Brian Jacques - Redwall #05 - The Legend of Luke

Lady Amber's manner was more practical than sympathetic. "Don't tell me, Skip, you can't abide noise? Hah, 'tis usually you who creates most of the noise 'round here with your big foghorn voice. As for heights, if you haven't got a head for them I don't advise hanging 'round up here, you'll only make yourself ill. Why not pop down to the orchard and help the carpenters. That's far more peaceful."

Skipper tugged oh the pulley rope of the hoist. "Good idea, marm, the orchard it is!"

The hoist was merely a system of counterweights. Skipper stepped aboard a small platform and it descended slowly. On the way down he was passed by the other platform, on which stood a squirrel with two blocks of sandstone going up. They waved to each other as the platforms passed.

"Where are ye bound, Skip?"

"Down to the orchard, matey, t'lend a paw with the beams."

"Tell Gurdle to load mortar on that platform when y'get down. I'll leave one o' these blocks on as a counterweight."

A mole and four mice were waiting at the bottom, and they locked off the platform against a log protruding from the wall. The mole touched his snout in greeting. "They'm needin' more blocks oop thurr, Skip?"

The otter stepped from the platform. "Not at present, Gurdle, 'tis mortar they want."

Gurdle and the mice began shoveling a mixture of sand, crushed limestone and water onto the platform. It would enable the builders to cement the heavy sandstone blocks firmly into place.

At the far corner of Redwall's orchard the carpenters had set up shop. A pit had been dug so that they could cut planking with long double-pawed saws, and there was a bench with vice, chisels and mallets, as well as a fire with augers and pokers resting in it. These would be used to bore holes, so the wood could be jointed with pegs. Seasoned trunks of elm, oak, beech, pine and sycamore were stacked against the wall in piles. Skipper loved the fragrant smells of fresh wood and heaps of bark shavings. A fat whiskery old bankvole with a charcoal stick behind one ear and a long canvas apron glanced up from a pine log he was working on and nodded at the otter Chieftain.

"Afternoon, Skip. D'ye fancy lielpin' me strip the bark off'n this timber? It'll make good skirtin' boards for the upper dormitories. I like pine, got a fragrance all of its own."

Skipper found a spokeshave and began working on the other side of the log. Long pine slivers ran curling from his sharp blade, and Skipper sniffed fondly.

"Yore right, Migglo, 'tis a clean fresh smell. I can feel it clearin' me head up nicely."

A dormouse popped her head up from the sawpit. "Hello, Skip. How's it goin' on the south gable? I spotted you up there earlier. Huh, y'wouldn't get me anywhere that high, not for all the nuts in Mossflower, matey!"

Skipper blew off a shaving that had stuck to his nose. "Aye, leave that to the squirrels an' a gang of crazy mice'n'hedgehogs who likes that sort o' thing. Well, I tell ye, marm, I was surprised 'ow far they'd gotten along. Lady Amber says another couple o' days should bring it to a peak. Then they can set up the weather vane."

Migglo chuckled gruffly through his bushy whiskers. "Amber's squirrels ain't settin' up no weather vane'tis Ferdy'n'Coggs who'll be doin' that job. Hohoho! Waitll ye see those two bulky ole Cellar'ogs wobblin' about up there. They ain't lookin' forward to it, I can tell ye!"

Skipper smiled at the thought of Redwall's twin Cellar-hogs high on the south gable. "No, nor would I fancy it!"

Carrying a big earthenware jug and beakers on a tray between them, Mayberry and Catkin the ottermaids awkwardly bobbed curtsies to all the workers.

"Miz Bella said to bring you a cool drink, mint leaf an' rosehip cordial from the cellars."

"She said it'd wash the sawdust down, sir."

Migglo swigged off a full beaker in one go. "Just the stuff, colder'n ice an' very refreshin'. Thank ye."

Skipper sipped his drink slowly, relishing it. The ottermaids topped up his beaker.

"We didn't know you were a carpenter, Grandpa."

He winked at them. "Just shows yer, me pretties, you don't know half the things yore ole grandpa can do."

"Oh yes we do, we know lots of things you can do."

"Do you now? Like wot?"

"We know you can hide underwater in the pond when 'tis your turn to wash pots'n'dishes."

"Yes, an' we know you can wake everybeast when you talk in your sleep with your big loud voice."

"And we know you can sup more hotroot soup than anybeast, and drink more October Ale and scoff more damson pudden..."

The otter Chieftain squinted fiercely at his two young granddaughters as he advanced on them. "Haharr, me pretties, an' did ye know that I can clip the noses of liddle ottermaids with me spokeshave?"

They fled squealing and giggling from the orchard.

That evening it went cool suddenly. Standing on the outer wall ramparts of the Abbey, Bella and Columbine watched the enchanting sight of summer's last evening. Streaked to the west with slim dark cloud tails, the sunset was awesome. In the final moments the skies turned deep scarlet on the horizon, ranging up through crimson and rose to a delicate pink. Above this it faded to a broad band of buttery amber with soft dark blue pierced by the faint twinkle of early stars. Columbine let her breath out in a long wistful sigh.

"I hope my Gonff can see all of this beauty."

Bella placed a paw gently on her friend's shoulder. "I'm sure he can. I know he'll be thinking of you and the little one here at Redwall, awaiting his return."

A random thought caused the mousewife to cover her mouth, stifling a chuckle. "Unless there's food to be had, of course. Gonff would sooner gaze at a fruit puddin' than a sunset!"

Bella joined in her laughter. "Then I suggest we post a daily lookout on this wall from now on. No doubt we can accommodate his sense of beauty with a big apple pie."

Chapter 37

A lively breeze stopped autumn's first day starting with a gentle mist. The Honeysucklewas positioned just below the brow of the hill, armed with slings and oars, and the crew and their Dunehog allies stood waiting.

Furmo tested the wind direction with a damp paw. "Couldn't ask for a fairer breeze, Martin!"

The Warrior signaled to Folgrim. "Off you go, mate, and don't forget to raise a shout at the right moment."

The smallest of the Guosim shrews was bent double, wearing a cape which Trimp had made for Chugger. He grasped Folgrim's paw and toddled off over the hilltop, with the scarred otter adopting his old hunched hunting pose. Together they looked like a grandsire and his grandchild.

A stringy-looking weasel was arguing with a ferret, disputing over a wooden skewer festooned with insect and moth carcasses, which had been spiked there to roast over the fire. A motley collection of rats and assorted vermin watched them, knowing a fight was inevitable. As the weasel reached for the skewer, the ferret kicked him.

"Getcher dirty paws offa me vittles, longnose!"

The weasel was knocked forward, scorching his paw in the flames. He turned snarling at his tormentor.

"Half o' them are mine. Lift yer paw t'me agin an' I'll chop it off, greedyguts!"

Like a flash, a broad evil-looking blade appeared in the ferret's paw. He aimed another kick at the weasel.

"Yew couldn't chop yer way outta a daisy patch. Back off from those vittles, they're mine!"

The weasel shrugged, as if admitting defeat. Picking up the sharpened skewer, whose end was on fire, he turned to the ferret.

"Ah, wot's a pile o' squashed bugs t'me. You 'ave 'em!"

Bounding forward, he thrust the skewer hard into the ferret's gut. A shriek of agony rang out, and the ferret fell backward dying, stabbed through his stomach.

Callous laughter and coarse remarks greeted the cruel act.