[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain Page 15

  Dobra explained the rules as Dipper began twirling his sling experimentally. “If ye hit the body, that’s two points. The paws are five points apiece, an’ the head scores a full ten. Each slinger gets three throws. There’s a rare barrel o’ best grog as a prize for the winner. But afore ye sling, y’must nominate wot ye plan on hittin’.”

  Tiria made a polite enquiry. “What do the eyes score?”

  Urfa shook his head, chuckling. “Nobeast ever nominated an eye an’ hit it, missy. Quiet now—the Dipper’s goin’ to sling.”

  The tall, lean shrew twirled his loaded sling, calling out, “One head an’ two footpaws!”

  A gasp of admiration arose from the spectators. Evidently it was something of a feat which the slinger had chosen. Dipper hurled off his first stone. It grazed the turnip on the left side of the face. There was a deathly silence as he loaded his sling again and tested the breeze with a licked paw. Dipper slung his second stone. It hit the right footpaw fair and square, causing the leg to flop about. The hush was intense now, as other Guosim crowded in to watch. Dipper loaded his final stone, crouching low as he whirled the sling. It thrummed in the hot noontide air, snapping back as he whipped off the missile. It barely skimmed the underside of the left paw, hardly causing the leg to stir.

  A small fat shrew, acting as scorer, scurried out to inspect the target. After studying it a while, he called out officiously, “Theree ’its, thee Dippah scoharrs terwenty points!”

  The Guosim cheered Dipper to the echo, clapping his back and shaking his paws as they roared, “Dipper’s scored a score!”

  Urfa turned proudly to his guests. “Wot did I tell ye? The Dipper’s a champeen slinger alright!”

  Banjon nodded. “Oh, he ain’t a bad ’un, mate. Did I tell ye my gel Tiria slings stones? D’ye think she could have a go?”

  Urfa had a slightly condescending note to his tone. “A maid wot thinks she can sling, eh? Wot next! Aye, go on then, Tiria, give it a try.”

  The scorer took Tiria’s name, announcing her as she stepped up to the mark. “Siiiilenza perleeeeze! H’a Misser, Tehiria, Werhildlock h’of Rehedwall H’abbey issa serlingin’ nehext. Thank yew!”

  There was a light smatter of applause, plus a few sniggers from the onlookers. Evidently they did not rate slingmaids very highly.

  Tiria waited for quiet, then called out her targets. Her sling, Wuppit, was already thrumming as she shouted, “Two eyes and a head!”

  Splakk! The left hazelnut eye was driven deep into the turnip head. Reloading the sling swiftly, she whipped off her second shot. Crack! Pieces of shattered nutshell flew in the air as the stone drove through into the other turnip eye socket. The head was swinging from side to side with the impact as Tiria hopped three paces back from the mark. The sling was a blur, making a deep musical hum, owing to the extra large stone she had picked for her final shot. Whooosh! Whack! The force with which the stone struck the head sent it flying from the body into the bushes beyond.

  The whole of the Guosim tribe went wild, cheering, yelling and rushing to congratulate the ottermaid. Tiria was completely overwhelmed by the crush of shrews and had to be rescued by Skipper, Brink, Urfa and Dobra, who escorted her out of the melee, off to a quiet spot on the tree-shaded bank. Log a Log Urfa detailed a group of his Guosim warriors to disperse the excited crowd of shrews.

  Skipper winked at Urfa. “So then, matey, wot d’ye reckon to my Tiria, eh?”

  The shrew chieftain wiggled his snout energetically (always a sign of admiration and wonderment among Guosim). “I tell ye, Banjon, if’n I didn’t see it with me own eyes, I never would’ve credited it. Yore Tiria made it look so easy, mate. I’d give me tail’n’ears to have a slinger like that in my tribe!”

  Skipper threw a protective paw about his daughter. “Hah, there’s no chance of ye gettin’ my gel. She’s got a long journey t’make. That’s why we came to see ye, mate. She needs a boat.”

  Log a Log Urfa refilled their tankards. “A boat, ye say? Wot sort o’ boat, Tiria? An’ where d’ye plan on goin’ in it?”

  The ottermaid replied politely, “Any sort of boat, sir. The Guosim ones look fine to me. But you know a lot more about boats than I do, so I’ll leave the choice to you, if I may. I’ve got to sail to a place called Green Isle, somewhere across the Western Sea.”

  Urfa did a choking splutter, spraying grog widespread. “Wot? You three are plannin’ on crossin’ the Western Sea? That ain’t no sea, it’s a wallopin’ great ocean!”

  Tiria patted Urfa’s back until he finished spluttering. “My father and Brink won’t be going, sir, just myself and Pandion.”

  Urfa wiped his mouth on a spotted kerchief. “An’ who, pray, is this Pandion, an’ where’s he at?”

  Tiria caught sight of the osprey circling the watermeadow. She pointed. “That’s him up there, he’s an osprey.”

  Placing both paws in her mouth, she gave a piercing whistle. Pandion zoomed down like a slingstone.

  Guosim shrews scattered everywhere, shouting in alarm. Urfa flung himself into a nearby bush. “Git that thing out o’ here afore it slays us all!”

  Pandion Piketalon landed, kicking up clouds of dust as he flapped his powerful wings. He stared about with fierce golden eyes. “Where did the little spikies go?”

  Tiria wagged a reproving paw at him. “You frightened them all away, you great show-off! I think you’d best go off fishing again. I’ll whistle when we need you, but be careful how you make your entrance next time.”

  Pandion launched himself into flight once more. “Pandion likes fishing. Lots of big fat ones around here!”

  Only when he had gone did Urfa scramble out of the bush. “Me’n’ my crew’ll take ye down the river Moss t’the sea, miss, but that great bird ain’t sailin’ on my boat. He can fly!”

  Dusting himself down, the Guosim chieftain tried to look bold and unconcerned as he called to his tribe. “Come on out. The bird won’t harm ye, I had a word with it.”

  He murmured to Skipper out of the side of his mouth, “Got to show ’em who’s the Log a Log round here, don’t I?”

  Urfa resumed his seat. “Now then, Miss Tiria, there’s a matter of a barrel o’ grog ye won for yore slingin’. D’ye want to take it with ye?”

  The ottermaid tapped her rudder thoughtfully. “Is it good grog?”

  Urfa seemed taken aback that anybeast should ask. “Good grog? It’s the finest ten-season mature brew. I’d give me tail’n’whiskers for a flagon of that nectar!”

  Tiria smiled. “I’m not really a grog drinker. Perhaps you’d like to accept it as a gift from me, sir.”

  Urfa shook her paw gratefully. “Thank ye kindly. I’d be a fool to refuse it. But let me put ye straight about sailin’ craft, miss. All we have are logboats, carved from the trunks o’ trees. ’Twould be madness to try an’ cross that Western Sea in one. Ye’d be drowned!”

  Urfa saw the look of disappointment on her face. “Now don’t ye go frettin’, beauty. I’ve got an idea. For a long sea voyage ye’ll need a proper ship, an’ I know the very creature who has one. At dawn tomorrer I’ll take ye down the ole River Moss to the Western Sea an’ introduce ye to him. All he’ll need by way o’ payment is vittles aplenty. I’ll supply them meself.”

  Skipper patted Urfa’s back heartily. “I knew ye wouldn’t let us down. Yore a real mate!”

  The Guosim chieftain waved his paw airily. “I’d be a mizzruble beast if’n I couldn’t do a favour for me ole friend Banjon.”

  Brink helped himself to another wedge of pie. “Wot’s yore friend’s name?”

  Log a Log replied straight-faced, “Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw, Terror of the High Seas!”

  15

  Dawn brought pale-washed skies, drizzle and a layer of mist over windless land and sea. The cavern beneath the ledges was thick with acrid smoke. Leatho Shellhound skidded in, striving with rudder and paw to hold his balance on the glistening floor.

  Big Kolun Galedeep held tight to the rocky walls, the
smoke stinging his eyes as he coughed and yelled out to Banya Streamdog, “Git some torches lit an’ fetch ’em in here, will ye!”

  Both he and the outlaw sea otter hung on, gagging and spluttering until a half-dozen torches were brought.

  Kolun rubbed his streaming eyes, staring about him in the flickering light and deep shadow. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’rudders has been goin’ on here?”

  Banya held her torch high as she held on to a ledge. “The place is empty. There ain’t nobeast anywhere!”

  Leatho slid across to the hanging curtain of vegetation which screened the cave from the sea. From there he pondered the scene before him. “Seaweed an’ damp wood have been piled on the big cookin’ fire to make all this smoke. I can’t say wot this slippery mess all over the floor is.”

  Lorgo Galedeep dipped a paw in the slime, sniffing at it several times before hazarding a guess. “Smells like Gullyplug Punch an’ seafood stew, an’ leftovers mixed with veggible oil. But where’s our families? D’ye think Felis an’ the cats took ’em all prisoner?”

  Big Kolun dispelled the idea with a snort. “No, never! My missus an’ the others wouldn’t have been taken without a fight. Look around, mate. D’ye see any slain or wounded beasts from either side layin’ about? There’s not even a trace o’ blood, the place is empty. Ahoy there, Shellhound, where are ye off to?”

  Leatho had parted the trailing curtain and plunged into the mist-shrouded sea. He surfaced a short distance from the cave. “Yore right, mate. They weren’t ambushed, even though I noticed lots o’ cat signs outside by the land entrance. There’s a good chance yore families escaped. We’d best start a search for them. You Streamdivers an’ Wavedogs, come with me. Kolun, take the rest an’ follow along the coast. See if’n ye can pick up any trails.”

  The clans of the Streamdivers and Wavedogs formed a spreadout phalanx behind the outlaw. They swam smoothly along the quiet coastal waters, watching for any signs of life. There was no letup in the dull early morn. Mist and drizzle persisted, limiting both sound and vision in the calm, waveless sea. Worries, doubts and fears for their families plagued the clanbeasts’ minds. Was Leatho right in his supposition, had their loved ones avoided the murderous wildcat? Leatho pressed on into the enveloping mist, listening keenly for the slightest hopeful sound.

  The tall, ragged rocks of a headland loomed up out of the gloom. The clanbeasts swam in Leatho’s wake as he changed course seaward. There was a space of open water between the cape and a massive dark rock that stood apart from it.

  Raising his voice, the outlaw yelled an otterclan cry: “Yaylaaahoooooooo!”

  An echo bounced back from the rock. A moment’s silence followed, broken only by the lap of water against stone.

  Then a booming call rang out. “Hawooooooom!”

  Leaving his comrades behind, Leatho cut the water speedily. He headed for the rock and a hulking figure perched upon it. Once he could make out the nature of the creature, he returned its greeting. “Yaylaaahooo! Gawra Hom! Hawooooom!”

  The grey bull seal, Gawra Hom, threw back his head and reared up. “Hawoooom! Glokglokglok!”

  Just then, Kolun’s boat emerged from around the side of the rock. It was packed with little ones, all showing off what they had learned as they pulled the oars lustily.

  Deedero, Kolun’s missus, was at the tiller. She waved to the grey seal. “Many thanks to ye, Gawra Hom!”

  She turned to the outlaw, paws akimbo. “Well, Mister Shellhound, you took yore time gettin’ here! There’s pore weary families sittin’ in the rain on the other side o’ this rock. D’ye reckon y’might rescue ’em some time this season, or is that too much to ask, eh?”

  Relief flooded through Leatho as he threw the sturdy ottermum a mock salute with his rudder. “Right ye are, marm. We’ll get ’em off there, marm!”

  He gave another salute to Gawra Hom. “If’n I can ever help ye, mate, just give me a call. Yore a goodbeast, Gawra Hom.”

  The big grey bull waved a flipper. “Hoooom wharraawoooooh !”

  As the mist began thinning, Deedero spied Big Kolun and the clanbeast swimming out from the shore to the rock. She glared at him, calling to him dryly, “Ahoy there, ye great sloprudder! Are you goin’ to play about there all day, an’ leave yore family marooned? Or are ye thinkin’ about rescuin’ ’em?”

  Cheerfully, the big Galedeep otter waved a meaty paw. “Ho, but it does me ’eart good t’see yore charmin’ face, me liddle thistleblossom. Rest yore dainty paws, we’ll soon have ye home’n’dry!”

  It took some considerable time to get the families safely ashore. The elders and the very young were exhausted from their nighttime flight through the dark sea and the time they had spent clinging to the rock.

  When the task was accomplished, Banya Streamdog asked the question that was uppermost in everybeast’s mind. “We can’t go back t’the caves or the tall stones anymore. So where do we hide all these families?”

  Leatho was at a loss, but Ould Zillo the Bard had an answer. “Sure, an’ why not take ’em all to Holt Summerdell?”

  Everybeast knew the name, Holt Summerdell, through an old song that was sung around the fires at night.

  Deedero looked askance at the bard. “There ain’t no such place. Holt Summerdell’s only a nice song. It ain’t real, is it?”

  Zillo tapped his nose knowingly. “Ah, but that’s where yore wrong, marm. I knows it’s a real place. My grandpa showed it t’me when I was only a liddle snip. But I remember exactly where it is. Y’see, Holt Summerdell was a holiday home of the clans afore the cats came to Green Isle. Aye, an’ a grand ould time they used to have there all summer long. But ’tis long forgotten now—except in the song. There’s only meself knows where ’tis, an’ I’m the bucko that can take ye there. It lies inland, beyond Deeplough in the highlands, a fair stretch o’ the paws. Though if’n we set out now, I could have ye there soon after dusk. Well, Shellhound, what d’ye think?”

  Leatho picked up one of Kolun’s brood, a tiny ottermaid. He set her on his shoulders. “Don’t seem we’ve got much choice. Lead on, matey!”

  They struck off inland, with the rain still drizzling, though the mist was breaking up into patches over the valleys and woodlands. Zillo kept their spirits up by tapping out the pace on his rudderdrum and singing the song about Holt Summerdell.

  “All the long-ago seasons we loved high up there,

  in those warm afternoons an’ the sweet evenin’ air,

  alas though they’re past I remember it well,

  that dear little spot we called Holt Summerdell.

  When ye’d rise in the mornin’ the air was like wine,

  through the curtain came stealin’ the golden sunshine,

  with the twayblade the clubrush the burr an’ the sedge,

  round the clear crystal waters that flow o’er the edge.

  Ye could ride on the slide there or sport in the pool,

  where trout roamed the deep reeds so green an’ so

  cool,

  on some flat mossy rock ye could lie there an’ bask, as

  the ould ones would say, now wot more could ye ask?

  But the times are all fled like a mayfly’s short day,

  though sometimes within me a small voice will say

  go follow yore dream to the place ye loved well,

  that dear little spot we call Holt Summerdell.” ’

  The otterbabe riding on Leatho’s shoulders whispered in his ear, “Uz gunner go ta H’old Suddermell? Soun’s ferry nice!”

  The outlaw tickled the little one’s footpaw. “Aye, darlin’, I’m sure Mister Zillo will take us there.”

  The old bard chuckled. “Sure I’ll take ye there, right enough. Wait’ll ye see it! Then ye’ll wonder how anybeast doubted me.”

  The outlaw nodded. “I don’t doubt ye, Zillo. Tell me, though, how did ye manage to escape from the cave without Felis harmin’ or capturin’ anybeast?”

  Ould Zillo shrugged. “ ’Twas all Deedero’
s doin’. Ye recall how ye left me’n’her in charge afore ye went off? Huh, I didn’t have much say in the runnin’ o’ things at all. That big ottermum just took over. Aye, an’ ’tis just as well she did, mate. Let nobeast ever tell me that Deedero Galedeep ain’t got a head on her shoulders!”

  Kolun tapped Zillo on the shoulder from behind. “Go on, tell us how my missus did it.”

  The bard had to smile as he recalled the deeds of Deedero. “Sure, ’twas worth writin’ a ballad about. First thing she did was to get yore boat pulled up alongside the cave. Then she fed all the little ’uns an’ bedded ’em down in it so they were out o’ harm’s way. Then she split us into two groups. I was in charge of the gang who went out collectin’ seaweed an’ water-logged driftwood. We had to stack it all by the main cookin’ fire. Next thing she had us doin’ was pourin’ all o’ Birl Gully’s punch into the seafood stew, that an’ a jar o’ veggible oil an’ any other leftovers we could find. I tell ye, Kolun, that missus o’ yores should’ve been a warlord!”

  Leatho pressed the bard. “Go on, wot did she do then?”

  Zillo took up the tale again. “Lissen t’this. Deedero takes her gang out by the land entrance o’ the cave. They strip all the branches from two blackthorns, the ones with the big sharp spikes. So she lays ’em out, where any foebeast would tread on ’em in the dark. Then she posts some o’ the wives close t’the cave an’ tells ’em to report to her any sudden yowls or miaows.”

  Leatho interrupted. “But supposin’ it would’ve been us comin’ back to the cave ahead of Felis. What then?”

  Birl Gully roared out laughing. “Harrharrharr! That would’ve been yore bad luck, mate. But as it ’appens, things turned out right. ’Twas the wildcat an’ his guards who came chargin’ along that way. Harrharrharr!”

  Zillo continued. “Must’ve been close to midnight when our sentries ’eard the yowls an’ catcalls. They hurried back, an’ Deedero sent everybeast off into the sea, pushin’ the boat away up the coast. The little ’uns thought it was no end o’ fun. Now there was only me’n’Deedero left there. She orders me to heap the seaweed an’ dampwood on the fire. Right away there’s smoke billowin’ everywhere. I saw Deedero take a long pole an’ push the big cauldron over, topplin’ it all over the floor. It smelled pretty strong, I can tell ye. Well, that was it. Me’n’Deedero got out o’ there an’ went swimmin’ after the others . . . leavin’ Riggu Felis an’ his catguards t’clean up after us, o’ course!”