Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

Sniffy grabbed Flib, dragging her along with the retreating Guosim. "Back off, ye young rip, or you'll be left alone outside the Abbey. C'mon, you've done enough, Flib!"

Zwilt had not taken part in the fight. He reasoned that there was little sense in a commander being faced with a crazed, hammer-wielding mole or cut down by a chance slingstone.

Fallug ventured forward with the Ravagers, but only as an observer. He trotted back to make his report to Zwilt. "They fight fiercely for such a small force, Lord, but they're in retreat now, back to their Abbey. Hah, woodlanders can't stand against our Ravagers!"

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Zwilt regarded his Weasel Captain with cold scorn. "Where are the beasts I left you in the woodlands with?"

Straining his gaze into the darkness, Fallug pointed. "Comin' right now, Sire. They're carryin' the tree trunk ye wanted. It's a big 'eavy one!"

The tall sable issued fresh orders. "Quickly, now, go to them, leave the battering ram. Tell them to drop it--I mightn't need it if they're fast enough."

Fallug was perplexed, but he saluted dutifully. "Right away, Lord, but how'll we get into Redwall without battering the door down?"

"Come!" Zwilt pulled him along, explaining as they ran. "We'll split into two more groups. Take yours off to the left--I'll take mine to the right. If we're fast enough, we can cross the ditch, get onto the path and cut them off. The ones inside the Abbey are bound to open the big gates to let their friends in. My Ravagers will be coming in from three sides--from the left, the right and the back. We'll slay all those outside and rush in before they close the gates, but only if we act fast!"

Skipper and Oakheart had the west walltop covered with guards, who were mainly composed of older Redwallers, some mothers, Foremole and his full molecrew. They could hear the sounds of a running skirmish.

The Otter Chieftain tightened his jaw grimly. "Buck'n'Jango's gang are in trouble. They must've been seen by the vermin."

Oakheart dabbed at his eyes with a spotted kerchief. "Indeed, 'twould seem so, but 'tis confounded dark out there--too dark to give them any help. Can't tell which is t'other, it's all a mass of shapes. Very confusin', sirrah. Let's just hope they get back safely, eh?"

Foremole Darbee furrowed his velvety brow. "Hurr, an' us'll 'ave to h'open ee gates so they'm can coom h'insoide. 'Ow'm uz a-goin' t'do that, zurr?"

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Skipper thumped his rudder down fretfully. "Aye, mates, that's the problem. If'n we throw our gates open, we'll get all manner o' vermin chargin' in here!"

Granvy the Recorder emerged from the wallshadows. "Light a fire in the gateway."

Skipper frowned at the ancient hedgehog. "Wot are ye doin' up here, mate? Yore far too old for this sort o' thing. An' wot good will a fire in the gateway do?"

Granvy outlined his plan. "It's worth a try, for want of a better idea. We build a large fire not far from the main gate, surround either side of it with pike or javelin beasts, then at my signal, open the doors."

Oakheart scratched his headspikes. "It might just work! That way we can sort out the riffraff--let our friends enter and fight the vermin off. Keep the villains out, then as soon as Buck an' the others are in, we slam the gates!"

Skipper was already descending the wallsteps. "Get anythin' that'll burn. Come on, mates, pile it up but leave enough space for the gates to open an' shut. Oakie, get the word around. There ain't a moment t'lose!"

Sniffy shouted to the Guosim as they fought their retreat over the nighttime plain. "We'll be at the ditch soon. If'n ye falter, we're deadbeasts. Try an' jump o'er it in one bound!"

Buckler, who was having problems keeping Axtel from turning to face the Ravagers, called to Flib, "Get yore pa over here to me. You get across the ditch an' leave him to me. Wait, Axtel, come back here, mate!"

The Warrior mole had charged off down the path. He met Fallug and his vermin as they tried to cross the ditch lower down. Standing at the edge of the path, Axtel caught the first pair, two river rats. They splashed back into the ditch, their lives snuffed rudely out by the mighty war hammer. However, he could only hold one spot on his own, and they began crossing further down.

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Buckler heaved Jango up onto his shoulders and was rewarded with a clout over his ears. The Shrew Chieftain had suddenly wakened and was struggling wildly.

"Git yore paws off'n me, I ain't no babe t'be carried. Where are we? Is young Flib alright?"

Buckler dropped him in a heap, relieved at his friend's recovery. "We're at the Abbey--get over that ditch. Come on, ye'll have t'jump, they're almost on us!"

Flib, who had leapt the ditch, saw vermin coming down the path on her left side. She turned and ran for the gate, with Ravagers hard on her paws.

Buckler, Jango and Bartij had gathered the remaining shrews in front of the main gate when Skipper's shouts came from the walltop. "Ahoy, mates, hold fast, there!"

Granvy's shrill call rang out. "Light the fire!"

There was a loud whoosh as lighted torches were tossed onto the hill of wood, moss, straw-filled mattresses and dead vegetation, all soaked in vegetable oil. The night lit up over the gates as red-gold shafts shone through the doorjambs, lintels and bottom space of the oaken west portal.

A shrew standing next to Buckler gave a sigh. He sagged forward, pinned to the door timbers by a vermin spear.

Jango bellowed into the night, "Hellgates an' bloodfire, we're sittin' targets if'n they don't open these gates! You in there, git the doors open, fer pity's sake!"

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26

More by luck than judgement, Diggs and his badgermaid friend arrived on the banks of the stream previously visited by both the young ones and Zwilt's Ravagers. The tubby young hare had found ramsons growing in the tree-shade. Uprooting a bunch, he munched on the pungent plants as he cast about.

"Hmm, been a bit of to-ing an' fro-ing around here. Tracks are still here'n'there, despite the bally rain, wot."

Ambrevina turned her face from Diggs's overpowering breath. "Whew, d'you have to chew those things?"

Diggs took another mouthful of the wild garlic plant. "Whoever 'twas prob'ly took t'the jolly old water. Bally rain swelled the current--no point tryin' t'go upstream. Er, beg y'pardon, would y'like some ramsons?"

The badgermaid never answered. Loosing her huge sling, she whipped out with it, neatly snagging an old willow trunk which had been washed into the stream.

Diggs nodded admiringly, watching her haul it into the bank. "Oh, I say, well done, that, gel, wot! Do I take it we're goin' for a bit of a sail downstream?"

Ambrevina snatched the malodorous ramsons from his grasp. Flinging them away, she wiped her paws on the damp grass. "Wrong, Diggs. I'm going downstream on this

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trunk. You aren't going anywhere until you've washed out your mouth and given me your solemn word that you'll stop eating that stinking weed. So, that's my offer, take it or leave it!"

The tubby hare looked aggrieved but wilted under her determined gaze. He thrust out his lower lip, chunnering. "Chap's got to eat, ain't he? Nothin' like some fresh ramsons, y'know. Good for the digestion, wot wot!"

Ambrevina scowled at him, holding up a massive clenched paw. "Aye, though it's been known to cause sudden unconsciousness if eaten within a certain distance of me!"

Diggs blinked owlishly, clambering aboard the willow trunk. "Hmmph! No need t'get so bloomin' cut up about it, miz. One'd think that what a chap scoffs, or chooses to scoff, is his own bally business, wot!"

With a mighty heave, she lifted the log end clear of the water, causing Diggs to cling on for balance. "Now, are you going to wash out your mouth, or shall I shake this log about a bit and do it for you?"