Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Adding to her difficulties was the shrewbabe, a tiny pestilence named Yik. He had elected to ride on Maudie’s shoulders, simply by climbing up there and refusing to come down. The haremaid could not really protest, as it was she who had initiated the idea, so she bore her burden stoically. For awhile, at least, until Yik started to make his presence felt. “Yowch, I say, old lad, don’t pull my flippin’ ears!”

  “I norra hole’ad, jus’ makin’ ya go fasterer.”

  “Well, I don’t wish to go fasterer, er, faster, so stop tuggin’ on my ears, and don’t keep kicking me with your confounded footpaws!”

  “No kickin’ ya, me paws gettin’ itchy, I h’only scratchin’ ’em on ya.”

  “Well, kindly chuck it, or go an’ scratch y’paws someplace else. Whoops! What are you up to now, pestilential little bounder?”

  “I savin’ some breffkist for laterer!”

  “Not down the back of my blinkin’ tunic you’re not. Eat it up now, or I’ll tell ’em not to jolly well serve you any lunch!”

  Osbil dropped back to walk alongside Maudie. “Well, miss, are ye enjoyin’ yoreself?”

  Maudie treated the young shrew to an icy glance. “Are you blinkin’ well jokin’, enjoyin’ myself, with this bloomin’ miniature cad torturing me! Who does he belong to, where’s his ma an’ pa?”

  Osbil took a closer glance at the shrewbabe. “That ’un’s little Yik, he don’t belong to anybeast in particular, miz, he just turned up one day, didn’t ye, mate?”

  Yik bounced up and down on Maudie’s shoulders, gripping her ears for balance as he squeaked aloud. “Blinkin’ flippin’ jollywell bloomin’!”

  Osbil tried to hide a smile. “That’s very nice language to be teachin’ a babe!”

  This seemed to encourage Yik, who redoubled his efforts. “Blinkblink flipflip jolly jolly bloomers. Heeheehee!”

  A low, cautionary whistle came from the flank Barbowla was patrolling. Everybeast halted, Maudie reached up and clamped a paw across Yik’s mouth. The travellers stood stock-still, not daring to move. The big otter signalled twice with both paws, pointing off to the left. Barbowla balanced a short otter javelin, watching the four Brownrats, who were barely visible twixt the shafts of light and shade cast by the trees. The vermin moved slowly away, stooping with the mud and marsh ooze plastered thickly on their bodies.

  Luglug came from the other side of the marchers. Both he and Barbowla, with weapons at the ready, stole noiselessly through the tree cover toward the Brownrats. They were gone a short time, whilst everybeast kept total silence, not moving a single muscle.

  After awhile, the otter and the shrew chieftain returned. Luglug kept his voice low. “Relax, mates, they’ve gone, the opposite way to where we’re goin’, thank the seasons. Are you alright, Miz?”

  As soon as Maudie had clamped her paw over Yik’s mouth, the indignant babe had bitten into it. She could not shout out, or wriggle to free herself, but was forced to stand there, transfixed by the tiny, sharp teeth.

  Luglug assessed the situation at a glance. “Pass the liddle scamp down ’ere t’me, Miz Maudie.”

  Still attached to the shrewbabe, the haremaid allowed Luglug to hold Yik. Pinching the babe’s nostrils firmly, Luglug cut off his air supply, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe. Maudie withdrew her paw smartly.

  Kachooch gathered a few dock leaves. “Put these on it, miz, ’twill stop the bleedin’. I’ll fix ye up with a proper dressin’ when we stops for a rest.”

  Barbowla interrupted, “I say we stops now, ’tis not far off’n noon. Once we’re rested we’ll carry straight on for the Abbey, widout any more halts.”

  They sat to rest in the covering shade of an ash grove. Kahooch put some salve on Maudie’s paw, whilst Yik looked on with great interest. “I bited you ’cos you nearly chokered me, I cuddent breeve.”

  Luglug flicked the used dock leaves at him. “Be off, ye naughty liddle savage, shame on ye!”

  The shrewbabe went off pouting. “I norra naughty samwich, h’I’m a Yik, h’an I not like youse anymore!”

  Maudie could not help smiling at the aggrieved shrewbabe. “Ain’t exactly the type to mince his words, wot!”

  Rangval took stock of their surroundings. “By rights we should’ve pressed on further afore we stopped t’rest. Shure, we’ll have t’step up the pace a bit, if’n we want to reach the Abbey tonight.”

  Luglug stood upright, signalling to the Guosim. “We’re ready if’n everybeast else is, how’s the paw now, Miz Maud?”

  The haremaid went into a fighting stance, shooting off several jabs within a hairsbreadth of the shrew’s chin. “Right as rain, old lad, shall we get goin’, then? Form up again, chaps, an’ let’s see you march off smartly. Yik, c’mon, up on me shoulders an’ see if you can jolly well behave y’self this time. Yik, where’s that little terror got to?”

  Osbil and Kahooch searched among the Guosim, the otters checked their own babes, to see if Yik was hiding among them. Luglug scratched his head. “That rascal’s gone off somewheres, prob’ly found a spot to hide an’ sulk, ’cos I spoke sharp to ’im. You lot best carry on t’Redwall, I’ll catch up with ye after I’ve tracked Yik down.”

  Maudie nodded to Rangval and Barbowla. “You’re in charge now, get goin’. I’ll stop back an’ help Luglug find the little rascal.”

  Rangval did not bother arguing. “Ah, yore right there, me darlin’ commander, we can’t hang about all day lookin’ for the small villain. Just follow our trail once ye’ve caught Yik. Should ye get lost, then keep yore eyes peeled fer the two-topped oak, it was riven by lightnin’, ye’ll recognise it on sight. Right after the oak ye’ll come out of the woodlands, Redwall’s straight in front of ye then, across a patch of open land. Head for the liddle south wallgate, we’ll be waitin’ there for ye. Good luck now, an’ give that fiend’s tail a skelp for me when ye find him!” The main party moved swiftly off, leaving Maudie and Luglug to find the shrewbabe.

  The haremaid’s first move was to comb the area where they had rested. “He can’t have got too far, a tiny babe like him will prob’ly be lurking under some shrubbery.”

  The Guosim chieftain was not of the same opinion. “Ye’d be surprised just how far some o’ these little ’uns can go when they’ve a mind to, miss. Look ’ere.” Away from the tracks where the main party had entered and departed the ash grove, Luglug pointed out some hard cheese crumbs. Maudie inspected them.

  “That’ll be Yik, he hadn’t finished his mornin’ meal. Aye, he’s headed off this way, see the tiny pawprints.” The babe’s pawmarks stood out clear on a patch of damp soil. They came across yet more evidence, some blades of grass that Yik had knocked awry. Maudie surmised, “Prob’ly swipin’ at things, with a twig he’s found.”

  Luglug stepped up the pace. “’Tis a pretty straight path he’s on, let’s run ’im down!”

  No sooner had they started to run than a bellow of pain rent the air, from somewhere up ahead. “Yaaargh! Gimme that stick, ye liddle murderer!”

  Other voices chimed in.

  “It’s a sh’ew, grab ’im, mates!”

  “Cummere, ye likkle maggot…. Yowch, me eye!”

  Luglug and Maudie burst through the bushes onto a streambank, straight into trouble.

  Yik had come across a half dozen of Gruntan Kurdly’s Brownrats. They had been searching for shrews and logboats along the bankside. Tiring of their task, the vermin lay down in the warm sun, letting it bake their thick mud poultices hard, and catching a much-needed nap. Yik had stumbled upon them, and decided to attack the foebeasts with his stick. The shrewbabe had struck several times, before the vermin were goaded into action. To the bold Yik it was all some kind of a game, he scuttled around the big Brownrats, jabbing and thrusting with his stick, as though it was a Guosim rapier. The rat who had been stuck in the eye by the stick kicked out at his tiny tormentor. He sent Yik headlong into the stream. One of his comrades waded in. Grabbing Yik, he shook him like a rag doll. “Shall we give ’i
m ter Kurdly, or eat ’im ourselves?” Then Maudie and Luglug arrived on the scene.

  A look of surprise was stamped on the rat’s features as the Guosim chieftain’s blade pierced his throat. He staggered backward into the stream as Maudie skipped neatly forward, relieving him of the babe. Swinging Yik up onto her shoulders she spoke sharply to him. “Stay there an’ hold on tight!” Whirling like lightning, Mad Maudie proved why she was the Salamandastron Regimental Boxing Champion.

  Thudbangwallopsmack!

  A Brownrat collapsed like a falling brick wall, under four thunderous punches from the haremaid. Luglug had crossed blades with another one, as Maudie spun around, kicking the spear from a vermin’s grasp, catching it in midair, and breaking it over its owner’s skull.

  Little Yik was howling like a wolf, dancing on Maudie’s shoulders and tugging at her ears. “Bangbang! Punch ’is nose! Jolly good, more, more!”

  As Luglug ran his adversary through, Maudie, who could not duck and weave so well, with Yik dancing and yanking away on her, took a sharp blow to her ribs from a spearbutt. The shrew chieftain leapt in, fending off her attacker. He roared, “Let’s git out o’ here, miss, double quick!”

  They turned and ran back from the streambank. One of the Brownrats took out a carved bone whistle, and began blowing the alarm. Two more vermin jumped from the bushes either side of the fugitives. Fortunately, they were as surprised to encounter the escapers as Maudie and Luglug were to see them pop out like that. Both the haremaid and the shrew kicked out fiercely, knocking their foes aside. They hurtled on their way, with shouts welling behind them from several directions.

  “There they go, stop ’em!”

  “Stringle, I sees ’em, they’re up ahead!”

  “Circle out an’ cut ’em off, quick!”

  Luglug judged by the hubbub building up either side of them, plus the shaking of shrubbery, that they would soon be surrounded. He cut off into the woodlands at a new angle, panting to Maudie, “If’n we don’t shake ’em off, we’re right in the soup, missy!”

  Dodging round tree trunks, the haremaid followed him, with Yik clinging to her ears, thoroughly enjoying his wild ride, squeaking merrily. “Right inna soup, fasterer, mizzymiz, heeheehee!”

  Now the pounding of vermin paws was all about them, the area was teeming with mud-coated Brownrats. Then Gruntan Kurdly’s shouts were heard. He had joined the hue and cry, and was running his litter bearers ragged, now that his voice was back to normal. “Move yore slop-coated carcasses! Noggo, can ye see ’em, where in the name o’ hellgates are they?”

  The scout bellowed back, “I can’t see ’em, Boss, but they’re somewhere round ’ere, I can ’ear a liddle ’un squeakin’!”

  Maudie was reaching up to silence Yik again, when she stumbled and tripped. She had the presence of mind to grab the shrewbabe from his perch on her shoulders as she fell. Clutching Yik close to her, she landed faceup in an old, dried-out streambed. Luglug came leaping in after her. Fortunately the trench bottom was padded thickly, with seasons of moss and dead leaf loam. Maudie cast a swift glance up, at the inward-curving banks above them. A sudden ruse popped into her head, she whispered to Luglug, “Get under this ledge an’ cover ourselves with loam, it’s our only blinkin’ chance, wot!”

  They rolled under the curve of the overhead bank, and began building up the masses of crisp, brown leaves and damp moss around them. Yik wrinkled his little nose. “Us right inna soup, I not like it ’ere!”

  Luglug muttered fiercely, “Give ’im t’me, miss!”

  Maudie passed the babe over to the Guosim chieftain.

  The intensity of Luglug’s tone scared Yik into silence. “Now you lissen t’me, ye liddle pestilence. We’re goin’ to hide ’ere as best we can, an’ just one word, one squeak, even one loud breath from ye, an’ I’ll paddle yore tail so ’ard that yore teeth’ll hurt. Don’t speak, just nod if’n ye unnerstand me!”

  The chastened shrewbabe nodded vigorously.

  The trio lay to one side of the ditch curve, under a blanket of dead vegetation. Two Brownrats came wandering up the middle of the streambed. Maudie tried to breathe quietly as they drew close to the hiding place. Both rats carried spears, which they used to search the dead leaves with, jabbing the points wherever they fancied.

  Sssshtukk!

  An iron spearpoint almost grazed Maudie’s ear as it buried itself in the loam. Gruntal Kurdly gestured irately to his litter bearers as they carried him close to the dry streambed.

  “Down, put the thing down, block’eads, d’ye want to tip me inter that ditch, ain’t I injured enuff?” The weary bearers placed the litter down gently. In the streambed, one of the Brownrats was raising his spear for a thrust, which if it had landed, would have pierced Luglug’s stomach. Kurdly glared irately at the pair. “Wot d’yer think youse two are doin’ down there?”

  The vermin halted his spear in mid-thrust. “Er, lookin’ fer the sh’ews an’ that punchin’ rabbit, Boss.”

  The Brownrat chieftain shook his head in disbelief. “An’ pray tell me, d’yer see ’em anywhere?”

  The rat let his spearpoint droop uselessly. “Er, no, Boss.”

  Dried mud cracked from their leader’s blistered features as he bellowed at the hapless pair. “Then stop foolin’ about an’ git up ’ere! Go an’ do somethin’ useful, find me some eggs an’ boil ’em up, afore I perish from ’unger, ye numb-brained nincompoops!” The two Brownrats scrambled to obey Gruntan.

  Maudie breathed quietly to Luglug, “Good grief, mate, that was a lucky break!”

  The Guosim chieftain snorted softly. “A lucky break, y’say? Lyin’ no more’n a logboat’s length from that evil monster, surrounded by a horde o’ vermin. Y’don’t mind me askin’, miss, but do ye call that lucky?”

  Aware of the importance of quietness, Yik whispered, “Wot’s a punchin’ rabbit, miz, the rat called you h’a punchin’ rabbit?”

  Maudie glared at Yik. “Don’t annoy me, cheeky nose, or I may be jolly well tempted to show you!”

  The shrewbabe wrinkled his nose insolently. “You punch me an’ I bite ya again!”

  Luglug placed a paw across the shrewbabe’s mouth. He whispered urgently as he saw Maudie’s paw clench, “Don’t ye dare strike a babe, shame on ye….”

  Like lightning, the haremaid’s paw shot between Luglug and Yik. She had heard the leaves rustle, and glimpsed the flat-scaled head rearing behind the shrews. In seasons to come, the Hon. Maude Mugsberry Thropple, known to her regimental comrades as Mad Maudie, would recall that she had gained the distinction of knocking a snake out cold, with one punch, that day.

  And what a punch it was! A sharp, straight right, which hit the reptile’s snout like a flying boulder. The snake’s eyes immediately clouded over, the coils relaxed, and it lay amid the loam, like a wet piece of string. Luglug tightened his hold on Yik’s mouth, he stared in awe at the snake.

  “Seasons o’ slaughter, where’d that thing come from?”

  Maudie blew on her paw, watching the opposite bank-top with relief. The brief incident had gone unnoticed by Kurdly and his vermin, who were painfully occupied in cracking off the mud, which pulled the stings out as it was removed. The haremaid turned her attention back to the unconscious reptile.

  “I say, quite a good-sized brute, doncha think?”

  Luglug inched away from the snake, his eyes tightly shut. “Ugh, I wonder why I never smelled it, I kin always smell adders, long afore I sees ’em.”

  Maudie lifted the snake’s head, inspected it and let it flop back down. “You couldn’t smell it because it ain’t an adder, old scout, it’s a bally grass snake an’ a bloomin’ whopper of a beast if ever I saw one.”

  Luglug nodded agreement, adding, “It’s big enough to swallow liddle Yik in one go!”

  Reaching out carefully, Maudie broke off several strands of hedge parsley, growing nearby. Plaiting them together, she fashioned a tough piece of halter. “Indeed, this brute most likely had friend Yik firmly on today�
�s luncheon menu. Good job I got the old straight right in first, wot!” She began tying the snake’s mouth tight with the tough parsley strands, knotting it securely.

  Summoning up his courage, Yik struck the snake’s snout with a small, chubby paw, scowling at it. “Yik hit ya, jus’ like a punchin’ rabbit!”

  Maudie corrected him indignantly. “Now just a moment, young feller me shrew, there’s no such thing as a punchin’ rabbit. I am what is known as a boxin’ hare, you little curmudgeon!”

  The shrewbabe waved a clenched paw under Maudie’s nose. “An’ I norra likkle amudjin, I be a Yik!”

  Luglug ducked his head into the loam. “An’ yore both a pair o’ noisy nuisances, ’cos I think the vermin’s ’eard ye, an’ they’re comin’ over ’ere to take a look!”

  21

  The moles carried the unconscious watervole into the gatehouse, laying him out upon the bed. Fenn Bluepaw sniffed in disgust.

  “I take it you’ll be removing that…thing from my bed as soon as it comes to. Hmph! Filthy paws and matted fur, I’ll have to scrub the counterpane and drape it in the orchard, so a good, clean breeze can dry it!”

  Abbot Daucus commented drily, “That’s what I like about you, Miz Bluepaw, you’re so kind and tender-hearted.”

  The squirrel Recorder bristled. “Well, it’s not your bed that scruffy beast’s laid out on!”

  Daucus nodded. “Right, marm, but if you want him off your bed, you’d be better employed by fetching Sister Atrata, instead of being so harsh upon a senseless creature. Once the good Sister brings him around, then we can move him from your bed.”

  Benjo Tipps, accompanied by Orkwil Prink, wandered in to view the watervole. Redwall’s stout Cellarhog looked slightly rueful. “Mayhap I shouldn’t have chucked that bungstarter so hard at him. He might never waken proper.”

  Orkwil curled his lip when he looked closer at the patient. “It wouldn’t be a great loss if’n he didn’t, Mister Tipps. I’ve had a few run-ins with this ’un, he’s a mean-spirited an’ bad-tempered ole watervole.”