We’ll take the path nice and easy now, travel at a steady pace. That’ll bring us there in the early evening.”
As they trundled along the path, the Sly One said to his minions, “Leave all the talking to me, I know these
creatures and I can handle them. Nobody talks, is that clear? I don’t want any loose-tongued addlebrain
blowing the gaff by mistake. If anyone speaks to you, then pull a silly face, smile and turn a cartwheel. Act
the goat. You’re supposed to be a travelling entertainment, so look amusing. If they ask us to share their
food, which they probably will, then mind your manners and don’t go piggin’ it down. Take a slice or a
portion of whatever and pass the bowl to your neighbor. If there’s ladies present, then be polite and offer
them the food first, before you start wolfin’ it down your famine-fed gobs. Be friendly with the little ones
and keep your eyes out for any likely looking youngsters, straight-limbed, sturdy. Don’t for the claws’ sake
recognize Vitch. You’ve never set eyes on him before. Right, any questions?”
Fleaback held up a paw. “Er, how’ll we know when the moment is right, Chief?”
“I’ll tell you, dunderhead.”
Halftail was a little puzzled. “But how will you know, Slagar?”
The Sly One looked at him pityingly. “Because they’ll be asleep, nitbrain.”
“How will you know that they’re all going to go asleep together at the same time?” Halftail persisted.
Slagar patted his belt pouch. “Don’t worry, I’ll see to that. Oh, and after we’ve put on our performance,
don’t drink anything, whatever you do. When you are sitting at the table you can drink what you like, but
not once you’ve left the table to perform.”
“Dun huh huh hu!” Skinpaw laughed oafishly. “Yer goin’ to drug ’em, aren’t you, Chief?”
Slagar looked down from his perch on the cart. “I’ll drug you if you don’t shuttup, turniphead.”
Halftail piped up again. “But if we drug ’em all, what’s to stop us taking over this Redwall place
ourselves?”
The Sly One nodded. “I was wondering when somebody was going to ask me that one. Well, I’ll tell
you. I think the place is bad luck. Others have tried and failed, and I mean real warriors, not like you
dithering lot. No, all I want is slaves and revenge. A mere pawful of rabble could never hold a place like
that. You’ll know what I mean when you see the big badger, or the otters. They really know how to fight.
They’re not afraid of death if their precious Abbey is threatened.”
“And we’re going in there unarmed?” Halftail’s voice sounded shaky.
“Of course we are, halfwit,” the fox said sarcastically. “You can bet they’ll search us, and we wouldn’t
last a second if they found arms on us. That Matthias the Warrior would go at us like a thunderbolt.”
“Matthias the Warrior? Is that the badger?” Halftail asked.
“No, he’s a mouse.”
“Haha, a mouse,” Skinpaw sneered.
“Yes, a mouse. But you won’t laugh when you see him. That one’s a born warrior. He has a sword too,
and I think it’s magic!”
“A magic sword! Hoho, I might just borrow that for meself,” Halftail howled.
“Stop the cart!” Slagar commanded.
Immediately the cart ground to a halt. The silken mask puffed in and out furiously with savage temper.
“Don’t dare touch that sword. Its magic is only for the Redwall mice; there’s probably a spell on it. It
would be the death of us. Stick to the slaving, do you hear me? It’ll be bad enough stealing his son, but if
you follow my plan we’ll get away with it.”
There was an ominous silence. Dust rose off the path where the cart had stopped. The slavers looked
doubtfully at one another, the unspoken question hanging like a rock in their mouths.
Steal the son of such a warrior, so that was Slagar’s revenge. A fearsome warrior with a magic sword,
strong enough to protect a whole abbey.
“Who told you to stop? Come on, stir your stumps and get this cart moving,” Slagar told them.
They pushed and pulled with mixed emotions.
“Do as you’re told and I’ll make you rich,” Slagar egged them on with his sly tongue. “You all know
me, Slagar the Cruel, the Sly One. Nowhere is there a cleverer slaver than me. I am the Lord of double-
dealing, and my plan will easily confound an abbeyful of honest woodlanders. There’s not a stoat, weasel,
rat, ferret or fox among them; they’re too noble for their own good. They’ll never find us. I will have my
revenge on Redwall and you will all be rich, when we go to sell them where none can follow.”
Scringe the ferret asked the question, dreading the answer as the words tumbled out.
“Where’ll we sell the slaves, Chief?” He swallowed hard and wished he had not spoken.
“In the Kingdom of Malkariss!!!”
A moan of despair arose from the slaving band.
Slagar was talking of the realm of nightmare.
Chapter 8
Nadaz, the purple-robed Voice of the Host, led a party of black-robed rats up from the depths of the
underground construction. The causeway steps wound their way around the sides of the abyss, from the
green misted deeps to the broad torchlit ledge. The blackrobes halted, and Nadaz came forward until he
stood before the statue of Malkariss. Sometime in the distant past it had been carved from a column of
limestone which stood near the brink of the ledge. The thick column was the result of stalagmite meeting
stalactite, and it reared from the ledge to connect with the high arched cavern ceiling. It was carved into a
monstrous effigy of a white polecat with teeth of rock crystal and eyes of the darkest black jet. The
torchlights from a large wheel-shaped chandelier illuminated the terrifying idol. Nadaz bowed his head
and began chanting,
“Malkariss, Ruler of the pit,
Lord of the deep and dark,
I am Nadaz, the Voice of the Host
To which your servants hark.
Hear me, O Ruler of eternal night,
Whose eyes see all we do,
King of the void beneath the earth,
we bring our pleas to you.”
“Speak, Nadaz. Tell me that my Kingdom is ready.” Malkariss’s voice was a labored hiss which echoed
around the rocks as it emanated from between the unmoving crystalline teeth of the statue.
The purple-robed rat stretched his claws in supplication. “Lord Malkariss, the rocks will not haul
themselves, nor will they be cut into blocks to be laid one on another. Four more slaves have died of late.
We need more workers, strong young woodland creatures who can labor for many seasons.”
Nadaz stood awaiting his master’s answer, not daring to look up at the awful glittering jet eyes.
“Are there no more new captives lying in my cells?”
“Lord, the cells have stood empty for a long time now.”
“What of the longtails at the river; have none passed this way?”
“None, Lord, who dares to climb the high plateau and risk the pine forest.”
“Hmmmm. Then you must carry on with what you have and work them harder. Get word to
Stonefleck. Tell him to watch for the masked fox. He has been gone two seasons now.”
There was a prolonged silence. The torchlights flickered and winked from the flecks of mica and crystal
which studded the cavern walls as the blackrobes stood impassively at the head of the steps, waiting upon
the Voice of the Host. Finally Nadaz bowed.
“Malkariss, I hear and obey!”
Turning, he swept through the ranks of blackrobes, leading them back down the causeway steps. They
were soon lost in the green mist that arose from the depths. From below, there came the sound of chiselling