Saturday, March 31, 2012
The windmill man grinned good-naturedly.
"Say!" interrupted the passenger who was nobody in particular, "if you
could put up a windmill on every one of them 'wells' you're using,
you'd be able to retire from business, wouldn't you?"
The windmill man grinned good-naturedly.
"Oh, I ain't no /Guy de Mopassong/," he said, cheerfully. "I'm giving
it to you in straight American. Well, she says something like this:
'Mr. Gold Bonds is only a friend,' says she; 'but he takes me riding
and buys me theatre tickets, and that's what you never do. Ain't I to
never have any pleasure in life while I can?' 'Pass this chatfield-
chatfield thing along,' says Redruth;--'hand out the mitt to the
Willie with creases in it or you don't put your slippers under my
wardrobe.'
"Now that kind of train orders don't go with a girl that's got any
spirit. I bet that girl loved her honey all the time. Maybe she only
wanted, as girls do, to work the good thing for a little fun and
caramels before she settled down to patch George's other pair, and be
a good wife. But he is glued to the high horse, and won't come down.
Well, she hands him back the ring, proper enough; and George goes away
and hits the booze. Yep. That's what done it. I bet that girl fired
the cornucopia with the fancy vest two days after her steady left.
George boards a freight and checks his bag of crackers for parts
unknown. He sticks to Old Booze for a number of years; and then the
aniline and aquafortis gets the decision. 'Me for the hermit's hut,'
says George, 'and the long whiskers, and the buried can of money that
isn't there.'
The lady passenger smiled sweetly.
"But now," continued the Judge, "the fruit shall translate to us the
mystery and wisdom of the feminine heart. Take the apple, Miss
Garland. Hear our modest tales of romance, and then award the prize as
you may deem it just."
The lady passenger smiled sweetly. The apple lay in her lap beneath
her robes and wraps. She reclined against her protecting bulwark,
brightly and cosily at ease. But for the voices and the wind one might
have listened hopefully to hear her purr. Someone cast fresh logs upon
the fire. Judge Menefee nodded suavely. "Will you oblige us with the
initial story?" he asked.
The windmill man sat as sits a Turk, with his hat well back on his
head on account of the draughts.
"Well," he began, without any embarrassment, "this is about the way I
size up the difficulty: Of course Redruth was jostled a good deal by
this duck who had money to play ball with who tried to cut him out of
his girl. So he goes around, naturally, and asks her if the game is
still square. Well, nobody wants a guy cutting in with buggies and
gold bonds when he's got an option on a girl. Well, he goes around to
see her. Well, maybe he's hot, and talks like the proprietor, and
forgets that an engagement ain't always a lead-pipe cinch. Well, I
guess that makes Alice warm under the lacy yoke. Well, she answers
back sharp. Well, he--"
The last sentence captured the windmill man.
The last sentence captured the windmill man. He was not one to linger
in the dumps.
"That's a first-rate scheme, Judge," he said, heartily. "Be a regular
short-story vaudeville, won't it? I used to be correspondent for a
paper in Springfield, and when there wasn't any news I faked it. Guess
I can do my turn all right."
"I think the idea is charming," said the lady passenger, brightly. "It
will be almost like a game."
Judge Menefee stepped forward and placed the apple in her hand
impressively.
"In olden days," he said, orotundly, "Paris awarded the golden apple
to the most beautiful."
"I was at the Exposition," remarked the windmill man, now cheerful
again, "but I never heard of it. And I was on the Midway, too, all the
time I wasn't at the machinery exhibit."
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"Now, what I have to propose," said Judge Menefee, conceding an
indulgent smile to his interrupter, "is this: We must remain here,
perforce, until morning. We have wood in plenty to keep us warm. Our
next need is to entertain ourselves as best we can, in order that the
time shall not pass too slowly. I propose that we place this apple in
the hands of Miss Garland. It is no longer a fruit, but, as I said, a
prize, in award, representing a great human idea. Miss Garland,
herself, shall cease to be an individual--but only temporarily, I am
happy to add"--(a low bow, full of the old-time grace). "She shall
represent her sex; she shall be the embodiment, the epitome of
womankind--the heart and brain, I may say, of God's masterpiece of
creation. In this guise she shall judge and decide the question which
follows:
"But a few minutes ago our friend, Mr. Rose, favoured us with an
entertaining but fragmentary sketch of the romance in the life of the
former professor of this habitation. The few facts that we have
learned seem to me to open up a fascinating field for conjecture, for
the study of human hearts, for the exercise of the imagination--in
short, for story-telling. Let us make use of the opportunity. Let each
one of us relate his own version of the story of Redruth, the hermit,
and his lady-love, beginning where Mr. Rose's narrative ends--at the
parting of the lovers at the gate. This much should be assumed and
conceded--that the young lady was not necessarily to blame for
Redruth's becoming a crazed and world-hating hermit. When we have
done, Miss Garland shall render the JUDGEMENT OF WOMAN. As the Spirit
of her Sex she shall decide which version of the story best and most
truly depicts human and love interest, and most faithfully estimates
the character and acts of Redruth's betrothed according to the
feminine view. The apple shall be bestowed upon him who is awarded the
decision. If you are all agreed, we shall be pleased to hear the first
story from Mr. Dinwiddie."
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"The apple," continued Judge Menefee, charging his jury, "in modern
days occupies, though undeservedly, a lowly place in our esteem.
Indeed, it is so constantly associated with the culinary and the
commercial that it is hardly to be classed among the polite fruits.
But in ancient times this was not so. Biblical, historical, and
mythological lore abounds with evidences that the apple was the
aristocrat of fruits. We still say 'the apple of the eye' when we wish
to describe something superlatively precious. We find in Proverbs the
comparison to 'apples of silver.' No other product of tree or vine has
been so utilised in figurative speech. Who has not heard of and longed
for the 'apples of the Hesperides'? I need not call your attention to
the most tremendous and significant instance of the apple's ancient
prestige when its consumption by our first parents occasioned the fall
of man from his state of goodness and perfection."
"Apples like them," said the windmill man, lingering with the
objective article, "are worth $3.50 a barrel in the Chicago market."
Friday, March 30, 2012
Of the serf-owner . . .
"No, my dear, I've never taken part in any conspiracy. But how
your eyes sparkle; I like your exclamations, my dear. No, I simply
went away then from a sudden attack of melancholy. It was the
typical melancholy of the Russian nobleman, I really don't know how
to describe it better. The melancholy of our upper class, and
nothing else."
"Of the serf-owner . . . the emancipation of the serfs," I was
beginning to mutter, breathless.
"Serf-owner? You think I was grieving for the loss of it? That I
could not endure the emancipation of the serfs. Oh no, my boy; why,
we were all for the emancipation. I emigrated with no resentful
feeling. I had only just been a mediator, and exerted myself to the
utmost, I exerted myself disinterestedly, and I did not even go away
because I got very little for my liberalism. We none of us got
anything in those days, that is to say again, not those that were
like me. I went away more in pride than in penitence, and, believe
me, I was far from imagining that the time had come for me to end my
life as a modest shoemaker. Je suis gentilhomme avant tout et je
mourrai gentilhomme! Yet all the same I was sad. There are,
perhaps, a thousand of my sort in Russia, no more perhaps really,
but you know that is quite enough to keep the idea alive. We are
the bearers of the idea, my dear boy! . . . I am talking, my
darling, in the strange hope that you may understand this rigmarole.
I've brought you here acting on a caprice of the heart: I've long
been dreaming of how I might tell you something . . . you, and no
one else. However . . . however . . ."
"No, tell me," I cried: "I see the look of sincerity in your face
again. . . . Tell me, did Europe bring you back to life again?
And what do you mean by the 'melancholy of the nobleman!' Forgive
me, darling, I don't understand yet."
"Europe bring me back to life? Why, I went to bury Europe!"
"To bury?" I repeated in surprise.
I have no need to dream and brood now
I only meant to say that almost all this time I
have been continually uneasy about you. I always imagined you one
of those little creatures doomed to solitude, though conscious of
being gifted. Like you, I was never fond of my schoolfellows. It
is sad for those natures who are flung back on their own resources
and dreams, especially when they have a passionate, premature and
almost vindictive longing for 'seemliness'--yes, 'vindictive.' But
enough, dear boy, I'm wandering from the point. Before I had begun
to love you, I was picturing you and your solitary wild dreams. . . .
But enough; I've actually forgotten what I had begun to speak
about. But all this had to be said, however. But what could I
have said to you before? Now I see your eyes looking at me, and I
feel it's my SON looking at me. Why, even yesterday I could not
have believed that I should ever be sitting and talking to my boy
as I am to-day."
He certainly did seem unable to concentrate his mind, and at the
same time he seemed, as it were, softened.
"I have no need to dream and brood now; it's enough for me, now,
that I have you! I will follow you!" I said, dedicating myself to
him with my whole heart.
"Follow me? But my wanderings are just over, they have ended to-
day: you are too late, my dear boy. To-day is the end of the last
act, and the curtain has gone down. This last act has dragged on
long. It began very long ago--the last time I rushed off abroad.
I threw up everything then, and you must know, my dear, I broke off
all relations for good with your mother, and told her I was doing
so myself. That you ought to know. I told her then I was going
away for ever; that she would never see me again. What was worst
of all, I even forgot to leave her any money. I did not think of
you either, not for one minute. I went away meaning to remain in
Europe and never to return home, my dear. I emigrated."
"To Herzen? To take part in the revolutionary propaganda abroad?
Probably all your life you have been taking part in political
conspiracies?" I cried, unable to restrain myself.
Not only about that, dear boy.
"Not only about that, dear boy. I should not have known what to
say to you: there was so much I should have had to be silent about.
Much that was absurd, indeed, and humiliating, because it was like
a mountebank performance--yes, a regular show at a fair. Come, how
could we have understood each other before, when I've only
understood myself to-day at five o'clock this afternoon, just two
hours before Makar Ivanovitch's death? You look at me with
unpleasant perplexity. Don't be uneasy: I will explain the facts,
but what I have just said is absolutely true; my whole life has
been lost in mazes and perplexity, and suddenly they are all solved
on such a day, at five o'clock this afternoon! It's quite
mortifying, isn't it? A little while ago I should really have felt
mortified."
I was listening indeed with painful wonder; that old expression of
Versilov's, which I should have liked not to meet that evening
after what had been said, was strongly marked. Suddenly I
exclaimed:
"My God! You've received something from her . . . at five o'clock
this afternoon?"
He looked at me intently, and was evidently struck at my
exclamation: and, perhaps, at my expression: "from her."
"You shall know all about it," he said, with a dreamy smile, "and,
of course, I shall not conceal from you anything you ought to know;
for that's what I brought you here for; but let us put that off for
a time. You see, my dear boy, I knew long ago that there are
children who brood from their earliest years over their family
through being humiliated by the unseemliness of their surroundings
and of their parents' lives. I noticed these brooding natures
while I was still at school, and I concluded then that it all came
from their being prematurely envious. Though I was myself a
brooding child, yet . . . excuse me, my dear, I'm wonderfully
absent-minded.
But though I said that,
But though I said that, I looked at him with love. We talked like
two friends in the highest and fullest sense of the word. He had
asked me to come here to make something clear to me, to tell me
something, to justify himself; and yet everything was explained and
justified before a word was said. Whatever I might hear from him
now, the result was already attained, and we both knew that and
were happy, and looked at each other knowing it.
"It's not the death of that old man," he answered: "it's not his
death alone, there is something else too, which has happened at the
same time. . . . God bless this moment and our future for a long
time to come! Let us talk, my dear boy. I keep wandering from the
point and letting myself be drawn off. I want to speak about one
thing, but I launch into a thousand side issues. It's always like
that when the heart is full. . . . But let us talk; the time has
come and I've been in love with you, boy, for ever so long . . ."
He sank back in the armchair and looked at me once more.
"How strange it is to hear that, how strange it is," I repeated in
an ecstasy of delight. And then I remember there suddenly came
into his face that habitual line, as it were, of sadness and
mockery together, which I knew so well. He controlled himself and
with a certain stiffness began.
2
"You see, Arkady, if I had asked you to come earlier what should I
have said to you? That question is my whole answer."
"You mean that now you are mother's husband, and my father, while
then. . . . You did not know what to say to me before about the
social position? Is that it?"
And you're right.
"And you're right. I guessed it was so when everything was over,
that is when she had given her permission. But enough of that. It
all came to nothing through Lidya's death, and perhaps it wouldn't
have come off if she had lived, and even now I don't let mother
come to see the child. It was only an episode. My dear boy, I've
been looking forward to having you here for ever so long. I've
been dreaming of how we should get to know each other here. Do you
know how long?--for the last two years."
He looked at me sincerely and truthfully, and with a warmth of
heart in which there was no reserve. I gripped his hand:
"Why have you put it off, why did you not invite me long ago? If
only you knew all that has been . . . which would not have been if
only you had sent for me earlier! . . ."
At that instant the samovar was brought in, and Darya Onisimovna
suddenly brought in the baby asleep.
"Look at it," said Versilov; "I am fond of it, and I told them to
bring it in now that you might look at it. Well, take it away
again, Darya Onisimovna. Sit down to the samovar. I shall imagine
that we have always lived together like this, and that we've been
meeting every evening with no parting before us. Let me look at
you: there, sit like this, that I can see your face. How I love
your face. How I used to imagine your face when I was expecting
you from Moscow. You ask why I did not send for you long ago?
Wait a little, perhaps you will understand that now."
"Can it be that it's only that old man's death that has set your
tongue free? That's strange . . ."
He took it from the table and handed it me.
He took it from the table and handed it me. It, too, was a
photograph, a great deal smaller, in a thin oval wooden frame--it
was the face of a young girl, thin and consumptive, and at the same
time very good-looking; dreamy and yet strangely lacking in
thought. The features were regular, of the type suggesting the
pampering of generations, but it left a painful impression: it
looked as though some fixed idea had taken possession of this
creature and was torturing her, just because it was too much for
her strength.
"That . . . that is the girl you meant to marry and who died of
consumption . . . HER step-daughter?" I said rather timidly.
"Yes, I meant to marry her, she died of consumption, HER step-
daughter. I knew that you knew . . . all that gossip. Though you
could have known nothing about it but the gossip. Put the portrait
down, my boy, that was a poor, mad girl and nothing more."
"Really mad?"
"Or imbecile; I think she was mad though. She had a child by
Prince Sergay. It came about through madness not through love; it
was one of Prince Sergay's most scoundrelly actions. The child is
here now in the next room, and I've long wanted to show it to you.
Prince Sergay has never dared come here to look at the child; that
was the compact I made with him abroad. I took the child to bring
up with your mother's permission. With your mother's permission I
meant at the time to marry that unhappy creature . . ."
"Could such permission have been possible?" I protested warmly.
"Oh yes, she allowed it: jealousy could only have been felt of a
woman, and that was not a woman."
"Not a woman to anyone but mother! I shall never in my life
believe that mother was not jealous!" I cried.
He smiled blissfully,
He smiled blissfully, though in his smile there was a suggestion of
something like a martyr's anguish, or rather something humane and
lofty . . . I don't know how to express it; but highly developed
people, I fancy, can never have triumphantly and complacently happy
faces. He did not answer, but taking the portrait from the rings
with both hands brought it close to him, kissed it, and gently hung
it back on the wall.
"Observe," he said; "photographs very rarely turn out good
likenesses, and that one can easily understand: the originals, that
is all of us, are very rarely like ourselves. Only on rare
occasions does a man's face express his leading quality, his most
characteristic thought. The artist studies the face and divines
its characteristic meaning, though at the actual moment when he's
painting, it may not be in the face at all. Photography takes a
man as he is, and it is extremely possible that at moments Napoleon
would have turned out stupid, and Bismarck tender. Here, in this
portrait, by good luck the sun caught Sonia in her characteristic
moment of modest gentle love and rather wild shrinking chastity.
And how happy she was when at last she was convinced that I was so
eager to have her portrait. Though that photograph was taken not
so long ago, still she was younger then and handsomer; yet even
then she had those hollow cheeks, those lines on her forehead, that
shrinking timidity in her eyes, which seems to gain upon her with
the years, and increase as time goes on. Would you believe it,
dear boy? I can scarcely picture her now with a different face,
and yet you know she was once young and charming. Russian women go
off quickly, their beauty is only a passing gleam, and this is not
only due to racial peculiarity, but is because they are capable of
unlimited love. The Russian woman gives everything at once when
she loves--the moment and her whole destiny and the present and the
future: she does not know how to be thrifty, she keeps nothing
hidden in reserve; and their beauty is quickly consumed upon him
whom they love. Those hollow cheeks, they too were once a beauty
that has been consumed on me, on my brief amusement. You are glad
that I love your mother, and perhaps you didn't believe that I did
love her? Yes, my dear, I did love her very much, but I've done
her nothing but harm. . . . Here is another portrait--look at
that, too."
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On the way he uttered only a few brief phrases, telling me he had
left mother with Tatyana Pavlovna and so on. He walked holding my
arm. His lodging was not far off and we soon arrived. I had, in
fact, never been in these rooms of his. It was a small flat of
three rooms, which he had taken or rather Tatyana Pavlovna had
taken simply for that "tiny baby." The flat had always been under
Tatyana Pavlovna's supervision, and in it had been installed a
nurse with the baby (and now Darya Onisimovna, too), but there had
always been a room there for Versilov, the outermost of the three,
a fairly good and spacious room, snugly furnished,
like a study for
literary pursuits. On the table, on the shelves, and on a whatnot
there were numbers of books (while at mother's there were none at
all); there were manuscripts and bundles of letters--in fact, it
all looked snug and as though it had been long inhabited, and I
know that in the past Versilov had sometimes, though not very
often, moved into this flat altogether, and had stayed there even
for weeks at a time. The first thing that caught my attention was
a portrait of mother that hung over the writing table; a photograph
in a magnificent carved frame of rare wood, obviously taken abroad
and judging from its size a very expensive one.
I had never heard
of this portrait and knew nothing of it before, and what struck me
most of all was the likeness which was remarkable in a photograph,
the spiritual truth of it, so to say; in fact it looked more like a
real portrait by the hand of an artist than a mere mechanical
print. When I went in I could not help stopping before it at once.
"Isn't it, isn't it?" Versilov repeated behind me, meaning, "Isn't
it like?" I glanced at him and was struck by the expression of his
face. He was rather pale, but there was a glowing and intense look
in his eyes which seemed shining with happiness and strength. I
had never seen such an expression on his face.
"I did not know that you loved mother so much!" I blurted out,
suddenly delighted.
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"Funny?" (I was listening to her with strained attention. I
imagined that she really was hysterical, and . . . was speaking,
perhaps, not for my benefit; but I could not resist the question.)
"Oh yes, funny, and how I should have laughed, if . . . if I hadn't
been frightened. Though I'm not such a coward, don't think it; but
I didn't sleep all night after that letter, it seemed written in
blood and frenzy . . . and after such a letter what was left to
come. I love life, I'm horribly afraid for my life, I'm horribly
cowardly in that. . . . Ah, listen," she cried, suddenly darting
at me, "go to him, he's alone now, he can't be there still, most
likely he's gone off somewhere alone; make haste and find him, you
must make haste, run to him, show him that you are his son and love
him, prove that you are the dear kind boy, my student whom I . . .
Oh, God give you happiness, I love nobody, and it is better so, but
I want every one to be happy, every one, and him above all, and let
him know that . . . at once . . . I should be very glad."
She got up and suddenly disappeared behind the curtain. At that
instant tears were shining on her face (hysterical after her
laughter). I remained alone, agitated and confused. I was
completely at a loss to what to ascribe such emotion in her, an
emotion which I never should have suspected. Something seemed to
be clutching at my heart.
I waited five minutes, ten; the profound silence suddenly struck
me, and I ventured to peep out of the door, and to call. In answer
to my call Marya appeared and informed me in the most stolid tone,
that the lady had put on her things long, long ago and gone out by
the back way.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
But, my dear boy,
"Yes, because they're not decently dressed--it'
"But, my dear boy, you might get into serious trouble; they might
have hauled you off to the police station."
"They couldn't do anything. They had nothing to complain of: a man
walks beside them talking to himself. Every one has the right to
express his convictions to the air. I spoke in the abstract
without addressing them. They began wrangling with me of
themselves; they began to abuse me, they used much worse language
than I did; they called me milksop, said I ought to go without my
dinner, called me a nihilist, and threatened to hand me over to the
police; said that I'd attacked them because they were alone and
weak women, but if there'd been a man with them I should soon sing
another tune. I very coolly told them to leave off annoying me,
and I would cross to the other side of the street. And to show
them that I was not in the least afraid of their men, and was ready
to accept their challenge, I would follow them to their house,
walking twenty paces behind them, then I would stand before the
house and wait for their men. And so I did."
"You don't say so?"
"Of course it was stupid, but I was roused. They dragged me over
two miles in the heat, as far as the 'institutions,' they went into
a wooden house of one storey--a very respectable-looking one I must
admit--one could see in at the windows a great many flowers, two
canaries, three pug-dogs and engravings in frames. I stood for
half an hour in the street facing the house. They peeped out two
or three times, then pulled down all the blinds. Finally an
elderly government clerk came out of the little gate; judging from
his appearance he had been asleep and had been waked up on purpose;
he was not actually in a dressing-gown, but he was in a very
domestic-looking attire. He stood at the gate, folded his hands
behind him, and proceeded to stare at me--I at him. Then he looked
away, then gazed at me again, and suddenly began smiling at me.
I turned and walked away."
people don't notice it.
s only depraved
people don't notice it. In the law-courts they close the doors
when they're trying cases of indecency. Why do they allow it in
the streets, where there are more people? They openly hang bustles
on behind to look as though they had fine figures; openly! I can't
help noticing; the young lad notices it too; and the child that's
growing into a boy notices it too; it's abominable. Let old rakes
admire them and run after them with their tongues hanging out, but
there is such a thing as the purity of youth which must be
protected. One can only despise them. They walk along the parade
with trains half a yard long behind them, sweeping up the dust.
It's a pleasant thing to walk behind them: you must run to get in
front of them, or jump on one side, or they'll sweep pounds of dust
into your mouth and nose. And what's more it's silk, and they'll
drag it over the stones for a couple of miles simply because it's
the fashion, when their husbands get five hundred roubles a year in
the Senate: that's where bribes come in! I've always despised
them. I've cursed them aloud and abused them."
Though I describe this conversation somewhat humorously in the
style that was characteristic of me at that time, my ideas are
still the same.
"And how do you come off?" the prince queried.
"I curse them and turn away. They feel it, of course, but they
don't show it, they prance along majestically without turning their
heads. But I only came to actual abuse on one occasion with two
females, both wearing tails on the parade; of course I didn't use
bad language, but I said aloud that long tails were offensive."
"Did you use that expression?"
"Of course I did. To begin with, they trample upon the rules of
social life, and secondly, they raise the dust, and the parade is
meant for all. I walk there, other men walk, Fyodor, Ivan, it's
the same for all. So that's what I said. And I dislike the way
women walk altogether, when you look at their back view; I told
them that too, but only hinted at it."
In trifles,
I am ready to give way and be trivial only about trifles. I never
give way in things that are really important. In trifles, in
little matters of etiquette, you can do anything you like with me,
and I curse this peculiarity in myself. From a sort of putrid
good nature I've sometimes been ready to knuckle under to some
fashionable snob, simply flattered by his affability, or I've
let myself be drawn into argument with a fool, which is more
unpardonable than anything. All this is due to lack of self-
control, and to my having grown up in seclusion, but next day it
would be the same thing again: that's why I was sometimes taken for
a boy of sixteen. But instead of gaining self-control I prefer
even now to bottle myself up more tightly than ever in my shell--
"I may be clumsy--but good-bye!"--however misanthropic that may
seem. I say that seriously and for good. But I don't write
this with reference to the prince or even with reference to that
conversation.
"I'm not speaking for your entertainment," I almost shouted at him.
"I am speaking from conviction."
"But how do you mean that women have no manners and are unseemly in
their dress? That's something new."
"They have no manners. Go to the theatre, go for a walk. Every
man knows the right side of the road, when they meet they step
aside, he keeps to the right, I keep to the right. A woman, that
is a lady--it's ladies I'm talking about--dashes straight at you as
though she doesn't see you, as though you were absolutely bound to
skip aside and make way for her. I'm prepared to make way for her
as a weaker creature, but why has she the right, why is she so sure
it's my duty--that's what's offensive. I always curse when I meet
them. And after that they cry out that they're oppressed and
demand equality; a fine sort of equality when she tramples me under
foot and fills my mouth with sand."
"With sand?"
"I don't like women because they've no manners,
We used to talk principally of two abstract subjects--of God and
of His existence, that is, whether there was a God or not--and of
women. The prince was very religious and sentimental. He had in
his study a huge stand of ikons with a lamp burning before them.
But something seemed to come over him--and he would begin
expressing doubts of the existence of God and would say astounding
things, obviously challenging me to answer. I was not much
interested in the question, speaking generally, but we both got
very hot about it and quite genuinely. I recall all those
conversations even now with pleasure. But what he liked best was
gossiping about women, and he was sometimes positively disappointed
at my disliking this subject of conversation, and making such a
poor response to it.
He began talking in that style as soon as I went in that morning.
I found him in a jocose mood, though I had left him the night
before extremely melancholy. Meanwhile it was absolutely necessary
for me to settle the matter of the salary--before the arrival of
certain persons. I reckoned that that morning we should certainly
be interrupted (it was not for nothing my heart was beating) and
then perhaps I should not be able to bring myself to speak of
money. But I did not know how to begin about money and I was
naturally angry at my stupidity. And, as I remember now in my
vexation at some too jocular question of his, I blurted out my
views on women point-blank and with great vigour.
And this led him to be more expansive with me than ever.
3
"I don't like women because they've no manners, because they are
awkward, because they are not self-reliant, and because they wear
unseemly clothes!" I wound up my long tirade incoherently.
"My dear boy, spare us!" he cried, immensely delighted, which
enraged me more than ever.
If anyone cares to know what
I did not want to tell the old prince because I could not help
noticing all that time how he was dreading her arrival. He had
even let drop three days before, though only by a timid and remote
hint, that he was afraid of her coming on my account; that is that
he would have trouble about me. I must add, however, that in his
own family he preserved his independence and was still master in
his own house, especially in money matters. My first judgment of
him was that he was a regular old woman, but I was afterwards
obliged to revise my opinion, and to recognize that, if he were an
old woman, there was still a fund of obstinacy, if not of real
manliness, in him. There were moments when one could hardly do
anything with him in spite of his apprehensive and yielding
character. Versilov explained this to me more fully later. I
recall now with interest that the old prince and I scarcely ever
spoke of his daughter, we seemed to avoid it: I in particular
avoided it, while he, on his side, avoided mentioning Versilov, and
I guessed that he would not answer if I were to ask him one of the
delicate questions which interested me so much.
If anyone cares to know what we did talk about all that month I
must answer that we really talked of everything in the world,
but always of the queerest things. I was delighted with the
extraordinary simplicity with which he treated me. Sometimes I
looked with extreme astonishment at the old man and wondered how he
could ever have presided at meetings. If he had been put into our
school and in the fourth class too, what a nice schoolfellow he
would have made. More than once, too, I was surprised by his face;
it was very serious-looking, almost handsome and thin; he had thick
curly grey hair, wide-open eyes; and he was besides slim and well
built; but there was an unpleasant, almost unseemly, peculiarity
about his face, it would suddenly change from excessive gravity to
an expression of exaggerated playfulness, which was a complete
surprise to a person who saw him for the first time. I spoke of
this to Versilov, who listened with curiosity; I fancy that he had
not expected me to be capable of making such observations; he
observed casually that this had come upon the prince since his
illness and probably only of late.
I remember every detail of that day!
It was annoying to me to have to ask for my salary because I had
already decided to give up my situation, foreseeing that I should
be obliged through unavoidable circumstances to go away. When I
waked up and dressed that morning in my garret upstairs, I felt
that my heart was beating, and though I pooh-poohed it, yet I was
conscious of the same excitement as I walked towards the prince's
house. That morning there was expected a woman, whose presence I
was reckoning upon for the explanation of all that was tormenting
me! This was the prince's daughter, the young widow of General
Ahmakov, of whom I have spoken already and who was bitterly hostile
to Versilov. At last I have written that name! I had never seen
her, of course, and could not imagine how I should speak to her or
whether I should speak, but I imagined (perhaps on sufficient
grounds) that with her arrival there would be some light thrown on
the darkness surrounding Versilov in my eyes. I could not remain
unmoved. It was frightfully annoying that at the very outset I
should be so cowardly and awkward; it was awfully interesting, and,
still more, sickening--three impressions at once. I remember every
detail of that day!
My old prince knew nothing of his daughter's probable arrival, and
was not expecting her to return from Moscow for a week. I had
learnt this the evening before quite by chance: Tatyana Pavlovna,
who had received a letter from Mme. Ahmakov, let it out to my
mother. Though they were whispering and spoke in veiled allusions,
I guessed what was meant. Of course I was not eavesdropping, I
simply could not avoid listening when I saw how agitated my mother
was at the news of this woman's arrival. Versilov was not in the
house.
To ask for money,
2
To ask for money, even a salary, is a most disgusting business,
especially if one feels in the recesses of one's conscience that
one has not quite earned it. Yet the evening before, my mother had
been whispering to my sister apart from Versilov ("so as not to
worry Andrey Petrovitch") that she intended to take the ikon
which for some reason was particularly precious to her to the
pawnbroker's. I was to be paid fifty roubles a month, but I had no
idea how I should receive the money; nothing had been said to me
about it.
Meeting the clerk downstairs three days before, I inquired of him
whom one was to ask for one's salary. He looked at me with a smile
as though of astonishment (he did not like me).
"Oh, you get a salary?"
I thought that on my answering he would add:
"What for?"
But he merely answered drily, that he "knew nothing about it," and
buried himself in the ruled exercise book into which he was copying
accounts from some bills.
He was not unaware, however, that I did something. A fortnight
before I had spent four days over work he had given me, making a
fair copy, and as it turned out, almost a fresh draft of something.
It was a perfect avalanche of "ideas" of the prince's which he was
preparing to present to the board of directors. These had to be
put together into a whole and clothed in suitable language. I
spent a whole day with the prince over it afterwards, and he argued
very warmly with me, but was well satisfied in the end. But I
don't know whether he read the paper or not. I say nothing of the
two or three letters, also about business, which I wrote at his
request.
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I noticed at once that the old man had lurking in his mind a
painful conviction (it was impossible to avoid noticing it, indeed)
that every one had begun to look at him strangely, that every one
had begun to behave to him not as before, not as to a healthy man.
This impression never left him even at the liveliest social
functions. The old man had become suspicious, had begun to detect
something in every one's eyes. He was evidently tormented by the
idea that every one suspected him of being mad. He sometimes
looked mistrustfully even at me. And if he had found out that some
one was spreading or upholding such rumours, the benevolent old man
would have become his implacable foe. I beg that this circumstance
may be noted. I may add that it was what decided me from the first
day not to be rude to him; in fact, I was glad if I were able
sometimes to amuse or entertain him; I don't think that this
confession can cast any slur on my dignity.
The greater part of his money was invested. He had since his
illness become a partner in a large joint stock enterprise, a very
safe one, however. And though the management was in other hands he
took a great interest in it, too, attended the shareholders'
meetings, was appointed a director, presided at the board-meetings,
opposed motions, was noisy and obviously enjoyed himself. He was
very fond of making speeches: every one could judge of his brain
anyway. And in general he developed a great fancy for introducing
profound reflections and bon mots in his conversation, even in the
intimacy of private life. I quite understand it.
On the ground floor of his house there was something like a private
office where a single clerk kept the books and accounts and also
managed the house. This clerk was quite equal to the work alone,
though he had some government job as well, but by the prince's own
wish I was engaged to assist him; but I was immediately transferred
to the prince's study, and often had no work before me, not even
books or papers to keep up appearances. I am writing now sobered
by time; and about many things feel now almost like an outsider;
but how can I describe the depression (I recall it vividly at this
moment) that weighed down my heart in those days, and still more,
the excitement which reached such a pitch of confused feverishness
that I did not sleep at night--all due to my impatience, to the
riddles I had set myself to solve.
Men's Gucci Moccasins
He was travelling
somewhere and went mad on the way, so there was something of a
scandal of which people talked in Petersburg. As is usual in such
cases, he was instantly taken abroad, but five months later he
suddenly reappeared perfectly well, though he gave up the service.
Versilov asserted seriously (and with noticeable heat) that he had
not been insane at all, but had only had some sort of nervous fit.
I promptly made a note of Versilov's warmth about it. I may
observe, however, that I was disposed to share his opinion. The
old man only showed perhaps an excessive frivolity at times, not
quite appropriate to his years, of which, so they say, there was no
sign in him before. It was said that in the past he had been a
councillor of some sort, and on one occasion had quite distinguished
himself in some commission with which he had been charged. After
knowing him for a whole month, I should never have supposed he
could have any special capacity as a councillor. People observed
(though I saw nothing of it) that after his fit he developed a
marked disposition to rush into matrimony, and it was said that he
had more than once reverted to this idea during the last eighteen
months, that it was known in society and a subject of interest.
But as this weakness by no means fell in with the interests of
certain persons of the prince's circle, the old man was guarded on
all sides. He had not a large family of his own; he had been a
widower for twenty years, and had only one daughter, the general's
widow, who was now daily expected from Moscow. She was a young
person whose strength of will was evidently a source of apprehension
to the old man. But he had masses of distant relatives, principally
through his wife, who were all almost beggars, besides a multitude
of prot間閟 of all sorts, male and female, all of whom expected to
be mentioned in his will, and so they all supported the general's
widow in keeping watch over the old man. He had, moreover, had one
strange propensity from his youth up (I don't know whether it was
ridiculous or not) for making matches for poor girls. He had been
finding husbands for the last twenty-five years--for distant
relations, for the step-daughters of his wife's cousins, for his
god-daughters; he even found a husband for the daughter of his
house porter. He used to take his prot間閑s into his house when
they were little girls, provide them with governesses and French
mademoiselles, then have them educated in the best boarding
schools, and finally marry them off with a dowry. The calls upon
him were continually increasing. When his prot間閑s were married
they naturally produced more little girls and all these little
girls became his prot間閑s. He was always having to stand as
god-father. The whole lot turned up to congratulate him on his
birthdays, and it was all very agreeable to him.
gucci uk sale
She used to spend the whole day
with me and inspect my linen and my clothes. She drove about the
town with me, took me to Kuznetsky Street, bought me what was
necessary, provided me with a complete outfit, in fact, down to the
smallest box and penknife. All the while she nagged at me, scolded
me, reproached me, cross-examined me, quoting as examples to me
various phantom boys among her relations and acquaintances who were
all said to be better than I was. She even pinched me and actually
gave me several vicious pokes. After fitting me out and installing
me, she would disappear completely for several years. On this
occasion, too, she turned up at once on my arrival to instal me
again. She was a spare little figure with a sharp nose like a
beak, and sharp little eyes like a bird's. She waited on Versilov
like a slave, and grovelled before him as though he were the Pope,
but she did it through conviction. But I soon noticed with
surprise that she was respected by all and, what was more, known
to every one everywhere. Old Prince Sokolsky treated her with
extraordinary deference; it was the same thing with his family;
the same with Versilov's haughty children; the same with the
Fanariotovs; and yet she lived by taking in sewing, and washing
lace, and fetched work from the shops. She and I fell out at the
first word, for she thought fit to begin nagging at me just as she
had done six years before. And from that time forward we
quarrelled every day, but that did not prevent us from sometimes
talking, and I must confess that by the end of the month I began to
like her: for her independent character, I believe. But I did not
tell her so.
I realized at once that I had only been given this post at the old
invalid prince's in order to "amuse" him, and that that was my
whole duty. Naturally this was humiliating, and I should at once
have taken steps, but the queer old fellow soon made an unexpected
impression upon me. I felt something like compassion for him, and
by the end of the month I had become strangely attached to him;
anyway I gave up my intention of being rude. He was not more than
sixty, however, but there had been a great to-do with him a year
and a half before, when he suddenly had a fit.
Aye thankee,
Blaggut lounged on the bank, proudly watching his two new boats on their maiden voyages. After a while, Slipp came shuffling wearily along and slumped down beside his former boatswain. "Enjoyin* yerself are yer, 'avin' a good time?" he asked.
"Aye thankee, Cap'n. See the boats I made fer my Dibbuns!"
Slipp cast a weary eye over the two sleek little craft. "So that's 'ow you been fritterin' the day away. I mighta known, you great lazy loaf ead!"
Blaggut had not expected Slipp to make any nice comments on his achievements. "Buildin" boats ain't fritterin' time away, Cap'n. Wot 'ave you been up to all day?"
Slipp waved airily as if it were no big thing. "Oh, they made me 'ead cook, I'm in charge of all the kitchens. Did yer taste my skilly an* duff at brekkfist?"
"Aye, Cap'n. It was 'orrible. Yew make a better Cap'n than a cook. The bread was nice, though. Did y'make that?"
Slipp was no stranger to fibbing. "Baked the bread meself," he lied glibly. "It was those Abbey mice who
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BRIAN JACQUES
made the skilly an' duff; they ignored me instructions." Blaggut leaned close to SHpp's ear and whispered, "Cap'n, we don't 'ave to go 'untin' fer booty tonight, so don't you worry about that black shadder we saw."
SHpp felt the hairs on his nape rise with fear. "Shurrup, y'fool. Shut yer mouth! I tol* you never to mention that black shadow again long as you live. It didn't 'appen, d'ye hear me? There's no such thing as black shadows. Any'ow, why don't we 'ave to go lookin' fer booty tonight?"
Blaggut told his Captain all, from the boatbuilding to the oath he had taken with the Dibbuns. He smiled slyly at Slipp and winked. Slipp cuffed him roughly on the nose. "Y'mean to tell me that those two Dibthings know where there's secret treasure 'idden, an' yore sittin' 'ere like a loungin' lobster watchin' em sail round a pond?" "Bargain's a bargain, Cap'n," said Blaggut, rubbing his nose tenderly. "They gotta try out their new boats. Besides, I got to stay 'ere an' keep an eye on the liddle rascals in case one falls in."
Tarquin L. Woodsorrel came strolling up and wagged an ear at Slipp curtly. "C'mon, Slippy ol' rat, back to work, wot? Lots of sticky pots t' be washed; they've been making honey pudden an' maple toffee apples. Sticks the pots 'n' pans up frightfully, y'know. Mellus sent me, said if y'don't come she'll be down here an' fetch you herself. Y'don't want that, wot?"
they'm bootiful ships!
"Hurr, they'm bootiful ships!"
"Can us 'ave rowers to row with?"
"Oi'm callen moi ship ee Daffydill"
"Mine be called Watermouseyl"
Blaggut sat dow.n on the pond edge sipping cider that he had drained from the barrel into a bowl before construction began. The searat was as happy as the two Dib-buns.
"Haharr, mates, I'm a boatbuilder! All me life I've been called stoopid an' clumsy an' thick as two short planks. But I ain't, I got clever paws, I kin make boats, good 'uns!"
"Write our ships' names on 'em, Blackguts, sir. Oh, please!"
Blaggut had hoped they would not ask him this. "Er, well, mebbe Sister Sage oughter do that, shipmates. I never learned no writin', bein' a seara梕r, carpenter, there wasn't no need fer such things. Aye, we'll ask the Sister. 'Sides, she prob'ly kin write proper fancy; I bet good ole mouseladies like 'er does writin' a lot. But 'old 'ard, mateys. Wot about our bargain梱ou know, the secret treasure you was gonna show me?''
The mousebabe planted his paws on tiny, fat hips. "Nono, first we wanna sail, see if these ships work right!"
Blaggut finished his cider. "Yore an 'ard master, mousebabe. Come on then, let's launch 'em."
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273
The boats were an instant success. They sailed wonderfully on the slightest breeze and in the absence of any wind could be rowed easily with the paddles Blaggut had made. All the Abbey Dibbuns gathered at the pond's edge, anxious to take their turn being ferried about on the Abbey pond. Both mousebabe and mole-maid were in their element, sailing, paddling, and roaring orders.
"Hurr, you'm sit yurr an' ee sit thurr. 'Old on naow!"
"Two atta time, on'y two atta time. Who's next?"
"Oi'll take ee round yon bullyrushers!"
"Watch out for big fishes an' pirates!"
lemme go,
Slipp drew himself up haughtily, about to protest when the badger seized him by one ear and shook him. "You are a cheat and a liar! You've never cooked in your life! When you've cleared this lot up I want to see you out in the kitchens. Scrub all the pots and pans and spread rose-water round until every trace of skilly an* duff, sight or smell, is gone!"
"Yowowow, lemme go, stripedog! Ooch ouch!"
Brothers Fingle and Mallen took over cooking duties, and a satisfactory lunch of summer salad, cheeses, and apple pie with meadowcreain brought the Abbey back onto an even keel. The day wore on, warm, sunny and still; bees droned lazily from flower to flower. Redwallers went on with their daily chores, tending crop and orchard, harvesting honey, reading and studying, or helping with the upkeep of Abbey buildings. Tranquillity was the keynote, with the high green mantle of Mossflower shading the outer walls on three sides, leaving the west ramparts open to sunny flatlands where larks sang and grasshoppers chirruped.
Toward mid-noon Blaggut put the finishing touches to a pair of boats he had made by halving an old cider barrel lengthways. The searat was proud of a previously unknown skill he had discovered that day梑oatbuilding. He had sawed the barrel neatly from top to bottom, making two butt-ended little vessels. A cask lid cut in half provided two keels for balance. Inside the boats he wedged short, flat planks for seats. Two big ash staves served as masts, with a third, cut in half, completing the cross spars,
272
BRIAN JACQUES
from which hung twin, much-patched sails. They had done sterling service as tablecloths and were donated by Sister Sage. The mousebabe and Furrtil the molemaid scurried round the searat's footpaws, squeaking excitedly.
"Which un's mine, Blackguts, sir?"
he complained.
"Phew! Has somebeast moved the orchard compost heap into here, Father Abbot?'' he complained.
Saxtus prodded the mess on his plate glumly. "Evidently you haven't heard of an old seagoing dish that Slipp our new cook has served up. It's called skilly an' duff. Like to try some?"
"Stick to plain honest bread, my friend, you'll live longer," said Mother Mellus as she broke a fresh-baked farl and passed half to Simeon. "Dearie me, no wonder searats are so wicked and wild. I'd be like that too if I had to live on a diet of the dreaded skilly an* duff!"
Slipp forestalled further conversation by pushing in a trolley piled high with platters of his creation. The sea-
270
BRIAN JACQUES
rat captain was quite proud of his newfound cooking skills. Clad in a clean white smock and a tall chef's hat several sizes too small for him, he swaggered up to a table. "Skilly an' duff, that's the stuff t'put a curl in yer whiskers, made by me own fair paws. Anybeast want some more?"
Suddenly a lot of Redwallers left the tables, claiming that they felt the need for fresh fruit from the orchard. Ladle in paw, Slipp looked from the empty places to his few remaining victims left sitting at the main table.' 'Fruit from the orchard? That'll never put a back on ye like velvet an* a twinkle in yer eye. Skilly an' duff, now that's a real brekkist for ye! C'mon, Father h'Abbot, yew ain't touched yores yet. It'll be gone cold. 'Ere, let ole Slipp freshen it up with some that's fresh cooked."
Saxtus averted his head from the foul-smelling mess that Slipp was piling onto the cold contents of his plate. "You'll excuse me asking, Slipp, but what do you put into this, er, skilly an' duff?" he asked. Slipp licked the ladle and winked. "Haharr, that's an ole seadog's secret; a bit o' this an' a touch o' that, lashin's of wild garlic, white dead nettle, some cleavers an' just a smidgeon o' dogwort."
Saxtus clapped a paw to his mouth and hurried from the table.
Slipp hooked a clawful of the steaming concoction from Saxtus's plate, straight into his mouth. "Wot's wrong with 'im? Tastes fine fine."
Mellus' s huge paw crashed down on the table. "Enough is enough! The only thing you've ever cooked up is roguish schemes. Clear this ... this ... garbage
The BeUmaker
271
away, and bury it somewhere deep to let nature take care of it. Now!"
The mousebabe looked furtively about
The mousebabe looked furtively about, then drawing close he whispered in Blaggut's ear, "A course we does!"
The searat brightened up; his ruse was working. "Right then, you show me the treasure, an' I'll make ee an' 'and-some liddle boat t'sail round the pond in, eh?"
"No, Zurr," said the molemaid, stroking her digging claws solemnly. "Furst you carp ee boat fer us'n's, then we tell ee whurr secret treasure be 'idden, hurt!"
Blaggut considered the offer, peering closely at the two well-scrubbed faces radiating honesty and trust at him. "Haharr, you drive an 'ard bargain, but it's a deal, buckoes. One thing though: swear you won't tell anybeast about this?"
The mousebabe shook his paw vigorously in Blaggut's face. "We don' swear. S'not nice t'swear, y'get sent t' bed."
The BeUmaker
269
' 'Bless yer 'eart, messmate.'' The dullard searat grinned. "I don't mean swear 'n' curse, I means we gotta take a vow t'getner, a solemn oath."
The three conspirators placed their paws together, and the Dibbuns repeated the words that Blaggut recited:
"I take this oath."
"We take an oaf."
"That me liver 'n' lights be ripped out if'n any of us breathes a word of our secret to anybeast, so 'elp ee!"
"Hurr e liver be gripped when ee lights be out an' ee secret breathin' of anybeasters to 'elp ee!"
Blaggut scratched his head as both Dibbuns smiled at him.
"I never 'card it said like that afore, but I s'pose it'll 'ave ter do, mates!"
An air of gloom hung over the breakfast tables in Cavern Hole. Blind Simeon wrinkled his whiskers in disgust as he took his seat.
Carp, y'say.
Slipp tried burrowing deeper into the bed linen, as Tarquin turned him none-too-gently onto the floor. "Go 'way, s'only just dawn, beat it!" he grumbled.
The hefty paw of Mother Mellus scooped the searat up onto his paws. "Less of your insolence! You said you were a cook, so let's see you up and cooking!"
Blaggut poked his head from beneath the pillow, giggling dozily as he watched the proceedings. "Show 'em what yore made of, Cap'n. Burn up a mess o'skilly an' duff; that'll warm the cockles of their 'earts, hahaharr!"
The badger turned as she propelled Slipp through the doorway. "I wouldn't laugh too much if I were you, Blaggut; there's two friends outside want to see you. Go in and wake the nice rat up, my Dibbuns!"
267
268
BRIAN JACQUES
The mousebabe and the molemaid came dashing in and threw themselves upon Blaggut, buffeting him unmercifully with Slipp's pillow. "Cummon, mista Blackguts, Ma Mellus said you was a carpenter, we wanna see you carp!"
"Carp, y'say. Well, I dunno," said Blaggut as he sat up and scratched himself absently. "Let's see, mates, wot d'yer want ole Blaggy ter carp for ye?"
Furrtil the molemaid was in no doubt at all. "Ee lickle boat to sail on ee Abbey pond, zurr, so's us'n's can set in it. Can ee carp a boat, zurr Blackguts?''
Blaggut sensed a chance to help Slipp achieve his desire. "Mebbe I kin, mebbe I cain't. Boats don't git carped fer nothin', mates. D'you know where the secret treasure of this 'ere Redwall h'Abbey is 'idden?"
BRIAN JACQUES
264
BRIAN JACQUES
The Bellmaker nodded understandingly. "You're growing up well, Benjy. You stay aboard with the others, and Finnbarr and I will go ashore early and give Burrom a decent burial."
The young squirrel sat upright. "No, please, leave our father in the tent. I couldn't bear thinking about Burrom buried there all alone. Besides, she might get better and wake up someday..."
"So be it, Benjy," said Joseph, smiling sadly, "but don't grieve. Burrom will be glad that you three are safe and with friends now. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sir. Oh, may I ask where we're going on your ship?"
"It's not my ship. Pearl Queen belongs to Finnbarr. We're bound for Southsward to search for my daughter, Mariel, and her friend Dandin. It's a long story."
Benjy's eyes shone bright in the darkness. "Southsward, that's my home!"
Now it was Joseph's turn to sit up. "You come from Southsward?''
"Yes, sir, every creature on the ship did. We were driven out of there by Urgan Nagru the Foxwolf梙is rats killed both my parents. I want to go back to Southsward!"
"I'll bet you do, Benjy!" said Joseph, looking steadily at the youngster. "Come to the galley with me; there's food and drink there. We have a lot to discuss."
BOOK THREE
Southsward
26
Rosy-hued dawn flooded through the guest room window at Redwall Abbey as Mellus and Tarquin stirred the snoring searat Captain from a tangle of sheets.
"C'mon, Slipp, rise and shine, old rat. Let's see if you were Muffin* when you said you could cook."
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Benjy sniffed several times before explaining. "Ship was wrecked t'pieces out on the sea at the start of summer. Burrom the hedgehog was hurled bad by a falling mast, but she clung to it an' pulled us aboard with her. Figgs too, though she was just born; don't know what happened to Figgs's mother. We got washed through the rocks into the cove; been living here all through summer.
The Bellmaker
263
Poor Burrom never really got over that mast falling on her. She was mixed up all the time, talking strange." Benjy shuddered hugely, as if fighting back more tears. Finnbarr kept him talking as a distraction.
"How long's she been like that... I mean ..."
The young squirrel pulled himself together gallantly. "You mean dead? Since last full moon, though I couldn't tell Wincey and Figgs. They kept wanting to see her, but I told them she was sleeping/'
"But you said father," Joseph interrupted. "Burrom was a female?"
The young squirrel smiled through his tears. "That was Wincey's idea. She never knew her father, so she thought it would be nice to call Burrom father. I told Figgs we were her family, brothers and sisters. She's too small to know any different."
To cheer him up Rosie chuckled, "Well I'm a mother and you can count on me, though you'll have lots of fathers aboard Pearl Queen, brothers too. Hmm, should've brought more sisters along with us!"
When they got back to the ship, Foremole had made beds up for Wincey and Figgs in the crew's accommodation. Joseph settled down on the hatch covers with Benjy close by, and they lay watching the stars, like silver pins, holding up the dark, velvet canopy of the night sky. Joseph outlined his plans for them. "We're sailing in the morning, right after breakfast. I think you and your sisters would be better off coming along with us, Benjy. What d'you think?"
"I think that's the best thing too, sir. I'll have to tell Wincey and Figgs that Burrom won't be coming along. It'll be difficult, 'specially for little Figgs."
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The mousemaid broke free; throwing herself down in front of Joseph, she pleaded brokenly, "Oh, please don't slay us, sir. Please!"
The young squirrel attempted to bite Finnbarr Galedeep again; he struggled and kicked viciously, shouting, "Save your breath Wincey. They're pirates, you won't get mercy from this scummy lot!"
Rosie Woodsorrel confronted him. "Now see here, young thingummybob, mind your manners. Do we look like pirates?"
Squirming hard to get free of the sea otter's iron grip, the young squirrel bared his teeth. "If you're not pirates, then tell this big searat to let go of me!" he snarled.
Joseph filled two platters with Pearl Queen Pudden, then, taking the mousemaid's paw gently, he signaled Finnbarr to release the young squirrel. "Don't be frightened of Finnbarr," he said to them. "He's just a great big old sea otter. What's your name, young un?"
"My name's Benjy an' I'm not afraid of you or any-beast!"
"Of course you're not. Come and have something to eat, Benjy." Joseph placed the plates of pudding in front of Benjy and Wincey, speaking softly to allay their fears. "Rosie, is there any raspberry cordial in the galley? Bring our guests a beaker each. Come on, young uns, eat up. You look as if a plate of pudding apiece would cheer you up. Oh come on now, we're not going to hurt you."
They ate hungrily, grunting and snuffling in their haste to get the pudding down. Rosie brought their cordial.
The BeUmaker
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"My word, has there been a seven-season famine around here?" She laughed.
With his whiskers coated with fruit and pastry, Benjy shot her a quick glance. "You don't look like no searat," he said.
"I should hope not, and don't speak with y'mouth full," Rosie said as she refilled the two plates. "We're honest voyagers from Redwall Abbey, and we don't go about slayin' and whatnot. Just look at you two! A good bath, some more food, an' clean clothes is what y'need."
Joseph took the little mousemaid on his lap. "I had a little one like you, though she's quite big now. Tell me, Wincey, how did you come to this place?"
She took a great sucking gulp of raspberry cordial and shrugged. "Always been here, I think."
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So riddle you diddle you fiddle you do,
Your silly old father loves you true,
If you're good I'll tell you something more,
A beech is a tree and a beach is a shore,
And if sky is blue and wind blew too,
Your silly old father is wiser than you,
So weigh my words as you go on your way.
Tomorrow's today when the night falls away!' "
Amid the applause that followed Finnbarr slipped back into the darkness, fading away like a shadow. Log-a-Log followed him, rapier at the ready. Rufe noticed them going and said in a loud voice to Patch, "Where are those two going, mate?"
"Keep yer voice down, Rufey, an' act normal like," the Guosim shrew cautioned him.
There followed a squeal and a scuffle. Joseph reached for a boarding pike as he whispered, "Stay calm, every-beast, keep your weapons close to paw and wait until Finnbarr or Log-a-Log calls us. There's been something or someone out there since dusk!"
"Owow, lemme go! Get y'paws off me, searat!"
Durry was startled by the shrill voice. He turned to see Finnbarr hauling a struggling young squirrel over the rail. "Be still, yer liddle rogue, or I'll tan yer 'ide. Ouch! 'E bit me!"
Log-a-Log materialized out of the gloom, tugging a
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small, sobbing mousemaid behind him. "Here's another one; I reckon there's more out there!"
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
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Down in the pit there were four dead shrews, but the prisoners never stopped for a moment. The upward hail of stones was so fast and thick that they felled many toads. Mara leapt out of the cave she had been slinging from, heaving and throwing anything that came within reach of her paws. For a second she glimpsed the snarling features of King Glagweb, then he retreated from the edge.
"Mara, he's gettin' away," Pikkle's voice called out to her over the melee. "The tridents梠ver there!"
Two toad guards had been knocked down into the pit. They lay dead in the deep watery mud, still holding their tridents. Immediately, Mara sensed what Pikkle meant.
Snatching the two tridents, she used them as climbing spikes. Paw over paw, up the side of the pit she went, using the tridents to haul herself up, thrusting them deep into the slippery sides and exerting all of her huge strength she thrust her way up to the top. Flailing with the tridents, she sent two toads hurtling into the pit before she took off after Glagweb.
The King of the toads wobbled and hopped through the swamps. Toad warriors less ponderous than himself passed him on both sides as they fled from the wrath of the Guosssom fighters.
"Krrruk! Worms, deserters, come back and help your King!" Glagweb spat at the toads. Chancing a look back, he saw Mara coming after him. The Toadking's throat bulged with terror as he tried to go faster. The badger maid was a frightening sight, her eyes red with rage, foam flecking her jaws as she hurtled forward regardless of brush or sapling. Glagweb froze with horror, the strength draining from his flabby limbs as the young badger threw herself through the air and pounced upon him.
The Log-a-log and several of his crew came dashing up as Mara lifted Glagweb from the ground bodily, both her paws locked around his throat. He dangled helplessly, croaking feebly as his legs tried to reach the ground.
Mara found herself suddenly borne down beneath the weight of half a dozen shrews. Blinded by her warlike badger
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spirit, she turned to fight with them as her prisoner was wrested out of her grasp. Log-a-log's rapier touched her throat.
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Mara felt something hit her between the ears. She clapped a paw to her head and caught the object. From the comer of her eye she caught sight of a wren zooming overhead.
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Holding up the acorn, she roared aloud, "Look, it's the acorn! Eulaliaaaaa!"
Immediately, the battle cries of the Guosssom shrews reached their ears. Nordo dived into a wallcave, avoiding arrows as he threw slings and stones forward, lifting his head in an answering war shout to his father's warriors who were pressing up from the riverbank. "Logalogalogalogalog!''
An arrow zipped between Pikkle's ears as he flung off a rounded stone from his sling. There was a satisfying thud as it caught a toad guard in the throat. Toads were everywhere, swinging their vicious flails and thrusting with tridents. Fierce-eyed Guosssom warriors, their heads bound in bright-colored cloths, leapt to the fray, parrying and riposting with their short fencing rapiers.
"Yahaa, 'sdeath to you, scumback!"
"On guard! One, two, slay!"
Mara and the rest whirled stones upward with as much speed and force as they could muster, dodging arrows and ducking long pike thrusts from the toads on top. King Glag-web turned back and forth, trying to divide his attention between the prisoners in the pit and the advancing Guosssom shrews. The element of surprise was working well. The shrews drove the toad masses backwards mercilessly, pushing them into the flames of their own cooking fires as they did. Log-a-log, the fierce-eyed leader of the shrews, fought like a mad beast, throwing himself onto several toads at a time, regardless of danger. Bleeding from a dozen trident and flail cuts, he fought wildly with tooth and rapier, all the time booming out in his gruff bass voice:
"I'm coming, Nordo my son. Logalogalogalogalog!"
Several shrews had been slain by the toads, but the losses on King Glagweb's side were far heavier. The toads were beginning to lose heart. They still fought on, but they were pushed into retreat by the ferocity of the Guosssom attack.
If you want food
Mara waded forward and seized the rope. Several shrews hurried to help her, and the badger maid called to them, "Pull! Pull with all your might!"
On the topside of the pit toads attached themselves to the rope and hauled frantically.
"Krruuuukk! Heave! If you want food, heave!" Glagweb shouted at them.
The toughened grass rope stretched and squeaked taut as creatures at both ends bent their backs into the tug-of-war.
Two young shrews named Scraggle and Wikk climbed over the heads of the others and began attacking the rope with their bare teeth.
Pikkle smiled grimly. "That's the stuffier give the troops, lads. Bite away!"
Several toads leaned over the edge and prodded with their tridents, but they were driven back with a volley of mudballs from the pit below. Scraggle and Wikk bit furiously into the straining rope, spitting dried grass left and right as their sharp teeth worked on the fibers.
The rope parted with a loud snapl
On top the toads went staggering back and landed in a heap on Glagweb. He thrust at them cruelly with his trident.
"Krrrrekk! Off, fools. Get off the King!"
Mara, Pikkle and Nordo fell back into the pit in a splashing deluge of watery mud. Still clinging to the severed half of the rope, a pile of shrews fell in on top of them. Through the slime and sludge they laughed aloud at their victory.
"We won! We won! Hooray!"
"I say, good show, you chaps. That'll teach old Glag guts, wot?"
An arrow came streaking down and pierced Scraggle's paw. Glagweb appeared at the pit edge with several toad archers.
"Krrrg! Kill! Kill them all!"
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"Grrroak! I will eat your heart!"
"Hah!" Mara curled her lip scornfully. "Eat my heart? You couldn't eat mud if it hit you in the mouth. Here!" She flung a pawful of slime. It splattered into the Toadking's open mouth. The creatures in the pit had to scramble for cover as the toad guards hurled pebbles down at them.
Glagweb went into an insane rage, spitting slime as he croaked venomously at the badger maid, "Krrikl! I wait no longer. You have angered me, and soon you will all die. Kroik! I will make your deaths so slow and painful you will plead to be eaten. Grakk!"
After the toads had gone, Mara apologized to the other captives.
"I'm sorry I lost my temper and hastened your deaths, but I couldn't stand that loathsome toad staring at me."
Nordo wiped mud from an apple and bit into it. "What's the difference? We're all going to die anyway. Probably better sooner than later梘et it over with."
Pikkle nibbled at a strawberry reflectively. "I don't know whether to stuff m'self and give those toads a good scoff, or bally well starve so they won't have much to chew on. What d'you think, Nordo ol' lad?"
"As I said, Pikkle梞akes no difference. Once you're dead then that's it, fat or thin."
"Here, what's all this?" Mara put a paw around Nordo's shoulders. "You talk as if the end is inevitable. Where's your famous fighting spirit of the Guosssom?"
Nordo sat down heavily in the mud and slapped his paws in it. "Look at this梞ud, slime, sludge, everywhere! Trapped in a pit like frogs in a barrel, forced to live in this filth. I can't take it anymore, living like a wriggling swamp insect!" He yelled hoarsely and threw himself at the pit walls, slipping and sliding as he tried to claw his way upward.
A grass noose snaked down without warning and settled over Nordo's shoulders. Suddenly the pit edge was alive with a mob of toads croaking and hopping gleefully as Glagweb waved his trident and bellowed loudly, "Knrrokk! Now we eat 'em, one by one. Gurrrrkk!"
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Pikkle dived forward and grabbed Nordo's footpaws. "Come on, chaps. Don't let the scurvy knaves take him!"
stop gabbin'
"Oh aye. Now you git t' sleep an' stop gabbin'."
"I go t'sleep now. G'night, Mista Thugg."
"Good night!"
"See you inna mornin'."
"Aye, now be quiet!"
"I quiet now. Dumble quiet."
"Well, I should 'ope you are!"
"Oh I are."
"Be quiet, d'you 'ear me. Be quiet!"
"Dumble quiet. You de one makin' alia noise, Mista Thugg."
Since dawn King Glagweb had been peering over the edge of the pit, watching Mara intently. The toad guards heaved a massive load of tubers and roots down to the captives. There was even some fruit among it梐 few apples, some half-ripe hazelnuts and late strawberries. Nordo and his shrews gathered it into the little walicaves, keeping the hazelnuts to one side as sling material.
As Pikkle helped to gather up the food he called to Mara, "You've got a royal admirer there, old gel, wot? I think he fancies you on toast with an apple in your jolly mouth."
Mara shook a paw at the King of toads. "Go away, you fat sloppy swamp-walloper!"
"Kroikl! Silence stripedog, Glagweb is King, Krrk!" Glagweb flung a hazelnut savagely at her. "Not fat or sloppy. I punish you when the time comes. Grrk!"
Mara flung the nut back, scoring a direct hit on Glagweb's nose. "Why not come down here and punish me now if you dare, fathead. Or should I say your royal splodginess!"
Glagweb waddled about the edge of the pit, quivering with rage, his eyes bulging and his throat pulsing wildly.
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You stringy oF rascal,
A short while later he was seated happily on a fallen tree, eating a candied chestnut from the otter's haversack as he watched Thrugg tying the snake in an intricate knot around a sapling.
"You stringy oF rascal, 'ow dare you try ter choke my liddle matey? Y'can stay there till you learn some manners!"
Dumble chuckled. "Thatsa way, Mista Thugg. Tie d'ser-pink up!"
Thrugg narrowed his eyes severely and squatted in front of Dumble. "Never mind the serpink, matey. What in the name of jib booms are you doin' followin' me?"
"Wanna come wiv you to norf mountings, Mista Thugg."
"Do you now! Well, you lissen ter me, young dormouse. It's back to yer bunk in Redwali Abbey for you. Now come on!"
Dumble burst into floods of tears. "No no, don't wanna go! Dumble get sick an' die wiv feeva. Me fright'ned."
Thrugg shouldered his haversack and stood undecided with the tearful Dumble gazing beseechingly up at him.
"You my matey, Mista Thugg. You not let Dumble get sicked inna Habbey. We find niceflowers together. Yeh?"
Thrugg picked up the infant in one paw and set him atop the haversack. "All right, you liddle rogue. I couldn't think of ye lyin' sick back there. I'm as feared of the fever as you
are. Shove your paw through the straps up there an' get some sleep, then we'll find these Iceflowers t'gether."
Off they went up the path, the big otter having his patience sorely tried by the infant dormouse.
"Good oF Mista Thugg. You're my bes' matey, aren't you?"
Goodbye and good luck, Thrugg!
"Goodbye and good luck, Thrugg!"
"Ho urr, you'm taken good care of 'ee'self."
"Hurry back with the flowers, matey!"
"Do be careful, Mr. Thrugg!"
The gates shut behind him as the otter strode out boldly along the dusty brown path to the north.
Thrugg had not been walking long when he began hearing sounds from the woodlands on his right. He tied a big pebble into his sling. Whoever was trailing him would be called sharply to account if they tried anything. A paie sliver of moon illuminated the path and woodlands dimly as the otter watched the small bushes and shrubs moving not far from where he trod; his hidden follower was trying hard to keep pace with him. Smiling grimly to himself, he twirled his sling meaningfully and stopped. The other stopped too. Suddenly a juniper bush began shaking and thrashing madly and a squeaky little voice cut through the night silence.
"Elpelpelp! Mista Thugg, it's a serpink, a serpink got me!" The voice could belong to only one creature: Baby Dumble.
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Thrugg hurled himself into the woodland and pounced upon the bush, ripping leaves and branches as he shouted, "Belay, matey. Don't be afrighted桾hrugg's "ere!"
The infant dormouse was trapped in the coils of a fully grown grass snake. Though not poisonous, the creature was trying to squeeze the life from Dumble. Thrugg gripped it by the throat and dealt it a powerful blow with his loaded sling. It was knocked senseless in a trice. Baby Dumble's face had an unhealthy bluish pallor and his cheeks were puffed out as he tried to breathe. Sudden shock had paralyzed him.
The big otter turned the tiny dormouse upside down and dealt him a hefty whack on his bottom. It was a drastic but surefire remedy. Dumble let out a yell that resounded through the woodlands, "Waaaahoooooh!"
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Faith Spinney shook her paw severely at Furgle. "Show some respect for your elders. My grandma used to say the same thing, Flowers of Icetor from the mountains of the north. Now I recalls her words, she always said that they could cure most anythin'. But who knows where the mountains of the north are? Mercy me, no right-thinkin' Redwaller ever goes north. That's badlands. Tis a hard and hostile region we know little about."
"Mousewives' tale or no, we've got to give it a try." Bremmun stood up officiously. "I'll go this very day, see if I don't."
Thrugg had been standing nearby waiting to speak with Hollyberry. He pressed Bremmun back down into his chair. "No, matey, you're too old and long in the tooth t' be climb-in' northern mountains. I'll go. Oh, Hollyberry, yore wanted up in the Affirmery梩wo more creatures just been took poorly."
Mrs. Faith Spinney was very fond of Thrugg. She patted his paw. "Oh, you are a brave creature, Thrugg. We must send somebeast with you to help you on your quest."
Thrugg shuffled awkwardly. "Bless yer, marm, but I'll be fine steerin' a lone course. Every spare pair o' paws will be needed 'ere at Redwall to cope with the fever. 'Sides, I'm mortal feared of bein' sick, so I'd best find this flower quick like. What's it called again, Furgle?"
"Heh heh. Icetor, you great ignoramus桭lowers of Icetor. Though as to where you'll find it or the north mountains is a mystery to me."
Thrugg took hold of Furgle in his brawny paws and lifted him easily on to the tabletop. "Hark t' me, woodvole. You ever call me iggeramius agin an' you'll be goin' for a swim in the pond, fully dressed. Yore so clever, but not clever enough t' see the answer to your own question. Where's the north mountains? Why, in the North, o' course. There's a path right outside this 'ere Abbey leadin' north, an' I intends takin'
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it. Flowers of Icetor, eh. Don't you fret yore spikes, Mrs. Spinney梠l' Thrugg will bring back bouquets of 'em! I ain't never seen no Flowers of Icetor, but I 'spect if they're so val'ble an* rare I'll know those blossoms as soon as I claps eyes on 'em. Mountain's in the north, flowers is on the mountain梬hat more does a beast need t' know? You leave it t' me, mates!"
The big otter's logic was so strong and straightforward that he received a hearty round of applause. Everybeast was in agreement, Thrugg was the otter for the job; in fact, the quest-.jngMight in Thrugg's eye discouraged any fainthearted disagreement.
Being a beast of his word and a creature of action, Thrugg set out without delay, taking with him his throwing sling and pebbles and a large haversack of food. Night had long fallen when he was waved off along the north path from the Abbey gates by a contingent of his Redwall friends.
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Oxeye leaned on his bow, watching him. "Not very friendly those chaps, sir. I take it they want to fight us, wot?"
Urthstripe licked blood from his shoulder and grinned at the irrepressible hare. "Good enough, Oxeye you old battler. We'll give them a fight, one that we can talk about in the winters to come, when we're sitting round the fire growing old and lazy."
Big Oxeye checked his empty quiver. "Don't mind me sayin' so, M'lud, but there won't be too many around to grow old after this fight's finished!"
16
Dryditch Fever!
The awful name was enough to chill the heart of any crea-ture. A hasty conference was called by the Abbey elders?Abbess Vale, Bremmun, Faith Spinney and Brother Holly-berry, with Furgle the Hermit sitting in on the proceedings. Abbess Vale addressed them.
"Friends, if something is not done swiftly this dreadful fever may wipe us all out. Brother Hollyberry, as Infirmary Keeper do you have any knowledge of this illness?"
Hollyberry pursed his lips. "Mother Abbess, my skills are simple and very limited; tummyaches, headaches, scratches and wounds are what I am used to. I have had a quick look through my medical books, and the opinion of most former Infirmary Keepers is that there is no sure cure for Dryditch Fever. I can keep it under a certain amount of control with my own remedies, but alas I cannot cure it."
"Flowers of Icetor, heh heh heh! But that's only an old mousewives' tale. Heh heh heh, Flowers of Icetor indeed!"
They all turned and stared at Furgle. The woodland Hermit shrugged as he did a small hopskip.
"Never needed anything myself梞edicines, pah! Though when I was young my grandma used to say that the only thing
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which could cure Dryditch Fever was the Flowers of lector, boiled in fresh springwater. I think she was mad, of course. Quite mad!"
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Ferahgo was not short of nerve. He spat scornfully in the sand. "Your mountain is surrounded, badger. If it comes to war there is no way you can win. What do you say to that?"
But Urthstripe was finished talking, except for one word.
"Eulaliaaaa!"
There was a deadly hiss of shafts as ten of the advancing enemy were cut down by the Long Patrol arrows. Ferahgo leaped to one side roaring, "Charge!"
The horde swept forward over the bodies of the fallen toward the badger and his ten hares. The hares dropped behind another ten who had been waiting to back them up with bows ready. They fired into the yelling horde as their comrades fitted fresh arrows to their bows and let loose another quick volley. Carried on by the lust for battle, Urthstripe, instead of retreating into the safety of the mountain, flung himself forward into the foe. A burly ferret wielding a pike charged Urthstripe. The badger's spear took him through the chest and lifted him like a rag doll, hurling him into the seething horde. A weasel flung himself on Urthstripe's back and stabbed the big badger between greave and breastplate. Urthstripe slew him with the backward stroke of a huge mailed paw. Three hares were down梩wo to spears, one to slingshot.
"I'll try an' get Lord Urthstripe away," Sapwood called out to Oxeye. "Keep the entrance open till we gets back!"
Oxeye coolly notched an arrow to his bow and felled a fox. "Righty ho, but put a move on, Sap. We can't keep up this
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bally performance all day. Dearie me, what a chap has t' do for these badger Lords!"
Sapwoocl dropped his bow and tore out into the melee. Punching, kicking, butting and hooking, he made it to the badger's side.
"Cook sez breakfast's gettin' cold, sir. Hare you comin' in."
An ill-timed thrust from a vermin spear missed Urthstripe but knocked Sapwood senseless on the rebound as his head met the blunt end of the spearbutt. Urthstripe grabbed the hare in one paw and slung him over his shoulder as he fought his way back to the entrance. Suddenly Klitch appeared in front of him, brandishing his short sword. The badger turned as he thrust, taking the blade in his arm. Burdened as he was with Sapwood, the badger Lord stood for a moment glaring at the young weasel. Tearing the sword from his arm, he stood on it and snapped the blade, snarling angrily, "Better luck next time, brat. We'll meet again. Eulaliaaa!"
Urthstripe went hurtling through the melee like a juggernaut. Scattering bodies right and left, he pounded through to the entrance, dropping the unconscious Sapwood into the paws of two waiting hares as he roared out orders.
"Oxeye, get your hares inside. I'll block off the entrance!"
Within seconds the hares had ducked into the passage and Urthstripe threw his weight against a mighty boulder. The stone rolled into place, sealing the mountain from the horde outside. The badger Lord drove a large oak wedge into its base with a mallet.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
And so handsome, too
"And so handsome, too."
"You have a lovely voice."
Gonff waved a modest paw. "Save it for Trubbs and company, ladies. I'm promised to my Columbine."
"Is she pretty?"
"Very pretty?"
"Prettier than us?"
"Well, she's certainly prettier than Gonff," Martin, Dinny and Log-a-Log chimed in impudently.
"I'd say half as pretty again."
"Oi'd say twoice as pri'ee, hurr hurr."
Boar roared with laughter and raised his battle sword. "Cheek, shall I chop off their heads, Gonff?"
The mousethief flushed scarlet beneath his fur. "No, just their legs will do, Boar. They need their mouths to eat and make silly remarks with."
To ease Gonff's embarrassment, Buffheart beckoned the friends.
"Have you seen our fire lizard?"
"Fire lizard? No," Gonff chipped in quickly. "Let's go and have a look!"
They followed Boar and the hares, trooping up more flights of stairs until they were somewhere near the echo cave. Buffheart took them into a side cave that had a big open window slot. By the side of the window lay a great stone carving of a fearsome head, a grotesque parody of what its maker had imagined a dragon should look like.
just another bit of trickery.
This time the silver badger ducked in under die blade, catching Martin's sword paw. Locking the point with the flat of the fire iron, he flattened the warrior mouse against the wall with the edge of the sword across his throat.
"See, just another bit of trickery."
That second day of summer, Martin learned more of swordplay than in his whole life. Nobody was more adept with a blade than Boar the Fighter.
Dinny, Log-a-Log and Gonff tried jointly to lift Boar's own sword, but they could hardly manage to get the big battle blade off the floor. It was immense, a real full-grown male badger's war sword, with double crosstrees and a ripping edge that had two sets of curved prongs halfway down die length of the extra-wide blade.
Boar performed tricks with it, slicing apples in the air and taking a whiskertip from Lupin as she stood stock-still. Martin noticed that the badger's mood became more light-hearted and jovial when he was around weapons, even allowing himself to be flattered by Harebell, Honeydew and Willow, who imitated Trubbs and company by speaking alternately.
"Ooh, you are clever, Boar old chap."
"And strong. My word!"
"We ladies would never be able to lift your big heavy sword."
Three special daggers had been forged for Gonff, Log-a-Log and Dinny, who wore them proudly about their waists. Gonff delighted the occupants of Salamandastron with his impromptu ballads.
Harebell, Honeydew and Willow, Each a pretty thing; Bold, brave and fearless, Wother, Trubbs and Ffring; Lupin, Buffheart, Starbuck, Breeze,
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Swift as winds across the trees; Rule o'er land and sea herefrom, Sala-manda-stron.
Harebell and company fluttered their eyelids madly.
"Oh, Mr. Gonff, you are clever."
Oh, he does it easily, old sport.
Martin countered Lupin's blade as Boar roared out instructions.
"That's how to block the downward chop. Now let go of die blade. Sweep it down and under. Two paws on the haft, straight up and slice. Quickly, turn in and slice again at head height."
It took Lupin all her skill to duck Martin's blade. She backed off, panting as she leaned on her sword.
"Whew. Golly, there's not a lot you can teach this warrior."
"Can't I, though." Boar smiled. "Watch this!"
The badger picked up a fire iron from the forge. Thrusting one paw into his blacksmith's apron, he adopted a ready stance.
"On guard, Martin," he called. "Go for a direct thrust."
Martin came on guard. Moving in swiftly to take the badger by surprise, he lunged and stabbed forward.
Boar hardly seemed to move. With a flick of his fire iron he disarmed Martin, sending the sword spinning and pinning Martin against the wall in the same movement, the fire iron hovering a fraction away from the warrior mouse's right eye.
"How did you do that?" Martin gasped with shock.
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Trubbs and company were watching from the sidelines.
"Oh, he does it easily, old sport."
"No trouble to the jolly old boss."
"Quick as a wink, doncha know."
Boar laughed aloud. "It's only a trick, Martin. Don't get discouraged. I'll show you a dozen more like it before this day's through. Pick up your sword, on guard again."
What?
"Milady, Brogg says to tell you that the woodlanders are setting fire to us."
"What?"
"Er, yes, Milady. Fire arrows. They're shooting them into the doors and window shutters. Brogg says it'll be all right, though, 'cos it's a stone building and they'll only bum the woodwork."
Tsarmina sprang up knocking the table sideways. "My chamber! Bane, see if you can do something quickly. Organize a bucket chain. Put those fires out. If theyVe touched my room I'll, I'll . . . oooooohhh!"
She dashed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time.,
The wall hangings were smoldering ruins and the door still blazed merrily桝mber's archers had given it special attention.
"Get those buckets up here. Bring water!" Tsarmina howled down the stairwell.
"But we're trying to put out the fire at the front door, Milady," a dithering voice called up from below.
*'I don't care what you're trying to put out! Get that water up here on the double."
"What about the door, Milady?"
"Spit on it, for all I care. This is my room梩he Queen's own chamber is on fire. Hurry up, idiot."
"Idiot yourself!"
"Who said that?" she demanded.
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39
"Place your paw flat upon the blade, grip the handle tight, hold the sword flat above your head."
Thwang!
Lady Amber says until noon,
Pear rubbed beeswax on her bowstring before answering.
"Lady Amber says until noon, then it'll be too late for them to go invading Mossflower. Personally, I think we should encourage them to come out at noon, then we could follow them back and pick them off in the evening."
Another squirrel swung in through the branches. "Are you two all right for arrows?" he asked breathlessly. "Here's another quiver full. Give a call if you're running low."
He swung off to the next tree with his supplies.
Bane tried every possible move, but at each new turn he was frustrated by the deadly accuracy of the woodlanders. Every exit tried, be it window or door, resulted in further loss of troops. The summer morning wore on, the high sun above impervious to the dead that littered the courtyard.
Tsarmina came up with the most sensible suggestion to date. "Why don't we just shut the doors and ignore them? With nothing to shoot at, they'll have to leave."
Bane was glad of the solution. He would have mentioned it earlier, had Tsarmina not been in such a towering rage.
Skipper was no mean climber. He stood on a low bough with Lady Amber. Together they considered the problem of the doors that were slammed shut and the bolted, wooden tables which had been placed across the open windows.
"Looks like a stalemate, Amber.*'
Lady Amber thwacked off an arrow at the closed door. "Cowards! They're very brave attacking defenceless wood-
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landers and killing unarmed creatures, but they can't face real warriors when it comes to a battle."
Skipper looked up at the clear blue sky. "Ah well, second day of summer and all's well, me old branchjumper. Come on. Let's withdraw and get back to Brockhall."
A mischievous smile spread across the squirrel's face. "Right you are, Skip. But not before I've left them with a small token of our regard."
Tsarmina sat eating woodpigeon with Bane in an inner room with no windows. There was a tap on the door.
"Come in!" she called.
It was Ratflank.
Is there another way out of here?
"Oh, burn them out, come down hard on them. I've seen it all before," Tsarmina sneered. "Well, fox, what's your next move?"
"Is there another way out of here?"
* 'There's the scullery and larder entrance on the north side, but it's only a small door."
"It'll have to do. Let's give it a try."
At the scullery and larder entrance the door was shut tight with rusted bolts which took some considerable time to move. When it was finally opened, the troops hung about reluctantly. Nobody seemed very keen on dashing out to do battle. Bane prodded a Kotir soldier with his sword.
"Come on. You lot have got shields. Get out there!"
The stoat turned sullenly to Brogg. "He's not giving me orders. I've got six seasons' service here. Him and his lot only arrived yesterday."
Tsarmina rushed up the corridor, thrusting creatures aside.
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"Get out there, you and you,*' she ordered. "Form a barrier of shields the way youVe been trained to do!"
Her word was final; there was no arguing with the Queen of the Thousand Eyes.
Three soldiers pushed their way out into the open, shields held up in front. A slingstone cracked the middle ferret on his paw. He yelped with pain, automatically dropping the shield. Arrows hissed in once more, reducing the ranks by a further three.
High in a sycamore, Barklad fired off an arrow as he remarked to his companion, "How long d'you think we can keep this up, Pear?"
The rawboned fox came trotting up.
Bane stood panting with his back to the wall.
"They've got us bottled up in here. Wait a moment. Badtail!"
The rawboned fox came trotting up. "Here Bane."
"See what the position is out there. Pinpoint where they are and report back to me."
Badtail lay flat upon his belly. Sliding around the doorposts, he scrambled out onto the parade ground, tacking and weaving. Halfway across the courtyard, he bobbed up and down, checking the trees and scanning the low bushes through the open main gates.
"What d'you see?" Bane's voice rang across the open space.
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Still lying flat, Badtail raised his head as he shouted back, "Squirrels and otters. They've got the main gates open and they're shooting from the tr?
An otter javelin closed his mouth forever.
Bane poked his head around the doorpost. An arrow hummed its way viciously into the woodwork. He pulled back swiftly as two more buried their points in the doorpost where his head had been.
Skippe. crouched behind a bush and signaled to Lady Amber, who was perched on the low branches of an oak.
"Eleven down and plenty more to go," he reported.
\mber drew back her bowstring and let an arrow fly. 'Make * the round dozen. Skip!"
Grim-laced and determined, the crews of bo A leaders tightened paws on bowstrings, slings and javelins, waiting for the next head to show around the doorposts of Kotir fortress.
Inside the building, confusion followed the panic of the initial attack. Tsarmina dashed upstairs to her chamber, dashing back down again when a fusillade of arrows greeted her through the open window. Bane sat at the foot of the stairs.
"Fortunes of war," he said philosophically.
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Ratflank kicked out at a huddled form wrapped in sacking. A rawboned fox wearing brass earrings leaped up.
"Keep your stupid paws off me, lumphead," he snarled. "I'm not one of your dimwit soldiers. We only take orders from Bane."
Ratflank hurried away, narrowly dodging the bared yellow fangs.
Bane and Tsarmina paced restlessly about in the entrance hall. The fox banged his paw against a doorpost.
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"What's keeping them?" he asked impatiently. "It'll be noon by the time we get going at this rate."
Tsarmina gritted her teeth, turning, she screeched toward the barracks, "Brogg, Ratfiank, get them out here double quick, or I'll come in there and move you myself!"
The first bunch came tumbling out, adjusting tunics, clattering shields on spears.
"Here's mine. Where's your crew, Bane?" Tsarmina smirked.
Moments later, Bane's mercenaries strolled casually out in the rear of the uniformed soldiers. The fox commander struck his curved sword against a shield until he got order.
"Right, you lot. Same drill as yesterday梥kirmish line, comb the woods, keep your eyes peeled and your wits about you. When we find them, remember: no mercy!"
The horde moved out toward the parade ground in the courtyard. As the first half-dozen soldiers passed through the doorway into the open, there was a harsh shout from the woodland fringe.
"Fire!"
A hiss of vicious weaponry cut the air. The six soldiers fell in their tracks, cut down by arrows and javelins.
"Retreat, retreat, get back inside, quick!" Bane ordered hastily.
There was panic as the back ranks coming forward stumbled into the front ranks retreating. More troops fell, transfixed by flying death.
"What's going on out there?" Tsarmina yelled at Bane.replica chanel
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quarter blood channel. It was perfectly balanced against the hilt, which had been restrapped with hard black leather and finished with a ruby-red pommel stone and curving scrolled crosspiece where it joined the marvelous blade.
Never in his wildest dreams had Martin imagined such a thing. Since they left Mossflower on the quest, he had more or less forgotten the broken hilt that hung about his neck. Caught up in the adventures and perils they had been through, he had used whatever he had to梐 sling, a piece of wood as a stave梟ever expecting to see his father's sword restored to a newness that far outshone its humble beginnings. Now, suddenly, he felt the warlike blood of his ancestors rising at the sight of a fighting weapon few were chosen to look upon, let alone own. The feeling of destiny lay strong upon him as he picked up the fascinating weapon in one paw. His hackles rose and the blood gorged in his face, flashing across his eyes. Now he was the Warrior!
Everyone moved back to the walls as the warrior mouse took his sword in both paws. He held it straight out, letting the point rise slightly to feel the heft of the weapon. Suddenly Martin began sweeping it in circles, up, down, and around. The steel blade whooshed and sang eerily on its own wind, the bystanders followed its every move as if hypnotized. Martin leaped onto Boar's anvil, still swinging his sword. There was an audible ping as he sliced the tip from the anvil horn. It ricocheted oft the rock walls. They ducked instinctively as it hummed past like an angry wasp, leaving the singing blade unmarked.
"Tsarmina, can you hear me?" Martin roared out above the voice of the howling blade. "I am Martin the Warrior. I am coming back to Mossflowemrrrrrrr!''
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An hour before dawn, Brogg was rubbing sleep from his eyes. He flopped his Thousand Eye Captain's cloak about him and stumbled into the main billet with Ratflank. They kicked at prostrate forms, pulling tattered blankets from sleeping soldiers.
"Come on, you lot," they ordered. "Up on your paws. It's invasion time again."
Grumbling and protesting, the troops sat up, scratching at their fur, wiping paws across eyes.
"Gaw! I was bavin* a lovely dream there."
"Huh, me too. I dreamed we were getting a proper hot breakfast."
"You'll be lucky, bucko. Bread and water, and be glad of it."
"Where's this fat of the land we're all supposed to be living off? That's what I'd like to know."replica chanel
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