Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Top-hole. Don’t fret, Clary. I’ll put the old bandit asleep until this time next season. Now let’s see, which is m’ biggest stone? Oh, this one’s rather pretty, nice little sticky-out bits. Whoohahahahoohah!’

  Luck was on the side of the long patrol that evening, and Clary’s plan ran true to form. Illuminated by two lanterns, Oykamon appeared atop a nearby dune, his bulging throat pulsating in and out as he bellowed.

  ‘Krroikl! You were warned, longears. Now you will die knowing the power and might of Oykamon. Krrrikk!’

  Hon Rosie popped up, twirling the large rock in her slingshot. ‘Shall I bowl him a googly, Clary?’

  ‘Certainly, Rosie old gel. Shut the fat blighter up.’

  The rock flew straight and hard, whacking Oykamon with a force that sent him head over webs. Clary and Thyme’s slings took the lantern holders out. Immediately, the dunes and shore became a mass of natterjacks. Croaking and clicking with dismay, they hopped speedily over to their fallen leader. The hares of the long patrol were up and gone with a turn of speed that would have left a hunting hawk flabbergasted.

  They splashed along the shoreline in the failing light, a red bronze sun turning the wavelets to liquid gold as they skimmed and bounced.

  ‘Excellent shot, Rosie. An absolute bull’s-eye, wot!’

  ‘Rather. He did a full double backflip when that rock beezed him.’

  ‘Oh, d’you think so? Thanks awfully, chaps. Whoohahahahoohah!’

  Dandin spread his paws wide. ‘Back off. This bird means business!’

  Mariel sprang forward. The heron struck, and she dodged sideways, narrowly getting clear of the huge pointed beak, which left a deep dent in the path.

  ‘Mariel get back, he’ll kill you,’ Dandin yelled.

  The heron hopped in on spindly legs, flapping his wide wings and screeching, ‘Irrrraktaan will spearrrrr your hearrrrrt! Irrrrraktaan knows no fearrrr!’

  Mariel rolled over and over, keeping a fraction ahead of the murderous stabbing beak. A movement caught Iraktaan’s quick eye, and he glanced to one side. There was Durry Quill, rolling past him in a tight ball. The heron struck at the hedgehog, but his beakpoint encountered a hard spike and bounced back with a pinging noise.

  The moment’s breathing space was all Mariel needed. She whirled Gullwhacker and struck Iraktaan across the legs, right on the narrow knee joints. The knotted rope wrapped round the heron’s legs several times. He tried to move but crashed to the ground. Immediately, Tarquin was there. He sat across the middle of Iraktaan’s neck. Before the great bird could start flapping its wings, Dandin passed the remainder of the rope across them and stood on the rope’s end. Durry Quill tugged and chewed at some bindweed, snapping several lengths off.

  “Ere, tie that burd up wi’ some o’ this.’

  Tarquin grabbed a strand and wound it round and round the clacking beak. Dandin took the rest and hobbled Iraktaan’s legs securely, passing it through the joint of one wing and knotting it off. Breathing heavily, they stood up. Mariel disengaged Gullwhacker from the heron’s legs and whirled it close to the bird’s head.

  ‘Be still! Be still, I say, or I’ll scramble your silly brains!’

  The heron’s eyes rolled madly, but he lay still, feathers in disarray, hissing and blowing through his fearsome beak. Dandin unsheathed the sword of Martin and placed the point at Iraktaan’s crop.

  ‘When we are gone, you will be able to free yourself. But hear what I say, Iraktaan. Follow us, and I will slay you with this sword. It has taken more lives than there are feathers on your body. I am Dandin the Sword Carrier, and you can believe my word. We wish only to cross the ford in peace. Stay where you are, wait until we are gone, then loose yourself.’

  Iraktaan wriggled a bit and made stifled noises but they ignored him. The ford appeared neither too wide or deep, but with masses of long trailing weeds waving beneath the surface. Tarquin took a few paces back as if he were going to rush at it with a hop, leap and jump. ‘Wish me luck, chaps. Here goes!’

  Dandin stood barring his path. ‘Wait, Tarquin. Remember the old saying, look before you leap?’

  ‘Of course, old lad. Well, I’ve bally well looked, and now I’m goin’ to jolly well leap . . .’

  ‘Oh no you’re not!’

  ‘I say, Dandin, you’ve become rather bossy since you started wearin’ that blinkin’ sword. “My name is Dandin the Sword Carrier,” eh? Righto, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t leap, and I shan’t.’

  Dandin recited the words of the poem which he had memorized.

  ‘This trail brings death with every pace;

  Beware of dangers lurking there,

  Sticklegs of the feathered race

  And fins that in the ford do stir.

  Well, as you can see, we’ve already met the sticklegs – Iraktaan took care of that. Our next hazard is fins that in the ford do stir. Let’s try out an idea before we attempt crossing.’

  Together they went to the water’s edge. Dandin took a crust of bread from his knapsack and tossed it into the ford. It drifted on the surface of the water. They stood watching the bread. Like a small golden-crusted boat, it moved slowly downstream on the calm river.

  Durrey did not seem too impressed. ‘My old nuncle’d say that there’s a waste o’ good food.’

  Quick as a lightning flash, a mighty silver black-banded body whooshed out of the weeds. There was an explosion of water, a gleam of needle-like teeth, a huge splash, and the ford returned to its former calm.

  Durry Quill grabbed hold of Mariel’s sleeve tightly. ‘Sufferin’ spikes, what were that?’

  Tarquin sat down in the dust looking decidedly shaky. ‘Pike, old lad. An absolute whopper. A fish like that’d rip you up as soon as look at you. Dandin, I’m never backward in comin’ forward – you were right.’

  Dandin was pacing the ford edge. ‘Look, there’s more than one, much more.’

  Peering carefully into the reeds, they were able to make out at least eight of the long, sleek bodies. Nose-on to the current, they backed water, fully grown, hook-jawed and totally dangerous.

  Mariel sat down with Tarquin. ‘Time for thinking caps. Glad you came with me, after all!’

  They sat in silence, watching the setting sun sink beneath the trees. Durry Quill drew patterns in the dust. ‘Mayhap we need a bridge.’

  Tarquin snorted. ‘Right you are, let’s start buildin’ one right away. Shouldn’t take us long – middle of next season, with a bit of luck.’

  Durry snorted back at him. ‘If brains was bees, there’d be no honey between your ears. Why, from where I’m a sittin’ I can see a great dead tree limb among yon bushes. What’s to stop us usin’ it as a bridge?’

  The hare stood up, bowing gracefully to the young hedgehog. ‘Profuse apologies an’ all that, young master Quill. Forgive me. The excellence of your suggestion is only surpassed by your good looks and keen intelligence.’

  Placed across the ford, the thick, dead tree limb looked wobbly and unsafe. As Mariel tested it she noted the position of the voracious pike.

  ‘See, the fish have come out of the weeds. They’re all waiting both sides of our bridge, just beneath the surface. We’d better not put a paw wrong crossing that thing.’

  Mariel decided that she would go first. Stepping on to the branch, she wound Gullwhacker about her neck and held her paws wide to give herself a bit of stability. The mousemaid paced forward carefully, the branch shaking slightly beneath her tread. Hungry pike nosed closer, their underslung jaws agape as they watched her.

  ‘Don’t look down, Mariel,’ Dandin called out. ‘Keep your eyes straight ahead on the other side. You’re doing fine!’

  Now she had reached the centre, the branch dipped slightly, its underside touching the water. A pike butted the branch with its curving mouth, causing it to wobble dangerously. Mariel went down on all fours, gripping the bridge firmly. She waited until it ceased moving then scampered across swiftly, leaping the final part and landing safe on
the other side of the ford.

  ‘Well crossed, young mouse, well crossed, I say. Who’s next?’

  Dandin elected to try, with Mariel sitting on one end of the makeshift bridge and Tarquin holding the other end down. Dandin held the sword in both paws, straight out in front; it helped to balance him. The young mouse had a surprising natural agility. Despite the pike nosing against the branch, he made it across with ease, even leaping ashore with a fancy twirl of the sword.

  Tarquin nudged Durry Quill. ‘Your turn, old chap.’

  The young hedgehog blinked his eyes and gulped. ‘If I turns out t’ be a fish’s suppper, tell my old nuncle Gabriel that I love him dear an’ I was a-thinkin’ of him even as I was bein’ ate. Ah well! C’mon, Durry. Brace up, Quill. If y’don’t try now, y’never will.’

  With these few poetic lines, Durry scuttled out across the branch on all fours. It shook and wobbled furiously. The others held their breath, not wanting to call out advice lest they should upset him. The hedgehog was at the centre of the bridge when a monstrous pike hurled itself clear of the water, arching its sinuous body as it slammed forcibly into the branch. Durry plopped off into the ford, yelling as the pike dosed in on him, ‘I’m a-thinkin’ of ’ee, Nunde Gabe. Heeeeeelp!’

  ‘Eulaliaaaaa!’

  Tarquin L. Woodsorrel came tearing out along the branch, half in and half out of the water, the branch flopping up and down madly into the ford. Grabbing Durry by the snout, he swung him clear of the pike’s jaws. Kicking one pike savagely and braining another with his harolina, the hare carried straight on with his mad dash. Sprinting out of the water with Durry held tight, a damaged harolina, and a big female pike latched on to him, its teeth sunk into his bobtail. Tarquin let go of Durry and performed a mad war dance on the bank.

  ‘Yahwoo! Leggo, y’beast, leggo!’

  Mariel twirled Gullwhacker and struck the pike, batting it with all her might. It separated from Tarquin’s tail and shot through the air, landing in the ford with an awkward splosh.

  ‘Hooray!’ Durry cheered. ‘I ain’t ate, and we’re all safe ’n’ dry.’

  ‘Hah, I’m glad you’re pleased, young Quill. Look at me! A chunk of m’ bottom and half a tailbob missin’. What’ll Hon Rosie say when she sees my handsome form disfigured?’

  They made camp in a forest glade further up the road as night fell. Mariel and Dandin setting out the supper, Tarquin repairing his harolina, whilst Durry Quill put together one of his sovereign poultices for the hare’s nether end. Mariel conversed quietly with her friend as they sat eating.

  ‘Dandin, where did you get that beautiful sword?’

  ‘You’d never believe if I told you, Mariel, but it came to me in a dream.’

  ‘A dream? Surely you’re not serious . . .’

  ‘Oh, but I am. Strange, though. I dreamed I saw a mouse in full armour. He just stood there, watching me and smiling. I felt so peaceful and friendly and at ease with him, it was wonderful. He said to me; “Dandin, go with Mariel.” Just those four words, then he took his sword and scabbard and laid them at my side. I knew it was only a dream, a dream which I wanted to last for ever, but it didn’t. When I woke before dawn, there were the sword and scabbard by my side. It must have been the spirit of Martin the Warrior – he founded our Abbey. Martin is guardian of Redwall. They say he comes whenever the Abbey or its creatures are in danger. I always thought it was just a nice story, until he visited me. I’ll never forget it, Mariel.’

  The mousemaid crumbled a piece of bread and watched the ants bearing the fragments away, her face a strange picture of wonderment.

  ‘As you were speaking, Dandin, I remembered. It all came back. I dreamed of your Martin last night. He was just as you described him, a wonderful brave figure. He said: “Be brave, Mariel. Follow your heart’s desire.” He was there in my dreams one moment and gone the next. I know what you mean when you say you’ll never forget. I was so sad when he disappeared.’

  ‘Anybeast want more soup? If not, I’ll just have what’s left in the pot t’ keep me goin’ through the old night watches, wot? I say, Dandin, can you recall the next part of that rhyme thingummy?’

  The young mouse thought of his friend Saxtus as he spoke the lines.

  ‘After the ford, one night, one day,

  Seek out the otter and his wife.

  Forsake the path, go westlands way,

  Find the trail and lose your life.’

  Durry sniffed as he beat Tarquin to the last of the soup. ‘Lackaday, that sounds cheerful, don’t it? I wonder who the otter ’n’ his wife be.’

  Night closed in on the few red embers of the campfire in the glade as the travellers lay to rest. Tarquin with his harolina, Durry with a well-licked soup bowl, Mariel with her Gullwhacker and Dandin with the strange ancient sword of Martin the Warrior.

  17

  ORGEYE OF THE Waveblade had dropped anchor in Terramort cove earlier that same evening. Confining his crew to shipboard, he strode up to Fort Bladegirt, aware of the reception he would receive coming back empty-clawed. Gabool was in a murderous mood; even the slaves were hiding and dared not attend him. The King of the Searats had gone past sleeping. His eyes were completely blood-red, but he quivered with a furious nervous energy, roaming the banqueting hall, drinking wine straight from the flagon. Orgeye walked in without knocking. Gabool did not acknowledge him at first, but strode about shouting, ‘Look! . . . Look at this, half-cooked seabird still with the feathers hanging from it!’

  He hurled the silver platter, splattering food across the walls.

  ‘Not a slave to look after my needs. Me, the Ruler of all Seas! Wine? This tastes more like vinegar. They’re tryin’ to poison me. That’s it! They can’t get me while I’m asleep because I won’t go to sleep. . . . No sleep. . . . No rest for Gabool . . .’

  He appeared to notice Orgeye for the first time. ‘Saltar! No, it can’t be – I slew him. Haharr, it’s Orgeye, my old grogmate. Belay there, I knew you wouldn’t let Gabool down. I knew out of all those slopbacks you’d be the one to bring me back the Darkqueen an’ Greypatch’s mangy skull!’

  Orgeye moved away until the big table was between him and the Warlord. ‘Gabool, listen. I scoured the seas to the far west from here and past the horizon. I searched the bare rocks and small islands until I ran short of vittles an’ water for the crew an’ meself. There’s no sign of Greypatch at all. Wherever he’s taken the Darkqueen to, we’ll never find him, on my oath!’

  The flagon narrowly missed Orgeye. It smashed upon the door, cascading blood-red wine everywhere. Gabool looked madly about for something else to throw.

  ‘Garrr! You lyin’ traitor, you useless mud-suckin’ scum. If you couldn’t find him west’ard, you should have sailed south.’

  Orgeye was backing towards the door. He did not want to be in the same room with this mad creature.

  ‘Hold fast there, Gabool. Take it easy. I only put in to Terramort for fresh provisions. You say go south – right, then I’ll take the Waveblade on a southern course, soon as I’ve taken fresh vittles aboard.’

  Gabool drew his sword and advanced, foaming at the mouth. ‘Vittles, you bottlenosed trash. Vittles? I’ll give ye vittles, bucko. I’ll carve yer tripes out and feed ’em to your scurvy crew. Set course south an’ gerrout o’ me sight. You don’t get a crust o’ my bread or a drop of water until you bring me the Darkqueen an’ Greypatch’s head!’

  Orgeye barely had time to slam the door and run. Gabool was tugging and pulling as he cursed, and his sword was buried deep in the heavy oak door. Behind him the bell tolled once. He heaved the sword blade from the door and came at the bell.

  ‘Silence, d’ye hear me! Silence! Boomin’ an’ bongin’ away night an’ day so a body can’t even sleep. I’ll teach yer a lesson!’

  Two dormouse slaves peering through a crack in the door watched fascinated as the King of Searats attacked a bell with his sword. The bell clashed and clanged as Gabool hammered at it, both claws gripping his curved blade. Th
e one-sided fight could have only one possible outcome. The sword blade snapped against the great bell and Gabool lay face down upon the stone floor, panting and sobbing as the metallic echoes of the bell swirled around the banqueting hall.

  The dormouse slave turned to his companion. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘Aye, that I did. It looks like His Majesty is two waves short of a tide. Whoever saw a rat fight a bell?’

  ‘Right, mate. And look, he lost. The great Gabool’s cryin’ on the floor like a baby squirrel who’s lost his acorns. Hahahaha!’

  The laughter rang through into the hall as the two slaves fled back into hiding.

  Gabool gritted his teeth at the bell. ‘Go on, laugh, yer great brazen lump. Laugh away, but next time I’ll get a bigger sword!’

  Abbot Bernard sat at late supper with Simeon, Mellus and Gabriel Quill, Foremole wandered in and sat picking at the barely touched food on the table.

  ‘Burr, maisters. No news of ’ee young ’uns, then?’

  Simeon felt the round firmness of an apple as he polished it on his sleeve. ‘No news as yet, Foremole. But don’t worry, they’ve got everything on their side – youth, health, strength and a sense of adventure. I wish that I were with them, old as I am.’

  Mother Mellus tapped the table fretfully. ‘I wish I were with them, too. I’d tan that Dandin’s hide until he turned blue, the disobedient little wretch. That’s all the thanks you get for looking after them, caring, worrying when they’re ill. What about that scallywag nephew of yours, Gabe Quill?’