The Legend of Luke Read online

  Trimp called to her friends. ‘Come on, lunch is ready. Bring your appetite with you!’

  Hastily washing their paws in the stream, they strolled into camp, sniffing the air appreciatively.

  ‘Boi okey, sumthin’ smells noice, marm!’

  ‘Mmm, candied fruit turnover, just the thing!’

  ‘Aye, ’tis ages since I tasted fruit turnover!’

  The hedgehog maid had discovered a big flagon of new cider at the bottom of Martin’s pack. She poured out beakers for all and laid out chunks of hot turnover on a piece of birch bark she had found before saying, ‘Where’s that rascal Chugger got to?’

  Dinny shrugged as he helped himself to lunch. ‘Ho, ee’m abowt yurr someplace, oi ’spect. You see’d ’im?’

  Martin took a gulp of the crisp-tasting apple cider. ‘Me? No, I thought he was with you, Din. Me an’ Gonff were busy fixing up the raft. Did you notice Chugg around, Gonff?’

  The Mousethief shook his head. ‘No, sorry, I ain’t seen him.’ Seating himself, he began blowing on his turnover to cool it. ‘Hah, ole Chugg’ll soon come runnin’ when he smells yore cookin’, miss Trimp, you’ll see!’

  But Chugger didn’t come. They sat and ate lunch, glancing about and giving an occasional shout of the little squirrel’s name. Still nothing.

  Trimp was worried. ‘Martin, will you go and take a good look around? I’m sure Chugger can’t have gone far.’

  The Warrior put aside his food. ‘Let’s all take a look!’

  Spreading out in different directions they began combing the area. Martin and Gonff went east and west along the bank, whilst Dinny searched in and around the camp area, in case Chugger was having a game with them. Trimp ventured alone into the woodland, knowing that Martin and Gonff would circle inward and meet up with her when they had searched the bank both ways. Tree shelter became thick and gloomy, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the depths cloaked in a murky green twilight. The hedgehog maid went cautiously, calling out in a subdued voice, ‘Chugger, are you there, mate? Come out, my little Chugg!’

  Her voice fell dead upon her ears, with no echo. She felt very small amid the tall columns of oak, elm and beech. Then her sharp ears began to pick up the odd noise, and she smiled to herself. That would be Chugger, playing one of his little tricks, stalking her mischievously. She decided to hide and turn the tables on him. Swiftly Trimp ran behind a broad bump-gnarled black poplar, and was knocked flat by the creature that had been following her. She squeaked in fright at the sight of it.

  * * *

  7

  THE GIGANTIC GOSHAWK took a pace backward, allowing Trimp to rise unsteadily. From its black hooked talons and bright yellow legs up the mighty body, feathered in brown-tipped white plumage, to the mottled headcap it was the most impressive bird Trimp had ever seen. Twin gleaming gold eyes with savage black pupils stared down at her over a lethally curved beak. The goshawk’s voice was rasping, harsh. ‘What doest thou in my domain, hedgepig?’

  Trimp had never been called a hedgepig. Bravely she decided to retaliate, and swallowing hard she adopted a stem tone. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, bird, but I’m searching for my friend, a baby squirrel named Chugger!’

  The goshawk twitched his head to one side. He had never been addressed as bird before. ‘Prithee, have a care, spinedame. I am called Krar the Woodwatcher. None hath called me bird and lived!’

  Trimp became bolder. She stared levelly at the goshawk. ‘Aye, and I’m called Trimp the Rover by those with any manners. None have called me hedgepig and lived – er, that goes for spinedame also!’

  It was Trimp’s turn to take a backward step. She thought Krar was about to eat her, but a moment later she realised that he was actually smiling at her, an unusual occurrence in a hawk.

  ‘Thou art a bold beast, Trimprover. Thine enemies must be few methinks, or dead. Say again the name of this squirrelmite thou seekest.’

  ‘Chugger, but he’ll answer to Chugg. He’s only a babe.’

  The forest green was blotted out as Krar spread his colossal wings. He touched Trimp’s head with a wingtip. ‘Do you tarry here, Trimprover, whilst I make enquiries.’

  Trimp was knocked flat by the backrush of air as Krar flapped his wings and rose among the tree trunks. Leaves drifted down through a golden shaft of sunlight as he shot like an arrow through the woodland canopy.

  Gonff came trotting through the woodland, catching sight of his friend as he hurried in from the opposite direction.

  ‘Ahoy, Martin, no sign of the liddle feller?’

  ‘None, mate. Have y’seen Trimp?’

  ‘Hi, you two, I’m over here!’

  Both ran over to where Trimp was sitting with her back against the poplar, picking leaves from her headspikes. Gonff stood, paws akimbo, shaking his head at her.

  ‘Well, missie, this’s a nice how d’ye do, us two runnin’ ourselves ragged along the streambanks an’ through the woods, an’ you sittin’ here coolin’ yore paws, very nice!’

  Trimp stood up, brushing herself off. ‘Actually I’m waiting for word of Chugger at any moment. Now I don’t want either of you to be afraid.’

  Martin looked about and spread his paws wide. ‘Afraid of what, Trimp?’

  She pointed upward. ‘That!’

  Entering the woodland through the hole he had made in the treetops, Krar Woodwatcher zoomed in like a thunderbolt. All three travellers were knocked flat by the wind from his wings as he landed.

  Trimp patted one of Krar’s talons. ‘Now you’ll have to stop doing that, Krar, it’ll injure some poor beast one day. These are my good friends, Martin the Warrior and Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. Meet Krar Woodwatcher, mates. These woodlands belong to him!’

  Martin and Gonff gulped and bowed low at the same time. Krar closed both eyes and clacked his beak politely, as goshawks do when greeting friends. He turned to Trimp.

  ‘Thy friend the squirrelmite is taken captive in the talons of laggardly carrion – crows, I fear. Alas, ’tis sad news.’

  Trimp was about to speak when Gonff silenced her with a wink. The artful Mousethief addressed himself to the goshawk, cleverly using the bird’s own antiquated mode of speech.

  ‘Lackaday, sirrah, and thou callest thyself ruler of this fiefdom? Were I in thy place I’d say fie upon myself methinks, allowing carrion to hold innocent babes in durance. ’Tis not the worthy act of a just lord!’

  Much to Martin and Trimp’s surprise, the huge goshawk shifted from one leg to the other, his head hanging slightly. ‘Thou speakest truly, O Mousethief. ’Tis my domain and ’twas fitting I stand chided for lack of vigilance.’

  Gonff shook his head doubtfully. ‘I fain would give thee a chance to redeem thyself, lord.’

  Crouching low, the huge bird spread his wings wide upon the ground, his face a picture of abject misery, his very feathers seeming to droop. ‘Then truly woe betide me, though I crave a boon from thee, Prince of Mousethieves. Give me leave to effect rescue of thy vassal, I beg ye. Grant me this favour and I will be in thy debt from this day henceforth!’

  A wave of pity swept over Trimp as she watched Krar, prostrate at Gonff’s footpaws. She could not keep from crying out, ‘Oh, say you will, Gonff. Let him do it!’

  The Mousethief folded his paws stubbornly. Turning his back on the goshawk, he winked at Martin and Trimp as he spoke. ‘Silence, maid, cease thy prattling! For how doth the Prince of Mousethieves know this creature will cleave true unto his word?’

  Martin drew his sword. Touching Krar’s bowed head with it, he kissed the blade and announced dramatically, ‘I, Martin of Redwall, do give my pledge and bond that Krar Woodwatcher, lord of this place, will honour thy trust, O Prince. For is he not a warrior born, like myself, and bound in word and deed to protect lesser creatures!’

  Gonff paced up and down, as if digesting this statement. Then he placed his footpaw under Krar’s beak. ‘Say where is this place yon foul crows abide?’

  A note of hope crept into
the goshawk’s voice. ‘Some pines in a clearing, right close to here, O Prince. Thou and thy friends mayst follow me and watch whilst I free thy servant. But ’tis better it be done soon, for tarrying is unwise, methinks!’ He watched avidly as Gonff nodded.

  ‘Mayhap ’tis so. Go then, but hearken, thou hast this warrior to thank for his surety.’

  A transformation came over the goshawk. He dipped his lethal beak and kissed Gonff’s footpaw. ‘My thanks to thee, O Prince!’ Standing tall, Krar spread his immense wings, saluting Martin, who was dwarfed in his shadow. ‘And my thanks to thee, sire. Karraharrakraaaaaaarrr!’

  The goshawk’s blood-chilling war cry rang out as he whooshed into the air, bowling the three friends over. Trimp sprang up, pulling leaves from her spines.

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t do that! Gonff, how did you know he’d act like that?’

  The Mousethief flicked a paw at Martin. ‘Oh, it was easy. I know how warriors think – I’ve lived with one most of my life, haven’t I, matey?’

  Martin tweaked his friend’s tail. ‘Cut the chatter or we’ll lose sight of Krar!’

  Running as fast as they could, the friends kept Krar in sight as he winged slowly along, just beneath the treetops, taking care not to lose them. After a while they saw a broad green hillock thrusting itself above the woodland. At its top was a pine grove. Krar swooped down, landing alongside Gonff.

  ‘Yonder lies the carrion stronghold, O Prince. I pray thee make no move. We have been seen!’

  As he spoke a crowd of grey-black crows of the hooded variety came fluttering out of the pines like ragged dark pieces of cloth blown on the wind, coming to rest on the level sward below the hill. Their bold harsh chatter filled the air as they swaggered forward to meet the interlopers, wings folded, beaks thrust forth aggressively. In a less fraught situation the sight of their curious rolling gait might have been comical, but these were savage birds, who brooked no trespassers on their land. Krar whispered, ‘Bide here, friends. Warrior, keep thy blade ready. Now, I will go hence and parley, for I know the carrion tongue.’

  He strode out, erect and disdainful, and a big crow, far heavier than the rest, waddled forward to meet him. At a point between the crows and the travellers both birds halted. Eye to eye they stood, beaks almost touching. The crow leader hit the soil several times with his beak, casually, as if showing his contempt by digging for worms.

  He made harsh cawing noises. ‘Kraaaw rakkachakka krawk karraaaaak?’

  The goshawk rapped sharply back at him. ‘Arrakkaurraka!’

  The crow gestured carelessly with one wing. ‘Nakraaaak!’

  Evidently it was not the answer Krar desired. The goshawk made his move without a moment’s hesitation.

  Charging forward, he slammed the crow to the ground with a ferocious headbutt and began hammering him ruthlessly with beak and talons. Cawing and hopping about excitedly, the crow gang called out encouragement to their leader, but he did not possess the warrior’s heart or ferocity of the goshawk. It was over in a trice. A few long grey-black feathers flew in the air and the crow leader lay defeated.

  With sharp pecks and talon scratches, Krar forced the crow to stand. The brave goshawk rapped out a command at his beaten foe. ‘Chavaaragg!’

  Humiliated, the crow turned to face his gang, spreading his wings limply and dropping them so they trailed upon the grass.

  Trimp nudged Martin. ‘I know Krar has won, but what’s he doing?’

  The Warrior had understood it all, he knew. ‘Those feathers that you see are the crow’s pinfeathers. Krar ripped them out. That crow will never be able to fly again. Krar forced him to show his wings to the others as a warning. Hush now, Trimp, I want to see what happens next!’

  The goshawk took to the air. Sailing over the heads of the crows, he winged upwards, landing in the biggest nest, atop the highest tree. A female crow shot out of it with a terrified squawk. Krar dipped his beak into the nest and came up with an egg in it. He put the egg back. Spreading his wings he flapped them, screeching harshly at the crows. Then with a powerful thrust he ripped a chunk from the nest with his talons and cast it down to earth. Pandemonium broke out down below. The crows dashed into the pine grove, cawing and leaping about in distress. Martin spoke as he watched them, having interpreted the goshawk’s move.

  ‘He’s threatening to rip all the nests to shreds, starting with the crow leader’s, unless they bring out Chugger. Watch!’

  ‘Trimp! Gonff! It me, Chugg, here I are!’

  Dashing out of the pine grove, with the crows behind shooing him on, Chugger hurtled forward, tripping and rolling down the hill, giggling as he went. ‘Heeheehee, yah yah ole fedderybums!’

  Trimp swept him up into her paws, kissing the little fellow and lecturing him at the same time. ‘Such language, master Chugg. Thank the seasons you’re safe. Why did you go wandering off like that, eh? Oh, my little Chugg, you had us worried to death!’

  Chugger threw his tiny paws wide, grinning broadly. ‘See, it me, Chugg! I norra hurted, big birds frykkened o’ me, I smacka smacka dem wiv big sticks, ho yes!’

  Gonff hugged Chugger fondly, then turned stem. ‘You liddle fibber, smackin’ crows with big sticks indeed. But let me tell you, bucko, remember what Girfang did to young Riddig, eh? Well, any more fibs an’ runnin’ off when yore told to stay near camp an’ you’ll get the same off me!’

  Chugger hid his face in Trimp’s tunic and sulked. Martin threw a paw about Gonff’s shoulders. ‘Big old softie, I’ll wager you wouldn’t have the heart to lay a paw on Chugger, would you, O Prince?’

  The Mousethief struck a regal pose, looking down his nose. ‘Oh, I don’t know, you’d be surprised what us royal types can do when we’re in the mood. I usually have any mouse who leans upon me beheaded, so remove your paw, common fellow, afore you incur me wrath!’

  Martin looked at Trimp in mock horror. ‘Such an air of command these royal ones have about them!’

  The hedgehog kicked Gonff lightly in the tail. ‘Yes, O Prince, it’s your turn to cook the supper when we get back to camp!’

  Krar landed in their midst, managing not to knock anybeast over with his giant wings. He gestured with his beak. ‘Best we begone from this place. Methinks there be but one of me and too many of yon carrion. Let us away now!’

  * * *

  8

  AS THERE WAS still plenty of daylight left, the travellers opted to sail further rather than lie about in camp. Krar Woodwatcher saw them off on the streambank.

  ‘Fare thee well, O Prince of Mousethieves, fortune go with thee. Thou wilt not see me, but I will guard the air and watch o’er thee ’til thou art gone from my domain. Be you subject to thy Prince’s commands and behave thyself, squire Chugg, or I will give thee back to yon carrion. Fortune attend thee, dame Trimp, my friend. Thou too, good Dinny, and thee, sir Martin. I’ll not lightly forget that ye forswore thine honour for me. Go now, goodbeasts!’

  Chugger began weeping as they sailed off downstream. ‘Wahaah! Chugg not want Krar t’be gonned!’

  Martin let the little fellow work one of the paddles. ‘Krar isn’t gone, Chugg, he’s watching over us, even though we can’t see him. Give him a wave, go on!’ Chugger waved a chubby paw and felt somewhat better. As the Warrior held the paddle with the squirrelbabe, he explained as best he could. ‘Sometimes friends do go from us – it will happen more and more as you grow up, Chugg. But if you really love your friends, they’re never gone. Somewhere they’re watching over you and they’re always there inside your heart.’

  Towards evening they saw fireglow in the distance. With complete silence and great caution, the friends approached it, hoping that if it were anybeast hostile, they might slip by unnoticed. But as a voice raised in song echoed on the dusky air, Gonff relaxed, chuckling.

  ‘I’d know that barrel-bellied baritone anywhere, mates. Now there’s a fine voice for ye, but don’t tell him I said it. Haharr, listen to ’im, will you!’

  It was a fine voice, more bass th
an baritone. Deep and rich, it thrummed out over the babbling streamnoises.

  ‘Hoooooo rum tum toe, follah diddle doh,

  Me boots are full of water,

  An’ the bread won’t rise,

  So I’m scoffin’ apple pies,

  An’ swiggin’ good dark porter.

  Hooooooo bless my fur, an’ you sit over there,

  There’s honeycake an’ salad,

  An’ you’ve got no choice,

  But t’listen to me voice,

  As I sing you this ballad!’

  A look of pure mischief spread across Gonff’s face. Cupping both paws around his mouth he sang out in a perfect imitation of the singer’s deep voice.

  ‘Hoooooooo you sit there, an’ I’ll sit here,

  An’ I won’t hear yore ballad,

  But I’ll scoff yore pie,

  An’ I’ll look ye in the eye,

  With me ears stuffed full o’ salad!’

  From round a bend in the bank a small neat logboat came shooting out, propelled by a fat shrew with an ash stave. Trimp knew that shrews were usually aggressive and short-tempered, but this one was different. He performed a joyful jig at the prospect of company. It came as no surprise that the shrew and Gonff knew each other. As the former leaped aboard the raft they pounded backs and shook paws.

  ‘Log a Log Furmo, ye pot-bellied son of a waterwalloper, as soon as I clapped ears on that warblin’ I knew ’twas the best ballad singer this side o’ Mossflower!’

  ‘Haharr, Gonff Mousethief, ye light-pawed rogue, if I hadn’t ’ave known that was you singin’ back at me I’d ’ave thought ’twas meself. Pull over t’the camp an’ bring yore pals with ye, supper’s on the go. Ahoy, Martin, is it really yourself, Warrior? Good t’see you, matey!’