Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

The black otter shook her head ruefully. “Not ready, Dubble, too much work yet.”

Together they made their way back to Zaran’s retreat beneath the streambank ledge, where Dubble began kindling a small fire with flint and the otter’s steel blade. He shrugged when the otter looked at him quizzically.

“There’s no need to hide away now, I don’t think our enemies are lookin’ to ambush us. Huh, they ain’t in any position to attack anybeast right now. Fetch yore vittles out, mate. I’ll cook us a nice late supper whilst we try to think up some sort o’ plan. Wot rations have ye got there?”

Zaran had very little—a withered section of comb honey, a few nuts and berries and two big apples, wrinkled but still edible.

Dubble grinned at her encouragingly. “Us Guosim are great cooks, I’ll soon show ye a trick or two. I’ll borrow that blade o’ yores, if’n I might. You put more wood on the fire.”

There was only streamwater to drink, but Zaran was pleased with her friend’s inventive cooking. They tucked into roasted apples, filled with berries, nuts and hot liquid honey, which Dubble had stuck on sharpened sticks.

The young shrew nibbled away reflectively, posing the question, “Isn’t there anythin’ we can do to collapse that entrance in? Maybe I’ll help ye to dig, so we’ll get done quicker.”

The otter licked honey from her paw. “No faster, Dubble only get in my way.”

The young shrew hmmphed indignantly. “Sorry I opened me mouth!”

Zaran flashed him one of her rare smiles. “I did not mean to hurt you, friend.”

Dubble sipped water from a rough clay bowl. “I know ye didn’t, no offence taken, mate. What?”

Zaran held up a paw to silence him; leaning toward the water, she listened carefully. Then Dubble heard the splash also. This was accompanied by a hollow bumping sound, and two quarrelsome voices.

“I told you to paddle on the other side, now look what you’ve done!”

“Hah, wot I’ve done, ya puddle-’eaded Abbeymouse, didn’t ye never learn t’paddle?”

“Glubb, yuk! No, didn’t you?”

“Gonfelins don’t need boats, so wot’s the blinkin’ use of learnin’ ’ow to wave an oar around, eh?”

“Oh, stop moaning an’ give me y’paw before you drown!”

“Huh, me drown? Who d’ye think helped ya t’the bank!”

Jumping into the water, Dubble began wading out to the main stream. “I know who that is, come on, mate!”

Bisky was on the bank, pulling a dripping Spingo up onto the rocks, when his paw slipped and she fell, splashing back into the water.

She floundered about, yelling, “Didn’t they ever teach ya how t’pull a beast out o’ the water at that bloomin’ Abbey…. ’Ey, wot? Leggo! Gerroff me!”

But the black otter lifted her, spluttering, onto the bank. “I am Zaran, friend of Dubble, you safe now, stop shouting!”

Dubble moored the capsized Guosim logboat to the shore. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’feathers are you two doin’ here?”

Bisky waved cheerily to him. “We’ve come to save you, in case you were in trouble!”

Dubble shook his head in disbelief. “Me in trouble? Oh, an’ where did ye get the Guosim logboat, who said ye could borrow it?”

Spingo stamped her paw irately. “That was ole bright snout’s idea, we found it up a sidestream, with some others. But I wish we’d left it where it was now, flippin’ useless thing!”

Dubble gave the slim craft a sharp heave, tipping the water out and setting it upright. He retrieved the paddles, throwing them in the logboat. “Well, at least ye picked the pride o’ the fleet. That’s Tugga Bruster’s vessel, he won’t let anybeast near it!”

Spingo giggled. “Oh, I’m glad it was that ole sourface’s boat I pinched. Shame we never sunk it for good.”

Bisky went a few paces down the bankside and retrieved their haversacks, which were safe and dry. “Good job I slung these ashore before we were shipwrecked. Anyone for a bite o’ supper?”

Dubble winked at Zaran. “Oh, I think we could manage a bite or two, especially if’n those vittles come from Redwall. Come on, ye can get dried out by our fire.”

The searchers sat around the fire, steam rising from them as they listened to the account of Dubble’s travels. A Redwall supper was much appreciated. Zaran took an immediate liking to Friar Skurpul’s hefty dumplings; the rest, including dandelion and burdock cordial, went down exceedingly well. Bisky brought Dubble up to strength on the news from the Abbey prior to their departure, finishing with their encounter with Tugga Bruster. Dubble averted his face from the firelight, obviously embarrassed.

“I don’t blame ye for what ye did to Bruster, mate. I know he’s me father, but I’ve never liked him. He’s always been a bully an’ a slybeast. D’ye know I used to look at other young Guosim, whose dads had been killed, or gone off missin’, an’ I wished I was like ’em. Awful thing t’say, ain’t it?”

Spingo nudged the Guosim shrew playfully. “My da always sez ye can’t choose yore family, but ye can choose yore friends. So never mind, Dubbo, ye’ve always got us, we’re as good as family!”

They sat in silence, gazing into the flames, until Zaran noticed them yawning. “Sleep now, I keep watch. Dry and warm here, you sleep!” The otter brought some moss and dried grasses from the back ledges, spreading them around. Dubble curled up next to his friends.

“Aye, sleep, an’ while y’do, try an’ think of an idea that’ll help Zaran an’ me to collapse that entrance in. Redwall wouldn’t be troubled agin by Wytes an’ that big snake if’n ye could.”

Watching the shifting water patterns cast by the firelight on the ledges, listening to the peaceful gurgle of the night streamwater as it played along the bankside, the three young creatures fell asleep, each with their own thoughts and dreams.

Starlight twinkled along Zaran’s double-bladed sword. She sat outside on the rocks, ever watchful, determined that the tragedy which had befallen her own family would not be visited on her new young friends.

BOOK THREE

Baliss

Could nothing slay the giant?

28

Afternoon tea was about over in Redwall’s orchard. Dishes were being cleared onto trolleys when the Redwallers heard the tawny owl’s hoots of alarm. At first, nobeast seemed to recognise the distress call for what it was. Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, clambered onto Skipper’s shoulder. She was giggling. “Heeheehee wot’s dat funny noise goin’ wooowoooowoohoo!”

The brawny Otter Chieftain smiled. “I don’t know, liddle missy, let’s go an’ see.” With Furff still perched on his shoulder, Skipper ran from the cover of the orchard hedge. Once he was out on the open lawn, it was clear to see the main Abbey building door. There was Aluco, staggering about, with both wings folded on top of his head. As he stumbled to and fro, the owl was hooting for all he was worth. Placing Furff down on the lawn, Skipper broke into a run, shouting back to the others in the orchard, “Somethin’s wrong, mates, Aluco looks hurt!”

Within moments, Aluco was being cared for, with a crowd of Redwallers on the wide stone walkway pressing around him. Brother Torilis soaked a towel with pennycloud cordial, still cold from its storage in the cellars. He held it on the feathered head, making a compress. “Lie quite still please, looks like you took a bad tumble there. How did you come to trip?”