The Sable Quean (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

Midda decided the only way to be kind was to take a firm stand and suffer no nonsense. Holding up her lantern, she set off down the tunnel with the harebabe Urfa on her back, calling to the others, “You’d best follow me, then, ’cos ye won’t get mammies, daddies, vittles or drinks by sittin’ there cryin’. Ain’t that right, Tura?”

  The squirrelmaid set off after her, assuring the babes, “Aye, that’s right enough. You come with us an’ soon you’ll get everythin’—vittles, kinbeasts, the lot!”

  Once Jiddle had picked up the remaining lantern and followed Midda, the rest scrambled to join them. Nobeast wanted to be left alone in a darkened tunnel. However, it did not take long before the questions started, little ones being what they were. Both Midda and Tura did their best to answer.

  “When do I sees my mammy?”

  “Oh, t’won’t be long now. Just keep goin’.”

  “Wot sort o’ vikkles bees us’n’s agoin’ t’get?”

  “Er, nice vittles, I imagine, only the best.”

  “Do we gets h’apple pudden?”

  “Aye, lots of apple pudden.”

  “Wiv hunny on, an’ meddycream?”

  “As much as ye like and arrowroot sauce, nice’n’hot.”

  “Yikk, I not like harry’oot sauce, not nice.”

  “Then you don’t have to have it. Catch up, now.”

  “Yurr, wot we’m bee’s a-drinken, marm?”

  Tura stifled an anguished groan. “What d’ye like to drink, eh?”

  Mousebabe Diggla, from his perch on the squirrelmaid’s back, shouted aloud into her ear, “Straw’bee fizz, dat’s wot us likes!”

  Tura clapped a paw to her ear. “Right, strawberry fizz it is!”

  The babes set up a rousing cheer. Apparently strawberry fizz was a firm favourite with little ones.

  They carried on along the tunnel until Tura suddenly halted. Midda bumped into her.

  “What’s up, mate? Why’ve ye stopped?”

  The splashing was audible underpaw. Both lanterns were held up, revealing a flooded expanse lying ahead of them.

  19

  It was the fat stoat who discovered the loss of the captives. Fearful of the consequences, he searched the deserted cave in silence. His lantern revealed nothing but shadows. Realising that this would mean an instant death sentence from the ruthless Sable Quean, he kept quiet. Strolling out, he hung up his lantern at the entrance, then spoke casually to the other three vermin who were posted outside.

  “All quiet in there. They won’t wake ’til they’re called fer vittles. We’ll let the relief guard do that.”

  When the next four vermin marched up, the fat stoat reassured them in a routine manner. “The brats are still takin’ their shuteye. No rush to feed ’em yet. They’ll let ye know when they wakes up, ’ungry, noisy liddle nuisances!”

  The fat stoat hurried off, satisfied with his pretence. He would not be the one to take the blame if questions were asked—his fellow guards would back him up, anything to avoid the wrath of Vilaya.

  It was only when the guards wheeled the cauldrons of food and water in that they became aware something was wrong.

  An older ferret called into the gloomy interior, “Wot’s ’appened to the lanterns? It’s dark in ’ere!”

  A lanky rat, who had not been paying attention, banged a ladle on the side of the cauldron. “Cumm an’ gerrit! ’Ere’s yer vi—oof!”

  The ferret had whacked him in the stomach with his spearbutt. He grabbed the ladle and flung it at the rat.

  “Idjit, can’t yer see there’s nobeast ’ere?”

  Another rat, who was in charge of the water, blurted out, “Wotjer mean, not ’ere? Where’ve they gone?”

  There was panic in the ferret’s voice as he shouted, “I dunno, do you? Look, see fer yerself!”

  The lanky rat staggered up off the floor, yelling, “Escape! Escape! The prisoners’ve escaped!”

  Vilaya and Dirva arrived hurriedly, with an armed guard of Ravagers which included the four who had been on duty previously. Lanterns flooded into the cavern, illuminating it brightly.

  Dirva set about the closest vermin with a stick. “Search this place. Find ’em. Now!”

  “No. Everybeast stand still—stay where you are!”

  They froze at the high-pitched, imperious tone of the Sable Quean, who stood where they could all see her.

  Many of the vermin were bigger than she, brawnier, more hefty, but they all feared Vilaya. Even Dirva, her aged soothsayer, could sense the foreboding in the air. The sable’s bright eyes glittered. Her small, sharp teeth showed as she hissed softly. Every eye was riveted on the sleek barbaric figure with her silken purple cloak and her necklace of snake fangs. Vilaya was every inch a ruler who had to be obeyed under pain of death.

  She spoke slowly and distinctively. “Who are the guards on duty here?”

  The older ferret stood forward, accompanied by the lanky rat and two others, both rats.

  Vilaya nodded to the ferret. “Make your report to me.”

  The ferret swallowed several times before he found his voice. “Majesty, we had just taken over from the last guards. We went in with the vittles, but they was all gone—the lanterns was gone, too, it was dark.”

  The Sable Quean allowed an agonising moment to pass before she spoke. “Before you went in, could you hear the prisoners talking or moving around?”

  The four shook their heads, with the ferret answering for them. “There wasn’t any sound at all from in there, Majesty. We thought they was all asleep. The others we took over from said they was afore they went off duty.”

  Vilaya toyed with the crystal vial hanging about her neck. “Bring them here to me.”

  Dirva had the previous guard line up quickly—the fat stoat, a pair of weasels and a rat. They stood quaking, with their eyes fixed on the ground, not even daring to look at each other.

  The silence became almost deafening as Vilaya gazed from one to the other. She spoke suddenly and sharply, snapping the words out. “Who was the last beast to see the prisoners?”

  They were too frightened to reply, but she noticed that three of them shot a swift glance at the stoat. She beckoned him to her with one claw, continuing the movement until he was so close that he could feel her breath upon his snout. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Look at me and speak truly. When did ye last see them?”

  The fat stoat’s face was trembling so hard that he could only stammer. “M-m-m-maj—”

  The savage, fiery eyes penetrated his very being. “You never saw them at all, did you? The prisoners were already gone. I know they were. Tell me I’m right.”

  The fat stoat had totally lost the power of speech. He was only able to nod his head. She turned her gaze on his three companions, selecting the rat.

  “What did he tell you? Have no fear, speak.”

  The rat was so relieved that he gabbled hurriedly, “Majesty, ’e said that they was asleep an’ ter let the new guards wake ’em when they serves vittles.”

  She glanced at both the weasels, who were nodding furiously. Having heard what she wanted, Vilaya summed the situation up. “So, our prisoners have escaped. They never left this cave by the entrance. With sentries posted all over Althier, they would have been noticed right away. That means they left here by another way. What were they attempting last time, a tunnel? Search this cave for tunnels!”

  The guards hastened forward but were halted by their ruler ’s upraised paw and her scornful voice.

  “Fools, stay where you are. Dirva, you do it.”

  The old rat cackled as she toured the area, tapping the walls with a stick. “All solid rock. Ye said yoreself to put ’em in one where they couldn’t tunnel out. So where’ve the liddle uns gone, eh?”

  Dirva carried on around the walls, tapping high and low. “Like ye said, Mighty One, they ain’t left by the entrance. So where . . . where . . . where . . . ahaah!”

  Dirva stopped at the disguised rift, beckoning lanterns to the spot. “This must be
it!” She rooted amongst the loose rubble which was blocking the exit. “I was right—lookit this!”

  The ancient rat was holding up a small wooden spoon, which had belonged to one of the young fugitives.

  Vilaya inspected the escape exit. “Unblock it. Use your spearpoints and knives, quickly!”

  The fat stoat, thinking he could redeem himself by helping with the work, grabbed his spear.

  Vilaya shook her head. “Not you. Give me that spear.”

  The stoat passed her the spear, pleading, “But, Majesty, I’ll find ’em for ye. Forgive me, Mighty One!”

  The other Ravagers present turned their eyes away as the Quean lunged with the weapon. Vilaya looked down impassively at the dying stoat. “Now you are forgiven. How does it feel?”

  The fat stoat died without saying a single word.

  Vilaya sensed rather than saw Zwilt the Shade enter the cave.

  Old Dirva watched him sweep by. “Well, lookit who’s back!”

  The tall sable surveyed the scene quickly. “What’s been going on here?”

  Vilaya countered the question with one of her own. “Where are the runaways you said you’d bring back?”

  Zwilt had his story ready. He could not tell his Quean what really happened.

  “The runaways are all dead. I caught up with them out in the woodlands. They fought, but I slew them all.”

  Dirva sniggered. “An’ what of the four Ravagers who were with ye? I see they haven’t returned.”

  Zwilt did his best to ignore her whilst continuing with his original enquiry. “They were slain in the fight. Where are the captives?”

  Vilaya nodded toward the rear wall, where the guards were trying to break through with their weapons. “Somewhere, at the back of there—we’ll soon find out. Come on, you idiots, a few woodland babes did that. Put your backs into it, weaklings!”

  Zwilt inspected the congested gap, noting the bent spearpoints and blades of the workers. “Hmm, that’s because it was blocked from the other side. Instead of trying to pull those rocks out, why don’t you try to push them back?”

  Vilaya saw the wisdom in his suggestion. “Do as Commander Zwilt says. Jump to it, I want those captives found and brought back here!”

  A sarcastic note crept into Zwilt’s tone. “And what if they’re not found? We’re due back at that Abbey sometime soon. I think your captives will be long gone by now. So what’ll you do then, O Mighty One?”

  It was the insolent way in which Zwilt used her title that nettled Vilaya. Her eyes flashed angrily. “Tell me, O Great Commander who cannot bring back a few pitiful runaway guards, what would you do?”

  Zwilt’s eyes betrayed nothing although he was seething inside. He did, however, broach a solution. “I would do what I first wanted to—attack Redwall. You saw how few real warriors they have. We have almost two hundred trained fighters. I could do it if you wanted me to.”

  The Sable Quean paused as if pondering his suggestion. She gave her reply in a harsh regal voice. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to realise that I’m your Quean! Now, help to get that rubbish out of the way and get after those escaped prisoners . . . or else!”

  Zwilt kept his distance from Vilaya wisely, knowing how swift she could be with her tiny poisoned dagger. He dropped his paw to his sword hilt. “Or else what? You seem to have forgotten that I’ve slain more beasts than you’ve eaten suppers. I’ll obey you for now, but if the captives can’t be found, then I’ll conquer Redwall, with or without you!”

  Vilaya smiled. “But for now you will obey me. So get to it, Zwilt. Bring the captives back here.”

  The tall sable smiled back at her. “As you wish, Majesty. Step aside, if ye please.”

  Vilaya stepped away from the blocked entrance.

  Zwilt moved sideways to pass by her, remarking, “Now we know where we both stand, ’twould not be wise for me to turn my back upon you.”

  Vilaya touched the crystal sheath which held her lethal little blade. She was still smiling.

  “Aye, Zwilt, ’twould not be wise at all, though sometimes you do not even have to turn your back on the Sable Quean. Ask him.”

  She walked gracefully off, pointing to the dead stoat.

  It was a high summer day. From a cloudless blue sky, warm sunlight beamed down on the ramparts of Redwall Abbey. Abbess Marjoram peered out at the path to the south. It lay shimmering and silent. Diggs, Foremole Darbee and Granvy stood with Marjoram at the southwest wall corner.

  Foremole wiped a spotted kerchief across his eyes, then looked away. “Hurr, moi ole eyes be wored owt a-starin’ at ee parth. They still h’aint nobeast a-cummen, nay, marm, thurr b’aint, an’ us’n’s bee’d yurr since brekkist.”

  The Abbess was clearly worried. She expressed her fears openly. “Really, I’m at a loss what to do. The vermin and their Quean are supposed to be back today. I’ve got to give them an answer, but without Skipper and Buckler here, we’re at a disadvantage.”

  Granvy turned his attention to the woodland area beyond the south common land. “We’d better just hope that Buckler’s party get back here ahead of the Ravagers. It’s only just midday—there’s time yet.”

  Diggs was, as ever, cheerfully optimistic. “Indeed there is, marm. Lashin’s o’ the jolly old daylight left, eh, wot! Why, bless me snout if old Buck doesn’t come bowlin’ along at any blinkin’ minute. I’ll wager he’ll be singin’ a song an’ dancin’ a bloomin’ jig, bearing good tidin’s and happy news an’ whatnot. Don’t fret, marm!”

  Marjoram could not help smiling at the ebullient hare. “You seem to put great faith in your friend.”

  The tubby hare chortled. “Well, the blighter ain’t let me down yet, marm. Buckler Kordyne’s as true blue an’ trusty as anybeast alive, ye can take that from me!”

  He turned to view the east and north walls, rubbing his paws in anticipation at what he saw. “I say, they’re bringin’ lunch around. Well, the bloomin’ cheek, servin’ those Guosim an’ Witherspyks first, instead of me, their superior officer!” Cupping paws around his mouth, Diggs bellowed to Friar Soogum and his helpers, “Never mind servin’ the rabble first. What about the quality chaps, eh? There’d better be loads o’ scoff left when ye get over here . . . or!”

  Sister Fumbril roared back in a fearsome voice, “Or wot, ye young lard bucket?”

  Her reply did not seem to bother Diggs, who grinned winningly as he called back, “Or we’ll starve, an’ you’ll never know the blinkin’ pleasure of our company ever again, so there!”

  Friar Soogum yelled, “That’d be a mercy, sir!”

  Pushing their trolleys, Soogum and his servers trundled up. The Friar waved a ladle. “Summer veggible soup, celery’n’apple crumble, with damson tart an’ blackberry cordial to follow. How’ll that suit ye, Mister Diggs?”

  Disguising his delight behind a mournful face, Diggs scowled. “Hmmph, suppose a chap could manage to bally well force a bit down, wot!”

  Sister Fumbril nodded southward across the walltop. “Well, don’t force too much down that famine face o’ your ’n. Mayhaps yore friends might like some?”

  Abbess Marjoram wheeled about and spotted Buckler emerging from the fringe of the south woodlands. Whooping and yelling, she scrambled up onto the battlements. “Over here, my friend, over here!” She almost overbalanced, until Fumbril reached out and helped her down.

  The big jolly otter laughed. “Calm down, Marj. He’d have a job to miss the sight o’ Redwall Abbey. Though ye don’t usually see a Mother Abbess dancin’ on the battlements!”

  Drull Hogwife and Cellarmole Gurjee hurried to open the small south wallgate. Buckler, Jango, Skipper and Bartij stood to one side as Flib led the four Dibbuns inside.

  Word had gone round the Abbey like wildfire. Redwallers came flocking down to meet Tassy, Guffy, Gurchen and Borti.

  The Log a Log’s wife, Furm, threw herself upon the babe. “Oh, Borti, my liddle Borti, yore safe!”

  Though still not fully recovered
from her injuries, Clarinna had hastened down from the Infirmary. Pushing her way through the onlookers, she wailed, “My babes, Urfa, Calla, where are they? You said that you’d bring them back, Buckler. Where are they?”

  Buckler signalled Sister Fumbril. Between them, they ushered the distraught mother back to the Abbey as Buckler reassured her in a hopeful manner. “Don’t worry, Clarinna. I know exactly where they are. Now we have the vermins’ location, I’ll make sure that your babes are back with you shortly.”

  Abbess Marjoram, who had heard Buckler, whispered to Skipper, “Is that right? D’you know where the little ones are being held?”

  The Otter Chieftain called out aloud, “No sense in whis perin’ about it, marm. There’s some here who’d like t’know where their Dibbuns are, right?”

  Marjoram held up her paws as the assembly began a clamour. “Everybeast not on wall duty go to the orchard. We’ll take lunch there and hear all the news from our friends.”

  Dymphnia Witherspyk blew her snout upon her apron hem. “Oh, I won’t be able to eat a single bite until I know about my twins, Jiddle and Jinty. Are they alive an’ safe?”

  Oakheart put his paw about her comfortingly. “Now, now, my dear. Come along and we’ll hear the news together. Forget the food.”

  Their impudent son, Rambuculus, sniggered, “Never mind, Ma. I’ll scoff yore lunch for ye!”

  Trajidia cast out a paw dramatically, which accidentally caught Rambuculus square on the jaw, felling him. Trajidia ignored his prostrate figure, giving theatrical vent to her feelings. “Oh, brother, you heartless wretch, have you no feelings for your kinbeasts and our dear parents?”

  The Witherspyk grandmother, Crumfiss, prodded Trajidia with her stick. “Well hit, young un. Leave him there an’ let’s git some lunch. I’m famished!”

  Passing over his command to the Guosim Divvery, Diggs came down from the ramparts to join his companion.

  “What ho, Buck! As y’see, I’ve kept an iron paw on things back here, stemmed a shrew mutiny an’ had the defenders on their mettle in good style. So, give us the news, mate. When do we launch a full-scale attack on the rascally old vermin types, wot? I’ve worked up a super ambush for when they run up here today. Now, what we do is this—”