Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Rigril shrugged. “Makes no difference, look, there’s another lot just appeared on the opposite bank!”

  Luglug beckoned to an otter swimming alongside the coracle. “Git up front, matey, tell ’em to put on as much speed as they can. We need to get round that bend up ahead!”

  Word went along the line of logboats, on Luglug’s command they went into a formation of pairs. Grimly every Guosim bent to their paddles. Headropes were thrown out to the otters. With strong otters to each rope, they sped along in front of the vessels, increasing the overall speed as they towed skillfully. All this was done in complete silence. At this point nobeast wanted to wake the little ones, and cause extra confusion.

  Stringle strode back along the right bank, to where the main body were coming from the foot of the waterfall. At the centre of the lines, Gruntan Kurdly was propped up on his carrying litter. Stringle made his way through to the Brownrat leader. “They been spotted, Boss, paddlin’ along the stream up yonder, those streamdogs, too. Hah, won’t be too long afore we catches ’em up now.”

  Gruntan did not even acknowledge Stringle’s report. He was applying himself greedily to some cold plugs’n’dips, which had been looted from the otters’ wrecked holt. Stuffing his mouth with plugs, he drank deeply from the cauldron. The cold mixture slopped down his chin, onto his bandages. Stringle stood waiting until his gluttonous leader could talk.

  Gruntan belched aloud. Wiping a grubby paw across his mouth, he announced, “Hmm, that ain’t bad grub, it’d taste better if’n it was ’ot, though. Lissen, don’t slay all those streamdogs when ye catch ’em. Keep one o’ them alive, I’d like to know ’ow they makes these vittles.” Gruntan wiped his dip-slopped paw on the head of a nearby litter bearer, wincing as he sat up straight. “An ye say you’ve caught ’em, eh?”

  Stringle shook his head, correcting Gruntan. “No, Boss, I only said we’ve spotted ’em, an’ it won’t be too long afore we catches ’em.”

  Gruntan glared at him peevishly, gesturing. “Then don’t stand there a-flappin’ yer jaw, go an’ catch ’em! I gotta ’ave those sh’ewboats!”

  Stringle knew there was no point in talking to his boss when he was in such a mood. He saluted and dashed off without further ado.

  Gruntan shifted position, wincing again at another thorn, which Laggle had not yet discovered embedded in his rear end. There was a sound from the ranks behind him. What was it, a sneeze, or a snigger? Whirling his head around, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Somebeast laughed just then, who was it, eh?” The horderats remained silent. Gruntan fixed one rat with a stare which commanded an immediate answer. “You there, ugly mug, who was it wot laughed?”

  The rat’s throat bobbed up and down nervously. “It wasn’t me, Boss, I swear on me oath it wasn’t!”

  Gruntan crooked a grimy claw at him. “Come over ’ere!” He watched the unfortunate approach on shaking paws. “Move yoreself, I said come over ’ere, stan’ there!”

  The rat stood close to his leader, right on the spot he had indicated. He tried one last plea. “It wasn’t me wot laughed, Boss, honest!”

  Gruntan bent his head close to the rat. “Well, let’s ’ear ye laugh now. Go on, laugh!”

  The rat made a feeble attempt. “Er, haha.”

  Without warning Gruntan seized the cauldron of cold dip and upended it over his victim’s head, leaving him wearing it, like a monstrous helmet with mixture dripping from it. Gruntan dusted his paws off. “Now let’s see ye laugh that off! Hahaharrr!”

  The rest of the Brownrats laughed dutifully along with their boss, until he turned on them, bellowing, “Wot are you lot laughin’ at? I never told ye t’laugh! Now get movin’, double-quick, afore I really give ye somethin’ to laugh about!”

  Officers roared out orders as the ranks marched off at a rapid pace. Gruntan Kurdly was jounced up and down on his litter, pierced deeper by hidden thorns. However, he gritted his teeth and endured the pain, concentrating on a prize of six logboats.

  17

  Once the logboats rounded the bend, they were out of sight from the rats. Maudie marvelled at their speed, they were going so fast that they were sending up bow waves. The shrewmum Frenna had covered up the babes with quilts and blankets; they slept on, blissfully unaware of everything.

  Maudie was first to see the tree, she nudged Osbil. “Aha, one white willow straight ahead on the right!”

  The Guosim shrew patted Maudie’s back. “We’ll make a prowspotter out of ye yet, miss!”

  Barbowla came streaking through the water like an arrow. “There’s thick bush the other side o’ that willow. If’n ye look careful there’s a hidden stream there, too. I’ll go an’ mark the entrance, we needs t’be in that cutoff, behind those bushes, afore Kurdly’s crew arrives!”

  A dismaying thought struck Maudie. “Er, a moment old chap, are you sure you’ve thought this plan through, right?”

  The big otter forestalled her objection. “I knows wot yore goin’ t’say, miz. If’n the rats comes along the bank on that side, they’ll be bound t’see us, ’cos they’ve got to cross the very cutoff water that we’re hidin’ in. Is that wot you was goin’ to say?” As Maudie nodded, Barbowla held up a paw. “Don’t fret yore pretty, long ears, Miz Maudie, ’tis already taken care of. Now trust me an’ git movin’.”

  Gasping for breath, and exhausted by their efforts, the Guosim paddled their final logboat behind the bushy screen. Luglug, Rigril and Teagle slid in with the coracle. The shrew chieftain had the same misgivings as Maudie. However, before he could speak, Barbowla silenced him.

  “Let’s ’ave every able-bodied beast out ’ere on the bank with me. Come on, we’ve got to provide a bridge for the vermin to cross. Luglug, get yore strongest shrews, mate. Aye, an’ tell ’em to bring their paddles along, we needs all the muscle we kin get!”

  Barbowla led his contingent of Guosim and otters to where a large, fallen tree trunk lay covered by fern and shrubbery. Suddenly the plan became clear to Maudie, she winked at the big otter.

  “I say, well done, sah! If we bridge the sidestream with that trunk, then scoot away double-quick in the jolly old logboats, we could fool ’em. Old Kurdlywotsit an’ his foul mob should cross the bridge, thinkin’ we’ve carried on along the mainstream. What a super wheeze, they’ll go right past us, wot!”

  Barbowla began clearing away shrubbery. “No time for gossipin’ now, miz, those villains’ll be here soon. There’s a good growth o’ rush an’ bush up yon sidestream, we can lay low there until they pass. Ahoy, let’s git this ole log arollin’, you Guosim, use yore paddles to move it. We need t’be quick!”

  Everybeast bent their backs to the task. Shrews dug their paddles under the trunk and levered away with them. Maudie joined Barbowla’s brawny family, hauling on three stout ropes.

  At first nothing happened, then Luglug took over. “On my command, crews…One, two, heave!” The trunk began to slide across the ferns and damp moss.

  Maudie gave a whoop. “That’s the stuff, chaps, keep the blighter movin’!”

  Beetles, worms and all manner of crawling insects fled for fresh cover as they were exposed to the daylight by the shifting of their shelter. An old Guosim shrew, who was watching the bankside, whispered hoarsely, “Keep yore voices down now, an’ git a move on. I think I can see ’em in the distance!” His urgent entreaty lent power and speed to their limbs, the trunk moved rapidly along, until they were at the sidestream.

  Barbowla and his otters leapt into the water, helping to shift the huge log, as the shrews put their paddles to the broken tree’s base. Once it was bridging the water firmly, everybeast swiftly trampled the area surrounding both sides. This was to make it look as though the trunk was often used as a crossing. Without taking breath, the shrews were back into their logboats, paddling furiously off down the sidestream, with the otters towing and pushing each craft.

  Maudie crouched at the stern of the last boat, alongside Osbil the Spotter, whose keen eyes picked up movement back alo
ng the bankside.

  “I can see the painted scum, they’ll be at that trunk afore long. I wouldn’t be surprised if’n they spotted us!”

  Maudie glanced upstream, to where the coracle, and the leading logboat, were slipping into the shelter of overhanging trees and rushes. “Not to worry, bucko, we should just about flippin’ well make it. Duck your head, old lad, an’ hope for the best!”

  Barbowla and Kachooch thrust the stern of the last logboat under cover, just as the leading score of Brownrats arrived at the decoy bridge. Kachooch slipped silently along the line of boats, whispering a caution. “Don’t paddle, stay still! If’n they look up this way an’ see any movement of boats or trees, they’re bound to see us. Lay low now, an’ not a sound out of anybeast!”

  At the tree-trunk bridge, a dispute appeared to have arisen. Kurdly’s leading rat, Stringle, was calling across the mainstream to the scout Noggo, who was with a large contingent on the far bank. “Can ye see any sign of ’em upstream?”

  Noggo shrugged as he shouted back, “I can’t see ’em from ’ere, wot’ll we do?”

  Stringle sat down in the centre of the log. He looked this way and that, then scratched his head. “Best wait ’ere ’til the Boss arrives!”

  Noggo could see the sidestream from the opposite bank. “D’ye think they’ve gone up there?”

  Stringle spat contemptuously into the water. “Yew thick’eaded dolt, ’ow could they sail through this log I’m sittin’ on? Huh, if’n brains was vittles you woulda starved to death when ye was born!”

  More rats began arriving on either side of the stream, until both banks were crowded. Everybeast waiting on the arrival of their leader’s stretcher.

  Peering from beneath the leafy foliage, Luglug grunted. “I can’t see a thing, wot’s goin’ on back there?”

  Maudie and Osbil had the best view. Through a screen of rushes the haremaid gave her assessment of the situation. “Looks like there’s some sort of confounded conflab goin’ on. Wish they’d jolly well move on an’ pick someplace else t’do their jabberin’.”

  Osbil commented, “Somethin’ should be happenin’ shortly, here comes ole fat-bottom Kurdly on his litter.”

  One of the shrews clanked his paddle against the logboat’s side. Luglug cautioned him in a severe undertone, “Belay there, mate, d’ye want the vermin to know we’re here?”

  The shrew apologised. “Sorry, Chief, I swiped at a wasp wot was buzzin’ round me snout, huh, I missed it!”

  The shrew chieftain glared savagely at him. “I won’t miss you if’n you makes any more noise, I’ll splinter that paddle atwixt yore ears. All of ye, keep yore heads down, an’ not a murmur out of anybeast!”

  Gruntan Kurdly was on the same bankside as Stringle, grunting with pain he sat up straight on the litter, staring at his officer. “Well, wot are ye waitin’ for, next season?”

  Stringle tried explaining. “I er, thought we’d better wait fer you, Boss…er, I think we’ve lost ’em….”

  Gruntan exploded. “Lost ’em, worra ye talkin’ about, lost ’em, ’ow could any fool lose six logboats on a straight stream?”

  Stringle pointed across at Noggo on the other bank. “Well, that scout couldn’t see any sign of ’em up ahead, an’ I couldn’t see ’em either. So we waited for yore orders, Boss.”

  Noggo called across, trying to sound helpful. “I was sayin’ to Stringle, they might’ve gone up that sidestream, Boss.”

  Gruntan Kurdly cast a glance at the tree trunk which bridged the sidestream, he looked across at Noggo. “An wot, pray, gave ye that bright idea?”

  Noggo shrugged. “Well, they had t’go somewhere, an’ they ain’t on the mainstream, so I thought they might’ve cut off up there, Boss.”

  Noggo was sorry he had spoken. Gruntan pointed to the bank, where he was sitting upon his litter. “Get over ’ere, now!”

  Noggo looked at the stream separating them both. “Wot, y’mean swim, Boss?”

  Gruntan bellowed aloud, “No, I mean fly, ye dimwitted dolt. Get over ’ere right now!”

  Noggo leapt in and swam across. A moment later he was standing, trembling, alongside his leader.

  Gruntan indicated the tree-trunk bridge. “Tell me, ’ow did they git six logboats over that?”

  Noggo had his answer ready. “Carried ’em, Boss, they was carryin’ their boats when me’n Biklo first spotted ’em. Sh’ews kin carry boats, y’know.”

  Gruntan winced as he pulled a gorse thorn from his tail area. “Right, we’ll wait ’ere whilst you go an’ take a look. Give us a shout if’n ye spot ’em.”

  Noggo knew he had no choice, he set off along the less well-defined and more muddy sidestream bank.

  Osbil whispered to Maudie, “There’s one of the vermin comin’ toward us, what’ll we do?”

  The haremaid murmured as she watched the approaching Brownrat, “Keep lyin’, doggo, he might not come up this far. But if he does, don’t fret, I’ll jolly well stop the blighter. In fact, I’ll stop him cold!” Going into a crouch, ready to spring, Maudie clenched her paws tightly. Everybeast in the boats held their breath.

  Noggo was talking softly to himself as he neared the rushes and overhanging trees. “Huh, that’s wot I get fer tryin’ t’be ’elpful. I’ll keep me trap shut from now on, I ain’t no ossifer!”

  He ducked under the tree canopy, and was met by Maudie. She came bounding from the stern of the logboat, poleaxing the unsuspecting Noggo with a thundering right punch, followed by a swift left. There was no need for a third blow, the first two had done the job. Noggo was out for the rest of the day. As Maudie slid back into the boat, everything suddenly went wrong.

  An otterbabe squealed out in pain, stung on her nosetip by one of the wasps which had been buzzing about. Before she could be silenced, the little one’s piercing wails were echoing about widespread.

  Barbowla appeared over the stern of the back logboat. “Ahoy, mates, git those paddles a-slappin’, ’tis time we weren’t in this place!”

  The Guosim crews needed no urging, they shot their boats through the tree canopy and out onto the other side, paddles digging furiously. In the vessel to the rear, Maudie and Osbil could see the first of the Brownrats, headed by Stringle, squelching their way along the muddy bank as they came hot in pursuit.

  The sidestream was only wide enough to allow the Guosim craft to travel in single file. Prow bumped stern as they fled from Kurdly and his horde. Barbowla, and three of his sturdy sons, formed a rearguard behind the boats.

  Maudie called to the otter, “Get up front, friends, I’ll organise some sling throwers an’ archers. They’ll soon be close enough for us to get a shot at ’em, wot!”

  Barbowla thrust his weight against the stern, shooting the craft forward. “No, miz, there’s too many vermin, ye’d be overrun if’n ye tried to fight ’em. Speed, that’s wot we need!”

  Another shaded area of trees loomed up. Luglug could be heard calling from up in front. “We’re runnin’ into the forest, keep goin’, mates, Redwall Abbey ain’t far now, I recognise this area!”

  Gruntan Kurdly was in the rear of the pursuit, bumping about as a score of Brownrats stumbled along bearing his litter. He was alternately urging his horde along, whilst cursing the litter carriers roundly.

  “Avast up front, move yore sluggardly hides! I’ve seen snails wid shells on their backs that’d outrun youse lot. Argh! Go easy wid this stretcher, ye bumble-pawed nits, t’aint a bundle o’ washin’ yore totin’! Oof! Ye nearly spilt me into the water, watch where yore goin’. Where’s the rest of ’em, they ain’t all up front?”

  Laggle, the old healer, who was trotting alongside the litter, gestured backward to the mainstream. “Heehee, half o’ yore army are still on t’other side o’ that mainstream. Prob’ly waitin’ for a drought, so as it’ll dry up an’ they kin walk across.”

  Gruntan scowled sourly at the insolent Laggle, who was no respecter of rank or title. “Ho, are they? Well, go an’ tell ’em if’n they ain’t ov
er ’ere in two shakes of a tail, there’ll be a few attacks o’ the Kurdlys runnin’ through the ranks!”

  He signalled to two vermin who were not engaged in carrying him. “Go an’ see if’n we’re gainin’ on ’em, surely my rats kin run faster’n sh’ews kin paddle boats? Oh, an’ when ye report back t’me, well, bring some vittles. I ain’t gonna be bumped t’death an’ starved inter the bargain. Yowch! Watch those tree branches over’ead, I near got me eye put out then. Can’t ye carry an’ crouch a bit, too?”

  Maudie looked anxiously over the logboat’s stern, not encouraged by what she saw. “I say, Osbil old lad, I don’t wish to sound like a wet blanket, but those vermin types are gainin’ on us, wot!”

  The Guosim spotter nodded unhappily. “Aye, they’re closin’ the gap, miz, I can make out the paint on their mangy hides. We need more speed!”

  Barbowla’s wife, Kachooch, popped her head over the stern. “We’re tryin’, but ye can only go as fast as the boat in front when yore sailin’ in single file.”

  “Ah, shure that’s true, so ’tis. Ye talk good sense for a riverdog, so ye do!”

  The logboat rocked as a creature dropped out of an overhanging beech into the vessel. He was a squirrel, small, but very wiry and agile. Four daggers were thrust into his broad waist sash, he wore a short, embroidered waistcoat, one hooped earring, and sported a woven, multicoloured headband, at a jaunty angle. He winked cheekily at Maudie, then bowed. “Rangval the Rogue at y’service, marm. Pray would ye impart t’me yore own dulcet title?”

  Despite the peril of their position, the young haremaid took an immediate liking to Rangval, she curtsied formally. “Maudie (the Hon.) Mugsberry Thropple, pleased to make your acquaintance I’m sure.”

  Rangval the Rogue performed a somersault neatly. “Faith, an’ that’s a fine ould gobful of a name ye have there, marm. If’n I may, I’ll just call ye Maudie, or prettyface, or beautybeast? Ah, but enough o’ that ould flannel, I see ye’ve got problems. An’ isn’t it the bold Gruntan Kurdly an’ his thickheaded horde!”