Closing his eyes, Skipper leaned his head on the battlement. Foremole Darbee joined them.
"Yurr, you'm feelin' alroight, zurr?"
Skipper explained. "The siege catapult, Gurjee tells me yore moles are buildin' it in the winecellars. Tell me, Foremole, wouldn't it have been better t'build it up here, where we'll be usin' it from?"
Foremole Darbee nodded his velvety head. "May'aps you'm roight, zurr, tho' et bee's turrible weather t'be a-wurkin' out o' doors."
Bartij took Skipper to one side, whispering to him, "It
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ain't the rain, Skip. Wot Darbee means is that moles an' high places don't go together, see?"
The Otter Chieftain nodded understandingly. "Yore right, of course. Lookit Darbee an' Gurjee, they're goin' down the wallsteps already. I should've thought o' that. Moles are frightened o' heights. It ain't their fault, just their nature."
Oakheart, who had been privy to the incident, made a helpful suggestion. "Ahem, pardon me, friends, but wouldn't it be better for the moles to unjoint the thing? I'm sure if we had all the relevant parts, then we could assemble the catapult up here, what d'ye think?"
Foremole Darbee caught the gist of Oakheart's scheme. He touched a digging claw to his snout three times at the hedgehog (a mark of high esteem and admiration amongst moles). "Oi thankee, zurr. You'm gurtly woise!"
The Witherspyk hog bowed deeply. "An unexpected compliment, my dear sirrah. I'll go and see if the Abbess can spare any creatures to help with the transportation of your weapon's parts."
Zwilt the Shade had been driving his Ravagers hard. He had almost reached the southern walls of the Abbey by midday, despite the worsening rainfall. The tall sable called a halt in the southern fringe of Mossflower woodlands. From there he could make out Redwall's south wall. It was barely visible through the sheeting rain curtain. Zwilt beckoned a Ravager to his side. Fallug, a tough-looking weasel, was not too bright, though he was trustworthy. On the march to the Abbey, Zwilt had been forming a plan, to which the inclement weather was an unexpected boon. He outlined his orders to Fallug.
"Listen, now, I'm putting you in charge of half of these Ravagers. How does that suit you, my friend?"
A smile formed on the weasel's hard, knotty features. "Suits me fine, Lord. Am I a gen'ral or summat?"
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Zwilt managed to return the smile. "You can be a captain for now, Fallug. Once I take that Abbey, then you can be a general. Now, listen. Take spearbeasts and any who carry an axe. I need a tree, a good, big, solid one. Go away from Redwall, so you won't be heard, pick a beech or an elm. When you've chopped it down, trim it off but leave plenty of bough stubs so it can be carried."
Fallug racked his brain for a moment, then caught on. "Goin' to burst yore way in through the front door, Lord?"
Zwilt patted the weasel's shoulder. "Exactly, Captain. So make sure you get a tree that can do the job. Can I leave that to you ... Captain?"
Proud of his new title, the weasel threw out his chest. "Aye, Lord, ye can trust me!"
Zwilt nodded. "I do. Now, once you have the tree-- or should I say, the battering ram--carry it out of these woodlands but try not to be seen. Take it over the path and across the ditch. Travel out on the flatlands a couple of miles, stay low. Out there, that's where I'll be with the rest. Directly on a straight course to reach the big gate at Redwall. Understood?"
Fallug saluted. "Unnerstood, Lord. A tree shouldn't weigh too much with fivescore Ravagers t'carry it."
Another idea occurred to Zwilt. "Better still, once you've got the tree, wait until nightfall before you bring it to me. That way you won't be seen."
With the rain still providing cover, Zwilt set out from the woodland fringe along with his warriors. Outwardly, he was the same enigmatic, tall sable that his Ravagers feared and obeyed. However, inwardly, Zwilt the Shade was quivering with anticipation at the prize which lay ahead. Unlike Vilaya, he did not need slaves and subdued woodlanders to serve his needs--an army of two hundred was sufficient. Zwilt had always followed the trade of death, and plenty of slaughter was what he was looking forward to.
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24
Diggs lay flat on his back, staring wide-eyed at the magnificent figure of the badgermaid who had him pinned down with a single paw. Never short of an answer or explanation, the tubby hare smiled winningly up at her.
"Er, beg pardon, marm, but could you repeat the question?"
She increased both the pressure of her footpaw and the volume of her voice. "I said, tell me where my friend is, if you want me to spare your life. Where is he? Speak!"
Being the resourceful creature he was, and fearing for his young life, Diggs took what he considered to be the appropriate course of action. He bit her footpaw sharply.
The huge badgermaid roared, instinctively raising her footpaw. Diggs shot off like a rocket, straight back into Althier. Heaving the broken front door upright, he blocked the entrance with it, yelling out in panic, "I say, steady on there, old gel. I'm not a bloomin' foebeast--I'm a friend. I'm searchin' for some young uns. Why d'you want to jolly well slay me, wot?"
A terrific thud from outside knocked the door flat-- Diggs found himself laid out under it. Then the door was lifted and flung to one side. With awesome strength, the
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badgermaid reached in and lifted him bodily out. She sat Diggs down against the oak trunk.
This time she sounded calmer, a mite penitent even. "Er, if you're not a foebeast, then who are you?"
Diggs gingerly touched his snout where it had been hit by the fallen door. "Name's Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite, Subaltern of the Long Patrol, late of Salamandastron. An' I think you've broken my flippin' hooter, beltin' that bloomin' door down like that. Couldn't ye have knocked?"
The badgermaid sat down beside him. "Salama ... what?"
Diggs plucked a dockleaf and dabbed at his snout. "Salamandastron, but don't concern y'self with that right now. Y'can call me Diggs, everybeast does--an' pray, what do they call you, when you ain't knockin' doors down atop of 'em, wot?"
She wrapped the outsized sling around her shoulders. "I'm Ambrevina Rockflash of the Eastern Shores, but I get called Ambry a lot."
Diggs was about to shake paws with her, but he saw the girth of Ambry's paws and thought better of it. "Well, pleased to meet ye, I'm sure, Ambry. I say, you don't happen to have any vittles with you? I'm absoballylutely famished, ain't eaten in ages, y'know."
The badgermaid went back to the bushes where they had first encountered each other. She brought out a large satchel with shoulder straps. Opening it, she produced a few pears, some ryebread and a chunk of yellow cheese.
Forgetting his bruised snout, Diggs tucked in. "Good grief, a chap could lose a few teeth on this bread'n'cheese. Still, the pears are soft, wot. Now, who's this friend you seek, a family member, mayhaps?"
Ambry passed Diggs another pear. "Do you ever have strange dreams, Diggs?"
The tubby hare nodded. "Cheese'n'pickles for late supper
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in the jolly old mess, that always does it. Huh, dreams, flippin' nightmares, more like. But why d'you ask?"
Ambry's brown eyes took on a distant look. "Back on the far Eastern Shores, I was having the same dream for some seasons. It's a journey I want to take. I've got this yearning to be in a certain place, I must go there--yet I've never set eyes on it, except in dreams."
Diggs held up a paw. "Stop right there, Ambry. Don't tell me, let me guess. This place you're wearin' your paws out t'see, is it a big mountain on the shores of the sea?"
The badgermaid was thunderstruck. "How did you know?"
Diggs took a bite of the cheese, probing with a paw to see if he had loosened a tooth on it. "Remember that word y'couldn't get your tongue around? Salamandastron, that's the name of it, Mountain of the Mighty Badger Lords an' headquarters of the jolly old Long Patrol. Beg pardon, carry on with your story, wot."