The Sister’s voice shook with barely controlled anger. “Och, jist let me get mah paws on those rascals. Ah’ll give ’em somethin’ tae remember me by!”
Buffle strained against the pillowcase knotted at his neck. “Goourr, ’ascals!”
A look of fear crossed the haremaid’s face. “What’s happened, Sister?”
Setiva began trying to release Buffle. “Ooh! Those Dibbuns, Muggum, Shilly an’ Yooch. They’ve gone missing. All the rest o’ the wee ones were fast asleep, except Buffle. D’ye see what they did? Trapped ’im in this auld pillowslip so he couldnae follow ’em. Where in the name of all fur have they got to?”
Buffle pulled a paw free and pointed out the Abbey door.
Junty Cellarhog ran his paw around the inside of his bowl and licked it. “Ah, apple’n’blackberry crumble, mate, nothin’ like it!”
Toran gazed longingly back toward the Abbey. “Aye, pity we’re on wallguard all night. If the Abbot sends out a relief, there might be some left when we get off duty.” Toran’s keen eye suddenly noticed three small, white-clad figures trundling across the lawn in his direction. Two were waving sticks and one swinging a ladle. He peered hard.
“Look there, mate, that ain’t no relief!”
It was at that moment when things began happening fast.
Framed in a shaft of golden light from the Abbey door, Martha and Sister Setiva were pointing to the Dibbuns and calling aloud to them. “Come back here this instant, or you’re in real trouble!”
The trio split, Muggum running south and the other two hurrying off to the north.
Toran saw them and chuckled. “Escapin’ Dibbuns, eh? They won’t get far . . .”
Junty interrupted him roughly. “Look, vermin!”
Badredd and his crew were sneaking quickly out across the lawn, trying to grab Muggum, who was heading for the pond where he planned on hiding in the reeds. The little mole was completely unaware of the enemy. Sister Setiva had come out onto the Abbey steps. As soon as she saw the vermin crew, she began dashing to save Muggum.
Junty was already hurtling down the gatehouse wallsteps, calling back to Toran, “Get the other two little ’uns inside!” He shouted at the shrewnurse. “Stay where ye are, Sister. I’ll bring that Dibbun in!”
With his paws, Toran swept up the giggling Shilly and Yooch—this was all one big game to them—then the ottercook turned and pounded toward the Abbey door.
Slipback came within a paw’s length of grabbing Muggum, when Junty fetched him a massive whack to the chest, laying the weasel out flat. Then the big Cellarhog seized the molebabe and ran as fast as his footpaws would carry him, with Badredd and the crew hard on his heels. Without stopping, Junty snatched up Sister Setiva from where she had been standing in his path, rigid with fright.
Thud! Thud!
Two arrows from the bows of the ferrets buried themselves in the Cellarhog’s broad back. He staggered slightly but kept running. Muggum was screeching, the hedgehog’s sharp spines were sticking in his paws as the molebabe tried to struggle free.
Toran sped into the Abbey, dropped both of the other Dibbuns into Martha’s lap. “Get ready to slam the door shut!” He panted as he turned and ran back outside to help Junty.
One arrow grazed Toran’s cheek, another hit Junty in his right shoulder. Toran shot past the Cellarhog, whirled hard, and caught Crinktail across the face with a huge smack of his rudder. He turned and pushed Junty, with both his burdens, up the steps and into the Abbey, roaring, “Bar the door!”
Redwallers, who had come pouring out of Cavern Hole to see what all the commotion was about, assisted the haremaid in slamming and barring the door in the face of the charging vermin crew. Two more arrows made a hollow sound as they flew into the strong oak timbering. A crash and a tinkle sent Foremole and Brother Weld hurrying to the lower windows.
Toran urged others along with him. “Get tables an’ benches! Barricade the lower frames before they get in!”
Badredd waved his broken cutlass. “Keep at it there, crew, we’ve got ’em on the run!”
Flinky watched a dining table blocking a broken window. He muttered out the side of his mouth to Juppa. “Keep slingin’ rocks, but let ’em barricade those windows. They’d eat our liddle gang if’n we got inside. We’d be well outnumbered, mate.”
Juppa looked puzzled. “Well, if’n we ain’t goin’ in, wot’s the next move?”
Flinky had served under lots of different vermin chiefs, all a lot smarter than Badredd. He winked confidently at the weasel.
“Lissen t’me. If’n we ain’t goin’ in, well they ain’t gettin’ out. Did ye see that great orchard we passed as we came through?”
Badredd came marching around, prodding Flinky with his broken blade. “Wot’s that sling doin’ empty? Keep chuckin’ rocks at those windows until I tell ye to stop. Both of ye!”
Flinky loaded a large pebble into his sling. “Ah, we’ll be doin’ that, yer ’onour, right away. I was just tellin’ ould Juppa here what a clever move ye made.”
Badredd was eager to know just what the clever move was. “Aye, well that’s alright. You explain it to ’er, she was never too bright. Go on, tell the long-tailed oaf.” The small fox stood listening to Flinky’s explanation.
“Hoho, we’ve got the sillybeasts locked up tight now. Prisoners in their own Abbey, ’tis called a siege. There’s only a limited supply o’ food an’ drink in there. Take us now, the chief knows we got the orchard an’ the pond. They’ll either starve t’death in the Abbey or surrender after awhile. Ain’t that right, Chief?”
Only a moment before, Badredd thought he had lost the encounter, but the realisation of what Flinky had just said made him shudder with delight. So that was what a siege was all about.
Keeping a straight face, the fox nodded wisely. “Aye, ’tis a siege, sure enough. Now you two keep slingin’.” He swaggered off, shouting orders to the other vermin. Juppa watched him go. “A siege, eh? What a clever idea!”
Flinky launched another stone but missed. He jumped neatly aside as it bounced back at him. “Ah sure, the ould chief is full o’ clever ideas, especially when some otherbeast thinks ’em up for ’im. Little fool, he couldn’t find his bottom wid both paws!” The weasel and the stoat loaded their slings again, laughing hilariously.
Martha had pulled herself from her chair. She sat on the floor, both eyes shut tight, clutching Junty’s paw to her cheek as she rocked back and forth. The Cellarhog was lying where he had fallen, face up. Muggum was wailing as Sister Portula pulled spikes from his side and paws.
Sister Setiva was similarly engaged. “Och, ye’ve got some fine sharp quills on ye, mah guid Cellarhog. Ah’ll be with ye soon as I’ve got them out o’ me. Hauld him still, Martha, how is he?”
With her eyes still shut, Martha kissed his limp paw. “He’s dead, Sister. Junty is dead!”
23
A squabbling flock of starlings, disputing rights to an ants’ nest, woke Jibsnout in the hour following daybreak. With a cavernous yawn, the big Searat heaved himself upright. He cast a jaundiced eye over the three sons of Wirga who were curled up together, sleeping beneath a wych hazel.
Jibsnout cuffed the trio roughly, stirring them into wakefulness. “Up on yer hunkers, whelps, we’re on the move again!”
The three smaller rats rose reluctantly, one of them glaring balefully at the Tracker and hissing. “We only lay down an hour afore dawn.”
Jibsnout smirked. “Aye, ’tis a shame, ain’t it? Move yerself, snotty snout, an’ don’t argue wid me. If’n I say ye march, then ye march, so button yer lip!”