Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

They had landed on a broad beach of grey sand, dotted with areas of shingle. Beyond that lay a shallow rise to scrubby grassland, steepening to flat-topped dunes scattered with small gnarled trees. Kroova had armed himself with the old cutlass they found on board. Scarum had the dagger tucked in the back of his belt, while Sagax held the old unstrung bow like a staff. He pointed up to the dunes with it and began trudging through the sand. That could be a likely place. Come on.

They came across meagre bits of food, some wild onions, sweet young dandelion roots and a patch of drop-water parsley. Sagax took charge of it before Scarum could start stuffing himself. The young badger stowed it in one of the knapsacks, which he had emptied and fetched along.

The hare pouted a bit. Fresh vegetation’s supposed t’be good for scurvy.

We should chew on a bit of that stuff after our voyage, wot!

Kroova whacked him lightly with his rudder. Y’ain’t been long enough at sea t’smell salty, let alone git scurvy.

There was not much else edible to be found. Although one of the trees was a hazel, the nuts were still green and solid. Nonetheless Sagax began picking the biggest ones.

Anything’s better than nothing. We might find some way of cooking these up that’ll make’em taste all right. Where’s that nuisance Scarum got to, can you see him?

Kroova immediately spotted the hare. He was racing along the dunetops like a madbeast, holding in his paw a withered chunk of honeycomb, pursued by a small number of bees.

Yeeehooooo! Gerroff, you rotters, 1 saw it first! Ow-chyowch! Help, chaps, heeeeelp!

There was a crashing noise and Scarum vanished in a dip amid the dunes.

Sagax started to run toward it, but Kroova held him back.

No’urry, matey, let’im get shut o’ those bees first. There’s only a few of’em, ole potbelly won’t come t’much’arm.

They strolled across the dunes, the sea otter pointed out a stunted bush with the remains of a hive in it. It’s an old’un. Those are prob’ly the last few bees movin’ away. Their queen must’ve died. He loaded bits of broken honeycomb into the knapsack. Nice of ole Scarum t’find it for us, though!

On reaching the dip, they found themselves staring down into a mined dwelling. It looked as if it had been some form of hideout. The walls were made of stones and driftwood, shored up by sand, and the roof was a lattice of woven broad-stemmed grass and dried rushes. There was a large hole torn through the roof. A few ancient bees buzzed slowly out into the daylight, followed by Scarum’s complaining shouts.

Go on, away, you miserable insects, be off with you. Bee off? Oh I say, that’s a good’un. Yaaaaagh! What’s that?

The hare sounded so frightened and urgent that the two friends felt bound to investigate. Sliding down the sun-warmed sand into the hollow, they found the door, a crude affair of cordage and rushes. Sagax pulled it to one side, allowing noontide sunlight to stream in.

The petrified hare was lying flat on his back, flanked either side by two skeletons clad in mouldering rags. Scarum lay there, his eyes the only part of him that moved. He rolled them beseechingly at the badger and the otter.

Pull me out of here quick! Quickquickquick!

They reached inside and dragged him out by his footpaws. Scarum began stuffing his piece of honeycomb into his mouth. Good for shock, somethin’

sweet. That’s what my old auntie used t’say Good old auntie, mmff, grrmff, s’good!

Sagax sat down outside the ruined dwelling, peering in. They look like the remains of rats to me. What d’you think?

Kroova went inside and squatted by the grisly things to inspect them carefully. I’d say you was right. This is wot’s left o’ a couple of searats. Lookit this.

He held up two brass earrings, now tarnished to green. Rummaging about in the sand, he came across some carved bone bracelets and a fish-skin eyepatch.

Aye, they’re searats sure enough, lookit those rags of clothin’. Typical searat gear. Wonder’ow they came to perish in this forsaken place?

Sagax pointed with his unstrung bow. Well, look around for yourself.

There doesn’t appear to be any signs of upset, a battle or a struggle.

I think these two rats just starved to death. They seem to be lying there peacefully enough.

The sea otter sifted his paws through the sand around both wretched skeletons. Aye, yore right, mate. Ain’t no traces of vittles, not even fishbones or empty water flagons. Twas starvation finished off these two, all right!

Scarum, who had remained steadfastly outside, peered over Sagax’s shoulder, a look of mixed horror and sympathy on his face. He shook his head sadly.

I say, what an absolutely awful way t’go. Poor blighters. Fancy perishin’

from lack of tuck and a measly drop t’drink. Good grief, it boggles the blinkin’ imagination, wot. I’d jolly well die before I’d let that happen t’me!

Sagax ignored the hare’s inane comments. Kroova, what’s that thing sticking up out of the sand, there, just by your left footpaw?

Digging his paws into the shifting sand, the sea otter pulled forth a smooth, shiny yellow cylinder. Wot, y’mean this? Beats me, mate, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it afore,’Ere, catch!

He tossed the object to Sagax. The young badger had no trouble in identifying it. It’s called bamboo. My father has a piece of it in his collection of searat stuff. He said it comes from the hot lands beyond the ocean. Look, it has a wooden keg-stopper knocked into one end of it!

Sagax tried to dislodge the stopper, but it was fitted so tightly that it would not budge. Kroova emerged from the ruined dwelling. He gazed back inside at the dark, empty, eyeless sockets of the two searat skulls, fixed forever in the eerie grin of death.

That bamboo must’ve belonged to one of’em. Let’s see if I can open it.

There’s prob’ly somethin’ inside.

Kroova spent some time wrestling unsuccessfully with the stopper of the tubby yellow cylinder. He gave up after a while and looked at Sagax.

Wot’s up, mate?

The young badger sat still and tense. He spoke softly. Listen to what I say, you two, especially you, Scarum. Whatever you do, don’t look up. We’re being watched. There’s quite a few of’em up there, I can tell by the way the grass is moving. Listen, can you hear hissing?

Scarum started to look upward to the crater rim. Kroova tugged the hare’s tail sharply. You’eard wot Sagax said. Keep yore’ead down!

Scarum obeyed reluctantly. Hissing, you mean hissing like snakes?

From the corner of his eye, Sagax caught a swift glimpse of a narrow reptilian head, peering down at them from the grassy fringe.

Might be snakes. When I say’now/ get inside that hut as fast as you can. Ready ... now!

Scarum streaked inside, regardless of the skeletons. In practically the same instant he was followed by his friends. Kroova flattened himself, stomach down, peering upward.

Lizards, that’s wot’s watchin’ us. Lizards, a lot of’em!

Rat bones clacked as Scarum scrambled to the otter’s side. Sagax joined him to take a proper look at the lizards.

The reptiles were crowding around the crater’s edge, many black and green-spotted males and light brown mottled females. They stood gazing unwinkingly at the newcomers to their territory, mouths opening and closing, dark snakelike tongues flickering in and out.

Scarum tried buoying his confidence as he watched more lizards pack in round the edge. Ugly blighters, ain’t they? Not as bad as sharks, though. Huh, one of those chaps isn’t big enough to eat me, wot!

Kroova pawed at his cutlass edge, remarking drily, Mebbe not, but there’s more’n a hundred o’ those things waitin’ fer us t’make a move. Little they might be, but they’re predators all right, take my word fer it, mate.