Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Dawn filtered slowly over the quarry. Early sunlight touched the clifflike walls, with their banded layers of buff and dull red sandstone. The two magpies were still perched on the quarry rim. Griv was dozing, but Inchig had wakened with the early sunrays. He ruffled his feathers, clacking his beak irritably.

“Kraak! What’s going on down there, how long have we got to wait? There’s no sign of this monster serpent, no movement of any kind. Look at those two grass snakes, they’re not moving at all. Mayhap Baliss slew them, sneaked up in the dark, with his poison fangs. What d’you think?”

Griv was annoyed at being disturbed from her nap. “Rakkahakk! Have ye never seen grass snakes playing dead before? Why don’t you do as I’m doing, just be still and watch. When something happens, it’ll happen without all your grumbling. Now be still!”

Inchig was about to obey his irate partner, when he spied movement below. He began hopping about, spreading both wings, and fanning his tailfeathers. “Chakkachakka! Something happens, see, see!”

Griv stared at the scene below in horrified awe.

From the tangled vegetation camouflaging the entrance hole, a head emerged, a huge, spade-shaped thing, his sightless eyes two milky, bluish-white orbs. Baliss halted, probing the air with a forked, viperine tongue. Then with smooth rapidity the mighty serpent slithered forth into the open. The snake was a nightmarish sight, dark brown, with the V shape at the base of his skull connecting to a broad zigzag pattern, which ran the length of his back. Bunching powerful scaled coils, the reptile reared high, head moving in a lazy, swaying arc. The flickering tongue explored the still morning air. Ignoring the grass snakes, in their twisted mock death poses, Baliss began crossing the quarry floor with a sinuous, unhurried grace.

Inchig was jigging about frantically, cawing and cackling aloud. “Karrakah! Look at that serpent, Griv, see the size of him! How long d’you think he is? Akkarr! He must be as thick as a great oak limb!”

Griv had risen onto her talons, berating Inchig. “Fool, shut your beak, be silent, noisy idiot!”

Baliss halted, again rearing his monstrous head. He pointed directly at the magpies on the rim. “Wingbirdzzzz, why does Korvussss sssend ye here?”

Inchig ceased his frenzied dance; he shot Griv a befuddled look. “Harraah! How does he know Korvus Skurr sent us?”

Baliss provided the answer. “Who but the raven would sssend carrion, wormzzzz and a croaker to my domain?”

Griv came to the very edge of the rim, noting that the head moved to mark her progress. “Hayyakh! Our Chieftain would speak with ye. If ye follow us and the grass snakes, we’ll take you to him.”

Baliss nodded, dropping his bulky coils to the ground. “I know where your masssster livezzzz. Go now, tell him Balissssss will meet with him. Tomorrow noon at the sssstream, where hisss guardzzz wait in the birch tree. I will sssspeak to Korvusssss. Go!”

Griv glared at her mate, as Inchig babbled, “Yakkarah! So, we can go now, good! But what about those grass snakes?”

The giant adder began returning across the quarry floor. Both magpies heard his departing remark. “Go, Balisssss will take care of your grass snakesssss.”

Inchig watched with bated breath, as the huge serpent slithered toward the death-feigning snakes. Griv dealt him a smack with her open wing. He scowled. “Ayyakk! What was that for?”

She readied her wing for a second blow. “Raahaak! Our work is done here, ye heard Baliss. Go!”

As they winged their way back, Inchig was still curious. “Karra! D’you think those snakes will get away with playing dead?”

Griv cackled, “Yakyakyak! They will until Baliss shows them real death!”

Inchig gasped in disbelief. “Raah! A snake eating snakes?”

Griv set her gaze on the dew-kissed distance. “Yahaar! That evil beast would eat anything!”

News of the secret door and the key being discovered in the Abbey cellars spread swiftly around Redwall. Plus, of course, the rumours, which were mainly put about by Dibbuns.

“H’Abbot sez we not t’go down in Mista Spikkle’s cellars, case Googlybeasties gets uz!”

“Burr, wot bees Googlybeasters?”

“Ho, great hooj vermints, wiv teeffs an’ twenny claws!”

“Gurr, bees that roight, Sissy Vi?”

Sister Violet was not about to encourage Abbeybabes to venture down to the cellars alone. She nodded. “Well, if’n Father Abbot says so, I s’pose ’tis right enough. Go an’ wash those paws now, afore lunch.”

As it was a warm, sunny day, the Dibbuns dashed off toward the Abbey pond. This was as good an excuse as any for getting wet and paddling about. Sister Violet lumbered after them, wheezing.

“Walk, don’t run, wait for me, yore not allowed around that pond on yore own. Dugry, come back here!”

A committee of Redwall Elders was assembled in the orchard to question Bisky, Dwink and Umfry. Bisky related the events of the incident. Having finished, he stood watching the Abbot studying the rusty, old iron key, holding it up for inspection.

Samolus was jubilant at the discovery. “Aye, that’ll be the very key the riddle spoke of. I’ll wager it fits that door like my ole grandad’s nightie fitted ’im!”

The Laird Bosie brushed a dust speck from his cuff. “What’n the name o’ crimmens has yer auld grandad’s nightgown tae do wi’it, did et have a keyhole?”

Brother Torilis sniffed audibly. “Sheer foolishness, an’ oldbeasts’ tales, that’s all it is. The door’s probably rusted too badly to open.”

Samolus cut in on him sharply. “A door rusted too badly to open, Brother? I’d say that’s a bit o’ sheer foolishness. Leave it to me, there’s nothing in this Abbey I can’t put right, from a wobbly table leg to some rusty, old door. And as for oldbeasts’ tales, where d’you suppose you gained most o’ yore knowledge of herbs an’ cures, eh?”

Brother Torilis was taken aback by the old mouse’s verbal attack. Samolus was still facing him, his jaw jutting forth truculently.

Skipper Rorgus placed himself between the pair, in an attempt to calm the situation. “Steady on, mateys, this is only a friendly parlay. Let’s keep it that way. Father Abbot, wot’s yore view on doors’n’keys?”

Abbot Glisam had already formed an opinion, ever since the three young ones had told of their discovery. The excitement and happiness in their eyes was enough for him. “Friends, there’s no question about it. These three scamps must find what lies beyond the door….” Glisam got no further—he was smothered by Bisky, Dwink and Umfry, hugging, patting and paw shaking.

“Good ole Father Abbot, thankee kindly, sir!”

“H’I knew you was h’our mate, Father, h’I jus’ knew h’it.”

“An’ I promise we’ll clean out the cellars as soon h’as we can, Father!”

Bosie extricated the Abbot from the trio’s embrace. “Haud on there. If’n yore bound tae gang through yon door, Ah’m comin’ wi’ ye. As protector an’ warrior o’ Redwall an’ its beasties, ’tis mah right!”

Skipper pounded the mountain hare’s back. “Well spoken, bucko, I volunteers to come with ye!”

Samolus was still ready to argue with anybeast. “Well, you lot ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Any objections?”

Foremole held up a sturdy digging paw. “Ee’ll need a trusty moler with ee, if’n you uns bees axplorin’ unner they’m cellars.”

Glisam shook his head in admiration of the Foremole. “You can’t argue with good, sound mole logic. I think it’s a sensible idea. Er, just one more thing, I think we’ve got enough for the task now, otherwise we’ll have the entire Abbey wanting to come along.”