get to rest. Move yourselves now, step lively.”
He carried on up the line, urging others on. When he was out of earshot Sam spoke up.
“I think Mattimeo is right. We should be trying to help ourselves and not waiting for others. I know
there’ll be a big search party out from Redwall, but it’d take a miracle to find us in this deep woodland after
all that rain. The only thing I’d say is do the sensible thing, don’t try any silly moves, and if any creature
sees the chance of an escape, let us know so that we can organize it properly. Cynthia was right when she
said what Slagar would do to anybody he caught trying to escape.”
Vitch darted through the bushes. He caught Sam a glancing blow, which was partly softened by the
young squirrel’s bushy tail.
“You talk too much, squirrel. Talking’s not allowed between slaves. Another word out of you and I’ll
whack you proper!”
Sam’s eyes narrowed and he growled dangerously at Vitch, The undersized rat swung the willow cane
at him. With a lightning-fast move, Sam snatched the willow withe and snapped it. He flung the broken
cane at Vitch, his teeth showing white and sharp.
“One day I’m going to get free of these chains, rat,” Sam vowed. “When I do, all the canes in the forest
won’t stop me getting you!”
“That’s if I don’t get him first!” Mattimeo interrupted.
Vitch’s nerve failed him. He dashed off up the line.
“Yah, you won’t get loose where you’re going!” he called back.
The rat ran straight into Slagar. The fox cuffed him soundly and threw him to the ground.
“Stow the noise, addlebrains! The rest of you, get the prisoners between those two big firs over there
and secure the line chain. Threeclaws, come with me. I saw something interesting a while back. Wartclaw,
you and Badrag are in charge. Feed that lot and keep ’em quiet. Be ready to travel the moment I return. Got
that?”
“Aye, aye, Chief.”
The captives found good dry grass to lie upon. It was nearing sunset now, and songbirds were shrilling
their last plaintive tunes before nightfall. Cynthia Bankvole found some dried moss, which they stuffed
between the manacles and their limbs. It was comforting and soothing. Tim shared some wild fennel and
green acorns he had gathered on the day’s march.
Auma lay with her chin on her paws, staring into the forest ahead of them. She was very tired and
thinking of nothing in particular when she found herself staring into the eyes of a large frilled newt. The
creature winked at her with his flat moist eyes.
“Little stripedog all chained up. Sillybeast, why d’you lettem do that to yer?” he asked.
“We’ve been captured by Slagar and his band. Who are you?” Auma whispered urgently as she called
the others with a wave of her paw.
Mattimeo prodded Cynthia. “Keep an eye on the guards. Let’s see what this fellow has to say.”
The newt crawled a little closer, lying low to keep his bright red underbelly from showing.
“Name’s Scurl Droptail. Too clever to lettem chain me up. See ’em pass here before, fox an’
weaselfellers.”
“Scurl, can you help us?” Mattimeo tried hard to keep his voice calm.
The newt blinked and wobbled his crest. “Why’ll Scurl help you sillybeasts? Not lendin’ yer my keys.
Scurl got many keys, special keys, open any lock.”
“He’s got keys!” Tess murmured to Mattimeo so Scurl could not hear. “We must try to borrow them.”
Mattimeo licked dry lips, then spoke earnestly to the newt.
“Scurl, you must realize our position. We’re in danger, We might never see our homes again. You must
lend us your keys. I promise we won’t keep them. We only want to borrow them for a moment.”
The newt closed his eyes and shot his tongue in and out as if he were in deep thought. Then one eye
opened.
“Wotchergot? Cummon, wotchergot, ’ey? It’ll cost you, oh yes, cost you. Scurl’s keys don’t borrow fer
nothin’ no, no.”
Sam nodded. “That’s fair enough, Scurl. Wait there a moment, will you.”
They huddled together, whispering.
“What do we use to bargain? I’ve got nothing,” Mattimeo said.
Auma produced some pressed blue flowers. “They’re mountain flowers. My father used to find them
for me. They might not be worth anything, but they’re pretty. Bet he’s never seen mountain flowers.”
Tim spat something out and dried it on his habit sleeve. “My lucky green stone, though it’s not brought
me much luck. I’m always sucking it. Look, it’s quite flat.”
Mattimeo looked from one to another. “Anything else?”
Tess took an object on a thong from about her neck. “This is my seasonday gift from Mum. It’s a carved
beechnut shaped like a bell.”
Sam reluctantly undid something that was hidden by the long brush of his tail. He tossed it in with the
pitiful collection. “Mum’s champion climber tailbracelet. It’s made from baked clay and reedgrass, painted
three different colours too. I borrowed it to wear for the feast that night.”
Mattimeo unfastened his soft white habit girdle. “Suppose I’d better throw this in too. Dad said it
belonged to old Abbot Mortimer before my time. It’s a nice one.”
“Let me do this,” Tess offered. She gathered the objects up and signalled to the newt.
Cynthia Bankvole hissed a warning, remaining frozen in her upright position on watch. Immediately
the newt dropped out of sight and the companions lay flat as if asleep.
Wartclaw strode over. He tickled Cynthia under her chin with his cane.
“Not sleepy, eh, missie?”
“Er, no sir,” Cynthia gulped. “I can’t seem to get any sleep.”
“Well, you ought to take lessons from your little pals yonder. Look, they’re snoozin’ like a pile of bees
trying to last out the winter.”
Cynthia was too petrified even to look. She sat staring at Wartclaw with the cane pressing painfully into
her throat. Wartclaw gave the cane a hard shove, sending Cynthia flat on her back, both chained paws
clutching her neck.
“Get to sleep before I tuck you in with this cane, vole, and don’t let me catch you napping when we
start to march again,” Wartclaw’s voice hissed close to her ear.
He strode off, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. “Must’ve had a featherbed life in that Redwall
place before we got our claws on ’em…. Huh, can’t sleep, sir!”
Cynthia sat up partially. “He’s gone now. Oh, do hurry up!” she said, her voice trembling.
Scurl scampered swiftly up and seized the things the others had collected for him.
“Hmm, notmuch, notmuch. Funny bell, though. Nice ring, soft white rope, nice on Scurl.” He held the
white habit girdle against his red underside.
Tess gave a look of mock admiration. “Oh, that does look nice on you. Now put the bracelet on your
tail. No, like this. Let me see… oh yes, hang my beechnut bell around your neck. Very handsome. Tuck the
blue flowers in the thong up by your frill. There! You can carry the green stone.”
Auma placed a paw upon Scurl’s back. “Just a moment, where’s the keys?”
The newt gave her a scornful glance. “Don’t carryem. Huh, wouldn’t carryem, gotter go for em.”
Auma kept her paw firmly on Scurl. “How do I know you’ll come back?”
Scurl stood upright, his eyes wide and a dignified expression upon his face. “Stripedog, you be no
woodlander, right?”
Auma nodded glumly. “No, I’m from the western plain. I’m a flatland badger.”
“I be woodlander, tellem ’bout woodlander rule, mouse.” Scurl smiled disarmingly.
Tess turned to Auma. “He’s right, we have a woodland code. All honest and true woodlanders are