Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

The young mouse nudged Tess.

“Look who’s there, our little slave-driver being rewarded for his services. I hope they chain me next to

him for a while down there.”

Tess stamped her paw hard against the ledge, her eyes blazing. “They can chain me next to who they

like, but I’m not building any filthy underground kingdom for a talking statue!”

The young churchmouse’s angry tones echoed around the rocky cavern. There was a brief silence, then

Malkariss spoke again.

“Take them back and lock them away without light, food or water. They are not ready to serve me yet.”

As they were led up the gloomy winding passages, Tess began to weep. “Oh, I’m sorry I spoke out. I’ve

caused you all to be locked in the dark and starved again.”

“No, you haven’t,” Cynthia Bankvole said bravely. “I’d rather starve than be beaten to death like those

poor creatures.”

Auma seconded her, “Aye, don’t worry, Tess. If you hadn’t spoken out, I would have.”

“That’s it friends, we stick together. Redwallll!” Mattimeo’s voice rang out like the Abbey bells.

He was knocked flat with the butt of a spear before they were flung back into their darkened prison.

Chapter 45

It was midafternoon, and Redwall lay quiet under the heat haze. Hardly a leaf stirred in the vastness of

Mossflower beyond the north and east walls, and the plains shimmered and danced, making the horizon

indistinguishable.

Down below in Cavern Hole depression had set in. It had started when little Rollo and a baby

fieldmouse wanted to go out to play. Naturally the Abbot had to forbid any such idea with the birds about,

so Ambrose Spike took them to play down in his wine cellar. Cornflower fanned herself with a dockleaf.

The heat seemed to have penetrated the stones, even down to Cavern Hole, where it was usually cool.

“Poor Rollo, he did so want to go out to play on the grass. I remember Mattimeo, Tim and Tess used to

go out in the orchard. Sam Squirrel would teach them to climb the apple and pear trees, and that sweet

chestnut over by the gooseberry patch.”

Abbot Mordalfus mopped his brow with his habit sleeve. “Ah yes, he was a scamp, that Sam Squirrel.

Mind you, so was I at their age. I used to get sent off to bed for dashing around the top of the outer wall

when I was a young one. Ha ha, old Sister Fern used to say it gave her dizzy spells just watching me. Phew!

I don’t know about Rollo, but I could certainly do with a stroll outside in the grounds. It’s hot in here.”

Mrs. Churchmouse closed her eyes dreamily. “Mmmm, I’d love to be sitting dabbling my paws in the

pond on an afternoon like this.”

Foremole tugged his snout obligingly. “Burr, if’n you’m laydeez ud loik to wet you’m paws, oi’ll take

you’m thro’ yon tunnel to pond.”

Winifred the Otter sprang up. “What a good idea! Oh, would you please let us go, Father Abbot? We’ll

be careful, I promise we will. The first sign of a rook and we’ll pop into that hole like moles, pardon the

expression.”

Abbot Mordalfus took his spectacles off. Smiling indulgently, he settled back in his chair.

“Well, it’s pretty certain I won’t get any rest with you chattering creatures about. Of course you may go,

but don’t stay out too long and be very careful. I’ll stop here and take a nap.”

Foremole was first into the tunnel. “Age afore booty. Foller me, gennelbeasts.”

The Abbot settled back in his chair with a sigh. A ray of sunlight crossing Great Hall penetrated down

the stairs across the barricade top and shone in his eyes. He watched the small golden dust flecks dancing

in it, his eyes gradually closing as he drifted into his noontide nap.

Cornflower came wriggling back down the tunnel, followed by her companions. She scurried from the

entrance and, not bothering to dust herself down, began shaking the sleepy Abbot by the paw.

“Wake up, wake up, Father Abbot, quickly! They’re attacking it, the poor thing. Oh, it’ll be killed if we

don’t do something.”

The Abbot blinked and jumped up. “Eh, what? Attacking what poor thing, where?”

Winifred grabbed his other paw. “A big rusty-colored bird, much bigger than Ironbeak’s lot. It’s over by

the pond and the rooks are attacking it. Oh, I’m sure it isn’t an invader. We’ve got to help it.”

The Abbot leapt into action.

“Find Constance quickly. Get any available moles and bring them here.”

A moment later, Constance rushed in from the kitchens, covered in flour with a bunch of scallions in

her paw. She climbed into the tunnel, shouting orders:

“Everybeast stay here except the moles. Send them after me. I’ll deal with this!”

In front of the pond the great red bird lay. With one final effort she had flown over the outer Abbey wall,

landing with a thud on the soft gatehouse garden soil. Seeing the water glint in the afternoon sun, she

hauled herself painfully over to drink at the pond. The throat of the great red bird was dry, her tongue

parched, spots danced before her eyes. Crazily she staggered and wobbled towards the water. Next instant

she was harried by three rooks who descended upon her. They pecked and dragged at the great red bird,

lashing out with their clawing talons. Half unconscious and defenceless, she lay at their mercy.

Foremole was awaiting Constance’s arrival up the tunnel.

“O’er thurr, stroipmarm,” he said, pointing to the scene of the attack. “They’m akillen yon burd, they

gurt bullies!”

Constance hurtled from the tunnel and was upon the rooks before they knew what was happening.

She bulled the first one straight into the pond and cuffed the next one high into the air with a quick

hefty paw. The third rook took off, leaving most of his tailfeathers between the badger’s teeth. The attackers

flew squawking through the broken dormitory window, terrified to look back lest the big badger was

coming after them.

Swiftly Constance began dragging the great red bird to the tunnel. It raised its head feebly and tried to

attack the badger. Constance narrowly avoided the fierce curved beak but took several scratches from the

powerful talons before she stunned the already half-unconscious bird with a smart tap of her paw between

its eyes.

“Sorry, but it’s for your own good, you silly great thing. Here, Foremole, which end do you want?”

Foremole scrambled from the tunnel, leaving three of his crew ready to receive the burden.

“You’m leave et t’me, marm. Yurr, Jarge, oi’m asendin’ burd in ’ead hirst, save reverse feather draggen.

Chuck yon rope round they claws. Oi’ll tie beak. Gaffer, be you’m ready wi’ grease case’n et be too woid in

beam.”

Ironbeak and Mangiz flew through the dormitory window with several rooks. They landed where the

attack had taken place. The General looked particularly bad-tempered after being disturbed at his noontide

roost.

“ Yakkah! First it is ghost mice, now we have a great disappearing red bird. Where is it, fools?

“It was right there, General. We pecked it and scratched it—”

“Yes, yes. And what happened then?”

“The big earthcrawler, the stripedog, it tried to slay us.”

“So you turned tail and flew off,” Ironbeak said scornfully.

“Chief, there was nothing else we could do. That stripedog is a wild beast!”

“How long ago did this take place?”

“Only a moment back, Ironbeak. We were at the dormitory window when we saw this big rusty-

looking bird come over the wall. It must have been ill because it flapped and flopped about like a new