Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

The white fox nodded. Walking out of his view, Brooky stole along the wall beneath the window until she reached a bench nearby. The fox was still mimicking the act of eating, licking his lips and showing his teeth, when Brooky jumped up on the bench. The large, solid ottermaid slammed the window pole hard at the stained-glass section, smashing it through the window—and the fox’s fangs at the same time. He fell backward with a gurgling scream.

Freeta and the others came running. She grabbed hold of the injured one, heaving him upright and shaking him as she grated angrily, “What happened . . . Who did this? Speak, fool!”

The fox tried to mumble something, but his mouth was too badly injured. Blood spattered the vixen’s face.

Repulsed, she pushed him away before turning upon his companion. “Why weren’t you up there, too, mudbrain?”

He protested. “There was no room for two. I was holding his paws lest he fell . . . Duuuunnnhhhh!”

Freeta ducked sideways, narrowly missing two window poles which, instead, thudded down so hard on the fox’s head that he collapsed to the ground—unconscious. The vixen managed to grab the end of one pole. Tugging it, she yelled at the other foxes, “Do something! Shoot arrows through that broken window!”

“Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!”

The vermin whirled about, just in time to see Brigadier Crumshaw emerging from the gatehouse, making a lone charge across the lawns toward them. The old hare was waving his swagger stick, running right for the foxes.

Freeta snapped an order at the three vermin who had already notched shafts to their bowstrings. “Stop him! Fire!”

One arrow went wide of its mark, but the other two struck Crumshaw. Amazingly, he carried on with his headlong charge, still waving his stick and roaring, “Give ’em blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliiiiiaaaa!”

Freeta was backed up against the Abbey wall as the brigadier bulled his way through to her. She slashed at his face with her sickle-curved sword. Crumshaw was injured a second time, but he was unstoppable. Struggling to gain control of the weapon, he had seized the sword by the blade, which resulted in deep cuts to his paws. Despite the brigadier’s pain, in one last desperate effort he turned the blade until its point was against the vixen’s neck, hurling his full weight onto it. They fell to the ground together, locked in a death hold. Freeta stared at him disbelievingly and gave a dying gurgle.

The brigadier slumped forward, his mouth against the dead fox’s ear as he gasped his last words, “Forward the Buffs . . . wot . . . Eulayyyyy.”

28

The Abbey doors were flung open wide. Redwallers charged forth, armed with anything that would stop vermin—window poles, ladles, kitchen knives, garden shears and digging forks. The white foxes scattered; these Abbey-dwellers looked anything but peaceable. Mice, moles, squirrels and hedgehogs were all bellowing and shouting, “Redwaaaaaaallllll!”

Everybeast joined in. Abbot Humble and a crowd of Dibbuns raced up the belltower stairs and threw themselves onto the bellropes of the twin bells. Boom! Clang! Bongboomclang! Clang! Bong! Kabooommm!

What they lacked in expertise they made up for in enthusiasm. Deep, brazen belltones tolled out their message over woodland, Abbey and plain. Armel and Brooky dashed to the big western wallgates. Throwing them wide open, the ottermaid stood out on the path, waving a flower-embroidered bedspread which was attached to her long window pole. Sister Armel guarded the gates for her.

The Long Patrol were split to the north and south of the flatlands, pursuing the retreating vermin, arcing back toward the woodlands after them. Captain Fortindom was at the north end, close to the path, when he heard the bells and saw Brooky waving her flag outside the main gates. Sergeant Wonwill, heading the south contingent, also heeded the alarm.

Calling off the chase, both hares directed their forces to the main gate. A brief word with Armel and Brooky was all the two officers needed before issuing the go-ahead: soon the Long Patrol flooded into the Abbey grounds. Fortindom and Wonwill intercepted Sister Screeve and Foremole Bruffy coming up from the pond.

The hare captain wielded his sabre in a businesslike manner. “Marm, sah, how many vermin are on the grounds?”

The mole leader wrinkled his snout. “Thurr bee’s none naow, zurr. Ee Sister’n’oi just slayed th’ larst wun. Gurt big fosker ee wurr!”

Sister Screeve prodded the air with a garden rake. “Aye, but he couldn’t swim! Nasty beasts, foxes. We’ll have to haul his carcase out of the pond later.”

The sergeant saluted the little mouse Recorder. “Go easy with that rake, marm. We’re on yore side!”

The Sister shouldered it like a pike. “Oh look, there’s young Burlop! He doesn’t appear too happy. I’ll go and see what ails him. Bruffy, you can tell the Father Abbot and those Dibbuns to stop tolling the bells now. I can’t hear myself thinking with that din.”

Fortindom ducked, avoiding a swing of the rake as Sister Screeve turned to indicate the east wall. “Hitheryon Jem says the foxes came in by the wicker gate in that wall. Fat lot he knows! They climbed over the wall using a double grapnel attached to a rope ladder.”

Wonwill set off for the east wall. “We’d best go an’ h’investigate, sah!”

Hitheryon Jem and Wandering Walt were securing the small wicker gate as the hares marched up.

Jem pointed to the crumpled form of a white fox in the bushes nearby. “There was two of ’em—one escaped, but me’n ole Walt put paid t’this ’un. Those two foxes wasn’t chasin’ about like the other vermin. They was just standin’ ’ere, mindin’ the open gate like sentries. Bit odd that, eh?”

The captain and the sergeant stared at each other as the realisation of the vermin plan became clear to them.

Fortindom twitched his long ears. “Good grief, the crafty scum! So that’s why they turned an’ ran from us, wot!”

Wonwill’s hooded eyes widened. “Aye, a clever scheme, sah. They was doublin’ back to come through this liddle gate an’ lock us out o’ the h’Abbey. That would’ve put us in a fix, if’n ye’ll pardon me sayin’, sah.”

Fortindom began unlocking the bolts and reopening the wicker gate. “Indeed, Sergeant. With a bit o’ luck we’ll jolly well let ’em do just that. Gather the Patrol. Then get the Redwallers back into their Abbey an’ tell ’em to stay inside. This is our bloomin’ party. Make sure the other gates are all secured an’ guarded. We’ll have to look lively, Wonwill. If the vermin are bent on carryin’ out their idea, the blighters should be here quite soon now. Keep the Patrol well hidden until the vermin are all inside. I’ll lay low nearby here an’ lock ’em in.”

Zerig met up with the rest of his vermin in the woodlands behind Redwall. The white fox captain took stock of his warriors, their number considerably thinned down since he had arrived at Redwall. Zerig, however, was still confident that he could pull off the audacious scheme. Continuing to size things up, he spotted Rogel, who was trying to blend in unnoticed with the other vermin.

Zerig questioned the fox. “Rogel, weren’t ye supposed to be with Freeta?”

“Aye, Captain, that I was, but I had to run for my life.”

Zerig stared hard at him. “How so?”

Rogel explained. “We gained entry well enough. Freeta opened the gate an’ left me an’ Farn to guard it until you came. She went off with the others to gain entrance to the big house. Suddenly the bells began ringing, an’ a horde of beasts, all armed with broomsticks an’ other things, came charging out at us. . . .”