Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Janglur’s hooded eyes gazed around at the scene. ‘I came here once when I was but a mite. Have y’ever seen a more cheery an’ welcomin’ bunch than these Redwallers? No wonder travellers tell tales an’ legends of this Abbey!’

  Dwopple was sitting on Skipper’s lap, in company with Blinny and Wugger. The otter Chieftain allowed them to sample his soup.

  ‘Eat ’earty, mateys. ’Tis called watershrimp an’ ’otroot soup, full o’ dried watershrimps, bulrush tips, ransoms, watercress an’ special spices. Otters like it ’cos it makes ’em big’n’strong!’

  Sister Sloey rapped Skipper’s paw with her fork. ‘You are naughty, Skipper. Those Dibbuns won’t be able to cope with your dreadful hot spicy soup.’

  The big otter chortled as he saw the Dibbuns ladle soup from his bowl. ‘Marm, beggin’ yore pardon, but I’m a great believer in lettin’ young ’uns find out things for theirselves. This’ll learn ’em a lesson.’

  However, contrary to expectations Dwopple and the molebabes thoroughly enjoyed the fiery concoction.

  ‘Burr, ee soop be luvly an’ warm. Oi dearly loiks gudd soop!’

  ‘Mmmm! Dwopple ’ave more a diss soop, tasty nice!’

  The delicious repast continued into late evening, when candles and lanterns were lit in Great Hall. During a lull in the proceedings, Log a Log hailed Florian.

  ‘Ahoy there, matey, how’s about you an’ yore troupe puttin’ on that show you promised when we rescued yer cart from the swamp?’

  The hare stood and bowed to the assemblage. ‘Why not indeed? The Wandering Noonvale Companions would be churlish in the extreme not to return the compliment of such fabulous fare. But I know that seated here at table this evenin’ is one among us who possesses a voice of pure gold. Janglur’s daughter, who is aptly named Song. Mayhap she would honour us? In anticipation of this, I meself scribed a small ballad.’ Florian produced a scroll with a resounding flourish. ‘Ahem, a few simple lines I recorded whilst in the paws of the muse, wot wot! Goes to the tune of “Breeze in the Meadow”. D’you know that one, Song?’

  The young squirrel took the scroll and studied the lines. ‘I’d be pleased to, sir. These words fit the tune nicely. Father?’

  Janglur smiled proudly as he played the introduction on his reed flute. Song clasped her paws in front of herself and took a deep breath. All eyes were riveted on her as the first heartbreakingly sweet notes poured forth, echoing slightly through the ancient hall.

  ‘Our thanks to you friends, our thanks to one and all,

  For kindly asking us to join you at Redwall,

  We saw from afar, just as we thought we should,

  Your Abbey like a gem, set in Mossflow’r’s green wood.

  The welcome you gave us was like we’d never known,

  Like family you treat us, as if we were your own,

  The bells tolled so pretty, out o’er the countryside,

  A message of friendship, it echoed far and wide,

  The food and drink you gave us was wonderful and yet,

  ’Tis you and your friendship that we’ll never forget!’

  Song’s parents and Grandma Ellayo congratulated her heartily as the rafters rang with admiring cheers and applause for her singing.

  Florian and the two otters, Borrakul and Elachim, took the floor next. The hare reversed his frock coat and tied the sleeves about his neck so that it hung down behind like a cloak, stuck a golden twirling moustache to his upper lip and struck a noble pose. The otters fitted brass rings to their ears, put on ragged breechclouts and brandished a pair of floppy stage swords. Florian explained the scenario to his audience.

  ‘H’andaaa now, good creatures of this awesome edifice, we wish to present a historical h’entertainment . . . the Duel of Insults! This was a h’actual h’incident, involvin’ my great ancestor one Ballaw De Quincewold an’ two vermin, ferrets, who would not let him pass. Picture the scene then, a narrow trail runnin’ through a woodland glade, an’ here comes I, the gallant hare Ballaw!’

  Florian strode breezily across the floor, stopping short of the two otters, who were trying their best to resemble a pair of evil ferrets. The hare greeted them civilly enough. ‘Good morrow to ye both, sirs. Pray stand aside an’ let me pass through the woodlands, for I am but a travellin’ gentlebeast, wot!’

  The two otters paced towards him, waving their swords savagely.

  ‘Haharr, nobeast passes ’ere an’ lives ter tell the tale!’

  ‘Aye, to pass safe y’must first defeat us in combat. Draw yer sword!’

  The hare spread both paws dramatically wide. ‘Alas, I am unarmed, but stay, I shall defeat ye both, though not with any mere weapon. Nay, I will use only my thunderous voice an’ sparklin’ wit, an’ they will suffice to vanquish you both. In short, I challenge you to a duel of insults, you foul an’ feckless ferrets!’

  Elachim and Borrakul scowled wickedly and began their insulting.

  ‘Yew rotten rip-eared rabbit!’

  ‘Yah lanky lopsided lettuce leaf!’

  Florian appeared to sway slightly, but stood his ground, jaw outthrust. ‘Hoho! Is that the best ye can do? Well, let a champion show ye a thing or two!’

  Wugger shouted out encouragingly, ‘Goo on, zurr, you’m show ee vermints!’

  Others began egging him on. He held up a paw for silence, then launched into his tirade. ‘You misbegotten muddleheaded mudmuckers! Slop-pawed, fiddlefaced bottlenosed baggybottomed bucketbellied beetlebrained beasts!’

  The two make-believe ferrets looked aghast, falling back several paces under the onslaught, then they recovered and retaliated.

  ‘Stinky stringpawed snaggletoothed slopswiller!’

  ‘Aye, filthy frogfaced flippin’ foozlebacked fop!’

  The hare threw a paw across his brow and reeled about as if wounded by the barbed words. Excitement broke out among the onlookers as Elachim and Borrakul swaggered about triumphantly.

  ‘Fight back! Don’t let vermin shout things at y’like that!’

  Dwopple shook a clenched paw at the ferrets. ‘Nutnose nokkykneed smellypaws!’

  Deesum covered his mouth, shocked. ‘My dear, where did you learn such horrid expressions?’

  Florian, alias Ballaw, was back insulting gallantly. ‘Toothless twoggletongued twitterin’ tripehounds! Slackgutted slimesided sludgehearted spiritless spitspatterers . . .’

  The ferrets began to sink to the floor under the weight of insults. Redwallers rose, clapping and cheering as they urged the heroic hare on to greater efforts.

  ‘Don’t stop, you’ve got ’em now!’

  ‘Aye, carry on, sir, give it to ’em hot’n’heavy!’

  ‘Show the villains who’s boss!’

  ‘Burr hurr, you’m tell umm wot you’m think of umm, zurr!’

  Florian strode bravely forward, cloak swirling as he finished off the retreating foebeasts with resounding phrases. ‘Addletongued applenecked amateur animals! Baldybacked bumptious birdbrained bootlickers! Craventailed crumpetfaced curs! Despicable dungeoneared doodlebugs! Entrail-eatin’ eggheaded eyesores! Foulfurred frog-fearin’ felons! Nitnosed chopcheeked dishwater-drinkers! Loppylugged laggards! Begone! Fatuous ferrets!’

  As Elachim and Borrakul dropped their tails and scrabbled off on all fours, the hare swaggered victoriously through the imaginary woodland glade. Every creature in Great Hall cheered him to the echo, leaping up on the tables and applauding wildly.

  Florian took a jug of strawberry fizz from a passing mole server and drained it at a single draught. He bowed deeply, trying modestly to prevent himself belching from the large quantity of fizzy liquid. The Dibbuns thought it great sport to dash about the tables, trying out new-found insults on their elders.

  ‘You’m a gurt baggybum beetle, zurr, hurr, an’ a foozleface too!’

  ‘Heehee! An’ you a flittynose an’ a doogleduck figgleface, so there!’

  Stifling a smile, Cregga rapped on the table for silence. ‘That’s quite enough for one night. Up to your
beds, Dibbuns!’

  Grandma Ellayo agreed wholeheartedly. ‘Aye, an’ bed for you too, mister Florian. Shame on you, teachin’ liddle ’uns language like that. Go wash yore mouth out!’

  Florian protested volubly. ‘But madam, ’twas only an entertainment, a historical play. What about the two otters? They said some jolly dreadful things.’

  Elachim and Borrakul sipped cold mint tea innocently.

  ‘What, us? Oh, marm, mister Florian beats us if the insults don’t sound bad enough!’

  ‘So he does. We never used words like that afore we joined up with mister Florian’s troop. We were brought up t’be gentlebeasts.’

  Sister Sloey shook her paw reprovingly at the bewildered hare. ‘Double shame on you, sir, for teaching these poor creatures dreadful things. What would their mother say if she could hear them?’

  Gathering his cloak about him, Florian strode off in a huff towards the dormitory stairs. He turned and paused on the bottom step, his voice quavering with emotion. ‘Culture is wasted upon such as you. I am injured, marm, deeply and sorely injured. I bid you goodnight!’

  He tripped upon his coat hem and fell flat on the stone stairs. The Redwallers were in hoots of laughter as Runktipp called out, ‘Which is the most deeply injured, sir, yore feelin’s or yore bottom?’

  Skipper of otters’ face was almost purple. The hedgehog had made the remark as Skipper was downing a beaker of cider, and now he spluttered and choked as he tried to stop laughing. Rusvul pounded his back. ‘I think we’d all be better goin’ to bed afore anybeast else injures theirselves too deeply!’

  Badgermum Cregga never slept in bed, but propped herself up with pillows on the armchair in her room. Redwall Abbey was peaceful and quiet after the feast and entertainment, but the blind badger could not prevent her thoughts from straying. With Marlfoxes and water rats roaming Mossflower, how long was the peace and quiet destined to last?

  Janglur and Rusvul, like the instinctive warriors they were, were light sleepers, and both squirrels were up and about in the hour before dawn. They met in the kitchens, where Janglur found his friend lifting a few hot scones from under the noses of three slumbering night cooks. Rusvul was armed with his favourite short javelin, which he tipped towards Janglur, who crept over to join him.

  ‘G’mornin’, mate. What’re you up to?’

  Janglur quietly lifted a small flask of elderflower cordial from the stone cooling cupboard. ‘Just a feelin’ I had. Thought I’d take a bite o’ breakfast an’ a stroll around the grounds, y’know, a sort o’ patrol.’

  Rusvul added a few scones to the ones he already had stowed in a clean napkin. He winked knowingly. ‘Shows how a warrior thinks, eh? I had exactly the same idea. Well, I’ve got the scones an’ you’ve got the cordial, so what are we waitin’ for?’

  The three night cooks, who were taking an early nap on a heap of empty sacks, slept on, unaware that the squirrels had been and gone.

  Starting at the gatehouse Janglur checked the main gate bars, ensuring the heavy oak bolsters were secure in their slots. He joined Rusvul at the gatehouse window. ‘Main gates well locked. All quiet here?’

  His companion peered through a gap in the curtained windowpanes. ‘Not exactly quiet. Ole Friar Butty an’ Nutwing are in there snorin’ like thunder in the middle of all those scrolls an’ volumes.’

  Janglur shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Should have at least one able-bodied beast who can stay awake in charge of this entrance. Shall we go up on the battlements?’

  Rusvul swept the inner grounds with a wave of his javelin. ‘Best cover the inside first, then we’ll take a turn around the walltops.’

  They headed towards the southwest corner, Janglur munching away at a scone. ‘Mmm! Hot’n’fresh, like a good scone oughter be. I never tasted anythin’ nicer’n Redwall Abbey vittles in all me life, mate.’

  Rusvul passed him the cordial flask. ‘Then why don’t you stay? There’s always a place for a useful squirrel like yoreself ’ere. I gave up wanderin’ when I lost me pore dear wife. Redwall’s home t’me an’ Dannflor now.’

  Janglur gave the matter serious consideration. ‘Aye, I’ve still got my family about me, though my mum’s gettin’ too old t’be travellin’ these days. I know Rimrose likes the Abbey. She said so last night, hinted that it’d be a good place to bring our Songbreeze up in, an’ I agree with her. Pretty young maid like Song shouldn’t spend ’er seasons roamin’ the woodlands an’ dales. Redwall’s a place she can meet nice friends an’ grow up good.’

  They continued in this vein, strolling along the south grounds, conversing quietly, but checking carefully around bushes and shrubbery, their keen eyes constantly searching for things otherbeasts would miss, disturbed dew on the grass, or a freshly broken stem. Everything was in order. As they approached the small wallgate set in the centre of the east wall, both stopped talking and stood still.

  Janglur’s heavy-lidded eyes fixed themselves on the wallgate. He whispered, ‘Listen, can you hear that scratchin’ noise?’

  Rusvul nodded, pointing his javelin tip at the doorjamb. ‘Look!’

  The door was a solid little affair made from close-jointed elm planks painted green. It had a single heavy iron bolt securing it. The scraping noise started up again, and a narrow strip of soft metal, hooked at one end, poked through a fresh gap made in the doorjamb by a knife. Janglur looked at the wood shavings on the ground, and took in the full situation at a glance.

  ‘Somebeast tryin’ to push the bolt back an’ open the wallgate!’

  Now they could hear gasping and muttering from outside.

  ‘Mmff! Grmmf! Should’ve cut a wider gap fer this t’go through!’

  ‘Owch! Y’ve trapped me paw. Leggo, I can do it!’

  Rusvul pointed silently to the walltop. Careful to make no noise, they hurried back and dashed up the southeast wallsteps. Dropping flat on the ramparts, both squirrels wriggled swiftly towards the centre of the east wall. Straightening cautiously, they peered down between the battlements.

  Four water rats were at the gate, one with his body flattened sideways against the door as he strove to hook the metal device over the bolt and push it open. The others were either urging him on, or telling him to let them try to do it. Mouth close to Janglur’s ear, Rusvul whispered, ‘Four of ’em!’

  Janglur scoured the scene thoroughly, eyes flicking from side to side. ‘Rusvul, wait. There’s five. See the Marlfox leanin’ on that rowan!’

  The Marlfox, Gelltor, unaware that he was being watched, struck the treetrunk impatiently. ‘Hurry it up, Fatchur. What’s the matter? I thought you were supposed to be good at opening locks.’

  A rattle of metal upon metal sounded out. The rat, Fatchur, straightened up confidently, assuring his master, ‘I think I’ve got it, sire. The hook’s over the bolt end!’

  Janglur nudged Rusvul urgently. ‘Best put a stop t’this afore they’re in. I’ll take Fatchur, you pick off the Marlfox. Now!’

  Janglur leaned out over the battlements whirling his sling. Thwok! Fatchur was slain instantly as the big round river pebble struck him square between the eyes. Rusvul threw his javelin.

  It was only Gelltor’s swiftness that saved his life. He saw the rat fall as the slingstone struck, and glancing up at the walltop he could see Janglur, sling in paw at the battlement, with Rusvul to one side of him launching the javelin. The Marlfox threw himself to one side, but not fast enough. The javelin, which was aimed at his chest, missed any vital spot, but took a chunk of flesh from his shoulder, pinning his cloak to the rowan. Stifling a shriek of pain, Gelltor ripped the cloak free as he fell on all fours. Not waiting to see what fate befell the other three rats, he took off through the undergrowth, crouching low and clasping his wounded shoulder. Instantly the remaining rats fled, sent on their way by another stone from Janglur’s sling, which cracked the tail of the last one stumbling into the cover of the trees.

  The squirrels immediately hurried from the walltop back down to the gate. Jan
glur unlatched the metal hook from the protruding bolt end and inspected the device. ‘That rat knew what he was doin’. A good shove or two an’ they would’ve been in. Let’s see if’n he’s still alive.’

  They unlocked the gate and stepped out into Mossflower Wood. Rusvul turned the rat over, placing a paw on the creature’s heart. ‘Hmph! Won’t get anythin’ out o’ this ’un. Dead as a doornail!’

  The rat was long and thin. He wore a grey tunic with a wide belt in which were stuck a dagger and curved sword, the only other item he possessed being a half-length black cape. Rusvul rolled the carcass into some deep loam beneath a spreading buckthorn bush. Janglur heaved on the javelin, tugging it from the rowan trunk.

  ‘Y’had tough luck there, mate. He moved a bit too fast for ye!’

  Rusvul cleaned his javelin tip by jabbing it in the earth. ‘Maybe, but one thing I’m sure of now, Marlfoxes ain’t magic. They’re quick, but they can’t vanish like some say they do. Don’t worry, I’ll get ’im next time!’

  Dawn was up now, rosy and clear. They strode back to the Abbey finishing the last drop of cordial. Janglur licked his lips. ‘I’m ready for a proper breakfast now. Don’t mention what happened back there to any save those who have t’know. Oh, an’ we’ll have t’see if’n those wallgates can be locked up more secure.’

  Mokkan, the self-appointed leader of his brother and sister Marlfoxes, sat eating a meal of trout, cooked over the fire. Gelltor plastered stream mud on his wound, binding it with dockleaves and sorrel. Mokkan spat a fishbone at him, curling his lip scornfully.

  ‘Blitherin’ oaf! You made a right mess of that plan. Now the Redwallers are sure to know we’re about!’

  The vixen, Predak, helped herself to a portion of the trout. ‘They probably already knew we were in Mossflower if they have half a brain between them. Don’t blame Gelltor. I don’t think you could have done any better.’

  Mokkan wiped his paws on the grass, taunting his wounded brother. ‘A Marlfox getting himself wounded by a squirrel, and losing a good water rat into the bargain. Tell me, Gelltor, d’you think I could have done better?’