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make certain it ain’t yore own.’

The code of the Gonfelins is ancient and true,

wot you’ve got is yores ’til I’ve swiped it off you!

Well, the Gonfelin he kissed his ole mother so hard,

that he raised a big lump on her head,

‘Farewell, Mother,’ he cried, as she swooned at his side,

then he stole her best wig an’ he fled.

The code of the Gonfelins is ancient an’ true,

wot you’ve got is yores ’til I’ve swiped it off you!”

Roars of laughter were choked, as the listeners saw that Nokko and his tribe were quite overcome with emotion by their song. Some of the Gonfelins were weeping openly. The Guosim merely looked bewildered, but the Redwallers were forced to turn aside, one or two stuffing grass in their mouths to stifle ribald guffaws.

Wiping tears upon a ragged sleeve, Nokko announced solemnly to the assembly, “Er, that’s our bestest song, we sung it to honour youse fer lettin’ us ’ang on to the boodle. I want youse all t’know, that by yore kindness, you’ve done summat nobeast as ever done to a Gonfelin.” He paused to blow his snout, then continued humbly, “You’ve stolen our ’earts!”

There was a stunned silence, then Bisky rose, raising his beaker and calling heartily, “Good health’n’long seasons to our mates the Gonfelins!”

24

Jeg’s stomach was sore and smarting from the scorching he had received when he fell onto the fire. On running away from the five-topped oak, he had raced willy-nilly into the woodlands of Mossflower. The young tree rat hoped desperately that he would not be pursued by either of his two former captives. Jeg recalled beating the Guosim shrew with a willow withe; he shuddered at the hatred that had burnt in their eyes, especially the Guosim shrew—that one looked like a really vengeful beast.

He continued running, then paused, breathing heavily as he tried to catch any sounds of pursuit. However there were only the normal summer sounds—distant birdsong, the hum of bees and the odd noises of foraging insects. Having reassured himself, he continued at an easier pace, constantly touching his scorched fur and blistered flesh.

Jeg was at a loss as to how he could ease his discomfort, when he came across a woodland pool. The water was dark, it gave off a rank odour as he drew close. No good for drinking. Then his paws squelched into the layer of mud and sodden leaf mould—this was ideal. He sat down and began slapping it on his stomach. It was squelchy, cool, the ideal salve for minor scorching. Instant relief.

Before too long he heard sounds, which alerted him. Somebeast was on his trail, travelling fast, with no attempt at stealth. He glanced around for something to use as a weapon. There it was, a half-submerged tree branch. It emerged with a squelch as he tugged on it. The noises were distinctly nearer now, there was no doubt about it, somebeast was right on his trail, and coming fast. Jeg wedged the branch in a low tree fork and gave it a sharp jerk. The long branch snapped in two, leaving him with a fair-sized length, which he could use as a staff.

Dubble had a strong feeling that he was on the right trail of his foe. He dashed onward, hoping soon to catch sight of the Painted One. Seething for revenge, the young Guosim shrew never thought to act with caution. He ran straight into an ambush.

Leaping out from behind a sycamore, Jeg lashed out with his staff. The swinging blow would have stunned Dubble, but for a speedy reaction. Instinctively he threw up both paws, taking the major force of the staff upon them. He narrowly missed grabbing hold of the weapon, but Jeg was already striking again, this time from the other direction. Dubble was struck between neck and shoulder, he toppled off balance and fell.

The young tree rat was shrieking with delight as he thrashed at his adversary. “Yeeeheee, I killya this time, foolbeast, yeeeeheeee!” Some of the blows connected, others missed, thus was Jeg’s haste to finish his enemy.

Dubble wriggled and rolled about furiously, his paws numbed by the initial strike of the staff. He pushed forward, grabbing Jeg’s footpaw, and sank his teeth in savagely. The tree rat hopped about, screaming, as he tried to dislodge the shrew, but Dubble hung on grimly. Jeg kicked out at his head, but his foe caught the other footpaw, twisting it and laying him flat on his back.

This was the chance Dubble had been waiting for. Ignoring his various hurts, he threw himself upon Jeg, flailing away with all paws. Over and over the pair rolled, into the squashy compound of mud and leaf mould on the poolbank. Spitting stagnant water, Jeg managed to gain the upper position, forcing Dubble’s head down into the mess. One mouthful sent the young shrew into an ungovernable panic—he bucked and jerked so wildly that he threw Jeg to one side. Dubble was up to his waist in the soggy bank morass. He was extracting himself, with some difficulty, when he saw Jeg, whom he had thrown up onto solid ground, take to his paws and run off. The young Guosim shrew yelled after him, “Ye can run, scumface, but-ye won’t escape me. No matter wot it takes, I’ll get ye!”

Thus began a second chase, this time it went in no particular direction. Jeg was really frightened now; he went in circles, sometimes going off at a tangent, dodging amongst the huge trunks of venerable woodland giants, and crashing through fernbeds, but always with Dubble close behind. Gritting his teeth, the Guosim pursued his quarry relentlessly, getting closer by the moment. Now they were running along a streambank, with Dubble almost on Jeg’s tailtip. Both beasts were going so hard that they hardly noticed the low-flying crows between the trees.

Jeg had no time for such observations, running as he was, with the pursuer hard on his tail. Trying a swift ruse, he angled off amidst the trees, casting a backward glance to ascertain where Dubble was. It was to be the young Painted One’s final error. Dashing along, as he looked backward, Jeg ran slapbang into a raven. The bird was hobbling along, dragging one wing. It squawked in alarm. Such was his speed that Jeg went tumbling, tail over snout. It was an unfortunate and fatal landing for the son of Chigid and Tala. Straight into a dark, moist, fetid opening. He managed one last horrified shriek, then the jaws of Baliss closed upon him like a steel trap.

Dubble saw the dreadful sight looming ahead of him. A squawking raven scrabbling upright, and beyond that, the monstrous head of the great serpent. The Guosim shrew saw that it was not the reptile’s forked tongue protruding from betwixt its lips. It was Jeg’s limp tail. Skidding to a halt, Dubble turned and ran for his life. Emerging from the trees he hurried toward the stream, only to find himself suddenly hemmed in by carrion crows. With cruel, beady eyes glinting, and sharp, heavy beaks poised, the birds closed in on him.

After camping the night under the five-topped oak, the great march back to Redwall got under way. Once they were out of their immediate territory, the entire tribe of Painted Ones appeared very subdued, obeying commands without question.

This suited Bosie fine when they reached a broadstream bank. He had been walking in the vanguard, downwind of the captive band. Whether it was from their lack of bathing, or the noxious plant dyes which they were liberally daubed with, Bosie could not tell. The fastidious hare held a lace kerchief to his nostrils, to avoid the odour emanating from the conquered tree rats. Halting them on the edge of the broadstream, he pointed at the water.

“Mayhaps ye’d like tae take a dip an’ give yersel’s a guid scrubbin’. It pains me tae tell ye that Ah cannae abide breathin’ the same air as ye. So in ye go, ye braw wee stinkers!”

Skipper shook his head dolefully. “’Tis the pore liddle fishes I pity, mate.”

On the opposite bank, Bisky and his friends assisted Nokko and his Gonfelins, hauling out the freshly cleaned-up prisoners. Spingo remarked to her father, “Those Painty Ones don’t look very scary, widout all that muck plastered over ’em, Da.”