Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Meriam’s voice shook with laughter as she shouted back, ‘No, they didn’t, but come in anyway and we’ll see what we can do to silence your grumbling tummies!’

  A hearty cheer went up from the marchers.

  The tale was told and retold over the banquet board, of how a small determined force sent the horde of Swartt Sixclaw, the ferret Warlord, running defeated into the west. Dibbuns watched open-mouthed as the squirrelhare Jodd demolished everything edible that came within his reach.

  ‘I say, this Spring Salad’s absolutely top hole! Eh, what’s that, mann? Oh yes indeed, pile it on here, m’dear, nothin’ like apple pie’n’meadowcream to clear one’s palate y’know. Er, excuse me, young molechap, pass yon turnip’n’tater ’n’whatever they call that bally great pie you coves eat. Thank y’kindly, no, leave the jolly old dish, might want some for afters, wot!’

  The leader of the Redwall mole contingent, whose title was always Foremole, winked at the mole who was serving Jodd. ‘Hoo arr, that’n be an ’arebeast, you’m b’ain’t see’d any h’aminal eaten ’til you’m see’d an ’arebeast, burr no zurr!’

  Friar Bunfold dashed about, topping up all the beakers with good October Ale. ‘A toast, friends, to the goodbeasts who saved Redwall!’ he called.

  Beakers were raised, cheers rang to the rafters.

  ‘The goodbeasts who saved Redwall! Hooray!’

  Amid much whispering and giggling a steaming cauldron was wheeled in by Togget, Bryony and Friar Bunfold. The hogwife Myrtle announced to one and all, ‘Now I don’t take no blame fer this concoction, ’twas a thingummy created by these three ’ere, in honour of our guests this eve. Oh, you tell ’em, Bryony – I gets all muddled!’

  ‘Well, we know that otters like their hotroot soup with watershrimp, leek, onions and plenty of hotroot,’ Bryony explained to the feasters, ‘but we have our friends the squirrels to consider. Their favourite is the treetop broth made from maple tips, acorns, beechnuts, green apples and horse chestnuts. So, my friends and I combined both, adding a few ingredients of our own. Two beakers of parsley wine, a touch of ramson and some winter rosehips. We hope you enjoy it – our phantom warrior soup!’

  It proved to be a great favourite: hot, spicy, sweet and also strong. Some said Skipperjo ate the most, though Jodd was only a fraction of a ladle behind him.

  ‘Mmmm, mm, quite tasty, very nice, though I do like that deeper’n’thingee pie the molechaps make. Who knows, when I’m fed up bein’ a squirrel I might join up an’ become a bally mole.

  Foremole shook his velvety head vigorously. ‘Oh, nay, zurr, ’tis a turrible loif us’n’s lead, you’m far better orf bein’ a squirrelbeast, you’m lukk more loik one.’

  Jodd was quite flattered by this remark, and he hitched hard at the cord tied from his bobtail to his long ears. ‘I say, d’you think so really? Actually, I do meself. In fact I think I look quite like a jolly old treewalloper these days. Tied the old tail to me ears so it’ll stretch an’ grow long’n’bushy, same as a squirrelchap. D’you think it’s workin’?’

  Foremole gave Jodd’s tail a tug and winked at Togget. ‘Whoi oi do berleev ’tis gettin’ gurt’n’bushy, eh, maister?’

  Togget nodded solemnly. ‘Much longer an’ et’ll be a curlen o’er onto ee nose, zurr!’

  The banter and chatter went on late into the night amid an abundance of good food, firm friends, and a general feeling of thankfulness and wellbeing. Skipperjo, Redfarl and Jodd raised beakers to the Abbess.

  ‘If we’re to be rewarded with such a splendid spread every time we defend yore Abbey, marm, then we ’opes the next passel o’ villains is headin’ down the path tomorrer!’

  Meriam shook her head. ‘Fate and fortune forbid such a thing, my friends. You do not need to fight for food at Redwall; our table is here for you any time you call by our gate. You are always welcome.’

  As the night wore on, Meriam took Bryony to one side and led her from Great Hall, saying, ‘Come with me missie, I have something to show you – a surprise.’

  Together they mounted the stairs and made their way to a chamber close by the sickbay. Meriam tapped upon the door. Bryony thrilled to the mellow sound of a deep voice, that of the beloved Redwall Badger Mother, Bella.

  ‘Enter please, there are no locks on my door.’

  Bella was massive with age. Her silver fur shone in the lantern light, almost creating a nimbus of radiance about her. Raising a huge, ageworn paw, she adjusted small thick crystal glasses from her muzzletip up to her eyes.

  Arranging a shawl about her friend’s shoulders, Meriam whispered, ‘I thought you might be asleep, Bella. Are we disturbing you?’

  The great shining head shook slowly. ‘No, no, not at all. There’s no need to whisper, Meriam – I sleep when I like and stay awake as I want to these days. Hello, Bryony, my pretty little mousemaid, come and sit with old Bella.’

  Bryony sat upon the broad soft lap, her favourite place since she had been a Dibbun, and she looked questioningly at Meriam. ‘What is the surprise, Mother Abbess?’

  Meriam placed a paw to her lips. ‘Sshh! Not so loud, missie.’

  Bella nodded to a cradle within easy reach of her paw. ‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s wide awake and taking all in.’

  Leaning over, Bryony saw what the cradle contained. She jumped from Bella’s lap and swept the babe into her paws, hugging it. ‘Oh, it’s a babe, a little one! Is it male or maid? What’s it called? Whose is it? Where did you get it from? Oh, Mother!’

  Meriam allowed Bryony to hold the babe. ‘Not so fast, missie, maybe you won’t be so quick to cuddle him when I tell you. He is the young of a vermin, abandoned when they retreated from the path, a male ferretbabe.’

  Bryony continued nursing the ferret, rocking back and forth. ‘Poor little thing! He looks so alone and lost! Is he not beautiful, Bella, see!’

  The ancient badger smiled wisely, saying, ‘All little creatures are beautiful, Bryony, every living thing when it first sees life is born in beauty. What they grow to be is a different matter. I have given the ferretbabe a name; he shall be called Veil, because there is a veil over his life before he came here. We know nothing of him.’

  Bryony looked down at the little ferret. Its sharp slitted eyes were watching her intently. She tickled its nosetip gently with her paw, saying, ‘Veil, Veil, it’s a lovely name, hello little Veil. Owch!’

  Bella exchanged glances with the Abbess before speaking. ‘He has bitten you, Bryony.’

  The mousemaid sucked her paw briefly, smiling. ‘No, not really, it was more of a nibble. Perhaps he’s hungry.’

  Bella closed her eyes and leaned back. ‘Some creatures are always hungering after one thing or another. I have a feeling about this one, and if I am proved right in the seasons to come I will tell you why I really called him Veil. But it is far better now to hope for the best that can happen, so we will say no more about it. You are a good mousemaid, Bryony, that is why the Abbess and I decided that you shall have Veil, to bring up and care for. He may benefit from you.’

  Bryony’s eyes were shining, and she hugged the small bundle close. ‘Oh, Mother Abbess, is it true? I will be like his mother, no, more like his big sister, no, more like his good friend!’

  The Abbess smiled at her friend the mousemaid. ‘Make your mind up, missie. Best be a little of all, mayhap that’s what Veil will need to grow up good. Put him back in his cradle now and take him up to the dormitory with you. Bella is too old to care for him and I have my Abbey to look after. From this day forth he is your responsibility.’

  When Bryony had taken Veil and gone from the room, Abbess Meriam stooped and dabbed a tiny spot of blood from the rush mat. It had spilled from the mousemaid’s paw when the ferretbabe bit her. She sat on the arm of Bella’s chair, staring at the crimson dot, and said, ‘Did we do the right thing, old friend, or will this ferret cause more blood to be shed in Redwall?’

  The great silver badger bent down and wiped away the speck with her apron corne
r. ‘Only time will tell, Meriam!’

  * * *

  25

  As the earth turned slowly, time passed and season followed season many times. Swartt Sixclaw and his horde wandered the land, through woodland, across rivers, over mountains, often lost and frequently sidetracked by dissent and mutiny. But his obsession, to avenge himself upon the badger who had maimed and deadened his famous sixclaw, drove the Warlord onward.

  Many things happened to swell the infamy of Swartt’s name. He lost some of his horde in marsh country, fighting a long and protracted battle against toads and reptiles, emerging victorious but with a depleted horde.

  Then chance brought him into an alliance with Captain Zigu and his Corsairs. Zigu was a ferret like himself who, having lost his ship on the rocks in foul weather, was forced to range the coasts with his motley band of vermin, some searats, but mainly Corsairs, creatures of any species that chose the marauding life. Zigu was no stranger to Salamandastron; he had seen it from the sea and knew its exact location. He was a valuable, if untrustworthy, asset, and joining forces with him meant that the horde would be lost no more. For Swartt, this sealed the pact.

  Southward down the coast the horde ranged, being joined by deserters, mutineers and other vermin who had been marooned by their searat brethren. Swartt sat upon the beach one morning at the start of summer, picking at a roasted mackerel. He glanced across at Nightshade who was tossing shells into the air and watching in what position they fell upon the sand.

  ‘Never mind the stupid shells, vixen, look at my horde – just cast yer eyes over ’em. Every one a murderer, they’d slit their own mothers’ gizzards over a morsel of food, hah! ’Arf of ’em prob’ly did, killers all! Now I’m a real Warlord, the best of a bad bunch, an’ I could lick any six of ’em single-pawed!’

  Nightshade went back to her conjuring. ‘Aye, Lord, we’ll do great things together. Shells are magic, they don’t tell lies. See these here, they are our horde. But see this big curling conch; you can hear the tide come and go if you put it to your ear. Look though, it fell standing straight up in the sand – it’s the mountain. See the distance from it that the horde lies; we cannot be far from it now.’

  Swartt shook his head, as if in disappointment at his seer. ‘You know that because of what Zigu told you – he knows how close to Salamandastron we are. Go on, then, if your shells are so clever, what else do they tell you? That little red shell that fell far apart from the rest, what does that say?’

  The vixen looked at the small red shell and shrugged. ‘Lord, though it doesn’t say anything it tells me a great deal. Remember you once had a babe, a male? This shell represents him, and you would do well to beware of it.’

  Swartt stared at the little red shell, his lip twisting contemptuously. ‘Oh yes, I remember the brat, but that was long ago, he’s probably dead by now. We lost him after the battle on the path.’

  Nightshade narrowed her eyes, staring hard at the shell. ‘You never really lost him. See – he’s come back!’

  Swartt kicked sand at her. ‘Idiot! How can a little red shell hurt me?’

  ‘Pick it up and see, it’s not so little any more.’

  Swartt picked the shell up and found it was quite a big one. In falling it had been almost covered by the soft sand, allowing only a small part of it to remain visible.

  The vixen nodded. ‘It was a little shell once, but it has grown, Lord. Beware of it I say. Turn it over and look.’

  The ferret turned the shell over and scrutinized it, saying, ‘A few markin’s on it, like scratches. So?’

  ‘Six marks, Lord; six scratches representing six claws!’

  Swartt spat on the shell and threw it into the sea. ‘Stupid rubbish! If that’s the best ye can do then ’tis a pore show. Fall in with the rest an’ git marchin’. Swartt Sixclaw decides his own destiny – only fools believe what they see in shells!’

  Zigu the Corsair strode out on the right flank of the horde, along with his former bosun, a stoat called Welknose. Both could see Swartt marching at the head of the horde.

  The bosun had taken a dislike to Swartt and made no secret of it. ‘Warlord, huh! That’n ain’t no Warlord, more like a puffed-up toad swaggerin’ out front there. You c’d take ’im, Cap’n, easily, I knows yer could!’

  Zigu was an unusual Corsair. Tall and saturnine, he dressed plainly and affected the manner of a gentlebeast. Despite this, he was shrewd and ruthless, and feared by many among the searat fraternity for his skill with the deadly long rapier. His paw resting on the fine basket hilt of the weapon, he strode at a leisurely pace, regarding his bosun’s angry outburst with faint amusement.

  ‘Lack a day, Welknose, shame on you for speaking of our beloved leader in such a dreadful manner. Tell me, pray, why should I “take ’im”, as you so quaintly put it?’

  ‘So that you kin be the boss of all this lot, Cap’n. Yer kin bet an oyster to a lobster they’d foller a finebeast like yerself if’n yer tickled Swartt to death wid yer rapier!’

  Zigu smiled benevolently at his companion. ‘Hmm, yes. I see what you mean. Mayhap all of these vermin would benefit from my leadership – but later, my friend, later.’

  The stoat wrinkled his long lumpy nose and scratched one ear, saying, ‘Later, Cap’n, why later?’

  Zigu shrugged expressively. ‘Why not later, prithee? Let our barbaric ally lead his horde against the Badger Lord an’ his mountain; one would imagine fierce battle and bloody slaughter on both sides. Just before I slew him, my old father used to have a saying:

  Where fate is sealed on battle’s field,

  And many low are laid,

  The wisest mind says stay behind,

  And let the fools get slayed!’

  ‘Haharr haharr hohoho!’ Welknose broke into raucous laughter. ‘Yer a caution, Cap’n, an’ no mistake. I see wot yer means, we let ole Swartt get hisself killed an’ then we steps in an’ takes command!’

  ‘Roughly put but apt, my lumpnosed confederate.’

  Welknose grinned fondly up at the tall Corsair. ‘Yore a real gennelbeast, Cap’n. You talks fancy but fights dirty – that’s real quality, an’ no mistake!’

  At the front of the horde Swartt was busy plotting with Nightshade against his Corsair ally.

  ‘Lord, this Zigu creature,’ said Nightshade, ‘I do not need shells or omens to tell me that he will slide that thin blade of his into your back one night if he is not dealt with soon.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry yerself, vixen, I’ve got me eye on Zigu, but we need ’im to take us to the mountain. He knows where it is, an’ the best way of approachin’ it.’

  ‘And after that, Lord, what then?’

  ‘Simple, we let everybeast know ’ow brave our Corsair is, then let ’im take the honour of leadin’ a dangerous charge. If he dies, well an’ good, but if he wins the day an’ comes out alive, you know wot t’do, don’t yer.’

  ‘Aye, Sire, we hail him as a hero and let him drink fine wine from the silver chalice, like Bowfleg and Damsontongue.’

  ‘Right, we can’t let bravebeasts go thirsty, ’twouldn’t be good manners!’

  Skarlath was too high up to hear what went on below. A mere hovering speck, he noted the moving horde on the shore before winging off towards Salamandastron.

  * * *

  26

  The great mace now hung in the forge room. Sunflash no longer carried it everywhere looped on his paw; it had become a hindrance to his new occupation. Clad in a flowing smock and wearing a woven straw hat, the Badger Lord had become the perfect farmer. Every available surface of the mountainside was cultivated; berries and hardy little fruit trees flourished on the leeside, root crops in the deeper-soiled hollows of the south face, and cereals on the front where the dark ancient volcanic soil was more sandy and shallow.

  Sunflash sat with his hares on a high ledge. Their chores for the day completed, they were enjoying a picnic. Filling his beaker with pennycloud cordial, the badger pointed out an area below them, and said, ‘We�
��ll have to shore the edges of that salad garden with rocks, stop the rains washing the soil away. Leave a few small gaps for drainage though.’

  The fat Porty saluted furiously, tugging his eartips and imitating rustic molespeech. ‘Hoo urr, zurr Sunnyflasher, roight ee be farmer, burr aye!’

  Sunflash chuckled as he flung his straw hat at the cheeky hare. ‘When you get weary of being a mole, let me know, you impudent young rip. I’ll teach you how to become a gull and we’ll see how well you fly, from here down to the shore!’

  Sundew and a hare called Fleetrunn appeared from a side tunnel carrying a cloth-covered tray between them. Bradberry sniffed, and said, ‘I say, somethin’ smells jolly good!’

  Sundew twitched her ears severely at Bradders. ‘Keep your grubby paws away from this, gannetface, it was made specially for Lord Sunflash.’

  Uncovering the tray, Fleetrunn set it before the badger. A heavy dark cake still warm from the oven gave off fruity aromas. The golden stripe quivered as Sunflash’s muzzle twitched. ‘Bradders is right, it does smell nice! Cut it up quickly – hungry farmers don’t like to be kept waiting!’

  ‘It’s a plum and almond cake,’ Fleetrunn explained as she cut it into dark, fragrant slices. ‘Bloggwood used old cider to mix it with; it had to be baked slow to keep it moist.’

  ‘Kreeh! Cake is good for hungry birds!’

  Suddenly, Skarlath landed on the Badger Lord’s broad shoulder and started in on the slice that Sunflash held up to him.

  ‘Well, my faithful friend,’ said the badger, ‘it’s over a season since you last visited me. Eat your cake before you tell me the news.’ Sunflash blinked as crumbs flew left and right. ‘Now I know what somebeasts mean when they say “hungry as a hawk”. I don’t suppose you get fresh-baked cake often.’

  The kestrel’s throat bulged as he swallowed the last morsel. ‘It is good cake, I will take some when I go. News is all bad, friend. The Sixclaw is three days from here with a great horde. There are no young ones and families with him now. These are fighting vermin: Corsairs, searats, marauders, plunderers, the rakings and scrapings of sea and shoreline, as many as leaves in an autumn gale!’