Martin pushed back his chair and stood up decisively. “Why leave it until tomorrow, friends? The night is fine now, I'll go and be back before dawn. No need to upset our Abbey creatures by starting an expedition in full daylight. Besides, I can't sleep at all if there's anything bothering my mind, so it's best that I investigate it this very night."
"Aye, with me by yer side, mate, soon as I finds me ash stave!"
No sooner had Wullger the other gatekeeper spoken than the others were all including themselves.
"Hurr, oi too, ee may 'ave need o' a gudd digger, zurr!"
"I'll bring a long stout rope from the winecellar!"
"Right, an' I'll fetch lanterns, we'll be in need of light!"
Martin hesitated a moment, then nodded. "So be it. I'll get the sword. Meet back here as quickly as you can. Auma, will you stay behind and watch the main gate?"
"Gladly, friend. I don't feel much like charging around woodlands after our spring feast this evening."
Chapter 5
The Redwallers set off north up the path, Martin in the lead with the sword buckled about his middle. This was the fabulous blade that belonged long ago to Martin the first Warrior, he who had helped build Redwall Abbey and establish the order of Redwallers. The spirit of this brave mouse was said to help the Abbey creatures, appearing in dreams and offering wise counsel in troubled times. For countless generations the sword had been lost: it was Matthias, father of Mattimeo and grandsire of the present Martin, who had found the sword and restored it to Redwall Abbey.
Silent as shadows, the little party slipped into the night-darkened trees. They were skilled in the ways of woodlanders and knew that stealth and care combined with speed was the rule of safety, even in their own beloved Mossflower. There was no moon to light the way east, but Martin was an expert leader. Skirting thickets, bypassing brambles and staying close to the deep shadows, he led his companions to the clearing where the sandstone rift could be seen, poking up at an angle out of the ground.
Martin signaled quietly for Wullger and Foremole to accompany him, indicating that the rest should stay in the tree shelter at the clearing's edge, ready to come running should they be needed. Drawing his sword, the warrior edged forward; the mole and otter followed, carrying rope and lantern. The rain had stopped, though a sighing wind was still blowing up from the south. Mounting the rocks, Martin waited whilst Foremole put flint to tinder and lit his lantern. Shielding the light in the cowl of his cloak, Martin led his friends across the ridged surface. As they came upon each cleft, the lantern was lowered down on the rope to explore its darkness. They had nearly covered half the area when Foremole, shuffling backward away from a small fissure, disappeared with a gruff bass yelp.
"Whurrhumm!"
The lantern was swiftly lowered as Wullger called down to him. "You all right, matey, not 'urted are yer?"
Wiping his paw disgustedly upon his smock, the good mole wrinkled his snout. "Yurr ee is, zurr, oi foinded ee skallertung. Yurkk!"
Martin dropped swiftly into the crevice, landing lightly beside Foremole. He held the lantern close, illuminating the gleaming white bones that poked through rainsodden rags.
Wullger peered down at the skull, fixed in its death grin. "Poor wretch, fancy dyin' down there all alone." There was compassion in the otter's tone.
Martin knelt and retrieved something from the fleshless claw of what had once been the creature's right front paw. "Aye, poor beast, what was it that brought him here?"
A low whistle from the tree fringe caused Wullger to throw himself flat upon the rocks. "Hearken an' hide that lampglim, we've got visitors!"
Swiftly Martin pulled off his cloak and gave it to Foremole. "Stay down here, keep that light covered. Hang on to the rope, Wullger, I'm coming up!"
Sheathing his sword, the Warriormouse clambered paw over paw up the rope, with Wullger taking the strain. "Remain here with Foremole, stay low!" Martin whispered.
Wraithlike, Martin appeared beside Rollo among the trees. The Recorder squeaked with fright. "Oo! Don't sneak up on me like that!"
The Abbot pointed a paw north into the dark tree masses. "Over yonder, Martin, I thought I heard voices and saw two white shapes. See, there they go!"
They caught a fleeting glimpse of whitish forms moving among the trees.
Martin nudged Higgle Stump, saying, "Bring the ash stave and follow me, Friar."
Crouching low they threaded off, carefully avoiding dry twigs beneath the tree cover. Judging the path the intruders were taking, Martin halted between a beech and an elm, signaling his intentions to Higgle. Martin crouched behind the beech and grasped one end of the stave. The Friar stooped behind the elm and took the other end.
The Warriormouse whispered across to his companion, "They're coming this way; hold the stave low until I give the signal!"
As the shapes drew closer voices could be heard.
"There's nothin' dark as the dark, me ould mother used t'say."
"Really? Well, that was jolly observant of her, wot! I'll wager she used to go on about how flippin' light the day was. Owooop!"
Martin and Higgle had raised the stave a fraction so that the speaker tripped, sprawling flat in front of them.
Immediately, Martin saw that the other shape was some type of great bird. Snatching Higgle's cloak, he flung it over the creature, bringing it to the ground. The others dashed across and flung themselves upon the beast who had tripped, trying to pin it down as it yelled and kicked wildly.
"Ambush, chaps! Bring up the regiment, tell Mother I died fightin'!"
Martin bounced along the ground, towed by the cloaked bird. Then he banged into a tree and was forced to let go. Recognizing the other creature's voice, he dashed back to his companions, yelling, "It's all right, release him, it's a hare!"
The hare, whose long legs had kicked most of them flying, leapt up indignantly, dusting himself down and muttering, "Flamin' cheek! Of course I'm a hare, what'd you think I was, a long-legged tadpole out for a bloomin' walk?"
Brushing irately past Martin, he uncovered his traveling companion, a great barn owl, all ruffled and blinking furiously. The hare was half white: a mountain hare, patching into his brown spring coat. Striking a heroic fighting pose, he challenged them.
"Blackguards, ruffians! Attackin' poor wayfarers, eh! Well, let me tell you blather-pawed bandits, y've picked on the wrong pair this time. Right! Defend y'selves sharpish now! I'll teach you a thing or three about the jolly old noble art, wot! C'mon!"
Prancing about in the most ridiculous manner, he blew fiercely through his whiskers, wobbling, ducking and flicking his paw against the side of his nose in a businesslike manner.
"C'mon c'mon, shape up, you cowardly custards! Oi, mattressbottom, you take those six an' I'll deal with the other ten!"
The hare twirled and weaved comically, throwing punches in mid-air, until by accident his nose collided with an overhanging branch. Immediately he went into a mock state of collapse, staggering, throwing his paws wide as if appealing to a referee. "Did y'see that? Beastly foul play, sir! Low underpawed trickery! Sneakin' up on a chap like that! Highly unprincipled, deduct ten points, ten points I say, sir!"
He stopped and turned to the owl, who was unruffling his feathers and still blinking furiously. "Well, you're a great help, I must say, foozlin' great flock-filled featherbag! Don't stand there blinkin' like a toad with a toothache, assist me against these vile villains!"
Trying his level best not to burst out laughing, Martin held forth the paw of friendship. "I'm sorry. Please accept our apologies, sir, and your friend too. We thought you were the villains, but as it turns out neither of us is. However, I'm sure that you'll agree with me nobeast can be too careful abroad in woodlands on a moonless night."