The Sable Quean (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

The Sable Quean was in a dangerous mood, which did not bode well for her minions. Vilaya sent out a messenger recalling all Ravagers from their woodland camp, deciding they could better serve her at Althier. Zwilt had no say in the matter, now that there was a rift between the two. He took command of the guards who were trying to break through into the escape tunnel.

  Knowing Vilaya was watching his every move, the tall sable drove the guards harshly. “You, there, fool, are you leaning on that rock or trying to move it? Put some energy into it or you’ll feel my blade. Come on, the rest of you idlers, shift this rubbish. I’m growing old standing here waiting on you!”

  Dirva, having the Sable Quean’s protection, scorned Zwilt mercilessly, watching him shake with rage. “I thought a big strong beast like you could move that rock yourself, Lord. Or don’t ye want to get yore paws dirty with a bit of honest work?”

  Zwilt moved suddenly. Pushing a guard aside, he lifted a big chunk of rock. He tossed it backward, pretending not to notice when the wizened rat had to leap aside to avoid being struck.

  Dirva bared her snaggled fangs. “You did that on purpose!”

  Zwilt bowed mockingly. “Forgive me. I did not see you there.”

  The rift was finally unblocked. It was widened also, allowing fully grown vermin to pass easily through. Vilaya entered the tunnel with Zwilt and Dirva. She glanced both ways, consulting her old rat aide.

  “To the left or the right, which direction did they take?”

  Zwilt noticed some telltale traces showing which way the fugitives had gone. He nodded in that direction. “They went off to the left.”

  Vilaya ignored him, staring pointedly at Dirva. “Come on, I don’t have all season. Which way?”

  The old rat knew that if she gave the same answer as Zwilt, it would seem like she was backing him. “ ’Tis hard to say, but the right looks more likely.”

  The Sable Quean gave Zwilt a scornful glance. “Bring the Ravagers through. We’ll split into two groups. I’ll take the right—you go to the left. Take Dirva with you. She is useful.”

  The tall sable bowed his head curtly. “Your wish is my command, Majesty!”

  A full force of vermin marched off down the tunnel in different directions. Zwilt beckoned a lean, sly-faced stoat to his side. He held a brief, whispered conversation with the stoat, whose name was Gliv. She nodded, then melted back into the ranks.

  Dirva caught up with Zwilt. “What did ye want with that one, eh?”

  Zwilt the Shade kept his eyes on the passage ahead. “Just some business—pity you never heard it. After all, you were only sent to spy on me. Old Dirva, eh, the eyes and ears of the Quean. Dirty little spy!”

  Dirva curled her lip at him. “I’ll find out wot went on twixt you two, believe me. Aye, not only will I be watchin’ you, but I’ll keep a sharp eye on that stoat Gliv. Neither of ye will be stealin’ a march on ole Dirva, ye can bank on that!”

  Dirva dropped back, mingling with the marchers, until she was alongside Gliv. Prodding the stoat sharply in the side, she snarled, “Wot did Zwilt want with ye, eh?”

  Gliv winked at her. “Wouldn’t yer like t’know!”

  The old rat gave Gliv another vicious prod. “Alright, keep yore little secret, but remember this. I’ll be watchin’ ye, Gliv. Y’won’t be able t’make a move that I don’t know about, ’cos I’ll be watchin’ ye like a hawk!”

  Gliv chuckled slyly. “Then you’ll be watchin’ the wrong beast, won’t she, Lugg?”

  “Huh huh, dat’s right, mate!”

  Dirva tried to turn, but too late. Two meaty paws seized her, one lifting her clear of the ground, the other stifling her nostrils and mouth. Lugg was Gliv’s mate. A huge bullet-headed stoat, massively strong, he held the old rat as though she weighed nothing. Gliv blew a sharp blast on a small bone whistle.

  Zwilt heard the signal and issued orders, grabbing a lantern. “March on forward!” He dropped back until everybeast had passed him except Gliv, Lugg and Dirva.

  Nodding to his henchbeasts, he watched the old rat. Forepaws and upper body pinioned in Lugg’s powerful grip, Dirva kicked wildly as the big stoat’s paw suffocated her. Her eyes were wide with terror.

  Zwilt’s dead black eyes stared into hers.

  “Well, well, Vilaya doesn’t know it yet, but she’s deaf and blind here. How does it feel, old one, knowing you cannot spy on me any longer? Sweet dreams!”

  He watched until Dirva’s eyes clouded over and her limbs went still.

  Gliv smiled. “Just as ye ordered, Lord, dead without a single mark on ’er!”

  Zwilt nodded. “You did well, friends. I won’t forget this little service you rendered me.”

  A Ravager guard came hurrying back, saluting with his spear. “Sire, we’ve had t’stop—the tunnel’s flooded up ahead. They can’t go no further ’cos there’s somethin’ in the water, a monster, they say!”

  Zwilt the Shade drew his long broadsword. “A monster? Well, let’s go and take a look at it!”

  21

  In her bankside cave, Mumzy the water vole was having trouble with one of her patients. It was Sniffy, the Guosim Tracker, who had recovered from his wounds. He was restless, wandering ceaselessly round Mumzy’s cosy abode and speculating about when the contingent from Redwall would be arriving. Axtel, the Warrior mole, was content to rest up until such time as his injured footpaw grew more useful.

  Mumzy waved a ladle at Sniffy, who was starting to try her patience. “Will ye not be still! Scuts’n’whiskers, yore sendin’ me spare, clumpin’ about like a useless ould omadorm. Sit still an’ have a bowl o’ this celery’n’turnip soup!”

  The Guosim Tracker sat down, then sprang up again. “Where are they? Wot’s keepin’ ’em, eh?”

  Axtel dipped a chunk of chestnut bread into his soup. “Yurr then, Sniff, whoi doan’t ee goo owt an’ take a lukk? You’m may’aps see ’em a-comen.”

  That was all Sniffy needed. He bounded for the entrance. “Thankee, mate, I’ll do just that!”

  Mumzy shook her head when he had gone. “Ah, sure, there’s a creature in a rush t’get old, an’ he’s left this grand ould bowl o’ soup untouched.”

  Axtel tugged his snout politely. “Doan’t ee wurry, marm. Oi’ll see et woan’t bee wasted, hurr hurr, oi surr tingly will!”

  Sunlight and shade dappled the noontide woodlands as Sniffy breathed in the sweet-scented Mossflower air. He stood with his snout quivering appreciatively, glad to be back out in the open.

  “Yore ma named ye right when she called ye Sniffy!”

  The Tracker turned swiftly to find Jango leaning on a sycamore watching him. The Guosim Chieftain waved a paw behind him.

  “Afore ye ask, I’ve brought ’em all with me, threescore strong an’ armed to the teeth!”

  Sniffy saw the rest of his comrades break cover, along with Buckler and Diggs, who winked at him.

  “Threescore an’ two, actually, if you’ll pardon me con tradictin’ your jolly old Logaface. Well, now, Sniffers, totally recovered, are we?”

  Sniffy smiled. “As good as ever, Mister Diggs!”

  Jango remarked sourly to Buckler, “Tell that lard barrel mate o’ your’n that if he ever calls me Logaface agin, he’ll be wearin’ that liddle bobtail of his as a hat!”

  Mumzy was all of a-fluster as the mob of shrews tried to crush into her dwelling.

  “O, sweet seasons, are ye sure you’ve brought enough help along? There ain’t enough o’ me fine soup to dish out t’this lot!”

  Buckler bowed gallantly. “Thank ye for carin’ for the wounded, marm. There won’t be time to sit about suppin’ soup, though. We’ve got serious business to attend to, an’ swiftly!”

  Axtel pulled himself upright, thrusting the war hammer into his belt. “Aye, you’m roight, zurr. Let’s uz bee goin’!”

  Log a Log Jango saluted the water vole. “We’ll drop by t’see ye here when this is over, darlin’.”

  Mumzy wiped her paws on her apron. She stroked Flib’s cheek fondly
. “You take good care o’ this young un. I would, if’n I had a daughter like her.”

  Jango smiled. “I’ll do that, marm. Right, Guosim, move out quick’n’quiet, now.”

  Flib brought up the rear with Sniffy and Diggs.

  Axtel stumped along in front with Jango and Buckler.

  The young hare questioned him as they went stealthily through the silent sunlit woodlands. “You’ve been inside Althier, so you know what it’s like, Axtel. What do ye think would be the best way for us to attack the place?”

  The Warrior mole had been thinking of a strategy whilst he was laid up in Mumzy’s home. “If’n you’m splitten yore h’army en two ’arfs, ’twould be ee best plan, zurr. Oi’ll take wun lot wi’ me, daown ee tunnel whurr I cummed out of. You’m an’ Jango take ee h’uthers in by ee frunt door. Hurr, ’twill h’ambush yon vurmints frum both soides.”

  Buckler nodded. “Sounds like a good plan t’me—what d’ye say, Log a Log?”

  Jango was in agreement, with one condition: “Aye, I’ll go along with it, providin’ that Axtel takes that nuisance Diggs with his lot.”

  At the rear of the column, Diggs was having his usual fit of chunnering. “Huh, the least we could’ve done back there was to stop for lunch, wot. Rank bad form t’just go chargin’ off like that, an’ on a bloomin’ empty stomach, t’boot. That flamin’ Logawotsisname, no manners at all, y’know.”

  Flib nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Watch yer mouth, flopears. That’s my dad yore talkin’ about. He’s a chieftain, a Log a Log of Guosim, an’ don’t you forget it, see!”

  Diggs grinned mischievously. “Oh, is he indeed? Well, hoity-toity marm, an’ pardon me t’blue blazes! Is that why you jolly well run away from home, ’cos he was such a capital chap, wot?”

  Flib countered, “Well, it wasn’t him who refused to stop an’ eat. It was yore pal Buck, so wot d’ye say t’that?”

  The tubby hare answered blithely, “Oh, that’s just Buck. He’s always doin’ things like that. A stout friend an’ true, but he hasn’t got a grain o’ sense when it comes to vit tlin’. Needs me t’keep him on a steady course, if y’know what I mean. By the way, did ye happen t’smell that soup? Mmmm, leek an’ celery, with just a smidgeon o’ mint an’ wild ramsons. Jolly good cook, that Mumzy lady!”

  Flib admitted ruefully, “Aye, I could’ve scoffed a bowl or two o’ that. Nothin’ like a drop o’ good ’omemade soup. Maybe she’ll have the cauldron on when we go there agin, eh, Diggs?”

  The tubby hare cheered up. “There’s a thought t’keep a chap goin’ through the dark task ahead, eh, wot!”

  Late noon shadows were lengthening when Axtel told Jango to order a halt. They crouched down in the shrubbery within sight of the massive ancient oak.

  The mole pointed with his war hammer. “Thurr she’m bee’s yonder, zurrs!”

  Buckler drew his long blade. “There should be some kind of entrance—a gap or a door in that tree. Right, me’n’ Jango will take our gang closer an’ wait on you. Where’s Diggs?”

  “Here, sah, ever willin’ an’ able!”

  Buckler patted his friend’s shoulder. “Listen, mate, you go down the hole last. Before you do, give me the old grass-blade signal!”

  He turned to Jango. “I’ll count to threescore when we hear from Diggs. That’ll give Axtel an’ his lot time t’get well in. Then we hit the opening hard an’ attack from the entrance. Make our way toward one another, moppin’ up any vermin on the way. We should have ’em on the run by then. That’ll be the time to find the little uns an’ get clear o’ the place. Right!”

  Buckler winced as Axtel’s huge paw grasped his. “Gudd fortune go with ee, zurr. Yurr’s to ee safe returnen of ee babbies!”

  The young hare extricated his numbed paw. “Thank you, friend—an’ luck be with you also!”

  Sniffy crept forward. He made a circuit of the big oak before reporting back. “There’s a nice liddle door leadin’ in there. I couldn’t stop t’see if’n it was locked, though.”

  Jango looked up from sharpening his small shrew rapier. “I don’t think we’ll be botherin’ to look for a key, eh, Buck?”

  Buckler chuckled. “No, mate. We’ll knock just the once—a mighty big knock!”

  They settled down to wait in silence.

  Axtel soon located his former exit from Althier. He rummaged around with strong paws, and soon had a hole big enough to admit two at a time. The thirty Guosim vanished down the hole promptly.

  Diggs waited until the last shrew had gone, then plucked a broad blade of grass. Folding it a certain way, he locked it tight between both paws and blew hard. A loud, piercing noise, like that of a hunting hawk, rang out sharp and clear. Then it was Diggs’s turn to disappear down the opening.

  Buckler and Jango heard the signal. The young hare began counting slowly to sixty. “One . . . two . . . three . . .” Jango murmured to his Guosim warriors, “Draw yore weapons an’ wait on my word!”

  The first streaks of twilight appeared in the sky. Somewhere off to the west, a few descending skylarks could be heard warbling as they came to earth. Paws gripped sword hilts tightly, jaws clenched, eyes narrowed; the Guosim crouched, waiting for the count to end. Buckler stuck to the plan, murmuring off the numbers steadily, neither slowing nor speeding up.

  “Fifty-seven . . . fifty-eight . . . fifty-nine . . . sixty!”

  The war cries mingled as they charged the door. “Logalogalogalooooog! Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!”

  Midda and Tura were wakened from their brief nap by the sounds of splashing and shouting coming from the flooded area.

  The Guosim maid commented tersely, “Looks like those stinkin’ vermin are back on our tails. Grab the little uns an’ let’s get goin’, mate!”

  The babes were quickly roused. They went willingly, their frightened little faces showing starkly in the lantern light.

  Tura shouldered the awkward, leggy harebabes, grunting under the effort. “I wish you two would hurry up an’ learn to hop along without fallin’ flat on yore faces. Anyhow, where’ve Jiddle’n’Jinty gone to? They should’ve been back by now.”

  As if on cue, a light appeared down the tunnel. It was the young Witherspyk hogs, carrying their torch. Immediately they heard the noise of the vermin.

  Jiddle’s spikes stood up straight. “Oh, no, how long has that been goin’ on?”

  Tura tapped a footpaw impatiently. “Just long enough to worry us. Now take one o’ these hares, an’ let’s see how fast ye can go!”

  They went at a brisk pace. Midda caught up with Jinty, who had been saddled with the other harebabe. “Tell me, wot did ye find down there? Is there a way out for us?”

  The hogmaid explained, “We went a long way, an’ it was all like this, just tunnel. Then we came to a sort of fork—it turned into two tunnels then.”

  Diggla, who was seated on Midda’s shoulders, expressed annoyance. “More tunnils, more tunnils, huh. Itta nothin’ but lotsa tunnils down ’ere!”

  Midda was anxious to hear more. “Well, go on. Wot sorta tunnels? Did ye explore ’em!”

  Jinty shrugged. “Didn’t have time. Jiddle said we should be gettin’ back ’cos you’d be worried.”

  Midda tugged the mousebabe’s tail to stop him from jiggling about. “Jiddle was right, I suppose, but didn’t you even take a peek at the two tunnels?”

  Jiddle caught up with her. “I did, but only a quick glance. One went in a slope, uphill. The other one went downhill, it looked pretty steep. That’s why I came back. I knew you’d want to try the uphill one—it should prob’ly lead us out into daylight, d’ye think?”

  The Guosim maid speeded up the pace. “It prob’ly will!”

  Back at the edge of the flooded tunnel, Zwilt the Shade had several Ravagers holding torches close to the dark waters as he scanned them.

  He saw nothing for a moment, then a wide ripple revealed the wavering fin and the dull sheen of the eel. He took a step back—it was truly a big thing. He nodded coolly, as if encounte
ring a monster that size was an ordinary occurrence.

  “Doesn’t look like much t’me. What are ye all scared of? Here, Lugg, take a spear and slay it.”

  Wordlessly, the bulky stoat grabbed a spear from a ferret and a torch from a river rat. He sloshed into the water after the huge yellow eel. It turned and began swimming off. Some of the Ravagers shouted encouragement.

  “Go on, Lugg, stick it good afore it swims away!”

  “Aye, chop its ’ead off, an’ we’ll build a fire an’ roast it. A fish that size should taste good!”

  Lugg lunged forward. The water was now over waist high. He struck hard at the eel, misjudging the kill. The blade grazed its side, merely causing a deep scratch. However, it was sufficient to enrage the yellow eel. It charged Lugg and attacked him.

  The bulky stoat was slow and ungainly in the cold, dark water. He yelled in pain as the eel’s sharp teeth latched onto his stomach. The big slithery coils wrapped around Lugg, tugging him sideways. He dropped the spear, the torch hissed as it went beneath the water, and Lugg’s head made a resounding thud as it struck the rocky tunnel wall. He gave a faint moan and vanished beneath the dark icy surface.

  Zwilt watched the writhing coils rising above the water, then shouted an order. “Throw your spears, quickly, while we can still see it!”

  A salvo of spears embedded themselves in the monster ’s body. The hafts clacked together as it went into a frenzied death dance. More spears struck the eel, and several arrows from the Ravager archers. It took a long time before it finally floated limp upon the surface.

  One of the river rats waded in, yelling, “Lend a paw ’ere, mates. This’ll make good eatin’!”

  Zwilt waded in after him, with drawn sword. “Touch it an’ ye lose your head—that goes for everybeast. We’re not here on a fishing trip. Now, get through this water an’ pick up the prisoners’ trail. Move!”

  At the other side of the tunnel, Vilaya found herself facing a blank wall. The end she had chosen was nothing but a cul-de-sac. The Sable Quean viewed it philosophically as she spoke her thoughts to a weasel named Grakk.