The Legend of Luke

THE LEGEND OF LUKE

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The young must grow old,

Whilst old ones grow older,

And cowards will shrink,

As the bold grow bolder.

Courage may blossom in quiet hearts,

For who can tell where bravery starts?

Truth is a song, oft lying unsung,

Some mother bird, protecting her young,

Those who lay down their lives for friends,

The echo rolls onward, it seldom ends.

Who never turned and ran, but stayed?

This is a warrior born, not made!

Living in peace, aye many a season,

Calm in life and sound in reason,

'Til evil arrives, a wicked horde,

Driving a warrior to pick up his sword,

The challenger rings then, straight and fair,

Justice is with us, beware. Beware!

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Book 1

Martin

Chapter 1

Summer's first morn was like no other!

Trimp the roving hedgehog wandered through the woodlands like one in a dream, drinking in the beauty of Mossflower Country, so different from the cold north-land coast whence she had traveled. Dew was still upon each leaf, delicate mist tendrils wreathed into greengold sun shafts 'twixt mighty oak, slender rowan and stately elm. Birds trilled sweetly, butterflies fluttered silently, bees hummed busily over flowers, ferns and lichen-clad rocks. Trimp's heart felt as light as the haversack on her back. She ignored hunger, feasting her senses on the glory of her surroundings and the delight of the new season. Swinging her ash stave jauntily, she skipped a little jig and broke out into song.

"You lark on high,

O minstrel of the sky,

Sing out! Sing out!

Now sing you joyously,

To Mother Nature and her earth,

This is the golden summer's birth,

A wondrous sight to see!

Hail, fine tall trees,

Your leaves dance on the breeze,

Rejoice! Rejoice!

And sway so gracefully,

You'll feel your blossom soon give way,

To ripened fruit some sunny day,

()h please save some for me!

Sing out! Rejoice!

Let all who have a voice,

Call out so sweet and happily,

O'er woodland vale and grassy lea,

Good day my friend to thee!"

As Trimp ended her song, a voice hailed her.

"An' good day to thee, too, pretty one!"

She halted at the edge of a ditch. Two sturdy old hedgehogs stood on a path at the other edge, grinning cheerfully. They were alike as peas in a pod. One of them called to her, "We'll 'elp you across yon ditch, missie. Stay there!"

Taking a few paces back, Trimp winked cheekily at the pair. "Nay, you stay there. I'll help myself!"

With a short run and a hop, she dug the long ash stave in the bank and pole-vaulted neatly across. Both hedgehogs wriggled furiously until their backspikes rattled, an ancient hog form of applause. Trimp immediately took a liking to the jolly pair. She stood directly in front of them and lowered her head formally, and they did likewise until all three creatures' headspikes touched in the traditional greeting of their species. Introductions were made.

"Good sirs, I'm called Trimp the Rover."

"Marm, I'm called Ferdy an' that fat 'un's my brother Coggs, both of Redwall Abbey."

Coggs snorted, pointing to Ferdy's ample stomach. "I ain't as fat as ole Ferdy, am I, miz Trimp?"

She giggled. "You're as tubby as one another."

Ferdy and Coggs exchanged wry glances.

"She's pretty all right, pretty impudent!"

"Aye, truthful an' pitiless, jus' like all the pretty 'uns!"

"She's thin, though. D'ye think she could 'elp pull a log?"

"Miz Trimp ain't thin, she's slenderbut strong, I'll wager, the way she leaped yon ditch. She can pull logs."

Trimp pursed her lips shrewdly. "Of course I can pull logs. I could tow a log with both of you sitting atop of it, if I'd a mind to. But I'm feeling very slender today, owing to the fact that I've an empty haversack on my back. So, towing logs means payment in food."

Ferdy and Coggs exchanged more wry glances.

"Miz Trimp knows wot she wants, don't she!"

"Ho, she certainly does, mate. That 'og ain't soft as moss nor green as the grass. We'll 'ave to feed 'er."

"Only when we gets back to Redwall, though. Then she can tuck into vittles 'til she's like two of us'n's put t'gether. So, is it a bargain, marm?"

Trimp banged her stave butt down on the path decisively. "Done! Lead me to your log, friends."

It was not a very big log, more like a heavy sycamore limb. They attached ropes and pulled, and the wood slid easily along the dewy grass of the pathside. Trimp was full of questions for Ferdy and Coggs.

"What is this Redwall place and how far off is it?"

"Hah, missie, you won't say that someday. Anybeast'll be able to see it from a good league off. Right, Coggs?"

"Right, Ferdy. When we gets round this bend in the path, beyond that big grove of oaks, then you'll see it, Trimp. "Tis goin' to be a great Abbey, but it ain't properly built yet. Martin reckons three more seasons should see the main Abbey buildin' showin' its spire top."

Trimp suddenly stopped pulling and smote her forehead with an open paw, as if she had just remembered something. "Of course! I've heard other travelers mention the great redstone building in Mossflower. You say there's a Martin there. Is he a mouse, son of Luke the Warrior?"

Ferdy shrugged and beckoned her to keep pulling. "Oli, he's a warrior sure enough, missie. As to his father, 1 think somebeast mentioned his name was Lukeeh, Coggs?"

Coggs switched the rope to his other shoulder. "Could be, mate. Nobeast knows much about our Martinhe keeps his past fairly quiet. Mark my words, though, Trimp, the noblest fighter that ever wielded a sword is Martin the Warriorhe fears nothin' an' battles like tenbeasts. Hoho, lookee there, marm, that's Redwall Abbey. See!"

Trimp's eyes grew wide with wonder. Never had she seen anything built on such a grand scale, even though it was still incomplete. The Abbey reared out of the forest on the path's east side, fashioned from mighty blocks of red sandstone. There was a high perimeter wall with battlements and a broad walkway behind them, and visible above this outer wall the main building stood two-thirds finished. Buttresses, arches and columns could be seen between the wooden scaffolding. Mice, moles, squirrels, otters, hedgehogs and voles labored busily, hauling, laying, chipping, carving and carrying, all over the structure. Ferdy and Coggs chuckled at Trimp's astonishment.

"Hohoho. Shows wot honest 'ardworkin' woodlanders can do when they puts their paws t'work, eh, miss?"

"Aye, buildin' Redwall Abbey, a place o' safety an' cheer for goodbeasts to live in, with walls that'd stand the worst any vermin foes could think of!"

Trimp enjoyed the pride in her friends' faces as they spoke of their home. She cocked her head as a hollow booming sound echoed out.

"What's that noise? Are they doing something special?"

Coggs winked at her and patted his stomach. "That's the call for lunch. We're just in time!"

The three hedgehogs pulled their log through the impressively solid wallgates, which were opened for them by a mole. He tugged his snout, saying in quaint molespeech, "Hurr, gudd day to ee. Boi okey, mates, ee likkle 'ogmaid be purtier'n both of you 'uns. 'Ow be you'm called, miz?"

Trimp shook the formidable digging claw of the twinkle-eyed mole heartily. "I'm Trimp, sir, ten times hungrier than I'm pretty."

A deep smile crinkled the mole's velvety face. "Gurtly pleasured to meet ee, miz Trimp. Oi'm ee Foremole yurrabouts. If'n ee be 'ungered then fear not, us'n's can vittle ee up to yore spoikeytips. Hurrhurrhurr!"

Leaving the log by the gatehouse wall, the three hedgehogs followed the Foremole across broad lawns to the pond, where scores of Redwallers were washing their paws before lunch. Trimp joined them, while Ferdy pointed out various individuals.

"That 'un swimmin' about is Skipper of Otters, a chieftain. Pretty mousewife by the reeds is Columbine, jolly-lookin' beast with 'er is Gonff, Prince of Mouse-thieves, an' the liddle 'un is their son Baby Gonflet. Dinny Foremole you already know."

The hollow booming sounded out again, and this time Trimp saw that it was made by a squirrel beating on a hollowed section of tree trunk with two wooden batons. Ferdy nudged her. "That's Lady Amber, our Squirrel-queen. Come on, young 'un, off to the Council afore you sit down to eat."

Trimp followed Ferdy and Coggs to the orchard, where tables and benches were laid in an open square. Ferdy bade her stand back until all were seated. The traveling hogmaid could not wrench her eyes from the foodit was like being at the center of a delicious dream. Cauldrons of fresh vegetable soup steamed savory aromas around new oven-baked bread shaped into biscuits, batches and loaves. Cheeses, ranging from deep yellow to pale cream and studded with nuts, celery and herbs, were placed between heaped trays of woodland salads. Small tarts showed the rich hues of damson, apple, blackberry and greengage through their pastry-latticed tops. Jugs and pitchers of ale, fruit cordial and cold mint tea were being brought to the tables by servers. Trimp held her kerchief politely to her mouth, lest anybeast see it watering. Ferdy tugged her tunic hem and whispered, "Come on, missie, don't be afeared. Nobody will eat ye!" He led her round to the table nearest to the Abbey.

A huge, ancient badger, bent with the weight of many seasons, gazed at her with kind brown eyes and nodded. "Welcome to Redwall Abbey, little one. I am Bella of Brockhall. You look as if you have traveled far."

Trimp curtsied deeply. She liked Bella on first sight.

"Marm, I am Trimp the Rover, so traveling is my business. Since late winter, I have been walking from the northlands."

"Fourth clans? Did she say fourth clans?"

Next to Bella, the tiniest, oldest, frailest mouse Trimp had ever seen was sitting in a small cushioned chair, wrapped in a thick warm shawl. The mouse sitting on the old one's other side leaned close to her and spoke loudly.

"Northlands, Abbess Germaine. Our guest has walked all the way here from the northlands!"

He turned, smiling, to Trimp. The hogmaid warmed immediately to the sturdy beast, his strong features and friendly tone.

" 'Tis fitting to have one so pretty to grace our table as guest on summer's first day. I'm called Martin."

The mouse named Gonff, seated close by with his wife and babe, winked at Trimp and called out, "Aye, matey, an' he's never called late to table!"

Martin smiled at his friend and closest ally. "Hah! Look who's talking. The greatest grubsnatcher ever to lift a ladle!"

Gonff pointed at himself innocently. "Who me? I hardly ever touch food, matey. A crust an' a beaker o' water's good enough for me!"

His wife Columbine adopted an expression of mock surprise. "Lackaday, it must be the birds eating all those pies an' pasties I'm forever baking. What d'you think, Gonflet?"

Baby Gonflet chuckled uproariously. "It's me'n'daddy, we pincha pies'n'pattees offa windersill when they be's gudd'n'ot, us eatem all up, yumyum!"

Gonff covered his baby son's mouth amid general laughter. "It was his idea, Columbine. He's been leadin' me astray!"

Trimp took her seat amid the happy Redwallers. Old Abbess Germaine waited until Bella brought order to the assembly by tapping a spoon on the tabletop. Heads bowed while the ancient mouse recited grace in a quavery voice.

"May good fortune never cease,

Where we build and till the soil,

Mother Nature grant us peace,

And reward us for our toil.

Summer's come, now life is sweet,

Food is here for one and all,

In good friendship let us eat,

As one family at Redwall."

Bella served Trimp with soup, Martin passed the bread and cheese, Columbine piled a platter with salad for her and the charming squirrel called Lady Amber topped up her beaker with fruit cordial. Trimp went at it with the best. Dinny the Foremole shielded his mouth with a paw, whispering to the Skipper of Otters.

"Hurr hurr, dearie me, oi never afore see'd nobeast tuck into ee vittles loik miz Trimp. Zurr Gonff be eatin' loik ee buttyfly alongsoid o' that young 'un!"

Goriff the Mousethief wrinkled his nose at the mole. “I heard that, matey. Shove that cheese this way an' Ill show ye what a dainty eater I am. Hoi, Gonflet, get yore spoon out o' my soup, you liddle bandit!"

Columbine smiled sweetly at Trimp. "Like father, like son, I always say."

After lunch Trimp volunteered to help Martin and his friends hoist a roofbeam. Skipper and his crew were atop the half-timbered dormitory with mallets and pegs, awaiting the heavy oaken beam. The jovial otter jiggled the rope in its pulley block and called down, "Ahoy, mates, if'n we wait 'round much longer up 'ere we'll sprout wings'n'feathers an' fly off!"

Gonff secured the rope to the beam, and spat on his paws. "Right, mateys, let's send 'er up with a will. Anybeast got a good haulin' river song t'help out?"

Bella held up a paw in response. “I'll do 'Grumbledum Tugg' if you like!"

A groan arose from the hauling party. Baby Gonflet clapped both paws over his tiny ears.

"Not dat one agin, miz Bell, you alius singin' 'Grungledun Tuggs.' Ferdy say miz Trimpy be a good singer."

Bella sighed, bowing slightly to the hedgehog maid. "Trimp, nobeast is forcing you to sing, but it'd be nice if you'd oblige. D'you know any good hauling shanty songs?"

Trimp did, and she immediately sang out in a fine clear voice.

"Away O! Away O!

Haul hard an' take her out,

I'll tell ye of the Greenhaxvk,

An' her cap'n, ole Chopsnout.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!

Ole Reynard Chopsnout was a fox,

A bad corsair to boot,

Who ran his vessel on some rocks,

While searchin' 'round for loot.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!

So to the northlands he did steer,

The Greenhawk to repair,

A warrior who knew no fear,

Named Luke was livin' there.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!

That corsair came with all his horde,

I'll tell ye mates 'tis true,

Brave Luke took up his battlesword,

An' that bad fox he slew.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!

Then Luke called up his gallant crew,

And Greenhawk did repair,

He changed her name to Sayna, too,

Which sounded good and fair.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!

So Luke the Warrior sailed away,

He left the northland shore,

He swore an oath that one fine day,

He'd come back home once more.

Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!"

The beam was halfway up when Trimp stopped singing. Martin had his footpaws dug in firmly, holding the swaying oaken balk steady with the rest of his friends. He stared at the roving hedgehog, gritting from between clenched jaws: "What've you stopped singing for, missie? Keep on!"

Trimp returned his stare, shaking her head. "But that's all I know. I never learned the rest!"

Gonff slid forward a fraction as the beam began losing height. Urgently, he muttered, "Then start from the beginnin' an' sing it again, matey, afore we're all wearin' an oakbeam for a hat!"

Trimp sang the hauling shanty, as far as she knew the verses, twice before the beam was safe in the otters' strong paws on the dormitory top.

When the others went off to new chores, Martin called Trimp to him. Walking on either side of her, he and Gonff escorted her across to the gatehouse and showed her in. The Mousethief took flagon and beakers from a cupboard where he had hidden them, and poured drinks for all three.

"Ninian's cider, I calls this. Comes from the ole place down south on the path, where I live from time to time."

They sipped the cold sweet cider appreciatively, in silence. It was cool and shady in the gatehouse after the bright noon sun outside. Martin leaned forward. "Trimp, where did you hear that song?"

"My grandmum Welff Tiptip used to sing it. She told me that she once knew a little mouse named Martin, too. Was that you?"

Gazing into his beaker, he slowly swirled the cider. "That was me. I am Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. My mother's name was Sayna. Strange, I had almost forgotten it, until you sang your shanty. Sayna was the name my father gave to his ship as well. Being little more than a babe at the time, I don't remember much. But it comes back to me a little now. Tell me, miss, what else did your grandmum say? Anything at all?"

Holding her beaker with both paws, Trimp sipped and pondered. "There were names . . . Coll, Denno, Cordle, and others I can't recall. Is that any help to you, Martin?"

"I'm afraid not. But carry on, please."

"Hmm, now let me see. She used to talk of old Twoola, er, Drunn Tunneller and Windred"

"Windred! She was my grandmother!" Martin grabbed the hedgehog maid's paws. "Think! Did I have brothers or sisters? A grandsire? What was my father really like? Tell me about Sayna, my mother!"

Even though her paws were hurting in the vicelike grip, Trimp's heart went out to the Warrior. "I can only tell you what I know, sir. Grandmum died when I was very young. She told me that I was born on the northland coast, but we fled when the slavers attacked your tribe's settlement. Our family moved to the midnorth hills. When I became old enough, I left to go roving, and the first place I set out to see was my birthplace on northland shore. Alas, there was nothing left there of our old home, so I carried on roving until I met Ferdy and Coggs, and they brought me to Redwall."

Gonff placed a paw on his friend's shoulder. "Steady on there, mate. You'll crush miss Trimp's paw!"

Martin released her, and went to stand in the doorway, blinking to hold back welling tears. "I used to know things, I'm sure of it. But after the injuries I suffered battling the wildcat Tsarmina, I've hardly been able to recall a single thing. D'you remember Timballisto?"

Gonff nodded. "He was yore friend from the north-lands, who was released from slavery and came here. A good mouse."

Martin struck his paw hard against the doorpost. "We must have been crazy, both of us. He lived here, yet for some unknown reason we never discussed our past. Poor Timbalhe died the winter following the great Moss-flower war."

Gonff poured more cider for his friend. "Mayhap 'twas too painful for either of you to mention, what you went through when you were young 'uns?"

Martin stood staring out across the sunlit lawns. "You're probably right, Gonff. Perhaps it was. Trimp, can't you remember any more names at all?"

The hedgehog maid smiled pensively. "Only that Grandmum used to say if we didn't stop our noise and go to sleep, Vilu Daskar would get us. Aye, Vilu Daskar. Does that name ring a bell, Martin?"

“ No, not a thing. 'Tis all too hazy, too long ago now."

The Warrior walked off toward the Abbey. Gonff watched him, sad for his friend and the forgotten past. "I ain't seen Martin like that afore, miss."

Trimp put aside her drink and stood up. "Only since I came to Redwall and sang that song. This Abbey's a beautiful place, Gonff, but I wish I'd never come here and caused Martin such unhappiness. I'd best leave."

Gonff barred her path to the door, chuckling. "Sorry, me young beauty, but I can't allow it, and neither would Martin, or anybeast calls themselves a Redwaller. Come on now, cheer up, earn yore afternoon tea. I'll show ye how I collect honey from our beesyou can lend a paw."

They strolled from the gatehouse toward the northeast wall corner, where the hives were situated.

"But I've never tried taking honey from bees, Gonff. Don't they have a nasty habit of stinging you?"

"What? Sting me, the Prince of Mousethieves? Never! Not as long as I can pretend I'm a bumblebee an' sing while I steal the honey from under their noses, missie."

Trimp giggled. "Oh really, Gonff? What do you sing to a bee?"

"Oh, this'n'that, y'know. I usually start like this.

"Ho fuzz buzz buzz, look who's a-buzzin',

Good day, sir bee, I'm Gonff yore cuzzin ..."

Trimp's laughter mingled with the Mousethief's song on the sunkissed noon air as they skipped paw in paw across the lawns of Redwall Abbey.

Chapter 2

In the days following Trimp's arrival at Redwall Abbey it became obvious to everybeast that something was wrong with their Warrior. Martin was no longer his customary jovial and helpful self. Often he was missing at mealtimes, and he spent more and more time outside the Abbey. It was a worrisome situation: Martin, the very backbone of Redwall, silent and pensive, with a faraway look clouding his eyes. Skipper and Dinny Foremole wandered up onto the east walltop, which was an ideal place to view the beauty of Mossflower Wood in summer. Lady Amber and Coggs were also up on the ramparts. Foremole greeted them with a wave.

"Gudd day to ee. You'm bain't seen Marthen, 'ave ee?"

Lady Amber placed a paw to her lips, cautioning silence. Pointing downward over a battlement, she said in a low voice, "Martin's sittin' down there alone!"

Skipper crouched below the walltop, shaking his head. "So that's where our Warrior goes when he leaves the Abbey. Still, y'can't blame him. 'Tis a good place for anybeast seekin' solitude from others."

Coggs peeped over at the lonely figure sitting below. "I tell ye, friends, 'tain't like Martin to act this way. He's just sittin there with his back agin the wall, starin' out at the trees. What'll we do?"

Ever the sensible otter, Skipper began descending the wallsteps, down to the lawn behind the orchard.

"Come away, mates. I'd hate t'think Martin would know we're up 'ere a-spyin' on him. While he's outside, we could 'old a quick meetin' with the Abbess to sort the problem out."

All concerned gathered in the gatehouse. Ferdy and Coggs served them elderflower cordial and slices of plum cake. Old Abbess Germaine held a trumpet, made from a spiral seashell with its end cut off, to her ear. Though her body was frail and her hearing none too good, the ancient mouse's other senses were still sharp and her eyes twinkled and shone keenly. She let them rove over the assembly, Bella, Columbine, Skipper, Dinny Foremole and Lady Amber, finally coming to rest on Trimp and Gonff.

"Hmm. My intuition tells me that our guest Trimp and the Mousethief know more of this affair than we do, friends. So I want you to speak up clearly, one at a time, please. Start at the beginning, always the best place to begin. Pray keep silent, the rest of youI'll hear from everybeast in due course. When the story is complete, I'll give you my decision as Mother Abbess, based of course on your facts."

There were smiles and nods of agreement all around. Even as a young mouse, Abbess Germaine had possessed great sense and wisdom. Now, with the experience of countless seasons upon her old head, every Redwaller trusted her judgement without question. They were certain that their beloved Abbess could solve any problem.

It was late afternoon when Martin entered the Abbey by the main gate. He was immediately set on by a group of Dibbuns, the infant creatures of Redwall. Baby Gonflet was clearly the ringleader, wrestling fiercely with Martin's footpaw, until the Warrior allowed himself to be laid flat on his back. Martin was immensely fond of the abbey-babes, always managing to make time for them and their odd little games. He gasped as they sat on his paws and held his ears. Baby Gonflet knelt on Martin's chest, shaking a paw under the Warrior's nose.

"You be still, naughtymouse, or we choppa you whiskers off!"

Two baby moles hanging on to Martin's belt giggled uproariously at the idea, adding their own threats.

"Heeheehee, urr, an' us'n's bite ee paws offen!"

"Yurr, an' chuck ee inna pond, hurrhurrhurr!"

Martin looked with mock pleading at his captors. "Oh, lackaday, will no kind creature help me? I'm captured by wild ruffians. Have mercy on me, you savage beasts!"

Baby Gonflet grinned triumphantly at his prisoner. "On'y if'n you comes wiv us!"

Keeping up a pretence of fear, Martin was led protesting to the Abbey by a veritable swarm of mouse, squirrel, mole and hog babes.

Cavern Hole was a comfortable room inside the Abbey, slightly below ground level. Abbess Germaine sat propped by cushions in her enormous ceremonial chair, surrounded by her Redwallers. Ferdy ran up the stairs and back down again, his spikes quivering excitedly.

"He's comin'! The Dibbuns are bringin' Martin!"

Agile squirrels scampered about with tapers, lighting the colored lanterns which supplemented the customary tallow candles, lending the chamber a festive atmosphere. In front of the Abbess's chair stood a long solid elmwood table, unadorned and bare. Martin was marched up to it by the Dibbuns, and Gonflet raised a chubby paw in salute to Bella.

"Us catchered 'im an' brought 'im 'ere, miz Bell!"

The big badger nodded solemnly. "Thank you, my friends, good work. Sit down now, and we'll deal with him right away!"

Martin held silent, only moving one eyelid to return a wink from his friend Gonff. He was, however, mystified.

Abbess Germaine opened the proceedings by pointing an accusing paw at the Warrior. "What does this creature stand charged with?"

Answers came rattling back like hailstones.

"Always helping others!"

"Defending our creatures with his life!"

"Never considering himself!"

"Being good and kind to all about him!"

"Assisting Abbess Germaine to design the Abbey!"

"Bein' the best friend a mousethief ever had, matey!"

"Hurr, an' keepin' gurt troubles to 'isself!"

Bella restored order by banging once on the table. She appealed to the Abbess. "This could go on all season. Pass sentence on him!"

Germaine's eyes twinkled as she tapped her cane on the chair. "Bring in the instruments of punishment!"

Two trolleys were borne downstairs from the kitchens. One had a big barrel of strawberry fizz and beakers on it, the other a magnificent three-tiered cake, surmounted by a marchpane figure of the Warrior himself. The Abbess looked sternly from the trolleys to Martin and announced in a no-nonsense voice, "I order that you either eat all of this cake and drink the contents of that barrel... or share it with us before you embark upon your journey!"

Martin was plainly bewildered. "Er, I'll share it with you all, of course, but, er, what journey is this I'm supposed to be embarking upon?"

Gonff stepped forward, carrying Martin's great sword. It was a plain warrior's weapon, nothing fancy. The hilt was the one that had belonged to his father's old sword: blackbound, with a red pommel stone at its top. But its blade was like no other, fashioned by a Badger Lord from a chunk of metal fallen from the stars. Martin took it from Gonff, his face reflecting in the burnished steel as he said, "This has been used for a lot of things, but never for anything as delicate as a cake."

Gonff indicated a spot on the butter-colored meadow-cream, between a candied chestnut and a honey-preserved rose petal. "Cut the cackle an' slice the cake, matey!"

A loud cheer went up as the keen blade slid into the massive confection.

"Martin the Warrior! Redwaaaaaaaallllll!"

Columbine took over the slicing and Coggs served drinks, while Martin sat in a corner with some of his friends, eating and sipping happily. He nudged the Mousethief.

"Gonff, you tubby rascal, I've a feeling you're at the back of all this. Come on, tell me, where's this journey going to take me?"

The Prince of Mousethieves blew out his cheeks airily. "Huh! You, matey? What makes y'think yore goin' anyplace without me? I'll be with you every step o' the way!"

"Hurr, zurr, an' oi, too. You'm bain't a-goin' an' leavin' Dinny Foremole ahind of ee!"

Martin wrinkled his brow in frustration and put aside his slice of cake, which Baby Gonflet promptly stole.

"Look, will you all stop talking in circles and tell me where I'm supposed to be going?"

Trimp could hold the secret no longer. She blurted out, "To the place you've been dreaming of, where your father, Luke the Warrior, swore to return someday. The northland shore, where you were born!"

Martin looked this way and that, blinking. His paws took on a life of their own, fidgeting distractedly.

"But... but... what about the Abbey? I haven't made any arrangements, then there's provisions, directions, a thousand things that would have to be done ..."

Columbine came over. Wiping cream and cake from the great battle blade with her apron corner, she gave the sword to Martin and sat down beside him.

"No excuses, sir Warrior, 'tis all arranged and taken ca re of since this afternoon. Provisions are packed for you all, and you've got the entire summer ahead of you. Skipper and Bella will take charge of the building work. I'll look after the Abbess. There's absolutely nothing for you to do or worry about. After all you've done for Redwall and its creatures, the least we can do in return is to allow you a trip to the place of your birth, which 'tis clear you long to see."

Martin squeezed Columbine's paw gratefully. "Thank youthank you all. What can I say?"

The irrepressible Gonff pounded him on the back. "That's easy, matey, you can either say no, an' sit around with a face like thunder until the flippin' Abbey falls down on us, or you can say yes, when do we leave?"

For the first time in days Martin the Warrior laughed. He backpawed Gonff in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. "Yes, when do we leave?"

Dinny did not notice Baby Gonflet purloining his slice of cake as he shook Martin's paw with a hefty digging claw.

"Boi dawn on ee morrow at furst loight, zurr matey!"

Chapter 3

Stars paled into the receding night, as the cloudless sky turned from aquamarine to soft pastel bands of a new day. Out in the vast leagues of Mossflower, birds began singing among still foliage of trees which stood like ancient giants. The sun rose in the east, an immense golden ball, ready to preside over the morning and noon.

Skipper and Bella opened the main gate wide, and all the inhabitants of Redwall crowded out onto the path, surrounding the four travelers. Trimp was sorry to be leaving the beautiful Abbey and its friendly creatures. Words of advice and farewells fell thick as leaves in autumn.

"Fates an' fortunes be with ye!"

"Bringa me back lotsa seashells, daddy Gonff!"

"Go careful now. Watch yore step, Trimp!"

"Aye, an' don't let that Gonff scoff all the supplies."

"Stay away from deep water, Dinny!"

"An' don't climb any tall trees, mate!"

"Keep that sword close t'paw, Martin. You never know!"

"Have you got a clean kerchief, Gonff? I've packed some extra for you. Oh, don't forget your flute!"

Martin kissed Abbess Germaine's wrinkled brow. "Goodbye, Mother Abbess. Watch out for us near autumn."

The ancient mouse sniffed as she straightened his swordbelt over one shoulder. "Come back safe to Redwall Abbey, Martin the Warrior!"

Red wallers stopped out on the path, cheering and waving, until the four figures traveling north were lost in the shimmering dust.

Gonff strode out cheerfully, calling back to Dinny, who was lagging behind at a slower gait, "Come on, Din, keep up, you old wobblechops!"

Shambling along at his own pace, the good mole was not about to be rushed. "More 'aste less speed, zurr. We'm gotten all ee summer afore us'n's. You'm on'y get all 'ot an' wearied boi rushen along loik ee fussy rabbert!"

Martin slowed the pace slightly, allowing Dinny to catch up.

"Always take a mole's advice, Gonff. Remember, Dinny didn't get to be Foremole by being hasty and foolish."

Their friend's homely face crinkled into a deep smile. "Oi thankee furr ee koind wurds, Marthen. Moi ole granfer used t'say oi was wise, even when oi was but a h'infant!"

Gonff could not suppress a giggle. "Hah! Yore ole granfer'd say anything for two pieces of pie, as I remember!"

Dinny nodded sagely at this remark. "Aye, an' loik as not ee'd say more furr three pieces o' pie, if'n you'm 'adn't stolen 'em furst, zurr Mouseythief!"

Gonff pulled a sad face at Martin. "Our Dinny can be very cruel at times!"

Martin tweaked his friend's ear playfully. "Oh, I wouldn't say cruel as much as truthful!"

By midday the Abbey was well lost to sight. The four travelers crossed the ditch, leaving behind the path and entering the cool green woodlands. Trimp scouted ahead a bit and found a beautiful site for their early noonday meal. Dabbling their footpaws in a small streamlet, they sat beneath a willow, lunching on apples, cheese and honeyscones, which they washed down with cold clear water. Trimp watched Martin unbuckle the great sword from his shoulderbelt and lay it down within easy paw-reach. Admiringly, the hedgehog maid watched reflections of water patterns playing along the blade.

"What a wondrous thing your sword is, Martin."

The Warrior picked it up and held it lightly, testing its flawless balance. "Wondrous indeed, Trimp, but you must always remember what a sword is really made for. It has only one purpose, to slay. In the paws of the wrong beast it could become an awful thing, if 'twere used for evil purposes. As the Warrior who is privileged to carry the sword, I am honor bound to uphold two things: the safety of Redwall, and the memory of my father. The blade was made for me, but the hilt was always his."

Trimp felt slightly sorry for Martin. "This is a long trip we're undertaking and we have only the words of an old ballad to go on. Maybe your father never really said that he would return, or then again, he may have returned long seasons ago and sailed off once more. What I'm tryin' to say, Martin, is this: don't be surprised or disappointed if there is no trace of him on the northland shores when we finally get there."

The Warrior patted his companion's paw fondly. "I've thought of all that, missie, don't worry about me. I've decided to treat the whole thing as a summer journey with three good friends along for the walk. Right at this moment I feel lighter of heart and happier than I've been for quite some time. So hush now and don't fret over me."

Babbling streamwater, combined with distant bird-song and insects' lazy droning, soon had the four creatures taking a short nap in the shade and serenity offered by surrounding trees. They had not been dozing long when Martin became alert. Sitting bolt upright, he readied for his blade.

Trimp opened one eye enquiringly. "What is it, Martin, what's the m"

The Warrior touched her lips lightly. "Quiet, miss, listen. Gonff, can you hear?"

The Mousethief had drawn his dagger and crawled forward. Crouching against the willow trunk, he strained to hear. "Gourds knockin' togethersounds like little drums. Chantin', too. Bit far off t'make it out proper, mate." He sniffed the air as if hoping for a breeze. "No smell, though, matey, mayhap just as well, too."

Martin crouched alongside him and said one word.

"Flitchaye?"

Gonff nodded, still keeping his ears alerted for more sounds. "That's what I was thinkin', but what are Flitchaye doin' this far south?"

Martin shrugged. "Raiding party, maybe?"

Trimp looked from one to the other anxiously. "What's a Flitchaye? Do we need to fear them?"

Martin explained.

"Flitchaye are a tribe of runty weasels. We don't fear them, but they're within a day's journey of Redwall, so we'd best go and see what they're up to."

As they tracked their way through silent woodlands toward the distant sound, Gonff whispered, "Flitchayes are a bad lot, missie. They use powerful herb smoke to stun their captives. You wouldn't see a Flitchaye 'til he's right on top of ye, 'cos they disguise themselves with weeds an' shrubs an' live underground mostly. Though if this lot are Flitchaye raiders, they'll stay above ground, not bein' on their own territory. Keep your head down an' stay back with Dinny, behind me'n'Martin."

Trimp's heart beat faster. She was very excited, but not afraid with Martin and Gonff leading the way. Skirting a fern bed, they crept up behind a fallen sycamore, and as they stooped in its shelter, the sounds grew more distinct. Voices were chanting in unison with the thokking noise of gourds being struck rhythmically together.

"We d'Flitchaye Flitchaye Flitchaye,

Worraworra gonnawinna lorralorra wars!"

Thockthockathockthock, thockathockathockthock!

Bushes rustled and a few twigs snapped. Peeping over the fungus-ridden trunk, Trimp blinked in surprise when she distinguished the shapes moving against the leafy terrain.

Close to twoscore Flitchaye came marching past, brandishing stoneheaded axes and carrying bundles of slender throwing spears. Smeared with plant dye and clad in a disguise of trailing weeds, the vermin were almost as one with their surroundings. It was a barbaric scene, heightened by the sight of a very young squirrel, paws bound and hobbled, being dragged along on a rope of vine thongs attached to his neck. Trimp's eyes began watering as four rearguard passed close to the sycamore trunk, for they carried big earthenware pots on hangers between them, averting their heads from the smoke which wreathed from the vessels. The hedgehog maid rubbed at her eyes, swaying as the smoke fogged her senses. Dinny slapped a glob of mud in her paws, murmuring low, "Yurr, missie, stick this on ee nose an' breathe through ee mouth!"

Trimp did as the mole advised and immediately felt better. She noticed that Martin and Gonff were doing the same thing to counteract the effect of the drugged smoke. When the column of Flitchayes had passed, the four friends sat down in the lee of the fallen trunk, and after a safe wait Gonff indicated that they clean off their noses.

Martin nodded grimly at Trimp. "Well, now you know what Flitchaye are like, the filthy villains. Did you see the little squirrel they'd taken?"

Trimp shuddered. "Poor little fellow. Whatll they do to him?"

Martin clasped his swordhilt resolutely. "Nothing if we can help it, miss. Dinny, see if you can gather some ramsons."

The industrious mole was no sooner gone than he was back, carrying two of the broad-leafed plants, still with their tiny starlike flowers in bloom. Trimp took a step back from the pungent garlic-smelling things.

"Whew! Keep away from me with that lot, Din. I can't abide the smell of ramsons!"

Dinny chuckled as he stripped the leaves and rolled them into small solid plugs. "You'm bain't goin' to loik thiz, marm, but et could save ee loif. Yurr, take these."

Trimp's face was a mask of disgust as she accepted a pawful of the reeking wild garlic pellets from Dinny.

"Gurgh! We'll defeat the Flitchaye easily by throwing these at them. What a dreadful stink!"

Dinny passed the pellets around. Gonff chuckled gleefully.

"We don't chuck them at the foebeast, missie, we stuff two up our noses an' chew the rest."

The hedgehog maid looked horrified at the idea. "Stuff them up our noses and chew them? You're joking!"

Martin was already plugging his nose with ramsons. "No joke, Trimp. The garlic odor will overpower the smell of any drugged herb that the Flitchaye have. Come on, miss, get on with it, we're losing time!"

With Martin in the lead, they set off trailing the Flitchayes. Both Dinny and Gonff were unaffected by the malodorous aroma of ramsonsin fact, they seemed to be enjoying it. Martin endured his in stoic silence, but Trimp felt close to vomiting at the overpowering smell. Traveling silent and fast, they soon heard the foebeast up ahead. Dropping flat amid some bushes, Martin, Dinny and Trimp waited while Gonff scouted ahead. Trimp sat miserably in the deep loam, her entire being swamped by ramsons. Gonff rejoined them, quiet as a shadow drifting over grass. The Mousethief made his report swiftly.

"They're camped in a clearin' up aheadsome must've been already there. I counted fifty-one all told, all Flitchaye savages. Saw the liddle squirrel, too, they got him bound to a post in the middle o' their camp. Fifty's too many for us, mateys. 'Tis goin' t'be hard gettin' the young 'un out o' there. Any ideas, pals?"

Martin looked from one to the other before speaking. "Right, here's the plan. Listen carefully, because it all depends on pure bluff. If it works, then we get out of there fast. Gonff, here's what you'll do, mate ..."

Chapter 4

A mess of bird bones and feathers mixed with squashed half-eaten fruit and vegetables littered the Flitchaye camp. Around the fire undersized weasels squabbled and fought tooth and claw over any morsel of food roasting in the flames. One, larger than the rest, his face daubed blue beneath a helmet of ivy and bugloss, grabbed a half-burnt wren carcass from a smaller Flitchaye. Snarling, the owner tried to retrieve his food from the big weasel, who booted him backward into the fire contemptuously. It was an act of wanton cruelty that caused great hilarity among the other vermin, who sniggered evilly as their scorched companion scrambled shrieking from the blaze and rolled about, trying to extinguish his smoldering fur.

The young squirrel, who was little more than a Dibbun, was trying to shake off the effects of the drugged smoke. He shrank back fearfully against the post he was bound to. Flitchayes with sharp sticks prodded him and licked their lips meaningfully. One weasel took out a blade and was about to start cutting the squirrel's bonds when the big Flitchaye spotted him and knocked him senseless with a well-aimed rock. He stood over the fallen weasel, baring his stained fangs at the rest and speaking in his high-pitched growl. "Norra yet! Feed de swiggle, fatty 'im uppa plenny!" He thrust the remains of the dead bird at the helpless youngster, snarling into the squirrel's terrified face: "You eat. Commona, eaty allup!"

Martin strode nonchalantly into the camp, as if he was quite used to this sort of thing. A puzzled silence settled over the Flitchaye at the sight of the bold, unarmed stranger in their midst. Pushing them out of his way he went across to the two earthenware pots, still wreathing smoke from the drugged herbs which smoldered inside them. Leaning over, Martin appeared to sniff them both and gave a hard, scornful laugh.

"Hah! Don't think much o' yore cookin', ragbags!"

A gasp of surprise rose from the vermin. The stranger had suffered no ill effects from the fearful fumes! Still shouldering weasels aside, Martin pushed his way forcefully over to the little prisoner. Picking up the knife from the fallen weasel, he made as if to cut the squirrel free.

"Stoppima mousebeast!"

At the shout from their leader, the Flitchaye surrounded Martin, hemming in on all sides. Swaggering forward, the big weasel thrust his ugly face close to that of Martin and sneered, "We d'Flitchaye, Flitchaye, Flitchaye!"

The crowd took up the chant, moving around the Warrior in a shuffling, stamping dance. Martin waited patiently awhile, an expression of bored indifference on his face. Then he pointed a paw at his own chest and shouted, "I Martin the Warrior!"

Quiet fell over the vermin, and they stood still. The leader pointed a stoneheaded ax at the lone mouse, repeating Martin's words as best he could. "Ma'tarn de Horrya!" He spat challengingly at the floor in front of the Warrior. Martin coolly returned the gesture, looking the weasel up and down insultingly as he spoke.

"Fish eye, you d'Fish eye?"

The Warrior had anticipated the Flitchaye leader's next move, and he took a pace smartly backward as the weasel swung his ax. The blow was delivered with such force that the Flitchaye could not stop it. He struck himself hard on the shin, cracking his bone audibly. Martin stretched both paws wide. Keeping his eyes on a double-topped oak at the camp's edge, he roared, "Redwaaaaaalllll!"

Hidden by the foliage, Gonff held the sword like a spear and cast it accurately. To the Flitchaye it was magic! Seemingly zipping down out of the sky, the great blade thudded point first into the ground at Martin's side.

Wrenching it from the earth, the Warrior swung it skillfully, chopping a nearby vermin's bunch of throwing spears in half with a single swipe. It had the desired effect. Flitchaye scattered to get out of Martin's sword range, leaving him alone by the prisoner. Turning his back on the enemy, Martin gave the little squirrel a quick reassuring smile and whispered, "Don't move 'til I say, matey. Soon have y'out of here." The captive blinked with fright as Martin's sword hissed within a whisker of him, severing the ropes.

Whirring bright in the late afternoon sunlight, the sword weaved a deadly pattern as its owner wielded it. Martin narrowed his eyes to a fierce intensity, glaring slowly this way and that at the vermin.

"I Martin the Warrior, we go now!"

Gently lifting the dazed little squirrel on his shoulders, he turned and began walking from the camp. The leader, his face a mask of agony, limped forward, shouting, "Stoppa mousebeast, sto"

His cry was cut short when a slingstone smashed his jaw and laid him flat. A female, obviously the leader's mate, dashed forward, but she, too, was felled by a slingstone which whacked her between the eyes. She fell like a log.

Martin muttered out the side of his mouth to the little one, "Good old Dinny, never known him to miss yet!" Then he turned sternly to the cowering Flitchaye. "I go, you stay, Fish eye, hah!"

At a nod from him, slingstones poured in from Gonff, Dinny and Trimp, causing confusion among the stunned Flitchaye.

Back among the shelter of some big trees, Martin passed his sword to Gonff.

"Good work, mates, but if I know Flitchaye, they won't stay still for long. We've got to get out of here, fast!"

Trimp just had time to spit and blow, ridding herself of the hated ramsons, then she was running, paw in paw with Dinny, Martin leading and Gonff behind her, guarding the rear. Trees and bushes sped by in a green blur as the rescuers hurtled through the woodlands, with the first streaks of evening marking the sky. Breathless and quivering, they paused at a wide shallow stream. Trimp stooped and sucked up mouthfuls gratefully. Gonff struck her on the back, causing her to cough out the water.

"Don't drink now, matey, 'twill slow you up. Martin, listen!"

"Flitchayeeeeeeeee! Flitchayeeeeeeeee!"

The blood-curdling shouts of vermin crying for revenge rang out through the trees. Tapping the back of Martin's head, the little squirrel, who now seemed completely recovered from the evil smoke, spoke for the first time.

"Chugger not wanna get eated, quick, run!"

And run they did. Martin chose the streambed, to make tracking difficult, though it slowed their pace slightly. Pebbles clacked underpaw, water splashed noisily around the runners, and sometimes trailing crowfoot weeds tried to tangle them up. Gonff turned at the sound of rapidly advancing vermin, as the Flitchaye dashed screaming into the waters upstream.

"Flitchayeeeeee! Flitchayeeeeee!"

The Mousethief held a stone ready in his sling. "They've seen us, mates. I'll say this for the rascals: they're good fast runners. Should we make for the bank and head into the woods, Martin?"

Martin pressed on doggedly with Chugger clinging to his back. "No good, mate, they'd track wet pawprints easily. This water's getting deeper and they can only travel the same speed as us in a stream. Keep going!"

Farther downstream the watercourse took a bend, getting deeper. It was now well above waist height and flowing fast. Dinny grunted to Trimp, "Oi doan't loik water, oi'm gurtly afeared of ee wet!"

The Flitchaye, who were still in the shallower water, seemed to be gaining apace on their quarry. Gonff turned and brought one of the front runners down with a well-placed slingstone and reloaded his sling immediately.

"They're too close for comfort now, mates. I reckon we'll have t'stand an' fight it out!"

"Gurr, no uz won't. Lookit, we'm be saved!"

In the curve of the streambend a big old crack willow, which had collapsed into the water from the crumbling bank, lay half in, half out of the flow, swaying gently.

Tripping and stumbling wildly, Dinny and Trimp waded through the eddying swirls, coughing and gasping, the foodpacks they were carrying hampering them greatly. However, they made it over to the tree and hauled themselves on to its bushy top. Their added weight did the trick. There was a tearing of the last few roots as the willow upended and slid off into the stream.

Martin and Gonff were both slinging stones now, dodging the long thin throwing spears which the Flitchaye flung at them. The little squirrel Chugger clung to Martin's back, yelling hoarsely, "Fro' lotsa stones, don't lerra Fish eyes eat Chugga!"

The Warrior looked to Gonff for his sword. It was evident that before long they would be battling paw to paw with the vermin in a life or death struggle.

"Hurr, 'urry an' jump on ee boat naow, mates!"

Dinny and Trimp had paddled the tree close up behind them, using long leafy branches they had broken from the willow. Martin pushed Gonff onto the makeshift vessel and was about to pull himself aboard when a snarling Flitchaye grabbed his paw. For a moment the Warrior was helpless, clinging with one paw to the tree while being held by the vermin. Chugger scrambled up onto Martin's shoulder. Leaning over, he bit deep into the vermin's paw. An agonized scream ripped from the weasel's mouth as he let go of Martin's paw. Without a backward glance, Martin heaved both himself and Chugger onto the willow trunk.

"Trimp, look after the little 'un. Gonff, you and I'll paddle. Dinny, get your sling and give those scum what for!"

Trimp felt the current pull strongly at the tree, then they were whipped away downstream, with Martin and Gonff paddling nonstop. Wedging little Chugger in the sprouting branches up front, she went to assist Dinny. The mole was roaring gruffly as he whirled his sling and flung rocks with deadly accuracy.

"Goo burr, oi'll give ee billoh, you'm choild-eatin' villyuns. Yurr be a gurt supper o' stones for ee!"

So fierce were the volleys of rock and round pebble with which Dinny and Trimp peppered the Flitchaye that the vermin waded for the banks, unable to keep balance and throw their spears in the deepening water. Martin chanced a backward glance at their molefriend, and winked at Gonff.

"Look at old Din there, slinging away like a good 'un!"

Watching admiringly, the Mousethief saw one of Dinny's rocks take a Flitchaye squarely between both ears, toppling him from the bank into the water.

"Aye, matey, that mole's enjoyin' himself all right!"

************************************

Dusk fell while the travelers made their way downstream, still harassed by Flitchaye foes running along both sides of the bank. Martin peered ahead into the darkness and bit his lip grimly at what he saw.

"Bad luck for us ahead. The stream is dammed right across!"

Trimp gave a cry of dismay. "Look, some Flitchaye must've run ahead. I can see the shapes of 'em, waiting on the dam top for us!"

Sure enough, there were several creatures moving about on the dam, shrouded by the enclosing gloom. Dinny groaned.

"Hurr, us'n's be en real trouble naow!"

A hearty voice, quite unlike the Flitchaye, rang out from the dam as shadowy shapes dashed back and forth.

"Whupperyhoooo, cullies, I see Flitchayes. Whuppery-hooooo!"

Gonff began jumping up and down with joy. Cupping both paws around his mouth, he yelled to the creatures on the dam.

"Garraway Bullow, ye ole dogswamper, 'tis me, the Mousethief!"

A figure hurled itself from the damtop, cut the water neatly and came swimming at them with the speed of an attacking pike. Chugger nearly fell from his perch with surprise as a large, powerful otter bounded onto the willow as if she had been propelled from the water on a giant spring. Gonff threw himself upon the otter and wrestled her the length of the trunk, both of them laughing and shouting.

"Well frazzle a frog, you ole Majesty, good to see yer!"

"Haharr, Gonffo me ole tatercake, you got a belly on ye like a poisoned plant louse! What brings ye to my neck o' the country, cullie?"

"Yah, we didn't wanna come, 'cept that there's more'n twoscore Flitchaye tryin' to slay an' eat us, mate!"

Garraway Bullow tossed Gonff aside like a leaf and stood up. She looked Martin up and down, shaking his paw firmly.

"'Strewth, I wager you'd account for a few vermin before they brought ye down, with a sword like that. No matter, cullie, you leave the filthy Flitchaye to my fighters!" Placing a paw to her mouth, she gave a loud ear-piercing whistle, then called to the otters on the dam.

"Whupperyhoooo! Tis Flitchayes all right. Go an' get 'em afore they run off. Nought like a Flitchaye hide t'make cloaks for our liddle 'uns, an' winter's on'y two seasons off!"

Otters materialized from everywhere, big warlike beasts, tattooed from ear to tail and armed with double-tipped javelins. Whooping and bellowing, they took off after the weasels, who turned and fled in terror. The tree nosed gently into the dam as Gonff was making introductions.

"That there's Dinny Foremole, the pretty hogmaid's called Trimp, an' the serious-lookin' sword carrier, who ain't nearly so pretty as me, is Martin the Warrior, my matey. Friends, I want ye to meet Garraway Bullow, Queen of all the Nortthe Northern Otter River Tribes!"

Garraway helped them on to the dam, then she hauled the willow in sideways and lashed it to the timber and mud structure, remarking, "No sense in wastin' good wood'twill strengthen our dam. Come on, Gonffo, an' bring yore mateys, too. Seein' as you ain't been ate by Flitchayes, you must be 'ungry, right?"

Gonff laughed impudently at the Otterqueen. "D'ye ever recall a day when I wasn't hungry? I could eat a boiled otter right now, but I ain't got the time to cook ye, burly Bullow, so lead us t'the vittles!"

"Hoi, worra you fink, I'm a likkle flower growin' on dis tree? Worrabout Chugger?"

Trimp rescued the tiny squirrel from the branches, where he had been taking a short nap. He waved at Garraway Bullow.

" 'Lo, my name be Chugger, I 'ungry too!"

The Otterqueen swung him up onto her brawny shoulder. "Haharrharr, you ain't back'ard in comin' forward, are ye, master Chugg? Well, I reckon you don't eat much, so we'll find a smidgen o' vittles for ye. Though I don't know rightly where yore from, or if'n our vittles'd suit ye, matey. How'd you get caught by the Flitchaye?"

The little fellow shrugged. "I live inna woods wiv Granny. One day she go 'sleep. Chugger shake'n'shake Granny, but she not wake up. So I on me own, 'til Fish eyes catcher me. But Martin, Trimp'n'Gonffo be's Chugger's friends now. You be my friend, too?"

Garraway Bullow wiped something from her eye with the back of a paw. "I'd like t'meet the beast who says I ain't yore friend, Chugger mate!"

Chapter 5

The otter den, or holt, consisted of a spacious cavern, dug into the bank, directly under where a massive ancient beech tree grew. Thick gnarled beech roots, crisscrossing in all directions, formed a ceiling, wallbeams, and in places long stout seats. It was lit by a great fire in a stonebuilt hearth and mantel, with ovens on both sides and cauldrons suspended over the flames by iron trivets. Otters were everywhere, though mainly babes and oldbeasts, since the mature males and females were out chasing Flitchayes. One wrinkled old male twitched his nose at Garraway, putting aside a wooden spoon he was carving.

"Why didn't ye tell me there was Flitchayes abroad? I'd 'ave gotten me javelins an' gone out with the crew. Young snipfur, y'are, never tell me nothin'!"

The Otterqueen inspected his work approvingly. "That's a fine spoon, Daddo. You put paid to more vermin than anybeast in yore young seasons. Better f'you to take things easy an' whittle nice spoons. We need more spoons."

The oldster sighed and resumed his carving. "Yore tellin' me, daughter. 'Tis those Kitts. They think spoons is boats, go out a-sailin' 'em an' lose 'em, they do." The little otters, known as Kitts, were anxiously watching an old otterwife putting out spoons on the table for supper. She waggled a paw at them.

"I'll be countin' these spoons after, an' woe betide you Kitts if'n there's a single one gone astray!"

Gonff sniffed at one of the cauldrons appreciatively. "Mmm, Bubblin' Bobbs if I ain't mistaken!"

Trimp allowed the delicious aroma to wreath her face. "Smells marvelous, Gonff. What are Bubblin' Bobbs?"

The Mousethief managed to hook a sip on his knife edge before dodging a swipe from the big fat cook. "Well, first you put on a soup of chopped leeks, parsley an' shredded white turnips, with loads o' secret otter herbs. Then you get a paste made from cornflour, rolled oats an' carrot juice, roll it into dumplin's an' press a good fat watershrimp into the middle of each one. Fry 'em crispy in corn oil, then chuck 'em in the soup. At first they sink, but when the soup starts a-bubblin', the dumplin's bob to the top. That's why otters call it Bubblin' Bobbs. Come on, let's find a seat, Trimp. Supper looks about ready!"

Before the meal started, Daddo laid aside his carving and plucked a few chords with his tail on a flat round instrument, which made a banjo-like sound. He called to Garraway.

"C'mon, daughter, give us yore song afore the rest gits back."

Queen Garraway fluttered her eyelashes demurely and launched into a ballad with a voice that shook the very rafters.

"I'm bound to sing this song,

Though I shouldn't really ought,

I'm Queen of all these otters yet,

They call me Queen of Nort?

Yes Queen of Nort!

My goodness who'd have thought,

One day I'd be a Majesty,

Or something of that sort,

But all the otters that I see,

Must bow and wave their tails to me,

Whilst I just nod back graciously,

I'm Queen of Nort!

Good Queen of Nort,

My northern otter tribe,

Live all along the riverbanks,

And beat their foes with tails like planks,

I rule them wisely and give thanks,

I'm Queen of Nort!

There's nought I'd rather be,

I say to myself constantly,

Your Majesty is really me,

And don't I look like royalty,

I'm Quee-ee-ee-ee-heeeeen of Nort!

N ... O ... R ... T, may I rule long and graciously!"

Queen Garraway Bullow bowed modestly as the listeners applauded, clipping the ear of a Kitt who was stuffing a spoon in his apron pocket and rapping the paw of another who was making rude gestures at her elders. Suddenly the pre-supper calm was disrupted, as bounding and hooting the fighting otters returned, hungry as hunters and flushed with victory. Trimp found herself sandwiched between two husky females, who jostled and joked.

"Ahoy there, mate, budge over a bit, will ye!"

"Yah, go an' budge yoreself, barrelbeam!"

Eventually, after much shoving and hustling, every-beast was seated, and a big rough-looking one-eared male bellowed, "Whupperyhoo! Wheel in the vittles hard'n'fast there!"

Queen Garraway threw him a frosty glance. "Not afore you've made yore report, Cap'n Barrool!"

Barrool flicked his powerful tail and winked at her. "Oh, that! Well, there ain't no more babe-eatin' wicked Flitchayes plunderin' the land no more, we slew 'em all!"

Daddo eyed him doubtfully. "How d'y'know they're all slain?"

One of the big females called out, " 'Cos we asked 'em real nice, an' any who said they wasn't got fixed up good'n'quick!"

This brought roars of laughter from the fighters. Trimp shook her head sadly, remarking to the female next to her, "How can you joke about killing other creatures?"

The otter's face became severe as she replied, "If you'd seen wot Flitchayes have done to old 'uns an' Kitts when they raided here in bygone seasons, you'd unnerstand, missie. Besides, the crew's only jestin' 'cos they all came back alive an' un'urt. This time we were lucky. Those scum didn't 'ave time to sneak up on us with their smoulderin' herbs an' knock us out, so they 'ad t'fight paw to paw, see."

The Bubbling Bobbs soup was delicious, as was the riverbank salad, arrowroot scones with honey, hotroot celery cream dip and dandelion cordial. Martin sat next to the Queen, explaining where the four were traveling to. Garraway was very helpful.

"Northern shores, eh? You'd be best to go by water, Martin."

"Hmm, maybe so, but you've dammed the stream and we've lost our willowit's reinforcing your dam, remember?"

Garraway brushed aside his objections cheerfully. "We only dammed the stream to make a liddle waterfall an' a good slide for the Kitts. Another stream cuts in below the falls. We'll lend you a raft. It'll be easy, matey. The river runs straight west t'the sea shores, an' from there you only have t'head north along the coastline, right, Gonff?"

The Mousethief slurped the soup from his bowl. "Right, marm, an' thankee kindly for yore 'elp'n'hospitality!"

Garraway whacked him playfully with her tail. "Lissen, Gonff, you don't get off with it that easy. Come on, out with that flute of yours an' give us a jig. Er, 'Tails in the Stream'? Aye, that's wot it was called!"

Gonff pulled out his flute and returned the whack, grinning. "Yore a wicked ole Queen, forcin' pore travelers t'sing for their supper. Right, here goes. 'Tails in the Stream'!"

At the first merry trills of the flute every otter in the holt was up and jigging wildly. Martin, Trimp and Dinny had to climb to a high root perch to avoid the flailing tails and whirling limbs. They sat clapping their paws in time to the furious pace. Chugger was down on the floor with a gang of Kitts, linking tails as they whooped and kicked up footpaws, speeding around in a milling circle. Even the oldsters danced vigorously. Every now and then the floor would reverberate as otters thumped their tails on it in unison as they sang.

"Tails in the stream, mates, tails in the stream,

No time t'sit around the bank an' dream,

Is it a pike perch roach or a bream?

No, 'tis an otter with his tail in the stream!

Whupperyhoo, mates whupperyhoo,

Clouds are white an' the sky is blue,

Rap with y'tail an' stamp that paw,

Bow to y'partner an' around once more!

Bread'n'honey'n'cakes'n'cream,

Supper's in the oven an' tails in the stream!"

Gonff tootled faster and faster, and the dance speeded up until the entire place was a blur of whirling fur and thumping tails, finishing finally in a glorious collapse of giggling, bellowing otters. Gonff danced nimbly around them, waving his flute and chuckling.

"Hahaha, c'mon now, you idle lot, up on y'paws. I'm goin' to play 'Riverdogs Ramble Round'!"

Panting and blowing, Queen Garraway extricated herself from the jumble, waving her paws. "Mercy, Gonffo, ye picklenosed rogue, you'll have us danced out of our skins!"

Gonff helped her to a seat. "Right then, ole Majesty, sit an' rest those ancient paws. Everybeast sit now, but leave a space in the center. Hi there, Martin, get down here an' show 'em the Battleblade Dance. C'mon, matey, don't be shy!"

Reluctantly Martin clambered down and unsheathed his sword. "Gonff, I'm sure nobeast wants to see that old thing!"

The Mousethief appealed to the otters. "'Course you do, mates, don't you?"

Martin sighed. By the furious applause that followed his friend's remark, it was obvious they wanted to see him perform. Trimp sat Chugger on her lap, settling down to watch Redwall's champion, while Gonff and Dinny set the stage. A big red apple was placed on an oaken stump stool, and Dinny sat on the floor, an upturned cooking pot in front of him. When he began tapping it with his digging claws, it gave out a sound like raindrops hitting a thin slate roof. Tock tokkatokka tock tokka tokka!

The Mousethief sat beside his molefriend. Taking two mushrooms, he stood one on Dinny's head and the other on his own, then he held his paws straight in front of him, a dandelion held firmly in either one. Gonff signaled Martin with a wink. What Trimp witnessed then she could scarce believe, but it convinced the hogmaid that nobeast living could wield a sword like Martin the Warrior.

Martin began moving slowly at first to Dinny's beat, whirling his blade in all directions. Underpaw and over-paw, around both shoulders and overhead, the sword moved in a slow flashing pattern, humming and whirring, with fireglow playing along its blade. Everybeast stared in silent fascination at the wonderful display. Martin skiphopped, his keen blade tip missing both footpaws by a fraction, then he gave a piercing yell.

"Redwaaaaaaall!"

Dinny speeded up his rhythm, with Martin keeping perfect time, eyes half closed in concentration. Redwall's great sword became a blur of liquid light, traveling so fast that it left patterns upon the air, figures of eight, circles, crescents, even shapes like flowers.

Tocktokkatokkatocktokkatokkatocktokkatokka . ..

Faster and faster the mole's digging claws rapped on the upturned copper pot. Otters held their breath as the perilous blade sang within a whisker of their faces. Trimp nearly bit through her lip at what happened next. Martin gave a wild animal roar and whirled upon his two friends, the blade striking down on their heads. Once! Twice! Both mushrooms fell apart sliced from cap to base. Like a living thing, the sword hummed and flicked round Gonff's paws, lopping off the dandelion heads so that they curled lazily up in twin arcs, landing neatly 'twixt the cut mushrooms on Gonff and Dinny's heads. With a leap and a bound, Martin was at the big red apple, his lethal blade appearing to be six swords at once, chopping like lightning at the apple. Never once was the blade edge heard to strike the oaken stump, on which twelve perfect apple slices lay. Sweeping the flat blade to and fro, the Warrior sent the slices spinning into the watchers' laps. Tossing the sword in the air so that it turned on its own length, Martin took a half pace backward. With an audible thud the sword came down point first to stand quivering in the floor. Martin clasped both paws on the pommel-stoned hilt and bowed.

The Nort otters went wild. They cheered and danced around Martin and his two friends, lifting them shoulder high and carrying them round the cave. Chugger was already up with his pals, the Kitts, stuffing apple slices in their mouths as they cast about for dandelions, mushrooms and swordlike sticks to repeat the Warrior's feat. Queen Garraway Bullow gripped Martin's paw tight, pumping it up and down fiercely.

"Never seen aught like that on land or water, matey. Hoho! Thought you was goin' to make two moles out o' Dinny an' leave ole Gonffo pawless for a moment back there. You'll have t'show me how t'do it, Martin. Great thunder, matey, wot I wouldn't give for a sword like that'n o' yours!"

When the Warrior could get a word in edgewise, he shook his head ruefully at the crowd of admiring otters.

"Please, 'twas only a fancy exercise in sword control I thought up to relieve the boredom of training. Normally I wouldn't let anybeast see me do it, but I made the mistake of performing it once at a Redwall feast and Gonff's been trying to talk me into doing it again ever since."

Gonff patted his friend's back, obviously proud of his skill. "Fiddley dee, mate, shows yore a real Warrior. Huh, if'n I could do that I'd be at it ten times a day for sure!"

Late that night Martin sat alone on the dam. Inside the holt of Queen Garraway it was snug and warm, and he could hear the snores and murmurs of sleep talkers drifting forth into the soft summer darkness. Martin smiled, recalling how Gonff had grabbed the sword and told a disobedient gang of Kitts about a tail-chopping trick he knew, for naughty little otters who would not go to sleep. It worked like a treatthey fled to their beds instantly. The Warrior stared into the night, wondering what sort of a father Luke had been. He wrestled with fogged memories, confusing the images of his mother Sayna and his grandmother, Windred, as they merged together in his mind's eye. He tossed a stone into the water, watching the moon-rimmed ripples. What sort of place had the far north shores been? Had Luke, his father, ever kept his word and returned there? It was all too puzzling, so he turned his mind to thoughts of the Abbey. What would Redwall look like, one day when it was finally completed? That turned out to be a puzzle, too.

Next morning Queen Garraway took the travelers beyond her dam. There had once been a broad waterfall farther down the stream, but the damming had cut it down to half its original size, allowing the otters to build a steep mudslide. Squeaking Kitts, covered from ears to tails in wet brown clay, shot down it like stones from a sling, splashing into the pool below and emerging clean of mud. The friends laughed uproariously at their antics. Trimp pointed out one, zooming down backward.

"Heeheehee, look at that liddle scamp. Bet he'd catch it off his mother if she saw him doing that!"

With a resounding splash the little one hit the water, vanished and came up again, washed recognizable. Trimp hid a smile as Dinny roared gruffly at the culprit: "Yurr, git out'n thurr, maister Chugg. You'm bain't no h'otteryou'm apposed t'be ee squiggle, ee likkle rip!"

Chugger wrinkled his nose at the mole. "I norra swiggle no more. Chugger a notter now!"

Crafty Gonff waved to the squirrelbabe. "Righto then, otter matey, you stay there. We're goin' now."

Chugger scrambled up the bank and clung to Trimp. "Norra notter no more. Chugger go wiv you to da norfen seashores. 'Urry up, Martin, we go now!"

Below the falls, the pool narrowed again into the stream. Queen Garraway lifted the fringe of bushes growing on its bank, showing them their transport.

"Here 'tis, mates, a stout liddle raft. C'mon, Gonffo, lend a paw to pull it out here."

It had a collapsible mast and a sail which would double as a tent, plus four long ash poles, paddle-shaped at one end. They heaved it into the water and leaped aboard. Martin shook the Otterqueen's paw heartily.

"Thank you for everything, Majesty. May your tribe live in peace and plenty here always!"

The brawny otter grinned cheerfully at them. "Thankee, an' may yore journey be a safe 'un. Go now, find what ye seek, an' don't let ole Gonffo git his nose into the grub supplies too often!"

Chapter 6

By mid-morning the stream had widened out considerably, small white clouds decorated the sunny skies and a gentle breeze convinced the friends they should erect the mastpole and spread sail. Dinny was never fond of water, and had to be dug out of the jumble of sail canvas where he had hidden himself. Gonff, however, took on a decidedly nautical mood, calling out orders.

"Ahoy, mateys, rig up that mastpole amidships, will ye? Set yon sail an' unfurl 'er smartlike to catch the breeze!"

Martin and Trimp chuckled as Dinny threw a derisory salute.

"Aye aye, Cap'n Gonff zurr. Do ee got any more h'orders furr uz common waterbeasties?"

Hiding a grin, Gonff called back haughtily, "I say, Martin, tie a rock t'that fat ole mole's tail an' chuck him in the river, will you? He's slowin' us up!"

Bushy-edged banks slipped by, casting lacy patterns of sunshadow on the translucent waters. Trimp munched on a damson scone and sipped raspberry cordial.

"Ah, this is the life, pals ... Ouch!"

A muddy stick came spinning out of the northbank bushes, striking her on the cheek, followed by a mocking imitation of the hogmaid's voice.

"This's the life, pals, heeheehee!"

Martin grabbed a pole and punted the raft toward the south bank. Gonff's sharp eyes picked out the culprit.

"There he is, see, runnin' along behind the bushes!"

They followed the direction of Gonff's outstretched paw. A young gray-brown rat was barely visible amid the foliage. Then it emerged onto the bank, pointing back at the Mousethief and mimicking his voice in a nasty manner.

"Runnin' along be'ind the bushes, be'ind the bushes, heehee!"

Martin's grip relaxed on his swordhilt. "Ignore the little villain. He's only trying to annoy us."

The rat flung another stick, but the raft was now too far away from the north bank to be hit. He stuck out his tongue at Martin. "Ignore the liddle villain, liddle villain, heeheehee!"

Chugger looked stern, and shook a tiny paw at the rat. "Go 'way, naughty mouse, or I biff ya!"

Martin took hold of the little squirrel, who was about to jump from the raft, and held him wriggling in the air. "Now now, I told you, ignore the naughty mouse!"

But something unlikable in the creature's swaggering attitude caught Gonff's attention. He stood up. "I thought that was a mouse at first, but he's a sneaky young water rat. Look at that thick tail, mates!"

The rat stuck his claws in both ears and waggled them impudently at the Mousethief, dancing up and down provokingly. "Oh, look at 'is tail, mates, look at 'is tail. Heehee!"

Gonff whipped out his sling, fitted a small pebble to it and lobbed it expertly off. The stone, which Gonff had not cast with any great force, caught the rat a stinging blow on the tail. It leaped up and down, clinging to its tail and howling tearfully.

"Owowowowow, the mouse nearly slayed me, o wo wo wo wow!"

Gonff returned his impression of the whining vermin. "Owowow, naughty mouse nearly slayed me, owow!"

The rat stopped wailing, his face a picture of fury. "You shut ya face. Think ya funny, don't ya?"

Trimp came to stand beside Gonff. "What's the matter, rat, don't you like a taste of your own medicine? Be off with you, go and boil your ugly head!"

The rat kept running along the bank to keep up with the raft, throwing twigs, mud and anything he could lay paws upon. But they fell far short of the travelers. He was livid with rage, shrieking out at them, "Oh, you done it now, wait'n'see! Nearly slayed Riddig, son of mighty Girfang, Boss of alia streamrats!"

Gonff fitted another stone to his sling, a proper-sized rock this time. "Ah, stop whingin' an' run off home to yore daddy. Quick now, or I'll show ye what a real slingstone can do. I'll give ye t'the count o' three, rat. One, two . . ."

Riddig stopped running and ducked off hastily into the bushes, still calling out threats to his enemies.

"Don't go 'sleep t'nightbetter not turn yer back. Youse lot are all deadbeasts, wait'n'see!"

Martin sighed, shaking his head at Gonff. "That's all we need, more trouble. First the Flitchaye, now streamrats. Didn't I tell you to ignore him?"

Gonff shrugged apologetically. "Nasty liddle vermin. Couldn't 'elp myself, mate."

Trimp was about to agree when Dinny interrupted.

"Burr, nor could oi, Marthen, tho' oi'd 'a' gotten ee vurmint a gudd crack furst toim wi' moi slinger!"

Chugger thrust out his little jaw truculently. "An' I woulda swimmed over an' bited 'is tail off, too!"

Martin tickled Chugger behind the ear fondly. "I wager that would've made him jump, eh, Chugg? Personally I felt a desire to kick that young horror's tail up and down the bank a bit, just to teach him a lesson in manners. But keep your eyes peeled, mates. I've a feeling we haven't heard the last of this little incident."

The remainder of a pleasant day was spoiled for Trimp. She watched every rustle of bush or reed along the banks, expecting at any moment to see a mob of rats come springing out at them. However, the situation did not seem to bother her companions a bit. Chugger curled up amid the food packs and snored like a holtful of otters, while Martin, Dinny and Gonff chatted amiably, lying back and trailing their paws in the water. Had Trimp observed them more closely she would have noticed that the three Redwallers were alert as hunting hawks, keeping their weapons close by at all times.

Evening fell, and still there was no sign of rats. Martin took precautions by nosing the raft onto a rock, which jutted up in center stream, and making a rope fast to it. Dinny fished about until he located a broad flat stone close to the rock. Hauling it aboard, the clever mole built a small fire on it. Martin chopped vegetables with his sword, while Trimp dug out dried watershrimp and herbs from a haversack. Gonff filled their small cauldron with fresh streamwater, and Chugger sat warming his paws by the fire. Martin tossed the vegetables into the pot and wiped his sword clean.

"A fire at night isn't the best idea in these parts, Din."

The mole watched his soup carefully as he stirred it. "May'ap 'tain't, zurr, but if'n anybeast be a-goin' to attack us'n's, they'd do et, foire or not. Breezes on ee water be a bit chill. Nought loik a gudd drop o' soup, noice an' 'ot, to keep ee warm an' 'appy!"

Gonff cut a loaf of ryebread into chunks. "Can't argue with mole logic, mate, ole Din's right."

Dinny's soup was good, and they sat around the cauldron, each with a wooden spoon and a chunk of bread, sharing the meal in true traveler fashion. Martin set up two oarpoles and brought the sail forward, draping it over them as a precaution against rain during the night. Trimp found a narrow flagon of elderberry wine and they passed it round, each taking a few sips.

The hogmaid smiled. "There, that should keep the chills away. What now, mates?"

Gonff smiled back at her. "Now you give us a song, missie."

"No no, my voice would carry over water. Let Dinny sing."

A look passed between Martin and Gonff, and they both sighed.

"Never heard a mole sing before, have you, Trimp?" "No, I can't say I have. Why?"

"Oh, nothin', mate. You're sure you want t'hear molesong?"

"Of course I do, that's if Dinny would be kind enough to oblige us with one of his songs."

The mole's homely face creased deeply with pleasure. "Hurr, 'ow cudd oi refuse a pretty maid loik ee, miz!" Then he placed a paw over one ear in traditional molesinger's manner and launched into a mole ballad.

"Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,

All on ee broight zummer morning!

l Bold Doogul mole were gurtly brave,

As oi wurr told boi moi muther,

Furr maidens boi the score ee'd save,

Loik chesknutts wun arfter anuther,

Each morn ee rode owt frum 'is abode,

A-mounted on a milky whoit toad,

Surchin' ee danjeruss forest road,

A-lukkin' furr ee maidens.

Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,

All on ee broight zummer mornin'!

Ee spied a gurt fat molewoif thurr,

An' doffed 'is 'at to 'er proudly,

Which froikkened ee molewoif out'n 'er wits,

She'm started to wail roight loudly,

Ee shuvved 'er up onna back of 'is toad,

An' troid t'ride off down ee road,

But two fat moles was an 'evvy load,

An' ee toad wurr crushed loik a beekle.

Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,

All on ee broight zummer mornin'!

Then oop cumm ee gudd an' stoutly mole,

Ee croid, 'Woe thurr bless moi loif,

Thurr be two villyuns tryin' to steal,

Moi dear ole fatty gurt woif!'

So pullin' owt a knotty ash club,

Bowth toad an' Doogul ee did drub,

Ee gave 'em black'n'bloo lumps t'rub,

An' 'is woif gave 'im cabbage furr supper."

Trimp and little Chugger were laughing so hard that they had trouble trying to join in on the chorus. Gonff shook his head at them sadly.

"Don't encourage him, mates. I've heard that song there's still another forty-seven verses t'go yet!"

Martin leaped on Dinny suddenly, stifling the mole's mouth with both paws. Trimp sniffed at the Warrior severely.

"Don't be so bad mannered, sir. Let poor Dinny finish his song. Chugger and I were enjoying it!"

Martin shot her a warning glance, his voice an urgent whisper. "Don't make another sound, Trimp. Gonff, throw some water on that fire, and let's get in the stream, quick!"

They obeyed Martin without question. Gonff flung water on the flames, which sizzled and hissed in clouds of white steam. Trimp found herself breathless in the cold stream, pulled there by Dinny. Keeping their heads low, the travelers clung to the raft. A hail of arrows hit the sailcloth shelter, some zipping through, others bouncing off to stick in the deck timbers. These were followed by a volley of slingstones and a couple of throwing spears, both of which buried their points in the food haversacks. Then there was silence.

Chugger clung to Martin's neck, shivering. "I cold an' wet, not nice inna water!"

Another lot of arrows hit the raft. Martin stroked the little squirrel's head, whispering softly, "Ssshhh now, Chugg. Right, let's swim over to the far bank. Try not to make any splashes, go easy."

As they swam off, a harsh voice called from the opposite bank, "Give 'em some more just t'make sure, then we'll board the raft an' have fun with any still breathin'!"

The travelers made it safely to the far bank. Trimp found some dry grass and rolled Chugger in it. Then she joined her friends, watching in the thick bushes by the stream's edge. Swaying under the impact, the raft took several more salvos of missiles. Gonff nudged Dinny. "D'you reckon we're slain by now, Din?"

"Hurr, they'm ratters given ee raft 'nuff to finish off ee troib o' badgerfolk, oi be thinken!"

Martin began gathering pawfuls of pebbles from the shallows. "Let's see how they like a spot of sniping. Wait for my word."

Launching crude logboats, the rats made it clumsily across to the raft. There were so many of them that the raft began to tilt crazily. Boss Girfang, their leader, caught hold of his son Riddig, who was trying to undo one of the haversacks, and snarled at the young rat, "Well, where are they, these creatures that tried t'slay yer? I don't see 'em anywheres."

Riddig cowered under his father's angry glare. "I dunno where they went, but there was five o' them, two ole mice, a fat mole, a young 'og an' a liddle squirrel. They all battered me wid slingstones fer no reason at aljl. I was jus' lyin' on the bank, takin' a nap!"

Girfang tweaked his son's ear sharply. "An' you jus' lay there an' let 'em do it, you, Boss's son? Stinkin' liddle coward, y'make me sick!"

Riddig squealed as Girfang stamped on his tail, protesting, "I never jus' lay there. I got the 'og wid a stick an' the two mice wid big round stones. They can't 'ave got far!"

A dull thud sounded in the night, and one of the rats toppled into the water. Girfang turned on the rest.

"Be still an' leave them 'aversacks alone or you'll 'ave us all in the stream. Stop rockin' the raft, willy er!"

Thonk! A rat screeched and clapped both paws to his jaw. Girfang grabbed the nearest rat, using him as a shield.

"Somebeast's slingin' at us. Get 'em!"

Splat! Thwack! Crack! Thunk!

Vermin let out agonized yells, two fell in the stream, and the raft rocked wildly as big round river pebbles whizzed out of the darkness, causing injury and chaos.

Girfang leaped with the others into the water. Seizing their logboats' sides, they swam madly back to their own bank, peppered relentlessly with stones. No sooner was Girfang on dry land than the slinging ceased. He grabbed Riddig roughly by the scruff and hauled him ashore, then snapped a willow switch from a young sapling.

"Two ole mice, a fat mole, a young 'og an' a liddle squirrel, eh? Yew rotten barefaced liar!"

Riddig danced in an agonized circle, his father holding him tight by the neck scruff and whaling away mercilessly with the willow switch.

"Yeeeee! Oohooh! I wuz tellin' the truth, sir, 'onest I was! Aaaaagh! Yeekyeek! Owowowow!"

"Truth? Yew wouldn't know truth if'n it fell on yer 'ead out of a tree, yer mealy-mouthed fork-tongued worm!" Girfang laid on heavily with the switch, punctuating each word to drive home his message. "There was more'n five beasts stonin' us there, yew forty-faced toad. Must've been at least a dozen, all trained warriors by the way they could aim an' hit so good! Own up, now. There was twelve of 'em, mostly otters from upstream, wasn't there, ye wretch? Tell the truth or I'll flay yer!"

Gonff twirled his sling idly, winking at Trimp as they crouched in the bushes on the far bank. "Does yore heart good lissenin' t'justice bein' done, missie."

The hedgehog maid listened with satisfaction as she heard Riddig's wails echoing into the night.

"Wahaaar, there was twelve otters beside the others. Don't 'it me no more, Boss, please! Twelve otters, you was right. Wahaaahaaahaaa!"

Following this revelation, Girfang could be heard calling to the rest of his tribe as they deserted him. "Where are you lot off to? Git back 'ere!"

Derisive shouts followed his command. "Yah, we ain't scrappin' wid no twelve otters. Go an' fight yer brat's battles yerself. Yore Riddig started it!"

Gonff grinned, stowing his sling about his waist. "Y'know what they say, truth never hurt anybeast!"

Martin unbuckled his sword and borrowed Gonff's dagger. "So they say, mate, but you try telling that to Riddig. I wager he's sorry he ever threw that stick at Trimp. Wait here, I'll swim out to our raft and cut it loose."

Next morning, dry and well breakfasted, the friends sailed onward, staying close to the far bank. Summer warmth raised their spirits, with Gonff confiding aloud to Martin and Trimp, "I reckon it wasn't Riddig caused all that fuss, y'know."

Trimp looked up from the dough she was kneading for lunch. "Was it not? Who do you think was responsible, then?"

"Dinny's singin', of course. It drove the rats wild an' they attacked us just to stop the 'orrible noise, missje."

"Hurr, you'm turrible crool, zurr Gonffen. Mrli ole granmum alius said oi 'ad a voice loik ee lark at furst loight."

"Haha, that's 'cos yore ole grandmum was deaf as a post, Din."

Dinny continued chopping candied fruit, not raising his eyes. "Aye, an' thy ole grandad alius said you'm wurr ee most gurtly 'andsome creature. Noice ole beast ee wurr. Oi used to take 'im furr walks lest ee bump into trees. Bloind ee wurr, pore creetur!"

High noon found them pulled in to a shady inlet out of the hot midday sun. Trimp wanted to bake a candied fruit turnover, but she had no oven. With mole ingenuity, Dinny solved the problem. He cemented flat pieces of shale together with stiff brown clay and water, making a neat little box, which, with the turnover inside, was placed on the fire. Martin and Gonff repaired the torn sail, rent by rat weapons. Nobeast paid much attention to little Chugger. Trimp warned him to stay close to camp, and he did for a while, but while Trimp was busy with her cooking and Dinny was digging for fresh roots and vegetables, Chugger wandered off.

Trimp called to her friends. "Come on, lunch is ready. Bring your appetite with you!"

Hastily washing their paws in the stream, they strolled into camp, sniffing the air appreciatively.

"Boi okey, sum thin' smells noice, marm!"

"Mmm, candied fruit turnover, just the thing!"

"Aye, 'tis ages since I tasted fruit turnover!"

The hedgehog maid had discovered a big flagon of new cider at the bottom of Martin's pack. She poured out beakers for all and laid out chunks of hot turnover on a piece of birch bark she had found before saying, "Where's that rascal Chugger got to?"

Dinny shrugged as he helped himself to lunch. "Ho, ee'm abowt yurr someplace, oi 'spect. You see'd 'im?"

Martin took a gulp of the crisp-tasting apple cider. "Me? No, I thought he was with you, Din. Me an' Gonff were busy fixing up the raft. Did you notice Chugg around, Gonff?"

The Mousethief shook his head. "No, sorry, I ain't seen him." Seating himself, he began blowing on his turnover to cool it. "Hah, ole ChuggTl soon come runnin' when he smells yore cookin', miss Trimp, you'll see!"

But Chugger didn't come. They sat and ate lunch, glancing about and giving an occasional shout of the little squirrel's name. Still nothing.

Trimp was worried. "Martin, will you go and take a good look around? I'm sure Chugger can't have gone far."

The Warrior put aside his food. "Let's all take a look!"

Spreading out in different directions they began combing the area. Martin and Gonff went east and west along the bank, while Dinny searched in and around the camp area, in case Chugger was having a game with them. Trimp ventured alone into the woodland, knowing that Martin and Gonff would circle inward and meet up with her when they had searched the bank both ways. Tree shelter became thick and gloomy, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the depths cloaked in a murky green twilight. The hedgehog maid went cautiously, calling out in a subdued voice, "Chugger, are you there, mate? Come out, my little Chugg!"

Her voice fell dead upon her ears, with no echo. She felt very small amid the tall columns of oak, elm and beech. Then her sharp ears began to pick up the odd noise, and she smiled to herself. That would be Chugger, playing one of his little tricks, stalking her mischievously. She decided to hide and turn the tables on him. Swiftly Trimp ran behind a broad bump-gnarled black poplar and was knocked flat by the creature that had been following her. She squeaked in fright at the sight of it.

Chapter 7

The gigantic goshawk took a pace backward, allowing Trimp to rise unsteadily. From its black hooked talons and bright yellow legs up the mighty body, feathered in brown-tipped white plumage, to the mottled headcap, it was the most impressive bird Trimp had ever seen. Twin gleaming gold eyes with savage black pupils stared down at her over a lethally curved beak. The goshawk's voice was rasping, harsh. "What doest thou in my domain, hedgepig?"

Trimp had never been called a hedgepig. Bravely she decided to retaliate, and swallowing hard she adopted a stern tone. "Not that it's any of your business, bird, but I'm searching for my friend, a baby squirrel named Chugger!"

The goshawk twitched his head to one side. He had never been addressed as bird before. "Prithee, have a care, spinedame. I am called Krar the Woodwatcher. None hath called me 'bird' and lived!"

Trimp became bolder. She stared levelly at the goshawk. "Aye, and I'm called Trimp the Rover by those with any manners. None have called me hedgepig and liveder, that goes for spinedame also!"

It was Trimp's turn to take a backward step. She thought Krar was about to eat her, but a moment later she realized that he was actually smiling at her, an unusual occurrence in a hawk.

"Thou art a bold beast, Trimprover. Thine enemies must be few, methinks, or dead. Say again the name of this squirrelmite thou seekest."

"Chugger, but he'll answer to Chugg. He's only a babe."

The forest green was blotted out as Krar spread his colossal wings. He touched Trimp's head with a wingtip. "Do you tarry here, Trimprover, while I make inquiries."

Trimp was knocked flat by the backrush of air as Krar flapped his wings and rose among the tree trunks. Leaves drifted down through a golden shaft of sunlight as he shot like an arrow through the woodland canopy.

Gonff came trotting through the woodland, catching sight of his friend as he hurried in from the opposite direction.

"Ahoy, Martin, no sign of the liddle feller?"

"None, mate. Have y'seen Trimp?"

"Hi, you two, I'm over here!"

Both ran over to where Trimp was sitting with her back against the poplar, picking leaves from her headspikes. Gonff stood, paws akimbo, shaking his head at her.

"Well, missie, this's a nice how d'ye do, us two runnin' ourselves ragged along the streambanks an' through the woods, an' you sittin' here coolin' yore paws, very nice!"

Trimp stood up, brushing herself off. "Actually I'm waiting for word of Chugger at any moment. Now I don't want either of you to be afraid."

Martin looked about and spread his paws wide. "Afraid of what, Trimp?"

She pointed upward. "That!"

Entering the woodland through the hole he had made in the treetops, Krar Woodwatcher zoomed in like a thunderbolt. All three travelers were knocked flat by the wind from his wings as he landed.

Trimp patted one of Krar's talons. "Now you'll have to stop doing that, Krar. It'll injure some poor beast one day. These are my good friends, Martin the Warrior and Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. Meet Krar Wood watcher, mates. These woodlands belong to him!"

Martin and Gonff gulped and bowed low at the same time. Krar closed both eyes and clacked his beak politely, as goshawks do when greeting friends. He turned to Trimp.

"Thy friend the squirrelmite is taken captive in the talons of laggardly carrioncrows, I fear. Alas, 'tis sad news."

Trimp was about to speak when Gonff silenced her with a wink. The artful Mousethief addressed himself to the goshawk, cleverly using the bird's own antiquated mode of speech.

"Lackaday, sirrah, and thou callest thyself ruler of this fiefdom? Were I in thy place I'd say fie upon myself, methinks, allowing carrion to hold innocent babes in durance. 'Tis not the worthy act of a just lord!"

Much to Martin and Trimp's surprise, the huge goshawk shifted from one leg to the other, his head hanging slightly. "Thou speakest truly, O Mousethief. 'Tis my domain and 'twas fitting I stand chided for lack of vigilance."

Gonff shook his head doubtfully. "I fain would give thee a chance to redeem thyself, lord."

Crouching low, the huge bird spread his wings wide upon the ground, his face a picture of abject misery, his very feathers seeming to droop. "Then truly woe betide me, though I crave a boon from thee, Prince of Mouse-thieves. Give me leave to effect rescue of thy vassal, I beg ye. Grant me this favor and I will be in thy debt from this day henceforth!"

A wave of pity swept over Trimp as she watched Krar, prostrate at Gonff's footpaws. She could not keep from crying out, "Oh, say you will, Gonff. Let him do it!"

The Mousethief folded his paws stubbornly. Turning his back on the goshawk, he winked at Martin and Trimp as he spoke. "Silence, maid, cease thy prattling! For how doth the Prince of Mousethieves know this creature will cleave true unto his word?"

Martin drew his sword. Touching Krar's bowed head with it, he kissed the blade and announced dramatically, "I, Martin of Redwall, do give my pledge and bond that Krar Woodwatcher, lord of this place, will honor thy trust, O Prince. For is he not a warrior born, like myself, and bound in word and deed to protect lesser creatures!"

Gonff paced up and down, as if digesting this statement. Then he placed his footpaw under Krar's beak. "Say where is this place yon foul crows abide?"

A note of hope crept into the goshawk's voice. "Some pines in a clearing, right close to here, O Prince. Thou and thy friends mayst follow me and watch while I free thy servant. But 'tis better it be done soon, for tarrying is unwise, methinks!" He watched avidly as Gonff nodded.

"Mayhap 'tis so. Go then, but hearken, thou hast this warrior to thank for his surety."

A transformation came over the goshawk. He dipped his lethal beak and kissed Gonff's footpaw. "My thanks to thee, O Prince!" Standing tall, Krar spread his immense wings, saluting Martin, who was dwarfed in his shadow. "And my thanks to thee, sire. Karraharrakraaaaaaarrr!"

The goshawk's blood-chilling war cry rang out as he whooshed into the air, bowling the three friends over. Trimp sprang up, pulling leaves from her spines.

"I wish he wouldn't do that! Gonff, how did you know he'd act like that?"

The Mousethief flicked a paw at Martin. "Oh, it was easy. 1 know how warriors thinkI've lived with one most of my life, haven't I, matey?"

Martin tweaked his friend's tail. "Cut the chatter or we'll lose sight of Krar!"

Running as fast as they could, the friends kept Krar in sight as he winged slowly along, just beneath the tree-tops, taking care not to lose them. After a while they saw a broad green hillock thrusting itself above the woodland. At its top was a pine grove. Krar swooped down, landing alongside Gonff.

"Yonder lies the carrion stronghold, O Prince. I pray thee make no move. We have been seen!"

As he spoke, a crowd of gray-black crows of the hooded variety came fluttering out of the pines like ragged dark pieces of cloth blown on the wind, coming to rest on the level sward below the hill. Their bold, harsh chatter filled the air as they swaggered forward to meet the interlopers, wings folded, beaks thrust forth aggressively. In a less fraught situation, the sight of their curious rolling gait might have been comical, but these were savage birds, who brooked no trespassers on their land. Krar whispered, "Bide here, friends. Warrior, keep thy blade ready. Now, I will go hence and parley, for I know the carrion tongue."

He strode out, erect and disdainful, and a big crow, far heavier than the rest, waddled forward to meet him. At a point between the crows and the travelers both birds halted. Eye to eye they stood, beaks almost touching. The crow leader hit the soil several times with his beak, casually, as if showing his contempt by digging for worms.

He made harsh cawing noises. "Kraaaw rakkachakka krawk karraaaaak?"

The goshawk rapped sharply back at him. "Arrakkarraka!"

The crow gestured carelessly with one wing. "Nakraaaak!"

Evidently it was not the answer Krar desired. The goshawk made his move without a moment's hesitation.

Charging forward, he slammed the crow to the ground with a ferocious headbutt and began hammering him ruthlessly with beak and talons. Cawing and hopping about excitedly, the crow gang called out encouragement to their leader, but he did not possess the warrior's heart or ferocity of the goshawk. It was over in a trice. A few long gray-black feathers flew in the air and the crow leader lay defeated.

With sharp pecks and talon scratches, Krar forced the crow to stand. The brave goshawk rapped out a command at his beaten foe. "Chavaaragg!"

Humiliated, the crow turned to face his gang, spreading his wings limply and dropping them so they trailed upon the grass.

Trimp nudged Martin. "I know Krar has won, but what's he doing?"

The Warrior had understood it all, he knew. "Those feathers that you see are the crow's pinfeathers. Krar ripped them out. That crow will never be able to fly again. Krar forced him to show his wings to the others as a warning. Hush now, Trimp, I want to see what happens next!"

The goshawk took to the air. Sailing over the heads of the crows, he winged upward, landing in the biggest nest, atop the highest tree. A female crow shot out of it with a terrified squawk. Krar dipped his beak into the nest and came up with an egg in it. He put the egg back. Spreading his wings he flapped them, screeching harshly at the crows. Then with a powerful thrust he ripped a chunk from the nest with his talons and cast it down to earth. Pandemonium broke out down below. The crows dashed into the pine grove, cawing and leaping about in distress. Martin spoke as he watched them, having interpreted the goshawk's move.

"He's threatening to rip all the nests to shreds, starting with the crow leader's, unless they bring out Chugger. Watch!"

"Trimp! Gonff! It me, Chugg, here I are!"

Dashing out of the pine grove, with the crows behind shooing him on, Chugger hurtled forward, tripping and rolling down the hill, giggling as he went. "Heeheehee, yah yah ole fedderybums!"

Trimp swept him up into her paws, kissing the little fellow and lecturing him at the same time. "Such language, master Chugg. Thank the seasons you're safe. Why did you go wandering off like that, eh? Oh, my little Chugg, you had us worried to death!"

Chugger threw his tiny paws wide, grinning broadly. "See, it me, Chugg! I norra hurted, big birds frykkened o' me, I smacka smacka dem wiv big sticks, ho yes!"

Gonff hugged Chugger fondly, then turned stern. "You liddle fibber, smackin' crows with big sticks indeed. But let me tell you, bucko, remember what Girfang did to young Riddig, eh? Well, any more fibs an' runnin' off when yore told to stay near camp an' you'll get the same off me!"

Chugger hid his face in Trimp's tunic and sulked. Martin threw a paw about Gonff's shoulders. "Big old softie, I'll wager you wouldn't have the heart to lay a paw on Chugger, would you, O Prince?"

The Mousethief struck a regal pose, looking down his nose. "Oh, I don't know, you'd be surprised what us royal types can do when we're in the mood. I usually have any mouse who leans upon me beheaded, so remove your paw, common fellow, afore you incur me wrath!"

Martin looked at Trimp in mock horror. "Such an air of command these royal ones have about them!"

The hedgehog kicked Gonff lightly in the tail. "Yes, O Prince, it's your turn to cook the supper when we get back to camp!"

Krar landed in their midst, managing not to knock anybeast over with his giant wings. He gestured with his beak. "Best we begone from this place. Methinks there be but one of me and too many of yon carrion. Let us away now!"

Chapter 8

As there was still plenty of daylight left, the travelers opted to sail farther rather than lie about in camp. Krar Woodwatcher saw them off on the streambank.

"Fare thee well, O Prince of Mousethieves, fortune go with thee. Thou wilt not see me, but I will guard the air and watch o'er thee 'til thou art gone from my domain. Be you subject to thy Prince's commands and behave thyself, squire Chugg, or I will give thee back to yon carrion. Fortune attend thee, dame Trimp, my friend. Thou too, good Dinny, and thee, sir Martin. I'll not lightly forget that ye forswore thine honor for me. Go now, goodbeasts!"

Chugger began weeping as they sailed off downstream. "Wahaah! Chugg not want Krar t'be gonned!"

Martin let the little fellow work one of the paddles. "Krar isn't gone, Chugg, he's watching over us, even though we can't see him. Give him a wave, go on!" Chugger waved a chubby paw and felt somewhat better. As the Warrior held the paddle with the squirrel-babe, he explained as best he could. "Sometimes friends do go from usit will happen more and more as you grow up, Chugg. But if you really love your friends, they're never gone. Somewhere they're watching over you and they're always there inside your heart."

************************************

Toward evening they saw fireglow in the distance. With complete silence and great caution, the friends approached it, hoping that if it were anybeast hostile, they might slip by unnoticed. But as a voice raised in song echoed on the dusky air, Gonff relaxed, chuckling.

"I'd know that barrel-bellied baritone anywhere, mates. Now there's a fine voice for ye, but don't tell him I said it. Haharr, listen to 'im, will you!"

It was a fine voice, more bass than baritone. Deep and rich, it thrummed out over the babbling streamnoises.

"Hoooooo rum turn toe, follah diddle doh,

Me boots are full of water,

An' the bread won't rise,

So I'm scoffin' apple pies,

An' swiggin' good dark porter.

Hooooooo bless my fur, an' you sit over there,

There's honeycake an' salad,

An' you've got no choice,

But t'listen to me voice,

As I sing you this ballad!"

A look of pure mischief spread across Gonff's face. Cupping both paws around his mouth, he sang out in a perfect imitation of the singer's deep voice.

"Hoooooooo you sit there, an' I'll sit here,

An' I won't hear yore ballad,

But I'll scoff yore pie,

An' I'll look ye in the eye,

With me ears stuffed full o' salad!"

From around a bend in the bank, a small neat logboat came shooting out, propelled by a fat shrew with an ash stave. Trimp knew that shrews were usually aggressive and short-tempered, but this one was different. He performed a joyful jig at the prospect of company. It came as no surprise that the shrew and Gonff knew each other. As the former leaped aboard the raft, they pounded backs and shook paws.

"Log a Log Furmo, ye pot-bellied son of a water-walloper, as soon as I clapped ears on that warblin' I knew 'twas the best ballad singer this side o' Mossflower!"

"Haharr, Gonff Mousethief, ye light-pawed rogue, if I hadn't 'ave known that was you singin' back at me I'd 'ave thought 'twas meself. Pull over t'the camp an' bring yore pals with ye, supper's on the go. Ahoy, Martin, is it really yourself, Warrior? Good t'see you, matey!"

Dinny tapped the shrew Chieftain with a digging claw. "Doan't ee know oi, zurr, furr oi'd know ee frum a buttyfly?"

Log a Log Furmo stood back, rubbing his eyes. "Well sink me a log, is that the slim young mole I once knew as Dinny? Wot 'appened, mate, is there another beast inside that skin with ye?"

Dinny chuckled, patting his ample form. "Nay, zurr Log, oi jus' growed more bootiful an' gurtly strong, since you'm bain't been 'round to rob moi vittles."

Furmo turned to Trimp. "And what is a gentle hogmaid like ye doing with such rogues?"

Trimp smiled. "Keeping them in order."

"I'd best watch my manners then, I'm thinking," laughed Furmo.

The Guerrilla Union Of Shrews In Mossflower, Guosim for short, had always been headed by one traditionally named Log a Log. They ranged all the waterways in their logboats, a great tribe of them. Trimp was almost half a head taller than most of them. Small spike-furred long-snouted shrews, with brightly colored headbands and rapiers tucked in their belts, watched as the newcomers made their way to the fire. Log a Log introduced them as friends, reassuring his band. Guosim shrews are excellent cooks, as the hedgehog maid soon discovered. Their apple and blackberry crumble was pure delight to taste. Two Guosim cooks stood over Trimp, watching anxiously as she sampled some, inquiring gruffly, "Good crumble, that? Made it ourselves, y'know!"

"Aye, to our own recipe. D'ye like it, marm?"

Trimp's smile would have charmed the birds out of the trees. "It's perfect, thank you. I've never tasted a crumble in my life that could compare with it. Beautiful!"

Unused to such compliments, the shrew cooks kicked their footpaws bashfully and began serving more food, calling to one another in bass growls to hide their embarrassment.

"Hoi, Rugger, pour 'er some pear cordial, will ye!"

"Aye, an' give 'er some shrewcheese an' watercress!"

"Look after pore liddle Chugger, will ye, Bindle? Pour some honey o'er the babe's hazelnut pudden!"

"Some streamside salad an' newbaked cornbread for ye, marm!"

Log a Log Furmo smiled at the antics of his younger shrews, trying to impress the travelers with their hospitality, particularly Trimp, for it is a fact that the Guosim had always been partial to a pretty face. Furmo passed Martin and Gonff a tankard of shrew porter apiece, saying, "Haharr, young Trimp's gotten 'er paws well under the table there. They'll feed 'er 'til she bursts!"

Some of the little shrews had never seen a mole before, and they crowded around Dinny, haranguing him as he ate.

"Does all moles 'ave softy nice fur like you, mista Diggy?"

"Ho yuss, moi dearies, us'n's keeps it soft boi eatin' oop all us vittles loik goodbeasts."

"You mus' be the goodest mole of all, mista Diggy, 'cos you be eatin' a h'orful big lot o' vittles!"

"Hurr hurr, thankee, young 'un, oi 'spect oi am!"

"You got very bigbig claws, mista Diggy, wot they for?"

A kindly shrewmum rounded the little ones up. "Don't you be askin' mister Dinny foolish questions, now. Leave 'im in peace to eat 'is supper. Bedboats for you, 'tis late."

Martin was relating the object of their journey to Furmo when the shrewmum stole up and whispered in the shrew Chieftain's ear. He excused himself, explaining, "We'll talk later, friend. I've got to sing the liddle 'uns off to sleep. Won't be long."

Moored to the bank was a logboat, padded thickly with warm cushions and blankets. The shrewbabes lay in it, rocked by the motion of the water, as their Log a Log sang them to sleep in his melodious deep voice.

"The stream flows by and time rolls by,

Now daytime flies so close those eyes,

It's been a long day little one, little one.

Small birds now slumber in the nest,

And fishes in their stream,

Know night has come to send us rest,

And give to all a wondrous dream,

All night hours go, so soft and low,

The lazy stream runs calm and slow,

It's been a long day, little one, little one.

Our weary world is waiting soon,

Bright stars will pierce the sky,

As silent as the golden moon,

That sheds her light on you and I,

And when the darkness drifts away,

Some lark up high will sing and say,

Oh welcome to a newborn day, my little one."

Gonff crept up, carrying Chugger. The squirrelbabe was fast asleep. Sliding him aboard the logboat with the dozy little shrews, Gonff patted his friend's shoulder.

"Wish we could take you all the way with us, Furmo mate, ole Chugg went out like somebeast'd whacked him with a slingstone once you started singin'. How d'you do it?"

Log a Log Furmo shrugged, gesturing at the logboat. "I've had plenty o' practice, mate. Eight of them are mine."

It was about an hour after dawn when Trimp opened her eyes. The previous night had been a late one, with lots of good shrew food, singing, storytelling and even a bout of tail wrestling by two lithe young Guosim shrews to impress her. Some shrew cooks were up and about, rekindling the fire and preparing breakfast. The Guosim were very fond of sizable breakfasts when they were at summer camp. Feigning sleep, the hedgehog maid peeped out from under her blanket, savoring the day. Downstream looked like a long winding green hall, with alder, bird cherry and weeping willow trees practically forming an arch over the sundappled stream, which was bordered by bright flowering clubrush, sedge and twayblade. Blue and pearly gray, the firesmoke hovered, making gentle swirls between sunshine and shadow in diagonal shafts. Snatches of murmured conversation between early risers were muted in the background, with the sweet odors of smoldering peat and glowing pinebark on the fire. Trimp wished that she could stay like this forever, happy amongst true friends, in tranquil summer woodlands by a stream.

"Oatmeal'n'honey, fresh fruit an' hot mint tea, marm!"

It was the two shrewcooks from the previous evening, tempting her to partake of breakfast. Trimp needed no coaxing. She sat up gratefully, wondering how one night's sleep could leave her with such a fine appetite.

"Thank you, friends. My word, this looks delicious!"

Gonff and the Log a Log were in friendly dispute as they broke their fast.

"Hearken t'me, Mouseythief, we're sailin' with you, at least as far as the seashore, an' that's final, mate!"

"No no, Furmo, we wouldn't think o' pullin' ye away from yore summer camp. We'll be all right travelin' on alone."

"Hah, will y'lissen t'the mouse, turnin' down an offer of safe voyagin' in convoy. He's mad, Martin, tell 'im!"

Wiping wild plum juice from his paws, the Warrior agreed. "Safety in numbers, Gonff, I'm all for it. Where's your manners, mate, d'you want to offend Log a Log Furmo by refusing his kind offer? Ignore him, Furmo, I accept!"

Dinny and Chugger seconded the Redwall Champion.

"An' h'i except, too, as well an' all, mista sh'ew!"

"Hurr, oi, too, zurr, ee shrews be gudd company an' gurt cookers. Burr aye!"

Trimp licked her oatmeal spoon and held it up. "That goes for me, too, unless Gonff wants t'do all the cooking and paddling aboard that raft!"

The Prince of Mousethieves clapped the Guosim leader's back. "Quit yore arguin', matey, 'tis no good wot y'say, yore goin' with us, like it or not, see. Yore goin'!"

A real shrewish voice rang out. Furmo's wife Honeysuckle bustled up, waving a ladle. She was bigger than him and had a temper that none could match on land or water. "Goin'? Goin' where, may I ask?"

Even though he was a chieftain, Furmo wilted under her fierce eye and sharp tone. "Er, just down the stream apiece, my fragrant woodrose."

Gonff interrupted, standing between both shrews. "Ah Honeysuckle, you delightful morsel, we've asked your husband to accompany us with some of his shrews, to show us the way and guard us against attack. But of course he says he can't possibly leave yore side on such a foolish errand. Not that I blame Furmo. Anybeast leavin' a dark-eyed beauty like you to go off sailin', huh, he'd be out of his mind, mad as a frog an' daft as a bluebottle!"

Lips pursed grimly, Honeysuckle waggled the ladle under Furmo's nose and spoke threateningly. "An' you, y'great lazy lump, you said you wouldn't go, eh?"

"But petal, 'ow can I leave you an' all the liddle 'uns?"

Furmo winced. His wife had hoisted him upright by one ear. "In the boat, Log a Lazypaws, this instant. You Guosim there, wot are you standin' grinnin' about, eh? Now get those logboats ready t'sail, now, while I'm still in a good mood. Shift yore mossbound behinds!"

Four logboats were lashed to the raft's sides, each with six Guosim paddlers. Honeysuckle tossed supplies aboard with furious strength and energy. Gonff murmured under his breath as Dinny dodged a sack of vegetables, "Matey, I'd hate t'see 'er in a bad mood if this is one of 'er good moods!"

Honeysuckle scowled at him. "What was that you said?"

The clever Mousethief gestured at the provisions. "I was just sayin', marm, after so much bad food 'tis nice to see some good food!"

She pointed a warning paw at the pair. "Don't let me hear of you two wastin' any!"

Dinny tugged his snout respectfully. "Hurr, 'ow cudd us'n's be a-wastin' vittles loaded aboard boi such ee furr paw as yourn, moi gurt booty?"

Honeysuckle dipped the mole a deep curtsy, actually smiling. "Why thankee, sir mole, wot a gallant thing t'say!"

Halfway downstream between the camp and the next bend, Log a Log sighed with relief and shook Dinny warmly by the paw.

"You clinched it, Din, all that fair paw an' great beauty stuff. Where'd you learn it?"

The mole twitched his nose at Trimp. "Burr, oi diddent lurn nuthin', zurr, h'oim jus' a reg'lar silver-tongued molerogue, bain't oi, miz Trimp?"

The hedgehog maid twitched her nose back at him. "Aye, especially when it comes to lappin' up oat-meal'n'honey you are. Great fat fraud!"

Furmo did a perfect imitation of his wife's voice. "One more remark like that, young 'og, an' I'll rap yore ears with my pudden spoon. That mole's a real gentlebeast!"

Meandering happily down the broad waterway through the sun and shade, the travelers and their shrew friends jested and chuckled with each other.

A watermeadow appeared on their left about midday. The Guosim had ceased paddling because the current was carrying them along with sufficient speed. All aboard both raft and logboats sat admiring the serene beauty as Log a Log pointed out its features.

"Looks peaceful, don't it? But mark my words, mates, midst all that brookweed, water lilies, crowfoot an' gipsy-wort, there're more skeeters than y'could shake a stick at. Mayfly, caddisfly, stonefly, alderfly, pond skaters, big lacewings an' o' course the ole Emperor dragonflies. Makes it a rare ole fishin' spotfish all come there to hunt the flies."

Gonff winked craftily at the shrew. "Aye, an' Guosim go there to hunt the fish, I'll wager."

A sturdy old shrew elder snorted at the Mousethief's remark. "Yore jokin', of course. There's eels an' pike in there longer'n a logboat. 'Tis them'd be huntin' us if'n shrews was fool enough to try fishin' that watermeadow!"

Log a Log pointed downstream. "Look, there's dragon-flies comin' up this way. They ain't tarryin', either. Wonder wot's upset 'em?"

A half dozen of the huge insects came straight at the raft, suddenly veering off into the watermeadow, their iridescent wingbacks and black-green banded bodies making a brave sight. Log a Log addressed Martin. "Somethin's upset the dragons. We'd best be on our guard, 'specially when we round that bend ahead there's a creek to one side of it. Stay on the alert, Guosim!"

Trimp sat in the center of the raft, holding onto Chugger. Half the shrews took to paddling the logboats lashed to the raftsides, the rest joined Martin, Log a Log, Dinny and Gonff, who stood for'ard on the raft, weapons close to paw. As they rounded the bend, it became only too clear what danger they were in.

Like some fantastic snowstorm, a male swan came billowing out of the creek entrance. The sight of it took Trimp's breath away. Spreading awesome wings, the colossal bird reared out of the water, its long neck bent, hissing loudly like a serpent. Log a Log roared at the paddlers, "Back water! Back water, Guosim!"

Furiously the shrews backpaddled against the current, but the raft's stern hit the bank on the bend's incurve and lodged there. The elder shrew seized a long paddle and bravely swung it at the swan, sizing up the situation for his companions as he did so.

"He's a mute swan. ProbTy the female's guardin' 'er young up that creek, an' this feller thinks we're goin' to 'urt 'em. Looks fairly mad t'me. Ain't goin' to let us pass or retreat. This is his stretch o' water, an' he'll protect his family an' this area with his life, mates!"

Though they were in great danger, Martin could not help admiring the giant bird. With its tough orange beak, which had a hard black lump at its base, and its neck thick as a rowan sapling, the mute male swan was a fiercely wondrous sight, snow white, with wings powerful enough to cripple and kill an adversary. The Warrior picked up a paddle to fend it off, knowing that he had not the heart to kill or injure such a magnificent creature with his sword. However, the swan had no such finer feelings, but came at them hissing and making a peculiarly strange squeak, far out of character given his bulk and ferocity. Gonff swung his paddle.

A gigantic wing descended on him, snapping the paddle like a twig and buffeting him from the raft into the water. Martin's paddle clacked hard against the bird's beak, sending a jarring pain through his paws, and the swan came at him. Dinny caught it a hefty blow in the neck, which merely seemed to bend gracefully under the impact. Two shrews were swept off into the water by another clout from the swan's wing. It reared high and gripped the raft timbers in its wide webbed claws, trying to hoist itself aboard. Trimp and Chugger slid backward, yelling, as the raft began tilting with the swan's weight pressing on its front end. Martin grabbed his sword and held it up quickly, so that the swan's beak hit it with a loud echoing sound. Pang!

Nobeast was expecting what happened next. Something hit the swan's head like a stone, sending a cloud of small white feathers into the air. There was an ear-splitting screech from above. It was Krar Woodwatcher! The courageous goshawk came in for another dive, even though it must have been dizzy from the first blow. The swan swung its beak and retaliated. There was a thudding noise as both birds struck one another simultaneously. Krar landed in a heap on the raft. Savagely shaking off Dinny, who was trying to help it recover, the goshawk struggled upright, panting, "Use thy raftpoles and get thee off downstream. Hasten now, while I hold off yonder battler!"

Krar launched himself into the attack once more. Feathers flew amid the hissing and screeching, stream-water was thrashed into foam, leaves and branches showered wide. Punting the raft out from the bank, while shrews either side paddled madly, they skimmed out under the arch formed by the swan's neck and Krar's wings, into the midstream current and off down the waterway. Still paddling and poling with great vigor, they turned their heads to see what the outcome would be. Krar Woodwatcher was as brave and hard a fighter as the swan, but not so foolish. The moment he saw every-beast was out of danger he zoomed off into the woodlands to nurse his bruises, leaving behind a bewildered and still angry mute swan. Trimp could not stop herself from trembling as she called out, "He's coming after us, the swan's coming after us!"

Log a Log gritted his teeth. "Don't look back, mates, it'll slow us down. Keep paddlin' fast as y'can. The swan'll only roller us to the edge of his territory, then he'll go back to guard his family."

The shrew's prediction proved true, though it gave them a hair-raising moment. The swan came after them in no uncertain fashion. It was almost upon the raft, hardly two logboat lengths from it, when suddenly it gave a final hiss and turned about, traversing back upstream lest any other intruder had shown up to menace its brood. With a sigh of relief, the friends collapsed to the deck, shaking all over from exertion and the shock of the swan's attack. The irrepressible Gonff grabbed the sailcloth, holding it wide and flapping his outstretched paws at Trimp. "Wot's the matter, matey, never seen a swan before?"

The hedgehog maid hooked a paw under the teaser and pulled him flat on his tail. "Oh, I've seen a swan all right, Gonff, though if I never see another one in my life 'twill be too soon, thank you!"

Through the thinning trees, Dinny scanned the sky. "Hurr, whurr be ee 'awkburd gone?"

Martin indicated the changing terrain. "We're coming out of the woodlands, Din, leaving Krar's territory, too, I imagine. I wish I could have thanked him. What a great fight he put up on our behalf. I'll never forget that brave bird. Never!"

Chapter 9

Once they left the trees behind, there was very little shade. The water became deeper, the current more sluggish. Throughout a long hot day, the travelers did their share, taking turns to relieve the Guosim paddlers. Only little Chugger seemed unaffected by the blistering heat. With a damp shrew headband bound around his brow and an ash twig in his paw, he cavorted and leaped everywhere, doing battle against a score of imaginary swans.

No sooner had shadows begun to lengthen than Log a Log shipped his paddle, calling out the order they were all waiting upon. "Pull into that curve on yore right, mates. We'll rest there an' camp until tomorrow!"

Gratefully, Trimp watched their lumbering craft nose into the shallows of a cove. It had a good flat bank and protruding rock ledges to provide much-needed shade. Guosim cooks immersed canteens of drinks in water which was cool and shaded by the overhang. Some went out scouting for fresh food, others began preparing a meal from their supplies. Eyeing their leader hopefully, the rest sat on the raft in silence, awaiting his command.

Log a Log Furmo wandered up and down the bank, peering into the crystal-clear water. He scratched his chin, as if undecided, then wagged a cautionary paw at his crew. "No further'n the end o' that raft, now. Stay out o' the current an' deep parts, an' keep close to the bank. I don't want to carry back news of any drowned Guosim to yore kin." Before he had finished speaking, several of the younger shrews hurled themselves, yelling, into the stream.

"Yahahoooooo!"

Jumping ashore to avoid the splashes of the bathing party, Log a Log shook his head at Martin. "Look at 'em, like a flippin' shower o' Dibbuns!"

A secret wink passed between Gonff and Martin as the Warrior shrugged free of his sword and belt. Grabbing Log a Log between them, they leaped into the water. The shrew Chieftain surfaced breathless, blowing spray from both nostrils.

"Yah, y'rotten 'orrible creatures, what'd ye do that for?"

Gonff flung himself on Log a Log and ducked him. "Gerrout, ye ole fogey, you were dyin' for a play in the water, weren't you?"

Log a Log swam deftly out of the Mousethief's reach. "Of course I was, mate, but don't tell my shrews that. I'm supposed to be a serious leader who acts responsibly!" He sank beneath the surface again as Chugger landed on him.

"You norra leader, you a big fish, Chugger wanna ride on you back. C'mon, fishy, hup hup, gerra move on!"

Everybeast had tremendous fun in the stream, laughing and splashing, ducking and diving and behaving exactly as Log a Log had said, like a shower of Dibbuns. However, they deserted the water en masse when the foraging party returned, hailing them from the banktop: "Lookit, mates, we found strawberries!"

Two haversacks filled with wild strawberries, small, sweet and juicy, were carried into camp. Refreshed after her swim, Trimp sat with Chugger and Dinny on the sunwarmed rocks, sharing a heap of the delicious fruit.

One of the foraging party reported to Log a Log. "Saw a pile of otter tracks on the heathland back there, mebbe fifteen or more, all big 'uns!"

The shrew Chieftain shrugged, selecting a big strawberry. "Otters are goodbeasts, we've no reason to fear 'em. They're welcome to a pawful o' vittles if'n they visit us."

As evening shades tinged the skies, the otters came upriver and emerged dripping from the stream. A big wiry fellow, obviously their Skipper, held forth his paws in greeting.

"Peaceful evenin' to ye, friends. Is that a fruit salad with strawberries in it I see? Looks 'andsome, don't it?"

Log a Log smiled at the hungry otters, indicating that they were free to help themselves. "Sit down an' welcome, friend. Haven't I seen you afore?"

Balancing back on his rudderlike tail, the otter answered, "Prob'ly crossed paths once or twice, matey. I'm Tungromy tribe have a holt on the river north o' here."

The shrew nodded. "Ah, Tungro. Heard yore name someplace. What are you'n'yore crew doin' hereabouts, mate?"

Tungro accepted food from Trimp and thanked her. He acted rather nonchalant, but Log a Log suspected he was either hiding something or not telling the full story when he replied airily, "Oh, not much, y'know, jus' takin' a look t'see wot's on the other side o' the hill, so t'speak. Ain't you or none o' yore crew caught sight of an old-lookin' raggedy otter 'round here today, have ye?"

Log a Log threw a pebble into the stream, watching it sink. "No, mate. Why d'you ask?"

Tungro did not reply. He nodded to his crew, finished eating and bobbed his head courteously. "Obliged to ye for the vittles, friends. Go in peace an' good fortune travel with ye. Oh, if'n you should bump into the ole otter I mentioned, tell 'im that he can come back to the holt if'n he's mended his ways." Tungro handed Furmo an otter tailring. "Give 'im this an' say that yore all mates o' mine. Fare ye well, now!"

Without creating a single splash, the otters slipped into the water and were gone. Martin and Gonff came to sit alongside Log a Log, and the Mousethief expressed his bewilderment.

"Phew, that was a speedy visit. What d'you suppose 'twas all about, Furmo?"

The shrew's answer was guarded. "Ye'll forgive me if'n I don't tell all the story, 'cos I ain't certain of the full facts meself, but here's as much as I'm willin' to say, mates. I've heard of Tungro, aye, an' his brother Folgrim. Both great warriors, 'tis said, but Folgrim was knowed t'be fiercer, even though he was smaller than Tungro. Well, when their ole father died, they was joint Skippers of their holt. One winter they were attacked by a mixed band o' vermin, but otters ain't beasts to mess with. They gave those vermin scum a real good drubbin' an' drove 'em off. Now Tungro reckoned that was enough, but not Folgrim. Off he went alone in pursuit o' the vermin. Wasn't 'til two seasons later Folgrim returned 'ome. They say the vermin laid a trap an' captured 'im. Starved, beat an' tortured somethin' 'orrible he was, wounded, crippled an' with only one good eye. Sick in the brain, too, 'cos Folgrim was never the same after wot those vermin did to 'im. I know from lissenin' to travelers, Folgrim be'aved so bad an' strange that Tungro's banished 'im more'n once from the holt, but Folgrim always returns, an' Tungro forgives his ways an' takes 'im back. Well, you couldn't banish yore own brother forever, just 'cos he ain't right in the head, now could ye?"

Martin had to agree with the shrew. "No, you're right, blood's thicker than water. What was that he gave you to give to his brother?"

Log a Log held up the beautiful otter tailring, carved from the backbone of some great fish. "Nice, ain't it? Though I hope we don't meet Folgrim an' have t'give 'im it."

Gonff took the tailring and inspected it. "Why not, Furmo? He's not as bad as all that, is he?"

The shrew took the tailring back and stowed it in his pouch. "I can't say, Gonff. I won't tell ye all I've heard 'cos I'm not sure I believe it, an' I can't tell ye what I haven't seen. I'm for a spot o' shuteye now. You two can sit up an' natter all night."

Nothing farther was mentioned of Tungro's brother Folgrim. The friends lay down to rest that night with their own thoughts about the story they had heard. Purely out of insatiable curiosity, Gonff wished that he could meet the strange otter. Finally the Mousethief slept, not knowing that he was to get his wish on the following day.

Next morning was damp and humid, with the sky clouded over a dirty gray and drizzle falling continuously. Pushing on downstream, the craft sailed slowly along on the rain-flecked waters. Trimp and Chugger sat beneath the awning the shrews had set up from the single sail. The hogmaid watched the others, droplets spilling from their whiskers, soaked through, paws slipping on paddles, as they pushed doggedly on. As noon approached, there was no change, and the drizzle persisted. Guosim paddlers looked pleadingly to their leader. Log a Log wiped moisture from his eyes, seeking a suitable spot along the same bank they had camped on the previous day. Eventually he called, "Head 'er in, mates. Looks like an ole cave yonder!"

A tent was rigged over the cavefront, and the provisions were stacked under it to keep them dry. Everybeast crowded under the canvas and in the small cave. Chugger was wearing a rough hooded cloak which Trimp had fashioned from an empty apple sack. Evading the hedgehog maid, who looked after him like a mother duck, the little squirrel toddled off to explore the country. Trimp looked right and left. Where had the little imp gone? Poking her head from under the shelter, she spotted him. Chugger had climbed the rock ledges and was up on top of the bank. He wrinkled his nose and waved at Trimp. "No worry 'bout Chugg, jus' goin' to fight swans!" Waving his ash twig, he vanished from sight. Trimp took off in pursuit, scrambling up the wet stones.

Martin had just lit a small fire when he heard Trimp calling urgently from above, "Help! Come quick, mates!"

Grabbing his sword, Martin dashed out ahead of the shrews. Together he, Gonff and Furmo took the ledges in a series of bounds, with Dinny and the Guosim following swiftly behind. Trimp was crouched down, protecting Chugger. She pointed. "There, Martin! Oh, help him, please!"

Two water rats were tormenting another creature. Martin peered through the curtain of misty drizzle. It was an otter, limping along, clad in a ragged cloak and bent almost double. Kicking him and striking him with whippy willow withes, the vermin spat at him, taunting, "Move yerself, yew dodderin' ole ragbag. We're goin' to tie rocks to yer paws an' sink yer in the stream, nice'n'slow. Come on, yer hobblin' addlebrained idiot!"

Martin lifted his sword and took a pace forward. Log a Log placed a paw on his shoulder. "Stop there, Warrior, don't interfere. That's Folgrim you see, fightin' the enemy!"

Gonff nodded toward the two rats, who were still unaware of their presence. "He's fightin' them, d'ye say? Huh, it looks the other way round t'me, mate!"

Log a Log shook his head grimly, murmuring to his shrews, "Get Trimp an' the liddle 'un back down t'the cavethis ain't fit fer 'em t'see. Keep silent, Martin, crouch down by me an' watch. You too, Gonff."

One rat stuck out his footpaw and tripped the lame otter, who fell heavily. Both rats laid on savagely with their switches as he pleaded, "Please, sirs, don't drown me, I'm nought but a pore wayfarin' beast who's lost his way. Don't beat me. Owow!"

This continued for a moment. Until one of the rats got too close to the victim. Like a wolf, Folgrim was upon him with lightning speed. He seized the rat in a death hug, sinking his teeth deep into the vermin's throat. Shocked beyond belief, the other rat stood trembling a moment, then he dashed off wailing in terror. Folgrim lifted a bloodstained mouth from his prey's neck, calling, "Run run run, ratty, I'll track ye down, Folgrim'll get yer."

At a signal from Log a Log the travelers backed off unobserved and clambered down to their camp. Gonff sat by the fire, sipping a beaker of hot mushroom soup. He stared into the flames and shuddered. "Ugh! I never seen a creature killed like that afore!"

Martin passed a beaker of soup to Log a Log. "So that's Folgrim, brother of Tungro. Well, Furmo, d'you believe what they say now?"

Log a Log nodded. "Every word, mate, every awful word!"

A sound of somebeast scrambling down the ledges alerted them. Next moment Folgrim limped in, still with a bloodsmeared mouth. Chugger's eyes grew big and round at the sight of the fearsome beast. The otter winked his single eye at them and sat by the fire. "Ah, nice fire. Chills a beast t'the bone, drizzle does!"

Swiftly, Dinny filled a beaker from the soup pot. "Yurr, zurr h'otter, drinkee summ noice 'ot zoop up!"

Smiling, Folgrim shook his head. Martin saw that his teeth were filed, or broken into jagged points. "Not fer me, mole. I got food back up there."

Trimp approached bearing a loaf and a hunk of cheese. "Then take these with you for tomorrow, sir." She took a step backward at the sight of the otter's face. It was painted thickly with plant dyes and mud, to cover the horrible wounds and scars etched into it. The single red-rimmed eye stared crazily at her.

"No thankee, missie, I'll 'ave more food by tomorrow when 1 track that other 'un down. You, shrew, can you let me 'ave tinder an' flint? Beast needs a good cookin' fire in this country an' I ain't got the makin's."

Log a Log gave Folgrim a bag of soft dried moss and two chunks of flintstone to make fire with. "Take 'em an' welcome, friend. Yore brother Tungro said that I should give you this tailring, too. He says yore welcome back at the holt if'n you've mended yore ways. We're friends of your brother's."

Folgrim reached out and grabbed Trimp's paw, pushed the tailring over it with a swift movement and released her. "Pretty bracelet for a pretty maid, eh! If'n you see my brother, tell 'im that I said 'e's a good beast. The holt's better off widout meit's far too late fer me t'mend my ways. Got t'go now, light a fire, do a spot o' cookin'. Travel on, catch the other rat, light another fire, do more cookin'!" Baring his pointed teeth at the horrified friends, Folgrim stood up and stumped out into the rain.

Trimp covered her mouth with both paws, her normal good pallor taking on a greenish tinge. Log a Log sat her down by the fire, placing a dry sack around her shoulders.

"D'you feel sick, missie? Y'don't look none too chirpy."

Trimp took a deep breath before replying. "Didn't you hear? That otter is going to cook a rat and eat it. Oh, I can't believe it!"

Gonff winked at the others as he patted Trimp's paw. "You didn't believe him, did ye, Trimp? Haha, that's a good 'un, ain't it, Martin, ain't it, Furmo? An otter eatin' a water rat!"

They both laughed hollowly.

"Er, haha, shouldn't believe all y'hear, Trimp."

"Aye, he was only joking, miss, haha ..." Martin's halfhearted laugh trailed off miserably.

Further along the bank, in the shelter of another rock ledge, Folgrim was kindling a fire and holding a onesided conversation with the slain water rat.

"Pity I never got yore mate, he was fatter'n you are. Still, don't fuss, I'll lay 'im by the paws afore sunset tomorrow night. Fire's nice, ain't it? Chills a beast to the bone, this drizzle does. Nice fire, I likes a good fire!"

Chapter 10

They slept late next morning. The rain had ceased and sunlight was beaming from clear summer skies when Chugger roused himself and trundled out onto the bank. Steamy mist from the rain hung over the whole bankshore in a thick low layer, waiting for the sun to evaporate it. The tiny squirrel raced through it, giggling as he tried to catch the elusive tendrils in his paws. "Yeeheehee! All be's covered in frog, lotsa frogs. Heehee!"

Gonff and Trimp emerged from the cave yawning. Upon hearing Chugger's cries, Gonff became alert. "What frogs? Who's covered in frogs?"

Trimp shoved the Mousethief playfully. "He means fog. Look out!"

The mist parted and Chugger bowled head over brush into them. Gonff swept him up, tickling the little fellow and swinging him about. "I'll give ye frogs, y'villain!"

Soon the whole party was up and about. Furmo and his shrews lit a fire and began cooking breakfast. Dinny appeared out of the mist, toting a pail of water.

"Hurr, doan't be furr frum ee seashores naow. Lookit all ee frog yurrabouts, Marthen."

Martin climbed halfway up one of the ledges and peered over the mist curtain. "Right, Din. We don't normally get heavy bankmist like this inland. Sea can't be too far off now. Hush! Everybeast be still. I can hear someone coming this way!"

It was the otters, Tungro and his crew. As soon as Martin recognized their voices, he hailed them from the bank. "Morning, friends. Breakfast's almost ready, y'welcome to share it with us!"

Tungro waded ashore, dripping from the stream. "Thankee kindly, goodbeasts, we wouldn't say no to a bite o' brekkist. The crew ain't eaten yet t'day."

Nudging Log a Log Furmo, Gonff raised his eyebrows. "Better git more shrewbread on the hot stones. Here was I, thinkin' I was goin' t'get a nice big peaceful breakfast now it'll be a small noisy one with this lot as guests!"

The rest of Tungro's crew came ashore in a huddle. They had Folgrim with them, a rope lead around his middle and both paws bound by a long hobble, which had allowed him to swim. He winked his one good eye at Trimp. "Good day to ye, missie. 'Ope I finds yer well?"

The hedgehog maid shuddered, though she bobbed him a curtsy and managed a quick smile. "I'm well, thankee, sir."

Tungro drew Martin and Furmo to one side. He seemed slightly embarrassed and hesitant. "Er, I 'opes you'll fergive me, er, bringin' my brother Folgrim to yore camp fer brekkist like this. He ain't a bad beast really, 'tis just that 'is mind's troubled."

Martin nodded understanding^ and patted Tungro's shoulder. "Don't worry, friend. We know a bit about Folgrim and the bad times he's had. He dropped by here yesterday afternoon. There was no trouble, he behaved himself quite well."

Tungro looked relieved. "We caught up with Folgrim just after he'd tracked an' slain a rat. He'd lit a fire, that was 'ow we spotted 'im. Me'n'the crew had t'jump on pore Folgrim a bit, but we managed, tied 'im up an' buried the rat carcass afore he, er, well. . ."

Furmo poured a beaker of pennycloud cordial for the otter. " 'Tis all right, y'don't have to explain. We know from the other rat Folgrim managed t'get his paws on, just over the banktop there. Come on now, get somethin' to eat."

Furmo and his shrews had made a delicious breakfast. There was hot shrewbread, strawberries and a batch of vegetable pasties, with a choice of cordial or hot mint tea to drink. Tungro sat slightly apart with his brother, trying to make him eat a little, but Folgrim kept his mouth firmly shut, refusing the food in silence. Everybeast tried to get on with their meal, but they kept taking secretive glances as Tungro encouraged his brother. "Come on now, Fol, these're prime vittles, made by the best o' Guosim cooks. Try some o' this pasty, me ole mate!" Folgrim merely shook his head stubbornly. Tungro noticed the watchers and shrugged with embarrassment. "Sorry, he won't eat nothin', though there ain't a thing wrong wid yore food, friends. 'Tis the best I ever tasted."

Trimp was trying to hold on to Chugger, but he wriggled out of her grasp and went swiftly on all fours to Folgrim. Smiling up into the otter's scarred face, Chugger grabbed a pasty and lectured him like a mother squirrel. "Eaty all up now, or y'don't grow bigga strong like me. H'i eatim up if'n you don't, silly ole riverdog!"

Suddenly Folgrim burst out laughing at the little squirrel's antics, and took a big bite out of the proffered pasty. "You ain't eatin' all my brekkist up, liddle sir, ho no!"

Chugger nodded his head in agreement. "Good h'otter, now Chugg getcher sh'ewbread an' minty tea!"

Folgrim gobbled another mouthful of pasty. "Why thankee, mate, though I likes cordial better'n mint tea. Mebbe you could fetch me a couple o' them strawberries, too. They look nice!"

Tungro shook his head in amazement at the sight of Chugger feeding breakfast to his brother, both of them chatting away amiably, as if they were old friends.

"Well wallop me rudder, will y'look at that? Folgrim never was the most civil o' beastsback at the holt 'e spoke to nobody, much less smile an' chat like that. I reckon my brother's took a shine to yore lid die squirrel!"

Trimp was slightly apprehensive. She confided her fears to Dinny in a whisper that only he could hear. "I'm not so sure I like Chugger being around Folgrim. He's an otter who's eaten his enemies and is troubled in his mind. Who can tell what he'd do if the mood took him?"

The mole put aside his food, watching Folgrim and Chugger. "Oi doan't think ee gotten much t'wurry o'er, missie. Hurr, jus' you'm looka yon h'otter. Whoi, ee'm loik an ole molemum wi' 'er h'infant molebabe. Wuddent 'arm an 'air o' maister Chugg's liddle 'ead, burr no!"

Trimp watched as Chugger fed Folgrim some shrew-bread. The little squirrel was talking to the otter as if he were a naughty Dibbun.

"Now if'n you don't eat alia sh'ewbread up, I won't not let you 'ave no st'awbees, mista Fol!"

The hedgehog maid nodded in agreement with her molefriend. "I think you're right, Din. They're firm friends!"

When the meal was over, Martin and his group struck camp. Warm summer sun had lifted all the mist and the broad stream glistened invitingly. Tungro hailed them as they were packing supplies aboard.

"My 'earty thanks to ye, friends. We've got t'go now. Safe journey to you'n'yore mates, Martin, an' fair weather attend ye to the north coast!"

However, it was not that simple. Folgrim refused to go with his brother. Digging himself into the banksand, he resisted all their attempts to move him. Tungro stroked his strange brother's head coaxingly.

"C'mon, Fol, let's go back 'ome together, matey. Yore ole bed's waitin' for ye, an' everybeast's wantin' to give you a great welcome. Wot d'you say, eh?"

Chugger leaped from the raft and threw himself upon Folgrim, hugging the scarred otter and wailing piteously. "Waahaah! Don't take mista Fol 'way. Waahaahaa!"

As if this were not sad enough, Folgrim joined in, tears streaming from his one eye. "Buhurr! Don't take me away from me liddle pal. I wants t'go with 'im. Buhuhurr!"

Tungro was greatly moved. Dashing a paw across his eyes, he appealed to Martin. "Tell me, mate, wot do I do?"

The Warrior leaped ashore. Two swift slices of his sword set Folgrim free from the ropes at his waist and paws. "There's only one thing to do, friend. Let your brother come with us. We'll deliver him safe to your holt on the return journey, I promise."

Folgrim jumped up. With Chugger perched on his shoulders, he boarded the raft, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Tungro shook Martin's paw fervently.

"I know my brother'U be safe with goodbeasts like you'n'yore friends, sir. Mayhap 'twill be good for 'im."

They sailed off downstream, waving goodbyes to the otters standing on the banks.

"See you sometime about autumn!"

"Aye, we'll be waitin', with a potful of shrimp'n'hotroot soup to welcome ye!"

"Good, we'll be lookin' forward to it!"

"Watch out for Folgrim at night. He's a terrible snorer!"

"Hurr hurr, if'n ee can outsnore this lot, zurr, ee must be a good 'un!"

"You speak for yourself, Dinny mole. I don't snore!"

"Ho yuss ee do, miz Trimp. Don't 'er, zurr Gonff?"

"I wouldn't know, Din. When you're snorin', it drowns out every thin', even thunderstorms!"

The curious raft, with logboats tied to both sides, sailed off downstream into the soft summer morning. Tungro and his crew gave a final wave before sliding into the water and gliding sleekly upstream, home to their holt.

It was midday when Log a Log Furmo steered into a curving recess. Martin looked up at the shrew as he scrambled atop the steep rocky bank.

"What've we stopped for, Furmo? Surely it's not time to eat already. We've hardly been afloat today."

"Come up 'ere'n'look at this, Martin."

The Warrior joined his friend on the banktop. Far ahead he could see thick extending pine woods, flanking both sides of the stream. Martin peered hard at the dark mass. "Trouble, d'you think?"

The Guosim Chieftain voiced his thoughts. "I noticed the stream's startin' to run swifter, so I thought it best t'pull in an' scout the land. No sense dashin' into danger, that's if there's any there."

Martin mused for a moment, looking from the raft to the pines and back again, before making up his mind. "Right, here's what I suggest. You take Gonff, I'll take FolgrimI wager he can smell vermin a league off. We split up and go both sides of the bank to scout those pine woods out. Leave the rest with the raft. Throw a kedge anchor over the sternthat'll slow them up so they won't be speeding into the pine wood area."

Furmo agreed with Martin's strategy. An old waterlogged willow limb, forked at one end, was weighted by lashing big chunks of rock to it. When it was cast over the raft's stern, it dragged heavily on the streambed, slowing the vessel's progress considerably.

Furmo and Gonff took the north bank, the raft dropped Martin and Folgrim off on the south bank. Chugger shook a tiny paw at the Warrior. "You take good care of mista Fol, or I smacka you tail!"

Martin nodded seriously at the little fellow. "Aye aye, capn Chugg, I'll watch out for him, never fear."

Log a Log Furmo had been right. The broad stream was surely moving taster, running deeper, too, Martin noticed as he trotted along the bank with Folgrim at his side. Without the kedge anchor on its stern, both raft and logboats would go hurtling downstream.

At noon they reached the fringes of the pine woods. Gonff and Furmo waved across at Martin on the opposite side. He held both paws up, signaling them to wait. After a while Folgrim returned from scouting inside the fringe. He was carrying some ashes and a clump of grass, stained dark purple, along with a dab of ochre, still wet from the stream. Urgently he gestured for them to back off, away from the pines.

When he judged they were far enough from the conifers, the otter signaled them down to the shallows, where they could converse across the stream. Gonff and Furmo waded in as deep as they dared. Martin and Folgrim followed suit, the strong current pulling at them. The otter held up the stained grass and spoke. "Painted Ones, in the woods. Beware!"

Gonff and Furmo waded back to dry land. Folgrim called after them, "See you back at the raft!"