The three warriors trod lightly down the first flight of steps, looking from left to right, ready for anything. Mariel peeked through a partially opened door, and saw horderats sleeping on a straw-littered floor, a chamber full of them. Without a word to her berserk companions she gently removed a spear from the claws of a slumbering rat. Closing the door, the mousemaid slid the spearhaft through the ring in the latch, effectively imprisoning the sleepers in their own barracks. Muta looked at her questioningly. Mariel smiled. ‘It’s nothing, just making sure we’re not followed.’
Voices came from further down the darkened hallway. ‘Well, you go an’ tell Nagru that you ain’t stannin’ out on no walls all night, I’m not!’
‘But I don’t ’ave a cloak like you, s’pose it’s still raining’, I’ll catch me death of cold out there!’
‘Aye, mate, and you’ll catch yer death a lot faster if you tell Foxwolf that you don’t fancy obeyin’ his orders!’
‘Huh, if it wasn’t for those mangy escaped prisoners we’d be in our barracks n . . .’ The rat never finished the sentence he was speaking; neither he nor his companion would ever have to worry about going out on guard again. Muta and Rab carried on down the next flight of stairs as if nothing had happened. Mariel took a curved sword from one of the dead rats and hastened to catch up with the silent slayers.
The banqueting chamber had a torch alight on one wall. The three warriors moved through, silent as the flickering shadows that played over tables and chairs.
Six horderats were seated round a table in the gatehouse, playing a game with three shells and an acorn. A flagon of wine stood on the table, a prize for the winner. A draught flickered round the wall torches as the door swung open. One rat looked up, and squealed with fright at the sight of Mariel and her two silent allies entering the room. Muta charged, her relentless energy taking her crashing into the nearest two rats, then all became confusion.
The table went crashing end over end, knocking the wall torches from their sconces and plunging the gatehouse into darkness. In the onslaught, amid the screaming, clattering, grunting and banging, five of the rats met their doom. One rat, more nimble than the rest, slipped by Rab. He fled through the doorway and up the stairs before anybeast could stop him. Mariel struggled with the otter in the doorway as he tried to give chase. ‘No, Rab, leave the rat, we’ve got what we want – the gatehouse is ours!’
Slamming the door and securing it, the mousemaid found the torches and blew on them until they flared into light. A huge wooden drum with turning handles attached and a crude block brake held the thick ropes that controlled the drawbridge. Muta finished tipping the last of the slain enemies from the gatehouse window, smiling grimly as the carcasses hit the moat below with a splash. Taking Mariel’s sword, the badger swung it high over the coils of rope wound around the drum, ready to slice them through to lower the bridge. Mariel shook her head. ‘No need for that, my friend. We control the drawbridge now – besides, the time may arrive when we’ll need to have it closed!’
Silvamord was frightened; Nagru was furious. They had both listened to the terrified recitation of the rat who had escaped alive from the gatehouse. The Fox-wolf watched sunny daylight dispersing the valley mist from his chamber window, then banged the ledge so hard that his paw hurt. ‘They double-bluffed us! So that was how their decoy worked, fooling us into thinking they were attacking the drawbridge, drawing our guards away on to the walltops to forestall another trick, when all the time they really were attacking the drawbridge, from the inside! Now they have control over our very front door! Come on, vixen, where’s all your crafty ideas? Why are you sitting there trembling like a pile of frogspawn?’
Silvamord was not looking at Nagru. She stared at the wall blankly, her voice atremble as she said, ‘The badger and the otter, you couldn’t have killed them right, they’ve come back from the dead and they’re inside this place now!’
The Urgan Nagru shook his head until the teeth of the wolfskull rattled. ‘I can’t believe those two aren’t dead. We left them like pincushions, they were ripped to bits . . .’
A loud bump from below interrupted him. It startled Silvamord from her trance, and she dashed to the window. ‘They’ve lowered the drawbridge!’
Watching from the wooded slopes on the opposite valley side, Dandin’s sharp eyes caught sight of a small figure in the gatehouse window. It was gone in a second, but almost at once the drawbridge fell open and spanned the moat. He turned to Iris, his eyes shining happily. ‘Now I know where Mariel is, in the gatehouse! There’s only one warrior maid could’ve pulled off a trick like that. Haha, escaping’s not good enough for that one, she’s got to capture the drawbridge as well!’
Meldrum tore himself away from the impromptu breakfast he had scrounged. ‘Brains eh, that gel will control her own regiment one day, mark m’words. Righto, up on y’paws you lot, we’ve got to jolly well help her!’
Amid the jubilation it was left for Iris to provide the voice of reason. ‘Hold hard, you two, we’re only a small rescue party. I don’t think you’ve grasped just how large the Foxwolf’s horde is. We’d be committing suicide trying to attack Floret, even with the drawbridge down.’
Meldrum stroked berry stains from his mustachios. ‘You’re right, of course,’ he admitted. ‘So, what action d’you propose we take? Can’t leave the brave mousey there on her own t’be winkled out an’ slain by those foul creatures, can we?’
Gael had been listening to the conversation. An idea was forming in the Squirrelking’s mind. ‘I suggest that you send word to Mariel telling her we are here. If you stay in the valley and harass the foe to keep their attention off Mariel it will go a long way towards helping her. Meanwhile, I will go to Furpp’s dwelling, and from there I must try to raise up the whole of Southsward in arms to march upon Floret. Mariel has opened up a golden opportunity for us; the time is ripe. I think we will never get a better chance to rid the land of Foxwolf and his horde. The sooner we strike the better!’
Mariel and her two silent friends had shared the flagon of wine and eaten what small amount of food there was to be had in the gatehouse. Rats had gathered on the stairs outside, but so far they had made no move to try and recapture the room. Nagru knew that he would only lose valuable hordebeasts by trying to charge the door, for in such a small space the badger and the otter could hold the doorway against all comers. The mousemaid was making herself a new Gullwhacker with a thick length of spare drawbridge rope; she sat at the window, working at the complicated knots known only to herself. The valley was fresh and green under bright morning sun, deceptively peaceful and calm. The mousemaid’s quick eyes took in a slight movement on the wooded slope opposite. ‘Look Muta, Rab, see, we have friends close by!’ she cried.
The badger and the otter joined her at the window. Mariel gave out a piercing whistle, swinging her half-completed Gullwhacker out of the open window. ‘If they can’t hear me maybe they’ll see this rope.’
A moment later she glimpsed a small figure climbing to the lower branches of a sycamore. It was waving what appeared to be a long dagger. The mousemaid waved back, saying, ‘That’s got to be Dandin. I can’t see properly from here but I’ll wager anything it’s him!’
Dandin climbed down from his perch to where Meldrum and Iris were waiting.
‘Aye, that’s my Mariel all right,’ he said. ‘She’s got herself a new Gullwhacker. Do you think you could put an arrow through that window, Iris?’
The otter shouldered her bow and quiver busily. ‘Get me close enough and I know I can, third shot!’
As Mariel watched the three figures duck and weave across the valley floor, she commentated on their movements to Muta and Rab. ‘Here they come, there’s three of them, I think one is Meldrum but I can’t be sure. They’re holding a great chunk of bark in front of them as a shield. They must have been sighted by Nagru’s rats – arrows are being shot at them, one or two have struck the bark shield, but they’re still coming forward. Oh come on, come on
friends!’
Meldrum the Magnificent pulled his twitching ears in below the top of the bark. ‘The blighters are shootin’ at us, nearly had my bally ears pierced just then. Much further t’go chaps?’
Dandin held tight to the sheet of bark, sidestepping as an arrow thudded into the earth close to his paw. ‘What d’you think Iris, is this far enough?’ he asked.
The otter squinted through a knothole at the castle. ‘This will do, here goes number one!’
She ran from behind the shield, a shaft already strung tight on her bowstring. Taking quick aim, Iris fired and nipped back behind the shield as a volley of arrows zipped from the battlements at her.
‘Too high,’ she said, ‘it hit the stones above the gatehouse window, but Mariel knows what we’re up to now. She’s pulled back out of sight and put a table upright in the windowspace. Right, here goes my second shot – it won’t hit, it’s only a rangefinder.’
Notching another arrow on her string, the otter leapt out and fired. She watched the arrow in flight for a brief moment before diving back under cover. ‘Thought so, too low! Give me the arrow with the message tied to it, Dandin, I’ve got the range now.’
Fitting the third arrow to her bow, Iris waited a moment as a hail of arrows passed overhead.
‘One . . . Two . .. Now!’
She sprang into the open, bowstring taut against her cheek, and squinting one eye along the arrow she released it.
Sssssst thunk!
Muta and Rab stood guarding the door against any sudden attack as Mariel tugged at the arrow buried in the tabletop. ‘Whew, whoever shot that one knew what they were doing!’ she said, admiringly.
Nagru and Silvamord had both been in line with the rats on the battlements, shooting arrows for all they were worth. The Foxwolf put aside his bow as the three figures retreated behind their shield.
‘Stop shooting,’ he ordered. ‘They’re out of range now. All down to the drawbridge. Come on, you fumble-pawed lot, shift yourselves!’
A big grey rat named Grutch was in charge of the ranks that stood six deep blocking the open drawbridge entrance. He saluted Nagru smartly. ‘All quiet here, Lord, no sign of any attack yet.’
The Foxwolf glanced up at the gatehouse window high above. ‘It will come, though. Grutch, I want this entrance guarded night and day. No lapses – stay alert. Those three in the gatehouse have received a message from their friends.’
Mariel unrolled the thin strip of cloth from around the arrowshaft and read aloud the charcoal scrawl to the badger and the otter. ‘Hold gatehouse long as you can. Gael gone to raise an army. It is war!’
28
PEARL QUEEN SKIMMED the summer seas like a great bird, ever southward, cutting white-crested rollers, with webs of sunlit water patterns racing along her hull above the seashadows. Finnbarr and Joseph leaned over the stern rail, watching their vessel’s creamy wake trail out until it merged with the distant main. The sea otter squinted at the feathery clouds being chased across the sky by playful breezes.
‘We’re makin’ good headway, Joseph, let’s ’ope our luck stays with us, mate,’ he said.
The Bellmaker could not resist smiling at this remark. ‘Luck? We’ve been holed by rocks, attacked by toads, fought off a shark, lost our rudder, had a mast snapped off like a twig and been chased by a double-crewed shipload of searats and that’s beside losing the Roaringburn current that was supposed to take us to Southsward. What more luck do we need, you puddle-headed old seadog?’
Finnbarr threw a tattooed paw about the Bellmaker’s shoulders, hugging him fondly.
‘Yew mizzuble ole bellbonger, I never said ’twas goin’ t’be easy, did I? We ain’t sittin’ on the bottom o’ the briny with a sunken ship, that’s lucky. May’aps those three liddle orphans we took aboard at the island are our lucky charms, eh?’
Joseph turned and watched the three young ones. They were playing skip the rope on the hatch covers with Rufe, Durry and Fatch. ‘Poor little mites, they could do with a bit of luck themselves. We’re the only ones they’ve got left in this world now. Benjy will be useful to us, he knows Southsward.’
‘Wot about the other two young coves?’ Finnbarr nodded towards Wincey and Figgs.
‘Fortunately they have no memory of Southsward, or if they do it’s never mentioned. From what Benjy told me it was a terrible place to be once the creature called Foxwolf came there. He rules the land by terror; there’s none to stand against him and his rat horde. The Urgan Nagru is his other name and he has a mate called Silvamord. Benjy’s not sure whether they’re wolves or foxes. They murdered and tricked their way into power – have you ever heard of them, Finn?’
The sea otter touched his twin sword hilts ominously. ‘No, but when we meet I’m sure the pleasure’ll be all mine, matey. I’ve allus been a freebeast, an’ I never could take to tyrants an’ conquerors, ’specially those who’d make orphans of liddle uns. Bad fortune to ’em says I, an’ I’m the beast who’ll bring it to ’em!’
Figgs was not built for rope skipping. She attached herself to Rosie, knowing that the hare was a good food provider.
‘Figgs wants pudden, Rosie, more pudden!’
Rosie Woodsorrel gave a gusty whoop. ‘Whoohahahooh! I say, what a good idea, Figgs, so do I. Come on, old scout, let’s chuck those shrews out the galley and see what we can jolly well cook up between us, wot?’
Foremole stumped about, opening supply lockers and searching the galley cupboards gloomily. ‘B’aint much vittles left, miz Rose, we’m should’ve taked on more supplies at ee island. Burr, soon us’n’s be a drinken ee sea an’ cooken ee sails furr zoop!’
Rosie frowned as she turned a few withered apples out of a drawer. ‘Well lack a day, you mean there’s no tucker left?’
Log a Log crawled out of an empty locker, saying, ‘There’s a bit, but not much. I’ve just been sounding the water casks, we’re going to have to ration the drinking water from now on. If we don’t sight land soon I think fish would be a good idea, eh, Foremole?’
‘Burr, nay zurr Log, we’m ’ad one gurt fish aboard, that wurr enuff furr oi, thankee!’
Figgs followed Rosie about, throwing her paws in the air and repeating over and over, ‘Lack a day, no tucker’s left, lack a day!’
A meeting of the crew was called. Joseph faced them across a small heap of supplies, all that was left aboard Pearl Queen. The Bellmaker’s face was grave as he addressed the assembly.
‘This is the sum total of our food, and from now on the water is rationed. We must go carefully.’
Rosie watched Figgs toddling about repeating her lament. ‘Lack a day, no tucker’s left, no tucker, lack a day!’
The kindly hare gathered the little otter to her. ‘Well, I’m not really hungry, doncha know. Give my share to young Figgs here.’
Finnbarr shook his head, saying, ‘O no, marm, an’ all you others who volunteered t’give their vittles t’the young uns. No, it can’t be done. We’d all starve an’ they’d be left alone agin. Everybeast must take their rations an’ eat ’em t’keep up strength, that’s an order!’
Lookouts were posted in the rigging to watch out for land. Benjy sat up on the bowsprit with Durry, Rufe and Fatch. They scanned the horizon constantly with no success. Mid-noon became hot, and the breeze dropped until Pearl Queen was practically lying becalmed. Joseph filled a water dipper from a pail to give the sea otter his ration.
‘Looks like that luck you were talking about has run out,’ he said.
Finnbarr sipped steadily, his single eye roving the sea. ‘Keep yer chin up, Bellmaker, bit o’ a breeze is all we needs to shift us on t’fresh fortune.’
Benjy was the youngest of the four who sat on the bowsprit. He stared unhappily at the empty wastes of water stretching as far as his eye could see.
‘Fatch, what’ll happen if we don’t get food?’ he asked. The shrew was the eldest by a season. He winked at Durry, saying, ‘If we don’t get food we’ll prob’ly have to eat one o’ the crew, that??
?s what they do at sea, ain’t it mates?’
Durry and Rufe went along with the joke. ‘Aye, that’s right. Wonder who Mr Finnbarr will pick to cook for supper tonight?’
Benjy stood up, paws clenched. ‘He’d better not choose Wincey or Figgs!’
‘Nah, they’re too liddle.’ Fatch dismissed the idea airily. ‘Us young uns are safe, there ain’t enough on us t’make a decent pan o’ soup.’
Benjy was completely taken in; wide eyed, he asked, ‘Does that mean we’ll have to eat one of the big uns? Hope it’s not Mr Joseph, I like him!’
Rufe thought for a moment. ‘Hmm, Foremole might taste all right, or maybe one of the shrews – Log a Log, he’s plump enough.’
‘I couldn’t eat them, they’re nice creatures!’ Benjy said, horrified.
Rosie and Figgs were parading round the deck. Rosie was so amused by the little ottermaid that she had joined her in the game. They both went about waving their paws, calling aloud together, ‘Lack a day, no tucker, tucker’s gone, lack a day!’
Passing by the four on the bowsprit, Rosie gave them a wave. ‘Toodle pip chaps! Whew, this is hot work. Lack a day . . .’
Fatch cast a sly glance at Rosie and rubbed his paws gleefully. ‘At least we wouldn’t have to put up with Mrs Woodsorrel laughin’ all the time,’ he said.
Rufe had not really taken part in the grisly joke, and now, unable to stand any more of it, he put a comforting paw around Benjy. ‘Don’t worry mate, there’ll be nobeast cooked aboard this ship. Huh, I’d like to see anyone try to eat Miz Rosie!’
Figgs heard the remark and thought it was the signal for a new game. She grabbed the hare’s footpaw, crying, ‘Lack a day, eat Miz Rosie, lack a day!’
Rosie Woodsorrel was highly amused, at first. ‘Whoohoohahahooh! I say, that’s a good un young Figgs, eat Miz Rosie, wot? Yowch, y’little villain, she bit me!’
The four youngsters nearly fell off the bowsprit laughing. Benjy stood up and grasped a rope to steady himself. When the laughter subsided, he pointed west.