She cried, ‘Alas alack, are you two villains back?’
And beat us soundly with a knotty log.
And as she wouldn’t stop it, well, we both had to hoppit,
now we’re back aboard the good old Scruffy Dog!”
Sometime later that night all paws on the raft were fast asleep. The woodlands were still, and the ground was warm from the summer day, with not even a whisper of breeze to stir either grass or leaves.
Grakk and two other weasels had not taken any more captives. On returning to the River Moss, they had been unable to locate the Guosim shrews. Following a sidestream south, Grakk and his cohorts met up with two other Ravagers. It was the small, scrawny fox and the burly weasel who had been in trouble with Buckler and Diggs.
All five vermin were at that moment lying low in the woodland fringes, watching the three young creatures who were sleeping not far from the streambank. The small fox looked around nervously.
Grakk crawled up alongside him. “Wot are yew lookin’ so jumpy about, eh?”
The fox pointed to Flib, who was curled up amidst the moss and fallen leaves. “See that un? She’s a shrew—we met up with ’er afore. I know ’tis the same beast, ’cos I kin see a knife an’ a club wot she stole off us.”
Grakk’s whisper oozed scorn. “Yer let a shrewmaid take yore weppins, huh, an’ you two calls yerselves Ravagers?”
The burly weasel defended himself and the fox. “ ’Twas a trap, see. We was tricked by ’er—she ’ad two others lyin’ in wait fer us. Aye, two o’ those big fightin’ rabbets, an’ they weren’t short o’ weppins, big swords an’ loaded slings, daggers, too, an’ prob’ly a couple o’ spears. I tell ye, Grakk, ye wouldn’t like t’meet up wid that pair. Killers they were, champeen warriors!”
Grakk stared hard at the fox. “So, wot ’appened? Why wasn’t ye killed by ’em, eh?”
The small fox glared right back at him, lying earnestly. “ ’Cos we escaped from them. We ’ad to run fer it, an’ we lost our weppins in the scramble. They chased us fer over a day an’ night, but we outran them.”
“Hah, youse two ran faster ’n two big rabbets? Ye must be jokin’!”
The burly weasel butted in belligerently. “Well, we ain’t, an’ if’n you ’ad two big fightin’ rabbets chasin’ ye with long swords, you’d ’ave run, too, fer yore life. ’Cos ye don’t stop t’mess about wid beasts like them, see!”
Not wanting to continue the dispute, Grakk held up a paw. “Keep yer voice down, mate. I believe ye. So, if’n ye can’t see the big rabbets anyplace around, let’s grab those three young uns an’ get movin’ fast, while the goin’s good.”
Flib had been knocked out cold by a blow from the club, which had once belonged to the vermin. The small fox kicked her spitefully.
“I should kill ye right now for wot ye did to us!”
Grakk slammed his spearpoint into the ground beside the fox. “Ye can cut that kinda talk, or ye’ll answer to Zwilt the Shade. You’n’yore mate, lash ’er paws t’gether an’ sling ’er on the spearpole. Are those two young ’ogs ready t’go?”
Jinty and Jiddle sat terrified, with their mouths gagged. A weasel bound their forepaws, dragging them upright.
Grakk blindfolded them and tapped both their snouts with his dagger point as he hissed savagely, “One wrong move an’ we’ll roast ye for dinner. If’n ye want t’live, then do as yore told, got it?”
Not waiting for them to nod, he shoved the young hogs roughly. “Now, git goin’—move yerselves.”
The Ravagers sped off into the night, prodding their captives forward.
Flib was still unconscious, hanging from the spearhaft as the burly weasel and the small fox hurried to keep up with the others.
The early noontide peace was shattered as Redwall’s twin bells, Matthias and Methuselah, tolled out a brazen alarm. Casting dignity to one side, Abbess Marjoram hurried about, yelling, “Everybeast to the east wallgate. There’s two Dibbuns missing. Has anyone seen Guffy and little Tassy?”
She was intercepted by Granvy. The old hedgehog scribe tried to calm her down. “Mother Abbess, we don’t know if they’re lost out in the woodlands. They may still be within the Abbey. Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to? Listen, now, you go inside, take Friar Soogum and whatever kitchen helpers he has to spare. Search inside the Abbey from attics to wine cellars. Guffy and Tassy may be hiding, or perhaps merely taking a nap.”
Marjoram managed a smile. “Yes, you could be right, my friend. If they’re in there, I’ll find the scamps. But where are you going?”
The Recorder tapped the side of his snout knowingly. “I’ve got an idea. You know I just said, ‘Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to?’ Well, I think I know the answer. Other Dibbuns! When I began looking for Guffy and Tassy, I saw the Dab gang over by the gatehouse, playing near the steps. I’ll ask them.”
Marjoram looked puzzled. “The Dab gang?”
Granvy chuckled. “Haven’t you heard of the Dab? Dibbuns Against Bedtime, that’s their initials.”
The Abbess nodded. “Of course. I’d just forgotten about it. Right, you go and see them, and I’ll search the Abbey building. Good luck!”
By teatime that afternoon, there was still no sign of the missing Dibbuns. It was a worried gathering of Redwallers who sat upon the main Abbey steps. Friar Soogum passed around with food and drink, doling it out to everybeast.
“C’mon, now, eat somethin’ for seasons’ sakes. It won’t do any good if’n ye make yoreselves ill with hunger. Oh, there’s a thought, Skipper. I’ll wager those two liddle rascals will show up once they get empty tummies!”
The Otter Chieftain sighed. “Ye could be right, Friar, but they already ’ad vittles at lunchtime, so they won’t be ’ungered just yet. Wot luck did you ’ave, Granvy?”
The hedgehog Recorder scratched his untidy beard. “Well, I should’ve expected not to get much sense out of Dibbuns. One small wretch said that he actually saw Guffy and Tassy fly up in the air, when I asked him where they went—he said right up over a moon! I quote him literally. Another fanciful little miss said that the big butterfly had eaten them, and some other tiny fibber said Friar Soogum had made them into soup. Though most just spread their paws and said ‘Gone!’ Just as babes will, no explanation but ‘Gone!’ So, that’s the sum total of my information.”
Skipper sipped a beaker of cold mint tea. “Well, me an’ some others searched outside the east wall. We had no real luck, though. Most of the ground an’ foliage was well trampled by the tree trimmin’. Creatures goin’ to an’ fro there, haulin’ branches. That’s all the tracks I could make out. We’ll have to range further into the woodlands if’n we’re searchin’ for pawtracks.”
The Abbess enquired hesitantly, “Will it be very difficult to find the prints of two little ones, Skipper?”
The big otter ’s brow furrowed. “It always is with babes, marm, but they ain’t the tracks I’d be lookin’ for.”
Tollum Bellringer nodded toward the woodlands. “You mean vermin tracks, Skip—is that wot yore thinkin’?”
To save upsetting everybeast further, Friar Soogum spoke. “Well, now, me’n’ the Abbess an’ our party, we still got plenty o’ searchin’ yet t’do. We scoured the cellars, Great Hall, an’ Cavern Hole, too. We’re up t’the dormitories so far. But there’s still the attics. Though why anybeast in their right mind would want t’go wanderin’ up in those dusty ole chambers is beyond me. You scouted out yore Infirmary yet, Sister?”
Fumbril replied promptly. “First thing I did, Friar. Everythin’ is as it should be, no sign o’ Dibbuns!” The otter paused, tapping her rudder thoughtfully. “Er, Friar, I just thought o’ somethin’. That stoat vermin we caught in yore kitchens—it might be worth talkin’ to him about our Dibbuns. ’Tis worth a try, eh?”
Skipper clenched his paws. “Yore right, Sister. Don’t fret, if that un’s got anythin’ t’say, I’ll learn the truth, one way or another, trust me. Where’s the wretch now, Friar?”
The young stoat, Globby, was watching them from an upper dormitory window. He saw the Friar making paw movements, telling Skipper how he had bound his captive to the table leg.
Globby chewed on an oat farl which he had stuffed with cheese, smiling over his easy escape. Hah, that stupid old fool had only tied him by the footpaws. The Friar was in too much of a hurry to join in the search for the precious little ones.
They had left him alone—everybeast from the kitchens went along with the Friar, and the mouse they called Mother Abbess. Idiots! He had watched Soogum cut the length of cord to tie him with. Unbelievable! The old duffer had left his knife on the table and dashed off. Globby cut himself loose, tucked the knife into his belt, helped himself to a few vittles and sneaked out of the kitchens.
The moment he put his head outside the Abbey door, though, the young Ravager saw that it was not going to be so simple escaping from Redwall. The grounds were being combed by Redwallers, both singly and in small groups. Globby retreated from the door as he heard some moles passing by.
“Yurr, Gurrfa, us’n’s bee’s best lukkin’ round unner ee windows—they’m moight ’ave leaved tracks!”
Flattening himself against one of the sandstone columns in Great Hall, the stoat saw Drull Hogwife passing, holding two Dibbuns’ paws.
“You lend me some ’elp, my dears, an’ don’t go strayin’ off, now. Two Dibbuns is enough loss for one day. Let’s take a look round by the tapestry.”
When they had gone, Globby ventured out. He avoided going downstairs, knowing the cellars were being searched. Upstairs, that was the place to hide, and he had heard one of the kitchen helpers saying that the dormitories were upstairs. Not knowing what a dormitory was, Globby hurried up the stairs. Opening the first door he came to, he was confronted by neat rows of little truckle beds.
So, dormitories were bedrooms. He was learning all the time. Hearing voices approaching, he nipped inside. Partially closing the door, he peeped through the crack.
Sister Fumbril and a squirrelmaid Infirmary helper bustled by, talking animatedly.
“We’ll search that sickbay again from top to bottom!” “I’ll check all the big linen cupboards, shall I, Sister?”
“Good idea, Twissle. That’s always a favourite Dibbun hidin’ place.”
They went up a short, curving flight of stairs to the left.
Globby waited a moment before leaving the dormitory. He took a flight of stairs off to the right. It led to another dormitory, one with fewer, larger beds, obviously for the older Redwallers. That was where he watched from the window, and saw the big otter and the Friar heading indoors. The young stoat sat on a bed, reviewing his position.
Where to go? How to avoid the searchers?
8
Out in the woodlands, beneath the roots of the giant oak in the system of chambers and caves known as Althier, new captives were arriving constantly. Vilaya the Sable Quean stared down at three tiny squirrels, huddled piteously on the bare floor below her throne seat.
Thwip and Binta, the two foxes who were her jailers, scowled at the new inmates. Binta pointed at them with her cane. “Majesty, they’re very young.”
The old rat Dirva, sitting on the steps close to Vilaya, shrugged. “The younger, the better. Their kinbeasts will worry more about them.”
Thwip coiled his lash. Circling them, he shook his head. “These look too young, I don’t give much for their chances. They got nobeast to look after ’em.”
The Sable Quean’s dark almond eyes glittered as she fixed the fox with her riveting stare. “Is that what you think, Thwip? Then let me tell you what I think. I don’t give much for your chances, or your vixen, Binta, if anything happens to these three. If I were you, I’d look after them very carefully. Do I make myself clear?”
Thwip’s stomach was so large that he grunted as he bowed low. “I hear an’ I obey, Majesty.”
Vilaya’s expression changed. Ignoring the foxes, she spoke almost teasingly to Dirva. “I’m so glad. It pleases me when my servants obey me. Does it please you, my friend?”
The old rat rested her chin fawningly upon her Quean’s footpaw. “Makes little difference what pleases me, Majesty. Though it does please me to see what happens to anybeast that’d displease you, eh?”
The ghost of a cruel smile crossed the Sable Quean’s face. “You always give the right answers, my ugly old friend. Thwip, Binta, take these cringing little things out of my sight, and remember, treat them with care.”
Thwip peered around the dungeon chamber. All the young prisoners shrank against the rough rock walls, cowed by the presence of their cruel jailer. His gaze rested a moment upon Midda and her little brother, Borti, then shifted to Tura.
Unfurling his whiplash, he cracked it, pointing at her. “You, squirrel, come ’ere. Move yerself!”
The young squirrelmaid stood shaking in front of him. “Sir?”
He pushed the three squirrelbabes forward with his footpaw. “Yore a squirrel, ain’t yer? Well, look after these three. Take good care of ’em, or I’ll ’ave the hide off’n yer with this lash, see.”
Binta stood alongside Thwip, brandishing her rod. “You lot, when the vittles arrive, stay back ’til they’ve been served, or ye’ll feel this cane!”
The two foxes stalked out, leaving the young captives in the guttering half-light amidst the shadows.
Tura took a ragged cloth and some dried grass. Making a rough resting place, she laid the three squirrelbabes down on it.
Flandor the otter took off his rough tabard and covered them with it. “Strange they ain’t cryin’ an’ weepin’, eh, Midda?”
The Guosim shrew looked them over sadly. “They’re in shock. Wait’ll they wake up, poor little mites. Tura, wot’s goin’ to become of us?”
The squirrelmaid lay close to the babes, shielding them with her body. “I’m too afraid to think, Midda.”
Being a chieftain who headed fivescore savage river rats, Grullba Deathwind feared nobeast. He ruled by strength and his skill with the double-headed battleaxe—he was a real barbarian fighter. Even his own crew knew that he could, single-pawed, defeat any three of them. He was not a beast to challenge idly.
When the newcomer appeared unannounced in the midst of his camp, Grullba eyed him up and down curiously. Neither he, nor any of his river rats, had ever encountered a sable. Zwilt the Shade seemed to materialise out of the campfire smoke. He stood impassive, the long, dull-purple cloak draped lazily about his tall body. River rats surrounded him, brandishing an array of weapons. Zwilt ignored them, staring with his dead black eyes at Grullba.
The chieftain returned his gaze, instinctively checking that the battleaxe was within easy reach. His guttural accent split the air like a blade. “Oo arr ya, beast, worra yew do ’ere? Come ta die?”
Zwilt replied with a question. “Are ye the one they call Grullba Deathwind, leader of this crew?”
Some of the rats guffawed but fell silent at a glance from their chieftain. Grullba, his eyes locked on Zwilt, nodded. “Yarr dat’s me. Worra dey call yew?”
The tall sable appeared unconcerned as he made his demand. “I am Zwilt the Shade, Commander of all Ravagers. From this day forth, you and your beasts will serve under me.”
Immediately the air was filled with danger. A deathly silence fell over the assembly awaiting their murderous chieftain’s next move.
Grullba threw back his head and laughed aloud. “Yarrharrharr! We serve ’im? Lizzen to der deadbeast!”
Zwilt was moving even as Grullba leapt forward swinging his axe. Like magic, the broadsword was in Zwilt’s paws as he circled away from his opponent.
The river rats gathered in a big ring, eager to see their chief slay the upstart.
Grullba’s weapon made a loud swishing noise. This was because of the pattern of holes forged through the axehead, giving confirmation of his title, Deat
hwind. However, he struck only empty air.
Zwilt had swayed a mere hairsbreadth to one side, causing his opponent to stagger off balance with the force of the strike.
Grullba recovered swiftly, this time swinging his weapon horizontally, as if to cut the sable in half.
Zwilt took a pace backward, watching the momentum turn Grullba round full circle. The Rat Chieftain gave a roar, charging his foe head-on. Zwilt’s cloak swirled; he sidestepped neatly, tripping Grullba as he thundered by. The river rats, who had been cheering their chieftain on, fell silent.
Grullba Deathwind had never even come close to being defeated. Now he was being made to look foolish by the tall, lean stranger. His face smeared with soil and torn-up grass, Grullba arose, breathing heavily.
“Yarr, stan’ an’ fight, cowwid!”
Zwilt attacked like lightning. The broadsword clanged, sending the battleaxe flying from Grullba’s grasp and pinning him through his right shoulder. The river rat screeched in pain as Zwilt ripped his blade free.
A savage kick to the rat’s stomach drove Grullba to his knees, head bent as he gasped for air. Zwilt slammed his broadsword into the earth. Picking up the fallen battleaxe, he hefted it, staring at the bowed head of his adversary. Zwilt spat out the word scornfully. “Deathwind!”
The last sound Grullba heard was the battleaxe singing his deathsong with one whistling swish.
Zwilt tossed the axe aside, retrieving his broadsword. He turned slowly, his cold eyes taking in the faces of the stunned river rats.
“I am Zwilt the Shade, hearken if ye wish to live. From now until you die, you’ll serve as Ravagers under the Sable Quean. I am her Commander, you’ll obey me. So challenge me now, if you wish to dispute my word.”
They stood dumbstruck, not daring to answer. Anybeast who could defeat Grullba Deathwind so easily merited all their fear and respect.
Zwilt pointed his sword at a burly vermin, who was armed with a long pike. “You, speak your name!”
The Sable Quean (Redwall) Page 8
