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 coloured 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, enquiring 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 travellers 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 sizeable breakfasts when they were at summer camp. Feigning sleep, the hedgehog maid peeped out from under her blanket, savouring 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 grey, 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 odours of smouldering peat and glowing pinebark on the fire. Trimp wished that she could stay like this for ever, 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 travellin’ 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 oatmeal’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 travellers 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’ gipsywort, 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’ spot – fish 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 dragonflies 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 centre of the raft, holding on to 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 stem 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. Prob’ly 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, whilst I hold off yonder battler!’
Krar launched himself into the attack once more. Feathers flew amid the hissing and screeching, streamwater was thrashed into foam, leaves and branches showered wide. Punting the raft out from the bank, whilst 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 vigour, 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 everybeast 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 foller 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!’
* * *
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 travellers 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 round 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.