“Aye, I thought we was supposed t’be searchin’ for Bisky, an’ Tugga wotsisname’s missin’ son?”
Samolus butted in on their conversation. “You’ve heard the saying, an army marches on its stomach. You haven’t? Well, let me explain. This is probably the last food we’ll eat until tomorrow. Skipper tells me we’re not too far from the five-topped oak. So, if there’s to be a fight, it’s better to die with a full stomach than an empty one. Eat hearty, you young uns!”
Guosim cooks baked flatbread over the fire. They were good at campfire food, it smelled delicious. Soon everybeast was tucking into baked apples, flatbread, toasted cheese and one of Friar Skurpul’s heavy travelling fruitcakes. There was mint tea or pear cordial to go with it.
In a clumsy attempt to pay back Bosie for tripping him, Tugga Bruster feigned a stumble. Some of the beaker of mint tea he was carrying slopped over. It narrowly missed scalding the hare’s head. The Guosim Log a Log made an exaggerated bow. “Ho dear, I’m sorry, are you alright, sir?”
Bosie merely nodded. “Ah’m fine, thank ye.”
Tugga leered. “Almost scalded yore…long ears.”
The hare rose, slow and deliberate. “Ah’ve taken enough from ye, defend yerself, shrew!”
Putting down his food, Tugga held up both paws, pads outward. He was smiling slyly. “I’d stand no chance agin that sword o’ yores, Guosim rapiers ain’t that long.”
Bosie passed the sword of Martin over to Skipper. “Och, Ah’ll no be needin’ a blade tae deal with the likes of ye, cully!”
Tugga Bruster cast his rapier aside, commenting, “Aye an’ I won’t use my blade…just this!” Without warning, he charged, swinging his iron warclub.
Bosie, however, was ready. Skipping to one side he launched himself into a high sideways leap. The hare’s powerful footpaws cannoned into the shrew’s head, laying him flat-out, and stunned. It all happened so quickly that the onlookers were amazed.
Marul turned to Dwink, his jaw agape. “Sufferin’ seasons, wot a kick!”
Dwink shrugged, as if he had seen it all before. “All Redwall warriors are good at their job, ain’t that right, Skip?”
The Otter Chieftain nodded sagely. “Aye, mate!”
Marul was still greatly impressed. “I never seen anybeast do that afore, I wonder would Mister Bosie teach me how t’kick like that?”
Bosie retrieved his sword from Skipper. “Ye have tae be born with the footpaws tae do it, laddie, ’tis not a move ye’d learn overnight, ye ken.” But Marul was not listening. He had suddenly sat down and was gagging, as though he were going to be sick.
Bosie looked at the young Guosim oddly. “Are ye alright, bonny lad, what ails ye?”
Skipper saw the trouble right away. Grabbing Marul, he spoke urgently to the hare. “It’s those blinkin’ Painted Ones, mate. Get everybeast back under the trees, quick!”
Throwing Marul across his shoulder, the otter scrambled back to the dry ditchbed, in the protecting cover of the trees. Everybeast followed, with Bosie arriving last, because he was assisting the half-conscious Tugga Bruster. Now they could hear the Painted Ones, calling from across the clearing, taunting and threatening.
“Yeeeheehee! We getcha!”
“Yeeheee, killya nice’n’slow!”
Bosie glanced up at the treetops on the far side of the clearing. He muttered orders, which were passed along amongst the Guosim. “Keep yore heads down! Look to yore bows, arrows an’ slingstones. Watch the trees either side, Ah’ve a feelin’ they’re goin’ tae circle round an’ trap us in a pincer movement. Keep those eyes peeled an’ wait on mah command!”
He turned to Skipper. “How’s young Marul, is he hurt?”
The Otter Chieftain had laid Marul down; he was inspecting the Guosim shrew’s still form. “He’s dead, there ain’t nothin’ we can do for him.”
Umfry could not believe what he had just heard. “Dead? But ’e was standin’ talkin’ to h’us not h’a moment back!”
Skipper pointed to Marul’s throat. “See those darts, three of ’em. I was shot with one in the footpaw, back in the tunnel. I couldn’t move me leg for almost a day, it was deadened. Those scum must tip their darts with some sort o’ poison. Pore young Marul took three in his throat, cut off his breath. He choked, there was nothin’ anybeast could’ve done to save him, nothin’!”
The news spread like wildfire. Shrews began chattering nervously. One rose, as if to make a break and run for it. Samolus tripped him, muttering angrily, “Do as Bosie says, keep yore head down an’ arm yoreselves. Try to run, and they’ll cut you down!”
Tugga Bruster had wakened sufficiently to learn what had taken place. He grasped his warclub. “We’ll charge the villains!”
Skipper eyed him sourly. “Don’t let us stop ye, mate, you go ahead an’ charge, but ye’ll be on yore own. See how far ye get!”
The Guosim Log a Log looked bewildered. “But wot’ll we do, we can’t lay here forever.”
Samolus pointed to the trees, where the Painted Ones were hidden. “Take charge of your Guosim, watch those trees for any movement. Skip, Bosie, we need a plan.”
The three Redwallers put their heads together, with Dwink and Umfry eavesdropping close by. They looked to Bosie, as the most experienced in those matters.
The hare looked from one to the other. “Council o’ war, eh, easier said than done, mah friends. We need tae know how many o’ the foe we’re facin’, an’ a rough idea of when, an’ how, they’re goin’ tae make their move.”
Skipper agreed. “Aye, but we mightn’t get much time to do it in. If there’s a lot of ’em, they’ll prob’ly try an’ charge us. Though if there ain’t so many, mayhap they’ll try an ambush, a pincer movement, like you said, Bosie.”
Samolus loaded a stone into his sling. “I wish we knew, it sounds like quite a bunch of Painted Ones, judging by their shouts.”
The high-pitched taunting continued from the tree foliage across the clearing. An idea filtered into Dwink’s mind—he decided to speak up.
“Er, ’scuse me, but could I say somethin’?”
Bosie looked at him curiously. “Say away, laddie.”
Dwink broached his idea to them. “It’s like this. I’m the only squirrel with this band, and I know I’m better amongst the treetops than any painted, little tree rat. I think I could steal up on them and capture one, bring him back here an’ maybe you could get the information you need, eh?”
Samolus shook his head. “No, you’re too young!”
Skipper scratched his rudder doubtfully. “Hmm, ye are only a young un yet, Dwink, an’ it’s very risky. Oh, there ain’t much doubt that yore a good climber, I’ve seen ye myself, hoppin’ round the Abbey battlements an’ walltops….”
Bosie cut in. “Och, let the laddie have a try, Ah was younger than him when Ah faced mah first war!”
Without waiting for further approval, Dwink grabbed the sling from Samolus. “This is a good, long sling, strong-lookin’, too.”
Samolus let him take it. “I made it myself, ’tis the best sling in Redwall, if ye’ll pardon me saying.”
Bosie smiled. “Then take it with ye, if’n ye feel the need o’ such a thing. Och, where’s the wee beasty gone tae?”
The young squirrel had scuttled off up a nearby elm.
Skipper winked at the hare. “I told ye he was a good climber. Let’s hope he brings yore sling back, Mister Fixa.”
Samolus heaved a sigh. “Aye, and himself with it!”
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