Loamhedge: A Novel of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Toran whispered to Abbot Carrul. “Let them state their business first.”

  The silence from below became rather protracted, then a voice spoke out. “Kachunk!”

  This was followed by Badredd hissing, “Somebeast, shut that fool up!”

  Curiosity overcame Old Phredd the Gatekeeper, who called out, “What do ye want? Speak up!”

  Badredd had envisioned himself leaping boldly from the ditch to state his demands. However, he was far too short for such a thing, so several of the crew had to lift him up and boost him onto the path. It was a totally undignified procedure. The little fox landed, sprawling on the dust and gravel. He sprang up quickly, took a swaggering step forward and tripped over his cutlass.

  Having heard a few stifled giggles from the walltop, Badredd glared up frostily at the assembled Redwallers, putting on his toughest snarl. “Ye’ll laugh the other side of yore faces afore this day’s done!” Puffing himself up to his full height, he continued. “I’m Badredd, Warlord of the Vermin Horde. Nobeast can stand against me. I come from the Northlands where we drink our enemies’ blood!”

  The Abbot bowed his head politely. “I bid you a good morning, Sir Badredd. I am Father Abbot Carrul of Redwall. Is there any way I can be of service to you? Mayhaps you might need food or supplies to continue your journey?”

  At the mention of food, the rest of the vermin crew climbed out of the ditch eagerly, but the little fox forestalled them by answering the Abbot scornfully. “We don’t want yore food, mouse. Our journey’s end is here, at this Wallred place. You’ve got a magic sword here. I want it—bring it t’me now!”

  The Abbot stared coolly down at him. “There is no such thing as a magic sword at Redwall Abbey.”

  Badredd drew his cutlass with a swish, pointing it at Carrul. “You lie! Bring that sword out to me, old fool, or it will go badly with ye!”

  Toran stepped up to the Abbot’s side, roaring down at the fox, “Don’t ye dare call the Abbot of Redwall a fool or a liar! If he says there’s no magic sword here, then you’d best get the mud out o’ yore ears an’ listen. Now shift yoreself, vermin. Get up the road with that raggedy-bottomed bunch. Quick, or I’ll come down there and kick yore tail back t’the Northlands!”

  Shaking with rage, Badredd turned and nodded to his two archers, the weasel brothers. “Fire!”

  Two arrows zipped from their bows. Toran flung himself upon the Abbot, knocking him down below the battlements. One arrow flew harmlessly overhead, the other grazed the ottercook’s shoulder.

  Toran winced as he yelled, “Down, everybeast!”

  The Redwallers immediately dropped below the parapet. Junty Cellarhog fitted a stone into his sling and whirled it. He popped up and let fly. Though it was a speedy shot, and not too accurate, it did hit Badredd on the footpaw. He screeched out in pain as Crinktail and the rest of the crew jumped back into the ditch, taking him with them.

  There was an uneasy silence. Then Flinky called out in a wheedling voice. “Ah, look now, friends, why don’t ye just throw the ould magic sword to us an’ we’ll be on our way, I promise!”

  This was followed by a tirade from Badredd. “Sword or no sword, I vow I’ll slay ye all an’ take yore Abbey from ye. This is war, d’ye hear me?”

  Two broken halves of the arrow which had struck Toran were flung into the ditch. The ottercook sat watching Sister Portula bind his wound with her apron. He laughed and shouted back contemptuously to the fox, “War, eh? Go on then, let’s see ye take Redwall from us. A dirty liddle band o’ vermin scum, ye’d have no chance!”

  Down in the ditch, Flinky gazed levelly at Badredd and nodded. “Sure an’ I believe the big riverdog’s right. How could a crew as small as ours take that fine big place? ’Tis all made o’ stone an’ locked up tight.”

  Badredd nursed his footpaw, shooting a hateful glance at the stoat. “Whose side are ye on, theirs o’ ours?”

  Flinky spread his paws expressively. “Ah now, Chief, I’m with you. But ye got to admit, things ain’t exac’ly goin’ our way, are they now?”

  Badredd narrowed his eyes, well aware that Flinky could be a sly one at times. “So, what d’ye suggest?”

  The stoat winked secretively. “Make ’em think we’ve gone away. I’ll wager we could catch ’em off guard after a day or two.”

  Granmum Gurvel came panting up the wallsteps, carrying a big wooden pail of kitchen rubbish with the arrow that had missed the Abbot sticking out of it. The old mole blinked indignantly. “Yurr, see wot appinged? Oi wurr just crossin’ ee lawn to put ee rubbish on moi compost ’eap. That thurr h’arrer comed roight out’n ee sky an’ stucked in moi pail!”

  Junty Cellarhog took it from her. “Don’t fret, marm, it missed ye!”

  Back in the ditch, Badredd was mulling over Flinky’s idea. “How many days do we wait?”

  Junty’s voice interrupted further conversation. The Cellarhog was whining piteously. “Sir, we’ve got somethin’ here for ye.”

  Badredd leaped up. “Lend a paw ’ere, get me outta this ditch. We won’t be waitin’ any longer. Hah! They’ve seen sense at last, that’ll be my magic sword!”

  They boosted him up out of the ditch. He was back a moment later—dripping with leftover oatmeal, potato peelings, onion skins and old cooking oil. Laughter and hoots of derision rang out from the walltops. Badredd was speechless with rage. The crew backed off from him, holding their noses at the odour from yesterday’s kitchen rubbish.

  He clawed at the mess. “I don’t care how long I got to wait, they’re deadbeasts, all of ’em. They can’t treat Badredd like that!”

  Halfchop smiled at him. “Kachunk!”

  Toran sat in the orchard, surrounded by the Dibbuns, telling the tale to them whilst Sister Setiva and Martha tended his wound. The incident, while being humorous, worried Martha.

  “I wish Sarobando and Bragoon were here now.”

  The ottercook patted his newly bandaged shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself, young ’un. Those vermin’ll leave when they find there’s nought here for ’em except the ole pail o’ rubbish. Ain’t that right, Sister?”

  Setiva knotted off the bandage neatly. “Aye, like as not. Ye say there’s but ten o’ the rogues altogether. Hmm, they shouldnae be much trouble. Aye, but ’twould be fine if we had some otters or shrews aboot the place.”

  Toran stood up and flexed his paw. “Huh, ye’ll not find otters around here, save for me. They’ve gone off to camp on the seashores all summer. As for shrews—well, they go wherever the streams an’ rivers take ’em. I know we ain’t got many at Redwall of fightin’ age, but we’ll do at a pinch.”

  Martha folded the rug across her lap. “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to see vermin get into Redwall. What would happen to these little ones?”

  Muggum picked up a stick. “Uz foight ’em, miz, we’m gurt fierce Dibbuns. B’ain’t that roight, Shilly?”

  The squirrelbabe, and all the other Dibbuns, set up a fearful clamour. Brandishing sticks, wooden spoons and stones, they paraded up and down, scowling, growling and shouting dire threats.

  Though Martha could not help smiling inwardly, she covered her ears and looked shocked. “Dearie me, I wouldn’t like to be a vermin with all these great rough warriors around. Would you, Toran?”

  Her friend nodded. “Aye, miss, thank the seasons we can sleep safe in our beds. These liddle ’uns are reg’lar terrors!”

  The smallest of the Dibbuns, the tiny shrew called Buffle, picked up a stone which was far too big for him. He fell over backward and sat there muttering unintelligible sounds.

  “Gurrumvurbilbultumcuchachukchuk!”

  Toran removed the stone from Buffle’s stomach. He picked the babe up with one paw and set him on Martha’s lap. “Well, I wonder what that’s all about?”

  Yooch, who seemed to be the only one who could understand Buffle, translated. “Buffle sez he eat vermins all up!”

  Sister Setiva cleaned a few dandelion seeds from the shrewbabe’s whiskers. He t
ried to bite her paw. Setiva raised her eyebrows. “Och, ye wee terror, don’t ye dare tae eat me all up!”

  Buffle clenched his tiny paws and came out with a long torrent of garbled baby talk.

  Martha turned to Yooch. “What’s he saying now?”

  Yooch giggled. “Buffle sayin’ lotsa naughty fings!”

  Sister Setiva looked shocked. “Time for your nap, young shrew!” She swept him off protesting loudly. Setiva was a no-nonsense shrewnurse and ignored Buffle’s tirade. “Och, ye can stop all that gobbledygook—ah’m no’ impressed!”

  22

  Badredd and his crew had left the ditch and crossed back into Mossflower Wood. With all manner of fruit, berries and wild vegetables to be had there during this summer season, the vermin had no difficulty finding food. Crinktail and Juppa gossiped as they prepared food for the others. Neither was very optimistic.

  Juppa plucked away at a moorhen, which Rogg had brought down with his bow. “I tell ye, ’twill be a long time afore we see the Northlands again. Badredd’s more determined than ever now.”

  Crinktail chopped away at dandelion roots and wild celery with a thin-bladed dagger. “Aye, that’s true enough. Where is our fearless chief? I ain’t seen him round lately.”

  Slipback strolled in and threw down a sizeable bunch of watercress. “Who, Badredd? That ’un’s takin’ a bath in the stream, tryin’ to get the smell o’ that rubbish off ’im. He ain’t too pleased, I can tell ye, two baths in two seasons is hard on a beast. He only took a bath last spring.”

  Flinky emerged from the undergrowth, his tunic full of pears. “Ah sure, any vermin knows that bathin’ weakens ye. How’s the vittles comin’ along, me ould darlin’?”

  Crinktail winked fondly at her mate. “They’ll be ready soon enough, ye great starvin’ stoat. Sit by the fire here an’ stir the pot awhile. Ye can give us a song while yore at it.”

  Flinky knew more vermin songs than all the crew put together. He sang aloud, hoping the strains might reach Badredd whilst he was taking his bath in the stream not far away. The rest of the crew drifted in to listen, sniggering and nudging a bit at the words.

  “Oh hear my song, young vermin,

  and take heed to wot I say,

  I had a fine young son like you,

  who bathed most every day.

  Whenever he saw water, straight off he’d dive right in,

  a-scrubbin’ an’ a-washin’ of himself, then he’d begin:

  Oooooooohhhhhhh! I smell just like a rose,

  from me tail up to me nose,

  why, even all the blossoms envy me.

  An’ all I’ll ever lack,

  is a mate to scrub me back,

  I’m the cleanest vermin that you’ll ever

  see . . . eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

  I’m clean as a weasel’s whistle,

  shiny as a stoat’s best coat.

  Just pass the scented essence,

  in camomile I’ll float.

  All lathery suds an’ lilac buds an’ pine tree fragrance, too,

  with me teeth so white an’ me fur so bright an’ eyes of baby blue.”

  The last verse was sung sadly and with great feeling.

  “But then one summer dawn,

  I had to weep an’ mourn,

  I went down to the bathing pool that day.

  There was not one poor young hair,

  just a sweet aroma there.

  Alas, he’d gone an’ washed himself away.

  Awayeeeeeeeeeee!”

  Badredd strode to the fire, dripping wet. Jiggling a claw in one ear, he gave Flinky a frozen stare. “Get them vittles cooked an’ shut yore stupid gob. When we’ve eaten, we’re movin’ on, fast!”

  Flinky returned his stare blankly. “Ah sure, an’ wot’s the hurry, yore ’onour?”

  The little fox buckled his cutlass on. “I want to take a look round the back o’ that Abbey, there’s got to be a way in!”

  Flinky passed a secret wink to Crinktail, who tried to fob Badredd off with an excuse. “But, Chief, by the time we’ve finished the meal and got round there, it’ll be dark.”

  Badredd picked up a bowl and held it forth to be filled. “Good, that’ll be the ideal time to get the job done!”

  Abbot Carrul felt much relieved as he surveyed the path and the ditch from the west walltop. “Thank goodness there’s no sign of the vermin. What do you think, Toran, have they gone for good?”

  The ottercook had lashed sharp kitchen knives to the tops of two window poles. He and Junty each had one. Toran peered up the path into the gathering darkness.

  “Looks like they have, Father, but I’m takin’ no chances. Me an’ Junty’ll stay guard up here an’ keep a weather eye out. If the things are still all clear tomorrow, we’ll do a patrol around the outer wall just to make certain.”

  Carrul patted his friend’s stout back. “As you wish, I’ll have food sent up to you.”

  It was a fine warm night. Cavern Hole was packed with Redwallers, all happy and relaxed since hearing the news their Abbot brought, that the vermin fear had passed. Granmum Gurvel and her molemaids served a celebratory supper of mushroom and barley soup, harvest-baked loaves and a dessert of apple and blackberry crumble made from fresh ingredients, which the Dibbuns had gathered from the orchard.

  Foremole sat down next to Sister Portula, digging into his bowl of crumble and smiling happily. “Gudd arpatoit to ee, marm, ee trubble bee’s gonned naow!”

  Portula raised a beaker of October Ale. “Good appetite to you, sir. Hmm, look at young Martha, she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. I wonder what’s the matter with her.”

  Foremole pondered the situation for a moment, then pronounced his judgement. “Oi ’spec Miz Marth’s missin’ urr bruther.”

  Sister Portula called across to the haremaid. “Don’t fret about Horty, he’ll be back soon, eating us out of house and home, no doubt. You’ll see!”

  Martha smiled wanly. “I’m sure he will, Sister, but I can’t help feeling concerned about him.”

  Abbot Carrul put aside his supper and stood up. “What you need is a jolly song. Shall I sing you a little ditty I once learned from a sea otter?”

  This surprised Martha. “You singing, Father Abbot?”

  Carrul raised his eyebrows. “What’s so odd in that, may I ask, miss? Gurvel once said I had a voice like a bird!”

  Brother Gelf chuckled. “Aye, a dying duck. Come on then, Carrul, let’s hear ye.”

  The Abbot took a deep breath. “Right, here goes. But you must sing this line at the end of each verse. Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!”

  All the Redwallers wanted to see their Abbot singing, so they agreed readily. Carrul tapped the tabletop until he had the rhythm, then launched into the song. For an old mouse, he had quite a strong, ringing baritone.

  “On the good ship Leakylea,

  the captain was a frog,

  the mate was a bumblebee,

  and the cook was an old hedgehog.

  Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

  I was born at an early age,

  and sent straight off to sea,

  with a flea in an iron cage,

  on the good ship Leakylea.

  Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

  We sailed the seas so rough,

  and never washed the dishes,

  ate pans o’ skilly’n’duff,

  and laughed at all the fishes.

  Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

  We ate all we could chew,

  my flea grew bigger’n me,

  ’cos he’d ate more’n all the crew,

  aboard the Leakylea.

  Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaah!

  The the ship sank in a gale,

  I was rescued by my flea,

  we’re all that’s left to tell the tale,

  of the poor old Leakylea.

  Heave haul away, twice around the bay. Yaaaah!”

  Martha appl
auded, laughing along with the other Redwallers.

  Abbot Carrul bowed modestly and winked at Brother Gelf. “Not bad for a dying duck, eh?”

  Remembering her responsibility to the Dibbuns, Martha called to them. “Bedtime, little ’uns, come on now!”

  Strangely, the three who were most likely to protest—Muggum, Shilly and Yooch—went quietly. The other Abbeybabes made their usual loud protest, but to no avail.

  Sister Setiva wagged a severe paw at them. “Up tae your beds, this verra instant, or ye’ll have me tae reckon with!”

  Martha watched the last one—Buffle the shrewbabe—scamper through the doorway, where he turned and glared at everybeast. “Kumfuggleworragarrumbubbub . . . Kurch!”

  Setiva picked up a ladle and made as if to chase him. “Ah cannae tell what you’re sayin’, ye wee rogue. But, like as no’, ’tis somethin’ verra naughty! Ye’d best get toddlin’ afore I catch up wi’ ye!”

  Buffle stood his ground long enough to twiddle a paw to his nose at the shrewnurse, then he bolted off, giggling.

  Martha tried hard not to laugh. “Perhaps we’d better go up and tuck them in, Sister?”

  Setiva waved a dismissive paw. “Och no, we can do that later. Ah’ve got tae go an’ take supper tae Toran an’ Junty first.”

  The haremaid pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll come and help you. Poor old Toran, I’d forgotten about him. Never mind, there’s plenty of crumble left.”

  Badredd halted his crew at the east wickergate. There was a small door set in the centre of the Abbey’s rear wall. He held up a paw for silence. Gently pressing his weight against the timbers, the small fox tried the circular iron ring handle. It was firmly locked shut.

  Plumnose held up a little lantern close to the door. “Huh, id’s shudd, Chief!”

  Badredd had difficulty controlling his voice. “Is it now! Thanks for lettin’ me know, bouldernose!”