Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

tripped on some loose manacles and fell headlong into the water with a splash. Mattimeo and Sam grabbed

her, stifling her mouth with their paws to stop her screaming out in panic. The escapers froze.

Vitch’s eyelids flickered and a weasel lying by him grumbled in his sleep as he turned over. Auma let

out a low sigh of relief. The peace had not been disturbed, the slavers slept on.

Tim and Jube went next, followed by Tess and Auma. The remaining slaves on the bank lay chained

and asleep. None of them would have had the courage or nerve to attempt escaping; they had been

captives far longer than Mattimeo and his friends, and they had seen Slagar deal with captured runners. It

was not a pretty sight.

The escapers stood in the stream with the water lapping almost to their chins in the fading light.

Mattimeo glanced up at the darkening sky gratefully. The twilight would aid them, and it would soon be

night. Holding paws and staying close to the bank, the friends pushed their way upstream to the south. It

was heavy going. The surface of the river was deceptively calm, belying the cold, tugging undercurrent.

Wet habits weighted down by water soon made it even harder for the Redwallers, and they were grateful

when Mattimeo pointed to an overhanging rock ledge. He pressed forward, moving slower because of the

depth, and behind him he could hear his friends breathing hard through their nostrils as they followed in

his wake.

The rocky overhang was an ideal hiding place. They chose a spot where silverweed and purple

loosestrife bloomed thick, drooping over the soil-topped rock ledge to mingle with arrowhead growing

from the shallows. It provided a perfect curtain. Crouching low at the rear of the underhang, they nodded

silent congratulations to each other.

Back along the bank, all hell suddenly broke loose with the return of Scringe.

“Come on, you lazy lot, up on your paws. Slagar says you’ve got to— Hey! Look at these loose chains!

Halftail, Threeclaws, raise the alarm! There’s been an escape!”

“Escape! Escape! The prisoners have escaped. Search every nook and cranny, they can’t have gone far.

Escape! Escape!”

Browntooth ran slapbang into Threeclaws. The weasel held the tender end of his smarting nose as he

glared at the stoat, who sat on the ground rubbing his head. “On your paws, clumsyclod. Get searching,

hurry!”

“Oh, er, righto. Which prisoners are we searching for?”

Scringe had been checking the slave lines. He grinned wickedly. “That Redwall lot, the female badger

and the young hedgehog. Hoho, I wouldn’t like to be in your fur when Slagar gets back.”

“Oh no, not the Redwallers.” Halftail groaned. “Slagar’ll have our guts for garters if that lot have gone

missing, ’specially you, matey. You’re supposed to be in charge.”

Threeclaws held his throbbing nose indignantly. “Who, me? Not the way I heard it, bucko. You’re the

one who always wants to be boss when he’s away.”

Vitch ran about waving his paws. “Oh, stop arguing, you blockheads. Let’s find them, or he’ll flay the

lot of us alive.”

Scringe stuck out his paw and tripped Vitch neatly. “Watch who you’re calling blockhead, dribblenose. I

can see I’ll have to take charge here after the mess you lot have made. Wedgeback, Badrag, go back the way

we came. No need to go further than that big hill. Slagar would have spotted them if they’d got that far.

Halftail, Damper, search up ahead. The rest of you look around here, under rocks, behind bushes, anywhere

they might be hiding. Vitch, Browntooth, into the water and search that river!”

Vitch stood his ground defiantly. “Huh, who are you to be giving orders? I’m not going into any rotten

old river. Who can tell how deep it is? Besides, it’s nearly dark and there might be a pike in there or

something. Ouch!”

Threeclaws stood brandishing the willow cane he had laid across Vitch’s back. “Do as he says. Get in

that river, snivelwhiskers, and you, Browntooth, or I’ll tie you in a sack with rocks and toss you in there

myself.”

With a fine show of moody bad temper, Vitch began lowering himself gingerly into the water, followed

by a resigned Browntooth.

“Yah! I suppose we’ll have to do it if the rest of you are too scared to get your paws wet.” The

undersized rat muttered aloud.

Scringe grabbed a passing weasel. “Scared? Who’s scared? Me and Skinpaw will search downstream,

you and Browntooth look upstream, and we’ll show you just who’s scared, won’t we, mate?”

Skinpaw looked decidedly unhappy but tried to put a bold face on. “Ha, we certainly will…. You go

first, Scringey.”

Underneath the rock ledge upstream, Tim Churchmouse heard every word. He turned to Mattimeo. “What

are we going to do, they’re searching the river?”

Tess plucked a hollow reed and bit the end off it. “Look, remember we lay under the Abbey pond

breathing through reeds like this last summer when Constance was looking for us?”

Mattimeo pulled a reed and bit the end. “Oh yes, wasn’t that the time you cut up one of Friar Hugo’s

best tablecloths to make a tent?”

Sam Squirrel blew through a reed to test it. “If I remember rightly, that was you, Matti. No time to

argue, though. Let’s give it a try.”

Holding on to each other and the rocks on the riverbed, they submerged, closing their nostrils and

using their mouths to breathe through the hollow reeds. It worked perfectly.

Vitch clung tightly to Browntooth in the center of the river as they waded neck-high against the flowing

current. It was cold and deep. Browntooth shook the rat away from him.

“Gerroff! What are you tryin’ to do, drown me? Go and search that side of the bank, I’ll take a look at

the other side. They couldn’t hide in the middle of a river. Look, let go, will you, or we’ll both be swept

away.”

“Huh, you’re not soft, are you, baggybelly? This side is full of overgrown ledges, and your side is nice

smooth bank. Well, you can nibble your claws, fattie. I’m not going, so there!”

Browntooth forded his way toward the smooth bank. “Do what you like, runt. When Slagar gets back

I’ll tell him that you wouldn’t search the river properly, and we’ll see what he has to say about that.”

“Snitch, telltale, gabbygob!” Vitch waded over towards the ledge, calling back insults.

Mattimeo could dimly make out the rat’s paws through the debris Vitch was churning up from the riverbed

as he waded. The young mouse held his breath as the paws came slowly closer. Another few steps and he

would tread on Auma’s back. The badger huddled with the water waving through her coat, unaware of the

impending danger as her eyes were shut tight. Mattimeo made a sudden decision. It was risky, but worth a

try.

He struck out swiftly at the rat’s paw with the small dagger.

“ Yowchooch, glubglub . Help!” Vitch thrashed about in the water, losing his balance as he tried to clutch his

injured paw. Swallowing water, he floundered about for a moment. Then, galvanized by pure terror, he

grabbed the overhanging plants and scrambling furiously hauled himself over the rock ledge up on to the

bank.

“Aargghh! Browntooth, don’t go near that ledge, mate. There’s a big pike under there. Look, it bit me.

Owowowow!” Vitch rocked back and forth, trying to staunch the flow of blood by stuffing the injured paw

into his mouth.

Browntooth waded hastily across. Avoiding the ledge, he found a part of the bank where he could