Salamandastron (Redwall) Read online

  Afternoon summer tea at Redwall was always very good. The mice who formed the Brother and Sisterhood sat among other creatures in Great Hall. There was never any distinction to class or species; all were Redwallers and friends, and they mingled freely, sharing the delicious repast. Hot scones, hazelnut bread, apple jelly, meadowcream, redcurrant tart, mint tea and strawberry cordial were consumed in great quantities.

  Abbess Vale, successor to old Abbot Saxtus, sat dwarfed in the big badger chair at the head of the long table. Redwall Abbey had not seen a female badger guardian in many a long season, old Mother Mellus having gone to her well-earned rest quite some time ago. Beside the Abbess sat Bremmun, a venerable squirrel. He leaned across to speak to her, raising his voice over the hubbub and jollity of Redwallers at tea.

  ‘You heard what Thrugg had to say about Samkim?’

  Vale put aside her beaker. ‘Yes, I heard all about it.’

  Bremmun chose a slice of the latticed redcurrant tart and ladled it thickly with meadowcream. ‘Shall I leave it for you to deal with as Mother Abbess, or do you wish me to do it?’

  The Abbess turned the beaker slowly in her paws. ‘You are both squirrels. I think it would be better if it were to come from you, my friend. Samkim can be very naughty at times, but I’ve always liked the little fellow. I really don’t have the heart to scold him. I’ll leave it to you if I may, Bremmun.’

  Those on serving duty were beginning to clear away the dishes, and one or two diners were rising to leave. Bremmun rapped the tabletop sharply with a wooden ladle.

  ‘One moment, friends. Your attention, please!’

  The hubbub of conversation stopped immediately. Those about to leave respectfully kept their seats. Reaching beneath the linen table runner, Bremmun produced the arrow Thrugg had given him. He held it up for all to see.

  ‘This shaft was loosed in the orchard this afternoon. Would the creature who fired it please stand forward!’

  Amid a scraping of wooden benches everybeast turned to watch two small figures emerge from the table nearest the door. Many a knowing nod was passed. Samkim and Arula again!

  The young squirrel Samkim was a strongly built fellow, wearing a beret sporting a wren feather at a jaunty angle. Straightening his soft greencloth tunic, he strode up to the long table, unable to extinguish the roguish twinkle in his hazel eyes. Arula the young mole padded alongide him. She too was clad in beret and tunic, though her small round eyes were downcast. Samkim’s head was barely visible over the tabletop as he denounced himself to Bremmun.

  ‘The arrow is mine. I shot it! Arula had no part in it.’

  The mole shook her velvety head. ‘Ho no, zurr, ’twas oi who axed Sankin to shoot ’ee arpel, hurr aye. ’Tis moi fault, zurr Brumm’n.’

  The squirrel’s voice was loud and stern. ‘Silence, missie! Samkim, this is not the first time. A short while ago an arrow was found lodged in the kitchen door, then one of the gatehouse windows was broken by an arrow. Later it was Brother Hal who was the victim of another arrow. He has a permanent furrow through his headfur – a fraction lower and he would not be with us today. Now it is poor Mrs Spinney’s turn. The good lady was half frightened to death by your archery. What have you got to say for yourself, young squirrel?’

  Samkim shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry, I never meant to hurt anyone.’

  Bremmun hurried around the table to face the culprit. ‘You never meant to hurt anyone? A bow and arrow is a weapon, not a toy! But you do not seem to realize that. Oh no, off you go, willy nilly, firing arrows carelessly without a thought for anybeast . . .’

  Arula interrupted, pointing to herself. ‘Et wurr moi fault, zurr. ’Twas oi oo tol’ Sankin t’ do et!’

  ‘Quite so, quite so, Arula.’ Bremmun waved her aside distractedly. ‘Now, as for you, Samkim, you young wretch, you make me ashamed to call myself a squirrel! Mother Abbess was far. too upset by your disgraceful behaviour to speak to you, therefore it is my painful duty to do this. Both of you, Samkim and Arula, are confined to the Infirmary until further notice! I am sure Brother Hollyberry can find lots of tasks – scrubbing, bedmaking and washing floors – for both of you. Your meals will be delivered to you up there, you will sleep in the Infirmary and under no circumstances must either of you leave, until the Mother Abbess and I have decided that you are fit to join ordinary decent Redwallers again. Furthermore, Samkim, if I ever hear that you have been within paw’s length of a bow or arrows again, you will be in very deep and serious trouble. Do I make myself clear?’

  Two young heads nodded miserably.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Hurr, clearer’n broit summer morn, thankee, zurr.’

  Silence fell over Great Hall as the two miscreants were led off to their fate by Brother Hal. Punishments and penalties were an absolute rarity in the friendly Abbey.

  Bremmun returned to his seat. Leaning across, he whispered to Abbess Vale. ‘Thank goodness that’s over with. Do you think I was too hard on them, Vale?’

  She folded her paws in her lap. ‘Yes, Bremmun, I do. Oh, I know that Samkim and Arula are always in trouble, but they are young. Restricting their freedom to the Infirmary is very severe, I think.’

  Bremmun looked uncomfortable and shrugged apologetically. ‘Not to worry, I won’t keep them confined there for long. They’ll soon learn their lesson. Did you notice little Arula? I had to try hard to stop myself smiling – there she was, standing up bold as a stone, taking all the blame herself.’

  The Abbess pursed her lips to hide her own smile. ‘Bless her, she was very brave. Those two are true friends, even if they are a pair of scamps. Young ones like them are the very backbone of our Abbey; they do not lack courage or honesty. We need creatures like that. They will take the reins and show an example to all in the seasons to come.’

  Samkim and Arula sat on a bed facing Brother Hollyberry. The ancient healer and Keeper of the Infirmary leaned back in his armchair, chuckling drily.

  ‘Thank your lucky stars there wasn’t a badger sitting in the chair today. By the fur! You two would have really found out what punishment was like. Those badgers were very, very strict!’

  ‘Boi ecky, lucky fer us’ns, Bruther. Oi ’spect ’ee badger’d choppen our tails off an’ fling uz in ’ee pond!’

  Hollyberry adopted a mock serious expression. ‘Aye, that’s just the sort of thing badgers would have done in the old days. Righto, you two, no more trying to flannel me. There’s the walls, doors, cupboards and shelves to be washed, windows to be cleaned, sheets to be counted and folded, lots of torn nightshirts to be sewn, pillowslips to be scrubbed . . .’

  He watched their faces going from glumness to despair at the mention of each new chore. Chuckling aloud, Hollyberry rose and patted their heads. ‘But we’ll start all that tomorrow. You can have the rest of the day off. Sorry you’re not allowed out, young uns. Maybe if you look in the big cupboard you’ll find a game of pebbles and acorns. Oh, and some candied chestnuts in my little locker here. That should keep you amused until bedtime or thereabouts.’

  Samkim rubbed his paws delightedly. ‘Thanks, Brother Hollyberry, you’re a real matey. Er, were you ever naughty when you were young?’

  The old mouse looked secretively to and fro as he whispered, ‘Naughty? Let me tell you, young un, I was known as Hollyberry the Horrible when I was a little mouse. Old Abbot Saxtus said that I was the reason he was grey and bent double. Listen now, I’ve got to go and tend my herbs in the garden. Do you think you can behave yourself while I’m gone?’

  Arula draped a clean sheet over her head. ‘Gudd zurr, lookit oi, hurr hurr, a snow-whoit choild oi be.’

  3

  Pikkle Ffolger searched the corners of his knapsack and came up with a single wild oatscone, which he wagged in Mara’s face.

  ‘The last bally scrap of tuck between two stout ’n’ starvin’ travellers, would y’ believe it, old chum!’

  The sturdy young badger maid plucked the scone from his paws. ‘There were four oatscones i
n that bag before I went to sleep last night. You flop-eared glutton, you’ve scoffed ’em!’

  Pikkle placed a paw over his heart, his face a picture of injured innocence. ‘Scoffed? Did I hear you use the expression scoffed, O boon companion and playmate of my younger days? Nibbled daintily, picked idly at, maybe even mouthed a morsel or so. But scoffed, never!’

  Mara broke the scone in two and tossed half to him. ‘Listen here, Ffolger me old Pikkle, don’t try baffling me with flowery phrases. You’re a scoffer and you always have been, so there!’

  Grinning from ear to ear, Pikkle scoffed his half. ‘Oh well, truth will out, old gel, wot? I say, it’s goin’ to take us until late night to get back to jolly old Salamawotsit. I bet we’re both in for some pretty stiff words when old Urthstripe catches up with us.’

  Mara slumped moodily in the hollow of two dunes, her appetite suddenly gone at the thought of returning to face the badger Lord.

  ‘Huh, Salamandastron – I wish I never had to go back to that dreary mountain, Pikkle. Day and night, dawn to dusk, it’s watch your manners, learn your badger lore, keep your room tidy, sit up straight, don’t slouch, do this, do that, don’t do this, don’t do that. I’m sick to the stripes of it all! Isn’t there somewhere young ones can do what they want, have fun all day, without elders and grownbeasts making you do silly boring things . . .?’

  ‘Then come with us – we do as we please!’

  Mara and Pikkle looked around in surprise. A pair of young creatures, a weasel and a ferret, appeared around the dune.

  The garrulous Pikkle winked and grinned cheekily at them. ‘What ho, chaps. Who are you?’

  The weasel smiled back. He was a handsome-looking beast, with the brightest blue eyes Mara had ever seen. ‘Hello there! I’m Klitch and he’s Goffa. We’ve come up from the Southwest Lands.’

  Mara sized the pair up. The ferret was a shifty-looking creature, dressed in a long tunic that had obviously been cut down to fit him. He carried a spear and wore a dagger in the piece of rope that served him as a belt. The young weasel was a different matter altogether. His clothing fitted perfectly. He wore a smart yellow tunic, and on his woven belt hung a short sword, complete with case. He also sported a pair of thick white bone bracelets. All in all he appeared quite dashing. Mara felt self-conscious; both she and Pikkle were dad in the homely sand-coloured smocks worn by those who lived at Salamandastron.

  ‘My name is Mara, and this is my friend Pikkle Ffolger. We come from the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, almost a day’s march north of here.’ here.’

  Klitch smiled oddly. ‘But you don’t want to go back, right?’

  Mara stood up, dusting sand from herself. ‘Oh, we moan and groan a bit, but we always return there. It’s our home, you see. Tell me, did you and Goffa come all the way up from the Southwest by yourselves?’

  A quick smile passed between Klitch and Goffa, then the weasel shrugged carelessly.

  ‘Oh, more or less. We do exactly what we want and go just where we please. Isn’t that right, Goffa?’

  The ferret leaned on his spear and nodded. ‘Right!’

  ‘But you two are only young ones, like us.’ Pikkle interrupted. ‘I say, who allows you to carry weapons like that?’

  Klitch’s blue eyes twinkled merrily. ‘Nobeast allows us to do anything – we feel like having weapons, so we carry ’em and don’t give a hoot for anyone!’

  The more Mara heard from Klitch the more she admired him.

  He drew his sword and swung it, neatly clipping the heads from two dandelions growing amid the reedgrass. ‘So you’re from Salamandastron, hellsteeth! That’s a right old mouthful of a name. Tell you what, me and Goffa here will walk along with you. I’d like to see this place. You can tell me all about it as we go.’

  Without further preamble the four young ones set out for the mountain, chatting and laughing. Klitch was an amusing talker with lots of interesting tales to tell. He was also a good listener and paid rapt attention to anything Mara or Pikkle had to say about their home – so much so, that eventually they were doing all the talking and he was doing all the listening. Goffa rarely spoke.

  The journey did not seem half so arduous with friends to share it. Still, it was night when they came within hailing distance of the great mountain.

  Windpaw, a fully grown female hare, met them as they crossed the shore. She nodded at the two newcomers and shook a cautionary paw at Mara and Pikkle.

  ‘We were about to send search parties out looking for you. Mara, you are untidy. Where in the name of seashells have you been?’

  Pikkle waved a paw airily. ‘Oh, here an’ there, y’know. Thither an’ yon, as they say . . .’

  Windpaw silenced him with a frosty glare. ‘You can tell that to Lord Urthstripe, young Ffolger. First you’d both better come with me. Have you eaten today?’

  Mara indicated the ferret and the weasel. ‘Meet our friends Klitch and Goffa. They’ll need food too.’

  Windpaw shook her head doubtfully at the thought of a ferret and a weasel entering the fortress. She looked them up and down then snorted. ‘Hmm, they look young and hungry enough, I suppose. Follow me.’

  Klitch bowed gracefully, putting on a smile that would have charmed a bird from its nest. ‘Thank you kindly, beautiful lady.’

  Windpaw sniffed. She led them through a concealed entrance. ‘The dining room is down that passage. There’s a bowl of water and towel as you go in. Make sure you wash your paws before sitting down to eat.’

  Klitch winked at his companion. ‘We wouldn’t dream of eating with dirty paws, would we, friend Goffa?’

  The ferret winced as Klitch kicked his paw. ‘Ouch! What, er, oh no, of course not!’

  There was good hot mushroom soup, vegetable pasties, a flagon of mountain pear cordial, salad, and a beechnut cake preserved in honey. They ate with full and hearty appetite, Pikkle Ffolger putting away twice as much as the others.

  Lord Urthstripe and Sergeant Sapwood entered the dining room just as the meal finished. The badger’s jaw tightened at the sight of his two visitors. Sapwood crossed his paws behind him and held his breath. Both Pikkle and Mara fiddled about needlessly with their empty bowls, keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the tabletop to avoid the badger Lord’s fearsome gaze.

  Showing flawless good manners, Klitch rose, nudging Goffa to do likewise. The weasel’s blue eyes shone with sincerity as he spoke.

  ‘Lord Urthstripe, I believe. I hope I find you well, sir. I am Klitch and this is my friend Goffa, and we both wish to thank you for your good food and kind hospitality.’

  For a long time there was silence. Urthstripe was staring at the weasel strangely, as if trying to remember something. Pikkle dropped his spoon, and the clatter of wood on stone seemed to restore the badger Lord to the present. He bowed his head in curt acknowledgement of the weasel’s compliment, though the distaste in his voice was plain.

  ‘This is my mountain, Master Klitch. While you are here I must treat you both as guests. If you have finished eating, my Sergeant will show you to a room where you will spend the night. After breakfast tomorrow you must both leave Salamandastron. You will be given food for your travels. Now I bid you both a good night. Sergeant!’

  Sapwood came smartly to attention. Grim-faced he led Klitch and Goffa off to their bedchamber.

  When they were gone the badger Lord folded his paws across his broad chest and faced Mara. ‘Young maid, have you nothing to say for yourself? Missing, without a word to anybeast for two whole nights. Now you return, bringing a ferret and a weasel here!’

  Mara shook her head in bewilderment. ‘How could you be so rude to those two young creatures? They are my friends . . .’

  Urthstripe’s paw crashed loud against the tabletop. ‘Friends? A ferret and a weasel, they are not friends, they are vermin! Have you no sense, Mara? Ferrets, weasels, stoats, rats and foxes have caused murder and warfare in Mossflower since before the days of my ancestors. Who are they with? Where is the rest of thei
r band?’

  Screwing up his courage, Pikkle chipped in. ‘I say, sir, steady on! Those two chaps were all alone when we met ’em. They travelled up from the Southwest. Actually, they’re rather jolly—’

  Urthstripe’s roar cut him short. ‘Silence, Ffolger! When I want your opinion I shall ask for it. Go to your room, this instant! It’s time you learned to grow up and show some hare responsibility.’

  Pikkle vacated the dining room in haste, knowing it was useless to argue with a badger Lord of Urthstripe’s temper. Huge tears welled from Mara’s eyes to drip on to the table.

  The badger Lord gave a deep sigh of helplessness and shook his great striped head. ‘Mara, little one, please don’t cry. I’m sorry I lost my temper, but I thought you knew about our enemies.’

  The badger maid rubbed paws into her eyes, sniffing. ‘They’re not all enemies, but you don’t seem to care. You don’t even want me having Pikkle as a friend. Sometimes I wish I was dead instead of being stuck inside this miserable old mountain!’

  Urthstripe pulled a spotted kerchief from his forge apron and gently wiped her eyes, sadness and concern showing on his heavy features.

  ‘Please don’t say that, Mara. You are all I have, and someday when I am gone the duty may fall upon you to rule this mountain. I know it is a lonely and demanding life, but it is our solemn duty as badgers to protect Mossflower and its shores. Only then can good honest creatures, not as strong as we, live in peace and happiness. You must believe me, Browneye.’

  The sound of the pet name he had called her as an infant brought a flood of fresh tears. Mara dashed from the room, calling as she ran to her bedchamber. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more. I just want to be somewhere where I can be happy!’

  Urthstripe sat at the dining table. Shutting his eyes tight, he gripped the table edge until his blunt claws scored deep gouges into the oak. When he looked up again, Sergeant Sapwood was standing there. Quickly composing himself, Urthstripe asked in a gruff voice, ‘Are those vermin securely locked in their room for the night?’