The Sable Quean (45 page)

Grakk shook his head. “We could if’n we wasn’t under attack, Chief, but every time we shows our faces out in the open, we takes a right poundin’ off those beasts on the walltop. An’ another thing—have ye seen the pile o’ rubble they’ve tipped in front o’ the gate? Take my word, it’d take us ten seasons to try an’ charge a ram through that liddle lot! So, wot’s yore orders, Chief? Wot d’we do now?”

Fallug sat on the ground scratching at his tail. Zwilt’s plan had fallen flat, and he would either have to find a solution or answer to Zwilt on his return. Irately, he stalled for time. “Gimme time t’think up a plan, will ye. I don’t like bein’ rushed!”

Grakk shrugged. “Alright, but wot do I tell all these Ravagers t’do while yore thinkin’, Chief?”

A sudden ghost of an idea flashed into Fallug’s head. “Call the ram crews off. Tell ’em to join up with the slingers an’ archers. Don’t stop attackin’, keep the Redwallers’ ’eads down, pepper the walltop an’ don’t stop. Once it goes dark, we’ll make our move.”

Grakk smiled slyly. “An’ wot’ll that be, Chief?” Fallug leapt up, shaking with temper. “It ain’t none o’ yore business. You just carry out orders, see!”

 

Zwilt and his four Ravagers had concealed themselves in the deserted orchard. The tall sable knew he could not make a move until the attack, and the battering ram, were fully underway. Chewing on a near-ripe russet apple, he watched from a spot where he could see the defenders on the west wall. They were all able-looking beasts. Two hares, two big hedgehogs, a brawny otter and a fair number of armed Guosim shrews and Abbeybeasts. Added to that was a solid-looking mole armed with a war hammer and, finally, the huge young badger. Anybeast with only four at his command would be committing suicide going against such odds. However, Zwilt was growing impatient. He flung the half-eaten apple from him. What were Fallug and all those other Ravagers up to? Why could he not hear the booming thuds of a battering ram pounding the Abbey gates? Had something gone amiss with his plan?

The tall sable turned to his vermin escort, explaining his next move, to avoid any mistakes. “Listen carefully. I need to know what’s happening on the other side of the west wall. The only way I see of doing that is to get inside the Abbey. I can look out one of those high windows. From there I’ll be able to judge what’s happening at the main gate. You four follow me. There should be hardly anybeast inside—they’re all out on the walls—but we’ll take no chances. Go quietly, keep your eyes open and guard my back.”

Avoiding the front door of the Abbey building, they explored the south side, where Zwilt found a window with its shutters open. Judging by the mouthwatering aromas emanating from it, this could be only one place, the kitchens. Nobeast seemed to be in attendance. It was the work of a moment for all five creatures to slip inside.

Even in the present situation, it was far too tempting to ignore the food laid out there. Realising how hungry he was, Zwilt posted one of his Ravagers at the door. He fell on the food like a wild beast, as did his escort. Pasties, bread, pies and scones, still warm from the ovens, were laid out to cool on the worktops. With scant regard for choice, they grabbed anything at random, cramming their mouths full, spitting out what they could not gulp down, moving from one thing to another, knocking over platters and trays of food.

Fazdim, a river rat, upended a flask of blackberry wine, gurgling gleefully as it splashed over his chin, staining his lean chest. “Be plenty more o’ this good stuff when this place is ours, eh, Lord?”

Zwilt snatched the wine from him, throwing up a cautionary paw. “Hush! What was that?”

The rat Zwilt had left guarding the kitchen door, tippawed back to make his report. “Lord, it’s somebeasts singin’ an’ dancin’ out there!”

Zwilt tasted the blackberry wine, nodding his approval. “Let them sing and dance. What harm can that do? Fazdim, you take a turn guarding the door, but get me some of this wine first. I’ll have to wait here until the coast is clear, then I’ll go upstairs.”

Though he would not admit it openly, the tall sable was enjoying his first taste of Redwall fare. He wanted more.

 

Out in Great Hall, Trajidia had delivered the joyous news to the ladies. They began singing and dancing with happiness, knowing the babes were alive and safe. The transformation in Clarinna was remarkable. She joined in with the celebrations immediately. Friar Soogum and his kitchen helpers provided the music, singing lustily as they drummed on an assortment of upturned pots and bowls. A molemaid scraped away on a small fiddle as the dancers threw up their paws, laughing and jigging gleefully to the jolly song.

29

Vilaya stayed close to the north wall, making her way through the woodlands. She had removed the bloodstained rag from her brow, cleaned up her soil-stained face and donned her silken cloak. She was once again the Sable Quean.

The fight was going back and forth twixt the ramparts and the flatlands further down. Nobeast noticed as she crossed the path and slid into the ditch. She strode slowly and regally toward the useless battering ram. The Ravagers knew she was dead—had they not seen it with their own eyes? Zwilt the Shade had slain her with his broadsword. With Zwilt somewhere inside the Abbey and the vermin army being run by mere minions, it was high time for the resurrection of their real leader, the Sable Quean.

The recently appointed Captain Grakk was issuing orders to the ram bearers, who were taking cover beneath the bough and leaf canopy in the ditchbed. Using his spearhaft none too gently, Grakk routed the vermin out.

“Leave this ram, now. Git yoreselves outta there! Boss Fallug needs all of ye to attack the walltop. Move, ye worthless bunch, come on, shift yoreselves! Hah, fancy droppin’ a batterin’ ram into a ditch after all the ’ard work we put in makin’ it, eh? Leave it there. Boss Fallug says he’s got plans fer it once it goes dark!”

The Ravagers were starting to scramble from the ditch when one, a stoat, fell backward. His paw was pointing, and his face a mask of fear as he wailed, “Waaaaaahhhhh! Eeeeeeyaaaah!”

Everybeast turned to see what had caused this weird effect on the stoat. Eyes popped wide, jaws dropped, the vermin and their captain stood transfixed by the apparition. Vilaya walked unhurriedly up until she was facing the Weasel Captain, whom she addressed by name.

“Are you in charge now, Grakk?”

The weasel was trembling uncontrollably as he managed a stumbling reply. “Ch-charge, y’Majesty, er, er, no, I’m only a cap’n, marm. Er, er, it’s Fallug’s in charge, er, Lord Zwilt made ’im a boss, er, Majesty!”

Vilaya repeated the name. “Fallug. I don’t know that one. Take me to him, Grakk. Bring these Ravagers with you.”

Fallug was revelling in his newfound authority, which had many benefits. Some of his foragers had brought in a large clutch of partridge eggs, of which he would take the largest share. He sat watching them roast the eggs in hot ashes, well out of range from Redwall missiles. Fallug was retrieving the first of the cooked eggs with a twig when a ferret pointed out what was going on.

“Lookit, Boss, they’ve left off fightin’ an’ they’re all comin’ over ’ere. . . . An’ the Quean’s with ’em!”

Fallug shaded his eyes, staring hard at the lead figure. There was no doubt about it—the Sable Quean was unmistakable. Murmurs ran through the foraging party.

“But I thought Zwilt killed ’er!”

“Aye, ’e did. I saw Zwilt do it meself, mate!”

“Then why’s she ’ere? Why ain’t she dead?”

“Maybe . . . maybe she’s a ghost, come back to slay us all!”

They began edging back, ready to break and run off.

Fallug was not about to relinquish his new high office, nor was he about to show fear in front of his command. “Git back ’ere, ye ole frogwives, she ain’t goin’ to slay nobeast. Lord Zwilt’ll sort this out when he gits back. Meanwhile, I’m the boss o’ this army, an’ I ain’t afeared o’ nobeast, livin’ or dead!”

When Vilaya arrived at the smouldering fire, all the Ravagers stood to attention. All except Fallug, who was still crouched over the ashes, pulling roasted eggs clear with his twig.

Vilaya looked down at him. Her voice held the ring of authority as she spoke. “Are you the beast they call Fallug?”

Dropping the twig, Fallug drew his dagger, making a show of cracking a partridge egg with the blade. He replied boldly, “Aye, I’m Boss Fallug, an’ I’m in charge around ’ere until Lord Zwilt gits back!”

The onlookers to this confrontation were surprised when Vilaya smiled approvingly. Her tone was almost cheerful. “Well said, Boss Fallug. That’s the way it should be! But the Sable Quean has always ruled over all Ravagers, so I’ll take charge now. You won’t be needed anymore.” Reaching down, she patted the back of his neck.

 

Oakheart Witherspyk had mounted the battlements once more, trying to assess the new situation, which was puzzling them all.

“D’ye think somethin’s going on out there, Skipper?”

The otter leaned on the walltop. “Aye, mate, I do, an’ I just wish I knew exactly wot it was.”

Buckler climbed up alongside Oakheart. “They’ve all gathered round that campfire over yonder, too far t’see what’s goin’ on.”

Axtel drew the war hammer from his belt. “You’m wanten oi to goo an’ take ee lukk, zurr? Et woan’t bee no trubble to oi.”

Diggs interposed hastily. “No need for that, old lad. Rest that jolly old footpaw of yours, wot. Besides, who are we to argue if the bloomin’ wretched vermin want to chuck in fightin’ for the day? Maybe they’ve decided to take afternoon tea. Jolly good idea, don’t y’think, eh, Buck?”

Jango shook his head at the gluttonous young hare. “Don’t ye think of anythin’ aside o’ vittles? We’ve not long eaten lunch!”

Diggs gave his ears a cavalier wiggle as he set off down the wallsteps. “Pish tush, sah. That’s alright for you t’say—shrews don’t need as much bally nourishment as hares do. I’ll just toodle off down t’the jolly old kitchens an’ see what the Friar is fryin’ up, wot! Oh, I say, that was rather a good un, the Friar fryin’ up stuff, wot?”

Glancing back, he saw his pun had not been appreciated. With that, he strode off, chunnering. “No sense o’ humour. That’s the trouble with you mouldy lot. Thought it was pretty funny m’self, Friar fryin’ an’ all that. My old aunt Twodge was right, where there’s no sense, there’s no bloomin’ feelin’. Huh, she was right!”

Flib climbed up alongside Buckler. She nodded toward the Ravager army. “They might’ve stopped fightin’, but that don’t mean the dirty scum ain’t hatchin’ summat up. Take my word, mate, we’d do well t’keep an eye on that lousy lot!”

Buckler hid a smile, nodding vigorously. “Right, marm, I’ll take yore advice, marm, good of ye to mention it, marm, thank ye kindly!”

The Guosim maid eyed him coldly. “Marm me jus’ once more an’ I’ll shove ye off’n this wall . . . rabbet!”

Buckler tweaked her ear. “Aye, try callin’ me rabbet again an’ I’ll take ye with me, cheekyface!”

Pulling free of the hare’s grip, Flib eyed Buckler with a face like thunder.

Jango winked at Buckler. “Growin’ up into a proper Guosim lady, ain’t she?”

Sniffy the Tracker nodded over at the foebeasts’ position. “Sounds like they’re fixin’ to start somethin’. Lissen t’that. Sounds like a war chant to me, Chief.”

Log a Log Jango cupped an ear in the direction. “Aye, they’re yellin’ somethin’, I can’t make out wot it is, though. Ahoy, Flib, me darlin’, can ye make out wot those vermin are chantin’?”

After standing for a moment in rebellious silence, Flib relented, complying with her father ’s request.

“Vilaya, Vilaya, Sable Quean! That’s wot they’re callin’. Prob’ly workin’ themselves up for action.”

Buckler nodded courteously toward her. “Thankee, mate. You’ve got good sharp ears!”

She smiled, her sullen mood fading. “I’ve got better ears than my pa or Sniffy. You’d be surprised at some o’ the things I can hear.”

Buckler nodded. “I’m sure I would.”

Flib looked toward the Abbey building. “I just heard a noise from over there—bet you didn’t!”

Buckler was concentrating more on the Ravagers’ shouts, which were growing louder, but to humour Flib, he asked, “What sort of noise was it?”

She shrugged. “Came from the south side o’ the Abbey. Sounded like wot you yell out sometimes. Eu-lowly-oh!”