Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Dann made a pillow of his haversack and lay back. ‘Great seasons, but ’tis warm hereabouts, heavy like. Ah well, if we must wait here till the coast’s clear I’m goin’ to get a bit of shut-eye. See if you can’t keep yore debatin’ down to a dull roar, will you, mates.’

  Dippler tossed an apple core into the water. ‘Good idea, Dann, but don’t snore, it keeps me awake.’

  Song flicked a drop of cordial at the young shrew. ‘Listen who’s talking, the champion snorer of Redwall!’

  Dippler opened one eye, murmuring sleepily, ‘Oh, spare me, missie, I’m only a Dibbun compared to you at snorin’!’

  Before another half hour had passed, all four were curled up on the mossy bank, deep in slumber and snoring gently.

  Raventail and his band of roving ferrets watched the four sleepers from their position behind the fallen trees across the inlet. Peering slit-eyed between a gap in the rotten trunks, Raventail slowly drew his scimitar, smiling wickedly at the scruffy rabble surrounding him. ‘Kye arr, brethren. Don’ta dose lukky peaceladen a-lyin’ dere? Crool crool shame ’twould be to wakeyup dem, dey on’y be younger beasters. Crool crool shame mesay!’

  One of the ferrets slid a long knife from a sling at his back. ‘Nono needter wakeyup dem. I makem sleeplong f’ever!’

  Raventail’s scimitar tip pricked the speaker’s narrow neck. ‘You do dat on’y when Raventail say so. Kye arr, I wanna much much fun wid younger beasters ‘fore theybe deathstill!’

  * * *

  18

  Brother Melilot and Gubbio Foremole had decided, war or no war, they were going to prepare the traditional Redwall Midsummer Feast. What else could fire their tired spirits? Their only problem was that Dwopple, Blinny, Wugger and several other rascally Dibbuns saw no reason why they should not help with the preparations. Foremole put the finishing touches to a great hazelnut and elderberry pudding he was creating, crimping the edges round the basin top with a fork. Brushing the pastry with a mixture of greensap milk and honey, the mole twitched his button nose with pride.

  ‘Yrr, lukkit ee pudden, Bruther. Ee’m be a foine-lukkin’ beast!’

  Melilot left off preparing his apple and strawberry crumble to admire the mole’s delicious-looking pudding. ‘It certainly is a beauty, friend. You’d best light the back oven to cook one that size. There’s plenty of wood and charcoal in the burner, just put a light to it.’

  Gubbio lit a taper off a candle, shuffled across to the oven and poked the light underneath. It went out. He lit the taper and tried a second time. Still the light went out. Grumbling to himself, the mole lit the taper from the candle again. ‘Hurr, they’m bain’t makin’ ee taperers loike they’m used to, burr no!’ When he poked the lighted taper beneath the oven a third time, Foremole distinctly heard the puff of air, accompanied by a giggle. Throwing open the oven door he confronted the Dibbuns seated inside. ‘Gudd job oi never loighted ee oven, lest we’d be ’aven baked Dibbuns furr ee party, hurr hurr!’

  The mousebabe Dwopple dismissed Foremole with a wave of his paw. ‘Go ’way, moley. Us’n’s be’s livin’ in ’ere now. G’way!’

  Brother Melilot came to his friend’s aid, a big oven paddle in one paw. ‘And what pray are you Dibbuns doing inside our oven?’

  Dwopple wagged a small mixing spoon under the good Brother’s nose. ‘We maken a shrimberry pie. Don’t asturb us, it very dissifult!’

  Without another word, Foremole and Melilot exchanged glances. Between them they pushed the big wooden loaf paddle beneath the busy Dibbuns and slid them out on to the floor, bowl, mixture and all. Melilot sorted indignant Abbeybabes out from the ingredients. ‘What’s this? Dried watershrimp, blackcurrants, hotroot pepper, pears and radishes? You can’t make a pie with that lot!’

  The molebabe, Blinny, glared at him challengingly. ‘Who’m sez uz can’t? We’m h’inventerers, makin’ et furr ee Skipper!’

  Foremole advanced on them with a long baton loaf. ‘Ruffians! Rarscals! Out, afore oi makes ee into a sangwich!’

  The Dibbuns fled, hurling dire threats at both cooks. Rimrose and Ellayo passed them as they dashed from the kitchens. Rimrose shook her head, smiling as she watched the tiny figures scurry off.

  ‘I remember when my liddle Songbreeze was like them. What a pawful that ’un was, I can tell ye!’

  Brother Melilot bowed to them both. ‘Ladies, we can always use some extra help down here. Would you be willing to aid us with Redwall’s Midsummer Feast?’

  Rimrose returned the bow with a pretty curtsey. ‘That’s what we came for, Brother. I was thinking of making a cheese and celery flan with sage and parsley trimming. My mother is very good at baking blueberry and almond turnovers. Oh my goodness, what’s all this mess?’

  Melilot threw up his paws in despair. ‘Those wretched babes were inventing a pie with it, for Skipper.’

  A slow smile crept across the face of Grandma Ellayo. ‘Hmm, mebbe we’ll finish the job an’ serve it up t’that great lump of an otter. He’s always puttin’ ideas into the young ’uns’ ’eads. ’Twill serve ’im right if’n y’ask me!’

  Out on the south wall, Skipper was scanning the woodlands, in company with Janglur and Rusvul.

  ‘Haharr, ’tis too quiet, mates. I don’t like it, they’re up to somethin’. I’d take me affidavit on that!’

  Janglur twirled his sling idly, the longbow resting at his side. ‘All’s we can do is t’keep our eyes peeled, Skip. Ahoy, mister Florian, how’re things over yore side?’

  The Noonvale hare was guarding the east wall centre with Borrakul, both of them crouching down behind the battlements. When he heard the squirrel hailing him, Florian beckoned the three comrades over with a silent wave. Curious to know what was going on, they hastened across.

  ‘Keep your heads down, you chaps,’ Florian whispered. ‘We’ve hit on a super wheeze. See this long pole? My troupe use it for their tightrope-walkin’ act. Now pay attention. As y’see, me’n’the sturdy Borrakul have tied this dagger to one end. Matter o’ fact, we’ve just finished sharpenin’ the jolly old knife on the battlements. Feel that edge an’ tell me what y’think.’

  Skipper tested the blade, pulling his paw away and sucking it. ‘Phwaw! That’s wot I calls sharp, matey. Wot’s the game?’

  With a nod Florian indicated an unusually tall ash, growing not far from the wall. It was a huge, stately tree. ‘See that ash? No, don’t gawp an’ stare like frogs at a fry-up! Merely take a peepette, quickly. Good. Now what did y’see?’

  A peepette, as Florian called it, was all that the sharp eyes of Janglur needed. The squirrel saw it right away. ‘There’s a rope tied up there near the top!’

  The lanky hare chuckled. ‘Well done that squirrel! Let me tell you, I’ve been watching that since mid-mornin’. Blinkin’ water rat climbed up an’ tied the rope there. Hawhawhaw! Confounded oaf was slippin’ an trippin’. Took the blighter an absolute age to get the bally rope fastened in those top branches. Now they’ve led it off, back a few trees. Good job you chaps’ve got me on your side, wot! I’ve twigged the whole blinkin’ plan, of course – didn’t take long for a great mind like mine. Now, lay low an’ watch like good chaps. Wait for the fun t’start, wot!’

  Three trees back, a rat named Stukkfur perched on the highest limb of an elm. Gelltor and Ascrod stood gripping the heavier branches below him. Gelltor called up to the water rat in a loud whisper. ‘Is the top of the wall empty, nobeasts there?’

  Stukkfur raised himself on tip-paw. He had a good head for heights. ‘None that I can see, sire, though there’s one or two shrews over on the west wall, but they’re facin’ the open ground in front.’

  The Marlfox hissed impatiently. ‘I’m not concerned with the west wall as long as the east wall is clear and empty. Can you see your way clear through to it?’

  Stukkfur leaned slightly to one side, balancing capably. ‘Aye, sire, I can do it from here. ’Tis a straight enough path.’

  Ascrod did not like being so high off the ground. He clun
g tightly to the trunk. ‘Remember, hold the rope as far up as you can. Just swing out and you should go in directly over the battlements. Don’t worry if you can’t make it first try – as long as it stays quiet you can have a few more goes if you don’t manage first time.’

  Extending his paws above his head, Stukkfur took a vicelike grip on the rope and drew in a deep breath, listening to Gelltor’s final instructions for the risky plan.

  ‘When you land on the walltop, pull the rest of the rope over, it’s plenty long enough. Shin down it, open the wallgate bolts, then get clear and leave the rest to us. Do this right and you’ll be well rewarded, Stukkfur, I’ll see to that personally. Right, take off!’

  From where they crouched below the battlements, Janglur saw the rope go taut. He nudged Florian. ‘Looks like the fun’s about t’start, mate!’

  There came a swishing noise, like a wind through the forest, which increased in volume. Borrakul was watching between the battlements. ‘Hoho, you was right, Florian. ’Ere ’e comes, flyin’ like a bird!’

  The hare stood up in clear view and leaned out from the walltop, with his long, blade-topped pole at the ready. Stukkfur could do nothing to stop himself. Whipped by small twigs and spitting leaves, he watched in horror as Florian lashed out, the razor sharp blade severing the rope at a single blow. Then the water rat really was flying free as a bird, not up, but down, though still travelling forward.

  ‘Yiiiiieeeeeee!’

  The immovable sandstone blocks of the east wall cut short his flight. Borrakul winced at the sound, but Florian’s concern was not for the rat. ‘Huh! Hope that chap didn’t damage the wall, wot!’

  From all around the walltop sentries came running to see what the disturbance was about. The Marlfox vixen, Predak, was waiting in the ditch near the west wall. The moment she saw the shrew guards desert their posts she made her move. Climbing stealthily from the ditch, she hurried to the base of the wall, unwinding a slim length of rope with a stone tied to one end. It took four throws before a satisfactory cast was made, but on the fourth try the stone soared upward and over the top of an ornamental spur jutting from the wall, just below the battlements near the northwest corner. Predak caught the stone as it fell. Now she held both ends of the rope in her paws, and she pulled each in turn, testing it. The rope ran free over the stone spur, backward and forward. Moreover, it could not be seen from the walltop unless a sentry were to lean out too far for safety. Leaving the rope with both ends touching the ground, Predak stole away, back to the east side, where Gelltor and Ascrod awaited her. The vixen radiated satisfaction as she made her report.

  ‘Nobeast saw me, the rope’s in place, and all we have to do now is get the siege ladder nearby in the ditch, wait for nightfall, then haul it up to the wall. How did the diversion go?’

  Gelltor twirled the severed rope idly. ‘Oh, it worked well enough, but they were on to us, more or less as I expected. That hare slashed the rope with a device he’d thought up. Stukkfur never made it over the wall, but it provided the decoy we needed.’

  Predak inspected the shorn rope end. ‘Stukkfur was a good soldier. A fool, but obedient. Pity he’s gone.’

  Ascrod interrupted her. ‘Surprisingly enough, Stukkfur wasn’t killed. He must have a head made of solid bone. Look, there he is.’

  Stukkfur was wandering in a daze around the rats who were busy building the siege ladder. Both paws were still held high over his head, grasping a long piece of rope, which he stumbled over as he meandered willy-nilly. There was not a single tooth left in Stukkfur’s mouth, and beneath the bulging lump on his brow both eyes were black and blue. Bumbling about, the water rat muttered to himself, ‘Musht drop ober d’wallsh, ohben d’wallgatesh, musht do’t!’

  Bargle led his relief column of Guosim shrews up on to the walltop, where Florian greeted him huffily. ‘Well hoorah an’ hang out the jolly old flags, relief at last, wot! A chap could fade from the famine, waitin’ up here. Have a good night’s sleep, did ye? No doubt you breakfasted well, early lunch too by the look of ye. Fiddle de dee, sir, tardy in the extreme!’

  Bargle bated the hare unmercifully, yawning, stretching and patting his stomach. ‘Slep’ like a mole an’ snored like an ’og, mister Florian. Woke to a wunnerful brekkist – honey, ’ot scones, fresh mint tea an’ a little preserved fruit wid meadowcream. ’Fraid there’s none left. Very partial t’meadowcream us shrews are. Mind though, we did ask the cooks to save yer some crusts, didn’t we, Mayon?’

  Turning his face to hide a grin, Mayon agreed. ‘Ho yes. Why, I said t’the cooks meself, I said, You be sure’n save a crust or two for mister Florian an’ ’is gallant sentries, aguardin’ those walls out there while the likes of us are sleepin’ safe in our beds an’ fillin’ our stummicks!’

  Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop’s ears stood erect with indignation. ‘Cads the lot of ye, wot! Small spiky-furred grub-wallopin’ bounders! Nothin’ worse than a grub-walloper. Come on, chaps, form up in a line an’ march off smartly. We’re not stoppin’ in the company of grub-wallopers an’ tuck-scoffers!’

  As Florian led his sentries off down the wallstairs, Bargle called cheerily to him, ‘Grub-wallopers I don’t mind, but tuck-scoffers is the worst kind o’beasts. You be sure an’ ’urry back now, sir!’

  Florian’s whiskers bristled with outrage. ‘Unmitigated impudence, sir, confounded brass-necked cheek!’

  Deesum popped her head around the kitchen serving hatch to warn the cooks. ‘Just thought I’d better tell you, mister Florian and the sentries are coming in from the walltops. They look pretty hungry, too!’

  Brother Melilot clapped a paw to his forehead. ‘Oh dear, so they should be! I completely forgot to send out their breakfast this mornin’. They haven’t eaten since last night!’

  Grandma Ellayo rescued her turnovers from the windowledge on which they were cooling, whisking them out of sight into a cupboard.

  ‘Gracious me! If that ten-bellied hare is hungry we’d best hide everythin’, or he’ll eat us out o’ house an’ home, and there’ll be no feast at all!’

  Rimrose counted her cheese and celery flans. ‘Florian must’ve already been here. There’s one missing.’

  Foremole removed his hazelnut and elderberry pudding carefully from the oven, shaking his head at Rimrose. ‘Bain’t no Florian tukk that ’un, marm. Ee Dibbuns beat ’im to et!’

  Rimrose busily stowed the flans away, chuckling. ‘Ah well, who could begrudge those liddle rogues a bite to eat? Hope they didn’t burn their mouths, though, these flans are still hot. Oh, Brother Melilot, is that shrimpberry pie the Dibbuns put together for Skipper ready?’

  Melilot pulled the pie from an oven. ‘Done to a turn, marm!’

  ‘Then why don’t we serve it to Florian instead?’

  Melilot grinned at the thought of Florian tackling the highly unusual pie. ‘Why not indeed!’

  Ascord sat in the woodland glade the Marlfoxes were using as a siege camp, watching the water rats testing the ladder. It seemed sturdy enough for the purpose. Furrowing his brow, he tapped his paws distractedly on a nearby oak. Vannan slid into camp like a wisp of smoke and seated herself next to her brother, observing his mood.

  ‘You seem out of sorts today. What is it?’

  ‘Arrh, we’re getting nowhere with this siege. We’ll never get the best of those Redwallers – the luck’s on their side every time.’

  ‘So, what do you propose we do, brother?’

  ‘Cut our losses and get out of here, back to the island.’

  ‘Hmm, I only wish we could!’

  ‘What d’you mean, sister? What’s to stop us going?’

  ‘Listen and I’ll tell you, Ascrod. While you lot have been playing with ropes and foolish ideas, I took a trip back to see what was happening at our camp out by the river. Beelu was watching Mokkan for me, and I wanted to hear his report. But guess what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s not a trace of anybeast. The camp was deserted, Mokkan and the rats we
left with him all gone!’

  ‘Gone? What about the tapestry we stole from the Abbey?’

  ‘Hmph! Of course, that’s gone also. Six shrew logboats we had, five of them are smashed to pieces on the bank there. That means Mokkan took the sixth boat, the rat guards, and our tapestry with him, bound for the island, I’ll wager.’

  ‘The traitor! I’d like to skin the deserter’s hide from his back with my axe!’

  ‘Aye, me too, brother, but it looks like we’re stuck here for now. We can’t go back empty-pawed.’

  ‘So, what do you suggest we do, Vannan?’

  ‘Only one thing to do. We put all our cunning into defeating Redwall. Once the Abbey and its treasures are ours, we can force the shrews to build us new boats. We’ll fill ’em with treasure, and then play the waiting game. Then one fine day we’ll start back for the island, when brother Mokkan’s least expecting us, and then there’ll be a reckoning, I promise!’

  * * *

  19

  Martin the Warrior strode through Dannflor’s dream. He pricked the young squirrel’s footpaw with his swordtip, uttering only one word. ‘Awake!’

  Dannflor woke and sat up. The sword he had been holding loosely in his sleep had slipped free and nicked his footpaw. The first thing he saw was a big scraggy ferret, with a raven’s feather braided to his tail, brandishing a scimitar, as he and a band of about twenty other ferrets crept up on the four friends. Dann shouted a warning to his companions. ‘Look out, ambush!’

  Dann had never been so frightened in his life. The ferrets had them outnumbered by five to one. Moreover, they were a savage, murderous-looking bunch, yellow-fanged, heavily armed and red-eyed with blood lust. He heard Song yelling, ‘Run for it!’

  Dann plunged off into the trees, pounding along as fast as his paws would go. He briefly saw the others begin to run. Song was fleet of paw. She ducked two of the vermin and fled into the thickets, but Dippler and Burble were not so lucky. Still sleepy-eyed, they were cut off and brought down by a group of the fastest ferret runners. Sobbing with fear, Dann ran as he had never run before, dodging round trees, dashing through nettlebeds, stumbling and tripping through roots hidden beneath deep, damp loam. Behind him he could hear the wild barbarous screeches of the ferrets, and their swords slashing at the undergrowth as they came after him. Chest burning, heart pounding, breath torn from him in ragged gasps, Dann blundered onward, still clutching the sword of Martin. They were getting closer, shouting now.