Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The squirrelmaid looked back towards the waterfall. ‘I have three friends, but I parted from them at the top of the falls when I jumped in after you. They’ll be searching for me now, I expect. Perhaps we’d best stay here until they come along this way to find me. What d’you think, Megraw?’

  ‘Aye, we’ll do that, though ah’m powerful hungry the noo.’

  Song undid the broken rope from about her waist, surprised that her Leafwood stick was still thrust into it. ‘You stay there and rest, mister Megraw. I’ll go and find us some fruit and berries. Should be some hereabouts.’

  The osprey squinched his eyes up in disgust. ‘Fruit’n’berries, did ye say? Ye’ll poison yersel’ fer sure, lass! You go an’ search out yer ain vittles, an’ leave me here tae fish. An’ don’t call me mister. The name’s Megraw, d’ye ken.’

  Song had not strayed far when she found blackberries and some fine apples. As she returned to the bank, Megraw averted his head politely and swallowed. ‘A guid spot this, ah got mahsel’ a plump wee grayling. But fear not, Song, ’tis gone now. Ah mind how the sight o’ flesh-eaters can upset those who live on roots an’ berries an’ sich nonsense. Nae wonder they cannae fly!’

  As night drew on the strange pair sat by the stream telling each other their life stories. When Song had told Megraw about the quest she and her friends were on, he perked up immediately. It turned out that the osprey was a wanderer. A lone, wide-ranging eagle, he had come down from the far northeast. In his travels he had discovered a big inland lake, where the fish were plentiful. All pike, but that made little difference to him, he was very partial to a big pike. But one night, when Megraw was resting in a partially constructed nest he was building on the lakeshore, he was ambushed by a mob of magpies. The birds took him completely by surprise and thrashed him. The osprey managed to escape with three things: his life, a broken wing, and a massively injured pride. He had travelled far from the lake, finally settling on the falls as a place where other creatures could not bother him. Megraw stared at the stream, his wild eyes glittering with the light of vengeance.

  ‘Ah swear on mah mother’s egg, ah’ll find that lake again. Aye, someday ah’ll gang back there an meet wi’ yon maggypies tae settle mah score with them. Mark mah words, Song, they’ll wish they’d ne’er been hatched when the wrath o’ Mighty Megraw descends on ’em! Ach, but whit can a bird do wi’ a broke wing? Can ye tell me that, Song?’

  The squirrelmaid stroked Megraw’s wing, which flopped uselessly at his side. She had come to like the big osprey immensely in the short time she had known him; he was fierce but well mannered, a true warrior. Also she loved the way he pronounced her name as Sawng.

  ‘Well, you could come with me and my friends when we get together. We’re searching for the lake too, you know. How would you like that, Megraw?’

  The osprey blew out his chest to alarming proportions and winked slyly at his new friend. ‘Ah’d like that fine, lass!’

  Burble, Dippler and Dann did not rest that night. Each of them was convinced that Song was dead. Just one look at the mighty waterfall was enough. Nobeast could go over its edge and live, but none would admit it, so they kept up brave faces, reassuring each other. Now that Dann had snapped out of his despairing mood he was acting like a confident leader.

  ‘Right, y’know what mister Florian would say, there’s only one bally thing for it, chaps, wot wot! We’ll scale down the cliff side, lower the jolly old boat on what’s left of our rope, an’ get to the bottom sharpish!’

  Though Burble and Dippler felt as if leaden weights had been implanted in their chests at the loss of Song, they agreed with a great show of false optimism.

  ‘Yiss yiss, an’ I wager the first ould creature we find down there’ll be the bold Song, eh?’

  ‘Haha, right, an’ she’ll say, Wot took you lot so long, you should’ve come down the quick way like I did!’

  It was the worst night of their lives, climbing down a spray-drenched cliff face, with the waterfall pounding along on their left side. Dann found that the broken length of rope proved invaluable. He would lower himself down, then have the Swallow lowered to him before guiding the other two safely on their descent. No easy task by night, even though the rocks on that side were not smooth. But with great good fortune, lots of rests on ledges and good co-operation between them combined with Dann’s great climbing skills, they had covered halfway by dawn. Stopping on a small crag, they made a scratch breakfast.

  Dippler peered down. He could see the pool below the falls through the misty spray. ‘I’d say we could make it by midday, if things go all right.’

  ‘Yiss yiss, midday, or even just before. We’d best save some vittles. Miss Song’ll be about ready fer lunch when we arrive.’

  Dann sighed heavily, but managed to force a smile. ‘Come on, you two, let’s get goin’ instead of guzzlin’.’

  About mid-morning Song confided her thoughts to Megraw on the streambank.

  ‘Suppose they went right by us during the night? We didn’t have anything to make a signal fire with, and my friends could quite easily have rowed past in our boat, not knowing we’re here.’

  Megraw flapped the useless wing at his side. ‘Aye, ye could be right, Song. What d’ye suggest?’

  The squirrelmaid stood up, pointing downstream. ‘I think we’d do well walking slowly along the bank in clear sight. I’ll bet they find us before the day’s through.’

  The osprey rose and walked along with her. ‘Ach, anythin’s better than squattin’ in one place, or sittin’ in yon fussy auld cormorant bird’s nestie. Did ye hear her?’

  Megraw could not help chuckling as Song imitated the cormorant.

  ‘Rrrr! Squiddles’n’eagles not stay in my nest, glock no. They not fishes, gluck gluck, eat up my eggchicks. Rrrrr!’

  ‘Haw haw haw! Did ye mind the look on yon laddie’s beak when I threatened tae eat his wife? He looked fair happy so he did!’

  Mokkan could see the lake in the distance. The Marlfox stood on a hilly rise where the river flowed downward towards the huge body of water. He watched the wild rapids plunging down to the lake, thinking. Now he had come this far there was no point in having the logboat wrecked with himself and the tapestry aboard. He chose two of his remaining water rats.

  ‘You and you, get in the boat and take it down to the lake. The rest of you, pick up that tapestry. Be careful with it. We’ll walk along the bank and meet the boat at the lake’s edge.’

  Stolidly obedient, one of the two rats got into the logboat and picked up a paddle. However, his companion took one look at the pounding, rockstrewn rapids and stayed where he was, safe on shore. Mokkan patted him on the back reassuringly. ‘What’s the matter, afraid of a little rough ride?’

  The water rat’s eyes were wide with fear as he nodded dumbly. Mokkan shrugged, smiling at the rodent. ‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Stay here.’

  The Marlfox’s axe flashed in the sunlight as he slew the unfortunate beast with a single hard blow. Still smiling, he pointed to another water rat. ‘Would you like to stay here with him?’

  The rat leapt into the logboat and seized a paddle. ‘No, sire, I’ll take the boat down to the lake!’

  Mokkan stowed the axe back in his belt. ‘Good. We’ll meet you by the shore!’

  Dann and his friends reached the bottom of the falls at precisely midday. They searched the area as best they could until nigh on late noon. Dippler and Burble came back from their reconnaissance to find the young squirrel seated despondently on the ground, shaking his head.

  ‘There’s not a sign of Song or that osprey, not a feather, a scrap of rope, nothing!’

  Ever the optimist, Burble nodded in agreement. ‘Yiss yiss, that only means one thing, Dann me bucko. Song’s alive an’ safe somewheres. Yiss yiss, y’know wot they say, no news is good news!’

  Dippler flung out a paw in the direction of the water. ‘Then which way d’ye think she’s gone?’

  Dann was suddenly struck wi
th an idea. ‘The Swallow should tell us. Let’s get away from this area to where the water’s smoother. Then we’ll launch her and see which way she carries us. The current goes the same way for anything on the water. Right?’

  ‘Yiss yiss! Good ole Dann, yore right, mate!’

  Finding a good spot, they launched the boat and sat in it, leaving their paddles shipped, so that the water could carry them along. When they were out in the mainstream of the wide swirling pool beneath the waterfall, Dann pointed off to his right. ‘Look, there’s a broad stream running off that way. Maybe that’s the way Song went?’

  Dippler watched the prow of the Swallow nosing along in the water. ‘Maybe, but it ain’t the way we’re bound, pals. Look dead ahead.’

  There was another high cliff in front of them. The water was running straight into a cave beneath the cliffs opposite the falls. The Swallow picked up speed, and they braced themselves. The current was sucking them towards the dark hole. Had they launched the Swallow on the other side of the pool they would have run into the stream, but the realization came too late.

  Dann grabbed his paddle, shouting, ‘Back water, try to turn her or we’ll go right into that hole!’

  But they could not fight the inevitable. Hard as they tried, the little boat was sucked into the dark gaping hole, despite their heroic efforts with the paddles. One moment they were sweating and striving in the bright sunlight, next instant they were swept into the black chasm and into another waterfall, which plunged straight down underground.

  * * *

  27

  Tragglo Spearback and Friar Butty were in the kitchens making oatmeal scones for breakfast. Tragglo pulled trays of the hot scones from the ovens and laid them out in neat rows. Old Friar Butty followed him up, making a sloping slice into the top of each scone, until the whole batch was ready. Then Tragglo took an earthenware jar and a wooden spoon, and starting at the first tray he began filling the slice in each scone with a gob of thick, fawn-coloured honey. Friar Butty followed, placing a thin slice of crystallized plum in the honey. They worked dutifully and well, until Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop sauntered into the kitchens, sniffing the air appreciatively. ‘I say, you chaps, somethin’ smells jolly good, wot!’

  Tragglo menaced the gluttonous hare with his honey spoon. ‘Them’s for breakfast, mister Florian. You put a paw near our scones an’ I’ll raise a lump on it wi’ this ’ere spoon!’

  Florian managed a look of outraged innocence. ‘Steady on, old lad, I’m no blinkin’ scone-robber. I merely popped in, so t’speak, to see if you needed any assistance. No need to accuse a chap of felonious intentions on your scones!’

  Friar Butty continued his work, keeping one eye upon the hare. ‘Well, we don’t need any assistance, so t’speak, thank you. I thought you were supposed to be up on the walltops defending us from vermin attack. What are you doing down here?’

  Florian continued to sniff the aroma of fresh-baked scones, striding up and down the kitchens with an air of exaggerated boredom, getting closer to the cooling trays all the time. ‘Doin’ down here, me? Oh, this’n’that, y’know. Gets rather tedious standin’ on a flippin’ walltop all night, watchin’ those vermin types choppin’ away at a tree. Jolly borin’, wot!’

  Butty looked up from his work. ‘Which tree? What’s going on up there?’

  Florian pulled a wry face at the stout Tragglo, who had placed himself in front of the scones. ‘Over by the north wall, great old three-topped oak, half dead but amazin’ly thick. Those bally villains are hackin’ away at it with axes. They want to fell it so that it’ll fall against the wall an’ provide a road into the Abbey for them. Fiddley dee! It’ll take ’em all season t’chop that monster down. I say, what’re you chaps smilin’ at? Nothin’ to be happy about, really. If that tree falls you’ll have a mob o’ vermin in here pinchin’ your breakfast scones, wot!’

  Tragglo put down his honey jar and spoon. ‘Big half-dead ole three-topped oak at the north wall, d’ye say?’

  ‘Rather, great blinkin’ hunk of a thing. Must be nigh on a squillion seasons old!’

  Friar Butty relinquished the crystallized fruit. Still smiling broadly, he wiped both paws on his apron. ‘Tell me, how long have they been chopping at the old oak?’

  ‘Oh, not too long really. Couldn’t say for sure. Why?’

  Tragglo was making for the door, a huge grin on his face. ‘Come on, Butty, we got to see this!’ The old Recorder followed him eagerly.

  Florian pursued them, snatching two scones from a tray. ‘Wait f’me, chaps. Ooh, ooh, these scones are scorchin’ hot, wot!’

  Janglur Swifteye paced the ramparts, arrow on bowstring, quivering with frustration. ‘Can’t see the scum to get a clear shot, Rus!’

  Rusvul Reguba sat down, covering his ears with both paws. ‘Chop chop chop. The sound o’ those confounded axes is drivin’ me mad, matey!’

  Butty, Tragglo and Florian climbed the north wallsteps, with Cregga, Foremole Gubbio and his mixed crew of moles and Noonvalers following behind. Tragglo peeped over the battlements and laughed aloud. ‘Hohoho! Any moment now they be in for a real surprise!’

  Janglur looked at the Cellarhog strangely. ‘I don’t see nothin’ funny in all this, mate. Neither’ll you if that oak falls atop the wall!’

  Cregga placed a placating paw on the angry squirrell. ‘I’m sorry, friend. Let me explain. That old tree is rotted right through its middle due to big stinging termites. If it weren’t night you could see the hive too, in the fork where the three tops meet. The largest honeybee hive in all Mossflower rests in yonder oak, but we’ve never been able to get at the honey because of the bees and termites. The bees guard their hive and the termites guard the tree. As soon as the vermin strike soft wood they’re in big trouble!’

  Foremole Gubbio shook his head. ‘They’m bumblybees and turmiters be a-takin’ ee arter solstice nap. Hurr, woe to ’e who wakes ’em up, zurr, burr aye!’

  Borrakul peeped over the walltop, his curiosity aroused by the news. ‘When can we expect somethin’ t’happen, marm?’

  Cregga felt about until she found somewhere comfortable to sit. ‘As soon as the axes stop that hard chopping noise and hit the soft rotted wood.’

  As Vannan watched two new axebeasts take the place of two weary ones, Raventail scoffed, ‘Kye arr, we be oldbeasts bytime bigtree fall!’

  The Marlfox ignored the jibe, listening to the steady ring of axeblades against oakwood.

  Chop! Chop! Chop!

  One of the water rats wielding an axe stopped suddenly, wincing as he rubbed furiously at his cheek. Vannan glared at him irately. ‘What have you stopped for?’

  ‘Something stung me, marm!’

  ‘Idiot! Get back to work or my axe will sting your neck!’

  Chop! Chop! Chop! Thunk! Whumph!

  The Marlfox’s pale eyes shone triumphantly. ‘Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Swing those axes harder!’

  As she spoke, Vannan drew in her breath sharply. Raising her left footpaw, she flattened the big termite that was biting her. At the same instant her right footpaw was attacked by several more of the angry insects. In no time at all, Vannan was hopping from one paw to the other, swiping at termites.

  Raventail stepped back, laughing. ‘Kyaahahaharr! Bigmagic fox dancin’ lokka lokka!’

  Both water rats had ceased chopping and were slapping their bodies all over, maddened by the fiery stabs of pain. An ominous buzzing filled the air. Raventail was still laughing as a swarm of bees descended on his head, where they went to work with a vengeance. Now the very air hummed and the ground was alive. Insects flooded from the three-topped oak, biting and stinging anything they encountered. The moment they felt the first stings, Ascrod and Predak fled the scene, leaving Raventail, Vannan and the waiting crowd of barbarians and water rats to their tormentors. The would-be invaders screamed and roared, some throwing themselves flat on the ground, unwittingly escaping the bees only to writhe amid the termites. Others tried to scale trees, driven
almost crazy with agony as bees swarmed all over them. Those who fled were pursued by the bees, and they ran as if they were dancing some insane jig, slapping at the termites that clung doggedly on. Bushes were trampled, low-hanging branches snapped, and the night air rang with screeches and yells.

  Tragglo Spearback began herding everybeast down from the wall, cautioning as they went. ‘Go easy now. Don’t ’urry, move slow an’ stay calm. Those bees ain’t flown up this ’igh yet, but they soon will.’

  Dawn arrived in pale rosewashed sky, scattered with small cream-hued clouds. Cregga Badgermum stood in the Abbey doorway with Ellayo, listening to the massed chorus of birdsong resounding in the woodlands. Ellayo looked over towards the north wall. ‘Birdies sound happy an’ joyous this mornin’, Cregga.’

  ‘Aye, so they do. I hear thrushes, blackbirds, finches and robins too – all manner of our feathered friends. Do you know what they’re doing, Ellayo?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They’re thankin’ the vermin for givin’ ’em such a fine breakfast of bees an’ termites. Kind of the foebeasts, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Indeed it was, though I don’t think they’ll be bothered about birdsong right now. Mud poultices and dock-leaves will be more their concern this fine morning.’

  ‘Let that be a lesson t’the rogues, I say. None of ours were stung, were they, Cregga?’

  ‘Only one. That was Florian, who had a smear of honey on the tip of his nose. That’ll teach him to steal scones!’

  ‘Hush. Here he comes now.’

  The hare looked a comical sight with his nose swathed in a poultice of dockleaf, motherwort and pond mud. He strode towards the pond in search of fresh mud, pursued by several Dibbuns and Tragglo, who had made up a little ditty about the incident, which he sang with evident gusto.

  ‘Ho there am I, a liddle bee,

  A-livin’ in my ole oak tree,