interferin’ wid that dumb beast. Stupid fools, serves ’em right, I say!”
Rinkul’s hardwood stick rapped Lousewort’s nose viciously. “When I wants yore opinion I’ll ask for it,
mudbottom. Now, which way did the dumb beast go?”
Sneezewort pointed toward the stream. “Went by us a moment back, ’eaded thataways.”
Supported by his stick, Rinkul hobbled off to the stream. Lousewort hugged his nose tenderly as he watched the
ferret go. “There wath no need for him to do that, wath there!”
Tammo had seen the caged squirrel on the stream bank. Pulling faces, and pushing the two stoats guarding the
cage, he made it clear that he did not want them around. The guards retreated a distance to the nearest fire, where they
sat warming themselves. Word had got around regarding the Silent One, and they were careful not to offend him.
Drawing his dirk, Tammo pushed it through the bars and began prodding the old squirrel, pretending to have some
cruel fun with him. Moving to the cage’s far side to ,ivoid the blade, the old creature cast a withering glance at his
tormentor. “Do yore worst, vermin. I ain’t afeared of ye!” Tammo’s whisper barely reached his ears. “Sorry, old chap.
Can’t speak up, they think I’m dumb, y’see. I’m no vermin, this is a disguise. Really I’m a hare of the Long Patrol. I’ll
help you if I can.”
Lying flat, the squirrel rolled over, closer to Tammo so that he could whisper back. “Get me some food an’ a
blade!”
“I’ll try, but don’t attempt anything on your own. Leave this to me an’ my friend—he’s disguised like me.”
Before he spoke further, Tammo took a swift look about and saw Rinkul leaning on his stick, watching him.
Throwing caution to the winds, Tammo dashed at the ferret and dove on him. They went down together. Tammo
grabbed Rinkul, pulling him on top of himself and uttering little mute squeaks of distress.
A Rapmark stoat named Bluggach, who was seated by the fire with the two guards, grabbed his cutlass. “Lookit
that, the addle-brained oaf, don’t ’e know no better? Damug gave orders not t’touch the dumb ’un! Cummon, mates!”
Rinkul found himself roughly hauled off Tammo, his protests lost among the angry roars of Bluggach and the two
guards as they thrashed him with the flats of their blades. “Git off that beast. Wot d’yer think yore doin’?”
“We’ve all been ordered to stay clear of ’im!”
“You wanna dig the soil out’n yore ears, ferret!”
“I ain’t gonna report this or Lord Damug’d kill yer, but you gotta learn to obey orders. Teach ’im a lesson, mates!”
Gathering his rags about him, Tammo fled the scene.
Midge stuck his head out of a canvas shelter that had been erected between a bush and a rock. He peered into the
night at the lumpy figure ambling aimlessly about.
“Tamm, over here, pal! We’ve got our own special quarters!”
Tammo scrambled gratefully into the shelter and crouched by the fire. Midge passed him some rough-looking
barley-cakes, a piece of cooked fish, and a canteen of strong grog, but Tammo put it aside, saying, “Thanks, Midge,
but I’ve already eaten. I contacted Rockjaw and he gave me supper. But tell me your news first—how did y’get on
with old thingummy Warface?”
The friends exchanged information, telling each other all they had experienced since arriving at the Rapscallion
camp. Tammo tightened his paw ’round the dirk handle, gritting his teeth. “Those vermin we were tracking—
remember the one that got away? I’ve seen him, the ferret they call Rinkul. He was the last of the murderers who slew
the old badgerlady and my friend Russa; the scum still carries her stick. First chance I get I’ll make him pay for
them!”
Midge shook his head. “That’s not what we were sent here for, Tamm. You’ll get your chance at Rinkul, but not
here—it could cost our lives an’ the safety of Redwall. Let’s rest up a bit, then when all’s quiet we’ll take food to the
squirrel. I’ve got a small blade with me, we’ll deliver that to him as well. Rest awhile now.”
Long after the midnight hour had passed and the sprawling Rapscallion camp lay silent, two figures made their
way carefully down to the prisoner in his cage by the stream.
40?
Redwall’s twin bells had tolled out the midnight hour, but their muted tones were heard only by the three creatures
who were still awake. Abbess Tansy, Friar Butty, and Craklyn the Recorder sat around a table in the kitchens,
studying the journal of Abbess Germaine. It had been written countless seasons ago when the Abbey was actually
under construction. The little owl Orocca had watched them awhile, waiting for Taunoc, who had gone off under the
command of Major Perigord. When it became apparent he would not be returning that night, Orocca retired to care for
her three owlchicks in the kitchen cupboard.
Butty selected some hot muffins, which his helpers had baked for next morning’s breakfast, took a bowl of curds,
flavored it with honey, and stirred in roasted almonds. He brewed a jug of rose-petal and plum-flower tea and set the
lot on the table, inviting his friends to help themselves.
“It’s sort of half breakfast an’ half supper, suppfast, I calls it, when I’m up very late cookin’ down here. Tell us
more about this place called Kotir, marm.”
Craklyn opened the journal at an illustrated page. “This is what it must have looked like, an old crumbling castle,
damp, dark, and ruled over by fearsome wildcats, backed by a vermin horde. Martin the Warrior and his friends
destroyed it and defeated the enemy, long before Redwall was built. They diverted a river and flooded the valley in
which Castle Kotir stood. It sank beneath the waters and was never seen again. Redwall was built from the north side
first, I think the south wall was to have been bordered by the lake that had covered Kotir. But our Abbey was not built
in one season, nor ten, nor even twenty. You can see by these sketches farther on that by the time the north wall was
erected, the lake had begun to dry up. Abbess Germaine states that all the soil and rock dug up for
the Abbey
foundations was dumped into the lake. Well, over a number of seasons the lake became little more than a swamp, the
only trace of it being a spring that bubbled up in a hollow some distance from the original lake site. This kept throwing
up clear water until it became incorporated in the Redwall plans as an Abbey pond.”
Tansy blew upon her tea and sipped noisily. “The very same pond we have in our grounds today, how clever! But
carry on, Craklyn. What happened next?”
“Hmm, it says here that by the time the main Abbey building was in progress, a drought arrived after the winter.
Spring, summer, and autumn were intensely hot and dry, not a drop of rain throughout all three seasons. Even the
Abbey pond shrunk by half its length and breadth. What had once been swamp became firm and hard ground, with tree
seedlings taking root on its east side. So they ignored the fact that Castle Kotir, or a lake, or even a swamp had once
been there, and carried on to build Redwall Abbey.”
Craklyn closed the journal and dipped a hot muffin in the sweetened curd mixture. Friar Butty flipped through the
pages; yellowed and dusty, they seemed to breathe ancient history. He paused at one page with a small illustration at
its chapter heading.
“Here ’tis, see! A sketch of the completed Abbey with a dotted line representin’ Kotir an’ where it once stood.
There’s the answer!”
Abbess Tansy brushed muffin crumbs from the parchment. “Well, I never. They built the south wall right over the