Mossflower (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Amid the rubble of the landslide, the bats raised a sibilant cheer. Dinny was carried above them up the scree to the opening, Martin and Log-a-Log helping to bear their friend.

  The three travellers were breathing deeply in the cool sweet evening air when Lord Cayvear flapped up gracefully. He bowed deeply.

  ‘My thanks to you and your friends, Martin. Against the bigeyes we were totally helpless, totally helpless.’

  ‘I know, Lord Cayvear,’ Martin nodded understandingly. ‘Even we could not have fought off a tawny owl that size – he was a real monster. Well, thanks to our Dinny, we can continue the quest and your tribe can live in peace and safety.’

  Log-a-Log offered some good advice. ‘What you must do is to bar the entrance with wood and make a door. Leave some small holes in it, and station sentries night and day. Then if any large birds try to roost, you can push them off with spears and long poles. I will tell you how this door can be made.’

  For the first time Martin and Dinny looked over the edge to the outside world below. There was nothing to see except heavy grey evening mist in layers on the ground.

  Martin stepped back from the edge. ‘We couldn’t attempt to climb down there at night, Din. Let’s stop here with our friends tonight and continue the quest tomorrow. Oh, Dinny, if only Gonff had been here to see this.’

  29

  THE ESCAPERS RAN towards the outer gates in the perimeter walls, hotly pursued by Cludd, Ashleg and a band of soldiers.

  Tsarmina, keeping her usual vigil at the upstairs window, had armed herself with bow and arrow in the hope that she might spot Argulor disposing of Fortunata’s remains.

  Hubbub broke out down on the parade ground; without hesitation she fitted an arrow to her bow and took aim at Gingivere’s back. Coggs slipped from Gingivere’s pawhold. He rolled into a ball, hitting the parade ground harmlessly. Gingivere bent to pick him up, as Mask dashed up from behind to see if he could help.

  The Queen of the Thousand Eyes had already loosed the deadly shaft. As Gingivere picked Coggs up, he heard Mask grunt behind him. Thinking the otter was urging him to hurry, the wildcat dashed for the gates with his precious burden. He knocked the bar aside and pushed one gate open.

  The woodlanders flooded in. Ferdy and Coggs were passed from paw to paw until they were out of the danger zone. Freed of his burden, Gingivere turned to see his rescuer staggering slowly across the parade ground as the Kotir soldiers closed in on him. With a fearsome cry and a bound, Gingivere was at Mask’s side. Holding him up, he supported the injured creature through the gate, while the otters and squirrels stood fearlessly in line on the open parade ground, driving Cludd, Ashleg and the soldiers back to the barracks under a hail of arrows, javelins and rocks.

  Tsarmina joined Cludd in the main hallway with a band of reinforcements at her back.

  ‘Come on,’ she shouted furiously. ‘They’re easily out-numbered. We’re not going to retreat from our own parade ground. Get out there!’

  Cludd was enraged at being taken by surprise on his own territory. With a bellow he dashed, recklessly, out into the open.

  Encouraged by Queen and Captain, the forces of Kotir flooded out across the open ground. Madly Tsarmina raced ahead of them, spurred on by her own fury.

  Skipper and Lady Amber decided it was time to make a tactical withdrawal. Their mission was accomplished as far as getting the escape party out of Kotir was concerned; besides, the woodland troops were far outnumbered by the hordes of Tsarmina’s soldiery. The far side of the parade ground was black with soldiers, who swarmed forward regardless of missiles. The woodlanders fired a parting volley then ducked out behind the doors.

  ‘Lively now, mates,’ Skipper roared. ‘Follow Gingivere and Mask. Make sure they get home safe. Amber and me’ll slow ’em up a bit here.’

  As the gates opened outwards, it was but the work of a moment for the otter and the squirrel to place two sizeable wooden wedges beneath each gate and bang them home firmly with rocks.

  Thinking ahead, Tsarmina guessed that the gates would have been barred to slow her progress. Standing on the backs of several soldiers, she sprang up, gained a clawhold on top of the gates and vaulted over with great agility. Tearing out the wedges with feverish energy, she pulled the doors open.

  The woodlanders had had no time to cover their tracks, so it was plain to see which route they had taken. Tsarmina pointed east into Mossflower. ‘Follow me, stay together and obey my commands. We might not catch them, but there’s an even chance these tracks may lead to their hide-out!’

  Deep in the woodland shade, Mask and Gingivere were travelling slowly. The otter was breathing laboriously, often halting to lean against trees, but he insisted on walking unaided.

  Gingivere was puzzled and concerned for his rescuer. ‘Mask, what’s the matter, friend? Are you hurt?’

  The strange otter gave a wry grin and shook his head. ‘I’m all right. Listen, that must be Skipper and the crew coming this way.’

  The otters were boisterously recounting their victory over Kotir.

  ‘Ha, soldiers! Vermin, more like.’

  ‘Aye, it took two score our number to make us back off, eh, Skip.’

  ‘I must have used two pouches of rocks on their thick skulls.’

  ‘Hoho, I could throw one of ’em further than they could hurl their own spears.’

  ‘What a bunch of blunderers! Good job they’ve got the cat to lead ’em, or they’d be lost in their own headquarters.’

  ‘Hey, you two. What are you doing hanging about here?’ Skipper bounded up, twirling his sling. ‘Mask, me old shipmate. You did us proud back there.’

  ‘I think he’s been hurt,’ Gingivere whispered in Skipper’s ear.

  Mask straightened up and began walking doggedly forward. ‘Leave me alone, I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Look, Skip, it’s his back!’ Bula pointed to the wet patch spreading across Mask’s cloak.

  Mask staggered a few paces, then fell heavily.

  Skipper dashed across and knelt by Mask. Gently he drew back the cloak to reveal the broken arrow shaft protruding from the otter’s grey fur. Tsarmina’s arrow had found its mark, not in Gingivere as she intended, but deep in the back of Mask.

  Skipper supported the wounded otter’s head as he said encouragingly, ‘Hold on, matey. We’ll get you back home and patch you up in a brace of shakes. Strike me colours, one measly arrow isn’t going to stop a freebooter like you.’

  Mask shook his head, a slow smile playing on his lips. ‘Someone at the gates of Dark Forest must have put my name on that arrow. At least I made it back into Mossflower.’

  Hot tears sprang into Skipper’s brown eyes. ‘Don’t say that, messmate. It wouldn’t be the same without you.’

  Mask leaned close to Skipper’s ear. ‘Do me one last favour, Skip.’

  ‘Anything. You just name it.’

  ‘Promise me that you won’t tell little Spike and Posy about this. Say that Uncle Mask has gone to live far away.’

  Skipper wiped Mask’s brow gently with his paw. ‘On my affidavit, brother.’

  The grey otter nodded slowly. His curious eyes clouded over as he lay back peacefully and went limp.

  Skipper stood up. He sniffed, grubbing grimy paws against his eyes. ‘Listen, crew. We’re taking him back to the River Moss. He liked it there. We’ll stow him under a willow on the bank, and that way he’ll always be near the sound of the water he loved. Tie some slings together and make a stretcher, mates.’

  Gingivere stepped forward. He picked Mask up from the earth, holding him firmly in his strong paws.

  ‘Please let me have the honour of carrying him. He rescued us from Kotir prison. Ferdy, Coggs and myself, we owe him our lives.’

  Skipper turned away. ‘So be it.’

  Thus passed the Mask, the strange one who lived alone in Mossflower, the otter who was master of many disguises.

  30

  DAWN HAD SCARCE broken when Log-a-Log put the finishing touches
to the main frame of the gate. Martin peered down from the edge of the hole in the mountainside, holding tight to Dinny beside him.

  ‘So, this is what the other side of the mountain looks like, eh, Din.’

  ‘Ho urr, baint much to be seen tho, Marthen.’

  The sloping side of the mountain was visible, but beyond that the bottomland was a bed of thick white mist, as far as the eye could see.

  Lord Cayvear joined them.

  ‘What lies below, I do not know,’ he told them. ‘Thank you, Log-a-Log. Thank you for your good work. Soon my tribe will be safe once more. We will be complete masters of all Bat Mountpit, Bat Mountpit.’

  Log-a-Log patted the heavy timber frame, made mainly from the wreckage of Waterwing.

  ‘Aye, no sign of that owl now, though this gate should keep it away. That, and a few sharp prods in its feathery bottom. Don’t like owls myself.’

  The sun was up and shining bright within an hour, but instead of clearing the mist it seemed to make it thicker. Martin and his friends were eager to continue the quest. Politely they refused entreaties from the bats to stay as long as they wished, though with a tinge of regret because of the kindness and hospitality shown them by the tribe of Bat Mountpit.

  Lord Cayvear presented them with haversacks of fresh food and drink. The great bat stayed inside the darkness of the exit hole with his tribe, away from the glaring sunlight.

  Martin shook him heartily by the paw. ‘Now, put that barrier up as soon as we leave. Better safe than sorry, my friend.’

  The little bats clung to Dinny. ‘Fly back through the earth and visit us one day, visit us one day,’ they begged.

  The mole was visibly moved. ‘Doant ’ee fret, little bat uns. Thiz yurr mole’ll see ’ee sumtime.’

  Log-a-Log gave final instructions as to the care and maintenance of the gate. All three then stood for a moment in the awkward silence that often marks the parting of friends. Martin was about to say that Gonff would have composed a ballad for the occasion, but he turned away with a sigh. Adjusting the sword hilt about his neck, he faced the outer world.

  They began the sloping descent with Lord Cayvear’s whispered farewell in their ears.

  ‘Our spirit flies with you. May you find what you quest for, what you quest for.’

  The going proved not too difficult. They dug their paws into the loose scree and shale, half-walking, half-sliding.

  ‘If only Gonff were here,’ Martin could not help remarking. ‘He’d remember the exact words of the Skyfurrow poem. Let me see, now. “Land lost in mist and grey-brown treachery” – or something like that. I can’t recall it properly.’

  Dinny braked himself against a boulder. ‘Nay, nor do oi. Proper owd pudden ’eads us be, hurr hurr.’

  Log-a-Log took a chunk of rock and tossed it outward. It fell down into the mist, vanishing completely.

  ‘Usually some kind of swamp or marshland under mist like that. We’d best keep our wits about us down there,’ he warned.

  It was midday when they finally reached the bottomland. The mist was dense and high above their heads. It blocked out the sky, leaving the travellers in a world of swirling fog. Dark squelchy moss and slimy weeds carpeted the ground, dotted with wide areas of evil-smelling fungus. Here and there small rivulets ran, as if trying to find a way out of this oppressive region.

  Dinny gazed into the mist. ‘Yurr, be that summat moven over yon?’

  They stopped to peer. Log-a-Log rubbed his eyes. ‘It might be. Then again, it might be the mist playing tricks. If you let your imagination run away with you, all sorts of shapes start popping up.’

  The travellers leaned against a large humped rock to take their noon meal. Martin broke off some bread. ‘I’ve got the strangest feeling that we’re being watched,’ he said, chewing as he spoke.

  Dinny tapped the rock. ‘Diggen claw be a-tellen oi that too, Marthen.’

  Behind them, six huge toads bearing the ends of a twisted reed net leapt from the top of the rock. Passing right over the travellers’ heads, they landed square on the ground, neatly trapping the three friends tightly underneath the net.

  One toad poked a trident at them.

  ‘Krryoik glogflugg glumbatt. Catchincaught three-here!’

  Tsarmina pushed her party hard into the fastnesses of Mossflower. She halted frequently to sniff the earth or trace the pawprints in soft ground.

  ‘No mistake, this is them, all right. Look here: my traitor brother, carrying something heavy, by these deep prints. Keep going. Dawn can’t be too far off; we’ll give those woodlanders a breakfast they won’t forget.’

  High in a tree above Tsarmina’s force, Barklad the squirrel sat muttering to himself, ‘Too many heads to count. Looks like most of Kotir has been mobilized to track us down.’

  He vaulted off across the high green terraces to make his report.

  Cludd pointed with his spear. ‘Blood spots, Milady.’

  The wildcat Queen inspected sticky dark red flecks brushed off on the leaves of a lilac bush.

  ‘Otter. That must be the one who tricked us into thinking he was a fox – Patchcoat. He took the arrow that was meant for Gingivere.’

  Cludd ground his teeth. ‘Patchcoat, eh. I want that one myself, wounded or not. He’s wearing my Captain’s cloak.’

  Tsarmina pushed onward. ‘Take who you please, but Gingivere’s mine. Leave him to me,’ she ordered.

  The soldiers marched forward confidently, made brave by sheer weight of numbers.

  Not far from Camp Willow, the ancient gnarled tree that was its namesake bent lithe boughs over the clear flowing river. Beneath its branches the dawn light filtered through onto the party who had gathered round the last resting place of the Mask. Smooth river boulders in a cairn marked the spot; flowers and decorated otter slings were laid on the grave in tribute to a fallen comrade.

  Skipper sighed heavily, turning away to join Lady Amber, who was listening to Barklad’s report. Cold fury had overtaken the otter leader’s grief; at his insistence there would be none but otters to face the oncoming hordes of Kotir. Lady Amber wisely acceded to her friend’s wishes, but not before she had outlined a few plans of her own.

  ‘Do what you have to, Skipper, and good luck to you. The whole of Kotir is abroad in Mossflower, so be careful. However, this is an opportunity we must not miss. I have sent messengers to Brockhall. No doubt the Foremole and his crew would welcome a chance to inspect Kotir while the cat’s away. I will take my force to make sure they get there and back in safety. Agreed?’

  Skipper greased his sling with slippery bark and checked the rows of dangerous-looking otter javelins sticking point down into the bank.

  ‘Agreed!’

  Ashleg was first to sight the river, heavily swathed in morning mist from bank to bank.

  ‘We’ve been here before, Milady,’ he reminded her. ‘This is where we lost Gloomer. Surely this isn’t where they have their headquarters?’

  The Queen of the Thousand Eyes peered into the mists ahead. ‘No matter. This is where the trail leads; here is where they’ll be. What’s that?’

  Cludd stood forward brandishing his spear. ‘It’s that otter, Milady. Look, the insolent hound is still wearing my cloak. Let me at him!’

  Tsarmina nodded toward the spectral figure which stood wreathed in the mists.

  ‘Get to it Cludd,’ she commanded. ‘Obviously they know we’ve been following. I’ll check around for surprises. We won’t be fooled a second time. Oh and Cludd—’

  ‘Yes, Milady?’

  ‘See you finish the job properly, if you want to wear that cloak as a Captain again.’

  Hefting his spear Cludd advanced on the cloaked figure. ‘You just leave it to me, Majesty. Right, Patchcoat, let’s settle this once and for all,’ he challenged.

  Skipper stepped out of the tendrils of mist, shedding the cloak. ‘I’m ready for you, weasel. The one you called Patchcoat was my brother. You’re not fit to lick his paws. I will give you your cloak back
to take with you to the gates of Dark Forest; they have a special place for cowards there.’

  Stung by the insult, Cludd bellowed with rage as he charged.

  Skipper allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction. Flexing his powerful limbs, he hurled himself like an uncoiling spring at the oncoming weasel. Disregarding weapons, the two creatures locked together on the ground, snarling and tearing at each other like savage beasts.

  Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log struggled helplessly, floundering about in the net like fish out of water. The more they moved, the tighter they were entwined. Martin realized this, and lay still.

  ‘I am Martin the Warrior,’ he called out. ‘These are my friends Dinny and Log-a-Log. Why have you done this to us? We mean you no harm. We are only travellers passing through. Turn us loose, please.’

  The toads turned to each other. They made unintelligible clicking and golloping noises, seeming to find the whole business highly amusing. Their leader jabbed warningly at the captives. ‘Krrrglug, yukyuk! Quietnow, furmouse. Dampwatchsay comenow.’

  The prisoners were dragged unceremoniously along the muddy ground. Other toads came out of the mist to join the procession. When they finally reached their destination, the captives were surrounded by a veritable army of the creatures.

  The leader threw the net ends over a stake driven into the ground. He spread his webbed claw membranes. ‘Krrplok! Seehere, onemole twomouse, Marshgreen say-what?’

  Seated on a huge fungus carved into the likeness of a high throne was a toad bigger than the rest. Far more repulsive, too. It had no warts and was a slimy wet green colour. Its great translucent eyes filmed over as it blinked at the captives. Fireflies danced in opaque plant-holders, and four more toads stood guard around the throne with tridents. The big toad gave an ungainly hop down to the ground and stood in front of the trio, blinking ceaselessly, its great wobbly throat pulsating.