Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

In a trice the time for merriment and reminiscence was over. Clogg hurled his beaker at the wall and stood up.

"Aye, an' lookit you now, Lord Badrang if yer please! Surrounded by a fine fortress an' a passel o' slaves, I'll wager. Well, I wants what's due ter me, I've come fer my share!"

Badrang leaped up, confronting his enemy eye to eye. "I worked too hard to get what I've made 'ere, Clogg. Yore share is nothin' an' that's what y'll get!"

"Do yer hear that lads?" The pirate stoat drew his blade. "Let's show this black 'earted swab that we ain't 'ere to beg. We've come to take a full complement of slaves to row the Seascarab from all three decks!"

With a wild roar, Clogg's crew unsheathed their weapons and stood ready for slaughter.

"Make a move an' yer Cap'n's a dead un!"

The Tyrant made his move like lightning. Kicking aside Clogg's blade, he grabbed the stoat's plaited beard. A dagger appeared in his other paw, dangerously close to Tramun's throat.

"This blade is poisoned. One nick is all it takes. Hisk!"

"The archers have surrounded these quarters, Lord," the weasel Captain called from the doorway. "They're standin' ready with poisoned shafts. None of this scum will leave alive."

Clogg held up a paw to his crew. "Wait, hold yer rush, lads. Put those carvers up."

He was still smiling, but Badrang could sense the animal rage behind Clogg's grinning features as the pirate addressed him.

"You win, matey, though I never thought you'd use a dirty trick like poisoned weapons against an ole shipmate. Put up yore blade. I'll go peaceful like, back to me ship."

Badrang stood at the main gates until every last corsair was out of his fortress. The Tyrant was satisfied he had outwitted his foe without bloodshed, which would have been considerable on both sides if a fight had broken out inside Marshank. The archers had their shafts trained on Clogg as he jabbed a warning paw at his enemy.

"That's twice you've crossed me, Badrang, but the third time I'll win. I'm goin', but ye can take an oath I'll be back, so don't rest easy, matey. One dark night I'll slip in when yore least expectin' it. Then I'll slit yer gullet, take the slaves an' burn this fancy place down round yore dead ears. That's a promise!"

Owing to the heightened tension and upset of the pirates' visit, it was not until late night that the prisoners were fed. Armed with a bowl of kitchen scraps and accompanied by Gurrad, a young male otter named Keyla stood dropping the leftovers through the grating to the prisoners below. Gurrad drew his cloak close against a chill breeze from the sea. He wanted to be back by the fire, eating roasted fish and drinking the damson wine that Clogg had left.

The rat shoved Keyla sharply. "C'mon you, stir your stumps. It's cold out 'ere!"

Keyla shrugged as he sat down on the grating, poking scraps between the bars one bit at a time.

"Cold, sir? I think it's quite warm out here. Still, you do look a bit drawn and peakish. Maybe you're coming down with fever."

"Fever? I ain't got no fever." The rat shuddered and sniffed.

Gurrad was quite taken aback when the young otter stood up and tucked the cloak more snugly around him.

"You never know, sir. Those searats bring all kinds of illness ashore with them. Why don't you take yourself indoors by the fire and have a nice beaker of wine? I'll see to these idiots. Huh, they're only making things harder for us other slaves, behaving the way they do.

Dim witted fools. You run along now, sir. I'll take care of feeding these three."

Gurrad hesitated a moment then shivered as a fresh wind blew around him. That seemed to settle the issue.

"Listen, I'm getting inside where I'll be warmer. Don't be too long out here and report straight back to the compound guard when you're finished, d'you hear?"

Keyla threw the rat a smart salute. "Don't you worry, sir. I need my sleep, I won't be long. Better hurry now, your eyes look a bit cloudy to me."

Gurrad needed no further urging. He scurried off shivering and rubbing at his eyes, convinced he was sickening for fever.

Giggling quietly to himself, the otter pressed his face to the grating and called down, "Felldoh, are you all right?"

The squirrel stood upon Martin's shoulders and drew himself up so he was close to the bars.

"Keyla, my friend, listen carefully. Here's what I want you to do."

Rose and Grumm stood on the tideline, watching the silvery wake of Seascarab as the craft headed out, veering on a southerly tack into the open sea.

"Yurr Miz Rose, worr'm you surpose 'ee villyuns wanted?"

Rose tossed a pebble into the shallows. "I've no idea, Grumm, but whatever it was they didn't seem too happy leaving here."

The two companions walked back to the fortress walls, to the spot beneath the main gates where Rose had conversed with Martin. The mousemaid looked up at the twin posts with rope ends blowing loosely from it in the night wind.

"I hope Martin is all right. Trust Badrang to think up something cruel like that, binding a poor creature up there in the middle of a storm "

Grumm held up a paw for silence. "Shush naow, Roser. Do 'ee 'ear that? Somebeast a singen'."

Keyla had a fine deep voice that carried well. Rose and Grumm listened to his song as it drifted over the walls to them.

"I know a mouse called Martin,

And a young un who's named Brome,

Captured by some vermin scouts

As he strayed from his home.

So if you're out there list'ning,

I'll pause awhile and wait,

For I've been singing half the night

On this side of the gate."

Rose almost wept for joy. She was answering in an instant, being both a good singer and balladeer. Grumm grunted softly as she hugged him tight with happiness, her clear voice ringing out plaintively on the night breeze.

"My name is Rose of Noonvale,

The tribe of Urran Voh,

My only brother is called Brome,

And Martin's name I know.

We're here so we can help them.

So please, friend, tell to me

what we can do to aid those two

And try to set them free!"

Immediately a hurried few lines rang out clear in reply.

"A vermin guard approaches.

Quick, get yourselves from sight.

I'll try to get back to you

This time tomorrow night!"

Heeding the warning, Rose and Grumm withdrew swiftly to the rocky outcrop where they had hidden earlier that day.

Fleabane and Rotnose the weasels came striding forward and grabbed Keyla roughly.

"What's all the singin' for, otter? You ain't got nothin' to sing about."

"Yeah, slaves don't sing. What were you singin' about?"

"Well, you see, Gurrad thought he had fever," Keyla explained, "so he went inside and left me to feed the prisoners. When I finished giving them their food I thought I'd better sing an old otter charm to keep the fortress free from sickness."

"Singin' charms, what a load of ole nonsense!" Flea bane sneered.

Rotnose was superstitious and terrified of sickness. "No it ain't.

Come on, otter, let's hear you sing it."

Keyla obliged, making up the words as he went along.

"O spirit of the seasons

Who rules the land and sea,

From crabby claws and runny snouts,

Good spirit, keep us free.

From tummy ache, soretail and sniffs,

From grunge and whisker cramp,

From wobbly paws, and flurgy twinj,

O keep all in this camp."

"Hah! Grunge and wobbly paws, rubbish!" Fleabane scoffed aloud.

"And who's ever heard of flurgy twinj?"

Keyla looked aghast at the weasel. "You don't know what flurgy twinj is?"

"No, and I don't care!"

Keyla leaned close to the two guards whispering confidentially, "I knew a fine big strong hedgehog long ago, he laughed at flurgy twinj.

Poor creature, he never laughed again!"