Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The first thing Mara and Pikkle knew of it was the scream of a lookout shrew, then all was chaos. The quiet surface of the lake exploded into boiling action as the huge creature broke surface between the two boats. They both tipped sideways and though Mara’s boat stayed upright the other one overturned.

  Shouts and cries of dismay rent the air as a massive head thrust up out of the lake, towering over Mara and Pikkle. It was akin to something from the dawn of time. Fearsome eyes and teeth aglitter, the creature blew out a foul-smelling stream of air and water as it dipped towards them with open jaws. Yelling with fright, they struck at it with their paddles. Nordo and Log-a-log sprang to their assistance. Splintering paddlewood flew everywhere as they battered wildly at the gargantuan head. Hissing balefully, the Deepcoiler flicked out a serpentine tongue. Mara saw the nightmarish cavern of its mouth as the thing came at her, purplish-red, blotched, with horrific rows of serrated teeth framing it.

  The badger maid walloped furiously at the tongue with her shattered paddle as Pikkle and the others hammered at the widespread jaws and teeth. The monster veered away, turning its attention upon the capsized boat and its crew. The shrews shrieked as they floundered and struggled in the water, fighting to avoid the lashing coils that pounded the lakewater into a bubbling lather.

  Mara could only watch in helpless horror as the scaly behemoth seized a half-drowned shrew in its jaws. Two others were cruelly trapped by the convolutions of its massive body as it twisted about, slamming them against the hull of the overturned boat.

  ‘Help, badger. Help me, please!’

  With his paws bound, Tubgutt was bobbing about in the roiling mêlée, buoyed up by the air trapped in his fur. Mara grabbed the fat shrew and hauled him aboard quickly. Log-a-log, Nordo and the rest of the Guosssom crew drew their rapiers. They leaned over the side, rocking the boat perilously as they stabbed repeatedly at the gigantic bulk that thrashed about between the two logboats.

  ‘Nordo, watch out!’ Pikkle hurled himself bodily at the shrew. Cannoning into him, he knocked him out of harm’s way just in the nick of time. The flailing tail whipped down mightily on the boat, striking the spot where Nordo had stood a split second before and smashing a large chunk out of the vessel’s side.

  As suddenly as it had appeared, the Deepcoiler vanished down into the mysterious unfathomed depths of the lake, taking with it three shrews. Instantly the surface was restored to mirrorlike calm. Log-a-log slung out a grappling hook on a line, neatly snagging the upturned boat. Willing Guosssom paws heaved to turn the craft upright. Mara, Pikkle and some others pulled the survivors to safety, some semi-conscious, other injured, but all grateful to be alive.

  As Mara released Tubgutt from his bonds, Nordo sized up the situation. ‘Well, we’ve lost three good shrews and the provisions from the other boat. Just look at the damage to our boat!’

  Pikkle was ministering to those he had rescued from the water. ‘These chaps aren’t too badly injured – knocked about a bit, mostly bruises an’ cuts. We’ll live t’ fight another day, lads!’

  Tubgutt went down on all fours. Taking Mara’s paw, he placed it on his head. ‘I’m sorry I ever spoke out against you, badger. I owe you my life. From now on I will be at your side. Your friends are my friends and your enemies my enemies, this I swear upon my oath as a Guosssom shrew!’

  Mara chuckled to hide her embarrassment. ‘Thank you, Tubgutt. But I wouldn’t try to outscoff Pikkle again, if I were you. Next time you might swell up and explode.’

  Minutes stretched slowly into hours. Dawn was a long time in coming as the two boats rocked gently on the surface of the great waters. Throughout the night watches everybeast sat awake, too fearful for sleep.

  Log-a-log, Nordo and Tubgutt repaired paddles as best as they could. Mara and Pikkle issued a scratch meal from the depleted rations. Other shrews tended to their injured comrades. All through the long night countless worried glances were directed at the silent dark waters, dreading a return attack from the Deepcoiler.

  Daylight arrived in rosy mist-shrouded splendour, lifting the spirits of the voyagers. The sun banished wreathing vapours from the lake and a cloudless blue sky heralded another glorious summer day as they paddled over the vast deep. Trailing lines and small nets were thrown out, and they trapped a few trout fry and some freshwater shrimps. These were cleaned and spread in the sterns to cure by sun-drying. Mid-afternoon brought with it a cry from the lookout.

  ‘Land ho!’

  Log-a-log had been baling out water from the damaged boat. He looked up gratefully and called back, ‘Where away?’

  ‘It’s an island, straight for’ard as we go!’

  Mara stood carefully on tip-paw. Sure enough, there was an unmistakable smudge on the horizon that could only be an island of some kind.

  Pikkle bobbed up and down at her side. ‘Well, blow me down with a feather. Is that it? I say, good show! I don’t give a frog’s hoot how many ghosty ol’ badgers live there – take me to it. Anything’s better than floatin’ about out here waitin’ for that blinkin’ Deepthingy to work up an appetite again.’

  Log-a-log scooped busily at the water building up in the bottom of the boat. ‘Fligg, Rungle, lend a paw here! This is worse than I thought. We’ve got a crack running halfway under the hull. Huh, we’ll be lucky to make land in this leaky tub, though we might stand a chance if we bale fast and paddle even faster!’

  Mara took up a paddle and moved to the prow, Nordo, Pikkle and Tubgutt joined her. The badger maid struck out deep and strong.

  ‘Right, come on, Gousssom shrews. Let’s see what you’re made of. Me and Pikkle are only landlubbers, but I’ll wager we can paddle the paws off you idle lot!’

  Nordo grinned across at her. ‘Hah, did you hear that, lads? Come on, let’s show these two that we’re the sons of the roarin’ shrews!’

  Paddles plunged deep as the logboat shot forth like an arrow, each shrew defending the reputation of the Guosssom as they bent their backs and rendered a lusty paddling shanty.

  ‘Pull, boys, pull!

  O, we’re the sons of the roarin’ shrews

  And a logboat is the home we choose.

  O, pull, me bullies, pull!

  Now we can stamp an’ we can fight

  An’ paddle logboats day and night.

  Pull, boys, pull!

  I was born in a stream on a stormy day,

  So I jumped in a boat and paddled away.

  O, pull, me bullies, pull!

  A paddle’s me son an’ a boat’s me wife,

  An’ the open water is me life.

  Pull, boys, pull!

  O, I can scoff an’ outfight you,

  I’m the paddlin’ son of a roarin’ shrew.

  O, pull, me bullies, pull!’

  Not to be outdone, the crew of the other logboat took up the shanty and began paddling harder. Soon it had developed into a full-blooded race. The two boats fairly skimmed over the waters, paddles flashing and bow waves throwing up spray.

  For all his girth and weight, Tubgutt was a powerful creature. He dug his paddle long and deep, laughing aloud at Pikkle’s unorthodox but effective methods. The young hare was like some crazy jack-in-the-box, ears flopping either side as he bobbed up and down, grunting hard at each paddle stroke and improvising his own shanty.

  ‘O, I’m a Salamandastron lad,

  An’ by my reckonin’ that’s not bad.

  Scoff, chaps, scoff!

  Now listen, shipmates, while I say

  I’d rather scoff than paddle all day.

  O, scoff y’villains, scoff!

  I don’t think that I’d feel so sore

  With an apple pudden in each paw.

  Scoff, chaps, scoff!

  So set me down on good dry earth,

  I’ll eat an’ snooze for all I’m worth.

  O, scoff, y’villains, scoff!’

  On through the afternoon the two logboats raced, sometimes neck and neck, but mainly with Mara’s boat in the lead, owing to th
e formidable strength and staying power of the badger maid and her friends. Because of the speed they were travelling, the pressure on the hull of the damaged vessel was causing water to leak in ever faster. Log-a-log and the bailing party had their paws full trying to cope with the flow but, caught up in the spirit of the race, they battled on.

  Towards evening the island was beginning to loom large. Rearing up out of the surrounding deeps, it was a high, rocky outcrop, fringed on top by foliage, bushes and overhanging trees. The red sky of eventide silhouetted it eerily. Still fearful of Deepcoiler’s reappearance, the Guosssom paddled on with their last reserves of strength, anxious to be ashore.

  Log-a-log’s boat had settled low in the water. Pikkle urged the crew on with false cheerfulness. ‘I say, you shameful shrews, wallop those paddles a bit faster. That’s the ticket! Keep goin’, chaps. Think of all that lovely land to wiggle your paws on.’

  The lake was close to lapping over the boat’s sides as they nosed into a rocky inlet. Log-a-log jumped ashore and leapt on to a broad shelf-like ledge.

  ‘All ashore, Guosssom! Nordo, loop a line over the stern. Rungle, get one round the bows. We’ll haul her up here and see if we can make the old tub shipshape again!’

  It was dark by the time they had heaved the damaged logboat up on to the ledge. Both crews sprawled about on the flat rock, resting after the day’s labours. A small fire was built and food was shared out. Mara and Pikkle squatted around the fire with Log-a-log and Nordo. They ate shrewbread, yellow cheese and nuts and drank their portion of the remaining shrewbeer. The Guosssom leader settled his back against the cliff which reared up behind him.

  ‘Ah well, we finally, made it! In the morning I’ll search out some pine resin, wood and clay to repair the boat. Nordo, you’ll take a crew and forage for supplies. Don’t stray too far, though. Stay within hailing distance of here. Mara my friend, I don’t need to tell you what you and Pikkle have to do . . .’

  The young hare spoke around a mouthful of cheese and nuts. ‘Spot on, old lad. We’ve got to go an’ have a chinwag with the bally ghost, I suppose. Honestly, the things a chap has t’ do! I don’t know which is worse, actually: gettin’ scoffed by old Deepthingy, or bein’ frightened to death by a spooky spirit.’

  Mara emptied her beaker and lay back yawning. ‘No need to worry about that until morning, my old Pikkle. Get some sleep while you can.’

  Tubgutt came over and lay curled up close to Mara’s footpaws like a faithful pet dog. ‘Where you go, I will too. I’ll be there to watch your back tomorrow. You can rely on me.’

  The camp fell still as the fire dwindled to dying embers. The only sound was that of weary shrews snoring. A myriad host of twinkling stars surrounded the waning moon in the night sky, reflecting into the broad, still waters beneath. The peace that summer darkness brings fell over the slumbering earth.

  It was some time shortly after midnight that everybeast on the ledge was dragged into wakefulness by a long echoing howl which boomed about cliff and lake like some sepulchral knell.

  ‘Eeeee. . . . Yoooooo. . . . Laaay. . . . Leeee. . . . Aaaahhhhhh!!!’

  Pikkle’s ears stood up like two pikestaffs. He leapt across to Mara and grabbed tight hold of her paws.

  ‘Hellteeth and Darkgates! What was that?’

  27

  Early morning shed its light over the leafy canopy of far Mossflower in the southwest. Spriggat tugged at the bowstring fastened around the tracker rat’s neck.

  ‘Stir yer stumps, yew rogue. We’ve got ter catch up with that fox. Mind now, you play us false an’ I’ll let ’Rula the mad mole loose on ye. Right, me beauty, for’ard march!’

  Off they went, Samkim stifling his laughter as the little molemaid muttered darkly to the trembling rat, ‘Hoo urr, oi’ll chop off’n ’ee tail an’ stuff it up ’ee nose, then oi’ll fetch some woild ants an’ let they darnce in ’ee ears. That’s after oi poured gurt globs o’ sticky mud o’er ’ee vurrmint ’ead, o’ course. Hoo urr, an’ harr hoo!’

  Convinced that Arula was truly mad, the rat led them on a straight course. This was confirmed from time to time as Spriggat found evidence of the other five trackers and Dethbrush along the way.

  There was a short halt at midday for refreshment. Though supplies were running low, they managed a tasty little meal of apples, cheese and some half-disintegrated oatcakes. Spriggat found a ready supply of insects buzzing around the surface of a small patch of marshground. Caked from snout to paw in mud, he wandered happily about, munching gnats, wasps and other winged insects.

  ‘Mmm, a very nice liddle selection ’ereabouts. Very nice!’

  The afternoon was well on by the time the rat led them up a hilly rise in the woodland. Samkim held the bowstring lead, walking at the tracker’s side. On reaching the peak of the hill, the young squirrel tugged sharply on the string. ‘Get down, lie still and be quiet!’ he commanded the prisoner.

  Sensing the need for caution, Arula and Spraggat bellied down, crawling through the loam to join him.

  ‘Yurr, wot be amiss, Sanken?’ Arula whispered.

  They followed the direction of Samkim’s paw as he pointed downhill. Between the thickly wooded side of the slope a glint of running water could be seen below.

  ‘The Great South Stream,’ Spriggat whispered.

  The young squirrel concentrated hard as he sniffed the air. ‘Aye, that’s probably it, but I’m convinced I can smell woodsmoke and hear voices down there. What d’you think, Arula?’

  The molemaid moved her head this way and that, wrinkling her dark button nose intently. ‘Ho urr, you’m roight, woodsmoke an’ voices it be.’

  Samkim pulled an arrow from his quiver and held it point forward at the rat’s throat. ‘This could be a trap. If you’ve played us false then your seasons are finished as of now, rat!’

  The tracker swallowed hard, not daring to shake his head with the arrow tip stinging his gullet. ‘Dethbrush wouldn’t hang about layin’ traps, he only wants to get back to Ferahgo as quickly as possible. I told you he’d be followin’ the course of the South Stream.’

  Samkim looked across at the hedgehog. ‘What do you think, Spriggat?’

  The old hedgehog stood up quietly. ‘Well, we can’t lay about ’ere all day, I say we goes down yonder an’ investigates. Roll over this way, rat.’

  The rat complied and was promptly gagged with a mouthful of leaves. Spriggat wound the bowstring under his chin and over his snout, effectively securing the gag and muzzling him.

  ‘Right ho, vermin. Lead on, slow an’ easy-like!’

  Using the trees as cover, they crept down the hillside towards the stream. Arula drew the heavy pruning knife she had brought with her from Redwall, giving her loaded sling to Spriggat. Samkim gripped the unstrung bow, ready to use it as a stave. As they drew closer the sounds of creatures talking grew louder, though what they were saying the friends could not tell. Spriggat hauled the rat from the cover of an elm trunk and did a short run forward, pushing him into the cover of a yew thicket. Peering between the pole-like branches, he caught sight of a group of creatures arguing heatedly in gruff bass voices.

  The hedgehog heaved a sigh of relief. Pushing the rat out in front of him, he called to Samkim and Arula, ‘It’s all right, yew tew. No need to ’ide. They’re shrews!’

  The shrews on the streambank turned at the sound of Spriggat’s voice. Before anybeast could stop him, one of them dashed forward. Drawing his rapier, he ran the tracker rat through the heart.

  Realizing what had happened, Spriggat dealt the shrew a hefty crack over the head with his loaded sling, roaring as he laid the creature out senseless. ‘Yew stupid liddle murderer, couldn’t y’see the rat was tied up? ’E was our prisoner, an ’elpless vermin. Yew ’ad no right to slay ’im like that!’

  Samkim and Arula had now caught up with Spriggat. Instantly all three were surrounded by shrews with drawn rapiers and heavy wooden paddles. A mean, thin-looking shrew was shouting, ‘Kill them. It’s the rest of th
e fox’s gang. Kill them!’

  Without thinking, Samkim threw back his head and yelled, ‘Redwaaaaaaalllll!’

  The shrews held still a moment, surprised by the call. A fat old shrew, grey with many seasons, pushed his way through, belabouring about him with a knobbly blackthorn stick.

  ‘Enough of this killin’ talk, can’t y’see these beasts aren’t vermin? Stand aside, get out o’ me way, Gousssom!’

  The shrew who had been struck by Spriggat rose, moaning as he nursed a sizeable bump between his ears, ‘Kill the hedgepig. He tried t’ murder me. Oooohhhh!’

  The old shrew brandished his stick at the speaker. ‘One more word, Racla, an’ I’ll raise another lump atop of the one the hog gave to ye. Now then you lot, put up those weapons. Do as I say or I’ll lay about yer with me stick!’

  Muttering sullenly, they complied, and the old shrew winked at Samkim.

  ‘I’m Alfoh the Elder. We’re a colony of Guosssom shrews – there’s tribes of shrews all along this stream, part of the main Guerrilla Union. We pride ourselves on being the most civilized and reasonable of all the Guosssom tribes – that’s why we call our group a colony and not a tribe y’ see. But I suppose any shrewband has its loudmouths an’ hotheads, like young Racla there. Still, I don’t suppose he’s altogether to blame after what happened here last night. A fox and five rats mounted a sneak attack here, while we were half-asleep. They stole our best logboat an’ killed four of our shrews. One of the dead was Racla’s brother – that’s why he ran the rat through without stoppin’ to ask questions. Anyhow, we’ll all sit down t’gether an’ take a bite an’ a sup, then you can tell me your end of the story.’

  Twilight gleamed on the streamwaters. Seated in a large comfortable cavern facing the bank, the three friends related their tale as Alfoh’s colony members sat around listening. Hot acorn and chestnut dip was served with arrowroot wafers, a large honeyed plumcake was brought out in their honour, and dandelion wine and redcurrant cordial flowed freely. Spriggat munched away as he longingly watched two dragonflies hovering over the stream outside.