"Never 'eard nothin' like that in all the time I been 'ere."

"Aye, he's as mad as his mother was!"

"It must be the sudden power gone to his brain, I think."

"Huh, I'd sooner be dead than serve a Marlfox as a soldier!"

"Crazier than his sister was, if'n y'ask me!"

"Who's bothered about wot we think? Nobeast asks a slave anythin', mate, they tells them!"

A water rat soldier prodded the speaker roughly with his spear. "Stow the gab there. Silence, you lot! Back down t'the pens with yer, quick march. One two, one two ..."

The hefty hedgehog maid, who had made the final remark, muttered to her companion, a grizzled old shrew, "See wot I mean, friend?"

Toolam gestured at the rolled tapestry. He felt nervous and unsure at issuing orders to creatures who had formerly been his superiors. "Er, pick it up!"

Without any argument Wilce and Ullig bent to lift the tapestry. Suddenly Toolam was seized by a wave of confidence he had never felt before. Inflating his narrow chest, he realized that he really was Commander of the army. A slow grin suffused his normally expressionless features. "Be careful y'don't damage it, you clumsy fools!"

Durrlow joined him, eager to exploit his newfound powers. "Aye, or you'll feel our spear 'andles, you butter-pawed oafs!"

As Wilce and Ullig staggered to the wall with the tapestry slung carefully between them, Toolam and Durrlow grinned at each other and swaggered boldly behind the subdued pair. They had begun to realize that power was a mighty intoxicating thing to possess.

Chapter 32.

Gray afternoon cast its pall over the lake. Sheeting rain swept back and forth, causing the surface to spatter under a ceaseless bombardment of drops. When the raft had been poled clear of the shallows, Gawjo dropped a piece of trout, donated by the Megraw, into the lake. It drifted beneath the water for a moment, then two pike struck, dragging it under as they fought for possession of the morsel. Torrab watched over the old squirrel warrior's shoulder.

"Methinks 'tis time we sought out the bows, Father."

Gawjo wiped fishy paws on his jerkin, nodding agreement. "Aye, daughter, this is where the pike shoals start."

Short bows with thin sharp arrows were fetched from the cabin. Torrab and six other hedgehogs notched shafts to their bowstrings and began firing arrows in a sloping direction at the water. Soon a pike was hit. It thrashed about close to the surface, vicious and hookjawed, a real lake monster. The arrow had wounded it, causing a blood trail in the water, and with terrifying speed it was attacked by a horde of other pike. The hedgehogs shot arrows furiously into the shoal, hitting the big fish indiscriminately, until Gawjo gave the order to stop firing.

Song had watched the whole thing from a cabin window. She did not like to see any living thing slain needlessly. The squirrelmaid questioned her grandpa as he stamped into the cabin, snaking rain from himself. "Why were you shooting at the fish, Grandpa?"

Gawjo sat down at the table, wriggling a paw in his damp ear. "All part o' the plan, me young beauty. This lake's swarmin' with pike. They've tried to attack us before nowyou don't realize how big an' dangerous some o' those fish've become. So the plan is to shoot one. The pike are natural cannibals, they'll go for that 'un an' eat it. So we shoot a few more an' pretty soon they come far far'n'wide to feed on 'em."

Song shuddered. "Ugh! How horrible!"

Gawjo shrugged, pouring himself some hot mint and dandelion tea. "Aye, 'tis not a pretty sight, but that's the nature o' pike. They fight o'er eatin' their own so fiercely that they bite each other, causin' more blood t'flow. Before you know it nearly all the pike in the lake are gathered there, snappin' an' rippin' each other to bits. While their blood lust is on them they won't bother us or our raft."

Megraw watched the rainy skies from the window. "Whit a waste o' guid food! Nary a sign o' they maggypies oot on yon lake yet. Mebbe inclement weather's keepin' 'em close tae hame on their isle."

Gawjo sipped his tea gratefully. "The weather's on our side an' the wind's drivin' us toward the island. With luck we may make land by the morrow's dawn."

Burble picked up a small stringed instrument from the corner where he was sitting and twanged it.

"Can anybeast be after playin' this thing? May'ap Song'll give us a ditty, yiss yiss?"

A huge male hedgehog relieved Burble of the instrument. "Nay, rivermousey, sound doth carry far o'er waters like these."

Song pulled a face at her friend. "He's right, y'know, rivermousey. You'll have to recite us one of your rivermousey poems, nice and quiet now!"

Burble's fur actually bristled with indignation. "Sure I'll recite nothin' while I'm bein' insulted. If anybeast calls me rivermousey once more I'll fight 'em. Yiss yiss, so I will! I don't call you treewalloper, do I?"

Song laughed at her bristly companion. "Call me what y'like, I don't care. Rivermousey!"

Dippler burst out laughing. "Hawhaw haw! Rivermousey, that's a good 'un!"

Burble rounded on him with a wicked grin. "Who asked you, boatbottom?"

The cabin became a verbal battleground as laughing and giggling they hurled insults at one another.

"Hohoho! Boatbottom, that's a great name for you, Dipp!"

"Ho is it now, Dannflower broomtail. Hawhaw haw!"

Gawjo joined in. "Heehee, flopears is a better name for that 'un, or popplepaws. Heeheeheehee!"

"Popplepaws yoreself, ole baggybarrel-belly! Yaha-haha!"

Torrab poked her head round the cabin door. "Be there any within to relieve the watch this day?"

She was greeted with a barrage of impudent merriment.

"Go 'way, spikybonce!"

"Aye, push off, needlenose!"

"Out in the rain with ye, soggy hog!"

"Go an' watch yoreself, squelchspines!"

The burly hogmaid grinned and called to Megraw, "What about thee, binnaclebeak?"

Dropping down from the window, Megraw spread his massive wings and glared about him savagely, raising a hooked talon. "Whit was that ye callit me, marm? Nary a beast livin' meks sport o' the Mighty Megraw!"

A moment later they were all out on the deck, soaking in the rain, gazing at the locked cabin door.

Burble sighed. "Sure, an' I wonder why 'tis that eagles don't have any sense o' humor at all. We had to run for our lives there!"

Megraw sat alone in the locked cabin, muttering darkly, "Naebeast speaks ill o' mither Megraw's eggchick. Ye'll stay oot in the elements until ye apologize tae me!"

Apart from the skies lowering darker a little, noon, twilight and evening remained virtually the same. Sheeting rain driving southward in heavy curtains over the lake surface as far as the eye could see, with a moderate wind spurring the raft ever onward toward the island. Megraw had been placated, but he deserted the cabin, choosing to stay on deck beneath a canvas awning, watching for sign of magpies. Gawjo lashed the tiller in position and joined his crew in the warm, cozy cabin, where a cheerful fire glowed within the potbellied stove.

He lifted the lid from a cauldron, sniffing the simmering aroma. "By the seasons, that smells good'n' decent. Wot is it?"

Dippler checked the contents, sprinkling in a pawful of sweet ground arrowroot to thicken up the sauce further.

"That's a seagoin' recipe, sir, called skilly'n'duff. Log a Log used t'make it for the Guosim, when we followed the waters down to the great ocean."

Torrab hovered about the young shrew impatiently.

" 'Twill soon be ready, I trust?"

Dippler added more of the arrowroot and stirred it slowly. "Aye, soon now. The skilly is a thick sweet sauce with all manner o' good things in. That big pudden floatin' about in it is the duff, stuffed with wild plums, damsons, blackberries an' chopped chestnuts, all cased up in a ball o' spongy pastry, bit like a great dumplin'. Nothin' like it to cheer up a body on a rainy ole night, you'll see!"

The entire crew voted Dippler's skilly'n'duff delicious, some of the big hedgehogs noting down the recipe for use on winter nights. The Guosim shrew recalled a comic seagoing monologue concerning the dish.

"Aboard the good ship Wobblechop, I sailed when I was young, First in line an' feelin' fine, When the dinner bell was rung.

Our Cap'n 'ad a fog'orn voice, An' boots as big as me, 'Stand by, me lads, 'ere comes a ship, 'Tis a pirate craft!' cried he.

Whoa skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff, To keep nearby when things get rough!

The pirate Cap'n was a rat, His name was Itchee Scratch, Upon his nose, why goodness knows, He wore a red eyepatch.

'Haul to, ye dozy lubbers, I'm fat'n'bad an' tough, An' I smells plunder on the air, Wot might be skilly'n'duff.'

Whoa skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff, Us waterbeasts can't get enough!

Well I tell you, me word 'tis true, Our crew got quite upset, To rob a sailor's dinner was, The worst thing we'd 'eard yet, So we put down our bowls'n'spoons, Then armed ourselves with slings, We slung at those ole pirate rats, A dozen kinds o' things.

Whoa skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff, To eat while fightin' searats gruff!

That pirate Cap'n he got shot, By a barrel load of peas, Wot blacked his eyes an' stung his thighs, An' fractured all his knees.

We hit the crew with onion skins, Big cabbage stalks as well, With hardcrust pies an' 'orrible cries, They splashed into the swell.

Whoa skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff, When vermin crews you must rebuff!

As Wobblechop sailed away that day, We sang a jolly song, The bottlenosed cook with laughter shook, As the dinner bell went bong.

I'm old an' fat with a greasy hat, But this to you I say, I must've scoffed a score o' bowls, Of skilly'n'duff that day.

Whoa skilly'n'duff, that's the stuff, When winter winds do howl'n'puff!"

High King Mokkan slept, though not peacefully or well, that night. The Marlfox's dreams were a nightmare of disjointed visions. Lantur, the sister he had slyly murdered, kept trying to drag him ifito the pike-infested lake, smiling wickedly at him and repeating a hollow chant.

"Never trust a vixen, never trust a vixen!"

He turned to run, but was confronted by the brothers and sisters he had deserted. Their faces pale and wan, they pointed accusingly at him, murmuring, "Blood for blood, a Marlfox lies slain, somebeast must pay, blood calls for blood!"

He fled from them and, seeking safety, found himself leaping into his mother's palanquin. However, he was surrounded not by a silk curtain, but by the tapestry from Redwall Abbey. Stern-faced and fearless, the mouse warrior figure stepped out from the tapestry and raised his magnificent sword. Panic such as he had never known seized Mokkan. With the blood in his veins like ice water, he hurled himself from the palanquin. Time stood still, and the Marlfox stumbled slowly to the ground, only to find himself confronted by others. A grim-faced young squirrel wielding the same sword that the warrior mouse had brandished, a squirrelmaid armed with a rod tipped by a glowing green stone, a great black and white eagle, talons spread, beak open. Creatures he could not identify, a watervole, a shrew, hedgehogs, all gathered around him, and his mother's voice echoed mockingly in the gloom.

"Hail, High King Mokkan, last of the Marlfox brood!"

Grabbing his cloak, he hid his face in it and screamed, but the scream died to a whimper as the cloak tightened around his throat, threatening to strangle him. "No, please, noooooooo!"

Mokkan woke on the floor of his bedchamber with a silken sheet, which had become caught on a bedpost as he rolled about trying to escape the dark world of fearful slumber, wrapped tightly about his neck. Throwing open the chamber door, he glared wildly at the two water rat sentries standing immobile in the flickering torchlight. They gazed back dully at the new High King, panting, disheveled, with a bedsheet draped around his neck. Slamming the door, he retreated back into the bedchamber, taking a deep draft of wine from a pitcher and tossing aside the sheet. Then he stood at the window, letting the rain cool his fevered brow, staring out into the dark wet night. What acts of murder and treachery had his own mother committed that she too always slept uneasily? Was this what it was like to gain the power of kingship?

Chapter 33.

Gawjo had taken the last night watch on deck. The rain slacked off to a steady drizzle before dawn when the old squirrel warrior returned to the cabin. Checking that the stove fire was burned down to white ashes, he unshuttered both windows.

Megraw stirred from his perch on a shelf. "Ah ken et'll be a big day taeday, auld 'un?"

Gawjo Swifteye was still nimble and strong, despite his many seasons. He took down a short lance from the motley array of weaponry hanging from the wall. "Aye, friend, 'twill be a big day, shorter for some than others before 'tis over. Come on, crew, stir yoreselves, the island of Marlfoxes is in sight!"

Song stared around herself in the half-light. Her grandpa and the hedgehogs were ready and armed.

Burble sat up rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Well, wotever happens later can wait, yiss yiss, I'm hungry right now, so I am!"

Dippler and Dann were already at the table, helping themselves to warm fruit cordial and oatcakes that had been baked the night before.

Megraw hopped up to an open window. "Nae use a-waitin' for yon maggypies tae find us, ah'm thinkin'. This time ah'll catch them nappin'. Guid luck, see ye later!" Launching himself from the windowsill, the great eagle sailed off into the rising dawnstreaked skies.

Gawjo addressed his remaining crew. "Friends, you all know wot t'do. Dann, we'll give you an' Torrab until midmornin'. Is the Siuallow ready?"

Dann strapped the sword across his back, nodding to Torrab and the other four hedgehogs he would be traveling with. "She's ready, sir, well stocked with weapons too."

Gawjo shook the young squirrel's paw heartily. "Luck go with ye, Dannflor Reguba!"

Song, Dippler and Burble pushed the boat out from the raft's port side. Sitting behind the hedgehogs, Dann waved his paddle. "See you later, mates, I hope!"

The three friends waved to him silently, then stood by their poling positions at the side rails. Gawjo called out from the stern, where he sat plying the tiller, "No time to waste, crew. Let's get there quick as we can!"

All eyes were fixed on the mysterious island looming up, dark and forbidding, with Castle Marl dominating its rocky landing plateau.

Owing to the previous day's events, when the rule of the island had changed so swiftly, the castle courtyards, front and back, lay silent. Mokkan had let the guards celebrate, and they were not yet up and about. In the slave pens the captives were beginning to stir. An old mouse stood with his face pressed to the bars. Behind him a grizzled otter hauled himself stiffly up from the damp straw that served them as bedding. "Wot's 'appenin' out there, matey?"

The mouse was joined by a sturdy hedgehog maid. "Well, it ain't brekkfist, that's for shore. Where's the guards today? Still sleepin', I suppose."

"They'll appear all in good time. After all, we ain't goin' nowheres, are we?" called a squirrel slave from the back of the pen.

The mouse chuckled humorlessly at his dry remark. "Right enough there, friend. We may's well make the best of our extra rest. Better'n toilin' in the fields drenched by that rain we had yesterday. I'm still damp all over."