Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Had it not been for the situation in which they found themselves, Midda would have wished for nothing more. Having spent most of her young life on Guosim logboats,

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she loved the feel of a fine summer day on a stream. The gurgle of meandering water, the fresh, clean smell of drifting banks and the swaying motion of the vessel, leaky as it was. She could watch the streambed as it slipped by. Crowfoot fronds, like flowing green tresses, swaying underwater; the flick of a minnow's tail, its red underside showing as it skimmed under the raft. A purple-scaled gudgeon, sucking pebbles on the streambed. Lacewings, delicately hovering over the current.

Tura glanced sideways at her friend. "D'you have any idea where we are, Midda?"

The shrewmaid shook her head. "No, I don't know this area at all, but by the lay o' the land, an' those tall rushes ahead, I'd say we're somewhere close to a watermeadow."

Triggut's voice cut in on them. "Ahoy, crew, stow yore gab an' bend those backs. Take 'er in to the right bank. There's a turnoff ahead that we'll be takin'."

The turnoff was a streamlet marginally wide enough to take the raft. Triggut halted them momentarily whilst he pulled out a woven reed net. It was a snare, full of small fish. Flopping it down on the deck, the mad hog winked at Tura. "Some vittles for my finny friends. Go on, keep polin' dead ahead. Be there soon now. Hahaarr!"

Just to keep his mood sweet, Midda replied, "Cap'n says straight ahead, crew. Did ye hear him?"

Tura, Jiddle and Jinty chorused back, "Aye aye, Cap'n!"

As Midda predicted, it was a watermeadow, and a very pretty one, at that. They punted up the sidestream, with tall reeds and bulrushes shielding either side, emerging into the meadow. There was a low rise at its centre, forming an island. It was a large expanse of watermeadow, breath takingly beautiful. Orange-flowering bog asphodel, butter-hued bladderwort, white brookweed and pink-blossomed comfrey burgeoned amidst wide green platters of water lilies.

Triggut Frap pointed. "Make for the island!"

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The little ones were enchanted by the dragonflies and butterflies of many hues--skippers, whites, commas, admirals and fritillaries. The raft nosed into the island, where Triggut moored it, ordering them ashore.

Midda decided the time had come to dig in her paws. She acted as spokesbeast for her friends. "We don't go ashore without the harebabes, Cap'n. We always stay t'gether, y'see."

She watched the hedgehog, who took another change of temperament. He pulled the dagger from the mast, freeing Calla and Urfa with a few slashes. His tone was quite level as he pointed the dagger at Midda. "Right, all ashore, an' yew can stow that Cap'n talk, it don't fool me. This is my island, an' yew'll stop on it fer as long as I like, see!"

Midda faced him squarely. "You've got no right t'keep us prisoners. We're free creatures now!"

Triggut smiled nastily, cocking his sparsely quilled head to one side. "Yew made a bargain, an' I'm keepin' yew to it after 'elpin' yew to escape the Ravagers."

Then his demeanour underwent another change. He began his shuffling jig once more, cackling as he twirled the dagger and waved his ash staff.

"Heeheeheehee! Think yew kin escape my island, don't yew? Hahaarrharrr! Jus' watch this!"

He swished one end of his staff in the water, calling, "Come on, me beauties, come to ole Uncle Triggut, come, come!" Upending the reed snare net, he shook out numerous small fish, mainly minnows and sticklebacks.

There was a frightening rush of water, on and below the surface, with dorsal fins showing clear. Almost a score of big pike, those voracious freshwater predators, were there. Leaping and splashing in a feeding frenzy, their large, sharp-toothed mouths snapping and slashing as they tore the small fish into shreds and devoured them.

With a swift move, Triggut seized Diggla and held him over the roiling surface of the water. The mousebabe screamed; pike were leaping up, trying to grab him.

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Tura shouted, "Alright, alright. We'll do as ye say, sir. Give Diggla back. We'll obey ye, I swear we will!"

The mad hog tossed the mousebabe carelessly back onto the bank. "Heehee, I knew yew'd see things my way. But just keep in mind, I can call on my friends anytime!"

Midda bowed her head. "What do you want us to do?"

Triggut scratched his chin, causing a few spikes to drop off it. "Hmm, what do I want? Lemme see." He swept over them with a grand wave of his ash staff. "I want yews t'build me a house. Aye, a nice, big house!"

Jinty Witherspyk looked concerned. "But we don't know anything about buildin' houses!"

Tura trod lightly on her footpaw, silencing the hogmaid. "Oh, I should think we can manage that. Now, wot sort of house will ye be wanting?"

Triggut repeated, "A nice, big house!"

Tura adopted the air of one who had been building houses all her life. "D'ye want it made of wood or stone, how many rooms must it have, d'ye want windows, would y'like a bark-shingle roof, or woven reeds?"

As Triggut shrugged, more spines rattled off his scrofu-lus body. "Er, I dunno.... Aye, yes, I'll have all wot yew said. Windows, wood, stone an' all that stuff."

Tura nodded. "Fair enough, friend, but first my workers need feedin'. Ye can't build houses on empty stomachs!"

The crazed hog curled his lip scornfully. "Yew kin fend for yerselves as far as vittles goes. Come an' I'll show yews."

It was a fairly substantial island. They followed him to its tree-covered middle.

Triggut pointed edibles out to them. "There's apple trees, pears, some acorns, bushes an' vines with berries. Plenty o' roots, too. Make the most of 'em, then get started on my house."

Tura sat down, shaking her head. "Not today, friend. These beasts need a rest an' vittles afore they're fit for work. Besides, I ain't drawn up the plans for yore house yet. No good tryin' t'build without some plans, is it?"

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Midda, Jiddle, Jinty, even some of the little ones nodded in agreement. "No good at all!"

Triggut wiped a grimy paw over his damaged eye, which was constantly leaking. Then he laughed. "Haharrharr! Tomorrow it is, then, but let me warn yew. There's some thinks Triggut Frap's mad. Well, that's as may be. But don't ever think I'm stupid, 'cos I ain't, see? So, whilst yew clever lot sit there plannin' to escape from my island, remember that."

He darted forward and snatched Diggla. Looping a cord around the mousebabe's waist, he hauled him clear. "Haharr---gotcha! This un's too liddle t'work, so I'll take care of 'im for yew. Heeheehee, I always wanted a mousey fer a pet. Now I got one. Just in case yew lot get any funny ideas. Eat hearty an' sleep well, mates!" Kicking and wailing, Diggla was yanked off by Triggut.

The young friends could do nothing about it. Midda slumped down glumly.

"Well, here we are, prisoners again. But this time we're on a pretty island in the middle of a watermeadow ... surrounded by vicious pike, an' watched over by a madbeast who's got little Diggla as a hostage. Tura, yore the brains round here. Wot d'we do now?"

The squirrelmaid stared levelly at the shrewmaid. "I'd say we don't start quarrellin' an' bein' nasty to one another. Let's work t'gether. There's got to be a way out o' this somehow. Any ideas?"

After a moment's silence, Jiddle spoke up. "Wot d'ye mean, ideas on how t'get Diggla back, or to get off this island, or how t'fix that rotten mouldy ole mad creature?"

Tura shrugged. "Any of those three will do."

Young Jiddle dropped his voice to a whisper. "Let's deal with Triggut Frap first. It'll soon be night, an' he ain't so different from any other beast that he doesn't have to sleep...."

Midda smiled. "I think ye may have somethin' there!"

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Buckler Kordyne stood in the open air with his party of Guosim warriors. He pounded his paw on the great oak trunk in frustration. "Not a blinkin' trace of the young uns anywhere!"