leave it behind. The young Friar gazed at the heap of debris blocking the passage. “We’ll take this with us. Hmm, bet
there’s lots more of it buried in there, pity we can’t dig it out.”
Abbess Tansy tweaked Butty’s ear playfully. “You greedy young wretch! Come on, let’s explore farther down this
passage and see where it leads. Bring die lantern, Shad.”
There was neither dawn nor dusk far beneath the earth; time had no meaning. It was only by hunger and thirst that
the five companions could judge how long they had been down there. Long, dark and dreary, dry, dusty, and silent, the
passage wound on a downward slope. Occasionally they arrived at a cave-in that had not quite blocked the way, and
then they found themselves scrambling up hills of broken stone, forcing their way through narrow apertures close to
the tunnel ceiling.
Foremole tapped the walls regularly and probed the tight-packed earth at window and door spaces, but without any
great success. Being the strongest of the party, he and Shad forged ahead in front of the others, to make sure the way
was safe.
The big otter was wearied from his exertions fighting the crushing beam. “I don’t like it, Diggum,” he murmured in
a low voice to Foremole. “Looks like we’re goin’ nowheres down ’ere. We ain’t got food nor drink, only the air we
breathe, an’ that lantern light ain’t goin’ to last forever.”
Dust rose from his back as the mole patted it. “Hurr, oi knows that, ole riverdog, but us’n’s be bound t’put ee
brave face on, lest ee froighten an’ scare ee uthers. Coom now, let’s set an’ rest awhoile.”
They waited for the others to join them, then all five sat with their backs against the wall, tired and dispirited, each
with his or her own thoughts, which were rather similar. Green grass, sunlight, fresh air, clear water, and the happy
world of Redwall Abbey, so far above them that it all seemed like a dream.
45
Major Perigord stood in the gap of the south wall with Captain Twayblade. Together they watched the shrews and
Waterhogs from the water meadows being led up the slope by Log-a-Log and Gurgan Spearback to join the Redwall
army. Perigord attempted a rough head count as they turned west to the main gate.
“About a hundred an’ ten, maybe twenty, not many really. Let’s go an’ see what Morio has mustered up.”
Lieutenant Morio was seated in the orchard with quill and parchment on an old tree stump. Pasque was assisting
him in compiling the figures on what number of fighting beasts were available.
Perigord looked questioningly at the two hares. “Make y’report, be it good or ill. Speak up, chaps.”
Morio wiped an inky paw against his tunic. “Well, it ain’t good, Major, but they all seem fit’n’able. There’s fifty
Red-wallers, and thirty squirrels come in from ’round Mossflower, all pretty fair archers an’ good slingers, well
equipped too. Skipper’s rounded up a few more otters, bringin’ his strength up to twoscore. Wish we had more otters—
they look like they know their way ’round a fight.”
Perigord straightened his green velvet tunic, now practically in tatters after all it had been through. “Wishes don’t
win wars, Lieutenant, we make the best of what we’ve jolly well got. Have y’counted all the shrews’n’hogs?”
“I have, sah. One hundred an’ sixty-three all told, and if you add our twelve, well, that’s the total strength. Always
providin’ that Tammo, Midge, an’ Rockjaw make it back from the Rapscallion camp in one piece.”
Perigord did a quick mental calculation. “Well, that makes nearly three hundred we can put in the field. Pasque, me
pretty one, how’s the jolly old armory?”
Pasque Valerian had slightly better news. “Top o’ the mark, sah. Everybeast carries their own weapon, an’ there’s
a chamber in the bell tower crammed full of arms, all manner of blade, spear, and bow. Ginko the Bellringer says
you’re welcome to ’em all, sah!”
Twayblade drew her rapier, and flicking an apple from a nearby branch, caught it deftly and polished it on her
sleeve. “Three hundred, eh. Wish I’d told Midge to let the Rapscallions know there was only two hundred of us, but I
said three, hopin’ we might have had four. Always nice to keep a hundred as a surprise reserve. Ah well, no use
worryin’ over spilt cider, wot.”
Perigord took the apple from his sister and bit into it. “Indeed, we’ll just have t’give ten times as good as we get
off the vermin. Hello there, what’s amiss here?”
The Galloper Riffle was trying to restrain Viola Bankvole from reaching Perigord.
“Sorry, marm, y’can’t see the Major right now, he’s busy.”
Viola thrust her jaw out belligerently. “Stand aside, young sir, or I’ll take a stick to you. I must see your officer
right now!”
Perigord gestured Riffle to one side. “At y’service, marm. You wanted to see me?”
Viola shot Riffle a haughty glance before addressing the Major. “It’s our Abbess. She’s missing, and so are Shad
the Gatekeeper, Foremole Diggum, Craklyn the Recor ...”
Perigord cut her off with a wave of his paw. “Enough, marm, enough! Just tell me how many altogether.”
“Well, there’s five of them. They’re nowhere to be seen, I’ve searched the Abbey grounds high and low. Now,
what do you intend doing about it, sir?”
Perigord answered her gently, seeing that Viola was upset. “Beggin’ y’pardon, lady, but there ain’t a lot I can do.
We’re about to march off an’ fight a war. So as y’see, I can’t spare anybeast to go off searchin’ for your friends.”
Viola Bankvole’s paw waved under the Major’s nose as she ticked him off. “Well, that’s a fine how d’ye do. But
mark my words, sir, I will gather more reliable searchers and look for them myself. Good day!”
She flounced off through the orchard, calling to the older ones. “Gurrbowl, come here! I need you to search with
me, and you, Mother Buscol, you too, Brother Ginko. Follow me!”
Captain Twayblade chuckled as she rescued the apple back from her brother. “I say, chaps, I think we’d best stay
here an’ search. Send her off to face the vermin. She’d soon send ’em packin’, wot!”
Perigord nodded admiringly as he watched Viola bullying half the Abbey elders into service. “Aye, she’s a bold
perilous creature right enough. But to business now. Pasque m’dear, would y’be good enough to assemble the leaders?
We’ll have to get geared up an’ movin’ shortly.”
The last full meal had been produced in Red wail’s kitchens by Guosim shrew cooks. They had filled six huge
cauldrons with a thick stew of leeks, mushrooms, carrots, turnips, water shrimp, onions, potatoes, and lots of herbs,
enough to feed an army. October Ale casks were broached and served in beakers with rough batch loaves and wedges
of autumn nut cheese.
As the Redwall force ate, Perigord consulted with their Chieftains: Skipper of Otters, Log-a-Log of the Guosim,
Gur-gan Spearback of the Waterhogs, and Arven, Champion of Redwall, bearing with him the great sword of Martin
the Warrior. There was not a lot to say that had not already been said; they all knew what they had to do, and even in
the face of overwhelming odds they were prepared to do it, or go down fighting.
Mother Buscol had evaded Viola. She stood on the sidelines, with Russano the badgerbabe and Orocca’s three
young owls in the straw-lined wheelbarrow, enjoying the sun. The rest of the Abbey Dibbuns crowded ’round, hanging
on her apron strings, in the absence of anyone else to mind them. Together they listened to the Major address his