Flagg smiled back. "How many d'you have with you, cully?"

The searat Captain shrugged. "Only what y'see here, matey. If you was to open yer doors we could come in an' rest awhile, save you the trouble of bringin' supplies out to us. I've never been inside an Abbey."

Rufe Brush gripped his javelin tight as he murmured, "No, and you're not likely to get inside this one."

Flagg continued smiling. "What about that gang hidden in the ditch?"

Graypatch waved toward the mist-shrouded ditch, a look of injured innocence on his villainous face. "Ditch? Gang? What d'yer mean, shipmate?"

Flagg fitted a pebble to his sling. "I'll show you . . . shipmate!"

The stone zinged down, plowing a furrow through the ground mist.

"Yowhoooo!"

Bigfang's head appeared out of the white shroud. He was clutching his nose, which was bleeding like a tap.

Ringtail's voice rang out. "Get down an' shuttup, yer big oaf!"

Rufe Brush leaped to the battlements, his javelin poised. "This is for you if you don't shift yourself fast, searat!"

Graypatch took the warning seriously. He dashed across the path and leaped over the ditch, landing on the flatlands beyond.

"Come on, mates. Out o' that ditch an' show 'em who we are!"

The crew scrabbled out of the ditch to stand on the flatlands at their Captain's side. He took his sword from Frink and waved it.

"I'm Graypatch, Master of the Darkqueen, and this is my crew. Haharr, bet you country b.u.mpkins never clapped eyes on the likes of us. We can fight an' slay 180.

just like we do all over the high seas, so listen to me now, you woodland clods. Surrender, or I'll bring this place down round your ears. You know nothin' of warfare an' we're all covered with the scars of many a battle, d'ye hear me?"

Young c.o.c.kleburr, Friar Alder's kitchen a.s.sistant, could stand no more. His fighting spirit was roused. Using his ap.r.o.n strings as a sling, he launched a small rock-hard turnip at Graypatch.

"Bubbling brothpans! Take that, you simmering sea-sc.u.m!"

It struck Graypatch hard in his one good eye. The searat Captain fell back, completely blinded, blackness interspersed with bursting colored stars filling his vision.

Ringtail quickly picked him up, supporting him as he shouted at the woodlanders on the walls, "That's it, you've done it now. This is war!"

Driving the oarslaves in front of them, the searats retreated back up the path to the shelter of Mossflower. The Redwallers laughed and cheered, congratulating each other on their brave stand.

c.o.c.kleburr was delirious, he patted Flagg heartily. "Galloping gravyjugs, we showed them, didn't we!"

Foremole waddled up, his normally merry face creased with worry. "Hurr, may'aps 'ee did, but 'twere only luck, maisters. Them'ns is searat sp.a.w.n, gurt warriors an' wicked cruel slayers. Ho urr, you marken moi words, they vermints'll be back, doant doubt et."

The cheering died away.

Simeon spoke up. "Foremole is right. We're not warriors, though we have the might and safety of these walls in our favor. We must take extra care in the coming days, post lookouts, stay within the Abbey and its grounds, and be constantly on guard against tricks. From what I could hear, this Graypatch sounds to me like a very cunning beast."

The Abbot turned to Flagg and Rufe Brush. "I leave 181.

you in charge of all arrangements. Unfortunately I am no use at all when it comes to matters of war. Both of you have my complete confidence. You are brave beasts, and I trust your judgment. What do you say, Mellus?"

The badger shook her great head, halfway between maternal instincts and righteous rage. "Did you see those poor slaves? Some of them weren't much more than Dibbuns. Can't we do anything about them? They looked so thin and wretched; we must help them somehow."

Flagg placed a gentle paw on Mellus. "I know how y'feel, marm. I think every creature here would love to give the sorry little things some aid. But you must understand we have to defend the Abbey, we're all needed here. What good would it do those slaves if Redwall fell into the claws of Graypatch and his crew?"

Saxtus had stayed silent in the background throughout the whole incident, but now he felt the time had come for him to speak.

"Mother Mellus, I have never experienced war in my life. I do not think I will like it. However, if it is war, then Redwall Abbey comes first, before slaves, or even ourselves. Perhaps if we defeat these searats then we can think of rescuing others. Meanwhile our Abbey is our main concern."

Flagg shrugged. "Hard words, Saxtus mate. But you're right, of course."

Inland the mist had vanished with the advent of a hot summer morn. Tempers were also running hot in the woodland camp of the Darkqueeri's crew. Graypatch sat back in the shade with a leaf poultice held against his throbbing eye. The injury had resulted in temporary blindness with his eye swelled shut. The searat Captain dearly wished he could lay claws upon Bigfang for yelping out aloud and giving the game away, but knowing he was at the mercy of his own savage crew, he 182.

had to wralk a diplomatic tightrope. Graypatch tried to make light of the encounter.

"Yah, what are they, eh? A bunch of root crunchers. We could take 'em with one claw. Stupid mob of straw-suckers, what do they know of fightin' an' killin', eh?"

Kybo tried disguising his voice so the Captain could not identify him. "Strawsuckers, matey? Huh, they still sent us packin'. We should've did like Bigfang said and rushed the place soon as we arrived here."

Graypatch knew the voice. He made a mental note to see Kybo as soon as he regained his sight.

"Rushed 'em? What good would that've done? I don't think things would have turned out any different."

Bigfang picked dried blood from his top lip. "Hoho, don't you, then? Listen, rat, if we'd rushed 'em, I could have taken that place."

Graypatch tried to control his temper. "Tcha! But instead you got a stone on the nose and yelped like a fieldmouse at a funeral. Go on then, bucko-tell us what you would have done!"

Bigfang was a large, barrel-chested searat. He picked up a dead branch and snapped it in two pieces.

"I'd have broken 'em with the element of surprise-charge and kill! An hour before dawn I would have set light to those big gates. When they burned down, the crew would have been in there a slayin' an' rippin'. But you know better, don't you, Graypatch. What did we do? Hid in a ditch, playin' peekaboo like frogs hidin' from a hawk. And you, matey, you, the great Gray-patch, terror of the waves, put out of commission with a turnip by a little cook, hahahaha! Wheedlin' round the road like a lame beetle. Please, sir, give us bread an' water, kind sir. . . . Hah! Bilgewater! Some searat invasion that was, mates, I'll tell yer!"

There was a murmur of agreement from the crew.

Tied in a line with the oarslaves, Pakatugg trembled nervously. Bigfang had wanted to kill him. If there was 183.

a power shift among the searats and Bigfang became their leader, the squirrel's life would be worthless.

On an impulse he yelled out over the rumblings of disagreement, "Graypatch is right. There's more sense in tricking your way into the Abbey than just burning and slaying!"

Ranzo leaped up and knocked Pakatugg flat with a spear b.u.t.t. "Slaves an' prisoners tellin' us what t' do, eh, shipmates! I think we're all goin' soft in this forest!"

Bigfang threw a claw about his shoulders. "Aye, Ranzo's right. We were better off with the deck of the Darkqueen under us. That craft'd outrun any vessel on the seas. I say we set sail for the open waters in Darkqueen. Who's with me, mates?"

A roar of approval went up from the crew. They seized their weapons and any supplies lying about, forming in a mob with Bigfang at their head. As they marched off into the woodlands, dragging the oarslaves with them, Bigfang called out to his disabled adversary: "Don't worry, Graypatch, I'm not goin' to kill yer. I'll leave that to this country-see how long you'll last in the woods without yer good lamp to see through. Hoho, you'll die with the flies crawlin' over yer, cursin' my name an' the day you tried to do me down. I'm Cap'n now."

The crew marched off through the woodlands, laughing and jostling each other, happy to be going back to the life they knew aboard the best craft of all Gabool's fleet, the good ship Darkqueen.

One searat remained, however. Fishgill the steersrat strode across to Graypatch and sat beside him.

"Let 'em go, Cap'n. They'll either end up in Gabool's clutches or come back to you after gettin' sick of that bigmouth Bigfang. He's a fool an' a hothead-he'll either get himself or the crew killed."

Graypatch breathed a sigh of relief. "Fishgill, matey, I knew you wouldn't let me down. Stay with me now. This eye'll be better in a day or two, then we'll see 184.

who's the real Cap'n of Darkqueen, and the best steersrat too."

Clary and the long patrol had become alerted when they found Pakatugg's secret den empty. Using their considerable skills as trackers, they had trailed the squirrel across the dunes. The hares found the river crossing the beach at midmorning. Checking the aftermath of the battle with Greenfang's crew, they traced the river course inland.

At midday they sighted the Darkqueen tied up alongside the tree-fringed creek.

"Whoohahahahooh!" Hon Rosie whooped with delight. "Who's for a trip aboard the Ski/lark?"

Brigadier Thyme jumped aboard. "Deserted, eh. Where d'you s'pose the scurvy blaggards are now, Clary?"

"Haven't the foggiest, old fellah. Still an' all, I'll tell you where they won't be goin': to sea in this bally tub again. We'll make sure of that. Come on, chaps!"

In a short time the rudder was detached and hidden in the woods, the oars were weighted and sunk in the creek, the steering wheel was dismantled and flung widespread into the bushes, and the mooring ropes were hacked through so that Darkqueen drifted in and heeled at a crazy angle in the shallows. They jettisoned the worst of the provisions and made a leisurely meal off the choicest bits of the remainder.

Clary found some of the bows and arrows in the weapon locker. "Righto, chaps, settle down now. You take first watch, Rosie. Shout out at the first sign of a scurvy whisker and we'll give 'em billyo."

"Oh, I say, super! I'm rather good at the old archery game, y'know, I could score a bull's-eye on a rat's eye with no bother. Whoohahahahoo!"

Clary nibbled a ship's biscuit until a weevil poked its head out at him, he spat out quickly and tossed the offending morsel overboard.

185.

"Phwaw! I think I'd turn to a life of crime if I had to eat tucker like that. No wonder they look mean an' ugly!"

186.

2O.

The mist was heavy in the forest as Mariel and her friends struck westward into the strange new territory. Durry Quill kept repeating the lines of the poem aloud.

"Find the trail and lose your life. When in the woods this promise keep, with senses sharp and open eyes, 'My nose shall not send me to sleep.' "

"Your nose doesn't have to, your bally voice would send anybeast to sleep, Durry," Tarquin snorted. "Didn't they teach you singin' at Redwall?"

"Floppyears, I weren't singin', I were recit.i.tatin'. So there."

"Can't you two stop arguing and keep quiet?"

"Oops! Sorry, old gel, m'lips are sealed from now on, promise."

Dandin had to hack away at hanging vegetation and thick fern to keep the path clear. He did not like this forest at all. It was dank and steamy, with little sunlight showing through the matted treetops, the ground was squelchy underpaw and the going slow.

The travelers were not inclined to stop in the gloomy atmosphere. They s.n.a.t.c.hed bites of food as they pressed onward, each with their separate thoughts.

187.

Dandin thought of Redwall and Mother Mellus, the good badger who had reared him: Despite her scolding and reprimands, he missed her. He wondered how Saxtus was faring, now that he was the only one of the terrible duo left for Mellus to watch over.

Durry thought of his uncle Gabriel, his friends Bagg and Runn and the moles whom he felt a great kinship to. He imagined summer afternoons in the orchard with cool cider and cakes beneath the shady trees.

Mariel thought of her father, wondering where he could be and how his health was. She remembered the quiet strength of her father the bellmaker, his ready smile and gentleness, the care he had taken of her and the pride he took in his little daughter, whose name he likened to a bell ringing over meadows on a summer evening. She blinked away a silent tear and gritted her teeth as she thought of cruel Gabool and the retribution she would mete out one day when she faced him.

Tarquin thought of sitting alongside Hon Rosie at the annual haredance and banquet in Salamandastron. Rosie always treated him mockingly, but that was just her way. Secretly he imagined she longed for him. The words of a new song came bubbling out of the irrepressible hare.

"If I were a cake upon the table, You would take a bite from me and I would shout if I were able, Rosie, you're a sight to see.

Dolly ting bang clang, diddly ding ..."

"Mr. Woodsorrel, I've told you once politely, now clamp a lid on it!"

"What? Oh, er, right you are, m'lady. It's just that lovely smell, reminds me of Rosie's perfume that she wore to the banquet."

Durry Quill sniffed. "My spikes, so that's what perfume smells like. A lad like me never smelt it afore. Whaaaawwwhhooommmm! 'Scuse I."

188.

Mariel was about to silence Durry when she yawned aloud also.

Dandin stopped swinging his sword into the tangled creepers. He leaned against a willow and yawned aloud, rubbing his eyes. "Hoooommmmm! Funny sort of smell, not like I'd imagined perfume to be. Bit sickly sweet, if you ask me ..."

Tarquin sat down on the trail. His harolina slipped from his paws and he blinked owlishly. "Hooooooah! Take m' word for it, laddie, that's what perfume smells like. Whoooohaaaw! Corks . . . can't keep . . . the ol' eyes oooooooh . . . pen."

Mariel lay down slowly, clutching the Gullwhacker to her like a baby mouse going to bed with her dolly. Through half-closed eyes she watched shadowy figures rising from the earth around them. The last thing she heard before sleep rode in on the cloying waves of heavy scent was Durry Quill's voice.

"My nose shall no-Whooooaw!"

Mariel's head ached furiously and a dark mist swam before her eyes, changing to brown then dull green. She caught a whiff of the fetid scent as a face swathed in barkcloth came close to hers.

"Heehee, dis'n wak'nin' up, athink!"

"Dese'n's near wak'n too abit."

"Eer's Snidjer, lookitout!"

The realization that she was bound to a tree woke Mariel completely. She tugged and strained at her bonds as a creature hobbled toward her. It was covered in trailing weeds and wore a barkcloth wrapper around its face, as did many others she could see crouching in the background. The creature carried with it the whiff of heavy scent. It stood in front of the mousemaid and spoke in a high, squeaky voice.

"Yerrherr, Snidjer gotcher-anyerr fren's!"

Tarquin had awakened. They were all tied tightly to 189.

the same big tree. "Oh, great golly, rrt'poor head, it's burstin'. Who the devil are you, sir?"

The creature prodded Tarquin with a long th.o.r.n.y branch. ' 'You sh' rupp. Snidj er' s talkin' nochoo. Ennyow, werryerfrom?"