33
A small flotilla wound its way upstream: the stolen craft and four shrew logboats. Mimsy and her husband Gulif, who were the unofficial leaders of the shrew party, sat in the prow of the little ship with Triss and Sagax. Scarum, who had become the model of politeness and decorum because of the amounts of food their hosts were feeding him, wandered up, munching on a honey and almond turnover.
“Jolly decent types, these chaps. I say, marm, I hope we aren’t puttin’ you out of your way by havin’ you lead us to Redwall.”
Mimsy peered ahead through the sunny green light created by overhanging trees. “Bless ye, no, we was plannin’ on goin’ to the Abbey in the next day or two. I’ve got a feelin’ we should meet up with our Chieftain, Log a Log Groo. Him an’ some Guosim were sailin’ the streams not far from Redwall. They’d be sure to call in an’ visit awhile.”
Triss sat back, savouring the pleasant morning on the rippling water with tree foliage as a canopy. “This is nice. I could go along like this forever.”
Gulif sat down beside her. “I knows the feelin’, miss, but the ford that crosses the north path’ll be a-comin’ up soon. Won’t be usin’ the boats no more, then—we’ll stow ’em away an’ walk south down the path to Redwall.”
The squirrelmaid trailed her paw in the cool streamwater. “Pity, I was really getting to enjoy the waterway.”
Mimsy spoke up helpfully. “Well, p’raps we could tie up just before the ford an’ take lunch there, whilst we wait for the backscouts to catch up.”
Scarum interrupted. “Beg pardon, marm, but what are backscouts?”
Gulif pointed downstream. “I sent four of ’em to check on those vermin ye said were trailin’ ye. It ain’t good sense to leave things to chance. Mimsy’s right, we’ll moor up short o’ the ford an’ wait for ’em. Don’t suppose they’ll ’ave much to report, I took all the twists an’ turns to shake any followers off’n our wake.”
It was mid-afternoon by the time they moored the vessels beside a mossy bank. Kroova and Shogg hauled them into a small inlet and hid them beneath shrubbery and boughs.
Sagax watched the Guosim cooks prepare a meal. “Is there any way we can lend a paw, marm?”
Mimsy gave him a long, studious look. “Wot’s up? Ain’t our cookin’ good enough for ye?”
Scarum drew the young badger to one side and lectured him. “My good chap, keep y’self to y’self, wot. We don’t want to antagonise these good creatures. So mind your manners!”
Sagax pulled a meaningful face at Kroova. “Listen to the pot calling the kettle black!”
Triss amused the little shrews by singing them a song she had made up. They sat tapping their paws as they listened to the jolly air.
Cuckoos call out from the trees,
Bees bumble busily by,
Telling of golden days like these,
When the sun smiles from the sky.
Some will pole and others row,
Let each one do their best,
Let the waters flow by slow,
Put up your paws and rest.”
Blue smoke wafted through the trees. Kroova and Shogg sat on the bankside, dabbling their paws in the shallows. Sagax and Gulif checked that the boats were well concealed. Scarum had wheedled his way into a new position. Mimsy and the Guosim cooks had actually appointed him to serve the meal. Triss covered her mouth, turning aside to stifle her merriment at the sight of him. Scarum had bound a turban about his ears to stop them from flopping into the food. Clad in a flowery apron, he wielded a ladle officiously.
“Attention in the ranks, chaps, lunch is served. Line up here in a jolly orderly manner. No nonsense now, I’m your disher-upper, so watch your behaviour, wot!”
When Triss had been served with a delicious bowl of something the shrews called Streambank Stew, she took her beaker of cider and a small batch loaf of shrewbread. She sat between Kroova and Shogg. All three giggled helplessly as they watched Scarum chiding Sagax.
“Good grief, sah, look at those paws. ’Fraid I can’t serve you until you’ve washed ’em in the stream. Move along, please, don’t stand there glarin’ at me like that. Next!”
It was in the midst of all this that Gulif suddenly held up his paws for silence.
“Hist! Sounds like our backtrackers returnin’, but they’re comin’ this way runnin’ like madbeasts. Break camp, Guosim, git the liddle ’uns ready to leave fast!”
The fire was quickly doused. Triss and her companions helped to round up the shrewbabes. There had originally been four backtrackers, but only two staggered into camp, one with a vicious spearwound in his paw. Sagax threw a cloth around the injury, binding it speedily as the shrew gasped.
“Git movin’ sharpish, Gulif, there’s a horde o’ vermin on our track, armed t’the teeth an’ out fer blood. They slew Cadro an’ Elbun, but we got away. They’re ’ard on our trail, mate, there ain’t time to ’ang about!”
Gulif drew his rapier as he heard the vermin crashing through the undergrowth downstream. The tough little Guosim leader growled out orders. “Mimsy, Triss, get the old ’uns an’ the babes goin’, make for the ford an’ head south down the path. Sagax, you two streamdogs an’ the rest o’ ye, we’ll form a rearguard an’ follow. Git goin’ now, quick!”
Kurda, Vorto and Riggan raced ahead of the rest, while Freebooters and Ratguards thundered along both sides of the bank. Supported by Prince Bladd and Slitfang, Plugg Firetail stumped along not far behind.
“Haharr, we’ll lay ’em by the tails this time, buckoes!”
Riggan put on a spurt, calling back to Kurda, “I think I caught sight of ’em, up ahead. There’s smoke an’ steam, though I don’t see no boats!”
Kurda slashed at willow fronds with her sabre. “Never mind der boats, ve find dem later. Get der slaves!”
Vorto grinned triumphantly as they passed through the camp. “Some o’ those ashes are still smolderin’—they broke camp in a hurry. We’ll soon catch up with ’em!”
Mokug halted on the path, pointing out a tree. “Is that ’un an ash, Skip?”
Skipper shook his head patiently. “No, mate, that’s a rowan. The leaves look the same, but the ash is stouter an’ it don’t ’ave red berries like the rowan tree. Log, old mate, will ye find an ash an’ point it out to ’im?”
However, Log a Log’s interest in trees had suddenly waned. Detaching himself from his score of Guosim, he cocked his head on one side, drawing his rapier. “Cut the cackle a moment, will ye, I can ’ear somethin’!”
The young otter Rumbol walked ahead a few paces. “Yore right, somebeast’s a-comin’ this way in an ’urry!”
Triss and the shrews appeared around a bend.
Log a Log dashed toward them. “Mimsy, wot’s the rush, marm. Where’s old Gulif?”
As he spoke, the rest of the party ran into view. Gulif sighted the Guosim Chieftain and roared out the shrew war cry:
“Logalogalogalogaloooooog!”
Sagax boomed out a warning as they neared the Redwallers. “Vermin chasing us, a great load of ’em!”
Skipper had been staring strangely at Triss, but he recovered and took swift charge of the situation. “Git yore party down t’the Abbey, marm, tell the Abbot to hold the gate ’til we arrive. The rest of us, form up on the path ’ere, slings an’ javelins. Look out, they’re comin’, I see the scum!”
The vermin were hard on the heels of their quarry as they rounded the bend, with Kurda waving her sabre and screeching, “Ve haff dem, kill, kill!”
She dropped swiftly back as an unexpected volley of slingstones hit her front ranks. Plugg passed her, brandishing his huge battle-axe. He laughed wildly.
“Haharr, me beauty, ye ain’t in yore daddy’s castle now. We’ll show ye ’ow Freebooters gets the job done. Chaaaarge!”
Much to Skipper’s surprise, Scarum picked up a fallen spear and saluted smartly. “Salamandastron trained hare, sah, ready for duty, stand aside if ye please. Javelin throwers to either side of this path! Pay attention in the ranks there! Shrews an’ slingers, form up across the path in three ranks, look lively. That’s the ticket, chaps. First slingin’ rank, throw an’ drop back two ranks. We’ll give ’em blood’n’vinegar, me buckoes! Eulaliiiiiiaaaa! Second rank, throw an’ drop back two ranks, make every stone count, steady the buffs an’ hammer ’em!”
Amazingly, the tactic worked. Hail after hail of speedily hurled stones halted the vermin charge.
Plugg wrung his paws as a big pebble reverberated against the blade of his axe. “Press forward, ye spineless jellyfish, we outnumber ’em ten to one. Drop t’the sides o’ the path an’ circle ’em!”
Skipper and Log a Log had their swords and javelins on either side of the path. The Guosim Chieftain murmured to his shrews, “This ain’t no fight t’the death—we only need to slow ’em down until we can get to Redwall. Don’t let anybeast try to sneak by an’ surround us, or we’ll be cut off!”
Down the path the battle ensued, with Kurda and Plugg urging their creatures on. Both the Princess and the silver fox were enraged that their force could make no headway against the efficiently organised band. Vorto dashed recklessly forward, but was repulsed by Log a Log skilfully wielding his rapier. Nursing a slashed cheek, the Ratguard Captain bumped into Kurda.
“Princess, ’ow can they be retreatin’ an’ beatin’ us at the same time? It ain’t right!”
Kurda pushed by him and slew a shrew with a sabre thrust. “See, dey die, same as any odder beast. You turn back an’ I slay you, too. Plugg, vere you goin’? Come back, coward!”
Leaning heavily on a cringing Prince Bladd, the Freebooter stumped off into the tree shelter, calling back to Kurda, “I ain’t goin’ up agin that . . . Look!”
They had fought almost up to the ramparts of Redwall Abbey. The battlements were thronged with young and old, flinging anything they could lay their paws upon. Abbot Apodemus stood out on the path, hurrying the remainder of the party inside.
“Straight in, friends, don’t dawdle. You put up a brave fight there, come on in.”
He stood calmly until the last one, Skipper, was safe inside. Only then did Father Abbot deign to retreat. “Close the gates, Crikulus. Gooch, you and I will see to those extra bars. Get the gate locked safe and tight!”
Late evening faded to night over the vast acres of Mossflower Wood. Somewhere in the undergrowth, not far from the Abbey, a mistle thrush stirred. The bird’s head moved slowly, taking in the view all around. It skipped from cover and winged its way swiftly up into the clean night air, leaving behind it the terrifying odour of cloying evil.
Zassaliss the adder had taken his fill of a Ratguard carcass. Now Harssacss and Sesstra were dealing with the remains. Sarengo’s crown slid back slightly on the giant adder’s head as he watched the thrush slip off. Butting his brother and sister aside, Zassaliss leaned his lower jaw on the broken Ratguard spear, letting his forked tongue slither caressingly over it.
“Lotsss of new beastsss crossssing our pathsss!”
Sesstra lifted her head from the grisly meal. “Yesss, lotsss!”
The three bodies of the snakes wriggled pleasurably. Beyond where the mace of Sarengo remained buried in their flesh, the dead serpent tails lay still, bound together and exuding their rotten odor.