Triss: A Novel of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Triss’s odd behaviour caused the entire camp to quieten down. Churk whispered to Sagax, “Look, the sun’s dead centre, it must be exactly midday at this moment!”

  Placing her chin in the treeforks, Triss narrowed her eyes, peering straight ahead. Then it was as if the spell was broken, for she became her usual cheerful self.

  Leaving her position, she strode resolutely forward. Passing Churk, she gave the ottermaid’s ear a tweak and laughed aloud. “Haha, I caught a glimmer! Go and put your chin in that tree fork, mate. Don’t look until I give you a shout.”

  Mystified, Churk carried out the request. Triss continued walking until she was almost obscured by trees and shrubbery. She halted at what appeared to be a hump in the ground. Picking up a rough, paw-sized pebble from the top of the hump, she began polishing it hard against her tunic. Having done this, she replaced the pebble and called out, “Churk, get your chin in the fork and take a look!”

  A short moment went by. Then Churk could be heard yelling, “Yaharr! Great wallopin’ rudders, mates, come an’ take an eyeful o’ this. Trissy, me pal, yore a wonder—how did ye know?”

  Crowding round, the entire party struggled to get a glance.

  “I see it, the light, it shines like white fire!”

  Sagax and Shogg dashed through the woodland to Triss’s side. She was leaning proudly on a massive bulge with bright green liverwort moss growing all over it. Small, tight and curling fronds completely obscured the stone. Triss pointed to the rough rock crystal pebble standing at its centre.

  “I saw it glimmer in the midday sun. It was a bit dull and dirty, so I gave it a good polish to make it shine properly.”

  Sagax touched the bulge reverently. “So this big mound is the greenstone!”

  Churk ran her paws through the moss covering the stone. “The rear entrance to Brockhall! But how did ye find it, Triss?”

  The squirrelmaid shrugged, her vision of Martin unrecalled. “I don’t know, really. Just a bright idea, I suppose.”

  Skipper gave a great belly laugh. “Hohoho! Bright idea, that’s a good ’un. Lookin’ at that crystal pebble, I’d say ’twas a shinin’ idea, miss. Now, mates, anybeast got more bright ideas as to ’ow we move this big hump of rock?”

  Churk and Triss were already on all fours, doing a tour of the rock’s base. The squirrelmaid suddenly halted. Without looking up, she shot out a paw. “Sharp knife, please!”

  A dozen daggers appeared like magic. She grabbed one, talking as she scraped busily away. “Moss isn’t growing as thick here. Somebeast scraped it away a long time ago, but it takes a lot of seasons for liverwort as thick as this to grow properly again. What d’you make of this, matey?”

  Churk was at her side, inspecting the symbols scratched into the bare limestone. She nodded knowingly. “ ’Tis that crazy ole alphabet again. Mokug, get me that key I made, it’s in my pack. I’ll soon tell ye wot this says!”

  By the time they had cleaned off the stone sufficiently, Mokug found the translation and brought it to Churk. Using birchbark parchment and a charcoal stick, Shogg wrote the symbols as Churk called out the letters:

  turn halfway and slide south

  Sagax scratched his striped muzzle. “Turn halfway and slide south. Let’s give it a try, Skip!”

  Between them, both otter and badger possessed considerable strength. However, they could not budge the stone a bit, no matter how they threw their weight against it. Triss could not help smiling at their efforts.

  “Stop pushing and shoving before you do yourselves an injury. It’s pretty clear that nobeast has moved this stone for ages. Wouldn’t it be better to clear the ground around the base first, get rid of all these weeds and rubbish?”

  Skipper blew a sweat bead from his nose tip and grinned. “I was waitin’ for me niece Churk t’suggest that, miss, but I’m willin’ to accept yore solution!”

  Log a Log swept his rapier blade along the ground. When he pulled away the moss where the rock met earth, he heard a scraping sound. “It’s stone, a stone laid on a stone base. Let’s get to it!”

  It did not take long for the efforts of the entire party to clear a wide circle. The Guosim Chieftain was right. Their work revealed a wide flat stone base, with scratches in it that had been made every time the badgers of old had shifted the greenstone to open the rear exit.

  Streamwater and soapwort were brought, and they washed the base off and rubbed soapwort plants onto the stonework. Skipper, Sagax and Shogg tried this time. At first the greenstone refused to budge, then Triss and Churk lent a paw. The ottermaid lent a suggestion, too.

  “Try turnin’ it left to right, instead o’ right to left.”

  Skipper muttered to Shogg, “Y’know, I think she inherited a double portion o’ brains!”

  Shogg stifled a giggle. “Aye, but not from yore side o’ the family, mate!”

  The stone moved without too much difficulty. When it would turn no further, Churk gave it a healthy shove southward. It slid aside. Triss peered down a dusty flight of steps into the darkness below.

  “Welcome to Brockhall, friends!”

  39

  Whidge had regained consciousness, finding himself bound to the stake in front of the serpents’ lair. He moaned and whined piteously, until both Ratguards and Freebooters were tired of his whimpering.

  Tazzin shook her head in disgust. “I wuz never too fond o’ that ole misery. If’n ’e keeps that weepin’ up, I’ll finish ’im off meself!”

  Kurda gave Riggan a sly wink before she answered Tazzin. “No, no, mine friend, ve need ’im alive or der serpents might lose de interest, den ve get no booty. Keep der rat quiet, but don’t slay ’im.”

  Tazzin crept out from cover. Hurling herself on Whidge, she gagged the wretched searat with his own broad belt. “There, that’ll keep ye quiet. You just lie there an’ wiggle about a bit—I’ll see ye get yore share o’ the loot!”

  Whidge lay wide-eyed, staring into his former shipmate’s hard features. The only noise he could make was “Mmfff!”

  Tazzin patted him reassuringly. “Aye, that’s the stuff, but mind now, if’n ye get much noisier’n that . . . well.”

  She licked the blade of her knife, grinned wickedly at him and departed to hide behind a sycamore with Grubbage.

  Kurda conferred with Riggan. “Get dem t’inking about loot und booty an’ ve haff dose seascum on our side, yarr. You sure der serpents are in dere?”

  Riggan watched the door in the oak trunk. “Oh, I’m shore, marm. Trackin’ that ’ellish smell to yon oak was no trouble. Those snakes are in there, all right, I’d stake me life on it.”

  Kurda’s pink eyes were as cold as ice as she tested her sabre edge. “You better hope you don’t lose your stake.”

  The bright summer day drifted by with the pace of a leisurely snail, warm sun and humming insects combining to soften the menace that hovered over the still, green woodland. The stoat Scummy spread out on some moss behind an elm and closed his eyes. A nearby Ratguard prodded the Freebooter with his spearbutt.

  “Hoi, yore s’posed to be watchin’, not snoozin’.”

  Scummy opened one eye and glared balefully at the rat. “Mind yer own business, I’ll do wot I like, see!”

  The Ratguard was slightly taken aback. “Better not let Cap’n Vorto or Princess Kurda catch ye!”

  Ripper the searat curled his lip at the speaker. “Wot are we supposed t’do, then, sit ’ere to attention all day? We’ve ’ad little sleep an”ardly a bite to eat. I’m gonna get some o’ those whortleberries growin’ over yonder. Yew stay awake an’ keep guard—yore a Ratguard, ain’t yer? We’re Freebooters, we do wot we like!”

  As time meandered slowly by, summer cast its warm spell over the glade. Anybeast out of Kurda and Vorto’s sight took advantage of the torpor and dozed off, crewbeasts and soldiers alike. Even Kurda could not halt her eyelids from drooping.

  Vorto tried to remain attentive, whispering to Riggan, who was still watching through half-closed eyes, �
�Those serpents would’ve showed theirselves by now if’n they was really in there. You sure you saw ’em go in?”

  The tracker gave Vorto a pitying look. “I trailed ’em ’ere. I never saw the snakes enter, I got ’ere too late fer that. But they’re in there, all right.”

  Whidge was lying quite still. Vorto did not realise that the old searat had been suffocated by his own belt. “Look at ’im. Don’t seem t’be too bothered by it all, does ’e?”

  Down inside the dusty gloom of Brockhall, Zassaliss slithered forward, pulling his brother and sister along with him. “Ssssssoft now, sssssssilent! Let usssss sssssee what issss happening outssssside.”

  As they passed the mummified remains of their mother and King Sarengo, locked together in death’s eternal embrace, Sesstra hissed malevolently, “The time hasssss come to make them pay for thisssss!”

  Leaving a rearguard of Guosim shrews aboveground, Triss led the woodlanders down the steps into Brockhall. It was gloomy and musty, with the awful odour hanging thick upon the still air. Sagax tried to keep his voice from echoing into the tunnel as he murmured to Skipper, “D’you think we should chance a light?”

  The otter Chieftain mentally debated the point for a moment. “A light could get us seen. But I think we should ’ave one down ’ere, ’cos we need to see. Hmm, we’d be best off with a small ’un that don’t flare up too bright.”

  Churk felt along the rough rock wall until she encountered a bend. “There’s one here, will this do?”

  It was a candle lamp, with a good thick candle stump in it. Log a Log set flint to tinder and lit it. “Aye, this’ll do fine. The crystal glass is all dusty, but it’ll give us enough light t’see wot we’re doin’.”

  The lamp gave off a soft golden light upon an eerie scene. Brockhall, the once-legendary home of badgers and their woodland friends, was in a sad state of neglect. Cobwebs clung everywhere and tree roots hung like tentacles from wall and ceiling. The whole ancient place was deeply coated in dust, with sinister drag marks down the centre of each winding passage. There were side chambers, some with the doors broken down, others screened by curtains, which crumbled and disintegrated at a touch. Sagax and Shogg entered one and looked around. It had once been a comfortable bedchamber, but now the wonderfully carved furniture was woodworm-riddled and broken. Snakeskins, shed in previous seasons, caused revulsion among the seekers as they burst and crinkled underpaw.

  Out in the corridor, Triss called in an echoing whisper, “Stay together, don’t anybeast stray off alone.”

  Mokug shuddered. “Good advice, missy, I’m all fer that!”

  Log a Log placed a paw against the hamster’s mouth. “An’ don’t speak lessen ye have to, t’ain’t safe in ’ere!”

  Scarum strode blithely up the path, munching on a hefty apple-and-blackcurrant flan. Chuckling to himself, he cut off into the woodlands. “Dozy old bunch, wot! Jolly impudent, too, I’d say. Fancy thinkin’ y’could demote a garrison commander to a drudge of all work, cads! Chap of my blinkin’ skills, wot? Didn’t take me a bloomin’ tick to escape that lot. Huh, starvin’ for three days on lettuce leaves an’ water, fat chance! They’d find my young wasted body dead after just two flamin’ days o’ that nonsense. Hey ho for the open air an’ fiddle dee dee for those old buffers. Join up with the chaps, that’s the ticket! Comrades staunch an’ true, with lots of rations an’ so forth. Y’-can’t go paw-sloggin’ without loads of fodder t’keep fur’n’scut together, no sah!”

  The incorrigible young hare strode jauntily along, armed with a pillowcase full of food from Redwall’s kitchens and a window pole with a metal hook on one end, his chosen weapon. With neither care nor conscience, he composed a marching song as he went on his way:

  “I’m a one chap regiment,

  Don’t y’dare stand in me way,

  No Abbey cell could suit me well,

  On such a jolly day.

  O trampitty tramp I’m marchin’,

  Stand fast the Buffs, I sing.

  If I had a drum I’d go rumpetty tum,

  I’d biff it like anything.

  I’m a perilous hare y’know,

  Just like me dear old dad,

  A word’s as good as a blow, hoho,

  Though some may think me mad . . .”

  He paused and pulled a face. “Mad? No, no, not the right word at all—have t’change it. Let’s see, mad, bad, glad, sad, old lad? Hmm, I’ll have to think about that one.”

  In the midst of still-shimmering noontide, the trio of serpents struck. Everybeast was unprepared for the lightning move. One moment the glade was quiet and peaceful, save for an occasional muted snore. Then, in the blink of an eye, the whole scene changed. Zassaliss had spent the last hour inching the oak tree door open, fraction by fraction. Suddenly the adder saw that the way was clear. He hissed, “Sssssstrike!”

  Together the trio of snakes boiled out of the entrance. Straight across the glade they rushed, with the mace chain clanking behind, right past the carcass of Whidge, whom they already knew to be dead. Crashing into the fern bed, they snatched a plump sleeping Ratguard, who shrieked as they seized him.

  Kurda came awake immediately. Grabbing her sabre, she yelled urgently, “Stop der shnakes! Arm der crew! Don’t let de serpents get back inside der den. Hurry!”

  To their credit, the Ratguards roused themselves swiftly. Vorto kicked the pile of weapons, scattering them as he ran by, shouting, “You ’eard the Princess, git yore swords, cut ’em off afore they escape!”

  But the adders were faster. Bunching their coils jointly, they slithered backwards like lightning, dragging the feebly kicking Ratguard into Brockhall with them. Vorto paused momentarily, looking to Kurda for orders. Her eyes shone madly at the sight of the coveted Crown of Sarengo vanishing into the darkness.

  “In! In! Get in after dem, kill de serpents! Get der booty! De cowards run, dey are scared of us! In! In!”

  Tazzin swung a dagger about her head, fired by the mention of booty and the excitement of the chase. “Did ye ’ear that, mates? Booty! Chaaaaaarge!”

  Both Ratguards and Freebooters piled into Brockhall, roaring and yelling after Zassaliss, Harssacss and Sesstra.

  Skipper had just led the party into the big main cavern beneath the oak tree roots. Log a Log held the lantern up as the others stared in awe at the mighty structure. Then a deafening cacophony of noise filled the chamber: clanking chains, hissing, pounding paws and yelling vermin. Before they had a chance to group themselves, it broke in upon them like a dark tidal wave. The three snakes collided with the Redwallers. Mokug turned to run, his head butting Triss under her chin. She slipped and fell, the sword kicked from her grasp by the milling paws of shrews.

  Zassaliss spat the dying Ratguard from his mouth and, pulling the other two adders up with him, reared over the fallen squirrelmaid and struck. Shogg hurled himself between them, slashing wildly with his spearpoint. Zassaliss pulled to one side, attacking the otter with his poisonous fangs as the spear struck Sesstra straight down her open mouth. There was a roar like thunder breaking over the sea, as Sagax swung his battle-axe, leaping into the fray. Zassaliss ducked his head, and the big axe slew his brother Harssacss. Triss rolled over as the adder’s chin hit the floor. Her paws clasped about the sword hilt, she sprang upright, driving the keen blade straight through the throat of Zassaliss.

  Then followed a scene of utter chaos as the Ratguards and Freebooters came tumbling on them in the wake of the snakes. Both sides were confused until Skipper took out a Ratguard with his javelin and gave the battle cry: “At ’em, mates! Redwaaaaaaallllll!”

  Triss gathered in the vanguard with Churk, Sagax, Skipper and Log a Log. Backed by Guosim and Redwallers, they rushed the vermin, catching them off guard. Warcries rang out, echoing and bouncing off the walls of Brockhall as they drove the vermin back up the corridor.

  “Eulaliaaaaaa! Redwaaaaaalll! Logalogaloga-looooog!”

  Spear cracked against javelin, sword clashed upon cutlass, rapier rasped
against daggerblade. But above it all, two stood out: the young badger wielding the fearsome battle-axe, and the squirrelmaid armed with the sword of Martin the Warrior. They were like twin whirlwinds, slaying and roaring as they went. Triss was wreaking retribution for the death of her father and Drufo. Vermin fell before her like chaff beneath a scythe. Sagax’s eyes shone red in the gloom—he was possessed of the dreaded Bloodwrath, inherent to great Badger Lords of Salamandastron. Neither injury nor foebeast could hurt him as his awesome weapon swung into the vermin ranks like a windmill.

  Tripping and stumbling, the vermin broke and ran in defeat, the Redwallers swarming after them. Their cries echoed off down the gloomy passage as Kurda, Vorto and Riggan sneaked out of a side chamber. Leaping over the carnage of dead and mortally wounded creatures, Kurda grabbed the crown from the head of Zassaliss. She slashed cruelly at the dead snakes, growling frantically,

  “Vere is der pawring, dat is mine birthright!”

  Riggan jumped aside, narrowly missing the sweeping blade. “It ain’t ’ere—ye can see that for yoreself, marm. Leave it, we got to get goin’ afore those Redwallers come back!”

  Kurda leaned on her sabre, breathing hard. “Yarr, you are right, but I must find mine pawring!”

  Vorto, catching Riggan’s glance, interrupted. “Yore ’ighness, we can come back ’ere when they’ve gone. Me ’n’ Riggan’ll find yore pawring for ye. Come on, Princess, there must be a way out the back, or ’ow did the Redwallers get in? Can ye get us out safe, Riggan?”

  The slavecatcher nodded. “Just follow the trail backwards where they’ve disturbed the dust an’ broke the cobwebs. C’mon!”

  Taking their advice reluctantly, Kurda put up her sabre and followed them to the rear exit.

  Triss and Sagax threw themselves on the grass to regain their breath. Vermin could be heard in the distance, pursued by Redwallers as they fled in ignominious retreat, scattering widespread.