Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Their delight, however, was short-lived. Sister Setiva and some molewives whisked them off, down to Cavern Hole.

“Intae the bath, ye filthy wee beasts. Och, there’s nae tellin’ whit muck’n’mire ye picked up in yon pond!”

The Abbeybabes wailed piteously but to no avail.

Boom! Boom! Toran’s hefty paw reverberated on the dormitory door. After a moment’s silence, his voice rang out harshly.

“Master Horty, yore sister an’ Father Abbot want a word with ye downstairs. Miz Fenna an Miz Springald, ye’d best show yoreselves, too!”

Martha sat down in Great Hall and waited. Soon she heard the dormitory door slam, followed by the sound of Toran’s footpaws pounding down the stairs. Abbot Carrul looked over his glasses as the grim-faced ottercook entered the hall.

“Don’t tell me they’re gone?”

Toran sat down on a table edge. “No trace of ’em, Father. I searched that dormitory from top’t’bottom, but I’ll wager they’re hidin’ someplace. You leave it t’me, I’ll find those villains.”

The Abbot began pushing Martha’s chair toward the kitchens. “I don’t think you will somehow. Follow me, please.”

Granmum Gurvel met them as they entered the kitchen. Clearly in a proper tizzy, the poor old molecook began chattering angrily. “Foive gurt h’apple puddens, ee gurt meadow-creamy troifle, strawbee scones, celery an h’onion flans, pasties full o’ carrut’n’gravy. They’m all be gonned? Burrrrrooooh! Wait’ll oi get’n moi paws on ee Dibbun rarscalls. H’all moi luvverly arternoon bakin’ furr tomorrers lunchen an’ supper. Varnished!”

Martha kept her eyes downcast as she informed Gurvel, “It wasn’t Dibbuns, Granmum. It was my brother Horty and his friends, Fenna and Springald. They’re the thieves who raided your kitchen. Now they’ve run off to join Bragoon and Saro on the quest.”

Toran’s rudder rapped loudly on the floor. “Of course, that’s it, Martha! But why’d they have to cause so much upset to everybeast—us, an’ the Dibbuns, an’ Gurvel? Why?”

Abbot Carrul raised his eyes and sighed. “Sadly, that’s the way most young ’uns behave at that age. Forbidding them to do something is like encouraging them. Unfortunately, they do things without thinking.”

Old Phredd shuffled in, bowing creakily to the Abbot. “I just found my main gate open, but me and young Toran barred it shut this afternoon. How did that happen, eh, eh?”

Carrul patted the Gatekeeper’s bony paw. “No doubt you’ve closed it again, Phredd. It was Horty, Fenna and Springald—they’ve gone off adventuring.”

Phredd chuckled drily. “Just like Bragoon and Saro when they were younger, eh, eh?”

Junty Cellarhog, who had just come into the room and heard Phredd, thrust his big paws into his apron belt. “No, ole feller, not like Saro an’ Bragoon at all. Them two was born tough, rovin’ was in their blood. But young Horty doesn’t remember anytime afore comin’ to Redwall, an’ both maids was borned ’ere. They don’t know wot ’tis like out there in the big world. I think they’ll ’ave to learn t’grow up fast.”

Martha felt a pang of alarm at Junty’s words. “What does he mean, Toran?”

The ottercook explained. “Well, miss, look at their vittles. Apple puddens, strawberry scones an’ a meadowcream trifle? No proper travelbeast’d take such stuff along. Huh, it’d be smashed t’bits afore they got a day’s march in, eh Gurvel?”

The old molecook nodded wisely. “Aye, et surpinkly wudd, zurr. Oi maked speshul marchin’ vikkles furr ee uther two. Lots o’ cheese, ee h’oatbreads, summ candied fruits an’ canteens o’ moi gudd dannelion’n’burdock corjul furr drinken.”

Martha grasped Toran’s paw. “You don’t think they’ll come to any harm, do you?”

The ottercook’s eyes softened. “Don’t ye fret yoreself, Martha. If’n they picks up my brother an’ Saro’s trail, they’ll be safe enough. Mind, though, they won’t get no special treatment. Horty an’ his pals will learn the hard way. Now, if’n they lose the trail, Redwall’s stickin’ up in plain view for a good distance. Once yore brother gets hungry, he’ll dash back to this Abbey like a scalded toad. The others are sure to follow. If’n ye pardon me sayin’, Martha, Horty’s a natural glutton. He won’t stray too far without vittles—starvation’s a hard taskmaster!”

The haremaid fiddled with the fringe of her lap rug. “I’d feel happier if somebeast could overtake them and bring them back, so they don’t get lost or hurt.”

The Abbot looked at Toran and Junty Cellarhog, both big, stout beasts and very competent. “Perhaps our Martha is right. Do you think you two could catch up with them before it gets too dark?”

Junty took off his canvas apron and nodded to the ottercook. “We’ll give it a try, Father. Are ye ready, mate? Come on!”

They left the Abbey by the main gate. No sooner had Carrul and Old Phredd closed and barred it then Junty and Toran were pounding on the timbers to get back in.

Toran’s voice was loud and urgent.

“Open up quick! There’s vermin comin’ down the path from the north! They’re headin’ this way. Hurry and let us in!”

BOOK TWO

“If only they were back here

at Redwall”

16

Late that same afternoon, the vermin gang had been keeping to the woodlands. On Badredd’s orders they followed the path. Stopping for a breather, the little fox sighted Redwall Abbey in the distance, showing above the trees. He scurried out onto the path, pointing and yelling.

“Aharr, there ’tis, mates, the Abbey place! I told ye I’d find it, ’twas me who saw it first!”

As he ran forward, the cutlass, which he had pushed into his belt, tangled in his footpaws, causing him to trip. He lay sprawled on the path, still shouting. “Wait’ll I gets me paws on that magic sword!”

Halfchop sneered. “Look at ’im, willyer, the flamin’ fool. I swear, Flinky, dat stoopid oaf’ll get us all killed!”

The crafty stoat chuckled. “Ah, sure enough, he’s a grand, brave beast. I’d sooner serve under Badredd than Burrad or Skrodd. Those two would have made us march in front, an’ led from the rear. Let the fearless chief run an’ meet the foe. Us pore ould pawsloggers will just keep our heads down an’ follow from a safe distance.”

Crinktail was in agreement with her mate. “Aye, whoever’s inside o’ that place will prob’ly see us comin’ from their walltops. Wot was it that Burrad said, that those Abbey creatures was all peaceable Woodlanders? So we may as well put on a show o’ force. The sight of a vermin gang might make ’em open up those gates to us—providin’ they knows wot’s good for ’em!”

The crew strolled out onto the path, deliberately setting a slow pace, keeping Badredd well ahead of them. Flinky sang a quiet ditty as a warning to his mates. The little fox could not quite hear the words, but he assumed it was some sort of song for marching into battle. He swaggered along, a good half-spearthrow in front, waving the unwieldy cutlass with regained dignity, feeling every inch the great Badredd, commander of a vermin crew. The others followed at a safe distance, sniggering at the words of Flinky’s song.

“When the clouds of arrows fly,

keep yore heads down.

Let the brave ones charge on by,

keep yore heads down.

When the heroes’ blood runs red,