got rid of his band he must be near the end of the journey. Though where that is, your guess is as good as
mine.”
Matthias stood between the two tall rocks. He drew out the parchment. “I hope this will take some of
the guesswork out of it, friend.”
He indicated the space between the badger and bell rocks. “This is where we are now. Let me see, the
poem says:
‘ See the badger and the bell,
Face the lord who points the way
After noon on summer’s day.
Death will open up its grave.
Who goes there … ? None but the brave. ’
Jabez squatted beside the bell rock. “Not long to go till afternoon. We’ll rest here. Where’s this lord
who’s supposed to be pointing the way?”
They gazed out at the country. It was mainly grassy hills dotted with scrub and groves of trees. In the
late summer morning there was no indication of mystery, death or doom. It all looked fairly plain and
harmless.
Orlando shook his head. “Well, whoever the lord is, he’s not come out to show us anything yet. I’d best
give a shout. He may be taking a nap.”
The badger cupped his paws to his mouth and roared until the valley echoed:
“Hi, there! Are you listening, Lord? This is Orlando of the Axe from the Western Plains. Come out and
show us the way!”
The echoes died on the summer air.
“No, no, you’re doin’ it all the wrong way, old stripetop,” Basil chaffed Orlando. “Here, let a chap with
a touch of breedin’ have a jolly try.”
Basil stood beyond the rocks. Throwing his head back, he yodelled out in a wobbly tenor.
“Hullo, there! I say, Lord old fellah, it’s Basil, one of the Mossflower Stag Hares, doncha know. Listen,
why don’t you toddle out an’ point the way to me and my pals? Super wheeze, wot?”
The only sound that could be heard in reply was Orlando sniggering.
Matthias offered Basil a shrewcake, and he wandered off eating and chuntering to himself,
“Confounded bad form, you’d think the rotter’d have the manners to answer a chap!”
Jess was also muttering to herself. “ ‘ Afternoon on summer’s day. ’ What part of the afternoon: midday,
high noon, middle of noon, late noon? How are we supposed to know. Silly rhyme, if you ask me. What
d’you think, Matthias?”
“I think it means before the early evening, Jess. Look, the words are separate, it doesn’t say ‘ afternoon,’ it
says ‘ after … noon’. Another thing, ‘ the lord who points the way’ doesn’t have to be a living creature.”
Jess looked puzzled. “How do you know that?”
“Easy. The badger and the bell are both rocks. We identified them by their shapes. So why can’t the
Lord who points the way be a rock?”
Cheek sidled up. “Or even a tree.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’ve just climbed up this badger rock a way and had a look around. The one thing that stands
out like a landmark is a tree. It’s sort of directly in line with the path between these two rocks, but we can’t
see it from where we stand down here.”
Jess Squirrel raced up the rock face of the badger peak like an arrow from a bow.
“It’s there, Matthias,” she called down. “I can see it. The biggest fir tree in the world. What a sight! It’s
colossal!”
The early noonday sun beat down on the summit of badger rock. Matthias, Jess and Cheek stood atop the
tall edifice, looking down at the tree in the distance. The warrior mouse grasped the rope Jess had rigged.
“Come on, let’s get down from here and get moving. I want to arrive at that tree before the sun goes
down. I know exactly what to do and what to look out for now!”
Chapter 43
Mattimeo’s eyes opened slowly. He felt sick and groggy, but above all frightened. Lifting his manacled
paws, he rubbed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being held whilst a hooded figure pressed
something against his face. The overpowering sweet sickness of it still hung upon his breath. He had lost
count of time. Though it was dark he felt he was in some sort of chamber, and outside it might be night or
day; he had no way of knowing.
The creatures around him were groaning, moving restlessly as the effects of the soporific wore off. Then
the familiar heavy paw of Auma touched his.
“Mattimeo, is that you? What happened? Where are we?” the badger asked worriedly.
“I don’t know. It’s too dark in here. Feels like a kind of stone room, like Ambrose Spike’s wine cellar at
Redwall.”
“I don’t like it. It’s cold, too. Are the rest of us all here?”
The others had awakened, and they dragged themselves over to the sound of Auma’s voice. Though
their presence was of small comfort, the young mouse could not shake off the dread aura surrounding him.
A shrew whimpered in the darkness, then the jangle of keys outside warned them that some creature was
about to enter.
A torch flared and they covered their eyes against the brightness of the light. Shadows danced about
the stone walls as the torch-bearer entered. It was a rat in a long purple robe. His eyes glinted dully in the
flames from the torch, and when he spoke his voice was flat in tone, but menacing and imperious.
“I am Nadaz, Voice of the Host,” he said. “Do not move or dare to talk with me, or you will regret it.
Nadaz commands the breath that comes from your mouth. I am the power of life and death over all of you.
There is no light in here, nor is there food and water. You will be left in this place until I decide that you are
fit to use your eyes again, to eat and to drink. Malkariss has spoken!”
The light was extinguished with the slam of the door and the turn of the key.
“Who is Malkariss?” Cynthia asked. Her voice sounded hollow and scared.
Tess grasped her paw in the darkness. “I’m certain we’ll find that out soon enough.”
Slagar followed Nadaz. They passed through tunnels and rooms, with Vitch trailing nervously behind.
Some of the chambers and corridors they walked along had obviously been built a long time ago by
master craftsbeasts; other were crude, hacked and gouged from the earth, with boulders, hard-packed soil
and severed tree roots showing in the light of the torches which burnt in wall brackets throughout the
strange place.
A long winding passage gave way to a broad rock ledge, and Vitch gazed around in awe. Crystal and
mica deposits in the rocks reflected the torchlights of a huge wheel-shaped chandelier, and on the brink of
the ledge stood a colossal statue hewn from white limestone. It was the standing figure of a monstrous
white polecat, with teeth of crystal and glittering eyes of black jet. Beyond it the ledge dropped away to the
depths of the earth. Around the walls winding down to the deeps was a narrow carved stairway which
started from the left side of the ledge, losing itself in the misty green light below.
Nadaz beckoned Slagar and Vitch to stand on a groove in the rock some distance away from the statue.
The purple-robed rat moved slowly with bended head until he stood close to the figure.
“Who comes near Malkariss?” a sibilant voice echoed from between the crystal teeth.
Nadaz answered, keeping his head bowed, “It is Nadaz, Voice of the Host, O King of the deep, Lord of
the abyss, Defier of the sun! The fox Slagar has returned, bringing many creatures young and strong to