Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  ‘So here am I, Bobbo. The vole lies buried on the green hillside – I think he would have liked that. When I had freed myself of the chains, I threw them far into the sea from the high rocks. Here I have lived a solitary peaceful life, though not without its perils. I did try to make my way inland but was lost in the swamps for many days. Lucky I was to find my way back here. ’Tis best that here I stay. Maybe one day I will teach little Firl to speak, then we can talk together.’

  Bobbo left off, staring into the fire.

  ‘So then, there you have it all. Look now, I can see you are for sleeping. Lie down and rest; you can tell me about yourselves in the morning. It is warm and safe here. You will sleep well.’

  Tarquin, Dandin and Durry needed no second bidding, but Mariel was not tired. The mousemaid sat up far into the night, questioning Bobbo about Gabool, though the dormouse had little information to impart. He was, however, eager to hear about the travellers, so in return for his kindness Mariel did not keep him in suspense until the morrow. She related all their adventures as Bobbo sat keenly drinking in every word, with Firl making tiny snoring sounds on the ledge behind them.

  The squeal of seagulls wakened Dandin as rosy dawn banished the coverlet of night. He lay still, only his eyes moving about, taking in their new surroundings. The other three were still fast asleep. Dandin rose and stretched as Bobbo stumped in, followed by Firl, his faithful newt. The dormouse bore twigs and a full sack.

  ‘Dandin, it is a good morning I am bidding you. Look, dried applewood and sweet herbs to burn – it makes my abode smell fresh in the mornings. Now, you will find a small rockpool outside to wash in, and I will prepare wild oatcakes, small fish and gorseflower honey to break your fast.’

  The young mouse grinned. ‘That sounds excellent to me, Bobbo. Thank you.’

  He was back in a short while, splashing water over his sleeping friends. ‘Rise and shine! Wakey wakey! Oatcakes, honey and fish! Last one washed doesn’t get any!’

  Tarquin sprang up, shaking himself. ‘I say, you sly young cad, why didn’t y’wake me earlier? By the pattern on me aunty’s pinny, Bobbo, that smells good!’

  Morning sunlight was beginning to flood the cavern as they sat eating.

  Mariel had a surprise to reveal. ‘You’ll never guess what I learned last night while I was talking to Bobbo.’

  Durry licked honey from his paws and juggled with a hot oatcake. ‘No, marm, you’re right. We’ll never guess, so hurry up an’ tell us.’

  The mousemaid recited the appropriate lines of the poem:

  ‘Where the sea meets with the shore,

  There the final due is hid;

  Rock stands sentinel evermore,

  Find it as I did.

  The swallow who cannot fly south,

  The bird that only flies one way,

  Lies deep beneath the monster’s mouth,

  Keep him with you night and day.

  Do you remember that part of the rhyme? Well, last night while you were all snoring, I sat up telling Bobbo of our quest, and guess what?’

  Tarquin dipped his oatcake in the amber honey impatiently. ‘Whatwhatwhat?’

  Mariel smiled intriguingly from one to the other. ‘Bobbo knows where the swallow is!’

  ‘I say, good egg! What a spiffin’ old Bobbo you are, wot!’

  ‘Even more cleverer than my nuncle Gabe, an’ that’s a fact!’

  ‘Do you really know, Bobbo? Oh, tell us, please!’

  The dormouse stood up, brushing crumbs from his longcoat. ‘Do you come with me and I will show it to you.’

  Bobbo hobbled in front, with Firl at his heels. He led them on a southerly tack through the twisting winding canyons, keeping up a surprisingly lively pace, now disappearing into shadowed recesses and materializing into bright sunlight. Sometimes they crunched upon small pebbles, other times pattered across damp sand, occasionally splashing through sun-warmed shallow pools. Finally they arrived at their destination. Bobbo leaned against a monumental edifice.

  ‘Well now, friends, here is the very place!’

  This rock was much larger than any they had previously encountered. It was almost a small mountain set in the sands, giving the impression of some vast primeval monster squatting upon the shore with its back to the sea. The dormouse led them to the east side of the rock, where a huge overhang projected over a pool that was both wide and deep.

  Dandin looked about, expecting to see a swallow perched somewhere close.

  Bobbo pointed to the pool. ‘See, right at the bottom, lodged between two rocks.’

  Gathering round the rim, they peered into the underwater grotto. Through the clear limpid water, aided by lancing rays of sunlight, it could be dimly seen. No bigger than the size of a mouse’s paw, a swallow fashioned from metal, its outspread wings partially obscured by the rocks which held it captive amid the brightly hued sea anemones and corals on the bed of the pool.

  Dandin shook his head in amazement. ‘How did you ever find it, Bobbo?’

  ‘Fishing, young master. I was fishing for shrimp one day, sitting here staring down into the pool, when I saw it glint in the early sunlight.’

  ‘And didn’t you try to get it out?’

  ‘Ah well, I did try for nearly half a day with my hook and line, but it was too smooth and firmly lodged in the rocks. So I had to leave the little bird, do you see. Then after I found Firl I brought him along to this place to dive for it. Newts are excellent swimmers.’

  ‘Of course they are. Why didn’t Firl get it?’

  The small newt scampered down from the rock and cringed against Bobbo, eyes wide and throat palpitating madly.

  ‘Ah well, do you see, it is not only the little bird who lives down at the bottom,’ the dormouse explained. ‘There is also a great shell creature, one with claws like vices, great eyes on stalks and long whiskers. Poor Firl lost his tail to the beast; it has only lately grown back. I would not let him go down there again, no not ever!’

  Bobbo produced a piece of oatcake from his longcoat. Powdering it, he mixed it to a paste with some water and moulded it around a small pebble.

  ‘Watch now and see.’

  He dropped the coated pebble into the pool close by the edge. They gathered round and marked its progress as it sank rapidly to the bottom of the water. Near the part where the swallow lay, the pebble came to rest. It had no sooner landed than a gigantic blue-black lobster rushed out of a crevice, pounced on the stone and retreated swiftly with the object held tightly in its enormous pincered claws. It all happened so fast that the onlookers were stunned into momentary silence.

  Bobbo shrugged. ‘So you see now, wayfarers. Is it not a dreadful monster?’

  Durry blanched. ‘It’s even too ’orrible to look at, Mr Bobbo!’

  Mariel’s jaw was set, firm and resolute. ‘But I’ve got to go down there and rescue the swallow!’

  ‘If you go down, then I do too!’ There was determination in Dandin’s eyes.

  ‘Er, er, oh, dash it, count me in as well, you chaps!’

  Mariel shook her head. ‘No, Tarquin. You and Durry stay up here with Bobbo. We’ll need you two to lower us down and pull us out quick. Now let me think awhile. I’ll have to figure out the best way to do this . . .’

  Durry mopped his brow and blew out a sigh of relief. ‘Thank my stars! My old nuncle’d ’ave a fit if half a poor nephew walked back in on ’im one o’ these days. Best we stay up ’ere, Mr Woodsorrel. Just think what your Hon Rosie’d say if you turned up with no nose and on’y one ear. Bet she’d be rightly peeved.’

  ‘Peeved? Peeved ain’t the word, young Durry. Rosie’d take a screamin’ blue tizzy if she saw a magnificent specimen of harehood minus a hooter an’ a lug. Good grief, I’d have to run off an’ become a bally searat, or somethin’ equally foul!’

  It was noontide before Mariel and Dandin came up with a workable solution. They went back to Bobbo’s cave, where they gathered together what rope they could find, plus all the cooked shrimp and smal
l fish they could lay paws upon. Back at the pool, Mariel explained her strategy to the others.

  ‘The idea is to throw as much food to the lobster as possible. Let’s start right now. Durry, Tarquin, chuck the shrimp and fish in. I want you to keep your eyes on the lobster. Once it stops coming out to get the food, let me know. Dandin, you and I will search about for two rocks. We need something to weight us down and make us sink to the bottom of the pool. While we’re down there, you keep watch, with the sword ready. I’ll get the swallow, then Durry and Tarquin can haul us up out of it.’

  Soon the final preparations had been made. Mariel and Dandin sat on the rock lip of the pool with ropes tied about their waists. The mousemaid put aside her. Gullwhacker; it would be useless underwater. Dandin took off his scabbard and held on to the sword. Durry and Tarquin were still dropping odd bits of food into the water.

  ‘I think the old lobster villain’s had enough. He’s not botherin’ to come out for any more tucker. The water’s teemin’ with jolly nice fish an’ shrimp, but he seems to have had a tummyful – great glutton!’

  Both mice picked up their rocks. Bobbo gave final instructions.

  ‘Now then, do you go straight down and get the bird, tug on the ropes and we will haul you up fast. If we see the creature come out we will pull you up, whether you have the swallow or not. I wish you both luck and good fortune. Now take a slow deep breath.’

  Side by side Mariel and Dandin slid into the water, the coldness forcing them to take deep breaths, then the weight of the stones took over. With eyes wide open the pool closed above their heads and they began their descent, into the silent aquamarine depths of the watery world.

  BOOK THREE

  The Sound of a Bell!

  27

  THE HARE SHOOK paws with Mother Mellus inside Great Hall as the fire-swingers roared outside on the lawns and in the orchard.

  ‘Long patrol from Salamandastron at y’service, marm. Colonel Clary, Brigadier Thyme and Hon Rosie.’

  Mellus inspected Clary’s paw. ‘You’ve been hurt. I’ll get a proper dressing for that wound. Sister Sage! Bring a clean dressing and some salve, will you.’

  Clary winced slightly as the dressing was applied.

  ‘Much obliged, marm. Only a scratch, really. Good healin’ fur us Meadowclarys have, wot? The young mouse chappie, wotsisname, Saxtus, he’s told us what the position is. Not to worry, we’ll have the vermin sorted out by dawn for you – dealt with their types before. Oh, by the way, marm, can I count on you to be on the west walltop in, say, two hours?’

  Mellus nodded. ‘You can count on me for anything, as long as it gets those filthy searats away from Redwall Abbey, Colonel Clary.’

  Hon Rosie gawped around Great Hall in open admiration. ‘Oh, I say, what a super-dooper cottage y’have here. Whoohahahahooh!’

  This time it was Mellus’s turn to wince. ‘Colonel Clary, would it be possible for Hon Rosie to do her laughing outside? We have infants in the dormitories, trying to sleep.’

  Clary saluted. ‘Right you are, marm. Rosie! Put a lid on the giggles, old gel. Keepin’ the babies awake, wot!’

  ‘Oops! Silly old me, I’ll go an’ have a swift chortle in the shrubbery. Whooha – Sorry!’

  Thyme went about his business efficiently. Mounting the west wall, he introduced himself to Rufe Brush and tested a bow and arrow.

  ‘Hmm, this all the archery equipment you’ve got? Sadly lackin’, old lad. Now let me see, range, trajectory, distance . . . Hmmm, yersss! Is there a wicker gate in your east wall leadin’ out into the jolly old woodlands?’

  Rufe nodded dumbly, slightly overawed by the militaristic hare.

  ‘Good show! Next question: where’ll I find your grub wallah – y’know the cook chappie, the chef?’

  ‘In the kitchens, gettin’ tomorrow’s breakfast set up, I s’pose. Inside the Abbey, one floor down below Great Hall.’

  ‘Top-hole! See y’later. Face front now, don’t turn y’back on the bally enemy, old chap. They’ll shoot you in the behind, wot!’

  Rufe was left so bewildered he nearly forgot to duck as a low-flying fire-swinger sped overhead.

  ‘Hiyo the grounds, fire-swinger come in over main gate!’

  ‘Hurr, maister Brush,’ a mole cried out from below. ‘You’m a bit late baint ’ee? Durned foir-s’inger near burned moi nose offen.’

  Friar Alder reluctantly parted with his three best vegetable knives again. ‘Take care of them please, Mr Thyme.’

  ‘It’s Brigadier, sah, Brigadier – but you can call me Brig. Not to worry about the old frogstickers, we’ll have ’em back good as new.’

  Saxtus and Flagg sat with their backs to the Abbey building, taking a breather and a drink of cool dandelion and burdock cordial while Gabriel Quill and Friar Hubert took over the fire-fighting relief column. Flagg rubbed the cold stone beaker against his brow.

  ‘Whew! I ‘opes those hares c’n help us. Nice folk, though a little snooty in their manner o’ talkin’ like.’

  Saxtus took a long draught of his drink. ‘They’re Salamandastron hares, Brother Humbert said, battle-trained and ready for anything. Leave it to them. They’ll know what to do, Flagg.’

  Out in the woodlands beyond the east wallgate, Clary trimmed shoots from a thick yewpole with Friar Alder’s knife.

  ‘There, that should be just the ticket, wot? Six long staves, good solid yew. How’s the oak comin’ along, Rosie old gel?’

  ‘Capital, Clary. We found a big old one, quite dead an’ ready to topple, but loads of sound branches on it, just the right length too. Hahahahooh.’

  Thyme looked up from his labours. ‘I noted lots of fishin’ line in the kitchens. We can plait it together; should be ideal.’

  Clary smiled grimly. ‘Well done, Thyme. Come on, let’s go!’

  An hour before daybreak Deadglim shook Greypatch awake. He went to the fire and warmed himself.

  ‘How’s it goin’, mateys?’

  Swinging his arm round ever faster, Frink suddenly let a fire-swinger go. It roared off into the lightening sky like a shooting star.

  ‘Great, Cap’n, though we’re usin’ green vines instead o’ rope now – there’s loads of it growin’ over yonder, plenty o’ dead grass too. We could keep this up all season. It’s bags o’ fun.’

  Greypatch helped himself to roasted bird, tearing at it hungrily. ‘Haharr, so it is, shipmate. Get summat to eat now. I’ll take over fer a while. Hoho, they must be run ragged inside those walls by now. Pretty soon they’ll be too tired an’ slow. Then a fire’ll start that they won’t be able to cope with. That’s when we’ll pay em a visit. Come on, me lucky bucks, keep a-slingin’ those flames in!’

  Bigfang stood up. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he stared towards the Abbey walls in the gathering daylight. He ran across to Greypatch.

  ‘Cap’n, look! It’s those three big rabbits who were aboard the Darkqueen. See ’em, large as life on the walltop!’

  Greypatch spat out some burnt feathers and picked at his fangs. ‘Noddletop! Those ain’t rabbits. Don’t y’know a hare when y’see one? Any’ow, what difference does it make to us who they are? They’ll burn same as the rest of ’em. Wake yerself up, addlebrain, an’ start throwin’.’

  They met on the walltop in front of the threshold, facing the plain from where Greypatch and his entire contingent could be seen around the large fire which provided ignition for the missiles – Colonel Clary, Brig Thyme, Hon Rosie, Mother Mellus and Flagg.

  Saxtus stood to one side. He watched as Clary took command, all traces of jocularity and fun gone from the hare’s normally quirky voice. There were six bows and a large stock of arrows on the threshold. Clary picked up a bow and a single shaft.

  ‘I’m aware that you all know how to fire a bow, but I’ll go over this once to refresh your memories. This bow, like the others we have made, is a longbow – solid yew and more than twice the size of the ones you are used to. It is strung with a cord plaited from fishing lines to give it ext
ra power. The arrows, as you can see, are far longer than normal arrows; thicker too. They are oak, fire-hardened tips and leaf flights. Now, I have chosen you because you are the biggest, strongest creatures in the Abbey, the very ones to fire these longbows. Let me demonstrate.’

  As Saxtus watched, Clary notched an arrow on to the bowstring.

  ‘Stand side-on to the bow, keep it upright, draw back the string so that the shaft is fully occupied and the string taut. Bring the arrow up to the jawline, sight with one eye along the shaft, allowing for the arrow to take a curving course, mounting upwards and coming down right on the object aimed at. Right, now for a target.’

  Thyme pointed. ‘The rat dipping a swinger into the fire – get him!’

  Clary adjusted his eyeline, drew the arrow back to its limit and let fly. The taut longbow string twanged as the heavy oak shaft hissed off into the dawn light. Saxtus held his breath.

  Ranzo was about to start whirling his fire-swinger when the arrow struck him. It knocked him backwards, dead before he could blink, the fire-swinger dropping from his nerveless claws.