The Sable Quean (37 page)

She toppled forward, facedown on the streambank.

Zwilt placed a footpaw upon his fallen foe. “Now let us conquer the Abbey of Redwall!”

Spears, blades and various weapons were raised as the vermin horde yelled aloud, “Zwilt! Zwilt! Zwilt the Shaaaaaade!”

A smile of triumph lit up the tall sable’s saturnine features. He raised the broadsword, intending to behead the Sable Quean, but halted as he felt somebeast tugging at his cloak. It was the ferret Gliv.

“ ’Twould be a bad omen to cut her again, Lord. Let me bury this so-called Sable Quean here on the bank. I’ll bury her deep, where worms will feed on her carcass—’tis all she deserves. Vilaya, ruler of worms, beetles and insects, she can feed her subjects!”

The tall sable stayed his sword paw. “Aye, Gliv, we’ll never know how many of them she can kill with her little poisoned dagger. Bury her where the earth is cold and damp.”

 

Log a Log Jango and Axtel Sturnclaw, along with their patrols, sat with their footpaws in the cooling streamwater, outside of the water vole’s home. Mumzy bustled about, replenishing their platters with weighty portions of her damson and apple turnover. She shook her head sadly.

“An’ ye didn’t find any o’ those liddle uns out there. Sure, I wonder where the pore babbies have got to?”

Jango washed the turnover down with some elderflower cordial. “We ain’t found ’em yet, marm, but soon as we’ve fed our faces an’ cooled our paws, we’ll be off lookin’ for ’em agin, ye can take my word for that!”

Axtel was already up and alert, testing his wounded limb. “Yurr, ee streamwatter bee’s gurtly coolen, moi ole futtpaw’s ready t’go agin, marm.”

“Ahoy, the camp—friends comin’ in!”

Jango shielded his eyes, peering to where the shout had come from. “It’s Buckler an’ his crew. Looks like they ain’t had much luck either, though they’re comin’ pretty fast.”

Buckler and his followers were breathing heavily. Jango moved along the bankside.

“Looks like ye’ve been coverin’ some ground, mate. Here, siddown an’ cool yore paws. Try some o’ Miz Mimzy’s vittles. She can bake a fair ole turnover.”

The young hare remained standing, gathering his breath. “No time for that, Jango—we nearly ran into the full pack o’ Ravagers back there. Lucky they never saw us, but they’re on the move, an’ that Zwilt beast is leadin’ ’em. They’re headed for Redwall, we heard the shouts. Get Diggs an’ the rest. We’ve got t’get back to the Abbey, double quick!”

Casting aside his empty plate, the Guosim Chieftain stamped streamwater from his footpaws.

“Ravagers marchin’ on Redwall, ye say? Form up an’ move out, Guosim, there’s no time t’waste! Er, about Diggs, he ain’t with us. I thought he was with you, Buck?”

Buckler looked distracted for a moment, then he sighed. “Well, he ain’t. I haven’t clapped eyes on Diggs since we were searchin’ the caves at Althier. Well, Diggs’ll have to look out for himself. We can’t stop now—got t’go!”

Mumzy picked up a half-finished chunk of turnover. “But wot about the liddle uns, Mister Buck?”

The young hare shook his head. “No sign of ’em yet, an’ they weren’t with the vermin, so we’ll have to call off searchin’ for ’em until after we’ve defended the Abbey. If’n either the young uns or Diggs turns up here, I’ve no doubt you’ll take ’em in an’ care for ’em, marm. We’ll be indebted if y’do. Take care of yourself, friend!”

Buckler gave the water vole a swift salute with his blade and hurried off with Axtel and the Guosim.

 

Diggs was still wandering about in the caves and tunnels beneath the great oak. The plain fact was that the tubby hare was lost. He had become separated from the group he was searching with. Unwittingly, he had ambled into Vilaya’s personal chamber, where he found some wine, a cooked trout and wheat bread, all intended for the Sable Quean’s private consumption. Not wanting to share his find with the others, he settled down to a lucky repast, munching away and chunnering as he justified his actions.

“Bloomin’ Guosim chaps wouldn’t share it with me if they’d have found it, rotters! Well, yah boo, shrews, you can go an’ blinkin’ well whistle for your share. Mmmm, not too bad, if I say so m’self, rather tasty, in fact. Huh, this must be the officers’ mess. Treat themselves pretty well, these vermin cads, wot. Oh, bother ’n’blow, the confounded torch has gone out now!”

After trying unsuccessfully to blow the sparks back into flame, he did what he would normally do after a meal—took a short nap.

Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite’s idea of a short nap was rather lengthy. He woke in complete darkness and silence. Yawning and stretching, the portly young rogue felt his way out of the cave, calling to his fellow searchers for assistance.

“I say, buckoes, fetch a light here, if y’d be so kind?”

There was no response to his cries, which annoyed Diggs.

“Huh, dratted spiky-headed fiends, it’s just like you t’leave a chap in the dark, an’ it’s prob’ly suppertime, too. Right, desert me. I don’t jolly well care. Hah, but wait until I catch up with you, laddie bucks. I’ll have a word or three t’say about comradeship an’ all that. By the right, left’n’centre I will, believe me!”

How long he rambled through the darkened underworld of caves and tunnels, Diggs could not say. It was only by pure accident that he managed to find himself at the broken-down door in the big oak trunk. Diggs staggered out thankfully. “Ahah, good old fresh air again, wot!”

He heard a rustle in a nearby bush. Drawing his sling, Diggs loaded a heavy chunk of rock into it. He advanced on the bush, twirling his weapon purposefully.

“Front’n’centre, come on out an’ face me, you lily-livered maggot. Yowoooh!”

A stone hit his slinging paw, causing him to drop it. A dark form thundered out of the brush, laying him flat with a mighty body charge. Diggs struggled to rise, but a footpaw, which felt like a stone shelf, held him pinned to the ground. He found himself staring up into the fierce brown eyes of a large, powerful badgermaid. She was twirling a sling twice the size of the weapon he carried. It was loaded with a boulder. She growled menacingly, “Tell me where my friend is, and I might allow you to live!”

23

Moonless night had settled over the watermeadow. The young beasts were huddled together sleeping soundly. Midda and the Witherspyk twins were wide awake. They lay stomach down, scanning the darkened landscape.

Jiddle murmured, “What’s keepin’ Tura? She’s been gone for ages.”

Jinty rubbed her eyes. “Well, she’s prob’ly searchin’ around the island, right, Midda?”

The Guosim maid nodded. “Aye, first she’s got to find where old bees in the bonnet has his den. That’s where he’ll have taken Diggla. Mad ole beast like that, ’twouldn’t surprise me if’n he made his nest up in a tree, like a bird. Jiddle’s right, though, Tura’s been gone a long time now. Too long for my likin’.”

“Shall we go an’ search for her?”

Midda rejected Jiddle’s suggestion. “No. It might cause confusion, an’ if the babes wake to find us gone, they’ll bawl the place down. Hush, now, I thought I heard somethin’. . . .”

Triggut’s wild laughter caused them to jump with surprise. “Hahaaarrhaaaarrr! Heard somethin’? So yew did, but don’t fret, ’twas only me. Here’s yer liddle bushytail friend. Yew kin have ’er back this time. . . .”

Tura, gagged, bound and stunned, was flung into the captives’ camp. When Triggut called out of the darkness again, his temperament had changed. Now the mad hog was irate and threatening. “Next time yew try any clever tricks, I’ll send yore mouseybabe back to yew. His ears first, then his tail an’ snout. Maybe the followin’ night yew’ll get his paws an’ tongue. Do I make meself clear?”

A groan of defeat came from Midda. “Alright, we understand—it won’t happen again!”

With a final burst of insane merriment, Triggut skipped blithely off into the night.

Jinty Witherspyk loosed the squirrelmaid of her gag and bonds, bathing her face with some cool water. Tura was totally miserable.

“You wouldn’t believe it, but that crazy creature has a crew of toads guarding him. I was creepin’ up to his den, when suddenly they were all over me. Yurgh! Damp, slimy beasts, they sat on me an’ croaked until the madbeast came runnin’ an’ cracked me over the head with his staff. Then he tied me up like an ole bundle o’ washin’. I thought he was goin’ to kill me!”

Midda inspected the bruise on Tura’s brow. “But he didn’t. You’ll live. Did you get to catch sight of little Diggla?”

Tura shook her head. “I never even got into Triggut’s den. Well, wot’s our next move, mates?”

Jiddle Witherspyk yawned wearily. “I dunno. Just sit an’ wait, I s’pose. Wot else can we do, eh?”

His twin sister agreed glumly. “Not a lot. Triggut Frap might act crazy, but he’s certainly outsmarted us.”

Midda stared at both young hogs in disgust. “Defeated already, are we? Seasons o’ slutch, you two should hear yoreselves. Ye make me feel ashamed to know ye!”

Tura shot her friend a reproving glance. “They’re right, though. We ain’t got much to sing’n’dance about, now, have we?”

The Guosim maid glared at all three, launching into a scathing diatribe, which brooked no argument. “Where were we a day ago, eh? Locked up in an underground cave, all dark’n’gloomy. We were eatin’ slop an’ drinkin’ dirty water. Vermin with spears were standin’ over us. One of our mates, a fine young otter, was murdered by that Sable Quean. So tell me, wot did ye have for supper tonight? Fresh fruit an’ berries, with clean water t’drink. An’ where are we now? I’ll tell ye! Out in the open air, under the stars on a summer night, without vermin watchin’ every move we make. Hah, lookit yore faces! Oh, poor ole us, ain’t we the unlucky ones, still alive an’ kickin’. It ain’t right, I tell ye. Shouldn’t we all be dead like poor Flandor? Huh, you lot make me sick!”

Tura had taken enough. She stood snout-to-snout with Midda, giving the Guosim a piece of her mind. “An’ you make me sick, with all yore shoutin’ an’ yellin’. Who do ye think ye are, scraggymouse?”

Midda bristled. “I know who I am—a Guosim shrew, ye jumped-up bushtailed boughbender!”

Jiddle and Jinty rubbed their paws gleefully. They sensed an insult bout starting, so they called encouragement to the pair.

“Don’t let her call ye that, Tura. Tell Midda wot ye think of her, go on!”

That started the contest in earnest. They stood paw-to-paw, hurling insults at one another.

“Ho ho, boughbender, is it? Ye wet-bottomed water wobbler!”

“Hah, listen to ole weasel whiskers the nutnibbler!”

“Huh, I’ll bet ye wish ye had a real tail, an’ not a damp piece o’ string, Guosimguts!”

“If’n I had a tail like that thing o’ yores, I’d hire it out to sweep dusty caves!”

“Aye, an’ if’n I had a face like yours, I’d change me job to frightenin’ frogbabes!”

“Bottlenose! Baggypaw! Bumptious bum!”

Tura tried hard to hold a straight face, then broke out into a fit of the giggles. “Oh, heeheeheehee! Hahahaha! Bumptious bum? Hahaha! Where’d ye get that one? Bumptious bum. Heeheehee!”

Midda could not resist joining in her friend’s merriment. “Hahahaha! I just thought it up. Hohoho! It’s a good un, ain’t it? Bumptious bum, hoohoo!”

Jiddle and Jinty were chuckling, both holding their ribs.

Tura wiped tears from her eyes. “Heeheehee, oh, stop it, please. Bumptious bum, that’d be a good name for old madbrain. Bumptious bum!”

Midda corrected the squirrelmaid. “The way all his spikes are fallin’ out, maybe we’d better call him bare bumptious bum. Heeheehee!”

Triggut’s insane cackles halted the merriment. From somewhere nearby, he called to them, “Haharrharr, may’aps yew’d best stop all yore noise an’ get some rest. Yew start on my new house tomorrer!”

They held their din momentarily, lying down with closed eyes until they heard the crazy hog retreating.

Jiddle opened one eye and waved a paw in his direction. “Good night . . . bare bumptious bum!”

The smothered giggles continued until they finally dropped off to sleep.

 

Vilaya the Sable Quean awoke slowly, her left side ablaze with pain. Gliv the stoat was bending over her doing something.

“Lie still, Vilaya. Your wound must be sealed, or you’ll bleed to death. This is goin’ to hurt.”

Gliv drew the spearblade from the fire she had built. Vilaya screeched in agony as the red-hot spearhead pressed against the broadsword gash under her ribs. Smoke wreathed up. A stench of scorched fur and flesh permeated the air.

Peering close, the stoat inspected her work. “That’s done the job. Now all ye’ve got t’do is live an’ get well agin. I ain’t no healer, so I’ve got no potions or lotions to give ye.”

The Sable Quean watched as Gliv bandaged the injury with strips torn from her silken cloak. Vilaya was mystified by the stoat’s behaviour.

“I know you. I’ve seen you whispering with Zwilt. You’re one of his spies, aren’t you?”