Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Perrit replied absently as she inspected the door, “Stop carrying on like a dithering duck, Umfry. Dwink’s probably napping in his wheelchair…. These two nails sticking out here, I wonder what they’re for?”

Umfry held his torch closer, inspecting the pair of broad-headed nails, which had not been fully driven into the woodwork. “Mister Samolus said that was where the Doomwyte h’eye was placed. There h’aint no more t‘see h’on this door, miz, let’s go.”

Perrit, however, was not looking at the door any longer. Her attention had been distracted by something else higher up. “Umfry, can you lift me up, I want to take a quick peep on top of the door lintel.”

Putting aside his torch, the burly hedgehog swung Perrit up to the lintel with ease. “Keep messin’ h’about down ’ere, miz, h’and we’ll get no dinner.”

The squirrelmaid sighed wearily. “Just hold me still please, we’ll get dinner as soon as I get this thing loose.” She gave the object a mighty tug, it broke away, sending them tumbling backward.

Umfry helped her up. “H’are you alright, miz, wot h’is that thing?”

Perrit could not resist a smirk of satisfaction. “A piece of slate with something drawn on it. Let’s get upstairs, I promised Dwink he’d get first look at anything we found. You can go to dinner if you wish.”

Umfry pursued the sprightly maid up to Great Hall. “Not afore h’I’ve seen wot h’it says!”

Dwink could not wait to give them his news. “There’s been a real kerfuffle up here, mates. Aluco was knocked down, and guess wot, that horrid Guosim, Tugga Bruster, he’s dead. Aye, killed by a Painted One, so Samolus told me. We’d best get in to dinner, did you find anything?”

Perrit waggled the flat slate fragment at him. “I’ll show you it at dinner. All of a sudden I’m starving. Good fresh bread and cheese is what I need right now, eh, Umfry!”

Umfry Spikkle took on a superior tone. “Dearie me, h’eatin’ is h’all you can think of, miz!”

There was bread and cheese aplenty at the dinner table, with some tasty vegetable soup, a selection of pasties, a fine summer salad, plus damson and pear crumble for dessert, with the option of a honeyed plum pudding. Dwink, Perrit and Umfry huddled round like conspirators, studying the piece of slate as they ate dinner. Their privacy was short-lived, though they did not object when Samolus and Sister Violet joined them. Umfry was consumed with curiosity.

“Wot’s all that writin’ h’and those drawin’s h’about? C’mon, Dwink, read h’it to me.”

Samolus tweaked Umfry’s snout. “You wouldn’t have to ask other beasts if’n ye’d learned to read, would ye? Dwink looks a bit dozy still, Perrit, would you like to read what’s on the slate?”

The squirrelmaid obliged willingly.

“What’s mixed will thicken, there’s the place!

Is it there or has it gone?

Framed above a Friars Grace.

On, on, I. The middle one.”

Umfry interrupted, through a mouthful of plum pudding, “Oh, no, h’another blinkin’ puzzle!”

Perrit glanced up at him from the slate. “D’you mind, Umfry Spikkle, I’m not finished yet.”

Suitably chastened, the young hedghog fell silent as Perrit read out the remainder of the clues.

“Where to seek a raven’s eye?

What’s not sad, yet makes one cry,

with what a plum has at its middle?

The Prince of Mousethieves set this riddle.”

Sister Violet sipped at her mint tea thoughtfully. “I agree with you, young Umfry, it is a blinkin’ puzzle. ‘Wot’s mixed will thicken, there’s the place.’ Goodness me, whatever is that supposed to mean? ’Tis all gobbledygook to me, my dears.”

Samolus helped himself to a pasty. “Well, o’ course it is, marm, that’s how puzzles are supposed t’be, right, Dwink?”

The young squirrel sat up straight in his wheelchair. “It sounds t’me like that first line is narrowin’ things down to the area where we should look. What’s mixed will thicken. I think it’s one of those anagram things again. What’s mixed will thicken…hmmmm, maybe it’s what’s and will jumbled together, eh, Perrit?”

The squirrelmaid shook her pretty head. “’ Twill, swat, still, slats, shawl. No, there’s far too many possibilities, I think the word thicken is a better idea.”

Sister Violet winked slyly at Perrit. “That’s ’cos you’ve already solved it, young missy. Well go on, don’t keep us all a-waitin’.”

Perrit smiled. “There’s only one sensible word I can make from thicken. Kitchen! ”

Umfry chuckled with delight. “Kitchen, there’s the place. Come h’on, last one t’the kitchen’s a fried frog!”

Dwink shook his head. “Hold on, mate, we can’t just dash off because we’ve solved one word.”

Perrit began pushing the wheelchair away from the table. “There’s no harm in going t’the kitchens and taking a look around. Maybe it’ll help us with the rest of the puzzle.”

Friar Skurpul welcomed them into the Abbey Kitchens cheerfully.

“Coom in yurr, eee guddbeasts, you’m cummed to say noice things about moi cooken?”

Sister Violet curtsied. “Oh, no, Friar, though there ain’t a better cook nowhere, yore dinners are always the best.”

The good mole beamed from ear to ear. “Thankee gurtly, marm. Hurr, then may’aps you’m cumm to ’elp with ee washen up?”

Dwink explained, “No, Friar, we’re trying t’solve a riddle. We’re lookin for something that might be here, or may be gone.”

Skurpul laughed. “Hurrhurr hurr, naow that do bees a riggle. Summat as moight be yurr but maybe gone’d. Boi okey, an’ wot moight that bee, young maister?”

Perrit attempted to make things a bit clearer. “Listen to this, Friar: ‘Is it there or has it gone? Framed above a Friars Grace. On, on, I. The middle one.’ We’d be grateful if you could throw any light on it, sir.”

Wiping floury paws upon his apron, Skurpul commented, “Oi’d be grateful if’n Oi cudd throw any light on et, too, missy, but Friars bees only clever at cooken. Sorry Oi can’t ’elp ee, zurrs’n’marms, but you’m welcumm to search these yurr kitchens, long as ee puts things back as ee foinded ’em.” Leaving them some candied fruits to nibble on, Friar Skurpul continued with his work.

Dwink whispered to Samolus, “Well, that wasn’t much help was it, we still don’t know what a Friars Grace is.”

Samolus watched the old mole rolling out pastry. “Don’t be too hard on Skurpul, cookin’ is wot he does best. With an Abbeyful of creatures to cater for, the Friar doesn’t get time for other things.”

Dwink immediately felt sorry for what he had said. “Aye, yore right, sir, let’s look for a Friars Grace.”

Perrit suggested helpfully, “We know what Abbot’s grace is. Abbot Glisam says a different one before every meal. Maybe it’s something similar, what d’you think?”

Umfry smiled brightly. “I know, let’s h’ask the h’Abbot. Wait ’ere, h’I’ll go’n get ’im.”

Sister Violet selected a crystallised strawberry. “Young Umfry ain’t as slow as he looks.”

Abbot Glisam was only too glad to be of service; he put forth on the subject. “It’s odd you should ask me about Friars Grace. We Abbots are constantly composing different graces, for meals throughout the seasons. But Friars Graces are pretty few and far between. However, last night I was looking through the Abbey Records, to see if I could gather more information on Gonff. I did notice something which stuck in my mind. At some point during Gonff’s lifetime, there was a hogwife who acted as Friar, very good she was, too. Her name was Goody Stickle. Not only was she an excellent cook, but Goody was also an expert at crafting earthenware. It was noted in the Records that she would make bowls, flagons, dishes and beakers from clay. Goody would bake them in the ovens until they came out as fashionable and useful earthenware.” Glisam turned to Skurpul, who had just finished putting the final touches to a batch of latticed apple pies. “Friar, have you ever heard of a creature named Goody Stickle? A long time ago she was cook here. She also made earthenware things.”