Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

The oldster nodded, then hurried off. Leatho did not have long to wait until Runka and Memsy, the two young otters he had placed there as spies, arrived alongside the fence. Runka acted as spokesbeast for them both.

“Shellhound, we were wondering when we’d see you again. There ain’t much to report here. Things are no different, apart from the fact that there seems t’be some conflict twixt Felis an’ his son Pitru. For us it’s much the same as usual under the cat’s paw—short rations an’ hard labour. Have ye come to free us?”

Leatho shook his head. “Not tonight, mates, but soon. Let’s say about four nights from now. Can ye have the rest ready t’move at quick notice then?”

Runka nodded. “We’ve got to think o’ the old ’uns an’ the babes. Four nights, ye say? Hmm . . . me’n’Memsy’ll see that they’re ready an’ waitin’. Anythin’ else, Leatho?”

The outlaw replied, “Aye, it’ll be yore job to keep everybeast from gettin’ too excited. Tell ’em to stay calm and not do anythin’ that’d alert the cats. Right, I’ve got to go now. Remember, both of ye, four nights from now, at about this hour.”

Leatho dropped from the walltop, straight into the waiting paws of a dozen catguards who had stolen silently up. He was seized tight with a spearhaft forced across his throat.

Removing his helmet, Riggu Felis thrust his loathsome face close to the captive. “Hah, so you’re the outlaw they call Shellhound, eh?”

Leatho bared his teeth at the wildcat, replying defiantly, “Aye, an’ yore the cat with half a face. I heard a liddle sparrow did that to ye!”

The warlord brought the butt of his axe crashing down on the otter’s head. Then he strode off, calling to the guards who were holding up the unconscious figure, “Bring him round to the pier, but don’t harm him. I want this one alive!”

As the guards laid Leatho’s limp body upon the pier, the warlord snarled at his son, “I captured their leader, the Shellhound, while you were chasing shadows around the bushes.”

Still glaring at Pitru, the wildcat addressed Scaut ironically. “Make your report, weilmark. Did you obey Commander Pitru’s orders? What exactly took place?”

Keeping his eyes to the front, Scaut recounted the ambush. “Lord, we only sighted two otters, but they escaped. It was dark in those bushes. We wasn’t t’know it was Scorecat Fleng an’ eight guards, so we fired on ’em!”

Felis cut him short. “And?”

The weilmark swallowed hard. “An’ we slew Fleng an’ six others, Sire. But we was only carryin’ out orders. Commander Pitru said to ambush anythin’ that moved in the bushes.”

The warlord moved with astonishing speed. Striking the scimitar from Pitru’s grasp, he knocked the young cat flat. Stamping a footpaw down on his chest, Riggu Felis held his single-bladed axe to his son’s throat and spat in his face contemptuously.

“Fortress Commander? Huh, I wouldn’t leave ye in charge of a greasy cooking pot! You mincing young oaf, couldn’t ye see it was another decoy? I knew the otters would try to set their friends free. That’s why I went straight to where you should have been, the slave pens. Now I’ve lost six guards and a scorecat. You deserve to lose your head for such stupidity!”

“Put up that axe and leave my son alone!” Lady Kaltag had picked up the fallen scimitar and was holding it between the wildcat’s shoulder blades. Her voice was frightening in its harsh intensity. “I said, get away from my son, or I swear I’ll slay you!”

The warlord was forced to obey. He put up his axe and stood to one side, smiling scornfully as he freed Pitru. “What a bold warrior the great commander has turned out to be! Does your mother fight all your battles, milkpuss?”

Pitru scrambled upright, gritting through clenched teeth, “One day I will kill you!”

Riggu Felis twirled his battle axe skillfully. “One day, you say—why not now? Come on, ask your mother to give you that fancy sword back, then stand and face me. You won’t get a better chance unless I’m fast asleep, unarmed and have my back turned to you. Give him his sword!”

Without relinquishing the blade, Kaltag berated him. “You would do better facing the real enemy, those otters, instead of trying to take the life of my only living son!”

Riggu Felis kicked the unconscious Leatho before replying. “You are as foolish as your son. I no longer have to do battle with outlaws. How does the saying go? Chop off the snake’s head, and you have killed the body. The rebels have no head now. I have their leader in my claws. Believe me, I have my own special plans for the outlaw Shellhound!”

21

Brantalis the barnacle goose was enjoying the quiet summer morn. He paddled around the Abbey pond in leisurely fashion, pursuing a dragonfly playfully. The goose liked to spend time in the quiet waters. It was peaceful there amid cool willow shade and bulrushes, surrounded by the tranquil green depths. He often considered spending the rest of his seasons at Redwall, which had so much to offer: good friends, places to take one’s ease and wonderful food. But then the inherent nature of a migratory bird would steal over him, and he would long to be with his kin, his skein, soaring high over uncharted acres of open sky.

His reverie was broken by Abbess Lycian and molemum Burbee, who wheeled their breakfast, atop the tea urn trolley, to the pond bank. They settled down, slicing scones, pouring tea and gossiping. Both were in a somewhat indignant frame of mind.

Lycian pursed her lips. “Ooh, that Old Quelt! Sometimes he can act so superior to those who are younger than him. Huh, he thinks he knows just about everything about everything!”

Burbee poured hot tea into her saucer and blew upon it, supping noisily as she remarked to her friend, “Hurr, they’m alla same at brekkist, a-goin’ on an’ on bowt things they bain’t got ee clue abowt. But ee ole Quelter, he’m the wurstest!”

Sailing sedately up to the bank, Brantalis nodded at them. “I am wondering what has upset you on such a pleasant day?”

Burbee topped up her saucer, answering truculently, “Ee riggul, that bee’s wot h’upsetten’ everybeast!”

The big bird stared down his beak at her. “What is this riggul thing, please?”

The Abbess sighed unhappily. “A riddle is a puzzle, something that’s hard to explain and difficult to solve.”

Brantalis waddled out onto the bank, shaking his tail. “If it is hard and difficult, why do you bother with it? I am thinking it would be better just enjoying your life on such a good day as today.”

Lycian spotted Sister Snowdrop coming to join them. She whispered hastily to the molemum, “Burbee, don’t mention how we feel about Quelt to Snowdrop. She’s been friends with that old squirrel a long time. I wouldn’t want to offend her feelings.”

The little Sister plumped herself down upon the bank and flung a pebble into the pond with some force. “Honestly, that Old Quelt, sometimes he makes me so angry with his uppity attitude. You’d think he was the only creature in Redwall who could solve riddles!”

Lycian and Burbee could not help breaking out into giggles. Snowdrop looked bewildered. “Sorry, did I say something funny just then?”

Brother Perant stormed up unexpectedly. Flinging himself down, he began spreading a parchment on the ground. It was a copy he had made of the rhyming puzzle.

Perant muttered, “Right, let’s take a look at this riddle in peace. I’m tired of sitting at the breakfast table, listening to that Recorder drivelling on about it. Who does he think he is, anyway?”