Gorath held the pitchfork until it was close to the tapestry. “This is not a real warrior’s thing, but I call it Tung, it isn’t as wonderful as your sword, but it has always served me well.” Gorath laid Tung alongside Martin’s sword by the tapestry. Without another word, he curled up on the floor and slept.
Sister Atrata whispered to Orkwil, “He seems to like it there, I’ll bring him blankets, and a pillow. Your friend is still not recovered.”
The party tip-pawed away from the sleeping badger, with the Abbot murmuring softly to Skipper, “Anybeast who can talk with Martin is a friend of Redwall.”
Benjo Tipps agreed. “Aye, you could tell they was talkin’ to each other, just by watchin’ Gorath!”
Orkwil cast a backward glance at his friend, slumbering deeply, watched over by the greatest warrior of all. He whispered in Martin’s direction, “If you can, sir, get Gorath well, so that he can help us to face those vermin!”
Did the eyes of the figure on the tapestry blink? Or was it just a trick of the flickering candlelight?
14
Brownrats secreted behind rocks on both sides of the crookstream watched eagerly as the little flotilla of logboats drew closer. Gripping clubs and spears, they awaited Gruntan Kurdly’s signal. Their plan was simple, a straight charge into the shallow, running water would catch the unsuspecting Guosim shrews by surprise. It would be the perfect ambush. At its deepest part, the crookstream ran less than waist high, owing to its heavily pebbled bed.
Gruntan had left his litter, he lay flat on the top of the high rocks, overlooking the scene. He kept up a constant, muttered conversation with himself as he kept track of the logboats. “Haharr, now lemme see, there’s two logboats to the right bank, an’ two t’the left. Then there’s two more in midstream, wid the liddle round boat betwixt ’em. Once they gits level wid this ’ere rock, I’ll send my mob out, an’ we’ll give ’em thud’n’blunder!”
“Er, shouldn’t that be blood’n’thunder, Boss?”
Gruntan glared at his scout, Noggo, who with Biklo was lying alongside him. “That’s wot I said, izzenit?”
Biklo pointed out the error. “No, Boss, you said thud’n’blunder, not blood’n’thunder.”
Gruntan grabbed both scouts’ ears and banged their heads together. “Avast there, y’swabs, wot sounds better, blood’n’thunder, or thud’n’blunder, eh?”
Noggo blinked hard, trying to uncross his eyes. “Thud’n’blunder, Boss, I likes the sound o’ that!”
Gruntan tugged their ears roughly before releasing them. “Aharr, matey, an’ so do I. Blubber thrunder it is then!”
Both scouts edged out of his reach, saluting. “Aye aye, Boss, blutter thrumble, or wotever ye say!”
Maudie was in one of the midstream boats, she looked across to Luglug in the other. The shrew chieftain was scanning both banks keenly. “Those rascals ain’t much good at hidin’, miss, I kin see ’em crouchin’ in the rocks both sides of us.”
The haremaid allowed her paws to stray near the bow and arrows lying close to her. “Yes, I’ve spotted the blighters, too, they’re all painted up like a dellful of bloomin’ daisies. Not the best idea if you don’t want to be jolly well seen, is it? So, what d’you say, old Lugathing, we know they’re there, an’ they know we’re here. Shall we open up the ball?” She signalled Rigril and Teagle, who were holding the coracle, filled with shrewbabes, between both logboats. “Right, off y’go chaps, give them paddles a good whack, an’ don’t stop for anythin’. Good luck!”
Then things developed swiftly. The coracle shot off, with the babes squealing lustily as spray cascaded around them. Luglug roared to the four logboats skirting the banks. “Logalogalogaloooooog!”
They began launching showers of slingstones at the rats in the rocks.
Gruntan Kurdly sprang upright on his high perch, bawling furiously, “Don’t just sit there, ye block’eads! Chaaaaarge!”
His first officer, Stringle, leapt upright. “Youse ’eard the boss, cummon, charge! Charge! Ch…”
A well-aimed slingstone cracked him on the jaw. He slumped backward as the other Brownrats came out of hiding. Without somebeast to lead them, they came cautiously forward. Gruntan danced with rage, flinging grass, soil, shale, anything to paw, as he yelled. “Don’t stan’ around waitin’ for winter! Charge, ye fools! Chaaaaarge!”
Now the boats closest to shore began to speed up, half the crews paddling, as the other half continued slinging. Maudie stood erect, a shaft notched upon her bowstring. “Right, give ’em blood’n’vinegar, chaps. Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!” She loosed her arrow, bringing down one of the vermin, who was splashing through the shallows toward them.
The Guosim archers were ruthlessly efficient, they fired off salvos of arrows into the charging rats as they entered the crookstream. Maudie saw Guosim still hurling slingstones into the forward flank of vermin, as she notched up another arrow, shouting. “One more time, then let’s get out of here. Shoot!” Another rain of arrows cut the air, then the Guosim dropped their bows and started paddling energetically.
Now the logboats that had been close to shore came to midstream, ahead of the two carrying Maudie and Luglug. All six craft carried on upstream, their paddlers working hard. The coracle had rounded another bend, and could not be seen, but the logboats were hard in its wake.
Gruntan Kurdly was beside himself with rage, he hopped and danced on top of the big rock, ranting and raving. “Get after ’em, stop ’em, ye blitherin’ blisters! I wants those boats, ye sluggardly laggards! Out! Git yore useless bottoms out o’ the water an’ run along the banks, ye brainless blunderers! ’Tis ten times easier runnin’ on land than ’tis in a stream! Are ye deaf, daft or ditherin’? I said git out an’ run along the bankside!”
Some of the rats could not hear him clearly amid the stream noise, they continued wading through the water. Gruntan hopped and jumped wildly on top of the high rock, bellowing dreadful oaths and curses. Then he jumped a fraction too far, and disappeared over the edge.
Noggo stared in bewilderment at where Gruntan had been. “Huh, where’s the boss gone?”
Biklo shrugged. “I think ’e fell, ’cos ’e’s not ’ere no more, mate!”
Noggo scratched his tail awhile, then he giggled. “Well, ’e can’t slay us now, can ’e? The sh’ews musta spotted us, ’cos they was ready for the ambush. The boss said if’n we was spotted, then we was in fer a dose o’the Kurdlys.”
Biklo suddenly realised they had been given a new lease on life, due to their leader’s mishap. He began chuckling. “Mebbe ole Gruntan fancied ’e was a bird, hahahahaha!”
His companion sniggered uncharitably. “Heeheehee, that’s wot comes of eatin’ all those eggs, mate. I reckon ’e turned into a Kurdlyburd!” Both rats sat down. Overcome by merriment, they laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Then an agonised wail arose from below.
“Yeeeeeeeooooow…ooh, ’elp me mates, owowaaarrrrgh!”
The laughter froze in their throats, Noggo and Biklo crawled to the edge of the rock and peered downward. About halfway down the rockface, a big, old, gorse bush sprouted out of a crevice. Gruntan Kurdly was hanging there, painfully suspended in the thorny branches, wailing.
“Yowch, ooch, yeeek! ’elp me afore this thing breaks!”
Noggo called down instinctively. “We’ll ’elp ye, Boss, stay there!”
Gruntan’s voice reached new peaks of indignation. “Stay here? Where d’ye think I’m goin’, fer a paddle in the water! Get a rope down ’ere t’me, quick!” Looking down, Gruntan spotted his first officer. “Ahoy, Stringle, organise some ’elp an’ git me outta this!”
Vermin were called away from chasing the logboats, to assist their leader out of his predicament. The task was eventually achieved, with lots of ropes and harnesses. Gruntan Kurdly was hauled up to the top of the rock, screaming and yowling every pawlength of the way. The big Brownrat was pierced by long, sharp gorse thorns, from tailtip to ears. Whilst a team of helpers worked gingerly to
remove them, he glared murderously at his two scouts.
“I should peel the hides off’n ye both, aye, an’ sling youse into that bush. But I’m givin’ ye another chance, git after those logboats an’ see where they’re bound!”
Wordlessly, Noggo and Biklo dashed off to obey the order.
Maudie and the Guosim had problems of their own. The coracle containing Rigril, Teagle and the shrewbabes had run too far ahead of them. The waterway called the crookstream’n’ripples was a curious phenomenon. Once they were past the pebbly shallows of the gorge, the water deepened drastically. Even though they were paddling against the current, the going became smoother as they came in sight of a fork. It was there that the water went two ways, following a diverted course to one side, which the Guosim had named the ripples. This tributary thundered off downhill.
Luglug stood in the prow of his logboat, shouting to Rigril and Teagle, as they were swept into the slipwater at the fork. “Pull ’er out, keep to yore midstream, don’t let those ripples draw ye in afore we gets to ye, mates!”
Whether he could be heard over the rushing waters and the excited cries of the shrewbabes Maudie could not tell. However, she could see the trouble which the coracle was in. Rigril and Teagle were paddling furiously, trying to hold the little circular craft back, but it bumped against a rocky nub, just beneath the surface.
A groan of dismay arose from the crews of the six pursuing logboats. The coracle had begun to rotate, bouncing off the underwater rock, and slipping right into the ripples. As it hit the opposing downhill current, the paddlers’ oars became useless. Spinning like a top, the coracle was lost to sight, skimming swiftly downstream on a perilous course.
Luglug was bellowing. “Put yore backs into it, Guosim, we’ve got t’catch ’em!”
Maudie watched breathlessly as the shrew paddlers put all their might into their efforts. Compared with the coracle, the logboats had to struggle against the slipwater at the fork. Immediately they had to back water, and avoid going into collision with one another, as the long, pointed logboats hit the ripples. Gousim rowers dug paddles deep, leaning back, trying to stop their boats going into a spinning motion. The six craft raced off downhill, leaping and juddering into white clouds of enveloping spray.
Maudie put her mouth close to Luglug’s ear, she yelled aloud, “These ain’t ripples, they’re rapids!”
The shrew chieftain’s voice was almost lost amid an increasing thunder of water as he bellowed, “Save yore voice an’ hang on tight, miss, there’s a big ’un comin’ up!”
Maudie heard herself scream as the logboat shot off into thin air. It was then that she realised that the “big ’un” was a waterfall.
15
Abbot Daucus had issued orders that neither of the Abbey bells was to be tolled. If vermin invaders were heading for Redwall, it was not advisable to pinpoint the building’s position too soon by ringing its twin bells. Orkwil stood watch on the walltops, with Skipper Rorc, Foremole Burff, and Benjo Tipps. They took the northwest corner of the ramparts, which was the most likely vantage point to catch sight of the Sea Raiders, who would obviously be headed down the path toward them.
Orkwil felt very grown-up and important in his new role. Armed with the dagger and club he had gained from the water vole, the young hedgehog peered out into the darkness.
Leaning over the battlement beside him, Skipper whispered, “No sign o’ them yet, mate, how far behind ye do ye figger those villains were?”
Orkwil shrugged. “Can’t say really, Skip, but that big, golden fox won’t hang back when he finds me’n Gorath gone, an’ his brother slain into the bargain.”
Benjo rubbed his eyes, concentrating on the path. “Ain’t much moon showin’, ’tis real gloomy out there. This is the part I don’t like, the waitin’.”
Skipper let his chin rest on the battlement. “It must be midnight now, mebbe they’ve made camp, restin’ up until daylight. Don’t forget, they’re in strange country, so they might feel like goin’ carefully.”
Orkwil shook his head. “I don’t think careful is a word Longtooth is accustomed to. If he knows the way, he’ll be comin’ nonstop for Redwall!”
Contrary to Orkwil’s opinion, Vizka was an extremely careful creature, especially when it came to his own personal safety. Even now he marched at the centre of his crew, well protected on all sides by vermin bodies. It was past the midnight hour, the path ahead was in total darkness, Vizka cursed softly as a weasel blundered into him. “Ya clumsy oaf, gerrup in front an’ send der scouts back ter me!”
The two stoats, Dogleg and Patchy, came marching back. They had the vole on a rope lead, stumbling behind them. Dogleg thrust the prisoner in front of Vizka. “Dis ’un sez ’e kin see der Redwall place, Cap’n!”
The golden fox seized the vole’s neck roughly. “Ye’d better be tellin’ der truth or I’ll gut ya!”
The vole managed to gasp out, “’Tis up yonder, not far, ye’ll see it yoreself soon.”
Vizka gave orders to the weasel Magger. “Get der crew down dat ditch aside o’ de path. Tell ’em t’wait dere an’ be quiet. Jungo, Bilger, come wid me, bring dat hairy mouse wid ya!”
Glad of the unexpected rest, the vermin crew slid into the dry ditch. As Vizka and the two crewbeasts went cautiously forward, the watervole pointed ahead. “There ’tis, see, Redwall Abbey. Can I go back to me river now, sir? I’ve showed ye the way.”
Vizka showed his fangs in what he thought was a friendly smile. “Ye did well, hairy mouse, I’ll let ya go soon, but first dere’s a liddle job I wants ya to do fer me. Jungo, give ’im yore sling an’ stones. Bilger, take off’n yer shirt an’ scarf.”
The vole looked bemused as Vizka rigged him out in the filthy oversized shirt, and draped the scarf about his head like a turban. The golden fox fitted a stone in the sling and placed it in the vole’s paw, commenting, “Haharr, don’t ’e look like a salty ole Sea Raider now!”
Jungo chuckled. “Huhuhuh, looks real pretty, don’t ’e?”
The vole hitched up his floppy shirtsleeves. “Wot am I dressed up like this for, sir?”
Vizka nodded at the Abbey walls as they loomed up in the night. “Yore gonna announce us as visitors. Now, ’ere’s wot ya say. Shout out nice’n loud, ‘Ahoy in dere. I’m a pore, starvin’ seabeast, let me an’ me mates in so’s we kin get some vittles, kind sirs.’”
The vole stared disbelievingly at Longtooth. “But nobeast’ll hear me, they’ll all be well abed by now.”
Vizka patted his back reassuringly. “Yew let me worry about dat, fatmouse, jus’ do as yer told. Go on, an’ shout out loud’n’clear now, y’hear?”
The vole scratched his thick fur. “An’ then I’m free t’go?”
The golden fox nodded amiably. “Aye, free as a burd. Now yew go an’ deliver der message, we’ll wait right ’ere.” He drew his two crewbeasts into the woodland fringe, watching the vole walk off toward the wall.
Bilger sniggered, sensing his captain’s intentions. “Jus’ testin’ der ground, eh, Cap’n?”
Jungo looked puzzled. “Testin’ der ground, wot’s dat?”
Vizka cuffed his ear lightly. “Pay attention an’ watch dose walls.”
Orkwil was first to spot the movement on the path below. He cautioned his friends, “There’s somebeast down there, can’t make out who ’tis in this dark, but I’ll wager that ’un’s a vermin!”
Skipper peered down at the strange figure. “Stay where ye are, don’t come any further!”
The vole stood still as he carried out Vizka’s order to the letter. “Ahoy in there, I’m a pore, starvin’ seabeast, let me in so me an’ my mates can get some vittles!”
Orkwil recognised the vole by the tone of his voice. However, before he could do anything, Benjo Tipps flung an oakwood burl, which he used as a barrel stopper. It hit the vole squarely between both ears, felling him. Orkwil gasped at the speed with which the Cellarhog had acted. “Mister Tipps, that wasn’t a sea vermin. He’s a vole who live
s up near the ford!”
Benjo chuckled grimly. “Then why didn’t he say so? Looked like a vermin, said he was a seabeast, an’ if’n I ain’t mistaken, he was carryin’ a weapon. Wot d’ye say, Skip?”
Skipper Rorc nodded. “That’s a loaded sling he was totin’, ye did the right thing, mate. It could’ve been a trap, no use standin’ round an’ chattin’ with vermin. Strike now an’ talk later, that’s wot I always do! Now then, young Prink, can ye see any more o’ the villains out there?”
Orkwil stared hard, but there was no sign of movement. “No, Skip, there’s nobeast about that I can see. D’you think Mister Tipps has slain the vole, he looks awful still just lyin’ there.”
Benjo patted Orkwil’s headspikes. “Don’t worry, young ’un, he ain’t dead, but he’ll have a headache that’ll last a day or two when he wakes. If the coast is clear enough after dawn we’ll fetch him inside.”
“Er, fetch who inside, may I ask?” Friar Chondrus emerged onto the walltop, Granspike Niblo was with him. They brought food for the wall sentries.
Foremole Burff ladled himself a bowl of mushroom soup. “Et wurr summ voler, dressed oop loike ee vermint. Hurrhurr, ole Benjo bringed ’im daown with one shot!”
Orkwil and his friends tucked into fresh, crusty bread, cheese and hot soup, each feeling rather pleased at their night’s work thus far.
Vizka Longtooth and his two crewbeasts retreated stealthily back to the ditch. Dropping down into the dried ditchbed, the golden fox left his crew sleeping, but wakened the weasel Magger, whom he had come to rely on as his second in command.
Magger noticed the absence of the vole. “Where’s der ’airymouse, Cap’n?”
Vizka put aside his mace and chain. “Oh, dat one, we left ’im lyin’ around someplace, but de ’airymouse taught me a lesson tonight. Dat Redwall place, it ain’t no Abbey fulla soft woodlanders. Gettin’ in dere ain’t gonna be easy.”
Magger replied hopefully, “We’ve fought battles afore, Cap’n, an’ we ain’t never lost. Yew kin do it if’n anybeast can, nobeast stands agin Vizka Longtooth an’ wins!”
Eulalia! Page 14