Mossflower (Redwall) Page 4

  Gonff nodded. ‘And he never returned?’

  Martin closed his eyes. ‘No, he never came back. I defended our land alone, against all corners. That was when they started calling me Martin the Warrior instead of Son of Luke the Warrior. I left it as late as I could that autumn, then there seemed no point in defending a cave and land just for myself. I started to march south alone. Who knows how far I would have got if I hadn’t been stopped at Kotir.’

  Gonff stood up and stretched. ‘I’m glad you did stop here, matey. I’d hate to be sitting in this cell talking to myself. I’d sooner talk to a warrior like you.’

  Martin passed the wine back. ‘Aye, and I’d sooner be locked up with a thief like yourself than wandering about alone, matey.’

  6

  IT WAS STRANGE that at the very moment Gonff and Martin were discussing Corim, the council of that name was talking of them. Ben Stickle’s humble home was crammed with woodland creatures, the largest of whom was a badger, Bella of Brockhall. She presided over the meeting. Also present were the Skipper of otters, Lady Amber the squirrel Chief, Ben Stickle and Billum, a dependable mole who was deputizing for his leader. Seated by the fire, Beech the squirrel answered council questions.

  ‘Where did you see Gonff captured?’

  ‘Westerly, over near the fringe by Kotir.’

  ‘Whatever was Gonff doing to let himself get captured?’

  ‘Oh the usual, skylarkin’ and foolin’ about.’

  ‘You say it was two of Verdauga’s soldiers.’

  ‘Aye, no doubt o’ that. In uniform and carryin’ spears.’

  ‘Where were you when all this took place, Beech?’

  ‘Sittin’ up an old oak not far off.’

  ‘Did you hear what they said?’

  ‘Heard ’em say they was takin’ him off to Kotir. Of course, you know Gonff. Treated it like a big joke, he did. No doubt they’ll have wiped the silly grin off his whiskers by now down in old Greeneyes’ cells.’

  Lady Amber nodded at Beech. ‘Well done. Anything else to report?’

  ‘No, marm. I followed them as far as I could, then I spotted Argulor perched in a spruce. Couldn’t say if he was awake, so I decided to come back here, knowin’ there was a gatherin’ of Corim.’

  Ben Stickle winked at Beech. ‘Aye, it’s late noon, too. There’s a pot of spring vegetable soup, cheese and nutbread. D’you think you could manage some, Beech?’

  The squirrel winked back at Ben, bobbed his head respectfully to the Corim leaders and was gone before further questions could be thought up.

  Bella rubbed huge paws across her eyes and sat back with a grunt of despair. ‘Well, here’s another pretty pickle our mousethief has got himself into. Any suggestions?’

  Amber clucked disapprovingly. ‘If I had my way, I’d leave the silly creature to stew his paws in Kotir awhile. That’d teach him a lesson.’

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  The Skipper of otters whacked his rudderlike tail against the hearth. ‘Belay that kind o’ talk, mates. You all know that the little uns would have gone hungry many a time, ’cept for the thief.’ Skipper gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘That Gonff is my kind of mouse, a true messmate. A bit light of paw, but good-hearted and an able-bodied shanty singer.’

  Ben Stickle raised a paw. ‘I vote we rescue Gonff. We’d be ashamed to call ourselves true woodlanders, leaving one of our own in Kotir prison.’

  Billum lifted a velvety paw. ‘Hurr, do moi vote count whoil gaffer Foremole’s not yurr?’

  Bella thought for a moment while they all digested the meaning of the rustic molespeech. ‘Of course, Billum. After all, you are Foremole’s deputy and the Corim respect your judgement as a sensible mole.’

  Billum squinted his round eyes with pleasure at the compliment.

  By a show of paws the vote to rescue Gonff was unanimous. Then there was a temporary respite for refreshment, while the assembly helped themselves to bowls of Goodwife Stickle’s famed spring vegetable soup, farls of warm nutbread and ripe yellow cheese.

  Lady Amber smiled fondly at two little hedgehogs who were trying to look very fierce and brave, knowing that she was always ready to recruit warriors into her band. She dealt with them as if they were two bold squirrels.

  ‘Show me your paws. Hmm, you’d probably make good climbers after some training. You certainly look tough enough. Goody, are these two young villains very strong?’

  Goodwife put down her ladle and wiped her paws on her apron. ‘Ho my, yes. Ferdy and Coggs are two of the strongest. Why, you wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw these two a-gatherin’ up all those great heavy dishes and washin’ pots. There’s no two hogs more powerful.’

  Much smiling and winking was in evidence as Ferdy and Coggs gathered bowls, grunting with exertion as they proved their strength by scouring a large cauldron between them.

  Buckling down to the business of Gonff, the Corim set about planning his escape.

  Argulor had returned to Mossflower. No creature could say why he had deserted his mountain stronghold in the far West; maybe it was that he enjoyed the comfort of woodlands where prey was far more plentiful. Argulor was a golden eagle of great age. He had grown too slow and short-sighted to pursue small creatures, so staying within handy range of Kotir and Verdauga’s troops suited him. But the frightening strength and savagery of an eagle had not deserted Argulor, and if the chance of a larger animal came his way he took it, with curving talons and fierce hooked beak. Ferrets, rats, weasels and stoats made good eating, and besides, there was a pine marten living in Kotir. Admittedly it was a bit battered and bent, but Argulor had never tasted pine marten before and was determined that one day he would do so. The eagle and the wildcats had crossed trails many times over the years. Each had a healthy respect for the other. With the exception of Tsarmina. Whenever Argulor was sighted circling the sky over Kotir, Verdauga’s daughter incited the soldiers to fire arrows and throw stones at the great bird, offering rewards to the creature that could bring him down. Argulor was not unduly worried by a mob of vermin loosing missiles at him, as he could outdistance anything they chose to throw. Sometimes he would hover on a thermal, slightly out of range, trying with his failing eyesight to catch a glimpse of the desired marten, or Tsarmina, whom he hated. Bright spring sunlight warmed his wings as he wheeled above the fortress.

  Ashleg cringed behind his wildcat mistress as she stood glaring upward at the soaring eagle. ‘Shoot, you fools! Not over there, idiots! There, see, right above your thick heads.’

  The soldiers continued firing without success. Tsarmina grabbed a particularly slow ferret and cuffed him soundly about the head. Hurling the smarting creature to one side, she picked up his bow and notched an arrow to the string. Taking careful aim, she paused a moment as the eagle swooped lower. Swiftly she loosed the barbed shaft with a powerful hiss of flighted feathers. To the surprise of the watchers, Argulor wheeled to one side then shot upward in pursuit of the arrow. Up he went until the shaft had reached its peak of flight, then wheeling quickly inward, the eagle caught the arrow in his talon and contemptuously snapped it. Zooming downward, he flew low enough to stare for a second at Tsarmina, then he beat the air with massive wingstrokes, flying away into the blue yonder.

  Tsarmina would have vented her rage upon Ashleg, but he had vanished inside when he saw the eagle diving.

  ‘Get out of my sight, you useless lot of buffoons!’

  The soldiers followed Ashleg with all speed, each trying not to be last. Tsarmina was in the mood for making examples.

  The wildcat stood alone pondering a question: where had she seen that same look of vengeance and fearlessness before? The mouse, that was it! She could not even recall his name; anyhow, he probably hadn’t lasted the winter down in the cells.

  Tsarmina watched a furtive figure coming across the parade ground, ducking and weaving, flattening itself in the shadows. She snorted scornfully; it was only Fortunata. ‘Frightened of a blind old eagle, vixen?’
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br />   ‘Milady, I was ducking the arrows and stones of your soldiers as they came down, but that was a good shot of yours.’ Fortunata said in a fawning voice. ‘A pity that the eagle caught it in midair.’

  The vixen jumped sharply to one side as Tsarmina fired an arrow from the ferret’s bow. It landed where her paw had been a moment before.

  Tsarmina notched another arrow, her eyes glinting cruelly. ‘Right, let’s see what you’re best at, fox – catching arrows or getting inside with a civil tongue in your head.’

  She bent the bow back and giggled wickedly at the sight of Fortunata beating a hopskip retreat.

  Sooner or later the Queen of the Thousand Eyes had the final say in all things.

  Something rattled through the slit window above Martin and Gonff. In the semigloom they groped about in the straw until Gonff found the object.

  Martin could not conceal his disappointment. ‘Goodness me, a stick. How helpful. We could take this place single-pawed with a stick. What a useful thing to send us.’

  It was not a stick. Gonff ignored his cellmate and set about undoing the thin wire which bound the bark parchment to the slim blade. He unfolded the parchment and moved into the light, where he read aloud the message it contained.

  ‘Gonff.

  Here are your tools. Leave by the woodland side of Kotir at the first light of dawn. We will be waiting to cover for you.

  Corim.’

  Gonff laughed quietly as he destroyed the message. ‘This is what we’ve been waiting for, matey. Of course they don’t know about you. The plan is only supposed to cover my escape, but don’t worry, we’ll sort it out. The council will be glad to have a real trained warrior on their side. Now, d’you see this silly old bit of wire and this little knifeblade? Well, they’re going to get us out of here, matey. These are the tools of an honourable thief.’

  Martin clasped Gonff’s paw warmly. ‘I’m sorry, Gonff. All I did was stand here making stupid remarks. You are the expert. From now on you have an assistant who is willing to learn from your experience. In fact, you’ve got a real mate, matey.’

  Gonff laughed and winced at the same time. ‘Righto, matey, the first lesson is not to break the expert’s paw by crushing it ’cos you don’t know your own strength. Let’s settle down now. When is the next guard patrol due?’

  ‘In about an hour’s time, regular as clockwork since I’ve been here. After that, there’ll be nobody by until two hours after dawn when they bring the bread and water.’

  ‘Good, that gives us time for a little rest,’ Gonff said, stretching out comfortably on the straw.

  Martin lay down, willing himself to relax against the floodtide of excitement building inside him. Gonff played on his flute awhile, then he began singing softly.

  ‘Pickalock pickalock, you’ll regret the day,

  When you took a mousethief and locked him away.

  Sillycat, look at that, it’s two for one,

  The thief and the warrior

  By dawn will be gone.’

  Martin lay with his eyes closed, listening. ‘Who taught you that song?’

  Gonff shrugged as he packed his flute away. ‘Nobody. They just spring into my head. Silly, isn’t it. Sometimes old Goody Stickle says that it’s Mossflower singing through me. Now and then she’ll say it’s a sight of seasons the sun hasn’t yet shone upon.’

  Martin savoured the phrase as they lay in the straw. ‘A sight of seasons the sun hasn’t yet shone upon, eh. I like that, matey, your friends sound like nice creatures.’

  Gonff chewed on a straw. ‘You’ll like Goody Stickle. If I did have a mother one time, then she couldn’t be any nicer than Goody. Wait till you taste her spring vegetable soup, or her oat and honey scones, piping hot and oozing butter, or her apple and blackberry pudding with spices and fresh cream, or just her new yellow cheese with hot oven bread and a stick of fresh celery, aye, and a bowl of milk with nutmeg grated on top of it . . .’

  The straw slipped from Gonff’s lips. Martin was glad that he had dozed off. All that delicious mention of food had set his mouth watering like a stream. He was positive that he would like Goody Stickle. In fact, she would never be short of a constant admirer if her cooking was half as good as Gonff described it.

  7

  IT WAS STILL three hours to dawn as the rescue party headed by Amber and Skipper left the Stickle dwelling. Goody pressed parcels of food upon them, clucking worriedly. ‘Now I don’t want to hear of anyone a-gettin’ theirselves catchered by those madcats. They’ll eat you for sure.’

  Amber the squirrel Chief smiled as she hefted a pack of food. ‘Don’t fret your spines, Goody. We’re more likely to be laid low by the amount of rations you’re making us take than by an enemy.’

  Skipper peeked inside his pack. ‘Marm, my old stummick’d sink in a stream if I ate half o’ this. I’d be down at the bows for a week.’

  The small band of tough, capable woodlanders were paw picked from Amber’s squirrel archers and Skipper’s otter crew. They stood about checking weapons. The otters twirled slings and selected stones, some of them balancing light throwing javelins. The squirrels waxed bowstrings and belted on full quivers.

  Ben Stickle remarked to his wife, ‘As fine a body o’ woodlanders as I’ve seen. Let’s hope they can be of help to our little Gonff.’

  Ferdy and Coggs strolled out to join the band. The two small hedgehogs wore cooking pot helmets and blanket cloaks, each carried a piece of firewood, and they scowled in a warlike manner as they stood among the squirrels and otters.

  The Skipper of otters clapped a paw to his brow and staggered about in mock fright. ‘Strike me colours, if it ain’t two bloodthirsty savages. One glance at these two’d put a wildcat off his skilly an’ duff for life!’

  Ferdy and Coggs strutted about, tripping on their blankets but still managing to maintain fierce grimaces. Concealing a smile, Lady Amber took the two would-be warriors by their paws and positioned them outside the Stickle house. She placed one either side of the doorway, where they stood scowling and stabbing the air with their firewood weapons. The otter and squirrel band dutifully scowled back in recognition of two fellow fighters.

  Skipper gave them a broad wink and waved his muscular tail for silence. ‘Belay the gab and listen to me now. These here rough-lookin’ coves has offered to spill some blood ’n’ guts over at Kotir, but what I say is, leave the easy work to us, we’ll manage that. What we need is two ruffians who’ll stop at nothin’ to patrol round this cottage and guard it while we’re gone. I’ll tell you otters ’n’ squirrels, ’tis hard and dangerous work, so I’ll leave my packet of tuck to keep you two villains alive while you’re on watch here. That’s if you think you can manage the job.’

  Ferdy and Coggs stood to attention, spikes bristling, cheeks puffed out with authority, practically bursting with enthusiasm. They saluted officiously as the rescue party moved off in the direction of Kotir.

  Amber sniffed the light breeze. ‘Not more than two hours to daybreak now.’

  Skipper wound a slingshot about his paw. ‘Aye, marm. That’ll give us enough time if we move along handy.’

  On the fringe of Mossflower, Kotir stood dark and forbidding, the very embodiment of evil and tyranny, awaiting the dawn.

  Martin sat bolt upright at the sound of a bird on the outside. He shook Gonff soundly. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead. It’ll be dawn in less than an hour.’

  The mousethief sat up. Rubbing his paws into half-opened eyes, he looked upward to the narrow strip of sky through the barred window slit. ‘Time to go, matey.’

  Gonff took out his slim knifeblade. Sliding it into the keyhole of the cell door, he twitched it back and forth. ‘Oh good, an easy one.’

  With both eyes closed and a smile of pleasure on his chubby face he jiggled the blade until there was a metallic click. ‘That’s it, matey. Give it a shove.’

  Martin pushed the door, but it refused to open. ‘It’s still shut. What’s gone wrong?’

  Gonff tested
it carefully, pushing until he heard a slight rattle. ‘Bolts. I’ll need a boost – can you hold me up, matey?’

  Martin braced his back against the door, cupped his paws and squared his shoulders. ‘Try me.’

  The mousethief climbed up and balanced on his friend’s shoulders.

  Martin bore his weight patiently, hoping that Gonff’s talents would do the trick. ‘How does it look up there?’ he asked anxiously.

  Gonff’s voice came back punctuated by odd grunts of concentration. ‘No real problems, matey. Leastways, nothing that a Prince of thieves can’t handle. Ha, rusty old bolts, shove a bit of greasy cheese on ’em with my knifeblade, loop the wire round the bolt handle, then it’s just a matter of wiggle and jiggle and tug until it comes loose, like this one. Ha, got it!’

  Martin squared his shoulders once more as Gonff sought a new position. ‘Now for the other lock. Heehee, this beats scrabbling and climbing up doors, a good strong matey to stand on. Martin, you’re as solid as a rock.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Martin grunted. ‘But I’m not as thick as one, so stop prancing about on the back of my neck like that. I’ve been standing here for ages.’

  Gonff was never short of an answer. ‘Ages, huh? You’ve not been there ten seconds, and the job’s near done. I’ve known clumsy thieves and burglars who’d keep you there until you grew grey whiskers. Just thank your lucky stars you’ve got an honest thief like me to look after you, matey. Look out, here it goes!’

  Suddenly the door swung open, and they both tumbled in a heap out into the passage. Gonff was laughing uproariously. Martin clapped a paw across his noisy friend’s mouth. ‘Sssshhh! You’ll have the guards coming down to check on the din.’

  Martin closed the door carefully and rebolted it.

  Gonff was halfway along the passage when he noticed Martin was not with him. Glancing back, he saw his friend standing by a cell far down the corridor. It was Gingivere’s cell, and Martin was speaking to the wildcat.