The Lutra - Jacques, Brian - Redwall 09 - The Pearls Of Lutra

Unaware of what had taken place on the walltop, Tansy sat with Rollo, Piknim and Craklyn in the cellars, puzzling over Fermald the Ancient's third, and what seemed to them most baffling, rhyme. Tansy read it aloud for the umpteenth time:

"My sad third tear is shed, for one who now lies dead,

A friendly foe it was to me, a cunning old adversary.

Now heed the clues and read my rhyme,

Patience pays but once this time.

Inside the outer walls I lie,

Without me you would surely die.

I am not earth nor am I stone,

No shape at all to call my own,

Not bird or beast or flow'r or tree,

Yet captives live within me free!"

Rollo removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, sighing wearily. "Is there any of that dandelion and burdock cordial left? Pour me some, please, Craklyn. This is a real poser and no mistake!"

The squirrelmaid offered a suggestion as she poured the drink. "I wonder if Fermald was writing about the dead creature, Graylunk? See, the first line says, my sad third tear is shed, for one who now lies dead. What d'you think, Tansy?"

The hogmaid studied the slim paper scrap in front of her. "No, it couldn't be. Graylunk's remains are outside in Mossflower, and this line states clearly, inside the outer walls I lie."

The mousemaid agreed. "Correct. What we're looking for lies within the walls of our Abbey. It's not much of a clue, but I think it means something not actually inside this main building."

Craklyn thought about it, then seconded her friend's view. "Aye, when we talk of things in the grounds we always say inside the Abbey walls. Not within the Abbey, but between the building and the outer wall."

Rollo was tired, but the logic suddenly dawned upon him. "Oh, I see! You mean outsidethe orchard, the lawns and so on. Right, who do we know who lies buried out there?"

Furlo Stump was restacking the firkins back in place, listening to the conversation. Leaving his work he ambled over, wiping slowly at his strong paws with a damp cloth. “Beg pardon, but don't mind me sayin', I thinks yore wrong lookin' for a he or a she. The poem says it were an it, not he nor she. A friendly foe it was to me, the line says. I'm prob'ly wrong though, but I jus' thought I'd mention it."

Tansy shook Furlo's paw heartily. "Well done, mister Furlo. That was cleverly thought out! Sometimes we can get too smart for our own good and miss the clue, and that's when we need good common sense like yours, sir. Come on, let's take a look around outside, there's still time before dark."

The friends had barely ventured outdoors into the gathering dusk when Auma came hurrying towards them, calling, "Have you seen Martin or Skipper recently, are they inside?"

Tansy sensed something was wrong by the worried look on the badger's homely face. "No, we haven't seen them, Auma. What's happened?"

Ushering them back inside, the badger Mother glanced about. "Come, help me search for Martin and Skipper. I'll tell you as we go ..."

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BOOK TWO

Westward the Warriors

Chapter 19

Pale white as watery milk, a spring moon cast its light over the still trees of Mossflower, patching light and deep shadows throughout the silent woodlands. Without the need of lanterns, Martin the Warriormouse strode abreast with the Skipper of Otters, Clecky the mountain hare and his companion Gerul the barn owl. Martin had sheathed the sword of his legendary namesake across his back; Skipper carried sling, stones and a light javelin, whilst Clecky had found a hare longbow and quiver of arrows in Redwall's armory. Gerul had his formidable talons and fierce curved beak, weapons enough for any owl.

Telling only Auma of their plans, the four friends had slipped away from the Abbey, making a pact that they would only return in the company of Abbot Durral and Viola bankvole. Skipper and Martin were both experienced trackers. A broken twig, a crushed leaf or the slightest pawdent in the Mossflower loam was sufficient to tell them that they were right on the trail of Lask Frildur and the vermin crew.

It was long after midnight when they spotted the glimmer of campfire 'twixt the treetrunks. Martin waited with Clecky and Skipper, while Gerul flew to investigate, gliding like an elusive moonbeam through the high foliage.

They had not long to bide before Gerul returned. Fluttering down to the low boughs of an alder, the owl blinked and ruffled his breast feathers briskly. "Ah, 'tis them all right, sir, bold as brass an' cheeky as chaffinches, squattin' on their hunkers an' gnawin' at pore dead birds. But the big lizard spoke truth, so he did. There's not a sign of the good ould Abbot, nor the liddle volemaid, he's hid them away on that ship he spoke of, the scurvy rascal!"

Martin unsheathed his sword. "Skip, you go in from the left, Clecky, you and Gerul circle in from the right, I'll take the center. Wait for my call, then it's straight in and give no quarter. But remember, we want to take the leader alive, so don't slay the big one called Lask. We need him to bargain for the Abbot and Viola. Go now and good luck be with you!"

A single vermin sentry had been posted on the left side. It was closest to the woodland edge, and Lask considered that the most likely place an attack would come from. Normally he would not have bothered with a sentry, but something in the maddened eyes of the Warriormouse had told him that this was no creature who would sit still and bargain whilst those under his protection were held hostage.

The sentry was a burly stoat called Skarbod, veteran corsair of many fights and battles. Hiding behind an elm trunk, Skarbod watched Skipper creeping noiselessly forward. The stoat stood well hidden by the broad elm as, drawing a scimitar, he waited for the otter to pass him.

Skipper heard the corsair's blade start whistling through the air; only speed saved the otter Chieftain's life. Throwing himself flat to the earth, he left the blade slashing night air. Then, rolling over, he thrust upward like lightning with his javelin.

"Yeeeeaaagh!"

Skarbod's last scream was cut short as he fell dead on top of his slayer. As Skipper threw him off, pandemonium broke out.

Martin charged through the center like a thunderbolt. "Redwaaaaall!"

A searat who was not fast enough fell to Martin's blade. Lask Frildur immediately signaled his Monitors to follow him. Leaping back out of the firelight, he hissed at the corsairs, "He iz only one, kill the mouze!"

Suddenly Martin was hemmed in by vermin swinging a variety of weapons; he cleaved a ferret immediately in front of him. A weasel behind him raised an axe, but before the vermin could strike a feathered shaft took it through the nape of his neck, and the time-honored battlecry of hares and badgers rang through the glade.

"Eulaliaaaa!"

Clecky and Gerul stormed in at the same time Skipper hit hard on the opposite flank of the melee. Four more fell before the corsairs broke and scattered in all directions.

The fire had been scattered in the ambush. Clecky coughed and rubbed his eyes as he staggered about, shouting, "Onward the buffs! Death before dinner! Stand an' fight!"

Skipper halted the hare, who had picked up a broad-bladed cutlass and was in danger of felling anybeast who came near with it.

"Whoa there, mate, can't yer see they've fled!" the otter said.

As the smoke cleared, it became apparent that the four Redwallers were alone. Martin stepped out of the cloud of choking smoke, saying, "What happened to the lizards?"

Gerul beat the air with his wings to clear it. "The blackguards never even stopped t'fight, sir, they were away through the dark like a half-dozen ould swallows flyin' south!"

Skipper had picked up the trail on the far side of the camp. "They went this way, Martin, come on!"