Doomwyte

“Yeehaarrr! I made it, first ’ere! Now where’s all the loot hidden?”

Bisky and Dubble heard the screeches. Bulling through the undergrowth, they came hurtling onto the scene. Jeg was beating at his smouldering midriff, performing a crazy dance, he banged head-on into Bisky, knocking him flat. Even in his panic, Jeg immediately recognised his former prisoners. Hardly pausing to take breath, the tree rat bounded off into the woodlands.

Spingo was sawing away at Dwink’s bonds with a small dagger. She called down to them, “Looka this, there’s some pore squirrel strung upside down ’ere. Lend a paw, mates, mebbe he knows where the loot’s hid!”

Bisky took one look. “Great seasons, it’s Dwink! Wait there, Spingo, I’m comin’. Hang on, Dwink!”

Dubble grabbed Bisky’s paw; his eyes were like chips of ice in a winter storm. “Did ye see who that was? Jeg, the dirty liddle scum who had us strung up in that tree!”

Bisky pulled free of his friend. “That’s a Redwaller up there, I’ve got to go an’ help him!”

The young Guosim dashed off, calling back, “Right, you do that, mate, I’m after that filthy villain. I took an oath I’d meet up with him again someday. See ye later!”

Between them, Spingo and Bisky used Jeg’s rope to lower Dwink to the ground. They sat him against the oak trunk, ministering to him. Bisky bathed his friend’s face with cool water, rubbing his paws gently to restore the circulation. Spingo took dried herbs from her satchel; she lit them from the remnants of Jeg’s fire. When they began smouldering she shoved them under Dwink’s nose. He was thrust, spluttering and coughing, into wakefulness. Bisky pulled a face as he caught a whiff of Spingo’s reviver.

“Yurk! What d’you call those herbs, they smell foul!”

The Gonfelin maid shrugged. “Dunno wot they’re called, but they always do the trick, mate. See, yore friend’s as bright as a bumblebee now.”

Dwink groaned, but managed a wry smile. “I’ll live, though I thought I was a dead un for certain. Who’s yore pretty friend, Bisky?”

Further chitchat was cut short. Bosie marched in, heading a veritable horde. Guosim, Gonfelins, Redwallers, plus the whole tribe of captive Painted Ones. The Highland hare saluted Bisky and Spingo. “Ah see ye’ve found wee Dwink, well done!” He turned to confront the other two Chieftains. “Now, mah bonnies, how do we find this loot?”

Tugga Bruster snarled, “Git that fire blazin’ good an’ leave it t’me. I’ll make the scum talk!”

Skipper flexed his brawny rudder, glaring at the Guosim Log a Log. “Ye’ll do no such thing!”

Nokko tossed a rope over one of the oak’s lower branches. “Leave it to us Gonfelins, Skip. Jus’ yew sit tight wid these Painty Ones ’til we get back. Hah, if’n there’s any loot, boodle or swipin’s up in that ould tree, my bunch’ll find ’em!”

Within moments the ancient tree was swarming with small, raggedy mice, each bent on being first at the spoils. Scrabbling over one another, they argued and shouted in a manner that would have put even the Guosim to shame.

“Oi yew, gerrout me way, this is my branch!”

“Hah, who died an’ left it ter yew, move over!”

“Who are yew talkin’ to, big gob?”

“Big gob is it? Good job I left me sambag at ’ome, or yew’d be takin’ a long snooze fer sayin’ dat!”

“Yah, go an’ sambag yer granny!”

Samolus placed both paws over his ears. “Such shocking language, what a dreadful row!”

Bisky was inclined to agree. “Aye, that it is!”

Bosie whispered confidentially to him, “Mind, laddie, that pretty maid ye’ve taken sich a braw shine tae, she’s the roughest auld shouter o’ the lot. Aye, a right pawful she is, Ah’m thinking!”

Tugga Bruster came swaggering up to Bisky, addressing him gruffly. “Hoi, you, mouse! Have ye seen my son Dubble around?”

The young mouse pointed. “Aye, he went that way, hard on the paws of a Painted One. Dubble has a score to settle with him.”

The Guosim Log a Log shouldered his iron club. “I never gave him leave t’go. A score, eh? I’ll settle a score or two with that Dubble when he gets back here…. You, wot are ye starin’ at?” Tugga Bruster’s attention was caught by a Painted One glaring at him venomously. He pointed the club at her. “I asked ye a question, thick’ead, why are ye lookin’ at me like that, eh?”

Tala, wife of the dead Painted Chieftain, Chigid, spat on the ground in front of the Guosim leader. “Yeeeeh, you da one wot kill my Chigid, I kill ya soon as I get the chance. Killya dead!”

Early evening sunlight was shafting through the woodland foliage when Nokko and his tribe returned to earth. Umfry could not help remarking to Samolus about their trophies of victory. “Lookit that, Mister Fixa, did ye h’ever see such a pile h’of tatty rubbish. Huh, y’call that loot?”

Samolus nodded. “Indeed, that’s what it appears t’be, but ye must remember, young un, one beast’s rubbish is another’s treasure. They seem happy with it.”