Triss: A Novel of Redwall Read online

  “Haharr, lookit wot I jus’ spotted, Cap’n, someplace afire!”

  Grubbage looked toward where Slitfang was indicating. “D’ye think somebeast’s ’avin’ a feast? Roastin’ fish prob’ly, eh, Cap’n?”

  Plugg gestured to the two of them. “C’mere, stan’ close together, right ’ere in front o’ me.”

  They obeyed without question. Plugg banged their heads together hard, then smiled genially at them. “Take this tiller, Slitfang. Keep ’er dead on to that light, or I’ll tie ye to a rock an’ use yer for an anchor. Grubbage, rouse the crew an’ tell ’em t’make full sail.” The silver fox padded back off to his cabin.

  Grubbage massaged the side of his head in bewilderment. “Grouse ’as flew with a cake full o’ pail? Slitty, me old messmate, d’you think the Cap’n’s gone soft in ’is ’ead?”

  Slitfang was wiggling a paw in his ear, the one that had collided with Grubbage’s head. “I wisht the Cap’n wouldn’t do that, it makes a ringin’ in me ’ead.”

  Grubbage nodded agreement with his mate. “Aye, I’d sooner be a-singin’ in me bed too. Oh well, s’pose I’d better order the crew to make full sail. Huh, I got to do all the thinkin’ on this ship, while the Cap’n strolls round talkin’ rubbish!”

  Soon all the motley vermin crew were on deck, hauling at the ropes to raise sails. Grubbage swung a knotted rope’s end at any who were slacking.

  “Come on, ye sons o’slopbarrels, put some backbone into it. Let’s ’ear ye sing a Freebootin’ shanty, an’ sing out loud. I hates the way youse whisper yore songs, ruins a good tune!”

  The Seascab’s crew roared out the ditty as they pulled on the ropes in unison:

  “When I was just a young ’un,

  I left me familee,

  Wid all that I could steal off ’em,

  I ran away to sea.

  An’ me Cap’n cried ’ooray,

  That’s the Freebootin’ way!

  I took a course in wickedness,

  At plund’rin’ I came first,

  In slyness an’ at thievin’,

  I was voted best o’ worst.

  An’ to anybeast I’ll say,

  That’s the Freebootin’ way!

  I’ll rob the eyes from out yore ’ead,

  If you ain’t watchin’ me,

  An’ anythin’ that ain’t nailed down,

  I’ll take with me for free.

  Who sez that crime don’t pay?

  That’s the Freebootin’ way!

  When I rolls in to dinner,

  I smiles at all me mates,

  I robs ’em of their grog pots,

  An’ vittles off their plates.

  An’ if’n they complain I say,

  That’s the Freebootin’ way!

  If early in the mornin’,

  I ’ears a bluebird sing,

  I fixes ’im right smartish,

  Wid a rock from out me sling.

  An’ me shipmates laugh ’n’ say,

  That’s the Freebooters’ way!”

  Captain Riftun was still breathing hard from his run along the clifftops. Having made his report to the three Pure Ferrets in the throne room, he stood to attention, awaiting orders.

  Agarnu shrugged. “Tell der Freebooters to anchor in de bay an’ bring dem up ’ere. Ve must bargain mitt dem.”

  Kurda roughly jostled Bladd out of the way and stood in front of her father’s throne. “No! I say tell dem to drop anchor outside de bay. Den dey must lower der rowin’ boat. Only der Cap’n an’ officers. I not havink de full crew o’ scum inside here. Yarr!”

  Agarnu did not like having his orders countermanded, but he saw the wisdom in Kurda’s statement and nodded to Riftun. “Yarr, it be as she say. Bring de Cap’n an’ a few odders. Keep dem under close guard.”

  Riftun went back to the headland, taking with him a company of well-armed Ratguards.

  Plugg, however, flatly refused to trek overland to the stronghold. Filling his ship’s longboat with almost a score of crewbeasts, the fox had them row him up the fjord to the jetty, leaving Riftun and the others to march back along the meagre shoreline.

  Riftun watched the Freebooters disembark. Blocking the jetty with his guards, he confronted the silver fox.

  “Leave yore weapons ’ere, you ain’t allowed to walk in armed to a meetin’ with the Royal Family.”

  Plugg drew his axe, smiling dangerously. “Stan’ aside an’ give way, soldier rat. Where a Freebooter goes, ’is weapons go too!”

  Riftun held up a paw. His archers put shafts to string and stood with bows drawn. Now it was his turn to smile. “You’ll carry out my orders or die!”

  Plugg did not seem unduly upset. He gestured back over his shoulder to a weasel balancing a lethal-looking stiletto by its blade tip. “See Tazzin there? She kin throw a blade faster’n yore eye kin move. She can bring down a swallow on the wing. So if’n there’s any dyin’ t’be done, rat, you’ll be the first t’go. D’yew reckon y’can get ’im through the eye, Tazzin?”

  The weasel was a stone-cold killer. She replied coolly, “Yerrah, shore I can, Cap’n. Which eye d’ye fancy, left or right? I kin drop ’im afore they move.”

  Brandishing his axe, Plugg pushed roughly past Riftun, chuckling to the shamefaced rat Commander. “Don’t never try ’n’ stop a Freebooter. Yore only a landlubber, an’ lucky to still be alive, I reckon!”

  Shogg had lashed the tiller, leaving the small ship sailing on a straight course. He leaned over the side, surveying leagues of white-crested waves in every direction. Nowhere was there sight of land. Triss came up on deck from the cabin below, and she answered the otter’s wordless glance. “Welfo still looks pretty ill.”

  Shogg squinted his eyes at the far horizon. “Stands t’reason, she took a bad knock from that slingstone. I ain’t feelin’ too grand either. There ain’t a scrap o’ food or a drop of fresh water aboard this craft. Are ye sure there isn’t just a liddle bit o’ somethin’ stowed away, a flask of cordial or a mouldy old crust?”

  The squirrelmaid stretched her paws wide. “Not a single thing. They were going to provision her that afternoon, but we stole the ship before they could. While you’ve been up here I’ve searched down below again. All I could find was a couple of parchment scrolls, nothing else.”

  Shogg tightened his belt another notch. “So, looks like we can starve t’death in freedom, mate. Let’s go an’ take a peek at those scrolls. Who knows, there might be an island somewheres not too far off.”

  As the ship had no cargo holds, the cabin was fairly large and roomy, but low ceilinged. Welfo lay on a bunk, her head wrapped in a damp cloth. The hogmaid was sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning. Triss did not like the look of her, seasick, hungry and injured. It was a worrying situation.

  Shogg opened the two scrolls, shaking his head with disappointment. He rapped his paw on the first one, calling Triss away from her patient.

  “Will ye come an’ take a look at this lot of ole rubbish? Wot’s all this gobbledygook supposed t’mean, eh?”

  The squirrelmaid peered closely at the symbols neatly marked out in black ink, recognising only a few. “This little bit here at the top is the initials of the Royal House of Riftgard. A mouseslave who was a woodworker told me he’d carved it into different objects many times: R.H.O.R. See.”

  The otter traced the symbols with his paw.

  “Of course, that’s even carved into the stern of this ship. But what does the other bit say, Triss?”

  Gnawing on a pawnail, Triss studied the rest closely. “I can make out the odd letter here and there, but I’m sorry, mate, it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  She continued to stare at the symbols.

  “I can make out the R, H, and O a few times, but I can’t make head or tail of the rest. Let’s take a look at the other scroll. That may be more helpful.”

  Shogg grew quite excited as he viewed the other chart. “Haharr, ’tis a map! I know this bit, ’ere’s the place we come from, Riftgard: There
’s the strong’old, the fjord, an’ the sea beyond. Strike me rudder, Triss, this is one big sea we’re sailin’ on. I never knew there was that much water in one place!”

  Triss traced the charted line, which had been marked out on the map. It came out of Riftgard fjord, straight into the sea, travelling due west, then taking a broad swinging curve southward. Farther down, land was indicated, but only one side of the coast. Then the route went south, taking a sharp dip east toward the land where it indicated what looked like a river running out across a beach. Triss sighed.

  “Well, it all looks very nice, but how do we know where we are in relation to all this? We could be anywhere.”

  Shogg, however, did not share her bafflement. “See that compass drawn in the left corner there? The North Star’s marked clear, right over the north point o’ the compass design. ’Ere, wot’s this? Is it a blot of ink or a tiny island, just off the route line where it starts to bend south? Look.”

  The squirrelmaid rubbed the dark speck with her paw. “Could be a blot, I suppose, or it may be an island.”

  Welfo moaned and rolled over. She was nearly falling from the bunk as Triss reached her and turned her back again. Wringing out the scrap of cloth, the squirrelmaid wetted it again in a shallow dish of seawater and bathed her friend’s face with it. Still completely out of her senses, the hogmaid licked at the salty dampness.

  Shogg pursed his lips grimly. “She’s got to ’ave water soon, fresh water. We all need drinkin’ water, or we’ll perish afore too long. You tend to the pore creature, Triss. I’m goin’ up on deck for a look about, see if’n I can fix our position.”

  It was fully night, with just a sliver of moon, like a silvery nail paring, surrounded by stars in a cloudless sky. Shogg sat at the tiller, his head thrown back, exploring the countless points of starlight that dotted the velvet dark skies in dizzying numbers. After a while, the otter’s neck began to ache, but he had made his decision. Pointing up at one bright, still jewel of the night, he spoke aloud to himself.

  “That’n’s the North Star, it’s got t’be!”

  Setting the tiller on course, he trimmed the single sail and began heading away from the star.

  Triss tended to Welfo until the hogmaid lay still. So that she would not roll out of the bunk again, the squirrelmaid lay down beside her. It was not long before Triss closed her weary eyes and fell into a slumber. In her dreams she saw the sea, ever restless, wave lapping upon wave, murmuring with that soothing noise that only the vast deeps can produce. Gradually she realised that a voice was calling her, softly at first.

  “Triss . . . Trisscar, my daughter . . . I see you.”

  A squirrel and a mouse were floating towards her, their paws not touching the water, which flattened itself to make a path for them. Although she could not remember his face, Triss knew that the squirrel was her father. She called to him. “Father . . . Father!” He smiled at her and pointed to the mouse.

  Triss felt tears spill down her face as she heard herself saying, “Trisscar, I am called Trisscar? I never knew . . .”

  The image of her father began to fade as he spoke again. “Drufo would have told you . . . When the day came . . .”

  He faded altogether, and Triss was left alone with the mouse. She sensed immediately that this was no ordinary mouse. He was clad in shining armour and held a wondrous sword, the like of which she had never seen. Not even among the best blades in Princess Kurda’s armoury. The mouse had a kindly face, although Triss could see the light of a warrior shining in his eyes. He reached out with the sword and touched her right paw gently with its tip.

  His voice was warm and friendly, but stirring somehow. “Trisscar, that is a name for a great swordmaid. Sleep, my little Trisscar. Sleep!”

  Then the vision was gone and she descended into the comforting darkness of deep slumber.

  It was bright day when she awoke. Welfo was still sleeping, but her breathing was shallow and laboured. Triss hauled herself stiffly from the bunk. Her mouth felt dry as a bone, her tongue swollen and awkward. Blundering up on deck, she stood dumbly, watching Shogg. He was sitting at the tiller, shredding the strands from a short length of rope. It was several moments before he realised she was there.

  The otter blinked wearily. “Jus’ seein’ if I could put t’gether a fishin’ line. Don’t know wot I’m supposed to use for bait. How’s Welfo t’day?”

  The squirrelmaid sat down beside him, drawing her ragged gown about her in the slight morning breeze. “Hmm, what? Oh, Welfo, she’s sleeping. What d’you think, Shogg, are we going to die out here on this great sea?”

  The otter continued picking at rope strands. “Where would ye sooner die, missy, back at Riftgard as a slave-beast, or out ’ere on the deep with me at yore side?”

  Triss managed a smile. She patted Shogg’s paw. “I’d rather not die, if it’s all the same to you, mate!”

  The otter put aside the piece of rope. “Aye, I want to live, too, y’know. That’s why I’ve set us a course by the North Star. We’ll see if that dot on the map’s a blot or an island.”

  Triss stared up at the bright morning sky. “But how can you do that? There’s no stars about now.”

  Shogg explained. “I located the North Star last night, sailed through the dark with it t’guide us. Right up till ’twas startin’ to dawn. Sun rises in the east, don’t it? That’s ’ow I fixed me position. With a bit of luck we’ll find yore blot, missy, never fret.”

  Welfo appeared in the cabin doorway. She was shivering and could scarcely stand up. “I’m thirsty. . .so thirsty!”

  Triss hurried to help her, murmuring to Shogg, “Find water, if only for poor Welfo’s sake!”

  She hurried the hedgehog maid back to her bunk and laid her down, talking soothingly to her. “There now, you have a little nap. We’ll soon get you water. Let’s take a look at that slingstone wound. Oh, it’s looking much better today, I’ll just bathe it with some seawater. There, that’s nice and cool, isn’t it?”

  As Welfo’s eyes were closing, she spoke to the squirrelmaid. “Is your name Trisscar?”

  Triss was taken aback. “Yes, it is, who told you that?”

  Welfo murmured as she sank into a daze, “You did, last night. ‘Trisscar, I am called Trisscar.’ You said it out loud.”

  The dream came back to Triss as she stroked her sleeping friend’s brow. Trisscar, that is a name for a great swordmaid!

  13

  Redwall Abbey’s twin bells pealed out to the new dawn. Down in the kitchens, Friar Gooch ceased ladling carrot and fennel sauce over a batch of mushroom pasties he was about to fold and crimp. Furrel, his faithful molemaid assistant, stirred a potful of hot honey ready for candying chestnuts. She allowed the ladle to rest, smiling fondly.

  “Hurr, oi loikes ee bells, they’m wunnerful musick to start off’n a h’extra sunny mawnin’. Wot do ee say, zurr?”

  Gooch nodded vigorously as he opened an oven door. “I say you’re right, friend, especially as ’tis the first day o’ summer our bells are ringin’ out for!”

  Furrel almost tripped on her long cook’s apron as she trundled swiftly to the kitchen door and called out. “Ee zummer bee’s yurr, joy an’arpiness to all!”

  The Abbey bells began ringing out an extra peal, to welcome in the new season. Gurdle Sprink came bustling up from the cellar, puffing as he carried a small keg. Skipper, who was returning from his morning exercises, bumped into the fat Cellarhog and relieved him of his burden.

  “Belay there, mate, let me carry that for ye. Oh, summer’s ’ere, joy an’appiness to all!”

  Gurdle shook the otter’s paw, returning the traditional greeting for the new season. “Summer is ’ere, sir, aye, joy an’ happiness to all, an’ especially t’you, my big strong pal!”

  Together they entered the kitchens, with the Abbot, clad in a fresh robe of clean linen, shuffling behind. Friar Gooch and Furrel met them, with much hugging, kissing, backslapping and paw shaking as they exchanged greetings for the jolly o
ccasion.

  “Summer is here, joy and happiness to all!”

  The Father Abbot’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “And what, pray, is in that delightful-looking keg?”

  Skipper placed it on the table. Gurdle took out his little screw tap and knocked it into the bung keg. Sister Vernal appeared with Malbun and Crikulus in tow. They carried a tray full of delicate rock-crystal beakers, tiny things, which tinkled as they touched.

  Before Gurdle could answer the Abbot’s question, old Crikulus chuckled. “Wild-cherry-an’-redcurrant cordial, made on the final day of last summer. Good beast, Gurdle, I knew you’d bring it up from the cellars today!”

  The Cellarhog looked slightly nonplussed that anybeast should know what his surprise offering was to be. He grumbled. “Aye, brought it up ’ere, just like I do on the first day of every summer season.”

  Abbot Apodemus placed a paw carefully around Gurdle’s spiky shoulders, smiling fondly. “What would Redwall do without you, my old friend? I’m sure this will be the nicest wild-cherry-and-redcurrant cordial ever tasted in our beloved Abbey!”

  The Cellarhog blushed to his spiketips as he busied himself pouring the sparkling cerise-hued liquid into the glasses. “Kindly said, Father Abbot. Well, ’ere’s long life an’ good fortune to us all!”

  Memm Flackery came hurtling in and relieved Gurdle of two glasses, which she quaffed instantly. “A jolly loud hoorah for summer, wot? Joy an’ happiness to all you bounders, who never woke me t’say this was bein’ served. I say, Gurdy old lad, this is absolutely toodle pip, well done, sah. Congrats!”

  Foremole Urrm scuttled in and seized the last glass as Memm was about to reach for it. “Yurr gudd ’ealth, zurr an’ marms, ee summer bee’s yurr!”

  Friar Gooch bowed to the Abbot. “Brekkist in the orchard I think, eh, Father?”