Mattimeo (Redwall) Read online

  ‘Come on, mouse, on yer paws. The Chief wants a word with you.’

  The young mouse allowed himself to be dragged, half awake and pawsore, by Wedgeback and Threeclaws. Slagar sat awaiting him in a makeshift den at the base of a big spruce.

  ‘Come in, Mattimeo. You two, get about your business. I have something to tell our little friend which only concerns him and me.’

  Wedgeback and Threeclaws departed. Slagar leaned back, the silken hood quivering and twitching as he watched his captive through the twin eyeslits. ‘Come and sit here, Mattimeo,’ he said, his voice sounding almost friendly. ‘Try to keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t want you dropping off to sleep just yet. I’m going to tell you a little true story, so pay attention.’

  The dusty path outside Redwall Abbey had been churned into mud by constant rain. Gloomy puddles and stretches of water lay in the depressions of the road. Matthias pulled his hood up over his ears and signalled to the party waiting at the threshold of the main gate in the watery dawn light.

  ‘We march north!’

  Overhead, the Sparra patrols took off into the driving rain. Matthias, Jess Squirrel and Mrs Churchmouse headed the march. Mr Churchmouse was still too unsteady on his paws to be in the vanguard with the others who had lost young ones to the fox.

  Basil Stag Hare joined them, still nibbling breakfast from a haversack tied about his narrow chest.

  ‘Reminds me of the great rains ten seasons ago, or was it eleven? Filthy stuff, rain. Isn’t much fun to drink, either. Sooner have October ale any day.’

  Matthias could not resist a smile, despite the seriousness of the mission. ‘Stop chunnering, you great old feedbag, and get tracking for signs.’

  ‘What, er, righto sir. No sooner a word than a sniff, quick’s the word sharp’s the action, eyes front and all that.’

  Progress was painfully slow. The ditch to the west and the flatland one side of the path had to be searched, the path itself and the woodland fringe on the opposite side were carefully scrutinized. Whether it was the continuous rain or the oppressive sky Matthias could not tell, but an air of hopelessness seemed to pervade the search.

  At mid-morning they left the path to shelter beneath some trees on the woodland side, squatting to share bread and cheese, passing a canteen of blackberry cordial from one to another. The atmosphere was decidedly suppressed as they crouched gazing out at the western plain, the horizon lost in a veil of rainwater, listening to the ceaseless pitter patter of raindrops on woodland leaves. Each creature had his or her own feelings of sorrow, grief, loss, regret, or just puzzlement as to why this sudden misfortune had been visited upon their peaceful Redwall home.

  As always, Basil was first to shake things up. The gangling hare bobbed back upon the rainy road once more.

  ‘Wallopin’ weasels,’ he called. ‘What’s all this? Layin’ about under the trees like a load of saturated stoats, fillin’ your faces like a pile of moonstruck moles, squattin’ there with your great jaws flappin’ like frogs at a flychasin’. Come on, let’s be havin’ you! Form up here, chins in, chests out, shoulders straight, paws at the correct angle to the fur of the hindlegs. Last one in line’s on a fizzer. Jump to attention like this!’

  Basil leapt high into the air, landing squarely on splayed hindpaws. No sooner had he hit the path with a squelch than he shot into the air again with his face squinched tight in pain.

  ‘Yowchaballyhoop!’

  Quickly Matthias was at his side. ‘Basil, what is it, are you hurt?’

  The hare held up a hindpaw. ‘Hurt? I’m bally well near speared to death, old lad. Take a gander at me flippin’ paw, will you? I’ve been skewered by a treetrunk.’

  Matthias inspected Basil’s hindpaw. ‘Hmm, it’s a large splinter, quite deep too.’

  ‘Ha, splinter?’ The retired regimental hare puffed his cheeks out indignantly. ‘Splinter, y’say. My life, if that’s not an enemy spear or at least a rusty dagger stuck in there m’ name’s not Stag Hare, sir!’

  Matthias tried to keep a straight face. ‘Righto, Basil, hop over on to the grass under the trees here. Jess, lend a paw, will you? You’re good at getting splinters, er, treetrunks out. The rest of you, carry on north up the path. We’ll catch up with you as soon as we’ve dealt with our wounded warrior here.’

  Mrs Churchmouse hefted a copper ladle she had brought along to deal with the slavers. ‘Right, form up and follow me. Search both sides of the road and the path as well. See you three later.’

  Basil shook his head in admiration. ‘That’s the good old style. You give ’em mud and vinegar, marm, just like my old mum used to give me. Yowch! Whatcha doin’, Jess? Tryin’ to hack me old paw off?’

  ‘Keep quiet, you big baby,’ the squirrel snorted. ‘Matthias, hold him still while I dig this splinter out. Hold steady now, I think I’ve got the end of it.’

  ‘Ahoo ahah! Easy there, old tree-walloper. Oohooh!’

  ‘Tree-walloper! I’ll give you tree-walloper, you flop-eared foodbin. Be still, here it comes. Aha, gotcha!’ Jess drew forth a long sharp wood splinter. ‘Now suck your pad and spit out awhile, then I’ll tie a few dockleaves round it. What d’you make of this, Matthias?’

  Matthias peered closely at the splinter. ‘Blue paint, it’s got blue paint on it. I’ll bet a bushel of acorns to a cask of ale it’s from that cart.’

  ‘See the trouble and pain I go to findin’ clues for you buffers,’ Basil sniffed nobly. ‘I say, chaps, is that a piece of torn cloth on that bush behind you?’

  Jess bounded over and retrieved the scrap of material. ‘Indeed it is. Red and yellow, just like that covering the fox ducked under as we came out of the Abbey gate.’

  They investigated, searching deeper into the woodland.

  ‘Here’s a broken branch. Rain never did that.’

  ‘Some bark’s been scuffed from this willow here.’

  ‘Look, axle grease on the long grass!’

  Matthias straightened up. ‘That’s it. They did pass this way, cutting off the road and striking east through the forest. If we hurry we may catch them up before night. They can’t travel fast in woodland pulling a cart.’

  ‘But what about the others?’

  ‘Can’t spare the time to fetch ’em, I’m ’fraid. Besides, they’d wander all over the show and hold us up.’

  ‘You’re right, Basil, we can deal with the fox and his band if we take them by surprise. Let’s leave a message at the roadside for Mrs Churchmouse and the others in case they come back looking for us. Here, I’ll write on this haversack with some charcoal and we’ll stand it on a stick by the side of the path.’

  ‘Capital wheeze, laddie buck. Right, forward the buffs and don’t worry about B. Stag Hare esquire. It takes more than a splinter to keep a good scout down, y’know.’

  A short while later, the trio had struck off east into the wet woodlands of Mossflower.

  14

  MATTIMEO SAT IN frightened silence as Slagar undid the drawstring of his silk-patterned harlequin headcover.

  ‘Watch, little one. Before I begin my story you must see this!’ With a flick of his paw the fox whipped off the hood.

  The young mouse swallowed hard. It was the most horrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Slagar’s head was that of a normal fox, on the left side. His right side was hideous! Only the eye was alive and unwinking in the dead half of the sly one’s face, the rest was scabrous furless flesh, with the side of the mouth twisted upward into a fiendish grin. Greenish gums and yellowed teeth hung out of the frozen jaw, and the skin beneath showed a mottled black and purple, hanging in folds, loose and lifeless.

  Mattimeo was revolted, but he could not tear his eyes away from the awful sight. Slagar laughed, a short breathless cackle which trickled damply from the dreadful mouth.

  ‘Look at me. Aren’t I the pretty one?’

  Mattimeo’s stomach heaved queasily. ‘H-h-how did that happen?’ he gasped.

  Slagar hid the injured side of his face by holding
the silken hood to it. ‘A long long time ago, or that’s what it seems like. Anyhow, it was before you were born. I was a wandering healer fox. Me and my mother Sela the Vixen knew many secrets of healing arts and the herbs, nostrums, potions and remedies of the forest. Eight seasons ago your Redwall creatures fought a great war with the rats from the north. It was woodlanders who betrayed my mother to the rats. They speared her and she was left to die in a ditch. I was wounded and captured by those at Redwall. They held me prisoner in a room called the infirmary. Oh, they said it was only until I got well, but I knew better. A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter what they call the place where they keep him from his freedom and deny him liberty. So one afternoon, while your father’s precious creatures were about their business, I escaped!

  ‘Haha, no creature can keep me locked up for long,’ he continued. ‘As payment for my troubles I took some baubles from Redwall with me, silly little things, bits and pieces. As I ran from the Abbey I was stopped by some silly old mouse, some buffer called Methusaleh, so I killed him. It was no great fight; his head cracked the wall and that was that. I was forced to flee for my life, with that great badger and a horde of woodlanders behind me. Deep into Mossflower I ran. I knew it well in those days. There was a hiding place, a small cave beneath the stump of a tree, and I hid there. If I had not been forced into hiding I would have escaped unharmed. Anyhow, there I was, hiding while half of the stupid Redwall creatures crashed around Mossflower trying to find me. I did not know that there was another creature in the darkness of that little cave with me, but there was. It was a serpent, a huge adder. I must have touched it in the darkness because it struck and sank its fangs in me, right here.’

  Slagar pointed to his disfigured face, just under the jaw. ‘Any other creature would have been instantly slain,’ he boasted. ‘Not me, though. I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke it had dragged me through the forest to its lair. I was in burning agony, deep paralysing pain. Somewhere near me I could hear the snake sleeping. Silently I dragged myself away from that terrible snake’s lair and out of that place of death. I hid out in Mossflower for two seasons. All the autumn and winter I lay in a den, treating myself with every herb, root, cure, poultice, medicine and nostrum I knew. Sometimes the pain was so great that I thought I must surely die, but I kept myself alive with secret remedies known only to healer foxes. Magic passed on to me by my mother, combined with the thought that one day I would grow well and strong enough to take my revenge upon Redwall, kept me alive better than herbs. I stayed alive to wreak vengeance upon those who had caused this injury to me, to make them weep bitter tears for my pain.’

  With a quick movement Slagar donned his hood and fastened the drawstring.

  ‘You lie!’ Mattimeo protested. ‘The creatures of Redwall would never hold or imprison an innocent creature who had harmed nobody. Our infirmary is for the sick, not for captives. You have not mentioned my father. What harm has he ever done to you?’

  The sly one leapt up, kicking Mattimeo hard.

  ‘Silence! Who are you to dare talk to me? I am Slagar the Cruel. My revenge is against all Redwall, and your father is the very symbol of all it stands for. He will learn the meaning of pain. Not a bodily pain as I have suffered, no, this will be a far more worrying agony, the loss of his one and only son. Halftail! Take this slave back and chain him with the others.’

  As Mattimeo was led away Slagar called after him, ‘Tell your friend the squirrel that you have talked with the Son of Sela.’

  The young mouse’s friends had not slept. They lay half in and half out of the pelting rain, miserably wondering where Mattimeo had been taken. Suddenly Auma nudged Tim, pointing to the two figures that materialized out of the downpour. They breathed a sigh of relief, seeing it was Mattimeo with one of the guards.

  Halftail pushed them aside roughly as he linked the young mouse back on to the running chain. ‘Move over, you lot. Make space here, your little pal’s back.’

  They wriggled back, as far under the bushes as they could. It was a bit drier there. Tim, Tess, Auma and Sam listened intently as Mattimeo related Slagar’s story. When he had finished, Sam gave them the real version of what had happened.

  ‘I remember what took place. Tim and Tess wouldn’t, they were only tiny infants, and you weren’t even born then, but I was a season and a half old. Though I couldn’t talk much, I could see and hear well enough. If that fox is the son of Sela, then his name is Chickenhound, or at least it was then. He and his mother were traitors. Posing as healers, they acted as spies for the rats, but they tried selling information to both sides. Like all traitors, they were discovered. The rats speared him and his mother and left them in a ditch. Sela died, but Chickenhound was only wounded. He dragged himself to Redwall, so we took him in and cared for him. He repaid our hospitality by stealing a sackful of the Brothers’ and Sisters’ possessions and murdering old Methusaleh, our recorder. Chickenhound ran away and was never heard of again, until now.’

  Mattimeo lay back in the damp grass. ‘What a pity that the snake didn’t finish him off. He’s still a sly fox, but completely insane. The snake poison and his desire for revenge have twisted his mind until he actually believes his own story and really thinks he is in the right.’

  Threeclaws poked his ugly head under the bushes at them. ‘Hoi! Get to sleep in there and no talking, or I’ll lay a cane across your backs!’

  Tiny streams leapt and gurgled, rivers overran their banks, the rain poured relentlessly down on Mossflower Woods, rattling off the leaves, slopping in the undergrowth, spattering summer flowers until they bent their heads under the weight of water. Beneath the shrubbery between the oak and the beech trees, the young prisoners chained on the slave line slept fitfully, knowing that in a short time they would be brutally roused and forced to march again.

  Mid-afternoon found Matthias, Basil and Jess still striking east into Mossflower. They were constantly finding evidence that the cart had travelled in this direction, such as crushed leaves, broken branches and bruised bark, but Matthias noticed that Basil did not look too pleased with the situation.

  ‘What’s the matter, Basil? We’re on the right trail, aren’t we?’

  The lanky hare pawed rainwater out of his left ear, shaking his head. ‘Oh, we’re on some sort of trail, old mousemate, but there’s quite a few things I’m not happy about, doncha know. One is this infernal rain. I was built for dry sunny flatlands, not great soppin’ forests. Then there’s this cart. There’s supposed to be a band of slavers with at least three captives, though I’d say a bunch more if they’d been out robbin’ young uns. Doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that there are very few pawtracks about? We’ve only seen the odd one, or maybe two at the most. Now, they can’t all travel in the cart, ’cos there’s nothin’ to pull it, except themselves. Got me? And if they were pullin’ it an’ walkin’ alongside it, there’d be a lot more tracks of pawprints, mud churned up and so on.’

  Matthias agreed with Basil’s shrewd observations. ‘You’re right of course. That suggests two things: either we’re walking into a trap, or it’s just a ruse to lure us away from the real trail that the fox and his band have taken.’

  Just then Jess Squirrel tumbled down from a sycamore. She was holding a paw to her mouth for silence.

  ‘Ssshh! I was climbing a few trees to get my bearings and guess what? I’ve spotted the cart up ahead.’

  ‘Where?’ Matthias asked.

  ‘About half a short march away on the bank of a stream. There doesn’t seem to be anybeast with it, though. No sign of our young uns.’

  Matthias drew his sword. ‘Let’s go carefully. They may be somewhere about, so keep low. Jess, you lead the way.’

  Silently as rain mist the three slid through the trees and bushes, their senses alert, ready to spring into action at the turn of a leaf. Matthias grasped the great sword of Redwall tight in both paws. Holding it upright, he peered across its double-edged blade, hoping fervently for a single glimpse of Slagar th
e masked fox.

  Crouching low, they skirted a small grove of evergreens, the falling rain covering any slight pawnoise that was made. Jess quietly blew raindrops from her whiskers as she beckoned them to stop.

  ‘See, over there, to the left of the rowan tree.’

  Sure enough, there stood the cart, its gaily painted wheels and sideboards spattered with mud and scratched by branches. Over the top they could see the coloured canvas lying heaped upon the cart bed.

  ‘Waitin’ orders, sah. What do we do now, old scout?’ Basil murmured.

  Matthias weighed up the situation. ‘Well, we’ve got it covered from this side, and the stream’s at its back. Let’s just lie here a moment and keep our eyes open for any signs of life.’

  ‘Signs of life? Say no more, old warrior chops. That bally canvas on the old cart is movin’.’

  There was a muted growling noise from the cart bed as the canvas twitched and bulged. Matthias issued orders.

  ‘Jess, you take the right, Basil, the left. I’ll go in front and centre. Careful now, if it is anything dangerous then be sure to give me room for a good swordstroke. Come on.’

  The warrior mouse gave Basil and Jess a moment to slip off and take up their positions, then he stood upright and walked silently to the cart, sword held at the ready.

  Basil and Jess arrived at opposite ends of the cart at the same time as Matthias arrived in front of it. Taking up a stance with the deadly blade held ready for a thrust and slash, the warrior mouse nodded to his companions.

  Simultaneously Basil and Jess grabbed opposite ends of the canvas and swept it off with one sudden heave. Matthias bounded on to the cart with a mighty leap, swinging the sword and roaring.

  ‘Redwaaaallll!’

  At the last moment Matthias swung the sword away. It struck the iron seatbar, sending sparks showering as a fat little otter lay in the cart with his bottom in the air and his head covered by both paws.