“I was very frightened, having heard of the great serpent Baliss. So I lay still there for awhile. When nothing happened I rose, and picked up a torch which one of my hunters had dropped. Blowing the torch back into flame again, I looked around. There was myself, a locked door and the great, green jewel, but nought else. I sat there a long time pondering, until I solved the puzzle. That door must have been the gate to the serpent’s lair. The Painted Ones must have thought Baliss had slain me.
“Well, I was not waiting around for the serpent to devour me, so I picked up the torch, took the green stone and hurried off. Whenever I thought there were Painted Ones lurking in wait, I began hooting and yelling out ‘Baliss.’ It must have worked, because they left me well alone. I found a place to hide, on the other side of the pit. I’ve lived alone there, until you came along, friends.”
Dwink looked sympathetically at the tawny owl. “It must have been dreadful, down here in the darkness, with nothing to eat.”
Aluco blinked his great eyes, almost coyly. “Oh, I wasn’t exactly starving, I’m quite vengeful myself, you know. If one can hunt, there’s always a meal to be had, though one can’t be too choosy.”
Umfry gazed at the owl in horrified awe. “Y’mean you ate Pain—”
Tactfully, Samolus cut across Umfry’s question. “Well, I never! So that’s where the green stone was, attached to the back o’ that door. Hah, an’ we knocked it flat an’ trampled over it to search the tunnels. The door wasn’t an entrance to a snake’s den, Aluco, it comes out in the cellars of Redwall Abbey.”
The tawny owl gave a long, hooting sigh. “Redwall Abbey, if only I’d known! D’you think they’d have let me in? I’d dearly love to visit there.”
Foremole Gullub stroked the owl’s flightless wing. “O’ course, zurr, you’m cudd make yurr ’ome thurr with us’ns, iffen ee so desoired!”
Aluco seemed overcome with gratitude. “Oh, thank you, friend, it would be wonderful, a real dream come true. Thank you so much!”
Dwink loaded a stone into his sling. He shot it pointlessly off into the dark abyss. “I’d save my thanks if’n I was you, mate. We’ve found the jewel we came for, shiny, useless thing! All this searchin’ for the Eyes o’ the Doomwyte, what’s it got us, eh?” Usually an easygoing young squirrel, Dwink surprised them all with his angry outburst. “It’s got us trapped here, miles underground, by a mob o’ savage vermin. An’ wot about my pal, we don’t even know if’n he’s dead or alive. That’s wot huntin’ for some stupid jewel has got us!”
He grabbed up the big emerald, shouting, “Down that deep hole, that’s the best place for this thing. I never want t’see it again!” He swung back his paw to throw the Doomwyte Eye, when a well-aimed kick from Bosie’s swift paw sent him flat on his back. The mountain hare picked up the gem, holding Dwink down with his paw.
“Ach, nae so fast, laddie. Ah’ve been figurin’ a plan tae get oot o’ here. This wee bauble is part of it. So, do Ah take it yore with me, or do ye all want tae set there, wi’ faces like auld biddies who’ve burnt the oatcakes?”
Skipper grasped Bosie’s free paw. “Here’s me heart an’ here’s me word, mate, we’re with ye!”
The mountain hare adjusted his fine lace cuffs. “Gather ye round an’ hearken tae me, braw beasties, here’s how we’ll do the deed!”
14
Sometime in the late evening, Bisky regained his senses. A searing pain in his tailtip caused the young mouse to cry out in anguish. He was being bitten by a rat of about his own age, a Painted One. Bisky assessed his situation at a glance. His forepaws were strung to an overhead limb, high up in a massive five-topped oak tree. The tree rat bit him again, sniggering at its own joke.
“Yikkachikka, I eatin’ you, mousey!”
Fortunately, Bisky’s footpaws were unbound. He kicked out hard, catching his foe in the stomach. The vermin lost his breath in a loud whoosh, falling from the bough where he was perched. He hung by his long tail from the smaller branches below, wailing. “Waaaaah! Mouse tryna kill Jeg, ’elpeeeeelp, Mammeeee!”
An older female, presumably Jeg’s mother, came rushing through the foliage, accompanied by three other ratwives. She snapped an order at her companions. “Gerra likkle Jeg backup ’ere, ’urry, ’urry!” Whilst they scrambled to do her bidding, she set about scratching viciously at Bisky’s ribs. “Juss yew ever raise a paw t’my Jeg agin, an’ I scratch yer ’eart out, an’ yer eyes, too, d’yer ’ear?”
The young mouse arched his back in agony, but she continued raking until he called out aloud, “Stop, I hear ye, please stop!”
The torment ceased as she helped the others to haul her son up. Having wiped away his tears, they sat him on the broad limb, a safe distance away from Bisky. They all began stroking and comforting the young Painted One, as they glared at the captive.
Bisky studied them; he had heard of Painted Ones before, but this was his first face-to-face encounter with the savage vermin. They looked like primitive throwbacks of some bygone age, small for rats, but very wiry and agile. Their teeth were filed into sharp points, and their snouts pierced with bone ornaments. Painted Ones covered their bodies with heavy plant dyes, black and dark green. All sorts of straggly vegetation, weeds, vines, leaves and creepers, draped about them like kilts and cloaks, completed the camouflage. Bisky judged by the rustlings and comings and goings all about that there was a great number of the vermin in the five-topped oak, and other nearby trees. All in all, a fierce and barbaric tribe.
Jeg’s mother, Tala, hugged her son close, peering maliciously at Bisky. Jeg stuck out his lower lip, in a sulky manner. “Dat mouse hurted me stummick, an’ I weren’t doin’ nothin’ to ’im!”
Bisky shouted an angry reply. “Ye rotten liar, you were biting me!”
Tala seized a long willow withe from one of the others, and slashed Bisky across his face. “Shuddup, who asked yew t’speak, mouse?”
Jeg set up a blubbering wail, a ruse he often used to get his own way. He pointed a grimy claw at Bisky. “Badmouse! Yew should be slayed! I want ’im killed, Mamee Tala, let Jeg kill d’badmouse!”
Tala stroked her son’s scraggy ears, murmuring soothingly. “Nono, yore Dadda Chigid never said nothin’ about killin’ d’mouse, yew’ll haveter ask ’im!”
Jeg went into a real tantrum then. Wrenching himself free of his mother’s embrace, he climbed into the foliage, and began hurling down twigs and leaves. “My dadda’s the Tribechief, I’ll tell ’im all about yew’s lot. Letting’ d’mouse hurt me stummick, an’ not lettin’ me kill ’im. Yore a bad mammee, yore all bad. My dada will beat yew all for bein’ nasty t’me!”
Bisky flinched as an acorn hit him in the eye. Blinking up at the spoiled young vermin, he found himself murmuring, “I’d like to leave you a day with Brother Torilis, huh, he’d soon teach you a few manners!”