Dubble hissed excitedly, “Hah, ye got a good grip on it there, mate. Well done, matey. Wot now?”
Arching his back, Bisky groaned in pain. “Ooohh, my paws are all swelled, with jiggin’ about on this rope, it’s really hurtin’ me. Listen, I’m goin’ to rest a moment afore I carry on.”
The Guosim shrew gnawed his lip with concern. “Don’t let go o’ that flint, Bisky. Is there anythin’ I can do t’help ye, bucko?”
Trying to ignore the stinging numbness in his tightly bound forepaws, the young mouse gasped, “Aye there’s two things ye can do. When I give the word, suck yore stomach in. It’ll make it easier for me to pull the flint out with my footpaws. Once I’ve got it I’ll try a high kick. D’ye think ye could catch the flint in yore mouth if I could lift it that far, mate?”
His companion chuckled. “You just try me!”
With both footpaws tightly clutching the flint shard, Bisky gave the word. “Now!” Dubble inhaled, pulling in his stomach hard. The belt slackened, and Bisky swiftly tugged the flint free. He dangled back and forth, holding the flint, his face creased in agony.
Dubble muttered urgently, “Try an’ swing yoreself up, mate, afore yore paws give ye too much pain. I’m ready, Bisky, swing now!”
With one last, desperate effort, the Redwall mouse levered himself forward, kicking upward. He lost the flint, it slipped from the grasp of his footpaws, revolving in the air. Dubble gave a small squeak of dismay as it struck the tip of his snout. However, he had the presence of mind to toss his head back, catching the flint shard neatly in his open mouth.
It was an effort for Bisky to raise his face; he smiled through the agonised tears which squeezed from the corners of each eye. “That was a good trick, mate, ye’ll have to teach it t’me sometime.”
Dubble never replied—he was busy mouthing the flint into a more useful position. Grunting with exertion he angled his neck awkwardly askew. Hoisting himself upward by his bound forepaws, he began sawing at the nearest rope.
Bisky murmured encouragement to the young Guosim. “C’mon, you can do it, cully, chop that ole rope to shreds, an’ let’s be shut o’ this stinkin’ place!”
Clenching the flint with his teeth, Dubble made strained grunting noises as he sawed furiously. It was a good, sharp-edged flint—strands rapidly twisted away from the rope. Then the shrew gave a mighty tug. He stared upward at the severed rope, hanging by one paw, grinning triumphantly.
“Good ole us, we did it! Stay there, I’ll be with ye in two shakes of a newt’s tail!”
Despite his pain, Bisky chuckled. “I’ll stay here, seein’ as I can’t go anyplace until ye cut my ropes.”
Once they were both free, the two friends sat awhile on the oak limb, waiting for the circulation to ease their forepaws. Bisky asked, “We’ve got a couple of hours afore dawnlight. Which way should we go when we get out of this tree?”
Dubble shrugged. “I ain’t got a blinkin’ clue, mate. I thought you knew yore way round this neck o’ the woods. One thing I do know, though, we should get as far and as fast away from this place as we can.”
Making their way down the five-topped oak was extremely perilous. Painted Ones slept in the most unexpected nooks of the big tree. Fortunately the tree rats were all heavy sleepers. In the lower terraces of the mighty oak, they came across Jeg. The young rat was curled up in a broad fork, alongside his mother and father, Chigid and Tala.
At the sight of their hated foe, Dubble’s teeth began chattering with rage. Bisky threw a paw across his friend’s mouth, whispering, “Not worth it, mate, we could be caught again.”
The shrew allowed himself to be led away. Casting a final hate-filled glare at Jeg, he murmured, “Someday we’ll cross trails agin…. Someday!”
The woodland floor felt good underpaw again—exhilaration coursed through the two friends’ veins. Not being certain of any route or direction, they set off speedily into the thickest tree cover. Mossflower was completely silent, the heavy loam thick and soft underpaw, with the tree canopy overhead shielding any star or moonlight, making the woodlands a realm of total darkness.
Dubble laughed nervously. “If’n ye see any twinklin’ lights tryin’ to lead us someplace, ignore ’em mate, they’re trouble.”
Bisky gripped his friend’s paw firmly. “They’re worse than trouble, mate, they’re Wytes.”
It was still dark when they emerged into a clearing. Bisky splashed into a tiny streamlet which flowed through it. Immediately they threw themselves down, drinking the cold, clear water greedily. Bisky splashed some across his face. “Mmm, that feels good. I hadn’t realised I was so thirsty, how about you?”
Dubble passed him a pawful of vegetation. “Look, watercress! It ain’t much but it’s good enough for hungry bellies. Wait there, let’s see wot else is growin’ roundabout. There’s always a bit to be had around streambanks, even liddle ones.”
Bisky ventured as far as the trees on the fringe of the sward, where he found a few mushrooms growing beneath some shrubbery. Dubble returned to the streamlet with other edibles he had gathered. Pepperwort, the leaves and stems of which had a hot but pleasant taste. He also had some wood sorrel, and a few half-ripe raspberries. They shared the results of their forage, lounging beside the tinkling streamlet.
Dubble lay back, patting his stomach. “Well, ’twasn’t much, but at least it was somethin’, matey. I tell ye, I’d give anythin’ for a quick snooze right now, can’t remember the last time I had a decent sleep.”
Bisky was inclined to agree with him. “Me, too, I can’t keep my eyes open. What d’ye say we find somewhere sheltered an’ nap ’til daylight?”
Dubble stifled a yawn. “Right, lead me to it, bucko.”
Following the stream out of the clearing, they searched for a likely spot. Bisky found it, an ancient black poplar. The tree was long dead and fallen flat. On closer inspection it turned out to be a hollow trunk. Dubble crouched low, scrambling into it gratefully. “We couldn’t have found a better place for a liddle sleep than this, ’tis built for the job, mate.”
Bisky crawled in beside him. “What d’ye mean, we? I was the one who found it, move over, mate, d’ye want all the room for yourself?”
The Guosim shrew grabbed a pawful of dry pulp and tossed it at the Redwall mouse, giggling. “Oh, go to sleep an’ stop moanin’, swoggletail!”
Bisky retaliated with two paw loads of the pulp. “Swoggletail, is it? Well, take that, swinjeysnout!”
As young ones will, they fought playfully, laughing and shouting as they forgot their strange surroundings. The dark-cloaked creature who had been watching them since they left the clearing spoke in low tones to his band.
“Awright, get dem nets’n’clubs, soon as dey nod off we’ll ’ave ’em. Norra sound now, speshully you, Gobbo, do yer ’ear me?”
The one called Gobbo replied indignantly, “Norra sound, ’ey? Yore makin’ more noise dan all uv us put tergether!”
Bisky and Dubble gradually fell asleep, unaware how short their taste of freedom had been.
18
Evening shafts of red, gold and violet sunlight flooded through the long windows into the Great Hall, casting random patterns over the supper tables. Friar Skurpul and his staff were kept busy, serving a repast to the returned searchers, and their new feathered friend. Dibbuns crowded around to stare at Aluco. Never having seen a real tawny owl close up, they peppered him with questions.
“Hurr, Oi never see’d ee real h’owl, wot bees yurr name, zurr?”
“Farver Abbot sez you can make the whoo hoo noise, will ye do it for me?”
“I wish I could turn my head roun’ an’ roun’ like you. Will ye teach me how t’do it?”