[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (29 page)

Runka nodded. “We've got to think o' the old 'uns an' the babes. Four nights, ye say? Hmm . . . me'n'Memsy'll see that they're ready an' waitin'. Anythin' else, Leatho?”

The outlaw replied, “Aye, it'll be yore job to keep everybeast from gettin' too excited. Tell 'em to stay calm and not do anythin' that'd alert the cats. Right, I've got to go now. Remember, both of ye, four nights from now, at about this hour.”

Leatho dropped from the walltop, straight into the waiting paws of a dozen catguards who had stolen silently up. He was seized tight with a spearhaft forced across his throat.

Removing his helmet, Riggu Felis thrust his loathsome face close to the captive. “Hah, so you're the outlaw they call Shellhound, eh?”

Leatho bared his teeth at the wildcat, replying defiantly, “Aye, an' yore the cat with half a face. I heard a liddle sparrow did that to ye!”

The warlord brought the butt of his axe crashing down on the otter's head. Then he strode off, calling to the guards who were holding up the unconscious figure, “Bring him round to the pier, but don't harm him. I want this one alive!”

As the guards laid Leatho's limp body upon the pier, the warlord snarled at his son, “I captured their leader, the Shellhound, while you were chasing shadows around the bushes.”

Still glaring at Pitru, the wildcat addressed Scaut ironically. “Make your report, weilmark. Did you obey Commander Pitru's orders? What exactly took place?”

Keeping his eyes to the front, Scaut recounted the ambush. “Lord, we only sighted two otters, but they escaped. It was dark in those bushes. We wasn't t'know it was Scorecat Fleng an' eight guards, so we fired on 'em!”

Felis cut him short. “And?”

The weilmark swallowed hard. “An' we slew Fleng an' six others, Sire. But we was only carryin' out orders. Commander Pitru said to ambush anythin' that moved in the bushes.”

The warlord moved with astonishing speed. Striking the scimitar from Pitru's grasp, he knocked the young cat flat. Stamping a footpaw down on his chest, Riggu Felis held his single-bladed axe to his son's throat and spat in his face contemptuously.

“Fortress Commander? Huh, I wouldn't leave ye in charge of a greasy cooking pot! You mincing young oaf, couldn't ye see it was another decoy? I knew the otters would try to set their friends free. That's why I went straight to where you should have been, the slave pens. Now I've lost six guards and a scorecat. You deserve to lose your head for such stupidity!”

“Put up that axe and leave my son alone!” Lady Kaltag had picked up the fallen scimitar and was holding it between the wildcat's shoulder blades. Her voice was frightening in its harsh intensity. “I said, get away from my son, or I swear I'll slay you!”

The warlord was forced to obey. He put up his axe and stood to one side, smiling scornfully as he freed Pitru. “What a bold warrior the great commander has turned out to be! Does your mother fight all your battles, milkpuss?”

Pitru scrambled upright, gritting through clenched teeth, “One day I will kill you!”

Riggu Felis twirled his battle axe skillfully. “One day, you say—why not now? Come on, ask your mother to give you that fancy sword back, then stand and face me. You won't get a better chance unless I'm fast asleep, unarmed and have my back turned to you. Give him his sword!”

Without relinquishing the blade, Kaltag berated him. “You would do better facing the real enemy, those otters, instead of trying to take the life of my only living son!”

Riggu Felis kicked the unconscious Leatho before replying. “You are as foolish as your son. I no longer have to do battle with outlaws. How does the saying go? Chop off the snake's head, and you have killed the body. The rebels have no head now. I have their leader in my claws. Believe me, I have my own special plans for the outlaw Shellhound!”

Brantalis the barnacle goose was enjoying the quiet summer morn. He paddled around the Abbey pond in leisurely fashion, pursuing a dragonfly playfully. The goose liked to spend time in the quiet waters. It was peaceful there amid cool willow shade and bulrushes, surrounded by the tranquil green depths. He often considered spending the rest of his seasons at Redwall, which had so much to offer: good friends, places to take one's ease and wonderful food. But then the inherent nature of a migratory bird would steal over him, and he would long to be with his kin, his skein, soaring high over uncharted acres of open sky.

His reverie was broken by Abbess Lycian and molemum Burbee, who wheeled their breakfast, atop the tea urn trolley, to the pond bank. They settled down, slicing scones, pouring tea and gossiping. Both were in a somewhat indignant frame of mind.

Lycian pursed her lips. “Ooh, that Old Quelt! Sometimes he can act so superior to those who are younger than him. Huh, he thinks he knows just about everything about everything!”

Burbee poured hot tea into her saucer and blew upon it, supping noisily as she remarked to her friend, “Hurr, they'm alla same at brekkist, a-goin' on an' on bowt things they bain't got ee clue abowt. But ee ole Quelter, he'm the wurstest!”

Sailing sedately up to the bank, Brantalis nodded at them. “I am wondering what has upset you on such a pleasant day?”

Burbee topped up her saucer, answering truculently, “Ee riggul, that bee's wot h'upsetten' everybeast!”

The big bird stared down his beak at her. “What is this riggul thing, please?”

The Abbess sighed unhappily. “A riddle is a puzzle, something that's hard to explain and difficult to solve.”

Brantalis waddled out onto the bank, shaking his tail. “If it is hard and difficult, why do you bother with it? I am thinking it would be better just enjoying your life on such a good day as today.”

Lycian spotted Sister Snowdrop coming to join them. She whispered hastily to the molemum, “Burbee, don't mention how we feel about Quelt to Snowdrop. She's been friends with that old squirrel a long time. I wouldn't want to offend her feelings.”

The little Sister plumped herself down upon the bank and flung a pebble into the pond with some force. “Honestly, that Old Quelt, sometimes he makes me so angry with his uppity attitude. You'd think he was the only creature in Redwall who could solve riddles!”

Lycian and Burbee could not help breaking out into giggles. Snowdrop looked bewildered. “Sorry, did I say something funny just then?”

Brother Perant stormed up unexpectedly. Flinging himself down, he began spreading a parchment on the ground. It was a copy he had made of the rhyming puzzle.

Perant muttered, “Right, let's take a look at this riddle in peace. I'm tired of sitting at the breakfast table, listening to that Recorder drivelling on about it. Who does he think he is, anyway?”

Perant looked oddly at Lycian, Burbee and Snowdrop, who were hooting with merriment. “Er, excuse me, ladies, but is this a private joke, or am I allowed to join in the mirth?”

Once the Abbess had her laughter under control, she dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. “Oh, it's just a bit of silliness. Pay no attention to us, Brother.”

Brantalis was a little more forthcoming with his explanation. “Friend, I am thinking it is about the Old Quelt squirrel, who is annoying everybeast with his tiresome wisdom.”

The Infirmary Keeper's normally sober face lit up in a grin. “Well said, my feathered friend, and so he is!”

Any kind of praise was apt to flatter the barnacle goose. Flapping both wings, he swelled his chest and honked. “Read me out your riggul. I am thinking this bird might be good at solving rigguls!”

The good Brother commented wryly, “Yes, and it seems you're becoming good at molespeech, too. The word is pronounced ‘riddle,' or if you can't manage that, try the word ‘puzzle.' Oh well, I don't suppose it can do any harm. Listen carefully now:

Brantalis waddled about, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “What is twixt supper and breakfast? I am not understanding.”

Molemum Burbee simplified the phrase with her logic. “Ee darkness bee's atwixt suppertoime'n'brekkist. Noight!”

Perant regarded her with newfound respect. “Good grief, you're right, marm!”

Burbee poured him a beaker of tea, adding, “Hurr, uz molers allus are, zurr. We'm no foozles!”

Sister Snowdrop interjected eagerly. “So, you could read the first two lines thus: ‘At nighttime find me in a place I was weary to be!' ”

The barnacle goose clacked his beak to gain attention. “I am thinking that would be in those strange nests you creatures call beds. Is that correct?”

The young Abbess smote a paw to her brow. “Very clever! All it really comes down to is this: ‘At night I am tired so I go to bed.' Gracious me, who needs Old Quelt when we can solve the riddle ourselves! Read on, Brother. What's the next bit?”

Perant recited the next two lines of the poem:

Nestling his beak down into his arched neck, Brantalis did his best to appear knowledgeable. “I am thinking that is . . . er, that is . . .”

The big bird ruffled his feathers huffily. “I am not knowing what to think. This riggul is stupid!”

Reluctantly, Abbess Lycian agreed with him. “Dearie me, it looks like we're confounded by another of Sister Geminya's strange quirks. What in the name of goodness is a top tactic one see? Really, I don't know who's the more irritating—Geminya or Quelt!”

“Oh, I'd say Geminya every time, Mother Abbess.”

They whirled around to the sound of a familiar voice. There stood Old Quelt, accompanied by Brinty, Girry and Tribsy. The ancient Recorder had crept up quietly, smiling disarmingly over his glasses at them.

“I do beg your pardon, stealing up on you like that. Is there any room for a few young friends to join you? And, of course, an irritating old busybody?”

The company was totally embarrassed except for Brantalis. “I am thinking there is room for anybeast who can solve rigguls, old one. Sit down and drink tea with us.”

Quelt gratefully accepted a beaker of tea. He sat down and began scanning Perant's copy of the riddle. “No doubt you've all solved the first two lines, my friends, and I have, too. Alas, it was this odd twist in the third line—‘Up in that top tactic (one see).' I confess it had me quite perplexed. Like yourselves, I was baffled—until young Girry provided the answer.”

Lycian seized the young squirrel and hugged him soundly. “You solved it? Oh, you combination of brains and beauty, tell us the answer this very instant!”

Girry spread his bushy tail down over his face, wriggling out of the Abbess's embrace. “It was all by accident, I think. Instead of starting at the beginning of the line, I began at the end. One see, that's a typical Geminya trick. The word ‘see' really means the letter C
.
‘Tactic' was the only word that contained two letter C's
,
so I removed one from it. When I spelled it out without the C, it read ‘tacti.' That didn't sound right, so I replaced it and removed the other C. ‘tatic.' It sounded a bit better, so I kept repeating it, and thinking hard. Tatic, tatic, tatic! I suddenly twigged on that this was one of those mixed-up word puzzles. What was the name you called it, sir?”

Quelt explained. “It's called an anagram, a jumble of letters which can be sorted out into a proper word. Tell them, Girry.”

“Five letters: an
A,
two
T's,
an
I
and one C. ‘Attic'! ”

Quelt shook the young squirrel's paw warmly. “Solved like a true scholar! So, what do we have now? Somewhere at night that Sister Geminya would retire to when she felt tired. A bed. And where will we find that bed?”

Brinty could not stop himself from blurting out, “In that top attic!”

The Recorder beamed. “Exactly! The very place that my young friends and I were just on our way to find. However, I thought it best to let you know, Mother Abbess, so you good creatures wouldn't feel left out. How would you feel about accompanying three young rips and one old fogey on a little quest?”