you may take a tub.
Wash the mud out your ears, so you’ll hear us my dears,
for ’tis truth to tell,
you will know how it feels, with a clean pair of heels,
from a Redwall Farewell!”
Raga Bol watched as Ferron and Rojin barred and shut the big wallgates. Wirga followed him inside the gatehouse, waiting silently on his command. The Searat slumped down on Old Phredd’s bed, speaking his thoughts as he gazed up at the ceiling.
“Tonight, once ’tis dark, we attack. You stay ’ere wid a few o’ the crew. Light a fire, make lots o’ noise, they’ll think we’re all round by this gate’ouse. I’ll take the rest an’ storm the Abbey by surprise. Tell Ferron to gather all the wood that ain’t burned. We’ll need it to get up the rubble. I’ll be inside afore that ole Abbotmouse knows it. I’ll teach those bumpkins to defy Raga Bol. The floors in there’ll be awash wid blood by the time I’m done!”
Wirga ventured some questions. “Do I leave the gates locked, Cap’n? What if Blowfly an’ Glimbo return with the prisoners? Or my three sons, what if they return with Jibsnout?”
Raga Bol looked sideways at his Seer. “They got paws’n’voices, ain’t they? Let ’em bang on the gates or call for ye to open up.”
Wirga humbled her tone, knowing she was touching on a delicate subject. “Jibsnout and my sons are gone overlong now, they should have returned. Thou wouldst know then if the big stripedog still lives.”
Bol snapped up off the bed. “Wot do I care about yore whelps, or Jibsnout, eh? I gave ’em a job to do, they should be doin’ it. As fer the stripedog, mention ’im agin an’ I’ll let daylight through yore skinny carcass. Now get out an’ give my orders to Ferron an’ the crew. We attack tonight!”
30
Horty looked around blankly, spreading his paws. “Gone? Where in the name o’ seasons have they gone to? They were supposed t’wait here, wot!”
Bragoon held up a paw. “Quiet, mate, don’t move, stay still!” He cast around, starting in a small circle and going wider. “If ye go shufflin’ about with those big paws o’ yores, this dusty ground’ll get disturbed. Ahah! Here’s their tracks, aye, an’ one other, too. Quick, mate, grab all the gear an’ foller me!”
Horty gathered up the cloaks and staves which had formed the lean-to. Burdened by this, plus the two gourds of water on his yoke, he staggered after the otter. Bragoon, having shed his share of the water, was forging ahead swiftly.
Horty protested. “I say, old bean, that’s a bit wasteful, ain’t it, leavin’ behind good water that you had to carry half the blinkin’ night?”
Bragoon kept his eyes on the trail as he answered. “Can’t stop now, got t’get to our mates fast—’tis a matter o’ life an’ death. Keep up as best ye can!” Hurrying forward, the otter began emitting an odd, piercing whistle.
Horty plodded on, twitching his ears in disapproval. “Huh, matter of life’n’death, an’ the bounder’s whistlin’ if y’please? Wouldn’t mind, but it’s not even a flippin’ catchy tune. The bally beast’s brains have gone to his rudder if y’ask me, wot!”
Eventually Bragoon spotted the three figures, out on the arid plain. Springald and Saro were shuffling along facing backwards, supporting Fenna. Closely following the otter and his three companions, an adder was slithering, its forked tongue flickering out, sensing prey, the fatigued trio ahead of it. Hearing the sound of Bragoon’s high-pitched whistle, the snake turned, bunching its coils and hissing viciously. Not as big as some serpents the otter had encountered, it was a male, just beginning to get its growth. But angry and deadly enough to deal a fatal bite with one speedy strike of its venomous fangs. Continuing to whistle, Bragoon drew his sword and moved closer, making ready to fight if necessary. The otter smiled grimly. His ploy had worked: the hunting adder had now become the hunted, its fate sealed.
Before the old warrior could strike, the young hare bawled out a warning. “Look out, pal, here come those blinkin’ buzzards again!”
Like thunderbolts out of the blue vaults of morning, two large adult birds whizzed down. With total disregard for the snake’s venomous fangs, they struck their quarry with lightning speed. The murderous beaks and talons of both buzzards snuffed out the adder’s life with savage skill and ferocity. The dead snake was still writhing in the dust whilst they continued their frenzied attack. Then it went still, and the hawks screeched out their victory cry.
Shielding her eyes against the sun, Saro watched the predators bearing their limp prey off into the cloudless sky as Bragoon and the hare approached her.
She shook her head ruefully. “I wish I’d learned t’do that whistle. Never could get the hang of it, though. Burn me brush! Is that water you’ve got there, Horty?”
Shedding all his trappings, the young hare sank wearily down. “Indeed it is, marm, but I’m afraid you’ll jolly well have to com’n’get it for yourselves. I’m whacked out!”
Bragoon took the yoke from him and sat it across his shoulders, then lifted the two gourds. “Ye did well, mate, take a rest now.”
The elderly squirrel and the two Abbeybeasts sat amid the wasteland dust, gulping down the life-giving liquid. The otter soaked a cloth, allowing it to dribble into Fenna’s mouth. He wiped her face with the damp material, cautioning them, “Drink slower, or ye’ll be sick. This young un’ll be right as rain soon. So, wot ’appened, mate?”
Saro looked up from the gourd. “Just afore dawn, I scented the adder. Huh, I can sniff those things a mile off!”
She continued drinking as Springald took up the tale. “We knew it was somewhere close, stalking us. It was too dangerous to stay inside the lean-to, the snake would’ve found us. So we sneaked quietly off, but the adder saw us and came right on our track. I’ve never seen an adder before—horrible beast! I was scared clean out of my wits. Good job you found us in time, we couldn’t have carried Fenna much further. And, Bragoon, will you teach me that whistle? It saved our lives!”
The otter lifted Fenna onto his back. “Some other time, miss. Let’s get this ’un into the pineforest shade. We found a stream over that way. I’ll take ye to it.”
Saro closed her eyes dreamily. “A pine forest an’ a whole streamful o’ beautiful babblin’ water. Lead on, mate!”
They entered the pines when it was midday. Horty raced ahead until he found the stream. He ran toward it, turning his head to shout, “This is the place, chaps! Hawhaw, wait’ll I tell you what old Brag did to a gang of bullyin’ reptiles last night. He gave ’em the towsing of their lousy lives, he . . . nunhhhhh!”
Without paying attention, Horty had run full head-on into a thick, low pine branch. He was laid flat out, unconscious.
Saro ran to him and lifted his head. “Stone-cold senseless! That makes two we got to nurse now. Why didn’t the lop-eared gallumper look where he was goin’?”
The remainder of the afternoon was spent beside the stream. Springald looked after her two friends whilst the older pair went foraging for food. It was so pleasant in the shade of the tall pines. Besides tending the invalids, the mousemaid had time to paddle and wash in the stream. It was a cool and peaceful spot with sunlight and shadow dappling everywhere. Fenna was recovering nicely when Bragoon and Saro returned. The two old campaigners brought with them wonderful chestnut-coloured mushrooms, wild onions, dandelion buds and a variety of edible roots and berries.
Bragoon was heartened by the sight of the squirrelmaid. “Feelin’ better, eh, beauty? Well, we can’t light no cookin’ fires in a pine forest like this, ’tis too risky. Do ye fancy a nice salad, miss?”
Fenna watched the otter chopping everything finely with his swordblade. “Salad would be perfect, thank you!”