Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Can you see him?’ Cregga muttered to her friends.

  The stolid Tragglo shrugged slowly. ‘I don’t see nothin’, marm. Ain’t nobeast there.’

  Florian started after Bargle. ‘Chap must be puddled, wot! Scoffed too much supper, I think.’

  Cregga could not help remarking, ‘Huh, if that were the case you’d be seeing visions day and night.’

  The window was merely a long, narrow, unglazed slit in the wall. Bargle stood by it, rubbing his eyes and blinking. ‘I’d’a took me oath ’e was ’ere a moment ago, an’ now ’e’s gone!’

  Tragglo stepped up to the window. ‘Well, ’tis clear that Martin wanted us to look out of this window. Why else should he lead us up here?’

  It needed but a single glance through the window to see what Martin had wanted to warn them about. Torches and firebrands were advancing on the Abbey from the east, over two hundred of them.

  Bargle felt himself pushed towards the stairs by Florian. ‘Er, er, no need t’panic, old chap, just because the foebeast is back, wot! Dash on down an’ get somebeast up t’the bally belltower, sound the flippin’ alarm! Stand by to repel invaders, turn out the blinkin’ troops! Er, er, what else? Oh, tell ’em t’pack me some tucker to keep me goin’ up on those walls, wot! Nothin’ elaborate, bowl of salad, basin o’ trifle, er, er . . .’

  Cregga’s mighty paw stifled further babble from the excited hare. ‘Hearken, go downstairs quietly, don’t rush. Gather every able-bodied Redwaller and report to Skipper and his friends on the walltop. They’ll know what to do. Above all, don’t toll the bells. The vermin will know we’ve seen them if they hear an alarm. Go swift and silent, now!’

  Ascrod laughed aloud with exhilaration as the whirr of blazing torches, carried by charging vermin, swept by him. Waving his own firebrand at Vannan, he called out, ‘Tonight’s the night we take Redwall, I know it!’

  Pale eyes glittering in the torchflames, the vixen licked at her axeblade, as if she were already tasting blood. ‘Luck is with us, I feel it in my bones, brother. One of Raventail’s ferrets says he just slew an otter. A big male, probably a Redwall scout!’

  Raventail was leading the front runners. His keen eyes glimpsed the unmistakable bulk of the Abbey ramparts looming up in the darkness. Waving his scimitar, the barbarian ferret gave vent to an eerie howl, which was taken up by his followers.

  ‘Killslay! Kye aaaaaaaaarrr!’

  Fearsome-looking vermin, their faces painted heavily for war, leapt forward. Thrusting their torches in the ground, they whirled grappling hooks on ropes and hurled them up at the battlements. Torches clenched in their fangs, the first wave began hauling themselves up the ropes to the parapet. The three Marlfoxes marshalled their archers in position, Predak herself taking a bow and calling orders. ‘Shoot anything that moves on the walltops. Cover those climbing the ropes!’

  Janglur stepped back as another grapnel flew over the battlements and latched in a niche. All along the east wall the three-pronged metal barbs were clanking and grating as they bit into mortared sandstone cracks. The squirrel warrior’s hooded eyes watched them carefully. When he judged the time was right he signalled Rusvul and Bargle. ‘They’re all in place. Tell Melilot an’ the others they can bring it up now, mates.’

  Assisted by Rimrose, Ellayo, Sloey and all the kitchen helpers, Brother Melilot ascended the wallstairs. Each of them carried pan, pail, bowl or any other variety of large container they could lay paws upon. They came up the steps slowly, so as not to spill the contents of their vessels. Rusvul Reguba took a bucket from Sister Sloey’s trembling paws, nodding politely. ‘Well done, marm. Now stan’ back down those stairs, you’ve done yore bit. Leave the rest to us.’

  All along the wall Guosim shrews were taking the vessels from the kitchen helpers and setting them on the battlements anywhere a grapnel was fixed. Janglur took a swift peek over the walltop, moving immediately behind a battlement as a volley of arrows whizzed by. He nodded at Bargle and Rusvul. ‘Their archers have the walls well marked – we’d best do it smart like. There’s all manner o’ scum comin’ up these ropes.’

  Rusvul steadied a large cooking pot with one paw. ‘All carryin’ lighted torches, I ’ope?’

  Janglur winked at his warrior friend. ‘Aye, matey, pretty as a twinklin’ nest o’ fireflies. Let’s give it to ’em. One, two, three . . . Now!’

  On Janglur’s signal, a blend of heated cooking oil, vegetable oil – used as lantern fuel – and any kind of waste oil or grease from kitchen or repair shop was heaved over the top. The outside of the entire east wall lit up with a tremendous whoosh as the hot oil met the battery of blazing torches. Both vermin and ropes went up in a crackling sheet of flame.

  Janglur sat beside Rusvul and Bargle in the shelter of the ramparts, eyes streaming from the thick coils of black smoke wreathing about them. The squirrel warrior shook his head regretfully, raising his voice above the agonized shrieks of the vermin. ‘’Tis a terrible thing to ’appen to anybeast, mates, terrible!’

  Florian came scuttling up to join them, bringing a jug of cold mint tea, which they passed from one to the other. The hare wiped his mouth with the back of a paw. ‘Hmm, dreadful, I agree, but the blighters brought it upon themselves. I say, move over, you chaps, the vermin’ll have somethin’ else on their bally minds soon. Here comes Foremole with his stalwarts to chuck stones on ’em. Hah! Looks like my Noonvalers have joined ’em. What ho, Runk old lad, you taken to bein’ a mole now?’

  Roop and Muggle stifled giggles at the thought.

  ‘Hurr hurr, ‘twould take summ doin’ t’be a spoiky mole, zurr!’

  Runktipp helped the moles to lug large baskets of rock and masonry chunks over to the battlements. He winked at Florian. ‘I’m as good a mole as the next ’un. We all are. Ain’t that right, Borrakul?’

  The otter nodded stolidly as he hefted a basket. ‘Aye, we certainly are, matey, an’ moles get better fed than performers, I can tell ye!’

  Florian snorted. ‘Cheeky bounder. Go on then, be moles, all of ye, see if I jolly well care!’

  Runktipp put on his best mole accent. ‘Gurr, Foremole zurr, do us’n’s be abowt ready naow?’

  Foremole waved a digging claw to his crew and the Noonvalers. ‘Hurr, moi ’earties, chuck umm o’er gudd’n’ard naow!’

  On Foremole’s command the joint crew of moles and performers grabbed the baskets and slung them forcefully over the parapet, scattering the contents on the attackers below.

  Rimrose and others brought cool damp towels up to the defenders, who wiped their eyes and bathed their faces gratefully. Rimrose clasped Janglur’s paw. ‘Some-beast told me that Skipper’s out there. Oh dear, I do hope he’s all right. D’you think they’ve captured him?’

  Janglur chided his wife gently. ‘There y’go agin, worry worry all the time. First ’tis Song an’ her friends, now it’s Skipper’s turn. I tell you, beauty, that ole riverdog’s safe as a nut in its shell. He’d have a good laugh if’n he could see you now, frettin’ an’ fussin’ o’er him. Skipper can take care of hisself better’n I can, believe me.’

  Rimrose bathed Janglur’s heavy-lidded eyes carefully. ‘Well, if you say so I suppose Skipper’s safe. I’m thankful that Song an’ those two other young ’uns are well out o’ this.’

  The squirrel warrior squeezed his wife’s paw lightly. ‘Those three? Huh, I’ll wager they’re somewheres snug along a riverbank, feedin’ their faces an’ singing round a campfire!’

  Rimrose smiled and nodded. ‘Aye, an’ our Song’s the one who’ll be doing the singin’. Oh, mister Florian, let me bathe your eyes for you, they look sore.’

  Florian adopted his brave face, though his eyes were indeed streaming from the oily smoke. ‘Most kind of ye, marm. Confounded little smudge in the corner of me left lamp here, p’raps you can get it. Nothin’ like the thistledown touch of a pretty squirrel, wot wot!’

  Mayon came from the south wall and reported everything quiet. Friar Butty, who had been watching
the west wall, said the same. Janglur looked over to the north wall, where the Guosim shrew Splikker was stationed. ‘Wot’s wrong with ole Splikker? Looks like he’s lissenin’ hard over there. Go an’ see if anythin’s amiss, Bargle.’

  The shrew slid off, crouching low. After a brief conversation with his comrade he came hurrying back. ‘Splikker reckons there’s a steady noise over that way, comin’ from nearby. Sounds like they’re choppin’ at somethin’.’

  Janglur and Rusvul went to the north wall to investigate. They crouched low alongside Splikker, listening to the steady ring of axe against timber. A leaf landed on Janglur’s head. The squirrel studied it, then popped up to chance a quick scan of the woodland. He sat back down again, gnawing worriedly at his lip.

  Rusvul looked at him. ‘Somethin’s wrong, mate. What’re they up to?’

  Janglur passed him the leaf. ‘Oak! They’re choppin’ away at an ole giant three-topped oak. If’n it falls the wall could be breached, an’ then we’d ’ave our paws full tryin’ to stop ’em comin’ in. We’ll need t’get our thinkin’ caps on, Rus. They could maybe fell a tree that size by tomorrer mornin’ or midday.’

  Somewhere in the depths of Mossflower Wood, Skipper gritted his teeth as he sat on a streambank, tugging a broken spear from his leg. As he pulled, the otter Chieftain was giving himself a good telling off. ‘Uuunj! Puddle-’eaded ole rivergo, that’s wot you are, matey. Fancy, a great big lump like yoreself gittin’ caught off guard by a lousy painted varmint. Ooh! Easy now, messmate, out she comes. Aaaaah . . . there now! Ferret spear ain’t made that could lay a decent otter low. That’ll teach yer t’jump quicker nex’ time, an’ keep yore eyes peeled too!’ He sorted through the plants he had garnered from nearby. ‘Hmm, dockleaves, sanicle an’ young burdock. That should do.’

  Crushing them together with pawfuls of bankmud, he applied the cooling poultice to his injured limb and bound the lot with a strip from his jerkin.

  ‘Liddle Sister Sloey’d ’ave a fit if’n she saw this sloppy job, but it’ll have t’do fer now. Right, set sail, matey, in we go!’

  He slid awkwardly into the stream. Once in the water, however, the otter swam slowly and gracefully away into the night, going in the opposite direction to Redwall Abbey.

  Only two creatures at a time could chop at the great oak. At first Vannan had set four to the task, but they got in each other’s way until two suffered axe cuts. Raventail snorted impatiently at the Marlfox. ‘Kyre, arr, yousay bigtree be halfdead, no takelong. Yakkacha!’

  Vannan regarded the barbarian ferret disdainfully. ‘The tree is half dead, ’twill fall sooner or later. Patience seems to me a much better idea than charging in like your lot did. Screaming and yelling, with lighted torches to advertise your presence, what kind of stealth attack is that? They were ready for us long before we arrived at the wall.’

  Raventail took a pace back, executing a scornful bow. ‘Woah! Bigmagic fox be cleverer much much, scyoosee me!’

  Vannan ignored the jibe, signalling to two water rats. ‘You and you, take over chopping. I’ll make it work this time!’

  As the water rats stepped in to take over from the two ferrets currently wielding the axes, a big arrow from a longbow felled one of the vermin.

  On the walltop, Janglur fitted another shaft to his powerful weapon. ‘Ain’t much to aim at, Rus, but ’tis all we can do to stop ’em.’

  Rusvul Reguba sighted down the arrow on his bow, then let the string slack with a sigh. ‘Tchaaaah! They could hide be’ind that oak an’ chop away all season. Not much we can do about it, mate. The tree’s goin’ to fall sooner or later fer sure!’

  ACT THREE

  * * *

  The Queen’s Island

  * * *

  26

  As the pounding rush of waters enveloped Song she struck out wildly. Her world now consisted of a roaring, boiling mêlée, in which she was as helpless as a leaf in a hurricane. Water battered her eyes shut, gushing up her nostrils, down her ears and into her mouth. Without warning a powerful pair of talons latched on to her paws, like a drowning swimmer clutching a twig. Something hard struck her body: a jagged peak of rock, sticking up underwater. Heavy sodden feathers flapped slowly, embracing her. The squirrelmaid forced her eyes open for an instant and found herself facing a huge, hooked, amber beak. Then an eddy caught both Song and the osprey, whirling them around the rocky pinnacle like a pair of spinning tops. There was tension pulling at Song, from the rope tied about her waist, but then it slackened off with frightening suddenness. The side of Song’s head thudded against the rock, knocking her senseless.

  On the rocky edge of the waterfall, Dann felt the rope go slack. Numbly he drew in the line, stunned by what had happened. Behind him he could hear Dippler yelling hoarsely, ‘Song, where are you? Sooooong!’

  Dann sat down with a groan, covering his eyes with both paws, trying to blot out the awful realization of tragedy. Dippler slapped him hard across his face, shouting at him over the roaring noise of falling waters.

  ‘Get up, mate! Keep an eye on the place where she went down. I’m goin’ to get Burble an’ the boat. Wait here!’

  Galvanized into action, Dann sprang upright. He found a broken branch and tied it to the rope’s end. As Dippler raced away he saw Dann throwing the branch out into the water cascade, roaring, ‘Grab the branch if yore there, Song, grab the branch!’

  Dippler clambered off over the wet stones, muttering aloud, ‘Leastways he’s doin’ somethin’ instead o’ sittin’ there in a blinkin’ trance!’

  Song twisted and turned. Grandma Ellayo was standing right in front of her, talking, but her voice sounded strange. Rimrose and Janglur had tight hold of Song’s paws, and Ellayo was speaking to them. ‘Rrrrrr! Should’ve threwed dem back in. Not fishes, rrrr no, only trouble. Glockglock!’

  Now Ellayo was forcing Rimrose and Janglur to release their grip on Song, though her parents’ paws felt unusually sharp and strong. Ellayo was speaking again. ‘Rrrrr! Use ye beak, dumb duck, use ye beak. Rrrrrr!’

  The squirrelmaid’s eyes opened slowly. She could not focus properly and seemed to be viewing things through a haze. Small snakelike creatures with long narrow beaks surrounded her head. One pecked Song sharply on her nosetip. Song sat up, shaking her head, sending the creatures scattering. When her vision cleared, a big bird to one side of her was cackling, ‘Gluck gluck gluck! Can’t eat ’em, not fishes. Gluck gluck!’

  The small creatures were not snakes, they were longnecked cormorant chicks. Her paws were freed by a full-grown male, obviously the father.

  ‘Rrrrrr, we catch fishes, gluck gluck, you catch big eagle!’

  The mother cormorant, whom Song had taken to be Ellayo, chanced a peck at the osprey. It did not stir.

  ‘Glockglock, this bird deader’n deadfish, methinks!’

  The male cormorant’s strange blue eyes blinked scornfully. ‘Rrrreek! Eagle alive as me’n’you, wait’n’see!’

  Song lay recovering her senses as the two cormorants began an argument, hopping about and fanning out their wings, whilst the chicks scurried this way and that to avoid being danced on or batted by an outstretched wing.

  ‘Rrrraahh! Eagle alive, squiddle too. Rrrrrr! Not in my nest thankee! Glock! They’ll eat my eggchicks, gerrrrremout!’

  ‘Gluckgluck! Don’t be a daftduck, eagle an squiddle won’t eat eggchicks, I saved their lifes. Rrrrr!’

  ‘Rrrrr, glock! Shutcha beak, saved their lifes, rrrrrekk! I say gerremout, not stayin’ in my nest, squiddles, eagles, chukk! Not stoppin’ heeeeeere!’

  Whilst the furious debate raged on, the little chicks never let up their ceaseless cries.

  ‘Glick glick glick glick!’

  Song took stock of her position. She was at the centre of a large untidy twig and grass nest sprawled atop a rock shelf, somewhere downstream. To her left she could vaguely see the falls and hear their distant roar. On other parts of the ledge were similar nests, all occupied by cormorant families. At odd moments one
of the birds would plunge off the ledge into the broad deep stream, disappearing underwater for quite a while, then suddenly bobbing up a good distance away, usually holding a wriggling fish in its beak.

  Beside her, the osprey opened one flecked golden eye. Immediately all activity ceased, the cormorants frozen in fear. The big fish eagle’s dangerous beak opened wide. Song held her breath. It was a frightening sight, but then the osprey retched, spewing forth a fountain of water. Shaking its body vigorously, the big bird struggled into a standing position. Both the fierce eyes were open now, and Song quailed under their savage scrutiny. A heavily taloned claw placed itself lightly on her paw.

  ‘Yerrah bonny beast, lassie, ye saved the life o’ Megraw, an’ ah’ll no’ ferget it. Whit name d’ye go by?’

  Song shook the taloned claw warmly. ‘I’m called Songbreeze, sir, but you may call me Song.’

  Something resembling a smile hovered on the eagle’s fierce face. ‘Ach! Don’t be callin’ me sir, Song mah lass. Ah’m known by the name o’ Mighty Megraw, but Megraw’ll do jus’ fain.’ Then the eagle turned to the male cormorant, nodding politely. ‘An’ mah thanks to ye, guid bird, fer pullin’ us frae yon water.’

  The female cormorant averted her head, speaking as if to nobeast in particular as she hugged and plumped her feathers. ‘Rrrrr! Squiddles’n’eagles can’t stop ’ere. Gluck gluck, no!’

  Megraw fixed her with a murderous stare. ‘D’ye no say? Well, mah compliments to ye, marm, me an’ mah guid friend’ll no stay longer than the time et takes us tae walk away frae here. Though if ye look doon yer beak at us like that again, ah’ll eat ye for sure an’ give yer mate a bit o’ peace. Good day to ye now. Come on, Song mah wee lassie.’

  Song followed Megraw as he limped from the nest, nodding a silent and grateful farewell to the male cormorant as she went.

  Making their way along the bank, they left the rocky area and sat to rest on a mossy sward. Night was beginning to fall. Megraw nodded his head in both directions. ‘Well, which way noo, Song?’