Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

the biggest an”eaviest? If the chain ’olds fer me, ’twill be safe fer all.”

Without further ado Shad climbed up five stairs and stretched his paws high, holding the chain as far up as he

could. Abbess Tansy had a sudden thought. “Here, Shad, you’ll need the spear to clear those toads from the ledge.

Stay there, I’ll bring it to you!”

Shad bit down on die spearhaft and nodded, and the Abbess stood aside. He took a short run and launched himself

from the stairs. Tansy watched the gallant otter swing out in a huge semicircle over the vast lake of liquid mud, with a

spear clenched in his teeth and his tail standing out straight behind him, and knew she would never forget the sight.

She held her breath. It looked as though the wide, arcing swing was about to dip downward and plunge Shad into the

swamp. But on the final stretch he kicked out and up with both footpaws, jerking himself onto the ledge. The four

friends on the steps cheered heartily. Shad held the chain in one paw and thwacked at the fat revolting toads that had

already crawled up onto the ledge with his spear handle, sending them flying high and wide with dreadful hisses and

croaks of protest.

“Shove off, ye great blobs of blubber, g’wan, jump fer it!”

The oozing surface boiled with writhing mudfish tearing at the toads who, in their turn, gobbled down as many

mudfish as they could.

“Stand ready wid the ’ook an’ line,” Shad yelled across to Diggum Foremole. “‘Ere comes yore chain!” He swung

the chain out in a wide arc. Foremole threw the line, hooking it as it came within range.

“Oi got ’er. Coom on, miz Crakkul, doant ee be faint’earted!”

Craklyn went next, aided by a mighty shove from her friends. She wailed and yelled the whole way across the

ledge as she swung over the toads, mudfish, and deep morass.

“Whoooooeeeeeeeaaaaaa ... Heeeeeeelp!”

“Well done, marm. Never fear, I’ve got ye, yore safe now!”

The old squirrel Recorder ceased her din, smiling sweetly at Shad. “There, it didn’t hurt a bit. Send the chain back

to Tansy now, mister Shad. I’ve never heard an Abbess scream, have you?”

Tansy was next to go, but when Foremole and Friar Butty pushed her from the step, she did not scream at all.

Instead she clung on like grim death and closed her eyes tight. Shad and Craklyn caught her. She wagged

a

mischievous paw across at the Foremole. “Guess who’s next, Diggum?”

When he had hold of the chain, Foremole looked pleadingly at Butty. “Oi ’opes they toadyburds an’ muddyfishes

doant get oi!” As it was, Foremole probably had the best crossing of all, coming in to land so fast that he almost hit the

wall.

Young Friar Butty was last to go. His was the most difficult trip, because he had nobeast to give him a good

starting push. The fat little squirrel launched himself off, only to swing in a faint halfhearted circle and land back on

the steps.

Abbess Tansy roared across at him, “Oh, come on, Friar, you can do better than that. Imagine twenty hungry hares

are chasing you to cook dinner for them, and run.”

Butty went at his task with a will; grabbing the chain high, he dashed from the step and leapt out, yelling, “Go an’

get yore own dinneeeeeer!”

He flew across the swamp, but halfway across his paws began slipping down the muddy chain. Butty was still

traveling inward towards the ledge when he plowed into the swamp and vanished.

Immediately the surface of the swamp began wriggling and roiling with toads and mudfish.

Shad seized the spear close to its blade. “Quick, you three, grab the other end tight an’ don’t let go!”

Hanging on to the spear with one paw, Shad dipped daringly outward and grabbed the chain with his free paw.

“Pull me in, pull me in quick!”

They hauled him from his almost horizontal position back onto the ledge. Wordlessly they all took the chain and

pulled it in paw over paw, heaving madly at the rusted, mud-coated links. Butty was dragged forcibly to safety,

practically unrecognizable. He was coated from head to tail in reeking sludge, roaring and spitting mud as toads and

mudfish clung to him, gnawing.

“Blooaargh! Gerrem off me, the filthy dirty swampscum!”

They brushed and wiped at him, cleaning him up as best they could.

“There y’are, matey, you’ll live. The worst bit’s over now!”

Butty winkled mud from both his eyes and glared at Shad. “How do you know?”

Toads proved the only problem on the narrow rock ledge. They congregated there in droves, perching on one

another’s backs, standing on the heads of those beneath them, blocking the way, sometimes five and six high.

Sightless, filmed eyes, bulbous heads, damp spreading webs, and fat slimy bodies barred the path of the five

Redwallers. The cavernous space echoed to the sound of venomous hisses and croaks.

However, Shad was made of stern stuff. He headed the party, battling a path for them along the slippery rock strip.

Buffeting left and right with the spearhandle, he thrashed the creatures unmercifully until they were forced to flee into

the swamp. Toads plopped and flopped in scores to the waiting mire below.

The four creatures walking behind Shad kept their backs firmly against the wall. Gripping one another’s paws, they

edged slowly along to the mole tunnel, encouraging their champion.

“Get that big scoundrel, Shad—that ’un there!”

“Watch out for that fat ’un, he’s tryin’ to slip past you!”

“Burr, you’m give ’em billy oh, zurr, ’ard’n’eavy!”

The hole was not too high up. Shad could see into it by pulling himself up tip-pawed, but it was dark inside.

Foremole Diggum produced one of the torches from the cellar. “Oi brung this’n o’er with me. Can ee set flame to

et?”

With a few threads of Tansy’s habit, a piece of flint which Friar Butty always carried, and the steel blade of

Craklyn’s quill knife, they improvised spark and tinder. Tansy set the smouldering threads on the resin head of the

torch, and blew gently until it ignited.

Shad boosted them all into the mole tunnel, where they sat and took a breather. They all were tired, thirsty, and

with grumbling, rumbling stomachs.

Friar Butty picked drying mud from his paws and spat out grit from between his teeth. “Ah well, we might yet see

daylight if this tunnel goes anywhere.”

Foremole wrinkled his nose and sat back confidently. “Lissen yurr, Butty, if’n summ mole digged this tunnel, then

you’m can lay to et thurr be a way out. Ho aye!”

It was a steep uphill climb, slippery at first, but growing easier once they encountered deep-sunk tree roots, which

they could hold on to.

Craklyn explained the tunnel’s origin to Tansy as they went. “From the journals of Abbess Germaine, I gather that

this is one of the original passages that the moles dug to flood Castle Kotir. They diverted a river down several tunnels

and flooded the place out.”

The Abbess, who was traveling behind Craklyn, smiled wryly. “Very interesting, I’m sure, marm, but will you try

to stop kicking soil down the back of my neck!”

Friar Butty, who was traveling up front with Foremole, shouted, “Fresh air! I can taste the breeze!”

Foremole, who was carrying the torch, suddenly backed up on to Craklyn’s head, pulling Butty with him. “Coom

quick, zurr Shad, thurr be a surrpint up yurr!”

Scrabbling soil and bumping past the others, Shad, who had been bringing up the rear, fought his way to the front.

“A snake, ye say, matey? Where?”