Rakkety Tam (10 page)

A golden haze stole into her imagination. Through it drifted a figure she recognised immediately. “I know you, sir. You are Martin the Warrior!”

The warrior's face was strong and kind as he smiled. “And I know you, Sister Armel. That is why I choose you. Hear me now.

 

My sword must be carried by maidens two:

one who sees laughter in all, and you.

Bear it southwest through Mossflower Wood,

to he who pursues the vermin Lord.

The Borderer who is a force for good,

that warrior who sold and lost his sword.”

 

The image of Martin began to fade, but Armel heard his parting words quite clearly.

“Wake now, Armel. Tell them of the Abbey pond.”

Though she was not aware of it, her meeting with the warrior had lasted a mere moment. Jem was still speaking of the lake he had recalled.

Armel came wide awake at the sound of her own voice speaking. “ ‘Where the sun falls from the sky, and dances at a pebble's drop.' That's your lake, Jem.”

The wandering hedgehog stared at her curiously. “How d'ye know that, Sister?”

Armel had forgotten Martin's visit, but she replied to
Jem's question instantly. “Oh, that's simple, really. When I was only a Dibbun, I often sat by the Abbey pond on summer afternoons. I could see the image of the sun on the water—it looked like gold. Many's the time Brooky and I threw pebbles at the reflection to see if we could hit it. The ripples caused by our pebbles made the sun on the water dance.”

Brooky broke out into laughter again. “That's right! Oh, you are an old cleverclogs, Armel. No wonder they made you Infirmary Sister. But I was the best pebble chucker—I hit the sun more times than you did. They should've made me Abbey Pebble Chucker. Hahahahaha!”

She looked around at the stern faces, and the laughter faded on her lips. “Oh, you lot are about as funny as a boiled frog!”

The Abbot polished his spectacles studiously to avoid smiling at the irrepressible ottermaid. “Well, friends, the pieces of our puzzle are beginning to fall into place. In fact, I've just solved a line myself!”

Sister Screeve glanced up from her writing. “Pray tell, Father.”

Humble repeated the lines. “ ‘Where wood meets earth I stop, safe from the savage son of Dramz.' Where does wood meet earth naturally? At the base of a tree, where else!”

Sister Screeve scanned her notes. “Right! So what have we got so far? We're looking for a sycamore tree overgrown by ivy, not far from a lake. This Walking Stone, whatever it is, has been buried at its base, safe from the savage son of Dramz, whoever he may be!”

Jem rose stiffly. “If I remember rightly, Dramz is the father of Askor, the one who was slain by his brother, Gulo the Savage. Dramz was the owner o' the Stone, but when he died, Askor took it an' ran. When we found Askor, he said that Gulo was chasin”im t'get 'old of the Stone. But that was last winter, an' we ain't heard o' Gulo ever since. I wonder why? Ooh, my ole back's playin' me up. If'n you'll excuse me, Cousin, I think I'll take a warm bath an' have a
nice liddle liedown on a soft Abbey bed. Too many seasons sleepin' on rocks out in the weather, that's my trouble.”

Abbot Humble stood up and took Jem's paw. “I'll walk with you as far as the Abbey. Mayhaps the rest of us might meet after supper this evening. We can talk further then. Come on, Jem, we're growing old together.”

The meeting broke up. Everybeast went off about their chores, which were many and varied in a place the size of Redwall Abbey. Old Walt had a split in his footpaw, which he, like Jem, attributed to long seasons of outdoor wandering. Armel asked him up to her Infirmary, where she kept some herbal salve to treat minor injuries. Brooky strolled up to the Infirmary with Armel, whilst Walt, who did not hold with sickbays and treatments, sat in the orchard, screwing up his courage to pay a visit.

As the young squirrel and her ottermaid friend walked through Great Hall toward the stairs, Sister Armel had the strangest feeling. She turned in the direction of the tapestry, and there, gazing straight at her, was Martin the Warrior's likeness. Then the mission he had entrusted to her suddenly dawned upon Armel. She gripped her friend's paw.

“Brooky, come with me. We've got to talk with Abbot Humble, straightaway!”

Yoofus Lightpaw was a water vole. Chubby-faced and snub-nosed, with long, glossy, chocolate brown fur, he was also a dyed-in-the-wool, incorrigible thief. Stealing was a compulsion with Yoofus, and he was very good at it. Although by nature he was an excellent little fellow—unfailingly kind, thoughtful and so generous that he would share his last crust with any creature in need—this did not alter the fact that Yoofus Lightpaw was the most expert thief in all Mossflower Woodlands. His wife—a dear, plump, homely creature named Didjety—was forever upbraiding him for his thieving ways, though secretly she was rather proud of her husband's extraordinary skills.

“Yoofus Lightpaw, ye dreadful ould beast,” she would say, “sure you'd rob the very stars from out the sky if they weren't nailed up there an' ye could reach them!”

Yoofus always took this as a compliment. Hugging and kissing her fondly for making such remarks, he'd often reply, “Arrah, Didjety me darlin', us Lightpaws was ever the same. As me ould granny used t'say while she robbed the
supper off of the table, ‘Don't fuss yoreself, me pretty sugarplum pie, an' I'll go out an' borrow somethin' grand for ye!' ”

Yoofus and Didjety lived in a neat bank burrow by a lake, the very one where Wandering Walt had cooled his wasp-stung tail. Their home boasted an exceedingly well-disguised entrance, which would hardly merit a second glance from the outside. Inside, however, was a veritable treasure cave. From wall to wall, across the ceiling and over the floors, it was draped, hung and adorned with the trophies of the water vole's highly questionable enterprises. There were pictures, musical instruments, plates, bowls, jugs and jewellery. Everything—from carved tailrings to woven paw bracelets, necklets, brooches and headbands—shone and glimmered in the rainbow hue of many patterned lanterns. All in all it was a wondrous dwelling to behold.

Yoofus roamed far and wide in search of plunder. He was well versed in woodland lore and knew the movements of most creatures throughout the green fastness of copses, glades and ancient tree groves of Mossflower.

It was a still, sunny noontide when the water vole, scouting the southwest woods, spotted a magpie nest. Yoofus liked nothing better than thieving from a thief; magpies were known to steal bright objects to decorate their nests. He hid behind the trunk of an elm and settled down to scrutinise the bird's abode.

After a short while, Yoofus was rewarded by the flash of black and white plumage as a large, handsome magpie flew out from the nest. He watched it winging its way between the trees gracefully, its wedge-shaped tail and fanlike wings weaving amid the foliage as it headed toward the southwest fringes.

Unlooping a coil of tough climbing rope from his middle, Yoofus murmured, “An' a fond good-bye to ye, sir. Don't hurry back now!”

Robbing a magpie nest could be a dangerous task. Big
and strong, these birds were fierce predators and totally ruthless with anybeast trespassing in their nests.

The magpie was almost out of sight when an arrow zipped upward, transfixing it. The bird fell to earth in an ungainly jumble of feathers, letting out a single harsh squawk. Overcome with curiosity, Yoofus rewound the rope about his waist and ran in the direction where the magpie had fallen. Acutely aware that danger was about, the volethief went cautiously. He was almost at the spot when he noted movement in a fern bed. Yoofus dropped behind a shrub, his paw going to the small dagger in his belt. Apart from a stonesling, this was the only armament he carried.

Four ermine, their fur patching from white to light tan with the lateness of the season, emerged from the grove of tall ferns. Each was armed with a short, curved bow and quiver of arrows. One of them retrieved the magpie's limp body, remarking to another, “That leaves only thee to get a bird, Grik. So far we have taken a woodpigeon, a starling and this magpie twixt us three. Woe betide thee if Lord Gulo sees thee returning empty pawed!”

Toting their bag of dead birds, the three ermine moved off, leaving the unfortunate Grik to hunt alone. Yoofus shadowed the ermine on his quest for prey. Grik got lucky suddenly. Ignorant of the ermine's presence close by, a song thrush trilled out its rapture from the branches of a witch hazel. Grik, who was not a proficient archer, shot the bird by pure fluke, slaying it with his first arrow. Flinging the thrush across his shoulder, the ermine set off back to camp, with Yoofus Lightpaw hot on his unsuspecting heels.

 

Shortly thereafter, the water vole was perched in a huge, high barberry shrub, studying the vermin camp. Other creatures may have been fearful at the sight of a hundred assorted ermine and white foxes, but not Yoofus. He saw the warriors of Gulo as a source of valuable loot. Many of them wore bracelets, pawrings and necklets of amber,
gaudy shells and coral. There was also a goodly selection of weapons in evidence. Yoofus determined to bring his wife Didjety a few trinkets, bracelets and such. For himself, it was mainly a big blade he coveted, a sword. Never having owned one, the vole dreamed of roaming the woodlands, sporting a decent blade at his side.

Yoofus settled down to await the coming of darkness. When the vermin were asleep, and the camp quiet, he would go to work. The thief rubbed his paws in anticipation.

 

Gulo the Savage gnawed on a partly cooked dove. Close by, tied with a rope running from their necks to a stake, were the two remaining River Rats, Runneye and Bluesnout. Cringing on the ground, the pair scrabbled, fighting each other for the scraps tossed to them by the wolverine.

He eyed them disdainfully. “So then, scum, how far off lies the Redwall place?”

Runneye had to think for a moment. “On'y be notfar now, Lord—aye, notfar I t'ink.”

The wolverine frightened them badly as he leaned forward, baring his fangs, his open mouth half-filled with meat. “Tell me again, what manner of beasts be those within its walls? How many strong are they, eh?”

Bluesnout whimpered. “Jus' woodlan' beasters, Lord, not warriors—jus' mouses, moles, 'edgepigs, an' not many. Dey be peacelike, never fight you, Lord!”

Gulo leaned back on the drum where he was seated, fondling its decorated rim. He chuckled wickedly. “Woodland creatures, not many in number an' peaceable. Methinks I like the sound of it. What say ye, Shard?”

The white fox captain reserved his judgement. “ 'Tis fortunate for us, but only if the rats speak truly, Lord.”

The savage's eyes narrowed menacingly. “Wisely spoken, Shard. I have it in mind that thou shalt take a score and scout out the Redwall place in secret. Only then shall we know the real truth.”

He leered cruelly at his two rat captives. “If ye have lied
to Gulo, I have a special punishment reserved for ye—one that will last many days and nights!”

Runneye and Bluesnout wept openly, pleading with Gulo.

“No lie, no lies, us speaks true, Lord!”

“Us tellya der troo't, pleeze don't 'urt us, Lord!”

Gulo's predatory eyes glittered as he stroked his captives' heads. “Hush now, cease thy whining. Live on in misery until my Captain returns. Then we will see how to treat thee. Shard, go swiftly. We will follow on behind and await thy report. Travel by night an' day.”

The captain bowed. “Thy wish is my command, O Mighty One!”

 

Peering steadfastly between the thorns and the yellow blossom clusters of the barberry, Yoofus saw night descend. He had seen a creature like Gulo before—in fact, he had watched it die beneath a fallen sycamore trunk. The water vole had witnessed Wandering Walt and Hitheryon Jem covering Askor.

Yoofus had not been close enough to hear what went on between Gulo, Shard and the two rats. It did not concern him unduly; he was a thief, not a spy. What otherbeasts did was no concern of his. He was interested only in himself and his wife.

Campfires burned low, and the vermin ceased eating and quarrelling. Sentries were posted at four corners of the encampment. The volethief marked their positions to ensure that the guards would be no hindrance to him. When the last of Gulo's creatures was huddled by the fires, slumbering soundly, Yoofus left the barberry bush and drifted like a wraith into the camp. Silent as a moonshadow, he slid past two heavy-lidded foxes propped up against the bole of an elm. He heard the captive rats whimpering softly, forced to sleep sitting upright, their necks bound tight against the stake. Yoofus allowed himself a moment's satisfaction. He hated River Rats, all of whom he considered bullies and murderers.

Scanning the slumbering group for the best targets, the
volethief chose four ermine who were sprawled around a small heap of glowing embers. A cauldron rested on the remains of the fire. Yoofus took a quick peep at its contents—half-stewed birds, still with their feathers on. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. What a pack of primitive beasts these vermin were!

First he lifted a tailband of blue-coloured cord, with coral beads strung on it, from an ermine. What sort of poor creature had this once belonged to? Moving on to the next vermin, he artfully unbuckled a belt of eelskin studded with amber drops. Didjety would be pleased with that! The next sleeper yielded a silver ring with a purple mussel pearl set on its shank. Very nice finding scum who had taste in other places besides their mouths, he told himself. Then he espied the banner! A white fox, sleeping apart from the rest, had it spread over him like a sheet.

Yoofus quivered with delight. What a find! Didjety would have many uses for such a fine object, perhaps as a wall curtain, a bedquilt or maybe a cloth to grace their dining table. The banner was attached by its four corners to a pair of spearpoles. The volethief drew his little knife and snipped through the hanging cords. When next he tickled the fox's nose lightly, the creature released the banner and snuffled, scratching the offending itch. Yoofus took the opportunity to remove the flag, slowly and gracefully. Then things went awry. The fox sneezed. Though still half asleep, it sat up blinking at him, muttering, “What be ye doing with yon fla . . .”

That was the furthest the vermin got. With eye-blurring speed, Yoofus seized a flagpole and whacked him squarely between the ears. The fox sat bolt upright for a moment, staring at him. Then the whites of its eyes showed, and it fell back, poleaxed. With his paws stinging from the impact, Yoofus placed the cracked pole aside carefully.

“Ah well, me ould foxie, ye'll sleep tight now, I'm thinkin'. Sure I'm sorry, but 'twas all I could do, y'see. Otherwise ye'd have wakened every rascal in the camp.”

The thief was bundling the banner up when he spotted
the fox's sword, thrust through the belt at its side. Yoofus raised his eyes joyfully to the sky. “Dame Fortune, me ould tatercake, may the sun always shine on ye. By all that's good'n'grand, a sword of me very own!”

Taking the fox's belt, he strapped it on with the sword hanging from it and struck what he fancied was a gallant stance. “Ah, well ain't I the fine picture of a villainous vole!”

The sentries were now slumped against the elm, snoring industriously. Yoofus tippawed past them, saluting cheerfully. Away he went, with the swordpoint scraping draped down over his back. Out on the trail once more, and clear of the camp, the irrepressible volethief broke into song.

 

“O, 'tis my belief that t'be a thief,

is a terrible thing t'be.

I tell ye straight that a thief I'd hate,

if he stole anythin' from me!

 

Come derry fol day folero,

an' chase me around the tree!

 

I'm bound to thieve though I never grieve,

when I lay me down to rest.

'Cos I love the job an' I like to rob,

'tis the trade that I knows best!

 

Come derry fol day folero,

I'll bet ye don't catch me!

 

I've tried t'be good for I knows I should,

but 'tis hard for me ye see.

I'm more than willin' t'be a villain,

an' I can't help bein' me!

 

O come derry fol day foloooooooo,

now 'tis my turn to chase you!”

 

The following morn dawned warm but grey and misty, shrouded in fine drizzle. Captain Urfig, the white fox whom Yoofus had felled on the previous night, was wakened by an agonising pain in his head. He touched the lump between his ears, groaning as fresh pangs lanced through his skull. Then the enormity of what had happened hit him like a thunderbolt. Images of the small, dark-furred creature, standing over him and swinging forcefully at his head with the flagpole, flashed before him. Then a brilliant starburst, followed by enveloping blackness, was all he could remember. Urfig struggled upright. His paw instinctively reached for his sword, but it was gone! Something between a whine and a sob escaped the fox's lips as he caught sight of the two poles and the severed cords on each side of him. The banner, too, was gone!

Gulo the Savage had entrusted him, as a high-ranking captain, with the flag. Urfig knew that his life was at an end. The wolverine would surely slay him for the loss of his standard—unless . . . ? Unless Urfig could think of an excuse that would satisfy his ruthless master. He tried to ignore his injured head, frantically seeking an alibi. There was no way that Gulo would accept the true explanation: his flag taken by some little woodlander? Never! Urfig wandered about distractedly until his eyes lit on the tracks Yoofus had left—scrapemarks where the swordpoint had dragged behind the vole and a blurring where the flag tassels had swept along with it. Urfig suddenly saw a ruse that might spare his life. It was a desperate chance, a wild gamble, but it had to be taken swiftly.