Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

For answer, Snowdrop went to where the bed had stood against the wall. She lay down on the floor, facing the window.

The Abbess sighed impatiently. “What are you doing now, trying to get your habit dustier?”

Snowdrop ignored the comment and began her explanation. “I was wondering what ‘a third of a lifetime’ had to do with our search. Then I remembered. We have three parts to each day—one third is used for work, the second for eating and enjoyment, the third part is set aside for sleep. So, for a third of her lifetime, Sister Geminya would be lying in her bed, which was about here, right? I’m lying on my side, just as she might have. So, what could she see from her sideways position?”

Girry spoke up. “The window and the curtains, I suppose. Though the curtains are nothing but tattered rags now.”

Snowdrop continued, “Yes, but a long time ago they could either block out the night or let in the daylight. Now tell me, what holds the curtains up?”

Skipper shrugged. “Prob’ly a curtain rail.”

Without warning, Girry gave a great leap. He went bounding up the windowframe and tore the curtain rail from the staples which held it. “Geminya used it as a curtain rail. This is the lance of Corriam!”

Skipper scratched his whiskers in bewilderment. “Sink me rudder, it’s been layin’ up there in full view all the time. How did ye guess that was it, young ’un?”

Girry brandished the ancient weapon triumphantly. “I never guessed anything, Skip, I worked it out a moment ago. You know how good I am at anagrams. Well, listen to this: ‘Tell me what we call coward (in at).’ Well, what would you call a coward?”

Skipper pondered a moment before replying. “A lilylivered spineless toad! Beggin’ yore pardons for the language, marms.”

Girry shook his head. “They’re not the names I’m after. How about calling a coward a cur?”

Skipper repeated the name. “Cur, aye, that’s a good ’un.”

Girry continued. “Now look at the last two words of that line: ‘in at.’ Move them about, and they become ‘tain.’ Add the ‘cur,’ and what do you have?”

The otter smiled brightly. “Cur . . . tain . . . curtain!”

Sister Snowdrop looked over her small square glasses. “And ‘you’ll find your heart’s desire, by adding a backward liar.’ ‘Liar’ spelled backward is ‘rail.’ You see?”

Abbess Lycian clapped her paws. “How clever, curtain rail! What splendid creatures my Redwallers are. The lance of Corriam has been up there for ages, pretending to be a curtain rail!”

Skipper took hold of the lance, examining it carefully. “ ’Tis a fine ole weapon, sure enough. Made o’ good hard wood. I’ve never seen timber like this afore. Good balance, too, a real warrior’s lance. Look at the middle, made o’ silver!”

Spitting on the metal, he rubbed dust upon it, then polished it against his tunic until it glittered. “Aye, silver! Didn’t the story say that the lance was smashed, an’ ole Corriam mended it by wedgin’ a silver sleeve over the broken bits? A clever piece o’ work.”

Touching one of the lancetips, the Abbess shuddered. “Beautiful but dangerous, like most weapons. Built for only one purpose—to kill. Things like this frighten me!”

“Ahoy upstairs, here’s yore rope comin’ up!”

Brink had returned again. He threw the rope, but not high enough. It snagged on a ledge lower down. Skipper reached out and looped it over the lancetip. He hauled the rope up and tied it round himself.

“I’ll lower ye down one at a time. You first, Sister.”

Once they were safely back with the main party, molemum Burbee hugged her friend the Abbess. “Oi’m surrpintly glad to see ee back in one piece, moi dearie. May’ aps us’n’s should be takin’ tea an’ cakes down in ee kitchings.”

Lycian kissed Burbee’s velvety old cheek. “A splendid idea, lots of tea and plenty of cakes for everybeast. I certainly think we all deserve it!”

Happy that their mission had proven successful, the Redwallers made their way downstairs, laughing and chattering. They had hardly entered the kitchens when Brother Perant came hurrying up in a state of great agitation.

“Skipper, Brink, come quickly, before that crazy bird kills somebeast. It’s out on the lawn!”

Gripping the lance, the otter chieftain raced out across Great Hall. “Keep those Dibbuns inside. Brink and you others, come with me!”

As they reached the Abbey door, a cacophony of sound could be plainly heard from outside. The harvest mouse Gatekeepers, Oreal and his wife, Hillyah, were frantically trying to distract the gannet away from Irgle and Ralg, their twin babes. The hungry predator loomed over the little ones, determined to eat them. Oreal and Hillyah kept running at the big bird, shouting and waving their paws, which were bleeding from where the maddened bird had pecked them. The babes were wailing piteously, hugging each other tight, trying to hide in a clump of lupins. Having tasted blood, the gannet was shrieking and squawking defiantly, bent on taking its prey. Adding to the din and confusion, Brantalis waddled speedily into the fray. Honking and hissing, the barnacle goose attacked the gannet, beating wildly at it with outspread wings.

Sizing up the situation at a glance, Skipper roared out above the melee, “Everybeast, stay back! Brink, take Girry, Tribsy an’ Brinty with ye! Circle round an’ get the main gate open! We’ve got to herd that bird outside an’ lock it out!”

Wielding the lance of Corriam, Skipper charged the gannet. Brantalis was fighting gamely but was getting the worst of the exchange. He was no match for the ferocious bird’s webbed talons and lightning-swift beak.

Skipper came quickly to his rescue. The courageous otter plunged into the brawl of feathers, flapping wings, beaks and claws. He dealt the gannet a punishing blow to the neck, using the lance like a quarterstaff. Rap! Thud! Two more hard smacks across the gannet’s back sent it reeling. Immediately it came back at Skipper, who jabbed at it as he circled. The Gatekeepers took advantage of the moment to nip in and rescue their babes.

Skipper was calling to Brantalis, “Don’t let that bird get back to the Abbey. Keep it movin’ toward the main gate!”

The Cellarhog and his three helpers had the gates open wide, all shouting words of encouragement as Skipper and the barnacle goose drove the enraged gannet toward it.

“Keep the villain comin’, Skip!”

“Burr, watch ee owt furr he’m beak, zurr!”

“Don’t let the rascal get behind ye, mate!”

“Oh well done, sir! Give him another whack on the tail, he didn’t like that at all!”

The gannet was still looking for a chance to do some damage, though now it was in retreat and almost out of the main gate. In their anxiety to get the bird out, Brantalis and Skipper collided. They went down in a heap.

Girry saw the gannet turning to renew its attack. Throwing caution to the winds, he ran out from where he and his companions were sheltering behind the gate. Flinging himself bodily on the gannet, he kicked, pummelled and punched the startled bird, yelling, “Gerrout, you big bully, out of our Abbey!”

The gannet stumbled, regained its balance and dealt Girry a vicious peck, which pierced his ear. Brinty came dashing to the aid of his friend. His assault on the foebird was so sudden that he forced it out of the gates, onto the path. Shaking with fright but amazed at his own audacity, the young mouse turned, waving and grinning at the Redwallers, who were pouring across the lawns.

“Redwaaaaalll! Haha, we did it!”

Nobeast was prepared for what happened next. Behind Brinty’s back, a young rat leaped out of the ditch on the opposite side of the path. He was brandishing a crude sword fashioned from a scythe blade. The rat struck Brinty down with one cruel slash.