Part 11 (1/2)

Gabool was in a foul temper. Most of his servant slaves had gone to the galleys of the three s.h.i.+ps under repair, and he was left with only four. Blinking his red-rimmed eyes, he watched them polis.h.i.+ng his bell. The Warlord was afraid of the night; sleep brought with it only nightmares of avenging mice, fearsome badger figures and the angry boom of the bell, tolling around his brain like a harbinger of doom. Virtually alone now in Fort Bladegirt, he did not have the satisfaction of a.s.serting his power as King of all Searats. There was n.o.beast to plot against, to bend to his will, only sitting around waiting and festering with hate for his one-time ally Graypatch. He aimed a kick at a dormouse who was down on all fours furiously rubbing away at the great bell.

”You there, scabpaws. Where's my food?”

The slave continued polis.h.i.+ng, not daring to stop as he replied, ”Master, I am not a cook. You sent the cooks away to your s.h.i.+ps. All I do is polish your bell as you have told me to.”

”Get me something to eat and drink,” Gabool snarled. ”You're a cook now.”

The dormouse dropped his rag and bowed, trem- 124.

bling. ”Master, I cannot cook. I am only a bell polisher ...”

Gabool's cruel claws dug into the slave's body as he drew him upright, glaring at him through sleepless sore eyes.

”Get down to the kitchens, and light a fire. You'll find dead seabirds there-roast me a few, bring wine too. Get out of my sight!”

As the dormouse picked himself up and scurried off, Gabool vented his spleen on the remaining three slaves.

”Out! Get out, all of you! Leave me, I want to be alone.”

Gabool flung a knife at the last dormouse to disappear around the door. It clattered harmlessly off the wall, and he slumped dejectedly in his chair. ”Must be losin' me touch. Should've pinned him easily.”

The afternoon sun slanting through the window cast its warmth over him. Gabool's tired eyes began to droop. He sighed as his chin slowly sank onto his chest. Outside, the sounds of the restless sea grew distant. Finally sleep overcame the King of Searats; his eyes closed and his head slumped gently forward in the quiet summer noontide.

A badger was advancing upon him, a huge warlike badger brandis.h.i.+ng a broadsword that made a searat blade look like a toy. He turned in fear. A mouse had crept up behind him-it was the one he called Skiv- she was carrying a heavy knotted rope and the light of battle was in her eyes. Somewhere he could hear Graypatch laughing, a contemptuous mocking sound . . .

BongW Gabool sat bolt upright, wide awake. There was no creature in the room save himself . . . And the bell.

”Well, what a riddle t'be sure. I'll bet even Hon Rosie couldn't make head nor tail of this jolly old thing. Wot, wot?”

125.

Mariel aimed a candied chestnut at Tarquin and threw it. He merely caught it in his mouth and munched reflectively. ”Course, y'know, I've never seen her solvin' riddles and whatnot. Bet she's bally clever at it, though. Hon Rosie's pretty good at most things.”

Mellus stuck a huge paw under Tarquin's nose. ”Listen, doodlehead, if I hear you mention Hon Rosie one more time ...”

The friends sat at table in Cavern Hole. They were not to be disturbed, on the Abbot's orders. Outside in Great Hall the rest of the Redwallers took supper and chased reluctant Dibbuns around in an effort to get them washed and up to their beds. Mariel picked up the scrolls from amid the supper-laden table.

”There's no puzzle or mystery about it, the whole thing's a straightforward map in rhyme. Maybe we don't know what certain things are-Fieldroan the Traveler had an odd way of expressing himself-but don't worry, I'll find out what it all means as I go along.”

Saxtus helped himself to more mushroom-and-cress soup. ”Read it again, Mariel. Perhaps it may sound clearer if you do.”

Mariel drew a deep breath. ”Right, here goes for the tenth time . . .

If I were fool of any sort, I'd leave Redwall and travel forth, For only fools seek Terramort Upon the pathway leading north. This trail brings death with every pace; Beware of dangers lurking there, Sticklegs of the feathered race And fins that in the ford do stir. After the ford, one night one day, Seek out the otter and his wife. Forsake the path, go westlands way, Find the trail and lose your life. When in the woods this promise keep, 126.

With senses sharp and open eyes, 'My nose shall not send me to sleep'

For buried ones will surely rise.

Beat the hollow oak and shout, 'We are creatures of Redwall!'

If a brave one is about, He'll save any fool at all.

Beware the light that shows the way, Trust not the wart-skinned toad, In his realm no night no day.

Fool, stay to the road.

Where the sea meets with the sh.o.r.e, There the final clue is hid; Rock stands sentinel evermore, Find it as I did.

The swallow who cannot fly south, The bird that only flies one way, Lies deep beneath the monster's mouth, Keep him with you night and day.

His flight is straight, norwest is true, Your fool's desire he'll show to you.”

Brother Hubert made a show of polis.h.i.+ng his spectacles busily. ”Complete balderdash and nonsense, of course. Fieldroan was, like most old travelers, given to tall stories and half-truths. The very idea of it! Sticklegs and fins, otters' wives, sleeping noses and buried ones rising. Huh! Truth was a cuckoo's egg to that fellow.”

Tarquin left off chewing an enormous turnip 'n' leek pastie. ”I say, that's a bit strong, old boy. What reason would old Fieldroan have to tell a pile of fibs? Personally I'm inclined to believe the bally poem, even though I can't make head nor tail of it.”

Simeon touched Mariel's paw. ”What do you think, young one? After all, the decision to travel upon this information is yours.”

Mariel patted the blind herbalist's shoulder. ”Thank you, Simeon. I will tell you what I think. I never knew 127.

Fieldroan so I cannot say if his poem is totally correct, but it is all I have to go on if I am to reach Terramort, so I will do what the rhyme says to rescue my father and return the great bell to Lord Rawnblade.”

The Abbot pursed his lips. ”But that is not all you intend to do, Mariel.”

The mousemaid's voice had a ring of determination which no creature could deny.

”I have only one other thing to do -I must slay Gabool the Wild. None of you can know the hatred I bear toward this barbarian. He must be sent to h.e.l.l-gates so that decent creatures can live in peace; only then will I rest. I must do this alone. I thank you my friends for all the kindness and hospitality you have shown to me, a stranger in your midst. Continue to live, prosper and be happy in your wonderful Abbey, but do not try to follow me. The responsibility is mine alone, and I cannot allow any Redwaller to risk life and limb on my behalf. Now I must sleep. Tomorrow my journey begins.”

When the mousemaid had retired to the dormitories, Dandin looked at the friends around the table in Cavern Hole.

”I am going with her. She cannot achieve her aims alone.”

Mother Mellus rapped the table. ”You'll stay right here at Redwall, Dandin.”

The young mouse turned to the Abbot. There was no change of verdict.

”Dandin, we are creatures of peace, and also duty. You must obey Mother Mellus. You are still a very young mouse in our care.”

”But ...”

The Abbot held up a paw in a gesture of finality. ”No more arguments, please. The hour is late and sleep beckons.”

t *

Shadows of drifting nightcloud meandered past the moon. A light breeze made the hot night more tolerable, and trees rustled and sighed in Mossflower Woods, sending their whisperings echoing around the stones of Redwall. Simeon sat propped up by cus.h.i.+ons in his armchair near the open window-he seldom slept in bed. It was sometime after midnight. Unsure of whether he was half awake or half asleep, the blind herbalist felt a presence in the room.

”Is that you, Bernard, old friend?” he said softly into the darkness.

The voice that replied was not that of the Abbot; it was strong, firm and rea.s.suring, a voice that Simeon instinctively felt he could trust.