Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  A huge, bushy, brown-furred mouselike creature popped up in front of them and began chattering in a shrill voice. ‘Ah yiss yiss, it could be them, though t’be shore ’tis not. Why, it’s only ourselves an’ we’re not them, unless by them y’mean us, an’ if ’tis ourselves yer after, then we’re them yiss yiss!’

  The three friends were taken aback. Dann was first to recover. Menacing the creature with his sword, he backed it up to a tree, only to have Dippler jump in and place himself between them. ‘Leave ’im alone, mate. ’Tis a watervole. They’re friendly!’ The shrew held both paws out and wiggled his nose in a strange greeting to the newcomer. Grinning cheerily, the watervole returned the salute and continued chattering.

  ‘Oh yiss yiss, an’ you’ll be one o’ the Guosim, knew it as soon as I saw yer spiky little ’ead. Up’n’down, up’n’down this river yore tribe used to go alla time, oh yiss yiss. Don’t see many Guosim these seasons though, no no, river’s too fast for shrews I think. Whoo! Aren’t I the terrible one fer gabbin’ though. Yiss yiss, y’can spit in the river an’ not make much difference to it, that’s wot I always say. Yiss yiss!’

  Dippler thrust his chin out aggressively at the watervole. ‘Who d’ye think yore talkin’ to, bush’ead? No river’s too fast for a Guosim shrew, an’ we should know ’cos we’ve sailed ’em all!’

  Still grinning, the vole rattled on. ‘Ah well yiss yiss, I see what y’mean, so I do, an’ yer a fine figure of a shrew so y’are an’ I take back any lie I uttered about yer, yiss yiss, so I do, ’cos an egg in a duck’s belly is neither under nor over the water an’ that’s a fact so ’tis, yiss yiss . . .’ All through his ceaseless babble, the watervole’s eyes were fixed greedily on Song’s greenstone stick. He was making her uncomfortable, so she quickly hid it behind her back.

  ‘Excuse me, but could I fit in a word sideways? I’m Song, this is Dann and the shrew’s Dippler. We’re just looking for someplace to eat and spend the night. We don’t wish to stand here and be talked to death, if you’ll forgive my saying so.’

  Springing forward, the watervole began shaking Song’s paw vigorously. ‘Oh yiss yiss, yer well forgiven, missie. I’m called Burble. Me muther had a sense o’ humour, y’see, yiss yiss. Food’n’rest, is that all y’ll be needin’? Well, foller me, the Riverheads can supply that, y’can be sure as an onion’s a sour apple with too many coats, yiss yiss!’

  Song had great difficulty extricating her paw from Burble’s ceaseless pawshaking, but the moment she did the vole shot off like an arrow. They had to follow him at a headlong run.

  Why they could only see the firelight’s glow soon became clear. It emanated from a great cave hewn deep into the riverbank slightly above water level. Burble bowed to them as they stood panting outside.

  ‘Ah yiss yiss, ’tis only an ould bit of a hole, but ’tis home to me an’ has been to my father an’ his father before him an’ his father before him an’ his father before him and his mmffff!’

  A big old grey-furred watervole had come out and clamped a paw over Burble’s mouth. He nodded at the newcomers. ‘Y’know, sometimes us Riverheads say that the river’ll stop babblin’ before young Burble does. Do you all come in now, an’ welcome!’

  Inside the cave, there were upward of twelve or more watervoles seated round an enormous fire eating bowls of stew. The old one called to them. ‘Our Burble’s brought some travellers for a bite o’ supper, so he has.’

  A fat, motherly-looking vole in a woven rush apron bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yiss yiss, so he has, sit ye down an’ a thousand welcomes to ye!’

  Song touched the greenstick to her forehead in a salute. ‘And a thousand thanks for your kindness, marm!’

  Suddenly all the watervoles threw themselves face down. Paws outstretched, they set up a wailing din.

  ‘Whooooaaaah! Gorramahooogly! D’Leafwood! D’Leafwood!’

  ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  Dann looked perplexed at the prostrate Riverhead tribe. ‘I don’t think so, Song. Wonder what a Leafwood is?’

  Burble was only too willing to explain. ‘Do ye not know what a Leafwood is? Ah ’tis a wunnerful thing, yiss yiss, so ’tis. D’Leafwood is carried only by the highest Chiefs an’ greatest vole Warriors who live on the waters. Dippler, yore a water creature, shame on yer for not knowin’ of the marvellous Leafwood. Why, meself has known of it since I was born, an’ my father an’ his father before him an’ his father before him an’ . . .’

  Burble caught the look in Song’s eye as she raised her Leafwood. He went silent with a meek grin, but only after having the last word. ‘An’ so on an’ so on!’

  The old grey watervole’s voice trembled as he addressed Song. ‘Ah, a Leafwood could surely make the Riverhead tribe famed an’ feared by all. We would give anythin’ to be ownin’ such a marvellous thing.’

  The young squirrel’s reply was instant. ‘I would trade it for a good boat, sir.’

  The old one’s face lit up with joy. ‘Now isn’t that a wonderful thing t’be sayin’, for ’tis meself who owns the greatest boat ever t’sail on water!’

  Dippler gave Song a warning glance, then stepped in to take charge of the trade himself. ‘Let’s take a look at yore boat first, sir. No offence given, I hope.’

  The grey vole’s stomach wobbled as he chuckled. ‘Yiss yiss, an’ none taken I’m sure, for who better t’look at a vessel than the grand Guosim himself? Foller me, young travellers.’

  Taking them out on to the bank, he passed a lantern to Dann. ‘Here now, great sword-bearer, hold on to that whilst I show y’me boat.’

  Pulling aside clumps of bog willow and saxifrage, the oldster heaved forth a type of oblong coracle, fashioned from osier boughs covered with rowan bark and held together by layers of pine resin. He tapped a paw alongside his snout, winking slyly. ‘Never leave boats moored out on water for allbeasts t’see, like the dreaded ould Marlfox an’ his water rats who passed here t’day. Oh yiss yiss, it pays to keep yer boats hidden!’

  Song glanced down the fast nightdark river reaches. ‘So, they passed here. Where d’you think they went, sir?’

  The oldster scratched his chubby cheeks and shrugged. ‘Hah! They could’ve bin sailin’ t’the moon for all I know, missie. Well, Guosim, wot d’ye think of me boat? A splendid craft, eh?’

  Dippler had been inspecting the vessel, and now he said, ‘Oh, it’s not bad. Not good, but not bad, but seen too many seasons’ service on this river for my likin’, sir. Ah, here we are! This’s the boat fer us. My friend’ll trade the Leafwood for this ’un!’

  The young shrew dragged forth another vessel, far newer than the first, which shone like a honey globule from the many coats of pine resin which had been melted down and applied to its sleek sides. Unlike the other, this craft had a proper pointed bow and butted stern, and patterns and symbols had been painted beneath the resin with coloured dyes, giving it the look of a very special boat. The old water vole shook his head and waved his paws furiously.

  ‘Ah no, ah no, y’can’t be havin’ dat one, sure an’ ’tis never the sort o’ boat you’d be goin’ after Marlfoxes with. No, me bold Guosim, I’m afraid I can’t be lettin’ y’have that one!’

  Song twirled the Leafwood idly. Lantern light gleamed off the round, shiny green stone implanted at its end. She nodded to Dann and Dippler, and all three sauntered off, Dippler smiling back regretfully at the grey watervole. ‘Pity. We’ll just have to trade the Leafwood with some other tribe.’

  The vole dodged in front of them, hopping back and forth to stop them wandering off. ‘Whoa now, young buckoes, I’ve got other boats y’know, yiss yiss, good ones too, let me show yer them!’

  Song shook her head. Feigning boredom, she wagged the Leafwood under the old vole’s nose. ‘No, I’m sorry, sir, no other boat will do. That’s the one for us, same as this Leafwood is the thing you want. Here, hold it.’

  The vole took hold of the object reverently, convetousness shining in his eyes at the symbol of power. Song judge
d the moment right.

  ‘Now, d’you want to give it back to me so that when we’re gone you’ll never see it again? You look to me like a skilled creature, well able to build a boat, probably far finer than that one. What’s it to be?’

  The grey watervole looked from the Leafwood to the boat, from the boat to the Leafwood and repeated the performance. ‘Ah, singe me whiskers an’ sink me tail . . . ’Tis a bargain done!’ He threw banksoil in the air, stamped his footpaw down thrice and spat on his outstretched right paw. Spitting on their paws, the three friends shook heartily with him. He grinned ruefully.

  ‘A true trade, though you do strike a turrible hard bargain, yiss yiss. That’s a Riverhead Volechief’s boat y’ve got there. Light as a feather, true as an arrow, an’ faster than a brown trout, there’s not a craft on any water that can keep up wid it, let alone try t’beat it. ’Tis sorry I am to part with yonder vessel!’

  Dann whacked him heartily on the back. ‘But now you own the Leafwood, sir, the power is all yours!’

  The vole did a little jig of delight. ‘Yiss yiss, so I do. Every good trade calls for a Comallyeh. So here goes.’ He raised his head and called in a loud piercing yell, ‘Comallyeeeeeeeh!’

  Startled, the three companions jumped back, as watervoles materialized from seemingly everywhere, all crying aloud, ‘Comallyeeeeeeh!’

  Dippler took their haversacks and tossed them into the boat. ‘Looks like we’re invited to some kind o’ celebration, pals!’

  Later, the big cave on the bank was packed tight with watervoles, nearly every one of them holding either a little fiddle or a small pawdrum. Song and her friends sat by the fire spooning down thick delicious riverstew comprising cress, watershrimp, turnip, carrot, mushrooms and several other vegetables and herbs which they could not identify. Voles made sure that their beakers of honey and blackberry cordial were never empty. Soon every paw in the place was tapping to a lively jig, well played and heartily sung by the Riverhead tribe.

  ‘Oh there’s some fools take a bath each day,

  By rollin’ in the mornin’ dew,

  An’ others who won’t wash at all,

  But that ain’t me nor you.

  Othersome take dry dust baths,

  An’ reckon that they’re clean,

  But if a watervole you be,

  Well you know wot I mean.

  Hoho, yiss yiss, ho hooooooo!

  Don’t sit’n’shiver beside the river,

  Dive right in with a splosh,

  Grab hold of a good ole soapwort root,

  An’ give yoreself a wash.

  Scrub hard scrub soft scrub lively, mate,

  Good health you’ll never lack,

  An’ if yore paws can’t reach around,

  A fish’ll scrub yore back.

  Hoho, yiss yiss, ho hoooooo!’

  The ditty finished amid great merriment, with the old watervole acting as master of ceremonies, pointing the Leafwood at the three. ’C’mon now, travellers, sing for yore supper!’

  Dann flushed with embarrassment. ‘Singin’ isn’t a thing I do best. You have a go, Song.’

  Dippler helped himself to another bowl of stew. ‘Aye, yore a good singer, missie. If they ’ear my voice that ole feller’s liable to cancel the bargain.’

  Song stood up and called out to the musicians, ‘D’you know the one called “Green Rushes an’ Lilies so pale”?’

  Several of the old volewives threw their rush aprons up over their faces, calling out warnings to the pretty young squirrel.

  ‘Ah sure, don’t try it, missie, ’tis too fast!’

  ‘They’ll leave yer verses behind, pretty maid, watervoles play speedy!’

  Song took a sip of cordial to wet her lips. ‘Oh, they will, will they? Well, let’s see ’em try. Ready, one, two, three!’

  Watervole fiddles and drums started the music at a cracking pace. But Song was right up there with them, her sweet voice ringing out.

  ‘Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

  Pray sit ye down friend now an’ list’ to my tale,

  For the rivers flow fast an’ the mountains are tall,

  An’ across the wide moorlands the curlews do call,

  Dirry wallaker williker doddle rum day!

  Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

  Bring me bread’n’cheese an’ some dandelion ale,

  An’ light up a fire now to warm my cold paws,

  I’ll sit here all winter till that river thaws,

  Skither riddle aye fiddle aye rumbletum hey!

  Green rushes green rushes an’ lilies so pale,

  I’ve travelled so far over valley an’ dale,

  Stale bread’n’hard cheese an’ the ale isn’t here,

  An’ the fire isn’t lit so ’tis goodbye, me dear.

  Rowtle dowtle rye tootle I go on me way!

  Green rushes pale lilies I’ll bid ye good day!

  For where I’m not welcome I never would stay!

  An’ to all you musicians I’d just like to say,

  If I’ve sung out too fast yore indulgence I pray!’

  Amid wild cheers and resounding whoops, Song was carried shoulder high around the cave. An old volewife shook a ladle at the pawsore, panting musicians, some of whom had stowed their fiddles and drums away, having been left far behind by the final verse, with Song completing the last four lines unaccompanied. The volewife cackled.

  ‘Haharr, you lot’d better learn t’play proper, yiss yiss. The squirrelmaid sang the paws off’n yer, right sweet and clear too!’

  Burble raised his beaker aloft: ‘Yiss yiss, let’s drink the ’ealth of the best bargainer an’ finest singer, the bravest lookin’ sword-bearer an’ the starvin’est Guosim ever t’come inside Riverhead Cave. Good luck an’ fine fortune be theirs wherever they travel. Yiss yiss?’

  The watervoles raised their drinks and roared out, ‘Yiss yiss! Yiss yiss!’

  Dippler licked the rim of his bowl. ‘Any more o’ that stew left, matey? No point in lettin’ it go t’waste!’

  Mokkan lay back in the stern of the logboat, trailing a paw in the water as he issued orders. ‘Ship those oars an’ let her drift, an’ pass some vittles back there. Fenno, my friend, keep our boat out in the middle, away from the banks.’

  The shrew sobbed miserably as he manoeuvred a paddle oar in the stern behind the Marlfox. ‘This noose is stranglin’ me. I can ’ardly keep me eyes open, sir.’

  Stern-faced, Mokkan tested the double-headed axe blade on his paw. ‘You’d better keep your eyes open, shrew, or I’ll shut them for good!’

  The logboat drifted on into the calm summer night.

  * * *

  17

  A luminous white figure, with black pits for eyes and a gaping bloodstained mouth, drifted spectrally around the bedchamber of the High Queen Silth. Its voice seemed to come from afar, like the spirit of one lost upon a dark and distant shore.

  ‘Siiiilth! I see you, I hear you, I will not rest until you are dead. Die, Siiiiilth!’

  From within the curtained palanquin, which served her every purpose, Queen Silth’s voice screeched hoarse with terror. ‘Go away! Leave me in peace, White Ghost! Guards! Guards!’

  Immediately the bedchamber door started to open, the figure vanished upward. Water rat guards bearing torches dashed into the already brightly lit room. Obediently, they searched every corner as the Queen ranted on. ‘It was here again, the White Ghost! Where’s my daughter Lantur? I want her here right now! Lantur, Lantur!’

  In the room directly overhead, the vixen Lantur hauled up a sheet through the wide floorboard joints. It was heavily flecked with fish scales to make it appear luminous, with black charcoal and red dye marking out the face. Folding the sheet carefully, Lantur stowed it in a corner cupboard. The vixen replaced some loose boards in the cupboard’s bottom, but before doing so she directed a final spine-chilling moan into the bottom section, which connected with a similar cupboard in the Queen’s bedchamber be
low.

  ‘Ooooohhhhuuuuurrrrrhhhhh!’

  Closing the cupboard carefully, Lantur listened to the commotion set up by her mother as it echoed upwards.

  ‘There it goes again! I told you, fools, the White Ghost has been in this room, not a moment back. Find it! Lantur! I want Lantur!’

  A moment later the vixen strolled calmly into the Queen’s bedchamber. She dismissed the guards, who were only too glad to get out of Silth’s presence. ‘Now what is it, Mother? Bad dreams again?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that. How can I have dreams if I don’t sleep? The White Ghost was here again, just before you came in.’

  ‘If you say so, Mother.’

  ‘I am Queen here, you will address me as Queen! It was here, I saw it through the gauze curtain. You don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘O Queen, if you say it was here then it must have been. But where is it now? Why does nobeast save yourself see this White Ghost?’

  ‘I don’t know! Do you?’

  ‘Perhaps, O Queen, it is something from your memory, some enemy you slew long seasons ago, a restless spirit coming back for vengeance upon its killer . . .’ Lantur narrowly dodged a drinking chalice that was hurled out at her from between the curtains. Silth’s voice was shrill with rage.

  ‘Get out! Out! I won’t have you talking to me like that!’ The vixen bowed and turned to go. Silth subdued her voice to a whine. ‘No, stay with me, daughter, stay. I fear being alone here. This room is far too ugly. It needs more light, more beautiful things in it.’

  Lantur bowed again and continued towards the door. ‘I will stay, Majesty. With me you need have no fear. Wait while I dismiss those fools who are supposed to be guarding your door.’

  Lantur stepped outside and dismissed the guards. When they had gone she tapped lightly on the far wall. A female water rat emerged from the shadows of the upper stairs. Lantur nodded at her. ‘Wilce, keep an ear to the floor of my room. When you hear me snore as if I’m asleep, then send down the White Ghost and start moaning. When you hear the Queen scream, pull it back up again.’