‘H’I would, Sir, frizzle me paws, it soun’s wunnerful, it do!’
The head cook glared at the young hare who had piped up.
Sunflash strode over and shook the keen-eyed youngster’s paw. ‘What’s your name, mate?’ he said.
‘Bloggwood, Sire!’
‘Well, I like the look of you, Bloggwood. Are you a good cook?’
‘As good as any, Sire, an’ willin’ t’learn. I likes t’cook!’
‘And tell me, Bloggwood, if you were in charge round here and somebeast came to you with a tasty recipe, what would you do?’
‘Well, h’I’d ’elp ’em t’cook it an’ see if ’n we c’d make it taste even better!’
With a few deft movements, Sunflash snatched the head cook’s tall hat and placed it on the young hare’s head, then, lifting Bloggwood with one paw, he set him on top of a table.
‘As Badger Lord of Salamandastron I appoint you, Bloggwood, new head cook in my kitchens. The rest of you – will you help our friend to produce good and tasty meals?’
Ladles and aprons were hurled high in the air, and the helpers and assistants cheered aloud.
The former head cook stood in front of Sunflash, hatless and bewildered by the sudden turn of events.
‘But what about me, what’ll I do?’ he cried.
Sunflash threw a friendly paw about his shoulder, saying, ‘Well, you’ve never liked cooking, have you?’
‘Of course not, but it’s a job, somebeast’s got to do it.’
‘Right, but you didn’t like doing it, so you don’t have to do it any longer. What d’you really like doing, friend?’
‘Well, er, I’ve always been interested in brewing ales, cordials and wine. Here, would you like to try some of my cowslip wine, Sire?’
The hare opened a cupboard and pulled out a flagon and beakers.
Sunflash watched him pour two beakers full, and said, ‘Why not, I’ll try anything once.’ He sipped and rolled his eyes appreciatively. ‘This is excellent! Can you make fizzy strawberry cordial for little ones?’
The hare winked and snorted, ‘Can I make fizzy strawberry cordial? Listen, matey, er Sire, I can make it so fizzy it’d curl your fur!’
Sunflash shook him heartily by the paw. ‘Well said! Go and see our cellarkeeper and tell him his workload is halved, because I’ve just appointed you joint Chief Cellarkeeper and winemaker brewer of Salamandastron!’
As Sunflash and Bloggwood produced a tasty giant turnover of leek, carrot, mushroom and dark gravy between them, word got around. Hares came filing into the kitchens with requests and observations, knowing the new Badger Lord would give them a fair and good hearing. He did!
Within the space of a half morning, Sunflash the Mace had appointed an assistant cellarbeast, two flower gardeners, a new sickbay assistant, a carpenter, banquet arranger and a whole host of young ones who wanted to be armourers and forge assistants to the Badger Lord.
Later, Sundew sat with Bloggwood and some others, as they helped themselves to an impromptu lunch of the big turnover, which had been named a Bloggflash Special.
The badger put aside two slices, rich dark gravy seeping from them onto the plates as he popped them in the oven.
‘Keep an eye on them slices, Sundew,’ he said, ‘they’ll do for Starbuck and Breeze’s supper tonight. The old uns’ll enjoy my turnover.’
Sundew wiggled her ears in admiration of the Badger Lord. ‘Well, well, Sire, you’ve certainly made some jolly old changes round here. I’d say you’re doin’ a spiffin’ job, wot!’
Sunflash shoved her lightly, almost sending her sprawling. ‘You can stop wiggling your ears at me, missie – besides, you’ll have to show a little more dignity now that I’ve decided to appoint you as my confidential aide.’
Skipping and laughing, Sundew almost collided with Porty, who was holding up a chubby paw for Sunflash’s attention. ‘I say, old Sire, can I be official food taster? I’d be jolly good at that I think.’
Sunflash roared laughing until he had to hold his sides.
At suppertime, Sunflash and Sundew took the turnover slices up to the sickbay, only to find Dewfleck, a quiet older hare, whom Sunflash had appointed as sickbay assistant that morning, sitting weeping on the top stair. Her face was buried in her paws as her whole body shook fitfully.
Sadly the badger set down the two plates and sat on the stairs next to her. ‘It’s Breeze and Starbuck, isn’t it?’ he asked.
She nodded, sobbing brokenly. ‘Oh, Sire, they was ’oldin’ paws, just lyin’ there all peaceful like. I thought they were ’avin’ a little doze, but ole Breeze an’ Starbuck, they was . . . Boohoohoohoo!’
Sunflash dried her eyes with the corner of a kitchen apron he had been wearing all day. ‘There, there, hush now, those old uns were looking forward to meeting their friends in the dark forest, they told me that only this morning. Isn’t that right, Sundew?’
The young hare sniffed as she wiped her eyes against the apron. ‘Absolutely, Sire. They’ll never have t’face a rotten ol’ winter again, they’re both happy now, along with your grandsire.’
Throughout that long winter the hares of Salamandastron came to know and love their new Lord. Sunflash was all things to them, friend to the old, counsellor to the young and playmate to the babes, who were his constant delight. He looked forward eagerly to the spring, when he planned to take up farming once more. Often on dreary winter afternoons the forge room was alive with helpers as Sunflash and his blacksmiths turned out spades, hoes, rakes and trowels, in readiness for the coming season’s planting and cultivation. The badger had almost forgotten about his foebeast Swartt Sixclaw, and would not think of him until the arrival of Skarlath in the early spring.
* * *
23
The vermin horde found the path broad, smooth and easy to march on, and good progress was made on the first day travelling south. That evening, they camped in an untidy sprawl, right across the path and on both sides of it. Tender young shoots and new green foliage, which would have been shunned as food any other time, were welcomed after their winter starvation.
Next day blustered in bright and breezy, lightly warm with random fleece clouds scurrying across spring skies. Swartt was in a good mood, pleased with the ground he had covered the previous day. Muggra the weasel Captain was still out in front of the army, dragging himself painfully along on all fours, his injured footpaw causing him great pain.
Pitilessly, Swartt marched hard behind Muggra, watching him crawl as he spoke to him in a cruel voice of mock reason. ‘See now, friend, you could’ve been marchin’ upright an’ brisk like the rest of us if you ’adn’t chosen to argue wid me. Come on now, don’t go sulkin’ an’ mopin’, apologize t’me like a goodbeast an’ ask me fer mercy.’ He kicked the Captain, sending him sprawling on the road.
Muggra spat earth as he whimpered, ‘Mercy, Lord, I was wrong to argue with yer!’
Swartt laughed harshly, stepping on Muggra’s back as he passed him. ‘Get out o’ me sight, y’snivellin’ craven, an’ thank yer lucky stars I’m in a good mood t’day!’
Ssssssthunk!
A javelin came streaking out of the blue and buried itself deep in the path, in front of the Warlord. It stood quivering as the ferret fell back and seized Nightshade’s paw. ‘Where in the name o’ blisterin’ blazes did that come from?’ he cried.
The vixen tried desperately to extricate her paw from the ferret’s vicelike grasp. ‘I don’t know, Lord, but it looks to me like some sort of warning that we should go no further!’
Swartt held on to the paw, glaring at her. ‘Tell me true, fox: did you ’ave any visions or dreams about this?’
Nightshade wrenched her crushed paw away, shaking her head. ‘None, Sire, I saw nothing!’
Tugging the javelin loose, Swartt broke it across his mailed paw. ‘One javelin ain’t goin’ t’stop this horde. Forward march!’
The Warlord stood still, allowing the marchers to walk past him. Screams rang out as the
foremost three vermin fell, two pierced by arrows, the other felled by a hefty rock. Suddenly the horde was in disarray.
‘They’re in the woods on the east side!’ Swartt roared. ‘Scraw, charge ’em with spears, wipe every last one of ’em out! Aggal, Nightshade, line some archers up, here – jump to it!’
Redfarl watched the spearbeasts charge into the woodlands, letting them get sufficiently far from the path before nodding to a score of squirrels perched in the treetops. Half of the vermin were cut down by a hail of arrows, the rest, turning to run back, were set upon by otters whirling heavy loaded slings, which they used as clubs. As quickly as they struck, the attackers faded into the woodland.
On the path all Swartt heard was a few distant screams, then silence. He held up a warning paw, saying, ‘Stretch those bowstrings; be ready; keep yer eyes peeled on them woodlands!’
Still not a sound. Then Swartt heard a strange noise and saw the bushes shake not far from the path. ‘Shoot at those bushes!’ he said, pointing.
A volley of barbed shafts shredded the foliage and the rat Captain Scraw toppled out, already wounded by a squirrel arrow, but now transfixed by seven more from his own side. Swartt performed a dance of rage, whirling his sword wildly. Horde archers ducked to avoid the blade.
‘Idiots, did none of y’think to look before shootin’?’ he yelled. ‘Put up those bows until we can see ’em!’
As the vermin archers relaxed their bowstrings there was a shout from the east woodlands. A whistling rain of rocks and javelins hit the unsuspecting archers, and one large stone caught Swartt a glancing blow, stunning him. Nightshade signalled four vermin to carry him to safety, as she called out to the rest of the horde, ‘Into the woods on the west side of this path – hurry!’
The vermin needed no second bidding. They hurled themselves at the bushes, helped on their way by a shower of missiles from the hidden attackers.
The old rat carrying Swartt’s son was hit. Clutching at the javelin protruding from her side, she tugged at the backsling. Tearing loose the carrying cradle she dropped it, babe and all, into a shallow ditch bordering the west pathside. She crawled painfully after the retreating horde and was trampled by other vermin in their haste to escape death.
Down in the ditch the ferretbabe wriggled from its restricting sling and began gobbling a mess of frogspawn from a muddy pool. It fed voraciously, neither whimpering nor crying.
Nightshade pressed cobwebs and damp leaves to the side of the Warlord’s head. Swartt gritted his teeth and staggered upright, grabbing a weasel as it sneaked past. ‘You! Did yer see ’em, who were they, ’ow many . . .’
The unfortunate weasel’s reply was cut short by a gigantic arrow, which silenced him for ever. A jovial voice rang out from somewhere deep in the woods. ‘I say, top marks there, Jodders. Good shot, wot?’
Swartt looked around wildly. He could not stop the horde retreating deeper into the words; they ignored his commands.
‘Halt! Stop there!’ he yelled. ‘What are ye runnin’ from – some ragtailed little bunch o’ woodlanders? Stand an’ fight!’
Another spearlike arrow thudded into the trunk of a sycamore, right near the Warlord’s head. Silently, he decided that discretion was the better part of valour and fled too.
The great otter Skipperjo was left in command of the path. His otters crouched in the foliage on the west side, ready to deal with any vermin who tried to regain control of the road. Sumin and Redfarl pursued the horde; travelling high in the trees, they picked off stragglers. The vermin ran as if chased by unseen demons, each trying not to be at the back of the horde, which was the most vulnerable position. Gradually they slowed, weariness taking toll of their trembling limbs.
Late afternoon found them in a deep natural hollow, somewhere in the west reaches of Mossflower. Swartt sat, allowing the vixen to bandage his head with a mud and leaf poultice.
He glared at the silent horde, venting his spleen on them.
‘Squirrels an’ otters, that’s all they was, a bunch o’ mis’rable squirrels an’ otters, an’ you beauties ran from ’em. Tell ’em, Nightshade – you saw them, didn’t yer? Squirrels’n’otters, that’s all they were!’
A surly voice called out from the horde, ‘I never seen squirrels shootin’ arrers as big as that’n wot wiped out pore Grinflit!’
Swartt’s head was aching; he was too tired to reprimand the culprit. Instead he beckoned his Captains and they gathered round as he lay back, covering his eyes with his mailed paw. ‘Well, what’ve you lot got t’say fer yerselves, eh?’ he growled.
The replies were what he expected.
‘No point in gettin’ slain for trespassin’ on some otherbeast’s road, Chief.’
‘Keep travellin’ west, that’s what we were doin’ in the first place.’
‘Aye, you can’t slay an invisible army. We lost a good number today, an’ didn’t even see who did the killin’!’
Swartt stood up, shaking his head sorrowfully, but secretly glad that his Captains had provided him with an excuse not to turn back and seek retribution on the foebeast. ‘Huh, the backbone’s gone from you lot, yer a load o’ jellyfish. Ah well, I s’pose we’ll keep goin’ west through this forest if yer all too scared to go back an’ avenge yer dead mates.’
Redfarl perched in the low branches of an elm nearby, listening to what was going on. Her tail shot upright, a signal to the waiting squirrel archers stationed in the trees not far from the horde. They fired a line of shafts into the ground, not a pawsbreadth from where the vermin sat. Slightly further back in the woodland cover, Jodd lay flat on the earth, his head inside a great hollow log. The hare’s voice echoed and boomed as he called slowly in a loud sepulchral voice, ‘Begone from our land while you still live! Worms feast upon any who try to stand against us; their bones rot upon the territory of the phantom slayers! Go noooooooowww!’
All the squirrels in the trees, plus a few otters who were with Jodd, echoed the mournful howl. ‘Go noooooowwww!’
Nightshade could be heard shouting as the horde took to their heels and charged westward into Mossflower, the speed of panic urging them on.
‘Carry Lord Swartt, he is injured! See the line of arrows, it is a warning, the phantom slayers have spoken. Let us go!’
The vixen found she was talking to herself; the horde had gone. Without a backward glance she dashed off after them.
Some of the squirrels nearly fell from the trees laughing. Jodd was still lying with his head in the hollow log, calling mournfully, ‘I’m starving, wonder what’s for bally supper, us phantoms have t’jolly well eeeeeeaaaaattttt!’
Sumin gripped Redfarl’s paw gratefully. ‘We did it, thanks to you an’ Skipperjo. Redwall Abbey is deep in your debt. We will hold a feast for you all!’
The squirrelhare’s voice boomed out from below. ‘That’s the ticket, a great feast! Sooooooooper!’
Skipperjo met them back at the path, and there was much paw-shaking, tail-wagging and back-slapping.
‘Never lost a one of my otters, we tricked ’em good, mates!’
‘Aye, all my archers are accounted for, not a scratch on any of ’em. We did a great thing here today, eh, Sumin?’
The sturdy squirrel beamed proudly. ‘We did that, it was risky an’ darin’, but we pulled it off. A good yarn to tell the young uns, Skipperjo!’
The brawny otter held up a paw. ‘Oh, talkin’ about young uns, matey, lookit what I found.’
He signalled to a female otter, who came forward bearing a small bundle, which she carried in two slings tied together across her back.
The lanky Jodd peered into the improvised cradle. ‘Great fur’n’feathers! It’s a jolly little junior vermin. Yowch! The bounder chomped m’paw. Good appetite, wot?’
Sumin watched as the otter placed the squirming ferretbabe on the soft grass at the pathside. Skipperjo shook his head, saying, ‘Pore liddle thing, looks ’arf starved. What’ll we do with it?’
Sumin waggled a paw at the ferretba
be, and it snarled. ‘Suppose we’ll have to take him back to the Abbey an’ let Abbess Meriam sort it out, that’s unless anybeast here fancies adoptin’ ’im?’
There was silence. Redfarl touched the ferretbabe gently, and it bit her. Stonefaced, she watched the small creature licking its teeth, savouring the taste of blood, and said, ‘I know ’tis a hard thing to say about a babe, even a liddle vermin, but let me tell you, no good will ever come of this one. Don’t ask me why, I just feel it in my fur!’
* * *
24
Towards evening Abbess Meriam stood on the north wall battlements with Bryony. They had been waiting and watching for days, but Meriam had not told Bryony why. The sounds of singing drifted to them on the twilight breeze, and the Abbess leaned across the battlements, smiling with relief. ‘Listen, Bryony, friends are coming to Redwall!’
Lantern lights showed like fireflies and, as they drew closer, rousing voices could be heard singing a quick marching song.
‘Oh we chased ’em off the highway,
They fled off to the west,
We sent ’em every whichway,
Our warriors are the best.
They’ll never see ole Redwall,
’Cos they were forced to flee,
Sent on their way by shaft an’ stone,
From every greenwood tree.
Bad luck attend the vermin beast,
Who came out of the north and east,
We’ll give ’em blood’n’steel’n’stone,
Until they leave our land alone!’
Abbess Meriam cupped paws around her mouth and called, ‘Who goes there?’
There were chortles and guffaws as Jodd replied, ‘Just some jolly ole phantom warriors who need fattenin’ up, m’dear. Did my sufferin’ ears hear mention of a whackin’ great feast at your splendiferous Abbey, wot?’
Outcast Of Redwall Page 16