The Sable Quean (17 page)

Log a Log Jango made his report. “We lost three, if’n ye count the one Oakie just mentioned. She’s a daughter o’ mine, y’see.”

Furm, the mother of all three shrews, sobbed, “Petunia Rosebud, the one who calls ’erself Flib, is the eldest o’ the three. She’s always wanderin’ off an’ gettin’ into scrapes. Flib can take care of ’erself, but the other two, Midda an’ Borti, ain’t never gone off afore. My Midda’s very young, but she always looks after Borti, pore liddle mite—’e’s only a babe. Oh, I ’ope my Borti ain’t come to any ’arm!”

Furm broke down weeping; Jango could only stand awkwardly by. Guosim Log a Logs are not supposed to cry, though he did wipe a paw roughly across his eyes.

“Now, now, me ole darlin’, don’t worry, we’ll find ’em sooner or later. You say you lost young uns, marm?”

Marjoram placed a comforting paw around Furm. “A little squirrelmaid called Tassy and a molebabe, Guffy. They’ve been gone half a day and a night now.”

Buckler commented, “Hmm, seven young uns in all just vanished into thin air. There’s got to be an explanation. Mother Abbess. Has anything unusual happened round Redwall lately? Have ye spotted any strangebeasts lurkin’ about?”

Skipper spoke. “Aye, we caught a vermin, a young stoat, early yesterday. Sittin’ as pretty as ye please, stuffin’ ’imself with vittles in Friar Soogum’s kitchens.”

The good Friar piped up, “Huh, typical vermin, made a right old mess—food scattered everywhere. Skipper caught the villain, though. Gave ’im a right ole pastin’ with an oven paddle an’ made him clean it all up!”

Diggs heaved himself upright, stifling a belch. “Just as the blighter deserved, wot. Do ye still have the rogue? Me’n Buck should have a word with the blighter.”

Marjoram explained, “Alas, no. The Dibbuns went missing, so we all went off to search for them. The stoat escaped and hid himself up in the attics. He was seen, and we went up there to get him. That was when the tragedy occurred. Poor Brother Tollum and the wretched stoat were killed in the attempt to recapture him.”

Buckler paced up and down, deliberating. “The vermin must’ve had an accomplice outside the walls. Whoever it was is the one who took your babes!”

Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head sagely. “Hurr, wee’m figgered that owt already, zurr. But wot do us’ns doos abowt et?”

Abbess Marjoram interrupted. “May I say something? Coming from Salamandastron, no doubt you’ve heard of our Abbey founder, Martin the Warrior. Now, I know this is hard for you to grasp, Buck, but Martin spoke to me in a dream.”

The young hare shrugged. “Nothing new, Mother Abbess. Our Badger Lords have been known to have many visions that can’t be explained. What did Martin say?”

Marjoram repeated the words carefully. “Corim Althier—just those two words. I don’t know what they mean. However, just before the stoat died, I repeated the words to him. He didn’t seem at all familiar with the first word, Corim. But when I mentioned Althier, he looked very frightened. Globby—that was the stoat’s name—sat up and pointed to the open attic window. Then he said, ‘Althier . . . Sable Quean!’ That was all. He went limp and died. So that’s what we know. Corim, Althier, Sable Quean. What d’you make of it, Buck?”

Buckler stopped pacing. He remained silent awhile, thinking hard. Then he gave his verdict. “Well, I don’t know what either Corim or Althier means. You say the vermin looked frightened when you said Althier, then he said Sable Quean. To my mind, Sable Quean must be the title for some vermin ruler. So it follows that she has others in her service. Many others, that’s why she’s a Quean. The young ones were stolen from three different areas. So for some reason unknown to us, she’s stealing small woodlanders. Hedgehogs, shrews, a mole and a squirrelmaid. Right?”

A sudden thought occurred to Diggs. “Right you are, old scout. D’ye recall when we first met young Flib she was being attacked by those two vermin bullies? They had a rope round her—the cads were tryin’ to jolly well haul her off!”

Buckler picked up his sword. “So they were. You see? That proves there’s a whole band of vermin roamin’ the countryside, taking young prisoners!”

Granvy the Recorder scratched his chin. “So what can we do, except lock our gates, an’ keep close watch on our Dibbuns?”

Skipper thumped his rudder down with such force that he startled the old scribe. “Well, we couldn’t do much afore now, but we’ve got an army o’ Guosim an’ two warrior hares alongside us. We’ll form a band o’ fightin’ searchers!”

Buckler was in total agreement with the Otter Chieftain. “Aye, that’s the right move. We’ll leave Redwall during the night, in secret. Then we’ll hunt through Mossflower woodlands until we meet up with some o’ these vermin. We’ll ambush the scum and take some prisoners of our own. I’m sure if we ask ’em nicely, they’ll tell us all about Althier and this Sable Quean!”

Diggs fondled his loaded sling lovingly. “Oh, I’ll ask the blinkin’ bounders nicely, you can jolly well rely on that!”

Oakheart Witherspyk declared stoutly, “Well said, sirrah. Me an’ my gallant troupe are with ye!”

Log a Log Jango shook his head. “Sorry, Oakie. Yore lot are actors, not fighters. Ye’d just be in the way out there. Best thing you can do is stay ’ere an’ defend Redwall.”

Abbess Marjoram noted the crestfallen look on her old friend’s face, so she seized his paw anxiously. “Please say you will, Oakie. I can’t abide the thought of my Abbey lying undefended!”

Oakheart Witherspyk gave her paw a squeeze. “Fear not, gentle Marjy. My troupe and I will guard Redwall with our very lives. To defend this wondrous place will be my honour and privilege!”

Baby Dubdub tried, but got the words muddled. “Op pener rivilege!”

Under cover of darkness that night, the party headed out into the woodlands by the small east wickergate. Skipper and Buckler headed the column, with Sniffy a way out front, scouting the land. Diggs and Jango brought up the rear.

Everybeast was on the alert as they stole through the silent fastness of the woodland depths. A pale half-moon rode the scudding clouds over the breeze-swayed treetops. Behind them, the twin bells of the Abbey boomed the midnight hour.

Diggs could not resist smirking a bit as he nudged Jango. “D’ye hear that, old lad? A marvellous sound, ain’t it? Couldn’t have been done without the new bellropes y’know. I carried ’em all the way from Salamandastron on me own. Indeed I did! Lord Brang entrusted ’em to me, of course. ‘Diggs,’ he said, ‘Diggs, you make sure that these bellropes reach Redwall safely. You’re the only one I can bally well trust with ’em!’ ”

Jango hissed in the garrulous hare’s ear, “An’ did yore Lord Brang tell ye to get me killed when we’re out huntin’ vermin, by chunnerin’ on aloud all the time?”

The tubby hare replied huffily, “No, he didn’t, actually!”

Jango nudged him sharply in the ribs. “Then shut up, or I’ll shut ye up!”

They had been on the go for quite some time when Sniffy came stealing back through a fern bed. He cautioned the leaders, “Somebeast ahead blunderin’ about in a stream. I think there’s only one, but I can’t be sure. Couldn’t get close enough without bein’ seen.”

Buckler’s long rapier swished as he drew it from across his shoulder. “Right, Skip. Let’s take whoever it is.”

12

Thwip the fox jailer leaned against the door which separated him from the young prisoners in the cavern. Trailing the tip of his whip in the dust, he gnawed at a grimy claw.

His partner, the vixen Binta, saw his furrowed brow. “Wotsa matter with ye? Yer look like you lost a goose an’ found a wren. Wot’s up? C’mon, tell me.”

Thwip nodded at the prison cavern. “Somethin’s brewin’ in there, I’m sure of it, Binta.”

The vixen shrugged. “They seem all right t’me. Huh, always ’ungry or cryin’ for their mothers. Same thing as usual. Hah, yore worryin’ over nothin’, mate!”

The brutal fox shook his head. “No I ain’t. There’s somethin’ goin’ on in there, an’ I just can’t put me paw on it. Look, I’ll show ye.”

Drawing Binta close to the door, he whispered, “Ye can always hear those liddle nuisances in there, movin’ about, whimperin’ an singin’ daft songs about their homes an’ families. Lissen close—there’s not a sound comin’ from in there . . . right?”

The vixen took her ear from the door. “Right, but wot does that mean? They’re prob’ly sleepin’. Captives ain’t got much else t’do.”

Thwip lifted the lock bar silently, carefully. “Now, watch this!”

He flung the door open wide, almost knocking two small hedgehogs flat. He glared at Jinty and Jiddle, the Witherspyk twins.

“Wot are yew two doin’ stannin’ there like that, eh?”

Jinty was a good actress. She rubbed her stomach sadly. “We was on’y waitin’ for ye t’bring us vittles, sir. Will ye bring us some, please? We’re all ’ungry!”

Binta took a practised glance around the interior. All she saw was huddled groups of young ones lying about on the floor and the low ledges at the rear of the badly lit cavern. She drew Thwip to one side, muttering out the side of her mouth at him, “Y’see? I told yer there was nothin’ wrong. They all look sleepy an’ down’earted. Must be through all the time they’ve spent in this gloomy ’ole. Huh, you’d be the same if’n ye was one of ’em. Bein’ short o’ vittles, too, I’ll wager that breaks down any spirit they once ’ad. C’mon, let’s get outta this dungeon, afore it starts t’get us down, too!”

Thwip took a moment to peer about at the captives. “I don’t see nothin’ o’ that fierce liddle shrew, d’you? P’raps we’d best take a count of ’em, eh?”

Binta was beginning to lose patience with her mate. “If’n that mad shrew’s gone off in a corner an’ died, well, who’s bothered? Less trouble fer us, I say. An’ as fer takin’ a count, d’yer know ’ow many are in ’ere?”

Thwip coiled his whip up reluctantly. “No. Do yew?”

Binta gave an exasperated sigh. “No, I don’t, an’ I ain’t about t’start countin’ ’em. Wot’s the matter wid yew, are ye goin’ soft?”

Shoving Jinty and Jiddle to one side, Thwip stalked out, turning on his mate as she barred the door. “Lissen, smart-mouth—don’t yew start talkin’ t’me like that in front of the prisoners. I’m not ’avin’ it, so there. Just keep yer clever remarks to yoreself!”

Binta was in no mood to continue the argument. “Alright, keep yer brush on. Cummon, we’d better go an’ get the vittles. That lot’s gotta be fed, ain’t they?”

Back inside the cavern, Flandor, the young otter, hurried to the shield of grass, mud and woven twigs which disguised the tunnel entrance. Calla and Urfa, the two little leverets, were sitting with their backs against it.

Lifting the two baby hares out of his way, Flandor removed the shield and called into the hole, “You can come out now—they’ve gone!”

The Dibbun Guffy and his friend the molemaid Gurchen scrambled out, rubbing soil from their faces.

Guffy spat out a fragment of wood. “Zurr, ee Flimbeast bee’s stuck unner a gurt root in thurr, we’m bee’s a-tryen t’pull hurr owt!”

The young otter thumped his rudderlike tail impatiently. “Not again. That’s the fifth time she’s gotten herself jammed by roots!”

Gurchen was a well-mannered molebabe. She curtsied prettily before replying. “Burr, thurr bee’s more rooters than ee cudd shake a stick at en thurr. Et b’aint gunner be no h’easy job, oi tells ee, zurr h’otter!”

Flandor wriggled into the tunnel entrance, muttering, “I’m gettin’ a bit fed up o’ pullin’ little missy trouble out o’ roots. Ah, well, here goes!”

Tura and Midda stood by, giggling as they heard Flib being hauled out backward by Flandor.

“Yaargh! Ya great clod’oppin’ riverdog—yer rippin’ me tail out by the blinkin’ roots. Leggo!”

“Oh, go an’ boil yore head, shrew. If’n ye tried pushin’ harder, I wouldn’t ’ave to tug like this. Stop moanin’, I’ll have ye out soon!”

“Well, ’urry up, planktail, afore I suffercate!”

They tumbled out together just as Jiddle called from the door, “Here comes the vittles. I can ’ear the foxes outside!”

There was no time for Flandor and Flib to clean themselves up, so to cover their dishevelled state, they staged a fight in the middle of the floor. Actually, they were so mad at each other that there was little need for play acting. Thwip rolled the cauldron in on its trolley, followed by Binta with the water tub.

The vixen grinned, pointing at the pair tussling in the dust. “There’s yore mad shrew, tryin’ to slay that otter!”

Thwip curled his lip. “Hah, leave ’em an’ let’s ’ope they kills one another! Come on, yew lot. Line up ’ere if’n ye wants to eat!”

Binta broke off serving water and set about the fighters with her water ladle, beating them hard. “Break it up, now. Stop this fightin’, d’er ’ear me?”

Thwip sighed ruefully. “Yore right, mate. If’n anythin’ ’appens to ’em, ’tis us that gets it in the neck from the Sable Quean. You, shrew, any more trouble an’ ye don’t get vittles or water. Is that clear?”

Flib snarled at her jailer, “No vittles, eh? Lissen, foxy-face, yew try that an’ I’ll stuff that whip down yer gullet an’ make yer eat it!”