Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

Flim could hold back no longer. "Dimp telled us to boil h'our ... bottims!"

Jorty nodded vigorous agreement. "Hurr aye, an' he'm cloimbed oop on ee walltops, marm!"

The bottom remark went unheeded. No sooner was the walltop mentioned than Fenn stamped her footpaw wrathfully. "Off to the Abbey, you two, this very instant! I'll deal with Master Dimp!"

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Flim and Jorty watched the Recorder striding purposefully to the north wallsteps, where Dimp could be seen, cowering in the shade of the battlements. The little mouse-maid scowled darkly. "Hah, I not like t'be Dimp, Sista Fenn prolibly chop his tail off for bein' naughty!"

Jorty giggled. "Hurhur, or she'm moight boil his bottim!"

Flim clapped a paw to her little friend's mouth. "Goodness me, you've sayed bottim now!"

They trundled off to the Abbey, giggling together.

Orkwil yelled up to the walltop, for the second time. "Anybeast about, we've got to get inside, it's urgent! Hello up there, who's that?"

Fenn Bluepaw appeared at the northwest gable, her face the picture of indignation. "So, 'tis you, Orkwil Prink? The thief who was banished for a season. I shouldn't even be talking to you! Go on, be off, you scoundrel!"

The young hedgehog spread his paws, pleading. "But marm, ye don't understand, I've got to speak with Abbot Daucus, or Skipper, it's really important!"

Fenn picked little Dimp up, turning her face away from Orkwil, and remarking scornfully, "Huh, first a thief, and now a liar, you haven't changed much. Well, you can stand there fibbing all night, but you're not entering this Abbey!"

Gorath had watched the exchange from the cover of some bushes. He left his hiding spot and came to stand beside Orkwil. The badger, not knowing his young friend's predicament, decided to reinforce Orkwil's plea. Cupping both paws around his mouth, he bellowed out to anybeast that might have been within hearing range, "Listen to me, or you'll be sorry when Redwall is attacked!"

Skipper Rorc emerged from the Abbey for his evening patrol of the grounds, which was more in the nature of a leisurely stroll to walk off a big supper. He heard Gorath's resounding voice, and hurried toward the north wall. On the way, he passed Fenn Bluepaw, who was hauling along

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a reluctant Dimp. Skipper nodded. "Evenin', marm, d'ye know who's doin' the shoutin' out there?"

The Recorder squirrel sniffed. "Pay no attention, 'tis only Orkwil Prink trying to get back into our Abbey. Come on, Dimp, don't drag your paws!"

The squirrelbabe pulled back. "Mista Skip, that not Ork'il, it's a monister wiv a hooj fork, I saw 'im!"

Skipper was already running for the wallsteps, he called back, "It didn't sound like Orkwil, I'd best take a look!"

A moment later the otter was on the walltop, staring down at the bedraggled, weary pair. "Wot's all this about an attack, young Prink, an' who's that giant ye've got in tow?"

Gorath spoke for himself. "I'm Gorath. I don't know who you are, sir, but there's a whole crew of sea-raiding vermin who'll be here before too long. Take it from me, that's a fact!"

Skipper vanished from sight, shouting to Orkwil, "Take yore friend to the main gate an' I'll let ye in!"

Abbot Daucus was cutting a slice of yellow cheese to have with his pear as an after-supper dessert, when the door of the Great Hall burst open. Skipper Rorc strode in, flanked by Orkwil Prink and the biggest badger the Abbot had ever seen. Daucus rose hastily from the table, addressing the badger. "If you enter our Abbey as a friend, there is no need to carry a weapon, sir!"

Gorath looked at his pitchfork, Tung, as if just noticing that it was in his paw. He bowed slightly, placing it on the table. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to frighten anybeast. I came here with Orkwil, to warn you that your Abbey may soon be attacked by vermin, a large crew of them, headed by the fox they call Vizka Longtooth--" Gorath broke off, he seemed to wilt, clutching the support of the table. He staggered slightly, slumping down on one of the benches by the table side.

Orkwil spoke. "Gorath's my friend, he was captured on

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the Northern Isles by the vermin. They had him chained up to a ship's mast. He's been beaten and starved."

The Cellarhog, Benjo Tipps, immediately started shoving food from the table in front of the big, gaunt badger. "Pore beast, 'ere, matey, you take yore fill o' good Redwall vittles. Aye, an' there's plenty more where they came from. Orkwil, you can tell us the rest, eh?"

Abbot Daucus took charge then. "Everybeast out, please, I want this hall cleared. Friar Chondrus, bring more food, and some hot soup if you can manage it. Now you just sit still there, Gorath, we'll take care of you, my friend."

The badger tried to nod, but his head fell forward onto the table, and his eyes started to droop.

Daucus gave more orders. "Sister Atrata, kindly fetch your medicines from the sickbay, and any assistants you may need. Skipper, will you and your daughters clear the table off? See if you can lay our friend on it, with a pillow for his head. Orkwil, come to my room, you can enlighten me on the situation. Benjo, you'd better come, too, and Skipper, please join us when you're done here."

The vessel Bludgullet took longer than expected to reach the ford. Overhanging trees, narrow banks and outcrops of rock had to be negotiated to ply the ship upriver. Vizka was forced to admit that whilst a ship at sea could be fleet and nimble, forcing it upland, through a woodland river, was no easy task. The golden fox took command of the operation. He did not spare the rope's end with tardy paddle pushers, driving them to their limit with lashes, blows and curses.

The crew sweated and toiled throughout the night, scratched by foliage, lashed by their captain and plagued by midges and stinging insects. It was backbreaking work. Whenever a rest was called, the vessel would drift backward with the current, and the anchor would have to be dropped.

The sun had been up for some considerable time, and

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there was still no sign of the path or the ford. Vizka kicked the watervole, who had slumped to the deck with fatigue. "Gerrup on ya hunkers, 'airymouse, are ye shore dis is de right way to der fordplace?"

The watervole was hungry, sick to his stomach and resentful. He curled a lip at the Bludgullet's captain. "Huh, which way can this river go, except t'the ford, eh?"

Vizka hauled the unfortunate beast up by the rope, which was tethered about his neck. He bit the watervole's ear until his victim squealed with pain. "I never ast ya fer smart remarks, just a straight answer. So, are we bound der right way fer dat ford?"

The watervole whimpered as he nursed his torn ear. "Yes, yes, this is the right way, sir, I swear it!"

Even as he spoke, one of the vermin, who was in the water, hauling on a headrope, sang out. "Dere's some sort o' path crossin' der water up ahead, Cap'n, dis river's get-tin' shallower!"

Vizka Longtooth released the rope, letting the watervole slump to the deck. He patted the wretched beast's head. "Well done, bucko, you was right, dat'll be der ford." The golden fox glanced about at his crew as he called out a halt. "Drop anchor, an' moor 'er t'der bank."

There was an audible groan of relief from the vermin crew, they flopped down, panting and gasping from their night-long efforts. Vizka knew they were totally exhausted, but he was artful at dealing with his creatures, to get his own way.

"Youse two, Baul an' Widge, stop 'ere ter guard der ship. All d'rest of ya, git ready ter march by mid-mornin'." Vizka put on his dangerous smile, watching the crew for signs of protest, or rebellion. They hung their heads in sullen silence, not even daring to sniff or mutter. Vizka strode up and down, nodding. "Good, good! I gives ya my word dat by tonight ye'll be feastin' like kings, an' sleepin' in Red-wall Abbey. So, wot d'ya says ter dat, me buckoes?" He strode off to his cabin, not waiting for a reply, knowing