BOOK TWO

The Fool of the Sea

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Riggu Felis, an able general and a cunning tactician, deserved the title of warlord. He sent six scouts out, ahead of his main body of catguards, to comb the woodlands and hills for traces of his enemy. It was midnoon w h e n they picked up the trail, pursuing it to the bank of a wide stream.

Being cats, and not overly fond of water, they waited by the shallows for the wildcat and his command to catch up with them.

In the bushes on the opposite bank, the otters lay hidden, watching the catguards. Big Kolun Galedeep and Banya Streamdog crouched alongside the outlaw Leatho Shellhound. After grasping the oar, which was now his favourite weapon, Kolun nudged his friend.

"You were right, mate. They've arrived, though there ain't many of 'em. Wot d'ye think their next move'll be?"

Leatho never took his eyes off the scouts. "Let's wait an'

see, Kolun. I wager Felis'll be along with the rest soon enough. I want to count how many he has with him."

Banya volunteered her services. "I'll do that, Shellhound, but wot d'ye want 'em counted for?"

The outlaw explained his strategy. He was the wildcat's equal when it came to planning ahead. "I know that Felis has two hundred or more catguards in his army. If they're 1 2 9

all with him, then we'll make this place our battlefield. We could chop 'em to ribbons afore they cross the water. N o w durin' the fight, I've got a job for you, Kolun. When I gives the word, take yore clan an' all the Streambattle clan out of here in secret. I'll hold the cats off with what I've got left.

You circle round the back, get clear away, then march for the fortress. The slaves'll be unguarded if Felis has all his guards with him. You can hit the place hard an' free all our friends."

Big Kolun grinned. "Good idea, matey, but wot if'n Felis don't have a full force along with him?"

Leatho nodded. "I've thought o' that. If Banya counts less than the full number, then we'll decoy 'em. We'll pull out an' make a lot o' noise, so they can follow us easily. I know a good hill, it's inland, an' any beast on the high slope can give a good account of themselves t h e r e . . . . Stow it, mates, here comes Felis an' the rest!"

The catguards gathered in four ranks on the opposite bank; their warlord stood to one side, sheltered by a large willow tree. Weilmark Scaut took the tracker's report before joining his master.

"Lord, the tracks ended at this stream. The otters 'ave a far greater force than ours.

A satisfied hiss came from behind the chain mail mask.

"Good, just as I had hoped, Scaut. Send six of your guards to cross the stream. Take a score of archers back into the brush. I know they're waiting for us on the other side of this water, I can feel it. Listen now, they'll send lances and slingstone's at the six in the stream. Check what direction the weapons come from and send your arrows over that way. Then we'll see what happens."

The six guards were not too happy to enter the stream, but they h a d their orders. Immediately as they entered the shallows, a fusillade of slingstones and light javelins dropped four of them.

Big Kolun brandished his oar. "Well, 'ow many of the scum did ye count, Banya?

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The tough Galedeep maid flung off a slingstone. "About fivescore, give or take a few.... Look out!"

A volley of arrows hummed viciously down among the otters.

Leatho saw two clanbeasts fall, and another injured. "Kolun, give the order to fall back, but keep slingin'. Don't retreat too far, then cut off into the trees to yore left. Make sure they know we're runnin' away."

A scorecat named Fleng hurried to Riggu Felis and Scaut beneath the willow. "Lord, the otters are beaten, they're abandonin' their position!"

Abandoning the cover of the willow, the warlord watched intently as the undergrowth and bushes swayed. He heard the shouts of the fleeing otters. "They're travelling inland. What do you make of that, Scaut?"

The weilmark's voice was heavy with scorn. "We've got 'em beaten, Lord. Otters can't stand up to yer catguards. Look, they're well on the run!"

Chain mail chinked as the wildcat shook his head. "It's just as well that I'm in command and not you!"

Ignoring Scaut, he turned to Scorecat Fleng and issued his commands. "Take your squad and pursue them from this side until you can find somewhere easy to cross the stream. Keep after them, and make as much noise as you can to let the otters know they're being pursued. Go now, we'll follow up before dark."

Fleng saluted smartly with his spear. A moment later, he and his twenty guards were dashing along the bankside, shouting aloud.

Riggu Felis shouldered his war axe. "Get the rest of our force and follow me, Scaut." He strode off in the opposite direction, to the right.

Issuing orders to his scorecats, the weilmark got every-beast under way. He trotted forward to the warlord's side, obviously bewildered. "Lord, twenty guards aren't enough to defeat all those otters. Aren't we going to follow an' defeat 'em, like you said you would?"

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Riggu Felis moved his axe haft sharply, catching Scaut's bandaged jaw. He gave the puzzled feral cat a contemptuous glance. "Listen, and see if this sinks into your thick head. I will defeat the otters in my own way. I know twenty guards won't defeat them—they'll probably all be slain. But I will have won a great victory over the otters. Do you know why, Scaut?"

Keeping his distance from the axe haft, the weilmark stroked his injured jaw ruefully. "No. Why, Lord?"

The wildcat gave a hissing laugh. "Why, indeed! Pay attention, my idiot friend, and I'll tell you. Those otters have families, the same as any otherbeast. They want to keep their loved ones safe, so they try to fool me by drawing us off inland. I don't know of any otters w h o live at the centre of Green Isle. They make their homes and dens in rivers and along the coast."

Scaut temporarily forgot his aching jaw. A slow smile spread over his brutal features. "So we're goin' to the coast to attack their families, Lord?"

Riggu Felis let his tongue slither out to lick at the gold metal chain mail that masked his lower face. "Aye, Scaut.

Imagine how the one called Shellhound and his followers will feel. Picture them coming back, crowing about how they slew a score of my guards, then finding their o w n families—who I'm sure number a great deal more than twenty creatures—lying dead amid the scorched ruins of their homes. Who will have won the victory then, eh?"

The feral cat officer gazed at his leader in awe. "Truly you are the Warlord of Green Isle, Sire!"

The cruel eyes of Riggu Felis narrowed to slits. "Anybeast who does not agree with that is a deadbeast, Scaut.

That is w h y I left my faithful Atunra back at the fortress today. She will make certain that no upstart brother-killer will ever usurp his father."

Pitru was still young, but he was a quick learner. Revelling in his position as the fortress commander, he went about his 132

devious plans gleefully. His first task was to seek out minions who would serve him well and obey orders without question. These came in the form of three feral cats: Yund, an old and experienced scorecat; and two of his guards, Balur and his sister Hinso, w h o were not much older than Pitru. Lady Kaltag largely kept to her tower chambers, allowing her remaining son the run of the fortress, which he took full advantage of. Atunra was not taken into the n e w commander's confidence. Pitru and the pine marten h a d disliked each other for a long time. Pitru knew that Atunra lived only to serve his father.

In the late afternoon, Pitru sat out on the pier with Yund and the other two cats. They basked in the sunlight, nib-bling at cooked lake trout and sipping wine. Yund, an intel-ligent scorecat, knew how to please his young n e w master.

Pitru was delighted with the latest plan they h a d hatched up together. It concerned the defence of the fortress. They had emptied the catguard barracks and had housed the guards inside the fortress. Half of them were on day duty, some standing by the windows and some up on the sentry posts, armed with bows and arrows. The half w h o were off duty idled their time away, eating, drinking and sleeping indoors. Each night the rota was changed, and they took the place of their comrades on guard duty. But the master stroke against otter attacks, which Pitru and Yund h a d devised, was the slaves themselves. They were also taken out of the compound, into the fortress, but only the parents. The young ones and elders were forced to camp in the shade of the fortress, all the way around the building. They would be first to receive the brunt of any assault on the place.

Yund glanced over the shoulder of the slave w h o was serving the wine. He alerted Pitru. "Look, Lord! Atunra is coming out of the main gate."

Pitru winked at the scorecat and settled back with his eyes closed. He waited until the pine marten was close before addressing her. "Still skulking about, eh? What do you want now?"

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Atunra knew it was wise to keep a civil tongue in her head. "Your father would not approve . . . "

Before she could finish, Pitru sprang up, whipping out the large, broad-bladed scimitar which he now carried at all times. "Silence! You will begin again by addressing me as Commander. That is my title until I become Warlord."

After a moment's silence, Atunra bowed stiffly. "Commander, your father would never permit all the guards to be inside the fortress, and all those slaves, too. Lord Felis would never allow it. Guards have always lived in the barracks, and otterslaves in their compound. It is your father's law."

The young cat placed his swordtip against the pine marten's shoulder, pressing forward and then pushing her backward as he sneered in her face. "What some old, half-faced cat chooses to do is none of my concern. I make the rules now as commander of this fortress. Now get out of my sight, you spying lickpaw!"

Atunra did not stop to argue. She turned on her paw and strode silently back indoors. Pitru p u t up his blade and swaggered back to his seat.

Yund raised his goblet in salute. "That's the way to deal with your father's spy, Sire, though I'd watch my back while that 'un's around if I were you."

Pitru spread his paws appealingly. "Perhaps if I had three good friends, then they would watch my back for me. And who knows, mayhaps those three friends would know how to deal with a spy in our midst?"

The scorecat replied, with a look of enquiring innocence,

"Indeed, Commander, and mayhaps such friends would be well rewarded when your time comes to rule as warlord?"

Pitru closed his eyes and stretched out luxuriously. "A new warlord of Green Isle would need a fortress commander and two trusty weilmarks to serve him. He would remember his loyal friends."

Yund looked at Balur and Hinso. Both nodded word-134

lessly. Laying his spear at Pitru's footpaws, Yund bowed deeply. "We live only to obey your commands, Sire!"

Fleng and his squad had kept up their noisy pursuit of the otters from the far streambank. As darkness fell, they found a narrow rocky outcrop and forded the stream. The otters'

trail was not difficult to pick up. Leatho had halted the clans on a stony hilltop he had chosen to await the arrival of the cats.

Fleng arrived shortly at the base of the hill. He hid his guards in the bushes, ordering them to fire a volley of arrows. The heavy barrage of rocks, javelins and slingstones that came back at them left Fleng's squad pinned down so hard that they could not raise a p a w to retaliate. The scorecat kept glancing back over his shoulder, waiting for his warlord to arrive with reinforcements. Leatho's forces continued to batter the bushes relentlessly. It took Fleng only a short time to realise that half his squad lay slain around him. If he stayed, he would be killed along with the remainder of his guards. For some reason u n k n o w n to the scorecat, both he and his squad had been left abandoned.

Signalling a retreat to his catguards, Fleng crawled backward from the bushes and fled.

Big Kolun Galedeep, standing out in full view, lifted a boulder above his head and hurled it downhill at the enemy position. He complained to the outlaw, "Ain't much goin'

on down there, Leatho. Those cats don't seem to be puttin'

up a decent fight at all. Wot d'ye suppose is goin' on?"

Leatho slung a stone and peered downhill. "I'm not sure, mate. Either we lost 'em along the way or some are still tryin' to cross the stream. Maybe we should take the fight to them an' see wot happens."

That was all Big Kolun needed. Seizing his oar, he thundered off downhill, roaring, "Galedeeps to me! Yayla-hooooo! Chaaaaaaarge!"

Leatho could not halt Kolun and his clan, but he called 135

out to the rest, "Watch yoreselves, it might be a trap. Follow me!"

Leatho and Banya arrived on the scene together, only to find it devoid of foebeasts apart from ten slain guards.

Kolun and his clan looked thoroughly disgruntled.

The big otter hailed the outlaw. "Huh, just as well ye didn't charge with me, Shellhound. There wasn't any fightin' t'do, they've gone!"

Leatho rolled up his sling. "There's somethin' wrong, Kolun. It was all too easy. Wot do you think, Banya?"

The tough ottermaid was a short distance away, supporting the head of a badly injured catguard until it drooped limply back and she let it go.

"I got to that 'un just afore his lights went out. He managed to say that there wasn't more'n a score of catguards.

Said they was ordered to follow us an' t'make the most noise they could, so that we'd think it was a full troop."

Leatho interrupted her. "But where'd Felis an' the rest of

'em get to?"

Banya touched the dead guard with her footpaw. "He said they stayed back at the streambank where we first met up with the cats. I was goin' to question him a bit more, but he just drifted off."

Kolun gritted his teeth. "Huh, lyin' cowards, they won't admit we beat 'em fair'n'square. That's cats for ye!"

Banya did not agree with him. "No, he spoke the truth.

Look around, there was never over a hundred catguards here. Wot d'you think, Shellhound?"

But Leatho was already on the move as the chilling realisation dawned on him. His voice was tight and urgent.

"Kolun, get the clans on the move. Quick, at the double!"

The big otter saw the alarm in his friend's eyes. "Why, mate, wot's goin' on?"

Leatho was running as he shouted out his explanation.

"Felis outsmarted us. He's gone the other way, t'the coast where the families are hidin'!"

The outlaw was out ahead of everybeast, speeding like an 136

arrow. Kolun and his brother Lorgo, together with Banya, headed the main band as they sped through the night. The big otter's chest was heaving.

"That scummy cat, goin' after our families like that!"

Banya steadied him as he stumbled against a tree. "Aye,

'tis just the sort of thing Felis'd do. Save yore breath, an' let's hope we can stop 'im, mate!"

Word had passed through the clans of what might happen. The packed mass of otters increased their speed. Re-gardless of rock, bush or shrub, they stampeded madly toward the coast.

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14

It was shortly after sunrise at the Abbey. Sister Snowdrop watched Friar Bibble filling a tray with breakfast foods for herself and Old Quelt. "A touch more honey on the Recorder's oatmeal, if you please, Friar. He likes a lot of honey—oh, and some of those whortleberries, too, thank you."

Bibble obliged her. "There y'are, Sister. Oh, did ye hear?

Tiria's gone. An' that Pandionbird, thanks be to goodness!"

The aged Sister looked over her glasses. "Gone, Friar?

Where to, what do you mean?"

Bibble filled two beakers with coltsfoot and dandelion cordial. "Indeed to goodness, I thought you knew. She's off on that journey of hers. I filled haversacks for them—her da, Brink and Tiria. They left before sunup."

Snowdrop appeared bemused by the news. "But she can't do that! We haven't gathered all the information she needs yet."

Friar Bibble wiped his paws and took a parchment from his apron pocket. "Well, I don't know about that, Sister, but gone she has. Said I was to give this to you."

The little Sister tucked the parchment into her habit sleeve.

"Thank you, Friar. Oh, w h e n you see Brinty, Tribsy and Girry, will you please send them straight up to the library?"

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Bibble watched her skittering off with the laden tray. "Indeed to goodness, I'm more of a messenger than a cook this morning. Now then, baby Groop, w h a t can I do for you?"

The molebabe held her dish out solemnly. "No messinjers furr oi, jus' vikkles, zurr. Lots of 'em!"

Sister Snowdrop and Old Quelt shared the Recorder's desk as they pored over Tiria's letter. They looked up as the library door slammed open. Girry and Brinty dashed in, followed at a more sedate pace by Tribsy.

The young mole was balancing a tray loaded high with food. "Hurr, Miz Tirry bein' goned bain't a-stoppen this choild gettin' ee vikkles. G'mawnin', zurr'n'marm!"

Brantalis appeared in the doorway and honked. "1 am thinking Tiria is gone from here!"

Quelt peered at him over the rim of his oatmeal bowl.

"Yes, she has. Why are you looking so pleased?"

The barnacle goose did a waddling turn and started off downstairs, calling back to the Recorder, "I will look as pleased as I please, old one. No more hook-beaked fish eater to bother me. He went, too. I am thinking I will ask the Bibbler for two breakfasts now."

Snowdrop went back to studying the parchment, murmuring, "I'm sure that will please the Friar no end."

Brinty helped himself to a baked apple from Tribsy's tray.

"Huh, scooting off like that without so much as a thank-you or farewell. The Friar said Tiria left a letter. Is that it?

Can I have a look, please?"

Old Quelt straightened the creases from the parchment.

"No, you can't! Your paws are all full of cooked apple."

Girry stood on tip-paw, trying to see the letter. "My paws are clean."

The ancient squirrel's eyes twinkled behind his glasses.

"Good, well, let's see if you can't keep them that way, young sir. I'll read the letter out to you. Listen."

He held the missive at p a w ' s length, commenting before 139

he read it, "Dearie me, spelling is not that ottermaid's strong point, though she does write with a neat paw. Er, right.

"Dear friends,

Sorry I couldn't stop to say good-bye. I had a dream last nite, and the High Rhulain said I must go to Green Isle rite away. I hope you find lots of things in the Geminya Tome book. Here are some words from my dreem which may help you: '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, w h e n Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife. Their secrets follow in thy wake, lost symbols will be found.'

"There's lots more, but my father and Brink are wateing, so I've got to go now. Pandion's with me, too.

I'm sure he'll be a great help to me. I'll miss you all very much, and Redwall, too. Thank you for your kind aid and frendship. I hope we'll meet again someday.

"Tiria"

Tribsy dropped his tray and broke out sobbing. "Boo-hurrrrrr! UsTl never see Tirry no more, she'm goned.

Boohurhurhurrr! Oi wurr gurtly fond of 'er, she'm wurr alius koind an' noice, an' she'm wurr moi friend. Boohurrr!"

Girry and Brinty were affected by their molefriend's tears. They, too, turned aside and wept quietly. Old Quelt reached out a bony paw to lift up Sister Snowdrop's chin.

She was sniffling also, a tear rolling from beneath her small, square glasses.

"Such a pleasant young ottermaid. Oh dear, I hadn't realised how fond of Tiria I'd become!"

Old Quelt shook his head in gentle reproof. "My my, just look at you all, blubbering away like Dibbuns at bathtime.

Well, what's it to be, eh? Are you going to waste time crying the day away, or are you going to do something to help your friend by solving the clues which she left for us?"

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There followed much wiping of paws and habit sleeves across eyes. Tribsy sat down by his fallen tray and sighed deeply. "Oi'll be with ee direckly, zurr, soon as oi've 'ad moi brekkist!"

A moment later, they were all hard at work.

Tiria bounded along through Mossflower's summer woodlands as though there were springs on her paws. Her regrets at leaving her home and friends soon vanished with the excitement of embarking on the quest. Pandion circled overhead, whilst Skipper and Brink trudged along behind, burdened by two large haversacks of supplies.

Though she h a d pleaded with them to let her help with the packs, her father and the good Cellarhog w o u l d not hear of it.

"Nay, missy, we'll 'elp ye for as longs as needs be!"

"Aye, me gel, ye might have to carry both of 'em alone afore yore journey's done. Don't get too far ahead of us now.

Take a right turn at the bend o' the next stream and stay away from the water's edge. 'Tis deep an' swampy there."

As she forged ahead, Banjon called after her, "Oh, an' tell yore fish 'awk to walk from here. We don't want no great bird frightenin' the Guosim shrews."

Tiria guessed that they were not far from the watermeadow from the sounds of revelry which began echoing through the normally silent woodlands. It was a blend of singing, shouting and merriment.

Pandion did not seem to like it. Spreading his wings, he addressed Tiria. "Kraaaaah! They will frighten off the fish with that din. I will hunt among the streams. When I have eaten, I will come and find you."

He winged off, and the ottermaid waited for her father and Brink to catch u p . As they pressed forward through the trees, Brink chuckled at the growing sounds of raucous singing.

"Those Guosim certainly k n o w h o w to enjoy theirselves, Skip."

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Banjon agreed. "Aye, that they do, mate, especially at their summer watermeadow festival."

There was a swift rustle of undergrowth, and a gruff voice called out, "Halt right there!"

Tiria was surprised by her first meeting with the Guosim.

The travelers were suddenly surrounded by twelve or more shrews, tough-looking little beasts with spiky fur. Each one wore a coloured headband, a short kilt with a broad buckled belt and a ferocious scowl. They were all armed with short rapiers.

A youngish shrew flourished his blade aggressively at them. "Stand still, or ye'll be deadbeasts!"

Skipper murmured to Brink and his daughter, "Don't say anythin', leave this t'me."

Banjon looked the young shrew up and down fearlessly.

"Well, Dobra Westbrook, ye've sprouted up a touch since I last clapped eyes on ye. Where's yore dad? Still swiggin'

grog an' wrestlin' with the best of 'em, is he?"

Dobra stared hard at Skipper for a moment. Then he put up his blade and hugged him fondly. "Nuncle Banjon, ye ole gullywhumper! Where've ye been all these seasons?

What brings ye t'the watermeadow?"

Skipper pulled himself loose and held Dobra at paw's length. "I've come t'see yore dad. I thought you was him at first. By the rudder, ye look just like him!"

Tiria cast a sidelong glance at her father. "Nuncle?"

Skipper explained, "Dobra's always called me that, since I made him his first fiddle sling. That was about four seasons afore you were born."

The watermeadow was practically a carpet of gypsywort, sundew, water plantain, bulrush, reed and wide-padded water lilies. The three visitors were escorted to a logboat which transported them out to a big island at the centre of the meadow. Dobra leaped ashore as the prow nosed into land. The place seemed to be packed with Guosim shrews-families picnicking, maids dancing, elders arguing, groups 1 4 2

singing and various contests of skill taking place. They followed Dobra through the carnival atmosphere to the middle of the island, where it seemed the main event was being held. A number of veteran Guosim warriors were seated in the treeshade, eating and drinking as they watched a slinging competition.

Dobra called out to a sturdy, tough-faced shrew, "Ahoy, Dad! Lookit wot the frogs just dragged in!"

Log a Log Urfa, Chieftain of the Western Guosim tribe, stood up. He swaggered over, growling savagely, "Haharr,

'tis a mad ole plank-tailed waterwalloper who thinks he kin wrestle. Let's see wot ye can do, cully!"

They leapt upon each other, crashing to the ground and setting the dust flying as they grappled and grunted like madbeasts. Tiria became alarmed. Just as she was reaching for her sling, they both sprang up and began hugging and laughing.

"Urfa Westbrook, ye great grog tub, how are ye, buckoe?"

"Banjon Wildlough, me ole matey, if'n I feel half as good as yore lookin', then I'm fine!"

Introductions were made all around. The guests were seated and given tankards of Guosim Grog, accompanied by huge thick wedges of pie, which turned out to be leek and turnip with savoury herbs.

Skipper started right in telling Urfa about Tiria and her need for a boat, but the Guosim chieftain touched a p a w to his lips. He pointed to the slinging competition.

"Hush now, matey, I'll talk to ye in a moment. The Dipper's about to throw. I don't want to miss this!"

Brink whispered, "Which one's the Dipper?"

Urfa pointed out a tall, sinewy shrew w h o was stepping up to the mark and selecting stones from his pouch. "That

'un there, Brink. Ole Dipper's got an eye like a huntin'

eagle. Ain't nobeast in all the land kin sling a stone like the Dipper can! You just watch an' see."

Banjon sized the shrew up keenly. "Yore Dipper must be a good 'un if ye say so, mate. Wot's the target he's slingin' for?"

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Urfa nodded to a figure suspended from a beech limb some distance off. It was a crude likeness of a weasel, with torso and limbs made from stuffed sacking. The head was carved from a turnip, with two hazelnuts for eyes.

Dobra explained the rules as Dipper began twirling his sling experimentally. "If ye hit the body, that's two points.

The paws are five points apiece, an' the head scores a full ten. Each slinger gets three throws. There's a rare barrel o'

best grog as a prize for the winner. But afore ye sling, y'must nominate wot ye plan on hittin'."

Tiria made a polite enquiry. "What do the eyes score?"

Urfa shook his head, chuckling. "Nobeast ever nominated an eye an' hit it, missy. Quiet now—the Dipper's goin' to sling."

The tall, lean shrew twirled his loaded sling, calling out,

"One head an' two footpaws!"

A gasp of admiration arose from the spectators. Evidently it was something of a feat which the slinger had chosen.

Dipper hurled off his first stone. It grazed the turnip on the left side of the face. There was a deathly silence as he loaded his sling again and tested the breeze with a licked paw. Dipper slung his second stone. It hit the right footpaw fair and square, causing the leg to flop about. The h u s h was intense now, as other Guosim crowded in to watch. Dipper loaded his final stone, crouching low as he whirled the sling. It thrummed in the hot noontide air, snapping back as he whipped off the missile. It barely skimmed the underside of the left paw, hardly causing the leg to stir.

A small fat shrew, acting as scorer, scurried out to inspect the target. After studying it a while, he called out officiously,

"Theree 'its, thee Dippah scoharrs terwenty points!"

The Guosim cheered Dipper to the echo, clapping his back and shaking his paws as they roared, "Dipper's scored a score!"

Urfa turned proudly to his guests. "Wot did I tell ye? The Dipper's a champeen slinger alright!"

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Banjon nodded. "Oh, he ain't a bad 'un, mate. Did I tell ye my gel Tiria slings stones? D'ye think she could have a go?"

Urfa had a slightly condescending note to his tone. "A maid wot thinks she can sling, eh? Wot next! Aye, go on then, Tiria, give it a try."

The scorer took Tiria's name, announcing her as she stepped up to the mark. "Siiiilenza perleeeeze! H'a Misser, Tehiria, Werhildlock h'of Rehedwall H'abbey issa serlingin'

nehext. Thank yew!"

There was a light smarter of applause, plus a few sniggers from the onlookers. Evidently they did not rate slingmaids very highly.

Tiria waited for quiet, then called out her targets. Her sling, Wuppit, was already thrumming as she shouted,

"Two eyes and a head!"

Splakk! The left hazelnut eye was driven deep into the turnip head. Reloading the sling swiftly, she whipped off her second shot. Crack! Pieces of shattered nutshell flew in the air as the stone drove through into the other turnip eye socket. The head was swinging from side to side with the impact as Tiria hopped three paces back from the mark.

The sling was a blur, making a deep musical h u m , owing to the extra large stone she had picked for her final shot.

Whooosh! Whack! The force with which the stone struck the head sent it flying from the body into the bushes beyond.

The whole of the Guosim tribe went wild, cheering, yelling and rushing to congratulate the ottermaid. Tiria was completely overwhelmed by the crush of shrews and had to he rescued by Skipper, Brink, Urfa and Dobra, w h o escorted her out of the melee, off to a quiet spot on the tree-shaded bank. Log a Log Urfa detailed a group of his Guosim warriors to disperse the excited crowd of shrews.

Skipper winked at Urfa. "So then, matey, wot d'ye reckon to my Tiria, eh?"

The shrew chieftain wiggled his snout energetically (al-

*45

ways a sign of admiration and wonderment among Guosim). "I tell ye, Banjon, if'n I didn't see it with me own eyes, I never would've credited it. Yore Tiria made it look so easy, mate. I'd give me tail'n'ears to have a slinger like that in my tribe!"

Skipper threw a protective p a w about his daughter.

"Hah, there's no chance of ye gettin' my gel. She's got a long journey t'make. That's why we came to see ye, mate.

She needs a boat."

Log a Log Urfa refilled their tankards. "A boat, ye say?

Wot sort o' boat, Tiria? An' where d'ye plan on goin' in it?"

The ottermaid replied politely, "Any sort of boat, sir. The Guosim ones look fine to me. But you know a lot more about boats than I do, so I'll leave the choice to you, if I may. I've got to sail to a place called Green Isle, somewhere across the Western Sea."

Urfa did a choking splutter, spraying grog widespread.

"Wot? You three are plannin' on crossin' the Western Sea?

That ain't no sea, it's a wallopin' great ocean!"

Tiria patted Urfa's back until he finished spluttering. "My father and Brink won't be going, sir, just myself and Pandion."

Urfa wiped his mouth on a spotted kerchief. "An' who, pray, is this Pandion, an' where's he at?"

Tiria caught sight of the osprey circling the watermeadow.

She pointed. "That's him up there, he's an osprey."

Placing both paws in her mouth, she gave a piercing whistle. Pandion zoomed down like a slingstone.

Guosim shrews scattered everywhere, shouting in alarm.

Urfa flung himself into a nearby bush. "Git that thing out o'

here afore it slays us all!"

Pandion Piketalon landed, kicking up clouds of dust as he flapped his powerful wings. He stared about with fierce golden eyes. "Where did the little spikies go?"

Tiria wagged a reproving p a w at him. "You frightened them all away, you great show-off! I think you'd best go off 146

fishing again. I'll whistle when we need you, b u t be careful how you make your entrance next time."

Pandion launched himself into flight once more. "Pandion likes fishing. Lots of big fat ones around here!"

Only when he had gone did Urf a scramble out of the bush.

"Me'n' my crew'll take ye down the river Moss t'the sea, miss, but that great bird ain't sailin' on my boat. He can fly!"

Dusting himself down, the Guosim chieftain tried to look bold and unconcerned as he called to his tribe. "Come on out. The bird won't harm ye, I had a word with it."

He murmured to Skipper out of the side of his mouth,

"Got to show 'em who's the Log a Log round here, don't I?"

Urfa resumed his seat. "Now then, Miss Tiria, there's a matter of a barrel o' grog ye won for yore slingin'. D'ye want to take it with ye?"

The ottermaid tapped her rudder thoughtfully. "Is it good grog?"

Urfa seemed taken aback that anybeast should ask.

"Good grog? It's the finest ten-season mature brew. I'd give me tail'n'whiskers for a flagon of that nectar!"

Tiria smiled. "I'm not really a grog drinker. Perhaps you'd like to accept it as a gift from me, sir."

Urfa shook her paw gratefully. "Thank ye kindly. I'd be a fool to refuse it. But let me put ye straight about sailin' craft, miss. All we have are logboats, carved from the trunks o'

trees. 'Twould be madness to try an' cross that Western Sea in one. Ye'd be drowned!"

Urfa saw the look of disappointment on her face. "Now don't ye go frettin', beauty. I've got an idea. For a long sea voyage ye'll need a proper ship, an' I know the very creature who has one. At dawn tomorrer I'll take ye down the Ole River Moss to the Western Sea an' introduce ye to him.

All he'll need by way o' payment is vittles aplenty. I'll supply them meself."

Skipper patted Urfa's back heartily. "I knew ye wouldn't let us down. Yore a real mate!"

147

The Guosim chieftain waved his paw airily. "I'd be a mizzruble beast if'n I couldn't do a favour for me ole friend Banjon."

Brink helped himself to another wedge of pie. "Wot's yore friend's name?"

Log a Log replied straight-faced, "Cuthbert Frunk W.

Bloodpaw, Terror of the High Seas!"

148

15

Dawn brought pale-washed skies, drizzle and a layer of mist over windless land and sea. The cavern beneath the ledges was thick with acrid smoke. Leatho Shellhound skidded in, striving with rudder and paw to hold his balance on the glistening floor.

Big Kolun Galedeep held tight to the rocky walls, the smoke stinging his eyes as he coughed and yelled out to Banya Streamdog, "Git some torches lit an' fetch 'em in here, will ye!"

Both he and the outlaw sea otter hung on, gagging and spluttering until a half-dozen torches were brought.

Kolun rubbed his streaming eyes, staring about him in the flickering light and deep shadow. "Wot'n the name o'

fur'n'rudders has been goin' on here?"

Banya held her torch high as she held on to a ledge. "The place is empty. There ain't nobeast anywhere!"

Leatho slid across to the hanging curtain of vegetation which screened the cave from the sea. From there he pondered the scene before him. "Seaweed an' d a m p wood have been piled on the big cookin' fire to make all this smoke. I Can't say wot this slippery mess all over the floor is."

Lorgo Galedeep dipped a p a w in the slime, sniffing at it Neveral times before hazarding a guess. "Smells like Gully-149

plug Punch an' seafood stew, an' leftovers mixed with veggible oil. But where's our families? D'ye think Felis an' the cats took 'em all prisoner?"

Big Kolun dispelled the idea with a snort. "No, never!

My missus an' the others wouldn't have been taken without a fight. Look around, mate. D'ye see any slain or w o u n d e d beasts from either side layin' about? There's not even a trace o' blood, the place is empty. Ahoy there, Shellhound, where are ye off to?"

Leatho had parted the trailing curtain and plunged into the mist-shrouded sea. He surfaced a short distance from the cave. "Yore right, mate. They weren't ambushed, even though I noticed lots o' cat signs outside by the land entrance. There's a good chance yore families escaped. We'd best start a search for them. You Streamdivers an' Wavedogs, come with me. Kolun, take the rest an' follow along the coast. See if'n ye can pick up any trails."

The clans of the Streamdivers and Wavedogs formed a spread-out phalanx behind the outlaw. They swam smoothly along the quiet coastal waters, watching for any signs of life. There was no letup in the dull early morn. Mist and drizzle persisted, limiting both sound and vision in the calm, waveless sea. Worries, doubts and fears for their families plagued the clanbeasts' minds. Was Leatho right in his supposition, had their loved ones avoided the murderous wildcat? Leatho pressed on into the enveloping mist, listening keenly for the slightest hopeful sound.

The tall, ragged rocks of a headland loomed up out of the gloom. The clanbeasts swam in Leatho's wake as he changed course seaward. There was a space of open water between the cape and a massive dark rock that stood apart from it.

Raising his voice, the outlaw yelled an otterclan cry: "Yaylaaahoooooooo!"

An echo bounced back from the rock. A moment's si-1 5 0

lence followed, broken only by the lap of water against stone.

Then a booming call rang out. "Hawooooooom!"

Leaving his comrades behind, Leatho cut the water speedily. He headed for the rock and a hulking figure perched upon it. Once he could make out the nature of the creature, he returned its greeting. "Yaylaaahooo! Gawra Horn! Hawooooom!"

The grey bull seal, Gawra Horn, threw back his head and reared up. "Hawoooom! Glokglokglok!"

Just then, Kolun's boat emerged from around the side of the rock. It was packed with little ones, all showing off what they had learned as they pulled the oars lustily.

Deedero, Kolun's missus, was at the tiller. She waved to the grey seal. "Many thanks to ye, Gawra Horn!"

She turned to the outlaw, p a w s akimbo. "Well, Mister Shellhound, you took yore time gettin' here! There's pore weary families sittin' in the rain on the other side o' this rock. D'ye reckon y'might rescue 'em some time this season, or is that too much to ask, eh?"

Relief flooded through Leatho as he threw the sturdy ottermum a mock salute with his rudder. "Right ye are, marm. We'll get 'em off there, marm!"

He gave another salute to Gawra Horn. "If'n I can ever help ye, mate, just give me a call. Yore a goodbeast, Gawra Horn."

The big grey bull waved a flipper. "Hoooom wharraa-woooooh!"

As the mist began thinning, Deedero spied Big Kolun and the clanbeast swimming out from the shore to the rock. She glared at him, calling to him dryly, "Ahoy there, ye great sloprudder! Are you goin' to play about there all day, an'

leave yore family marooned? Or are ye thinkin' about res-cuin' 'em?"

Cheerfully, the big Galedeep otter waved a meaty paw.

"Ho, but it does me 'eart good t'see yore charmin' face, me 1 5 1

liddle thistleblossom. Rest yore dainty paws, we'll soon have ye home'n'dry!"

It took some considerable time to get the families safe ashore. The elders and the very young were exhausted from their nighttime flight through the dark sea and the time they had spent clinging to the rock.

When the task was accomplished, Banya Streamdog asked the question that was uppermost in everybeast's mind. "We can't go back t'the caves or the tall stones anymore. So where do we hide all these families?"

Leatho was at a loss, but Ould Zillo the Bard had an answer. "Sure, an' w h y not take 'em all to Holt Summerdell?"

Everybeast knew the name, Holt Summerdell, through an old song that was sung around the fires at night.

Deedero looked askance at the bard. "There ain't no such place. Holt Summerdell's only a nice song. It ain't real, is it?"

Zillo tapped his nose knowingly. "Ah, but that's where yore wrong, marm. I knows it's a real place. My grandpa showed it t'me when I was only a liddle snip. But I remember exactly where it is. Y'see, Holt Summerdell was a holi-day home of the clans afore the cats came to Green Isle. Aye, an' a grand ould time they used to have there all summer long. But 'tis long forgotten now—except in the song.

There's only meself knows where 'tis, an' I'm the bucko that can take ye there. It lies inland, beyond Deeplough in the highlands, a fair stretch o' the paws. Though if'n we set out now, I could have ye there soon after dusk. Well, Shellhound, what d'ye think?"

Leatho picked up one of Kolun's brood, a tiny ottermaid.

He set her on his shoulders. "Don't seem we've got much choice. Lead on, matey!"

They struck off inland, with the rain still drizzling, though the mist was breaking up into patches over the valleys and woodlands. Zillo kept their spirits up by tapping 152

out the pace on his rudderdrum and singing the song about Holt Summerdell.

"All the long-ago seasons we loved high up there, in those w a r m afternoons an' the sweet evenin' air, alas though they're past I remember it well, that dear little spot we called Holt Summerdell.

When ye'd rise in the mornin' the air was like wine, through the curtain came stealin' the golden sunshine, with the twayblade the clubrush the burr an' the sedge, round the clear crystal waters that flow o'er the edge.

Ye could ride on the slide there or sport in the pool, where trout roamed the deep reeds so green an' so cool, on some flat mossy rock ye could lie there an' bask, as the ould ones would say, now wot more could ye ask?

But the times are all fled like a mayfly's short day, though sometimes within me a small voice will say go follow yore dream to the place ye loved well, that dear little spot we call Holt Summerdell."'

The otterbabe riding on Leatho's shoulders whispered in his ear, "Uz gunner go ta H'old Suddermell? Soun's ferry nice!"

The outlaw tickled the little one's footpaw. "Aye, darlin', I'm sure Mister Zillo will take us there."

The old bard chuckled. "Sure I'll take ye there, right enough. Wait'll ye see it! Then ye'll wonder how anybeast doubted me."

The outlaw nodded. "I don't doubt ye, Zillo. Tell me, though, how did ye manage to escape from the cave without Felis harmin' or caprurin' anybeast?"

Ould Zillo shrugged. " 'Twas all Deedero's doin'. Ye recall how ye left me'n'her in charge afore ye went off? Huh, I didn't have much say in the runnin' o' things at all. That big ottermum just took over. Aye, an' 'tis just as well she did, mate. Let nobeast ever tell me that Deedero Galedeep ain't got a head on her shoulders!"

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Kolun tapped Zillo on the shoulder from behind. "Go on, tell us how my missus did it."

The bard had to smile as he recalled the deeds of Deedero. "Sure, 'twas worth writin' a ballad about. First thing she did was to get yore boat pulled up alongside the cave. Then she fed all the little 'uns an' bedded 'em down in it so they were out o' harm's way. Then she split us into two groups. I was in charge of the gang w h o went out col-lectin' seaweed an' water-logged driftwood. We had to stack it all by the main cookin' fire. Next thing she had us doin' was pourin' all o' Birl Gully's punch into the seafood stew, that an' a jar o' veggible oil an' any other leftovers we could find. I tell ye, Kolun, that missus o' yores should've been a warlord!"

Leatho pressed the bard. "Go on, wot did she do then?"

Zillo took up the tale again. "Lissen t'this. Deedero takes her gang out by the land entrance o' the cave. They strip all the branches from two blackthorns, the ones with the big sharp spikes. So she lays 'em out, where any foebeast would tread on 'em in the dark. Then she posts some o' the wives close t'the cave an' tells 'em to report to her any sudden yowls or miaows."

Leatho interrupted. "But supposin' it would've been us comin' back to the cave ahead of Felis. What then?"

Birl Gully roared out laughing. "Harrharrharr! That would've been yore bad luck, mate. But as it 'appens, things turned out right. 'Twas the wildcat an' his guards who came chargin' along that way. Harrharrharr!"

Zillo continued. "Must've been close to midnight when our sentries 'eard the yowls an' catcalls. They hurried back, an' Deedero sent everybeast off into the sea, pushin' the boat away up the coast. The little 'uns thought it was no end o' fun. Now there was only me'n'Deedero left there. She orders me to heap the seaweed an' dampwood on the fire.

Right away there's smoke billowin' everywhere. I saw Deedero take a long pole an' push the big cauldron over, topplin' it all over the floor. It smelled pretty strong, I can 154

tell ye. Well, that was it. Me'n'Deedero got out o' there a n '

went swimmin' after the others . . . leavin' Riggu Felis a n '

his catguards t'clean up after us, o' course!"

Leatho t h u m p e d his rudder down in admiration.

"Blood'n'thunder, I think we'll have to call yore missus General Deedero from now on, Kolun!"

The big otter tucked his oar under one arm, puffing out his chest proudly. "Aye, an' to think she chose me as her husband. Yowch!"

Deedero h a d caught up with them and s t e p p e d on Kolun's rudder. "Quick march there, dumblepaws, step out lively. An' you two, Zillo an' Shellhound, stop skylarkin'

about an' move yourselves. If'n we don't get these little

'uns someplace safe by dark, with good hot vittles in 'em an' a pillow to lay down their heads on, it ain't no wildcat ye'll have to worry about. It'll be me. Understood?"

They stepped out smartly, saluting all the way.

"Aye, marm, very good marm!"

"We're kickin' up a bit o' dust now, marm!"

"Now don't ye fret, me liddle apple d u m p l i n ' , everything goin' right to plan. Ouch! Will ye stop stampin' on me rudder like that, er, my sweet honeybee."

Riggu Felis would have stamped his paw with rage had it not been for the broken blackthorn spike e m b e d d e d in it. He roared up at the first guard he saw passing a w i n d o w inside the fortress.

"Open the main gate! Get Atunra and Pitru d o w n here!

What in the n a m e of slaughter'n'fangs is going on here? Why are all these otterslaves camped outside in the open? Get that gate open on the double, or I'll rip ye in half with my own two paws!"

Weilmark Scaut assisted the limping warlord up onto the pier. There was a wild scurry of paws from inside. Then the main gates creaked open.

The wildcat howled at the clutter of catguards milling about within, "You, you, you and you! Get those otterslaves 155

locked back in their compound right now. You, scorecat, attend me!"

The feral cat in question marched up and came to rigid attention. "Lord!"

Hot, angry eyes glared through the chain mail at her.

"What do they call you?"

She gulped. "Scorecat Rinat, Sire."

Her face was sprayed with spittle as Felis thrust aside his face mask and yelled at her, "Get these guards back inside their barracks immediately! Where is my counsellor, Atunra? Where's that useless son of mine? Why isn't he here to meet me, eh?"

Rinat's voice trembled nervously as she replied, "The Fortress Commander is with Lady Kaltag in her chamber, Sire."

The wildcat shoved her roughly aside. Limping toward the stairs, he struck out at catguards with his axe handle.

"Out! Out all of ye, back to your barracks!"

Balur and his sister Hinso were on guard outside of the chamber. Acting on Pitru's orders, they challenged Riggu Felis. "Halt there, we must announce you!"

Grabbing both guards, the enraged warlord hurled them headfirst down the stairs. With his axe, he dealt the door a blow that left it toppled on one hinge. Scorecat Yund was inside the chamber with Kaltag and Pitru, who signalled him with a sideways glance. He turned, holding his spear hori-zontally at chest height, barring the wildcat's path. Without breaking his limping stride, the warlord wrenched the weapon from Yund's grasp and smashed it in two halves on his head. Lifting the scorecat bodily, Riggu flung him down the stairs also. Now, with no guards left to block him, Riggu confronted his son. His breath from behind the chain mail mask hissed viciously.

Pitru h a d never seen his father so wrathful. He moved swiftly behind his mother's chair, crying out, "Stop him, he means to kill me, just like he slew Jeefra!"

The Lady Kaltag faced Riggu fearlessly, her voice calm 156

and slightly ironical. "I stood at my window and watched your arrival. There was no sign of captive otters, b o u n d tightly, being dragged back here for punishment. What happened to your footpaw? Were you wounded doing battle with the foe?"

Riggu Felis stumped over to a table and perched upon its edge. He took a knife from a plate of half-eaten fish and began probing at his footpaw with it. "This is nothing, a broken thorn. Where is Atunra? I need to consult with her."

Kaltag ignored the question, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she sniffed the air. "What is that horrible smell you bring into my chamber?"

The warlord continued digging at his footpaw, sweeping aside his cloak, which was getting in the way. "Where, what foolishness is this, what smell?"

Pitru pointed at his father. "It's all over the back of his cloak. Some kind of slop, that's causing the smell!"

Kaltag's smile was humourless and icy. "Did those who wounded you also do that—plaster you with filth?"

Riggu Felis grunted as he pulled out the broken blackthorn spike. "A thorn, that's all it was, a thorn I stepped on!" Skirting the question of his cloak, he pursued his former enquiry. "Where is Atunra? Send her to me now."

Kaltag shrugged carelessly. "She is of no consequence to me. I have not seen her since you marched away from here to destroy your enemies."

The wildcat's blazing eyes sought out his son. "What have you done with Atunra, you little worm?"

Pitru could not meet his father's gaze, but he was regaining his confidence. He stared at his mother, addressing her in wide-eyed innocence. "Tell him I know nought of his pine marten lackey. As Fortress Commander, I was far too busy organising the defences against the enemies he was supposed to have defeated. I am not Atunra's nursemaid.

Why should I watch over her?"

There was a clatter of dishes as Riggu drove the knife-point deep into the tabletop. "You stupid young brat! Is that 157

what you call organising defences—allowing half the otterslaves to wander about outside the walls and letting a load of guards idle their time away indoors, eating and sleeping?

Hah, Commander! All you'll ever be is a silk-clad kitten, cringing behind your mother's skirts!"

Kaltag's voice dripped scorn as she came to Pitru's defence. "Well, I hope he never becomes a warlord like you, skulking back here with a w o u n d e d p a w and a stinking cloak! Where are all the prisoners you vowed to bring back?

Scorecat Yund noticed you returned twenty-one guards short. What happened to them, O Mighty One, eh? At least we weren't attacked, thanks to Pitru's defence plans!"

Her words stung the wildcat worse than blackthorn spikes. He knew he had lost the argument and was not prepared to bandy further. However, he was determined to have the final word as he swept out of the chamber.

"I've ordered the guards back to their barracks and the slaves back to their compound. It is my command that they stay there. I will seek out Atunra now. If any harm has be-fallen her by either of your doings, then you will see just how merciless a warlord can be!"

Riggu Felis found Weilmark Scaut awaiting him alone on the pier. He barraged him with orders. "Search my fortress from top to bottom, and all the surrounding area. Use all your guards to do it. Find Atunra and bring her to me, dead or alive. I'll be in my chambers. As of tomorrow, we will no longer seek out the otters."

Scaut looked puzzled. "Lord?"

The wildcat ripped off his muddied cloak and threw it into the lake, watching the water carry it under. "Why chase about after a bunch of outlaws? I'll make them come here to me. Don't look so blank, Scaut. I have what they want—

this fortress and a whole lot of otterslaves. Mark my words, they'll come. Fortunately for me, otters are noble creatures.

They won't leave their own kind in slavery. They'll make an attempt to liberate them."

158

i6

Happy sounds of Dibbuns laughing and playing drifted up through the open library window at Redwall Abbey. Old Quelt, Snowdrop and the three young puzzle solvers sat around the long, polished table. The Sister had one paw on Tiria's farewell letter and the other on the Geminya Tome.

"I think the answers lie somewhere twixt these two. First we need to study the clues Tiria left for us. Then we can look up any references to them in the Tome."

Girry stifled a yawn. "Is it nearly lunchtime yet?"

Old Quelt looked over his glasses at the young squirrel.

"Bored with study already, are we, young sir?"

Girry flicked a paper pellet he had m a d e through the window. "Huh, there's no sense in saying that I'm not, sir."

The Librarian Recorder turned his attention to Tribsy and Brinty. "Has your interest become dulled also, friends?"

The young mole yawned. "Hoo urrh! Oi'm a-doin' moi bestest, zurr, but 'tis 'ard wurk, a-studyen' gurt ole books."

From where he was slumped in his chair, Brinty nodded to the open window. "There's a lovely sunny day going to waste while we're stuck in this gloomy library. 'Tisn't fair!"

Sister Snowdrop sniffed meaningly. "That's because you lack a true scholar's dedication."

Girry slouched over to the window, scowling rebelliously 159

"That's alright for you to say, Sister. You've been studying since long before we were born, but we're still young. We want to be outdoors in the summer days, like all the others.

Hah, I'll bet Tiria's having a great time right now, travelling on a long journey and having all sorts of adventures probably. Somebeasts have all the good fortune!"

Brinty pouted. "Aye, and here's us, swotting away and getting old'n'dusty. What did her letter say—'Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life'? Ancient life! Huh, that's what we'll become sitting round here!"

Snowdrop looked to the letter. "That's exactly what it says: 'Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, w h e n Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.' "

Tribsy sighed. "You'm read that twoice afore, marm. But et bain't gotten us'n's much furtherer."

Snowdrop tapped the letter decisively. "But these lines mean something important, I'm sure!"

Old Quelt made a suggestion. "Snowdrop, w h y don't you and I ponder on this awhile? Meanwhile, our young friends can pop down to the kitchens and ask Friar Bibble to pack a picnic lunch for five. Then we can all meet up at the Abbey pond to do our work. Perhaps the open air will do us good."

Cheered up by the idea, the three young ones were already making for the door. Brinty called out happily,

"That's the stuff, Mister Quelt. We'll ponder by the pond!"

The ancient Recorder thought for a moment, then chuckled. "How very droll, ponder by the pond. I like that!"

Many other Redwallers had the same plan. Taking lunch by the p o n d was quite popular on w a r m summer days.

They spread out around the bank, ever watchful of the Dibbuns, who were drawn like magnets to water. The little ones frolicked gleefully in the shallows.

Hillyah Gatekeeper and her husband, Oreal, were constantly calling out warnings to their twin babes.

160

"Irgle, come back here. Don't go too far out, d'you hear me?"

"Stop splashing that water about, Ralg, you'll soak us all!"

Quelt opened the hamper that the three young ones had brought. "Oh, I say, Bibble's done us proud! Damson pie, hazelnut crumble, sage and turnip pasties, celery cheese and dandelion cordial. Hmm, I would have enjoyed a cup of tea, though. Cordial always makes me dozy at lunchtime."

Molemum Burbee came promptly to Quelt's rescue.

"Yurr ole zurr, 'ave summ tea out of our new h'urn!"

The Abbess and Burbee had replaced their lost teapot with an ingenious new invention. It was a small copper boiler, which Brother Perant h a d donated to their cause.

Lycian and Burbee had cleaned it up and mounted it on a little trolley. The urn had a small charcoal heater in its base, enabling them to have a constant supply of hot tea wher-ever they went, always on tap.

The five puzzlers had plenty of help from the pondside diners. Interest was aroused as they gathered around to hear Girry read again the two relevant lines from Tiria's letter.

"'Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.' "

Brinty opened up the discussion to their audience. "Well, does anybeast understand that?"

Sister Doral put forward a timid enquiry. "Er, excuse me, but who is Corriam the castaway?"

Tribsy replied through a mouthful of pastie. "Us'n's doan't be knowen, marm. That's whoi w e ' m arskin'."

Snowdrop leafed slowly through the Geminya Tome.

"Let's see if there's any reference to it in here, shall we?"

As they waited on Snowdrop's study, Hillyah Gatekeeper began rocking back and forth, eyes shut and paws clenched.

Oreal, her husband, looked quite concerned for her.

"What is it, dear, are you feeling ill?"

1 6 1

Hillyah opened her eyes. "No, it's just something that flashed through my mind a moment ago. Ralg, I'll not tell you again, stop splashing that water about! Oh dear, I've gone and lost it again, just when it was right on the tip of my tongue. Most annoying!"

Abbess Lycian poured tea for the harvest mouse mother.

"What was it, Hillyah? Were you trying to recall something?"

Hillyah wiped little Irgle's snout distractedly with her apron hem. "Oh, pay no attention to me, Abbess. It probably wasn't important anyhow."

Brinty shouted excitedly as he watched Snowdrop turning the pages of the Tome. "There it is, there it is! No, not there, turn back a few pages, Sister. Stop there! Middle of the page. Do you see? There's that name, Corriam!"

Finding the line, the little Sister read aloud. " 'Corriam's lance, a gift from Skipper Falloon of the Mossguard. See T.O.A.L. Chap two, F.W.' "

Old Quelt polished his glasses hastily. "Let me see that, please. What else does it say, Sister?"

Snowdrop showed him the page. "Nothing else. This was only a note jotted in the margin. All the rest is about the great sword of Martin the Warrior, stuff that we already know, not relevant to our puzzle."

Girry munched on a slice of hazelnut crumble. "What's a Chap two supposed to mean, I wonder?"

Quelt answered promptly. "It's merely short for chapter two. Most scholars know that. T.O.A.L. and F.W.—they're the letters that are baffling me."

Hillyah startled them all with a whoop. "I've got it!

T.O.A.L., Tales of Ancient Life! That's what I was trying to remember. I've seen it somewhere before, I know I have It's a book!"

Oreal smiled helpfully. "Where did you see it, dear?"

Hillyah tugged at her apron strings in frustration. "That's the trouble. I can't remember!"

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Oreal hauled little Ralg from the pond shallows. "Well, don't get upset about it, my love. You'll recall everything sooner or later, you usually do. Listen, I'll see to our babes.

Why don't you go and have a lie-down on the bed in the gatehouse? That always helps."

Hillyah's eyes widened in realisation. "Of course, the bed!

Come on, you scholars, I've got something to show you!"

She bustled off with a crowd in tow, relating to the Abbess, who was keeping pace with her, "When Oreal and I first moved into the gatehouse, long before the twins were horn, you understand. . . . Well, my goodness, that place was in a dreadful mess, after lying empty half a season after Old Gruggle passed on. He w a s never the tidiest of mole Gatekeepers, but you couldn't imagine the dust and disorder! So I rolled my sleeves up a n d went straight to work on It. The first thing I tackled was that big bed in the corner. I think it was put there when the gatehouse was first built, a great, solid old thing. There must've been a hundred seasons of dust and fluff underneath it. Anyhow, there I was, flat out underneath the bed with my broom, sweeping and cleaning. Sneezing, too. That w a s when I saw it."

Girry leaped over a flower b e d as they hurried across the lawns. "What was it, marm?"

Hillyah explained eagerly. "The bed fitted square to the walls in one corner. I noticed that the leg that fitted into that angle was broken off short. It w a s propped up by two thick books. One was called Gatewatcher's Poems, written by somebeast named Porgil Longspike, and the other was Tales of Ancient Life, by Minegay They're still in the same place, I never got round to asking Brink Cellarhog if he'd make a new bedleg for me."

Little Sister Snowdrop, walking slightly behind Hillyah, cried out. "Huh, Minegay I'll wager that's one of the names Sister Geminya made up for herself. Same letters!"

Old Quelt was last to arrive inside the gatehouse. He saw three pairs of footpaws sticking out from beneath the big, 163

old four-poster bed. "What have you found, is there anything there?"

Girry's voice sounded rather hollow and stifled. "Oh, the book's here alright, sir, but it's jammed tight, and this bed's far too heavy to lift!"

Grudd Foremole moved Quelt gently to one side. "You'm cummen out'n thurr, youngbeasts. This yurr bee's a tarsk furr moi crew. Rorbul, fetch oi summ proppen an' foive gudd liften beasts!"

Foremole's sturdy assistant, Rorbul, ambled out of the gatehouse. He returned in a short while with five able-looking moles and two blocks of beechwood from the kindling pile by the north wall. Headed by Grudd Foremole, the crew scrambled under the bed. The watchers saw the big bed slowly begin to rise under Grudd's directions.

"Yurr naow molers, put ee backs oop agin et an' lift. Wun, two, h ' u p she cumms. Hurr, roight crew, 'old et thurr!"

Following some knocking and bumping, Grudd called out, "Hurr, take et daown noice'n'easy, moi 'earties."

Effortlessly, the bed fell down into its former position.

The molecrew emerged, dusting their digging claws off, satisfied with a chore well done.

Grudd passed the books over to Quelt. "Yurr, zurr, they'm cummed to no gurt 'arm." He tugged his snout politely to Hillyah. "Thoi bed bee's as furm an' cumfy as ever

'twas, marm."

The onlookers crowded out onto the sun-warmed wallsteps alongside the gatehouse. Old Quelt sat in their midst.

He opened the book in question and sought the appropriate page, from which he read aloud, " 'Chapter two. Fabled Weapons. Concerning the lance of Corriam Wildlough, brother of the High Queen Rhulain.' "

Two logboats sailed downstream. Tiria sat in the stern of the leading craft, listening as both Guosim crews plied their vessels skillfully, singing a shrew waterchant in their gruff bass tones.

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"Pass to me my good ole paddle, steady as ye go, bend y'backs ye sons o' Guosim, row mates row!

First a spring comes from the mountains, fed by rainfall from the sky,

'til it joins up with another,

bubblin' from the rocks on high,

spring to rill an' rill to brook,

growin' stronger constantly,

blendin' flowin' always goin',

on its journey to the sea.

Pass to me good ole paddle, steady as ye go, bend y'backs ye sons o' Guosim, row mates row!

As the day runs into night,

brooks do meet t'form a stream,

travellin' through dark an' light,

where the silver fishes gleam,

here's a river deep an' han'some,

windin' o'er the grassy plain,

speedin' with the current onward,

soon we'll taste the salty main.

Pass to me my good ole paddle, steady as ye go, bend y'backs ye sons o' Guosim, row mates row!"

Morning sun twinkled through the tree foliage which formed a leafy canopy over the water. The current was fairly fast, running through a high-banked slope, chuckling as though it were enjoying a secret joke of its own. Dobra was in the prow of the second logboat, which had a crew of four Guosim paddlers and was carrying a cargo of food.

Log a Log Urfa commanded the leading craft. Tiria could see his back, for'ard of their four shrew crew. Skipper sat amidships with Brink alongside him. The Cellarhog's face looked drawn and wan. Not the best of sailors, he clung to the slim logboat's side miserably.

Feeling sorry for the poor hedgehog, Tiria called out to Urfa, "How long will we be on this River Moss, sir?"

There was a hint of laughter in the Guosim chieftain's 165

voice as he shouted back to her. "This ain't the Moss, beauty. 'Tis only a sidestream that leads to it. See the bend up yonder? Well, the river lies beyond it. Hold tight now, miss, it gets a bit b u m p y soon. We'll be headin' downhill, y'see, over a few rapids, but nothin' t'worry about. Ye'll know yore on the River Moss when we jump the ripflow that joins it with this stream. If'n ye likes sailin', then ye'll enjoy that part."

Though Tiria sympathised with Brink's discomfort, she had to admit to herself that she was enjoying the experi ence immensely. As the crew slewed the logboat deftly around the bend, spray cascaded high, and the stream really began to race along downhill. The ottermaid felt like yelling aloud with joy at the wildness of it all.

Log a Log Urfa stood balanced expertly in the prow, bellowing out orders as they weaved and tacked down the wild, watery slope. "Keep 'er down at the stern an' up by the head, buckoes! Back water to port, take 'er round those rocks! Don't reef the banks now, keep ridin' 'er to mid-stream!"

Bankside trees shot by in a green blur as water sprayed everywhere, with Urfa still roaring over the melee. "Lull yore starb'd oars now, luff I say! Steady to port! Steady . . .

steady! Now give 'er full oars, me buckoes! Get yore backs into it! Heave! Pull! Heave! Pull! Up oars an' ship 'em, Guosim!"

Tiria felt the logboat leave the water, leaping like a fighting fish. Then it slammed down hard, catching the boiling rift of breakwater. Both boats skimmed out like arrows onto the broad swirling surface of the River Moss.

They were out of the trees, with the sun beaming on them from an open summer sky. Everybeast cheered loudly as they slid sleekly along. The crews slowed their oars back to a normal stroke. The river was wide, with shallows and sandbanks either side.

Banjon pointed upward. "See, Tiria, there's yore matey!"

The ottermaid waved to Pandion Piketalon as he wheeled 166

overhead. The osprey hung briefly on a thermal, then went into a sidelong skim and called, "Kraaahakaaaah!"

As they drifted through the bright morning, Tiria watched the countryside gradually change. Green-mantled flatlands merged into hummocks, lilac and yellow with heather and gorse. Now the ottermaid understood w h y the Guosim loved to travel in their logboats.

She was about to mention this to her father and Urfa but found them busy attending to Brink. The Redwall Cellarhog was still suffering from his water-motion sickness. Skipper bathed Brink's face with a cold, damp cloth, whilst Urfa dosed him with herbs and encouraging advice.

"You chomp on these special 'erbs, matey. They'll put the roses back into yore spiky ole cheeks!"

The faithful hedgehog mumbled pitifully as he chewed on the odd-tasting herbs. "Don't ye fuss now, friends. I'll be right as rain afore ye know it. Phwaaaw! I wish I was sittin'

in my cellars, back at the Abbey right now. Nice'n'peaceful an' still, an' not rockin' back'n'forth an' to'n'fro like this."

As Dobra's logboat drew level, he hailed them. "Nobeast stoppin' for lunch today? I'm famished!"

Brink replied mournfully, "I wish ye wouldn't mention food, young 'un. The thought o' vittles makes me want t'die!"

Urfa pointed to a line of dunes in the distance. Between them glimpses of sun-sparkled sea could be viewed. "We'll hang on 'til we reach those sandhills afore we put in to land.

Then ye can eat yore fill."

Tina's appetite was well whetted when they reached the dunes at midnoon. However, nobeast was more thankful than Brink Greyspoke as the logboats nosed into the sandy shallows. He leaped ashore and threw himself flat, hugging the ground fervently.

"Never again, Skip, not if'n I lives more'n a thousand seasons. I'm done with sailin', mate!"

The shrews were kindling a cooking fire. As Skipper 167

watched them laying out huge quantities of food, he did a swift head count.

"There's four paddlers apiece to each logboat, Tiria and meself, Urfa, Brink, an' Dobra, an' Pandion somewheres up there. So why are ye layin' out enough vittles for an army?

Does yore friend have a crew with him?"

Log a Log Urfa was scattering some stale shrewbread on the dunetop. It was already attracting seagulls. "No, Skip.

My friend Cuthbert sails alone. He's a real odd 'un. I'd be hard put to explain him to ye. So ye can judge for yoreself when he gets here."

Coming down from the dunetop, the Guosim chieftain forestalled Tiria even before she asked the question.

"Seabirds'll come from afar for vittles. My friend Cuthbert usually sails these waters. Once he sights gulls flyin' over this way, he'll follow 'em. Cuthbert ain't a beast to give up a chance o' vittles lightly, miss. Ahoy, Dobra, git up on that other dune an' give a shout when ye sight a sail out at sea."

Pandion landed amid the gulls and frightened them off, so Tiria went and had a word with him. "You can't stop here! You're scaring the gulls off and making the Guosim shrews nervous."

The big fish hawk glared hungrily about. "Yarraka! Then I'll fish out on the sea. When shall I return?"

Tiria stroked the osprey's lethal talons. "When you see me aboard a sailing ship, come down and land on it. Go now, my friend."

Pandion soared swiftly off. Soon he was nought but a dark speck out above the waves, hunting for food.

Sunset had settled over the western horizon in a glorious riot of scarlet, purple and gold when Dobra shouted from his vantage point, "Ship ahoy, layin' offshore!"

Everybeast climbed the dune to look. A vessel with one large, square sail, rigged amidships, was standing off from the shallows. Urfa identified it.

"The Purloined Petunia, that's Cuthbert's ship, shore 168

enough. He's waitin' for floodtide—that'll carry 'er up the rivermouth an' across the shore close to these dunes. Come on, mates, let's eat. Ole Cuthbert should join us soon."

Guosim shrews could not be faulted as cooks: They laid on a feast fit for many warriors. There was a cauldron of beetroot, potato and radish soup; massive portions of summer salad, cheeses, breads and pastries; and a sizeable bowl of fresh fruit salad. Hot blackberry cordial and a keg of special Olde Guosim Nettlebeer completed the spread. Even Brink perked u p , declaring himself fit enough to sit with the dining party. Tiria was curious to learn more about the creature who would be joining them, but Urfa was not very forthcoming on the subject, telling her to wait a n d see lor herself.

At one point the ottermaid went up to the d u n e t o p to view what progress the ship was making. It was halfway across the beach, with the floodtide behind it. She could not see the captain, but Pandion perched on the masthead, seemingly unbothered by anything. Tiria m a d e her w a y back to the fire and sat by Urfa.

"Your friend's not far off these dunes. He'll be here shortly. What do we say to him, sir?"

The Guosim chieftain sliced a cheese with his rapier.

"Don't ye say a word, miss. Leave the talkin' to me!"

As a half-moon rose in solitary splendour over the coast, their guest made his appearance. He turned out to be a big, capable-looking hare. But Tiria was surprised to see him dressed as a Guosim shrew, complete with coloured headband, kilt, broad belt and a rapier far too large for any shrew to wield. His body was crisscrossed with old scars, and he lacked half of his left ear. He loped silently up and sat by the fire. Then he began eating as though he had lived through several famines. Not a word passed his lips as he ravenously tackled soup, salad, cheese, bread and pastries.

Urfa rose quietly, beckoning everybeast except the hare to follow him. He led them to the shoreside of the dune and 169

signalled them to sit. Tiria fidgeted impatiently, but Urfa waited a while before speaking in a low voice.

"Hush now, an' lissen t'me, mates. No jokin', though, I'm deadly serious. Tonight Cuthbert thinks he's a shrew, so his name'U be Log a Log Boodul. Have ye got that?"

Brink scratched his headspikes. "But I thought you said his name was Cuthbert somethin' or other Bloodpaw.

Why's he changed his name all of a sudden?"

Urfa cautioned the Cellarhog, "Keep yore voice down, Brink. Ye call him Cuthbert when he's a sea otter pirate, but whilst he's a shrew his name is Log a Log Boodul. Understand?"

Tiria sighed with frustration. "No, I don't understand.

What sort of a game is he playing, anyway?"

Urfa stared out at the moonlit sea. " 'Tis a long story that I don't have time t'tell, but trust me. This hare is the bravest of the brave. At the mountain of Salamandastron, where he comes from, he's wot they call a perilous beast. If'n he takes a shine to ye, then he's loyal to death—there ain't a more honourable or faithful friend than that hare. I don't know the full story, but I heard he ain't right in his mind anymore.

That 'appened from all the wounds an' knocks'n'blows he's taken in battle. So play along with me, an' I'll see he takes ye to Green Isle, Tiria. Just leave it t'me, fair enough?"

The ottermaid shook Urfa's outstretched paw. "Of course, sir, I trust you completely!"

They trooped back to the fire and sat down with the strange hare, w h o was still eating. Without warning he dropped his food, staring at them as if seeing them for the first time. He laughed happily.

"Well, sink me in the bay, if'n it ain't Urfa Westbrook.

Wot brings ye to these waters, ye bottle-nosed rascal?"

Urfa smiled and poured nettlebeer for them both. "Log a Log Boodul, good to see ye, me ole shipmate! These 'ere are me otterpals, Banjon Wildlough an' his daughter Tiria. That other cove's a Redwall Cellarhog, he's called Brink. They're good, trusty messmates."

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r

The hare did not even acknowledge them. He split open a pastie and packed it with salad, then wolfed it down in two gulps. "Oh, I knows about 'em. My eagle Pandion told me. Have ye met my ole eagle matey Pandion? F u n n y that, ain't it? Us shrews don't usually take to eagles, but me'n'

him gets on 'andsomely t'gether. So then, wot can I do for ye, me ole logboat swamper?"

Urfa brought Tiria forward. " "lis this 'ere ottermaid. She needs t'get to Green Isle, ye see. But nobeast has the guts to lake 'er, 'cos of the big battle goin' on over there."

A wild light gleamed in the hare's eyes. "Haharr, a battle, ye say? Can I take part in it, me darlin'?"

Tiria responded eagerly. "We were hoping you would, sir, knowing your reputation as a perilous warrior."

Without another word, the hare bounded up and streaked off in the direction of his ship.

Tiria looked at Urfa in dismay. "Did I say anything wrong? Is he offended?"

The Guosim chieftain shook his head. "Nay, ye did just fine, gel. Wait'll I see who he is when he comes back, an'

then take yore lead from me."

They sat by the fire a while, picking at the wonderful food and puzzling over the strange hare. Long before they saw the hare, they could hear him. He was bawling out a sea shanty in a raucous voice.

"O shiver me timbers an' swab me decks, ye bullies to me hark,

Or I'll gut yore tripes an' dock yore necks, an' feed ye to the shark!

"Iwas in the winter we set sail,

ye bullies to me hark,

in the eye of a storm an' the teeth of a gale, I led 'em to the shark!

Their cap'n was a greasy oaf,

ye bullies to me hark,

I tried him to an ole stale loaf,

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an' fed him to the shark!

I stewed his crew in seaweed punch,

ye bullies to me hark,

an' seein' as 'twas time for lunch,

I fed 'em to the shark!

So if ye think yore big'n'tough,

ye bullies to me hark,

I'll stuff ye all with skilly'n'duff,

an' feed ye to the shark. Haharrhaaaaaarrr!"

Scowling and growling ferociously, the hare swaggered into view. This time he was wearing a tricorn hat with a big fluffy feather, which he kept blowing upward to stop it flop ping into his right eye. His left eye was hidden beneath a musselshell patch. A brass ring, large as a barrel stave, dangled from his good ear. He wore a tattered pink silk frock coat, tied with a broad yellow sash, into which were thrust two cutlasses, a knife, fork and spoon. His outfit was completed by an enormous pair of folded-down seaboots which beggared description.

The hare winked dramatically at them with his uncovered eye. "Stap me stays'ls! Vittles, an' prime ones, too!

Come an' fill yore beak, matey!"

Pandion, w h o had been trundling along in his wake, settled down by the fire. The hare launched into the food as if he had not eaten in days, tossing choice morsels to the osprey. Salad and crumbs sprayed the company as he addressed them.

"Vittles, where'd we be without 'em, eh, I ask ye? So then, young Tillie, me otter, are ye the one I'll be battlin' alongside when we gets to this Green Isle place? Speak up, me liddle periwinkle!"

Tiria tried hard to keep a straight face as she replied,

"Aye, Cap'n, providing we make it to Green Isle."

The hare sprang up. Grabbing for but missing his cutlass, he brandished a spoon instead while roaring out,

"Make it? Haharr, o' course we'll make it, Tillie me darlin', 172

or my name ain't Cap'n Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw, Terror o' the 'Igh Seas. We'll set sail at first light tomorrer, 'ere's me paw an' 'ere's me 'eart on it. A sea otter pirate can't say fairer'n that now, can he?"

Tiria realised that Cuthbert was now in the role of a sea otter pirate captain. Life was certainly going to be complicated, sailing with a hare whom she had met as a shrew but was now transformed into an otter! How many other identities did he possess, she wondered. The one cheering fact was that she was now guaranteed a passage to her destination.

That night, Tiria went to sleep with the Rhulain's words echoing through her mind: "Trust in the fool of the sea."

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17

Holt Summerdell was still some distance off as the otter clans and their families made it into the start of the high country. It was early evening, not quite dusk, as they skirted the rim of a vast crater. The otterbabe riding on Leatho's shoulders gazed, sleepy-eyed, down the steep shalestrewn sides at a big lake. Flat and dark, it covered the bottom of the crater, its water dull and lustreless, its slate-hued surface without a ripple.

"H'is dat Suddermell down dere?"

The outlaw smiled up at the little one. "No, me beauty, that's the place they call Deeplough. Summerdell's much nicer, just the right place for otterbabes."

Deedero looked away, shuddering. "I should hope it is.

Zillo, how much farther to Summerdell?"

The bard pointed inland. "See the rim beyond this 'un?

Well, there's a valley covered in woodland with a waterfall runnin' through it. Holt Summerdell's right there, marm, hidden amongst the trees. A grand secret place 'tis."

Big Kolun picked up a chunk of rock from the crater rim.

"Loose stones round the edges, mates, so don't walk too close t'the edge now. One slip an ye'd go straight down that slope into the lough, with nought to save ye. Zillo, how deep would ye reckon that water is?"

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Ould Zillo stared at the still waters, far below. "Well now, they say 'tis bottomless. Nobeast has ever plumbed the depths o' Deeplough. Sure, an' who'd be fool enough to try such a thing? Will ye look at it, 'tis smooth as dark glass! Ah,

'tis an evil lough, the home of Slothunog the monster!"

Deedero glared at the bard. "Will ye stop that sort o' talk in front o' the little 'uns? 'Twill frighten the life out of 'em!"

big Kolun hefted the rock he had picked up. "Take no notice of that ould ballad warbler, me 'eart's delight.

Nobeast I ever knowed has seen Slothunog. He's prob'ly just a tale somebeast made up ages ago."

He flung the rock upward and outward. It plummeted down, missing the sides of the slope, and hit the lough with a booming splash that echoed around the rim. Before the ripples had spread halfway over Deeplough, a monstrous black shape broke the surface, blew up a shower of spray, then plunged beneath the murky waters in pursuit of the rock, probably thinking it was something to eat.

"B1ood'n'thunder, did ye see that?" Banya Streamdog leaned over the rim, wide-eyed with shock.

Roughly, Deedero hauled her back. "Come away, missy, an' let's be shut of this awful place!"

She gave Kolun a hard stare. "An' you, ye great lump, wot did ye do that for, eh? Huh, just a tale somebeast made up . . . some tale!"

Even the normally jovial Kolun looked subdued. "Yore right, me ole buttercup, let's git out of here!"

Darkness had fallen over the high country by the time the weary travellers made it into the woodlands. Ould Zillo guided them toward the sound of rushing water, warning everybeast to tread carefully. The watersounds increased in volume as the bard and his followers pressed on through the trees. Emerging onto a broad rockledge, Zillo waited until they had all joined him. Then he called out above the roar of the waterfall, "There she is, friends, Holt Summerdell!"

Even in the darkness they could see the magnificent valley. The woodlands were split by the falls, which flowed from the mountains above. Cascading down, the water fell into a pond, spilling over into a broad stream that mean-dered off down a gentler slope until it was lost amid the woodland trees.

Zillo had to shout to be heard. "Keep in a single file an'

follow me along this ledge. Stick close to the side an' hold tight to yore little 'uns. We'll be goin' through the falls, but don't worry, 'tis safe enough."

He led them a short way along the ledge until it looked as though he could go no further because of the rushing waters of the falls. Turning, the bard grabbed the first two otters in the line. He pushed them straight into the waterfall, shouting, "Get through there. Go on now, keep goin', nobeast ever died of a wet head! Come on, mates, who's next? There's a cave through there—it's good an' dry!"

The families pressed forward, shouting and yelling as they pushed through the noisy curtain of rushing water.

Leatho and the clan chieftains waited until everybeast was safe inside before entering the cave. It was dark but still and dry inside.

Zillo called through the gloom, "Sit down an' wait where ye are. Banya, Birl Gully, Lorgo, bring flints an' tinder. Come forward an' see if'n ye can make it to the back wall!"

After a few moments, the chink of flint against steel set sparks flying in the darkness. Then a faint glow grew into a pale single flame, illuminating Zillo's face.

"There's kindlin' over here—wood, dried grass an' charcoal."

His words created a burst of activity. Soon fires were flar-ing in all corners, and a large blaze was blossoming in the centre of what appeared to be a spacious and high-ceilinged cave. Deedero gave a cry of alarm as something dark brushed by her face. Zillo calmed her.

"Ah sure, 'tis only some friendly bats, marm. They won't harm ye."

The ottermum regained her composure speedily.

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"Friendly, eh? Well, if these little 'uns don't get some hot vittles an' soft beds soon, it won't be friendly bats ye'll have to watch out for. It'll be me, an' a lot of unfriendly mothers, so let's see some action around this cave!"

A quick meal was cobbled together by willing paws. Soon there were flatcakes baking on hot stones, and a cauldron of thick soup, made from peas, lentils and carrots, bubbling over the main fire. An herbal tea was brewed, and w a r m cordial was prepared for the young ones. Though there was plenty for everybeast, most of the babes were too tired to eat much. Whulky, Chab and Big Kolun found moss and dead loaves piled by one wall. They spread them in an alcove, covering the lot with cloaks and some blankets. The young ones of the families snuggled up on this communal bed. It was dry, warm and, above all, safe.

Leatho sat by the main fire with Kolun, Banya and the clan chieftains, sipping tea and listening to an ottermum singing to the babes. The everflowing curtain of water outside cast a veined pattern of red-gold moving light, reflected from the fires, around the roughhewn rock walls of the cave.

Chab whispered proudly to nobeast in particular, "That's my missus singin'. She's castin' a sleepin' spell over the babes with that soft voice of hers."

Big Kolun blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Aye, mate, she's got a pretty way with a tune. I think yore missus's spell is workin' on me."

Soon they were all dozing off to the ottermum's lullaby.

"Oh you sun now run away, r u n away, little stars come out to play, out to play, baby mine come close your eyes,

sleep until the new dawnrise,

I will sing thee lullabies, through this peaceful night.

All the earth is standing still, standing still, darkness blankets field and hill, field and hill, 177

birds do slumber in the nest,

busy bees have gone to rest,

all good mothers know what's best, for the babes they love.

When tomorrow comes anew, comes anew,

there'll be lots of things to do, things to do,

'neath a summer sky of blue,

roses blooming just for you,

birds will sing so sweetly, too, for my own dear one."

Warmed by the fireglow, Leatho Shellhound allowed his leaden eyelids to fall for the first time in two days. He dreamed of a mouse warrior w h o carried a wondrous sword. The visitor from the kingdom of dreams had little to say, but the outlaw sea otter dwelt on his every word:

"Masters who lack slaves cannot serve themselves well, and an empty compound is a trap without bait."

Dawn was casting its rosy tendrils over the hidden valley when Deedero stirred Big Kolun and Leatho from the edge of the whitened embers.

"Rise'n'shine, you two, make w a y for a workin' otter.

Come on, shift yoreselves from under me paws, I've got to liven this fire up t'cook brekkist. Outside with ye both!"

It was not wise to argue with Big Kolun's missus, so they roused themselves fully by breaking through the curtaining waterfall, out onto the ledge. Shaking and stretching, Leatho took stock of their new surroundings. Birdsong in harmony with the sound of the falls echoed around the valley.

Kolun sat on the rim of the ledge, dangling his footpaws over the drop to the pool below. He n o d d e d admiringly.

"Ould Zillo picked a prime spot here, mate. Just lookit those veggibles growin' over yonder, an' fruit, too!"

Leatho sat down beside him. "Aye, the stuff's growin'

wild now, but I can see it was once laid out in terraces by the 178

clans of long ago. I'll wager some of our mates could knock it back into shape, like it used t'be. There m u s t be fish an'

freshwater shrimp in that pool an' the stream below it."

Kolun stood u p . "No w o n d e r otters loved Holt Summerdell. Wot d'ye say me'n'you go an' gather some vittles lor brekkist? That'll put a smile on my Deedero's face."

The outlaw had to smile at his big friend's enthusiasm.

"Aye, let's do that, matey, but I can't hang around here all day, no matter how nice it is."

The big otter shrugged. "Fair enough. Where are we off to?"

Leatho winked. "Just followin' a dream."

Between them, Leatho and Kolun carried a heap of produce they had gathered. Deedero sorted through it. "Apples, pears, leeks, mushrooms an' damsons, too. You mean we've got a damson tree out there?"

Kolun threw his paws wide. "There's more growin' on those terraces than ye could shake a stick at, me ole petal.

The damsons ain't quite ripe yet, but there's plums an' all manner o' berries out there. I even seen some ramson an'

hotroot bloomin' among the herbs."

Whulky and Chab entered the cave, carrying a woven reed net they had made.

"We did a spot o' fishin' down in that p o n d , an' look at wot we got!"

"Freshwater shrimp, the water's swarmin' with 'em, ain't it, Chab?"

"Aye, nobeast's fished 'em for a long time. Did I hear ye mention hotroot, Kolun?"

Lorgo rubbed his paws together gleefully. "I'll go an' get some right now. Er, Deedero, d'ye think there might be some shrimp'n'hotroot soup for brekkist?"

The ottermum wagged a ladle at him. "I might think about it after I've made vittles for the little 'uns, but y e l l have to wait."

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Birl Gully shoved Lorgo toward the water curtain. "Come on, mate, I'll help ye gather the hotroot. Kolun, Leatho, are ye comin' with us?"

The outlaw declined Birl's offer. " N o , we've got other business today. But while yore out there gatherin' hotroot, see if there's any ingredients that'll help ye to brew up some o' yore Gullyplug Punch."

The jolly old otter slapped his rudder down heartily.

"Stan' on me whiskers, Shellhound. That's a great idea! I'll brew a big barrel o' Gullyplug to celebrate our new home.

C'mon Whulky, Chab, lend a paw. You, too, Zillo, an' you, young Banya."

They splashed through the water curtain, laughing and shouting, all except Banya. Kolun waved his oar at her.

"Ain't you goin' with 'em, young ' u n ? "

The tough ottermaid winked knowingly at him. "No, I'm goin' with you an' Leatho. You two are up to somethin', so I'm comin' along with ye."

Leatho whispered in her ear, "Then ye'd best tread wary, an' come armed, Banya Streamdog, 'cos we ain't goin'

pickin' hotroots."

Smiling grimly, Banya patted her sling and stone pouch.

"Somehow I didn't think ye were!"

The day was fine and the going was easy. By midmorning they were skirting the rim of Deeplough, with the dark, still waters far beneath them. Striding along either side of Leatho, his two friends listened as he outlined their mission.

"We're b o u n d for the slave compound behind the fortress. We've got to find a way to free the slaves. Once we've got 'em away from Felis, we'll be able to take the of-fensive against him without worryin' what that villain would do by takin' reprisals an' punishin' our friends."

They marched onward, discussing their plans, unaware that they were being closely watched.

It was Scorecat Fleng and eight surviving catguards of his command. After being vanquished by the otterclans, 180

they had dashed off willy-nilly into the night, expecting to be pursued and slain. Fleng had pushed his guards hard, not stopping until after dawn. They hid amid some rocks, exhausted, defeated and totally lost. Even when his guards were fit to travel again, Fleng feared returning to the fortress to face Riggu Felis. Despite the fact that the wildcat had deserted him and his patrol, Fleng knew that the warlord would punish him for his failure to stay and do battle with the enemy. So they wandered hither and thither, scavenging for food, uncertain what to do next. They were camped by a stream which ran through a small copse when Fleng suddenly realised where he was. Glancing upward, he recognised the high slopes of the hillside which led up to Deeplough. He was about to remark to his guards about this when he spied the three otters leaving the rim and descending the slope toward them.

Immediately he hissed out an urgent command.

"Quickly, hide! Get down an' lay low, all of ye!"

Fleng's thoughts were racing furiously as he whispered further orders. "Don't let the otters see ye, let them pass by us!"

Following their leader's command, the catguards secreted themselves amid the bankside bushes, scarcely daring to draw breath, as Leatho and his friends forded the stream and pressed on through the copse.

When it was safe to speak, Fleng heaved a sigh of relief.

He turned to the eight guards, smiling craftily. "Well, mates, there goes our ticket back home. I'll wager those three are headed for the fortress, so here's what we do. Keep silently on their trail until they're close to the fortress. Then when I give the word, we cut loose an' raise the alarm. Mark my words, we can come out o' this as heroes. It's our lucky day, did ye see who one of those otters was? The outlaw Shellhound! Hah, Lord Felis an' Weilmark Scaut'll be pleased to get their claws on that 'un. An' I'll tell 'em we was the ones who chased the otters into the trap. Right, up on your paws an' follow me!"

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18

Noontide sun warmed the worn wallsteps of Redwall Abbey. Old Quelt's audience sat entranced, listening to him reading from the book which had lain hidden under the gatehouse bed for countless seasons: Tales of Ancient Life, by Minegay (yet another alias of the devious Sister Geminya).

The Recorder read aloud to his attentive friends. The archive took the form of a story related to Geminya by a very old otter granmum:

"I am Runa Wildlough, daughter of Alem Mossguard, Skipper and Chieftain of the Norwest otters, and wife of Corriam Wildlough. This is my tale. The weight of age upon my grey head tells me that I will not see many more seasons, but that is the way of all living things. My time at Redwall has been long and happy. I have sons and daughters whose offspring now care for families of their own. In short, I am surrounded by kinbeasts who wish to care for me. However, since last winter, when I lost my husband, Corriam, the light has faded from my life. My only wish now is to join him by the still waters which flow through the quiet places of eternal summer.

"I was nought but a young ottermaid when I first met Corriam Wildlough, many long seasons ago. My friends 1 8 2

and I were gathering shells and driftwood on the shores south of the River Moss when we came across him. He was lying amid the debris of the tideline, covered in sand and long kelp. We all took him to be dead. The others ran off, fearful to go near him, but I was not afraid. I went to him and began cleaning him off. He was a tall, handsome otter, older than me by some six seasons. Clutched tightly in his paws was a magnificent lance, which was snapped at its centre, and a coronet. This w a s a narrow band of beaten gold set with a wonderful green stone, an object of rare beauty. I tried to release his grip on the lance and coronet. Imagine my feelings when he grasped them tighter and then let out a groan—he was still alive!

My friends had all fled, so I took it on myself to care for him and to get him back to my father's holt, though this was no easy journey. As best as I could, I half carried, half dragged his sorely wounded body back to where our tribe dwelt, where the River Moss joined the woodlands.

"Alem, my father, was not too pleased. He said that the daughter of a Mossguard chieftain had better things to do in life than nurse some half-dead beast washed up by the tide. This m a d e me only more determined to care for my mysterious otter (I was rather headstrong, as most young ones are at that certain age). Looking back, I think my disobedience drove a wedge between me and my father, but I continued to care for my patient. I fed and cleaned him for many days, during which he never uttered a single word. Then one evening he suddenly began to talk. He told me that his name was Corriam Wildlough, younger brother to the High Queen Rhulain, ruler of a place far across the Great Sea called Green Isle.

"I asked him how he came to be lying on the shore, wounded and close to death. He had been sailing the seas in a great ship, he told me, together with his sister, the Rhulain, and a crew of Wiidlough clan warriors.

They were pursuing a vessel full of wildcat raiders who had been attacking the coasts of Green Isle. The wildcats 183

were believed to have come from beyond the great seas to the south. They were ruthless beasts who hungered for the conquest of other lands. But the High Queen Rhulain was a great warrior in her own right and the equal of any wildcat conquerors.

" 'Our ship chased after the wildcat vessel,' he said,

'ranging far across the Great Sea. Unfortunately, she gave us the slip one foggy night. Next day we saw land, a great mountain called Salamandastron, where a Badger Lord named Urthwyte—a huge, silver-furred beast—

m a d e us welcome and provisioned our ship with food and fresh water. We stopped at the mountain for three days. On the fourth dawn, we sighted the wildcat ship out to the west. Despite a fierce storm arising we set sail after the enemy. Heedless of the weather, we rushed headlong into the rising storm, which soon had us fighting for our very lives. The waves came at us like mountains, battering our ship about like a cork in the offshore waters. Out on the high seas, the wildcat vessel stood off, riding the gale and watching like a bird of prey.

Our captain did not see the reef until we were right on it.

A great jagged rock rose from between the waves before we had chance to steer clear of it. The side of our ship was stoved in, and we felt the keel crack beneath us.

Waves as tall as big trees swamped our craft, trapping it fast on the reef like a wounded beast. Many a warrior was lost in the relentless avalanche of water.

"'Then the wildcats came. They h u n g off the reef, put down boats and swarmed aboard our crippled vessel There, in the midst of jagged reef and howling gale, they fell on us mercilessly and slaughtered the flower of the Wildlough clan. I remember standing alongside my brave sister until we both went down, battling furiously.

I think the wildcats supposed I was dead and tossed me into the sea. It remains a total mystery to me how I came to be washed up on the shore, many leagues away from that reef, still holding on to my lance and my sister's 184

coronet. Whether she gave it to me before they slew her, or whether I seized it from her brow, I will never know.'

"That was his harrowing tale. I felt so sorry for Corriam—his terrible wounds, the haunted look in his eyes and the loss he must have felt. All his clan comrades lost, and his beautiful sister cruelly slain. Here he was in a strange land, with only me to care if he lived or died, far from his home, which he would never see again. I devoted my every living moment to his welfare and the task of getting him better.

"My father showed open dislike of Corriam. This brought us close together, setting my father and me further apart. So it was that I fell deeply in love with my injured warrior. When Corriam was fit enough to travel, we left the holt of my father and sought a new life together elsewhere.

"We found peace and a h a p p y existence at Redwall, this beautiful Abbey, whose doors are always open to good creatures everywhere. There it was that I took Corriam's name: I became Runa Wildlough, his wife. So we lived together, rearing a family throughout many joyous seasons, without fear or regret. Corriam took long, painstaking days repairing his lance. When he finished, it was a weapon of perfect balance, the envy of all who beheld it. I tested it myself—it was light and a joy to handle. The lance was also slightly longer, owing to Corriam joining it at the centre by fashioning a sleeve of solid silver into which he fitted both ends. It was perfectly symmetrical and truly straight from tip to tip.

"When the time comes for me to follow my beloved Corriam, I leave both the lance and coronet to the care of my dearest friend and companion, Sister Geminya. She assures me that the two treasures will stay together for some future generation of the Wildlough clan, w h o will be noble enough to need them for the good and well-being of her kinbeasts.

"Runa Wildlough."

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As Old Quelt finished reading, a sigh of dismay came from Sister Snowdrop. The ancient Recorder peered over his glasses at her.

"What seems to be the trouble, Sister?"

Snowdrop shook her head ruefully. "I thought Runa's tale was going to tell us where the lance and the coronet could be found."

Girry stuck out his lip sulkily. "Huh, that would've been too simple. That old otter granmum had to go and give them to the confounded Sister Geminya. Aye, and you know what that means?"

Brinty buried his face in both paws. "More blinking riddles and puzzles to solve!"

Tribsy put on a pitiful face. "Boohurr, wot's ee pore choild t'do? Moi brains'll be furr wored out boi all ee rigglin'n'puzzerlen!"

Abbess Lycian looked over Quelt's shoulder at the page he had been reading. She peered closely at it before exclaiming brightly, "Oh, cheer up friends. There's some tiny scribbles at the bottom of this page. They may be our first clues from Sister Geminya."

Old Quelt took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I can't see anything, Mother Abbess, my old eyes aren't good now. See if you can decipher them."

He passed the book to Lycian, who read it easily. " 'C. the G.T. Chap. Seasons by seasons times seasons.' That seems to be all it says."

Molemum Burbee wrinkled her snout. "Boi okey, wot'n ee names o' gudness bee's that aposed t'mean?"

Quelt replied, "It's obviously a clue, marm."

Foremole Grudd gave his opinion. "Bain't nothen obvious

'bout et, zurr. If'n ee'll excuse oi sayen, lukks gurtly 'ard to oi!"

Girry was staring at the page intently, as if he were beginning to understand. He traced a p a w along the scribbled letters. "Maybe not, sir. I'm thinking of what we've learned so far from studying Sister Geminya's puzzles. Now, the 186

first letter is a C. That's a letter like Y, and / and U, it says a sound. So C becomes the word 'see.' "

Sister Snowdrop nodded eagerly. "Well done, Girry! See, then it says 'G.T.' Remember we were searching not long ago for T.O.A.L.' This book, Tales of Ancient Life. 'G.T.' could be the name of a book!"

"Ho aye, loike ee Geminya Tome."

Quelt stared at Tribsy. "How did you know that?"

The young mole wriggled his snout. "Oi aspeck oi guessed it, zurr!"

Brinty was already dashing d o w n the wallsteps. "The Geminya Tome, we left it by the pond!"

Abbess Lycian, by far the best runner, reached the pond ahead of Brinty. Groop the molebabe and her accomplice, Grumby the hogbabe, were about to launch the tome into the water. Lycian snatched it from the two indignant Dibbuns.

"Give me that book this very instant!"

The infant molemaid protested. "We'm only a goin' for ee sail onna pond h'Abbess."

Lycian stamped her footpaw down forcefully. "Not today or any other day, missy. The very idea of it, sailing a precious tome on the water. Really!"

Hogbabe Grumby was the picture of dejection. "It bee'd a gudd h'idea, us was makin' a boat."

The tome was carried to the orchard, where it would be much safer. Old Quelt took charge of the proceedings onne more.

"Right, what have we got so far? 'See the Geminya Tome.'

What comes next, Sister?"

Snowdrop uttered a single word. "Chap."

Girry scoffed. "Huh, 'Chap.' is for 'chapter,' even I know that!"

The Abbess patted his paw fondly. "Which shows that you're making progress as a scholar. Bet you can't solve the last bit, though. It says 'Seasons by seasons times seasons.' "

Girry scuffed the grass with his footpaws. "No, Mother Abbess, I haven't a clue what it means."

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The kindly Abbess smiled at his embarrassment. "Not to worry, young 'un, neither have I. Does anybeast know?"

She scanned the circle of blank faces.

Molemum Burbee raised a paw. "May'aps usn's be thinken better arter dinner."

Lycian hugged her old friend. "Where would we be without mole logic? What a good idea, Burbee! Brinty, Girry, bring those two books along. We don't want them ending up as boats for the Dibbuns."

Skipper Banjon and Brink Greyspoke arrived back from their journey to the coast neatly in time for dinner. They were inundated with questions about their trip and Tiria's departure. Brink was thankful when Brother Perant called silence for the Abbess's grace. Lycian's gentle tones echoed clearly through Great Hall. Skipper gazed around at the faces of his friends, tinged by soft pastel lights flooding down through the tall stained-glass windows. It was good to be home again. He hoped someday his daughter would return to the beloved Abbey, where she could sit with him and listen to the evening grace which the Mother Abbess in-toned calmly.

"Mother Nature bountiful, we thank thee one and all, for good food the summer yields, to creatures at Redwall.

May our Abbey prosper, through seasons yet to be, helped by those w h o tended the earth, in harmony with thee."

The Redwallers fell to with a will. Bowls and plates clattered as the various delicacies were shared among young and old—summer salads, new-baked breads, cordials, teas and October Ale.

The Skipper smiled gratefully as Friar Bibble lifted the lid from a steaming tureen. "Aharr, good ole freshwater shrimp'n'hotroot soup. How did ye guess I'd arrive in time for it, mate?"

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Bibble chuckled. "Indeed to goodness, I only h a d to open one o' my kitchen windows wide an' let the aroma waft out. There, I said to myself, anybeast within a league of that ain't worthy of the name otter if'n he don't come runnin', an' here ye are, Banjon Wildlough!"

Skipper winked cheerfully at Lycian. "Our Bibble's a wonder, ain't he, Mother Abbess?"

Lycian commented wryly, as she sliced into a sweet chestnut flan. "Oh, he has his uses, even though he doesn't know what seasons by seasons times seasons is. Eh, Bibble?"

The good Friar pulled a long face. "Look you, marm, neither does any other creature, yourself included. Seasons times silly seasons, huh!"

Brink looked up from a deeper 'n'ever turnip'n'

tater'n'beetroot pie that he was sharing with Foremole Grudd. "Dearie me, an' I thought you was all cleverbeasts.

Hah, ye don't know wot seasons by seasons times seasons is?"

Lycian paused with her slice of flan halfway to her mouth. "Oh, and I suppose that you do, Mr. Brink Greyspoke?"

The stout Cellarhog could not resist grinning smugly.

"Oh, indeed I do, Miz Mother Abbess Lycian. I've knowed that 'un since I was only a liddle pincushion of a Dibbun!"

Silence fell over the diners at this revelation.

Old Quelt treated Brink to a jaundiced glare. "So you know? Well, are you going to sit there, grinning like a duck with two tails, or are you going to tell us?"

Brink dug into his plate of deeper'n'ever pie decisively.

"No, sir, I ain't goin' to tell ye, not when you asks in that manner I ain't!"

Sister Snowdrop tried a more friendly approach. "Pray tell us, O Wise Keeper of our fine Abbey Cellars, how would you like us to ask you?"

Brink munched away as he considered the question.

"Hmm, in a polite an' helpful manner, Sister. I can be coaxed, y'know."

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Skipper poured a foaming tankard of ale for his friend.

"May'ap a nice drop o' prime October brew'd move ye, sir?"

He winked at the others, w h o soon caught on. They began bribing Brink with all manner of tidbits.

"Give that good hog a bowlful o' woodland trifle."

"Aye, an' pour lots o' meadowcream on it!"

"Here, Mr. Greyspoke, take my mushroom an'

gravy pastie."

"Maybe ye'd like a w a r m scone with some comb honey?"

The Cellarhog was graciously accepting all blandish-ments, when squirrelbabe Taggle rapped his p a w with a spoon. "Gurr! You tellum, or I choppa tail off wiv a big knife!"

Brink threw up his paws in mock terror. "Sixty-four, the answer's sixty-four!"

Tribsy scratched his tail. "How did you work that out, sir?"

Brink shrugged. "Well, there's four seasons, ain't there?

So, four seasons by four seasons is sixteen. Times that by another four, an' it adds up to sixty-four. I was always good at figurin' when I was a liddle 'un, still am."

As soon as dinner was finished, the Geminya Tome was sent for. Amid great excitement, Old Quelt opened it to chapter sixty-four and started reading.

"Twixt supper and breakfast find me, In a place I was weary to be,

Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.

It holds up what blocks out the night,

And can open to let in the light.

For a third of a lifetime one says,

Looking up I could see it sideways.

Tell me what we call coward (in at)

Then when you have worked out that,

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You'll find your heart's desire,

By adding a backward liar.

Ever together the two have been set,

Since Corriam's lance ate the coronet."

An awed silence followed the reading of the riddle. Then Skipper asked airily, "Is that all there is to it?"

The glasses dropped off Quelt's nose as he spluttered, "Is that all! Don't you think that's quite enough, sir?"

Banjon held up a placatory paw. "Now don't go gettin'

yoreself in a tizzy, old 'un, I was only jestin'. Though I'll It'll ye this, on me affydavit. I never, in all me seasons, heard a puzzle or a riddle that even comes close to bein' as hard as that 'un!"

Little Sister Snowdrop's voice rose into a tirade. "That Sister Geminya! Oooohh, the bottle-nosed, twidgetty-tailed, prinky-pawed, mumbledy-toothed old busybody! What right did she have, thinking up brain-bending puzzles like that? It's a confounded . . . oooh, it's a .. ."

"Why, it's an enigma, just like her name, and it will do no good getting upset like that, Sister." Abbess Lycian patted Snowdrop's p a w soothingly. "I for one am not going to be defeated by Geminya's riddle. You were right, Snowdrop, she's all you said she was, and more. The barrel-bottomed, flinky-eyed, twoggly-eared old nuisance! There, that feels a lot better. What d'you say, friends, are we going to solve the riddle of Corriam's lance and Rhulain's coronet? Who's with me?"

Skipper grasped Lycian's paw. "I am, marm, if the solvin'

will help that lovely gel o' mine. Wot d'ye say, mates?"

The roar of approval that followed bounced off the hallowed walls of Great Hall several times. Molemum Burbee removed both paws from her ears when the din had passed.

"Oi'll make ee tea furst, then us'll get a-started."

Mother Abbess Lycian shook her head in admiration.

"Who could say better than that?"

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19

Tiria's first d a w n aboard the Purloined Petunia was heralded by a rude awakening. The ottermaid was sound asleep in the little galley by the bows when the stentorian bellowing of Cuthbert Frank W. Bloodpaw cut through her slumbers like a bucket of cold water being thrown into her face.

"Hahaarr! Belay yore bows'ls an' begin burnin' brekkist!

Fire up yore galleystove an' get some vittles underway!"

Pandion stayed at his perch on the masthead, regally ignoring the hare's nautical tirade, which was directed at Tiria. Cuthbert watched as she staggered out of the galley onto the swaying deck. Then he continued.

"Top o' the mornin', shipmate Tillie! The sun's in the sky, the waves 'neath our keel, an' a fair wind at our stern. So let me read ye the articles o' this vessel. Bein' as I'm cap'n, the navigatin' an' steerin' are my task, an' there ain't a bully afloat does it better'n me! Ole Pandion up yon is the lookout an' fish catcher. Now, cock yore lugs an' lissen, me briny beauty. Yore the first mate, head cook, bottlewasher, deckscrubber an' scoffburner!"'

Tiria felt it appropriate to throw a salute. "Aye aye, Cap'n, what's your orders?"

Cuthbert scowled. "Orders! Are ye still asleep, Tillie? Yore 192

cap'n craves vittles, so let's see wot sort o' grub ye can dish up. Jump to it, me 'earty!"

The ottermaid decided to play along with the eccentric hare and adopted her best seagoing manner. "Aye aye, Cap'n, I'll w h o m p you up a prime scoff, sir! But you'll excuse my asking, Cap'n, I thought we were bound westward, butt we're sailing south. I can still see the coast. Why is that, Cap'n?"

Cuthbert kept the vessel on its southward tack, replying,

"Haharr, that's 'cos we're hard on course for the mount o'

Salamandastron, Tillie gel. Got t'call in an' pay me respects to ole Lord Mandoral afore we turn west into the main. N o w get those vittles scorchin' afore I throws ye to the jellyfish!"

The small galley was equipped with a water barrel and a slate oven. Tiria was not familiar with cooking, having been served superbly prepared meals by Abbeycooks all her life.

So she set about experimenting, using the heap of stores that the Guosim had loaded aboard. Tiria soon had a fire going with seacoal, wood and charcoal, which she added to the stove embers. First she took carrots, barley, white turnips, lentils, cabbage leaves and dandelion roots and chopped them finely. Then she added sea salt and crushed peppercorns. Finally she tossed the lot into a pan of boiling water and allowed it to simmer. After a while the concoction began to thicken, as Tiria continued stirring away, trying to Ignore her ravenous captain's shouts.

"Tillie, ye plank-ruddered swab, ain't me vittles ready yet?"

Tiria shouted back, exchanging insults with Cuthbert.

"No, they aren't, you lollop-lugged old tyrant, a n d they won't be ready until I say they are, so there!"

She expected the hare to come back at her with some salty threat about being thrown to the sharks, but instead he merely chortled and broke out into a comical ditty.

"Don't steal your grandpa's wooden leg an' run away to sea,

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an' leave yore family sheddin' salty tears.

That cap'n only needs ye 'cos his ship ain't got a sail, an' you was born with two big floppy ears.

Yore innocent an' stupid, so stay home with me, o child,

'cos if ye takes a voyage with sailors rough, ye'd soon be usin' language that'd rot yore grandma's frock,

an' roarin' out for skilly an' plum duff!

For a life at sea is hard an' rather lonely, especially if you've got no hanky chief.

With no mother hov'rin' near to scrub out yore scruffy ear,

you'll catch the lurgy an' you'll come to grief!

Stay home, stay home, don't buzz off o'er the foam, stay home, don't break yore aged mother's heart.

You can use yore grandpa's wooden leg to stir the porridge with,

an' Grandma's teeth to crimp the apple tart!"

Tiria could hardly stop giggling long enough to call out that the meal was ready. Cuthbert lashed the tiller on a straight course and dashed down to the galley.

Pandion took a brief leave from his lookout post to flap down and give the food a scornful glance. "Kwaaaark! No fish stew!" He soared out over the waves to catch his own meal.

Tiria filled a bowl for herself, leaving the gluttonous hare with the ladle and the pan. She watched him apprehen-sively as he guzzled down a great mouthful, then smacked his lips approvingly.

"Haharr, prime scoff, Tillie me darlin', wot d'ye call this burrgoo?"

Tiria sampled her own bowl. Surprisingly, it was very tasty. "Oh, er, it's called Nofish stew, sir. And my name is Tiria, so would you kindly stop calling me Tillie?"

Lifting the musselshell patch from his eye, Cuthbert 194

peered closely at her. "Tiria, eh? I don't know no Tiria. My ole mate Urfa said I was takin' a gel called Tillie to the Green Isle. I reckon w e ' d best turn round and head back t'the dunes, so we can look for Tillie. Wot d'ye think?"

The ottermaid sighed resignedly. "I was only joking, Cap'n. My name's not Tiria, it's Tillie."

The hare treated her to a glare of disapproval. "One name should be good enough for anybeast, Tillie. T'aint a matter to joke about, you mark my words."

Tiria almost choked on her stew at this observation. The hare had already changed his name twice since they had met and would doubtless adopt other titles before long. She swallowed hard and saluted.

"Aye aye, Cap'n. Tillie's my name, no more jokes."

Cuthbert licked the ladle clean. "Well said, Tillie. Right, I'm off back to me steerin'. If'n I was you, I'd get down t'makin' some skilly'n'duff for supper. Us seadogs is very partial to skilly'n'duff."

Tiria shook her head as she watched him swagger off astern. "Skilly'n'duff, what in the name of goodness is that?

They never served skilly'n'duff at Redwall. I wonder how much skill it takes to make duff. Oh well, here goes!"

Over the next few days, Tiria became accustomed to the odd habits of Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw. They got on well together. Pandion, too, though for the most part the osprey kept to his perch or sailed aloft scouring the sea for fish. Tiria gradually realised that she had a natural talent for rooking. Virtually any dish she attempted turned out well, even skilly'n'duff. Cuthbert became exceedingly fond of her cheese and leek bake, followed by a dessert of dried apple Mid preserved plum tart. The pair also began composing songs together and often could be heard singing out lustily.

On the evening of the fourth day out, Tiria was in her Galley, baking a large-sized potato, carrot and mushroom pastie. She was singing alternate verses of a duet they had made up the previous day. Cuthbert warbled out his parts 195

from his position as steersbeast. He had a somewhat wobbly baritone. Pandion did an awkward hob jig on his lookout perch, contributing an odd squawk. It was a raucous pirate song, boasting about what infamous creatures the cook and the captain were, with both joining in on the chorus.

"Ho wreck me rudder, stove me planks, an' rust me anchor chain,

salute me twice as you walk by,

or ye'll never walk again, hahaarr!

I'm Tillie the wild'n'terrible, the fiercest cook afloat, I was born in a storm one icy morn on a leaky pirate boat,

I can lick me weight in vermin, so don't dare mess with me,

I'm a high-falutin' plunderin' lootin' terror o' the sea!

Ho rip me riggin, batter me bows,

an' splinter my mainmast,

when I says move out of me way,

ye'd better move right fast, hahaarr!

I'm Cap'n Cuthbert Bloodpaw, an' me father was a whale,

so stay clear of me vittles, or I'll bite off yore tail, I cut me teeth on a cutlass, oh I was a savage child, I'm a hairy scarey go anywherey buckoe bold'n'wild!

So tear me tiller, scrape me stern,

an' gut me galley twice,

I'll send ye to the ole seabed,

with y'tail tied in a splice, hahaarr!"

As Tiria and the big hare finished their duet, Pandion was squawking uproariously.

Cuthbert scowled up at the osprey. "That bloomin' b i l l ain't got no sense o' harmony!"

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Tiria watched the fish hawk hopping about on his perch.

"Aye, he's just ruined our last chorus there!"

I'andion swooped down to the deck and flapped his wings. "See, it is the big rock, the big rock!"

Tiria peered ahead down the coast at the dark monolith standing out against the crimson sunset in solitary majesty.

She gasped. "So that's Salamandastron!"

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20

Through the overhead foliage, midday sunlight dappled a lacy pattern upon the three otters resting in a woodland glade. Big Kolun Galedeep rubbed his midriff ruefully.

"I never realised the journey'd be this long. We should've brought some vittles along with us, mate."

Leatho flicked a curious insect away from his eyelid.

"D'ye think ye'll last the day out, or will ye perish of starvation afore sunset?"

Kolun sighed gustily. "That's alright for you t'say, Shellhound, but I've got to eat to keep up with me size. A midget like you only has to eat once every season!"

Banya Streamdog patted the big fellow's paw in mock sympathy. "Pore Kolun, it must be awful bein' a giant. You stay here an' save yore strength, mate. I'll go an' see if'n I can find somethin' to tempt yore appetite."

She rose giggling and slid off through the undergrowth, while Leatho continued teasing his big friend.

"Aye, Kolun, rest yore famished rudder a while. Try not to think of that lovely freshwater shrimp'n'hotroot soup Deedero will be cookin' up back at Summerdell. I'll wager she's bakin' flatcakes an' a damson pudden, too."

Kolun's huge paw shot out, covering the outlaw's mouth.

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Now don't ye start goin' on about vittles, y'rascal. It ain't funny. It's torture, that's wot it is!"

Leatho wriggled away from the gagging paw. "Fair enough. I'll give up if'n ye promise not to smother me with that great mauler of yores." s They had lain there a while when Banya returned. She dropped some button mushrooms, a pear a n d a few bil-berries into Kolun's lap.

"There! That should keep the life in ye a liddle longer."

She slouched down between her two friends. Leaning close to Leatho's ear, the tough ottermaid dropped her voice to a whisper. "Don't make any sudden moves, Shellhound.

I've just found out we're bein' followed!"

The outlaw did not stir, his lips scarcely moving as he enquired further. "Who is it, an' where are they?"

Banya closed her eyes as if she were napping. "Cats, nine of 'em altogether. Don't know where they came from.

They're not far behind us, but out of sight. I only spotted

'em by accident. I've got no idea how long they been trailin'

us. What'll we do, mate?"

Kolun had been listening in. He twitched an eyebrow.

"Nine, eh? That's only three apiece. Give the word, Leatho, an' we'll rush the villains. Shouldn't take long."

The outlaw retained his relaxed position. "No, stay where ye are an' let me think awhile. Take a nap."

One of the cats came tip-pawing back to where Scorecat Fleng and the remainder of his crew crouched behind some rocks. The scout made his report.

"The ottermaid never saw us. She gathered some vittles an' gave 'em to the big 'un. They're takin' a rest in the woodlands up ahead."

Fleng peered over the rocks, but the otters were too far off for him to see. "Takin' a rest, eh? They surely ain't guessed

that we're on their tails. Good! Now I want ye to get forward to where ye can see 'em. Come back an' tell me the 199

moment they make a move. The rest of ye lay still back here

'til I gives the word. This should work out nicely."

Banya began to think that Leatho had taken sufficient time to think. She whispered hoarsely, "Ahoy, Shellhound, are we goin' to lie here all day?"

The outlaw stirred. He rose with a yawn, then murmured, "Time to go, mateys. I've got an idea we can use those cats to our advantage. Banya, keep yore eyes peeled on the trail behind. Let me know when you think we're out of their sight."

The three otters strolled off unhurriedly. Banya's sharp eyes spotted the cat scout. She waited until he had run back to make his report, then winked at Leatho.

"Their spy has just shifted. We're on our own, but it won't be for long. They'll soon be back on the track."

Leatho went into a swift crouch. "Right, stay low an' keep goin', as fast as ye can. I want to get well ahead of 'em.

Move yoreself, Kolun!"

The trio sped forward noiselessly.

Day was sinking into dusk as Weilmark Scaut leaned over the pier end. He watched a dozen coracles heading back in.

Each one had an otterslave paddling and two guards as passengers. The cats carried a variety of nets, hooks, r o p e s and grapnels.

Riggu Felis joined his weilmark, the swinging mesh of chain mail on his helmet catching the last sunrays as he addressed Scaut. "Still no trace of her?"

Scaut coiled his long whip slowly. "Nay, Lord. They've dragged the lake from end to end without a single sign of Atunra."

The warlord stamped his footpaw against the pier boards. "Under here, did you make certain they searched beneath this pier? Lots of things get caught twixt the stanchions."

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Scaut saluted with his whip as he replied dutifully, "That was the first place we searched, Sire!"

The chain mail veil rattled as the wildcat hissed angrily.

He turned and saw his wife and son emerge from the fortress, with a retinue of catguards.

Pitru was clad in an armoured breastplate and greaves, overlaid with flowing red silk. Using his scimitar tip, he clipped blithely at the timber decking as he swaggered up to greet his father.

"A pleasant evening. Did you have any luck with your fishing? Those guards have been at it all day. They should have a fine haul between them!"

Riggu Felis looked the young cat up and down witheringly. "Still strutting around in borrowed finery I see, my wayward whelp, and not short of clever remarks, too. Take my word on it, sooner or later I'll find my pine marten, and you'll pay dearly for Atunra's death!"

Pitru gave his mother a look of wide-eyed innocence. "I can't imagine w h a t he's talking about. Poor Atunra, do you know what happened to her, lady?"

Kaltag stared in disgust at the warlord. "The pine marten was not of our blood, yet you search all day for her. Would your time not be better served trying to find and punish the murderer of my son Jeefra?"

Just as the wildcat was about to snarl a reply, a slingstone whirred out of the dusk. The missile clanged as it dented the warlord's helmet. Temporarily stunned, Riggu Felis fell on all fours.

After a shocked silence, Scaut pointed at the shadowy figures of two otters retreating back into the shrubbery on the left shorebank.

The weilmark began shouting, "Call out the guards!

Sound the alar . . . unhh!"

He crumpled over from the savage kick Pitru aimed at his stomach. The young cat grabbed him roughly, hauling him upright. "Silence, fool, we'll do this my way! Take what 201

guards we have here, and make no noise. They're in those bushes—it's otters again. Get over there at the double, now!

Go quietly, ambush them, wipe the scum out!"

As the weilmark bent to assist Riggu Felis, Pitru laid his scimitar edge across Scaut's neck. "Leave him. I'm in command here. Obey me or die. Now go!"

Gathering the guards from the pier and those from the boats, Scaut led them swiftly toward the bushes. Still with reverberations echoing round his head, Riggu Felis staggered upright, regaining his bearings.

Pitru made no move to assist him, remarking with casual insolence, "It seems we're under attack from the otters again, but don't let it concern you. I've taken care of everything, see!"

He pointed to the catguards plunging into the bushes.

Strangely, Riggu Felis nodded calmly. "So you have, and you've proved yourself a bigger fool than I thought you were. You don't know what's going on, do you?"

He shot Pitru a scathing glance as he marched off toward the rear of the fortress, where the barracks and slave pens were situated.

"You carry on playing your stupid games. I know exactly what those otters are up to—and what to do about it!"

Pitru sneered at his father's retreating figure. "Doddering old idiot! Leave this to a real warrior."

The slave pens were only sparsely guarded. Leatho dropped the only catguard in sight with a swinging blow from his loaded sling. Taking the guard's spear, the outlaw used it as a vaulting pole to reach the top of the high timber fence which surrounded the pens. He bounced a few sling stones off the roof of one crude dwelling. An old otterslave emerged, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Leatho gained his attention with a low whistle.

"Ahoy, friend! 'Tis me, Shellhound. Go quietly now and bring Runka or Memsy to me."

The oldster nodded, then hurried off. Leatho did not have 202

long to wait until Runka and Memsy, the two young otters he had placed there as spies, arrived alongside the fence.

Runka acted as spokesbeast for them both.

"Shellhound, we were wondering when w e ' d see you again. There ain't much to report here. Things are no different, apart from the fact that there seems fbe some conflict twixt Felis an' his son Pitru. For us it's much the same as usual under the cat's paw—short rations an' hard labour.

Have ye come to free us?"

Leatho shook his head. "Not tonight, mates, but soon.

Let's say about four nights from now. Can ye have the rest ready t'move at quick notice then?"

Runka nodded. "We've got to think o' the old 'uns an' the babes. Four nights, ye say? H m m . . . me'n'Memsy'U see that they're ready an' waitin'. Any thin' else, Leatho?"

The outlaw replied, "Aye, it'll be yore job to keep everybeast from gettin' too excited. Tell 'em to stay calm and not do anythin' that'd alert the cats. Right, I've got to go now.

Remember, both of ye, four nights from now, at about this hour."

Leatho dropped from the walltop, straight into the waiting paws of a dozen catguards w h o had stolen silently u p .

He was seized tight with a spearhaft forced across his throat.

Removing his helmet, Riggu Felis thrust his loathsome face close to the captive. "Hah, so you're the outlaw they call Shellhound, eh?"

Leatho bared his teeth at the wildcat, replying defiantly,

"Aye, an' yore the cat with half a face. I heard a liddle sparrow did that to ye!"

The warlord brought the butt of his axe crashing down on The otter's head. Then he strode off, calling to the guards who were holding up the unconscious figure, "Bring him round to the pier, but don't harm him. I w a n t this One alive!"

As the guards laid Leatho's limp body upon the pier, the Warlord snarled at his son, "I captured their leader, the 203

Shellhound, while you were chasing shadows around the bushes."

Still glaring at Pitru, the wildcat addressed Scaut ironically. "Make your report, weilmark. Did you obey Commander Pitru's orders? What exactly took place?"

Keeping his eyes to the front, Scaut recounted the ambush. "Lord, we only sighted two otters, but they escaped.

It was dark in those bushes. We wasn't t'know it was Scorecat Fleng an' eight guards, so we fired on 'em!"

Felis cut him short. "And?"

The weilmark swallowed hard. "An' we slew Fleng an'

six others, Sire. But we was only carryin' out orders. Commander Pitru said to ambush any thin' that moved in the bushes."

The warlord moved with astonishing speed. Striking the scimitar from Pitru's grasp, he knocked the young cat flat.

Stamping a footpaw down on his chest, Riggu Felis held his single-bladed axe to his son's throat and spat in his face contemptuously.

"Fortress Commander? Huh, I wouldn't leave ye in charge of a greasy cooking pot! You mincing young oaf, couldn't ye see it was another decoy? I knew the otters would try to set their friends free. That's w h y I went straight to where you should have been, the slave pens.

Now I've lost six guards and a scorecat. You deserve to lose your head for such stupidity!"

"Put up that axe and leave my son alone!" Lady Kaltag had picked up the fallen scimitar and was holding it between the wildcat's shoulder blades. Her voice was frightening in its harsh intensity. "I said, get away from my son, or I swear I'll slay you!"

The warlord was forced to obey. He put up his axe and stood to one side, smiling scornfully as he freed Pitru.

"What a bold warrior the great commander has turned out to be! Does your mother fight all your battles, milkpuss?"

Pitru scrambled upright, gritting through clenched teeth.

"One day I will kill you!"

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Riggu Felis twirled his battle axe skillfully. "One day, you say—why not now? Come on, ask your mother to give you that fancy sword back, then stand and face me. You won't get a better chance unless I'm fast asleep, u n a r m e d and have my back turned to you. Give him his sword!"

Without relinquishing the blade, Kaltag berated him.

"You would do better facing the real enemy, those otters, instead of trying to take the life of my only living son!"

Riggu Felis kicked the unconscious Leatho before replying. "You are as foolish as your son. I no longer have to do battle with outlaws. How does the saying go? Chop off the snake's head, and you have killed the body. The rebels have no head now. I have their leader in my claws. Believe me, I have my own special plans for the outlaw Shellhound!"

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21

Brantalis the barnacle goose was enjoying the quiet summer morn. He paddled around the Abbey pond in leisurely fashion, pursuing a dragonfly playfully. The goose liked to spend time in the quiet waters. It was peaceful there amid cool willow shade and bulrushes, surrounded by the tranquil green depths. He often considered spending the rest of his seasons at Redwall, which had so much to offer: good friends, places to take one's ease and wonderful food. But then the inherent nature of a migratory bird would steal over him, and he would long to be with his kin, his skein, soaring high over uncharted acres of open sky.

His reverie was broken by Abbess Lycian and molemum Burbee, who wheeled their breakfast, atop the tea urn trolley, to the pond bank. They settled down, slicing scones, pouring tea and gossiping. Both were in a somewhat indignant frame of mind.

Lycian pursed her lips. "Ooh, that Old Quelt! Sometimes he can act so superior to those who are younger than him.

Huh, he thinks he knows just about everything about everything!"

Burbee poured hot tea into her saucer and blew upon it, supping noisily as she remarked to her friend, "Hurr, they'm alla same at brekkist, a-goin' on an' o n b o w t things 2 0 6

they bain't got ee clue abowt. But ee ole Quelter, h e ' m the wurstest!"

Sailing sedately up to the bank, Brantalis nodded at them,

"I am wondering what has upset you on such a pleasant day?"

Burbee topped up her saucer, answering truculently, "Ee riggul, that bee's wot h'upsetten' everybeast!"

The big bird stared down his beak at her. "What is this riggul thing, please?"

The Abbess sighed unhappily. "A riddle is a puzzle, something that's hard to explain and difficult to solve."

Brantalis waddled out onto the bank, shaking his tail. "If it is hard and difficult, w h y do you bother with it? I am thinking it would be better just enjoying your life on such a good day as today."

Lycian spotted Sister Snowdrop coming to join them. She whispered hastily to the molemum, "Burbee, don't men-tlon how we feel about Quelt to Snowdrop. She's been friends with that old squirrel a long time. I wouldn't want to offend her feelings."

The little Sister plumped herself down upon the bank and flung a pebble into the pond with some force. "Honestly, that Old Quelt, sometimes he makes me so angry with his uppity attitude. You'd think he was the only creature in Redwall who could solve riddles!"

Lycian and Burbee could not help breaking out into giggles. Snowdrop looked bewildered. "Sorry, did I say something funny just then?"

Brother Perant stormed up unexpectedly. Flinging himself down, he began spreading a parchment on the ground.

It was a copy he had made of the rhyming puzzle.

Perant muttered, "Right, let's take a look at this riddle in peace. I'm tired of sitting at the breakfast table, listening to rhar Recorder drivelling on about it. Who does he think he is, anyway?"

Perant looked oddly at Lycian, Burbee and Snowdrop, who were hooting with merriment. "Er, excuse me, ladies, 2 0 7

but is this a private joke, or am I allowed to join in the mirth?"

Once the Abbess h a d her laughter under control, she dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. "Oh, it's just a bit of silliness. Pay no attention to us, Brother."

Brantalis was a little more forthcoming with his explanation. "Friend, I am thinking it is about the Old Quelt squirrel, who is annoying everybeast with his tiresome wisdom."

The Infirmary Keeper's normally sober face lit up in a grin. "Well said, my feathered friend, and so he is!"

Any kind of praise was apt to flatter the barnacle goose.

Flapping both wings, he swelled his chest and honked.

"Read me out your riggul. I am thinking this bird might be good at solving rigguls!"

The good Brother commented wryly, "Yes, and it seems you're becoming good at molespeech, too. The word is pronounced 'riddle,' or if you can't manage that, try the word

'puzzle.' Oh well, I don't suppose it can do any harm. Listen carefully now:

" 'Twixt supper and breakfast find me, In a place I was weary to be,

Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.

It holds up what blocks out the night,

And can open to let in the light.

For a third of a lifetime one says,

Looking up I could see it sideways.

Tell me what we call coward (in at)

Then when you have worked out that,

You'll find your heart's desire,

By adding a backward liar.

Ever together the two have been set,

Since Corriam's lance ate the coronet."

Brantalis waddled about, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. "What is twixt supper and breakfast? I am not understanding."

208

Molemum Burbee simplified the phrase with her logic.

"Ee darkness bee's atwixt suppertoime'n'brekkist. Noight!"

Perant regarded her with newfound respect. "Good grief, you're right, marm!"

Burbee poured him a beaker of tea, adding, "Hurr, uz molers alius are, zurr. We'm no foozles!"

Sister Snowdrop interjected eagerly. "So, you could read the first two lines thus: 'At nighttime find me in a place I was weary to be!' "

The barnacle goose clacked his beak to gain attention. "I am thinking that would be in those strange nests you creatures call beds. Is that correct?"

The young Abbess smote a paw to her brow. "Very clever!

All really comes down to is this: 'At night I am tired so I go to bed.' Gracious me, who needs Old Quelt when we cam solve the riddle ourselves! Read on, Brother. What's the next bit?"

Precited the next two lines of the poem:

"Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree."

Nesting his beak down into his arched neck, Brantalis did his best to appear knowledgeable. "I am thinking that is . . .

e r , that i s . . . "

The big bird ruffled his feathers huffily. "I am not knowing what to think. This riggul is stupid!"

Reluctantly, Abbess Lycian agreed with him. "Dearie me, it looks like we're confounded by another of Sister Geminya's strange quirks. What in the name of goodness is a top tactic one see? Really, I don't know who's the more irritating—Geminya or Quelt!"

"Oh, I'd say Geminya every time, Mother Abbess."

They whirled around to the sound of a familiar voice.

There stood Old Quelt, accompanied by Brinty, Girry and Tribsy. The ancient Recorder had crept up quietly, smiling disarmingly over his glasses at them.

I do beg your pardon, stealing up on you like that. Is 209

there any room for a few young friends to join you? And, of course, an irritating old busybody?"

The company was totally embarrassed except for Brantalis. "I am thinking there is room for anybeast w h o can solve rigguls, old one. Sit down and drink tea with us."

Quelt gratefully accepted a beaker of tea. He sat down and began scanning Perant's copy of the riddle. "No doubt you've all solved the first two lines, my friends, and I have, too. Alas, it was this odd twist in the third line—'Up in that top tactic (one see).' I confess it had me quite perplexed.

Like yourselves, I was baffled—until young Girry provided the answer."

Lycian seized the young squirrel and hugged him soundly. "You solved it? Oh, you combination of brains and beauty, tell us the answer this very instant!"

Girry spread his bushy tail down over his face, wriggling out of the Abbess's embrace. "It was all by accident, I think, Instead of starting at the beginning of the line, I began at the end. One see, that's a typical Geminya trick. The word 'see'

really means the letter C. 'Tactic' was the only word that contained two letter C's, so I removed one from it. When I spelled it out without the C, it read 'tacti.' That didn't sound right, so I replaced it and removed the other C. 'tatic' It sounded a bit better, so I kept repeating it, and thinking hard. Tatic, tatic, tatic! I suddenly twigged on that this was one of those mixed-up word puzzles. What was the name you called it, sir?"

Quelt explained. "It's called an anagram, a jumble of letters which can be sorted out into a proper word. Tell them, Girry."

"Five letters: an A, two T's, an I and one C. 'Attic'! "

Quelt shook the young squirrel's p a w warmly. "Solved like a true scholar! So, what do we have now? Somewhere at night that Sister Geminya would retire to when she felt tired. A bed. And where will we find that bed?"

Brinty could not stop himself from blurting out, "In that top attic!"

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The Recorder beamed. "Exactly! The very place that my young friends and I were just on our way to find. However, I thought it best to let you know, Mother Abbess, so you good creatures wouldn't feel left out. How would you feel about accompanying three young rips and one old fogey on a little quest?"

Though Quelt did not say it, the Abbess guessed that this was his way of apologising for his behaviour at breakfast.

She replied with a twinkle in her eye, "Thank you for your gracious offer, sir. We accept. Er, by the w a y which are you—the fogey or one of the rips?"

Tribsy took Lycian's p a w cheerily. "He'm an ole rip, h'Abbess, 'n oi bee's a young fogey!"

Brantalis ruffled his feathers and honked. "I am thinking we should stop talking all this gobbledygoose and go to find the top attic!"

Lycian chuckled as she whispered to Tribsy. "Gobbledygoose? That's a new one on me!"

Brink Greyspoke and Skipper Banjon were sitting on a barrel the cellars. Between them they were sharing a flask of rosehip and redcurrant wine, accompanied by a wedge of strong yellow cheese with roasted chestnut flakes in it. The two friends were trying to recall forgotten lines of an old Cellarbeast's song, taking alternate verses and singing the chorus together.

"I keeps my ole cellars cool an' still, slacked up with great oaken casks.

I'll serve ye up with right goodwill,

with any fine drink ye asks!

October Ale or cider pale,

or dannelion wine,

ole nettlebeer, I got som 'ere,

by 'okey it tastes fine.

Cordial brewed from plum'n'pear,

or raspb'rry crimson ripe,

2 1 1

try my whortleberry sherry,

'tis wot the ladies like.

I keeps my cellars fresh'n'clean,

each barrel keg or firkin,

an' day an' night I tends 'em right,

I'm a Cellarbeast hard workin'!

Strawberry fizz, that's nice that is,

the young 'uns like its flavour,

dark damson wine matured by time,

that's wot the old 'uns savour."

Skipper paused, scratching his rudder. "Wot comes next mate? Was it 'beetroot port, poured long or short'?"

Brink cut himself a sliver of the strong cheese. "Nay, as I recalls, that's the last verse. H m m . . . let me see. Er, I think it went like this: 'sweet burdock cup, just fill it up, de dah dee d u m de deedee.' "

"Excuse me, Mr. Greyspoke, but Mother Abbess wants to know if you've got any spare lanterns please?"

Brink turned to Brinty, w h o was standing in the doorway. "We got lanterns aplenty, young 'un. Wot d'ye need

'em for?"

The young mouse gestured upward. "To search for top attic. We've discovered some clues in the riddle, y'see, sir."

Skipper Banjon threw a p a w about Brinty's shoulders.

"We're comin' with ye, matey. Brink, where d'ye keep spare lanterns for searchin' top attics with?"

The big Cellarhog trundled over to an empty ale barrel.

"In here. How many d'ye want, sunbeam?"

Brinty tugged his ear politely. "As many as ye can spare, Mr. Brink. There's a lot of us going on the search."

A huge party was gathered at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. It seemed that everybeast in Redwall wanted to participate in the adventure. Friar Bibble waved a floury paw at the heavily laden trio who had staggered up from the cellars.

2 1 2

Indeed to goodness, they must be on light duties, look you!"

Skipper distributed the lanterns, issuing a warning. "All stay logether up there. We don't want to lose anybeast. Top attics is a dark ole place."

Old Quelt made his way through a gang of Dibbuns, who were milling about noisily. "Do we have to take these little ones along? I don't want Dibbuns getting under my footpaws, do you?"

Howls of dismay and outrage went up from the Abbeybabes as Quelt tried to shoo them away.

The kindly Abbess intervened on their behalf. "Oh, I'm sure they'll be alright. None of our little ones have ever been beyond their own dormitory stairs. It will be a bit of fun for them. I think they should come."

Squirrelbabe Taggle agreed wholeheartedly. "On'y a birra fun, we be good, me promises. Us don't gerrunder a footpaws if'n we gets carried!"

The Dibbuns raised a cheer w h e n Skipper lifted an otterbabe called Smudger upon his shoulders. "Aye, it'll be no trouble to give these rogues a ride."

Smudger perched smugly on the otter's shoulders, wrinkling his nose impudently at Quelt. "See, now we go wiv ya, teeheehee!"

There was no need for lanterns on the first floor, where most of the dormitories were situated, nor was there on the sec-

-nd floor, where Old Quelt kept his library. The third floor, however, was a different matter. It was all in darkness, apart from the chamber above the library where the uncatalogued books and scrolls were stored. Everywhere else it was black and gloomy, coated thick in the dust of untold ages. One or Two of the more fainthearted searchers suddenly found they had other chores downstairs to tend. Mumbling excuses, they dropped out of the quest. The remainder, headed by Skipper, Brink and the Abbess, pressed on.

The third floor was a maze, a veritable warren of pas-213

sages, steps, chambers and side rooms. As the group made its way down a winding corridor, Sister Snowdrop shuddered uneasily.

"Little wonder that Sister Geminya was an oddbeast, living up here all alone. It's very creepy, isn't it?"

Brushing away curtains of gossamer cobwebs with his bushy tail, Girry took the Sister's paw, speaking with a boldness he did not feel. "Come on, Sister. If the place is empty, what's to fear?"

The procession b u m p e d one into the other, as they were forced to halt. A big, old, locked door barred the way. It was shut tight, its hinges and locks rusted together.

Sister Doral's voice quavered as she called to Skipper,

"Oh dear, we'll never get that open. Let's go back, it's nearly lunchtime, you know."

Brink took the b u n g hammer, which he had been using earlier, from his belt. He rooted in his broad Cellarhog's apron pocket and came up with a broad, stubby chisel.

"Don't fret now, marm. Me'n Banjon'U take care o' this!"

Between them, the two sturdy beasts broke the lock and pushed the door open. It gave a long, eerie-sounding creak, which echoed through the lantern-shadowed gloom.

Burbee was trembling from snout to tail with fear. Little Ralg, the Gatekeeper's babe, leaned down from his father's shoulders and stroked the molemum's head sympatheti-cally.

"Hushee now, marm, I mind you, 'cos I ferry ferry brave!"

Burbee patted Ralg's tiny paw. "Thankee, choilid. Boi

'okey, wot oi w u d d e n ' t give furr ee 'ot cup o' tea roight naow!"

They entered a chamber as vast as Great Hall, though much lower ceilinged. Foremole Grudd got his powerful digging claws into a wooden shutter and tore open a window. Much to the relief of all, bright midday sun flooded in.

Sparkling dust motes hung thick on the air.

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Abbess Lycian espied a small door in one corner. "Look, I wonder where that leads to?"

There was no lock on the door. Skipper pulled it open.

"We'll soon find out, marm!"

He held his lantern high and peered in. It was a narrow space with circular walls of rough sandstone. An ancient flight of rickety wooden stairs were fixed to the wall. The whole thing w o u n d upward into stygian darkness and op-pressive silence.

After lifting little Smudger down from his shoulders and passing him to Burbee, Skipper ventured onto the first stair.

The wood gave a protesting groan, causing Skipper to step back carefully.

"We can't all go up there, those stairs'd collapse. They won't even take my weight. So, what's t'be done?"

Otterbabe Smudger wriggled free of the molemum. Without a backward glance, he trundled to the stairs. "Alla stay down 'ere. Me go h'up!"

The Abbess caught the little fellow before he could venture further. "Come here, you bold creature!"

Sister Snowdrop made a suggestion. "Actually, that Dibbun's right, in a way. Nobeast of any size or weight could make it up the stairs. But if a few smallish, light ones—like myself, say, and two others—went carefully, one behind the other, I think we could make it to the top."

The Abbess took the initiative. "I think Sister Snowdrop and I should go. Girry, would you like to join us?"

The young squirrel's tail stood up straight. "Yes, please!"

Taking a lantern between them, the trio began the ascent, with Girry in the lead.

Skipper cautioned them, "If'n there's ought up there that ye don't like, then come straight back down here. Or if'n ye get in trouble, just give us a shout."

Brink gripped his bung mallet tightly. "Aye, you just shout, mates, an' no rickety stairs'll stop us. We'll come runnin'!"

The wooden spiral staircase was extremely narrow and unsteady. Every step had to be taken carefully.

Girry laughed nervously. "Ha ha, it's like being inside a well with stairs."

Sister Snowdrop shielded her eyes from the dust that he was unintentionally kicking down. "That's probably why it's called a stairwell. Can you see anything up there?"

The young squirrel held the lantern high as he managed a few more steps. "Yes, there's a sort of landing above us, and I think I see a door!"

They speeded up their pace, but the stairs began swaying and there was the sound of a piece of timber falling below them. The Abbess froze.

"Stand still, both of you. Wait until these stairs stop moving. I think one of the struts has fallen away. Be perfectly still now!"

They stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, until the structure stopped swaying. Climbing upward gingerly, step by step, Girry arrived at the landing. He was glad to feel that it was fairly solid underpaw. Lying flat, the young squirrel assisted his two companions up.

Snowdrop went straight to the door, brushing away the cobwebs and dust which lay thick upon it. "I can't find a handle or a latch, but there's some letters carved on the lintel."

Lycian held the lantern close. "What do they say?"

The little Sister read out the graven script. "As far as I can make out, it says 'I say regiments!' "

The Abbess sounded bemused. "Are you sure, Sister? 'I say regiments'? I can't recall hearing of any regiments in the attics of our Abbey!"

Snowdrop replied, almost apologetically, "Well, that's what it says, Mother Abbess. 'I say regiments.' "

Girry narrowed his eyes as he scanned the words. "Put the lantern down, Abbess. Over there, where the dust is still undisturbed, please."

Unquestioningly, Lycian placed the lantern on the floor.

Using a pawnail, Girry traced the words "I say regiments"

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Into the dust in a circle, like the figures on a clockface. After studying the ring of letters for a moment, he nodded to Sister Snowdrop.

"Well, do you see it, marm?"

She stared a while and nodded knowingly. "Yes, indeed.

I see it now."

Lycian looked from one to the other. "See what? Will you please tell me?"

Girry swept his paw around the dusty circle. "It's another anagram. I'm getting pretty good at them. This is the place We're looking for, Mother Abbess. Huh, 'I say regiments'!

It's only a mixed-up name, and guess whose name it is?"

Lycian recognised it suddenly. "Sister Geminya!"

Girry dusted off his paws. "Correct. So let's get that door open, shall we?"

In the big chamber on the lower floor, Quelt shuffled to the foot of the stairs. He peered up into the darkness, twitch-ing his grey whiskers impatiently. "What in the name of confounded seasons are they doing up there all this time, eh?"

Grudd Foremole replied, with typical mole logic, "Oi aspeck they'll tell ee, arter they'm cooms down, zurr."

Sister Doral, w h o was trying to stop otterbabe Smudger from climbing out of the window, confided to Burbee,

"They have been up there for rather a while now. I'm beginning to feel concern for them."

The molemum dusted little Smudger off absentmindedly.

"Hurr, an' so'm oi, marm. But no matter 'ow us'ns bee's a-feelin', t'won't affeck they'm beasts up ee stairs."

A loud bang suddenly came from the room above. This was followed rapidly by the most unearthly shriek and clattering noises. The Red wallers rushed to the door at the foot of the stairs, with Skipper in the lead, roaring, "Stand by, mates. I'm comin' up!"

He bounded onto the stairs, which shattered in a rending crash of ancient timbering. There was another earsplitting screech. Then thick clouds of dust billowed out into the chamber, enveloping everybeast.

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22

Under cover of darkness, the Purloined Petunia sailed in toward the mystic mountain fortress of Salamandastron, Somewhat puzzled but obedient to her captain's orders, Tiria manoeuvred the tiller, steering the vessel into the broad, curving bay. Twin beacons on the shoreline burned holes into the night, guiding her in. The ottermaid could make out figures running to and fro onshore. She surmised that these must be the legendary fighting hares of the Long Patrol, the Badger Lord's perilous warriors. Cuthbert had gone for'ard, concealing himself in the tiny lean-to between galley and prow. Tiria guessed he had his own purpose in doing this; she had long given up questioning her odd companion. Vast and primitive, the mighty mountain loomed above her as she hove in, blocking out the eastern sky.

A hare waded into the sea. Standing waist deep, he waved a torch as he hailed the Petunia. "Ahoy the ship, identify yourself!"

Cupping paws to her mouth, Tiria shouted the answer, as Cuthbert had instructed her to. "The Purloined Petunia, bound for the destruction of all vermin and the protection of goodbeasts!"

She heard the hare chuckle as he replied, "Heave us a jolly old headrope, an' we'll bring you in."

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A line was already fixed to the bowsprit. Tiria ran for'ard.

Separating the coils, she slung it in the hare's direction. He was joined by a score or so of his comrades, w h o set their weight on the rope and pulled the ship to shore. More hares came to assist, throwing down logrollers and hauling the vessel over the tideline until it was fully beached, high and dry. Looking over the side, the ottermaid saw that she was surrounded by Long Patrol hares, all uniformed and fully armed. They parted, leaving an aisle through which came striding the biggest badger Tiria had ever imagined. Torch-light shimmered off his armoured breastplate as his dark eyes gazed up at her.

The huge beast's voice was a thunderous rumble. "Permission to come aboard?"

Tiria was in a quandary. Her captain had not warned her of this. She was taken aback as a clipped military voice rapped out a reply to the badger.

"Permission granted, by all means, sah, but one'd much rather toodle ashore to bandy words with you, wot wot!"

Cuthbert emerged from hiding, completely transformed into a full-blown regimental major. Gone was the musselshell eyepatch and tawdry captain's rig. The odd hare had waxed his moustache into two fine points, and he was wearing a monocle. Around his waist was a broad black silk sash with a straight sabre thrust through it. A short pink mess jacket was draped elegantly about his shoulders, tas-selled, gold-embroidered and bearing two rows of medals pinned to it. Cuthbert was carrying a silver-tipped swagger stick, which he waved in salute.

The big badger nodded, smiling. "Step ashore, Major Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw, and be so good as to bring y o u r friends with you."

As two young subaltern hares assisted her ashore with needless gallantry, Tiria introduced herself and the osprey.

"I'm Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. This bird is Pandion Piketalon of Green Isle."

The badger bowed solemnly. "Welcome, friends. I am 219

Lord Mandoral Highpeak of Salamandastron. Come along, Tiria. Subs Quartle and Portan will attend to you, though I imagine that fine osprey can take ample care of himself."

They strolled toward the mountain, with Mandoral and Cuthbert chatting animatedly in the lead. Tiria walked behind with the two young subalterns, w h o were obviously fascinated with the pretty young ottermaid. Both talked in-cessantly.

"I say, Miz Tiria, are you actually a jolly good chum of Old Blood'n'guts Blanedale?"

Tiria nodded. "I am indeed, Portan. Why do you ask?"

Portan grinned self-consciously. "No need for full titles, marm. Y'can call me Porters, an' that flippin' great droop-ears is Quarters, wot!"

His companion made a swift leg, tripped and almost fell.

"Hawhaw, a pal of Old Blood'n'guts, eh? H o w many vermin have you slain between you? A jolly good fell I'll wager!"

The ottermaid shook her head. "None, really. I only met him a short while ago. But what's all this about slaying lots of vermin? I'd like to know more about my friend Major Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw."

The company entered the mountain through an impressively large oaken double door. From there they went straight to the main mess hall. There was a host of other hares already there. The place was filled with noise. Long Patrol members laughed, joked, sang barrack room songs and banged on the tables, demanding dinner.

"I say, wheel in the bally tucker before I jolly well perish!"

"Good show, old chap. You carry on an' perish. I'll scoff yours an' look sad for you later. Hawhawhaw!"

"Where's that blinkin' grubswiper got to with our scoff, eh?"

"Let's casserole the confounded cook. There's enough on that flippin' old lard tub for two helpin's apiece, wot!"

"Oh, go an' boil your fat head, Wopps minor!"

"Shan't! You go an' toast y'tail, Chubbscott!"

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Tiria found herself seated at a corner guest table with her two subalterns. She ducked as a stale crust flew overhead.

"Are they always like this?"

Quartle denied the accusation strenuously. "Good grief no, miz! They're pretty quiet tonight. I expect it's 'cos we have guests, manners y'know."

Regimental Major Cuthbert Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw was seated at the top table with Lord Mandoral and some high-ranking officers. Pandion was nowhere to be seen; Tiria assumed the osprey had gone fishing in the bay for dinner.

She pressed on, questioning her two friends about Cuthbert. "Tell me about Major Blanedale. I don't know much about him."

Portan seemed quite taken aback. "Great seasons, the chap's a blinkin' legend among Long Patrol types. I've heard that Lord Mandoral sometimes refers to him as the Deathseeker. Says he's been lookin' to get himself jolly well slain ever since he lost his daughter."

Quartle nodded in Cuthbert's direction. "That chap's been sewn t'gether more times than a bloomin' patchwork quilt. Just look at those scars, y'can see them from here.

Huh, talk about perilous!"

Tiria was growing impatient with her garrulous escorts. "I know that. He's obviously been in lots of battles. But could you please tell me why? Was it because of his daughter?"

Portan tossed a clean serviette to Tiria. "Whoops! Gang-way there, chaps, here comes the old nosh, an' not before flippin' time, eh Quarters?"

An outsize platter of salad, a big bowl of soup, a full loaf of wheatbread and a tankard overflowing with burdock and nettle squash clattered down in front of Tiria. She re-

--rded it with awe.

"There's enough here for the three of us!"

Quartle chaffed her. "Oh, come on now, old thing, it's only a light summer repast. Personally, I'm always jolly well hungry by suppertime. Ain't that right, Porters?"

His tablemate gestured airily. "Anythin' y'can't cope 2 2 1

with, sling it over to me an' old Quarters. We'll deal with it, wot!"

Tiria glared from one to the other. "Will you please stop avoiding my questions?"

"Pay no heed t'these two gormless scoffin' machines, young 'un. I can tell you all you want t'know. Move over there, ye famine-faced wastebins!"

The hare w h o seated himself at the guest table was a rough-looking customer. He was tall and sinewy, sable-furred, with a scar running through his face from eartip to jaw. Both subalterns went politely quiet.

The new guest unsheathed a very long, basket-hilted rapier and laid it on the table. "Captain Raphael Granden at y'service, young 'un. I take it you're enquirin' about Major Blanedale?"

Tiria answered respectfully. "I am, sir. If you'll pardon me saying, the major is a rather odd creature."

The captain indicated the crowded mess hall with a sweep of his eyes. "We're all odd creatures in one way or another. No doubt y've heard the sayin' 'madder than a March hare.' There's more'n a few of 'em here, miss, but know what y'mean.

"I served under Major Cuthbert when I was a sergeant. In those seasons he was a perilous fighter, the bravest warrior on this mountain. Anyhow, to cut a long story short, I'll tell ye what made him wilder than a Badger Lord with the Bloodwrath. He had a daughter named Petunia, a real beauty, quiet an' gentle. She was the flower of the Long Patrol. Many a young ranker lost his heart to her, I can tell ye.

Well, one autumn day she was out on the shore, a league from here, gatherin' shells an' coloured stones, as many haremaids are apt t'do."

Captain Granden paused, staring at his long swordblade.

Both young subalterns urged him on.

"What happened then, Cap'n Rafe?"

"Was it the vermin, sah?"

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r

He nodded sombrely. "Aye, sea raiders, a whole crewload of the scum. They'd anchored around the north point an'

come ashore. Petunia saw them, o' course. When she tried In run back here an' raise the alarm, they brought her down with arrows—slew her, an' left her layin' in the shallows. A poor innocent haremaid, w h o ' d never harmed anybeast."

Tiria felt the hair on her nape prickling. "Major Cuthbert found out, of course, Cap'n Rafe?"

The captain blinked several times, and his voice shook. "1

was out walkin' with him. It was me who found her. Rollin'

in the surf, dead, with four shafts in her back."

Tiria shuddered. "It must have been a terrible thing for him, seeing his daughter like that."

The stone-faced captain never took his eyes from the long rapier blade as he continued. "He picked her up and held her close, then his eyes sort of filmed over. He gave her to me and said, 'Take my daughter back to the mountain.'

Then he screamed."

Captain Granden drew in a deep breath. "It was a long time ago, miss, but I can still hear that scream, like some wounded madbeast. It just ripped out of the major's throat.

Then I was left holding his daughter's body as he thundered off along the shore after the vermin. I raced back here and raised the alarm. An instant later, I was racing after him at the head of a hundred warriors. But nobeast would ever catch him. He must have run with the speed of madness driving him onward. We lost him completely, even though we searched 'til long after dark."

Quartle and Portan sat forward with tight-clenched paws.

"The filthy villains, I wish I'd jolly well been there!"

"Aye, but Old Blood'n'guts got 'em! Didn't he, Cap'n Rafe?"

They fell silent as the tough hare nodded slowly. "Three days later, the sea raiders' ship drifted into the bay outside of here an' ran aground. I was one of the party, led by Lord 223

Mandoral, w h o boarded the vessel. Her crew was a mixed bag—rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets, even a pair of foxes. A score an' a half of the villains. Every last one of 'em was dead as a doornail. Slain!"

The ottermaid interrupted. "And the Major?"

Captain Granden smiled grimly. "We found him, though at first we took him for dead, too. He was covered from scut to ears in rips an' gapin' wounds. I was tryin' to pry the broken sword from what I thought was his death grip when he opened his eyes an' said to me, 'This is my daughter's ship. I took it for her and called it the Purloined Petunia.

Good name, don't y'think, w o t ? ' "

The captain picked up his rapier and sheathed it. "We carried him back here. Took him four seasons to recover but he did. Well, his body healed, but I fear his mind was affected forever. So there y'have it, miss. Now, if you're finished eating, Lord Mandoral would like a word with ye."

Regimental Major Cuthbert Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw was in his element. He had retired to an alcove with a group of fellow officers to drink spiked punch and regale them with a bloodthirsty ditty.

"Oh I dearly do love vermin,

I've oft times heard it said,

that the finest type of vermin,

are those vermin who are dead!

Show me a rat that's been laid flat,

or a ferret that's food for fishes,

or a wily fox laid out in a box,

an' you've got my fond good wishes.

'Cos a vermin that's slain gives nobeast pain, he'll never harm honest creatures,

nor steal no scoff, with his bonce chopped off an' a scowl on his wicked features.

224

Oh I dearly do love vermin,

I think I always will,

while I can afford to draw me sword,

there's always time to kill!

"Tis true that a stoat will never float, with a javelin through his liver,

an' n rat'll never get thirsty,

after sinkin' in the river.

Ole Blood'n'guts they call me,

'cos I sends 'em to Hellgates,

a fox, a weasel or anybeast evil,

along with their foul messmates!"

Tiria bowed to the ruler of Salamandastron. "You wished to see me, Lord?"

Mandoral held a massive paw out to the ottermaid. "Yes, I think you'd best come with me. We'll go somewhere quieter. It can get rather rowdy in here at mealtimes."

As they passed the alcove, Cuthbert could be seen standing on a table, waving his sabre whilst treating his audience to an even more bloodthirsty ballad.

The badger shook his huge, striped head disapprovingly.

"Normally I wouldn't allow that sort of thing in the mess.

it 's a bad example to the younger hares. But Frunk is a law unto himself—he says what he pleases and comes and goes when-never the mood takes him. I take it Captain Granden told you his story?"

Tiria replied. "Yes, sir, a sad and terrible tale it was. I don't think he can really be blamed for the way he is, in view of what happened."

Mandoral agreed. "That's the way I feel also. The major has become a berserker, one who courts death. I allow him more leeway than any of my Long Patrol. It would come as no great surprise if he left here one day and never returned.

I'd know then that he got his wish."

225

Tiria followed the Badger Lord d o w n a passage, then up several flights of rock-hewn stairs. They passed dormitories and barrack rooms, all quite spartan but very neat. Salamandastron looked to be an even more solid proposition than her Abbey home of Redwall, but after all, she reasoned, it was a military fortress. They ascended more stairs.

Tiria had begun to wonder how much further up they would go, when Mandoral halted in front of a wide beechwood door. He opened it, showing her in.

"This is my personal chambers and forge room."

Tiria found herself in a wide, spacious blacksmith's shop Three of the walls were h u n g with armour, shields and weapons. On the seaward wall a long, unshuttered window faced a view of the restless main beneath a moonlit canopy of star-strewn darkness. At the centre of the room was a great glowing forge with two iron anvils and barrels of oil and water close by. The ottermaid went to the window where she stood admiring the panorama.

Lord Mandoral joined her there. "Salamandastron has always protected the western shores of Mossflower Country against foebeasts and wrongdoers. Of late we have been fortunate to live through long peaceful seasons, but it has not always been thus. Many times we have taken up arms against invaders from both land and sea. I myself prefer the peaceful life. Besides being a warrior lord, I have learned to study. I have educated myself in the legends, lore and history of this mountain, its various rulers and our proud traditions."

Tiria could feel the soft night breeze caressing her face and the heat from the glowing forge upon her back. She chanced a sideways glance at the Badger Lord, well believ-ing that he was a fearsome warrior, with his formidable size, firm, thrusting jaw and quick, hooded eyes. However, there was no doubt, by his words, that he was a creature who possessed both knowledge and wisdom.

Mandoral pointed out at the sea, directing her gaze.

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"Look there, Tiria, slightly north and straight ahead, between the bay and the horizon. What can you see?"

She peered into the night sea intently. "What am I supposed to be looking for, sir?"

The badger was moving away from her as he replied,

"The tide has started to ebb. Keep looking if you want to know more of the High Queen Rhulain."

Tiria was totally taken aback. "Lord, how do you know of the Rhulain?"

Tiria turned to ask the badger more, but she was facing an empty room. He had vanished!

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23

Returning swiftly to her former position at the window, Tiria continued to scan the sea, though her mind was in a state of turmoil. How did Mandoral know about the Rhulain? Why had he told her to watch that area of the sea, and where had he disappeared to? She tried to fathom it all out.

In the midst of her deliberations, Tiria suddenly saw something which set her senses tingling.

The ebbing tide had receded sufficiently to expose a rock, in the very spot she was watching. In a flash, Tiria recalled the dream she'd had on the night before she left Redwall Abbey: the Rhulain appearing out of the sea to deliver the message which had sent Tiria in search of Green Isle. When the High Queen had sunk back beneath the waters, she had left what appeared to be the tip of her hooded figure, showing above the waves. There it was now, far out on the deep—a rock shaped like the top of the Rhulain's hood!

A deep voice sounded close by. "The rock is only visible when the tide is at its lowest ebb. It shows quite clearly in moonlight, don't you agree?" Mandoral had returned. He was carrying a sheaf of scrolls, which he placed on a barrelhead.

The ottermaid stood wide-eyed. "I've seen that rock in my dreams! What is it? I mean, what does it stand for, sir?"

228

The dark eyes of the Badger Lord widened in surprise.

"You mean you don't know?"

Pointing to the rock, he explained solemnly. "That is where the Queen of Green Isle was lost forever—she, her brother and an entire crew of Wildlough otters. Their ship was wrecked on that rock, and they were slain by murderous wildcats!"

Tiria felt very young and ignorant in Lord Mandoral's presence. "But how do you know all of this, sir? It must have taken place in the far distant past, long before your time."

The Badger Lord indicated the pile of scrolls. "Recorded history, Tiria. Did I not tell you that I have become a student of all the events at Salamandastron?"

The ottermaid gazed longingly at the scrolls. "Let me study the history, too, Lord. I must find out more about the High Queen."

Mandoral allowed one of his rare smiles to the young otter. "No need for that, I can tell you all about the Rhulain.

I have researched the subject thoroughly."

The big badger swept Tiria up, as if she weighed no more than a leaf, and deposited her on the windowsill. "First, you must understand that the queen was no stranger to Salamandastron. She had visited here before. This was in the reigning seasons of Lord Urthwyte, the great white badger. Through my studies I learned that they were friends. Throughout the ages, Badger Lords have possessed formidable skills in the making of weapons and armoury.

Take, for instance, Boar the Fighter. It was he w h o made the fabulous sword for your Martin the Warrior. Lord Urthwyte was gifted with a particular talent, the manufacture of armour. Nobeast before or since ever produced shields or armour of such strength and beauty."

"And did he make armour for the Rhulain, sir?"

Mandoral's massive paw touched Tiria's mouth gently, silencing her. "I am always saying to the young hares here, the only way you will ever learn is by listening, not by speaking."

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Tiria watched in silence as Mandoral went to the pile of scrolls. He selected one, which he spread on the windowsill alongside the ottermaid.

"This is a sketch drawn by Lord Urthwyte. It was to be a new armoured breastplate he had designed for the High Queen. Now you know why I mentioned her to you. Look!

It was the regal otter lady, just as Tiria had seen her in that first dream. About her brow was the slim gold circlet, containing the large round emerald. Beneath her richly embroidered cloak of dark green, the breastplate could be seen, It was burnished silver metal, with a gold star radiating from its centre. She wore a short kilt, around which her sling was belted, with a stone pouch attached. Tiria took in all of this at a glance, but she stared hard and long at the face.

Tiria was aware of Mandoral voicing his thoughts aloud

"The moment I saw you down on the shore, I felt that Queen Rhulain was reborn. Now I am certain of it."

The ottermaid was still gazing at the sketch. "Aye, sir, she could be my older sister for sure!"

The Badger Lord lifted her effortlessly down from the sill. "Come with me, I have something to show you."

When Tiria saw him draw back a hanging wall curtain, she knew where Mandoral had vanished to previously. He unlocked the door which stood behind it.

"This is my own personal bedchamber-cum-study-cum-refuge from mess halls packed with noisy Long Patrol hares."

She inspected the badger's retreat. It had one smaller window, shelves full of volumes and parchments, a table, a comfortable chair and various pieces of armour and weaponry hanging from two walls. The Badger Lord took a bundle from a cupboard and placed it upon the table.

"That last ill-fated voyage made by the Rhulain has been documented by Lord Urthwyte. She came from Green Isle to Salamandastron to be measured for a new armoured breastplate. Urthwyte was planning on making one for her, Apparently he thought the old one was getting rather thin 230

and battered. Like that of Badger Lords, Otter Queens' apparel can get some fairly rough treatment. From Urthwyte's records, I gather the new armour would take a full season to manufacture. Alas, she was never destined to see it. But even after the High Queen's death, Urthwyte continued with the breastplate until it was completed. He was a beast with a love for his art, you see. I had the regimental tailors re-create the cloak and kilt from the drawing you saw. As for my own contribution, I made the sling and stonepouch.

Unfortunately, there is one piece of the regalia missing, the coronet. We possessed gold enough, but nothing remotely resembling the great round emerald which would have completed it. I want you to take these things, Tiria Wildlough. They are yours by right, I think. I'm sure they will fit you well."

Tiria opened the bundle slowly. The cloak and kilt were tailored skillfully from a thick, dark-green velvet, the hue of mossy streamstones which lay in shaded shallows. The ottermaid could not suppress a gasp of awe as she beheld the breastplate. It was a true example of the armourer's art, a waist-length, sleeveless tunic. The back was a mesh of fine silver links, forming a chain mail. The front was also pure silver, beaten, smoothed, and burnished to a mirror like finish. This was surmounted at its centre by a radiating star of bright gold. The inside was p a d d e d with a soft, azure blue silk.

Tiria exclaimed as she picked it u p , "Goodness, it's light as a feather!"

Mandoral nodded. "Indeed it is. I wish I knew what sort of secret metals Urthwyte infused into it. Don't let its lack of weight fool you, Tiria. It would stand against any blade, even a spearpoint. Do you like the sling I made?"

It was slightly longer than Tiria's sling Wuppit and a lit-

-le broader, a grey-black in colour and rough to the touch.

Tiria tested its balance and pliability. Taking a stone from her own pouch, she loaded the weapon, twirling it experimentally, then smiled her approval.

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"This is a marvellous sling, sir, far better than my old one.

The material is tough and very coarse, good to grip. It would never slip, I can tell. What's it made of?"

The Badger Lord pointed out the window. "The hide of a great fish, a shark that was washed up dead on our show There's more than a few lances and arrows among my hares, tipped with the teeth and bone shards of that beast.

I knew the skin would come in useful for something, so I had it treated and cured. I see by the way you twirl that sling, you can use it. Can you throw far?"

Speeding up the sling's revolutions, Tiria suddenly whipped off the stone, sending it whirling through the open window. As it sped off into the night, Mandoral watched the sea until he saw a faint phosphorescent splash, far out over the calm waters.

"I have some good slingers in the Long Patrol, but none as good as that. You can use a sling!"

Tiria joined him at the window, her eyes seeking out the rock where the Queen's ship had sunk so long ago. "All I need now, so that the otters of Green Isle will know me, is the coronet. If the Rhulain went down with her ship, it must still be there. Gold does not rot, nor will it rust away, even in seawater. I will go there once it is light. If the crown is there, I will find it!"

Mandoral glimpsed the light of determination in her eyes. "I believe you will. I can see that nobeast would attempt to stop you. I will come with you, Tiria."

She bowed courteously. "I will be glad to have you with me, sir."

Even before dawn had properly broken, a gang of hares had hauled the Purloined Petunia down to the floodtide and set her in the flow. Cuthbert, as the commander of the vessel cut a bizarre figure. In his dual role as ship's captain and regimental major, he wore the musselshell patch over one eye and his monocle in the other. Over his Long Patrol 232

tunic, he had donned his tawdry nautical frock coat. Pointing with his swagger stick, he bellowed out orders.

"Haharr, buckoes'n'chaps, take 'er out a point to port, wot!"

Quartle and Portan, who were jointly in charge of the tiller, began to complain.

"I say, sah, it's high flippin' tide! How are we supposed to see the bloomin' rock, wot?"

"Porters is right, Cap'n sah. You can only see the jolly old rock when the blinkin' tide's out!"

Seated together on the prow, Tiria and the badger smiled as they listened to Cuthbert roaring at the subalterns.

"Who asked yore opinions, ye blather-bottomed buffoons? You just steer as I tells ye, or I'll have yore jolly old scuts for sammidges! Tides don't matter, the water's clear enough t'spot that rock. Why d'ye think I've got a lookout?"

He bawled up to the osprey w h o was napping on the masthead, "Pandion, matey, go an' sort out that rock an'

waggle yore wings over it 'til we gets there, will ye?"

As the osprey took off over the rolling waters, Cuthbert continued to berate his hapless steersbeasts. "Ye slab-sided scoffswipers, wot d'ye know about navigatin', eh? If'n I wasn't commandin', ye'd get lost in a bucket o' water. Now steer a course after that bird yonder, or, so 'elp me, I'll kick yore bottoms into next season!"

It was not long before the fish hawk's keen eyes picked up the top of the rock below the surface. Pandion Piketalon hovered over the location, fluttering his impressive wingspan like some exotic black-and-white-barred fan.

Mandoral pointed. "Your good bird has found the rock, Captain."

Quartle muttered to Portan,"Amazin', he must have eyes like a blinkin' hawk, wot!"

Portan guffawed. "That's 'cos he is a blinkin' hawk, old lad."

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Dawn breezes wafted the ship gently to the location. Pan dion resumed his perch on the masthead, whilst Cuthbert ordered the subalterns to furl the sail and drop anchor. The Badger Lord took a long coil of rope with a chunk of rock attached to one end. Securing it to the prow, he dropped the weighted end into the sea. By this time, the sun was spread ing its light over the waters.

Tiria watched the stone falling through the semitranslu-cent sea. It fell rapidly, bouncing off the sides of the underwater rock peak. When it had vanished into the depths, Mandoral instructed the ottermaid. "You must hold on to the rope at all times. Don't let go of it, Tiria. When you want to come up, just give one normal tug and I'll haul you up, Is that understood?"

Tiria winked at him confidently. "Don't worry about me, sir, I'll be fine. Otters know their way about underwater."

She winced as the big badger gripped her paw, his voice becoming stern. "I know you're an otter, but you listen to me, young 'un. It's not the same as Abbey pools or forest streams, being down under the deep seas. Nobeast really knows what dangers may lurk down there, so you hold of to that rope tight. If you get into any real danger, then give it two sharp jerks, and I'll have you out of there."

Tiria took a firm grip on the lifeline. "I understand, sir, and thank you for all your help."

She slid over the prow into the cold sea, with the crew's best wishes.

"Haharr, Tilly me gel, you keep yore eyes peeled down there!"

"Aye, miz, best of jolly good luck an' all that, wot!"

"Toodle pip, old thing, hope it ain't too flippin' cold down there. Rather you than me, I say."

Then she submerged completely into cold, eerie silence.

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