Triss: A Novel of Redwall Read online

  “That sound . . . th-the smell . . . We’re being hunted by somebeast we c-c-can’t see!”

  Malbun felt every hair on her body standing up. The sounds and the vile, powerful smell were almost upon them. Her voice was little more than a petrified squeak. “There’s m-more than one of th-th-them. Yaaaaaaah!”

  Dropping lanterns and cloaks from nerveless paws, the two ran headlong into the pitch-black woodlands, away from whatever was seeking them as prey. Blundering, bumbling, tripping, stumbling. Crashing through ferns and nettlebeds, stubbing footpaws on roots, they raced. Mists swirled about them, their habits ripping and tearing on tree branches that seemed to be grabbing at them as they passed. They plunged onward, heedless of any direction save that in which the unknown peril lurked. They splashed through a small stream and raced through a bog, so fast that they hardly sank enough to impede their wild charge.

  Crikulus grabbed the cord girdle on his friend’s habit as they fled across a clearing and into a pine grove. Overcome by fright, Malbun turned her head to see what was holding on to her. Still running, she slammed side-on into the trunk of a thick fir. There was a sudden stab of pain as a broken branch stub pierced her cheek. Then she fell down senseless. The ancient shrew collapsed by her side, his hoarse rasping breathsounds mingling with those of his companion. He scrabbled around in the dark with the clean scent of pine needles banishing the musty odour from his nostrils. His paw struck Malbun’s face. He felt the broken branch splinter sticking from it and the sticky wetness, which he knew to be blood, upon his paw. “Malbun, are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you? Speak to me! Say something, Malbun, oh please, say something!”

  There was no sound from her. Crikulus tried hard to get a grip of himself, moving along until he had his friend’s head resting in his lap. They were not being followed; he sensed that they were out of danger. But they were lost. Malbun was breathing heavily, still lying senseless. The wood had gone deep into her cheek. He set his teeth round the broken fir twig and tugged it free. Spitting it out, he tried to compose his nerves by speaking aloud.

  “There’s no real harm done, mate, though a bit further up and you might have lost an eye!”

  The thought of such an injury, combined with the memory of swishing grass and musty odours, suddenly sent the old shrew into a violent paroxysm of shivering and shuddering. His teeth clattered like castanets and his entire body shook uncontrollably. He sat there alone in the night, trembling and nursing Malbun’s head in his lap, weeping.

  “Didn’t want to come. Good thing I did. Couldn’t leave you on your own, old friend. Hope somebeast finds the main gate unlocked. I only jammed it shut with that stupid bonnet. Oh, say something, Malbun, say something. Don’t leave me alone here like this!”

  14

  Moonlight danced on the waves. It was a clear night and the breeze was running fair. Kroova and Scarum lay sleeping under the bowspace. Sagax sat at the tiller, taking his turn as steersbeast. The shoreline was still in sight as the Stopdog steadily plowed her course north. All the young badger had to do was to tweak the rigging lines and check the vessel from veering landwards. He was also tweaking his conscience, trying not to think too hard about his mother and father back home at Salamandastron. Sagax had an idea that his parents had secretly allowed him to leave and go roaming; it was customary with young male badgers. Yet somehow he had a feeling that he and Scarum had forced the issue through their rebellious behaviour. He decided that when they did eventually return home, he would become the model of good behaviour and obedience. Sagax chuckled to himself. But for now he would enjoy being a runaway!

  Sitting there musing, he became aware of a flickering light coming across the waves toward the Stopdog. He sat, calmly watching until it appeared as a small boat with a tiny sail and two occupants. Hastily he roused Scarum and Kroova.

  “Wakey, wakey, you two sleeping beauties, we’ve got company coming. Better arm ourselves in case they’re unfriendly.”

  Kroova took the cutlass. Scarum tossed a dagger to Sagax, clenching the other one between his teeth.

  Trying hard to look fierce, he scowled. “Haharr, buckoes! Woe to anybeast who crosses the path o’ Scarum the jolly wild tailslitter, wot!”

  The boat pulled alongside the Stopdog. It was crewed by a sleek grey seal and an old female sea otter. She sat calmly and cast an eye over the three, smiling at the sight of Scarum, who was trying to keep the dagger in his mouth whilst scowling around it.

  “Barnacles’n’binnacles! Will ye look at that pudden-headed young rabbit. What’n the name o’ flukes’n’fishes are ye tryin’ to do, chop yore own tongue out?”

  Sagax could see that they were friendly. He extended a paw to help the sea otterwife aboard the Stopdog. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he did chop his tongue off, marm, it’d give us all a bit of peace. I’m Sagax.”

  The sea otterwife seized his paw in a grip that belied her many seasons and leapt sprightly aboard. “My name’s Raura Shellrudd, pleased t’meet ye. That there seal is Slippo, me ole shipmate. Ahoy there, seadog, wot d’they call you?”

  Kroova winced as she shook his paw mightily. “They calls me Kroova, marm, an’ that longeared scoffbag, well, y’can call ’im anything, as long as ye don’t call ’im late fer supper.”

  Scarum spat out the dagger, spluttering, “Now see here, you two wavewallopers. One, I’m not a bloomin’ rabbit, an’ two, my name is Bescarum Lepuswold Whippscut, but you may call me Scarum. Tut tut, dear lady, no need for apologies, wot!”

  Raura shook his paw until Scarum flinched visibly. “Wasn’t goin’ to apologise, matey. Kroova, I’m surprised at you. Yore no landlubber—can’t ye see a risin’ spring tide approachin’? Yore ship’ll get pounded t’splinters on the shore rocks if’n ye stays on this course, eh, Slippo?”

  Raising a shiny webbed paw, the grey seal called out, “Hoom, kahonk woopa buhonk!”

  Scarum blinked at the seal. “I say, what’s all that flippin’ great honkin’ row supposed t’mean?”

  Raura took a ropeline from Slippo and secured the prow of her boat to the stern of the Stopdog.

  “That ain’t no honkin’ row. Slippo’s just agreein’ with me. Shift yoreself, Sagax, I’ll take that tiller. Ye can come to our den an’ shelter from the ’igh tide. I take it ye ain’t backward in coming forward if I was to offer youse a bite or two o’ supper, eh?”

  Scarum bowed gallantly to the sea otterwife. “Beauty combined with brains, m’dear, a rare combination in these watery parts, wot. Supper! The word hangs on the bally night air like a lingerin’ melody!”

  Raura winked at Kroova, nodding toward Scarum. “I bet that’n could eat the four legs off’n a table if’n there was no vittles on it.”

  Kroova sat next to Raura and trimmed the sails. “You never spoke a truer word, marm!”

  High tide began rising as they beat their way up the coast. Seaspray shot in on the port side of the Stopdog. Raura took her visitors skilfully through a shoal of rock-strewn reefs. Slippo watched the friends’ faces, horrified as they sped through the perilous stone maze. The sleek seal clapped his flippers and laughed.

  “Ahuunk ahuunk ahuunkaaah!”

  Raura’s den was situated up a channel between some small cliffs. The passage twisted and doubled back upon itself so many times that it took all the force out of the sloshing water.

  Slippo slid expertly onto a thickly seaweed-fringed ledge. He moored both vessels loosely, allowing them to ride up and down on the swell. Raura explained.

  “Lashin’s o’ seaweed ’ere, our liddle ships can bump against the rock forever. They won’t come t’no ’arm. Away, boat’s crew, shift yoreselves, messmates, step lively now!”

  Sagax would never have guessed there was a cave at the rear of the ledge until Slippo drew aside a curtain of long trailing kelp. The friends hurried inside and stood staring wordlessly. It was a natural cave in the solid rock, with a crack in the roof serving as a chimney vent. A fire, complete with stone-slabbed hea
rth and a rock oven, burned low but warm. Raura fed the flames with driftwood and sea coal as she chattered away.

  “Sit ye down there, you three. Slippo, where’s yore manners? Serve ’em a drink an’ fetch me some bowls!”

  The seal rolled his huge liquid eyes. “Kumhoo kohay!” They sat on a shelf of rock padded with sailcloth cushions stuffed full of dried sea moss. Slippo presented them with beakers fashioned from nautilus shells.

  Scarum sipped warily. “Hmm, this tastes like a bit of all right, wot!”

  Kroova smiled broadly. “Crabapple an’ sweet woodruff tonic. I ain’t tasted this since I was nought but a shrimp!”

  Raura looked secretly pleased as she pulled a deep basin from the oven. Fragrant smells wafted round the cave. “Makes it to me own recipe. Nought like crabapple an’ sweet woodruff t’put a gleam in yore eye an’ a wag to yore rudder. Wait’ll ye taste my seastew an’ laverbread!”

  Scarum swigged away at his tonic drink heartily. “Yours truly is willin’ to try anythin’, marm. But ‘laverbread’? What the deuce is that when it’s at home, wot?”

  Kroova accepted a wedge of the dark green loaf. “Laverbread’s made out of a special kind o’ seaweed. It’s a delicacy in coastal parts.”

  Sagax liked the laverbread. It was savoury tasting, a bit salty, but not unlike spring cabbage made into a loaf. The seastew was rare good eating, comprised of many types of shrimp and shellfish, thickened with cornflour and full of mushroom, potato, leek and carrot.

  Kroova sampled it from his deep scallop-shell bowl. “Beg pardon, marm, but ’ave ye got any hotroot pepper?”

  Raura produced two small wooden boxes and a tiny spoon. “This ’un’s yore normal ’otroot, but this other ’un, hah, this is from my ole granpop’s store. ’E used t’make a livin’ fightin’ pirates. This pepper came from a corsair galley wot sailed from the far isles o’er the big ocean. I calls it Red Firebrand Pepper, ten times stronger’n ’otroot!”

  Kroova sprinkled both peppers liberally on his seastew. He tried it, put the bowl down and bent double, making loud gasping noises. Grabbing his tonic, he quaffed a deep swig and straightened up. Tears poured from his reddened eyes and great beads of sweat stood out on his nosetip. He recovered himself and grinned from ear to ear. “Phwooooh! Now that’s wot I calls prime good pepper!”

  Scarum accepted another bowl of the stew, ignoring the boxes of pepper. He remarked cuttingly to Slippo, “These confounded seadogs, got no respect for their blinkin’ stomachs, wot wot?”

  Slippo raised his head from his bowl. “Wharuumph buloooh!”

  The hare nodded drily. “Couldn’t agree with y’more, old lad!”

  Waves could be heard from afar, booming against the rocks, with a strong wind driving them. Inside, the cave was snug and secure. Raura served the friends some of her special crusty plum slice and a small beaker of old elderberry cordial. They sat enjoying the flickering fireglow whilst Kroova told them of their journey, where they had come from and the destination they were bound for, Redwall Abbey.

  Raura took down a little harp and passed it to Slippo. “Redwall Abbey, eh, I’ve ’eard tell of it, but I never got that far inland. ’Tis said to be a wondrous place fer sure. But you young ’uns must be tired—lie down an’ sleep now. Slippo, play us somethin’, maybe I’ll sing. I ain’t sung fer a while. I’ve fergotten most o’ me songs, but I can recall this one, ’tis a nice ole ballad.”

  Stretching out gratefully on the covered ledges, the travelers closed their eyes and listened to the otterwife’s song.

  “ ’Tis a far cry from home for a poor lonely thing,

  O’er the deeps and wild waters of seas,

  Where you can’t hear your dear mother’s voice softly sing

  Like a breeze gently stirring the trees.

  Come home, little one, wander back here someday,

  I’ll watch for you, each evening and morn,

  Through all the long season ’til I’m old and grey

  As the frost on the hedges at dawn.

  There’s a lantern that shines in my window at night,

  I have long kept it burning for you,

  It glows through the dark, like a clear guiding light,

  And I know someday you’ll see it, too.

  So hasten back, little one, or I will soon be gone,

  No more to see your dear face,

  But I know that I’ll feel your tears fall one by one,

  On the flowers o’er my resting place.”

  Raura and Slippo crept quietly out to check up on the vessels. Sagax and Scarum wept brokenheartedly, moved by the old otterwife’s sentimental song. Then Kroova could not resist joining them. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled out over his cheeks, wetting the cushions.

  “I never knew me mum, but I’ll bet she was jus’ like the one in Raura’s song, a dear grey-’aired old thing. Waaaah!”

  Scarum rubbed at his eyes with both paws. “Boohoohoo! My old ma will be standin’ at the cottage door with a jolly brave smile on her face, hidin’ the blinkin’ tears, I know she will. Boohoohoo!”

  Sagax sat up, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. “Waaha-haaa! But you don’t live in a dear old cottage, you live in a whacking great mountain, just like me. Waahaaah!”

  The hare used his long ears to mop at his eyes. “Jolly nice thought, though, ain’t it. Boohoohoo!”

  Raura and Slippo sat outside until the otterwife was sure her young guests had cried themselves to sleep. She listened awhile, then nodded. “There, y’see, Slippo, me ole mate, that’ll teach ’em a lesson!”

  The grey seal threw back his head and honked mournfully. “Kuhoo umhoon kahooka, mowwwwwwwww!”

  Raura sniffed in agreement with Slippo. “Aye, that’s the young ’uns of these seasons for ye. Runnin’ off from ’ome widout a second thought for their parents. Now me, I never ’ad young ’uns, but if’n I ’ad, well, I wager they wouldn’t go skippin’ off an’ leavin’ me, eh?”

  Slippo smiled from ear to ear. “Kuurhaaam oooh ko-honkahhh!”

  The sea otterwife smiled back at her friend. “Yore right, mate, I would bring ’em back an’ skelp the tails offen em. Come on, let’s go in an’ get some shuteye.”

  Breakfast next morning was an uncomfortable affair, with the three travellers avoiding their host’s accusing gaze. Raura commented drily, “I’ve filled up yore bags with vittles for the trip.”

  Scarum kept his eyes fixed on the meal. “Terribly decent of ye, marm, a thousand thanks from us.”

  She busied herself raking ashes from the fire. “No need t’thank me, I’d do as much fer anybeast. Weather’s cleared up out there, ’tis a prime day. There’s plenty o’ vittles to get ye back ’ome, if’n youse was thinkin’ to sail that way. The goin’ is easier, too, if’n ye travel south.”

  Kroova rose, dusting crumbs from his paws. “If ’tis all the same with you, marm, we was figurin’ on goin’ to find Redwall Abbey, ’cos that’s where we’re bound.”

  Raura passed her little harp to Slippo, smiling at them in a fond, motherly way. “There’s no great rush t’get to Redwall, as I sees it. Why don’t ye stop until lunch? I’ll make us a nice apple an’ whortleberry pudden an’ sing ye a few old songs. I’ve remembered a few my ma used t’sing. There’s one called ‘A Mother’s ’Eart Is Made o’ Gold,’ aye, an’ another ditty called ‘I’d Give the World fer a Slice o’ Mamma’s Nutbread.’ Then there’s the one about a mother’s tear bein’ like a pearl o’ grief . . .”

  Sagax grabbed the foodpacks. All three travelers were closely jammed as they fought to get through the cave doorway. “No, thankee, marm, you’ve done quite enough for us!”

  “Aye, we’ll miss the tide if we don’t go now, we wouldn’t dream of imposing on your hospitality any further, marm!”

  “Sorry we’ve got to jolly well go, marm, er, toodle pip an’ all that, wot. Bye bye now, got to tear ourselves away!”

  Piling hastily into the Stopdog, they sailed off down the narrow rocky passag
e, fending off the stony walls with their oars. Only when the bright morning and the open sea lay before them did they chance to look back. Raura was standing on top of the rocks, singing at the top of her voice as Slippo twanged the harp for her.

  “Though she is wrinkled, grey and old,

  A mother’s heart is made of gold,

  And her smile is like a quiet sunny day,

  So hearken to my lonely song,

  Don’t stay away from home too long,

  There’s nothing crueller than a runaway.”

  A tear was springing to Kroova’s eye as he put on all sail and passed around chunks of laverbread. “Stuff this in yore ears, shipmates, afore we ends up blubberin’ an’ puttin’ about to sail ’ome!”

  By early noon the Stopdog was well out at sea, with the coastline a mere smudge of dark strip on the horizon. Sagax and Scarum were sitting atop the bow seat, their happy, carefree mood now restored.

  “Haha, imagine us wailing like babes just because we’re taking a short holiday from Salamandastron!”

  “Rather! Did you see old Kroova? He was cryin’ buckets, an’ the silly great seadog hasn’t even got a home t’go to, wot. Look at him, sittin’ there fast asleep at the tiller, snorin’ like a toad with a toothache. Hawhawhaw!”

  Scarum rolled a pellet of laverbread and flicked it at the sea otter. It pinged him neatly on the nose. Kroova wakened with a start and blinked at them.

  “Ho, very funny, mateys, pingin’ me nose an’ wettin’ me footpaws, aye. Very funny, I must say!”

  Scarum flicked another pellet and missed. “Bit of an unjust accusation there, old lad. I pinged your nose, but neither of us wet your flippin’ footpaws, wot!”

  Kroova diverted his gaze to the water slopping round in the bottom of the ketch. Dismay crept across his features. “Must’ve banged ’er prow a bit ’ard on those rocks when we came down the channel from Raura’s cave.”

  Scarum grinned mischievously as he rolled another pellet. “Y’don’t say, me old scout. Nothin’ too serious, is it, wot?”