Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Blowfly gave him a surly glare. “Huh, ’tis alright fer you, I’m the one t’blame for lettin’ them escape. ’Tis me who Cap’n Bol will take it out on. I can’t go back empty-pawed!”

His companion did not agree. “Aw c’mon, Bol won’t be frettin’ over a few runaway fools. The cap’n ’as other things t’think about. A kick in the tail an’ a few ’ard words is the most we’ll get. Huh, we’ve ’ad plenny o’ those afore now. Belay there, shipmate, wot are ye doin’?”

Blowfly looked up from his task of striking flint to steel. “Wot I shoulda done awhile back, makin’ a torch. I’ll find these runaways, just ye wait’n’see!”

Glimbo seated himself with his back against the tree trunk. “Well, ye can find ’em on yer own, ’cos I ain’t goin’ anywheres. When ye come back this way widout ’em, gimme a shake. I’ll be right ’ere, takin’ a nap.”

Blowfly held up the burning torch he had fashioned. Silent and stubborn, he trudged off alone into the night.

Lonna Bowstripe saw the glow from between the trees where he sat resting. It appeared like a small floating island of light in the darkness. Silent as a wraith he arose, becoming one with the forest as he stood motionless against the elm trunk. Blowfly walked by within a paw’s reach of the big badger. Staring at the ground, the Searat mumbled bloodthirsty curses as to the fate of the lost fugitives. Lonna saw his face in the torchlight, and a trigger went off in his mind. He recalled brief flashes of the night he had been attacked by the Searats. Blowfly’s coarse, ugly features were instantly identifiable. Swiftly, the badger strung his bow and stole up behind the unsuspecting Searat.

Blowfly was jerked back as the tightly strung bow trapped his neck between wood and twine. The big badger managed to catch the torch before it fell.

Craning his head around painfully, the Searat caught a glimpse of his captor and spoke almost indignantly.

“Yore dead!”

Lonna drew him in until they were face-to-face. Only the pressure on the bow held the Searat upright, his limbs having turned to jelly.

With torchlight flickering over his scarred features and the light glinting in his vengeful eyes, the giant badger resembled some beast straight out of a nightmare.

Blowfly’s tongue suddenly ran away with him. “It was Bol . . . it wasn’t me . . . I wasn’t nowhere near ye. I swear me oath on it, I never did nothin’ . . . Gurgg!”

A sharp tug on the bowstring silenced him. Lonna’s voice left the Searat in no doubt that lies would not save him. “So you never did anything, you were nowhere near, it all had nought to do with you, you are innocent of everything?

“How many times has that same excuse been made? Think of every bully, cheat, plunderer or murderer before you who has lied with those same words. Once a villain is caught with no pack around him, then everybeast is to blame, except himself, of course. He will lie, betray and cheat to save his hide. But sometimes there is justice in the world, and fate catches up with him. So speak truly to me, or you will die slowly. You have my word on it—and I never lie.”

Blowfly sighed with relief. He told Lonna all he needed to know, and he spoke truly. The big badger kept his word: the Searat did not die slowly. A single, mighty jerk of the bow, and Blowfly died quicker than he had ever expected to.

Awakened by flaring torchlight, Glimbo yawned and stretched his paws. “Betcha never caught ’em, I told ye afore y . . . Ukkk!” The Searat’s paw shot to his neck. Blowfly’s long whip was tied around it, holding him fast to the tree he was sitting against.

A deep, forbidding voice warned him, “Be still, vermin!”

Automatically he raised his other paw, trying to free his neck. There was a hissing sound, like an angry wasp. An arrow of awesome length buried its point deep in the tree trunk, a hairbreadth from his neck. Glimbo froze.

Lonna revealed his face in the torchlight, laid another shaft on his bowstring and unhurriedly explained his purpose to the petrified Searat. “You will take me to the Abbey of Redwall. I am going to release you, but play me false, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Is that understood? Speak!”

Glimbo’s good eye rolled about alarmingly in its socket—he was completely terrified. “Unnerstood!”

The badger drew a long knife from his arm sheath and severed the whipcoils with a swift stroke. The Searat shot off like a hare at top speed. Lonna drew back the bowstring, homing in on the fleeing figure.

“Never mind, I’ll find my own way.”

33

Fenna lowered her head quickly. More thin, sharp reed lances whipped viciously by. “Don’t they ever run short of those things?”

Without raising himself, Bragoon hurled off a slingstone. “There’s always reeds aplenty on riverbanks. They just cut ’em an’ point one end—it makes a good throwin’ lance, sharp an’ dangerous. I’ve used ’em meself in the past.”

Saro suddenly rolled in beside Springald. “Aye, but ye weren’t much good with lances, too ’eavy pawed.”

The otter scratched his rudder. “Where did you come from, mate?”

Saro smiled, secretly enjoying the surprise she had in store. “I found a bend in the river down that way, an’ guess wot else I found?”

She signalled with her paw. Suddenly Springald found herself being jostled by a score of shrews who had crept out from behind trees and bushes to join them in the shelter of the log.

The otter uttered a delighted growl. “Guoraf shrews . . . Great!”

Saro pointed to Jigger. “Aye, Guoraf shrews, an’ who does this ’un remind ye of, Brag?”

The otter inspected Jigger’s face, noting the beard he was starting to cultivate. “Wait, don’t tell me, are ye a kinbeast to Log a Log Briggy, young ’un?”

Jigger expertly caught a reed lance as it flew by. As he cast it back downhill, he was rewarded by a reptile’s scream. “Briggy’s me old daddy. You must be Bragoon, the mad otter. Daddy’s tole me about you. Pleased t’meetcha!”

Fenna whispered to Saro. “What’s a Guoraf shrew?”

The squirrel explained, “That’s just the first letters of their tribename. G uerilla U nion o f R oving a nd F ighting S hrews. They’re good friends an’ fearsome warriors. Sometimes I think that they do all their far rangin’ just lookin’ for fights. Me’n Brag have battled alongside of ’em once or twice through past seasons.”

When everyone was acquainted, Jigger outlined the plan. “We’ve got to ’old on, ’til me dad an’ the others get set on the far bank. Then when we ’ears the signal, we charge an’ cut loose at those reptiles on our side.”

Bragoon mulled it over. “Sounds like good sense t’me, mate. This crowd down below ain’t goin’ anyplace. They’re tryin’ to outwait us, an’ slay us all when we makes a move t’leave.”

Jigger peered over the log and ducked a few lances. He thudded the ground with his club, chortling eagerly, “Reptiles’ll stan’ about waitin’ fer ages in the sun. Well, I ’ope they enjoys their sunbath, ’cos we’ll be givin’ ’em a different kind o’ tannin’. Hahaha!”

Saro spotted slight movements in the bushes on the far hillside. “Looks like ole Briggy’s gettin’ the lads into position. Won’t be long now.”

Without any prior warning, Horty came skipping blithely out from beneath the overhang. He ran by the log, speeding downhill and calling back to them, “Shrews, eh? Where’d ye meet that flippin’ lot? I feel much better now, chaps. Who’s for a jolly old paddle in the shallows, wot?”