Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Wholly unconscious, Dwink found himself in the midst of a nightmare. His vision was clouded blood red, inhabited by purple and dark crimson foebeasts. He was still suspended by both footpaws. Painted Ones leant close, leering and grinning evilly as they whispered of the horrible fate that awaited him. Dwink felt close to death, alone amongst enemies, with no friendly face to reassure him.

Then he spied the light, a warm, golden radiance approaching him. The hideous images of the vermin faded, scurrying off into dark shadows. Suddenly, like a bright summer dawn, Martin the Warrior was with him. The legendary Redwall hero spoke soothingly through Dwink’s fevered dreams.

“Your time is not yet come, be brave, young one. Friends are near, you must live. The Painted One is cursed to suffer a fate worse than anything he can devise for you. Live long, friend…. Live!”

Defeated and dejected, the Painted Ones were forced to descend into the clearing. They were disarmed, searched and ordered to be split into groups, each lot to be secured for safe conveyance to the five-topped oak. Samolus took charge of the operation efficiently.

“Nokko, form your prisoners in one tier. Rope ’em together by their necks, an’ post guards round the villains. Skipper, Tugga, do the same with your groups. I’ll take this last bunch myself!”

Tugga Bruster put in his objection immediately. “Who put you in command, eh? I ain’t takin’ orders off no ould mouse!”

Bosie placed a heavy paw, none too gently, on the Guosim Log a Log’s shoulder. “Ye’ll do as yore bid, bonnie lad. Ah’ve taken aboot all Ah’m goin’ tae take from you. Samolus is takin’ his orders from me, an’ Ah’m commandin’ this expedition. So, one more word against mah authority, an’ Ah’ll drop ye in yore tracks. Do ye get mah drift, bucko?”

Tugga Bruster saw that the Highland hare was not joking, so he swaggered off, bawling orders at his shrews. “Straighten the scum up, make sure those ropes are properly knotted! Dubble, where are ye off to, git back here, now!”

However, the young shrew had also taken enough from his bullying father. He joined Bisky and Spingo. “I’ll go with you two, if’n ye don’t mind.” He trooped off with them both, as Spingo tipped him a mischievous wink.

“I know where the five-topped oak is, cummon, mate, we’ll get there ahead o’ the others, an’ get first crack at the loot!”

Grinning, Bisky shrugged as he remarked to Dubble, “This maid’s got loot on the brain, we’d best go along, just to see she doesn’t land herself in any trouble.”

Spingo shot him a comical scowl. “Lissen, Redwaller, you’ll be in trouble if’n ye don’t stir yore paws, now shift yerself!” They set off at a lively trot, which soon had Bisky and Dubble panting to catch up. The Gonfelin maid skipped ahead of them, singing a mocking little ditty.

“’Tis my belief if yore a thief,

you gotta get in quick,

don’t hang about for others,

be nimble that’s the trick.

’Tis no good of ye weepin’

when the loot’s in other paws,

as any Gonf’lin’ll tell ye,

it’s better off in yores!

So don’t be thick, just whip it quick,

an’ take this tip from me,

with shifty paws, the treasure’s yores,

’cos loot, ye know, is free!

So, don’t be shy be sly,

an’ don’t be slow, but go,

grab all that ye can carry,

don’t ever say yore sorry,

just steal the lot, don’t worry,

be furtive, swift an’ cute.

Grab! Catch! Swipe! Snatch!

All that lovverleee looooooooot!”

Puffing and blowing, Bisky put on an extra turn of speed, muttering to Dubble, “I wonder what Abbot Glisam and Brother Torilis would say to that?”

Dubble stumbled into a bush; he emerged spitting out leaves and berries. “Who are they?”

The young Redwaller replied between gasps, “You’ll find out when we get to the Abbey, mate!”

Spingo waved a paw ahead. “There’s the oak, see!”

Bisky had always reckoned himself to be a good runner, but this Gonfelin maiden was something else. Spingo broke into an all-out sprint, careering off through the shrubbery and round the trunks of tall, ancient trees.

Jeg was crouching at the base of the massive oak, coaxing a small fire into life. He blew on it, adding dead pine twigs and dried moss until the flames spread. Looking up at the unconscious form of Dwink, hanging head down, the young tree rat gave an evil snigger.

“Yeeheehee! Wait’ll ya see wot I’ve thought up, treemouse. I calls it Jeg’s Warm Welcome. Heeheee!” He got no further, because something hit him from behind. Jeg went belly down onto the flames, due to Spingo leaping on his back. Using him as a springboard, the Gonfelin maid leapt up and caught a low branch. She was yelling happily.

“Yeehaarrr! I made it, first ’ere! Now where’s all the loot hidden?”

Bisky and Dubble heard the screeches. Bulling through the undergrowth, they came hurtling onto the scene. Jeg was beating at his smouldering midriff, performing a crazy dance, he banged head-on into Bisky, knocking him flat. Even in his panic, Jeg immediately recognised his former prisoners. Hardly pausing to take breath, the tree rat bounded off into the woodlands.

Spingo was sawing away at Dwink’s bonds with a small dagger. She called down to them, “Looka this, there’s some pore squirrel strung upside down ’ere. Lend a paw, mates, mebbe he knows where the loot’s hid!”

Bisky took one look. “Great seasons, it’s Dwink! Wait there, Spingo, I’m comin’. Hang on, Dwink!”

Dubble grabbed Bisky’s paw; his eyes were like chips of ice in a winter storm. “Did ye see who that was? Jeg, the dirty liddle scum who had us strung up in that tree!”

Bisky pulled free of his friend. “That’s a Redwaller up there, I’ve got to go an’ help him!”

The young Guosim dashed off, calling back, “Right, you do that, mate, I’m after that filthy villain. I took an oath I’d meet up with him again someday. See ye later!”

Between them, Spingo and Bisky used Jeg’s rope to lower Dwink to the ground. They sat him against the oak trunk, ministering to him. Bisky bathed his friend’s face with cool water, rubbing his paws gently to restore the circulation. Spingo took dried herbs from her satchel; she lit them from the remnants of Jeg’s fire. When they began smouldering she shoved them under Dwink’s nose. He was thrust, spluttering and coughing, into wakefulness. Bisky pulled a face as he caught a whiff of Spingo’s reviver.

“Yurk! What d’you call those herbs, they smell foul!”

The Gonfelin maid shrugged. “Dunno wot they’re called, but they always do the trick, mate. See, yore friend’s as bright as a bumblebee now.”

Dwink groaned, but managed a wry smile. “I’ll live, though I thought I was a dead un for certain. Who’s yore pretty friend, Bisky?”

Further chitchat was cut short. Bosie marched in, heading a veritable horde. Guosim, Gonfelins, Redwallers, plus the whole tribe of captive Painted Ones. The Highland hare saluted Bisky and Spingo. “Ah see ye’ve found wee Dwink, well done!” He turned to confront the other two Chieftains. “Now, mah bonnies, how do we find this loot?”

Tugga Bruster snarled, “Git that fire blazin’ good an’ leave it t’me. I’ll make the scum talk!”

Skipper flexed his brawny rudder, glaring at the Guosim Log a Log. “Ye’ll do no such thing!”

Nokko tossed a rope over one of the oak’s lower branches. “Leave it to us Gonfelins, Skip. Jus’ yew sit tight wid these Painty Ones ’til we get back. Hah, if’n there’s any loot, boodle or swipin’s up in that ould tree, my bunch’ll find ’em!”

Within moments the ancient tree was swarming with small, raggedy mice, each bent on being first at the spoils. Scrabbling over one another, they argued and shouted in a manner that would have put even the Guosim to shame.