Doomwyte

22

To a certain degree, Bisky and Dubble were allowed a limited freedom. No longer bound or gagged, they wandered around the Gonfelin cavern. The mousemaid Spingo accompanied them, proudly pointing out various facets of her home. Bisky was astounded to learn that the long, low dwelling was actually situated beneath a lake. Spingo pointed to the many timber columns twixt floor and ceiling, explaining in her curious accent, “I don’t know who put these up. Ma always says it makes the ould place feel safer.”

Dubble eyed the dwelling admiringly. “I tell ye, miss, you Gonfelins must be skilful beasts t’build a place like this!”

Spingo chuckled. “Nah, nobeast could’ve built this cave. The story is that they stumbled on it accidentally, when they was banished from Redwall. Talk about lucky, eh? There’s only us Gonfelins wot knows about this cave. Da sez it’s the best kept secret in Mossflower, we’re safe from anythin’ ’ere.”

Bisky could not take his eyes off the mousemaid, she was so painfully pretty. He smiled at her. “Have you ever visited Redwall Abbey?”

Spingo shook her head ruefully. “No. But long, long ago only the best thieves’n’warriors was ever allowed t’go to Redwall. Hah, they snuck in an’ stole some great stuff. But my da’s ole granda put a stop to it, said it was too dangerous, an’ we should live our own lives. Ferget that Abbey, an’ leave the Redwallers to theirselves. So, that’s wot Gonfelins do.”

Bisky sensed the regret in her voice, so he asked, “Would you like to go there someday, Spingo? I could show you around, you’d probably love it.”

She was about to reply, when a clamour broke out up near the cave entrance. Spingo grabbed her new friend’s paws. “Wot’s all that kerfuffle about? C’mon, we’d better go an’ take a look!”

Pikehead Nokko was trying to gain order from a crowd of Gonfelin mice, who were leaping about, yelling and brandishing their sandbags. Nokko walloped a few paws and backs, roaring at them, “Will youse shutyer gobs an’ let Duggo make ’is report? Now shurrup, or I’ll lay yez all out!” Most of the noise died down; Nokko pointed the sandbag at his scout and intelligence gatherer. “Now tell us wot yer saw, me ould son.”

Duggo pranced about a lot, gesticulating as he delivered his summary in a speedy jumble. “Saw? I’ll tell yer wot I saw, Da. It’s those Painty Ones agin, in the clearin’ not far from the five-top oak. The blinkin’ blaggids, they’re ambushin’ some sherrews, jus’ like that’n there!” He pointed to Dubble before hurrying on. “Aye, a whole gang o’ sherrews, an’ some others.”

Nokko glared fiercely at him. “Wot others, son?”

The scout continued, “Well, Da, there’s a big riverdog, a long-eared rabbet, a young treejumper an’ a couple o’ mouses, jus’ like us an’ ’im, wot ye catchered.”

Bisky interrupted, “They sound like my friends, are they dead or wounded, tell me!”

Duggo shrugged rapidly, several times. “I dunno, never got close enough t’see, but there’s enough Painty Ones t’make scragmeat o’ yore pals! Loads o’ the likkle rats, in the trees all round the clearin’, they’ve got poison dart blowers, too!”

Bisky grabbed Nokko’s paw. “My friends are in danger, and those shrews are most likely Dubble’s Guosim tribe, you’ve got to let us go and help them!”

Nokko wrenched himself from the young mouse’s grip. “Now ’old ’ard there, bucko me laddo, yew ain’t goin’ anywhere….” He paused. “Oh no, not wirrout us! Arm yerselves fer war an’ swipin’s, Gonfelins! There’s blood t’be shed an’ loot t’be taken!”

Gobbo stared at his father oddly. “But, Da, we ain’t the friends o’ sherrews an’ Redwallers. Wot’s the point of gettin’ injured or slayed fer them?”

Nokko seized his objectionable son, buffeting his ears soundly as he drummed home the lesson. “Lissen, mouth almighty, Painty Ones are our mortal foes, so anybeast who’s an enemy o’ them is a friend o’ mine, see!”

Dubble could not help voicing his fears. “But I can’t see ye defeatin’ ’em with sandbags, sir.”

Nokko chortled. “Hoho, we only uses sambags amongst ourselves. Gonfelins goes to war wid the real gear. Bring out the bows’n’lances, an’ make sure yer carryin’ stranglin’ nooses!”

Bisky was in the vanguard along with Dubble and Nokko. Running at his side was Spingo, who, despite her da’s orders, insisted on coming. Bisky was armed with a bow and a quiver of arrows, though he did not know whether he would be any good with them, never having been familiar with archery. As they charged through the woodlands, Bisky noted that even Spingo, besides toting a lance, was armed with a strangling noose. This was the other weapon, beside sandbags, which Gonfelins carried as a matter of course. He nodded at the tough, greased vine, with its bone toggles, which was looped about her waist. “Can you use that thing, Spingo?”

The mousemaid winked at him. “Been taught since I was a babe, Da made me practice on raw veggibles, until I could cut through a big turnip. I’ve never had t’use it, but I’ll wager I could take anybeast’s ’ead off at the neck, if’n I had to, Bisky.”

Nokko commented, “She could, too, my Spingo’s a good liddle daughter, a rare beauty. Now belt up yer gobs an’ get those paws a-runnin’, or we might miss half the fun an’ most o’ the loot!”

Duggo, who had gone slightly ahead of the main body, halted and waved his lance. “The clearin’s straight ahead, Da, we should be there soon. Wot’s the orders?”

Nokko held up a double-headed hatchet, which he was carrying. “Halt ’ere! Duggo an’ Twiggo, take a score apiece. Creep round the back o’ the trees, get be’ind those Painty Ones an’ lay low, wait on my warshout. Bisky, Dubble, Bumbo an’ Gobbo, we’ll charge the centre, then spread out into two wings. Righto, buckoes, lay low ’til Duggo an’ Twiggo gets their crews inter position.”

In the distance, the mocking chants and screeching threats of the Painted Ones grew in volume. Nokko ignored them, laying out the ground rules of Gonfelin warfare for the benefit of Bisky, Dubble and anybeast inclined to listen.

“Remember, Painty Ones are born cowards, sneaky rats who can’t face up to a good, ould charge. So, youse stampede right in, give the scum a real batterin’ until they squeals mercy. Then loot ’em out of ’ouse an’ ’ome. All booty taken is t’be shared equally, that’s an order!”

The Gonfelin Pikehead fixed his son with a hard stare. “Lissen t’me, Gobbo, one wrong move, or a word outta place, an’ I’ll come down on yer like a boulder on a butterfly. D’yew ’ear me?”

Gobbo nodded sullenly, avoiding his da’s gaze.

Spingo felt her lancetip, whispering in a tremulous voice to Bisky, “Ain’t never been in a battle afore, how ’bout yew?”

Buoyed up by her innocence, the young mouse pulled a tough face as he lied. “Oh, I’ve done a battle or two in my time. Stick close to me, Spingo, I’ll look out for you, me’n Dubble, that is. Right, mate?”

The Guosim shrew could see plainly that his friend was putting a brave face on things, so he winked at Spingo. “Aye, stick by us, miss, huh, Painted Ones don’t bother us one liddle bit!” He fitted an arrow to his bowstring, testing its pull.

Bisky did likewise, just to show what seasoned warriors they were. Unfortunately, the shaft slipped, and the string pinged his nose.

Spingo suppressed a snort of laughter, but seeing the crestfallen look on her friend’s face, she reached out and squeezed his paw affectionately. “Don’t worry, mate, we’ll get through it somehow, an’ still manage a share o’ the loot!”

Bisky restrung his shaft. “Oh, y’mean the swipin’s, the pawpurse stuff and the boodiggles?”

Spingo smiled, hefting her lance lightly. “Now yore learnin’ the Gonfelin way. Hah, we’ll be callin’ ye Bisko soon!”

From somewhere up ahead, two high-pitched whistles sounded. It was like the distress call of a small bird. Nokko rose, wielding his axe. “That’s Duggo an’ Twiggo, they’ve got their groups in position. Righto, ye thievin’ bunch o’ bloodswipers, up off yer hunkers, ’ere we go! Bisky’n’Dubble, youse take the right wing! Bumbo, take yore gang t’the left. I’m goin’ in by the centre. Gobbo, stay be’ind me, an’ behave yerself!”

Suddenly they surged forward, roaring, “Gonfeliiiiins! Gonfeliiiins!”

Knowing that the Abbey beasts might be someplace nearby, Bisky yelled at the top of his lungs, “Redwaaaaaaall! Redwaaaaaaall!”

Dubble added his own cries, hoping the Guosim could hear them. “LogaLogaLogaLoooooggggg!”

Skipper was first to see a familiar face amongst the mob of ragged mice that came rushing forward. He bounded up, calling, “Stow the plans, mates, here comes young Bisky, yellin’ Redwall. It’s a charge…. Redwaaaaaaallll!”

Tugga Bruster saw his son go hurtling by. He stood puzzled, watching. “Wot’n the name o’ fur is a son o’ mine doin’ runnin’ round with a pile o’ raggedy mice?” He got no further—the flat of Martin’s sword caught him smartly on the rump. Bosie roared at the Shrew Chieftain.

“Ach, ye ungrateful beastie, can ye no see, they’re friends, come tae rescue us. Charge!”

In the trees, at the far side of the clearing, panic and consternation reigned amidst the Painted Ones. For the first time ever, they found themselves outnumbered. To make matters worse, they were also surrounded. Duggo and Twiggo were cutting off any retreat to the rear. In front, and to both sides, the clearing seethed with Gonfelin, Guosim and Redwall warriors.

Painted Ones were in truth only cowardly tree rats, whose fighting mainly consisted of ambushing lone creatures, firing darts at them from under cover of the high foliage. Their leader, Chigid, had no stomach for open warfare; this was more than he had bargained for. He raced back and forth amongst the foliaged terraces, seeking any means of escape whilst encouraging his fighters to make a stand. “Yeeeeh! Killem plenty, killem, killem!”

A flight of arrows buzzed upward, like vengeful hornets. Tree rats fell screaming, transfixed by the deadly shafts. This was followed by volleys of lances and slingstones. In their terror, the Painted Ones abandoned blowpipes and poison needles, even throwing away their stone-weighted ropes.

Chigid had no place to go but up. He scurried above the high branches, into the lighter twigs and offshoots. After only moments, balancing perilously amidst the fragile network, the inevitable happened. The twigs underpaw snapped. Chigid fell screeching to earth.

He landed with a sickening thud, which must have fractured many bones. Moaning softly, he sought to rise, holding out one paw as he sobbed, “Mercy…surrender…no kill Chigid….”

Tugga Bruster brought his iron club crashing down on the Painted Ones’ Chieftain. He was still raining blows on him when Samolus pulled him off the slain beast.

“What are ye doin’, didn’t ye hear him callin’ for mercy and surrendering?”

Tugga Bruster tried bulling his way past Samolus, to get at Chigid’s body. He was snarling. “Fool, ya don’t show mercy to these scum. Kill ’em all, an’ good riddance t’bad rubbish I say!”

Bosie saw what was happening; he bounded up, striking the club from the Guosim shrew’s paws. “Ach, ye cowardly wee beastie, yer nae better than a tree rat yersel’. Look up, can ye no hear that?”

The Painted Ones had given up any idea of warfare since their Chieftain had fallen. They draped themselves over the high branches, wailing and moaning. Nokko, whom they had already been introduced to, leant on his war hatchet, shaking his head. “Yer can’t fight scrinjin’ beasts like that lot.”

Tugga Bruster still thought that he was in the right. “Huh, says who? The only good painted rat’s a dead un. I say finish ’em all off!”

Nokko grinned, winking at the Shrew Chieftain. “Lissen, mate, yew go a-slayin’ all those Painty Ones, an’ all yer’ll get is wotever loot they’ve got on ’em. Wot gain is there in that, eh?”

Samolus liked the ragged Mousechief. “So, what do ye suggest we do, sir?”

The Gonfelin leader explained readily, “Well, me ould mate, wot I’d do first is to get ’em down outta those trees. Then I’d make ’em take us to their hideout, that five-topped oak. I’ll wager they’ve got plenty o’ loot stowed there, enuff fer us all to divvy up atween us. ’Ow’s that fer an idea?”

Bosie nodded. “Sounds like a bonny scheme tae me. But ye still havnae told us what we do wi’ yon bunch.”

Umfry voiced a sensible suggestion. “H’if you’ll h’excuse me sayin’, I think h’it might be better to march the Painted Ones h’off from their ’ideout, right to the flatlands beyond Redwall.”

Samolus was beginning to see the merit in the young hedgehog’s idea. “Of course, then we scatter them t’the four winds on the open plains. Without a woodland full o’ trees to hide in, and with no one to lead ’em, the Painted Ones’ll be a threat to nobeast anymore.”

Skipper chimed in, “Aye, then we can spend the rest o’ the summer at the Abbey, with all our new friends, feastin’ an’ singin’ to our ’earts’ content, mates!”

Bosie brightened visibly at the mention of Redwall feasting. “Och, now that’s what Ah call a canny scheme. Ah suggest we put it intae practice forthwith!” The Laird of Bowlaynee’s enthusiasm squashed any arguments. Everybeast set up a hearty cheer.

Spingo latched onto Bisky’s paw, overjoyed at the prospect of visiting Redwall. “Ain’t it excitin’, I’m finally gonna see where me ancestor Gonff came from!”

Bosie put up his sword, calling up into the trees, “Yore lives will be spared if’n ye come doon here now, wi’out weapons. Do ye surrender?”

There was no question, the goodbeasts had won the day.