34

Forty creatures in all were guarding the battlements, ten to each wall. Below, moles trundled trolleys of food from the kitchens, out to where the Redwallers were gathered on the lawn and gatehouse steps. Stories had been related, introductions made and old friends reunited. Memm Flackery had put all the Dibbuns up to bed and found berths for the new arrivals. She shook Scarum’s paw.

“Heard good things about you, young buck, wot. Served at Salamandastron m’self in the young seasons, y’know. Hightor still Lord there, is he?”

Sagax took his nose out of an October Ale beaker. “Aye, marm, I’m his son.”

She refilled the beaker for him. “Hmm, stern old stick, ain’t he? I liked your mother, though. Lady Merola an’ I were good chums. Before you came along, of course.”

Triss bore Skipper’s penetrating stare for as long as she could. Finally she felt she had to speak. “Excuse me, sir, but do you know me from someplace?”

The big otter Chieftain nodded. Everything in his dreams was filtering slowly back to him. “Aye, Triss, I think we ’ave met afore. Come an’ take a walk with me. Father Abbot, I’d like ye to come as well.”

Registering only slight surprise, the Abbot rose from the steps and went with them.

Skipper took them both into Great Hall. Once inside, he spoke softly to the squirrelmaid. “Take a stroll around, Triss, see if’n ye recognise anythin’.”

The Abbot was mystified. “What’s this all about?”

Skipper placed a paw around the shoulders of the old mouse. “Hush now, Father, let’s just watch the maid.”

Triss stood rigid in front of the tapestry, gazing up at the likeness of Martin the Warrior. Moving in a dreamlike trance, she mounted the ladder that Skipper had placed there earlier. Her eyes were riveted on the sword that hung over the tapestry. She lifted it from its retaining pins and climbed back down. Not once did her eyes leave the fabled blade.

“Welcome to Redwall Abbey, Trisscar Swordmaid!” Skipper placed his paw on her. “Oh aye, I know ye, all right. Yore the stuff my dreams’ve been made of, though I didn’t realise that ’til just now. Martin the Warrior showed you to me while I slept. It’s all coming back to me.”

The Abbot was astounded. “You dreamed of this squirrelmaid? Martin showed her to you? How can this be?”

Skipper squeezed Triss’s paw gently. “Father, ’tis all a puzzle t’me as ’tis to you. But she was guided to Redwall by Martin—who are we to question ’im?”

The Abbot shrugged. “Who, indeed. You look as if you were born to hold that blade, miss; can you use it?”

Triss saw her own reflection in the bright steel as she spoke. “I am the daughter of Rocc Arrem. Nobeast in all the Northlands could cross swords with him. Though I was a slave, I was brought up around swords. But this blade, this is different. I know it like I know my own right paw.”

Satisfied, the Abbot sized Triss up and down, smiling. “Then you must wear it. Redwall is fortunate to find one such as you in time of danger, Trisscar.”

The squirrelmaid undid her waist belt and buckled it across her back from left shoulder to right waist, then thrust the sword through, so it hung over her back. “If you please, Father Abbot, I prefer to be called Triss.”

They watched her go back outside to join the others. The Abbot transferred his gaze to Martin on the tapestry. “Sir, I’ll wager you used to wear the sword in the same manner. Thank you for sending her to us.”

Since the vermin had entered the woodlands, Kurda seemed a touch more affable toward Plugg. Her archers had brought down a fine woodpigeon, and she beckoned him to join her at the fire.

“So, tell me, you haff conquered big stone places like diss?”

The Freebooter sat down gingerly, having first assured himself that his tail was still hanging intact. “The bigger they are, the richer they be, missy. If’n all the tales o’ booty an’ loot inside there are only ’arf true, ye can bet yore white ’ide old Plugg’ll find a way to get at it. Aye, on me affydavit I will!”

Kurda stared into the flames. “If diss be true, you can haff der booty. I’ll take dose slavebeasts, yarr.”

Grubbage and Scummy lingered behind their captain, keeping an eye on the unfortunate tail. Plugg sniffed at the bird cooking on a spit over the fire.

“Is that bird fresh killed?”

Kurda gave it a turn with her sabre point. “Yarr, fresh diss very night. Vy you ask?”

The silver fox sniffed the air uneasily, then noticed his two crewbeasts lurking in the background. “Ahoy, Scummy, d’ye reckon yew could find a stream ’ ere-abouts?”

The stoat touched his ear dutifully. “Aye, Cap’n, I could.”

Plugg wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Then take Grubbage with ye, an’ when yer come across the stream ye can chuck each other in an’ scrub yoreselves ’til dawn. Rub some fresh mint on yoreselves, too.”

The two vermin plodded obediently off, Grubbage waggling a paw in his ear, or what was left of it. “Why’ve we got to put fresh mint on a shelf? Don’t make sense.”

When they had gone, Plugg continued sniffing. “Phew! That stink’s still ’angin’ about. Wot is it?”

Kurda was about to suggest that Plugg join his crewbeasts in the stream. But she thought better of it now that she really needed an ally. “Der shmell? I don’t know, maybe all strange voodlands shtink like diss!”

The silver fox picked up a burning twig and blew on it. “No matter, we’ll see if it smells any better inside that Abbey place, once we’ve burned their doors down. Hahaharr!”

Eight Redwallers, headed by Foremole Urrm, shouldered four stout poles running through the hooped iron handle of a massive cauldron. Urrm grunted.

“Yurr, altogether naow, give et ee gudd lift, wun, two, hupp!”

Filled almost to the brim with oatmeal boiled in honey, the great mass was lifted and carried, one step at a time, up the gatehouse stairs. Only Memm Flackery and some shrew wives, who were seeing to the Dibbuns, were not present. Just before dawn, Skipper had ordered everybeast up to the battlements to provide a show of force for the vermin’s benefit.

Scarum strode the walltop jauntily. He threw an excellent salute to Skipper and Triss, who were both standing on the threshold directly over the gates. “Beeyootiful mornin’, sah an’ marm, no sign o’ Plugg an’ his perishers, no white ferrets or rats to blight the day. I’m about ready for a spot of brekkers, wot!”

Shading his eyes, Shogg peered up toward the northwest. “You spoke too soon, Scarum mate. ’Ere they come!”

Figures could be seen scurrying out of the woodlands. They crossed the path, negotiating the ditch on its far side. When a few score of them had made it, they began walking out west, across the flatlands, away from the Abbey.

Sagax watched the line of figures trudging through the clinging remnants of groundmist. The badger scratched his muzzle stripes. “Looks like they’re going away.”

Scarum merely shook his head. “Goin’ away? ’Fraid not, old lad, they’re just movin’ out of sling an’ arrow range.”

Kroova saw them halt a good distance away, straight in line with the Abbey gates. “Yore right. ’Ow did ye know?”

Scarum winked confidentially. “Son of a colonel, sah, attended Long Patrol School at Salamandastron, learned a smidgeon there, y’know, wot wot!”

Sagax tugged his friend’s tail playfully. “Hah, Long Patrol School. We spent most of our time playing truant as I remember. Go on, then, what did you learn?”

The young hare pointed to the vermin and scoffed, “Pish tush an’ fiddleydee, oldest trick in the book, that one. Either they’re tryin’ to draw attention away from our rear, or they’re plannin’ chargin’ us head-on an’ doin’ somethin’ pretty awful to the front gates. See, told you. See those flames, they’re lightin’ a blinkin’ fire, the cads. I’ll wager you a salad to a sausage they’re goin’ to flamin’ well try an’ burn their way in, wot!”

“Yurr, moi guddbeasts, makeways, us’n’s bee’s a-cummin’ oop thurr wi’ brekkist!”

Scarum hopped nimbly to one side, all agog. “Oh, splendid show, chaps, hot honeyed oatmeal. Let me give you a lift with that, my good moletypes. Nothin’ like a spot o’ the old honeyed oatmeal t’keep me handsome, wot!”

Triss looked at the huge cauldron of steaming food. So did Skipper, Shogg, Kroova and Sagax. They exchanged grins.

Scarum had a ladlefull. He blew on it and tasted a little. “Huh, dunno what you chaps are laughin’ at, this stuff’s jolly hot an’ pretty heavy I can tell you.”

Triss and Sagax were now conferring with Foremole Urrm and his crew, leaning over the battlements and pointing out toward the vermin and their fire on the flatlands. There was lots of whispering and nodding. Urrm and his moles seemed to find the entire conversation hilarious.

Still trying to cope with his ladle of hot oatmeal, Scarum flapped his ears to cool it and muttered indignantly, “Nothin’ funny about a chap tryin’ to have brekkers, wot?”

Triss wiped the smile from her face. “Of course not, Scarum. Listen, why don’t you take your oatmeal around to the east wall. Organise the sentries there. You said that the vermin may be trying to draw attention away from our rear. If there is anything going on over there, there’s nobeast we’d like better than you to take command.”

Any idea of being a commander appealed to the hare. Throwing Triss an elaborate salute, he swaggered off around the ramparts, leaving the steaming cauldron behind and bawling orders to the shrews on the east wall. “Attention there, you sloppy lot! Chins in, chests out, shoulders back! Steady in the ranks! First one who moves is on a fizzer! Officer comin’ over, prepare to salute!”

Plugg Firetail stood with his back to the fire, enjoying its warmth in the misty dawn. The crew of the Seascab went about their tasks as they listened to him outlining his scheme. He was in high good humour.

“Haharr, who needs Princess Pinky-eyes an”er lackeys, eh? We’ll show em ’ow Freebooters gets the job done. While they’re skulkin’ round in the woodlands, I’ll ’ave us inside yon Abbey in time fer afternoon tea an’ some liddle cakes!”

The crew roared with laughter. Their captain had never failed them when it came to plunder and the taking of booty.

Prince Bladd was with them. He giggled excitedly. “You be der sly old fox, Captain. Vot is der plan?”

Plugg threw a paw about the Pure Ferret, leaning on him like a crutch. “Listen now, mate, an’ I’ll tell ye. Those creatures on the wall will be watchin’ this ’ere fire. That’s wot I wants ’em to do, see. But they won’t see old Slitfang and Grubbage and some others. They’ll range out in two big ’alf-circles an’ sneak up through the grass to the Abbey gates. With them they’ll be carryin’ dry brush, some veggible oil an’ ship’s tar, an’ a smoulderin’ cob o’ tow rope. I’ll stay back ’ere by the fire with a few mateys. We’ll distract those sillybeasts’ attention. Then Slitty an’ the rest’ll build the brush up agin the gates, douse it wi’ tar an’ oil, blow on the smoulderin’ tow ’til it flames, an’ goodbye Abbey gates. Hahahaharr.”

The fat Prince performed a little dance of delight. “Diss is gutt, yarr! Captain, I go vit dem, I make a gutt Freebooter. Let me carry der rope, I’ll set fire to de gates. I like playink mitt fire.”

Plugg tweaked the fat Prince’s nose fondly. “Right y’are, matey, we’ll make a Freebooter of ye!”

“Er, er, Cap’n, will ye move away from the fire, sir?”

Plugg growled distractedly at Grubbage, who was behind him. “Wot’ve you been told about interruptin’ yore cap’n?”

Grubbage shrugged. “I dunno about a tin cup for flappin’, but yore tail’s just fell off with the heat!”

Plugg rasped out of the side of his mouth, “Scummy, stick it back on, quick! Now then, Grubbage me ole darlin’, come round ’ere where I can see ye!”

The deaf steersrat knew what was coming. Plugg forced him to bend over by placing the flat of his battle-axe on Grubbage’s neck, then winked at Bladd. “Let’s see ye land ’im a good kick, me ole royal mate.”

Bladd obliged willingly. Grubbage staggered a pace or two, then turned with a grin to his captain.

“Bless ’im, Cap’n, but ’e’s got some kickin’ t’do afore ’e’s as good a booter as you!”

From the battlements, Churk’s keen eyes watched the activity around the fire. Without taking her eyes from the scene, the ottermaid called out, “Is that oatmeal still ’ot, Triss?”

The squirrelmaid did not bother testing it. “Aye, there’s still a bubble or two popping on it, and you can feel the heat from this iron cauldron a good pawlength away. Anything going on up there, Churk?”

“Looks like they’re startin’ to make their move.”

Foremole popped up alongside Churk, squinting hard. “Burr, oi doant see nuthin’ excep’ sum vermints a-dancin’ round ee flames, marm.”

Triss came up to watch as Churk pointed them out. “They’re fannin’ out two ways an’ circlin’ in toward our gates. See, there they go now, layin’ low an’ crawlin’ through the grass an’ heather.”

Triss followed the direction of Churk’s paw. “Ah, I see them now. Hey, Shogg, Prince Bladd fatbelly is with them, though I don’t see Kurda or any Ratguards.”

Shogg was helping Skipper and Kroova place the carrying poles through the cauldron handle. “Let’s take care o’ this lot first, Trissy, then we’ll worry about the others. You still keepin’ watch down there, Father Abbot? Tell us when the time’s right.”

Abbot Apodemus was down behind the main gates with Malbun and Crikulus, peering through a gap by a lower hinge. “I see them now, friend, but they’ve still got a way to come. We’ll let you know when they arrive.”

Plugg and about six others were dancing a hornpipe around the fire, singing aloud:

“Ho plunder, by thunder!

Ain’t nothin’ nice as plunder.

An’ booty, me beauty,

An’ loads o’ loot to boot!

There’s treasure, fine treasure!

Ye can count it at yore leisure.

All those not slayed an’ thrown in graves,

We’ll trade ’em off as slaves!

Freebooters, we’re looters!

Slingstone an’ arrow shooters.

They sigh now, an’ cry now,

O mercy, woe is me!

Wid cutlass, an’ spears,

We’ll carve off tails an’ ears,

An’ wid full sacks upon our backs,

We deals out blows an’ whacks!”

The silver fox got so carried away at one point that he pulled off his tail and whirled it above his head.

Slitfang’s ugly head showed over the ditchbank. He stared up at the seemingly empty walltop. “Come on, buckoes, over ye go!”

The Abbot saw Bladd scramble out onto the path, grinning wickedly as he blew on the smouldering rope end. Sagax looked down. Crikulus was standing on the lower wallsteps and waving wildly as he nodded his head. Skipper, Churk, Kroova and Shogg mounted the battlements as Foremole and his crew shouldered the poles, lifting the hot cauldron of honeyed oatmeal off the ground. Leaning over, Triss could see the Freebooters scurrying in pairs across the path, carrying dried brush, oil and tar. The four sturdy otters at her side leaned down and grabbed the poles, heaving the cauldron off the moles, then straightened up, lifting the cauldron above the walltops.

Crouching down close to the gate, the searat called Ripper splashed vegetable oil on the timbers. He started with shock as a cry rang out from behind a lower hinge.

“Yowch, there’s oil in my eye!”

In the split second that followed, Skipper roared out loud and clear, “Brekkist comin’ over, scum!”

The four otters twisted the poles to turn the mixture over the wall, but the poles snapped and the lot fell, cauldron and all. Crikulus leaped back as hot oatmeal flooded under the gate. “Malbun, are you all right, friend?”

The woodmouse was mopping her eye on an apron corner. “No damage, just some vegetable oil in my eye.”

With his head ringing from the agonised screams outside the gates of his Abbey, the Father Abbot helped Malbun into the gatehouse and bathed her eye.

“A dreadful solution, Malbun. Listen to those wretched beasts.”

Crikulus entered, wiping oatmeal from the hem of his robe. “Aye, Father, but the vermin could have saved themselves all that injury and agony by leaving Redwall in peace.”

Slitfang rolled in the ditch bottom, where there was a lining of stale water and mud. The Freebooter weasel screwed his face up, whimpering from the pain of the scalding honeyed oatmeal that had flooded over his back. Ripper and a searat named Blear fell in on top of him, avoiding a lively salvo of slingstones from the walltop. Slitfang booted them aside and staggered from the ditch. Reeling from side to side, he headed in the direction of the fire on the flatlands.