The Bellmaker

by Brian Jacques

  The mousebabe was quicker than anybeast. He scurried forward and picked up the object. ‘Furrtil, lookit, our badger cup wot we winned!’

  ‘Take it an’ live long in peace!’

  Every eye turned upward to the east walltop. Blaggut stood there looking unhappily down at where the badger lay buried. Oak Tom’s paw flew to his dagger and he moved towards the wall. Saxtus called out to Tarquin, ‘Stop him, I will not have that creature slain!’

  Tarquin intercepted Oak Tom as he began climbing. ‘Steady on old lad, I know how y’feel, but the Father Abbot must be obeyed, wot? Let’s hear what he has to say.’

  Blaggut walked around the ramparts and descended by the south wallsteps, stopping on the final stair. His voice was raw and husky with sorrowing.

  ‘I killed me own Cap’n this morn. Yore badger was a good creature, ’e did wrong to slay ’er. I would’ve stopped ’im but it all ’appened so quick. Any’ow, I brought back the cup fer the liddle uns an’ that’s that, you kin kill me now.’

  Saxtus took the dagger from Oak Tom and stowed it in his wide habit sleeve, then he turned to the mousebabe. ‘You saw what happened. I leave it to you, does he deserve to die, or would you let him live?’

  There was a moment’s silence. Every Redwaller looked on anxiously as the mousebabe trundled over to the wallsteps and took Blaggut’s paw in his.

  ‘Mister Blackguts is good, norra killer, he makes boats.’

  Furrtil joined him, latching herself on to the searat’s other paw trustingly. ‘Hurr, that be roight, ee’m a gennelbeast, oi loikes ’im.’

  Saxtus spread his paws wide. ‘There you have it friends, from the mouths of Dibbuns. A little un can sometimes see things in others that us older ones cannot because our judgement gets clouded.’

  Simeon retrieved the dagger from Saxtus and gave it back to Oak Tom. ‘Well, do you still wish to slay him, Tom?’

  The big squirrel sheathed his blade. ‘No, I acted in haste out of my grief for Mellus. This Blaggut is no killer, if he was he’d still be running. But he returned, after he slew the guilty one. I can see that he is still confused about it, aren’t you, Blaggut?’

  The searat sat down upon the steps, ruffling the Dibbuns’ heads absent-mindedly. ‘We lied when we told you we was travellers, we was searats, always ’ave been. Tho’ I never ’eard tell of a searat who killed his Cap’n. I did, but I was drove to it. Cap’n Slipp was a bad un, he’d ‘a killed more if he lived.’

  Oak Tom sat on the steps next to him. ‘You did right, Blaggut, it was only justice long overdue. Good will always defeat evil, and there is good in you.’

  Tarquin L. Woodsorrel had been waiting to speak up. ‘Hmm, you’ll ’scuse me askin’, old chap, but what’ll you do now, I mean where’ll you go?’

  Furrtil looked pleadingly at the Abbot. ‘Ho say ee’m can stay yurr zurr, oi’ll mind ’im.’

  Blaggut smiled for the first time since the previous night. ‘Bless yer ’eart, liddle matey, but you’ll ’ave enuff t’do mindin’ yerself an’ growin’ up pretty. I’d like to stay at yore h’Abbey, but I don’t think I can after wot ’appened. One thing’s sure, I ain’t a searat no more. There’s a snug cove by the sea, close to where I come ashore. It was an ’andsome place as I recalls, fresh water, vittles a growin’ out o’ the floor, and the sea close by. That’s where ole Blaggut’s bound for, I could live there.’

  Saxtus respected the searat’s decision, though he felt bound to enquire, ‘What will you do there?’

  Blaggut stood up, lifting his chin proudly. ‘I’ll build boats, Father, I’m good at boatbuildin’, tho’ tis a skill I never knew I ’ad til I came ’ere. I’m a good boatbuilder, ain’t I, messmates?’

  The mousebabe and Furrtil chorused together, ‘Blackguts makes the best boats!’

  By late afternoon Blaggut was ready to set out, laden with provisions and tools donated by kind Redwallers. Saxtus had detailed a small party, headed by Oak Tom and Tarquin, to go with him. They would help him to build a dwelling at his chosen place. The searat stood by Mellus’s grave and shuffled awkwardly.

  ‘G’bye marm, sorry about yore trouble. I’ll try to be as good an’ ’elpful to others as you was, I promises.’

  Furrtil and the mousebabe began weeping inconsolably at their friend’s departure. Blaggut pressed a pawful of candied chestnuts on them, saying, ‘Ho, stop blubberin’, mates, you’ll ’ave me at it again. You can come an’ visit with me next summer if yer good an’ stop that cryin’. Lissen now, there’s the Joseph Bell, it’s teatime, ’urry along or y’ll be late!’

  He stood watching them until they disappeared into the Abbey. Wiping away a tear, the former bosun of Pearl Queen hitched up the pack on his back and set off.

  ‘Come on, Mr Tarquin, I promise you I won’t make no skilly an’ duff fer supper. Me’n you will build the fire, an’ may’ap Mr Tom’ll do the cookin’.’

  They set off up the path with Tarquin muttering darkly, ‘Oak Tom as cook, hmph! I should say not, the blighter’d prob’ly have us eatin’ treebark an’ drinkin’ water. Now Brother Mallen, there’s a useful mouse, good cook too. Hi, Mallen old chum, c’mere, I want a word with you!’

  The shadows lengthened as they left the dusty path and cut off into Mossflower Wood.

  33

  THE URGAN NAGRU buckled a belt over his wolfhide to hold both sword and dagger and strode purposefully to where two-thirds of his horde awaited him in an inner courtyard. Grey rats in serried ranks held aloft banners, spears, lances and pikes. They stood silent in the calm that comes before storm, every eye upon their Lord as he positioned himself at their head. Drawing his sword, Foxwolf gave a bloodcurdling yell and charged out of Castle Floret.

  ‘Owoooooh!’

  The drawbridge shook to the pounding paws of the grey tide; they thundered out down the plateau steps, their barbaric war cry ringing into Southsward.

  ‘Urgan Nagruuuuuu! Kiiiiiillll!’

  Mariel watched from the gatehouse window. As soon as the last horderat was clear of the castle she rapped out an order to her two silent helpers.

  ‘Up drawbridge!’

  Muta and Rab had the huge timbered structure slammed shut seconds after the mousemaid had given her order. Mariel stood watching through a slit in the wrecked table which shielded the window, smiling with grim satisfaction.

  ‘Foxwolf is locked out of Floret!’

  Muta moved anxiously from side to side, nostrils twitching, eyes wide. Mariel grabbed the big badger’s paw, saying, ‘Muta, what is it?’

  Rab dived – throwing himself at them he knocked both to one side as a smoking mass of debris crashed through the barricade. It was swiftly followed by two barrels, both alight and packed with wet straw. Smoke billowed thickly around the confines of the room, as more bales of damp green branches bounced down the stairs into the gatehouse. Coughing and spluttering, Mariel made it to the window, and pushed aside the table that covered it. A hail of arrows whined in. The mousemaid threw herself flat upon the floor, her mind racing. The barrels would not go through the window, they were too large, and now the window was no longer shielded by the table. It was time to leave the gatehouse.

  ‘Muta, Rab,’ she shouted, ‘We must get out of here, but first the handles of the winding drum have to be broken, so that the drawbridge stays up. Can you do it?’

  Coughing and gasping for breath, their eyes red and watery, the three friends felt about in the dense smoky gloom. Muta gave a strangled grunt as her formidable paws fell upon the handles. With strength born of desperation the badger threw herself upon the mechanism. Mere wooden handles were no match for her fury – they cracked and splintered momentarily before snapping clean off. Now the drawbridge was shut and locked. Gasping for air, Muta rushed out on to the stairs, still holding the broken handles in her paws. Rab materialized out of the smoke to join her. Wiping their eyes, both creatures looked at one another.

  Mariel had not made it out of the gatehouse!

  Under Egbert’s
instructions none of the creatures on the valley floor stayed together. When Iris gave the word they scattered widespread, each one tacking and dodging as they made for the cover of the wooded hills surrounding the valley. Once they were under cover of trees and clear of arrow range, everybeast made for the gathering place, a thicket on the north side, behind the castle. Egbert met them there.

  Meldrum was last to arrive. He plucked an arrowhead from his tunic epaulette, saying, ‘Huh, if I’d been a hareslength backward in comin’ forward that blighter would have ruined me tunic. Good job it’s not the dress one. Right, Educated Egbert, where to now?’

  The mole glanced severely over his spectacles at Meldrum. ‘Let us strike a bargain. Do not refer to me as Educated Egbert and I will not call you Hollow-Headed Hare. Agreed?’

  Field Marshal Meldrum Fallowthorn the Magnificent sniffed. ‘As y’wish sah. Hmm, touchier than most moles this lad, wot?’

  Egbert pushed aside the shrubbery of bush and plant to reveal the cave at the north side of the plateau base. Dandin whistled softly. ‘A secret entrance to the castle, wonderful! Lead on friend.’

  The mole removed his glasses and polished them busily. ‘I’d rather not, thank you. I think it would be propitious if I stayed in this area, to show others the way in. You must realize that Floret is still full of rats under the vixen’s command. As I do not profess to be a warrior there would be little use for me to accompany you. I am sure you understand.’

  Meldrum raised his eyebrows at Iris. ‘Propitious, wot? The fellers a walkin’ wordsmith!’

  ‘Righto, that’s fine with me friend,’ said Dandin, watching Egbert nervously polishing his glasses. ‘But how do we get up into the castle, is there a secret way?’

  Relieved to be out of the action, Egbert smiled. ‘There are many secret ways. Follow any of the tunnels and you are bound to come out in some part of Castle Floret.’

  Dandin unsheathed his long dagger. ‘That’s good enough for me, let’s go!’

  Heading a band of horderats, Silvamord waited in the corridor that led to the gatehouse stairs. She fanned smoke from her nostrils as Mingol lit another barrel of wet straw.

  ‘Send it down to the gatehouse, Mingol. They must be well choked in there by now, but it’s best to be certain.’

  Mingol kicked the barrel and it rolled off down the corridor. Bouncing down three small steps, it hit the wall and vanished from view as it trundled off down the gatehouse steps. Silvamord ran her tongue delicately along the edge of a vicious looking curved sword.

  ‘I hope at least one of them staggers out still alive!’

  Muta was very much alive. She came thundering into the corridor carrying the burning barrel and hurled it straight at Silvamord and her rats. They leapt aside with cries of horror as the barrel smashed to staves and the mighty badger came at them, smoke pouring from her fur.

  Rab had been into the gatehouse and rescued Mariel. Carrying her across his brawny shoulders, the otter made it to the portion of the corridor on the far side of the stairs. Depositing the gasping mousemaid gently on the floor beside a window, Rab left her there to recover. Then, sword in paw; he launched himself into the attack.

  The corridor was a mêlée of smoke and noise. Silvamord had got over her initial shock, and now she urged her rats on in front of her, staying well distanced from the two creatures she feared most.

  ‘Rush them!’ she screamed. ‘Hack them to bits, they’re well outnumbered!’

  Rab and Muta were separated – both had their backs to opposite walls. The otter fought with berserk fury, his blade flickering as it sought, thrust and parried. Muta had a winding handle and a barrel stave as weapons, and any rat who came in range was smashed flat by a swinging blow from either one. The badger fought with the strength of ten.

  Through the smoke and chaos Silvamord could see that the pair would not last. She dropped to the back of the pack, striking out with the flat of her swordblade as she urged the horderats on. ‘Keep at them, we’ve got them, press in on them!’

  Mariel stuck her head out of the window and gulped down clean fresh air. She rested a moment, regaining her balance. A sound of running caused her to pull her head in and look down the corridor. Reinforcements under the command of Grutch were coming to help Silvamord from the opposite direction. Galvanized into action, the mousemaid unlooped the knotted rope from around her body.

  Thwack! Whock!

  The first two rats fell to her Gullwhacker as Mariel whirled it in the teeth of the oncoming foe.

  ‘Redwaaaaallll!’

  Faced with overwhelming odds, the mousemaid’s warrior spirit rose; the hard, knotted rope end was everywhere like a blur. Foerats tripped over their fallen comrades as they tried to get at her. Teeth flew, heads cracked and limbs splintered as Mariel of Redwall made her stand.

  The smoke was beginning to clear under the trampling paws of horderats. Silvamord could see that the hard-pressed trio had only moments to survive under the numbers that assailed them. Waving her sword she pressed forward, crying, ‘Don’t stop, get in there, kill them!’

  Dandin emerged from behind a wall tapestry to find himself in a broad passage, broken at intervals by short flights of steps. Iris and Meldrum held the tapestry aside as the rest of the otters came out of the secret tunnel. Dandin suddenly held up a paw for silence. Echoing along the stone hallway came a faint cry.

  ‘Redwaaaaalll!’

  Breaking into a headlong dash he tore off, shouting, ‘This way, it’s Mariel! Redwaaaaaaalllll!’

  Taking up the Abbey warcry the small force followed him at a flat-out run.

  The rear followers of Grutch’s command were hit hard and fast by the charge. Dandin came vaulting in on a spear, flattening a rat as he took up position alongside Mariel. Swinging the Gullwhacker full in a rat’s face she yelled at Dandin over the noise of combat, ‘Get help to Muta and Rab. Quickly!’

  But there was little need for the mousemaid’s plea. Iris tore past them, wreaking havoc with a broken javelin as she screamed with joy.

  ‘Rab! Rab Streambattle! It’s me, Iris!’

  Suddenly, Rab’s swordblade was revolving like a windmill in a gale as he fought his way towards her, the words ripping unbidden from his throat.

  ‘Iris! Iris!’

  Meldrum battered his way with a pike until he was at Muta’s side. The old campaigner winked at her. ‘Right, here we go, back to back now, bet I wipe out more vermin than you do, marm, wot?’

  The big badger took up the challenge with a grunt. Placing her back flat against the hare’s, she moved with him. They were unassailable, a complete fighting machine.

  Silvamord saw the tide turning against her. She was puzzled as to how the intruders came to be inside Floret, but not unduly worried. There were still lots more horderats at her disposal. Slipping away from the rear of her contingent she hurried up to the battlements, where most of her force were stationed to sweep the valley floor with their bows.

  ‘Sicant, Hooktail, get every rat here down to the gatehouse corridor. Follow me!’

  Muta, Rab and Mariel were safe among the otters. They regrouped in the corridor. The horderats milled about on the other side further up, uncertain of what to do without somebeast to lead them. Rab Streambattle soon made up their minds for them. Exercising his new-found voice he led what remained of the small rescue force against the foebeast.

  ‘Chaaaarge!’

  The rats took one look at the howling warriors leaping over battle debris and fallen bodies, and panic set in. They broke and ran off in retreat.

  Eyes blazing, weapons swinging, the avengers came after them, with Mariel, Dandin, Rab, Iris, Meldrum and Muta in the lead.

  34

  URGAN NAGRU STOOD on the wooded hillside, sword and dagger drawn. His chest heaved with exertion as he gazed around at the silent trees. ‘I’ll find them, they’ve got to be here somewhere!’

  A rat Captain named Bladetail slashed the undergrowth with his spear. ‘The way they were running, Sire,
I’d bet they’re right out of Southsward heading north now.’

  ‘They can run to the gates of dark ice, I’ll still find them and put an end to it all.’ Nagru began walking uphill resolutely. ‘I never left an enemy alone in my life until victory was mine. Deadbeasts never come back to fight again, remember that, Bladetail!’

  The rat Captain recalled Muta and Rab, but held his silence. Nagru was in a killing mood. All along the hillsides horderats began moving upward with their leader. Nagru pointed his dagger at one rat. ‘Viglim, scout ahead, get up on top and see if you can pick up their trail. Look sharp!’

  Viglim saluted and dashed off ahead. Two horderats toiling side by side climbed upward; they watched Viglim reach the top and then he was lost to sight.

  One of the rats slowed to regain his breath. ‘I think we’re chasin’ shadows, they’re long gone.’

  His companion pushed on, replying as he went, ‘That’ll suit me, anythin’ fer an easy life, mate. Though we’ve got to wait until Nagru gets tired of the chase.’

  Nagru was nearly at the top, when a scream caused him to look upward. This was followed by a noise like a thousand dull drums. Viglim came toppling back downhill, a small circular object rolling behind him. Letting the body of Viglim roll past him, the Foxwolf trapped the circular object with his footpaw. He picked it up, inspected it and passed it to Bladetail, saying, ‘What do you make of this?’

  ‘Sire, it looks like an old stale oatcake, though it’s too hard for that. Maybe it’s some kind of rock. What’s that noise up above?’

  Nagru quickened his pace. ‘We’ll soon find out, let’s take a look.’

  The Foxwolf was first to breast the hilltop. The drumming noise was the ground thrumming to legions of paws. Bearing down on him like a tornado came Bowly Pintips at the head of an army of otters, mice, moles, hedgehogs and squirrels. As they ran, a mighty cry arose from the battle host.