Kurda seemed to wilt under the weight of opinion against her. She lowered her sabre. Shrugging and smiling ruefully, she skirted the fire, her paw held out to Slitfang.
“So, you are a Freebooter who knows his own mind, yarr. Go if you must, no hard feelinks, eh, Slitty?”
The weasel chuckled. “Aye, an’ good luck wid yore snake ’unt, Princess.” Lowering his cutlass, he held forth his paw.
It was as if Kurda were back at Riftgard, chopping turnips in the armoury. Two lightning-swift strokes of the sabre, one across, one down. Tazzin reached for her dagger, but dropped her paw as a blade touched the back of her neck and Riggan whispered in her ear, “Just try it an’ yore a deadbeast for sure!”
Kurda stepped over Slitfang’s headless carcass, flicking his severed paw to one side. She nodded to Vorto. “Take diss out of mine sight!”
Later that night, Kurda lay down at the edge of the firelight to sleep. Riggan and Vorto spread their cloaks on either side of the Princess. She watched the flames reflecting off the pile of weaponry taken from the Seascab’s crew by her Ratguards. These would only be reissued at her command. The Pure Ferret sighed with satisfaction. “None of de Freebooters challenged me after I make de example mit Slitfang, yarr.”
Riggan half closed her eyes, ever watchful as she murmured, “None would even look yore way, marm, you was quicker’n any snake wid that sabre!”
Triss stood on the northwest ramparts, sipping a beaker of hot vegetable soup and watching a silver sickle moon peeking out from behind a small, fluffy cloud. Seated with his back against the battlements, Shogg yawned wearily and stretched.
“Didn’t come back, did they? I’m not complainin’. ’Tis good to ’ave a day’s peace after wot we’ve been through.”
Scarum slid his empty beaker on the walkway and picked up the otter’s half-full one. Shogg nudged him gently. “I saw that, mate. You go on an’ finish it, though. It might get yore ears out of their grumpy position.”
The young hare’s ears half rose, then fell back. “Grumpy? Who said I’m blinkin’ grumpy, wot? Stuck up here for the flippin’ rest o’ me life with nothin’ t’do. Huh, I volunteered myself for duty in the kitchens, an’ that bloomin’ Friar Gooch said he’d sooner have the vermin helpin’ out there instead o’ me. The nerve!”
Log a Log watched a moth hovering round the glint from his rapier blade. “Never mind, Scarum. I’ll tell young Furrel to pack ye an’ extra-big lunch tomorrow.”
Scarum nodded. “Friendly little molemaid, I like her. Lunch, did you say lunch, old lad? Why would she be packin’ me a lunch, am I goin’ anywhere?”
Skipper leaned over from his walltop perch and tickled the hare’s ear. “If’n the vermin don’t show up afore midmorn, we’re takin’ a scoutin’ party out t’see wot’s goin’ on in Mossflower woodlands. Are ye comin’?”
The hare tried to poach Sagax’s soup beaker and got a rap over the paw for his audacity. “Count me in, old scout, anythin’s better’n sittin’ up here like a caterpillar waitin’ to change into a bloomin’ butterfly, wot wot wot!”
Sagax gave Scarum his beaker, but it was empty. He smiled at his friend’s dejected expression.
“Oh, stop looking like a boiled bumblebee. I know you’re bored, we’re all bored, and it’s a long time until dawn. Come on, Scarum, entertain us. Give us that monologue about your uncle Gurdilo—I like that one.”
The hare sniffed. “It’s Burdilo, not Gurdilo, an’ all you’ve given me tonight is a flamin’ empty soup beaker. Shan’t!”
Triss picked up the beaker. “Oh, do it, please, I’ve never heard about your uncle Burdilo. I’ll fill this beaker with soup again if you recite it for us. Promise.”
Scarum rose stiffly. “You do know the way to a chap’s heart, miss, or is it his stomach? Same thing. Oh, all right, here goes.” The hare soon had them all chuckling with his comic poem.
“My uncle Burdilo was a chap that you’d like to know.
He’d paws like iron an’ a back like oak,
All in all quite a handsome bloke!
They say he scoffed his own weight twice,
In the space of a bloomin’ day,
An’ licked ten times his weight in foes,
At least that’s what they say, hey.
Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh.
That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!
His eyesight was so jolly good,
Do you know what they say?
He could spot a fly on an apple pie,
A score o’ miles away . . . even on a foggy day!
So strong and tough a hare he was,
D’you know what he did one day?
He stood in a pail an’ picked it up,
An’ carried himself away, hey.
Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh,
That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!
He’d swim wide seas with skill an’ ease,
And often for a joke,
He’d run so fast, as he sped past,
His footpaws puffed out smoke!
Y’know what they say, he raced one day,
Until his tail was burnin’,
He ran, of course, with such great force,
He met himself returnin’.
Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh,
That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!”
During the laughter and applause that followed, Scarum bowed and flourished both ears outrageously. He flopped down beside Triss.
“Now, then, how’s about that beaker o’ soup, m’gel?”
She smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, that. No need for me to go dashing off to the kitchens—here come Foremole Urrm and Furrel with two big jugs of soup for refills.”
The hare’s face was the picture of outrage. “You knew they were comin’. Hoodwinker, charlatan! I’ll never trust a pretty face again, wot, you see if I bally well don’t, huh!”
Sagax pushed him playfully. “Oh, stop grumbling, it passed away a pleasant moment or two, didn’t it?”
Scarum held out his beaker to be filled, muttering, “Might have for you rotten lot, but it took quite a bit out of me, wastin’ my artistic an’ poetic talents on a pack o’ soup-guzzlin’ buffoons, wot. I say there, Furrel, you charmin’ young molemaid, keep pourin’. This blinkin’ beaker’s only half full—keep goin’, me pretty one!”
The molemaid wrinkled her snout. “Hurr hurr, you’m a gurt flatterer, zurr, h’oi can’t resist ee!”
Kroova whispered to Sagax, “I’m glad somebeast can’t!”
Scarum shot him an icy glance. “I heard that, y’know!”
37
As all the able-bodied Redwallers were guarding the walltops, there was nobeast to relieve them. Night’s dark hours dragged by with painful slowness. The defenders paired off, one napping whilst the other kept watch. Beyond the walls, Mossflower Woods lay calm and peaceful, but to the sentries’ eyes they looked different. Every shifting moonshadow or breeze-swayed bough represented the threat of a fresh vermin attack.
Triss watched the silent plain spread out in front of her. Many thoughts wandered in and out of her mind. The friends she had left on Riftgard’s cold northern coasts, still trapped in a life of miserable slavery. Agarnu, the fat white King, stumping about on his false limb, while his tyrannical mind dreamed up new schemes that added to the harsh existence of the wretched captives who served his every whim. The vow she had made to poor old Drufo.
Triss touched the hilt of Martin’s wondrous sword. Silently she renewed her vow to return and free the slaves. Martin the Warrior’s spirit had guided her across the seas to Redwall. She would do what she had to and help her new friends to defend their Abbey against evil. But the day would come when she would set paw again on Riftgard’s shores to avenge Drufo’s memory, and that of the father she had never known, Rocc Arrem.
Lying on a bed near the dormitory door, Memm Flackery stuck out a paw,
stopping the Dibbun Bikkle from leaving the room. The Harenurse murmured. “Where d’you think you’re off to, little miss?”
The squirrelbabe climbed up onto Memm’s bed. “Breffist, it bee’s time for breffist, Bikkle, ’ear a larker!”
The bed creaked as Memm rose and carried Bikkle to an open window. Dawn’s first lark twittered thinly, ascending into the pale light of a new day. Delicate rose hues stippled the horizon, dispersing the dark blue of night as soft gold sunrays threaded out between cream-puff clouds.
Ruggum trundled up beside Memm and Bikkle. “Yurr, ee larker bee’s a-tellin’ uz et’s toime furr breffist.”
Taking in the glorious scene before her, Memm absently patted the molebabe’s head. “Hmm, the beauties of Mother Nature are never lost on you, Ruggum, wot!”
Nodding solemnly, the molebabe agreed. “Hurr, they’m surpintly b’ain’t, marm!”
The morning wore on, with no sign of the vermin returning to attack Redwall. Skipper and Log a Log had shared their plans with the Abbot: a force was to be sent out into the woodlands. It was vital that they knew what had caused the Freebooters and Ratguards to break off the attack.
Triss was pleasantly surprised when they consulted her as to who should go and who would stay behind to protect the Abbey. Scarum was chosen to stay with the home-guard, as was Gurdle Sprink and all the shrews who had arrived with Mimsy and Gulif, most of whom had families. The rest would be Redwallers, those too young or old to travel, and possibly fight. Triss suggested that they leave at least one more capable warrior behind, to assist Scarum and Gurdle. They decided it would be one of the four otters. Shogg, Kroova, Churk and Rumbol drew lots, and it fell to the sea otter.
Kroova was slightly disappointed, but he made light of it. “Hah, it’ll be easy enough defendin’ the walltops, mates, but who’s goin’ to defend the kitchens against old Scarum?”
Foremole and his crew were out on the path, having just finished burying the slain vermin and cleaning the oatmeal from the gateway. He touched a heavy digging claw to his snout as the tracking party emerged from the Abbey.
“Hurr, gudd luck to ee, zurrs’n’marms, you’m be careful an’ watch owt furr ee vermint villyuns.”
The remaining Redwallers flocked to the west walltop as Skipper, Log a Log, Triss and Sagax led off their crew at high noon. Guosim shrews formed the main body, followed by the three otters, Mokug and a half-dozen Abbey dwellers. The Abbot stood on the walltop with Scarum and Kroova, waving and calling goodbyes. The hare bellowed down to the trackers, “Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, chaps, an’ don’t let that Sagax too near the blinkin’ supplies. Badgers are born hogs, y’know. Hawhawhaw!”
Triss threw a salute to the Abbot. “Don’t worry, Father, I’ll bring Martin’s sword back safe and sound.”
Apodemus smiled fondly at her. “I’m sure you will, my child.”
Shogg and Kroova had become close friends. The sea otter shouted down to Shogg, “I’ll tell Friar Gooch t’make some shrimp’n’hotroot soup to share with ye on yore return, mate.”
Shogg grinned from ear to ear. “Yore a good ’un, matey. I’ll look forward to that. We’ll scoff it t’gether.”
Foremole and his crew were still out on the path. They watched until the last creature disappeared into the woodlands, then Scarum began exercising his authority from above.
“Attention now, all moletypes will come inside an’ lock the gates, quick as y’like now, jump to it!” Scarum saluted Kroova with a fine military flourish. “Got to keep those wallahs on the move, y’know, wot!”
The otter, still staring at the small dust cloud the party had left on the path, agreed absentmindedly. “Wot, oh aye, right, mate, keep ’em on the move . . .”
Ripper the searat and Tazzin found themselves in the vanguard of the vermin as they marched through the quiet, sunshafted woodlands. Without turning his eyes, Ripper nodded backward. “I’ll wager that Princess Kurda is well pertected.”
Tazzin took a quick peek. “Oh aye, yore right there. She’s right in the middle ranks, guarded by spears. Not up front in the open like me ’n’ you, mate. Still, there’s ’er tracker, Riggan, scoutin’ up ahead of us. If anybeast gets attacked by snakes, she’ll be the first.”
Ripper did not agree. “Not when we gets t’the snakes’ den, that’s when we’ll be given our weapons back an’ told to charge in the front door. Well, ’ere’s one wot won’t be goin’. I ain’t no fool. Let ’er guards do the chargin’.”
Tazzin’s gaze roved from side to side as she answered, “You seen wot ’appened to Slitfang, didn’t ye? Kurda ain’t a beast t’be crossed—I never seen a creature so fast an’ deadly wid a sabre. She’d ’ave slayed Plugg if’n the snakes didn’t get to ’im first. That ferret’s a real swordbeast!”
Not only had Kurda ringed herself with Ratguards, but she had split the unarmed Freebooters, keeping half in front of the column and the other half behind. The Princess was as frightened as any of them by the thought of the three snakes, but her mind was working constantly as she discussed plans with Vorto.
“Ven Riggan finds der serpents’ den, you give de Freebooters der veapons back. I t’ink many of dem get killed in de shnakes’ lair. Who vill get mine crown back for me?”
Vorto had been thinking up a new plan, which he outlined. “No real need for ’em t’go chargin’ in, yore ’ ighness. Suppose we was to stake one o’ the Freebooters out in front o’ the den? We could be layin’ in wait when the serpents come out t’get the bait, then we could send Plugg’s crew in to finish the snakes off.”
Kurda liked the idea. “Yarr, gutt! Den you an’ mine guards rush in an’ take mine crown from der dead serpents. Und if de lair is empty, den you go in an’ get der pawring. Gutt!”
Vorto was not too happy about exploring the snakes’ den to find the royal pawring. But he said nothing, knowing that he could drive any surviving Freebooters in ahead of him. It was a good plan; all that would be sacrificed would be the crew of the Seascab.
Log a Log’s scouts tracked the vermin trail to their previous night’s camp. A Guosim shrew emerged from the undergrowth rather swiftly. “There’s a slayed weasel in there, with ’is paw an”ead lopped off. They must’ve been quarrellin’ among themselves.”
With one mighty tug, Sagax released Plugg’s battle-axe from the trunk of the sycamore. He wielded it in one paw. “I like the feel of this weapon. I think I’ll claim it.”
Triss watched him heft the big axe. “I think you’d better have it, it suits you, Sagax. There’s not many other beasts could lift it, let alone use it!”
Log a Log stirred the dead fire ashes with his rapier, listening to the report of one of his scouts.
“Still a smell of those adders yonder, faint, but trackable. Looks like they’re huntin”em, Chief.”
Wiping his rapier clean, the Guosim Chieftain replied, “Aye, an’ we’re trackin’ them. So everybeast be double careful, an’ you scouts, watch yoreselves. Give a shout if’n ye get into trouble, we won’t be far behind.”
Shogg threw some kindling on the dead fire and set flint to tinder, blowing on the sparks. Log a Log saw what he was doing and nodded approval.
“No sense in catchin’ up to ’em too soon, eh, mate?”
Shogg dug bread and cheese from his pack. “I figger if the vermin are huntin’ these serpents, we’d be better off lettin”em go ahead an’ do it. No sense in runnin’ into the middle of a vermin snakefight.”
Log a Log winked broadly at Triss. “That’s a smart matey ye got there, miss. Let’s stop an’ take a snack.”
The squirrelmaid sat down with Shogg and Mokug, who was going over the map rhyme, which he had remembered by heart.
“Midday sun shines bright for you,
’Twixt leaning ash and poison gold,
Where the greenrock hidden lies,
For keen eyes to behold.”
All of the Abbey newcomers were familiar with the riddle. During the long watches on Redwall’s ramparts t
hey had been told of the story of the quest for Brockhall. Mokug sat repeating the lines under his breath, his brow furrowed with concentration. Triss passed him bread and cheese.
“Keep trying, mate, you’ll get the answer sooner or later.”
Packing food into his cheek pouches, the golden hamster chattered his teeth in frustration. “Well, I ’opes ’tis sooner, missy, I likes to ’elp me friends. These Redwallers ’ave been good to me! Skipper’s showed me wot an ash tree looks like, but I don’t know anythin’ about poison gold an’ greenrocks. Huh, nor does young Churk, an’ she’s cleverer than most of us put t’gether.”
A glimmer of pride for his species shone in Shogg’s eyes. “Aye, mate, us otters knows a lot more’n most beasts think!”
Mokug looked hopefully at him. “Could you solve it, Shogg?”
The otter shuffled his paws awkwardly. “Well, er, I dunno, I ain’t had as much learnin’ as Churk . . .”
Triss clasped his paw, encouraging her friend. “Give it a try, Shogg, go on. What do you think of it all?”
He stared hard into the fire, scratching his chin. “Hmm, it seems t’me that we’re lookin’ for an ’idden green rock, an’ the clue to it is in the midday sun. But yore puzzle is in that second line. ‘ ’Twixt leanin’ ash an’ poison gold.’ D’ye think I’m on the right track, Triss?”
The squirrelmaid ran mentally over the second line. “You could be. We’ve found out that leaning ash is probably an ash tree that leans in some way. Now, what about poison gold—could that be a tree as well?”
Mokug suddenly brightened up. “Aye, it might be a tree!”
Shogg became aware that other members of the party were listening to the conversation as they sat eating. So he attempted to enlist their help. “Ahoy, mates, any of ye knows about trees?”
Log a Log pointed out a serious-faced shrew. “Grifty, yore always spoutin’ poems an’ songs about the woodlands. Yore ole mum was a healer, wasn’t she?”
The Guosim shrew Grifty prodded the fire with a stick. “Aye, best healer in all Mossflower, my mother was. She knew all the names o’ plants, bushes, trees an’ flowers. She needed to use all of ’em for ’er remedies.”
Triss: A Novel of Redwall Page 31
