Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Baby Dubdub waved a honey-smeared paw, echoing Marjoram. "Meejittly please, meejittly!"

Young Rambuculus rose sulkily. "But it's rainin' out there. Can't we wait'll it stops?"

His sister Trajidia leapt up, declaiming, "Alas, to pour shame upon the noble name of Witherspyk with churlish remarks. To your post, O errant brother!"

She was about to sit down again when Grandmother Crumfiss prodded her. "Aye, an' you, too, missy-- off y'go!"

Oakheart mounted the wallsteps with the guard detail behind him. On reaching the walltop, he was surprised to see Skipper leaning on a battlement.

"Great seasons, Skip--where did you pop up from?"

The Otter Chieftain pointed to the east wickergate. "I was down checkin' the wallgates. Aye, an' I took a turn round these ramparts. I would've raised the alarm sharpish if'n any vermin showed up."

Rambuculus smirked at his father. "So it was alright for us t'have breakfast, see!"

Skipper tweaked the insolent young hog's ear. "No, it wasn't, young un. What if'n I'd chose to join ye, eh, what

296

then? Yore pa's right. Stick to yore duty obey orders an' ye can sleep easy at night, remember that!"

The guards took shelter under the old long cloaks, brandishing makeshift weapons as they patrolled up and down. Bartij peered out into the rainswept woodlands. Skipper caught the big hedgehog's sigh.

"Wot's the matter, mate? Ye don't look too happy" Bartij shook his head as Auroria Witherspyk stumbled on the hem of a cloak, dropping her make-believe spear with a clatter.

"Look at 'em, Skip. They're nought but young uns playin' a game. Oh, I grant ye they might look like warriors from a distance. But they ain't! So wot d'we do if a couple o' hundred Ravagers comes marching up?"

The otter blinked rainwater from his eyelids. "I dread t'think, matey, I dread t'think. Let's just cross our paws an' hope it don't come down to that."

Cellarmole Gurjee came ambling up the wallsteps.

Bartij nodded to him. "Gurjee, 'ow are ye gettin' on with that weapon ye were plannin', the big cattypult wot throws rocks. Is it ready yet?"

The Cellarmole shrugged. "Not yet et b'ain't, Bart. Hurr, 'tis a gurt 'eavy tarsk. Y'see, me an' ee molecrew, we'm gotten 'er near ready, but us'ns got to getten et up out of ee cellars."

Closing his eyes, Skipper leaned his head on the battlement. Foremole Darbee joined them.

"Yurr, you'm feelin' alroight, zurr?"

Skipper explained. "The siege catapult, Gurjee tells me yore moles are buildin' it in the winecellars. Tell me, Foremole, wouldn't it have been better t'build it up here, where we'll be usin' it from?"

Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head. "May'aps you'm roight, zurr, tho' et bee's turrible weather t'be a-wurkin' out o' doors."

Bartij took Skipper to one side, whispering to him, "It

297

ain't the rain, Skip. Wot Darbee means is that moles an' high places don't go together, see?"

The Otter Chieftain nodded understandingly. "Yore right, of course. Lookit Darbee an' Gurjee, they're goin' down the wallsteps already. I should've thought o' that. Moles are frightened o' heights. It ain't their fault, just their nature."

Oakheart, who had been privy to the incident, made a helpful suggestion. "Ahem, pardon me, friends, but wouldn't it be better for the moles to unjoint the thing? I'm sure if we had all the relevant parts, then we could assemble the catapult up here, what d'ye think?"

Foremole Darbee caught the gist of Oakheart's scheme. He touched a digging claw to his snout three times at the hedgehog (a mark of high esteem and admiration amongst moles). "Oi thankee, zurr. You'm gurtly woise!"

The Witherspyk hog bowed deeply. "An unexpected compliment, my dear sirrah. I'll go and see if the Abbess can spare any creatures to help with the transportation of your weapon's parts."

Zwilt the Shade had been driving his Ravagers hard. He had almost reached the southern walls of the Abbey by midday, despite the worsening rainfall. The tall sable called a halt in the southern fringe of Mossflower woodlands. From there he could make out Redwall's south wall. It was barely visible through the sheeting rain curtain. Zwilt beckoned a Ravager to his side. Fallug, a tough-looking weasel, was not too bright, though he was trustworthy. On the march to the Abbey, Zwilt had been forming a plan, to which the inclement weather was an unexpected boon. He outlined his orders to Fallug.

"Listen, now, I'm putting you in charge of half of these Ravagers. How does that suit you, my friend?"

A smile formed on the weasel's hard, knotty features. "Suits me fine, Lord. Am I a gen'ral or summat?"

298

Zwilt managed to return the smile. "You can be a captain for now, Fallug. Once I take that Abbey, then you can be a general. Now, listen. Take spearbeasts and any who carry an axe. I need a tree, a good, big, solid one. Go away from Redwall, so you won't be heard, pick a beech or an elm. When you've chopped it down, trim it off but leave plenty of bough stubs so it can be carried."

Fallug racked his brain for a moment, then caught on. "Goin' to burst yore way in through the front door, Lord?"

Zwilt patted the weasel's shoulder. "Exactly, Captain. So make sure you get a tree that can do the job. Can I leave that to you ... Captain?"

Proud of his new title, the weasel threw out his chest. "Aye, Lord, ye can trust me!"

Zwilt nodded. "I do. Now, once you have the tree-- or should I say, the battering ram--carry it out of these woodlands but try not to be seen. Take it over the path and across the ditch. Travel out on the flatlands a couple of miles, stay low. Out there, that's where I'll be with the rest. Directly on a straight course to reach the big gate at Redwall. Understood?"

Fallug saluted. "Unnerstood, Lord. A tree shouldn't weigh too much with fivescore Ravagers t'carry it."

Another idea occurred to Zwilt. "Better still, once you've got the tree, wait until nightfall before you bring it to me. That way you won't be seen."

With the rain still providing cover, Zwilt set out from the woodland fringe along with his warriors. Outwardly, he was the same enigmatic, tall sable that his Ravagers feared and obeyed. However, inwardly, Zwilt the Shade was quivering with anticipation at the prize which lay ahead. Unlike Vilaya, he did not need slaves and subdued woodlanders to serve his needs--an army of two hundred was sufficient. Zwilt had always followed the trade of death, and plenty of slaughter was what he was looking forward to.

299

24

Diggs lay flat on his back, staring wide-eyed at the magnificent figure of the badgermaid who had him pinned down with a single paw. Never short of an answer or explanation, the tubby hare smiled winningly up at her.

"Er, beg pardon, marm, but could you repeat the question?"

She increased both the pressure of her footpaw and the volume of her voice. "I said, tell me where my friend is, if you want me to spare your life. Where is he? Speak!"

Being the resourceful creature he was, and fearing for his young life, Diggs took what he considered to be the appropriate course of action. He bit her footpaw sharply.

The huge badgermaid roared, instinctively raising her footpaw. Diggs shot off like a rocket, straight back into Althier. Heaving the broken front door upright, he blocked the entrance with it, yelling out in panic, "I say, steady on there, old gel. I'm not a bloomin' foebeast--I'm a friend. I'm searchin' for some young uns. Why d'you want to jolly well slay me, wot?"

A terrific thud from outside knocked the door flat-- Diggs found himself laid out under it. Then the door was lifted and flung to one side. With awesome strength, the

300

badgermaid reached in and lifted him bodily out. She sat Diggs down against the oak trunk.