Part 3 (1/2)

I'd strangle a snake, all for the sake Of lovely nutbrown beer. . . .

Nuhuhuhut broooowwwwwnnnnn beeeeheeeyer!”

Upstairs in the vegetable store, Mrs. Lettie Bankvole was remonstrating with her young offspring baby Rolio. He had learned the words after his own fas.h.i.+on and was singing uproariously in a deep rough gurgle, 44.

”I strangle a snake an' wet his throat, I wrestle a dragon an' steal his coat-”

”Baby Rollo! Stop that this instant. Cover your ears and help me with this salad.”

”I wallop a snake wiv a old rock cake-”

”Rollo! Go and play outside and stop listening to those dreadful songs. Strangling dragons and swigging beer -where will it all end?”

Mattimeo was finding out that roses had sharp thorns. For the second time that day he sucked at his paw, nipping out the pointed rose thorn with his teeth. Tim Churchmouse had gone off shrimping with the otters, Tess stayed behind out of pity for the warrior's son.

”Here Matti, you stack those baskets on the cart for your mum. I'll arrange the roses for you. You've got them in a right old mess.”

Mattimeo winked gratefully at her. ”Thanks, Tess. I'm about as much use as a mole at Hying, with all these flowers. I never thought it would be such hard work.”

”Then why did you volunteer for it?”

”I never volunteered,” he explained. ”Dad said I have to do it as part of my punishment for fighting with Viteh.”

Tess stamped her paw. ”Oh, that little rat. If s so unfair, it was he who provoked you into that fight. Look, mere he is now, over by the tables, having a sly sn.i.g.g.e.r at you.”

Mattimeo saw Vitch, leaning idly on a table. He sneered and pulled tongues in the young mouse's direction.

Mattimeo felt his temper rising. ”I'll give him something to stick his tongue out at in a moment,” he muttered under his breath. ”I'll throttle him so hard if 11 stick out permanently!”

Tess felt sorry for her friend. ”Pay no attention to him, Matti. He's only trying to get you into more trouble.”

45.

It was difficult for Mattimeo to ignore Vitch. Now the rat was wiggling a paw to his snout end at his enemy.

The young mouse straightened his back from the pile of baskets. ”Right, thaf s it! I've taken all I can stand of his insults.”

Quickly less dodged past Mattimeo and ran towards Vitch, who was still grimacing impudently. Angrily the young churchmouse picked up the first thing that came to her paw. It was a pliant rose stem. ”Look out, Vitch, there's a great big wasp on your tail,” she cried out urgently. ”Stay still, I'll get it!”

Startled by Tess's warning cry, Vitch obeyed instantly, turning and bending slightly so she could deal with the offending insect. There was no sign of a wasp behind Vitch.

Tess swung the rose stem, surprised at her own temper but unable to stop the swis.h.i.+ng descent of the whippy branch. It thwacked down hard across Vitch's bottom with stinging speed.

Swish, crack!

”Yeeehoooooowowow!” The rat straightened like a ramrod. Leaping high in the air, he rubbed furiously with both paws at the agonizing sting.

Cornflower came hurrying over. ”Oh dear, the poor creature. What happened, Tess?”

The young churchmouse looked the picture of innocence, though she felt far from it. Blus.h.i.+ng deeply she stammered an excuse.

”Oh golly. Vitch had a wasp on his bottom, but I couldn't brush it off in time. I think he's been stung.”

Vitch was thras.h.i.+ng about on the gra.s.s, tears squeezing out onto his cheeks as he rubbed furiously at his tender rump.

Cornflower was genuinely concerned. ”Oh, you poor thing. Don'trubit, you'll make it worse. Go to Sister May at the infirmary and she'll put some herb ointment on it for you. Tess, show him where it is, please.”

46.

Scrambling up, Vitch avoided Tess's paw and dashed off, sobbing.

Tess turned to Mattimeo. ”Aaahhh, poor Vitch. It must be very uncomfortable,” she said, her voice dripping sympathy.

Mattimeo tried hard to keep a straight face. ”Indeed it must. If s a terrible thing to be stung on the bottom by a churchmouse, er, wasp, I mean.”

Cornflower put her paws about them both. ”Yes, of course. Now you two run off and play. There may be other wasps about and I don't want either of you stung.”

”Come on, Matti, lef s go water-shrimping with Tim and the otters,” Tess suggested.

”Great, I'll race you over there. One, two, three. Go!”

Cornflower shaded her eyes with a paw as she watched them run.

”What a lively young pair,” she said aloud.

Mrs. Churchmouse arrived, carrying a pansy and kingcup bouquet. ”Yes, but you watch your Matti. He'll let her win. He's very fond of my little Tess.”

”Bless them, that's the way it should be.” Cornflower nodded, smiling.

47.

It was late afternoon on the common land at the back of Saint Ninian's. Slager had marshalled his band of slavers. Threeclaws the weasel and Bageye the stoat stayed inside the ruined church, together with the wretched little group of slaves, who had been manacled to a running chain. They were to await the return of Slagar and the others that night.

Now the Sly One reviewed his force. They were dressed as a band of travelling performers. None looked evil, Slagar had seen to that. Every ferret, stoat or weasel had a sifiy grin painted on its face with berry stain and plant dyes, and all wore various types of baggy comical costume. The fox swept up and down the line, adjusting a ruffle here, affixing a false red nose there.

Dressed as the Lord of Mountebanks, Slagar the Cruel looked neither comical nor amusing. There was a mysterious air about him, hooded and caped in swirling patterned silk which showed the black lining of the moon and stars motif at every turn.

”Right, listen carefully. Throw down any weapons you are carrying. Right now!” His voice was a warning growl, flatly dangerous.

There was an uneasy shuffling. The slavers were apprehensive of entering the Abbey without weapons.

48.

Slagar paced the ranks once more.

”Last chance. When 1 say throw down your weapons, I mean it. Next time I walk around I will search you, and anyone carrying a weapon - anyone, I don't care who -I'll kill that creature with his own armoury. I'll gut him, right here in front of you all. Now, throw down your weapons!”

There was a clatter. Knives, hooks, swords, strangling nooses, daggers and axes fell to the ground like a sudden shower of April rain.

Slagar kicked at a saw-edged spike. ”Wartclaw, gather 'em and sling 'em into the church until we get back. The rest of you, form up around the cart, ten in front pulling, the rest at the sides and back shoving. We'll take the path nice and easy now, travel at a steady pace. That'll bring us there in the early evening.”