Eulalia! (11 page)

Maudie muttered under her breath, “I blinkin' well hope not!”

The owl craned his head forward. “Wot did thee say?”

Maudie smiled. “I said, save it for tomorrow, wot!” She watched the little shrewmaids dancing as Dinger and his friends sang the melody.

Two elders continued the air with flute and drum, whilst the singers joined the maids, each taking a partner and twirling gracefully off around the lakeshore. Luglug nudged Maudie, whispering quietly, “Ole Asio's fallen asleep, now ye won't 'ave the pleasure of 'earing him sing.”

The haremaid whispered back, “I've already heard him sing, an' it wasn't any bally pleasure!”

Luglug chuckled. “Aye, so have I, an' I'd much sooner put up with his snores than his singin', thank ye!”

Gradually the usual Guosim hubbub died down, the dancing ended, and the musicians ceased playing. Round the fire, and the lakeshore, Luglug's tribe lay down for their much needed rest. There was no need of coverlets, it was a warm, windless night. Maudie stretched out on the moss, imagining what Redwall Abbey would look like, as she fell into a slumber. Soon the only sound in the woodland depths was the gentle snoring of Guosim shrews, and the odd crackle as the campfire died into embers.

 

It was in the gray gloom which precedes dawn, when everybeast was wakened by the piercing wail of a shrewmum.

“Waaaaah! Where's my liddle Dupper?”

Maudie knocked Asio sideways as she sprang up. She joined Luglug, and several others, who were running to the lakeside. The Guosim mother was scurrying about distractedly, waving her paws.

“Dupper, where's my baby? Waaaah 'e's gone!”

The haremaid took charge of the situation. Grabbing the shrewmum by her flowery apron, she halted her, calling sternly, “Please be still, marm, you'll mess up all the tracks. Now, when did y'last see Dupper, wot?”

Guosim scouts spread out into the surrounding trees, as the mother explained tearfully. “I 'ad Dupper in me paws last night, when I went t'sleep. Oh, where's the pore liddle tyke got to?”

The gruff voice of a Guosim scout came from the north corner of Bulrush Bower. “Over 'ere, mates!”

Maudie bounded to the spot, ahead of everybeast. She could tell, by the horrified look on the scout's face, and the ominous drag trail of tracks, what the shrew was going to say.

“The liddle 'un's been taken by a snake!”

The word struck terror into the Guosim, just the word snake sent them into a gibbering panic. It was Asio who got order, with a deafening hoot. “Whooooohooooo!”

Maudie could see by the state of the shrews that they would not be of any use to her. She nodded to the owl. “Right, quick's the word an' sharp's the action, laddie buck, we've got t'get that babe back, and jolly well soon!”

Luglug countered grimly. “Not much chance, miz, once a snake's got ye, that's that!”

The haremaid grabbed the rapier from Luglug's belt, and thrust it into his paw, whispering to him, “Bad form, sah, wot? You're supposed t'be a blinkin' chieftain among shrews. Look at the example you're settin' 'em. A little baby'll die if ye don't do anythin' about it. Now c'mon, stiff upper snout, wot!”

Luglug gritted his teeth. “Yore right, Miz Maudie, let's get after that evil worm right now!”

The owl, the haremaid and the shrew chieftain sped off into the still darkened woodland depths.

Bludgullet
was now sailing through the Mossflower woodlands, away from its normal habitat of the open sea. It was a novelty to the vermin crew, sunlight and shade, the absence of wind and tranquil, waveless waters. The only bar to their pleasure was that the ship had to be poled upriver. Without the aid of sail, and with the current, however gentle, running against them, they were forced to propel their vessel to its destination.

Vizka Longtooth kept to his cabin, leaving Codj and a stoat named Bilger in charge of the crew. The pair patrolled up and down the ranks of vermin crewbeasts, who were sweating at their long paddles, punting the ship along. Codj flicked a knotted rope's end about idly, he was secretly scared to use it. Some of the crew were vicious, bad-tempered beasts, who would not take kindly to being whipped. It was slow progress, and the crew soon became disenchanted with the rustic surroundings. They began complaining aloud.

“Yowch, I'm bein' eaten alive by h'insecks!”

“They ain't h'insecks, they're midges.”

“Huh, they might be midgets, but they got giant teeth!”

“Ain't there no cool water t'be 'ad aboard dis tub?”

“Aye, an' we ain't stopped once fer vittles, I'm 'ungry!”

“I'm gittin' splinters offen dese paddles.”

“Yew ain't gittin' splinters offen der paddles, dat's wid scratchin' yore 'ead, mate!”

Codj sniggered openly at his clever remark. The recipient of it, a hulking, boulder-headed weasel, snarled at him.

“D'yer think yore funny, Codj Stumple? 'ow would yer like me t'bust dis paddle o'er yer stumpy be'ind?”

Codj was nettled by the remark about his lack of tail, but he did not fancy his chances against the big weasel. Pretending he had not heard the insult, Codj stalked off to his brother's cabin.

Vizka was rocking in a hammock, sipping grog. He eyed Codj irritably. “Worrizit now, annuder mutiny on our paws?”

The smaller fox fidgeted with the strands of his rope end. “It's dat lot out dere, nothin' but moan moan, alla time. Wot am I s'posed ter do? Yore der cap'n.”

The golden fox heaved himself from the hammock, and peered out the open door at the sky. “It's gettin' on fer eventide, tell 'em t'down paddles an' rest fer the night. Anythin' else ter report?”

Codj shuffled his footpaws awkwardly. “Ain't much drinkin' water left.”

Vizka lashed out, cuffing his younger brother's ear. “Well, don't tell me, thick'ead, lower der barrels inta der river. Dis is fresh water we're sailin' in, or didn't dat thought seep into yer brain?”

Codj tried to leave the cabin quickly, but Vizka caught him tight, by his tail stub.

“Next ye'll be tellin' me we're low on vittles. Organise a shore party, an' gerrinta dat forest out dere. Huh, d'place must be fulla fruits'n'roots, birds, an' eggs, an' all kinds'a vittles. Do I have ter tell ya everyt'ink, eh?”

Codj tried to justify himself. “But warrabout der stripe'ound, who's gonna watch 'im?”

The golden fox shoved his brother contemptuously out through the cabin door. “Don't talk stupid, dat ole Rock'ead ain't goin' nowheres, wid an iron chain holdin' 'im t'the mast. Der stripe'ound'll be dead inna few days. I wuz watchin' 'im dis mornen, 'e ain't gotten long ter go now.”

 

Gorath lay slumped alongside the mast, largely forgotten amid the new surroundings. The huge scab on his forehead protruded even further, his matted fur clung to his bones, like an ill-fitting garment. The young badger looked for all the world like a beast close to death. However, behind his closed eyelids, a fierce glimmer remained in his eyes. Deep inside Gorath, the will to live, and the desire to avenge his kinbeasts' deaths, burned like an unwavering flame. He did not fear death, his only concern was that he might die leaving his enemies alive.

 

In the early evening, Codj, heading a party of six, which he had paw picked, managing to omit the big, tough, mean crewbeasts, were foraging in the woodlands. It soon became painfully obvious that Sea Raiders were totally ignorant of woodland produce. Codj was bombarded with enquiries from the vermin of his party, about matters which were a mystery to him.

“Ahoy, Codj, didyer reckin dis is a vittle, it's some sorta juicy, green, rooty thing?”

Codj shrugged. “I dunno, take a bite an' try it.”

“Yuuurrkk! Tastes 'orrible, all sour'n'bitter!”

The questions began to rile Codj.

“Where's all der red, rosy apples round 'ere, Codj?”

“Aye, an' where's all der trees wot dose strawberries grows on, eh?”

“Dere should be loads of stuff 'angin' from dese trees, dis is supposed ter be a forest, ain't it?”

“I likes soup, where does der stuff grow wot ye makes soup out of, dat's wot I'd like ter know?”

Codj brushed away a wasp that was trying to land on his muzzle. “Aye an' I'd like ter know, too!”

A skinny rat called Firty cupped a paw to his ear. “Wot's dat?”

Codj looked around, walked into a beech trunk and roared at Firty, “Wot's wot? Take no notice if it ain't sumthin' yer can eat. Now shurrup!”

But Firty had definitely heard something. “It's somebeast yellin' out…. Listen!”

Orkwil Prink was the most weary and miserable of creatures, having spent half the night and a full day trapped in a marshy swamp. He had wakened from his sleep in the fern bed when foul-tasting, brackish water leaked into his mouth. The danger of his plight dawned upon the young hedgehog rapidly. During the night, he had wandered into the fern grove, thinking it a reasonably safe place to snatch a few hours' sleep, only to find he had walked straight into a swamp. It was the ferns that had buoyed him up long enough to fall asleep. Then they had collapsed under his weight, he was sinking!

Orkwil managed to grasp onto nearby fern stems, and haul his head free of the mess. He held on tightly, gasping for breath, and spitting out swamp water. Inevitably, he felt himself sinking again. Heaving upward, Orkwil managed to raise his body slightly. Furiously he began scrabbling about, hoping to find firm ground, but his efforts were all in vain. The weight of the miry sludge clogged around the young hedgehog's spines, dragging him down again. He had no idea of where solid ground lay, it was difficult to see anything in the darkness of night.

Salvation came in the form of a branch; it scratched his snout as he floundered about. Orkwil grabbed the limb, pulling it downward until he could hang on properly. It was an alder tree that had saved his life.

Now Orkwil Prink was suspended in a sort of limbo, half in and half out of the swamp, unable to go anywhere. He hung there, calling out at intervals. “Help! Somebeast save me! Help!” But no help came. Dawn broke slowly, to find him still hanging on to the alder, his voice down to a croak, and his paws numb with fatigue. Now he could see the rest of the tree. Orkwil figured that the alder trunk was rooted to the edge of the swamp, but he had no chance of reaching it. Long hours had taken their toll, now he had only the energy left to cling on for dear life. He wept bitterly as he pictured his inevitable end.

How deep was a swamp, did it reach the earth's core? No search party would ever find his poor young body. His voice was down to a hoarse whimper, he tried it. “Help, oh heeeeelp.” It trailed off miserably.

As the morning wore on, Orkwil somehow contrived to wriggle his paws until they became entwined in the alder twigs. Now he did not have to hang on, he merely hung there bemoaning his fate, and composing his own eulogy, revelling in his own misery.

As the hot, noontide sun beat down on the swamp, Orkwil ceased his blubbering and fell asleep out of sheer weariness. In the early evening he was wakened by a cloud of winged insects trying to sample his head. Unable to stop them, Orkwil yowled piteously. “Yah, gerroff me, you horrible villains! Can't ye leave a pore young creature to perish in peace? How would you like it, stuck in a swamp with midges gnawin' at yore snout, an' buzzin' down yore ears!”

A short distance away in the woodlands, Codj and his party heard Orkwil's protests. The stump-tailed fox drew his sword, pointing with it. “I t'ink it's comin' from over dere.”

The little rat, Firty, grinned smugly. “See, I tole ya sum-beast was shoutin'.”

Codj liked bullying anybeast smaller than himself. He rapped Firty's paw with the flat of his blade. “Seein' as yew 'eard it first, yew kin go in front, go on smart mouth, lead on!”

Firty ventured forth gingerly, registering his protest. “If 'twas Cap'n Vizka, 'e'd go first, I betcha!”

Codj pricked his tail with the sword. “Well, I ain't Cap'n Vizka, so move yerself, or I'll chop yer tail off!”

“Then Firty'd be a stumple like yew, haha!”

Codj wheeled on the party, who were shuffling behind him. “Who said dat?” He eyed the five blank-faced vermin sternly. “Cummon, own up, who's insultin' me be'ind me back, eh?” All five stayed silent, Codj waved his sword at them. “If'n somebeast don't talk soon, I'll make yez sorry. Now speak up, buckoes, who said it, eh?”

The standoff was broken by Firty's squeal.

Codj turned to see him standing at the edge of the ferns. “Worra yew skrikin' like an ole ratwife for?”

The small rat showed his muddy footpaws. “I ain't goin' in dere, it's all squelchy!”

One of the party, an old stoat, called out, “Wotjer mean, squelchy?”

Firty jabbed his paw furiously at the fern bed. “I mean squelchy enuff to sink ye down over yore ears!”

Orkwil's impassioned plea was loud and clear now. “Oh take pity on me, kind sirs, help me, I beg ye!”

Jungo, a fat weasel, who possessed a single tooth, giggled. “Huhurrhurr! Sumone t'inks we're kind sirs, dat's nice!”

Codj silenced him with a glare, then issued orders. “Spread out, but don't go fallin' in de squelch. See who's makin' all dat noise!”

It was Jungo who found Orkwil. “It's an 'edgepig, 'e's stuck inna squelch, I kin see 'im. Over 'ere, mates. Huhuhurrr! A likkle 'edgepig!”

Codj was first to locate the spot where Jungo was calling from, he glared to and fro irately. “Where in de name o' blazes are ye?”

Orkwil's voice rang out hopefully. “I'm here, sir, in the swamp!”

Codj slashed angrily at the ferns with his sword.

“I'm not talkin to yew! Jungo, where are ye, oaf'ead?”

The slow-witted weasel's voice came from over Codj's head. “Hurrhurr, I'm up in dis big tree, I kin see de 'edgepig!”

The rest of the foraging party arrived at the alder. Codj beckoned upward with his blade.

“Gerrup dere, yew lot, an' don't come down wirrout dat 'edgepig, de cap'n'll wanna werd wid 'im!”

All of the Sea Raiders were skillful climbers. A solid tree was easier to scale than masts, spars and rigging on the open main. It did not take them long to lasso Orkwil with a length of rope. They heaved together, and he shot out of the ooze with a gurgle and a plop. The vermin swung him back and forth on the rope, releasing it when Orkwil was close to the alder trunk. He landed with a muddy squish, right next to Codj, who leapt aside, snarling, “Watch where yer splash dat squelch!”

The young hedgehog began unfastening the rope, which was noosed about his middle. “I'm sorry, sir, didn't mean to splash you. My name's Orkwil Prink, I've been stuck in that confounded swamp since last night. Thanks to you and your friends I'm safe now. Phew! I couldn't have lasted much longer in there, I can tell ye!”

The fox's footpaw stamped down on Orkwil's stomach, knocking the wind from him, and stopping him from untying the rope. Codj put his swordpoint to Orkwil's throat. “Gabby liddle 'edgepig, ain't yer? So then, Orful Stink, where do ya comes from, eh?”

The other vermin had descended from the tree, they laughed at Codj's little joke. It took Jungo a moment to catch on, then he guffawed appreciatively. “Huhurrhurrhurr! Orful Stink, dat's a good 'un!”