Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

Song watched her father emerge out of the sheeting rain. He was carrying a bundle and whistling cheerfully between his two front teeth. One of the lazy hooded eyes winked slyly at her as he ducked to enter the shelter.

  ‘Found some nice dry pinewood back there. Must be the only bit o’ timber left in Mossflower that ain’t wet this evenin’.’

  Song unearthed the knife and took tinder and flint from their pack. Striking the flint against the spine of the blade, she blew softly on the bright sparks that fell on the dry mossy tinder. A thin blue column of smoke rewarded her efforts, followed by a glow and a tiny flame. Janglur began adding pine splinters until they had sufficient fire going to pile on some of the pine billets. Wakened by the smell of wood smoke, Rimrose held her paws out to the flame gratefully.

  ‘A nice fire. Would you two like somethin’ to eat?’

  Grandma Ellayo’s voice came from the back of the shelter. ‘Aye, us three would like a bite if y’don’t mind!’

  The last of their provisions was made into an acceptable meal. Song sliced up the final piece of Rimrose’s travelling fruit and honey cake, whilst her grandma brewed a kettle of mint and comfrey tea. Rimrose had saved four oatcakes and a small wedge of cheese. She toasted the cheese and oatcakes together. The family sat by the fire, staring out into the rainswept night as they ate. Later Janglur took out his flute and played, encouraging Song to sing.

  ‘I once knew an ant and I knew him right well,

  This ant he lived in a hazelnut shell,

  He had relations to count by the score,

  They used to come knocking on his tiny door.

  One was called distant, he lived far away,

  Another was pleasant, he’d bid you good day,

  A third was constant, he was never away,

  Then there was hesitant, not sure he’d stay,

  And poor old reluctant not sure too,

  And one called valiant stout and true,

  Now I’ll tell you the reason they all came to call,

  ‘Cos this ant was the most important of all!’

  As the final echo of the ballad died away a gruff voice called from the streambank, causing Ellayo to jump with fright, ‘Well sung, young missie. Y’ve got a fair pretty voice on yer!’

  Song immediately grabbed for her father’s knife, but Janglur stayed her paw, a smile flitting across his half-closed eyes as he replied, ‘Aye, better’n any ole scragfurred shrew could sing, I’ll wager!’

  Surrounded by a party of Guosim, Log a Log strode up to the shelter.

  ‘Hah! Janglur Swifteye, ye great fat branchbounder, I heard you was dead three seasons back!’

  Janglur shook his old friend’s paw heartily. ‘Log a Log Guosim, ye big-bellied brookbeast, I heard you died more’n four seasons ago!’

  The shrew threw a paw about the squirrel’s shoulders. ‘Well, we must be the two healthiest ghosts in the woodlands.’

  Introductions were made all round. The shrews joined their old logboat sails, which they carried with them, to Janglur’s shelter. Using oars and dead branches, and taking advantage of nearby bushes, they soon extended the covered area. Log a Log sat by the fire, gratefully accepting a bowl of tea from Ellayo, whilst he told Janglur of what had befallen him and his tribe. The squirrel listened intently, then told Log a Log of his first encounter with the Marlfoxes. The shrew scratched his ear thoughtfully.

  ‘D’you think the two you met are the same two who stole our boats?’

  Janglur shook his head emphatically. ‘Impossible. We were too far apart, but I saw the two foxes that took yore boats this very evenin’.’

  Log a Log’s paw grabbed his rapier hilt. ‘You saw ’em? Where?’

  ‘They sailed right by here, round about twilight, six boatloads of ’em, water rats, with the two foxes sittin’ for’ard in the first boat that passed. So I went t’take a look.’

  ‘So, tell me, what did y’see?’

  The squirrel’s long lashes flickered idly. ‘Wasn’t much to see. I figgered they wouldn’t stop to chat with me, so I worked the ole rear ambush an’ captured one.’

  Log a Log leapt up and drew his rapier. ‘You captured one? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’

  Janglur rose with a sigh. ‘Because you called me fat an’ said I was three seasons dead. Come on, stop lookin’ so injured, an’ I’ll take you to him.’

  The water rat was fully conscious, but his face showed little emotion as Janglur loosed the bonds and hauled him down from the crack willow. Log a Log’s rapier point was swiftly at the rodent’s throat. The shrew’s voice dripped menace.

  ‘Now, matey, yore goin’ t’do a bit o’ fast talkin’. Who are these Marlfoxes, how many of ’em is there, an’ what are you doin’ in these parts? Make it easy on yoreself an’ speak!’

  The rat’s face was blank, his eyes devoid of either fear or hatred of his captors.

  Janglur prodded the rat’s chest with a hard paw. ‘Where d’you come from? Are you from the same place as those foxes? I hear they come from a secret island at the centre of a great lake. Tell us about it. Who rules there?’

  The rat’s expression never changed, though Log a Log noticed that his paws were trembling visibly. The shrew leaned close to Janglur and spoke in a whisper so the water rat would not hear them. ‘Wot d’yer make o’ this one, mate? Mayhap he’s a mute . . . Look out!’

  Before either creature could stop him, the rat dashed back a few paces and flung himself into the swift-flowing stream. Log a Log and Janglur rushed to the water’s edge and stood helplessly, watching as the rodent was swept away on the wild racing surge. It was far too rough and speedy, even for a water rat, and his paws struggled feebly against the surging mass until a broken rowan tree came hurtling like an arrow on the current. It struck the unfortunate rat and he sank instantly. Log a Log screwed up his face in disgust.

  ‘’Tis always bad when a life’s wasted for no reason, even the life of a vermin like that’n.’

  Janglur fastened the sling back round his waist. ‘I wouldn’t say the rat’s life was wasted fer no reason, mate. We mightn’t know why he did it, but no creature could live in that current, so he knew what he was doin’. He must have been really terrified if he killed himself rather than betray any information.’

  The shrew stood staring at the spot where the rat had gone down. ‘Yore right, Swifteye. Let’s go an’ get some sleep. Mayhap we’ll find the answer to all this when we reach the Abbey of Redwall.’

  The Wandering Noonvale Companions’ cart was stuck up to its axles in mud. Florian wrung rain from the hems of his frock coat and bellowed mournfully.

  ‘Oh, calamity, folly and woe unto us! Abroad on a night like this in the midst of a hurricane, nay a typhoon, a veritable deluge! And now, to cap it all, we are sinking slowly into the muddy oblivion of a bottomless quagmire. Brave hearts and faithful friends, ’tis a night for lamentations. Ooooh, lack a bally day, wot!’

  Runktipp tried unsuccessfully to block a rip in the canvas of the covered cart with a pennant he had plastered with mud. ‘Aye, we could do with lackin’ this day right enough. Pesky rain’ll drive me off my spikes if it don’t stop!’

  Borrakul, who was caked in mud up to the waist from trying to get the cart unstuck, grinned mirthlessly. ‘Cheer up, we’re only lost, starvin’ an’ likely to be drowned by mornin’. At least there’s plenty o’ water t’drink out there.’

  Roop twitched his nose at the otter. ‘Oi bain’t thursty, thenkee, zurr, tho’ ’tain’t ee weather oi’m wurried over, ’tis Dwopple. Ee young maister’s gone vurry quiet, an’ oi doan’t loik et!’

  Deesum instantly leapt to the defence of her charge. ‘You’re quite heartless, mister Roop. See, the dear little chap is slumbering innocently.’

  Elachim, the other otter brother, who was trying to sleep at the same end of the cart as the mousebabe, shifted his position, muttering, ‘Slumberin’ innocently? The wretch is snorin’ like thunder, an’ he keeps tryin’ to eat my tail in ’is dreams!’
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  Muggle flung her soggy turban at the otter. ‘Gurr! Doan’t ee menshun eatin’ again. Moi pore stummick is a-growglin’ an’ a-rowglin’ loik thunner an’ loightnin’!’

  Dejectedly, Florian pulled out his battered one-string fiddle and plucked at it experimentally. ‘Tchah! Confounded wet weather’s knocked it all out o’ tune, wot!’ Nevertheless, he scraped away at it with a tattered bow and began singing a song which he composed as he went along.

  ‘Deah mothah I am hungry, hungry,

  An’ starvin’ as well to boot,

  Oh to be back home in your orchard,

  So full of delishowus froot.

  If I perish’n’die before maaaawnin’,

  My last thought will be of yewww,

  An’ the smile on Father’s whiskers,

  An’ a whackin’ great bowl of stewwww!

  Are Grandpa’s teeth still missin’,

  The way I’m missin’ yooooooou?

  You’re the nicest ma a son could have

  An’ I’ve had quite a feeeeeewwww.

  Fare thee well my dearest parents,

  For quite soon now I must die,

  But if I get home before midnight,

  Don’t let Grandma eat all the pie!’

  Florian’s song was abruptly cut off when a soggy tunic flopped in his face. He removed the offending article, which had become tangled with his ears and whiskers, and held it up.

  ‘Which rotter threw this? Own up immediately, wot?’ he demanded with an air of injured dignity.

  The troupe stared at him in blank innocence. Baby Dwopple shook with malicious mirth, but kept his eyes tight shut, pretending to be asleep. He even threw in a couple of lusty snores for good effect. Deesum stroked his head fondly, murmuring, ‘So young, yet so talented. One day you will be a great actor!’

  Night closed in around the little cart in the woodland as the rain continued to batter down.

  * * *

  5

  The lake was so huge that nobeast standing on any part of the shoreline could tell that its sweeping vastness held an island at its centre. Not even birds, because they knew better than to try to fly across the lake. Whipping up the surface into a frenzy of crested waves, the storm raged throughout the night hours. Rain howled like a wild thing, driven by the winds. From the billowing masses of black and purple-bruised cloud which obscured the moon, thunder crashed and lightning ripped down in a flickering dance across the heaving waters.

  Inside Castle Marl a grim-faced band of brown-liveried water rats were trying to drown out the storm noise with music. They plucked at stringed instruments, struck small gongs and played strange melodies on flutes and pipes of varying sizes. From cellars to attics they paraded, up and down the fortress’s many ramps. There were no stairs inside Castle Marl, just steeply sloping ramps, winding or angled, everywhere. The odd group followed a curtained palanquin, a long boxlike affair with silken tasselled drapes round its sides, borne on four thick poles running beneath its length and width. Over a score and a half rats bore the odd conveyance, treading with carefully measured paces, so that the box was kept perfectly steady at all times, and by the side of the palanquin strode a Marlfox. When a sharp tapping noise issued from within the covered box, the carriers stopped moving instantly. A harsh rasping voice sounded from behind the silken curtains.

  ‘Lantur! Tell them to play louder. I will not be disturbed by weather noises, for I am mightier, more powerful than storms! These fools must play louder. The storm stopped me sleeping, so they must outplay it. That is my command!’

  The Marlfox, Lantur, strode back to the musicians, who had already heard the order. Nevertheless, she repeated it in the imperious tone of one used to commanding others.

  ‘The High Queen Silth decrees that you play louder. If you disobey the royal word you will all answer to the Teeth of the Deeps. Play louder! You there, bring the Chanters so they may add to the music by singing the High Queen’s praises!’

  More water rats were quickly brought to join the band. At a nod from Lantur the procession continued, the Chanters droning along in time with the musicians.

  ‘All powerful mighty Queen, whose beauty has ne’er been surpassed,

  Far brighter than the sun, whose rays it will outlast,

  We live to serve you truly, until our final breath,

  Knowing you hold all secrets, the power of life and death,

  Wisest of wise, greatness sublime,

  Rules o’er our isle for all time.’

  Rats with incense burners scurried ahead of the bearers, wafting sweet smoke into the air so that it would drift down between the curtains. Lantur drew close to the palanquin and spoke in a comforting, wheedling tone. ‘You see, O Queen, whatever your heart desires is yours.’

  The harsh rasping voice came back to her, childish and complaining. ‘I cannot bear not to be surrounded by beauty and calm. Oh, my head hurts with the noise of the thunder, lightning flashes through my brain! Tell them to play louder, Lantur. Louder!’

  The Marlfox smiled as she bowed low. She resembled the four who had accosted Janglur Swifteye and the Noonvale Companions, but was slightly smaller, and finer-featured in a sinister way. Silkily, she said, ‘Your wish is my command, All Powerful One!’

  Outside Castle Marl the storm raged on, oblivious of the pathetic sounds from within as they strove to drown out the greatest sound of all: the power of the weather, combined with the forces of nature.

  Below, in the rear courtyard, lines of manacled slavebeasts, squirrels, otters, hedgehogs and mice, stood with weary heads bowed in the downpour, waiting for the barred pens to be unlocked. The sadistic Slave Captain, the water rat Ullig, lounged under the protruding roof shelter, jangling a bunch of keys at his belt.

  ‘So then, me lucky lot, yore gettin’ off easy today. Darkness arrived early ’cos o’ the storm an’ I ain’t standin’ out in the fields gettin’ drenched. But you’ll work twice as hard tomorrer, or you’ll feel my whip around yore backs!’ Shrugging his heavy cloak closer about him, Ullig smiled wickedly at the tired, saturated slaves. ‘Ain’t that right? Come on, let’s ’ear yer. Speak up!’

  The wretched beasts were forced to call out in a chorus, ‘Aye, right, Cap’n!’

  Ullig tossed the bunch of keys to a water rat guard. ‘You, open up an’ get ’em under cover till dawn.’

  Shuffling through the deepening puddles, the slaves crowded into the pens, throwing themselves down on the damp straw bedding, grateful to be under cover. Locking the pens, the guard returned the keys to Ullig. Two more guards staggered from the barracks nearby, carrying between them a cauldron of boiled maize porridge, which they placed close to the bars. Ullig watched the slaves thrusting their paws through and scooping the rapidly cooling mess into their mouths. He shook his head at the pitiful sight. ‘I’m far too kind t’you lot. Must be gettin’ soft with me long seasons.’ Laughing to himself, he strode off to the cover of the barracks, where a warm fire and good food awaited him.

  Song slept heavily. It was long past dawn when the young shrew called Dippler flicked rainwater at her head.

  ‘Come on, dozychops, wake up or you’ll snore until autumn!’

  The squirrelmaid had chummed up with the Guosim shrew, who was roughly her own age, on the previous evening. Now Song opened one eye and lay unmoving as she threatened her newfound friend.

  ‘You’ve just done three things that really annoy me. One, you flicked water on me while I was asleep. Two, you called me dozychops. Worst of all, though, is number three. You said I snore. For that, my friend, you’re going to take an early bath in the stream!’

  Leaping up, she dashed after Dippler, who was very agile and could duck and dodge with ease. They flew past Janglur and Log a Log, showering them with the wet banksand churned up by their paws.

  ‘Aye aye, steady on there, you young rowdies!’ The shrew Chieftain shook sand off himself, grinning at Janglur. ‘Wish I had the energy o’ them two. ’Tis good that your Song’s palled up with Di
ppler. That young ’un ain’t got many friends. He was the one doin’ guard duty when our boats went missin’.’

  Janglur dodged smartly aside as the pair chased by him again. ‘Well, he won’t go far wrong with Song. She’s a good ’un, mate, an’ she don’t make friends lightly.’

  Song and Dippler dodged about a bit more on the bank, then flopped down on the ground grinning at each other. Dippler held up a paw, panting fitfully. ‘Truce?’

  Song nodded. ‘Truce it is. Look, the rain’s almost stopped!’

  Last night’s high wind was gone and the downpour had slacked off to a fine drizzle, though the skies were still slatey grey. Log a Log called out to his shrews, ‘Break camp, mates, grub’s all gone. We’ll be headin’ fer Redwall in comp’ny with Swifteye an’ his family. Mayon, Bargle, stick with Gran’ma Ellayo, an’ lend ’er a paw. Fenno, douse the fire. Splikker, take two scouts an’ march ahead of us. Bit o’ luck an’ we should make the Abbey sometime in the late noon.’

  The woodlands dripped water all morning as the party followed a trail left by Splikker and his scouts. Song and Dippler walked slightly ahead of the main group. Suddenly, a big otter emerged from the trees and approached Log a Log.

  The shrew scarcely gave him a glance. ‘Mornin’, Skip.’

  The big otter returned the greeting noncommittally. ‘Mornin’, Log.’

  Log a Log nudged Janglur. ‘This’s Skipper of otters. Skip, meet Janglur Swifteye. We’re goin’ to Redwall.’

  Janglur nodded at Skipper, who winked back in reply.

  ‘So’m I, matey. Me an’ the crew went over the waterfalls, three days from ’ere, ’cos of the hot dry weather. Huh! Hot’n’dry? Never expected this liddle lot. Any’ow, I’ve left the crew at the falls havin’ fun. I decided to drop back this way an’ see if everythin’ was shipshape over at the Abbey after the storm. Where’s yore boats, mate? ‘Tisn’t like the Guosim to be hoofin’ it through the woods.’

  Log a Log rolled his eyes skyward, making light of his misfortune. ‘Oh, we lent ’em to a crowd o’ water rats an’ a couple o’ Marlfoxes. Don’t worry, though, we’ll get ’em back an’ make those vermin pay for the hire of six good logboats, take my word for it!’