XXXXVII.

TERRAMORT

"I think I'll name 'er … the Seabolt! Aye, that oughta do nicely! 'Cos crossbows fire bolts, you see? An' this ship will be carryin' the biggest bolts ever to be deployed at sea!"

After several days and nights of tireless work, the labor crews of Terramort's subterranean shipyards had successfully installed Clucus's latest superweapon on the top deck of the seized trader vessel formerly known as the Goodwill. Now that massive turntable supporting the impossibly-oversized crossbow took up the entire amidships area, effectively cutting the ship in two, since there was no way to get around the ridiculous war engine to pass from the fore deck to the aft. Such passage could now only be achieved by clumsily clambering over the turntable itself, or by descending belowdecks and traversing the companionways there … which might or might not entail encountering the Goodwill's former master, still shackled and all but forgotten deep within his own hold.

Now the ferret inventor stood upon the stone dock of the assembly caves, all but squeeing in delight over the completion of his latest endeavor, which met his every satisfaction. Spymaster Uroza, however, was quick to throw cold water over Clucus's elation.

"King Tratton alone gets to name the ships of the Fleet. You know that."

"Well, yes, but, the Seabolt's not really yet joined the Fleet, has she? Still got 'er trials to go through, 'fore that becomes official. So I'll call 'er the Seabolt until she does, an' mebbe by then she'll have proved 'erself enuff to've earned that name. 'Sides, with His Majesty away on long business like he is, might be some time 'fore he's back and can give this his proper attention. And even then may'aps he'll like th' name, an' decide to keep it after all."

"Yes. Whatever. So, shall we get her out into the daylight, to make sure you haven't made her so unwieldy and top-heavy that she capsizes with the first modest waves to hit her?"

Clucus clambered aboard the new waveborne battle engine to join the skeleton crew who would sail her out into the open main, while Uroza elected to follow along in Fleetrunner Fourteen, preferring the tested smaller craft to the untested larger one. As it turned out, the spy chief need not have worried about the integrity and stability of the newly-named Seabolt, for the modified trader vessel held up well to both wind and ocean current. Under the ferret's direction, the Seabolt made three triumphant complete circuits of Terramort Isle, the steersrat Marbert nodding his approval of the vessel's ease in handling.

"Aye, I'd take this boat out in all but a howlin' gale - no troubles with the added topweight t'all, surprisin' as that is. I'll gladly serve as skipper fer th' sea trials!"

The Seabolt's seaworthiness now demonstrated, Marbert took her around to the harbor on the west side of Terramort, where the traditional wooden ships of the Fleet tied up when in port. There he docked and disembarked onto the pier, where Uroza already stood waiting. The pilot approached the dark Spymaster with considerably greater trepidation than Clucus did; the ferret's unique position in Tratton's military hierarchy may have left him cluelessly nonchalant about interacting with the most feared and powerful rats of the Empire, but for his own part Marbert felt he'd rather have to face down the Searat King himself than report personally to Uroza.

"Well?" the spyrat prompted.

"Sails like a dream, uh, sir. Should be no trouble takin' her out on the open main."

"Very good. Then you can have the honors. We've chosen the Doldrums, two days due west, as the ideal spot for the weapons test. This time of year it should be quite calm and free of storms, to allow for clear shots … although that will fall to Clucus, not you."

"Um … "

"Yes, Marbert?"

"This craft's got no rowin' galley, just 'er sails. If we're goin' to a patch o' sea so becalmed, might have trouble gettin' outta there once we're in it."

"That shouldn't be an issue. You'll be accompanied by the frigate Gullslayer, and they'll have a full crew to staff their galley if rowing becomes necessary. She'll be able to tow you out if they have to."

"Um, aye. Ah, perfect, aye. Uh, will you be comin' with us, sir?"

"With His Majesty away from Terramort? Of course not. I'll make sure a fleetrunner is with you, but I won't be on it. Now, as to the fourth member of your convoy … " Uroza turned to indicate the trader vessel Oyster Princess tied up across the pier from the Seabolt. "We've already transferred all the land prisoners from the Gullslayer's galley onto this target vessel, one of the few woodlander craft in our surplus to feature a rowing galley of her own, and in an advanced enough state of disrepair to be expendable for this test. Will that suit your needs, Clucus?"

The ferret, having disembarked along with Marbert, studied the profile of the Oyster Princess. "Ain't exactly the kinda formidable warship we'd likely face in battle … "

"In battle? If war with the beasts of the lands ever resumes, we'll be firing on exactly ships like this, not like those of the Fleet. Besides which, the presence of a rowing galley on this one suggests it was indeed at one time a searat or corsair vessel, if a smaller one, that somehow found her way into the paws of woodlanders sometime over the seasons. That should make it the perfect test subject."

"Oh, aye, when you put it like that … "

"Now, I assume you'll want to be underway at once?"

"O' course, o' course. Soon as Skipper 'ere says we can."

"There, uh, is one thing … "

Uroza looked to Marbert. "Yes?"

"That mouse cap'n's still chained up down belowdecks. Shouldn't we slay 'im or have 'im transferred off 'fore we sail?"

The Spymaster, in a rare show of outward emotion, allowed the ghost of an evil smile to play across his black lips. "Why not keep him right where he is? Assuming he'll not be in your way, of course. I suspect he might enjoy seeing what we've done with his vessel. After that, I'll leave it to you as to whether that will be the last thing he ever sees."

SALAMANDASTRON

Word of Trelayne's death quickly filtered down through Salamandastron. Now, with Klystra resting up in his aerie as he awaited further orders, Matowick hastened to the lowest levels of the mountain fortress where these tidings had yet to reach, intent upon personally delivering this somber news to the one creature likely to be most directly affected by the glassmaker marten's loss.

Tolomeo stood swaying upon his articulated wood-and-steel legs as he absorbed what the Gawtrybe captain had just told him, leaning heavily on the cane Matowick had made sure to give the mouse before dropping this bombshell. The apprentice glassblower - perhaps now an apprentice no more - simply stared at the squirrel in shocked, uncomprehending dismay in the middle of his workshop, all his current projects set aside and forgotten for the moment.

"Master Trelayne … dead?"

Matowick nodded. "We all knew he harbored a deep enmity toward searatkind. Captain Klystra is convinced Trelayne somehow saw through Tratton's disguise and realized he was the Searat King, and acted almost on impulse to try to slay him, leaving Tratton no choice but to defend himself. A truly great tragedy, as everybeast at Salamandastron would agree."

Tolomeo remained silent for many moments, his vacant gaze looking far past the squirrel standing before him. At length he asked, "What is being done about this?"

Matowick sighed. "As I just said, Tratton acted in self-defense, as was his right. Everybeast there saw it. There's no way we can exact any penalty from the searats for what was a justifiable act on Tratton's part."

The mouse shook his head. "No … no, that's not what I meant. Trelayne was my master, the chief and most skilled glassmaker in Lord Urthblood's service. I'm merely … well, his assistant. And now you're telling me the master won't be returning, not ever. Which leaves only me. I am not up to this task, Captain! Half the time I need to do my blowing seated, because I lack the stamina to remain on these wooden legs for long stretches! I will never be able to meet all His Lordship's needs just by myself, on my own!"

Matowick glanced around the work area. Only one oven was lit, that being all Tolomeo required for his solitary labors, and the vitriol tubs lay empty since the mountain's depleted supplies of beeswax left no way to craft deliverable vessels to contain the corrosive fluid - not that the legless mouse likely bemoaned an excuse not to work with the deadly substance which had so maimed him.

"We are at peace now. The Accord holds. Tratton would not dare try anything against us at this time, not with himself alone and at our mercy in the heart of the lands with just a token guard protecting him and no way to quickly summon reinforcements from the coast. We have enough oil-filled globes in reserve to burn any hostile ships that come our way, and more could be produced quickly if the need arose."

"Not that quickly. I'm only one mouse, Captain - and not even a full mouse at that. How many oil globes does it take to fully fire a searat ship? Thirty? Fifty? What if an entire invasion fleet appears at our shores, and we only have enough ammunition to fire one or two of them?"

"We can safely assume that won't happen anytime this season, since it will take most of that time for Tratton to finish his tour of Mossflower and return, and he'd dare not order an attack while he's cut off from his own Empire like he is now. And besides, Lord Urthblood would not have embarked on his voyage to Southsward had he foreseen any such thing happening. That by itself reassures me more than anything that nothing untoward is likely to happen in the near term."

"Untoward?" Tolomeo echoed hollowly. "You mean, like Master Trelayne getting killed?"

"An extremely unfortunate and no doubt isolated incident. I doubt it will carry any long-term implications for the lands. We already fought our war with Tratton, and we won - a fact even he tacitly acknowledges by embarking on this walking tour of his."

"Then why has Lord Urthblood insisted, ever since the Accord, in maintaining significant stockpiles of arms to meet any resumption of hostilities?"

"Perhaps as a necessary deterrent, perhaps for some other reason. You know of his prophecy, and you know Tratton and the searats may not even be the greatest part of the crisis he foresees. We must stand ready to meet any number of possible threats, whatever they may be."

"All the more reason then for me not to be left alone down here to run these shops. Kyslith must be recalled to Salamandastron to help me."

"Kyslith has resigned as Trelayne's apprentice, and is now assigned to Foxguard - at his own preference, it appears."

"He only resigned as Trelayne's assistant; if he works for Foxguard, then he is still in the service of Lord Urthblood, as are we all, and must go where that badger commands. And I would contend that once His Lordship is fully appraised of these matters, he will concur that Kyslith belongs here at Salamandastron, since Trelayne no longer will be."

Matowick pursed his lips. "Lord Urthblood would need to be informed of this incident in any event, so I will ask him about Kyslith as well, and wait on his reply. It's not as if time is an important factor in any of this, so there's no rush. We'll abide by his decision, when it arrives."

Mollified, Tolomeo nodded. "So, where is Trelayne now?"

"His two Gawtrybe escorts are bearing him here to Salamandastron, along with two of Sergeant Poinsett's squirrels reassigned from the detail sent out with Tratton. It will take them several more days to get here, with such a burden. Which brings up another question: did Trelayne ever express any interest or desire in where he wished to be laid to his final rest?"

Tolomeo stopped to think about this. "Well, I know he had a cottage up in the Northlands where he dwelt for many seasons, and he spoke of it often, but he also spoke of what went on there at the end, with Mona's sister and the searats, especially after my own accident which seemed to trigger traumatic memories for him, so I don't imagine he'd wish to be returned there. All his later seasons were devoted to service to Lord Urthblood, so he may as well be interred here as anywhere. As much as he preferred to work on his own with just his assistants, away from the eyes and accolades of the wider world that benefitted from his talents, he's earned a place of honor here, as certainly as any warrior ever has."

"I would agree with that - and I'm sure Lord Urthblood would too. I shall ask him about that as well in my dispatch. Was there anything else you deem I should add?"

"I … not that I can think of, Captain."

"Very well. Let me know if anything else occurs to you. I'll go see to this now. And again, my condolences, Tolomeo."

"Thank you, Captain."

Matowick took his leave of the glassmaker mouse - now Salamandastron's sole practitioner in this area - to seek out Klystra up in his aerie. Tolomeo's words regarding Kyslith's recall and the state of the mountain's glass-based arsenal echoed in his head as he strode the rock passages, and filled him with a certain disquiet. Was it at all likely that Tratton might launch an attack anytime this season, whilst he wandered the inner lands, cut off and vulnerable? Logic suggested not, but then, might that not constitute the ideal time for a surprise assault, when all indications pointed against it, and Salamandastron's defenders might stand less vigilant than usual? Could Tratton's walking tour represent a diversion in and of itself, setting up a scenario under which he could not possibly renew hostilities, and then seize that opportunity to do just that, blindsiding everybeast? And then there was the fact that Tratton now knew Urthblood was away from the fortress, and that the mountain stood more lightly defended than at any time since Urthfist's reign. The Searat King lacked birds to coordinate any wide-ranging actions as the Badger Lord could, but might he not have some other way of sending messages quickly over long distances? After all, Salamandastron and Foxguard could communicate through flashes of their signal mirrors, without any birds at all, so who could say what Tratton and his inventors might have devised? Nothing could be counted out, and nothing taken for granted.

All of which left Trelayne's death as more than an unfortunate tragedy; the marten's loss represented a logistical and strategic blow to the defensive forces at Matowick's disposal. In the event that Tratton did engage in the desperate gamble of an all-out assault, sending a half-dozen or a dozen of his wood-and-canvas vessels into harm's way, each packed with hundreds of armed fighters, the mountain's defenders would be hard-pressed to turn back such an attack, not if they could only burn two or three of those ships. His Gawtrybe were good, but not so good that they could hold off a hostile force outnumbering many times over his current contingent of a mere fifty. They would eventually be chased back into the fortress in a purely defensive position, and not just by superior numbers; once Tratton unleashed his stormpowder salvos, all creatures valuing their lives would be chased off the slopes, and down from the plateau, and perhaps even from all seaward-facing windows and chambers and corridors, leaving the searat invaders free to mass on the shores unmolested to form up for their next phase of attack: a direct assault on Salamandastron, fighting for entry and, if succeeding, battling along the tunnels for every pace of captured territory in the nastiest, most brutal bloodbath the coastlands had ever witnessed. Maybe if they still stood at their peak of three hundred Gawtrybe prior to the Accord, or even the one hundred they had after the Mossflower deployment to initiate the rat resettlement efforts there, they might have a chance of holding out, of exacting too high a price to make such a gambit worth Tratton's while. But with Witko's score down in Southsward with Urthblood, and Poinsett's score-and-a-half accompanying Tratton through Mossflower, they might well find themselves besieged and overwhelmed, with not even the addition of Tillamook's hedgehogs and Mattoon's mixed weasel brigade being enough to turn the tide.

Could this happen? Probably not - but as acting commander of Salamandastron he could not assume anything. Most likely it would not come to pass, or if it did, it would not do so right away, which would grant him some breathing room. Room enough, ideally, to recall Kyslith from Foxguard and have him and Tolomeo step up production of the glass globes which could be filled with flammable oil to be dropped on any searat ships that threatened these shores.

Matowick had already decided he would include Tolomeo's request in his dispatch to Lord Urthblood long before he reached the raptors' resting balcony. It only made sense, after all - and what did Foxguard really need with a glassmaker of its own?

The Gawtrybe captain stepped out into the shadowed recesses of the overhung nesting area. Klystra sat within his own circular straw bed, recuperating from his recent flights and regaining his strength for the vital forays yet to come. Across the hangar Saugus also rested, napping away the daylight hours to be fresh for his own nighttime escort of Tratton's party.

Bypassing the slumbering owl, Matowick approached Klystra. "Captain, I will need you to fly down to Southsward and seek out Lord Urthblood there. He must be informed of what happened with Trelayne, so he can let us know what he wants to do about it."

"Do about?" The falcon blinked as if uncomprehending. "What to be done? Glassmarten dead, not made alive again, Tratton not be be punished, acted in own defense."

"There are other things. The burial arrangements, for one, and the matter of coastal defense, now that we stand deprived of our most experienced glassmaker. I shall prepare a carefully-worded dispatch for you to bear, explaining it all."

"My duty to escort King Rat, make sure no further trouble there. Should be getting back to them soon."

Matowick shook his head. "Lord Urthblood needs to hear what happened to Trelayne from a witness to those events. You were the senior ranking officer on scene, after all. Commodore Altidor can spell you with Tratton until you return. Right now, it's more important that you report to Lord Urthblood personally."

Klystra sat quietly for some moments. "Have never been to Southsward."

"Well, it can't be too hard to miss - big green forested region below the wastes below Mossflower, with a big castle right at its center. Just start at the palace, see if he's arrived there yet. Or, fly down along the coast to where the Stronganchor's tied up, and then fly straight inland from there. You're bound to locate him sooner or later."

"Make it sound very easy. Think will not be so easy."

"If you go by way of the coast, I can assign a couple of gulls to accompany you. They'll be useful, at least up until you rendezvous with the Stronganchor, where you can take a more detailed report from Captains Whiskersalt and Wakefern if you wish, although we already know from our other gull scouts that Lord Urthblood disembarked and struck inland without incident, and without interference from the two searat ships anchored there, so I doubt they'd be able to tell us much more than that. And as for how helpful any gull escorts would be to you once you strike inland yourself, that's something I'll leave to you feathered folk to work out between yourselves. But even if you have to make the final leg of your journey by yourself, you have - "

"Final wing of flight," Klystra interjected. "Correct terms, please."

"Ah, yes. Even if you're on your own for your final stretch, I'm confident your officer's expertise and judgment, and your seasons of experience, will allow you to find Lord Urthblood and deliver your report in good time. Just take some extra caution as you approach Floret, if your mission carries you that far; the royal court beasts there might not be accustomed to receiving raptors as we or even Redwall are, and might be of a mind to shoot first and ask questions later if they see you as threatening."

"Will keep in mind. Will approach gentle as fuzzchick."

"That … would be advisable," Matowick said with a half-chuckle, amused by the falcon's choice of words and the mental image they conjured. "It's important that this report, and your on-the-scene observations of these events, reach Lord Urthblood, and that his response reaches me. I'll leave you to rest a bit more now, while I go compose the dispatch for you to carry. Until then, Captain … "

Down in his private quarters, Matowick sat with parchment, ink and quill, mentally sifting his words in order to say to Urthblood most precisely what he wanted to convey. As he strove to concentrate on his written language, a stirring at the doorway from the bedchamber intruded upon his awareness.

"This might not have happened if you'd been there … as you'd been ordered."

The Gawtrybe captain set down his pen and turned to look at his wife, standing there cradling Elberon in her arms. "And what would I have done, Perri? What exactly could have changed that outcome? Trelayne recognized Tratton through his disguise, and moved to assassinate him. Was I to step in front of him, and take the blade meant for Tratton in my own chest? And maybe Tratton's blade in my back as well, as that rat acted to defend himself? It all happened too fast for Poinsett to do anything about it, so I likely would have moved no quicker … and maybe even not as quickly, distracted as I would have been by constant worry over the state of things here at Salamandastron."

"Those sound like excuses to me. And justifications, and rationalizations … and dodges."

"Duly noted … Lieutenant."

Perricone stiffened, causing a momentary cessation of the squirrelbabe's cooing; this was the first time in their disagreements over this matter that Matowick had invoked rank. "Are you going to notify Lord Urthblood about all of this?"

"Of course."

"By gull?"

"No. I'm sending Klystra. He was there to witness the incident, so I felt it's important he report to His Lordship directly to relate his observations as well as my own dispatch."

"Ah. Will your dispatch include the fact that you did not accompany Tratton, in violation of direct orders?"

"I … haven't decided yet. I'm still composing it."

"If you don't, will you also order Klystra not to reveal it either?"

"Klystra is a fellow captain; I'm not sure I'd be able to issue such an order to him and have it stick. Besides, that bird would then demand to know why I would insist upon such a thing, forcing me into an awkward explanation."

"That confession would deserve to be awkward, since it would constitute a guilty admission." Perricone paused. "So, if you don't order Klystra not to tell Lord Urthblood you're still at Salamandastron, and that Poinsett escorts Tratton in your stead, then it will come out. He'll know."

"Yes. He'll know."

"And how do you suppose he will receive that news? What do you imagine his response to you will be?"

"We'll find out when he writes back, won't we?" Matowick bit off curtly, then bent back to formulating precisely what he would write to his badger master.