Gabool now sorely regretted drowning the bellmaker's daughter. Still, if the old buffoon thought she was alive, there might be a bit of fun here. Gabool decided to toy with his victim.
"If you build my bell tower I will let you see her again, but not until you've carried out the work."
Joseph tugged at the chain. He bit his lip until blood showed, torn by the decision he knew he had to make.
"Gabool, listen. I would not put a single stone atop another for you. Why? Because it would mean death, torture or slavery for countless other good creatures. Don't you understand, rat, my conscience would not let me, after I saw what they did to the Captain and crew of our ship when searats captured us. I know it means that I may never see my young one again. It tears my heart apart, but I must do the right thing for the sake of others."
Gabool summoned up all his cunning, his black soul driving him on to wickedness, belying the smile on his face as he threw his claws wide.
"Haharr, very stubborn, Joseph, but I can see that you're a good creature. Sometimes I wish that I'd never been born wicked, but decent like you. I suppose I'll have to think of somethin' else now. But hark, bellmaker, I'm sure you'd like to see your daughter again, wouldn't you, matey?"
Tears of gratitude beaded in the unsuspecting prisoner's eyes. "She means more to me than anything. Please let me see her!"
Gabool took the keys from a wallspike. "Hell's gates! I must be getting soft in me old age. Come on, then."
They stood in the banqueting hall, barbarian and bellmaker. Joseph looked around him, dragging his chains as he did.
"Where is she?"
Gabool touched the great bell with his sword. "Not so fast, shipmate. If you won't build me a bell tower, then at least tell me what these little pictures and strange words round the top 'n' bottom of my bell mean."
Joseph shuffled anxiously around the bell, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his daughter as he reluctantly read off the rhyme at its base.
"I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts
unite. I will toll the hours out, all daytime and through
night. I will wake good creatures up, from their beds each
morning, Or toll when they're in danger, a clear and brazen
warning. For all the family, son and daughter, husband and
goodwife, I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave
this life. For many great occasions, for many different
reasons, Listen and my voice you'll hear, throughout the
changing seasons. Though I may boom, clang, peal or toll, command
and use me well. But hark, beware the evil ones who would misuse
this bell."
Gabool stared hard at Joseph. "Trash! I'll have it filed off one day. What about the little drawin's an' pictures round the top, what do they mean, bellmaker?"
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Joseph spread his shackled paws. "Only the Lord of Salamandastron knows that. He gave me a parchment with those drawn upon it. Who knows what goes through the minds of the great badger rulers of the fire mountain; they are creatures of destiny. I've told you all I know, now can I see my daughter?"
Gabool led him to the open window.
"Of course, matey, I can't show you the exact spot where she lies, but I can show you how to find her ..."
For Gabool it was but the work of a moment, one swift push!
In the late afternoon the mousemaid cast a long shadow as she wandered the deserted beach alone. Hunger, thirst and attacks of myriad gnats and sandflies had wakened and forced her to desert the hiding place. Over one shoulder she still carried the knotted rope. A long line of pawprints in the sand behind her emphasized the desolation of sea, sand and sky, seemingly inhabited only by predatory seabirds. She had tried gnawing at some young seaweed washed up on the tideline, but the heavy salt taste in the maiden's dry swollen mouth caused her to spit it away. Swaying slightly, she shielded her eyes from the hot orb of the sun and gazed about. Fresh water was nowhere to be had. Turning inland, she made her weary way toward a large outcrop of sand dunes to the south.
Some perverse dogged spirit drove the mousemaid onward, though often she would be toppled over by the hot shifting sand of the dunes. Rolling downhill, she would pick herself up, wipe grit from her eyes and begin climbing again. It was on top of one difficult dune she encountered the first sign of life that was not a seabird. It was a small lizard, eyes half-closed, basking in the heat. The reptile did a sideways shuffle, watching her warily. The maiden tried several times to communicate, managing only a croaking noise. The lizard's head
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weaved from side to side as it snapped bad-temperedly at her.
"You norra frog, you make frognoise, wharra you
want?" The mousemaid managed to gasp out a single word:
"Water."
The small lizard moved its head up and down, its throat pulsating.
"Water faraway. You norra lizard, you die soon, never make it to drinkwater, too far. Soon now they
eat you."
She followed the creature's upward nod. Gulls were beginning to circle overhead; the scavengers of the shore, sensing when a living thing was becoming weaker and more defenseless. The maid grasped the knotted rope and swung it, calling at the sky in a hoarse voice, "I'm not finished yet. You'll see!"
When she looked down, the lizard had gone. Without a backward glance she descended the other side of the dune, half stumbling, half falling. The foot of the dune was in shadow. Before her lay a sandy flatland dotted with scrub and coarse grass. The little mousemaid rested awhile in the welcoming shade. Idly her paw sank into the sand as she leaned back. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. The sand was firm and damp just beneath the surface. Realization that she was not on the seaward side of the dunes brought with it the shining hope of one precious thing. Water!
Scrabbling dizzily, her strength failing rapidly, the maid began digging with all paws. Soon she was rewarded by darker, damp sand. Her paws made a delicious scraping noise as she tossed sand out of the shallow hole. Digging with the urgency of desperation, she was finally rewarded with one wet paw. She sat sucking her paw as the moisture seeped through the ground into the hole, forming a small muddy pool. Throwing herself flat, the little mousemaid shoved her head into the hole and drank greedily, disregarding the
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gritty sand and ooze, as life-giving water flowed down her throat. New vitality surged through her. Gurgling with delight, she lifted her head and found herself staring into the predatory eye of a gannet that had been sneaking up on her.
Thwackl Thwopl
With eye-blurring speed she belted the knotted rope twice into the bird's face. It stumbled, fell over, sticklike legs buckling under it. The mousemaid advanced, swinging her weapon, with battle light in her eyes and a clear angry voice.
"Come on! What d'you want, the water or me? Come on. I'll fight you, you great featherbed!"
The twirling knot struck the gannet a further three times before it managed to flop off into the air with a half-stunned squawk. The little mousemaid felt the blood thrumming in her veins. She tore up a nearby plant and shook it at the sky.
"That goes for all of you. I'll kill the next one that comes after me. D'you hear?"
She found herself shouting at an empty evening sky. The birds had gone in search of less ferocious prey. Inspecting the plant she had pulled from the ground, she noticed that the root was attached to a fat white tuber. Without further hesitation she began munching upon it. The tuber tasted good, something like raw turnip.