Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

What is it?”

Log-a-Log chopped wild chicory with his sword and threw it in the pot. “That’s special. There’s so

much still growing round here that we have a wide choice. I’m calling it hunters’ hotpot. There’s only water

to drink, but I’m making apple fritters in honey to follow.”

Jess Squirrel looked over towards the twin black silhouettes of the badger and bell rocks in the distance.

“What an amazing sight, Matthias. You’d think for all the world that those shapes were real.”

Matthias was busy with Jabez Stump and Sir Harry. They were studying the map and poem again.

“Well, that’s the badger and the bell, but this next part sounds pretty desperate:

‘ Face the Lord who points the way

After noon on summer’s day.

Death will open up its grave.

Who goes there…? None but the brave. ’ ”

They sat in silence around the fire, weighing the ominous words.

Sir Harry waddled across to sniff the aromas of the cooking pot, and returned heartened.

“Dread words do not alarm me

When food is on its way.

No parchment threat can harm me,

Lead on, lead on, I say.”

Basil gobbled a lettuce leaf. “Well spoken, me old featherface. I feel exactly the same. I can face death

after dinner any time; only thing bothers me is that I might miss tea and supper, wot?”

Robbed of his noble moment, the owl glared at Basil and stalked off.

Matthias tapped the map. “This thing here bothers me . It’s like two lines, one at an angle to the other,

with sort of little splinters sticking off all along it.”

Log-a-Log banged the side of the pot with the ladle. “Come on, come on, never mind death and doom

and mysteries, this hotpot’s ready. Form a line. No shoving in ahead, Basil. Get to the back, go on!”

Amid much jollity and laughter the shrews lined up with Matthias and his friends to be served. Basil

was eagerly holding his bowl out for a portion of the hunters’ hotpot when an eerie voice rang out:

“Doom! Dooooooooommmm!”

Log-a-Log paused, the ladle deep in the pot. “What was that?”

Basil waggled his bowl. “Don’t know, old chap. Fill the bowl, please, there’s a good fellah.”

Matthias and Orlando grabbed their weapons, but a call from Cheek reassured them:

“It’s all right. An old rabbit’s showed up over here.”

The newcomer was an ancient rabbit. He even had a wispy white beard. He staggered into the firelight,

waving his paws and shouting in a wavery voice:

“Doom, death, destruction and darkness. Doom, I say. Doooom!”

Basil waggled his ears at the ancient one. “I say, old chap, push off and let a bloke have his hotpot, will

you.”

They gathered around the rabbit. Matthias bowed to him.

“I am Matthias the Warrior of Redwall and these are my friends. We mean you no harm. What is your

name, sir, and what is this place called?”

The rabbit stared straight ahead. “Doom. All about me is doom!”

“Oh, give your whiskers a rest, you old fogey,” Basil called out as he nudged Log-a-Log to use his ladle,

“or I’ll never get served. Doom, doom, death’n’destruction! Can’t you say anything that doesn’t begin with

a D?”

The old rabbit slumped down, his limbs trembling with age. Matthias placed his bowl of food in front

of the rabbit and draped a sack about his shaking form. The creature ignored the food and continued his

mutterings of death and doom. Cheek peered closely at the old rabbit.

“He’s fuddled. Got a headful of black dust,” he remarked.

Basil gave the otter a stern glance. “Mind your manners in front of your elders.”

Matthias turned the same stern glance upon Basil. “Listen to the pot calling the kettle black. You don’t

seem to be setting Cheek much of an example.”

The warrior mouse squatted down in front of the old one, pointing to the tall rocks. “Tell me, sir, what

lies beyond those rocks?”

For the first time the rabbit appeared to hear the question. He looked towards the badger and the bell,

shaking his head.

“Death and darkness, terror and evil!” he intoned, then fell silent and would say no more.

Orlando leaned upon his axe. “It’s no use, Matthias, the poor old fellow is frightened out of his wits.

Leave him there with that sack and the food. Perhaps he might come round later and talk to us.”

Jess Squirrel shook her tail. “I wonder what caused him to be like this. It must be something pretty

awful to make a creature behave so. Look, Matthias, he’s getting up.”

The old rabbit rose slowly. Walking towards Matthias, he stroked the sack that was draped about him

as if it was some kind of comforting robe. Halting in front of the warrior mouse, the ancient one untied a

woven grass binder from his paw. A piece of stone dangled from it. Without a word he pressed the object

into Matthias’s paws and wandered off into the night, clutching the sack about him like a cloak. Log-a-Log

and Jabez intercepted him, but Matthias motioned them away.

“Let him go, poor creature. He seems to be very fond of that sack. Maybe he gave me this in exchange

for it.”

Basil inspected the stone hanging from its grass bracelet. “Funny-lookin’ doodah. What d’you suppose

it is?”

“I’ve no idea. It looks like the model of a small stone mouse. Probably some kind of ornament that he

wished to give us in exchange for our hospitality.”

The warrior mouse looped it about his sword belt and sat down to finish the evening meal with his

friends.

The half-moon gleamed fitfully down on the scene at the foot of the tall rocks. The summer night was

warm, but eerie and silent. Jube whimpered in his sleep, and Tess stroked his head until he fell silent.

Auma stared up at the strange gloomy rocks rising like twin sentinels in the darkness.

“I don’t like it here,” she said, shuddering. “All my life I lived by the mountains of the Western Plains.

They were sunny and friendly; these are not.”

Tim reached out and touched the rock wall, which was still warm from the sun.

“They’re only rocks like any others. It’s just that nature shaped them differently,” he reassured her.

“Quiet there! Get those eyes shut and sleep, or you’ll feel my cane.”

Threeclaws strolled by swinging his willow withe. He checked that they were still and silent before

moving on to join Slagar.

The Sly One stood between the rocks, his silken mask making a splash of colour against their dark

surface. He turned at Threeclaws’ approach.

“All still?”

“Aye, they’re quiet enough, Chief.”

“Good. We’ll soon be rid of them.”

“Where is this place you’re taking them, Slagar?”

“Are you questioning me, Threeclaws?” the fox asked sharply.

“No, Chief. I just can’t help wondering when all this marching’s going to stop and when it does, where

we will be.”

“Don’t worry, Threeclaws, I’ll take care of you and the rest. I’m telling you this because I know I can

trust you. Listen, mate, you’ve been the one I could always rely on. Some of those others, especially Halftail

and that little Vitch, need watching. Pretty soon now I’ll be gone for a day or two. I want you to do

something for me: keep an eye on them. I’ll leave you in charge.”

Threeclaws felt proud and pleased with himself. He had never heard the masked fox call anybeast

“mate.” He felt privileged, standing and talking to the leader as if they were both equals.

“Leave it to me, Chief. I’ll watch them when you’re away. Huh, Halftail and Vitch, a stoat and a rat,