Triss: A Novel of Redwall Read online

  Scarum immediately began spouting nautical nonsense. “Belay then, me hearties, an’ all that sort o’ bilge scuttle. Lower your jolly old main wotsits an’ turn that thingeeyo handle. Trim up those sail doodlemidads an’ set course for dry land an’ boatloads o’ scoff, wot!”

  After an hour of heading due east, they were rewarded by the sight of a thin grey strip on the horizon. Sagax was first to see it. “You were right, Kroova, looks like land to me. Do you have any idea what part of the coast it is?”

  Studying the chart, the otter shook his head. “Don’t see any hills stickin’ up, or clear landmarks. Could be anywheres, but like you say, mate, ’tis land!”

  After a deal of tacking against an outgoing tide, they felt the Stopdog’s keel scrape sand. It was early noon. Sagax leaped over, landing waist deep in the sea. Throwing the bowrope over his shoulder, he began pulling the vessel closer to shore. Kroova jumped in to assist him, but Scarum went aft and sat playing with the tiller.

  “No need for three of us t’get our paws soakin’ wet, wot? You chaps are doin’ a splendid job there. I’ll stay back here an’ keep the jolly old mast straight.”

  Kroova smiled as he called back. “ ’T’aint a mast, that’s a tiller, an’ ’twill look after itself. Now git yore paws wet, seawater’s good for ’em!”

  Scarum’s reply was punctuated by a snort of derision. “An’ get eaten by some hungry shark? Tchah, sah, my parents didn’t rear this charmin’ creature to have him end up as a fish’s dinner. Indeed not!” He waited until they were level with the beach before making a sprightly hop onto the sand, pulling a face. “Yukk! Pretty damp around here, ain’t it? Have t’watch I don’t catch a chill. Righty ho, lead on, shore-party chaps!”

  Kroova found a broken spar of driftwood on the tideline. Taking a sea-smoothed boulder, he drove the wood deep into the sand on the lee side of the tideline and tied the rope to it. “That should ’old ’er ’til we return. Right, let’s take the lay o’ the land an’ see wot’s wot!”

  They had landed on a broad beach of grey sand, dotted with areas of shingle. Beyond that lay a shallow rise to scrubby grassland, steepening to flat-topped dunes scattered with small gnarled trees. Kroova had armed himself with the old cutlass they found on board. Scarum had the dagger tucked in the back of his belt, while Sagax held the old unstrung bow like a staff. He pointed up to the dunes with it and began trudging through the sand. “That could be a likely place. Come on.”

  They came across meagre bits of food, some wild onions, sweet young dandelion roots and a patch of drop-water parsley. Sagax took charge of it before Scarum could start stuffing himself. The young badger stowed it in one of the knapsacks, which he had emptied and fetched along.

  The hare pouted a bit. “Fresh vegetation’s supposed t’be good for scurvy. We should chew on a bit of that stuff after our voyage, wot!”

  Kroova whacked him lightly with his rudder. “Y’ain’t been long enough at sea t’smell salty, let alone git scurvy.”

  There was not much else edible to be found. Although one of the trees was a hazel, the nuts were still green and solid. Nonetheless Sagax began picking the biggest ones.

  “Anything’s better than nothing. We might find some way of cooking these up that’ll make ’em taste all right. Where’s that nuisance Scarum got to, can you see him?”

  Kroova immediately spotted the hare. He was racing along the dunetops like a madbeast, holding in his paw a withered chunk of honeycomb, pursued by a small number of bees.

  “Yeeehooooo! Gerroff, you rotters, I saw it first! Owchyowch! Help, chaps, heeeeelp!”

  There was a crashing noise and Scarum vanished in a dip amid the dunes. Sagax started to run toward it, but Kroova held him back.

  “No ’urry, matey, let ’im get shut o’ those bees first. There’s only a few of ’em, ole potbelly won’t come t’much ’arm.”

  They strolled across the dunes, the sea otter pointed out a stunted bush with the remains of a hive in it. “It’s an old ’un. Those are prob’ly the last few bees movin’ away. Their queen must’ve died.” He loaded bits of broken honeycomb into the knapsack. “Nice of ole Scarum t’find it for us, though!”

  On reaching the dip, they found themselves staring down into a ruined dwelling. It looked as if it had been some form of hideout. The walls were made of stones and driftwood, shored up by sand, and the roof was a lattice of woven broad-stemmed grass and dried rushes. There was a large hole torn through the roof. A few ancient bees buzzed slowly out into the daylight, followed by Scarum’s complaining shouts.

  “Go on, away, you miserable insects, be off with you. Bee off? Oh I say, that’s a good ’un. Yaaaaagh! What’s that?”

  The hare sounded so frightened and urgent that the two friends felt bound to investigate. Sliding down the sunwarmed sand into the hollow, they found the door, a crude affair of cordage and rushes. Sagax pulled it to one side, allowing noontide sunlight to stream in.

  The petrified hare was lying flat on his back, flanked either side by two skeletons clad in mouldering rags. Scarum lay there, his eyes the only part of him that moved. He rolled them beseechingly at the badger and the otter.

  “Pull me out of here quick! Quickquickquick!”

  They reached inside and dragged him out by his footpaws. Scarum began stuffing his piece of honeycomb into his mouth. “Good for shock, somethin’ sweet. That’s what my old auntie used t’say. Good old auntie, mmff, grrmff, s’good!”

  Sagax sat down outside the ruined dwelling, peering in. “They look like the remains of rats to me. What d’you think?”

  Kroova went inside and squatted by the grisly things to inspect them carefully. “I’d say you was right. This is wot’s left o’ a couple of searats. Lookit this.”

  He held up two brass earrings, now tarnished to green. Rummaging about in the sand, he came across some carved bone bracelets and a fish-skin eyepatch.

  “Aye, they’re searats sure enough, lookit those rags of clothin’. Typical searat gear. Wonder ’ow they came to perish in this forsaken place?”

  Sagax pointed with his unstrung bow. “Well, look around for yourself. There doesn’t appear to be any signs of upset, a battle or a struggle. I think these two rats just starved to death. They seem to be lying there peacefully enough.”

  The sea otter sifted his paws through the sand around both wretched skeletons. “Aye, yore right, mate. Ain’t no traces of vittles, not even fishbones or empty water flagons. ’Twas starvation finished off these two, all right!”

  Scarum, who had remained steadfastly outside, peered over Sagax’s shoulder, a look of mixed horror and sympathy on his face. He shook his head sadly.

  “I say, what an absolutely awful way t’go. Poor blighters. Fancy perishin’ from lack of tuck and a measly drop t’drink. Good grief, it boggles the blinkin’ imagination, wot. I’d jolly well die before I’d let that happen t’me!”

  Sagax ignored the hare’s inane comments. “Kroova, what’s that thing sticking up out of the sand, there, just by your left footpaw?”

  Digging his paws into the shifting sand, the sea otter pulled forth a smooth, shiny yellow cylinder. “Wot, y’mean this? Beats me, mate, I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it afore. ’Ere, catch!”

  He tossed the object to Sagax. The young badger had no trouble in identifying it. “It’s called bamboo. My father has a piece of it in his collection of searat stuff. He said it comes from the hot lands beyond the ocean. Look, it has a wooden keg-stopper knocked into one end of it!”

  Sagax tried to dislodge the stopper, but it was fitted so tightly that it would not budge. Kroova emerged from the ruined dwelling. He gazed back inside at the dark, empty, eyeless sockets of the two searat skulls, fixed forever in the eerie grin of death.

  “That bamboo must’ve belonged to one of ’em. Let’s see if I can open it. There’s prob’ly somethin’ inside.”

  Kroova spent some time wrestling unsuccessfully with the stopper of the tubby yellow cylinder. He gave
up after a while and looked at Sagax. “Wot’s up, mate?”

  The young badger sat still and tense. He spoke softly. “Listen to what I say, you two, especially you, Scarum. Whatever you do, don’t look up. We’re being watched. There’s quite a few of ’em up there, I can tell by the way the grass is moving. Listen, can you hear hissing?”

  Scarum started to look upward to the crater rim. Kroova tugged the hare’s tail sharply. “You ’eard wot Sagax said. Keep yore ’ead down!”

  Scarum obeyed reluctantly. “Hissing, you mean hissing like snakes?”

  From the corner of his eye, Sagax caught a swift glimpse of a narrow reptilian head, peering down at them from the grassy fringe.

  “Might be snakes. When I say ‘now,’ get inside that hut as fast as you can. Ready . . . now!”

  Scarum streaked inside, regardless of the skeletons. In practically the same instant he was followed by his friends. Kroova flattened himself, stomach down, peering upward.

  “Lizards, that’s wot’s watchin’ us. Lizards, a lot of ’em!”

  Rat bones clacked as Scarum scrambled to the otter’s side. Sagax joined him to take a proper look at the lizards.

  The reptiles were crowding around the crater’s edge, many black and green-spotted males and light brown mottled females. They stood gazing unwinkingly at the newcomers to their territory, mouths opening and closing, dark snakelike tongues flickering in and out.

  Scarum tried buoying his confidence as he watched more lizards pack in round the edge. “Ugly blighters, ain’t they? Not as bad as sharks, though. Huh, one of those chaps isn’t big enough to eat me, wot!”

  Kroova pawed at his cutlass edge, remarking drily, “Mebbe not, but there’s more’n a hundred o’ those things waitin’ fer us t’make a move. Little they might be, but they’re predators all right, take my word fer it, mate.”

  Sagax surveyed the sides of the crater. “The question is, how do we get out in a hurry? Those sides are soft sand and pretty steep. I’d say we’re in trouble. They’re waiting on us to make a move, sure enough.”

  As he was speaking, a female leaned out too far and overbalanced. She came sliding and scrabbling down the slope, landing next to the dwelling entrance. The lizard stood rigid, as if hoping she had not been noticed.

  Scarum chuckled nervously and addressed the reptile. “How d’ye do, old thing? Just dropped in for a visit, wot?”

  The lizard backed off, raising first one front leg and then the other, opening her mouth and hissing. Scarum ventured a paw toward her, but she hissed even louder.

  The hare waggled his ears severely. “Tch tch! Doesn’t seem to speak a word of sense. Must be jolly difficult, not bein’ able to say ‘Pass the soup,’ or ‘Can I have another portion of pudden, please.’ Tell y’wot, I’ll send her back to her pals, ignorant lot. That’ll show ’em we don’t mean any harm. Like t’go back up to your family, marm, wot wot?”

  Before Sagax or Kroova could stop him, the hare swept the sand lizard up in both paws and hurled it up among the other lizards. He could not avoid throwing up a certain amount of sand with the reptile. The lizards backed off speedily. Scarum smiled brightly.

  “I say, did y’see that? One good turn deserves another. I imagine they were glad to get their pal back, but they don’t seem to like sand bein’ chucked at ’em, wot?”

  Sagax gathered up a double pawful of sand. “Then let’s try out your theory and chuck some sand!”

  Kroova loaded his paws with sand, grinning roguishly. “Aye, an’ let’s give em yore Salamandastron war cry just to show the blighters we mean business. One, two . . .”

  “Eulaliiiaaaaaaa!”

  The time-honoured battle cry of hares and badgers rang out as the three friends hurled sand at the grass above. Then, taking the slope at a run, they charged up the side, flinging sand and roaring aloud. “Eulaliaaaa! Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, buckoes! Eulaliiaaaa!”

  There was not a lizard to be seen when they gained the dunetop once more. Scarum chortled, “Hawhawhaw! Frightened of a bit o’ sand, eh, who’d have blinkin’ well believed it? Come out an’ show yourselves, you lily-livered, sausage-skinned, pot-headed, slimy-bottomed cowards, come an’ fight!”

  Whether by invitation, or just angry inclination, there came a loud hissing noise. Suddenly the dunetops were teeming with not just hundreds, but literally thousands of the sand lizards. All looking rather angry. The three companions hurtled down from the dunes, sand spraying everywhere from beneath their pounding paws.

  As they raced across the low hills away from the crater, Kroova shouted, “You and yore big fat mouth, why did ye have t’go an’ challenge those reptiles, ain’t you got no sense at all?”

  The hare sped past his two friends onto the shore. “Steady on there, planktail, I didn’t know they could understand me. I just got caught up in the heat of the moment, y’might say, blood roused by the jolly old war cry an’ all that, wot wot!”

  Suddenly Sagax could not help bursting out laughing. “Hahaha! I thought the only thing that’d ever raise your blood would be a double helping of apple pie. Hahaha!”

  Now that they were in sight of the Stopdog, the humour of the situation hit Kroova and Scarum.

  “Y’could be right there, old sport, hawhawhaw. I can get jolly warlike if anybeast tries to put a spoon in my soup!”

  “Hohoho! Bet you’d scrap with twice that number o’ lizards fer a steamin’ bowl of skilly’n’duff. Haharr, harr, that’d be a sight t’see, mates!”

  They made it to the boat in safety. Sagax was loosing the headrope from its driftwood stump when Scarum called out, “Look there, the flippin’ lizards have stopped on the dunes. See, they’re all standing there just watchin’ us. Cheerio, you snot-nosed sand slopers, you string-tailed, pop-eyed, spotty-skinned, flirty-clawed sand swifflers!”

  Kroova winked mischievously at Sagax and nodded toward the Stopdog. Leaping aboard, he yelled out fearfully, “Look out! The lizards are coming this way fast!”

  The vessel sailed out from the shallows, with a panicked Scarum splashing madly after it. “Wait for me, you bounders! You wouldn’t leave a chum behind to face those leaping lizards alone, would you? Rotters! Lend a paw or chuck me a flippin’ rope, pull me aboard before they get their slimy claws on me. Cads!”

  They hauled the hare aboard, joshing him unmercifully. “Oh deary me, you got wet paws, mind you don’t catch a chill!”

  “Hahaharr, wot about the sharks, mate? Didn’t seem t’be botherin’ ye as much as yore ole lizard pals!”

  Evening shades lay gently over a calm sea. Sagax was making a pot of vegetable soup and warming barley scones against the firepot. Scarum hovered close to the food until the badger chased him away.

  “I can’t cook with you breathing down my neck. Go and help Kroova to open that bamboo thing. Be off with you!”

  The sea otter was still struggling to release the stopper from the bamboo cylinder when Scarum, looking back over his shoulder at the supper cooking, tripped. He fell, cracking his head against the bamboo tube. It split in two pieces, lengthways.

  “Ouch! Haha, I say, that solved your jolly old problem. Hello, what’s that?”

  Kroova unwrapped some greasy canvas from around the object that had been packed inside the cylinder. “A dagger, just like that’n you got in yore belt, matey. Lookit the carvin’ on it. Well, ain’t that odd? Same marks as on yore dagger an’ the stern o’ this vessel.”

  Sagax left off his cooking and hurried to join them. “I wonder what it’s supposed to mean?”

  It meant little to Scarum, who pushed past Sagax and sat watching the soup bubbling. “Huh, prob’ly means this soup’ll be ruined if I don’t tend to it. Good job that bamboo thingy wasn’t as hard as my handsome head, wot!”

  Kroova and Sagax ignored him. Mystified and puzzled, they both sat staring at the carving on the dagger handle.

  12

  Plugg Firetail had a reputation as the slyest, most bloodthirsty fox afloat. His ship, the Se
ascab, was the biggest Freebooting vessel in all the northern waters, crewed by the rakings and scrapings of vermin to whom savagery was second nature. Since dawn, Plugg had been watching the beacon burning on Riftgard Head. Seeing the signal fading from his stern cabin window, Plugg rose in high bad humour. Grabbing his long, skirted coat of plush green velvet, which had seen better days, he swung it around his shoulders and seized the huge double-bladed axe that was his favourite weapon. Sneaking purposefully up the companionway stairs to the aft deck, the silver fox muttered darkly to himself. “The blisterin’ barnacles on this ship’s keel are more use t’me than this lardbrained crew!”

  An enormous, fat wharf rat, with no ears to speak of, was fast asleep over the Seascab’s tiller. Plugg halted within a pace of the creature and spat on both paws. Holding the axe sideways, he swung it hard, slamming the blade flat across the rat’s substantial rump. Splat! It had the desired effect. Grubbage, the bosun, squealed in pain as he let go the tiller and danced in a little circle, rubbing frantically at his bottom.

  “Yeeeeeowowow! Mercy, Cap’n, mercy!”

  Plugg took over the tiller, bringing his vessel about until it was headed for the beacon. He kicked out at Grubbage. “I’ll mercy ye, y’great wobble-bummed grubwalloper. Didn’t ye see the beacon blazin’ yonder?”

  Tears poured from the rat’s squinched-up eyes as, cocking his head to one side, he rubbed away at his smarting behind. “Wot’s that ye say, Cap’n?”

  Plugg roared aloud into his bosun’s face, “Are ye blind as well as deaf, lardgut? I said, didn’t ye see the beacon blazin’ on Riftgard ’Ead?”

  Grubbage pulled up both sides of his turban, revealing the severed stumps of both ears. “Wot’s that ye say, Cap’n, somebeast eatin’ an grazin’ on a guard’s ’ead?”

  Plugg leaned over the tiller, clapping a paw across his eyes and sighing deeply. When he looked up again, his first mate, a thin, gap-toothed weasel called Slitfang, had arrived. He was pointing excitedly at the beacon.