The corsair opened her eyes feebly. "Yore a good creature, but an ole fool. Take care o' yerself. I ain't worth it, my string's played out."
Durral cradled Romsca's head as he ladled soup into her mouth. "I'm afraid it's only dried fish and ship's biscuit with some water, but 'tis the best I could do, friend. You saved my life, and you were good to Viola too. Without you we would both have fallen victim to those lizards long ago. Drink up, now."
Romsca turned her mouth away from the ladle. “Water, just give us a drop of water, matey. I'm parched."
The Abbot carefully guided a beaker to her mouth. Romsca sipped the liquid and winked faintly at him. "You 'earken t'me, Durral, y'could never sail this tub back ter Mossflower, but she's bound due west, and with luck y'll landfall at the isle of Sampetra. I've got mates there, tell 'em yore my pal. 'Tis yer only chance, may'ap they'll 'elp you."
Durral stroked the corsair's tattooed paw. "Now, now, my child, none of that talk. You'll live to see your friends again, I'll make sure of it."
Romsca smiled, her voice growing fainter as she replied, "I 'opes y'make it back to Redwall Abbey someday, it looked like a nice place t'be. Hmph, you won't be bothered with types like me then, corsairs an' searats an' all manner o' wavescum ..."
She shuddered, and Durral drew the blanket up to her chin. "Hush, now, and rest, my child."
As Romsca's eyes closed, she murmured drowsily, "My child. I like that. Thank ye, my Father."
Her head lolled forward onto the Father Abbot of Redwall's paws for the last time.
Durral sat nursing the dead corsair until it grew dark, heedless of the rain that soaked him as Waveworm sailed silently westward on the drifting swell with its lone cargo. One old mouse.
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BOOK THREE
When Tears Are Shed
Chapter 41
Viola was wakened by the sounds of low voices nearby. It was Martin and Grath talking together. The logboat was almost stationary, bobbing in the warming dawn. Seaweed hawsers trailed limply along the boat's sides, and the sealfolk were nowhere to be seen.
Martin stood in the prow, staring up at a mountain that reared out of the ocean. "Well, it's big enough," he said, "but it doesn't look like we can land anywhere. Why did the sealfolk slide off and leave us here, I wonder? It's nought but a mountain thrusting up out of the water."
Grath was as puzzled as the mouse warrior. "Maybe there's somethin' or somebeast here they wanted us t'see. Let's use these broken struts as oars an' paddle o'er there."
Plogg poked his head from under the canvas awning. "Gwaw! I'm stiff as a board. Where are we?"
Welko thrust his head up alongside that of his brother, grinning. "Nice'n'warm, though," he said, "looks like it's goin' t'be sunny. I'm starvin'is that ole cooky awake yet?"
A long paw reached out and cuffed the shrew's ear. "Ole cooky indeed, you graceless, scruff-furred wretch. I, sir, am Cleckstarr Lepus Montisle, of the far northern Montisles doncha know. An' furthermore, young feller m'lad, I don't well appreciate foul young blots like y'self snorin' down my delicate ears all night. As for breakfast, 'fraid you'll have to whistle for it. Clean out o' grub, we are, wot!"
Viola shook her head in disgust. "Well, there's a fine thing, those seals sliding off without so much as a by your leave, and us without a bite of food, floating around goodness knows where, with nothing to show for it but a hulking great mountain shoving itself out of the water!"
Grath could not help smiling at the complaining volemaid. "Well tut tut, missie, grab a cob o' wood an' start paddlin'. We won't talk ourselves outta this fix, that's for sure."
The rock was massive: smooth-sided, high and impregnable, and there was no discernible opening in it. They paddled most of the day, skirting the stone monolith, searching for a place to land, but the quest seemed fruitless. Sometime around midaf-ternoon they stopped to rest, sweltering under a hot sun.
Clecky gazed longingly at the clear blue sea. "Looks wonderful, don't it? I say, chaps, if I don't get something soon to wet my jolly old lips, I might try a drink o' that."
"I wouldn't recommend it, seawater can be nasty stuff!"
Clecky nearly fell overboard with shock. A young female otter had slid gracefully into the logboat and was sitting beside him.
"Who the flippineck are you, miss, an' where's y'manners? Jolly well near scared two seasons' growth out of me ears, pop-pin' up like that! Kindly don't do it again, bad form, wot!"
The little ottermaid smiled prettily, twitching her nose at them. "Beg y'pudden, sir, but what are you? You're not an otter."
"Hmph, I should say not, m'gel. I'm a hare, actually. Name's Clecky."
"Pleased t'meetcher, mister Clecky. I'm Winniegold of the holt of Wallyum Rudderwake. I 'spect the Hawm and his seal-folk brought you here to see us."
Clecky twitched his ears rather irately. "Tchah! Well, if he did, he never said anythin' to us about it. Blinkin' feller should say where he's takin' a chap, instead of all this haaaawmin' an' haaaaarin', wot wot!"
"Excuse me," Martin interrupted, "but if you two could break off this pleasant conversation long enough, perhaps you, miss, could show us to the holt of your father Wallyum Rud-derwake."
Realization suddenly struck Plogg. "The seals were sayin' Waaylumm! Maybe that's 'cos they couldn't say Wallyum properly!"
Clecky absentmindedly cuffed Plogg's ear. "Huh, I know that. Seal language, speak it perfectly, old chap, perfectly. I think friend Martin's right though, missie. You'd better take us to your dear old pater, wot!"
Winniegold directed them to take the logboat further round the side of the rock. A cable made from twined seaweed and kelp hung from a niche carved into the rock; it trailed away into the sea like a great thick serpent. The little ottermaid unhooked the cable, and passing it to Grath, she explained its purpose.
"Look down into the water, what d'you see?"
Grath stared downward into the clear depths. "There's a hole like some sort o' tunnel in the mountain, right near the surface here. The cable goes into it!"
Winniegold lowered her voice as if revealing a secret. “If we wait, the sea will lower itself and the tunnel will appear in front of us. My father says it is the trough between every nineteenth and twentieth wave that washes against the east side of our mountain; suddenly the sea level will sink and expose the cave mouth. If we all lie flat in your boat and heave on the cable, we can pull ourselves through to the inner island."
Viola leaned over the boat's edge, gazing at the great hole in the rock fearfully. "But it's underwater," she cried, "we'll all be drowned! I'm scared!"
Winniegold giggled at the timid volemaid. "Silly, there's no need t'be feared, you'll see. I haven't been countin' the waves, but I think it's best we all lie down."
Without warning a wave lapped high, sending the boat up on its crest, then it dropped sharply. There was a swoosh as if some gigantic monster had exhaled and they were looking straight into the mouth of the tunnel, wide and dark and dripping seawater, directly in front of them.
"Get down, mates, lie flat!" Winniegold yelled.
She gave a mighty heave on the cable and the logboat shot into the opening, like a tiny fish into the mouth of a whale. They were surrounded by an eerie blue light shimmering from the tunnel walls. The logboat rose, stopping no more than a paws-length from the shell-encrusted tunnel ceiling. As Winniegold tugged on the cable their vessel shot forward, and the entire logboat crew seized hold of the thick kelp and seaweed hawser and, lying flat on their backs, began pulling. The little craft sped along inside the tunnel. Limpets, barnacles, shells and hanging fronds almost scraped the prow of the boat, and great crabs scuttled about in the bluish light above their faces. The transition from sudden bright tropical sunlight to aquamarine dimness caused golden sunbursts upon their vision whenever they blinked. It was the oddest of experiences.