Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

She should 'ave sailed off in a logboat, but instead she left home in a huff, huff huff huff.

She might have gone off in a temper, but she'd lost that long ago, long long agooooo!

If she'd left in a rush or an 'urry, we'd have all been sure to know.

So I leave you with this lesson, if you must leave home, my dear,

'twill break my heart if you take the cart, an' the wheels will fall off, I fear."

There was another verse, and possibly a chorus, but Flib had forgotten it. She sat there trying to recall the silly little ditty, remembering some of the happy times she had spent with her tribe--the high-summer days, with good food and peaceful surroundings. It all seemed so long ago now, somehow. Her head slowly began to droop, then her eyelids closed. Sleep was finally getting the better of her.

It was a rude awakening when her ear was grabbed roughly and a voice snarled, "Well, lookit wot we got here, our liddle shrewmate!"

A whip cracked in front of Flib's face. She looked up and found herself staring into the cruel eyes of Thwip, her former fox jailer.

His mate, Binta, was nearby. She prodded at the two sleeping mole Dibbuns, snarling nastily, "Aye, an' here's 'er two liddle pals. Chubby young things, ain't they?"

Instead of fear, the Guosim maid was instantly filled with a red rage against herself, for napping whilst on guard, and deep hatred for her former tormentors.

Throwing herself forward, she twisted her ear from the fox's grasp, falling flat in the carpet of dead leaves. Swift as lightning, Flib seized the makeshift spear. Thwip was halfway through swinging the lash at her when Flib lunged with the spear. The whip fell unheeded on the ground.

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Thwip looked puzzled as he stared down at the spear protruding from his midriff. He turned his gaze to Binta. There was a note of complaint in his last words. "She's killed me!"

He fell backward, his paws grasping the spear pole, as if he was holding it there. Binta gave an angry sobbing wail. She ran at Flib, swinging her long willow cane. The shrewmaid tried to pull the spear from Thwip, but it was locked in the fox's death grip.

A stinging rain of strokes hit her--the vixen swung her cane madly, shouting aloud, "You've slain my Thwip! I'll flog ye to death for that!"

The willow slashed down mercilessly at Flib. She huddled on the grass in a futile attempt to protect herself. Then, quite by accident, her paw fell upon the dead fox's whip.

Roaring with pain, Flib leapt up, wielding the lash. It cracked and snaked viciously as the tables turned and the beater became the beaten. The shrewmaid became an avenging fury, belabouring her enemy ruthlessly.

Dropping the cane, Binta ran off into the night, wailing.

The din had wakened the two mole Dibbuns. Gurchen trundled across to Flib, exclaiming, "Boi 'okey marm, ee surrpintly gived ee foxers ole billyoh! Yurr, bee's you'm 'urted?"

Flib shook her head. "Not so much as 'urted--more 'urt-ing than anythin'. I never used a blinkin' whip afore. I hit meself a few times by mistake. It stings more'n that cane. No serious damage though, just welts an' bruises."

Guffy had found Thwip's body. He tried unsuccessfully to pull the spear loose. The little mole shook his head admiringly. "Hurr, miz, you'm gurtly slayed this yurr ver-mint. Ee'm b'aint a-cummen back furr more!"

The pain from her beating, plus the realisation that she had killed another creature, sent Flib into shock. She sat down abruptly, her whole body shivering as she rocked back and forth, whimpering and moaning.

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Guffy stared solemnly at her. "Burr, wot bee's ailin' ee, Miz Fib?"

Gurchen went rummaging through Axtel's pack. "Oi thinks she'm bee'd a-sickened with summat. Yurr!" Opening a small flask, the molemaid sniffed it. "Smells loike summ blacker-bee woine, gurtly strong!"

Wrapping Flib in the cloak they had used as a blanket, the sensible little molemaid forced the flask between her patient's lips, administering the blackberry wine. "Yurr, Guff, see if'n ee can make sum foire t'keep this un warm."

This was an absolute joy to Guffy, who as a Dibbun, had been prohibited by Redwall elders from ever playing with fire. He found flint and an old knifeblade in the pack. Chuckling to himself, he set about his task, piling up dried leaves and grass.

"Hurrhurr, oi'll make Miz F'ib a gudd ole blaze!"

True to his word, Guffy soon had a big fire burning.

Gurchen stopped him from piling on more fuel. "Yurr, you'm rarscal. Oi never asked ee to set all ee wuddlands ablaze. Oi only wants a likkle foire, enuff to keep Flib warmed."

When they had a respectably sized campfire, all three sat by it, the moles either side of Flib. The Guosim maid still seemed very distant, rocking slightly as she stared fixedly into the flames. Gurchen tried to elicit some response by chatting to her.

"You'm gudd'n warm noaw, marm. Hurr, oi 'spec ee gurt Wurrier mole bee's a-comen back soonly."

Guffy began thrusting a twig into the fire. He liked playing with the flames. Gurchen warned him, "Play with foire an' ee'll burn yoreself!"

Almost as she said it, the burning twig broke, dropping a glowing red fragment onto the little mole's paw. He yelped, hopping about and beating at himself.

"Ah, sure, the young uns never listen, do they? I was the same at his age, thought I knew it all, so I did!"

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None of the trio had noticed the water vole. She had appeared from nowhere and was seated by the fire, warming her paws. Grabbing Guffy, she dabbed his paw with some damp moss, nattering away conversationally. "There now, ye liddle scallywag. That'll teach ye t'play with fire. Wot's wrong wid yer friend the shrew, there? Is she in some kind of an ould trance?"

Gurchen answered the question by asking one of her own. "Burr, marm, who moight you'm be, an' whurr did ee cummed frum?"

The water vole was an amiable-looking beast with thick, glossy fur, a chubby face and a blunt snout. She wore an old tattered shawl pulled about her ears like a hood. Leaning forward on a knobbly hawthorn stick, she introduced herself.

"Ah, sure, I'm nobeast of any importance at all, at all. Mumzillia O'Chubbacutch is me given title, though I wouldn't consider meself offended if'n ye called me Mumzy. Now, me darlin', wot do they call you?"

Gurchen rose, performing a small curtsy. "Oi bee's Gurchen. Ee'm likkle rarscal bee's Guffy, an' hurr's Flib. We'm waiten furr our gudd friend to cumm back yurr. He'm ee mole Wurrier, marm."

Mumzy waved her stick at the carcass of Thwip. "An' which one of you bold creatures slayed that un?"

Guffy pointed a grimy paw at Flib. "Et wurr Miz F'ib, marm. She'm vurry brave."

Mumzy rose with a groan. "Sure, me ould back isn't wot it used t'be. Gettin' old is a tribulation, as me fat uncle Shaym used t'say."

She began extinguishing the fire by kicking soil on it. "C'mon now, up off yore tails, me darlin's--let's go!"

Gurchen protested. "But us'ns must wait fur ee h' Axtel!"

Mumzy got Flib standing upright. The shrewmaid did not resist. The water vole beckoned Guffy. "Lend a paw

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here, me liddle sir. Ye can't wait here, not with vermin roamin' the woods. Ye'd end up as dead meat if'n they claps eyes on the likes of ye. I'd be correct in sayin' that yore on the run from them?"

Gurchen just nodded, willing to fall in line with their new friend's advice.

Mumzy prodded Axtel's pack with her stick. "Right, then, bring that along with ye. Me'n' the liddle feller 'll help Flib. "lis best ye stay out o' sight at my place. 'Tisn't far, only a hop'n'skip over yonder."

They followed her on a zigzag route under bushes, through a fern bed and across some rocks to a stream-bank. There was a rocky outcrop with an entrance beneath it--this was hidden behind a curtain of knotweed, sundew and watercress. Pushing it to one side, the water vole led them in.