Part 13 (1/2)

”Cease'n'alt, moles, the job be dun!” Foremole's announcement set his crew to leaning and panting against the gurtpaw, their tongues lolling out as they pa.s.sed a canteen of cider from one to another. The mole leader stood to one side and bowed low.

'Thurr it be, gennelbeasts, take they torcher an' 'ave a gudd viewen insoides.”

Smiling happily, Winifred and Cornflower congratulated the motes. ”Well done, Foremote. Thank you, team, you did work hard. We could never have moved such a stone without you.”

If a mole could have blushed, it would have been the Foremole. He and his crew stood about, awkwardly kicking the loose earth with their blunt digging paws.

”Hurr, bless ee, marm, it wurr a nuthin', glad to be o' survice.”

With Cornflower in the lead, they made their way 142.

through the hole. The torch was guttering low. Winifred bade them stand still. Moving around the walls, the otter found dried brushwood torches in rusting metal sconces. She touched each one with her own torch as she pa.s.sed, and she soon had the whole place illuminated.

It was a large square rock chamber with an earthen floor. In one corner there was a ma.s.sive anthill reaching halfway up the wall. They skirted it, taking care not to disturb the little folk. Cornflower's breath caught in her throat at the sight that confronted them. It was a beautiful redstone statue of a wise old mouse, sitting on a simple chair of wrought stone, one paw upraised, the other holding open a stone book which lay in her lap.

Winifred gazed at the kindly old face. It had a wrinkly smile, small square spectacles perched on the end of its nose and drooping whiskers which gave it a homely look. ”By the fur! She seems to be watchin' us. I wonder who she was?”

Cornflower instinctively knew. ”Thaf s old Abbess Germaine, the designer of Redwall. I'm sure of it. She looks so peaceful and gentle sitting there.”

Foremole brushed dusty earth from the base of the statue. ”Lookit yurr!” he called.

In the flickering torchlights. Cornflower stooped to read the inscription carved on the base plinth: ”Germaine, first Abbess of Redwall. I came from home to find a home. The seasons were good to me. Here I will rest with the little folk.”

Winifred nodded in admiration. ”That's how it should be. She looks a nice old cove, sirtin' there with her specs an' her book.”

Foremole mounted the base and ran heavy expert paws over the statue. ”Creatur' oo carven this'n were a maister, mark moi word. It be a gurt piece o' work, hurr.”

”Yes indeed,” Cornflower agreed. ”Look,there's even a 143.

little stone ant crawling up the pages of the book. But what are we supposed to be looking for?”

Winifred shrugged. ”Slowed if I know. Seems we've gone to a lot of trouble just to find a wonderfully carved statue. Very nice, but not much help.”

They began searching the chamber carefully from earthen floor to stone ceiling, checking each stone in the* walls without success.

”Ho hurnrrun!” Cornflower yawned. ”I think we'd better leave it for tonight and come here again tomorrow. It must be late night now. Come on, baby Rollo, or we'll miss supper. Come down here, you little terror.”

The infant bankvole had climbed up on the statue. He was sitting on the knee of the Abbess, alongside the stone book she held in her lap. Winifred went after him. He tried to wriggle away, but she caught him and lifted him off the statue's lap. As she did, Rollo grabbed at the replica of the tiny stone ant crawling upon the open pages of the book. Much to Winifred's annoyance, it came away in his paw.

”Naughty Rollo! Ooh, you little scallawag, you've broken the lovely statue.”

Rollo held the stone ant up to show Winifred that he had not broken it. There was a copper pin beneath it which had been holding it in place upon a small hole drilled in the stone pages. ”Not broke. Win, look.”

”Moind ee, missis!” The team mole Gaffer pawed Cornflower swiftly to one side and threw himself flat at the foot of the statue. When baby Rollo had picked up the stone ant on the copper pin, something happened to the book which lay sloping downward from the lap of the Abbess Germaine.

The pages of the book, which looked for all the world like a solid slab cunningly carved to represent a block of pages, slipped. A thin section slid out from the block and fell towards the floor. Luckily, Gaffer had noticed it beginning to move, and the fragile tablet of stone landed on his soft furred back as he lay beneath the statue.

144.

Fortunately it was not damaged. Patting him gratefully on the head, Cornflower reverently picked up the delicate tablet in both paws.

”Well saved. Gaffer! This is what we were looking for. Who would have thought it. A stone page from a stone book, covered in writing too!”

145.

2O.

Auma lifted her head slightly and nodded to Mattimeo. ”If s now. They've all dozed off. We must go, now!”

The dagger had been pa.s.sed from paw to paw, and one by one the captive companions had freed themselves from the manacles. They looked towards Mattimeo, waiting upon his lead.

Willing himself to move carefully, the young mouse gripped the dagger blade between his teeth and summoned up all his courage. Rising slowly to a crouch, he edged forward along the sunwarmed stone of the river-bank, keeping a wary eye upon the sleeping slavers. Bit by agonizing bit, he crept along until he reached the water. Now he had to be extra careful not to make a splash that would waken their captors. Lowering himself gently into the smooth-flowing waters, Mattimeo caught his breath sharply as his body dipped deep below the warm surface into the cold undercurrent. Holding the rock ledge to keep from being swept away downstream, he nodded towards Sam.

The young squirrel stood boldly upright and moved straight into the water with a quiet confidence. He waved a paw at Cynthia Bankvole, who shuddered and huddled down against the rock, whining ”I can't do it, we'll be caught and they'll beat us. I'm scared!”

146.

Mattimeo gritted his teeth against the dagger with impatience as he snarled against the blade. ”Move, Cynthia, move! Come on, you're holding the rest back!”

Auma gave her a gentle shove, murmuring quietly. ”Hurry now, there's a good little vole. You'll never see home again if you act frightened.”

The mention of home set Cynthia's trembling paws in motion. She stood hurriedly, dashed forward, tripped on some loose manacles and fell headlong into the water with a splash. Mattimeo and Sam grabbed her, stifling her mouth with their paws to stop her screaming out in panic. The escapers froze.

Vitch's eyelids flickered and a weasel lying by him grumbled in his sleep as he turned over. Auma let out a low sigh of relief. The peace had not been disturbed, the slavers slept on.

Tim and Jube went next, followed by Tess and Auma. The remaining slaves on the bank lay chained and asleep. None of them would have had the courage or nerve to attempt escaping; they had been captives far longer than Mattimeo and his friends, and they had seen Slagar deal with captured runners. It was not a pretty sight.

The escapers stood in the stream with the water lapping almost to their chins in the fading light. Mattimeo glanced up at the darkening sky gratefully. The twilight would aid them, and it would soon be night. Holding paws and staying close to the bank, the friends pushed their way upstream to the south. It was heavy going. The surface of the river was deceptively calm, belying the cold, tugging undercurrent. Wet habits weighted down by water soon made it even harder for the Redwallers, and they were grateful when Mattimeo pointed to an overhanging rock ledge. He pressed forward, moving slower because of the depth, and behind him he could hear his friends breathing hard through their nostrils as they followed in his wake.

The rocky overhang was an ideal hiding place. They chose a spot where silverweed and purple loosestrife bloomed thick, drooping over the soil-topped rock ledge to mingle with arrowhead growing from the shallows. It provided a perfect curtain. Crouching low at the rear of the underhang, they nodded silent congratulations to each other.

Back along the bank, all h.e.l.l suddenly broke loose with the return of Scringe.

”Come on, you lazy lot, up on your paws. Slagar says you've got to- Hey! Look at these loose chains! Halftail, Threedaws, raise the alarm! There's been an escape!”

”Escape! Escape! The prisoners have escaped. Search every nook and cranny, they can't have gone far. Escape! Escape!”

Browntooth ran slapbang into Threeclaws. The weasel held the tender end of his smarting nose as he glared at the stoat, who sat on the ground rubbing his head. ”On your paws, clumsydod. Get searching, hurry!”

”On, er, righto. Which prisoners are we searching for?”

Scringe had been checking the slave lines. He grinned wickedly. ”That Redwall lot, the female badger and the young hedgehog. Hoho, I wouldn't like to be in your fur when Slagar gets back.”

”Oh no, not the Redwallers.” Halftail groaned. ”Slagar'll have our guts for garters if that lot have gone missing, 'specially you, matey. You're supposed to be in charge.”

Threeclaws held his throbbing nose indignantly. ”Who, me? Not the way I heard it, bucko. You're the one who always wants to be boss when he's away.”

Vitch ran about waving his paws. ”Oh, stop arguing, you blockheads. Let's find them, or he'll flay the lot of us alive.”

Scringe stuck out his paw and tripped Vitch neatly. ”Watch who you're calling blockhead, dribblenose. I can see I'll have to take charge here after the mess you lot have made. Wedgeback, Badrag, go back the way we came. No need to go further than that big hill. Slagar would have spotted them if they'd got that far. Halftail, Damper, search up ahead. The rest of you look around 148.