"08 - The Outcast of Redwall UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

It was a warm old autumn afternoon of russet and gold, a time for legends and stories of seasons long gone. Blue haze on the far horizon blended sea and sky into one. On the pale sands of a silent shore, ebbing waves had carelessly strewn a broken necklace of shells and pebbles along the tideline. Standing tall and mysterious was the mountain, like some huge beast guarding the coast. Salamandastron! Stronghold of Badger Lords and fighting hares. Once, when the earth was young, it had spouted fire and molten rock. But the winds of time had long since banished smoke from the monolith, cooling its stones. Now Salamandastron was home and fortress combined, run through and honeycombed with halls, caverns, corridors, chambers, tunnels, and secret places.

Midway up the west face on a broad rocky ledge tufted with shrubs and wildflowers, a picnic lunch was set, close to the mouth of a tunnel entrance. Half a score of leverets, young hares, attended by a fully grown harewife, sat watching an

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ancient otter. Stooped and grayed by many seasons, he stood leaning on an ash pole, shaking his grizzled head in disapproval, as old creatures often will when faced with the young. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly strong for an old-beast.

"Hmph! Wish I was at die Abbey, those young 'uns at Redwall have proper manners. Instead o' layin' about gawpin', first thing they'd do would be help a body sit down!"

Stifling a smile, the harewife watched die leverets scurrying around the aged otter, doing their best to show respect and concern as they assisted him.

"A seat, y'say, nothing simpler, old chap, er, I mean, sir." "Pop y'self down here, sir, grass is nice an' soft, wot!" "Whoops a daisy! Easy does it, oF sir!" "Lean y'back on this rock, that's the ticket!" "Righto, ancient one, comfy enough now?" The venerable beast nodded slowly. "Well enough, thank ye. Now, are you all goin' t'stand mere watchin' a pore creature starve?"

There followed a further scuffle as the young hares set food and drink before their guest.

"Enough tuck to kill a duck here, sir!" "Summer Salad an' a beaker of Old Mountain Ale." "How about fresh-baked carrot'n'leek flan?" "Some scones with gooseberry jelly, very good y'know!" "Rather! Give the old chap a hot pastie!" When the old otter was served, the harewife beckoned the young ones back to their seats. "Good show, chaps, but mind y'manners or Mr. Rillbrook won't tell you a story."

Beneath fuzzy brows, Rillbrook's old eyes glinted mischievously. He broke open a steaming pastie and said, grumpily, "Story? Just stopped here t'rest awhile, marm, wasn't intend-in' t'do no storytellin'."

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A fat, cheeky leveret piped up indignantly, "Scoffin' a load of our grub an' not tellin' a story? I say, what a bally swizz!"

The harewife cuffed his long ear lightly. "Burrbob! That's quite enough from you, m'laddo. I don't think you deserve a story after such impudence!"

Rillbrook took a deep draught of Mountain Ale, smacked his lips, and wiped a paw across his mouth. "Oh, I dunno, marm, a good story often teaches rotters an' rogues to be better creatures."

The leverets shouted encouragement eagerly.

"Rather, tell on, old chap!"

"I'll say! Anythin' t'make us better creatures, wot?"

"Do us the world o' good, doncha know!"

The ancient otter waited until silence fell and they were watching him expectantly, then he began.

"They call me Rillbrook the Wanderer, son of Rillbrook the Wanderer; my grandsire was called Rillbrook the Wanderer. ..."

The cheeky Burrbob could be heard muttering, "I s'pose his great great auntie was called Rillbrook the Thingummy, we know that, get on with the yarn. Yowch!"

This time the harewife's quick paw did not descend so lightly on the impudent leveret's ear. She fixed him with a frosty glare and said, "One more word from you, sir, and it's bed with no supper!"

Burrbob took the hint, becoming the very model of silence.

Rillbrook started from where he had left off.