‘I’m right sorry I can’t stay much longer.’ Spriggat held feebly on to Samkim’s paws as he spoke. ‘No, be still an’ listen t’ me! That there monster chewed me up like a fat juicy dragonfly. Don’t try to turn me over an’ look at me back, Samkim – I’m all broken up.’ Spriggat moved slightly, screwing up his face in agony. ‘Uhhhhn! Wish I could’ve gone with me paws on good dry land. Taint too bad, though. It’s a fair morn an’ I’m in the arms of a friend.’
Arula and Alfoh were awakened by the sound of Samkim sobbing. With the three boatcrews, they watched in silence as the young squirrel sat rocking back and forth. Regardless of the hedgehog’s spines, Samkim held Spriggat’s limp body as though he were nursing an infant, and tears coursed openly down his face on to the wrinkled old paws.
‘He said he was going to find a summer forest, full of wasps and flying insects. Then he just smiled at me and, and. . . . Oh, my poor old friend!’
Arula and Alfoh climbed across. Together they held Samkim and Spriggat tightly, letting the support of their strength flow through their paws, united in their grief at the passing of a fatherly creature who had given his all for them.
35
Klitch and Ferahgo backed by a hundred armed vermin, strode boldly across the sun-warmed sands towards Salamandastron. The golden badger medal bobbed on the Assassin’s chest as it reflected the hot summer morning.
Urthstripe watched them from an unblocked windowspace. Resting his huge paws on the sill, his eyes locked on the shining medallion as he tried hard to recall some long-gone event.
The two weasels sat down on the sand within hailing distance of the badger Lord. Food and drink was placed before them by Migroo and Feadle, and they ate and drank noisily, slopping water into the sand and carelessly chewing on bread and a roasted fish from the sea, spitting out bones and throwing away crusts. Ferahgo’s blue eyes held a trace of mock pity as he called out to Urthstripe, ‘What a pity that you can’t come and join us, badger. Food and drink must be pretty scarce inside your mountain by now.’
Urthstripe tried hard to control his rising temper. ‘Hear me, scum! The only thing that will be scarce will be your breath if I get my paws around your miserable neck!’
Klitch threw a clay beaker. It smashed against the rocks as he shouted out contemptuously, ‘You talk a good fight, stripedog, but words never won wars!’
Swiftly Urthstripe brought up his longbow. Fitting a shaft to its string he drew it full back. ‘Here, this is for you, little snotnose!’
Klitch leapt up. Pulling back his jerkin to exposed his narrow chest, he challenged the badger. ‘Fire away. Go on, kill me! But the moment you loose your arrow you will slay two of your own creatures. Look out by the tideline, you great stupid beast!’
Big Oxeye and Sergeant Sapwood lay staked out upon the damp sands below the tideline, and Crabeyes and Badtooth had spears pressed to the throats of the two hares. Urthstripe had to stare long and hard before he understood what was going on. It was a fair distance away, too far for bowshot. The badger Lord slacked his bowstring and withdrew the arrow.
‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing, really.’ Klitch sucked a fishbone and flicked it away. ‘We can sit out here until you all starve to death in there, and just to make things a little more interesting you can watch your two best hares get a good wash each time the tide comes in. At least they’ll die clean.’
Baffled rage was stamped on the striped features of the badger. ‘Then tell me what you want of me. What do you want?’
Ferahgo took out his long skinning knife and began drawing patterns in the sand. ‘When we first arrived here we were only after your treasure. But now things have changed, as you can see, so now we want the treasure and your mountain too.’
Urthstripe shook his head vehemently. ‘There is no treasure, weasel, and as for my mountain, you will never have it, no matter what evil plans your twisted minds can think up. You will never be Master of Salamandastron. Never! Do you hear me?’
Klitch chuckled nastily. ‘Oh we hear you all right, you great windbag. But soon you’ll hear from your friends Oxeye and Sapwood. When the sun dries them out and all they have to drink is seawater, then you’ll hear them calling for mercy, screaming for a quick death. What’ll you do then, eh?’
Oxeye shut his eyes against the mid-morning sun. Licking parched lips, he looked across at Sapwood. ‘Are they still parleyin’ up there by the mountain, Sap?’
The Sergeant tried to crane his head, but the rope across his throat pulled tight. He lay back with a sigh. “S no good, Hi can’t see a thing, Ox, but Hi tell yer, if’n Hi was Urthstripe, Hi’d wipe Klitch an’ Ferahgo out as soon as they was close enough an’ fergit us two.’
Migroo menaced them with his spear. ‘Shut yer mouths, yew tew!’
Big Oxeye winked at him. ‘Do me a favour, ol’ chap – go an’ boil your scabby head!’
‘One more word an’ I’ll run yer through!’ The stoat touched Oxeye’s throat with the spearpoint.
‘Slay away, old lad, slay away.’ Oxeye closed his eyes again, dismissing Migroo. ‘But if you harm a single hair of our handsome heads, young Master Klitch’ll let his daddy skin you alive, then he’ll kill you.’
Klitch came striding up and stood over his captives.
Oxeye stared boldly up at him. ‘Listen, sonny me old weasel, if that chap Migroo kills us, would you be awfully kind and kill him back for us?’
‘I wouldn’t be so cheerful if I were you.’ Klitch kicked the big hare savagely. ‘Urthstripe is leaving both of you here to die. We’ve given him until dawn tomorrow to make up his mind, but by then a couple of tides will have washed over you and the gulls will be pecking at your corpses.’
Oxeye raised his head slightly, smiling insolently at Klitch. ‘Feedin’ the jolly old birds, eh. At least we’ll be doin’ somethin’ useful. What d’you say, Sap?’
‘Oh aye, but Hi think I’d sooner feed ’em this ’ere weasel – that’s if they haint too fussy wot they eats.’
Klitch leaned down and struck Sapwood in the face. The boxing Sergeant wrinkled his battered features scornfully. ‘You ain’t got much of a right, sonny. Try yer left – it might be better. Tell yer wot, why not untie me an’ I’ll give yer a free boxin’ lesson.’
Bart Thistledown and Pennybright watched from the top of the crater. Pennybright was very upset, but Bart comforted her in his laconical style. ‘Now don’t be gettin’ y’self in a tizzy, young Pen, wot? Oxeye an’ Sap look in good form from here. No doubt Milord Urthstripe’ll lead a party out an’ rescue ’em tonight.’
‘Oh, Bart, d’you think he will?’ Pennybright gnawed her lip anxiously.
‘Goes without sayin’, young Pen. Bad form not to, y’know. Milord would never give up his jolly old mountain, but he’s a good ol’ stick – he wouldn’t leave two of his best chaps in the dutches of those vermin, you can bet your bally lettuce on that! I say, speak of the badger an’ here he comes. Sah!’ Bart came smartly to attention as Urthstripe ascended the crater stairs.
‘Thistledown, get your weapons ready. There’ll be you, Moonpaw, Catkin, Seawood, myself and some others. We’re going out tonight to rescue Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye. Penny, you’ll stay here and guard the mountain with the rest. No arguments, missie! Bart, one hour after sunset, be ready at the main entrance!’
When Urthstripe had gone, Bart turned to the crestfallen young hare. ‘See, I told you, Pen – we’ll have ’em both back by mornin’. Now now, don’t stick your lip out like that, m’ gel – makes you look quite ugly. Somebeasts have got to stay here and mind the old place. Cheer up, I’ll slay a few for you, eh?’
By late noon the tide was swirling in. Fortunately for the two hares it was not a spring tide. They lay staked out with the water oozing around their backs and paws.
Sapwood shook his head several times. ‘Cor, it’s runnin’ down me ears. D’you think it’ll come much ‘igher? Hi’d ‘ate ter be drownded by the sea.’
O
xeye strained against the neck rope. ‘Me too, Sap. Bad enough a chap gettin’ all his back ’n’ tail soaked in salt water. Where’s old stoatbottom an’ his pal got to?’
‘Over there, see, sittin’ on those rocks an’ keepin’ their paws dry.’
Oxeye turned his head on one side, watching Migroo and Feadle as they sat on the warm dry rocks. The big hare wiggled his paw. ‘Now don’t get too excited, Sap, but I think I’ve got me bally paw free. Those dimwits prob’ly didn’t realize that these ropes are only twisted grass fibres, and the water makes ’em soft ’n’ stretchy. Hold fire a tick, there! That’s one paw free. Now for the other three. How are you doin’, old feller?’
‘Workin’ on it,’ Sapwood grunted. ‘An’ less of the “old feller”, you cheeky rogue. You must be at least two seasons older’n me.’
‘One, actually. What drill d’you think we should follow when we’re loose? Personally I think that big hunk o’ driftwood looks like a good bet. We’d never make our way through all those vermin back to the mountain – they’d probably stick us so full of bally spears an’ arrows we’d look like a couple o’ pincushions.’
Sapwood wriggled his paws against the softening fibres. ‘An’ what ’as that cob o’ driftwood got to do with all this?’
Oxeye sneaked a footpaw loose. ‘Can’t you see? It’s an ideal boat. They wouldn’t think of you putting to sea. It’s the great escape, Sap. You could float up or down the coast apiece, land the driftwood and sneak back to Salamandastron.’
The Sergeant shook water from his ear as he looked at his friend through one eye. ‘Me?’
‘Yes of course, you! I simply hate water – can’t swim a stroke y’know. But I’ve watched you doin’ all those sporty exercises – you used to swim like a bally duck, every mornin’.’
Sapwood was not very keen on the idea. ‘Er, ’scuse me, hold feller, but what’ll you be doin’ while I’m cruisin’ round on a cob of driftwood if Hi might ask?’
‘Keepin’ ’em busy while you escape, you great pugilistic duffer.’ Oxeye chuckled. ‘One of us has got t’ do it. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’ve roundly cracked a few heads. Now no arguments, Sergeant. Besides, I outrank you – I’m a lieutenant, y’ know. Never use the title an’ I hate pullin’ rank on a chap, but that’s the way the pebble rocks. First we’ve got to get some weapons – let’s see if we can entice ol’ thickhead an’ his pal over.’
Migroo was nodding off nicely in the late noontide heat when Feadle shook him awake.
‘Wot are those two hares up to, matey? Listen to ’em!’
Migroo sat up as the two captives started yelling, ‘Help! Help! There’s a big fish over here tryin’ to eat us! Yowch! Gerroff! Do somethin’, chaps. It’s a big fat fish!’
Feadle grabbed his spear. ‘Did yer ’ear that, mate? A big fat fish!’
Migroo also picked up his spear. ‘Hoho, just the job fer supper. Don’t tell the others. Come on!’
They splashed across through the shallows. Feadle got there first, waving his spear animatedly as he shouted, ‘Where’s the big fat fish?’
Sapwood sprang up right on cue, laying the weasel out with a crashing double pawswing. Migroo pulled up short, alarm on his face as he turned tail and ran off yelling, ‘Escape! The prisoners are escapin’!’
Oxeye’s back had sunk into the wet sand and he had difficulty pulling himself up. Coming free with a sucking squelch, he ran to the driftwood and began tugging it into the water. ‘Come on, Sap. Hurry up! Get this thing out to sea!’
Between them they lugged the heavy tree limb, tripping and stumbling on branches and twigs as they pushed and towed it into the water.
Scores of vermin came racing across the beach with Klitch and Ferahgo yelling in the rear.
‘Get them! Stop those hares!’
‘Kill the two of them if you have to, but stop them!’
The driftwood was just beginning to float as Oxeye pushed his friend aboard. The enemy was now in the shallows, racing towards them through the rippling waves. Sapwood turned and grabbed Oxeye’s free paw.
‘I haint goin’ anyplace without you, Ox!’
Big Oxeye shook his head and laughed. ‘No no, Sap, you sail away. I’ll hold ’em off. Have a good trip!’ He whacked Sapwood beneath the chin with the butt of the spear he had taken from Feadle. The Sergeant lay stunned on the dead tree limb as Oxeye pushed it out into the current and the waves began to recede, carrying the makeshift craft into deep water.
A skinny ferret had outdistanced the rest. He waded out, swinging a sword. The big hare disarmed him with a single spear thrust. Grabbing the ferret, Oxeye pushed his head beneath the waves as he called out to the advancing foebeasts, his anger renewing the warrior spirit of his strength: ‘Come on, chaps, who’s next for a jolly good bath?’
Sapwood was out of reach of the enemy as the water bore him on a southerly curve. Far behind him Big Oxeye threw himself spear in paw at the foe crowding forward through the waves.
‘Eulaliaaaaaaaa!’
36
Dumble sat on the edge of little Droony’s bed. The mole listened wide-eyed as the baby dormouse described his flight in great fictitious detail.
‘Wizooooo! Right up inna sky we was, anna heagle was frightened, but Dumble wasn’t, me laughed, haha! like that.’
Brother Hollyberry opened his eyes slowly. ‘Who’s that I hear laughing? Woke me up from a lovely sleep.’
Thrugann was caught by surprise. She almost dropped a beaker of Icetor Flower mixture, juggling it in the air as she hooted, ‘Mercy me! Look, Furgle, it’s Brother ‘Ollyberry, an’ he’s waked!’
Furgle clasped his paws together gratefully. ‘Oh joy! He was first to go into that deadly sleep and the last to come out. Aren’t old mousewives tales wonderful? Flowers of Icetor boiled in springwater – who’d have ever thought it?’
Mrs Faith Spinney trudged up from the Infirmary. She was carrying a trayful of hot hazelnut scones, each one with a blob of buttercream and chestnut on top of it.
‘Dearie me, bake, bake, bake! I’ve done nothing the livelong day but bake since you sleepyheads woke up. Friar Bellows, when d’you think you’ll be fit for kitchen duties again, sir?’
The fat friar hopped nimbly from his bed. ‘Right now, marm. Are those hot hazelnut scones? Very good, very good. I’m quite partial to a well-baked scone.’
Faith rapped his paws. ‘Then get along wi’ you an’ bake some, you idle mouse. These are for the big bird. I’m afeared greatly of it meself. Here, Dumble, take these to your friend.’
Abbess Vale and the two mousemaids Turzel and Blossom watched chuckling from the dormitory window as Dumble and Droony fed the Wild King MacPhearsome on scones.
‘Missus Spinney says don’t eat too much, you get heagle’s tummyache.’
‘Yurr, Dumble, let oi give heagle a scone. Burr, ’ere y’ are, zurr.’
MacPhearsome had never tasted such food in all his wild life among the icy crags. He picked the scones from the infant’s paws delicately with his savagely curved beak and wolfed them down, showering the two little heads below with crumbs.
‘Och, these vittles are braw eatin’, Dumble. Ha’ ye nae mair o’ those wee veggible pasties the guid hedgepig lady made?’
Droony squinched his eyes until they nearly disappeared into his small velvety face. ‘Bohurr, you’m heagle do be a-talken funny loik. Oi carn’t unnerstan’ a wurd ’ee be sayen, Dumble.’
That evening the tables were laid out in the orchard. Friar Bellows, Faith Spinney, Thrugann and Furgle were setting out a scratch feast in honour of the two saviours of Redwall: Dumble and the Wild King Mac-Phearsome. It had all been done on the spur of the moment with what food was available; none the less it was a happy and joyous occasion.
Perched on a specially chosen log, the great golden eagle and Dumble did full justice to the food from their place of honour. A large basin of moles deeper’n ever tater ’n’ turnip ’n’ beetroot pie stood steaming in the centre of the b
oard, surrounded by woodland salad, yellow and white cheeses and oat farls. Further out it gave way to candied acorns, hazelnuts and chestnuts arranged around flagons of October ale. Three plumcakes, heavy with honey, stood at strategic points, and between them were heaped platters of bilberry, redcurrant and apple tarts, with bowls of greensap milk and rich buttercup cream. Friar Bellows had invented a special MacPhearsome cake, comprised mainly of damson cream, stiff comb honey, arrowroot shortbread and glazed maple shoots. It was difficult for the Wild King to keep a dignified posture and satisfy his ravenous appetite, so Dumble translated for him as he sank his talons into the special cake.
‘Ach, yer a bonnie wee mousie, Dumble – bringin’ yer auld pal MacPhearsome tae sich a gran’ blow-oot. I’ll remember ye fer aye an a’, ye wonderfu’ bairn.’
Abbess Vale wiped Dumble’s cream-caked mouth. ‘What is your friend saying, Dumble?’
The infant chortled. ‘The heagle says to feed me plumcake so I’ll grow all bigga an’ strong, wiv cream too.’
Tudd Spinney and Droony, his new cellar apprentice, rolled out a keg of elderberry wine.
Foremole removed the head from the keg and bowed graciously. ‘Yurr, zurr, heagle, dip’n ’ee beak into this woin, hurr hurr!’
Thrugg strode down through the foothills, accompanied by Rocangus. Tammbeak and two other able-looking falcons circled overhead as they began the trek back to Redwall. The Laird Mactalon stood waving goodbye with both wings.
‘Mind how ye go, lads. Rocangus, ye young rip, watch yer manners an’ be civil tae other beasties. Guid luck walk with ye, Sir Thrugg. Yer a braw riverdog an’ Ah’m proud tae call ye fren’.’
‘Och, mah faither’s no’ a bad auld stick,’ Rocangus whispered to Thrugg. ‘Just o’er fussy.’
Thrugg chuckled as he swung his sling. ‘Listen, matey, d’you think by chance we could drop in on them crows an’ whack the features off ’em? Make the journey back to Redwall a bit more interestin’, eh?’
Salamandastron (Redwall) Page 27