Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Vilaya placed the cord over Zwilt's blade, letting the medallion slide back down to him. "Keep the trinket. How will you use your new sword?"

Zwilt saluted skilfully with the blade. "Only in the service of Vilaya, my Sable Quean!"

She nodded. "Well spoke, Zwilt. You may go, but I will soon use you and the sword when I make my move."

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BOOK TWO Go Find the Babes!

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One thing was certain, the Flitcheye had never faced two battle-crazed Salamandastron hares before. It soon became clear that the furtive vermin had bitten off far more than they could chew. The Guosim shrews, headed by Jango Bigboat, were fearless. They waded into the ragged, prancing enemy with rage and vigour, yodelling, "Logalogalogaloooooog!"

Not to be outdone, Oakheart Witherspyk seized a blazing log from the fire, laying about him like a madbeast, whilst being joined by the rest of his troupe. What they lacked in warrior's skill they made up for in energy and enthusiasm--they invented their own war cries.

"Haharr, strewth an' have at ye, stinky vermin!"

"Zounds an' batter pudden, ye rascally snivellers!"

"Raxilly snivvers!" (That was baby Dubdub's contribution.)

Diggs got to the truth of the matter when he walloped a loaded sling over a Flitcheye head. He shook his quarry like a rag doll, until all the trailing weeds, clinging vines, leaves and a barkcloth mask fell from the beast, exposing it for what it really was.

Diggs shouted, "What'n the name o' raggedy trousers is

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this? I say, you chaps, these cads are nought but runty little weasels. You impudent rogues, c'mere, tatty bum!"

In a remarkably short time, the Flitcheye found themselves being soundly trounced by hares, shrews and hedgehogs. None of their assailants seemed the least scared of them. Even Trajidia found herself throttling one of them and declaiming, "For shame, you dreadful scruffy midget--trying to pass yourself off as an ambushing warrior, eh? Take that, you snotnosed impostor, and that, an' that'n'that'n'that! Now, are you ready for another walloping?"

Caught twixt the blazing campfire and the stream, the would-be ambushers found themselves severely punished. Their numbers were swelled when Sniffy and his band drove in the Flitcheye from the woodlands. These were the beasts who had been creating the noxious smoke.

The travellers had battled so wildly that all the fight had been knocked out of their enemies. Surrender was total.

The defeated vermin fell down, grovelling for mercy amidst agonised sobs.

"Yowwwooooow! Spare us, kind gennelbeasts!"

"Ye wouldn't 'ave me kil't, would ye, sirs? I gotta pore mother an' ten liddle uns ter look arter!"

Young Rambuculus pointed the pleader out to his sister. "Hah, ye could take lessons from that rascal, Trajidia!"

Buckler restored order, bawling out in fine parade-ground manner, "Silence, you horrible lot! Next beast to make a sound gets slain forthwith. Now shut up!"

This had the desired effect. The Flitcheye fell quiet, apart from the odd groan, sob or sniffle.

Dymphnia Witherspyk glanced fearfully at Buckler. "What do you plan on doing with these unfortunate wretches?"

Baby Dubdub echoed her--"Affortunate wrenches!"-- and went back to sucking his paw.

Diggs twirled his loaded sling nonchalantly. "Aye, thought up any blinkin' dreadful fate yet, old lad?"

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Jango Bigboat interrupted, with the age-old solution: "Wipe 'em all out, mate. They'd have murdered us--aye, an' not swiftly either. I've 'eard tales o' Flitcheye deeds that don't bear thinkin' about. Right, Sniffy?"

The Guosim scout tested the point of his rapier. "Right, Chief. The only good vermin's a dead un!"

Oakheart protested, " Ton me spikes, sirrah, you don't mean that we should slaughter them all? It's unthinkable!"

Oakheart's mother, Crumfiss, a shrewd old hedgehog, looked to Buckler, who was obviously in command. "What's your opinion, Longblade?"

The young hare stared at the quivering, prostrate vermin. "I'm with Oakheart. It's one thing slaying a foebeast in the heat of battle, but defeating 'em then killing the survivors isn't right. That'd make us murderers, an' no better than the Flitcheye. Where I come from, that sort o' thing just ain't done. It's against any true warrior's code."

Jango nodded. "Ye may have a point there, Buck. But wot are ye goin' t'do, eh? We can't just turn 'em loose."

A sudden idea came to Buckler. "Give the Flitcheye a taste of their own medicine."

Rainbow, the only mole in the Witherspyk troupe, chuckled gruffly. "Ahurrhurr, you'm mean to make ee vurrmints sniff en they'm own narsty smoke, zurr?"

Diggs backed his friend up to the hilt. "I say, what a super wheeze, Buck. Send the filthy blighters off for a jolly long snooze, wot. That'll teach the little rotters. Ha wha wha w!"

The plan seemed to catch the approval of everybeast, even Jango and Sniffy. Buckler set the scheme into action, calling out orders. "Take all their weapons and chuck 'em in the stream. Get them all out of those scary rags an' face masks--burn the lot! Sniffy, scout along the streambank. See if you can spot a couple of willows near the edge. Jango, Oakie, get all their supplies of those herbs they use to create the knockout fumes!"

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It took a while, but finally everything was in position. Stripped of all their barbarous apparel, the Flitcheye were exposed for what they really were, a pathetic, primitive tribe of stunted weasels. They stood in sullen silence as Guosim logboat crewbeasts bound them securely, neck to neck, tail to tail and paw to paw.

Both hares and the Witherspyks escorted the hobbling gang along the bank. Sniffy had chosen well. Three big weeping willows growing side by side spread their leafy canopy down to touch the stream current. To both sides and the rear of the willows, Jango and his Guosim were piling up mounds of dried brush, dead leaves and damp loam.

The Flitcheye wailed and moaned as they were bound to the trunks and branches of the willows.

"Ayaaaaah! No, no, please, sirs. Mercy!"

Diggs wrinkled his nose at them. "Oh, stop blubberin'. A few days' sleep an' a bloomin' big headache when ye wake should do you rotters the flippin' world o' good, wot, wot. Cheer up now, chaps!"

The entire supply of the dreaded herbs was spread on the mounds. Jango was allowed the privilege of setting light to the fires. The Guosim Log a Log was in jovial spirits as he tossed lighted brands onto the heaps of combustibles, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sweet dreams, ye stinkin' villains! C'mon, now, all together, breathe deeply.... In an' hold, an' slowly out! There, that's the style, an' I hope ye'll wake with a headache that'll last ye a half season, ye scurvy vermin. Now, how does that feel, mateys?"

Standing clear of the fumes, everybeast waded into the shallows to watch what would happen. The overhanging willows acted like an enveloping canopy, catching the smoke and holding it as it grew more dense. Dimly, they could see the Flitcheye being punished for their misdeeds. With eyes streaming, the vermin stood bound to the willows, some trying to hold their breath, others weeping

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and moaning as they slumped into a nightmarish pit of dreams.

Buckler shouldered his blade. "Justice done, eh, Jango?"

The Shrew Chieftain clasped his paw warmly "Aye, done, an' seen t'be done, matey!"

Diggs winked at Sniffy. "Y'see, old scout, there's more ways to skinnin' a frog than feedin' it 'til it bursts, wot. Come on, let's go, but quietly, please--don't want to disturb those chaps from their snooze!"

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. They took a quick breakfast in the dawnlight and set off upstream with the flotilla of logboats and the raft. The woodlands were still enclosed in the gloomy green-tinged half-light as they turned off down the sidestream.