Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

current again and get washed away from this lot.”

They tried as hard as they could, and the raft backed off slightly.

“It’s heavy going. Cheek, will you get off that raft. We’re towing your weight down here,” Matthias

said crossly.

Cheek lay flat, clinging tighter to the deck as arrows whizzed over him in flights.

“No! Go ’way, leave me alone.”

Orlando lost his temper. He took the battleaxe by its head and made a mighty sweep at Cheek with the

long handle.

Darkness had practically fallen, and the young otter did not see the axe handle coming. It struck him a

blow and pushed him off into the water with a loud splash. “Yah gerroff, you great stripedo—”

Splash!

Cheek could not deny his birthright; he was an otter through and through. As skillfully as any fish, he

cut through the water surrounding the raft, appearing alongside Basil.

The hare looked at him suspiciously. “You’re chewing, young Master Cheek. Where are you hidin’ the

food?”

Cheek smacked his lips, “little fishes. The river’s swarmin’ with ’em, there must be millions. Taste

lovely, though. I’d have got into the water sooner if I’d known I wasn’t goin’ to be afraid and all this food

was here.”

With that, he disappeared beneath the surface and began filling his stomach with the finny delicacies.

Cheek was biting back.

On shore Stonefleck rapped out orders to one of his Captains. “Light some flaming arrows. Shoot at the raft.

Hurry, or they’ll paddle it out of our reach. Tell the others to get the ferry going. See if we can get closer.

The rest of you, keep firing.”

The rat Captain looked questioningly at Stonefleck. “But surely they’ll be eaten by the fishes?”

Stonefleck fired off an arrow before replying, “It’s the otter. I forgot about that one. He’ll eat those fish

like a pig at acorns.”

“But there’s far too many fish for him to eat, Chief. The water’s alive with ’em,” the Captain argued.

“Fool! Once those fish sense there’s an otter in the water, they’ll stay away from that area. Then those

creatures will be able to paddle the raft out into the mainstream current. I want to finish it here tonight, not

in the morning a night’s march down the bank. Now get about your business.”

Matthias heaved a sigh of relief. “Whew! At least those fish aren’t biting so much.”

Cheek popped up beside him. “Yum, yum. You’ve got me to thank for that!”

Orlando ducked him back under with a big blunt paw.

“Stop gabbing and keep scoffing. You to thank indeed! You mean you’ve got my axe handle to thank.

And don’t think you won’t taste it if you don’t keep those fishes away, young otter.”

The night sky was cut by the light of a flaming arrow which shot through the dark to bury itself in the

side of the raft.

Jess put it out by squirting a mouthful of water at it. “Fire arrows, Matthias,” she remarked. “Look, I

can see by the light of their fire that they’re launching a raft.”

Matthias redoubled his efforts.

“Hurry, everybeast, kick out as hard as you can.”

Cheek gripped a trailing rope in his teeth and swam strongly with it. The raft doubled its speed. Arrows

zinged all around them as the rats leant over the rails of their own ferry raft.

“Keep down, keep pulling, keep paddling,” Orlando yelled. “They’re coming after us.”

As he shouted, a shrew next to him let go and floated away, transfixed by an arrow.

Stonefleck was on the ferry raft, firing arrow after arrow.

“Don’t let them get away,” he exhorted his army. “Get the poles. Come on, get pushing with those

poles. Fire! Keep after them!”

With superior numbers and long poles, the rat ferry drew closer to the raft. Stonefleck waved to the

shore.

“No more fire arrows,” he ordered. “You might hit us. We’ve got them now!”

Log-a-Log spat into the water.

“Did you hear that, Guosim. Kick now. Kick for your lives!”

The woodlander’s raft pulled away fractionally, but Stonefleck urged his rats to greater efforts with

their long poles.

The two vessels were separated only by a thin margin of river. Stonefleck and a few chosen rats stood

outside the rails of the ferry, preparing to jump from one craft to the other. The light of victory gleamed in

Stonefleck’s normally impassive eyes.

Matthias pulled himself up and saw what was happening.

“It looks as if they’re going to board us,” he said gloomily.

Orlando heaved himself from the water and stood dripping on the deck of the raft, waving his

battleaxe.

“Come on, rats, let’s see what you’ve got inside your heads!” he taunted.

An arrow from the rat ferry struck Orlando in his paw. He pulled it out contemptuously. Snapping it

easily, he flung it at Stonefleck.

“You’ll have to do better than that to stop me, ratface!” he called.

Suddenly the raft sped off downriver on the rushing current. The rat ferry stopped stock-still, throwing

Stonefleck and several others into the water.

Hurriedly, the rats dragged their leader and the others back aboard.

Stonefleck twanged his wet bowstring and spat water. “Why didn’t somebeast untie the ferry

towropes? Pull us back to shore. We’ll have to follow along the bank.”

A ragged cheer arose from the shrews’ raft as the friends disappeared into the night on the rushing

water.

That evening, a group sat around the table in Cavern Hole discussing General Ironbeak’s ultimatum. The

reaction was angry and indignant.

“Who does he think he is? Redwall isn’t conquered that easy.”

“We beat them once, we can do it again.”

“Aye, but this time Ironbeak has the hostages.”

“He’ll kill them if we don’t surrender.”

“Hurr, he’m a crafty owd burdbag, that’n.”

The Abbot rapped the table. “Silence, please. We have no time to sit about arguing. What I need is some

sensible suggestions. Let us review the position. The raven has the hostages, and no matter how we try to

buy time or debate, he’ll kill them eventually, make no mistake about that. I tried to bluff him today,

possibly I succeeded, but it won’t last. Listen, even if it meant the loss of just one life, I would have to

surrender the Abbey, We cannot have three deaths on our heads; it is against all our principles.”

Winifred the Otter thumped the table with her tail. “Play the villain at his own game, then. What’s the

name for it? Er, subterfuge, that’s it. We’ll use subterfuge.”

Every creature sat up bright and attentive. When there was no response to Winifred’s suggestion, they

slumped back.

“We’m gotter be a-thinken ’ard, rasslin’ wi’ uz brains,” Foremole urged.

More silence followed.

“Surely somebody must have a glimmer of a plan?” Winifred said sadly.

“Here comes supper. Let’s think while we eat,” the Abbot suggested.

“Good idea,” Ambrose Spike agreed. “Sometimes I thinks the brainbox and the stomach bag is joined

up some’ow. Hoho, I say, they done us proud, acorn salad and spiced apple’n’damson pie—”

“Pie, that’s it!”

They turned to stare at John Churchmouse.

“I was trying to remember the name of those black and white birds that are with Ironbeak. It’s pie.

Magpie!”

The Abbot put aside his platter. “Go on, John, think hard. Have you got an idea?”

John scratched his whiskers in frustration. “Oh, if only I could remember what it was. It’s stuck right

between the tips of my ears. Hmph! It’s no good, I’ve forgotten now.”