Part 12 (1/2)

Gonff repeated it dutifully, and Furmo made him say it again. The phrase made such a good rowing chant that the Guosim shrews took it up, bending and straightening their backs in time to the cadence.

”Damson crumble an' good hot sauce! Damson crumble an' good hot sauce!”

Chugger was acting captain again. He strode officiously up to Gonff and nodded approvingly. ”Mista Gonff, you like a damser crum an' good 'ot sauces?”

The Mousethief licked his lips appreciatively. ”I certainly do, me liddle mate!”

Patting his tiny stomach, Chugger growled fiercely, ”Well you can't avva no more, I eated it all up, an' I not yore likkle mate now. I cap'n Chugg, see!”

Not stopping for anything they rowed doggedly on, trying to keep up the pace, which Martin had unconsciously increased again. Midnight had gone by an hour when they rounded the point. Everybeast lay back, panting with exhaustion, as Furmo gave orders to s.h.i.+p oars. Everybeast except Martin. As the Honeysuckle's Honeysuckle's hull sc.r.a.ped to a halt in the shallows, he was upright, staring at the deserted sh.o.r.e, which was bathed in pale moonlight. Like lonely sentinels, the cliffs stood high in the background, topped by spa.r.s.e vegetation. Darkened caves, partially covered by weather-warped driftwood and rubble, which had once disguised them from hostile eyes, lay forlorn and abandoned. A floodtide of memories poured in on Martin's senses. Every rock, even the wind-driven sand drifts, looked familiar to him. Turning to his tired companions, the Warrior spoke in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. hull sc.r.a.ped to a halt in the shallows, he was upright, staring at the deserted sh.o.r.e, which was bathed in pale moonlight. Like lonely sentinels, the cliffs stood high in the background, topped by spa.r.s.e vegetation. Darkened caves, partially covered by weather-warped driftwood and rubble, which had once disguised them from hostile eyes, lay forlorn and abandoned. A floodtide of memories poured in on Martin's senses. Every rock, even the wind-driven sand drifts, looked familiar to him. Turning to his tired companions, the Warrior spoke in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

”I was born here, I know this place!”

Slipping overboard, he waded through tne shallows.

Drawing his rapier, Log a Log Furmo signaled to his Guosim. Folgrim picked up his ax, determined to go ash.o.r.e with them. Gonff backed to the rail and stood in their path, holding up both paws.

”No, mates. Let our friend go alone. 'Twould not be right to intrude on him this night!”

The crew of the Honeysuckle Honeysuckle laid aside their weapons and sat down to await Martin's return. laid aside their weapons and sat down to await Martin's return.

Striding slowly up the beach, Martin turned to his right, the cave which had once been his home drawing him to it like a magnet. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him. Halting, he stared hard at the feeble glow emanating from the cave. It was was a light. Somebeast had lit a fire there recently, which had died to glowing embers. Drawing his sword, the Warrior of Redwall crouched, moving forward silent as moonshadow. Entering the cave, he flattened himself against the rock wall, waiting until his eyes were accustomed to the dim light. a light. Somebeast had lit a fire there recently, which had died to glowing embers. Drawing his sword, the Warrior of Redwall crouched, moving forward silent as moonshadow. Entering the cave, he flattened himself against the rock wall, waiting until his eyes were accustomed to the dim light.

Covered by a long traveling cloak, an old mouse sat dozing by what was left of the fire. Martin crept close, extended his blade and tapped the mouse's paw lightly with its point. He did this once again, then the creature stirred, turning its face to him. The old mouse spoke in an awestruck voice. ”Luke, is that you?”

Wordlessly Martin placed some broken twigs on the fire. Laying aside his sword, he sat down opposite the ancientcreature, staring at it through the rising flames. A slow smile of pure joy stole across the old one's lined face.

”Oh, Luke, Luke, it is you! But how ...?”

The Warrior spoke softly, so as not to frighten the old fellow. ”I'm Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. Pray, what is your name, sir?”

Rising slowly, the old mouse shuffled around the fire. Sitting next to Martin, he reached out and touched the Warrior's face. Martin watched in silence as tears rolled down the mouse's cheeks and his head began to shake.

”Ahhhh, so many seasons, so long ago. I've returned here through snow, rain and sun, many many times, and sat waiting alone, always alone.”

Tears overcame further speech. Martin drew the old mouse to him, placing a paw about his scrawny back and wiping away the tears with the cloak hem. He rocked him gently. ”There, there, no need to weep further, friend. I am Luke's son and I have come. You are not alone.”

The old mouse's eyes searched Martin's face. ”Aye, you are Martin. So like your father, so like him. D'you not remember me? I'm Vurg, I was Luke's best friend.”

Martin could not remember him, but he nodded. ”Of course. I didn't recognize you in the dark. Vurg, my father's strong right paw. I recall you now. How are you, Vurg?”

Holding forth his withered paws, Vurg chuckled. ”How am I? I'm old, Martin, old, old, old! Heeheehee, I've got more seasons on me than a hedgehog has spikes!”

Martin hugged the scrawny form to him fondly. ”Nonsense, I think you look just the same as you always did. I'll wager your appet.i.te's still as good. Are you hungry, Vurg?”

”Heehee, anybeast tough enough t'be livin' on the northlands coast is always in need o' good vittles!”

Martin sheathed the sword across his shoulder. ”Right, come on back to the boat with me. I've got a crew of Guosim shrews there who'll feed you 'til you burst!”

Vurg rose creakily, retrieving a beaded linen bag from the sand. This he stowed beneath his cloak. ”Well, young Martin, what're we standin' 'round here waitin' for? Lead me t'the grub!”

Together they crossed the sh.o.r.e, Vurg leaning heavily on Martin's paw for support, chattering away.

”Guosim shrew cooks, eh? Bet they know 'ow to serve up proper-made vittles. Not like ole Cardo, now there was a mouse who'd burn a salad. Cook? Cardo couldn't boil water to save his life. You remember Cardo, don't you?”

Martin lied as he kept the oldster on a steady course. ”Oh, Cardo! How could anybeast forget that buffoon!”

Gonff was on watch, sitting in the prow. He saw the two mice approaching the Honeysuckle Honeysuckle and roused the crew from their slumbers. and roused the crew from their slumbers.

”Ahoy, mates, Martin's comin' back. Looks like he's brought company, too. Stand byhe might need help.”

Furmo and Folgrim a.s.sisted in getting Vurg aboard. The old mouse winked at the scarred otter. ”Heehee, bet you could take care o' yerself in a sc.r.a.p?”

Folgrim's pointed teeth bared in a savage grin. ”I've taken care of a few in me time, sir!”

Vurg mused absently as they seated him comfortably under the stern awning. ”Aye, so did Luke an' Ranguvar, they took care o' more'n a few. Heeheehee!”

Furmo patted the old one's paw fondly. ”How's yore sweet tooth, Grandad?”

”I tell ye, young whipsnout, a sweet tooth's about the only one I got left in me mouth. Heehee!”

The shrew stoked up his stove with seacoal and driftwood. ”Then how does a baked river roll with hot maple syrup sound t'ye? I makes it with sweetflour an' all manner o' candied fruit, folds it careful-like into a big roll, bakes it to a turn an' pours 'ot maple syrup over it. Got a beaker or two of Dunehog Seafoam ale t'go with it. Sound good?” y y Vurg wiped a paw across his lips. ”I'll tell ye when me mouth quits waterin', young 'un!”

Morning came, with overcast skies and a bitter wind. Martin sat beneath the stern shelter with his friends, sipping barley and carrot broth. Vurg lay behind them, close to the oven, wrapped snugly in his cloak, sleeping off the feast he had consumed.

Gonff sat Chugger on his lap, allowing him to steal his beaker of broth. ”You finish that all up, matey. An' don't be das.h.i.+n' about kickin' up a rumpus. Old Vurg needs lots o' sleep. Well, Martin, did y'find out what you needed to know from the ole feller, about yore dad an' so on?”

Martin shook his head as he watched Vurg sleeping. ”Didn't want to rush him. Vurg will tell me when he's ready. Though I did hint that I needed information.”

Dinny looked over the top of his beaker. ”Wot did ee'm owd feller say 'bout that, zurr?”

Martin shrugged. ”Not much, though he did say I'd find out all I needed to know when we took him back home to someplace called Tall Rocks.”

Chugger was beginning to wriggle out of Gonff's grasp. Trimp took charge of him, stroking the tiny squirrel's head soothingly. She looked inquiringly at Martin. ”Tall Rocks? Where's that?”

The Warrior stared out at the gray wintry seas. ”Somewhere up north of here. Vurg said he'd show us the way.”

Furmo picked up the linen bag from where it had fallen out of Vurg's cloak, and pa.s.sed it to Martin. ”What d'you suppose is in this?”

Martin sighed deeply and placed the bag carefully back in the folds of Vurg's cloak without disturbing him. ”He'll tell us when he's ready, I suppose. Though I'm not certain I want to know now. I have a feeling inside that 'tis going to be a long and tragic tale.”

Vurg woke before noon feeling much refreshed, and to prove it he ate a huge breakfast. Under his directions they pushed off and continued north. Martin watched, silent and pensive once more, as his birthplace faded into the distance.

Chapter 16.

It was a late noon, two days out from Martin's former home, when Tall Rocks hove into view. Rain was falling heavily and the wind had died completely. The sea surface, though pitted constantly by rainfall, was relatively calm, with a notable absence of the huge foam-crested rollers usual in the area. Vurg stood in the bows, Martin at his side, and relayed directions. Furmo and Dinny held the tiller between them, listening out for instructions.