Mattimeo

Mattimeo’s eyes opened slowly. He felt sick and groggy, but above all frightened. Lifting his manacled paws, he rubbed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being held whilst a hooded figure pressed something against his face. The overpowering sweet sickness of it still hung upon his breath. He had lost count of time. Though it was dark he felt he was in some sort of chamber, and outside it might be night or day; he had no way of knowing.

The creatures around him were groaning, moving restlessly as the effects of the soporific wore off. Then the familiar heavy paw of Auma touched his.

“Mattimeo, is that you? What happened? Where are we?” the badger asked worriedly.

“I don’t know. It’s too dark in here. Feels like a kind of stone room, like Ambrose Spike’s wine cellar at Redwall.”

The others had awakened, and they dragged themselves over to the sound of Auma’s voice. Though their presence was of small comfort, the young mouse could not shake off the dread aura surrounding him. A shrew whimpered in the darkness, then the jangle of keys outside warned them that some creature was about to enter.

A torch flared and they covered their eyes against the brightness of the light. Shadows danced about the stone walls as the torch-bearer entered. It was a rat in a long purple robe. His eyes glinted dully in the flames from the torch, and when he spoke his voice was flat in tone, but menacing and imperious.

“I am Nadaz, Voice of the Host,” he said. “Do not move or dare to talk with me, or you will regret it. Nadaz commands the breath that comes from your mouth. I am the power of life and death over all of you. There is no light in here, nor is there food and water. You will be left in this place until I decide that you are fit to use your eyes again, to eat and to drink. Malkariss has spoken!”

Tess grasped her paw in the darkness. “I’m certain we’ll find that out soon enough.”

Slagar followed Nadaz. They passed through tunnels and rooms, with Vitch trailing nervously behind.

Some of the chambers and corridors they walked along had obviously been built a long time ago by master craftsbeasts; other were crude, hacked and gouged from the earth, with boulders, hard-packed soil and severed tree roots showing in the light of the torches which burnt in wall brackets throughout the strange place.

A long winding passage gave way to a broad rock ledge, and Vitch gazed around in awe. Crystal and mica deposits in the rocks reflected the torchlights of a huge wheel-shaped chandelier, and on the brink of the ledge stood a colossal statue hewn from white limestone. It was the standing figure of a monstrous white polecat, with teeth of crystal and glittering eyes of black jet. Beyond it the ledge dropped away to the depths of the earth. Around the walls winding down to the deeps was a narrow carved stairway which started from the left side of the ledge, losing itself in the misty green light below.

Nadaz beckoned Slagar and Vitch to stand on a groove in the rock some distance away from the statue. The purple-robed rat moved slowly with bended head until he stood close to the figure.

“Who comes near Malkariss?” a sibilant voice echoed from between the crystal teeth.

Nadaz answered, keeping his head bowed, “It is Nadaz, Voice of the Host, O King of the deep, Lord of the abyss, Defier of the sun! The fox Slagar has returned, bringing many creatures young and strong to work in your realm beneath the earth.”

The purple-robed rat returned to his former position. “He is a young rat named Vitch. The fox says that if it pleases you he is a gift, to serve in the ranks of the Host.”

“He is not born to the Host, our ways are not known to him.” The voice was curt and dismissing. “A rat that comes from the place of woodlands is of no use to us. Chain him with the slaves!”

Two black-robed rats appeared out of the shadows. They seized Vitch and chained him, dragging him off as he screamed at Slagar, “Save me! Don’t let them do this to me! I was loyal to you, I served you well. Help me, Slagar!”

The masked fox did not even turn to look at Vitch. He stared at Nadaz and shrugged.

The voice cut short further conversation between Slagar and Nadaz: “Keep the new slaves in darkness without food until I decide they are fit to work. Hunger and lack of light is a sound lesson for creatures that have known freedom in the woodlands. Ask the fox what he wants of me.”

“Malkariss, All-powerful One. Slagar says to remind you of your promise when he brought you the last slave workers: that you give all the land above ground to him, from the gorge to the south boundaries of your realm. He says he will serve your interests faithfully and be your voice above ground.”

“Tell the masked one to be patient awhile. Take him down below and show him the work that is being done to complete my underworld kingdom. I will watch him for a time, and when I have made up my mind that his voice above ground would serve me as well as yours does beneath the earth, then I will send for him.”

Slagar could hardly wait for Nadaz to walk back to him. He had heard the voice of Malkariss clearly.

“Listen, rat, tell your master that I’ve kept my side of the bargain. He promised me that land; now you go and tell him I have a right to the territory!”

Nadaz rattled the skull on his sceptre. The masked fox was suddenly surrounded by the black-robed rats with their short stabbing spears held ready. The Voice of the Host confronted Slagar.

“You don’t tell me anything, fox. You have no rights here, and never dare to make demands upon Malkariss. Your audience is over. Come with me now. If the Lord of the abyss wants to reward you he will do it in due time. Until then, keep a rein on your tongue.”

Feeling far from satisfied, the masked fox was led away down the curving causeway steps by Nadaz and his servants.

The diamond-patterned skullmask moved this way and that as Slagar descended into the green depths. The steps wound down into the earth until they reached the cave bottom, where the green light came from whatever fuel burned in the torches and braziers that dotted the vast and intricate workings.

The Sly One was impressed. Dwellings had been hewn into the rock, streets and avenues stretched before him, some of them looked as if they were part of another building from another time. Groups of young woodlanders, painfully thin and covered in rockdust, worked beneath the whips of their cruel taskmasters, dragging boulders and cutting and dressing stones into square and oblong blocks. Slagar caught a glimpse of some huge unearthly-looking creature that he could not identify.

Nadaz urged him past a band of slaves mixing mortar and cement. Strangely shaped amphitheatres and high arched caverns gave way to a halflit passage, then the party halted in front of a wall. Carved upon it in relief was a weird and curious mural with the figure of Malkariss at its center.

Nadaz turned to him. “This is the limit of our workings. Go now, my blackrobes will take you to your chamber, and there you must wait until Lord Malkariss gives his decision. You are fortunate, fox. Apart from the creatures I command, you are the only one who has set eyes upon the underground world.”

As the black-robed rats led Slagar away, he watched Nadaz from the corner of his slitted hood. The purple-robed rat touched the left paw of the carved polecat and the figure swung inwards. As Nadaz went through, Slagar managed to see a shaft of light on the other side before the carving was pushed back into place.

The Sly One made a mental note that this was a secret exit, then in silence he allowed himself to be led back up the causeway steps. Slagar neither liked nor trusted Malkariss and Nadaz, but he was confident that he could outthink them both. One day he would rule all of this land, above and below ground; at present he was content to wait. The delivery of the slaves had gained him entrance to this strange world. Malkariss would probably think he was an efficient servant, and promotion would follow. Slagar would bide his time, he was nobeast’s servant; only one position interested the masked fox. Complete and utter ruler.

The afternoon had begun fading away in pink-tinged sunlight when Matthias and his friends arrived at the tree. It was a giant pine, standing alone.

Orlando stood and stretched to his full height against it. “By the stripes! It’s so big it makes me feel like a pebble against a mountain. I’ll bet it’d take a lot of otters tail to tip to go round a trunk this size, eh, Cheek?”

The young otter patted the immense girth of the bole. “I’ll say it would. Have you ever seen one like this before, Jess?”

The squirrel shook her tail in admiration. “Never. It’s a wonderful sight. Pity it stands alone, because you can only climb up it or down, you couldn’t leap to another tree. The nearest ones are over there. See? Where Matthias is heading. Hey, Warrior, where are you off to? I thought you wanted to see this tree.”

Matthias walked in a straight line with a measured pace, keeping his eyes to the ground.

Matthias kept walking deliberately. “Remember the rhyme, ‘face the lord who points the way, after noon on summer’s day.’ Right, the tree is the lord who points the way, and it’s gone noon, nearly evening. The shadows are at their longest now. Look at our shadows, they’re much longer than we are. So, if the tree is the biggest thing around, it has the longest shadow. I have an idea that where this shadow ends we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

The rest of the searchers rushed to join him. Like creatures in some solemn procession, they walked along with heads bowed, following the path of the giant pine’s shadow.

It ended upon a humped rock sticking from the heath a short way from a copse. They gathered around the rock.

Matthias banged upon it with his sword hilt. It sounded quite solid. Log-a-Log scratched it, Jess jumped upon it, Orlando tried to push it. In various ways they all tried to make the rock yield up its secret, to no avail. Basil lay flat on his back on top of it, staring up at the rapidly fading day.

“Don’t think much of your idea, old chap. Bit of a damp squib, wot? A rock’s a rock and that’s all this one is.”

Matthias stubbed his paw against the stone. “Ouch! Listen, I’m convinced that this is it; this is where the poem says that death will open up its grave.”

Basil leapt from the rock. “Aha, but we might yet. I’ve remembered something too: our old eating game from the border scouts and foot fighters regiment. You see, we used to put out a great plate of food each, all heaped up as high as they’d go. Now, the one that threw the longest shadow won it all. Never took part meself, food’s far too serious to gamble with. But on summer’s day, that was different. I knew I’d win then, because you get the longest shadows of all on summer’s day.”

Matthias was becoming impatient. “Summer’s day – what summer’s day, Basil? Summer is full of days.”

“So ’tis,” Jabez Stump interrupted, “but to us old woodlanders there’s only one summer’s day: right in the middle.”

Orlando nodded wisely. “Aye, that’s midsummer’s day. My dad told me that.”

“Thank you!” Matthias sighed. “But where does all that get us? We don’t know how far the shadow would fall on midsummer’s day.”

“No, we don’t,” Jess agreed. “However, we could make an educated guess. At least we can see the direction the shadow of the tree is going.”

“Of course, the tree might have been even taller at the time the poem was written,” Jess called out. “It’s very old, and it could have lost a bit off the top in a storm or something. I wonder where the shadow would have ended?”

It was in the copse! One of Log-a-Log’s shrews was first to find it. He held up his paw. “Over here, look!” he shouted excitedly.

A carved stone step screened by bushes was what they had searched for. A few sweeps of Orlando’s axe cleared the surrounding bush, revealing similar steps, a whole flight of them ran out of sight down into the ground. Matthias traced the less worn edge of the first step carefully with his paw. He looked up at them with a stunned expression on his face.

“The rest of it has been worn away. This was Loamhedge. The mice who founded Redwall with Martin the Warrior came from Loamhedge Abbey. They left because of the great sickness that brought death to many creatures. I can remember when I was a little mouse at my history lessons, Great Abbot Mortimer told me of the founders. Abbess Germaine brought the Brothers and Sisters from a place called Loamhedge Abbey, but where exactly it lay nobeast knew. Now we have found it.”

Matthias pushed away the overgrown grass from the side of the step, exposing a standing line of carved mice. The middle one was missing. He drew from his belt the talisman that the old rabbit had given him. It fitted neatly into the center space.

“See, here’s the missing one. That fuddled old rabbit knew where old Loamhedge once was, and he gave me this because it was the only thing of value he possessed. Maybe he too was a slave one time and managed to escape from here, who knows. Great Abbot Mortimer used to say that Loamhedge was a building that was nearly as large as Redwall Abbey.”

Orlando tapped the step with his axe handle. “What’s it doing down there? Are they the cellar steps?”

Jabez Stump looked about the copse. “No, they couldn’t be. If this Loamhedge place had been destroyed, the land would have been covered in debris and great buildin’ stones. This must have happened at the dancin’ of the cliffs.”

Orlando scratched his stripes. “I’m completely baffled now. An Abbey called Loamhedge that was here but isn’t now, and dancing of the cliffs. What’s it all about?”

“We Stumps lived in South Mossflower by the cliffs longer than anybeast,” Jabez explained. “My old grandpa used to tell me about the days of Josh Stump, his great-great-great-grandpa. They say one day long ago our family lived atop of that cliff, but it started a-shakin’ an’ tremblin’ as if the whole cliffs were dancin’. When it stopped, old Josh Stump he said, ‘I won’t live atop of no dancin’ cliffs no more,’ and he took the family to live down in Mossflower Woods. Never a Stump went up ’em again, until I did to search for young Jube.”

Recognition dawned upon Matthias. “Of course, it must have been an earthquake long ago. That was what caused the great gorge we crossed. Yes, and those gardens we passed through. No creature ever had gardens and orchards on such bumpy land. The earth had shifted! You see what happened? Loamhedge Abbey must have been swallowed up when the ground moved. These steps would be dormitory stairs or attic steps, and the whole building must have just dropped straight down into its own cellars. Maybe even further, with the great weight of it all.”

Ironbeak was determined to confront the ghost. He gave the sentries a night off. Taking Mangiz with him, he stood at the sentry post in the galleries as the last crimson sunburst hit the windows of Redwall Abbey, bathing the floor in a glorious deep rose-colored light. Mangiz watched it through swollen eyelids.

“Mayhap the mouse in armour will not walk until the middle of the night, my General,” he said wearily.

“Yarrak! Mayhap it does not walk at all, fool. Mayhap it does not exist. That is what I have brought you here to prove. Tired eyes of dozy rooks will see frogs fly or stones lay eggs. I am Ironbeak, I know better than to believe such things. So should you.”

The sparrow who had been watching them from a slit window made his report to Cornflower and Constance.

“Bird say you no come, black crow worm no so sure. Both wait above Great Hallplace, now.”

Baby Rollo was having imaginary adventures dressed in the helmet of the Warrior. He waved the sword frantically, singing aloud:

“Kill a bird wivout a word,

Hit a black rook wiv a heavy book,

Bang a crow an’ make him go. . . .”

Cornflower relieved him of the wooden sword. “Stop waving that thing about, Rollo. You’ll put somebeast’s eye out with it. So, the General is waiting for the ghost to walk again. Let him wait. When it gets dark enough he won’t be disappointed. The spirit of Martin the Warrior will roam abroad.”

Constance gently polished the burnished breastplate. “You must be careful. He won’t be as easy to fool as those two last night. I think we need a more intricate plan this time.”

Cornflower laughed. “Good, then let’s sit here a good long while and think up a clever scheme. Don’t forget, it was our turn on supper duty tonight, but we’ll be excused because we’re working for the Abbey war effort. John Churchmouse and Ambrose Spike will have to cook the supper.”

Constance stifled a giggle. “Oh no! John and Ambrose, there’ll be war in the kitchen when those two meet over the cooking pots. Right, down to business. Let’s get our thinking caps on.”

The rooks of General Ironbeak were perched in the dormitory. They listened in awed silence as Grubclaw and Ragwing related their encounter with the Abbey ghost, especially as the two rooks were not above adding bits to make it a good story now that Ironbeak and Mangiz were not there.

“Hakka! It was dark out there last night. I could feel in my feathers that something was going to happen,” Ragclaw began.

“Kraak! Me too. It was darker and gloomier than the bottom of a northland well. So Ragwing and I stood sentry with beaks and claws at the ready for any funny business, didn’t we, bird?” Grubclaw added.

“Aye, we did that. Then suddenly Grubclaw says to me, ‘Ragwing, can you see that shadow down there?’”

“Well, er, er. It was the moonlight coming in through the windows. Yes, that’s right it was the moonlight, anyhow—”

The rook butted in again. “Kaah! What a load of old eggshells. It was dark as a northland well, but with moonlight shining through the windows.”

Grubclaw ruffled his feathers airily. “Kragga! Who is telling this, you or us? We know what we saw. But we can keep it to ourselves if you start making fun of us.”

“We saw a shadow in the moonlight,” Ragwing continued. “Well, at first we thought it was a shadow, but when we looked closer it was an earthcrawler.”

Grubclaw nodded solemnly. “A ghost mouse, all in armour. It seemed to appear from nowhere. Graak! It was carrying a long sword and it had no face. It moved like a feather in the breeze. I think it was floating, don’t you, Ragwing?”

“Yes, it definitely floated. And another thing, it carried the long sword as if it weighed nothing. It must have had great spirit strength. The cold lights burned from its eyes like fire in ice—”

“Yaggah! Will you shut your beak and listen? It was, it was, er, the white moonlight shining on it, yes, it made the face that this ghost didn’t have look like two burning eyes. Haak! We saw it, I swear on my egg and nest. Isn’t that right, mate?”

“True, true. It seemed to know we were watching it, because it turned to face us. We perched there, ready to attack if the ghost mouse tried anything.”

“Krakkah! Did it! Well, it pointed with this great sharp sword and said; ‘Death to all who stay in the redhouse!’”

“Aye, that’s the very words it said. But the voice! Kaah! It was like thunder over mountains, I wonder you lot didn’t hear it.”

“Haak! I’ll tell you what we did, we shook our claws at it and said; ‘You come any closer, ghost, and you’ll have us to deal with. Stop there while we go and bring General Ironbeak our Chief,’” Grubwing embroidered.

“Aye, we backed off, ready to give a good fight if it came floating up to the galleries. Ironbeak and Mangiz came out, Mangiz was shaking like a fledgling whose mother has left it,” Ragwing added.

“Kaah, him! He flew about a bit and could not find the ghost, so he said he didn’t believe us and flew off to get some sleep.”

“Yakkah! I don’t know. To the place where other ghost mice go, I suppose.”

“Kagg! I’m not saying anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all. The big door was open wide, Ironbeak couldn’t deny that.”

The conversation carried on, getting more horrific with each imagined detail until some of Ironbeak’s fighters decided that conquering the redstone house was not such a good idea.

Ambrose Spike threw a careless pawful of hotroot into the simmering watershrimp soup.

John Churchmouse glared at the hedgehog over the top of his steamed-up glasses. “Ambrose, the recipe says half a spoon of hotroot. Why didn’t you measure it?”

The old hedgehog bustled John to one side. “Don’t tell me how to make shrimp and hotroot soup. I learned my recipe from otters. A pawful, that’s what you need. Let’s see if that roseleaf and cowslip custard is ready.”

“Don’t you dare touch my custard, you rough-pawed cellar keeper. It’ll be ruined if you open that oven too soon. Come away.”

Ambrose could not get past John to open the oven. He snorted and began furiously kneading nuts into a batch of honeysuckle scones. John tugged his whiskers in despair.

“Honeysuckle scones have a delicate flavour all of their own. Sister Agnes’s recipe calls for beechnuts, but you’ve put acorns and hazelnuts in. Where did those beechnuts I shelled go to?”

Ambrose wrinkled his snout and kneaded faster. “Oh, those. I ate ’em. There was only a few. I’m very partial to a beechnut now and again.”

John clapped a paw to his brow. “You didn’t wash your paws. The whole batch will taste of hotroot!”

Ambrose grinned wickedly. “So what? Ginger ’em up a bit. Give them more blackberry wine to drink and they won’t notice the difference. Come on, quill-pusher, get those onions peeled.”

Late that night a breeze sprang up. Clouds scudded across the moon, sending shifting patterns over the Abbey floor beneath Ironbeak and Mangiz. The Methuselah and Matthias bells rang briefly, stopping abruptly to leave an eerie silence in their wake.

“How can the bells toll when we have the earthcrawlers trapped in that room below?” Mangiz murmured to Ironbeak.

“Kagga! Hold your beak,” Ironbeak silenced him. “I don’t know how they rang the bells and I don’t care. It might be a diversion to stop us watching here. Keep your eyes on the floor below, over by the big door.”

So did the rooks from the dormitory, who had sneaked out on to the far corner of the galleries. Curiosity had overcome their General’s command to stay in the dormitory. They had to see for themselves.

The raven and the crow held their breath as they watched it. A few dried leaves drifted in on the sighing breeze, pale moon patterns swayed on the worn stone floor, and the darkness in shadowy corners seemed to grow deeper.

The ghostly phantom appeared. It came in slowly by the doorway, halted, looked up at Ironbeak and pointed with the sword.

Ironbeak buffeted the crow savagely. “Shuttup, idiot. I’m going to deal with this once and for all!”

The raven went into a short run. He hurled himself over the galleries and sped towards the floor of Great Hall.

There was a cry of horror from the rooks. General Ironbeak skidded to a halt. Landing clumsily in his haste, he bowled over in a bundle of feathers. Swiftly regaining his balance, he dashed outside. It was mere seconds since the ghost had disappeared, but the grounds in front of the Abbey were completely deserted.

Ironbeak whirled about, baffled. He tore at the grass with his talons before rushing back inside. Hither and thither he darted about on the floorstones. Finally he halted, his powerful frame heaving with exertion. Looking upward, he sought something to vent his rage upon. The rooks in the corner of the gallery! They cackled as they dashed to get back to the dormitory, but Ironbeak was swiftly among them, lashing out left and right, tearing with his claws, slamming with strong wings and hitting out with his vicious beak.

“Yaggah, krakkah! Why did you not fly down and catch the thing? You were closer than I was. Get back to your perches, you swamp flies. Go on, out of my sight, you soft-beaked craven! You will forget what you saw here. It was only a trick of the moonlight. If I hear one bird speak of it I will break his wings!”

The rooks fled the scene, with Ironbeak chasing them. Mangiz slipped away quietly from the other end of the galleries, not wanting to face his General’s rage. Great Hall lay quiet and still once more.

Behind the half-open door, Constance and Foremole folded the black cloth which they had used to make Cornflower vanish. The three Redwallers slid silently from the Great Hall, out into the tunnel and back to Cavern Hole, where supper was set out ready for them.

The Abbot took the sword from Cornflower as she unbuckled the armour. “Well, how did it go?” he asked anxiously.

“Perfect, Father Abbot. I appeared, the birds were terrified, the raven flew at me. It was perfect.”

“Easily. Constance and Foremole tossed the black cloth over me, I dodged round the door and we all hid behind it. Ironbeak searched outside and inside, but he didn’t look behind the door.”

Foremole wrinkled his nose. “Yurr, these scones tastes loik ’otroot. Burr, gimme watter. There be enuff ’otroot in yon soops to set afire to you’m!”

Ambrose gave him a look of injured dignity. “Try some of the roseleaf and cowslip custard.”

The Abbot prodded it gingerly. “Oh, is that what it is? I thought it was a collapsed bird’s nest.”

Ambrose sniffed and went off to the wine cellar with his snout in the air. “Well, I enjoyed it. You lot don’t deserve a good cook!”

Night had fallen over the copse. Matthias and Orlando sat upon the step, putting an edge to axe and sword against the stone. Shrews filled their sling pouches, Basil ate his fill, and Cheek and Jess fashioned javelins, hardening their points over the campfire. Daggers, swords and knives were tested, bows made from strong green boughs, arrows tipped and hardened in the fire. It was but a few hours to dawn when all the preparations were completed. They lay down to take a brief rest.

Before they slept, Matthias, Jess, Orlando and Jabez stood above the stone step. They held paws foursquare and swore a solemn oath.

“At dawn we will go down those steps. We will not come back up without our young ones, nor will we come up if the fox still lives.”

Orlando turned to the five shivering weasel captives and pointed his axe at them.