Faith Spinney seconded the idea. ‘Come on now, Redwallers. Gather all this sporty gear up and take it to Great Hall. I’ll see if I can manage to prepare some liddle goodies for supper – hot honey ’n’ nutdip an’ cold strawb’rry cordial from the cellars. ‘Ow’s that?’
The young ones raised a cheer and began collecting the equipment. Samkim and Arula were about to carry in the bows and arrows from an archery butt that had been set up when Bremmun gave them both a stern glance.
‘Remember what I said about bows and arrows, you two? Best leave them to me and keep temptation away from your paws. Get that big tug of war rope inside – that’ll be a help.’
Thunder boomed overhead and lightning cut the sky as drops of rain big as chestnuts began spattering down.
The equipment was all indoors, and Sister Nasturtium and Abbess Vale were going about towelling small wet heads. Tudd Spinny felt in his waistcoat pockets and checked his front headspikes. ‘Oh, wildflowers ’n’ weeds!’ He tutted in annoyance. ‘I gone an’ left my glasses on the west wallsteps. I’ll get soaked goin’ over there for ’em!’
Samkim stepped forward helpfully. ‘I’ll get your glasses, Mr Spinney. I’m already wet through from carrying sports gear in. Come on, Arula!’
The rain was warm and heavy, pouring straight down without wind or breeze to drift it. Samkim and Arula skipped across to the west wallsteps, splashing their paws in the puddles that were beginning to build up. They found the spectacles where Tudd had said they would be. Both young ones were enjoying the heavy rain, walking slowly back to the Abbey. Unafraid of thunder or lightning, they held their heads back and caught the raindrops in their open mouths. Suddenly there was a massive bang of thunder overhead, a long bright bolt of lightning struck the weathervane on the Abbey roof, and the entire scene lit up with an eerie light. Samkim and Arula stared up at the high roof in awe as they walked towards the Abbey.
‘Gosh! Did you see that, Arula?’
‘Boi ecky oi did. ’Twere a big un aroight, Sankin!’
There followed a whirring noise overhead. Fearing it was more lightning, Arula threw herself flat, paws covering her head. Samkim shut his eyes tight as something zipped by him.
Sssshhfffttt!
Close by his side a sword had buried itself half its bladelength in the wet lawn. He gasped with shock.
Arula risked a glimpse through her digging claws. ‘Wot whurr et, more lightenen?’
Samkim tugged the blade free. ‘It was this. Look, Arula!’
From the red pommel stone to the tight black leather-bound handle and stout silver crosstree hilt, the rain ran down the razor-sharp edges, through the runnelled blood channel to a pointed tip keen as a midwinter blizzard. They stared at the sword in awe. It glittered and shone in the downpour, reflecting a lightning bolt over the threshold in a shimmering gleam of whitefire. Samkim held it flat across both his paws.
‘The sword of Martin the Warrior!’
Mara and Pikkle heard the thunder rolling in the east as they ran staggering and panting into the twilit dunes. The troops of Ferahgo were still after them. They had spent a long and breathless afternoon being pursued, sometimes hiding among the sandhills for a short breather, other times running flat out across the hill-tops, with their pursuers in plain sight. Mara stumbled and fell, gasping for breath, and Pikkle tried pulling her upright.
‘No . . . ’ She pushed him away. ’You go on. . . . Can’t run any more. . . . Hare can make it. . . . You go Pikkle . . . please!’
Pikkle stood shaking his head, his narrow chest heaving. ‘Not the done thing, old sport. ’Fraid you’re stuck with me, wot!’
Then the rain started, slowly at first, but rapidly increasing to a full-fledged downpour. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning flashed across the dunes.
Pikkle looked about. Brushing rainwater from his eyes he grinned. ‘What ho, here’s a bit of a chance. See that high straight dune yonder? Look, there’s a sort of a thingummy, a tiny scoop-out like a cave at the top. See, that one with the long grass hangin’ down over it!’ Exerting all his strength, he pulled Mara upright. ‘Nothin’ t’ lose, old badgerbonce. Come on!’
They skirted the hill and climbed it from the opposite side where it was not so sheer. The rain lashed and battered at the pair as they crawled over the top and swung down into the small hole at the top of the dune, little more than a ledge with a grass fringe hanging in front of it. Quickly they scooped it deeper until they were able to lie flat and regain their breath, while peering out through the grass curtain in front of them. The deluge had washed out all trace of their pawprints, and night was gathering. Soon they could make out shapes and hear the voices of their hunters as they scoured the ground below.
‘Did yer see ’em go this way, Sickear?’
“Course I did. I told yer.’
‘Well, where are they now?’
‘Search me. This rain’s messed everythin’ up.’
‘Ferahgo’s goin’ to be mad if we go back without ’em.’
‘Don’t remind me. Come on, you lot. Spread out an’ get lookin’.’
‘I’m soaked through!’
‘Aaahh, pore ol’ you. An’ I suppose we’re all bone dry? Idiot!’
‘Couldn’t we make torches to search with? It’s dark now.’
‘What’re you goin’ to make torches with, nit’ead? Soakin’ wet grass, an’ who’s got tinder an’ flint? Not me!’
‘Look, why don’t you two stop jawin’ like ol’ frog-wives an’ start searchin’?’
In their hide-out the two fugitives were snug and dry.
Pikkle yawned quietly and whispered to Mara. ‘Well, they won’t find us tonight. I’m goin’ to take forty winks. Wake me later an’ I’ll keep sentry. All right?’
Mara nodded and settled down to watch Ferahgo’s creatures.
After a while they moved away, rebuking Sickear for bad eyesight and false information. Mara listened to their voices as they faded into the dark and rain of the night.
‘Hey, Migroo, they might’ve gone this way.’
‘Yah, it’s too dark ’n’ wet to find anythin’ tonight.’
‘Tell that to the Assassin or that sly little whelp ’e calls son. Just keep searchin’, Dewnose. Them’s the orders!’
The rumbling of Pikkle Ffolger’s stomach wakened him, and he adjusted cramped limbs as he peered through the overhanging grass fringe into the blackness.
‘By the fur, I’m famished. Have they gone yet?’
Mara plucked a blade of grass and nibbled on it. ‘They’re well gone. Why don’t you try to forget your appetite and go back to sleep? There’s not much else we can do in our present position.’
Pikkle groaned. His stomach gurgled like streamwater travelling over stones. Mara ruffled his ears sympathetically. ‘We’ll find food when it gets light. You get some shuteye, chum. Go on, I’ll keep watch – I’m still wide awake.’
Kicking out sand to make more space, Pikkle settled down rather grumpily. After a while Mara could tell by his steady breathing that he had dropped off. She rested her chin in her paws and mentally summed up their plight. They were hunted creatures in strange country, their only protection a hole in the side of a hill. As for weaponry, they were slightly better off, but not much: a broken javelin and an old dagger. Food and water were nonexistent. The rain and the night had provided cover for them both, but she found herself longing for daylight and warm sun. Had Sergeant Sapwood escaped? She fervently hoped that he had. He could carry back news of their predicament to Salamandastron. No! She was never going back there. Mara imagined the righteous justification of Urthstripe and some of the elder hares. Had they not told her? Had she not been warned about vermin? Was she not a foolish young creature?
No, definitely no! But suppose Sapwood had been captured? It would be her duty to get back to the mountain and warn them of the impending menace.
The young badger maid cudgelled her brains weighing up the probabilities of their next move. She felt r
esponsible for Pikkle; he had deserted the mountain with her, his loyalty and friendship were beyond question, and no harm could befall him because of her. Gradually her eyelids began to droop. She blinked half-heartedly, welcoming the approach of slumber.
A rustling noise in the grass overhead caused her to come alert. Suddenly there was a malignant hissing noise and a narrow reptilian head poked its way into the hole, eyes aglitter and tongue snaking out venomously. Mara’s paw felt about madly for the dagger as she came fully awake yelling, ‘Pikkle! Wake up, Pikkle!’
11
All activity within Great Hall had ceased. Redwallers crowded around the long table, eager to catch a glimpse of the legendary weapon. Brother Hollyberry reverently dried it with a soft cloth, then it lay on the tabletop, winking and shining in the lamplight. Outside, the thunder rolled off into the distance, and rain was still pattering thickly against the doors and windowpanes.
Tudd Spinney donned his spectacles and peered closely at the weapon. ‘The sword of Martin the Warrior! It could be naught else!’
Samkim and Arula had repeated the story of the finding several times over. Samkim could not resist touching the red pommel stone on the swordhandle as he repeated Tudd’s words, ‘The sword of Martin the Warrior!’
Brother Hollyberry took Samkim’s face in both paws and stared into the young squirrel’s eyes. ‘And you say it fell from the skies? Are you sure, young un? This isn’t just some piece of mischief you are dreaming up, is it?’
‘No, Brother, honest! Arula, tell him!’
‘Oh, aye, zurr. Sanken doant be a-tellen whoppers. Et be true.’
‘Well, I for one find it all pretty hard to swallow.’ Bremmun snorted. ‘Granted it is a beautiful sword and it might even be the very one that belonged to Martin, but swords don’t just fall out of the sky like rain. There’s more to all this, I’m sure. Listen, Samkim young fellow, if this turns out to be some kind of joke, tidying the Infirmary up a bit will be nothing compared to the penalty I’ll impose on you – and you too, Arula!’
‘Hold hard a moment, Bremmun, before you say something that you’ll regret later. I believe Samkim!’ Sister Nasturtium stepped forward, her normally jolly face stern as she placed a paw upon Samkim’s shoulder. ‘I think Martin the Warrior is making his presence felt in our Abbey. Lately I have been saying strange poems and singing songs that I have never even heard before – most of you have heard me. If the spirit of Redwall is trying to tell us something then the least we can do is listen!’
Abbess Vale lifted her gaze from the shining weapon. ‘I agree with you Sister. Brother Hal, as Abbey Recorder and Historian I want you to examine the past records of Redwall. There are many lessons to be learnt from the past, and I have no doubt that the old writings will provide a clue to tonight’s strange events. You may start first thing tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, we shall lay the sword in front of our great tapestry, close to the picture of Martin. As for the Nameday celebrations, it is getting rather late, I suggest we abandon the indoor games . . .’
A wail of protest arose from the young ones, but the Abbess silenced them with a wave of her paw as she continued, ‘Tomorrow the weather will most likely be fine, so the games can be held outdoors all day. Is that a satisfactory solution?’
The wailing was quickly replaced by shouts of joy.
Thrugg slapped his rudderlike tail upon the floor. ‘Righto, me ’earties. Off to your bunks an’ get snorin’!’
Brother Hal felt the furrow on his head that Samkim’s arrow had made some time before. He smiled ruefully and caught Samkim and Arula as they passed on their way upstairs. ‘You young rogues! Never mind, I’ll clear up all this mystery for you. I’m going straightaway to my study to take a delve into my records, and I’ll work through the night if I have to. Don’t worry now. Those ancient scrolls should provide an answer by morning, then you can concentrate on the Nameday games tomorrow. How’s that?’
‘Thanks Brother Hal, you’re a sport!’ Samkim shook him energetically by the paw.
‘Aye, thankee, zurr. Et’ll stop Bremm’n a-shouten at us’ns.’
Brother Hal smiled at them as they scampered off to the dormitory. ‘Good night, young uns!’
Dingeye woke shortly before dawn. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself feeling quite chipper. Leaning over, he shook Thura. ‘Hoi, mucker. Are you all right?’
Thura sat up and felt his stomach then checked his head.
‘By the ’ellteeth, mucker, I feels like a newborn stoat!’
Brother Hollyberry muttered in slumber and settled deeper into his armchair. Dingeye held up a cautionary paw. ‘Ssshh! We don’t want ter wake ol’ sleepychops up. Come on, let’s get out o’ this Affirmary.’
Silently the two stoats padded out and latched the door carefully. It was quite dark as they descended the stairs. Dingeye was still struck with wonderment at their wellbeing. ‘I tell yer, mucker, that fizzick stuff tasted rotten but it’s made me feel great. I can’t wait till brekkfist to eat some more. That ol’ ‘Ollyberry sure knows ’is stuff!’
Thura kept a paw on the wall to guide himself down. ‘Aye, an’ ’e tells the truth too. I’m sorry now that I called ’im a toadwallopin’ ol’ fibber when ’e said to take the fizzick ’cos it was for our own good. ’E was right.’
From the passage at the stair bottom they could see the lights of Great Hall shining through. Dingeye giggled. ‘Come on, mucker. We got the place all to ourselves while that lot’s abed. Let’s get us some vittles.’
The gluttonish duo invaded the nut and honey dip left out for the young ones, swigged down the strawberry cordial and munched a plate of scones they had found.
‘This’ll ’ave ter do us till brekkfist. Y’d think they’d leave more’n this out. No consideration somebeasts got.’
‘Yeh, where’s all the Redhall cake an’ Octember ale?’
‘You wolfed it all, pigbrain!’
‘Pigbrain yerself, stoat. ’Ey, lookit all this sporty stuff lyin’ about. Sly villains, they was playin’ games while we was sick an’ dyin’ in the Affirmery.’
Dingeye grabbed some hoops and started spinning them at Thura’s head. ‘Hahaha, roll up an’ win a prize!’
His companion retaliated, throwing quoit pegs at him.
Brother Hal sat sipping cold mint tea amid a welter of faded parchments and yellowed scrolls. He scratched at the furrow in his headfur as he scanned a barkpaper manuscript from the time when old Abbot Saxtus was a young mouse.
The sword of Martin the Warrior has been returned to its rightful home, Redwall Abbey. Today Rufe Brushtail, our champion climbing squirrel, took the weapon and climbed to the very point of the Abbey roof. There he has secured the sword to the north pointer of the weathervane. So will Martin’s sword rest there in peace as his spirit guides our Abbey. It is my fervent hope that Redwall leads a calm and tranquil existence and that the sword never has to be brought down within my life’s seasons.
Hal sat musing as he pondered over the text. ‘Hmm, dark night, thunder, rain, storm. . . . That’s it!’ He leaped up, spilling mint tea over his habit. ‘The big lightning bolt: Samkim said that it struck the weathervane shortly before he found the sword. Of course, the lightning blasted the sword from the weathervane, it slid down the roof and fell point first. By the fur! From what that young un says, it’s a good thing he never moved a pace to the right. Falling from that height, the blade would have cleaved him in two!’
The two stoats had found the archery equipment. Disdaining the rounded targets, they took a bow apiece and began firing arrows upward at the high beamed ceiling of Great Hall. Neither was very good at archery.
‘Yah, boggleyes, you can’t even hit the ceilin’!’
‘That’s ’cos I was brought up in poverty, mucker. My ol’ mum never could afford bows ’n’ arrers!’
‘Ho, shut up, snotnose. If you ever ’ad a mum she should’ve tried to shoot yer with a bow ’n’ arrer for winjin’ an scrinjin’.’
‘Wo
wee! Lookit that’n go. Betcher that gets the ceilin’!’
‘Never! Look out, it’s comin’ down on us!’
They leapt out of the way, and the arrow landed quivering in the tabletop. Dingeye loosed off an arrow that barely missed Thura’s ear, and he hid beneath the table.
‘Wot was that for? ’Twas only an accident!’
‘I’ll accident you, muckmouth. I was nearly killed then!’
‘That’s ’cos we never ’ad proper weapons afore, mucker. Huh, we only ’ad a rusty knife apiece when we was with Ferahgo . . .’
‘Belt up, loosegob. Wot’ve I told yer about mentionin’ that hellspawn’s name? Come ’ere, I’ll show yer ’ow ter fire one o’ these weapons proper.’
Dingeye bent the bow with both paws, Thura notched a shaft to the string and heaved back with all his might, and between them they stretched the yew-wood bow to its capacity.
‘This is the way ter do it mucker,’ Dingeye breathed excitedly. ‘Now lerrit go straight. It should go right across this ’all, over the passage an’ right up the stairs. Ready . . . fire!’
Brother Hal came racing down the stairs, waving the parchment as he muttered to himself triumphantly, ‘Ha, solved. I’ll show old Bremmun that swords don’t fall out of the sky with the rain. There’s an explanation for everything, the records prove that. Hoho, just wait until young Samki—’
The ill-timed shaft came zipping out of the darkness and buried itself in Brother Hal’s throat. He gave a small gurgling cry and fell to the floor in a limp heap.
The bow dropped from Dingeye’s trembling paws. ‘Gwaw! Look what you’ve done, you thick idjit!’
Salamandastron (Redwall) Page 8
