Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Back at the battle, Joseph found himself fighting for his life. A searat was choking him from behind as Grimtooth swung his cutlass in front. The bellmaker parried each thrust as he fought to shake off the rat, who clung behind him like a leech. Grimtooth slashed furiously, knowing the death of a leader might turn the tide of battle back in favour of the searats. He smiled grimly as the grey-haired mouse began to weaken, and closed in for the kill.

  ‘Redwaaalll!’

  Mariel leaped off the back of a falling rat, swinging her Gullwhacker. Grimtooth turned. Catching the full force of the blow between his eyes, he dropped like a log. Durry Quill took the stangler from behind with a rock from the wall debris.

  Tarquin fought his way through to them, a broken lance dutched in his paws.

  ‘One more good sally an’ they’re finished, chaps, I say, wot!’ He turned this way and that, bobbing up and down. ‘Where’s me old boss got to? Anybeast seen Lord Rawnblade?’

  Mariel struck off into the mêlée. ‘No. Come on, let’s find him!’

  They were joined by Dandin as they dodged around skirmishing groups.

  The steps up to Fort Bladegirt were littered with dead searats. Durry picked his way between them, pointing with his dagger at the big oak door, which had been hacked almost to splinters and hung crazily on one hinge.

  ‘Ha! Betcher Rawnblade did this wi’ that great tree-chopper o’ his.’

  Mariel strode past Durry into the building. ‘We’ll see who gets Gabool!’

  40

  SAXTUS GAZED OUT from the ramparts of Redwall. The sun cast cloud shadows on to the path and across the greenery of the woodlands, fleecy clouds scudded across the sky on a warm breeze. The days of summer season were numbered now.

  Simeon joined him, his paws feeling along the battlements until he came in contact with Saxtus.

  ‘The autumn will arrive soon, Saxtus.’

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking, Brother?’

  Simeon chuckled and patted Saxtus’s paw. ‘I didn’t, it was just an educated guess. Creatures often think I have wondrous powers, but it’s just experience and observation. Though I do sense that you have more reason than the change of seasons for standing up here. It comes to me that you are watching the road. Would I be wrong in supposing that you are awaiting the return of certain friends?’

  Saxtus searched the blind herbalist’s wise old face. ‘You are right, of course, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that. Dandin and Durry were my best friends – Mariel too, for the short time she was with us. I had a dream, you see, the night before last. It was of a great battle, I saw them fighting with searats, like the crew who attacked our Abbey, but there were many many more than that.’

  ‘Was it through Martin the Warrior that this dream came?’

  ‘Ah, now you do surprise me. What makes you say that, Simeon?’

  ‘Oh, we are old friends, the spirit of the Abbey and I. Martin has visited me more than once in the land of sleep. You must always heed his warnings. What did you see of this battle?’

  ‘It was not very dear. I saw an old grey mouse, quite a big fellow. He was being attacked by two searats. I cried out in my dream for Martin to help him. Mariel and Durry Quill rescued him. There was lots of fighting, a great battle – things weren’t very clear though, and it all faded after a while, Martin too.’

  ‘I say, yoohoo! You two up there, what’s the matter? Don’t you want to try my seedcake?’

  It was Hon Rosie waving from her wheelchair. Friar Alder and Cockleburr were pushing it, both their faces pictures of strained patience.

  ‘We’ll talk about this another time,’ Simeon whispered to Saxtus. Turning in the direction of the wheelchair, he waved. ‘Seedcake, did you say? I used to be a fair cook at making that myself. Hold on, we’ll come down and try some. Give me your paw, Saxtus.’

  Lunch was being served in Great Hall. As they entered, Mellus nudged Foremole, murmuring in a low voice, ‘Here’s another two victims being brought in to sample the dreaded seedcake. What Rosie made it with I don’t know.’

  ‘Burr, you’m can say that agin. Oi near broken moi diggen claws just picken up a sloice, marm.’

  Rosie leaned from her chair, scanning the table. ‘I say, where’s me jolly old seedcake gone? You haven’t scoffed it all, have you? Well, that’s the bally limit. I suppose I’ll have to bake another.’

  ‘Er, no seeds left, marm,’ Friar Alder interrupted swiftly.

  Cockleburr tugged the Friar’s sleeve. ‘Perishin’ puddens, Friar. There’s a great box of seeds at the back of the floursacks, I found it meself this m – Oof!’

  Alder elbowed his assistant sharply in the stomach and carried on smoothly. ‘Oh, those seeds, you mean. They’ve got damp and were beginning to sprout, I was meaning to leave them out for the birds. Oh dear, not a single seed in the kitchens or the storerooms. What a shame!’

  Underneath the table, Grubb and Bagg were using the remains of the seedcake as building blocks. ‘We’ll have to get miz Rosie more seeds if we wanna make a model of the Abbey,’ Bagg grumbled as he looked about for more.

  ‘Hurrhurr, Froir Alder’ll scrangle ’ee iffen you’m mention et.’

  ‘I s’pose so. I heard ’im say to the Habbit that he hopes miz Rosie’ll get better afore she kills us all wi’ seedcakes.’

  Saxtus wandered through to watch some creatures working on the great Abbey tapestry. Brother Hubert was supervising the design from sketches he had found in the gatehouse. He tossed a hank of light brown thread to Sister Serena.

  ‘This colour should suit if you’re starting the face of the Warrior.’

  Saxtus sorted a thread out of a slightly darker tone. ‘Excuse me, Brother, but I think this shade is the correct one.’

  Hubert held it up to the light, inspecting it carefully. ‘Hmm, you could be right, Saxtus, but how do you know that this is the colour of Martin’s face?’

  ‘I sort of sensed it.’

  Lord Rawnblade Widestripe strode through the entrance hall of Fort Bladegirt, the sword Verminfate sending out showers of sparks as he clashed it against the stone columns leading to the main stairway.

  ‘Gabool, it is I, Rawnblade the badger. Show yourself!’

  The rumble of the badger Lord’s challenge echoed back at him from empty chambers and deserted corridors as he mounted the stairs, his keen dark eyes searching everywhere. Rawnblade sniffed, but the odour of searat permeated the air throughout and he could not distinguish the scent of his enemy. Kicking aside the debris of cast-off clothing, useless weaponry and stale food the rats had left behind, he ascended the wide stone stairs.

  Heedless of whether the rats had won or lost the battle, Gabool listened to the sounds of the badger ringing through his fort as he nerved himself up for the confrontation he knew would inevitably come. Gripping both sword and dagger the Searat King ranged about his upper chamber, holding a muttered conference with himself.

  ‘Hahaar, I’ll sleep tonight. Once I’m rid of the badger, I’ll destroy that useless bell. Aye, that’s it! Kill the badger an’ roll the bell off the high cliffs inter the sea. What’ll be left to worry me then? I’ve seen ’em all off – Greypatch, Saltar, Bludrigg. Look out, badger. You’re next, an’ the bell to follow yer! Then they’ll see who’s the Ruler of Terramort – me, Gabool, King of Searats. I’ll build a new fleet, each craft bigger an’ faster than Darkqueen. They’ll scour the coasts for slaves, fine silks, wine an’ the best of prime vittles. Haharr, Gabool won’t need no bell to announce hisself; they’ll know who I am wherever they see my ships hove in an’ hear me name.’

  ‘Gabool, you spawn of Hell, where are you?’

  The deep thunder of Rawnblade’s voice vibrated upwards from the banqueting hall. Gabool pressed an ear to his room door.

  ‘Keep searchin’, badger. I’ll lead you a merry dance before I’m done with yer. Gabool ain’t feared of a stripedog no more. Oh no, matey!’

  Rawnblade stood before the great bell. It was exactly
as he had imagined it. Only a bellmaker with the skills of Joseph could create such a wonder. His hefty paw stroked the stained and discoloured surface of the brazen object as he walked round it, reading the mysterious badger hieroglyphics near the belltop, smiling with satisfaction at the message only a badger Lord could interpret.

  ‘That is yet to come. . . . But meanwhile!’

  Rawnblade smashed a wooden stool with one blow of his sword. Picking up a severed stool leg, he began belabouring the bell.

  Bongboombongaboombongbong!

  As he struck the bell, Rawnblade breathed upon a section of the metal and rubbed it clean. He continued to smite the great bell, harder and louder.

  Boombongboomboombongbooooongggg!

  Peering at the polished section, the badger watched Gabool enter the banqueting hall and begin creeping up on him, sword raised to strike. Rawnblade stopped beating the bell and turned slowly.

  ‘So, you like my music, eh, rat?’

  Gabool leaped forward, his sword flashing down like lightning. Rawnblade swung his battlesword sideways, the power of the sweep knocking Gabool’s blade flying; it clattered into a corner. The searat stood helpless, his paws deadened by the numbing force of the blow. Rawnblade nodded to the curved sword lying on the floor. ‘Pick it up and have a proper try!’

  Mariel came dashing into the banqueting hall with Jospeh, Tarquin, Dandin and Durry. The mousemaid swung her Gullwhacker, shouting, ‘Stand and fight, rat!’

  Gabool cackled harshly. ‘The bellmaker’s brat, eh? Go away, mouse. I’ve killed you once. You’re naught but a ghost!’

  Mariel’s jaw tightened as the Gullwhacker whirled above her head. ‘You’re wrong, seascum. I’m no ghost! I beat you once and I’m going to do it again, this time for good!’

  From the corner of her eye Mariel saw the badger Lord move to attack.

  ‘Gabool’s mine, Rawnblade!’

  The badger turned his head in her direction. As he did, Gabool plunged the dagger into his chest and sped through a door on the other side of the room. As the door slammed they ran to the badger Lord. He was standing straight, with the dagger protruding. Before anybest could speak, Rawnblade pulled the dagger out and tossed it aside.

  ‘Nearly grazed my fur when it pierced the breastplate – not bad steel for a searat dagger!’

  Tarquin was tugging and shoving at the door. ‘Blighter’s locked it!’

  ‘Out of the way, Woodsorrel. Hurry!’ Tarquin barely had time to leap aside as a stroke from Verminfate split the door in two halves. Lord Rawnblade kicked them flat.

  ‘Don’t interrupt me next time, mousemaid!’

  The stairs in front of them spiralled downwards. Keeping one paw against the side wall, they hurried round the dizzying curves.

  Gabool slammed the door closed and barred it. Chuckling to himself, he moved an old carpet from a corner of the room and spread it over the hole in the floor. Standing on the far side of it he went into a crouch, claws stretching forward. Soon he heard his pursuers arriving. There was a rending crash and the door swung lopsidedly on a single hinge, Rawnblade thrust it aside as he stepped into the room, brandishing his sword. He glanced about at the bare walls.

  ‘The running’s over, rat. There’s nowhere for you to go.’

  ‘Aye, so ’tis.’ Gabool sneered. ‘You’re well backed up by your friends and fully armed too. I thought badgers were true warriors. Why don’t yer throw down that great doorcleaver an’ meet me in paw ’t’ claw combat, searat fashion. Or are yer just a great cowardly stripedog?’

  The red mists of Bloodwrath clouded Lord Rawnblade’s eyes as he flung his sword aside and came at Gabool with a mighty roar.

  ‘Eulaliaaaa!’

  For an instant Gabool’s blood froze within him at the sight of the huge badger charging forward. Then Rawnblade stood on the carpet. He plunged down into the hole with a sharp bark of alarm, falling flat on his back at the bottom of the pit. There was a scuttling noise and Rawnblade shouted aloud, ‘Stay away!’

  Mariel and her companions hesitated in the doorway.

  The massive black scorpion rattled out at breathtaking speed. It was on Rawnblade before he could move. His eyes went wide with horror at the sight of the loathsome beast perched on his breastplate. Clicking claws held menacingly wide, it began to bring the venomous barbed sting on its tail up over its back to strike at the badger’s unprotected face.

  Suddenly some unseen force galvanized Rawnblade into instant action. His paw shot up, grabbing the scorpion by the curve of its tail, and with a mighty bellow he jumped upright. Whirling the evil creature round, he flung it swiftly from the pit. The black scorpion shot up at an angle, striking the ceiling and dropping down – straight into the face of Gabool the Wild.

  From the doorway they watched in horrified fascination as the searat leaped frenziedly about the room, feebly struggling with the angry creature locked on to his throat with both claws. It covered his face, muffling the gurgled screams as the lethal tail sent its hooked sting slamming over the top of his head into the base of the skull, whipping back and forth as it stabbed in a maddened frenzy.

  Rawnblade heaved himself out of the pit in time to see Gabool fall to the floor, his limbs twitching spasmodically as poison flooded through his crazed brain. The King of the Searats shuddered one last time and died, his body arched back like a straining bow.

  Dandin rushed into the room as the scorpion turned its attention to Lord Rawnblade. The young mouse swung the sword of Martin the Warrior.

  Once! Twice! Thrice!

  The two halves of the terrible creature toppled awkwardly back into its pit, still clicking and striking with its poisonous tailsting.

  Rawnblade shuddered. He rubbed his paws together vigorously, as if trying to cleanse himself of the scorpion’s touch.

  Tarquin addressed his harolina consolingly. ‘Well, me old twanger, you never got to brain Gabool, after all. Matter o’ fact, none of us did. What a shameful waste of such jolly good weapons!’

  Joseph put a paw around his daughter’s shoulders. ‘Evil destroyed evil, and good triumphed. Come on, Mariel. Let us leave Terramort. The nightmare is over.’

  Mariel hugged her father fondly. ‘Let’s go to Redwall!’

  Four ships lay ready to sail from the cove at Terramort. Captain Durry Quill stood at the helm of Waveblade, renamed Gabriel after his favourite ‘nuncle’. Captain Tarquin L. Woodsorrel now commanded the Hon Rosie, formerly the Blacksail. Captain Dandin rested his paw on the tiller of Nightwake, renamed the Abbot Bernard. The Crabclaw had been restored to her former name Periwinkle at the wish of her new Captain, Joseph the Belimaker. He stood proudly with Mariel and Rawnblade on her swaying deck, watching the crew of former oarslaves tying down the final lashings of the great bell. Above them a huge hole gaped in the seaward side of Fort Bladegirt, where the bell had been lowered to the Periwinkle’s deck. Dark smoke curled from the breach in the fort as Rawnblade nodded his head in satisfaction.

  ‘I’ve never used fire on anything in my life, but I was glad to put the torch to that evil building. It will never bum away its memory, but maybe someday in the seasons to come the wind and rains from the seas will scour its blackened stones clean.’

  Joseph patted the deckrail. ‘Good old Periwinkle. Remember when we first set sail in her, Mariel? Now we can complete that voyage and deliver Lord Rawnblade’s bell to Salamandastron, where it belongs.’

  But the badger Lord had other ideas. ‘No, friend Joseph, this bell must go to Redwall Abbey, and I will tell you the reason why. When I was down that pit with the scorpion on me I was in the grip of Bloodwrath and did not know what was going on. The creature would have killed me. However, I was saved by Martin the Warrior. It was his spirit that entered me and enabled me to act so quickly. He saved my life, so I must repay him.’

  Dandin touched the hilt of the sword. ‘Good old Martin! So it was he who really slew Gabool – or was it him through you, sir, or was it just a bad-tempered scorpion? We’ll ne
ver know. What do you say, Mariel?’

  ‘I say, here, take this little swallow and hang it where my father can see it. Give me your sword. You won’t need it for a moment.’

  Armed with the sword of Martin the Warrior, the mousemaid stood high on the bowsprit and shouted her orders to the little fleet.

  ‘Hoist anchors and set all sails! There’s a running tide and fair wind to take us to the shores of Mossflower country and Redwall!’

  The great bell gave out a mighty boom as Rawnblade struck it. The sound echoed round the headlands, mingled with the joyful cheers from hundreds of free creatures as the breeze filled the sails and carried the four vessels out on to the seas in golden summer sunlight.

  41

  THE SEASONS TURNED and autumn arrived in due course. Though Saxtus and his friend Simeon kept up their vigil on the ramparts of Redwall, there was still no sign of the returning travellers. The Abbey orchard was now in burgeoning fruitfulness, and each day the crop gatherers were busy with ladders, long poles and industrious energy as they picked and basketed the plums, apples, damsons, pears and berries of many different varieties. The kitchens were working at full capacity, cooking, preserving and storing the fruits. Gabriel Quill’s cellar was also a hive of activity; cordials, wines, squashes and October ale were being squeezed, brewed and fermented. The days of autumn continued fine and warm, though darkness started to draw in earlier. Peace and plenty had returned to the Abbey; every creature was happy.

  Well, nearly every creature . . .

  The three little Dibbuns, Bagg, Runn and Grubb, were totally dissatisfied with their lot and feeling highly mutinous. Two, three, sometimes even four scrubbings a day were commonplace for them during harvest time. They had been caught in different colour changes by Mother Mellus and the good Sisters who cared for them, purple from blackberries, crimson from redcurrants, yellow from greengages, green from gooseberries and generally filthy from climbing trees, falling into bushes, being covered in dust from the cellars, or appearing coated in oven grime and ashes from the kitchen ovens.