The Sable Quean (41 page)

Granvy the Recorder emerged from the wallshadows. “Light a fire in the gateway.”

Skipper frowned at the ancient hedgehog. “Wot are ye doin’ up here, mate? Yore far too old for this sort o’ thing. An’ wot good will a fire in the gateway do?”

Granvy outlined his plan. “It’s worth a try, for want of a better idea. We build a large fire not far from the main gate, surround either side of it with pike or javelin beasts, then at my signal, open the doors.”

Oakheart scratched his headspikes. “It might just work! That way we can sort out the riffraff—let our friends enter and fight the vermin off. Keep the villains out, then as soon as Buck an’ the others are in, we slam the gates!”

Skipper was already descending the wallsteps. “Get anythin’ that’ll burn. Come on, mates, pile it up but leave enough space for the gates to open an’ shut. Oakie, get the word around. There ain’t a moment t’lose!”

 

Sniffy shouted to the Guosim as they fought their retreat over the nighttime plain. “We’ll be at the ditch soon. If’n ye falter, we’re deadbeasts. Try an’ jump o’er it in one bound!”

Buckler, who was having problems keeping Axtel from turning to face the Ravagers, called to Flib, “Get yore pa over here to me. You get across the ditch an’ leave him to me. Wait, Axtel, come back here, mate!”

The Warrior mole had charged off down the path. He met Fallug and his vermin as they tried to cross the ditch lower down. Standing at the edge of the path, Axtel caught the first pair, two river rats. They splashed back into the ditch, their lives snuffed rudely out by the mighty war hammer. However, he could only hold one spot on his own, and they began crossing further down.

Buckler heaved Jango up onto his shoulders and was rewarded with a clout over his ears. The Shrew Chieftain had suddenly wakened and was struggling wildly.

“Git yore paws off’n me, I ain’t no babe t’be carried. Where are we? Is young Flib alright?”

Buckler dropped him in a heap, relieved at his friend’s recovery. “We’re at the Abbey—get over that ditch. Come on, ye’ll have t’jump, they’re almost on us!”

Flib, who had leapt the ditch, saw vermin coming down the path on her left side. She turned and ran for the gate, with Ravagers hard on her paws.

Buckler, Jango and Bartij had gathered the remaining shrews in front of the main gate when Skipper’s shouts came from the walltop. “Ahoy, mates, hold fast, there!”

Granvy’s shrill call rang out. “Light the fire!”

There was a loud whoosh as lighted torches were tossed onto the hill of wood, moss, straw-filled mattresses and dead vegetation, all soaked in vegetable oil. The night lit up over the gates as red-gold shafts shone through the doorjambs, lintels and bottom space of the oaken west portal.

A shrew standing next to Buckler gave a sigh. He sagged forward, pinned to the door timbers by a vermin spear.

Jango bellowed into the night, “Hellgates an’ bloodfire, we’re sittin’ targets if’n they don’t open these gates! You in there, git the doors open, fer pity’s sake!”

26

More by luck than judgement, Diggs and his badgermaid friend arrived on the banks of the stream previously visited by both the young ones and Zwilt’s Ravagers. The tubby young hare had found ramsons growing in the tree-shade. Uprooting a bunch, he munched on the pungent plants as he cast about.

“Hmm, been a bit of to-ing an’ fro-ing around here. Tracks are still here’n’there, despite the bally rain, wot.”

Ambrevina turned her face from Diggs’s overpowering breath. “Whew, d’you have to chew those things?”

Diggs took another mouthful of the wild garlic plant. “Whoever ’twas prob’ly took t’the jolly old water. Bally rain swelled the current—no point tryin’ t’go upstream. Er, beg y’pardon, would y’like some ramsons?”

The badgermaid never answered. Loosing her huge sling, she whipped out with it, neatly snagging an old willow trunk which had been washed into the stream.

Diggs nodded admiringly, watching her haul it into the bank. “Oh, I say, well done, that, gel, wot! Do I take it we’re goin’ for a bit of a sail downstream?”

Ambrevina snatched the malodorous ramsons from his grasp. Flinging them away, she wiped her paws on the damp grass. “Wrong, Diggs. I’m going downstream on this trunk. You aren’t going anywhere until you’ve washed out your mouth and given me your solemn word that you’ll stop eating that stinking weed. So, that’s my offer, take it or leave it!”

The tubby hare looked aggrieved but wilted under her determined gaze. He thrust out his lower lip, chunnering. “Chap’s got to eat, ain’t he? Nothin’ like some fresh ramsons, y’know. Good for the digestion, wot wot!”

Ambrevina scowled at him, holding up a massive clenched paw. “Aye, though it’s been known to cause sudden unconsciousness if eaten within a certain distance of me!”

Diggs blinked owlishly, clambering aboard the willow trunk. “Hmmph! No need t’get so bloomin’ cut up about it, miz. One’d think that what a chap scoffs, or chooses to scoff, is his own bally business, wot!”

With a mighty heave, she lifted the log end clear of the water, causing Diggs to cling on for balance. “Now, are you going to wash out your mouth, or shall I shake this log about a bit and do it for you?”

The going was easy, with a smooth, fast-flowing current. Ambrevina straddled the front of their makeshift craft, using a broken-off branch to paddle and steer. Diggs occupied the stern, giving her the benefit of his nautical experiences.

“Spent quite a while on a raft, y’know. I’m no beginner at this sort o’ thing. Oh, yes, luff your tiller, sink your sail an’ swoggle your midriff. Whoops! Go easy there—you nearly tipped me off into the flippin’ drink!”

Ambrevina kept her face forward, smiling. “Then you should have learned to swoggle your midriff a bit better. Hmm, there’s a sidestream coming up, I see.”

The badgermaid steered their craft to the opening of the inlet. Diggs sniffed, unimpressed by his friend’s observation.

“I’d stick t’the main current, if I were you, then we may get some flippin’ where, wot!”

Ambrevina parted the reeds as she replied, “Well, I’m not you, and I want to look about here before we carry on. Hmm, look at this, my friend.”

She pulled out a dripping reed net, squirming with stream life and tiny fishes. Diggs inspected it. “Very clever, I’m sure. Who d’you suppose it belongs to?”

Ambrevina put the net back into the water. “I’ve no idea, but my feelings tell me we may find out more by following this sidestream.”

The irrepressible Diggs winked at her. “Indeed we may, marm, an’ we might stumble over some vittles, too. D’you know, I’m blinkin’ famished!”

The badgermaid blinked in mock astonishment. “You don’t say. I’d never have believed it if you hadn’t mentioned it. Now, get paddling and keep quiet!”

Whilst Ambrevina poled their craft through the reedy vegetation, Diggs dabbed at the water with a twig, muttering darkly, “Never have believed it? Huh, shows how much you know. Of course you wouldn’t remember old Wuffy Cockleshaw, Sergeant in the Long Patrol, he was, an’ a jolly nice chap, too. He missed dinner three times on the run! Faded away to a mere shadow. Ended up no more’n a pair of ears with bony paws stickin’ out. Old Wuffy couldn’t abide rhubarb crumble, y’know. Used to give me his when they served it in the mess. A friend right t’the end was Wuffy. It’s prob’ly those extra bowls o’ rhubarb crumble that’ve kept me goin’, wot!”

The badgermaid was about to give her talkative companion a sharp prod with the paddling pole when an odd sound reached her. She turned to Diggs.

“Hush, did you hear that? There it goes again!”

It was a mad, high-pitched cackle. Diggs made what he deemed to be a shrewd observation. “Comin’ from up ahead, wot. Well, at least somebeast sounds t’be jolly well enjoyin’ themselves. Just listen t’that. Bloomin’ chap must be sittin’ on a feather!”

Ambrevina backed water, halting the willow trunk at the end of the channel. The island stood out plainly in the midst of the watermeadow. She and Diggs stayed hidden, peering from the shelter of a bulrush patch at the strange scene.

Triggut Frap was holding Diggla the mousebabe by his tail, dangling him over the water. The young ones were pleading with him, with Tura calling out, “Alright, alright. Stop that an’ we’ll do as ye say!”

The scabrous hedgehog began striking the pond surface with his staff, shouting insanely, “Hahaarrrharr, I’ll teach ye to obey me! Once a day, at eventide, that’s when yew eat, when I tell yews to stop work. Is that clear?”

Jiddle replied anxiously, “We hear ye, sir. Please don’t do that to Diggla. He’s only a babe!”

Diggs recognised the young hedgehog. “I say, that’s young wotsis spike. I know his family.”

Ambrevina clapped a paw over Diggs’s mouth. “Sshh, not a sound!”

Triggut watched as the pike began gathering. “Heeheehee! Maybe I’ll let my pets have a nibble at him, just t’make sure yew pays ’eed t’my orders!”

The pike began leaping as he bobbed Diggla up and down above their predatory snouts.

The mousebabe was yelling, “Lemme go, ya bad naughty stinkybeast. Put Diggla onna shore!”

Ambrevina readied her sling, loading it with a sharp lump of shale. Diggs voiced his alarm.

“What are you up to? Don’t sling that rock. If you hit that barmy-lookin’ hog, he might fall into the drink an’ take the little chap with him!”

Rising slowly, Ambrevina began whirling the huge sling. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing. It’s not the hog I’m after.”

Placing one paw straight out, she squinted along it, whirling the sling until it thrummed. Then she threw.

The largest of the pike was halfway out of the water in a leap at the mousebabe. With deadly accuracy, the shale chunk hit it like a thunderbolt, completely ripping off its lower jaw. The fish flopped back with a splash, thrashing and crimsoning the water. Tasting blood, the rest of the pike shoal hurled themselves upon the dying fish. The water boiled and bubbled red as the voracious pike can nibalised their leader, rending it to shreds.

Reloading her sling, Ambrevina jumped into the water. She started wading toward the island, whirling the weapon and roaring thunderously, “Put that young un back on dry land or my next one will smash your skull. Put him back . . . now!”

Midda raced forward, grabbing Diggla from Triggut’s grasp.

Diggs seized the badgermaid’s paddle, poling the willow trunk energetically toward the island. “What ho, little chaps. Fear not no flippin’ more, we’re here to save you. Pretty nifty, wot wot!”

The young creatures were laughing and crying at the same time, leaping about wildly and cheering. Triggut stood stock-still, shocked by the sudden turn of events.

Ambrevina strode swiftly ashore, batting away at the pike with her loaded sling. She smiled at the captives, towering over them. “Don’t worry. You’re all safe now!”

Triggut made an attempt to cut and run, but Tura tripped him. The freed captives threw themselves upon the mad hog, pounding at him with their paws. Diggs picked Diggla up, chucking him under the chin.

“Good day to you, little sir. Any eats around here? You know, vittles, scoff, tummy treats, food!”

The mousebabe spread his tiny paws wide. “Lotsa lotsa vikkles all over d’place onna trees!”

The tubby hare sniffed. “Huh, I’m the last chap t’say he doesn’t mind livin’ off the blinkin’ land. The odd apple, ramsons, an’ a few berries are better’n nothin’, wot! But, dash it all, I’d give my left flippin’ ear for some properly cooked vittles again. Er, I wonder what that rascally old scruffbag fed himself on?”

Midda, Tura and the rest were still dealing out rough justice to Triggut Frap when Diggs strolled across. He nodded to them. “I say, chaps, don’t knock the blighter’s block off just yet. I’ve a question or two for him, y’see, so pardon me, an’ leave off kickin’ the villain’s bottom for a while, if you’d be so kind. Thank ye!”

No sooner had the young ones ceased beating Triggut than mousebabe Diggla hurled himself upon the miscreant, squeaking shrilly as he pummelled him. “Yarr, bad naughty villin, t’row Diggla to d’pikes would ya? Take dat’n’dat’n’dat’n’dat. . . .”

With one paw, Ambrevina lifted the still-kicking mousebabe off his victim. She was shaking with mirth. “Oh, you great fierce warrior, spare him. Allow Diggs to talk to the rascal.”

Distastefully, the young hare hauled Triggut up by one dirt-crusted ear and commenced his interrogation. “Now, then, y’foul smellin’ brute, where’s your cookin’ gear? Oven, cauldron an’ whatnot, eh?”

The mad hog spat out a loose tooth, mumbling, “Don’t need that sorta thing. I eats everythin’ raw!”

Diggs nodded understandingly. “Hmm, I can see ’tis doin’ you a power o’ good. What sort of things d’you eat raw, wot?”

Spines fell from under Triggut’s shabby cloak as he shrugged. “Anythin’—fruits, roots, fishes, frogs, worms.”

Diggs held up a paw. “Stop right there. I’ve heard enough, thank you! Huh, fat chance of a decent feed here, chaps. What d’you suggest we do with this cur mudgeon, wot?”