Mrs Churchmouse closed her eyes dreamily. ‘Mmmm, I’d love to be sitting dabbling my paws in the pond on an afternoon like this.’
Foremole tugged his snout obligingly. ‘Burr, if’n you’m laydeez ud loik to wet you’m paws, oi’ll take you’m thro’ yon tunnel to pond.’
Winifred the Otter sprang up. ‘What a good idea! Oh, would you please let us go, Father Abbot? We’ll be careful, I promise we will. The first sign of a rook and we’ll pop into that hole like moles, pardon the expression.’
Abbot Mordalfus took his spectacles off. Smiling indulgently, he settled back in his chair.
‘Well, it’s pretty certain I won’t get any rest with you chattering creatures about. Of course you may go, but don’t stay out too long and be very careful. I’ll stop here and take a nap.’
Foremole was first into the tunnel. ‘Age afore booty. Foller me, gennelbeasts.’
The Abbot settled back in his chair with a sigh. A ray of sunlight crossing Great Hall penetrated down the stairs across the barricade top and shone in his eyes. He watched the small golden dust flecks dancing in it, his eyes gradually closing as he drifted into his noontide nap.
Cornflower came wriggling back down the tunnel, followed by her companions. She scurried from the entrance and, not bothering to dust herself down, began shaking the sleepy Abbot by the paw.
‘Wake up, wake up, Father Abbot, quickly! They’re attacking it, the poor thing. Oh, it’ll be killed if we don’t do something.’
The Abbot blinked and jumped up. ‘Eh, what? Attacking what poor thing, where?’
Winifred grabbed his other paw. ‘A big rusty-coloured bird, much bigger than Ironbeak’s lot. It’s over by the pond and the rooks are attacking it. Oh, I’m sure it isn’t an invader. We’ve got to help it.’
The Abbot leapt into action.
‘Find Constance quickly. Get any available moles and bring them here.’
A moment later, Constance rushed in from the kitchens, covered in flour with a bunch of scallions in her paw. She climbed into the tunnel, shouting orders:
‘Everybeast stay here except the moles. Send them after me. I’ll deal with this!’
In front of the pond the great red bird lay. With one final effort she had flown over the outer Abbey wall, landing with a thud on the soft gatehouse garden soil. Seeing the water glint in the afternoon sun, she hauled herself painfully over to drink at the pond. The throat of the great red bird was dry, her tongue parched, spots danced before her eyes. Crazily she staggered and wobbled towards the water. Next instant she was harried by three rooks who descended upon her. They pecked and dragged at the great red bird, lashing out with their clawing talons. Half unconscious and defenceless, she lay at their mercy.
Foremole was awaiting Constance’s arrival up the tunnel.
‘O’er thurr, stroipmarm,’ he said, pointing to the scene of the attack. ‘They’m akillen yon burd, they gurt bullies!’
Constance hurtled from the tunnel and was upon the rooks before they knew what was happening.
She bulled the first one straight into the pond and cuffed the next one high into the air with a quick hefty paw. The third rook took off, leaving most of his tailfeathers between the badger’s teeth. The attackers flew squawking through the broken dormitory window, terrified to look back lest the big badger was coming after them.
Swiftly Constance began dragging the great red bird to the tunnel. It raised its head feebly and tried to attack the badger. Constance narrowly avoided the fierce curved beak but took several scratches from the powerful talons before she stunned the already half-unconscious bird with a smart tap of her paw between its eyes.
‘Sorry, but it’s for your own good, you silly great thing. Here, Foremole, which end do you want?’
Foremole scrambled from the tunnel, leaving three of his crew ready to receive the burden.
‘You’m leave et t’me, marm. Yurr, Jarge, oi’m asendin’ burd in ’ead furst, save reverse feather draggen. Chuck yon rope round they claws. Oi’ll tie beak. Gaffer, be you’m ready wi’ grease case’n et be too woid in beam.’
Ironbeak and Mangiz flew through the dormitory window with several rooks. They landed where the attack had taken place. The General looked particularly bad-tempered after being disturbed at his noontide roost.
‘Yakka! First it is ghost mice, now we have a great disappearing red bird. Where is it, fools?’
‘It was right there, General. We pecked it and scratched it—’
‘Yes, yes. And what happened then?’
‘The big earthcrawler, the stripedog, it tried to slay us.’
‘So you turned tail and flew off,’ Ironbeak said scornfully.
‘Chief, there was nothing else we could do. That stripedog is a wild beast!’
‘How long ago did this take place?’
‘Only a moment back, Ironbeak. We were at the dormitory window when we saw this big rusty-looking bird come over the wall. It must have been ill because it flapped and flopped about like a new eggchick.’
‘So you attacked it?’
‘Oh yes, Chief. We gave it a good clawing and beaking—’
‘And you killed it!’
‘Yes, er, no. I mean, we were going to, when the earthcrawler came.’
‘Where did the stripedog come from?’
‘Search me!’
Ironbeak buffeted the insolent rook flat. He ground his talons against its beak and pecked it hard upon its leg.
‘Kaah! Out of my sight, nettlehead, I think the sun in this warm land has addled your brains. First you see a great bird, then you are attacked by the stripedog, and that was only the flick of a feather ago. Now there is no sign of the earthcrawler and the big bird has vanished too. Maybe they are both hiding underwater in that pool. Shall I throw you in so that you can search them out?’
‘The stripedog has already done that, by the look of Grubclaw,’ Mangiz interrupted.
Ironbeak shook his head sadly. ‘Gaah! You too. You make me sick, all of you. Watch this.’
The raven spread his wings and hopped about cawing aloud, ‘Earthcrawler! Rustybird! Come out and fight me. It is I, General Ironbeak, terror of the northlands!’
There was no response. The raven turned to Mangiz and the rooks.
‘See? It is the same as the ghost mouse. Get out of my sight, the useless lot of you!’
From the hidden tunnel entrance in the shrubbery by the rushes, Brother Sedge chuckled quietly.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, whatever next?’
The great red bird was taken into Ambrose Spike’s wine cellar. It was cool and spacious there.
John Churchmouse walked around it awestruck. ‘Whew! That is a large bird. I’ve never seen one like it before. What sort of bird do you think it is, Mordalfus?’
The Abbot looked up from the deep scratch he was attending to. ‘I don’t know, John. This is a very strange bird. It is not a woodlander, nor does it live on the plain, or we would have seen it from the Abbey walls. I wonder what brought it here.’
Sister May worked at the other side of the bird. She laid herbs and dabbed lotions on wounds, bandaging wherever possible.
‘Poor thing, she’s taken quite a savage beating.’
The bird kicked and tried to raise its head. Sister May leapt up.
‘Oh dear. Look out, she’s coming round!’ she warned.
The huge flecked eyes with their dark irises snapped open.
Constance beckoned the onlookers away. ‘Sister May, Abbot, would you carry on with your healing? The rest of you go back to Cavern Hole. I don’t want this creature to feel surrounded. Cornflower, pass me those scissors, please.’
She snipped at the beak and leg fastenings. ‘We mean you no harm. You are among friends. Lie still,’ she said gently. ‘You have been hurt.’
The bird groaned and lay back. ‘Werra diss?’ it asked, in a strange accent.
The Abbot recognized the tongue. ‘She speaks like the mountain hawks and eagles. I’m sure she u
nderstands us, though. Hello, I am called Abbot, she is Sister May and she is Constance. This place is Redwall. We will make your hurts better. Who are you?’
Sister May worked on a deep gash in the bird’s leg. ‘This will take a stitch. Be still, please. I want to help you.’
The bird lay patiently watching her. It spoke again: ‘I be still please. Diss bird called Stryk Redkite, comin’ from allrock allrock.’
The Abbot wiped grease from a neckfeather. ‘Ah, a great red kite, a mountain bird. I’ve read of them in our old records, but I’ve never seen one until now. Most impressive. Well, Stryk Redkite, lie quiet while we try and heal you.’
‘Stryk need waterdrinks.’
‘Oh, right. Constance, would you ask Cornflower to bring water for our guest. Tell me, Stryk, is your wing broken?’
Slowly, painfully, the big bird stood. She looked indignantly at the frail old Abbot. ‘Stryk Redkite mighty flyer!’
Sister May wagged an admonishing paw at the bird. ‘Stryk Redkite mighty fibber. Look at that wing. It’s totally useless, and I’ll wager you’ve been making it worse by trying to fly with it.’
The red kite limped sulkily off into a corner and huddled down.
‘Rockslip, nestfall, Phweek! Who needs fly? Stay now, here with friends, with Habbot, with Sissismay.’
Sister May took the water from Cornflower and held it up to the huge hunting bird.
‘That’s all very well, but you’d better be on your best behaviour. And my name is Sister May. Say it, Sister . . . May!’
‘Sissismay, goodan’ very fierce!’
46
WITH MATTHIAS AND Orlando in the vanguard and Basil Stag Hare acting as scout, the depleted shrew army padded silently down the steps to the Kingdom of Malkariss. At first it was quite dark, with the morning brightness filtering down only a short way, but gradually the steps opened out on to a broad torchlit corridor.
They halted while Basil scouted the lie of the land. As they waited, Matthias took in his surroundings. The well-finished stone now coated with moss had once been an upper-storey passage. Tree roots forced their way between the masonry, causing some of the wall to buckle and bend outwards and water dripped from the roof, forming small pools on the well-worn floor.
Basil was back shortly with some information.
‘The blinkin’ place is worse than a great rabbit warren, with corridors, caves, passages an’ tunnels, all slopin’ downward too. As for the enemy, well, it’s rats again, old lad. They wear a black robe with a hood and their weapon appears to be a short kind o’ spear; not the throwin’ kind, you understand, more your good old stabber. They don’t seem to carry any other type of weapon. In a place this size there must be a lot of the blighters, I’d guess.’
Matthias tried to form a plan in his head as he discussed the information with his friends.
‘We’d best stay together. No sense in splitting the force. Jess, you, Cheek and Jabez guard the rear and watch our backs. Orlando and Log-a-Log, stay in front with me. Guosim, have your javelins, slings and bows ready. If we run into a small bunch, pick them off right away. Don’t let them get back to their main force and report that we’re down here, or we’ll lose the element of surprise. Basil, was there no sign of our young ones?’
‘No, ’fraid not. They must be further down this bally maze somewhere. I’ll keep my eyes open. Which way d’you suggest, right or left along this passage?’
Orlando placed his axe on the floor and spun it. ‘Right is as good as any way. Trust to luck.’
They stole off, right, down the broad torchlit corridor.
Nadaz brought Slagar before the idol on the ledge. The masked fox stood tensely, awaiting the decision of Malkariss. From the depths below, the sounds of young slaves toiling drifted upwards. The Sly One watched the statue of the huge white polecat, wondering what sort of creature lived within it. Was it a polecat, or a fox like himself? Slagar liked to think it was a fox. He considered foxes to be the cleverest of animals. The voice issuing from the monolith interrupted his thoughts:
‘Nadaz, you will tell the masked one that I have made my decision. He is to be given fourscore rats and left to carry out my commands in the territory above my kingdom. Tell him that he will be watched closely. I have many more blackrobes waiting to carry out my word, more than leaves on an autumn wind. If the fox plays me false, he will be slain, both him and his fourscore fighters. If, on the other paw, he remains loyal to my bidding, by the time the snow falls I will increase his command by ten times and set my slaves to build him a stone fortress above ground, where he can rule all the territory from the cliffs to the south hinterlands. Malkariss has spoken. Go!’
Slagar quivered with excitement. He had heard every word. His silken mask fluttered in and out as he swelled his narrow chest, revelling in the new-found power he had been given.
At a signal from Nadaz’s bone sceptre the fourscore rats emerged from the winding causeway and took up their place behind the new commander. Many thoughts ran through Slagar’s fertile mind as he marched at their head alongside Nadaz, up the winding passages of old Loamhedge toward the lands that awaited him in the morning sunlight: his territory. Malkariss was no fool, he thought. The fourscore die with me if I prove false, so he was providing himself with extra insurance. The rats in my command will be watching me closely, and no doubt Malkariss has issued them with secret orders to slay me if I try to cross him. I will show him who the Sly One really is. After I am commander of a great horde with my own fortress, I will make Malkariss wish he had never met Slagar. I will trap him down inside his own underground kingdom, and within a season he will either be dead or eating from my paw. As for this one, Nadaz, he is only a servant to the statue. Slagar serves no statue; the Sly One serves only his own ideas.
Slagar’s plans had made no provision for what came next. Rounding the bend in a passage, he found himself face to face with Orlando!
The warrior badger gave a roar and swung his axe, but nobeast was quicker than the masked fox in an emergency. He ducked swiftly back into the ranks of his rats, pushing the nearest two in the path of the swirling axehead. Matthias deflected a spear with his sword. Crouching low, he fought his way into the ranks, sword flashing as he went after his enemy. Log-a-Log yelled and the Guosim hurled a rain of stones and arrows at the rats. Nadaz fell flat, then crawled back against the side of the wall. Springing up, he grabbed a torch from its sconce and flung it among the attackers as he yelled; ‘Retreat! Back to the ledge!’
Amid the milling confusion, the clang of Orlando’s axe rang against the stone walls as he scythed madly at the rats who were trying to turn and run. Matthias had fought his way among the rats but lost sight of Slagar. Turning, he faced the rats who were trying to push past him. Blocking, sweeping and hacking, he battled away until he met Orlando coming from the opposite direction. Log-a-Log passed them both at the head of the Guosim.
‘After them!’
They stumbled over the bodies of fallen foes. The passage was dark because Nadaz was taking the torches from their holders as he went. Stumbling and banging against the walls, the woodlanders dashed wildly through the inky blackness, guided by the sounds of the retreating rats ahead of them. Light showed from the back of the column and they made way for Cheek, who had thoughtfully retrieved the torch thrown by Nadaz and swung it back into blazing life. Now they could see where they were going, the attackers ran pell-mell downwards, through winding passages and deserted halls, heedlessly past a heavily locked timber door.
Mattimeo sat up in the darkness. ‘Listen, what’s that? Something’s going on out there!’ he said excitedly.
They crowded round the door, banging and shouting.
‘In here, in here! Help us, we’re Redwallers!’
But they were shouting to an empty corridor. The sounds of the chase died away into the distance.
The hunted rats broke out on to the ledge, with Slagar and Nadaz in the lead. Ignoring ceremony, the purple-robed rat shouted towards the
idol, ‘Enemies – a badger and a mouse with a band of woodlanders. They are right behind us!’
The voice from the idol rang out:
‘This is your doing, fox. You were followed here. I will deal with you later. Nadaz, tell your fighters to surround this statue. Sound the alarm, throw the whole weight of my host against these impudent intruders!’
The rats formed themselves in a cordon around the idol, spears pointing outwards. Nadaz dashed to the far side of the ledge and began pounding on a deep circular drum to sound the alarm. Slagar did not wait for the attackers to arrive, he slunk off quickly down the winding causeway stairs, pointing to the black-robed rats who charged past him on their way up.
‘Hurry to the ledge, everybeast. Malkariss wants you!’ he told them.
‘Redwall! Mossflower! Logalogalogalog!’
The woodlanders came roaring out of the passage on to the ledge. Log-a-Log and the Guosim charged the rats defending the statue, but they were quickly repulsed by the fanatical dedication of the fighters with their stabbing spears.
More rats were already on the platform of the ledge. Matthias gasped with shock. A countless horde was pounding its way up the stairs of the causeway. He had not realized the numbers were so vast. Like seething black ants, they swarmed up from the misty green depths. Without thinking, he threw himself at the foremost group. Orlando and Jess ran to help him, the squirrel armed with a short shrew sword.
‘Drive them back, we’ve got to stop them getting on to this ledge!’ Matthias shouted.
A spear thrust nipped Orlando’s muzzle and blood sprang to his nosetip.
‘Eeeeeuuulaliaaaaa!’
Mattimeo (Redwall) Page 32