The Sable Quean (5 page)

Daclaw, the ferret who was group leader, ventured a reply. “Sire, we’re just watchin’ the place as ye ordered. Anybeast who steps outside those walls will be trapped an’ captured by us. That was wot ye wanted, eh, Lord?”

Zwilt moved swift and silent. Raddi felt him standing alongside her; the hairs bristled upon her neck. She held her breath, not knowing what to expect.

The dead black eyes of Zwilt swept over the vermin band. He hissed scornfully, “Idiots, ye haven’t the brain of a worm betwixt ye. Listen to me and learn. Redwall Abbey must never be touched. Ye don’t have to understand that—just obey it. Leave the thinking to those with brains. Clear?”

Their heads bobbed in silent unison. Raddi was about to relax when she felt the broadsword at her neck.

Zwilt watched her throat pulsing against the blade’s edge. He leaned close to the terror-stricken ferret, taunting her. “You, what have ye got to say for yourself?”

Raddi’s voice was reduced to a fearful whimper. “Nu nu-nothin’, Lord.”

It was one way of instilling obedience into others. Zwilt persisted with his torment of Raddi.

“Only deadbeasts have nothing to say. You’re not a deadbeast, are ye?”

He uttered a low chuckle as he watched her striving to think of the right reply, but she had lost the power of speech. Keeping the broadsword at her neck, he turned his attention to Daclaw, knowing that he was Raddi’s mate. “You tell me—is she a deadbeast?”

Daclaw knew what to say.

“Aye, she is, Sire, unless she lives only to serve you.”

With eye-blurring speed, Zwilt swept the sword at Daclaw’s head, stopping its point a hairsbreadth from his eyeball. The sable enjoyed seeing the fear of death in others. Daclaw was openmouthed, rigid with naked fright. Zwilt returned the weapon to his belt casually.

“A good answer, my friend, very good!”

He paced quietly backward until he was behind the group. None dared turn to see where he was. Again he spoke to Daclaw.

“If nobeast has left the Abbey by sunset, then split your force into four groups. You watch the front gates from the ditch on the west side. The others can take up positions where they can see the three small wallgates. Until then, stay here and keep your eyes on that building.”

It was nearing sunset; none of the Ravagers had dared to move. Daclaw was shocked when the young stoat called Globby stood up and stretched himself.

Daclaw whispered hoarsely, “Wot are ye doin’? Get down, ye fool!”

Globby twitched his snout impudently. “Fool yoreself. Zwilt’s long gone—take a look.”

It was Raddi who ventured a peek. “Yore right, but how’d ye know Zwilt was gone?”

Globby shrugged. “He always does that. Whenever Zwilt tells ye to watch somethin’, well, do it. Then count ten an’ take a look behind ye. Hah, that’s why they calls ’im the Shade—he’s always gone.”

Daclaw felt the need to regain his authority, so he pushed Globby roughly in the chest. “Think yore clever, eh? Well, you’ll be dead clever afore long if’n ye carry on like that, smart mouth!”

The young stoat merely laughed. “Cummon, let’s split up an’ watch those liddle gates. Me’n Dinko’ll take the back un. Let’s go, mate.”

Dinko, an equally forward young rat, bounded off after Globby, who was already on his way.

Daclaw called after them, “I never told youse t’go. Wait for my order—come back ’ere!”

Raddi waved a dismissive paw. “Ah, let ’em go. Those two are troublemakers—we’re better off without ’em.”

Daclaw took his mate’s advice and set about picking watchers for the other gates. He winked at Raddi. “Yore right. Cummon, me’n’you’ll watch the front gates together. We can take turns sleepin’.”

Not far from the east wickergate at the back wall, the two young Ravagers had found a blackberry patch. Dinko sat in the loam, his lips dyed purple with juice.

“This is the life, mate—’Ey, wot are ye doin’ there? Git down outta that tree!”

Globby kept his eyes on a high branch as he climbed a sycamore which grew reasonably close to the wall. “I can’t get the smell o’ that cookin’ out me snout. Those scones, that bread, right out the oven, an’ that cake. I’ve never tasted real cake afore!”

Dinko almost choked on a berry. “Git down, ye knot’ead, afore ye fall an’ ’urt yoreself!”

Globby stopped to rest on a sturdy limb. “I’ll be alright—don’t you worry, cully. See that branch up there? If’n I climb along it, I’ll bet I could jump an’ reach the walltop. I’m a good climber.”

Dinko was not so sure. “Ye’ll get us both killed if’n Zwilt comes back. Don’t chance it, Glob!”

Globby carried on climbing. “Yore like an ole frog wirra warty bum. Stop worryin’. Look, you stay ’ere—this won’t take long. I’ll be in an’ out afore ye knows it. Tell yer wot, I’ll bring ye a pie back, all for yoreself. How’d ye like that?”

Dinko spat out a sour blackberry. “Wot sorta pie?”

Globby, having reached the desired branch, looked down. “I dunno. Wot sort d’yer like? Apple or maybe plum? Suit yerself.”

Dinko gave it some thought. “See if’n they got apple an’ plum, an’ damson, too, or strawberry.”

Globby sniggered. “Wot, all in one pie?”

Dinko looked indignant. “Well, ye never know. Daclaw said they must ’ave a big cookin’ place in there. I betcha they could cook all sorts o’ pies.”

Globby ventured out onto the branch, halting as it wobbled slightly. “Righto. I’ll see wot I kin get!”

A moment later, he made his daring leap and was clinging to the battlements, hauling himself up, muttering, “Knowed I could do it. Now, where’s the big cookin’ place?”

4

The endless hiss of breaking waves was softened to a weary sigh by the ebbing tide. Gulls wheeled and soared over the dawn-lit sea. Clear skies and a rapidly blooming sun predicted another fine summer day. Leaving two sets of pawtracks in their wake, Buckler and Diggs travelled east from Salamandastron.

Buckler was packing one of the bellropes next to his long blade. He marched energetically, with a spring to his paw-step. Diggs, however, was already lagging behind, panting and blowing. He was burdened down by an overfull haversack, bulging with food. The bellrope he carried trailed the ground, constantly tripping him. Buckler halted, waiting for him to catch up.

“Pick those paws up, mate. It’s a wonder you can walk at all. The size of that breakfast you scoffed would’ve staggered a regiment. Where’d you shove it all?”

The tubby Diggs hitched up his huge backpack. “Take my tip, old scout. A chap needs lots o’ fodder t’keep himself goin’, wot. Ever heard the sayin’ that an army marches on its jolly old stomach?”

Hiding a smile, Buckler jollied him along. “I’ll march on your jolly old stomach, if y’don’t keep up. Hup two three, Diggs—let’s see you stepping out. I’d like to get to Redwall while I’m still young enough to enjoy the place.”

Diggs caught up with an amazing burst of speed. “Red flippin’ wall! Y’mean the blinkin’ Abbey?”

Buckler nodded. “Must be. I’ve not heard of any other Abbeys called Redwall, have you?”

The revelation spurred Diggs to increase his pace further. “I say, simply spiffin’, wot! All those wonderful vittles, the banquets an’ whatnot, picnics an’ super suppers. Hoho, I’ll bet breakfast’s a real treat. Wonder if they serve it t’you in bed, wot?”

He halted suddenly in a swirl of sand, rounding wrathfully upon his companion. “Just a tick . . . you cad! You flippin’ rotter! You never said anything t’me about goin’ to Redwall. I thought we were goin’ to visit your bally brother. Oh, yah boo sucks t’you, Buckler blinkin’ Kordyne. Some friend you jolly well turned out t’be, wot!”

Buckler had to double march to keep up with his indignant companion. “Sorry, mate. I must’ve forgotten to tell you we were going to Redwall first. But what d’you suppose these ropes are for?”

Diggs continued his rapid pace, waving his paws about in agitation. “How’m I supposed t’know, eh? You said your brother was a flippin’ farmer. I thought ropes were things farmers used for . . . for tyin’ up their confounded crops, or whatever. Alls I know is that this rope I’m carryin’ is jolly heavy, heavier’n yours, I bet, wot!”

Buckler explained. “They’re both the same weight, because they’re bellropes. A gift from Lord Brang to Abbess Marjoram. He asked me to deliver them.”

Diggs huffed. “Oh, very kind of him, t’be sure. Hah, you’d think a chap could deliver his own bloomin’ bellropes instead o’ weighin’ a couple o’ poor, weary young travellers down with the blighters, eh, wot!”

Leaving behind the shoreline, they cut off into the dunelands, digging their paws deep into the warm sand as they surmounted each hill. Diggs was immensely cheered by the prospect of a Redwall visit. However, he had still not completely forgiven Buckler for his loss of memory on the previous evening. So he spoke his mixed thoughts aloud.

“Hahahoho, Redwall, wot wot! Loads o’ munchables, I’ll be bound. I’ve heard the scoff there’s second to none. Indeed, they prob’ly serve seconds all the time, eh! But you, y’scoundrel, wouldn’t give a chap a single clue we were goin’ to the place. Sneaky codwoofler! Er, I say, Buck old lad, it must be about time for lunch. What say we halt an’ break out the old nosebag? All this trampin’ about gets a chap confounded hungry.”

His companion pointed up at the sun. “See, when that’s in the centre of the sky, it’ll be midday. That’s the correct time to eat lunch. Until then, we keep going, alright?”

Diggs was a notorious creature at chunnering. He began dropping behind again, muttering darkly, “Huh, bally sun in the centre o’ the bloomin’ sky? Might be all season before that happens. A chap could starve t’death, shrivel up like a leaf an’ be carted off by the blinkin’ breeze. ’Tain’t right, that’s what ’tain’t. Bet you won’t shed a tear for me, though!”

To stem the tide of chunnering, Buckler made a suggestion. “How about striking up a cheery marchin’ song, to help us along the way, eh?”

Diggs was not enchanted with the idea. “Yah, go’n’ boil your beastly bottom! How can a chap skip along warblin’ some jolly song when he’s about to collapse from starvation? I’d die before we got much further. Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, wot? A grinnin’ young skeleton whose last words were a line from some silly marchin’ ditty. Indeed, ’tis a sad fact, my fiendish friend, that’d fit in with your wicked old plan. Then you could trot on alone to Redwall an’ scoff all the tuck yourself. Well, you don’t fool me for a ruddy moment. Shame on you, my one-time travellin’ companion. Shame an’ fie, I say!”

Buckler turned, glaring at his laggardly friend. “Are you goin’ t’stop that bloomin’ chunnerin’, or do I have to kick your tail into the middle of next season to get a bit of peace!”

This threat did not bother Diggs, who carried on in full flow. “So, this is what it’s come to, eh? Well, kick my tender young tail as much as y’please, sah. There’s no law against a chap chunnering. I’ll chunner as much as I bally well like—so there!”

Admitting defeat, Buckler dropped the haversack from his back. He sat down in the lee of a high sandhill, calling wearily to Diggs, “Righto, mate, let’s have lunch, before you either starve or drive me insane with your chunnering!”

The plump complainer plopped down beside him, rubbing his paws and chortling gleefully. “Splendid day for a spot o’ lunch, wot. Shall we dine from my rations or yours? Better make it yours, ’cos you’ve already got your haversack off. Heehee!”

Tearing open Buckler’s supplies, he enthused happily, “Oh, I say, just the ticket, bread’n’cheese, an’ a drop o’ good old cider. What ho, Buck—nothin’ like simple fare when a feller’s famished. Hello, what’s this? A jar of plums preserved in honey, what luck. That’ll hit the jolly old spot, wot wot! Well, well, who’d have thought old Cooky would bung in some vegetable turnovers? Raspberry cordial, too, an’ a hefty old fruitcake. It’ll lighten your load once I’ve dealt with that. Hah, an’ will you look at this—”

Buckler rapped his paw with the wooden bellrope end. “Hold up, there. This is only a light lunch, not a midsummer-eve banquet. Glutton, you’d wolf the lot if I let you!”

Diggs sucked his paw resentfully. “No need to break a chap’s limb over a mouthful of tuck!”

Buckler shared out enough for a frugal repast. They dined on bread and cheese, a slice of fruitcake apiece and some cider. Diggs finished his in record time, then sat watching every mouthful his friend ate, licking his lips longingly.

When it became clear he was getting no more, he lay back upon the sun-warmed sand, complaining, “Hope we have afternoon tea at a respectable time. I’m still pretty hungry, y’know. Another cob o’ that good cheese an’ a pasty wouldn’t go amiss, wot!”

Buckler ignored the irrepressible Diggs, who drew patterns in the sand, belched, excused himself, then lay back, closing his eyes.

Buckler snorted. “Y’great, idle lump, you’re not going to nod off. We haven’t made a half day’s march yet!”

Diggs twitched his nose. “ ’Sno good talkin’ t’me, old lad. I’m asleep, y’see. Didn’t sleep much last night, what with this bally journey hangin’ over me, an’ after all that fibbin’ you did, not lettin’ on about a visit to Redwall. Dearie me, it’s depressin’ my spirit so much I’ll need a good few hours’ shuteye before I even think about more pawsloggin’ again.”