"Careful, mates, they're carryin' axes under those cloaks!"
Florian stood up. "Steady in the ranks, chaps, leave this t'me. I'll do the talkin'. See those strange markin's? I reckon I heard about these creatures, but I never thought I'd ave the bad luck to see 'em for myself. Marlfoxes they're calledbad beasts!"
The foxes stopped a few paces short of the group. Florian walked cautiously out and greeted them. "Good day, friends. Beautiful summer mornin', wot?"
Gelltor, the male fox, nodded slightly before speaking. "Who are you and where do you go?"
Florian bowed eloquently, sweeping off his hat with a flourish. "As you can see by our, ahem, cart, we are the Wandering Noonvale Companions, a purely theatrical group of talented creatures."
Predak, the female, moved closer to the fire. "What's in the pot?"
Deesum dipped a short curtsy. "It's a sort of soupy broth. You're welcome to join us."
Predak leaned over the pot and sniffed. She wrinkled her muzzle disgustedly. "Slops!"
Borrakul picked up a large pebble and tossed it from paw to paw. "Nobeast's forcin' ye to eat it an' you weren't asked to insult it either. Good manners don't cost much, fox."
Predak's paw edged toward her cloak. "Mayhap I'll teach you a few manners, riverdog!"
Florian was quickly between them. "Tush an' pish, what's all this?"
Predak drew her paw away from the ax beneath her cloak. "You've told us who you are, but you never said where you were goin'."
The hare waved a paw airily. "Oh, thither an' yon, y'know, thither an' yon. A travelin' show like ours doesn't actually go anywhere, we roam as the mood takes us. But you, friend, will you tell us your names, and where you are bound on this summer's day, wot?"
The Marlfox's pale eyes stared insolently at the hare. "What we are called is not your concern, and where we go is nobeast's business."
Florian Dugglewoof Wilffachop's ears quivered with indignation. "Soho! It's bad manners an' insult time, is it? Well, listen t'me, you popbellied, pickle-nosed, louse-bound patchquilts! You can both take a runnin' dive into that stream an' boil your fat heads, an' furthermore you can take your mange-ridden hides out of our camp before I assist you with a stout right boot. Good day to ye both!"
Gelltor had his ax half drawn when the otter Elachim picked up a thick pole used in a balancing act and flicked the air in front of the fox's face with it. "I wouldn't draw that ax if'n I was you, matey. This pole cracks 'eads easier'n it does eggs!"
Predak found herself facing Borrakul holding his big pebble ready to throw and backed by the two moles brandishing burning sticks from the fire. Runktipp dashed across to the cart and dragged out a long shining sword, a stage prop that bent and flopped about comically.
"Now back off, both of ye, or get ready t'find out the color of yore own insides. Move!"
The Marlfoxes knew they were outflanked and outnumbered, and backed off toward the rocks. Gelltor pointed at the troupe and snarled, "We'll meet again, but 'twill be different next time!"
Florian threw the hem of his frock coat up across one shoulder and called back in an outrageously dramatic voice. "Indeed it will be different! The land will be rid of two rogues when next we cross paths, mark m'words, you spotty villains!"
Predak pointed beyond the troupe and shouted, "We're not the only two here. There are others behind you!"
The entire troupe turned and scanned the landscape. After a moment or two Florian scoffed, "Not an earthly sight of anybeast. What do they think we are to fall for that one, a bunch of oafs, wot?"
When they turned back again the two Marlfoxes had vanished as if into thin air. Florian sighed. "Wish we could learn that trick. Ah well, comrades, onward ever onward."
Deesum was still looking about fearfully. "Onward to where?"
With a great flourish the hare kicked the cooking pot over, letting the meager broth spill into the stream. "Why, onward to Redwall Abbey of course, m'dear, where else?"
Roop chuckled and rubbed his stomach gleefully. "Hurr, oi dearly luvs ee vittles at Red'all h'Abbey."
Florian issued the orders. "Attention, troupe! Load up the cart. Borrakul, Elachim, in the shafts, please. Runktipp, you and I will walk behind armed with poles to protect our rear. The rest of you ride in the cart. We must get the news to Redwall, there are Marlfoxes in the land!"
As late-morning heat shimmered on the flatlands and grasshoppers chirruped dryly beneath a hot summer sun, the cart trundled off toward Mossflower Wood, with the entire company singing.
"Oh for the open road,
No dullard's life for me,
The world is my abode,
Performing endlessly.
I'm free I'm free, companions we,
Travel the highways happily,
Performing deeds of derring-do,
And plays of heroes good and true,
Tumbling singing in merry attire,
Pray tell me, sir, what's your desire?
Come fiddle dum twiddle dum derrydownday,
A harum-scarum hoopallahey,
Come one come all this day to see
The Wandering Noonvale Companeeeeeeeeee!"
At the very heart of Mossflower country the vastness of lordly, wide-trunked trees gave way to an expansive watermeadow, formed in a wide shallow basin at the juncture of two streams. Midafternoon heat haze shimmered on the far margin as Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim, stood waist deep at the fringe of the tall reeds with his shrews. Though usually a loud argumentative band, the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower were unusually quiet. Each small scruffy furred fighter, equipped with varicolored headband and short rapier, watched their leader as he parted bulrush and marsh-wort. Raising himself on tip-paw, Log a Log shaded his eyes, peering about over the reaches of water lily, crowfoot and brookweed. A large striped dragonfly hovered near the shrew Chieftain's face, investigating him. He growled at it. "Buzz off!" Surprisingly, it did. He watched a brown trout fin idly by him, just beneath the surface. Log a Log wished that he could forget his tribe's troubles and go fishing. Behind him a young shrew chewed noisily at some watercress, and Log a Log turned and fixed him with a severe stare. The young Guosim shrew stopped chewing and swallowed guiltily. An older shrew pointed across Log a Log's shoulder.
"Over there, Chief!"
Log a Log's eyes narrowed as he turned and stared searchingly out over the sunstill reaches of the water-meadow. Over at the eastern edge, by a stand of weeping willows, an oar poked itself in the air, waving back and forth thrice. He cupped both paws around his mouth and let forth a long ululating call.
"Logalogalogalogaaaaaa!"
Immediately the shrews behind him relaxed and began chattering.
"That'll be Bargle an' the others!"
"Then the coast mebbe clear, eh?"
"Well, the Chief wouldn't have called if 'twasn't, stump'ead!"
Log a Log followed as they waded back onto dry ground, still disputing and debating.
"Stump'ead yerself, wobblesnout. 'Ow d'you know they ain't still around?"
"Wobblesnout? Lissen, matey, if I 'ad a snout like yores I'd keep me gob shut about others'."
"Mebbe Bargle was alone. The others might've been ambushed."
"Nah, Splikker was with 'em. He wouldn't let hisself get ambushed."
"Oh, wouldn't 'e, then? Remember that time by the south rapids ..."
"Stow the gab an' latch yore lips, mates. Mayon, see to the vittles!"
Log a Log stamped up onto the bank, shaking water from himself. The shrews were seated in a circle three deep when Bargle and his scouts came in. Log a Log motioned them to sit and help themselves to a beaker of rough cider each and some wedges of white celery cheese with shrewbread. When they were comfortably settled and eating, Bargle made his report.