‘Now what has got into those duckbrained idiots?’ Ironbeak snorted.
‘They say that the head of the ghost mouse appeared to them last night, and it warned them to stay in the dormitory room.’
The raven leader struck his powerful beak sideways against a stone. The noise it made surprised Mangiz.
‘Kaahagga! Then I must go and talk to them!’
Mangiz followed the General at a respectable distance. He did not like the way Ironbeak had said the word ‘talk’.
The raven perched in the broken window space; his seer crow sat upon the grass, listening intently.
‘Kaah! So, my fighters, you have been listening to the ghost mouse again. What did it have to say this time?’
Apart from a few muffled caws, there was no clear reply. Ironbeak dug his claws into the woodwork of the window frame.
‘Kraa! You do not choose to speak to your leader. Then I will come in and speak to you.’
He hopped down and vanished inside the dormitory. Mangiz hunched up, closing his eyes as he listened to the awful sounds of birds screeching and beds being upset. He couldn’t see the feathers which flew out of the dormitory window.
‘Yaggah! Who gives the orders, a mouse’s head or Ironbeak? I am in command here. Get out! Out, you worthless rabble!’
Rooks poured out of the window, struggling against each other to get through the enclosed space. Mangiz winced at the savage sounds of his General dealing out fierce punishment. Not for nothing was he known as the most feared fighter in the northlands.
49
THE GREAT SWORD of Redwall disappeared into the green mists of the abyss. Matthias scrabbled furiously as he rolled over the brink of the ledge, his paws grabbing automatically for anything that would check his headlong plunge. It was the rope which the basket had been lowered down on that saved him. He seized it wildly but was unable to grasp it firmly and he began sliding downwards, the rock face of the chasm passing him in a blur. The Wearet leapt up and began immediately hacking at the rope.
Bellowing aloud, Orlando charged at the head of the woodlanders. Rats went down before the great battleaxe like corn to the scythe. With Basil and the others facing outwards, guarding his sides and the rear, the Warrior of the Western Plain fought his way through. Too late. The last strands of the rope twisted and shredded, to snap under the blade of the spear. Matthias was gone.
The Wearet turned to look up. The last thing his eyes beheld was the huge male badger swinging a double-headed axe in his direction. Orlando gave a great howl of rage. Rage against himself for letting Matthias accept such a challenge. Rage at everything in this evil place that had taken his young one from him, and rage fuelling his great fighting spirit so that he wanted to do battle against anybeast that stood in his way.
‘I am Orlando of the Axe. Eeeeeulaliaaaaa!’
The woodlanders’ war cries rang about the underground Kingdom of Malkariss as Basil, Cheek, Jess and Jabez headed a wild charge into the rat horde. Nadaz stamped and screeched like a mad thing, rattling his sceptre as he chanted death threats against the invaders.
Matthias felt the rope go slack, and he plunged like a falling stone into the green curtain of mist. Racing through his mind were the faces of Cornflower and Mattimeo, certain he would never see them again.
Whump!
The warrior mouse landed on something soft and yielding. It was a large woven grass basket, thickly padded inside with moss and purple cloth. The force of the fall stunned him temporarily. He lay on the ground beside the basket, trying to galvanize himself into movement and collect his thoughts, amazed at the fact that he had lived through such a fall.
The lid of the smashed basket moved.
There was a slobbering, snarling noise from within the basket, then it fell to one side as Malkariss rolled out.
The creature on the floor beside the basket bore little resemblance to the high statue on the ledge. Malkariss was gross! The great white mound of scabrous fur, now broken by the weight that had dropped on it from above, was something out of a bad dream. Short floppy paws with long mottled nails which hung limply reached up to wipe the crusting bleariness from eyes dimmed and half shut with age. The mouth sagged open, revealing blackened stumps of teeth.
Matthias sat up groggily. His senses swam, and he began to doubt whether he was still alive when he saw the broken vision of evil crawling towards him. Surely such a thing never lived above or below ground. When Malkariss spoke, his voice was thin and reedy. Not being projected by the chamber within the statue or echoing around the rock ledge spaces, it was almost a piteous whine.
‘You have looked upon Malkariss. You must die.’
Matthias shuddered. The horrible thing had its paw upon his sword, which had fallen close to the basket. As he was about to lever himself upright, a chunk of rock struck Malkariss upon the back and he arched in pain. Another rock hit the white polecat, striking him on the paw. He released the sword with a whimper. More rocks pelted in.
Matthias scrambled away, retrieving his sword as he went. Thin, ravaged creatures, fur welted with lash-marks, their paws manacled, were advancing on Malkariss like a grim army. They hurled rocks at the cringing figure. Dragging slowly forward, pulling slave chains along the ground, they chanted:
‘Die, evil one, die!’
‘We will bury you with pieces of your own Kingdom!’
Gaunt young hedgehogs, squirrels, mice, moles and otters were picking up big rocks from a pile of debris with both paws. They gathered around the fallen tyrant, heaving the stones on to him with all the force they could muster. Matthias watched in horror as Malkariss was buried beneath a growing mound of rocks. Malkariss could no longer be seen, but still the slaves continued hurling rocks on to the pile.
The Redwall Warrior grabbed a half-starved otter and pulled him to one side.
‘Here, hold your chains tight across that rocky slab. Do not be afraid. I am your friend.’
The otter did as he was told, hope shining in his dustflecked eyes.
‘Strike hard, friend!’ he cried to Matthias.
The Warrior’s sword whistled downward through the air. With a sharp snap it sheared the links of chain like a billhook chopping grass. Nothing could withstand the great sword of Redwall, whose metal had come from a falling star.
Once he had severed the lead dragchain, Matthias set about cleaving the manacles from slaves. Young creatures wept openly, and some cheered and began to dance, with broken chains dangling from their paws. The mouse warrior was freeing them two at a time as quickly as he could, for sounds of battle raging above had reached his ears. A black-robed rat ran up, brandishing a whip, but before he could reach Matthias, a squirrel felled him with a whirling length of chain.
‘Well struck, squirrel,’ the mouse warrior called out. ‘I am Matthias of Redwall. What do they call you?’
Despite his scrawny appearance, the squirrel laughed and swung the chain until it whirred around his head.
‘Elmtail. I am called Elmtail. I will buy my freedom with this chain that bound me as a slave!’
‘That’s the way, Elmtail. When I have freed your friends we will do it together, mate!’
The slaves began cheering, and those already liberated swung their chains aloft.
The battle on the ledge was in full flood. Side by side the woodlanders stood in a tight circle within a circle. The outer ring of shrews, with Jess and Jabez, was stabbing and thrusting with swords and javelins, all the time moving in a clockwise direction. The inner circle fired over their heads. Urged on by Basil and Cheek, they pelted stones and arrows into the tight-packed horde of rats that surrounded the woodlanders on all sides
Commanded by Nadaz, the rats fought back with fanatical vigour, and many a good shrew fell to the stabs of their short spears.
Orlando would stand at the centre of the circle until he regained his breath, then with a mad roar he would charge out to wreak slaughter upon the rat horde, only coming back into the circle to wipe the gore from
his axe and lick wounds.
Whenever Basil saw a particularly vicious attack, he too would go vaulting over into the thick of it, his long flailing limbs laying rats senseless, to be trampled under the masses of their own horde.
‘Yahooooo! Take that, you blighter! Here, old lad, have some of this harespaw pie and lie down for a bit.’
Thud!
Another rat would stretch his length on the rocky ledge.
More blackrobes pressing up the winding causeway steps piled in to fight, fired on by Nadaz.
‘Kill! Kill! Slay the invaders who dare come to the land of Malkariss.’
Jess Squirrel angrily turned a rat’s own spear upon him. ‘Wait’ll I get my paws on that one in the purple robe. I’ll make him sing a different tune!’
Cheek flexed his throwing paw and spoke his mind to a nearby shrew archer.
‘There’s just too many of ’em. If we lose a creature we’re one short, but you can knock ten vermin out and twenty spring up in their place.’
The shrew sighted and shot his arrow, nodding with satisfaction at the result.
‘Right twixt the eyes. They never come back for more after that. What’s that you say, otter? Oh aye, there’s no stoppin’ ’em, is there? Still, we’ve signed for the trip so we might as well make the best of it, eh!’
Above the din of the battle, Jess caught a ripple over on the far side of the ledge at the tunnel mouth. She fought her way to Basil.
‘Over there, look. It seems we’ve got some kind of reinforcements.’
Basil did an extra-high leap, taking great care to kick a rat flat on the head as he went.
‘Yahaha! Well, blow me old whiskers, Jess, it’s the young uns. Hi, Mattimeo. Over here you, young scallawag. Redwallll!’
The cry was taken up in answer across the melee:
‘Basil, we’re coming. Redwalllll!’
Mattimeo and the former captives were battling their way through the throng. Using flailing manacles and spears from fallen rats, they drove across the platform with their cell door in front of them as a shield. Pushing, shoving, thrusting and whipping out left and right with everything available, the young creatures fought their way to be reunited with their friends. Nadaz danced and screamed louder, urging his rat horde to greater efforts. The inevitable victory he had foreseen began to waver as the tide of battle flowed in favour of the brave woodlanders.
The Father Abbot was delivering a stern lecture to Cornflower concerning her ghostly antics.
‘I did not approve of this venture from the first, my child. One false move and the General’s birds would slay you and Sister May. Constance could be badly hurt too.’
Cornflower avoided the stern gaze. ‘But, Father Abbot, we have got the birds frightened. If the ghost of Martin walks the Abbey by night, we will make the rooks lose heart and they will not enjoy living at Redwall. Maybe they will fly off to their northlands and leave us in peace.’
The old mouse held up a paw for silence. ‘We went over this argument once before. At first I thought it might have done some good; perhaps it has. But, Cornflower, you are taking this whole thing too lightly, treating it as a big joke. I feel it in my whiskers, one of you will be badly hurt or captured. The whole charade must stop.’
A rebellious gleam shone in Cornflower’s eyes. ‘Matthias would have approved of it. I’ll bet he and Basil would have kept it up until those birds were scared out of their feathers.’
Mordalfus peered severely over the top of his glasses. ‘I am glad you mentioned Matthias. Have you thought of my duty to him as Abbot? What if he came marching back out of the south with our young ones, as I am sure he will do one fine day? How do you think I would feel, having to report that whilst he was gone I allowed you to play foolish tricks until you were killed? You see, Cornflower, I have a responsibility as Father Abbot to you, Matthias and all the creatures within our walls. Now will you please do as I say.’
Cornflower sighed deeply and bowed. ‘I will do as you say, Father Abbot,’ she said reluctantly.
The kindly old mouse rose stiffly. He patted her head. ‘Thank you, Cornflower. Now, Constance, will you take all the warrior’s armour to the gatehouse and put it back carefully.’
Constance gathered the armour and climbed into the tunnel.
Ironbeak was stalking the edge of the Abbey pond. The silver glint in the waters told him that there were fish about. He marvelled at the abundance of food the earthcrawlers had within the walls of the redstone place: orchards, gardens, a great storehouse in the area below stairs, even a pond with good water and fish for the taking. Sometime soon it would all belong to him. He looked about in admiration, staring at the strong outer wall that would keep other earthcrawlers out. His quick dark eye caught a movement over by the main gate. The big stripedog had materialized practically out of thin air. It was carrying something. Ironbeak crouched in the reeds and watched intently.
Constance took a quick glance around to check nobeast was observing her. Swiftly she unlocked the gatehouse door and slid inside with the armour. The door closed behind her. Ironbeak could see the key still sticking out of the lock. Seizing his opportunity he rose and glided silently across to the gatehouse. The deed was accomplished in a trice. The raven leader slammed the door. Sticking his beak into the handle ring of the heavy iron key, he gave it a swift turn and withdrew it from the lock. There was a scrambling noise from inside, then the sound of paws pounding against the solid timbers of the door as the badger called out,
‘Cornflower, is that you? Stop playing about and open this door. Come on, I know it’s you!’
Ironbeak soared off jubilantly with the key looped on his beak. Now that the enemy he feared so much was out of the way, there was nobeast strong enough to withstand a sudden attack. Truly Mangiz’s visions were becoming reality.
Inside the gatehouse, Constance had her eye to the keyhole. She could see nothing. Whoever had locked her in was gone, for it was quiet outside. The badger ran to the window. Redwall Abbey was a long distance from the gatehouse. It stood serene and peaceful across the lawns, beyond the pond. The window was too small for a fully grown badger to break and crawl through, so she began exploring the place. Other small windows in each of the bedrooms proved useless. Constance noted the chimney vent in the cosy hearth, but it was out of the question; a badger of her dimensions would be jammed right away. She tried the door again. It was solid, with florin spikes and iron bands fixed to the stout oak timbers.
After exploring every possibility, Constance resigned herself. There was a jug of water and plenty of dried fruits in the cupboard. She sat at the living room window, watching and waiting for help to appear.
‘Stryk Redkite wanna fly ‘gain. Must fly, Sissimay!’
Sister May scrubbed her paws wearily. ‘No, no, you naughty bird. You must rest until the wing heals. Now be still, or you get no supper.’
‘Don’ wan’ supper, wanna fly.’
The Abbot and Brother Rufus sat with John Churchmouse, taking their supper at a barrel top. John rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Whew, I wish that bird was a sparrow instead of a great red kite. It would have been much easier.’
Abbot Mordalfus took a long draught of October ale. ‘It was difficult, John, but I think it was worthwhile. You did a marvellous job putting those new pinion feathers in place. Did you take all your instructions from Methusaleh’s book?’
John shrugged modestly. ‘Not exactly, Father Abbot. I did invent a little fish glue to reinforce the twine that I tied them with, though I actually did manage to get the feather ends into the cavities of the old ones. They should take and be as good as new by the end of season. What about you Rufus? How did it go with the break?’
Brother Rufus munched wild-cherry flan. ‘Mmmff, ’scuse me. We used fishbone and feather quill to repair it. Everything was a bit messy, but quite straightforward when you have our Abbot to help you.’
Sister May dried her paws. ‘I’ve used every kind of ointment and healing nostrum I know to
help the operation along. Now we must wait.’
‘Wanna fly. Stryk Redkite flyover mountain like sky-clouds,’ the big bird wailed.
John folded his spectacles away. ‘Huh, now we must wait? Try telling her that.’
The great red bird made as if to move. Sister May picked up a wooden ladle.
‘Just you dare, m’lady. I’ll tan your feathery hide!’
Stryk perched sullenly, her wing still supported by the wine firkin and the books.
‘Warra warrior, Sissimay shoulda be Redkite.’
‘The very idea of it, you feathery baggage!’
Cornflower had great difficulty keeping baby Rollo away from the wine cellar. He was anxious to see the big bird. At the moment she and Mrs Churchmouse had the infant occupied by the barricade in Cavern Hole, where he and some of his little friends were busy at their self-appointed task of watching for rooks. Rollo crouched down, peering round the edge of the table that lay on its side. After a while he turned to the mousewives, who were busy shelling peas.
‘No cooks.’
‘He’s trying to tell us there’s no rooks,’ Cornflower explained to Mrs Churchmouse.
‘Oh, I thought he was referring to Mr Spike when he said “no cooks”. He’s no cook at all.’
‘Indeed he isn’t. Hotroot pepper in the scones! I could have drunk the Abbey pond dry that night. Though our Rollo might have a point. I haven’t noticed any birds out there, yesterday or today. They may be up to something. Do you think it’s worth telling the Abbot or Constance?’
Mrs Churchmouse rolled a small garden pea over for Rollo to play with. ‘No, I shouldn’t worry. Ironbeak knows he can’t get us out of Cavern Hole. It would make him look bad in front of his birds if he failed in another attempt. I think they’re doing the same as us; waiting it out. This weather’s too hot to do anything. They’re probably idling about in the dormitory, eating and sleeping.’
Mattimeo (Redwall) Page 35