Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

Martin almost forgot his aching paws as he thumped away at the wall. "Does she cook anything nice?"

"She cooks everything nice," Brome sighed longingly.

"Mushroom and chestnut stew, wild onion and leek soup, spring vegetable pasties, nutbread, oatfarl, wheat cob, all piping hot from the ovens. She bakes blackberry and apple tarts, plum maple pudding, elderberry pie with yellow summercream, gooseberry preserve scones, hot with buttercup spread-"

Felldoh massaged his shrunken stomach as he wailed aloud. "Stop, stop! I can't stand it. All that beautiful food!"

"Mushroom and chestnut stew, plum maple pudding, oh my aching teeth!" Martin wiped a paw across his dripping mouth.

Brome gave a loud chuckle as he mischievously continued tormenting his hungry friends. "My father helps the moles and the hedgehogs. They brew all our drinks-dandelion ale, strawberry cordial, chestnut brown beer-"

"Owoooh! Chestnut brown beer. Stop, you little fiend, stop!"

Martin and Felldoh beat their footpaws harder against the wall.

Grumm backed out of the hole, pushing a mound of earth before him. Rose cleared it away, helping the mole out into the late afternoon sun.

"You seem to be making good progress, Grumm."

Rattling his digging claws against the rock to clean off the loose sandy soil, the mole blinked his eyes against the sunlight.

"That oi be, miz, hurr aye. Oi be a goin' the roight way too, bo urr.

They beasts be a bangen loik two drummers at a winter fayre, guidin oi straight to 'em. Hurr hurr, et woant be long naow, Roser. Afore midnoight, oi'd reckern."

Rose wriggled excitedly. "Midnight! Wonderful. It should be fairly easy to get clear of Marshank under cover of darkness. Oh, Grumm, you're a dear!"

The mole made his way back to the tunnel, murmuring to cover his embarrassment, "Oi bain't no deer, oi be a mole, an' doant 'ee fergit it, mizzy!"

7

A sliver of moon appeared, like a slice of lemon rind suspended in the soft star strewn darkness. The tide was at full flood, without a wind to drive it. Small silver tipped waves lapped shyly on the shore, gradually devouring the coastland up to the tideline. Little sound was heard, save for the muted splash of muffled oars and the hoarse muttered curses of Cap'n Tramun Clogg as he urged the four longboats through the dark waters.

"C'mon, bend yer backs, ye bottlenosed bandits. Yer might've broken yer mothers' 'earts but ye won't break mine. Pull, me bullies, pull!"

Clogg's ship was beached around a point south of the headland. The wily stoat was planning a surprise attack on Marshank. The corsairs rowed steadily as Clogg kept watch.

"Harr, there 'tis, me buckoes. Badrang's fine castle! May'aps it won't look so fine when I'm done with it. Oilback, Wetpaw, keep those ropes an' grapplin' 'ooks close by. Poison arrers, eh. I'll give that schemin' stoat a night to remember. 'Ere, but wot am I talkin' about?

Deadbeasts don't 'ave no memory, an' that's what 'igh 'n' mighty Badrang'll be when I lays sword to 'im. Dead!"

The four boats pressed on through the night waters, laden with hardened ruffians all armed to the teeth with bows, arrows, pikes, spears, daggers, slings and a variety of swords.

Lumpback and Stiffear were on the walltop keeping guard. The two weasels lounged against the timber posts. Lumpback was not in the best of moods. He prodded Stiffear with his spearbutt.

"Stop drummin' yer paws. It's gettin' on me nerves!"

Stiffear had been half asleep. He grabbed his spear, bristling. "I'm not drummin' me paws, slobberchops. Look, they're still!"

"Watch who you're callin' slobberchops, you. Something's drummin'. Can't yer 'ear it, like a sorta soft tappin noise?"

"No I can't, an' if you prod me once more with that spear I'll shove it up yer snout. Huh, drummin' noises. It's prob'ly yore tiny brain drummin' round in yer thick skull!"

They jabbed their spears at each other and snarled a bit before going back to watching the sea.

"I can 'ear it, drummin' away," Lumpback started muttering again,

"only softlike, but I know I can 'ear it. Stiffy, see that rock out there on the shore, that one yonder I could swear I saw a pile of sand bein'

chucked up in the air above it!"

"First drummin', now it's piles o'sand!" Stiffear blew a long sigh of impatience. "Wot's the matter with you, toadbrains? Did you eat some bad fish for yer dinner?"

Lumpback pointed with his spear. "Hah, there! I saw it again, like sand bein' tossed up in the air, right above that rock, see!"

Stiffear stared hard at Lumpback, shaking his head pityingly.

"That's the crabs 'avin' a dance. They do it every few nights y'know, kickin' the sand up with their liddle claws an' jiggin' away like billyo."

"Don't talk rubbish!" Lumpback curled his lip in a sneer.

Stiffear lost his temper then. "Yore the one talkin' rubbish, y'fool!

Next thing, I suppose you'll be seein' the shore swarmin' with corsairs.... Garrgh!" He fell forward with a long barbed arrow protruding from his neck.

Lumpback screamed as the dark shapes hurried towards the fortress walls.

"Attack! Attaaaaaack!"

Rose had seen the corsairs first. She was about to empty more rubble away when the soft thud of paws on sand reached her ears.

Turning towards the sea, the mouse maid could see the four boats on the tideline and a mob of dark shapes scurrying across the shore towards Marshank. She jumped down into the shaft Grumm had dug and held her breath. Fortunately, nobeast saw her. They dashed past swiftly, intent on reaching the fortress.

Anxiously she crouched at the tunnel entrance, murmuring under her breath, "Grumm, where are you? Oh, hurry, Grumm, please!"

Brome had fallen asleep. He lay between Martin and Felldoh as they slapped their feet wearily against the prison pit wall. Exhaustion was overcoming them both, and they grunted with exertion as they tried to continue.

"Can't keep this up any more, Felldoh. How about you?" Martin gasped.

The squirrel nodded droopingly "Me too, mate, the young un could be right. Maybe his mole friend has tunnelled in the wrong direction."

Suddenly Martin's frustration boiled over. With a wild effort he kicked the wall fiercely, shouting between each thud, "We're not going to die down here!"

Without warning both his footpaws shot through the side of the wall and a muffled cry rang out from the hole.

"Bo urr, zurrs. 'Old 'ard, tis oi, Grumm!"

Badrang leaped from his bed as Gurrad roused him with a panicked squeak.

"Lord, it's Clogg an' his corsairs. They're attackin'!"

Throwing on a chainmail vest and grabbing his sword, the Tyrant pushed his frightened henchrat to one side.

"Of course he is, addlebrain. I wouldn't expect him to do anything else. Come on. Are the horde positioned on the walls?"

Gurrad scurried along at Badrang's side. "Aye, Lord, they were up as soon as the guard shouted a warning."

"Good. I'll be at the main gate. Send Skalrag to me right away!"

Moments later Skalrag came hurrying down from the walltop. "Sire, they're pressing hard, but we're holding 'em off!"

"Where's Clogg's ship? On the tideline or in the bay?" Badrang yelled to the fox above the clash of battlesound.

"There's no sign of it, sire. They came in longboats."

Badrang pondered a short moment then rapped out orders. "He'll have come in from the south he sailed off that way. The ship is probably beached or anchored round the other side of the headland.

Right, listen hard now, Skalrag. Take ten good archers, get oil, tinder and flints, find Clogg's vessel and burn it to ashes with fire arrows.

Leave over the back wall while the thick of the fighting's at the front.

Go, and don't fail me!"

As Skalrag hurried to do his master's bidding, the Tyrant dashed up the ladder to the walltop and joined the mêlée.