Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Jango scratched at his scrubby beard. "You got a point there, scribe, but where is it, where do we start lookin'?"

Skipper tried reasoning. "Well, those Ravager vermin ain't been seen hereabouts until lately. So maybe they ain't had time to build Althier. P'raps they just found it, an' the Quean made it their lair."

Abbess Marjoram was in agreement. "It sounds feasible to me. So, what natural hideouts do we know of around Mossflower Country? Who has a working knowledge of the area? Abbeybeasts mainly stay here at Redwall--- we're not travellers. Jango, maybe you could suggest someplace?"

The Guosim Chieftain pondered. "Hmm, lemme see. I've spent all me life on Mossflower's waterways. Hah, wot about the old quarry? That's full o' caves!"

Granvy pointed a paw at Jango. "You could be right. I read in the records that the quarry was where they took the stone from to build Redwall. That's how it became a quarry. It was said to be a breeding place for serpents, though, poisonteeth adders. D'you think they'd choose that? I'm not so sure, friends."

"Corim, the place of Corim!"

The words had come from the Abbess, but the voice did

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not sound like hers. Granvy stared at Marjoram. "What was that you said? Corim?"

Abbess Marjoram shook her head and rubbed her eyes, as if just waking from a nap. She blinked at Granvy. "I don't know. What did I say?"

Oakheart held out his paw theatrically. "As I heard it, marm, you said, 'Corim, the place of Corim!' I never forget my lines, you see, and neither should you, Mother Abbess. Corim, the place of Corim. Heard it m'self, distinctly-- though I recall, your voice sounded rather different."

Granvy spoke in hushed tones. "That's because it was the voice of Martin the Warrior! It isn't the first time he's spoken through some other creature. Martin's sending us a message."

Jango carried on with his former idea. "I think the ole quarry'd be a likely place--"

"Silence, please!"

Granvy had both his eyes shut tight, his paws clenched. The old Recorder was concentrating hard.

Jango went quiet; they all stared at Granvy. Now he was rocking back and forth, muttering, "Corim, Corim, the place of Corim ... Corim, where have I heard that name before? Corim, a word from long ago ..."

He suddenly leapt up in a fever of elation. "Hahah! Of course! Now I know, 'twas here all the time, here right under our snouts!"

Skipper could stand it no longer. The big otter picked Granvy up and stood him on the gatehouse table. "Corim here? Granvy, me ole mate, will ye stop jump in' about an' talkin' in riddles? Wot's right under our snouts? Now, calm down an' speak plain!"

Granvy sat down on the edge of the table. He took a deep breath, then polished his glasses slowly. "Er, forgive my little outburst--not quite the thing for an Abbey Recorder. However 'twas not without reason. Buckler, d'ye see that bookshelf on the far wall? I'd like you to find me a volume there. I'm not quite certain of the title, though."

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Diggs chunnered. "Not quite certain, eh? That's jolly useful, wot. Confounded great load o' books on those shelves, an' the blinkin' chap doesn't know the flippin' name o' the one he wants. Hah!"

Buckler's paw gagged his voluble friend's mouth as Granvy continued, "I know it's a weighty book, huge, thick thing, probably with a green cover. Or was it red? Something about a journal of somebeast or other. Name began with a G."

Now it was Marjoram's turn to get excited. "The Journal of Abbess Germaine!"

The glasses slipped down Granvy's nose. "How did you know that?"

Marjoram explained, "Because when I was made Abbess of Redwall I borrowed it from you to learn how other Abbesses ruled here!"

Granvy scratched his ears. "Did you, really? Dearie me, I must be getting old. I don't remember. Tell me more, please."

Marjoram did just that. "You were right. It's a thick old green volume, but you won't find it in here. I kept it in my study, you see. 'Twas very wrong of me, because I've never found the time to read it, though I keep promising myself that I will sometime. Shall we go and take a peep at it?"

As they crossed the moonlit lawns, Diggs saw the dormitory lights going out one by one. He yawned. "Only one thing I like better'n' scoffin', an' that's snoozin'. In a snug little bunk with a soft pillow, wot!"

Granvy blinked; Skipper caught him as he stumbled.

"Are you tired, too, me ole mate?"

The hedgehog Recorder shook himself briskly. "Not at all. Lead on, my friend!"

The Abbess breathed in deeply. "Ah, just smell that summer night air. So warm and soft. I love the different scents, fennel, marigold, dandelion and gentian, so delicate, faint almost."

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Jango growled, "Let's get on an' look at this book instead o' yafflin' about goin' to bed an' sniffin' the flowers!"

Oakheart chuckled quietly. "Ah, a true lover of nature and its many wonders."

The study was a neat room. Marjoram could not abide untidiness. The friends began sorting through her books, but she rapped sharply on her writing desk.

"Touch nothing, please. I know exactly where everything is. See, here is the book!"

Granvy immediately opened it, flicking through the yellowed barkpaper leaves.

It was a huge green-bound volume. The Recorder muttered to himself as he leafed through it. "Must've taken Abbess Germaine many seasons to write all this. A good deal is about the time before our Abbey was even built. Goodness knows when that was!"

Abbess Marjoram hovered about the old squirrel anxiously. "Please be careful with the book. It's so old, and very precious. Take care you don't damage it!"

Granvy, however, was paying little attention to her. Knowing what he sought, he riffled speedily through. "Hmm, wildcats, vermin, Martin, Gonff, Bella of Brockhall... Ah, here it is!"

Buckler leaned over his shoulder. "Here's what? Have you found something valuable?"

The Recorder raised a small spurt of dust as he slammed his paw down on the open page. "The answer to our problem, friends. Now I know what Corim means, and Althier, too. This has to be it!"

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14

There are those in Mossflower who would deny the existence of a Warrior mole. None of these doubters had ever met Axtel Sturnclaw. There was not the slightest doubt that Axtel was a warrior. He was also a loner--bigger, stronger and fiercer than any of his species. In his broad belt, Axtel carried a war hammer, which he mainly used for breaking stones when he was tunnelling. Other than that, the big fellow needed no fancy weaponry. Just one glance at his massive digging claws was enough to warn anybeast. Axtel Sturnclaw was not a mole to be messed with. He led a solitary life, wandering the woodlands, furrowing his own workings and, for the most part, shunning the company of others.

Vermin had never bothered him. The few who had tried never lived to tell the tale. He left their carcasses up in the branches of trees for carrion to dispose of. It was Axtel's view that he would not sully good soil by burying vermin in it.

In short, Axtel Sturnclaw was a warrior mole who lived quietly but by his own principles. He was a stranger to the Mossflower woodlands, so he was exploring.

This particular day, he was tunnelling near a gigantic old oak, hoping to find a cave beneath the roots. Having dug

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all day with not much success, Axtel was about to finish and go back up to the woodland surface when something unexpected occurred.

His tunnel collapsed. Not on his head but beneath him. Without warning, he shot downward and was only stopped from falling further by his own prompt action. Feeling the floor going out from under him, the powerful mole grabbed a thick root and hung on. As suddenly as it had started, the subsidence ceased. Axtel hung there in darkness for a moment, puzzled by the turn of events. Then something grabbed him by the footpaw.