"03 - Mattimeo UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

He released Vitch and the small rat huddled on the ground, sobbing. Slagar spat on him contemptuously. "Get up, misery guts. If you're still lying there in a moment, you'U feel my sword. That really will give you something to moan about."

Vitch picked himself up slowly and painfully. Next moment he was sent hurtling by a kick on the behind from Slagar.

"Gam! Get yourself out of my sight, you snivelling snotface."

Vitch departed hastily, leaving Slagar to take his ease

once more. The Cruel One lay back, all thoughts of sleep banished by one word which echoed around his twisted mind like an eerie melody. Revenge!

26

Matthias the Warrior of Redwall stood with his back to the empty fireplace. Cornflower had gone out early to help with the baking. Golden morning sunlight streamed through the windows of the small gatehouse cottage, glinting off the dewy fruit piled upon the table. There was a pitcher of cold cider, some cheeses and a fresh-baked loaf set out for breakfast but Matthias lacked the appetite to do it justice and stared miserably about the room. It was neat and cheerful, which did not reflect the Warrior's mood.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in, please," he called, straightening up.

The Foremole entered, tipping the top of his black velvet furred head with a huge digging claw. He wrinkled his button nose in a wide smile that almost made his bright tittle eyes vanish.

"Gudd morn to you'm, Mattwise, yurr. Uz motes be diggen a cooker pit r*day. May'aps you'ud loik to 'elp?"

Matthias smiled fondly. He patted his old friend's back, knowing the mole had come to cheer him up.

"Thank you for the offer, Foremole. Unfortunately I have other more serious business to attend this morning. Hmm, that sounds like it in the next room, just getting out of bed. Will you excuse me, my friend?"

"Hurr hurr, ee be a roight laddo, yurr young Mattee. Doant wack 'im too 'ard naow," Foremole chuckled, and left to join his crew.

Matthias had been far too angry to deal with his son on the previous afternoon, so he sent him straight off to bed without tea or supper. Now the Warrior stood facing the bedroom door, watching the tousled head of his son peer furtively around the door jamb.

Seeing his father, he hesitated.

"Come in, son." The Warrior curled a paw at him.

The young mouse entered, gazing hungrily at the laden breakfast table before turning to face his father. Sternness had replaced the previous day's anger on the Warrior's face.

"Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Mattimeo?"

"'m sorry," Mattimeo mumbled.

"I should hope you are."

'"m very sorry," Mattimeo mumbled again.

"Foremole said I should whack you. What do you mink?"

"'m very very sorry, 't won't happen again. Dad."

Matthias shook his head, and placed a paw on his son's shoulder.