Mariel Of Redwall Part 27

Simeon checked the paw of one from reaching for acorn and rhubarb crumble. "How many more of you do the searats have?"

"Seventeen, I s'pose, or eighteen-aye, eighteen countin' the squirrel."

Friar Alder turned his eyes upward, nudging young c.o.c.kleburr. "Dearie me, imagine another eighteen like that at breakfast!"

"Boilin' breadloaves, Friar. They'd eat us out o'

kitchen an' Abbey!"

Clary sat in Gabe Quill's cellar, sampling the latest rosehip squash with Foremole as they nibbled cheese and beechmast bake to counteract the sweetness of the drink.

291.

"Ahurr, you'm say 'ee wants four of us'ns this comin' noight, zurr."

"Yes indeed, four stout mole chaps-all good diggers, mind you."

"Hurrhurr, baint no crittur better at diggen than us'n molers. Oi'd say Dan'1, Buxton, Groaby an moiself. Aye, we'n's the ones."

"Righty-ho, Foremole sir. Meet us at the gatehouse two hours after dark."

"Doan't 'ee wurry, zurr. Us'll be thurr, boi 'okey us will."

"Good chap, knew I could count on you. Have some more of this rosehip stuff. Quite nice, but a trifle sweet, wot?"

"No sweeter'n rose'ips orter be, zurr. Fill 'er up iffen 'ee please."

Gabe Quill filled a jug from a polished cask. He set it on the table, sniffing righteously over the remarks being made about the sweetness of his rosehip squash.

"Try some o' this elderflower an' larkspur cordial iffen you likes a less sweeter drink. But while you're a-doin' that, tell me, Mr. Clary, why did you only free two slaves las' night?"

Clary sipped the new drink, raising his eyebrows appreciatively. "Well, Mr. Quill, it's quite simple really. More than two at a time would be rather awkward to cope with, seein' as how they've got to be helped every step of the way. After all, they are in chains, y'know; bein' oarslaves, they're still chained in twos, each creature to his galley bench partner. If we can manage more'n two, all well an' good. We'll see how many of the poor blighters we can bag tonight. Now, listen carefully, Foremole me old digger, here's the plan ..."

Graypatch had been all day making the searats' woodland camp secure against intruders. He sat on a log, checking out the new setup with Fishgill.

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"Tripwires hidden in the undergrowth all around the edges o' the camp, rope traps in the trees?"

"Aye, Cap'n. Me 'n' Frink an' Kybo rigged the rope traps. Anybeast sneakin' around out there at night'll find themselves suddenly hangin' upsidedown from a tree. The tripwires are all stretched tight an' well-hidden too."

"Good! Now these oarslaves-we'll hold 'em in the center of the camp, just to one side of the main fire. That way they'll be surrounded by the crew."

The evening fires had been lit. All around them, searats squatted, cooking whatever they had found during the day. Bigfang roasted dandelion roots and some small hard apples he and Lardgutt had come across, grumbling as he watched Kybo.

"Huh, what use is roots an' sour apples to me 'n' Lardgutt? We're searats; this woodland garbage wouldn't feed a sick maggot. Kybo, matey, how's about sharin' that great fat woodpigeon yer roastin', with a couple of old messmates?"

Kybo kept his eyes on the roasting meat, his claw straying to a long rusty dagger he kept nearby. "Get yer own rations, Bigfang. Me 'n' Fishgill an' Graypatch snared this one while we was layin' out tripwires an' you was lyin' round snorin' like a hog. You want meat, get out an' hunt it."

Lardgutt's eyes strayed to the roasting woodpigeon as he absently reached into the embers for a toasted apple, with the result that he scorched his claws. Bad-temperedly he flung the apple from him. "Yowch! That's it! I'll starve afore I eat that muck!"

Bigfang looked around at other searats who had not been fortunate enough to obtain meat. They were toasting, roasting and charring almost any kind of vegetation they could scavenge. Bigfang spat into the flames.

"Hah! Livin' off the fat o' the land, eh, buckos? Does this look like the berth we was promised? Landlords of Mossflower-look at us! Grubbin' fer roots an' berries, 293.

sc.r.a.pin' about an' fightin' with yer own shipmates fer anythin' growin' outta the soil! Why don't we attack Redwall agin, that's what I want ter know. Sittin' round protectin' some oarslaves like they was precious booty, where's that a-goin' to get us, eh?"

Murmurs of agreement arose around the camp. Graypatch strode over, carrying a heavy limb of dead oak. He threw it onto the fire, causing a shower of sparks. Bigfang and Lardgutt were forced to jump back, beating off the fiery splinters which landed on them, their apples and roots completely squashed and ruined beneath the wood Graypatch had thrown on the fire. The searat Captain prodded Bigfang viciously in the ribs with his curved sword.

"Always the thickhead an' the rabble-rouser, eh, Bigfang. I don't know why I keep yer alive. It's not for your brains, I can tell ye. Anybeast with half a grain o' sense would tell yer what I'm about. Last night taught me a lesson: if those Redwallers want to free the slaves, they've got to come an' try, see? Look at it this ways, they're goin' to no end o' trouble to rescue slaves who they don't even know. I've seen their type afore. Now, imagine how they'd feel if we captured some of their own? Haharr, that'd be somethin' now, wouldn't it! Us havin' Redwallers as hostages. It'd be like ownin' a ticket fer free entrance to their Abbey."

Bigfang rubbed his ribs where the sword had sc.r.a.ped his hide. "How do we know they're goin' to come back?"

Graypatch shook his head as if despairing. "Short on brains an' long on mouth, that's you, matey. Of course they'll come back. They're n.o.ble creatures, they couldn't leave poor slaves in the claws of us cruel sea-rats! But this time we've laid the traps, this time we'll catch them, an' I'll parade 'em in chains outside their Abbey. You mark my words, those Redwallers won't be so high 'n' mighty then. They'll be ready to listen to old Graypatch's terms, mates. Aye, short on brains, 294.

Bigfang, just like I said. You stick with me, matey. Let me do the thinkin', and one day we could be rulers of a whole slave army of Redwallers, hahah! Imagine that, they could be mercenaries, spearfodder-with an army that size we could build ourselves another fleet an' conquer Terramort for ourselves, kill Gabool an' seize his island. Then we'd be rulers of Redwall an' Terramort, mates!"

Hon Rosie lay on her back a short distance from the camp. She tw.a.n.ged upon a tripwire as she listened to Graypatch lecturing his crew. Clary and Thyme sat with the moles, holding a whispered conference.

"Super plan, y'know-tripwires, springropes an' hostages. I'd give the scurvy blaggard an 'A' for alertness, wot?"

Foremole extended his powerful digging claws. "Oi knows wot oi'd loik t' give 'im, pesky searatter!"

Clary was busy undoing a tripwire. "Good effort, all the same. Come on, hares, let's undo this little lot an' set it up in a new location. Thyme, can you manage those rope traps?"

"Certainly, Clary old chap. I say, these searats are rather good at tying knots and whatnot, must be with all that messin' about in boats."

"I 'spect so. How're you mole chaps feelin', fancy a spot of diggin'?"

"Hohurr zurr, we'm frisky as frogs an' fitter'n fleas. Whurr do 'ee want us a-start, gaffer?"

Foremole trundled about muttering calculations, glancing from certain spots on the ground toward the rat camp.

"Gurr'm, let oi see naow. Root crossens thurr, thurr an' yon. Stoans a-layen yurr an' thurr. Reckernin' fer a swift 'n' easy deep tunn'l, oi sez us'n's be hadvised to start diggen roight yurr!" He scratched a large X on the woodland floor with his digging claws.

Dan'1, Groaby and Buxton went to it with a will.

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Sentries were posted all around the fringes of the camp. Graypatch settled down close to the fire, his one good eye searching the woodland edge for signs of movement. Bigfang and Lardgutt fought briefly over possession of a ragged blanket before ripping it in half, then each lay down, trying to cover himself with the skimpy remnant. Gradually the searats' encampment quietened down for the night, the silence broken only by an odd crackle of burning branches on the fires. Sentries blinked their eyes to stay awake, heads drooping as they leaned heavily on pike and spear.

Brigadier Thyme watched the scene from the low boughs of a sycamore some distance away. Finally satisfied that everything was ready, he climbed down and reported back to Clary.

"Operation Oarslave now feasible to commence.

Sah!"

"Good scout, Thyme. Right, troops. Forward, the Buffs. Oh, and Rosie, try to remember, will you, one whoop an' we're in the soup!"

"Oh, I say, Clary, jolly poetic-one whoop an' we're in the soup. Not to worry, I've given up whoopin' for the moment."

A searat named Fleawirt lay asleep facing the main fire. It was difficult trying to sleep in open woodlands after a life of sprawling to rest in the swaying, rocking crew's accommodation of a ship. Fleawirt awoke. His face was scorched and burning with the fire, though his back was stiff and chilled to the bone by the night breezes. He turned grumpily over, placing his back toward the fire. As he did, a sharp twig stuck in his cheek. Fleawirt sat up, cursing silently as he rubbed his injured face. Then a very strange thing happened.

Sitting up, facing away from the fire, Fleawirt found himself looking at the oarslaves. They lay sleeping, chained in pairs, some whimpering in their dreams, others clutching each other tightly in slumber. Then 296.

there was a slight clink of chains and four oarslaves vanished into the ground!

Fleawirt rubbed his eyes and yawned, half turning to He down once more. Then the oddness of what he had seen hit him. He stood bolt upright as another two slaves disappeared into the earth!

"Cap'n Graypatch! Look, the slaves!"

Fleawirt's cries aroused the entire camp. Graypatch sprang up and began shaking Fleawirt.

"What's goin' on? Tell me!"

"The slaves, the ground, four of 'em, then another two, the floor, I saw it!"

"Stop babblin' like a fool. Now tell me what happened, properly!"

"Well, I was sittin' up awake an' all of a sudden I saw four of the oarslaves just vanish into the floor. I looked again an' another two went, right in front o' me eyes, Cap'n. I swear it!"

The oarslaves were wakening, yawning and rubbing at their eyes as the noise around them grew into a hubbub. Graypatch ran among them, scattering the thin bodies left and right, a flaring torch held high. Quickly he counted them-twelve, including the squirrel. Fleawirt was right-six oarslaves had vanished, somehow. He stumbled as he stepped into a small pothole, which on closer inspection proved to be a tunnel which had been backfilled after the slaves escaped. Graypatch sank his sword uselessly into the loose earth, stabbing at it wildly.

"It was a tunnel! They got six slaves out through a stinkin' tunnel!"

Bigfang strode about, nodding his head knowingly. "So, a tunnel, eh, mates-that's how they did it. Prob'ly got some of those squirrels to do their diggin' for them. I thought so!"

Graypatch grabbed Bigfang by the nose. Digging his claws in tightly, he twisted with cruel ferocity.

297.

"Moles, muckhead, not squirrels! Moles, d'ye hear mer Bigfang pranced about, tears squirting from his eyes. Graypatch aimed a hard kick, which caught him in the rear and sent him sprawling.

"Now up on yer claws, the lot o' yer. Spread out an' get searchin'. They can't have gone far. I want 'em back, dead or alive!"

Clary, Thyme and Rosie appeared, just outside the clearing, "I say, s...o...b..rchops, you shouldn't've twisted the poor chap's hooter like that. He was right, we did use squirrels!"

"Get theeeeeemmm!" Graypatch's voice was somewhere between a roar and a screech.

The searats charged forward in a mob at the three hares. Then they hit the tripwires that had been carefully set anew. The hares melted into the woodland, being careful to travel in the opposite direction from Foremole and his crew, who were guiding the six slaves back to Red wall.

Graypatch and several others who had been at the back of the charge followed the hares, leaping over the sprawling heaps of rats who had fallen or tripped or been pushed onto the tripwires by the momentum of their dashing comrades. Graypatch looked back at them over his shoulder.

"Blunderin' idiots!"

There was an immense tug on his legs. Instantly he was swinging back and forth as he dangled upside-down from a spring rope tied to a tree limb. His head cracked painfully against that of Frink, who was also suspended upside down by a rope.

Back at the camp, Bigfang had scrambled upright and was shouting, though his nose looked like a ripe plum ready to burst.

"See, I told you it was squirrels. I was right-the rabbit said so!"

298.

Chains clinked as hammers thudded, sending keen-tipped chisels biting through the chains and fetters of the oarslaves. Foremole patted each one fondly upon the head as they were freed.

"Hurr, guddbeasts, you'm go naow an' jump in 'ee barth, thurr be clean cloathen an' vittles aplenty when you'm warshed!"

Mother Mellus wiped her eyes on a spotted kerchief. "You can almost see their bones sticking out, poor little things!"

Flagg struck the last of the chains free. "Don't fret, marm. They've got mouths to eat with-they'll soon be fat as hogs."

Gabriel Quill sniffed. "Speak for yourself, stream-dog!"

Before they went to the dormitories, Clary and his friends sat with Foremole and the crew around the fireplace in Cavern Hole, drinking a nightcap of mulled October ale.

"Excellent night's work, chaps. Eight down, twelve to go, wot?" Thyme stared into the flames. "Right you are, old sport, but it's goin' to get much harder each time, now that they know what we're really after. Much jolly well harder." Hon Rosie emptied her tankard at a single gulp.

"Clary, may I?"

"Oh, I s'pose so. Permission t' carry on, Rosie." "I say, Clary, thanks. Whoohahahahahooh!" Dan'1 and Groaby banged their tankards down upon the hearth, wincing visibly at the ear-splitting sound. "Gwaw! That's et, oi'm arf t' bed!" "Hurr, an' oi too, afore oi'm deafened fer loif!"

299.

Captain Catseyes of the Seatalon patted the new sword at his side proudly. Never had a searat set eyes upon such a sword as this. He watched the two new oarslaves bending their backs as they pulled in stroke with the others.

"Up an' one, an' down an' two, Bend yer backs an' curse yer birth. Up an' one, an' down an' two, Pull those oars fer all your worth!"

The grating voice of the slavedriver echoed across the benches as he strode up and down, flicking his cruel whip, reciting the crude rowing poem as he laid out about him.

"Up an' one, an' down an' two, Some have backs without no hide. Up an' one, an' down an' two, Those who couldn't row have died. Up an' one, an' down an' two, Here's a gift from me to you!"

He lashed out with the whip. An oarslave arched his back and screamed.

300.

Catseyes nodded toward Dandin and Durry. "The two new 'uns, how are they shapin' up, Blodge?"

Blodge the slavedriver flicked his whip toward the pair. "No better or worse than the rest o' them, Cap'n. Though they're still fresh an' strong, a season or so eatin' slave slops an' the weight of that oar they're chained to should knock some o' the starch out of 'em."

Catseyes strode down the alleyway between the oars until he was facing Dandin. The searat Captain drew the sword, watching the lantern lights playing up and down the length of its wondrous blade.

"You don't look much like a warrior mouse. Where'd a liddle fish like you come by a blade such as this beauty?"

Dandin's eyes blazed fire at the Captain of the Seatalon. "I am Dandin of Redwall. That is the sword of Martin the Warrior. You are not fit to wear it, rat!"

Catseyes nodded to Blodge. The slavedriver flailed his whip hard against Dandin's back. The young mouse did not even flinch, he continued to glare his hatred at the searat Captain. Catseyes laughed.

"Feisty Hddle brute, ain't you. Well, we'll see about that."