The ottermaid imitated a snoring sound. “Not me, must have been you. Don’t disturb me, I’m asleep!”
Armel lay down, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “It was you, you great, fat-tailed fibber. Good night!”
Brooky wrinkled her nose. “Heeheehee, don’t you mean good day?”
Armel smiled. “Don’t speak to me, I’m not talking to you!”
Brooky snuggled down into her cloak. “I’m not speaking, I’m sleeping. Don’t wake me, please. Heeheehee!”
The day was both warm and pleasant, heralding a fine summer to come. Butterflies and wood moths fluttered noiselessly through the tranquil woodland glade. Bees droned soothingly amid small blossoms of white campion, whitlow grass, sweet woodruff and blackberry. By midmorn the ground was dry and sunkissed. Partially shaded by the foliage of the big elm, the travellers enjoyed their first sleep outside the protection of Redwall Abbey. Morning drifted serenely into noontide, shifting the shadows as the sun began its descent from midday zenith.
Brooky, the more volatile of the two, awoke around midnoon, with sun shining in her eyes and an inquisitive yellow brimstone butterfly fluttering about her half-open mouth. The ottermaid blew it away and tried to resume her slumber. The combination of daylight and a growing thirst, however, kept her awake. She looked across at Armel, still sleeping peacefully, wrapped loosely in her cloak.
Brooky sat up, yawning loudly and heaving gusty sighs. The moment she saw that the sounds were making Armel stir, she began complaining. “Oh, it’s not a bit of use, I can’t sleep anymore!”
Her friend awakened, blinking. “Why, what’s the matter?”
The ottermaid cast aside her cloak and stood up. “ ’Cos the flaming sun’s in my eyes, I’m being trampled on by all sorts of insects and my tongue’s like a baked sandal. I’m thirsty, aren’t you?”
To her surprise, Armel arose and began folding her cloak. “Aye, let’s go and find some water. I could do with a drink.”
They broke camp and walked to within sight of the path, heading southwest alongside the ditch.
Before long, Brooky stopped. She held up a paw. “Listen, can you hear the sound of water? Come on, pal, it’s coming from down that way!”
It was an underground rivulet, trickling out of the ditchside. Armel tested the water; it was clear and cold. She filled both their beakers about a quarter full with Burlop Cellarhog’s fruit syrup, then topped them up with the water.
Brooky stirred hers with a twig and took a good swig. “Hahahaha, good old Burlop. Delicious!”
Armel also found the taste of the mixture very pleasant. They each drank two beakers before their thirst was satisfied. Both travellers, feeling quite refreshed at last, were ready to continue their journey.
Brooky suddenly vanished momentarily, then returned carrying a long, thick branch. “Haha, this is the very thing we need! No more falling down ditches and fighting adders for us, pal. Watch this!”
Pushing one end of the branch down firmly into the bed of the ditch, she vaulted across onto the path. “Hohohoho! Clever young me, eh? Come on, miss, your turn!”
She pushed the branch back to Armel, who took a tight grip on it and swung herself easily over the ditch. The squirrelmaid was both surprised and pleased with herself. “My goodness, I am getting quite daring! What would Abbot Humble have said if he could’ve seen me leaping a ditch?”
Brooky patted Armel on the back. “He’d have said well done! Right, let’s step out now. We’ve got plenty o’ daylight left, and it’s a good straight path.”
Between them the pair covered a fair distance. The shadows were starting to lengthen as they marched down the path, with Brooky singing out in a fine melodious voice to keep them in step.
“There was an old otter who lived down a well,
the truth of this tale I can readily tell.
His wife an’ ten young ’uns lived with him as well,
an’ they dwelt there together for quite a long spell.
Left right! Two three! March along in step with me!
Such an odd situation did ever you see!
Then one frosty morning there came a good mole,
he waggled his tail as he peeped down the hole.
‘Come down,’ cried the otter, ‘an’ live here with me,
for ’tis cosy an’ warm an’ the rent is quite free.’
Left right! Two three! Down went the mole and his familee,
his wife an’ his grandpa an’ mole Dibbuns three!
The very same evenin’ there came a poor mouse,
who the wind an’ the rain had washed out of his house.
The otter took pity an’ cried out, ‘Come in,
you won’t take up much room, ’cos ye look pretty thin.’
Left right! Two three! The mouse went down right happily,
with five uncles, six aunts an’ a pet bumblebee!
Then who should turn up but a fat little flea,
he stood all alone there a sad sight to see.
He called down to the otter, ‘Move over a bit,
’cos I see a small space there where I might just fit.’
Left right! Two three! That’s a tale my mother told to me,
but I made up the bit about the flea, ’cos I’m a bigger liar than she!”
The white fox Captain Shard and his twenty assorted foxes and ermine were sitting on the ditch side, sucking woodpigeon eggs. Ferwul and Brugil, two of his forward scouts, had come across a number of nests, visible through the boughs of a sessile oak. The birds flew off when they began climbing the tree, leaving their nests and clusters of eggs at the vermin’s disposal.
Shard’s mate, Freeta, pierced an egg deftly with her claw and sucked it dry. Tossing the empty shell into the ditch, the vixen winked slyly at Shard. “A good spot to camp for the night, methinks?”
Shard chose a fresh egg. “Aye, but Lord Gulo ordered that we should travel both night and day to reach the Redwall place.”
Freeta snorted scornfully. “Lord Gulo, eh? Is Lord Gulo here watching thee? Look at those weary beasts! Ye need some rest, too. One night here will make little difference, Shard. Gulo need never know.”
Shard picked a piece of grit from between his pawpads. “Thou art right. We rest here tonight and continue on the morrow.”
He raised his voice to the ermine scouts. “Ferwul, Brugil! Take bows and arrows, go to those nests ye found an’ see if the birds have returned. The rest of ye, find someplace close by to rest until dawn.”
Both scouts went forward up the path to where they had found the nests in the oak. The rest of the vermin sought out sleeping places, grateful for the break they had been given. Shard was about to settle down in some ferns on the woodland side of the ditch, when the two ermine scouts came scurrying back. Both of them held paws to their mouths as a sign for everybeast to stay quiet.
Shard leaped the ditch in a single bound. He hissed to the pair, “What is it?”
Ferwul rubbed her paws gleefully. “Captain, two creatures, maids, comin’ hither—a streamdog an’ a treemouse. We saw them before they saw us!”
Shard gave orders in a hoarse whisper. “All of ye, down in the ditch. Be silent an’ look to thy weapons. Two beasts are coming. I want them taken alive!”
Armel and Brooky had finished singing, but they were still stepping along very well.
The squirrelmaid unwrapped her cloak and put it on. “It’s not as warm as it was this afternoon. When shall we sleep, d’you think?”
Brooky shrugged. “When we feel tired, I suppose, though we might as well keep going until we do.”
A slight sound from somewhere on the path behind them caused Armel to look back over her shoulder. Four ermine—two carrying spears, the other two with shafts notched to their bowstrings—stood on the path, watching them. She tugged at Brooky’s paw. “Look what’s behind us. . . .”
The ottermaid did not have to: four white foxes, armed with sickle-shaped swords, came out of the ditch to block their forward path.