Eulalia! (19 page)

“Ah, shure that's true, so 'tis. Ye talk good sense for a riverdog, so ye do!”

The logboat rocked as a creature dropped out of an overhanging beech into the vessel. He was a squirrel, small, but very wiry and agile. Four daggers were thrust into his broad waist sash, he wore a short, embroidered waistcoat, one hooped earring, and sported a woven, multicoloured headband, at a jaunty angle. He winked cheekily at Maudie, then bowed. “Rangval the Rogue at y'service, marm. Pray would ye impart t'me yore own dulcet title?”

Despite the peril of their position, the young haremaid took an immediate liking to Rangval, she curtsied formally. “Maudie (the Hon.) Mugsberry Thropple, pleased to make your acquaintance I'm sure.”

Rangval the Rogue performed a somersault neatly. “Faith, an' that's a fine ould gobful of a name ye have there, marm. If'n I may, I'll just call ye Maudie, or prettyface, or beautybeast? Ah, but enough o' that ould flannel, I see ye've got problems. An' isn't it the bold Gruntan Kurdly an' his thickheaded horde!”

Maudie took another glance at the rats, who were getting closer by the moment. “It is indeed, I take it you know of him, wot?”

Rangval twitched his nose in the horde's direction. “Shure an' who doesn't know o' that 'un around here. I've been crossin' swords wid that boyo since he first showed his snotty nose in these parts. D'ye need my help now, Maudie, just say the word, me darlin', an' 'tis meself that'll put a spoke in his wheel!”

Osbil interrupted. “Wot could one squirrel do agin that lot?” Before he could speak further, the Guosim spotter was flat on his back with Rangval's dagger tickling his throat.

The roguish squirrel tweaked Osbil's snout. “When I want yore opinion, me ould son, I'll ask for it! Ah, shure but yore only a spiky rivermouse, what would ye know about anythin' or a hatful o' hazelnuts?” Rangval put up his blade and dismissed Osbil. “Now then, Maudie me darlin', tell yer friends to push on upstream an' don't hang about. When ye come to a tidy liddle cover with a sandstone overhang an' some pines nearby, wait for me there. Oh, an' when ye pass by Owch Mansions, hold y'breath an' keep yer head down, an' make no sudden movements.”

Barbowla poked his head over the prow. “Owch Mansions, I've never heard o' that place.”

Rangval grinned at the big otter. “Barbowla from the falls, isn't it? You don't know me, but I've watched you many a time, good, big family y'have. Shure, let's do the introductions later, I'd best be about me business now. I'll see ye later, so I will!” Rangval shot upward into the foliaged terraces and was gone.

Maudie turned to Barbowla. “I say we trust Rangval, he looks like a bit of a blinkin' laddo, but I'll bet he knows his bloomin' way round, wot!”

The otter slid back into the water. “Ain't much else we can do but trust him, miz. I'll pass the word along to Luglug, t'keep watch for the cove.”

Smiling sheepishly, Osbil felt his neck, where Rangval's blade had been a moment ago. “I wonder wot Owch Mansions are, miz?”

Maudie shrugged as the logboat began making better way. “I expect we'll find out soon enough, old lad.”

Abbot Daucus woke shortly after dawn. The skies were uniformly cloudy and dull, it was humid, and the dawn chorus of birdsong was absent. The good mouse wandered down to the kitchens, where Friar Chondrus was supervising breakfast preparations. Young ones on kitchen duty were scurrying around as the squirrel Friar issued orders.

“Don't put any hot bread or pastries to cool on the open windowsills, it's started drizzling. Folura, help me with this oatmeal, please.”

Daucus took hold of the cauldron handle, his paw protected by a wrapping of sleeve folds. “Here, let me get that, friend, clear the table there!”

Chondrus made room for the cauldron as Daucus swung it quickly onto the tabletop. “Good morning, Father Abbot, have you been to the walltops yet, any news of the Sea Raider vermin?”

Daucus began adding ingredients to the oatmeal. “None yet, Friar. Skipper Rorc, Benjo Tipps, Foremole and Orkwil have been up there all night. I'll take them some breakfast and hear what they have to report. Then I'll have to organise a relief guard, they can't stay up there indefinitely. Have you heard from Sister Atrata, as to our badger, Gorath?”

Friar Chondrus bent to pull a tray of fruit rolls from the oven. “The sister will be here shortly, to collect breakfast for the sickbay. I'll let you know the moment she tells me about Gorath. Folura, Glingal, load up a trolley of vittles, and help Father Abbot up the ramparts with it, please.”

Skipper's two fine daughters obliged cheerfully.

“Pore ole Daddy, he must be wet'n'starved.”

“Never mind, we'll put a smile on his whiskers!”

Between them, the two ottermaids and the Abbot loaded up a trolley of hearty breakfast food, and headed off to the walltops. Benjo Tipps hurried down, to help them up the wallsteps with the trolley.

Orkwil rubbed a sleepy paw across his eyes, cheered up by the sight of breakfast. He was bone weary, but would not admit it. Abbot Daucus watched as the young hedgehog's snout drooped, almost dipping into his oatmeal bowl. Daucus tweaked Orkwil's ear gently.

“Wake up, mate, oatmeal's for eating, not sleeping in.”

Orkwil protested. “I'm not a bit sleepy Father Abbot, honest I'm not!”

Skipper spoke through a mouthful of warm fruit roll. “Ho yes ye are, young Prink, but it ain't anythin' t'be ashamed of, ye did a good night's work on guard here!”

Abbot Daucus smiled at them through the thickening curtain of drizzle. “You all did a splendid night's work, and I thank you very much. But now you can go and have a good sleep, inside where it's dry and warm. Folura and Glingol will keep watch up here, whilst I go and organise some relief sentries. No arguments, off you go, please!”

Orkwil went straight up to the sickbay, where he was confronted by Sister Atrata. “And where pray do you think you are off to, sir?”

The young hedgehog tottered slightly and yawned. “Beg y'pardon, Sister, but I came to see how my pal Gorath is. I'd like to visit him if'n I may.” Orkwil leaned up against the door, eyes drooping.

The good Sister shook her head pityingly. “My, my, just look at yourself, Master Prink, almost snoring on your paws. A sound sleep wouldn't harm you, I'm thinking. I had to put your friend in the little side room, since word got round the Abbey that we have a badger visiting us. I couldn't leave him lying on the floor of Great Hall in full view, because the whole population of Redwall wants to see Gorath. So I've hidden him in my private side room. There's an extra bed in there that you can use.”

Orkwil was about to protest, but the Sister ushered him into the little room.

“There, that's better than sleeping in wine cellar barrels. Take these warm towels and dry the rain off. Hush now, your friend's still asleep, you can speak to him later, when you've had your rest.”

Sister Atrata left quietly. Orkwil blinked in the dimly lit room. He opened one window shutter as he dried himself on the warm, soft towels he had been given. Gorath lay on the big bed, motionless, it was hard to tell whether he was sleeping or unconscious.

Orkwil snuggled beneath the counterpane on the small bed, staring across at his friend. The young badger seemed even more gigantic, stretched out there, though he looked haggard and ill from his shocking ordeal at the paws of Vizka Longtooth and his crew. His face was drawn, and hollow-cheeked, with the huge, red scar on his brow appearing like an angry, scarlet flame. On the bed beside him, still gripped in one paw, was Tung, his pitchfork. Even though he knew Gorath could not hear him, Orkwil murmured reassuringly to his sleeping friend.

“Rest easy, mate, yore safe inside Redwall Abbey now, an' I'm here to see you come to no harm. Guess what, they've made me an officer of the wall guard. I spent all night out on the battlements, watchin' for that fox and his scurvy crew. Hah, they didn't show a whisker. As soon as I've had a little rest I'll be back up on that wall with Skipper, Foremole and Mister Tipps. Father Abbot ordered us to take a break, y'see, there's a relief guard on at the moment. At least, I hope there is.”

The young hedgehog turned away from Gorath, gazing out into the still drizzling morn. From the window he had a clear view of the northwest wall corner, it was well guarded by relief sentries. Beyond the ramparts, Orkwil could see some flatlands, the ditch running alongside the path and a portion of Mossflower woodland. He lay watching for any movement outside the Abbey, talking softly to himself.

“I know yore out there, fox, aye, an' you'd best stay out there if ye know what's good for you. Redwall isn't an easy nut to crack, it's made of stone, an' guarded by brave-beasts….” The young hedgehog's voice trailed off, hiseyelids dropped, sleep had overcome his weariness.

 

A piece of sailcloth had been erected to form a small shelter in the ditch. Vizka Longtooth and Magger sat beneath it, blinking in the smoke of a little fire, which had been lit to keep the numerous winged insects at bay. The rest of the
Bludgullet
's crew either sought any cover they could find, or crouched there, suffering the persistent drizzle. Vizka stared bleakly at the closest group. “I don't s'pose youse thought ter bring any vikkles frum der ship wid ya?”

They avoided their captain's eyes and kept silent.

Vizka spat in the muddy ditchbed. “Oh no, I'm der one who has ta thinka dat!”

A voice from the huddled throng piped up swiftly. “But Cap'n, yew said dere was plenny o' vikkles in dat Abbey.”

“Who said dat?” Vizka asked the question, knowing that nobeast was foolish enough to own up. The golden fox was no fool either, he knew the value of keeping a loyal crew about him. Thinking quickly, he explained their position, as if confiding in his followers.

“Right, I did say dere was plenny o' vikkles in de Abbey. But we ain't gonna get 'em chargin' inter battle. Huh, wot sorta idjit does dat, eh?”

There was immediate agreement all round. Redwall looked too solid and forbidding to be attacked head-on.

Magger nodded eagerly. “So wot's der plan, Cap'n?”

Vizka's mind was racing as he spoke. “Er, this's wot ya do. First, we needs vikkles t'day. Magger, take der crew back up dis ditch, until yer outta sight. Den go inta der forest an' load up wid vikkles, must be plenty growin' in a forest, birds, eggs an' fishes, too. Stay in de forest an' make a big fire, cook everythin' up. Make skilly, an' soup, an roast stuff, to feed all me mates, all me good crew! Well, buckoes, 'ow'll dat do ya?”

There was a mass murmur of agreement. Magger started to move off, then turned to Vizka. “Wot'll yew be doin', Cap'n?”

The golden fox tapped his muzzle with a paw. “Plannin', Magger, figgerin' a way so's we kin get inta dat Redwall an' lay our claws on all dat loot, an' all der vikkles. Leave it ter me, nobeast can lay a plan like Vizka Longtooth, right?”

Magger saluted with his spear. “Right y'are, Cap'n!”

Vizka called after the departing vermin. “Don't let ole Magger scoff everythin', mates, save some fer yer old cap'n, I'll join youse later.”

They went off in a lighter mood, bouyed by their captain's words.

When they had gone, Vizka sat alone under the canvas awning, pondering his dilemma. How to conquer an Abbey, which was not only well-defended, but contained a berserk badger who had sworn to kill him. It was not a prospect that he relished, but now that he had committed himself, he could not back down in front of his crew. He knew that if they lost confidence in him, he was little better than a deadbeast. There was always some creature wanting to be captain, he had already witnessed this with Grivel, Feerog and Durgy.

A noise from behind him on the path caused Vizka to creep out from his shelter and peer over the edge of the ditch. It was a party of moles who had ventured out to inspect the fallen watervole. He could not understand their speech.

“Burr, ee'm h'aloive, but that bee's ee gurt lumpen on ee'm 'ead, a roight mole'ill et bee's!”

“Burr aye, ole Benjo can surrpintly 'url a barrel stopper!”

There were six moles, they lifted the watervole between them and carried him inside the Abbey.

As the main gate of the outer wall slammed shut, Vizka mentally berated himself for a fool. He had missed a golden opportunity: the main gates had stood ajar for vital moments, and he had sent his entire crew off looking for food. They could have captured the moles, and rushed the gates! A huge sigh of regret and frustration came from the golden fox. He laid his forehead against the muddy ditchside, cursing fate for robbing him of a great chance.

Something tickled the tip of his nose, he drew back and inspected the object. It was a worm, boring its way out of the ditchside wall. Callously, Vizka nipped it in two halves between his pawnails. He watched the worm writhing, then stamped on it. His long fangs showed as a sudden smile came across his features. He had a plan, a superbly simple scheme. His crew would dig their way into Redwall from the side wall of the ditch. A bit lower down, close to the big gate. It would be a foolproof idea!