Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

“Told yer I’d pay ye back someday, didden’t I?!”

It was Groffgut, leader of the young water rat gang. He turned to run but was stopped by the lance of Corriam. Skipper had thrown it true and hard. Groffgut stared stupidly at the lance sprouting from his chest. Then he fell dead without a sound.

The gannet had stumbled into the ditch. The screams emanating from there indicated that he had at last found food, the remainder of the water rat gang. Brink Greyspoke, the first Redwaller to reach Brinty, carried him hastily into the gatehouse. Girry and Tribsy followed him anxiously. Skipper went to retrieve the lance and found it broken for the second time. Groffgut had fallen clumsily, his weight having knocked the lance sideways, causing it to snap. Picking up the broken halves, Skipper pushed Groffgut’s carcass into the ditch. It fell in a heap on two other bodies: Plugtail’s and Frogeye’s. The gannet glared up at the otter, who had disturbed its grisly feast. The otter chieftain met its gaze with narrowed eyes.

“Here’s another one for ye. I suppose the rest have run off—well, no matter, mate. You carry on with yore vittles, then go an’ track ’em down, easy meat, eh? But I warn ye bird, show yore beak in Redwall again, an’ I’ll slay ye!”

The gannet got the message. It watched Skipper stride back into the Abbey grounds and lock the gate. The big bird gave a satisfied squawk and returned to its gruesome fare.

Skipper could not bear to go into the gatehouse. He skirted the doorway, which was packed with shocked Redwallers who could not get inside.

Brink was sitting on the west wallsteps, weeping unashamedly. “Pore young Brinty! He didn’t stand a chance, Skip.”

The otter sat down beside his friend, at a loss to say something about the untimely death of Brinty. He dropped the broken halves of the lance into Brink’s lap.

“At least I got the scum who murdered him. This lance is wrecked, mate. Cellarhogs are good at carpentry. D’ye think it could be repaired?”

Sniffing loudly and scrubbing a paw across his eyes, Brink strove to get back to normality. He inspected the broken ends closely. “May’aps I could, Skip. ’Tis only the wood at the middle come adrift from this silver sleeve wot’s been holdin’ it t’gether. Here, what’s this? There’s somethin’ jammed inside the sleeve.”

Brink tapped the tube of beaten silver against the wallstep until a piece of yellow metal protruded from its end. He took a grip of the metal in his strong, blunt claws. “You hold onto the sleeve, Skip. I’ll get this out.”

Skipper grasped the sleeve tightly, whilst Brink jiggled the thing free. It was a slender circlet of pure gold, which had been squashed flat to fit inside the sleeve. Set into the gold was a big green stone of uncanny brilliance.

“Ever together the two have been set,

since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet!”

They looked up, discovering Old Quelt as the speaker. “What you have there, my friends, is the crown of the High Queen Rhulain!”

After a while, Abbess Lycian had to clear the gatehouse of mourners. Molemum Burbee, with Grudd Foremole and his crew, would take on the sad task of dressing Brinty in a clean habit and preparing the young mouse for his final rest. Even amid all the sorrow, word had got out of Skipper and Brink’s discovery. To take their mind off things, the kindly Brink invited all the Redwallers to his cellars, where they could watch him restoring the coronet.

Lycian sat with her paws around Girry and Tribsy, trying to cheer them up. “Come on now, imagine what Brinty would say if he could see you both, wailing like a pair of Dibbuns on bath night! We’ve found Tiria’s crown for her. Now watch what Mister Greyspoke is doing.”

Brink had covered the head of a wooden mallet with a soft cloth. He had looped the squashed coronet around the spur of his anvil. Moving the coronet around slowly, he beat at it gently, explaining the process as he worked.

“Pure gold is a soft metal, easy to shape. If’n ye go gently, it shouldn’t crack or break. Softly does it now, never beat too hard, an’ be careful not to hit the pretty green stone. There now, that should do it!”

He held the restored coronet up for all to see. “A crown fit for the head of a queen, eh?”

The onlookers stared admiringly at the beauty and simplicity of the object.

When drinks had been served all around, Abbess Lycian made a small speech. “Redwallers, it is always sad when we lose one of our friends. More so, when it is a young creature who was not fated to live out his full seasons. We will never forget Brinty. Let us drink to all the happy memories we have of him. To Brinty!”

Everybeast repeated the name and drank. In the silence that followed, Skipper had a word to say. “He was a good an’ cheerful young mouse, an’ a true friend to all, includin’ my daughter Tiria.”

Girry felt he had to say something. “He saved me from the gannet. Brinty was very brave!” Then the young squirrel touched the bandage around his ear and fell silent.

Tribsy made a visible effort to finish the tribute. As he spoke, tears coursed down the young mole’s homely face. “Hurr, our pore Brinty, he’m wurr ee bestest friend us’n’s ever haved! We’m be a missin’ ’im furrever.”

26

Tiria had never been beneath the sea before. It was strangely silent, with only the muted sound of an air bubble or two. Translucent green light from above gave the subterranean world an oddly sinister aspect. As Tiria descended, keeping one paw on the rock face and the other gripping her lifeline, the water grew colder and colder. The outlook became decidedly gloomy as the ottermaid progressed downward. Soon she could see no further than her extended paw. The young ottermaid began to wonder just how far down the Rhulain’s wrecked ship lay.

Then she felt her rudder scrape the seabed—a mass of gritty sand, kelp, rock and little else. Feeling slightly cheated that she had not landed on the deck of the submerged vessel, Tiria groped about with her free paw. Nothing! She began to wonder if maybe the wreck had been moved by undersea currents or perhaps, after all the long ages, it had disintegrated and sunk beneath the sand. Who was to say? Then her footpaw struck something. She bent to discover what it was and felt a heavy ship’s timber protruding from the seabed amid a jumble of rocky debris. Sifting her paw into the sand, Tiria encountered another object and pulled it free, holding it close to her face. It was smooth, with some holes in it, a sickly pale white thing. A large bubble burst from her mouth as she gasped in horror. It was the skull of an otter! She was standing on top of a mass grave. All the bones of the crew were trapped within the sunken hulk, lying beneath an impenetrable weight of sand and rock. Searching for a slim gold coronet in these cold lonely depths was a fool’s errand, an impossibility. Tiria pushed off from the scene, bitterly regretting the failure of her mission.

She did not see the long dark shape streaking out from amid the kelp-festooned rocks. It struck her hard in the back, knocking the air from her lungs in a bubbling gush. Then the thing had her in a vicelike grip. Panic caused the ottermaid to struggle wildly, but the heavy coils enveloped her in their cruel embrace. Still holding on to the rope, Tiria wrenched both paws free. Amid the morass of debris-filled water, she saw a brutishly evil head striking at her face. Grabbing the bulky neck she fought to hold it off, thrusting frantically against the onslaught of a gaping mouthful of serrated teeth. The monster’s black, gold-rimmed eyes stared pitilessly at her as it pushed savagely toward her face. Then it squirmed, spinning her around to increase its purchase. In that moment, bereft of any breath of air but with a surge of energy brought on by naked terror, Tiria twirled the rope around the creature’s huge head. The lifeline looped twice, just below its jaw. The ottermaid jerked the lifeline sharply. One! Two!