The ancient mouse shook his head in despair. ‘Free? There ain’t no such word for a slave. I’ve been on this island so long I’ve forgotten wot free means.’
‘An’ you’ve never seen any slave break free in all that time?’
The old mouse smiled grimly at the young hedgehog who had asked the question. ‘I saw lots o’ slaves break free, like that’n in the corner.’ He pointed to an emaciated vole, lying in a huddle shivering so hard that his chains rattled constantly. Two other slaves were bathing his feverish brow with damp rags. The vole’s eyes rolled wildly, and he whimpered and coughed as another tried to force water between his trembling lips. The old mouse nodded knowingly as he explained to the hedgehog maid, ‘That pore beast’ll be free afore dawn – dead free. That’s the only way you’ll leave the Marlfoxes an’ Slave Cap’ns an’ this island, matey, tail first!’
* * *
9
Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop walked along the west walltop, calling out for Dwopple at the top of his voice. They had searched all morning but not a trace of the little one could be found. Stopping briefly at the threshold over the main gate, the hare breathed deeply. Despite his constant chastisement of the mousebabe, he was secretly very fond of him. He did not notice the Marlfox emerge from the ditch until the creature hailed him.
‘Hey, rabbit!’
Florian stared regally down his nose at the Marlfox. ‘Huh! Rabbit y’self, you speckled scrap o’ jetsam. I’d come down there an’ drub some manners into y’hide if I had me bally stick with me, wot. Count y’self lucky, measle-features!’
Rusvul, who had just emerged from the gatehouse, heard Florian’s voice and called up to him. ‘Hi there, mister Florian, who are ye talkin’ to, yoreself?’
The hare was in no mood to be bandied with. ‘M’self? Pish tush, sah, never! Actually I’m exchangin’ insults with one of those Marlfox types down on the path, doncha know.’
Rusvul dashed off, roaring at the top of his lungs, ‘Marlfox out on the path! Marlfox outside the gate!’
The Abbey bells boomed out an alarm. In a short time most of Redwall was atop the wall, armed with anything that came to paw: ladles, shovels, curtain poles and sundry everyday implements. Mokkan the Marlfox leader backed off to the ditch edge on the path’s far side, ready to flee if things got more dangerous. Cregga’s voice was low and menacing, but quite clear as the exchange took place.
‘You’ve got a mousebabe, one of our young ’uns.’
‘Aye, that’s right, had him since yesterday noon.’
‘Clever of you, and now you’ve come to bargain. What do you want?’
‘Oh, I don’t know yet. What’ve you got in there? A rich Abbey like yours, should be something valuable enough to save a life.’
‘We do not hoard treasure at Redwall. If you need victuals we can give you a supply of the best food prepared anywhere.’
Mokkan shook his head, almost pityingly at the simple offer. ‘No, no, food doesn’t interest us, there’s plenty in Mossflower. Let me gather my brothers and sisters, we’ll come into your Abbey and take a look around. I’ll wager Marlfoxes could find something of value as a ransom for your babe.’
Skipper of otters wiggled a paw in one ear. ‘Did I ’ear that right? You want t’bring a pack o’ your kind inside Redwall an’ take a root about? Lissen, snotnose, ’tis only the grass that’s green round ’ere, not the Abbeybeasts!’
Mokkan drew his axe and tested the blade edge. ‘You have until midnight. After that you won’t see Dwopple again!’
Shouts of indignation rang from the walltops.
‘Don’t you dare touch that Dibbun!’
‘You stinkin’ coward!’
‘Hurr, big bravebeast loik ee, slayin’ liddle ’uns, you’m nought but sloim’n’mud!’
‘Harm not my precious mite, sir, I beg you. Take my life instead!’
‘For shame! You, sir, are nought but a scum-wallower!’
Janglur Swifteye held up his paws for silence. ‘Save yore breath, friends. ‘Tis wasted on the likes of that ’un. Lissen, fox, we’ll meet you at the southwest corner of this wall at midnight. I’ll see these Redwallers bring lots o’ pretty things to trade for Dwopple. Agreed?’
Mokkan smiled up at the squirrel. ‘I’m glad there’s one creature at Redwall with a bit of sense. I accept your offer, squirrel, but make sure whoever comes is unarmed. One false trick will cost the mousebabe his life!’
As the Marlfox vanished into the ditch the Abbey gates burst open. Log a Log and his Guosim shrews came pouring out, rapiers drawn. They leapt into the ditch, but there was not a trace of the Marlfox. Rusvul patted the shrew’s back as he returned through the gate. ‘Tough luck, matey. You was just a smidgen too slow there.’
The shrew Chieftain sheathed his rapier and helped to bar the gate. ‘The fox just disappeared. Vanished.’
Rusvul snorted. ‘They ain’t magic. I know ’cos I pierced one of ’em through the shoulder with my javelin. Hah! That’n didn’t look too magic, scrabblin’ off on all fours!’
Janglur bounded down the wallsteps. ‘Let’s go to Cavern Hole. I’ve got a plan!’
Rusvul called Dann, Song and Dippler to him. ‘Right, ’tis about time you three started to grow up a bit. I’ve got a meetin’ with Janglur an’ the others in Cavern Hole, so that means we need to mount a guard on the ramparts, in case Marlfoxes or water rats come back. How d’you feel about some sentry duty?’
The three friends were proud to accept. Dann spoke for them. ‘You can trust us, we won’t let Redwall down!’
Rusvul nodded approvingly at his son. ‘Spoken like a Reguba! See what ole Butty has at the gatehouse in the way of weaponry an’ arm yoreselves. Keep a sharp eye on the woodlands an’ don’t be afraid to yell for help if’n you needs it.’
In the gatehouse, Friar Butty was poring through old record books. He indicated a long, narrow corner cupboard. ‘There’s weapons in there, I think, though they’ve not seen the light o’ day in many a season. Help yourselves. Personally, I could have done with your assistance in my researches, but if you three are needed on the walltops then so be it. I’ll come up and let you know if I discover anything about the Marlfoxes or their hidden island.’
Hardly a breeze stirred the treetops of Mossflower Wood. Grasshoppers chirruped and butterflies winged placidly in the shimmering midday heat on the western plains and flatlands. Beneath Dann’s footpaws the broad sandstone walkway was pleasantly warm as he paced back to the threshold from the east walltop. The young squirrel had outfitted himself with a long spear and a dented copper helmet, which he had dusted off and polished. Song had found something that fitted her paw as if it were made for her: a short solid stick, with a ball of green stone mounted on one end. She twirled it skilfully, feeling its balance as she returned from her patrol of the south battlements. Dippler was waiting at the threshold for them. The young shrew looked comical. He had found a chainmail tunic and a crested helmet complete with visor, and was practically staggering under their weight. Beside his shrew rapier Dippler carried an immense halberd, the heavy long-poled weapon which is both spear and battleaxe combined. He threw up a clanking salute at his friends. ‘Anythin’ to report, mates?’
Dann took off his helmet and mopped his brow. ‘Whew! All I’ve got t’report is that ’tis roastin’ under this helmet. Aren’t you hot under that lot, Dipp?’
Dippler was, but he would not admit it. ‘Oh no, matey, I’m just fine, fine!’
Song could not resist laughing at the small overdressed shrew. ‘Hahaha! There’s a little cloud o’ steam comin’ from under your helmet, Dipp. Are you cookin’ a stew in there?’
Dann joined in the laughter. Dippler gave them both a haughty glare from beneath his rusty visor and clanked off, calling back, ‘Laugh all y’like, outfits like this’n have saved many a warrior’s life. Hi! Who goes there, friend or foebeast?’
Sister Sloey clambered up the gatehouse wallsteps, lugging a basket covered with a white clot
h. She snorted at the challenge. ‘Foebeast, indeed! Do I look like a foebeast? Cregga and Brother Melilot decided that you guards had best take lunch up here on the walltops. Here, take this basket, Song, my paws are old’n’tired.’
The three friends felt very grown-up and privileged to have lunch sent out to them as they spread the cloth and laid out the food. Dippler even removed his helmet.
‘Well, this’s the stuff to give the troops. Good ole Melilot! That dandelion an’ burdock cordial looks nice’n’ cool. Pour me a beaker, Dann. Look at this, mushroom’n’celery turnover, leek pasty, apple’n’blackberry crumble an’ a bowl of nutcream. They certainly know ’ow t’feed us wallguards at this Abbey, mates!’
Friar Butty joined them, carrying a big ancient volume. ‘Dearie me, Song, I wish you’d have a word with that grandma of yours. She’s turned my gatehouse into a dormitory, and she and Nutwing have taken to coming there for their afternoon nap. Between them they’ve driven me out with their snoring and snuffling!’
Song poured the old squirrel a beaker of cordial. ‘Never mind, fresh air’s better for you than a dusty old gatehouse, Friar. What’s that book you’ve brought up here?’
The Redwall Recorder opened the volume at a place he had marked. ‘This is a chronicle from the time of Abbess Vale. I couldn’t even begin to guess how many long seasons ago it was written, but it seems that two Redwallers, a squirrel named Samkim and a mole called Arula, actually found the great inland lake and knew of the lost island.’
Dann cut himself a slice of pasty. ‘Is there anything in the book about Marlfoxes?’
Friar Butty flicked a few pages, indicating the state of them. ‘I wouldn’t know, Dann. Somebeast left this volume outdoors and open in the rain during bygone seasons. The chapters that are of interest to us have been ruined by water. Parchment’s flaked and the ink has run – ’tis a real mess.’
Dippler pawed through the spoiled pages. ‘Bit of a shame, Friar mate. So you didn’t find out anythin’?’
Butty stared pensively at the book. ‘Maybe not about the foxes, but I think there’s directions to the lake. Bit of a puzzle, though.’
Song was intrigued. She loved nothing better than solving mysteries. ‘Here, let’s all take a close look at it. We’ve eight sharp eyes and four good brains between us. Friar Butty, get ready with your pen an’ parchment to record whatever we find!’
In Cavern Hole a desperate plan, calling for deception and daring, was being outlined by Janglur Swifteye. The squirrel warrior drew a square on the tabletop with charcoal. ‘This is the outer walls, this mark here’s the main gate. Tonight we meet the foxes and water rats outside at the southwest corner by the path. Make no mistake, mates, they’ll come in force – well armed, too. Show ’em one sign o’ weakness an’ we’ll all be slain!’
Cregga’s blind eyes seemed to stare straight at him. ‘You’re right of course, Janglur. Treachery is the pawmark of foxes and vermin. So what do you propose we do?’
The squirrel’s hooded eyes flicked idly round the table. ‘We take everybeast who can wield a weapon. Remember I said to the fox this mornin’ that we’d bring a selection of valuables to trade for liddle Dwopple. Well, we’ll be carryin’ four or five bundles, though only one’ll contain trinkets. The rest will be bundles of weapons. Me an’ Rusvul will open the bundle o’ trinkets an’ when we gives the word you’ll all pull out the arms an’ attack. Me an’ Rusvul will snatch Dwopple an’ pass ’im to Cregga, she’ll protect ’im. Log a Log, some o’ yore Guosim shrews will be with us, but as soon as it goes dark tonight, I wants you t’take half yore tribe out quiet like. Go straight out onto the flatlands an’ sweep back so that yore well below the Abbey to the south. Then get in the fields an’ woodland fringe. When you see the attack’s started I want you to charge their rear an’ take ’em by surprise.’
Tragglo Cellarhog scratched his headspikes. ‘But why, Janglur? If we get the babe back, wot’s the point o’ fightin’ further? We’d be best gettin’ back inside o’ the Abbey quick an’ safe as possible. Why stay an’ fight with ’em?’
Murmurs of agreement with Tragglo’s reasoning came from all round the table. Janglur sighed and tossed down his charcoal stick. ‘Tell ’em why, Rusvul.’
Rusvul Reguba pounded the tabletop slowly as he spoke, as if driving every word home. ‘Because they’ll slaughter us if we don’t get ’em first! To fight vermin you gotta think the same way they do. If they lose the babe an’ don’t git no ransom fer ’im, then believe me, they won’t just pack up an’ go away. Oh no, mates, they’ll be out fer revenge on Redwall, an’ they won’t rest till they gets it!’
Rusvul’s paw rested on the table. Skipper’s closed over it. ‘He’s right. Take my affidavit on it, mates!’
Cregga Badgermum nodded her huge striped head. ‘It’s a perilous plan, but I trust our warriors. All in favour say aye.’
Every creature in Cavern Hole gave their answer without hesitation.
‘Aye!’
Mokkan had one hundred and ninety water rats and five other Marlfoxes under his command, and he planned to use them well. They sat about on the creek bank as he issued final orders.
‘You all know what to do. Anybeast who does not do it right answers to me. We move out at twilight. Rest now, but see that your weapons are attended to, make sure those blades are sharp and ready to serve the High Queen’s brood. Ascrod, Vannan, which two do you need?’
Ascrod sought out the two they wanted. ‘Dakkle and Beelu, you will accompany me and my sister.’
The two rats in question saluted. Mokkan went and sat next to Gelltor, who was changing the dressing on his shoulder. ‘How goes it with your wound now, brother?’
Gelltor bit his lip as he peeled off a dockleaf which had stuck to the fur around his injury. ‘None the better for your asking!’
Mokkan lay back and closed his eyes, the sunlight making him almost invisible as it dappled leaf patterns down upon his body. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll have your revenge tonight on the Redwallers, a much quicker vengeance than your idea of all-out war.’
* * *
10
Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop had decided that the best thing for creatures going into action was to inspire them with a stirring ballad. Accordingly he kitted himself out in a heroic toga, brandished a floppy sword and glared at his audience ferociously through a monocle with no glass in it. The Redwallers sat about in a semicircle by the Abbey pond, whilst Florian pranced about on the water’s edge and treated them to a rendition of ‘The battle for the final crumpet’. Roop, the mole, accompanied him on a small accordion and Runktipp sang the refrain. Florian scowled savagely at a few tittering Dibbuns as he launched into the opening lines of the song.
‘Oh ’twas on the umpty-ninth of spring,
When a duck blew on a trumpet,
I led me army from behind,
To the battle of the final crumpet.
Some wore boots an’ some wore clogs,
An’ some wore big long faces,
An’ two fat moles fell down with colds,
Before we’d marched ten paces.
At the battle of the final crumpet,
I very near lost me life,
When I got punched upon the nose,
By a big bad hedgehog’s wife.
Then all broke out in mutiny,
When a mouse with a moustache said,
“Lie down me lads afore they charge,
So they’ll all think we’re dead!”
Well there we sat whilst all around,
The spears an’ shafts were thuddin’,
A-drinkin’ goosegog cordial wine,
An’ eatin’ cabbage puddin’.
We finally defeated them,
When the duck tripped on his trumpet,
An’ I got a feather in me cap,
’Cos I ate the final crumpet!’
Florian sang the final two lines whilst waving his sword and dancing energetically backwards for effect. He stumbled on o
ne of his outsized boots and fell into the pond, to riotous applause. Skipper shook tears of helpless mirth from his eyes. ‘Sink me rudder, mates, we’re in fer a lively time if’n that ‘un’s defendin’ the Abbey tonight!’
On the walltop there was great hilarity. Song, Dann and Dippler chuckled aloud, watching the two moles, Roop and Muggle, trying to haul the ungainly hare from the pond. Friar Butty tapped the tattered volume with his quill. ‘Can we get back to our work, please?’
Still smiling, the three friends turned to the parchment the old Recorder had translated from the washed out, inkstained journal of Abbess Vale, a wise creature who had ruled Redwall in the far-off seasons. Dippler was no great scholar, and he stared at the Friar’s neat rows of writing blankly. ‘What does it all mean?’
Friar Butty flicked the pages of the ancient book. ‘As far as I can make out it was written by a squirrel called Samkim in his latter seasons. He must have been a tricky creature, though – he wrote directions to the Great Lake in the form of a riddling rhyme. Listen to this.
‘At the rear of redstone wall,
Find me o’er where breaks the day,
You cannot, shall not walk at all,
Just follow as I run away.
Discover the speechless hidden mouth,
Alas, my friends, our ways part there,
Go down green tunnel, bounden south,
Through trees with blossoms in their hair.
Then when the sky shows blue and light,
And clear down to the bed you gaze,
Be not deceived by rainbows bright,
Beware tall stones and misted haze.
Leaping boiling, stealing breath,
None can stand against this might,
Which sweeps the traveller down to death,
In caves of grim eternal night.
And should you live to seek the lake,
Watch for the fish of blue and grey,
Marlfox (Redwall) Page 10
