There was immediate agreement all round. Redwall looked too solid and forbidding to be attacked head-on.
Magger nodded eagerly. "So wot's der plan, Cap'n?"
Vizka's mind was racing as he spoke. "Er, this's wot ya do. First, we needs vikkles t'day. Magger, take der crew back up dis ditch, until yer outta sight. Den go inta der forest an' load up wid vikkles, must be plenty growin' in a forest, birds, eggs an' fishes, too. Stay in de forest an' make a big fire, cook every thin' up. Make skilly, an' soup, an roast stuff, to feed all me mates, all me good crew! Well, buckoes, 'ow'll dat do ya?"
There was a mass murmur of agreement. Magger started to move off, then turned to Vizka. "Wot'll yew be doin', Cap'n?"
The golden fox tapped his muzzle with a paw. "Plan-nin', Magger, figgerin' a way so's we kin get inta dat Red-wall an' lay our claws on all dat loot, an' all der vikkles. Leave it ter me, nobeast can lay a plan like Vizka Longtooth, right?"
Magger saluted with his spear. "Right y'are, Cap'n!"
Vizka called after the departing vermin. "Don't let ole Magger scoff every thin', mates, save some fer yer old cap'n, I'll join youse later."
They went off in a lighter mood, bouyed by their captain's words.
When they had gone, Vizka sat alone under the canvas awning, pondering his dilemma. How to conquer an Abbey, which was not only well-defended, but contained a berserk badger who had sworn to kill him. It was not a prospect that he relished, but now that he had committed himself, he could not back down in front of his crew. He knew that if they lost confidence in him, he was little better than a deadbeast. There was always some creature wanting to be captain, he had already witnessed this with Grivel, Feerog and Durgy.
178
A noise from behind him on the path caused Vizka to creep out from his shelter and peer over the edge of the ditch. It was a party of moles who had ventured out to inspect the fallen watervole. He could not understand their speech.
"Burr, ee'm h'aloive, but that bee's ee gurt lumpen on ee'm 'ead, a roight mole'ill et bee's!"
"Burr aye, ole Benjo can surrpintly 'url a barrel stopper!"
There were six moles, they lifted the watervole between them and carried him inside the Abbey.
As the main gate of the outer wall slammed shut, Vizka mentally berated himself for a fool. He had missed a golden opportunity: the main gates had stood ajar for vital moments, and he had sent his entire crew off looking for food. They could have captured the moles, and rushed the gates! A huge sigh of regret and frustration came from the golden fox. He laid his forehead against the muddy ditch-side, cursing fate for robbing him of a great chance.
Something tickled the tip of his nose, he drew back and inspected the object. It was a worm, boring its way out of the ditchside wall. Callously, Vizka nipped it in two halves between his pawnails. He watched the worm writhing, then stamped on it. His long fangs showed as a sudden smile came across his features. He had a plan, a superbly simple scheme. His crew would dig their way into Redwall from the side wall of the ditch. A bit lower down, close to the big gate. It would be a foolproof idea!
179
19
It was an unfortunate day for the Brownrats of Gruntan Kurdly. Hastened and bullied forward by their irate leader, they dashed along the squelching banks of the sidestream.
Rangval the Rogue, unseen to his enemies, skipped nimbly along in the middle terraces of the woodlands, chortling with delight as they blundered into his cunningly laid traps. He perched in a sycamore, watching the leading half dozen runners vanish amid screams of dismay. Down they went, straight into a deep, natural pit, which he had disguised with ferns and rotten branches. The hole was filled with water, overflowing from the stream.
The others veered sharply away from the bank, only to run into a grove of osier and purple willow, long, whippy branches and boughs. Rangval had tied back or intertwined a lot of the heavier limbs. He shook with laughter as the rats dashed into them.
Thwack! Splat! Whoosh! Thud! Their bungling passage released the lashing boughs. Jaws were shattered, teeth broken, paws damaged and stomachs had the wind driven from them as rats were felled, or cannoned into each other.
Rangval cast a backward glance at the chaos, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ah now, me bold buckoes,
180
that's only a taste of wot ye've got to come. I'll teach ye to mend yore wicked ways. Hurry up, now, an' see the grand treat I've got in store for ye!" He halted long enough to hear Gruntan Kurdly roaring.
"Wot'n the name o' boiled eggs'n'bunions are ye doin' swimmin' round in that hole? Gerrout an' capture those boats! An' youse lot, who said ye could lay around in them bushes? Up on yore hunkers an' charge, afore I do a spot of ear slittin' an' tail choppin'!"
Rangval sped on his way, chuckling. "Shure that's the way, Kurdly me ould rat, keep 'em comin'. Boot a few bottoms, that'll move 'em!"
Rangval arrived ahead of the vermin, at his pride and joy, Owch Mansions. He had spent long seasons enticing wasps and hornets to the spot where two golden weeping willow trees formed a thick, low arch from bank to bank. He had specially placed lots of rotten fruit and dead vegetation, full of grubs and aphids, at the foot of each tree.
The wasps had built four nests there, large, globe-shaped structures, which perched between branches. For the hornets, he had a fallen tree, the long-dead and decaying trunk of a wych elm, that he had maneuvered to the waterside. There was a constant coming and going of wasps and hornets around the willow, and a steady, thin hum from the insects.
Rangval treated them with loving care, walking among them unafraid. He grasped the ends of two long, trailing ropes, which had been tied to the branches of both weeping willows. Rangval spoke soothingly as he paced carefully backward. "Ah, me little stripey darlin's, pay no attention t'me, 'tis only yore Uncle Rangval. But listen now, get those fierce ould stings of yores ready. There's a horde of fearful vermin comin' this way. I want ye to give 'em a good, hot, ould welcome, shure I know ye'll do me proud, bein' the fine, savage bunch y'are!"
181
Rangval retreated until the ropes were almost taut. Crouching in the undergrowth, the wily squirrel kept the wasp nests in view, listening for sounds of the Brownrats heading toward them.
Stringle's duty as an officer was to make the others carry out Gruntan Kurdly's wishes by hook or by crook. Having already blundered into a few of Rangval's minor traps, they were reluctant to pursue the logboats vigorously. Stringle knew that he would be the first to suffer, if the horde continued to advance in such a laggardly fashion. Gathering the two scouts, Noggo and Biklo, for support, he tried a strategy which he had seen Gruntan use successfully.
Pushing his way to the front, he halted the vanguard, waiting until the rest had caught up en masse. Gruntan was in his litter, somewhere near the middle of the mob. He listened to Stringle's speech, nodding approvingly, as his officer addressed everybeast jauntily.
"Scrag me tail an' plug me ears, wot's all this, mates? The terror o' Mossflower, the great Brownrat horde, an' ye can't catch a few wooden boats full o' scruffy liddle sh'ews! I'll wager they're laughin' at us right now. Them sh'ews is only just upstream, y'know, an' a stream can't go on forever. One good charge an' we'll lay 'em by the tails. All the boss wants is their boats. Once we've captured 'em the chase is over, we kin do wot we like. Go fishin', rob birds eggs or just lay round in the sun for a few days. So wot d'ye say, buckoes, shall we go an' get them logboats?"
Gruntan shouted from his litter. "Aye, go to it, mateys, I'll make a feast fer the first one who brings me back a sh'ews head!"
Stringle had to jump aside as the horde sped by him, roaring, bellowing and whirling their weapons.
Gruntan Kurdly was smiling, he winked at Stringle. "Haharr, well done, bucko, let's get after 'em!" He laid about at the litter bearers with a willow withe. "Cummon,