Tam winked at his friend. “Ye’ve a fine way with words, Doogy Plumm, there’s no doubt about that!”
His faithful companion’s tough, scarred face beamed with pleasure. “Och, now ye come tae mention it, mah grannie allus said I was a braw silver-tongued beastie. Have ye no’ seen me charmin’ wee birdies from out the trees?”
Tam shot him a sideways glance. “No, not yet. Let’s see if we can go an’ charm the royal flag off those vermin with our blades, my bold Doogy. But first we’ll go down to the seaside an’ do a spot o’ ship-burnin’ to cheer ourselves up. Nought like a good fire, eh?”
Late afternoon sun cast long shadows as they climbed down the cliffs toward the big vessel perched on the tideline rocks. Both were unaware that through the hole smashed into the forward bow, wickedly glittering eyes were watching them.
6
Arflow revelled in the freedom of the open sea. This was the young sea otter’s first journey without the constraints of his parents. To date, his life had been spent in the northwestern coastal waters, never venturing far one way or the other. Last spring, Arflow’s family had been visited by distant relatives, a small group of sea otters from the southern coast. Arflow enjoyed their company immensely, especially that of the four young ones who were about his age. Sad when his newfound cousins departed at midsummer to return down south, Arflow promised to come and visit them the following spring. At first, his parents would not hear of their only son, not yet fully grown, going off all that way to the southern coast alone. Arflow nevertheless persisted with his request, despite the unlikelihood that his parents would give in. But at the start of this spring, a miracle happened: the birth of a little sea otter maid to his mother. Named Matunda, the baby kept both parents busy night and day; accordingly, Arflow stepped up his pleas to go visit his cousins. He finally won out one evening when his mother and father were worn out, swum ragged by the antics of little Matunda who, as they complained, was more lively than a sackful of sardines! Arflow’s request was granted, but with a hundred provisos, which included the young otter’s promise to get the proper rest, navigate by the sun and stars, stick to the coast, make his supplies last and mind his manners with others, plus, of course, all the usual things that mother and father sea otters go on about. He agreed to everything without hesitation.
Arflow had been swimming since early morning. Now, at late noon, the golden orb of the sun had not far to sink before it touched the western horizon—a league and a half past the mountain fortress of Salamandastron. He lay on his back and drifted on the calm surface of the ebbtide, happily reflecting on what a glorious day it was to be young and alive! Arflow looked out to where the waters changed from a light opaque green to a deep aquamarine blue in the west. Though starting to tinge a delicate peach in the distance, the sky was still bright periwinkle blue overhead, dotted with small puffball clouds, their undersides shot gold from sunrays. The young sea otter wriggled with delight at the seabirds wheeling and calling above. He giggled as a cormorant winged nearby, splashing him as it dived headlong into the gentle swell. Sheer exuberance flooded over Arflow. He broke out into a sea otter song which he had learned from his father:
“Sing hi yo ho, let every creature know,
I’ll swim where e’er I choose to go,
on rippling wave or tidal flow.
Oooooooh, no lark’s as blithe as me!
Sing hey make way, let nobeast bar my way.
To frowning faces I will say,
cheer up and smile now, come and play.
Oooooooh, be happy on this day!
Don’t cry, ’tis I who laughs at misery,
so young, so full of life and free,
with all the seas to roam and see.
Oh Moooother Nature, list to me, I thank thee gratefully!”
Arflow dived, swooped up and sprang from the water, throwing himself high into the air and landing back with a resounding splash. Then he heard the drum. Boom boom! Boom boom! Boom bumpitty bumpitty boom!
He peered landward at a group of creatures marching along the shoreline. Arflow barely distinguished the distant figures as hares. They were banging a big drum and singing a marching song as they strutted along the beach. Raising a webbed paw, he shouted a greeting, despite knowing they were too far off to hear. That did not bother the young sea otter: they were happy, and so was he.
Suddenly, without warning, things went amiss. In the distance, other dark shapes, a host of them, appeared. Who they were, Arflow could not tell. For a moment, the hares tried to resist the newcomers, but they were outnumbered by more than ten to one. The invaders surrounded them and hurled themselves upon the small band of hares. Screams and agonised cries rent the air, accompanied by shouts and howls. Even from that distance the sea otter could hear them.
Boom! The drum sounded once. Then there was silence as the dark shapes settled on the fallen hares like crows upon carrion. Arflow did not know what was happening, but he sensed that something very bad and wicked had taken place on the shore. Shock and worry beset him after the terrifying swiftness of the incident.
Recovering himself hurriedly, he turned on his stomach and altered course immediately. Cleaving the sea like a blade through satin, Arflow sped back in the direction of Salamandastron. Whatever had occurred, he felt it imperative that Lady Melesme, the Badger Ruler of the mountain, should know. All creatures who were not vermin looked to the fortress and its Badger Ruler, who commanded the army of hares known, and famed, as the Long Patrol. They were sworn to protect the western coastlands, and all about, from harm by foebeasts. Urgency had replaced Arflow’s previous euphoria. The scenic glories of evening’s approach and the joy he had been revelling in were forgotten. He concentrated all his energy into swimming, faster than he had ever moved, toward the distant mountain which stood in the fading light like a giant, purple-shaded sentinel, guarding the shores.
7
Springtime had made its welcome presence felt at Redwall Abbey. Brother Demple, the skilful mouse who managed most of the cultivation besides serving as Abbey Beekeeper, was arranging seedlings in the vegetable gardens. Everybeast knew that Demple possessed a knowledge of the earth and an unsurpassed talent for growing things. Hitheryon Jem was helping Demple to bed and water the tiny plants. Both creatures knelt on moss-padded sacking, carefully arranging drills of scallions.
The Abbey Gardener watched Jem, nodding approvingly at the old hedgehog’s work. “You like doing this, don’t you, friend?”
Wiping soil from his trowel, Jem straightened his back. “Indeed I do, Brother. I often think I’d have done better as a gardener, instead o’ bein’ just a pawloose rover. Tell me, why’ve ye kept some o’ these scallion sprigs back instead of plantin ’em all at once?”
Demple bedded another seedling in, covering its delicate roots. “Because they’d all grow at once, and we’d have a wonderfully useless bumper harvest. No, Jem, ’tis better to plant vegetables at different times. Then, when we need some, they can be fresh-picked, leaving us room to grow more. Otherwise, our storerooms would be overfilled.”
He waved a paw across the vegetable gardens. “See, beetroots, leeks, lettuce, carrot, onion and cress. But never too many growing at one time, that’s the trick.”
The wise mouse waved his trowel at two Dibbuns who looked as if they were ready to dash right through his produce. “Be careful to walk around the border! Now, how can I help you two rascals, eh?”