The Abbot pointed a paw north into the dark tree masses. ‘Over yonder, Martin, I thought I heard voices and saw two white shapes. See, there they go!’
They caught a fleeting glimpse of whitish forms moving among the trees.
Martin nudged Higgle Stump, saying, ‘Bring the ash stave and follow me, Friar.’
Crouching low they threaded off, carefully avoiding dry twigs beneath the tree cover. Judging the path the intruders were taking, Martin halted between a beech and an elm, signalling his intentions to Higgle. Martin crouched behind the beech and grasped one end of the stave. The Friar stooped behind the elm and took the other end.
The Warriormouse whispered across to his companion, ‘They’re coming this way; hold the stave low until I give the signal!’
As the shapes drew closer voices could be heard.
‘There’s nothin’ dark as the dark, me ould mother used t’ say.’
‘Really? Well, that was jolly observant of her, wot! I’ll wager she used to go on about how flippin’ light the day was. Owooop!’
Martin and Higgle had raised the stave a fraction so that the speaker tripped, sprawling flat in front of them.
Immediately, Martin saw that the other shape was some type of great bird. Snatching Higgle’s cloak he flung it over the creature, bringing it to the ground. The others dashed across and flung themselves upon the beast who had tripped, trying to pin it down as it yelled and kicked wildly.
‘Ambush, chaps! Bring up the regiment, tell mother I died fightin’!’
Martin bounced along the ground, towed by the cloaked bird. Then he banged into a tree and was forced to let go. Recognizing the other creature’s voice, he dashed back to his companions, yelling, ‘It’s all right, release him, it’s a hare!’
The hare, whose long legs had kicked most of them flying, leapt up indignantly, dusting himself down and muttering, ‘Flamin’ cheek! Of course I’m a hare, what’d you think I was, a long-legged tadpole out for a bloomin’ walk?’
Brushing irately past Martin, he uncovered his travelling companion, a great barn owl, all ruffled and blinking furiously. The hare was half white: a mountain hare, patching into his brown spring coat. Striking a heroic fighting pose, he challenged them.
‘Blackguards, ruffians! Attackin’ poor wayfarers, eh! Well, let me tell you blather-pawed bandits, y’ve picked on the wrong pair this time. Right! Defend y’selves sharpish now! I’ll teach you a thing or three about the jolly old noble art, wot! C’mon!’
Prancing about in the most ridiculous manner, he blew fiercely through his whiskers, wobbling, ducking and flicking his paw against the side of his nose in a businesslike manner.
‘C’mon c’mon, shape up, you cowardy custards! Oi, mattressbottom, you take those six an’ I’ll deal with the other ten!’
The hare twirled and weaved comically, throwing punches in mid-air, until by accident his nose collided with an overhanging branch. Immediately he went into a mock state of collapse, and staggered, throwing his paws wide as if appealing to a referee. ‘Did y’see that? Beastly foul play, sir! Low underpawed trickery! Sneakin’ up on a chap like that! Highly unprincipled, deduct ten points, ten points I say, sir!’
He stopped and turned to the owl, who was unruffling his feathers and blinking furiously. ‘Well, you’re a great help, I must say, foozlin’ great flock-filled featherbag! Don’t stand there blinkin’ like a toad with toothache, assist me against these vile villains!’
Trying his level best not to burst out laughing, Martin held forth the paw of friendship. ‘I’m sorry. Please accept our apologies, sir, and your friend too. We thought you were the villains, but as it turns out neither of us is. However, I’m sure that you’ll agree with me nobeast can be too careful abroad in woodlands on a moonless night.’
Immediately the hare’s attitude changed. He shook Martin’s paw, chuckling as he bowed to the other Redwallers. ‘Friends, eh? Well, I knew that all along, just testin’, wot! Allow me to introduce m’self, ahem! I’m Cleckstarr Lepus Montisle, of the far northern Montisles that is, known to all an’ sundry as Clecky. My erstwhile companion of the road you may call Gerul, simple t’remember, y’see, Clecky an’ Gerul. As you may’ve prob’ly observed, Gerul is an owl, though not of the wise old variety, more the silly young type I’d say, bit of a duffer, wot!’
Gerul blinked his great eyes at the assembly, saying, ‘Ah well, ’tis nice t’see ye, sirs, so ’tis, a rare ould pleasure!’
Clecky shook his head despairingly. ‘Would somebeast put the cloak back over his pudden head, we were gettin’ more sense out o’ the bird when he was silent. Oh I say, look, there’s a small fat mouse on fire!’
Foremole and Wullger had joined them, Foremole holding the lantern. He tugged his nose in greeting to the hare, saying, ‘Hurr hurr, you’m be a gurt joker, zurr, oi bain’t no mouse afire, oi’m nought but a mole wi’ a lantern!’
General good humour prevailed and, amid introductions all round, the two wayfarers were invited back to Redwall.
The little party proceeded to the Abbey with Foremole in the lead carrying his lantern; Martin and the Abbot brought up the rear.
Abbot Durral had retrieved Tansy’s basket. He checked the contents, saying, ‘Old hogweed stalks, young angelica, see, she even managed to find some newgrown wintergreen. What a dutiful creature little Tansy is. A pity she was frightened by the sight of a deadbeast. Did you recognize anything about its remains, Martin?’
The Warriormouse drew his cloak close against the night wind. ‘Very little, apart from the fact that he was a weasel once, some kind of corsair too, if the rags he had on were anything to go by. Strange though, he was clasping this in his paw, Fermald’s spoon. That weasel must have been inside our Abbey!’
The spoon was old, beautifully carved from the wood of a buckthorn bush. Martin passed it to the Abbot, who also recognized it.
‘You’re right, this was the spoon Fermald the Ancient used to carry about with her. Aha! Now I know. The creature you found was Graylunk the weasel, he came to us two autumns ago!’
Martin rubbed his chin, obviously puzzled. ‘Two autumns back? Why didn’t I see this Graylunk?’
The Father Abbot paused, then held up his paw. ‘Of course, you wouldn’t know! That was the season you spent away from Redwall, helping the Guosim shrews against robber foxes.’
Upon reaching the Abbey most of the elders sought their beds. Martin, Rollo and the Abbot busied themselves, adding logs to the fire in Great Hall and putting together a sizeable repast from the remains of the spring feast for the owl and hare.
Clecky poured himself a beaker of strawberry cordial, heaped a platter high with deeper’n ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie, topped it off with two wedges of cheese and a massive portion of fresh spring salad, and wiped away a tear of joy with the corner of his white tunic.
‘Oh corks! I say, you chaps, what a spiffin’ spread! Tell me I’m not dreamin’, wot!’
Gerul the young barn owl speared a carrot and mushroom flan with his powerful talons. ‘Arrah, away with yeh, flopears, nobeast c’d imagine you a dreamin’ with vittles in front of ye, y’great long-legged gutbag. Why, I’ve seen turnips uproot themselves an’ run from yeh with me own two eyes, so I have!’
Seated by the fire with Rollo and the Abbot, Martin smiled as he watched the two ravenous newcomers. ‘Friar Higgle won’t need any leftover recipes with those gluttons about. Right, tell me all you know about the weasel who visited here in my absence, Rollo.’
Using his journal as a reminder, Rollo the Recorder related the incident.
‘A weasel called Graylunk came to our Abbey gates in mid-autumn. He was a villainous-looking vermin, but quite harmless due to a dreadful skull wound he had received, probably from one of his own kind. Graylunk was weak and ill, and not in his right mind. We took him in out of pity, gave him food, warmth and shelter, doing what we could for his injury. I recall that he seemed to be terrified of many things, from the merest shadow to
the sight of a bird flying overhead. He would often be found crouched in a corner moaning things like, “Mad Eyes will find me, his claws stretch beyond sea and land! Fools that we were to take the Tears of all Oceans, death follows wherever they go! Witless beast that I am, woe to me, ’tis useless to try to escape the vengeance of Mad Eyes!’”
Here, Martin interrupted. ‘Hmmm, very strange. It may be nonsense, but on the other hand it may not. Tears of all Oceans; Mad Eyes; claws stretching beyond sea and land? Sounds like a riddle to me – as if this Mad Eyes is after those Tears, whatever they are. And why was Graylunk out there with Fermald’s spoon?’
‘I remember that dirge too,’ said the Abbot. ‘The weasel carried on moaning and whining in such a manner, until even the most patient Abbeybeast grew tired of his ceaseless dirge. There was only one who had any sympathy for Graylunk, and that was Fermald the Ancient.’
Martin polished the buckthorn spoon fondly upon his sleeve. ‘Ah yes, poor old Fermald, may fates rest kindly upon her. What an odd little squirrel, always saying verse and talking in riddles. I’ve heard it said that overlong seasons may sometimes do that to a creature. Fermald retreated into the curious world her mind had created. Maybe it was a nice place for her to be, she was always smiling and contented. She lived alone in the attics above the dormitories; perhaps the answer to this mystery lies somewhere there. Oh, I’m sorry, Rollo, please carry on.’
The Recorder put aside his journal, shrugging. ‘There’s not much more to tell. Fermald took Graylunk up to her attic, they ate, talked and slept there. Hardly anybeast in Redwall recalled seeing the weasel for six or seven days. Then one morning Fermald came to the kitchens for food and took only sufficient for one.’
Again the Abbot recalled the incident. ‘Ah yes, excuse me, Rollo, I was there that day helping Higgle to make an upside-down cake. So I asked Fermald why she was not taking food for her guest, and she replied just one word. Gone! Remembering the deep skull wound Graylunk had, I asked her if he were dead and gone. Her answer was very cryptic.’
Martin leaned forward in his chair, saying, ‘Do you recall what she said, Father Abbot?’
Durral sat back, folding both paws into his wide sleeves and closing his eyes. ‘Indeed I do,’ he said. ‘Fermald spoke in rhyme. The lines stuck in my mind for no good reason.
Dead and gone, no, gone to be dead,
Following the crack that runs through his head.
From beyond the sunset, they will appear,
Tell them, the weasel was never here,
Remember my words and use them someday,
To keep the wrath of Mad Eyes away!’
In the silence that followed there was a noise from the far corner by the stairs. Swiftly Martin held a paw to his lips and moved quietly across Great Hall, followed by Rollo. They were almost halfway to the source of the noise when Clecky went dashing past them, paws slapping noisily on the stone-paved floor. Reaching the stair bottom, he held up two pieces of a pottery platter.
‘Plate fell down the stairs, wot! That’s all the noise was,’ he chortled. ‘Us hares don’t miss a bally thing, even when we’re scoffin’. I say, you chaps were a bit tardy there, tip-pawin’ about like shrimps in a swamp, wot, wot?’
Martin went straight up the stairs at a run, while Rollo stood glaring frostily at the hare, explaining between gritted teeth, ‘Thank you very much, sir, for frightening away whoever was on those stairs listening to our conversation! Your great lolloping footpaws sent them off upstairs before we had a chance to see who it was!’
The mountain hare wiggled his long ears huffily. ‘Tut tut, sir! If you’d been a touch quicker, like I was, then you’d have the culprit by the jolly old heels!’
Rollo clenched his paws tightly in frustration.
‘But you didn’t get the culprit by the jolly old heels, did you? No, you ruined our chance to catch the eavesdropper quietly.’
Clecky smiled disarmingly at the irate Recorder. ‘No cause to get upset, old feller, we all make mistakes. P’raps next time you’ll take my advice an’ nip along smartlike, eh!’
Then the outrageous hare went speedily back to the table, berating his dining partner. ‘I say there, shovelbeak, go easy on that woodland trifle! I’ve only had two portions yet. Think of others beside y’self, y’great feathered famine-fetcher!’
Martin came back down the stairs shaking his head at Rollo and the Abbot. ‘Couldn’t see anybeast about up there. The young ’uns are all fast asleep and snoring. One of them may have left the plate on the stairs at bedtime; maybe it was balancing on a stair edge and it only took a slight draught to topple it.’
Gerul the barn owl wiped meadowcream from his beak with a wingtip. ‘Arr, that’s what meself thinks has happened, yer honour, sure a good puff of wind can blow even an owl tip o’er tail if the creature’s not stood up properly, an’ that’s a fact, so ’tis!’
Abbot Durral put his paws about the shoulders of Martin and Rollo. ‘Perhaps friend Gerul is right. Now what we need is a nice gentle breeze to waft us upstairs; time for sleep, I think.’
Martin fought back a yawn. ‘Good idea, Father Abbot,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow over breakfast.’ He looked at the two visitors. ‘When you two have finished eating perhaps you wouldn’t mind sleeping on that rush mat by the fire for tonight. I’ll have Brother Dormal fix proper accommodation for you tomorrow.’
The owl waved a soup ladle at the retreating trio. ‘I thank ye kindly, sirs, the mat’ll be fine fer the likes of us!’
Clecky put aside the trifle bowl he had been licking clean. ‘The likes of us indeed? Speak for y’self, cushionbottom, I’m puttin’ me paws up in that big Abbot’s chair yonder. Likes of us! Blinkin’ draughty barn is all you’re used to!’
‘Aye, an’ that’s the truth, so ’tis. Me ould mother used to say better to be an owl in a barn than a prince in a palace, so she did.’
‘An’ what, pray, did your old mother mean by that?’
‘Sure how would I be knowin’? Sounds grand, though, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh, go an’ boil your fat head. Goodnight!’
The Abbey was quiet and still as the fires burned low. Outside chill winds sighed and whined against Redwall’s immovable stone. Though it was less than four hours to dawn, Martin lay awake, his mind picking over that evening’s events. Graylunk’s skeleton in the rocky fissure, Fermald’s spoon, the Ancient’s rhyme, an unknown creature called Mad Eyes and the mysterious eavesdropper who had listened to the conversation in Great Hall. What did it all mean?
6
CONVA THE CORSAIR had spent a perilous night in the Monitor barracks, huddled in a corner, shivering and hungry. The long-tongued lizards constantly watched him, their flat reptilian eyes appraising his trembling form. He did not know whether to feel fear or relief when two of them entered the barracks and hauled him off for an audience with the Emperor.
He was ushered into an upper room. The pine marten lounged on the sill of a broad window, open to the warm tropical noontide. Behind Ublaz, four great black-backed gulls perched on the window ledge. They were fearsome-looking birds, each with the characteristic red spot of their species adorning the tip of its heavy amber bill.
Mad Eyes’ cruelty was legendary. Conva went rigid with terror, and his footpaws scrabbled against the floor as he resisted the Monitors dragging him into the room.
Ublaz was in no mood to be delayed. Fixing the corsair with a stare of icy contempt, he rapped harshly, ‘Cease struggling, idiot! If I wanted you dead you’d have been crabmeat yesterday. Sit at that table and do as I command!’
Quickly Conva seated himself. Ublaz leaned over, his silver dagger blade tapping a bark parchment and charcoal sticks which lay on the table in front of the corsair. ‘You saw the six pearls, did you not, felt them, noted their shape, held the shell in which they were kept?’ he snapped.
Conva nodded. ‘Aye, Mightiness.’
The dagger blade tapped the corsair’s paw lightly. ‘Good, then you
can draw them for me, the pearls and the shell.’
Conva picked up a charcoal stick hesitantly. ‘But I don’t know if I’m any good at drawing, Sire . . .’
Lifting Conva’s chin with the blade, Ublaz said gently, warningly, ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me right, seascum. I said draw. If you wish to continue living . . . then draw!’
Hastily Conva began sketching, answering the Emperor’s questions as his paw guided the slim charcoal stick.
‘None of the pearls was flawed or marked in any way?’
‘No, Sire, all six were perfect, smooth and round.’
‘Were they of different sizes, some smaller than others?’
‘Each was exactly the same size, Sire, bigger than any pearls I have ever seen, something like this.’
As Conva outlined the six orbs, Ublaz watched approvingly, saying, ‘See, you can sketch. Now, the colour of these beauties?’
‘Mightiness, they were a pale pink, not bright. In daylight they appeared soft and creamy, but by lantern light the pink showed warmer, like a budding rose.’
‘Very poetic, my friend. You are doing well. Tell me about the scallop shell they were kept in?’
‘It was a big deep-sea thing, Sire, both sides well ridged and whitish yellow. Some skilled beast had given it hinges and a clasp carved from hardwood. Inside, the shell was lined with soft red cloth. There were six cuplike dents to hold the pearls – as I recall, it looked like this.’
When the corsair had finished sketching, Ublaz took the parchment. After inspecting the drawing he placed it in front of the four gulls on the window ledge. They gazed unblinkingly at the work.
Ublaz stared into the eyes of Grail, the leader of the black-backed gulls, concentrating all his mesmeric powers upon the huge bird. In a short time Grail was completely under the influence of the mad eyes and sinister voice.
‘Fly east to the shores of Mossflower land, and find the place called Redwall. Stay there and watch. Should you see the pearls or the case, seize them and bring them here to me! If you cannot do this then stop in the area, and wait until you sight Lask Frildur and those under his command. If they find the pearls give this token to him.’
Pearls of Lutra Page 4