Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

Foremole Gullub answered with his irrefutable mole logic, which, as anybeast knows, must be heeded. “You’m best not maken tails’n’whiskers of ought. Us’ns knows wot to look furr, a surrpint’s h’eye. Read Oi ee second loine, likkle missy.”

Perrit repeated the second line once more. “‘To the morning sunrise roam,’ what does that mean?”

Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw quaffed off a bowl of hot comfrey tea at a single gulp. Smacking his lips with relish, he trundled off to the door. “Hurr hurr et means we’m abound outsoide, to see sunroise, leastways that be wot Oi thinks!”

Dwink grabbed a few hot scones from the kitchen table. “Just wot any sensible creature’d think. Right, mates, outside it is…. Ooof!” The young squirrel winced as he tested his newly splinted footpaw.

Friar Skurpul took a stick from the window ledge. It was T-shaped. He gave it to Dwink. “Yurr, young maister, take moi window prop. Oi uses it t’keep ee window open on ’ot days, may’ap ’twill surve ee as a crutcher.”

The makeshift crutch could not have suited better had it been made personally for Dwink.

The four questers made their way over to the gatehouse, where they stood in the murky grey light which precedes day. Perrit sat on the wallsteps, peering up at the sky. “So, this is where it begins.” As the squirrelmaid spoke, dawn’s first pale light beamed faintly over the Abbey rooftop.

Dwink called out eagerly, “There it is, the sun comin’ up. This is the way we go, eh, Skip?”

The Otter Chieftain shrugged the haversack full of supplies into position on his back. “Aye, young un, the sun ain’t never risen in the west, as far as anybeasts know. So ’tis east we’re bound. Though how far we’ll be travellin’ is a question yet t’be answered!”

The little party marched off in a lively manner. Across the lawns, around the Abbey building, through the vegetable patches and the herb garden. Up on the walltops, Corksnout Spikkle had begun his daily perambulation, which he termed the afore-brekkist walk. He saw Foremole unbolting the small east wallgate, and called to him.

“Where are ye off to so early in the day? I thought ye’d be lendin’ a paw in the cellars. There’s a pile of apples needs pressin’ t’make cider!”

Foremole waved a hefty digging paw. “Us’ns off on ee search furr ee surrpinks h’eye.”

Corksnout adjusted his false nose, which had slipped over onto his left cheek. “Well, I ’opes ye enjoy yoreselves. Huh, apple pressin’ is an ’ard task for just one pair o’ paws!”

Skipper replied, “I gave young Umfry a shake early on, but he just turned over an’ kept on snorin’. May’ap he’d like to help ye. Oh, will ye bolt this gate after us, mate?”

Corksnout wandered ponderously down the east wallsteps, ruminating to himself as he made for the gate. “Hoho, sleepin’ his life away an’ missin’ a quest, is he? Well, that young grand’og o’ mine is about to git a rude awakenin’. Aye, an’ he can pass a profitable day, learnin’ t’be an apple presser!”

Out in the summer vastness of Mossflower Wood, the searchers pressed forward slowly, looking for any possible clues. Dwink stumped along on his crutch at a comfortable pace. He caught up with Perrit, who was slightly ahead of the others. “How do we know that we’re going east? It’s easy to wander astray in these woodlands.”

The squirrelmaid pointed. “Keep going this way. See the moss growing on the side of that sycamore? Make sure it’s on your left. Moss gathers on the north side of trees. Also, you must check that the sun is in your face, then at high noon it’ll be overhead. After that the sun will be going west, so keep it at your back. That’s the best way to travel east.”

Dwink was surprised by his pretty companion’s knowledge of woodlore. He pressed her further. “But how’ll we know when we’re at the place where death may visit those who fear?”

Perrit treated him to her sweetest smile. “Oh, I suppose we’ll just carry on until we’re feared to death of where we are.”

Dwink laughed nervously. “I suppose you’re right!”

The Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee was not best pleased that Redwallers had left the Abbey, without the benefit of his protection. Gathering pawfuls of food from the breakfast table, he picked up the sword of Martin and sped off in a huff, berating all and sundry. “Och, ’tis a sad thing when a sworn protector cannae do his duty. Ah’m bound tae catch up with yon puir beasties an’ offer them mah services!”

Watching the lanky hare lope off across the dewy lawn, Aluco remarked to the Abbot, “Act in haste and repent at leisure, eh, Father?”

Abbot Glisam nodded. “Indeed. See, he’s gone out of the main gate, and they went east. Oh dear, I know he means well, let’s go and tell him.”

Out on the path, Bosie was gobbling hot scones and oat biscuits, peering left and right. “Now, which way have they gone?”

Samolus came yawning and stretching out of the Gatehouse. “Which way have who gone? Yore the first to use this gate today, sir. Who are ye lookin’ for?”

Bosie ignored him. Spying two distant figures emerging from the woodlands to the northeast, he sprinted off toward them. “Och, that’ll be two of ’em, Ah’ll wager they’ve come back tae ask for mah help already. Hi, there!”

It was Bisky and Dubble. Having left the logboat, they were running pell-mell for Redwall. Samolus and Bosie met them. Gasping for breath, the pair informed them of the perilous situation Spingo was in.

Redwall bells tolled out the general alarm, as Abbeybeasts, Gonfelins and Guosim flooded outside to hear the news. Everybeast wanted to help, for awhile it was complete chaos. Then, after a quick consultation with the Abbot, Samolus arranged a rescue party, under Bosie’s command. Samolus called for order.

“Listen now, goodbeasts, from what I’ve been told there’s not a moment to waste. We need the Guosim shrews’ swiftest paddlers, a full molecrew and some Gonfelin warriors. I know you all want to help, but there’s not enough room for everybeast. So I’ll let the leaders pick out their own squads, then we’ll have to get moving without delay.”

In place of Foremole Gurrpaw, Friar Skurpul deputised. “Hurr, Rooter, Soilclaw, Burgy, Frubb, Grabul an’ Ruttur, yore moi crew. Gett ee kwippment an’ stan’ boi ready!”

Nokko selected his most warlike Gonfelins. “Duggo, Fraggo, Bumbo, Tungo, Flaggo an yew, Gobbo. Arm yoreselves up. An’ yew, Gobbo, button yore lip an’ do as I tells yer. Right!”

Garul, the Guosim Elder, deferred to Dubble. “Yore Log a Log now, so choose yore paddlers.”

Dubble was perplexed. “But where’s Tugga Bruster?”

Garul took him to one side. “Tugga ain’t around no more, I’ll tell ye as we go. Better pick yore crews quick, Guosim!”

The young shrew’s jaw tightened, he turned away. “You choose ’em, old un, I’ll go along with ye!”

Bosie shouldered his sword, and stood impatiently in the open gateway. “If’n we’re tae save the wee maid there’ll be no hangin’ aboot…. Double march!”

Crowding the walltops, the remaining Redwallers cheered the rescue party off.

“Goo’ lukk, zurrs, you’m ’urry up naow!”

“Aye, an’ may the wind be at yore backs!”

“You bring that liddle maid safe back here!”

Abbot Glisam watched the dust cloud as they rushed off into the woodlands. “May fortune speed your paws, friends!”

The very tiny mousebabe latched onto the Abbot’s robe. “I wanna go wiv them, Father!”

Glisam picked him up. “Maybe next time, little one.”

Dugry the molebabe nodded sagely. “Hurr, an’ Oi bees a-goin’ nex’ time, zurr.”