Mossflower (Redwall) Page 10

  ‘Huh, fancy trying to keep old Gonff locked up in Kotir! I’ll bet he could come and go with both paws tied. You know, I think I look a bit like Gonff.’

  ‘Of course you do. I look like Martin – pretty quiet and very brave – or I will be when I’m older. Just wait and see.’

  ‘Come on, matey. We’ve eaten enough. Let’s go off together and invade Kotir before we get sent to bed. We can slip away quietlike.’

  In the hubbub and confusion of the feast, nobody noticed the two baby hedgehogs take their leave.

  16

  A CRESCENT MOON hung over the warm spring night, casting its cloak over the light early foliage of Mossflower Woods. Indifferent to the woodland floor carpeted with dark green grass, dotted with bluebell and narcissus, Fortunata stopped in her tracks and held up a paw for silence. Immediately she was bumped by Brogg and Scratt, two weasels who did not stop fast enough. Ferrets and weasels in their turn blundered sleepily into each other.

  Fortunata bared her teeth impatiently. ‘Stand still, can’t you. I think I hear something.’

  The patrol held its collective breath and listened intently. Scratt dropped his shield with a clang. They all jumped with fright. Fortunata cursed at the hapless weasel, but he was tired and weary of listening to pointless orders.

  ‘Ahh, what’s the difference, fox? We’re on a right fool’s errand in this jungle, I can tell you. Huh, tramping about all day in full kit and armour, without anything to eat, and not a sight or sound of a living thing, except the sign of our own pawtracks that we keep coming across. What are we supposed to be doing out here, anyhow? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  There were murmurs of agreement. Fortunata cut in quickly to stem any ideas of mutiny. ‘All of you, get the soil out of your ears and listen to me. Can you imagine what will happen if we march back to Kotir empty-pawed? Well, can you? By the claw, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Imagine the Queen – d’you think she’ll say: “Oh you poor creatures. Didn’t you find any of those naughty woodlanders? Well, never mind, come in and take off your armour, sit by the fire and have a bite to eat.”’

  One particularly stupid ferret grinned hopefully. ‘Oh that would be nice.’

  Fortunata was about to give him something painful to think about when she heard the noise once more.

  ‘Ssshhh! There it is again, coming right toward us. Right, this is your chance to carry out the mission properly. I want you all out of sight. You lot, get behind those trees. You others, hide in the bushes. When I give the signal, come out whacking. Use your spear handles, shields, branches – anything. I want them taken alive. Here they come! Hide quickly.’

  As the soldiers dropped out of sight, a cloud obscured the moonlight. At that moment a band of dark shapes came into view.

  The vixen ran out shouting, ‘Now, up and at ’em, troops!’

  Spurred on by Fortunata, the soldiers dashed from hiding. They charged with a roar into the midst of the intruders, dealing out heavy blows, kicking, biting, scratching and pounding away at the enemy. The air was rent with blows, screams, thuds and yells of pain.

  Exulting in the chaos of the ambush, Fortunata seized the nearest figure and thrashed it unmercifully with her staff.

  Thwack, bang, crack!

  ‘Yeeow, aargh, oo mercy, help!’

  It was only when she kicked out savagely and splintered the wooden leg that the vixen realized she was close to slaying Ashleg.

  ‘Stoppit! Halt! Pack it in, you fools. We’re fighting our own!’ Fortunata yelled at the top of her lungs.

  When the clouds moved, moonlight illuminated a sorry scene. The soldiers of Kotir sat about on the grass, moaning pitifully. Broken and fractured limbs, collective bumps, bruises, sprains, missing teeth, blackened eyes, contusions and some very nasty scratches were much in evidence.

  Ashleg sat on the ground, nursing his wrecked wooden leg. ‘You booby, you knothead, you nincompoop of a fox, you, you . . .!’

  ‘Er, sorry, Ashleg. But how were we to know? Why didn’t you signal that you were coming?’

  ‘Signal, you brush-tailed blockhead! I’ll give you a signal!’ The marten flung his broken wooden leg, catching Fortunata square on the tip of her nose.

  ‘Yowch! You twisted little monster, there was no call for that. We thought you were woodlanders; it was a genuine mistake.’

  Ashleg rubbed a swollen ear. ‘Woodlanders! Don’t talk to me about that lot! We’ve patrolled this forest until our paws are sore. Not a solitary mouse, not so much as the hair off a squirrel’s tail or the damp from an otter’s back.’

  The vixen slumped down glumly beside him. ‘Same here. Where d’you suppose they’ve vanished to?’

  ‘Huh, search me. Tsarmina will skin us alive when we get back.’

  Scratt threw down his spear and sat with them. ‘Aye, you’re right there. Ah well, maybe we’ll have more luck when it gets light. We may as well camp here. At least we can search around for roots and berries.’

  Fortunata and Ashleg looked at each other.

  ‘Roots and berries. . . . Yuk!’

  Chibb the robin circled the crenellations of Kotir in the dawn light. There was not a lot to interest the little spy; the garrison was still asleep. He noted each window and what was inside: snoring ferrets, slumbering weasels, dozy stoats, even Tsarmina in her upper chamber, stretched out in splendour upon a heap of furs. The wildcat Queen was dreaming troubled dreams of water, muttering to herself, pushing the air as if it were water enveloping her. Chibb flew down and lighted on the parade ground near the wall. Keeping a watch for the eagle, he set about breakfast. From a small bag slung about his neck he selected a candied chestnut; not one of the big smooth ones, but a small wrinkled nut that had lots of sugar in the cracks. Chibb liked them better that way.

  Chibb noted that he was near something which looked like a drain outlet, a hole cut into the wall at floor level. He hopped inside, peering about curiously. It went slanting downward as far as he could see. Nibbling the nut daintily, the fat robin explored the tunnel. It was quite dry underclaw.

  Chibb cocked his head to one side, listening to the sounds of ragged breathing from further down the tunnel. ‘Ahem, hem, must be somebody still asleep.’

  Working his way further down, he found his progress arrested by three vertical iron bars set into the tunnel. This was no drain; it was the upper window of a cell. Chibb edged up to the bars and peeped down. He was looking into the burning eyes of an emaciated wildcat seated below upon the damp stones.

  ‘Humph, harrumph, hem, ’scuse me.’

  Gingivere shaded his eyes, staring upward at his strange visitor. ‘Please don’t fly away. I won’t harm you. My name is Gingivere.’

  The robin cocked his head airily on one side. ‘Ahem, humph. You’ll excuse my saying so, but you don’t appear to be in any position to harm me. Er, ahem, must go now. I’ll drop by and see you another time.’

  Chibb beat a hasty retreat back up the tunnel. The wildcat with the staring eyes had quite unsettled him. At the edge of the tunnel the robin ate the last of his nut, then flew off back to Brockhall to report his findings.

  The day promised to be fine and sunny. Chibb flew high, knowing that the sun in the east would shine in the eyes of predators looking west. He took not the slightest interest in the woodland floor far below. Had he flown lower, he would have noticed Ferdy and Coggs lying in a patch of open sward, fast asleep, their paws about each other, blissfully unaware that a short distance away Cludd was making an early start at the head of his patrol.

  Bella was up and about early that morning, being a light sleeper. She received Chibb’s information about Gingivere being imprisoned. This was already known to the Corim through Martin and Gonff, yet it gave Bella pause for thought; Kotir was now definitely ruled totally by the cruel Tsarmina.

  Martin joined her for an early morning stroll in the woodland before breakfast. The badger had matters to discuss with the warrior mouse.

  ‘War is coming to Mossf
lower, Martin. I can feel it. Now that we are all at Brockhall, the defenceless ones are safer, but I listen to the voices at Corim meetings. The squirrels and otters are not satisfied with merely resisting Kotir’s rule – they want to challenge it.’

  Martin felt the broken sword hanging about his neck. ‘Maybe that is no bad thing, Bella. Mossflower rightfully belongs to the woodlanders. I will do all I can to help my friends live without fear.’

  ‘I know you will, little warrior, but we are not strong enough. We have few who are trained in the art of war. If Boar the Fighter, my father, were still ruling here, there would be no question he would fight and lead us to certain victory.’

  Martin noted the sad, faraway look in the badger’s eyes. ‘He must have been a mighty warrior. Does he still live?’

  Bella shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ ‘He followed his father, old Lord Brocktree, to go off questing. This was before Verdauga and his army arrived in Mossflower. My mate Barkstripe was slain in the first battle against Kotir and my son Sunflash lost to me forever. Barkstripe was more farmer than warrior. Had it been Boar the Fighter that faced Kotir, we would have won, I am certain of it.’

  Martin turned his steps back to Brockhall.

  Goody Stickle was standing in the doorway, rubbing her paws together anxiously. As they approached, Bella spoke to Martin in a whisper. ‘Tell nobody of our conversation. I must talk to you further about certain important matters, maybe later.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I will look forward to it, Bella. You have aroused my curiosity. Hey, Goody, why are you looking so worried?’

  Goody fussed with her apron. ‘Mornin’ Miz Bella. Mornin’, Martin. ‘Ave you seen ought of those two liddle ’ogs of mine in the woods?’

  ‘Ferdy and Coggs?’ Bella shook her head. ‘No, Goody, I’m afraid we haven’t. Is anything wrong?’

  The hedgehog gnawed her lip. ‘Well, they ain’t slept in their beds last night. Asides that, there’s two oatfarls, a good wedge o’ cheese and some of my best blackcurrant cordial missin’ from the larder.’

  Martin could not help smiling at the thought of the two little would-be warriors. ‘All that for breakfast! They’ll go bang one of these days. I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs Stickle. Knowing those two rascals, they’ll be back by lunchtime for more food.’

  Ben Stickle emerged into the sunlight. ‘Aye, Martin’s right, m’dear. Don’t you go a-botherin’ your old ’ead. Ferdy and Coggs is like new button mushrooms – they always turn up at a good meal.’

  Ben sat against a tree, chuckling as he filled his pipe.

  Gonff and Columbine came out to join them, the mousethief patting his stomach.

  ‘Better hurry up, mateys. There’ll be no breakfast left soon. Hey, Goody, I hear that Ferdy and Coggs are missing. We’ll help you to look for them. Don’t worry, they’re probably somewhere nearby playing soldiers.’

  Goody knotted her apron strings anxiously. ‘Thank you Gonff. Oh, I do ’ope they’ve come to no ’arm, Ben. Get up now and ’elp Gonff ’n’ Columbine. I won’t be ’appy until I see their mucky liddle snouts agin.’

  Ben stood up and stretched. ‘So be it, Goody. Come on, you two.’

  Bella reassured her. ‘Now don’t start getting upset, Goody. I’ll send all the woodlanders out looking. They’ll find them. Martin and I will stop here at Brockhall in case they come back while everyone’s out searching.’

  Goody smiled gratefully, although she was close to tears. ‘Thank you kindly, Miz Bella. I’ll go and start cookin’ the lunch.’

  Shortly thereafter, Bella addressed a large party of willing helpers.

  ‘Listen now, friends. Ferdy and Coggs must be found before nightfall. Split up into small groups, search everywhere, and pay particular attention to small dens and possible hiding places – they may be lying asleep somewhere. Above all, be careful. There may be Kotir vermin abroad in Mossflower. Don’t shout out too loud or make unnecessary noise. Report back to me or to Martin. Off you go now, and good luck.’

  The woodlanders dispersed, eager to begin. Each creature searched in the best way it knew; squirrels swung off into treetops where they could scan the ground below, otters made their way to the water to scour the banks and creeks, mice and hedgehogs ploughed into the undergrowth. Moles trundled through last autumn’s deep loam. The search was on.

  A blackbird in a sycamore raised its amber beak in a hymn of joy to the sun. Ashleg blundered into wakefulness. Shivering from the damp, he hopped into the sunlight and leaned against a tree. Scratt joined him, but not before he had aimed a sly kick at the sleeping Fortunata.

  ‘Oi! Are you going to lie there all day, lazybones?’

  The weasel drew his paw swiftly back from the vixen’s snapping jaws. Far more used to sleeping in the open than the Kotir soldiers, she had dug herself into the soft loam of the forest floor.

  ‘Mind who you call lazybones, fathead. I’ve been lying awake here for the past two hours listening to you snore like an ailing toad.’

  Ashleg dosed his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep through his damp cloak. With a sigh of resignation he remembered the quandary they faced.

  ‘Can’t you two stop squabbling long enough to give a thought to the mess we’re in? We’ve beaten each other up, slept through the whole night without posting a single sentry, and now we’ve got to go back to face Tsarmina sometime today. Look, if we must argue, at least let’s argue about something useful. What’s to be done about this whole fiasco?’

  Fortunata shook loose loam from her cloak, showering them. ‘Well, there were three patrols sent out to search this forest. Where have Cludd and his lot got to?’

  As if in answer to the vixen’s question, Cludd came marching through the undergrowth at the head of his column. Scratt was the first to notice him.

  ‘Oi, Cludd, over here. Where in hell’s teeth did you get to? We haven’t seen you since we left the fortress.’

  The weasel Captain stuck a paw in his belt and leaned upon his spear, smirking knowingly.

  ‘Oh, we’ve been doing our job, don’t you worry, Scratt. Huh, what happened to you lot? Did a pile of trees fall down on you?’

  ‘It was nothing, really – a little mistake, could have happened to anybeast.’ Ashleg tried to sound casual. ‘Let me tell you, though, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of a living creature in this rotten maze of trees. We’re rightly in for it when the Queen sees us.’

  Cludd smiled confidently. ‘Speak for yourself, Ashleg. We won’t be returning empty-pawed. Oh no, not us.’

  ‘Why, what d’you mean?’ Fortunata interrupted eagerly. ‘Who have you captured? Where?’

  Cludd sneered at the fox. ‘Oh hello, vixen. You look as if you’ve been enjoying yourself. By the way, what happened to the old wooden leg, Ashy?’

  The marten was using a forked branch as a crutch, and he stamped it down bad-temperedly.

  ‘Listen, weasel, will you stop waffling around and tell us what you’ve got, instead of standing there looking pleased with yourself?’

  Cludd beckoned with his spear. ‘Right. Show ’em lads.’

  The ranks of the patrol parted, revealing two small hedgehogs. They were gagged and trussed upside down, slung upon poles carried by four soldiers.

  Ferdy and Coggs were well and truly captured!

  17

  BELLA PAUSED, GAZING at the run of the grain on the tabletop. She was remembering times long gone.

  ‘Where did old Lord Brocktree and Boar the Fighter go questing?’ Martin asked softly. The badger gave her answer in a single word: ‘Salamandastron.’

  ‘Salamandastron?’ Martin repeated the strange-sounding word.

  Bella nodded slowly. ‘Aye, the fire mountain, secret place of the dragons.’

  Martin’s eyes went wide with wonderment. ‘Bella, don’t stop now. Carry on, please.’

  The badger smiled wistfully. ‘Ah, little Martin the Warrior, I see that same strange fire kindled in your eyes, just as it was with my father and his father before
him. Why must Salamandastron always weave its spell upon the brave? I can see your desire to travel there; that is as I wanted it to be.’

  Martin furrowed his brows. ‘You want me to travel to Salamandastron? But why?’

  Bella leaned close, emphasizing each word with a tap of her paw on the table. Since Boar left Mossflower, we have lived under virtual siege. First there was the rebellion, when many brave woodlanders lost their lives; then there was the settlement with its slummy hovels and tolls, and soldiers harrassing the creatures that had to endure living there. I know it seems fairly safe out here in Brockhall, but will it always be so? Now that Tsarmina rules Kotir, we can never be sure what she will do next. Ben Stickle hit the nail on the head when he said Kotir could not last without creatures to supply it with rations. Will the cat start to search Mossflower for us? She will have to do something before next winter; she has a full army to feed. Martin, I feel that we are living on a knife’s edge here. Ben Stickle wants peace, Skipper wants war, the Abbess wants peace, Lady Amber wants war. Boar the Fighter is the rightful ruler of Mossflower. I cannot leave here; I have responsibilities to our friends the woodlanders and the Corim. Who could I send? Martin, there is only you. You have travelled, you are an experienced warrior, you are the one I will stake my trust on. Don’t rush to give me your answer now. I want you to think about it. This is a very dangerous mission, and I will understand if you wish to stay here. My home is your home!

  ‘I believe that my father still lives. You must bring him back to Mossflower to break Tsarmina’s regime. Together under the leadership of Boar the Fighter we will defeat Tsarmina.’

  The spell was broken by Lady Amber, who came striding in with a face that was so grim it heralded bad news.

  ‘Ferdy and Coggs are lost for sure. We’ve scoured high and low, all of us. It’s as if the forest has swallowed them up.’