The dipper puffed out his tiny chest and flew off trilling, ‘Whoa hoo din! Whoa hoo din!’
Martin sat up slowly. ‘Well, he’s gone now. I take it that whoa hoo din meant warden, Rose?’
‘It was the closest I could get. Whoa hoo din alpiz. Warden help us. Let’s hope the dipper understood. Oh no, they’re bringing more porridge.’
Silent lizards replaced the empty bowl with a fresh one of the sickly warm mushroom porridge and full water gourds were brought.
Rose held her stomach and pulled a face. ‘Yukk! I can’t eat any more of this filthy rubbish!’
The red-frill came striding over. Martin could tell that he was going to tug Rose’s neck vine tight. The young mouse’s warrior spirit boiled over at the thought of the reptile tormenting Rose. As the red-frill stalked past him, Martin let out a yell and smashed the water gourd over its head. In a flash they were grappling. Martin’s neck vine strained tight as he pushed the red-frill’s head straight into the porridge, leaning his full weight to keep it there as he tried to drown the reptile.
‘Here, frilly. Try some of your own medicine!’
Before Rose, Pallum or Grumm could help, a mob of lizards were upon Martin, smothering him with their pulsing bodies as they freed their leader. Four of them untied Martin’s neck vine from its stake. The red frill hissed balefully at him, tongue flickering in and out constantly. Helpless and weighted down by numbers, the young mouse was dragged off towards the firepit. Two lizards put flint to tinder and leaped back as a curl of smoke arose. Other lizards flung themselves on Rose, Pallum and Grumm as the mousemaid screamed at the top of her voice,
‘Leave him alone, you filthy crawlers. Put that fire out!’
22
SOMETIMES IN A pinch frivolous young squirrelmaids can turn out far more resourceful than they themselves would have known. So it was with Celandine. As a Rambling Rosehip Player, she had acted the part of the brave and beautiful heroine many times. Now was her chance to give a star performance.
Cap’n Tramun Clogg advanced on her, leering and winking roguishly. ‘Haharr, don’t be afeared o’ me, pretty little bird. Soon you’ll be singin’ just fer me!’
Celandine backed off, throwing up her paws in horror. ‘Begone, you great ugly toad. Put not a paw near me!’
Clogg, who had always imagined himself as a handsome buccaneering beast, halted indignantly. ‘Ugly toad? You hardnosed liddle snip, come ’ere, I say!’
‘Never. I would rather die!’
‘Hoho, missy, that kin be arranged. Now be still or you’ll make it worse on yoreself . . .’
Clogg leaped at her, clutching with his free paw. Celandine stumbled back, half tripping. She grabbed a pawful of the sandy soil and flung it straight into the corsair’s face. Regaining her balance, she dashed off.
Clogg dropped his cutlass and sat down hard, pawing at his eyes, which were jammed full of loose gritty dust.
‘Get after that bold baggage an’ catch ’er,’ he howled at his crew. ‘Lively now! I’ll ’ave ’er ears fer dinner an’ ’er liver ’n’ tripes tore out!’
Only Gruzzle stayed back to look after Clogg. The rest set off at a run after Celandine, laughing and cheering. They knew a single squirrelmaid could not get far with an entire crew of corsairs hard on her paws.
Celandine ran as she had never run before, wishing that she had not added all the frills and furbelows to her Rambling Rosehip tunic. They impeded her and often caused her to stumble. Behind her she could hear the whoops and guffaws of her pursuers as they drew closer. The squirrelmaid’s breath came in ragged sobs. She was unused to running any great distance. Cap’n Clogg had made it plain that he meant her harm, and there was no telling what might happen to her if she fell into the claws of searats and corsairs. Death would be inevitable. Not knowing where she was running to, Celandine forced her flagging limbs onward.
Three searats, Gritter, Crableg and Bluddnose, took the lead, outstripping the rest of Clogg’s crew easily. They were good runners, lean and fit.
A sand dune rose up in front of Celandine, and there was no way round it. She panted fitfully, going down on all fours as she attempted to scramble up the hill. Crableg put on an extra spurt and dived forward. He managed to catch the squirrelmaid’s back footpaw. Wriggling swiftly on to her back, Celandine kicked out. She caught him hard on the snout, causing Crableg to release her. The searat was so close he could have reached out and touched her.
‘You ain’t goin’ to be pretty no more, squirrel!’ he snarled as he wiped a stream of blood from his snout on to the back of his paw.
Whipping a curved dagger from his waist sash, he brandished it. Suddenly a wooden lance seemed to grow out of his chest. Crableg looked down at it and fell dead with a foolish expression of surprise on his face. The slaying happened so quickly that Gritter and Bluddnose had not seen it. They arrived panting at the dune to find their messmate lying dead, with the short wooden lance protruding from him like a ship’s mast. There was no other creature in sight except the squirrelmaid, her eyes wide with horror.
Gritter drew his sword and walked uphill towards her. ‘You killed Crableg wi’ that piece o’ wood, you liddle serpint!’
As he raised the sword, another javelin came whistling through the air and transfixed him through the throat.
Bluddnose had drawn his sword, but his nerves failed him. With a small wail of fright he flung the weapon away and took to his heels, back towards the main group, who were now in sight.
Celandine sat shocked, looking at the two dead searats in front of her.
‘Celandine, climb the hill, get up here quickly!’ a hoarse, urgent voice called from the hilltop.
She sat staring at the carcasses of Crableg and Gritter, unable to comprehend what had happened.
‘Move yourself, missy,’ Ballaw’s voice rang out theatrically. ‘Come on, up here or you’ll miss your cue!’
Automatically, Celandine picked herself up and scrambled dumbly to the hilltop. Rowanoak’s huge paws swept her over the hill and out of sight. The badger clamped a paw over the squirrelmaid’s mouth, and Ballaw and Felldoh fixed fresh javelins on to their throwers.
Crosstooth the fox had always liked Crableg’s curved dagger. He took it from the searat’s lifeless paw and tucked it into his belt as he nudged Gritter’s body with his spearshaft.
‘Y’ mean to tell us that the pretty liddle squirrel did this?’
Bluddnose was shaking uncontrollably. ‘Well, there was nobeast else ’ereabouts. She musta did it!’
The ferret Boggs curled his lip scornfully. ‘Did ye see the squirrel kill ’em?’
Bluddnose sat down on the duneside, head in paws. ‘No, I never. One moment they was large as life, next thing they’re both dead. She must’ve done it. Can’t yer see, she’s vanished. I knew we should never ’ave messed with magic beasts!’
A weasel called Floater swapped his own chipped and rusted sword for the better blade that Gritter had once owned, and scoffed aloud, ‘Vanished me tail! We seen ’er go over this ’ere dune. See, there’s the beauty’s pawtracks. I’m goin’ up there an’ get ’er meself.’
Clogg stumped to join the rest, with Gruzzle at his side, still trying to clear the corners of his Cap’n’s eyes with a none too dean silk kerchief. Tramun shoved him away and patted Floater’s back.
‘Aye, there’s the laddo. Up the ’ill ye go, Floater. Sing out if you sees anythin’ up there.’
As they stood watching the weasel scale the dune, Clogg muttered in his beard to himself. ‘Nay, it weren’t no snip of a squirrelymaid did fer two tough rogues like Crableg an’ ole Gritter. The beast that did this could sling a lance good an’ proper.’
Shielding his eyes, Clogg squinted up at the weasel, who had made it to the top of the hill.
‘Ahoy, Floater. Any signs o’ life up there?’
The weasel waved his paws wildly, shouting aloud, ‘Cap’n, it’s threeeeeeeeeee!’
Floater came tumbling awkwardly back down
the dune, flopping this way and that, hampered in his fall by the short lance through the centre of his back. The body halted its sliding descent right in front of the Cap’n’s big wooden clogs.
‘Three o’ me best fightin’ beasts slain. Harr, the murderin’ scoundrels, ’ooever they are. Right, buckoes, arm yerselves an’ take the ’ill. Chaaarge!’
Clogg stood back, whirling his cutlass as he urged them on. The charge was not a notable success. Nobeast wanted to reach the top first, and there was a deal of hanging back and accidental stumbling before Clogg realized what was going on. The pirate stoat did a small dance of anger, clogs clicking sharply.
‘You bottlenosed bloaters, get up that ’ill right now, d’ye hear me. That’s an order from yer Cap’n. Go on, chaaaaarge!’
They stood awkwardly about a third of the way up the dune, still unwilling to storm the hilltop. Clogg unsheathed his cutlass and began bustling his way up, knocking crew members left and right as he did.
‘Out o’ me way, yer mack’rel-faced, milk-swiggin’, muck’eads. Yore nothin’ but a pack o’ ring-tailed cowards!’
As they turned to look sheepishly at him, a searat called Wulpp screamed when a short javelin zinged out of nowhere and slammed right through his footpaw. The charge immediately deteriorated into an undignified rush down the hill.
Clogg followed in their rear, berating them soundly. ‘One liddle spear an’ yore all runnin’ about like beetles in a bucket. Ho shame! I never thought I’d see the day a crew o’ mine would dash off without even seein’ the enemy!’
When they were a reasonable distance from the big dune, the corsairs stopped and sat down on a grassy sward. Tramun came clattering up, with Wulpp limping slowly several lengths behind. The corsair Cap’n slumped down and began emptying sand from his clogs.
‘Gruzzle, I’m fair disappointed in you, matey, an’ you, Dedjaw, an’ you, Boggs. Mateys, what are ye all afeared of, a few ole sharpened wooden sticks?’
Whang!
A needle-pointed lance arced out of the blue summer sky, narrowly missing Tramun Clogg as it pinned his coat skirt to the ground. The corsair Cap’n leaped up as if he had been beestung, ripping his coat from the quivering lance in the process.
‘Tidal waves an’ typhoons! There must be a monster be’ind yon ’ill. Nobeast could hurl a lance that far!’
The rout continued, with Clogg in the lead as they scurried back to the safety of Marshank.
Behind the sand dune, Felldoh lay watching over the rim at the retreating corsairs.
Ballaw blew a long sigh of relief as he put down his javelins and thrower. ‘Good job they never charged the bally top an’ stormed us. There was enough of the blighters.’
Rowanoak dusted sand from herself. ‘There certainly was. Imagine if they’d got past us, our camp is only over the next hill, south and east on the clifftops.’
Celandine suddenly bounced back as if nothing had happened. Primping the lace hems of her tunic, she remarked airily, ‘Oh yes, I had an idea it was, that’s why I headed over this way!’
Ballaw rolled his eyes upward in mock despair. ‘You dreadful little fibber, miss! You were coming this way because a band of ruffians were chasing you.’
‘O them!’ Celandine tossed her tail huffily. ‘I knew they wouldn’t get me!’
Felldoh turned around from the dune rim. ‘But how did you know?’
Celandine clasped both his paws, fluttering her eyelids wildly. ‘Because I knew in my heart that my brave Felldoh would come to my rescue, and you did.’
Rowanoak smiled and shook her huge head. ‘Come on, brave Felldoh, let’s get this ruthless charmer back to camp!’
Felldoh felt his face burning as Celandine hung on his paws, praising him outrageously.
‘You’re so strong, so courageous, and so accurate with your sharp little sticks. Ooh look, I pricked my paw on one!’
When they had gone, Brome emerged from hiding. He had followed Felldoh with the intention of joining him, until the badger and the hare decided to help his friend. Brome had stayed out of sight, knowing that Ballaw and Rowanoak would have sent him packing, back to camp. So he secreted himself in a clump of tor grass and watched them rescuing Celandine. Brome had grown a lot bolder since his escape from Marshank. He admired Felldoh and wanted to be like him, but he was treated as a young one in the camp. Brome climbed the dune and peered down on the three dead corsairs, imagining himself launching lances alongside Felldoh and simmering with resentment at being left out.
He slid down the dune on his bottom and sat looking at the three lifeless figures. After a while the young mouse ventured to pick up the sword which lay near Gritter. He swung it in the air, trying a few fancy strokes, an idea forming in his head as he did. There were still a good number of slaves to be freed from Marshank. Imagine the looks on the faces of Felldoh, Ballaw and Rowanoak if he, Brome, came marching back with a score or so of slaves that he had rescued.
The more Brome swung the sword the more he liked the idea. He would do it!
Arming himself with the sword and a dagger from Floater’s belt, he dressed himself up in an assortment of corsair gear which he took from the three bodies. Smudging up his face with a few pawfuls of dust, Brome pulled the brim of Crableg’s floppy had down at a rakish angle and set off for Fortress Marshank. Swaggering along like a villainous searat, he practised the brogue.
‘Haharr, I’m Bucktail, as good a matey that ever sailed the seas an’ plundered landlubbers. Haharr an’ hoho!’
23
AS GRUMM, PALLUM and Rose tugged at their neck vines they screamed and shouted insults and threats, despite the menacing presence of the lizards who surrounded them. Martin did not waste breath on words, he fought savagely tooth and paw as the reptiles dragged him bodily towards the fire pit. The red-frilled leader stood impassively by, tongue flickering, throat pulsing, silent as the rest of his tribe. Martin drew blood from several of the beasts, kicking, butting, biting and gouging whenever he could force a movement among the swarming lizards whose bodies swamped and stifled his every attempt. The fire took off and began crackling, pale wisps of smoke rising to blend with the fetid air as hungry golden red flames danced and flickered in the cooking pit.
A piercing off-key cry rang through the marshlands. Immediately all activity among the lizards stopped. The noise rent the still air a second time. It was not a pleasant sound, something akin to the screech of a gate with rusty hinges, coupled with a loud gurgling ululation. The red-frilled leader’s head shook from side to side, eyes flickering and filming as he hissed what appeared to be some type of warning or command. The rest of the reptiles went into swift, silent action. Hustling Martin and his three friends together, they hauled the neck vines tight, securing them firmly to the stakes so that the four captives were forced to lie with their faces in the dirt. Ferns, leafy boughs, rushes, shrubs and all manner of vegetation were piled hurriedly on the prisoners until they were lost to view. Several lizards perched on top of the pile, stretching themselves out as if napping. Beneath the oppressive heap, Martin and his companions fought desperately for breath.
A fully grown male grey heron stalked majestically into the lizard encampment, towering high over the heads of the reptiles as they stood still like statues. The Warden of Marshwood Hill was an immense bird. He glared down at the lizards from his enormous height, dark-pupilled pale gold eyes watching them from over a savage yellow pair of beak spikes. Throwing back the snakelike column of his powerful neck, he gave throat to a chilling shriek, the twin black feathers on his skull back vibrating.
The dipper zoomed down from the branches of a gnarled wych-elm at the edge of the clearing. It landed among the lizards perched on top of the vegetation and did an excited hopskip dance. The grey heron moved fearlessly and fast, long black sticklike legs pounding the ground as it spread awesome silk grey wings and charged the heap. The lizards scuttled over each other in their attempts to get out of its way, but they were flung high into the air as the heron scat
tered the foliage, demolishing the entire pile with wings, beak and claw webbed feet.
Martin, Rose, Grumm and Pallum lay exposed on the ground, writhing feebly as they pulled at the taut neck vines. The Warden’s dangerous amber beak clacked perilously close to their heads as he severed the vines with careless ease. He watched them for a moment until Martin’s eyes opened. Leaning close, he spoke to the young mouse in a precise clipped manner.
‘Lie still, stay there. Do not interfere, lizards! Got to deal with them!’
The Warden strode a measured pace around the camp. There was complete silence. He glared at the reptiles. The lizards stood motionless, tongues in, eyes filmed over as if completely cowed by the mad intensity of the heron’s stare. Martin watched, fascinated. The whole affair was carried out in complete silence. The heron would point to the captives with its beak then glare at the lizards. They remained motionless. Regardless of whether or not he trod on heads, bodies or tails, the Warden stalked about the camp, finally halting in front of the red-frilled leader. With a slow contemptuous movement of one leg, the heron flicked the red-frill over on to its back. It was obviously a challenge that the lizard leader had to accept. Wriggling upright, the red-frill hissed and circled to attack.
Lying between Pallum and Martin, Rose watched in horror as the grey heron’s beak flashed down. ‘Oh, how horrible!’
Martin covered her eyes with his paw. ‘Don’t look, Rose. I think I can guess what he’s going to do next!’
Grumm turned his face aside. ‘Burr oo, dearie oi! Never could oi be that ’ungry!’
Pallum nodded in agreement as the Warden turned on another lizard. ‘Guaw! I never seen nothing like that. It’s disgusting!’
Martin shrugged. ‘Maybe you’ve forgotten, but those lizards were going to eat us. The big bird is dealing out his justice to them.’
The killer’s beak flashed down several more times until the Warden of Marshwood Hill had taken his fill. He swallowed and gulped, then threw back his head and gave a sharp cry. It was a signal that the lizards were dismissed. They scattered into the marshes in seconds, leaving the camp deserted except for the four friends and the grey heron. Wiping his beak methodically on a grassy tussock, he strode across to them.
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 17
