CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Borrowing two of the smaller work lanterns, a group of beasts carefully climbed up the terraced sides of the quarry to inspect the wreckage of the Abbey cart.

Lieutenant Custis was quick with his appraisal. "We Gawtrybe know a thing or three about carpentry and woodworking, but I'd say it would take more work than it's worth to ever make this cart travel-worthy again."

"Burr hurr, uz'll just 'ave to carry all ee cargo doawn to ee quorry a liddle bit at ee toime," Foremole assessed with a resigned sigh. "An' in ee wet, too. Hurzz, doan't et goo figgur?"

"No worry there, my velvety friend," Log-a-Log assured the diggerbeast. "Ye'll have plenny o' paws t' help with that task. Why don't you 'n' yer moles bed down fer th' night, an' leave this to us Guosim?"

"An' us otters too," Monty quickly put in. "Since t'was our fumble-fistedness that led to such a mess."

"But, they'm be moi tools 'n' surploiys," Foremole protested meekly. "'Tis only roight uz molers 'elp ... "

"You molers're gonna have a whole season o' hard labor ahead o' ye here," Log-a-Log countered. "Take my advice, an' catch a breather now that you've got a chance, 'cuz come t'morrer, yer work'll start in earnest!"

Swayed by this line of persuasion, Foremole retreated to the quarry floor, helped along the more treacherous spots by a pair of otters who accompanied him for safety's sake. They returned in short order, bringing with them the rest of the otters and a great many more of the Guosim.

Surveying the scene and taking stock of the beastpower he had to work with, Monty promptly settled upon an arrangement of their labor resources. "Right, lissen up, mateys! Makes no sense us tryin' t' wrestle all this flotsam 'n' jetsam down these rough, slick steps, so I want half of ye up on that ramp, an' th' rest of us'll pass ev'rything up to you fer carryin' down into th' quarry. Less chance o' somebeast gettin' hurt that way, an' we'll like as not finish sooner that way too."

"Just what I was about t' suggest m'self," Log-a-Log told Monty. "Guess we waterbeasts share common good sense!"

As the shrews and otters deployed themselves according to these orders, Custis said, "Well, it looks as if you've got the matter well in paw here without me, so I'll head down to see to my Gawtrybe. Log-a-Log, you mentioned something earlier about us being able to keep our carts dry?"

"Hold just a tic there, 'tenant." Monty turned to the shrew chieftain. "Yore lads seem to've scoped out this place pretty well. Don't s'pose Urthblood left b'hind any of his quarryin' carts along with those lamps an' oil?"

"Sorry, Skip, t'was no sign of any such thing. He musta moved 'em along upriver t' help with the buildin' of Foxguard there."

"That makes sense," Custis agreed. "And once that fortress was finished, those carts could have been dismantled, and their wood used for furnishings, or fuel. Lord Urthblood doesn't care to be wasteful in such matters."

"Be that as it may, we need a cart now." Monty stared expectantly at Custis.

"What, you want one of ours? We're using them, in case you hadn't noticed ... "

"Actually, yore not," Montybank corrected. "At least, not fully. You ferget, I was there when my otters an' Alex's Forest Patrol went through 'em, so I got a good look at what you were haulin' - an' a lot of it was tents 'n' beddings fer yer shrew comrades. Well, Cap'n Choock an' his squad's gone off on their own way, takin' all their belongin's with 'em. That leaves a lot more room in these wagons than there was. Yore gonna be our neighbors in Mossflower from now on, I'm given t' understand ... an' the neighborly thing t' do would be t' unload one o' yore carts an' redistribute what's in it to all th' rest. T'wouldn't be too hard fer you t' manage, with all th' squirrels you got here t' help, it wouldn't unduly overburden yore remainin' carts, an' it shore would be a big boon to us Redwallers."

"He's right," Log-a-Log asserted before Custis could protest further. "We Guosim may be aces at makin' rafts an' logboats, but a cart's a bit beyond us. Lord Urthblood's allers sayin' he wants t' be our friend an' ally. Well, now's a perfect oppertunity fer you lot t' put yer acorns where his mouth is. An' a true ally wouldn't leave us in a lurch like this."

"It wasn't our carelessness that cost you your cart," Custis tartly reminded them.

"Not sayin' it was, friend. But accidents happen, an' ye're in a position t' help us out, an' mightily, too. Question is, will you?"

Custis nearly squirmed under their joint gaze, unflinching and expectant. "I'm sure we can figure something out," he said at last, declining to commit one way or the other. "But for now I'd like to be in out of this rain. We can make a firm decision come morning, after we've all had a chance to sleep on it."

"That'll do fer now, I guess." Log-a-Log took Custis by the arm to lead him down the terraced sides of the quarry. "Come along, then, an' I'll show you bushtails a nice dry cove t' park yerselves in 'til this dampness blows over!"

00000000000

In all the long march from Krayne's valley so far, Latura didn't seem to be letting anything bother her. That didn't even change when, on the third evening of their trek, the sky clouded over and a chill drizzle began to fall.

"Oh, tailrot!" Grota spat as he marched at his General's side at the head of their column, echoing other groans and grumbles and mutterings of discontent arising from their procession. "An' just when I was hopin' we'd make it t' Redwall while th' weather held out."

"Prob'ly naught more'n a spring shower," Harth dismissed, displaying no undue concern. "Even if it's not, that's why we brought along cloaks and coverin's. Hardly a crisis."

"Cloaks 'n' shrouds'll hardly be enuff t' protect us if this turns into a downpour, sir. An' we ain't even found a place t' shelter fer th' night."

Harth gave his lieutenant a snide sideways glance. "Gotten spoiled by all that soft, pampered tent livin' back at Krayne's encampment, have we?"

"Ain't me an' our fightin' lads I'm worried 'bout - I know we c'n put up with a liddle damp. It's th' ratmums 'n' babes 'n' oldsters I'm thinkin' of ... "

"Then we'll stop where we are an' light fire t' keep us warm," Harth growled, "an' hope it don't come down too hard."

Where they were was still somewhere in the depths of Mossflower Woods, north and east of the valley they'd left behind them three mornings past as they followed Latura's vague and oblique instructions as to the best way to reach the Abbey. During their travels, made slower by the presence of non-soldier rats of all ages, the sentinel of the red tower marking the fox fortress gradually receded to the south, but never so far that it still didn't dominate the forest vista at every glimpse through each break in the trees. They'd now passed due north of the tower this day, and Latura had told them they must turn to the southeast, just enough to safely skirt the fox stronghold without being taken too far out of their way.

For Latura and her companions, the biggest difference between this march and the impoverished first leg of their journey from their seaside village was the plentitude of provisions. Harth had had the rats under his command pack well in preparation for many days of travel, and satisfying if basic meals were enjoyed each morning, midday and evening. And now with the change in the weather, another of the rat general's contingencies was to come into play.

"Lightin' fires is all well 'n' good, Gen'ral sir, if we don't have buckets pourin' down on our heads," Grota told Harth. "Elsewise they'll get snuffed out in a sputterin', sizzlin' hiss, leavin' us all sodden an' miserable."

"I knew I kept you around fer a reason, Grote, an' I can see now it's 'cos of yer way with words." Harth heaved a sigh, wiping the accumulation of moisture from his whiskers with one paw. "Light's almost failed now. If we'd known this rain was comin', we coulda stopped earlier an' searched about fer shelter, but it's kinda late fer that now. Mebbe we can still find sumpthin' up ahead. Send some scouts forward a ways, see if they can locate any more sheltered spot than this. If not, we'll just bed down here fer the night an' make of it what we can."

"Sky's gettin' thick," Latura murmured from behind them. "Thicker 'n' thicker, further we go."

Harth turned to her. "Whaddya mean? Is hard rain a-comin'?"

The simple ratmaid stared at him blankly. "What rain?"

Harth sneered, and batted at Latura's ear, scattering a spray of droplets from the clinging drizzle that had collected on it. Many rats amongst their company had already pulled up cowls and hoods to ward off the misty precipitation, but Latura had yet to do so, seemingly oblivious to it. "That rain, ya dolt!"

She shrank back from the rat general, clutching at her stinging ear. "Da! Mean rat's painin' me agin!"

Patreese sighed as he drew his daughter's cowl up over her head, just as he might do with a youngbeast who lacked the sense to do so for itself. "Aye, Lattie, but it's best we all just do what the mean rat tells us, lest we get pained a whole lot more. Now, what'd you mean 'bout th' skies gettin' thick? Was it about this rain, or sumpthin' else?"

"It's thick'nin'," she said in a small voice from beneath her overlarge hood, sounding as pathetic as she looked. "Things ain't gettin' thru. It's th' two warriors ... they're fightin' over the air ... "

This instantly re-engaged Harth's interest. "Warriors fightin', y' say? Where's that? Is there some battle goin' on up ahead, somethin' we might be walkin' inta? Anything I gotta know about, so's we can steer clear of it, or turn it to our advantage?"

Latura shook her head. "Ain't like that. It's up in the air, not down here."

"Up in the air?" Harth repeated, puzzled. "You mean, like birds, or sumpthin' ... ?"

She shook her head again. "Not birds, or even beasts. Not really. Just th' two warriors."

Harth grew impatient. "Anything we gotta worry 'bout, 'tween here an' Redwall?"

"Um ... no."

"Then that's all I need t' know. Grota, send those scouts ahead t' see what they can find. We'll hold here until they get back."

"Aye, sir!"

While the scouts fanned out through the woods ahead, Latura and her fellow village rats hunkered down at the base of a large maple whose new spring foliage seemed to grant better protection from the rain than any of the more modest oaks, ashes and elms in their immediate vicinity. The wet overcast above the deep twilight gloom made Mossflower appear impenetrable and forbidding, even though they knew these were the same woodlands they'd navigated for the past three days without incident. But nightfall in the heart of the forest could transform the whole world, and a beast's thoughts along with it - especially the thoughts of creatures as traditionally superstitious as rats and hordebeasts.

"So, how're we doin', Lattie?" Castor asked, squatting at his sister's side. "Are we gonna make it? To Redwall, I mean?"

Latura neither nodded nor shook her head. "Warrior's helpin' us. Made th' cart tip over. Givin' us more time."

Strack, sitting alongside Castor, gave a snort. "Dunno what that's s'posed t' mean, but if we got any kinda warrior on our side, I'll not turn 'im away, nor any aid 'ee cares t' give us. In fact, I'll gladly shake 'is paw once we're safely at the Abbey."

Latura stared at the big rat. "Now ye're just bein' silly."

Mathurin threw one arm around Turma's shoulders while he rested the other upon his wife's swollen belly. "Silly or not, anything that helps us reach Redwall's fine by us."

"We must be almost there," Castor speculated. "Three days out from that valley, an' that tower now passin' us to th' south. Can't be too much longer now."

"Harth says there's still a river 'twixt us an' Redwall," Patreese reminded them. "A river we gotta get across somehow."

Latura nodded at this, rousing herself from her self-induced reverie. "Ayup, gotta get to th' river, an' th' rocks. Find th' Greenpup, he'll get us across."

"Along with those 'halfmice' you been nattering about, no doubt," Turma added, although in truth her attitude toward the ratmaid had softened considerably ever since their impossible, near-miraculous deliverance from the nightmare of Krayne's valley. Even the oft-caustic ratwife had to admit that, against all odds - or perhaps because of them - they'd done well by Latura.

"Halfmice build th' boats," Latura murmured to nobeast in particular. "Greenpup gets us cross't ... "

Palter's reedy voice sounded from beyond Mathurin and Turma, the scrawny rat seated as far from the center of their gathering as it was possible to be without falling outside the maple's overhanging shelter altogether. "I ne'er had any doubt in ya, Lattie, no I didn't. Ye're gonna guide us straight 'n' true, right to th' Abbey gates themselves. Keep on followin' Lattie, an' we can't go astray."

"Yah, 'cept you nearly got yer head separated from yer shoulders more'n once back at that fox's camp," Strack mockingly reminded Palter. "That almost didn't work out too well fer you, did it?"

"I'm still here, ain't I? An' I still got my head, when all chance an' reason said I wasn't gettin' outta there alive."

To this, the others had nothing to say. They all knew how true it was. Latura had delivered them to the brink of their doom ... and then allowed them to walk right back out of it, largely unscathed. In defiance of all odds and logic and common sense, they were still bound for Redwall, just as they had been ever since leaving their seaside village in late winter - except that now a hundred and a half more rats had joined their pilgrimage toward sanctuary. What more proof could anybeast want as to the certainty of their purpose, and the sureness of Latura's vision?

The scouts returned a short time later, with nothing encouraging to report. Harth heard them out, then turned to Grota. "Guess we're stopping here fer th' night then. Alright, get to lightin' some campfires so the oldsters an' young ones can get a little warmth t' ward off th' damp chill, an' the rest of us'll just hafta tough out the rain as best we can."

"Are y' sure that's wise, Gen'ral sir?" Ever since parting ways with the horde, they'd refrained from lighting any fires, either for cooking or for their overnight encampments. "It'd make us easy t' spot, 'specially at night in the open forest, an' might attrack th' wrong kind of attention."

"I wouldn't worry. We've put a good distance 'tween ourselves an' the valley, an' Bryn hasn't shown any sign of giving chase fer three days now. If that ferret was gonna trouble us, he'da done so 'fore now. An' we know from the scouts Krayne sent out to spy on that fox fortress there's nobeast else in this part of Mossflower that could trouble a party as large as ours. Lighting fires oughta be safe now." Harth flashed a fangy grin. "'Sides, Bryn never did take a shine to bein' out in th' rain. This weather'd prob'ly chase him right back to his valley, head bowed an' tail 'tween his legs if he ever had the gumption to leave it in the first place! But he's like as not got his paws full with all he can manage just tryin' t' hold that horde together, keepin' ev'rybeast in line an' convincin' 'em to accept him as their new leader, an' keepin' anybeast else from defectin' ... not to mention having to cope with Joska an' her treacherous vixens. I'm bettin' we're prob'ly the last thing on Bryn's mind right now."

"An' yet you been keepin' up our rearguard, an' scoutin' out to th' sides an' up ahead while we've marched," Grota pointed out.

"Wasn't taking any chances, not while we were still so close to the valley. But that was then, an' this is now."

"I dunno, sir. If Bryn's havin' any trouble rallyin' the remainin' hordebeasts to 'im, comin' after us might be a good way of unitin' them unner his new rule. Krayne was brutal on traitors an' runaways, an' Bryn might wanna start off his rule th' same way. You c'n be sure most of his fighters still remember Krayne's ways all too well."

"Then we'll light fires and post guards out beyond the campsite as well, just to be safe - an' you can take first watch, Grota."

The lieutenant rat's expression, none too cheery to begin with, soured even further. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."

Harth threw a glance toward Latura, whose conversation with her fellow seaside village rats they'd partly overheard. "'Side, we've got nuthin' to worry about. We got a warrior watchin' out fer us, remember?"

00000000000

"Burr, yurr 'ole be fresh dug, hurr ... "

"That's what we figgered too," Log-a-Log agreed with Foremole as he guided the Redwall diggerbeasts through the arched opening in the side of the quarry wall. "Must be Urthblood carved it out for his Foxguard operations here. 'Tween this an' that giant ramp, he sure did put a lot o' work inta developin' this site fer his uses. Lucky fer us, he left us with a cozy cavern big 'nuff t' stash all these carts, with room t' spare fer us as well!"

All of the Gawtrybe carts had been hauled within the rock shelter by this time, and some of the work lamps transferred in as well to give everybeast light by which to see. Perhaps using his otherwordly senses, or perhaps just following the stoneworking lore and expertise of his own Foremoles, Urthblood had breached the rockface at a spot where a yawning natural hollow lay hidden not too far behind, requiring just a short connecting tunnel to open the vaulted chamber to the outside world. This expansive indoor area had clearly given the Badger Lord's teams the protected spaces they needed for laboring right through the depths of winter.

"Hurr, et be quoite noice, if'n oi do say so moiself," Foremole assessed, gazing all about him and taking in the soaring subterranean recess. "Uz shudd 'ave no trubble worken doawn 'ere just foine, boi okey!"

"My shrews found some side tunnels an' chambers leadin' off this main cavern too," Log-a-Log told them. "One or two even look like they had notches fer door hinges carved into their entries, although the doors 'n' hinges themselves're nowhere to be found."

"Probably dorms and offices," Winokur surmised. "We know Lord Urthblood had his mole crews working nonstop, day and night, to get Foxguard built on schedule, which meant there always would have been one shift laboring while others were trying to sleep or relax. They would have needed heavy doors to help block out the worst of the quarrying noise."

"And timber and metal's too valuable to be left behind," Lieutenant Custis added, "so those doors would have been taken down and brought along to Foxguard, along with their hinges. They would be needed at Foxguard, one way or another."

"Pity," Winokur lamented. "We could have used them ourselves."

"Nay, Brudder Wink," said Foremole. "Uz won't be worken day an' noight loik ee badger's molers, no zurr. Uz'll get Freetown built en gudd toime, but uz'll still sleep throo ee noights. No wurries aboawt yurr booty sleep - ev'rybeast yurrabowts shudd 'ave pleasant, soilent dreams, hurr hurr!"

"Well, that's a relief! Still, it seems odd, though - Urthblood taking all his carts, and even the doors right off their rock frames, but leaving behind so many lamps and lanterns. You'd think they'd be just as valuable."

Custis shrugged. "Foxguard's construction was almost entirely above ground, out in the open, unlike here, where most of the work went on deep underground, or else there were night shifts working out in the main pit. Lamps wouldn't have been needed at the construction site nearly to the extent they were here."

"It still doesn't make sense," Winokur persisted, shaking his head. "I've been to Foxguard, and it's got windowless cellars, plus it gets pretty dark and gloomy in some parts of the tower, where there aren't any windows. But every large habitat has a use for lamps - seasons knows, Redwall certainly has its share, along with candles and torches!"

"Then maybe candles and torches were the method of lighting Andrus preferred for Foxguard. Maybe they had so much stone to move, there was no room to take all their lanterns with them. I'll make a point of asking Tolar about it when I see him."

"Hmm ... " Standing with the others by the Gawtrybe carts, Winokur tried to gaze across to the far wall and found his eyes playing tricks on him in the scant illumination cast by the lamps; he wasn't entirely sure just where the cavern ended, or what its dimension were. "If you ask me, this place looks spacious enough that you could have one shift sleeping soundly right in the open on one side while a crew works on the other!"

"I 'spect Lord Urthblood left it a lot bigger than he found it," said Log-a-Log. "There're telltale signs o' recent excavations all 'round th' place, as I'm sure Foremole will be able t' attest once he gets a good look at it. I'm thinkin' a lot of th' stone that was mined fer Foxguard came right from this very spot. But if you think this cavern's big, wait'll y' see th' one up ahead along one o' these tunnels! It's so vast, you could prob'ly fit all of Redwall inside it - mebbe even the Abbey's grounds an' walls too - an' there's a big luminous unnerground lake right smack in th' middle that glows so you don't even need a single lamp t' see yer way 'round!"

Winokur's eyes widened at this description. "I know that place! Our hero Matthias passed through it during his search for the lost sword of Martin, when Redwall was under siege from Cluny! One of the side branches from it must be the very same tunnel where he confronted the great adder Asmodeus, and slew the giant serpent to win back the sword! It's all in the chronicles of those times that were laid down by John Churchmouse, Redwall's Recorder at the time."

"Yeah, I seem to 'member a certain youth stage show starrin' my son, depictin' those events." Log-a-Log glanced around the shadowed immensity enclosing them. "Somehow it didn't look quite like this, tho'."

"I must see it! No Recorder or historian from the Abbey, nor likely any Redwaller at all, has ever stood in that spot from that day to this! That alone would have made this entire journey worthwhile for me!"

"P'raps in th' morn, Wink. Excited as I c'n see you are, even you'll agree it's been a long day, an' we'll all need a good sup an' an even better night's sleep t' freshen up fer any more explorin' or adventures. An' here comes yer Skipper with th' rest o' his otters 'n' my Guosim. Let's go see if we c'n lend 'em a paw ... "

Montybank led the retrieval crew into the cavern, each otter and shrew bearing some tool or article of supplies or provisions from the overturned Redwall cart. They neatly piled and arrayed the recovered items on the floor near the Gawtrybe wagons, laying it all out for easy access and inventory.

"Think we got it all," Monty told Foremole, Log-a-Log and Winokur. "One cask o' fruit cordial burst, an' it made some o' the other supplies sticky, but other than that, doesn't look like we lost anything other than th' cart itself. Might not wanna rest in any o' that wet bedding until after we've had a chance t' launder it, elsewise yore liable t' wake smellin' like sweet pear 'n' apricot!"

"Not t' mention wakin' with tacky fur," Log-a-Log put in. "Good thing we ain't too far from th' river - that'll make any washin' easier."

"Not just washin'," Monty added. "The drink we brought along with us is really only enuff t' get things started. Once we get this quarry operation up 'n' runnin' at full speed, we'll be makin' almost daily runs to th' Moss fer all th' drinkin' water we'll need. That's another reason losin' our cart was such a blow; haulin' all that heavy water from there t' here by paw'll be quite th' chore." He turned to Custis. "But I'm shore our new squirrel friends 'n' neighbors're gonna help us out on that score, ain'tcher?"

"I'm still considering it," the Gawtrube lieutenant answered noncommittally.

"Well, ye'll consider it mighty hard if y' don't want us local woodlanders thinkin' poorly of ye," Log-a-Log warned. "Never know when you'll find yerselves knockin' on Redwall's gates in need of help fer yerselves."

"Mm hmm."

Monty glanced around the cavern, as impressed by its dimensions as everybeast else. "Why, Log, you shore have gone an' found us a right proper liddle cave fer ourselves, haven't ye?"

"Hope y' like it," the shrew responsed, "'cos it's lookin' t' be our home fer th' next half season or more."

Monty's face fell slightly. "Well, when y' put it that way ... But, what it lacks in coziness, I reckon it makes up for in roominess. Won't be runnin' outta elbow room down here, even with as many of us as there'll be!"

"That's true 'nuff, Skip. An' I just got finished tellin' Wink 'ere that if you think this cave's huge, there's one up a ways that positively dwarfs it - an' it's got a lake right in th' middle of it that puts out light all its own, an' is like t' leave ya glowin' if you take a paddle in it!"

"Not shore how I feel 'bout glowin'," Monty hazarded. "I do like some sheen t' my fur, but mebbe not that much! An' as fer swimmin' in underground lakes, I've heard there's monsters that live in some of 'em that could swallow this otter whole! Think I'll be keepin' my rudder dry durin' this duty, except mebbe fer day trips to th' Moss, where all I'll hafta worry 'bout is the occasional pike!"