Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

“These are empty h’ale barrels. Let’s dust ’em h’off.”

Bisky made a sensible suggestion. “Aye, we can roll ’em out into the passage. They’ll be ready then, for the next October Ale brewing.”

They worked steadily at the barrels, with Umfry singing a little song he had learned from his grandad.

“Ye can’t do no more than a good day’s work,

to earn a good day’s feed,

so bend that back an’ when yore done,

some grub is wot you’ll need!

There ain’t no room for idlebeasts,

nowheres about this place,

if ye sit about an’ shirk yore chores,

you’ll end with an empty face!

Keep goin’ it ain’t lunchtime yet,

don’t dare pull tongues at me,

a cellarbeast must earn his bread,

the vittles here ain’t free!

A drop o’ sweat an’ soon I’ll bet,

you’ll see that I was right,

with a back that’s sore an’ a dirty paw,

you’ll sleep like a hog all night!”

Having returned from breakfast, Corksnout looked in. He gave a nod of approval which knocked his nose askew. “Hoho, that’s the way, me jollybeasts. Shift those last two barrels out, then take yore lunchbreak. Here’s some elderflower an’ bilberry cordial for ye to drink.”

They moved the remaining barrels out into the passage in a burst of energetic speed, then sat down to lunch.

Where the friends were seated was practically in the dark. The next pile of barrels blocked out the lantern light. Umfry groaned. “Ooh, me pore back’s breakin’, get h’up an’ move that lantern, so’s h’I can see where me mouth is h’an’ put some vittles h’in it!”

Bisky perched on a sack of sand, which was used for breaking the fall of barrels from the pile. He scoffed, “Get up yourself, y’great lump, I’m tired, too!”

Umfry made no move to stir himself, but turned his persuasive charms on Dwink. “That’s a h’awful way to talk to h’a beast with ’is back broke. You’ll move the lantern, won’t ye, Dwink?”

The young squirrel replied indignantly, “I’d move me footpaw round yore fat, lazy bottom, if it wasn’t all covered with spikes!”

Umfry felt around in the gloom. He found an open half-sack of corks and flung one at Dwink. It went straight into Dwink’s open mouth.

“Yaggsplooh! Who did that?”

Looking the picture of innocence, Umfry pointed at Bisky. “He did, h’an’ ’e threw one at me, too.”

Dwink flung himself upon Bisky, who retaliated by doing something the young squirrel could not abide. He tickled the tip of Dwink’s bushy tail. “Yowoostoppitgerroff!” Bisky was hurled onto Umfry. Dwink jumped on top of them both. Chortling, tickling, pinching and yelling, the three friends rolled about in the lantern-lit gloom. Recklessly they cannoned into the heap of barrels, which rumbled and shifted.

“Look out, they’re fallin!”

The empty barrels made a noise like a pile of bass drums, as they thundered and bumped about the cellar. The noise continued a short time, then ceased. Dwink felt about in the darkness, calling, “The lantern’s gone out, are you two alright?”

After a good deal of coughing, and hawking up dust, Umfry answered, “My skull’s broke, but h’I’m sittin’ h’on a rhubarb crumble, so h’I’ll be h’alright!”

Dwink scrambled up, tripped over a barrel and landed in Umfry’s lap. “Where’s Bisky?”

Umfry spoke through a mouthful of crumble. “Dunno.”

Bumbling and stumbling his way out into the passage, Dwink grabbed a lantern from the wall and hurried back, yelling, “Bisky, mate, where are ye, speak t’me!”

He was answered by a stunned mutter. “Nuuuunhhh!”

“H’over ’ere, h’I’ve found ’im!” Umfry yelled.

Dwink held the lantern up, scrambling over heaped barrels to the far angle of the wall. Umfry lay atop two barrels, pointing down. “Fetch that lantern—’e’s down there!”

In the shifting shadows of the swinging light, Bisky could be seen. He had fallen down some kind of hollow in the floor, his footpaws sticking up in the air.

Dwink found a bracket in the wall and hung the lantern on it. “Stay still, mate, we’re comin’. Umfry, come on, let’s move these barrels so we can get at him!”

Forgetting their aches and stiffness, the two friends thrust the barrels wildly aside, until a space was cleared.

Bisky sounded much recovered as he shouted, “Down here, lend a paw, look what I’ve found!”

It was a small flight of five stone steps, running away into the corner. Down in the stairwell, Bisky hauled himself upright, his eyes glittering in the lantern light as he pointed to an ironbound door. The young mouse was yelling. “Look, it’s a door, a door with a keyhole, and guess what?” He held an object up, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I’ve found the key!”

11

It was still night, but not more than two hours before dawn. The magpies, Griv and Inchig, perched on the tussocked rim of a deeply carved depression. This was the old quarry; it had been the habitat of adders, back into the mists of time. Far below, the two grass snakes and the toad wended their way over the quarry floor, skirting thistlebeds and large pools left by the heavy rains.

Inchig cocked his head on one side, curiously. “Raaak! Is this where the giant Baliss lives?”

Griv indicated an area, overgrown with hairy bittercress and white deadnettle, at the foot of the north quarry wall. “Karrah! There are many hidden entrances behind those weeds. Baliss dwells in the caverns and tunnels over that way.”

Inchig watched the three reptiles threading their way through the vegetation. Swelling his chest, the male magpie strutted about on the rim. “Kayyar! Are we supposed to go down there also?”

Griv eyed him humorlessly. “Yikk! You can, if you are foolish enough. I am staying here, to do what we have been sent here for. To watch and wait.”

Inchig’s chest deflated, he squatted down by his mate. “Haayak! We must obey orders.”

The toad blinked, gazing into the black hole which confronted them. Everything about the entrance reeked of danger. The strange, musty odour, complete silence and impenetrable darkness. He began to waddle backward but was jolted to a standstill, by vicious butts from the snakes’ blunt snouts. Previously, the grass snakes had ignored their fat, bloated companion, merely making sure it was with them, and travelling in the right direction. The unwitting toad, had of course, been deeply hypnotised by the skilful Sicariss. However, faced with the mysterious black entrance hole, the toad grew fearful. The grass snakes also had their orders. They fiercely set upon the frightened creature, hissing, and nipping with their fangs. The unfortunate victim was left with no alternative; it hopped forward in ungainly fashion, to escape the slashing teeth. Straight into the hole, falling awkwardly down a dark, steep slope.

The grass snakes retreated a short distance. There they writhed and curled into grotesque attitudes, lying frozen in that manner. Feigning death is considered a good defence by grass snakes, when threatened with danger.

The toad had reached the bottom of the sloping tunnel. Feeling something nearby, it, too, tried to remain completely still. It was, however, betrayed by its pulsing throat, which seemed to have gained a life of its own. Now, a large but delicately forked tongue caressed the toad’s skin. A disembodied voice whispered almost soothingly, “Baaaallliiisssssss!” Then a heavily scaled body shot forward, enveloping the victim in its irresistible embrace. In less time than it had taken the wretched toad to slide down the underground slope, there was no trace that it had ever existed. Nothing, save for the sated hiss, which echoed about. “Baaaalllliiiisssssssss!”