Brian Jacques - Redwall #07 - Mariel of Redwall

Gabool led him to the open window.

"Of course, matey, I can't show you the exact spot where she lies, but I can show you how to find her ..."

For Gabool it was but the work of a moment, one swift push!

In the late afternoon the mousemaid cast a long shadow as she wandered the deserted beach alone. Hunger, thirst and attacks of myriad gnats and sandflies had wakened and forced her to desert the hiding place. Over one shoulder she still carried the knotted rope. A long line of pawprints in the sand behind her emphasized the desolation of sea, sand and sky, seemingly inhabited only by predatory seabirds. She had tried gnawing at some young seaweed washed up on the tideline, but the heavy salt taste in the maiden's dry swollen mouth caused her to spit it away. Swaying slightly, she shielded her eyes from the hot orb of the sun and gazed about. Fresh water was nowhere to be had. Turning inland, she made her weary way toward a large outcrop of sand dunes to the south.

Some perverse dogged spirit drove the mousemaid onward, though often she would be toppled over by the hot shifting sand of the dunes. Rolling downhill, she would pick herself up, wipe grit from her eyes and begin climbing again. It was on top of one difficult dune she encountered the first sign of life that was not a seabird. It was a small lizard, eyes half-closed, basking in the heat. The reptile did a sideways shuffle, watching her warily. The maiden tried several times to communicate, managing only a croaking noise. The lizard's head

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weaved from side to side as it snapped bad-temperedly at her.

"You norra frog, you make frognoise, wharra you

want?" The mousemaid managed to gasp out a single word:

"Water."

The small lizard moved its head up and down, its throat pulsating.

"Water faraway. You norra lizard, you die soon, never make it to drinkwater, too far. Soon now they

eat you."

She followed the creature's upward nod. Gulls were beginning to circle overhead; the scavengers of the shore, sensing when a living thing was becoming weaker and more defenseless. The maid grasped the knotted rope and swung it, calling at the sky in a hoarse voice, "I'm not finished yet. You'll see!"

When she looked down, the lizard had gone. Without a backward glance she descended the other side of the dune, half stumbling, half falling. The foot of the dune was in shadow. Before her lay a sandy flatland dotted with scrub and coarse grass. The little mousemaid rested awhile in the welcoming shade. Idly her paw sank into the sand as she leaned back. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. The sand was firm and damp just beneath the surface. Realization that she was not on the seaward side of the dunes brought with it the shining hope of one precious thing. Water!

Scrabbling dizzily, her strength failing rapidly, the maid began digging with all paws. Soon she was rewarded by darker, damp sand. Her paws made a delicious scraping noise as she tossed sand out of the shallow hole. Digging with the urgency of desperation, she was finally rewarded with one wet paw. She sat sucking her paw as the moisture seeped through the ground into the hole, forming a small muddy pool. Throwing herself flat, the little mousemaid shoved her head into the hole and drank greedily, disregarding the

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gritty sand and ooze, as life-giving water flowed down her throat. New vitality surged through her. Gurgling with delight, she lifted her head and found herself staring into the predatory eye of a gannet that had been sneaking up on her.

Thwackl Thwopl

With eye-blurring speed she belted the knotted rope twice into the bird's face. It stumbled, fell over, sticklike legs buckling under it. The mousemaid advanced, swinging her weapon, with battle light in her eyes and a clear angry voice.

"Come on! What d'you want, the water or me? Come on. I'll fight you, you great featherbed!"

The twirling knot struck the gannet a further three times before it managed to flop off into the air with a half-stunned squawk. The little mousemaid felt the blood thrumming in her veins. She tore up a nearby plant and shook it at the sky.

"That goes for all of you. I'll kill the next one that comes after me. D'you hear?"

She found herself shouting at an empty evening sky. The birds had gone in search of less ferocious prey. Inspecting the plant she had pulled from the ground, she noticed that the root was attached to a fat white tuber. Without further hesitation she began munching upon it. The tuber tasted good, something like raw turnip.

Evening gave way to night as the maid sat at the foot of the dune, bathing the wound on her head with a corner of her burlap smock which she had soaked in water from her newfound well. Dabbing at the cut with one paw and devouring a root held in the other, the mousemaid talked aloud to herself, enjoying the sound of her own voice.

"No name, no memory, no idea where I am. Ha! I know, I'll call myself Storm, because it was the storm that brought me here. Yes, Storm, I like that ..."

She held the rope up and twirled it. "And you are

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my faithful Gullwhacker. There, we've both got new names now. This is goodI've got you, the shade from my sandhill, water and food."

Storm settled down in the sand as the warm summer night closed in on her. "Wish I knew who I really was, though ..." Her voice sounded small and lonely amid the scrub and desolation.

A pale golden moon peeped over the dunes at the little mousemaid sleeping by the foot of the hill, clutching a piece of knotted rope, for all the world like some infant in slumber nursing a favorite toy.

The famous kitchens of Redwall Abbey were abustle with activity that night. Friar Alder, the thin, lanky mouse in charge of it all, added wild plumjuice to an enormous hazelnut crumble he had just pulled from the oven. Alder blew on a scorched paw, complaining loudly.

"Not enough time. That's all I've been given, just not enough time. Who do they think I arn, a magician? Less than three days hence and I've got to supervise a fullblown Abbot's Midsummer Jubilee. Berry tarts, cream puddings, twelve different kinds of breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake ..."

Bagg and Runn, the otter twins, followed Alder, waving their paws and repeating his every word in comic imitation.

"Breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake. . . . Owch!"

Friar Alder had turned quickly and dotted them both between the ears with a wooden spoon. "I told you not to mention a surprise cake. Now off you pop, the pair of you. Go and help Dandin and Saxtus."

Dandin and Saxtus were being taught the art of woodland summercream pudding-making by a charming little red squirrelmaid named Treerose, though they

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were paying far more attention to the pretty cook than to the recipe.

"Now, to make woodland summercream pudding we need a deep earthenware bowl. Pass me that one, please."

Dandin and Saxtus fought each other to grab the bowl and give it to Treerose. Calmly she took it from them with a disarming smile.

"Great sillies, you nearly broke it, fighting like that. Right, now pay attention. First a thick coating of redcur-rant jelly inside the bowl. Next, roll out your sweet chestnut pastry very thin, like this. . . . Bagg! Runn! Stop eating those blackberriesI need them for the pudding!"

The twin otters bounded away to torment some other creature, their mouths stained purple from the berries. They caught a young bankvole named Petunia and kissed her cheeks until she was covered in purple otter-lip marks. Petunia's mother grabbed them and set about them with a soggy dishcloth. Dandin and Saxtus roared laughing, but Treerose merely pursed her mouth primly and reprimanded them.

"There's nothing funny about those two ruffians. Watch me, or you'll never learn. Now, make sure the sweet chestnut pastry is well bedded into the redcurr-ant jelly around the sides of the bowl, then we coat the pastry with an extra-thick layer of yellow primrose cream. Having done that, we take the blackberries and, starting from the bottom of the basin, we place them on the cream, pressing just lightly enough to make them stick to the cream. Teh tch, you great clumsy fellows, not like that. You'll burst the berries. Wipe your paws and watch me."