The Sable Quean (35 page)

“Wot’n the name o’ Hellgates is that?”

His companion, an older river rat, touched the limp body with his spearpoint. “It’s a big dead fish. ’Twon’t harm ye. Huh, ye can always tell Zwilt the Shade’s passed through by the deadbeasts lyin’ about.”

His companion grimaced as he steered a course away from the horrifically slashed eel. “Aye, that’s true enough. Death seems t’foller Zwilt.”

The river rat continued grimly, “Take it from me, mate. Try t’stay out the way when Zwilt an’ Vilaya meets up. That’ll be a sight to see, an’ make no mistake. Those two are bound to go head-to-head, an’ we’ll be left to foller the winner!”

His mate tried speculating as they ploughed through the dark icy water. “Who d’ye think’ll come out on top?”

The river rat shrugged. “Yore guess is good as mine!”

Torches and lanterns cast rippling eerie shadows on the damp tunnel walls as they advanced gingerly into the unknown. Hardened as he was to suffering and death, the river rat let out a horrified gurgle. He had stepped on something soft and slippery, lurching to one side as the mangled carcass of Lugg bobbed to the surface.

The stoat’s body had been crushed by the maddened eel; Lugg’s swollen tongue protruded obscenely. The river rat recovered himself sufficiently, hurrying ahead of his companion in a rush to be out of the other unknown horrors the water might conceal beneath its murky surface.

 

Zwilt by this time was back on dry ground, needing no damp pawprints to show the route of the fugitives. They only had one way to go in a tunnel, he reasoned. The tall sable had also been planning ahead, knowing whatever excuses he gave for the death of Dirva, he could expect no quarter from Vilaya. The old rat had been counsellor and confidante—almost a mother figure. Despite the way the Quean had treated her, she remained faithful only to Vilaya.

Zwilt pressed forward, touching the gold medallion around his neck. A good broadsword could outwit a small poisoned dagger. When he and Vilaya met, there would be only one left to command two hundred Ravagers. If he ever wished to attack and conquer Redwall Abbey, the survivor had to be him.

22

Midda lifted the mousebabe down from her shoulders. She massaged the back of her neck, which was sore from carrying Diggla—he was never still for a moment. The shrewmaid faced the fork, which Jinty had told her of. Tura relinquished her passenger, looking from one tunnel to the other.

“The one on the right goes downward. The other goes up. Which one d’you think we should take?”

Midda answered promptly, “The one that goes up, of course. That’ll prob’ly get us out of here.”

The squirrelmaid was still contemplating both tunnels. “Aye, that was my first thought, an’ that’s what the vermin’ll think, too. Mightn’t the downhill one be better? They won’t expect us t’go that way.”

Jiddle interrupted. “That’s what I was thinkin’, but I don’t like the look of the one that goes down. I’ll wager we’d run into more water that way. It might be very deep, then where’d we be, eh?”

Little Diggla pushed his way past them, snorting. “You all talkin’ shoopid—Diggla goes up!”

The sight of the tiny mousebabe trudging busily away caused Tura to chuckle. “He’s right. Up’s the only way to go. Come on, mates!”

It soon became rather tiring trekking uphill. Jinty put Calla the harebabe down. “Come on, young un, time ye tried walkin’, great sleepy lump, look at the size of you!”

Midda shook her head. “It’ll slow us down if the youngest babes have to walk.”

Jiddle allowed the other harebabe, Urfa, to slide down from her back. “Aye, an’ if we keep carryin’ ’em, it won’t be long afore we’re too tired to go any further. I vote we should all walk!”

Diggla nodded decisively. “All walk now. Looka me—I walk. Midda not have t’carry Diggla!”

The very small ones held paws, with Diggla at their centre. Jiddle and Jinty brought up the rear, urging them on with a simple chant.

Jiddle called to Tura, who was at the front, “Look at us—they’re gettin’ along just fine!”

The squirrelmaid glanced back. “That’s good, keep goin’, but keep yore eyes’n’ears about you. Don’t forget there’s vermin on our trail.”

After a while, the upward tunnel took a sudden bend. This culminated in an oval-shaped cave with two other tunnels leading off it.

Midda sighed. “Oh, no. Now which way do we go!”

She sat down to rest whilst Tura took a brief look at both passages. The squirrelmaid shrugged.

“They both look the same t’me. Don’t suppose it makes much difference which one we follow.”

“Oh yes it do, hahaaarr, believe me, it do!”

Tura jumped with fright as a figure emerged from the shadows, clad in a torn and tattered cloak.

It was a very tall and exceedingly skinny hedgehog. The little ones were scared. They huddled close to Midda and the Witherspyk twins. Tura took a step back from the hedgehog. There was something decidedly odd about him, but she determined not to be afraid.

“Well, tell me, which one would you choose?”

The beast threw back his hood, letting the shabby cloak fall open. He was not a pretty sight. Most of the spines on his body were missing, exposing a scabrous, unwashed hide. His left eye was wrinkled into a leaky slit, and what few teeth he possessed were blackened stumps. He carried an ash staff, which he twirled in the direction of either tunnel, cackling as he performed a shuffling jig.

“Which one? Which one? Hahaaarrharrr, beauty, ask Triggut Frap an’ he’ll know. Hahaaarrr!”

Midda countered boldly, “Well, she’s just asked ye. So why not tell us, Triggut Frap, if that’s yore name!”

The Guosim maid had obviously taken the wrong approach. Triggut Frap turned his back on them, no longer laughing or dancing. “Not tellin’ yew. Why should Triggut tell yewbeasts anythin’? Nastybad, that’s wot ye are, nastybad!”

Diggla was over his initial fear of Triggut. The mousebabe wagged a tiny paw at him. “We not nastybad. Us are good. You be nastybad!”

An instant change came over the strange hedgehog. He slumped down against the cave wall, weeping and whimpering. “I ain’t nastybad. Nobeast likes pore Triggut, jus’ ’cos I ain’t pretty. Go ’way, go on, go ’way, all of yews. Triggut doesn’t care!”

Jinty stifled a giggle. She whispered to Jiddle, “This one’s crazy as a frog with feathers!”

Tura silenced her with a stern glance, also warning Midda in a low murmur, “I’ll do the talkin’. Leave Triggut to me.”

Turning her attention to Triggut, who had started scattering ground dust on his head, the squirrelmaid adopted a kindly voice. “Oh, come on now, friend. Of course we like you, but we’ve got to get out of here. So, please, will ye show us the way? We’re tired an’ hungry, an’ we’d love to see daylight again.”

Another mood swing came over Triggut. He rose, holding out a grubby paw. “Heeheehee! Get yew out, eh? Wot’ll yews give me?”

Tura indicated the little group with a sweep of her paw. “I wish we had something to give you, friend, but we’re poorbeasts without a drop o’ water or a crust betwixt us.”

Triggut’s single eye narrowed. “Got nothin, eh? Then you’ll just have ter work for me awhile. That’ll be worth summat.”

Tura nodded agreeably. “Sounds fair enough. What sort of work were ye thinkin’ of, friend?”

Triggut’s mood changed again. He poked Tura with the staff. “The sorta work that I say yew’ll do!”

Jiddle sidled up to Tura, whispering in her ear, “Better make it quick. Think I can hear sounds from down the tunnel—it’ll be the vermin!”

That decided the issue instantly. Tura bowed politely. “We’re at yore service, Triggut. We’ll work for you, no questions asked. Now can we go, please?”

The scabrous hog emitted his mad cackle. “Hahaarhaarr! Ravagers after yew, are they? Want t’move fast, do yew? Heeheehee! Foller Triggut, me pretty ones!”

Before they realised what was happening, he whipped out a length of cord, noosing it around Calla and Urfa.

Midda jumped up. “Hold on, there. Wot d’yer think yore doin’?”

Triggut fended her off with his ash staff. “Jus’ makin’ sure yew don’t all run off on me. Now, d’yew want t’go or not? Jus’ say the word, wibblesnout!”

That, and the distant sound of Ravagers, settled any further argument. They marched off behind Triggut Frap.

After a lengthy uphill walk, they finally emerged into welcome afternoon sunlight. Tears sprang to Midda’s eyes—the woodlands looked so fresh and green after being underground for so long. Birdsong echoed cheerily from beech, oak, yew, sycamore and other familiar trees. Bees droned, insects chirruped, and butterflies flitted silently about. Sounds and sights they had all sorely missed in gloomy caverns. But it was the sky, that fluffy-cloud-dotted vault of light blue, which really gladdened young hearts.

Triggut did not give them long to gaze upon nature’s beauty. Yanking the harebabes with him, he made off at a lolloping trot through the Mossflower greenery.

Midda caught up with him. “Which way is it to Redwall Abbey? We have friends there, you know.”

The mad hog sniggered. “Don’t know, heehee, an’ if’n I did, I wouldn’t tell yew. Not far t’the stream now!”

Midda held on to the cord, to stop the harebabes being pulled over. “Stream, what stream?”

She recoiled from Triggut’s breath as he pushed his face close to hers. “Hahaaar hahaaaarr! Yew don’t know where yew are, do yew?”

The Guosim maid shook her head. “No!”

He sneered in her face. “Good. Now, come on, move yerself!”

Tura sensed they were going southeast, by the position of the sun. They passed through a series of sandstone outcrops, travelling downhill through gorse-dotted scree into a valley between two high hills. Stumbling wearily into a grove of pines, they came out on a streambank. A ramshackle raft was anchored to a boulder in the shallows. Triggut giggled.

“All aboard, me beauties, quick as yew please. C’mon, li’l rabbets. We’re goin’ fer a nice sail.”

The raft was ancient, with water springing through the gapped logs which formed its deck. None of this bothered Triggut Frap. He tied the two harebabes to a mast which lacked any sail. Producing a fearsome dagger from his cloak, he drove it into the mast directly above the heads of Calla and Urfa. His single eye glared balefully at the others as he gave out orders.

“See them poles yonder? Pick ’em up an’ get this raft movin’. Take ’er downstream, an’ steer clear o’ the banks. Yew’ll do as I says, if’n yews wants ter keep these rabbets from ’arm. Now git polin’!”

Tura picked up a long pole, murmuring to her friends, “Do like he says. There’s no tellin’ wot a madbeast like this un will do next, so don’t upset him.”

Triggut, who had heard the squirrelmaid, snarled, “That’s right. Don’t upset Triggut Frap. Yew ’eard her. I’m a madbeast, see, crazy, crazy mad! Bees keep a-buzzin’ round in my ’ead, all day an’ all night, never stop. Buzz-buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz. . . .‘’

He carried on making bee sounds, his voice getting louder and higher. Then he reached for the knife embedded above the helpless harebabes. “Buzzbuzzbuzzbuzz. . . .”

Tura suddenly bellowed out, “Ahoy, Captain, we’ve got her goin’ now, stayin’ in midstream, just as ye said. Any more orders, Captain?”

Triggut’s mood changed instantly. He ceased buzzing and chuckled happily. “Hahaarrr, keep ’er sailin’ nice’n’smooth, mates!”

Tura winked at Midda, who caught on promptly. “Aye aye, Cap’n, nice’n’smooth it is. Well spoken, Cap’n!”

Triggut showed his snaggled teeth in an appreciative grin. “Hahaarrhaarrr! Cap’n, is it? I likes that. Cap’n of a fine ship with a good crew. Keep ’er steady, mates!”