At that moment, Plumnose came lumbering back through the woodlands. The ferret’s oversized nose wobbled from side to side as he took in the scene. “Huh, wod’s bin goin’ on, mates?”
Flinky began explaining. “Ah well, Plum, me ould messmate, wait’ll I tell ye wot . . .”
Badredd shoved the stoat roughly aside. “I’m the chief now—make yore report t’me. Well, wot did ye find?”
Plumnose pointed in the direction he had been scouting. “Er, over der, I’b found a path dat runs south’t’north. I t’ink dat’s der way to the h’abbey. Id’s aboud h’a day’s march, Chief, to d’path I mean.”
Badredd pointed with his blade. “Get movin’, you lot. Plumnose, you go up front an’ show ’em the way. Slipback, Juppa, Crinktail, Flinky an’ Halfchop, up front wid ’im. I ain’t walkin’ wid youse behind me. Rogg an’ Floggo, you bring up the rear wid me.”
He shook the cutlass at Flinky. “An’ remember this, old silver tongue, no gossipin’ an’ plottin’, ’cos I’ll be watchin’ ye. There’ll be no more coaxin’ me inter things wot I don’t wanna do. Now move yoreselves!”
It was pleasant walking through the woodlands. Patches of light and shade mottled the grass, and many forest blossoms were coming into bloom. The weasel brothers, Rogg and Floggo, were a taciturn pair. Since both of them carried bows and arrows, Badredd had kept them back with him. He explained their duties as he watched the backs of the gang, marching ahead. Badredd confided to the weasel brothers as though they were lifelong friends.
“Stay by my side, mates, I’ll make ye both my seconds in command. Keep yore eyes on the rest of that gang an’ watch me back. Aye, ye two look true’n’blue t’me. When we conquer that Abbey place, I’ll reward ye well. Mark my words, ye’ll live the lives o’ kings!”
Rogg and Floggo were not at all impressed by the little fox’s brags and promises. They had seen gang leaders come and go, each one as ruthlessly cruel as the next. Keeping a stolid silence, the brothers marched dutifully on. Badredd kept a half pace behind them, carrying the cutlass over one shoulder like a spear. He had tried wearing it thrust into his belt, but the blade was too long. It dragged along the ground and got caught twixt his footpaws, causing undignified stumbles. Leaders could not afford to look foolish to those serving them.
Morning wore on to midday. The gang’s initial feelings of a brisk march through pleasant country began to pall as the going got more difficult. Those who were marching in front began complaining when they had to pass through a wide area of stinging nettles. Badredd roared at them to carry on in silence, which they did but only briefly. They had come upon marshy ground—not too deep but very uncomfortable—and soon were grumbling loudly. Swarms of midges attacked as the vermin struggled through the smelly, oozing mud. This time they ignored Badredd’s shouts and threats, even hurling insults back at him. After what seemed like hours, the front marchers emerged onto firm ground. Badredd and his bodyguards Rogg and Floggo hurried to catch up with them.
The gang had found a dry, sunny clearing where they lay, looking sullen and rebellious. One glance at their mud-splashed, insect-bitten faces warned their leader of trouble to come should he start roaring out orders to continue marching. Badredd forestalled this by sitting down wearily and commenting, “Ye did well there, mates, let’s rest ’ere awhile. Ahoy, Plum, are ye sure this is the right way? Are ye sure that hooter o’ yores didn’t wobble in the wrong direction, eh?”
Not even a snigger greeted his little joke. Picking dried mud from his nosetip, the ferret replied dully, “Dis is duh way h’I went awright.”
The vermin gang had no supplies with them and were too tired to forage. Crinktail and Halfchop stretched out and began taking a nap in the warm sunlight. Plumnose, Juppa, Slipback and Flinky sat in a group, conversing in muted tones. Rogg and Floggo slouched nearby, their eyes half closed.
Badredd began feeling dozy in the midday heat, but he forced himself to sit up and look alert. He saw Slipback glance his way, then whisper something to Juppa. The little fox pointed the cutlass at them.
“Cut out the whisperin’, I’m warnin’ ye!”
Flinky grinned impudently and threw a lazy salute. “Ah sure, they wasn’t sayin’ ought bad about ye, sir. Wid yore permission, would it be alright if we was to sing?”
Badredd relaxed, shrugging indifferently. “Sing ’til yore tongues drop off, if’n ye’ve a mind to. But none o’ that gossipin’ an’ whisperin’ to each other!”
The four exchanged sly winks. Flinky began singing a lullaby in a soft soothing voice.
“All the walkin’ today that I’ve done, done, done,
trampin’ through mud in the sun, sun, sun,
it reminds me of the days when me dear ould mother said,
come on now liddle feller, time for bed . . . bed . . . bed.
So hush a-bye, looh ah-lie, baby close yore eyes,
an’ dream about the moon up in the starry skies.”
He repeated the verse again, even softer, with the other three vermin humming gently in the background.
Badredd’s head drooped forward slightly, the cutlass lying limp in his open paw. His thoughts drifted back to his own young seasons. Through a golden haze of memory, he was barely aware of Flinky’s singing. It was the same tune but with different words.
“It looks like the fox has gone to sleep, sleep, sleep,
Slippy now be quiet as ye creep, creep, creep,
an’ stick a good sharp spear straight through his head,
then the moment that he wakes up he’ll be dead, dead, dead!
So hush a-bye, don’t ye cry, foxy close yore eyes,
an’ ye’ll soon make lovely vittles for the ants an’ flies!”
The murderous scheme might have worked out successfully had it not been for Plumnose. He thought that the altered words were so funny that he clapped his paws and broke out into hearty guffaws.
“Duh, haw haw haaaw! Dat’s a gudd ’un, I like dat, Flink! Haw haw haw, wake up dead, berry gudd!”
Badredd snapped immediately back to reality. He caught Slipback, brandishing a spear not three paces from him. Grabbing up his cutlass, the fox raised it threateningly.
“Wot are yew up to, weasel?”
Slipback veered and went past him. He started jabbing at the shrubbery at the edge of the glade.
“Thought I saw those bushes movin’, Chief. It might’ve been that otter an’ the squirrel, er, Sagroon an’ Bando!”
Flinky interposed. “I know who ye mean, Bragoon an’ Saro. I saw the bushes move, too, Chief. Slipback could be right!”
Thinking swiftly, Badredd turned the situation to his advantage. “No sense in takin’ chances then. We’d best git movin’ fast. Come on, up on yore paws!”
Badredd drove them hard for the remainder of the day by adopting a simple but effective scheme. He ordered Rogg and Floggo to fire off arrows from time to time. The deadly shafts fell just short of the marchers’ rear, causing them to hasten forward. Oaths and curses accompanied the arrival of each arrow, but they kept going, knowing they were only getting tit for tat. The plot to rid themselves of the little fox had failed, but they realised that, had it been Burrad or Skrodd in Badredd’s place, Flinky and Slipback would have been slain as retribution. They were getting off lightly.
Progress was good. By evening, Badredd was heartened to hear Plumnose calling out, “Dere’s duh path at de end ob the trees!”
Sure enough, they had reached the border of the woodlands. In front of them lay the path, which ran down from the north to the south.
Flinky leaned on an elm trunk, smiling cheerfully as the fox came up to see. “Ah well, there ye are now, Chief. All we gotta do is follow that road t’the left an’ keep goin’ ’til we hit Redwall Abbey!”
14