Part 8 (1/2)
Matthias peered closely at the splinter. ”Blue paint, it's got blue paint on it. I'll bet a bushel of acorns to a cask of ale if s from that cart.”
”See the trouble and pain I go to findin' clues for you buffers,” Basil sniffed n.o.bly. ”I say, chaps, is that a piece of torn cloth on that bush behind you?”
Jess bounded over and retrieved the sc.r.a.p of material. ”Indeed it is. Red and yellow, just like that covering the fox ducked under as we came out of the Abbey gate.”
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They investigated, searching deeper into the woodland.
”Here's a broken branch. Rain never did that.”
”Some bark's been scuffed from this willow here.”
”Look, axle grease on the long gra.s.s!”
Matthias straightened up. ”That's it. They did pa.s.s this way, cutting off the road and striking east through the forest. If we hurry we may catch them up before night. They can't travel fast in woodland pulling a cart.”
”But what about the others?”
”Can't spare the time to fetch 'em, I'm 'fraid. Besides, they'd wander all over the show and hold us up.”
'You're right, Basil, we can deal with the fox and his band if we take them by surprise. Let's leave a message at the roadside for Mrs. Church mouse and the others in case they come back looking for us. Here, I'll write on this haversack with some charcoal and we'll stand it on a stick by the side of the path.”
”Capital wheeze, laddie buck. Right, forward the buffs and don't worry about B. Stag Hare esquire. It takes more than a splinter to keep a good scout down, y'know.”
A short while later, the trio had struck off east into the wet woodlands of Mossflower.
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Mattimeo sat in frightened silence as Slagar undid the drawstring of his silk-patterned harlequin headcover.
”Watch, little one. Before I begin my story you must see this!” With a flick of his paw the fox whipped off the hood.
The young mouse swallowed hard. It was the most horrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Sugar's head was that of a normal fox, on the left side. His right side was hideous! Only the eye was alive and unwinking in the dead half of the sly one's face, the rest was scabrous furless flesh, with the side of the mouth twisted upward into a fiendish grin. Greenish gums and yellowed teeth hung out of the frozen jaw, and the skin beneath showed a mottled black and purple, hanging in folds, loose and lifeless.
Mattimeo was revolted, but he could not tear his eyes away from the awful sight. Slagar laughed, a short breathless cackle which trickled damply from the dreadful mouth.
”Look at me. Aren't I the pretty one?”
Mattimeo's stomach heaved queasily. ”H-h-how did that happen?” he gasped.
Slagar hid the injured side of his face by holding the silken hood to it. ”A long long time ago, or thaf s what it 95.
seems like. Anyhow, it was before you were born. Iwasa wandering healer fox. Me and my mother, Sela the Vixen, knew many secrets of healing arts and the herbs, nostrums, potions and remedies of the forest. Eight seasons ago your Redwall creatures fought a great war with the rats from the north. It was woodlanders who betrayed my mother to the rats. They speared her and she was left to die in a ditch. I was wounded and captured by those at Redwall. They held me prisoner in a room called the infirmary. Oh, they said it was only until I got well, but I knew better. A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter what they call the place where they keep him from his freedom and deny him liberty. So one afternoon, while your father's precious creatures were about their business, I escaped!
”Haha, no creature can keep me locked up for long,” he continued. ”As payment for my troubles I took some baubles from Redwall with me, silly little things, bits and pieces. As I ran from the Abbey I was stopped by some silly old mouse, some buffer called Methuselah, so I killed him. It was no great fight; his head cracked the wall and that was that. I was forced to flee for my life, with that great badger and a horde of woodlanders behind me. Deep into Mossflower I ran. I knew it well in those days. There was a hiding place, a small cave beneath the stump of a tree, and I hid there. If I had not been forced into hiding I would have escaped unharmed. Anyhow, there I was, hiding while half of the stupid Redwall creatures crashed around Mossflower trying to find me. I did not know that there was another creature in the darkness of that little cave with me, but there was. It was a serpent, a huge adder. I must have touched it in the darkness because it struck and sank its fangs in me, right here.”
Slagar pointed to his disfigured face, just under the jaw. ”Any other creature would have been instantly slain,” he boasted. ”Not me, though. I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke it had dragged me 96.
through the forest to its lair. I was in burning agony, deep paralyzing pain. Somewhere near me I could hear the snake sleeping. Silently I dragged myself away from that terrible snake's lair and out of that place of death. I hid out in Mossflower for two seasons. All the autumn and winter I lay in a den, treating myself with every herb, root, cure, poultice, medicine and nostrum I knew. Sometimes the pain was so great that I thought I must surely die, but I kept myself alive with secret remedies known only to healer foxes. Magic pa.s.sed on to me by my mother, combined with the thought that one day I would grow wefl and strong enough to take my revenge upon Redwall, kept me alive better than herbs. I stayed alive to wreak vengeance upon those who had caused this injury to me, to make them weep bitter tears for my pain.”
With a quick movement Slagar donned his hood and fastened the drawstring.
”You lie!” Mattimeo protested. ”The creatures of Redwall would never hold or imprison an innocent creature who had harmed n.o.body. Our infirmary is for the sick, not for captives. You have not mentioned my father. What harm has he ever done to you?”
The Sly One leapt up, kicking Mattimeo hard.
”Silence! Who are you to dare talk to me? I am Slagar the Cruel. My revenge is against all Redwall, and your father is the very symbol of all it stands for. He even robbed me of my revenge against the serpent by killing it with his magic sword. He will learn the meaning of pain. Not a bodily pain as I have suffered, no, this will be a far more worrying agony, the loss of his one and only son. Halftail! Take this slave back and chain him with the others.”
As Mattimeo was led away Slagar called after him, ”Tell your friend the squirrel that you have talked with the Son of Sela.”
The young mouse's friends had not slept. They lay half in and half out of the pelting rain, miserably wondering where Mattimeo had been taken. Suddenly Auma 97.
nudged Tim, pointing to the two figures that materialized out of the downpour. They breathed a sigh of relief, seeing it was Mattimeo with one of the guards.
Haiftail pushed them aside roughly as he linked the young mouse back onto the running chain. ”Move over, you lot. Make s.p.a.ce here, your little pal's back.”
They wriggled back, as far under the bushes as they could. It was a bit drier there. Tim, Tess, Auma and Sam listened intently as Mattimeo related Slagar's story. When he had finished, Sam gave them the real version of what had happened that night long ago.
”I remember what took place. 11m and Tess wouldn't, they were only tiny infants, and you weren't even born then, but I was a season and a half old. Though I couldn't talk much, I could see and hear well enough. If that fox is the son of Sela, then his name is Chickenhound, or at least it was then. He and his mother were traitors. Posing as healers, they acted as spies for the rats, but they tried selling information to both sides. Like all traitors, they were discovered. The rats speared him and his mother and left them in a ditch. Sela died, but Chickenhound was only wounded. He dragged himself to Redwall, so we took him in and cared for him. He repaid our hospitality by stealing a sackful of the Brothers' and Sisters' possessions and murdering old Methuselah, our recorder. Chickenhound ran away and was never heard of again, until now.”
Mattimeo lay back in the damp gra.s.s. ”What a pity that the snake didn't finish him off. He's still a sly fox, but completely insane. The snake poison and his desire for revenge have twisted his mind until he actually believes his own story and really thinks he is in the right.”
Threeclaws poked his ugly head under the bushes at them. ”Hoi! Get to sleep in there and no talking, or I'll lay a cane across your backs!”
Tiny streams leapt and gurgled, rivers overran their banks, the rain poured relentlessly down on Mossflower 98.
Woods, rattling off the leaves, slopping in the undergrowth, spattering summer flowers until they bent their heads under the weight of water. Beneath the shrubbery between the oak and the beech trees, the young prisoners chained on the slave line slept fitfully, knowing that in a short time they would be brutally roused and forced to march again.
Midafternoon found Matthias, Basil and Jess still striking east into Mossflower. They were constantly finding evidence that the cart had travelled in this direction, such as crushed leaves, broken branches and bruised bark, but Mathias noticed that Basil did not look too pleased with the situation.
”Whaf s the matter, Basil? We're on the right trail, aren't we?”
The lanky hare pawed rainwater out of his left ear, shaking his head. ”Oh, we're on some sort of trail, old mousemate, but there's quite a few things I'm not happy about, doncha know. One is this infernal rain. I was built for dry sunny flatlands, not great soppin' forests. Then there's this cart. There's supposed to be a band of slavers with at least three captives, though I'd say a bunch more if they'd been out robbin' young uns. Doesn't it strike you as peculiar that there are very few pawtracks about? We've only seen the odd one, or maybe two at the most. Now, they can't all travel in the cart, 'cos there's nothin' to pull it, except themselves. Got me? And if they were pullin' it an' walkin' alongside it, there'd be a lot more tracks of pawprints, mud churned up and so on.”
Matthias agreed with Basil's shrewd observations. ”You're right of course. That suggests two things: either we're walking into a trap, or if s just a ruse to lure us away from the real trail that the fox and his band have taken.”
Just then Jess Squirrel tumbled down from a sycamore. She was holding a paw to her mouth for silence.
”Ssshh! I was climbing a few trees to get my bearings and guess what? I've spotted the cart up ahead.”
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”Where?” Matthias asked.
”About half a short march away on the bank of a stream. There doesn't seem to be any beast with it, though. No sign of our young uns.”
Matthias drew his sword. ”Let's go carefully. They may be somewhere about, so keep low. Jess, you lead the way.”
Silently as rain mist the three slid through the trees and bushes, their senses alert, ready to spring into action at the turn of a leaf. Matthias grasped the great sword of Redwall tight in both paws. Holding it upright, he peered across its double-edged blade, hoping fervently for a single glimpse of Slagar the masked fox.