‘One strrrroke from my Kisserrrr, that one is slain.’
The Warlord continued to watch the rat, his voice laden with sarcasm as he spoke. ‘Huh, he don’t look so dead t’me, chewin’ on a mackerel there as if there weren’t no tomorrer.’
‘Rrrright, Sirrrre, no tomorrrrow forrrr him!’
Without warning the rat leapt up and, clapping a paw to the side of his neck, he staggered about gurgling for a moment, then fell to the sand as if poleaxed. Swartt stared in astonishment, listening to the others from the company, as they left the fireside to crowd around their companion.
‘Wot’s wrong wid ole Glimpy?’
‘Hahaha! Can’t yer see he’s takin’ a nap, mate!’
‘Mebbe it’s somethin’ ’e ate?’
‘Come on, Glimp ole mate, gerrup!’
A stoat knelt at Glimpy’s side and inspected him. Suddenly, he cried, ‘Glimpy’s dead, mates. Ain’t that awful, sittin’ scoffin’ fish one moment, nex’ thing ’e’s pegged it!’
A fox spat mackerel into the fire and rubbed his mouth. ‘Phtooh! I ain’t eatin’ no more o’ this fish, mates!’
The Wraith had shifted position. He smiled at Swartt from across the fire. ‘Now Sirrre believe me, just one strrroke, not even a rrrreal cut. Me Kisserrrr neverrrr fail!’
The Warlord nodded his head in admiration of the deed. ‘The Wraith, eh? Well, the job’s yores, Wraith. When do I expec’ to see yer again?’
‘You don’t see me if Wrrrraith not want you to. I will find you when it is done!’
Then the Wraith vanished, melting into the night.
Swartt threw the vixen a roasted mackerel. ‘Good work, at last y’ve done somethin’ right. Stripe’ead is as good as dead, I’d say. Oh, when the Wraith gets back, you know what t’do.’
‘Aye, Lord. I know exactly what to do!’ Nightshade replied.
* * *
36
It was the evening of the day Veil had robbed the dormice of their food and possessions, and the young ferret was not finding the going too easy. He chose a thick copse of pines for his camp. He brushed away the pine needles and dug a shallow hole, then he put steel to flint and made a small fire. Squatting by the flames, he ate some bread and cheese whilst roasting an apple. He was dozing, half asleep, warmed by the blazing pine cones and dead twigs, when two foxes arrived. At first Veil chose to ignore them. Though he was a bit startled and unsure of himself, he put on a tough face, making sure his knife and staff were clearly in evidence. Equally, both foxes feigned indifference to him. They squatted on the other side of the fire wordlessly. They were old and ragged, but sly looking. One carried a spear, the other a sling and pouch of stones. Drawing their tattered cloaks about them they sat silent, casting the odd cunning glance towards the lone ferret.
Veil began to feel more uneasy, and he tried striking up a conversation with his uninvited visitors. ‘Where did you come from, friends?’ he asked.
The taller of the pair spat into the flames, narrowly missing Veil’s roasting apple.
‘Nosy young snip ain’t ’e, Brool?’
The other smiled nastily, his eyes never leaving Veil. ‘Aye, stoopid too, we saw ’is fire from a good way off. Look, he’s got bread’n’cheese an’ apples, a richbeast, eh, Renn!’
Veil decided he could let the situation go no further. Holding his stave ready and brandishing the knife, he stood up and shouted, ‘Keep yer mangey paws off my vittles, I’m not scared of you two ol’ ragbags!’
The foxes worked their way around the fire until they were either side of him. The one called Brool bared his few blackened tooth stumps. ‘Young uns these days ain’t got no respect, eh, Renn. Mangey ol’ ragbags? We got a cheeky one ’ere, no mistake!’
The one called Renn neatly stabbed the roasting apple with his spear tip and, pulling it from the fire, he blew on it and took a bite. ‘Mmm, ’e cooks a decent apple though . . .’
Veil grabbed at the spear, his voice shrill with anger. ‘You leave my apple alone, you dirty old . . . Unnhh!’
The young ferret had made the mistake of turning his back on Brool. The fox’s sling, loaded with a heavy pebble, cracked down on Veil’s head from behind, laying him flat.
He came to his senses slowly, groaning at the triphammer throb in his skull. Both his paws were hoisted high, tied to an overhanging pine bough.
The two foxes were eating Veil’s food, cramming bread and cheese ravenously into their mouths. Brool took a drink from the flask; pulling a face he spat it out. ‘Yerk, water! Ain’t you got no good wine or ale, young un? Cold water don’t sit easy on my stummick these seasons.’
Renn sorted roughly through the travelling bag Veil had stolen from Ole Hoffy. ‘Nothin’ much in ’ere, Brool, jus’ a thin blanket an’ a few more apples. Not very considerate of yer, ferret!’
Struggling against the tight bonds, Veil glared hatred at them. ‘Blunderin’ ol’ fools, don’t yer know who I am? I’m Veil Sixclaw, son of Swartt the Warlord!’
Renn tore a strip from the blanket and did a low servile bow. ‘Oh, fergive us, yer ’ighness! Yaaahahahah!’
Then he gagged the young ferret firmly, boxing his ears and pulling his nose painfully. ‘Son of a Warlord, y’don’t say! I’m the cousin of an eagle an’ a great fish meself, wot about you, Brool?’
‘Who, me? Oh, I’m the Queen o’ the flowery dell, pleased t’meet yer majesty I’m sure!’
Both foxes fell about cackling. Forced to stand on tip-paw, bound and gagged, Veil could only glare at them and make whining sobs of rage.
An even shade of grey washed the dawn sky, bringing dun-hued clouds and a steady downpour of rain. Bryony and Togget gathered up their belongings hurriedly from their camp on the open hills. The mole did not like rain.
‘Yurr, us’n’s be soaken an’ cold if’n ee doan’t foind shelter missie, on’y fishes do loik ee rain!’
The mousemaid pointed to the distant pine grove, saying, ‘Come on then, let’s make for there, we can camp in the trees until the rain stops.’
Togget took off, both paws over his head, calling back to Bryony, ‘Hoo aye, maken ee foire an’ git brekkfist a goin’, oi’m gurtly ’ungered furr ee vittles!’
The mousemaid ran after her companion, laughing. ‘Slow down, you great Dibbun, the rain won’t melt you!’
‘Hurr, so ee says, missie, tho’ oi b’ain’t too sure!’
It was dim and dry in the half light of the close-growing pines. They shook themselves off and began opening their pack. Bryony stopped, sniffing the air.
‘Smoke, I can smell burning,’ she said.
Togget’s small button nose twitched. ‘You’m roight, Broinee, sumbeast got flames burnen sumwheres.’
The mousemaid fastened the haversack and shouldered it. ‘It may be Veil, but then again, it may not be. Go quietly, Togget, make no noise. Let’s see who the fire belongs to.’
Following the aromatic smell of burning pine cones, the two friends stole silently through the grove.
Bryony was first to spot the glow of flames between the trees. Taking care not to crack twigs underpaw, they stole forward, then, bellying down in the springy carpet of pine needles, they peered over a fallen trunk at the scene in a hollow below.
Brool and Renn were breakfasting off what was left of the bread and hurling apple cores at the bound figure dangling from a pine bough.
Bryony seized Togget’s paw. ‘Look, it’s Veil, those two foxes must have captured him!’
‘Hurr, but they’m looken loik narstybeasts, wot can us’n’s be a doin’ to ’elp maister Veil?’
Bryony studied the situation below before answering. ‘Hmm, they’re armed, we couldn’t risk an open fight. But I think I might have an idea that will work. Here’s what we do!’
Renn the fox threw some twigs on the fire and sprawled on the ground, eyeing Veil. ‘D’you suppose this Swartt Warlord would pay a bit o’ ransom to ’ave his darlin’ son back in one piece, mate?’
Brool looked at
his companion pityingly. ‘You gone squishy in th’ brains, Renn, the only thing a Warlord would give you for takin’ ’is kin prisoner would be yore own ’ead on a plate . . . Yowp!’
A hard, green pine cone struck the fox on his nose, followed a moment later by another which bounced off his partner’s jaw.
Renn grabbed his spear, snarling, ‘Who’s slingin’ cones? Owch!’ Another solid green cone hit him in the eye.
Brool was about to take his sling out when a green cone stung his paw. ‘Owowow! Hoi! Stop chuckin’ those things willy . . . Agh!’ He fell back clutching his mouth as he spat a broken tooth out.
Cones began whizzing in thick and fast and accurate. The two foxes were battered and bewildered; the missiles seemed to be coming from everywhere. Renn could hardly see, having been struck in both eyes. Brool had been belted over the head five times in quick succession by cones and was feeling very sore and dazed. They huddled together, crouching to escape the stinging rain of hard green cones, but the cones kept hurtling in, thwacking them hard as ever, bouncing off their skinny backs and bottoms until Brool howled out, ‘Stoppit! Stoppit! We’re goin’!’
Thwack! Ping! Thud! Clack! The green cones continued. The two foxes could bear it no more. ‘Yaaaah! Let’s get outta . . . Yeeek! Ooh! Yowp!’ They fled through the woods, away to where it was open ground, regardless of rain, limping and hopping in pain.
Togget rolled down into the hollow and sat with his paws hanging limply by his sides.
‘Wo’urr, moi ole paws’ll drop off if ’n oi flings jus’ one more of they poiney cones, wo’urr!’
Bryony stretched painfully to reach the ropes binding Veil’s paws to the bough. ‘Veil. Poor Veil,’ she cried.
The moment Veil’s paws were free he tore away the gag from his mouth and yelled angrily at the mousemaid, ‘What in the name of blood’n’fur are you followin’ me for?’ Ignoring the hurt in Bryony’s eyes, he continued. ‘Still spyin’ on me, eh! Why don’t yer jus’ leave me alone?’
Bryony was dismayed and puzzled at Veil’s attitude. ‘But . . . but . . . we saved you from those vermin! They might have ended up killing you, Veil!’
The young ferret stormed about the hollow, rubbing life back into his paws, which were still numb from being bound. ‘Well, I didn’t need savin’, see! I was ready to slip those ropes and grab the spear. I can look after meself without you an’ that stupid mole runnin’ around tryin’ to nursemaid me.’
Togget shook a heavy digging paw at him. ‘You’m watch ee tongue, maister, you’m a gurtly ungrateful furret. Missie Broinee never did ought but good to ee!’
Veil slumped beside the fire. ‘Well, where was she when they chucked me out of Redwall, eh?’ he sneered. ‘I’ll tell yer, sidin’ with all her goody goody friends, that’s where she was. Outcast they called me; nobeast raised a paw to ’elp me then.’
Bryony placed a paw gently on his shoulder. ‘Oh, Veil, you’re so wrong. I’ve always been your friend, I care for you more than any creature living!’
He shook her paw off and leapt up, grabbing his staff and belongings. ‘Get away from me, both of you! Go on, get back to your precious Abbey and spend your nights talkin’ about me an’ what a bad lot I was. Aye, Veil the vermin Outcast!’
Togget ran between Veil and Bryony and shoved the young ferret backwards, away from the mousemaid. ‘Harr, you’m nought by a villyun, wi’ all yore bad talk!’ he shouted.
Veil rushed forward. ‘Out of my way!’ he snarled, pushing Togget roughly to the ground. The mole fell, hitting his head on a jutting rock.
Immediately Bryony was pummelling Veil with both paws. ‘You stupid beast! Me and Togget are the only friends you have in this world! Don’t you see?’
But in his rush to escape, Veil hurtled on, knocking her flat. Crawling on all fours, Bryony dragged herself to the stricken mole’s side. ‘Togget, are you hurt? If you’ve harmed this good creature . . .’ But she was talking to thin air. Veil had grabbed their remaining haversack of supplies and dashed off into the pines.
Bryony sat by the fire, cradling her molefriend’s head in her paws and weeping. Togget’s eyelids flickered, then weakly he raised a digging claw and brushed a teardrop from her nosetip. ‘Oi thort et were a rainen again, hurr moi ole ’ead do be ’urted gurtly.’
The mousemaid wiped away her tears and hugged him. ‘Oh, Togget, thank goodness that you’re alive!’
‘Hurr, ’tis a wunner oi am, missie, layin’ yurr wi’ a lump loik a mounting on moi ’ead, an’ ee crushen moi ribs t’bits!’
Out on the hills, the rain had stopped. It was a breezy midday when Veil sighted the two old foxes up ahead. At the point where hills met flatlands, a river, swollen by the rain, ran its winding course out onto the plain. The foxes were camped at its edge, using wet grass poultices to bathe the injuries from the sharp green pine cones. They did not see Veil until it was too late. Swinging his stave down hard with both paws he hit Brool a vicious blow to the base of his skull. Then, grabbing a spear sticking into the ground next to Brool, he drove it into Renn. Rolling both foxes into the river, he watched them being borne away on the flow.
‘When you get. to Dark Forest tell them Veil the Outcast sent yer!’
The river was flowing in a westerly direction. Veil followed its banks until he found what he was looking for, an old willow trunk, washed up there after winter. Levering it into the water with the spearbutt he waded in and boarded it. Straddling the trunk, the young ferret made a meal of scones and crystallized fruit from the haversack as he was borne westward. Far in the distance he could see mountains.
* * *
37
Bryony would not let Togget travel until mid-afternoon. When they quit the pine grove she made a compress of rainwet dock leaves and bound it to his forehead. Hungry and dispirited, they pressed onward. Bryony had to put up with listening to a relentless menu of Togget’s favourite foods; she let him ramble on, knowing he was trying to forget the ache in his head. He trudged by her side, arranging meals.
‘Oi loiks damsen pudden wi’ lots o’ meadowcream on et, an’ oi favours noo-baked bread, hurr, wi’ ole yellow cheese an’ a gurt Summer Salad. Ho, but deeper’n’ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie, hoo urr! Oi’d swap moi tail furr one roight naow, wi’ gudd mushyroom gravy poured thick atop of et!’
The visions conjured up by Togget’s descriptions soon had Bryony comparing her favourite dishes with him. ‘I’d like a beaker of strawberry cordial and a big pastie, a mushroom, potato and onion one, after that I think I’d go for some hot apple and blackberry crumble, with sweet white arrowroot sauce poured all over it. Then I’d have a wedge of whitecheese, the one with almonds and hazelnuts in it, and one, no two, of Friar Bunfold’s fresh oatfarls, straight from the oven. Yummy!’
Togget held one paw to his forehead and the other to his stomach. ‘Aow, missie, do be soilent, oi’m turrible ’ungry!’
‘Well, you started it, moleyface! Look, there’s a river!’
They made camp on the riverbank, and Bryony redampened Togget’s poultice with riverwater. Nowhere was anything edible to be found. The country ahead of them sloped slightly downward, running off to a flat plain, grassy and deserted. Behind a small hillock they snuggled down on the lee side; away from the breeze, it was quite sunny and warm. Togget was snoring gently and Bryony’s eyes were beginning to droop when she heard a deep bass voice singing:
‘One day in spring I said to me wife,
“Though we’re close together as fork’n’knife,
An’ I’ve loved y’dearly all of me life,
Still I’ll have to follow the wateeeeeeer!”
She yelled at me an’ took up her broom,
An’ chased me twice around the front room,
Shoutin’, “That ole river’ll be yore doom,
Think of yer son an’ yer daughteeeeeeeer!”
So I said to her, “O love dearie me,
I must follow the river right down t’the sea,
&nbs
p; ’Tis the only way a beast can be free,”
An’ I ran ’cos I couldn’t have fought heeeeeeer!
She said t’me, “Now listen you,
Me an’ the young uns are all comin’ too,
On board of a raft you need a good crew,
It’ll make the journey seem shorteeeeeeeer!”’
A large untidy raft hove into view round the bend, smoke curling from the chimney of a hut built at its centre. A fat, jolly-looking hedgehog was leaning on the tiller; over his head a line was strung between two poles set for’ard and aft, with gaily coloured washing fluttering from it.
Bryony ran into the shallows waving her paws. ‘Hello there, I mean, ahoy! Could you take two passengers?’
The fat hedgehog grinned from ear to ear, revealing a wonderful set of even white teeth. ‘Ahoy yoreself, mousey, gangway while I brings ’er inshore!’
He steered the raft into the shallows, almost grounding it, and asked, ‘Two y’say, where’s t’other one, missie?’
‘Yurr, surr, tho’ oi’m nought but a pore damaged mole-beast!’ Togget came ambling around the hillock holding his head.
A small wiry female hedgehog came bustling out of the hut on the raft, her skirt billowing over a welter of petticoats. ‘Corks an’ crivvens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Wot ’appened to yore nut, mole? Did yer fall on it?’
Togget tenderly rubbed the poultice on his forehead. ‘Oi’d tell ee, marm, but oi’m far too ’ungered furr gossip.’
Immediately the hogwife gave her husband a mighty shove. ‘Ducks an’ drakes! Don’t stan’ there lookin’ ornamental, Duddle Pollspike, git the pore mole an’ the mousemaid aboard an’ let’s feed ’em!’
Duddle tugged his headspikes respectfully. ‘Wotever you say, Tutty, my liddle bankblossom!’
Outcast Of Redwall Page 24