171.

he swung them in a circle, the metal b.a.l.l.s at the ends of the thongs dacking together viciously. The masked fox pointed at less Churchmouse.

"Drop that rock, mouse. Any of you runaways make a move and I'll smash little missie's skull to a pulp. 1 never miss."

Tess dosed her eyes tight and clasped her paws together. "Run, Mattimeo! Run for your life back to Redwall. Bring help!"

"Go on, do as she says," Slagar sn.i.g.g.e.red with glee. "After I've killed her, I'll kill you. To slay the Warrior of Redwall and his son in such a short time would make my revenge complete."

The rock fell from Mattimeo's open paw. Hot tears sprang to his eyes as he hung his head in defeat.

They were roughly herded together by Bageye and Skinpaw. The rope was looped about the neck of each of the mends as Bageye bound their paws in front with thongs.

Slagar nodded towards the south woodland fringe. "Right, lef s go. Oh, you can take your time now, there's n.o.body following us anymore. Hahahaha!"

Auma made a strangled noise, halfway between a growl and a sob. Dragging the captives with her, she fell back upon the huge mound of rubble and began digging furiously. It took all the slavers to drag her off.

Beating with canes and rope ends, they bludgeoned the little group off along the south trail through the summer woodlands.

Realization of what had taken place hit Sam Squirrel like a bolt, and tears trickled from his eyes. They all cried.

All except Mattimeo. His eyes were dry. Jaws denched tight, he strode upright, ignoring all about him but Slagar. Never once did his gaze leave the figure of the masked fox.

Slagar dropped back a pace to talk to Skinpaw.

"How far off are the others?" he asked.

'^Within two marches of the great cliffs. I've told them to wait at the foothills until we arrive. Chief."

172.

"Good. It shouldn't be too difficult to catch them up. What are you staring at, mouse?"

"You should have killed me back at the canyon." Mattimeo's voice was flat and contemptuous.

Slagar eyed the bold young mouse and shook his head. "I've killed your father. His sword is buried with him. Thaf s enough for one day's work. You, I will let live to suffer."

Mattimeo stopped marching. His friends stopped also. The young mouse's eyes were hard with scorn.

"Then you're not only a cowardly murdering sc.u.m, you're a fool. Because from now on I live with one purpose only: to kill you."

Slagar was taken aback by the determination and loathing that emanated from Mattimeo. He glared savagely at him, trying to frighten the young mouse into submission. Mattimeo glared back, completely unafraid. He was a different mouse altogether.

s.n.a.t.c.hing the willow cane from Skinpaw, the Cruel One struck out, lashing Mattimeo several times. The cane snapped. Slagar stood shaking, breathing hard through the silken mask.

Mattimeo curled his lip defiantly. He had not even felt the blows. "Get yourself another cane and try harder, half-face!"

"Skinpaw, Bageye! Keep this one marching up front with you. Move!"

Mattimeo was dragged off to the front of the column. Slagar marched behind, visibly shaken, glad that he could not feel the young mouse's eyes boring into him from behind.

173.

Though the missing young ones were uppermost in the minds of all the Redwallers, they tried to carry on with Abbey life in a normal fashion, keeping a brave face on things by going about their tasks in a cheerful manner.

Afternoon tea in Cavern Hole was served amid a great buzz of excitement. Copies of the twelve letters discovered by baby Rollo had been distributed, and there was a prize of a pink iced woodland plum and spice cake baked by the Abbot himself. John Churchmouse was strongly fancied to win it, though Abbot Mordalfus was having a serious try. Being the proud maker of such a cake, he wanted to keep it and admire it awhile. Baking was the Father Abbot's latest accomplishment. Ever since the making of his Redcurrantwall Abbot Alf Cake, he had been longing to try his paw at cake-making again. The moles formed a joint crew, and they sat scratching their velvety heads as they gazed at the twelve letters.

BBOOCTAPWERY.

"Burr, all oopside backways, if n you arsken oi."

"Hurr, quit talken an' get thinkin, Jarge, or you'll never win yon pinkice cake."

Cornflower had joined up with baby Rollo and Mrs. Churchmouse. Winifred, Brother Sedge and Ambrose Spike sat together. In various corners of the room small groups kept hard at it, trying to solve the mystery of the twelve letters. Every once in a while some creature would approach the Abbot with a possible solution. Mordalfus in his position as judge looked each one over with a discerning eye. "Hmm, Baby power to be. Sorry, Sister May. As you see, there's only two letter Bs in the puzzle and you've used three. Next. Ah, Winifred, let's see your entry. Coop Water Byb? What in the name of acorns is that supposed to mean? No, I can't accept that one. Ah, John, well now we'll see who has won my beautiful cake."

John Churchmouse peered expectantly over the top of his gla.s.ses as the Abbot read out his solution.

"Cot Abbey prow. Strange words, John. Have you any reason for your answer?"

John polished his gla.s.ses, looking slightly sheepish. "Not really. Abbot. I tried several combinations, but this looked the most likely."

Mordalfus put John's entry to one side. "Well, who knows? We'll keep it as a possibility. Thank you, John."

"Thank you. Abbot. Er, have you tried to solve it yet?"

"No, f think it only fair that I stay as judge. However, if it isn't solved tonight then you can be judge tomorrow and I'll have a try then."

"We gorrit! We gorrit!" Baby Roflo ran forward, waving a parchment. He stumbled, fell, scrambled up and placed the crumpled entry in the Abbof s lap.

The kindly old mouse's eyes twinkled as he lifted Rollo onto the arm of his chair. "You're a clever fellow, Rollo. Did you solve this all by yourself?"

Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse winked at the Abbot. "Of course he did. We couldn't have done without him."

Mordalfus nodded wisely. "Well, lef s see what you've got. Abbey top crow. Ha, now this really looks like something we can investigate. .Abbey top crow, eh? Good. Well done, baby Rollo, not to mention your two helpers, of course. I think the cake goes to the three of you."

175.

Cornflower, Mrs. Churchmouse and Rollo went into whispered conference, finally emerging with the decision that everyone be given a small slice, much to the delight of all.

After tea, the Abbey dwellers gathered on the sward in front of Redwall. Shading their eyes, they gazed up to the high roof. Queen Warbeak and her Sparra warriors were circling the spires, turrets and crenellations at the Abbof s request. There was not long to wait. Shortly Warbeak came zooming down at great speed and perched on a windowsill to make her report.

"Round top of roof, fourbirds, fourbirds," she told them.

The Abbot could hardly suppress his excitement. "What sort of birds? How high? Where?"

The Sparra Queen dosed her eyes, remembering the locations and types of bird. "Backa roof, hawkbird. This side, gooseflier. Other side, owlbird. That side, crow-bird. All wormbird stone, you see."

Cornflower took a few paces back and pointed upwards. "I can see a wild goose carved this side. 1 can just make it out. Look, it leans outwards with its wings spread. Funny, I've never noticed it before."

The Abbot settled his paws into his wide sleeves. "There are a great many things about Redwall that we do not know. It is an ancient and mysterious place. The longer I live here the more I see how everything our ancestors built into it has a story or a reason. It is all part of the Mossflower tradition and history. The goose is facing west towards the sunset and the great sea. That is the way they travel each late season. I think the hawk must face north. It is a warlike bird, and the northlands were always troubled by war. The owl, I guess, will face east to the dense forest and the rising sun. That only leaves one way for the crow to face."

The party walked round to the remaining side of the Abbey. John Churchmouse adjusted his gla.s.ses and pointed.

176.

"South, the crow points south! What can't fly, yet has a beak? The crow made of stone, of course. We've found it! If only Jess or Sam Squirrel were here, they could climb up and investigate it."

Queen Warbeak puffed out her feathers. "Why squirrel climb? Sparra fly, me 'vestigate um crow stone."

The Sparra Queen was off like an arrow. From below, she looked like a small black speck as she hovered around the crow statue, which protruded from the high eaves. Warbeak did not stay long. She fluttered about, then winged down, landing with a sprightly hop on the gravelled path.

"Much wonnsign, go this way, go that way, up, down, round, round."

"Just as I thought," John Churchmouse groaned. "There's writing on the statue, but sparrows cannot read at all."

Mordalfus nudged him. "Hush, John. We don't want to offend Queen Warbeak. She's doing all she can to help. We'll j ust have to think of a way to get a copy of that writing down here."

Warbeak watched them talking. She knew what they were discussing. c.o.c.king her head to one side, she winked her fierce bright eye. "How you do that. Sparra no can carry mouse, too wormfat, too big. Sparra no read um wonnsign like old mouse Abbot do with book. Plenty problem."

The Abbot stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "Indeed it is. Queen Warbeak, but we must help Matthias."

"Teach those birds to do a rubbin'." Ambrose Spike stepped forward with parchment and charcoal sticks. "I've often done it meself on some of the old barrel carvin's in the wine cellar. Pretty patterns they got carved on 'em."

Cornflower clapped her paws together. "Of course, that's the answer. I'm sure Queen Warbeak could rub over a parchment with charcoal if her Span-as held that 177.

parchment fiat upon the writing. Here, give me a moment or two with Warbeak. I'm sure I can teach her."

With no sense of night or day, it was impossible to tell how long they had been trapped inside the cave. The air had become thicker, more rancid and hotter. Matthias felt his head throbbing with pain. He tried to stop his leaden eyelids closing in sleep and all around him he could hear the shallow, ragged breathing of the others. He had tried talking to them several times, but it was little use, they were all in a deep sleep approaching a state of coma. Gripping the handle of his marvelous sword tightly, he tried to concentrate on a way out. There was little hope. They were entombed in a cavern of virtually solid rock with a ma.s.sive slide of earth and stone sealing the entrance.

The warrior mouse could stay awake no longer. He leaned back against the gently heaving bulk of Orlando and let his resolve drift. At first it was quite a peaceful feeling, save for the lack of air, which made breathing difficult and painful, but gradually his senses began to numb and he breathed shallowly in short pauses. As blackness enveloped him, the warrior mouse began dreaming.

He was in the Great Hall of his beloved Redwall Abbey. Sunlight streamed through the high windows in a coloured cascade, filtering through the stained gla.s.s, weaving patterns on the cool stone walls. Matthias was walking towards the long tapestry. He knew where he was going: to see Martin the Warrior. Yes, there he was, the great Founder Warrior and Champion of Redwall, standing proud in the center of his tapestry. Matthias was not at all surprised when Martin stepped out of the woven cloth and confronted him. He went forward to shake paws with Martin, but the figure backed away. His face was scowling and he picked something up from the floor. It was Orlando's huge bartleaxe!

Matthias was shocked. Martin advanced upon him and prodded the axehead into his side. It nipped him painfully.

"Ouch! Martin, it's me, Matthias. Why are you attacking me?"

Martin jabbed Matthias in the side again, this time calling out in a loud accusing voice, "Why do you sleep, Warrior? You must save your son and his friends."

Matthias tried to reach his sword to defend himself as Martin thrust at him again, but his paws felt lifeless. They hung limp by his sides. He winced with pain as the great axe seared his side again. "A warrior who sleeps in time of danger is no warrior but a coward!"

"Ouch, stoppit!"

Matthias awoke to find he had somehow rolled off Orlando and was lying on the head of the axe. Each time he moved, it dug painfully into his side. Sitting upright, he rubbed the spot, realizing it had all been a fevered dream. But it was also help and a warning from his fellow warrior spirit.

Forcing himself upright, he held the axe by the twin blades, and by staggering about in the dark he located the blocked entrance. With agonizing slowness he pulled himself as high as he could up the sloping hill of debris until he was at its topmost point. Breaming hard, sweat starting out all over beneath his habit, Matthias began probing the rubble heap with the long axe handle. Pushing and shoving laboriously, he felt the long axe haft sink into the hill. Sometimes it struck a rock, but with a bit of manoeuvring he thrust it past the obstacle. Almost the full length of the haft was buried in the pile. With a final effort he gave one last painful shove, and fell forward as the haft 1 buried itself entirely. Slowly, wearily, he started waggling the shaft by pushing the twin blades from side to side, then very carefully he began withdrawing the axe from the hole he had made, with painstaking care sliding the axe back until it came all the way out.

178.

179.

Matthias knelt paw-deep in the rubble, hardly daring to draw breath. Like the first kiss of sun upon ice in spring, he felt it on his whiskers. . . .

Fresh air!

Tears of grat.i.tude flowed freely through the dust upon the Warrior's face. Cool, dean, fresh air and a shaft of daylight poured in.

"Thank you, Martin. Thank you for our lives, my long-dead warrior friend."

Scrambling down off the heap, Matthias located Basil. Rubbing the hare's limbs and tugging at his ears, he pummelled and ma.s.saged as best he could. It took quite a while before there was any response, then Basil soon proved he was his old self.

"Owch ooch! Steady on, laddie. Tchah! Why'd you wake me, I was halfway through a leek and lettuce pastie and just gettin' ready to demolish a summer salad as big as a house. Huh, could've done it too if you hadn't come along, I say, my old head's burstin'. It must've bin that cask of elderberry wine me and old Spike drank together. Haha, I got more than him, though. Bigger swallow, /see."

Matthias ruffled Basil's ears gratefully. "Come on, up on your paws, you old glutton. See to young Cheek, while I'll deal with jess. If 11 take three of us to bring Orlando round. I hope he hasn't stopped breathing altogether."

It took them a considerable while to wake the others. Fortunately they were all still alive, though Orlando gave them a few anxious moments, and heads still ached. However, they were uplifted and heartened by the small flow of fresh air and the shaft of daylight that penetrated their tomb. Finally Orlando sat up, nursing his head.

"Ooh! I've got a headache big enough for ten badgers. I never knew fresh air could taste so good, though. If s like drinking from a cold mountain stream in midsummer."

180.

"Steady on, old chap. Don't start talkin' about cold drinks, if s more than a body can stand, doncha know. Why, I remember the best drink I ever ha-MMMMFFF!"

Jess had stifled Basil's reminiscences with her thick furred tail. She held up a paw for silence. "Ssshhh, listen!"

In the sudden stillness they could faintly hear noises from outside.

Cheek danced up and down. "There's some creatures out there, I'm sure of it!"

They listened intently. Sure enough, faint sounds filtered in with the air and light through the hole.

Jabez Stump voiced his feelings: "Could be friends, or mayhap they could be enemies."

Orlando stood in the shaft of light. "Who cares, as long as we get out of here. Friend or foe, we can sort out later."

Matthias picked up his sword decisively. "Orlando is right, we must get out of here. Now, we must take a chance. If s a double risk because we may destroy our air supply. Are you with me?"

There was an immediate call of agreement.

Taking Orlando's axe, Matthias tied his swordbelt to the end of the handle, then he gave it to Basil. "Here, you've got the longest limbs, old fellow. Push that through the hole and waggle it about to attract attention."

Taking the battleaxe, Basil shinmed up the rubble and pushed the improvised pennant into the hole. Darkness fell as the light was blocked out. Cheek whimpered a bit then tell silent. All that could be heard was Basil grunting with exertion as he strove to gain attention, waving the handle to and fro by means of twisting the twin axeheads round and round.

"Anything happening yet, Basil?" Jess Squirrel called out hopefully.

"Can't tell yet, Jess. . . . Wait, I think someone has hold of the other end. Yes! They're pushing the axe back. Oof! Steady on. Think I'd better pull the handle back in 181.

so we can parley through the jolly old hole with thingummybobbins, whoever they are."