The Sable Quean (29 page)

Far sooner than he expected, Feril came loping furtively back. His voice sounded low and eager. “Sire, Aggrim’s not only found tracks, but he’s spotted somebeasts, not too far from here!”

Zwilt’s impassive face never changed expression. “Where?”

Feril pointed. “Over that ways, Sire. There’s two little uns wot must’ve escaped from Althier, a big mole, one o’ those riverdogs, a shrew”—he halted, smiling, as he had saved the best for last—“an’ ye recall that big rabbet ye met at the Redwall place? Well, him, too!”

The smile that dawned over the sable’s features was one of pure evil. He murmured softly to his guards, “You three, along with Aggrim, can take care of the riverdog, mole and shrew. Slay the little uns, too. They’re more trouble than they’re worth. But not a word to Quean Vilaya, or you’ll answer to me. As for the rabbet, he’s mine. Leave him to me. Understood?”

As they nodded, Zwilt beckoned to Feril. “Lead on.”

 

Buckler and his friends were taken completely by surprise. Following Sniffy, who was leading them through a thick bed of tall ferns, they did not see the enemy until the vermin were almost upon them. They were ambushed from both sides.

Skipper heard a movement to his left. He turned, calling out, “Wot the—”

A spearhaft thudded into his jaw, and he fell. Then chaos broke loose. Axtel threw himself across Tassy and Borti, protecting them with his body as he lashed out with his crutch, slaying Feril with a mighty blow to the throat.

Sniffy yelled as he saw Zwilt rise up at Buckler’s back. “Buck, behind ye!”

A spear took the Guosim Tracker through the shoulder. He held on to it, drawing his short rapier and fending off his attacker.

Buckler wheeled about swiftly, his own long rapier out and ready as Zwilt’s heavier broadsword crashed down against it. The young hare’s paws went numb from the shock, but he knew he was fighting for his life, so he parried the stroke.

Zwilt turned to one side, anticipating a lunge, which did not come—Buckler knew the sable’s tactic, to slash down as he went by. Dropping back, he made his assailant come to him.

Zwilt was forced to move forward. Caught upon the wrong footpaw, he stumbled. Buckler’s long blade came up at him in a blur of small circles. It caught the broadsword in a whirl of lightning motion, twisting it from Zwilt’s grasp.

With his paws still stinging from Zwilt’s first blow, Buckler glimpsed Aggrim thrusting his spearpoint down at Skipper, who was still half stunned. To distract the ferret, Buckler yelled the Long Patrol war cry.

“Eulaaaaaliiiaaa!”

He flung himself through the air, blade outstretched. Aggrim paused long enough to seal his own fate. He fell with the blade through him and Buckler on top of it.

Now Skipper was up. He threw his lance, which pierced another Ravager at the exact moment that Axtel’s war hammer snuffed out the foebeast’s life.

Tassy wriggled free of the Warrior mole. Grabbing a stone, she hurled it at the fallen vermin. “Ooh, ye naughty wicked beast, take that!”

Axtel winked at the little Redwaller. “Thankee, likkle marm, but oi a’ready fixed ’im!”

Buckler scrambled upright. Retrieving his blade, he turned to reenter the fray, but it was all over. The four vermin guard were slain. And Zwilt the Shade had vanished—he was gone!

“Ahoy, mates, we’re comin’! Logalogalogaloooooog!” Crashing through the ferns, Jango and Big Bartij came charging in. The Shrew Chieftain was disappointed.

“Yah, mudlumps, we’ve missed the battle!”

Sniffy staunched his shoulder wound with a clump of moss. “Aye, Chief, so ye did. Wot ’appened with the stoat’n’weasel?”

Jango slashed at the ferns with his rapier—he was not happy. “Hah, my one got away. Greasy-livered swab, I never knew stoats could run that fast. Took off like a duck with its bum afire, prob’ly still runnin’.”

Skipper chuckled. “An’ the other one, the weasel?”

Bartij was a simple soul. Toting a hefty oak limb, he explained apologetically, “He was tryin’ to run me through with a spear, so I had t’stop him. Didn’t think I hit him that hard, really.” His homely face broke out in a smile as he spotted Tassy. “Hoho, lookit wot we got here—a Redwall Dibbun!”

Jango had found his little son, Borti. The pair of them were laughing and weeping, hugging each other fiercely.

Buckler smiled. “There’s a happy sight for ye!”

Mumzy suddenly bustled in from the shrubbery. “A grand ould sight I’m sure, but ’twill look much better when ye clear them durty varmint carcasses away!”

Hiding his surprise, Buckler bowed. “Sorry about that, marm. We’ll get right to it.”

The water vole folded her paws firmly. “Sure, there’ll not be a bite o’ vittles for ye ’til this lot is floatin’ downstream. Now, would I be wrong in sayin’ that yore lookin’ for more missin’ babbies?”

Buckler touched his lips to her paw. “You’d be correct, m’dear. Pray, where might we find ’em?”

Mumzy smiled at Buckler, giving him a playful push, which almost sent him sprawling. “Ah, will ye lissen t’the silver tongue on that un? There’s a creature wid manners for ye. Come on, then. Foller Mumzy an’ we’ll get ye fed an’ acquainted wid the liddle mites.”

Skipper gave her an elegant rudder salute. “We’d be forever in yore debt, me darlin’.”

Mumzy dug an elbow into Jango’s side, winding him. “Sure, an’ there’s another one born with his tongue in the honeypot. Well, flatter away, me fine friends, compliments are scarce these days fer an ould volewife like meself!”

They followed her tortuous route, which twisted and turned until Sniffy scratched his head, declaring, “ ’Tis a bloomin’ wonder she doesn’t git ’erself lost. I never seen a better-covered trail than this un, mates!”

On reaching the water vole’s dwelling, they entered through the curtain of vegetation which masked it.

Guffy immediately hugged Skipper’s rudder. “Oi knowed ee’d cumm furr us’n’s, zurr. Oi wuz surrtin!”

Flib jibed the molebabe cheerfully, “Hah, that ain’t wot yew was sayin’ when we was locked up in that cave!”

Jango tried to hide his surprise at the sight of his daughter. “Petunia Rosebud, is that you?”

The rebellious Guosim maid stuck out her chin. “No, it ain’t. It’s Flib, see, me name’s Flib!”

The Shrew Chieftain was equally stubborn. “Well, me an’ yore ma named ye Petunia Rosebud. Huh, Flib sounds like some kind o’ fish. ’Tain’t a proper name for the daughter of a Log a Log.”

Flib stood face-to-face with her father, eyes blazing. “Well, ’tis the name I gave meself, an’ I like it, see!”

Jango was shaking from paw to tail. “Ye . . . ye . . . hardfaced young—”

Skipper stepped between them. “Ahoy, mates, wot’s all this? A fine pair you two are, bickerin’ an arguin’ like enemies. Wot’s the matter with ye, eh? Jango, ain’t you glad t’see yore daughter alive an’ well? Flib, ye should be happy that yore pa came searchin’ an’ found ye!”

Mumzy chipped in. “Sure, ain’t it the truth? Huh, ye should be ashamed o’ yerselves, carryin’ on like two starlin’s over a worm. An’ wot for, pray? Does it matter whether she’s called Peculiar Nosebud, Flibbity Jib, or Wifflesplotch? Get some sense into yore thick ’eads. Come here!”

Grabbing both shrews, the water vole thrust them together. “Flib, he’s yore da an’ yore his daughter. Jango, she’s yore blood kin, so act like a proper father t’the maid. Now, give each other a big kiss, or ye’ll both feel the back o’ me paw. Go on!”

Jango was still carrying Borti, who got squeezed between them both and uttered his first full word. “Gerroff!”

Father and daughter started laughing at the ridiculous situation. Jango kissed her, then tweaked her snout.

“Righto, Flib it is, then, ye disobedient wretch!”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Flib pinched Jango’s cheek hard. “Log a Log Jango Bigboat, ye grumpy ole Guosim!”

The exchange seemed to clear the air, but no food was forthcoming until Skipper and Big Bartij disposed of the slain vermin in the fast-flowing stream. Whilst they were away, Mumzy, who was well versed in most things, treated the wounded with her own homemade remedies.

“Now then, Sniffy, me ould tater, grit yore teeth an’ be brave. Aye, an’ you, too, big molebeast, though I can’t see you cryin’ out in pain, warrior that ye are.”

Axtel held up his footpaw. “Ee likkle Tassymaid fixed et up, marm, but if’n it bein’ not to yore loikin’ then doo’s wot ee must!”

Mumzy made two evil-smelling poultices, which she laid on bark and moss. The water vole placed them over the fire until they were steaming, then applied them to the wounds of each creature. Passing Tassy some woven grass strands, she patted her back.

“Bind ’em up now, missy, like a grand ould healer!” When they were treated and Skipper returned with Bartij, Mumzy served them with huge bowls of what she termed Streamabye Stew. It went down well with chestnut bread and pear ’n’apple cordial.

As they supped, Buckler said the words they were waiting to hear. “Right, friends. It’s a Council of War!” He went straight to Axtel. “This place that you rescued the young uns from, could you find it again, sir?”

The Warrior mole left no room for doubt. “Burr, h’oi surrpintly cudd, zurr. ’Tis unner a gurt ole h’oaky tree—”

Skipper interrupted. “A massive, big thing? Maybe four-topped, would ye say?”

Axtel nodded. “Aye, that ud be et. ’Tis filled wi’ tunnels an’ caves unnerneath. They’m gotten ee likkle uns thurr.”

Skipper’s powerful rudder slapped the ground hard. “I’ve seen it afore, I’m sure of it. Aye, an’ I reckon I could find it agin, Buck!”

Jango turned to his daughter. “How many vermin have they got down there, Flib?”

The shrewmaid put aside her drink. “There’s quite a few. I’ve counted a score or more different ones, rats, ferrets, weasels. I s’pose they come an’ go. But there’s two that’s always there, a nasty liddle ole rat an’ the one called Sable Quean. She’s real evil an’ scary. I was frightened of ’er.”

Buckler nodded. “From what I’ve seen of her, I can understand ye bein’ fearful. Did ye see any other beasts down there? Think.”

Flib nodded. “Aye, I saw the tall one who carries the big sword. Zwilt, that’s his name. I think he’s some sort o’ chief, though the Quean is the mighty one. I ’eard the liddle rat callin’ her that.”

Buckler looked pensive. “Hmm, so there’s a score or more Ravagers down there—say about thirty—an’ you say y’could find the place, Skip?”

The Otter Chieftain pawed at his javelin. “Pretty sure I could, matey. Are ye plannin’ a move on the vermin, some sort o’ lightnin’ strike?”

The young hare smiled grimly. “ ’Tis a nice thought, but there’s only six of us. Well, four an’ two wounded. Goin’ up against thirty of ’em, I think we’d be on a loser.”

Jango growled, “I know you’ve got some kind o’ plan, Buck—come on, out with it.”

Buckler looked at the eager faces of his friends. “Think about this. If’n there’s thirty down there, well, they’ve got another hundred an’ seventy to call upon. You saw them when they came to Redwall. There was at least tenscore, an’ they all seemed like seasoned fightin’ vermin.”

Bartij scratched his headspikes. “So yore tellin’ us it can’t be done, Buck?”

The Blademaster held up his paws. “I never said that, but how’s this for a plan of action: Axtel, could you dig a way back into Althier?”

The big mole replied without hesitation. “Ho aye, zurr. Oi cuddent be a-diggen too farst wi’ this paw oi moine, but oi cudd do et.”

Buckler patted Axtel’s huge paw, then turned to Jango. “An’ how many fightin’ Guosim have ye got to paw?”

The Log a Log slapped his rapier hilt. “Threescore, mate, an’ every one a proper battler, ready an’ willin’ at my command!”

Mumzy dished out more of her tasty Streamabye Stew, serving Buckler an extra-large portion. “Sure, an’ aren’t you the canny beast? I likes the sound of yore plan. Carry on, Bucko!”

Buckler smiled. “Thankee, marm. Now, the first thing is to get these young uns back to the Abbey. Once they’re safe, we can move fast, ’cos that’ll be the plan. Like you said, Skip, a lightning strike, quick’n’hard!”

Mumzy interrupted. “Quick’n’hard, is it? Well, ye won’t be so swift wid two ould wounded beasts in tow. I’ll look after Sniffy an’ Axtel ’til ye get back in full force.” She cast a glance at the Dibbuns. “Ah, ’tis a pity they’ll be goin’ with ye. I likes the liddle babbies. Don’t suppose there’s any chance one of ’em could stay here with an ould volewife? It’d be grand fun, an’ I’d feed the mite well.”

Skipper gave Mumzy a hug. “It ain’t possible, marm, but when this is all over, ye can come an’ live at our Abbey. There’s enough babes t’keep anybeast busy for ten seasons! Right then, mates, shall we get movin’?”

They were soon underway, with Skipper in the lead. Mumzy pressed small parcels of goodies upon the young ones. “Here now, me darlin’s, there’s a few slices of me grandest plum cake. That’ll keep ye goin’ ’til ye get back home. I’ll see ye agin when I comes to yore fine Abbey t’live!”

Jango sat baby Borti on his shoulders, and Buckler slung Guffy up on his back.

Flib muttered to Buckler as they jogged through the woodlands, “I’ll be comin’ back with ye for this lightnin’ raid. I ain’t sittin’ round Redwall with a pile of babes an’ gossipin’ mothers.”

Jango had overheard his daughter. “So, you’ll be takin’ part in the attack, will ye?” Flib stared bleakly at her father. She seemed several seasons older all of a sudden. “Aye, I will!”

Jango nodded. “Then I suppose ye will!”

 

There was no way that Midda could keep the other captives totally quiet. Most of them were chattering away, all agog with what might lie behind the crack at the rear of the cave wall. One or two even ventured to the entrance of the rift, trying to peer in and maybe catch a glimpse of Tura. Midda drew the smallest babes close to her. She hummed tunes softly, rocking back and forth, hoping they would drop off.