Yowch, there’s oil in my eye!
In the split second that followed, Skipper roared out loud and clear, Brekkist comin’ over, scum!
The four otters twisted the poles to turn the mixture over the wall, but the poles snapped and the lot fell, cauldron and all. Crikulus leaped back as hot oatmeal flooded under the gate. Malbun, are you all right, friend?
The woodmouse was mopping her eye on an apron corner. No damage, just some vegetable oil in my eye.
With his head ringing from the agonised screams outside the gates of his Abbey, the Father Abbot helped Malbun into the gatehouse and bathed her eye.
A dreadful solution, Malbun. Listen to those wretched beasts.
Crikulus entered, wiping oatmeal from the hem of his robe. Aye, Father, but the vermin could have saved themselves all that injury and agony by leaving Redwall in peace.
Slitfang rolled in the ditch bottom, where there was a lining of stale water and mud. The Freebooter weasel screwed his face up, whimpering from the pain of the scalding honeyed oatmeal that had flooded over his back. Ripper and a searat named Blear fell in on top of him, avoiding a lively salvo of slingstones from the walltop. Slitfang booted them aside and staggered from the ditch. Reeling from side to side, he headed in the direction of the fire on the flatlands.
35
Redwall Abbey’s twin bells tolled out the close of day. It was a warm, quiet summer evening. The Abbot stood at the southwest corner of the high ramparts, discussing the day’s events with his friends. Servers trundled trolleys along the walltops, dishing out meals to the sentries.
Scarum halted young Furrel the molemaid. Marm, would you kindly push that trolley over here? Hmph! Coin’ to make sure I get my grub this time, wot!
The Abbot looked over the top of his glasses. Dear me, you mean to say you’ve missed a meal?
Helping himself to salad, a wedge of leek-and-potato pie, cheese, bread, an apple turnover and a beaker of cordial, the hungry hare sniffed in annoyance. A measly ladle of oatmeal this mornm, that’s all I’ve jolly well had. I was far too busy commandin’ my troops most of the day, sah, dealin’ with scurvy vermin an’ whatnot. What really grieves a chap is how they disposed of the oatmeal. Whackin’ good scoff it was, too, wot.
Far too blinkin’ good t’be fed to those scoundrels at the gate!
Triss fetched him a bowl of rhubarb crumble. No, no, Scarum/ you’ve got it all wrong. We used the hot oatmeal to stop the vermin from burning the gates down. When Skipper and the otters tipped it over them, that oatmeal saved the day.
However, Scarum was not to be pacified. Bloomin’ waste of good tucker, if y’ask me. Now, if I’d been in command,’twould have been different, marm, oh yes! Let me tell you how I dealt with those bounders at the east wall.
A joint groan arose from the listeners. Kroova scowled. You’ve already told us ten times, mate, no need t’go on.
Scarum ignored him completely and launched into his heroic narrative once again. Never wasted a crumb or a drop of scoff, officer trainin’, y’see. Well, anyhow, I put an ear to the east wallgate, an’ I heard that white ferret givin’ her orders. Hello old chap, says I to m’self, what a bloomin’ spot o’ luck. So then... He looked around and found he was talking to himself. They had all moved off to the centre of the west wall. Ignorant bounders, you wouldn’t know a hero if he fell on your confounded heads. Er, excuse me, pretty miss, don’t go chargin’
off with that trolley, I’m only on my first course, wot!
Groans from the wounded and injured echoed around the vermin camp in Mossflower Wood. Kurda’s pink eyes flashed contempt at the Freebooter Captain. So, you showed dem how to do t’ings de Freebooter vay, yarr.
It vas clever de way you stole de hot oatmeal from de Red-vallers. You got mine brother killed, too, is dat how to do t’ings de Freebooter vay?
Plugg snarled back at the Pure Ferret, You been bad luck ever since we took ye aboard, an’ you ain’t sheddin’ no tears fer Bladd. Leaves the way clear for yew, don’t it? Yore brother’ad twice the guts you’ll ever possess,’twas just bad fortune an’ a cast-iron stewpot got’im slayed. Hah! I don’t notice yore crew doin’ any victory dances. I’eard you was beaten by that big rabbit!
A Ratguard was slumped nearby, nursing a broken foot-paw. The silver fox grabbed the injured limb and draggedthe rat forward screaming. Tell us wot ‘appened, matey, c’mon! He loosed his grip, allowing the cringing beast to speak.
Princess Kurda told some of us to try an’ force a way in through the liddle east wallgate. While we was tryin’ i’do it, the rabbit an’ his pals dropped a big fishin’ net over us an’ snarled us up in it. We was trappedÑthey battered us wid slingstones an’ anythin’ they could drop on us. Banged big long poles on our ‘eads, an’ we couldn’t get away.
The rabbit was callin’ us vermin cads an’ rat bounders an’ sayinwot wot’ all the time. We just ‘ad to lie there an’ take it, until they allowed us t’crawl away, still all knotted up in that big net!
Plugg kicked the agonised rat away from him. Picking up his battle-axe, he pointed it at Kurda, his eyes slitted coldly. You’ve got no room to curl yore lip at me, missie. I ‘eard wot you was doin’ while all that was goin’ on. Skulkin’ back in the trees, far away from it as ye could get, ye white-spined coward. At least I went back t’the ditch to ‘elp me mates get away from the slingstones, ain’t that right, Slitty?
Slitfang could scarcely move his head because of the poultice of wet mud and dock leaves covering his back from tail to ears. Aye, Cap’n, ye did that, you ‘elped yore crew!
There was a brief silence while both Ratguards and Freebooters watched their leaders. Plugg remained seated, but Kurda rose slowly, sabre in paw.
Nobeast calls der Princess of de ‘Ouse of Riftgard coward/The silver fox came upright, gripping his axe haft. Oh, is that so, me darlin’?
Well, I just didÑme, Plugg Firetail, an’ I ain’t pertickler who ‘ears it. Yore a coward! A snooty-nosed, lily-livered, cringin’, crawlin’, gutless, spineless coward!
Injured and wounded vermin scrambled to get out of the way. Danger hung on the air as Plugg and Kurda began circling each other, weapons raised.
The parting of their ways had finally come, and one was bound to die.
Kurda locked eyes with Plugg as she returned his insults. You are de scum of der sea, a common stupid foxbeast mitt not even a tail to your idiot name! You shtink, Plugg, de smell of you is all around us, even now! I t’ink dat smell gets stronger because you fear me, you are de coward! With a roar the Freebooter Captain charged. Yoooohaaaaarr!
Kurda swung her sabre, but the Freebooter’s huge battle-axe head struck it, turning the blade and sending the sword spinning from her grasp into the bushes. Carried on by his own momentum, Plugg rushed as she dodged aside. His battle-axe head thudded deep into a sycamore trunk.
Kurda ran into the bushes after her sabre, as Plugg gave the axe a tug, but it was buried too deep, caught fast in the sappy wood. Growling with rage, the silver fox left it there and sped after Kurda with teeth and claws bared. Before the Princess could retrieve her blade, the Freebooter was on her.
Saplings swayed, leaves and grass flew in the air as they battled tooth and claw. Everybeast watched in fascination as shrieks, roars and growls rent the air. Plugg came stumbling backward out of the undergrowth, blood pouring from his wounds. He gave a mad laugh and charged back in, throwing himself at Kurda, who was lying flat on her back, recovering from the Freebooter’s first sally. As the silver fox descended on her, she threw up all four paws rigidly. They struck Plugg, knocking the breath from him in a loud whoosh, and he went sailing over her, deeper into the bushes.