Skipper chuckled. “An’ the other one, the weasel?”
Bartij was a simple soul. Toting a hefty oak limb, he explained apologetically, “He was tryin’ to run me through with a spear, so I had t’stop him. Didn’t think I hit him that hard, really.” His homely face broke out in a smile as he spotted Tassy. “Hoho, lookit wot we got here—a Redwall Dibbun!”
Jango had found his little son, Borti. The pair of them were laughing and weeping, hugging each other fiercely.
Buckler smiled. “There’s a happy sight for ye!”
Mumzy suddenly bustled in from the shrubbery. “A grand ould sight I’m sure, but ’twill look much better when ye clear them durty varmint carcasses away!”
Hiding his surprise, Buckler bowed. “Sorry about that, marm. We’ll get right to it.”
The water vole folded her paws firmly. “Sure, there’ll not be a bite o’ vittles for ye ’til this lot is floatin’ downstream. Now, would I be wrong in sayin’ that yore lookin’ for more missin’ babbies?”
Buckler touched his lips to her paw. “You’d be correct, m’dear. Pray, where might we find ’em?”
Mumzy smiled at Buckler, giving him a playful push, which almost sent him sprawling. “Ah, will ye lissen t’the silver tongue on that un? There’s a creature wid manners for ye. Come on, then. Foller Mumzy an’ we’ll get ye fed an’ acquainted wid the liddle mites.”
Skipper gave her an elegant rudder salute. “We’d be forever in yore debt, me darlin’.”
Mumzy dug an elbow into Jango’s side, winding him. “Sure, an’ there’s another one born with his tongue in the honeypot. Well, flatter away, me fine friends, compliments are scarce these days fer an ould volewife like meself!”
They followed her tortuous route, which twisted and turned until Sniffy scratched his head, declaring, “ ’Tis a bloomin’ wonder she doesn’t git ’erself lost. I never seen a better-covered trail than this un, mates!”
On reaching the water vole’s dwelling, they entered through the curtain of vegetation which masked it.
Guffy immediately hugged Skipper’s rudder. “Oi knowed ee’d cumm furr us’n’s, zurr. Oi wuz surrtin!”
Flib jibed the molebabe cheerfully, “Hah, that ain’t wot yew was sayin’ when we was locked up in that cave!”
Jango tried to hide his surprise at the sight of his daughter. “Petunia Rosebud, is that you?”
The rebellious Guosim maid stuck out her chin. “No, it ain’t. It’s Flib, see, me name’s Flib!”
The Shrew Chieftain was equally stubborn. “Well, me an’ yore ma named ye Petunia Rosebud. Huh, Flib sounds like some kind o’ fish. ’Tain’t a proper name for the daughter of a Log a Log.”
Flib stood face-to-face with her father, eyes blazing. “Well, ’tis the name I gave meself, an’ I like it, see!”
Jango was shaking from paw to tail. “Ye . . . ye . . . hardfaced young—”
Skipper stepped between them. “Ahoy, mates, wot’s all this? A fine pair you two are, bickerin’ an arguin’ like enemies. Wot’s the matter with ye, eh? Jango, ain’t you glad t’see yore daughter alive an’ well? Flib, ye should be happy that yore pa came searchin’ an’ found ye!”
Mumzy chipped in. “Sure, ain’t it the truth? Huh, ye should be ashamed o’ yerselves, carryin’ on like two starlin’s over a worm. An’ wot for, pray? Does it matter whether she’s called Peculiar Nosebud, Flibbity Jib, or Wifflesplotch? Get some sense into yore thick ’eads. Come here!”
Grabbing both shrews, the water vole thrust them together. “Flib, he’s yore da an’ yore his daughter. Jango, she’s yore blood kin, so act like a proper father t’the maid. Now, give each other a big kiss, or ye’ll both feel the back o’ me paw. Go on!”
Jango was still carrying Borti, who got squeezed between them both and uttered his first full word. “Gerroff!”
Father and daughter started laughing at the ridiculous situation. Jango kissed her, then tweaked her snout.
“Righto, Flib it is, then, ye disobedient wretch!”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Flib pinched Jango’s cheek hard. “Log a Log Jango Bigboat, ye grumpy ole Guosim!”
The exchange seemed to clear the air, but no food was forthcoming until Skipper and Big Bartij disposed of the slain vermin in the fast-flowing stream. Whilst they were away, Mumzy, who was well versed in most things, treated the wounded with her own homemade remedies.
“Now then, Sniffy, me ould tater, grit yore teeth an’ be brave. Aye, an’ you, too, big molebeast, though I can’t see you cryin’ out in pain, warrior that ye are.”
Axtel held up his footpaw. “Ee likkle Tassymaid fixed et up, marm, but if’n it bein’ not to yore loikin’ then doo’s wot ee must!”
Mumzy made two evil-smelling poultices, which she laid on bark and moss. The water vole placed them over the fire until they were steaming, then applied them to the wounds of each creature. Passing Tassy some woven grass strands, she patted her back.
“Bind ’em up now, missy, like a grand ould healer!” When they were treated and Skipper returned with Bartij, Mumzy served them with huge bowls of what she termed Streamabye Stew. It went down well with chestnut bread and pear ’n’apple cordial.
As they supped, Buckler said the words they were waiting to hear. “Right, friends. It’s a Council of War!” He went straight to Axtel. “This place that you rescued the young uns from, could you find it again, sir?”
The Warrior mole left no room for doubt. “Burr, h’oi surrpintly cudd, zurr. ’Tis unner a gurt ole h’oaky tree—”
Skipper interrupted. “A massive, big thing? Maybe four-topped, would ye say?”
Axtel nodded. “Aye, that ud be et. ’Tis filled wi’ tunnels an’ caves unnerneath. They’m gotten ee likkle uns thurr.”
Skipper’s powerful rudder slapped the ground hard. “I’ve seen it afore, I’m sure of it. Aye, an’ I reckon I could find it agin, Buck!”
Jango turned to his daughter. “How many vermin have they got down there, Flib?”
The shrewmaid put aside her drink. “There’s quite a few. I’ve counted a score or more different ones, rats, ferrets, weasels. I s’pose they come an’ go. But there’s two that’s always there, a nasty liddle ole rat an’ the one called Sable Quean. She’s real evil an’ scary. I was frightened of ’er.”
Buckler nodded. “From what I’ve seen of her, I can understand ye bein’ fearful. Did ye see any other beasts down there? Think.”
Flib nodded. “Aye, I saw the tall one who carries the big sword. Zwilt, that’s his name. I think he’s some sort o’ chief, though the Quean is the mighty one. I ’eard the liddle rat callin’ her that.”
Buckler looked pensive. “Hmm, so there’s a score or more Ravagers down there—say about thirty—an’ you say y’could find the place, Skip?”
The Otter Chieftain pawed at his javelin. “Pretty sure I could, matey. Are ye plannin’ a move on the vermin, some sort o’ lightnin’ strike?”
The young hare smiled grimly. “ ’Tis a nice thought, but there’s only six of us. Well, four an’ two wounded. Goin’ up against thirty of ’em, I think we’d be on a loser.”
Jango growled, “I know you’ve got some kind o’ plan, Buck—come on, out with it.”
Buckler looked at the eager faces of his friends. “Think about this. If’n there’s thirty down there, well, they’ve got another hundred an’ seventy to call upon. You saw them when they came to Redwall. There was at least tenscore, an’ they all seemed like seasoned fightin’ vermin.”
Bartij scratched his headspikes. “So yore tellin’ us it can’t be done, Buck?”
The Blademaster held up his paws. “I never said that, but how’s this for a plan of action: Axtel, could you dig a way back into Althier?”
The big mole replied without hesitation. “Ho aye, zurr. Oi cuddent be a-diggen too farst wi’ this paw oi moine, but oi cudd do et.”
Buckler patted Axtel’s huge paw, then turned to Jango. “An’ how many fightin’ Guosim have ye
got to paw?”
The Log a Log slapped his rapier hilt. “Threescore, mate, an’ every one a proper battler, ready an’ willin’ at my command!”
Mumzy dished out more of her tasty Streamabye Stew, serving Buckler an extra-large portion. “Sure, an’ aren’t you the canny beast? I likes the sound of yore plan. Carry on, Bucko!”
Buckler smiled. “Thankee, marm. Now, the first thing is to get these young uns back to the Abbey. Once they’re safe, we can move fast, ’cos that’ll be the plan. Like you said, Skip, a lightning strike, quick’n’hard!”
Mumzy interrupted. “Quick’n’hard, is it? Well, ye won’t be so swift wid two ould wounded beasts in tow. I’ll look after Sniffy an’ Axtel ’til ye get back in full force.” She cast a glance at the Dibbuns. “Ah, ’tis a pity they’ll be goin’ with ye. I likes the liddle babbies. Don’t suppose there’s any chance one of ’em could stay here with an ould volewife? It’d be grand fun, an’ I’d feed the mite well.”
Skipper gave Mumzy a hug. “It ain’t possible, marm, but when this is all over, ye can come an’ live at our Abbey. There’s enough babes t’keep anybeast busy for ten seasons! Right then, mates, shall we get movin’?”
They were soon underway, with Skipper in the lead. Mumzy pressed small parcels of goodies upon the young ones. “Here now, me darlin’s, there’s a few slices of me grandest plum cake. That’ll keep ye goin’ ’til ye get back home. I’ll see ye agin when I comes to yore fine Abbey t’live!”
Jango sat baby Borti on his shoulders, and Buckler slung Guffy up on his back.
Flib muttered to Buckler as they jogged through the woodlands, “I’ll be comin’ back with ye for this lightnin’ raid. I ain’t sittin’ round Redwall with a pile of babes an’ gossipin’ mothers.”
Jango had overheard his daughter. “So, you’ll be takin’ part in the attack, will ye?” Flib stared bleakly at her father. She seemed several seasons older all of a sudden. “Aye, I will!”
Jango nodded. “Then I suppose ye will!”
There was no way that Midda could keep the other captives totally quiet. Most of them were chattering away, all agog with what might lie behind the crack at the rear of the cave wall. One or two even ventured to the entrance of the rift, trying to peer in and maybe catch a glimpse of Tura. Midda drew the smallest babes close to her. She hummed tunes softly, rocking back and forth, hoping they would drop off.
Jiddle and Jinty began calling into the rocky fissure, in what they imagined were furtive undertones.
“Tura, can ye hear us? What’s it like in there?”
“Aye, ye can tell us—have y’found a way out?”
A harsh vermin voice made them jump with fright. “Wot’s goin’ on in ’ere? Wot’s all the shoutin’ about?”
The fat stoat guard, who had wakened, eyed them blearily. Jiddle and Jinty approached him, trying to look i nnocent.
“We were only playin’, sir.”
“Aye, ’cos we couldn’t sleep, sir.”
The stoat glared at them. He was not in a good mood. “Oh, playin’ were ye, ’cos ye couldn’t sleep? Well, I can sleep, see. I’m bone tired, an’ it was yore playin’ wot woke me up. Now, any more noise outta youse two, an’ we’ll play a little game called Beat the Hogs!” He waved his spearhaft at the young Witherspyk hedgehogs. “So just wake me agin, ye spiky brats, just one peep outta any of youse, an’ I’ll bring ye out in blood blisters!”
Midda watched the stoat lumbering off. She was about to give a sigh of relief when he turned, looking around suspiciously.
“Why’s it so dark in ’ere? Where’s the other lantern? There should be two of ’em in ’ere.”
Midda tried to keep the panic out of her voice. She babbled nervously, knowing that Tura had taken the other lantern with her. “Er, haha, it’s always dark in here, sir. I always thought we had only the one lantern—ain’t that right, Diggla?”
“No, we got two lanter ’s. Too’a squiggle got one.”
Midda groaned inwardly, until Tura startled the fat stoat by looming up out of the darkness with the extinguished lantern in her paw.
“The little un’s right, sir. We have got two lanterns. Here’s the other one, but it’s gone out.”
The vermin guard grabbed it roughly from the squirrelmaid. “Gone out, eh? Wait there!”
He stumped off, returning a moment later with a lighted lantern, which he passed to Midda. “Here’s a new un. Yore in charge of it. Don’t let these liddle brats play with it an’ it’ll stay lit, unnerstand?”
There was genuine relief in the shrewmaid’s voice. “Aye, sir. I’ll look after it, thankee sir!”
The stoat stared sourly at her. “Never mind thankee sir. Yew just keep this lot quiet an’ let me get a bit o’ sleep . . . or else!”
He went off back to the guardpost, where within a short time, his slobbering snores were audible.
Tura sat down next to Midda. They began conversing in hushed whispers.
“Whew, you just made it back in time, Tura. Well, what did ye find in there?”
Tura glanced at Jinty, Jiddle and some of the others who had gathered around to listen. “Now, hold yore silence or we’ll have that stoat back in here. There’s a tunnel behind that back wall!”
Midda’s paw shot out, gagging Jiddle, who was about to squeak aloud happily. The young hog mumbled, “Mm surry,” allowing Tura to continue.
“Aye, a long dark tunnel. It goes both ways, t’the left an’ right. I took a look both ways but couldn’t stay long enough. I had t’come back when I heard you two young thick’eads yellin’. D’ye realise that yore voices echo all round behind that wall?”
Tura issued them both with a stern look before she carried on. “I don’t know, but I had a feelin’ that the tunnel t’the left was the one I fancied.”
Midda clasped her friend’s paw. “You did well, mate, an’ if ye want to go left down the tunnel, then left it is!” She turned as Jinty’s paw tapped her back. “What is it? Keep yore voice down.”
The Witherspyk hogmaid asked timidly, “Two things, really. Are we all goin’? And when?”
Tura chuckled quietly. “Of course we’re all goin’. If we’re goin’ to escape, then nobeast gets left behind.”
Midda stroked little Diggla’s head; he was dropping off. “Right, but when’ll be the best time to go?”
Jiddle was not in any doubt. “There’ll never be a better time than now, while the guards are asleep!”
Tura nodded. “He’s right, Midda, but we’ll have to move fast. Once they find we’ve gone, that Sable Quean’ll have the whole lot of ’em right on our tails!”
“Unless . . . !”
She looked questioningly at Jiddle. “Unless what?”
The young hog gave a sly smile. “Unless we block the openin’—sort of disguise it so they can’t tell where we’ve gone to.”
Tura tweaked his snout. “That’s a great idea. How d’ye think we should go about it?”
Jiddle cast swift glances around the cavern, his ingenuity coming to the fore as he outlined his scheme.
Jinty went first. Once she was through the crack, she held up a lantern and guided the youngest ones through. When only Midda, Tura and Jiddle were left, they scoured the cave for any loose rock and rubble. There were some quite sizeable lumps of stone, large clumps of earth made up of dead roots and clay-based soil and some single pieces of thicker root limbs. Working swiftly and noiselessly, they passed the material through to Jinty, who piled it up. “That should be enough, mates. Come on through now.”
Once on the other side, Jinty and her brother led the little ones off down the left of the tunnel, holding up a lantern to guide their way. With the aid of the remaining lantern, Tura and Midda commenced blocking up the escape hole. They jammed the rocks, earth clumps and root limbs into the narrow aperture, ramming it hard with their footpaws. They completed the task, panting with the force of their efforts.
Midda gave the jammed mass a final pat. “There, I think that sho
uld do it. D’you think it’ll fool ’em?”
Tura shrugged. “Well, if’n it doesn’t, let’s just hope it buys us enough time to get clear away.”
They hurried off to join the others, the lantern casting a pool of light around the rough-hewn tunnel as they went.
The passage took a sharp bend after a while. That was where they came upon Jiddle and Jinty sitting in a huddle with the little ones.
Tura reproved the Witherspyk hogs. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’fancies are ye thinkin’ of, sittin’ about like moles at a meetin’? We’re supposed t’be bloomin’ well escapin’!”
Jinty indicated the babes, some of whom were curled up slumbering soundly. “It ain’t our fault. It’s these little uns—they’re tired. Some can’t go any further without rest.”
Tura lifted the mousebabe Diggla up onto her back. “Well, we can’t stop here. We’ll just have to carry ’em. You two take one apiece. Me’n Midda will take another two. The rest look fit enough to go on.”
Midda heaved one of the harebabes onto her shoulders, jollying the rest along with a cheery comment. “Haha, you lot are all bigbeasts now—y’don’t need carryin’, do ye!”
The remaining babes all voiced their various opinions.
“Gurr, oi’m turrible ’ungry!”
“An I be thirsty, too—gimme a drink, Midda!”
A volebabe set them all off with her impassioned wails. “Waaahaahhaah! I want my mammy!”
Immediately, the tunnel echoed to the cries of homesick babes wanting mothers, fathers and grandkin.
Midda decided the only way to be kind was to take a firm stand and suffer no nonsense. Holding up her lantern, she set off down the tunnel with the harebabe Urfa on her back, calling to the others, “You’d best follow me, then, ’cos ye won’t get mammies, daddies, vittles or drinks by sittin’ there cryin’. Ain’t that right, Tura?”
The squirrelmaid set off after her, assuring the babes, “Aye, that’s right enough. You come with us an’ soon you’ll get everythin’—vittles, kinbeasts, the lot!”
The Sable Quean Page 22
