Storm-bruised clouds, heavy and lowering, dropped teeming rain into the howling March wind, slanting in from the northwest to batter the last of winter's snow that clung to the stones of Redwall Abbey. Inside the gatehouse it was snug and warm, though there was not much room. All the available chairs and floor space had been taken up by little creatures—moles, mice, squirrels, and hedgehogs. They watched in silence as an ancient squirrel, silver haired and bent with age from long seasons, banked up the fire with two beech logs. He turned slowly and, shooing two very young mice from his armchair, the aged squirrel sat, a twinkle in his eye as he watched his audience. "Sit still, be good, my Dibbuns—the special breakfast will soon be here. Listen for the knock now; my ears don't work very well these days." The little ones, who were collectively known as Dibbuns, cupped paws about their ears, listening intently. All dial could be he^rd was the spattering rain on the win- 2 BRIAN JACQUES dows and the wind mourning its dirge around the outside walls. The knock came upon the door like a spell being broken.' A bass-voiced molebabe stood up shouting, "Hurr et be, brekkist!" Several of the young ones had to force the door open against the gale. A fat old hedgehog backed himself inside, pulling a trolley loaded with a cauldron, wooden bowls, and spoons. No sooner was he inside than the wind whipped the door shut with a loud slam. Shaking rainwater from his venerable gray spikes, the hedgehog lifted the cauldron lid. A delicious aroma from the steaming vessel caused cries of delight. He wiped the corners of his eyes on a spotted kerchief and winked at his companion in the armchair. "Pearl Queen Pudden, messmate—nothin' like it on a cold wet day. Come on, me little mateys, pass these bowls *n' spoons around while it's still nice an' hot." All that could be heard was the scrape of spoon upon bowl as they sat eating breakfast. The ancient squirrel finished his portion and ruffled the ears of a mouse sitting on the chair arm. "You enjoying that, Jerril?" The little mouse licked his spoon. * 'Pearl Queen Pud-den's nice. What's in it?" "Ask my mate. He made it." The old hedgehog cleared the Dibbuns from his armchair on the other side of the hearth and sat down chuckling, his huge stomach shaking like a bowl of jelly. "Hohohoh! I'll tell ye what's in Pearl Queen Pudden, young Jerril. Anythin' a beast can lay his paws on. Apples, nuts, berries, plums, an' memories, lots o' memories. Ain't that right, messmate?" The squirrel's eyes shone as he gazed into the fire. The BellmoJcer 3 "Aye, that's right. Memories. Long seasons gone an' high old summers that never fade from our minds." The bass-voiced molebabe looked up from his second helping. "Do that mean ee goin' to tell us'n's a tale, zurr?" he asked. "Well, there's nothing else t'do in weather like this," said the ancient squirrel, as he put aside his bowl and spoon. "Aye, I'll tell you a story, but my mate will have to help me out in parts, because it's a very long tale." Jerril was licking his bowl, but he popped his head out to say, "Did yer make it up, sir?" The squirrel shook his grizzled head vigorously. "Make it up? Indeed not. No, young feller, this story is true. 'Tis not just my story; it belongs to many creatures. 1 gathered their own bits from each one of 'em." The hedgehog in the armchair opposite nodded. "Aye, though it would've never happened but for one, a mouse called Joseph the Bellmaker, for the dream was his." Outside, the rain flattened young grass and the wind rattled leafless branches that were trying hard to put out small buds. A delicately thin icicle tinkled from the gatehouse roof, like the last tear of winter. Inside, the ruddy firelight gleamed on the young faces, each one watching the ancient squirrel as he leaned forward and began the story. BOOK ONE The Dream It is said that in the hungry land of ice and snow from whence he came the beast was known and feared by the names he had taken. Fox wolf! The Urgan Nagru! He and his mate, Silvamord, commanded a vast horde of savage gray rats. They ravaged the northlands unopposed—tundra, forest, and mountain lay under the claws of Nagru and his vixen. But the Foxwolf knew there was one enemy he could never defeat, one foe more ruthless than any living thing. Winter! Snow, ice, howling blizzards, and famine were the real rulers of the country he had despoiled, a bone-chilling starkness that conquered all. Nagru and Silvamord were forced to yield, realizing that starvation and death stalked the country they had stripped bare. So it was that Nagru took Silvamord and all the horde in three great ships to search for the sun. Those were the dangerous seasons. Battered across dark, roaring seas they went, narrowly dodging huge floating ice mountains, the ships' sails and riggings frozen 8 BRIAN JACQUES stiff with rimy spray. Sometimes they lay becalmed in ghostly latitudes, wreathed in spectral mists with the waters beneath them still and fathomless. Completely lost, the Foxwolf plowed onward, driven across trackless wastes where no vessel's bow had ever cut spray, avoiding leviathans of the deep and shoals of unnamed sea-beasts. Strange, hostile waters closed over their wake as the weary convoy sailed deeper into the unknown. Then one morning the lookouts saw that the seas were gentler. Small fish swam playfully alongside the wave-scoured hulls, and the weather turned fair. Gazing upward, the eyes of Foxwolf beheld fleecy white clouds with sun peeping between them. Looking out to the horizon, he saw the thin green-brown line of land. The Foxwolf threw back his head and howled triumphantly. He had defeated the wide, wintry seas. Silvamord joined him on deck, and together they bayed their defiance at the blue spring sky. Roaring and screeching, the gray rat horde thronged decks and rigging to cheer their leaders. It was a curious sight: three big, battered ships, swarming with thin, wild-eyed creatures, tattered sails flapping above creaking decks as they rode the ingoing swell toward shore. And so it was that Urgan Nagru came to the far south! The land lay like a dream out of time under the spell of early spring. Southsward! A soft, peaceful region of plenty that had never felt the cruel breath of war. Stowing the three ships up a heavily wooded creek, Nagru waded ashore with Silvamord and their ragged, murderous followers. Lean from hunger and privation, eager for loot and conquest, they pressed hurriedly inland. The time of the Foxwolf had come to Southsward! The BeUmaker From his vantage point on a wooded hilltop, Rab Stream-battle gazed across the valley to Castle Floret. The otter had watched and planned almost every day as spring passed into summer. Castle Floret stood atop a high flat plateau, its north side abutting the sheer cliff face. The castle's other three sides were surrounded by a crescent-shaped moat. A mighty drawbridge commanded almost a third of the front south side, and at this edge the plateau had a long flight of broad steps carved into the living rock from top to valley floor. Rab stared sadly at his old home. It resembled a beautiful forgotten cake left standing on the green-clothed tableland. Against a sky of dusty blue, cream-colored towers shimmered beneath quaint, circular red-tiled roof-caps. Dark green ivy and golden saxifrage flourished amid the crenellations. Campion and climbing roses burgeoned carelessly over windowsills and framed doors. The hot afternoon did not contribute the slightest breeze to ruffle the variegated pennants draped idly around tall flagpoles. Rab dismissed the dreamlike qualities of his old home, riveting his worried brown eyes on the window alongside the drawbridge top. Had something gone wrong? Did Nagru know of the escape that had been planned? His friends, Gael Squirrelking, Queen Serena, and little Truf-fen, had they received the message from Relph the blackbird? The otter clutched his bow tightly, staring at the window, awaiting the signal as thoughts raced through his troubled mind. Why, oh why, had Gael not listened to him? Rab recalled the day he had first argued with his friend. The quarrel had become furious and bitter and had ended with IO BRIAN JACQUES Gael ordering his old friend either to curb his tongue or leave the castle. Stone-faced, Rab stalked angrily out of Floret, taking the entire otter castle guard with him—not because he feared Nagru, but because he could see the evil that Gael was blind to. Rab hated and loathed the cunning Foxwolf with an intensity that banished all fear. Now his friend the Squir-relking and his family were prisoners in their own home. The wickedness of Nagru was a specter that would soon blight the whole of Southsward. Gael should have heeded the warnings Rab had issued, but instead he chose to play the king and offer the Foxwolf hospitality. Suddenly, Rab's eye caught a flutter of iridescent blue-black wings carrying a scrap of red cloth to the window by the drawbridge. Rab Streambattle notched an arrow to his bowstring. The escape was on! The sun hung like a hot merciless eye, watching two small creatures huddled in the shade of a shale outcrop on die wasteland floor. The mousemaid Mariel of Redwall shook an empty flask over the outstretched tongue of her friend Dandin. Two single drops fell slowly, then no more. "Put your tongue away," she said, sadly. "The sun will think we're mocking him." The young mouse nodded skyward as he withdrew his parched tongue. "Huh, he's been mocking us for the last week." They both sat staring at the empty flask. Mariel gently kicked her slack haversack. "Two stale oatcakes in there. D'you fancy one?" Dandin smiled ruefully. "No thanks. They're the two The BeUmaker ii you said you'd keep as a memento of Redwall Abbey. It's four seasons since we left there—I'd break every tooth in my head trying to chomp on them. Besides, I'm too dry to eat. Whew, it's too hot even to talk!" Mariel closed her eyes, settling back into the shade. "Sleep then; we'll carry on tonight when it gets cooler." Dandin lay down clasping his paws behind his head and called out to the sun, "Did you hear that? We're going to sleep, turn the heat down a bit, will you!" Mariel opened one eye. "Get to sleep, thirstygut," she said. Dandin closed his eyes. There was a moment's silence, then he began talking aloud to himself. "It'll be teatime back at the Abbey now. I bet I know what they'll be having, too. Cold strawberry cordial from deep in the cellars, October ale, dark and cool in foaming tankards. Prob'ly mint tea as well, icy cold, brewed since dawn, clear and fragrant, just right for sipping on a hot day like ...Yowch!" Mariel brandished the haversack over her friend. "One more word and I'll let you have it again!" "Can't hear you, old mouseypaws," Dandin said as he flopped against her, rolling his eyes comically. "You've knocked me senseless with those two oatcakes in there." "Good. Perhaps you'll be quiet now." "Quiet? I haven't said a single word!" "Right, then I'll say a single word. Goodnight!" "Don't you mean good afternoon?" "I mean goodnight, or I'll brain you with this haversack!" "Oh, righto. Goodnight!" 12 BRIAN JACQUES Mariel woke in darkness. Warned by her warrior instinct, she lay motionless. Somebeast was trying gradually to sneak the haversack out from under her head. It was not Dandin—she could hear his snores drifting gently up to the canopy of the star-strewn night. As the final corner of their supply bag eased slowly away, she sprang into action. Slamming a footpaw hard on the haversack, she prevented the thief from making off with it. In the dim light, Mariel could make out a small, fat figure scurrying off into the wasteland. Snatching one of the two ancient oatcakes from the bag, the mousemaid hefted it like a discus, yelling as she flung it. "Redwaaaaallll!" Thonk! It struck edge on, right between the robber's ears. He dropped in a heap. Dandin leaped up, still half asleep, his paws waving. "More October ale there! Wha ... Who ... Mariel!" As she ran toward the felon, the mousemaid was yelling, "I knew those oatcakes'd come in useful—got the blaggard!" Dandin followed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he arrived upon the scene, Mariel was kneeling crestfallen over her quarry. "Oh dear, what've I done?" she wailed. "He's only a little un!" It was a small hedgehog. Dandin stooped to feel the big bump in the center of its head. "Middle of the night, running target, great shot I'd say." Mariel turned on him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, Dandin, how could you say that. I'd never have thrown at such a little feller intentionally. But it all hap- The BeUmaker 13 pened so quickly, I couldn't see who it was." Dandin picked up the oatcake and chuckled. "Not to worry—look, the little rogue's coming around fine. Haha, this is a true Redwall missile. See, there's not even a mark on it!" The small hedgehog sat up slowly, gingerly pawing his head. He blinked at them and said, "Ooh! Where be I? Wot 'appened?" Before Mariel could answer, Dandin chipped in, * 'You tripped and bumped your head, old lad." Glaring at Dandin, the little beast bristled. "Me name don't be oF lad. I be Bowly Pintips, an' I'll thank ee to address I proper!" Dandin adopted a look of mock fear and bowed respectfully. "Accept my humble apologies, Your Royal Bowlyness!" Bowly snatched the oatcake and brandished it. "See this 'ere rock as I tripped over? Well, you make sport o' me, an' I'll biff ye with it! Wot's yore names? Speak up now afore I loses me temper with ye both!" The hedgehog's impudence caused Mariel's mood of pity to vanish instantly. She grabbed Bowly firmly by his nose, pulling him up on tippaw, and said, "Listen to me, you cheeky little robber. I'm Mariel of Redwall and this is Dandin. We're both warriors. So keep a civil tongue in your head, or we'll give you two more lumps to go on top of the one you've already got!" Tears streamed from Bowly's eyes as his nose was squeezed. "Yowow! Leggo ob be doze, yore hurtig bee!" Mariel released him and he groveled in the sand, rubbing at both bump and snout. The mousemaid nodded as she sat by him. BRIAN JACQUES "That's better. Now, what's a little snippet like you doing out in the wastelands all alone? Where's your mum 'n' dad?" Bowly shrugged glumly. "Never 'ad none as I c'd remember. Two weasels *ad me catchered south of 'ere, made me slave for 'em, tied me to a post at nights, but I 'scaped an' mimed away." Dandin's friendly face grew grim. "How far south are these two weasels, Bowly?" he asked. "About arf a night's march from 'ere. I only 'scaped just afore dark, Mister Dandy." "My name's Dandin, not Mister Dandy," said Dandin, pawing the long dagger at his belt. "These two weasels, have they got food and drink?" "O aye, they got vittles aplenty. Robs travelers, they do." Mariel had retrieved the haversack. She knotted the carrying ropes together, exchanging a slow smile with Dandin. "Let's go and pay these two weasels a visit," she said. The sand and shale were still warm from the day's heat, but the night air was cool as the three creatures strode south. Bowly Pintips giggled aloud when Dandin explained their plan to him. Spurge and Agric the weasel slavers sat by their fire as dawn's rosy paws probed the eastern horizon. They were trying to brew a pan of mint tea, and making a total mess of it. At the side of the fire lay a stack of raw apple pancakes. Spurge burned his paw on the pan handle and danced about waving it. "Rot me ears,'ow does that Hddle spikedog brew this stuff?'' Agric prodded the pancakes with a wicked-looking willow cane. "Search me," he said. "Huh! I ain't sure 'ow t'cook these pancakes the rascal made las' night. Rotten liddle pincushion, we'll track 'im down; he can't go far without water in the wastelands. Wait'11 I lay claws on *im. I'll make that runaway weep fer a season or more!" He swished the cane through the air, grinning crookedly in anticipation of giving Bowly a severe whipping. "Mornin', sirs. Sorry I runned off like'n that las' night!" Spurge's jaw dropped. There was Bowly, ambling around the big shale rock that marked their camp. Quivering with rage, Agric pointed with the cane to a wooden i6 BRIAN JACQUES The Bel/maker post driven into the ground with a heavy shackling rope attached to it. "Yew liddle scum, I'm goin' to bind you t' that post an' lash the prickles offa yore hide. Cummere!" Spurge knocked the cane aside. "After brekkfist, matey. We want 'im fit t' cook our vittles first. Get to it, yew lazy lump!" Obediently, Bowly stirred crushed mint leaves into the bubbling water, setting the pancakes on a thin shale slab which he balanced over the fire's edge. As he worked, Mariel strolled into the camp, smiling foolishly. She waved a paw at the two weasels. "Morning! Lovely day, isn't it? Any breakfast going spare for a hungry traveler?" Spurge and Agric could not believe their luck. Not only had the runaway surrendered, but they had suddenly got themselves a simpleton mousemaid traveling alone. It surely was turning out to be a nice day. "Wot y'got in there, mousey?" said Spurge, eyeing the haversack their new arrival was carrying. Mariel winked and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, a bit of this V that, y'know." The weasels went into a huddle, sniggering and whispering. After a while Agric turned to Mariel saying, "If yew wants to eat you gotta 'elp, see. There's fresh fruit an' water in that holler under the rock. Yew 'elp that lazy 'edgepig to ready the vittles, then we'll see yew gets somethin' nice, won't we, matey?" Spurge gave a malicious chuckle. "Ho yerss, it'll be a real surprise!" The food stock was good. Mariel busied herself preparing a fruit salad of strawberries, apples, plums, and pears. Pouring honey and water into a gourd, she crushed damsons in it and began shaking up a cordial. The weasels sat in the shade of the rock as the morning sun got up. They nudged each other, sniggering with ill-concealed mirth. Mariel winked at Bowly as she called out, "Morning's risen and breakfast's here, Eat, my friends, and be of good cheer!" Flipping his long dagger from paw to paw, Dandin strode boldly into the camp, kicking the weasels* foot-paws out of his way, instead of stepping over them. "Well, well, Mariel the Gullwhacker, am I invited to eat?" Mariel gave a roar of laughter quite inappropriate for a simple traveling mousemaid. "Hoho! Dandin, you old warrior, welcome!" Mariel and Bowly laid the food down on the ground. Dandin sat down between the two astonished weasels, calling out to Bowly, "Come on, little un, grab a plate and spoon—join us." Bowly obeyed with a will, helping himself to a hot apple pancake and a cooling beaker of damson cordial. As the weasels reached out for food, Dandin dealt them a couple of sharp slaps with the flat of his dagger blade and clucked disapprovingly at them. "Teh, tch! Where's your manners? Guests and young uns first. I'll tell you when it's your rum." By this time, the two weasels were looking distinctly uneasy. A lone mousemaid was one thing, but this Dandin looked like a seasoned warrior. i8 BRIAN JACQUES The Bellmaker Mariel, Dandin, and Bowly ate heartily, letting the mint tea cool as they sipped damson cordial and treated themselves to hot apple pancakes and fruit salad. "You'd have to be a robber and travel wide to get stuff like this, eh, young un?" Dandin said cheerfully to Bowly. Bowly nodded sagely. "Aye, that y'would, Sir Dandy." "Robbers must have to be good cooks. What d'you say, Bowly?'' said Mariel, sipping some mint tea appreciatively. ' 'No, marm, some robbers is slavers too. They catchers a liddle slave an' makes 'im do all the work. Robbers is awful creatures—they beats their slaves an' ties 'em up nights to a post wi' a big 'eavy rope, like that'n yonder." The weasels were very nervous now. Dandin caught their attention as he slit a pancake neatly in half with the keen edge of his dagger. His voice was low and dangerous as he said, "I don't suppose honest creatures like you would know of two such slavers, would you?" Agric developed a sudden stammer. "N ... n ... no S ... sir!" he squawked, his throat bobbing nervously. Bowly gurgled, spraying mint tea as he tried to suppress an attack of the giggles. The weasels were robbers and bullies, but when faced with the two warriors they were cowards. Dandin stared hard at the trembling slavers and, picking up the willow cane, he swished it under their noses. "Mariel, what d'you think, are these two telling the truth?" The mousemaid strode across to the wooden post the weasels had driven into the ground to tether Bowly. She unfastened the short, heavy rope from it. Winking at ;; Bowly and Dandin, she began tying a solid, complicated 4 knot in the rope's end. "Oh I don't know," she said. ;:< *'They look like fairly respectable beasts to me." From the weasels* food cache she produced half a dozen mixed beech and hazelnuts, still in their shells. * Placing them in a line on a flat rock, she turned to Spurge and Agric. "See this knotted rope? I used to own one like it— called it my Gullwhacker. I could lay a big seabird flat with one blow. Now I can't see any gulls hereabouts, but there1 d be other things to whack if I thought certain creatures were lying to us." Spinning the knotted rope in a skillful blur, Mariel dealt six lightning blows to the nuts on the rock. Whack! Smack! Crack! Thud! Bang! Splat! The weasels squeaked with fright. Trembling, they stared wide-eyed at the line of kernel and shell fragments, which was all that remained of the six nuts. Mariel dangled the Gullwhacker a fraction from their noses. "See what I mean?" Bowly grinned from ear to ear as he patted the weasels none too gently on their heads. "Nay, nay, you've made a mistake. I c'n see these are two good vermints. Why, I wager given arf a chance they'd thank us for callin' in to brekkist an' give us water 'n' vittles to 'elp us pore travelers on our way, wouldn't you?" Spurge and Agric took the hint swiftly. Leaping up, they loaded their food and drink store into the haversack. Bowly stood by, tossing the two hard oatcakes up and down. "These be my throwin' rocks. I been knowed to fetch 20 BRIAN JACQUES foebeasts down at fair distances with 'em, cos I be a warrior too, see." Dandin removed sufficient supplies for a day from the pack and laid them in front of the weasels. "You haven't had breakfast yet—here, take this with our compliments. We're traveling south. Which way are you bound?" Spurge shrugged unhappily. "North, I think, sir." Mariel swung the Gull whacker expertly across her shoulders. ' 'Well, keep an eye out for those two thieving robbers we mentioned, and be careful—it's dangerous country out here." Dandin spun his dagger in the air. Catching it by the hilt, he thrust it into his belt. "Aye, take care; never know who you might bump into.'" And the three friends strode off calling cheerful goodbyes to the crestfallen weasels. Thoroughly refreshed, they stepped out with a will. A mere half morning's walk brought them in sight of green, hilly scrubland and the promise of gentle, fertile countryside. Bowly trudged alongside Mariel, tossing his two oatcakes in the air. The mousemaid caught one and said, "Now then, you young rip, what are we going to do about you?" The small hedgehog snatched the oatcake back indignantly. "I've told ye my name be Bowly Pin tips; I ain't no young rip. I be goin' wi' you an' Dandy; I be a warrior from now on!" Dandin sliced an apple into three with his dagger and gave them each a piece, winking at Mariel over the small hedgehog's head. "What d'you think—has he got the makings of a warrior?'' Bowly scrunched his face into a ferocious scowl to The Bellmaker 21 show that he had. Mariel returned Dandin's wink. "Being a warrior doesn't always mean a fierce face; warriors are also renowned for their gentleness." Bowly immediately changed his expression until he thought he looked gentle enough to charm baby birds from their nests. Stifling their smiles, Mariel and Dandin carried on extolling warrior virtues, while Bowly took note of all they said. "Oh yes, warriors are handsome beasts." Bowly wobbled his head, fluttered his eyes, and tried hard to look handsome. "You're right, Dandin, but I've known warriors who can look very stern too." The handsome Bowly suddenly transformed into one with a grim jaw jutting and what he imagined were cold, gimlet eyes. Mariel spluttered and coughed on a bite of apple, while Dandin held his ribs tight to stop the laughter bubbling out. ' 'Aye, but give me the warrior with that devil-may-care look, one who can slay ruthlessly but still manage to laugh merrily—now that's the fellow for me!" Bowly's small face contorted as he tried to glare out of one eye while twinkling merrily with the other, and he brandished his two oatcakes as if ready to slay with them at a moment's notice, at the same time emitting a savage growl which he tried to couple with a merry laugh. Turning to his two companions, who were shaking with unexploded laugher, he sighed wearily. "Phwaaw! It do take much 'ard work to look like a warrior!" The two teasers laughed heartily, patting Bowly's tender young prickled head. "We think you'll make a splendid warrior, don't we, Dandin?" 22 BRIAN JACQUES "Right! We'll be three warbeasts traveling south through thick and thin to wherever our adventures take us!" Bowly's face lit up in a happy grin, and he clasped the paws of his two comrades firmly. "Aye, an' never fear. Til take care of ee both!" Queen Serena watched her little son, Truffen, sadly as he sat alone in the center of Castle Floret's banqueting chamber. Poor squirrelmite, forced to spend his days and nights in captivity, often separated from both parents, with only his old badger nurse, Muta, to protect him. Serena and her husband, Gael Squirrelking, sat together at one side of the chamber, with Truffen at his bench in the center, while on the opposite side Nagru and Silvamord occupied the positions of honor at high table, surrounded by rodent Captains. Serena clutched Gael's paw tightly, and they fixed their eyes on the tiny hostage. Serena let her mind wander over past events. Was it only a season ago that Nagru and Silvamord had arrived at their gates? It seemed as though they had been in Castle Floret for an eternity. She recalled the night they had allowed Nagru and his mate into their home. It was a windy, drizzling evening in early spring, and the two foxes had looked half dead, starved, and bedraggled. Her husband, Gael, ordered that they be admitted, fed, and 24 BRIAN JACQUES clothed warmly. Serena regretted that Gael had not heeded the urgent warnings of their friend Rab Stream-battle. But the Squirrelking could be stubborn, and he would not hear of Castle Floret's hospitality being denied to any needy creature. Rab continued to oppose him, and the argument escalated until the angry otter stormed out of the castle, taking his otter guard with him. Within the space of two sunsets the foxes had taken over everything. It was done with fiendish simplicity. Silver-tongued Silvamord had lured Muta to a side chamber and locked her in. Nagru snatched little Truffen and held him breathless with fright, the fearsome hooked wolf-claws a hairbreadth from the babe's throat. Gael was forced to lower the drawbridge, and in a trice the castle was teeming with rats, savage, dirty gray rodents, eager to maim, destroy, or kill at a nod from their leaders, Nagru and Silvamord. From that moment their lives had hung by a thread. All loyal friends and courtiers who resisted were slain or imprisoned in Floret's dungeons, while those who were not considered dangerous were forced to wait on the foxes and their officers. The far southern sun no longer shone over a peaceful and happy land. A new king and queen held sway, backed by a horde of murderers. Nagru was big for a fox. Lean and powerful, he was mottled bluish gray from tip to tail, and his cruel eyes resembled chips of granite flake floating in a sea of carmine blood flecks. His only clothing was the full pelt of a wolf, its head resting on top of his own like a cowl with eyeless sockets. The hide trailed down over his back with the front limbs covering his own. The wolfclaws had been replaced with sharp iron hooks, and when Nagru slid his The BeUmaker 25 own paws inside them they became awesome weapons. His mate, Silvamord, was smaller in stature, but no less savage. Her fur was whitish gray with a silver-striped muzzle and back markings, and her eyes were dark obsidian green. Her regalia was a thick skirt of animal tails with glittering chips of crystal cunningly sewn into them. She moved sinuously to its strange tinkle, the equal of her mate in cunning and evil. Now the barbaric pair sat side by side, sipping elderberry wine from Floret's cellars and sharing the gamey meat of a long-dead plover. Nagru spiked a damson with his claw and shot it viciously at a fat old rat who stood nearby holding a stringed lutelike instrument. "Yoghul, play my song!" The rat began playing, singing the dirge in an eerie, high-pitched voice. "Where do you come from, where do you go to, From tundras of white and bright sunrises few, 'Cross mountains and forests, o'er seas wide and blue, The one they call Foxwolf, the Urgan Nagru." Yoghul was playing the verse over again when Nagru called across to Gael, "Hey, Squirrelking, d'you know why they call me Foxwolf?" Gael sat silent, and Nagru answered his own question. "Because I am the only fox that ever slew a wolf. This is his hide I am wearing. I'll wager you've never even seen a wolf, much less had to fight one. Well I did, and I won. Nobeast alive can stand against me!" The Squirrelking ignored his captor, who continued boasting. "I'll tell you something else. That wolf's name 26 BRIAN JACQUES was Urgan. So I took it and turned it backward and made a name for myself, Urgan Nagru! Try saying it both ways, it comes out the same. That's to let my enemies know that I can come at them backward or forward, both ways. But I have no enemies, they're all dead. Only fools and dreamers are left, like you and your Queen. It's your own fault, squirrel. You let me in here. Aha! I see you are glaring at me. Good! You are wishing that the Fox wolf were dead, eh? The wishes of the weak are like raindrops on the face of the sea; they count for nothing. Play on, Yoghul!" While Nagru drank wine and tore at his meat, Silva-rnord had been staring fixedly at Muta, the old badger nurse. Muta could not speak. Sometimes in peaks of joy or distress she would make hoarse barking noises, but it was unusual for her to make any sound at all. She crouched at little Truffen's side, always faithful to him. It irritated Silvamord to see the dumb badger's devotion to her small charge, and the vixen never missed an opportunity to humiliate or torment Muta. Calling Yoghul across to her, Silvamord divested him of his cloak, a small red thing trimmed with yellow. Then she snatched the cap from his head. It was floppy and conical with two tiny bells hanging from it. Flinging both hat and cloak at Muta, Silvamord called out derisively, ' 'Come on, up on your paws, stripedog. Put those on and do a dance for me. I command it, dance!" The big badger did not move. She stood glaring at the vixen. Silvamord beckoned Riveneye, one of the Captains seated nearby. "If that stupid beast doesn't start dancing right now," she barked, "I want you to take your sword to the squirrel brat and tickle a dance out of him!" The Bellmaker 27 Riveneye stood and drew his sword. Muta had no choice. Rather than see Truffen hurt, she donned the small cloak and tied the ribbons of the ridiculous little hat beneath her chin. Slowly she commenced a shuffling dance. Silvamord aimed a kick at the minstrel rat. "Play, Yoghul—play faster. I want to see the big fool dance!" Around and around Muta shambled, trying to keep up with the speed of the music, the bells tinkling wildly on her silly hat. Silvamord and the rats jeered cruelly at the badger's stumbling efforts. A single teardrop spilled down Muta's face. Queen Serena turned away, unable to watch the cruel exhibition. Gael leaned in close as if sharing her sympathy and began whispering so only she could hear. "It's all right, Serena. Don't worry. Listen to me and try not to show any surprise. Remember our singing blackbird, Relph? Rab has sent me a message through him. There will be otters waiting in the castle moat today. We will accompany Muta when she takes Truffen for his afternoon nap. Relph will hang a red cloth on the window nearest the drawbridge to tell Rab we are coming. When we leave here, watch for the window with the red cloth on the sill—that's the one we jump from. When we land in the moat, the otters will take us to safety. Don't look around; just nod if you understand. .." Muta's hoarse bark caused the Queen to turn. Truffen could not understand that Muta was being made fun of—they had often played at dancing together. Seeing her dance now made the little fellow chuckle happily. It was a game! He began hop-skipping alongside her, BRIAN JACQUES The BeUmofcer 29 giggling as he clapped his paws together in time to the music. Muta threw back her head and made happy barking sounds, and the two danced wildly, leaping and jigging back and forth. Truffen pulled the cap from Muta's head as she bowed to him and waved it about, jingling the bells and shouting uproariously, "Fasta! Fasta! More!" Nagru flicked a damson contemptuously at Silvamord. "Well, I see you've managed to make them both happy, a prancing whelp and a jigging badger. Good work! Tell me, who looks die bigger fool now, you or the badger?" Silvamord flung a wooden bowl at Yoghul. "Stop playing, you oaf!" she shrieked. The music ground to a halt. Truffen jangled the cap bells. "More dances, 'Uta. Want more dances!" Taking advantage of the moment, Serena hurried over. Sweeping her little son up, she took Muta by the paw and began leaving the room. Gael joined them. "Time for Muta to take you for your nap, Truffen. Come on, Mummy and Daddy will go with you." They were almost at the door when Silvamord called out, "Halt! Who said you could leave without our permission?" Nagru idly flicked another damson at his mate. "Let them go, huh. They're not going anywhere." Silvamord leaped up, eyes blazing. "Stop flicking damsons at me, spotblotch. I'll say when they can go! You just carry on slopping wine!" Nagru was not one to be insulted. He rose in a hot temper, sending dishes spilling and clattering. "You'll feel these claws if you talk to me like that, vixen! If I say they can go, my word is final! Don't try taking your sour 4 mood out on me because your joke went wrong!" ^t All the time the little party was edging farther out of :£; the banqueting chamber. Silvamord grabbed a spear from ,| a Captain named Hooktail and pointed it at the Foxwolf £ screaming, "Put those claws near me and I'll gut you! c Stop those creatures from leaving, now!" - Two more rats, Sourgall and Ragfen, drew swords and - leaped up. As Gael pushed the others ahead of him into the hall outside, Serena forgot herself and cried out, "Look on the windowsill—the red cloth!" Gael felt Sourgall's claws clamp on his shoulder. He jumped backward, cannoning Sourgall into Ragfen as he called out to the badger, "Muta, out of the window— jump for the moat! Help is waiting there. Save my fam- -i ily!" Then Gael went down. He was trampled and knocked / aside as other rats, led by Silvamord, came charging into die passage. Muta dashed to the window where the red cloth fluttered, sweeping Serena and Truffen with her. Thrusting the little squirrel into his mother's outstretched paws, the big badger lifted them both bodily over the sill. A spearshaft broke across Muta's back. She grunted and flinched, then, gathering her mighty strength, she hurled mother and babe outward, so that they would not strike the castle walls in their descent to the moat. Turning, she ripped the dancing cloak from her shoulders. Muta smashed two rats flat with a single blow and smothered another two with the cloak, shoving them roughly into those behind and causing a melee of confusion in the enclosed space. Now the corridor was packed with rats. Muta could not reach Gael—it was death to try. There was only one way 3o BRIAN JACQUES left open to her. Lifting her bulk onto the windowsill, the badger glanced down at the long drop to the moat. Suddenly, claws sank into her lower back. Silvamord had climbed over the milling rats and seized her tight. ' 'Got you, stripehead! Now you' 11 die long and sloooooo... !" Without a second thought Muta had clamped her footpaws around the vixen and rolled off the windowsill, carrying her enemy through with her. Rab's otters already had Serena and Truffen out on the bank as Muta and Silvamord came plummeting down and hit the water with a resounding boom. Locked together, they plunged beneath the surface. Muta rolled over, thrusting the vixen beneath her, then, stepping on Silvamord's head, she pushed up toward the surface. Seconds later Muta was hauling herself up onto the bank and scrambling off in pursuit of her friends and their rescuers. Terror and panic gripped Silvamord—the badger's footpaws had pressed her down into the muddy moat bottom. The vixen's ears, nose, and mouth filled with water as she kicked and scrabbled furiously, then, coming free with a dull sucking noise, she drifted upward. Whump! The drawbridge thudded down onto the moatbank, and the rat horde came pouring out intent on catching the escaped prisoners. Spitting water and mud, Silvamord splashed up and down screeching, "Help! Save me, you fools ... Glubble ... I can't swim!" Trie rats halted, fearful of ignoring the Foxwolf's mate. Several long pikes and spears were stretched out quickly into the water, one so hastily that it clouted the drowning fox, half stunning her. Nagru came bounding out over the drawbridge in time The Belimaker 31 to see Silvamord hauled dripping from the moat. Her bedraggled skirt of tails clung wetly as she buffeted the head .of a rat called Crookneck, shouting, "I said save me, you addle-brained toad, not brain me!" As she sank exhausted to the grassy bank, Nagru berated her. "Idiot, why did you let them escape?" "Why did I let them escape?" she shrieked, spitting moat water and mud at him venomously. "Where were you, bogbrains? Still swilling wine and feeding your face?" Nagru sighted the receding figures vanishing into the trees on the wooded hillside. He pointed to a group of twoscore or more rats standing on the bank. "You lot, follow me. I'll catch them!" Silvamord tottered upright at the water's edge, foot-paws seeking purchase in the wet grass. The Foxwolf could not resist giving her a hefty slap on the back. "You stay here and dry off, vixen!" She overbalanced and toppled back, screeching, into the moat. The four otters rushed Serena along at a cracking pace. Truffen was seated on the sturdy shoulders of a young male called Trout lad. Muta brought up the rear; for all her seasons and girth, she was still nimble and swift. Tree shadows threw alternating patterns of sun and shade over the Southswarders as they fled up the thick-timbered hillside. Nagru halted at the bottom of the causeway steps leading down from the castle plateau. His keen eyes picked up the movements of the small group racing up the wooded tor across the valley. A rat Captain named 32 BRIAN JACQUES Gatchag stuck his sword into the ground and sank down on his haunches beside the quivering weapon, shaking his head knowingly. "Huh, they're away like two brace o' woodpigeons. Nah! You won't catch 'em now. Take my word fer it!" Swift as a flash, the Urgan Nagru grabbed Gatchag's sword and slew him with a single, powerful slash. The shock that ran through the rats was registered in a single moan, like a sudden gale running through long wheat. Nagru threw the blade down on the lifeless body. "Anybeast got more strong opinions to voice can join him! Up on your paws, slopmouths, before I let daylight into some of your skulls! Mingol, take twelve and circle right. Riveneye, take another twelve and circle in from the left. The rest of you follow me. We'll go straight up after them. If we shift fast enough, they'll be cut off from three ways. In my horde, a slow rat is a dead one. Now move!" Rab Streambattle and six of his otters watched anxiously as the fugitives toiled uphill. Rab's mate, Iris, fitted a stone to her sling. "Those rats are coming on fast, Rab. They're going to pincer in front of our lot before they get here—what'll we do?" The otter leader loosed an arrow, picking off one of Mingol's front-runners. Laying another shaft on his bowstring he took aim and said, "We'll have to buy them some time by holding off the rats. Lay on and make every shot count!" The otters attacked with a will. Arrows, slingstones, and short javelins whipped skillfully down the wooded slope to left and right, peppering the horderats and har- The Bellmaker 33 rying their pincer movement. Rab hurtled forward and reached the fugitives. He ran past them, calling out, "Keep going—there's help ahead, mates. Hurry! Nagru's right behind you. I'll keep him busy!" Rab Streambattle was a warrior who did not know the meaning of fear. The most skilled weaponbeast among otters, now he showed his mettle. Planting both footpaws firmly, he threw off his quiver and with a speed born of desperation began zipping arrows into the ranks of Nagru's rats. The Foxwolf was sorry he had not slain the fierce otter on first sight. Leaping to one side he dodged behind a scrub oak, leaving the rat immediately behind to die by the arrow that was meant for him. Another rat screamed and leaped high, transfixed by Rab's next shaft. Nagru cursed silently, wishing he had brought a bow and arrows along. Hailing his claws wildly, he shouted, "Idiots! Move about, duck and dodge, use your arrows and spears—he's only one otter!" A deadly shot from Rab pinned a rat to a rowan tree. Grim faced, he called out as he strung another arrow, "Aye, I'm only one otter, but here I stand. Try an' pass, scum!" Serena came gasping and stumbling into the outstretched paws of Iris. The otter embraced her briefly before going back to slinging rocks. "Serena, no time to chatter now. We must get you an' the liddle un to safety!" "But Gael... and Rab, what about them?" Keeping her eyes on the target, Iris bowled a rat over as her stone cracked his skull. "If your Squirrelking doesn't escape, there's nothin' we can do at the moment, 34 BRIAN JACQUES maim. As for my Rab, you know he'd swap his life for friends—that's what he's doin' now. I've got to get you away, that's my job!" A spear had furrowed Rab's side. He ignored the searing pain and dropped a rat with an accurate snap shot. Then he counted his remaining arrows. Three. Using bush and tree cover, Nagru's rats were surrounding Rab. Without turning his head, the brave otter roared, "Get them out o' here, Iris. Go!" Snuffling a tear aside, his courageous mate hustled Se-rena and her babe along with the otters. "You heard my Rab. Come on, move yourselves!" They fled over the hilltop, zigzagging north through the trees. All but one. A deep rumble shook Muta's huge frame; anger and hatred shone in the badger's dark eyes. With unbounded strength she seized the thick, overhanging limb of a dead whitebeam. Her sinews stood out like ropes as she tore it from the trunk with a resounding crack. Regardless of twigs and splinters, Muta swung the large limb above her head, and like a whirlwind she thundered forward, launching herself upon Nagru and his vermin. Keen as March wind through a stormlashed forest, a high-pitched whine tore from her throat. The wide, twigged end of the bough caught Nagru, sending him muzzle over tail, soaring high into the air like a dead leaf. The Foxwolf thudded painfully against a hornbeam, his shocked eyes taking in the destruction Muta was wreaking on his hordebeasts as he fought to regain his breath. Finally he managed to shout: "Kill them both! Mingol, Riveneye—surround them! Use arrows; cut them down with spears ... Anything!" The Bellmaker 35 Back to back, the otter and the badger stood, battering away madly, one with a broken bow, the other with a tree limb. Wounded in a dozen places, they fought like mad-beasts as the gray vermin closed in on them. Extract from the writings ofSaxtus, Father Abbot of Red-wail Abbey in Mossflower Country. It occurs to me that small bees are as foolish as they are fat and fuzzy. Take for example, this fellow. Humming and bumbling around me as if I were a flower. Very disturbing when one is penning a chronicle. I think he wants this crumb of honey pudding, stuck to my whiskers. Here, take it, you rogue. No, the crumb, not my paw! Dearie me, are all bees as shortsighted as this one? What a Recorder I am, playing with bees when I should be writing. Alas, the summer is to blame. It makes me want to dash outside and play with the Dib-buns (our Abbey young ones). It is they who hold the hope of Redwall's future; our Abbey would not flourish without the young. Many old friends have passed on to quiet pastures: Abbot Bernard, Friar Cockleburr, Old Gabriel Quill, and a few other dear companions have 37 38 BRIAN JACQUES run their seasons peacefully to a close. But the earth and its creatures continue lo be renewed. Please forgive my ramblings and reminiscences under the spell of a warm summer. Let me tell you what has taken place of late at Redwall Abbey. It all started as I was strolling in the orchard with Mariel's father, Joseph the Bellmaker. We were enjoying the early morning peace together. Joseph told me that he had been thinking about Mariel a lot and worrying about her. More than four seasons have passed since she went off adventuring with that rogue Dan din, a friend of my young days. He is a wild mouse, but with a good heart. Mariel and Dandin are kindred spirits, both with a yearning to wander. Joseph's main worry was the lack of information about his daughter. He had received no news of Mariel from anywhere. Travelers, visitors to Redwall, passing birds—no creature knew their whereabouts, or had heard anything at all concerning Mariel or Dandin. However, honest ones with troubled minds are often reassured by the appearance of Martin the Warrior in their dreams. Martin is the champion and founder of Redwall Abbey, a great warrior mouse who lived countless seasons ago. His guidance is peerless, and his words, though often shrouded in mystery, always carry a message of hope and truth. Little wonder then that a stout-hearted beast like Joseph the Bellmaker should find Martin, the spirit of Redwall, appearing in his dreams. I must confess that I was full of curiosity to learn of the message Martin had imparted to Joseph as his mind wandered the realms of slumber. But my good The BeHmaker 39 friend the Bellmaker was not ready to speak. He had not yet understood the meaning of Martin's words. A single loud knock on the gatehouse door disturbed Sax-tus from his writing. Without looking up, he called out, "I recognize that sound; only Joseph the Bellmaker has a paw like an oak club!" There followed a deep chuckle from outside as Joseph replied, "Saxtus, have you dozed off in there? Come on, dinnertime!" Hitching up his robe, the Abbot hastened to open the door. ' 'Good afternoon, Bellmaker, or is it early evening? No matter. I cast aside the pen in favor of the spoon." Joseph was a strongly built mouse, with a neat gray beard and a cheerful manner. He patted the Abbot's stomach playfully. "Aye, I think the spoon is your favorite weapon these days, great Father Abbot." Saxtus strode out ahead of the Bellmaker, to show him that a bit of extra weight had not slowed him down. "Hah! 'Great Father Abbot,' indeed! I'm only slightly older than your daughter. As for you, graybeard, you're old enough to be my father!" Joseph matched his stride, eyes twinkling mischievously. Walking across flower-bordered lawns, they headed toward the main Abbey building. It loomed massive against an early-evening sky, ancient red sandstone tinged dusky rose, framing a harlequinade of stained-glass windows by the glow of a lowering sun. The Bellmaker stepped up his pace, leaving Saxtus panting in his wake. "I may be old enough to be your daddy, but I'm still spry enough to be your son. Come on, Father, keep up!" "Enough, enough. Slow down, ageless one!" said Sax- 4o BRIAN JACQUES tus, catching hold of his friend's sleeve. "Why is it that everybeast seems to be in a hurry today? Look, there's Foremole, going as if his tail were afire. Hallo, sir!" The Redwall mole leader halted and, tugging his snout respectfully, he addressed them both in quaint mole dialect: ' 'Gudd eve to ee, zurrs. Whurr be you uns a-rushen to?" He fell in step with them as Joseph replied, "We weren't really rushing, just stepping out a bit on our way across to dinner." "We'm gotten guestbeasts furr dinner," said Foremole, wrinkling his button nose sagely. "Oak Tom an' Treerose cummed in from ee woodlands." Saxtus raised his eyebrows. "Well, that is a pleasant surprise. We don't see enough of Tom and his wife at Redwall. Those squirrels spend most of their time in Mossflower Wood together. Never know where they are from one season to the next. Any other guests?" "Hurrhurrurr!" Foremole's dumpy frame shook with a deep chuckle. "Oi'd say ee best step out fast agin, zurrs. Missus Rosie an' Tarquin, they'm bringed all thurr h'infants to ee Abbey furr to stay awhoil." Saxtus threw up his paws in mock despair. ' 'Great seasons of famine! Tarquin and Rosie Woodsorrel with their twelve young hares, that's fourteen walking stomachs altogether. They'll eat us out of house and home, then pick their teeth with the doornails!" "I don't mind not eating," said Joseph, clapping the Abbot on his back happily. "My dream is beginning to work out." Saxtus halted beneath a drooping lilac. "What do you mean by that, friend?" The BeUmaker 41 "I can tell you this much," the Bellmaker said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Martin said some things to me in my dream last night of which I can only speak later on. But the first words he spoke I will repeat now. They went like this: With sixteen more faces at table, Bellmaker recalls his quest. At daylight's last gleam you'll remember My words whilst you were at rest." Foremole scratched his velvety head saying, "Wot do et all mean, zurr?" Joseph shrugged, but Saxtus nodded wisely. "It means that Martin will reveal all when the time is right." Joseph continued walking to the Abbey. "I'm glad you said that, Saxtus," he said, "because beyond those few words the whole thing is very hazy. I can't remember anything else Martin said." The Father Abbot deliberately steered the conversation away from his friend's dream, knowing that, if Martin had spoken, all would be revealed in good time. He held up a paw. "Listen, Joseph. I love to hear the sound of your bell!" Scented orchard blossom fragrance lay heavy on the summer evening air as the great Joseph Bell boomed out its warm, brazen message. Calling all Redwallers to cease their chores and come to Great Hall, for the day's main meal. A group of Dibbuns—small mice, moles, squirrels, and hedgehogs—trooped round the south gable from the orchard. Singing lustily, they marched paw in paw. 42 BRIAN JACQUES "Give us dinner every eve, Or we'll pack our bags and leave. Where we'll go to we don't know, Up the path a league or so. If we don't find comfort there, Back to Redwall we'll repair. We'll eat pudden, pie, and cake, All the Abbey cooks can make!" They stopped to let their elders pass indoors first. Bowing politely and scrubbing paws across strawberry-stained faces, they chanted dutifully: "Good evenin', Father Abbot. Evenin', Joseph, sir, evenin' to you, Foremole, sir!" Saxtus raised his eyebrows. Peering at them over the spectacles balanced on his nose, he said, "Well, good evening to you, young sirs and ladies. Pray tell me, where are you all off to?'' Scrubbing furiously at her face, a little molemaid replied, "Whoi, furr ee dinner, zurr. Us'n's worked 'ard all day." Joseph surveyed the guilty-looking band. Pursing his lips in mock severity, he said, "Hmm, guarding the strawberry patch against robbers, no doubt. A very difficult job, I'd say, eh?" A tiny mousebabe, covered from ear to tail with strawberry pulp and seeds, puffed out his chest and squeaked, "Most 'ardest job I doo'd in all me life, sir!" Foremole prodded the babe's swollen stomach gently. "Burr, you'm sure ee can manage dinner arter all yon 'ard wurk ee dunn?" An equally small mole patted the mousebabe heartily. "Ho aye, ee surpintly can, zurr. Ee be a growen choild The BeUmaker 43 an' needen lots o' dinner, doant ee, matey?" The mousebabe nodded vigorous agreement. Saxtus looked to Foremole and Joseph, giving them a quick wink. "What do you think, sirs? Do these warriors deserve dinner as a reward for guarding our strawberries?" Foremole scratched his chin with a hefty digging claw. "Aye, oi do berleev they'm do, zurr, tho' they'm lukk in need o' a good scrubben furrst, hurr hurr!" "Oh yes, we can't have em sitting at table like that," the Bellmaker agreed judiciously. "All stained and scarred from their long, hard duties. Right, line up here, all down to the shallow edge of the Abbey pond. First one back and cleanest washed gets the biggest dinner. Ready, get set... Go!" "Redwaaaaall! Chaaaaaarge!" The Dibbuns sped off helter-skelter. Shaking with laughter, the three friends strode in to dinner. From time out of mind Redwall Abbey had been renowned as a haven of comradeship, good manners, and legendary food. All Redwallers met each evening to share the fruits of their toil. Saxtus entered the Great Hall, warm in the feeling of being Father Abbot to the creatures of his beloved Abbey. Early-evening sunlight slanted down through the stained-glass windows, casting rainbow hues over the laden tables. Young and old alike sat together, the hum of their chatter rising to hallowed timber roof-beams. Garlands of rose, stitchwort, sorrel, violet, and anemone decked the inner table borders. Duty cooks and servers bustled about on the outer perimeters, pushing trolleys and carrying trays heaped with culinary delights. Hungry onlookers commented eagerly upon the delightful 44 BRIAN JACQUES fare. The two hares, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel and his wife, the Hon Rosie, together with their twelve leverets, wiggled their ears in delight. "I say, I say, jolly old meadowcream pudden, wot?" "Just lookit those button mushrooms fallin' out o' that leek an' onion pastie, m'dear. Absolutely spiffin'!" Hon Rosie was known for her strident laugh, which it was said could curdle cream at great distances. "Whoo-hahahooh! Woodland salad an' yellow nutcheese with Abbey dressing, top hole! They must've known we were comin', Tarkers, wot?" Foremole took his seat, nudging a molefriend. "Yurr, be that turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot deeper'n'ever pie oi sees, Rungle?" "Ho aye, that et be, zurr, wF damsoncream pudden t'foller," said the other mole, as he polished a small wooden ladle eagerly. "Boi 'okey, if'n moi mouth waters much more oi'm afeared oi'll be drownded, hurr!" Blind Simeon, the ancient mouse Herbalist, and old Mother Mellus, the matriarch badger of Redwall, sat on either side of Saxtus. The Bel I maker was seated next to Mellus—all four were close friends. Joseph leaned toward the badger as two hedgehogs passed bearing a tray piled high with freshly baked scones. "What a delightful aroma, Mellus. Honey and blackberry scones, with maple icing, too. Splendid!" A smile hovered about the badger's silver muzzle. "You're naught but a flattering fraud, Joseph. You knew I baked them specially for you. They do smell nice, though." "Those scones will taste twice as good as they smell," said Saxtus, unfolding his table napkin. The Bettmaker 45 The old badger smiled graciously. "How gallant. Thank you, Father Abbot!" "How is it that I'm naught but a flattering fraud and Saxtus gets thanked for his gallantry?" grumbled the Bellmaker, as he attacked a salad busily. Mellus ladled fragrant dark gravy over a carrot and scallion pastie and placed it in front of Joseph. "Compliments are like clouds, my friend: very pretty, but if we had to dine on them we'd starve. Eat and be thankful." Looking rather guilty, Saxtus stayed the Bellmaker's paw. "Oops. Forgot to say grace. 'Scuse me, please!" He rang a small bell, specially made for the table by Joseph. All chatter ceased; silence fell over Great Hall. The Father Abbot arose, solemn faced. He was about to speak when the newly washed orchard guard clattered in through the doorway. With a frown and a paw to her lips, Mellus beckoned them silently to her. They tip-pawed across, Saxtus holding his silence as the badger whispered, ' 'Late for dinner, my little Dibbuns?'' A mousebabe piped up indignantly. "Nona our fault; we was sended for a wash after us worked 'ard inna orchard all day long!" The Dibbuns nodded in unison, backing up their spokesmouse. Mellus's huge paws scooped two of them onto her lap. "Now sit quietly the rest of you; not a word until Father Abbot has said grace." She nodded to Saxtus, who coughed importantly and began: "Fate and seasons smile on all, From sunrise to the dark nightfall, This bounty from both earth and tree, 46 BRIAN JACQUES Was made to share, twixt you and me. To Mother Nature let us say, Our thanks, for life and health this day." There was a mighty Amen. The little bell sounded, and dinner commenced in earnest. It was a joyous meal for honest creatures. Dishes were passed to be shared, both sweet and savory. October ale and strawberry cordial, tarts, pies, flans, and puddings, served out and replaced by fresh delights from Redwall's kitchens. Turnovers, trifles, breads, fondants, salads, pasties, and cheeses alternated with beakers of greensap milk, mint tea, rosehip cup and elderberry wine. Rufe Brush, the Abbey Bellringer, shared a heavy fruitcake with his friend Durry Quill, hedgehog Cellarkeeper and nephew of the late good old Gabe Quill, from whom he had inherited his duties. The Abbot watched Joseph leaning back in his chair. "What is it, Bellmaker?" he said. "Not hungry?" "Saxtus, when will my dreams be revealed?" "Eat first; talk later. It will happen in good time. Is that a hot scone I see lying on your plate?" Joseph turned too late; the scone was claimed by the mousebabe sitting on Mellus's lap. Joseph blinked. "You little scallywag! I suppose you'd like to guard the kitchen baking ovens tomorrow as a change from the strawberry patch." The mousebabe shook his head and winked furtively. "No, but we guard the win'owsill, where cakes an' pies be," he said. Mellus tickled his ribs until he giggled and squirmed. "Oh no you won't, bucko. My pies and cakes are quite The Bellmaker 47 safe cooling alone on the windowsills. Though I once recall a certain Abbot when he was a Dibbun, spent three days in sickbay after guarding those windowsills. The greedy little snip—do you remember him, Saxtus?" The Father Abbot of all Redwall applied himself to a plate of summercream pudding, pretending he had not heard. The evening wore on until the Dibbuns began yawning, one or two coming perilously close to falling facedown upon their plates with drooping eyes. Saxtus stood and rang his little bell. "Anybeast on dormitory duty, please take the Dibbuns up!" Wails of protest arose from the fretful babes. "Yaah, not fair, s'not fair, us allus 'ave t'go t'bed!" "I wish us big uns could go off to bed right now," said Oak Tom, pulling a long face of comic dismay. "We have to stay up and wash pots 'n' pans V dishes clean for morning." Tarquin L. Woodsorrel flapped his ears in agreement. "Indeed, scout, 'tis a rough old life bein' a big un, wot? P'raps the Dibbuns aren't really sleepy; what say they stay up an' help? Bet they'd make jolly good pot washers, eh?" There was a sudden clatter of chairs and benches as the panicked Dibbuns dashed for the stairs yelling, "Gu'-night, Father Abbot, 'night 'night everybeast. We goin' abed!" They scampered up the stairs amid peals of laughter. Flooding evening sunlight had now dimmed to a golden filter, illuminating the tapestry depicting Martin the War- BRIAN JACQUES nor which hung upon the wall of Great Hall. Saxtus felt himself arise unbidden from his Abbot's chair. He went to stand behind the Bellmaker. A dreamy feeling he could not explain had cast its mantle over the Abbot; it was as if time and the earth were standing still. A great silence lay upon the big chamber: golden dust motes hung lazily on the still air, gleaming in the last faded yellow sunrays. Amid the tangible hush Red wallers sat immobile, each in their place, like figures captured in eternity upon some vast canvas. Across the peace that lay over all, Saxtus heard his own voice. It was low, yet the sound carried from floor to roofbeam, reaching every shadowed corner of Great Hall. "My friends, I have something to say to you. Of late Joseph, our Bellmaker, has been thinking deeply about his daughter, Mariel, and her companion, Dandin. I know that all Redwallers remember both those mice with great fondness; I certainly do. Dandin and I were brought up together, like brothers, in tlu's very Abbey. Scarcely a day passes when I will not see somewhere we played together, and then I think of him, off on adventures with Mariel the Warriormaid. Alas, there has been no news of them for more than four seasons now. Where are they? I think Joseph may provide us with some help. Last night he was visited in a dream by Martin the Warrior" To Joseph, the Abbot's voice behind him sounded like a distant murmur. He had not heard a word that was said. Now that Saxtus had finished speaking, every eye was turned upon the Bellmaker. He sat upright, staring hard at the likeness of Martin upon the tapestry. Saxtus watched him—Joseph's lips were moving slowly as if he were holding a conversation with somebeast. The room The Bellmaker 49 became dark; Saxtus watched as dusk heralded nightfall. The sun's final ray reflected through a high window, wreathing the form of Joseph in a fleeting nimbus of light. Saxtus recalled the lines of the rhyme: "At daylight's last gleam you'll remember." Then the daylight was gone. Candles and walltorches burned bright as Joseph stood and looked about him. "Listen now, and I will speak as Martin the Warrior told me!" It was much cooler among the green hills of the scrubland. Mariel, Dandin, and Bowly took a leisurely lunch from the supplies they had commandeered from the two weasels. The travelers rested, half napping as they lay back on a mossy hillock, listening to the high trill of a skylark backed by the drone of bees and the dry chirrup of grasshoppers. Dandin was the first to hear other noises; shaking himself out of a semi-torpor, he cupped an ear to the light breeze. "Listen. Can you hear it, Mariel? Sounds like some-beasts doing a bit of roaring and shouting somewhere." Mariel prodded the sleeping Bowly firmly on his snout. "Stop snoring and do something useful; sit up and tell us what you can hear—come on, dozybones!" The young hedgehog sat up, snuffling and grumbling. "Call y'selves friends? Huh, won't even let a young warrior 'ave 'is slumber. You'll stunt me growth wakin' me like that." Bowly had very sharp hearing, and he assessed the situation in a trice. BRIAN JACQUES The Beiimaker 53 "Sounds like some creatures tormentin' a mole. See that big hill yonder, third one goin' south to the right? I reckons it's comin' from ahind of there." Moles were friendly. No one hesitated. Mariel readied her Gullwhacker, and Dandin drew his dagger. Bowly sighed aloud, picking up his two hard oatcakes as he followed them on their way to the big hill. "Time for trouble agin. Mercy me, somebeasts got no consideration at all. Coin' gittin' theirselves into distress jus' when it's warriors' nappin' time!" Bowly was correct. It was a fat old mole in trouble. Six gray rats were trying to bind him with grass ropes. The old creature was giving a good account of himself, but the rats were overwhelming him, prodding him with spears as they looped the coils about him and struggled to get a halter round his neck. Nearby three small young moles were weeping in distress, closely guarded by a seventh rat. The old mole pulled a paw loose as he roared, "You'm vurmints, oi'll never tug moi snout to no foxerwulf, ee Squirrelyking be the oandly one oi bow to, hurr!" They had not yet seen the three friends. "Me and Mariel will take the six who have the old fellow," Dandin whispered to Bowly. "D'you reckon you could deal with that rat guarding the young uns?" Not stopping to answer, Bowly hefted one of his oatcakes and flung it hard with amazing accuracy. It whacked the rat solidly across the jaw, dropping him in a heap. The young hedgehog grinned from ear to ear. "I done that. Dandy. Wot next?" All activity below ceased as the six rats turned to stare up at the intruders. Dandin sighed in resignation. "Bowly, you might have waited until I gave the word—we've completely lost the element of surprise." Mariel had her Gullwhacker ready as they strode down to confront the rats. She addressed the one who looked like their Captain. "You, frognose, get your filthy paws off that mole!" The rat leered crookedly at her. "Well, well, what have we here, a little mouseymaid? What's your name, pretty one?" The Gullwhacker belted him square in the mouth and he sat down hard, spitting out a broken fang. Mariel smiled. "Should have whacked you over the ears; it would have cleared some of the muck from them. I never asked for compliments—I told you to let the mole go." "You've just signed your death warrant, mouse," said the rat, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth. "There's more than seven of us. You'll see!" He blew several sharp blasts on a bone whistle which hung from his neck, but before he could blow more, a kick from the old mole felled him. Knowing reinforcements would be arriving promptly, Mariel and Dandin hurled themselves headlong at the remaining five rats. "Redwaaaaaalllll!" Sheathing his dagger, Dandin tripped the first rat and grabbed the spear from his claws as he fell. Using the spear butt as a club, he set about belaboring the grounded rat furiously. Mariel tangled the footpaws of another in the coils of her Gullwhacker, whipping it free to punish him with the hard knotted end. Bowly leaped on the back of a third rat, striking hard with his remaining oatcake. Reinforcements arrived in the form of ten more rats dashing over the hill. Mariel saw them coming and rapped 54 BRIAN JACQUES The Belimaker 55 out a swift order: "Form foursquare around the little moles. Quick!" They dashed to obey, facing outward with the young moles at their center. Dandin brandished the spear, jabbing. Mariel swung her rope in an arc, daring any rat to step within its range. Bowly and the old mole had picked up spear and sword; growling, they waved the weapons wildly. The rats who had been felled began to recover and rise, hopelessly outnumbering the four defenders. A rat leaped back, sneering, as Dandin jabbed out with his spear. The Captain whose fang Mariel had knocked out staggered upright, wiping blood from his chin. "You'll wish you'd never interfered with Captain Bragglin of Nagru's horde. Hitting me with that rope was the biggest mistake of your life, mouse!" Some of the rats had bows. They began fitting shafts to their bowstrings in readiness. Dandin shook his head. "Bowly, I told you it was wrong to knock that rat down before we had a chance to size up the situation." Quivering with anticipation, the rats began slowly closing in on the little party. For the first time Bowly's swaggering attitude deserted him and his voice sounded small and frightened. "Taint much fun bein' a warrior; looks like we're nigh to gettin' ourselves slayed!" Mariel knew Bowly's words to be true. But desperate situations call for reckless remedies: the mousemaid hurled herself into action with lightning ferocity. Snatching the dagger from Dandin's belt she clamped it firmly between her teeth, then, thundering forward, she struck hard, left, right, and center with the Gullwhacker. Totally unprepared for such an aggressive move, several -rats were floored by hefty blows. They fell, bumping into : others and knocking arrows awry from bowstrings. For the second time in a short space Captain Bragglin found himself in the path of Mariel's weapon. She swung it in a vicious arc, thudding the knot into his stomach. His mouth gaped wide as the breath was belted from him in a loud whoosh. Before the rats had time to recover, Mariel had thrown herself upon their Captain. She held the dagger point at his trembling gullet, roaring wildly, "Don't even think about moving, or this scum dies!" As the attackers froze in their tracks, Bragglin shouted, "Be still, don't make any false moves! Grinj, cover her!" The rat called Grinj was an experienced archer. As the rest stood stock-still he slid close to Mariel, an arrow straining against his taut bowstring. Bragglin managed to gasp against the daggertip tickling his throat, "Kill her if she moves this blade a fraction!" Dandin heaved a loud sigh of dismay. It was a standoff. Noontide shimmered over the grass-topped sandhills as both parties stood poised in a silent tableau. "This'n's a right oF mess we be gotten into," said |: Bowly, shooting Dandin a pleading glance. "Wot's a |, warrior supposed to do now, Dandy?" t Dandin knew the situation rested on a daggertip and an •$fc^ *-'+-* « ^arrowhead. Squinting up at the high hot orb of the sun he || whispered calmly, "Learn patience and obedience, that's |"the way of the warrior. Don't show fear, Bowly; stand up |;*traight and wait for the next move—but be ready when m- it comes!" 'Hail the conquering Foxwolf—you drooling idiot!" The Urgan Nagru ducked as a bowl clanged against the 56 BRIAN JACQUES banqueting chamber door. Wincing with the pain of his injuries, he hobbled to one side as Silvamord flung a three-branched candlestick. "One day that poisoned tongue'll be the death of you, vixen!" the Foxwolf snarled dangerously. Limping to his chair, he slumped down and began tugging gingerly with his teeth at a long whitebeam splinter embedded in his paw. Silvamord continued her tirade. "I could have caught them, but what did you do, clev-erbrush? Tried to drown me in the moat! Nagru the nit-brain, that's you, the fool who chases his own tail!" Nagru spat the splinter at her venomously. "Ahh, give your slobbering mouth a rest, clattergob, letting yourself be pulled out the window by a big, dumb badger!" The rat horde sat in the courtyard, some licking their wounds, others slaking their thirst from the dwindling cellars of the castle. Sounds of furious argument rang out from the banqueting chamber windows high above their heads. Fillch, one of the rats, looked up from the honey-preserved chestnuts he was sharing with his companion Sourgall. "Big dumb badger, eh? That one didn't need to talk. She slew eight of ours with a tree limb it'd take ten of us to lift!" Sourgall had remained behind to fish Silvamord from the moat. He looked Fillch up and down slowly. "Huh, she didn't 'urt yew, matey. Where were yer? Leadin' from be'ind, I'll bet." "Aye, an' so would yew 'ave been, bucko. We nearly 'ad the otter, that'd fought like a madbeast while the others escaped. Then that badger was in the middle of us, swingin' an 'arf of a tree! Where d'yer expect me t' be, The Bettmaker 57 eh? Drigg, Flokky, Big Bragtail an' five others got in the badger's way, and they ain't around t'tell the story no more. You ask Hooktail if y'don't believe me. Ain't that right, mate?" The rat in question had lost an ear. He was using a poultice of dockleaves bound with earth and water to staunch the wound. "Gaah!" he groaned. "It's all right you sittin' there makin' clever remarks, Sourgall. You wasn't there. Even the Urgan Nagru took to 'is paws an* limped off like a flogged toad. I tell yer, mate, you wouldn't 'ave thought it was the same stoopid badger that played nursemaid to the fiddle squirrelbrat. That beast came after us with a full tree in 'er paws, even though we filled 'er with arrers like a pincushion!" A rat named Flangor joined the conversation. "Wot d'yew suppose Foxwolf'II do now, mates?" The one called Riveneye put aside the cider he had been swilling and snorted, "Hah, you should know the Urgan by now, mate. Nagru won't rest 'til their skulls are bleachin' in the sun. Ol' Foxwolf'll hunt 'em 'til 'e gets every last one in those iron claws. Then we know wot 'e'll do with 'em, don't we?" A shudder ran through every rat within earshot. They had seen what Nagru did to his captured enemies. Riveneye's guess was right. Nagru was preparing to hunt the fugitives down. As evening shades drew the hot day to a close, he sat wincing as he flexed his injured limbs. The wolfhide across his back was still littered with whitebeam splinters. Silvamord sat watching him, unmoved by his plight. The Foxwolf glared at her. "What're you staring at BRIAN JACQUES now, firogeyes? Make yourself useful; get me a beaker of wine!" "Get it yourself, jellyfish!" said the vixen, curling her lip in disdain. "So, an old badger and a single otter thrashed the living daylights out of you and your killers! Tell me again, how many did they slay?" Nagru's eyes blazed pure hatred at her. "They never defeated us; they staggered off so full of arrows and covered with wounds that they're long dead now. If I hadn't been injured, I'd have followed them and skinned their hides off to bring back and show you!" Silvamord laughed humorlessly. "Just like you skinned the wolf that had been frozen dead half a season so that you could take its skin and name? Oh, don't act surprised. I saw you. I'll wager your horde wouldn't be so quick in following you if they knew the truth about the great Ur-gan Nagru." The iron claws of the Foxwolf shot out, pointing at her. "One word from you, blabbermouth, and I'll rip the tongue from your head and make you eat it. That's a promise!" "You don't scare me," sneered Silvamord, pouring wine for herself and sipping daintily. "I know you too well. What does bother me is that Queen and her brat— they're still free. You'd do better to get out there and capture them before they raise the whole of Southsward up in arms against us." Nagru walked carefully over to the table. Pouring himself a beaker of wine, he brought his face close to the vixen's. His voice dripped sarcasm. "That's what I fully intend doing, my beautiful and beloved one. Meanwhile, you can sit here, where you are safe and comfortable. Oh, The BeUmaker 59 keep an eye on Gael Squirrelking, will you? I presume you weren't silly enough to have killed him in my absence?" Silvamord eyed him levelly. "Gael is not the problem. I had him tossed into one of his own dungeons—he could be dead or alive, I don't care. Now, are you going to hang about here until we both grow old, or are you going to do something about Serena and her little Truffen?" They remained for a moment a hairbreadth apart, eyes locked. Then, as if on an impulse, Nagru strode off to the window. He stared down at the horderats who were lying slumped on the stone courtyard, still warm from the day's heat. The Foxwolf brought them scurrying upright as he howled down at them: "Sourgall, you and forty others stay behind on guard! Bladenose, Riveneye, get the rest ready for a hunt! Mingol, Vengro, get my Dirgecallers ready!" The horde kept silent, mentally thanking the fates that they had not been chosen to be in charge of the fearsome Dirgecallers, the Fox wolf's legendary trackers. Mingol and Vengro were speechless, their mouths dry with fear. Serena and Truffen rested beneath a willow on the stream- ; |5ank, the infant sitting in his mother's lap. Their food lay untouched. Together they watched a comet streaking its brilliant tail across the soft, dark night. Otter patrols ;swam, sleek and silent, back and forth on the broad ^Stream, alert for any strange sound in their territory. £ Greenbeck, a big male, slid smoothly onto the bank be- Iside the squirrels. Dipping a bowl into the steaming pot tof hotroot and watershrimp soup, beloved of otters, he 6o BRIAN JACQUES The BeUmaker 61 offered it with an encouraging smile. "C'mon, marm, try some. It's good!" Serena averted her eyes from the food. "No, thank you, friend. I cannot bring myself to eat, not knowing if King Gael is alive or dead." "Good vittles, marm. Eat an' the liddle feller will, too. You must take care o' him," Greenbeck persisted, nudging the bowl forward. "Lookit Iris, she don't know what's become o' Rab, but she eats to keep up 'er strength. Iris won't give up 'ope, an' neither should you, if y'll excuse me sayin', marm." Serena smiled wanly at the loyal otter. Taking the soup, she broke fresh barleybread and dipped it in, saying, "Look, Truffen, supper—make you big and strong!" The little fellow ate, staring up at his mother's face. "Where Papa an' 'Uta?" Serena ate to avoid answering the question, but the good food stuck in her throat as tears overflowed on her face. Iris appeared at the Queen's side, patting her gently. "Hush now. Don't let the babe see you upset. It's hard, I know, though I hope that my Rab and your Muta took lots of those murderers with them. Be Like your son, Serena; eat and grow strong. Someday we will return to Castle Floret and avenge our loved ones." The Squirrelqueen ate, staring into the night-dark stream. "I am not leaving Southsward country. I will stay to stand against Nagru and Silvamord." Iris sat beside Serena, a worried look on her kind face. "We must leave Southsward now—we are too few, my friend. One day we shall come back in force; at the moment we would sacrifice our lives needlessly against the Fox wolf's great horde." Serena remained adamant. "Some help will come to us. I feel it. We must stay and get others in Southsward to support our cause." "My Rab wanted you and Truffen out of this land," said Iris, shrugging hopelessly. "It has become a place of evil. But if you are determined to stay, then the otters will stay also. I will not desert you—we have always been loyal to your family. Though if we stay, I fear that only death awaits us." Truffen looked up from his soup. "Stay an' make Na-g'u dead!" Iris settled down to rest. "Aye, make Nagru dead, little one. Who knows, maybe you an' your mama are right. Perhaps there may be warriors we have yet to meet who can help us do just that. I hope they show up soon, whoever they are." Peace fell over the otter camp. Gently lapping water and the still-warm night had cast its spell over the weary fugitives. Serena and Iris lay side by side with Truffen between them, all three mercifully deep in slumber after the day's harrowing events. Truffen would not remember his dream next morning, and even if he did the squirrel-.;. babe was far too young to explain it. A mousemaid who p carried a knotted rope, a strong old gray-bearded mouse carrying a stout stave ... And a great bell tolling aloud me sound of freedom. fi" Both Mariel and the rat Captain, Bragglin, were in a per-•J| jlous position. Dandin and his friends stood ready to give fp'.-up their lives protecting the little moles, while the rat jm patrol crouched, willing to pounce at their Captain's '|f? word. Mid-noon heat caused both parties much discom-If fort; their paws shifted dangerously in the loose sand. |£ "If anything happens to me, make the moles die M slowly!" Bragglin called out to his rats. ||: Mariel kept up her deadly bluff, cutting off further ff| words as she pressed the dagger meaningfully at his I& throat. "Won't do your Captain much good; he'll be $$&• ' ^"wormbait, and we'll take at least half of you with us if '&jf "'•- ||vyou touch those little moles, be warned!" The mousemaid could feel the hot sand shifting under her footpaws, and Jjshe moved to gain a firmer position. At that instant Bragglin made his move. He wriggled way from the knife, kicking at Mariel and giving a swift to Grinj. The rat had been standing over Mariel, his wpaw slackened slightly from the long standoff, but he 64 BRIAN JACQUES The Bell-maker took the hint immediately and stretched the bowstring taut to fire the arrow. Zzzzz. Clunk! Grinj fell poleaxed by a smooth, round rock with a hole through its center. It was attached to a thin, toughened line. Grinj's arrow buried itself in the sand alongside the mousemaid's eye as a deep, drawling voice called from the hilltop behind her. "Paws still in the blinkin' ranks than! If any of you longtails have half a bally brain, I'll drop you before you can use it! You showah listenin'? That's not just a bloomin* order, it's a fact!" Mariel watched in amazement as the stone was reeled swiftly in by a hare carrying a long, whippy fishing rod. He caught the stone skillfully as it swung back to him, his hooded eyes never once leaving the scene below. Holding the slack of the line in check, he whipped the slender rod back and forth, and the air hummed to its vibrations. Suddenly Bragglin's paw grasped that of Mariel as he tried to wrest the dagger from her. Zzzzzzz. Thonk! With a swift, vicious flick the hare cast the stone deftly. The breath caught in Mariel*s throat. Bragglin lay slain, the flying rock squarely between his eyes. "You chaps never learn, do yen? Didn't believe me, eh? Right, who's next?" The rats dropped their weapons as they gaped up at the curious hare. Young Bowly Pintips's mouth hung wide; he had never witnessed such a splendid-looking beast. The hare was old and overweight, but obviously every inch a veteran warrior; his regalia proclaimed it proudly for all to see. On his head he wore a tricorn hat, with holes cut to allow his ears to pop out. It was surmounted by the most elaborate white drooping plume. Though his cheeks were pouched and baggy, the eyes that shone above them were hooded and sharp. His whiskers had been waxed and curled into a perfect handlebar moustache. He wore a faded but gaudy pink mess jacket, decorated with arrays of medallions and ribbons. He had epauletted shoulders and a front twinkling with polished silver buttons. Stowing the rod away like an elongated pace stick, he gave a cough and a nod. Four young leveret hares in quaint green uniforms nipped smartly out of the surrounding grass and saluted him. He acknowledged them with a wave of one ear. "Righto, quick as y'like now, squad. Pick up all weapons an' lay those rats facedown where they're no bother to anybeast..." One of the leverets sprang forward but skidded to a halt at a fierce glare from his superior. "What've I told you, laddie buck? Wait for it, wait for it Right, go to it, squad... Move!" The young hares scurried about gathering up all weapons. One was about to relieve Dandin of his spear when he caught the stern eye of his elder. "Teh, ten! Can't y'tell the good chaps from the rotters, Runtwold? Leave that mouse's weapon alone, sah!" Pulling off his hat, he strode ponderously down the hill. Bending a leg in front of Mariel, he bowed with a totally overdone flourish. "Field Marshal Meldrum Fallowthorn at y'service, marm. Though me reputation oft precedes ^ me, no doubt you've heard m'name bandied about hither and yon, wot?" Mariel could only shake her head. 66 BRIAN JACQUES The Bell-maker 67 "What's this? There's a thing!" said the hare, raising his eyebrows. "Never heard of old Meldrum the Magnificent? Astoundin*! Never mind, m'dear, you will!" Introductions were in order all around. The moles thanked their rescuers profusely, the old one tugging his snout respectfully to the warriors who had saved them. "Burrhurr, thankee koindly, guddbeasts. Oi be Furpp Straightfurrer, an' these yurr h'infants be moi daughter's lot—Burdill, Grumbee, an' Porgoo, Straightfurrers all. Bid ee gennelbeasts good day, moles." The three little ones tugged their snouts politely. "Good arternoon, zurrs! Foin day, marm!" Meldrum turned his attention to the rats lying with their noses pressed into the sand. "Now then, y'blaggards, up on those paws smart I ike. One, two, hup!" The rats did as they were bidden with alacrity. Meldrum prodded one in the stomach with his rod butt. "Now listen hard, y'great stinker. I'm promotin' you pro tern offisah of this mob. See that hill yonder? Well, if you ain't all over it an1 gone in two flicks of me eye, I'll make rat pudden with the lot of yah, understand?" The rat nodded, knowing his life depended on it. Meldrum signaled to his leveret squad and Mariel's group. "Weapons at the ready, shoot at will if they don't move quick enough. Aim for between the shoulder blades. Righto, attention, vermin—on my command of run, you'll flippin' well run for y'lives. Got it? Good, ready... Run!" Sand scattered in all directions as the terrified rats fled, stumbling helter-skelter over the hill. In an amazingly short time, they were gone from sight. Field Marshal Meldrum Fallowthorn sniffed disdainfully. "Rats! Nevah could abide the rotters—nasty, sly, an' not a scrap of guts or discipline in any of 'em!" Bowly stood goggling at the array of decorations jingling and rattling on the Field Marshal's tunic. "Gwaw! A real, live warrior. Wot d'yew get all those medals for, sir?" Meldrum's chest swelled, and he gave Bowly a swift wink. "Battles, young hog, m'lad. That's what a chap earns these gongs for. This'n was the Eastern Campaign, an' the big star here I got for subduin' a stoat uprisin'. Hah, made those blighters jump I can tell yeh! See these colored bars? Earned 'em for wallopin' weasels up north. This here special silver shield was for biffin' the daylights out of a snake, most arrogant adder I ever met, a real boundah! Now, about this golden crescent with a ferret straddlin' it..." The young leveret Runtwold whispered to Mariel and Dandin, "Good ol* Uncle Mel. We're his nephews, y'know. He makes all those medals an' awards 'em to himself, but only when he thoroughly earns 'em. The old fellah's a top-hole warrior an' a real toff!" Furpp gestured in the direction of a hill to the west. "Burr, c'n oi offer ee guddbeasts summ afreshment, b'aint much, tho' you'm be welcumm t'moi dwellin' t* share et." Meldrum donned his hat and, pulling his ears through the holes, he signaled his squad into line. "Refreshments! I say, that's rather civil of you, old molechap. Bib'n'tuck-er's me favorite exercise. Lead on!" Furpp's dwelling was actually a hill, hollowed out and shored up with rock and timber, dark and cool after the 68 BRIAN JACQUES hot noon sun. An entire mole colony lived there. Furpp was obviously the tribal patriarch. He gave them drinking bowls, brimming with a cold cordial of pennycloud and wild barley sweetened with honey. The leveret squad— Runtwold, Coltvine, Thurdale, and Foghill—drank deeply, shuffling with anticipation as they watched wood platters being piled high with cold sliced deeper'n'ever pie, garnished with hogweed and dandelion salad dressed with crowfoot and garlic mustard. Meldrum the Magnificent shifted huge quantities as he planned his next decoration. \ "Hmm, two rats slain an' about sixteen vanquished. Lemme see. I think maybe two small silver rats, rampant over a black ribbon with sixteen yellow stripes should fill the bill. Foghill, pour some of that cordial for my chum Bowly." The young hare saluted casually. "Right ho, Uncle Mel!" The Field Marshal's ears shot up stiffly. "Improper form, sah. You're on a fizzer, young Foghill! I charge you with addressin' a superior offisah as uncle. Penalty, polish all me medals before y'bunk down tonight! You know the regulations, laddie buck: I'm either Sir, or Field Marshal, or Meldrum the Magnificent. Next one I catch callin' me Uncle Mel or Nunky, I'll have his ears for breakfast an' his tail for tea. That clear, squad? Good, as y'were. Carry on victuallin' up!" There were so many moles introduced to the visitors that they soon gave up trying to remember names. The dwelling was very homey, and every comfort was lavished upon them. Furpp invited the rescuers to stay for the night and they gladly accepted, though later Mariel The BeUmaker 6g slightly regretted her decision. Every nook and cranny of the dwelling, throughout its various side chambers and alcoves, was packed with multitudes of sleeping moles. They snored and snuffled, sleepwalked, and some of them even argued or sang in their slumbers. The dwelling became oppressively close. Mariel and Dandin, stepping carefully over the sleepers, made their way outside to sleep in the fresh air. They strolled around the hill, noticing how the dwelling entrance was carefully concealed between a large rock and some thick brush. The gentle breezes constantly shifted the dry sand and smoothed over any traces of paw-prints leading to Furpp's home. They came upon Furpp and Meldrum lounging outside, they too having deserted the packed chambers for the soft, starred outdoors. The four sat down in the warm sand, discussing the day's events in low tones. Meldrum had already been apprised of the situation by Furpp, and he was not happy. "Too many of those confounded rats in Southsward now. I got back from me campaignin' an' travelin' too late; the bally place is swarmin' with 'em. That lot today aren't the only ones I've run into; I've seen patrols everywhere. Now Furpp tells me that me old friends Gael Squirrelking an' his good ladywife had the very throne pulled out from under 'em by invaders an' villains. Couple of foxbeasts, I hear. One's said to be half wolf. Tchah! The ruffian'll be half dead if he ever crosses my trail. Actually, I was on me way to Castle Floret with the squad when I bumped into you chaps. What d'ye say, care to join us?" Mariel exchanged a grim nod with Dandin before answering, "We're with you! After what we saw today of 7o BRIAN JACQUES those filthy rats, Dandin and I are game for anything that will rid the land of them and their evil kind!" "B'aint that easy, zurrs," said Furpp Straightfurrer, shaking his head.' 'You'm oanly see'd but a few of Foxen-wolfer's 'orde. Gurt boatloads of ee vurmints came to this land, more'n ee leaves in autumn winds. Ho urr, they'm be too aplenty furr the loikes of us' n' s to cope wi'." Meldrum the Magnificent sniffed as he twirled his waxed mustachios. "Balderdash! Quality counts, old la