The Sable Quean

by Brian Jacques

  The Salamandastron Blademaster smiled wolfishly. “Aye, the thought had crossed my mind. I hope Zwilt the Shade is the first to try it. I wager he’ll be dying to meet me!”

  28

  At the same time the vermin party were cutting boughs in the woodland, two beasts were watching them from a hiding place nearby. It was Vilaya and Gliv. The Sable Quean’s wound was healing nicely. It had scabbed over and was not causing her any great discomfort. She was being disguised by the female stoat, whilst keeping an eye on the work party.

  “Here, tear a strip off my cloak, a bloodstained piece. Now tie it around my brow, Gliv, good. How does that look?”

  The stoat knotted the material beneath Vilaya’s right ear. “Take off yore cloak. I’ll smear some soil on yore face.” Gliv did this, leaning in close to check the effect. “Aye, ye look the part now. Anybeast’d take ye for an ole Ravager who’s taken a scratch or two. Come on, let’s gather some leafy branches an’ join ’em.”

  The Sable Quean drew her helper closer, murmuring to her, “No, you stay here. I’ll go with them—it’s better that I go alone.”

  Gliv glanced uneasily at her. “But what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

  Vilaya was smiling now. The stoat had seen that smile before. She tried to pull away, but Vilaya held her tight.

  “You’ve been a lot of help to me, Gliv, but I don’t need you anymore. Be still, now!”

  Gliv felt the sudden sting at her throat—she gazed in frozen horror at her killer. Vilaya was still smiling as she clamped a paw over her victim’s mouth.

  “I took back my little dagger while you were tying that rag about my head. Go to sleep now. Your work is done.”

  Gliv died with her eyes wide open, still staring at the smiling face of the one whose life she had saved.

  Fallug snarled at the branch carriers as they lugged their burdens back into the vermin camp. “You lot took yore time. C’mon, move yerselves—that stuff’s needed. Shift yore lazy paws along, c’mon!”

  A river rat muttered to Vilaya, “Huh, lissen to ole swollen ’ead throwin ’is weight about.”

  Vilaya replied in a sullen whisper, “We should only be takin’ orders from Zwilt. Where is he?”

  The rat shrugged. “I dunno, but he’s left Fallug in charge. We’ve got t’call ’im Chief now. Weasels, eh, they’re all the same, bossy an’ thick’eaded, ain’t that right, mate?”

  Vilaya spat on the ground. “Right! But I wonder where Zwilt’s got to. Ain’t ’e goin’ to attack the Abbey with us?”

  A stoat who had overheard the pair nodded northward over the flatlands. “I think ole Zwilt’s got ’is own plan. I saw ’im goin’ off over that way with four others. They was carryin’ ropes an’ some ’ooks.”

  Before he could elaborate, Fallug cuffed his ear roughly. “Yore not here to chat. Now, git those branches tied t’that frame an’ fix it over the batterin’ ram.”

  He turned irately to Grakk, a weasel he had promoted to captain. “Wot is it now, eh?”

  Grakk saluted with his spear. “Chief, that lot in the Abbey are tippin’ stuff over the wall in front o’ the gate, I think!”

  Fallug stared at him pityingly. “Who told you y’could think, mudbrains? Leave the thinkin’ t’me or Lord Zwilt. Yore here t’carry out orders, that’s all!”

  Vilaya moved away from the group until she was behind a small rise. She crouched there until the moment was right. With everybeast facing the Abbey or preparing the ram, she stole quietly off into the flatlands, heading north until she crossed Zwilt’s trail. He and his escort were travelling in an arc. Vilaya knew they would cross the path into the woodlands, then go south to Redwall Abbey. After all, what else was Zwilt the Shade interested in?

  Diggs had lost his way, but the tubby hare was not to be put off. Peering intently at the woodland floor, he shuffled slowly onward, chunnering relentlessly. “Ahah, wait now, I think we’re on the right blinkin’ track. Never lost for long if you’re a bally Long Patrol chappie, wot!”

  Ambrevina idly twirled her long sling. The huge badger maid leaned against a sycamore, observing ironically, “Never lost for long, eh? Then it’s just as well I’ve got you for a guide, friend.”

  Without looking up, Diggs chunnered on. “Oh, yes, did a half season y’know. Learnin’ trackin’, sign readin’ an’ whatnot from old Corporal Broomscuttle. Jolly good old type Broomie was, taught me a heap of useful stuff. I was his bloomin’ star pupil, y’know.”

  His badger companion was trying hard not to smile. “Were you, really? That’s good to know!”

  Studying the ground intently, Diggs chuckled. “Haw haw, you can bet your grandma’s marchin’ boots it is. See this small, faint track here? That’s a sort o’ wotsit beetle. Forgotten the blighter’s name, but the thing is this, it always travels south. Hah, an’ by my reckonin’ that’s where the Abbey is. Er, or was it west? No bother, Tracker Diggs’ll soon find it, wot!”

  The garrulous hare got no further, owing to the fact that Ambrevina lifted him up bodily. Perching him on her shoulder, she pointed to her right. Above the trees—directly in the opposite direction Diggs had been taking—Redwall’s Belltower stood out like a pikestaff. She enquired calmly, “What d’you suppose that is, Tracker Diggs?”

  For the first time in quite a while, Diggs fell silent. He twiddled his ears this way and that, sniffed the air and tested the breeze with a damp paw.

  Then he spoke. “Well, of course, it’s jolly old Redwall. Top marks, marm. You passed my little test. I was wondering when y’d finally notice the confounded thing!”

  Ambrevina dumped him down unceremoniously. “That must be the back of the Abbey—east wall, do you think?”

  Diggs brushed himself off without turning a hair. “Oh, undoubtedly. Well, forward the buffs an’ pip pip. Here’s to some of the finest scoff that ever passed a chap’s lips, wot. Now, I wonder if it’s lunchtime, or midmornin’ snack break. I say, there, wait for me, Ambry, old gel!”

  Zwilt the Shade emerged from some bushes with the four Ravagers at his back. They watched the hare and the badger hurrying off toward the Abbey. Though Zwilt felt like heaving a sigh of relief, he showed no emotion to his escort. The obvious size and power of Ambrevina made him feel quite puny in comparison. She presented a problem he had not anticipated. However, Zwilt was not about to allow anything to get in the way of his Abbey conquest, not even a massive badger.

  Following the pair at a safe distance, the tall sable moved amongst the trees like a noon shadow. The four Ravagers followed in his wake, fearful of putting a single paw wrong, each trying to breathe noiselessly.

  Further intrigue was added to the moment by Vilaya, who had caught up with Zwilt. The Sable Quean crouched behind a guelder bush. She spied on Zwilt as he, in turn, watched Ambrevina and Diggs. Then they all moved off toward the east Abbey wall.

  Diggs went straight to the small wicker gate and tried it several times. “Huh, might’ve guessed the flippin’ thing’d be locked. Let’s see if we can’t raise some sentry types, wot!” Standing back a few paces, he yelled up at the walltop, “I say, anybeast at home?”

  The big badgermaid peered at the battlements. “Apparently not. Shall I give it a try?”

  Without waiting for Diggs’s permission, she cupped paws about her mouth and bellowed thunderously, “Come on, stir your stumps, we’re friends!”

  There was a sudden patter of paws, followed by some scrabbling as somebeast climbed up the battlements.

  Young Rambuculus Witherspyk poked his head over the top. Not noticing Diggs, the first thing he saw was Ambrevina. The young hog was obviously overwhelmed by the sight of such a massive beast, never having seen a badger before.

  “Whoa! Corks’n’crivvens, who are you?”

  Diggs stepped into view, making reply. “Who d’ye think she is, a ferret or a bally stoat? Now get down here an’ open the gate, you little pot herb!”

  Zwilt had heard all that went on. He and the Ravagers were lying amid
st nearby ferns. Deeming it a chance he could ill afford to miss, Zwilt drew his broadsword, murmuring to his escort, “Don’t make a sound. No shouting out or charging. But as soon as that little door opens, follow me. If we’re swift and silent, they’ll be ambushed. Two of you take the hare and the young hog. I’ll run the badger through before she has a chance to fight. You two grab her paws, and I’ll stab her from behind. . . . Ready!”

  Diggs was irked by Rambuculus’s insolence. The young hog could be heard calling out as he descended the east wallsteps, “How’m I supposed t’know who you are, eh? We’re fightin’ a war in here, y’know. There’s vermin all over the flatlands, comin’ with a batterin’ ram, an’ my pa sends me off patrollin’ the bloomin’ back wall. It’s an insult, that’s what it is! Then you two turn up shoutin’ an’ tellin’ me that you might be a ferret an’ a stoat. Now this flippin’ lock’s stickin’!”

  Diggs yelled at the door, “Well, unstick the bally thing an’ let us in or I’ll kick your flamin’ tail!”

  Rambuculus tugged the lock loose. Opening the door, he poked his head around it. “Hah, y’can’t kick a hedgehog’s tail. Didn’t anybeast ever tell ye? You’ll get a pawful o’ spikes, so there!”

  Ambrevina entered, with Diggs right on her heels. To show his displeasure, the tubby hare slammed the door shut quickly, waggling his ears at Rambuculus as he shoved the bolt back into place.

  “Listen t’me, laddie buck. One more word from you an’ I’ll whack you over the cheeky snout with a loaded sling. Here, what was that blinkin’ noise?”

  The “blinkin’ noise” was Zwilt’s swordpoint hitting the door with a thud. Rambuculus glared accusingly at Diggs. “That was you slammin’ the door. Nearly took it off its flippin’ hinges. No need for that sort o’ thing!”

  Ambrevina ignored the squabbling pair. Hearing the distant noise of conflict, she set off over the back lawns. “Sounds like there’s trouble at the front wall—come on!”

  Zwilt stood stock-still, his swordpoint still stuck in the door timbers. He waited until the pawsteps inside receded, then began levering his weapon free.

  One of the Ravagers, a lean river rat, commented, “Another wink of an eye an’ ye’d have got ’em, Lord. ’Twas a close thing.” His voice trailed into silence as Zwilt fixed him with a basilisk stare.

  “Shut up and get the ropes and grapnels fixed. We’ll go in the way I planned.”

  Vilaya watched from the cover of an elm trunk, with new schemes hatching within her conniving mind. She craved revenge, wanting to slay Zwilt . . . and yet. He had a horde of Ravagers attacking the Abbey from the front, and he himself was forming a secret entrance from the rear. It was a plot worthy of the tall sable, of any sable. What if he conquered Redwall? Would it not be better to kill him then? This would give her back command of the Ravagers, plus make her the new ruler of this magnificent Abbey.

  Two pairs of grapnel irons, thrown by the vermin, clanked onto the battlements. Tossing his cloak to one of the guards, Zwilt grabbed a rope in either paw. Using his footpaws against the joints in the sandstone, he hauled himself energetically up to the walltop. He was followed by his escort of four, who wasted no time scaling the ropes.

  Vilaya watched them disappear from view, pulling the ropes up after them. Any opportunity of entering Redwall from its east side was gone. The Sable Quean skulked off through the woodland, intent on assessing the attack on the west wall. No doubt it would present further chances of attaining her goal.

  Meanwhile the battle at the front had begun. Fallug sent almost a hundred Ravagers forward with the battering ram and met with his first hurdle: the ditch. Beneath its cover of leafy-boughed framework, the front of the war machine dipped sharply as the front carriers, shoved on by those behind them, tumbled into the ditch. Yells of scorn rang out from the walltops, accompanied by many missiles.

  Buckler shouted out a command. “Don’t waste weapons on that thing—they’re sheltered under the cover. Get down, everybeast, they’re shooting back!”

  Arrows, slingstones and javelins rained up at the defenders from the vermins’ ground force. In the midst of all this, Diggs arrived with Ambrevina at his side. He threw a crouching salute to his comrade.

  “Subaltern Diggs an’ jolly large friend reportin’ for duty, sah. I say, are we late for midmornin’ snack, or early for a bite o’ lunch, wot?”

  Buckler grinned at his irrepressible friend. “Sorry, bucko, but we’ve got a war on our paws, or didn’t you notice? Vittles will have to wait until later.” He thrust a paw of welcome at the huge badgermaid. “I’m Buckler Kordyne. Sorry I haven’t had the pleasure of meetin’ ye, marm!”

  He grimaced as the badger returned his paw shake.

  “I’m Ambrevina Rockflash from the Eastern Shores. I met up with Diggs back at Althier.”

  A javelin clattered on the walkway beside Diggs. Seizing it, he leapt up and hurled it back. His aim was greeted with a scream from a Ravager. Diggs ducked back down again.

  “Oops, sorry. Haven’t made my flippin’ report yet. We found the young uns, all safe an’ unhurt. At the moment, they’re with old wotsername, the waterthingy, Mumzy. You’ll be pleased t’know they’re all fit an’ fat as bumblebees. Or at least they jolly well will be when she’s finished feedin’ their little faces!”

  Buckler clapped his friend’s back soundly. “That’s great news, Diggs—we couldn’t have asked for better. Ahoy, down there, Trajidia, run an’ give the word to the ladies, your mum, Jango’s wife, Furm, an’ Clarinna. Tell them the babes are safe an’ well!”

  Diggs interrupted. “I say, Traji, ole gel, don’t forget to report who it was that saved ’em—meself an’ this fine badgermaid, Ambry. Any rewards in the shape of vittles by the cartload will be acceptable, wot!”

  Trajidia skipped off blithely, shouting the news to all. “Rejoice, rejoice! Our lost infants are found and will soon be restored to their beloved kinbeasts! They will sleep in their own little beds once again!”

  Some of the vermin had clambered out of the ditch and scrambled back to report the disaster to Fallug. The weasel whom he had promoted to captain, Grakk, shook his head.

  “Zwilt ain’t goin’ t’like this, Chief!”

  Fallug peered across at the ram. It lay at an odd angle, its point dipping down into the ditch. “I knows wot Zwilt ain’t goin’ t’like. Can’t ye lift it over that ditch?”

  Grakk shook his head. “We could if’n we wasn’t under attack, Chief, but every time we shows our faces out in the open, we takes a right poundin’ off those beasts on the walltop. An’ another thing—have ye seen the pile o’ rubble they’ve tipped in front o’ the gate? Take my word, it’d take us ten seasons to try an’ charge a ram through that liddle lot! So, wot’s yore orders, Chief? Wot d’we do now?”

  Fallug sat on the ground scratching at his tail. Zwilt’s plan had fallen flat, and he would either have to find a solution or answer to Zwilt on his return. Irately, he stalled for time. “Gimme time t’think up a plan, will ye. I don’t like bein’ rushed!”

  Grakk shrugged. “Alright, but wot do I tell all these Ravagers t’do while yore thinkin’, Chief?”

  A sudden ghost of an idea flashed into Fallug’s head. “Call the ram crews off. Tell ’em to join up with the slingers an’ archers. Don’t stop attackin’, keep the Redwallers’ ’eads down, pepper the walltop an’ don’t stop. Once it goes dark, we’ll make our move.”

  Grakk smiled slyly. “An’ wot’ll that be, Chief?” Fallug leapt up, shaking with temper. “It ain’t none o’ yore business. You just carry out orders, see!”

  Zwilt and his four Ravagers had concealed themselves in the deserted orchard. The tall sable knew he could not make a move until the attack, and the battering ram, were fully underway. Chewing on a near-ripe russet apple, he watched from a spot where he could see the defenders on the west wall. They were all able-looking beasts. Two hares, two big hedgehogs, a brawny otter and a fair number of armed Guosim shrews and Abbeybeasts. Added to
that was a solid-looking mole armed with a war hammer and, finally, the huge young badger. Anybeast with only four at his command would be committing suicide going against such odds. However, Zwilt was growing impatient. He flung the half-eaten apple from him. What were Fallug and all those other Ravagers up to? Why could he not hear the booming thuds of a battering ram pounding the Abbey gates? Had something gone amiss with his plan?

  The tall sable turned to his vermin escort, explaining his next move, to avoid any mistakes. “Listen carefully. I need to know what’s happening on the other side of the west wall. The only way I see of doing that is to get inside the Abbey. I can look out one of those high windows. From there I’ll be able to judge what’s happening at the main gate. You four follow me. There should be hardly anybeast inside—they’re all out on the walls—but we’ll take no chances. Go quietly, keep your eyes open and guard my back.”

  Avoiding the front door of the Abbey building, they explored the south side, where Zwilt found a window with its shutters open. Judging by the mouthwatering aromas emanating from it, this could be only one place, the kitchens. Nobeast seemed to be in attendance. It was the work of a moment for all five creatures to slip inside.

  Even in the present situation, it was far too tempting to ignore the food laid out there. Realising how hungry he was, Zwilt posted one of his Ravagers at the door. He fell on the food like a wild beast, as did his escort. Pasties, bread, pies and scones, still warm from the ovens, were laid out to cool on the worktops. With scant regard for choice, they grabbed anything at random, cramming their mouths full, spitting out what they could not gulp down, moving from one thing to another, knocking over platters and trays of food.

  Fazdim, a river rat, upended a flask of blackberry wine, gurgling gleefully as it splashed over his chin, staining his lean chest. “Be plenty more o’ this good stuff when this place is ours, eh, Lord?”

  Zwilt snatched the wine from him, throwing up a cautionary paw. “Hush! What was that?”