The returning archers found Gulo the Savage sitting on the fallen willow at the bankside, slapping pawfuls of bankmud on his severed earstump to stem the bleeding.
Eissaye pointed with his bow. “Mighty One, they escaped downstream. The flow was too fast, and the banks high with rock. We could not keep up with the speed of their craft, Lord.”
Gulo was off the trunk with a bound and onto the bank. “My brother Askor, and the Walking Stone—did ye sight them?”
Eissaye wisely backed out of range. “Nay, sire. . . .”
Gulo, his eyes gleaming madly, seemed to ignore the scout. “Hah, hiding in the boats, that’s where they’ll be! But never fear, I’ll get them. You there, and you . . . all of ye! We have our own craft, use your spears. Roll this tree into the water! We will travel as fast as they do. I will have them before they reach the Redwall place. Cut those ropes ’an make haste!”
Eissaye wanted to tell Gulo about the rapids, but he held his silence. There was no talking to the wolverine in his present mood.
Within moments, the huge willow trunk was crashing downstream with the vermin clinging to it for their lives. Oblivious to the blood that streamed from his wounded ear, Gulo stood upright, filled with exhilaration at his first taste of riding rough waters. An insane light shone in Gulo the Savage’s glittering eyes. He kicked at the nearest vermin, shouting at them above the thundering current, “Paddle! Use thy spears an’ paddle! Fast! Fast!”
32
Yoofus the volethief had made a lead of woven linen strapping for his wife’s pet, Rockbottom. Neatly plaited in red, green and white, with a loop that fitted securely round the little reptile’s shell, the leash came in handy when Didjety took Rockbottom for walks around the deck of the raft.
Doogy sat at the tiller, remarking to Yoofus as he watched Rockbottom’s slow progress about the craft, “Och, ah wonder if’n yon beast ever breaks intae a gallop. He’s certainly in no hurry tae go anywhere.”
Yoofus patted Rockbottom’s head as he slowly ambled by. “Ah sure, he’s the slow’n’steady one alright. Look there . . . further up the bank on the left. That’s the cutoff leadin’ to the stream where I hid yer friend Tam’s sword an’ flag. Here, give me the tiller, I’ll take her round.”
Doogy allowed the water vole to manoeuvre the tiller, leaving the small Highlander free to perch upon the drum. Watching the sidewater loom up, he expressed his doubts. “Are ye sure this is the right stream? Ye’ve already took us up two dead ends!”
Yoofus winked confidently at him. “Sure I’m sure! Don’t I know these woodlands like me own darlin’ wife’s dear face?”
Doogy stood in front of him, blocking Yoofus’s view of Didjety. “Oh ye do, do ye? Well, what colour are yore wife’s eyes?”
The cocky thief made several guesses. “Er, blue . . . no, green . . . er, grey. A sort of a bluey greenish grey, I’m sure of it!”
Didjety wagged an indignant paw at her husband. “Aren’t you the great ould fibber, Yoofus Lightpaw! Me eyes are dark brown wid hazel flecks, so there!”
Yoofus rounded the bend into the slipstream, chuckling. “So they are, me liddle sugarplum, but they enchant me so much that I ferget when I’m gazin’ into ’em!”
Didjety stood glaring at him, paws akimbo. “Get away, ye fat, silver-tongued rogue! I’m thinkin’ I might just make dinner for me’n Mister Plumm, an’ ferget about you!”
The slipstream was narrower than the broadstream they had come down. Trees hung thick over it, and the water was sluggish, with a coating of green algae when they got further along.
Doogy watched Rockbottom whilst the shrew wife prepared dinner. The Highlander kept shaking his head doubtfully. “Ach, ah dinna think this is the right way. What have ye tae say about all this, mah friend?”
Rockbottom closed his eyes and withdrew his head into his shell.
Doogy sighed. “Ah get the message, mate!” He tied Rockbottom’s lead to the drum and went beneath the raft’s awning to join Yoofus and Didjety for dinner.
As Doogy had hoped, the volewife had brought along some of her sausages. These she had encased in pastry. Doogy watched as she heated them up on a small fire which Yoofus had kindled atop of some flat stones.
The volethief winked at him. “These are called sausage rolls. Me darlin’ Didjety makes the best sausage rolls anywhere. D’ya know how to make a sausage roll, Doogy?”
The Highlander bit into one, finding the sausages delicious indeed. “No, ah’m afraid ah don’t know how tae make a sausage roll.”
Yoofus answered, “Ye just push it down a hill, that’s how ye make a sausage roll!”
Doogy did not find it funny, but both voles hooted and giggled. “Push it down a hill! Hahaha heeheeheehee!”
Doogy took another sausage roll. Then, glaring at Yoofus, he spoke firmly. “If you’ve got us lost, mah friend, ah won’t push ye down a hill, ah’ll fling ye over a cliff!”
Didjety pressed more sausage rolls upon Doogy. “Ah sure, don’t be frettin’ yerself, Mister Plumm. My Yoofus will get us there. Here now, I’ll sing ye a song t’cheer ye up!”
The volewife, with her sweet little voice, launched straight into song.
“Ould Roderick vole had a grand appetite,
sure he’d lived with it all of his life,
an’ when he got home to his cottage one night,
he called out to his own darlin’ wife,
‘O bring me some stew, a big bucket or two,
an’ ten of yore ould apple pies,
a cheese from the shelf as big as yoreself,
an’ a trifle just as a surprise!
Now me stummick is slack, for me health to come back,
then ye must keep me nourished an’ fed,
I’ll be happy alright an’ well rested tonight,
when I toddle off to me ould bed.
So bring out the cake for a dear husband’s sake,
an’ a bathtub o’ soup nice an’ warm,
six loaves for to dunk, sure an’ when ’tis all drunk,
then I’ll sleep like a babe ’til the morn.
Providin”tis clear there’s a barrel o’ beer,
for to save me ould teeth from the drought,
some cordial an’ tea sure I’ll sup happily,
get a move on before I pass out!’
Well his wife did no more than fling him out the door,
hit him squarely wid all the ten pies.
She poured all the stew o’er his head, an’ it’s true,
that the trifle came as a surprise!
She loosened his teeth with the cheese if y’please,
stuffed the loaves down his ears gleefully.
Then both him an’ the cake she slung into the lake,
Shoutin’, ‘Come back tomorrow for tea!’ ”
Doogy smiled and applauded the song, but he was still far from being cheered up. “Very entertainin’, marm, but jokes an’ comic ditties won’t find the banner an’ the claymore yore husband thieved. Aye, an’ ah’m thinkin’ they won’t get us any closer tae Redwall Abbey.”
Yoofus began poling the raft up the narrow stream as if he had not a care in the world. “Ah, sure yore a proper ould worry wart, Mister Plumm. Do ye not think I know me own way around Mossflower? Don’t get yore tail in an uproar now. I’ll wager we find yore gear soon enough. I recognise this stream.”
But the day wore on without success; in fact, their position worsened. By early evening the stream had narrowed. Trees and bank foliage pressed in on them, and the water became murky and stagnant. Doogy’s mood darkened as he assisted the water vole to pole the craft along, constantly having to slash at the encroaching vegetation with his claymore blade.
Didjety swiped at a cloud of annoying insects with her pinafore. “Be off, ye pesky mites, before I’m eaten alive! Yoofus, are you certain sure this is the right stream?”
The volethief brushed a hairy caterpillar off his paw. “Er, I think so, me dear.”
Doogy spat at a gnat which was trying to get in his mouth. “Ye think so? Ach, ye great fat-tailed fibber, ah’ve a good mind tae boot yer lyin’ bottom intae that water!”