Triss [Redwall 15] by Brian Jacques; Allan Curless

Author:Brian Jacques; Allan Curless
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Redwall Abbey (Imaginary Place), Animals-Fiction, Animals, Adventure and Adventurers, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Fantasy, Imaginary Wars and Battles, Squirrels, Heroes, General, Mice, Good and Evil
ISBN: 9780399237232
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2002-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Triss chuckled. “Come on, you rogue, which way now?”

The drizzle had stopped, and sunlight was peeping out from between the clouds. Shogg shaded his eyes, gazing around.

“See that dip over there? I’m bettin’ there’s a stream run-nin’ through it. So ’ere’s wot I think we should do. We’ll get our paws wet, follow the stream west. They’re bound to get away sooner or later. Riggan’ll pick up our tracks, ye can rely on that. But she’ll only trail us as far as the stream, then she ’as a choice.” As they made their way to the dip, Triss echoed Shogg’s words. “A choice. How do you mean?” The otter gave a sly wink and explained. “Riggan’s choice is simple, mate. Which way did we go after enterin’ the water, west or east? Now ask yoreself, which way d’you suppose two runaways would go? East an’ inland, or west an’

back t’the sea, where there’s a Freebooter ship loaded with vermin who’d slay ye as soon as look at ye, eh?” The otter’s canny scheme dawned on Triss. “Of course! She’ll head east, that’s the sensible choice. You mightn’t be pretty and reserved, but you’ve got a shrewd head on your shoulders, mate. Come on.” Shogg’s guess proved right. There was a thin stream winding through the dip, and it was quite shallow. They proceeded carefully, trying hard not to leave any telltale traces that the slavecatcher could follow. Both fugitives hoped fervently that Whurp and his tribe of Coneslingers would keep Kurda and her Ratguards pinned down for a long while: the longer the better, for the survival of Triss and Shogg depended upon it.

22

Memm Flackery and Sister Vernal sat on two chairs close to the Abbey doors in Great Hall. A trolley served as their table. On it was toasted bread, a jar of comb honey, the first of that summer’s strawberries, and a steaming pot of dandelion tea.

The Harenurse yawned. “Rotten old storm, hope we don’t get another this season. There was one time last night when I thought the bloomin’ roof was comin’ in, the way that blinkin’ thunder sounded!” She munched listlessly on her thick, honeyed toast.

Sister Vernal stopped herself from nodding off and blinked owlishly. “Up on our paws all night, with crying Dibbuns and others who wouldn’t come down from the windows because they wanted to watch the lightning. Dearie me, I’m exhausted.”

“Boom boom! Bangybangybang! Boobooboooom!”

A herd of shrieking little ones dashed past, followed by Ruggum, Roobil and Turfee mousebabe, who were chasing them, pretending to be stormdogs. Memm and Vernal covered their ears.

“Boombangeeboom! I’m a t’under comin’ to getcha! Boom!”

Little Dibbun maids squealed, running in circles with their aprons thrown up over their faces. “Yeeeek, it’s a storm!”

Turfee waved two long cornstalks. He was the lightning. “Tish! Flash! Tish! Tish! I burn you tails off. Tish!” Memm collared him as he dashed past for the third time. Sitting the mousebabe on her lap, she popped a strawberry into his mouth. “Be still, y’little bounder.

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