Sagax caught Scarum, none too gently, by his ear. “I thought we left you to guard the Abbey. What are you doing out here in the middle of the woodlands?”
Scarum suddenly forgot his injuries. “What, er, oh that! Long an’ complicated tale, had whacking great injustices done to me, y’know. Thought it best to relinquish command an’ join me old comrades, couldn’t let you lot face those vermin alone, wot!”
Sagax growled menacingly. “I hope you’re telling the truth.”
The incorrigible hare put on his noblest face. “Shame on you for thinkin’ otherwise, sah! Oh, er, I say, Triss, you’re a good-hearted type. Would you like to put in a word or two for me when we get back? Talk to the Abbot an’ Memm, an’ those other old fogeys. Tell ’em how I found you three strung up by the footpaws an’ risked life’n’limb to rescue you. Pretty maid with an honest face, they’ll believe you, I bet. But don’t get too jolly fancy about it, just picture me as a modest type doin’ me duty.”
Triss could not help laughing at the horrified look on the face of Sagax. She winked reassuringly at Scarum. “Of course I will. And what about the three serpents you slew? Shall I mention them also?”
Scarum clapped Log a Log on the back cheerfully. “No no, old Log’ll do that, won’t you, me stout shrewchap. No need to go into detail, just mutter somethin’ about me tyin’ ’em up in knots an’ pullin’ their fangs out, that should do the trick. Er, Sagax, old pal of my Dibbun days, don’t you say anything. Lips sealed, keep mum, nod’s as good as a wink an’ all that. Be a strong silent badger type, wot, don’t say a blinkin’ word!”
Both Triss and Log a Log nearly collapsed laughing. “Hohoho, don’t say a blinkin’ word, eh?”
“Heeheehee, he’s speechless now. Just look at his face!”
Scarum did. “Huh, looks like a toad chokin’ on a tadpole, if y’ask me. Yowchyow! Gerroff, y’big brute!”
Triss and Log a Log sat dabbling their paws at the lake edge. They watched Sagax chasing Scarum, aiming hefty kicks at his tailscut as the hare fled, complaining loudly.
“Wowch! Some pal you are, what’ve I done now? Woop! Where’s your jolly old sense of humour, wot? Owch, gerroff!”
41
Extract from the journal of Malbun Grimp, Healer and Recorder of Redwall Abbey.
Joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy. There are times when the two go paw in paw. Sorrow for the goodbeasts we lost in battle, Redwallers and our friends, the Guosim shrews. There is always a price to be paid for peace. Though by Skipper’s account, the vermin paid the heavier price—very few of them escaped to tell of their defeat. Yet the saddest picture that remains in my mind is that of Kroova, the otter who stayed behind to guard our Abbey. He and Shogg had become close friends. I was standing beside him on the walltops as Shogg marched off after the vermin. He waved to Shogg and shouted that he would ask Friar Gooch to make some shrimp’n’hotroot soup for them to share on his friend’s return. Poor Kroova, when he saw Shogg’s body being borne back on the shoulders of Skipper and Churk, my heart went out to him. Though Shogg was only a visitor to Redwall, that brave otter will be with us always now, resting beneath a shady willow by the pond. I awoke this morning and watched the sun rise over Redwall. In that stillness I felt the joy that peace brings. Our home, free from the threat of serpents and roving vermin bands. There is no feeling on earth to equal it!
Now, let me tell you of some extraordinary events. My friend, Abbot Apodemus, told me that he is allowing Martin the Warrior’s sword to leave Redwall! I could see clearly that Apodemus had been touched by the Warrior’s spirit. He assured me that one day the sword would come back—he was quite positive of it in his quiet way. So here is what will happen. Trisscar Swordmaid, accompanied by Kroova, Sagax, that rascal Scarum, Log a Log, Skipper and Mokug, together with a few chosen others, are embarking on a voyage. Before the summer is out they will sail to that land called Riftgard in the Northlands, far across the wide seas. Churk the ottermaid, splendid young creature, is to take Skipper’s place at the Abbey. Her brother Rumbol has recruited ten other otters, all huge trustworthy beasts, to hold Redwall safe. These and a full regiment of Guosim shrews, commanded in Log a Log’s absence by Gulif, will stay with us until Skipper returns. I do not normally take to vermin, but the sole captive whom Redwallers took is a jolly fellow, and not at all unlikeable. His name is Grubbage. He is an excellent navigator, and will be going along on the voyage. Trisscar Swordmaid has sworn to free every slave in Riftgard. She has the bravest and best of companions to aid her. Good fortune go with them all.
Extract from the diary of Churk, ottermaid and Head Scholar to Redwall Abbey:
The feasting is done and our friends have departed. But what feasting! Four nights and three days, the food, the fun, the poems and the singing. Even the Dibbuns will remember it for as long as they live. Gulif and I accompanied the voyagers to the coast. We rose quietly and left in the hours before dawn. Uncle Skipper said that if we had not, it would have taken another three days to say our goodbyes and have even more supplies of food loaded onto the travellers.
Gulif is the proudest Guosim shrew alive. Just up the stream from where the ford crosses the path, Triss uncovered the most beautifully crafted small ship from its hiding place in a backwater. She presented it to the Guosim tribe, promoting Gulif to captain. It now goes under a new name; the strange writings have been blotted from its stern. Triss renamed it with one single word: Shogg! We journeyed down to the sand shores that fringe the wide blue seas. Grubbage took us to where a huge vessel was moored. We let Mokug rename it Freedom. So much food went aboard that Scarum wanted it called Scofftub. He was most disappointed not to be made cook, but Sagax would not permit it. It took a day to get the Freedom cleaned up and seaworthy again. She sailed on the evening tide. Gulif and I watched her go. We stood in the shallows and waved until she was out of sight, sailing over the deeps with a fiery setting sun turning her sails to crimson. May the wind be at their backs and the weather fair to speed them homeward one day.
Taken from the writings of Merola, Badger Lady of Salamandastron on the western shores of Mossflower territory:
This very afternoon a huge vessel sailed into the bay. Alarms were sounded; my husband, Lord Hightor, and Colonel Whippscut turned out the guard! Myself and the Colonel’s good lady, Dunfreda, watched from an upper window of the mountain. Imagine our surprise when our sons Sagaxus and Bescarum came wading ashore at the head of a very strange-looking crew! Well, we brought them all to the banqueting hall and the cooks went to work. Hightor and Whippscut kept pacing around Scarum and Sagax, patting their backs, calling them young rips, winking a lot, and enquiring about their adventures. But they are not young rips any longer, it is plain to see. In the space of a single season they have become warriors. They seem to have grown—even Dunfreda stopped wailing into her kerchief long enough to remark on this. They stand straighter, they even look perilous. My Sagax carries a battle-axe, of all things! I was astounded to hear that Memm Flackery sends her best regards and dearest wishes to me. We were the best of friends. Oh dear, suddenly I feel quite old. But proud also, like Lord Hightor, to think our son has grown up as we wished he would: strong, honest, and true to his friends. Do you know, I’ve even taken a liking to that rascal Kroova Wavedog—he’s growing up nicely, too. Scarum’s appetite hasn’t been affected, though he does look funny with half a set of whiskers. The stories I heard him telling his parents, he must be very, very brave! The pretty squirrelmaid and that fine big otter, Skipper, sat up almost all night, conferring with Sagax, Scarum, my husband and Colonel Whippscut. Unfortunately I had to take Dunfreda up to her room, as she was wailing so much nobeasts could hear themselves speak. She cried herself to sleep, saying it was because she was so happy. I fell asleep in the Colonel’s comfy armchair, overcome by the day’s events.
Next morning after breakfast, Hightor broke the news to me. Sagaxus is sailing away again! After being back home little more than a day, would you scarce credit it? However, I hear
d the full story, and I wish I was young enough to go with him. All those poor creatures across the sea, forced to live in slavery. My son and his friends will soon put a stop to all that, believe me. Hightor immediately put extra provisions and twenty veteran Long Patrol fighting hares aboard the ship to accompany them. Quite rightly, too!
My paws still ache from waving them off. I had to tear up an old bedsheet for poor Dunfreda’s tears—you know how she always weeps. Both our sons assured us they would be back, if not permanently, then at least once every two seasons for a longer visit. I am sad and happy at the same time—it is all very confusing. Dunfreda and I hugged and kissed them so much, we got our gowns wet, standing there in the shallows. Skipper is the dearest of otters—he would not let either of them aboard until they had said goodbye properly. I let Sagaxus go, because I felt I was embarrassing him in front of his friends. As the Freedom got under way, I had to borrow some of Dunfreda’s bedsheet. I could not stop myself from weeping. Hightor’s cheeks were damp, too, but he said it was seaspray. There they go, out onto the deeps, to who knows where. Goodbye, my son, I know you will make me even more proud of you than I am now. Sagaxus . . . Sagaxus . . .
Section from the log of the good ship Freedom, written by Bescarum Lepuswold Whippscut, formerly of Salamandastron:
Rotten bounders, the whole crew of ’em! Makin’ me get my dainty young paws covered in blinkin’ ink. I hate messin’ about with quill pens, an’ parchment an’ ink. I’m a jolly good cook, y’know, but they won’t let me near the galley, cads! Oh well, as my dear old ma always says, make do with what you’ve got an’ weep a lot until they give you what you want, wot?
Right, here goes. We’ve been out at sea now for exactly, er, a jolly long time. All the landlubbers aboard have become pretty salty old dogs (which means they’re all done with bein’ seasick). The other mornin’ I heard one of those Guosim types yellin’ out from the crows’ nest (don’t know why they call it that, I’ve never seen a bloomin’ crow sittin’ up there)—anyhow, he woke me up with his shoutin’. Somethin’ about two points north an’ a tack west, an’ all that nautical jimjam. What the blighter meant was that he’d spotted an island. Bloomin’ great mountain o’ greeny blue rock glimmerin’ away in the sunlight. Triss called it Peace Island. Had to agree with her, it’s the hugest piece o’ rock I ever saw stickin’ up out o’ the briny, wot. We didn’t go ashore really, too many of us t’be clamberin’ up a whoppin’ great mountainside. But the chaps who live there came t’see us. Sturdy-lookin’ bumpkins, big healthy hedgehog types. Spoke quite oddly, I can tell you. Theein’ an’ thouin’ an’ thyin’, bit of a rum do, wot? But the scoff they brought with them, great fur’n’frog feathers! I’ve never clamped eye on fruit’n’vegetables so big an’ plump an’ tasty. A good old mammy-type hog, name of Downyrose, took a shine t’me an’ fed yours truly enough to stuff a tribe o’ toads! I gave her a kiss an’ a hug (got the old paws prickled a bit, but well worth it, I’d say).
Whilst this all was goin’ on, Triss is weepin’ an’ kissin’ a hogmaid she calls Welfo, an’ another young chap named Urtica, an’ a big old daddy hog, name o’ Bistort. They did carry on, though, all laughin’ an’ cryin’ an’ sayin’, “Thou hast returned, welcome to thee!” Nobeast seemed t’be payin’ much attention to the tuck, so I located a rhubarb- ’n’apple crumble, an’ let ’em get on with it.
Naturally there were lots more tears when Triss gave ’em the sad news about poor Shogg, but when she told Welfo and her friends about the pretty little boat named after him, it cheered ’em up a touch. D’you know, I can’t stand that blinkin’ Sagax, he paces the deck with that flamin’ great hatchet thing, watchin’ every mouthful I take. Keeps remindin’ me that there’s others aboard, an’ that we’ve got the rest o’ the voyage to complete, wot? As if I didn’t jolly well know. I told him if he didn’t like it he could swim behind the ship with his axe in his mouth, keepin’ an eye out for sharks the rest o’ the way. Good job he’s a pal o’ mine, or I might’ve tossed him overboard myself!
N.B. There is a space in the log here, also several stains on the parchment, which look like blueberry juice, leek-and-mushroom soup, and an unidentifiable pudding with honey and nuts in it. Then the log continues on the following day.
Life’s flippin’ rotten at times, ain’t it! We’ve hardly been here since last noon, an’ it’s furl the anchor, lower the bilges, rattle your reef sails (an’ all that seagoin’ codswallop). We’re leavin’? All that wonderful scoff, those delectable dishes, that fabulous fruit, those . . . (what’s a word that begins with V?) those very very nice vegetables, an’ we’re sailin’ off, leavin’ the bloomin’ lot behind! Miss Triss is lookin’ pretty edgy, I notice. Even old chubby-cheeks Mokug has gone all pensive an’ grim. I expect it’s ’cos the next stop is Riftgard. Well, forward the Buffs say I, true blue an’ never fail. A perilous hare like me should gain a few medals in the battle to come, wot. I’ll show ’em! Not a blot on me copybook an’ covered in glory, that’s how this young hero will return. Wonder what the food’s like on Riftgard?
This ink gets everyflippin’where, I’ll have to change me name to Scarum Bluepaw. Righty ho, then, ship’s log finished for the day, gorgeous smells waftin’ from the galley. Good cooks, those Guosim lads. Oh, that reminds me. Log a Log an’ Sagax want a word with me, something important probably, wot. I hope they don’t mention that blueberry-an’-pear pudden missin’ from the galley last night. It wasn’t me, I was never near the place—this is ink on me paws, not blinkin’ blueberry juice. Bet it was Skipper, I don’t know where he puts it. Must have a hollow rudder. Think I’ll go an’ hide in the fruit locker for a bit—pleasant in there, wot! Bescarum Lepuswold Whippscut, Esquire, signin’ off.
42
The following is an eyewitness account by a sea ottermaid.
My name is Sleeve. I am a slave, born and bred in the fortress of King Agarnu at Riftgard. I know no other place. It is a hard and cruel life. My mother and father died here when I was very young. We bend our backs to the whips of Ratguards, working from before dawn until long after dusk. We are always hungry. I was taught to write by an old squirrel called Drufo, who is gone now, slain by a princess of the Royal Blood. It was he who used to recite “The Slave’s Lot” to me. I can still recall the words as he spoke them:
Bend your back beneath the lash,
Straighten it and feel some more,
Sleep and wake, work and starve,
That is what a slave is for.
Speak in whispers, never smile,
Serve the masters, bow your head.
The only time a slave is free,
Is when that slave is dead.
Yet I can remember the first day I really smiled. The day when three slaves stole a royal ship and escaped. My heart leapt within me to know that they had gone from Riftgard and all its miseries. I charged forward, with no weapon but my paws and teeth, me and many others. We stopped the Ratguards from capturing those brave three. But then we were outnumbered, Drufo was slain and I was beaten senseless. They threw us in the dungeons beneath Riftgard and locked us there, starving for many days. Yet we smiled, we laughed, because three of our number had found liberty and lived. Later, I was one of the group who carried food aboard that monstrous Freebooter ship, the Seascab. I saw the Princess screaming with rage, vowing to bring the fugitives back and punish them. I saw Riggan the slavecatcher come aboard with Captain Riftun. I saw the wicked Prince Bladd join the ship. My heart sank within me. How could three half-starved slaves on a little vessel escape such a dreadful force?
But hope lives in every living thing, even a slave. We would whisper together as we toiled all day beneath the whips, we would dream every night as we were locked inside to sleep on stone floors. Where were our three friends, Triss, Shogg and Welfo? Had they really escaped? Were they living in some sunny peaceful place? I would join them in my dreams, wandering through summery green woodlands, singing and laughing, with plenty of good food, and soft mossy banks wher
e they could lie at night. Gazing up at the stars in an open sky. Sleep can be glorious freedom to a slave, if the dreams are beautiful. But then the guards come, banging and shouting. Then you are forced into a waking nightmare. We were put to work on the King’s new idea: a stone tower on the clifftops, where he could watch for the Seascab’s return. As we laboured, we watched also, hoping that it would never return, for then we would be sure the three had made good their bid for freedom. Our new captain, Hydrad, used his spearbutt instead of a whip. Anybeast caught gazing at the sea got badly beaten by him, yet still we took the chance to scan the horizon whenever we could.
Then one morning it happened. Small at first, a mere dot out in the dawn light, but as it drew nearer, every slave fell silent. That ship, the Seascab, like a great dark bird of ill omen, was returning. We were swiftly marched down to the pier and jetty by the fjord. Messengers were sent to the fortress. King Agarnu was carried out on a litter, for he has become too heavy to walk on that false leg of his. Captain Hydrad estimated that the Seascab would make land on the floodtide and sail up the fjord. Spear-carrying Ratguards, freshly uniformed, were lined up along the route to the fortress. We slaves were forced to kneel at the Fjord edge in rows. Instructions were given. It was our honour to receive a day off work, and we were told that when the Seascab docked, we were to keep chanting, “Hail Princess Kurda! Hail Prince Bladd! Hail Agarnu, King of all Riftgard!” What choice does a slave have? As soon as Hydrad laid about one or two with his spearbutt, we started the hateful chant.
Triss: A Novel of Redwall Page 35
