It was getting toward evening when they reached the Rapscallion camp on the hillside above the stream. A shudder pa.s.sed through Tammo as he followed Skaup's party. There were countless vermin crouched around fires, cooking, resting, squabbling, and arguing with their neighbors. Drums throbbed ceaselessly, and hideously painted faces glared curiously at the two disguised hares. Everybeast was armed with an ugly array of weaponry, from cutla.s.ses and spears down to what looked like sharpened hooks set on long poles.

Smoke from the fires swirled around them as they reached the stream bank. Skaup halted his party in front of a tent with four rats guarding the entrance, and laid the supplies they had foraged for on the ground.

Tammo and Midge were pushed forward. Suddenly the tent flap was thrown back and they found themselves face-to-face with Damug Warfang, Firstblade of all Rapscallions. Though the fur on his back stood rigid with fright, Tammo could not help being impressed by Damug's barbarically splendid appearance. The Greatrat was wearing the helmet with a skull on its spike, and his slitted feral eyes glared at them out of a scarlet and blue painted face. He wore a close-meshed tunic of silver mail, belted about with a broad snakeskin band. Sandals and gauntlets of green lizard skin covered his paws.

Damug Warfang leaned forward, his powerful frame like a coiled steel spring as he pointed at the hares with his symbol 214 of office, the sword with two edges, one straight, the other like the waves of the sea.

"What do you want here? You are not Rapscallions!"

Midge nodded his head knowingly as he spoke out boldly, "I was a Rapscallion long afore you was born. I served under yore father, Gormad Tunn. Wait now, don't tell me, you'll be Damug the youngest son, or was it the eldest? I forget. Didn't you 'ave a brother? Haharr, I remember now, 'twas Byral. Where's 'e got to these days?"

Damug's eyes glinted dangerously. "You ask a lot of questions for a ragged old creature. Silence is the best policy for one such as you when I am holding a sword!"

Midge sat down on the ground. He pulled an a.s.sortment of colored pebbles and some carved twigs from beneath his sacking gown, and tossed them in the air. Totally ignoring the Warlord, he studied the jumble of wood and stone on the gra.s.s in front of him. Then in a sing-song voice he said, ' 'I got no need to ask questions, my signs tell me all. The moon an' stars, the wind in the trees, an' water that runs through the land, all these things whisper their secrets to me."

Midge could tell by the look in Damug's eyes that he had captured the Warlord's interest. The Greatrat sheathed his sword. "You are a Seer, one who can look into the future?"

"Somebeasts have called me Seer. Maybe they're right, who can tell?"

"Who is that beast with you, is he a Seer also?"

"Not Burfal. He is called the Silent One an' must be allowed to roam free an' unhindered. Burfal, go!"

Tammo sensed that Midge was giving him an excuse to find Rockjaw and report to him. Smiling foolishly he wandered off, Damug turned to Skaup. "Let n.o.beast harm Burfal; he may go where he pleases. Seer, what do they call you?"

"My name is Miggo. 'Twas given to me on the night of the dark moon by a black fox."

Damug stared at Midge for a long time, then beckoned to him, "Come into my tent, Miggo. You there, bring food and drink for this creature. The rest of you, get about your business."

Tammo's footpaws shook as he made his way through the camp. He could feel Skaup watching him, so instead of trav- 215 eling in a straight line he wandered w.i.l.l.y nilly. The aim of his walk was to take him over the hilltop, away from the camp, where he would seek out Rockjaw Grang.

Night had fallen now, and all over the hillside the vermin campfires burnt small islands of light into the darkness. Tammo was threading his way 'round one fire when he stumbled awkwardly. A hardwood stick had been thrust between his footpaws by one of the vermin seated at the edge of the fire. It was the ferret Rinkul. As Tammo tried to pull himself upright, Rinkul kicked him flat.

"Wot are you doin' skulkin' 'round our camp, yer dirty ole bundle of smells? Well, speak up!"

Tammo shook his head wildly, pointing dumbly to his mouth.

One of Rinkul's friends, a wily-looking vixen, s.n.a.t.c.hed the dirk from Tammo's rope belt and held it to the firelight. "An ole s...o...b..rpaws like you shouldn't be carryin' a blade like this'n 'round. Bit o' cleanin' up an' this'll make a fine weapon fer me."

Suddenly Skaup was on the pair of mem, whacking both Rinkul and the vixen heftily with his spear haft. "Don't y'dare put a paw near Burfal again, either o' ye!"

Tammo retrieved his dirk from where the vixen had dropped it, then he staggered off into the night as Skaup continued beating Rinkul and the vixen.

"Owch! Yaagh! We was only 'avin' a bit o' fun. Yowch! Aargh!"

"Fun, was it? I'll give ye fun! Firstblade's orders is that n.o.beast is to bother ole Burfal. Either o' ye lay paw on 'im agin an' Warfang'll slay yer good'n'slow. See!"

Skaup thwacked away with the spearhaft until he decided they had been punished thoroughly.

Tammo was relieved to be away from the Rapscallion camp. It was calm and peaceful on the other side of the hill; only the distant throb of drums on the night air reminded him of the vermin encampment. Suddenly a big dark figure detached itself from a clump of boulders and waved to him.

"Sithee, Tamm, over here, mate!"

Good old Rockjaw Grang. They crouched together in the outcrop, and Rockjaw dug oat scones, cheese, and cider from 2l6

his sizeable pack. He shared the food with Tammo as the young hare made his report.

"Midge has got his jolly old paws well under the table there. Damug thinks he's some kind o' Seer. Any news of the battleground yet, Rock?"

The giant hare demolished a scone in one bite. "Nay, 'tis too early yet. May'aps the Major'11 get word to me on the morrow."

Tammo squinted uncomfortably from beneath his odious rags. "Sooner the better, wot. I don't want t'stay in that foul place a moment longer'n I have to, chum."

"Aye, well, that's wot y'get for runnin' with Long Patrol, young Tamm. You'd best finish up vittlin' an' get back afore yore missed. I'll be here tomorrow night, same place."

Midge knew he was playing a risky game. Damug was no fool. He sat staring at the disguised hare across a small fire, which was laid in a pit at the center of his tent.

"Speak to me, Miggo, tell me something."

Midge stared into the flames awhile, then he spoke: "I see a mountain and a badger Warrior with eyes like blood. I see Gormad Tunn and a fleet defeated there."

Damug Warfang rose and, reaching across the fire, seized Midge around the neck. Lifting him high, Damug shook him like a rag. "Anybeast could have told you that, you sniveling wreck. Tell me of my future and tell me quickly, before your future ebbs away as I strangle you!"

Fighting for breath and with colored lights dancing before his eyes, Midge Manycoats dangled above Damug's head. Grabbing what he needed from beneath his ragged garb, he planted the object, at the same time kicking out with a footpaw and catching the Warlord in one eye.

Midge managed to shout hoa.r.s.ely, "I see! I see your future!"

Damug dropped him, squinting hard, and pawed at his eye 217.

2l8

to make sure no damage had been done. Midge sat up, ma.s.saging his throat. Damug was sitting in his former position, the eye watering and smarting slightly. He stared unruffled at Midge, unwilling to let him see that fie had been hurt. "Well then, what do you see? Tell me." Midge went back to his former seat at the other side of the fire. Again he took out his pebbles and twigs, tossing them in the air and watching how they fell. He spoke like one in a trance.

"Here are ten twigs, each of them represents one hundred Rapscallions; this means you command a thousand. These stones are red, the color of blood, the color of a red sandstone Abbey. Only one stone can rule that place, that is your stone, the brown one. Brown, the color of the earth and the symbol of the Firstblade who will conquer all the earth."

Midge closed his eyes and lapsed into silence. After a while, Damug became impatient, wanting to know more.

"Where is this brown stone? I see only twigs and red stones on the floor. Tell me quickly, Seer, where is the brown stone?''

Reaching into his rags, Midge cast a pawful of powder into the fire. The flames gave forth smoke as they burned blue.

"Aaaahh! Tis up to ye to find it, Firstblade. The stone cannot be found in yore heart. Allbeasts know that a Warlord's heart is made o' stone, so how can a stone be found within a stone? But 'tis also known that you are wise-mayhaps the stone is in yore brain. Can you look inside yore skull, Damug Warfang?"

Mystified, the Greatrat took off his helmet and placed it on the ground. He touched his own head, back, front, and beside both ears, all the time glaring through the firesmoke at Midge. "Find a brown stone inside my own skull? Do you take me for an idiot? Let me warn you, Miggo, if you think you're going to pull something from my ear, I've seen that done before-try it and you're a deadbeast!"

Midge folded his paws, staring back at Damug. "I'll sit over here, Sire. If I tried anythin' you'd say it was a trick. My voices tell me the brown stone is inside yore skull; more'n that I cannot say."

Damug touched his head again, this time more carefully- 219 running both paws along his jawline, around his eyes and the base of his skull. Suddenly he jumped up angrily, shaking his head. "This is stupid! You talk in riddles. How could there be a brown stone inside my skull? Rubbish!"

He kicked the war helmet to one side. From the mouth of the rabbit skull impaled on its spike, a brown stone rolled forth.

Trying not to show his immense relief, Midge pointed. "See, the skull belongs t'you. Did I not say the brown stone could be found inside yore skull?"

Midge Manycoats had guessed correctly. Damug Warfang was like any other conqueror, superst.i.tious and ready to believe in omens and signs.

Damug picked up the simple brown pebble and gazed in wonder at it. "You spoke truly, Miggo. You have the gift of a Seer. What is my future? Tell me-I must know!"

Midge knew now that he had his fish well hooked. Closing his eyes, he sat back, remote and aloof. "I need food and drink now, rest too. Have quarters prepared for me and my friend, Burfal the Silent One. Tomorrow we will talk."

Rinkul the ferret was smarting from the beating he had received, but that did not stop him. He limped about the Rapscallion camp, looking for the one called Burfal. There was something about the dumb creature that disturbed him. Using the hardwood stick to aid his walking, he crisscrossed the hillside, checking the creatures around their campfires. Maybe it was something in Burfal's eyes, in the way he had looked at him.

"If yer after vittles, we ain't got none 'ere, mate!"

Rinkul ignored Sneezewort and questioned Lousewort. "May'aps you've seen a raggy ole beast about, one o' the two who came inter camp earlier on? Did 'e pa.s.s this way?"

Lousewort sucked on a fishbone and thought for a moment. "Er, er, y'mean the Silent One? Stay away from 'im, matey, Firstblade's orders. Did you 'ear, Cap'n Skaup knocked die livin' daylights out o' a few smarty-chops that tried interferin' wid that dumb beast. Stupid fools, serves 'em right, I say!"

Rinkul's hardwood stick rapped Lousewort's nose viciously. "When I wants yore opinion I'll ask for it, mud- 22o bottom. Now, which way did the dumb beast go?''

Sneezewort pointed toward the stream. ' 'Went by us a moment back, 'eaded thataways."

Supported by his stick, Rinkul hobbled off to the stream. Lousewort hugged his nose tenderly as he watched the ferret go. "There wath no need for him to do that, wath there!"

Tammo had seen the caged squirrel on the stream bank. Pulling faces, and pushing the two stoats guarding the cage, he made it clear that he did not want them around. The guards retreated a distance to the nearest fire, where they sat warming themselves. Word had got around regarding the Silent One, and they were careful not to offend him.

Drawing his dirk, Tammo pushed it through the bars and began prodding the old squirrel, pretending to have some cruel fun with him. Moving to the cage's far side to ,ivoid the blade, the old creature cast a withering glance at his tormentor. "Do yore worst, vermin. I ain't afeared of ye!" Tammo's whisper barely reached his ears. "Sorry, old chap. Can't speak up, they think I'm dumb, y'see. I'm no vermin, this is a disguise. Really I'm a hare of the Long Patrol. I'll help you if I can."

Lying flat, the squirrel rolled over, closer to Tammo so that he could whisper back. "Get me some food an' a blade!"

"I'll try, but don't attempt anything on your own. Leave this to me an' my friend-he's disguised like me."

Before he spoke further, Tammo took a swift look about and saw Rinkul leaning on his stick, watching him. Throwing caution to the winds, Tammo dashed at the ferret and dove on him. They went down together. Tammo grabbed Rinkul, pulling him on top of himself and uttering little mute squeaks of distress.

A Rapmark stoat named Bluggach, who was seated by the fire with the two guards, grabbed his cutla.s.s. "Lookit that, the addle-brained oaf, don't 'e know no better? Damug gave orders not t'touch the dumb 'un! c.u.mmon, mates!"

Rinkul found himself roughly hauled off Tammo, his protests lost among the angry roars of Bluggach and the two guards as they thrashed him with the flats of their blades. "Git off that beast. Wot d'yer think yore doin'?"

221.

"We've all been ordered to. stay clear of 'im!" "You wanna dig the soil out'n yore ears, ferret!" "I ain't gonna report this or Lord Damug'dlcill yer, but you gotta learn to obey orders. Teach 'im a lesson, mates!" Gathering his rags about him, Tammo fled the scene.

Midge stuck his head out of a canvas shelter that had been erected between a bush and a rock. He peered into the night at the lumpy figure ambling aimlessly about.

"Tamm, over here, pal! We've got our own special quarters!"

Tammo scrambled gratefully into the shelter and crouched by the fire. Midge pa.s.sed him some rough-looking barley-cakes, a piece of cooked fish, and a canteen of strong grog, but Tammo put it aside, saying, "Thanks, Midge, but I've already eaten. I contacted Rockjaw and he gave me supper. But tell me your news first-how did y'get on with old thingummy Warface?"

The friends exchanged information, telling each other all they had experienced since arriving at the Rapscallion camp. Tammo tightened his paw 'round the dirk handle, gritting his teeth. "Those vermin we were tracking-remember the one that got away? I've seen him, the ferret they call Rinkul. He was the last of the murderers who slew the old badgerlady and my friend Russa; the sc.u.m still carries her stick. First chance I get I'll make him pay for them!"

Midge shook his head. "That's not what we were sent here for, Tamm. You'll get your chance at Rinkul, but not here- it could cost our lives an' the safety of Redwall. Let's rest up a bit, then when all's quiet we'll take food to the squirrel. I've got a small blade with me, we'll deliver that to him as well. Rest awhile now."

Long after the midnight hour had pa.s.sed and the sprawling Rapscallion camp lay silent, two figures made their way carefully down to the prisoner in his cage by the stream.

Redwall's twin bells had tolled out the midnight hour, but their muted tones were heard only by the three creatures who were still awake. Abbess Tansy, Friar b.u.t.ty, and Craklyn the Recorder sat around a table in the kitchens, studying the journal of Abbess Germaine. It had been written countless seasons ago when the Abbey was actually under construction. The little owl Orocca had watched them awhile, waiting for Taunoc, who had gone off under the command of Major Perigord. When it became apparent he would not be returning that night, Orocca retired to care for her three owlchicks in the kitchen cupboard.

b.u.t.ty selected some hot m.u.f.fins, which his helpers had baked for next morning's breakfast, took a bowl of curds, flavored it with honey, and stirred in roasted almonds. He brewed a jug of rose-petal and plum-flower tea and set the lot on the table, inviting his friends to help themselves.

"It's sort of half breakfast an' half supper, suppfast, I calls it, when I'm up very late cookin' down here. Tell us more about this place called Kotir, marm."

Craklyn opened the journal at an ill.u.s.trated page. "This is 222.

223 what it must have looked like, an old crumbling castle, damp, dark, and ruled over by fearsome wildcats, backed by a vermin horde. Martin the Warrior and his friends destroyed it and defeated the enemy, long before Redwall was built. They diverted a river and flooded the valley in which Castle Kotir stood. It sank beneath the waters and was never seen again. Redwall was built from the north side first, I think the south wall was to have been bordered by the lake that had covered Kotir. But our Abbey was not built in one season, nor ten, nor even twenty. You can see by these sketches farther on that by the time the north wall was erected, the lake had begun to dry up. Abbess Germaine states that all the soil and rock dug up for the Abbey foundations was dumped into the lake. Well, over a number of seasons the lake became little more than a swamp, the only trace of it being a spring that bubbled up in a hollow some distance from the original lake site. This kept throwing up clear water until it became incorporated in the Redwall plans as an Abbey pond."

Tansy blew upon her tea and sipped noisily. "The very same pond we have in our grounds today, how clever! But carry on, Craklyn. What happened next?''

"Hmm, it says here that by the time the main Abbey building was in progress, a drought arrived after the winter. Spring, summer, and autumn were intensely hot and dry, not a drop of rain throughout all three seasons. Even the Abbey pond shrunk by half its length and breadth. What had once been swamp became firm and hard ground, with tree seedlings taking root on its east side. So they ignored the fact that Castle Kotir, or a lake, or even a swamp had once been there, and carried on to build Redwall Abbey."

Craklyn closed the journal and dipped a hot m.u.f.fin in the sweetened curd mixture. Friar b.u.t.ty flipped through the pages; yellowed and dusty, they seemed to breathe ancient history. He paused at one page with a small ill.u.s.tration at its chapter heading.

"Here 'tis, see! A sketch of the completed Abbey with a dotted line representin' Kotir an' where it once stood. There's the answer!"

Abbess Tansy brushed m.u.f.fin crumbs from the parchment. * 'Well, I never. They built the south wall right over the part 224 where Castle Kotir's northwest walltower stood. So after all these seasons the ground has decided to give way, and that hole we were looking down must be the inside of Kotir's wall-tower. It would be fascinating to climb down there if it was dry and safe enough."

Orocca's head appeared around the partially open cupboard door. "You'll beg my pardon saying, Abbess, but I wish you'd stop all your noisy yammering and go now. These eggchicks need their sleep!"

Tansy began gathering up the remains of the meal carefully. "I'm sorry, Orocca. Right, let's away to our beds. We'll take a look down there first thing in the morning. Shad and Fore-mole will go with us, I'm sure."

As dawn shed its light over the flatlands west of Redwall, Major Perigord sat up in the dry ditch bed where he had pa.s.sed the night. Captain Twayblade was balancing on a thick protruding root, scanning the dewy fields in front of her.

Perigord reached up and tugged her footpaw. "My watch I think, old gel. Any sign of 'em yet?"

Twayblade climbed down from her perch. "Not a bally ear-tip. Where d'you s'pose they've got to, sah?"

The Major drew the rags of his once-splendid green velvet tunic about him and yawned. "Who knows? Torgoch an' Mono are a blinkin' law unto themselves when they're on the loose together. I say there, come on, Taunoc, you jolly old bundle of feathers, up in the air with you an' scout the terrain, wot!"

Taunoc peered from under his wing, then struggled from beneath the fems where he had been sleeping, and blinked owlishly.

"Strictly speaking, I am a nocturnal bird, not widely given to flapping about in dawnlight like a skylark. What is it you want?"

With a flourish, Perigord drew his saber and poked at the sky. "I require your fine-feathered frame cleaving the upper atmosphere, lookin' out for any sign of our friends. That too much trouble?''

With a short hopping run the little owl launched into flight. "After a night in a ditch, nothing is too much trouble."