Mattimeo

Chapter 4

The new moon was up. It hung like a fresh-minted coin in a still, cloudless sky of midnight blue. Moths

fluttered vainly upward, only to drift spiralling down to the grass-carpeted woodland floor. The trees stood

like timeless sentinels. Somewhere a nightjar serenaded the soft darkness.

Threeclaws was alert at his sentry post. He spied the figure of Vitch approaching and gave a low

whistle.

The undersized rat looked up. “Where’s Slagar and the others?” he asked.

Threeclaws pointed with his dagger. “Inside the church. What’ve you been doing to yourself?”

“Keep your snout out of my business, fatty,” said Vitch, dodging nimbly past Threeclaws into the

church.

Weasels and a few ferrets and stoats lay about sleeping on the floor. Slagar sat with his back against the

painted cart. He scowled at Vitch.

“You took your time getting here. What in the name of the fang kept you?”

Vitch flung himself wearily on a tattered hassock. “Washing dirty pots and greasy pans, scrubbing

floors and generally getting meself knocked about.”

Slagar crouched forward. “Never mind all that. I put you in there to do a job. When is the feast to

begin?”

“Oh that. One more moonrise, then the early evening following.”

“Right, did you fix the bolts on the small north wallgate?” asked Slagar.

“Of course. That was the first thing I attended to. They’re well greased and fit for a quick getaway. You

can keep that Redwall place, Slagar. I’m not goin’ back there again.”

“Oh, why’s that, Vitch?” The fox’s voice was dangerously gentle.

“Huh, it was hard enough tryin’ to pass meself off as a mouse. That young one, wotsisname? Matty

something — he smelt a rat right away. I had a fight with the little nuisance. He’s strong as an otter. Then I

was pulled up by a big badger. She gave me a right old tellin’ off. Peaceful creatures, my front teeth! I was

lugged off and made to scrub dirty pots for some fat old cook. He had me up to my tail in greasy

dishwater, standin’ over me and makin’ me scour and cl—”

“Ah shut your trap and stop snivelling, rat. This little mouse, was he called Mattimeo, son of Matthias

the Warrior?”

“Aye, that’s him, but how do you know?”

Slagar touched the red silk skull cover, baring his fangs viciously. “Never mind how I know. He’s the

one we’ll be taking away with us, him and any others we can lay our paws on.”

Vitch brightened up. “Maybe I’ll get a few minutes alone with Mattimeo after we make our getaway,

when he’s chained up good and proper.”

Slagar watched the small rat’s face approvingly. “Ha, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Heehee, like it, I’d love it!” Vitch’s eyes shone malevolently.

The fox leaned closer. “Vengeance, that’s the word. I tell you, rat, there’s nothing in the world like the

moment when you have your enemy helpless and you can take revenge.”

Vitch was puzzled. “I can’t imagine a little mouse like that being able to hurt you, Sly One. What did he

do that you seek revenge upon him?”

Slagar had a faraway look in his eyes, and beneath the mask his breath hissed roughly.

“It was his father, the Warrior, that big badger too — in fact, it was all the creatures at Redwall who

hurt me. The little one was not even born then, but I know how they all dote on him. He is the son of their

warrior, the hope of the future. I can kill a lot of birds with one stone by taking Mattimeo. You couldn’t

imagine the agonies they’d go through if he went missing. You see, I know the woodlanders of that Abbey.

They love their young and they’d rather be made captive themselves than have anything happen to their

precious little ones. This is what will make my revenge all the sweeter.”

Suddenly Vitch stretched a paw towards Slagar’s masked face. “Did they do that to you? Is that why

you have to wear a mask over your head? Why don’t you take it o— Aaaarrrggghh!”

Slagar seized Vitch’s paw and bent it savagely backwards. “Don’t you ever dare put your grubby paw

near my face again, or I’ll snap it clean off and make you eat it, rat! Now get back to that Abbey and keep

your eyes open. Make sure you know exactly where that young mouse is at all times, so that I can put my

paw on him when the moment arrives.”

He released Vitch and the small rat huddled on the ground, sobbing. Slagar spat on him

contemptuously. “Get up, misery guts. If you’re still lying there in a moment, you’ll feel my sword. That

really will give you something to moan about.”

Vitch picked himself up slowly and painfully. Next moment he was sent hurtling by a kick on the

behind from Slagar.

“Garn! Get yourself out of my sight, you snivelling snotface.”

Vitch departed hastily, leaving Slagar to take his ease once more. The Cruel One lay back, all thoughts

of sleep banished by one word which echoed around his twisted mind like an eerie melody.

Revenge!