Yes, yes, the flashback in this chapter is a direct excerpt from Martin the Warrior, pages 33-34. Hey,. I don't own it and I don't make any money, so please don't sue me!
PS- if you have a guess pertaining to future events, go ahead and say what you think it is in the reviews
Chapter Eight: To Loved and Have Lost
Three days after the events at Noonvale and among the questers, a group of vermin met on board the Dark Wave. The leader, a burly male weasel named Holm, opened the meeting. "The Cap'n getting suspicious. I don't think he trusts any of us- not after the incident with his son. So how are we to get information?"
There was a moment's silence. Then a fox from the back group spoke up. "We all know from first hand experience how much he hates the line of Galedeep. So why not put that to our purposes? We get that wife of Gammage's, wot's 'er name, Marie I think, to spy for us. Tell the Cap'n that he deserves a personal maid, all pretty like like we means it. Really, she'll jest tell if'n he starts to suspect any of us. Cause Brogot, the first mate, is pretty tight with him and they'll probably talk it over so she can hear. Then she tells us wot they says."
There was a moment of stunned silence among the vermin. It was so simple it was beautiful- save one thing. "Redeye ain't stupid," pointed out Holm, "What if he catches her?"
"We claim to know nothing. Then get her to admit she was lying the same way we'll get her to do it."
"And what may that be?" Holm inquired.
The door to the slave hold creaked open. All the slaves ceased their whispering and saved energy for rowing. Holm and the fox, whose name was Sturgeon, marched into the hold, lifting the keys from the peg. They stood by Maris, who was on the aisle. Next to her, Gammage looked downright murderous, glaring at the two pirates with clear meaning. Paws off. However, the twain were unmoved by the otter's open hostility. After all, what could a chained otter, now matter how spiteful, possibly do? They unlocked her.
"Let go of her, you-" Gammage immediately stood his full height and lunged at the corsairs. Or tried to. They danced out of the way and he reached the end of the chain, a mad, frantic light in his eyes. "Maris!" he cried desperately.
She looked back at him, fearful but not going to show it. "I'll be alright Gammage. Please don't do anything stupid!"
Defeated, he sat down, simmering with rage. Holm couldn't resist a parting shot. "Time to have some fun with you . . ."
Gammage howled with rage and leapt at them, all thoughts of not being stupid miles away. The buccaneers merely laughed and escorted an unwilling Maris to their hideout to discuss their proposition.
"What do you want from me?" she demanded, scared to death but trying not to show it. She hated several things about her situation- her being alone in a roomful of pirate, the way most of them were eyeing her like a trophy, and the way those who weren't looked at her like an oppurtunity.
One, a burly weasel, stepped forward. He had an air of command distinguishing him as the leader. He detailed his plan and looked at her expectantly. She was quiet, considering. "What if I turn you down?" she asked at last.
His tone of voice quite changed. "Then you'll be widowed as well as childless," he said harshly. She bit her lip until blood welled, regaining control of her feelings.
"I will do it," she whispered at last, beaten but not broken.
If the corsairs had known exactly how this was going to turn out, they would have chained her back up and thrown away the key.
But then, vermin aren't too bright.
***
Laughter and cheer filled Redwall Abbey. Gonff was relieved that Martin had experienced no more nightmares, but that hadn't stopped Martin for combing the quite vast library for the slightest mention of Badrang the Tyrant. None. Quite frankly, it was a puzzle.
Vurg burst into the gatehouse. "Martin, time for supper!"
"One minute Vurg. Say, do you know anything about Badrang the Tyrant?"
Vurg stopped in mid step then slowly turned. "What do ye want to know about him for?"
"I had a dream about him, and I wondered who he was."
"He's an evil creature, Martin. Very evil. Remember Ranguvar?" Martin nodded. "He was responsible for the capture of her husband and son, Barkjon and Felldoh. She told me that if she ever got free of Vilu Daskar, he was her next target." Vurg shook his head sadly. "Such a brave maid, but so full of hate. I don't think anyone of us could hate more than her. Anyway, lunch is ready Martin." The aged mouse swept from the room, leaving in his wake a rather upset and dazed Martin.
Memories locked behind the barrier in his mind began to come loose . . .
"Martin, well at least you're still alive. I'm Felldoh."
"Felldoh, what are you doing down here?"
"Awaiting the Tyrant's pleasure like you, Martin. That rotten toad Stiffear saw me flinging rocks at him while he was on the walltop. Still, you saved my old dad and I did what I could for you, matey."
"You are a true friend, Felldoh. Thank you!"
"What do you suppose Badrang's going to do with us?"
"Who's there?"
"Martin, this young feller was here before I arrived. Meet Brome."
"I never did harm to anybeast. I was lost and blundering along the shore one night when the sentries saw me, and I was captured and thrown down here. Did they capture you, Martin? Will they keep us down here forever?"
"You stick with us, Brome. We'll get you out of here. While I was staked on the walltop, Felldoh was throwing rocks from the inside and your sister Rose chucking them from the outside. She's out there with a mole called Grumm. I-"
Martin jerked and the mug by his paw shattered on the floor, spraying hot tea everywhere.
Rose! Oh, no, Rose! How could he have forgotten her? How? The weight of her death came crashing down on his shoulders all over again. He cradled his head in his paws and said nothing. He didn't know what time it was when he heard the door creak open. "Mawtin, Bewwa say-"
"Get out!" he roared. Ivy squealed in terror and bolted, slamming the door behind her. A moment later, the door creaked again. He turned to give who ever it was a good piece of his mind. It was Gonff. The thief's worried eyes deflated his anger and he turned away, hoping Gonff hadn't seen the tears on his face.
***
"What's taking him so long?" grumbled Beau, "We can't start without the chap."
"I go!" pronounced Ivy as she leapt from her seat and she climbed the stairs up to Great Hall, her bare paws making a slight pitter-patter on the sand stone. A moment later, a shockingly loud roar broke the peace. Ivy flew back into Cavern Hole in tears. "That was Martin," Gonff said worriedly "I'd better go make sure he's alright."
He creaked the door of the gatehouse open. The warrior mouse's head flew up, ready to give another good shout when he identified the face. Gonff barely had time to register the tears on his friend's face before he turned away in shame and sorrow.
"Tell Ivy I'm sorry."
"This isn't like you, Martin. The only time you were remotely like this was when Timballisto died, but even then-" Gonff stopped in mid sentence as he recalled the tears rolling down his cheeks. Martin never cried- not with the pain of wounds or lost friends, even his father. Yet whatever it was he was upset about, it wasn't to be taken lightly. Something was seriously wrong with Martin. "You can tell me, Martin. Whatever it is, it wasn't your fault.
"How would you know? You weren't there," the warrior said bitterly.
"Tell me, Martin. Please. You can't carry this alone."
The warriormouse looked close to breaking down, but some hidden strength helped him to shoulder the heavy burden he bore. "No, Gonff. This burden is mine alone. I could not ask anyone else to bear it with me." He placed his head in his paws, signaling an end of the conversation.
Gonff would have loved to stay with him, but he knew Martin preferred to be alone and quietly left the room.
When Gonff left, it was too much. The thief was right. He couldn't bear this alone. He leapt up to follow the mouuse and knocked over a stack of blank paper. Martin bent to pick it up, and decided not to tell Gonff. He could not break an oath made on his honor. But he could write about it, get his thoughts down on paper. Then destroy the paper. He took a blank sheaf and a quill pen and began to write.
A week later
Urran Voh paced the walltop, unsure what to think. There had been no attacks for the past ten days. Which could mean only one thing: the vermin had given up. He could not believe he had sent his only child and three others of Noonvale's young ones on a fruitless, suicidal task. They must have, somehow, misinterpreted Rose's poem. He walked down the steps to Rowanoak and Ballaw where they sat with Barkjon in the Great Hall, discussing battle plans. "My friends, I have made a decision. Effective immediately, I am disbanding the Fur and Freedom Fighters."
Ballaw leapt to his paws, face dismayed. "It is merely a diversionary tactic, old bean! To disband us is exactly what they want, wot! They want to trick us, lull us into a sense of false security-"
"You've said yourself- vermin are bullies. They cannot abide it when they are stood up to. It is my opinion that they have left in search of easier prey." "That may be true, but vermin like that pine marten are different. When something resists them they want to crush it, destroy it," Urran Voh retorted.
Urran Voh shook his head. "They could have attacked us yesterday or the day before! We have won, Ballaw. Tomorrow I shall have to send a group out after my son and the others."
The trio stared at each other. Rowanoak spoke first. "Set guard tonight anyways. Tomorrow, I'm going out to see what they're up to. Who's with me?"
The hare and the squirrel presented their affirmation and they went back to planning, seriously re-thinking some of their stratagems.
***
Martin sat back with a sigh and looked at the formidable stack of papers in front of him. It had taken him a week to detail everything her remembered about his early life. He was taking no more chances with his memories. Everything, down to the slightest scent and the faintest shade of color had been recorded so he would never again forget her sacrifice. But where to conceal it? His quick dark eyes roamed the gatehouse, finally resting on the wooden planking under the doormat. Of course!
He tore off the hood of his habit and wrapped them in the sturdy material, securing it with a spare piece of string he had in his pocket. Then he kicked the doormat aside and ripped up some of the planking, revealing a dirt floor. Working quickly, he dug dirt out with his empty tea mug, hastily dumping it in the fire as he went. Finally, he had a cavity big enough to hold the papers, making it a bit deeper to compensate for the wooden planks. Gently, as if handling a child, he reverently concealed the precious bundle in the hiding place. He replaced the planks, only stopping to carve his initials, MsoL (Martin son of Luke) into the wood. Martin noted with dismay that the planks he had tampered with were about a quarter inch higher than the others. Both bad and good. He just hoped the Dibbuns wouldn't get curious. He kicked the doormat back over the whole thing and he felt a weight off his shoulders- a weight he, in a way, missed.
Rest in peace, Rose of Noonvale.
***
The questers stared in awe at the great gates of Salamandastron. Solid oak and beech with mahogany and silver accenting, the great gates were nigh impregnable. "I say, open up! We have guests in time for the celebration tonight!"
The gates opened easily, with a speed that surprised them. They examined their surroundings, wide-eyed at the many terraces of an incredible variety of plants, some they had never seen before. There were apples, peaches, every type of berry you could imagine, cherries- the list went on. The herb gardens were what captured Brome's attention as he stared in fascination at several varieties he had never even heard of. Keyla examined, without touching, an oddly shaped, curved yellow pod that grew in bunches on a tall, thin tree. "What in the name of fur and fire are those?"
"Bananas. Got the seeds off a corsair ship that was stupid enough to nose around here, eh wot!"
The questers had just reached the vegetable gardens when a booming voice erupted out of nowhere. "Welcome to Salamandastron, good travelers!"
Startled, they spun, coming face to face with a tall badger wearing sturdy work gloves and a straw hat. The tell-tale golden stripe on his forehead revealed his identity, but his gentle eyes and noble face were the true indication that he was Sunflash the Mace, Lord of Salamandastron. They hastily bowed or curtsied. Brome spoke up, being the leader of the group. "Thank you for you hospitality, My Lord-"
"Please, call me Sunflash. All my friends do."
"Yes, L- Sunflash. My name is Brome, and these are-"
"Tullgrew, Celandine, Grumm, and Keyla, I presume?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I shall introduce you to Skarlath, when that rogue turns up. He's a kestrel, and my right claw. My eye in the sky."
"Lord Sunflash!" A hare burst onto the balcony. "Cook sent me to tell you that they need one of those big cheeses for the feast tonight. The yellow one, with the basil, oregano, thyme and rosemary. The bigger the better, wot!"
The badger lord nodded, a smile creasing his face. "Tell cook I'll be there in a second." He felt the quester's questioning glances. "Lawd's recently become engaged to Captain Primrose. Due to recent corsair attacks and the reconnoitering trip I sent him and Jules on, we haven't celebrated it. Therefore, we've set up a surprise party to celebrate. Since we're also setting up an alliance with Holt Brogalaw, we figured to kill two vermin with one stone and invite them."
Celandine looked in dismay at her dirty, ragged dress. "But we've nothing to wear!"
"It's already been taken care of," the Badger Lord assured, "Rirel will escort you to your quarters. You must be tired after your journey, and I expect you want to freshen up."
"A bath would be nice," mused Celandine.
As Rirel escorted them to their quarters, Brome whispered in Grunmm's ear, "How do you suppose they knew we were coming and our sizes?"
"Oi expect ee kestrel told ee, zurr Brome. Doant ee wurry about ee home. you'm desurves ee rest."
Brome said nothing. If only I could be so sure . . .