Loamhedge (24 page)

Slipback dodged a ricochet, grinning slyly. “Hah, let's see 'ow long the mighty chief can keep that pace up!”

Juppa started moving out of range, ducking a pebble that had gone the wrong way. “Let's get out of 'ere afore we get slain!”

She raised her voice, calling to Badredd, “We're goin' to get somethin' to eat an' take a rest!”

The fox kept hurling stones like a madbeast, panting. “Get out o' my sight, ye useless lumps! When y'come back, bring more stones, a lot more!”

Plumnose, who was slinging at a much steadier rate, called happily to Badredd. “Huhuh, we'b godd lots ob stones, me'n my mate!”

The fox screeched back at him. “Sharrap an' get slingin'!”

Halfchop had found a black-and-red banded pebble among his stones. He polished it on his fur and spoke to it. “Kachunk!”

Abbot Carrul and Granmum Gurvel were going around Great Hall, distributing beakers of hot barley and leek soup to the defenders. Martha was wakened by a stone pinging off a nearby column. Gurvel ladled soup from a cauldron standing on a trolley. The Abbot served it to Martha. Then Carrul called Toran over and gave him some.

Toran accepted it gratefully. “Well, Father, the windows are barricaded tight now. There's only the odd stone comin' through. Let the vermin wear themselves out. Apart from broken panes, there ain't much damage—unless they try burnin' the window barricades.”

Carrul tried to remain calm, though he could not help sounding anxious. “Have you a plan in mind, Toran?”

Scratching his rudder, the ottercook stifled a yawn. “I wish I had, but I'm far too tired an' upset about pore Junty.”

Martha straightened the rug across her lap. “We'd do better if we went upstairs to the dormitories. Perhaps up there we could retaliate against the vermin.”

Abbot Carrul nodded. “Sounds sensible to me, Martha. Carry on.”

Warming to her own idea, the haremaid explained. “We could make slings and throw stones at them. I'll wager Foremole and his crew could provide us with rubble.”

Gurvel sighted Foremole Dwurl coming up from the cellars. She beckoned him to join them. “Coom over yurr, zurr.”

Dwurl waved a heavy digging claw. “Wutt can oi do furr ee?”

Martha made her request. “Would it be possible to get a load of rubble and pebbles up to the dormitory windows, please?”

The mole nodded his velvety head. “Surpintly, miz! Oi take ett ee bee's goin' t'give yon varmints a gudd peltin', hurr hurr!”

Immensely fond of Foremole Dwurl, Martha took his work-lined paw in hers. “Great minds think alike, my friend. We need lots of stones, and some rubble, to tip on the vermin if they start lighting fires. Water is too precious to waste in our present position.”

Toran looked at his young friend with a new respect. “Hear that, Carrul? Our Martha certainly has a wise head on her shoulders, eh?”

Martha turned to the ottercook, her eyes shining fiercely. “Aye, and I don't intend to lose it to a band of murdering vermin. It was vermin who slew my family when I was a babe and too young to do anything about it. This time 'tis going to be different. No matter what happens, those evil scum are not going to take Redwall Abbey from us. We'll defeat them!”

They all clasped paws on the arm of the haremaid's chair. Her resolution ran like wildfire through them all.

Father Abbot Carrul's voice echoed around Great Hall. “Everybeast upstairs to the front dormitories. We're going to fight them. Redwaaaaaaalll!”

A great cheer went up as Martha had united them in a common cause: taking the attack to the foebeast. The Redwallers thundered upstairs, shouting and roaring.

“We'll teach 'em a lesson they won't forget!”

“Aye, they'll regret the day they came to our Abbey!”

“No vermin's goin' to bully us!”

“Blood'n'vinegar, that's what they'll get!”

Sister Setiva was minding the Dibbuns as the dormitory door was flung open wide. Redwallers crowded in, still shouting. The Abbeybabes did not quite know what was going on, but they joined in lustily, issuing dire threats against the enemy.

“Cutta tails off wiv rusty knifes!”

“Boil ee varmints in roasted baffwater!”

“Gurr, smack ee bottoms wi' gurt sticks!”

Little Buffle stuck out his stomach and bellowed, “Yukkumbumgur!”

Setiva was becoming able to translate Buffle's baby language. She raised her eyebrows in horror. “Och, ye wee scallywag, I'll wash your mouth out wi' soap if ye even think o' sayin' that again!”

Martha was carried up, chair and all, by Brother Weld, Toran and several stout moles. Immediately she related her plan to all the Abbeybeasts.

“Sisters Setiva and Portula, could you set about making lots of slings? Good, strong braided ones. Brothers Gelf and Weld, I want you to check the downstairs barricades as often as you can. Make sure they're still holding firm, and report back to me each time. Foremole, sir, can you bring up as much stone and rubble as you can lay your paws on?”

Dwurl saluted. “We'm got loads o' rubble an' rock frum our diggin's in ee basement, miz. Oi'll bring et roight aways.”

The haremaid nodded to Toran. “Can you search about, friend, to find anything we can use as weapons? Anything!”

Muggum and the Dibbuns clung to the chairarms, pleading, “Uz 'elp ee, Miz Marth', give us'n's summ jobs!”

Sister Setiva turned in the dormitory doorway, shaking her blackthorn stick and berating the Abbeybabes. “Och! Ah'll give ye jobs. Get straight intae yon beds an' stay oot o' Miss Martha's way, this verra instant!”

Martha saw the sad little faces on the Dibbuns and interceded on their behalf to the strict Infirmary Keeper. “Please, Sister, they only want to help. Let me find a job for them. Granmum Gurvel, have you any sieves or riddles? We'll need them to sift out slingstones from Foremole's rubble when it arrives up here. Could you find some?”

Muggum brightened up. “Oi'll tell ee a riggle, Miz Marth'.”

Gurvel took the molebabe's paw. “Gurr, liddle pudden 'ead, that bee's ee wrong sort o' riggle. Cumm to ee kitchens, an' oi'll foind ee sum proper riggles.”

Everybeast hurried to their tasks, while Martha tried to keep some organisation amid the ensuing chaos.

Molecrews trundled in and out of the dormitory, bearing stretcherloads of rubble. Sister Portula and some elders ripped old fabric into strips and began weaving slings. Redwallers on kitchen duty came scurrying up with drinks and meals. Martha wheeled her chair about, giving directions, calling encouragement and keeping the constant traffic moving back and forth.

“Don't block the doorway, please. Bring that stretcher right in and empty it there, by the window.” She seemed to be everywhere at once. “Oh, that's a nice strong sling, put it over there with the others. Don't leave that cordial and soup by the rubble, it'll get dust all over it. Shut it inside that wardrobe for the present.”

 

Badredd soon grew tired of slinging stones. His paws were aching: more than once, a stone had stayed in the sling, causing it to wrap around his paw and strike it sharply. That, plus the fact that he was an abominable shot, made him toss the sling away angrily.

“Blood'n'skulls, I've got better things t'do than stand here chuckin' stones all day. Where's the rest o' this lazy lot, eh? Stuffin' vittles or layin' about sleepin', I bet. Well, I'll soon liven their ideas up, the dirty layabouts!” He stalked off in high dudgeon.

Plumnose and Halfchop dropped their slings and trailed after him. The little fox turned on them furiously. “Where are you two deadbrains goin'? Did I tell ye t'stop slingin'? Get back there afore I flay ye both!” The pair went back wearily and continued slinging.

Plumnose complained resentfully to his companion. “Huh, he'd inna bad mood, iddent he?”

Halfchop nodded in agreement. “Kachunk!”

 

Martha kept track of Badredd from her position at the front dormitory windows. “I wonder where he's off to now.”

Toran stood behind her chair. “Who knows, miss. He's up t'no good, though, an' jumpin' mad by the look o' him.”

Foremole gestured at the considerable mound of earth and stone piled up close to the windowsills. “Hurr, ee vurmint can jump all ee looikes, we'm ready for 'im!”

Granmum Gurvel staggered in, dragging a bulging sack. “Yurr, lookit oi finded, ee gurt sack uv 'otroot pepper. Ee ' hotters leaved it yurr afore they'm go'd off. Oi'm b'aint a keepen it in moi kitchens, no zurr, orful sneezy stuff!” Gurvel dumped it next to Martha's chair. The haremaid quickly pulled out her kerchief as dust rose from the sack. “Kerchoo! Aah . . . Aah . . . Achoo! Beg your pardon, dearie me!”

Baby Buffle stared down at the sack from the top of the rubble mound. “Sumakivalikkasaccasaccavurgimchoochoo!”

Martha dabbed at her nose with the kerchief. “What's he chunnering on about now, Sister?”

Setiva translated the shrewbabe's language. “Och, pay no heed tae the rascal. He says we should throw et at yon vermin. 'Tis a silly idea—we'd be sneezed tae death doin' a thing like that. The breeze'd carry et right back in 'ere.”

Gurvel spoke up. “Nay, marm, not if us'n's makes ee likle sacks uv pepper, boi 'okey. We'm cudd frow slingers at ee varmints.”

Martha clapped her paws delightedly. “What a great plan! Thank you, Buffle and Gurvel. Let's try it!”

The ancient molecook took charge of the operation. Soon, she and several Dibbuns donned bandannas of wet cloth to protect their noses and mouths against the fiery hotroot pepper. Carefully, they ladled measured portions of the pepper onto flimsy squares of thin, birch-bark parchment. Each of these was fashioned into a tiny bundle, tied at the top with thread. Toran weighed one in his paw. “Just right for throwin'. Hoho, these'll cause a few sneezes if they land on some scummy noses!”

Yooch the molebabe had scrambled up onto a windowsill. Jumping up and down, he waved his tiny paws and squealed, “Look out, look out, d'vermints bee's cummin'!”

 

Badredd kept a paw on the broken cutlass in his belt, not drawing the weapon lest they see it was only a half-bladed thing. Behind him stood the rest of the available vermin crew—Halfchop, Floggo, Rogg, Slipback, Plumnose and Juppa.

The little fox shouted boldly. “Where's yore chief? I wanna talk!”

Abbot Carrul showed himself at the dormitory window. “Say what you have got to say, fox!”

Badredd puffed out his narrow chest. “Lissen, we've got ye well boxed in up there. You ain't warriors, ye can't fight back or hurt us. So I'll tell ye what I'll do. Open yore doors, we won't attack. Just let me'n one o' my crew come in. When we've found yore magic sword, an' other bits o' loot that we fancy, we'll leave ye in peace an' go.”

The Abbot shook his head firmly. “Never! You'll not set paw in Redwall Abbey, none of you!”

Badredd passed a paw signal to Rogg from behind his back. The weasel casually notched an arrow to his bowstring.

Keeping his temper in check, the fox replied, “Never? We'll see about that. Wot ye got to unnerstand is that yore under siege—we could starve ye out or keep attackin' until one by one yore all slain. Oh, I've got lots o' bright ideas, mouse, take yore pick. Either that or just do as I command. 'Twill save ye a lot o' grief.”

Carrul stood his ground. “No matter what you say, you will not enter this Abbey. Now, let me make a suggestion. Take your vermin, plus all the fruit you have stolen from our orchard, and leave here. If you do this, you will save yourself a lot of grief. Take my word for it!”

Badredd shrugged. “Ain't no use of talkin' to ye, mouse.”

As the vermin leader stepped aside, Rogg hurried forward and let fly. Inside the dormitory, some of the pepper dust had got to the Abbot, causing him to sneeze. “Yaachooo!”

As Carrul's head went down with the force of the sneeze, the arrow tipped his headfur, ending up quivering in the dormitory ceiling.

Cursing inwardly, Badredd forced himself to stay nonchalantly calm, even to smile. “Saved by a sneeze, eh? Yore a lucky mouse!”

Suddenly Toran appeared at the window, a pepper bomb in each paw. “You won't be so lucky. Sneeze on this, snottynose!”

In quick succession, two bags of pepper struck Badredd's face. Then the dormitory windows were packed with Redwallers, hurling their new weapons and shouting.

“Try a sniff of this, uglychops!”

“Yurr, stuff this'n oop ee nose, zurr vurmint!”

“Och, take a whiff o' this, ye wicked rabble!”

“Sorry we ain't got no salt, so here's a little more pepper for ye!”

Literally peppered by bags of the stuff, the vermin crew fled—spitting, sneezing and rubbing at their burning eyes as the fierce hotroot pepper did its work. Between sneezes, they bumped blindly into one another, wailing and screeching.

Martha held up a paw. “Stop now, no use wasting pepper. They've learned their lesson, a good hot one!”

A rousing cheer went forth from the Abbeybeasts. “Redwaaaaaallll!”

Martha hugged Toran's waist from her chair. “We did it, friend, we defeated the vermin!”

The ottercook stood watching the vermin as they hurled themselves into the Abbey pond. He stroked the haremaid's head absently. “Aye, beauty, we did it for now. But they'll be back, an' next time they do, those vermin will try to slay us all.”

Sister Portula was in agreement with him. “Right, Toran, so what'll we do then?”

Martha surprised herself by shaking a clenched paw. “We'll just have to give back as good as we get. Don't forget, there's more of us than them. I'd risk my life willingly any day if it meant defeating those scum!”