Redwall by Brian Jacques
Guosim walked to the river’s edge. Cupping her paws around her mouth she called in an ululating voice: ‘Logalogalogalogalog!’
The older shrew appeared out of a reed bed, balanced upon a large floating tree trunk which he propelled skilfully with a long pole into the side of the bank. Angrily he sprang ashore, upbraiding Guosim. ‘Puddenheaded shrew! D’you have to broadcast the fact we’re here? Shouting out like a great foghorn! We’d better strike camp and get across now, before someone comes.’
‘I was only showing Matthias how to call for the ferry-shrew,’ Guosim muttered surlily.
‘Is that all!’ said Log-a-Log heatedly. ‘Then why don’t you show him the snake tracks in the mud there? Or didn’t you notice them? Asmodeus passed through here not four hours ago. He’s probably gone hunting in Mossflower Wood. It’s a mercy we didn’t bump into him. He might come back this way before the day is through.’
Matthias stared in horrified fascination at the broad slimy path that had been left in the mud by the snake. The shrews had all clambered hastily aboard the strange craft.
‘Hurry along, Matthias! All hands on deck!’ Log-a-Log hissed.
Despite the danger of the enterprise, the young mouse actually enjoyed the ride across the river on the tree trunk. Several of the shrews dug lines out of their packs and fished successfully, amassing quite a tidy little catch before the ferry nosed into the opposite bank with a gentle bump. The shrews disembarked and Matthias helped Log-a-Log to conceal the ferry in some bulrushes.
‘I was thinking,’ Matthias mused. ‘Do you suppose we could all hide somewhere? That way we might see Asmodeus return and track him to his lair.’
‘That’s exactly what I had planned myself,’ the shrew replied. ‘If we spread out along the bank and remain hidden, then we’ll stand a good chance of spotting Poisonteeth. It’s a good idea, but I can see a drawback. Supposing the adder catches the scent of shrews? There’s so many of us that it’s a distinct danger.’
‘Then again,’ Matthias argued, ‘would it not be better if we made our way to the quarry and waited there? Asmodeus is bound to head for home.’
‘I wish it were that simple, my friend,’ Log-a-Log replied. ‘The land around the quarry offers no concealment; too flat and bare. Poisonteeth is full of ancient cunning too. He may have a secret entrance outside the quarry itself. I think it is best we wait here. I’ll spread the comrades out in a line. We’ll all keep watch.’
Throughout the long afternoon, Matthias lay hidden at the base of a lilac bush. He was within calling distance of shrews secreted a short distance away, as they were of their neighbours further along. Fully a kilometre of the bank was covered in this fashion. Whoever spotted Asmodeus was to report, after letting one minute elapse, to Matthias, who was positioned roughly at the centre of the line. Guosim and Log-a-Log were stationed on either flank.
The blazing sun hung over the watchers like a fiery disc. Matthias kept his sights on the river and the ground in front of him, not daring to move, whether to eat, drink or scratch. He was forced to endure the unwelcome attention of inquisitive flies and insects that buzzed about and walked across him at their leisure. Often he would focus so hard that his imagination played tricks. A slight ripple upon the water, or a vagrant breeze through the grass, became Asmodeus. He would blink and reassure himself that it was only a product of his tensed mind.
The young mouse lost track of time until he became aware of the sun starting to sink in a reddening sky heralding the twilight. Surely the snake must pass this way soon!
As complete darkness descended, a shrew sneaked up through the grass and tapped Matthias’s shoulder.
‘What’s the matter? Has Asmodeus been sighted?’ Matthias asked.
The shrew pointed out along the flank that Guosim headed. ‘I don’t know, mouse. You’d better come and see for yourself. I’ll go and get Log-a-Log.’
Matthias scrambled out from beneath the lilac. Something must have gone wrong! Throwing caution to the winds he dashed along the river bank. Other shrews left their hiding places and followed him.
Guosim was seated upon the open ground, her eyes wide with fright, teeth chattering madly, her whole body trembling like a leaf.
Log-a-Log came racing up. Matthias shouted to him, ‘Guosim’s in a state of shock! Help me, let’s get her into the water.’
Grabbing Guosim between them they rushed her into the shallows and ducked her under the surface of the river. She came up spluttering but coherent.
‘Giant Poisonteeth, the snake, Asmodeus, he was here! I didn’t spot him until it was too late. He’s taken Mingo. Gave him the magic eyes, then bit him and dragged him off! Poor Mingo. Ugh! It was horrible, horrible, I tell you, the rotten filthy reptile!’ Guosim flung herself down sobbing into the grass.
Log-a-Log pulled her roughly to her feet. ‘Come on, don’t lie there crying, shrew! The adder probably left a good wet trail for us to follow. Where did it happen?’
Guosim ran shakily some distance to the left. She pointed to the ground. ‘Right here! You can see the great slithering marks! Look!’
The evidence was quite clear. The wet path in the dry grass gleamed in the dark.
They followed the trail with Matthias and Log-a-Log in the lead. It twisted and turned tortuously, over small hillocks, through hedges and across fields. Even when the wetness stopped there was the musty odour of death clinging to the ground.
At the top of a small rise Matthias dropped into a crouch. Signalling everyone to do likewise, he pointed downwards.
‘Look, Log-a-Log! There!’
Spread out beneath them was a vast disused quarry. It was as if some gigantic hand had scooped a great hole in the landscape. The shape was roughly oval. The steep, red sandstone sides were terraced half way around into long flat shelves. Piles of fallen stone were dotted about amidst the defunct workings. The scant vegetation lent the quarry an air of stark desolation.
They lay on the edge of the pit straining their eyes into the dark floor area below. Steadily, Log-a-Log gave orders to the Guerrilla shrews to retire back across the field where they could rest up and eat a much-needed meal. Only he and Guosim remained at the edge of the quarry with Matthias, who settled any further debate by saying, ‘I’m going down there for a look around as soon as it’s light.’
‘If you must go, then we will come with you,’ murmured Log-a-Log.
Matthias shook his head. ‘No, I cannot allow it. It’s far too dangerous.’
Guosim, who was fully recovered, spoke out courageously, ‘You cannot stop us, Matthias. You are not a union member, therefore we are not under your command. The rules clearly state this, so the decision is out of your paws. We go! You and Log-a-Log get some sleep. I’ll take first sentry duty.’
The three friends slept in turns, relieving one another through the long watches of the night hours. Matthias was on duty when the first fingers of dawn probed the quarry. What a difference daylight made to the sinister night-time appearance of the scene below!
The sandstone ranged through a spectrum of pale sunlight gold, banded through every shade of yellow, fawn, umber, brown, down to the dusty red sandstone that must have been hewn out in distant ages to provide the masons with material to build Redwall Abbey.
He roused his companions to view the awesome spectacle.
‘To think that all this peaceful beauty should hide such cold evil,’ he breathed wonderingly.
In silent Indian file they began the descent. The going was not too hard. There were lots of handholds and steps and the sandy rock was quite firm, not at all slippery. It took less than an hour for the three friends to climb down. They stood together on the flat quarry floor gazing around.
‘Supposing Poisonteeth decides to hunt today,’ whispered Guosim.
‘I have a feeling he won’t,’ Log-a-Log replied. ‘Asmodeus got a full day’s hunt in yesterday. With the unexpected bonus of poor old Mingo on his way home he’ll probably sleep through today and go out to hun
‘So that gives us all day to find out where he is,’ added Matthias. ‘Shall we look together, or split up?’
‘Stick together,’ said Guosim as she and Log-a-Log drew their short rapiers. Matthias took out his dagger. They started searching the quarry for a possible hole or concealed entrance.
The trio scoured the lower slopes, poking and probing. They inspected underneath stunted bushes, turned over chunks of rock, crawled beneath huge slabs, always watching keenly for the telltale single winding track of the adder. The silence was oppressive. There was neither birdsong nor the hum of insects inside the sunken arena. Having crisscrossed the floor they progressed to the middle terraces, but the results were equally disappointing. All morning they had searched the quarry without any success.
At midday Log-a-Log called a halt. They sat on a flat table-shaped rock halfway up and shared hard tack lunch followed by a canteen of water. It was not a cheerful meal. They each sat with their own thoughts. Finally Guosim stood up, dusting her fur off. She clapped her paws together in a brisk manner, urging her companions to resume the task.
‘Right, come on, you two, we’ve only got half a day left.’
Matthias and Log-a-Log gathered up their packs and weapons as Guosim leaned on the side of a narrow slab and continued her summary.
‘If we search around the top lip this afternoon, that only leaves us the heeeeeeeee …!’
The echo of the cry hung upon the still air. Guosim was gone. The narrow slab she had been leaning against swung loosely on a pivot. They had found the entrance to the lair of Asmodeus Poisonteeth.
CLUNY THE SCOURGE anxiously awaited the arrival of darkness. One of his three plans had reached fruition a lot earlier than he had expected.
Killconey had proved an invaluable help. He had been across to the woods to satisfy his curiosity about what the rats were doing there. It came as no surprise to the ferret to see a large seige tower under construction. However, there was a problem. The cart still lay upturned in the ditch. Try as they would, the rats had not been able to remove a set of wheels and an axle from it.
Killconey had a word with Cluny and was immediately sent down to supervise the operation. The garrulous ferret showed the rats that he possessed a sound knowledge of the principles of fulcrum and leverage. He rigged a block and tackle to supplement a dead tree limb that they were using as a lever. Ignoring wheels and axles he roped the cart to the block. With all the rats, and a great deal of luck, he managed to lift the hay cart until it was halfway out of the ditch. Further pressure on the lever sent the hay cart past its own point of balance. The block and tackle parted under the strain, sending the ferret and the rats on the level shooting down into the ditch. By mistake it did the trick. With a crash the cart landed upright in the road.
They pushed it into the woods. Killconey oversaw the lifting of the tower on to the bed of the cart. Delighted by his own ingenuity he added the final touches. In a short time the siege tower, its wheels muffled with sacking, stood completed, ready for use.
Cluny gathered his Captains about him and outlined his strategy. Tonight, when it was dark, Fangburn would step up the attack on the gatehouse wall as a diversionary measure. Cluny would command a picked band of the best fighters. They would bring the seige tower from out of the cover of Mossflower Wood and wheel it to a part of the wall where the defence appeared weakest. Under cover of darkness they would filter from the top of the tower on to the ramparts. A quick slaughter of the defenders would leave Redwall wide open to them.
Cluny watched the evening sky anxiously. It would not be long now. He signalled Fangburn to begin the diversionary assault.
Yelling and shouting fearsome war cries, the attackers leapt from the ditch, peppering the ramparts with a hail of arrows, spears and stones.
‘Redwall to me! Come on, mice!’ cried Constance. ‘Let’s give better than we get. Redwall to me!’
Basil Stag Hare had formed three lines of bowmice on top of the wall. They worked with military efficiency as the hare rapped out orders.
‘First rank fire! Drop back, kneel and reload!’
‘Second rank fire! Drop back, kneel and reload!’
‘Third rank fire! Drop back, kneel and reload!’
‘First rank forward again. Fire!’
The commands continued unabated. Enemy soldiers fell stricken on the road, Darkclaw rushed about bringing up reinforcements.
‘Keep those slings throwing! Bring up extra spears! Close up that line! Don’t fire until you see them stand!’
John Churchmouse, Mr Vole and Friar Hugo ran about bending low. They collected up all the arrows, spears, and stones hurled by the horde, issuing them to the defenders.
‘Come on, otters! Give them back a taste of their own medicine!’ Winifred urged her slingers on while directing fresh archers into the ranks of the bowmice.
Constance and the beaver shared a stack of enemy spears. They returned them with frightening power and devastating aim.
Ferret archers at the edge of the meadow found the range of Basil’s bowmice. Several were felled before Jess Squirrel and Winifred, along with some crack otter slingers, sent down a barrage so swift and accurate that it decimated the ferrets within minutes.
While the battle went ahead, ranging from the heights of the parapet to the depths of the ditch, the Joseph Bell rang out over the carnage.
Cluny snapped the battered visor down on his war helmet. He rapped Killconey on his shoulder.
‘Good! Now is the time! Come on, ferret!’
Together they slunk off down the ditch, running crouched over to the south-east corner of the wall where it was relatively quiet. Keeping noise down to a minimum, Cluny ordered his troops to bring forward the seige tower. Straining and pushing, the rat soldiers trundled the tall contraption from its woodland hiding place. The going was even harder across the short space of soft meadow ground. Cluny himself lent a claw, pulling on one of the lead ropes. He tugged mightily, causing the cumbersome tower to sway dangerously as it bumped over grassy hillocks.
‘Bring it up close to the wall,’ he whispered urgently. ‘That’s it! Now make sure it’s on an even keel! I don’t want the top wobbling all over the place.’
Stones and soil were tamped around the wheels, wedging them still. The great tower stood ready for use.
When Friar Hugo hurried off to join the defenders he left Cornflower in charge of the kitchens. She had busied herself with setting pans of oatmeal and oven bread ready for the next morning’s breakfast. Cornflower then thought of the sentries up on the wall, and she set about making a large pan of vegetable soup. It was a great favourite with the defenders at night time, especially when she made it to her own recipe.
Helped by Mrs Vole and Mr Squirrel she ladled it into three big earthenware jugs. Taking up a jug each, with a small basket of fresh loaves and some goat cheese, they set off, with Cornflower in the lead carrying a lantern. The first stop was the south-east corner, where Foremole and his crew had a monotonous task: night and day they monitored the grounds for sounds of tunnelling. They were glad of a short respite and some hot food while they chatted to the caterers in their gruff polite tones.
Cornflower was never quite sure of what the Foremole was saying, but she loved listening to his funny, countrified-mole dialect.
‘Yurr, missie, they ratten varments be a-comin up’n two days, oi’ll reckern. Gar! we’m give em owd ’arry if’n they shows thurr ’eads.’
Cornflower was only picking up one word in three, but by the fierce scowl on Foremole’s face, she was certain that the rats would not find it a pleasant experience being given ‘owd ’arry’.
The Foremole tugged his nose graciously at her. ‘Wurr! Thankee kindly. Nought loik vedgible soop to keep’n loif in uz moles.’
Mr Squirrel chuckled to Cornflower and Mrs Vole. ‘Well, I take it the moles are quite fond of home-made vegetable soup. I know my Jess’ll be ready for some.’
‘Yes, and so would
With the lantern and basket in one paw and the jug in the other, Cornflower ascended the steps at the southeast corner of the wall. Brother Rufus assisted her up on to the ramparts.
‘Ah, the young fieldmouse with the magic soup! Nice to see you, Cornflower. It gets lonely up this end where there’s no action.’
Brother Rufus held out his mug. He watched gratefully through the cloud of steam that arose from the jug. ‘Mmm, that smells good! Vegetable soup, my favourite!’
Cornflower was not listening. She was staring open-mouthed across Brother Rufus’s shoulder. The soup was overflowing from the mug and spattering on the stones as she continued to pour.
Across the top of the parapet a ramshackle wooden platform had appeared as if from nowhere. Perched on top of it, ready to spring, was a villainous-looking rat with a cutlass clenched between his teeth.
Cornflower shrieked aloud.
More by accident than design, Brother Rufus spun around and sent the scalding contents of his mug splashing full into the rat’s eyes. With a piercing wail of agony the rat fell from the top of the platform. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Cornflower threw the lantern. It shattered on top of the siege tower, drenching the dead wood in lamp oil. Instantly the flames licked hungrily over the platform, turning it into an inferno.
Attracted by the flaring blaze that lit the night, defenders rushed from all quarters to see what was happening. Over thirty rats were in the high reaches of the burning tower. Many more were in the middle and still more on the lower frames. Rats were kicking and fighting each other to get down from the blazing tower. They bit and trampled and slashed. Some jumped while others were pushed, screaming as they fell to the field far below.