Marlfox (Redwall) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  About the Author

  The Tales of Redwall

  Dedication

  Contents

  Marlfoxs

  Prologue

  Act One: Enter the Players

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Act Two: Four Chieftains Going Forth

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Act Three: The Queen’s Island

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781407050102

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  MARLFOX

  A RED FOX BOOK 978 1 862 30244 0

  First published in Great Britain by Hutchinson, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, A Random House Group Company

  Hutchinson edition published 1998

  Red Fox edition published 1999

  Red Fox edition reissued 2007

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Text copyright © The Redwall Abbey Company Ltd, 1998

  Illustrations copyright © Fangorn, 1998

  The right of Brian Jacques and Fangorn to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Red Fox Books are published by Random House Children’s Books,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  www.kidsatrandomhouse.co.uk

  www.redwall.org

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  THE RANDOM HOUSE GROUP Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon, CR0 4TD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Before he started writing books for children, Brian Jacques’ life was as full of adventure as the stories he creates. At the age of fifteen he went to sea and travelled the world, before returning to his home town of Liverpool, where he still lives today. He has worked as a stand-up comedian and playwright and now hosts his own programme, Jakestown, on BBC Radio Merseyside. For twenty years, his bestselling Redwall books have captured readers all over the world and won universal praise.

  For more information about Brian Jacques and his work please visit his website www.redwall.org.

  THE TALES OF REDWALL

  Lord Brocktree

  Martin the Warrior

  Mossflower

  The Legend of Luke

  Outcast of Redwall

  Mariel of Redwall

  The Bellmaker

  Salamandastron

  Redwall

  Mattimeo

  The Pearls of Lutra

  The Long Patrol

  Marlfox

  The Taggerung

  Triss

  Leamhedge

  Rakkety Tam

  High Rhulain

  Click onto the Redwall website and find out more about your favourite characters from the legendary world of Redwall, and their creator, Brian Jacques!

  www.redwall.org

  To the memory of a true Redwall friend and talented illustrator, Allan Curless

  Act One

  Enter the Players

  * * *

  Act Two

  Four Chieftains Going Forth

  * * *

  Act Three

  The Queen’s Island

  * * *

  To where will they go,

  This is a secret nobeast may know.

  Marlfox!

  Plundering murdering vulpine thieves,

  Who blend with stone,

  Or meld with leaves.

  Marlfox!

  See the pale eyes and swirling cloak,

  Appear like nightmare,

  Vanish like smoke.

  Marlfox!

  What steals upon the silent air,

  Gleaming fangs, mottled fur,

  A deadly axeblade lying there.

  Marlfox!

  Nobeast living can hide from thee,

  O thou who treads invisibly,

  Cross hill and vale, through woods and rocks.

  Marlfox!

  Marlfox!

  Marlfox!

  PROLOGUE

  Who are we but strolling players,

  Wand’ring through the long ago,

  Joys and sadness, hopes and longings,

  Keep us travelling onward though

  The laughter and applause of others,

  Who view the passing cavalcade,

  Leave echoes hovering some far summer,

  Floating round a woodland glade.

  ’Twas but a tale for your amusement,

  Like my small unworthy rhyme,

  Gone, alas, into those realms,

  The land of once upon a time.

  ACT ONE

  * * *

  Enter the Players

  * * *

  1

  Eternally serene, the moon ruled over star-strewn vaults of cloudless sable night, like a round shield of flecked amber, casting pale light to the earth below. Vagrant breezes from the distant sea drifted idly through Mossflower Wood’s southwest margins, cooling the heavy warmth a bright summer day had left in its wake.

  Janglur Swifteye sat at the edge of a well-worn trail, his back against the broad trunk of a fallen elm, savouring the calm summer night. He was an unusual squirrel, half as tall again as most of his species, with dark terracotta fur, untypically long and thick. A huge bush of tail added to the impression of his size. Beneath the fur Janglur’s limbs were hefty and robust, with a stomach of considerable girth, which his mother constantly chided him about. His eyes were hooded and long-lashed, giving the impression he was always half asleep. However, anybeast who knew Janglur Swifteye was careful not to be fooled by his air of easygoing idleness. He was renowned as a quick and dangerous warrior, immensely strong and wise in the ways of battle. But there was another side to him: he was also an obedient son, a dutiful husband and a fond father. In the woodlands behind him his family slept in their little travelling tent, his mother Ellayo, his wife Rimrose and Songbreeze, the daughter who was the apple of her father’s eye.

  From beneath hal
f-closed lids Janglur Swifteye watched, missing nothing. Clusters of flowering dock nodded lightly against gnarled oak trunks, orange-berried arums and spiking flowered sedge swayed lazily between elder, chestnut and sycamore trees, nocturnal insects trundled or winged their various ways through the darkened forest. From somewhere deep in the thickets a nightingale warbled its short rich trill. Janglur whistled a reply to it on his reed flute, aware that somebeast was creeping up behind him. The only move he made was to blink away a midge from his eyelashes. He knew who the intruder was by the way she approached. Janglur chuckled.

  ‘I hear ye, missie. Couldn’t sleep, eh?’

  His daughter Songbreeze climbed slowly over the elm trunk and slid down beside him.

  ‘Nobeast could ever surprise you, old Swifteye. Phew! It’s far too hot t’sleep and Grandma’s snoring like a score of hedgehogs after a feast.’

  Janglur winked lazily at her. ‘Huh, listen who’s talkin’. Y’should hear yourself snorin’ some nights, drowns yore grandma’s poor efforts out completely.’

  She shoved her father playfully. ‘I do not! Young squirrelmaids don’t snore, ask Mum.’

  Janglur snorted softly. ‘Y’mother’s worse’n both of you put together.’

  The nightingale warbled its short melody again. Janglur picked up his reed flute. ‘Listen t’that feller, thinks he can sing. Come on, Song, show him.’ No creature who knew the tall pretty squirrel ever used her full name.

  Janglur played a brief introduction, then Song’s voice rang out with such sweetness and clarity that a tear coursed its way down her father’s cheek. Her voice never failed to move him.

  ‘Flow’rs of the forest

  Are bright in the spring,

  Wake with the dawn

  Hear a lone skylark sing.

  Brooks gaily babble

  O’er hillsides so green,

  Streams ripple secrets

  Of what they have seen,

  Small birds give voice

  Mid the leaves of great trees,

  Which rustle softly

  In time with the breeze.

  I’ll add my music

  For what it is worth,

  And sing just for you, love,

  The song of the earth.’

  As the last plaintive notes died away, Janglur put aside his flute and wiped a paw quickly across his eyes. Song nudged him gently.

  ‘Big tough warrior, eh, crying again.’

  Her father sniffed aloud, looking away from her. ‘Don’t be silly. ’Twas just a midge went in me eye, but I couldn’t play for you an’ wipe it out at the same time, had to wait till you were finished singin’.’

  In another part of the woodland two foxes ceased their prowl through the undergrowth and listened to the sweet, plaintive melody floating faintly on the night air. Both beasts were identical; apart from the fact they were brother and sister they were alike in every other aspect. Ascrod and his sister Vannan were Marlfoxes, pale-eyed, with strange silver-white coats heavily mottled with patches of black and bluey grey. They wore swirling cloaks of drab brown and green weave. Ascrod’s lips scarcely moved as he muttered to his sister: ‘That singer warbles more sweetly than any bird I ever heard!’

  Vannan’s pale eyes glimmered in the moonlight. ‘Aye, brother, and would trill even better at the court of our mother Queen Silth. Come on!’

  In the space of a breath both Marlfoxes were gone, melted back into the night-shaded forest like tendrils of smoke on the wind.

  Song plucked a blade of grass and tickled her father’s eartip. ‘Big old softie. Come on, play a lively tune and I’ll put a smile back on your face, eh?’

  But Janglur was not paying attention to her. He stiffened, both ears twitching as he sniffed the breeze. Song caught the urgency of his mood.

  ‘What is it? Can you hear something?’

  Janglur’s hooded eyes flicked. He watched the trees on the opposite side of the path, talking quietly, not looking at his daughter as he continued scanning the woodlands. ‘Go quick t’yore mamma, Song, an’ tell ’em t’be silent. An’ stay put! Hurry now!’

  Song had seen her father like this before. She knew better than to stop and argue with him. Wordlessly, she slipped away to the tent.

  Janglur took a dangerous-looking thorn dart, tufted with dried grass, from his belt pouch. Placing the missile in his mouth, he tucked it against one cheek, then sat back against the elm trunk. Idly he began playing his reed flute. Outwardly the big squirrel appeared calm, but inside he was poised like lightning ready to strike. In a short while he made out the two foxes moving expertly from a patch of fern to the cover of some bushes, coming closer to him by the moment. Janglur took the flute from his lips, calling out sternly, ‘Quit sneakin’ about an’ walk on the path like decent creatures!’

  Ascrod and Vannan had thought the squirrel was unaware of their approach. They hid their surprise by putting on a bold front, swaggering up to where Janglur sat. Ascrod kicked the squirrel’s footpaw, just hard enough to warn him that he and his sister were well in charge of the situation.

  ‘You there, who was that singing a short while ago?’

  Janglur did not bother to look up at Ascrod, though his voice was menacingly low. ‘None o’ yore business, snipenose. Now get goin’, an’ take that other one with ye!’

  Vannan winked at her brother and smiled nastily as her paw began to stray towards the single-bladed axe she carried beneath her cloak. Janglur appeared to ignore them, and went back to playing his flute. Ascrod leaned close to the squirrel, baring his teeth.

  ‘You’re very insolent for a fat lazy squirrel. Shall I show you what we do to beasts with insulting tongues?’

  Pffutt!

  Janglur Swifteye shot the dart from his flute, burying it deep in the tip of Ascrod’s nose. As the fox shrieked out in agony, Janglur sprang upright: Whipping forth a loaded sling from round his waist, he hurled himself upon Vannan, who had her axe halfway out. She went down in an unconscious heap as the hard oval river pebble in the sling’s tongue thwacked heavily across her skull. Ascrod was hopskipping about wildly, both paws clapped across his muzzle as he screeched with pain.

  ‘Yeeeeeeek! Yaaaaarreeeeek!’

  ‘Tails’n’scuts preserve us all! Who’s kickin’ up that awful din?’

  Shaking with anger, Janglur turned to see his family dashing towards him, with Ellayo in the lead, brandishing a blackthorn stick.

  Janglur stared accusingly at his daughter. ‘Song, I thought I told you to stay put an’ keep ’em quiet?’

  Rimrose placed herself between them. “Tweren’t no fault o’ Song’s. You jus’ try stoppin’ that ole mamma of yours when she starts swingin’ that stick!’

  Janglur’s paw shot out. He caught the tip of his mother’s stick and held it tight.

  Heaving on the blackthorn and stumbling on her long apron hem, the old squirrelwife berated her son. ‘Leggo o’ me stick, y’great boulder-bellied tree-walloper, leggo or I’ll spank ten seasons’ daylights out of ye!’

  Song giggled and clapped her paws. ‘That’s the stuff, Grandma. You give him a good spankin’!’

  Rimrose wagged a paw at her daughter. ‘That’ll be quite enough o’ that, missie. Show some proper respect for yore elders!’ Then, unable to prevent herself, she fell against Song, laughing helplessly. ‘Oh, heeheehee! It’d be a funny sight to see yore grandma givin’ that great lump a spank or two! Heehee!’

  Grandma Ellayo let go of the stick and turned on Song and Rimrose, attempting to look fierce as she hid a smile. ‘Hah! Don’t you two think I couldn’t tan his tail if’n I took a mind to do it. I’m still his mother, y’know!’

  Janglur lifted his mother clear of the ground, hugging her fondly. ‘You can skelp the fur off’n me any time ye wants to, my lovely ole barkbelter. Why, I’ll bet y’could . . .’

  Song interrupted suddenly. ‘Look! The foxes are gone.’

  All that remained of the Marlfoxes’ visit was a few drops of blood from Ascrod’s muzzle,
glistening darkly amid the disturbed dust of the path. Janglur peered into the dark woodlands. ‘Aye, they’ve got away somehow. Won’t catch ’em now, they’ve vanished.’ He put a paw about his daughter’s shoulders. ‘Mark what I say, Song. They’re Marlfoxes, strange blood runs in their veins. They can disappear like no other livin’ creature.’

  ‘C’mon, ladies, we best break camp an’ get travellin’.’

  Janglur’s family had been wanderers since he was in his infancy, and breaking camp was a simple affair to them. Once the canvas they used as a tent had been folded, their few cooking implements were rolled in it to form a backpack. In the pre-dawn light they breakfasted on clear streamwater and a travelling fruit and honey cake which Rimrose had baked two days before.

  ‘Grandma, what’s a Marlfox?’ asked Song, between mouthfuls.

  Ellayo tried to explain. ‘The story goes back a long ways – ’tis far too long to tell in a short time. But I’ll tell ye this much, missie. Somewhere there’s a forgotten lake, a great stretch o’ deep water, almost an inland sea somebeasts say. That’s where the Marlfoxes live, an’ the most cunning of ’em all, if’n she still lives, is Queen Silth. Aye, they call her the most powerful magic creature alive. ‘Tis said her island is a place o’ great riches an’ beauty. I heard all this from a poor creature who was set upon by a bunch of magpies while fishing off the island.’

  Ellayo fell silent, and Janglur said, ‘Don’t bother your grandma further, Song. If Marlfoxes are loose in the land y’may learn more than you bargained for. Pick up that linen now, we need t’be travellin’. North an’ east a touch, I reckon.’