34: From the Outside In

Yoofus wiped a few crumbs from his whiskers, waving his paws distractedly as he interrupted Tergen for the third time. "Slow down, ye word-gushin' featherbag! Ye've got me tied in knots here! So, let me get this strait. Ye flew southeast an' found a giant gorge wid a nice gang o' vermin loiterin' about there. Then ye saw a bunch o' slaves an' a squirrel that might've been Melanda. So ye dashed back 'ere t' report t' me. Am I right?"

Tergen glared at the watervole. "Kerrrraaak! I have slain beasts for calling me 'featherbag!' But you are right. I did see gorge. Many vermin and slaves there, kerrrk!"

Yoofus twitched his whiskers to rid himself of a pesky fly. "Hmmm, this sounds interestin'. How long d'ye think it'd take me t' get there?"

Tergen spread his wings, showing off their impressive size. "It not take me long, but I fly. For you, it prob'ly take half-day, maybe little more." The goshawk gestured with his wingtip as he continued. "Go that way, east, until you find river Moss. Then follow it that way, south. You find gorge that way, not hard. I see you at north end of gorge, at big pine. You know it when you see it. Yakkaa!"

And with that the hawk soared into the sky, his last cry echoing back down to Yoofus. "Yeeeekkkaaaaahhh!"

The watervole shook his head as he watched the great bird vanish into the distance. With a shrug he turned away from the horizon and began the short task of packing up his breakfast. There was not much to pack; a flask of mint tea, a leftover acorn roll, a few bits of cheese, and a small wooden case of what Friar Glisum called "meal bits." These were made of herbs, dried fruit, and honey all packed together and dried in an oven. They were startlingly satisfying and a beast could go long distances on two or three.

Yoofus slung his small pack over his shoulder and scrambled down from his perch in a large oak. He had spent the night here to keep himself away from the grasp of foebeasts and to allow himself quick contact with Tergen. He was well versed in the art of treewhiffling, having both been instructed in it by champion squirrel climbers and having spent the last twenty or so seasons using trees as a quick getaway from his scenes of thieving.

Swinging himself silently out of the tree, Yoofus scanned the woodlands around him. Satisfied that he was not in the vicinity of a foebeast, the watervole set out with a jaunty step. His mood was far lighter then when he had left Redwall three days ago. In fact, he was feeling so lighthearted and free that he broke out into an old Mossflower ditty, well known by all woodlanders.

Follow the river, hither and yon,

Where a land is sheltered by a dove.

A place of liberty, freedom, justice,

Mossflower woods is the home that I love.

The trees stand tall,

Countless seasons old.

Goodbeasts till the land,

Both gentle and bold.

Many have come,

Many have gone.

But their legacy

Still lives on.

In this forest of right, we make our homes

Guarded by justice, not by the sword.

Foebeasts may come, oppressing all,

But we are watched over by the mountain, the Lord.

A place bought by blood,

By suffering, toil,

Now, out of red, it stands alone,

Protecting us, and this land's soil.

Mossflower woodlands,

How I love ye.

Guarded by the walls

And the place by the sea.

We will not bend to whips or chains.

Our roots may tremble, but we hold firm.

Bloodshed bought our freedom here,

And that flame in us still burns.

Yoofus found himself stepping along rapidly in time to the ditty's merry beat. Even though he had finished the lyrics, he continued to hum the tune as he moved through the woodlands. Danger meant little the the volethief, who had lived on the edge for the past twenty seasons.

He suddenly noticed pawsteps in time with is own. He spun on his heel, expecting to see a vermin of some sort tracking him. His dark brown eyes widened with surprise as he saw not a fox or weasel creeping up behind him with dagger drawn, but a cheerful-looking mouse wearing a jaunty green cap with a feather in it. in the mouse's paw was held a flute, which he was in the process of raising to his lips. He stopped when he saw Yoofus staring at him.

The mouse grinned, showing a set of strong white teeth. He tucked the flute into a small belt pouch, extending his right paw. "G'day t' ye, matey. What are ye doing out 'ere in the middle of Mossflower?"

Yoofus hesitantly shook the proffered paw, staring at the mouse. "G'day to ye too, mate. An' who are ye?"

The mouse gave a secritive smile, pulling the flute from his belt. "Oh, ye can just call me matey for the time being, Yoofus. Ye're looking for Melanda, I presume?"

Yoofus was flabbergasted. He spluttered wildly, "How – how d' ye know me name? An' what I'm doin'? How long have ye been followin' me?"

The mouse waved his paw, his eyes twinkling. "Oh, I have me ways, matey. As t' your last question, I've been following ye for some time now." He checked the watervole's outburst at his vague reply with a wave of his paw. "An' now, are ye going to keep searching? Tergen will meet you at the gorge, after all."

Yoofus' jaw was hanging so far down it looked as if it was going to hit the ground, but he managed to compose himself. "Er – ahem, aye, I am. Ye jus' startled me, that's all." He paused for a moment before he continued. "As we seem to be goin' in th' same direction, d' ye want t' travel with me?"

The mouse's smile broadened. "Of course, matey. In fact, I was planning to accompany you for quite a distance."

Yoofus was slightly puzzled by the stranger's tone, but with a shrug he started east again, this time with the strange mouse tagging alongside him. The volethief gradually found himself enjoying his strange companion's presence, for the mouse was not a chatterer like many traveling beasts. Instead, he tirelessly trilled on his flute for what seemed like hours, never repeating a ditty twice. Yoofus found himself humming along with several tunes, but most of the time they were unknown to him.

In a surprisingly short time they reached the river Moss. Yoofus immediately turned south when he neared the river, with the mouse following him closely. The watervole at first took no notice of his companion, being occupied in examining a collection of Guosim tracks in the muddy bank. When he did look back at the mouse, however, he was startled to see him tucking Yoofus' own sling into his belt pouch.

The watervole squared up to the mouse, narrowing his eyes in what he thought was an intimidating glare. "Gimme me sling back, ye whisker pinchin' sneak!"

The mouse tossed Yoofus' sling back to its owner, grinning broadly. "Whisker pincher . . . I like that! reminds em o' the time I tricked me darlin' wife into thinkin' I had stolen two of her whiskers. Haha, you should have seen her face!" The mouse half-closed his eyes as if envisioning the prank to every minute detail.

Yoofus shook his head, tugging his companion's paw. "Well, are ye helpin' me find Melanda or aren't ye?" As soon as he said this he realized that he had taken his companion for granted. How was he to know if the mouse really was helping him track down the squirrelmaid?

But the mouse snapped his eyes open and stepped out briskly. Yoofus saw his paw going towards his flute again as he called to the volethief, "O' course I am, matey. C'mon, let's see if'n we can make that gorge by sunset!"

††

Armel rummaged through her stock of herbs for the third time. She knew that she had already sent her assistant, Sister Mimsie, along with two Long Patrol escorts, out to gather more of those herbs that were scant on the shelves, but she was still poking through the boxes, bundles, and jars that ranged across the infirmary. The sole reason for her odd lack of diligence was a vain attempt to keep her mind from straying to thoughts of her daughter and husband. It was hard to keep a "stiff upper lip," as the hares said, but Armel had almost always been able to . . . in public.

In private was a different story. Ever since Tam had left Armel had spent more time then was usual for her alone in the infirmary, sorting herbs, cleaning bandages, and dusting off jars, shelves, books, and cupboards. When Melanda had disappeared the squirrelmum had broken down only once, when the terrible news that her daughter had been captured was broken to her. Ever since then she had forced herself to act as if nothing had happened, but it was hard. But now the concerns of Redwall were beginning to press in on her. Just this morning she had been talking with Abbot Humble and a question had arisen in their conversation; the Abbot's successor.

The elderly Humble had fondly expressed his hopes that Melanda might follow in his pawsteps; she had always been devoted to Redwall, and even at a young age she had shown an exceptional talent for kindly leadership. That had been almost too much for Armel, and she had rapidly turned the subject elsewhere.

But now the question was pestering Armel; who would be Humble's successor? She was sure Melanda wouldn't want the task; the squirrelmaid had too much warrior blood in her. Several names were dancing about in Armel's head, but the squirrelmum kept discarding them as arguments against their assuming the lofty position of Abbot or Abbess.

The squirrelmum paused in the act of taking down a basket of dried lavender. What about Brother Demple? He was in his late middle seasons, wise, gentle, and all the other requirements that caused major stumbling blocks the the choosing of Redwall's next leader. The quiet gardener had never liked the thought of bloodshed, but in the Seasons of the Savage he had been a firm supporter of the Long Patrol's final vanquishing of Gulo's vermin after the murder of the hares' leader, Brigadier Crumshaw. Demple knew when attack was right, and also knew when to hold back. Excellent traits for an Abbot or Abbess of Redwall.

Armel mulled this possibility over as she absentmindedly rummaged through the lavender. This was an excellent choice. Demple, out of all the other Redwallers, was suited for the daunting task of Abbotship. Besides hs good judgment, the quiet, kindly Brother had a kind of appeal about him that drew others towards him. Armel had never heard him speak cruelly of another creature, nor had she ever seen him exchange blows with another. Yet the mouse always held himself well, as if he had a kind of royalty about him.

Armel's thoughts were interrupted by the scraping of the infirmary door. Sister Mimsie entered briskly, bearing a large wicker basket filled to bursting with herbs. The young mousemaid dropped her burden on the table with a thud, exclaiming, "By the seasons, I never dreamed a few herbs could be so heavy!" She swept off her long green cloak and hung it on a peg embedded in the wall. Her hazel eyes twinkled as she assisted Armel in unpacking the basket. Her face betrayed her excitement as she leaned towards the squirrelmum. "Armel, marm, I bumped into Tergen out on the lawn just a few moments ago. You'll never guess what he told me!"

Armel's heart skipped a beat, but she managed to keep her face calm. In as steady a voice as she could manage, she asked, "Well, then, tell me!"

Mimsie plucked a bundle of elm bark from the basket. She tossed it between her paws as she burst out, "He's found a vermin settlement with woodlanders all over the place. He said he didn't dare get close enough to confirm his findings, but he said he thought he saw Melanda there!"

Armel dropped a spray of mint leaves onto the table. Her grasp was firm as she gripped Mimsie's paws. "He's found Melanda? Was she well? Was she safe? What –"

Sister Mimsie shook her head. "Armel, marm, he said that the vermin might have shot him if'n he got close enough to confirm it. He said that he's going to go meet Yoofus near the vermin encampment and see if'n together they can find some answers."

††

The sun had set. Mossflower was settling itself into the cool folds of night and sleep as Yoofus Lightpaw balanced himself in the thick upper boughs of a massive pine tree, gazing down at the gorge of Valamarus, realm of Malus Deathclaw. The volethief's eyes coolly explored the scene below, scornfully taking note of the number of guards that paced the upper terraces of the gorge. His lip curled as he saw the four massive gates, built of iron and oak.

So this was the place. He had a score to settle . . .

The volethief retreated back into the dense tent of pine needles, where his mysterious companion was spreading their meal on a thick tree limb. The mouse looked up as Yoofus approached. His face was oddly calm as he summed up Yoofus' thoughts. "So, you have a daunting task ahead?" He drew a small dagger from his belt, slicing a lump of cheese into thin slabs. He speared one on the dagger point, offering it to Yoofus. "You'll never do your job well if'n ye don't eat something, matey."

Yoofus accepted the food distractedly, his thoughts elsewhere as he bit into the sage and acorn studded cheese. He was silent as the mouse passed him an oat farl and several pieces of celery from the last of the supplies in the watervole's haversack. Subconsciously Yoofus realized that the mouse had no haversack of foodstuffs and wondered if he foraged for his meals.

The volethief turned back to the view of the gorge. He was overawed by the sheer size of the place; at a mile wide, five miles long, and fifty feet deep, it was an immense piece of engeneering work that had evidently taken generations to make. Yoofus wondered if such a secure fortress, dug into the earth itself, could possibly be taken over by anything less then a horde of badgers in full bloodwrath.

The swish of wings startled him into looking up. Tergen was just making his landing on the tree limb above, a small pack dangling from one of his talons. The watervole gestured to the mouse to stay where he was, although the mouse had made no sign of an attempt to rise. As soon as the goshawk's wings were tucked against his sides, Yoofus scrambled up to Tergen's branch. He nodded towards the mouse, who was apparently relaxed in the presence of the savage bird. "That 'un's fine, Tergen. Don't bother yer head about 'im. What's the pack?"

Tergen held up the small pack, passing it to the vole. "Friar Glisum told me to give it to you, Yoofus. Kerchaaa! It have more food and drink inside, an' new tunic." Tergen ruffled his feathers and moved a step down the branch, muttering under his breath, "Hah! Silly earthcrawler, wear bits of cloth to keep warm! Why not grow feathers? Keerrrrack!"

Ignoring the bird, Yoofus leaped down to the thick bough where the mouse was settled, apparently enjoying a mouthful of celery. The watervole busied himself moving the supplies from the small pack into his haversack to ease the strain of carrying. He then bolted down another piece of cheese and an oat farl, grabbing a stalk of celery as he slung his haversack over his shoulder.

The mouse saw what he was doing and also rose. He wrapped the last few pieces of the meal in the cloth that has served as a table and tucked the bundle into the haversack. Then he checked his dagger. "Are ye ready, matey?"

Yoofus was already lowering himself to the next branch. "Sure, ye're jokin' matey? What does it look like I'm doing, takin' a nap?"

When they finally reached the ground, Yoofus turned to the mouse. "Are ye up fer some really dangerous work, mate?"

The mouse grinned in reply. "Danger is me middle name, mate!"

Yoofus waved to Tergen, who was flying in slow, lazy circles overhead. "Tergen, will ye circle th' edge of the gorge? See if'n ye can find a weak spot where we could slip through."

Tergen dipped his wing, confirming that he had heard. Without a sound he flapped his wings once, soaring up into the cloudy night sky.

The mouse peered upwards, tracking the hawk's progress. "Well, he should be back afore too long. By the seasons, we're in for a storm soon!" He pointed at the ominous clouds that, even in the dark of night, were blacker then the shadowy sky.

Yoofus nodded, he mind crowded with memories of the day that his son was stolen. "Aye, if'n it's a heavy rain we should be able t' get in an' out without much trouble. That's if'n there's enough thunder to cover our pawsteps."

The mouse blinked as the first drop of rain splattered on his face. He winked at Yoofus. "Looks like your wish is coming true, matey!"

††

Melanda threw herself down on her pile of straw, her breath ragged in her throat. Every bone in her body ached from the punishing work she had been throwing herself into all day. Her harness was rubbing painfully against her ribs where it had chafed her flesh raw. The halter too was pressing painfully against her, the cheekstraps digging into her face. But it was her lower jaw that hurt the most. Forsythia, the cruel mouse who had drafted Melanda into her chariot team, had forced the squirrelmaid to wear a second halter over her usual one. This halter had the addition of a copper bar that fitted inside the squirrelmaid's mouth, and at each end of the bar was fused a metal ring. Reins were slid through these rings, and Forsythia used them to steer. The pain of the sawing bit and the jerking reins, coupled with treatment worthy of a dumb animal, was enough to drive Melanda frantic.

But pulling Forsythia's chariot around Valamarus all day was more then enough to completely exhaust her. Without so much as a glance at her feeding pans, the squirrelmaid stared hollow-eyed at the wooden ceiling. Not a thought crossed her mind; she was too tired even to think.

How long she lay there she did not know. But finally her ravenous hunger and parching thirst forced Melanda to drag herself over to the feeding pans. There was just enough in both to somewhat cull her appetite. That was the sole advantage of being on a chariot team; the food and water were better and more plentiful.

Melanda glanced across the isle at her fellow chariot team member, a mouse named Dilnrae. His fur was an unusual orange shade, mirroring his personality, which was as tough, strong, and hot-tempered as his fur color suggested. He had lasted far longer as a chariot puller then the vermin had expected, for the spirit- shattering task was enough to break a creature within a month or two. He had hardly spoken to Melanda, but when he did it was in a gruff, crude tone. The squirrelmaid could tell that, even though his spirit hadn't yet broken, his physical attributes were beginning to give way.

The squirrelmaid shifted her gaze to the cell to the right of Dilnrae. In this cell was held a ferret, with the same orange fur as Melanda and Dilnrae. He had twisted his ankle the day before while pulling the chariot, thus putting himself out of commission for a few days. He hadn't even looked at Melanda thus far, and the only thing she knew about him was that he was called, by the vermin, "197."

The squirrelmaid sighed with exasperation at her hopeless situation. She inspected her cell for the second time, looking for any weak points. None. It was maddening being shut in like a canned tomato, not even being allowed to be treated like an individual. Garbage. That was all the Valamarus slaves were considered. Garbage.

"Psst!"

Melanda sat up, staring about her in search of the voice. It had certainly not come from the two beasts who slouched across the isle from her; rather, it came from the other side of the wall, from the outside.

The squirrelmaid pressed her mouth against a hairline crack in the wall, whispering in as low a voice as she could manage, "Who are you?" Silently she prayed that the creature outside would hear her.

As if in a dream, the voice answered back. "Yoofus. Yer ma an' the Abbot sent me t' get ye. Are there any guards in your sight?"

Melanda nearly fainted with shock. She hissed back urgently, "Yoofus, get yourself out of here! These vermin'll capture you as soon as look at you!"

Yoofus answered her in a dry tone. "Don't worry about me, miz Melanda. Jus' tell me if'n ye can see any guards."

Puzzled but obedient, Melanda whispered back, "Yes. There are two ratguards standing by the open doorway, to your right. What do you plan to do?"

There was no answer. Melanda waited a few moments, confused. Her whirling thoughts were satsified a moment later, however, when one of the guards sighed and slumped to the ground. Melanda spun to peer out the window in her door, watching in fascination as the other ratguard bent to shake his partner. "Thak? Are ya all right, ma –"

He was cut off as a slingstone whizzed through the air and struck him at the base of the skull. The rat too slumped down, out cold for the rest of the night.

Dilnrae and the ferret glanced up at the sounds of the guards collapsing. But neither of them was as surprised as Melanda when, dripping from the rain that bucketed down outside, Yoofus Lightpaw slipped into the small cell block. He pressed himself against the wall, a mere smudge in the vague light that seeped in from the distant lights of the vermin dwellings and the moon's single ray that penetrated the thick, cotton-like clouds.

Melanda grasped her cell bars. "Yoofus!" she hissed under her breath, "What in the name of seasons do you think you're doing?"

Yoofus' teeth glimmered briefly out of the black shadow that was him as he grinned back at her. "I'm freein' ye, an' yer two pals o'er there."

Upon hearing this the ferret pressed himself up against his door, rasping out in a hoarse voice, "You – you free Nadin?"

Dilnrae reacted differently. Drawing back to the rear of his cell, he charged forward and smashed himself against his cell door. Luckily a crash of thunder sounded just as he did so, deadening the sound. The fire-furred mouse snarled wildly, "Let me go! Vermin must pay! All pay! I tear them apart!"

Yoofus replied in hushed tones to the mouse's outburst. "Hush, mate. If'n ye want t' get out o' here, ye'd better keep the noise down. Now, when I let ye out, ye stay right where ye are until I give ye th' all-clear; but even then ye must do only what I tell ye t' do."

Dilnrae growled back at him, "I not slave to anybeast! I not obey ya!"

Yoofus replied in a reasonable tone, but with an edge to it. "If'n ye don't obey me ye die. I'm going to get ye away from here, but you can come back larter when ye're stronger to have at it with the vermin."

As the volethief dripped oil into the hinges and latch of her cell door to prevent squeaking, Melanda questioned him. "Did anybeast come with you, Yoofus?"

Yoofus replied without looking up from his work. "Aye, Tergen came with me, an' a mouse joined me partway along. Never saw the beast in me life afore, but he said that he 'ad been told t' accompany me. Nice creature he is, always tootling away on his flute. He's standin' guard outside."

Melanda peered out the doorway, where nothing was visible but the sky, gorge wall, and a few vermin dwellings. She voiced her confusion to the volethief. "I don't see anybeast out there."

Yoofus moved across the isle to oil the hinges and latches of Dilnrae's and Nadin's cells. "Oh, he's probably just around the door. There's some bushes out there; he might be hiding under them."

Melanda was silent, mulling over this bit of information. She was distracted by Yoofus, who approached her cell again. Without a sound he lifted the latch and slid the door open just wide enough for him to slip inside.

Yoofus frowned when, for the first time, he saw clearly the squirrelmaid's face. "Melanda, what's that thing on yer head?"

Melanda growled low in her throat. "That's a halter. The vermin stuffed it onto me when I first came here." She gestured to her chest. "They shoved this harness on me, to."

Yoofus made a tsk tsk sound. Whipping out his tiny dagger, he began sawing away at the squirrelmaid's bonds. It took several long, agonizing moments, but the sharp little piece of metal finally snicked through the last strands of fur. The halter fell away from Melanda's face, releasing her of its hated grip.

It was some time before Yoofus had finished removing both halters and harnesses from the trio, but all were glad of the delay. By the time the last piece of fur rope had been cut through, the storm was raging in earnest. Fat droplets of rain burst on ground, roof, and bush, turning dirt to mud and hollow to lake. Thunder boomed and rumbled through the clouds, accompanied by blinding flashes of lightning. The tempest showed no signs of letting up in the next few hours, promising excellent cover for the four fugitives.

Yoofus loaded his sling, passing his dagger to Melanda. He glanced apologetically at the mouse and the ferret. "Sorry, mates, but I'm no walkin'armory. Here, take those ratguards' spears; they'll do fer ye." While the two picked up the spears, the volethief turned back to the open doorway. His face was a mixture of excitement, fear, anticipation, and anger as he muttered to Melanda, "Well, we can't back out o' this now. Let's start this show!"

Hey, I'm alive! I am REALLY sorry about this awfully late update. I really just . . . oh, I really . . . ARRRGH!!! (just kidding, but it HAS been wild.)

I'm going to make this short, so ask your questions in your reviews.

Merry (late) Christmas and a happy new year!

~Foeseeker~

P.S. look out for the next Silenced chapter; I'm working on it now, though the dreaded midterms are coming up, so it might be late.