Marlfox (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Watch for the fish of blue and grey,

  Betwixt those two’s the path you take,

  Good fortune wend you on your way!’

  Gawjo’s hooded eyes scanned the waters ahead. ‘Aye, the fish of blue an’ grey, I know ’em well. You’ll see those fish afore twilight. I’ll say nothin’, pretty one. See if’n you can spot ’em – yore young an’ sharp.’

  Twilight came as a relief after the long hot day, gold and crimson flakes of dying sunlight dancing on the waters. Song had positioned herself on the forward rail of the raft. She watched keenly from side to side, taking in all, searching for the signs. From the cabin window she could see Grandpa Gawjo and her friends observing her. The young squirrelmaid paid attention to the tiniest details. Rocks lining the banks, trees growing either side, any patches of bare earth. Then she sighted the fork ahead. A rock that was so large it was almost an island in midriver, causing the waters to part and run both sides of it. The left fork wound off sharply east, the right one curving slightly west, but further downriver straightening to flow due south. It was on the right fork of the island rock that Song spotted the fish. It was a natural spur of the greyish-hued rock, sticking out at an awkward angle, high up. Curiously, it closely resembled a trout, for the shrubbery growing atop it looked like the fish’s small dorsal fin. Where the eye would be positioned there was a crack in the stone, with a thick spray of delicate blue-flowering wall speedwell growing out of it.

  ‘Ahoy, me beauty,’ Gawjo called from the cabin window, ‘which course do we steer? Has the fish showed you yet?’

  Without turning Song held up her right paw. ‘Take the west fork an’ sail due south, Grandpa!’

  Gawjo chuckled as he emerged from the cabin to attend his steering paddle at the stern. ‘Yore a born Swifteye, gel. West’n’south it is!’

  Night had fallen when the lake came into view. The river was running steep and fast, with outcrops of rock poking dangerously from its surface. Gawjo gave the order to his crew. ‘All paws on deck. Pole ’er over these rapids an’ keep yore eyes peeled for those rocks. Lively now!’

  Song and her companions found themselves standing alongside the burly hedgehogs, pushing and punting with the long raft poles. Burble was slightly tardy lifting his pole and was thrust up into the air, the raft rushing by him. Dippler saw him rise and shouted a warning. ‘Watervole overboard! Er, I mean up in the air!’

  Torrab and one of her burly sisters were aft. They snatched Burble and the pole, heaving them back on to the deck before he was left clinging to a pole in midriver as the raft went on without him. Song and her friends were laughing about it when the big craft began to buck and plunge. A hedgehog shot by, looping them all to the raft with a stout rope. Spray struck their faces, and Dann yelled above the din, ‘Look out, here we go, mates!’

  Song would have been frightened had it not been for the confidence she felt in the skill shown by her grandpa and Torrab’s crew. Instead, a wave of exhilaration swept over her as the raft virtually flew down the rapids. Turning and heaving, sometimes head down, other times bow up, night-dark water crested with star-swept spray rushed by in a blur. Megraw balanced firmly on the for’ard rail, calling directions. ‘Rocks comin’ up aheid, swing tae yer left. Left! Left! Noo, awa’ right a wee bitty. Hauld ’er steady, laddies, steady!’

  Without warning a waterfall came up, and they shot straight over the top, right out into space. The breath was whipped from their mouths as they stood frozen, still holding on to the raft poles, water roaring at their back.

  Wwwhhhhrrrrraaaaaakkkkkkkkssssshhhhh! The raft landed flat with an earsplitting splash. Gawjo wiped water from his eyes and shrugged carelessly. ‘Well, this’s the lake. We’ve arrived.’

  Even in the darkness they could feel the immensity of a vast body of water, calm and smooth as a millpond in the warm summer night. Everybeast aboard collapsed into a sitting position, dog-weary and gasping.

  Gawjo was first to recover, and he paced the deck sternly. ‘Come on, me babies, up on yore paws, we’re stickin’ out like a bandaged ear if’n any foebeast shows up. Let’s get ’er ashore an’ into some cover. Jump to it, crew!’

  They chose a spot further east on the lakeshore, where trees grew thick, willows on the fringes dipping their branches into the water. Waist deep in the lake, they levered the raft onshore with the punting poles. Burble stumbled and spat out a mouthful of muddy liquid. ‘A proper ould slave driver that grandpa of yores is, Song. Yiss yiss, a right ould whipcracker!’

  Gawjo’s hooded eyes appeared over the stern, staring straight at the grumbling watervole. ‘Wot was that you were burblin’ about, Burble?’

  ‘Er, ah, ’twas nothin’, sir, yiss yiss, nothin’. We’re all doin’ a fine grand job down here, enjoyin’ ourselves, yiss!’

  Dawn was streaking the lake with beige and pink amid low-lying cloudbanks. The stillness was eerie; there were no sounds of singing birds over the far-reaching inland sea. From stem to stern the raft was covered with boughs and fronds, tufts of vegetation and shrubs. Song thrust a final willow bough into the cabin chimneytop and climbed wearily down to the deck. She threw her grandpa a limp salute. ‘All covered, sir. Permission to sleep?’

  A smile hovered around Gawjo’s slanted eyes as he nodded at the exhausted crew. They had worked hard and well, ‘Hmmm. Well, all right, permission granted. Y’can all sleep standin’ on yore heads with one eye open.’

  Dippler bit his lip with feigned emotion. ‘O sir, yore too kind to us ungrateful wretches!’

  Gawjo tweaked the shrew’s ear. ‘Aye, maybe I am, so I’ll stay awake an’ cut the throat of any crew member found snorin’. How’ll that do ye?’

  Dann sniggered. ‘Better cut yore Song’s throat right now!’

  ‘Ooh, you listen, Dannflor Reguba, you’re the snorer, not me!’

  ‘Oh yiss yiss, Dann’s a grand ould snorer, but I think the champion’s got t’be me good mate Dipp, yiss yiss!’

  ‘Hah! Stripe me blue, look who’s talkin’. Anybeast out on that lake’d think it was a foghorn if you kicked off snorin’!’

  ‘Who, me? Ooh, y’fibber, watervoles don’t snore, ’tis a fact!’

  Gawjo shook with laughter as he watched the indignant young creatures. The old squirrel cut short the dispute with a wave of his paw. ‘Hah! Snore, you think you can snore? Now Torrab an’ these hogs, they can snore! I’ll be surprised if there’s a leaf left on any tree within the area by the time they’re done snorin’. Huh, you ain’t heard snorers until you’ve slept in the same cabin as my family. I should know, ’tis me who’s had to suffer these many long seasons!’

  Torrab gave Gawjo an affectionate pat, nearly knocking him flat. ‘Thou sayest the nicest things, ancient one!’

  Song giggled. ‘Give him another pat, Auntie Torrab!’

  Whether through excitement or over-tiredness, the occupants of the cabin had difficulty in getting to sleep. Dippler propped himself up on a cushion. ‘C’mon, Song, give us a little tune. Mayhap that’ll help us to doze off. Yore grandpa ain’t heard you singin’.’

  Song recalled a ditty of her Grandma Ellayo’s which reminded her of the joy she felt at watching Megraw fly.

  ‘I sit alone and wish that I

  Could be a bird up in the sky,

  I’d join the breezes that do blow,

  Whichever way they chanced to go,

  Far o’er the waves, across the sea,

  I’d drift along quite happily,

  Or maybe out on field and fen,

  I’d circle round some forest glen.

  I envy bee and butterfly,

  Maybe the birds could tell me why

  I wipe a teardrop from my eye,

  I sit alone, for I can’t fly.’

  In actual fact it was Gawjo who was wiping a teardrop from his eye, his mind wandering back over the seasons. ‘Ellayo my wife used to sing that, almost as pretty as you do, Song. Of course, she was much younger in those days.’

  Song stroked the old g
rey head of her grandpa. ‘She’s still young at heart, you’ll see.’

  Gawjo stretched out, closing his eyes. ‘Maybe I will, if we live through what lies ahead, young ’un.’

  Outside it began to rain, softly at first, increasing as a breeze sprang up over the vast reaches of the hidden lake.

  One of Silth’s ceremonial cloaks, held on the spearpoints of two soldiers, provided cover for Mokkan against the driving rain. The Marlfox was in high spirits, far too cheerful to allow a wet morning to ruin his joy. Striding across a high-walled roof at Castle Marl, he peered over at the ground far below. ‘Set it up here!’

  With the aid of twelve slaves, Wilce and Ullig staggered forward, bent beneath the weight of Queen Silth’s palanquin. Grunting and groaning they strained upward until it rested precariously atop the wall. Wilce and Ullig stood bareheaded in the rain among the slaves, awaiting King Mokkan’s pleasure. He flicked a paw dismissively at them. ‘You two, shove it over!’

  It needed only a slight push, and then there was several seconds’ silence, broken by a rending crash. The Marlfox giggled like a youngster as he stared over the walltop at the smashed palanquin on the ground.

  ‘I always hated that thing. Tell somebeast to burn what’s left of it when the weather clears up. Right, follow me, come on, come on, all of you!’

  Wilce and Ullig exchanged apprehensive glances before running in the wake of slaves and soldiers after Mokkan, down the winding slopes of the castle’s corridors. The Marlfox rushed helter skelter in the lead, and arrived at the door of Castle Marl’s main chamber smiling and exhilarated.

  ‘What took you so long? Haha, getting too fat, Ullig, and you Wilce. Inside, all of you, step smartly now!’

  A big carved oak chair had been set in the centre of the floor. Mokkan practically skipped over to sit on it. He banged his paws down on the chair arms. ‘What d’you think? Not bad, eh? Of course, it’s not a real throne, but it’ll do until I have one made. The throne of High King Mokkan. Hahaha, I like that! If my fool brothers and sisters have survived they’ll meet a fine welcome if they try to return.’

  He waved imperiously at the two water rats who had been holding the cloak aloft with their spears. ‘You’ve been with me since I left Redwall Abbey, right?’

  The two stolid guards nodded silently. Mokkan leapt up, energy surging through him, and smiling and winking at the two dullards he clapped their backs heartily. ‘Tell me your names. Speak up, don’t be afraid!’

  ‘Toolam, er, sire, er, Majesty!’

  ‘Durrlow, your Majesty!’

  The Marlfox paced a circle around both rats, looking them up and down approvingly. ‘Good honest soldiers, faithful and obedient, just what a King needs. Durrlow, you are now my Personal Adviser. Toolam, I promote you to be Commander of my army!’ Adopting a look of mock sadness, he nodded at Wilce and Ullig. ‘Loyalty brings its rewards, you see. I always told you, never trust a vixen, and now look what Lantur has brought you to. Oh, don’t look so glum. I’ve found an important job for you both, so cheer up!’

  The two water rats managed to put on uneasy smiles. Mokkan winked mischievously at them. ‘You can hang my beautiful tapestry for me. Hmm, let me see, that wall over there should do. Toolam, Durrlow, see to it that they hang it good and straight, use your spearbutts to chastise them if they don’t. Ullig, I’m sorry, my old friend, I can’t afford an untrustworthy Captain, so you’re back to being a rank and file soldier again. Wilce, you’ve had it too easy for long enough, it’s back into uniform for you I’m afraid. Right, that’s that! I’m off to see what the cooks have prepared for my breakfast. I’m famished enough to eat a meal fit for a King. Fit for a King, good, eh? Hahahaha!’

  Mokkan paused at the door and pointed to the slaves. ‘You’ll find that nothing escapes your new King’s notice. Work hard and well, I may free you from slavery and promote you to be soldiers in my army, tell your friends this. And you soldiers, if I find you to be slow and lazy, then I’ll take away your uniforms and make slaves of you, let your comrades know this. But remember this, all of you, even think of playing me false and you’ll find out the lake still possesses teeth. Make sure everybeast knows that!’

  The door slammed, and the self-proclaimed King Mokkan could be heard trotting off down the sloping passage, laughing at the echo of his own voice. ‘I’m feeling hungry today, hungry! Hahahahaha!’

  The slaves were left in a bewildered group by the door, murmuring quietly to each other.

  ‘Never ’eard nothin’ like that in all the time I been ’ere.’

  ‘Aye, he’s as mad as his mother was!’

  ‘It must be the sudden power gone to his brain, I think.’

  ‘Huh, I’d sooner be dead than serve a Marlfox as a soldier!’

  ‘Crazier than his sister was, if’n y’ask me!’

  ‘Who’s bothered about wot we think? Nobeast asks a slave anythin’, mate, they tells them!’

  A water rat soldier prodded the speaker roughly with his spear. ‘Stow the gab there. Silence, you lot! Back down t’the pens with yer, quick march. One two, one two . . .’

  The hefty hedgehog maid, who had made the final remark, muttered to her companion, a grizzled old shrew, ‘See wot I mean, friend?’

  Toolam gestured at the rolled tapestry. He felt nervous and unsure at issuing orders to creatures who had formerly been his superiors. ‘Er, pick it up!’

  Without any argument Wilce and Ullig bent to lift the tapestry. Suddenly Toolam was seized by a wave of confidence he had never felt before. Inflating his narrow chest, he realized that he really was Commander of the army. A slow grin suffused his normally expressionless features. ‘Be careful y’don’t damage it, you clumsy fools!’

  Durrlow joined him, eager to exploit his new-found powers. ‘Aye, or you’ll feel our spear ’andles, you butter-pawed oafs!’

  As Wilce and Ullig staggered to the wall with the tapestry slung carefully between them, Toolam and Durrlow grinned at each other and swaggered boldly behind the subdued pair. They had begun to realize that power was a mighty intoxicating thing to possess.

  * * *

  32

  Grey afternoon cast its pall over the lake. Sheeting rain swept back and forth, causing the surface to spatter under a ceaseless bombardment of drops. When the raft had been poled clear of the shallows, Gawjo dropped a piece of trout, donated by the Megraw, into the lake. It drifted beneath the water for a moment, then two pike struck, dragging it under as they fought for possession of the morsel. Torrab watched over the old squirrel warrior’s shoulder.

  ‘Methinks ’tis time we sought out the bows, Father.’

  Gawjo wiped fishy paws on his jerkin, nodding agreement. ‘Aye, daughter, this is where the pike shoals start.’

  Short bows with thin sharp arrows were fetched from the cabin. Torrab and six other hed gehogs notched shafts to their bowstrings and began firing arrows in a sloping direction at the water. Soon a pike was hit. It thrashed about close to the surface, vicious and hookjawed, a real lake monster. The arrow had wounded it, causing a blood trail in the water, and with terrifying speed it was attacked by a horde of other pike. The hedgehogs shot arrows furiously into the shoal, hitting the big fish indiscriminately, until Gawjo gave the order to stop firing.

  Song had watched the whole thing from a cabin window. She did not like to see any living thing slain needlessly. The squirrelmaid questioned her grandpa as he stamped into the cabin, shaking rain from himself. ‘Why were you shooting at the fish, Grandpa?’

  Gawjo sat down at the table, wriggling a paw in his damp ear. ‘All part o’ the plan, me young beauty. This lake’s swarmin’ with pike. They’ve tried to attack us before now – you don’t realize how big an’ dangerous some o’ those fish’ve become. So the plan is to shoot one. The pike are natural cannibals, they’ll go for that ‘un an’ eat it. So we shoot a few more an’ pretty soon they come far far’n’wide to feed on ’em.’

  Song shuddered. ‘Ugh! How horrible!’

&nbs
p; Gawjo shrugged, pouring himself some hot mint and dandelion tea. ‘Aye, ’tis not a pretty sight, but that’s the nature o’ pike. They fight o’er eatin’ their own so fiercely that they bite each other, causin’ more blood t’flow. Before you know it nearly all the pike in the lake are gathered there, snappin’ an’ rippin’ each other to bits. Whilst their blood lust is on them they won’t bother us or our raft.’

  Megraw watched the rainy skies from the window. ‘Whit a waste o’ guid food! Nary a sign o’ they maggypies oot on yon lake yet. Mebbe inclement weather’s keepin’ ’em close tae hame on their isle.’

  Gawjo sipped his tea gratefully. ‘The weather’s on our side an’ the wind’s drivin’ us towards the island. With luck we may make land by the morrow’s dawn.’

  Burble picked up a small stringed instrument from the corner where he was sitting and twanged it.

  ‘Can anybeast be after playin’ this thing? May’ap Song’ll give us a ditty, yiss yiss?’

  A huge male hedgehog relieved Burble of the instrument. ‘Nay, rivermousey, sound doth carry far o’er waters like these.’

  Song pulled a face at her friend. ‘He’s right, y’know, rivermousey. You’ll have to recite us one of your rivermousey poems, nice and quiet now!’

  Burble’s fur actually bristled with indignation. ‘Sure I’ll recite nothin’ while I’m bein’ insulted. If anybeast calls me rivermousey once more I’ll fight ’em. Yiss yiss, so I will! I don’t call you treewalloper, do I?’

  Song laughed at her bristly companion. ‘Call me what y’like, I don’t care. Rivermousey!’

  Dippler burst out laughing. ‘Hawhaw haw! Rivermousey, that’s a good ’un!’

  Burble rounded on him with a wicked grin. ‘Who asked you, boatbottom?’

  The cabin became a verbal battleground as laughing and giggling they hurled insults at one another.

  ‘Hohoho! Boatbottom, that’s a great name for you, Dipp!’

  ‘Ho is it now, Dannflower broomtail. Hawhaw haw!’

  Gawjo joined in. ‘Heehee, flopears is a better name for that ’un, or popplepaws. Heeheeheehee!’