Eulalia! (24 page)

It was a tense moment. The haremaid could feel the rapier point at her throat. Osbil meant business.

“Put that sword down at once. How dare you raise a weapon at a friend inside my Abbey? Put it down, I say!” Abbot Daucus pushed his way through the massed shrews, his face a mask of icy severity. Disregarding the rapier, he struck it to one side.

Osbil scowled darkly. “This is a Guosim thing, Father. It ain't yore quarrel!”

Daucus thrust his chin forward fearlessly. “Oh, isn't it? Well, I'm making it my quarrel. As Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey, I command that you cease this foolishness forthwith. Is that clear?”

Osbil began to wilt. He was still a young shrew, and in the face of the Abbot's superior authority, he became unsure of himself. He replied with a touch of pleading in his tone. “But Father, we've sung the Bladechant, we lose face an' honour if'n we don't go now!”

Daucus began to feel pity for the young shrew, who had just been made Log a Log of his tribe. However, he was not about to back down to Osbil. “Hmm, loss of honour and face, I see. But are there no exceptional circumstances which might call the whole thing off, can you think of anything?”

On a flash of inspiration, Maudie interrupted. “Beg pardon, Father, I've just thought of a jolly wheeze, er, I mean, an answer to the problem.” The haremaid edged a little closer to Osbil. “Er, suppose, just suppose I say, that you, bein' the bloomin' high old Logathing, were incapacitated?”

Not comprehending the word, Osbil repeated it. “Incapacitated?”

Maudie edged closer. “Indeed, incapacitated, you know, too hurt or injured to lead the charge. Could your chaps go out there to battle the vermin?”

Osbil shook his head. “Not unless they were led by their Log a Log, our law wouldn't allow that y'see…” Suddenly he sagged, Maudie quickly supported him, but he was unconscious, out cold. The haremaid's face was the picture of innocence.

“Good grief, the poor chap's just swooned. Fainted away as sudden as y'like, wot?”

The Guosim began crowding round anxiously, but Rangval took over officiously. “Shure, have ye got no sense, crowdin' round the pore beast like that, give him some air. Skipper, will ye take 'em up on the walltops agin, at least they can fight the durty ould vermin from up there wid slingstones. Go on now, buckoes, the Father Abbot'll do a grand job of lookin' after yore chief, hurry along now!”

The Guosim hesitated a moment, until Skipper mounted the wallsteps, goading them. “Don't waste yore breath, friend, there's plenty o' our Redwallers up there, if'n the shrews are afraid to go!”

In an instant he was thrust to one side, as the fiercely proud Guosim stampeded en masse up the steps. Aided by Foremole, the Abbot carried Osbil to the Abbey, for Sister Atrata's attention. Foremole Burff shook his dark velvety head. “Burr, oi do 'opes thurr bee's nuthin' badly amiss with ee pore beast, a-swoonin' away loike that.”

Abbot Daucus was plainly perplexed by the incident. “Indeed, quite unusual for one so young and healthy. Still, it did solve a problem for us, didn't it?”

Back at the wallsteps, Rangval treated Maudie to a huge, sly wink, having seen the truth of it all. “Shure, I've seen lightnin' strikin' a lot slower than that, marm. Why, that was the swiftest an' neatest ould knockout punch I've ever had the pleasure of seein'. Faith, if'n I'd have winked I would've missed it!”

The haremaid threw a paw about the squirrel's shoulders, whispering as she drew him close, “Keep your blinkin' voice down, old scout, we don't want the whole bloomin' Abbey t'know. Actually, I was only carryin' out me duty, as t'were, doin' what had t'be done, eh wot!” She stifled a giggle.

“'Twas rather a scorcher of an uppercut, even though I say it m'self. Even better'n the one I gave big Blinky Swiffleton when I first won the Inter Barracks Title. Nice chap, old Blinky, took an absolute age before he could see straight again, prob'ly how he got the name Blinky, wot!”

Rangval curled his tail in admiration of Maudie. “A real live boxin' hare, eh! Ah, 'tis a pleasure to see a perilous young darlin' like yoreself at work, marm!”

Maudie gave his shoulder a squeeze, imitating his brogue. “Get away, ye hard-faced rogue, yore no slouch yerself from wot I've seen of yore ould tricks! C'mon, shall we toddle up t'the walltop, just t'see how the battle's goin' on?”

The squirrel made a sweeping bow, indicating the steps. “After you, me long-eared, wallopin' beauty!”

The impetus of furious Guosim stone slingers added to the Redwall defenders had worked like a charm. Gruntan Kurdly had not yet arrived on the scene, and as a result of the ferocious retaliation from the south battlements, the few Brownrats with any authority were thoroughly cowed. Even with their superior numbers, they could make no impression on the high stone walls. So they did what was customary, retreated into the relative safety of the woodland trees, and sat waiting the arrival of their leader.

Skipper greeted Maudie and Rangval, pointing to the deserted field of conflict below. “I think they've had enough for now, mates. Though we'll stay alert up here an' see wot the dawn brings, eh?”

Friar Chondrus hailed them from the Abbey lawn. “Hello up there, are ye too busy fighting, or could you manage a bite o' supper?”

Rubbing his paws with anticipation, Barbowla shouted back as he ushered several of his family to the steps, “Ho, I think we could manage to nibble a few vittles, sir. I'm sendin' a few down t'lend a paw to ye!”

Much to the delight of the otters there was a big cauldron of their favourite soup, watershrimp'n'hotroot. The Guosim were very partial to a small cask of October Ale, plus a tray or two of shallot and mushroom pasties. There was white cheese with hazelnuts, apple and plum dumplings, a latticed pear tart with meadowcream, golden-crusted bread, hot from the ovens, and a choice of blackberry cordial or coltsfoot tea.

The cheese was almost melting as Skipper put it on his hot bread. He dipped the lot into his hotroot soup, exclaiming before he wolfed it down, “Eat hearty, mates, but tell me this. Wot beast in his right mind would allow a load o' scruffy vermin inside Redwall to steal this scoff from us, eh?”

Barbowla's sturdy wife, Kachooch, helped herself to a pastie. “I'd let 'em in, but not to eat the vittles. I'd use their heads'n'tails to scrub the pots out with!”

Roars of laughter rose to the summer night's sky. Maudie sat with Rangval and a young hedgehog, who introduced himself as Orkwil Prink. The haremaid sampled everything eagerly, commenting on each dish. “Absolutely topping, I must get the recipe for this pear'n'cream thing, and these pasties, top marks, I'd say! Steady the buffs! Now that's a real drop o' soup, watershrimp'n'hotroot, d'ye say? Hah, I wouldn't mind bein' a bloomin' otter if I could have this twice daily. Well, chaps, I only came here to find a blinkin' badger, but I'd have applied to be born at Redwall if the tucker's all as good as this!”

Skipper's two daughters, Folura and Glingol, were charming some of Barbowla's sons, they began tapping on two wooden bowls, singing a jolly song.

Using their rudders against the parapet stones, the sons of Barbowla applauded both ottermaids enthusiastically. Then, to display how tough and fearless they were, the young male otters began climbing on the battlements, and slinging stones at the woodland fringes. Naturally, they injured no Brownrats, who had retreated out of slinging range. Skipper's daughters looked suitably impressed, fluttering their eyelashes at every opportunity.

Maudie found herself sitting between Orkwil and Benjo Tipps. Being a hare, she was still doing full justice to the remains of supper, having exchanged introductions with the Redwallers whilst still expressing her appreciation of Abbey food. “By the left! I could get rather used to this scoff, is it always this good, Orkwil, old lad?”

The young hedgehog picked a crumb from his spikes. “Oh, this was just a quick meal the Friar and his helpers threw together. We weren't expectin' guests, y'see, or it would have been more carefully prepared. Er, by the way, Maudie, did I hear you say that you came here to find a badger?”

Maudie ran her paw around the rim of the empty soup cauldron, licking it longingly. “Oh, that? Well, yes, I have, actually. Secret mission from Salamandastron, all very hush hush, wot. Old Lord Asheye, he's my C.O. doncha know, sent me specially, prob'ly 'cos I'm jolly good at that sort o' thing. I don't suppose you've stumbled across this badger chap. Huge type, typical badger, wot. He's supposed not t'be a great lover of swords an' armour, simple salt o' the earth type, or so I'm led t'believe. Funny thing though, he's supposed to carry a flame an' walk with a thief. Sounds jolly silly, doesn't it, but who am I to argue? Badger Lord an' Major Mullein pleaded with me on bended paw. So I had to agree t'the task, I mean, what's a chappess t'do, wot!”

Maudie was totally unprepared for what Orkwil said next. “The badger's name is Gorath, he's up in Sister Atrata's sickbay, resting. It was me who brought him to Redwall.”

Three things happened then. Maudie's ears stood up rigid, her eyes bulged wide and her mouth fell open. “You wha…Gorbadge in sick ratata bestray, an' you red him to broughtwall!”

Benjo Tipps chortled aloud at the sight and sound of the haremaid's confusion. “Better watch ye don't trip up over yore tongue an' fall down the steps, missy. Well, don't just sit there, young Prink, take the maid up to see yore badger friend. I'm sure she might start talkin' sense after a calmin' stroll o'er the lawn an' through our Abbey.”

Skipper nodded after Maudie and Orkwil as they made their way across the lawn. “Where are those two goin', Benj?”

The Cellarhog sat down on the top step. “Orkwil's takin' Maudie to see the badger, she was sent from the Salamandastron mountain to find him.”

Skipper watched the two entering the Abbey. “But Gorath didn't come from the badger mountain. I wonder how ole Lord Asheye guessed Gorath was here?”

Benjo took a sip from his tankard of October Ale. “Well ye may ask, Skip, Salamandastron's a mysterious place, plain, ord'nary beasts like us'll never fathom it.”

 

As the pair made their way to the sickbay, Orkwil explained briefly how he was banished from the Abbey, and how he came to meet Gorath. After listening to his narration, the haremaid smiled ruefully. “Hmm, your tale isn't too far different from mine, old chap. We both came here pursued by foebeasts, eh!”

The young hedgehog winked at Maudie. “Aye, so we did, but what were you banished from Salamandastron for, were you a thief like me?”

Totally unprepared, Maudie blurted out, “Most certainly not! It was for fightin', actually, all I did was biff Corporal Thwurl an' a few other bods. But how did you jolly well know they were goin' to banish me, wot?”

Orkwil opened the infirmary door quietly. “Oh, it was just somethin' about you, a bit like me, I s'pose. Gorath's in the small back room.”

Maudie gazed awestruck at the sleeping badger stretched out on the big bed. “Corks! He's bigger'n old Lord Asheye, though he looks a bit thin' an' wasted, is he ill?”

Orkwil touched Gorath's massive paw gently. “He's been through a lot. A lesser beast would've died from the treatment he received from those Sea Raiders.”

Gorath's eyes came open, he struggled weakly to sit up. “Sea Raiders, where are they?”

Orkwil sat on the bed, pressing him back down. “Calm yoreself, mate, there hasn't been hide nor hair of those rascals seen anywhere around. At the moment we're more concerned about a horde of Brownrats outside the south wall. Listen now, there's someone I want ye to meet.”

Maudie proffered her paw, introducing herself. “Maudie Mugsberry Thropple of Salamandastron, sah. I was sent to seek you out by Lord Asheye.”

Gorath paused a moment. “Asheye, is that's his name? An old badger, completely gray all over, I've seen him in my dreams a few times. What does he want with me?”

The haremaid seated herself on the end of the bed. “Er, I'm not quite flippin' sure, sah. He said I was to observe you, probably has thoughts of me bringin' you back to Salamandastron.”

Gorath interrupted her, the old fire seeming to smoulder in his eyes. “Not until Vizka Longtooth is dead by my paw! Orkwil, go and warn your Abbey friends, those vermin are somewhere near, waiting to attack Redwall. Bring me Tung, give me my weapon….” Again he tried to rise, but Maudie and Orkwil held him down.

Sister Atrata appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here, this creature is ill, he needs rest. You must leave immediately!” The Sister took a small bowl from the bedside table. Supporting Gorath's head, she raised it to his lips. “Drink some of this, friend, it will help you get well.”

The badger took a long, thirsty draught and lay back. His eyelids fluttered, and he gave a deep sigh. Then he began murmuring as though thinking aloud. “Never saw them coming…no chance at all…have to bury the old ones…build a new dwelling…all gone now, home, kinbeasts…Getting cold now, so cold these Northern Isles…Ice, snow…Crops ruined again…Poorbeasts, poorbeasts…buried in Northern earth…So cold…So cold!”

Gorath began trembling and shuddering then. His great, wasted body arched against the bed, paws tightly clasped as his teeth rattled aloud. The pitchfork, Tung, which had been laid next to him, clattered to the floor.

Sister Atrata acted quickly, pouring more liquid from the bowl between her patient's clenched teeth as she snapped out orders at the two visitors. “You, miss, bring blankets from the big chest in the next room. Prink, get hold of Marja Dubbidge, tell her to get a fire lit up here. Look sharp now, both of you, your friend is in a fever!”

Orkwil scurried off to find Marja, the Bellringer. Maudie located the big chest, and pulled fleecy woven blankets from it as she murmured to herself, “Hope the Sis knows what she's doin'. Imagine me havin' t'go back empty-pawed to His Lordship. What would one say? Sorry, sah, I found the badger who carries the flame, but I bloomin' well lost him. Huh, Major Mull'd have my hide!”

Stumbling over a heap of bedlinen and blankets, the haremaid tottered in to Sister Atrata. “Will that be enough, marm, d'you want me to fetch more, is he goin' to be alright, hadn't you better give him another dose of that jollop from the bowl, wot?”

The good Sister treated Maudie to a strict glare. “I'll do all in my power to help him, miz, but please don't start telling me how to do my job. Here, take a corner of this blanket, and help me to cover him.”

The haremaid was tucking the blanket about Gorath's shoulders when she noticed the extent, the depth of the flame-shaped scar on his brow. “Great blinkin' seasons, what an awful wound, I saw it when I first got here, but I didn't realise just how jolly big it was, 'til I got up close!”

Sister Atrata nodded. “Yes, I'm just hoping it doesn't affect his recovery, but who knows?”

Maudie stared down at the awesome wound. “Hmm, there used to be an old hare in the veterans' barracks. Got a big rock broken over his head in the vermin wars. Funny old chap, used to sing songs in a language nobeast could understand. They reckon the bang he got from the rock sent him clear off his chump. Beg pardon, marm, made him act strangely.”

The Sister lowered her eyes. “I understand, things like that have been known to happen. Though I don't think this badger will lose his mind, he's too fixed by one purpose, to avenge the death of his family.”

Maudie gazed out of the window, watching the first pale streaks of dawn illuminating the night sky. “Sounds just like a badger to me, Sister.”