Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

Memm and Vernal covered their ears.

Boombangeeboom! I’m a t’under comin’ to getcha! Boom!

Little Dibbun maids squealed, running in circles with their aprons thrown up over their faces. Yeeeek, it’s a storm!

Turfee waved two long cornstalks. He was the lightning. Tish! Flash!

Tish! Tish! I burn you tails off. Tish!

Memm collared him as he dashed past for the third time. Sitting the mousebabe on her lap, she popped a strawberry into his mouth. Be still, y’little bounder. Chew on that an’ keep quiet, wot!

Immediately she was surrounded by Dibbuns, clamouring aloud, Wanna strawbee! Gimme strawbees, Memm!

Bo urr, oi’m gurtly’ungered for strawbees, marm!

You nebber sayed pleeze. Can I hab a strawbee, pleeze!

Memm and Vernal emptied the bowl as they dished strawberries to the open-mouthed infants. Vernal threw up her paws wearily. Go and play now, they’re all gone!

Ruggum folded his paws defiantly and faced up to her. Urr miz, uz be a goin’ to ee h’orchard an’ picken more!

Memm fixed him with her severest Harenurse stare. Oh, no you don’t, young sah, you’re not to go outside, any of you. It’s drizzlin’ heavy out there. Go an’ play!

Ruggum held his ground, returning her stare with what he thought was his fierce moleface. Ho, do ee say so, marm, well let oi tell ee. Grizzle doant bee’s a botheren us’n’s, we’m gurt tuff h’aminals, burr aye!

Memm moved her chair so that its back was against the door. She wagged a warning paw under Ruggum’s snout. Well, tough or not, you ain’t gettin’

by me, master Rug-gum, so you can go off into the corner an’ bally well grizzle about that. Now, that’s my final word on the subject. Wot!

Ahem, permission to get by, marm, if’n ye please!

Memm looked up to see Skipper and Log a Log standing there. The otter Chieftain and the Guosim leader were heavily armed. Skipper carried a sling and stone pouch, a newly tipped javelin and the sword of Martin across his back. Log a Log carried a sling and pouch alongside his shrew rapier, with a small bow and quiver of arrows in addition.

Ruggum snatched up one of Turfee’s cornstalks. Oi bee’s a cummen too, zurrs!

Log a Log whipped out his rapier and pointed at the stairs leading down to Cavern Hole. He yelled urgently, A big rat with a bag of strawberries just ran down there. We can’t’ave that, can we? Get’im!

Whooping and roaring, the Dibbuns tore off in pursuit of the imaginary villain. Memm moved her chair and opened the door to allow them outside.

Isay, old lad, that was pretty crafty, wot. Don’t suppose you’d like to stay indoors an’ entertain a flippin’ herd of wild infants. Vernal an’ I could get a bit o’ shuteye.

Skipper touched his rudder politely. Sorry, marm, we got other business to attend.

Vernal watched the two warriors heading for the main gates. Business to attend, hmm, wonder where they’re off to?

Skipper and Log a Log made rapid progress into Moss-flower, unburdened by cloaks and wearing only short tunics. They conversed little, each keeping well-trained ears and eyes on their surroundings as they pressed on through the trees. There were no unusual sounds, just the steady drip of rainwater from leaf, bush and fern. Skipper nodded at an old aspen tree on the edge of a small clearing. It had been broken in half, pale sappy wood showing white against its green background. Log a Log noted it, pointing briefly at the sky and making a quick moonlike circle with one paw. Both knew that the tree had been brought down by lightning in the previous night’s storm.

Reaching the point where they had been attacked by the crows, they halted.

Now they spoke, keeping their voices very low and standing close together.

No crows t’day, Skip, must’ve moved on to better shelter.

Aye, mate, I don’t smell nothin’ odd, like the Abbot said Crikulus was talkin’ about in’is sleep. Let’s listen.

The otter and the shrew stood still, only their eyes moving as they honed in their keen senses to the woodlands. However, neither could feel anything amiss.

Log a Log spoke. Best split up, Skip. You go this way, I’ll go yonder.

Give a cuckoo call if ye find anythin’.

They went their separate ways like two silent smoke wraiths.

Skipper was casting about close to a massive old oak when he came across some familiar objects: the cloaks and lanterns belonging to Malbun and Crikulus. The big otter did not disturb them. Bending low, he sniffed his find, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Cuck-oo! Cuck-oo!

Treading carefully, he moved off in the direction of Log a Log’s call.

Pointing to broken nettles and ferns, the shrew Chieftain nodded northward.

Two beasts, runnin’ hard. Storm never made these tracks!

Skipper inspected some blurred dents in the ground. Rain’s ruined these prints, but I’d guess they was made sometime yesterday, by the water that’s collected in’em. Let’s foller an’ see who’s makin’ the pawprints.

Broken shrubbery, disturbed loam, scratched earth and torn-off leaves were simple to see. No storm could have left such a clear, narrow pattern.

Now that the drizzle had stopped, sunrays cast a mottle of light and shade over the still waters of a peaceful stream, drifting through the woodlands. Pale blue smoke twined lazily upward from a small fire on the bank. The remains of four ruddfish lay amid some half-eaten pears in the smouldering ashes. The two stoats, Burgogg and Wicky, sprawled on the bank, footpaws dabbling in the shallows as they picked their teeth with the ruddfish bones. Burgogg smiled contentedly and belched.

Wicky flicked a fishbone at him. Beggin’ yore pardon! Burgogg shot him a quizzical glance. Why, what’ve yer done?

Wicky shook his head at the other’s ignorance. That’s wot yer supposed t’say after doin’ that.’Aven’t yew got no manners at all?

Burgogg belched again. No, enny’ow, who needs manners? I never begged nobeast’s pardon in me life. Let’em go an’ pardon theirselves! He giggled.

I think we should stay’ere ferever. Those daft fishes’ave been swimmin’

right up to us since we been on this spot. Plenty o’ pears, too. Old Kligger liked a pear, y’know, very partial to pears’e was. Yowch!

Wicky swished a willow withe back for another stroke. Wot’ve 1 told yer, eh? Shut yer gob about Kligger, d’yew’ear me, shuttit! One more word about KliggÑ

Skipper’s sling was around Wicky’s neck like a strangling noose. Log a Log bounded lightly down onto the bank and put the tip of his rapier against Burgogg’s nose. The helpless stoat wailed miserably.

We wasn’t trackin’ nobeast! We was goin’ to break camp an’ keep goin’

north, wasn’t we, Wicky?

Trying to ease the sling around his neck, Wicky gasped, Burgogg’s right, we wasn’t doinarm to anybeast, sir. You ain’t got no reason ter slay us!

Skipper loosened the noose a touch and growled, Two things can save yore lives, vermin. One, where’s yore mate gone to? There was three of ye. An’ two, wot were ye run-nin’ from? Speak, or die!

He tightened the sling again. Wicky yelled in a hoarse voice, Awright, awright, I’ll tell yer if’n yew let me breathe!

Skipper slacked the sling off. Now talk.,.. Fast! Wicky massaged his neck and began talking, his voice a low whisper. His eyes darted from side to side, as if watching for some terrible thing to come bounding out of the woodlands at him.

It was after yew let us go yisterday. We staggered along fast as we could wid our paws bound t’gether. When we couldn’t run no more, we found a quiet liddle spot to sit an’ bite through the ropes wid our teeth. Ole Kligger went off, foragin’ fer vittles, an’ I found a couple o’ cloaks an’ some lantings. I tell ye, though, there was an awful smell round that glade, a frightenin’ smell. It was like ... like death an’