Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

Perant looked oddly at Lycian, Burbee and Snowdrop, who were hooting with merriment. “Er, excuse me, ladies, but is this a private joke, or am I allowed to join in the mirth?”

Once the Abbess had her laughter under control, she dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. “Oh, it’s just a bit of silliness. Pay no attention to us, Brother.”

Brantalis was a little more forthcoming with his explanation. “Friend, I am thinking it is about the Old Quelt squirrel, who is annoying everybeast with his tiresome wisdom.”

The Infirmary Keeper’s normally sober face lit up in a grin. “Well said, my feathered friend, and so he is!”

Any kind of praise was apt to flatter the barnacle goose. Flapping both wings, he swelled his chest and honked. “Read me out your riggul. I am thinking this bird might be good at solving rigguls!”

The good Brother commented wryly, “Yes, and it seems you’re becoming good at molespeech, too. The word is pronounced ‘riddle,’ or if you can’t manage that, try the word ‘puzzle.’ Oh well, I don’t suppose it can do any harm. Listen carefully now:

“ ‘Twixt supper and breakfast find me,

In a place I was weary to be,

Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.

It holds up what blocks out the night,

And can open to let in the light.

For a third of a lifetime one says,

Looking up I could see it sideways.

Tell me what we call coward (in at)

Then when you have worked out that,

You’ll find your heart’s desire,

By adding a backward liar.

Ever together the two have been set,

Since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet.”

Brantalis waddled about, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “What is twixt supper and breakfast? I am not understanding.”

Molemum Burbee simplified the phrase with her logic. “Ee darkness bee’s atwixt suppertoime’n’brekkist. Noight!”

Perant regarded her with newfound respect. “Good grief, you’re right, marm!”

Burbee poured him a beaker of tea, adding, “Hurr, uz molers allus are, zurr. We’m no foozles!”

Sister Snowdrop interjected eagerly. “So, you could read the first two lines thus: ‘At nighttime find me in a place I was weary to be!’ ”

The barnacle goose clacked his beak to gain attention. “I am thinking that would be in those strange nests you creatures call beds. Is that correct?”

The young Abbess smote a paw to her brow. “Very clever! All it really comes down to is this: ‘At night I am tired so I go to bed.’ Gracious me, who needs Old Quelt when we can solve the riddle ourselves! Read on, Brother. What’s the next bit?”

Perant recited the next two lines of the poem:

“Up in that top tactic (one see)

Lies what was the limb of a tree.”

Nestling his beak down into his arched neck, Brantalis did his best to appear knowledgeable. “I am thinking that is . . . er, that is . . .”

The big bird ruffled his feathers huffily. “I am not knowing what to think. This riggul is stupid!”

Reluctantly, Abbess Lycian agreed with him. “Dearie me, it looks like we’re confounded by another of Sister Geminya’s strange quirks. What in the name of goodness is a top tactic one see? Really, I don’t know who’s the more irritating—Geminya or Quelt!”

“Oh, I’d say Geminya every time, Mother Abbess.”

They whirled around to the sound of a familiar voice. There stood Old Quelt, accompanied by Brinty, Girry and Tribsy. The ancient Recorder had crept up quietly, smiling disarmingly over his glasses at them.

“I do beg your pardon, stealing up on you like that. Is there any room for a few young friends to join you? And, of course, an irritating old busybody?”

The company was totally embarrassed except for Brantalis. “I am thinking there is room for anybeast who can solve rigguls, old one. Sit down and drink tea with us.”

Quelt gratefully accepted a beaker of tea. He sat down and began scanning Perant’s copy of the riddle. “No doubt you’ve all solved the first two lines, my friends, and I have, too. Alas, it was this odd twist in the third line—‘Up in that top tactic (one see).’ I confess it had me quite perplexed. Like yourselves, I was baffled—until young Girry provided the answer.”

Lycian seized the young squirrel and hugged him soundly. “You solved it? Oh, you combination of brains and beauty, tell us the answer this very instant!”

Girry spread his bushy tail down over his face, wriggling out of the Abbess’s embrace. “It was all by accident, I think. Instead of starting at the beginning of the line, I began at the end. One see, that’s a typical Geminya trick. The word ‘see’ really means the letter C . ‘Tactic’ was the only word that contained two letter C’s , so I removed one from it. When I spelled it out without the C, it read ‘tacti.’ That didn’t sound right, so I replaced it and removed the other C. ‘tatic.’ It sounded a bit better, so I kept repeating it, and thinking hard. Tatic, tatic, tatic! I suddenly twigged on that this was one of those mixed-up word puzzles. What was the name you called it, sir?”

Quelt explained. “It’s called an anagram, a jumble of letters which can be sorted out into a proper word. Tell them, Girry.”

“Five letters: an A, two T’s, an I and one C. ‘Attic’! ”

Quelt shook the young squirrel’s paw warmly. “Solved like a true scholar! So, what do we have now? Somewhere at night that Sister Geminya would retire to when she felt tired. A bed. And where will we find that bed?”

Brinty could not stop himself from blurting out, “In that top attic!”

The Recorder beamed. “Exactly! The very place that my young friends and I were just on our way to find. However, I thought it best to let you know, Mother Abbess, so you good creatures wouldn’t feel left out. How would you feel about accompanying three young rips and one old fogey on a little quest?”

Though Quelt did not say it, the Abbess guessed that this was his way of apologising for his behaviour at breakfast. She replied with a twinkle in her eye, “Thank you for your gracious offer, sir. We accept. Er, by the way, which are you—the fogey or one of the rips?”

Tribsy took Lycian’s paw cheerily. “He’m an ole rip, h’Abbess, ’n oi bee’s a young fogey!”

Brantalis ruffled his feathers and honked. “I am thinking we should stop talking all this gobbledygoose and go to find the top attic!”

Lycian chuckled as she whispered to Tribsy. “Gobbledygoose? That’s a new one on me!”

Brink Greyspoke and Skipper Banjon were sitting on a barrel in the cellars. Between them they were sharing a flask of rosehip and redcurrant wine, accompanied by a wedge of strong yellow cheese with roasted chestnut flakes in it. The two friends were trying to recall forgotten lines of an old Cellarbeast’s song, taking alternate verses and singing the chorus together.

“I keeps my ole cellars cool an’ still,

stacked up with great oaken casks.

I’ll serve ye up with right goodwill,

with any fine drink ye asks!

October Ale or cider pale,

or dannelion wine,

ole nettlebeer, I got som ’ere,

by ’okey it tastes fine.

Cordial brewed from plum’n’pear,

or raspb’rry crimson ripe,

try my whortleberry sherry,

’tis wot the ladies like.

I keeps my cellars fresh’n’clean,

each barrel keg or firkin,

an’ day an’ night I tends ’em right,

I’m a Cellarbeast hard workin’!

Strawberry fizz, that’s nice that is,

the young ’uns like its flavour,

dark damson wine matured by time,

that’s wot the old ’uns savour.”

Skipper paused, scratching his rudder. “Wot comes next, mate? Was it ‘beetroot port, poured long or short’?”