Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

"Yew ain't gittin' splinters offen der paddles, dat's wid scratchin' yore 'ead, mate!"

Codj sniggered openly at his clever remark. The recipient of it, a hulking, boulder-headed weasel, snarled at him.

"D'yer think yore funny, Codj Stumple? 'ow would yer like me t'bust dis paddle o'er yer stumpy be'ind?"

Codj was nettled by the remark about his lack of tail, but he did not fancy his chances against the big weasel. Pretending he had not heard the insult, Codj stalked off to his brother's cabin.

Vizka was rocking in a hammock, sipping grog. He eyed Codj irritably. "Worrizit now, annuder mutiny on our paws?"

The smaller fox fidgeted with the strands of his rope end. "It's dat lot out dere, nothin' but moan moan, alia time. Wot am I s'posed ter do? Yore der cap'n."

The golden fox heaved himself from the hammock, and peered out the open door at the sky. "It's gettin' on fer eventide, tell 'em t'down paddles an' rest fer the night. Anythin' else ter report?"

Codj shuffled his footpaws awkwardly. "Ain't much drinkin' water left."

Vizka lashed out, cuffing his younger brother's ear. "Well, don't tell me, thick'ead, lower der barrels inta der river. Dis is fresh water we're sailin' in, or didn't dat thought seep into yer brain?"

Codj tried to leave the cabin quickly, but Vizka caught him tight, by his tail stub.

"Next ye'll be tellin' me we're low on vittles. Organise a shore party, an' gerrinta dat forest out dere. Huh, d'place must be fulla fruits'n'roots, birds, an' eggs, an' all kinds'a vittles. Do I have ter tell ya everyt'ink, eh?"

Codj tried to justify himself. "But warrabout der stripe'ound, who's gonna watch 'im?"

The golden fox shoved his brother contemptuously out through the cabin door. "Don't talk stupid, dat ole Rock-

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'ead ain't goin' nowheres, wid an iron chain holdin' 'im t'the mast. Der stripe'ound'll be dead inna few days. I wuz watchin' 'im dis mornen, 'e ain't gotten long ter go now."

Gorath lay slumped alongside the mast, largely forgotten amid the new surroundings. The huge scab on his forehead protruded even further, his matted fur clung to his bones, like an ill-fitting garment. The young badger looked for all the world like a beast close to death. However, behind his closed eyelids, a fierce glimmer remained in his eyes. Deep inside Gorath, the will to live, and the desire to avenge his kinbeasts' deaths, burned like an unwavering flame. He did not fear death, his only concern was that he might die leaving his enemies alive.

In the early evening, Codj, heading a party of six, which he had paw picked, managing to omit the big, tough, mean crewbeasts, were foraging in the woodlands. It soon became painfully obvious that Sea Raiders were totally ignorant of woodland produce. Codj was bombarded with enquiries from the vermin of his party, about matters which were a mystery to him.

"Ahoy, Codj, didyer reckin dis is a vittle, it's some sorta juicy, green, rooty thing?"

Codj shrugged. "I dunno, take a bite an' try it."

"Yuuurrkk! Tastes 'orrible, all sour'n'bitter!"

The questions began to rile Codj.

"Where's all der red, rosy apples round 'ere, Codj?"

"Aye, an' where's all der trees wot dose strawberries grows on, eh?"

"Dere should be loads of stuff 'angin' from dese trees, dis is supposed ter be a forest, ain't it?"

"I likes soup, where does der stuff grow wot ye makes soup out of, dat's wot I'd like ter know?"

Codj brushed away a wasp that was trying to land on his muzzle. "Aye an' I'd like ter know, too!"

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A skinny rat called Firty cupped a paw to his ear. "Wot's dat?"

Codj looked around, walked into a beech trunk and roared at Firty, "Wot's wot? Take no notice if it ain't sumthin' yer can eat. Now shurrup!"

But Firty had definitely heard something. "It's some-beast yellin' out.... Listen!"

Orkwil Prink was the most weary and miserable of creatures, having spent half the night and a full day trapped in a marshy swamp. He had wakened from his sleep in the fern bed when foul-tasting, brackish water leaked into his mouth. The danger of his plight dawned upon the young hedgehog rapidly. During the night, he had wandered into the fern grove, thinking it a reasonably safe place to snatch a few hours' sleep, only to find he had walked straight into a swamp. It was the ferns that had buoyed him up long enough to fall asleep. Then they had collapsed under his weight, he was sinking!

Orkwil managed to grasp onto nearby fern stems, and haul his head free of the mess. He held on tightly, gasping for breath, and spitting out swamp water. Inevitably, he felt himself sinking again. Heaving upward, Orkwil managed to raise his body slightly. Furiously he began scrabbling about, hoping to find firm ground, but his efforts were all in vain. The weight of the miry sludge clogged around the young hedgehog's spines, dragging him down again. He had no idea of where solid ground lay, it was difficult to see anything in the darkness of night.

Salvation came in the form of a branch; it scratched his snout as he floundered about. Orkwil grabbed the limb, pulling it downward until he could hang on properly. It was an alder tree that had saved his life.

Now Orkwil Prink was suspended in a sort of limbo, half in and half out of the swamp, unable to go anywhere. He hung there, calling out at intervals. "Help! Somebeast save me! Help!" But no help came. Dawn broke slowly, to

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find him still hanging on to the alder, his voice down to a croak, and his paws numb with fatigue. Now he could see the rest of the tree. Orkwil figured that the alder trunk was rooted to the edge of the swamp, but he had no chance of reaching it. Long hours had taken their toll, now he had only the energy left to cling on for dear life. He wept bitterly as he pictured his inevitable end.

How deep was a swamp, did it reach the earth's core? No search party would ever find his poor young body. His voice was down to a hoarse whimper, he tried it. "Help, oh heeeeelp." It trailed off miserably.

As the morning wore on, Orkwil somehow contrived to wriggle his paws until they became entwined in the alder twigs. Now he did not have to hang on, he merely hung there bemoaning his fate, and composing his own eulogy, revelling in his own misery.

"A fine young 'un gone, and all for what? Some mouldy ole soup, an' that ain't a lot! Alas an' alack for pore Orkwil Prink, stuck in a swamp without vittles or drink, he hung there, brave beast, not darin' to budge, his head in a tree, an' his bottom in sludge. His last thoughts were of friends at the old homestead, would they know that their young hog was dead, and would they weep sadly o'er his empty cot? Those bandy-pawed elders, the snotty-beaked lot! Aye, Orkwil's departed, but who'll shed a tear, who'll blub on their salad, or cry in their beer? And who'll even notice one dark, stormy night, a small, muddy hog ghost, a pitiful sight. Will they say, friend Orkwil, come, welcome indoors! Or, you filthy young wretch, have you wiped those paws?"

As the hot, noontide sun beat down on the swamp, Orkwil ceased his blubbering and fell asleep out of sheer

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weariness. In the early evening he was wakened by a cloud of winged insects trying to sample his head. Unable to stop them, Orkwil yowled piteously. "Yah, gerroff me, you horrible villains! Can't ye leave a pore young creature to perish in peace? How would you like it, stuck in a swamp with midges gnawin' at yore snout, an' buzzin' down yore ears!"

A short distance away in the woodlands, Codj and his party heard Orkwil's protests. The stump-tailed fox drew his sword, pointing with it. "I t'ink it's comin' from over dere."

The little rat, Firty, grinned smugly. "See, I tole ya sum-beast was shoutin'."

Codj liked bullying anybeast smaller than himself. He rapped Firty's paw with the flat of his blade. "Seein' as yew 'eard it first, yew kin go in front, go on smart mouth, lead on!"