Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Grubb trundled along, oblivious to all about him. He needed a weapon if he was going to join the travellers on their adventure. Right next to the broad oak was a sycamore sprout, little more than a thin stick. Grubb began heaving and tugging upon it.

  ‘Hurr, this’ll do oi, ’ee’ll make a gurt spearer, ho urr!’

  As Greypatch opened the noose to cast it over Grubb’s head, Mother Mellus swept the tiny mole up with one huge paw, unaware of the searats.

  ‘Got you, mischiefskin! Right, m’laddo, bed for you with no supper. What have you been told about pulling young trees up by the roots? Just wait until Abbot Bernard hears about this, you wretch!’

  Greypatch had pulled back behind the oak. He and Frink held their breath as Mellus strode off with a loudly protesting Grubb under her arm.

  ‘Boohurr, let oi go, missus. Oi wants a’ventures.’

  ‘I’ll give you adventures, you rip. Adventures in bed!’

  ‘Gurr, when oi get ter be a biggun, oi’ll spank ’ee furr thiz!’

  Frink wiped his brow and sat down heavily. ‘Shiver me sails, Cap’n. Did you see the size of that ol’ badger?’

  ‘Did I? Now y’see what I said earlier is true, Frink. Careful is best. If we’d roped the liddle mole, that ol’ badger would’ve done fer the pair of us with one swipe, you mark my words!’

  At the open gate, Abbot Bernard carried Grubb inside. ‘Come on, Dibbun Grubb, berry pie and custard for supper.’

  ‘Burry poi an’ cuskit, oh joy! But zurr, Ma Mellus says oi ain’t a-getten none fer bein’ pesky,’

  The Father Abbot set Grubb down upon the lawn. ‘Hmmm, did she? Tell you what, little Grubb. You can have some this time, but next time you’re pesky it’s straight off to bed without any. Go on, hurry and get washed up or it’ll all be gone.’

  Grubb smiled one of his most winning smiles at his benefactor. ‘Oi knowed you wudden let a hinfant starve. You’m a gudd beast, zurr!’

  Simeon joined the Abbot to follow up Mellus and her herd of Dibbuns.

  ‘Ah, Simeon, smell that. Young Cockleburr makes the finest cornflower custard I’ve ever tasted. Can you smell it?’

  Simeon looked pensive. ‘Hmmm, I think my senses are trying to tell me something and it’s not the smell of custard, Bernard. It’s. . . . It’s. . . . Oh, it’s probably nothing, friend. Let’s go inside. You’re right, that custard does smell delicious.’

  The four travellers stood facing the rock which reared up from the earth on the west side of the path. Mariel looked up at it.

  ‘So that’s the otter and his wife. I expected real otters, not a great lump of stone. Still, it does look very lifelike. I wonder who carved it.’

  Tarquin rubbed his paw up and down the smooth brown rock. ‘Somebeast must’ve done this when the land was young, more seasons ago than we could ever imagine. Jolly fine work, wot? I think the rock once looked naturally like an otter and his wife. Whoever did it only had to improve on what mother nature had already started, eh?’

  Dandin nodded agreement. The rock was a sort of double lump, looking not unlike a male otter standing on his hindpaws with a female otter sitting at his side. Long ago some clever creature had carved the details of the otters’ faces into the stone, giving them a very lifelike appearance.

  The four friends made night camp at the base of the figures on the woodland side. Tinder and flint kindled a small fire. Tarquin, taking his turn as cook, decided on candied dried plums, sweet chestnut scones and dandelion cordial. They sat around the bright flames, which provided an island of golden light against the gloomy vault of the forest in front of them. Dandin recited the next stanza of the rhyme which provided guide rules for their quest.

  ‘Seek out the otter and his wife.

  Forsake the path, go westlands way,

  Find the trail and lose your life.

  When in the woods this promise keep,

  With senses sharp and open eyes,

  “My nose shall not send me to sleep”

  For buried ones will surely rise.’

  Durry Quill’s eyes were drooping. He was beginning to nod.

  ‘And frogs will fly on mayday morn,

  While fishes sing aloud at dawn.

  Huh, I can’t make top nor tail of it. It all sounds like nonsense to a pore lad who’s been hippotized by a serpent.’

  Mariel stirred the fire with a green twig. ‘It may sound like gobbledygook but it’s proved true so far, Durry. We’ll just have to wait until it’s light and find out for ourselves, I suppose. What d’you say, Tarquin?’

  The hare nibbled on a candied plum reflectively. ‘Don’t know really, old gel. Y’see I’ve never patrolled this far up north. Strange country, very strange. Take these woodlands west of the path; they’re not even mapped, y’know. I’m not sure they’re even part of Mossflower.’

  Dandin hunched closer to the fire. ‘I’m certain they’re not. They don’t have that comfortable homey feeling you always get in Mossflower Woods. This area looks wilder, more grim, hostile somehow. But as you say, Mariel, we’ll find out for ourselves tomorrow. I take it we have this statue of the otter and his wife to use as a bearing point and strike out west from it.’

  ‘Sssnnnnggggghhhhrrrrr!’

  Durry Quill was, not listening, he was lying on his back with all four paws in the air, making the most uproarous noise.

  Tarquin sniffed. ‘Listen to the beast, snorin’ like a flippin’ hog, just as I was going to play a few tunes on me harolina to cheer us up.’

  Mariel lay down, using her haversack as a pillow. ‘Oh please, it’s bad enough having a snoring hedgehog without the addition of a caterwauling hare singing lovelorn ditties. Let’s all go to sleep while we have the chance of a full night’s rest.’

  Dandin and Mariel soon joined Durry in slumber. Tarquin still sat up, a little sulky as he fondled his unplayed harolina.

  ‘Caterwaulin’ indeed. Shows how much mice know about music. Now if Hon Rosie were here I’ll bet she wouldn’t object to a chap havin’ the odd plunk on the jolly old harolina. Ah well!’

  He fell asleep humming and serenading himself quietly.

  ‘A hare beyond compare, so spiffin’ and so fair,

  Oh, Rosie, Rosie, dear my honey Hon,

  I wouldn’t swap your affections for a heap of confections,

  Not for . . . blackb’rry pie, oh my oh my.

  October Ale would surely fail,

  Summer salad couldn’t stop my ballad,

  Hazelnut pudden’d just taste wooden,

  As for cheese on toast it’d make me weep.

  Feel so hungry, Rosie, I’d better go . . . to . . . sleep . . .’

  Overcome by weariness, the travellers slept at the fringe of the darkened forest, whilst on the path the stone figures of the otter and his wife stood like eternal sentinels in the silent watches of the night.

  Out at sea a shroud-like fog had dropped. Completely lost, without bearings by the stars or the sight of landmarks, Orgeye abandoned the helm of the Waveblade, which had been sailing a southern course until the fog descended. He posted two searats with weighted ropes to test overboard for shallows and reefs. Cursing Gabool for his uncontrollable mad temper which had driven them into this unknown position, Orgeye went below to his bunk to await the coming of dawn. Hidden in Mossflower Woods a mere stone’s throw from Redwall Abbey, Greypatch and his crew also awaited the arrival of dawn.

  Pacing his bedchamber in Salamandastron’s mountain, Lord Rawnblade Widestripe awaited yet another dawn, knowing that each fresh day brought his time of encounter with the searats a little closer.

  Wandering the empty halls of Fort Bladegirt on Terramort Isle, Gabool the Wild awaited a dawn that would dispel his nightmares of ringing bells, badgers and avenging mice.

  In fact there were many different creatures in diverse parts, each waiting to see what the new day might bring: adventure, danger, victory, defeat, peace of mind, or death.

  BOOK TWO

  The Strange Forest />
  19

  LIGHT TENDRILS OF mist dung to the burgeoning greenery of Mossflower Woods, and the rising sun tinged buttermilk hues across a sky of powder blue in the shimmering peace of dawn. Greypatch shook dew from his claws as he stamped about, restoring circulation around limbs unused to sleeping out in the woodlands. Deadglim sat gloomily chewing on young dandelion stems, sulking because his Captain would not allow a fire, lest the telltale wisps of smoke betray their position.

  Greypatch wiped his sword blade dry as the other searats awoke, rubbing sleep from their eyes.

  ‘Come on, hearties,’ the searat Captain chuckled. ‘You’re like a pack of dormice staggerin’ about after a hard winter. Rouse yer carcasses, the sun’s gettin’ up an’ it’s going to be a good day to inspect our new home. Thank yer lucky stars we’re not out on the seas. There’ll be a fine old fog there that’ll last until noon. If you was aboard ship now in blue waters, you wouldn’t be able to see the tail behind your back, hahaha! Gather round now an’ listen to me. I’ll tell you about the plan I’ve got charted for us. Leave it to ol’ Greypatch – we’ll soon be livin’ like kings!’

  Flagg the otter was always ready and willing to oblige. Mother Mellus had asked that he track down Dandin and Durry Quill. She was sure that a fellow as big and capable as Flagg would have them back home at Redwall in no time at all. Determined to start his journey bright and early, Flagg shouldered supplies, checked his slingshot and stone pouch, then slipped out by a wicker gate in the Abbey’s north wall. Scarcely had he let himself out into the woodlands when he became alert. Watching from the shelter of an ash grove, Flagg witnessed a curious sight.

  Greypatch had assembled his oarslaves, mostly dormice and shrews. They grouped on the path in a ragged bunch, thin and underfed. The five score searats who comprised the crew of the Darkqueen lurked in the pathside ditch, fully armed. Greypatch issued his orders.

  ‘Lissen now, mates. You lot stay in the ditch an’ keep yer heads down. As for you scurvy oarpullers, you don’t breathe a word, just follow me an’ try to look hard done by, haharr, though that shouldn’t be too hard. Mind though, if one of you steps out o’ line the crew in the ditch’ll deal with ye. Ringtail, you’re in charge down there; wait my signal. As soon as these country buffers open the big gate to bring us food out, I’ll tip yer the sign an’ you rush in. Slay any that look like trouble right off. The rest we’ll let live to serve us.’

  Flagg had heard enough. Luckily he had asked Mellus to leave the gate open until morning. The big otter scuttled back through the woods, across the fields and slipped inside, bolting the gate securely behind him.

  Mellus was strolling towards him from the direction of the unfinished belltower.

  ‘Flagg, I thought you’d be gone by now . . .’

  The otter held a paw to his lips. ‘Sssshhh! Not so loud. We’ve got trouble – no time to explain now. Check all the wallgates are tight shut and bolted. I’m going to rouse the others. Please, marm, don’t stop to ask questions, just do as I say like your life depended on it. This is urgent!’

  The badger caught the tone and look in her friend’s eyes. She nodded wisely and hurried to do his bidding.

  The sun was nearly up. Mist hung low on the path and flatlands as Greypatch halted his bedraggled column of oarslaves at the main gate of Redwall Abbey. Glancing up, he was slightly taken aback to see a line of grim looking Abbey dwellers staring down at him from the threshold of the high walls. Fixing a friendly smile on his face, the searat Captain called out a greeting.

  ‘Good mornin’ to yer, sirs. Whew! It’s goin’ to be another scorchin’ summer’s day again. I wonder, could I have a word with whoever’s in charge of this marvellous place?’

  Abbot Bernard kept his tone polite. ‘I am the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey. What can I do for you, my son?’

  Down in the ditch, Kybo jostled Ringtail and sniggered. ‘Did ye hear that, matey – his son! Now we know what Greypatch’s daddy looks like. Heehee!’

  Ringtail silenced him with a smart slap. ‘Stow yer noise, fool. Be quiet an’ listen.’

  Greypatch touched the dagger hidden behind on his belt. ‘Ah well, what better creature to ask for help than the Father Abbot himself. As y’can see, sir, we’re poor wretched seafarers who lost our ship in a great storm. We’ve been adrift fer nigh on half a season now, wanderin’ round woodland an’ plain like birds without wings, an’ we’re sore in need of a bit o’ food an’ water. Have ye any vittles to spare?’

  The Abbot nodded. ‘Tell my friends what you need.’ he stepped back, letting Flagg and Rufe Brush come forward.

  Greypatch allowed himself a smile; they were halfway home. ‘Good day to you, sirs. We need water an’ bread, nothin’ more. Oh, I know we look rough an’ dirty, but we’re all honest creatures. You’ve nothin’ t’ fear from us . . .’

  Flagg smiled back. ‘How many d’you have with you, cully?’

  The searat Captain shrugged. ‘Only what y’see here, matey. If you was to open yer doors we could come in an’ rest awhile, save you the trouble of bringin’ supplies out to us. I’ve never been inside an Abbey.’

  Rufe Brush gripped his javelin tight as he murmured, ‘No, and you’re not likely to get inside this one.’

  Flagg continued smiling. ‘What about that gang hidden in the ditch?’

  Greypatch waved towards the mist-shrouded ditch, a look of injured innocence on his villainous face. ‘Ditch? Gang? What d’yer mean, shipmate?’

  Flagg fitted a pebble to his sling. ‘I’ll show you . . . shipmate!’

  The stone zinged down, ploughing a furrow through the ground mist.

  ‘Yowhoooo!’

  Bigfang’s head appeared out of the white shroud. He was clutching his nose, which was bleeding like a tap.

  Ringtail’s voice rang out. ‘Get down an’ shuttup, yer big oaf!’

  Rufe Brush leaped to the battlements, his javelin poised. ‘This is for you if you don’t shift yourself fast, searat!’

  Greypatch took the warning seriously. He dashed across the path and leaped over the ditch, landing on the flatlands beyond.

  ‘Come on, mates. Out o’ that ditch an’ show ’em who we are!’

  The crew scrabbled out of the ditch to stand on the flatlands at their Captain’s side. He took his sword from Frink and waved it.

  ‘I’m Greypatch, Master of the Darkqueen, and this is my crew. Haharr, bet you country bumpkins never clapped eyes on the likes of us. We can fight an’ slay just like we do all over the high seas, so listen to me now, you woodland clods. Surrender, or I’ll bring this place down round your ears. You know nothin’ of warfare an’ we’re all covered with the scars of many a battle, d’ye hear me?’

  Young Cockleburr, Friar Alder’s kitchen assistant, could stand no more. His fighting spirit was roused. Using his apron strings as a sling, he launched a small rock-hard turnip at Greypatch.

  ‘Bubbling brothpans! Take that, you simmering seascum!’

  It struck Greypatch hard in his one good eye. The searat Captain fell back, completely blinded, blackness interspersed with bursting coloured stars filling his vision.

  Ringtail quickly picked him up, supporting him as he shouted at the woodlanders on the walls, ‘That’s it, you’ve done it now. This is war!’

  Driving the oarslaves in front of them, the searats retreated back up the path to the shelter of Mossflower. The Redwallers laughed and cheered, congratulating each other on their brave stand.

  Cockleburr was delirious, he patted Flagg heartily. ‘Galloping gravyjugs, we showed them, didn’t we!’

  Foremole waddled up, his normally merry face creased with worry. ‘Hurr, may’aps ’ee did, but ’twere only luck, maisters. Them’ns is searat spawn, gurt warriors an’ wicked cruel slayers. Ho urr, you marken moi words, they vermints’ll be back doant doubt et.’

  The cheering died away.

  Simeon spoke up. ‘Foremole is right. We’re not warriors, though we have the might and safety of these wall
s in our favour. We must take extra care in the coming days, post lookouts, stay within the Abbey and its grounds, and be constantly on guard against tricks. From what I could hear, this Greypatch sounds to me like a very cunning beast.’

  The Abbot turned to Flagg and Rufe Brush. ‘I leave you in charge of all arrangements. Unfortunately I am no use at all when it comes to matters of war. Both of you have my complete confidence. You are brave beasts, and I trust your judgement. What do you say, Mellus?’

  The badger shook her great head, halfway between maternal instincts and righteous rage. ‘Did you see those poor slaves? Some of them weren’t much more than Dibbuns. Can’t we do anything about them? They looked so thin and wretched; we must help them somehow.’

  Flagg placed a gentle paw on Mellus. ‘I know how y’feel, marm. I think every creature here would love to give the sorry little things some aid. But you must understand we have to defend the Abbey, we’re all needed here. What good would it do those slaves if Redwall fell into the claws of Greypatch and his crew?’

  Saxtus had stayed silent in the background throughout the whole incident, but now he felt the time had come for him to speak.

  ‘Mother Mellus, I have never experienced war in my life. I do not think I will like it. However, if it is war, then Redwall Abbey comes first, before slaves, or even ourselves. Perhaps if we defeat these searats then we can think of rescuing others. Meanwhile our Abbey is our main concern.’

  Flagg shrugged. ‘Hard words, Saxtus mate. But you’re right, of course?’

  Inland the mist had vanished with the advent of a hot summer morn. Tempers were also running hot in the woodland camp of the Darkqueen’s crew. Greypatch sat back in the shade with a leaf poultice held against his throbbing eye. The injury had resulted in temporary blindness with his eye swelled shut. The searat Captain dearly wished he could lay claws upon Bigfang for yelping out aloud and giving the game away, but knowing he was at the mercy of his own savage crew he had to walk a diplomatic tightrope. Greypatch tried to make light of the encounter.