Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

68

own shadder. Red Abbeywalls, eh?" Vizka suddenly realised what the cook was trying to say. "Ye mean Redwall Abbey was dat der name o' d'place?" The golden fox suddenly seized the ratwife, shaking her. "Redwall Abbey! Wot did Cap'n Boljan say about it?"

Glurma struggled to free herself of the golden fox's grip. "I'll tell ye if'n y'stop rattlin' me bones!" Vizka released the cook, who spoke willingly. "Aye, Redwall Abbey, dat's wot Boljan called it. An' 'e knew der way, 'cos 'e 'ad a chart. It wuz straight up der River Moss, carry on through der trees, 'til ye comes to a ford. Den yew abandons ship, an' marches south down der road fer mebbe a day or more, an' ye kin sight it, plain as a pikestaff. Biggest place ye ever clapped yore eyes on, an' der richest, too. Dat's wot Boljan said!"

Gorath still sat beside the mast, his head hanging low, and both eyes closed, the picture of a hopelessly beaten prisoner. However, inside his heart was thumping wildly, he had heard everything the cook had said. Redwall Abbey! This was the land of Mossflower that his grandfather had told him of. Suppressing the quivers of excitement that threatened to betray his feelings, the young badger slouched even lower, allowing his wounded forehead and muzzle to touch the deck. He listened carefully to what was said.

Vizka Longtooth issued orders. "Drop anchor an' furl dat sail. Codj, git all paws up 'ere on deck. I got summat ter say!"

With its prow facing inland, the Bludgullet rode at anchor in the river mouth. Gorath raised his head a fraction. He stared across the shore, to the coarse-grassed dunes, and the woodland fringe in the distance. Somewhere out there the Abbey of Redwall lay basking in the still summer haze. The golden fox flicked him across his back with a long, knotted rope.

69

"Looks nice, don't it, Rock'ead? But yew won't be seein' none of it, 'til ya learns some sense, or starves t'death. Makes no diff'rence t'me, 'tis yore choice."

Vizka Longtooth leaned on the tiller, waiting until all his crew had arrived. The deck was jam-packed with vermin of all types, eager to hear their captain's pronouncement. The golden fox took Gorath's pitchfork, Tung, pointing landward with it. "Ye've all 'eard o' Redwall Abbey, I wager?" A murmur of anticipation ran through the ranks. He gave it time to die away, then continued. "Dere's some says 'tis only a pretty story, an' others says 'tis real. The biggest, richest place anywheres. Well, wot d'ye say buckoes, would ye like to find out?"

The vermin crew roared their approval. Now Vizka was really talking, this was better than scrounging around the barren Northern Isles, robbing impoverished farms. If there was such a place as the Abbey of Redwall, what secrets, and treasures, lay waiting there to be taken?

The fox captain's long teeth gleamed as he smiled. "Aye, mates, Redwall Abbey, dat's where we're bound! But mark ye, I only wants loyal crewbeasts at me back when I takes dat place on. Are ye wid me, eh?"

Brandishing a bristling array of weapons, the crew roared aloud. "Aye, Cap'n!"

Suddenly the tines of the pitchfork were pointing at the ferret, Grivel, and the two rats, Feerog and Durgy. Vizka's tone was almost cajoling them. "Haharr, an' worrabout yew three, which one of ye'd like ter lead der shore party to Redwall?"

The trio jostled one another as they strode forward, each pointing to himself. "I'll do it, Cap'n!" "Pick me, Cap'n!"

"Y'can trust me t'do der job, Cap'n!" Codj gave his brother an injured look, figuring that he had been passed over as leader of the shore party. Vizka

70

winked at Codj, widening his toothy smile. Codj kept wisely silent, knowing the coming danger to somebeast, which his brother's smile always heralded.

Vizka waved the pitchfork at his crew. "Avast, who o' these three do I choose?"

Now everybeast was shouting out, calling the name of the one they fancied. The golden fox let them carry on awhile, then waved the pitchfork for silence.

"I think we should let 'em choose atwixt 'emselves, by test o' combat. Last beast standin' alive gits der job!"

Shrieks of delight echoed from the barbaric crew. "Aye, Cap'n! Test o' combat! Aye!"

A ring was quickly formed, with the three contestants at its centre. They stared uneasily at each other, then began circling. Each knew that nobeast refused an order from Vizka Longtooth, whose smile had become a wide grin of enjoyment. He signalled with the pitchfork. "Haharr, go to it, me lucky buckoes, no mercy an' no quarter. We'll see who's fit ter be der leader!"

Grivel had his cutlass out halfheartedly, he shrugged at Feerog. "We ain't got no choice, mate!"

Feerog did not hesitate; whipping out his sword, he ran Grivel through. As he did, the big, black rat, Durgy, jumped him from behind. Durgy did not have a sword, but he was expert with his dagger. Feerog gave a gasp of surprise as the blade plunged between his ribs, he collapsed silently. It was all over in the twinkling of an eye. A hush fell over the crew as they gazed at the two who had just met death.

Durgy turned to face his captain, pointing to himself with the dagger. "I think it'll be meself who'll be leadin' yore shore party, Cap'n!"

Vizka shook his head. "Not after ye've slayed three o' my crew, Durgy."

Codj looked puzzled. "Three? But dere's only two of 'em."

Vizka was enjoying himself, he nodded affably to the crew. "Three if'n ye counts pore Snikey. Durgy an' 'is two

71

mates was plottin' agin me, but Snikey 'eard 'em, so Durgy did 'im in, an' tossed 'im o'er der side. Ain't dat right, mate?"

Durgy was at a loss for words. Vizka winked at him.

"Thought ye'd fooled me, didn't ya, but der cap'n o' de Bludgullet knows everyt'ink. Don't 'e, Cooky?"

The fat, greasy cook, Glurma, nodded.

The crew knew then who had informed on the plotters.

Glurma ducked off silently to her galley. One or two of her vermin shipmates cast glances of disgust at her. But Vizka distracted their attention, carrying on with his summation of the good times ahead for his loyal crew.

"Belay, buckoes, I nominates Codj t'be der shore party leader. We'll take dis Redwall Abbey, an' loot it down to der stones. Loads o' booty fer all paws, eh!"

At the mention of looting and booty, the crew cheered lustily. Everybeast was firmly on the golden fox's side.

He leaned on the pitchfork, smiling indulgently at them. "Aye, booty, grog an' vittles fer my trusty cullies!" He paused, shaking his head sadly. "All 'cept fer one, an' I'll leave 'im to yew, ain't no room aboard Bludgullet fer mutineers. Harr, 'tis a sad day for yore ole cap'n. I'll go an' mourn in me cabin."

The circle of drawn weapons closed in on Durgy.

Vizka Longtooth paused before entering his cabin. He listened to Durgy's last scream, and heard the splash as his carcass hit the water. Then he wiped away a mock tear. "Harr, a sad day indeed!"

That evening the Sea Raiders poled their vessel up the navigable channel across the sands. Codj commanded two squads, both tugging on hawsers attached to the ship's bows. By dusk they were into the dunes. Gorath stared at the sandy walls, either side of the deck. Freedom had never looked so near, yet been so far from him. The young badger waited until the crew took to their bunks and hammocks. When the decks were deserted, he inspected the chain that

72

held him to the mast. It was neither old nor thin, but a thick, solid iron chain, which could not be broken by any score of strong beasts. The lock went between two links, holding the chain tightly about his waist, a big lock, stout and secure. He did not know who was the key holder, though he suspected it was either Vizka or his brother. Gorath knew nothing of locks, this was the first one he had ever encountered. His big, blunt claws made no impression on it, though he tugged, heaved and even bit at the thing. Somehow, someway, he had to free himself, and escape from these vermin. He had to reach Redwall if he had any chance of staying alive.