Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

“Yew called me cabbage brain, an’ scraggynose. That ain’t right, I never called yew nothin’.”

Gridj sniffed. “Well, I ain’t sorry, see. Wot would yew call anybeast wot got ye lost, eh?”

Slegg shrugged. “Dunno, I’m no good at name callin’, I was brought up decent. Wish I was back ’ome right now, or mebbe sittin’ in a liddle cave by the seashore, on nice, warm, dry sand, wid a fire, too. Cookin’ all kinds o’ fishes in a pot, lobsters an’ cockles, an’ crabs….”

Gridj pointed an accusing paw. “Yew said cockles wasn’t fishes. Lissen, mate, do ye really know wot yore talkin’ about? I mean, did ye ever go t’the seashore? Tell the truth!”

Slegg had never set eyes on saltwater. Instead of answering, he broke out into a song, which he had learnt from a searat when he was younger. His harsh unmelodious voice rang out into the storm.

“Come take a stroll down by the strand,

aye haul in close to me,

ye’ll live a life so free an’ grand,

just sailin’ on the sea.

There’s flatfish an’ dogfish an’ codfish, too,

there’s big jellyfish galore,

to fry to roast or boil in a stew,

wot beast could ask for more!

So come on, messmate, shun the land,

the sea runs deep an’ blue,

with beaches full o’ golden sand,

a-waitin’ there for you.

There’s halibut, herring, haddock an’ dabs,

they jumps right out o’ the sea,

cockles’n’mussels’n’limpets an’ crabs

an’ a whale for you’n’ me!”

Slegg was about to launch into another verse, when Gridj halted him with a sharp jab to the ribs. He winced. “Yowch! Wot did ye do that for?”

The younger rat muttered an angry reply. “Y’don’t know who might hear ye, give yore gob a rest!”

Slegg blew rainwater from his snout. “There ain’t the sound or sight of anybeast round ’ere. Huh, I’d be glad t’see ’em if’n there was!”

Gridj’s reply was to clamp a paw about Slegg’s mouth. “Ssssshhh!”

Slegg freed his mouth indignantly. “Don’t yew start shushin’ me, I kin talk whenever I like. Yore gettin’ a bit too big for yore tail!”

Gridj pushed the older rat’s face to one side, whispering, “Will yew stop blatherin’ an’ look over yonder? Over that way, wot can yer see?”

Slegg blinked hard as he peered between the rainswept trees. “It’s a light! Wot’s a light doin’ out ’ere in the middle o’ the night?”

His companion rose stealthily. “I dunno, let’s go an’ take a closer look. Come on, go quietly. That means keep yore big trap shut!”

Slegg got the last word in, hissing, “An’ yew, too!”

They advanced cautiously toward the light, which was little more than a pale, glowing flame. It seemed to hover at eye level, but as the rats came closer, it brightened slightly, and began moving away from them.

Slegg whispered in his friend’s ear, “Wot d’ye make of it, couldn’t be a campfire, could it?”

Gridj was openly scornful. “Hah, have you ever seen a movin’ campfire, idjit? Looks t’me like some kind o’ lantern. Maybe it’s showin’ us the way to someplace warm an’ dry?”

Slegg blew rainwater from his snout tip. “Warm’n’dry eh, I ain’t arguin’ with that. C’mon, mate, let’s foller the liddle glimmer!”

They hurried forward, but the pale flame flickered, then disappeared. Gridj gave his companion’s tail a vicious tug. “See wot ye’ve gone an’ done, thick’ead, yew frightened the pore liddle light away, dashin’ at it like that!”

Slegg retaliated by stamping on his mate’s tail. “Lissen, swinkylip, I’ve took all I’m gonna take off’n yew. Now stop pickin’ on me or I’ll chew yore ear off an’ spit it out where ye won’t find it, see!”

The hostilities were about to escalate—Gridj was pulling a club from his belt—when the light reappeared. It emerged from behind a beech tree, where it was joined by a second light. Both lights twinkled to and fro, as if performing a dance.

Slegg gurgled happily, “Hawhaw, lookit, the liddle fellers are dancin’ fer us!” He held out his paw, hoping that one might alight on it, but the pale flame wavered, moving away again.

As the two rats raced after the dancing lights, a third flame appeared, then a fourth. They stayed just out of reach, weaving merrily around one another. Slegg made an awkward swipe at the nearest flame; it evaded him, wisping off to join its partners. Gridj gave a snort of irritation.

“Leave ’em alone, stoopid, if’n ye try to grab ’em they might fly off alt’gether!”

But Slegg ignored him and chased after the twinkling lights, crowing like an infant. “Cummere, liddle mateys, ole Slegg won’t ’urt ye, come to me now, I knows ye won’t burn me. Stand on me paws an’ I’ll carry ye for awhile.”

He chased the four flames with outstretched paws, bumbling and stumbling as he dashed headlong through the storm-buffeted woodlands. Almost mockingly, the quartet of eerily glowing lights stayed nearly, but not quite, within the rat’s reach.

Gridj, not relishing being left alone amidst the nightdark trees, chased after Slegg, calling, “Yore gonna git lost good’n’proper if’n ye don’t slow down, I warn ye!”

Then Gridj tripped on a protruding root and went down face-first. Spitting out dirt, and pawing mud from his eyes, he peered about into the rainy gloom. “Slegg, where are ye?”

The older rat’s reply seemed to come from directly ahead. It was the cry of a beast in trouble. “Gridj…mate…O ’elp me, I’m guuuuurrrrggghhh!”

There was no sight of the four pale lights. Gridj went forward on all fours, shouting, “Wot’s ’appened, mate? Slegg, are yew alright?” Alarm bells went off in Gridj’s head as he felt his paws beginning to sink into the suddenly soft woodland floor. Pulling himself loose, he scrabbled backward until his back encountered a purple willow. Grabbing a bough of the tree, he hauled himself upright, staring in horror.

The four twinkling lights were flickering around Slegg’s head. He had run straight into a swamp, and was sinking at an alarming rate. Frozen with horror, Gridj could only watch as his companion’s head, illuminated by the lights, sank further. Slegg’s final gurgle was stifled by a fearful sucking noise, then he was gone forever.

Rigid with terror, Gridj watched the lights sweep around him. Frightened out of his wits, he babbled, “Stay away from me, wot d’yer want, why did ye lead me pore mate inter the swamp like that, we weren’t doin’ ye no harm, we was only goin’ t’the seashore, ’twasn’t our fault we got lost….”

Cruel claws seized Gridj, ramming his head hard into the tree trunk. A net was thrown over him and secured tightly. Through the net holes he gazed, half-stunned, at the pale lights dancing closer.

A harsh voice hissed, “Hakkah, the Doomwytes have got you now, rat!” His head was banged against the tree trunk again. Gridj fell into the dark pit of senselessness, all hopes of visiting the seashore gone forever.

2

Brother Torilis rapped briefly on the Abbot’s chamber door before entering. He bore a steaming beaker to the bedside. “Good morning, Father Abbot, did you sleep well?”

The Abbot of Redwall, a fat, old, hairy-tailed dormouse named Glisam, sat up slowly, removing his tasselled nightcap. Sighing, he gazed out into the grey dawn. “Not much change in the weather, Brother.”

Torilis placed the beaker on the table, close to paw. “That wind has died down. ’Tis not a cold day, but still raining, I’m afraid, Father.”