Night had descended over Redwall Abbey. Brother Gelf and Brother Weld sat by the dormitory window with Toran and Martha. The vermin had extinguished the fire on the Abbey lawn. Only the glow from a fire by the gatehouse could be seen. Abbot Carrul came up from the kitchens, threading his way through the Redwallers, who were resting on the dormitory floor. He pushed a trolley along to Martha and the watchers.
“I thought you might like some leek and chestnut soup. There’s freshly baked cheesebread here, too.”
Toran nodded admiringly. “Ole Granmum Gurvel’s a treasure. All the strife we’re goin’ through, but she still finds time to cook good vittles for us. Thankee, Father!”
Abbot Carrul stared out the window. “Pretty calm out there. I imagine the vermin are taking their supper by that fire near the gatehouse. You can hear their voices when the wind drifts this way. Do you think they’ll bother us tonight?”
Brother Weld exchanged glances with his friend Brother Gelf. “Well, you heard them say they’d attack us when it got dark. Don’t let that little decoy by the gatehouse fool you, Abbot, they’ll be coming shortly.”
Carrul poised his ladle over the soup cauldron. “You’ll excuse me saying, but we don’t look exactly ready to stand off an attack, with everybeast sitting about on the beds and the floor. How will you know if the Searats are stealing up on us under cover of darkness?”
Brother Gelf chuckled. “Oh, we’ll know sure enough, Father.”
From out on the lawn, shrieks and curses rent the air, together with the clatter of falling wood. Martha said calmly, “That’ll be them now. Right, friends, all to the windows and take up your positions.”
The Abbot ducked to avoid a hooked window pole that Foremole Dwurl was carrying. “Will somebeast pray tell me what is going on out there?”
Martha patted the paws of the two brothers beside her. “It was their idea. We knew Raga Bol and his Searats would come once night fell. So Brother Weld and Brother Gelf had the bright idea of throwing broken glass, from the windows of Great Hall, out onto the lawn. Then, if the Searats tried to sneak up in the dark, they’d naturally let us know. It worked rather well, Father. Just listen to them!”
Raga Bol lurched about on the darkened lawn. He grabbed one of his crewrats, cuffing him about his ears. “Silence, ye fool, wot’s all the yowlin’ about?”
The Searat limped this way and that, trying to dodge the blows. “Somethin’ sharp is stickin’ right into me footpaw. I couldn’t ’elp it, Cap’n, I swear!”
Bol shoved him away scornfully. “Somethin’ sharp, eh? I’ll give ye somethin’ sharp if’n ye don’t shuttup. Any chance we ’ad of a surprise ambush is long gone now. Never mind yore footpaws, get some fire in yore bellies an’ try t’be like real Searats. Avast there crew . . . Charge!”
Keeping his voice low as he heard the captain bellowing, Toran the ottercook gave his own orders. “Up t’the winders, mates, let go the water!”
Sturdy moles trundled forward to the windows. They hurled out the contents of bowls, pails, pots, pans, cauldrons and buckets. Water cascaded over the rubble heap, which piled outward, protecting the Abbey door.
The first ranks of Searats flung tree limbs, planks and long branches against the heap. Raga Bol dashed about, shouting encouragement. “The fools won’t stop us wid a drop o’ water! Up ye go, buckoes. Board the place like it was a ship an’ slay ’em all!”
Crewrats began scaling up the timbers. Unfortunately for them, the wood started sinking into the rubble, which had turned into a big mudheap, owing to the water drenching it. However, three of the longest planks spanned the mess, their ends resting on the sandstone lintel above the door.
When Raga Bol saw this, he waved his scimitar about wildly. “Ferron, Hangclaw, Rinj, gerrup those long bits. Come on, all paws t’the planks. Get through those winders, look sharp!”
Clenching blades in their fangs, the Searats clambered skilfully up the wooden lengths. The planks bellied under their combined weight but held.
Raga Bol laughed like a madbeast. “Haharr, keep goin’. We’ll make it, mates!”
But they never quite made it. Hotroot pepper bombs burst on the heads of the lead climbers. Vermin wobbled on the planktops, trying to hold on whilst fending off the searing packages that pelted them.
Toran and the Redwall defenders appeared at the window spaces bringing their long, hooked window poles into play. The ottercook and four others latched on to a centre plank and heaved it out from the wall.
“Push, friends! Put yore backs into it an’ shove!”
Under the concerted effort of the Abbeybeasts, the plank was forced outward. Searats clung shrieking to it, as the pole moved it away. With nothing to support it, the plank teetered for a moment, then toppled over backwards with vermin clinging to its underside.
Willing paws plied more window poles. Sister Setiva, Sister Portula and a crowd of elders pushed the left plank. Brothers Weld and Gelf, assisted by Gurvel, Foremole and three of his crew, pushed the one to the right. They strained and grunted, leaning their weight against the bending window poles.
Martha gripped the arms of her chair, lifting her body forward. She could hear herself roaring. “Push hard as you can. Push!”
The planks fell, one to either side of the windows. Wood scraped against stone as they plunged sideways. Wailing Searats threw themselves clear—some going headlong into the mudheap, others thudding on the paving stones below.
The defenders fell in a heap on the dormitory floor, yelling out a great victorious cry. “Redwaaaaalllllll!”
Martha was about to drop back into her chair when an awful sight froze the breath in her throat. The Searat Ferron was crouching before her, framed in the window. He had leaped from the first plank before it had begun its backward journey. Latching on to the sill, Ferron had hauled himself up onto the windowledge. Now he perched there, snarling, a long dagger in one paw, ready to kill. In front of him, the Abbot had risen from the jumble on the floor and was standing with both paws raised wide, joining in the joyous shout of Redwall, with his back to the window.
Time stood still, Martha’s voice had deserted her. She was holding herself up, with her paws still gripping the chair arms. In front of her, Abbot Carrul stood, smiling at the haremaid and cheering lustily. Behind him, the Searat raised his dagger, preparing to stab at the Abbot’s unprotected back. Alarm bells were clanging furiously in Martha’s brain, coupled with the voice of Martin the Warrior, thundering at her, “Save your Abbot!”
It was over in a flash! Martha stood upright. Charging past Carrul and pushing him to one side, she hit the Searat, knocking him right out of the dormitory window.
Toran came bulling forward. He grasped the haremaid’s waist, pulling her back into the room. “You walked, Martha! You walked! You walked! You walked!”
32
Down on the lawn, Raga Bol turned and strode away from the scene of his defeat. The Searat Rojin limped up to him. “Cap’n, there’s no way we kin get at ’em. Those beasts ain’t as simple as they look.”
Bol carried on walking without even looking back at Rojin. “Have ye only just realised that? Call the crew off. There’s got t’be a way into that Abbey, an’ I’ll find it. Ye can take my oath on it, ’cos I ain’t movin’ from Redwall. ’Tis mine, d’ye hear me? Mine!”
Somewhere southeast, deep along a woodland trail in Mossflower Wood, Flinky stopped running. Breathless and shaking, he collapsed to the ground. The little gang of escaped vermin flopped down beside him. Badredd slunk at the back of the group, with nobeast paying him the slightest attention. Gone were his days as gangleader. Now all the vermin looked to the stoat, Flinky, as their saviour. He had taken them out of the Searats’ clutches.