Rocangus had been standing respectfully to one side. Now he came forward and bowed his head to the Laird.
"Faither, 'tis yerself. Och, am Ah glad t'see ye. Yon riverdog is Thrugg, the wee mousey is Dumble. They found me wi' mah wing brokit an' fixed it up. Ah should be flying again soon."
Laird Mactalon inspected the dressing on his son's wing.
210
Brian Jacques
then proffered a talon to the otter. "Ah'm beholden to ye, Thrugg. Mah son should be thankful he met sich bonny decent creatures as ye an' yer wee friend there. We'll talk some mair later. Sit ye down while Ah deal wi' yonder bunch o' disgraceful birds."
Now the cawing and dancing had increased to fever pitch and the bolder crows were beginning to hop toward the streambed. Laird Mactalon and his clanbirds broke cover. They stood in a line on the banktop and threw back their heads.
"Kreeeekah, tak' nae prisoners, give nae quarter, kreee-kah!"
As if by magic, the crows fell silent and ceased dancing. Laird Mactalon and his falcons started walking toward them with a definite warlike swagger, chests puffed and neckfeath-ers spread wide, their talons crunching the dead bracken as they went. The front crows hopped backwards. Mactalon threw out his bold challenge and walked forward alone ahead of the others.
"Och, come on, laddies. We're no a babbie mouse and a wounded young un, or an earthbound riverdog. See if ye can do any better against us. Ah'm the Laird Mactalon, as well ye know. Ah'll do battle wi' ye on land or in the air. Dinnae keep retreatin'. Whit's the matter? Surely you're no' frighted?"
All the time he was talking, Mactalon had been advancing. With the speed of a whipcrack he suddenly hurled himself into the crows. In the melee that followed, four crows were stretched out by the deadly beak and raking talons of the Laird. The other crows took to the air in an awkward flurry. They were met by the five falcon warriors, who hit them like thunderbolts.
Baby Dumble was awake. He sat on Thrugg's shoulders, wide-eyed as crows fell from the sky like tattered scraps of dark cloth. Eventually the crows made it back to the safety of the pine thicket. They crouched among the trees as the six falcons circled in a warlike aerial display. Between the
Solamarulastron
211
streambed and the trees, crows dead and injured littered the ground like discarded rags.
Thrugg and Dumble cheered wildly, but Rocangus perched miserably on the haversack, muttering away. "Ach, 'tis a sad thing tae be stuckit here on the ground, by mah eggshell it is. Missin' oot on a scrap the like o' that!"
Landing back in the streambed with his clan members, the Laird contracted and dilated his big golden-flecked eyes as he preened his wing feathers delicately.
"Ah wisht ye could fly, Thrugg. Battlin' in the skies is a grand thing, sure enough. Och, the wee Dumble is awake an' all. How are ye, bairn?"
Dumble offered his paw. "Please ter meetcha, mista."
The rest of the night they spent sleeping in the fragrant heather that grew along the far streambank, safely surrounded by the six falcons. Next morning they were on their way again, trekking northeast. Thrugg raised his head and saw the snowcapped mountains far off, pushing their peaks up at the high blue summer skies.
Rocangus flapped his good wing. "Lookit, 'tis a braw sight. Did ye ever see stones piled so high that winter snow stays atop o' them in summer, Dumble?"
The little dormouse nibbled on a candied chestnut. "I never see'd mountings wiv snow. Goin' ter play in it when us gets there, eh, 'Ocaugus?"
Snow would have been of great use to cool fevered brows in Redwall Abbey at that moment. Mrs. Faith Spinney carried up a pail of springwater that had been left in the cellars to stay cold overnight. Trudging up the stairs, she stood to one side as Foremole and two of his crew lugged down a large basket, bumping it on each stair. The Foremole tugged his snout respectfully to her.
" 'Scuse oi, marm, but us'ns be goin' to do 'ee washen in 'ee pond. Boi 'okey, oi never did see so much durty washen in moi ol' loif. These yurr diggen claws ain't bin so clean
212
Brian Jacques
since moi mummy used t' scrub 'em furr oi when oi was a hinfant."
Faith patted their velvety backs. "Bless you all, you're so kind."
Abbess Vale was up to her paws in oatmeal. She mopped it up from the floor and set the bowl upright.
Brother Hollyberry tried to help her, stammering apologetically, "I'm sorry, Vale, it was all my fault. The old paws started shivering and I couldn't stop them. Here, let me clean it up."
Furgle the Hermit approached with a ladleful of dark liquid. "Huh, looks like you're coming down with a touch of Dry-ditch Fever, too, my friend. Here, get this down you."
Hollyberry took it and pulled a wry face. Droony the little mole watched him and gave a weak smile. "Hurrhurr, naow you'm knows wot yurr own med'sin tastes loik!"
Thrugann bustled in and plonked down a large bunch of fresh herbs on the table. Seeing Hollyberry and Abbess Vale struggling to clean up the oatmeal, she hauled them both up and sat them down on the edge of the Droony's bed.
"Tch-tch! Lookit the mess of you two. Let me do that. There's more motherwort, nightshade and dockleaves, though I'm havin' to travel farther afield to get 'em now. Ah well, press on and never weaken, that's an otter motter."
Tudd Spinney sat up on the bedside and found his walking stick. "D'you know, I do feel a little better this mornin'. P'raps I can get up today an' be of some 'elp around an1 about here." He began to stand upright but was pushed back down by his wife as she passed carrying the pail of cold water.
"If you wants to do anythin', my ol' dear, then you just lie still there an' stay out of the way. Lan' sakes, there's enough to do without trippin' over you all day."
Bremmun poked his nose over the bedsheets surrounding his face, "Bah, I'm weak as a brown leaf and fed up lying about. I wonder how Thrugg and little Dumble are going on with their search for those lector Flowers?"
Sister Nasturtium was so ill she could not raise her head.
Salamandostron
213
She waved a limp paw at Bremmun.
"I dreamed of Thrugg and Dumble last night. . . . Thrugg was sad.... Sad for Dumble andand another young one. Threatening . .. threatening, horrid shapes like ... like dark birds.... But warriors will help Thrugg.. . . Warriors.... Martin said so..."
"What was that you said, Sister Nasturtium?" Bremmun sat up with an effort.
Faith Spinney plumped the pillows and pressed him back down. "Hush now, she's asleep. Prob'ly just talkin' to herself, pore thing. That nasty ol' Dryditch sickness has hit her worse'n any of us."
26
Two hours before dawn the Deepcoiler came back!
The first thing Mara and Pikkle knew of it was the scream of a lookout shrew, then all was chaos. The quiet surface of the lake exploded into boiling action as the huge creature broke surface between the two boats. They both tipped sideways and though Mara's boat stayed upright the other one overturned.
Shouts and cries of dismay rent the air as a massive head thrust up out of the lake, towering over Mara and Pikkle. It was akin to something from the dawn of time. Fearsome eyes and teeth aglitter, the creature blew out a foul-smelling stream of air and water as it dipped toward them with open jaws. Yelling with fright, they struck at it with their paddles. Nordo and Log-a-log sprang to their assistance. Splintering paddle-wood flew everywhere as they battered wildly at the gargantuan head. Hissing balefully, the Deepcoiler flicked out a serpentine tongue. Mara saw the nightmarish cavern .of its mouth as the thing came at her, purplish-red, blotched, with horrific rows of serrated teeth framing it.