Mossflower (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Krrklok! Goodfind, Dampwatch. Furmouse make-happy Marshgreen.’

  Martin decided that politeness was at an end. They were being treated like trophies. The warrior mouse’s voice was loud and angry. ‘See here Marshgreen, or whatever they call you. You’ve no right to treat us like this. Now set us free, this instant!’ he demanded.

  The assembly of toads gave a bubbly cry of shock at the blatant disrespect to their ruler.

  Marshgreen inflated his throat until it swelled like a balloon. His eyes bulged like button mushrooms.

  ‘Splakkafrott! Mouthshut mousefur. Cheekybeast. Takethree, throwin Screamhole.’

  The company of toads waddled and hopped excitedly, brandishing their tridents. ‘Krrrplakoggle! Screamhole, throwin Screamhole!’

  ‘Look over there,’ Log-a-Log whispered to Martin. ‘I might have known it wouldn’t be spring without those two weeds sprouting again.’

  It was the newt and the grass snake, Whipscale and Deathcoil. The unsavoury pair saw they were noticed and grinned wickedly.

  ‘D’you fancy standing on my tail again, shrew?’

  ‘Oho, you three are for it now.’

  Dinny shook the net. ‘Goo boil yurr ’eads, sloibeasts.’

  Deathcoil stood almost on the tip of his tail. ‘Not until we’ve seen you thrown into the Screamhole with the Snakefish.’

  Before they had a chance to find out what Deathcoil was talking about, the trio were dragged along in the net once more. The journey was not so long this time; it was far speedier because the net was hauled by many more toads.

  They halted at what appeared to be an overgrown well. Its large circular bore disappeared deep into the earth. Thick ferns drooped about the edges, growing down into the pit.

  Marshgreen came waddling up with the snake and the newt. They were flanked by toads carrying firefly lanterns on their trident forks.

  ‘Krrpook! Snakefish feedwell, Marshgreen bringyou furmouse,’ the toad ruler called down the dark wellhole.

  A toad presented Marshgreen with an elaborately carved trident. He jabbed it ceremoniously at the captives in the net, then jabbed it three times toward the well. The assembled toads flattened themselves against the ground, chanting, ‘Snakefish mightyone, stayin Screamhole, eatup furmouse, leavealone Dampwatch!’

  Martin and his friends lay apprehensively listening as the chant grew louder. Suddenly it stopped. The toads holding the net spilled it open, tugging it backward vigorously.

  Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log were shot forward through the tracery of overhanging ferns. Deep into the Screamhole.

  Tsarmina had detailed her archers to scatter volleys into the trees and brush in case of concealed woodlanders. They fired off a desultory salvo, then all else was forgotten as they broke off to watch the battle between Skipper and Cludd at the water’s edge.

  Jaws locked, the combatants rolled over and over. Loam and sand flew in all directions as they bit, grappled and kicked, raking each other with heavy claws. The very ground shook at their wildness. Fur hung on the dawn air. Blood spattered into the river.

  It was not too long before Cludd realized he was outmatched by the power and fury of Skipper; now he was fighting for his life. The weasel tried to pull free from the maddened otter, but to no avail. His breath sobbed raggedly in his throat as he strained to reach the spear he had dropped in the first charge.

  Skipper, aware of what Cludd was up to, squirmed over, rolling him in the opposite direction to the weapon. Suddenly Cludd grabbed a pawful of sand and ground it into his opponent’s eyes. Temporarily blinded, Skipper furiously tried to clear his vision, unwittingly freeing Cludd. Seizing his chance, Cludd bounded up and snatched the spear. With a savage scream he charged at his floored adversary, levelling the point at Skipper’s unprotected neck.

  Through a sandy haze, Skipper saw the weasel coming. He rolled to one side. As he did, his paw came in contact with the Captain’s cloak he had shed upon the bank. Sweeping it up and over in one continuous movement, the otter netted Cludd, head and haunches. Falling over backwards, Skipper felt the breeze of the spearpoint pass his ear.

  He thrust upward mightily. All four paws connected squarely with Cludd’s body. The weasel shot high in the air, enveloped by the cloak, landing with a cry of shock. His fall had been broken upon the otter javelins that stood fixed in the ground.

  Otter javelins are pointed at both ends!

  Chaos broke loose. Tsarmina hurled her troops forward at Skipper. A band of otters broke cover, stopping them with javelins and slingstones. Skipper bounded gracefully tail over ears into the river, followed by his crew, who took the liberty of rattling a last furious salvo at the soldiers of Kotir. Pushed on by those behind, several of the front ranks spilled into the water.

  Tsarmina was among the first to go headlong into the river. Panic overtook the wildcat as she floundered in the water. ‘Out, get me out,’ she screamed. ‘Quick, before they loose the pike!’

  Hurriedly she was dragged up onto the bank.

  Further upstream, there was a barking laugh of victory as Skipper’s head broke the surface. ‘The weasel got his cloak back, cat. It’s pinned to him.’

  The river closed with a swirl on the last of the otters. Tsarmina raced up and down the bank, snatching spears from her soldiers, hurling them vindictively at the water.

  ‘Come out woodlanders, stand and fight!’ she challenged.

  Brogg, the weasel companion of Cludd, had taken the opportunity of extracting the cloak from the javelins and his friend’s body. He squatted at the river’s edge, washing it through.

  Few rips, bit of blood; still, it should clean up nicely, he thought.

  Suddenly the cloak was being pulled into the water, dragging Brogg along with it. Ashleg kicked him soundly on the bottom.

  ‘Leggo, fool. They’ve got the pike out.’

  Brogg had never let anything go so quickly.

  Bella appeared on the opposite bank. ‘Stay out of our woods, cat,’ she said, pointing a blunt claw at Tsarmina. ‘Take your vermin away from Mossflower and leave us alone, or you will be defeated someday.’

  Tsarmina ran to the water’s edge, but halted at the sight of a dorsal fin patrolling the river. Her voice was a hoarse scream.

  ‘I am the Queen of the Thousand Eyes. I rule all Mossflower. One time I might have shown you mercy, but not now. This is war to the death – your death, badger! Archers!’

  Before an arrow could be strung, Bella had gone.

  31

  THE SCREAMHOLE WAS dark and slimy. Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log landed with a splash in muddy water. The mole slipped upon a smooth bulky object.

  ‘Yurr, wot be that?’ he wondered aloud, as he spat out foetid water.

  ‘Don’t hang about down there, matey. Here, reach up and I’ll give you a lift.’

  The voice belonged to Gonff!

  Martin and his friends looked up. They could not see daylight or hear the toads. Above them was a hole in the pit wall; Gonff stood at its entrance, holding a firefly lantern in his paw. The little mousethief looked dirty and wet, but as cheerful as ever.

  Martin was overjoyed. ‘Gonff, you old thief, is that really you?’

  Their long-lost companion shook with silent mirth as he held up a cautionary paw. ‘Shush, matey. Not so loud. You’ll wake up the big feller. Here, grab this vine and I’ll pull you up.’

  Gonff hauled Martin up; together they pulled Log-a-Log and Dinny to safety. All three shook water from their coats and warmly hugged the little mousethief.

  ‘Bring any rations with you, matey?’ Gonff was hungry.

  ‘Nay, ’ee toaden took’m all.’

  Gonff looked disgusted. ‘Oh, that warty lot. I might’ve known.’

  Log-a-Log sat in the dryest spot he could find.

  ‘But how did you come to get down here?’ he asked curiously. ‘We thought you were dead for sure when we lost you at the waterfall.’

  Gonff puffed his chest out indignantly. ‘Me, dead! Not l
ikely. When I went over the falls I must have been washed right underneath the mountain by the currents. Next thing I knew, I woke up with the snake and the lizard standing over me. Foul reptiles, they’d bound me tail and paw. I was taken up in front of old Greenfrog, or whatever they call him. Huh, the filthy old swamp-hopper, he’d been listening to the snake and the lizard, and wanted to know where I’d hidden you three. Of course I told him to go and roast his fat green behind. That was when he lost his temper and had me chucked in here with old Snakefish.’

  ‘What’s this Snakefish thing supposed to be?’ Martin interrupted.

  ‘Be? He’s not supposed to be anything, matey. Snakefish is a giant eel. Big, you never saw the like. He’s like a wriggling tree trunk. Here, watch this.’

  Gonff prised a rock loose from the clay. Leaning out, he hurled it at what looked like a smooth boulder sticking out of the water. In the dim light, the brown muddy mess churned; boiling, as thick coils looped and weaved; thrashing about with untold might.

  Gonff shuddered. ‘That rascal nearly had me. I was saved by the vine hanging from this cave. Good job I’m a Prince of climbers. I still keep checking the tip of my tail to make sure it’s there – that’s how close it was. Still, he’s not a bad old sort, providing he keeps his distance. Oh yes, we’ve even had a conversation, Snakefish and me. He was the champion toadscoffer in this part of the country, until they laid a trap for him and he fell in here. Poor old Snakefish can’t get out now. Still, they keep him happy enough by slinging the odd enemy in here – the occasional fish, maybe a dead bird, passing travellers too, of course. Old Snakefish wallops the lot down; doesn’t bother him.’

  Gonff leaned out, calling to the eel, ‘I said, it doesn’t bother you, does it, big matey?’

  The surface of the dim water parted with a whooshing upheaval and the head of Snakefish appeared. It was something out of a nightmare: thick, wide, silver-black, and the colour of yellow ivory beneath. A massive slab-like head hissed and swayed, revealing countless teeth, pure white and needlelike. Two savage jet eyes watched them with unblinking intensity. Coils of flexible steely muscle rippled and undulated with a life of their own.

  Snakefish spoke.

  ‘One day I will find my way out of here, then I will taste the toadflesh again.’

  Dinny saluted with his digging claw. ‘Let’s ’ope ’ee do, zurr. You’m scoff a few for uz. ’Spect you’m passen fond of ’ee toaden.’

  Snakefish clouded his eyes dreamily. ‘Aaaaahhhh meeeee. There’s nothing so tasty as a brace of plump toads. Unless it’s two brace.’

  Log-a-Log shifted his paws nervously. ‘Er, right first time, sir. Look at us, all string and fur. Ugh! Why don’t you slip out for a toad supper?’

  Snakefish reared up, pushing his coils against the smooth walls of Screamhole. There was no purchase for the great eel. He slid back into the water.

  ‘See, I have given up trying,’ he said sadly. ‘Each attempt only makes these walls more smooth and slippery. Strength alone is useless down here.’

  Martin had the glimmer of an idea forming in his mind. He decided to risk broaching the matter.

  ‘Listen, Snakefish, I have a proposition to put to you. Supposing we helped you out of here, would you leave us to go our way in peace without harming us?’

  The great head submerged momentarily, emerging again beneath the hole. Martin felt that if Snakefish really tried he could reach them. The eel slid back a little to reassure them.

  ‘If you could free me, I would leave you to go at liberty where you will,’ the eel promised. ‘I would rather eat toad than mouse. Besides, I need to take my revenge on the tribe of Marshgreen. But you had better decide quickly; before the passing of another day I will need to eat. Do you understand me?’

  The warrior mouse replied for them all.

  ‘We understand perfectly, Snakefish. Now, will you leave us alone while we formulate a plan. I’ll give you a call the moment we are ready.’

  The sinister giant slid noiselessly back into the murky waters.

  Gonff giggled nervously. ‘Right, mateys. Thinking caps on, or it’s mouse, shrew and mole pie for dinner tomorrow.’

  Kotir was deserted. The entire garrison had been mobilized to pursue the woodlanders.

  Abbess Germaine and Foremole stood at the window of Tsarmina’s high chamber, looking out over the forest.

  They had discovered little. Kotir was as grim and mean as any self-respecting woodlander could imagine it – damp and oppressive, riddled with dank crumbling rooms and passages where feeble torches guttered fitfully against fungus and moss-clad masonry. As to supplies, it was useful to know that they were at a low ebb in the fortress.

  Foremole tugged his snout reflectively. ‘Hurr, marm. Baint even wurth a-carryen off they mangeful vittles.’

  Moles and mice had searched the stronghold thoroughly; it was an empty carrion nest.

  Columbine wandered through the deserted armoury with Old Dinny. All the weapons had been taken off by the soldiers of Tsarmina.

  The Loamhedge mouse curled her lip in disgust. ‘Oh, what’s the point of wandering around a filthy evil jumble like this?’

  The venerable grandsire of Young Dinny was too busy carrying out his own research to answer. He sniffed the floor between paving cracks, tapped upon walls, dug his claws into rotten beams, all the while muttering to himself, ‘Burr, oi’m getten a feelen in moi diggen claws ’bout this yurr fort’ication. Oi’m bound to ’ave a sniff round yon cells.’

  Columbine went up to join the Abbess in Tsarmina’s apartments. She could not help noticing the vast difference between the luxurious trappings of the Queen’s quarters in contrast to the squalor of the barracks.

  ‘Abbess, I think I’d sooner live wild in the woods than endure this dreadful place. Have you seen the way she treats her soldiers?’

  The Abbess ran a thin paw over the tawdry hangings and stained rugs, which Tsarmina had spoilt in her rages. ‘Yes, child. Now you know the difference between the way these animals live in comparison to honest woodlanders.’

  Foremole had only one word to express his disgust: ‘Durtbags!’

  The Abbess looked pensive; an idea was forming in her mind.

  ‘Columbine, this place is deserted. Why couldn’t we take it?’

  ‘Goodness, is this our peaceful Abbess speaking?’ the young Loamhedge mouse replied, with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Actually, I was thinking the same thing myself earlier. The answer is that we are not warriors, and our forces are split; the otters and squirrels are out in the woodlands. Besides, we would find ourselves in the position of being unarmed and without food supplies. How long could a little party like ours last out?’

  The old mouse shook her head wonderingly. ‘Goodness, is this our little Columbine speaking? Strategies, supplies, lack of weapons, divided forces. . . . Maybe you missed your true vocation, young maid. Perhaps you would have fared better as an army commander. I bow to your superior military knowledge, General Columbine.’

  The young mouse laughed heartily and curtsied.

  Old Dinny came shuffling in. The Abbess noticed he was looking highly pleased about something.

  ‘Hullo, Old Din. My, my, you’ve got a light in your eye.’

  Columbine clapped her paws. ‘Oh you’ve found something. Do tell us, please!’

  The old mole tapped a paw to his snout, winking broadly.

  ‘Do you’ns foller oi now. Oi’ll show ’ee a gurt new way outten thiz stink.’

  Mystified, they followed him. As they walked, they talked, and Old Dinny imparted a plan to Columbine and the Abbess.

  Lady Amber stood in the thickets with Barklad. Together they watched the east gate.

  Amber tapped the ground impatiently. ‘Where in the name of acorns have they got to?’

  ‘Shall I take a party in and bring ’em out, marm?’ Barklad asked, noting her anxiety.

  Amber looked up to the high chamber window. ‘No, give it a little while yet. But I tell you, Bark,
I don’t like hanging about this place. Look, they’ve not even posted sentries or lookouts at the window. How are we supposed to let them know if the cat and her troops are on their way back? Oh, where have they got to?’

  ‘Roight yurr be’ind ’ee, marm!’

  Startled, the squirrel swung round. There was Foremole; the Abbess too, and Columbine-everyone that had gone into Kotir, down to the last mole and mouse.

  ‘By the fur, where did you lot spring from?’

  Columbine stroked her friend’s grey head. ‘It was Old Dinny – he found a secret way out. We went beneath the cells. It’s a sort of cavern with a lake in it. We, or should I say Grandpa Dinny, found a moving slab, and underneath it was a tunnel that travelled along for a while then went up. We followed it and came up into a hollow oak stump – that one right behind you.’

  Lady Amber curled her tail in amazement. ‘Well, I’ll be treebound!’

  The Abbess gave a wry chuckle. ‘If we put your discovery together with Old Dinny’s plan, we may have a final solution to the problem of Kotir.’

  Columbine could not help interrupting. ‘I’ll bet Gonff, Young Dinny and Martin will have the solution too when they return from their quest with Boar the Fighter.’

  ‘No doubt they will, child,’ the Abbess nodded. ‘But they have been long gone. Who knows when they will return. Bella has said that it is a long journey fraught with danger. Besides, how do we know that Boar the Fighter still lives? I do not wish to alarm you by saying this, but, all things being equal, we must have plans of our own. Merely sitting waiting on Boar’s return will not help Mossflower; we must all act to the best of our abilities. Wherever your Gonff is at this moment with Martin and the young mole, you can wager that they will be giving of their utmost. Let us hope that they will be both safe and successful in their quest.’