Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

Something tickled the tip of his nose, he drew back and inspected the object. It was a worm, boring its way out of the ditchside wall. Callously, Vizka nipped it in two halves between his pawnails. He watched the worm writhing, then stamped on it. His long fangs showed as a sudden smile came across his features. He had a plan, a superbly simple scheme. His crew would dig their way into Redwall from the side wall of the ditch. A bit lower down, close to the big gate. It would be a foolproof idea!

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It was an unfortunate day for the Brownrats of Gruntan Kurdly. Hastened and bullied forward by their irate leader, they dashed along the squelching banks of the sidestream.

Rangval the Rogue, unseen to his enemies, skipped nimbly along in the middle terraces of the woodlands, chortling with delight as they blundered into his cunningly laid traps. He perched in a sycamore, watching the leading half dozen runners vanish amid screams of dismay. Down they went, straight into a deep, natural pit, which he had disguised with ferns and rotten branches. The hole was filled with water, overflowing from the stream.

The others veered sharply away from the bank, only to run into a grove of osier and purple willow, long, whippy branches and boughs. Rangval had tied back or intertwined a lot of the heavier limbs. He shook with laughter as the rats dashed into them.

Thwack! Splat! Whoosh! Thud! Their bungling passage released the lashing boughs. Jaws were shattered, teeth broken, paws damaged and stomachs had the wind driven from them as rats were felled, or cannoned into each other.

Rangval cast a backward glance at the chaos, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ah now, me bold buckoes,

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that's only a taste of wot ye've got to come. I'll teach ye to mend yore wicked ways. Hurry up, now, an' see the grand treat I've got in store for ye!" He halted long enough to hear Gruntan Kurdly roaring.

"Wot'n the name o' boiled eggs'n'bunions are ye doin' swimmin' round in that hole? Gerrout an' capture those boats! An' youse lot, who said ye could lay around in them bushes? Up on yore hunkers an' charge, afore I do a spot of ear slittin' an' tail choppin'!"

Rangval sped on his way, chuckling. "Shure that's the way, Kurdly me ould rat, keep 'em comin'. Boot a few bottoms, that'll move 'em!"

Rangval arrived ahead of the vermin, at his pride and joy, Owch Mansions. He had spent long seasons enticing wasps and hornets to the spot where two golden weeping willow trees formed a thick, low arch from bank to bank. He had specially placed lots of rotten fruit and dead vegetation, full of grubs and aphids, at the foot of each tree.

The wasps had built four nests there, large, globe-shaped structures, which perched between branches. For the hornets, he had a fallen tree, the long-dead and decaying trunk of a wych elm, that he had maneuvered to the waterside. There was a constant coming and going of wasps and hornets around the willow, and a steady, thin hum from the insects.

Rangval treated them with loving care, walking among them unafraid. He grasped the ends of two long, trailing ropes, which had been tied to the branches of both weeping willows. Rangval spoke soothingly as he paced carefully backward. "Ah, me little stripey darlin's, pay no attention t'me, 'tis only yore Uncle Rangval. But listen now, get those fierce ould stings of yores ready. There's a horde of fearful vermin comin' this way. I want ye to give 'em a good, hot, ould welcome, shure I know ye'll do me proud, bein' the fine, savage bunch y'are!"

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Rangval retreated until the ropes were almost taut. Crouching in the undergrowth, the wily squirrel kept the wasp nests in view, listening for sounds of the Brownrats heading toward them.

Stringle's duty as an officer was to make the others carry out Gruntan Kurdly's wishes by hook or by crook. Having already blundered into a few of Rangval's minor traps, they were reluctant to pursue the logboats vigorously. Stringle knew that he would be the first to suffer, if the horde continued to advance in such a laggardly fashion. Gathering the two scouts, Noggo and Biklo, for support, he tried a strategy which he had seen Gruntan use successfully.

Pushing his way to the front, he halted the vanguard, waiting until the rest had caught up en masse. Gruntan was in his litter, somewhere near the middle of the mob. He listened to Stringle's speech, nodding approvingly, as his officer addressed everybeast jauntily.

"Scrag me tail an' plug me ears, wot's all this, mates? The terror o' Mossflower, the great Brownrat horde, an' ye can't catch a few wooden boats full o' scruffy liddle sh'ews! I'll wager they're laughin' at us right now. Them sh'ews is only just upstream, y'know, an' a stream can't go on forever. One good charge an' we'll lay 'em by the tails. All the boss wants is their boats. Once we've captured 'em the chase is over, we kin do wot we like. Go fishin', rob birds eggs or just lay round in the sun for a few days. So wot d'ye say, buckoes, shall we go an' get them logboats?"

Gruntan shouted from his litter. "Aye, go to it, mateys, I'll make a feast fer the first one who brings me back a sh'ews head!"

Stringle had to jump aside as the horde sped by him, roaring, bellowing and whirling their weapons.

Gruntan Kurdly was smiling, he winked at Stringle. "Haharr, well done, bucko, let's get after 'em!" He laid about at the litter bearers with a willow withe. "Cummon,

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yew bottle-nosed, slab-sided, doodly-tailed idlers, git those paws poundin' at the double!"

Rangval heard the horde long before he saw them. Standing out in full view, the roguish squirrel tugged gently on the ropes, which were tied to both willows at strategic limbs. "D'ye hear that, bhoyos, ye'll have company soon, shure an' I hope those stings are well sharpened!"

With Biklo and Noggo in the lead, the horde came thundering along both banks, splashing through the shallows and bulling through the reeds. Biklo was first to spot Rangval up ahead, he stabbed the air with his spear. "That looks like one o' the rascals, watch me take 'is 'ead!"

Rangval laughed. "Faith, an' aren't you the bold feller, take this, vermin, an' bad luck to ye!" He yanked hard on both ropes, then somersaulted up into the trees and vanished.

In a trice, the war cries and shouts of pursuit were transformed into piercing shrieks of agony, under the full onslaught of a wasp attack. The torture was heightened when several vermin tripped against the rotten wych elm trunk, releasing a veritable storm of maddened hornets. The air was filled with the zing and buzz of ill-tempered insects, as they stung and stung again at their helpless victims. Brownrats performed weird dances of pain upon the wrecked wasp nests and the pulpy wood of the hornet lair.

Gruntan leaned his weight sideways, upsetting the litter, as he launched himself into the streamwater. More than one rat died that day, overcome by hundreds of stings, each laden with wasp or hornet venom. Most of the horde fled into the woodlands, attempting to outrun their tormentors. Others, Gruntan among them, tried submerging themselves for long periods, and pressing on upstream.

Rangval the Rogue arrived at the cove as evening was on the wane. Maudie, the otters and the Guosim were standing

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ready for an attack, with weapons drawn. Rangval looked around, slightly disappointed. "Have ye not got an ould bite o' supper for a beast?"

Luglug sheathed his rapier. "We was expectin' Kurdly's crew, never cooked no vittles."

The squirrel chuckled drily. "I don't think they could make it, they was unavoidably detained by some little buzzin' friends o' mine."

Osbil shook a paw at Rangval. "The wasps an' hornets around those two willows, ye mean. Thanks for not tellin' us about 'em, mate!"