[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (35 page)

Skipper pondered a moment before replying. “A lilylivered spineless toad! Beggin' yore pardons for the language, marms.”

Girry shook his head. “They're not the names I'm after. How about calling a coward a cur?”

Skipper repeated the name. “Cur, aye, that's a good 'un.”

Girry continued. “Now look at the last two words of that line: ‘in at.' Move them about, and they become ‘tain.' Add the ‘cur,' and what do you have?”

The otter smiled brightly. “Cur . . . tain . . . curtain!”

Sister Snowdrop looked over her small square glasses. “And ‘you'll find your heart's desire, by adding a backward liar.' ‘Liar' spelled backward is ‘rail.' You see?”

Abbess Lycian clapped her paws. “How clever, curtain rail! What splendid creatures my Redwallers are. The lance of Corriam has been up there for ages, pretending to be a curtain rail!”

Skipper took hold of the lance, examining it carefully. “ 'Tis a fine ole weapon, sure enough. Made o' good hard wood. I've never seen timber like this afore. Good balance, too, a real warrior's lance. Look at the middle, made o' silver!”

Spitting on the metal, he rubbed dust upon it, then polished it against his tunic until it glittered. “Aye, silver! Didn't the story say that the lance was smashed, an' ole Corriam mended it by wedgin' a silver sleeve over the broken bits? A clever piece o' work.”

Touching one of the lancetips, the Abbess shuddered. “Beautiful but dangerous, like most weapons. Built for only one purpose—to kill. Things like this frighten me!”

“Ahoy upstairs, here's yore rope comin' up!”

Brink had returned again. He threw the rope, but not high enough. It snagged on a ledge lower down. Skipper reached out and looped it over the lancetip. He hauled the rope up and tied it round himself.

“I'll lower ye down one at a time. You first, Sister.”

Once they were safely back with the main party, molemum Burbee hugged her friend the Abbess. “Oi'm surrpintly glad to see ee back in one piece, moi dearie. May' aps us'n's should be takin' tea an' cakes down in ee kitchings.”

Lycian kissed Burbee's velvety old cheek. “A splendid idea, lots of tea and plenty of cakes for everybeast. I certainly think we all deserve it!”

Happy that their mission had proven successful, the Redwallers made their way downstairs, laughing and chattering. They had hardly entered the kitchens when Brother Perant came hurrying up in a state of great agitation.

“Skipper, Brink, come quickly, before that crazy bird kills somebeast. It's out on the lawn!”

Gripping the lance, the otter chieftain raced out across Great Hall. “Keep those Dibbuns inside. Brink and you others, come with me!”

As they reached the Abbey door, a cacophony of sound could be plainly heard from outside. The harvest mouse Gatekeepers, Oreal and his wife, Hillyah, were frantically trying to distract the gannet away from Irgle and Ralg, their twin babes. The hungry predator loomed over the little ones, determined to eat them. Oreal and Hillyah kept running at the big bird, shouting and waving their paws, which were bleeding from where the maddened bird had pecked them. The babes were wailing piteously, hugging each other tight, trying to hide in a clump of lupins. Having tasted blood, the gannet was shrieking and squawking defiantly, bent on taking its prey. Adding to the din and confusion, Brantalis waddled speedily into the fray. Honking and hissing, the barnacle goose attacked the gannet, beating wildly at it with outspread wings.

Sizing up the situation at a glance, Skipper roared out above the melee, “Everybeast, stay back! Brink, take Girry, Tribsy an' Brinty with ye! Circle round an' get the main gate open! We've got to herd that bird outside an' lock it out!”

Wielding the lance of Corriam, Skipper charged the gannet. Brantalis was fighting gamely but was getting the worst of the exchange. He was no match for the ferocious bird's webbed talons and lightning-swift beak.

Skipper came quickly to his rescue. The courageous otter plunged into the brawl of feathers, flapping wings, beaks and claws. He dealt the gannet a punishing blow to the neck, using the lance like a quarterstaff.
Rap! Thud!
Two more hard smacks across the gannet's back sent it reeling. Immediately it came back at Skipper, who jabbed at it as he circled. The Gatekeepers took advantage of the moment to nip in and rescue their babes.

Skipper was calling to Brantalis, “Don't let that bird get back to the Abbey. Keep it movin' toward the main gate!”

The Cellarhog and his three helpers had the gates open wide, all shouting words of encouragement as Skipper and the barnacle goose drove the enraged gannet toward it.

“Keep the villain comin', Skip!”

“Burr, watch ee owt furr he'm beak, zurr!”

“Don't let the rascal get behind ye, mate!”

“Oh well done, sir! Give him another whack on the tail, he didn't like that at all!”

The gannet was still looking for a chance to do some damage, though now it was in retreat and almost out of the main gate. In their anxiety to get the bird out, Brantalis and Skipper collided. They went down in a heap.

Girry saw the gannet turning to renew its attack. Throwing caution to the winds, he ran out from where he and his companions were sheltering behind the gate. Flinging himself bodily on the gannet, he kicked, pummelled and punched the startled bird, yelling, “Gerrout, you big bully, out of our Abbey!”

The gannet stumbled, regained its balance and dealt Girry a vicious peck, which pierced his ear. Brinty came dashing to the aid of his friend. His assault on the foebird was so sudden that he forced it out of the gates, onto the path. Shaking with fright but amazed at his own audacity, the young mouse turned, waving and grinning at the Redwallers, who were pouring across the lawns.

“Redwaaaaalll! Haha, we did it!”

Nobeast was prepared for what happened next. Behind Brinty's back, a young rat leaped out of the ditch on the opposite side of the path. He was brandishing a crude sword fashioned from a scythe blade. The rat struck Brinty down with one cruel slash.

“Told yer I'd pay ye back someday, didden't I?!”

It was Groffgut, leader of the young water rat gang. He turned to run but was stopped by the lance of Corriam. Skipper had thrown it true and hard. Groffgut stared stupidly at the lance sprouting from his chest. Then he fell dead without a sound.

The gannet had stumbled into the ditch. The screams emanating from there indicated that he had at last found food, the remainder of the water rat gang. Brink Greyspoke, the first Redwaller to reach Brinty, carried him hastily into the gatehouse. Girry and Tribsy followed him anxiously. Skipper went to retrieve the lance and found it broken for the second time. Groffgut had fallen clumsily, his weight having knocked the lance sideways, causing it to snap. Picking up the broken halves, Skipper pushed Groffgut's carcass into the ditch. It fell in a heap on two other bodies: Plugtail's and Frogeye's. The gannet glared up at the otter, who had disturbed its grisly feast. The otter chieftain met its gaze with narrowed eyes.

“Here's another one for ye. I suppose the rest have run off—well, no matter, mate. You carry on with yore vittles, then go an' track 'em down, easy meat, eh? But I warn ye bird, show yore beak in Redwall again, an' I'll slay ye!”

The gannet got the message. It watched Skipper stride back into the Abbey grounds and lock the gate. The big bird gave a satisfied squawk and returned to its gruesome fare.

Skipper could not bear to go into the gatehouse. He skirted the doorway, which was packed with shocked Redwallers who could not get inside.

Brink was sitting on the west wallsteps, weeping unashamedly. “Pore young Brinty! He didn't stand a chance, Skip.”

The otter sat down beside his friend, at a loss to say something about the untimely death of Brinty. He dropped the broken halves of the lance into Brink's lap.

“At least I got the scum who murdered him. This lance is wrecked, mate. Cellarhogs are good at carpentry. D'ye think it could be repaired?”

Sniffing loudly and scrubbing a paw across his eyes, Brink strove to get back to normality. He inspected the broken ends closely. “May'aps I could, Skip. 'Tis only the wood at the middle come adrift from this silver sleeve wot's been holdin' it t'gether. Here, what's this? There's somethin' jammed inside the sleeve.”

Brink tapped the tube of beaten silver against the wallstep until a piece of yellow metal protruded from its end. He took a grip of the metal in his strong, blunt claws. “You hold onto the sleeve, Skip. I'll get this out.”

Skipper grasped the sleeve tightly, whilst Brink jiggled the thing free. It was a slender circlet of pure gold, which had been squashed flat to fit inside the sleeve. Set into the gold was a big green stone of uncanny brilliance.

They looked up, discovering Old Quelt as the speaker. “What you have there, my friends, is the crown of the High Queen Rhulain!”

 

After a while, Abbess Lycian had to clear the gatehouse of mourners. Molemum Burbee, with Grudd Foremole and his crew, would take on the sad task of dressing Brinty in a clean habit and preparing the young mouse for his final rest. Even amid all the sorrow, word had got out of Skipper and Brink's discovery. To take their mind off things, the kindly Brink invited all the Redwallers to his cellars, where they could watch him restoring the coronet.

Lycian sat with her paws around Girry and Tribsy, trying to cheer them up. “Come on now, imagine what Brinty would say if he could see you both, wailing like a pair of Dibbuns on bath night! We've found Tiria's crown for her. Now watch what Mister Greyspoke is doing.”

Brink had covered the head of a wooden mallet with a soft cloth. He had looped the squashed coronet around the spur of his anvil. Moving the coronet around slowly, he beat at it gently, explaining the process as he worked.

“Pure gold is a soft metal, easy to shape. If'n ye go gently, it shouldn't crack or break. Softly does it now, never beat too hard, an' be careful not to hit the pretty green stone. There now, that should do it!”

He held the restored coronet up for all to see. “A crown fit for the head of a queen, eh?”

The onlookers stared admiringly at the beauty and simplicity of the object.

When drinks had been served all around, Abbess Lycian made a small speech. “Redwallers, it is always sad when we lose one of our friends. More so, when it is a young creature who was not fated to live out his full seasons. We will never forget Brinty. Let us drink to all the happy memories we have of him. To Brinty!”

Everybeast repeated the name and drank. In the silence that followed, Skipper had a word to say. “He was a good an' cheerful young mouse, an' a true friend to all, includin' my daughter Tiria.”

Girry felt he had to say something. “He saved me from the gannet. Brinty was very brave!” Then the young squirrel touched the bandage around his ear and fell silent.

Tribsy made a visible effort to finish the tribute. As he spoke, tears coursed down the young mole's homely face. “Hurr, our pore Brinty, he'm wurr ee bestest friend us'n's ever haved! We'm be a missin' 'im furrever.”

Tiria had never been beneath the sea before. It was strangely silent, with only the muted sound of an air bubble or two. Translucent green light from above gave the subterranean world an oddly sinister aspect. As Tiria descended, keeping one paw on the rock face and the other gripping her lifeline, the water grew colder and colder. The outlook became decidedly gloomy as the ottermaid progressed downward. Soon she could see no further than her extended paw. The young ottermaid began to wonder just how far down the Rhulain's wrecked ship lay.

Then she felt her rudder scrape the seabed—a mass of gritty sand, kelp, rock and little else. Feeling slightly cheated that she had not landed on the deck of the submerged vessel, Tiria groped about with her free paw. Nothing! She began to wonder if maybe the wreck had been moved by undersea currents or perhaps, after all the long ages, it had disintegrated and sunk beneath the sand. Who was to say? Then her footpaw struck something. She bent to discover what it was and felt a heavy ship's timber protruding from the seabed amid a jumble of rocky debris. Sifting her paw into the sand, Tiria encountered another object and pulled it free, holding it close to her face. It was smooth, with some holes in it, a sickly pale white thing. A large bubble burst from her mouth as she gasped in horror. It was the skull of an otter! She was standing on top of a mass grave. All the bones of the crew were trapped within the sunken hulk, lying beneath an impenetrable weight of sand and rock. Searching for a slim gold coronet in these cold lonely depths was a fool's errand, an impossibility. Tiria pushed off from the scene, bitterly regretting the failure of her mission.