Mossflower (Redwall) Read online

  The crest over the hearth was carved into the top lintel of the wide fireplace. Martin turned to Bella.

  ‘I think I’d better try this one. My paws aren’t as heavy as yours. Could you lift me up there, please.’

  Bella obliged by picking the warrior mouse up as if he was a feather and placing him on the broad lintel.

  Martin leaned over, gripping the protruding crest that had been carved on the fire-blackened oak-root beam. He tried turning it without success. Gonff climbed nimbly up beside him.

  ‘Here, matey, let me try. Maybe you haven’t got the magic touch.’ From his pouch the mousethief drew a piece of cheese and rubbed it around the edges of the crest.

  ‘Give it a moment for the grease to work its way into the cracks. It shouldn’t take long – this mantel’s quite warm from the fire.’

  Gonff’s talents had not been wasted. After a short interval he wiped his paws upon his jerkin and gave the crest a skilful twist. It moved!

  ‘Here, matey, lend a paw. Jiggle it from side to side with me, like this. Pull outwards as you do.’

  Martin assisted Gonff. The entire crest started to move outward. Bella stood ready to catch the hollow wooden cylinder – it dropped into her waiting paws.

  Martin and Gonff eagerly clambered down from the lintel.

  Dinny danced about excitedly. ‘Gurr, do ’urry, Miz Bell. Is it the map of Sammerlandersturm?’

  The badger looked gravely at the young mole. ‘Haste will only put us on the wrong track, Dinny. Let us take each step carefully.’

  Bella upended the cylinder and peered into its open end. ‘Here, Gonff, there’s a scroll inside. Your paws are a lot more nimble than mine – see if you can get it out without damaging it.’

  The clever mousethief had the parchment out and opened in a twinkling. They studied the writing; it was a bold and heavy old-fashioned style. Bella smiled.

  ‘The paw of my grandsire old Lord Brocktree did this. You must understand that only male badgers went to Salamandastron. Each one left clues for his son to follow. This was written for my father Boar to solve. Unfortunately, Boar had no son to leave a map for, so after he had solved Lord Brocktree’s riddles he carefully replaced everything in the hope that one day another young son of our house would find them.’

  Bella sniffed and looked away. ‘Alas, maybe my little one Sunstripe might have followed these clues, had he been here today.’

  Young Dinny rubbed the back of his velvety paw against Bella’s coat. ‘Hurr, doant fret ’eeself Miz Bell, us’ns foind it furr ’ee.’

  Martin had been toying with the wooden cylinder. He shook it and tapped the sides. Some leaves fell out.

  ‘Look, Bella. What do you suppose this means?’

  The badger shrugged. ‘They’re just old leaves. Let’s see what the parchment says.’

  Boar is badger, named after wood,

  Not after forest but trees.

  Where did you play on a rainy day?

  Where did I eat bread and cheese?

  Search inside, stay indoors,

  Look up and find the secret is yours.

  Your castle your fort,

  Or so you thought.

  The way is in four trees.

  The way is in Boar in Brockhall

  Under ale, under bread, under cheese.

  Martin leaned back against the fireplace. ‘Phew! That’s a right old riddle and no mistake.’

  Back in Bella’s study, they sat pondering the evidence. A long time passed and still they could not even begin to unravel the complicated thread of the poem. Gonff was becoming disgruntled. He lay on the floor, drumming his paws against the armchair.

  ‘Huh, woods and trees and bread and cheese, rainy days and castles and forts. What a load of old twaddle!’

  Dinny had commandeered the armchair again. He sat back with eyes closed lightly as if taking a nap.

  ‘Keep ’ee paws still, Gonffen, oi be a-thinken.’

  Bella pursed her lips and crinkled her brow. ‘“Boar is badger named after wood.” I never knew my father was named after a wood.’

  Gonff rolled over onto his back. ‘If he was named after the wood, he’d be called Mossboar or Boarflower or Mossboarflower. . . .’

  Martin silenced the mousethief with a stern look. ‘Please, Gonff, we’re supposed to be solving the riddle not fooling about. The second line tells you that Boar is not named after the forest, but after the trees.’

  ‘Oi baint never ’eard of no Boartrees, nor oi ’spect ’as moi granfer,’ Dinny chuckled.

  Bella agreed. ‘Neither have I, there’s elm and birch and sycamore and all kinds of trees, but no Boartree. I wonder if that’s an old nickname for some type of tree?’

  Gonff sat up. ‘Say that again, Bella.’

  The badger looked at him, puzzled. ‘What, you mean about Boar being a nickname for some kind of tree?’

  ‘No, I think I see what Gonff means,’ Martin interrupted. ‘You said there were all kinds of trees, like elm, birch, sycamore and so on. Dinny, where d’you think you’re off to? I thought you were helping us to solve this riddle.’

  The young mole trundled out of the study, calling over his shoulder. ‘Burr, that be ’zackly wot oi’m a-doen, goen t’get they owd leafs wot you’m founden afor.’

  ‘Of course! The leaves!’ Gonff leapfrogged over Dinny’s back before he was out of the door. Dashing back into the main hall, he scrabbled about collecting the leaves while Dinny followed up, berating him.

  ‘Yurr, that be moi idea, zurr Gonffen, ’ee gurt mouse-bag.’

  They brought the leaves back to the study between them. All four looked at the dried, withered specimens despondently.

  ‘They’re only dead leaves, many seasons old, but what are they supposed to mean?’

  Bella touched them lightly with her paw. ‘Well, let’s see. There’s four leaves here – an ash, an oak, a rowan and a beech. There’s nothing written or sketched on them. What do you make of it, Martin?’

  The warrior mouse inspected the leaves. He arranged them in patterns, turned them over and rearranged them, shaking his head.

  ‘I don’t know. Ash, beech, rowan, oak; rowan, oak, beech, ash. Search me.’

  Gonff smiled in a highly superior way. ‘Listen, matey, it’s a good job I’m a Prince of leaf-puzzle solvers. Try this: beech, oak, ash, rowan!’

  ‘Is this another one of your jokes, Gonff?’ Bella asked, eyeing him sternly.

  Gonff placed the leaves in order, still smiling. ‘If it is a joke, then it’s a very clever one, you’ll admit. Beech, oak, ash and rowan in that order, can’t you see, it’s the first letter of each one. B then o then a then r, spells Boar.’

  Bella shook his paw warmly. ‘You’re right. Boar is badger, named after wood. And look at this line lower down: “The way is in four trees.”’

  Dinny clapped his paws together with excitement. ‘O joy, now we’m agetten sumwheres. Roight, thinken carps on.’

  ‘Yes. Look at this line: “Search inside, stay indoors.” At least we know the map is somewhere in Brockhall; we don’t have to go out scouring the woods.’

  ‘But where indoors?’

  ‘Where Boar played on rainy days.’

  ‘Boar the Fighter, playing?’

  ‘Ho aye, ’ee must’ve played when he’m a liddle un.’

  ‘Good thinking, Din!’

  ‘Now, “where did I eat bread and cheese?” D’you think that’d be Boar having his lunch?’

  ‘Nay, that’d be thy granfer, Miz Bell.’

  ‘Of course. Boar was very close to old Lord Brocktree. It’s quite probable he’d be playing around near him while Brocktree was eating.’

  ‘Aye, but there’s the difficult bit: “Your castle your fort”. Where’s there a castle or a fort inside Brockhall?’

  ‘No no, look at the next line; “Or so you thought.” Didn’t you ever play make believe with something when you were little?’

  ‘Haha, I still do, matey.’

  �
��Hurr, we’m know that, zurr. Coom on, Miz Bell. Show us’ns whurr Bowar did play when ’ee wurr a liddle un.’

  They wandered haphazardly from room to room. Every so often Bella would stop, look about and shake her head, muttering, ‘I’m not too sure, my father never talked too much about playing when he was little. Besides, I wasn’t even born then.’

  Martin paused between the passage and the main hall. ‘Then think for a minute. Did your father ever say where Lord Brocktree went to eat his bread and cheese?’

  ‘Hmm, not really. I expect he ate it at the table like any civilized creature would do indoors.’

  ‘The table!’

  They hurried into the main hall to where the huge dining table stood.

  Gonff rapped it with his claws. ‘Well, a good stout table, looks like it’s made from elmwood. What do we do now?’

  Bella had a faraway look in her eyes. ‘Wait, I remember now. Lord Brocktree was a crusty old soul. I recall my father telling me that he refused to eat at this big table, said he needed a spear to reach for things from the other end. So one day he made a table of his own, just big enough for him to sit at and handy, so that his bread and cheese and ale were all close to paw. It’s out in the kitchen. Grandfather loved the heat from the oven. Besides, he used to dip his bread into any pans of sauce that were cooking. He liked it out there.’

  Standing in the kitchen was the very table Bella had told them about. Gonff climbed on top of it and stood looking upward.

  ‘Doesn’t make sense, matey. All I can see is the ceiling. The riddle says: “Look up and find the secret is yours.”’

  Bella sat in the chair, spreading her paws across the table. ‘This is it. The answer is in this table somewhere. Look, my grandfather made it from beech, oak, ash and trimmed it with rowan wood. Do you know, I can picture my father sitting at this table just as his father did before him, eating bread and cheese and drinking October ale.’

  Martin had not spoken. He was staring at Bella as she sat at the table. It came to him like a flash.

  ‘While you played underneath it. It probably had a table cloth on it then.’

  Bella smiled at fond memories. ‘Yes, a big white one. I would pretend it was my tent.’

  The warrior mouse scrambled underneath the table.

  ‘Not Boar the Fighter, though. He’d probably pretend it was a fort or a castle. Ha, here’s an odd thing. Underneath here is covered with a few pieces of chestnut bark. Pass me your knife, Gonff.’

  Martin worked away underneath the table, cutting the chestnut bark and tossing it out. The other three inspected each piece of bark for clues without success. Dinny sniffed it and raked it with his claws.

  ‘O foozlum! Thurr baint nuthen yurr.’

  ‘There’s something here though. It’s the map!’ Martin’s voice could not conceal his delight. He came tumbling out with a pale bark scroll in his paws. ‘It was laid between the bark and the table. Look, it’s covered with strange writing.’

  Bella took the scroll. ‘Haha, this is ancient badger script. Right, back to my study. I’ll have to translate it. Thank you, my friends. This is the route to Salamandastron. Once we’ve solved it, you are on your way!’

  19

  GINGIVERE HACKED AWAY at the cell wall. Immediately the guards had gone he set about trying to communicate with the prisoners on either side of him. From the damp mortar between the stones of his cell he had prised loose a spike that had a ring attached to it for securing unruly prisoners. Armed with the spike, the wildcat selected a damp patch on one adjoining cell wall, and worked furiously at the mortar around a stone which was not quite so big as the others forming the barrier. Soon he had it loose. Digging and jiggling, he pulled and pushed alternately until the rock slid out, aided by a shove from the prisoner on the other side. A small wet snout poked through.

  ‘Hello, Ferdy. It’s me, Coggs.’

  Gingivere smiled, glad to hear the sound of a friendly voice. He patted the snout encouragingly.

  ‘Sorry, old fellow, it’s not Coggs. I’m Gingivere – a friend. Coggs is in the cell on the other side of me. You stay quiet and I’ll see if I can get through to him.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Gingivere. Are you a wildcat?’

  ‘Yes I am, but no need to worry. I won’t harm you. Hush now, little one, let me get on with my work.’

  Ferdy stayed silent, peering through the hole at Gingivere, who was hacking stolidly at the opposite wall. It took a long time. Gingivere’s paws were sore through grappling with the stone, chipping the mortar and puling this way and that until the rock finally gave and shifted. With Gingivere pulling from one side and Coggs pushing from the other, the wallstone plopped out onto the floor.

  ‘Hello, Mr Gingivere. I’m Coggs. Is Ferdy there?’

  The wildcat shook the paw which protruded from the hole. ‘Yes, Coggs. If you look you’ll see him through the hole from his cell.’

  The two little hedgehogs looked through at each other.

  ‘Hi, Coggs.’

  ‘Hi, Ferdy.’

  ‘The guards will be coming shortly with bread and water for me,’ Gingivere interrupted. ‘I’ll share it with you. Go back into your cells now and stay quiet. When Chibb arrives tomorrow I’ll let him know you two are here.’

  Gingivere replaced the stones without much difficulty. He sat awaiting the guards with his daily ration of bread and water, realizing for the first time in a long and unhappy period that he was able to smile again.

  ‘A questing-o the friends did go,

  Companions brave and bold,

  O’er forest, field and flowing stream,

  Cross mountains high and old.

  These brave young creatures journeying

  Along the road together,

  While birds did sing throughout the spring,

  Into the summer weather.’

  ‘Gonff, will you stop prancing about and caterwauling while we’re trying to solve this chart? Dinny, chuck something at that fat little nuisance, will you, please?’

  Martin scratched his head as he and Bella turned back to the scroll. Young Dinny obliged by hurling an armchair cushion that knocked the mousethief flat upon his bottom.

  ‘Thurr, thad’ll keep ’ee soilent apiece, zurr Gonffen. You’m a roight liddle noisebag, stan’ on moi tunnel, you’m arr.’

  Gonff lay on the floor, resting his head upon the cushion; he hummed snatches of further new verses he was planning. Martin and Bella pored over the writing on the scroll, gleaning the information and writing it upon a chart with a quill pen. The wording was in ancient badger script that only Bella could translate.

  Young Dinny called out from Bella’s armchair, where he was ensconced, ‘Wot we gotten so furr, Marthen?’

  Martin read aloud:

  ‘Given to Lady Sable Brock by Olav Skyfurrow the wildgoose, after she found him injured in Mossflower and tended his hurts. The beacon that my skein find its way to the sea by is called the strange mountain of fire lizard.’

  Here Martin had marked a star with the word thus: *Salamandastron.

  ‘We of the free sky do wing our way there. But if you be an earth walker, it will be a long hard journey. Here is the way I will tell you to go. I begin as I fly over Brockhall:

  Twixt earth and sky where birds can fly,

  I look below to see

  A place of wood with plumage green

  That breezes move like sea.

  Behind me as the dawn breaks clear,

  Woodpigeons come awake,

  See brown dust roll, twixt green and gold,

  Unwinding like a snake.

  So fly and sing, the wildgoose is King.

  O’er golden acres far below,

  Our wings beat strong and true,

  Where deep and wet, see flowing yet,

  Another snake of blue.

  Across the earth is changing shape,

  With form and colour deep,

  Afar the teeth of land rise up,

  To bite the wool of sheep.


  So fly and sing, the wildgoose is King.

  Beyond this, much is lost in mist,

  But here and there I see

  The treachery of muddy grey,

  ’Tis no place for the free.

  O feathered brethren of the air,

  Fly straight and do not fall,

  Onward cross the wet gold flat,

  Where seabirds wheel and call.

  So fly and sing, the wildgoose is King.

  The skies are growing darker, see

  Our beacon shining bright.

  Go high across the single fang

  That burns into the night.

  We leave you now as we wing on,

  Our journey then must be

  Where sky and water meet in line,

  And suns drown in the sea.

  So fly and sing, the wildgoose is King.’

  Gonff came across and stared at the scroll. ‘Well, old wotsisname Skyfurrow was nearly as good a bard as me. Bet he wasn’t half as clever a thief, though, matey.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘It’s certainly a strange route to follow, given in goose song, written in ancient badger and translated into common woodland. Do you think we’ve missed anything, Bella?’

  The badger looked indignant. ‘Certainly not. It’s all there, word for word. I’ll have you know that female badgers are great scholars, though I must say it all looks very cryptic to me.’

  Young Dinny clambered out of the armchair and squinted at Martin’s neat writing.

  ‘Urr, triptick, wot be that? Stan’ on moi tunnel, it be wurse’n maken ’oles in watter, ho urr.’

  Gonff stifled a giggle. ‘You certainly have a way with words, Din. Ah well, let’s get our thinking caps on and imagine we’re all Skyfurrows.’

  Martin clicked his paws together. ‘Right! That’s exactly what we have to do. Imagine the ground from up above as if we were birds.’

  Tsarmina stood watching the dawn break over Mossflower from her chamber window. Mist rose in wisps from the treetops as the sun climbed higher in a pale blue cloudless sky. The wildcat Queen was highly pleased with her latest plan; the woodlanders must have realized the two baby hedgehogs were missing, and they would send out search parties. Tsarmina detailed Cludd and another weasel named Scratch, acting as his deputy, to patrol the woods, along with a picked group of twenty or so. They would travel light, unhampered by the usual Kotir armour. They could act as a guerilla force, lying in wait to capture any woodlanders they came across and sabotaging resistance wherever they encountered it.