Eulalia!

by Brian Jacques

  Sister Atrata entered the gatehouse with Fenn Bluepaw in attendance, still complaining bitterly. “The very idea of it, some raggedy-bottomed, barrel-bellied vole, cooling his paws on my nice, clean bed!”

  The Sister silenced her with a single glare. “Yes, thank you, Miz Bluepaw, I’ve heard enough!” Leaning over the watervole, she opened one of his eyes, giving an instant diagnosis, as she unstuffed a pawful of feathers from the mattress. “Hmm, he’s about ready to be wakened. Bring that lamp over here, Orkwil.”

  Igniting the feathers from the lamp flame, the Sister let them burn for a moment then extinguished them. Holding the smoldering material under the watervole’s snout, Sister Atrata allowed him to inhale the acrid fumes. He shot bolt upright, gagging and gasping. The Sister smiled cheerily. “Up you come now, let’s get a dressing on that head lump of yours, and a draught of my belladonna potion. You’ll be right as rain before you know it!”

  Skipper Rorc stepped in, taking charge of the vole. “Not so fast, matey, you’ve got some questions to answer. C’mon, let’s take a stroll on the walltops, this place smells of smolderin’ feathers, phew!”

  The watervole hung back, he was in a surly mood. “Got to get me ’ead treated first, after wot that spikepig did t’me.”

  The burly otter squeezed his paw in a viselike grip. “If’n you call Mister Benjo Tipps a spikepig agin, I’ll put another lump atop o’ the one you’ve already got. Now watch yore mouth, vole, an’ keep a civil tongue in yore ’ead when I talks to ye. Out ye go!”

  Skipper pushed the vole in front of him. Together with Benjo and Orkwil, they mounted the steps to the walltop. Orkwil strode alongside Skipper, as he and Benjo walked toward the north parapet, keeping the watervole lodged firmly between them. As they drew close to the northwest corner, the vole began dragging his paws, trying to hang back. Skipper shoved him onward, questioning. “Big, fat rascal like you ain’t afraid, are ye?”

  The vole ducked his head, so that he could not be seen. He crouched along in the cover of the battlements.

  Benjo jabbed him in the ribs. “What are ye tryin’ to hide down there for?”

  Nodding toward the woodlands beyond the north wall, the vole whispered, “They’re watchin’ us, I’m sure of it!”

  The stout Cellarhog hauled him up, above the walltop. “Who’s watchin’ ye, tell us?”

  The watervole wriggled furiously as Benjo held him tight. “The golden fox an’ his crew, there’s a whole army of ’em!”

  Benjo shook him. “Aye, an’ yore one of ’em!”

  The prisoner’s nerve deserted him, he whined piteously. “No, I ain’t, ask ’im, that young ’un!”

  Orkwil had no sympathy for the vole. “He wasn’t one of the fox’s crew when I first met up with him, but that doesn’t mean much. He’s mean an’ bad-tempered enough to have joined up with the vermin!”

  Skipper stood on the north wall, peering down into the woodland, his keen gaze taking in the path and the ditch. “Well, they don’t seem to be nowheres around now. Where d’ye think they’ve got to, young Prink?”

  Orkwil shrugged. “I don’t know, Skip, there was a lot o’ crewbeasts aboard that ship. If they came chasin’ me’n’ Gorath, we’d have seen at least a few of ’em by now. Maybe they’re hidin’, waitin’ for daylight.”

  Skipper hopped back down onto the walkway. “That don’t sound like vermin t’me, mate, skulkin’ round in the dark an’ attackin’ by night’s more their style. You was with ’em, vole, didn’t ye hear any plans?”

  Still held in Benjo Tipps’s grasp, the vole sneered. “Of course I didn’t, they wouldn’t tell me anythin’. But they never injured me like yore Mister Tipps did, nor stole my vittles like that young ’un.”

  Ignoring the vole’s complaints, Orkwil ventured an idea. “Maybe they’ve moved position. Let’s take a quiet patrol, right round the walls, we might spot the vermin.”

  Skipper nodded. “Good plan, young ’un, let’s do it. Benjo, if’n the vole makes a sound, teach him t’be quiet, will ye?”

  The Cellarhog drew a short stave hammer from his belt. “Why, thankee, Skip, ’twould be my pleasure. Move along now, my ole vole, an’ don’t even try to breathe aloud!”

  Soft moonshadows dappled the walkway, as the four creatures padded softly toward the eastern walltop. From battlement to battlement they moved, with the three Redwallers keeping close watch on the trees and woodland floor outside the Abbey. It was a still and tranquil night. Orkwil was enjoying being back at Redwall, he felt very grown-up, and sensible to his new responsibilities. No more would he be the foolish young borrower of other-beasts’ property.

  They covered the east parapet, without seeing any sign of life or activity outside, even the watervole was starting to walk more confidently.

  Slightly ahead of his companions, Orkwil rounded the corner, onto the southern rampants. He was startled to hear a voice hailing them from below. “Ahoy the Abbey, matey!”

  Immediately the vole panicked, breaking away from Benjo’s grip, wailing fearfully, “It’s them! I told you we was bein’ watched, it’s the fox an’ his crew…. Yowhoooo!” In his excitement, the vole had stumbled and fallen down into the Abbey grounds. He made a distinct thud as he landed. This was followed by silence.

  Skipper peered down at his slumped form, whispering to his friends, “Knocked senseless agin, an’ just as well, too! That didn’t sound like no vermin out there. Matter o’ fact, I think I knows that voice. Leave this t’me.” The otter chieftain shouted back in a gruff voice, “Who goes there, be ye friend or foebeast?”

  An equally tough-sounding voice roared back at him. “If’n ye’ve got supper on the table an’ a drop o’ hotroot soup, then I’ll be yore friend for life, cousin Rorc!”

  A broad smile spread over Skipper’s face, he murmured to Orkwil, “Nip down quietlike an’ open the south wicker gate, they’re friends down there sure enough!” Skipper leapt up on the battlements, grinning happily. “Well, sink me rudder if’n it ain’t Barbowla Boulderdog! Ahoy, mate, who’s all the gang ye’ve brought with ye?”

  Barbowla chuckled. “Haharr, ’tis only me liddle family an’ some shrewmates I brought along, now don’t stand up there chewin’ soup all night, Rorc, let us in, will ye?”

  Skipper adopted a mock serious expression. “Let ye in? Huh, ye’d eat us out o’ house’n’home an’ the cook’d resign if I let you lot at our vittles!”

  Barbowla’s wife, Kachooch, steped forward, paws akimbo. “When yore finished playin’ games, ye great pudden, I suggest ye might think of openin’ this liddle door down here. We’ve got a platoon of tired, hungry babes an’ prob’ly a horde o’ Brownrats on our tails!”

  Skipper suddenly became serious. “Quick, Orkwil, open up an’ let ’em in! Benjo, run an’ fetch the Abbot, tell Marja Dubbidge to sound the alarm bells, we may need defenders on these walls if’n it’s Brownrats!”

  Orkwil was almost knocked flat as he unbolted the south wicker gate, a gang of shrew and otterbabes thundered by him, all agog to see what Redwall Abbey was like. These were followed by the Guosim, and Barbowla’s clan. He enquired of the last one in, the squirrel Rangval, “Is that the lot, sir, any more to come?”

  The roguish creature slammed the door, and locked it. “Ah shure, there’ll mayhaps be another three shortly, sir, a haremaid an’ two more shrews. But I think we’d best keep the ould door bolted until they’re sighted, in case the rats make it here first, y’unnerstand.”

  The Abbey’s twin bells, Matthias and Methusaleh, rang out the alarm, disturbing the peaceful night. Within an amazingly short time, the walls were being manned by Redwallers, armed with the first things that came to paw. Rakes, spades, hoes, ladles, window poles and a variety of odd implements.

  Abbot Daucas accosted a passing shrew. “Where’s your Log a Log, Guosim?”

  The shrew tugged his snout respectfully. “Luglug stayed be’ind, Father sir, the haremaid, too, they went lookin’ fer a liddle ’un who got lost.”
>
  Daucas signalled to Friar Chondrus. “Take these guests to Cavern Hole, please. See to it that they get a full supper.”

  The shrew, who was Osbil, saluted the Abbot with his rapier. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Father, but all Guosim who are fightin’ fit will be stayin’ on yore walltops, in case o’ trouble.”

  The Father Abbot shook his paw warmly. “The Guosim have always been our brave allies, thank you. Chondrus, just take the babes, old ones and mothers to supper. But have enough food prepared for everybeast defending the walls.”

  Abbot Daucas mounted the walltop, where he stood listening to the conversation between Skipper Rorc and his cousin Barbowla.

  “I can’t say for certain ’ow many Brownrats there are, Rorc, but there’s a horde of the scum, an’ Gruntan Kurdly’s their leader.”

  “Kurdly eh, that ’un’s been makin’ a name for hisself round Mossflower fer a few seasons now. Well, let the rascals come, Redwall’s ready for ’em, cousin.”

  Daucas interrupted. “I’m told there’s still a haremaid, plus two more shrews to come yet, one of them is Log a Log Luglug. Keep an eye out for them, and be sure to get them safe inside quickly, if they’re being pursued by Brownrats.”

  Skipper made way for a molecrew, who were trundling supplies of rocks, boulders and sling pebbles to the south ern walltop. The otter chieftain thwacked his rudder against the battlements, shaking his head at the Abbot. “Stripe me colours, Father, it ain’t enough that we may have a crew o’ seafarin’ vermin on our paws, but now we got Gruntan Kurdly an’ his gang callin’ to visit!”

  Abbot Daucus produced a sling from his voluminous sleeve, and began selecting stones. “Ah well, Skip, it never rains but it pours, or so they say. Let them all come, friends to receive a warm welcome, and foes to get a red-hot reception, eh!”

  In the woodlands, a good hour’s march north of the Abbey, Vizka Longtooth located his crew, having espied the light from their campfires. The weasel Magger, his second in command, made a place for him by the largest fire. “Yew was right, Cap’n, dere’s plenny o’ vittles fer everybeast round ’ere. Birds, fish, eggs an’ fruit. Glurma! Fetch d’Cap’n summ supper, will ye.”

  The greasy old ratcook presented Vizka with two hazel-wood skewers, laden with food, which she had been tending by her fire. “Been keepin’ ’em special for ya, Cap’n, dat ’un’s a woodpigeon, an’ dis ’un’s a bream!”

  The golden fox tore into the roasted bird, spitting out fragments of feather as he gazed around. Bludgullet’s crew seemed happy enough, those still not gorging themselves were dozing contentedly in the firelight. Vizka was pleasantly surprised, sea-raiding vermin were usually pretty hopeless at providing for themselves on land. He had expected them to be hungry, and sullen with unspoken complaints. He winked at Magger. “Pore ole Codj couldn’t ’ave found vittles like dis, was it yore doin’, mate?”

  Magger showed his yellow, snaggled teeth in a modest grin. “Aye, Cap’n, me’n Glurma did it twixt us.”

  Glurma presented her captain with a beaker of liquid. “Drink up, ’tis only willowbark tea, but Magger sent Dogleg an’ Patchy back to der Bludgullet, dey should be back by midday wid a keg o’ grog for ya, Cap’n.”

  Vizka nodded his approval. “Hah, t’ings is lookin’ up, mates, ya did good!”

  As he ate and drank, Magger moved close to Vizka, speaking in a secretive murmur, “So, wot’s da plan fer dat Abbey place, Cap’n?”

  The golden fox threw a fishbone into the fire. “I been thinkin’, would dis lot be any good at diggin’?”

  Magger snorted contemptuously. “Sea Raiders diggin’? Ya mus’ be jestin’, Vizka, my crew’s alright at shipboard tasks, or killin’, but I don’t see ’em as diggers. Why, are ya plannin’ on diggin’ inta dat Abbey place?”

  Alarm bells began ringing in the golden fox’s head. Suddenly he was looking at the weasel Magger in a new light, and he did not like what he had just heard. Magger was calling him Vizka now, not Captain. Also, he had referred to Vizka Longtooth’s vermin as his crew. Now Magger was setting himself up as a favourite with Vizka’s creatures, providing warm fires, and good vittles, even a keg of grog from the ship. Vizka continued eating in silence.

  Though he did not know it, Magger had overplayed his cards. One thing a Sea Raider captain had to be constantly aware of was any threat to his authority. Vizka put aside his supper, lying back he half-closed his eyes, murmuring gently, “I’ll let ya know me plans in der mornin’.”

  Magger nodded and turned away. He did not see Vizka smile, that long, toothy, dangerous smile, which always meant death for somebeast.

  22

  From their hiding place beneath the dead leaves in the curve of the dry ditchbed, Maudie saw four hulking Brownrats leaving the campfire. She covered little Yik’s head, stopping him from bobbing up.

  Alongside her, Luglug hissed urgently, “Y’see, I told ye the vermin heard us. Look, they’re comin’ over here, I’m sure we’ve been spotted, what are we goin’ to do, mate?”

  The haremaid instinctively knew their hideout would be discovered. Yik was wriggling to get out of her grasp, and the snake was moving, too. It had begun to come around, and was writhing feebly to rid itself of the halter, with which Maudie had bound its jaws shut. It was a time for rapid action. She swiftly imparted a scratch plan to the Guosim chieftain. “Got to get out of here jolly fast, old lad. Create some sort of diversion, then make a flippin’ run for it, wot?”

  The four Brownrats were already descending the far side of the ditch.

  Luglug stared wide-eyed at Maudie. “Diversion, wot sort o’ diversion?”

  The haremaid hardly stopped to ponder the question. “We’ve got two things goin’ for us, bucko, the advantage of surprise, an’ this whoppin’ great snake. Time for gossipin’ is done, grab that confounded Yik an’ follow me….”

  The Brownrats were completely taken by surprise. Whirling the maddened snake with both paws, and yelling like a banshee, Maudie rushed them. “Gangway, chaps! Eulaliiiaaaaaa!”

  Two of the rats were knocked aside by the reptile’s flailing coils, the other two stood rooted to the spot in dumb shock. With Luglug holding Yik tight to his body, running crouched behind her, Maudie breasted the ditchbank. The haremaid charged straight through the centre of the Brownrat camp, still flailing the big reptile. Gruntan Kurdly almost choked on the hard-boiled egg he had just popped whole into his mouth. Maudie looked like something out of nightmare as she bounded out of the night into the firelight. “Yahaaar! Blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliiiiaaaaa!”

  More rats went down beneath the windmilling snake’s body, then she flung it right at Kurdly. It was not a totally accurate throw, most of the reptile hit the Brownrat leader, but its tail landed in the fire. This move did not improve the snake’s temper, it latched furiously onto the Brownrat’s body, constricting as its tail shot out of the flames and beat a frenzied tattoo on Gruntan’s head.

  Spluttering hard-boiled egg widespread, he whooped aloud in terror, “Gerritoff! Waaaarrrgggh! Oo…oo! Gerritoffameeee!”

  Clear of the Brownrat camp, Maudie slowed her pace for Luglug to catch up. From behind them she could hear angry shouts.

  “Kill it! Slay the thing, ye mudpawed oafs!”

  “Wot was it, ’ow many of ’em was there?”

  “Round six if’n ye ask me, seven countin’ the snake.”

  “It was the punchin’ rabbit, I saw it with me own two eyes, came straight out the ditch it did!”

  Gruntan Kurdly’s voice rose to an enraged shriek. “I don’t give a bee’s be’ind who it was. Gerrem! Killem! Skin ’em alive an’ bring their ’eads to me! Don’t jus’ stan’ there, idjits, go. Go go go!”

  Luglug gave a weary sigh as he heaved Yik up onto his shoulders. “We better git movin’, fast.”

  Maudie held out her paws. “Give me the little chap, he’ll hold you back.”

  For some reason best known to himself the Log a Log snapped back at her, “I said we’d better git
movin’, I can manage him!”

  Yik tugged Luglug’s ears. “I wanna go wiv ’er, she can run fasterer!”

  The shrew chieftain growled at him. “Keep yore mouth shut an’ stay up there, young ’un!”

  Maudie shrugged. “As you wish, old chap, but let’s be goin’, wot. Don’t want t’get collared by that scurvy lot!”

  The haremaid took off at a brisk lope, but soon had to wait for Luglug to catch up again. They pounded on through the darkened woodland, with the noise of pursuit growing behind. Maudie adjusted her pace, running alongside Luglug. “Y’know I can run just as easy with Yik on my back, why don’t you let me carry him, wot?”

  Yik hauled on his bearer’s ears, haranguing him. “Flippin’ bloomin’ wotwot, I wanna go wiv ’er!”

  This made Luglug even more stubborn and irate. “You stop tuggin’ my ears, an’ watch yore language. I can carry ye as well as anybeast can.”

  An arrow zipped past Maudie, it quivered in a beech trunk. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. “They must have a few fast front runners ahead of the rest. I wonder how far from Redwall we are?”

  Luglug was beginning to pant, but he strove onward. “Keep to this trail an’ we’ll soon see the two-topped oak. After that we’ll come out o’ the woodlands an’ cross some open fields t’the southside o’ the Abbey. I remember this route now, came this way once afore when I was younger.”

  Maudie nodded. “Save your breath, old chap, those blighters are closer than you think.” An arrow buried its point in the ground, narrowly missing Maudie’s footpaw, another flew close by Yik’s ear.

  The little shrew shouted, as if it were all some kind of game, “Yah, y’missed me! C’mon, we havta run fasterer!”

  Luglug pointed ahead. “See, there’s the two-topped oak, straight ahead, not too far now!”

  Maudie spied the big, lightning-riven object. Even in the night it stood out above the other trees at the woodland edge. Wild cries of the Brownrats could still be heard behind them, but she knew the front runners would keep silent, hoping that they could outpace their quarry. On an impulse, she slowed, letting Luglug carry on ahead. Crouching down, Maudie scanned about for movement.