‘Land. We’ve made it. Help me push this oar ashore.’
Hardly feeling the wood of the paddle, their bodies numbed from constant immersion in cold sea water, the three friends crawled out on to a sandy beach situated at the foot of high dark cliff formations. They sat on the sand, shivering and hungry, their teeth chattering and paws trembling uncontrollably.
Through salt-bleared eyes Grumm peered up at the cliffs. ‘Wunner wot be up thurr?’
Martin rose stiffly, massaging his limbs. ‘Some small cave where we can shelter for the night, I hope. Do you two want to rest here while I take a look?’
Rose and Grumm staggered on to their paws.
‘I don’t like it here. Grumm and I will go with you.’
‘Burr aye, ’tis creepy rounden yurr!’
The rocks were dark and slippery from the rain. Martin went in front, with Rose bringing up the rear. They kept Grumm in the middle as he was not a very good climber. Moles seldom are. Holding the paddle between them, they strove upwards, scrabbling and sometimes sliding back in the darkness. After what seemed an eternity of grappling with the wet cliff face, they rested on a narrow ledge. The three friends sat catching their second wind, listening to the tide far below as it surged and hissed along the night-cloaked shore.
Martin peered upwards. ‘I think if we climb a little further there is a much broader ledge above us. There’s bound to be some sort of cave or crevice where we can shelter.’
‘Carn’t oi stay yurr,’ Grumm sighed wearily. ‘Moi pesky ole paws be gone a-sleeping on oi.’
Rose rubbed her molefriend’s paws vigorously. ‘Poor Grumm. Champion diggers can’t be champion climbers too. Not far to go now and you can have a good sleep. I’ll get breakfast tomorrow so you can have a little extra lie-in.’
This offer perked Grumm up no end. ‘Burr. Thankee koindly, Miz Roser. You’m a guddbeast!’
Martin gave an involuntary shiver. ‘There’s something about this place I don’t like. Still, this is where we landed up, and beggars can’t be choosers. Come on.’
All three had their paws on the rim of the ledge after a short hard climb when the nets came hurling down and enveloped them. Tough, dose-woven meshes of kelp, weighted down all around with stones. The friends were swept from the rock face and held dangling, their paws, tails and heads entangled in the snaring nets. Tiny dark shapes, masses of them, jibbered and pranced on the broad ledge as they hauled their catch swiftly upwards. It was over in a flash. Martin, Rose and Grumm were landed like fishes and swiftly clubbed into unconsciousness.
Swimming up through dark mists, Martin’s head lanced with pain as he opened his eyes, in bright sunlight. A stick prodded him sharply in the back.
‘Biggamouse wake up! Muggamug! Plennygood catchim!’
The young mouse opened his eyes fully and saw he was boxed inside a stout wooden cage. Tiny mouselike creatures with long wiggling snouts surrounded the cage. They danced up and down with excitement. One more venturesome than the rest darted forward and jabbed Martin’s paw with a sharpened stick.
‘Gotcha gotcha, Biggamouse! Higgig! Notso bigganow!’
The young mouse reacted speedily. With a swipe he snapped the stick, baring his teeth savagely as he gripped the wooden bars.
‘Gerroutofit, you jibbering little idiots, and leave me alone!’
He shouted so loudly that the tiny creatures scattered like chaff before the wind, clapping paws over their ears.
Martin glared through the cage at them, growling fiercely, ‘Keep your distance, or I’ll eat you all!’
He clashed his teeth several times, sending fresh pain waves through his throbbing head. Rubbing a sizeable bump on the back of his skull, Martin looked around and took stock of his position.
His cage was in the entrance to a large cave. On the opposite wall he could see two other wooden cages, in which the senseless forms of Rose and Grumm lay. More of the tiny creatures passed, giving him a wide berth. They were carrying several fish which had been lashed to driftwood poles – smelts, shannies and butterfish they had brought up from the shore.
Behind them, carrying nets and fishing gear, came a hedgehog. His footpaws had been bound to a heavy log that he was forced to tow in his wake. Martin shook the cage bars, calling to him.
‘Hey! What is this place and who are all these little wretches?’
The hedgehog gave Martin a quick smile and a friendly wink. ‘I’m Pallum. Be still. I’ll get back to you.’
He was urged on by more little creatures following up the rear.
‘Urryurry, pinpiggy. Mouthashut!’
As they passed into the recesses of the cave, Grumm stirred. ‘Burr oo! Moi pore ole ’ead, et be bumpen an’ a-bangen orfully.’
The sound of the mole’s voice seemed to waken Rose. Immediately she was up on her paws, and despite her aching head she battered and tugged at the bars of her cage.
‘Let me out of here this instant, d’you hear. Let me out!’
Grumm held paws over his ears. ‘Hurr, doant ee make such a gurt noise, mizzy. You’m ’urtin’ moi brains.’
Martin was relieved his friend had suffered no permanent damage. ‘Grumm’s right, Rose. Best lie still. How do you feel?’
The mousemaid managed a wan smile. ‘Apart from being caged up with an ache in my head and a bump like a thrush’s egg, plus a raging thirst and an empty stomach, I feel fine. How are you this morning?’
Martin grinned wryly. ‘Actually, I feel pretty silly. Wait until you see the beasts who did this to us.’
As if on cue, several of the tiny creatures materialized out of the dimness at the rear of the cave.
Grumm nodded. ‘Pigmy shrews. Oi moight ’ave knowed!’
‘Pigmy shrews?’ Martin echoed the name questioningly.
The hedgehog came lumbering up to them, surrounded by pigmy shrews. They chattered ceaselessly in their odd dialect, some of them sitting impudently on the hedgehog’s towing log, their ride adding to the burden he dragged along. It did not seem to bother him unduly. He smiled in a foolish, disarming way.
‘Hello there. It’s me, Pallum. Listen, never look angry in front of pigmy shrews. Smile all the time. It confuses them.’
Martin pasted a large grin on his face as he introduced himself and his friends. The shrews were never still, hopping, jumping, dancing and gabbling on in an unintelligible manner. The one who had jabbed Martin with a stick began to do it once more. The young mouse dodged this way and that to avoid the sharp wood, grinning furiously as he spoke from between clenched teeth.
‘Pallum, let me tell you something, friend. In a moment I’m going to grab that stick and stuff it up that little wretch’s long squiggly excuse for a nose!’
Pallum shook his head smilingly. ‘It’d be the worst day’s work you ever did, Martin. These are babies – squidjees is their proper title. The tiny scum poking you with the stick is the worst brat of all. That’s Dinjer, one and only son and heir to Amballa, Queen of the pigmy shrews. She’d have you killed for sure if you laid paw on her little darling. Wait a moment, I think I can stop him.’
Turning to the offender, Pallum addressed him in pigmy shrew language. ‘Higgig, Dinjer, goodagood, you pokeymore biggamouse!’
Dinjer stopped instantly and began trying vainly to belabour Pallum’s spiky hide with the stick.
‘Pinpiggy shuttamouth! Notell Dinjer whattadoo!’
Pallum chuckled as the infant flailed unsuccessfully at his spikes. ‘Contrary little snips. Best way to stop ’em is to encourage them. They’ll always do the opposite to what you want, specially this one.’
Rose wiped a paw across her parched lips. ‘Pallum, is there any chance of us getting some food and water?’
A tiny drum sounded from within the cave. Pallum held up a paw. ‘That’ll be the Queen, Amballa. When you speak to her, bow your head and call her Ballamum. Be very respectful. She’s vindictive and all powerful round here. Don’t mention the word higgig – that means you are laughing, and
she might think you were laughing at her. Please do as I say and leave the rest to me.’
Amballa was a plump little figure. She wore golden pantaloons and a cloak of light blue. On her head was a coronet studded with bright shell pieces and small polished beach pebbles. A seagull feather stuck up at the back of it. Had she not been such an important personage the three friends would have burst out laughing at the comical sight she made.
Drawing herself up to the peak of her minuscule height, she pointed a tiny sword at Martin.
‘Biggamouse, you! What namesay?’
‘O Ballamum, I am Martin.’ The young mouse bowed his head, speaking respectfully. ‘That other mouse is called Rose and the mole is Grumm. We mean no harm to you or your tribe of pigmy shrews.’
Amballa leaped forward in a rage, jabbing through the bars with her sword so that Martin was forced to jump backwards.
‘Biggamouse biggamouth! What shrew pigmy? No shrew pigmy here ’bout!’
Pallum towed his log forward, interceding on Martin’s behalf. ‘Mightygreat Ballamum, sillymouse knownot tribename Highbeast, still sleepymuddle from bangabang on headplace.’
Martin caught on to Pallum’s message and rubbed his head, muttering. ‘Phwaw! Sleepymuddle, sleepymuddle!’
Amballa squinted suspiciously for a moment before she appeared satisfied, then she broke into laughter.
‘Higgig higgigig! Highbeast givvayou plenty bangabang, yougo sleepasleep suddenquick. Higgig higgigig!’
Martin nodded ruefully. ‘Highbeast mighty warriors, bangabang plentyhurt.’
Pallum winked approvingly at Martin before tackling Amballa on behalf of her captives.
‘O Ballamum, nogive these sillybeasts mouthfood or gluggadrink. Theynot get obblewood an’ caretake Squidjees. Ballamum killemdead!’
The Queen made as if to kick Pallum, but did not because of his spikes. She drew herself up and proclaimed regally, ‘Ballamum saythis! Nofeed lazymouths, workaneat. Bring obblewoods. Sillybeasts makegood Squidjeenurses. Higgig higgigig!’
The pigmy shrew tribe laughed with her as they jigged and cavorted about the cave.
Pallum looked astonished at the Queen. ‘Great Ballamum, wisest Highbeast, howyou thinkathis?’
Amballa curled her lip disdainfully.
‘Thatcos menot pinpiggy, me Ballamum ofall Highbeast!’
Later that afternoon the three friends sat eating nutstudded shrewbread and drinking dandelion cordial. Like Pallum, their footpaws had been skilfully bound to hefty logs which they had to drag round as they walked. Martin kicked at his.
‘Obblewood, a wooden hobble, not only that but we’ve got to play nursemaid to those tiny Squidjee hooligans. I think I would have preferred death!’
Rose giggled. ‘Oh come on, Martin. You love them really, especially little Dinjer.’
At the mention of the villainous infant, Martin clenched his paws. ‘Oh yes, I love him so much I could hug him, right around his foul little neck, tighter and tighter!’
Grumm finished his meal hurriedly. ‘Look owt, yurr cooms ’ee little vurmin an’ ’is crew.’
Headed by Dinjer, a crowd of Squidjees descended on the captives. They spilled the cordial and thrust aside the shrewbread.
Dinjer prodded Martin with his stick impatiently. ‘Upnow, biggamouse. Wego pullaride on obblewoods!’ Martin and Grumm spent the remainder of the afternoon towing gangs of Squidjees around. The tiny beasts sat on the wooden hobbles, singing and laughing uproariously as they urged their transports on to greater speeds. Rose had been detailed with Pallum into cleaning up the little one’s sleeping area and making beds.
Martin and his friends picked up much of the pigmy shrews’ language during the course of the day. It was relatively simple when they realized that the Highbeast tribe spoke by running words together in pairs, sometimes in threes. Toward evening, Martin and Grumm supervised Squidjee suppertime. The mole wiped wild oat porridge from between his ears where a bowl had been upturned.
‘Burr, they’m Squinjers serpintly be woild liddle villyuns. Iffen oi ’ad moi ladle to paw, why oi’d tan a few tails, oi tell you’m!’
The Squidjees, who could not understand a single word of mole talk, chuckled madly as they squirted strawberry cordial from their mouths at the mole.
Martin sighed, the fixed smile on his face beginning to hurt. ‘They’ve got the table manners of a wolfpack. Great seasons! Look at the way they waste food and mess it about.’
Pallum and Rose appeared, smiling dutifully. ‘Come-come, sleepytime, Squidjeebabes. Sleepytime!’
This was the signal for a mass escape. The infant pigmy shrews fled, squealing, to hide, wanting the captives to chase them.
‘Higgigig, catchus, chaseymouse!’
Pallum knew all the hiding places from long experience. As they gathered the little ones up for bed, Martin noticed Amballa and several of the other pigmy shrews watching them carefully lest they became roughpawed or spoke harshly to the babes. Squidjees were almost revered in the Highbeast tribe.
The tiny beasts ran wild over the newly made beds, flinging the covers about and trampling pillows.
‘What do we have to do to make these rogues sleep, Pallum?’ Martin groaned.
‘Singasong.’
Instantly the Squidjees flung themselves flat on their beds, straightening the covers about them and plumping pillows as they called out. ‘Singasong, wewanna singasong!’
Pallum immediately began singing.
‘Go to sleep, you filthy bunch.
I’d love to lay you all out with a punch.
How’d you win a mother’s heart
With a squiggly trunk like an eel’s back part?
Is that awful smell the reason?
You haven’t been washed all season.
So go to sleep in your scruffy beds.
May nightmares enter your beastly heads,
And when sunlight heralds the new daybreak
May you wake with tummy ache.’
Strangely, the Squidjees were half asleep. Smiling and yawning they mumbled. ‘Verynice, verynice. Singamore.’
Stifling a chuckle, Grumm took over with his deep soothing bass.
‘You’m a dreadful ’orrible crew
An’ oi wuddent give to you
Supper nor dinner, brekfis’ nor tea,
Oi’d spank the dayloights out of ’ee.
An’ oi’d make ’ee wash ten toimes each day.
’Til you’m bad manners wurr scrubbed away.’
Tiny snores announced that the Squidjees were all asleep.
Rose mopped her brow with relief. ‘Whew! Thank the seasons the little monsters are finished for the day. Small wonder their mothers don’t look after them.’
Pallum pointed to some spare mattresses in the corner. ‘All right, you can stop smiling now and get some rest. Lie there and relax. I’ll go and get some supper for us. I think I saw a big mixed fruit pudding with cream and some new cider.’
Grumm flopped down thankfully, swiftly followed by Martin and Rose. Their wooden hobbles clacked together noisily and Rose winced as she held up a paw.
‘Sshh! Not so much noise. You might waken the monsters.’
‘Burr, oi’d throw moiself offen ’ee clifftop iffen they waked.’
‘From slavery to slavery in one easy pawstep, where will it end?’ Martin sighed loud and long.
Rose shook his paw comfortingly. ‘In Noonvale someday. We won’t be here all our lives with a warrior like you about, Martin. Being a nursemaid is not in your stars. I wonder what became of Brome and Felldoh. They’ll have drifted in to land, no doubt. That Felldoh is a good tough squirrel. I know he’ll look after my brother. I hope they’re safe and well.’
Martin could hardly keep his eyes open as he watched Pallum approach bearing a heavily laden tray.
‘Wherever Felldoh and Brome landed up, they couldn’t possibly be worse off than us. Nursemaids to those tiny rogues. Huh!’
12
AN ALLIANCE HAD been
made between Badrang the Tyrant and Cap’n Tramun Clogg. Still not trusting each other, the two villainous stoats affixed their signatures to a sprawling birch-bark parchment, Badrang writing his name in a curly flourishing script, whilst Clogg laboriously scrawled an X and a crude sketch of a wooden clog, his mark. It was witnessed by Gurrad the rat for Marshank and Boggs the ferret for the corsairs. Tramun repeated the terms as he and the Tyrant took a joint beaker of best parsley wine.
‘Harr, so, as I sees it you’re goin’ to call off yer troops an’ lend me some slaves to refurbish an’ refloat my ship. Meself on the other paw, won’t attack, ’arass or demand slaves from you. I’m to unnerstand that the slaves you lend me is still yores an’ ’ave to be returned. Right?’
Badrang sipped his wine and nodded, tapping the parchment. ‘Aye, agreed, and don’t forget all this. At such times as you have a seaworthy craft to sail off in, I keep half of your crew as hostages. When, or if, you return having taken more slaves, then they get divided equally between us and you get your hostages returned to give you a full crew.’
Clogg stroked his plaited whiskers, narrowing one eye. ‘Fairly said, partner, fairly said. An’ I can feed me crew from yer supplies an’ billet them ’ere in yer fancy fort, though I’m never to tell other corsairs or searats as I may come across on the ’igh seas the location of this ’ere place.’
Badrang nodded, refilling Clogg’s beaker. ‘Right! But don’t forget, Tramun, after the first cargo of slaves is split between us you guarantee to sell any further slaves from other voyages only to me. I’ll give you the best of weapons, trade goods and supplies.’
Clogg slopped wine as he threw back his head and drained the beaker, then draped a paw around Badrang’s shoulders. ‘Haharr, just like in the good ole days, eh, matey!’
The Tyrant reciprocated by throwing his paw about Clogg’s neck. ‘Aye, as y’ say, just like in the good ole days, Tramun. But this time there’ll be no underpaw dealings, traitors nor spybeasts.’
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 9
