Redwall #19 - High Rhulain Brian Jacques

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BOOK ONE

The Forgotten Tome

Riggu Felis, Warlord of the Green Isle Cats, stood watching his two sons, scorning their efforts to dispatch the wounded bird. The wildcat chieftain turned impatiently to the pine marten, Atunra, his aide and constant companion.

"Gwurr! Is this a kill or a dance? Look ye, they fight like two frightened frogs!"

Atunra flinched as both young cats leapt back, a hair's-breadth from the wounded hawk's lethal talons. "The big bird is a dangerous fighter, Chief. It is wise they do not rush in at it."

Riggu Felis gave a snort of derision. Casting aside his single-bladed war axe, he threw off his battle helmet and cloak, oblivious to the wind and rain.

"Garrah! I have raised cowards for sons! Step aside, ye weaklings. I can snap that thing's neck like a twig!"

As his two sons gave way, the big wildcat bounded in.

Tail waving, ears flattened and fangs bared, he howled his challenge. "Arrrreeeekkaaarrrr!"

The wildcat chieftain made a barbaric sight, but the hawk was a born warrior and not easily daunted. Shaking its wings free of the last net strands, it powered itself straight at the foebeast's face, avoiding the outstretched claws. The savage, hooked talons struck true, deep into the area be-twixt eyes and nostrils. Spreading its mighty wings, the big bird flapped a short distance into the air.

Riggu Felis screeched in pain, hanging helpless for a brief moment. Then his weight sent him crashing to the ground as the hawk winged upward and out of the trees. Both the young cats and the pine marten dashed forward to help, but too late. The bird h a d flown.

High into the raging gale it swooped, where it was flung by the elements into the maelstrom of keening wind and battering rain. Up and away it went, like a dead leaf in an autumnal gale—head over tail, talons over wings, a flurry of dark brown and white plumage, resembling a tattered quilt. Off, off, over glade, swamp, stream, sward and lough,

across dune and shoreline. Out over the thunderous might of raging seas.

The warlord Riggu Felis lay senseless on the wet earth.

His sons looked on in horrified awe as Atunra inspected the gruesome injury inflicted by the bird. Quickly she held his head facedown, wiping away the gore as she issued hasty instructions to the young feral cats.

"Jeefra, Pitru, run and get help. I'll try to keep him breathing while he's unconscious. Hurry now!"

Jeefra ventured a question. "Is he going to die? Has the big bird killed him?"

The pine marten snapped back, "Nay, he will live, as long as I can stop him choking on his own blood. Go now!"

Pitru leaned over Atunra's shoulder. The pine marten kicked out at him. "Don't tarry there gossiping, go and get help—a healer, carriers, bandages and salves. Half of his face is gone, ripped off, most of the muzzle, all of the nose, and his top lip, right d o w n to the teeth and gums. Go quickly, stop for nought. Hasten, before your father bleeds to death!"

As they dashed off through the trees, Atunra stared down at the ravaged features of Riggu Felis. "Ye still have two eyes, though if ye see that face reflected in water, you'll wonder w h y I saved ye. Still, half a face is better than none.

Now Riggu Felis will be able to slay his enemies with just a look, methinks!"

Lycian still had her best seasons before her. She was rather young to be Mother Abbess of all Redwall. However, nobeast could deny that the pretty, slender mouse possessed wisdom, judgement and the good sense of most creatures twice her age.

On the west parapet of the Abbey's outer walltop, Lycian and her constant companion, the molemum Burbee, basked in the welcome morning sun, sitting on their portable chairs enjoying mugs of hot mint and comfrey tea.

Burbee scratched her velvety head with a huge digging claw, exclaiming in curious mole dialect, "Hurr, marm, ee wuddent think this morn wot a terrible stormen et wurr larst noight, burr, nay ee wuddent!"

Lycian, surveying the gentle blue sky, blinked in the w a r m sunlight. "Thank goodness Mother Nature is in a calmer mood today. Just listen to that lark, what a beautiful song she's singing! Can you hear it?"

The molemum had to listen a while before she could dis-cern the sound. She nodded, smiling. "Hurr aye, marm, 'tis aseedingly noice!"

Lycian began singing a song from her Dibbun days, which harmonised perfectly with the bird's trilling.

"When the new day is dawning

the lark doth ascend.

If I could but speak to her

I'd make her my friend.

She would tell of her journey

to the lands of the sky,

where the soft fields of cloud

like white pillows do lie.

She would sing of the earth

far below that she'd seen,

all patched in a quiltwork

of brown, gold and green.

As she wings on the zephyrs

of smooth morning breeze

to rise from the meadows,

the hills or the trees.

With the evening come down,

little bird, cease thy flight

'til the blue peaceful morning

awakes from the night."

The larksong and Lycian's ditty reached their finale together. Molemum Burbee, a sentimental beast, wiped a tear 6

from her eye. "Thurr now, ee likkle bird bees hoi and far away."

Turning to face the Abbey, Lycian allowed her gaze to wander over the magnificent structure. Lovingly built but firmly fashioned as a mountain, the ancient sandstone walls ranged in hue from dusty pink to soft terra cotta in the alternating sunlight and shadow. From belltower to high slated rooftop, d o w n to the mighty buttresses, twixt tiny attic and mul-lioned dormitory windows, amongst ornate columns and ledges and the long, stained-glass panels of Great Hall on the ground floor, Redwall Abbey stood, solid a n d steadfast against countless seasons and the severity of all weathers.

Lycian sipped her tea approvingly, nodding towards the front steps and main oaken door. "No storm could bother our home, eh, Burbee?"

Frowning, the molemum squinted over the rim of her mug at the Abbey grounds. "Hurr, that's as m a y be, young marm, but lookit ee h'orchard. Trees blowed thisaway an'

that, fruits'n'berries be'n knocked offen ee boughs. Gurt pesky stormgale!"

Lycian patted her friefid's paw, smiling. "Oh come on, old grumblechops, that's w h a t usually h a p p e n s in bad weather. Nothing our Redwallers can't put to rights. Drink up now, here comes our refill."

Besides being a Foremole (which is a lofty position among his fellow creatures), Grudd Longtunnel was also the Head Abbey Gardener. A nephew of molemum Burbee, he was good-natured, cheerful and honest as the day is long. Balancing a tray on one powerful paw, he clambered up the steps to the walltop, tugging his snout respectfully to the Abbess and his aunt.

"Gudd mornen to ee, marms, an' a roight purty one et bee's, too. Oi bringed ee 'ot scones an' h'extra tea. Boi okey you'm surrtingly can sup summ tea in ee course of a day.

Moi ole tongue'd float away if'n I drinked that much tea!"

Burbee chuckled. "Gurt h'imperdent young lump, lessen thoi cheek an' pour us'n's summ o' that brew."

Grudd placed the plate of fresh scones, spread with meadowcream and clover honey, between them. Whipping the cosy from a sizeable teapot, he topped up both their mugs. "Shudd see wot ee storm d o ' d to moi veggibles.

Flartenned ee lettuces, snapped off'n celery an' strewed ter-matoes every whichway. Even rooted up moi young radish-ers. Burr!"

Lycian blew on her tea to cool it. "Your aunt Burbee was just remarking on the storm damage in the orchard. Is it very bad, Grudd?"

The Foremole's face creased deeply in a reassuring smile.

"Doan't ee frett, h'Abbess marm. Oi gotten moi molecrew a-workin' daown thurr, an' all ee Redwallers lendin' a paw.

Just bee's two more willin' beasts a-needed."

Lycian shot him a look of mock severity. "We'll be down just as soon as we've finished tea, my good mole, and not a moment sooner. Carry on with your duties!"

Grudd caught the twinkle in her eyes. He bowed low, tugging his snout in a servile manner. "Vurry gudd, marm, as ee says, marm, you'm take yurr own g u d d toime, marm.

Oi'll look for'ard to ee visit with pleshure. 'Twill be a gurt honner furr uz 'umble molebeasts!"

Burbee shook with mirth at the antics of her nephew. "Ho bee off'n with ee, you'm gurt foozikil!"

Down in the orchard, Banjon Wildlough, the otter Skipper, was organizing the workers. Banjon was not a big creature, as otters go, but he had an undoubted air of command about him. Everybeast obeyed his orders, all working together for the common good—except the Dibbuns, of course. (These were the little ones; Abbeybabes were always referred to as "Dibbuns.") The otter Skipper tried to keep his patience with their rowdy manner, which, after all, was the innocence of playful infants.

"No no, Gropp! Ye can't eat those apples, they ain't ripe yet. You'll get tummyache, I'm warnin' ye. Taggle! Stop 8

chuckin' them hazelnuts around. Grumby! Come down out o' that tree. Irgle, Ralg, where are ye off to with that barrow?"

Banj on turned despairingly to his friend, Brink Greyspoke, the big, fat hedgehog w h o was Redwall's Cellarhog. "I gives up! Can't you do anythin' with the liddle rogues?"

Brink was a jolly creature and well-liked by the Dibbuns.

He tipped Skipper a wink. "I'll soon get 'em organised, leave it t'me, Skip."

Brink began by appealing to what Dibbuns loved most: their stomachs. "Lissen now, ye big workbeasts. I 'eard that Friar Bibble 'as got lots o' candied chestnuts to reward willin' bodies with. So 'ere's the plan. See all this hard sour fruit wot's fallen? Well, that'll go for preservin' an' picklin'.

All those green nuts, too—they'll be used in the cheese-makin'. Toss the lot into yon barrow, an' we'll take 'em to the kitchens, that'll please the Friar greatly. Come on now, let's see those big muscles bulgin'!"

Squeaking with delight, the Dibbuns rushed to obey Brink.

Banjon spotted some of the older ones about to leave the orchard. They were led by his daughter, Tiria. He called to the ottermaid, "Ahoy, me gel, where d'ye think yore off to?"

Tiria Wildlough stood a head taller than her father. She was a big, strong otter, with not a smidgeon of spare flesh on her sinewy frame. She shunned the typical dress of a maiden, wearing only a cutdown smock, to allow her free movement. This was belted around her waist by her favourite weapon, a sling, which she had named Wuppit.

Despite Tiria's young age, her skill with the sling was readily acknowledged by everybeast within Redwall.

She waved cheerily to her father, whom she always addressed as Skip. "We're going to help the molecrew with their compost heap, Skip. Was there anything else you wanted us for?"

Banjon paused a moment, as if making up his mind.

"Foremole Grudd told me he'd like a load of posts an'

staves. He's thinkin' of buildin' fences to act as a windbreak from any more wild weather we might get. It'll cut down on damage to his fruit an' veggibles. D'ye follow me?"

One of Tiria's chums, a young squirrel called Girry, shook his head doubtfully. "No wood like that growing in our Abbey grounds, S k i p . . . . "

His friend, a young mole named Tribsy, interrupted.

"Nay zurr, h'only in ee Mossflower w u d d l a n d s will ee foind such timber—yew, ash an' mebbe summ sturdy willow. They'm all a-growen out thurr."

Banjon nodded. "Aye, Foremole asked me to go for it, but I got me paws full with wot's to be done here. Tiria, me gel, I was thinkin', would you like the job of woodcuttin'?"

The ottermaid's eyes lit up like stars. "What, you mean go out into Mossflower? On our very own, me an' Tribsy, an'

Girry, an' Brinty? Of course we can!"

Her father's offer meant that they were grown-up and capable enough to be let out without supervision, alone into the vast thicknesses of the Mossflower Woodlands.

Banjon eyed his daughter with that no-nonsense look he had cultivated. "Right, so be it. Tiria, I'm holdin' you responsible, yore in charge. No larkin' about or strayin' off too far!"

Tiria strove hard to keep from bubbling over with excitement. "Count on me, Skip. Straight out, get the wood and right back here to the Abbey. Right, come on, mates, let's get going!"

Skipper coughed. Turning aside, he stifled a smile. "Not so fast, crew. Take yore time, the wood won't run away. Oh, an' ye'd best take a cart along, an' two of Brink Cellarhog's axes. See Friar Bibble, he'll give ye vittles an' drink for a break at noon. N o w remember, Foremole only wants sound wood—good strong branches, straight an' well-trimmed.

Right, off ye go!"

Skipper Banjon watched as they strode off together, raucously singing an old work song.

"Oh the seasons turn again again,

as Redwall beasts do work work work,

through sun an' wind an' rain rain rain, we never never shirk shirk shirk!

To table then each eventide,

as sun is setting down down down,

a-feasting drinking singing,

with ne'er a tear or frown frown frown!

We all! We all! Are happy at Redwall!

Our Abbey! Our Abbey!

We're proud to serve Redwall one and all, one and all!"

Brink Greyspoke stood up from fruit gathering. Rubbing his back, he nodded at the departing group. "First outin' on their own, eh? You sure yore a-doin' the right thing, Skip?"

Banjon nodded. "They'll be right as rain with my Tiria in charge. Ye can't keep young 'uns penned atwixt Abbey walls forever. Do they know where ye keep yore axes in the cellars?"

Brink stroked his chinspikes. "Aye, they k n o w alright, Skip. I just 'ope they bring my new 'un back in one piece. I fitted a beech haft on it only two days back, 'tis a good axe, that 'un "

He was about to expand on the subject of axes when he spotted the Dibbuns marching off in a determined manner.

"Whoa there, liddle mates! Where are ye b o u n d ? "

Grumby the hogbabe pointed toward the main gate. "Ho, us is goin' to 'elp Miz Tirrier to choppa wood. Don't not worry, Skip, we keep a h'eye on 'em for youse!"

Brink gathered the little ones up and placed them in the big wheelbarrow amid the windfall fruits. "Yore far too young t'be rovin' about woodlands. I'll take ye up t'the kitchens an' tell Friar Bibble to feed ye all well for yore hard work. Will ye lend a paw 'ere, Skip?"

Banjon took one of the barrow handles. "I certainly will, matey. Friar Bibble might feed me, too. A liddle bird told me that he's bakin' sugarplum p u d d e n today."

1 1

The Dibbuns roared with delight. "Sugarplum pudden! Whooooraaaayyy!"

Brink turned his eyes skyward, murmuring to Skipper, "I

'opes to goodness he is, 'cos if'n he ain't, we'll 'ave to run for our lives from those liddle 'uns!"

1 2

In the woodlands south of Redwall Abbey, other young creatures were abroad that day: a small gang of water rats, eight in all, headed by one Groffgut. Leaving the larger vermin bands, they had wandered up country, seeking any opportunity to plunder, kill or cause terror. This was done in the hope of establishing themselves as a feared vermin band. Thus far they had made patchy progress, but Groffgut's confidence was growing daily.

Warm noontide sun slanted through the trees onto a quiet streambank. Some of the rats lay about by the shallows, fishing the limpid waters, whilst others foraged for nests with eggs in them. Groffgut disdained such menial tasks, letting the others do all the chores. By virtue of his size, strength and quick temper, he was the chief. Stretched flat out, he gazed over the b u m p of his paunchy gut, idly watching the blue-grey campfire smoke blending amid sun shafts.

One of his minions, Hangpaw, limped up from the shallows, displaying a small perch dangling from a line.

"Yeherr, Chief, lookit, I gorra fish!"

Groffgut was not impressed. "Yarr, s'only a likkle 'un.

Stick it onna fire, an' go an' catcher some big 'uns."

An excited w h o o p rang out from farther up the bank.

"Yaggoo! Cumm an' see dis, mates, I gorra h'eagle!"

Groffgut heaved his bulk up irately. "Wot's dat Frogeye shoutin' about now?"

Plugtail, another of the gang, came scurrying up. "Chief, Chief, Frogeye's catchered a h'eagle!"

Groffgut shoved him to one side. The rest followed him as he went to investigate, grumbling all the way. " H u h , shupid! Rats don't catcher h'eagles, don't dat ijjit know? It's h'eagles wot catchers rats!"

None of the gang had ever seen an eagle before, but there was no doubt that Frogeye had captured a big, fierce bird.

It looked a lot like they imagined an eagle should look.

Frogeye's lazy eye, the one that normally remained lidded over, was blinking up and down, exposing the milky-hued pupil, as the rat danced around, prodding and tripping his find with a crude, homemade spear. The wounded and exhausted bird stumbled forward, desperately trying to get at the life-sustaining streamwater.

Frogeye slammed his spearbutt into its body, toppling it backward, tail over crest. He laughed callously. "Yeeheehee! See, I told ya, didden't I? I catched a real live h'eagle all by meself!"

Groffgut drew his sword, which was in reality a broken scythe blade with a rope handle. Approaching the big bird, he stood on one of its half-spread wings, pinning the other with his blade as he inspected it. Had the bird not been injured or fatigued, any rat would have rushed for cover at the sight of it. Groffgut saw clearly that it was unable to resist. The bird's savage golden eyes were clouded and flickering shut, a stream of dried blood apparently having sealed its lethally hooked beak. The magnificent dark brown and white plumage stuck out willy-nilly after being battered for leagues across stormbound seas.

Groffgut gave the gang his verdict. "Aye, it's a h'eagle, shore enuff!"

Nobeast took the trouble to argue, though Hangpaw, a thin rat with a withered limb, ventured to enquire, "Wot's we s'posed ter do wid h'eagles?"

Threetooth, w h o lacked all but three fangs, cackled. "Yer eats 'em, I think."

His companion, Rashback, so named because of an un-sightly mange, scratched vigourously at his scraggy tail. "I didden know ye could eat h'eagles!"

Groffgut eyed him contemptuously. "Ye can eat anybeast once it's dead, turnep'ead!"

Frogeye became huffy at not being consulted. "Hoi! Dis is my h'eagle, I catchered it. S'pose I duzzen't wanner eat it, eh?"

Groffgut pointed at Frogeye with his sword. "Tern around willyer, mate."

Frogeye turned obediently, and Groffgut dealt him an enormous kick to the bottom, which knocked him flat. The breath whooshed out of Frogeye as Groffgut stamped a footpaw d o w n on his back, sneering, "I'm the chief round

'ere! Who asked yew, malletnose? Plug, git yore rope round dis h'eagle's claws, lash 'im tight."

Plugtail flung his rope around the big bird's legs and noosed them securely. The bird could only flap its wings feebly in protest.

Groffgut issued his orders to the gang. "We'll eat the h'eagle later. Let's 'ave a bit o' fun wid it first. T'ain't every day yer gits a h'eagle ter play wid. Tow it back ter camp, mates!"

The wood-gathering expedition had been a success. Tiria and her three friends had worked diligently, filling the cart with a selection of long branches and straight, thick limbs.

11 was mainly good yew staves, some pieces of ash and a selection of lesser but useful bits of willow and birch. The four companions were following the course of a stream, which they knew flowed close to the south path at one point. Once they reached the path, Redwall would be within easy walking distance. Tiria estimated they would reach the Abbey by early evening.

Enjoying the freedom of the outdoors, and being in no

great hurry, they opted to take a break for an afternoon snack on the streambank. Girry unpacked the last of their food, whilst Tiria checked the ropes which bound the cargo of wood to the cart. Brinty and Tribsy skimmed flat pebbles over the slow-flowing stream. The ottermaid felt quietly proud of herself; she had completed her task without any untoward incident. Cooling her footpaws in the shallows, she watched the noon shadows start to lengthen over the tranquil waters. Two green- and black-banded dragonflies patrolled the far reed margin, their wings iridescent in the sunlight. Bees droned drowsily around some water crow-foot blossoms, and birdsong echoed amid the trees.

Tribsy left off skimming and sat d o w n to eat. "Froo' cor-jul an' hunny sangwiches, moi fayverrit!"

Tiria smiled. "Good old Friar Bibble, he knows how to look after hungry workers, eh Tribsy?"

The young mole smiled from ear to ear. "Hurr, an' us'll be back at ee Red'all in g u d d toime furr supper. Oi dearly loikes a noice supper, so oi doo's!"

Brinty took a long swig of the fruit cordial. "Don't you ever think of anything but eating, old famine face?"

Tribsy patted his stomach. "Whut's to think abowt, mais-ter? Oi bee's nought but ee pore choild needin' vittles aplenty to grow."

Brinty watched the young mole demolish a sandwich in two bites. "You're growing sideways instead of upwards."

Girry gestured his friends to be quiet as his ears stood up straight. "Ssshh! Listen, did you hear that?"

They listened for a moment, then Tiria shrugged.

"Hear what?"

Girry pointed upstream. "Over that way, sounded like somebeasts enjoying themselves, laughing and shouting."

Tribsy wrinkled his snout. "Oi doan't yurrs nuthin'.

You'm squirrels can yurr better'n uz moles, burr aye."

Brinty shook his head. "I don't hear anything, either."

Girry began climbing a nearby elm. "Well, I can hear it, 16

there's something going on up yonder. You three stay here, I'll go and take a peep."

Tiria cautioned her friend, "Stay in the treetops, Girry.

Don't go getting yourself into any trouble. I don't want to face my dad back at the Abbey and have to tell him something happened to you!"

The agile young squirrel threw her a curt salute. "Yes marm, don't fret marm, I'll be fine marm!"

The ottermaid watched him ascend into the u p p e r foliage. "Well, just be careful, and less of the marm, please!

I'm only one season older than you, cheekybrush!"

Tribsy commandeered another sandwich. "Oi'll just finish off ee vittles whoile us'ns bee's waitin'. Ho joy, this 'un's gotten cheese on it, moi fayverite!"

Brinty looked at his molefriend in amazement. "Is there any sandwich that isn't your favourite?"

Tribsy shook his head solemnly. "Oi b'aint found one as yet, zurr."

After a while they went back to skimming stones. Tiria was by far the best skimmer, making one flat chip of bankrock jump nine times as it bounced over the water. It was rather pleasant passing an afternoon in this fashion, the ottermaid thought. She began to wonder what the fuss and stern warnings from her father had been all about.

Just then, Girry dropped d o w n out of the elm in a rush of leaves and twig ends. The young squirrel, breathless with indignation and urgency, gabbled out, "They've got a big bird hanging upside down from a tree and they're lighting a fire under it, hitting it with spearpoles. We've got to stop them, Tiria, oh, the poor bird!"

Grabbing her friend, the ottermaid shook h i m soundly.

"Make sense, Girry! What big bird, where, and who's hitting it? Now take a deep breath and start again, properly!"

Girry obeyed, taking several breaths before he recovered.

"I went upstream. I was up in a beech when I saw them.

There's about eight water rats, nasty-looking scum. Any-17

how, these rats, they've got a big bird strung upside down from a bough, and they're torturing it to death, I swear they are. Please, Tiria, we must do something to help the bird!"

Unwinding the sling Wuppit from about her waist, Tiria took charge swiftly. "Take an axe, Girry. Go on ahead of us and get close to the bird without being seen. Then wait for us. Tribsy, Brinty, take two good yew staves from the cart and follow behind me!"

Plugtail and Hangpaw were trying to set light to a heap of twigs, leaves and moss beneath where the big bird was hanging upside down. They had to keep ducking as the other gang rats swung the hawk back and forth by prodding and striking at it with their spears. The bird's wings hung limply outspread. Though it hissed feebly at its tormentors, there was no way it could stop them.

Groffgut was enjoying himself immensely at the expense of his helpless victim. He swung his crude sword at the bird, clipping a few of its throat feathers, while taunting it cruelly. "Once dat fire's ablaze, we'll roast yer nice'n'slow, birdy. May'ap it'll be suppertime afore yore dead a n '

ready, eh?"

Frogeye took a lunge at the bird with his spear but missed. "Kin I 'ave one of its legs, Chief? It was me wot catchered it."

Groffgut snarled and aimed a kick at him. "I'll 'ave one of yore legs if'n ye slays that h'eagle too quick. Stop stabbin'

at it like that, snottynose!"

Parraaaang! A hard river pebble shot out of the trees, striking the swordblade and knocking it from Groffgut's grasp.

He went immediately into an agonised dance, sucking at the paw which was stinging from the reverberation of the strike.

"Yeeeeek! Who did that? Heeeyaaagh!"

Tiria sped onto the streambank, whirling another stone in her sling as she shouted, "Get away from that bird, rat!"

Groffgut stopped dancing, tears beading in his squinched 18

eyes. He saw that it was a lone otter. Waving his numbed paw at the gang, he screeched, "Kill dat riverdog t'bits.

Slay 'er!"

Frogeye leaped forward, thrusting with his spear. Tiria sidestepped it. Swinging the stone-loaded sling, she brought it crashing into the rat's jaw as she roared, "Redwaaaaallll!"

Brinty and Tribsy charged out of the bushes, laying about heftily with their long staves. Girry dropped down onto the bough which held the big bird. Leaping from there to the ground, he scattered the smouldering fire with his axe.

Tribsy gave Plugtail a crack across both legs with his staff, which sent the rat hurtling into the stream. Brinty brought the butt of his staff straight into Groffgut's belly as he reached with his good paw for the sword. Then he began lambasting the gang chief mercilessly. Tiria was everywhere at once, flailing with her loaded sling, cracking the rats'

paws, ribs, tails and heads. Whilst all this was going on, Girry placed his back beneath the bird's head and supported it.

Taken aback by the ambush, most of the rats fled for their lives, leaving only three of their number at the scene. Threetooth and Frogeye were stretched out senseless; Groffgut, unfortunately, was still conscious, wailing and pleading as Brinty whacked on at him in a frenzy, yelling at him with each blow he delivered. "Dirty! Filthy! Torturer!"

Tiria seized the young mouse, lifting him clear of his target. "Enough, he's had enough! Do you want to kill him?"

Brinty was still waving his staff at empty air, roaring,

"Aye, I'll kill the scum sure enough. Rotten, murdering torturer. He's not fit to stay alive!"

Tiria squeezed Brinty hard. "Now stop that, this instant!"

The young mouse suddenly calmed down. He dropped his staff at the realisation of the wild way he h a d been behaving. "Sorry, mate, I must have got carried away!"

Tribsy chuckled. "Hurr, you'm surrpintly did, zurr, boi okey, Miz Tiria. Coom on, let's get ee pore burd daown!"

Tiria relieved Girry by holding the weight of the limp hawk. The young squirrel took his axe, clambered up into the tree and cut the rope with a single stroke.

The ottermaid lowered the bird gently to the ground, murmuring softly to it, even though it was unconscious.

"There there, easy now. You're among friends. We'll get you back to Redwall Abbey. You'll be taken care of there, I promise."

Girry bounded out of the tree, calling to Tribsy, "Come on, we'll get the cart to carry the big bird on."

Tiria stayed by the hawk's side. "Good idea, mates.

Brinty, you keep an eye on that rat, he looks like their leader."

The young mouse strode over to Groffgut, issuing a harsh warning. "One move out of you, lardbelly, and I'll break your skull!"

Then he picked up Groffgut's sword and flung it into the stream as the rat gang chief lay there helplessly, glaring hatred at Brinty through his swollen eyes.

When they returned with the cart, it took three of them to lift the big bird on. It lay limp atop the wood cargo.

Tribsy stroked its head. "Do ee bee's still naow, burd.

We'm friends, acumm to 'elp ee."

The bird's golden eyes opened for a brief moment before it passed out again. Tribsy patted it gently. "Thurr naow, ee pore creetur, you'm sleep well. Us'U watch o'er ee 'til you'm gets to ee h'Abbey!"

Tiria settled the bird more comfortably on the cart and went to Brinty. The young mouse was wielding his staff, standing guard over Groffgut. The ottermaid nodded approvingly. "Well done, mate. I think you knocked all the fight out of that one!"

She turned the rat over with her footpaw. "Listen carefully, vermin. We're not murderers like you, that's w h y you're still alive. But I warn you, stay out of Mossflower, or you won't get off so lightly next time."

Groffgut made as if to snarl, but Brinty jabbed him 2 0

sharply. "Listen, scumface. If you ever cross my path again, I'll break your skull. Do I make myself clear?"

The gang leader never answered. He lay there, his whole body one throbbing pulse of pain from the beating Brinty had given him. Then he spat contemptuously, still glaring at the young mouse. Brinty took a step forward, but Tiria pulled him away.

"Come on, leave him. We've got to get the poor bird back to Redwall. I think that vermin's learned his lesson."

Groffgut watched them go. When they were safely out of earshot, he stared hatefully at Brinty's back, muttering, "I won't ferget you, mousey, oh no! Next time we meet will be yer dyin' day. But I'll make it nice'n'slow for ye!"

As the friends made their w a y along the streambank, Tiria noticed that Brinty's p a w s were shaking and his jaw was trembling. "Are you alright, mate?" she murmured.

The young mouse shook his head. "I've never raised my paw in anger against another creature before, and I've never been in a fight. I don't know what happened to me back there. That rat was much bigger than me. If he could have reached his sword, he'd have slain me easily. You know me, Tiria, I'm usually the most peaceful of mice. But when I thought of the way that rat had treated the bird, well, I just lost control. I'm sorry."

Tiria winked at her friend. "No need to be sorry, Brinty.

Some of the quietest creatures can fight like madbeasts when they're roused. You did a brave thing, going at the rat like you did."

Brinty strove to keep his p a w s from shaking. "Maybe so, but it's not a very pleasant feeling afterward, remembering what you did. I would have killed him if you hadn't pulled me off. I don't think I'd ever like to fight again, it's too upsetting."

The twin bells of Redwall, Methusaleh and Matthias, were tolling out their evening peal as the cart reached the Abbey gates. Tiria banged at the entrance. Hillyah and her hus-2 1

band, Oreal, two harvest mice, served as the Abbey Gatekeepers. The couple lived in the gatehouse with their twin babes, Irgle and Ralg.

Oreal called out from behind the huge timber gates, "Say who ye are. Do ye come in peace to our Abbey?"

Girry answered the challenge. "It's the wood gatherers, open up! We've got an injured beast here that needs help!"

Unbarring the main gates, the Gatekeepers opened one side, allowing the friends to pass through with the cart.

The little harvest mouse twins squeaked aloud at the sight of the big bird draped on the wooden cargo. "Yeeeek!

Ahinjerbeast!"

Their mother drew them aside. "It's not a hinjerbeast, it's an injured beast, an eagle I think, though I've never seen one before."

Tiria allowed the harvest mouse family to help with pushing the cart up to the Abbey building. "The elders will tell us what type of bird it is, once we get it safely inside."

Abbess Lycian and her friend Burbee awaited them on the Abbey steps, along with Skipper, Foremole G r u d d and Brink Greyspoke. Skipper shook his daughter's p a w heartily.

"Stripe me rudder, gel! That's a fair ole cargo o' wood, but is that a dead bird you've brought us?"

The little twins piped up together, "It's a hinjerbeast, Skip!"

Abbess Lycian hastened forward to inspect the creature.

"It's alive, but only just, poor thing. H o w did this happen?"

Girry explained eagerly. "A gang of water rats had it tied up, hanging from a tree. They were tormenting it, but we stopped 'em with our staves. Hah, you should've seen Tiria, though, she charged right in and battered the bark off those rats with her sling. They soon cleared off, dirty cowards!"

Brink interrupted. "Tell us later, young Girry. Let's get this pore bird some attention afore 'tis a deadbeast. Tribsy, run an' fetch Brother Perant, he'll know wot t'do. Brinty, go 2 2

an' get ole Quelt the Recorder. I'll wager he'll know wot kind o' bird this 'un is."

Molemum Burbee hitched up her vast flowery apron.

"Hurr, an' oi'l goo an' make ee gurt pot o'tea!"

Abbess Lycian smiled appreciatively at her friend. "Good idea, Burbee. Would you be so kind as to bring it up to the Infirmary? A nice cup of tea never goes amiss."

Brother Perant was Redwall's Infirmary Keeper and Healer. The good mouse's knowledge of herbs, salves, potions and treatments was without peer in all Mossflower.

No sooner was the bird borne into his sickbay than Perant began practising his art.

"Hmm, a giant of a bird, not like any hereabouts. Probably some kind of eagle or hawk. There's an object lodged inside its mouth. Nasty thing, looks like a star m a d e of iron.

See how it sticks out from beneath the lower beak? Skipper, get that hardwood pestle, force the beak open and hold it still whilst I work. Huh, wouldn't like to lose a p a w if it snapped shut as I was operating!"

Most of the gentler woodland creatures had to look away as Perant pried at the object with his instruments. He worked swiftly, muttering to himself, "What sort of villain would do this to a living creature? Ah, here it comes . . .

dreadful thing, just look at that!"

Wiping the barb clean, he passed it to Tiria. She felt the sharp edges of the iron star, her face grim as she dropped it into her pebble pouch.

"Someday I may get the chance to pay the scum back with his own weapon!"

Beyond the high seas, far away on Green Isle, a monumental bulk loomed over the landscape of swamps, streams and watermeadows. The once-proud timber fortress of the Wildlough otterclan, it had been inhabited for untold seasons by cats. Riggu Felis, and his barbaric ancestors before him, had held sway over Green Isle for as long as anybeast could remember. The isle had become no place for otters to live.

Apart from a small band of outlaw otters, the rest were slaves, completely subjugated by the mighty warlord and his cats. It was the cats' home now—a solid fortress, built entirely of pine logs, on the lakeshore. Part of the structure jutted out over the lake, where it was supported u p o n pil-lars of stone in the shallows.

On the stairs outside the upper tower chamber, Lady Kaltag, the mate of Riggu Felis, sat in a window alcove with Atunra, the warlord's pine marten aide. Kaltag's lustrous black tail twitched back and forth restlessly beneath her fur-trimmed cloak as she waited to be admitted into the chamber.

On the lower stairs, the two sons of Felis and Kaltag were arguing and fighting. Jeefra was the burlier of the two. His brother, Pitru, was half a head shorter and not as well fleshed, but it was he w h o was the fiercer.

Pitru lashed out at Jeefra, snarling, "If he dies, I will be 24

Warlord of Green Isle. Then you will have to watch out, flabbytail!"

Jeefra dodged past him and ran yowling to his mother's side. "Tell him, Mamma! We're both supposed to rule as warlords if Father dies, aren't w e ? "

She took his paw, calling severely to her other son, "Pitru, come up here right now!"

The young cat did as he was bidden, though he stayed clear of Kaltag's grasp, pouting and stamping his footpaw.

"Jeefra's soft, I'd make the best warlord!"

Kaltag reprimanded the pair. "Shame on you both, talking as if your father were going to die!"

Pitru dodged forward, treading on his brother's tail. He smirked maliciously at Atunra. "I saw what the big bird did to him. He will die, won't he?"

The pine marten shook her head, wincing as screeches and growls emanated from the chamber. "Nay, thy father is a true wildcat. The healers will save him."

More screeches came from within, together with the crashing of furniture being hurled about. Suddenly the door slammed open and two old cats were flung out, tumbling down the stairs. The voice of Riggu Felis roared angrily,

"Idiots! Impostors! Out, before ye slay me with those foul potions and rusty needles. Begone with ye!"

Then Warlord Riggu Felis stood framed in the doorway.

The wildcat's face had been covered when they brought him in, but now it was plain to view in all its hideousness.

The black-and-grey-striped fur was normal from ears to eyes, but below that it was red, glistening flesh and bone.

The whole muzzle, nose and upper lip had been torn off.

Half of the warlord's face was a frightful mask—a spitting, bubbling skeleton, as he continually sucked air to breathe.

His blazing eyes raked them.

"Why are ye staring so? Is it not a pretty sight?"

Storming back into the chamber, he slammed the door.

They heard him clattering and rattling amid armour, ranting to himself, "Two useless sons w h o couldn't kill a bird, 25

a single bird! Hah, and the bird flew off, it could not stand and do battle with me. Birds will die! All birds on Green Isle shall be slain! Then everybeast will know that I cannot die, for I am Riggu Felis!"

Outside, Lady Kaltag beckoned to her sons as she descended the stairs. "We will not tarry here whilst your father is in such wrath. Atunra, you will stay and await his orders."

The pine marten bowed briefly. "As ye wish, my Lady!"

The afternoon was waning by the time the wildcat emerged from his chamber. He faced his aide. "So, Atunra, what do ye think?"

The pine marten stared at him, knowing she would die if she did not reply favourably. Riggu Felis had altered one of his war helmets to cover the injuries to his face. He h a d wrenched the visor from the headpiece and fixed a square of chain mesh to its lower part. It hid the wounds but made him look even more sinister. Now his breath whistled and hissed through the rings of chain mail, and they parted slightly, revealing his naked fangs. Moreover, he kept pushing his tongue through the mask to facilitate his breathing.

Atunra nodded solemnly. "It gives you an air of mystery, Lord."

The wildcat raised his single-bladed war axe. "Gather my catguards. Tell them to take bows and quivers of arrows.

My command is that they kill every bird in the skies, large or small. We will feast on their flesh. Destroy the birds, slay them all!"

He strode to the alcove window. Leaning out, he bellowed, "Death to all birds! Death! Death!"

On the lake below, two otter slaves heard the din from the tower window. Looking up, they beheld the wildcat, recog-nisable even with his face masked.

One of the otters shook his head sadly. "Ah, 'twas a mistake ye made sayin' Felis was dead. That villain will never die! D'ye not hear him?"

The other otter began hauling in his nets. "Aye, sure he'll only get wickeder by the day, worse luck for us. Y'know the trouble with us, mate? We're weak. It takes a beast like Leatho Shellhound to defy that Riggu Felis an' his scurvy cats. Aye, Leatho's the buckoe, sure enough!"

Whulky, the elder of the two otters, rounded on his companion. "Keep yore voice down! Ye know wot'll happen if'n yore caught even mentionin' that name. Yell end up bein' slung into Deeplough with a stone tied to yore neck, t'be eaten by Slothunog. Now get rowin' for shore. Can't ye see Weilmark Scaut waitin' on our catch?"

As Chab, the younger otter, sculled their coracle toward the pier, Whulky lectured him. "Lissen, Chab, don't ye ever say we're weak. Us otters have to stay an' obey Felis because we've all got families an' young 'uns to worry about.

They'd be the ones to suffer if ever we tried any thin'. Shellhound's free as the air. That rogue can afford t'be an outlaw, an' besides, he's a seadog, not a stream otter like us."

Chab rested his paddle. "But wasn't it us that were once the warriors of Green Isle, an' haven't we got the blood of the High Queen Rhulain* Wildlough runnin' in our veins?"

Whulky sighed. "Aye, that's truth to tell, Chab, but 'tis many a hundred seasons since those days. The High Queen is nought but a thing for songs an' poems to tell our little

'uns now."

An irate voice called to them from on shore. "If you two don't move yerselves, I'll skin the hide from yer rudders!"

This threat was followed by the crack of a whip.

Weilmark Scaut was a burly, ginger feral cat, hated by all the otters for his arrogance and cruelty. He stood on the pier end, coiling his long whip, watching the little fishing coracle heave to. As a weilmark he was a high-ranking officer of the catguards.

Strutting back and forth, Weilmark Scaut began ha-

*Rhulain (pronounced Roolayn)

ranguing the otters. "Stir yer stumps, waterdogs! Git that catch up 'ere, an' stand t'be searched. Move yerselves!"

Whulky and Chab spread their net with its small catch of trout and gudgeon. They both stood to one side, p a w s spread wide, as a feral cat soldier searched them for concealed weapons (which otters were forbidden to carry) or any type of contraband.

Scaut took five of the eight fish they had caught, leaving them the three smallest. He scowled at the searcher. "Well, are they clear?"

The soldier tossed two sharpened musselshells (which the fisherbeasts were allowed to carry in the course of their trade) down onto the pier. He saluted with his spear. "Aye, they're clear, Weilmark!"

Scaut watched Whulky and Chab carefully. "Go on then, get goin', both of ye."

As they walked away, Scaut's keen gaze was still inspecting them. "Halt right there, don't move!"

The two otter slaves froze in their tracks. Scaut walked over and placed his face close to Chab's, grinning wickedly at him. "You there, guard, lift this 'uns left footpaw."

The soldier hastened to obey. Scaut struck the raised footp a w with his whipstock, and two perfectly symmetrical, purple mussel pearls rolled out onto the pier.

Scaut feigned surprise. "By my claws, what's this?"

Chab murmured awkwardly, "Sir, they're only baubles for me liddle daughter t'play with."

The weilmark swaggered in a circle around Chab.

"Baubles fer yer liddle daughter, eh? They're the property of yore warlord, Riggu Felis, the same as everythin' else on Green Isle. Nothin' belongs to waterdogs, nothin!"

He turned to the soldiers, bellowing, "This beast is a thief, take 'im away an' bind 'im under the pier fer the night. No vittles an' a night freezin' 'is rudder off d o w n there'll teach

'im a lesson!"

He scooped up the pearls and admired them. "Lady Kaltag'll like these fer 'er collection!"

Whulky was dismissed to go back to his family. As Chab was being prodded at spearpoint to the pylons beneath the pier, another feral cat soldier came panting along the lakeshore. Throwing a hasty salute with his bow, he called to Scaut.

"Weilmark! There's trouble down on the river. We've got one of 'em pinned down there. They say 'tis the Shellhound!"

Scaut grabbed a spear, leaping down onto the shore. "The Shell'ound, eh? Quick, take me there!"

He dashed off behind the stumbling soldier. "Cummon, cummon, shift yerself. I need to catch that rogue!"

Bound by his neck to one of the stone pylons beneath the pier, Chab chuckled grimly. "Fat chance o' that, ye pompous bunglin' furball!"

Leatho Shellhound, crouching among the bushes on the riverbank, watched a cat soldier creeping forward stealthily. In a passable cat accent, Leatho shouted out excitedly,

"Lookit, there 'e goes, over by those two rocks!"

As the soldier turned his head to see, Leatho let fly with a stone from his sling. It slammed into the back of the foe-cat's skull, laying him out senseless. The brawny sea otter turned to an injured barnacle goose, who was lying alongside him.

"Hah, if'n that feller ever wakes, I'll be surprised. Now then, matey, let's take a peek at that shaft!"

As Leatho inspected the arrow that was sticking from the bird's neck, the wounded goose commented, "It is not a bad hurt I am thinking. Lucky for me it was that the cats are not being as good with the b o w s than you are with the sling, comrade."

Leatho worked the arrow loose and staunched the wound by binding it with a poultice of m u d a n d wild radish leaves. "Ye'll live, matey. Yore right, t'aint that bad.

You keep an eye on those scallywags while I tighten this dressin'. Was you the only one of yore skein they hit?"

Flinching slightly as Leatho firmed up his work, the barnacle goose nodded gingerly. "Only I was struck. It was my own fault I am thinking. We of the Skyfurrowers should never be caught napping while we are on the wing. Lagged to the back and lowered my height I had. Silly goose that I am. Two more cats I can see out there, comrade!"

Two feral cat soldiers were creeping toward the limp figure of the fallen one on the shore. Leatho popped up from hiding. Like greased lightning, he slung two more stones.

So swift was he that the second stone was in the air before the first had landed. They both fell true. One cat screeched as his tail was cracked near its base; the other rolled over wailing, with a forepaw badly smashed.

The outlaw otter grinned broadly. "That'll keep the mangy rascals' heads down for a while, but we'll have t'be movin' afore they bring reinforcements. Can ye fly, matey?"

Puffing out its chest, the barnacle goose replied, "Ho yarr, fly I can, though I am thinking it will be some while before I am catching up to my skein. But what of you, comrade, will they not seize you?"

The sea otter sorted through his slingstones casually.

"Seize the Shellhound? Hah! The cat hasn't ate supper yet that'll ever seize me, old matey. I'll cover for ye while you escape. Get away from Green Isle, across the wide sea, but I suppose ye know whither yore bound. Whenever ye reach land, though, ye must get a healer, or somebeast that knows physickin', to look at that neck. Arrow wounds have a nasty habit of turnin' poison."

Leatho went into a crouch, twirling his loaded sling. "I'm goin' to break cover now, mate. The moment I've got all their attention, you take off. Understand?"

The barnacle goose offered its webbed leg. "It is thankful to you I am. May the good fortune speed you, comrade!"

Leatho shook the proffered web in his sinewy paw. "An'

may the good winds be at yore back, fine bird!"

He broke cover and yelled at the six or so cats w h o came bounding after him, "Heeee aye eeeeh! Who wants to catch 30

a Shellhound? Yore mothers were bandy an' yore fathers were mangy!"

He dropped the fastest of the cats with a well-aimed stone to the jaw, then sped off. Zigging and zagging, ducking and weaving, Leatho shot into the river and vanished underwater.

The cats, terrified of deep water, scrambled along the bank, firing arrows uselessly into the swift current, just as Weilmark Scaut pounded up with six more behind him. Immediately Scaut began yelling, "Wot in the name o' fangs is goin' on 'ere? Where's that bandit Shell'ound?"

The senior of the patrol, the cat whose p a w had been smashed, threw a limp salute and explained in a pained whine, "Weilmark, we brought down a goosebird, but the Shell'ound rescued it. Then 'e dropped Rubjer stone dead, broke Viglo's tail an' smashed me paw, every bone of it I think."

Scaut struck the speaker hard in the face with his coiled whip, roaring at him, "I never asked yer wot he did. I'm askin' yer where is he?"

"Yoohoo, Wipwip, I'm over here!"

As Scaut turned to the sound of the voice, Leatho blasted up out of the water like a rocket. He let fly with a ropy length of bedweed, which had a small rock tied to one end.

Before Scaut could duck, it caught him, wrapping swiftly round his neck and bringing the rock thudding against the side of his skull. The weilmark fell heavily in a limp heap.

Arrows thrummed through the air toward the river surface.

But Leatho Shellhound, the outlaw sea otter, had gone.

As the dispirited cats carried their w o u n d e d weilmark from the scene, high up, far out of arrowshot, a barnacle goose honked its delight to the skies.

That evening at supper, the Great Hall of Redwall was abuzz with the exploits of Tiria and her friends. The ottermaid sat with her father, Abbess Lycian, molemum Burbee, Brink Greyspoke and Foremole Grudd. She had already related her story of the incident, though quite modestly.

The Abbess clasped Tiria's p a w warmly. "You were very brave to save the bird's life, my dear, particularly when you were outnumbered two to one by the vermin. You have a courageous daughter, Skipper."

Almost at a loss for words, Banjon swelled with pride as he patted Tiria's back. "I wish yore mamma had lived to see ye now, gel. She always said us Wildloughs were a warrior clan from somewhere. Yore a credit to us, Tiria."

The ottermaid asked a question she h a d often mulled over. "Do you think I'll become a Skipper someday?"

Her father put aside his tankard of October Ale, explaining almost apologetically to her, "Ye'd make a finer Skipper than any otter I've ever met, myself included. But the Law of Otters says that maids can't become Skippers. I know it's not fair, Tiria, but the law's the law, an' we've always lived by it."

Tiria persisted. "But I've heard tales saying that there were maids w h o became Skippers in other parts of the land."

Banjon took a draught of his October Ale and then slammed the tankard down decisively. "This ain't the time or place t'be talkin' of these matters, me gel. May'ap there are places where it happens, but not in Mossflower territory, an' I ain't responsible for wot sea otters do. We abide by our Otter Law, an' that's that!"

There was a moment's awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of Friar Bibble. The shrewcook was pushing a trolley, upon which rested a steaming cauldron. He wiped perspiration beads from his snout with a spotted kerchief before he proclaimed proudly, "Look you, Tiria. I've made a pot of special shrimp'n'hotroot soup, just for you, my brave young 'un!"

Freshwater shrimp'n'hotroot soup was a dish dear to the heart of all otters. Tiria sniffed its fragrant aroma, complimenting the kindly friar. "Marvellous! Nobeast can make shrimp'n'hotroot like you do, sir!"

As he began ladling the soup out, Bibble winked at Skipper. "Indeed to goodness, missy, don't be sayin' things like that. You'll be causin' trouble twixt me an' your da!"

Banjon accepted a bowlful eagerly. "Oh no, mate, 'tis a fact. Even I can't make it taste like you do. Ye can make 'otroot better 'n an otter, Bibble!"

Tiria chuckled. "Exactly what do you put in it, sir?"

The friar began explaining. "Well, I uses more watercress an' scallions than some does, an' a touch of wild r a n s o m . . . "

He halted and glared at her with mock censure. "Indeed to goodness, missy, I can't be tellin' everybeast about those secret herbs an' spices I uses in my recipes!"

Foremole Grudd had been watching Brinty, Tribsy and Girry. They were seated at the other end of the table, telling of the day's adventures . . . with many embellishments to the facts.

Grudd laughed aloud. "Hurr hurr hurr! Do ee lissen to they'm young 'uns? Oi never hurd such fibbin' in all moi horned days!"

Brinty was positioning various items on the table as he 33

told of his role. "See these candied chestnuts? Well, they were the water rats. Wicked villains, all twelve of 'em!"

The molebabe Groop interrupted. "Oi hurd Miz Tirree sayen' et wurr h'eight ratters!"

Girry cleared his mouth of plum pudden. "She was too busy whackin' about with her sling to be counting vermin.

Actually, there were thirteen rats. I battled with two of 'em, big rascals who'd climbed up onto the branch of the tree while I was cuttin' the big bird's rope."

Tribsy left off demolishing some rhubarb crumble to make his contribution to the fictional action. He took two loaves and stuck a fork in each one, placing them amid the candied chestnuts. "Yon loafers wurr ole Brinty an' moiself.

Hurr, wot ee purr o' wurriers w e ' m was! These yurr forks bee's ee yew staves us wurr a-carryen'. Bain't that roight, Brin?"

Brinty got carried away as he invented further heroics.

Using the loaves and forks, he sent chestnuts bouncing and flying widespread as he yelled, "That's right, we fought

'em! Bangbashwallopsplat! We sent all fourteen of those giant rats scurryin'. Wailin' for their mammas they were, the fatty-bottomed cowards!"

After wiping a splash of soup from his cheek, Skipper Banjon peered at the candied chestnut floating in his bowl.

"Look, a rat's just landed in my soup. We'd best eat u p , daughter, afore they tell the tale again an' increase the number of vermin they defeated!"

After supper, most Redwallers went to sit out on the Abbey steps to enjoy the summer evening's warmth. Tiria and her father joined Abbess Lycian and Brink Greyspoke on a visit to the Infirmary to check on the hawk's progress. Brother Perant and Old Quelt, the Recorder-cum-Librarian, were studying the bird. It had flown up onto a window ledge and was inspecting its new surroundings.

Perant reported his findings avidly. "Well, friends, what can I say? That bird is a most remarkable creature, just look 34

at it! Earlier today you wouldn't have given a split acorn on its chances of survival. However, no sooner h a d I removed the barb from its mouth and cleaned up its b u m p s a n d bruises when it began drinking water. Hah, and not just wetting its beak, it consumed nearly a full basin. Almost a magical recovery you'll agree!"

The learned Brother pointed at his patient. "See h o w those golden eyes glitter. Notice how it has preened its plumage back into shape, truly remarkable! Admittedly its mouth and beak must be rather stiff and quite sore, but what a grip on life our feathered friend has, eh? A real survivor I'd say, yes indeed!"

The big bird swept its savage golden eyes over the assembly, then went back to grooming its wing feathers. Tiria felt happy for the bird, clearly a brave and solitary creature.

"Do you think its thick plumage saved it from severe injury, Brother? Those rats were brutal vermin."

Perant nodded. "I don't think we fully realise just how strong the bird is, Tiria. It's a formidable creature."

Much to everybeast's surprise, Abbess Lycian strode calmly over to the big bird and began gently stroking its head. It stayed quite still, perhaps sensing that she meant it no harm. Lycian spoke softly to it.

"My goodness, you certainly are a big, strong fellow. I wonder what sort of bird you really are?"

Old Quelt had the answer. He was a silver-furred squirrel, an ancient dry stick of a beast, bent by many long seasons. Besides being the Redwall Recorder, Quelt had

.lppointed himself the first Abbey Librarian. He h a d commandeered the lowest of the attic rooms and m a d e it his own. There he had gathered every piece of written material Redwall possessed. Brink and Foremole Grudd h a d shelved the room out at his request. Parchments, scrolls, pamphlets, tomes and volumes covered the library from ceiling to floor.

The old squirrel held in his p a w a slim, bark-bound book.

All of the Abbey members w h o had assembled listened carefully to what he had to say.

"This is a record of birds, written by one Abbess Bryony in the far bygone seasons. She had a particular interest in hunting birds. Let me read you what she wrote about this specimen."

Peering through his rock crystal spectacles, Quelt leafed the yellowed parchment pages. " H m m , here it is. A bird that is rarely seen in the Mossflower territories. They have been reported by geese who have visited Redwall as mainly inhabiting a place called Green Isle, where they hunt the rivers, loughs and streams. They are said to be large, powerful birds; their description runs thus. Dark-brown upper plumage, with white feathers underneath the body. Long wings, with brown-and-white-patterned undersides, angled two-thirds of the way along. The head is white-crowned, with two dark stripes. These are barred across the eyes, giving a masklike aspect. The eyes are broadly gold-ringed, with jet-black centres. These birds have lethally curved beaks. They also possess four black talons of savage aspect on each blue-grey scaled leg."

Closing the book, Quelt favoured Tiria with a rare smile.

"So then, do ye not think your bird fits the description?"

The ottermaid agreed readily. "Indeed I do, sir, perfectly!"

The ancient Librarian pointed a bony p a w at the bird.

"These were known as pandions in olden times. What you have brought to our Abbey is an osprey, the great fish hawk!"

Brink Greyspoke stared admiringly at the osprey. "A fish

'awk, eh? That 'un must need vittles wot he's used to. What d'ye think, Skip? Shall we go an' catch our osprey a fish?

There's grayling aplenty in the Abbey pond."

Skipper, w h o loved to go fishing but seldom got the chance, was all for the idea. "Aye, let's do that, Brink. Can't see that big ole feller starve now, can we? Er, with yore permission, Mother Abbess, me'n Mister Greyspoke would like to go night fishin'."

Lycian could not help smiling at the eager pair. "Just for 36

the benefit of the osprey, of course? Nothing to do with taking the little boat out on the pond, together with some re-freshment for a quiet summer's night."

Brink's eyes went dreamy at the thought. "Just me'n ole Skip, out on the pond in our liddle boat with the moon above, a flagon o' my best pale cider, some cheese'n'mushroom pasties an' a calm, warm night. Aaaah!"

Banjon kicked the Cellarhog's footpaw to silence him.

"Er, no, Abbess, nothin' like that, but just like you said, for the benefit o' the osprey. By me rudder, it can be hard work, fishin' all night long for a fish big enough t'feed that feller's beak. That it will, marm!"

Neither could see Lycian's eyes twinkling as she bowed her head gravely. "A charitable and worthy act, my good friends. You have my permission."

Tiria piped up excitedly. "Can I come too, please?"

Her father shook his head. "You've had quite enough for one day, me gel. I reckon a good night's rest is the best thing for ye."

Seeing her crestfallen face, the Abbess suggested an alternative. "Obey your father, Tiria. Who knows? Tomorrow we may have more responsible tasks, now that you're growing up. But first you may go to the kitchens. Tell Friar Bibble I sent you for a treat, after all your good work today. I'm sure he'll have something special for you."

Flashing the Abbess a brief smile of thanks, the ottermaid hurried off downstairs.

Friar Bibble looked up from his ovens. "Indeed to goodness, 'tis the heroine of the woodcutters. What can I do for you, lovely miss?"

Tiria explained that the Abbess had sent her for a treat.

The tubby little shrewcook waved a p a w around his domain. "Well now, what would ye like to eat, beauty?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know, sir."

Taking a wooden paddle, Bibble opened one of the long 37

oven doors. "Indeed to goodness, there's a thing, a young

'un who can't make up her own mind. Come and lend a paw here, missy, maybe I'll treat you to a Friar's Special."

Using the long beechwood paddle, Tiria helped Friar Bibble to pull out loaves, cobs, farls and rolls, all for next morning's breakfast table. "What's a Friar's Special, sir?"

Bibble selected two crispy little golden batch loaves. "It's what I like to treat myself to after a long day's bakin'. You'll like it. Pass me that small pot off the oventop. Wrap a towel around it now, don't want to burn your paws."

Tiria did as he bade, placing the pot in front of him.

"Mmm, it smells delicious! What is it?"

Bibble sliced both batch loaves through with his knife.

"Damsons an' crushed almonds cooked in honey an'

aged cider."

He ladled the mixture onto the cut loaves, then produced a flagon and two beakers. "Elderberry an' burdock cordial, just the thing. Come now, we'll sit on those sacks o' flour whilst we have our snack."

Tiria began praising the wonderful treat. "It tastes really nice, sir."

Bibble held up a flour-dusted paw. "Quiet now, don't go tellin' anybeast about my Special, or I'll have a full kitchen every night, so I will."

The ottermaid promised him that she would keep silent, but only on condition that he would allow her to visit again for more.

The shrewcook shook his head in mock surprise. "Indeed to goodness, Tiria Wildlough, you're a beauty an' a rogue all in one. Be off to your bed, you young scallywag!"

Playfully he pursued her from the kitchens, waving a paddle.

Leaving the kitchens, Tiria wandered through Great Hall, stopping for a while at the beautiful Redwall tapestry. This was an intricately woven work, depicting as its main theme the legendary mouse, Martin the Warrior. He had been one of the Abbey's founders and the famed Champion of Red-38

wall. Lanterns illuminated his heroic figure, whilst all around him vermin could be seen fleeing for their lives.

Tiria often visited the tapestry. She loved to look at the Warrior, he was a valiant fighter, standing courageously against all odds. Formidable, yet with the light of kindness radiating from his eyes. Martin stood holding his great sword, which had been forged from a piece of a fallen star in the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, home of the mighty Badger Lords. Above the tapestry, lying on two wallspikes, the actual sword was displayed. It was nothing elaborate—

a real warrior's blade, perfectly balanced, as deadly as chain lightning in a winterstorm, its point as keen as an ice needle.

Tiria instinctively touched the only weapon she had ever known, the sling she had named Wuppit, belted about her waist, with its stone pouch attached.

She stared at Martin and his sword, softly reciting a phrase her father had often repeated. " 'Any weapon is the best weapon, as long as ye can use it skilfully and with honour.' "

Tiria blinked, peering at the likeness of Martin. Had he nodded at her, as if in agreement with her father's words?

She yawned, unaccountably overcome by tiredness. Perhaps it was just a draught stirring the tapestry. Her yawns echoed around the time-mellowed hall as she stole off to her bed.

The land of dreams is an odd realm, sometimes nightmarish, other times peaceful. Tiria found herself wandering along the still shores of a vast sunlit lake; she felt happy in its silent tranquillity.

From afar, two creatures floated toward her in a nimbus of golden light. As they drew close, Tiria recognised one as Martin the Warrior. Smiling at her, he indicated his companion. Tiria felt her heart jump. The other creature was a tall, stately otter lady, obviously older than she but a mirror i mage of herself in features, build and height. On her brow rested a slim gold circlet, with a large, round emerald at its 39

centre. The otter lady wore a short, dark-green cloak, richly embroidered about the hem. From neck to waist she was covered by a metal breastplate, silver with a gold star radiating from its centre. What really intrigued Tiria was that the otter lady carried a sling and a stone pouch, belted about her middle, the same way in which Tiria carried hers.

The ottermaid felt an immediate trust of and kinship to the lithe, regal apparition. She stood staring at her in the sunny dream landscape, not knowing what to say but yearning to talk to the otter lady. Turning to Martin, she found herself equally dumbfounded. Though Martin the Warrior had no need of speech, his kind eyes widened ex-pressively. He merely smiled at Tiria, pointing to the otter as an indication that she should listen to what the strange vision had to say. Then, in clear, measured tones, the otter lady spoke:

"Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew, to set the downtrodden free.

A warriormaid with Wildlough blood

must cross the Western Sea.

She who looks ever through windows

at the signs which feathers make,

seek the Green Isle through her knowledge, for all thy kinbeasts' sake."

Then both Martin and his companion glided on past Tiria.

She yearned to follow them but felt rooted to the spot. As the bright noon of her dreams darkened, desolation overcame the ottermaid. She felt them fade into the mists, and she was left alone, standing on the deserted lakeshore amid the sighing breeze, with the otter's words echoing throughout the corridors of her mind. Tiria did not sleep peacefully for the remainder of that night. She tossed and turned fit-fully, imbued with a restless energy.

Tiria was up with the dawn the next morning with a sense of unfulfilled purpose that she could not name. Dressing hastily she hurried downstairs. Her normally healthy appetite usually took her to the kitchens; instead, she avoided them and went straight outdoors. It was a fresh summer morn, the grass underpaw heavy with dew. Lawn borders were patches of pastel colours, with daisy, milkwort, rock-rose and pasque flower in profusion. She paused at the northwest Abbey gable, catching the sweet chirrup of ascending larksong from the flatlands beyond the west ramparts. The sound blended melodiously with the cooing of woodpigeon from the woodland on the far side of the east wall.

The poignant moment was broken by the interruption of two gruff voices singing raucously. Tiria knew it was her father and Brink, coming up from the Abbey pond after their night fishing. She also realized that a meeting with the jolly pair would result in being questioned. What was she doing outdoors so early, couldn't she sleep, had she eaten a good breakfast yet? Avoiding the tiresome interview, the ottermaid stepped behind a protruding buttress and waited for them to go indoors. However, the happy pair were in 110 hurry.

Carrying a splendid grayling between them in a net, Brink and Banjon sang away lustily.

"O I knew a worm w h o turned to his tail, an' this is wot he said,

I wish that you'd stop followin' me,

as though we both were wed.

Said the tail to the head stop pullin' me,

'cos I've no wish to go,

besides, I think yore really a tail,

an' I'm the head you know!

This caused the worm some great concern, he said, I'm sure yore wrong,

an' they both began to bicker about,

to whom did the stomach belong?

Both tempers did boil, while disputin' a coil, they fell into an awful fight,

they wriggled an' squirmed an' waggled an' turned, for worms as ye know can't bite.

Then a big blackbird, w h o ' d heard every word, came flutterin' out of a tree,

I'll oblige ye both, the blackbird quoth, an' he ate them both for tea.

So that was that, he settled their spat, an' I'll bid ye all good day,

for it's head to tails when reasonin' fails, a worm should crawl away!"

They finished the song, but Tiria had to wait whilst they performed a little jig on the Abbey steps, shaking paws and patting each other's backs triumphantly. The slam of the Abbey door told the ottermaid that they had gone inside.

She came out of hiding and continued her rambling walk.

With no real purpose, Tiria made her way up the wallsteps to the northwest corner of the ramparts, where she stood staring out over the flatlands. Across these plains, she had been told, were hills, mountains and the shores which 42

bordered the Western Sea. Like many Redwallers, she had never traversed that far, but being an otter, Tiria knew that someday she would. Oblivious to the sounds of Abbey-dwellers commencing their day's activities behind her, she remained, caught in a reverie of unknown problems.

At first, she did not notice that the dark shape was coming toward her. Only when it got closer did Tiria see that it was a bird—a large barnacle goose, much bulkier than an os prey. She wondered why it was flying so low, and alone, too. Geese usually flew very high in a V-shaped gaggle known as a skein. It soared straight in over the battlements, landing on Tiria in an ungainly heap.

Fortunately, the ottermaid was no weakling. Holding on to the bird, Tiria was able to stop them both from toppling off the walkway to the lawns below. Once its progress was arrested, the goose scrambled free of her and crouched back into the lee of the wall. It was a striking creature. Greyish black with white underfeathers, it had a quaintly comical face which looked rather friendly.

Tiria straightened up, but all she could think of to say was "Er, good morning!"

The barnacle goose nodded affably. "I am bidding you a good morning also. I am thinking that this is the place of Red Walls. I am of the Skyfurrows. Some of them have been here before, though not for many seasons. Here is where you have healers, I am told?"

Tiria noticed a tattered mass of mud and leaves sticking to the newcomer's neck. "Healers? Oh yes, we have a healer at our Abbey. Has your neck been injured?"

The goose bent his beak toward the remnants of the makeshift dressing. "It is injured by an arrow I am. The Shellhound said that help I must seek. Arrow w o u n d s can go bad, trouble that would mean for Brantalis."

Tiria suddenly forgot her o w n vague problems. "Brantalis, is that your name? Mine's Tiria, I'm a Redwaller. You stay right there, Brantalis, we'll get you to a healer quickly."

Brantalis clacked his beak. "Wait here I will!"

Hillyah and Oreal, the harvest mice, were emerging from the gatehouse with their twin babes. Tiria called to them from the walltop. "There's an injured goose up here that needs help. You'd best get a stretcher and some bearers, it's quite a large bird. Would you hurry, please?"

Oreal was a creature who could become easily flustered.

Hopping from one paw to the other, he called out to his wife, "My dear, it's an injured goose, whatever shall we do?"

His wife, a sensible type, took charge promptly. "Don't get upset, dear. Stay here with Irgle and Ralg, I'll soon get help!"

The harvest mousewife sped off toward the Abbey, with her pinafore hitched high. Irgle and Ralg slipped by their father. The mousebabes scuttled up the wallsteps. Eager to see the visitor, they both squealed excitedly, "A hinjagoose!

A hinjagoose!"

Oreal stood undecided for a moment, then chased after them. "Come back, sugarplums, come back! Be careful, it might be dangerous!"

Tiria fended the little twins off, blocking their path as they leaped up and down, shouting, "Us wanna see the hinjagoose!"

Oreal caught them by their tails. "It's not a hinjagoose, it's an injured goose. Come away now, you naughty sugarplums!"

Irgle struggled in his father's grasp. "I norra shugga-plump, I a h'infant Dibbun. Lemme see the hinjagoose!"

Tiria soon diverted their attention with the mention of food. "You can see the injured goose later on. There's raspberry jelly and strawberry fizz for breakfast. If I were you, I'd go and get some before the others eat it all up!"

Within a moment, Oreal was being towed across the lawn by his whooping babes. "Rabbsee jelly anna straw'bee fizz, quick quick, 'urry up Daddy afore it be gone!"

Brantalis gave a honking laugh. "Small ones are always hungry for the good food I am thinking."

Tiria nodded. "Aye, though they'll be disappointed when they find I lied to them. It'll be the same breakfast as usual.

Got them out of the way though, didn't it?"

Foremole came trundling up with a crew of six moles, carrying a stretcher between them. He tugged his snout politely to Tiria. "Beggen ee pardun, miz, bee's this yurr ee gurt burd us'n's must carry to ee h'Abbey?"

Brantalis rose hastily and began descending the wallsteps in a series of wobbling hops. "I will not be carried by these strange mice, dropping me they would be. By myself I will walk!"

Tiria restrained herself from laughing at the comical aspect of Brantalis and the indignant look on Foremole Grudd's face. She apologised to the mole leader. "I'm sorry, sir, but it seems Brantalis appears able to get himself across to the Abbey."

Signalling dismissal to his crew, Grudd marched off with his snout in the air. "Boi okey, oi'm not a botherin' abowt ee h'ungrateful gurt bag o' feathers. Gudd day to ee, marm!"

Still stifling her mirth, Tiria bowed deeply to Grudd.

"Good day to you, sir, and my thanks for your kind offer of help."

Clack!

Had she not bowed, the ottermaid would have surely been slain by the crude spear which flew in over the battlements. The weapon's chipped-flint head shattered as it struck the parapet.

Whipping off the sling Wuppit and loading it in the same movement, Tiria leaped to the walltop. Below, in the ditch that ran alongside the path stretching from north to south, she glimpsed the water rats. It was Groffgut's gang, racing away north up the dried-out ditchbed. Tiria identified the gangleader's voice as he shouted, "Dat wuz the waterdog!

I missed 'er, but 'twas dat mouse wot beated me up dat I wanna kill!"

It was a difficult throw, but Tiria whirled Wuppit wildly and let fly hard. She hit the back of the last runner's head, 4S

downing him. Dashing to the main gate, she began swiftly unbarring it.

Skipper Banjon and Brink, together with Tiria's three friends, were walking down the Abbey steps when they spied her flinging the gate open and racing out onto the path. Banjon was off like an arrow. "Wot'n the name o' rudders is that gel up to? C'mon, mates!"

Some distance up the ditchbed, they came across the ottermaid, standing over a sprawled-out water rat. She was shaking her head as her eyes roved north up the dried-out watercourse. "It was those vermin we met yesterday.

I was on the walltop w h e n one of them threw a spear at me and missed. I heard him shouting that it was the mouse he wanted to slay, the one w h o had beaten him.

Anyhow, they're well gone now, probably cut off east into the woodlands further u p . I managed to hit this one from the walltop."

Girry looked back to the Abbey ramparts. "Good grief, you mean to say you slung a stone that far, from up there, and you hit your target? Is he dead?"

Brink knelt and checked the rat briefly. "Oh aye, this 'un's dead, sure enough!"

Shocked, Tiria dropped her sling as though it were a poison snake. Her voice shook as she explained, "I didn't mean to kill anybeast, honestly. I only wanted to drive them away from Redwall. It was just a wild shot. I wish I'd never slung that stone!"

Skipper pressed the sling Wuppit back into his daughter's paw. "You said there was eight of the vermin. So, one of 'em wants to kill hisself a mouse, eh?"

A tremor of fear ran through Brinty, but he put on a show of bravado. "Huh, I'm not frightened of scummy water rats!"

Banjon eyed Tiria levelly. "An' ye didn't mean to kill the rat. Why?"

She shrugged. "Can't say, really. I've never slain anything before. It's just not a very nice feeling I suppose."

Her father's gaze hardened. Raising his voice sternly, he addressed his daughter. "Not a very nice feelin', ye suppose? You lissen t'me, gel. Those rats are thieves, murderers an' torturers, all of 'em! 'Tis about time ye grew up an'

learned about vermin. If'n I'd been with ye w h e n y'found

'em tormentin' that bird yesterday, I would've finished 'em all, instead o' lettin' the villians go free to roam Mossflower.

There's seven of the scum out there now, all ready to rob an'

kill any decent, innocent creature they come across!"

Banjon nudged the carcass of the fallen one. "Ye can't reason with vermin, Tiria. This rat won't be doin' any more evil, 'cos you stopped him. You did the right thing, pro-tectin' our Abbey an' yore friends. Remember, gel, yore a warriormaid with Wildlough blood!"

The force of her father's final phrase hit Tiria like a thunderbolt. It was the exact line spoken to her by the otter in her dream, which came instantly back to her in vivid detail.

She swayed and had to support herself by leaning against the side of the ditch.

The skipper leaped forward and steadied her. "Tiria, are ye alright? What ails ye?"

Brink took his friend to one side, whispering, "Leave 'er be, mate. Pore missy, 'tis prob'ly the shock of it all. I think ye were a mite harsh with 'er, yellin' like that. May'aps she ain't old enough to grasp it all yet."

Banjon turned to his daughter apologetically. "I didn't mean to shout at ye like that, beauty. I'm sorry."

Brink threw a paw around Skipper's shoulder. "Don't fret, mate. She knows ye meant no 'arm. Come on, me'n'

you'll see if'n we can't pick up the trail o' those vermin, Brinty, why don't you an' yore mates take Tiria back to the Abbey? Aye, go an' see how yore goose is farin', pretty one.

Great seasons, bringin' two big birds back to the Abbey in two days. Wotever next, eh?"

Once they were alone, Tiria could not wait to confide in her friends. She told them everything about her previous night's dream.

Girry's eyes were wide with awe at her narrative. "You actually saw Martin the Warrior?"

Now that she could recall it all, Tiria began feeling more positive and cheerful. "Aye, I saw him, true enough, but it was the strange otter lady and what she said to me."

As soon as they reached the Abbey, Tribsy clambered up out of the ditch. "They'm wurr ee gurt load o' wurds she'm sayed to ee. " 'Ow can you'm a-member 'em all?"

Tiria heaved Brinty from the ditch. "Because they're burned into my brain. I can repeat exactly what she said. Listen.

"Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew, to set the downtrodden free.

A warriormaid with Wildlough blood

must cross the Western Sea.

She w h o looks ever through windows

at the signs which feathers make,

seek the Green Isle through her knowledge, for all thy kinbeasts' sake."

Girry twirled his bushy tail in puzzlement. "It sounds rather mysterious. What d'you make of it, Tiria?"

The ottermaid broke into a trot. "I'll have to think about it, mate, and nobeast thinks well on an empty stomach. I haven't had breakfast yet, I'm famished!"

Speeding into a run, she bounded over the lawns, with the others pursuing her. Tribsy, w h o was slowest, was shouting, "You'm wait furr oi, gurt ruddery creetur!"

Breakfast was about finished when they arrived at the kitchens, but the kindly Friar could not bear the thought of a hungry creature. "Indeed to goodness, 'tis lucky you are that I have some hot farls and honeymaple preserve put by.

Oh, and there's an apple dumplin' for you, Tiria, 'cos I recall these three rascals havin' breakfast earlier, with your da and Brink."

They sat in the almost empty dining room, dipping farls in honeymaple preserve and sipping pear cordial. Girry eyed the ottermaid as she tucked into her dumpling. "Well, have you had any thoughts about your dream riddle yet?"

Tiria poured herself more cordial. "Don't rush me, I'm thinking about it."

Tribsy appeared quite amused by her comment. "Hurrhurrhurr, you'm thinken abowt thinken abowt ee riggle.

Hurrhurr, that bee's a gurt deal o' thinken, miz!"

They were joined at table by another latecomer, little Sister Snowdrop, Old Quelt's Assistant Librarian-cum-Recorder. Snowdrop had a pure white patch of fur on her head, hence her name. She was a dry-humoured old mouse, though nowhere near as ancient as Quelt.

Tiria made room for her. "Sister, you're usually one of the first here every morning. What kept you late today?"

Snowdrop dipped her farl in hot mint tea and sucked at it. "I am rather late, Miss Wildlough, so would you do me a favour? Please don't bring any more large birds to this Abbey at mealtimes. Yesterday it was an osprey, just before supper. Today it was a barnacle goose at breakfast time.

Quelt had me dashing around the library, pulling out reference books on geese and their seasonal flying times. It doesn't do a creature's eating habits any good, you know!"

Tiria licked sauce from her paw. "Sorry about that, Sister.

So, Quelt has met Brantalis, has he?"

Snowdrop nodded. "He has indeed. It is his opinion that geese are more sociable and forthcoming than ospreys. He likes the Skyfurrows especially, having treated several of their gaggle in bygone seasons."

The ottermaid agreed. "I like Brantalis, too. Did he say how he came by his wound?"

The little Sister poured herself more tea. "Brother Perant said the w o u n d could have been a lot worse. He was cleaning and dressing it as I left the Infirmary. Your friend Brantalis told Quelt that he had been shot by a cat's arrow."

•:-!

Brinty interrupted. "A cat's arrow? But there aren't any cats in Mossflower Country anymore. I wonder where he was when he received the w o u n d ? "

Using her habit sleeve, Snowdrop wiped steam from the tea from her tiny square glasses. "Over the great seas, in someplace called Green Isle, that's what I heard him say."

Girry thumped the table, sending plates clattering.

"Green Isle! That's the place you said the otter lady mentioned in your dream, Tiria!"

The ottermaid promptly repeated the line. "Seek the Green Isle through her knowledge."

The Sister looked up from her breakfast. "Through whose knowledge? What are you young 'uns rattling on about?"

Tiria had already left the table and was heading for the stairs. "I'll tell you later, Sister. Right now I've got to go and speak with that goose!"

She hastened up to the Infirmary, followed by her three friends and a curious Sister Snowdrop.

Brother Perant showed them into his sickbay, bowing ironically. "Ah, welcome to the Abbey nesting place. Any more big birds today, Tiria? A swan, or an eagle perhaps, or is it too early for them to come calling?"

Brantalis came waddling behind the Brother. He seemed spry enough and was proudly sporting a clean white-linen dressing around his neck. The barnacle goose pointed his beak at the Infirmary Keeper. "Right you were, Tiria. A great healer this mouse is, I am thinking. See, Brantalis is lively as an eggchick!"

The ottermaid nodded approvingly, then came straight to the point. "What do you know about a place called Green Isle?"

The osprey, perched up on the windowsill picking at the remains of his fish, spoke for the first time. "Kyeeh! Pandion Piketalon knows more of Green Isle than a Skyfurrow. It is my home. His kind only stop to feed there before flying on.

Piketalons have always lived on Green Isle!"

Brantalis spread his powerful wings and flapped them.

"Anywhere would I sooner dwell than the place of cats. A bad and wicked isle it is."

Tiria stepped between both birds, who were n o w eyeing each other truculently. "Please, let's not start arguing. Pandion Piketalon, do you know where the Green Isle is?"

The osprey looked slightly crestfallen. "Keeharr! I was hurt, and driven high over the great waters in a mighty storm. I could not tell you h o w I came to Red Walls.

Kraaawk, I am far from home and lost!"

Brantalis puffed out his chest. "I am of the Skyfurrows. I am knowing the way, but I am thinking, no earth crawler could follow where I fly!"

Tribsy wrinkled his snout sagely. "Burr, you'm surrpintly currect thurr, zurr!"

Brinty threw up his paws irritably. "Then what's the point of solving dream riddles if you can't get to this confounded Green Isle place, eh?"

Sister Snowdrop looked over the rims of her tiny square spectacles. "Will somebeast please tell me, what is all this business of dreams and riddles?"

The osprey fluttered down from his perch. "Kreeaah! I know nought of dreams or riddles!"

Brantalis edged away from the fierce fish hawk, murmuring, "I am thinking the Piketalon knows n o u g h t but catching fish."

Pandion's golden eyes stared unblinkingly at the goose.

"Better than dabbling in m u d and h o n k i n g to frighten clouds!"

Brother Perant stamped his p a w and raised his voice.

"Enough, do ye hear me? I will not have squabbling in my Infirmary. You, Pandion, back up on that sill! Brantalis, under the table and hold your beak!"

Girry winked at the normally mild-mannered healer.

"That'll teach 'em, eh Brother?"

Perant pointed to the door in a frosty manner. " O u t , the lot of you! Go and solve your problems elsewhere, and 5*

leave me in peace. Come on, begone with you, and you, too, Sister Snowdrop!"

They shuffled silently out onto the landing. As the door slammed behind them, the little old Sister pulled a comical face, even though Perant could not see her. "Yah, stuffy old bandage bonce, go and physick yourself!"

Tiria shook her head wearily. "We're not getting very far with this, are we?"

Snowdrop took her by the paw. "Don't be so easily defeated, young 'un. Follow me, I'll help you with your riddles and puzzles. I'm rather good at that sort of thing."

Sister Snowdrop took them upstairs to the lower attics, where she worked as Old Quelt's assistant. "Let's go into the library. I can think better in there."

The friends were reluctant to invade Quelt's inner sanc-tum, since it was the ancient squirrel's retreat from every-day life. Tiria whispered to the little Sister, "But won't Old Quelt object to us disturbing him?"

For all her long seasons, Snowdrop was quite young at heart. Placing her p a w on the library doorlatch, she giggled. "Heehee, not to worry, the old buffer's probably taking his morning nap!"

Without warning, the door opened inward and the Sister fell flat as she went with it. Snowdrop found herself sprawled on the floor, staring up into the face of Redwall Abbey's revered Librarian-cum-Recorder.

Quelt bowed politely. "Come in, friends. As you can see, the old buffer's had his morning nap. Eh, Sister Snowdrop?"

It was late night over Green Isle. The river flowed smoothly along toward the sea, reflecting a half-moon and the brief flash of a comet blazing its track across the dark sky vaults.

Two figures stole silently through the undergrowth which fringed the bank. They halted as a nightjar called from the darkened shallows. One of the two otters, Whulky, cupped both paws around his mouth and croaked like a frog.

A floating log materialised out of the shadows. Leatho Shellhound, w h o was poling it, jumped ashore and joined paws with the pair. "Sure I knew ye'd come. Y'weren't followed, I trust?"

Chab, Whulky's companion, reassured him. "The guards are so stuffed with roasted birdflesh that they're snorin' at their posts!"

The outlaw otter's teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he drew in a short, angry breath. "A murderous an' brutal affair, buckoes. All those pore birds killed to suit the whim of Riggu Felis. Ah well, hop on, an' I'll take ye to the gatherin'."

As they poled the log downriver, Whulky whispered, "Is it true Zillo the Bard will be there?"

Keeping his eyes on the watercourse, the sea otter replied,

"For sure 'tis. He's been takin' the enchanted slumber agin.

'Twill be interestin' to hear his ballad."

Tall stones protruded up from the scrubland behind the shore dunes. Berthing the log, the three otters headed for them. In the past, sea and stream otters had gathered at this time-honoured venue in the hundreds. However, owing to the regime of Riggu Felis, that night's attendance was no more than twoscore in number.

The site was screened by a ring of scrub bushes, with six sentries posted on watch. Leatho and his two friends waved to them and made their way to the fire at the centre of the tall stones. They were greeted by the others, w h o sat them down and served out bowls of burgoolla. This was a thick stew of seaweed and shellfish, seasoned with the most fiery of herbs and spices. A mere whiff of the burgoolla aroma, though delicious, could wring tears from a creature's eyes with its sheer heat. Customarily, no words were spoken during the eating of this otter delicacy—except to either compliment or criticise its quality.

Whulky fanned a p a w across his m o u t h after the first taste. "Ah sure, an' isn't this a true drop of the grand stuff?"

Many agreed with him. "Hoho, 'tis grand sure enough!"

But there were always those who liked to disagree.

"Arraway with ye. I've scraped better burgoolla off'n me ould granma's pinny, so I have!"

"Aye, the stuff tastes like a duck in a muddle."

There were many indignant defenders.

"Ah, shut yore gob, sure ye'd complain if a fine, big trout cooked itself an' jumped into yore big mouth, so ye would!"

"Aye, lissen bhoyo, if'n ye could make better burgooUa than this, then put yore paws t'work an' give yore fat lip a rest!"

The good-natured banter was brought to a halt by the flat thump of a rudderdrum.

Leatho stood then, calling out, "Be we well gathered, otters all. Do I see a Wildlough?"

Whulky stood up. "Ye see a Wildlough, once one of the mightiest clans on river or stream!"

Leatho continued with his roster. "Do I see a Galedeep?"

A huge otter raised his paw. "Ye see a Galedeep of the mighty sea otter rovers!"

"Do I see a Wavedog?"

"Ye see a Wavedog of a clan that don't know fear!"

"Do I see a Streambattle?"

"Aye, ye see a Streambattle whose clan know the scars o'

war well!"

The list continued, with each clan representative answering proudly. When he h a d finished, Leatho waited until a voice called out to him, "An' do we see a Shellhound?"

The outlaw sea otter roared back, "Yore seein' a Shellhound that never backed down from a foebeast! I'm the last o' my clan, I have neither kith, kin nor family! But by the thunders I'm still here an' fightin'!"

Firelight gleamed from the outlaw's eyes as he glared around the assembly. "Why, w h o is it that calls to me?"

Two otters supported an older one to a seat by the fire. He was still a big beast, though he bore many scars. One of his legs had been replaced by a wooden peg, and his left eye wore a black musselshell patch. He held a round, flat rudderdrum, which he struck gently with his tail.

Leatho strode across and embraced him fondly. "Ould Zillo the Bard o' the Watermeadows, haven't ye sunk with the sun beyond the westerin' sea yet?"

Zillo gave him a gap-toothed grin. "Ah no, me buckoe, I wouldn't dream of it whilst there's still one mangy catpaw print on our lovely Green Isle!"

Leatho chuckled admiringly. "Ye ould battledog, what have ye been dreamin' about then?"

Zillo struck the rudderdrum a mighty clout. "The day of deliverance is comin'!"

A roar of joy came from every otter present. Leatho held up a paw for silence. "Whisht now, Zillo has the floor!"

A hush fell over them as the bard sat staring into the fire.

His rudder began beating the drum slowly. Then he began to sing his story in true bardic fashion.

"On the night that the great storm was ragin' apace, sweepin' in o'er the high seas to batter this isle, I heard that a wildcat had lost half his face, Ah, isn't that grand now, I said with a smile!"

Two otters joined in with flute and banjotta, an odd stringed instrument that was very popular among the clans. Zillo let them play a short stanza before continuing.

" 'Twas then by me fire I fell into a dream, with the wild winds a-keenin' an' wailin' outside, sure a wisdom came floatin' o'er some magic stream, that the days of our vengeance were soon to arrive.

'Twas a mouse in bright armour, he spake loud an' clear,

an' he carried a sword that was wondrous to see.

'Ould Zillo the Bard,' he said, 'Never you fear, for 'tis writ in the stars that the clans will run free.

From the seas an' the oceans, from river an' stream, rise up all ye warriors, arm every paw.

A leader is comin' to fulfill yore dreams, one who'll stand at your head as ye march off to war.

Ye'U rise like the red dawn, all in a great band, like a brave surgin' tide such as never was seen, as ye thunder her title all over this land: All hail to the Rhulain! The High Otterqueen!' "

The otters leapt up, bellowing and cheering, roaring and chanting. "Rhulain! Rhulain! Ee aye eeeeeh!"

Leatho could not stem the noisy jubilation, but the blood was pounding through his body. He took Zillo the Bard by the shoulders, shouting in his ear above the din. "Are ye sure High Rhulain is comin' back to Green Isle, or was yore dream just a desire to rouse the clans?"

Zillo raised his voice in reply. "My dreams have never lied, Shellhound. Tis certain I am!"

Leatho battered for a long time on the rudderdrum before order was finally restored. His voice rang out like steel.

"We'll get nothin' done, howlin' an' jiggin' about like a rabble o' wildbeasts!"

Zillo backed him up. "Sure the Shellhound's right. Hold Still now like goodbeasts an' lissen to him."

The outlaw sea otter began outlining his campaign. "We need to work together now, buckoes, but our watchword must be secrecy. Don't breathe a word yet of w h a t ye've heard here tonight to anybeast!"

Chab held up his paw. "Not even to our families?"

Leatho shook his head vehemently. "Especially not yore families, mate. Little 'uns will repeat wot they've heard to anybeast, an' old 'uns can't resist gossipin'. If Riggu Felis an' those cats caught wind of ought, they'd soon pry it out of familybeasts. They're good at that, as ye know. When the time's right, I'll let ye know, then ye can tell yore kin."

Zillo added his own warning. "Holdin' yore silence will stop many an otter bein' weighted with rocks an' tossed into Deeplough for Slothunog to feed off."

The very mention of Deeplough's monster brought gasps of fear from many. Leatho let the message sink in before carrying on with his plans.

"Right, here's wot we need. Secrecy, or our plans will be ruined. Organisation an' obedience, if we're to see this through together. An' weapons! When the time comes, bare paws'll be useless against Felis's murderers. Last, an' most important, we need our Rhulain, a High Queen that this isle hasn't seen since seasons out o' memory!"

One of the Wavedog clan called out, "How'U we know the Rhulain when we see her?"

Leatho, at a loss to answer, turned to Zillo. "Can you tell us, mate?"

The bard pondered a while. "All I can tell ye is wot I know from the poems an' ballads passed d o w n through 57

my forefathers. One thing is certain, though, she'll be of the Wildlough blood. I've heard old paeans an' lays that tell of a warriormaid, tall an' swift. Fearless in battle, an' more deadly with sling'n'stone than any livin' beast. Tis said that she wore a gold coronet set with a greenstone, and also that she wore a surcoat of armour from neck to waist, embossed with a gold star. That's about as much as I can tell ye."

There was a hesitant silence over the meeting. Then Big Kolun, Skipper of the Galedeep sea otters, boomed out in his loud, jolly voice, "Well that'll do for us Galedeeps. Ye couldn't 'ave painted High Rhulain clearer, Zillo. Sounds like the kind o' queen I'd toiler to Hellgates an' back.

Right, buckoes?"

Yells of approval greeted him. Leatho winked at the big fellow. "Galedeeps were always loyal warriors, matey!"

Kolun spat on a huge paw and held it out. "Here's me paw, an' here's me heart, Shellhound. I'm with ye!"

Dawn of the following day found Riggu Felis, Lady Kaltag and their two sons taking breakfast beneath an awning on the pier which fronted the lake. It was a fine summer morn, with sunbeams dancing on the water from a cloudless sky of cornflower blue. Otterslaves stood by, ready to serve the demands of the warlord and his kin. As usual, Jeefra and Pitru were quarrelling, this time about two gull eggs which they had been served.

Jeefra went whining to his mother, tears beading in his eyes as he wailed, "Mamma, Mamma, Pitru stole my egg.

He's finished his own and now he's taken mine!"

Kaltag left off sunning herself in the early warmth. "Will you two stop bickering? Pitru, give that egg back to your brother, this instant!"

Pitru tossed the egg u p , then caught it deftly, smirking.

"Tell him to come and get it!"

His mother fixed him with an icy glare. "Give Jeefra the egg. Do as I say!"

The chain mail half-mask which covered Riggu Felis's disfigured face chinked as he drew in breath. He was watching his sons with interest. The wildcat rasped, "Let them be, Kaltag. If Pitru wants the egg, let him keep it—

though mayhaps Jeefra's warrior enough to take it back by force. Go on, son, let's see what you're made of."

Jeefra feared both his father and Pitru, so he took the soft alternative. Turning to an otterslave, he ordered, "You, bring me another gull's egg!"

"Stay where you are, slave!" The warlord's fangs showed between the quivering chain mail. "Jeefra, go and take the egg back off Pitru. Go on!"

Kaltag complained, "My lord, you should not be urging brothers to fight each other in this way."

The wildcat ruler of Green Isle snarled at her. "Stay out of this! They have to learn to take what they want. Well, go to it, Jeefra. I'm waiting!"

Pitru taunted his weaker brother. "Aye, go to it, Jeefra.

I'm waiting, too."

Jeefra had no option. He knew it would go badly for him if he was shamed in front of his father. Gathering his nerve, he made a sudden charge, but his brother easily sidestepped him. Leaping onto Jeefra's back, Pitru forced him to the ground, holding him there as he mocked his feeble attempt.

" 'Mamma, Mamma, Pitru stole my egg!' Here, take it back, you big snot-nosed kitten!" Wilfully, he smashed the raw gull egg over his brother's head. The runny mess splattered d o w n across Jeefra's face. Pitru contemptuously kicked his brother's backside, then freed him. Jeefra fled indoors, sobbing.

Pitru licked yolk from his paw, commanding one of the otterslaves, "Go and bring me another egg, I'm still hungry!"

A gurgling laugh issued from behind the chain mail as Riggu addressed Kaltag. "That one's got the makings of a proper wildcat!"

She sniffed. "We have two sons, both wildcats."

Pulling the face mask to one side, the warlord thrust his hideous features close to her. "Never! I'm the only true wildcat here—I, Riggu Felis! You and all the rest of these cats, you are only feral cats. Your ancestors were tame creatures who served stronger beasts. You could not even fend for yourselves. It took my kin, the real wildcats, to conquer your masters. We brought your kind here from the sunset lands of the far oceans. See my colour, my stripes, these are the marks of the proper wildcat bloodline. I am the only one who is all wildcat, a warlord born. Jeefra is more like you, but Pitru has more wildcat in him!"

Pitru had been eavesdropping on his father's words.

"Does that mean I'll be the ruler of Green Isle someday?"

Riggu allowed the chain mail to cover his lower face again. "It takes more than a bully to make a warlord. You have to be fearless, like me. Why could you not have slain that bird on the eve of the storm, eh?"

Both brothers had been reminded of the incident many times by their father. Pitru did not like being criticised.

Turning on one paw, he prowled off, leaving his father with a parting shot. "Huh, you tried, and look at the mess it made of you."

Springing up in a fury, the wildcat chieftain seized his single-bladed axe. "You insolent whelp! Why, I ' l l . . . . "

A cry rang out from the lakeshore, distracting Riggu.

"Master, we have taken two prisoners!"

Bound together by ropes, the two otterslaves, Whulky and Chab, were thrust up onto the pier. Surrounding them were catguards, with Weilmark Scaut and Atunra at their head. Still hefting the axe in one paw, Riggu wiped froth from his slobbering lower lip. He composed himself swiftly and sat down.

The prisoners were forced to lie facedown in front of the wildcat as he stared regally at them. "Why do you bring them before me? What have they done?"

The pine marten Atunra bowed. "Master, they were 60

caught outside of the settlement before dawn. Both have been missing all night."

Weilmark Scaut pointed with his whipbutt at the otters.

A large bandage covered Scaut's jaw, where the missile from Leatho had broken it. He was in pain and had to speak from between clenched teeth.

"This younger one I caught stealing recently. He's already served a night and a day beneath the pier, Lord. I've had my eye on these two, they're always whisperin' together."

He pawed at the painful swelling on the side of his face before continuing. "Last night I could not sleep, so I did a secret visit to the slave compound. They were both missing."

Scaut winced in agony, while Riggu gestured for Atunra to continue. "After Weilmark Scaut roused me, we took a patrol of catguards and two trackers. We picked up their trail to the riverbank, but there it ended. So we hid and waited, knowing they would return the same way. Sure enough, an hour before dawn, we caught them both skulking back."

Intrigued, Riggu leaned forward. "And where had they been?"

Scaut was not to be outdone if any credit were to be given. He took up the narrative again, despite his aching jaw. "I sent the trackers downriver, Lord. They found lots of pawprints an' the ashes of a fire inside the circle of tall stones. They was attendin' some sort o' otter outlaw meeting, Sire. I'd swear an oath on it!"

The face mask swayed in and out as the wildcat chieftain beckoned the guards to stand the captives up. He peered at their bruised and battered heads. "Hmm, I see, and they've refused to talk, eh?"

Scaut uncoiled his whip. "Leave them to me, Sire. They'll soon talk when their ribs show through their hides!"

Riggu glimpsed the looks of stubborn defiance the otters gave each other. "No they won't. Put away that lash, I have a better idea. Tell me, do they have families?"

6 l

Atunra answered smartly, "Master, the younger one h a s a wife and three offspring. The older one has only a wife."

Riggu looked at the two otters enquiringly. "Why do y o u not think of your families and talk to me?"

Whulky and Chab remained tight-lipped. The w i l d c a t shrugged. "Bravery in a warrior is an admirable quality, but bravery in a slave with loved ones to care for is just plain stupidity. So, do you wish to speak to me now, or go to your deaths in silence?"

Whulky and Chab were trembling all over, but t h e y stared straight ahead without saying a single word.

The wildcat leaned back in his chair, tapping his claws on the arm. "So be it. Tie them both underneath this pier until tomorrow morning. If they haven't spoken by then, we'll take them to Deeplough and introduce them to Slothunog."

He rose dismissively and wandered casually indoors.

Stopping in the fortress doorway, Riggu Felis called back over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, "Oh, a n d let their families join them beneath the pier. They can accompany them to Deeplough. That might help to loosen their tongues before tomorrow."

Atunra and the catguards marched the otters off. Whulky and Chab were in deep shock at the horror they and their families would have to face.

Old Quelt smiled at the embarrassment on the faces of Sister Snowdrop and her four companions. "Don't stand staring at the floor and shuffling your paws like naughty Dibbuns. Come in, all of you, and welcome. Redwallers have been making jokes about Old Quelt since long before you were born, Sister Snowdrop. Please run along and find these young 'uns something to drink."

Snowdrop brought a flagon of pennycloud-and-rosehip tonic and some beakers from a window ledge, and poured the drinks. Tiria and her friends sat at a long, well-polished beechwood table, gazing about them at Quelt's pride and joy: Redwall Abbey's first library.

All four walls were shelved out from floor to ceiling with good oaken planking. Every possible area was full of books and scrolls. Thin pamphlets stood spine to spine with tall tomes, thick volumes and beribbonned rolls of parchment, all in neat order. To one side of the fireplace was a nook, which held a writing desk with two padded stools. Quill pens and charcoal sticks, together with hardwood rulers, sealing wax and sheafs of parchment, lay stacked, ready for use.

The ancient squirrel peered over the top of his glasses at his gaping guests. "Almost a lifetime's work. I did it, you know. Helped, of course, by the good Sister Snowdrop, our 63

trusty Cellarhog Carpenter and many obliging moles. So, what do ye think?"

Tiria acted as spokesbeast. "It's wonderful, sir, most impressive. I hadn't realised there were so many books and scrolls in our Abbey."

Snowdrop refilled their beakers. "This is now the repos-itory for all the written works of Redwall. Quelt gathered them in this former attic room. It took us long seasons to clear out the gatehouse records, and even longer to empty out the Abbess's chambers, and the kitchens, cellars and dormitories."

The Librarian-cum-Recorder sighed wearily. "Aye, and we're still searching, discovering, dusting, repairing and cataloguing old writings. Huh, and that's beside my work as Redwall Recorder."

Brinty complimented Quelt. "You've worked wonders, sir. I expect you're very proud of your library!"

The oldster wiped a drop of tonic from the tabletop with his sleeve. " 'Proud' is not the word I'd use, 'fulfilled' sums it up better. Yes, I feel fulfilled by my achievement. But you haven't come here to listen to some doddering old fogey rattling on about his library. What exactly are you looking for? Is there any way I can be of assistance?"

Sister Snowdrop glanced at Tiria. "Tell him about your dream riddle."

Quelt began rolling up his wide habit sleeves. "Oh do, miss, I pray you. Riddles, puzzles or conundrums, I've always been pretty fair at that type of thing. Now, you may start at the beginning, and please leave nothing out!"

The ottermaid related her dream in detail—the big lake and its shore, and her encounter with Martin the Warrior and the otter lady. Word for w o r d she recited the poem, then explained about her dream's aftermath.

"It was very odd. After I woke up, I couldn't even recall that I'd had a dream. Then my father unknowingly repeated the line about Wildlough blood, and it all came back as clear as day to me."

Old Quelt picked up quill, parchment a n d ink. He stroked at his scraggy, silver whiskers reflectively before replying. "Hmm, very interesting. What do you young 'uns make of it all?"

Tribsy wrinkled his velvety snout. "We'm w u z 'opin'

you'm or ee Sister cudd make sumthin' of it all, zurr. Arter all, we'm bain't gurt scholarbeasts like you'm bee's."

Girry agreed. "Huh, I wasn't very bright at Abbeyschool."

Brinty shook his head. "Neither was I. What about you, Tiria?"

The ottermaid smiled ruefully. "Afraid not, mate. When I should've been studying, I was always fooling about with slings and stones. Wish I'd paid more attention now."

Sister Snowdrop stared at them through her small square glasses. "Oh, I'm sure you're being too hard on yourselves, you four never struck me as dullards. Most riddles can be solved with some serious concentration. Let's put our heads together and make a joint effort at finding the solution."

Quelt pointed his quill pen at his assistant. "A sensible idea, Snowdrop. Come on, you can be the Recorder for a change. I want you to write d o w n what Tiria has to say.

Miss, would ye kindly repeat the poem again for us?

Slowly, please."

Tiria spoke the rhyme methodically, allowing the little Sister to keep pace with her words.

"Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew, to set the downtrodden free.

A warriormaid with Wildlough blood

must cross the Western Sea.

She who looks ever through windows

at the signs that feathers make,

seek the Green Isle through her knowledge, for all thy kinbeasts' sake."

Brinty came up with an immediate idea. "Why don't we go down to the front lawns, stand back and watch all the 65

Abbey windows? We may catch sight of the one w h o is always looking through them."

Snowdrop p u t aside her pen. "Really, young mouse, you've lived at Redwall h o w long, fifteen or sixteen seasons? Tell me, in all that time did you ever see any creature w h o h a d little else to do than stand about gazing through windows night a n d day, eh?"

Brinty saw h o w foolish his idea must have sounded.

"Sorry, Sister, I see w h a t you mean. I w a s only trying to help."

Tribsy rapped a huge digging claw upon the table. "Oi says ee bestest way to solve ee riggle bee's to start at ee beginnin' of et, hurr!"

Snowdrop complimented him. "An excellent suggestion!

I always said that nobeast could beat sound mole logic.

Now, we know that the sun rises anew each day, but we don't know what a Rhulain is. However, this mention of a warriormaid w i t h Wildlough blood fits your description, Tiria."

The ottermaid pointed at herself. "Me? I'm not a warrior!"

A w r y look crossed the old Sister's face. "Excuse my asking, b u t are you not the one w h o led the charge against a gang of water rats and saved the osprey? And do you not carry around a sling named Wuppit, a weapon w i t h which you slew a vermin with a single throw from an incredible distance? Please correct me if I'm wrong, b u t doesn't the blood of Wildlough otters r u n through your veins, hence the very name you go by, Wildlough?"

Tiria attempted to equal her interrogator's irony. "Huh, we know all that! Kindly stop quibbling and get on with your explanation of the poem, my good mouse."

Snowdrop resumed without comment. "It states that you must cross the Western Sea, b u t let's skip ahead a few lines.

The object of your journey is to aid your kinbeasts, doubtless that means other otters. We know that they dwell on this place called Green Isle a n d are in some kind of difficulty. So that's a start."

Girry interrupted by referring to the lines Snowdrop had skipped over. "Right then, but we're not on Green Isle, neither is Tiria. So our first task is exactly what Brinty meant: We must first find the window watcher who is always looking at the signs feathers make. That seems to be the key to this puzzle. I wonder who it can be."

Tribsy blinked a few times, allowing the information to link in. "Oi doan't know who et bee's, do ee?"

Brinty looked to the Recorder. "Have you any ideas, sir?"

Snowdrop whispered, "No use asking him, I'm afraid the poor fellow's fallen asleep again."

With both paws folded across his gently heaving chest and both eyes closed, Quelt surprised them by speaking. "On the contrary, Sister, the poor fellow's wide awake and drinking in every word you've spoken. Dearie me, it's you lot whose eyes are really closed. The answer's staring you right in the face!"

Tiria began to feel impatient with Quelt's manner. "If you have the answer, sir, I'd be grateful if you'd give it to us, instead of pretending to be asleep!"

Quelt continued with his eyes still closed. "You were doing quite well for the main part, at least Snowdrop was, though it was young Girry w h o asked the most pertinent question. Who is the one who looks through windows at the signs made by feathers?"

Opening his eyes, the Librarian pointed directly at Snowdrop. "It's you, my aged assistant!"

The little Sister's voice rose squeakily. "Me? What makes you say that?"

Quelt took an unhurried sip of his tonic drink. "Ask yourself, what do we use to write with? Quills! And what are quills but the feathers of birds? So we dip them in ink and make marks, we write with them. Are you following me?"

Tribsy chortled. "Hurrhurrhurr, loik maggypies follerin'

ee frog, zurr. You'm carry roight on!"

The ancient squirrel obliged. "The riddle points to a 'she,'

a knowledgeable creature. Observe!" Quelt removed his rock crystal spectacles and held them u p .

"Constant seasons of study do not help one's eyesight.

Sooner or later, we elders need these windows to see properly through. My spectacles are round, and I am a he, not a she. Now look at Sister Snowdrop."

Instantly the problem was solved for Tiria and her friends. "She wears little square glasses shaped like windows. I've never seen her without them. It is you, Sister!"

The dawn of a happy smile soon faded from Snowdrop's face. She waved her p a w s in agitation. "No, no, I don't know what a Rhulain is, or how to cross the Western Sea, and I'm woefully ignorant about Green Isle."

Rising stiffly from his chair, Quelt left the table. "Tut tut, my dear friend, what a disappointment you've turned out to be after serving as my assistant for so many long seasons. A trained scholar and Librarian, surrounded by all the knowledge our Abbey has to offer—literature, records and histories. Why, it's like a Dibbun being locked in Brink Greyspoke's cellars complaining that he has nought to drink. Was all the training I gave you for nothing?"

Little Sister Snowdrop smote the tabletop so hard that the beakers rattled and her paw went numb. "Yowch! No sir, it certainly was not! I'll help you, Tiria. In fact I'll start right away, going through the early archives. Thank you, Quelt, my brain's working properly now. Tiria, take Brinty and Tribsy with you. Go and question that goose again.

Brantalis knows the way to Green Isle, he said so. And the fish hawk, Pandion, he lives on Green Isle. I'll wager a berry to a chestnut he knows what's going on there with otters and so on. See what information you can glean from him.

Right, on your way, friends!"

As Girry watched them hurrying away, his face fell. "But, Sister, what about me?"

Snowdrop pushed him ahead of her as she bustled toward the bookshelves. "You've just been appointed Second Assistant Librarian. A younger pair of eyes, somebeast w h o 68

can carry stacks of books and reach high shelves, that's what I need. Come on, young squirrel, quick's the word and sharp's the action. Now, shall we start at A for anything, G for Green Isle, R for Rhulain or D for dreams?"

Old Quelt looked up from the desk, where he had installed himself to catch up on recording events of Abbeylife.

"I'd start with U, for upstairs attic. There are still lots of books and scrolls up there, waiting to be identified. Prepare to get your tail dusty, young Girry! Now, where was I? Oh yes! This fine day began eventfully with the visit of an injured barnacle goose, and the slaying of a vermin creature by a warrior o t t e r m a i d . . . . "

Sunlight lanced through the foliage of East Mossflower Woodlands, creating a bright kaleidoscope of green, gold and tan. Brimstone, clouded yellow, and small white but-terflies fluttered and perched on the marshy banks of a gurgling stream, which flowed out of a watermeadow. Skipper Banjon crouched on the edge, casting about amid the rank black ooze.

Brink Greyspoke tested the soggy mess with a cautious footpaw. "Careful, Skip, ye could go down in that stuff!"

The Skipper retreated, wiping his paws on the grass.

"Aye, this is the furthest I'm trackin' any vermin. They've either sunk under that lot or they've made it to the watermeadows. There's more'n ten exits from those meadows.

We'd be half a season tryin' to pick up their trail again.

Brink, what d'ye think?"

The Cellarhog held his snout to help block out the odours of rotted vegetation and soggy, water-logged wood. "I don't reckon they'll be botherin' Redwall again. Let's go back to the Abbey. That little walk has whetted my appetite lor lunch."

The pair strode off, back the way they had come, chatting amicably.

"I didn't know yore appetite had t'be whetted, mate. I've never knowed it t'be blunted!"

"Hoho, lissen who's talkin', ole Banjon barrelbelly!"

"Nonsense! I'm only a slip of a beast compared to you.

That apron o' yores would go round me three times!"

As their sounds receded into the woodlands, not a stone's throw from the bank where Banjon and Brink had been standing the sticky morass beneath an overhanging grey willow burst asunder, spewing forth Groffgut and his gang of water rats. Spitting and vomiting the nauseous slime, they staggered up onto firm ground. Every one of the rats was plastered from head to foot with marsh debris and reeked with its stench.

Frogeye dug something from his ear with a piece of twig.

"Wot did we hafta jump in der for? I nearly drownded!"

Groffgut clouted him over the head. " 'Cos we woulda got caught. We hadter 'ide, softbrain!"

Rashback spat out a woodlouse, then picked it up and ate it. "Cudden't we 'ave fought 'em off, Chief? Der's eight of us, an' only two of dem."

Plugtail wiped ooze from his eyes as he corrected him.

"Seven, ye mean, d e r ' s only seven of us now. Pore ole Hangpaw was slayed when we was runnin' away."

Threetooth sat down and started scraping off body m u d with his stone spearblade. "Mebbe Hangpaw wasn't kil't.

He might be still alive back der."

Groffgut kicked out at Threetooth but missed, slipped and fell flat on his tail. Obbler and Fleddy, the youngest two gang members, burst out into cackling laughs at Groffgut's mishap.

The gang leader jumped upright, fuming. "Wot's so funny, eh, eh? Youse lot makes me sick ter the neck. Ye think we cudda fought dem off—a great big 'edgepig anna gi-ganantic waterdog? Yer think Hangpaw's still alive back in dat ditch, eh, eh?"

Ranting and spitting mud, he vented his temper on them.

"Well goo on den, chase after de 'edgepig an' de riverdog.

An' when youse've kil't 'em, den go back ter d'ditch an' see if Hangpaw's still alive. Well, who's gunna go?"

None of the gang felt like pursuing the issue further, knowing Groffgut's violent temper. They sat silent, cleaning themselves up and avoiding their leader's angry stares.

Frogeye finally made an attempt to calm the situation.

"Yah, who cares about all dose daftbeasts an' their h'abbey?

Hangpaw's dead, an' dat's dat! Dis is a big forest, wid plenny o' vikkles about. Let's jus' move on an' find somewheres else."

It was the wrong thing to say, as Frogeye soon learned when Groffgut bit him on the nose and kicked him in the stomach. The gang leader waved his rusty scythe blade sword at the rest.

" Youse lot ain't goin' nowhere 'less I tells yer so, see! Are we a vermin gang or wot? Dose h'abbeybeasts stoled our h'eagle, ambushed an' battered us, kil't one of our gang an'

chased us 'til we 'ad ter jump inter a bog an' 'ide from dem!

Nobeast does that ter my gang an' gets away wid it, 'specially not dat mouse w h o kept wallopin' me wid a big pole.

I've got dat 'uns name writ in me brain!"

Threetooth made certain he was out of Groffgut's range before he popped the question, "So, worra we gunner do about it?"

The gang leader actually jumped in the air twice to em-phasise his first two words. "Do? Do? . . . I'll tell yer wot we're gunner do! We're gunner get revenge on dem, dat's wot we're gunner do! Cummon, we're goin' back ter that Wallred h'abbey. I'll make 'em sorry dey ever messed wid our gang!"

Big Kolun Galedeep had ten small otterbabes, which was almost half of his family, aboard his boat, the Rustynail. The sails h a d been furled on his orders. He sat in the stern, twanging away at his banjotta. Leatho Shellhound sat beside him, holding the tiller steady as the little otters pulled away, two to each oar. Helping them to keep an even stroke, Kolun and Leatho roared out a lusty shanty. The Rustynail travelled at a fair clip around the bay, broken occasionally when one of Kolun's small brood pulled too hard, missed the water and tumbled over backwards. They were learning not only to row but also to sing. They were raucous infants, missing some of the lyrics but coming in heartily on every last line.

"Hey now, hark belay there an' listen ole mate, Hear the high seas a-callin', c'mon let's not wait, out there on the briny with no land in sight, just the gold sun above ye an' bright stars at night.

Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an' blood!

In the kingdom of fishes they sport an' they play, the herrin' the mackerel the fluke an' the ray, in bluey green deeps where the long seaweed grows, 72

there swims an' ould dolphin they call Bottlenose.

Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an' blood!

Set course by yore rudder an' trim up those sails, we'll plough on forever through doldrums an' gales, bound for the red sunset far over the main, an' leave the landlubbers to roam hill an' plain.

Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an' blood!"

The little otters thought it was all great fun. They went into tucks of laughter when their father and Uncle Leatho roared at them in colourful nautical terms.

"Heave away, ye tiny sea swabs! Bend yore backs an'

straighten yore rudders!"

"Hahaarr, buckoes, we'll put muscles on ye like cockles!

Maul on those oars, or 'tis over the side with ye!"

"Ahoy, can't ye pull better'n that? Ye'd have trouble pullin' yoreselves out of a pot o' skilly'n'duff!"

Deedero, big Kolun's missus, came bustling along the bayshore with a young ottermaid in tow. Both were waving and hallooing to get the Galedeep Skipper's attention.

When one of the otterbabes spotted them, she prodded her father with her oar.

Big Kolun scowled comically at the tiny creature. "Avast there, ye bold salty scoundrel, strikin' yore cap'n with a paddle. Ye'll be keelhauled for that!"

Leatho squinted villainously at his big friend. "Keelhauled? Shiver me tripes, yore gittin' too soft with these mutineers, matey. Chop 'er up an' chuck 'er t'the sharks, I say!"

The infant pointed a chubby p a w to the pair onshore.

"Daddo, it be Mamam, I fink she want you!"

Kolun waved to his missus, shouting, "Ahoy, me heart's delight, just ye wait there, me ole treasure chest. We're headin' in to port full speed!"

As the boat scraped the shallows, Deedero tapped her rudder impatiently upon the sand. "Move yoreself, Leatho 73

Shellhound, there's big trouble a-brewin'. This pretty maid's got a message for ye!"

The outlaw sea otter sloshed through the shallows to her side. He smiled kindly at the ottermaid. "Yore all out o'

breath, me darlin', an' ye've been weepin', too. Tell me now, wot is it?"

The ottermaid, a slave called Memsy, scrubbed at her eyes as she sobbed out the message. "Oh, Mister Shell'ound, sir.

'Tis Whulky an' Chab. They was caught this mornin' early, taken by the weilmark an' that marten beast. Lord Felis questioned them about where they'd been, but they wouldn't speak nary a word. Oh oh, 'tis a terrible thing, those pore creatures!"

Taking Memsy by the shoulders, Leatho spoke softly.

"There now, don't go upsettin' yoreself, beauty. 'Tis nought the Shellhound can't sort out. Do ye know where that wildcat is keepin' Whulky an' Chab?"

Memsy strove to calm herself, but she shook like a leaf.

"Tied under the pier in front of the fortress, sir. Both their wives an' Chab's three little 'uns are there, too. Lord Felis says that if they don't talk afore tomorrow morn, they'll be dragged off to Deeplough . . . an' . . . an' . . . throwed in to Slothunog. Oooohhhh!"

She fell to crying in earnest, and Deedero wrapped her comfortingly in her wide shawl, hugging her like a babe.

Leatho's teeth ground audibly. He u n w o u n d his sling, muttering to Kolun in a voice tight with anger and urgency,

"I'm goin' on ahead to scout out the situation, mate. Get as many armed warriors an' good swimmers as ye can from the clans. When ye come to meet me, do it as quiet as ye can.

I'll be lyin' in the rushes, about a quarter way up the south edge o' the lake. If'n I ain't there, then stand by an' keep yore heads low until I show up. Will ye do that?"

Big Kolun Galedeep picked up an oar and hefted it grimly. "Never fear, Leatho. I'll pick a good crew out, an' be on time to meet with ye. You go now, mate, an' fortune go with ye!"

Chab and Whulky were moored by their necks and waists to the posts beneath the pier. Their wives and the three little ones were tethered several posts a w a y though only by a thick rope knotted about the otterwives' shoulders, which still allowed them to hold the babes in their paws. Not knowing what they were guilty of, they stared at Chab and Whulky with wide, frightened eyes. Above them, feral catguards paced the boards on both sides of the pier. More could be seen patrolling the lakeshores.

Chab whispered to his companion, "I'd give my whiskers'n'rudder for an ould shellblade knife t'cut through these ropes. First thing I'd do would be t'free the wives an'

little 'uns, so they could swim fer it!"

Whulky strained against the rope about his neck. "No, mate, keep still for the moment, an' stow those wild ideas if'n ye ain't got anythin' to back 'em up with. If'n the wives an' babes h a d t'make a run fer it, they w o u l d n ' t stand a chance with all those catguards around. All we can do is to hope somebeast got word to the clans. If'n the Shellhound gets t'know, he won't leave us t'be slain. I'd take an oath on that!"

A long, thin willow withe was pushed down between the spaces of the pierboards, swung by a cat with a whipping motion. The cane caught Chab a stinging blow to his cheek.

"Sharrap down there, or I'll lay about the lot of ye, little

'uns, too!"

Both Chab and Whulky knew who the voice belonged to: Scorecat Groodl, a minor officer, subordinate to Weilmark Scaut. Groodl was a brutal and sadistic cat, short in stature and savagely cruel to those beneath him, particularly slaves. He twitched the willow withe from side to side, taunting the prisoners.

"Not a peep out of any of ye now. 'Twould be a shame to deliver ye to Slothunog tomorrow, all cut'n'bruised. He likes his meat t'be tender an' unmarked."

He continued flicking them lightly with the long, whippy 75

withe. It was some while before Groodl became bored by his callous sport and wandered off, leaving a guard of or-dinary rank to watch the prisoners.

Chab's wife bit her lip to stop a wail of anguish, now that she knew the fate that was in store for them. Angling his neck against the rope, Whulky gave her a confident wink in an effort to keep up her spirits.

"We won't let anythin' bad happen to ye, marm. Don't fret, 'twill only upset the little 'uns."

Big Kolun Galedeep had gathered a crew of paw-picked otters: Streamdivers, Streambattles, Wavedogs and some of his own clan, about fifty in all. They were armed with light javelins, which had fire-hardened tips, and slings, with a few blades in evidence, but these were in short supply. They marched stealthily, with Kolun and his brother Lorgo leading them, to the thick tussocks of reed and rush on the south quarter of the lakeshore. Leatho was nowhere to be seen.

They lay low and silent on Kolun's orders.

They had not waited long when a telltale ripple on the lake surface came toward their hiding place. Banya Streamdog, a lithe ottermaid noted for her aquatic skills, pointed.

"Lookit, here comes the very buckoe himself!"

Without a single splash, the Shellhound bounded out of the water into the rushes. He nodded a greeting to the crew before addressing Kolun. "Memsy was right, mate. I got up as close to the pier as I could without bein' spotted. Sure enough, that hellcat Felis has got Whulky an' Chab, an' their families, too. They're bound to the supportin' posts. There was no sign o' Felis about, but there's enough catguards standin' sentry an' patrollin' all around the area. Ye picked a fit-lookin' crew there, Kolun. Well done!"

The big otter's craggy face looked grim. He tightened his grip on the oar he had brought along. "Just give the word, mate, an' we'll storm 'em. There'll be fur an' catmeat flyin' everywhere!"

Leatho patted his friend's powerful shoulder. "Take it 76

easy, buckoe! There's far too many of 'em, w e ' d be slaughtered. Felis ain't planned anythin' for them otters 'til tomorrow morn. The way I sees it, there's no point in us makin' a move afore dusk. That gives me time aplenty to tell ye the plan I've hatched. N o w lissen careful. We'll free our friends, b u t this is wot ye must do!"

The long, hot morning rolled on into noontide, with the far lake margins shimmering and the surface lying still as a sheet of glass. With his aide Atunra in tow, the warlord emerged from the fortress onto the pier. He sat beneath his awning, enjoying the shade. Of late, he had shunned the dog days of summer; the chain mail mask could get un-comfortably hot in constant direct sunlight. Groodl came out and joined his catguards to watch the prisoners.

Atunra w e n t over and h a d a brief exchange with the scorecat, returning to inform the warlord, "The otterslaves have still not spoken, Master."

Riggu appeared unconcerned. "Then that is their bad fortune. Tomorrow I will use them as an example to the other slaves. Spectacles like that always keep our otters aware of their position. What's a few slavebeasts to me? The hardest-learned lessons are always the most effective."

The wildcat's reflections were rudely interrupted by the sounds of yowling, screeching and clattering from within the fortress. Riggu sank his claws into the velvet-covered chair arms. He waited a while, but still the din did not subside.

From between clenched teeth, he issued an order to Atunra. "Take those guards with you. Go in there and bring those sons of mine out here to me! Drag them out here if ye have to! Enough is enough, I'll put an end to all this spitting and snarling!"

Flanked by catguards, the two young cats were marched out to stand before their father. As usual, Jeefra was blubbering and Pitru scowling.

Jeefra began complaining tearfully to Riggu. "He said 77

that when we go to Deeplough, he's going to push me in so the monster can eat me, and he said that he's going to. . . . "

A growling noise that had been welling up in the warlord suddenly exploded, cutting Jeefra short. "Yahaaarg!

S h u t . . . up!"

Jeefra was totally silenced by the vehemence of his father. Slowly Riggu Felis stood. He prowled about the pair in a circle, his voice dripping contempt.

"My sons, eh? A whining coward and an impertinent bully! You are a disgrace and a shame to the name Felis. I curse the day you were spawned, both of ye!"

He ceased prowling and stood facing them, eye to eye. A cold smile stole across the eyes above the half-mask. "Well, my spoilt little kittens, it all ends right here. Your growing up starts today."

Riggu called to Groodl, w h o was watching from a short distance, "You there, attend me!"

Groodl marched smartly u p , presenting his spear in salute. The warlord appeared to ignore him, speaking instead to Atunra. "Tell me about this one."

The pine marten replied. "Master, he is Groodl, one of Weilmark Scaut's scorecats."

Riggu looked Groodl up and down critically. "A scorecat, eh? And do you instill rigid discipline into your guards with that willow cane you carry beside your spear?"

The mean-featured feral cat rapped out tersely, "I never gives an order twice, Lord. When I gives the word, they jumps to it, sharpish!"

Riggu Felis nodded approvingly. "Good, I like that. Well, scorecat, you have two new recruits in your troop as of now.

Take these two useless objects out of my sight. See if you can knock them into shape. Have them fitted out as the lowest of your guards."

He paused, watching the effect u p o n his sons. Jeefra looked stunned with shock, but Pitru narrowed his eyes lazily and gave a scornful snort. Riggu continued. "Show them no favours and cut them no slack. Use that willow 78

cane on both of them. Let the order be lots of chores, little sleep and plenty of guard duty. Understood?"

Keeping his eyes straight ahead, Groodl swished the willow. "Understood, Lord. Do I bring 'em back to you a n '

their mother every night?"

The chain mail tinkled as the warlord shook his head.

"No no, let them live in the barracks with the other guards.

If Lady Kaltag asks to see them, send her to me."

Jeefra fell down weeping as he grovelled at his father's footpaws. "Please, Father, I beg you, don't do this to me!

Don't send me to the barracks! I swear I'll change, no more quarrelling or arguing anymore. Mercy, please!"

Riggu Felis turned his face away, nodding to Groodl.

"You've had your orders, take them away."

Jeefra had to be carried bodily between four guards, wailing and sobbing brokenly. Pitru did not resist; he merely sneered at his father. "I still have lots of seasons before me, but you're growing older. I can wait, you'll see."

Ignoring Groodl, he sauntered off toward the barracks.

The wildcat chieftain was silent a moment, then pointed at Pitru's receding back.

"Atunra, mark him well. That one will grow to be a dangerous beast someday."

The pine marten bowed. "Just as you were at his age, Master."

The chain mail half-mask sucked inward briefly. "Aye, that's what troubles me."

Sunset's crimson curtain faded to dusk, merging into rest-ful darkness. Lights appeared at the fortress turret slits. Two sentry fires burned bright, one to the left of the pier, the other to the right side. Held between the otterwives, Chab's young ones were sleeping.

Banya Streamdog and six sturdy otters emerged from the waters beneath the pier, firelight playing off their sleek backs as they moved like night shades, with scarcely a ripple to betray their presence. Holding a paw to her lips, 79

Banya made for the otterwives, whispering to them, "Wait and be ready when Lorgo gives the signal!"

Hope surged through Whulky and Chab as the tall, sinewy Lorgo Galedeep surfaced alongside them. "Stay put, mates. Ye can't make a move until the action starts. Chab, don't fret, bhoyo, I've brought some champion riverdogs to git yore babies away safe."

Leatho Shellhound, accompanied by a dozen armed otters, stole from the lake, a short way from the left side of the pier. Directing them by signals, he sent his warriors in a long arc around to the darkness behind the fire. The outlaw set a stone to his sling and waited. Soon he was rewarded by the call of a nightjar from the right side of the pier. Big Kolun and his band h a d surfaced and were in position.

Leatho whirled his sling, aiming at the backside of a catguard w h o was leaning on his spear close to the fire.

It was a perfect shot: The stone struck its target, not slaying the cat but creating the desired effect. Arching his back and yowling in pain, the catguard stumbled into the flames at the fire's edge. His companions swiftly hauled him back, shouting out in confusion.

"That was a slingstone! What's goin' on?"

"Somebeast's out there, look!"

The outlaw ran forward, whirling his sling as he yelled out a challenge. "Yerra, ye mangy scum, the Shellhound's a-comin'!"

Guards jumped d o w n from the pier to join the others.

They advanced on Leatho cautiously, wondering if he had brought clanbeasts with him. The outlaw bolstered their confidence: He slung off a few more stones, carefully cal-culated to miss them. Roaring with laughter, he danced a jig on the lakeshore, then scampered off into the water.

One of the scorecats urged the rest forward, shouting to them, "It's a single otter. Mad fool, what's he up to?

Get him!"

They charged forward but halted at the w a t e r ' s edge.

Aware that the cats were fearful of water, Leatho swam out a short way, then commenced taunting them.

"Come on, ye mangy-tailed cowards! Scared o' gettin'

yore paws wet, are ye?"

Spears, lances and arrows were hurled at him. Right at the last moment he submerged, only to pop up again in another place.

"Is that the best ye can do? Send out yore best warrior!

Hah, that'd be ole half-face, wouldn't it? I hear he was defeated by a bird—was it a sparrow or a wren?!"

Whilst the diversion was being created, Leatho's crew came out of the firelight and began attacking the catguards'

rear. Roused by the commotion, Riggu Felis bounded out unto the pier, single-bladed axe in paw. He was accompanied by Weilmark Scaut, w h o recognised Leatho's voice.

"It's the Shellhound, I've got a score t'settle with that 'un!"

The warlord dropped on all fours, peering through the board spaces to assure himself that the captives were still there, bound to the pier struts. Straightening up, he growled,

"Then get down there and take him alive, Scaut. Alive, d'ye hear me? Get some of those otterslave fishing boats and cut him off, encircle him. But remember, I want him alive!"

As the weilmark went off to do his bidding, Riggu Felis turned to Groodl and his guards, who were grouped around the fire on the right lakeshore. "Over here, quick, all of you. Follow Weilmark Scaut!"

Jeefra and Pitru, newly fitted out with helmets, jerkins and spears, were among the group who hurried off to the left.

As soon as the fire on the right was deserted, Big Kolun and his crew emerged from the shadows, thrusting their torches into the flames. Then they began hurling them at the huge timber fortress. Riggu Felis leaped aside as a blazing torch landed on the pier close to him. With his chain mail mask glittering weirdly in the light of the flames, he called urgently to the guards deployed on the left shore.

S i

"Scaut, get your command back over here! They're trying to fire the other side of the fortress!"

The weilmark was loth to leave the outlaw Shellhound un-captured. He issued swift orders to Groodl. "Scorecat, keep half your cats on shore, send the rest out in the boats. Remember, he must be taken alive. The rest of you, follow me!"

The otters they had been fighting suddenly dispersed into the darkness, leaving Scaut's contingent a free path back. Jeefra and Pitru both wielded paddles in one of the six fishing coracles on the lake. In unexperienced paws, the little craft blundered about as Leatho drew them away in a wild chase.

Once the left shore was clear of guards, the otters came out of the shadows again. Making for the fire, they did exactly as Kolun and his crew had. Igniting more torches from the blaze, they hurled them at the left side of the fortress, causing widespread confusion.

Riggu Felis was screeching hoarsely as he ran hither and thither. "Over here, some of you! Scaut, split your troop, get half of them around to the left side. Hurry!"

Lorgo Galedeep and Banya Streamdog slashed through the captives' bonds. In the chaos which reigned overhead, prisoners were the last thing on any foebeast's mind. Chab's young ones were strapped firmly to the backs of three champion Streambattle swimmers.

Banya and a few of her clanmates surrounded the two otterwives. "Don't forget now, underwater an' straight out.

Follow the three carryin' yore little 'uns. They'll take ye over to the right shore. We've spotted a landin' place there that's well away from this lot, quiet an' hidden. Move now, there ain't much time t'waste!"

Lorgo and some of his stalwarts pushed Chab and Whulky after them. "Follow Banya. No need t'look back, we're right behind ye, mateys!"

Out on the lake, Leatho was keeping the coracles chasing after him, making sure they held to the left shore, where he 82

knew they would not come into contact w i t h the escaping slaves.

Groodl was shouting orders to his coracle crews from the shore. "Don't throw those spears, idiots! Hold on to 'em and try to stab 'im. You guards with bows, don't go shootin'

at shadows, try t'get a clear target. D'ye hear m e ? "

What they did not know was that there were now eight otters in the water, not just one. They began popping up in different places, taking turns at mocking the catguards.

"Ahoy there, scruffy whiskers, I'm over here!"

"Ye don't want him, fishbrain, I'm the one yore lookin' for!"

"Belay there, I'm the Shellhound, not that 'un!"

Water sloshed over the sides of the flimsy craft as they wallowed about on the dark lake. Guards wobbled to keep their balance as they hurled spears and fired arrows willy-nilly, completely ignoring their scorecat's orders as they sought to silence their foes.

Groodl was hopping and leaping about in the shallows, ranting hoarsely, "Ye bunglin' mudheads, they're makin'

fools of ye!"

Atunra came hurrying from the pier with Riggu's latest order. "Lord Felis says you must break off searching for Shellhound. Call those boats in immediately. We need everybeast on the bucket line!"

Catguards were passing buckets, jugs, bowls and pails, paw to paw, in a line which stretched from the pier end to the fortress. Water hissed and sizzled as they threw it on the flames around the base of the fortress. The guards in the coracles had been lured a fair w a y out onto the lake. They were only too glad when they heard their scorecat yelling for them to return to shore.

Leatho surfaced and almost b u m p e d heads with Kolun.

The big fellow was grinning from ear to ear. "Felis ain't holdin' prisoners no more, buckoe. Our crews got 'em well away an' safe. What now?"

The little hogbabe was still sucking lustily on his p a w as the Abbess ushered him forward. "Tell Brother Perant what happened to you."

Lycian removed the p a w from Grumby's mouth so he could speak. "I'm hurted meself, Bruvva, sticked me pore likkle p a w onna 'ot h'oven an' cookered it!"

The good Brother forgot his stubborness, softening instantly. "Oh lack a day and dearie me! Friar Bibble never told me we were having small cooked hogpaws for supper.

Come in, young sir, let's see what we can do about your poor paw!"

Grumby h u n g back reluctantly. "Baby Taggle say you gonna choppa off me paw wivva big knife. Then she say you choppa me tail off, too!"

Crouching down level with Grumby, the healer chuckled.

"Don't you take any notice of Dibbun Taggle, she's a dreadful fibber. Wait until I see h e r . . . why, I'll put nasty ointment on her tongue and bandage it up!"

Grumby giggled at the idea. "Tharra teach 'er to fib!"

Perant led him into the Infirmary. "I'll tell you how I treat cooked paws. First, I bathe them in nice cool water. Then I apply some soothing salve and a dressing. While I'm doing this, you can use your good p a w to help yourself to some candied chestnuts from my special jar. How does that sound to you, sir?"

Grumby rattled his spikes with pleasure. "Sounders fine t'me, Bruvva.. . . Yeek, the big birdies gonna h'eat me!"

He scooted out of the Infirmary, straight into Tiria's paws.

Recognising an opportunity, she smiled winningly at Perant. "I'm sure they wouldn't, but he's only a Dibbun, probably never seen a hawk or a goose close-up, Brother. Please, won't you reconsider letting us take them off your paws for a while so you can attend to little Grumby?"

Though Lycian did not know exactly what was going on, she spoke up on behalf of Tiria and her friends. "The birds won't come to any harm with these young ones, Brother.

They're almost fully grown-up now. I'll keep an eye on them, too. What do you say friend?"

Besides being stubborn, Perant was also highly conscious of Abbey protocol and courtesy. He bowed gravely. "If that is your wish, Mother Abbess!"

Afternoon tea was being served on the front lawn, not far from the gatehouse. Redwallers broke off momentarily, some of them showing apprehension at the arrival of an osprey and a barnacle goose. Lycian reassured them calmly.

"We've brought some friends to tea. This is Brantalis, and this is Pandion. They're very well-mannered. Do make them welcome, please."

Tribsy, like all the younger creatures, greatly admired the ease with which Lycian was able to deal with everybeast, even though many of the Abbey's residents were older than their Abbess. "Burr, you'm surrpinkly gotten ee way abowt you'm, marm. H'ole Perant bee'd abowt to shoo us'n's off, but you'm soon fixered 'im. Hurr hur, naow you'm a settlin'

h'eveybeast completeful to ease with ee gurt burds!"

Tina and Lycian took the birds to the buffet table, allowing them to choose what they liked. Brantalis opted for soft cheese and watercress sandwiches, which he immersed in a bowl of pea and cabbage soup and gobbled down with evident relish. Pandion favoured preserved fruits and a leek and mushroom turnover, both of which he seemed to enjoy. The Redwallers dining nearby were amused by the barnacle goose's quaint mode of speech.

"This good food, I am thinking it is very likeful. Soon I am thinking I will try some of that tireful!"

Brinty laughed. "That's called trifle, not tireful. I'm sure you'll like it. Maybe Pandion will, too."

The great fish hawkpecked at his turnover pastry crust.

" Kraaah! I will have the soup with watershrimps in it. Pandion likes water shrimp!"

Tina interrupted politely. "It's also a favourite among 87

otters. Actually all Redwall vittles are good. But first I must ask you some questions."

A group of Dibbuns had formed a ring on the lawn. They flexed their tiny limbs, hopping about, as Sister Doral, the Abbey Beekeeper, tuned up her fiddle.

Once prepared, the jolly Sister called out, "Please take your places for the Bee Dance. Abbess Lycian and Hillyah, will you oblige us by singing the verses?" Without further ado, she struck up the lively introduction.

Brantalis began bobbing his head up and down in time with the tune. "Music is good! Tiria, I am thinking I will be answering your questions not now. Later!"

Pandion commenced tapping his talons upon a platter.

"Dances, I like dances and song. Kreeeekyaaaaaarr!"

Tiria watched the pair, surprised that they wanted to watch and listen. She settled back with a sigh. "Be my guests, please. I'll wait until it's finished."

Within moments, the ottermaid was tapping her rudder along with the infectious tune.

"Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

Fly o'er lawn and buzz o'er lea,

fetch that honey for my tea,

visit all your special flowers

blooming through the summer hours.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

Woodruff clover poppy thyme,

spurrey sorrel columbine,

dogrose heather harebell blue,

violet pansy speedwell too.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

From the blossom's nectar sweet,

comes a hearty honey treat,

I can't wait 'til you arrive,

at my table from your hive.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!

Golden rich and gooey thick,

sticky likkle paws I lick,

scrumptious munchious gorgeous stuff,

Dibbuns just can't get enough.

Heyla huppla Mister Bee, make some honey just for me!"

Abbess Lycian knew the song well, and she sang it prettily.

Watching her Abbeybabes dance always gave her enormous pleasure. However, she also found it puzzling: The little ones were normally stumbling, bumbling toddlers, but the instant they heard music, they were completely transformed. Away they went in perfect rhythm, clapping, jigging, bowing, twirling and performing some artful high kicks and fancy pawwork. Some of them could actually somersault and cartwheel.

The applause from the Redwall audience was almost drowned out by the two big birds as they reared up, beating their outspread wings furiously. Brantalis honked, whilst Pandion threw back his head and skriked to the skies. Encouraged by the ovation, the Dibbuns threw themselves into the dance again as an encore. Tiria began wondering if she would ever get the chance to interview the two birds.

After a while, Sister Doral put the fiddle away and went to get her tea. Tiria was about to speak with Brantalis when her father and Brink came and joined them. Banjon sat on the lawn, enjoying some w a r m scones, damson preserve and hot mint tea.

"Ahoy, Tiria, me gel! Me'n Brink been out trollin' the woodlands for yore water rats. We lost their trail in the nor'east woodlands, by the marshes borderin' the watermeadows. I don't think ye'll be seein' them again. Ain't that right, Brink?"

The sturdy Cellarhog seated himself laboriously, trying to balance a trencher that was piled high with salad, pasties, soup, bread and cheese. He winked at the ottermaid. "Aye, 89

beauty, those vermin are either sunk without trace, or they made it o'er the watermeadows an' headed up north out o'

Mossflower. Are ye alright now, missy? That was a funny liddle turn ye took, back in the ditch earlier."

Tiria decided to let them in on her dream experience. "I wasn't ill at all. It was that I'd suddenly recalled a dream I had last night. If you've a moment to spare, I'll tell you all about it."

As the shadows began lengthening, Skipper Banjon listened avidly to his daughter's narration of her vision and the subsequent events. When Tiria had finished, he stared oddly at her.

"Rip me rudder, gel, I always knowed you was fated for somethin' other than Abbey life. Ever since we lost yore dear Ma, fates rest her memory. You was nought but a liddle furball then, but I sensed it in ye. Aye, the more ye've growed, the more certain of it I am. Tiria, yore different from the others. A true Wildlough, that's wot ye are!"

Brink peered over the rim of his soup bowl. "Great seasons, if ye've been visited by Martin the Warrior, well that's the proof. Just say the word, darlin', an' yore dad an' me'll help ye any way we can!"

The ottermaid clasped their paws gratefully. "Thank you both, especially you, Skip. I was worried as to how y o u ' d take the news of me having to leave Redwall and seek out the Green Isle. Brantalis the goose knows the way, and our fish hawk was reared there. He should be able to tell us more about the place. I was just about to start questioning them, but now look!"

Both birds had joined the Dibbun circle, and Sister Doral had been persuaded to take up her fiddle again. She played a simple reel, whilst the Abbeybabes gave the osprey and the barnacle goose their first dancing lesson. Squirrelbabe Taggle and molebabe Groop were bossing them about severely.

"No, no, y'kick yore paws uppa like dis, Mista Panjon!"

9 0

"Hurr, naow do ee stop a-flappen yurr gurt wingers abowt, zurr, you'm nearly knockered oi snout o'er suppertoime!"

The two birds seemed slightly relieved w h e n Banjon and Brink came to their rescue. "Avast there, mates. Come an'

talk to the maid wot saved yore lives. We'll teach ye to dance proper tomorrow. Steer clear o' these liddle rogues."

There was nobeast around the gatehouse wallsteps, so they took their food and adjourned there.

Tiria started immediately with Brantalis. "Listen, my friend. I know I can't fly like you, but I must find the way to Green Isle. Are you willing to help?"

The barnacle goose clacked his beak resolutely. "I am thinking that I will help you, Tiria, after all your kindness to me. Here is the way Skyfurrows always take to Green Isle.

Every autumn season we are flying down from the far northlands. Always we fly south, aye, fly south and follow the coast, until we are reaching the old mountain, home of the longears and great stripedog lords. Know you of it?"

Skipper Banjon did. "Aye, that'd be Salamandastron, where the fightin' hares an' Badger Lords dwell. I've heard of it but never been there meself. 'Tis a mighty trek from Redwall to that mountain, I can tell ye!"

Brantalis nodded sagely. "A mighty trek, indeed, for earthcrawlers such as you. But I am thinking, there is a better route. If Brantalis could not fly, he would use the River Moss, north of here. I could speak the way to you, whilst you mark it down. The creatures of the Red Walls are good at marking ways down I am thinking."

Tiria thumped the wallsteps with her rudder. "Of course, a map! It would make things a lot simpler if I had a m a p to guide me!"

Brink raised his spiky eyebrows. "Oh, lots easier, missy, but ye forgot to mention that y e l l need a boat to make yore journey in. No otter could swim o'er the Great Western Sea alone. 'Tis impossible!"

Banjon merely winked at his Cellarhog friend. "Don't ye fret, matey. If'n my Tiria needs a boat, ye can wager she'll soon git one, won't ye, gel?"

Tiria shrugged, as though the matter were no great concern. "Aye, I'll get a boat, one way or another. Now, after supper we'll ask Sister Snowdrop to draw up the map, exactly the way in which Brantalis describes it to her. Good, that's that settled! So, Pandion my friend, tell me about your home. What's it like on Green Isle?"

The osprey regarded her with his savage golden eyes.

"Kaharr! If I knew the w a y to my home, I would fly there this day. Green Isle is a place of great beauty, with soft morning mists, mountains, loughs and rivers full of fine fish. Kraak! But it is also an island of much evil and danger.

Cats rule there—big, cruel, warlike beasts. One called Riggu Felis is their warlord. He it was w h o m I wounded badly, when he and his two sons tried to kill me for sport. There are also seadogs there, and riverdogs, just like you, Tiria.

But, alas, they live under the cat's paw, they are slaves, and runaways, outlaws. There is a big timber fortress at the head of a lake. The cats have ruled there since back into the mists of time. You will not be welcome on Green Isle. It belongs now to Riggu Felis and his warriors!"

Tribsy gave forth a deep mole growl. "Hurrrrr! Us'n's not a-feared o' ee carters. We'm bee's gurt Redwall wurriers!"

Brinty clenched his paws truculently. "Aye, and we're great fighters, too. Those water rats soon found that out when we whacked them with our staves!"

Tiria shook her head. "I'm sorry, mates, but you won't be going. I couldn't risk your lives. Since the dream was mine, I feel I must fulfill it alone."

Skipper placed his p a w s around the crestfallen pair.

"She's right, buckoes. Ye've always been good friends t'my Tiria, young Girry, too, an' I thank ye kindly. But 'twould be too perilous to risk yore lives, far from yore Abbey in a strange land. Besides, there was no mention or sign in Tiria's dream commandin' anybeast to go but her."

Brink suddenly came up with a practical idea. "Why don't ye take the big fish 'awk with ye, miss? Granted, 'e don't know the way, but I wager Pandion would be of service to ye when ye get to the isle, eh?"

Brantalis favoured Brink's scheme. "I am thinking this is a good idea, yes! I cannot go until when the autumn leaves fall, when my skein comes down the coast from the north.

I will know w h e n the time is. Then I will be flying to the shores to meet them. Skyfurrows always fly together. So I am thinking, it will be many moons before I join my family.

The hookbeak should go with you, Tiria!"

Pandion Piketalon hopped up onto the battlements.

Spreading his wings, he stared regally down his lethal beak at Brantalis. "Karralah! I go to Green Isle with my friend Tiria. Let that waddling flatbeak linger here until he ventures forth to meet with his kind. Pandions do not fear flying alone. I need no gaggle around me!"

The barnacle goose flared u p , beating his heavy wings aggressively. "Brantalis is thinking he was not named flatbeak. Beware, fish eater! A Skyfurrow's wings can break bones!"

Tiria was forced to come between the big birds. "Don't start again, you two! There's no cause for all this disagreement and wing flapping. Either make your peace or begone from here. It is against our laws to battle within the walls of this Abbey!"

An instant later, the touchy situation was forgotten. Girry came hurtling across the lawn, leaping over flower beds and shouting frantically. "Quick, quick! Come to the attic above the library. Sister Snowdrop's found something which you must see!"

Daybreak drifted sluggishly over Green Isle, dull and grey.

Thick mist shrouded the lake and shores in a pall of silence, but the peace was rudely shattered by agonised shrieks from the pier.

"Hiiiyeeeee! My son, my Jeefra! Eeeeeeyyyaaaaarrrr!"

Lady Kaltag howled and screeched like a wounded beast.

Catguards crowded in front of her, barring the way to the sodden form which lay h u d d l e d and lifeless on the pier end. She fought tooth and claw to get past them, wailing dementedly.

Scorecat Groodl was in charge of the guards. He tried to slink away as he caught sight of Riggu Felis emerging from the fortress. The warlord was a nightmarish sight, his hideously injured face exposed as he carried his helmet and face mask in one paw. He stopped Groodl in his tracks.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Trembling, the scorecat tried to avoid looking at the wildcat's maimed features. "Lord, we h a d to search for your son. Atunra told us to drag the lakeshore waters with ropes and hooks."

Swinging his helmet, Riggu Felis caught Groodl a lightning swift blow, which knocked him flat. He snarled sav-94

agely at his catguards. "Get him away from here, fools, quickly! Bury him out of sight, far along the bank. Go!"

Pitru lounged casually in the fortress doorway, his face betraying nothing. Riggu confronted him. "You know more about this than you are telling!"

Pitru shrugged. "There's not much to tell. Our boat was upturned out on the lake last night. Otters did it, probably that Shellhound one w h o broke Scaut's jaw. I never saw Jeefra after we both went into the water. I searched for him and shouted for help, but none came. I had to make my own way back to the shore. That's all I know."

Kaltag was following Groodl and the catguards w h o were bearing Jeefra's body away. Seeing her remaining son, she turned and ran to him. Seizing Pitru's paw, she sobbed brokenly, "What happened to your brother? Tell me, my son, tell me!"

Wrenching his paw free, Pitru pointed accusingly at his father. "Ask him, he was the one who forced us to join the catguards. Jeefra would still be alive if he hadn't!"

Kaltag flung herself at the warlord, scratching and biting. He held her off, shouting in a harsh voice, "Do you not think I grieve for the death of my son? It was you, always shielding and making excuses for them both, indulging their whims. You were responsible for turning them into spoilt cats. I have to rule as Lord of Green Isle, with no time to be a nursemaid, yet I decided to do something for them.

I sent them to serve as catguards so they could grow up with some sense of responsibility. The death of Jeefra is a hard thing for me to bear, but he died like a warrior, honourably in battle!"

Riggu signalled to Atunra and two guards standing nearby. They managed to get Kaltag away from him. She was led indoors, yelling at him, "Murderer! Assassin! You killed your own son! What next, Riggu Felis, Great Lord of Green Isle? Will you slay both me and your other son so you can rule alone?"

Pitru shed his guard's attire and gave his father a satisfied smirk before following his mother indoors.

Weilmark Scaut, still with his jaw in bandages, marched up and saluted the wildcat with the stock of his w h i p .

"Lord, there was little damage done by the fire, we contained it before it could get a hold. The fortress walls are old and thick, so they hardly suffered, apart from a bit o'

scorched bark."

If he expected any thanks for the information, Scaut was sadly disillusioned. The warlord vented his spleen on the unwitting weilmark. "So, you think that makes everything alright, do you? One of my sons is slain, the otters freed the prisoners, they tried to burn down my fortress and they had all my catguards chasing their own tails. They made fools of us!"

The sight of Riggu Felis with rage stamped on his un-masked face was a frightening thing to behold. Scaut backed off, keeping silent lest his Lord's wrath descend upon him.

Slamming on his helmet, Riggu grabbed his war axe.

"You will summon my catguards, every one of them. Have them lined in ranks on the shore by the time this mist breaks. I'll straighten their backbones!"

The weilmark did not know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or apprehension as the warlord strode off to his tower chamber.

Out on the coast, just above the tideline, were cliffs with thick vegetation hanging down over deeply undercut rock shelving. This h a d once been the habitat of all the Shellhound sea otters, but Leatho was the last survivor of his clan.

The long, low-ceilinged cavern was well disguised, and was on a stretch of the coast seldom visited by any creature.

On that misty morning, every free otter gathered there in force to celebrate the victory over their foes. A huge cauldron of kelp and seafood stew bubbled over a sizeable fire of driftwood, charcoal and sea coal. A jubilant air prevailed 96

overall, with little ones playing games of jinkshells and elders gathering round the far side of the fire to gossip and exchange news with friends and relatives. Ould Zillo the Hard sat in a corner, composing a ballad of the night's heroic events. Otterwives doled out freshly baked p a w p a d turnovers and bowls of stew.

A jolly, wide-girthed old grandfather named Birl Gully was pouring tankards of his home-brewed invention from a barrel to a waiting line of clanbeasts. His vast stomach wobbled with merriment as he passed out the stuff.

"Hohoho! Come on, me bhoyos, drink 'earty now! There ain't nothin' like my Gullyplug Punch t'put the curl back in yore whiskers. 'Twill give ye a rudder like a rock an' back-fur like velvet moss!"

Big Kolun Galedeep carried two tankards outside the curtain of vegetation which covered the cave front. Leatho was seated on a rock outside, staring into the thick, rolling mist that lay upon the calm, ebbing tide. Sitting beside the outlaw, Kolun gave him a tankard of Birl Gully's punch.

"Git that d o w n yore throat, matey. 'Twill w a r m the cockles of yore 'eart!"

Leatho sipped pensively, still silently watching the sea mists. Big Kolun was not renowned as a sipper. Emptying his tankard in two swallows, he wiped the back of a hefty paw across his mouth.

"Well now, Shellhound. The clans seem t'be enjoyin'

theirselves in there, while yore mopin' about out 'ere. Wot ails ye, mate? You can tell me."

Leatho swilled the punch around in his tankard. "One single victory don't mean we've won the war, Kolun. That wildcat ain't goin' to hold still after wot w e ' v e done. Felis is bound to come back at us hard as he can. I d o n ' t know exactly how the villain'll do it. So 'tis up to me to try an' outthink him."

Kolun threw a paw around his friend's shoulders. "Aye, well, you do yore outthinkin' later, buckoe. Yore wanted in there right now. C'mon, stir yore rudder!"

Rousing cheers greeted the outlaw as he joined the throng. Amid copious back slapping and paw shaking, he was escorted to a seat of honour by the fire. Leatho had issues he wanted to address the otters about, but as he made to rise, Big Kolun's missus, Deedero, shoved him firmly back down, proclaiming, "Arrah, sit ye down, Shellhound.

The bard's composed a fine lay about ye. Whisht now, the singer's got the floor!"

Ould Zillo's r u d d e r d r u m began thrumming the beat, whilst a flute and fiddle joined in. The one-eyed bard launched into his newly written ballad.

"Harroo for the Shellhound, ain't he the bold beast, he's the hero we've all come to toast at this feast, for he singed the cat's tail, and put flame to his fort, the whiskery tyrant, his threats came to nought!

O pity those slaves who were bound 'neath the pier, an' for the three babies we all shed a tear, all sentenced to death in the dreaded Deeplough,

'twas enough to put any pore otter in shock!

'Til the Shellhound arrived in the dark o' the night, an' to the cats' fortress his warriors set light, with freedom their watchword, they championed the cause,

as they battled with catguards along the lakeshores!

With slingstone an' spear they attacked the cruel foe, an' as for the outcome, well I'm sure that ye know, they freed the brave captives an' got clear away, an' were back here safe home by the dawn of the day!

Ye wicked ould wildcat this lesson ye'll learn, or yore guards will be slain an' yore fortress'll burn, sure ye'U wail in the ashes an' stamp the bare ground, an' ye'U rue the sad day that ye met the Shellhound!

S h e l l h o u n d . . . . Shellhound . . . Shellhooooouuuuund!"

All around the cave, voices and tankards were raised.

"Leatho! Leatho! Speech speech speech!"

Taking the floor, the outlaw held up his paws until order was restored. "Friends, clanbeasts, my thanks to ye! But

'twas not just me who did the deed. There were many brave ones with me who are worthy of yore praise—warriors, who risked life an' limb to free our good friends. Hearken to me now! Riggu Felis will be yearnin' to avenge his defeat.

That wildcat is a powerful an' savage foebeast. Aye, an' if I'm yore leader, then I've got this to say. All our otterclans are not yet ready to face the cats. Not until we're all united behind one High Queen, the Rhulain!"

More cheers and chanting broke out. "Eeayeeeeeh! Rhulain! High Rhulaaaaain!"

Ould Zillo the Bard whacked his d r u m until they stopped. "Sure will ye not hold yore noisy gobs now an'

give the goodbeast a chance? Where's yore manners?

Leatho has the floor! Best of order now, all round the cave, d'ye hear!"

Nodding his thanks to the old otter, Leatho continued.

"We'll get nowhere if'n we don't lay the ground with some hard plannin' now. Do ye not realise that Felis still holds more than a hundred slaves?"

He shook a clenched paw at the chastened otters. "Aye, that many! All that's left o' the Wildlough clan, an' other families, with old 'uns an' babes. They must be freed, afore Felis starts takin' reprisals among 'em!"

Big Kolun Galedeep strode to the outlaw's side. "Wot ye say is true, Leatho, an' everybeast here is with ye. So tell us how ye plan on goin' about it!"

Shellhound warmed to his subject immediately. "First we need to make this place safe an' secure. Every single otter must leave home an' holt to live here from now on. That way we can't be singled out or hunted down family by family. Deedero, Zillo, I leave the runnin' of this place t'ye both.

I know ye can be trusted to provision an' protect the cave."

There was a murmur of agreement; clearly, this was a wise choice. Leatho's keen eyes searched the gathering.

"Next, I want two volunteers, otters w h o aren't readily 99

identifiable. These two must steal back into the fortress and blend in as slaves. 'Tis a risky an' dangerous task. They must learn t'be my eyes an' ears among the enemy. Through them we'll learn what's goin' on in the cats' camp, what Felis's next move will be. Are there two among ye who'll take the chance?"

A mass of paws shot up. Leatho took his time selecting.

"You there, an' you, too. Step up here."

Memsy, the former otterslave who had brought news of Whulky and Chab's capture, was one. The other was a slim otter, fully grown but rather nondescript in looks. He walked forward, nodding to Leatho.

"I'm Runka Streamdog, brother of Banya."

The outlaw shook both their paws. "I'm beholden to ye, mates. Stand by for orders."

He addressed the remainder of the clans. "Now I need warriors, beasts w h o are strong'n'fit. YeTl have to travel light, live off the land an' be ready to fight t'the death at the wink of my eye. Kolun Galedeep'U come among ye an' pick out those he thinks will do. Remember, if yore chosen, we'll only be back here now an' agin. No more feastin' an' restin'

round the fire wid yore friends an' families. If yore with me

'n' Kolun, ye'll travel like the wind, an' strike like thunder'nTightnin' at the cats. Our aim is t'free all the slaves, an'

fetch 'em back here to safety to wait 'til Queen Rhulain comes to Green Isle."

It was fully midmorn before the sun deigned to appear and banish the mists. Dew stood heavy on the helmets, jerkins and spearpoints of over two hundred catguards, marshalled in five ranks on the lakeshore. Feral cats of various hues, shapes and sizes stood rigidly to attention. Among them were archers, axe carriers, spearbearers and pikebearers, their limbs stiff and n u m b from the long wait. Weilmark Scaut stood on a raised rock in front of the parade, watching as his ten scorecats patrolled the ranks. Each one carried a long willow cane, ready to strike out at slovenly guards.

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As he saw the warlord emerge from the fortress in full armour, Scaut called out sharply, "The Lord of Green Isle comes!"

Raising their weaponry, the catguards shouted in strict chant, "Warlord of all! Mighty Wildcat! Conqueror and Destroyer of foebeasts! Lord of the Fortress! Hail Riggu Felis!"

The sound of their chant was still echoing around the lake as Riggu Felis stood on the rock, now vacated by Scaut.

The warlord wore a helmet of beaten silver, with horns that resembled twin crescent moons protruding on each side.

From these h u n g a square of heavy black silk, embroidered with silver wire, forming his lower face mask. A long cloak, of black-and-white weave, over a fine chain mail doublet plus the shining, single-bladed war axe hanging from one paw on a thong completed his apparel.

A light lake breeze rippled across his mask as he spoke out scathingly. "I wish I had twice your number. Then would I slay all ye standing before me now, dead where ye stand!"

The wildcat chieftain paused, then watched the ranks jerk with shock as he roared at them, "Fools! Addle-pawed idiots! Brainless buffoons! I, Riggu Felis, Lord of this isle, watched ye being made sport of by a few riverdogs last night! The captives whom I had sentenced to death! Where are they now?"

He raised the axe, pointing at the fortress. "My home was put to the torch, almost burned! Where are the slain bodies of all the otters who did it?"

Leaping down from the rock dais, the wildcat prowled along the first rank of catguards, prodding them on their chosts with the axe handle as he repeated, "Tell me! Where?

Where? Where?"

Halting abruptly at the end guard on the line, Riggu Felis faced him, dropping his voice to a conversational tone.

"Gone, all of them, escaped. What do you think should have happened to them?"

The catguard's voice took on a dithering tremble as he 1 0 1

replied, "Th . . . they sh . . . should have been s . . . s . . .

slain, Lord."

The warlord exploded with a sudden angry bellow. "Slain!!"

With a single devastating swing of the axe, he killed the unfortunate guard on the spot. "Slain, just like this one!"

The ranks stood in stunned silence, each catguard keeping his or her eyes straight ahead, scarcely daring to breathe, terrified to look at their fallen comrade lest they draw the attention of the maddened wildcat.

Brandishing the dripping axe, Riggu Felis pounced up onto the rock platform. "Hear me! More of ye will follow that one if my domain is not shortly rid of outlaws and runaways. We will scour this isle from coast to coast, we will root out these accursed otters! The rivers and streams, even the very tidal waters, shall run red with their blood, old or young, all of them! I promise ye, I will make warriors of ye once more!"

Whilst the wildcat had been haranguing his army, Lady Kaltag had come out onto the pier. She stood looking across at Riggu Felis. Atunra and Pitru joined her. The young cat was garbed out like a chieftain himself. He wore a steel helmet with a purple scarf streaming out behind it, a cloak of dark blue and a breastplate set with jet stones. In one p a w he carried a small polished shield; in the other, a curved scimitar.

Kaltag pointed at Riggu Felis accusingly, her voice scornful and unafraid. "Look at the mighty wildcat! He is very good at slaying those who serve him. First my son Jeefra and now one of his own guards. Why do you not go and slay some real enemies, the outlaw they call Shellhound and his followers? Or are you afraid that they might fight back?"

Riggu Felis could not keep the sneer out of his voice. "I am planning on seeking out my enemies right away. Why don't you go and attend to your own affairs and keep that overdressed kitten out of my way! Atunra, attend me."

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Kaltag stopped the pine marten as she stepped forward.

"Atunra stays here, with me and Pitru. Go! We will defend the fortress against attack whilst you are out playing your games!"

Inwardly the warlord cursed himself for neglecting to think of having the fortress defended in his absence.

Leaping d o w n from the rock, he growled to Scaut,

"Weilmark, take fourscore guards and attend Lady Kaltag."

Scaut headed the two long ranks of catguards, but on reaching the pier he found Pitru barring his w a y with drawn scimitar. "I have no need of you here, Weilmark. Get back to your master. I'm in charge of this fortress!"

Scaut was taken by surprise at Pitru's haughty manner.

"You? But your father said nought of this to me!"

Kaltag intervened, her tone cold with authority. "I have appointed my son as commander of this fortress. You will address him by that title from now on. Now leave us!"

Though Riggu Felis did not contest Kaltag's words, he sneeringly called out so that all could hear, "So, the fancy-dressed kitten is becoming a dangerous beast at last!"

Before he turned to march off, the warlord exchanged a secret and meaningful glance with Atunra, his faithful lifelong aide. The pine marten blinked briefly in acknowledgement. She understood the unspoken order. To her, there could be only one Lord of Green Isle and Commander of the Fortress—her master, Riggu Felis.

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1 1

In the attic above the Abbey Library, the window shutters had been removed. Sister Snowdrop sat on a heap of books, framed in a shaft of early evening sunlight swirling with red-gold dust motes. Books, scrolls, volumes and ancient archives lay thick about the little old mouse. Her reverie was broken when Tiria came pounding in, followed by her three friends along with Brink and Skipper.

"Sister, what is it? What have you found?"

Enveloped by dust, Snowdrop pulled a kerchief from her sleeve as she attempted to reply. "I f o u . . . A f o u . . . Aaaaaaa-choo!"

Scrambling u p , she raced to the open window, sneezing several more times. Breathing in gulps of fresh air, the Sister glared over her tiny square glasses at them. "Really! Do you have to come stampeding in here and raising all that dust? Most inconsiderate!"

Snowdrop paused to clean her spectacles. "You well may ask what I've found, but I'm not showing it to anybeast in here until I've had my afternoon tea on the west walltop.

We'll talk about it there."

Brink scratched his headspikes. "But why would ye be takin' tea up there, Sister?"

Skipper interrupted his friend. "Wait, Sister, I'll tell this 104

ole buffer. That'd be 'cos Friar Bibble ain't servin' on the lawn. Afternoon tea's ended. But if'n ye was to go to the walltop, ye'd find our Abbess there with molemum Burbee.

Without lookin' I can tell ye. They'll be sittin' on those liddle foldin' chairs, sharin' a pot o' tea an' a tray o' goodies. Same as they do every mornin', noon, late noon an' evenin', every day. Right, Sister?"

Snowdrop beamed at him. "Right, Skipper Banjon, very observant of you, I must say. You go on now, I'll get my beaker from the library and meet you all up there with my discovery."

Having installed herself on top of the gatehouse steps at the west walltop, Sister Snowdrop took full advantage of the generosity of the Abbess and Burbee. Dunking arrow-root and almond biscuits into a steaming beaker of mint and comfrey tea, she indicated a large, thick, green volume she had brought with her.

"Feast your eyes on this, my friends. What do you think of it?"

Abbess Lycian topped up Snowdrop's beaker from her seemingly ever-full teapot. "Pray, what are we supposed to think of it? The thing looks very much like a dusty old green book to me."

Snowdrop spluttered on a soggy biscuit, as though she could hardly believe what the Abbess had just said. "Can't you see? It's the rare, original Geminya Tome, that's what it is. Dusty old green book, indeed!"

Abbess Lycian was completely unruffled by the revelation. "How nice, but what exactly is a rare original Geminya Tome, if I may make so bold as to ask?"

The little Sister was wide-eyed with disbelief. "Surely you're joking, Mother Abbess! You mean to tell me you've never heard of it?"

Breaking off, Snowdrop stared around at the others.

"Have none of you ever heard of the Geminya Tome?"

Molemum Burbee came out with one of her gems of mole 105

logic. "No, w e ' m bain't, moi dearie, an' oi aspeck w e ' m never will, unlest you'm tell us'n's. Boi 'okey, scholarybeasts can bee's gurtly aggurvatin', hurr aye!"

Tiria supported the good molemum firmly. "Please, Sister Snowdrop, can you just get on and tell us about your precious Geminya Tome?"

Stroking the volume's faded green cover, the old Assistant Librarian explained. "This is something that has been lost to the sight of Redwallers since Old Quelt was young.

He has often told me of it. Sister Geminya was a mouse who lived at our Abbey in the long distant past. She was a highly knowledgeable scholar, specialising in the solving, and setting, of all types of riddles and puzzles. Many considered Geminya to be the cleverest creature in all Mossflower. However, genius has its drawbacks: She was also renowned as an odd, reclusive and quirky beast, very secretive and annoyingly condescending to all. Just examine her name, it was a title she gave to herself. Look at the name of her book, the Geminya Tome! Artful I grant you, but extremely vain!"

Skipper tapped his rudder impatiently. "Ye'll forgive us who ain't scholars, Sister, but wot makes a book called the Geminya Tome so extremely vain?"

Taking a piece of charcoal from her waist pouch, Snowdrop began scribbling on the walltop paving. "Look, I'll show you. Take the letters of her name, Geminya. Switch them about and it becomes Enigma Y."

Brinty looked at the writing. "What's an enigma?"

Abbess Lycian kindly explained to the young mouse, "It's merely an educated name for a riddle or a puzzle."

Snowdrop continued writing. "Exactly. Now take the letter Y. It has the same sound as the word we use when asking a question, ' w h y ' Then there's the word 'tome,' which means a great weighty volume. But split it in half, and it becomes two smaller words. Do you see?"

Girry piped u p . "Of course! 'tome'—'to me.' Haha, clever, eh?"

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The Sister h a d finished writing on the wall paving.

"There you have it. Read it out please, Tiria."

The ottermaid read out the curious translation. " 'Enigma to me. Why?' "

Snowdrop drained her beaker and held it out to be refilled. "Exactly! Now we can see the vanity of Sister Geminya. She's telling us that she could solve anything. An enigma to me, huh, why?"

Abbess Lycian smiled. "She was very clever, though."

Sister Snowdrop put aside her beaker. "Old Quelt is taking a nap right now. Just wait until he wakes up and I show him this!"

Tiria was still mystified. "I don't quite understand, Sister.

You've found this book and translated its meaning, b u t how does that help me? Is there anything about Rhulain or the Greenlsle in it?"

Snowdrop began leafing through the yellowed pages of the ancient work, muttering to herself, "Actually, I believe there is something. Now, which page was it on? H m m , I should have inserted a marker."

She stopped at each page she came to, painstakingly inspecting it. "Ah, this is interesting, but that's not it. H m m , neither is this. I'm sorry, friends, I'll get to it sooner or later.

One just can't go riffling slapdash through a work so rare and valuable as this, you know."

The onlookers began snorting and tapping their p a w s impatiently at the dilatory old Sister. Feeling rather sorry for her, Abbess Lycian ventured a helpful suggestion.

"We realise you're doing your best, Snowdrop, but it's starting to get dusky out here. Perhaps if we go inside, conditions may be more favourable for you to study."

Sister Snowdrop bobbed a small curtsy to the Abbess.

With a speed which was surprising for one of her long seasons, she hopped nimbly off d o w n the wallstairs, calling back as she hurried toward the Abbey, "What a splendid idea! They'll be serving supper soon. Would one of you kindly bring the book along?"

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Skipper picked up the volume, watching the sprightly Snowdrop skipping up the Abbey steps. "Stan' on me rudder, there goes a bossy liddle marm, an' no mistake. I wonder would she like a servant?"

Girry chuckled ruefully. "She's already hired one. Me!

But we wouldn't have got this far without her."

Lycian began helping Burbee to clear away the tea things.

"That's a kind observation, Girry. We'd all do well to remember it. Come on, young Tribsy, you can carry this teapot."

Supper was held in Great Hall for the main body of Redwallers. After saying grace, Abbess Lycian requested that a separate meal be served in Cavern Hole for the riddle solvers. Though smaller, Cavern Hole was more cosy, with armchairs and cushioned wall ledges. It was also well lit by lanterns, and a fire burned in the hearth. Friar Bibble and his assistants set up a buffet for Tiria and her friends.

The meal included a long chestnut and apple plait with a crispy golden crust, bean and scallion soup and summer salad. The dessert was a batch of redcurrant tarts with meadowcream. There was cherry cordial to drink, plus the obligatory pot of tea for Lycian and Burbee.

Old Quelt put in an appearance, happily roused by the discovery of the Geminya Tome. He and Snowdrop took it off to a moss-padded niche. Ignoring the company they set to work on an eager study of the book.

Not wanting to disturb the avid scholars, Tiria and her father, joined by Brinty, Tribsy, Girry, Lycian, Burbee and Brink, sat in an opposite corner, discussing the ottermaid's forthcoming journey to the as-yet-mysterious Green Isle.

Brink was most concerned about a boat for the voyage.

Once again, the helpful Abbess had an idea to propose.

"Skipper, you and Brink were close to the watermeadow in Mossflower Wood yesterday. I'm fairly certain that the Guosim shrews meet there for their midsummer festival around this time. Do you think they might be there now?"

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Banjon perked up considerably. "Wot w o u l d we do without ye, Mother Abbess! Me'n'Brink'll set out for the watermeadow first thing tomorrer. If'n my ole mate Log a Log Urfa is there, he'll soon sort a boat out for that gel o' mine!"

Tribsy took his snout out of a soup bowl long enough to enquire, "Wot bee's a Guosim an' a Log a Log Urfa, zurr?"

The Abbess explained patiently to the young mole. "Guosim are our shrew friends. Each letter of their name stands for what they are: G uerilla U nion O f S hrews I n M ossflower.

Guosim! Their chieftain is called the Log a Log. Skipper, I never knew that Log a Log Urfa was a friend of yours."

Banjon cut himself a slice of the wholesome-looking plait.

"Oh aye, marm, that 'e was, though it was afore you was Abbess. We was young buckoes t'gether. I sailed many a stream with Urfa before they chose 'im as a Log a Log."

Tiria helped herself to a tart. "And you think he'll help me to get a boat, Skip?"

Her father winked broadly at her. "Urfa don't forget 'is ole mates. You'll see, gel!"

Burbee poured more tea for herself and Lycian. "Hurr, that bee's if'n Miz Tiria doan't get too h'old to sail ee boat, boi ee gurt toime they'm scholarybeasts taken to solve ee riggle!"

Girry called over to Quelt and Snowdrop, "Well, have you two found anything in that old book yet?"

Without looking up, the old Recorder answered, "Yes, it seems we have, young 'un."

Girry's tail rose stiffly, a sure sign of indignation in squir-relfolk. "Well, thanks a lot for not telling us! "

The Abbess reproved him instantly. "Girry, don't be so rude to your elders! We must make allowances for old scholars. They don't see things as we do."

She turned politely to Old Quelt and his assistant. "Pardon me, but would it be possible to see what you've discovered, please?"

Between them the pair carried the open book over. Sister 1 0 9

Snowdrop tapped the page. "Right here you will see two references concerning the information you seek. However, we have yet to solve them. Girry, perhaps you'd like to read the first clue out."

The young squirrel read aloud from the Geminya Tome.

"Linger sure for the lee,

I set my trick carefully,

my home lies o'er the sea,

you'll find the title names me . .. Is."

The ancient Recorder Librarian peered over his glasses.

"Personally, I think Sister Geminya was only doodling, but you'll find that out, if you've wit enough. Well, can any of you bright creatures throw some light on it?"

They stared at the four lines a while, then Brinty spoke. "I think it's telling us to discover a name. Right, sir?"

Old Quelt shrugged. "Don't ask me, my brain is old and slow. Try having confidence in your own judgement."

Girry chimed in. "I think Brinty's right. We're looking for the name of somebeast, agreed?"

Sister Snowdrop adjusted her glasses. "That much is fairly obvious, but where among the lines of the poem do we begin to look?"

Skipper, who was studying the rhyme intently, spoke without taking his eyes from the page. "I think I know, Sister. I've read this thing through six times now. Most of it makes sense, all except one line."

Tiria interrupted her father. "You mean the first line, Skip? 'Linger sure for the lee.' I noticed that, too. H m m , wonder what it's supposed to mean?"

Brink tried to help with a suggestion. "I know the lee is the sheltered side of anythin'. Is that a clue? Are we lookin'

for a shelter?"

Quelt shook his head. "No no, Mr. Greyspoke, you're just confusing the issue. Try using the whole line as a guide."

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Tribsy wrinkled his snout comically. "Hurr, you'm means all ee wurds'n'letters of ee line?"

Sister Snowdrop began giving out charcoal sticks and scraps of parchment for everybeast to use. "Precisely! We must treat the entire line as an anagram. You know what that is—a lot of letters which you can jumble up to arrange into a new phrase."

Molemum Burbee sucked her tea noisily. "Hurr, oi never see'd that d u n afore, marm. Oi bain't used to riggles'n'puzzlers. They'm makes moi 'ead ache."

Abbess Lycian topped her friend's mug up with fresh tea.

"There now, don't you fret about it, Burbee. Girry, maybe you and I could work at it together."

They paired off into twos. Only Quelt sat alone, watching them like a master observing his pupils.

Tiria and Brinty were first to come up with something.

The ottermaid cried eagerly, "Listen to this: 'Eels rue fling her tore'!"

Brink scratched his headspikes. "Wot does that mean?"

Tiria shrugged. "I don't know. Sounds silly, doesn't it?

Have you two got anything yet?"

Skipper Banjon, who was Brink's partner, read out their effort. " 'Forges the line ruler,' or 'Rules the line forger.'

Huh, I think we left a letter E out. It's hard alright!"

Old Quelt polished his glasses nonchalantly. "Dearie me, you aren't even close. Would you like me to tell you the answer?"

Girry called out abruptly, "No, we wouldn't!"

Quelt answered with a touch of irony in his tone. "Please yourself, young 'un. I suppose you've solved it, eh?"

Abbess Lycian's eyes twinkled. "Yes we have, actually. It says 'The Ruler of Green Isle.' Then there's the last word of the rhyme, it says 'is.' I'd forgotten about that, but now it makes sense."

Girry was elated. "Abbess Lycian and I solved it, by arranging all the letters of the line in a circle and staring hard 1 1 1

at them. It suddenly just popped out at us. The Ruler of Green Isle . . . Is!"

Brinty looked expectantly at his young squirrel friend.

"Is who?"

Sister Snowdrop pointed to the Tome. "We don't know yet, apart from the fact that it's somebeast who lives over the sea. Now listen carefully while I read you the second part of the puzzle."

The little Sister recited the odd words slowly.

"Three aitches, two ee's, two I's, two N's, Wherever there's Q, there's a U, or two.

One G, one L, one A, one R, So I leave the answer to you."

Molemum Burbee covered her ears with both paws. "Ho gurt seasons! 'Tis enuff to droive a pore beast to dis-cratchun!"

Lycian and Girry were already forming up the letters into a circle. The Abbess whispered to Girry, "She means distraction. Right, let's see what we've got!"

Girry rubbed his paws together, chuckling happily. "Really enjoy doing these puzzles, Mother Abbess!"

Brink Greyspoke wiped charcoal dust from his paws in disgust. "Well, I'm glad ye do, Girry mate, 'tis all a duck's dinner to me. I'm only good at bein' a Cellar'og!"

1 1 2

Girry addressed Quelt in a bantering manner. "You're the scholar here, sir. I don't suppose you've got the solution yet?"

The Recorder Librarian eyed him severely. "No, I haven't, and I don't suppose you've got it in so short a time, young fellow!"

Girry stood up and began pacing the room. Clasping his paws behind him, he did a little hopskip, twirling his bushy tail.

Tiria stared at him incredulously. "Girry, you haven't solved it, have you?"

Girry nodded, smirking like a Dibbun w h o had evaded a bath. "Got it as soon as I set eyes on it. Straight off!"

Molemum Burbee shook a huge digging claw at him.

"Then take ee smugg lukk off'n ee face an' tell uz!"

The young squirrel was enjoying his moment. Performing another hopskip, he stuck his nose in the air. "Shan't!"

Sister Snowdrop pleaded, "Oh please, tell us. I'll have briar Bibble cook something special just for you!"

Girry grinned sweetly at her. "No, shan't!"

Skipper rose menacingly from his seat. "Tell us right now, ye young rip, or I'll kick yore fluffy tail down the stairs!"

Abbess Lycian cried out severely, "No you will not, sir!"

She cast an icy glance at Girry before continuing. "I will, and I'll box his ears into the bargain. Come here, you annoying rascal!"

She made an undignified charge at Girry, who fled shouting, "Yaaaah! 'High Queen Rhulain,' that's the answer!"

Lycian strolled back to her seat, smiling calmly. "So then, there we have it, straight from the mouth of my obedient assistant."

She held out her paw to Girry, who had regained his composure sufficiently to announce, "The Ruler of Green Isle is High Queen Rhulain!"

He bowed elegantly but could not resist one last hopskip as he bounded to the Recorder Librarian's side. "Hoho, this is the stuff! Come on, Quelt sir, and you, too, Sister. Where's 113

the next puzzle, eh? Just show it to us and we'll crack it like Friar Bibble cracking a hazelnut with a bung mallet. Won't we, mates?"

There was ready agreement from the rest until Sister Snowdrop put a damper on their enthusiasm. "I'm afraid we haven't found anything else yet. You'll just have to wait."

Girry's tail stood up like a flagpole. "You don't mean to tell us that's all, do you?"

Old Quelt closed the book, patting its cover. "Not at all, young sir. There's probably lots more about Miss Tiria's dream and the journey she'll be making."

Tiria could not conceal her disappointment. "Well, why can't you find it for us now?"

Removing his glasses and dabbing at his eyes with a kerchief, the ancient squirrel explained. "I'm certain there has to be more, because Sister Geminya has given us a keystone clue, the High Queen Rhulain. I can follow her reasoning, though she could be an exceedingly aggravating creature.

But when she has a tale to relate, or a mystery to set out, this is the roundabout way she has of writing it down. Sister Snowdrop and I must study the Tome carefully. Just one oversight, and we lose it all. It is not the work of a moment, you must understand. Our research will be long and ardu-ous, but we'll get there. Now, my friends, I am very old and very tired. It will have to wait until tomorrow morning. I bid you good night!"

Sister Snowdrop arose, rubbing her back as she joined him. "Please don't judge us harshly, friends. Sleep can be a bother and a waste of time to the young, but as the seasons pile heavily upon one it becomes a blessing and a comfort.

I, too, will see you all in the morning. Good night!"

The pair shuffled off, carrying the big book between them.

After the door of Cavern Hole had closed behind them, Abbess Lycian threw up her paws in frustration. "Oh bother! Just when we were getting somewhere. I'm not a bit 114

tired yet. Oh well, what must be must be. Is there any tea left in the pot, Burbee?"

"Burr, nary ee drop!" Burbee said, as she held the teapot spout down to demonstrate. "Oi bain't one fur fancy likkle teapotters, oi'll go an' make summ in our own gurt big 'un."

Lycian picked up their large earthenware mugs. "Good idea. I'll get our folding chairs and meet you up on the walltop. There's a full moon out, and it's a pleasant summer night. I like it up there, don't you?"

The molemum was feeling tired herself, but she agreed.

"Yuss, marm, oi'll see ee up thurr!"

115

It was a beautiful night outside, still warm from the long, hot summer day. Like a ball of newly churned butter surrounded by stars, the moon reigned over a dark, cloudless sky. Groffgut and his gang lay in the ditch opposite the Abbey's west wall. They had been passing the time there since midnoon, napping and eating food they had gathered along the way. The water rats had been content during daylight hours, but they were distinctly uneasy now that night had spread its canopy over all. They were awed at the sight of Redwall and none too anxious to pay it a visit or meet its inhabitants. However, it was fairly obvious that their leader was planning something by the way he sat apart from them in the dry ditchbed, focussing his attention on the monumental building which loomed over them.

Pointing his rusty makeshift sword at the west walltop, Groffgut tried to whip up the gang's enthusiasm. "Willyer lookit dat place, mates? Just sittin' there, all fulla good stuff fer us!"

Threetooth provided the only response, which was not overly encouraging. "Dey got a h'eagle in dere, an' anudder big burd, too. I saw dem!"

Groffgut contradicted him, lying blatantly. "O no, yer 116

never! Didden't I show youse de h'eagle flyin' away, jus'

afore it went dark?"

Threetooth knew what he had seen, and he said so. "Dat burd was too 'igh up inna sky. 'Twasn't no h'eagle, neither, it was a seagill."

Groffgut threw himself on Threetooth and gnawed on his ear. "Are yew callin' me a liar, eh? I said it was a h'eagle!"

Threetooth was sorry he h a d spoken. "Owowow!

Awright awright, it was a h'eagle. Wowoow! Stop eatin' me lug'ole, Chief, it was a h'eagle!"

Groffgut kicked him to one side. He curled his lip in scorn at the other vermin. "Yer know the trouble wid youse? Ye've all gone soft on me! Yer frykinned of yer own shadders.

Right, y'see dis sword?"

He brandished the rusty scythe blade under their noses.

"Well, I'll be usin' it ter slay anyrat wot's not wid me. 'Cos if'n yer not wid me, yer agin me, see! Now, up wid yer paws all dose who's wid the chief o' dis gang!"

Knowing Groffgut's dangerous temper, the gang had no option but to raise their paws. Groffgut made a point of counting and naming them to reassure himself.

"Dat's Frogeye, Plugtail, Rashback, Obbler an' Fleddy.

Oi, Threetooth, is yore paw up or down?"

Threetooth, w h o had been nursing his chewed ear with both paws, sullenly raised one. "S'up, Chief."

The gangleader nodded. "Dat's good, 'cos I'm gunna need yew."'

Frogeye knew that he was waiting for somebeast to ask, so he obliged. "Are yer gunna tell us de plan, Chief?"

Groffgut dropped his tone dramatically. "Der's seven of us, right? Lissen, we sneaks up to dat wall, an' four of us, me'n Frogeye'n'Rashback, an' Plugtail, lets Obbler an'

Fleddy climb up an' stand on our shoulders. Next, the climber gets up onto Obbler'n'Fleddy's 'eads. It's easy den.

All the climber does is slings my sword up onna rope an'

1 1 7

catch der top o' that wall, pull hisself over an' open dat big door to lerrus all in. Good plan, eh mates?"

Threetooth began protesting as he backed off down the ditch. "Y'mean I've gorra be de climber? I'm no good at climberin', I swear I ain't, Chief!"

Groffgut shoved Rashback and Frogeye forward. "Grab

'im!" They seized the unfortunate Threetooth firmly.

Groffgut spat on his rusty blade, eyeing his victim. "I told yer, if'n ye ain't for me, yer agin me. So, where d'ye want it, eh? In the gut, across yer throat or in yer lousy 'eart, 'old 'im tight, mates!"

Threetooth babbled like a brook in flood. "I don't wanna get kil't, I'll climb, don't slay me, Chief! I'll climb der wall for ye!"

Groffgut thrust his face close to Threetooth. "Ho yer'll climb right enuff, or I'll skin yer alive afore I kills yer. Plug, where's dat rope we tied de h'eagle up wid? Knot it round me sword 'andle, will ye."

All the gang members were young rats, Obbler and Fleddy the two youngest. The latter was becoming quite taken with the idea of burgling Redwall Abbey, but he had a question to ask of his leader first.

"Ye said der was all sortsa good stuff in dat place, Chief.

Wot sorta good stuff?"

Groffgut saw this as an opportunity to fire his gang to great efforts. Unfortunately, he was not good at speech making. "Er, lotsa good stuff! Everythink's in der, mates."

Young Fleddy pressed him further. "Y'mean good stuff like nice vikkles, Chief?"

The gang leader nodded sagely. "Aye, more'n yew could eat, loads more!"

Obbler picked his teeth with a grimy claw. "Huh, I 'ope der's more'n Fleddy kin eat, 'cos I wanna fill me belly, too.

I likes h'apple pie, 'cos I 'ad a bit once, an' it tasted nice!"

Groffgut clapped him heartily on the back. "Don't fret yer 'ead, mate. They got enuff h'apple pies fer all of us!"

A moment later, Groffgut was sorry that he had spoken.

118

It seemed that the rest of the gang were fond of pies, though each had his own individual favourite.

"An' strawb'rry pies, too, Chief?"

"My ole granny used ter bake tater pies, wid onions in

'em. D'yer think dey'll 'ave tater pies like me ole granny's?"

"Blackberry pies is bestest, big fat juicy ones!"

"Worrabout p l u m pies, bet they're juicier, eh, Chief?"

"Roobab pies is good, wid lotsa 'oney on, though. D'yer think dey puts 'oney on their roobab pies in der, Chief?"

Groffgut kicked the last speaker soundly, having heard enough about their favourite pies. "Will youse all shurrup?

Yis yis, dey've got loadsa diff'rent pies in der. N o w let's gerron wid it, eh!"

Creeping out of the ditch, the gang made it across the path, into the shadow of the wall. Groffgut and the three he had nominated flattened themselves against the wall.

Their leader whispered urgently to Fleddy and Obbler,

"Cummon youse two, up yer get. Stand tight, mates!"

It was not as easy as it had sounded. There were muttered complaints as soon as the two younger rats began clambering over the four w h o formed the bottom line.

"Nyyurk! Don't stand on me nose like dat, clumsypaws!"

"Oooh, yew stuck yore footpaw in me eye, gerroff!"

"Stop ticklin' an' git yer tail outta me ear, willyer!"

Groffgut gasped as his stomach was kicked hard. "I'll tickle yer ears wid me sword if'n yer don't shut yer big noisy gobs. Threetooth, it's yore turn. Gerron top of their

'eads afore yer sling der rope!"

Unknown to the gang, they had been observed as soon as they left the ditch. Abbess Lycian had spotted them as she stood up to pour tea for herself and Burbee. She quickly informed Oreal Gatekeeper, who shot off to the Abbey and brought Skipper, Brink, Foremole Grudd and his entire crew up to the west wall.

They took a secret peep at the rat gang and held a whispered conference. Skipper's initial idea was to exit the 1 1 9

Abbey by the south wickergate, surround the rats and finish them off. The Abbess was horrified by the plan.

"But Skipper Banjon, they're the same age as your own daughter. How could you kill such young creatures?"

"Vermin, Mother Abbess, they're vermin!" Brink reminded her. "If you don't kill vermin they'll kill you, or some other innocent creatures w h o can't defend themselves. Skipper's right, marm, they're young alright, young an' evil!"

Abbess Lycian stole a hasty glance at the rats on the path below. She turned away quickly, biting on her habit sleeve to stifle the laughter which was threatening to burst forth.

"You should take a look down there. They've all collapsed in a heap. One of them is kicking the others' tails. Good gracious, what language! Can you hear it?"

Foremole Grudd shook his velvety head in disgust as he peered down at the rat gang. "They'm a-tryin' t'stand h'on each uther's thick 'eads agin, so's they'm can cloimb up yurr. Boi okey, oi never see'd such bunglybeasts in all moi borned seasons!"

Skipper set his jaw grimly. "Vermin are vermin, no matter which way ye look at 'em!"

However, the Abbess was not one to back down on her principles. "Be that as it may, Skipper Banjon, I will not have them slain. They're nought but a few scruffy young water rats. I don't consider them to be a threat to our Abbey, or a danger to us, in their present position. As Mother Abbess of Redwall, I forbid the slaughter of those vermin!"

The Abbess blenched with fright as Skipper grabbed her roughly and pulled her to one side. It was a swift and timely act. The curved scythe blade, with its attached rope, came looping over the walltop. It would have struck Lycian had it not been for Banjon's intervention. The rope was jerked tight from below, leaving the blade lodged firmly around the angle of a battlement.

Skipper kept his voice calm and level. "Well, marm, what do we do now?"

1 2 0

Loud, hoarse whispers could be heard from the rat gang as they urged their comrade on.

"Gudd t'row mate, up yer go!"

"Aye, get dat big gate h'opened, let's see wot dey got in der!"

"Yeeheehee! An if'n der cook don't cook g u d d pies, we'll roast 'im in 'is own h'oven!"

It was the first time any Redwaller had ever seen their Abbess bare her teeth and growl fiercely. "Kindly leave this to me, please!"

As Threetooth's villainous head appeared over the walltop, Lycian was waiting for him. She dealt him a mighty blow with the teapot, which was still half full of hot tea. It made a peculiar sound. Punngggg! The water rat fell backward with a shocked gurgle, plummeting d o w n onto the rats below.

Flinging the teapot at them, Lycian yelled out in a most un-Abbesslike manner, "Give 'em blood'n'vinegar! Redwaaaaaalllll!"

Skipper chortled, but the smile was quickly wiped from his face as Lycian turned to confront him. "Roast the cook in his own oven, eh? Skipper Banjon, my order against killing still stands. But you have my permission to take a party down there, armed with heavy sticks. Give those vermin the beating of their lives and send them packing!"

By this time, everybeast was leaning over the walltop to view the effect of their Abbess upon the would-be raiders.

Molemum Burbee shook her head gravely. "Ee woan't catcher yon vurmints naow, Skip, they'm taken h'off loik ar-rers. Burr, an' moi gurt teapot with 'em!"

Banjon watched the rat gang scurrying off up the ditchbed until they were swallowed up in the darkness. "Good grief, marm, you certainly fixed 'em up right'n'proper. Those vermin are drenched with 'ot tea an' spittin' tea leaves. Hah, I fear that's the last ye've seen o' that best teapot. I could swear it was stuck on one rat's 'ead!"

Now that the excitement was over, Lycian collapsed into 1 2 1

her little folding chair and gulped d o w n what tea was left in her mug. She seemed totally overcome. "Oh dear, I can't believe I did that! Look, Burbee, my p a w s are all a-tremble, I'm shaking like a leaf!"

The molemum had almost a full m u g of tea, which she kindly donated to her friend. "Ho, y o u ' m a gurt terror, marm, an' no mistake. But oi wish't y o u ' m hadden't given ee best teapot to yon villyuns. Hurr, 'twas far too noice furr ee loikes o' they'm!"

Grudd Foremole tugged his snout politely. "Off to ee beds naow, marms. Brink'n'Skipper, too, off ee go, zurrs.

Me'n moi crew'll stan' guard up yurr 'til ee mornen loight.

Us'll give 'em owd 'arry if'n ee ratters cooms back yurr agin furr more!"

Panicked, dispirited and chastened, the rat gang did not stop running until they were well into Mossflower Woodlands. Slumped on a streambank, they panted for breath, nursing hot water scalds and spitting tea leaves.

Rashback moaned as he slopped cooling m u d on his af-flicted back. "Aaaaargh, wot was dat dey t'rowed over us?"

Fleddy had missed most of it. He licked a paw where a bit of the liquid had splattered. "Dunno worrit was, but it don't tastes bad t'me."

Obbler sniffed at his companion's p a w s . "Smells nice, too, not like dat swamp we felled in. Hawhawhaw! Lookit ole Plug, 'e's wearin' a new 'elmet!"

Plugtail, who had been lagging behind, tottered in to join the gang. The teapot was jammed on his head at a rakish angle, the spout covering one ear and the handle sticking out above the other. The rim covered his right eye, so he could only see with the left. Showing not a vestige of sympathy for his plight, the gang laughed at his woeful plead-ings as he staggered about.

"Will youse stop laughin' an' get dis t'ing off me 'ead?"

Bonggg! Plugtail walked sideways into a tree trunk and tripped over Groffgut's paws. The gang leader, w h o was 1 2 2

sitting with his back to the trunk, dealt him a hefty kick, snarling, "Gerritoff yerself, thick'ead! Can't yer see I'm wounded?"

Frogeye, probing at a loose tooth he had suffered in the melee, stared over at Groffgut. "Where are yer wounded, Chief?"

Groffgut returned his stare sourly. "None of yer bizness, squinty lamp!"

Still seated with his back to the tree, the gang leader muttered savagely, "By the 'ellgates an' bluddtubs, I'll make dose Walked crowd sorry dey ever messed wid me, jus'

yew wait'n'see!"

Threetooth, w h o had now lost every tooth he possessed, winced as he felt the enormous lump between his ears. "It wuz a mistake tryna take a place dat size. I ain't goin' back der no more!"

Groffgut sprang up, waving the rusty scythe blade. He chased Threetooth along the streambank. "Yew'll go where I tell yer to, or I'll flay yer mangy 'ide. Get back 'ere right now!"

Hoots and guffaws greeted the rearview of Groffgut as he ran after Threetooth.

"Hawhawhaw! Lookit, 'e ain't got no tail!"

"Haharrharr! Wot 'appened t'yer ole wagger, Chief? Did yer leave it be'ind?"

"Thunderin' tripes! I bet dat 'urted, 'e's got even lesser'n ole Plugtail now!"

Groffgut left off chasing Threetooth. Standing with his hack to some bushes, he glared hot anger at the scoffers.

"One more snigger, go on, jus' one more laugh from any of yer. Anybeast w h o t'inks it's funny, say so, right now, go on!"

The gang fell silent and went back to tending their own hurts. When the teapot landed on Plugtail's head, he had dashed about madly, trying to get it off. The rope and scythe blade that followed it got tangled about one of his footpaws.

Unfortunately, Groffgut got in the way, and the swinging 1 2 3

blade slammed into his backside, severing his tail right at the root. The humiliation of a gang leader losing his tail far outdid any pain he felt from the wound. Groffgut knew he had to restore his position with the others. He put on his darkest, most vengeful scowl, grinding out every word savagely.

"I lost me tail in battle, der ain't no shame in dat, see! But I swear a blood oath afore ye right now, afore dis season's out, I'll be wearin' a cloak made outta the tails o' them as did this t'me. Aye, an' a necklace of their eyeballs!"

None of the gang dared to say a word. They knew he was in deadly earnest.

Unaware of the drama that had taken place on the walls, Tiria slept soundly, transported to the realm of dreams. She was in a room, a huge rock chamber. Cool breezes soothed her brow, yet she could feel radiating w a r m t h upon her back. She felt no curiosity as to her surroundings, nor any compulsion to turn and look at the room. It was the view of the nighttime sea that fascinated her. She was standing at a broad, unshuttered window, staring fixedly at a spot on the moonlit waters, somewhere twixt tideline and horizon. Tiria knew that she was in a high place, far above shore level.

Without looking, she knew that Martin the Warrior was standing beside her. His strong voice echoed through her mind.

"Maid of the Wildlough, hearken to what the High Queen Rhulain will say to you. Remember her words, for your very life will depend on it."

He pointed with his sword to the place in the sea where Tiria was still watching. A shape began to emerge from the moon-burnished waves. Tiria instinctively knew it was the otter lady of her previous dream. The apparition was cloaked and hooded, the face within the hood appearing as a dark void, but the voice was unmistakable—

melodious yet commanding.

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"Bide ye not on Mossflower shore, hasten to Green Isle.

Thy presence there is needed sore, in coming time of trial.

Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life,

when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.

Their secrets follow in thy wake, lost symbols will be found

to aid both Queen and Clanbeast regain their rightful ground.

Trust in the fool of the sea, to the Lord of the rock pay heed,

but remember a hawkstar must fly,

on the day thy domain is freed."

The vision faded like smoke, being drawn d o w n into the sea. Far out between shore and horizon, Tiria saw what looked like the tip of the hood the otterlady had worn, sticking up out of the waters. The young ottermaid was overcome by a sense of loss; then the entire scene vanished into the bottomless well of slumber.

Dawn's first rosy rays aroused the birds to song all over Mossflower Woodlands as Tiria wakened. She remembered every detail of the dream distinctly—Martin, the rock fortress, the Rhulain and her message. The ottermaid dressed swiftly. N o w she knew exactly what she h a d to do.

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