[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (18 page)

Skipper set his jaw grimly. “Vermin are vermin, no matter which way ye look at 'em!”

However, the Abbess was not one to back down on her principles. “Be that as it may, Skipper Banjon, I will not have them slain. They're nought but a few scruffy young water rats. I don't consider them to be a threat to our Abbey, or a danger to us, in their present position. As Mother Abbess of Redwall, I forbid the slaughter of those vermin!”

The Abbess blenched with fright as Skipper grabbed her roughly and pulled her to one side. It was a swift and timely act. The curved scythe blade, with its attached rope, came looping over the walltop. It would have struck Lycian had it not been for Banjon's intervention. The rope was jerked tight from below, leaving the blade lodged firmly around the angle of a battlement.

Skipper kept his voice calm and level. “Well, marm, what do we do now?”

Loud, hoarse whispers could be heard from the rat gang as they urged their comrade on.

“Gudd t'row mate, up yer go!”

“Aye, get dat big gate h'opened, let's see wot dey got in der!”

“Yeeheehee! An if'n der cook don't cook gudd pies, we'll roast 'im in 'is own h'oven!”

It was the first time any Redwaller had ever seen their Abbess bare her teeth and growl fiercely. “Kindly leave this to me, please!”

As Threetooth's villainous head appeared over the walltop, Lycian was waiting for him. She dealt him a mighty blow with the teapot, which was still half full of hot tea. It made a peculiar sound.
Punngggg!
The water rat fell backward with a shocked gurgle, plummeting down onto the rats below.

Flinging the teapot at them, Lycian yelled out in a most un-Abbesslike manner, “Give 'em blood'n'vinegar! Redwaaaaaalllll!”

Skipper chortled, but the smile was quickly wiped from his face as Lycian turned to confront him. “Roast the cook in his own oven, eh? Skipper Banjon, my order against killing still stands. But you have my permission to take a party down there, armed with heavy sticks. Give those vermin the beating of their lives and send them packing!”

By this time, everybeast was leaning over the walltop to view the effect of their Abbess upon the would-be raiders.

Molemum Burbee shook her head gravely. “Ee woan't catcher yon vurmints naow, Skip, they'm taken h'off loik arrers. Burr, an' moi gurt teapot with 'em!”

Banjon watched the rat gang scurrying off up the ditchbed until they were swallowed up in the darkness. “Good grief, marm, you certainly fixed 'em up right'n'proper. Those vermin are drenched with 'ot tea an' spittin' tea leaves. Hah, I fear that's the last ye've seen o' that best teapot. I could swear it was stuck on one rat's 'ead!”

Now that the excitement was over, Lycian collapsed into her little folding chair and gulped down what tea was left in her mug. She seemed totally overcome. “Oh dear, I can't believe I did that! Look, Burbee, my paws are all a-tremble, I'm shaking like a leaf!”

The molemum had almost a full mug of tea, which she kindly donated to her friend. “Ho, you'm a gurt terror, marm, an' no mistake. But oi wish't you'm hadden't given ee best teapot to yon villyuns. Hurr, 'twas far too noice furr ee loikes o' they'm!”

Grudd Foremole tugged his snout politely. “Off to ee beds naow, marms. Brink'n'Skipper, too, off ee go, zurrs. Me'n moi crew'll stan' guard up yurr 'til ee mornen loight. Us'll give'em owd 'arry if'n ee ratters cooms back yurr agin furr more!”

 

Panicked, dispirited and chastened, the rat gang did not stop running until they were well into Mossflower Woodlands. Slumped on a streambank, they panted for breath, nursing hot water scalds and spitting tea leaves.

Rashback moaned as he slopped cooling mud on his afflicted back. “Aaaaargh, wot was dat dey t'rowed over us?”

Fleddy had missed most of it. He licked a paw where a bit of the liquid had splattered. “Dunno worrit was, but it don't tastes bad t'me.”

Obbler sniffed at his companion's paws. “Smells nice, too, not like dat swamp we felled in. Hawhawhaw! Lookit ole Plug, 'e's wearin' a new 'elmet!”

Plugtail, who had been lagging behind, tottered in to join the gang. The teapot was jammed on his head at a rakish angle, the spout covering one ear and the handle sticking out above the other. The rim covered his right eye, so he could only see with the left. Showing not a vestige of sympathy for his plight, the gang laughed at his woeful pleadings as he staggered about.

“Will youse stop laughin' an' get dis t'ing off me 'ead?”

Bonggg!
Plugtail walked sideways into a tree trunk and tripped over Groffgut's paws. The gang leader, who was sitting with his back to the trunk, dealt him a hefty kick, snarling, “Gerritoff yerself, thick'ead! Can't yer see I'm wounded?”

Frogeye, probing at a loose tooth he had suffered in the melee, stared over at Groffgut. “Where are yer wounded, Chief?”

Groffgut returned his stare sourly. “None of yer bizness, squinty lamp!”

Still seated with his back to the tree, the gang leader muttered savagely, “By the 'ellgates an' bluddtubs, I'll make dose Wallred crowd sorry dey ever messed wid me, jus' yew wait'n'see!”

Threetooth, who had now lost every tooth he possessed, winced as he felt the enormous lump between his ears. “It wuz a mistake tryna take a place dat size. I ain't goin' back der no more!”

Groffgut sprang up, waving the rusty scythe blade. He chased Threetooth along the streambank. “Yew'll go where I tell yer to, or I'll flay yer mangy 'ide. Get back 'ere right now!”

Hoots and guffaws greeted the rearview of Groffgut as he ran after Threetooth.

“Hawhawhaw! Lookit, 'e ain't got no tail!”

“Haharrharr! Wot 'appened t'yer ole wagger, Chief? Did yer leave it be'ind?”

“Thunderin' tripes! I bet dat 'urted, 'e's got even lesser'n ole Plugtail now!”

Groffgut left off chasing Threetooth. Standing with his back to some bushes, he glared hot anger at the scoffers. “One more snigger, go on, jus' one more laugh from any of yer. Anybeast who t'inks it's funny, say so, right now, go on!”

The gang fell silent and went back to tending their own hurts. When the teapot landed on Plugtail's head, he had dashed about madly, trying to get it off. The rope and scythe blade that followed it got tangled about one of his footpaws. Unfortunately, Groffgut got in the way, and the swinging blade slammed into his backside, severing his tail right at the root. The humiliation of a gang leader losing his tail far outdid any pain he felt from the wound. Groffgut knew he had to restore his position with the others. He put on his darkest, most vengeful scowl, grinding out every word savagely.

“I lost me tail in battle, der ain't no shame in dat, see! But I swear a blood oath afore ye right now, afore dis season's out, I'll be wearin' a cloak made outta the tails o' them as did this t'me. Aye, an' a necklace of their eyeballs!”

None of the gang dared to say a word. They knew he was in deadly earnest.

 

Unaware of the drama that had taken place on the walls, Tiria slept soundly, transported to the realm of dreams. She was in a room, a huge rock chamber. Cool breezes soothed her brow, yet she could feel radiating warmth upon her back. She felt no curiosity as to her surroundings, nor any compulsion to turn and look at the room. It was the view of the nighttime sea that fascinated her. She was standing at a broad, unshuttered window, staring fixedly at a spot on the moonlit waters, somewhere twixt tideline and horizon. Tiria knew that she was in a high place, far above shore level. Without looking, she knew that Martin the Warrior was standing beside her. His strong voice echoed through her mind.

“Maid of the Wildlough, hearken to what the High Queen Rhulain will say to you. Remember her words, for your very life will depend on it.”

He pointed with his sword to the place in the sea where Tiria was still watching. A shape began to emerge from the moon-burnished waves. Tiria instinctively knew it was the otter lady of her previous dream. The apparition was cloaked and hooded, the face within the hood appearing as a dark void, but the voice was unmistakable—melodious yet commanding.

The vision faded like smoke, being drawn down into the sea. Far out between shore and horizon, Tiria saw what looked like the tip of the hood the otterlady had worn, sticking up out of the waters. The young ottermaid was overcome by a sense of loss; then the entire scene vanished into the bottomless well of slumber.

Dawn's first rosy rays aroused the birds to song all over Mossflower Woodlands as Tiria wakened. She remembered every detail of the dream distinctly—Martin, the rock fortress, the Rhulain and her message. The ottermaid dressed swiftly. Now she knew exactly what she had to do.

The Fool of the Sea

Riggu Felis, an able general and a cunning tactician, deserved the title of warlord. He sent six scouts out, ahead of his main body of catguards, to comb the woodlands and hills for traces of his enemy. It was midnoon when they picked up the trail, pursuing it to the bank of a wide stream. Being cats, and not overly fond of water, they waited by the shallows for the wildcat and his command to catch up with them.

In the bushes on the opposite bank, the otters lay hidden, watching the catguards. Big Kolun Galedeep and Banya Streamdog crouched alongside the outlaw Leatho Shellhound. After grasping the oar, which was now his favourite weapon, Kolun nudged his friend.

“You were right, mate. They've arrived, though there ain't many of 'em. Wot d'ye think their next move'll be?”

Leatho never took his eyes off the scouts. “Let's wait an' see, Kolun. I wager Felis'll be along with the rest soon enough. I want to count how many he has with him.”

Banya volunteered her services. “I'll do that, Shellhound, but wot d'ye want 'em counted for?”

The outlaw explained his strategy. He was the wildcat's equal when it came to planning ahead. “I know that Felis has two hundred or more catguards in his army. If they're all with him, then we'll make this place our battlefield. We could chop'em to ribbons afore they cross the water. Now durin' the fight, I've got a job for you, Kolun. When I gives the word, take yore clan an' all the Streambattle clan out of here in secret. I'll hold the cats off with what I've got left. You circle round the back, get clear away, then march for the fortress. The slaves'll be unguarded if Felis has all his guards with him. You can hit the place hard an' free all our friends.”

Big Kolun grinned. “Good idea, matey, but wot if'n Felis don't have a full force along with him?”

Leatho nodded. “I've thought o' that. If Banya counts less than the full number, then we'll decoy 'em. We'll pull out an' make a lot o' noise, so they can follow us easily. I know a good hill, it's inland, an' any beast on the high slope can give a good account of themselves there.... Stow it, mates, here comes Felis an' the rest!”

The catguards gathered in four ranks on the opposite bank; their warlord stood to one side, sheltered by a large willow tree. Weilmark Scaut took the tracker's report before joining his master.