Eulalia! (17 page)

Abbot Daucus had issued orders that neither of the Abbey bells was to be tolled. If vermin invaders were heading for Redwall, it was not advisable to pinpoint the building's position too soon by ringing its twin bells. Orkwil stood watch on the walltops, with Skipper Rorc, Foremole Burff, and Benjo Tipps. They took the northwest corner of the ramparts, which was the most likely vantage point to catch sight of the Sea Raiders, who would obviously be headed down the path toward them.

Orkwil felt very grown-up and important in his new role. Armed with the dagger and club he had gained from the water vole, the young hedgehog peered out into the darkness.

Leaning over the battlement beside him, Skipper whispered, “No sign o' them yet, mate, how far behind ye do ye figger those villains were?”

Orkwil shrugged. “Can't say really, Skip, but that big, golden fox won't hang back when he finds me'n Gorath gone, an' his brother slain into the bargain.”

Benjo rubbed his eyes, concentrating on the path. “Ain't much moon showin', 'tis real gloomy out there. This is the part I don't like, the waitin'.”

Skipper let his chin rest on the battlement. “It must be midnight now, mebbe they've made camp, restin' up until daylight. Don't forget, they're in strange country, so they might feel like goin' carefully.”

Orkwil shook his head. “I don't think careful is a word Longtooth is accustomed to. If he knows the way, he'll be comin' nonstop for Redwall!”

 

Contrary to Orkwil's opinion, Vizka was an extremely careful creature, especially when it came to his own personal safety. Even now he marched at the centre of his crew, well protected on all sides by vermin bodies. It was past the midnight hour, the path ahead was in total darkness, Vizka cursed softly as a weasel blundered into him. “Ya clumsy oaf, gerrup in front an' send der scouts back ter me!”

The two stoats, Dogleg and Patchy, came marching back. They had the vole on a rope lead, stumbling behind them. Dogleg thrust the prisoner in front of Vizka. “Dis 'un sez 'e kin see der Redwall place, Cap'n!”

The golden fox seized the vole's neck roughly. “Ye'd better be tellin' der truth or I'll gut ya!”

The vole managed to gasp out, “'Tis up yonder, not far, ye'll see it yoreself soon.”

Vizka gave orders to the weasel Magger. “Get der crew down dat ditch aside o' de path. Tell 'em t'wait dere an' be quiet. Jungo, Bilger, come wid me, bring dat hairy mouse wid ya!”

Glad of the unexpected rest, the vermin crew slid into the dry ditch. As Vizka and the two crewbeasts went cautiously forward, the watervole pointed ahead. “There 'tis, see, Redwall Abbey. Can I go back to me river now, sir? I've showed ye the way.”

Vizka showed his fangs in what he thought was a friendly smile. “Ye did well, hairy mouse, I'll let ya go soon, but first dere's a liddle job I wants ya to do fer me. Jungo, give 'im yore sling an' stones. Bilger, take off'n yer shirt an' scarf.”

The vole looked bemused as Vizka rigged him out in the filthy oversized shirt, and draped the scarf about his head like a turban. The golden fox fitted a stone in the sling and placed it in the vole's paw, commenting, “Haharr, don't 'e look like a salty ole Sea Raider now!”

Jungo chuckled. “Huhuhuh, looks real pretty, don't 'e?”

The vole hitched up his floppy shirtsleeves. “Wot am I dressed up like this for, sir?”

Vizka nodded at the Abbey walls as they loomed up in the night. “Yore gonna announce us as visitors. Now, 'ere's wot ya say. Shout out nice'n loud, ‘Ahoy in dere. I'm a pore, starvin' seabeast, let me an' me mates in so's we kin get some vittles, kind sirs.'”

The vole stared disbelievingly at Longtooth. “But nobeast'll hear me, they'll all be well abed by now.”

Vizka patted his back reassuringly. “Yew let me worry about dat, fatmouse, jus' do as yer told. Go on, an' shout out loud'n'clear now, y'hear?”

The vole scratched his thick fur. “An' then I'm free t'go?”

The golden fox nodded amiably. “Aye, free as a burd. Now yew go an' deliver der message, we'll wait right 'ere.” He drew his two crewbeasts into the woodland fringe, watching the vole walk off toward the wall.

Bilger sniggered, sensing his captain's intentions. “Jus' testin' der ground, eh, Cap'n?”

Jungo looked puzzled. “Testin' der ground, wot's dat?”

Vizka cuffed his ear lightly. “Pay attention an' watch dose walls.”

 

Orkwil was first to spot the movement on the path below. He cautioned his friends, “There's somebeast down there, can't make out who 'tis in this dark, but I'll wager that 'un's a vermin!”

Skipper peered down at the strange figure. “Stay where ye are, don't come any further!”

The vole stood still as he carried out Vizka's order to the letter. “Ahoy in there, I'm a pore, starvin' seabeast, let me in so me an' my mates can get some vittles!”

Orkwil recognised the vole by the tone of his voice. However, before he could do anything, Benjo Tipps flung an oakwood burl, which he used as a barrel stopper. It hit the vole squarely between both ears, felling him. Orkwil gasped at the speed with which the Cellarhog had acted. “Mister Tipps, that wasn't a sea vermin. He's a vole who lives up near the ford!”

Benjo chuckled grimly. “Then why didn't he say so? Looked like a vermin, said he was a seabeast, an' if'n I ain't mistaken, he was carryin' a weapon. Wot d'ye say, Skip?”

Skipper Rorc nodded. “That's a loaded sling he was totin', ye did the right thing, mate. It could've been a trap, no use standin' round an' chattin' with vermin. Strike now an' talk later, that's wot I always do! Now then, young Prink, can ye see any more o' the villains out there?”

Orkwil stared hard, but there was no sign of movement. “No, Skip, there's nobeast about that I can see. D'you think Mister Tipps has slain the vole, he looks awful still just lyin' there.”

Benjo patted Orkwil's headspikes. “Don't worry, young 'un, he ain't dead, but he'll have a headache that'll last a day or two when he wakes. If the coast is clear enough after dawn we'll fetch him inside.”

“Er, fetch who inside, may I ask?” Friar Chondrus emerged onto the walltop, Granspike Niblo was with him. They brought food for the wall sentries.

Foremole Burff ladled himself a bowl of mushroom soup. “Et wurr summ voler, dressed oop loike ee vermint. Hurrhurr, ole Benjo bringed 'im daown with one shot!”

Orkwil and his friends tucked into fresh, crusty bread, cheese and hot soup, each feeling rather pleased at their night's work thus far.

 

Vizka Longtooth and his two crewbeasts retreated stealthily back to the ditch. Dropping down into the dried ditchbed, the golden fox left his crew sleeping, but wakened the weasel Magger, whom he had come to rely on as his second in command.

Magger noticed the absence of the vole. “Where's der 'airymouse, Cap'n?”

Vizka put aside his mace and chain. “Oh, dat one, we left 'im lyin' around someplace, but de 'airymouse taught me a lesson tonight. Dat Redwall place, it ain't no Abbey fulla soft woodlanders. Gettin' in dere ain't gonna be easy.”

Magger replied hopefully, “We've fought battles afore, Cap'n, an' we ain't never lost. Yew kin do it if'n anybeast can, nobeast stands agin Vizka Longtooth an' wins!”

The golden fox leaned back against the ditchside. “So ye say, but I ain't never fought no stripe'ound.”

Magger looked questioningly at his captain. “De stripe'ound, 'ow d'yer know 'e's in dere?”

Vizka explained. “Dat 'edgepig was up on der wall, I 'eard 'is voice, dat's 'ow I knows our Rock'ead's in de Abbey, dey escaped t'gether didn't they?”

Bilger, who was half-asleep, opened one eye. “Does dat mean ya ain't gonna try an' take Redwall, Cap'n?”

Vizka picked up his mace and chain, his eyes and his long fangs gleaming in the darkness. “I nearly slayed dat stripe'ound last time I 'it 'im wid this. I'll finish der job next time, you see. Afore dis season's out I'll be cap'n o' Redwall, plannin' an' brains, dat's all it takes!”

 

On the walltops, Granspike Niblo was clearing away the supper bowls. She smiled fondly at Orkwil. “I'm glad to see ye back 'ome an' behavin' yoreself, Orkwil. You did a good job here t'night, defendin' our Abbey an' sendin' those vermin packin'.”

The young hedgehog passed her his empty bowl, shaking his head. “We knocked one ole vole senseless, Gran, that's all. The vermin are still out there, I think Redwall has some hard days ahead. By the way, how's my friend Gorath comin' along, is he better yet?”

The old Beekeeper shook her head. “He's gettin' better, but that big feller isn't fit yet, not by a long straw. Pore beast's been through a dreadful time, if'n ye ask me.”

Foremole Burff chuckled. “Aye, marm, but you'm wait'll ee badgerbeast bee's well agin. Hurrhurr, then ee'll see summ sparks a-flyin', boi okey ee will!”

Maudie felt she was in the middle of a nightmare in broad daylight. As the logboats soared out over the waterfall they were enveloped in a milky fog of spray, tinged through by a broad spectrum of rainbow colours. The haremaid had released her hold of the logboat, as had the Guosim crews. All about them the air was filled with the roar of cascading waters. It was the strangest of sensations, plunging downward amid all the noise and colour, seeing others falling alongside her, some still holding their paddles. Maudie even had time to think about what had happened to the coracle, and its cargo of shrewbabes. Would the logboats land on top of them? Those poor babies, it didn't bear contemplating….

Splaaaash! Kabooooom!

The Guosim crews hit the water. Maudie was immersed in a world of swirling blue, green and white, with the dull boom of the waterfall echoing in her skull. She was whirling about, like a leaf in a hurricane, water filling her mouth, nostrils and vision. Her body was swept sideways, as she felt herself thrust upward, paws flailing in all directions, toward the surface.

“Whoa, matey, gotcha, up ye come now, bucko!” A huge, fat otter had her by both ears, in a viselike grip.

The pain of being hauled out by her ears was momentary, Maudie felt herself flung up onto a mossy bank, as though she were a bundle of washing. In swift succession, several Guosim were slung onto the bank beside her. Luglug was one of them, he sprawled alongside the haremaid, both coughing and spitting out water and weed fronds. The big otter banged his rudder down on their backs, helping them to expel the debris from their lungs. He pointed to Maudie, laughing as he bellowed out to an equally big female otter, “Hohoho! Lookit this 'un, Kachooch, did ye ever see a shrew with a set o' lugs like that?”

Maudie managed to gasp indignantly, “I say, d'you mind, I'm a blinkin' hare, not a shrew!”

The big female, Kachooch, helped Maudie upright, winking cheerfully at her. “Take no heed o' Barbowla, me deary, he's only joshin'.”

Luglug gave the big male's rudder a hearty tug. “Barbowla Boulderdog, you ole gullywhumper, wot are you doin' in these waters? I thought you was livin' on the East River Moss.”

Barbowla hauled another shrew from the water and casually tossed him ashore. “Log a Log Luglug, ye whiskery ole knot'ead, don't ye know any better'n tryin' to paddle logboats o'er the ripples? Good job me'n the family was here t'pull yore acorns out o' the soup.”

Luglug retrieved his paddle and inspected it for damage. “Didn't have much choice, mate, we was on the run from Kurdly an' his Brownrats. Did ye manage to rescue our liddle 'uns, they was swept away ahead of us.”

Kachooch beckoned along the bank with her rudder. “Bless their liddle spikey 'eads, they're in the holt, playin' with me'n Barbowla's grandbabes. Shame on ye, lettin' 'em get away from ye like that!”

Maudie intervened. “It wasn't our fault, marm, we were fightin' off the rats, y'see.”

Kachooch pursed her lips angrily. “There's far too many o' those brown, ratty murderers for most honest beasts to fight off. They does as they pleases around Mossflower these seasons!”

Barbowla towed an upturned logboat further down the bank, to where a number of his sturdy sons and daughters turned it upright with a joint heave. “That Gruntan Kurdly's like all bullies, he'll meet his match one fine day, an' I hopes I'm around t'see it. Come to the holt an' take a bite with us, yore Guosim's all safe'n'sound. There should be plenty o' plugs'n'dips to go round.”

Luglug smacked his lips noisily. “Plugs'n'dips, eh, lead on, me barrel-bellied bucko!”

Maudie accompanied Kachooch, enquiring, “Beggin' y'pardon, marm, but what in the flippin' name o' seasons is plugs'n'dips?”

The big otterwife chuckled. “You'll soon find out, missy.”

The otters' holt was on an island further downstream, they took the logboats and paddled to it. Barbowla and his extended family had built the holt like a small fortress, from log and stone chinked with moss and rivermud. Inside it was a scene of comfortable chaos, homely and welcoming. Barbowla and Kachooch had a large number of sons and daughters, all of whom had partners and broods of small otters. Together with the Guosim, and their babes, there was a considerable number of creatures to feed.

Maudie found herself ensconced in a corner, with Kachooch and her eldest daughter, Belford. The haremaid was given a wooden skewer and a clay bowl, whilst Belford went to the main cooking fire in the centre of the holt. Maudie went also, just to see what was going on. There was a massive cauldron into which the cooks were adding a mixture of cheese, cornmeal and finely chopped herbs. The haremaid's curiosity as a cook overcame her. She asked Belford, “I say, it all smells jolly appetisin', what exactly are they doin'?”

The ottermaid took up a pan. “That's the dips, they say the herbs are a secret recipe. I'll get our dips, you go over there an' get the plugs.”

Maudie went to the other side of the fire, where more cooks had a couple of old iron shields, which they were using as roasting pans. She watched them pounding hazelnuts and chestnuts with chopped mushrooms. Pouring honey over the mixture, the cooks made it into lots of tiny cakes, roasting them on the shields. They sizzled as they rolled about, until they were hot and a deep brown colour.

One of the cooks filled a trench-shaped platter, passing it to Maudie. “Yore plugs, mate. Go easy, they're hot. You'll enjoy 'em, if'n you haven't tasted 'em afore!”

The haremaid curtsied politely. “Thank you, I'm sure I jolly well will, wot!”

Back with Kachooch and her daughter, Maudie skewered one of the plugs, dipping it into her bowl, which had been filled with the steaming mixture from the pan. She had to nibble at it delicately, because it was all very hot. However, Maudie voted plugs'n'dips as among the tastiest food she had ever eaten.

“Absobloominlootly scrumptious! Why've I never had this before? Top marks, you chaps, eleven out of ten I'd say!”

One of the cooks, a young fellow with a fine voice, began singing an old otter ballad, in praise of the delicacy.

Barbowla joined Maudie and the two otters, helping himself to plugs'n'dips. The haremaid marvelled at how he could swallow them down hot at a single go. The otter chieftain patted his stomach and winked at her. “I tell ye, Miz Maudie, you got to learn to git yore share an' scoff it quick, when you got a family the size o' mine. Moreso when the likes o' Luglug an' his famine-faced gang joins ye for dinner. Huh, lookin' at the size o' them shrews I allus asks meself, where do they put it all?”

Maudie smiled at the big, friendly otter. “Serves you jolly well right givin' the Guosim such wonderful vittles, old chap. I hope Log a Log Luglug thanked you properly for rescuing his shrews, wot?”

Kachooch refilled Maudie's bowl. “Ah, away with ye, missy, we don't need lots o' fancy compliments for doin' wot any decent beast would. Dearie me, though, I'm still chucklin' at that coracle full o' Guosim babbies!”

Selecting a fat plug, Maudie skewered it. “I expect it was quite a task, finding them all in that rough water, how did you do it, marm?”

Kachooch shook with stifled laughter. “We didn't have t'do a thing, they didn't even get their liddle paws wet. The coracle came down, whirlin' like a sycamore seed, with the babes gigglin' an' chortlin' like it was all a big game. Well, there must've been about six or seven of us in the water at the time, we never even saw it comin', did we, Bel?”

Her daughter, Belford, grinned ruefully. “Certainly didn't, Ma, it landed right on our backs, an' skidded across us, straight onto the bank!”

Barbowla showed Maudie the top of his head. “Aye, an' I've got a patch o' fur missin', 'cos I was the one it landed on first!” Barbowla's face was such a picture of injured dignity that Maudie had to struggle to look sympathetic.

“Must've been pretty painful for you, sah. Sorry about that, but we were on the run from the enemy an' all that, y'know. Pity you were injured, eh wot!”

Barbowla nodded. “Thankee, miz, but it ain't nought to weep over. I'm more worried about Kurdly an' his rat horde. If they're trailin' you an' the shrews, then 'tis for sure they'll bump into us. We wouldn't stand a chance agin the numbers Kurdly commands.”

Maudie realised the position their arrival had put the otters in. She grasped Barbowla's paw firmly. “Indeed, sah, that's why I suggest you come to Redwall with us, that'll put your family out of harm's way, wot!”

Kachooch practically wriggled with delight. “Ooh, Redwall Abbey! I allus wanted to visit there, ain't that where yore cousin Rorc is, Skipper?”

Barbowla shook the haremaid's paw. “Good idea, miz, I'd like to visit the Abbey, ain't never been there afore.” He glanced warningly at his wife and daughter. “Not a word o' this to the others, y'hear. The length o' time they takes gettin' ready for a journey, Kurdly'd be here attackin' afore they're half-packed.”

Belford contained her excitement. “Yore right, Pa, we'll just say the family's joinin' the Guosim to guide 'em along the stream apiece. Maudie, d'you think Luglug would object to takin' our babes along in his logboats? The rest of us are all strong swimmers, we don't need to ride in boats.”

Maudie reassured the otters. “Rather, I'm sure our Log a Log would welcome your plan. Come on, Barbowla, let's have a quiet word with him.”

Luglug immediately agreed with the plan, taking them to one side, and lowering his voice. “I'll go along with anythin' you say, mates, but we'd best do it right now. Two o' my rearguard scouts have spotted the rats, they're startin' to climb down the rocks either side o' the falls. Just leave things as they are an' git yore liddle 'uns into the logboats, matey. The way I figgers, it'll be a close-run thing to shake off those Brownrats an' make it to Redwall Abbey!”

Barbowla's eyes narrowed craftily. “I knows the waterways twixt here an' Redwall better'n most, beggin' yore pardon, Luglug. There's lots o' streamlets an back cuts, dead ends an' marshes. Let me lead the way, mate?”

Luglug nodded briefly, explaining to Maudie, “He's right, there's quite a few places an otter can go, where a logboat crew might not see a passage.”

The haremaid threw a smart salute to Luglug and Barbowla. “Right y'are, chaps, quick's the word an' sharp's the action, wot, forward the blinkin' buffs I say!”

 

A party of twelve litter bearers lowered Gruntan Kurdly's carrying stretcher gingerly onto the rocks at the head of the waterfall. The huge Brownrat chieftain moaned and winced as his body made contact with the damp stones. Stringle, the rat officer, approached Gruntan, he had to shout, to make himself heard above the roar of the waterfall.

“Noggo an' Biklo just reported that they've seen the sh'ews, an' some riverdog otters, they're sailin' off, below there, in the logboats!”

Irately, Gruntan cupped a paw about his ear, bellowing, “Wot's that, speak up!”

Stringle shouted louder. “Riverdogs an' Guosims, Boss, sailin' off in logboats….”

Gruntan swung a heavy walking stick across Stringle's shins, causing him to break into a hopping dance of pain. “Wot'n the name o' bursted beetles are ye talkin' about? Silverlogs wailin' on a blow there wid frogstoats? Away, ye blitherin' buffoon, an' see wot those sh'ews are up to! Ahoy, somebeast move this stretcher, afore I'm soaked an' drownded!”

Amid more howls and groans from Kurdly, the bearers moved the litter onto drier ground. Bandaged and poulticed with evil-smelling unguents, Gruntan winced as his healer, Laggle, approached. The old, wrinkled, female rat was carrying what looked like a pair of rusty pincers. She mumbled as she turned her patient roughly, facedown, removing swathes of grimy dressing.

“Gorra get those gorse spikes out afore they fester, still plenty left in yore tailparts, 'old still now!”

Gruntan squealed like a stuck pig as Laggle went to work with furious energy. “Yow! Wow! Yeeeeek! Ye dodderin' ole murderer, I'll 'ave ye gutted an' roasted for this. Ayaaargh!”

Smiling with satisfaction, the healer showed him a hefty gorse spike. “I just dug this 'un out o' yer be'ind, nice, ain't it? There's a few more in there, but they're stuck deeper'n this, bigger ones, they are. Once they're out I'll clean the wounds up wid rock salt an' boilin' water. Oh, stop whingein' like a baby will ye!” Chuckling maliciously she went to work again. “Mebbe ye won't feel like eatin', I'll take care o' those waterfowl eggs they're boilin' for ye.”