Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Did you think you could outwit a Queen of Marlfoxes, my dear? I knew that you would put the poison in your own goblet. You thought I’d think it was in mine, the silly way you offered the tray so that my cup was nearest to me. I saw through your ruse, Lantur, I knew you wanted me to drink from your goblet, suspecting that mine contained the poison. So tonight you learned your last lesson. Never try to outwit a Queen of Marlfoxes. Hee hee hee!’

  Lantur had drained the pewter goblet. She put it aside and watched her mother, a smile suddenly beginning to play upon her lips. ‘There, I’ve drunk it all as you commanded. Have you drunk yours yet, O High Queen?’

  Surprised, Silth looked up questioningly. ‘Only a few sips. Why?’

  Lantur removed the golden cup from her mother’s paws. ‘One sip would have been enough. You did just as I gambled you would. Your Majesty outfoxed herself. The poison was in your cup all the time!’

  Queen Silth’s paws dithered helplessly for a moment, then her body flopped limply back. Lantur plumped up the pillow behind her head and folded the satin coverlet neatly under her mother’s chin. The Queen murmured faintly through numbed lips, ‘Guards, where are my . . .’

  Lantur wiped away a dribble of wine from the corner of Silth’s mouth. ‘Hush now, your Majesty, go to sleep and remember your own words. Never try to outwit a Queen of Marlfoxes. I am Lantur, High Queen of all Marlfoxes, now!’

  Silth blinked her dimmed, watering eyes. All power of speech had left her. Without a word she slipped silently into the deepest sleep of all.

  Lantur washed the golden goblet out carefully, three times. Then she filled it with new damson wine and drank a toast to herself.

  Morning sunlight flooded the island as Wilce the female water rat wandered down to the field where the slaves were husbanding fruit and crops. Seating herself on the ground, she opened a flask of damson wine and poured two beakers. Captain Ullig, the slave master, saw her from the corner of his eye. He cracked his long whip expertly over the bent backs in front of him. ‘Keep those ’eads down, you scum, or I’ll teach yer a lesson you won’t forget the rest o’ yore lives!’ Satisfied that nobeast would dare look up, he joined Wilce. ‘Thirsty work, eh? Wish I could lay me paws on more wine that tastes like this. Well, ye didn’t come down ’ere fer nothin’, Wilce. Wot news up at the castle?’

  She poured more wine for Ullig, keeping her eyes fixed on the toiling slaves as she spoke. ‘There’ll be lots more o’ this wine, much as y’want if you lissen t’me, Slave Cap’n.’

  Ullig drained his beaker and held it forth for a refill. ‘Oh aye? Wot is it now, another surprise inspection from ’er Majesty, or is the noise o’ this whip disturbin’ ’er royal peace?’

  ‘Oh no, the royal peace won’t be disturbed ever again, Ullig.’

  ‘Wot d’yer mean by that?’

  ‘High Queen Silth is dead, long live Queen Lantur, and her Chief Adviser Wilce!’

  Wine ran either side of Ullig’s mouth as he slopped it down and held out his beaker for more. ‘Haharr! I’ll drink ter that. So, you an’ yore Marlfox friend finally finished off the old one. Clever, Wilce, clever!’

  Wilce’s paw was like a vice as she grabbed Ullig’s, restraining him from lifting the beaker to his mouth. ‘Keep talkin’ like that an’ yore a deadrat!’ she hissed viciously. ‘Queen Silth was slain durin’ the night, by the White Ghost. I knew all along that White Ghost was the spirit of ’er mate returnin’ to avenge hisself for the treacherous way she slew ’im. Right?’

  A thin smile crossed Ullig’s cruel features. ‘Right you are, Wilce. Everybeast knowed that someday Silth’d pay fer killin’ ’er mate. Lantur was ’is favourite daughter, so ’tis only fittin’ that she rules the island now – wid you to guide an’ advise ’er, of course, an’ me to command the army.’

  Wilce released Ullig’s paw and allowed him to drink. ‘Well spoken, Ullig. You catch on pretty fast. Now, there’ll be a buryin’ ceremony at the lakeside before long. What we need is for you to get everybeast yellin’, “Long live High Queen Lantur!”’

  Ullig tossed the empty beaker aside and tilted the flask to his lips as he toasted the conspiracy. ‘Long live ’Igh Queen Lantur!’

  Wilce gathered up the two beakers. ‘Not so loud, friend. Nobeast’s supposed to know she’s dead yet!’

  One of the slaves, a sturdy female hedgehog, whispered to an otter working alongside her, ‘Did you ’ear that? Silth’s dead an’ Lantur’s Queen now.’

  The otter laboured on, not raising his eyes. ‘Makes no difference to us, does it? One Marlfox is bad as another to a field slave.’

  The news would have made little difference to Mokkan either. The Marlfox, following his own secret route, found himself attacked by lizards. He had deviated by mistake from the river into a watermeadow, which, half a paddle’s depth beneath the surface, was swamp. Berating the rat paddlers and the shrew Fenno, he had them turn about, only to find that the way back to the river was blocked by a teeming horde of lizards, newts and toads. The first inkling he had was when a rat in the prow fell overboard with a gurgle, his throat pierced by a sharpened dried bulrush stem. Then the water came alive with reptiles swimming towards the logboat, whilst others hurled rush lances from the reeded shallows. Mokkan crouched low and shouted frantic orders to his crew. ‘Use your paddles! Don’t let them aboard or we’re lost!’

  The logboat rocked from side to side as Mokkan made his way to the prow, pushing past the paddlers. He seized the slain rat’s oar and began wielding it energetically, making towards the twin tongues of land which formed the watermeadow entrance. Smashing a toad over the head with his blade, the Marlfox urged his water rats onward as they alternately paddled or hit out at the reptiles who attempted to board the logboat. In the stern of the vessel, Fenno gnawed on the thong like a beast in a trap. Slobbering and spitting, he chewed madly, straining the thong tight by pulling hard with his strong neck. The rawhide snapped as they were passing through the jutting landspurs. Fenno bundled himself ashore and lay still among the reeds and bushes, watching the cold-eyed reptiles hurrying by, trying to catch the vessel before it struck open water.

  Mokkan felt the pull of the current. Knocking water rats aside, he dashed to the stern of the boat. ‘Paddle for your lives! Keep to the centre stream! Go! Go!’ Slashing left and right with his axe, the Marlfox slew a toad and a frilled newt who were clinging to the after end. Powered by panic-stricken rats, the logboat shot off downriver.

  It was long after midnight when Fenno risked moving a limb. Shutting his ears to the horrible screams of a water rat whom the reptiles had captured, he crawled off stealthily through the undergrowth.

  Mokkan forced his remaining nine rats to paddle all night. They halted at dawn on the bank of a dry sunburned field, but before he allowed them to eat, drink, or tend their wounds, the Marlfox had them spread the precious tapestry out on the grass. ‘Clean it, brush the edges well and make sure the fringe isn’t tangled. It must be kept in perfect condition for High Queen Silth. It is a thing of rare beauty!’

  Mokkan posted two guards, then choosing a shady spot he spread his cloak and lay down to rest, thinking of Fenno and the fate he would suffer in the hold of the merciless reptiles. Mokkan felt slightly cheated. He had planned on killing Fenno himself.

  Raventail surprised even himself. When he and his cohorts went out scouring the countryside to the north and east, they recruited nearly one hundred assorted vermin. Naturally, the Marlfoxes had promised Raventail anything his avaricious heart desired. Armaments, food, power, even the rule of a conquered Redwall. Vannan had assured the barbarian ferret that Marlfoxes had no need of the Abbey, because their home was in another place. She explained that the reason Redwall had to fall was because their creatures had murdered two of her kin. Raventail figured that there would be a catch to the agreement somewhere, but his overpowering greed got the better of him. Besides, he reasoned, with a hundred at his command he could always turn the tables on his strange allies. Raventail was
not a stupid beast. He took note of the fact that Vannan had made a serious mistake in her talks with him. She had admitted that Marlfoxes could be slain.

  Vannan, Ascrod and Predak sat surrounded by their water rat soldiers, watching the vermin horde dancing and chanting around a blazing log. Evening shadows, combined with the eerie flicker of flames, cast a wild and primitive air on the proceedings. Weasels, stoats and ferrets leapt and stamped, pounding the earth until a dustcloud rose around them, flinging their weapons high in the air and catching them expertly as they wailed their killing chants.

  ‘Who be death? We be death!

  Here’s d’blade wot stop yore breath!

  Kye arr rakkachakka whummwhummwhumm!

  Plunder good! Slayin’ good!

  These d’blades wot shed yore blood!

  Kye arr rakkachakka whummwhummwhumm!’

  Over and over they repeated the chant, getting faster and louder as the tempo of their frenzied dance increased. There was a contemptuous, if slightly nervous, edge to Ascrod’s tone as he viewed the primeval proceedings. ‘Stupid savages. What do they think they’re doing?’

  The flames reflected in Vannan’s pale, immobile eyes. ‘Working themselves into a blood frenzy, of course, brother. Here comes Raventail. Don’t refer to them as stupid savages whilst he’s around. Greetings, Chief Raventail. You have done well, my friend, these are true warriors you have brought us!’

  The ferret cast a swift sidelong glance at Ascrod, as if he had heard the Marlfox’s insulting remark. Twirling his scimitar deftly he thwacked it into the ground a mere whisker away from Ascrod’s paw. The Marlfox twitched. Raventail’s red and black daubed face leered at him momentarily, then he turned away to address Vannan.

  ‘Kyre arr, magicfox, desebeasts ready for warfight, muchslay muchkill, bettersoon we go fightnow, fightnow!’

  Predak and Ascrod looked to Vannan. ‘Now?’

  The vixen stood, drawing her axe. ‘Well, they won’t get it done chanting and dancing here. What better time than now? ’Twill be full dark when we reach the Abbey. Our scouts report that they have been celebrating a victory. This is the time they’ll least expect us.’

  * * *

  25

  Abbey bells boomed softly on the still warm air over Redwall. Grandma Ellayo, in company with Sister Sloey, halted their evening stroll by the northeast wallcorner. Janglur turned from the battlements, a half-smile in his lazy eyes. ‘Now then, ole Mother, don’t ye go breakin’ into a gallop down there. Supper’ll be about ready, time ye get to Cavern Hole.’

  Ellayo shook her stick at her impudent offspring. ‘If’n my rheumatiz would let me climb yon wallsteps I’d tan yore tail for ye, Janglur baybelly!’

  Skipper winked at Rusvul. He admired the feisty old squirrel. ‘Haharr, that’d be a sight t’see, mate. Stop there, marm, an’ I’ll come down an’ lend ye a paw. A spot o’ tannin’ wouldn’t go amiss on this son of yores!’

  Ellayo shook her head, smiling up at the otter Chieftain. ‘Aren’t you three comin’ inside for supper? Me’n’Sister Sloey baked a great blackberry jam roly poly pudden this afternoon.’

  Rusvul Reguba gnawed his lip regretfully. ‘With pear’n’honey sauce, too, I’ll wager. Trouble is, by the time we got down there, marm, ole Florian forkbottom would’ve scoffed the lot!’

  Sister Sloey, normally quite a sedate old mouse, broke out into hoots of laughter. ‘Whoohoohoo! Florian forkbottom, that’s a good ’un. Whoohoohoo!’

  Ellayo turned Sloey in the direction of the Abbey, lecturing her with mock severity. ‘Now now, Sister, that’s not very nice. Don’t you dare call that pore hare Florian forkbottom – leastways, not afore I do. Heehee!’

  ‘Don’t forget us three ’ungry beasts up ’ere, ladies,’ Janglur called after the retreating figures. ‘See if ’n ye can get supper sent out to us, please.’

  Ellayo waved her stick in acknowledgement.

  Skipper turned back to the wall, leaning his chin on it. ‘Hmm, it don’t look like there’s much doin’ out there t’night, mates. Quiet as a butterfly’s bedroom ’tis.’

  Rusvul tested his javelin point lightly. ‘Makes me nervous when it’s this quiet. What d’ye say, Jang?’

  ‘Y’could be right, messmate. I don’t like it meself, too silent.’

  Skipper was not a creature who favoured inactivity. Pacing restlessly up and down the ramparts, he checked his sling and javelin. Janglur and Rusvul were older than the otter, more used to biding their time throughout the long hours of sentry duty. Rusvul watched Skipper testing the longbow strings and counting the arrows for the second time that night. ‘Skip, will you stop hoppin’ about like you got a thistle under yore jerkin? What’s up, matey?’

  The big otter eyed Mossflower’s vast thickness. Not even a leaf was stirring on the still air. ‘There’s somethin’ brewin’ out there, Rus. Me whiskers are startin’ to twitch, an’ that’s a bad sign. My ole whiskers ain’t ever let me down yet!’

  Janglur’s hooded eyes stayed intent on a new sling he was braiding. ‘I know the feelin’, mate. What are ye goin’ t’do about it?’

  ‘A quiet liddle look around out there wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Stretching the sling against his footpaw, Janglur nodded. ‘So be it, if’n that’s what y’want. We’ll let you out by the east wallgate an’ keep our eyes skinned for ye comin’ back.’

  As the small door closed behind him the otter Chieftain slid off among the trees, armed with only his sling and stonepouch. He threaded his way southeast, using all his natural ability as a hunter, silent and capable.

  Tragglo Spearback and Florian found themselves on dormitory duty. Tragglo was used to unruly Dibbuns, but the hare was losing patience with the wide-awake Abbeybabes. Stiffening both ears and squinching his eyes menacingly, he adopted his no-nonsense voice. ‘Listen here, you confounded curmudgeons, get t’sleep immediately. One more flippin’ squeak out of ye, an’ I’ll do a spot o’ tail-skelpin’, wot!’

  ‘Hurr, wot be ee spotter tail-skelpen, zurr?’

  ‘Never you jolly well mind, you young rip, just get t’sleep!’

  ‘Will y’skelper my tail too, mista Florian?’

  ‘Indeed I will, master Dwopple, double sharp if y’don’t pipe down!’

  ‘D’you skelper tails too, mista Tragg’o?’

  ‘Hoho, I’m known fer it, young ’un, worstest tail-skelper in Redwall, that’s me. Now git back into bed with ye!’

  Immediately all the Dibbuns deserted their beds and clamoured around the two bewildered dormitory helpers, pleading with them to skelp their tails. It all’ sounded like great fun to them. Florian and Tragglo were completely overwhelmed, being new to dormitory duty, and the hare threw up his paws in resignation.

  ‘It’s all too bally much. How’re we supposed to cope with this savage mob of infants, wot wot?’

  ‘Just leave ’em to me, sir. I invented skelpin’ naughty tails!’

  At the sound of Cregga Badgermum’s booming voice the Dibbuns hurled themselves into the little beds and pulled the blankets over their heads. Cregga strode into the dormitory. ‘Right, let’s get started. Any particular one you’d like me to skelp, mister Florian?’

  The hare shrugged carelessly. ‘Not really, marm. Mayhaps you could just dish out a good general skelpin’ all round, wot!’

  Cregga’s huge paws felt their way around each bed as she recited:

  ‘I’ll skelp their tails I’ll skelp their ears,

  Then skelp some whiskers too,

  Nobeast skelps like Cregga does,

  An’ I’ve skelped quite a few!

  I love to see ’em turnin’ pale,

  Some’ll weep or some’ll wail,

  Some’ll grow up with no tail,

  When I’m done skelpin’ here!

  So hush my naughty dear,

  Go fast asleep till morn,

  That’s if you wish to waken up,

  With tail unskelped by dawn!

  One more word, just one more pee
p,

  Woe betide those not asleep,

  They will call out, Mercy! Help!

  When the badger starts to skelp!’

  Silence reigned in the dormitory, apart from one or two false snores, from those trying to prove they were really asleep. Tip-pawing out, Cregga closed the door. Florian gulped visibly. ‘I say, marm, that did the trick, wot wot? I think a Marlfox’d take a swift snooze rather’n be skelped by you!’

  Cregga smiled as she felt her way downstairs. ‘Bless their liddle hearts, the only beast I’d skelp would be one who tried to put a paw near my Dibbuns. ’Tis the sound of my big voice puts ’em in their place, that’s all.’

  ‘So your roar’s worse than your skelp, wot? Jolly good idea!’

  Cregga bared her teeth and growled menacingly. ‘But only to Dibbuns. I come down extra hard on braggarts and salad fork wreckers!’

  Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop nipped smartly behind Tragglo, placing the hedgehog between the badger and himself. ‘Indeed, quite right too, marm. Can’t stand those types m’self!’

  At the bottom of the spiral stairwell they met Bargle. The shrew was scratching his head. ‘Did a mouse pass by you on his way upstairs?’

  Tragglo shook his head. ‘Which mouse? What was he like?’

  ‘Well-built, strong-lookin’ feller. Can’t say where I’ve seen ’im afore, but ’e looked familiar like. Wearin’ armour an’ carryin’ a sword, too, fine weapon . . .’

  Bargle found his paw enveloped by Cregga’s huge mitt. ‘What did he say? Did he do anything? Speak?’

  ‘Er, no, not really, marm. ’E smiled at me an’ sorta nodded as if ’e wanted me t’foller ’im. Went up these stairs.’

  Cregga pushed the shrew in front of her. ‘Right, up y’go, let’s see where your footpaws take you, Bargle. That could only have been the spirit of Martin the Warrior!’

  On the floor above the dormitories Bargle halted, glancing down the passage. ‘There ’e is, by that window. Hi there, matey!’ He dashed off down the passage.