Brian Jacques - [Redwall 10] - The Long Patrol

invited themselves along too, because there were always plenty of tasty bits to nibble at in the kitchens.

Viola Bankvole presided. “Mother Abbess always appoints me in her place when she isn’t here, so if you don’t

mind I’ll take charge. Gubbio, get your head out of that oven, please!”

Mother Buscol shooed the little mole from the oven, nipping back to the table just in time to stop Russano the

badgerbabe grabbing a bowl of soup. “Indeed to goodness, Viola,” she said, passing a paw across her flustered brow,

“what is it you’re wantin’ now? Can’t you see we’ve got our paws full as H is?”

Viola shook her head primly at die old squirrel. “Abbess, Craklyn, Foremole, Shad, and young Butty are still

missing. Sloey! Put that ladle down this instant! Now, have you all searched properly?”

Pellit the dormouse tried to wrest the ladle from Sloey’s grasp. “Well, I searched the entire orchard and down as

far as the gatehouse, Sister. I don’t think Ginko was looking very hard, though.”

Ginko die Bellringer glared across die table at Pellit. “I done my share o’ searchin’. Found you asleep ’neath the

stairs in my bell tower, didn’t I!”

Gurrbowl Cellarmole, who was sitting with Taunoc and Or-occa, tending the owlchicks, ventured a suggestion:

“May’ap they’m losed theyselves unner ee gurt ’ole at south wall.”

An owlchick fumbled itself loose from her and lumbered into the bowl of soup that lay nearby. Viola leaned over

and fished the little bundle of downy feathers out. “Good job that soup was cold. Under the south wall, you say?

Ridiculous! What would our Mother Abbess be doing grubbing about down there? Personally I think she may have

gone up into the Abbey attics to look for something, and taken the others with her. Barfle, stop pulling Sloey’s ears.

She’ll end up looking like a hare. What do you think, mister Taunoc?”

“About what, madam, the Abbess in the attics, or Sloey looking like a hare?”

“Silly! I’m talking about the Abbess in the attics!”

The Little Owl ruffled his feathers and blinked at her. “Silly yourself, madam! All this meeting has achieved is to

get one of my chicks soaked with soup. Wherever the Abbess is at this moment, it will be exactly where she wants to

be. Your Abbess is a hedgehog, old and wise. She will return in good time.”

Russano looked at Taunoc and spoke the only word he knew. “Nut!”

Sloey the mousebabe managed to hit Pellit a good whack on his nose with the ladle he was trying to take from her.

Reaching over to assist Pellit, Viola Bankvole upset the bowl of cold soup, and it spilled all over Mother Buscol’s

apron. An owlchick fastened its small sharp beak on Ginko’s paw, who yelped with pain and woke the remaining

owlchick, who had been sleeping. The owlchick set up a din. The meeting dissolved in disarray, with Viola Bankvole

struggling to maintain her dignity in die position of deputy Abbess.

“Er, continue the search. I will inform you later of when the next meeting is to be held. Be about your business

now!”

Viola was about to make a stately exit, when she slipped on a patch of cold soup diat had dripped from the table,

and sat down hard on the stone floor.

The molebabe Gubbio tried pulling her upright by the apron strings, lecturing the bankvole severely: “Doant ee

play abowt onna floor, marm, you’m get drefful dusty!”

The meeting ended widi everybeast of the opinion that without a Mother Abbess to run things, Redwall Abbey

would grind to a halt.

Underground, young Friar Butty made his way back up to a dry step, where he sat nursing his rumbling stomach.

“Ooh, am I ’ungry, I’ve never been so ’ungry in all me life!” Abbess Tansy sympathized with Butty, but she could not

show it. “We’re all hungry, but sitting complaining about it isn’t going to do us any good. Look at Shad. He’s bigger

and hungrier than the rest of us, but he isn’t moaning, are you, Shad?”

The otter, who was perched on the bottom stair amid the mud, called back up to Tansy, “No I ain’t, marm. I think

I’ve got a plan t’get us across to yonder mole tunnel!”

Picking their way carefully down the muddy steps, Tansy and the others joined Shad. He shifted a big venturesome

toad off into the swamp with his spearbutt before explaining. “See, about halfways along the wall there, ’tis a chain,

hangin’ from a ring set high in the stone. If’n we could get hold o’ that chain, I reckon we could swing across to the

ledge over yonder an’ make our way along it to the mole tunnel.”

Craklyn studied the scheme, looking doubtful. “It’d be a mighty big swing needed to get onto that ledge, and look,

the ledge itself is piled high with those loathsome creatures. But the main difficulty would be getting hold of the chain.

It’s much too far away for us to reach.”

The thin, rusty chain hung down into the mud, well out of reach by about eight spearlengths. Shad scratched his

chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, yore right, marm. I could soon clear those ole toads off’n the ledge when I got there, but

’ow t’get the chain over ’ere, that’s the problem. Any ideas, mates?”

“Burr aye, farsten summat to ee rope an’ try to snare ee chain!”

Shad’s hearty laugh echoed boomingly ’round the vast cellar space. “Haharr, leave it to our ole molemate. Good

idea, Diggum!”

Knotting their own belts and habit ropes together, they fastened them to the rope Foremole had brought with him.

Shad coiled it up. “That should be long enough fer the job. Now, wot we needs is an ’ook to tie on to our line. Let’s

’ave a look at yore treasure trove, young Butty.”

The squirrel Friar tipped a glittering heap of precious objects from their cloak wrapping and began sorting through

them. “Nothin’ here that looks like a hook, mister Shad.”

Craklyn selected a long thin dagger. It was a beautiful thing, more ornament than weapon, with a hilt crusted with

seed pearls and blue John stones. Its slim, elegant blade was made of solid gold. “Here, this should do. Gold is soft

metal, it’ll bend.”

Shad took the dagger and, setting it in a crack between the stair stones, he bent it double with a few powerful

shoves. The rope was tied tightly to the dagger handle, and Shad twirled it like a sling.

“Right, mates, let’s go fishin’!”

The first few throws went short. Hauling the line back through the watery mud, the otter winked broadly. “I’ve got

the range now, this time does it. Redwaaaaaalllll!”

Mud splattered all ’round as he swung rope and hook in a circle above his head. Shad let go, paying out the coil as

his hook streaked out. It landed with a splodge, slightly beyond where the chain hung. Crouching down, he began

drawing the rope slowly in.

“Easy does it, messmates. Come t’ me, you liddle beauty ...”

The chain moved toward them. Butty waved his paws wildly, crying, “Good throw, Shad, you’ve got it!”

It was indeed a good, or a lucky, throw. As the chain appeared from beneath the surface of the swamp, they saw

that the point of the hooked dagger had actually passed through the center hole of a chainlink, snaring the chain

securely. But Shad took no chances; he continued drawing the line in carefully until he could reach out and seize hold

of the rusted and muddied object.

“Gotcha!”

Craklyn backed off, surveying the risky venture with a jaundiced eye. “Er, who’s going to go first?”

The otter Gatekeeper tugged boldly on the chain to test it. “Bless yer ’eart, marm, who else but me, seein’ as I’m