The Bellmaker Part 1

The Bellmaker.

Brian Jacques.

Storm-bruised clouds, heavy and lowering, dropped teeming rain into the howling March wind, slanting in from the northwest to batter the last of winter's snow that clung to the stones of Redwall Abbey. Inside the gatehouse it was snug and warm, though there was not much room. All the available chairs and floor s.p.a.ce had been taken up by little creatures-moles, mice, squirrels, and hedgehogs. They watched in silence as an ancient squirrel, silver haired and bent with age from long seasons, banked up the fire with two beech logs. He turned slowly and, shooing two very young mice from his armchair, the aged squirrel sat, a twinkle in his eye as he watched his audience.

"Sit still, be good, my Dibbuns-the special breakfast will soon be here. Listen for the knock now; my ears don't work very well these days."

The little ones, who were collectively known as Dibbuns, cupped paws about their ears, listening intently. All dial could be he^rd was the spattering rain on the win- dows and the wind mourning its dirge around the outside walls. The knock came upon the door like a spell being broken.' A ba.s.s-voiced molebabe stood up shouting, "Hurr et be, brekkist!"

Several of the young ones had to force the door open against the gale. A fat old hedgehog backed himself inside, pulling a trolley loaded with a cauldron, wooden bowls, and spoons. No sooner was he inside than the wind whipped the door shut with a loud slam. Shaking rainwater from his venerable gray spikes, the hedgehog lifted the cauldron lid. A delicious aroma from the steaming vessel caused cries of delight. He wiped the corners of his eyes on a spotted kerchief and winked at his companion in the armchair.

"Pearl Queen Pudden, messmate-nothin' like it on a cold wet day. Come on, me little mateys, pa.s.s these bowls *n' spoons around while it's still nice an' hot."

All that could be heard was the sc.r.a.pe of spoon upon bowl as they sat eating breakfast. The ancient squirrel finished his portion and ruffled the ears of a mouse sitting on the chair arm. "You enjoying that, Jerril?"

The little mouse licked his spoon. * 'Pearl Queen Pud-den's nice. What's in it?"

"Ask my mate. He made it."

The old hedgehog cleared the Dibbuns from his armchair on the other side of the hearth and sat down chuckling, his huge stomach shaking like a bowl of jelly. "Hohohoh! I'll tell ye what's in Pearl Queen Pudden, young Jerril. Anythin' a beast can lay his paws on. Apples, nuts, berries, plums, an' memories, lots o' memories. Ain't that right, messmate?"

The squirrel's eyes shone as he gazed into the fire.

3 "Aye, that's right. Memories. Long seasons gone an' high old summers that never fade from our minds."

The ba.s.s-voiced molebabe looked up from his second helping. "Do that mean ee goin' to tell us'n's a tale, zurr?" he asked.

"Well, there's nothing else t'do in weather like this," said the ancient squirrel, as he put aside his bowl and spoon. "Aye, I'll tell you a story, but my mate will have to help me out in parts, because it's a very long tale."

Jerril was licking his bowl, but he popped his head out to say, "Did yer make it up, sir?"

The squirrel shook his grizzled head vigorously. "Make it up? Indeed not. No, young feller, this story is true. 'Tis not just my story; it belongs to many creatures. 1 gathered their own bits from each one of 'em."

The hedgehog in the armchair opposite nodded. "Aye, though it would've never happened but for one, a mouse called Joseph the Bellmaker, for the dream was his."

Outside, the rain flattened young gra.s.s and the wind rattled leafless branches that were trying hard to put out small buds. A delicately thin icicle tinkled from the gatehouse roof, like the last tear of winter. Inside, the ruddy firelight gleamed on the young faces, each one watching the ancient squirrel as he leaned forward and began the story.

BOOK ONE.

The Dream

It is said that in the hungry land of ice and snow from whence he came the beast was known and feared by the names he had taken. Fox wolf! The Urgan Nagru!

He and his mate, Silvamord, commanded a vast horde of savage gray rats. They ravaged the northlands unopposed-tundra, forest, and mountain lay under the claws of Nagru and his vixen. But the Foxwolf knew there was one enemy he could never defeat, one foe more ruthless than any living thing. Winter!

Snow, ice, howling blizzards, and famine were the real rulers of the country he had despoiled, a bone-chilling starkness that conquered all. Nagru and Silvamord were forced to yield, realizing that starvation and death stalked the country they had stripped bare. So it was that Nagru took Silvamord and all the horde in three great ships to search for the sun.

Those were the dangerous seasons. Battered across dark, roaring seas they went, narrowly dodging huge floating ice mountains, the ships' sails and riggings frozen 8 .

stiff with rimy spray. Sometimes they lay becalmed in ghostly lat.i.tudes, wreathed in spectral mists with the waters beneath them still and fathomless. Completely lost, the Foxwolf plowed onward, driven across trackless wastes where no vessel's bow had ever cut spray, avoiding leviathans of the deep and shoals of unnamed sea-beasts. Strange, hostile waters closed over their wake as the weary convoy sailed deeper into the unknown.

Then one morning the lookouts saw that the seas were gentler. Small fish swam playfully alongside the wave-scoured hulls, and the weather turned fair. Gazing upward, the eyes of Foxwolf beheld fleecy white clouds with sun peeping between them. Looking out to the horizon, he saw the thin green-brown line of land. The Foxwolf threw back his head and howled triumphantly.

He had defeated the wide, wintry seas. Silvamord joined him on deck, and together they bayed their defiance at the blue spring sky. Roaring and screeching, the gray rat horde thronged decks and rigging to cheer their leaders. It was a curious sight: three big, battered ships, swarming with thin, wild-eyed creatures, tattered sails flapping above creaking decks as they rode the ingoing swell toward sh.o.r.e. And so it was that Urgan Nagru came to the far south!

The land lay like a dream out of time under the spell of early spring. Southsward! A soft, peaceful region of plenty that had never felt the cruel breath of war. Stowing the three ships up a heavily wooded creek, Nagru waded ash.o.r.e with Silvamord and their ragged, murderous followers. Lean from hunger and privation, eager for loot and conquest, they pressed hurriedly inland. The time of the Foxwolf had come to Southsward!

The BeUmaker From his vantage point on a wooded hilltop, Rab Stream-battle gazed across the valley to Castle Floret. The otter had watched and planned almost every day as spring pa.s.sed into summer. Castle Floret stood atop a high flat plateau, its north side ab.u.t.ting the sheer cliff face. The castle's other three sides were surrounded by a crescent-shaped moat. A mighty drawbridge commanded almost a third of the front south side, and at this edge the plateau had a long flight of broad steps carved into the living rock from top to valley floor.

Rab stared sadly at his old home. It resembled a beautiful forgotten cake left standing on the green-clothed tableland. Against a sky of dusty blue, cream-colored towers shimmered beneath quaint, circular red-tiled roof-caps. Dark green ivy and golden saxifrage flourished amid the crenellations. Campion and climbing roses burgeoned carelessly over windowsills and framed doors. The hot afternoon did not contribute the slightest breeze to ruffle the variegated pennants draped idly around tall flagpoles.

Rab dismissed the dreamlike qualities of his old home, riveting his worried brown eyes on the window alongside the drawbridge top. Had something gone wrong? Did Nagru know of the escape that had been planned? His friends, Gael Squirrelking, Queen Serena, and little Truf-fen, had they received the message from Relph the blackbird? The otter clutched his bow tightly, staring at the window, awaiting the signal as thoughts raced through his troubled mind.

Why, oh why, had Gael not listened to him? Rab recalled the day he had first argued with his friend. The quarrel had become furious and bitter and had ended with IO.

Gael ordering his old friend either to curb his tongue or leave the castle. Stone-faced, Rab stalked angrily out of Floret, taking the entire otter castle guard with him-not because he feared Nagru, but because he could see the evil that Gael was blind to.

Rab hated and loathed the cunning Foxwolf with an intensity that banished all fear. Now his friend the Squir-relking and his family were prisoners in their own home. The wickedness of Nagru was a specter that would soon blight the whole of Southsward. Gael should have heeded the warnings Rab had issued, but instead he chose to play the king and offer the Foxwolf hospitality.

Suddenly, Rab's eye caught a flutter of iridescent blue-black wings carrying a sc.r.a.p of red cloth to the window by the drawbridge.

Rab Streambattle notched an arrow to his bowstring.

The escape was on!

The sun hung like a hot merciless eye, watching two small creatures huddled in the shade of a shale outcrop on die wasteland floor. The mousemaid Mariel of Redwall shook an empty flask over the outstretched tongue of her friend Dandin. Two single drops fell slowly, then no more.

"Put your tongue away," she said, sadly. "The sun will think we're mocking him."

The young mouse nodded skyward as he withdrew his parched tongue. "Huh, he's been mocking us for the last week."

They both sat staring at the empty flask. Mariel gently kicked her slack haversack. "Two stale oatcakes in there. D'you fancy one?"

Dandin smiled ruefully. "No thanks. They're the two ii you said you'd keep as a memento of Redwall Abbey. It's four seasons since we left there-I'd break every tooth in my head trying to chomp on them. Besides, I'm too dry to eat. Whew, it's too hot even to talk!"

Mariel closed her eyes, settling back into the shade. "Sleep then; we'll carry on tonight when it gets cooler."

Dandin lay down clasping his paws behind his head and called out to the sun, "Did you hear that? We're going to sleep, turn the heat down a bit, will you!"

Mariel opened one eye. "Get to sleep, thirstygut," she said.

Dandin closed his eyes. There was a moment's silence, then he began talking aloud to himself. "It'll be teatime back at the Abbey now. I bet I know what they'll be having, too. Cold strawberry cordial from deep in the cellars, October ale, dark and cool in foaming tankards. Prob'ly mint tea as well, icy cold, brewed since dawn, clear and fragrant, just right for sipping on a hot day like ...Yowch!"

Mariel brandished the haversack over her friend. "One more word and I'll let you have it again!"

"Can't hear you, old mouseypaws," Dandin said as he flopped against her, rolling his eyes comically. "You've knocked me senseless with those two oatcakes in there."

"Good. Perhaps you'll be quiet now."

"Quiet? I haven't said a single word!"

"Right, then I'll say a single word. Goodnight!"

"Don't you mean good afternoon?"

"I mean goodnight, or I'll brain you with this haversack!"

"Oh, righto. Goodnight!"

12 .

Mariel woke in darkness. Warned by her warrior instinct, she lay motionless. Somebeast was trying gradually to sneak the haversack out from under her head. It was not Dandin-she could hear his snores drifting gently up to the canopy of the star-strewn night. As the final corner of their supply bag eased slowly away, she sprang into action. Slamming a footpaw hard on the haversack, she prevented the thief from making off with it. In the dim light, Mariel could make out a small, fat figure scurrying off into the wasteland. s.n.a.t.c.hing one of the two ancient oatcakes from the bag, the mousemaid hefted it like a discus, yelling as she flung it.

"Redwaaaaallll!"

Thonk!

It struck edge on, right between the robber's ears. He dropped in a heap. Dandin leaped up, still half asleep, his paws waving.

"More October ale there! Wha ... Who ... Mariel!"

As she ran toward the felon, the mousemaid was yelling, "I knew those oatcakes'd come in useful-got the blaggard!"

Dandin followed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he arrived upon the scene, Mariel was kneeling crestfallen over her quarry. "Oh dear, what've I done?" she wailed. "He's only a little un!"

It was a small hedgehog. Dandin stooped to feel the big b.u.mp in the center of its head.

"Middle of the night, running target, great shot I'd say."

Mariel turned on him, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. "Oh, Dandin, how could you say that. I'd never have thrown at such a little feller intentionally. But it all hap- 13 pened so quickly, I couldn't see who it was."

Dandin picked up the oatcake and chuckled. "Not to worry-look, the little rogue's coming around fine. Haha, this is a true Redwall missile. See, there's not even a mark on it!"

The small hedgehog sat up slowly, gingerly pawing his head. He blinked at them and said, "Ooh! Where be I? Wot 'appened?"

Before Mariel could answer, Dandin chipped in, * 'You tripped and b.u.mped your head, old lad."

Glaring at Dandin, the little beast bristled. "Me name don't be oF lad. I be Bowly Pintips, an' I'll thank ee to address I proper!"

Dandin adopted a look of mock fear and bowed respectfully. "Accept my humble apologies, Your Royal Bowlyness!"

Bowly s.n.a.t.c.hed the oatcake and brandished it. "See this 'ere rock as I tripped over? Well, you make sport o' me, an' I'll biff ye with it! Wot's yore names? Speak up now afore I loses me temper with ye both!"

The hedgehog's impudence caused Mariel's mood of pity to vanish instantly. She grabbed Bowly firmly by his nose, pulling him up on tippaw, and said, "Listen to me, you cheeky little robber. I'm Mariel of Redwall and this is Dandin. We're both warriors. So keep a civil tongue in your head, or we'll give you two more lumps to go on top of the one you've already got!"

Tears streamed from Bowly's eyes as his nose was squeezed. "Yowow! Leggo ob be doze, yore hurtig bee!"

Mariel released him and he groveled in the sand, rubbing at both b.u.mp and snout. The mousemaid nodded as she sat by him.

"That's better. Now, what's a little snippet like you doing out in the wastelands all alone? Where's your mum 'n' dad?"

Bowly shrugged glumly. "Never 'ad none as I c'd remember. Two weasels *ad me catchered south of 'ere, made me slave for 'em, tied me to a post at nights, but I 'scaped an' mimed away."

Dandin's friendly face grew grim. "How far south are these two weasels, Bowly?" he asked.

"About arf a night's march from 'ere. I only 'scaped just afore dark, Mister Dandy."

"My name's Dandin, not Mister Dandy," said Dandin, pawing the long dagger at his belt. "These two weasels, have they got food and drink?"

"O aye, they got vittles aplenty. Robs travelers, they do."

Mariel had retrieved the haversack. She knotted the carrying ropes together, exchanging a slow smile with Dandin. "Let's go and pay these two weasels a visit," she said.

The sand and shale were still warm from the day's heat, but the night air was cool as the three creatures strode south. Bowly Pintips giggled aloud when Dandin explained their plan to him.

Spurge and Agric the weasel slavers sat by their fire as dawn's rosy paws probed the eastern horizon. They were trying to brew a pan of mint tea, and making a total mess of it. At the side of the fire lay a stack of raw apple pancakes. Spurge burned his paw on the pan handle and danced about waving it. "Rot me ears,'ow does that Hddle spikedog brew this stuff?''

Agric prodded the pancakes with a wicked-looking willow cane. "Search me," he said. "Huh! I ain't sure 'ow t'cook these pancakes the rascal made las' night. Rotten liddle pincushion, we'll track 'im down; he can't go far without water in the wastelands. Wait'11 I lay claws on *im. I'll make that runaway weep fer a season or more!" He swished the cane through the air, grinning crookedly in antic.i.p.ation of giving Bowly a severe whipping.

"Mornin', sirs. Sorry I runned off like'n that las' night!"

Spurge's jaw dropped. There was Bowly, ambling around the big shale rock that marked their camp. Quivering with rage, Agric pointed with the cane to a wooden i6 .

post driven into the ground with a heavy shackling rope attached to it.

"Yew liddle sc.u.m, I'm goin' to bind you t' that post an' lash the p.r.i.c.kles offa yore hide. c.u.mmere!"

Spurge knocked the cane aside. "After brekkfist, matey. We want 'im fit t' cook our vittles first. Get to it, yew lazy lump!"

Obediently, Bowly stirred crushed mint leaves into the bubbling water, setting the pancakes on a thin shale slab which he balanced over the fire's edge. As he worked, Mariel strolled into the camp, smiling foolishly. She waved a paw at the two weasels.

"Morning! Lovely day, isn't it? Any breakfast going spare for a hungry traveler?"

Spurge and Agric could not believe their luck. Not only had the runaway surrendered, but they had suddenly got themselves a simpleton mousemaid traveling alone. It surely was turning out to be a nice day.