Mariel Of Redwall Part 2

26.

Hubert dusted his habit before returning to the gatehouse.

"Good, perhaps we'll hear you at the Abbot's Midsummer Jubilee feast?"

Saxtus squinted at the sun. "When's that, Brother?"

"Three days hence, though some of the older Brothers and Sisters have been planning it for quite a while now. Our Father Abbot is very modest and does not want to cause too much fuss, so we have kept it quiet; we didn't want to get you young ones too excited. Still, I suppose you've got to know at some point ..."

Both young mice leapt for joy, hugging each other and laughing aloud at the prospect of the great event.

"Hurray! Abbot Bernard's Jubilee feast. Redwaaaaaaalll!"

Brother Hubert's dry, dusty old features broke into a wide grin.

"Go on now, be off with the pair of you. No doubt you'll be needed to help with the preparations."

Sister Sage was not on duty serving breakfast that morning. She took herself off for a breath of fresh air on the ramparts, enjoying the soft breeze that drifted over Mossflower Woods.

She came down from her morning stroll along the walltop to join Brother Hubert, and together they watched the two young mice hopping and leaping like wild crickets, across the sunlit lawns and flower beds, toward the Abbey kitchens.

Sister Sage chuckled and shook her head. "Cowslips! Look at those two young 'uns, would you! It makes you feel good to be alive on a summertide."

With that, she hopped off after them, capering madly despite her long seasons. Brother Hubert attempted a small caper, until dust arose from his habit and his gla.s.ses fell off. He looked about quickly to see no creature had been watching, then hurried into his gatehouse.

The midday sun glinted off the waters of the far northwest sea as thick-headed revelers from the previous night hauled anchors to sail out and scour the seas or range the coasts in their constant search for plunder and booty, slaves and trinkets. Gabool the Wild watched them from the high window of his banqueting hall, Waveblade, Blacksail, Rathelm and Greenfang, four good craft laden with the rakings and sc.r.a.pings of seas and oceans, murderers all.

Gabool had conferred captaincy of the Greenfang on Garrtail, an up-and-coming member of the searat brethren, but dull and wholly servile to his master Gabool, Lord of all Waters. Dull Garrtail might be, but Gabool knew that it would not stop him gossiping to the master of the Darkqueen, Saltar, brother of Bludrigg. Garrtail knew that the Darkqueen habitually ranged the seas to the south; he would make sure his path crossed with Saltar. There was little doubt the corsair master of Darkqueen would hear the tale of his brother's death, chapter and verse.

Gabool tore at a leg of roasted kittiwake and chewed reflectively. Saltar had the reputation of being a hard searat to cross. Though they had never matched blades, Gabool knew Saltar to be a corsair hook fighter, using 28.

a vicious metal hook to impale opponents before slaying them with his curved sword. Gabool spat the meat away and hurled the kittiwake leg out of the window, watching it bounce off rocks on the sheer face until it hit the sea below.

He laughed slyly. Two could play at that game!

Taking a long dagger from his waist sash, Gabool went to the far end of the hall. A colored cloth wall hanging, held outward by a wooden rail near the ceiling, reached from on high down to the floor. Gabool pushed it to one side and found the crack in the stonework behind it. He jammed the long dagger, handle first, into the crack so that it was wedged, with the blade pointing outward, then let the wall hanging fall back into place. Though he was a renowned fighter and a fearless one, Gabool never took chances, particularly since the incident with the mousemaid. Standing back, Gabool surveyed the trap. Good, the wall hanging looked like any other in the hall, perfectly harmless.

Now his restless eye was caught by the great bell. He wandered around its wide perimeter, fascinated by the object. Surely no Searat King had ever taken such a magnificent prize. Gabool pinged it with his long curving claws, sounded it by banging his rings and bracelets upon its brazen surface, amazed by the clear musical noises it made, tingling, humming and vibrating. He bared his lips. Leaning close in, he bit lightly at it, making his gold teeth reverberate with the echoes from the bell. Gabool stroked the cool curving object as he crooned softly.

"Speak to me, beauty, we must get to know each other well. I am Gabool the Wild, your owner, but you need not fear me. Your voice will call to my fleet one day, your tones will terrify my enemies. You will be the voice of Gabool when I set you atop of my fort and let your tongue swing free. Then, ah then, you will boom out across the waves so that all the seas will know Gabool is King."

29.

On a sudden impulse Gabool dashed off. Slamming the door behind him, he took the downward stairs three at a time, deeper and deeper into the depths of his own lair. Two guards were standing at the entrance to the prison cells. Gabool whirled upon them with a snarl.

"Get out of my sight and leave me alone here!"

As the guards fled, Gabool made his way to a cell that was little more than a cage. He lounged against the bars, grinning at the pitiful creature locked up inside.

"Well, bellmaker, ready to work for me yet?"

Joseph the Bellmaker was chained by his waist to the wall. The floor of the subterranean cell was awash with sea water which seeped through from outside. Joseph had once been a powerful, well-fleshed mouse, but now his cheeks were sunken and dark circles formed around his eyes. Starvation and ill treatment had taken their ruthless toll on the bellmaker, though as he raised his head, both eyes burned with remorseless hatred for his captor.

"I would sooner be eaten by the fishes of the sea than serve you, rat."

Gabool continued as if he had not heard the prisoner. "You can do it, Joseph, I know you can. A bell tower strong enough to hold the great bell, right on top of my fort, where the whole world will hear it."

Joseph pulled forward, straining at the chain in the enclosed s.p.a.ce, his voice shaking with pent-up rage.

"Never. I would not soil my paws with your mad ideas and evil schemes. That bell was made for the badger, the Lord of Salamandastron, enemy of all sea-sc.u.m. It will never ring for you!"

Gabool drew his sword and clashed it against the cell bars.

"h.e.l.l's guts! D'you think I care who it was made for, you fool? The bell is mine now, mine to do what I like with. Its voice will sound for me alone. I, Gabool, Warlord of the Waves, say this!"

Joseph slumped down, shaking his head in despair.

30.

"You're mad, completely insane and evil. Kill me, do what you want with me, I don't care anymore."

Gabool sheathed his sword. Drawing close to the bars he whispered low, "And your daughter?"

The bellmaker's face betrayed the agony his mind was suffering.

"No, please! You wouldn't harm her, you couldn't! She's so young and, and. . . . Don't you dare hurt my daughter!"

Gabool now sorely regretted drowning the bellmaker's daughter. Still, if the old buffoon thought she was alive, there might be a bit of fun here. Gabool decided to toy with his victim.

"If you build my bell tower I will let you see her again, but not until you've carried out the work."

Joseph tugged at the chain. He bit his lip until blood showed, torn by the decision he knew he had to make.

"Gabool, listen. I would not put a single stone atop another for you. Why? Because it would mean death, torture or slavery for countless other good creatures. Don't you understand, rat, my conscience would not let me, after I saw what they did to the Captain and crew of our s.h.i.+p when searats captured us. I know it means that I may never see my young one again. It tears my heart apart, but I must do the right thing for the sake of others."

Gabool summoned up all his cunning, his black soul driving him on to wickedness, belying the smile on his face as he threw his claws wide.

"Haharr, very stubborn, Joseph, but I can see that you're a good creature. Sometimes I wish that I'd never been born wicked, but decent like you. I suppose I'll have to think of somethin' else now. But hark, bellmaker, I'm sure you'd like to see your daughter again, wouldn't you, matey?"

Tears of grat.i.tude beaded in the unsuspecting prisoner's eyes. "She means more to me than anything. Please let me see her!"

Gabool took the keys from a wallspike. "h.e.l.l's gates! I must be getting soft in me old age. Come on, then."

They stood in the banqueting hall, barbarian and bellmaker. Joseph looked around him, dragging his chains as he did.

"Where is she?"

Gabool touched the great bell with his sword. "Not so fast, s.h.i.+pmate. If you won't build me a bell tower, then at least tell me what these little pictures and strange words round the top 'n' bottom of my bell mean."

Joseph shuffled anxiously around the bell, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his daughter as he reluctantly read off the rhyme at its base.

"I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts unite. I will toll the hours out, all daytime and through night. I will wake good creatures up, from their beds each morning, Or toll when they're in danger, a clear and brazen warning. For all the family, son and daughter, husband and goodwife, I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave this life. For many great occasions, for many different reasons, Listen and my voice you'll hear, throughout the changing seasons. Though I may boom, clang, peal or toll, command and use me well. But hark, beware the evil ones who would misuse this bell."

Gabool stared hard at Joseph. "Tras.h.!.+ I'll have it filed off one day. What about the little drawin's an' pictures round the top, what do they mean, bellmaker?"

32.

Joseph spread his shackled paws. "Only the Lord of Salamandastron knows that. He gave me a parchment with those drawn upon it. Who knows what goes through the minds of the great badger rulers of the fire mountain; they are creatures of destiny. I've told you all I know, now can I see my daughter?"

Gabool led him to the open window.

"Of course, matey, I can't show you the exact spot where she lies, but I can show you how to find her ..."

For Gabool it was but the work of a moment, one swift pus.h.!.+

In the late afternoon the mousemaid cast a long shadow as she wandered the deserted beach alone. Hunger, thirst and attacks of myriad gnats and sandflies had wakened and forced her to desert the hiding place. Over one shoulder she still carried the knotted rope. A long line of pawprints in the sand behind her emphasized the desolation of sea, sand and sky, seemingly inhabited only by predatory seabirds. She had tried gnawing at some young seaweed washed up on the tideline, but the heavy salt taste in the maiden's dry swollen mouth caused her to spit it away. Swaying slightly, she s.h.i.+elded her eyes from the hot orb of the sun and gazed about. Fresh water was nowhere to be had. Turning inland, she made her weary way toward a large outcrop of sand dunes to the south.

Some perverse dogged spirit drove the mousemaid onward, though often she would be toppled over by the hot s.h.i.+fting sand of the dunes. Rolling downhill, she would pick herself up, wipe grit from her eyes and begin climbing again. It was on top of one difficult dune she encountered the first sign of life that was not a seabird. It was a small lizard, eyes half-closed, basking in the heat. The reptile did a sideways shuffle, watching her warily. The maiden tried several times to communicate, managing only a croaking noise. The lizard's head 33.

weaved from side to side as it snapped bad-temperedly at her.

"You norra frog, you make frognoise, wharra you want?" The mousemaid managed to gasp out a single word: "Water."

The small lizard moved its head up and down, its throat pulsating.

"Water faraway. You norra lizard, you die soon, never make it to drinkwater, too far. Soon now they eat you."

She followed the creature's upward nod. Gulls were beginning to circle overhead; the scavengers of the sh.o.r.e, sensing when a living thing was becoming weaker and more defenseless. The maid grasped the knotted rope and swung it, calling at the sky in a hoa.r.s.e voice, "I'm not finished yet. You'll see!"

When she looked down, the lizard had gone. Without a backward glance she descended the other side of the dune, half stumbling, half falling. The foot of the dune was in shadow. Before her lay a sandy flatland dotted with scrub and coa.r.s.e gra.s.s. The little mousemaid rested awhile in the welcoming shade. Idly her paw sank into the sand as she leaned back. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. The sand was firm and damp just beneath the surface. Realization that she was not on the seaward side of the dunes brought with it the s.h.i.+ning hope of one precious thing. Water!

Scrabbling dizzily, her strength failing rapidly, the maid began digging with all paws. Soon she was rewarded by darker, damp sand. Her paws made a delicious sc.r.a.ping noise as she tossed sand out of the shallow hole. Digging with the urgency of desperation, she was finally rewarded with one wet paw. She sat sucking her paw as the moisture seeped through the ground into the hole, forming a small muddy pool. Throwing herself flat, the little mousemaid shoved her head into the hole and drank greedily, disregarding the 34.

gritty sand and ooze, as life-giving water flowed down her throat. New vitality surged through her. Gurgling with delight, she lifted her head and found herself staring into the predatory eye of a gannet that had been sneaking up on her.

Thwackl Thwopl With eye-blurring speed she belted the knotted rope twice into the bird's face. It stumbled, fell over, sticklike legs buckling under it. The mousemaid advanced, swinging her weapon, with battle light in her eyes and a clear angry voice.

"Come on! What d'you want, the water or me? Come on. I'll fight you, you great featherbed!"

The twirling knot struck the gannet a further three times before it managed to flop off into the air with a half-stunned squawk. The little mousemaid felt the blood thrumming in her veins. She tore up a nearby plant and shook it at the sky.

"That goes for all of you. I'll kill the next one that comes after me. D'you hear?"

She found herself shouting at an empty evening sky. The birds had gone in search of less ferocious prey. Inspecting the plant she had pulled from the ground, she noticed that the root was attached to a fat white tuber. Without further hesitation she began munching upon it. The tuber tasted good, something like raw turnip.

Evening gave way to night as the maid sat at the foot of the dune, bathing the wound on her head with a corner of her burlap smock which she had soaked in water from her newfound well. Dabbing at the cut with one paw and devouring a root held in the other, the mousemaid talked aloud to herself, enjoying the sound of her own voice.

"No name, no memory, no idea where I am. Ha! I know, I'll call myself Storm, because it was the storm that brought me here. Yes, Storm, I like that ..."

She held the rope up and twirled it. "And you are 35.

my faithful Gullwhacker. There, we've both got new names now. This is good-I've got you, the shade from my sandhill, water and food."

Storm settled down in the sand as the warm summer night closed in on her. "Wish I knew who I really was, though ..." Her voice sounded small and lonely amid the scrub and desolation.

A pale golden moon peeped over the dunes at the little mousemaid sleeping by the foot of the hill, clutching a piece of knotted rope, for all the world like some infant in slumber nursing a favorite toy.

The famous kitchens of Redwall Abbey were abustle with activity that night. Friar Alder, the thin, lanky mouse in charge of it all, added wild plumjuice to an enormous hazelnut crumble he had just pulled from the oven. Alder blew on a scorched paw, complaining loudly.

"Not enough time. That's all I've been given, just not enough time. Who do they think I arn, a magician? Less than three days hence and I've got to supervise a fullblown Abbot's Midsummer Jubilee. Berry tarts, cream puddings, twelve different kinds of breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake ..."

Bagg and Runn, the otter twins, followed Alder, waving their paws and repeating his every word in comic imitation.

"Breads, cheeses and salads, not to mention a surprise cake. . . . Owch!"

Friar Alder had turned quickly and dotted them both between the ears with a wooden spoon. "I told you not to mention a surprise cake. Now off you pop, the pair of you. Go and help Dandin and Saxtus."

Dandin and Saxtus were being taught the art of woodland summercream pudding-making by a charming little red squirrelmaid named Treerose, though they 37.

were paying far more attention to the pretty cook than to the recipe.

"Now, to make woodland summercream pudding we need a deep earthenware bowl. Pa.s.s me that one, please."

Dandin and Saxtus fought each other to grab the bowl and give it to Treerose. Calmly she took it from them with a disarming smile.

"Great sillies, you nearly broke it, fighting like that. Right, now pay attention. First a thick coating of redcur-rant jelly inside the bowl. Next, roll out your sweet chestnut pastry very thin, like this. . . . Bagg! Runn! Stop eating those blackberries-I need them for the pudding!"

The twin otters bounded away to torment some other creature, their mouths stained purple from the berries. They caught a young bankvole named Petunia and kissed her cheeks until she was covered in purple otter-lip marks. Petunia's mother grabbed them and set about them with a soggy dishcloth. Dandin and Saxtus roared laughing, but Treerose merely pursed her mouth primly and reprimanded them.

"There's nothing funny about those two ruffians. Watch me, or you'll never learn. Now, make sure the sweet chestnut pastry is well bedded into the redcurr-ant jelly around the sides of the bowl, then we coat the pastry with an extra-thick layer of yellow primrose cream. Having done that, we take the blackberries and, starting from the bottom of the basin, we place them on the cream, pressing just lightly enough to make them stick to the cream. Teh tch, you great clumsy fellows, not like that. You'll burst the berries. Wipe your paws and watch me."

Blus.h.i.+ng furiously, Dandin and Saxtus wiped their paws as the young charmer carried on efficiently.

"Now I'm going to coat these thick almond wafers with some light honeycream, like so. ... You see how easily they stick to the blackberries when I use them as 38.

the next layer. There, that's that. All that remains now is for me to spoon the applecream into the center until the basin is full. To finish off, cover the whole thing with a short hazelnut pastry glazed with clear honey to give it a nice s.h.i.+ny crust. Open that bottom oven door, please."

"Owch! Ooch! Yagh! Woop!"

"Great silly mice! Use oven cloths to protect your paws. Out of the way! I'll see to it. You two are as much use as moles up a tree."

Dandin and Saxtus sucked their scorched paws and stood watching, red with embarra.s.sment as Treerose, the perfect little Miss Efficiency, swung the oven door wide, popped the pudding inside and shut the door with a few deft movements.

Mother Mellus wandered over, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the edges from a strawberry flan. "h.e.l.lo, Treerose. How are the two star pupils doing?"

"Clumsy as ducks on an iced pond, Mother Mellus."

Treerose turned and flounced off. The badger ruffled the ears of the crestfallen mice.