Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

Ambrose supped October ale noisily from a beaker. “Pity, I thought you was goin’ to come up with a

plan to get your missus an’ Cornflower an’ that baby down off the roof.”

“The roof, the magpies, that’s it!” John Churchmouse banged his paw down on the table, squelching a

wedge of pie by mistake. “Of course, I saw those three magpies only this morning, robbing our orchard and

flying up to the eaves. Those birds are Ironbeak’s supply line. He needs them to bring in food!”

“And if we could capture ’em, we could do a swap,” Winifred said through a mouthful of salad. “Three

magpies for three hostages. Good idea, John.”

“Burr aye, vittles be of more use to burdbags than ’ostages. Otherwise they’d be a-starved from ’unger,”

Foremole added.

Constance rapped the table. “Right, let’s get a proper plan organized. What we propose is to capture the

three magpies and exchange them for the hostages. No army can survive without supplies, and Ironbeak

knows this. He wouldn’t be able to keep his followers here if they were starving. This way we can save

Redwall and get the hostages back. But how do we capture the magpies?”

The Abbot held up a paw. “I used to be the Abbey fishermouse before I was Abbot. Could we not snare

them with fishing nets? We’ve got lots of big nets.”

“Well said, Abbot, but magpies are not fishes. How would you snare them into nets?” Constance asked.

Ambrose Spike poked his snout out of the ale beaker. “Find out where they get their food supplies and

put down bait.”

“I think they get their supplies from our orchard,” John Churchmouse said, licking pie from his paw.

Little Sister May was highly indignant. “I’m certain they do, Father Abbot! Only today I saw them from

the infirmary window, those three dreadful birds, stealing from our orchard. Anything that falls ripe from a

bush or tree, they carry off. It’s theft, that’s what it is.”

“Durty ol’ burdbags, oi was a-wonderen whurr all they ripe strawb’rries was agoin’.”

“Exactly, Mr. Foremole.” Sister May wagged a reproving paw. “At one time it was only you and Mr.

Stag Hare who used to steal them, but those three birds, gracious me! You’d think we were growing

strawberries just for their benefit. I watched them guzzle down a great load before carrying off as much as

they could with them. Disgraceful!”

Foremole covered his eyes with a huge digging paw. “Hurr hurr, Sister. Oi was only a-testin’ they

berries. It were mainly young Mattimeo an’ that Tim’n’Tess wi’ thurr squirrel pal as scoffed most o’ them.

Hurr hurr, young roguers!”

“You’re right, Foremole,” John Churchmouse sniffed. “I only wish they were still here to do it. I for one

wouldn’t grudge them the odd strawberry from the patch.”

There were murmurs of agreement from all.

Little Sister May blew her nose loudly. “Well, talk like this isn’t getting many dishes washed. I’ve got an

idea. Suppose we gather the ripest strawberries and sprinkle them with some sort of sleeping potion, then

we could put them in one place in the orchard and lie in wait with the nets.”

“Sister May, I’m shocked and surprised at you!” Abbot Mordalfus shook his head in amazement. “What

a good idea. But I’m not sure we know enough about sleeping potions. That’s the sort of thing the masked

fox used on us. You can look to villains for that sort of thing, but we are only simple Abbey dwellers.”

“Leave it to me, Father Abbot,” little Sister May smiled sweetly. “I have enough herbs, berries and roots

in my infirmary cupboard to lay a horse out flat. Oh, it will be exciting. I’ve always wanted to try my paw

at sleeping potions.”

Foremole tugged his snout in admiration. “You’m a proper liddle fiend an’ no mistake, marm. Oi’ll

escort you up to ’firmary to pick up your potions an’ suchloik.”

Ambrose Spike crooked a paw at the Abbot. “Follow me, I’ve got your big nets stowed away in my

cellars.”

Mobilized by fresh hope, the Abbey dwellers went about their tasks.

Up in the roofspaces Cornflower rocked the sleeping baby Rollo upon her lap as she and Mrs.

Churchmouse conversed in hushed tones.

“Look, bless him, he’s snoring away like my Mattimeo used to when he was a baby,” she said,

becoming sad. “I don’t think there’s a moment of one day since Mattimeo’s been gone when I haven’t

thought of him. First I worry, then I tell myself it’ll be all right because Matthias will have probably found

him, then I go back to worrying, then I tell myself he may have escaped. Oh, Mrs. Churchmouse, if only

they were all babies again like Rollo.”

“Aye, those were the best times. My Tim and Tess were a right pair of little scallywags, I can tell you.

Mr. Churchmouse and I never got a wink’s sleep that first season they were born. All they wanted to do

was play the whole night long. D’you suppose that the raven will really have us thrown from the roof?”

asked Mrs. Churchmouse apprehensively.

“He’ll do what he has to, Mrs. Churchmouse. I’m afraid of him, but I don’t care what happens as long

as that horrible bird doesn’t get Redwall. That would be the end.”

The churchmouse stroked baby Rollo; he had stopped snoring and started sucking his paw.

“What hope is there for this poor little mite, no mummy and a prisoner too?” she wondered.

Cornflower sighed. The roofspace was dark and chilly with night draughts sweeping in under the

eaves. All around them the black birds perched in the rafters, and it was difficult to tell whether they were

awake or sleeping. She wondered where Matthias was and what he would be doing at this moment.

Thinking of her husband, the Redwall Warrior, gave her courage again.

“Don’t you fret, Mrs. Churchmouse. Our friends in the Abbey will have made plans to free us, you’ll

see. Let’s try and get a bit of sleep. Here, we’ll share my old shawl.”

Clouds scudded across the moon on their way across the night sky, while a million stars twinkled over

the gently swaying forest.

Chapter 33

Mattimeo was awakened by the sound of the night guards. Bageye and Skinpaw were on duty, and they

walked past the sleeping captives conversing in low earnest tones. The young mouse could not hear what

was said, though he strained his ears to catch any hint as to their eventual destination.

“Matti, are you awake?”

“Only just, Tess. Keep your voice down, the rest are still asleep.”

“Is anything the matter?” the churchmouse asked.

“Yes and no,” he replied. “I was trying to hear what the guards were talking about. They’ve seemed

very edgy since we left the forest and hills where Stonefleck and his rats live.”

“That’s strange, I noticed the same thing last night, before we camped down here. They’re all so silent

and uneasy, even Slagar.”

Mattimeo raised his head, taking in the scene around him. The earth was flat, dry and dusty; no trees

grew and there was little sign of any grass, shrubs or greenery. It was a dusty brown desolation stretching

out before them.

“I tell you, Tess, I don’t like it myself. This far south Mossflower country is very odd. Listen, you can’t

even hear a single bird singing. What sort of land is it where even the birds cannot live?”

Young Jube the hedgehog stirred in his sleep, he whimpered and turned restlessly. Tess passed her paw

gently over his headspikes, and he settled down into a quiet slumber.