Only when darkness fell were the workers allowed to halt in their chores.
Whips cracked as they were led off to the slave quarters beneath Riftgard.
There they would be fed on a single bowl of grain porridge, some vegetable roots and a pail of water between every group of ten.
Beneath the waning moon, cold night winds swept over the deserted worksite. Activity in the cage, which had begun furiously, had now slackened, owing to the intense cold eating into the bones of the three captives. They had groped around through the floor bars and collected rocks from the riverbed. First they had tried wedging them between the bars to see if the metal could be bent enough for them to squeeze through.
Then Shogg the otter, who was the strongest and most resistant to cold, battered away at the big well-greased padlock on the door grille. Neither method proved successful. Their limbs were growing slower and stiffer as the night advanced.
Welfo began to weep softly. Triss threw a paw about her shoulders and tried to comfort the hogmaid. Hush now, friend. Don’t cry. Keep your chin up, you wouldn’t want to give those vermin the satisfaction of seeing your tears now, would you? We’ll go down fighting to the last if we have to.
Shogg let his rock sink to the cage floor, whispering urgently, Quiet, mates, somebeast’s comin’!
It was Flith, Captain Riftun’s lieutenant. He stood watching them closely. Ceasing their activities, the three prisoners grasped the bars and stared dumbly back at the impassive rat.
Flith poked his spear out and rattled the bars. He tested the padlock by prodding it. Don’t worry, you three. We won’t let yer freeze t’death in there. We ain’t that cold-’earted, are we, ‘edgepig?
Welfo wiped tears from her eyes hopefully. No, Lieutenant.
Flith leaned on his spear and chuckled. Course we ain’t. Not one of us Riftgard rats is goin’ to lay a paw on ye. Princess Kurda is, though.
She’s got somethin’ special planned fer yew three. Goodnight an’ sleep well, now ... if ye can. Heeheeheehee!
Flith padded off, sniggering happily at his own joke. Triss felt her stomach turn over at the thought of Princess Kurda’s unimaginable designs for their fate.
No sooner had the lieutenant gone than another figure appeared from behind a stack of pine logs on the bank. Triss, miss Trissy, are ye all right?
The young squirrelmaid pushed her face to the bars, trying to keep the eagerness in her voice down. Drufo, 1 kept hoping you’d come. Good old Drufo!
The aged squirrel waded into the water, holding an earthenware jug above his head. He brought it close to the bars, but it would not go through.
Come t’the bars, Welfo. You too, Shogg. I’ll hold this while ye sup it. lis some ‘ot veggible soup we made out o’ bits of this’n’that. ‘Tain’t much, but it’ll keep the life in ye.
Heads up, mouths open, they stood side by side whilst Drufo shared the soup out, pouring it, still hot, straight into their mouths. It was meagre stuff, cobbled together with a few pawfuls of grain, turnip, carrot and some wild onion.
Triss had never tasted anything so delicious. They held their mouths open like young fledglings being fed by a mother bird, until the last precious drop had gone.
Sorry that’s all I could manage for ye, Drufo apologised.
Triss felt new life coursing through her. What’s happening inside Riftgard? What’ve you heard, Drufo?
The old squirrel pulled himself to the river side of the cage, so that he could not be seen from the bank. I follered Cap’n Riftun up t’the throne room an’ got me ear close to the door. Good’n’close, Triss. Agarnu was talkin’ to Kurda an’ Bladd, an’ Riftun, too. So, ‘ere’s the gist of it. We’ve got t’get you out o’ this cage, one way or another, quick!
‘Cos instead o’ turnips, Kurda plans on usin’ you three for ‘er sword practice. I don’t like t’bring bad news, but that’s ‘ow ‘tis goin’t’be!
Shogg began shaking the cage bars. Then wot’re ye waitin’ for, Drufo?
Get us out of ‘ere, now!
Welfo clasped Triss’s paw anxiously. But what’ll we do then? They’ve prob’ly smashed our escape boat up. We’ve got no food, no weapons, an’
no place to hide. Riggan the slavecatcher will hunt us down. We’ll be dragged back here for Kurda to slice up with her swords!
Triss had to stifle her friend’s mouth with a paw before she started to get hysterical. Hush now, I’m sure Drufo has a plan. Panicking will get us nowhere. Er, you have got a plan, haven’t you, Drufo?
The old squirrel bit his Up and shrugged. It ain’t much of an idea, but ‘tis yore only ‘ope.
He fumbled an object through the bars to Triss. It was a file, rusted, broken and old, with a piece of rag where the handle once was.
I risked me life getrin’ that. My old bones won’t take this icy water much longer, but ‘ere’s wot you must do. Once you’ve filed through the bars, yore only ‘ope is to steal the King’s new boat an’ sail away to someplace they’ll never find ye. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for ye, Trissy, but that’s it.
You did all you could, old friend. We’ll manage. Now get yourself out of this fjord and back inside before you freeze to death.
Drufo took her paw and clasped it fervently. Yore the model of yore dad, missy. Good luck an’ fortune be with ye!
5
Far from the Northlands and Riftgard, beyond the great seas, dew glinted off the leaves as a warm spring day dawned over Mossflower Wood. Bikkle was still asleep, curled up beneath the beech trunk, covered by last autumn’s dead leaves. Ruggum, however, was up and about, as the molebabe’s confidence had returned with the advent of daylight and sunshine. He dug up coltsfoot roots and found more whortleberries and young dandelion buds. Trundling back to the fallen tree trunk, he wakened his little squirrel friend by tickling her nose with a stem of hedge mustard plant.
Yurr, waken ee oop, gurt dozeychops, oi finded brekkist!
Bikkle rubbed her eyes with grubby paws, sat up and scratched her bushy tail. Hl’m firsty!
Ruggum reached up and grabbed a low-hanging wych hazel branch. Shaking it, he drenched Bikkle’s head with dew, chortling, Hurr hurr, you’m
‘ave a gudd drink, moi dearie!
Bikkle seized another branch and sprinkled him back. They giggled and chuckled, splashing one another with dew and rolling in the dead leaves.
The breakfast was not a roaring success. Bikkle lost notime in telling her friend, I still hung’y, that not nice brekkist, me like warm pasties an’ strawbee juice. When are us goin’ back to the H’Abbey?
Ruggum lay on his back, gently kicking the wych hazel twigs and catching the water in his open mouth. We’m losted. Dunno ee way back to H’Abbey.
Oi ‘speck they’m come a looken furr us’n’s afore long. Whichaways de ee thinken Red’all bee’s, Bikk?
The Dibbun squirrel pointed with her tail. West norf h’east, dat way ...
me fink.
They set off in the direction she had indicated, neither of the two babes feeling very confident.
But it was a warm bright day, almost summerlike, and the anxiety they were causing did not occur to their infant minds. Along the way they found other things to eat and a small stream, where they drank their fill and had a good old paddle.
Gurdle Sprink had discarded his heavy apron and climbed the cellar stairs for the third time that morning. Puffing and panting, the Cellarhog made his way out into the orchard, where he sat down on an upturned wheelbarrow, next to Malbun.