limbs that bent over the water, he tested it for firmness. Two more logboats had passed beneath the willow, their occupants unaware of the presence of a squirrel overhead. Janglur looped his tail and footpaws firmly round the sturdy bough, hanging downward almost as if he were part of the tree. Another logboat bobbed past on the turbulent waters. He let it sail by beneath him, noting that all the vessels were packed with water rats, but the only Marlfoxes were the two in the lead boat. Unwinding the sling from his waist, Janglur readied himself as the final craft shot towards the willow, a foaming bow wave curling either side as it plied the water. Three rats in the stern were baling busily. As the logboat sped past beneath the watching Janglur, the hindmost rat bent to scoop up a bowlful of water. Suddenly, a noose settled round his neck and a paw clamped round his mouth like a vice. The rat’s footpaws were hauled swiftly clear of the scuppers and the logboat shot on without him, his companions not even noticing his departure.
Janglur flopped the water rat up over the willow limb like a landed fish, dealing him a sharp blow between ear and jawside. Working efficiently, he sat him on the branch, whipped the sling from the stunned rodent’s neck and bound his middle to the tree. A soft moan escaped the rat’s lips as he began to come round. Janglur patted his cheek playfully. ‘Hush a bye now, me ole cully, you sit there awhile until yore ready an’ willin’ t’do a bit o’ talkin’!’
Marlfox (Redwall) Page 4
