Pearls of Lutra

by Brian Jacques

  Lask shook the frail mouse savagely. ‘I cannot leave without my Emperor’z pearlz. When I have them then you can go free!’

  Romsca interrupted impatiently. ‘Lissen t’me, mouse, an’ save yerself a lot o’ grief. The only way yore leavin’ this ship is in exchange fer those six pearls. Now who’s got em?’

  The Father Abbot of Redwall shook his head slowly. ‘Pearls? Pearls? I know nothing of any pearls.’

  Romsca faced Lask Frildur. ‘Well, you ’eard ’im. He knows nothing. What are y’goin’ to do? Take my word, Lask, wotever it is, you’d best do it quick. Look at that crowd on shore, they’re gettin’ ready to come out ’ere, an’ I’ll wager it’s not to present us with six pearls. Make yer mind up, lizard: do we stan’ an’ fight, or cut an’ run?’

  The shrew Trimp put aside a length of caulking rope and patted the side of Grath’s longboat. ‘That’s the best I can do for ye! She’s seaworthy agin, but for ’ow long I don’t know. Yore pretty rough on boats, matey!’

  The otter braced the headrope across her shoulders and began pulling her craft down to the stream. ‘My thanks to you, Guosim, I hope I can pay you back someday.’

  Martin and Clecky helped her to launch the longboat at the head of the shrew flotilla. Log a Log put both paws to his mouth and gave a long ululating call, the battlecry of Guosim shrews.

  ‘Logalogalogalogaloooo og!’

  Grath hoisted her sail, while Martin and Clecky used the oars to propel the longboat, their three different warshouts joining the shrews paddling behind.

  ‘Redwaaaaaall!’

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  ‘Holt Lutraaaaaa!’

  The little warfleet sped from the stream estuary into the waves. Each shrew, armed with slingshots and rapier, bent its back to the oars, spreading into a half-circle, with the longboat at its centre. Lashing the tiller dead ahead Grath made her way to the prow, notching a shaft to her bow.

  She roared out across the sea to the figures on the deck of Waveworm, ‘Release your prisoner or die!’

  Lask Frildur cast a meaningful glance at Romsca. ‘Sail!’ he hissed.

  Speed was of the essence. The corsair captain slashed at the anchor line with her sword, bellowing orders to her crew.

  ‘Bring ’er about course west! Make sail, full sail!’

  Waveworm turned on the swell as her steersrat brought the tiller hard round. Wetting a paw, Romsca held it aloft, frowning. ‘We need the breeze, they’re comin’ up on us fast!’

  Lask and his Monitors stood astern, long boathooks and pikes ready should the attackers try to board. The Monitor General looked nervously from the oncoming boats to Romsca. ‘Where iz the wind, we need wind in the zailz!’

  Grath Longfletch knew she was within range now. Drawing her bowstring tight, she aimed at Lask and let loose a shaft. Fortunately for the Monitor General the breeze arrived, at the very moment Waveworm hit a stretch of choppy water. The arrow struck the lizard standing to his left; the reptile gurgled, tugged at the shaft sticking from his chest and toppled overboard.

  Romsca balanced in the prow, feeling the ship begin to rise and fall. ‘Haharr,’ she cried. ‘The breeze is freshenin’, we’ll outsail em!’

  Martin glanced up from his oar at Grath. ‘They’ve got the wind with them now!’

  Grath tried another arrow, but it was whipped sideways in flight. ‘Aye, but so have we, Martin!’ she said. Then she dashed amidships and went to work, tightening the lines in their cleats until the single square sail billowed tautly.

  Log a Log was yelling and ranting above the howling gusts, ‘Come on, Guosim, bend yer backs, pull! Pull those oars, buckoes!’

  The shrews strove bravely, battling with their heavy logboats and small sails to keep up with Grath’s craft. Waves crashed over the sides of the shrewboats, sending water cascading into them as the windforce built the seas high.

  Chopping the Abbot’s tether rope clear of Waveworm’s mast, Lask Frildur dragged the old mouse up to the stern gallery. Securing the rope end to the rail, the lizard pushed his prisoner over, leaving him dangling at the after end above the waves.

  ‘Let them fire arrowz now if they dare!’ he rasped.

  Grath Longfletch threw down her bow in disgust. Then she suddenly flung herself flat in the prow as she heard an ominous noise, calling, ‘Belay, the mast is gone!’

  Craaaaack!’

  The longboat’s mast snapped like a twig, unable to withstand further strain from the gale-tightened sail, Martin found himself enveloped in canvas, being dragged along the boat’s bottom as the wind began blowing the loose sail. Clecky was laid flat by the broken mast spar. The Warriormouse struggled madly. Tearing himself free, he whipped out his sword and severed the mast ropes with a few swift slashes. Broken mast, sail and cross spar went swishing out across the sea like a runaway beast.

  Grath cradled the unconscious hare’s head in her paws, a look of despair on her face as she watched Waveworm pull away with the Abbot dangling high astern.

  ‘They’ve beaten us, Martin. We’ll never catch them now!’

  The Warriormouse brushed seawater from his eyes as he watched the corsair vessel recede into the watery wastes. ‘No, they haven’t beaten me! Not yet they haven’t!’

  Log a Log gave orders. Lashed together prow to prow and stern to stern the small flotilla turned and headed for land.

  Night had fallen; a beacon fire burned bright on the beach. Viola and four other shrews who had been left to guard the searat saw the crews come in to shore. Heads down, panting and gasping for breath, Log a Log and his Guosim shrews staggered up to the fire, followed by Martin and Grath carrying Clecky between them. Saturated by seawater and exhausted from their battle to reach dry land, everybeast flopped wearily around the fire area. Viola and the four shrews hurried about, serving hot vegetable broth and oatcakes as they went.

  Late into the night Martin sat at the fire with Log a Log and Grath. The shrew Chieftain fed fresh wood to the flames, and glanced across to where the hare was now sleeping peacefully, wrapped up in old sailcloth.

  ‘That one’ll live to eat another day, I never knew a hare that couldn’t rise to the sound o’ a ladle in a cookpot. So, Martin, yore bound an’ determined to follow the corsair ship.’

  The Warriormouse watched the flames crackling around a pine log. ‘That’s right, Log a Log. If I have to follow them over the world’s edge and it takes me all my life, I’ll bring our Abbot back to Redwall Abbey. I swear it on my sword!’

  26

  LIKE A SOFT cloak of dark velvet, buttoned and studded with stars, the last night of spring lay soft over the ancient sandstone Abbey of Redwall. Lanterns and torches glimmered and flickered in the grounds like fireflies. Tansy hurried up from the pond to where Auma stood in the open doorway of the Abbey, calling, ‘No sign of those Dibbuns yet?’

  Pulling forth a large red spotted kerchief, the badger Mother dabbed at her tired eyes. ‘Not a whisker. It’s as if they disappeared into thin air. Here’s Wullger, maybe he’ll have some good news for us.’

  The otter shook his head as he approached them. ‘I’ve tried the gatebar meself, marm, ’tis too high an’ far too ’eavy fer Dibbuns to lift. Besides, if they’d left the Abbey, who’d ’ave locked the gate after ’em? You sure those liddle rogues ain’t inside anywheres?’

  Tansy threw up her paws in despair. ‘I’ve searched the Abbey three times, so have Piknim and Craklyn and lots of others. Trouble is, there’s so many places three Dibbuns could hide. Ooh, that Arven, if I get my paws on him . . .’

  Wullger gave a dry chuckle. ‘Aye, that’n’s the ringleader all right. No use gettin’ yerself upset, missie, they’ll show up soon as they’re ’ungry enough. It’s my guess they found somewheres snug an’ fell asleep, all three of ’em, the rogues!’

  Auma nodded her agreement with the gatekeeper. ‘Wullger’s right, Tansy. They’re obviously someplace in the Abbey. After they’ve had a night’s sleep, they’ll turn up tomorrow for breakfast, y
ou’ll see.’

  A look of horror registered on Tansy’s face. ‘Mother Auma, you’re not going to bed, are you?’

  The badger shook her head vehemently. ‘What? Me going to bed while three of my little Dibbuns are missing? I should say not, missie! I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Abbot Durral and Viola left. I’ll sit on some sacks in the kitchens, dozing with one eye open, mayhap they’ll creep in for a stolen snack. I’ll be waiting for those villains if they do and I’ll make them sorry for the upset they’ve caused around here, believe me I will!’

  Wandering indoors, Tansy made her way to Great Hall. As she passed the tapestry she remembered the dream she’d had when Martin told her that the fourth clue was where the three babes were hidden. She shook her head worriedly. She was so anxious about the missing Dibbuns that she’d almost forgotten about the pearls. Piknim and Craklyn were still searching fruitlessly around the big room’s darker corners.

  Rollo was half dozing in the Abbot’s chair. He sat up straight as Tansy entered, and asked, ‘Still no sign of the rogues, eh?’

  The hedgehog maid perched wearily on the arm of the chair. ‘No. I’ve just searched around the pond again. What are we going to do, Rollo?’

  The old Recorder’s eyes twinkled slightly. ‘The only thing we can do, Tansy. Stop thinking like responsible creatures and start thinking like naughty Dibbuns. Imagine you were Arven, Diggum or Gurrbowl, where would you hide if you didn’t want anybeast to find you?’

  Piknim and Craklyn strolled over to join the conversation.

  ‘Down the cellars maybe?’

  ‘No, little ones would be afraid down there in the dark.’

  ‘What about up in the dormitories?’

  ‘But that’s the first place we looked, they weren’t there.’

  A sudden thought struck Tansy. ‘I know we’ve already looked once in the attics above the dormitories, but perhaps we should take another trip up there. Hardly anybeast has been in the attics since Fermald passed away.’

  Arven sat miserably with the two molebabes inside a cupboard in Fermald’s attic. A lantern light glowed in the enclosed space. Gurrbowl yawned, fighting against sleep.

  ‘Oi wants t’go daown, oi’m gurtly ’ungered an’ toired, hurr!’

  Arven had found Fermald’s old fishing rod in the cupboard, and now he waggled it in the mole’s direction. ‘No no, can’t go down, Gurrb’l, not now. Lookit us’ns, we all filfy an’ dusty. Wait’ll inna mornen, an’ I catch tha’ bigga fish out the pond an’ we cook ’im an’ eat ’im all up!’

  Diggum inspected her dusty smock sadly. ‘Bo urr, lackaday, ee badgermum’ll ’ave summat t’say when ’er sees oi!’

  Arven stuck out his stomach and pulled his little chin in as he did his impression of Auma. ‘Jus’ looka you, straight inna baff, you mucky maggits, great seasings! Where you ’ave been? Straight inna bed an’ no suppers, tha’ teaches you naughty Dibbins t’be more good inna foocher!’

  The molebabes laughed at the tiny squirrel’s antics. Then Gurrbowl did his imitation of Sister Cicely. ‘You’m never knowed wurr you’m been, oi give ee gurt bowls o’ warm nettil zoop, that’ll make ee be’ave thoiselfs!’

  Diggum held one paw to her stomach and the other to her mouth. ‘Bwuuuurk! Turrible stuff ee warm nettil zoop be. Gruuurgh!’

  Arven waved the fishing rod. ‘When I big me gonna make Siss Cicely ’ave nettil soop ev’ry day for ’er lunch. Hah! Tha’ soon make ’er be sicked!’

  The three Abbeybabes’ conversation tailed off, and they huddled together in the enclosed cupboard space. Soon their eyelids began drooping as sleep overtook them.

  Lanterns glowed flickering and golden as Tansy and her two friends ascended the gloomy spiral staircase up to the attics. It was so hushed and still that they found themselves tip-pawing, speaking to each other in subdued whispers. Piknim stood in a pale moonshaft which shone down through the rock crystal window and gazed around into the dusty darkness. ‘I’m not so sure the Dibbuns’d come up here, Tansy,’ she said. ‘It’s almost as spooky as the cellars at night.’

  The hedgehog maid began casting about with her lantern, peering into corners and recesses. ‘Maybe you’re right, but it’s still worth one last good look. Dearie me, imagine living and sleeping up here all alone. How Fermald did that for all those seasons I’ll never know.’

  Craklyn emerged from a small side chamber off the main room. Holding a paw to her mouth for silence she beckoned them to her. A knowing smile lit up the squirrelmaid’s face as she whispered, ‘There’s a big old wall cupboard in there. Follow me quietly now, I want you to have a listen and tell me what you hear!’

  Tansy put her ear to the cupboard door and, exchanging knowing glances with her companions, she listened. ‘Sounds like three Dibbuns snoring to me,’ she said.

  The door creaked as Piknim opened it to reveal the three culprits: grimy, dust-covered and deep in sleep, whiskers twitching gently to each squeaky snore. Without further words Tansy and her two helpers picked the Abbeybabes up and carried them down to the sick bay.

  Sister Cicely, clad in long nightcap and gown, pursed her lips severely at the sight.

  ‘Bring them in and put them together in my bed. We’ll deal with the villains in the morning!’

  Two hours after dawn on the first morning of summer season it was already warm. Above the eastern horizon, a newgold sun began climbing to preside over a cloudless vault of powder-blue sky. Columns of steamy mist rose from the dense woodlands, rising to the upper air, accompanied by happy trills of sweet birdsong. Out on the flatlands kingcup and daisy opened delicate petals with silent grace, the first dry rustle of grasshoppers sounded around gorse and furze. It was a good day for anybeast to be alive. Well, almost anybeast.

  Clean-smocked, red-eyed and still smelling of verbena soap, Arven, Diggum and Gurrbowl sat penitently on an upturned wheelbarrow in the orchard, their breakfast forgone after several bowls of Cicely’s favourite cure-all, warm nettle soup. A sorrier trio of Dibbuns had not graced the Abbey in many a long day. Thoroughly chastened, they sat dangling their footpaws as Auma the badger Mother lectured them soundly, in front of an audience of old and young.

  ‘You could have been suffocated in a closed cupboard with a lantern alight in there, d’you realize that? Everybeast in Redwall was searching for you from twilight until well after dark. But did you think of letting us know before you went off alone . . . No! The trouble, worry and upset you have caused to all is dreadful, it was very naughty of you! Arven, I’m certain you were the ringleader. Have you anything to say for yourself, sir?’

  The tiny squirrel pawed soap and water from his ear. ‘Wot’s succafated?’

  Diggum shook her head at the squirrel’s ignorance. ‘The wurd be fusticated!’

  Gurrbowl interrupted her. ‘Naw et bain’t, ee wurd is custifated!’

  Friar Higgle Stump waved his ladle at them threateningly. ‘Suffocated, the word is, suffocated! An’ it means that you liddle rogues would’ve died in yon cupboard ’ad it not been for miss Tansy an’ ’er friends findin’ you!’

  Auma nodded her great head, agreeing with the Friar. ‘Exactly, you’re very lucky to be alive. Missus Teasel, will you take these three creatures off to the kitchens and find them some chores to keep them busy for the day?’

  Teasel beckoned the wretched trio of Dibbuns to follow her. ‘I cert’nly can, Auma, there’s always lots o’ greasy pots, messy dishes an’ floors t’be scrubbed. Veggibles need peelin’ too, I shouldn’t wonder. Come on, Dibbuns, step lively now!’

  They were led off, murmuring to each other.

  ‘Yugh! Gurt greasy pots an’ mucky ole floors. Boo urr!’

  ‘Us’d been better off fusticated!’

  ‘Me was nearly succafated with alla tha’ nettil soop!’

  When they were gone, Auma turned to the otter gatekeeper. ‘Wullger, would you do me a favour? Take Furlo Stump with you; get hammer and spikes, and nail that attic cupboard shut. We don’t want
any more wandering Dibbuns hiding in there.’

  Wullger was about to carry out Auma’s bidding when Glenner called out from the northwest walltop, ‘Two creatures approachin’ the Abbey, looks like Skipper an’ the owl, in need of ’elp the way they’re staggerin’ about!’

  Auma was up and ambling swiftly for the main gate. ‘Come on, Wullger, you too Sister Cicely! Tansy, will you and Rollo see to that cupboard, please?’

  Rollo waved after the badger. ‘Aye, you go and look after Skipper and Gerul. Come on, Tansy, and you, Piknim and Craklyn, I’m getting a bit old to be wielding a heavy hammer. It’s bad enough having to climb all those stairs!’

  Piknim held a wooden baton across the cupboard door. Craklyn positioned a spike between the baton end and the door frame, holding her head to one side, and said, ‘Go easy with that hammer, Tansy, mind my paws!’

  As she was about to strike, Tansy paused. ‘Find the three babes and you will know . . .’ All at once the words of Martin the Warrior came back to her. She lowered the hammer. ‘Move that baton aside,’ she said. ‘Let’s just check inside the cupboard before we board it up.’

  The inside of the cupboard was empty, save for Fermald’s fishing rod. Rollo held it up, testing the rod’s balance, and nodded. ‘This is a fine old fishing rod, if I’m not mistaken it looks like the one that belonged to Martin’s grandsire, Matthias, he was a splendid angler I’ve heard say. Yes, wonderfully made, see the pawgrip, good stout yew, the rest is made from young crack-willow whipped and bound with waxed flax . . . What’s the matter, Tansy?’

  Tansy took the rod from her friend the Recorder and inspected the middle part carefully. ‘Rollo, lend me your knife a moment,’ she said.

  Mystified, the old bankvole passed Tansy the small quill knife he used for resharpening feather quill pens. The hedgehog maid explained as she worked, ‘The middle of this rod has been rebound. I noticed some of this flax looked newer than the rest, so I’ll cut through it carefully and unwind it . . . Like this . . .’