Mariel Of Redwall Page 10

  Weltskin swung the sword several times. Gabool looked worried.

  ‘No, matey, no. That’s no way to twirl a blade. Here, let me show yer how to use that sword.’

  Weltskin gave the sword to Gabool. He watched fascinated as the Warlord wove patterns in the air with the glittering weapon. Weltskin’s fascination suddenly turned to agonized shock as Gabool snicked the tip from his ear with the sword. Smiling wickedly, Gabool flashed the blade a little closer to Weltskin’s throat.

  ‘That’s how t’do it, matey. Now do you want to lay about while I does another liddle trick with yer neck, or do yer want t’board ship an’ leave this ’ere carver with ol’ Gabool?’

  A second later the Searat King was listening to the mad patter of Weltskin’s paws as he dashed headlong for the harbour and the safety of the open sea. Thrusting his regained weapon into its waist sash, Gabool threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  Redwallers gathered in the open doorway of the infirmary sickbay, anxiously peeping in at the still figure of Storm laid upon a truckle bed. Saxtus gnawed at his lip.

  ‘It must have been something I said in that poem. Oh, I wish I hadn’t recited the blinking thing now. In fact, I wish that I’d never seen it!’

  Dandin patted his friend reassuringly. ‘Don’t be silly. You weren’t to know that the poem would have that effect upon her. It’s not your fault. Though I must say, Storm is the last creature you’d expect to fall in a faint like that. I’ve never met a rougher, tougher mousemaid in my life.’

  Simeon turned from a corner table where he was concocting something from strange-looking herbs and roots.

  ‘Rough and tough she is indeed. I think Storm has been through things that would have killed a lesser creature. She has tremendous spirit.’

  The Abbot agreed. ‘She has indeed, though I don’t think her real name is Storm Gullwhacker. I wonder who she really is.’

  Simeon turned back to his bowl and pestle. ‘That’s what we’re about to find out if we can. Are you ready, Sister Sage?’

  Sage went to the door. ‘Mother Mellus, Abbot and Brother Hubert, you’d better come in and watch. Saxtus and Dandin, you can come in also, and you too, Tarquin, but you’ll have to be very quiet. Now the rest of you, please go to bed. It’s only two hours until dawn. There are visitors’ beds set up in Cavern Hole for the woodlanders.’

  Storm lay very still. Sister Sage placed a fresh damp cloth across her brow, noting the deep scar which ran across her skull. Sage lifted Storm’s head slightly as Simeon administered a small dose of the mixture from a beaker. The mousemaid licked her lips, made a small noise of satisfaction, then settled back as if in a calm sleep.

  Simeon took a seat near Storm’s head and spoke gently into her ear.

  ‘You are with friends, little one – good friends. I want you to tell us what happened to you. Go back to the beginning and tell us all. Can you hear me? Do you understand what I am saying?’

  Storm’s eyelids flickered. She sighed and then began talking as if she were telling a story to a friend. At his table in the corner, Brother Hubert wrote swiftly with quill on parchment, recording the strange tale.

  The mousemaid called Storm Gullwhacker. Her story written down by Hubert, Brother Recorder of Redwall Abbey.

  After moving about restlessly for a short while the mousemaid appeared calm and spoke quite clearly.

  We are half a season out from the deep coasts in the far south, my father Joseph and I. The ship we are sailing in is called Periwinkle. It is crewed by shrews. They are a bit scared because they have never sailed upon blue waters before, but Captain Ash is bold and adventurous. He says the only way we can get the great bell to Salamandastron is by sea. I have never sailed the deep waters before, nor has my father. Every day we see new wonders – great fish, huge seabirds and wonderful sunsets.

  The great bell is tied on deck; my father and I sit to watch the sun’s dying rays reflected in its shining metal. I can hear the pride in his voice as he speaks to me.

  ‘Mariel,’ he says. ‘Surely this is a bell fit for Rawnblade Widestripe, the great badger Lord. See how the sun sinking in the west turns it to a fiery colour. That is the copper, brass and gold, Mariel; the silver I put in to make its voice sweet.’

  My father is strong and very wise; he is the cleverest bellmaker in the world. When I tell him this he laughs and says, ‘No no, the nicest thing I ever made was your name – Mariel. It sounds like a bell ringing clear across meadows on a soft spring morn. Can’t you hear it . . . Mariel! Mariel!’

  Now we have had to stop hugging the coast and put out to sea because of the reefs inshore. All around me is nothing but waves and water. It is a bit frightening at times when the big billows ride high with the wind. The crew are not very happy now they have lost sight of land. My father says everything is shipshape – he learned that from Captain Ash. I like the Captain and I am sure he will deliver us safe to the mountain of the badger Lord.

  Something is wrong. A great black ship with red sails has been following us since dawn. I heard Captain Ash whisper to my father the word ‘searats’. My father has taken me below to a cabin. I have to lie on the deck underneath a bunk and hide behind some blankets. My father tells me to lie still and not move. I am not afraid now; I am angry. I do not think I will like searats. I want to come out and fight them if they try to harm us, but my father has forbidden me.

  Crashing above on deck, screaming, yelling, paws pounding everywhere, harsh voices shouting bad things! Clashing of metal, splintering of wood, moaning, horrible cries. I must get out of this place to help against the searats. Silence now, just some cries of injured creatures and the creak of ropes. I am trying to lie still but I tremble and shake with rage. Why am I lying here doing nothing?

  Pawsteps, banging, the cabin door crashes open! As I peep between the blankets, I can see three big rats fighting over some wine on the cabin table. One called Gripper snatches the wineflask, but the biggest one, called Saltar, kicks him hard and grabs the wine. Gripper falls to the floor. As the ship heaves he rolls under the bunk and bumps into me. I yell, he rips the blankets off and says, ‘Hellseyes, look what I found – a pretty mousemaid!’

  He tries to grab me but I bite him, kicking him hard in the neck. Gripper makes strange sounds and clutches at his throat where I kicked him. His eyes turn up and he is still. Saltar laughs and says to the other rat, ‘A warrior maid, eh, Ledder. She’s slain old Gripper. What a wild one!’

  They both pounce on me. I cannot fight back because the dead rat is in my way. Saltar and Ledder throw the blankets over me. I am bundled up, and they punch and kick at the blankets until I go still, but I am half conscious.

  Now they have taken me on deck. I can see through a rip in the blanket that my father and Captain Ash are tied to the bell. They must have fought hard because they are both covered with cuts and bruises. The crew are all lying about, dead, wounded or tied up. Saltar is saying something to Ledder about feeding the fishes. Now they are . . . Oh no! . . . No, please! . . . Noooooooooo!!!

  Note by Brother Hubert. Here the mousemaid became very upset, thrashing about until Mother Mellus held her down and Simeon the herbalist administered more of his potion. The mousemaid lay calm for a while then started to speak again. I record her words as best as I can.

  Cold winter, hungry, cold, oh so cold! My father is ill – I have seen him once when he was brought up to talk with Gabool the Wild. He will not build a belltower for Gabool to hang the great bell in. Gabool is very angry. He sends my father away, back to the cells, where he must stay locked up until he agrees to build a belltower. A rat named Greypatch says that I should be used to make my father obey. But Gabool says that he is King of Terramort Isle, he alone gives the orders. If hunger, cold and illness do not bend my father to his will then he might use me to force him, but that is his decision and not Greypatch’s. I do not think Greypatch likes Gabool. I hate him. Gabool the Wild is the cruellest of all searats. He is a fearsome sight – strange w
ild eyes, golden greenstone-studded teeth and a long straggly beard – every beast on Terramort fears him. Gabool calls me Skiv. He makes me serve all his meals. If I am lucky he throws me the scraps from his plate; other times when he is in a cruel mood he will say, ‘Are you thirsty, Skiv?’ Then he pours wine on the floor and makes me lick it up. Many times I have tried to escape, but there are too many guards; I am brought back and beaten. Gabool has threatened to kill my father if I try running away once more. But there must be a way, I’ve got to find a way . . .

  Note by Brother Hubert: Here the mousemaid started weeping and grinding her teeth. Simeon said it was pure rage at her helpless position. He soothed her with a drop more of potion. She is resting now and beginning to relate another incident. I wish she would speak more slowly as I am unaccustomed to recording in this speedy manner.

  I am serving at table, laying Gabool’s food out. He likes roasted seabird and strong wine. Gabool is in a very bad temper and I know the reason. Our ship Periwinkle was renamed Crabclaw by Gabool. He made a rat named Skullgor Captain of it. But on the first day he sailed it from Terramort he was driven back on to the rocks by a sudden squall. The ship was holed and lost its rudder. Gabool has got Skullgor in front of him now and he is insulting him, goading him to fight, I think, though Gabool is unarmed. Gabool says, ‘Skullgor, a dead frog would be a better Captain than you. You are a blunderer and a fool. You let that ship run on to the rocks because you did not want to put to sea, you yellow-livered coward!’

  Skullgor draws his sword. He is shouting, ‘King or no King, nobeast calls Skullgor a coward. Go and get your sword, Gabool. We’ll see who’s the coward then!’

  Gabool reaches for a hidden sword he has stowed beneath the table. He draws it and makes a leap, surprising Skullgor. I am passing, laden with dishes, and I bump straight into Gabool by accident. Like a flash Skullgor is on him, but Gabool shouts out and a rat named Garrtail stabs Skullgor in the back with a dagger. Gabool jumps up and finishes Skullgor off, then he turns on me, yelling, ‘You’ve collected your last plate, Skiv. I saw your little game – trying to get me killed by Skullgor, eh? Then go and join him at Hellgates!’

  Now Gabool is coming at me with his sword, I know he is determined to slay me. Suddenly I feel a great anger. I must live; he has no right to take my life. I must act fast. I snatch up Skullgor’s sword and leap on to the table, kicking a jug of wine into Gabool’s face. I slash at him with my sword but he has staggered close in, his eyes full of wine. The sword handle catches him on the skull, stunning him. He falls beneath the table, but as I jump down to slay him they are on me, Garrtail and a half-dozen others. They hit me with something, everything goes black . . .’

  Note by Brother Hubert: We thought the mousemaid needed calming down, but she lay still momentarily then started to speak again.

  Black darkness. . . . Wind, rain! I am bound with a rope, a heavy rope. Outside on the high cliffs; we are outside the fort. I can hear waves crashing against the rocks far below. My head aches. I am balanced tottering on the cliff edge. Gabool is with me. He is saying something. I can hardly hear it for the wind and storm. . . . Wait!

  ‘A mousemaid bringing Gabool down – we can’t have that, can we, little Skiv? Saltar said you were a warrior maid. He was right, you are a born fighter – too much of a fighter for your own good. Let’s see how good you are at battling with the sea!’

  He pushes me. I am falling over the cliff! There is a large rock tied to the rope. It smashes to bits on another rock as I fall. . . . Father, Father, the water is cold as ice and high as mountains. But I won’t die, I’ll come back for you. See! The water has softened the rope and my paws are free. Driftwood – I’m clinging to it. Father, don’t let me drown. . . . Oh, it’s so cold, so dark, and the sea is like a huge wild animal. Father . . . Father . . . I’ll come back.’

  ‘Enough!’ The sight of one so young writhing in mental torment was pitiful. Mother Melius could stand it no longer. Sweeping the mousemaid up in her paws, she carried her off, calling back to those in the sickbay room, ‘This little one has had enough – me too! I can’t listen any more to the sufferings of the poor child. We will sleep out in the orchard, beneath the trees, where it is cool and shadowed from the dawn; just Mariel and me.’

  The door slammed and they were left looking at each other, all save blind Simeon, who summed it up in a few phrases.

  ‘She’s right, y’know. I think we all got carried away listening to the tale of Sto— er, Mariel. The poor maid needs rest, but at least we know who she is now.’

  Abbot Bernard stuffed his paws into wide habit sleeves and yawned. ‘Right you are, Simeon. I think we all need some rest. Aahhh, bed beckons.’

  Tarquin threw a dramatic paw to his brow. ‘Gads! How you can think of sleep at a time like this horrifies me, particularly when there’s so much food left. Any of you chaps fancy sharing a bite with me? I’ll tell you about the sweetest gel in the entire territory. Hon Rosie’s her name, an absolute whackeroony of a filly, an’ Tarquin L. Woodsorrel’s the first to say it.’

  Dandin chuckled. ‘Sounds like a tale for a long winter’s night. I’m off to the dormitories. G’ night, or is it good day?’

  Down in the orchard Tarquin sat stuffing dewberry and sugared apple cake, strumming his harolina mournfully.

  ‘O Rosie, why did you leave me?

  You’re enough to give a bally chap the pip,

  Laughin’ in my face, ha ha ha ha ha,

  An’ leavin’ me in tears as off you trip. . . . Yowch!’

  A hard green apple bounced off Tarquin’s head as Mother Mellus’s voice called out from the trees, ‘I’ll leave you in tears if you don’t quit your caterwauling and let us get some rest. I’ll wrap that harolina round your head, see if I don’t!’

  13

  A STIFF SOUTHERLY breeze had sprung up, chasing the mist before it. The Darkqueen under full sail dipped her head as she cut the night sea. Bow waves scudded spray to fleck her wake, ragged clouds swirled overhead with no moon to light them on their way, timbers creaked and ropes hummed as the burgeoning canvas pulled the sleek craft across the main.

  Greypatch knew it was dangerous to sail the Darkqueen in any northerly direction, but northeast was better than northwest, and he was a bit more familiar with the coastline in the northeast area. It was still some time until dawn.

  ‘Keep her head in to the shore, Fishgill,’ Greypatch called to his steersrat. ‘Deadglim, sound the water for reefs as y’go. Frink, stay up that topmast and keep yer eyes peeled north and westward. Any sign of a sail, give me a shout. I’m goin’ below to look at the charts. Stay on duty, now. Anybeast I catch nappin’ll be dead afore he wakes up.’

  The charts in Saltar’s former cabin were few and sketchy. Searats were notorious for sailing by instinct and rule of paw. Greypatch found a scrap of parchment and began drawing his own map of the coast from memory.

  ‘Hmm, if I recall right, the badgers’ mountain is further south’ard, then there’s the seamarshes, and I remember some outlyin’ cliffs boundin’ ’em t’ the north. Them dunes is next, an’ the toadlands. I reckon we’re a full night’s sailin’ with the wind behind us. . . . Got it! Haha, I knew me old brain wasn’t rustin’. Somewheres up this coast is a river that runs into the sea. Eye, it comes out of the forestlands and across the shore. All’s we do is keep a lookout fer the trees a-growin’ inland to the starboard side. I know the river’s somewheres there, I can feel it in me bones.’

  Daybreak found the Darkqueen still beating north up the coast. The morning was heavy with rolling seamist, promising to clear into hot sunshine. Promises were not much good to the Captain of Darkqueen, however. With Frink peering to port and Fishgill to starboard it turned into a guessing game as to what would show first, the trees to landward, or the enemy to seaward. Greypatch paced the deck anxiously.

  A grizzled searat called Kybo came scurrying up with bad news.

  ‘Just been checkin’ provisions, Cap’n. Nought but a few break
tooth biscuits left, an’ we’re out of fresh water!’

  Greypatch slammed the rail with his claw. ‘Stow the gab, Kybo. There’ll be fresh water an’ vittles aplenty where we’re bound. Somewheres along this coast there’s—’

  ‘Land ho!’

  Greypatch dashed to the starboard rail. ‘Where away, Fishgill?’

  ‘Straight as y’ look, Cap’n. The mist’s a-dearin’; I can see the trees growin’ green an’ ‘andsome atop of some dunes inland.’

  Greypatch clapped Kybo on the back and winked with his good eye. ‘See! I told yer, matey. Hoho, let’s see if they can find us now. Fishgill, Deadglim! Keep yer eyes skinned for a river runnin’ out o’ those trees across the shore. Ahoy there, Frink. Any sign of Gabool or his ships on your side?’

  ‘Nary a sail, Cap’n. The mist’s liftin’ an’ all I see is a bright day an’ some seabirds!’

  The news cheered Greypatch immensely. Helm down, the Darkqueen raced along the shoreline as a stiffening breeze sprang up from the south. Greypatch called all claws on deck, where they could watch for the river.

  It was early noontide before the river was sighted, flowing through a deep defile in the dunes and bubbling out to meet the sea. The strain and tension was showing in Greypatch’s face. Though his search had been rewarded, he knew precious time had been wasted. Gabool’s ships would not be meandering about at half-sail, they would be hunting at full speed and bound to turn up sooner than later. Moreover, conditions for navigating the river were not favourable. It was ebb tide.