Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The Sly One was impressed. Dwellings had been hewn into the rock, streets and avenues stretched before him, some of them looked as if they were part of another building from another time. Groups of young woodlanders, painfully thin and covered in rockdust, worked beneath the whips of their cruel taskmasters, dragging boulders and cutting and dressing stones into square and oblong blocks. Slagar caught a glimpse of some huge unearthly-looking creature that he could not identify.

  Nadaz urged him past a band of slaves mixing mortar and cement. Strangely shaped amphitheatres and high arched caverns gave way to a halflit passage, then the party halted in front of a wall. Carved upon it in relief was a weird and curious mural with the figure of Malkariss at its centre.

  Nadaz turned to him. ‘This is the limit of our workings. Go now, my blackrobes will take you to your chamber, and there you must wait until Lord Malkariss gives his decision. You are fortunate fox. Apart from the creatures I command, you are the only one who has set eyes upon the underground world.’

  As the black-robed rats led Slagar away, he watched Nadaz from the corner of his slitted hood. The purple-robed rat touched the left paw of the carved polecat and the figure swung inwards. As Nadaz went through, Slagar managed to see a shaft of light on the other side before the carving was pushed back into place.

  The Sly One made a mental note that this was a secret exit, then in silence he allowed himself to be led back up the causeway steps. Slagar neither liked nor trusted Malkariss and Nadaz, but he was confident that he could outthink them both. One day he would rule all of this land, above and below ground; at present he was content to wait. The delivery of the slaves had gained him entrance to this strange world. Malkariss would probably think he was an efficient servant, and promotion would follow. Slagar would bide his time, he was nobeast’s servant; only one position interested the masked fox. Complete and utter ruler.

  The afternoon had begun fading away in pink-tinged sunlight when Matthias and his friends arrived at the tree. It was a giant pine, standing alone.

  Orlando stood and stretched to his full height against it. ‘By the stripes! It’s so big it makes me feel like a pebble against a mountain. I’ll bet it’d take a lot of otters tail to tip to go round a trunk this size, eh, Cheek?’

  The young otter patted the immense girth of the bole. ‘I’ll say it would. Have you ever seen one like this before, Jess?’

  The squirrel shook her tail in admiration. ‘Never. It’s a wonderful sight. Pity it stands alone, because you can only climb up it or down, you couldn’t leap to another tree. The nearest ones are over there. See? Where Matthias is heading. Hey, Warrior, where are you off to? I thought you wanted to see this tree.’

  Matthias walked in a straight line with a measured pace, keeping his eyes to the ground.

  ‘It’s not the tree I wanted to see, only its shadow.’

  Basil caught up with him. ‘What d’you want with a bally shadow, old lad?’

  Matthias kept walking deliberately. ‘Remember the rhyme, “face the lord who points the way, after noon on summers day.” Right, the tree is the lord who points the way, and it’s gone noon, nearly evening. The shadows are at their longest now. Look at our shadows, they’re much longer than we are. So, if the tree is the biggest thing around, it has the longest shadow. I have an idea that where this shadow ends we’ll find what we’re looking for.’

  The rest of the searchers rushed to join him. Like creatures in some solemn procession, they walked along with heads bowed, following the path of the giant pine’s shadow.

  It ended upon a humped rock sticking from the heath a short way from a copse. They gathered around the rock.

  ‘So, here it is.’

  ‘Well, what now?’

  Matthias banged upon it with his sword hilt. It sounded quite solid. Log-a-Log scratched it, Jess jumped upon it, Orlando tried to push it. In various ways they all tried to make the rock yield up its secret, to no avail. Basil lay flat on his back on top of it, staring up at the rapidly fading day.

  ‘Don’t think much of your idea, old chap. Bit of a damp squib, wot? A rock’s a rock and that’s all this one is.’

  Matthias stubbed his paw against the stone. ‘Ouch! Listen, I’m convinced that this is it, this is where the poem says that death will open up its grave.’

  ‘Just as well we never found it,’ Cheek gulped.

  Basil leapt from the rock. ‘Aha, but we might yet. I’ve remembered something too: our old eating game from the border scouts and foot fighters regiment. You see, we used to put out a great plate of food each, all heaped up as high as they’d go. Now, the one that threw the longest shadow won it all. Never took part meself, food’s far too serious to gamble with. But on summer’s day, that was different. I knew I’d win then, because you get the longest shadows of all on summer’s day.’

  Matthias was becoming impatient. ‘Summer’s day – what summer’s day, Basil? Summer is full of days.’

  ‘So ’tis,’ Jabez Stump interrupted, ‘but to us old woodlanders there’s only one summer’s day: right in the middle.’

  Orlando nodded wisely. ‘Aye, that’s midsummer’s day. My dad told me that.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Matthias sighed. ‘But where does all that get us? We don’t know how far the shadow would fall on midsummer’s day.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Jess agreed. ‘However, we could make an educated guess. At least we can see the direction the shadow of the tree is going.’

  They spread out in a straight line from the end of the pine shadow.

  ‘Of course, the tree might have been even taller at the time the poem was written,’ Jess called out. ‘It’s very old, and it could have lost a bit off the top in a storm or something. I wonder where it was supposed to end?’

  It was in the copse!

  One of Log-a-Log’s shrews was first to find it. He held up his paw. ‘Over here, look!’ he shouted excitedly.

  A carved stone step screened by bushes was what they had searched for. A few sweeps of Orlando’s axe cleared the surrounding bush, revealing similar steps, a whole flight of them ran out of sight down into the ground. Matthias traced the less worn edge of the first step carefully with his paw. He looked up at them with a stunned expression on his face.

  ‘I know what this place is!’

  Orlando peered at the lettering. ‘Loamhed. What does it mean?’

  Matthias sat upon the step, his paw at the spot where the word ended.

  ‘The rest of it has been worn away. This was Loamhedge. The mice who founded Redwall with Martin the Warrior came from Loamhedge Abbey. They left because of the great sickness that brought death to many creatures. I can remember when I was a little mouse at my history lessons, Great Abbot Mortimer told me of the founders. Abbess Germaine brought the Brothers and Sisters from a place called Loamhedge Abbey, but where exactly it lay nobeast knew. Now we have found it.’

  Matthias pushed away the overgrown grass from the side of the step, exposing a standing line of carved mice. The middle one was missing. He drew from his belt the talisman that the old rabbit had given him. It fitted neatly into the centre space.

  ‘See, here’s the missing one. That fuddled old rabbit knew where old Loamhedge once was, and he gave me this because it was the only thing of value he possessed. Maybe he too was a slave one time and managed to escape from here, who knows. Great Abbot Mortimer used to say that Loamhedge was a building that was nearly as large as Redwall Abbey.’

  Orlando tapped the step with his axe handle. ‘What’s it doing down there? Are they the cellar steps?’

  Jabez Stump looked about the copse. ‘No, they couldn’t be. If this Loamhedge place had been destroyed, the land would have been covered in debris and great buildin’ stones. This must have happened at the dancin’ of the cliffs.’

  Orlando scratched his stripes. ‘I’m completely baffled now. An Abbey called Loamhedge that was here but isn’t now, and dancing of the cliffs. What’s it all about?’

  ‘We Stu
mps lived in South Mossflower by the cliffs longer than anybeast,’ Jabez explained. ‘My old grandpa used to tell me about the days of Josh Stump, his great-great-great-grandpa. They say one day long ago our family lived atop of that cliff, but it started a-shakin’ an’ tremblin’ as if the whole cliffs were dancin’. When it stopped, old Josh Stump he said, “I won’t live atop of no dancin’ cliffs no more,” and he took the family to live down in Mossflower Woods. Never a Stump went up ’em again, until I did to search for young Jube.’

  Recognition dawned upon Matthias. ‘Of course, it must have been an earthquake long ago. That was what caused the great gorge we crossed. Yes, and those gardens we passed through. No creature ever had gardens and orchards on such bumpy land. The earth had shifted! You see what happened? Loamhedge Abbey must have been swallowed up when the ground moved. These steps would be dormitory stairs or attic steps, and the whole building must have just dropped straight down into its own cellars. Maybe even further, with the great weight of it all.’

  Ironbeak was determined to confront the ghost. He gave the sentries a night off. Taking Mangiz with him, he stood at the sentry post in the galleries as the last crimson sunburst hit the windows of Redwall Abbey, bathing the floor in a glorious deep rose-coloured light. Mangiz watched it through swollen eyelids.

  ‘Mayhap the mouse in armour will not walk until the middle of the night, my General,’ he said wearily.

  ‘Yarrak! Mayhap it does not walk at all, fool. Mayhap it does not exist. That is what I have brought you here to prove. Tired eyes of dozy rooks will see frogs fly or stones lay eggs. I am Ironbeak, I know better than to believe such things. So should you.’

  Mangiz held his counsel, deciding discretion was the better part of valour.

  The sparrow who had been watching them from a slit window made his report to Cornflower and Constance.

  ‘Bird say you no come, black crow worm no so sure. Both wait above Great Hallplace, now.’

  Baby Rollo was having imaginary adventures dressed in the helmet of the Warrior. He waved the sword frantically, singing aloud:

  ‘Kill a bird wivout a word,

  Hit a black rook wiv a heavy book,

  Bang a crow an’ make him go. . . .’

  Cornflower relieved him of the wooden sword. ‘Stop waving that thing about, Rollo. You’ll put somebeast’s eye out with it. So, the General is waiting for the ghost to walk again. Let him wait. When it gets dark enough he won’t be disappointed. The spirit of Martin the Warrior will roam abroad.’

  Constance gently polished the burnished breastplate. ‘You must be careful. He won’t be as easy to fool as those two last night. I think we need a more intricate plan this time.’

  Cornflower laughed. ‘Good, then let’s sit here a good long while and think up a clever scheme. Don’t forget, it was our turn on supper duty tonight, but we’ll be excused because we’re working for the Abbey war effort. John Churchmouse and Ambrose Spike will have to cook the supper.’

  Constance stifled a giggle. ‘Oh no! John and Ambrose, there’ll be war in the kitchen when those two meet over the cooking pots. Right, down to business. Let’s get our thinking caps on.’

  The rooks of General Ironbeak were perched in the dormitory. They listened in awed silence as Grubclaw and Ragwing related their encounter with the Abbey ghost, especially as the two rooks were not above adding bits to make it a good story now that Ironbeak and Mangiz were not there.

  ‘Hakka! It was dark out there last night. I could feel in my feathers that something was going to happen,’ Ragwing began.

  ‘Kraak! Me too. It was darker and gloomier than the bottom of a northland well. So Ragwing and I stood sentry with beaks and claws at the ready for any funny business, didn’t we, bird?’ Grubclaw added.

  ‘Aye, we did that. Then suddenly Grubclaw says to me, “Ragwing, can you see that shadow down there?”’

  ‘How could you see a shadow if it was pitch-black?’ a rook interrupted.

  ‘Well, er, er. It was the moonlight coming in through the windows. Yes, that’s right it was the moonlight, anyhow—’

  The rook butted in again. ‘Kaah! What a load of old eggshells. It was dark as a northland well, but with moonlight shining through the windows.’

  Grubclaw ruffled his feathers airily. ‘Kragga! Who is telling this, you or us? We know what we saw. But we can keep it to ourselves if you start making fun of us.’

  The other rooks silenced the interrupter.

  ‘We saw a shadow in the moonlight,’ Ragwing continued. ‘Well, at first we thought it was a shadow, but when we looked closer it was an earthcrawler.’

  Grubclaw nodded solemnly. ‘A ghost mouse, all in armour. It seemed to appear from nowhere. Graak! It was carrying a long sword and it had no face. It moved like a feather in the breeze. I think it was floating, don’t you, Ragwing?’

  ‘Yes, it definitely floated. And another thing, it carried the long sword as if it weighed nothing. It must have had great spirit strength. The cold lights burned from its eyes like fire in ice—’

  ‘I thought you said it had no face. How could it have burning eyes?’

  ‘Yaggah! Will you shut your beak and listen? It was, it was, er, the white moonlight shining on it, yes, it made the face that this ghost didn’t have look like two burning eyes. Haak! We saw it, I swear on my egg and nest. Isn’t that right, mate?’

  ‘True, true. It seemed to know we were watching it, because it turned to face us. We perched there, ready to attack if the ghost mouse tried anything.’

  ‘And did it? Try anything, I mean?’

  ‘Krakkah! Did it! Well, it pointed with this great sharp sword and said; “Death to all who stay in the redhouse!”’

  ‘Aye, that’s the very words it said. But the voice! Kaah! It was like thunder over mountains, I wonder you lot didn’t hear it.’

  ‘We were sleeping. So, what did you do?’

  ‘Haak! I’ll tell you what we did, we shook our claws at it and said; “You come any closer, ghost, and you’ll have us to deal with. Stop there while we go and bring General Ironbeak our Chief,”’ Grubclaw embroidered.

  ‘Aye, we backed off, ready to give a good fight if it came floating up to the galleries. Ironbeak and Mangiz came out, Mangiz was shaking like a fledgling whose mother has left it,’ Ragwing added.

  ‘What did Ironbeak do?’

  ‘Kaah, him! He flew about a bit and could not find the ghost, so he said he didn’t believe us and flew off to get some sleep.’

  ‘So where did the ghost mouse go to?’

  ‘Yakkah! I don’t know. To the place where other ghost mice go, I suppose.’

  ‘You mean, there might be others?’

  ‘Kagg! I’m not saying anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all. The big door was open wide, Ironbeak couldn’t deny that.’

  The conversation carried on, getting more horrific with each imagined detail until some of Ironbeak’s fighters decided that conquering the redstone house was not such a good idea.

  ‘Did you see Mangiz today? He was badly knocked about.’

  ‘Yagg! Do you think the ghosts had something to do with it?’

  Ambrose Spike threw a careless pawful of hotroot into the simmering watershrimp soup.

  John Churchmouse glared at the hedgehog over the top of his steamed-up glasses. ‘Ambrose, the recipe says half a spoon of hotroot. Why didn’t you measure it?’

  The old hedgehog bustled John to one side. ‘Don’t tell me how to make shrimp and hotroot soup. I learned my recipe from otters. A pawful, that’s what you need. Let’s see if that roseleaf and cowslip custard is ready.’

  ‘Don’t you dare touch my custard, you rough-pawed cellar keeper. It’ll be ruined if you open that oven too soon. Come away.’

  Ambrose could not get past John to open the oven. He snorted and began furiously kneading nuts into a batch of honeysuckle scones. John tugged his whiskers in despair.

  ‘Honeysuckle scones have a delicate flavour all of their own.
Sister Agnes’s recipe calls for beechnuts, but you’ve put acorns and hazelnuts in. Where did those beechnuts I shelled go to?’

  Ambrose wrinkled his snout and kneeded faster. ‘Oh, those. I ate ’em. There was only a few. I’m very partial to a beechnut now and again.’

  John clapped a paw to his brow. ‘You didn’t wash your paws. The whole batch will taste of hotroot!’

  Ambrose grinned wickedly. ‘So what? Ginger ’em up a bit. Give them more blackberry wine to drink and they won’t notice the difference. Come on, quill-pusher, get those onions peeled.’

  John flung down his oven cloth. ‘Peel them yourself, barrel-minder!’

  Late that night a breeze sprang up. Clouds scudded across the moon, sending shifting patterns over the Abbey floor beneath Ironbeak and Mangiz. The Methusaleh and Matthias bells rang briefly, stopping abruptly to leave an eerie silence in their wake.

  ‘How can the bells toll when we have the earthcrawlers trapped in that room below?’ Mangiz murmured to Ironbeak.

  ‘Kagga! Hold your beak,’ Ironbeak silenced him. ‘I don’t know how they rang the bells and I don’t care. It might be a diversion to stop us watching here. Keep your eyes on the floor below, over by the big door.’

  They waited and watched.

  So did the rooks from the dormitory, who had sneaked out on to the far corner of the galleries. Curiosity had overcome their General’s command to stay in the dormitory. They had to see for themselves.

  The main Abbey door creaked on its hinges, slowly opening.

  The raven and the crow held their breath as they watched it. A few dried leaves drifted in on the sighing breeze, pale moon patterns swayed on the worn stone floor, and the darkness in shadowy corners seemed to grow deeper.

  The tomblike silence was broken by a voice like rolling thunder:

  ‘Death waits in this place for those who stay!’

  Mangiz felt the feathers on his back rise as if a cold paw had touched them.