Raga Bol glared at her. “But they ain’t ’ere, are they? So do we burn ’em out, or have ye got a better way?”
The Seer sensed the danger in his tone. She made her reply diplomatically. “Set a fire in full view of the windows. Then send a messenger to give them one last warning. The sight of flames should alter their minds.”
This was the answer the captain desired. He gave orders. “Ferron, Glimbo, gather wood an’ get lamp oil. Then set up a blaze on the lawn, where they kin see it. Wirga, take Chakka wid ye. Go an’ warn those fools wot’ll ’appen if’n they don’t surrender t’me!”
Badredd had just finished mopping the gatehouse floor clean and was about to unbend when Blowfly slapped his rump smartly with the rope end.
“Yew missed a corner be’ind the door!” The fat Searat caught Flinky peering in through the open window at him. “Now then, slysnout, wot do yew want?”
The stoat smiled apologetically. “Beggin’ yore pardon, sir, but ’tis the cap’n, ’e wants ye down by the pond.”
Blowfly gave Badredd another sharp rap. “This place better be shipshape when I comes back, or I’ll flay the back offa ye. Ahoy there, stoat, lend ’im a paw. I kin find me own way t’the pond.” Blowfly waddled off, twirling his rope end skilfully.
The small fox tossed Flinky a damp rag. “You start on the windows, I’ll see t’the floor.”
The stoat pulled him upright, whispering urgently. “We’re gettin’ out o’ this place. Come on now, while they’re all at the pond we can make a run fer it!”
Badredd gazed dumbly at Flinky, as if not understanding what he had said. The stoat grabbed the cleaning rag from him and flung it away. “Don’t stand there wid yore jaw flappin’! Are ye comin’ wid us, or d’ye like bein’ a slave? The rest o’ the gang are hidin’ by the gate, waitin’. All the Searats are down by the pond, there’s not a sentry on guard at all!”
Badredd’s limbs began trembling. “But wot if they catch us?”
Flinky could not keep the contempt out of his voice. “Huh, some grand ould leader ye turned out t’be. Yore better off stayin’ here if’n yore too scared. We’re goin’!”
He ran from the gatehouse to where the others were waiting. “Get that gate open, quick now!”
Soon Badredd came running from the gatehouse to join the escapers, shouting out, “Wait for me, mates. I’m comin’, too!”
A moment later they were off, dashing south down the path and cutting off east into Mossflower Wood, leaving the main gate swinging lazily in the summer breeze.
Raga Bol was putting an edge to his blade on a stone he had found on the pond’s edge. He glanced up sourly at Blowfly’s approach. “Wot do y’want, eh?”
The fat Searat saluted with his rope’s end. “Dat liddle stoat, the gabby one, ’e said yew wanted ter see me, Cap’n.”
Blowfly dodged a swipe from the silver hook as Bol roared, “I never said no such thing. Get back to that gate’ouse an’ see wot they’re up to. Go on, move yer fat bum!”
He glanced up despairingly at the sight of Wirga and Chakka arriving back from the Abbey building. Both were caked from eartips to tails in a mixture of soil, rubble and sloppy debris, which clung to their bodies. The Searat captain shook his head in disbelief. “Well, make yore report. Wot ’appened to youse two?”
Wirga spat out grit. Pawing soil from her ears, she hawked and coughed to clear her mouth. “They didn’t give us a chance to speak. We went round there like thee told us, but they wouldn’t listen, would they Chakka?”
She waded into the pond and began washing the mess off as Chakka continued. “They was pourin’ muck outta the winders, Cap’n. We tried to give ’em yore warnin’, but a crew o’ those moles lobbed a big ’eap o’ rubble down on us. Not only that, but they kept tippin’ stuff down until we was knocked flat. We ’ad to dig our way out afore we was buried. It looks like they’re coverin’ the Abbey door, so we can’t put a light to it, Cap’n. Those beasts are killers, we was near suffocated!”
Raga Bol put aside sharpening his scimitar. “Have the others lit the fire on the lawn yet?”
Wirga emerged dripping from the pond. “Aye, the wood is burning.”
Raga Bol hurried up from the pond, past the orchard and out onto the lawn at the front of the building where he could take in the full scene. He could see the top few timbers of the Abbey’s main door. The rest had disappeared under a heap of debris, which was still pouring out of the window, forming a great hill of rubble, which completely blocked the doorway.
Quivering with rage, Bol strode up to the fire, which his crew was fuelling with logs, branches and planks. He smote at the blazing wood with his scimitar, scattering it onto the lawn. “Glimbo, git yoreself over ’ere! Stop burnin’ the wood, we’ll need it to pile up agin that load o’ rubble!”
The one-eyed Searat, who had been enjoying the blaze, saluted his leader quizzically. “Ye don’t want a fire then, Cap’n?” He recoiled, his face now splattered with spittle from the captain’s furious rant.
“Can’t ye see they’ve blocked the doorway, fool? Rubble won’t burn, we need that wood to pile up agin that ’eap. We can climb up on it through the winders!”
Raga Bol sat down on the lawn, chopping at the grass with his blade and shouting out, “Can’t ye use yore brains? ’Ave I got to do all the thinkin’ round ’ere?”
Blowfly came plodding up from the gatehouse. “Cap’n, the vermin gang are gone. The gate’s open, they must’ve escaped!”
Bol gritted each word out slowly, as if he was speaking to a dim-witted infant. “Well, go an’ bring ’em back! Glimbo, you go wid ’im, an’ don’t show yer ugly faces back ’ere widout every last one of ’em. Go!”
Martha had heard every word. She smiled at the Abbot. “Well, that’s a few less to bother us.”
Sister Setiva ducked her head aside as a stretcher load of debris hurtled out of the window space. “Och, but did ye hear yon Searat? They’re goin’ tae make a ladder tae scale the heap o’ muck. Whit are we to do now?”
Just then, Foremole Dwurl clumped into the dormitory, his face wreathed in a happy smile as he announced, “We’m no need to wurry o’er water nomores, zurr. Moi molers h’un-covered a gurt well, daown in ee cellars!”
Sister Setiva pursed her lips. “Och grand, but ah don’t see how that’s goin’ tae help us fight Searats off!”
Toran shook Dwurl by his muddy digging claw. “That’s a spot o’ luck, me ole mate! Keep throwin’ rubble out o’ the windows, an’ tell yore crew to start bringin’ up pails o’ water, as much as they can!”
The ottercook winked roguishly at Martha. “We’ll see ’ow far the rats get, tryin’ to scale a mudhill.”
The haremaid clapped her paws gleefully. “Very good, Toran, what a splendid idea! Gurvel, keep making those pepper bombs. In a day or two those Searats will wish they’d never heard of Redwall Abbey!”
Little Muggum flung a pawful of debris moodily out the window. “Hurr, they’m founded watter. Oi ’speck uz Dibbuns bee’s a getten barthed agin.”
Sister Setiva patted the molebabe fondly. “Och aye, but ye can throw the soapy bathwater oot o’er the rats!”
Within the hour, Old Phredd had penned a poem about what he envisaged. Martha laughed along with the rest as the ancient Gatekeeper read it aloud to the defenders.
“They won’t leave this Abbey, all filthy and scabby,
when this war is done.
Our foes will retreat, looking clean nice and neat,
every Searat’s son.
Oh won’t it be splendid, when this siege is ended,
like roses they’ll smell,
washed by bathwater sweet, looking fresh in defeat,
as away they run.
Come one and come all, dirty vermin we’ll call,
should you need a scrub,
don’t worry or fear, we’ve got bathwater here,