13

The days that followed were sunny and uneventful, and good progress was made by the little ship Honeysuckle. She was ideally built for skimming the coastal waves, responding quickly to any vagrant wind, sliptide or rockshoal by just a touch on her tiller. Chugger was a constant source of amusement. The little squirrel had promoted himself to captain, still keeping up his new identity as a villainous sea rover. Folgrim and Trimp often had to stifle smiles and chuckles at his antics. Swaggering about the deck, armed with a stick for a sword, he growled out orders to all and sundry.

“Gerra vikkles cooked, or I fro y’to a sharkers!”

“Keepa tiller straight, mista Furmo, or cap’n Chugg make ya scrubba deck!”

“All singa funny song, or I choppa tails off!”

Gonff saluted him smartly. “Cap’n Chugg, sir, I’ve checked the provisions, an’ we’re runnin’ low on everythin’. We need more vittles.”

Chugger stroked his chin reflectively, as he had seen Martin do, then he waved his tiny paws irately. “Well saila ship to d’shore an’ get lotsa more vikkles. Hmph! Don’t ’nnoy me, mouse, I busy bein’ cap’n!”

Gonff looked to Furmo. “Well, we do need more provisions.”

The shrew Chieftain tacked the vessel artfully across two cresting rollers, watching the shoreline intently. “We’ll sail ’til evenin’ then put in t’shore. A night on dry land’ll do us good. Tomorrow will be time enough to send out a foragin’ party. Er, if’n the cap’n approves.”

Chugger was binding a colored shrew headband around his brow to make himself look more dashing. He nodded. “Good good, dat’s wot we do. All ’ush now an’ be quiet. Cap’n Chugg gonna take ’is nap!”

*

By evening the weather had grown noticeably brisker. Folgrim pointed shoreward, to where the beach was sandy and rockstrewn, dotted with dunes and backed by grassland with stunted trees and bushes. “Best chance a landfall there, afore the light fades.”

Leaning on the tiller, Furmo sent the Honeysuckle skimming toward the beach. There the crew waded ashore and took up the ship’s bowline, while they waited on Furmo’s word. Watching the incoming waves carefully, he yelled as a high one caught the stern. “Take ’er in, me hearties. Heave!”

Without any difficulty they ran the vessel up high and dry above the tideline, where it lay safe.

Dinny immediately trundled up the beach, pleased to be on dry land, calling back to them, “Thurr be an owd boat up yurr. Oi thort et wurr a rock!”

Upside down and half buried in the sand, the boat lay, long forgotten on the deserted shore. Folgrim viewed it wistfully. “Wonder who it belonged to?”

Trimp ventured closer, peering into the dark cavern formed by the upturned craft. “I don’t know, but it’d make a snug shelter for the night. We could get a fire going and make a decent meal with the last of our rations. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Before anybeast could stop her, the hedgehog maid stooped and scurried under the wrecked hull.

“Yeeek!” She came scampering out hastily, with a huge redbacked crab chasing her, its claws open and extended aggressively. She hopped clear, but the crab stood outside on the sand, menacing the travelers, protecting its shelter. It was joined by another crab of equal size and ferocity. Trimp was shaking like a leaf, and Chugger hid behind her.

“Yaaah! It a bigga spider! No, two bigga spiders now!”

Martin stayed Folgrim’s paw as it strayed to the ax he had taken from the vermin. “Easy now. Killing’s not necessary, friend. They’re not spiders, Chugg, they’re crabs, pretty big ’uns, too. But not to worry, our Prince of Mousethieves knows how to deal with crabs, don’t you, O chubby one?”

Gonff bowed low, muttering to his friend, “Less of the chubby one, matey.” He turned to Trimp. “Fear not, pretty one, crabs an’ I are ole chums. Furmo, build a fire over yonder an’ bring me two long pieces o’ wood, will you? Stand clear the rest of ye!”

While Furmo and his Guosim shrews built a fire of driftwood, both crabs held their ground, never going forward or back, but scrabbling sideways with their fearsome pincers wide open, giving out danger signals to the intruders. Gonff took the two long wooden spars offered by a shrew and bound them at both ends with rags soaked in lamp oil, keeping one eye on the crabs.

“These should do fine. Now watch this an’ remember, mates, a crab’s the daftest creature livin’. Once he latches on to somethin’ he won’t let go, unless ’tis food he can push into his silly mouth, an’ these poles ain’t food!” He charged the nearest crab, with the pole held out horizontally, shouting, “C’mon, ole shellback, bite on this!”

Clack! The creature’s powerful claws seized the pole.

“Now one for your ole pal there. Bite on this, stalk-eyes!” Gonff thrust the second pole at the other crab in like manner. Obediently the fearsome pincers grabbed it. Boldly the Mousethief stood a hair’s breadth from both crabs and turned his back on them to face the audience. “Y’see, they ain’t got enough brains between ’em to let go of those poles, an’ while they’re hangin’ on to ’em, they can’t hurt us with their nippers. Now, they’ll stand there like that ’til the crack o’ doom if I let ’em. But here’s the best way to get rid o’ crabs. Watch!”

Taking a blazing piece of wood from the fire, Gonff raced nimbly around both crabs, touching the flames to both ends of each pole. Agitatedly, the big crustaceans continued their sideways patrol, stalk eyes waving wildly in the firelights they were carrying, stumbling and tripping in dumb panic. The Mousethief advanced upon them, swinging his crackling torch.

“You rock-backed oafs, go on, get out o’ here afore yore nippers get burned. Go on, into the water with yer!”

He chased them a short distance down the beach, until the crabs’ tiny brains realized the answer to their burning problem. They scuttled off sideways into the sea. Gonff skipped back up the beach, chuckling. “Ain’t got the sense they was born with, those two!”

Everybeast waited while the fearless Gonff went beneath the boat hull with his lighted torch. “Come on in, buckoes, the place is empty!”

Guosim cooks like nothing better than to improvise with their cooking. That night they did the crew proud. Barley broth with wild onions and dried watershrimp, hot mint and dandelion tea, and the pièce de résistance: a big pan, lined with thick slices of honey-soaked shrewbread, into which they placed all their dried apples and pears and hazelnuts, mixed with the last of their fresh berries—blackcurrants, strawberries and raspberries. The pan was covered with a flat slab of stone and placed on the fire. After a while, the aromas drifted temptingly around in the shelter formed by the upturned boat. While Folgrim was not looking, Chugger emptied his barley broth into the otter’s bowl and sat happily licking his seashell spoon.

“Cummon, mista Fol, eaty up all barley broff, or you don’t get no pudden. See, Chugg eat all his up, yum yum!”

The scarred otter tugged his friend’s bushy tail fondly. “Ain’t it strange ’ow a bowl can fill itself up agin? Yore a forty-faced liddle skinnamalinker, cap’n Chugg!”

The pudding was perfectly cooked, a triumph. Everybeast had their bowls heaped, and they tucked in willingly.

“Mmmm, this is marvelous!”

“Best I ever tasted, pipin’ ’ot an’ delicious!”

“Burr aye, gurtly noice an’ turrible tasty et be’s!”

“Any chance o’ second ’elpings there, cooky?”

“If’n you wants to end up in the sea wid yore crab-mates, Gonff, jus’ keep callin’ me cooky!”

“Oops, sorry, O well-furred an’ beautiful Guosim Boss!”

“Oh, all right, pass yore bowl ’ere!”

Outside the night grew cold, with a stiff wind driving sand spirals across the shore. Fortunately, the shelter was in the lee of the wind, and they sat around the cheery fire amid the good food and banter. During a lull in the conversation, Trimp cocked an ear to the opening. “Listen. Can you hear anything, Martin?”

Martin listened. “Aye, like a sort of moaning.”

Furmo refilled Dinny’s bowl. “Prob’ly the wind.”

But Martin’s paw was on his sword. He leaned forward, alert. “That’s not the wind. Listen carefully!”

In the silence that followed they all heard the audible moaning from outside, eerie, ghostly.

“Oooo oo ummmm, ooo oooo aaaahhhh . . .”

It seemed to fade and rise with the lonely wind out on the moonless stretches of coastline. Furmo shuddered. “Don’t sound like nothin’ livin’ t’me!”

This remark started off a lot of fearful speculation.

“Mayhap ’tis the spirits of deadbeasts?”

“Aye, mate, could’ve been the long-dead crew o’ this boat!”

“They say strange things ’appen on ole lonely shores!”

“I’ve ’eard tell o’ that, too. Bet they comes back on dark nights, to visit the spot where they perished!”

“Ooh urr, us’n’s should’ve stayed aboard ee boat on ee sea!”

“Hark, I can ’ear ’em singin’ words!”

Sure enough, the words came clear and distinct. Beneath the boat, fur stood on end, paws trembled and creatures drew closer to the fire. They could not avoid hearing the wailing dirge, which rose and blended with the sighing winds.

Trimp’s face was blanched with fear. Chugger was trembling like a leaf, and she hugged him close to her. The breath caught in her throat as a spectrally hollow knock sounded on the upturned boat hull—Whock! Whock! Whock!—followed by unearthly-sounding voices.

Martin looked at the terror-stricken faces around him. Drawing his sword, he turned to the only one, beside himself, who did not appear to be affected by the eerie chants. “Well, what d’you make of that little lot, Gonff?”

The Mousethief drew his dagger. “Don’t see how a ghost could be solid enough to knock its paws on a boat hull, mate. You stay here in case it’s some kind o’ trap—take care of these ditherin’ daisies. I’ll go an’ take a look out there!”

Gonff slid out into the night. A moment later he reappeared, a great deal faster than he had left. Martin gripped his friend’s paw as the dagger slid from it. This was not like Gonff, who sat ashen-faced and trembling. The Warrior gazed into his haunted eyes. “What is it, mate? What did you see out there?”

Gonff swigged down a beaker of dandelion and mint tea. He regained his composure slightly, though it was some time before he managed to speak. “I tell ye, matey, I never want to see aught like that again. Tall they were, very tall, with ’orrible faces an’ long white bodies that seemed to flutter’n’float!”

One of the Guosim shrews recoiled in horror, his paw shaking as he pointed out beneath their shelter entrance. “Eeaaargh! I see one! There ’tis!”

A vague misty shape was gliding about outside. Martin sheathed his sword and seized a long paddle. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Let’s see what these ghosts have got to say for themselves!” As the apparition drifted by again, Martin struck out with the paddle, giving it a good hard sweep.

The ghost gave a yell of surprise and collapsed into a heap. Martin grabbed the struggling mass and dragged it inside the shelter. Ripping off the flowing white cloth, he exposed a hedgehog on stilts.

The creature’s face was daubed thickly with some kind of white clay, and long seabird feathers were stuck into the clay. Blackened beneath the eyes and painted bright red about the mouth with plant dyes, it gave the hedgehog a fearsome appearance. It glared at Martin defiantly. “Arrah now, an’ aren’t you the bold ould Sea Rogue! Goo on now, cullie, kill me an’ get it over wid. That fine blade you carry looks fit t’do the job. You durty murtherin’ omadorm!”

Martin grabbed the hedgehog firmly by its clay-encrusted ear. “Listen, my friend, keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll box your ears for you. We’re not Sea Rogues and we don’t go about slaying others willy-nilly!”

A huge grin cracked the white-clayed face. “Muther of all the seasons, now ain’t that a mercy! By the spikes o’ me fat uncle, does that fine pudden taste as good as it smells? Could y’not serve me up a large morsel of the luverly stuff, an’ could meself not sit next t’that pretty darlin’ hogmaid while I show her the powers o’ me turrible appetite, sir?”

Martin was smiling as he extended a paw. “I’m Martin the Warrior of Redwall, and these are my friends, who no doubt will introduce themselves.”

The hedgehog shook the proffered paw vigorously. “An’ ’tis pleased I am to meet ye, Martin sir. I’m Murfo, son o’ Chief Dunespike, Allcoast Champion Spinetussler.”

Gonff immediately took to Murfo. Sensing in him a kindred spirit, he exchanged a wink with the newcomer. “Don’t y’think you’d better ask yore dad an’ the others in out o’ the weather, Murfo? They’ll catch their death o’ cold, stumpin’ about in long white nighties on a night like this. Go on, give ’em a shout.”

Murfo stuck his head outside and roared, “Hoi, da, these beasts are friends, an’ they’ve got pudden on the hob. Bring the boyos over, will ya!”

In the blink of an eye, the shelter and the beach surrounding it was packed with hedgehogs, all untying stilts from their footpaws and casting aside their long white ghost robes. Murfo’s father, Dunespike, was possibly the biggest hedgehog Martin had ever set eyes on. Introductions were made all around, with Dunespike offering his apologies for frightening them.

“Ah, ’tis sorry I am for puttin’ the fears into honest craturs like yerselves, but we’ve seen that sleek boat of yours afore, so we’d be forgiven for thinkin’ that you were the durty scut of a fox an’ his flotsam that usually sail in it. Ah yis indeed, Martin me ould son. Well now, isn’t this all grand?”

As one all the hedgehogs nodded and chorused, “Ah, ’tis grand, grand indeed, sir!”

Furmo scraped his ladle around the big pan, commenting, “Sorry there ain’t enough pudden t’go round all yore tribe.”

Chief Dunespike accepted the last bowl and passed it to his son, shaking his head ruefully. “More’s the pity, but those who get none’ll never know what they missed an’ be no worse for the missin’ of it! Here, me son, get that down yer gob an’ don’t go tellin’ your ould da how grand it tastes. Bad cess t’this rotten tooth o’ mine, it won’t abide the sweet stuff an’ torments the very life o’ me if I go near anythin’ sweetish, so it does.”

All the hedgehogs’ spikes rattled as they shook their heads and chorused in unison, “Ah yis, the ould tooth torments the big feller turrible!”

Trimp could not resist asking a question. “But why do you parade around the shore at night dressed as ghosts?”

While Dunespike sat nursing his tooth, Murfo explained, “Sure, to scare off the sea vermin. They’re all superstitious wretches. Scarin’ them is far simpler than gettin’ the half of our tribe slain in battle. It works just grand, missie. Ain’t that right, boyos?”

Again all the tribe nodded their heads and spoke together. “Ah yis, ’tworks just grand, grand, grand!”

Still nursing the side of his jaw, which looked painfully swollen, Dunespike glanced admiringly at Martin’s sword. “By the spike of the great hog himself, ’tis a grand an’ powerful blade you have there, Martin sir!”

Martin unsheathed his sword, holding it forth for all to see. “Aye, that it is. The hilt was my father’s and the blade was forged by a Badger Lord from a piece of a star that fell from the skies. This sword is a magic weapon!”

Dunespike shook his huge head in amazement. “Magic, you don’t tell me! How so?”

He did not see the wink that passed between Martin and Gonff. Martin turned the sword, so that the red pommel stone at its hilt top twinkled in the firelight. “This stone can soothe pains and heal wounds!”

The big hedgehog Chief stared reverently at the stone. “And toothaches?”

Martin smiled. “Aye, toothaches, too!” Digging a hole in the sand with his swordpoint, he pushed the sword in upside down. He held it in the deep wet sand until he judged the stone was cold enough. “Sit down here, sir. Gonff, will you get the other side of the Chief and hold his head?”

Dunespike sat down gingerly. Gonff braced the hedge-warrior’s head still by leaning against the uninjured side. The hog looked uncertainly at Martin, who was withdrawing his sword from the sand. “You wouldn’t be goin’ to hurt me now, would you, Martin?”

The Warrior smiled reassuringly. “Me, hurt you? I’m not even going to touch you, Chief. ’Tis the pommel stone does all the magic. Sit still and relax.” Very gently, Martin began moving the cold stone in slow circles around the patient’s swollen jaw, murmuring as he did so, “Easy now, easy. How does that feel, nice and cool?”

Dunespike closed his eyes, leaning heavily against Gonff. “Ah, ’tis grand, grand, like a butterfly’s breath on a morn in spring. Don’t stop, Martin, keep doin’ that, ’round an’ ’round me ould rotten, achin’ tooth.”

Martin whispered soothingly in Dunespike’s ear. “’Round and ’round with the magic stone, that’s the stuff. Is your tooth in the middle of this area I’m circling?”

Dunespike sighed contentedly. “Yis, so ’tis, so ’tis.”

Gripping the crosshilt with both paws, Martin whacked the pommel stone, hard and sudden, right at the middle of the swelling, where the tooth was located. Thump!

“Yaaaargooooogh! I’m destroyed, he’s killed me! Aaargh!”

The entire tribe of Dunehogs leaped forward. Martin swung his blade aloft, halting them with his fearsome war cry. “Eulaliaaaaa!”

Dunespike stopped roaring. He opened his eyes, felt the side of his jaw, then spat out a blackened molar. “Haharrharr! Look at that now! I’m free of pain—me ould tooth’s out! Oh, seasons preserve y’grand name, Martin sir!”

Trimp put a pawful of sea salt in warm water and stirred until it dissolved. She gave it to Dunespike, saying, “Take this and swish it around where the tooth came out, sir. ’Twill clean the hole and help it to heal.”

The big hedgehog patted Martin’s back so heartily that he almost knocked him flat. “Sure, an’ I wish ye’d done that when we first met, then I would’ve been able to tackle that grand pudden of yours. Martin of Redwall, yer a mighty cratur, sir, heroical, y’are.”

The Dunehog chorus echoed their Chief’s sentiments.

“Ah yis yis, heroical indeed!”

“Isn’t he the grand mouse!”

“Oh, that he is, grand, grand!”

Murfo appealed to his father. “Da, would y’have Martin an’ his friends sittin’ the night out under some battered ould boatwreck? Sure an’ ’twould only be good manners to invite them back t’the roundhouse.”