The Bellmaker

by Brian Jacques

  Joseph filled two platters with Pearl Queen Pudden, then taking the mousemaid’s paw gently, he signalled Finnbarr to release the young squirrel. ‘Don’t be frightened of Finnbarr,’ he said to them, ‘he’s just a great big old sea otter. What’s your name, young un?’

  ‘My name’s Benjy an’ I’m not afraid of you or anybeast!’

  ‘Of course you’re not. Come and have something to eat, Benjy.’ Joseph placed the plates of pudding in front of Benjy and Wincey, speaking softly to allay their fears. ‘Rosie, is there any raspberry cordial in the galley? Bring our guests a beaker each. Come on, young uns, eat up, you look as if a plate of pudding apiece would cheer you up. Oh come on now, we’re not going to hurt you.’

  They ate hungrily, grunting and snuffling in their haste to get the pudding down. Rosie brought their cordial.

  ‘My word, has there been a seven-season famine round here?’ she laughed.

  With his whiskers coated in fruit and pastry, Benjy shot her a quick glance. ‘You don’t look like no searat,’ he said.

  ‘I should hope not, and don’t speak with y’mouth full,’ Rosie said as she refilled the two plates. ‘We’re honest voyagers from Redwall Abbey and we don’t go about slayin’ and whatnot. Just look at you two! A good bath, some more food an’ clean clothes is what y’need.’

  Joseph took the little mousemaid on his lap. ‘I had a little one like you, though she’s quite big now. Tell me Wincey, how did you come to this place?’

  She took a great sucking gulp of raspberry cordial and shrugged. ‘Always been here, I think.’

  The squirrel called Benjy had moved closer until he was leaning against Joseph. ‘Aye, always, me an’ Wincey an’ Figgs.’

  ‘Figgs, who’s that?’ said the Bellmaker, ruffling Benjy’s ears fondly.

  Benjy smiled secretly as he licked his pudding plate. ‘Figgs is Figgs, she’s our sister. Want me to call her?’

  Before Joseph could reply Benjy was crying out, ‘Figgs, Figgs, come out wherever y’are! Hurry up, they’ve got nice pudden an’ drinks an’ they’re not searats!’

  A tiny ottermaid popped her head shyly over the rail. ‘Pudden’s nice, Figgs wants some!’ she squeaked.

  Shaking with laughter, Foremole lifted her over the rail. ‘Ee liddle raggymuffin choild, you’m can ’ave pudden ’til ee bursters, you’m a needen et t’be growen gurt!’

  Figgs was so tiny that she had to pick up the wooden spoon in both paws, but there was nothing tiny about her appetite.

  Finnbarr shook his head in wonderment at her. ‘She could go to sea in a clamshell with a sail! Ahoy there, Figgs matey, is that the full crew of ye, or is there any more giants out there ’idin’ silentlike?’

  Figgs paused a moment as if thinking hard. ‘No, only our father, Benjy knows where our father is.’

  The young squirrel took Joseph, Finnbarr and Rosie a short walk into the hinterland of the island. Holding torches they followed him through thick undergrowth to a tattered sailcloth rigged askew of a fallen aspen. Benjy stopped short of it, pointing as if ashamed to go near. ‘Our father’s in there,’ he said.

  Finnbarr strode forward and went into the tent. He came out swiftly, shaking his head at Rosie and Joseph. ‘You don’t want ter go in there, t’aint a nice sight!’ Tears were rolling silently down Benjy’s face as the sea otter placed a tattooed paw about his shoulders. ‘Hush now, matey, yore a big feller now, don’t weep.’ The young squirrel snuffled, wiping tear-stained eyes on his tail. For one so fierce and scarred the sea otter spoke surprisingly softly.

  ‘Who was that ’edge’og in there,’ he asked, ’and’ ’ow did you all come t’this isle, tell me, young un?’

  Benjy sniffed several times before explaining. ‘Ship was wrecked t’pieces out on the sea at the start of summer. Burrom the hedgehog was hurted bad by a falling mast, but she clung to it an’ pulled us aboard with her. Figgs too, though she was just born; don’t know what happened to Figgs’s mother. We got washed through the rocks into the cove; been living here all through summer. Poor Burrom never really got over that mast falling on her. She was mixed up all the time, talking strange.’ Benjy shuddered hugely as if fighting back more tears. Finnbarr kept him talking as a distraction.

  ‘How long’s she been like that . . . I mean . . .’ The young squirrel pulled himself together gallantly. ‘You mean dead? Since last full moon, though I couldn’t tell Wincey and Figgs. They kept wanting to see her but I told them she was sleeping.’

  ‘But you said father,’ Joseph interrupted. ‘Burrom was a female?’

  The young squirrel smiled through his tears. ‘That was Wincey’s idea. She never knew her father, so she thought it would be nice to call Burrom father. I told Figgs we were her family, brothers and sisters, she’s too small to know any different.’

  To cheer him up Rosie chuckled, ‘Well I’m a mother and you can count on me, though you’ll have lots of fathers aboard Pearl Queen, brothers too. Hmm, should’ve brought more sisters along with us!’

  When they got back to the ship Foremole had made beds up for Wincey and Figgs in the crew’s accommodation. Joseph settled down on the hatch covers with Benjy close by, and they lay watching the stars, like silver pins, holding up the dark velvet canopy of the night sky. Joseph outlined his plans for them. ‘We’re sailing in the morning, right after breakfast. I think you and your sisters would be better coming along with us, Benjy, what d’you think?’

  ‘I think that’s the best thing too, sir. I’ll have to tell Wincey and Figgs that Burrom won’t be coming along, it’ll be difficult, ‘specially for little Figgs.’

  The Bellmaker nodded understandingly. ‘You’re growing up well, Benjy. You stay aboard with the others and Finnbarr and I will go ashore early and give Burrom a decent burial.’

  The young squirrel sat upright. ‘No, please, leave our father in the tent. I couldn’t bear thinking about Burrom buried there all alone. Besides, she might get better and wake up someday . . .’

  ‘So be it, Benjy,’ said Joseph, smiling sadly, ‘but don’t grieve, Burrom will be glad that you three are safe and with friends now. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight sir. Oh, may I ask where we’re going on your ship?’

  ‘It’s not my ship, Pearl Queen belongs to Finnbarr. We’re bound for Southsward to search for my daughter Mariel and her friend Dandin. It’s a long story.’

  Benjy’s eyes shone bright in the darkness. ‘Southsward, that’s my home!’

  Now it was Joseph’s turn to sit up. ‘You come from Southsward?’

  ‘Yes sir, every creature on the ship did. We were driven out of there by Urgan Nagru the Foxwolf – his rats killed both my parents. I want to go back to Southsward!’

  ‘I’ll bet you do, Benjy!’ said Joseph, looking steadily at the youngster. ‘Come to the galley with me, there’s food and drink there. We have a lot to discuss.’

  BOOK THREE

  Southsward

  26

  ROSY-HUED DAWN FLOODED flooded through the guest room window at Redwall Abbey as Mellus and Tarquin stirred the snoring searat Captain from a tangle of sheets.

  ‘C’mon, Slipp, rise and shine, old rat. Let’s see if you were bluffin’ when you said you could cook.’

  Slipp tried burrowing deeper into the bedlinen, as Tarquin turned him none-too-gently on to the floor. ‘Go ’way, s’only just dawn, beat it!’ he grumbled.

  The hefty paw of Mother Mellus scooped the searat up on to his paws. ‘Less of your insolence! You said you were a cook, so let’s see you up and cooking!’

  Blaggut poked his head from beneath the pillow, giggling dozily as he watched the proceedings. ‘Show ’em what yore made of, Cap’n. Burn up a mess o’skilly an’ duff, that’ll warm the cockles of their ’earts, hahaharr!’

  The badger turned as she propelled Slipp through the doorway. ‘I wouldn’t laugh too much if I were you, Blaggut, there’s two friends outside want to see you. Go in and wake the nice rat up, my Dibbuns!’


  The mousebabe and the molemaid came dashing in and threw themselves upon Blaggut, buffeting him unmercifully with Slipp’s pillow. ‘Cummon mista Blackguts, Ma Mellus said you was a carpenter, we wanna see you carp!’

  ‘Carp y’say, well I dunno,’ said Blaggut as he sat up and scratched himself absently. ‘Let’s see mates, wot d’yer want ole Blaggy ter carp for ye?’

  Furrtil the molemaid was in no doubt at all. ‘Ee lickle boat to sail on ee Abbey pond zurr, so’s us’n’s can set in it. Can ee carp a boat, zurr Blackguts?’

  Blaggut sensed a chance to help Slipp achieve his desire. ‘Mebbe I kin, mebbe I cain’t, boats don’t git carped fer nothin’, mates. D’you know where the secret treasure of this ’ere Redwall H’abbey is ’idden?’

  The mousebabe looked furtively about, then drawing close he whispered in Blaggut’s ear, ‘A’ course we does!’

  The searat brightened up, his ruse was working. ‘Right then, you show me the treasure an’ I’ll make ee an’ ’andsome liddle boat t’sail round the pond in, eh?’

  ‘No Zurr,’ said the molemaid, stroking her digging claws solemnly. ‘Furst you carp ee boat fer us’n’s, then we tell ee whurr secret treasure be ’idden, hurr!’

  Blaggut considered the offer, peering closely at the two well-scrubbed faces radiating honesty and trust at him. ‘Haharr, you drive an ’ard bargain, but it’s a deal, buckoes. One thing though, swear you won’t tell anybeast about this?’

  The mousebabe shook his paw vigorously in Blaggut’s face. ‘We don’ swear, s’not nice t’swear, y’get sent t’bed.’

  ‘Bless yer ’eart, messmate,’ the dullard searat grinned. ‘I don’t mean swear’n’curse, I means we gotta take a vow t’gether, a solemn oath.’

  The three conspirators placed their paws together and the Dibbuns repeated the words that Blaggut recited:

  ‘I take this oath.’

  ‘We take an oaf.’

  ‘That me liver’n’lights be ripped out if’n any of us breathes a word of our secret to anybeast, so ’elp me!’

  ‘Hurr e liver be gripped when ee lights be out an’ ee secret breathin’ of anybeasters to ’elp ee!’

  Blaggut scratched his head as both Dibbuns smiled at him.

  ‘I never ’eard it said like that afore, but I s’pose it’ll ’ave ter do mates!’

  An air of gloom hung over the breakfast tables in Cavern Hole. Blind Simeon wrinkled his whiskers in disgust as he took his seat.

  ‘Phew! Has somebeast moved the orchard compost heap into here, Father Abbot?’ he complained.

  Saxtus prodded the mess on his plate glumly. ‘Evidently you haven’t heard of an old seagoing dish that Slipp our new cook has served up, it’s called skilly an’duff. Like to try some?’

  ‘Stick to plain honest bread, my friend, you’ll live longer,’ said Mother Mellus as she broke a fresh-baked farl and passed half to Simeon. ‘Dearie me, no wonder searats are so wicked and wild, I’d be like that too if I had to live on a diet of the dreaded skilly an’duff!’

  Slipp forestalled further conversation by pushing in a trolley piled high with platters of his creation. The searat captain was quite proud of his new-found cooking skills. Clad in a clean white smock and a tall chef’s hat, several sizes too small for him, he swaggered up to a table. ‘Skilly an’duff, that’s the stuff t’put a curl in yer whiskers, made by me own fair paws. Anybeast want some more?’

  Suddenly a lot of Redwallers left the tables, claiming that they felt the need for fresh fruit from the orchard. Ladle in paw, Slipp looked from the empty places to his few remaining victims left sitting at the main table. ‘Fruit from the orchard? That’ll never put a back on ye like velvet an’ a twinkle in yer eye. Skilly an’duff, now that’s a real brekkist for ye! C’mon Father H’abbot, yew ain’t touched yores yet, it’ll be gone cold. ’Ere, let ole Slipp freshen it up with some that’s fresh cooked.’

  Saxtus averted his head from the foul-smelling mess that Slipp was piling on to the cold contents of his plate. ‘You’ll excuse me asking, Slipp, but what do you put into this, er, skilly an’duff?’ he asked.

  Slipp licked the ladle and winked.

  ‘Haharr, that’s an ole seadog’s secret, a bit o’ this an’ a touch o’ that, lashin’s of wild garlic, white dead nettle, some cleavers an’ just a smidgeon o’ dogwort.’

  Saxtus clapped a paw to his mouth and hurried from the table.

  Slipp hooked a clawful of the steaming concoction from Saxtus’s plate, straight into his mouth. ‘Wot’s wrong with ’im, tastes fine t’me?’

  Mellus’s huge paw crashed down on the table. ‘Enough is enough! The only thing you’ve ever cooked up is roguish schemes. Clear this . . . this . . . garbage away, and bury it somewhere deep to let nature take care of it. Now!’

  Slipp drew himself up haughtily, about to protest when the badger seized him by one ear and shook him. ‘You are a cheat and a liar! You’ve never cooked in your life! When you’ve cleared this lot up I want to see you out in the kitchens. Scrub all the pots and pans and spread rosewater round until every’ trace of skilly an’duff, sight or smell, is gone!’

  ‘Yowowow, lemme go, stripedog! Ooch ouch!’

  Brothers Fingle and Mallen took over cooking duties and a satisfactory lunch of summer salad, cheeses and apple pie with meadowcream brought the Abbey back on to an even keel. The day wore on, warm, sunny and still; bees droned lazily from flower to flower. Redwallers went on with their daily chores, tending crop and orchard, harvesting honey, reading and studying, or helping with the upkeep of Abbey buildings. Tranquillity was the keynote, with the high green mantle of Mossflower shading the outer walls on three sides, leaving the west ramparts open to sunny flatlands where larks sang and grasshoppers chirruped.

  Towards mid-noon Blaggut put the finishing touches to a pair of boats he had made by halving an old cider barrel lengthways. The searat was proud of a previously unknown skill he had discovered that day – boatbuilding. He had sawed the barrel neatly from top to bottom, making two butt-ended little vessels. A cask lid cut in half provided two keels for balance. Inside the boats he wedged short flat planks for seats. Two big ash staves served as masts, with a third, cut in half, completing the cross spars, from which hung twin, much-patched sails. They had done sterling service as tablecloths and were donated by Sister Sage. The mousebabe and Furrtil the molemaid scurried round the searat’s footpaws, squeaking excitedly.

  ‘Which un’s mine, Blackguts sir?’

  ‘Hurr, they’m bootiful ships!’

  ‘Can us ’ave rowers to row with?’

  ‘Oi’m callen moi ship ee Daffydil!’

  ‘Mine be called Watermousey!’

  Blaggut sat down on the pond edge, sipping cider that he had drained from the barrel into a bowl before construction began. The searat was as happy as the two Dibbuns.

  ‘Haharr mates, I’m a boatbuilder! All me life I’ve been called stoopid an’ clumsy an’ thick as two short planks. But I ain’t, I got clever paws, I kin make boats, good ’uns!’

  ‘Write our ships’ names on ’em, Blackguts sir. Oh please!’

  Blaggut had hoped they would not ask him this. ‘Er, well, mebbe Sister Sage oughter do that, shipmates. I never learned no writin’, bein’ a seara . . . er, carpenter, there wasn’t no need fer such things. Aye, we’ll ask the Sister, ’sides, she prob’ly kin write proper fancy, I bet good ole mouseladies like ’er does writin’ a lot. But ’old ’ard mateys, wot about our bargain, you know, the secret treasure you was gonna show me?’

  The mousebabe planted his paws on tiny fat hips. ‘Nono, first we wanna sail, see if these ships work right!’

  Blaggut finished his cider. ‘Yore an ’ard master, mousebabe. Come on then, let’s launch ’em.’

  The boats were an instant success. They sailed wonderfully on the slightest breeze and in the absence of any wind could be rowed easily with the paddles Blaggut had made. All the Abbey Dibbuns gathered at the pond’s edge, anxious to take their turn being fe
rried about on the Abbey pond. Both mousebabe and molemaid were in their element, sailing, paddling and roaring orders.

  ‘Hurr, you’m sit yurr an’ ee sit thurr, ’old on naow!’

  ‘Two atta time, on’y two atta time, who’s next?’

  ‘Oi’ll take ee round yon bullyrushers!’

  ‘Watch out for big fishes an’ pirates!’

  Blaggut lounged on the bank, proudly watching his two new boats on their maiden voyages. After a while, Slipp came shuffling wearily along and slumped down beside his former bosun. ‘Enjoyin’ yerself are yer, ’avin’ a good time?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye thankee Cap’n, see the boats I made fer my Dibbuns!’

  Slipp cast a weary eye over the two sleek little craft. ‘So that’s ’ow you been fritterin’ the day away, I mighta known, you great lazy loaf’ ead!’

  Blaggut had not expected Slipp to make any nice comments on his achievements. ‘Buildin’ boats ain’t fritterin’ time away, Cap’n. Wot ’ave you been up to all day?’

  Slipp waved airily as if it were no big thing. ‘Oh, they made me ’ead cook, I’m in charge of all the kitchens. Did yer taste my skilly an’duff at brekkfist?’

  ‘Aye Cap’n, it was ’orrible. Yew make a better Cap’n than a cook. The bread was nice though, did y’make that?’

  Slipp was no stranger to fibbing. ‘Baked the bread meself,’ he lied glibly, ‘it was those Abbey mice who made the skilly’ an’duff, they ignored me instructions.’

  Blaggut leaned close to Slipp’s ear and whispered, ’Cap’n, we don’t ’ave to go ’untin’ fer booty tonight, so don’t you worry about that black shadder we saw.’

  Slipp felt the hairs on his nape rise with fear. ‘Shurrup y’fool. Shut yer mouth! I tol’ you never to mention that black shadow again long as you live. It didn’t ’appen, d’ye hear me? There’s no such thing as black shadows. Any’ow, why don’t we ’ave to go lookin’ fer booty tonight?’