Outcast Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  The cabinhut was very chintzy, with gaily coloured tablecloth and curtains, thick, bright-dyed rushmats and a large square stove on which various dishes bubbled and stewed. Bryony and Togget were seated at a semicircular window table and given beetroot and raspberry wine in small mugs to revive them. Tutty Pollspike busied herself at the stove, whilst her husband Duddle shooed their two young hoglets, Clematis Roselea and Arundo, out of the way.

  ‘Landing party, my darling ducklings, play ashore awhile until yore dear mama an’ my goodself get the vittles ready.’

  Bryony and Togget introduced themselves and told their story while Duddle and Tutty prepared the meal. Duddle tasted soup on a spoontip, smacked his lips several times and muttered, ‘Needs more fennel, splendid herb, always like it. Well, let me tell you, young uns, yore ferret has prob’ly taken the river route if he has a grain of sense, it’s the only way t’travel. Easy on the paws, never goes uphill, an’ y’can take the home too.’

  Tutty placed fresh bread on the table, smacking Togget’s paw away. ‘Crabs an’ clawlegs! Yore worse’n my Duddle. You can travel with us for as long as you pleases, may’ap you’ll find yore ferret. But if’n you touches any vittles afore the table is set, I’ll chop off yore tails afore you can blink. Got that?’

  She fixed Togget with a warning stare as he nodded, and said, ‘Got et, thankee, marm, you’m be a cutten off ee tailers if us’n’s be a touchen afore vittles be ready. Ho urr!’

  The two hoglets were called in from play when the meal was ready. Duddle poled the raft from the bank and it drifted downriver, with the tiller lashed in position whilst they ate.

  There was thick watercress and turnip soup, warm brown wheatbread, a deep dish of cheese, mushroom and leek bake, and a blackberry jam roly poly pudding with meadowcream. Afterwards they sipped borage and rosehip tea. Duddle went out on deck to tend the tiller, whilst the friends were entertained by young Clematis Roselea, who recited a poem taught by her mama.

  ‘I have learnt to wash my paws,

  An’ say sir an’ marm,

  An’ don’t act daft, when on this raft,

  Lest I do come to harm.

  To sit up straight at table time,

  An’ go to bed when told,

  Mama says I’m a precious hog,

  In fact I’m good as gold . . . So there!’

  Young Arundo was about to flick an apple pip at her, when he caught his mama’s stern eye, and he shrugged philosophically instead. ‘Thorry! I don’t want my tail cut off with a thingle thwipe!’

  ‘Ahoy in the hut, mole’n’maid, all paws on deck an’ see this!’

  At the sound of Duddle’s voice from outside, Bryony and Togget left the table and went to see what he had found. Tutty set her stern gaze on the hoglets, who had half risen from table. ‘Rhubarb an’ rosebuds! Did anybeast tell you two to move?’

  Arundo settled back glumly, making a chopping motion with his paw. ‘Thame old thtory, chop off our tailth!’

  The bodies of the two old foxes were caught up in the branches of a half submerged bush in a shallow cove beyond a curve.

  Duddle pointed them out to the friends. ‘Dreadful end for anybeast, even two villains like them. How d’you figger it happened?’

  Togget nodded knowingly. ‘Oi’ll bet an acorn to an apple ’twere maister Veil did et!’

  Bryony wagged a reproving paw at the mole. ‘Oh, Togget, how could you say that? Veil wouldn’t have killed them, perhaps it was just some kind of nasty accident!’

  Togget turned away and trundled back to the hut, muttering, ‘Aye, an’ p’raps ’twill snow this evenin’, et bein’ midsummer!’

  Sometime during the next night, when Veil lay sleeping on the willow trunk, a sidestream came up and flowed off on a slight slope. Not being awake to control the log, Veil slept on, unaware that the current had steered his craft off the main river. The willow trunk drifted silently into the slipstream, bearing the sleeping ferret away towards the distant mountains, and fast-running rapids which led to a waterfall.

  * * *

  38

  The same wet dawn which had sent Bryony and Togget scurrying for the pine copse broke over Salamandastron. Rain sheeted out in curtains over the still waveless sea; hordebeasts huddled miserably among the rocky outcrops on the tideline, protecting smoky fires from guttering in the downpour. Swartt crouched with several of his Captains and Nightshade, their fire sheltered by an old tent canvas pegged to the side of the rock groyne. Those around the Warlord remained silent, not knowing which mood chose to possess their leader on such a cheerless day. Neither the ferret nor his vixen had spoken to anybeast of their latest plan.

  Both watched the mountain, its top shrouded in mist. Though Swartt and his seer did not speak, both their minds were concentrated on the same thing. Was the Wraith inside the caves and passages of Salamandastron, stalking their enemy Sunfiash with his lethal stone blade?

  Wraith lay panting on a narrow ledge halfway up to the window of the Badger Lord’s bedchamber. Though the weasel could move speedily over short distances he had never been a strong creature. Granted, he was endowed with a natural cunning and the fantastic power of camouflage, but there his powers ended. He lacked strength and stamina. Wiping rainwater from his pale eyes, he glanced upward. Sounds of breakfast bustle and banter reached his soaking ears. Checking that his deadly stone knife was dry and safe in its sheath, Wraith hauled himself wearily up the rainslicked mountainside as the downpour continued its relentless course.

  Folrig and Ruddle were merciless jokers, and wherever the opportunity presented itself for a bit of fun the two otters were certain to be involved. Unwittingly, the fat, food-loving hare Porty had presented himself as an easy target. Sunflash had pointed him out at breakfast.

  Folrig and Ruddle came bounding into the dining hall, hungry from dawn sentry duty. Roughly they elbowed their way in beside the Badger Lord and began helping themselves to his hot oatcakes.

  ‘Move over, ole frightface, make way for two starvin’ riverdogs! We’re fightin’ fit an’ ready to eat anybeast to a standstill!’

  The big badger pushed hot blackberry pie and mint tea in their direction, commenting drily as they ate ravenously, ‘You two uglymugs are mere babes when it comes to victualling. See that fat young hare over there, Porty? Now there’s a bucko I’d call a good scoffer – why, he’d eat you two out of house and home while he was waiting to be served. Watch him!’

  Both otters did, their own food forgotten as they observed Porty with fascination. In rapid order a full apple pie, a plate of dried fruits, a big pitcher of strawberry fizz and an enormous carrot and mushroom pastie were devoured by the insatiable hare. Mopping up the gravy from the pastie with half a crusty loaf, Porty eyed his neighbour’s plate covetously. ‘Mmmf grmmmf snch! Er, I say, old lad, if y’can’t tackle that measly bowl of pear crumble then chuck it along this way, wot?’

  Ruddle shook his head in admiration. ‘Wot a beast! C’mon, mate, we’ve got to meet that furry feedbag!’

  After breakfast Sunflash went up to the bedchamber window, where he stood with Sabretache and Colonel Sandgall. They viewed the rainswept beach and the saturated hordes gathered round their sputtering fires amid the rocks. Polishing his monocle, the Colonel twitched an ear to the sky.

  ‘Good ol’ rain, wot! Nothin’ like it for dampenin’ vermin spirits, give ’em a chance to reconsider their bally position. Wet’n’worried, I’d say, by the look of the blighters!’

  Sabretache clapped paw to the hilt of his fighting blade. ‘Mayhap, sah, but what about when the jolly old precipitation ceases, what then?’

  The Colonel stared at him blankly. ‘Precipitation ceases? Explain y’self, laddie buck!’

  Sabretache gave Sunflash a quick wink. ‘Beggin’ y’pardon, sah, I mean, what happens when the rain stops?’

  The Badger Lord answered before Sandgall had a chance to. ‘We attack! Leave the bare minimum of defenders at the mountain here, the rest of us put on full battle gear an
d take the fight to the enemy. This is the best chance we’ll have: our numbers are bolstered by shrews, otters and squirrels.’

  Squinching the monocle into his cheek, Sandgall agreed. ‘Excellent plan, milord, was just about to suggest it m’self!’

  The Wraith was directly below the broad windowledge. He lay breathless in the rain, listening to what was going on. A quick peek reassured him that Sunflash was standing close to the windowspace. The weasel planned to make his move as soon as he regained his wind and felt fit enough for a burst of speed. Drawing the poisoned stone blade he sheltered it carefully against the rain with his paw. All it would take was a quick leap onto the windowsill and a swift strike at the unsuspecting badger.

  Chuckling and chortling, Folrig and Ruddle came bounding into the bedchamber. They dashed about searching frantically in the nooks and corners.

  Sunflash could not help smiling at the two funsters. ‘Excuse me, you two frog-frighteners, but what are you doing chasing round my bedchamber, eh?’

  Between gusts of laughter they explained.

  ‘Yahahaha! You shoulda seen ole Porty’s face!’

  ‘Whoohooheehee! We pulled the ole rockcream trick on ’im!’

  ‘Haha! Aye, we told ’im that otter rockcreams were the most delicious thing anybeast ’ad ever tasted. So, that greedy Porty, couldn’t wait to get ’is paws on some!’

  ‘Right! Then we nips out t’the kitchens an’ covers a few rocks wid meadowcream. Otter rockcreams, see?’

  Sunflash stifled a chuckle. ‘He didn’t eat any, surely?’

  Folrig and Ruddle leaned on each other for support, helpless with mirth. ‘He, he, heeheehee! Pore old Porty ’ad bolted one down afore we could stop ’im, shoulda seen ’is face, hahahahaha!’

  Colonel Sandgall twitched his eye, making the monocle wiggle. ‘Hmm, very droll I’m sure, but if I were you chaps I’d scoot fast or hide, I can hear young Porty comin’, an’ he don’t sound greatly pleased or amused by your jape!’

  ‘Gloggle! Yarggh! I’ll rockcream the bounders! Where are the flippin’ plank-tailed villains, I’ll skin ’em alive!’

  Folrig and Ruddle shot around Sunflash, attempting to hide themselves behind the badger’s broad back. Porty came thundering in, cream all around his mouth and an otter rockcream cake in each paw, his face a picture of comic indignation.

  ‘Come out, you rotten otters!’ he yelled.

  A loud giggle from behind Sunflash gave them both away. The outraged hare saw that the Badger Lord suddenly appeared to have six footpaws. Porty raised the rockcreams to throw. Sunflash saw what was about to happen and dropped flat to the chamber floor, leaving Folrig and Ruddle exposed to Porty’s vengeance.

  It was not a lucky day for the Wraith. The mottled weasel sprang upright in the windowspace, wielding his deadly stone knife, triumph shining in his pale eyes. At that exact moment Porty flung the cream-covered rocks and the otters ducked with lightning speed.

  Splakk!

  Both missiles scored a direct hit on the Wraith’s face.

  Instinctively, the weasel’s paws flew up to his mouth, and he plunged silently backward into space, the dagger sticking in his jaw. The last sound the Wraith made was when his falling body thudded against the rocks far below. Draped limply across the rain-soaked stone with both eyes closed, the carcass of what had once been the weasel Wraith was almost invisible.

  Sabretache fixed Porty and the two otters with the haughty glare of an outraged officer. ‘I’m goin’ to count to three now, an’ if you chaps haven’t found someplace else to play your silly tricks by then, you’ll all be on a fizzer, double guard duty for three nights. Understood?’

  Three hasty salutes, a patter of footpaws and the slamming of the door announced tranquillity had returned to the bedchamber.

  Colonel Sandgall polished furiously at his monocle. ‘Must be somethin’ wrong with this bally contrivance, wot! D’you know, I thought I saw some type of vermin standin’ on that windowledge, not a moment ago, confounded strange, eh, wot?’

  Sunflash coughed politely, catching a nod from Sabretache. ‘Did you really, Colonel? I’m sure I saw something there, too; must’ve been a trick of the light, reflection off the sea or something. What d’you think, ’Tache?’

  The hare leaned out over the windowsill. ‘Oh indeed, sah, stranger things have been seen around this mountain more times than enough, wot! I say, the jolly old rain’s startin’ to pack in, see, there’s the sun comin’ out!’

  Steam rose in wisps from the sand as the midday sun rose high to warm the earth. Swartt Sixclaw stood rapping his gauntleted paw against his swordhilt.

  ‘We should’ve heard somethin’ by now. Surely if this Wraith beast is as good as ’e’s supposed ter be, the badger must be dead?’

  Nightshade moved artfully out of paw range. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see, Lord.’

  Swartt turned on her, snarling as his temper rose. ‘Let me ’ear you say that jus’ once more, vixen, an’ you’ll be wearin’ yer tail round yer neck fer a scarf!’

  He transferred his attention to the hordebeasts, who were leaping about in the shallows, trying to catch mackerel from a shoal that had ventured in too close. ‘Huh, will yer lookit that slab-sided lot o’ bumpkins, they make better fishers than fighters. See that the best of their catch is sent up to my fire. Where in the name o’ tripes an’ tendons ’as that Wraith got to?’

  Silently the warriors of Salamandastron stood ready as the rough-timber gate at the main entrance creaked open. Sunflash the Mace led them out, clad only in his chainmail tunic and carrying the mace loosely at his side. Lady Firdance, the squirrel leader, took the left flank with Folrig and Ruddle. Log a Log took the right flank with Fleetrunn and Hedgepaw. Sabretache and Rockleg took the centre slightly behind Sunflash. Javelins, bows, spears, slings and rapiers were clutched tight in every paw as they skirted the deserted trench in front of the mountain. Quietly, grimly they strode, squirrels, otters, hares and shrews, hard eyed, tight jawed, their paws making no sound in the sand.

  Swartt had turned away; he sat with his back against the rocks, eyes half closed, enjoying the warmth and gentle breezes after the morning’s rain. A stoat was emerging from the shallows, a flapping silver-banded mackerel impaled on his spearpoint. Suddenly, he glanced up the beach and froze. Fish and spear were forgotten as he stood pointing and yelling, ‘Look, they’re comin’!’

  Swartt sprang upright, yanking out his sword. ‘Captains to me! Get out of that water! Everybeast stan’ to arms! Battle stations, the lot o’ yer!’

  Bradberry was marching alongside Porty. He heard the shouts lower down the beach and saw hordebeasts from afar, dashing hither and thither, and said, ‘Well, they’ve seen us now, Porty old lad.’

  Keeping his eyes front, Sabretache gave orders calmly. ‘Don’t run, me beauties, not yet. Shoulder t’shoulder, that’s the stuff, keep those weapons down, don’t want to stab the chap in front of you. Ready, milord?’

  Sunflash’s deep grunt was heard throughout the ranks.

  ‘Ready! Follow me!’

  The horde massed on the tideline, spears bristling, drums banging, conch shells blowing, banners fluttering out on the noon breeze. Swartt moved to the rear and, climbing up on a rocky outcrop, he spoke down to the vixen. ‘Well, we lost some yesterday, but now I can see what their strength is. Hah! We still outnumber ’em three to one. I see the badger still lives, so I can stick t’the oath I swore. It’ll be me, Swartt Sixclaw, who slays ’im, an’ no otherbeast!’

  Porty grasped Bradberry’s paw firmly. ‘Here we go, Bradders. Good luck, old chap, give ’em what for!’

  Sunflash half raised his mace. ‘March at the double now!’ he ordered.

  The pace speeded up, Sabretache and other officers calling, ‘Keep those lines straight, weapons down. Wait for it!’

  Sunflash raised the mace higher, and shouted, ‘Forward at the half run now!’

  The paws of the advancing warriors broke into a fast lope.

&nb
sp; ‘Archers ready at flanks and rear. Fire!’

  A broad half moon crescent of shafts cut into the blue afternoon air, whirring angrily over the advance at the front ranks of the waiting vermin.

  Sunflash swung his mace high.

  ‘Chaaaaaaarge!’

  Breaking into a headlong run, the warriors from the mountain brought their weapons up. Spears and javelintips glinted, swords and rapiers flashed. Amid the thunder of paws, wild warcries and battle shouts rent the summer air.

  ‘Eeulaliaaaaa! Logalogalogalogalooooog! Firjak Greenstone! Whump! Whump! Whump! Blood’n’vinegaaaaar!’

  The hordebeasts banged their shields and yelled back.

  ‘Swartt! Swartt! Sixclaaaaaw! Kill! Kiiiiiillll!’

  Like a tidal wave against a rocky shore, Sunflash’s command crashed into the horderanks, the shock of the impact driving the vermin back full ten pawlengths. Like a madbeast the Badger Lord plunged deep into the enemy lines, his mace whirling as he fought towards the distant figure of Swartt perched on the rock at the rear. Sabretache led his troops in to protect the badger’s back. Already limping from a spearwound, the sabre master dealt death to any who came within range of his curving blade. Arrows and slingstones from the rear of both forces zinged overhead like maddened wasps.

  The might of the horde, having taken the initial shock of the charge, now began pressing forward, and many a good warrior fell to vermin spears and cutlasses. Lady Firdance was having more success than most; forming a fighting triangle with Folrig and Ruddle she hit hard at the horde’s right flank, driving deep in an effort to meet up with Sunflash, whose huge form could be seen like a landmark as he ploughed forward. Bradberry went down with an arrow in his shoulder, and Porty stumbled and tripped, falling upon his friend. He turned to rise as a searat swept a large scimitar at him; the rat gave a shriek and fell dead at his side. Folrig pulled his javelin free as Ruddle assisted both hares up, winking at Porty.