The Sable Quean (31 page)

The fat stoat’s face was trembling so hard that he could only stammer. “M-m-m-maj—”

The savage, fiery eyes penetrated his very being. “You never saw them at all, did you? The prisoners were already gone. I know they were. Tell me I’m right.”

The fat stoat had totally lost the power of speech. He was only able to nod his head. She turned her gaze on his three companions, selecting the rat.

“What did he tell you? Have no fear, speak.”

The rat was so relieved that he gabbled hurriedly, “Majesty, ’e said that they was asleep an’ ter let the new guards wake ’em when they serves vittles.”

She glanced at both the weasels, who were nodding furiously. Having heard what she wanted, Vilaya summed the situation up. “So, our prisoners have escaped. They never left this cave by the entrance. With sentries posted all over Althier, they would have been noticed right away. That means they left here by another way. What were they attempting last time, a tunnel? Search this cave for tunnels!”

The guards hastened forward but were halted by their ruler ’s upraised paw and her scornful voice.

“Fools, stay where you are. Dirva, you do it.”

The old rat cackled as she toured the area, tapping the walls with a stick. “All solid rock. Ye said yoreself to put ’em in one where they couldn’t tunnel out. So where’ve the liddle uns gone, eh?”

Dirva carried on around the walls, tapping high and low. “Like ye said, Mighty One, they ain’t left by the entrance. So where . . . where . . . where . . . ahaah!”

Dirva stopped at the disguised rift, beckoning lanterns to the spot. “This must be it!” She rooted amongst the loose rubble which was blocking the exit. “I was right—lookit this!”

The ancient rat was holding up a small wooden spoon, which had belonged to one of the young fugitives.

Vilaya inspected the escape exit. “Unblock it. Use your spearpoints and knives, quickly!”

The fat stoat, thinking he could redeem himself by helping with the work, grabbed his spear.

Vilaya shook her head. “Not you. Give me that spear.”

The stoat passed her the spear, pleading, “But, Majesty, I’ll find ’em for ye. Forgive me, Mighty One!”

The other Ravagers present turned their eyes away as the Quean lunged with the weapon. Vilaya looked down impassively at the dying stoat. “Now you are forgiven. How does it feel?”

The fat stoat died without saying a single word.

Vilaya sensed rather than saw Zwilt the Shade enter the cave.

Old Dirva watched him sweep by. “Well, lookit who’s back!”

The tall sable surveyed the scene quickly. “What’s been going on here?”

Vilaya countered the question with one of her own. “Where are the runaways you said you’d bring back?”

Zwilt had his story ready. He could not tell his Quean what really happened.

“The runaways are all dead. I caught up with them out in the woodlands. They fought, but I slew them all.”

Dirva sniggered. “An’ what of the four Ravagers who were with ye? I see they haven’t returned.”

Zwilt did his best to ignore her whilst continuing with his original enquiry. “They were slain in the fight. Where are the captives?”

Vilaya nodded toward the rear wall, where the guards were trying to break through with their weapons. “Somewhere, at the back of there—we’ll soon find out. Come on, you idiots, a few woodland babes did that. Put your backs into it, weaklings!”

Zwilt inspected the congested gap, noting the bent spearpoints and blades of the workers. “Hmm, that’s because it was blocked from the other side. Instead of trying to pull those rocks out, why don’t you try to push them back?”

Vilaya saw the wisdom in his suggestion. “Do as Commander Zwilt says. Jump to it, I want those captives found and brought back here!”

A sarcastic note crept into Zwilt’s tone. “And what if they’re not found? We’re due back at that Abbey sometime soon. I think your captives will be long gone by now. So what’ll you do then, O Mighty One?”

It was the insolent way in which Zwilt used her title that nettled Vilaya. Her eyes flashed angrily. “Tell me, O Great Commander who cannot bring back a few pitiful runaway guards, what would you do?”

Zwilt’s eyes betrayed nothing although he was seething inside. He did, however, broach a solution. “I would do what I first wanted to—attack Redwall. You saw how few real warriors they have. We have almost two hundred trained fighters. I could do it if you wanted me to.”

The Sable Quean paused as if pondering his suggestion. She gave her reply in a harsh regal voice. “I’ll tell you what I want you to do. I want you to realise that I’m your Quean! Now, help to get that rubbish out of the way and get after those escaped prisoners . . . or else!”

Zwilt kept his distance from Vilaya wisely, knowing how swift she could be with her tiny poisoned dagger. He dropped his paw to his sword hilt. “Or else what? You seem to have forgotten that I’ve slain more beasts than you’ve eaten suppers. I’ll obey you for now, but if the captives can’t be found, then I’ll conquer Redwall, with or without you!”

Vilaya smiled. “But for now you will obey me. So get to it, Zwilt. Bring the captives back here.”

The tall sable smiled back at her. “As you wish, Majesty. Step aside, if ye please.”

Vilaya stepped away from the blocked entrance.

Zwilt moved sideways to pass by her, remarking, “Now we know where we both stand, ’twould not be wise for me to turn my back upon you.”

Vilaya touched the crystal sheath which held her lethal little blade. She was still smiling.

“Aye, Zwilt, ’twould not be wise at all, though sometimes you do not even have to turn your back on the Sable Quean. Ask him.”

She walked gracefully off, pointing to the dead stoat.

 

It was a high summer day. From a cloudless blue sky, warm sunlight beamed down on the ramparts of Redwall Abbey. Abbess Marjoram peered out at the path to the south. It lay shimmering and silent. Diggs, Foremole Darbee and Granvy stood with Marjoram at the southwest wall corner.

Foremole wiped a spotted kerchief across his eyes, then looked away. “Hurr, moi ole eyes be wored owt a-starin’ at ee parth. They still h’aint nobeast a-cummen, nay, marm, thurr b’aint, an’ us’n’s bee’d yurr since brekkist.”

The Abbess was clearly worried. She expressed her fears openly. “Really, I’m at a loss what to do. The vermin and their Quean are supposed to be back today. I’ve got to give them an answer, but without Skipper and Buckler here, we’re at a disadvantage.”

Granvy turned his attention to the woodland area beyond the south common land. “We’d better just hope that Buckler’s party get back here ahead of the Ravagers. It’s only just midday—there’s time yet.”

Diggs was, as ever, cheerfully optimistic. “Indeed there is, marm. Lashin’s o’ the jolly old daylight left, eh, wot! Why, bless me snout if old Buck doesn’t come bowlin’ along at any blinkin’ minute. I’ll wager he’ll be singin’ a song an’ dancin’ a bloomin’ jig, bearing good tidin’s and happy news an’ whatnot. Don’t fret, marm!”

Marjoram could not help smiling at the ebullient hare. “You seem to put great faith in your friend.”

The tubby hare chortled. “Well, the blighter ain’t let me down yet, marm. Buckler Kordyne’s as true blue an’ trusty as anybeast alive, ye can take that from me!”

He turned to view the east and north walls, rubbing his paws in anticipation at what he saw. “I say, they’re bringin’ lunch around. Well, the bloomin’ cheek, servin’ those Guosim an’ Witherspyks first, instead of me, their superior officer!” Cupping paws around his mouth, Diggs bellowed to Friar Soogum and his helpers, “Never mind servin’ the rabble first. What about the quality chaps, eh? There’d better be loads o’ scoff left when ye get over here . . . or!”

Sister Fumbril roared back in a fearsome voice, “Or wot, ye young lard bucket?”

Her reply did not seem to bother Diggs, who grinned winningly as he called back, “Or we’ll starve, an’ you’ll never know the blinkin’ pleasure of our company ever again, so there!”

Friar Soogum yelled, “That’d be a mercy, sir!”

Pushing their trolleys, Soogum and his servers trundled up. The Friar waved a ladle. “Summer veggible soup, celery’n’apple crumble, with damson tart an’ blackberry cordial to follow. How’ll that suit ye, Mister Diggs?”

Disguising his delight behind a mournful face, Diggs scowled. “Hmmph, suppose a chap could manage to bally well force a bit down, wot!”

Sister Fumbril nodded southward across the walltop. “Well, don’t force too much down that famine face o’ your ’n. Mayhaps yore friends might like some?”

Abbess Marjoram wheeled about and spotted Buckler emerging from the fringe of the south woodlands. Whooping and yelling, she scrambled up onto the battlements. “Over here, my friend, over here!” She almost overbalanced, until Fumbril reached out and helped her down.

The big jolly otter laughed. “Calm down, Marj. He’d have a job to miss the sight o’ Redwall Abbey. Though ye don’t usually see a Mother Abbess dancin’ on the battlements!”

Drull Hogwife and Cellarmole Gurjee hurried to open the small south wallgate. Buckler, Jango, Skipper and Bartij stood to one side as Flib led the four Dibbuns inside.

Word had gone round the Abbey like wildfire. Redwallers came flocking down to meet Tassy, Guffy, Gurchen and Borti.

The Log a Log’s wife, Furm, threw herself upon the babe. “Oh, Borti, my liddle Borti, yore safe!”

Though still not fully recovered from her injuries, Clarinna had hastened down from the Infirmary. Pushing her way through the onlookers, she wailed, “My babes, Urfa, Calla, where are they? You said that you’d bring them back, Buckler. Where are they?”

Buckler signalled Sister Fumbril. Between them, they ushered the distraught mother back to the Abbey as Buckler reassured her in a hopeful manner. “Don’t worry, Clarinna. I know exactly where they are. Now we have the vermins’ location, I’ll make sure that your babes are back with you shortly.”

Abbess Marjoram, who had heard Buckler, whispered to Skipper, “Is that right? D’you know where the little ones are being held?”

The Otter Chieftain called out aloud, “No sense in whis perin’ about it, marm. There’s some here who’d like t’know where their Dibbuns are, right?”

Marjoram held up her paws as the assembly began a clamour. “Everybeast not on wall duty go to the orchard. We’ll take lunch there and hear all the news from our friends.”

Dymphnia Witherspyk blew her snout upon her apron hem. “Oh, I won’t be able to eat a single bite until I know about my twins, Jiddle and Jinty. Are they alive an’ safe?”

Oakheart put his paw about her comfortingly. “Now, now, my dear. Come along and we’ll hear the news together. Forget the food.”

Their impudent son, Rambuculus, sniggered, “Never mind, Ma. I’ll scoff yore lunch for ye!”

Trajidia cast out a paw dramatically, which accidentally caught Rambuculus square on the jaw, felling him. Trajidia ignored his prostrate figure, giving theatrical vent to her feelings. “Oh, brother, you heartless wretch, have you no feelings for your kinbeasts and our dear parents?”

The Witherspyk grandmother, Crumfiss, prodded Trajidia with her stick. “Well hit, young un. Leave him there an’ let’s git some lunch. I’m famished!”

Passing over his command to the Guosim Divvery, Diggs came down from the ramparts to join his companion.

“What ho, Buck! As y’see, I’ve kept an iron paw on things back here, stemmed a shrew mutiny an’ had the defenders on their mettle in good style. So, give us the news, mate. When do we launch a full-scale attack on the rascally old vermin types, wot? I’ve worked up a super ambush for when they run up here today. Now, what we do is this—”

Buckler interrupted him. “I don’t think they’ll be coming back today, Diggs. We had a small run-in with Zwilt an’ a few others back there. Four of ’em went down, but Zwilt got away. Shame, really. I was longin’ to cross blades with that evil scum.”

 

Twilight was falling over the orchard by the time everything had been talked about.

The Abbess went over what had been said. “So what you’re saying is that this Warrior mole Axtel knows exactly where the young uns are imprisoned.”

Skipper nodded. “Right, marm. I know the place myself. In fact, I’m sure I could find it. That big oak, it’s a whole pile o’ caves an’ passages under the roots.”

Granvy interrupted. “It’s the hideout which the vermin call Althier—but really it’s the old Corim headquarters that was known originally as Brockhall.”

Marjoram sipped some cold mint tea. “Then I take it you intend attacking the place to free the young uns. But what about the Sable Quean and the beast called Zwilt?”

Buckler shrugged. “It doesn’t look like they’ll be payin’ us a visit today, but that doesn’t mean they won’t show up, marm. Maybe they’re on their way here right now, though somehow I doubt it. Anyhow, if they don’t show up by midday tomorrow, it ain’t likely that they will. But the Abbey must still be defended, or at least, seem to be defended.”

The Abbess put aside her tea. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Skipper winked at Marjoram. “Let me explain, marm. Just after midday tomorrow, Buck an’ Diggs are goin’ to slip out o’ Redwall. With them’ll be the Log a Log an’ all the Guosim fighters. They’ve laid their plans for a surprise attack on Althier, an’ if’n it all goes well, the rest o’ the young uns will be back at our Abbey afore long.”

Marjoram looked slightly perplexed. “But doesn’t that leave us short of defence here?”

Now it was Diggs’s turn to speak. “Not at all, dear marm, for I have worked out an absolutely spiffin’ wheeze. Haha an’ hoho, leave it to clever old Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite, the super tactician, an’ be not alarmed, O Superior Mother of this Abbey!”

Marjoram turned appealingly to anybeast within earshot. “What in the name of all seasons is he talking about?”