The Sable Quean (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Diggs dived at the ferret, hauling him up once again and bellowing aggressively, “So then, you mouldy rotter, you were fibbing when y’said you’d told me every bloomin’ thing. Hah, an’ I was tryin’ to be nice to you. Right, that’s it! No more good old Uncle Diggs for you, m’laddo, c’mere!”

  Even though he was tubby, Diggs was a hare of some strength. With a grunt, he swung Gripchun over his head and held him above the battlements.

  “One thing a chap can’t abide, an’ that’s a fibber! So it’s over the wall for you, mudface. You’re free t’go—though it’s a bit of a way down from the top o’ these flippin’ walls. Hah, your pals will prob’ly need three sacks an’ a spade to shovel you up an’ carry you off, wot!”

  The vermin screeched despairingly, “No, noooo, mercy, sir, I begs ye! Owoooo ’elp!”

  That was when Granvy interceded. He pulled Diggs back, managing to take possession of the prisoner. “Mister Diggs, sir, there’s no need for all this violence. I’m sure this creature would sooner talk to me, right?”

  The ferret began kissing Granvy’s footpaws. “Right, sir, yore right. I’ll talk to ye, fair’n’square, honest I will, sir. Just keep that fat rabbet off me!”

  Diggs was about to fetch him a good clout for his insolence when the old Recorder held up a calming paw.

  “Please, friends, go away. Let me take charge of this beast.”

  Buckler nodded. “He’s right, mates. Let’s go and take tea in the gatehouse. Just shout if y’need us, Granvy.”

  The Recorder smiled meekly. “Thank you so much.”

  They went off down the wallsteps, with Diggs chunnering indignantly. “Bloomin’ nerve o’ the blighter. Fat rabbet is it, wot? One more word out of that scoundrel an’ I’ll fat rabbet him. Squashed ferret, that’s what he’ll jolly well be. I say, you chaps, if we’re havin’ tea, I’ll just nip off t’the blinkin’ kitchens an’ see if I can’t conjure up a few scones, or a spot o’ piecrust!”

  13

  It was a terrifying moment for the young prisoners in the gloomy cave, and it happened swiftly. One moment they were lying about listlessly, wondering how long it was until their next meal, some dozing, others just gazing blankly into space. Then the door to the dungeon slammed open. Thwip, Binta and Dirva swept in with an escort of guards, all carrying lighted torches.

  There was an immediate hubbub, with the little captives shielding their eyes against the sudden invasion of flaring lights. Dirva pointed to the closest three creatures. “They’ll do—take ’em!”

  Flandor the young otter grabbed a stoat who was shoving the Dibbun squirrelmaid, Tassy, into a big sack. “Leave her alone, you dirty villain!” He dealt the stoat a good punch to the right eye.

  That was where the resistance ended. Flandor was set upon by guards and beaten senseless with spearbutts. Thwip was cracking his lash, snarling, “Get back! Back, I say, all of ye!”

  Screams and cries of young creatures echoed round the dungeon walls as the raiders speedily retreated with their victims. As quickly as it had started, the incident was over. The door slammed and was bolted tight, leaving the prisoners blinking in the sudden darkness. Everybeast was wailing and sobbing at the sudden violence of the raid.

  Flib came tumbling out of the escape tunnel, followed by her two small mole assistants. The Guosim shrewmaid spat dust, wiping the back of a grimy paw across her eyes. “Wot’n the name o’ bludd’n’boulders is goin’ on?”

  Midda grasped her sister Flib’s paw. “They took three of us, jus’ barged in an’ took ’em!”

  Flib wiggled a paw in a dust-filled ear, shouting, “Will ya shut that noise, all of youse! I can’t ’ear meself thinkin’ for all the weepin’ an’ wailin’. Now, shut up, d’ye hear me? Be quiet!”

  The din subsided into faint moans and sniffles.

  The young squirrel, Tura, spoke out. “I think they’ve killed Flandor—look!”

  Flib ran to the fallen otter’s side and turned him over. He groaned softly. Midda managed to unhook one of the dim lanterns from the prison wall. She held it over Flandor as Flib inspected him.

  “Flandor ain’t dead. Anybeast got a drop o’ water t’spare?”

  A small quantity of the precious fluid was donated. Midda tore off a strip of her kilt, soaking it and bathing away blood from a cut on the otter’s brow. She forced the remainder of the water between Flandor ’s lips. He spluttered, trying to sit up, but Flib pressed him back down.

  “Stay put awhile ’til yer feel stronger, mate. Now, who was it did all this?”

  Tura answered, “The two foxes an’ that ole scrinjy rat. They burst in with a load of guards carryin’ torches an’ weapons. Shoved three little uns into sacks an’ took ’em away. Wasn’t much we could do, it all happened so sudden. Y’can see wot they did to pore Flandor, beat him terrible, they did!”

  Flib nodded grimly. “So, who did the cowardly scum take?”

  Midda replied, “One was the Redwall squirrel, Tassy.”

  Jiddle the Witherspyk hog sobbed, “They stole my sister Jinty, put her in a sack!”

  Flib patted his head gently. “There, there. No good cryin’, mate, at least they never took you. Who else?”

  Gurchen the molemaid had been taking a look around. “Burr, oi think they’m tukken ee likkle hurr babbie, ee wun called Urfa. She’m gone frum ’er bruther.”

  A mousebabe began wailing, “Wahaaah, they’re goin’ to eat them, we’ll be next. Wahaaaah!”

  Flib tugged the mouse’s tail, silencing him. “Don’t talk stoopid. If’n they was goin’ to eat us they woulda done it long ago, while we was all still fat an’ ’ealthy.”

  Midda picked up Borti, who had been wakened by the mousebabe’s cries. She rocked him to and fro. “Then what d’you suppose they plan on doin’ to ’em?”

  Flib raised her voice bad-temperedly. “Well ’ow am I s’posed to know, eh? They took ’em, an’ that’s all there is to it, see? We’d better be ready to fight ’em off if’n they comes back t’take more of us.”

  Tura shrugged. “An’ how are we supposed to do that?”

  Her enquiry seemed to throw Flib into a greater rage. She waved her paws about wildly. “Look, I ain’t in charge ’ere. Can’t yer think for yoreselves, instead o’ sittin’ there scrinjin’ an’ moanin’? At least I’m doin’ somethin’—I’m tryin’ to dig a tunnel out of ’ere. In fact, that’s wot I think I’ll do now, carry on diggin’. Cummon, youse two!”

  A moment later, she and her two mole helpers had vanished into the tunnel, leaving the rest to their own devices.

  Tura took up the wet rag and began wiping Flandor’s wound, her jaw set tightly. “Huh, not much good askin’ yore sister for help, is it?”

  Midda saw that Borti had gone back to sleep. She placed him carefully down on a bed of old dried grass. “That’s not very fair, Tura. Flib’s doing her best to dig that tunnel so we can all escape. I know she can get a bit moody at times, but she’s always been that way. Take my word for it, Flib has a good heart. She’ll help us in her own way, you’ll see.”

  Flandor sat upright, nursing his head. “Aye, Tura, she’s right—hush, did ye hear that? Somebeast’s unlockin’ the door. Get them all back against the walls. Be ready to fight this time!”

  The light of fear banished the dullness from young eyes as everybeast put their backs to the wall and waited with bated breath.

  The door opened to reveal Thwip, Binta and two guards with the prisoner’s food. Flandor recognised the guards as part of the group who had beaten him with their spearbutts. Despite his injuries, the young otter charged at them with teeth bared.

  “Dirty cowards! Only two of ye this time. Well, let’s see how brave ye are without yore gang!”

  Thwip pushed the cauldron of gruel forward and backed off, cracking his whip. He called to the others, “Binta, leave the water. Let’s get out of this place. Leave ’em to feed themselves. That streamdog’s gone mad!”

  The four vermin hurried from the scene, sla
mming the door and peering through the grating. The other captives, urged on by Flandor’s example, hurled themselves at the locked door, banging on it, shouting insults and threats at their jailers.

  “Yah, dirty rotten stinky cowards!”

  “Give us back our three friends.”

  “Yore too scared t’come back in here an’ face us!”

  “Burr, you’m muthers shudd be unshamed of ee!”

  Avoiding a pawful of soil which rattled through the grating, Thwip laughed harshly. “Eat hearty, me liddle friends. That’s the last vittles ye’ll get off us. We’ll see how brave ye are after a few days without food’n’water!”

  Any further threats from the fox were cut off by a loud rumbling noise from inside the dungeon. It was from the vent of Flib’s escape tunnel. With a boom and a crash, a big boulder shot out like a cannonball. This was followed by a shooting slide of debris, soil, pebbles, pieces of tree root and thick sandy dust.

  Binta fell back, coughing and spitting as the dust came through the grille. “Wot’n the name . . . wot’s ’appenin’ in there?”

  One of the guards, who had wisely stood aside, missing the choking debris, commented ironically, “Go an’ see, if’n ye wants to. I’m gettin’ outta here afore the roof caves in on me!” He took off in a hurry, with the other three following him.

  Flandor waded paw-deep through the mess which had enveloped half of the cavern. “Tura, Midda, are ye alright? Get the little uns up on that side ledge—make sure they’re all safe!”

  Anybeast who was unhurt came to help the shrewmaid and the young squirrel. It took a while for the dust to settle and for the few lanterns to be set right. Fortunately, no life had been lost, and nobeast was seriously injured. Once the babes were made safe on the ledge and the remainder of their food and water had been salvaged, Flandor took a look around.

  The tunnel had vanished completely. There was only a sloping hill of debris where it had once been. Midda immediately threw herself upon it, digging furiously with her bare paws. “Flib’s in there. Help me—she might be injured!”

  Flandor overpowered her, pulling her clear of the wreckage. “Come away, mate. Nobeast could’ve lived through that. There’s been some massive kind o’ collapse, maybe an earthshift of some kind. You won’t do any good tryin’ t’dig through that lot.”

  Midda struggled in the young otter’s grasp, then gave up. She sat on the hill of rubble weeping. “Oh, Flib, poor Flib! What a way to die, crushed under all that rock and earth. Oh, my poor sister!”

  Tura shook her head sadly. “Aye an’ those two moles who were with Flib, they’ll be dead, too.”

  The Witherspyk hog, Jiddle, wiped dust from his eyes. “They’d be the lucky ones, goin’ quick like that. Look at us trapped in here, an’ they ain’t comin’ back to feed us, I wager. We’ve been left here t’die slow.”

  Jango Bigboat was not a beast to sit about in the gatehouse drinking hot mint tea and nibbling scones spread with damson preserve. Diggs appropriated the Guosim Log a Log’s share as he watched Jango leave the table.

  “Hah, jolly bad form, leavin’ scones t’go stale like that. Where are you off to, old lad?”

  The Shrew Chieftain gestured upward. “Goin’ to take a look up there, see if ole Granvy’s gettin’ any information out o’ that vermin. You comin’?”

  The irrepressible Diggs waggled his ears. “Oh, by an’ by, m’friend, by an’ by. Soon as I’ve nourished me tender young body. You run along like a good chap. We’ll be up presently, wot!”

  Oakheart Witherspyk shared Jango’s scones with Diggs. The big hedgehog really enjoyed his food. “Rather toothsome, this Redwall cuisine, y’know. One could develop a real taste for it.”

  Diggs watched him devour the last scone. He gazed mournfully at the empty tray. “Oh, really? Y’don’t say!”

  They were distracted by Jango yelling from the walltop, “Ahoy, mates, come up ’ere an’ take a look at this lot!”

  Buckler, Skipper and Oakheart were up on the ramparts in the twinkling of an eye.

  Jango was pointing to a vermin horde arrayed on the west flatlands in front of the Abbey. It was the full complement of Ravagers, everybeast armed to the teeth, headed by the Sable Quean and Zwilt the Shade.

  Buckler muttered quietly to Granvy, “Get back down to the Abbey quick. Tell the Abbess to send every able-bodied Redwaller up here an’ make sure they look as if they’re armed. Go!”

  Trying to put a bold face on things, Diggs turned his back upon the vermin throng, commenting lightly, “Hmm, looks like we’ve got visitors, chaps. What d’you suppose that mangy mob want, wot?”

  Skipper played along casually. “Well, they ain’t come to swap scone recipes an’ take tea on the lawn. What d’ye think, Oakie?”

  The big Witherspyk hog sniffed disdainfully. “I think they should assemble downwind from us, sirrah. ‘Pon my word, the smell’s enough t’make a dead frog sick!”

  Zwilt and Vilaya stood motionless, as if awaiting some reaction from the walltop. However, the creatures on the ramparts continued ignoring them and chatting coolly amongst themselves.

  Jango placed a footpaw on Gripchun, who was sitting out of sight with his back against the wall. Pressing the ferret firmly in place, the Guosim Chieftain murmured to him, “If’n ye want to stay alive an’ healthy, mate, stay where ye are an’ don’t move. Unnerstand?”

  The vermin nodded vigorously. One look at the shrew’s fierce eyes, and he understood.

  Without warning, the twin Abbey bells began booming out the alarm. Redwallers, Guosim and Witherspyks came hastening up the wallsteps and onto the battlements. Buckler sighed ruefully as Granvy saluted him.

  “They’re all here, just as you asked.”

  The young hare returned the salute, adding, “There was no need for alarm bells. It could’ve been done without all the fuss, just t’show the vermin we’re not anxious or concerned.”

  Abbess Marjoram spoke. “Don’t blame Granvy. ’Twas my decision to sound the bells. I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. But we’ve never had a situation like this to my knowledge. My apologies to you, Buck.”

  Buckler bowed gallantly. “Accepted, Mother Abbess. Now, if you aren’t used to facing vermin hordes, then perhaps you’ll leave this to me?”

  Marjoram touched his paw. “Willingly, my friend.”

  Buckler gave orders quietly. “Log a Log Jango, would you split your force? Take half the Guosim to the southwest gable and send the rest to the northwest corner, please.”

  Jango nodded to Sniffy the Tracker. “You take half our tribe an’ cover the nor’west end. I’ll take the rest and stand at the sou’west corner.”

  They moved off promptly as Buckler continued with his strategy. “Diggs, Skipper, stay with me at the centre threshold. Oakie, Foremole, spread everybeast the length of this west wall, but send six to watch the other walltops. Two to the east, two to the south and two to the north. They can give the warning if the vermin start sending beasts round the walls. Wait, now—before you go, listen to what I say.”

  He looked at the Abbeybeasts and woodlanders, who, apart from the well-armed Guosim, were carrying a variety of makeshift weaponry—spades, digging forks, hoes, window poles, wood axes and kitchen knives. “All of you, stay in clear view holdin’ your weapons so they can be seen. But don’t do anything until we give the order. Above all, stand silent. Don’t start threatening and shouting war cries. Right, go to it!”

  There was an air of tension pervading the warm summer noon as both sides faced each other in complete silence. All that could be heard was a few larks on high over the western flatlands beyond the walls.

  Buckler used an old unsettling tactic, addressing a Ravager at random. Pointing to one at the left flank, he enquired, “You, what d’ye want here?”

  As the dumbfounded vermin stared up at him, Zwilt stood out, answering sharply, “If you have anything to say, you’ll speak to me!”

  Buckler leaned on a battlement, replying casually, �
��I’ve got nothin’ t’say at the moment, except for what I asked that other clod. What d’ye want here, an’ who are ye, eh?”

  Zwilt stiffened, his paw seeking the longsword beneath his flowing cloak. “I am Zwilt the Shade, Commander of the Ravagers, and I wish to speak with your leader, the one who rules this place!”

  Buckler twitched his ears, smiling easily. “Well, ain’t that a pity? You’ll just have to speak t’me. Buckler Kordyne at y’service, Blademaster of Salamandastron.”

  Zwilt looked about to speak, when Buckler halted him with an upraised paw. “Zwilt the Shade, eh? I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you the one who sneaks around the countryside stealin’ babes from their mammas’ paws? A real brave warrior!”

  A loud snigger from Diggs was heard clearly as Buckler continued. “I don’t think I want to bandy words with a coward like you. No, I’ll speak with her, Vilaya the Sable Quean, who lives at Althier.”

  The young hare could tell by the look which passed betwixt Zwilt and Vilaya that his remark had hit home. How did he know of Althier?

  Vilaya answered him, “I did not come here to play guessing games and exchange insults. No doubt you are wondering what has become of your young ones?”

  Abbess Marjoram could hold herself back no longer. She leapt forward, shaking a clenched paw. “You filthy Dibbun thief—it was you!”

  Before they could be stopped, Oakheart’s wife, Dymphnia, and Jango’s wife, Furm, were yelling at the Sable Quean.

  “What’ve ye done with our babes, you wicked scum?” “Give us our little uns back. How could ye do such a bad thing?”

  Whilst he felt sorry for both mothers, Granvy rounded on the pair, muttering fiercely, “Shuttup, both of ye. It’s not doing any good, insulting a vermin Quean like that. You’ll only bring more trouble on the little ones. Leave it to Buckler—he knows what he’s doing!”

  They fell back and were comforted into silence by Sister Fumbril and some molewives. Buckler felt that the vermin had got the better of that exchange. This set him to try another tactic. He called out challengingly, “How do we know you’ve got the young uns. Where’s yore proof?”