Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

Sagax baked the mixture to a soft doughy pudding, using the damson juice and honey as a sauce. It smelled delicious.

Kroova made his way for’ard and shook Scarum awake. Grub’s up, matey.

Guess wot Sagax made fer us: skilly’-n’duff. Nice’n’ot, with damson juice an’ honey sauce poured over it.

The young hare crawled from beneath the seat and sat up with his head in both paws. He had turned a peculiar unhealthy shade. Boat’s been goin’ up an’ down, up an’ flamin’ well down, all day. Ooh, my mouth hurts like the blazes. I don’t think I’ll be takin’ any supper this evenin’, thank you. Just leave me alone here so I can die quietly, wot.

Kroova went back to the stern seat and accepted a bowl of supper from Sagax whilst he explained, Ole Scarum don’t want no supper.

The young badger was taken aback by the news. Doesn’t want any supper?

Is his mouth still paining him?

Kroova spoke through a mouthful of the hot skilly’-n’duff. Aye, but I knows the real reason. That creature’s seasick.

In the gathering twilight, Sagax found it difficult to see Scarum’s face. He served himself a portion of supper. Seasick, how d’you know?

The sea otter chuckled mischievously. ’Cos he’s gone the colour of a toad’s tummy. There’s one sure way t’tell, though. Watch this.

He called out in a jolly voice to the hare. Feelin’ better, me ole mate?

If the duff doesn’t suit ye, I’ll make ye up a tonic. Some cold water an’ oatmeal with a wild onion chopped in it, mixed up with a touch of beeswax tallow from a candle. That’ll put y’right, wot ye say?

A moan escaped Scarum as he staggered to the side of the ketch and leaned over, retching and heaving. Great rotten fat ruddered cad, that’s what you are. I’d sooner be scoffed by the shark than eat your foul concoction, wot!

Kroova grinned at Sagax and helped himself to more supper. Aye, our ole mate’s seasick sure enough!

Sagax sipped at his beaker of water. Poor Scarum. But with all the food he put away and that excitement today, plus getting his teeth caught fast, he has only himself to blame, really.

While he’s laying around the deck like that, why don’t you go and give a good check round under the bow seat? Ill search back here. There must be some sort of weapon, a knife, anything. I’d feel much safer if we had something better than a few wooden spoons in case of trouble. It’s important that we have at least one weapon.

They lit two small lanterns from the fire bowl and set about their task.

Scarum gradually moaned himself back to sleep again as night shades set in over the trackless deeps of the seas. In a corner beneath the stern seat, Sagax found a sling and some stones wrapped in a roll of old barkcloth. He was unwrapping them when Kroova returned carrying various objects.

Lookit wot I found under a ledge by the forepeakÑa sword, a dagger, an’ this old bow. Pity it ain’t got a string or arrers.

The badger inspected the sword. This is a typical searat blade, curved, with a cross hilt. My father has a collection of them in the armoury.

Rusty blade, with a few nicks in the edge. Sharp, though. I’ll clean it up a bit and it’ll look just fine. Let’s take a look at the dagger there, mate.

The otter tossed the knife in the air, catching it deftly by the blade tip. He turned it this way and that. Good ole apple slicer, this’un.

Ain’t a mark on it. No, wait___Aharr, this’ere pattern burned into the’andle’tis the same as the signs marked on the stern o’ this vessel.

Must’ve belonged to one o’ those searats I borrowed ole Stopdog from.

Cast yore eyes over that, matey.

Sagax took the blade. Holding the lantern close, he inspected the brand.

Hmm, wonder what it means. Some sort of lucky charm, mayhaps?

The otter shrugged as he tested the wood of the unstrung bow. This ain’t much use. Nice bit o’ yew wood, though,’twill do for a walkin’ staff.

Wot was in yore bark-cloth?

Sagax indicated the sling and pebbles. Nothing much, but look at this barkcloth. There’s more funny markings on it, not writings or a pattern.

Kroova brightened up as he inspected the thing. A map, me’eartie, that’s wot it is! 1 reckernize this coastline, up north an’ east of’ere, well beyond yore father’s mountainÑthat ain’t marked on it. But see, I know these bays an’ inlets from long ago. Take this’un. If’n we was to sail due east at dawn, we’d prob’ly run right into it.

Sagax held the lantern closer as he inspected the map. There’s an arrow marked here, straight up a river that runs out over the beach from these tree shapes and dunes. Any idea where that would take us, if we were to find it?

Kroova pondered. Could be that wood’s called Moss-flower, prob’ly, though I ain’t never been up that far.

The young badger’s eyes lit up. Mossflower! My dad and mum are always talking about it, most of the older Long Patrol hares, too. The Abbey of Redwall is supposed to be somewhere in Mossflower area. Have you ever heard of Redwall Abbey, Kroova?

Hah, who ain’t? Redwall Abbey’s supposed t’be a wondrous place, peaceful,’appy, an’ I’ear they’ve got the most marvellous vittles there.

Expert cooks an’ the best of grub.

Sagax rolled the cloth up carefully, though his paw was shaking slightly with excitement. Then let’s make it the destination of the voyage.

There’s a river runs across the shore into the woods, it says so on the map. Why don’t we sail up that way and pay Red wall a visit?

Kroova grinned from ear to ear as he shook his friend’s paw. Aye, shipmate, why not? I don’t think Scarum’ll object, d’you?

The badger cast an eye over his friend’s sleeping figure. The only way he’d object to a voyage was if there was no scoff at the other end.

Once he’s feeling better he’ll jump at the idea. How far do you think this river is?

Scratching his rudder, the sea otter estimated. ’Tis’ard to say. We got dragged off course by the shark today. We’re a bit far west’ard.

But I’ll tack’er east an’ north. Then we’ll see where we are a few days from now.

Sagax could not help shuddering with delight. I’ve heard about that Abbey all my life, but now I’m going there to see it all for myself.

Redwall, here we come!

8

It was Shogg who did most of the hard work, with Triss helping him and Welfo keeping lookout. All through the night the otter and the squirrelmaid toiled valiantly, disregarding the water’s icy temperature. With nought but a broken old rusty file between them, they laboured away in a veritable fever of anxiety, racing against dawn’s light, when the Ratguards would be back outside on duty. Shogg selected one bar at the end of the cage nearest the jetty where the ship lay moored. He crouched, half submerged, whilst Triss perched upon his shoulders and filed at the top of the round iron bar.

Welfo kept shivering and calling out false alarms. Wait, stop, I think somebeast’s coming! Sorry, Triss, it was only a moonshadow on the path.

You can carry on.

Shogg shifted position to stop his limbs stiffening. Stone me, I wish that’ogmaid would make up’er mind. That’s the sixth time she’s said that in the last hour!

Gritting her teeth as she attacked the solid iron with the file, Triss murmured down to Shogg, Poor Welfo, she’s terrified we’ll be caught.

It doesn’t take much to set her nerves on edge, she’s just plain scared.

The otter took hold of the bars to steady himself. Huh. I don’t know why she’s afeared. They can’t kill us twice. How’s it goin’ up there, matey?

Triss clamped her jaws resolutely, ignoring the skrike and screech of metal against metal. Slowly, that’s how’tis going. Once 1 got a decent bite on this iron, the file keeps sticking. Cutting the top of the bar’ll take the best part of the night. Owch! I’ve gone and filed my paw. Stop disturbing me, Shogg, it’s hard enough trying to work in this darkness.