Part 9 (1/2)
Safe dreams, peace unto you, my friend, Night conies soft, 'tis daylight's end.”
:' Mother Buscol stayed with the yawning Dibbuns while - Tansy drifted quietly outside to see what her friend wanted. Together they descended the stairs and strolled out into the ./beautiful spring night, and Arven related what Diggum Fore-^niole had told him.
i;V ”Diggum and his team located the exact spot where the f frouble with the south wall began. Today while we were deal-jpng with the tree, he and his moles began excavating. I've ”arranged with him to show us what he found.”
Holding lighted lanterns, Diggum and his stout crew waited them at the edge of a sloping shaft they had dug into ground near the wallbase.
Tugging his snout courteously to Tansy, the mole Chieftain sted her. ”Gudd eventoid to ee, marm, thurr be summat 102 Brian J acques yurr oi wanten ee t'cast thy eye ower. Oi'll go afront of ee an' moi moles'll foller, keepen furm 'old o' yon rope.”
Sensibly the moles had pegged ropes either side of the shaft walls, forming a strong banister. Gingerly, everyone followed Diggum into the shaft. The earth was moist and slippery un-derpaw.
Following Diggum's advice, Tansy held tightly to the ropes. By lantern light she saw that the shaft leveled out into a small tunnel, where she was forced to crouch, her gown sweeping its sides.
”Burr, oi'm sorry you'm ”abit be gettin' amuckied oop,” Foremole murmured apologetically. ” 'Tis only a place fit furr molefolk, marm.”
The Abbess patted the broad back in front of her. ”Oh, 'tis nothing a washday won't solve, friend. Lead on, I'm dying of curiosity to see what you've discovered.”
When she did see it, Tansy was almost lost for words. She stood awestruck at what the flickering lantern light revealed.
”Great seasons o* sun an' showers, what is it?”
BOOK TWO.
A Gathering of Warriors 20.
Between them both, Hogspit and Lousewort knew virtually nothing about scouting ahead for the Rapscallion army. Their promotion to the rank of Rapscour was greeted with scorn by the twoscore vermin trackers each had under his command. All day they had trudged steadily north, with the eighty vermin ignoring their commands pointedly. They went their own way, foraging and fooling about, pleasing themselves entirely.
Lousewort was completely bullied and cowed by Hogspit; the big nasty weasel took every available chance to beat or belittle his fellow officer. Lousewort b.u.mbled along in Hog-spit's wake like some type of menial lackey.
It was about early noon when they breasted a long rolling hill with a broad stream flowing through the fields below it. Hogspit immediately gave his verdict on the area.
”It'll do fer a camp tonight, I s'pose, good runnin* water an' plenty o' s.p.a.ce. Wot more could Damug ask fer 'is army?”
Lousewort gave his opinion, for what it was worth. ”Er, er, not much shelter, though. Wot iffen it rains?”
Hogspit fetched him a clip 'round the ear. ”Iffen it rains 105.
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then they'll just 'ave ter get wet, blobberbrain. That's unless you've got ideas of buildin' lots o' nice liddle wooden 'uts t'keep 'em dry.”
Lousewort thought about this for a moment. ”Er, er, but there ain't no wood around, mate, an' even if there was it'd take too Ion-Yowch!” He jumped as the weasel booted him hard on the behind.
”If brains wuz bread you'd a starved to death afore you was born!”
The conversation was ended when a weasel came panting up the hillside and pointed down to where the stream curved 'round the far side of the tor. Throwing a smart salute, he rattled out breathlessly to the two officers, ”Boatloads o' scruffy-lookin' mice down that way, sirs!”
Hogspit swelled his chest officiously, sneering at the messenger. ”Ho, 'tis 'sirs' now, is it? A lick o' trouble, a coupla foebeasts, an' all of a sudden we're officers agin, eh! Right then, 'ow many o' these scruffy-lookin' mouses is there?”
Lousewort tried hard to look like a commander of twoscore as he parroted Hogspit's last words. ”Er, er, aye, 'ow many is there?”
The big weasel silenced him with an ill-tempered stare before turning back to the tracker. ”Never mind goin' back t'count 'em. Get the others t'gether quick an' meet us down there. c.u.mmon, dunderpaws, let's take a look!”
Lying in a hollow not far from the stream bank, both Rap-scours saw the vessels come 'round the bend. There were six long logboats, each carved from the trunk of a large tree, and seated two abreast at the oars were small creatures, their fur wiry and sticking out at odd angles. Each of them wore a brightly colored cloth headband and a kilt, held up by a broad belt, through which was thrust a little rapier. Others of them sat at prow and stern atop supply sacks, and all of them seemed extremely short-tempered, for they argued and jabbered ceaselessly with one another. Only an older creature, slightly bigger than the rest, remained aloof, standing on the prow of the lead boat surveying the river ahead. In all, there were about seventy of them crewing the long logboats.
Hogspit rubbed his paws together. Grinning wickedly, he glanced back to see the tracker leading thirty vermin into the 107 defile. The weasel sn.i.g.g.e.red with delight. Thirty Rapscallions would be more than enough to take care of a gang of scruffy-looking mice. He stuck a grimy claw under Louse wort's nose, issuing orders to him.
”Huh, this'll be simple as sh.e.l.lin' peas. You stay 'ere with this lot, I'll go out there an' scare the livin' daylights out of those mouses. Be ready t'come runnin' when I shouts yer!”
Swaggering out onto the stream bank, Hogspit called out to the oldish creature in the prow of the first craft as it drew level, ”Hoi, graybeard! Git them boats pulled in 'ere. I wants ter see wot you've got aboard-an' move lively if y'know wot's good for yer!”
For a small beast, the leader had extremely dangerous eyes. He held up a paw and the crews ceased rowing. Steering the prow 'round with a long pole, he waited until his craft was close enough, then vaulted to dry land on the pole.
One paw on his rapier, the other tucked into his belt, he looked the weasel up and down. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and gruff.
”Lissen, swampguts, I know wot's good fer me, an' what's aboard these boats is none o' yore business-so back off!”
Hogspit was amazed at the small beast's insolence. Swelling out his chest, he laid paw to his cutla.s.s handle. ”Do you know who yer talkin' to? I'm Rapscour Hogspit of Damug War-fang's mighty Rapscallion army!”
The creature drew his small rapier coolly, quite unimpressed. ”Then clean the mud out yore ears an' lissen t'me, Spit'og, or whatever name y'call yoreself. I wouldn't know Damug wotsisname or his army if they fell on me out of a tree! I'm Log-a-Log, Chieftain o' the Guosim shrews. So pull steel if y'fancy dyin'!”
Hogspit whipped out his cutla.s.s and charged with a roar.
In the hollow, Lousewort felt his belt tugged urgently by a rat, who squealed, ”Is that it, do we charge too?”
Lousewort pulled free of the rat's tugging paw. ”Er, er, no, I want t'see wot 'appens.”
Log-a-Log faced the oncoming Rapscour until he was almost on top of him, then, stepping neatly aside, he tripped Hogspit, las.h.i.+ng his back smartly with the rapier blade as the big weasel went down.
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The shrew circled him teasingly. ”Up on yore paws, y'great pudden, or I'll finish ye where you lie!”
His face ugly with rage, Hogspit scrambled up and began taking huge swings at the shrew with his cutla.s.s. Each time the blade came down it was either on the ground or thin air. The shrews in the boats sat impa.s.sively watching their leader making a fool of the bigger creature.
Turning aside the bludgeoning cutla.s.s with a flick of his rapier, Log-a-Log mocked his opponent. ”It must be a poor outlook fer this Damug cove if'n this is the way he teaches his officers t'handle a blade. Can't yer do any better, bucket-b.u.m?”
Slavering at the mouth and panting, Hogspit cleaved down, holding the cutla.s.s with both paws. The blade tanged off a rock, sending a shock through him. He spat at his enemy, snarling, ”I'll carve yer guts inter frogmeat an' dance on em!”
Log-a-Log wiped the weasel's spit from his headband, eyes flat with menace. ”n.o.beast ever spat on me an' lived. I could've slain ye a dozen times. Here! There! Left! Right! Up'n'down!” Whirling about he p.r.i.c.ked Hogspit each time he spoke, showing him the truth of the statement. Halting, the shrew curled his lip scornfully at the Rapscour and turned his back on him, saying, ”Gerrout o' my sight, vermin, you've done yoreself no honor here today!”
Swinging the cutla.s.s high, Hogspit charged at the shrew's unprotected back. At the last possible second Log-a-Log turned and ran him through, gritting up into the coward's shocked face, ”No skill, no sense, and no honor, now y've got no life!”
When the drumbeats ceased that evening, Damug Warfang was standing on the stream bank with the entire Rapscallion horde spread wide around the valley behind him. He sat down on the head of a drum the rat Gribble had provided. Facing him in three ranks stood the remains of the trackers, with Lousewort at the front.