Doomwyte

The tunnel was completely blocked by soil, rubble, rocks and the mighty trunk of a dead beech tree, which had dropped through the tunnel roof.

Samolus polished the dust-coated emerald on his tunic. “Nothin’ could get past that, ever! Ah well, mates, let’s get back to dear old Redwall, it’s just down the passage a short way. Homeward bound, eh, Skip?”

The Otter Chieftain turned to Dwink, who was standing staring at the dust-coated ground. “Aye aye, mate, wot’s up with you, me ole cove?”

Tears coursed down the young squirrel’s grime-covered face. “We just cut off our last chance of rescuin’ pore Bisky, I’ll never see him again!”

Bosie threw a paw about Dwink’s shoulders. “What’s all this nonsense yer talkin’? The moment Ah get back tae the Abbey, an’ fortify mahself wi’ a bite o’ dinner, Ah’ll rescue Bisky for ye, never fret. Cheer up, mah bonny laddie!”

Dwink’s tears flowed afresh. “But we don’t know where he is!”

Bosie dusted off his, by now, filthy lace cuffs. “Ach, away wi’ ye, yon vermin will be holdin’ Bisky in the ten-topped oaky tree, or someplace like that.”

Aluco corrected Bosie, “It’s the five-topped oak, that’s where they held me prisoner.”

Skipper ruffled Dwink’s ears. “Aye, an’ anybeast who can’t find a five-topped oak in the woodlands needs his no-topped brain a-seen to!”

15

Still bound to one of the upper boughs of the five-topped oak, Bisky flinched as a pebble struck his ear. Jeg, son of Chigid, the Painted Ones’ Chieftain, flung another pebble. This time, Bisky saw it coming—he managed to duck his head, avoiding the stone.

“Cheeheehee! I getcha next time, mousey, knock yer eye out with dis un.” Jeg was perched in the top terraces of the oak, trying to conceal himself amidst the foliage, but Bisky could see him.

The young mouse had complained to his three female guards, but the only response he got was a slash from a willow withe. Other than that, the guards ignored him. Sitting where none of the stones would hit them, they chattered and gossiped. This left the young mouse at the mercy of his tormentor. He never saw the next pebble coming, it rapped his bound paw. Luckily Bisky’s paws were so numb from the tight bonds, he hardly felt it.

Allowing his dislike of the young Painted One to show, Bisky called to him scornfully, “Well, that one never knocked my eye out, thick’ead. Stonethrower? Huh, you couldn’t hit water if’n ye were standin’ up to yore neck in a lake!”

Jeg was not used to being talked to thus. Bouncing madly about in the top foliage, he showered down twigs and leaves, also a few badly aimed stones. “Mousey mousey shoopid face daffnose mousey!”

Despite himself, Bisky could not help grinning at the infantile rant. He continued baiting Jeg. “Shoopid face daffnose? Dearie me, I’d learn to talk properly if I were you. Maybe you will, when yore not a baby anymore, little Jeggsy weggsy!”

It was more than Jeg could stand. Howling with rage he launched himself down upon Bisky, pummeling and kicking his helpless victim. The biggest of the female guards hauled Jeg off, shaking him roughly.

“Yeecheeh! Yore mammee said leave ’im alone!”

Jeg bit her paw fiercely, escaping from her grasp. He raced back to his former position, wailing and weeping through pure temper, as he spat at Bisky and the guard who had intervened. “Yew hew! Jus’ wait, my mammee an’ dadda Chigid kill ya for hurtin’ me, you shaked me, hard!”

The guard stayed silent, averting her eyes. It was dangerous to make an enemy of the young tree rat. Because of who he was, Jeg usually got his own way in all things. Slowly he began descending from the foliage, a spiteful glint in his eye as he neared Bisky. The young mouse swallowed hard, trying to stay calm.

Suddenly a shrill yell rang out. “Yeeeh, Chigid back! Chigid back!” Painted Ones appeared from seemingly everywhere, hurtling down through the branches, taking up the cry. “Chigid back Chigid back! Yeeeeeeeeh!” Jeg and the guards were caught up in the melee, joining in the shouting as they sped earthward. Bisky heaved a massive sigh of relief at his unexpected salvation.

Holding his hairless bottom and scorched tail, Chigid tried to salvage some dignity as he was hauled upward through the boughs of the five-topped oak by all the females of his tribe. He did his best to appear as an injured warrior. “Yaggaah! Getcha paws offa me, I’m injured inna war!” They spread soft tree moss and dead grass on a broad limb to accommodate him. However, sitting was out of the question, so Chigid lay flat on his stomach.

Tala, his mate, tried to apply a few dockleaves to the burns, murmuring soothingly, “Hayaah, does it hurt ye?”

The Chieftain gritted his filed teeth. “Idjit, shall I burn yore tail so ye can find out?”

Wisely, Tala got out of the way. Jeg came bounding up, throwing himself on Chigid, he shouted, “Dadda back!”

“Agaaarh! Gerroff!”