Greypatch would have liked to have approached the river at high water, sailing his ship straight into the forest. He cursed aloud, knowing the decision he was making would leave them totally vulnerable to attack. Dropping anchor bow on to the river, he addressed the Darkqueen’s crew.
‘Hark t’ me, lads. There’ll be no flood tide until late tonight, so here’s the plan. We’re goin’ to haul the ship through that river which runs across the shore an’ into the forestlands. Once we’re among the trees we’re safe. No one’ll find us up there. It’s a snug berth – lots of fresh water, fruits, an’ good meat t’ be had. Trust old Greypatch, me lucky buckoes . . .’
‘Hah! Tell that t’ the frogs, Greypatch. We’ll never drag Darkqueen o’er that long shore. Any rat with half an eye can see that river’s too shallow!’
Greypatch’s good eye glared down at the objector, a burly searat. ‘Stow that kind o’ talk, Bigfang! Either we haul her up into the trees or we sit here like ducks at a weddin’, waitin’ fer the tide tonight, and get ourselves caught by Gabool’s ships. Now which is it?’
Bigfang and the searat crew grumbled and muttered, but there was no real objection to Greypatch’s plan, which they knew was their only hope. The master of the Darkqueen rapped out his orders.
‘So be it! Everybeast aboard ship – I mean everyone, all of you and whatever slaves are in the galleys. I want you all ashore, split into two groups either side o’ that river, pullin’ on the ropes. Kybo, Frink! Get the anchor rope to port and another one as thick to starb’d. Now when I say pull, I want yer to put yer backs into it, buckoes – hear me. Right? All ashore!’
Standing waist-deep in the shallow river, Greypatch eyed the lines of crew and oarslaves either side of the banks. He raised his sword, bringing it down with a splash into the water as he yelled, ‘Pull! Pull! Bend yer backs an’ curse yer mothers! Pull, I say!’
Grunting and sweating, the crew heaved on the taut ropes across their shoulders, digging their claws into the sand for purchase.
‘Pull, you ’orrible seascum, pull! You couldn’t drag a worm out o’ bed between the lot of yer. Pull!’
The ropes creaked and groaned as Darkqueen began to move forward, fraction by agonizing fraction. Greypatch waded from the river and took a place at the head of the port rope.
‘Hoho! She’s movin’, me lazy lads. Pull, pull as if you were pullin’ buckets o’ dark wine from a barrel. Pull!’
Darkqueen had moved twice her own considerable length when the river shallowed out drastically, and she buried her nose in a sandback.
Bigfang threw down the rope. Followed by many others, he waded into the river and began drinking the fresh running water.
Greypatch drew his sword in high bad temper and began bellowing hoarsely, ‘Get out of there, you worthless idlers! Get back on your ropes, you frog-hearted, backbitin’, jelly-dawed slackers. I’ll carve the hide from your bones. I’ll strangle every jackrat of yer. I’ll . . .’
Across the open sea, just beyond the tideline, Garrtail’s ship Greenfang was bearing down on them under full sail!
‘Mariel, your name is Mariel, daughter of Joseph the Bellmaker.’
The mousemaid hauled her Gullwhacker in from the infirmary window, where it had hung to dry. She swung it experimentally, nodding with satisfaction at the clean knotted hemp.
‘I know my name, Dandin. I can remember everything now. Stand aside.’
Dandin and Saxtus followed her down the stairs, across Great Hall, into the Abbey kitchens. Mariel picked up an empty floursack and shook it out. She started packing it with any food to paw. Saxtus nibbled his paw agitatedly. ‘What are you doing, Mariel?’
The mousemaid continued filling the sack. ‘Packing rations, Saxtus.’
Friar Alder and his young assistant Cockleburr came bustling up.
‘Hi there, young missy. What do you think you’re up to?’
Mariel tested the weight of the sack and threw it across her shoulder. ‘Borrowing some supplies, Friar. Don’t worry, I’ll repay them.’
Friar Alder held out a restraining paw. ‘Now, hold on a moment, please.’
Mariel grasped Gullwhacker tightly. ‘Stay out of my way, Friar, please. You have all been very kind to me at Redwall and I would hate to harm any Abbey creature, but there’s something I’ve got to do – and nobeast will stop me.’
Cockleburr hopped up and down, stumbling on his apron. ‘Walloping winters, Friar. Get out the way. I’ve seen her use that Gullywhacker thing!’
Dandin jumped between the Friar and Mariel. ‘Violence is no answer, Mariel. We are creatures of peace. It’s wrong to offer harm to a Redwaller.’
The mousemaid shook her head. ‘Don’t you understand, Dandin? I don’t wish to harm any creature in this Abbey, but I have scores to settle with my enemies. Look, just let me go and leave me alone, will you.’
‘Oh, and what do you plan to do then, Storm Gullwhacker?’
Mariel turned. Standing in front of the great oven was Mother Mellus, accompanied by the Abbot, Simeon and Tarquin.
‘My name’s not Storm Gullwhacker, it’s Mariel,’ she said defiantly.
Blind Simeon tapped his way forward until he touched her sleeve. ‘Then start acting like Mariel and not behaving like the old Storm Gullwhacker. We are trying to help you, child.’
Mariel looked at the floor. ‘Don’t need any help.’
‘Not true, Mariel.’ There was a touch of firmness in Mellus’s voice as she interrupted. ‘Every creature needs help. How do you suppose we live here in harmony together? By helping each other. This Abbey was not built by one creature; it needed co-operation and help. Tell me, where do you think you are going with a knotted rope in a borrowed habit carrying a sack of stolen food?’
Suddenly Mariel felt helpless in the face of all this peaceful opposition. The sack slipped from her paw as she brushed away a threatening teardrop.
Tarquin saved the situation by throwing a rangy paw about her shoulders. ‘Come on, old gel. Chin up an’ never say boo to a goose, wot? Tell you what we’ll do – let’s tootle over to that dusty old gatehouse place an’ hold a council o’ war. Get the stew sorted from the dumplin’s, eh?’
Abbot Hubert slipped Mariel a dean kerchief and stood in front of her as she scrubbed at her eyes.
‘Splendid idea, Tarquin. A good sensible talk never hurt any creature. Come on, we’ll all go together. Many heads are better than one.’
The gatehouse proved far too dusty and cramped, so they sat on the low steps in the shade of the west rampart. The Abbot ordered lunch to be sent out to them, with cold mint and rose cordial.
Mother Mellus folded her paws. ‘Now, where exactly do you plan on going?’
‘Terramort Isle.’ Mariel’s answer was loud and clear.
‘Do you know how to get there, or where it is?’
‘No, but don’t worry, I’ll find it myself.’
Simeon chuckled. ‘As the blind squirrel said, reaching for a cloud.’
Mariel bristled. ‘What does that mean, that I’m stupid!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Tarquin interrupted. ‘Oh, haha, I say, ’scuse me. Lunch, chaps. Here comes lunch!’
As they sat eating, the Abbot gave Mariel a friendly wink. ‘Simeon didn’t mean anything. All he said really was that you need help. I think the first thing to do is to find out where Terramort Isle is; at least that will be a start. Has anyone ever heard of Terramort in the past, any mention from travellers, scrolls, books, old rhymes – anything at all?’
‘I think I may be of some help there.’ Brother Hubert had been eavesdropping on the conference from the door of the gatehouse. He wandered over cleaning dust from his spectacles. ‘Hmm, is that food I see? I think I’ll join you.’
Seating himself comfortably, he began helping himself to cheese, bread and cold cider.
Simeon coughed politely. ‘Ahem! I don’t suppose that you’ve ever heard of Terramort, Hubert?’
Brother Hubert blinked over the top o
f his spectacles. ‘On the contrary, as soon as I heard the name it brought to mind a young mouse who should have been learning the precepts of Redwall Abbots in bygone days. Yes, he thought I was dozing and he began leafing through the scrolls of Fieldroan the Traveller . . .’
Tarquin hastily swallowed a redcurrant muffin. ‘Fieldroan! Well, there’s a thing! My Father Lorquin knew him, of course. Old Fieldroan had more seasons to grey his hairs than a hedgehog has spikes when he and the jolly old pater were chums. D’y’know, I thought I recognized that poem young Saxtus recited at the feast – know bits of it m’self. Blow me if it isn’t one of Fieldroan’s very own rhymes!’
Brother Hubert sniffed severely. ‘Indeed. Well, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, Fieldroan was a compulsive traveller. I met him one winter and sheltered him in the gatehouse through half a season of deep snow. He left some of his scrolls with me because they were becoming too bulky to carry about on his journeys.’
This time it was Dandin’s turn to interrupt. ‘Where are they, Brother Hubert? Do you have them?’
‘Patience, young mouse, patience. I’ll have to search them out. Unfortunately my gatehouse has become a little, ahem, untidy of late.’
Leaving the meal half finished, everybody hurried to the gatehouse, intent on being the first to discover the scrolls. Brother Hubert scurried about in alarm.
‘Don’t touch anything. You don’t know my storage system, any of you. Valuable writings could be lost, my collating disturbed . . .’
‘You old fraud, Hubert,’ Simeon chuckled. ‘Your system is nothing but layers of dust. Even I can feel that at a single touch. Don’t worry, friend. By the time we’re finished we’ll free the gatehouse of rubbish and dust and provide you with a proper tidy system. I think everything will have to be moved out here on to the lawn. It’s the only way we’ll find anything from that jumble.’
Mid-afternoon saw the sunlit lawn dotted with piles of manuscripts, books, scrolls, parchments and pamphlets. Covered in dust, the friends sat by the wall, sipping cold mint and rose cordial.
Saxtus shook his head for the umpteenth time. ‘No, it wasn’t any of that lot. I’d know them the moment I saw them.’
Bagg and Runn sat on top of the wallstairs, laughing and giggling. ‘Hoheeheehee. . . . Whoohahaha. What a bunch of dustbags!’
Brother Hubert tried to ignore them. ‘Yes, I’d recognize those scrolls instantly myself . . .’
‘Teeheeheehee! Rec’nize them himself. . . . Yahahahaha!’ They rolled about on the ramparts, kicking their legs in the air and wiping tears of merriment from their eyes as they went into fresh gales of laughter.
Mariel liked the fun-loving otter twins, but this was neither the time nor the place for fun and games. ‘Hi you two,’ she called up to them. ‘Are you both sitting on a feather, or is it just a mad fit of the giggles?’
Bagg and Runn were laughing too much to answer. They fell about, slapping their paws down against the walltop and shaking their heads from side to side. The laughter was so infectious that Mariel and Saxtus began chuckling, and even Brother Hubert could not suppress a dry smile.
Simeon turned his sightless eyes towards the walltop. ‘Now then, you young villains. What’s so funny? Let us in on the joke, please.’
Bit by bit the story came out from the laughing twins.
‘Woohoohoo! You’re all lookin’ for scrolls. . . . Hohoho!’
‘And you’ve. . . . Teeheehee! Shifted everythin’ out of the gatehouse. Haha!’
‘Yahahaha! But when you started carryin’ all that stuff out. Ohohoho!’
‘Br-Br-. Brother Hubert. . . . He-he. . . . Heeheehee! Gave old scrolls to Simeon t’ stick under the gatehouse door an’ keep it open. Hawhawhawhaw!’
‘An’ I said to Bagg. . . . Ohoohoohoo! S’pose they’re the scrolls that everyone’s lookin’ for. Ahaahaahohohoheehee!’
Simeon turned his face to Brother Hubert, who looked guiltily towards the Abbot, who shook his head in disbelief. He was about to say something to Mariel, but the mousemaid was already at the gatehouse door, easing the flattened bundle of scrolls from under it.
‘It’s them, all right – the scrolls of Fieldroan the Traveller.’
Rubbing dust and sweat from his brow, Dandin nudged Hubert. ‘Well, at least your gatehouse got a good free tidy-out, Brother!’
Smiles broke into chuckles, which gave way to open laughter all round.
Sister Sage shook a quilt out at the infirmary window and began folding it neatly as she reached for her feather duster.
‘Well, it’s nice to know that all some creatures have to do is sit out on the Abbey lawn in the sunshine and laugh all afternoon, I must say!’
14
GREYPATCH DREW HIS sword, waving it and roaring as he waded from the stream. ‘Now we’ll see what yer made of, you sons of searats! Catch ’em in the shallows afore they’re ashore an’ massacre every rat of ’em. Sharp now. It’s our necks or theirs. Charge, me buckoes. Charge!’
The Greenfang had sailed into shore as close as Garrtail could take her. She listed slightly in the shallows then settled askew. Garrtail had his crew ready. Lining the rails, they gripped weapons between their teeth and waited his order as Greypatch’s rats thundered across the sands.
Garrtail vaulted over the side, landing chest deep in the sea. ‘Follow me, lucky lads. It’s booty for all aplenty when we’ve slain that load o’ turncoats an’ traitors. Over the side, all of yer!’
Quick thinking and speed had given the advantage to Greypatch. His searats were at the water’s edge as Garrtail’s crew came over the rails of the Greenfang.
Wading out, Greypatch called over his shoulder, ‘Keep to the shallows. Don’t go too deep, lads, but hold Garrtail’s scum in the deeper waters where they can’t fight so good. Bigfang, get back to the Darkqueen. Kybo, you go with him. Get hold of any long boathooks or pikes you can find. Look lively now – I’m not goin’ back to Terramort with me head in the bows an’ me body in the stern for Gabool to gloat over!’
Garrtail was out ahead of his crew. Realizing the urgency of the situation, he waded and cursed as he made his way towards Greypatch.
‘Come an’ fight, you frog-livered schemer. I’ll carve you to fishbait!’
Greypatch balanced an iron marlinspike in his claw. Taking careful aim, he flung it. The pointed missile hissed out across the rippling waves. Standing almost chest-deep in the water, Garrtail had little chance to dodge or leap out of the way; it caught him between the eyes. The Captain of the Greenfang fell backwards into the sea, slain instantly. His crew, on seeing their leader dead, milled about in the water betwixt ship and shore. All heart for the fight had deserted them now they were without a Captain.
‘Ahoy, Greypatch. Lookit what we found!’
Bigfang and Kybo came splashing into the shallows with two galley slaves, all four laden with pikes, long boathooks and bows and arrows. Greypatch snapped out swift orders, his clever brain working fast.
‘Kybo, you stay here with half the crew as archers. Keep pouring arrows at ’em, hard as you can – fire high over the pikers. Bigfang, take the other half of the crew and wade a bit deeper. Stick any of the Greenfang crew who try to get ashore an’ circle behind us. Deadglim, give me yer burnin’ glass an’ a bow ’n’ arrows.’
With its unanchored keel scraping gently off the sea bottom, the Greenfang began a slow drift away from shore with the outgoing tide. The crew split two ways, some trying to swim back to ship, the other, bolder spirits wading towards shore, yelling as they thrust their swords at the pikerats.
Kybo and the archers had easy targets, arching their arrows over the top of the pikers into the unprotected backs of those who were swimming to the ship. Their screams mingled with the angry yells of those with pitifully short swords, trying to do battle with long pikes and boathooks.
On shore, Greypatch had soaked rags in lamp oil and bound them around arrowpoints. In the hot sun it was the work of a moment with a burning
glass to concentrate the sunrays into flame upon oil-soaked rags. Kybo followed behind, carrying the fire arrows as Greypatch waded out, testing the wind to make sure it was with him. The first arrow blurred high over the heads of the searats like a red comet, arcing into the big mainsail of Greenfang. Two others followed swiftly. One stood quivering in the stern, the other burying itself deep into the mast.
Greypatch amused himself by firing the remaining fire arrows at the helpless rats who were still trying to swim for the ship. He laughed aloud as one wretched creature sank with a sizzle and a scream. All around, the water ran red with blood as the breeze stirred the flames to a roaring inferno, bodies of the wounded and the slain followed the blazing Greenfang out on the ebbing tide. Greypatch, his single eye illuminated red in the glare called out, ‘Make sure there’s none left alive to tell the tale, mates. Haharr, Gabool will never know what happened to us an’ the Darkqueen, or Garrtail an’ the Greenfang. D’ye hear me, Gabool! Blast yer eyes, lungs ’n’ liver, wherever ye are!’
As the searats waded ashore Bigfang muttered to Kybo, ‘Greypatch is gettin’ too big fer his seaboots, matey. There’d be no victory today if I hadn’t found those bows an’ arrows, mark my words.’
Kybo agreed wholeheartedly, though under his breath. ‘Aye, did y’see him there, yellin’ an a screamin’ to kill Greenfang’s crew down t’ the last rat? I’ll bet some o’ those buckoes would’ve joined us. We all had mateys among that crew, but they’re gone to Hellgates now.’
Bigfang flung his pike upon the sands. ‘Right you are, shipmate. I think we’ve a come out o’ the frypan into the fire here. Greypatch is startin’ to act up as wild as Gabool. Did ye hear the way he was yellin’ at me fer drinkin’ water earlier? I take that from no searat, Captain or not. Still, we’ll bide our time, eh, matey.’
Mariel Of Redwall Page 11