Horty waved his paws earnestly to gain the Dibbuns’ attention. “No no, don’t go an’ play with sticks, my tiny pincushion. I’ll tell you the secret. This mornin’ we went down to the pond, an’ guess what? We saw lots of big fishes . . .”
Muggum butted in. “Wurr they’m gurt hooj fishies, zurr?”
Horty stretched his paws wide, indicating their size. “Huge? They were blinkin’ colossal! Anyhow, they gave us rides on their backs all round the jolly old pond. Oh, it was loads o’ fun, I can tell you, absoballylutley top hole an’ all that, wot!”
The Dibbuns began dancing with excitement.
“Will ee fishies still be thurr?”
“Uz wanna ride on der fishies!”
Horty scratched his ears. “Hmm, they said they’d be there late afternoon, just before evenin’. I say, you chaps, it’s round about that time now, isn’t it?”
Roaring delightedly, the Dibbuns thundered off in the direction of the Abbey pond.
Horty called after them. “Have fun, you little savages. Tell the fishies Horty sent you!”
The realisation of what was taking place suddenly hit Springald. Leaping up, she hurled Horty away from the window. Cupping both paws to her mouth she yelled. “No, don’t go! Come back this instant, all of you, come back!”
But the Dibbuns could not hear because of the din they were setting up. Like a small stampede, they ran out of sight around the Abbey corner.
Springald turned on Horty. “You blathering fool, what have you done? Idiot!”
Horty flapped his ears airily. “Creatin’ a small diversion. No need to get your fur in an uproar, old thing, wot?”
Fenna’s tail went stiff as Horty’s foolish act dawned on her. “You puddenbrain! Can’t you see that those babes will be drowned if there isn’t anybeast responsible to watch over them?”
The young hare slapped a paw to his brow. “Oh corks, you’re right! I never gave that a flippin’ thought.” Leaning wide out of the window, he bellowed, “I say, little chaps, come back this very instant. D’ye hear?”
“Dearie me, what’s all the shouting about?”
Horty found himself staring down into the questioning face of Brother Gelf, who was returning some bowls to the kitchen when he heard the commotion.
Fenna pushed past Horty, her voice shrill with anxiety. “Hurry, Brother, the Dibbuns are down at the pond alone. There’s nobeast with them. Oh hurry, please!”
The mouse sped off as fast as his paws would carry him.
In a trice, the bells of Redwall were tolling out an alarm. Creatures could be seen hurrying toward the pond. Toran was out in front, shedding his apron as he ran and plunging straight into the water. Luckily, none of the Dibbuns was harmed. Most of them were garnered from the shallows by willing paws, though Toran had to swim for Muggum. The molebabe was well out of his depth, floating about like a ball of downy fur. Foremole Dwurl’s resounding bass tone could be heard, calling to the Abbot, as he panted up, pushing Martha’s chair.
“They’m awright, zurr h’Abbot, oanly ee bit wetted!”
Horty was shaking all over as he turned to his friends and laughed with relief. “No harm done, chaps. At least my diversion worked, wot?”
Springald and Fenna leapt upon him, boxing his ears and kicking his bottom. They were furious.
“No thanks to you and your bright ideas!”
“You great waffling flannel-brained nincompoop!”
Horty broke loose and seized the travelling gear. “What’s done is done. Sorry, chaps, an’ all that. We’d better make ourselves scarce. Let’s go while the goin’s good!”
Sister Setiva was towelling the babes dry with Toran’s apron and her shawl; others were helping, using anything that came to paw. The shrewnurse railed on at the Dibbuns, alternately drying and hugging each one.
“Och, why wid ye want tae do sich a silly thing, mah babbies? Have ye no been told aboot playin’ alone by the water, eh?”
Under the stern eyes of Abbot Carrul, Martha and a dripping wet Toran, the whole story emerged. Martha could scarcely believe her ears when she heard that it was her brother who had encouraged the little Dibbuns. Seething with righteous wrath, she turned to Toran.
“Mr. Widegirth, would you kindly push me up to the Abbey? I wish to have some severe words with that brother of mine!”
The ottercook bowed politely. “Certainly, Miz Braebuck. I’m shore there’s one or two wants words with Master Horty, one of ’em bein’ me!”
A procession of Redwallers followed Martha into the Abbey. The Dibbuns were enjoying the affair hugely, seeing some other beast getting blamed for their escapade. They tagged along, muttering darkly of tail chopping and bottom-skelping punishments. Some were even speculating that Horty would be boiled in a soup pan.
Their delight, however, was short-lived. Sister Setiva and some molewives whisked them off, down to Cavern Hole.
“Intae the bath, ye filthy wee beasts. Och, there’s nae tellin’ whit muck’n’mire ye picked up in yon pond!”
The Abbeybabes wailed piteously but to no avail.
Boom! Boom! Toran’s hefty paw reverberated on the dormitory door. After a moment’s silence, his voice rang out harshly.
“Master Horty, yore sister an’ Father Abbot want a word with ye downstairs. Miz Fenna an Miz Springald, ye’d best show yoreselves, too!”
Martha sat down in Great Hall and waited. Soon she heard the dormitory door slam, followed by the sound of Toran’s footpaws pounding down the stairs. Abbot Carrul looked over his glasses as the grim-faced ottercook entered the hall.
“Don’t tell me they’re gone?”
Toran sat down on a table edge. “No trace of ’em, Father. I searched that dormitory from top’t’bottom, but I’ll wager they’re hidin’ someplace. You leave it t’me, I’ll find those villains.”
The Abbot began pushing Martha’s chair toward the kitchens. “I don’t think you will somehow. Follow me, please.”
Granmum Gurvel met them as they entered the kitchen. Clearly in a proper tizzy, the poor old molecook began chattering angrily. “Foive gurt h’apple puddens, ee gurt meadow-creamy troifle, strawbee scones, celery an h’onion flans, pasties full o’ carrut’n’gravy. They’m all be gonned? Burrrrrooooh! Wait’ll oi get’n moi paws on ee Dibbun rarscalls. H’all moi luvverly arternoon bakin’ furr tomorrers lunchen an’ supper. Varnished!”
Martha kept her eyes downcast as she informed Gurvel, “It wasn’t Dibbuns, Granmum. It was my brother Horty and his friends, Fenna and Springald. They’re the thieves who raided your kitchen. Now they’ve run off to join Bragoon and Saro on the quest.”
Toran’s rudder rapped loudly on the floor. “Of course, that’s it, Martha! But why’d they have to cause so much upset to everybeast—us, an’ the Dibbuns, an’ Gurvel? Why?”
Abbot Carrul raised his eyes and sighed. “Sadly, that’s the way most young ’uns behave at that age. Forbidding them to do something is like encouraging them. Unfortunately, they do things without thinking.”
Old Phredd shuffled in, bowing creakily to the Abbot. “I just found my main gate open, but me and young Toran barred it shut this afternoon. How did that happen, eh, eh?”
Carrul patted the Gatekeeper’s bony paw. “No doubt you’ve closed it again, Phredd. It was Horty, Fenna and Springald—they’ve gone off adventuring.”
Phredd chuckled drily. “Just like Bragoon and Saro when they were younger, eh, eh?”
Junty Cellarhog, who had just come into the room and heard Phredd, thrust his big paws into his apron belt. “No, ole feller, not like Saro an’ Bragoon at all. Them two was born tough, rovin’ was in their blood. But young Horty doesn’t remember anytime afore comin’ to Redwall, an’ both maids was borned ’ere. They don’t know wot ’tis like out there in the big world. I think they’ll ’ave to learn t’grow up fast.”
Martha felt a pang of alarm at Junty’s words. “What does he mean, Toran?”
The ottercook explained. “Well, miss, loo
k at their vittles. Apple puddens, strawberry scones an’ a meadowcream trifle? No proper travelbeast’d take such stuff along. Huh, it’d be smashed t’bits afore they got a day’s march in, eh Gurvel?”
The old molecook nodded wisely. “Aye, et surpinkly wudd, zurr. Oi maked speshul marchin’ vikkles furr ee uther two. Lots o’ cheese, ee h’oatbreads, summ candied fruits an’ canteens o’ moi gudd dannelion’n’burdock corjul furr drinken.”
Martha grasped Toran’s paw. “You don’t think they’ll come to any harm, do you?”
The ottercook’s eyes softened. “Don’t ye fret yoreself, Martha. If’n they picks up my brother an’ Saro’s trail, they’ll be safe enough. Mind, though, they won’t get no special treatment. Horty an’ his pals will learn the hard way. Now, if’n they lose the trail, Redwall’s stickin’ up in plain view for a good distance. Once yore brother gets hungry, he’ll dash back to this Abbey like a scalded toad. The others are sure to follow. If’n ye pardon me sayin’, Martha, Horty’s a natural glutton. He won’t stray too far without vittles—starvation’s a hard taskmaster!”
The haremaid fiddled with the fringe of her lap rug. “I’d feel happier if somebeast could overtake them and bring them back, so they don’t get lost or hurt.”
The Abbot looked at Toran and Junty Cellarhog, both big, stout beasts and very competent. “Perhaps our Martha is right. Do you think you two could catch up with them before it gets too dark?”
Junty took off his canvas apron and nodded to the ottercook. “We’ll give it a try, Father. Are ye ready, mate? Come on!”
They left the Abbey by the main gate. No sooner had Carrul and Old Phredd closed and barred it then Junty and Toran were pounding on the timbers to get back in.
Toran’s voice was loud and urgent.
“Open up quick! There’s vermin comin’ down the path from the north! They’re headin’ this way. Hurry and let us in!”
BOOK TWO
“If only they were back here
at Redwall”
16
Late that same afternoon, the vermin gang had been keeping to the woodlands. On Badredd’s orders they followed the path. Stopping for a breather, the little fox sighted Redwall Abbey in the distance, showing above the trees. He scurried out onto the path, pointing and yelling.
“Aharr, there ’tis, mates, the Abbey place! I told ye I’d find it, ’twas me who saw it first!”
As he ran forward, the cutlass, which he had pushed into his belt, tangled in his footpaws, causing him to trip. He lay sprawled on the path, still shouting. “Wait’ll I gets me paws on that magic sword!”
Halfchop sneered. “Look at ’im, willyer, the flamin’ fool. I swear, Flinky, dat stoopid oaf’ll get us all killed!”
The crafty stoat chuckled. “Ah, sure enough, he’s a grand, brave beast. I’d sooner serve under Badredd than Burrad or Skrodd. Those two would have made us march in front, an’ led from the rear. Let the fearless chief run an’ meet the foe. Us pore ould pawsloggers will just keep our heads down an’ follow from a safe distance.”
Crinktail was in agreement with her mate. “Aye, whoever’s inside o’ that place will prob’ly see us comin’ from their walltops. Wot was it that Burrad said, that those Abbey creatures was all peaceable Woodlanders? So we may as well put on a show o’ force. The sight of a vermin gang might make ’em open up those gates to us—providin’ they knows wot’s good for ’em!”
The crew strolled out onto the path, deliberately setting a slow pace, keeping Badredd well ahead of them. Flinky sang a quiet ditty as a warning to his mates. The little fox could not quite hear the words, but he assumed it was some sort of song for marching into battle. He swaggered along, a good half-spearthrow in front, waving the unwieldy cutlass with regained dignity, feeling every inch the great Badredd, commander of a vermin crew. The others followed at a safe distance, sniggering at the words of Flinky’s song.
“When the clouds of arrows fly,
keep yore heads down.
Let the brave ones charge on by,
keep yore heads down.
When the heroes’ blood runs red,
an’ yore scared to raise yore head,
just be glad that you ain’t dead,
keep yore heads down!
Ye won’t win no medals here,
keep yore heads down.
Don’t be fools who know no fear,
keep yore heads down.
We can all lay low an’ sing,
duckin’ spears an’ stones from sling.
Let ’em chuck most anything,
but keep yore heads down!”
Amid smothered giggles and hoots, Slipback and Juppa made disparaging remarks behind their leader’s back.
“Haw haw, lookit the way ’is bottom waggles when ’e puts on a swagger. Looks like two sour apples in a sack!”
“Aye, an’ if’n ’e don’t stop wavin’ that blade around, ’e’ll chop ’is own tail off. Wot d’ye reckon, mate, does that liddle smidge look like a vermin warrior who’d terrify those Abbeybeasts?”
“Maybe they’ll laugh theirselves to death at the sight of ’im. Heeheeheee!”
Flinky gazed up in awe as the impressive red sandstone Abbey loomed closer. He muttered to Rogg and Floggo. “Huh, if Badredd gives the order to charge that place, well, I’ll be chargin’, shore enough. I’ll be runnin’ the other way, like a duck wid its tail on fire!”
The weasel brothers were not much given to merriment, but Flinky’s remark tickled them so much that they guffawed loudly.
Badredd came running back brandishing his cutlass. “Wot’s so funny, eh, can I share the joke?”
Flinky shrugged disarmingly. “Ah now, we wasn’t laughin’ at ye at all. ’Twas just that we’re ’appy for ye. Yore a good chief, an’ soon the magic sword’ll be yores. Ye deserve it fer bein’ a grand ould leader, so ye do. Ain’t that right, mates? Badredd’s the best boss we’ve ever ’ad!”
Half believing Flinky’s flattery, Badredd eyed the gang and nodded approvingly. “Lissen, mates, we could be a good crew if’n we tried. Now wipe the grins offa yore gobs an’ form up in twos. We’ll march straight up to that Abbey an’ put the fear o’ Hellgates into those peaceable bumpkins. Try t’look more like a gang o’ killers. Wave yore weapons about an’ snarl loud, as if yore ready t’do murder!”
Flinky glanced up at the high battlements. Already he saw heads poking up over them in the gathering gloom. Thinking quickly, the stoat slid down into the ditch on the path’s opposite side. He beckoned Badredd. “A nighttime charge might go wrong, Chief. D’ye not think we oughta figger out some kind of ould plan, afore we go rushin’ at a buildin’ that size?”
The little fox turned his attention to the walltops. Lots of heads were beginning to appear there. He climbed down into the ditch, alongside Flinky, knowing that what the stoat said made sense. “Aye, let’s, er, make up a scheme. . . . Everybeast down ’ere!”
The remaining gang members obeyed promptly. Flinky patted Badredd’s back. “Sure, that’s wot I likes about ye, Chief, yore a true fox, a born slayer, but a grand an’ crafty ould planner. Hoho, those creatures in there’ll get the shock o’ their lives when we turns up outside their doorstep tomorrer!”
Badredd was puzzled. “Tomorrer?”
Crinktail caught on, knowing her mate was trying to put off invading Redwall for as long as possible. She backed Flinky up. “Haharr, clever move, Chief. Tomorrer’s the best time t’do it!”
Beyond a straight charge, Badredd had no real plan. He decided to hear Flinky out, knowing the stoat was no fool.
Flinky explained eagerly. “ ’Tis dark now, y’see, an’ we’re in strange territory. The gang can get a good night’s rest down ’ere. When you’ve thought up yore scheme, we’ll be ready fer a fresh start, an’ catch ’em nappin’ at dawn! Now that’s wot I calls a smart move, thought up by a smart fox!”
Unaccustomed to compliments, Badredd enjoyed the feeling of having everybeast waiting on their leader’s wo
rd. Flicking his tail round slowly, he stroked it as foxes do when they are pleased. “Right, we rest ’ere, gang, that’s my orders!”
He missed the nudge exchanged between Crinktail and Flinky as they lay down and closed their eyes. Flinky murmured but loud enough to be heard by all. “Ain’t we the lucky ones, havin’ a gangleader like Badredd.”
Starlit darkness had fallen as Abbot Carrul made his way up the north wallsteps onto the ramparts. A frown creased his brow when he saw the throng of Redwallers crowding the parapet.
“Friends, listen to me, please. There’s no need for all of you up here. With vermin about, it’s not safe to stand looking over the battlements. Anybeast who is not required up here, please go down now. Sister Setiva, Sister Portula, will you see those Dibbuns down the stairs, it’s time they were in their beds anyhow.”
Toran and Junty, who had already joined Foremole Dwurl and Brother Weld, were at the northwest wall corner. Carrul hastened to join them. “Is there really a vermin band out there? Where are they now?”
Toran answered reassuringly. “There’s no great army o’ them, Father, I only counted about eight. Might be more to come, but I ain’t spotted ’em yet.”
Junty made way for the Abbot to look between the battlements as Toran pointed. “Look, they’ve lit a small fire, in the ditch, just further up the path there. Wonder wot they’re up to?” A red-gold glow showed from the ditch, where Toran was pointing.
Foremole blinked. “Oi aspeck they’m cooken ee supper.”
The Abbot looked to Toran. “What do you think?”
Thumping his rudder thoughtfully against the wallside, the ottercook speculated. “Well, there’s no way a crew that size could attack Redwall. I think we’d best do nothin’ for the present, Father. But let’s watch every move they make. We’ll post sentries on the walls, just a few who can watch ’em, while keepin’ low. Who can tell—maybe they’re only passin’ by this way. Per’aps they’re bound someplace else. I wish Bragoon an’ Saro would’ve stayed a day or two longer—we could really do with ’em right now!”
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