By reaching over with his lance, the big sergeant deftly speared the last of the watercress. “Simple, laddie buck, we just keeps a-marchin’ over this h’island crisscross h’until we runs into ’em.”
Quartle stared ruefully at the spot where his cress had been a moment before. He sighed. “We might’ve worn out our bloomin’ paws by then. Bit of a fair-sized island t’be crisscrossin’ willy-nilly, wot?”
The high-pitched call of an osprey brought Tiria bolt upright. She saw Pandion swoop gracefully in to join Cuthbert upstream. Everybeast hurried to hear what Pandion had to report. Casting a fierce eye about, the fish hawk spread his wings dramatically.
“Yeekaharr! Pandion Piketalon has found the cats and riverdogs. They will soon battle!”
Cuthbert’s ears stood up straight at the mention of a fight. “A battle ye say, sah? Where at? Out with it, at the double!”
The osprey flapped his huge wingspread. “Arreeekaaah! At the big tree fort by the long lake. The cats are well dug in there. ’Twill be a hard fight I think!”
Captain Rafe Granden drew his blade. “We’re obliged to ye, goodbird, an’ more’n pleased if ye can lead us t’the jolly old field of combat, wot?”
Cuthbert’s eye was glinting wildly through his monocle. “Rather, I’d be distinctly ticked off if I missed a blinkin’ fullscale scrap! Sarn’t O’Cragg, get the Patrol formed up in skirmishin’ order! C’mon, me lucky lads, off your hunkers an’ on your paws. Quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action!”
The Patrol had to move rapidly to keep up with Cuthbert, who was already off at a swift trot, following the osprey. Quartle nudged Tiria.
“I say, miss, just look at Ole Blood’n’guts. He can’t wait to get in the middle of it all!”
The ottermaid patted her sling and stonepouch. “Neither can I, friend!”
“I am thinking you will be waiting for me. I need a rest after my long journey!”
Tiria was startled to see Brantalis flying just above her head. The barnacle goose looked about ready to drop.
“Brantalis, my friend, what are you doing here?”
The big bird flopped down to earth. Captain Rafe Granden, who was running rearguard, caught up with Tiria.
“What’n the name o’ seasons is a blinkin’ goose doin’ in the middle of a forced march?”
Tiria came straight to the defence of her friend. “I don’t know, Cap’n, but he’s come a long way to be with me, so it must be something important.”
The barnacle goose raised his weary head from the grass. “I come from the Abbey of Redwall to see this maid.”
Captain Granden twiddled his long ears in admiration. “I say, well done that, bird, wot! Right, then see her y’must, but we can’t halt the march. Subalterns Quartle an’ Portan, fall out! You two buckoes stay here with Lady Tiria an’ this bird. We’re carryin’ on to the field o’ battle. Afraid you’ll have to catch us up later, marm!”
Tiria nodded. “Thank you, Cap’n. Don’t worry, we’ll find you once our business here is done.”
Granden smiled and threw a hasty salute. “Oh, you’ll find us, marm. Just march t’the sound o’ the Eulalias, that’s where the Long Patrol will be!” He sped off after the other hares.
Tiria gave Brantalis a drink from Portan’s canteen and sat down by his side. “Take your time now. What news from the Abbey?”
Brantalis drank greedily before making his report. “I am thinking there is much news, but that can wait for a better time. Your father the Skipper, the Abbess and the Old Quelt beast sent me here to deliver this. I have not broken flight once since I left Redwall.”
Bending his neck forward, the goose used his bill to delve among the thick downy plumage, where his neck broadened to meet his body. He had some difficulty trying to move the object which was ringed around the thick base of his throat. Brantalis grumbled, “I am thinking this was easier to put on than to get off!”
Quartle gallantly offered his help. “Straighten your neck. Chin up, I mean beak up, old lad. I’ve got the confounded thing!”
Portan assisted him in moving the coronet from about the bird’s neck. Both hares gasped in wonderment.
“Oh my giddy aunt’s pinny, it’s a bloomin’ crown!”
“No it ain’t, Porters, it’s a wotsisname . . . a tiara!”
“Isn’t that the confounded thing that was supposed to have gone down with the jolly old ship?”
“Well here it is, old lad, Tiria’s tiara. I say, that’s pretty good, ain’t it? Tiria’s tiara!”
The ottermaid accepted it graciously from the two subalterns. “It’s called a coronet. Oh, Brantalis, how can I ever thank you? What a great friend you are!”
The barnacle goose ruffled his feathers back into place modestly. “You once helped me, I am thinking it was the least I could do to help you, Tiria Wildlough.”
Quartle and Portan began rubbing their paws gleefully.
“Well, go on, miss, put it on, wot wot!”
“Aye, let’s see if it fits your royal bonce, miss.”
Tiria took the simple gold circlet, with its inset stone which sparkled like green fire, and placed it lightly on her head. It fitted easily about her brow.
Brantalis stood and spread his wings. “I am thinking that was made for you!”
Portan flopped his ears, always a sign of admiration in hares. “By the left right’n’centre, miss, you really look the blinkin’ part now, wot!”
He was correct. With the addition of the coronet to the breastplate and cloak, Tiria looked unmistakably regal.
Quartle made an elegant, sweeping bow. “We are your most humble bloomin’ servants, Queen Tiria. Your wish is our flippin’ command, Majesty!”
The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. “Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn’t matter what I dress up in, I’m still me, Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. Let’s put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you’re up to it, Brantalis?”
The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. “Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!”
The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their enslaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.
Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution. “Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an’ make a forced charge, straight inside?”
At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun. “Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn’t be expectin’ a move like that. Sounds alright t’me!”
Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. “Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o’ fool? The instant we threw down our arms an’ surrendered, he’d have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they’d do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling ’em in the lake to stop us gettin’ at ’em.”
Kolun patted his brother’s shoulder sadly. “She’s right, mate. It wouldn’t work.”
A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted. “You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o’ bother, wot!”