Brian Jacques - Redwall 07 - The Bellmaker

Storm-bruised clouds, heavy and lowering, dropped teeming rain into the

howling March wind, slanting in from the northwest to batter the last of

winter's snow that clung to the stones of Redwall Abbey. Inside the gatehouse

it was snug and warm, though there was not much room. All the available chairs

and floor space had been taken up by little creatures—moles, mice, squirrels,

and hedgehogs. They watched in silence as an ancient squirrel, silver haired

and bent with age from long seasons, banked up the fire with two beech logs.

He turned slowly and, shooing two very young mice from his armchair, the aged

squirrel sat, a twinkle in his eye as he watched his audience.

"Sit still, be good, my Dibbuns—the special breakfast will soon be here.

Listen for the knock now; my ears don't work very well these days."

The little ones, who were collectively known as Dibbuns, cupped paws about

their ears, listening intently. All dial could be he^rd was the spattering

rain on the win-

2BRIAN JACQUES

dows and the wind mourning its dirge around the outside walls. The knock came

upon the door like a spell being broken.' A bass-voiced molebabe stood up

shouting, "Hurr et be, brekkist!"

Several of the young ones had to force the door open against the gale. A fat

old hedgehog backed himself inside, pulling a trolley loaded with a cauldron,

wooden bowls, and spoons. No sooner was he inside than the wind whipped the

door shut with a loud slam. Shaking rainwater from his venerable gray spikes,

the hedgehog lifted the cauldron lid. A delicious aroma from the steaming

vessel caused cries of delight. He wiped the corners of his eyes on a spotted

kerchief and winked at his companion in the armchair.

"Pearl Queen Pudden, messmate—nothin' like it on a cold wet day. Come on, me

little mateys, pass these bowls *n' spoons around while it's still nice an'

hot."

All that could be heard was the scrape of spoon upon bowl as they sat eating

breakfast. The ancient squirrel finished his portion and ruffled the ears of a

mouse sitting on the chair arm. "You enjoying that, Jerril?"

The little mouse licked his spoon. * 'Pearl Queen Pud-den's nice. What's in

it?"

"Ask my mate. He made it."

The old hedgehog cleared the Dibbuns from his armchair on the other side of

the hearth and sat down chuckling, his huge stomach shaking like a bowl of

jelly. "Hohohoh! I'll tell ye what's in Pearl Queen Pudden, young Jerril.

Anythin' a beast can lay his paws on. Apples, nuts, berries, plums, an'

memories, lots o' memories. Ain't that right, messmate?"

The squirrel's eyes shone as he gazed into the fire.

The BellmoJcer 3

"Aye, that's right. Memories. Long seasons gone an' high old summers that

never fade from our minds."

The bass-voiced molebabe looked up from his second helping. "Do that mean ee

goin' to tell us'n's a tale, zurr?" he asked.

"Well, there's nothing else t'do in weather like this," said the ancient

squirrel, as he put aside his bowl and spoon. "Aye, I'll tell you a story, but

my mate will have to help me out in parts, because it's a very long tale."

Jerril was licking his bowl, but he popped his head out to say, "Did yer make

it up, sir?"

The squirrel shook his grizzled head vigorously. "Make it up? Indeed not. No,

young feller, this story is true. 'Tis not just my story; it belongs to many

creatures. 1 gathered their own bits from each one of 'em."

The hedgehog in the armchair opposite nodded. "Aye, though it would've never

happened but for one, a mouse called Joseph the Bellmaker, for the dream was

his."

Outside, the rain flattened young grass and the wind rattled leafless branches

that were trying hard to put out small buds. A delicately thin icicle tinkled

from the gatehouse roof, like the last tear of winter. Inside, the ruddy

firelight gleamed on the young faces, each one watching the ancient squirrel

as he leaned forward and began the story.

BOOK ONE

The Dream

It is said that in the hungry land of ice and snow from whence he came the

beast was known and feared by the names he had taken. Fox wolf! The Urgan

Nagru!

He and his mate, Silvamord, commanded a vast horde of savage gray rats. They

ravaged the northlands unopposed—tundra, forest, and mountain lay under the

claws of Nagru and his vixen. But the Foxwolf knew there was one enemy he

could never defeat, one foe more ruthless than any living thing. Winter!

Snow, ice, howling blizzards, and famine were the real rulers of the country

he had despoiled, a bone-chilling starkness that conquered all. Nagru and

Silvamord were forced to yield, realizing that starvation and death stalked

the country they had stripped bare. So it was that Nagru took Silvamord and

all the horde in three great ships to search for the sun.

Those were the dangerous seasons. Battered across dark, roaring seas they

went, narrowly dodging huge floating ice mountains, the ships' sails and

riggings frozen

8BRIAN JACQUES

stiff with rimy spray. Sometimes they lay becalmed in ghostly latitudes,

wreathed in spectral mists with the waters beneath them still and fathomless.

Completely lost, the Foxwolf plowed onward, driven across trackless wastes

where no vessel's bow had ever cut spray, avoiding leviathans of the deep and

shoals of unnamed sea-beasts. Strange, hostile waters closed over their wake

as the weary convoy sailed deeper into the unknown.

Then one morning the lookouts saw that the seas were gentler. Small fish swam

playfully alongside the wave-scoured hulls, and the weather turned fair.

Gazing upward, the eyes of Foxwolf beheld fleecy white clouds with sun peeping

between them. Looking out to the horizon, he saw the thin green-brown line of

land. The Foxwolf threw back his head and howled triumphantly.

He had defeated the wide, wintry seas. Silvamord joined him on deck, and

together they bayed their defiance at the blue spring sky. Roaring and

screeching, the gray rat horde thronged decks and rigging to cheer their

leaders. It was a curious sight: three big, battered ships, swarming with

thin, wild-eyed creatures, tattered sails flapping above creaking decks as

they rode the ingoing swell toward shore. And so it was that Urgan Nagru came

to the far south!

The land lay like a dream out of time under the spell of early spring.

Southsward! A soft, peaceful region of plenty that had never felt the cruel

breath of war. Stowing the three ships up a heavily wooded creek, Nagru waded

ashore with Silvamord and their ragged, murderous followers. Lean from hunger

and privation, eager for loot and conquest, they pressed hurriedly inland. The

time of the Foxwolf had come to Southsward!

The BeUmaker

From his vantage point on a wooded hilltop, Rab Stream-battle gazed across the

valley to Castle Floret. The otter had watched and planned almost every day as

spring passed into summer. Castle Floret stood atop a high flat plateau, its

north side abutting the sheer cliff face. The castle's other three sides were

surrounded by a crescent-shaped moat. A mighty drawbridge commanded almost a

third of the front south side, and at this edge the plateau had a long flight

of broad steps carved into the living rock from top to valley floor.

Rab stared sadly at his old home. It resembled a beautiful forgotten cake left

standing on the green-clothed tableland. Against a sky of dusty blue,

cream-colored towers shimmered beneath quaint, circular red-tiled roof-caps.

Dark green ivy and golden saxifrage flourished amid the crenellations. Campion

and climbing roses burgeoned carelessly over windowsills and framed doors. The

hot afternoon did not contribute the slightest breeze to ruffle the variegated

pennants draped idly around tall flagpoles.

Rab dismissed the dreamlike qualities of his old home, riveting his worried

brown eyes on the window alongside the drawbridge top. Had something gone

wrong? Did Nagru know of the escape that had been planned? His friends, Gael

Squirrelking, Queen Serena, and little Truf-fen, had they received the message

from Relph the blackbird? The otter clutched his bow tightly, staring at the

window, awaiting the signal as thoughts raced through his troubled mind.

Why, oh why, had Gael not listened to him? Rab recalled the day he had first

argued with his friend. The quarrel had become furious and bitter and had

ended with

IO

BRIAN JACQUES

Gael ordering his old friend either to curb his tongue or leave the castle.

Stone-faced, Rab stalked angrily out of Floret, taking the entire otter castle

guard with him—not because he feared Nagru, but because he could see the evil

that Gael was blind to.

Rab hated and loathed the cunning Foxwolf with an intensity that banished all

fear. Now his friend the Squir-relking and his family were prisoners in their

own home. The wickedness of Nagru was a specter that would soon blight the

whole of Southsward. Gael should have heeded the warnings Rab had issued, but

instead he chose to play the king and offer the Foxwolf hospitality.

Suddenly, Rab's eye caught a flutter of iridescent blue-black wings carrying a

scrap of red cloth to the window by the drawbridge.

Rab Streambattle notched an arrow to his bowstring.

The escape was on!

The sun hung like a hot merciless eye, watching two small creatures huddled in

the shade of a shale outcrop on die wasteland floor. The mousemaid Mariel of

Redwall shook an empty flask over the outstretched tongue of her friend

Dandin. Two single drops fell slowly, then no more.

"Put your tongue away," she said, sadly. "The sun will think we're mocking

him."

The young mouse nodded skyward as he withdrew his parched tongue. "Huh, he's

been mocking us for the last week."

They both sat staring at the empty flask. Mariel gently kicked her slack

haversack. "Two stale oatcakes in there. D'you fancy one?"

Dandin smiled ruefully. "No thanks. They're the two

The BeUmaker

ii

you said you'd keep as a memento of Redwall Abbey. It's four seasons since we

left there—I'd break every tooth in my head trying to chomp on them. Besides,

I'm too dry to eat. Whew, it's too hot even to talk!"

Mariel closed her eyes, settling back into the shade. "Sleep then; we'll carry

on tonight when it gets cooler."

Dandin lay down clasping his paws behind his head and called out to the sun,

"Did you hear that? We're going to sleep, turn the heat down a bit, will you!"

Mariel opened one eye. "Get to sleep, thirstygut," she said.

Dandin closed his eyes. There was a moment's silence, then he began talking

aloud to himself. "It'll be teatime back at the Abbey now. I bet I know what

they'll be having, too. Cold strawberry cordial from deep in the cellars,

October ale, dark and cool in foaming tankards. Prob'ly mint tea as well, icy

cold, brewed since dawn, clear and fragrant, just right for sipping on a hot

day like ...Yowch!"

Mariel brandished the haversack over her friend. "One more word and I'll let

you have it again!"

"Can't hear you, old mouseypaws," Dandin said as he flopped against her,

rolling his eyes comically. "You've knocked me senseless with those two

oatcakes in there."

"Good. Perhaps you'll be quiet now."

"Quiet? I haven't said a single word!"

"Right, then I'll say a single word. Goodnight!"

"Don't you mean good afternoon?"

"I mean goodnight, or I'll brain you with this haversack!"

"Oh, righto. Goodnight!"

12 BRIAN JACQUES

Mariel woke in darkness. Warned by her warrior instinct, she lay motionless.

Somebeast was trying gradually to sneak the haversack out from under her head.

It was not Dandin—she could hear his snores drifting gently up to the canopy

of the star-strewn night. As the final corner of their supply bag eased slowly

away, she sprang into action. Slamming a footpaw hard on the haversack, she

prevented the thief from making off with it. In the dim light, Mariel could

make out a small, fat figure scurrying off into the wasteland. Snatching one

of the two ancient oatcakes from the bag, the mousemaid hefted it like a

discus, yelling as she flung it.

"Redwaaaaallll!"

Thonk!

It struck edge on, right between the robber's ears. He dropped in a heap.

Dandin leaped up, still half asleep, his paws waving.

"More October ale there! Wha ... Who ... Mariel!"

As she ran toward the felon, the mousemaid was yelling, "I knew those

oatcakes'd come in useful—got the blaggard!"

Dandin followed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he arrived upon the scene,

Mariel was kneeling crestfallen over her quarry. "Oh dear, what've I done?"

she wailed. "He's only a little un!"

It was a small hedgehog. Dandin stooped to feel the big bump in the center of

its head.

"Middle of the night, running target, great shot I'd say."

Mariel turned on him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, Dandin, how could you

say that. I'd never have thrown at such a little feller intentionally. But it

all hap-

The BeUmaker 13

pened so quickly, I couldn't see who it was."

Dandin picked up the oatcake and chuckled. "Not to worry—look, the little

rogue's coming around fine. Haha, this is a true Redwall missile. See, there's

not even a mark on it!"

The small hedgehog sat up slowly, gingerly pawing his head. He blinked at them

and said, "Ooh! Where be I? Wot 'appened?"

Before Mariel could answer, Dandin chipped in, * 'You tripped and bumped your

head, old lad."

Glaring at Dandin, the little beast bristled. "Me name don't be oF lad. I be

Bowly Pintips, an' I'll thank ee to address I proper!"

Dandin adopted a look of mock fear and bowed respectfully. "Accept my humble

apologies, Your Royal Bowlyness!"

Bowly snatched the oatcake and brandished it. "See this 'ere rock as I tripped

over? Well, you make sport o' me, an' I'll biff ye with it! Wot's yore names?

Speak up now afore I loses me temper with ye both!"

The hedgehog's impudence caused Mariel's mood of pity to vanish instantly. She

grabbed Bowly firmly by his nose, pulling him up on tippaw, and said, "Listen

to me, you cheeky little robber. I'm Mariel of Redwall and this is Dandin.

We're both warriors. So keep a civil tongue in your head, or we'll give you

two more lumps to go on top of the one you've already got!"

Tears streamed from Bowly's eyes as his nose was squeezed. "Yowow! Leggo ob be

doze, yore hurtig bee!"

Mariel released him and he groveled in the sand, rubbing at both bump and

snout. The mousemaid nodded as she sat by him.

BRIAN JACQUES

"That's better. Now, what's a little snippet like you doing out in the

wastelands all alone? Where's your mum 'n' dad?"

Bowly shrugged glumly. "Never 'ad none as I c'd remember. Two weasels *ad me

catchered south of 'ere, made me slave for 'em, tied me to a post at nights,

but I 'scaped an' mimed away."

Dandin's friendly face grew grim. "How far south are these two weasels,

Bowly?" he asked.

"About arf a night's march from 'ere. I only 'scaped just afore dark, Mister

Dandy."

"My name's Dandin, not Mister Dandy," said Dandin, pawing the long dagger at

his belt. "These two weasels, have they got food and drink?"

"O aye, they got vittles aplenty. Robs travelers, they do."

Mariel had retrieved the haversack. She knotted the carrying ropes together,

exchanging a slow smile with Dandin. "Let's go and pay these two weasels a

visit," she said.

The sand and shale were still warm from the day's heat, but the night air was

cool as the three creatures strode south. Bowly Pintips giggled aloud when

Dandin explained their plan to him.

Spurge and Agric the weasel slavers sat by their fire as dawn's rosy paws

probed the eastern horizon. They were trying to brew a pan of mint tea, and

making a total mess of it. At the side of the fire lay a stack of raw apple

pancakes. Spurge burned his paw on the pan handle and danced about waving it.

"Rot me ears,'ow does that Hddle spikedog brew this stuff?''

Agric prodded the pancakes with a wicked-looking willow cane. "Search me," he

said. "Huh! I ain't sure 'ow t'cook these pancakes the rascal made las' night.

Rotten liddle pincushion, we'll track 'im down; he can't go far without water

in the wastelands. Wait'11 I lay claws on *im. I'll make that runaway weep fer

a season or more!" He swished the cane through the air, grinning crookedly in

anticipation of giving Bowly a severe whipping.

"Mornin', sirs. Sorry I runned off like'n that las' night!"

Spurge's jaw dropped. There was Bowly, ambling around the big shale rock that

marked their camp. Quivering with rage, Agric pointed with the cane to a

wooden

i6

BRIAN JACQUES

The Bel/maker

post driven into the ground with a heavy shackling rope attached to it.

"Yew liddle scum, I'm goin' to bind you t' that post an' lash the prickles

offa yore hide. Cummere!"

Spurge knocked the cane aside. "After brekkfist, matey. We want 'im fit t'

cook our vittles first. Get to it, yew lazy lump!"

Obediently, Bowly stirred crushed mint leaves into the bubbling water, setting

the pancakes on a thin shale slab which he balanced over the fire's edge. As

he worked, Mariel strolled into the camp, smiling foolishly. She waved a paw

at the two weasels.

"Morning! Lovely day, isn't it? Any breakfast going spare for a hungry

traveler?"

Spurge and Agric could not believe their luck. Not only had the runaway

surrendered, but they had suddenly got themselves a simpleton mousemaid

traveling alone. It surely was turning out to be a nice day.

"Wot y'got in there, mousey?" said Spurge, eyeing the haversack their new

arrival was carrying.

Mariel winked and wrinkled her nose. "Oh, a bit of this V that, y'know."

The weasels went into a huddle, sniggering and whispering. After a while Agric

turned to Mariel saying, "If yew wants to eat you gotta 'elp, see. There's

fresh fruit an' water in that holler under the rock. Yew 'elp that lazy

'edgepig to ready the vittles, then we'll see yew gets somethin' nice, won't

we, matey?"

Spurge gave a malicious chuckle. "Ho yerss, it'll be a real surprise!"

The food stock was good. Mariel busied herself preparing a fruit salad of

strawberries, apples, plums, and

pears. Pouring honey and water into a gourd, she crushed damsons in it and

began shaking up a cordial. The weasels sat in the shade of the rock as the

morning sun got up. They nudged each other, sniggering with ill-concealed

mirth. Mariel winked at Bowly as she called out,

"Morning's risen and breakfast's here, Eat, my friends, and be of good cheer!"

Flipping his long dagger from paw to paw, Dandin strode boldly into the camp,

kicking the weasels* foot-paws out of his way, instead of stepping over them.

"Well, well, Mariel the Gullwhacker, am I invited to eat?"

Mariel gave a roar of laughter quite inappropriate for a simple traveling

mousemaid. "Hoho! Dandin, you old warrior, welcome!"

Mariel and Bowly laid the food down on the ground.

Dandin sat down between the two astonished weasels, calling out to Bowly,

"Come on, little un, grab a plate and spoon—join us."

Bowly obeyed with a will, helping himself to a hot apple pancake and a cooling

beaker of damson cordial. As the weasels reached out for food, Dandin dealt

them a couple of sharp slaps with the flat of his dagger blade and clucked

disapprovingly at them. "Teh, tch! Where's your manners? Guests and young uns

first. I'll tell you when it's your rum."

By this time, the two weasels were looking distinctly uneasy. A lone mousemaid

was one thing, but this Dandin looked like a seasoned warrior.

i8

BRIAN JACQUES

The Bellmaker

Mariel, Dandin, and Bowly ate heartily, letting the mint tea cool as they

sipped damson cordial and treated themselves to hot apple pancakes and fruit

salad.

"You'd have to be a robber and travel wide to get stuff like this, eh, young

un?" Dandin said cheerfully to Bowly.

Bowly nodded sagely. "Aye, that y'would, Sir Dandy."

"Robbers must have to be good cooks. What d'you say, Bowly?'' said Mariel,

sipping some mint tea appreciatively.

' 'No, marm, some robbers is slavers too. They catchers a liddle slave an'

makes 'im do all the work. Robbers is awful creatures—they beats their slaves

an' ties 'em up nights to a post wi' a big 'eavy rope, like that'n yonder."

The weasels were very nervous now. Dandin caught their attention as he slit a

pancake neatly in half with the keen edge of his dagger. His voice was low and

dangerous as he said, "I don't suppose honest creatures like you would know of

two such slavers, would you?"

Agric developed a sudden stammer. "N ... n ... no S ... sir!" he squawked, his

throat bobbing nervously.

Bowly gurgled, spraying mint tea as he tried to suppress an attack of the

giggles. The weasels were robbers and bullies, but when faced with the two

warriors they were cowards.

Dandin stared hard at the trembling slavers and, picking up the willow cane,

he swished it under their noses. "Mariel, what d'you think, are these two

telling the truth?"

The mousemaid strode across to the wooden post the weasels had driven into the

ground to tether Bowly. She unfastened the short, heavy rope from it. Winking

at

;; Bowly and Dandin, she began tying a solid, complicated 4 knot in the rope's

end. "Oh I don't know," she said. ;:< *'They look like fairly respectable

beasts to me."

From the weasels* food cache she produced half a dozen mixed beech and

hazelnuts, still in their shells. * Placing them in a line on a flat rock, she

turned to Spurge and Agric.

"See this knotted rope? I used to own one like it— called it my Gullwhacker. I

could lay a big seabird flat with one blow. Now I can't see any gulls

hereabouts, but there1 d be other things to whack if I thought certain

creatures were lying to us."

Spinning the knotted rope in a skillful blur, Mariel dealt six lightning blows

to the nuts on the rock.

Whack! Smack! Crack! Thud! Bang! Splat!

The weasels squeaked with fright. Trembling, they stared wide-eyed at the line

of kernel and shell fragments, which was all that remained of the six nuts.

Mariel dangled the Gullwhacker a fraction from their noses. "See what I mean?"

Bowly grinned from ear to ear as he patted the weasels none too gently on

their heads. "Nay, nay, you've made a mistake. I c'n see these are two good

vermints. Why, I wager given arf a chance they'd thank us for callin' in to

brekkist an' give us water 'n' vittles to 'elp us pore travelers on our way,

wouldn't you?"

Spurge and Agric took the hint swiftly. Leaping up, they loaded their food and

drink store into the haversack. Bowly stood by, tossing the two hard oatcakes

up and down.

"These be my throwin' rocks. I been knowed to fetch

20

BRIAN JACQUES

foebeasts down at fair distances with 'em, cos I be a warrior too, see."

Dandin removed sufficient supplies for a day from the pack and laid them in

front of the weasels. "You haven't had breakfast yet—here, take this with our

compliments. We're traveling south. Which way are you bound?" Spurge shrugged

unhappily. "North, I think, sir." Mariel swung the Gull whacker expertly

across her shoulders. ' 'Well, keep an eye out for those two thieving robbers

we mentioned, and be careful—it's dangerous country out here."

Dandin spun his dagger in the air. Catching it by the hilt, he thrust it into

his belt. "Aye, take care; never know who you might bump into.'"

And the three friends strode off calling cheerful goodbyes to the crestfallen

weasels.

Thoroughly refreshed, they stepped out with a will. A mere half morning's walk

brought them in sight of green, hilly scrubland and the promise of gentle,

fertile countryside. Bowly trudged alongside Mariel, tossing his two oatcakes

in the air.

The mousemaid caught one and said, "Now then, you young rip, what are we going

to do about you?"

The small hedgehog snatched the oatcake back indignantly. "I've told ye my

name be Bowly Pin tips; I ain't no young rip. I be goin' wi' you an' Dandy; I

be a warrior from now on!"

Dandin sliced an apple into three with his dagger and

gave them each a piece, winking at Mariel over the small

hedgehog's head. "What d'you think—has he got the

makings of a warrior?''

Bowly scrunched his face into a ferocious scowl to

The Bellmaker 21

show that he had. Mariel returned Dandin's wink. "Being a warrior doesn't

always mean a fierce face; warriors are also renowned for their gentleness."

Bowly immediately changed his expression until he thought he looked gentle

enough to charm baby birds from their nests. Stifling their smiles, Mariel and

Dandin carried on extolling warrior virtues, while Bowly took note of all they

said.

"Oh yes, warriors are handsome beasts." Bowly wobbled his head, fluttered his

eyes, and tried hard to look handsome.

"You're right, Dandin, but I've known warriors who can look very stern too."

The handsome Bowly suddenly transformed into one with a grim jaw jutting and

what he imagined were cold, gimlet eyes. Mariel spluttered and coughed on a

bite of apple, while Dandin held his ribs tight to stop the laughter bubbling

out.

' 'Aye, but give me the warrior with that devil-may-care look, one who can

slay ruthlessly but still manage to laugh merrily—now that's the fellow for

me!" Bowly's small face contorted as he tried to glare out of one eye while

twinkling merrily with the other, and he brandished his two oatcakes as if

ready to slay with them at a moment's notice, at the same time emitting a

savage growl which he tried to couple with a merry laugh. Turning to his two

companions, who were shaking with unexploded laugher, he sighed wearily.

"Phwaaw! It do take much 'ard work to look like a warrior!"

The two teasers laughed heartily, patting Bowly's tender young prickled head.

"We think you'll make a splendid warrior, don't we, Dandin?"

22

BRIAN JACQUES

"Right! We'll be three warbeasts traveling south through thick and thin to

wherever our adventures take us!"

Bowly's face lit up in a happy grin, and he clasped the paws of his two

comrades firmly. "Aye, an' never fear. Til take care of ee both!"

Queen Serena watched her little son, Truffen, sadly as he sat alone in the

center of Castle Floret's banqueting chamber. Poor squirrelmite, forced to

spend his days and nights in captivity, often separated from both parents,

with only his old badger nurse, Muta, to protect him. Serena and her husband,

Gael Squirrelking, sat together at one side of the chamber, with Truffen at

his bench in the center, while on the opposite side Nagru and Silvamord

occupied the positions of honor at high table, surrounded by rodent Captains.

Brian Jacques - Redwall 07 - The Bellmaker

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