"05 - Salamandastron UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

It was a plain-spoken, matter-of-fact statement, but every-beast within hearing knew that the Assassin was not joking. Ferahgo seldom joked, even though he did smile a lot.

Dethbrush the fox and his six tracker rats loped in from the south. He heard Feadle announce their sighting from his high perch: "Dethbrush an' the trackers coming in, Master!"

The fox stood by as Ferahgo, still lying down with his eyes closed, questioned him.

"You have not brought Dingeye and Thura back with you?"

Dethbrush was weary, but he did not dare sit or relax. "No, Master. We tracked them for two moons. They have gone east, into the flatlands on the other side of these mountains."

Ferahgo's paw strayed to the handle of his favorite knife. "It does not please me when my orders are not carried out."

Dethbrush tried hard to stop his limbs trembling; he swallowed hard, licking at dry lips.

"Master, we searched night and day without rest. They must have found a way to cross the south streamЧthat is where I lost their tracks. I thought it would be better to report back to you, rather than get lost in strange country."

Ferahgo opened his eyes. He was not smiling. "You did right, Dethbrush. Rest and eat until tomorrow. Then you will go tracking again with your rats. But remember, I want Dingeye and Thura, or their heads, brought back here to me. It is bad for the morale of my Corpsemakers if they realize that deserters can escape my punishment and roam free. Do you understand?"

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Dethbrush gave a sigh of relief and nodded. "I understand, Ferahgo. This time I won't fail you."

Ferahgo closed his eyes. "Make sure you don't, my friend." He smiled slightly and waved a paw in dismissal.

Dethbrush went to look for water, his mouth dry with fear.

Redwall Abbey slumbered peacefully under the noontide sun. A songthrush trilled sweetly from the surrounding greenery of Mossflower Woods, its melodious tune echoing from the dusty red sandstone walls of the main building to the outer ramparts. Somewhere in the Abbey pool a trout half leaped at a passing gnat, missed it and flopped back lazily into the water. Two moles lugging a trolley laden with vegetables for the kitchen turned at the sound, commenting in their quaint mole-speech.

"Ee be a gurt noisy trowt that un, eh, Burrley." Burrley, the smaller of the two, wrinkled his button nose. "Hurr, you'm doant say. Oi'd be gurt 'n' lazy iffen oi dwelled inna pond wi' nothen t' do. Ho urr!"

They trundled into the Abbey, speculating on the easy lifestyle of trouts who lived in ponds.

Mrs. Faith Spinney was picking fruit in the orchard. The good hedgehog lady muttered quietly to herself as she checked the contents of her basket.

"Early plums, gooseberries, small pears. . . dearie me, they are liddle uns too. No mind, they'll make tasty cordial. Damsons aren't near ready yetЧpity, I do like a good damson

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pudden. Now let me see, what have I forgotten?"

The sight of a tree jogged her memory.

"Apples, of course! Those big green uns be just right for bakin' pies."