Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Ferahgo rose slowly, shaking his head. ‘No, Sickear, you’ve done enough for one day. You look tired.’

  Expecting a reprimand, the rat came to attention. ‘No, Master, I’m fresh as a daisy. It’s my duty to get you well.’

  The Assassin ruffled the rat’s ears good-naturedly. ‘And a splendid job you’ve done of it, Sickear. My own mother couldn’t have nursed me better. Listen, I’m just going to see what that son of mine is up to. You can have the rest of the night off. Come here, lie down on this rock. It’s flat and smooth. Come on now, I won’t take no for an answer.’

  The rat complied somewhat hesitantly, but Ferahgo was right, the rock was cool and smooth. He stretched out on it and yawned. ‘Thank you, Master.’

  ‘Oh, it’s the least I could do.’ Ferahgo’s blue eyes smiled lovingly. ‘Here, let me cover you with this cloak. You wouldn’t believe how soft and soothing a drop of your seawater has made it. There, how does that feel?’

  Sickear relaxed. ‘Mmmm, it feels really good, Master.’

  Ferahgo ducked down and stole off into the rocks. Within moments Sickear was slumbering peacefully, the damp cloak protecting him from the early night breezes that drifted about the darkened shoreline.

  Forgrin had sharpened an edge and point upon his sword all afternoon, and Raptail had driven a sharp spike through the top of a wooden cudgel. They crept slowly across the rocks towards the still draped figure lying on the flat stone near the tideline. Of the two, Forgrin was the bolder. He popped up from behind the rocks and bobbed down again.

  ‘See, Rap, not a sentry in sight. I told yer, young Klitch ’as taken charge of the rest. This’ll be a piece of pie. You’ll see!’

  Raptail nodded at the fox and brandished his club. ‘Listen, mate, I’m scared, I don’t mind tellin’ yer. Suppose Ferahgo wakes up?’

  Forgrin pawed the blade of his sword, grinning at the rat. ‘I’ve sent many a beast to sleep wi’ this liddle beauty. None of them ever woke up. Come on, let’s git it done afore yer nerve runs out altogether!’

  Not even daring to breathe, they stole up on the supine figure.

  Forgrin felt confident. Standing over the cloak-draped creature, he could not resist a quiet snigger. ‘Weasel yer way outta this one, weasel!’

  He drove the sword downward with both paws. The cloaked figure gave a gasp and went rigid. Raptail thudded two solid blows of his club to the covered head and leapt back.

  ‘Is ’e dead, mate? Stick ’im agin ter make sure!’

  ‘Oh, he’s quite dead. There’s no need to stick him any more.’

  The voice was unmistakably that of Ferahgo.

  Raptail died with a faint moan as Ferahgo dispatched him with his skinning knife, almost carelessly in passing. Not even bothering to glance at the fallen rat, the Assassin turned to the fox. Forgrin was shaking uncontrollably. The blue eyes looked almost jolly as they smiled through the night at him.

  ‘See, we’ve killed a rat apiece. You murdered Sickear and I slew Raptail. Now what happens, do you kill a weasel, or do I kill a fox?’

  Terror had robbed Forgrin of his power of speech. A gurgling noise escaped his throat as he turned and ran along the beach.

  Ferahgo could throw a knife better than any creature. The long skinning knife took Forgrin between the shoulder blades before he had got thirty paces. His eyes were glazing over for the last time as the Assassin retrieved the knife.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Ferahgo whispered close to his ear, ’this game ends with the weasel killing the fox. Sweet dreams, Forgrin.’

  Ferahgo’s back felt much better. As he strolled along the beach, his brilliant blue eyes lit up with happiness.

  Urthstripe watched from the top of the crater with Sapwood and Big Oxeye. Below them on the shore, masses of torchlights were moving away from Salamandastron. Sapwood nodded towards them.

  ‘Hi wonder what they’re hup to now, Ox?’

  The big hare leaned on his spear. ‘You tell me, ol’ chap, you tell me. From up here it looks remarkably like a flippin’ wholesale retreat, wot?’

  Urthstripe shook his great striped head. ‘Ferahgo doesn’t give up that easily. He wants us to think it’s a retreat. What we’ve got to figure out is why.’

  ‘Why what, sah?’

  ‘Why Ferahgo wants us to think he’s retreating. By my stripe, Oxeye, sometimes I think your brain’s been scrambled by all the fighting you’ve done.’

  Big Oxeye let one ear droop and grinned. ‘Quite possibly, sah. I often think that m’self. Shall I take a couple of the chaps an’ investigate?’

  The badger Lord pondered the question for a moment. ‘Hmm, I’m not overfond of spying – much sooner have a straight battle. But if we want to know what the vermin are up to, I suppose we’d better resort to a bit of intrigue. Sapwood, you and Oxeye go. Take a fast young one with you, in case you have to get a message back here quickly.’

  Sergeant Sapwood threw a smart salute. ‘None faster’n young Pennybright, sir. She’ll be useful to ’ave halong with us. Come on, Hoxeye ol’ pal.’

  Klitch lay hidden in the rocks, watching the mountain carefully. With him were threescore vermin, personally paw-picked for the mission. The young weasel’s blue eyes never left Salamandastron as he explained his plan to them.

  ‘When they see the horde withdrawing it’ll puzzle ’em – we’re here to attack, not retreat. Urthstripe will do what any leader would do in this case: send out hares to investigate. That’s where you lot come in. I want those hares captured – not slain, mind. Dead hares are no good to me; I need live hostages. Are the nets ready, Dragtail?’

  A tall gaunt ferret whose tail hung limp pointed to the beach. ‘Ready an’ waitin’, Klitch. Right in the path taken by our horde.’

  Klitch held up a paw for silence. ‘Get down, here come the hares. Three of ’em – just right!

  Oxeye, Sapwood and Pennybright watched as Urthstripe rolled the boulder, closing the main entrance.

  Pennybright’s eyes shone with admiration. ‘There’s not a creature in the world as strong as Lord Urthstripe. I’ll bet twenty of us couldn’t budge that boulder.’

  Sapwood pushed her lightly, urging the young hare onward. ‘That ain’t nothin’ to some of the things Hi’ve seen ’Is Lordship do. Shake a paw, Penny. We ain’t got all night.’

  Padding silently over the sands, the three hares tracked in the direction taken by the main body of the horde.

  Klitch spread his soldiers out behind them in a wide half-circle. Striking flint to tinder, he ignited a torch and waved it. Ahead of the three hares sixty more fully armed creatures filed out from the rocks. Fanning out into another semicircle, they trotted swiftly to join up with the others, completely ringing the three hares inside a wide circle that was closing rapidly.

  Sergeant Sapwood dropped into a fighting crouch, his eyes glittering pugnaciously. ‘Nice of ’em to send a welcomin’ committee t’ meet us, eh, Ox?’

  Big Oxeye stood back to back with him, placing Pennybright facing Salamandastron.

  ’Life ain’t always true an’ just,

  A villainous vermin you can’t trust!

  ‘No doubt you’ve heard that old rhyme, Penny. Well, here are the jolly old villainous vermin in the fur an’ flesh, m’ gel.’

  ‘They’ve got us surrounded. What do we do now?’ Pennybright gripped her javelin nervously.

  Sapwood’s reply was calm and reassuring. ‘Just stick by me an’ Hoxeye, missie. We’ve fought our way out of tighter corners than this’n, believe me.’

  Now the circle was drawing tight. Klitch stood outside it, his blue eyes shining triumphantly in the torchlight.

  ‘Well well, what have we here? Three bold warriors sent by the badger. No doubt you’ll be wanting to fight. Sorry to disappoint you, though.’

  Oxeye hefted his spear, chuckling with anticipation. ‘Oh, don’t fret, laddie buck, we won’t disappoint you. Come on now, step up an’ taste some cold steel from Salamandastron. Or haven’t y’
got the nerve for it, you slimy little weasel?’

  Klitch had been stalling for time, but now he saw his soldiers had found the rope ends poking up out of the sand he gave the signal.

  ‘Now!’

  They tugged hard and the net was unearthed from just beneath the sand. With a yell they charged inwards.

  The three hares fought to keep their balance as the heavy twisted fibres of the net appeared through the sand beneath their paws.

  In the confusion that followed, Sapwood yelled to Oxeye, ‘We’re trapped. See if y’ can get Penny away from ’ere!’

  Oxeye dropped his spear, knocking the javelin from Pennybright’s paws as the Sergeant lashed out all round at the yelling mob that scrambled forward holding the net high. Exerting his great strength, Big Oxeye grabbed Pennybright and lifted her bodily over his head. Jumping high, he hurled her over the heads of the vermin and the closing net.

  ‘Run for home, gel! Eulaliaaaaa!’

  Sapwood went down under the weight of creatures who piled in throwing the coils over him and Oxeye. Seconds later they were dubbed senseless and wrapped in the snares of the fibre mesh.

  Pennybright hit the sand in a stumbling run. A stoat managed to grab her, but she bit his paw to the bone and he let go with a squeal of pain. The young hare righted herself and ran flat out for the mountain, the breath sobbing in her throat as she thought of her two friends lying trapped. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Klitch and Dragtail speeding after her. Sand flew beneath her paws. Three stoats were racing madly, trying to cut her off before she could reach the mountain. An arrow whizzed by Pennybright’s head, and Dragtail was notching another shaft on his bowstring. She swerved, ducking left and right. An arrow hummed viciously by, clipping her ear as she went. The mountain loomed large as Pennybright yelled with the last of her lungpower:

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaaa!’

  One of the stoats screeched as he went down with a javelin sticking out of him like a flagpole. Bart Thistledown, Moonpaw and Urthstripe came bounding out of the main entrance. Bart unslung his bow and fitted an arrow as he ran. Loosing off the shaft, he sent another stoat limping off with an arrowhead lodged in his paw. The remaining stoat turned tail and ran off, as Urthstripe grabbed Pennybright and swung her up over his shoulder.

  Klitch and Dragtail had stopped running; their quarry had escaped. The young weasel hurled a stone at Urthstripe’s back as the badger Lord turned to go inside the mountain. It missed and bounced harmlessly off the rocks. He stood paws on hips shouting, ‘Be sure to watch the shore tomorrow, Urthstripe. See what I’m going to do with your pet bunnies. Hahahaha!’

  Urthstripe put his shoulder against the boulder and heaved it back into place. Bart Thistledown poured a small beaker of water from their meagre supply and made Pennybright drink it slowly.

  ‘Don’t fret, Penny old gel. Losin’ a battle doesn’t mean we’ve lost the war.’

  Ferahgo watched as Klitch directed his soldiers to drive stakes deep into the sand. Keeping his voice casual, the Assassin addressed his son.

  ‘Forgrin and Raptail are both dead. Your little plan failed.’

  Klitch picked up a mallet and gave one of the stakes a knock. ‘Oh yes? And what plan was that, old one?’

  Ferahgo seized Klitch’s paw, holding the mallet still. ‘The plan to kill me. I killed Forgrin and Raptail.’

  ‘Very clever, I’m sure.’ Klitch wrenched his paw away and went on hammering at the stake. ‘But I know nothing of any plan to kill you. My plan was to take hostages, and I’ve done that. If I’d planned to kill you I wouldn’t have failed at that either. Out of my way, old weasel!’

  Big Oxeye peered through the net holes at Klitch and his soldiers driving stakes into the sand. ‘What I wouldn’t give for two minutes alone with that evil little brat!’

  ‘We fell fer that one, Ox.’ Sapwood rubbed his head ruefully. ‘Hi wonder what they’re a-cookin’ up for us?’

  A ferret jabbed a spearbutt at him, laughing nastily. ‘Wouldn’t yer like to know! Well, you ’ave a nice sleep an’ you’ll find out tomorrer!’

  33

  The Joseph Bell tolled out mournfully across a quiet summer morning. Mrs Faith Spinney sat on the west wallsteps, sobbing gently into her flowered apron. Her husband Tudd sat beside her, resting his chin on his walking stick as he stared across the Abbey grounds through tear-dewed eyes.

  ‘Pore old Burrley. I can’t believe he’s dead. Not Burrley me best cellarmate. Who’ll ’elp me to brew October ale an’ roll those liddle casks o’ berry wine about?’

  Faith sniffed loudly as she dried her eyes and stood up. ‘Oh, that dreadful Dryditch Fever. Wot did we ever do wrong that made fortune visit it upon our Abbey? Pore Mr Burrley, he were such a gentle ol’ mole. Ah well, tears won’t make anythin’ aright. I’d best make meself busy. There’s lunch t’ be made an’ sickbeasts to care for. Now don’t you sit out ’ere too long, my Tudd. Go an’ ’ave a nap in your chair. You still ain’t well enough t’ be out an’ about.’

  Tudd pulled himself up shakily on his walking stick and hobbled alongside Faith towards the Abbey. ‘I’ll go an’ set awhile in the cellar among the barrels. That’s where me ’n’ Burrley sat yarnin’ many an ’ot afternoon. Oh, smash my prickles! I wish it’d been me as was taken, an’ not that good ol’ mole feller.’

  The Abbey door opened and Foremole trundled out with his crew, bearing with them the sad little bundle that had been their friend Burrley. Foremole wiped his eyes on a spotted kerchief and tugged his snout respectfully to the two hedgehogs.

  ‘Burr, ’tis a sad morn oi bid ’ee, guddbeasts. Us’ns will ’ave ol’ Burrley putten to rest at late noontoid. Will ’ee tell everbeast within ’ee Abbey?’

  Tudd patted the bundle and nodded brokenly. ‘Thankee, Foremole. I’ll let ’em all know. They’ll want t’ be at Burrley’s last restin’. He were greatly loved by all.’

  In the Infirmary and the upper gallery the beds were packed end to end. Abbess Vale and Furgle the Hermit hovered anxiously about Brother Hollyberry’s bed, mopping his brow and rubbing his paws. Hollyberry lay still, his old face thin and ashen. Vale pawed her girdle cord distractedly.

  ‘Oh, Furgle, can’t you do anything to snap him out of it?’

  ‘I wish I could, Abbess.’ The woodvole Hermit shrugged helplessly. ‘Hollyberry is in a deep faint. I know naught of such things. If he goes any deeper we’ll surely lose him.’

  Bremmun levered himself weakly up off his pillows. ‘Ooooh, I’m aching all over! Don’t even think of losing Brother Hollyberry – only he knows how to mix the medicine that’s keeping us all alive. If he goes then who will be able to make it?’

  Thrugann had been bathing little Droony’s brow. She hurried over and hushed Bremmun. ‘Keep yore voice down, squirrel. These sick creatures got enough t’ worry about without you startin’ off a panic!’

  Abbess Vale grasped the otter’s paw beseechingly. ‘You’d know how to make the medicine, Thrugann. You collected the herbs for Bremmun. Surely he told you how to blend them together?’

  ‘Oh, Abbess, marm, I only wish he had.’ Thrugann shook her head sadly. ‘I can find herbs an’ pick ’em, but make ’em into medicine, never!’

  Droony the infant mole woke up and began crying. ‘Whurr be moi ol’ nuncle Burrley? Burrhurrhurrhurr.’

  Thrugann hurried to comfort the little fellow, drying his tears and reassuring him. ‘There there. Hushabye, mole. Nuncle Burrley’s gone away, but you’ll see him agin some sunny season.’

  Abbess Vale swayed slightly, clasped a paw to her face and fell with a bump to the gallery floor. Faith Spinney had just arrived with a jug of soup and some bowls. She set the tray down and hurried across to help her old friend. The Abbess lay senseless.

  ‘Oh, mercy sakes, somebeast ’elp ’er, please!’ Faith looked around wildly.

  Thrugann swept the frail form up in her strong paws. ‘Lan’ sakes, I knowed this’d ’appen. She’s been runnin’ about ’ere takin’ care of everyb
east except ’erself. Furgle, it looks like one o’ those faints to me. What d’you think?’

  The Hermit needed only one glance to confirm his worst fears. ‘Lackaday! This is the worst thing that could happen right now.’

  Thrugann looked around gnawing her lip worriedly. ‘There’s not an empty bed in the whole place for ’er.’

  ‘Oh yes there is.’ Faith Spinney dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Burrley’s bed is still empty in the dormitory. We’d best take pore Vale down there.’

  The dormitory was silent. Hastily Thrugann laid Abbess Vale on the bed and dashed around checking on the patients. They had all gone into a deep faint, with the exception of Blossom the mousemaid, who was feebly shaking her comatose sister, Turzel, and weeping softly.

  ‘Wake up, Turzel. Please, please wake up.’

  There was a pawstep on the stairs. Thrugann and Faith turned to see Furgle standing in the doorway.

  ‘Er, er, the medicine has just run out and er, er. . . .’ The Hermit stood fidgeting with an empty medicine bowl in the doorway until Faith Spinney snatched it impatiently from him.

  ‘Goodness me, Mister Furgle, stop stammerin’ about. Is there somethin’ you’ve got to tell us?’

  He sighed and sat down on the floor. ‘There’ll be another empty bed in the upper gallery. We’ve just lost Bremmun!’

  Thrugann shook her head. ‘But that ain’t possible. I was only talkin’ to Bremmun a moment ago. Oh, tell me ’e ain’t dead, Furgle!’ The Hermit shook his head. ‘I wish I could, marm. I was wiping his brow when he looked me in the eye and said he was tired, then he just turned on his back and closed his eyes and died.’

  Faith Spinney sat down on the floor, her face pale and shocked. ‘Oh dearie me, that means there’s only we three an’ my Tudd down in the cellars who ain’t down with Dryditch Fever. We’re all that’s left standin’ on our paws in Redwall Abbey!’