The Pearls of Lutra

by Brian Jacques

  Many seasons of soft living had slowed the pine marten. He was running flat out, but the fox was leaner and tougher; even half winded he was twice the runner Ublaz would ever be. Increasing his pace, Rasconza raced along, dagger in paw.

  Ublaz made it to the wall with Rasconza only a short distance behind him. Grabbing the knotted rope, Mad Eyes bellowed hoarsely, ‘Pull! Pull me up!’

  The four Monitors hauled with all their might, and Ublaz shot upward. Rasconza leapt, striking out savagely with his blade.

  Ublaz screeched in agony as the dagger pierced his footpaw, then he was seized by scaly claws and pulled over the wall to safety. Limping and hopping about on one footpaw, he yelled, ‘Defend the walls, hurry!’

  The front ranks of Wave Brethren attempting to scale the walls were met by vicious thrusts from the Monitors’ lances. Sitting on the woodpile, Ublaz nursed his paw, staunching the blood with his cloak hem. He beckoned the largest Monitor over.

  ‘Zurgat, you must keep them at bay. If they breach the wall you and your Monitors are deadbeasts.’

  The big lizard slithered her tongue in and out, nodding. ‘Yarr, Lord. Zearatz and corzairs have no pity on Monitorz. They will not enter here while we guard theze wallz.’

  Ublaz patted her scaly hide as he lied encouragingly. ‘We will defeat them. Lask Frildur is due back within the next day or so, with his Monitors and a full vermin crew that I can bring under my will. We’ll soon chase that rabble into the sea.’

  By nightfall the Wave Brethren had retreated from the walls and set up camps a short distance away, Rasconza’s plan being to lay siege to the palace. Searats and corsairs, sharing a healthy fear of the great flesh-eating lizards, were only too willing to go along with the fox’s scheme. Better to harass and starve Ublaz and his Monitors out than face them head on in battle.

  Inside the palace, Ublaz stood at his throne room window, staring out to sea as he tried to gather his thoughts. At least the wavescum had only one ship seaworthy; the rest were without rudders and tillers, and two were without proper masts. He did not have to worry about an attack from the sea, as long as he could hold on to the timber needed for repairs. Below him the jetty lay deserted; it presented no problem at present.

  Suddenly, the Emperor’s keen eyes picked up a dark object to the east. He watched it getting closer, realization dawning on him. Waveworm! It was Lask Frildur and the Monitors, with Romsca and her crew, bringing back the Abbot of Redwall as hostage. Unknowingly Ublaz had been telling the truth to Zurgat when he had spoken to her earlier.

  His mad eyes lit up as he formulated a plan. Waveworm would soon be at the jetty. He would go and meet the ship and, once he had Lask, Romsca, and the rest back inside his palace, he could defeat Rasconza’s rabble.

  Gritting his teeth, Ublaz stared at the approaching vessel. He had fought against odds before and won. The pine marten convinced himself that his present troubles were due to the treachery and stupidity of others. This time he alone would control events. He, Ruler of all Oceans and Lord of Sampetra, the Emperor Ublaz! If he trusted only himself and no otherbeast, victory over his enemies was a certainty!

  Abbot Durral was sick and exhausted. He had spent long days clearing the ship of dead lizard and vermin carcasses, consigning each one to the depths of the sea in silence. Weakened by lack of food, ill with loneliness and despair, the old mouse crouched in a darkened cabin. Shivering and semi-conscious, the lone passenger aboard a vessel taking him he knew not where, he did not even feel the keel grinding onto seawashed sand and gravel as Waveworm ran unchecked, missing the jetty and nosing to a halt on the shores of Sampetra.

  Swathed in a dark silken cloak, Ublaz slid out of the main gates like a furtive cloud shadow, stealing by deserted taverns across the waterfront. He could not understand why Waveworm had not berthed properly alongside the jetty. It lay in the shallows, with neither anchor nor picket line to hold it. Ublaz waded out, hoping to catch the crew asleep at their posts.

  The first thing Ublaz noticed as he climbed aboard Waveworm was the total absence of noise, not even the snoring of crewbeasts. Making his way to the for’ard cabins he found one with the door hanging crazily by a hinge, its centre panel shattered and bloodstained. It was empty. Dashing through the accommodation the pine marten flung open doors, staring around in disbelief. Empty, all empty!

  Making his way aft the first thing he noticed was the tiller, lashed in position. Then he saw the dark stains on rail and deck planking, which told their own grim tale. Death had visited the Waveworm.

  In a stern cabin he found a fire brazier and, stretching his paws inside, Ublaz felt a slight warmth. Within the last day or so, somebeast had managed to get a small fire going there. He checked a pan nearby, wrinkling his nose at the cold, rancid water.

  Then a thin, cracked voice called from the shadow of a bunk. ‘We’ll need more blackberries if we’re to make a pie that big, Friar Higgle. Where’s Teasel? She’ll know where to get some . . .’

  Stealing silently across to the bunk, Ublaz lifted aside the tattered blanket. The Emperor of Sampetra found himself looking at the prone, shivering figure of Redwall’s Father Abbot.

  45

  THE LOGBOAT THAT had once been part of the craft Freebeast was in as good a shape as skilled paws could make it. Provisioned fully by the good otters of Ruddaring Island, it was ready to face the seas again. Martin and his crew once more lay flat, pulling themselves on the thick hawser through the fantastic grotto-like tunnel, with its shell-crusted ceiling and luminous blue light. When the vital wave arrived, they gave a final heave. Hot sunlit daylight streamed in from outside as the tunnel mouth yawned wide. Like a cork, the logboat bobbed out onto the open main. Wallyum Rudderwake, his sturdy son Inbar and several other otters had followed, and now they hung lightly on the boat’s sides.

  The otter leader had a wooden whistle slung about his neck. He shook seawater from it and blew the whistle several times.

  ‘What’n the name o’ goodness is he blowin’ that thing for?’ Clecky whispered to Martin. ‘I can’t hear a bally sound from it, chap’s got a broken whistle I’d say, wot?’

  ‘Maybe you can’t hear the whistle, but the sealfolk can,’ Martin explained to the bemused hare. ‘Wallyum told me they would stay in these waters roundabout until he had spoken with them about us.’

  Clecky chose a large, ripe peach from the supplies. Juice dribbled down his chin as he chomped into it. ‘Funny business if y’ask me, old scout. Tunnels through mountains, whistles y’can’t hear an’ whatnot . . .’

  Grath nudged him sharply. ‘Well we never asked you, so be quiet and wait!’

  Wallyum sounded the whistle again. This time a dark, rounded head broke the waves a short distance south. The seal barked once, dived and was gone. The friends sat in the logboat waiting; the otters occasionally swimming away to circle round slowly.

  It was over an hour before anything happened. Suddenly, the waters around the logboat broke with a great whoosh, and sealfolk appeared everywhere, smacking their flippers and rolling about between the waves. Hawm, the massive king bull seal, broke the surface directly in front of the otter leader.

  ‘Feryooday, Waaaaaaaaylumm!’

  The Chieftain of Holt Rudderwake clapped his paws together. ‘Manyahooday, Haaaaaaaaaaaaawm!’

  ‘My father is saying that he hopes the king lives long,’ Inbar murmured to Grath.

  Then Hawm and Wallyum went into a long animated discussion. Martin watched them carefully, though he understood almost nothing of what they were saying. However, now and again he heard his own name mentioned as Ma’tan and he figured that the word ‘Sarmpat’ meant Sampetra. The logboat crew sat patiently until the discussion was over, then Wallyum held out a paw to his son.

  ‘Help me aboard the boat, I would speak with our friend Martin.’ Inbar vaulted aboard the logboat and with Grath’s help lifted the old otter clear of the water and swung him inboard.

  The mouse warrior listened intently as Wallyum counselle
d him. ‘Hawm says that he knows the isle of Sampetra. It is southwest of here. Nobeast reads the ocean, its tides and currents, like the king of the sealfolk; he will get you there with all speed. But he says that it is a place of great danger and he will not risk the lives of his tribe by staying there long. Once at that island you are alone with your crew; be on your guard at all times because it is a place of great evil. Tread carefully and may fates and fortunes aid you and your five companions, Martin of Redwall.’

  ‘With your permission, I would make Martin’s companions six, father.’

  Wallyum clasped his son’s paw. ‘I know you would, Inbar Trueflight – ever since the boat arrived at our island and you set eyes upon another. You have been a good son and Ruddaring is a tiny rock in the ocean. It will be a good thing for you to see the world outside, knowing that you may return to your home if it is not to your liking. Go, my son, and may all your seasons be filled with happiness!’

  Inbar nodded his head vigorously, shaking off a teardrop into the sea. He clasped his father’s paw tightly. ‘Thank you, sir. May the holt not need another leader for seasons untold. Would you wait here while I go back for my bow and arrows? I left them on the riverbank.’

  Grath patted the weapons lying alongside her. ‘I have them here, Inbar. Your father was not the only beast who could see that you wanted to come with us.’

  Wallyum smiled, nodding fondly at Grath Longfletch. ‘Take good care of each other,’ he said.

  Then the old otter slid into the water to join the other otters who had swum through the tunnel. He held up a paw to the seal king. ‘Gittawooom, nugorra omminsawll. Gittarra, Haaaaaaaaawm!’

  The seal king barked sharply, his voice echoing from the mountain. ‘Feryoon Waaaaaylumm. Gittarra!’

  Leaping to the logboat’s trailing cables, the sealfolk sent a huge bow wave spraying high as they sped off southwest.

  Viola tugged at Inbar’s paw. ‘What did they say?’ she asked.

  The big otter smiled down at the volemaid. ‘My father said, “Go with the waves, let none harm you, Ruler of Waters, go with all speed, great king.” Then Hawm replied, “Stay well, Wallyum,” then he told his seals “Gittarra”, which means, go with all speed, or, literally, cut the waves.’

  Clecky, who was already selecting from the provisions for the midday meal, sniffed. ‘I knew that! Huh, seal lingo, speak it like a jolly old seal I do, y’can’t fool the great Haaaaaaawm Clecky, y’know!’

  Grath turned, looking back at the island. ‘From ’ere y’d think it was just some straight-sided rock stickin’ up out of the sea, nobeast’d ever guess wot it looks like inside.’

  Inbar looked up from the chunk of beeswax he was rubbing upon his bowstring to protect it. ‘Aye, that’s what has always kept the island safe for the otters of Holt Rudderwake. Tell me, this place, Redwall Abbey – what’s it like to live there?’

  Grath borrowed the beeswax from him and began working on her bow. ‘I couldn’t say, mate, never been there, though I’d like to.’

  Viola interrupted the two otters, not attempting to hide the note of pride in her voice. ‘I was born and bred in the Abbey of Redwall. It’s the most wonderful place you could wish to be. I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Martin perched in the for’ard peak of the speeding logboat as it skimmed the sunlit waves, a fine seaspray causing him to blink as he gazed down at the Hawm of sealfolk. Shining like dark mottled glass, the great bull’s sleek form cut the waters a pawslength beneath the surface, towing the boat with his seals, as easily as a feather upon the breeze. Touching the hilt of the sword slung across his shoulders, the Warriormouse stared at the horizon, watching for the first glimpse of Sampetra and wondering what fate and fortune awaited them at the perilous isle of the mad-eyed Emperor Ublaz.

  46

  ARVEN WAS STEALING the hazelnut cream pie from beneath Tansy’s nose. The young hedgehog maid knew he was, but she could not be bothered trying to stop him. Pulling dreadful fierce faces, the squirrelbabe puffed his cheeks in and out as he helped himself to her beaker of rosehip tea, then, climbing up on the table, he performed a somersault and landed right in front of her face.

  ‘Tansy pansy toogle doo. Boo!’

  Glum-faced and pensive, Tansy lifted him down to the floor. ‘Oh, toogle doo yourself, you little nuisance, go and play outside with the other Dibbuns. Go on, be off with you!’

  Arven waggled his bushy tail sternly at her. ‘Shuddent talk t’Arven like dat, me a h’otter wurrier now. Kyah! You not funny any more, Arven goin’ a play!’

  Hopping and skipping, he bounded from Great Hall, out into the warm late afternoon orchard, to see what mischief he could create with his Dibbun comrades. Tansy watched him go, then turned back to the table, leaning moodily, chin in paws.

  ‘My, my, what a long face! You look as if you’ve just had a good dose of my warm nettle soup! What ails you, miss?’

  Tansy made no reply, merely shrugging at Sister Cicely’s enquiry. But Cicely was not one to give up easily. She persisted with her interrogation of the hogmaid.

  ‘You suffered no permanent damage at Ninian’s and your friends Craklyn and Rollo seem to be in good health. Come on, Tansy, this is not like you. What’s the matter?’

  Tansy pushed away her plate and beaker. ‘Do you know where to find the purple arrowhead, Sister, or the rose that blooms ever fair, or the right hip for that matter? Because if you do I’d be pleased if you’d tell me, but otherwise I wish you’d please leave me alone. I mean no disrespect, Sister, but I’ve got such a lot of thinking to do.’

  Sister Cicely sniffed rather frostily. ‘As you wish, Tansy, but I hope you solve your problem and it brightens up your disposition a bit.’

  Tansy rose dispiritedly from the table and wandered off towards the gatehouse. Even before she reached it, Craklyn’s voice could be heard repeating the sixth rhyme aloud.

  ‘My sixth and last tear I give unto you,

  When Redwallers lie abed,

  At midnight see, in full moon view,

  The purple arrowhead.

  Travel east, six rods from the tip,

  To the rose that blooms ever fair,

  See if you can find the right hip,

  Turn west and you’re halfway there.’

  The gatehouse door was wide open, and Tansy walked in. Dust motes floated everywhere in the sunrays streaming through window and doorframe. Rollo sat poring over old copies of Abbey Records.

  Craklyn lay sprawled in the armchair. She looked up at Tansy, and said, ‘It’s no use, Rollo has searched and rummaged through all the back records and we haven’t come up with a single clue.’

  The old Recorder slammed a volume shut in a cloud of dust. ‘Atchoo! Oh, ’scuse me. Craklyn’s right, though, I’ve been hard at it since dawn and there’s not a single mention of purple arrowheads anywhere in the records. Great seasons, Wullger’s going to have a fit when he sees the mess we’ve made in here – he cleaned the gatehouse out only last evening. Well, misses, it looks like we’re really stuck this time. If only we had one clue, just one tiny thing to help us! Time is running out – goodness knows where the Abbot is now, with Martin gone after him. And Viola still not found – she may have been seized again by rogues and vermin. We may well need those pearls for ransom. We must be ready. Remember what we said, we must find those pearls for Piknim.’

  Suddenly Tansy recalled the previous night. ‘Before I fell asleep last night I thought I heard the voice of Martin the Warrior. He said to me, the Abbess will find it for Piknim on the same ground where the fifth was found. At least I think that’s what he said. I can’t recall anything else because at that point I must’ve fallen asleep.’

  Craklyn hurled an armchair cushion at her friend. ‘You great puddenhead, Martin spoke to you last night and you’ve only just thought to mention it now?’

  Tansy caught the cushion and threw it back. ‘Well, that’s because I only recalled it now! Tell that bushtailed buffoon, will you, Rollo!’

&nbs
p; The old Recorder took the cushion as Craklyn aimed it for another throw. He stared at them both over his glasses, and said, ‘Now, now, young maids, no fighting please. Tansy’s right, Craklyn, the remembrance of our dreams is often triggered by somebeast saying a certain phrase. For instance, a moment ago I said that we must find those pearls for Piknim. Martin mentioned the words find it for Piknim, and that’s what caused Tansy to remember. Though it does sound rather odd, the Abbess will find it for Piknim. Which Abbess? Redwall only has an Abbot, fates and fortunes rest favourably upon him wherever he is now. We don’t have an Abbess.’

  ‘But we do have a clue at last,’ said Tansy, who had brightened up considerably. ‘On the same ground where the fifth was found. We found the fifth pearl in Great Hall. Come on!’

  Friar Higgle and Auma were carrying things out to the shore of the Abbey pond. Halfway across Great Hall, laden with firewood and sweet herbs, they stopped at the sight of the three friends standing in the middle of the large chamber, looking about.

  ‘Hi there, what are you searching for, more clues?’ Auma called.

  Craklyn explained about Tansy’s dream to the badger Mother, and Auma found herself looking around, at the ceiling, walls and floor. ‘We must never ignore anything Martin tells us,’ she said, ‘but what are you hoping to find here?’

  Rollo held up the scrap of parchment for her to see. ‘A purple arrowhead, that’s what it says here.’

  Friar Higgle took the parchment. ‘Let me see that. Aye, yore right, a purple arrow’ead, but you got to look for it when Redwallers lie abed, at midnight by the light o’ the full moon. So till then you may’s well do somethin’ useful, ’elp us to set up supper on the pond edge. Lucky fer you there is a full moon t’night. Supper’s allus good fun on a summer night by the pond when ’tis moonlit.’