Salamandastron (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Fie on you, great guardian, for can you not see,

  These young ones are hungry, and they are with me.’

  All the young ones shouted at Thrugg:

  ‘So stand aside and let us pass!’

  Thrugg stood to one side as they dashed cheering to the tables. Samkim took Thrugg’s paw and led him to the feast.

  ‘Mr Thrugg, I dreamed about you last night.’

  ‘Hohoho, I’ll bet you did an’ all, young un!’

  ‘Mr Thrugg, why does everybeast call you great guardian?’

  ‘Oh, that’s only on Nameday, Samkim, when I’m dressed up as a badger. In the old days the Abbey badger was often called guardian. It was usually a female badger, like a great mother to Redwallers she was. Why do you ask?’

  But the excitement of the feast had gripped Samkim, and he ran to his place at table between Arula and the two stoats, knotting a napkin about his neck as he called out, ‘Hey, Mrs Spinney, are those apple turnovers hot? Pass me one, will you please. Oho, look at our Great Hall cake, Arula. It’s the best one in all Mossflower, isn’t it, Friar Bellows?’

  Further down the table, the Foremole and his crew were setting to with a will.

  ‘Yurr, Grunel, pass oi some damsen pudden, hurr hurr!’

  ‘Moi o moi, wot wunnerful unnycream. Oi spreads it on ever’ think.’

  ‘Gurrout, you’m be a-spreaden et on moi veggible pastie!’

  ‘Yurr, zurr hotter, you’m been at this soup agin?’

  Bremmun was demonstrating a special travelling hare snack to two open-mouthed fieldmice. ‘When I was your age I saw a travelling hare do this when he visited us one Nameday. Hares are real gluttons. Watch! First he took a good flat apple turnover like this – pass me that meadowcream – then he spread it thick and stuck a pair of blackberry tarts on it, like this. Next he ladled it with honey, so, then he placed a huge slice of hazelnut and pear flan on top and ate the lot. Just like this! Mmmfff, snnninch, grooff!’

  Dingeye, his face shrouded in whipped strawberry cream, was bolting down candied chestnuts and mintcream wafers at the same time. Thura was dipping a hot vegetable pastie into honeyed plums and woodland trifle, stopping now and then to gulp down great swigs of dandelion and burdock.

  ‘Phwaw! Mucker! This is the life. Good ol’ Redwall, that’s wot I say!’

  ‘Yer right there, mucker. It was almost worth washin’ all those greasy pans for, an’ gettin’ a bath too!’

  ‘Nothin’s worth gettin’ a bath for, bubblenose. Yowch! That’s me paw yore tryin’ to eat!’

  Arula watched the two stoats glowering at each other. The little molemaid took her nose out of a slice of Great Hall cake long enough to chuckle.

  ‘Oi must tell Froir Bellers about that un. Stoatpaw pudden, hurrhurr! Yurr, Dumble, get you’m nose out’n moi drink!’

  The infant dormouse guzzled the last of Arula’s cider and started making inroads upon the Abbess’s elderberry wine. ‘I’m firsty, turrible firsty!’

  Burrley mole and Tudd Spinney had cornered a great heap of cheeses and October ale, which they sampled judiciously.

  ‘Ho, Maister Tudd, try’ee big yeller cheese wi’ chesknutters innit. Et be a gurt fav’rite o’ moin.’

  The old hedgehog blew the foam off a flagon of ale. ‘Hmm, nice ’n’ nutty. ’Ave some o’ my special field-white cheese wi’ celery an’ onion – very tasty wi’ that oatbread.’

  A challenge was thrown out by Thrugg’s sister Thrugann: which of them could eat a bowl of the shrimp and bulrush soup with the most hotroot pepper in it. Thrugg threw a pawful in his bowl and started spooning it down. Thrugann promptly put two pawfuls into her soup and went at it with her eyes streaming. Not to be outdone, Thrugg added a full ladle of the pepper to his, whereupon Thrugann tipped the full peppersack over the top of her bowl. With tears gushing from their reddened eyes, both otters spooned away bravely until the Abbess called out, ‘I declare a draw, the winners, Thrugg and Thrugann!’

  Both otters bolted from the table and immersed their heads in an open cask of old cider. Amid the laughter from the tables, the sound of Thrugg and Thrugann sucking in massive draughts of cider to cool their burning mouths could be heard all over the orchard.

  Brother Hollyberry tipped both the bowls into his own and spooned the lot down without turning a hair, his only comment being, ‘Hmm, this soup could do with a little more pepper. I like it good and spicy!’

  Friar Bellows sat back and loosened off his waistcord. ‘Phew, very good, very good! I don’t know which is the hardest, preparing it all or trying to eat it all. Pass me a maplecream tart will you, Brother Hal.’

  The Brother broke open an oatloaf stuffed with summer salad. ‘Tut tut, not beginning to flag are you, Bellows?’

  The good Friar sat up straight and quaffed a beaker of mint tea. The maplecream tart disappeared rapidly, even though it was a large plate-sized one.

  ‘Beginning to flag? Listen, my goodmouse, flagging is for young fellers like yourself. I’m one who knows how to keep up a steady pace. Cut me a wedge of that Great Hall cake, please.’

  Towards the bottom of the table several baby mice and young hedgehogs had secreted a sizeable fruit and cream trifle under the table. They sat on the ground, eating it with their paws, out of the sight of older creatures who insisted on them using spoons, and there was trifle everywhere.

  ‘Mmm, ‘s better wivvout spoons!’

  ‘Heehee, I c’n eat it wiv all four paws. Lookit me!’

  By noon most creatures had deserted the festive board and were lying beneath trees and bushes all over the orchard. Dumble and the rest of the infants were snoring loudly in a hammock that Sister Nasturtium had strung between two apple trees. Samkim and Arula joined Brother Hollyberry and Friar Bellows in the shade of a big old maple that grew in the south corner, and Hollyberry yawned and stretched as he settled down to his nap. ‘Well, Samkim, how are the two stoats enjoying Nameday?’

  Samkim’s half-open eyes were trying to follow a large bee as it droned lazily towards the flowerbeds. ‘Oh, those two. Would you believe it, Brother? They’re still at the table eating. I’m sure they think there’s going to be a famine. Huh, talk about scoff!’

  ‘They’m woant be no gudd for ’ee games this evenin’, zurr.’

  Arula stifled a giggle as she pointed to Friar Bellows. The fat little Friar was lying upon his back, fast asleep, snoring with his mouth wide open. A spider on its thread was directly over his mouth, hanging there. It went into his mouth and blew out again each time he inhaled and exhaled. They all laughed silently, not wanting to wake him.

  ‘If’n Froir doant blow out ’ard enuff, ’ee’ll ’ave spider pudden.’

  Mara and Pikkle dashed off as Sapwood shot away in the opposite direction. Ferahgo and Klitch headed the band that had come over the hill. They had lost the element of surprise, breaking into a charge when they heard Goffa shout.

  The Assassin sized up the situation quickly as he breasted the hill. Immediately he called to his followers, ‘After the hare, get the spy – the other two are cut off!’

  Running southwards over the dunes, Mara and Pikkle saw to their dismay two ferrets and a fox circling in on them. Ferahgo had sent them in behind on a wide sweep to take Sapwood from the back, and now they were heading straight for the two young ones.

  As they closed in, Mara felt a fury rise within her; they had been deceived by false friends. Hurriedly she breathed to Pikkle, passing him the javelin, ‘Leave the fox to me. You take one of the ferrets, and we’ll deal with the other one together!’

  The fox carried a pike. He snarled at Mara and came straight for her. Recalling Sapwood’s action, she jumped to one side, swept the pike away and struck out hard with both paws. The fox was not expecting such aggression from a young female badger, and there was a resounding crack as both of Mara’s forepaws met solidly along the side of his jaw. His eyes expressed surprise for a moment, then turned up until only the whites were showing, and the fox buckled and
fell in a limp heap.

  Meanwhile, Pikkle ran straight for the two ferrets and laid the first one low by thwacking him hard between the ears with the javelin. It did the trick wonderfully, but the force of the blow snapped the weapon in two halves.

  Mara dashed in. Grabbing a pointed half, she brandished it wildly, growling in a dangerous manner, ‘Come on, Pikkle. Let’s see if this vermin can die like a warrior!’

  The ferret, who was wielding a dagger, lost his nerve completely – two angry creatures with a broken javelin were closing in on him, their eyes alight with battlefire. With a shriek of fear he dropped the dagger and ran for his life.

  Mara picked up the dagger. She was breathing heavily and snarling to herself. ‘Try to stop me, eh? Just let’s see them try!’

  Pikkle’s ears drooped in amazement. ‘Good grief, old gel. I never realized you were such a swashbucklin’ warrioress!’

  The young badger was trembling all over after her first experience of warlike action. ‘Nor did I, Pikkle, nor did I. It’s a frightening thing to have the fighting blood of a badger running through your veins!’

  A burst of whooping and shouting from across the dunes announced that many more of Ferahgo’s army were coming.

  ‘No time for gossipin’ now, chum.’ Pikkle grabbed Mara’s paw. ‘Come on, we’d best make a run for it – there’s too many for us to cope with, by the sounds of that lot!’

  Together they dashed off willy-nilly across the sand-hills.

  Sapwood had run off in the opposite direction, with the main pack hard on his heels. The hare Sergeant was an experienced campaigner, and he put on a turn of speed that could not be equalled by his pursuers, knowing that he could not keep running at that rate for any length of time. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that three front-runners, all weasels, had broken away from the pack and were trying hard to catch up. Smiling grimly to himself, Sapwood dropped out of sight behind a dune, mentally gauging their approach. At exactly the right moment he sprang out in front of them, paws at the ready. Before they could stop, he had laid two of them flat, one with a superb double frontpaw volley to the nose, the other by lashing out with his long hindlegs and catching the weasel square under the chin. The third he mistimed and dealt a glancing blow to the stomach. As he turned to finish the job with a hooking leftpaw, the winded creature swung out with his curved sword and gashed Sapwood’s paw heavily. The rest of the hunters were too close now, so Sapwood gave a grunt of pain and took off swiftly, ducking, bobbing and dodging as he ran.

  Ferahgo and Klitch stopped running and stood together on top of a dune, Ferahgo watching the main band chasing after Sapwood.

  He spat angrily into the sand. ‘Hellteeth! They’re no match for a running hare – he could run and dodge at half that speed and those oafs would never catch him. How are the others doing?’

  Klitch stood on tip-paw, scouring the dunes in the other direction. ‘I can’t see them anywhere. They should be able to catch ’em. There’s enough of ours chasing those two.’

  Ferahgo slumped down and began thrusting his skinning knife into the ground in high bad temper. ‘It’s like I’ve always said, if you want anything doing then do it yourself, don’t rely on others. Fools and clods!’

  Klitch curled his lip scornfully. ‘I did all the spying, me and Goffa. We brought them here – all you had to do was surround them.’

  ‘You young whelp!’ Ferahgo stood up, levelling his knife meaningly. ‘Are you saying that it was me who let them escape?’

  Klitch’s sword appeared swiftly; his eyes were hard as blue ice. ‘I’m just stating the facts, old one!’

  The Assassin quivered with rage. He twirled his knife so that he was holding it in a throwing position. ‘Old one, eh!’

  Klitch moved forward, closing in so that the chance of a knife-throw was ruined, his sword point virtually touching Ferahgo’s throat. ‘Aye, old one – and you won’t live to be much older if you try anything with that frog-sticker!’

  Two pairs of angry challenging blue eyes faced each other for a moment, then Ferahgo snarled and sheathed his blade. ‘Aaah, what’s the use of fighting between ourselves? Where’s the profit in that? All our hiding and spying is blown now, so we’ll muster the whole horde and march on Salamandastron tonight!’

  10

  The Redwallers had deserted the feasting table, leaving the two gluttonous stoats, who were loath to leave food uneaten.

  ‘Wahoo, I’m burstin’, mucker. Toss me another cob o’ that Great Wall cake!’

  A half-finished apple turnover fell from Dingeye’s mouth as he shoved the remnants of the Great Hall cake in Thura’s direction. He belched loudly and poured October ale into his mouth from an oversized jug. ‘Huh, you’re burstin’? Lookit me, stoat! Aaaawww me stummick’s like a big bass drum. ‘Ow we’re goin’ ter manage all this scoff atween us is a mystery!’

  Cramming the cake into his mouth, Thura reached for a flagon of old blackcurrant wine. ‘It’s our pore upbringin’, I tell yer. I can’t stop eatin’. ’Ere, I wonder wot Ferahgo’d say if ’e c’d see us now, mucker!’

  Dingeye choked on his drink, spraying October ale across the table as he seized another vegetable pastie. ‘Dontchew dare mention that name! Waddya wanna do, bring bad luck on the pair of us? Don’t even think of that blue-eyed villain. Any’ow, stop gabbin’ an keep scoffin’, mucker. We gotta finish all this lot yet!’

  Thura massaged his swollen stomach as he thrust a ladle into a bowl of meadowcream. ‘Waaaaw, it’s torture, mucker, plain ol’ torture!’ Sloshing the meadowcream over several redcurrant muffins, he dug his paws into the mixture and continued eating.

  ‘Yer right, it’s orful, wicked an’ orful.’ Dingeye dunked the pastie into a bowl of trifle. ‘Ooever our mothers was, they shouldn’t never ’ave brought us up in starvation an’ poverty. Life’s crool when yer can’t stop scoffin’, ain’t it.’

  Equipment for the evening games was being set up on the west lawn. Targets, poles, ropes, hoops and other sporting paraphernalia were laid on the pitches where the games would take place. Arula and Samkim were helping Tudd Spinney to knock quoit pegs into the ground when Mrs Faith Spinney came bustling over, shaking her head with worry and concern.

  ‘Mercy me, they two stoats is still eatin’. You should see ’em, the dreadful gluttons. I’ve tried stoppin’ ’em twice, but they just ignores me. Do somethin’ Tudd, afore they kills themselves wi’ overfeedin’!’

  A party headed by Thrugg strode round to the orchard. He wagged a paw at Arula and Samkim. ‘Shirkin’ yore duty, mateys? Abbess said you was responsible fer those two rascals. Not ter worry, though. Me an’ Thrugann will scupper ’em!’

  Dingeye and Thura were moaning pitifully, whilst still pushing food down their overgorged mouths.

  ‘Aaaaoooow! Reach that cheese fer me, mucker!’

  ‘Phwaaaw! It’s agony tryin’ ter finish all this pie an’ custid!’

  With a sweep of his paw, Thrugg cleared the remaining food out of their reach, and Thrugann grabbed them by the ears as they strove to climb on to the table.

  Bremmun closed his eyes in disgust at the sight of the two bloated stoats. ‘You stupid greedy beasts, have you not got a grain of sense between you? Remove them to the Infirmary, please.’

  ‘Bless yer, kind sir, it’s poverty’s done this fer us. Aaaaah, me stummick! Don’t carry me like that, marm, I beg yer!’

  Thrugann slung Dingeye across her shoulders. Thura belched and pleaded with Thrugg as he was treated likewise.

  ‘Don’t take us to the ’Firmary, sir. Be a good riverdog an’ leave us ’ere ter die peaceful like. Owooo me achin’ guts!’

  Brother Hollyberry patted them sympathetically. ‘There there, you can both have a nice lie-down on two soft beds – after I’ve phsyicked you, of course.’

  Two dismayed stoat faces spoke as one. ‘Fizzicked?’

  ‘Aye, physicked.’ Hollyberry grinned mischievously. ‘I’ve got a compound there made from wild garlic, slip
pery elm bark, bitter aloe root and squashed dockleaf mixed with nettlejuice and blackweed compound. Two large ladlefuls each and you’ll be right as rain!’

  ‘Yaghabarragaroo, ’elp! Oh mercy, sir!’

  Sister Nasturtium winked at Samkim. ‘Oh, I don’t know if two large ladlefuls will be enough – by the condition of these poor creatures I’d say three!’

  Thrugg kicked open the Infirmary door. ‘Three it is then, marm. You knows best. Tudd, Bremmun, you sit on their back paws, me an’ Thrugann’ll hold the front paws. Samkim, Arula, pinch their noses tight so they opens their mouths proper.’

  ‘Yowhooo! Murderers! ’Ave pity, kind Redhallers. ’Elp!’

  Hollyberry topped up a ladle with the foul-smelling medicine. ‘Hush now, my little gluttons. One more shout out of either of you and I’ll double the dose!’

  The games commenced just before twilight. Samkim and Arula started off the proceedings by winning the three-pawed race in fine style. There was much laughter and merriment at some of the elder Brothers and Sisters pillowfighting whilst perched upon a greased pole. The Abbess and Bremmun, who had always excelled at quoits, were amazed at the skill of Baby Dumble – he could throw a quoit more accurately than any grown Abbeydweller and amassed several prizes. Tudd Spinney carried off the honours on the croquet lawn, using his walking stick in place of a mallet. Turzel and Blossom, the two small mousemaids, teamed up with Thrugann to win the relay race around the Abbey grounds, while Friar Bellows and Brother Hal beat all comers at the acorn and stick high-batting contest.

  The games were going full swing when Foremole held up a paw, sniffing the air. ‘Yurr, et smells loik thunner an’ loitenen be due!’

  Bremmun shook his head. ‘No, it’s only night-time arriving.’

  ‘Nay, nay, lissen ’ee Maister Bremm’n!’

  The distant rumble of thunder proved Foremole’s instinct correct. On the still warm evening air a heaviness began to settle, and over to the east the sky lit up in a flash across the treetops of Mossflower. The little ones threw up their paws and began crying, but Sister Nasturtium cheered them up with the suggestion of indoor games in Great Hall.