Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

The golden fox was not a beast to be taken lightly. It would not be the first time he had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

It was night before the Brownrats ceased searching the woodlands for Vizka's crewbeasts. They retired to the camp, formerly set up by Magger, where they relit the fire and settled down to consume what food remained there. Stringle sat watching Tantail and Dirril, they were boiling a variety of eggs, which the Bludgullet's crew had gathered. Stringle was quite pleased with himself.

"Haharr, lookit that now! Woodpigeon, coot, plover an' quail eggs. Ole Kurdly'd enjoy that lot, eh?" He watched Tantail and Dirril nodding their heads ruefully, then Stringle laughed aloud. "Hohoho, mates, well, Kurdly ain't gittin' none, 'cos we're gonna eat 'em ourselves!"

Giggling like three Dibbuns, the Brownrats began shelling and gobbling down the eggs. Tantail found the partially full keg of ship's grog, she sampled it, drawing in

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a deep breath. "Whfaw, this is the stuff t'put a curl in yore tail!"

Soon they were all enjoying the fiery liquor, laughing and gurgling uproariously at Dirril's imitation of Gruntan Kurdly, which was fairly accurate. She stuck out her stomach, belching cavernously. "Ahoy there, peel me more eggs, ye swabs, or ye'll find yoreselves sufferin' an attack o' the Kurdlys!"

Stringle swigged more grog, wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. "Heeheehee, the ole lardbucket, let 'im wait, we'll camp here an' go back tomorrer, mates. Make the best of it while ye can. Ahoy there, wot's this?"

A band of returning Brownrats swaggered in, dragging a prisoner. It was Magger, with his paws bound behind him and a rope halter about his neck. Their leader, Bladj, gave the weasel a kick, sending him sprawling close to the fire.

"We collared one of 'em, Cap'n, guess wot 'is name is, Maggot, ain't that a daft 'andle?"

Stringle placed his footpaw on Magger's cheek, forcing the terrified weasel's face into the dirt. "Maggot, eh, yore an ugly-lookin' cove. Wot'U we do with ye, Maggot, let y'live, or slay ye?"

Magger gazed fearfully up at the savage, painted face of the Brownrat captain, stammering, "Let me live, sir, I'm no 'arm ter anybeast!"

Tantail tickled his nose with a knifepoint, watching him flinch. "An 'armless maggot, eh, where's yore boss, Fizker summat, that's 'is name, ain't it?"

Magger pronounced his captain's name properly. "It's Vizka Longtooth, an' I don't know where 'e is."

Stringle took a burning stick from the fire. Magger yelped, arching his back, as the Brownrat ran the flaming timber down it, cautioning him, "Then ye'd better find out where this Vizka Longtooth is, if'n ye want to live. Is 'e alive or dead?"

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Taking what he thought was the easy option, Magger whined, "Prob'ly dead by now, I t'ink."

Stringle took Tantail's knife, he held it against Magger's throat. "Prob'ly dead ye think, wot sort o' talk's that? I'll tell ye wot, shall I slit yore gizzard an' see if I think yore prob'ly dead, eh? Now, let me set ye straight about all this, Maggot. I can't go back to Gruntan Kurdly an' tell 'im 'is enemy's 'prob'ly' dead. My boss is a Brownrat warlord, wot 'e wants to 'ear is that ole Vizka Longtooth is stiffer'n a cold frog wot's been flattened by a fallin' tree in a snowstorm. There ain't no prob'lys with Kurdly. So I'm goin' to ask ye jus' once more. Is Vizka dead?"

Magger knew his life depended on the answer, he replied without hesitation. "He's dead!"

Stringle smiled and stroked his captive's head. "Well said, good ole Maggot! Now, tell me agin, but this time say it was me wot killed 'im."

Magger was past caring about the truth, he would have said anything Stringle wanted. "Aye, Vizka's dead, an yore der one wot slayed 'im!"

Stringle waggled the knifepoint close to Magger's eyeball. "Very good! Now don't yew ferget it, keep sayin' it to yoreself, Maggot, ye'll live long'n' 'appy if ye do."

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At about the same time the Brownrats had been pursuing Vizka up the ditch, Gorath opened his eyes. The young badger felt strangely calm. There was a little molemaid sitting by the bed, watching him. Raising his head slightly, he smiled at her. "Hello, what's your name, miss?"

She fell from the bedside stool, and shot up, throwing her small, flowered apron over her face as she fled. "Oi'm Dawbul, zurr, you'm ascuze oi, mus' be fetchen Sisarta, zurr!" Gorath could hear her cries as she tottered downstairs. "Eem gurt badgerer bee's wokened, Sisarta, 'urry!"

Gorath sat up. At first he felt dizzy, but the sensation died off as he breathed deeply. He had no idea where he was, except that it was someplace within Redwall Abbey How long had he been here? Within moments he heard a rush of paws pounding the stairs. Next thing he knew, the little sickbay room was full of creatures. Sister Atrata hurried to his side, he sat quite still as she checked him out.

After awhile, the Sister announced to the visitors, "At least he's over the fever, thank goodness. How do you feel, Gorath?"

The young badger touched the deep, flame-shaped scar on his forehead, and spoke quietly. "I feel hungry, Sister." Rangval muttered to Maudie in an audible whisper,

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"Hungry, is he? Faith, an' 'tis goin' to keep the ould cook busy vittlin' that bhoyo up. Will ye look at the size o' the beast, shure I'd sooner be feedin' him for a day than for a season, that's for certain!" For some obscure reason, the roguish squirrel's remark amused Gorath, it made him chuckle.

Abbot Daucus observed the pleasure it gave all the Red-wallers, to see a happy smile on the face of their guest. The Abbot winked at Orkwil, indicating Gorath with a gesture. "Tell your friend why he's fortunate to wake up hungry at this time."

Orkwil grabbed Gorath's huge paw, and started tugging him out of bed. "'Cos we're havin' a feast out in the grounds, d'ye want to come, mate?"

Gorath allowed Maudie and several others to heave him upright, he shuffled once, then regained his balance. "It would be a pleasure to attend your feast, that's if it isn't too much trouble."

Skipper threw a paw around the big badger's shoulder. "Too much trouble, matey? Hahaarharharrrr!" Everybeast pointed their paws at Gorath, breaking out into an old Abbey feasting song.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Yore doubly warm an' welcome here, don't stand on ceremony, we've set a place so never fear, just come along with me.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Ho move ye up an' make a space, let our friend sit at table, to drink the best our cellars brew, an' eat all that he's able.

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"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!

"Come please us with yore company, pray bring yore appetite, sing loud if you've a mind to sing, or dance throughout the night.

"To the feast! To the feast!

Now don't be shy, goodbeast!"

Surrounded by happy Redwallers, Gorath allowed himself to be led downstairs, out of the Abbey building. It was a perfect summer afternoon outdoors, with a gentle breeze, and the sun beaming from a cloudless blue sky. Maudie and Orkwil led him to the tables, which had been placed on the lawn betwixt the Abbey pond and the south wall.

Barbowla called down to them from the walltop, "Bring the big feller up here, mates, those little 'uns will pester the life out of him down there, that's if'n Gorath can manage the wallsteps."

Dibbuns, otterbabes and tiny Guosim infants were already clamouring around the big, young badger. Some had perched upon his footpaws, and were beginning to climb upward. Foremole Burff and Granspike Niblo disentangled them from Gorath, reproaching the babes.

"Yurr, coom off'n ee pore beast, get ee daown, oi says!"