Gelltor winced as he tied the dressing with green reeds. ‘They’ll get back more than they gave when I start on them. I’ll slay ten for killing Fatchur and twenty for injuring me!’
Mokkan shook his head in disbelief. ‘You don’t understand, stupid. We came to steal, not to start a war. Where’s the profit in that?’
Gelltor whipped out his axe and gripped the haft tightly. ‘Blood for blood, I say. Who’s with me?’
Ziral raised her voice. ‘It’s not blood for blood unless somebeast kills a Marlfox. That’s our law, brother. Mokkan’s right. We came for plunder and Redwall Abbey is the only place worth thieving from. You messed things up, got yourself wounded and lost Fatchur. None of us is with you!’
Mokkan picked his teeth with a fishbone, sneering at Gelltor. ‘See, for the moment we’re robbers, not killers. Haven’t you got it into that thick skull of yours? High Queen Silth must be surrounded by beauty. Rich, wonderful things, that’s what we need to bring back to the island. Imagine what she’d do if we staggered back to Castle Marl with half our number dead because we’d started an all-out war with the beasts of Redwall?’
Gelltor slumped against a tree, nursing his wound. ‘Aarh! I don’t see the sense to it, trampin’ round the woodlands just to rob stuff to please that crazy old relic. It’s daft!’
Ascrod, who had remained silent until now, spoke up. ‘Listen, brother, we’re storing up these valuables for ourselves. Remember, one day our mother will be dead – maybe sooner than we think, considering her age. When that day comes we will rule the island together. Castle Marl, everything, will be all ours!’
Ziral chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Not according to Mokkan. He says we’ll kill each other off until there’s only one left to rule, right, Mokkan?’
Mokkan shrugged. ‘Who can tell? I say let the future look after itself, and for now we concentrate on that Abbey. Listen, I’ve got a plan that’s a lot wiser and less warlike than Gelltor’s was. Let’s get the rats on the march to Redwall. I’ll explain to you as we go.’
Mokkan was the toughest and most resourceful of all the brothers and sisters. Even Gelltor went along with the scheme when he heard it.
* * *
7
Tragglo Spearback and his cellar helpers were good carpenters. By midday they were fitting hingelocks to the wallgates, bolts that doubly secured the doors and could only be opened from inside. Rusvul and Janglur were in conference with Log a Log, Skipper and Cregga, deciding what the next move should be in the light of that morning’s attempted break-in. The Wandering Noonvale Companions were rehearsing out by the pond, watched by the Abbey Dibbuns. Dann was strolling in the grounds with Song and Dippler when Grandma Ellayo passed them, hobbling towards the gatehouse. Song and her friends took the old squirrel’s paws to assist her.
‘You’re in a bit of a hurry, Grandma. Where are you off to?’
‘I’m goin’ to the gate’ouse, Song m’dear. Yore dad said Friar Butty needs me t’tell him all I know about those Marlfoxes.’
‘Oh, can we come too? I love to hear you telling tales!’
The old squirrel looked at the three eager young friends. She paused a moment as if undecided, then gave in to the request. ‘Oh, if’n y’wish, but y’must sit still an’ don’t fidget, I can’t abide fidgety beasts. Oh, one of you nip back an’ tell that nice Brother Melilot that we’ll all be takin’ lunch in the gate’ouse!’
Dippler sped off, calling back, ‘Leave it t’me, marm. I’ll go!’
A few minutes later, seated comfortably on an old sofa, Ellayo faced Nutwing, who was perched on an armchair opposite her. Butty sat at the desk with quill, ink and parchment. Song and Dann settled themselves on the arms of the sofa. Friar Butty began.
‘Now, marm, I want you to speak slowly and clearly. Address my friend Nutwing as if you were telling him a story. I’ll sit over here and record all you say. You may begin if you’re ready, marm.’
Ellayo stroked the smooth top of her blackthorn stick. ‘Hmm, Marlfoxes, now let me see. When I was a maid, young as Song here, my father told me of a secret island at the centre of a great lake somewhere. Foxes had discovered the island and claimed it for their own – of course, that was after the lake monster was slain and the white ghost left the island . . .’
Friar Butty cut in on the narrative. ‘Excuse me, marm, what lake monster and what white ghost?’
Grandma Ellayo sniffed at him irritably. ‘How should I know? I’m just telling you what was told to me. Can you remember everything from your early seasons?’
Butty held up his paw respectfully. ‘My apologies, marm. Please continue.’
‘Where was I? Oh yes! Father said that a tribe of foxes, with water rats to serve them, took over the island and built a big castle there. Then the story went that there was a war. Y’see, most of the tribe were ordinary vermin, save for two, a male an’ a vixen, who were Marlfoxes. It was them who were magic. They could make theirselves invisible, ’twas said. Anyhow, the Marlfoxes got the water rats on their side an’ wiped out the other foxes, slew ’em all. Then nothin’ more was heard of, or from, that island. Now when I was a bit older, I had a mate, Gawjo, an’ a liddle ’un too. That was Song’s daddy Janglur. Gawjo was a real adventurer an’ a great wanderer, an’ one day he went off in search of the Marlfoxes’ island an’ that was the last anybeast ever seen of him. I was left t’bring Janglur up. We became wanderers, always hopin’ we’d find Gawjo again someday, but we never did.’
Song took in every word. She felt sorry for Grandma Ellayo, bringing up Janglur alone, always searching for her lost husband; it must have been a hard life. She put a paw around her grandma’s shoulder as the old squirrel continued.
‘One winter, when Janglur was still only a liddle ’un, we were camped in a hole on a streambank, with nought to eat but a few roots an’ late berries an’ a fire to warm ourselves by. Then one night a young kingfisher, half alive an’ freezin’, crawls out o’ the stream an’ up the bank to our dugout hole. Pore liddle bird, I took him in an’ shared our fire an’ wot vittles we had. This kingfisher told me he’d come from the great lake. He lived on the island an’ was fishin’ off it when he was set on by a bunch o’ magpies. They chased him far, an’ left the liddle bird fer dead in the lake shallows. But he wasn’t dead, y’see, an’ one way or t’other he managed to get away an’ survive. I tell ye true, I owed me’n’Janglur’s life to that kingfisher. When he got well an’ could fly again, he brought food to us all winter long. At night we’d all three of us sit together by the fire to keep warm, an’ he told me wot he knew of the island, said it was ruled by one Marlfox now, a murderous vixen callin’ ’erself Queen Silth. The kingfisher said that she had a brood of seven cubs, all Marlfoxes, an’ she slew her mate ’cos he wanted to call ’imself king. So then, wot d’yer think o’ that?’
Old Friar Butty shook his head to think that such wickedness existed. Song crept down off the sofa arm to sit beside Ellayo. ‘What happened to the little kingfisher, Grandma?’
Ellayo stared into the dust motes swirling in a shaft of golden sunlight from the window, remembering that winter, long seasons ago. ‘I recall one mornin’, ’twas spring, me’n’liddle Janglur woke up an’ the kingfisher was gone. I never set eyes on ’im again, but I always hoped that good bird had a happy life, ’cos we owed ’im a lot.’
Dippler breezed in with Roop, the mole from the troupe, pushing a trolley laden with food between them. The Guosim shrew bowed. ‘Lunch is served. Summer veggible soup, leek an’ mushroom turnover, an’ apple an’ blackcurrant flan, with a nice flagon o’ rosehip tea to wash it all down. I ’ope you ain’t started tellin’ the story yet, marm. Nothin’ better’n eatin’ lunch an’ lissenin’ to a good yarn!’
Ellayo heaved herself up with a groan and began dishing out the food. ‘Started? I’ve done all the tale-tellin’ I’m doing for today, young feller m’shrew. Yore too late!’
Friar Butty put aside his quill. ‘So that’s all you know about Marlfoxes, m
arm, you can’t tell us more?’
Ellayo passed him a plate of food. ‘Aye, right enough, ’tis all. You’d best wash those inky paws afore you eat lunch, Friar.’
Nutwing, who had dozed off halfway through the narrative, awoke with a start, blinking repeatedly. ‘Hmm mm, lunch? Did somebeast mention lunch?’
The mousebabe Dwopple and his two new friends Wugger and Blinny, young Redwall moles, were making thorough nuisances of themselves at the Wandering Noonvale Companions’ rehearsal. Runktipp was going through his conjuring act in spite of their constant barracking and interruptions. The hedgehog spread both paws wide, a pebble had vanished, and Florian announced the trick’s next stage.
‘H’anda now, before your very eyes, the great Runktippo Magicspike will turn the pebble into a long string of flags which he will produce from his magical mouth whilst I give a roll of the drum!’
Most of the Dibbuns were silent, gazing awestruck at the performance, but Dwopple sniggered villainously as he called out, ‘Well ’urry up, gerra h’on wid it!’
Florian shot him a glare that would have shrivelled lettuce. ‘Silence, please. This is an extremely delicate an’ dangerous illusion. Kindly refrain from shouting aloud!’
Dwopple whispered something to Wugger, who immediately yelled out, ‘Runktippo dropped ee pebble onna ground. ’Tis unner ’is footpaw!’
Florian picked up the drumsticks, eyeing Wugger icily. ‘Any more interruptions, sah, an’ I will eject you from the audience! Great Magic Runktippo, are you ready?’
The hedgehog nodded as Blinny announced what Dwopple had told her. ’Ee can’t talk ’cos ’is mouth be gurtly full o’ flags’n’string!’
The final straw came when Florian tried a drum roll, only to find that the drum head merely gave forth a dull sticky thud. ‘Sabotage! Some rotten cad’s poured honey over me drum. Dwopple!’
The mousebabe and his companions sensed the game was up. They took to their paws and fled, with Florian hurling dire threats after them. ‘Fiends! Show-wreckers! I’ll have y’roasted with turnips, I’ll chop off y’tails with a rusty saw! I’ll . . . I’ll . . .!’
Deesum twitched her nose at the furious hare. ‘Mister Florian, you’ll stop this unprofessional behaviour in front of your audience and continue with the rehearsal!’
Behind the bushes by the north wallgate, Dwopple sat with the molebabes, wondering what mischief they could accomplish next. He pointed to the battlements. ‘We go play up onna wall.’
But Wugger and Blinny would not hear of it.
‘Burr! Nay, zurr, us’n’s bain’t a-goin’ up thurr agin, ho no!’
They contented themselves with banging on an old cooking pot which Blinny kept hidden in the bushes. The molebabes whacked it gleefully with sticks, as Dwopple mimicked the troupe’s act.
‘I’m a magic Dwoppo, pulla lotsa flags out me nose, heeheehee!’
They marched about behind the shrubbery, banging and yelling.
‘Us want cake and st’awbee fizz! Lotsa lotsa cake or we don’t gerra wash!’
On the other side of the wallgate the vixen Ziral had no need to press her ear against the wood. She turned to Mokkan. ‘You were right, the young ones are there. Allag, bring the others round here from the south and east wallgates.’
Gelltor winced as Mokkan patted his injured shoulder. ‘I told you, sooner or later they play by the gates or on the walltops. Now, we only need to snare one and we won’t have to worry about thieving. Those Redwallers will give us what we want when they hear what we could do to a little hostage.’
Gelltor moved out of range of Mokkan’s paw. ‘Well, let’s see you get one of ’em on this side of the wall.’
Mokkan loosed the drawstring on a bag he carried beneath his cloak. ‘Easy, just watch me!’
Dwopple and his friends eventually grew tired of marching and shouting. They were about to run off and see if there was any fun to be had around the gatehouse, when several loud knocks sounded on the wallgate door. The little ones went to the door, listening curiously as the knocking continued. Dwopple picked up a stick and knocked in reply. ‘Who’s derr? Wot you knock for?’
The answer came back in a soothing homely voice. ‘Who do you think I am, little friend?’
The mousebabe pondered a moment, then made up a fictitious name that he liked the sound of. ‘Stickabee!’
A slice of preserved apple, thick with crystallized honey, slid under the narrow gap at the bottom of the door. The voice chuckled. ‘How did you know my name is Stickabee? Well done!’
Dwopple stuffed the delicacy into his mouth. Wugger crouched down and called under the gap, ‘Summ furr Wugger. Oi wants some Stickybee, zurr!’
‘Of course you do, Wugger, but you must open the door so that I can give you the whole bagful.’
Mokkan listened to the sound of tiny paws scraping on the door, followed by the voices of disappointed Dibbuns.
‘Us can’t open d’locks, mista Stickabee, they’s too tight!’
Gelltor smiled mockingly at the Marlfox leader. ‘Oh dear, what are you goin’ t’do now, mister Stickabee?’
Mokkan’s paw strayed beneath his cloak. ‘One more word from you and I’ll introduce you to mister axehead!’ He turned back to the door, his voice cajoling the Dibbuns. ‘Oh, come on now, I’m sure you can open one little lock?’
Dwopple sounded impatient at the Marlfox’s ignorance. ‘It not one liddle lock, there be’s two. One’s too stiff an’ the nuther one be too far up t’reach. Pusha more candyfruit unner d’door, Stickabee!’
‘But I can’t, my little friend. The fruit slices are too thick to fit under the door, they’d get all dirty and squashed. Look, why don’t you come up to the walltop and we’ll think of a way to get the whole bag up to you. Good idea, eh?’
Dwopple jumped up and down with excitement. ‘Aye, good idea, good idea, we go up onna wall!’
Wugger and Blinny backed off, shaking their heads vigorously.
‘Hurr no, us’n’s bain’t goin’ on ee wall!’
‘You’m catch gurt trubble if’n ee go up thurr, D’opple!’
The mousebabe headed boldly for the north wallsteps. ‘Yah, you two ’fraidyfrogs!’
The moles trundled off to the gatehouse. They had learned their lesson about walltops.
Dwopple looked down at the assembly of rats and Marlfoxes below on the ground. ‘Where mista Stickabee?’
Mokkan held up the bag of crystallized fruit. ‘Gone to his house to get more candysweets like this. Are you the friend he was telling us about?’
‘Aye, my name Dwopple, I mista Stickabee’s friend.’
‘Oh, good. He said I had to give these to you. Here, catch!’ Mokkan tossed the bag, which rose only a short way before falling on the ground. The Marlfox shook his head sadly. ‘I can’t throw them high enough for you to catch, little friend.’
Dwopple spread his paws expressively. ‘So whatta we do?’
Mokkan paced back and forth, as if deep in thought. Suddenly he clapped his paws and smiled broadly. ‘Of course, you can come down and get them, Dwopple!’
‘Yah, silly, Dwopple no can climb downa wall!’
Mokkan took off his cloak, gesturing to several rats to get round and hold the edges. They held it high, stretched tight in a great triangle. The Marlfox pointed to it, grinning brightly. ‘Now you can, Dwopple. It’ll be great fun. Just jump and all my friends here will catch you safely!’
The mousebabe clambered on to the battlements and looked down doubtfully, not sure whether he would enjoy the experience. Mokkan leapt on to the cloak, bounced on the taut material once and jumped back off nimbly.
‘Hoho! That was great! I wish I were up there with you, Dwopple, I’d really enjoy jumping down on to the cloak. That’s unless you don’t want the candysweets and you’re a ’fraidyfrog!’
That did it. Dwopple swelled his fat little tummy out and scowled. ‘Me norra ’fraidyfrog, Dwopple jump high, higher’n dat, right offa top o’ mister Florian’s cart!
You watch me. Yeeeeeeeeee!’
Dwopple launched himself off the ramparts. He landed in the centre of the cloak, bouncing twice. Mokkan deliberately trod on Gelltor’s footpaw as he passed. ‘What’ve you got to say for yourself now, mister oafhead?’
The water rats had Dwopple wrapped and bundled in the cloak before he could make another move.
* * *
8
Cregga Badgermum and Rimrose completed their after-lunch stroll by calling in at the gatehouse. Grandma Ellayo and the owl, Nutwing, sprawled on the old sofa, fast asleep after the amount of food they had eaten. Song, Dann and Dippler had joined Friar Butty at the table, searching through ancient scrolls and dusty volumes of Abbey records. Rimrose guided Cregga to the armchair and seated her.
‘Whew, ’tis warm out there today!’
Song filled two beakers with rosehip tea. ‘This is nice and cool. Where’s Dad?’
Cregga sipped her tea, the beaker almost lost within her huge paw. ‘Taking up a new career, I think. He’s with Tragglo and the cellarmoles, learning all about October Ale and such. When your mum and I passed there earlier he seemed t’be enjoying himself.’
Rimrose glanced at the books and documents on the table. ‘And what are you up to, missie?’
Song flicked idly through the pages of a hefty tome. ‘We’re helping Friar Butty to look for more information about Marlfoxes. Grandma told us all she knew, but it’s not enough.’
The blind badger held out her beaker for more rosehip tea. ‘But she did tell you a few things that you didn’t know before?’
Friar Butty rerolled a scroll neatly. ‘Indeed she did, although at first her story was a bit muddled. She began talking of a white ghost and a lake monster that lived in a great lake until it was slain. Then she said that the white ghost left the hidden island, but she said she didn’t remember much about it. I think it was probably some figment of Ellayo’s imagination from her young days.’
Marlfox (Redwall) Page 8