been visited upon their peaceful Redwall home.
As always, Basil was first to shake things up. The gangling hare bobbed back upon the rainy road once
more.
“Wallopin’ weasels,” he called. “What’s all this? Layin’ about under the trees like a load of saturated
stoats, fillin’ your faces like a pile of moonstruck moles, squattin’ there with your great jaws flappin’ like
frogs at a flychasin’. Come on, let’s be havin’ you! Form up here, chins in, chests out, shoulders straight,
paws at the correct angle to the fur of the hindlegs. Last one in line’s on a fizzer. Jump to attention like
this!”
Basil leapt high into the air, landing squarely on splayed hindpaws. No sooner had he hit the path with
a squelch than he shot into the air again with his face squinched tight in pain.
“Yowchaballyhoop!”
Quickly Matthias was at his side. “Basil, what is it, are you hurt?”
The hare held up a hindpaw. “Hurt? I’m bally well near speared to death, old lad. Take a gander at me
flippin’ paw, will you? I’ve been skewered by a tree trunk.”
Matthias inspected Basil’s hindpaw. “Hmm, it’s a large splinter, quite deep too.”
“Ha, splinter?” The retired regimental hare puffed his cheeks out indignantly. “Splinter, y’say. My life,
if that’s not an enemy spear or at least a rusty dagger stuck in there m’ name’s not Stag Hare, sir!”
Matthias tried to keep a straight face. “Righto, Basil, hop over onto the grass under the trees here. Jess,
lend a paw, will you? You’re good at getting splinters, er, tree trunks out. The rest of you, carry on north up
the path. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we’ve dealt with our wounded warrior here.”
Mrs. Churchmouse hefted a copper ladle she had brought along to deal with the slavers. “Right, form
up and follow me. Search both sides of the road and the path as well. See you three later.”
Basil shook his head in admiration. “That’s the good old style. You give ’em mud and vinegar, marm,
just like my old mum used to give me. Yowch! Whatcha doin’, Jess? Tryin’ to hack me old paw off?”
“Keep quiet, you big baby,” the squirrel snorted. “Matthias, hold him still while I dig this splinter out.
Hold steady now, I think I’ve got the end of it.”
“Ahoo ahah! Easy there, old tree-walloper. Oohooh!”
“Tree-walloper! I’ll give you tree-walloper, you flop-eared foodbin. Be still, here it comes. Aha, gotcha!”
Jess drew forth a long sharp wood splinter. “Now suck your pad and spit out awhile, then I’ll tie a few
dockleaves round it. What d’you make of this, Matthias?”
Matthias peered closely at the splinter. “Blue paint, it’s got blue paint on it. I’ll bet a bushel of acorns to
a cask of ale it’s from that cart.”
“See the trouble and pain I go to findin’ clues for you buffers,” Basil sniffed nobly. “I say, chaps, is that
a piece of torn cloth on that bush behind you?”
Jess bounded over and retrieved the scrap of material. “Indeed it is. Red and yellow, just like that
covering the fox ducked under as we came out of the Abbey gate.”
They investigated, searching deeper into the woodland.
“Here’s a broken branch. Rain never did that.”
“Some bark’s been scuffed from this willow here.”
“Look, axle grease on the long grass!”
Matthias straightened up. “That’s it. They did pass this way, cutting off the road and striking east
through the forest. If we hurry we may catch them up before night. They can’t travel fast in woodland
pulling a cart.”
“But what about the others?”
“Can’t spare the time to fetch ’em, I’m ’fraid. Besides, they’d wander all over the show and hold us up.”
“You’re right, Basil, we can deal with the fox and his band if we take them by surprise. Let’s leave a
message at the roadside for Mrs. Churchmouse and the others in case they come back looking for us. Here,
I’ll write on this haversack with some charcoal and we’ll stand it on a stick by the side of the path.”
“Capital wheeze, laddie buck. Right, forward the buffs and don’t worry about B. Stag Hare esquire. It
takes more than a splinter to keep a good scout down, y’know.”
A short while later, the trio had struck off east into the wet woodlands of Mossflower.
Chapter 14
Mattimeo sat in frightened silence as Slagar undid the drawstring of his silk-patterned harlequin headcover.
“Watch, little one. Before I begin my story you must see this!” With a flick of his paw the fox whipped
off the hood.
The young mouse swallowed hard. It was the most horrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Slagar’s
head was that of a normal fox, on the left side. His right side was hideous! Only the eye was alive and
unwinking in the dead half of the sly one’s face, the rest was scabrous furless flesh, with the side of the
mouth twisted upward into a fiendish grin. Greenish gums and yellowed teeth hung out of the frozen jaw,
and the skin beneath showed a mottled black and purple, hanging in folds, loose and lifeless.
Mattimeo was revolted, but he could not tear his eyes away from the awful sight. Slagar laughed, a
short breathless cackle which trickled damply from the dreadful mouth.
“Look at me. Aren’t I the pretty one?”
Mattimeo’s stomach heaved queasily. “H-h-how did that happen?” he gasped.
Slagar hid the injured side of his face by holding the silken hood to it. “A long long time ago, or that’s
what it seems like. Anyhow, it was before you were born. I was a wandering healer fox. Me and my
mother, Sela the Vixen, knew many secrets of healing arts and the herbs, nostrums, potions and remedies of
the forest. Eight seasons ago your Redwall creatures fought a great war with the rats from the north. It was
woodlanders who betrayed my mother to the rats. They speared her and she was left to die in a ditch. I was
wounded and captured by those at Redwall. They held me prisoner in a room called the infirmary. Oh, they
said it was only until I got well, but I knew better. A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter what they call the
place where they keep him from his freedom and deny him liberty. So one afternoon, while your father’s
precious creatures were about their business, I escaped!
“Haha, no creature can keep me locked up for long,” he continued. “As payment for my troubles I took
some baubles from Redwall with me, silly little things, bits and pieces. As I ran from the Abbey I was
stopped by some silly old mouse, some buffer called Methuselah, so I killed him. It was no great fight; his
head cracked the wall and that was that. I was forced to flee for my life, with that great badger and a horde
of woodlanders behind me. Deep into Mossflower I ran. I knew it well in those days. There was a hiding
place, a small cave beneath the stump of a tree, and I hid there. If I had not been forced into hiding I would
have escaped unharmed. Anyhow, there I was, hiding while half of the stupid Redwall creatures crashed
around Mossflower trying to find me. I did not know that there was another creature in the darkness of that
little cave with me, but there was. It was a serpent, a huge adder. I must have touched it in the darkness
because it struck and sank its fangs in me, right here.”
Slagar pointed to his disfigured face, just under the jaw. “Any other creature would have been instantly
slain,” he boasted. “Not me, though. I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke it had dragged
me through the forest to its lair. I was in burning agony, deep paralyzing pain. Somewhere near me I could