Redwall Page 7

  Shadow cursed inwardly and flung himself behind a nearby pillar. He lay inert, not daring to breathe; one, two, three minutes, good! Nobody had been disturbed by the noise. He ventured out to inspect the tapestry that hung upon the wall.

  A black moth on a moonless night would not have escaped Shadow’s notice. He needed no lamp to scrutinize the thing before him. So this was the picture of the warrior mouse that Cluny lusted after. Using his razor-sharp fangs he began gnawing into the ancient tapestry, working from the tasselled hem upwards.

  Matthias tossed and turned in his bed, exhausted, but unable to sleep. His mind revolved around a host of problems and schemes: the sword, Martin’s grave, defence of the Abbey, Cornflower. Finally, after much kicking and rumpling of sheets, sleep started to take over. He was somewhere in a long deserted room, not unlike Great Hall. A voice called to him, ‘Matthias.’

  ‘Oh, go away,’ the young mouse muttered drowsily. ‘Get someone else. I’m tired.’

  But the voice persisted, boring into his mind. ‘Matthias, Matthias, I need you.’

  He peered down the length of the darkened hall. ‘What is it, why do you need me?’

  Matthias began to walk towards the voice. He could hear a wicked snigger followed by a cry of despair. ‘Matthias, help, don’t let them take me.’

  He ran forwards. The hall seemed to grow longer.

  ‘Who are you, where are you?’

  Far ahead in the murky darkness Matthias could vaguely distinguish a figure leaning out from the wall. It was a mouse in armour.

  ‘Please, Matthias, you must help me quickly!’

  Bump.

  Matthias landed on the floor of his bedroom. Sheets were tangled about his body. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his eyes. What a strange dream: the long hall, the plea for help, the armoured mouse….

  Matthias felt the fur on the back of his neck rising.

  Of course, it had to be!

  The Great Hall; Martin the Warrior; something terrible was going on downstairs. He was needed urgently.

  Matthias kicked the sheets from him as he leaped up and dashed headlong from the bedroom, along the dormitory corridor and helter skelter down the spiral staircase. Through Cavern Hole he clattered in the darkness, stumbling and tripping over furniture, his heart hammering loudly and legs pumping like twin pistons. Matthias fell over the top stair and went sprawling into the Great Hall. He lay on the floor, gazing through the gloom to the tapestry. Martin was still there, but … he was moving.

  Was it the breeze? No, it couldn’t be. The likeness of the Warrior mouse was jiggling about as though it were being tugged in some way. Matthias could see a shadow, but there was nothing to cast it. He jumped to his feet and ran forwards as the picture of Martin was ripped away from the tapestry.

  A rat held it!

  There was no doubt in Matthias’s mind. It was a rat, entirely black from tip to tail, barely distinguishable from the night itself.

  Shadow heard the footsteps on the floor behind him. With cold, calculated detachment he wheeled about as his opponent charged. He was certain to defeat such a small creature in combat, but his orders were to get the picture, not to fight little mice. Besides, there was always the additional hazard that the mouse might hang on to him and shout for help until it came. Like a wraith of oily smoke Shadow completed a clever double manoeuvre. Bowling his body into a forward roll he knocked Matthias down like a skittle. Bounding up he slipped around the door, slammed it and fled off through the cloisters.

  Matthias sprang up, roaring at the top of his voice, ‘Stop that rat! Stop that rat!’

  Immediately the mice on sentry duty were alerted. As the Shadow ran he saw Constance dash across the grounds at an angle which cut him off from the stairs up to the ramparts. Switching direction, he made for the next set of stairs, silently cursing the badger. Now he would have to use his climbing rope to descend quickly to the road.

  Matthias emerged from the Abbey. He saw Shadow change direction. Thinking fast, he ran diagonally, catching up with the thief at the foot of the stairs. Throwing himself in a flying tackle, Matthias grabbed the Shadow by the legs, sending him crashing on to the lower steps.

  Still clinging to the tapestry, the Shadow wriggled like an eel. Turning over on to his back, he kicked savagely at the young mouse’s head with a free foot. Matthias tried valiantly to hang on, but his larger and heavier opponent kicked him viciously in the face, again and again. The big bony foot with its sharp claws pounding and gouging away soon took its toll. Matthias went limp and blacked out.

  Constance had mounted the far steps. Gaining the ramparts, she ran along, dodging the heaps of rubble. She saw Matthias go down under the onslaught of kicks and ran even faster, impeded by mice all around who scattered in panic, thinking they were under mass invasion. The only one besides Constance who had the sense to see what was happening was Cornflower’s father. Being nearer the top of the stairs than the badger he ran straight into the intruder. Shadow was struggling to get out his climbing rope.

  ‘Surrender, rat, I’ve got you,’ cried Mr Fieldmouse as he grabbed hold of the thief. But, rummaging in his pouch to free the rope, Shadow’s claw had closed on the handle of his dagger. He drew it out swiftly and drove it twice into the fieldmouse’s unprotected body.

  Constance arrived just as the victim fell wounded. Shadow turned on her with the dagger upraised. Constance swung her paw round in a mighty arc, and it caught Shadow square on the chin. The force of the blow lifted the thief clean off his feet, and, before Constance could grab hold of him, he overbalanced and hurtled over the edge of the parapet with a horrible scream. Downwards he plunged, his body thudding off the unyielding masonry. He landed in the wet roadway with a sickening crunch.

  Cluny came dashing towards the stricken Shadow, with Ragear scuttling in his wake. Despite his appalling injuries, Shadow managed to lever himself up on one paw.

  ‘Cluny, I’m hurt, help me,’ he gasped.

  The piece of tapestry lay upon the road. Cluny snatched it up eagerly. Behind him he could hear the gatehouse bolts being withdrawn amid the shouts of angry mice. Ruthlessly he kicked at Shadow’s broken body.

  ‘Get up and run for it or stay here, fool. I don’t carry cripples or bunglers.’

  Leaving the injured Shadow to the mice, Cluny sped off across the road. He covered the width of the ditch with a mighty leap and ran off across the meadows. In open country he could outdistance any mice that dared follow him. Waving the tapestry, Cluny laughed in exhilaration as he put on an extra burst of speed.

  Ragear had panicked completely. He could not jump the ditch, so he scuttled off down the road in the opposite direction from the way they had come.

  A group of mice led by Brother Alf tried fording the ditch and climbing up into the meadow. Unfortunately, the rain had made the going hard and slippery. Cluny was long gone, and the tapestry with him.

  Turning back to Redwall, the pursuers came upon Matthias. He was leaning on Friar Hugo’s arm in a dazed condition. Painfully he staggered up the road to where the Shadow lay. Wincing, he cast about, searching the muddy roadway for the fragment of tapestry.

  ‘It’s got to be here somewhere,’ cried Matthias. He fell upon the injured Shadow, searching his waist pouch.

  His flat black eyes clouding over, the Shadow watched Matthias. Laconically he spoke. His voice was strangely calm. ‘Too late, mouse. Martin is with Cluny now.’

  It was the last thing the Shadow ever said. He gave one final shudder and lay dead.

  DAWN ARRIVED AS if it were aware of the previous night’s events. Heavy, grey skies and steady rain prevailed over Redwall and the Mossflower area.

  Abbot Mortimer looked old and stern as he addressed the assembly in Cavern Hole. The atmosphere was decidedly subdued.

  ‘Sleeping at your posts, allowing the enemy into our Abbey to steal that which we hold most dear! Is this the way you defend us?’ The Abbot’s shoulders slumped wearily. There was an awkward hush – anger and g
uilt lay thick upon the air. The kindly old mouse shook his head and held up a conciliatory paw.

  ‘Forgive me, friends, I criticize you unjustly. We are all creatures of peace, unskilled in the art of war. Yet when I saw the late rose this morning, I could not help but notice that its leaves are all shrivelled; the tiny rosebuds have died. Martin the Warrior is gone from our Abbey. He has left Redwall. We are forsaken. There will be hard and sorrowful days to come without him amongst us.’

  The mice and woodland creatures shuffled their feet and gazed at the floor. They knew the truth in their Father Abbot’s words. But hope springs eternal. There was one voice raised, that of Matthias:

  ‘A bit of good news,’ he said. ‘I have just come from the infirmary. Mr Fieldmouse is out of danger. He will live.’

  The relief was audible throughout Cavern Hole. Tensions were eased; even the Abbot temporarily forgot his gloomy predictions.

  ‘Thank you, Matthias,’ he cried. ‘What heartening news. I must say that the terrible injuries received by Mr Fieldmouse almost had me believing the worst. But look at yourself, my son. You should be resting. Your face is still swollen after the fight with the black rat.’

  Matthias gave a lopsided grin. He shrugged cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry about me, Father Abbot. I’ll be all right.’

  The mice smiled with pride. A brave little warrior, Matthias; he put new heart into them. Their resolve strengthened as he continued, ‘Huh, black rat indeed! He didn’t even scratch me. Well, only a bit. But where is he now, this sly one? Deep under the soil, if the insects are doing their job properly. Listen to me, friends. We of Redwall are a tough old lot to kill off. They couldn’t finish Ambrose Spike, could they? Why, even the black one armed with a dagger couldn’t slay Mr Fieldmouse, so what’s a scratch or two to a mouse like me?’

  Cheers for Matthias’s speech rang to the rafters. Constance sprang up beside him, shouting heartily, ‘That’s the spirit, friends! Now let’s see you all back out there at your posts. We’ll be wide awake this time, and heaven help any dirty rats that come marching up to Redwall this day!’

  With wild yells very uncharacteristic of peaceful mice, the friends seized their staves and charged out, fired with new zeal. After a while Constance accompanied the Abbot to see Mr Fieldmouse, while Matthias went with Methuselah to the Great Hall. Together they surveyed the torn tapestry.

  The young mouse stood with his paws folded, an expression of disgust upon his features. The old gatekeeper patted his shoulder. ‘I know how you feel, Matthias. I could see you were only putting on a brave face for the benefit of the others. That is good. It shows you are learning to be a wise leader. You hide your true feelings and encourage them not to give up hope.’

  Matthias gingerly touched the swellings on his face. ‘Aye, that’s as may be, old one. But you can see as well as I that Martin is gone. Without him I do not think we can win.’

  Methuselah nodded in agreement. ‘You are right, my young friend, but what’s to be done?’

  Matthias staggered slightly. He leaned against the wall, rubbing a paw across his brow. ‘I don’t know. In fact, the only thing I know right now is that the Abbot was right. I think I’d better go and lie down for a bit.’

  Refusing Methuselah’s help, the young mouse left the old one gazing at the torn tapestry. He tottered off unsteadily in the direction of the dormitory.

  On the spiral staircase he met Cornflower.

  ‘Hello there,’ he said, as cheering as he could. ‘How is your father?’

  Cornflower looked at Matthias solicitously. ‘He’s doing fine, thank you, Matthias. I’m just going to get some herbs for the Abbot. Shouldn’t you be lying down? Your face looks terribly puffy.’

  Matthias winced and leaned against the banister. ‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I’m just going to my room for a good long rest. But don’t you worry, before long I’ll make those rats pay dearly for hurting your father.’

  Matthias staggered weakly into his room – but the moment he closed the door he became a different mouse. With bright eager eyes he groped under his bed and brought forth the waist pouch that had belonged to the Shadow. Tucking the long dagger into his belt, he wrapped the climbing rope around his shoulder and said aloud to himself, ‘Right, Cluny, you and I have a score to settle.’

  Keeping a mound of earth between himself and Brother Rufus, Matthias silently looped the rope around a projection at the edge of the parapet. Fortunately for him, Rufus was looking in the opposite direction. Matthias started to slide down the rope on the Mossflower side of the wall, where the woods came close up to the Abbey.

  He had imagined the descent would be very difficult, and surprised himself by handling it with ease, his confidence growing as he slid swiftly and noiselessly to the fern-covered ground. Crouched in the undergrowth, he mentally rehearsed his plan of action. He would go through the woods to Saint Ninian’s church, avoiding the road which was being watched by sentries. Once at the church he would discover where the piece of tapestry was kept; then he would create a diversion of some kind. While Cluny’s horde was occupied he would snatch the tapestry and get back to Redwall with all speed.

  Matthias ducked deeper into the ferns and was soon just a silent ripple making through the lush summer green of Mossflower towards the Church of Saint Ninian.

  AT THE CAMP of Cluny the Scourge the rat army was girding itself up for war.

  Weapons were being sharpened upon churchyard headstones. Under the critical eye of Redtooth a band of rodents was gnawing off a length of planking from a rickety lych-gate fence at the rear of the church. Others collected stones to provide ammunition for slings, while some coiled ropes about their bodies.

  Inside the church Cluny sat up in the choir loft, the image of barbaric authority. He held the scourging tail in one claw, while gripped in the other was his war standard, topped by the ferret skull with the addition of the tattered tapestry square depicting Martin the Warrior. He gazed proudly at it as his armourer dressed him for war.

  At Cluny’s feet were the Vole family. They were bound. He flicked his tail at them and sneered. ‘Ha, look at me, you spineless little creatures! Did you ever see such a leader of fighting animals as Cluny the Scourge? Soon I will have every creature that moves down on its bended knees to me.’

  Mr Abram Vole glared defiantly at his captor. ‘You filthy great bilge rat, why I’ll—’

  ‘Silence!’ roared Cluny. ‘Hold your tongue, vole, or I will deal with you and your family here and now before I set out to conquer your precious Abbey. Do you see my new battle flag? That is Martin the Warrior. Yes, the same one who is supposed to protect that doddering old Abbot and his witless mob of mice. Now Martin is mine, it is more fitting that he travels at the head of real warriors. He will lead us to victory!’

  Cluny ranted and raved on, the light of madness in his eye. ‘Death and desolation shall be the reward of those who dare stand against Cluny. The only ones I will spare are those I might choose to serve me.’

  Mrs Vole struggled upright but was forced back down by Scumnose and Fangburn. Chattering with rage she shouted at Cluny, ‘You’ll never bend Redwall to your evil will. Good will prevail! You’ll see, Cluny. We are tied up, but our minds are free.’

  Crack!

  Cluny lashed out with his long tail, sending the Vole family flat upon the floor. Mr Abram Vole struggled to shield his wife and son with his body as the tail flailed out a second time.

  ‘A touching little speech, vole, but you wrong me. I don’t want to capture the spirit of Redwall. I mean to kill it! Take these whining creatures out of my sight. Lock them in the hut out at the back. Leave them to imagine what their fate will be when I return.’

  Colin Vole shrieked in terror. His mother and father struggled bravely as they were dragged off.

  Redtooth marched in and saluted Cluny.

  ‘The horde is ready to march, Chief.’

  A rat armourer set the war helmet firmly upon Cluny’s head. He snapped the visor down and
kicked aside the rat who had fixed the poison barb on his tail.

  Striding out into the churchyard, Cluny climbed up on the wrecked gatepost. His fierce eye gazed out across the mighty army: black rats, brown rats, grey rats, piebald rats, skulking weasels, furtive stoats and sinuous ferrets, all gathered round, their weapons glistening and dripping with the rain. As Cluny exhorted them they roared back their frenzied replies:

  ‘Where does Cluny’s army go?’

  ‘Redwall. Redwall.’

  ‘What is the law of Cluny?’

  ‘Kill, kill, kill.’

  ‘Who will lead you to victory?’

  ‘Cluny, Cluny, Cluny the Scourge!’

  Springing down among his army, the Warlord waved the banner high overhead. With a mighty shout the horde of Cluny the Scourge marched out upon the road to Redwall Abbey.

  RAGEAR WAS HOPELESSLY lost!

  Separated from Cluny, he could not think for himself. Scuttling off down the road in the wrong direction, he had kept on going in a state of funk. Frightened by the sound of a bird chirping suddenly, he rushed blindly into Mossflower Wood, and pressed on, deeper and deeper into this strange new territory. It was only with the arrival of pale dawn that he stopped, slumping down under some bushes. Exhausted, soaking wet and dispirited, he curled up into a wretched damp ball and slept.

  Some time about mid-morning, Ragear was awakened by the sound of footsteps. As Matthias tramped past he lay low, silently congratulating himself. What a find, a little mouse! He would take him prisoner and bring him back alive to Cluny. That way he could gain some prestige. Cluny might even forget that he panicked and deserted at the Abbey.

  Matthias risked a swift glance over his shoulder. There was a rat clumsily trying to stalk him, a fat awkward-looking rodent, but nevertheless an enemy. The young mouse strode onwards, his mind working coolly and without fear, confident that he could handle the situation.

  Breaking twigs underfoot, stumbling ineptly from tree to tree, Ragear watched the mouse and fantasized.