sides. We’ll take the back waterways an’ sidecut off to Redwall Abbey. I think I’d best warn ’em there’s trouble
comin’.”
30
Algador Swiftback cast a fleeting glance backward as he marched on into the gathering evening. “Whew! I say,
we’ve covered a fair old stretch today. Salamandastron’s completely out o’ sight!”
Drill Sergeant Clubrush’s voice growled close to his ear. “The mountain might be out o’ sight, laddie buck, but
I’m not! No talkin’ in the ranks there, keep pickin’ those paws up an’ puttin”em down. Left right, left right, left right
...”
More than five hundred hares of the Long Patrol, some veterans but mainly new recruits, tramped eastward into the
dusk, with Lady Cregga Rose Eyes, axpike on shoulder, always far ahead.
The lolloping young hare named Trowbaggs still had difficulty in learning to march properly. He put his left paw
down when everybeast was on their right, and vice versa, and for the umpteenth time that day he stumbled, treading on
the foot-paws of the hare marching in front.
“Oops! Sorry, old chap, the blinkin’ footpaws y’know, get-tin’ themselves mixed up again, right left, right left ...”
Deodar shook her head in despair as she watched him. Trowbaggs, y’great puddenhead, it’s left right, not right
Clubrush’s stentorian voice rang out over the marchers: “Long Patrol—halt! Stand still everybeast—that means
you too, Trowbaggs, you ’orrible liddle beast!”
Thankfully, the marching lines halted, standing to attention until the order was given.
“First Regiment, stand at ease! Water an’ wood foragers fall out! Duty cooks, take up chores! Lance Corporal
Ellbrig, pick out yore sentries for first watch! The remainder of you, lay out y’packs an’ groundsheets, check all
weapons an’ arms! Four neat rows now, clear away any nettles an’ prickles over f there—that’s yore campsite for
tonight, you lucky lot!”
Hares dashed hither and thither on their various duties as Sergeant and Lance Corporal roared out orders. In a short
time, military precision resulted in camp being set up.
Algador sat with his companions by the shallows of a small pond, everybeast cooling off their footpaws and resting
on their packs.
urgale lay flat on his back, complaining to the stars: “Oh, my auntie’s bonnet! I thought ol’ Clubrush was goin’ to
march us all bally night. Look, there’s steam risin’ out of the water where I’m dippin’ me pore old paws!”
The Sergeant’s tone was almost an outraged squeal. “Get those dirty great sweaty dustridden paws out o’ that
water! It’s for drinkin’, not sloshin’ about in. Trowbaggs, what’n the name o’ seasons are you up to, bucko?”
“Wrappin’ m’self up in me groundsheet, Sarge. Good
Veins stood out on the Sergeant’s brow as he roared at the s blunderer, “Sleepin’? Who said you could sleep, sah?
Get that equipment cleaned, lay out yore mess kit, line up for Stopper! Forget sleep. Trowbaggs, stay awake! Yore on
second f;’: Trowbaggs groaned aloud as he searched in the dark for his mess kit. “Somebeast’s pinched me flippin’
spoon. Oh, Mother, I want to go home. Save me from all this, I wasn’t Hgptout for it, wot!”
“Never mind, scout,” a kindly older hare named Shangle fidepad whispered to him, “it gets worse before it gets
jolly well better. Here, I’ll swap with you. I’m on first watch. You do it and I’ll take second sentry for you, that way
you’ll be able t’get a full night’s sleep.”
When the camp had quieted down and was running smoothly, Clubrush went to sit beside Lady Cregga at the
pond’s far side. She looked up from polishing her axhead and asked, “How are they doing. Sergeant?”
“Oh, they’ll shape up, rnarrn, never fear. First day’s always the longest for the green ones. P’raps if we don’t march
’em as ’ard an’ far tomorrer ...”
The rose eyes glinted dangerously. “They’ll learn to march twice as hard and fast, aye, and fight like they never
imagined before I’m done with them. I never brought them along on any picnic, and the sooner they realize that the
better. Dismissed, Sergeant Clubrush!”
The Sergeant stood to attention and saluted. “Aye, marm, thank ye, marm!”
Clubrush went to where his equipment was neatly laid out. Somebeast had carefully folded his groundsheet so that
he could retire immediately without making it up into a sleeping bag. Being an old campaigner, the Sergeant upset the
sheet with his pace stick. A pile of nettles and some soggy bank sand flopped out on the ground.
He lay down on the clean dry part of the sheet and shouted, “Oowow! Who put this lot in me bed? You ’orrible
rotten lot, I’ll march yore blatherin’ paws to a frazzle in the mornin’!”
Smothered giggles sounded from the recruits’ area. Sergeant Clubrush smiled as he settled down. They were good
young ’uns; he’d do all he could to help them make the grade.
Obeying Damug’s orders, Gaduss the weasel had scouted north with his patrol all day, reaching the southern edge
of Mossflower Wood by nightfall. He allowed no fires to be lit in the small camp set up at the outer tree fringe. The
night passed uneventfully.
In the hour before dawn, the scouts broke camp and pressed on. They had not been traveling long when the weasel
gave a signal. Dropping flat in a patch of ferns, the vermin patrol watched Gaduss wriggle forward. Through the mist-
wreathed tree trunks a silent figure moved, seeking shadows between shafts of dawn light.
Gaduss unlooped from his belt a greased strangling noose 4 fashioned from animal sinew. Winding it around both
paws, K he inched forward until he was shielded by an ash tree, directly in the traveler’s path. Timing it just right, he
leapt out behind the unwary creature and whipped the noose over his head and round his neck.
Rinkul was fortunate in that it also looped over the stick he was carrying. In panic, he pushed outward with the
piece of polished hardwood, preventing the sinew from biting into his windpipe. Both beasts went down, rolling
over and over in the loam, jacking, snapping, and scratching at each other. The vermin broke cover and dashed to
assist their officer, tearing the fight- frag duo apart. Seconds later the two were face-to-face, Gaduss wide-eyed with
surprise.
“Rinkul, wot’n the name o’ blood’n’claws are you doin’ ’ere?”
The ferret massaged his neck where the noose had bruised it. “Findin’ me way back ter Gormad Tunn an’ the
army. Nice rception yer gave me, mate, ’arf choked me ter death!”
Gaduss stuffed the noose back into his belt. “You ’aven’t ’eard, then. Gormad’s dead, so is Byral, ’tis Damug
Warfang w ho’s Firstblade of Rapscallions now. Where’ve y’been?” Rinkul sat down on a rotting stump. “Been?
That’s a long ry, mate. Our ship was driven off course an’ wrecked up the northeast coast. I’ve been through a lot o’
things an’ the onlybeast left alive out o’ a shipload. But that’s by by. Get me ter Damug Warfang, I’ve got news fer ’is
ears e—urgent news!”
31?
In the orchard of Redwall Abbey the tables for the owlchicks’ feast had been laid. Friar Butty supervised his
helpers ’round a firepit, over which the hot dishes were being kept at a good temperature. Apple, pear, and plum
blossoms were shedding their petals thickly on the heads of the feasters. It was a joyous sight.
The three owlchicks sat on cushions inside an empty barrel alongside their mother’s place at the table; the
badgerbabe lay in an old vegetable basket lined with sweet-smelling dried mosses. Tammo and Pasque sat together,