Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

that ‘ellish smell to yon oak was no trouble. Those snakes are in there, all right, I’d stake me life on it.

Kurda’s pink eyes were as cold as ice as she tested her sabre edge.

You better hope you don’t lose your stake.

The bright summer day drifted by with the pace of a leisurely snail, warm sun and humming insects combining to soften the menace that hovered over the still, green woodland. The stoat Scummy spread out on some moss behind an elm and closed his eyes. A nearby Ratguard prodded the Freebooter with his spearbutt.

Hoi, yore s’posed to be watchin’, not snoozin’.

Scummy opened one eye and glared balefully at the rat. Mind yer own business, I’ll do wot I like, see!

The Ratguard was slightly taken aback. Better not let Cap’n Vorto or Princess Kurda catch ye!

Ripper the searat curled his lip at the speaker. Wot are we supposed t’do, then, sit ‘ere to attention all day? We’ve ‘ad little sleep anardly a bite to eat. I’m gonna get some o’ those whortleberries growin’ over yonder. Yew stay awake an’ keep guardÑyore a Ratguard, ain’t yer? We’re Freebooters, we do wot we like!

As time meandered slowly by, summer cast its warm spell over the glade.

Anybeast out of Kurda and Vorto’s sight took advantage of the torpor and dozed off, crew-beasts and soldiers alike. Even Kurda could not halt her eyelids from drooping.

Vorto tried to remain attentive, whispering to Riggan, who was still watching through half-closed eyes, Those serpents would’ve showed theirselves by now if’n they was really in there. You sure you saw ‘em go in?

The tracker gave Vorto a pitying look. I trailed’em’ere. I never saw the snakes enter, I got’ere too late fer that. But they’re in there, all right.

Whidge was lying quite still. Vorto did not realise that the old searat had been suffocated by his own belt. Look at’im. Don’t seem t’be too bothered by it all, does’e?

Down inside the dusty gloom of Brockhall, Zassaliss slithered forward, pulling his brother and sister along with him. Ssssssoft now, sssssssilent! Let usssss sssssee what issss happening outssssside.

As they passed the mummified remains of their mother and King Sarengo, locked together in death’s eternal embrace, Sesstra hissed malevolently, The time hasssss come to make them pay for thisssss!

Leaving a rearguard of Guosim shrews aboveground, Triss led the woodlanders down the steps into Brockhall. It was gloomy and musty, with the awful odour hanging thick upon the still air. Sagax tried to keep his voice from echoing into the tunnel as he murmured to Skipper, D’you think we should chance a light?

The otter Chieftain mentally debated the point for a moment. A light could get us seen. But I think we should’ave one down’ere,’cos we need to see. Hmm, we’d be best off with a small’un that don’t flare up too bright.

Churk felt along the rough rock wall until she encountered a bend.

There’s one here, will this do?

It was a candle lamp, with a good thick candle stump in it. Log a Log set flint to tinder and lit it. Aye, this’ll do fine. The crystal glass is all dusty, but it’ll give us enough light t’see wot we’re doin’.

The lamp gave off a soft golden light upon an eerie scene. Brockhall, the once-legendary home of badgers and their woodland friends, was in a sad state of neglect. Cobwebs clung everywhere and tree roots hung like tentacles from wall and ceiling. The whole ancient place was deeply coated in dust, with sinister drag marks down the centre of each winding passage. There were side chambers, some with the doors broken down, others screened by curtains, which crumbled and disintegrated at a touch.

Sagax and Shogg entered one and looked around. It had once been a comfortable bedchamber, but now the wonderfully carved furniture was woodworm-riddled and broken. Snake-skins, shed in previous seasons, caused revulsion among the seekers as they burst and crinkled underpaw.

Out in the corridor, Triss called in an echoing whisper, Stay together, don’t anybeast stray off alone.

Mokug shuddered. Good advice, missy, I’m all fer that!

Log a Log placed a paw against the hamster’s mouth. An’ don’t speak lessen ye have to, t’ain’t safe in’ere!

Scarum strode blithely up the path, munching on a hefty apple-and-blackcurrant flan. Chuckling to himself, he cut off into the woodlands. Dozy old bunch, wot! Jolly impudent, too, I’d say. Fancy thinkin’ y’could demote a garrison commander to a drudge of all work, cads! Chap of my blinkin’ skills, wot? Didn’t take me a bloomin’ tick to escape that lot. Huh, starvin’ for three days on lettuce leaves an’

water, fat chance! They’d find my young wasted body dead after just two flamin’ days o’ that nonsense. Hey ho for the open air an’ fiddle dee dee for those old buffers. Join up with the chaps, that’s the ticket!

Comrades staunch an’ true, with lots of rations an’ so forth. Y’can’t go paw-sloggin’ without loads of fodder t’keep fur’n’scut together, no sah!

The incorrigible young hare strode jauntily along, armed with a pillowcase full of food from Red wall’s kitchens and a window pole with a metal hook on one end, his chosen weapon. With neither care nor conscience, he composed a marching song as he went on his way: I’m a one chap regiment,

Don’t y’dare stand in me way,

No Abbey cell could suit me well,

On such a jolly day.

O trampitty tramp I’m marchin’,

Stand fast the Buffs, I sing.

If I had a drum I’d go rumpetty turn,

I’d biff it like anything.

I’m a perilous hare y’know,

Just like me dear old dad,

A word’s as good as a blow, hoho,

Though some may think me mad ...

He paused and pulled a face. Mad? No, no, not the right word at allÑhave t’change it. Let’s see, mad, bad, glad, sad, old lad? Hmm, I’ll have to think about that one.

In the midst of still-shimmering noontide, the trio of serpents struck.

Everybeast was unprepared for the lightning move. One moment the glade was quiet and peaceful, save for an occasional muted snore. Then, in the blink of an eye, the whole scene changed. Zassaliss had spent the last hour inching the oak tree door open, fraction by fraction. Suddenly the adder saw that the way was clear. He hissed, Sssssstrike!

Together the trio of snakes boiled out of the entrance. Straight across the glade they rushed, with the mace chain clanking behind, right past the carcass of Whidge, whom they already knew to be dead. Crashing into the fern bed, they snatched a plump sleeping Ratguard, who shrieked as they seized him.

Kurda came awake immediately. Grabbing her sabre, she yelled urgently, Stop der shnakes! Arm der crew! Don’t let de serpents get back inside der den. Hurry!

To their credit, the Ratguards roused themselves swiftly. Vorto kicked the pile of weapons, scattering them as he ran by, shouting, You ‘eard the Princess, git yore swords, cut ‘em off afore they escape!

But the adders were faster. Bunching their coils jointly, they slithered backwards like lightning, dragging the feebly kicking Ratguard into Brockhall with them. Vorto paused momentarily, looking to Kurda for orders. Her eyes shone madly at the sight of the coveted Crown of Sarengo vanishing into the darkness.

In! In! Get in after dem, kill de serpents! Get der booty! De cowards run, dey are scared of us! In! In!

Tazzin swung a dagger about her head, fired by the mention of booty and the excitement of the chase. Did ye ‘ear that, mates? Booty!

Chaaaaaarge!

Both Ratguards and Freebooters piled into Brockhall, roaring and yelling after Zassaliss, Harssacss and Sesstra.

Skipper had just led the party into the big main cavern beneath the oak tree roots. Log a Log held the lantern up as the others stared in awe at the mighty structure. Then a deafening cacophony of noise filled the chamber: clanking chains, hissing, pounding paws and yelling vermin.