Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Yah, what are they, eh? A bunch of root crunchers. We could take ’em with one claw. Stupid mob of strawsuckers, what do they know of fightin’ an’ killin’, eh?’

  Kybo tried disguising his voice so the Captain could not identify him. ‘Strawsuckers, matey? Huh, they still sent us packin’. We should’ve did like Bigfang said and rushed the place soon as we arrived here.’

  Greypatch knew the voice. He made a mental note to see Kybo as soon as he regained his sight.

  ‘Rushed ’em? What good would that’ve done? I don’t think things would have turned out any different.’

  Bigfang picked dried blood from his top lip. ‘Hoho, don’t you, then? Listen, rat, if we’d rushed ’em, I could have taken that place.’

  Greypatch tried to control his temper. ‘Tcha! But instead you got a stone on the nose and yelped like a fieldmouse at a funeral. Go on then, bucko – tell us what you would have done!’

  Bigfang was a large, barrel-chested searat. He picked up a dead branch and snapped it in two pieces.

  ‘I’d have broken ’em with the element of surprise – charge and kill! An hour before dawn I would have set light to those big gates. When they burned down, the crew would have been in there a slayin’ an’ rippin’. But you know better, don’t you, Greypatch. What did we do? Hid in a ditch, playin’ peekaboo like frogs hidin’ from a hawk. And you, matey, you, the great Greypatch, terror of the waves, put out of commission with a turnip by a little cook, hahahaha! Wheedlin’ round the road like a lame beetle. Please sir, give us bread an’ water, kind Sir. . . . Hah! Bilgewater! Some searat invasion that was, mates, I’ll tell yer!’

  There was a murmur of agreement from the crew.

  Tied in a line with the oarslaves, Pakatugg trembled nervously. Bigfang had wanted to kill him. If there was a power shift among the searats and Bigfang became their leader, the squirrel’s life would be worthless.

  On an impulse he yelled out over the rumblings of disagreement, ‘Greypatch is right. There’s more sense in tricking your way into the Abbey than just burning and slaying!’

  Ranzo leaped up and knocked Pakatugg flat with a spear butt. ‘Slaves an’ prisoners tellin’ us what t’ do, eh, shipmates! I think we’re all goin’ soft in this forest!’

  Bigfang threw a claw about his shoulders. ‘Aye, Ranzo’s right. We were better off with the deck of the Darkqueen under us. That craft’d outrun any vessel on the seas. I say we set sail for the open waters in Darkqueen. Who’s with me, mates?’

  A roar of approval went up from the crew. They seized their weapons and any supplies lying about, forming in a mob with Bigfang at their head. As they marched off into the woodlands, dragging the oarslaves with them, Bigfang called out to his disabled adversary:

  ‘Don’t worry, Greypatch, I’m not goin’ to kill yer. I’ll leave that to this country – see how long you’ll last in the woods without yer good lamp to see through. Hoho, you’ll die with the flies crawlin’ over yer, cursin’ my name an’ the day you tried to do me down. I’m Cap’n now.’

  The crew marched off through the woodlands, laughing and jostling each other, happy to be going back to the life they knew aboard the best craft of all Gabool’s fleet, the good ship Darkqueen.

  One searat remained, however. Fishgill the steersrat strode across to Greypatch and sat beside him.

  ‘Let ’em go, Cap’n. They’ll either end up in Gabool’s clutches or come back to you after gettin’ sick of that bigmouth Bigfang. He’s a fool an’ a hothead – he’ll either get himself or the crew killed.’

  Greypatch breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Fishgill, matey, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Stay with me now. This eye’ll be better in a day or two, then we’ll see who’s the real Cap’n of Darkqueen, and the best steersrat too.’

  Clary and the long patrol had become alerted when they found Pakatugg’s secret den empty. Using their considerable skills as trackers, they had trailed the squirrel across the dunes. The hares found the river crossing the beach at midmorning. Checking the aftermath of the battle with Greenfang’s crew, they traced the river course inland.

  At midday they sighted the Darkqueen tied up alongside the tree-fringed creek.

  ‘Whoohahahahooh!’ Hon Rosie whooped with delight. ‘Who’s for a trip aboard the Skylark?’

  Brigadier Thyme jumped aboard. ‘Deserted, eh. Where d’you s’pose the scurvy blaggards are now, Clary?’

  ‘Haven’t the foggiest, old fellah. Still an’ all, I’ll tell you where they won’t be going’: to sea in this bally tub again. We’ll make sure of that. Come on chaps!’

  In a short time the rudder was detached and hidden in the woods, the oars were weighted and sunk in the creek, the steering wheel was dismantled and flung widespread into the bushes, and the mooring ropes were hacked through so that Darkqueen drifted in and heeled at a crazy angle in the shallows. They jettisoned the worst of the provisions and made a leisurely meal off the choicest bits of the remainder.

  Clary found some of the bows and arrows in the weapon locker. ‘Righto, chaps, settle down now. You take first watch, Rosie. Shout out at the first sign of a scurvy whisker and we’ll give ’em billyo.’

  ‘Oh, I say, super! I’m rather good at the old archery game, y’know, I could score a bull’s eye on a rat’s eye with no bother. Whoohahahahoo!’

  Clary nibbled a ship’s biscuit until a weevil poked its head out at him, he spat out quickly and tossed the offending morsel overboard.

  ‘Phwaw! I think I’d turn to a life of crime if I had to eat tucker like that. No wonder they look mean an’ ugly!’

  20

  THE MIST WAS heavy in the forest as Mariel and her friends struck westward into the strange new territory. Durry Quill kept repeating the lines of the poem aloud.

  ‘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”.’

  ‘Your nose doesn’t have to, your bally voice would send anybeast to sleep, Durry,’ Tarquin snorted. ‘Didn’t they teach you singin’ at Redwall?’

  ‘Floppyears, I weren’t singin’, I were recititatin’. So there.’

  ‘Can’t you two stop arguing and keep quiet?’

  ‘Oops! Sorry, old gel, m’lips are sealed from now on, promise.’

  Dandin had to hack away at hanging vegetation and thick fern to keep the path clear. He did not like this forest at all. It was dank and steamy, with little sunlight showing through the matted treetops, the ground was squelchy underpaw and the going slow.

  The travellers were not inclined to stop in the gloomy atmosphere. They snatched bites of food as they pressed onwards, each with their separate thoughts.

  Dandin thought of Redwall and Mother Mellus, the good badger who had reared him: Despite her scolding and reprimands, he missed her. He wondered how Saxtus was faring, now that he was the only one of the terrible duo left for Mellus to watch over.

  Durry thought of his uncle Gabriel, his friends Bagg and Runn and the moles whom he felt a great kinship to. He imagined summer afternoons in the orchard with cool cider and cakes beneath the shady trees.

  Mariel thought of her father, wondering where he could be and how his health was. She remembered the quiet strength of her father the bellmaker, his ready smile and gentleness, the care he had taken of her and the pride he took in his little daughter, whose name he likened to a bell ringing over meadows on a summer evening. She blinked away a silent tear and gritted her teeth as she thought of cruel Gabool and the retribution she would mete out one day when she faced him.

  Tarquin thought of sitting alongside Hon Rosie at the annual haredance and banquet in Salamandastron. Rosie always treated him mockingly, but that was just her way. Secretly he imagined she longed for him. The words of a new song came bubbling out of the irrepressible hare.

  ‘If I were a cake upon the table,

  You would take a bite from me

&n
bsp; and I would shout if I were able,

  Rosie, you’re a sight to see.

  Dolly ting bang dang, diddly ding . . .’

  ‘Mr Woodsorrel, I’ve told you once politely, now damp a lid on it!’

  ‘What? Oh, er, right you are, m’lady. It’s just that lovely smell, reminds me of Rosie’s perfume that she wore to the banquet.’

  Durry Quill sniffed. ‘My spikes, so that’s what perfume smells like. A lad like me never smelt it afore. Whaaaawwwhhooommmm! ’Scuse I.’

  Mariel was about to silence Durry when she yawned aloud also.

  Dandin stopped swinging his sword into the tangled creepers. He leaned against a willow and yawned aloud, rubbing his eyes. ‘Hoooommmmm! Funny sort of smell, not like I’d imagined perfume to be. Bit sickly sweet, if you ask me . . .’

  Tarquin sat down on the trail. His harolina slipped from his paws and he blinked owlishly. ‘Hooooooah! Take m’ word for it, laddie, that’s what perfume smells like. Whoooohaaaw! Corks . . . can’t keep . . . the ol’ eyes oooooooh . . . pen.’

  Mariel lay down slowly, clutching the Gullwhacker to her like a baby mouse going to bed with her dolly. Through half-closed eyes she watched shadowy figures rising from the earth around them. The last thing she heard before sleep rode in on the cloying waves of heavy scent was Durry Quill’s voice.

  ‘My nose shall no—Whooooaw!’

  Mariel’s head ached furiously and a dark mist swam before her eyes, changing to brown then dull green. She caught a whiff of the fetid scent as a face swathed in barkcloth came close to hers.

  ‘Heehee, dis’n wak’nin’ up, athink!’

  ‘Dese’n’s near wak’n too abit.’

  ‘Eer’s Snidjer, lookitout!’

  The realization that she was bound to a tree woke Mariel completely. She tugged and strained at her bonds as a creature hobbled towards her. It was covered in trailing weeds and wore a barkdoth wrapper around its face, as did many others she could see crouching in the background. The creature carried with it the whiff of heavy scent. It stood in front of the mousemaid and spoke in a high, squeaky voice.

  ‘Yerrherr, Snidjer gotcher – anyerr fren’s!’

  Tarquin had awakened. They were all tied tightly to the same big tree. ‘Oh, great golly, m’poor head, its burstin’. Who the devil are you, sir?’

  The creature prodded Tarquin with a long thorny branch. ‘You sh’rupp. Snidjer’s talkin’ nochoo. Ennyow, werryerfrom?’

  Dandin was awake. He lay with his eyes closed as he interpreted. ‘I think his name is Snidjer and he wants to know where we’re from.’

  Snidjer giggled. ‘Heehee, smarteemouse dis’n – a smarteemouse!’

  Durry was last to wake. He strained forward, trying to reach his head with bound paws. ‘Gwaw! My poor skull. This shouldn’t happen to a good young lad like me. I think it was that scent which knocked us out. Oh, nunky, help! Send those ’orrible beasts away!’

  Snidjer and his tribe giggled as they danced around the tree in front of their victims. Dandin watched them closely, trying to figure out what sort of creatures they were under the barkcloth facewraps and body hangings of thick weed.

  ‘Tarquin, who are they? Have you ever seen anything like them before?’

  ‘I should jolly well hope not, old boy. What a dreadful load of idiots – can’t even talk properly. Rosie’d have a word or two to say to ’em about their sad lack of elocution, believe me!’

  Snidjer pranced up to Tarquin, waving a torch made of smouldering herbs under his nose. The hare was not well-pleased.

  ‘Pooh, take it away, you rascal. It’s that beastly scent again.’

  Snidjer giggled. ‘Sleepasleep, sleepasleep, yerrherraherrherr!’

  Mariel groaned aloud. ‘So that was what the poem meant about my nose sending me to sleep. It’s those smouldering herbs; they must be full of a sort of sleep drug. “Buried ones will surely rise . . .” Ha! I remember that bit. Just before I was knocked out by that smell, I dimly remember seeing those creatures coming out of the ground, though how they did it I don’t know. Whwhere’s my Gullwhacker? Oh, I wish my head would stop aching.’

  Snidjer wriggled with delight, the loose weeds quivering all over him. ‘Wannasee how we do it, clever-mouse? Wannasee ’ey? D’Flitchaye cleverer than you a bigbit, yousee.’

  The weird creature stamped his paw several times upon the ground. Mariel watched, her eyes wide with amazement. All around the earth, clumps of weed and grass lifted like rough lids as more of the peculiar creatures came out of hiding from their subterranean pits. In a short time the area was thick with bark-masked, weed-clad beasts. They shuffled about, chanting in their high-pitched voices:

  ‘We d’Flitchaye Flitchaye Flitchaye!’

  Dandin struggled against his bonds as he roared aloud, ‘Hey, come away from that stuff. It’s ours!’

  Snidjer was waving Martin’s sword about as his tribe emptied the contents of the travellers’ packs on to the ground, fighting and grabbing for the food and drink. One of them swung Gullwhacker close to Dandin’s head.

  ‘Nahh sh’rup, you’n’s Flitchaye pris’ners!’

  Tarquin gulped against the rope that circled his neck. ‘’S’no use, old lad. Stiff upper lip an’ ignore the blighters – we’re outnumbered at least ten to one. I say, what’s the next bit of the jolly old rhyme? Maybe that’ll help us, wot?’

  Dandin promptly reeled off the required stanza.

  ‘Beat the hollow oak and shout,

  “We are the creatures of Redwall!”

  If a brave one is about,

  he’ll save any fool at all.

  That’s it as best as I recall. Let’s look about for this hollow oak to beat, then we can start shouting.’

  Durry blinked painfully as he tried to focus his eyes. ‘Phwaw! I’m lookin’, though outside o’ this clearin’ I can’t see nothin’ but trees. My ol’ nuncle Gabe’d say it were like lookin’ fer timber in a woodland.’

  By now the supplies had either been eaten or squashed into the ground, though one or two of the creatures were still squabbling over flasks of cider and cordial. Snidjer swung the sword at an overhanging bough. He missed and landed himself flat upon his back. The Flitchaye chief lay sniggering as three smaller ones thrummed roughly away at Tarquin’s beloved harolina. The hare fought against his tight bonds, crying out against the outrage.

  ‘I say, put that instrument down! You’re an absolute bunch of yahoos, d’ye hear me? Yahoos and hooligans!’

  Concealing her voice beneath the surrounding hubbub, Mariel whispered to Dandin, ‘I’m working my paws loose. It shouldn’t take long. The moment I’m free we’ll have to see if we can grab our weapons and hold this lot off until we find the hollow oak.’

  ‘Hollow oak, old gel,’ Tarquin chuckled. ‘No need to look any further, we’re tied to the bally thing!’

  Durry groaned aloud. ‘An’ I could’ve saved my poor eyes all that lookin’ an’ searchin’. ’T’aint fair.’

  Dandin glanced upward. ‘Hmm, so we are,’ he whispered back. ‘Right, when Mariel’s loose we’ll untie each other quietly. If we can reach our weapons, all well and good; if we can’t, then the best plan would be to surround Tarquin and keep him protected while he beats the oak. Those long legs of yours should come in very handy for that, Tarquin. Er, Durry, what is it that we all have to shout out?’

  ‘We are creatures of Redwall, good an’ loud!’

  Snidjer and the Flitchaye who was holding Gullwhacker hurried across to the prisoners. Snidjer carried the sword and some smouldering herbs. He glanced at them suspiciously.

  ‘Worrayou talkabout, ’ey?’

  Tarquin sniffed. ‘Actually, old bean, we were just remarking on what a vile smelly load of old forest weeds you bods are.’

  Snidjer’s eyes glinted angrily and he waved the smoking herbs under Tarquin’s nose. ‘You sh’rup, y’hear, sh’rup or Flitchaye send you sleepasleep s’more.’

  The hare coughed violently, his eyes watering
as the Flitchaye chief held the reeking herbs closer. Suddenly Tarquin shot out both his long legs. Bound together as they were, the powerful limbs caught Snidjer a mighty kick that sent him head over heels.

  Mariel freed her paws and unknotted the rope that held them to the oak and unbound Dandin’s paws. With their backs to the dead oak the four companions faced the howling mob of Flitchaye creatures. Mariel tugged Durry’s paws loose as Dandin untied Tarquin. Snidjer leaped up, quivering with fury as he waved the sword menacingly.

  ‘Hawhaw y’done it now, cleverbeasts. D’Flitchaye killyer now, killyer good ’n’ dead. Gerrem, Flitchaye, gerrem!’

  Again the mousemaid remembered attacking Gabool with the sword when her life was threatened. This time it was not only her, but also three good friends who were in danger of being slain.

  Mariel felt the old Storm rise within her. Grabbing the ropes that had bound them, she knotted the ends and passed them to Dandin and Durry.

  ‘These will have to do as Gullwhackers. Get thumping, Tarquin!’

  The hare needed no second bidding. He pounded his long hindlegs against the hollow trunk, raising his voice to join the others:

  ‘We are creatures of Redwall! We are creatures of Redwaaaaalll!’

  The first wave of the Flitchaye mob struck them, armed with sticks and small daggers. Mariel and her comrades thwacked away at them with their knotted ropes, for all they were worth. Most of the Flitchaye were repulsed, some knocked senseless, whilst others, half-conscious, clung on to the bodies of their attackers.