Whilst sitting there eating and drinking, Vilaya began to relax. She assessed the situation. The fugitives were young and inexperienced, little more than babes, for the most part. They could not outrun vermin guards and trained warriors. Zwilt would recapture them. Which brought her to another point.
Zwilt the Shade, what was to be done with him? Now they were enemies, Vilaya could no longer trust or rely upon the tall sable. But he was serving a purpose at the moment. When he returned with the prisoners, she would hear all that went on from her faithful old rat Dirva.
The Sable Quean knew that Zwilt would be easy to trap. He was arrogant and headstrong, ever ready to use his sword instead of his tongue. Once he was out of the way, she would no longer trust any one beast with the sole power of acting for her. No, she would have three, maybe four, captains to carry out her orders. Play them against one another, just to keep them wondering. Divide and conquer was always a sound strategy. Vilaya’s thoughts were disturbed by a guard.
“Majesty, Grakk is returned.”
Seeing the weasel coming down the tunnel, she held up a paw, calling to him, “Grakk, what news?”
Grakk waved his paws in alarm, making a silencing noise. He did not speak until he was face-to-face with her.
“Hush, Majesty, keep yore voice down. There’s beasts outside—just beyond the openin’ we came through!”
Vilaya’s claws dug into the weasel’s shoulder as she pulled him closer. “Beasts, what beasts? Tell me.”
Grakk winced. “There’s other news you’ll want to ’ear, Majesty, but first let me tell ye. On my way back along this tunnel, me’n’ my mates ’eard noises from inside the caves. So I peeked through the break in the wall, an’ I saw ’em. They was Guosim shrews, all armed an’ ready, searchin’ round everyplace. An’ I saw one o’ those fightin’ rabbets, the one we met at that Abbey. Aye, an’ he’d just met up with that molebeast who tunnelled in ’ere, you know, the big mad un who wields an’ ’ammer!”
Vilaya gripped him even tighter. “How many of these warriors were there?”
Grakk groaned as her claws pierced his shoulder. “Aaaargh! Majesty, I dunno, but they’ll soon be in this tunnel, the way they’re scourin’ round outside.”
Vilaya released him, issuing an immediate order. “Listen carefully, Grakk. Tell our beasts to lay aside their weapons quietly. Go to the opening and block it up again. Be as silent as possible and make certain that opening is blocked completely, with solid rock and earth. Pack it tight, much tighter than those escapers did. Then stay posted there and listen. If they discover the blocked opening, let me know right away. Well, go on, what are you waiting for?”
Grakk brought his mouth to the Sable Quean’s ear and whispered. Then he saluted and crept off to do her bidding.
Vilaya sat immobile awhile. Then she hugged herself, rocking back and forth as she keened in a hoarse whisper,
“No, not Dirva, the only beast I ever trusted with my secret thoughts. Oh, he’ll pay dearly for this. Zwilt the Shade will curse the day he was born by the time I’m done with him. Ooooohhhh, Dirva, my old counsellor!”
Under the impact of Jango and Buckler, the small door set into the oak trunk was knocked inward with a resounding slam. The Guosim shrews and Buckler went thundering into Althier, where they confronted their first handicap.
The whole place was in darkness, as the Ravagers had taken all the torches and lanterns to search the escape tunnel. Charging right in from daylight to complete blackout caused a certain amount of confusion.
Buckler roared out in his best Salamandastron parade-ground voice, “On my command allbeasts will stand still. Haaaaalt!”
Jango, who was standing close to Buckler, remarked, “Well, that did the trick, mate. Ye could hear a pin drop in here. Proper dark, though, ain’t it?”
Sparks flew, illuminating the caverns in a brief flash. It was Sniffy, striking his rapier blade across a flint.
“Stan’ still, Guosim—I’ll get a glim goin’ . . . there!”
A pale little flame grew out of the tinder bag, which the resourceful Tracker always kept with him.
The Guosim shrews moved with admirable urgency, dashing outside and chopping branches from the dead lower limbs of an old spruce. The makeshift torches burned instantly, crackling as they cast light amidst the subterranean shadows.
Buckler shook his head. “I don’t like it, Jango. Something’s not right—there’s no sign of anybeast down here!”
The Guosim Chieftain held up a paw. “Lissen, Buck, I can hear sounds comin’ this way!”
Suddenly Diggs charged in, yelling, “Lights ahead, chaps! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, follow m—”
He ground to a halt. “Er, er, what ho, you chaps—oof!”
The tubby hare was knocked flat from behind when Flib and the others came hurtling in. Diggs sat up, dusting himself off. “I say, steady on. Who told you to charge in like a flippin’ shower o’ madbeasts?”
Flib put the blame right where it belonged. “You did!”
Straightening his tunic, Diggs wagged a paw at her. “Well, just be a bit more jolly well careful in future—that’s classed as assault on a leadin’ officer, I’ll have ye know!”
Axtel arrived after the charge, stumping in on his injured footpaw. The mole waved his hammer at Buckler. “Yurr, we’m b’ain’t see’d nobeast. ’Tis vurry h’odd.”
Jango shrugged. “Same here, mate. Buck, wot d’ye say we splits up into groups? That ways we can scour this place quicker, in case they’re hidin’ away.”
The young hare agreed. “Good idea—right, Jango, Diggs, Axtel, Sniffy, myself and er . . .”
He glanced around, noticing Flib standing to attention and putting on a brave face. “And Flib, you’ll be group captains. Pick your teams, then get off in different directions. Make sure you search every corner o’ this place. Go to it!”
Grakk had stayed at his post, listening on the other side of the blocked escape route. He heard Diggs passing through the former dungeon with his escort of searchers. The tubby hare did not linger long.
“Not a confounded thing in sight here, chaps, just another bloomin’ cave. This Althier place is nothin’ but a load of old caves’n’passages, wot. Come on, let’s see where this passage leads to. . . .”
Grakk stayed, listening until there was complete silence from outside. Then he scurried off to make his report. The Sable Quean was waiting at the edge of the water in the flooded section. One look at her furious face warned the weasel to be careful. He waited until she looked at him and asked, “Well?”
He swallowed hard. “Majesty, it’s safe. They passed right by the place that we sealed up.”
She turned away, snapping at a group of guards. “Get me over this water. Do you want me to wade through in my robes?”
A nervous ferret bowed low. “If’n you’d like to sit on this litter, we’ll carry ye, Majesty.”
A pile of spears, spaced out into a square, had been bound together. Wordlessly, Vilaya perched in the centre of the structure. Half a score of vermin lifted it carefully, then entered the water, with two more going ahead, to sound out the depth. As the other Ravagers waded in, one of them stiffened with fright at the big dead eel floating near the wall.
“Wot’n the name o’ Hellgates is that?”
His companion, an older river rat, touched the limp body with his spearpoint. “It’s a big dead fish. ’Twon’t harm ye. Huh, ye can always tell Zwilt the Shade’s passed through by the deadbeasts lyin’ about.”
His companion grimaced as he steered a course away from the horrifically slashed eel. “Aye, that’s true enough. Death seems t’foller Zwilt.”
The river rat continued grimly, “Take it from me, mate. Try t’stay out the way when Zwilt an’ Vilaya meets up. That’ll be a sight to see, an’ make no mistake. Those two are bound to go head-to-head, an’ we’ll be left to foller the winner!”
His mate tried speculating as they ploughed through the dark icy water. “Who d’
ye think’ll come out on top?”
The river rat shrugged. “Yore guess is good as mine!”
Torches and lanterns cast rippling eerie shadows on the damp tunnel walls as they advanced gingerly into the unknown. Hardened as he was to suffering and death, the river rat let out a horrified gurgle. He had stepped on something soft and slippery, lurching to one side as the mangled carcass of Lugg bobbed to the surface.
The stoat’s body had been crushed by the maddened eel; Lugg’s swollen tongue protruded obscenely. The river rat recovered himself sufficiently, hurrying ahead of his companion in a rush to be out of the other unknown horrors the water might conceal beneath its murky surface.
Zwilt by this time was back on dry ground, needing no damp pawprints to show the route of the fugitives. They only had one way to go in a tunnel, he reasoned. The tall sable had also been planning ahead, knowing whatever excuses he gave for the death of Dirva, he could expect no quarter from Vilaya. The old rat had been counsellor and confidante—almost a mother figure. Despite the way the Quean had treated her, she remained faithful only to Vilaya.
Zwilt pressed forward, touching the gold medallion around his neck. A good broadsword could outwit a small poisoned dagger. When he and Vilaya met, there would be only one left to command two hundred Ravagers. If he ever wished to attack and conquer Redwall Abbey, the survivor had to be him.
22
Midda lifted the mousebabe down from her shoulders. She massaged the back of her neck, which was sore from carrying Diggla—he was never still for a moment. The shrewmaid faced the fork, which Jinty had told her of. Tura relinquished her passenger, looking from one tunnel to the other.
“The one on the right goes downward. The other goes up. Which one d’you think we should take?”
Midda answered promptly, “The one that goes up, of course. That’ll prob’ly get us out of here.”
The squirrelmaid was still contemplating both tunnels. “Aye, that was my first thought, an’ that’s what the vermin’ll think, too. Mightn’t the downhill one be better? They won’t expect us t’go that way.”
Jiddle interrupted. “That’s what I was thinkin’, but I don’t like the look of the one that goes down. I’ll wager we’d run into more water that way. It might be very deep, then where’d we be, eh?”
Little Diggla pushed his way past them, snorting. “You all talkin’ shoopid—Diggla goes up!”
The sight of the tiny mousebabe trudging busily away caused Tura to chuckle. “He’s right. Up’s the only way to go. Come on, mates!”
It soon became rather tiring trekking uphill. Jinty put Calla the harebabe down. “Come on, young un, time ye tried walkin’, great sleepy lump, look at the size of you!”
Midda shook her head. “It’ll slow us down if the youngest babes have to walk.”
Jiddle allowed the other harebabe, Urfa, to slide down from her back. “Aye, an’ if we keep carryin’ ’em, it won’t be long afore we’re too tired to go any further. I vote we should all walk!”
Diggla nodded decisively. “All walk now. Looka me—I walk. Midda not have t’carry Diggla!”
The very small ones held paws, with Diggla at their centre. Jiddle and Jinty brought up the rear, urging them on with a simple chant.“One two, one two, I will walk with you,
put your paw down on the floor,
now you’ve taken one step more.
One two, one two, keep on goin’, me an’ you.
Oh my, dearie me, what comes after one two? Three!
Three four, three four! We can walk a whole lot more!”
Jiddle called to Tura, who was at the front, “Look at us—they’re gettin’ along just fine!”
The squirrelmaid glanced back. “That’s good, keep goin’, but keep yore eyes’n’ears about you. Don’t forget there’s vermin on our trail.”
After a while, the upward tunnel took a sudden bend. This culminated in an oval-shaped cave with two other tunnels leading off it.
Midda sighed. “Oh, no. Now which way do we go!”
She sat down to rest whilst Tura took a brief look at both passages. The squirrelmaid shrugged.
“They both look the same t’me. Don’t suppose it makes much difference which one we follow.”
“Oh yes it do, hahaaarr, believe me, it do!”
Tura jumped with fright as a figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a torn and tattered cloak.
It was a very tall and exceedingly skinny hedgehog. The little ones were scared. They huddled close to Midda and the Witherspyk twins. Tura took a step back from the hedgehog. There was something decidedly odd about him, but she determined not to be afraid.
“Well, tell me, which one would you choose?”
The beast threw back his hood, letting the shabby cloak fall open. He was not a pretty sight. Most of the spines on his body were missing, exposing a scabrous, unwashed hide. His left eye was wrinkled into a leaky slit, and what few teeth he possessed were blackened stumps. He carried an ash staff, which he twirled in the direction of either tunnel, cackling as he performed a shuffling jig.
“Which one? Which one? Hahaaarrharrr, beauty, ask Triggut Frap an’ he’ll know. Hahaaarrr!”
Midda countered boldly, “Well, she’s just asked ye. So why not tell us, Triggut Frap, if that’s yore name!”
The Guosim maid had obviously taken the wrong approach. Triggut Frap turned his back on them, no longer laughing or dancing. “Not tellin’ yew. Why should Triggut tell yewbeasts anythin’? Nastybad, that’s wot ye are, nastybad!”
Diggla was over his initial fear of Triggut. The mousebabe wagged a tiny paw at him. “We not nastybad. Us are good. You be nastybad!”
An instant change came over the strange hedgehog. He slumped down against the cave wall, weeping and whimpering. “I ain’t nastybad. Nobeast likes pore Triggut, jus’ ’cos I ain’t pretty. Go ’way, go on, go ’way, all of yews. Triggut doesn’t care!”
Jinty stifled a giggle. She whispered to Jiddle, “This one’s crazy as a frog with feathers!”
Tura silenced her with a stern glance, also warning Midda in a low murmur, “I’ll do the talkin’. Leave Triggut to me.”
Turning her attention to Triggut, who had started scattering ground dust on his head, the squirrelmaid adopted a kindly voice. “Oh, come on now, friend. Of course we like you, but we’ve got to get out of here. So, please, will ye show us the way? We’re tired an’ hungry, an’ we’d love to see daylight again.”
Another mood swing came over Triggut. He rose, holding out a grubby paw. “Heeheehee! Get yew out, eh? Wot’ll yews give me?”
Tura indicated the little group with a sweep of her paw. “I wish we had something to give you, friend, but we’re poorbeasts without a drop o’ water or a crust betwixt us.”
Triggut’s single eye narrowed. “Got nothin, eh? Then you’ll just have ter work for me awhile. That’ll be worth summat.”
Tura nodded agreeably. “Sounds fair enough. What sort of work were ye thinkin’ of, friend?”
Triggut’s mood changed again. He poked Tura with the staff. “The sorta work that I say yew’ll do!”
Jiddle sidled up to Tura, whispering in her ear, “Better make it quick. Think I can hear sounds from down the tunnel—it’ll be the vermin!”
That decided the issue instantly. Tura bowed politely. “We’re at yore service, Triggut. We’ll work for you, no questions asked. Now can we go, please?”
The scabrous hog emitted his mad cackle. “Hahaarhaarr! Ravagers after yew, are they? Want t’move fast, do yew? Heeheehee! Foller Triggut, me pretty ones!”
Before they realised what was happening, he whipped out a length of cord, noosing it around Calla and Urfa.
Midda jumped up. “Hold on, there. Wot d’yer think yore doin’?”
Triggut fended her off with his ash staff. “Jus’ makin’ sure yew don’t all run off on me. Now, d’yew want t’go or not? Jus’ say the word, wibblesnout!”
That, and the distant sound of Ravagers, settled any fu
rther argument. They marched off behind Triggut Frap.
After a lengthy uphill walk, they finally emerged into welcome afternoon sunlight. Tears sprang to Midda’s eyes—the woodlands looked so fresh and green after being underground for so long. Birdsong echoed cheerily from beech, oak, yew, sycamore and other familiar trees. Bees droned, insects chirruped, and butterflies flitted silently about. Sounds and sights they had all sorely missed in gloomy caverns. But it was the sky, that fluffy-cloud-dotted vault of light blue, which really gladdened young hearts.
Triggut did not give them long to gaze upon nature’s beauty. Yanking the harebabes with him, he made off at a lolloping trot through the Mossflower greenery.
Midda caught up with him. “Which way is it to Redwall Abbey? We have friends there, you know.”
The mad hog sniggered. “Don’t know, heehee, an’ if’n I did, I wouldn’t tell yew. Not far t’the stream now!”
Midda held on to the cord, to stop the harebabes being pulled over. “Stream, what stream?”
She recoiled from Triggut’s breath as he pushed his face close to hers. “Hahaaar hahaaaarr! Yew don’t know where yew are, do yew?”
The Guosim maid shook her head. “No!”
He sneered in her face. “Good. Now, come on, move yerself!”
Tura sensed they were going southeast, by the position of the sun. They passed through a series of sandstone outcrops, travelling downhill through gorse-dotted scree into a valley between two high hills. Stumbling wearily into a grove of pines, they came out on a streambank. A ramshackle raft was anchored to a boulder in the shallows. Triggut giggled.
“All aboard, me beauties, quick as yew please. C’mon, li’l rabbets. We’re goin’ fer a nice sail.”
The raft was ancient, with water springing through the gapped logs which formed its deck. None of this bothered Triggut Frap. He tied the two harebabes to a mast which lacked any sail. Producing a fearsome dagger from his cloak, he drove it into the mast directly above the heads of Calla and Urfa. His single eye glared balefully at the others as he gave out orders.
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