The Sable Quean

by Brian Jacques

  “See them poles yonder? Pick ’em up an’ get this raft movin’. Take ’er downstream, an’ steer clear o’ the banks. Yew’ll do as I says, if’n yews wants ter keep these rabbets from ’arm. Now git polin’!”

  Tura picked up a long pole, murmuring to her friends, “Do like he says. There’s no tellin’ wot a madbeast like this un will do next, so don’t upset him.”

  Triggut, who had heard the squirrelmaid, snarled, “That’s right. Don’t upset Triggut Frap. Yew ’eard her. I’m a madbeast, see, crazy, crazy mad! Bees keep a-buzzin’ round in my ’ead, all day an’ all night, never stop. Buzz-buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz. . . .‘’

  He carried on making bee sounds, his voice getting louder and higher. Then he reached for the knife embedded above the helpless harebabes. “Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz. . . .”

  Tura suddenly bellowed out, “Ahoy, Captain, we’ve got her goin’ now, stayin’ in midstream, just as ye said. Any more orders, Captain?”

  Triggut’s mood changed instantly. He ceased buzzing and chuckled happily. “Hahaarrr, keep ’er sailin’ nice’n’smooth, mates!”

  Tura winked at Midda, who caught on promptly. “Aye aye, Cap’n, nice’n’smooth it is. Well spoken, Cap’n!”

  Triggut showed his snaggled teeth in an appreciative grin. “Hahaarrhaarrr! Cap’n, is it? I likes that. Cap’n of a fine ship with a good crew. Keep ’er steady, mates!”

  Tura played up to the crazed hog shamelessly. “You heard the Cap’n. Keep ’er steady as she goes!”

  Had it not been for the situation in which they found themselves, Midda would have wished for nothing more. Having spent most of her young life on Guosim logboats, she loved the feel of a fine summer day on a stream. The gurgle of meandering water, the fresh, clean smell of drifting banks and the swaying motion of the vessel, leaky as it was. She could watch the streambed as it slipped by. Crowfoot fronds, like flowing green tresses, swaying underwater; the flick of a minnow’s tail, its red underside showing as it skimmed under the raft. A purple-scaled gudgeon, sucking pebbles on the streambed. Lacewings, delicately hovering over the current.

  Tura glanced sideways at her friend. “D’you have any idea where we are, Midda?”

  The shrewmaid shook her head. “No, I don’t know this area at all, but by the lay o’ the land, an’ those tall rushes ahead, I’d say we’re somewhere close to a watermeadow.”

  Triggut’s voice cut in on them. “Ahoy, crew, stow yore gab an’ bend those backs. Take ’er in to the right bank. There’s a turnoff ahead that we’ll be takin’.”

  The turnoff was a streamlet marginally wide enough to take the raft. Triggut halted them momentarily whilst he pulled out a woven reed net. It was a snare, full of small fish. Flopping it down on the deck, the mad hog winked at Tura. “Some vittles for my finny friends. Go on, keep polin’ dead ahead. Be there soon now. Hahaarr!”

  Just to keep his mood sweet, Midda replied, “Cap’n says straight ahead, crew. Did ye hear him?”

  Tura, Jiddle and Jinty chorused back, “Aye aye, Cap’n!”

  As Midda predicted, it was a watermeadow, and a very pretty one, at that. They punted up the sidestream, with tall reeds and bulrushes shielding either side, emerging into the meadow. There was a low rise at its centre, forming an island. It was a large expanse of watermeadow, breathtakingly beautiful. Orange-flowering bog asphodel, butter-hued bladderwort, white brookweed and pink-blossomed comfrey burgeoned amidst wide green platters of waterlilies.

  Triggut Frap pointed. “Make for the island!”

  The little ones were enchanted by the dragonflies and butterflies of many hues—skippers, whites, commas, admirals and fritillaries. The raft nosed into the island, where Triggut moored it, ordering them ashore.

  Midda decided the time had come to dig in her paws. She acted as spokesbeast for her friends. “We don’t go ashore without the harebabes, Cap’n. We always stay t’gether, y’see.”

  She watched the hedgehog, who took another change of temperament. He pulled the dagger from the mast, freeing Calla and Urfa with a few slashes. His tone was quite level as he pointed the dagger at Midda. “Right, all ashore, an’ yew can stow that Cap’n talk, it don’t fool me. This is my island, an’ yew’ll stop on it fer as long as I like, see!”

  Midda faced him squarely. “You’ve got no right t’keep us prisoners. We’re free creatures now!”

  Triggut smiled nastily, cocking his sparsely quilled head to one side. “Yew made a bargain, an’ I’m keepin’ yew to it after ’elpin’ yew to escape the Ravagers.”

  Then his demeanour underwent another change. He began his shuffling jig once more, cackling as he twirled the dagger and waved his ash staff.

  “Heeheeheehee! Think yew kin escape my island, don’t yew? Hahaarrharrr! Jus’ watch this!”

  He swished one end of his staff in the water, calling, “Come on, me beauties, come to ole Uncle Triggut, come, come!” Upending the reed snare net, he shook out numerous small fish, mainly minnows and sticklebacks.

  There was a frightening rush of water, on and below the surface, with dorsal fins showing clear. Almost a score of big pike, those voracious freshwater predators, were there. Leaping and splashing in a feeding frenzy, their large, sharp-toothed mouths snapping and slashing as they tore the small fish into shreds and devoured them.

  With a swift move, Triggut seized Diggla and held him over the roiling surface of the water. The mousebabe screamed; pike were leaping up, trying to grab him.

  Tura shouted, “Alright, alright. We’ll do as ye say, sir. Give Diggla back. We’ll obey ye, I swear we will!”

  The mad hog tossed the mousebabe carelessly back onto the bank. “Heehee, I knew yew’d see things my way. But just keep in mind, I can call on my friends anytime!”

  Midda bowed her head. “What do you want us to do?”

  Triggut scratched his chin, causing a few spikes to drop off it. “Hmm, what do I want? Lemme see.” He swept over them with a grand wave of his ash staff. “I want yews t’build me a house. Aye, a nice, big house!”

  Jinty Witherspyk looked concerned. “But we don’t know anything about buildin’ houses!”

  Tura trod lightly on her footpaw, silencing the hogmaid. “Oh, I should think we can manage that. Now, wot sort of house will ye be wanting?”

  Triggut repeated, “A nice, big house!”

  Tura adopted the air of one who had been building houses all her life. “D’ye want it made of wood or stone, how many rooms must it have, d’ye want windows, would y’like a bark-shingle roof, or woven reeds?”

  As Triggut shrugged, more spines rattled off his scrofu lus body. “Er, I dunno. . . . Aye, yes, I’ll have all wot yew said. Windows, wood, stone an’ all that stuff.”

  Tura nodded. “Fair enough, friend, but first my workers need feedin’. Ye can’t build houses on empty stomachs!”

  The crazed hog curled his lip scornfully. “Yew kin fend for yerselves as far as vittles goes. Come an’ I’ll show yews.”

  It was a fairly substantial island. They followed him to its tree-covered middle.

  Triggut pointed edibles out to them. “There’s apple trees, pears, some acorns, bushes an’ vines with berries. Plenty o’ roots, too. Make the most of ’em, then get started on my house.”

  Tura sat down, shaking her head. “Not today, friend. These beasts need a rest an’ vittles afore they’re fit for work. Besides, I ain’t drawn up the plans for yore house yet. No good tryin’ t’build without some plans, is it?”

  Midda, Jiddle, Jinty, even some of the little ones nodded in agreement. “No good at all!”

  Triggut wiped a grimy paw over his damaged eye, which was constantly leaking. Then he laughed. “Haharrharr! Tomorrow it is, then, but let me warn yew. There’s some thinks Triggut Frap’s mad. Well, that’s as may be. But don’t ever think I’m stupid, ’cos I ain’t, see? So, whilst yew clever lot sit there plannin’ to escape from my island, remember that.”

  He darted forward and snatched Diggla. Looping a cord around th
e mousebabe’s waist, he hauled him clear. “Haharr—gotcha! This un’s too liddle t’work, so I’ll take care of ’im for yew. Heeheehee, I always wanted a mousey fer a pet. Now I got one. Just in case yew lot get any funny ideas. Eat hearty an’ sleep well, mates!” Kicking and wailing, Diggla was yanked off by Triggut.

  The young friends could do nothing about it. Midda slumped down glumly.

  “Well, here we are, prisoners again. But this time we’re on a pretty island in the middle of a watermeadow . . . surrounded by vicious pike, an’ watched over by a madbeast who’s got little Diggla as a hostage. Tura, yore the brains round here. Wot d’we do now?”

  The squirrelmaid stared levelly at the shrewmaid. “I’d say we don’t start quarrellin’ an’ bein’ nasty to one another. Let’s work t’gether. There’s got to be a way out o’ this somehow. Any ideas?”

  After a moment’s silence, Jiddle spoke up. “Wot d’ye mean, ideas on how t’get Diggla back, or to get off this island, or how t’fix that rotten mouldy ole mad creature?”

  Tura shrugged. “Any of those three will do.”

  Young Jiddle dropped his voice to a whisper. “Let’s deal with Triggut Frap first. It’ll soon be night, an’ he ain’t so different from any other beast that he doesn’t have to sleep. . . .”

  Midda smiled. “I think ye may have somethin’ there!”

  Buckler Kordyne stood in the open air with his party of Guosim warriors. He pounded his paw on the great oak trunk in frustration. “Not a blinkin’ trace of the young uns anywhere!”

  Log a Log Jango put up his rapier. “Nor the vermin. They’ve vanished, gone, disappeared!”

  Axtel Sturnclaw held up a huge digging claw. “You’m a-wanten oi shudd go back in thurr, an’ search agin, zurr? Us’ns may’ve missed summat.”

  Buckler shook his head. “I can’t see there’s much point. What d’you think, Jango?”

  The Shrew Chieftain affirmed his friend’s view. “We rooted that place out from top t’bottom. Sniffy couldn’t find ’em, an’ if’n he can’t, then nobeast can. Right, Sniff?”

  The Tracker assented wearily. “Right, Chief. Oh, they’ve been there, but the stink o’ vermin, burnt torches an’ all those pawprints overrun by ours—no, sir, ’tis no use goin’ through those caves an’ passages agin. They’ve fled the place for sure!”

  Buckler’s quick mind was racing as Sniffy spoke. He formed a swift plan and gave out orders. “Then we search the woodlands for a half day’s march all around. Axtel, Jango, take a group of Guosim apiece. I’ll lead the rest. Where’s the best place to meet up again?”

  “That ole Mumzy vole’s place. We all knows how t’find it.”

  Buckler clapped the Tracker’s shoulder. “Good idea, Sniffy. Let’s get on the move—the longer we hang about, the further away they’ll get. Right!”

  Zwilt the Shade paced the streambank. His scouts had tracked the fugitives that far, but there the trail ended. The tall sable watched anxiously as two river rats came hurrying from different directions along the stream’s edge. He pawed at his broadsword hilt. “Well?”

  The rats were of the same opinion. “No signs of ’em on the stream, Lord.” “They could’ve gone either way, up or down!”

  Zwilt called across to another three on the opposite side. “Any traces over that way?”

  A stoat who had swum across waved his paws. “Lord, they never went this way!”

  Hearing a twig crack in the woodlands at his back, Zwilt turned, blade at the ready. The Sable Quean emerged from a sheltering beech trunk. Her eyes betrayed nothing, though her voice was heavy with contempt.

  “The great Commander Zwilt can’t even find some runaway babes, it seems.”

  Zwilt moved as she came forward, not wanting Vilaya any closer to him. “I’ll find them. ’Tis only a matter of time. You can return to Althier and await my arrival with the prisoners.”

  She replied almost casually. “When I left Althier, it was teeming with Guosim warriors. Forget Althier—we can no longer return there. So, what are your plans now, or are you ready for further orders from me?”

  Vilaya took a step forward, but Zwilt took a pace back. His long blade swished as it cut the air keenly.

  “Stand where you are—come no further!”

  Danger crackled on the air like forked lightning. The Ravager army spaced themselves out, staying clear of any confrontation between their leaders.

  Vilaya chuckled humorlessly. “Quite a time you’ve had, Zwilt. I followed you and what did I find along the way? My old friend Dirva, a monster eel and one of your beasts, the big stoat Lugg, all dead. Very careless of you!”

  The tall sable’s dark eyes flashed briefly. “I am used to death in my trade. Stay! Come no closer, Vilaya. My blade is longer than your poisoned toy.”

  The Sable Quean opened her paws to show she was unarmed. “I see you no longer call me Majesty. Remember, Zwilt, I could have stolen up on you. The snake can strike swiftly, you know.”

  She began circling sideways, her paw reaching for the tiny dagger. Zwilt’s swordpoint followed her every move.

  “It would have to be a brave snake to take its chance with me. Remember, Vilaya, I am not some slow, thick-headed vermin. Now, do ye wish to challenge me?”

  The Sable Quean knew she could not. She had witnessed Zwilt the Shade’s bladework. It was only the unsuspecting that she could take advantage of. She tried another tack.

  “It is foolish quarrelling amongst ourselves when we should be concentrating on recapturing those young ones and using them as a lever to defeat Redwall.”

  Zwilt kept her menaced with his bladepoint as she inched almost imperceptibly forward. He sneered. “The foolishness was in your ridiculous plan to take that Abbey by stealing some babes. Well, I went along with it for a while, but no longer. Look around you, Vilaya. There are two hundred warriors, armed and trained for battle. With me to command them, Redwall will be conquered by invasion. War is the only sure thing to decide a victory.”

  Raising his blade, he called to the Ravager army, “My warriors, are you with me?”

  That was when the Sable Quean made her move.

  Vilaya sprang at Zwilt. Sidestepping her, he thrust the broadsword in a blurring flash. The point was protruding from the back of her cloak. The blade was withdrawn as fast as it had struck. Vilaya staggered, openmouthed, clutching the regal purple cloak about her. She looked from the rapidly spreading stain on its silken folds, to Zwilt.

  Vilaya gasped in a halting voice, “Y-you . . . have . . . s-slain . . . a . . . Quean!”

  She toppled forward, facedown on the streambank.

  Zwilt placed a footpaw upon his fallen foe. “Now let us conquer the Abbey of Redwall!”

  Spears, blades and various weapons were raised as the vermin horde yelled aloud, “Zwilt! Zwilt! Zwilt the Shaaaaaade!”

  A smile of triumph lit up the tall sable’s saturnine features. He raised the broadsword, intending to behead the Sable Quean, but halted as he felt somebeast tugging at his cloak. It was the ferret Gliv.

  “ ’Twould be a bad omen to cut her again, Lord. Let me bury this so-called Sable Quean here on the bank. I’ll bury her deep, where worms will feed on her carcass—’tis all she deserves. Vilaya, ruler of worms, beetles and insects, she can feed her subjects!”

  The tall sable stayed his sword paw. “Aye, Gliv, we’ll never know how many of them she can kill with her little poisoned dagger. Bury her where the earth is cold and damp.”

  Log a Log Jango and Axtel Sturnclaw, along with their patrols, sat with their footpaws in the cooling streamwater, outside of the water vole’s home. Mumzy bustled about, replenishing their platters with weighty portions of her damson and apple turnover. She shook her head sadly.

  “An’ ye didn’t find any o’ those liddle uns out there. Sure, I wonder where the pore babbies have got to?”

  Jango washed the turnover down with some elderflower cordial. “We ain’t found ’em yet, marm, but soon as we’ve fed our faces a
n’ cooled our paws, we’ll be off lookin’ for ’em agin, ye can take my word for that!”

  Axtel was already up and alert, testing his wounded limb. “Yurr, ee streamwatter bee’s gurtly coolen, moi ole futtpaw’s ready t’go agin, marm.”

  “Ahoy, the camp—friends comin’ in!”

  Jango shielded his eyes, peering to where the shout had come from. “It’s Buckler an’ his crew. Looks like they ain’t had much luck either, though they’re comin’ pretty fast.”

  Buckler and his followers were breathing heavily. Jango moved along the bankside.

  “Looks like ye’ve been coverin’ some ground, mate. Here, siddown an’ cool yore paws. Try some o’ Miz Mimzy’s vittles. She can bake a fair ole turnover.”

  The young hare remained standing, gathering his breath. “No time for that, Jango—we nearly ran into the full pack o’ Ravagers back there. Lucky they never saw us, but they’re on the move, an’ that Zwilt beast is leadin’ ’em. They’re headed for Redwall, we heard the shouts. Get Diggs an’ the rest. We’ve got t’get back to the Abbey, double quick!”

  Casting aside his empty plate, the Guosim Chieftain stamped streamwater from his footpaws.

  “Ravagers marchin’ on Redwall, ye say? Form up an’ move out, Guosim, there’s no time t’waste! Er, about Diggs, he ain’t with us. I thought he was with you, Buck?”

  Buckler looked distracted for a moment, then he sighed. “Well, he ain’t. I haven’t clapped eyes on Diggs since we were searchin’ the caves at Althier. Well, Diggs’ll have to look out for himself. We can’t stop now—got t’go!”

  Mumzy picked up a half-finished chunk of turnover. “But wot about the liddle uns, Mister Buck?”

  The young hare shook his head. “No sign of ’em yet, an’ they weren’t with the vermin, so we’ll have to call off searchin’ for ’em until after we’ve defended the Abbey. If’n either the young uns or Diggs turns up here, I’ve no doubt you’ll take ’em in an’ care for ’em, marm. We’ll be indebted if y’do. Take care of yourself, friend!”