Brian Jacques - Redwall #21 - Doomwyte

This time it was Bosie who took the liberty of cuffing his ear. “Ach, come awa’ frae that thing, ye might catch a plague by even touching it!”

Nokko winked at the hare. “Thank ye, sir, feel free t’give the wretch a slap anytime ye like, it’ll save the wear’n’tear on my ould paws!”

Soilclaw watched the waste matter run out to a trickle, commenting with solid molesense, “Given a cupple o’ seasons, ’twill all go a-minglin’ with ee stream. Hurr, thur’ll be a gurt, foine watery meadow all round yurr. Peaceable, with watery lilies, an’ flowers, dragonflies, fishes, too. You’m wull see, this’ll be a noice place for ee to visit!”

Zaran sat down on a rock, staring out at the spreading mess, as it joined with the stream. The black otter bowed her head, speaking slowly. “It would be pleasant to see, I will visit here someday, to relive my memories.”

Bisky held out his paw to her. “We’ll come with ye, friend. Come on, let’s go home now, to Redwall Abbey. We need an otter lady there.”

38

Homecomings can be coloured by many emotions. Abbot Glisam tried to touch on them all, as he addressed everybeast. It was after sunset, Great Hall was lit by candles and lanterns. Garlands of summer blossoms draped the columns, in honour of the returning visitors. Zaran sat alongside Skipper Rorgus, who had been fascinated by the black otter from the moment he set eyes upon her. Dwink and Perrit sat side by side, constantly together since their adventure in the woodlands. Next to them, Bisky and Spingo shared the same platter.

The feast was splendid—Redwallers were wondering who had produced many of the new dishes. It was Bosie who found out. “Och, would ye credit it, young Dubble seems tae have taken charge, Ah’m thinken he should be Laird o’ the kitchens, seein’ as the job hasnae been offered tae me.”

Brother Torilis cocked a severe eye at the gluttonous hare. “That would be like leaving baby minnows to be nursed by a hungry pike!”

Glisam left them happily feasting, until he judged the right moment for his speech. Signalling Umfry Spikkle to ring the table bell, the Father Abbot rose. “Redwallers, Guosim, Gonfelins, friends. First allow me to thank you from my heart, for making our Abbey and Mossflower Country safe from evil—Doomwytes, predators and the dreadful Baliss, who created fear and terror for long seasons. However, each triumph has its cost. Words cannot describe our sadness at the death of four loyal and faithful moles: Rooter, Grabul, Ruttur and our beloved Friar Skurpul.

“Alas, their bodies were never recovered, but they will live in Redwall memory as long as anybeast can record or recall their bravery in saving the life of a Gonfelin maid. Such is the way we honour friends at this Abbey.”

There was a prolonged silence, punctuated by lots of sobs, particularly from Foremole Gullub and the remainder of his crew.

Abbot Glisam sighed, and took a deep breath before continuing. “Now, on to more cheerful things. Our thanks is due to Aluco, for finding the first Doomwyte Eye. Then to Dwink and Perrit, whose endeavours helped greatly in the recovery of the other two eyes.”

Removing the cover from a bowl, the Abbot turned the three stones out onto the table. A gasp of admiration arose from the onlookers as two round emeralds and a single blood-hued ruby were revealed. They lay on the table, reflecting the candle and lantern lights, sparkling with their own strange fires. The Abbot shook his head ruefully.

“Alas, that is where the trail ends, there are no clues as to the location of the final Doomwyte’s Eye. The missing ruby may never be found.”

Bisky was smiling as Spingo stood up, calling out aloud, “Oh, yes there is, I know who’s got the red stone. Aye, so does Bisky…. An’ so does another beast I could mention. A Gonfelin sittin’ ’ere at yore table, Father.” She turned her accusing glare from the Abbot to Nokko. “I don’t mean that Father, but this Father—you, Da!”

Nokko squirmed under his daughter’s stern eyes. “But…but that’s ours, me darlin’, booty, pawpickin’s, loot. It belongs to our tribe.”

Spingo’s paw was pointed like a spear at her hapless parent. “Our tribe are Redwallers now, Da, there’ll be no more lootin’, swipin’ an’ thievin’. We’re good, honest creatures now. So come on, cough it up!”

Nokko hesitated a moment, then Bisky whispered, “Do the right thing, sir, make yore daughter happy.”

A mighty cheer went up as Nokko produced the ruby and placed it with the others. He smiled sheepishly. “Ah well, as long as it makes me darlin’ Spingo ’appy. Add that un to yore collection, Abbo!”

Abbot Glisam picked all four of the Great Doomwyte’s Eyes up, he held them aloft. “What has come from evil will return to evil, in memory of four goodbeasts who lie there. Foremole, take your crew and bury these on what is left of that hillside in honour of our fallen friends!”

Everybeast raised their drinks.

“In honour of fallen friends.”

Bosie McScutta, the Laird of Bowlaynee, had the final word. “An’ now, back tae the feast, mah braw beasties. Bowlayneeee! Eulaliaaa! Redwaaaallll!”

39

A noontide nap can be a tranquil pleasure. Nothing to do, nowhere special to go, happily captured in the enchantment of a high summer day. The old mouse allowed his paw to drift in the idle flow of the water meadow. Lounging comfortably on a pallet of moss and dried ferns, he had released his hold on the tiller, allowing the raft to wend its own way through the proliferation of water lilies, bulrush reeds, sundew, gipsywort and comfrey which carpeted the cool, dim water meadow.

Closing his eyes, the ancient one took in the sounds. Snatches of songs and conversation from his companions, mingling with the squeals and chuckles of Dibbuns playing in the shallows. The buzz and hum of bees in the background, an occasional plop from a leaping trout. Distant birdsong, reed warblers, dippers, chiffchaffs and migrant firecrest, competing with their own careless raptures. Old Samolus moved his eyelids lightly, trying not to twitch his nose as a beautifully patterned marsh fritillary butterfly landed on it.

Perrit whispered to her mate, Dwink, “I think that butterfly might wake old Samolus.”

The insect flew off as the ancient mouse spoke. “Old Samolus is awake, thank ye, marm, wonderin’ when afternoon tea will be ready.”

Skipper Rorgus yawned cavernously. His mate, Zaran, called to their little son, who was frisking in the water nearby, “Rorzan, go ashore and see if tea’s ready yet.”

The young one waved his chubby rudder. “Hurr, Oi’ll do thart doireckly, Mum!”

Bisky laughed at the otterbabe. “That’s a very good mole voice he’s learned!”

His daughter, Andio, replied, “Ho yuss, wee’m all atalken loike that, b’aint us, Mumm?”

Bisky’s mate, Spingo, answered their daughter in mole dialect. “You’m surrpinkly are, moi dearie!”

Perrit and Dwink’s little one, a tiny squirrelmaid they had named Mittee, was of a different mind. “Och, weel, Ah’m no’ goin’ tae speak like a mole, Ah want tae be a hare like Laird Bosie!”

Aluco, the tawny owl, twirled his head almost full circle, blinking in mock alarm. “As long as you don’t learn to eat like him!”

Friar Dubble called out from the bank, “Ahoy, raftbeasts, tea’s ready!”

Bosie joined him, shouting hopefully, “There’s no hurry, bonnybeasts, stay oot there if’n ye be enjoyin’ yersel’s.”