Brian Jacques - Mossflower

from my window and saw you helping your band to repair the damage to Kotir.

That was when I changed my opinion of you."

Tsarmina refilled Bane's beaker with wine. When she spoke again there was

something approaching a sob in her voice.

"Forgive me. I have misjudged you, Bane. You are a true friend."

The fox quaffed the wine, then took the liberty of pouring himself some more.

"You like the work that we are carrying out on the fire damage?"

Tsarmina pushed the wine jug so that Bane would not have to stretch when

reaching for it.

"Indeed I do. It's ten times better than my bumbling lot could have done," she

assured him.

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Bane nodded agreement. "Aye, my band can turn their paw to most things.

They're still working round at the larder and scullery entrance."

"Good," Tsarmina said over her shoulder as she rummaged in a wooden chest.

"But what I'm worried about is the main gates between the courtyard and the

woodland edge."

The fox finished his wine, banging the beaker down decisively. "Right, let's

go and take a look at 'em, though I don't think they'll need much repair.

They're a solid old pair of gates."

Tsarmina produced a cloak from the chest. It was a long trailing garment made

from bright red velvet trimmed with woodpigeon feathers. Recently it had been

cleaned and brushed.

"I want you to take this cloak, friend," she insisted smilingly. "Wear it as a

token of our new alliance. \s you can see, it is not the plain cloak of a

Captain; this was made for a Lord."

Bane took the cloak. Twirling it round, he admired the color and weight of the

velvet. He swept it up, draping it around his shoulders. Tsarmina fastened the

clasp at his neck.

"There! How handsome you look. More like the Ruler of Kotir than I do."

Bane's paw stroked the feather edged velvet. "Thank you, Queen Tsarrnina. This

is a splendid cloak. Hoho, wait'll my gang see their leader decked out in his

finery. Come on, let's take a look at mat gate. '

There were many admiring and envious glances from Bane's mercenaries as he

strode across the courtyard.

"By the fang. Look at old Bane. What a fine cloak!"

"He certainly cuts a dash in it. I'll bet he's been promoted."

"Haha, he looks more like the Chief here than the cat does."

Brogg and Ratflank leaned out of the barrack room window. The weasel Captain

could not help remarking under his breath, "What d'you suppose the fox is

doing, wearing Ash-leg's cloak?"

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Dawn brushed pale streaks of pink and gold through the gray mist on the calm

sea waters.

Rasping sounds from a file could be heard on deck from the oarbanks below.

Gonff was freeing the slaves.

Martin and Dinny assisted the pathetic creatures onto the deck. Some of them

had not seen daylight in seasons. They were a mixed bunch, ragged shrews and

emaciated mice, together with some bedraggled hedgehogs and the odd gaunt

squirrel.

How could any creature treat another in this cruel manner? Martin wondered. It

made his blood boil as he tended them.

Dinny was doling out food from Bloodwake's well-stocked pantry. "Yurr, get sum

vittles down 'ee, us'ns fatten 'ee up."

Martin was supporting a tough mouse who seemed on the verge of collapse.

"Thank you, Martin son of Luke," he said, nodding gratefully at the young

warrior.

Martin's paws gave way. He sank to the deck of Blood-wake, taking his burden

with him. They sat staring at each other. Martin could find only one word to

say.

"Timballisto?"

Tears ran freely down the mouse's whiskers. "Martin, my friend."

A shrew who was gnawing at a ship's biscuit came and sat

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by them. "Martin, the young warrior mouse, eh? Timballisto here was always

talking about you." Timballisto threw a paw about his friend's shoulder. "How

did you know I was aboard this floating rat trap?"

Martin hugged him. "I didn't, you old wardog. I thought you'd gone to the

gates of Dark Forest long ago, fighting enemies off outside our caves in the

northlands."

As they sat talking, Log-a-Log came from Ripfang's cabin aft. He was studying

some sailcloth charts. Immediately a great shout went up from the shrews who

had been freed.

"Log-a-Log! Chief, it's us, the old gang from the village!"

Preoccupied with something he had discovered among the maps, the Shrew Chief

waved distractedly to them. "Ha, hello, you lot. Well, eat up and get fit

again. The boss is back now. Told you I'd rescue you, didn't I."

Gonif heaved himself up from the galley banks below. "Whew, matey! It could do

with a good scrub down there. Hey, Log-a-Log, found some booty?"

The shrew spread charts upon the deck. "Look, it's all here—the way home."

Martin could make little of the charts. "Show me."

"Righto. It's simple really. See here, that's Salamandas-tron," Log-a-Log

explained. "Keep the setting sun to your left and follow the coastline until

we sight a river flowing into the sea from the right. It's the River Moss,

see, flowing from east to west."

Dinny's digging paw tapped the canvas. "Hurr, well oi never did, stan* on moi

tunnel! It be our river as flows thru Mossfl'er. Lookit, thurr be 'ee

woodlands marked up over yon. Burr, 'ee ratbag knowed it all."

Log-a-Log pinned the canvas down against a breeze mat was springing up.

"I'll say he did. That's how he came to capture my tribe. There's our village

marked up on the northeast fringes of Mossfiower. Banksnout, shin up the mast

and keep your eyes busy for the river flowing in from landward. Gonff, take

the tiller and hold it seaward a point to bring us closer into shore. Shrews,

break out all sail so we catch this good breeze."

Under the eye of the summer sun, Bloodwake scudded across the foaming white

caps like a great seabird. Timballisto leaned over the deckrail with Martin.

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"I wish I'd had the chance to meet Boar the Fighter," Timballisto sighed. "He

sounds like a great warrior, from what you say. What a pity he won't be coming

back to save Mossfiower.''

Martin drew his sword. He pointed it east toward the land. "It is my duty to

save Mossflower. I swore it to Boar and I intend keeping that oath."

Timballisto watched him as he held forth the beautiful blade. "You will,

Martin. You will!"

A hedgehog poked his head around the door of the forward cabins. "Ahoy,

there's a full armory here, lads—swords, spears, knives, everything an army

could wish for."

"Gurt loads o' vittles, too." Dinny chuckled. "Oi tell *ee, Gonffen, liddle

boats make oi sick, hurr, but this'n's a noice big shipper. Oi'll call *er

Wuddshipp. Harr, that be a foin name."

Gonff watched the forepeak respond to the tiller.

"Wuddshipp it is then, Din. Though personally I'd have named her Columbine."

Trubbs and company chimed in.

"I say, that's a bit strong, Gonff, old sailor."

"Has Columbine really got a wooden bottom?"

"And two ears that stick out like sails?"

They narrowly ducked the pail of seawater that Gonff hurled.

Banksnout roared out in a gruff shrew bass from atop the rigging, "Ahoy! River

in sight up north to landward!"

Martin climbed the bowsprit. He stood on the bleached fish skull figurehead,

looking eagerly.

Sure enough, there was the river, boiling across the shores in the distance.

He turned to the crowd of eager faces watching him.

"Take her head up and round the shore, Gonff. We're going home!"

Shrews, mice, hedgehogs, squirrels, hares and a single mole roared out in one