Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

In the relative reduction of noise in the smaller cavern, Korvus Skurr bent his head, staring down at the smoothsnake. “Haaarrr! So what does Welzz say now? Or do you have to think up more lies to placate me?”

Sicariss did not move to the pool’s edge. “Fagry iss the one who speaksss liessss, Mighty One. Even if Welzzzz did not talk, I alwayssss gave you good advice, you lisssstened to my counssssel.”

The murderous eyes of the Doomwyte tyrant bored into Sicariss. The truth was now out. “Yaggaaah! I was a fool to believe you ever could speak to the Welzz, you were only serving your own interests!”

The snake knew she was in a perilous position. However, she had always thought she could outwit Skurr. Coiling up onto the raven’s head, she took her crowning position, whispering sibilantly, “You were never a fool, Lord of Doomwytesssss. I tell you truly, I can sssspeak to Welzzzzz. I have sssspoken to him many timesssss, believe me.”

Korvus Skurr moved to the edge of the cold, bottomless lake. He inclined his head slightly. Down below in the icy depths, the monster fish could be seen, making its way slowly upward. “Hakaar! I believe you, my faithful Sicariss. Will you speak to the Welzz for me now?”

The smoothsnake swayed gently, satisfied to be back in favour. “Command your ssservant, Lord. What would you have me sssssay?”

Korvus inclined his head closer to the water. “Haykkarr! You said to me that I was no fool. Now tell it to the Welzzz!”

Without giving time for Sicariss to coil around his neck for balance, the raven gave his head a powerful flick, sending her into the pool. The gargantuan fish broke the surface in a shower of spray, catching the snake in its gaping mouth, then vanishing back into the fathomless waters.

Baliss had wakened in the passage to the main cavern. Driven insane by agonising pain, one thing became uppermost in the giant snake’s mind. To seek cool water, the only thing that could relieve the persistent torture. Driven by the desire to immerse his head in cooling water, Baliss slid gradually into the fetid air of the big cave.

32

Redwall Abbey’s twin bells tolled gently for the midnight hour. A soft, golden midsummer moon presided over the tranquil scene. Hardly a breeze was about, to stir the leafy tree canopy of Mossflower woodlands. On the terrace outside the Abbey building, Abbot Glisam and Perrit pushed Dwink in the rickety old wheelchair. Glisam breathed the scented night air fondly.

“Ahhhh! This is one of life’s simple pleasures, a quiet stroll in Redwall’s grounds on a summer night. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Dwink chuckled. “Try telling that to Umfry and Sister Violet. Did you see them, Father? Once we’d finished supper they couldn’t wait to get off to their beds. A pair of champion snorers, I’d say.”

Perrit steered the wheelchair toward the Belltower. “They don’t know what they’re missing. I don’t suppose Brother Torilis was interested in a little stroll, either. Did you see the face on him, Father? He stormed off without a word after you broke open that earthenware onion.”

Dwink snorted. “Aye, I noticed that, too. Blinkin’ stiff-necked old misery, had a face on him like a wrinkled sour apple. Property of the Infirmary indeed, huh. You put him in his place, Father!”

The Abbot shook his head. “It gave me no pleasure to address him in that manner. We mustn’t be too hard on Torilis, he’s an excellent Herbalist, and a dutiful Infirmary Keeper. Trouble is that he lives by his own rigid rules. I must make things up to him somehow, soothe his wounded pride. Dwink, what was the message on that scrap of cloth, remind me.”

The young squirrel had already memorised the clue which Gonff had scrawled long ago, in the dim, distant past. He repeated it from memory, word perfect.

“To find the eye of the serpent,

to the morning sunrise roam,

where death may visit those that fear,

in the wild sweet gatherers’ home.”

There was silence, except for the creak of the chair wheels. The Abbot turned the ancient vehicle. “Come on, you two, that’s enough for one night. I think the beds beckon us. No doubt you’ll be up and about at the crack of dawn. Questing for the wild sweet gatherers’ home, which you’re bound to do.”

Perrit speeded up her pushing, all agog. “Oh, can we really, Father, what an adventure it’ll be!”

Dwink moved his injured footpaw, testing it. “I won’t need this bloomin’ chair tomorrow. Brother Torilis is making a splint for me, I’ll get along just fine on that. We’ll be alright, Father, don’t you worry!”

The Abbot opened the main Abbey door, allowing them inside. “Oh, I’m not too worried, young un, there won’t be just two of you going alone.”

Perrit pouted slightly. “Oh, why’s that, Father?”

Glisam patted her paw. “Well, miss, one of the lines in the clue said, ‘where death may visit those that fear.’ In view of any possible danger, I’ve decided to send Skipper Rorgus and Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw. A warrior and a wise head shouldn’t go amiss, do you agree?”

Dwink seemed quite happy with the arrangement, “That’ll be fine, Father, but what about Bosie?”

Glisam explained, “Bosie isn’t too familiar with this area, and he can be a bit of a harum scarum at times. No, I think Skipper and Foremole would be more fitted to accompany you.”

Perrit giggled. “Harum scarum, I like that. Hare um scare um! What d’you think, mate?”

The young squirrel grinned. “Bosie is enough to scare anybeast, just by the amount he can eat. We’d better not mention it to him, though, I wouldn’t like his feelings to be hurt.”

Glisam ruffled Dwink’s ears. “Well said, young un!”

Skipper was always up and wide awake in the hour before dawn. Feeling responsible for the security of Redwall, he would take a brisk patrol. The Otter Chieftain checked outside the Abbey building, ending up with a march around the walltops. Completing the full circuit of the parapet and battlements, he ended his routine by going to the kitchens for an early breakfast.

Friar Skurpul greeted him. “G’mawnin’, zurr, you’m bees a wanten yore zoop?”

The otter twitched his whiskers at the tempting aroma. “An’ a good mornin’ t’you, Friar. Is that my very fav’rite watershrimp an’ hotroot soup I can smell, bubblin’ away there?”

The kind Friar began ladling a bowl of the soup out. “Aye, that et bees, zurr, jus’ ’ow you’m loikes et each mawnen!”

They were soon joined by Dwink and Perrit, who came, pulling a dozy Foremole between them. Gullub Gurrpaw nodded sleepily to Skipper. “H’on moi loife, Skip, these yurr rascals turned Oi out o’ moi bed afore daybreak. Et seems us’ns bees h’off a-questin’.”

Skipper looked up from his bowl of soup. “Aye, mate, Abbot woke me last night with the news, I ’ope you’ve packed us lots o’ prime vittles, Friar, questin’s a hungry business.”

The Friar’s homely face wrinkled with pleasure, “Oi surrpintly ’ave, you’m woant go ’ungry, zurr. Though you’m moight ’ave iffen ee zurr Bosie wurr along with ee. B’aint no feedin’ that un!”

Foremole thanked the Friar, then he and Skipper listened as Perrit read out Gonff’s clue.

“To find the eye of the serpent,

to the morning sunrise roam,

where death may visit those that fear,

in the wild sweet gatherers’ home.”

Skipper tapped his rudder against the floor. “Well, mates, that’s a poser, an’ no mistake! I can’t make tail nor whisker of it. Any ideas?”