Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  The mole, who was named Burgo, turned full face to the hare. ‘Woild garleck, zurr!’

  Brigadier Thyme nearly fell off the bench as the mole’s breath hit him. ‘Good grief, what a dreadful pong!’

  Burgo nodded. ‘Turrible, baint et. Oi dearly loiks the taste, but oi can’t aboid the smell moiself, zurr.’

  Treerose, the pretty young squirrel, sidled up to Rufe Brush. ‘Oh, Rufe, I’ve baked you a special cake of nut-bread and I’ve iced it too, with clover honey.’

  Rufe stood on one paw then the other, his voice a mumble. ‘Oh er, very nice er, thank you er, Treerose, er, er.’

  Treerose blushed and smiled winningly. At last she was getting through to the strong silent Rufe. ‘Shall we take it out into the orchard and share it, Rufey Woofy?’

  Rufe straightened up and planked the cake back into her paws. ‘Take it where y’like with Rufey Woofy. My name’s Rufe Brush an’ I’m due back on the walls for sentry duty!’

  He stalked off, leaving Treerose holding the cake. She stamped her paw petulantly, her lip beginning to quiver. Grubb slipped in and took the cake from her.

  ‘Yurr, doant ’ee cry, missy. Iffen Rufe doant like they ol’ cake, oi’ll scoff et, ol’ gel, wotwot, hurr hurr!’

  Mother Mellus sat with Simeon and the Abbot. Clary had joined them and was reassuring the Abbot.

  ‘Not to worry, Father. We’re well able for searats. If they bother Redwall again, we’ll be ready for ’em. Though I don’t think we’re in any immediate danger from the blaggards.’

  ‘Couldn’t we go out after them, Colonel Clary?’

  The hare turned to Mellus, his eyebrows raised. ‘Marm, go after them?’

  ‘Actually it’s not the searats I’m thinking of, it’s the oarslaves. It’s pitiful really – what sort of a life must those poor creatures lead as slaves of the filthy searats. Couldn’t we, I mean you, arrange to sort of release them and bring them back here?’

  ‘Now now, Mellus,’ Abbot Bernard interrupted the badger. ‘Colonel Clary and his patrol have been more than kind to us already, driving the searats off. I’m sure they have other business at Salamandastron.’

  ‘Not at all, Father. Lord, Rawnblade sent us up to Mossflower to help in any way we can against searats. We’d be failin’ in our duty if we refused you anything, especially a request from another badger.’

  Mellus smiled gratefully. ‘You’ll do it then, Colonel?’

  ‘Well, marm, can’t promise anythin’, you understand, but I’ll have a word with my troops and let you know.’

  Mellus knew that Clary was going to grant her request; still, that did not stop her reinforcing her plea.

  ‘Every time I think of those twenty very young slaves, the hunger, beatings and hardship they must be enduring – it’s a wonder they’re not lying out there in Mossflower dead from it all. Oh, there’s your friend the squirrel too; the searats have taken him captive.’

  ‘Tcha! Old Pakatugg y’mean – that old reprobate prob’ly got himself captured through his own greed, doncha know. He’s an unspeakable rogue really, sell his mother for two acorns and a loaf. Righty-ho, marm, you’ve made your point. Let me go and work out a plan with Thyme an’ Rosie. We’re pretty good at wheezes when we put our heads together.’

  Mellus sighed heavily and shook her great striped head. ‘Let’s hope you and your friends do come up with some good wheezes, Colonel. As for myself, my brain is too full of other things to think of wheezes. There’s Mariel and Dandin, young Durry Quill too. They’ve gone off to face goodness knows what perils, questing for a bell, searching for a strange island, determined to slay Gabool the Searat. Where will it all end? I hope those youngsters are safe, wherever they are. Sometimes I wish that little mousemaid would have stayed as Storm Gullwhacker instead of finding out her real name was Mariel.’

  Clary halted his assault on a nearby vegetable flan. ‘Stap me, young Storm Gullwhacker, eh! So that’s what became of her. Mariel, much nicer name for a pretty young gel, wot? Don’t you fret, marm. That one’s well able for anything. Two good comrades with her, y’say? Stap me! What more could she want? Makes a chap wish he was out there questin’ with ’em.’

  Mellus was about to enlarge upon the dangers that faced Mariel and her friends when Clary moved on to make new friends and sample fresh delicacies.

  Simeon turned in the badger’s direction. ‘You really are a shameless coaxer at times, Mother Mellus.’

  She bristled slightly. ‘I was deliberately being shameless to help those little slaves who are in a shameful position, Simeon. What would you have me do? Sit safe here in Redwall Abbey and not bother about it at all?’

  The blind herbalist spread his paws. ‘Apologies, apologies! I did not realize you felt so strongly about the slaves. Being blind, I cannot see them, but I suppose if I had my sight I’d shout for their rescue as loudly as you.’

  In the small hours between midnight and dawn the three hares stole silently through Mossflower towards the searat encampment, armed only with their lances. Clary stopped the other two a short distance from the glow of the enemy campfires.

  ‘Righty-ho, got it all clear now. Me ’n’ Rosie do the decoyin’; Thyme, you’re the jolly old rescuer. When you’ve got a couple of slaves, make straight back to Redwall. The south wallgate is only bolted with a couple of dead twigs – one good shove an’ it’s open. We’ll keep these villains chasin’ their own tails for a while, then we’ll get back to the Abbey just before dawn. Keep a lookout for us from the north walltop, be ready with a longbow in case we’re followed an’ it’s nip an’ tuck. Good luck, old scout. Come on, Rosie. Bob ’n’ tack, duck ’n’ weave. You know the drill, wot!’

  Foul tempers predominated around the searat camp-fires. Greypatch sat apart, disgusted with the rest after their rout by five longbows on the flatlands, just as his fire-swinger plan was beginning to look as if it might work. The searat Captain lashed out at any rat that came near him, giving vent to his contempt.

  ‘Slimesloppin’, mudsuckin’ cowards! Haharr, ’tis a pity that those longbows never took care of more o’ you mutinous deckscum, then I’d only have meself to think of, instead o’ a pack of seascabbed poltroons!’

  The crew lay about sulkily, not answering because they knew Greypatch was looking to pick a fight and slay somebeast to slake his spleen.

  From over to Greypatch’s left a voice called from the shadows, ‘Hoho, matey, you did a fine jig with your foot afire. Shove it in yonder flames an’ do us another ’ornpipe. Go on!’

  Greypatch whirled his sword, dashing towards the rats who were lounging in the area whence the insult had issued.

  ‘Yer lily-livered maggot, stan’ up an’ say that to me face!’

  Next instant a voice called from the other side of the camp, ‘Maggot yerself, stinkbreath. We’re takin’ no more orders from you!’

  Greypatch veered, rushing in the direction of the second voice. ‘Belay, I’ll rip the tongue out o’ yer mouth. Show yerself!’

  Another voice called from yet a third direction, ‘Flop-nose! You couldn’t rip yer mother’s apron!’

  Greypatch hurled himself on Deadglim and began throttling the unfortunate searat as he pleaded his innocence.

  ‘Gwaaark! It wasn’t me, Cap’n, I swear it. Gyuuurgh! I never said a wuuurgh!’

  Frink was Deadglim’s mate. He ran across to prevent Greypatch choking his friend to death, but Bigfang tripped him with a spear.

  ‘Leave them be, rat. Deadglim might show a bit of fight back!’

  Fishgill leaned across. ‘Who asked you to interfere, fatmouth!’

  He slapped Bigfang across the head with the flat of his cutlass. As he did, someone else kicked Fishgill from behind.

  ‘You leave Bigfang alone, fleahead!’

  Fishgill turned and punched Lardgutt in the eye. ‘Kick me would you, weeviltail. Take that!’

  Lardgutt drew his dagger, screaming furiously, ‘I never kicked yer! But you’ll pay for that punch, snot-face!’


  Within a short time the entire camp was in uproar as fights broke out all over the place. Clary and Rosie flitted about like two fleeting moonshadows, belting heads and roaring out in imitation searat voices.

  ‘Bigfang fer Cap’n, Greypatch is on’y a deckwalloper!’

  ‘Avast, get stuck in, buckoes. Poor Deadglim’s bein’ strangled!’

  Rosie whacked a passing rat on the back of his head with her lancebutt. ‘Take that from Kybo, you scum. I never did like you!’

  With a screech of rage the rat grabbed a corsair’s hook and went after Kybo yelling, ‘An’ all these seasons I thought you was my matey!’

  The fight was going splendidly until Hon Rosie could no longer hold back her laughter.

  ‘Haharr, you durty decksweepin’, take that! Whoohahahahooh! Oh, I say, this is super fun, come on, chaps, scrag each other harder!’

  Instantly the fighting ground to a halt.

  ‘Corks, Rosie, you’ve torn it now, old gel. Y’need to gag that giggle,’ Clary could be heard muttering in the firelight shadows.

  Greypatch left off throttling Deadglim. ‘We’ve been tricked, mates. It’s those hares! Get ’em!’

  But saying was far easier than doing. The hares were up and gone through the night-shaded woodlands before the searats could assemble themselves to give chase. Thyme had gone also, and with him two young shrews from the oarslave ranks, but this would not be discovered until daylight arrived.

  30

  CAPTAIN FLOGGA OF the ship Rathelm was a hard and seasoned searat. He had served Gabool long and well, but the old Gabool was vastly different from the one he faced now. Flogga had taken no chances, keeping his crew fully armed and tight about him when he landed at Terramort. They had marched straight up to Fort Bladegirt and trooped into the banqueting hall – Flogga knew there was safety in numbers.

  Now, sitting in front of the Searat King, he was shocked at the change that had come over the Warlord of the Waves. Gabool was gibbering mad! He was a truly terrifying sight, his fine silk gear all stained and torn, rings and bracelets tarnished and bent; the golden emerald-studded teeth still gleamed, though the eyes above them were blood-red, caked and running from many sleepless nights.

  The searat Captain was frightened. Mad and dishevelled as he was, Gabool looked doubly dangerous, and there was always the risk: was he really insane, or merely playing at it for some reason best known to himself? Gabool’s mood could switch from good humour to evil temper, from friendly camaraderie to murderous enmity, at the blink of an eye. Not for nothing was he feared by all searats, captains and crews alike.

  Still, Flogga was completely taken aback at the way Gabool addressed him.

  ‘Haharr, Greypatch, I knew you’d come back someday. Well well, me old shipmate Greypatch back at Bladegirt with a full crew about him!’

  The searat Captain shook his head. ‘Gabool, don’t ye know me? It’s Flogga, Master of the Rathelm!’

  Smiling craftily, Gabool waggled a claw at him. ‘Haharr, so you say, matey, so you say. But you can’t fool me, Greypatch. I know who you are. Where’s my ship Darkqueen, eh?’

  ‘Darkqueen, don’t mention that craft t’ me. You’ve ’ad us chasin’ our tails across the waves high ’n’ low lookin’ fer Darkqueen. I’m beginnin’ to think it’s all some kind o’ game, like that treasure she’s supposed to have stowed in ’er hold.’

  Gabool cocked his head to one side, both eyes roving up and down oddly. ‘Treasure y’say. Have you been talkin’ to Saltar, matey?’

  ‘Saltar! He’s dead!’

  ‘Dead? Saltar? Who killed him?’

  ‘You did, right ’ere in your own banquetin’ hall.’

  ‘Haharr, so I did, Greypatch, so I did. Listen matey, ferget Darkqueen. It’ll be me ’n’ you agin, just like in the old days, eh?’

  ‘But I keep tellin’ ye, I’m Flogga, not Greypatch . . .’

  Gabool winked slyly. ‘Nah, you can’t fool me. Listen, about that treasure: it was never in the Darkqueen, I only said that to ’ave you brought back ’ere.’

  Flogga blew out a long sigh. He decided to humour the mad King. ‘All right, Gabool. So I’m back ’ere. Now what?’

  Gabool leaned dose, whispering confidentially. ‘Hearken t’ me, Greypatch. The treasure is here, right here in Bladegirt. Only me knows where ’tis. D’ye want me to show it t’ yer?’

  Flogga suddenly became interested. ‘Aye, I’d like that, shipmate.’

  ‘Haharr. Well, tell this lot to stay here, an’ come with me.’

  ‘Oh no, Gabool. What d’yer want to separate me from me crew for, eh?’

  ‘Greypatch, I thought you was a brainy one, mate. We don’t want t’ share all that booty with this useless load of flotsam, now do we?’

  Flogga stared at Gabool, uncertain of what he should do, suspecting the Searat King might be leading him into a trap, yet eager to get his claws upon the treasure. In the end greed won.

  ‘All right, Gabool. It’ll be just like the old days, fifty-fifty. Lead me t’ the booty, mate, but ’earken – play me false an’ my dagger’ll find yer throat afore you’re much older.’

  ‘Play ye false?’ Gabool sounded indignant. ‘You’re the one who played me false, Greypatch – but I’m givin’ ye another chance, shipmate. Now get rid of these numbskulls an’ follow me.’

  Flogga turned to his crew and gave them a ‘wait here’ sign. He nodded and winked at them, outwardly confident, but inwardly apprehensive as he strode off after the Searat King.

  Gabool fitted the spear through the iron ring and heaved. As the stone lifted he slid it to one side. Flogga stood in the doorway of the chamber, still wary of a trap. The Searat King pointed to the black hole in the centre of the floor.

  ‘Down there ’tis, me old matey. More booty than you could wink an eye at. Come an’ get your half, Greypatch – or are you afeared?’

  Flogga remained in the doorway. ‘I don’t know . . .’

  Gabool strode over and grasped his paw tightly. ‘Then we’ll go down there together, eh? Tell you what, matey; we’ll take a run an’ jump in at the same time, both o’ us. Haharr, just think, Gabool an’ Greypatch, down there midst all that booty!’

  Flogga gnawed at his lip. ‘Together at the same time, both of us?’

  ‘Aye, matey. That’s the way, come on. One t’ be ready, two t’ be steady, three t’ be off!’

  Clutching Flogga’s claw, Gabool rushed him at the hole. Flogga, finding Gabool running eagerly alongside him, felt confident. They leaped together: Flogga down into the hole, Gabool right across it on to the other side, where he landed chuckling.

  ‘Hoho, Skrabblag, I told yer I’d bring Greypatch ’ere for a visit!’

  Flogga screamed with horror. Something was rustling and clicking in the darkness. As Gabool held a flaring walltorch over the pit, Flogga moaned in despair. A fully grown black scorpion was stalking him in the close confines of the pit. Claws clicking, armoured hide rustling against the floor, it advanced upon him, the venomous needle-pointed sting in its tail held high, ready to strike. Gabool laughed insanely.

  ‘You remember Skrabblag, don’t yer, matey? Hahahaharr!’

  Thick fog had dropped upon the sea, and the waters ran smooth, almost waveless. From her point at the tiller, Mariel could not make out the other end of the ship. One thing became apparent: they were becalmed, lying on the unrippled waters in the midst of the heavy dripping mist.

  Tarquin brought food to her side. ‘Absolutely dreadful this bally fog, wot? Shouldn’t bother us though, old gel. As soon as we move again at least it’ll be in the right direction – the jolly little swallow feller’ll see to that.’

  ‘Right, Tarquin. Where’s Dandin and Durry? I haven’t seen them for a while.’

  ‘For’ard – I think that’s the right nautical jargon. They’ve found some line an’ fancy their paws as fisherbeasts.’

  Mariel leaned on the tiller, gnawing at a cold oatcake as she stared about her into the blank whiteness.
‘Funny, isn’t it – the fog seems to be ten times thicker at sea than on land. If you stare into it long enough you begin to see all sorts of odd shapes looming up on you.’

  ‘Hmm, quite eerie. I never liked it when I was at Salamandastron, y’know. Beastly stuff. It’s like bein’ surrounded by steam from a kettle, ’cept that it’s all chilly an’ clammy. Brrrr!’

  ‘Hsst, Tarquin. Did you hear something?’

  ‘No, unless it’s those other two up at the front of the boat – beg pardon I mean the for’ard end.’

  ‘Yaaaaah look out!’

  Crrrraaassshhh!!!

  The burned-out hulk quivered as the high prow of the searat galley Seatalon rammed her amidships, heeling her high out of the water. The burnt timbers shattered under the impact as the hulk overturned and smashed completely in two pieces. Mariel grabbed the metal swallow before being hurled off into the fog. She hit the waters with a dull splash. All around she could hear shouting and confusion.

  ‘Cap’n Catseyes, we’ve struck a vessel!’

  ‘Then board ’er, you bilgeswillin’s. See if there’s any pickin’s t’ be had. Where away is she now?’

  ‘We’ve rammed ’er in the fog, Cap’n. She’s broke in two. Can’t see a thing in this cursed fog!’

  ‘Is Seatalon damaged, Fishtail?’

  ‘No, Cap’n. We’re all right. The other one broke right easy, though. Must’ve been some sort o’ wreck, eh?’

  ‘Aye, it’ll be sunk by now.’

  ‘Cap’n Catseyes, there’s two beasts in the sea!’

  ‘Well, hook ’em out. Don’t stand there dreamin’!’

  ‘Look, it’s a mouse an’ a hedgepig!’

  ‘Haul ’em aboard, pump the water outta them an’ bring ’em t’ my cabin.’