Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

vittles?

The wound in Malbun’s cheek and the ache in her head was doing little to improve her temper. She snapped sharply, And I’m telling you once more, vermin, so dig the mud out your ears. There aren’t any. Is that plain enough?

The stoat swung his sword, chipping a chunk of bark from the tree a fraction above Malbun’s head. He snarled, Me next strike’ll be lower, about where yer ears are!

His companion with the hatchet waved him out of the way. Yore not’avin all the fun, Wicky, gimme a go. Right, old shrew, you tell us. Cummon, where’s the stuff’idden?

Crikulus kept his voice reasonable, eyeing the hatchet. We have nothing but the robes we are wearing, nothing.

Well, let’s see’ow yer’op round with only one foot-paw!

The stoat flung his hatchet. Crikulus pulled his footpaw aside just in time. The hatchet buried itself in the ground, a hair’s breadth from the old shrew’s paw.

A rough growl came from the spear carrier as he hefted his weapon. Aarrh, I’m sick o’ playin’ around. I’ll slay one of’em, the other’11 talk soon enough then!

Looking directly at Malbun, he leaned back for a throw.

Skipper came hurtling out of the bushes and grabbed the spearbutt, pulling the stoat flat on his back as Log a Log and the others dashed in, surrounding the three vermin. Log a Log snatched the sword from Wicky and cut the captives loose. Skipper snapped the spear as though it were a twig. Roughly he hauled the floored stoat upright and shoved him toward the other two. Huddling miserably together, the three vermin stood dull-eyed, expecting no mercy.

Log a Log turned to Malbun and Crikulus, inspecting them. Are you all right, friends? Did these three harm you?

Malbun held the herbal compress close against her cheek. We’re all right, thank you. They were just about to start on us when you arrived. Please don’t slay them, they’re only three thickheaded, ignorant vermin!

Log a Log looked enquiringly to Skipper, who shrugged. Mossflower’d be better off without such evil scum. But if’n that’s yore wish, marm, then so be it. Ahoy there, vermin, ye’ve got this good mouse t’thank for sparin’ yore worthless lives. Speak up now, thank’er!

Hope gleamed in the stoats’ eyes as they cried out together, Thank ye, marm, thank ye kindly!

Skipper picked up the stoat’s hatchet and hefted it. Tie their footpaws t’gether, Churk.

The burly young ottermaid took the severed rope and lashed the stoats’

footpaws together, as though they were competing in a three-legged race, the middle one’s foot-paws bound to the left and right of his companions.

Skipper spoke. I’m goin’ to count to ten. I wouldn’t be’ere after the count if I was you. Take warnin’, vermin, next time you’re seen in Mossflower country yore deadbeasts, all of ye! One, two ...

Hobbling and stumbling, they fled off into the woodlands. There was no need for Skipper to count further.

Log a Log gave a snort of derision, shaking his head at Malbun. Yore too soft-’earted, marm. They’ll live to slay other pore honest beasts.

Oh well, come on, you two, let’s get ye back to the Abbey. I suppose yore hungry, eh?

Crikulus rubbed his stomach. Hungry’s not the word, friendÑtry famished.

What happened to the owl? I didn’t see him arrive with you.

That’s because you didn’t take the trouble to look up here!

Ovus was perched in a tree directly opposite. He swooped down to the ground and clacked his awesome beak at them. I’m not exactly famished, but I could manage lunch. Or if we’re too late, a spot of afternoon tea would be nice.

The party moved off, with Crikulus striking up a friendship with the talkative tawny owl. Toasted teacakes with a smear of honey on’em, now that’s my choice, with a good beaker of dandelion burdock cordial. Be my guest, sir, we’ll take it in my gatehouse. Would you like to join us, Malbun? Maybe we’ll have some of that soft white cheese with the celery bits in and a mushroom pasty or two, with lots of onion gravy, of course.

Squinching her eyes, the Healer Recorder shook her head gingerly. No, thanks. A bit of quiet and a lie down’ll do me.

17

Late-afternoon sunlight poured in through the Infirmary window at Redwall Abbey. Malbun lay on her bed, fiddling with the edge of the tasselled counterpane. Sleep was eluding her. There was a gentle tap on the door, and Abbot Apodemus entered, carrying a tray. Skipper and Log a Log came in with him. The Abbot checked to see if Malbun was awake.

Ah, having trouble taking a nap, eh, Mai? I thought you’d like a teacake and a nice beaker of mint and comfrey tea.

Malbun sat up. Indeed I would. Thank you, my friend.

As Malbun ate and drank, the Abbot began talking to her of the previous night’s events.

I take it, then, that you and Crikulus left the Abbey late last night during the feast. Still searching for Brockhall, probably. Well, Malbun, what did you find?

The Healer Recorder shrugged dismissively. Oh, noth-ing.

Log a Log and Skipper exchanged suspicious glances. The Guosim Chieftain kept his voice deceptively casual. Ye don’t mind me askin’, marm, but’ow come we found you an’ Crikulus miles from anywhere?

Malbun suddenly became interested in the teacakecrumbs on her plate.

She hesitated. Er, we got lost. Took the wrong path in the, er, dark.

Skipper dropped his question in casually. Wot were the two of ye runnin’

away from, marm?

Malbun looked surprised. Running? What makes you think we were running?

There was nothing chasing us, we never ran.

Seeing she had finished her snack, the Abbot removed the tray. Our Guosim trackers said that your trail looked as if you were dashing through the woodlands in a panic.

Detesting the lies she was telling to her friends, Malbun carried on unhappily. When creatures are lost in darkened woodlands, they crash and stumble about a bit, through bushes, across streams.... 1 assure you, we weren’t running or being chased.

Apodemus held his friend’s paw, staring into her eyes. Are you sure there’s nothing more you want to tell us?

Malbun pulled her paw free and lay back, closing her eyes. 1 can’t tell you anything more. I’m tired and injured, I need to have a sleep. Please leave me alone.

Apodemus signalled to Skipper and Log a Log that they should leave.

He parted Malbun’s footpaw. Of course you need to rest. Forgive us for intruding.

As Skipper opened the door, Malbun called out, Thank you for rescuing us from those vermin. Don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t arrived in time.

Log a Log bowed gallantly. Think nought of it, marm. You take a nice liddle rest now.

The door closed. Malbun opened her eyes and rubbed her aching head miserably, still fighting to rid her mind of the sickly-sweet odour of death and grass rustling in the night.

Halfway down the stairs, the Abbot turned to his companions. He looked mystified. Well, what d’you make of that? Malbun was telling lies, I’m certain of it. That’s not at all like her.

ã

Skipper sat down on the worn sandstone steps. I’m glad you said that instead o’ me, Father Abbot, It grieves me t’think of any Redwaller bein’ a liar. Especially that nice ole mouse!

Log a Log scratched his whiskers thoughtfully. She must’ve had a reason.

Hmm, I wonder wot ole Crikulus would say if’n we asked ‘im?

Apodemus folded both paws up his wide sleeves. Now, that’s a thought!

Leave this to me, friends. Let me go and have a word with our Gatekeeper, on my own.

With an appetite that belied his long seasons and frail appearance, Crikulus ravenously tucked into everything within paw range. He stuffed himself with toasted tea-cakes, slices of heavy fruitcake, cucumber sandwiches, a cheese-and-celery pasty, and a large tankard of October Ale, after which he retired to his beloved gatehouse and slumped in the big armchair with his footpaws resting on a dusty old hassock. Almost immediately he fell into a deep slumber.