Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

The Guosim cheered Dipper to the echo, clapping his back and shaking his paws as they roared, “Dipper’s scored a score!”

Urfa turned proudly to his guests. “Wot did I tell ye? The Dipper’s a champeen slinger alright!”

Banjon nodded. “Oh, he ain’t a bad ’un, mate. Did I tell ye my gel Tiria slings stones? D’ye think she could have a go?”

Urfa had a slightly condescending note to his tone. “A maid wot thinks she can sling, eh? Wot next! Aye, go on then, Tiria, give it a try.”

The scorer took Tiria’s name, announcing her as she stepped up to the mark. “Siiiilenza perleeeeze! H’a Misser, Tehiria, Werhildlock h’of Rehedwall H’abbey issa serlingin’ nehext. Thank yew!”

There was a light smatter of applause, plus a few sniggers from the onlookers. Evidently they did not rate slingmaids very highly.

Tiria waited for quiet, then called out her targets. Her sling, Wuppit, was already thrumming as she shouted, “Two eyes and a head!”

Splakk! The left hazelnut eye was driven deep into the turnip head. Reloading the sling swiftly, she whipped off her second shot. Crack! Pieces of shattered nutshell flew in the air as the stone drove through into the other turnip eye socket. The head was swinging from side to side with the impact as Tiria hopped three paces back from the mark. The sling was a blur, making a deep musical hum, owing to the extra large stone she had picked for her final shot. Whooosh! Whack! The force with which the stone struck the head sent it flying from the body into the bushes beyond.

The whole of the Guosim tribe went wild, cheering, yelling and rushing to congratulate the ottermaid. Tiria was completely overwhelmed by the crush of shrews and had to be rescued by Skipper, Brink, Urfa and Dobra, who escorted her out of the melee, off to a quiet spot on the tree-shaded bank. Log a Log Urfa detailed a group of his Guosim warriors to disperse the excited crowd of shrews.

Skipper winked at Urfa. “So then, matey, wot d’ye reckon to my Tiria, eh?”

The shrew chieftain wiggled his snout energetically (always a sign of admiration and wonderment among Guosim). “I tell ye, Banjon, if’n I didn’t see it with me own eyes, I never would’ve credited it. Yore Tiria made it look so easy, mate. I’d give me tail’n’ears to have a slinger like that in my tribe!”

Skipper threw a protective paw about his daughter. “Hah, there’s no chance of ye gettin’ my gel. She’s got a long journey t’make. That’s why we came to see ye, mate. She needs a boat.”

Log a Log Urfa refilled their tankards. “A boat, ye say? Wot sort o’ boat, Tiria? An’ where d’ye plan on goin’ in it?”

The ottermaid replied politely, “Any sort of boat, sir. The Guosim ones look fine to me. But you know a lot more about boats than I do, so I’ll leave the choice to you, if I may. I’ve got to sail to a place called Green Isle, somewhere across the Western Sea.”

Urfa did a choking splutter, spraying grog widespread. “Wot? You three are plannin’ on crossin’ the Western Sea? That ain’t no sea, it’s a wallopin’ great ocean!”

Tiria patted Urfa’s back until he finished spluttering. “My father and Brink won’t be going, sir, just myself and Pandion.”

Urfa wiped his mouth on a spotted kerchief. “An’ who, pray, is this Pandion, an’ where’s he at?”

Tiria caught sight of the osprey circling the watermeadow. She pointed. “That’s him up there, he’s an osprey.”

Placing both paws in her mouth, she gave a piercing whistle. Pandion zoomed down like a slingstone.

Guosim shrews scattered everywhere, shouting in alarm. Urfa flung himself into a nearby bush. “Git that thing out o’ here afore it slays us all!”

Pandion Piketalon landed, kicking up clouds of dust as he flapped his powerful wings. He stared about with fierce golden eyes. “Where did the little spikies go?”

Tiria wagged a reproving paw at him. “You frightened them all away, you great show-off! I think you’d best go off fishing again. I’ll whistle when we need you, but be careful how you make your entrance next time.”

Pandion launched himself into flight once more. “Pandion likes fishing. Lots of big fat ones around here!”

Only when he had gone did Urfa scramble out of the bush. “Me’n’ my crew’ll take ye down the river Moss t’the sea, miss, but that great bird ain’t sailin’ on my boat. He can fly!”

Dusting himself down, the Guosim chieftain tried to look bold and unconcerned as he called to his tribe. “Come on out. The bird won’t harm ye, I had a word with it.”

He murmured to Skipper out of the side of his mouth, “Got to show ’em who’s the Log a Log round here, don’t I?”

Urfa resumed his seat. “Now then, Miss Tiria, there’s a matter of a barrel o’ grog ye won for yore slingin’. D’ye want to take it with ye?”

The ottermaid tapped her rudder thoughtfully. “Is it good grog?”

Urfa seemed taken aback that anybeast should ask. “Good grog? It’s the finest ten-season mature brew. I’d give me tail’n’whiskers for a flagon of that nectar!”

Tiria smiled. “I’m not really a grog drinker. Perhaps you’d like to accept it as a gift from me, sir.”

Urfa shook her paw gratefully. “Thank ye kindly. I’d be a fool to refuse it. But let me put ye straight about sailin’ craft, miss. All we have are logboats, carved from the trunks o’ trees. ’Twould be madness to try an’ cross that Western Sea in one. Ye’d be drowned!”

Urfa saw the look of disappointment on her face. “Now don’t ye go frettin’, beauty. I’ve got an idea. For a long sea voyage ye’ll need a proper ship, an’ I know the very creature who has one. At dawn tomorrer I’ll take ye down the ole River Moss to the Western Sea an’ introduce ye to him. All he’ll need by way o’ payment is vittles aplenty. I’ll supply them meself.”

Skipper patted Urfa’s back heartily. “I knew ye wouldn’t let us down. Yore a real mate!”

The Guosim chieftain waved his paw airily. “I’d be a mizzruble beast if’n I couldn’t do a favour for me ole friend Banjon.”

Brink helped himself to another wedge of pie. “Wot’s yore friend’s name?”

Log a Log replied straight-faced, “Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw, Terror of the High Seas!”

15

Dawn brought pale-washed skies, drizzle and a layer of mist over windless land and sea. The cavern beneath the ledges was thick with acrid smoke. Leatho Shellhound skidded in, striving with rudder and paw to hold his balance on the glistening floor.

Big Kolun Galedeep held tight to the rocky walls, the smoke stinging his eyes as he coughed and yelled out to Banya Streamdog, “Git some torches lit an’ fetch ’em in here, will ye!”

Both he and the outlaw sea otter hung on, gagging and spluttering until a half-dozen torches were brought.

Kolun rubbed his streaming eyes, staring about him in the flickering light and deep shadow. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’rudders has been goin’ on here?”

Banya held her torch high as she held on to a ledge. “The place is empty. There ain’t nobeast anywhere!”

Leatho slid across to the hanging curtain of vegetation which screened the cave from the sea. From there he pondered the scene before him. “Seaweed an’ damp wood have been piled on the big cookin’ fire to make all this smoke. I can’t say wot this slippery mess all over the floor is.”

Lorgo Galedeep dipped a paw in the slime, sniffing at it several times before hazarding a guess. “Smells like Gullyplug Punch an’ seafood stew, an’ leftovers mixed with veggible oil. But where’s our families? D’ye think Felis an’ the cats took ’em all prisoner?”