Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

The torchlight showed a sizeable reptile, coiled around a mass of roots, hissing dangerously. Butty was petrified by

it. “Sh ... Sh ... Shad, look, ’tis an adder!”

The otter seized the torch and thrust it at the bared fangs and beaded eyes. The snake’s coils bunched as it backed

off.

“‘Taint no adder, that’s a smooth snake. It don’t carry poison in its fangs, but it can bite an’ crush ye!”

“Hurr, you’m roight, zurr. Oi see’d ee smoothysnake once. Moi ole granma, she’m tole oi wot et wurr. Gurr,

boitysnake!”

The fearless Shad stripped off his tunic. “A bitin’ snake, eh? Then we’ll just ’ave to give it sum mat to bite on,

mates. There y’go. ’Ow’s that, me ole scaley foebeast!”

He hung the tunic on his spear and jabbed it in the snake’s face. Instinctively the smooth snake struck, biting deep

into the homespun material. Shad was on it like lightning. He bundled the snake’s head in the tunic, wrapped the

garment tightly, and thrust it forcibly into the crossed forks of some thick-twisted roots. The snake thrashed about

madly, but only for a brief time. It settled down into a steady twitch as it tried to pull itself free of the encumbering

tunic.

Shad pointed upward. “Come on—I can see a twinkle o’ starlight up ahead there!”

They followed him, hugging the far side of the tunnel cautiously as they passed the slow-writhing reptile. Even

though they were sore and weary, the five companions leapt about gladly once they were aboveground in the moonlit

woodlands.

Friar Butty was ecstatic. “O sweet life! O fresh fresh air! O green pretty grass!”

Foremole was used to being underground. He sat back and grinned at the young squirrel’s antics. “Hurr hurr hurr!

Wot price ee treasure naow, young zurr? Oi’lf wager ee wuddent I loik t’go back an lukk fer it.”

Butty shook his voluminous Friar’s habit and the cloakful of treasure fell out upon the grass. “I wasn’t leavin’ that

behind! Why’d you think I slipped down the chain—it was the weight of this liddle lot!”

Shad tweaked the young squirrel’s nose. “Yer cheeky liddle twister, we shoulda left you fer the toads an’

mudfishes!”

Butty pulled loose and jumped out of the patch of moonlight they were standing in. His four companions looked

shocked for a moment, then they started laughing uproariously.

He pouted at them indignantly. “What’re you all laughin’ at? I don’t see anythin’ funny.”

Craklyn wiped tears of merriment from her eyes. “Oh, don’t you? Well, take a look at yourself, you magic green

frog!” Swamp mud, dried and crusted, and the dust on Butty’s paws, was shining bright green in the darkness. He

gazed at his small fat stomach in anguish. “I’m green, shinin’ bright green!”

Craklyn patted his back sympathetically, and a cloud of green dust arose. “It must be some mineral in the mud that

does it, phosphorus or sulphur, I suppose. Heeheehee! Lead on, Butty, we won’t need a torch to show us the way, my

small green-glowing friend!”

Butty waved a bright green paw at the Recorder. “One more word outer you, miz Craklyn, an’ I’ll give yore share

o’ the treasure to Sister Viola, so there!”

48?

Two old moles, Bunto and Drubb, were sleeping in the gatehouse at Redwall Abbey when they were wakened by

banging on the main gate. Bunto blinked from the deep armchair he was settled in. “Oo c’n that be a bangin’ on ee

gate inna noight?”

Drubb rose stiffly from the smaller of the two armchairs by the fire. He yawned, stretched, and said, “Us’ll never

know ’til us’n’s open ee gate. Cummon, Bunto.”

Stumbling out into the darkness, they unbarred the big gate and opened it a crack to see who required entrance to

the Abbey, The other four had hidden themselves; Butty stood there alone. The two moles took one look and scooted

off toward the Abbey building, roaring in their deep bass voices, “Whuuuooooh! Thurr be ee likkle green ghost at ee

gate, an’ ee’m lookin’ loik pore young Butty. Murrsy on us’n’s!”

A half of a dandelion wine barrel cut lengthways formed the badgerbabe Russano’s cradle. Mother Buscol rocked

it gently with a footpaw as she dozed on a pile of sacks in the dark, warm kitchens of Redwall. Only a faint, reddish

glow showed from the oven fires, where the scones were slowly baking for next morning’s breakfast. From his cradle,

the little Russano sat up and pointed at the strange apparition that had appeared. He smiled at it and uttered the only

word he knew.

“Nut!”

Mother Buscol half opened her eyes, inquiring sleepily, “Nut? What nut, m’dear?”

Then her eyes came fully open and she saw Butty standing there. “Waaaoooow! ’Tis young Butty, come back to

’aunt me! Ho, spare me, green spirit, don’t ’arm me or the liddle one!”

The glowing phantom answered in a hollow, moaning voice, “Bring scones from the ovens, enough for five, honey

too, an’ woodland trifle if’n there be any about. Some strawberry fizz an’ October Ale. I’ll be outside. Remember

now, enough for five!”

The specter faded slowly away to the small canteen outside the kitchens. Mother Buscol busied herself,

complaining to a cockleshell charm she always wore around her neck, “Indeed to goodness, fat lot o’ good you were.

Lucky charm, indeed. I was nearly eaten alive in me bed by an ’ungry ghost. Fifteen scones, that’ll be three apiece,

now where’s that woodland trifle got to? Oh, dearie me, don’t you fret, my liddle babby, I won’t let ’im ’ave you!”

Russano stood up in his tiny nightshirt, chuckling. “Yee-heehee. Nut!”

Accompanied by Taunoc and Orocca, the old squirrel-mother brought out a heaped tray. Shad had to take it and

put it on the table, as she almost dropped it. In the lantern-lit area, Butty appeared normal.

Tansy waved at her. “Hello, Mother Buscol, Orocca, and Taunoc, my friends. How are your eggchicks? Well, I

hope?”

Taunoc bowed courteously and alighted on the table. “We are all healthy, thank you, Abbess. Welcome back to

Redwall!”

49?

Major Perigord Habile Sinistra looked around the high ridge in the dawn light, sizing up the hillside and valley

below.

“You an’ Mono did well, Sergeant Torgoch. This ridge could be held against many by a few. Top marks, wot!”

Morio threw a languid salute. “Best place we could find, sah. Looks like we’re first here.”

Brisk as ever, Torgoch was issuing orders. “Scout around now, see if y’can find stones, any kind, from pebbles to

blinkin’ boulders. Put ’em in piles along the ridge—always useful t’chuck down on the vermin.”

Perigord nodded approvingly. “Good show, Sar’nt, make use of the terrain, eh, wot. Chief Log-a-Log, what can I

do for you, old lad?”

The Guosim leader nodded, shrews not being in the habit of saluting. “ThinkirT about food fer the troops, Major.

Shall we risk lightin’ cookin’ fires?”

“Why not, old chap, why not, we want the blinkin’ enemy to see where we are. Light some whackin’ great

bonfires, if y’please.”

Log-a-Log took Perigord at his word, and soon three huge fires were alight and blazing out like beacons in the

gray of dawn.

Gurgan Spearback had a stroke of luck. His Waterhogs reported they had found a great, fallen pine trunk on the

ridge’s other side.

“Thee did well, ’ogs. Fetch rope an’ wedges. Methinks I’d like yon timber atop o’ the ridge—’twill come in