Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Dubble passed him a pawful of vegetation. “Look, watercress! It ain’t much but it’s good enough for hungry bellies. Wait there, let’s see wot else is growin’ roundabout. There’s always a bit to be had around streambanks, even liddle ones.”

Bisky ventured as far as the trees on the fringe of the sward, where he found a few mushrooms growing beneath some shrubbery. Dubble returned to the streamlet with other edibles he had gathered. Pepperwort, the leaves and stems of which had a hot but pleasant taste. He also had some wood sorrel, and a few half-ripe raspberries. They shared the results of their forage, lounging beside the tinkling streamlet.

Dubble lay back, patting his stomach. “Well, ’twasn’t much, but at least it was somethin’, matey. I tell ye, I’d give anythin’ for a quick snooze right now, can’t remember the last time I had a decent sleep.”

Bisky was inclined to agree with him. “Me, too, I can’t keep my eyes open. What d’ye say we find somewhere sheltered an’ nap ’til daylight?”

Dubble stifled a yawn. “Right, lead me to it, bucko.”

Following the stream out of the clearing, they searched for a likely spot. Bisky found it, an ancient black poplar. The tree was long dead and fallen flat. On closer inspection it turned out to be a hollow trunk. Dubble crouched low, scrambling into it gratefully. “We couldn’t have found a better place for a liddle sleep than this, ’tis built for the job, mate.”

Bisky crawled in beside him. “What d’ye mean, we? I was the one who found it, move over, mate, d’ye want all the room for yourself?”

The Guosim shrew grabbed a pawful of dry pulp and tossed it at the Redwall mouse, giggling. “Oh, go to sleep an’ stop moanin’, swoggletail!”

Bisky retaliated with two paw loads of the pulp. “Swoggletail, is it? Well, take that, swinjeysnout!”

As young ones will, they fought playfully, laughing and shouting as they forgot their strange surroundings. The dark-cloaked creature who had been watching them since they left the clearing spoke in low tones to his band.

“Awright, get dem nets’n’clubs, soon as dey nod off we’ll ’ave ’em. Norra sound now, speshully you, Gobbo, do yer ’ear me?”

The one called Gobbo replied indignantly, “Norra sound, ’ey? Yore makin’ more noise dan all uv us put tergether!”

Bisky and Dubble gradually fell asleep, unaware how short their taste of freedom had been.

18

Evening shafts of red, gold and violet sunlight flooded through the long windows into the Great Hall, casting random patterns over the supper tables. Friar Skurpul and his staff were kept busy, serving a repast to the returned searchers, and their new feathered friend. Dibbuns crowded around to stare at Aluco. Never having seen a real tawny owl close up, they peppered him with questions.

“Hurr, Oi never see’d ee real h’owl, wot bees yurr name, zurr?”

“Farver Abbot sez you can make the whoo hoo noise, will ye do it for me?”

“I wish I could turn my head roun’ an’ roun’ like you. Will ye teach me how t’do it?”

Abbot Glisam shook a paw at the little ones. “Would you please stop bothering Aluco and let him get on with his supper? Be off, shoo!”

The owl merely waved a wing at Glisam. “The little uns aren’t bothering me, Father, not when there’s vittles like these about.” His huge eyes widened with pleasure as Friar Skurpul sliced off a portion from a big iron skillet on to his platter. “Thankee, Friar, Redwall food is the best I ever tasted. This is delicious, what d’you call it?”

The good mole smiled proudly. “’Tis ee cornmeal panny-cake, zurr, wi’ hunny, chesknutters an’ ’azelnutters baked into it. Oi b’ain’t never cooked furr a h’owlyburd afore, Oi ’opes you’m loikes it, zurr.”

Aluco was profuse with his praise. “Like it, Friar, great howls’n’hoots, I can’t imagine living with anything so wonderful and not having it to eat ten times a day. It’s absolutely super!”

Dwink and Umfry had wolfed their supper down in silence. They sat drumming the tabletop impatiently, not joining in the general enjoyment. Friar Skurpul chucked both of them under their chins with a floury paw. “Boi okey, young maisters, ee’ll bringen on rain an’ thunner wi’ faces loike that. Wot ails ee?”

Umfry let Dwink do the talking. The young squirrel stared around him bitterly. “How can ye all sit there scoffin’ an’ laughin’ whilst our mate Bisky might be held a prisoner, or even lyin’ slain somewhere?”

Samolus interrupted stridently, “Now hold hard there, young un, didn’t you hear Bosie say that as soon as we’ve had a bite to eat, we’d do something about Bisky? I’m concerned about him, too, y’know, he’s my nephew!”

But Dwink was not about to be browbeaten. He came right back at Samolus, waving his paws around. “Well, where is Bosie, an’ Skipper, too, for that matter? Doesn’t anybeast care?”

“Och, did somebeast mention us, we’re here the noo!”

Bosie and Skipper had arrived back from the Infirmary; both had poultices of dockleaf and sanicle bound round their paws. Pushing in next to Umfry and Dwink, the otter and the hare helped themselves to massive portions of bread, cheese, soup and salad. Bosie held up his bandaged paws.

“Will ye no look at what yon whey-faced torturer did tae us. Ah swear, ’tis the only time Ah’ve seen Brother Torilis smile, when he was pullin’ Corksnout’s spike from mah paws, wi’ that long pair o’ scissors!”

Skipper paused, with a soup bowl halfway to his mouth. “Aye, mate, ole Torilis did seem t’be enjoyin’ hisself. But he got the job done well, I will say that for him.”

The Abbot nodded his approval. “Pray tell, how is our Cellarhog faring, is he well?”

Bosie chuckled. “Aye, auld Corkie’s lookin’ bonny, though Ah’m thinkin’ he won’t be sittin’ doon for a wee while yet. Brother Torilis pulled enough spikes out o’ his behind tae fill a bucket.”

Skipper tried to hide a smile. “Pore Corksnout, he looks like a big bumblebee, with his bottom covered in bandages.”

Amidst the merriment which followed, Umfry was about to interrupt and enquire what Bosie intended to do about Bisky, when Perrit the pretty squirrelmaid came bustling in to make an announcement.

“Father Abbot, I was taking a stroll on the walltops, to see if the giant snake was still about, when I saw a lot of shrews at the main gate. I think they want to see you. Do we let them in? They’re still out there.”

Abbot Glisam nodded to Foremole Gullub. “The Guosim are always welcome at our Abbey. Unbar the gate for them, friend.”

Threescore Guosim shrews strode into the Great Hall. Some of the Dibbuns ran and hid—they were a fierce-looking band. Spiky furred, with coloured headbands, they wore small kilts and broad, buckled belts. Each one had the traditional Guosim short rapier thrust in his belt. Other weapons—clubs, slingstones, bows and arrows and spears—were much in evidence.

Glisam met them with open paws. “Welcome to Redwall Abbey, friends, I’ll tell our cooks to provide you with a meal and drink. Please sit. I am Glisam, Father Abbot of Redwall, how can we help you?” Redwallers vacated the supper tables; the Guosim were about to sit when their leader called out.

“Stand fast, all of ye, we ain’t here t’feed our faces!” This was the Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim. He was no taller than the others, but powerfully built, having a hard potbelly and sporting a grey beard. He carried a long club made of solid iron. Swinging it over one shoulder he faced the Abbot aggressively. “I’m Tugga Bruster, Log a Log of the Northstream Guosim, an’ I’m here to ask ye a question!”