‘Righto, Captain Brogg. I’ll go up and turn them all out for an arms inspection and chuck a few in the guardhouse for having dirty spears. You keep checking round here.’
‘Hee hee hee. That’s it, Captain Ratflank. You make ’em jump.’
When his companion had gone, Brogg rooted about under some sacks. He came up with a stone jar half-full of strawberry jam. Upending it on his snout, he smacked the bottom with his paw to free the sticky sweet. Some of it actually went down his mouth; the rest stuck to his nose and whiskers, and he gave a jammy giggle.
‘Hee hee, hmmmm, mmmmm. Too good for the troops, this stuff!’
Squint dashed heedlessly through the woods, pushing aside bushes, cracking twigs and branches as he followed the trail.
Tsarmina was not aware that Brogg had ordered her to be followed. Stealthily she slipped behind an outcrop of furze, fitting the arrow to the bow as she followed her pursuer’s noisy progress.
‘Come to me, Gingivere,’ Tsarmina crooned softly under her breath. ‘Run quickly! Your sister awaits you.’
Squint ploughed headlong past the furze bush. The string twanged mercilessly.
He lay face down with the arrow protruding from the back of his neck. Tsarmina stood over the fallen stoat, her mad eyes seeing only what they wanted to.
‘There’s an end to it, brother. You’ll never trick me again!’
34
THE GOURDS OF water had been lashed to both ends of a stave; any other food that could be packed was carried along. The four travellers had a new spring to their step, now they were free from hunger and the mountain was much nearer.
Since early morning they had been on the move, glad to be away from the hut and the memory of its dead occupant. The going was easier and lighter; the weather stayed fine. Late afternoon found them seated by a shallow rock pool.
Log-a-Log munched a biscuit, keeping a weather eye on a crab lodged beneath a rock.
‘I don’t like those things. You never know when one’s going to do a quick scuttle at you.’
Gonff wiggled his paws in the sun-warmed shallows. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I quite fancy another dancing lesson, if our friend there is in the mood.’
They laughed at the thought of their last encounter with a crab.
Martin glanced up at Salamandastron. ‘Look, you can just see the light faintly. Whatever it is must burn continuously. D’you suppose it is a fire lizard, Din?’
‘Hurr oi doant be a-knowen of such creat’res. Burr, foir dargons, indeed. Wot moi owd granfer’d say of ’em oi doant know.’
‘Nor do I, but one thing I do know,’ Log-a-Log said, nodding toward the mountain. ‘That place is all that stands between sea rats and the land. They fear it and hate it.’
Gonff dried his paws. ‘Then why don’t they go around it?’
‘Because it’s there, I suppose.’ Log-a-Log shrugged. ‘It stands as a challenge. The ship I was on avoided it like the plague. But not Cap’n Ripfang, master of the vessel Bloodwake; he’s the most black-hearted sea rat of ’em all. Ripfang’s had many battles round Salamandastron. They say he swore a mighty oath never to rest until he rules that mountain.’
Martin stood, stretching his limbs. ‘But what’s up there? What do they fight against?’
Log-a-Log shook his head. ‘Some say one thing, some another. Fire dragons, armoured monsters or phantoms that can strike a creature down without touching it, who knows?’
‘There’ll only be us to find the truth,’ Gonff remarked, shouldering the supplies. ‘What chance do monsters stand against a Prince of Mousethieves, a warrior and a champion digger, not forgetting a shrew like yourself, matey. Come on. Let’s get going.’
Towards evening, with the mountain burning bright above them, Martin first noticed they were being watched.
‘Do you see anything, Gonff?’ he asked, when he’d told his companions.
‘No, matey, but I know what you mean. I can feel the hairs on my neck rising. What about you, Din?’
‘Ho urr, moi diggen claws be a-tellen me summat, tho’ wot it be oi doant know.’
Log-a-Log was in agreement, too. ‘Aye, just a sort of feeling really. D’you see that lump of something or other out by the tideline? I could swear it moved a moment ago.’
‘Don’t stare at it,’ Martin warned them. ‘Keep going. Shortly we’ll make as if we’re camping down for the night, but we’ll lie down with paws to weapons, keeping our wits about us. Then let them make their move.’
The travellers chose an open spot away from the rocks. They lit a small driftwood fire and lay around it, feeling very vulnerable.
Martin kept his eyes slitted against the guttering fire, clutching his sling in one paw and his sword hilt in the other. Agonizing moments stretched away; still there was no sign of movement. The friends began to think that their suspicions had been groundless. Night had fallen and it was quite warm; there was not even a breeze to disturb the loose sand.
The fire burned lower.
Despite himself, Martin began to feel sleepy. He fought to keep his eyes open. Dinny’s soft snores reached his ears. Gonff was lying too still to be fully awake.
‘I say, did you fellahs do a bunk from the jolly old sea rats?’ a voice said softly in Martin’s ear.
‘No, we’ve come all the way from Mossf—’ Martin answered in a dozy murmur.
He sprang up, whirling his sling.
Lying amongst them by the fire were three hares.
The warrior mouse was shocked and angry with himself. ‘Stand up and fight, you dirty sneaks!’ he challenged them.
The nearest hare held up his paws to show they were unarmed. His companions smiled innocently at the travellers.
‘Hello, chaps. I’m Trubbs.’
‘I’m Wother. Capital W and an O, dontcha know.’
‘I’m Ffring. Double F, no E. Howja do.’
The sling dropped from Martin’s paw. ‘Er, very well, thank you. How did you get here?’
‘Oh, this way and that, old chap.’
‘Dodge and weave, y’know.’
‘How the dickens do we ever get anywhere?’
Dinny scratched his nose and stared hard at the sandcoloured hares. It was hard to distinguish them from their background.
‘Drubbs’n’oo, did ’ee say?’ he asked sleepily.
‘No, no. It’s Trubbs, old sport.’
‘Wother, at y’service.’
‘Haha, then I’ve got to be Ffring, I suppose.’
Gonff took the initiative. He saw immediately that the strange trio were friendly. He made a deep bow.
‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure. My name is Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. This is our leader, Martin the Warrior. Here we have Young Dinny, the world’s best digger, with the latest addition to our little band, Log-a-Log, a shrew and an excellent boat builder.’
Paws were shaken warmly, then the three hares were invited to sit by the fire with the travellers. It amused Martin and his friends how the hares spoke in turn.
‘Well, well. This is comfy. Tell us all about yourselves.’
‘Rather! What neck of the old county are you bods from?’
‘Live far from here, do you?’
Martin explained the nature of their quest. At the mention of Bella’s father, Boar the Fighter, a twinkle passed between the eyes of the hares. The warrior continued the tale up until the time they had found the rat on the shore.
‘Well, that’s our story,’ he concluded. ‘Now, what’s yours? How do you three come to be out here in the middle of nowhere next to a fire mountain?’
‘Actually, that’d be telling.’
‘Er, haha. I second that, old bean.’
‘Oh yes, quite.’
Getting a straight answer from either Trubbs, Wother or Ffring was difficult, to say the least. Gonff tried the casual approach.
‘Well, you can either stay here with us, mateys, or be off about your business. We’ve got to get a proper night’s sleep so that we can climb that
mountain tomorrow.’
The three hares shuffled about a bit, then their tone became more businesslike.
‘Ah, the mountain. . . . Actually, we’ve been sent down here to you.’
‘To lead you to the mountain, y’see.’
‘Would you mind awfully coming along with us?’
Log-a-Log clapped his paws in delight. ‘Haha, now you’re talking.’
The hares wiggled their long ears appreciatively.
‘Yes, I suppose we are talking, really.’
‘Never alone, though. Always together, you’ll notice.’
‘Silly, really, I suppose. Do hope you’ll forgive us, what?’
‘Mateys,’ Gonff chuckled, ‘we’ll forgive you anything if you can take us up that mountain.’
‘Hmm, it’s not actually up, don’t you see.’
‘No, it’s sort of under, doncha know.’
‘But we are glad you’re coming with us, chaps.’
Dinny scratched his head. ‘Ho arr, us’ns be a-commen with ’ee awright. But who’m sent ’ee for uz?’
‘You’ll soon see.’
‘I’ll say you will.’
‘Most definitely.’
Martin kicked sand on the fire to extinguish it. ‘Righto. Lead on, Trubbs, Wother and Ffring.’
‘Oh, I say. Good show. Let’s all go together.’
‘One never leads, triple initiative, what?’
‘Jolly good idea, chums.’
As they started toward the mountain, the three hares produced strangely shaped shells. They blew into them simultaneously, making a treble note not unlike that of three small trumpets. The sound echoed across the stillness of the shore. Immediately the scene lit up like daylight as a huge blast of flame rose from Salamandastron. A voice like thunder on a hot noon boomed out with an immense rumble.
‘Come in peace to the mountain of fire lizards!’
Hearing the gigantic sound effect, Log-a-Log threw himself face down upon the sand with both paws over his ears, but the hares seemed hardly to notice it.
‘Oh, golly. Old Log-a-Thing’s fallen over.’
‘Must be in a blue funk about the boomer, eh.’
‘I expect so. Up you get, old fellah.’
It was a narrow passage between the sand and the rocks; they went in single file. At the end was a small cave. Trubbs tugged at a concealed cord. They had to jump aside as a stout ladder clattered down from the darkened recesses overhead.
‘Right. Up you go, laddie.’
‘No, no. After you, old chap.’
‘Oh really, I insist.’
Martin jumped up to the rungs of the ladder. ‘I’ll go first, if it’ll save you three arguing.’
‘What a spiffing idea.’
‘Sensible chap, what?’
‘Rather. Indeed he is.’
At the top of the ladder they found themselves in a broad upward-running passage hewn into the living rock. The ladder was hoisted and they walked up the steep incline, lit by torches at regular intervals in wall sconces. From somewhere above there was a steady roaring sound.
‘Wot be that gurt noise, maisters?’ Dinny asked curiously.
‘Could be the jolly old fire lizards.’
‘Then again, it might not be.’
‘You’ll soon find out, old fellow.’
Five flights of stairs hewn into the rock, one more cave and another steep corridor led them to their destination.
The very heart of Salamandastron!
Bane the fox came down the dusty road from the north with his band of mercenary plunderers.
They numbered about sixty in all; mainly foxes, with a scattering of rats and weasels – a motley group, part tramp, part scavenger, mostly thieves. All were well armed and capable, despite their ragged appearance. Food they had in plenty: fish, birds, and vegetables to cook with them. By craft, guile and murder they had crossed the boundless northern lands, seeking warmer climes and easier living.
Bane was weary of living on his paws, always on the move. He was on the lookout for some fat prosperous little community where he could hold sway without much argument.
Then he spotted Kotir. A grand ruin that had seen better days, but the possibilities were there. Backed by woodland, fronted by flatland, practically skirting a road used by travellers – it was a dream come true.
Leaving orders for his band to camp in the ditch at the roadside out of sight, Bane circled Kotir by himself to spy out the lie of the land. The more he saw of Kotir, the more he fancied it. There would be no more winters in the freezing northlands once he gained entry to this place.
Striding purposefully around the woodland edge at the south side, he practically bumped into Tsarmina returning from the forest. It would have been hard for a bystander to tell who was the more surprised, the fox or the wildcat. As Tsarmina quickly nocked an arrow to her bowstring, Bane’s paw shot down to the curved sword he wore at his side. There was a moment’s silence as they both stood still, gathering their wits. Finally Bane cocked a paw toward the fortress.
‘Whose place is this?’
‘It is mine. Who are you?’ Tsarmina demanded haughtily.
‘They call me Bane. I’m a fighter, but if there’s an easier way of getting what I want I’ll always try it.’
‘Hmm, a fighter. My name is Tsarmina, Queen of the Thousand Eyes. That is my headquarters; it is called Kotir.’
‘Thousand Eyes,’ Bane said thoughtfully. ‘There was only ever one with that name, old Verdauga Greeneyes. He was a wildcat, too.’
‘Yes, he was my father.’
‘Was?’
‘Verdauga is dead now. I alone rule here. If you want, you may come into my service. Kotir is in need of fighters. Are there any with you?’
‘Sixty in all. Trained warriors – foxes, rats and weasels.’
‘I don’t trust foxes. Why should I trust you?’
‘Ha, who trusts who these days?’ Bane snorted. ‘I’m not particularly fond of wildcats. I’ve fought alongside your father, and against him, too.’
‘No doubt you have, but that is in the past now. You say you have threescore warriors at your command. What would be your terms if you came to serve Kotir?’
‘Make me an offer.’
‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll make you a guarantee, Bane,’ Tsarmina told the fox. ‘There are certain creatures – otters, squirrels, mice, hedgehogs . . . woodlanders. One time they used to serve my family, now they choose to live in Mossflower Woods and resist me. Once we have flushed them out of hiding together and enslaved them, then you can have an equal place alongside me. We will rule Mossflower jointly.’
Bane’s paw left the sword hilt. ‘Done! I’ll take you at your word.’
‘And I will take you at yours,’ Tsarmina replied, clasping the proffered paw.
Their untruthful eyes smiled falsely at each other.
Tsarmina saw that at least Bane had told the truth about his followers; ragged and unkempt, but fighters to a beast.
They entered Kotir together.
Bane felt as if the place had been built for him.
The uniformed soldiery of Kotir looked askance at the tattered but well-fed band of mercenaries.
Bane’s fighters cast scornful eyes over the ill-fed soldiers in their cumbersome livery.
Tsarmina and Bane were closeted together in the Queen’s chamber. She listened to his ideas with respect; treachery could come later, but for now she gave the fox full credit as an experienced campaigner.
Bane’s plan was simple. ‘Don’t give ’em an inch; show them you mean business; forget about subterfuge and spies – that only makes for prolonged war – strike hard and be ruthless. We have the superior number of trained fighters. Start tomorrow morning, have the full strength out in skirmish line, comb the forest thoroughly, kill any who resist and take the rest prisoner. It’s the only way to get results, believe me.’
‘Bold words, Bane,’ Tsarmina told him approvingly. ‘But have you tried fighting
squirrel archers? They can vanish through the treetops as quick as you can think.’
‘Then burn the trees, or chop them down. I’ve seen it all before. If small creatures scurry off down holes, then block them up, fill every possible exit. That’s all they understand. You take my word, it works every time. I know, I’ve done it.’
Tsarmina pointed out of the window at the fastness of Mossflower. ‘Could you do it again out there?’
‘With our combined forces, easily.’
‘Then we start tomorrow morning,’ she said decisively.
‘At first light!’
Columbine was learning to use one of the smaller squirrel bows. Lady Amber had set up a target while they patrolled the digging areas to protect the workers.
‘Pull the string right back,’ Lady Amber instructed. ‘Look along the arrow shaft with one eye. See the target? Good. Now breathe out and release the arrow at the same time. . . . Fine shot, Columbine!’
The shaft stood quivering near the target’s centre.
‘Haha, I’m getting better at it all the time, Lady Amber.’
‘You certainly are. Keep it up and you’ll soon be as good as me.’
Foremole and Old Dinny came trundling up. The mole leader tugged his snout to Amber.
‘Marm, Dinny an’ oi filled up yon holler oak stump whurr ’ee got’n out Kotir from,’ he reported.
Old Dinny plucked the arrow from the target and returned it to Columbine.
‘Hurr, that we ’ave,’ he agreed. ‘Doant want fludden commen out thurr. We’m gotter fludd cat place, not ’m woodlands.’
Amber sighed. ‘It’s a long dig. Let’s hope we can do it before the cat and her army make any surprise moves.’
Skipper sprang dripping from the river.
‘Never fear, Amber. My crew and I have done our bit. We’ve dug from under the water clear to the floodgates your crew sunk into the ground, where the moles began digging. Mind, I wish we could tunnel as well as Billum, Soilflyer and Urthclaw. Strike me colours, you ought to see those lads shift earth.’
Foremole and Old Dinny smiled with pleasure, but Amber slammed her paw against the target.
Mossflower (Redwall) Page 26