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Bosie shouldered his sword, and stood impatiently in the open gateway. “If’n we’re tae save the wee maid there’ll be no hangin’ aboot…. Double march!”

Crowding the walltops, the remaining Redwallers cheered the rescue party off.

“Goo’ lukk, zurrs, you’m ’urry up naow!”

“Aye, an’ may the wind be at yore backs!”

“You bring that liddle maid safe back here!”

Abbot Glisam watched the dust cloud as they rushed off into the woodlands. “May fortune speed your paws, friends!”

The very tiny mousebabe latched onto the Abbot’s robe. “I wanna go wiv them, Father!”

Glisam picked him up. “Maybe next time, little one.”

Dugry the molebabe nodded sagely. “Hurr, an’ Oi bees a-goin’ nex’ time, zurr.”

Sister Violet smiled at the Dibbuns. “An’ so you shall, next time. But meanwhile, who’s to guard the Abbey and keep us all safe?”

Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, narrowed her eyes ferociously. “Us’ll do dat, marm!”

Aluco gave a hoot of mock relief. “Thank goodness we can all sleep safe tonight!”

33

Still trapped beneath the rock slab on the hillside above the caverns, Spingo had lost all count of time. Crushed into a shallow depression by the stone, the Gonfelin maid could feel her consciousness fading. She concentrated on one thing, the effort to continue breathing. Water and food were unimportant, but air, fresh air, was precious.

The atmosphere in the confined space was stifling. Sandy soil trickled softly in the darkness, decreasing the area within. Only the sparse amount of air coming through the two narrow holes made by Zaran were keeping her alive. However, even that was not enough—Spingo could feel her senses gradually slipping away. Though she fought the desire to sleep, it was becoming more pressing in her failing mind.

The black otter Zaran continued her vigil on the hillside. It had been quite a time since the Gonfelin maid’s misfortune. Zaran did not know whether Spingo was dead or alive. However, she leant close to the little holes she had made with her beech stick, whispering constant encouragement to the young mouse entombed below.

“Spingo, help will soon be here, your friends will return, with many others. Answer if you can hear Zaran, do not give up hope, my friend.”

But no reply was forthcoming, and the otter could not help any further. She knew that if she tried digging to reach Spingo, the movement might shift both soil and stone, smothering Spingo forever.

The Redwall contingent dashed gallantly through the woodlands, brushing aside or flattening everything in their way. None could travel faster than Bosie, who kept running from one end of the column to the other, roaring encouragement as he brandished his sword. “Come on, mah bonny beasts! Hasten tae the rescue! Move now, ye braw runners! Bowlayneeeee!”

With Nokko, Dubble and Bisky in the lead, they rushed onto the bankside of the creek, where the Guosim logboats lay moored. Everybeast was hurried aboard, with the moles arriving last, for as anybeast knows, moles are not the greatest runners in Mossflower.

There were four shrew paddlers to each craft, with Gonfelins and moles seated amidships. Bosie occupied the stern seat of the lead vessel, along with Nokko, Bisky, Dubble, Samolus and Garul. The logboats manoeuvred their way out of the creek, into the mainstream.

Garul shouted to Dubble, “What course do we take?”

“Straight on, an’ don’t take no sidewaters. Keep paddlin’ in the midstream, ’til ye see the big wooded hill ahead, that’s where we’re bound!”

But Nokko had other ideas. “Us Gonfelins knows the lay o’ the land round ’ere. I know a faster way, wot’ll bring youse up be’ind that big mound!”

Bosie patted the Pikehead’s back. “Very guid, mah friend, get yoreself for’ard an’ tell ’em the way tae go!”

Scrambling over paddlers and passengers, Nokko made his way to the prow, where he gave orders. “The quickest way is to take the next slipstream on yore right. There ’tis, the one wid the big ould willow over’anging the bank. There’s a few rapids, but that’ll get us there a bit faster!”

Dubble was paddling alongside Garul. He took the time to enquire, “Wot happened to Tugga Bruster, tell me.”

The older Guosim kept his eyes on the stream as he told Dubble of his father’s fate.

When he had heard the whole disgraceful story of his father and the former Log a Log’s shameful end, the young Guosim wiped a swift paw across his eyes, then breathed deep as he pulled on his paddle.

“I know he was my father, but I can’t bring myself to grieve heavy over him. Tugga Bruster was never a lovin’ parent, aye, an’ he wasn’t much of a Log a Log, either. But you knew that. Our tribe deserves a better Chieftain than him.”

Garul backed water as they turned into the slipstream. “Aye, Dubble, these Guosim think you’ll make a good Log a Log, they all like you.”

Bending to avoid the overhanging willow branches, Dubble met the older shrew’s gaze. “No, mate, I’m finished with the Guosim life. Once this is over I’m goin’ to live at Redwall. I’ve not had much experience of the Abbey, but I know I’ll find peace an’ happiness there. One day, maybe, I’ll forget the shame of Tugga Bruster.”

Garul was bewildered by Dubble’s decision. “But wot about our tribe, wot’s to become of us?”

The young shrew released his paddle long enough to grasp the older beast’s paw warmly. “These Guosim will do just fine with you as their Log a Log. You’ve always been a good an’ wise ole paddle whomper, Garul. You’ll make a better Log a Log than I ever could!”

The news echoed swiftly from boat to boat. All the Guosim raised their paddles in salute, roaring, “Garul! Garul! Logalogalogalooooooog!”

The little flotilla hit the rapids, the logboats shot along. Shrews guided them skilfully, fending off rocks, banks and shoals as they sang.

“Ho, look out for the shallows now,

watch how fast yore goin’,

you’ll never beat a Guosim shrew,

paddlin’ or rowin’.

Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,

wait for me, my darlin’,

go set the skillet on the fire,

’cos I’ll be home by mornin’.

Oh, watch her on the banksides now,

rapids an’ white waters,

here’s a health to all our wives,

an’ our pretty daughters.

Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,

throw me out a line oh,

or a bowl o’ stew, an’ a drink or two,

would suit a Guosim fine oh!”

Bosie had put up his sword, he was feeling rather nervous as he clung to the prow. Spray soaked his whiskers as the logboat leapt and bucked along the rapids. Keeping a brave face, the Highland hare muttered aloud, “Och, will ye no look at this mad stream. Ah tell ye, Ah dinna know what they’re singing for.”

Having been told by Dubble, Bisky already knew. “Singin’ helps ’em with the paddle beat, an’ it keeps the logboat on an even keel.”

Bosie slacked his grip upon the prow, standing up slightly, he tried a quick smile. “Oh, verra guid, that’s the stuff, mah buckoes, keep the song goin’, Ah like it just fine!”

However, Friar Skurpul and his molecrew did not care for the lively jaunt. Throwing themselves facedown in the boats, they gave voice to their fears.

“Ho, corks, Oi wish’t Oi’d never left ee h’Abbey!”

“Hurr, we’m surtink to get sunken unner ee water!”

“Ho, woe bees Oi, Oi’ll never leave ee land agin!”

Now the bankside trees were shooting by as the logboats picked up more speed. Guosim left off paddling, to fend off the rock-faced sides. Samolus gnawed his lip anxiously. “Er, Mister Nokko, are you sure this is the right way to the wooded hill?”