The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  The otter Gatekeeper began clearing the toads off into the ooze below. Some spread their webs to prevent themselves from sinking instantly, and these were set upon and torn to shreds by creatures not half their size who appeared in packs. At the same time as they were being devoured, the toads began eating their tormentors.

  The five friends watched, revolted but fascinated by the sight.

  ‘Yurr, they’m all a h’eatin’ each uther!’

  ‘Aye, those small ’uns look like some kind o’ mudfish, they’re blind as the toads!’

  ‘So they all live down here in this slimy darkness feeding off one another. What an awful existence!’

  ‘Yukk! What are we doin’ in this terrible place? Let’s get out!’

  Foremole Diggum tugged against the rope as they began moving. ‘Hurr no, us’n’s mus’ gotter stay. Lookee!’

  They followed the direction his paw was pointing, across the underground morass to a dark hole in the wall at the cellar’s far side.

  Tansy held the torch high. ‘What is it, Diggum?’

  The mole’s reply was prompt and confident. ‘That thurr’s a tunnel dugged boi moles, oi’d stake moi snowt on et, oi surrtinly would, ’tis a mole tunnel, ’twill lead oopward!’

  Shad shook his head doubtfully. ‘Are you shore ’tis a mole tunnel, mate? ’S a long way off.’

  Diggum Foremole would not be shaken from his belief. ‘Oi said ’twurr, din’t oi, oi’m ee Foremoler, oo’d know better!’

  Friar Butty stared unhappily across the expanse of cannibal-infested bog.

  ‘If that’s the way out, then how do we get to it?’

  A small meeting was being convened in the kitchen at Redwall Abbey. It was for elders, though the Dibbuns had invited themselves along too, because there were always plenty of tasty bits to nibble at in the kitchens.

  Viola Bankvole presided. ‘Mother Abbess always appoints me in her place when she isn’t here, so if you don’t mind I’ll take charge. Gubbio, get your head out of that oven, please!’

  Mother Buscol shooed the little mole from the oven, nipping back to the table just in time to stop Russano the badgerbabe grabbing a bowl of soup. ‘Indeed to goodness, Viola,’ she said, passing a paw across her flustered brow, ‘what is it you’re wantin’ now? Can’t you see we’ve got our paws full as it is?’

  Viola shook her head primly at the old squirrel. ‘Abbess, Craklyn, Foremole, Shad and young Butty are still missing. Sloey! Put that ladle down this instant! Now, have you all searched properly?’

  Pellit the dormouse tried to wrest the ladle from Sloey’s grasp. ‘Well, I searched the entire orchard and down as far as the gatehouse, Sister. I don’t think Ginko was looking very hard, though.’

  Ginko the Bellringer glared across the table at Pellit. ‘I done my share o’ searchin’. Found you asleep ’neath the stairs in my belltower, didn’t I!’

  Gurrbowl Cellarmole, who was sitting with Taunoc and Orocca tending the owlchicks, ventured a suggestion. ‘May’ap they’m losed theyselves unner ee gurt ’ole at south wall.’

  An owlchick fumbled itself loose from her and lumbered into the bowl of soup which lay nearby. Viola leaned over and fished the little bundle of downy feathers out. ‘Good job that soup was cold. Under the south wall, you say? Ridiculous, what would our Mother Abbess be doing grubbing about down there? Personally I think she may have gone up into the Abbey attics to look for something and taken the others with her. Barfle, stop pulling Sloey’s ears. She’ll end up looking like a hare. What do you think, mister Taunoc?’

  ‘About what, madam, the Abbess in the attics or Sloey looking like a hare?’

  ‘Silly! I’m talking about the Abbess in the attics!’

  The Little Owl ruffled his feathers and blinked at her. ‘Silly yourself, madam! All this meeting has achieved is to get one of my chicks soaked with soup. Wherever the Abbess is at this moment, it will be exactly where she wants to be. Your Abbess is a hedgehog, old and wise. She will return in good time.’

  Russano looked at Taunoc and spoke the only word he knew. ‘Nuts!’

  Sloey the mousebabe managed to hit Pellit a good whack on his nose with the ladle he was trying to take off her. Reaching over to assist Pellit, Viola Bankvole upset the bowl of cold soup, and it spilled all over Mother Buscol’s apron. An owlchick fastened its small sharp beak on Ginko’s paw, who yelped with pain and woke the remaining owlchick, who had been sleeping. The owlchick set up a din. The meeting dissolved in disarray, with Viola Bankvole struggling to maintain her dignity in the position of deputy Abbess.

  ‘Er, continue the search. I will inform you later of when the next meeting is to be held. Be about your business now!’

  Viola was about to make a stately exit when she slipped on a patch of cold soup which had dripped from the table, and sat down hard on the stone floor.

  The molebabe Gubbio tried pulling her upright by the apron strings, lecturing the bankvole severely. ‘Doant ee play abowt onna floor, marm, you’m get drefful dusty!’

  The meeting ended with everybeast of the opinion that without a Mother Abbess to run things Redwall Abbey would grind to a halt.

  Underground, young Friar Butty made his way back up to a dry step, where he sat nursing his rumbling stomach. ‘Ooh, am I ’ungry, I’ve never been so ’ungry in all me life!’

  Abbess Tansy sympathized with Butty, but she could not show it. ‘We’re all hungry, but sitting complaining about it isn’t going to do us any good. Look at Shad. He’s bigger and hungrier than the rest of us, but he isn’t moaning, are you, Shad?’

  The otter, who was perched on the bottom stair amid the mud, called back up to Tansy, ‘No I ain’t, marm. I think I’ve got a plan t’get us across to yonder mole tunnel!’

  Picking their way carefully down the muddy steps, Tansy and the others joined Shad. He shifted a big venturesome toad off into the swamp with his spearbutt before explaining. ‘See about halfways along the wall there, ’tis a chain hangin’ from a ring set high in the stone. If’n we could get hold o’ that chain I reckon we could swing across to the ledge over yonder an’ make our way along it to the mole tunnel.’

  Craklyn studied the scheme, looking doubtful. ‘It’d be a mighty big swing needed to get on to that ledge, and look, the ledge itself is piled high with those loathsome creatures. But the main difficulty would be getting hold of the chain. It’s much too far away for us to reach.’

  The thin, rusty chain hung down into the mud, well out of reach by about eight spearlengths. Shad scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, yore right, marm. I could soon clear those ole toads off’n the ledge when I got there, but ’ow t’get the chain over ’ere, that’s the problem. Any ideas, mates?’

  ‘Burr aye, farsten summat to ee rope an’ try to snare ee chain!’

  Shad’s hearty laugh echoed boomingly round the vast cellar space. ‘Haharr, leave it to our ole molemate. Good idea, Diggum!’

  Knotting their own belts and habit ropes together, they fastened them to the rope Foremole had brought with him. Shad coiled it up. ‘That should be long enough fer the job. Now, wot we needs is an ’ook to tie on to our line. Let’s ’ave a look at yore treasure trove, young Butty.’

  The squirrel Friar tipped a glittering heap of precious objects from their cloak wrapping and began sorting through them. ‘Nothin’ here that looks like a hook, mister Shad.’

  Craklyn selected a long thin dagger. It was a beautiful thing, more ornament than weapon, with a hilt crusted with seed pearls and bluejohn stones. Its slim, elegant blade was made of solid gold. ‘Here, this should do. Gold is soft metal, it’ll bend.’

  Shad took the dagger and, setting it in a crack between the stair stones, he bent it double with a few powerful shoves. The rope was tied tight to the dagger handle, and Shad twirled it like a sling.

  ‘Right, mates, let’s go fishin’!’

  The first few throws went short. Hauling the line back through the watery mud, the otter winked broadly. ‘I’ve got the
range now, this time does it. Redwaaaaaalllll!’

  Mud splattered all round as he swung rope and hook in a circle above his head. Shad let go, paying out the coil as his hook streaked out. It landed with a splodge, slightly beyond where the chain hung. Crouching down he began drawing the rope slowly in.

  ‘Easy does it, messmates. Come t’me, you liddle beauty . . .’

  The chain moved towards them. Butty waved his paws wildly, crying, ‘Good throw, Shad, you’ve got it!’

  It was indeed a good, or a lucky, throw. As the chain appeared from beneath the surface of the swamp they saw that the point of the hooked dagger had actually passed through the centrehole of a chainlink, snaring the chain securely. But Shad took no chances; he continued drawing the line in carefully until he could reach out and seize hold of the rusted and muddied object.

  ‘Gotcha!’

  Craklyn backed off, surveying the risky venture with a jaundiced eye. ‘Er, who’s going to go first?’

  The otter Gatekeeper tugged boldly on the chain to test it. ‘Bless yer ’eart, marm, who else but me, seein’ as I’m the biggest an’ ’eaviest? If the chain ’olds fer me ’twill be safe fer all.’

  Without further ado Shad climbed up five stairs and stretched his paws high, holding the chain as far up as he could. Abbess Tansy had a sudden thought. ‘Here, Shad, you’ll need the spear to clear those toads from the ledge. Stay there, I’ll bring it to you!’

  Shad bit down on the spearhaft and nodded, and the Abbess stood aside. He took a short run and launched himself from the stairs. Tansy watched the gallant otter swing out in a huge semi-circle over the vast lake of liquid mud, with a spear clenched in his teeth and his tail standing out straight behind him, and knew she would never forget the sight. She held her breath. It looked as though the wide, arcing swing was about to dip downward and plunge Shad into the swamp. But on the final stretch he kicked out and up with both footpaws, jerking himself on to the ledge. The four friends on the steps cheered heartily. Shad held the chain in one paw and thwacked at the fat revolting toads that had already crawled up on to the ledge with his spear handle, sending them flying high and wide with dreadful hisses and croaks of protest.

  ‘Shove off, ye great blobs of blubber, g’wan, jump fer it!’

  The oozing surface boiled with writhing mudfish tearing at the toads who, in their turn, gobbled down as many mudfish as they could.

  ‘Stand ready wid the ’ook an’ line,’ Shad yelled across to Diggum Foremole. “Ere comes yore chain!’ He swung the chain out in a wide arc. Foremole threw the line, hooking it as it came within range.

  ‘Oi got ’er. Coom on, miz Crakkul, doant ee be faint’earted!’

  Craklyn was next to go, aided by a mighty shove from her friends. She wailed and yelled the whole way across the ledge as she swung over the toads, mudfish and deep morass.

  ‘Whoooooeeeeeeeaaaaaa . . . Heeeeeeelp!’

  ‘Well done, marm. Never fear, I’ve got ye, yore safe now!’

  The old squirrel Recorder ceased her din, smiling sweetly at Shad. ‘There, it didn’t hurt a bit. Send the chain back to Tansy now, mister Shad. I’ve never heard an Abbess scream, have you?’

  Tansy was next to go, but when Foremole and Friar Butty pushed her from the step she did not scream at all. Instead she clung on like grim death and closed her eyes tight. Shad and Craklyn caught her. She wagged a mischievous paw across at the Foremole. ‘Guess who’s next, Diggum?’

  When he had hold of the chain, Foremole looked pleadingly at Butty. ‘Oi ’opes they toadyburds an’ muddyfishes doant get oi!’ As it was, Foremole probably had the best crossing of all, coming in to land so fast that he almost hit the wall.

  Young Friar Butty was last to go. His was the most difficult trip, because he had nobeast to give him a good starting push. The fat little squirrel launched himself off, only to swing in a faint half-hearted circle and land back on the steps.

  Abbess Tansy roared across at him, ‘Oh come on, Friar, you can do better than that. Imagine twenty hungry hares are chasing you to cook dinner for them and run.’

  Butty went at his task with a will; grabbing the chain high, he dashed from the step and leapt out, yelling, ‘Go an’ get yore own dinneeeeeer!’

  He flew across the swamp, but halfway across his paws began slipping down the muddy chain. Butty was still travelling inward towards the ledge when he ploughed into the swamp and vanished.

  * * *

  49

  IMMEDIATELY THE SURFACE of the swamp began wriggling and roiling with toads and mudfish.

  Shad seized the spear close to its blade. ‘Quick, you three, grab the other end tight an’ don’t let go!’

  Hanging on to the spear with one paw, Shad dipped daringly outward and grabbed the chain with his free paw. ‘Pull me in, pull me in quick!’

  They hauled him from his almost horizontal position back on to the ledge. Wordlessly they all took the chain and pulled it in paw over paw, heaving madly at the rusted, mud-coated links. Butty was dragged forcibly to safety, practically unrecognizable. He was coated from head to tail in reeking sludge, roaring and spitting mud as toads and mudfish clung to him, gnawing.

  ‘Blooaargh! Gerrem off me, the filthy dirty swamp-scum!’

  They brushed and wiped at him, cleaning him up as best they could.

  ‘There y’are, matey, you’ll live. The worst bit’s over now!’

  Butty winkled mud from both his eyes and glared at Shad. ‘How do you know?’

  Toads proved the only problem on the narrow rock ledge. They congregated there in droves, perching on each other’s backs, standing on the heads of those beneath them, blocking the way, sometimes five and six high. Sightless, filmed eyes, bulbous heads, damp spreading webs and fat slimy bodies barred the path of the five Redwallers. The cavernous space echoed to the sound of venomous hisses and croaks.

  However, Shad was made of stern stuff. He headed the party, battling a path for them along the slippery rock strip. Buffeting left and right with the spearhandle, he thrashed the creatures unmercifully until they were forced to flee into the swamp. Toads plopped and flopped in scores to the waiting mire below.

  The four creatures walking behind Shad kept their backs firmly against the wall. Gripping one another’s paws they edged slowly along to the mole tunnel, encouraging their champion.

  ‘Get that big scoundrel, Shad – that ’un there!’

  ‘Watch out for that fat ’un, he’s tryin’ to slip past you!’

  ‘Burr, you’m give ’em billy oh, zurr, ’ard’n’eavy!’

  The hole was not too high up. Shad could see into it by pulling himself up tip-pawed, but it was dark inside.

  Foremole Diggum produced one of the torches from the cellar. ‘Oi brung this’n o’er with me. Can ee set flame to et?’

  With a few threads of Tansy’s habit, a piece of flint which Friar Butty always carried, and the steel blade of Craklyn’s quill knife, they improvised spark and tinder. Tansy set the smouldering threads on the resin head of the torch and blew gently until it ignited.

  Shad boosted them all into the mole tunnel where they sat and took a breather. They were all tired, thirsty and with grumbling, rumbling stomachs.

  Friar Butty picked drying mud from his paws and spat out grit from between his teeth. ‘Ah well, we might yet see daylight if this tunnel goes anywhere.’

  Foremole wrinkled his nose and sat back confidently. ‘Lissen yurr, Butty, if’n summ mole digged this tunnel, then you’m can lay to et thurr be a way out. Ho aye!’

  It was a steep uphill climb, slippery at first, but growing easier once they encountered deep-sunk treeroots which they could hold on to.

  Craklyn explained the tunnel’s origin to Tansy as they went. ‘From the journals of Abbess Germaine I gather that this is one of the original passages that the moles dug to flood Castle Kotir. They diverted a river down several tunnels and flooded the place out.’

  The Abbess, who was travelling behind Craklyn, smiled wryly.
‘Very interesting, I’m sure, marm, but will you try to stop kicking soil down the back of my neck!’

  Friar Butty, who was travelling up front with Foremole, shouted, ‘Fresh air! I can taste the breeze!’

  Foremole, who was carrying the torch, suddenly backed up on to Craklyn’s head, pulling Butty with him. ‘Coom quick, zurr Shad, thurr be a surrpint up yurr!’

  Scrabbling soil and bumping past the others, Shad, who had been bringing up the rear, fought his way to the front. ‘A snake ye say, matey? Where?’

  The torchlight showed a sizeable reptile, coiled around a mass of roots, hissing dangerously. Butty was petrified by it. ‘Sh . . . Sh . . . Shad, look, ’tis an adder!’

  The otter seized the torch and thrust it at the bared fangs and beaded eyes. The snake’s coils bunched as it backed off.

  “Taint no adder, that’s a smooth snake. It don’t carry poison in its fangs, but it can bite an’ crush ye!’

  ‘Hurr, you’m roight, zurr. Oi see’d ee smoothysnake once. Moi ole granma, she’m tole oi wot et wurr. Gurr, boitysnake!’

  The fearless Shad stripped off his tunic. ‘A bitin’ snake, eh? Then we’ll just ’ave to give it summat to bite on, mates. There y’go. ‘Ow’s that, me ole scaley foebeast!’

  Hanging the tunic on his spear, he jabbed it in the snake’s face. Instinctively the smooth snake struck, biting deep into the homespun material. Shad was on it like lightning. He bundled the snake’s head in the tunic, wrapped the garment tight and thrust it forcibly into the crossed forks of some thick-twisted roots. The snake thrashed about madly, but only for a brief time. It settled down into a steady twitch as it tried to pull itself free of the encumbering tunic.

  Shad pointed upward. ‘Come on – I can see a twinkle o’ starlight up ahead there!’

  They followed him, hugging the far side of the tunnel cautiously as they passed the slow-writhing reptile.

  Even though they were sore and weary, the five companions leapt about gladly once they were above ground in the moonlit woodlands.