The Bellmaker

by Brian Jacques

  The badger nodded as she helped herself to blueberry tart and meadowcream. ‘Aye, a bowl of soup apiece, a sound scrubbing in the bath and sent off to bed straight away, as an example to the others.’

  Simeon smiled as he poured her a beaker of maple cordial. ‘Little rascals. Dibbuns seem to live in a world of their own. I don’t suppose they meant any real harm.’

  Saxtus peered over his spectacles across a summer salad. ‘I agree with Mellus, they must learn their lesson. It’s lucky the two rats found them. What d’you make of those two?’

  Mellus stared hard at the pair who were bolting everything in sight ravenously. ‘I don’t like them or trust them. Cook and a carpenter indeed – got searat stamped all over their scurvy hides!’

  ‘Again I agree with you, my friend,’ said Saxtus as he broke a fresh oat farl to have with his salad, ‘but without them the little ones might have come to harm. They haven’t showed badwill to anybeast so far, and with that in mind we cannot refuse them the hospitality of Redwall. They must be treated as harmless lost travellers.’

  Simeon smiled broadly at Mellus’s answer. ‘Harmless lost travellers my left footpaw!’

  Blaggut dug his spoon into a bowl of mixed fruits with honey. ‘This is the life, eh Cap’n,’ he said as he shovelled it down with gusto, ‘these is the fanciest vittles I ever et in me life. Pass me that fizzy strawb’rry stuff.’

  Slipp was forging hastily through a wedge of yellow cheese studded with beechnuts, but he could not resist a sarcastic dig at the former bosun of the Pearl Queen. ‘Fanciest vittles you ever et, eh, didn’t they ’ave stuff like this at Blaggut Mansions?’

  Blaggut grabbed two hot blackberry scones from a passing tray. ‘Blaggut Mansions, where’s that? Pity they ain’t got no seaweed grog. Yowch!’ He jumped sharply as Slipp’s claws nipped his stomach.

  The searat Captain saw Mellus watching them, so he pasted a smile on his face as he muttered threateningly, ‘Lissen, onionbonce, one more mention of seaweed grog an’ I’ll rip yer nose off, see? If’n they ’ears you blatherin’ on about seaweed grog they’ll know fer sure we’re searats!’

  But Blaggut was enjoying himself. He bit deep into a plumcake, spraying crumbs across the table as he addressed Mellus, ‘Ahoy there, stripedog, where’s me two liddle mateys? You shoulda invited them to the party!’

  The old badger glared dangerously at him. ‘They’re fast asleep in bed. And my name is not stripedog, it’s Mellus, is that clear?’

  Blissfully unaware of the wrath he had nearly brought down on his own head, the searat answered, ‘Clear as a fat merchantship, pleased t’meet yer Mellers. My name’s Blaggut, but the Cap’n ’ere calls me fat’ead an’ lazypaws an’ baggybum an’ suchlike names. Hoho, ’e’s a one fer the names is the Cap’n!’ He was jolted by repeated kicks from Slipp beneath the table.

  ‘Will you stow all that Cap’n, Cap’n! Yer an addle-nosed, bottlebrained, butterbellied barnacle!’

  Blaggut winced until the kicking stopped. ‘Aye aye, Cap’n! Ooh look, they got trifle, Cap’n!’

  The bad manners of the two searats were tolerated with great patience by most of the Redwallers, though Mellus and Sister Sage were forced to stifle stern comments when Abbot Saxtus looked reprovingly over his spectacle tops at them. Slipp and Blaggut continued grabbing and gorging, with scant regard to the other diners. After the meal most of the Abbey creatures took themselves off to the dormitories with sighs of relief. Brother Mallen was heard to murmur as he and Mellus helped to clear tables, ‘Huh, I suppose we’ll have the pleasure of those two at breakfast tomorrow morning. If I had my way I’d sit them both outside the gate to share a trough!’

  The old badger nodded in agreement as she folded a cloth. ‘There’s no excuse for bad manners. I wish that I’d had charge of those two rats when they were Dibbuns, I’d have made them sit up straight and behave, indeed I would!’

  Moonlight beamed through the guest room window, bathing the walls in a soft radiance. Warm summer night cast its drowsy spell over the Abbey, not a breeze stirred the leaves of the orchard, and peace lay over all. Slipp lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence and formulating plans in his mind. He was still fully dressed and in possession of a carving knife he had stolen from the table. In the next bed, Blaggut snuffled noisily, then turning on to his back he began to snore uproariously. Slipp flung a pillow which caught Blaggut in the face, enveloping his head. The former bosun of Pearl Queen came awake, thrashing about as he was tangled by bedlinen.

  ‘Whuhhh mainsail’s fallen, up the riggin’ mates!’

  Rising hastily, Slipp tweaked his companion’s ear. ‘Stow that noise y’great oaf, you’ll wake everybeast!’

  Blaggut sat up scratching his head. ‘Wot’s up, Cap’n? You woke me out o’ the middle of a good ol’ sleep there.’

  Slipp looked contemptuously at his bosun’s comical figure. ‘Get yerself out o’ that daft nightgown, y’look like a jollyboat with a floppy sail. Do it quietly an’ keep yer voice down. Now listen t’me, I’ve got plans.’

  For the short time he had been acquainted with it, Blaggut liked his little truckle bed very much. As he dressed he sat on the edge of it, bouncing happily. Slipp, fast running out of patience, aimed a kick at Blaggut, hissing, ‘Will you keep still, bucketbelly, I’m talkin’ t’you!’

  Blaggut pulled a face and continued bouncing. ‘I kin ’ear you, Cap’n. Hoho, this is the life, better’n some ole ’ammock or deckplank this bed is. I never ’ad me own liddle bed. If we’re goin’ to steal things I’m gonna pinch this an’ take it wid me when we go . . .’ His voice trailed off as Slipp drew the carving knife menacingly.

  ‘Let’s git somethin’ straight, I didn’t pick you t’come with me, but yore ’ere whether I like it or not. I’m still Cap’n though, an’ if yore not still an’ quiet rightaway I’ll see to it that yore silenced fer good!’

  Miserably Blaggut stopped bouncing and listened to his Captain’s scheme.

  ‘All this fancy vittles, nice rooms an’ whatnot, stands to reason a place o’ this size must ’ave a great store of treasure ’idden away somewheres. Right?’

  Blaggut nodded dumbly as Slipp continued. ‘So we looks fer it by night an’ keeps our noses clean durin’ the day. Come on, foller me.’

  ‘Where are we goin’, Cap’n?’

  ‘Where d’you think, cloth’ead, pickin’ daisies? We’re startin’ our treasure search, now come on, an’ stop callin’ me Cap’n!’

  ‘Righto Cap’n, but what’ll I call yer?’

  ‘Call me Slipp, that’s me name.’

  ‘Righto Cap . . er Slipp. Sounds funny, me callin’ you Slipp. Nice name though, Slipp, I likes it. Righto, let’s go Slippy!’

  The carving knife pricked Blaggut’s nose as the irate Captain snarled at him, ‘I’ll Slippy yer, I’ll slip this blade between yer ribs if yer calls me that once more, understand?’

  The searats found a candle and lit it from a walltorch in Great Hall. They crept about searching the alcoves and crannies. ‘What’re we searchin’ for, Cap’n?’ Blaggut whispered as Slipp lifted the edge of the great tapestry.

  The Captain rapped lightly on the wall. ‘Some ’idden door or secret panel, that’s where I’d stow me loot if’n I owned a place like this.’

  Blaggut held the candle up to the tapestry, illuminating the figure of Martin the Warrior. ‘Lookit this feller, Cap’n, I wouldn’t like to cross swords with that mouse, looks a right tough un!’

  ‘It’s only a picture, stupid, ’old that light down ’ere.’

  They continued searching Great Hall without success. From there the two searats progressed to Cavern Hole and again, they found nothing. Blaggut smelt food.

  ‘No treasure ’ere, Cap’n. Let’s try that place where the nice smells are comin’ from.’

  ‘What, you mean the kitchens? Who ’ides treasure in kitchens?’

  Blaggut shrugged. ‘I dunno, who does?’

  Slipp stared strangely at him in the
candlelight. ‘May’ap you got somethin’ there. A good place to ’ide loot would be a place nobeast’d think of looking fer it. Come on!’

  The kitchens were in darkness save for a dim, red glow from the ovens, and the candle cast a dancing light laced with flickering shadows. Nervously Blaggut grabbed a warm loaf from a baking tray and began munching on it.

  ‘Blisterin’ barnacles!’ Slipp cursed softly as he scorched his paw on an oven door. He plunged the limb into what he imagined was a jar of water, only to find it was warm honey. As was customary with the searat Captain, he began blaming his bosun. ‘Now see wot you’ve made me do, gimme that candle!’ Snatching at the candle he knocked it from Blaggut’s paw, and the light went out. Slipp was searching the floor with sticky paws when his companion began hugging him tightly.

  ‘We’re bein’ watched, Cap’n. Look!’

  In the red ovens’ glow a black caped figure swept silently by them. Both rats gave a gasp of horror. The mysterious shape paused a moment in the doorway; it appeared to be looking in their direction. Slipp and Blaggut crouched paralyzed by nameless terror, then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the black caped form was gone!

  Blaggut leapt up with a strangled yelp, knocking the honey jar from its perch – it smashed on the floorstones. Slipp was already up and pushing the bosun to one side. He dashed off, tripped and crashed into a rack of pots and pans which clattered noisily to the floor. Both rats fled the kitchens, hearts pounding madly as they tore through Cavern Hole, across Great Hall and up the stairs. They reached the guest bedroom not a second too soon. Sounds of Redwallers coming out of the dormitories to investigate the noises echoed along the corridors. Slipp closed the door as quietly as his shaking limbs would allow him to.

  ‘Quick, get inter yer bed an’ snore!’ he croaked.

  Blaggut needed no second bidding. He hurled himself into bed, swept the sheets over his head and began snoring. Slipp followed suit. A moment later he heard the door open carefully and the voice of Abbot Saxtus.

  ‘Well, whatever it was it wasn’t these two, they’re snoring like a pair of stuffed hogs.’

  His voice was followed by that of Brother Fingle. ‘Aye Father Abbot, hogs at the table and hogs in bed. We’d best go and check on the Dibbuns.’

  The door closed and their pawsteps receded down the passage. Slipp sat up in bed, about to make some indignant comment on being called a hog when he remembered something odd. ‘Blaggut,’ he said, ‘when you jumped in bed just then, was yore bedlinen all upset, the way you left it?’

  ‘Upset, no Cap’n, it was all tidy an’ shipshape.’

  Slipp ran a trembling paw across the neat counterpane. While he and Blaggut had been downstairs, somebeast, or something, had visited their room and remade the beds!

  22

  GLOKKPOD TOOK OFF from the valley floor again, flapping wearily upward into the raindashed night. Iris watched him go, shaking her head doubtfully.

  ‘That’s the fourth try now. The rope is heavy, maybe too heavy. Each time the Butcher Bird gets more tired.’

  Troutlad peered into the mist, watching for any sign of hordebeasts. ‘The Bird’s their only hope up there, if he can’t get the rope to ’em they’re deadbeasts.’

  Mariel leaned out over the ruined attic beams. She watched the shrike’s painful efforts, thumping her paws on the beams. ‘Come on! Oh, come on Glokkpod, you can do it!’

  The Butcher Bird was almost halfway up to the tower top when he seemed to run short of energy. The wings flapped awkwardly, he hovered and dropped slightly, hampered by three ropes knotted into one coiled about his neck. Struggling gallantly the shrike sought to pick up his wing action.

  Dandin bit his lip anxiously. ‘The ropes are too heavy, they’re pulling him down!’ he said.

  Gael Squirrelking had given up hope. ‘He’s never going to do it, it’s too high.’

  Heaving his ponderous stomach across a roofbeam, Meldrum the Magnificent watched Glokkpod. ‘I’ve just had an idea, super wheeze really, you chaps keep silent now, no matter what I say.’

  Raising his voice, the old hare began insulting the shrike. ‘Call y’self a bird? You’re a disgrace t’the species, sah! I’ve seen worms do better at flyin’ than you! Hah! Butcher Bird, I’ll bet y’father was a dead duck an’ your mother was a half-shot cuckoo! Go on, give it up, you’ll never make it, you useless lump of pillow stuffin’, you great blatherin’, bobblewinged, bandy-beaked blowbag!’

  ‘Rakachakk! I kill yirr Mildrin!’

  Pure murder shone from the eyes of the red-backed shrike as he began powering his wings upwards. Meldrum twitched his rainsoaked mustachios cheekily, and carried on. ‘Kill me? You must be jestin’, featherface, you couldn’t damage cream on top of a hot scone, let alone kill me. If I had wings I’d fly circles round you, you eggwalloper!’

  ‘Kiiirrrr! I do mirdir on yirr, you fat hirr!’ Regardless of rain, tired wings and the weight of the rope, the Butcher Bird punished its body into mad upward flight, screaming challenges all the way.

  ‘Mildrin yirr a dead hirr! Kiiiirrrakachak!’

  In a wet flurry of wings Glokkpod landed among them.

  Mariel, Dandin and Gael had to throw themselves between Glokkpod and Meldrum – the Butcher Bird was intent on killing the hare. Meldrum kept his distance, trying to pacify the shrike.

  ‘Calm down, old lad, I was only chivvyin’ you on a bit so you’d get the rope up here, didn’t really mean it, wot?’

  But Glokkpod would not be satisfied, he strained towards Meldrum, stabbing with his fearsome beak. ‘Yirr deadnow Mildrin longirzz, I killyirr!’

  Mariel did the only thing she could do in the circumstances. Pulling the rope from the shrike’s neck she shoved hard, overbalancing Glokkpod so that he fell from the tower. The Butcher Bird spread his wings and, soaring in an upward arc, he circled the towertop, screeching, ‘Yirr cowwid longirzz, cowwid! Nofight, yirr all mouth!’

  Mariel swung the coiled rope, warning Glokkpod off. ‘Don’t be a silly bird, can’t you see Meldrum was only doing it so you could fly up here? If he hadn’t called you those names you’d never have made it!’

  But there was no reasoning with the maddened bird. ‘Kiiiirrr! Nobeast live after ’sultin’ thissbird! Glokkpod go now, I finished with yizz. Lissin longirzz, we ever meet again, I kill yirr, frien’s not save yirr. Kiiirrrrakachakiiiiirrrr!’

  Glokkpod winged off into the rainsplashed darkness and was gone from sight.

  Meldrum uncoiled the rope. ‘Strange feller, no sense of humour at all. Ah well, who’s for a spot of jolly old escapin’, wot?’

  The rope had to be doubled, so it could be freed to get them down from the west-wall battlements. Dandin draped it over the stoutest of the roof support beams, checking to see both ends were level. Gael Squirrelking surprised them all by grasping the twin sides of the rope and lowering himself away. ‘Let me go first, weak as I am. If a squirrel can’t do it, nobeast can!’

  Bluebane knocked timidly on the Foxwolf’s bedchamber door. There was no answer, so he knocked louder, starting slightly as Nagru shouted, ‘Stop that knocking and get in here!’

  Bluebane scurried in and crouched by the mound of cushions which formed his master’s resting place. Nagru’s head appeared over the top of them, close to Bluebane’s. ‘So, what is it this time, tittletattle?’

  ‘Lord, I stayed by the tower door listening carefully. The Butcher Bird brought them a rope. They plan on swinging across to the west wing edge, where they can land on the battlements. From there they’ll be able to get down to the moat. Gael is already on the rope. The Butcher Bird quarrelled with the hare and he has flown off. I don’t think he will come back, Sire.’

  Nagru slid from the mound of cushions. ‘Tell the Lady Silvamord I wish to speak with her.’

  Gael had not climbed since his younger days. He was older and slower now, but his natural squirrel skills aided him in clambering down. Soon he was hanging from both ends of the doubled rope. He began swinging himsel
f back and forth. To and fro he urged his body on the rope ends, each arc of his swing getting wider, until he saw the west wall through the mist and rain, its battlemented top getting closer with each fresh swing.

  Down below, Iris was banking on the success of the plan. The escapers would need good backup and covering fire.

  ‘Troutlad, take half the crew, get to the top of the plateau steps and watch for the drawbridge being lowered. If any try to come out, stop them. Greenbeck, stay here and see they get down safe. Give any help you can. I’ll go to the steps with Troutlad, that’s where the main action should come if Nagru finds out they’re trying to escape.’

  Nagru told Silvamord of the escape, and she affected an air of disdain. ‘So, what do you want me to do? You’re the Warlord.’

  The Foxwolf’s tone was reasonable. ‘I thought we might work together for a change, stop fighting each other and fight the enemy.’

  The vixen too kept a level tone, though her quick mind was watching for double dealing. ‘Yes, that sounds sensible. As I said, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘I thought you might want to take a patrol down to the valley floor and catch them as they climb down the plateau.’

  Silvamord’s reply was definitely cool. ‘That’s more your style. I have a better idea. Why don’t we take a good squad up to the west battlements and grab them one by one as they swing in?’

  ‘Good idea!’ the Foxwolf said, smiling thinly. ‘Though why you don’t want to go down to the valley floor puzzles me. Have you had trouble out there already?’

  The vixen shot a sly glance at Bluebane, then turned to Nagru. ‘You should know, your eyes and ears are everywhere, Foxwolf.’

  As they walked to the horde barracks to pick out a squad, Sicant caught up with Silvamord. The vixen whispered to her, ‘It was Bluebane who had your mate Graywort slain.’

  Gael’s footpaws had touched the battlements once, then on his return swing he made it. Clamping footpaws and tail firmly over the protruding stones he let go of the rope. Mariel’s voice came to him faintly from above, ‘Gael, are you safe?’