Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  ‘It was a tunnel! They got six slaves out through a stinkin’ tunnel!’

  Bigfang strode about, nodding his head knowingly. ‘So, a tunnel, eh, mates – that’s how they did it. Prob’ly got some of those squirrels to do their diggin’ for them. I thought so!’

  Greypatch grabbed Bigfang by the nose. Digging his claws in tightly, he twisted with cruel ferocity.

  ‘Moles, muckhead, not squirrels! Moles, d’ye hear me?’

  Bigfang pranced about, tears squirting from his eyes. Greypatch aimed a hard kick, which caught him in the rear and sent him sprawling.

  ‘Now up on yer claws, the lot o’ yer. Spread out an’ get searchin’. They can’t have gone far. I want ’em back, dead or alive!’

  Clary, Thyme and Rosie appeared, just outside the clearing. ‘I say, slobberchops, you shouldn’t’ve twisted the poor chap’s hooter like that. He was right, we did use squirrels!’

  ‘Get theeeeeemmm!’ Greypatch’s voice was somewhere between a roar and a screech.

  The searats charged forward in a mob at the three hares. Then they hit the tripwires that had been carefully set anew. The hares melted into the woodland, being careful to travel in the opposite direction to Foremole and his crew, who were guiding the six slaves back to Redwall.

  Greypatch and several others who had been at the back of the charge followed the hares, leaping over the sprawling heaps of rats who had fallen or tripped or been pushed on to the tripwires by the momentum of their dashing comrades. Greypatch looked back at them over his shoulder.

  ‘Blunderin’ idiots!’

  There was an immense tug on his legs. Instantly he was swinging back and forth as he dangled upside-down from a springrope tied to a treelimb. His head cracked painfully against that of Frink, who was also suspended upside-down by a rope.

  Back at the camp, Bigfang had scrambled upright and was shouting, though his nose looked like a ripe plum ready to burst.

  ‘See, I told you it was squirrels. I was right – the rabbit said so!’

  Chains clinked as hammers thudded, sending keen-tipped chisels biting through the chains and fetters of the oarslaves. Foremole patted each one fondly upon the head as they were freed.

  ‘Hurr, guddbeasts, you’m go naow an’ jump in ’ee barth, thurr be dean cloathen an’ vittles aplenty when you’m warshed!’

  Mother Mellus wiped her eyes on a spotted kerchief. ‘You can almost see their bones sticking out, poor little things!’

  Flagg struck the last of the chains free. ‘Don’t fret, marm. They’ve got mouths to eat with – they’ll soon be fat as hogs.’

  Gabriel Quill sniffed. ‘Speak for yourself, streamdog!’

  Before they went to the dormitories, Clary and his friends sat with Foremole and the crew around the fireplace in Cavern Hole, drinking a nightcap of mulled October ale.

  ‘Excellent night’s work, chaps. Eight down, twelve to go, wot?’

  Thyme stared into the flames. ‘Right you are, old sport, but it’s goin’ to get much harder each time, now that they know what we’re really after. Much jolly well harder.’

  Hon Rosie emptied her tankard at a single gulp. ‘Clary, may I?’

  ‘Oh, I s’pose so. Permission t’ carry on, Rosie.’

  ‘I say, Clary, thanks. Whoohahahahahooh!’

  Dan’l and Groaby banged their tankards down upon the hearth, wincing visibly at the ear-splitting sound.

  ‘Gwaw! That’s et, oi’m arf t’ bed!’

  ‘Hurr, an’ oi too, afore oi’m deafened fer loif!’

  32

  CAPTAIN CATSEYES OF the Seatalon patted the new sword at his side proudly. Never had a searat set eyes upon such a sword as this. He watched the two new oarslaves bending their backs as they pulled in stroke with the others.

  ‘Up an’ one, an’ down an’ two,

  Bend yer backs an’ curse yer birth.

  Up an’ one, an’ down an’ two,

  Pull those oars fer all your worth!’

  The grating voice of the slavedriver echoed across the benches as he strode up and down, flicking his cruel whip, reciting the crude rowing poem as he laid out about him.

  ‘Up an’ one, an’ down an’ two,

  Some have backs without no hide.

  Up an’ one, an’ down an’ two,

  Those who couldn’t row have died.

  Up an’ one, an’ down an’ two,

  Here’s a gift from me to you!’

  He lashed out with the whip. An oarslave arched his back and screamed.

  Catseyes nodded towards Dandin and Durry. ‘The two new ’uns, how are they shapin’ up, Blodge?’

  Blodge the slavedriver flicked his whip towards the pair. ‘No better or worse than the rest o’ them, Cap’n. Though they’re still fresh an’ strong, a season or so eatin’ slave slops an’ the weight of that oar they’re chained to should knock some o’ the starch out of ’em.’

  Catseyes strode down the alleyway between the oars until he was facing Dandin. The searat Captain drew the sword, watching the lantern lights playing up and down the length of its wondrous blade.

  ‘You don’t look much like a warrior mouse. Where’d a liddle fish like you come by a blade such as this beauty?’

  Dandin’s eyes blazed fire at the Captain of the Seatalon. ‘I am Dandin of Redwall. That is the sword of Martin the Warrior. You are not fit to wear it, rat!’

  Catseyes nodded to Blodge. The slavedriver flailed his whip hard against Dandin’s back. The young mouse did not even flinch, he continued to glare his hatred at the searat Captain. Catseyes laughed.

  ‘Feisty liddle brute, ain’t you. Well, we’ll see about that.’

  Fishtail the mate leaned across the rail, listening to his Captain’s instructions as Terramort Isle appeared like a tiny pinpoint on the horizon.

  ‘Cap’n Flogga should be there with the Rathelm. It could be dangerous fer me, Fishtail – I’m no friend of Gabool or Flogga. When we drop anchor in Terramort cove, I want you to go up to Fort Bladegirt an’ spy out the lay o’ the land. Take most of the crew with yer, matey. I’ll be all right aboard here with Blodge an’ five others. Stay well armed an’ careful, keep an eye peeled on that Gabool and learn if anybeast brought Greypatch back an’ claimed the booty from the Darkqueen’s hold. Oh, an’ you might have a chat with Flogga, see if he favours Gabool, an’ listen out fer any talk of the other Cap’ns formin’ an alliance against Gabool. But mind what I say, matey: be careful of Gabool – he’s wild, an’ crazy with it. I’ll wait aboard this ship for yer return. Got that?’

  Aye aye, Cap’n. Leave it t’ me.’

  The gruff voice of Blodge rang through the galley. ‘Ship oars, me lucky buckoes. We’ll ride in to Terramort on the swell.’

  All around Dandin and Durry the oarslaves leaned heavily on their oars, bringing the shafts down and locking them by wedging the ends beneath the benches, thus leaving the oarblades sloping high out of the sea to port and starboard, giving Seatalon the appearance of a bird with outspread wings as she drifted towards Terramort on billowing sails.

  Durry licked his paws gently. ‘I feel powerful sorry for the pore child who owns these paws. What my o’ nuncle’d say if he saw his fav’rite nephew a-chained up in some scurvy searats’ galley I fears to think!’

  Dandin wiped beading sweat from his brow. ‘I wonder where we are.’

  The little oarslave directly in front of him, a fieldmouse named Copsey, provided the answer.

  ‘We’re coasting in to Terramort. Didn’t you hear Blodge? It makes no difference where we drop anchor, us rowers stay right here, chained to our benches. That’s the life of an oarslave, Dandin.’

  She bent her head against the oar and rested. Dandin patted her scarred back. ‘Not if I can help it, Copsey.’

  Wooden bowls were passed among the slaves. They leaned towards the alleyway, each holding the big bowl in their right paw, the smaller in the left. Blodge passed with his assistant, a small, evil-faced rodent named Clatt. They had with
them two wooden buckets, one full of boiled barley meal, the other of water. Blodge filled the large bowls with water, Clatt the smaller ones with barley meal. Both rats thought it great fun to slop the water or meal carelessly at a bowl so that it missed and splashed upon the deck.

  ‘Come on, scum. Lively now, an’ hold those bowls out straight!’

  ‘Aye, we’re too kind to you idlers, treat you like a pair o’ nursemaids, we do. Hee hee hee!’

  Using their paws to eat the lukewarm mess, Dandin and Durry listened in to Blodge and Clatt’s conversation.

  ‘When I get to Bladegirt I’m gonna grab some roasted seabird an’ sweet wine an’ some o’ those sugary dried fruits King Gabool keeps.’

  ‘Huh, you goin’ to Fort Bladegirt? No such luck, Clatt. You’re stayin’ aboard with me’n Cap’n Catseyes an’ four others.’

  ‘Gerrout, Blodge. Yer jokin’ with me!’

  ‘Cap’n’s orders, matey. Do as yer told, or else!’ Blodge drew a claw across his throat, indicating what would happen.

  Clatt threw the bucket down, its contents slopping out on to the deck. ‘Hell’s teeth! We may’s well be oarslaves, stuck aboard this old tub all the time while others are havin’ a good leave on Terramort. It’s not right, mate, I tell ye. I’m sick an’ fed up with it!’

  ‘Nah, you stop ’ere with me, Clatt. I think there’s goin’ t’ be trouble up at Bladegirt. Best we stay out the way. Tell you what, shipmate – we’ll go to the forecastle head cabin an’ make skilly, you an’ me.’

  Clatt brightened up at this suggestion. ‘An’ some raisin duff. Can we make a pan o’ raisin duff?’

  ‘Aye, skilly an’ duff. That’ll gladden our ’earts. Ain’t nothin’ like skilly an’ duff in a snug liddle cabin.’

  Clatt turned to the nearest oarslave, a very young shrew. ‘Avast, you bilgepup, d’you like skilly an’ duff?’

  The young shrew nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Well, you won’t be gettin’ none, it’s all fer me an’ Blodge. Hee hee hee!’

  Durry Quill gritted his teeth as they strode off laughing. ‘I’d like to meet that Clatt when I don’t have no chains on one day!’

  The Seatalon rode at anchor in Terramort cove as evening gave way to night. The wind had dropped, leaving the air still and warm. Captain Catseyes leaned over the rail, staring up to the lighted windows of Bladegirt. Blodge popped his head out of the forecastle cabin.

  ‘Skilly an’ duff, Capn’. Me an’ Clatt made enough fer all claws aboard.’

  Catseyes left the rail, adjusting the sword of Martin so it rode more comfortably at his side. ‘Thankee, Blodge. I think I will!’

  The weary oarslaves were slumbering chained to their oars as the hooded mouse stole carefully into the galleydeck. He glanced around, shaking his head at the pitiful figures. The mouse was not young any more, but he was well set up and strongly built. From his belt he drew several sharp three-cornered raspfiles. Dandin had been watching him through half-dosed eyes; now the young mouse sat upright as the other crept past him. Dandin caught hold of the stranger’s dark cloak. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  The hooded mouse held up a warning paw. ‘Ssshhh! I bring freedom!’

  Dandin nodded, recognizing immediate friendliness in the stranger’s voice. ‘What do you want me to do? Say the word and I’ll help.’

  ‘Wake the others as quietly as you can. Here, take one of these and use it on those chains.’

  Dandin accepted the file. He shook Durry and Copsey gently. ‘Hush now, be quiet. Wake up the others, but do it softly.’

  All around Dandin oarslaves were being wakened as he worked away with the file. It was a good file. He freed himself then began on Durry’s chains. The hedgehog smiled at him in the darkness.

  ‘Wait’ll I tells my o’ nuncle ’bout this!’

  The strange mouse gave a low whistle, and twenty other mice entered the galleydeck. They set about helping to release the slaves.

  A small thin harvestmouse stood up. Unable to contain himself, he laughed aloud and threw his broken chains noisily to the deck. One of the helpers muffled the harvest mouse in his cloak, but it was too late.

  Pawsteps sounded above, then Captain Catseyes’ high-pitched voice called out: ‘Who’s that? Who’s down there?’

  The stranger took off his cloak. Beneath it he was a broad, fit-looking fellow, clad in a searat jerkin, though Dandin noticed that he was completely silvery grey. The mouse bundled the cloak up and passed it to Dandin. ‘Who’s that calling out on deck?’

  ‘Captain Catseyes, the Master of this ship. Why?’

  ‘Everybeast back at their oars, hide the broken chains and leave this to me. Be quick now!’

  The oarslaves seated themselves, whilst the other cloaked mice hid beneath the galley benches.

  ‘Cap’n . . . Cap’n Catseyes,’ the strange mouse called up to the deck. ‘Gabool sent me down. His Majesty has news for you . . .’

  Catseyes came bounding down the companionway. Anxiously he strode up to the strange mouse. ‘What news from King Gabool?’

  The strange mouse stepped close in, drawing a dagger from the back of his belt. ‘Gabool doesn’t know, but I brought you this!’

  He slew Catseyes with one fierce thrust.

  Dandin leaped forward. Unbuckling the dead searat’s belt, he retrieved the sword and scabbard. More pawsteps sounded above on deck.

  ‘Cap’n, can we get some wine from yer cabin?’

  ‘Aye, skilly ’n’ duff’s better with a drop o’ wine, Cap’n.’

  ‘That’s Blodge and Clatt,’ Dandin whispered to the stranger. ‘Leave them to us when they come down.’

  ‘Right, how many more aboard?’

  ‘Four besides them.’

  ‘We’ll take care of them. Get that body out of sight and sit back down as you were. The rest of you hide.’

  Blodge and Clatt came stumbling down into the half-light of the galleydeck. Blodge peered around bad-temperedly.

  ‘Cap’n, where are yer? Ain’t we goin’ t’ get no wine tonight?’

  ‘Not tonight or any other night, slavedriver!’

  Clatt gave a squeak of dismay; blocking the stairway was the stranger, backed by twenty hooded mice. He whirled about to find himself facing Dandin. Blodge unwound the whip from about his shoulders and raised it threateningly. ‘Get back, or I’ll have the hide off yer!’

  Dandin chopped the flailing lash in two pieces with a sweep of his sword. ‘You’ll never use that whip on another creature, rat!’

  He hurled himself upon the slavedriver, who fell back yelling hoarsely as he grappled at his belt for his own sword.

  Copsey and Durry gave Clatt a mighty shove in the back, and he shot from the alleyway straight into the arms of a bunch of oarslaves who were waiting, swinging lengths of broken chain. Clatt had time for just one short despairing scream. Just one, no more!

  From above decks the sound of four bodies splashing in the sea told the oarslaves that the stranger and his companions had dealt finally with the remaining crew members. Dandin stood straight, distastefully wiping his sword upon the fallen body of Blodge.

  ‘He died as he lived, a cringing coward who could only strike out at helpless creatures in chains!’

  The freed slaves made their way up to the deck. The stranger and his band were loading up with any weapons that they could find. He nodded at Dandin. ‘All finished down there?’

  The young mouse sheathed his sword. ‘As finished as it’ll ever be. What next?’

  ‘We take everything we can from this ship – weapons, food and clothing – then we get off and sink her. From there we go to the caves at the other side of the island. When the time is right we will attack Fort Bladegirt and put an end to Gabool the Wild. Are you with us?’

  The freed slaves looked at Dandin. He grasped the stranger’s outstretched paw.

  ‘We’re with you every step of the way and glad to be along! My name is Dandin of Redwall. What’s yours?’


  The stranger swirled his dark cloak about him, a broad, honest grin creeping across his strong features.

  ‘They call me Joseph the Bellmaker!’

  33

  THE MORNING WAS a fine one. Blue smoke from the searat campfires drifted through the high woodland trees, mingling with sloping shafts of sunbeam across leafy boughs of oak, ash, rowan, sycamore, elm and beech. Soft mosses, short grass and variegated flowers carpeted the ground, broken here and there by beds of fern and flowering nettles.

  The beauty of it all was lost upon the searats; food was the more practical problem of the moment. Greypatch had argued, ranted and cajoled, but the faction led by Bigfang and Lardgutt won the day, appealing to greed rather than conquest. Hunger made Bigfang unexpectedly eloquent on the subject of food.

  Greypatch listened, knowing he had no real answer to Bigfang’s argument.

  ‘Shipmates, we ain’t woodland rats, we’re searats. We always had plenty o’ fish an’ seabirds too, besides what stores we could plunder. But here we ain’t got nothin’, an’ there’s too many of us to be sharin’ nothin’! Oh, leaves, berries, roots ’n’ fruits are fine, if y’know which are the right ones an’ which ones won’t make a body sick or even kill yer. But we don’t! So we’re goin’ to starve if we can’t get proper vittles to eat!’

  There was massive agreement with this statement. Greypatch shrugged.

  ‘Well, fair enough, Bigfang. Tell us the answer – you’re so smart!’