Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

his wits, and so was I. Do you know, I’m still not sure it was me who attacked that bird.”

There was general laughter and a rousing cheer for Sister May.

Foremole and Constance were whispering together in a corner when the Abbot banged a wooden bowl

upon the tabletop.

“Quiet. Quiet, please! Well, eight seasons of peace since the Great War and now one summer strewn

with trouble. First the fox and his band, now this!”

Several voices called out.

“If only Matthias were here!”

“Yes, he’d know what to do!”

“Matthias, Basil and Jess would soon sort those birds out!”

Whump!

Constance’s heavy paw shook the table. “Silence, listen to your Abbot!” she ordered.

Foremole raised a paw. “ ’scuse oi, me an moi moles got wurk t’do. May us be ’scused, zurr?”

The Abbot looked over the top of his spectacles. “Certainly, Foremole. Now, the rest of you listen to me.

Wherever Matthias is now, or Jess Squirrel, or Basil, I’m sure they would wish us to get on with this

problem and help ourselves.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

Abbot Mordalfus continued his address:

“Thank you. I must say a word regarding Sister May. What she did tonight was very brave—”

“Aye ’twas that,” Ambrose Spike piped up. “Maybe she’s after our Warrior’s job instead of mindin’ that

old infirmary.”

Sister May blushed to her whiskertips. “Oh, what a naughty thing to say, Mr. Spike!”

When order was restored, the Abbot continued:

“Perhaps Ambrose is right, maybe we do need a Warrior in a situation like this. Can anyone suggest a

suitable candidate?”

The call was unanimous:

“Constance, Constance!”

The badger stood up. “First, I suggest you all bed down here for the night. It doesn’t look too safe up in

the dormitories at the moment. If you must leave Cavern Hole, let Winifred or Ambrose know. Do not

wander about alone, especially out in the open. I will sleep on the steps between here and Great Hall

tonight. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do about the raven and his crew.”

There was a great bustle of activity. Some of the infants thought it great fun to be sleeping in Cavern

Hole and they made blanket tents from the edge of the table to the floor.

Constance sat on the steps with the Abbot and Ambrose.

“What do you make of all this, Constance?”

“I’m at a bit of a loss to say, Abbot. They must have been watching the Abbey, because they wouldn’t

have found it so easy to occupy the roofspaces with Queen Warbeak and all her warriors at home.”

“Aye, now it’s up to us to make ’em see the error of their ways and send ’em packin’, gurt cheeky

birds.”

In the roofspace, General Ironbeak held a conference with Mangiz.

“ Krah! The big stripedog is dangerous, Ironbeak.”

“The hedgepig and the waterhound too. We underestimated these earthcrawlers, Mangiz. They will

have to be taught a lesson.”

“Aye, tomorrow will be their dying day,” vowed the crow. “Oh, you are bleeding, my General.”

Ironbeak was glad he had been alone when Sister May attacked him. It would not do for his fighters to

see their leader vanquished by a small female mouse. He shook blood from his talon.

“ Yaah! It is nothing, a scratch. As you say, my Mangiz, tomorrow will be the dying day of these

earthcrawlers. Post sentries at the eaves, and watch for Quickbill and his brothers bringing in supplies.”

Dawn was long past at the foot of the high cliffs. Matthias and the searchers had reached the cliffs after

dark, and ever since daybreak they ranged far and wide. Everywhere they were faced with sheer inward

curving expanses; nowhere was there a way up to the plateau. It was just before midmorning when

Matthias sat on a small mound with Basil and Cheek. The old hare shook his ears mournfully.

“Bollywoggled. That’s what we are, old lad, flummicated! Blow me, there’s no way to the top of that

cliff unless we sprout wings.”

“We need a big ladder. That’d be better than wings,” Cheek sniggered impudently and ducked Basil’s

paw.

Jabez Stump marched up with a huge brown owl waddling behind him. “Matthias, meet Sir ’Arry the

Muse.”

The owl bowed gravely and blinked his enormous eyes.

Matthias bowed courteously in return. “Good morning, Sir Harry. I am called Matthias, Warrior of

Redwall, this young otter is Cheek, by name and nature. Last but not least, allow me to present Basil Stag

Hare, retired scout and foot fighter.”

Basil made an elegant leg. “Ah y’service, sah. But why are you called the Muse?”

The owl struck an artistic stance.

“Why, pray, do you suppose?

I’m master of poetry and prose,

No equal have I in field or wood,

No creature a smidgeon, a fraction as good.

And if you need a poet, why, here’s one to choose.

This Owl…. Sir Harry the Muse.”

“Oh bravo! Bravo sir, well said!” Basil applauded him loudly.

Matthias leaned on his sword. “Well said indeed. Unfortunately, we are not looking for a poet at the

moment, Sir Harry.”

The owl blinked in a dignified manner.

“Then tell me what you need.

Someone to perform a deed?

A mummer perhaps, or a singer of songs?

A champion, a righter of wrongs?

A companion, maybe, to stand at your side?

For my talents are varied and wide.”

“We’re looking for some creature who’s too modest for words, haha.” Cheek anticipated Basil’s paw

this time, and dodged to one side.

Matthias nodded towards the clifftop. “We need someone who can get us up there.”

Sir Harry preened his feathers, averting his eyes from Matthias. “Cake, have you any cake?”

“You didn’t talk in rhyme then. Why?” Matthias smiled.

“Because this is business. Verse is for conversation and pleasantry. Business is business, straight

speaking.”

Matthias spread his paws, opening his eyes wide in imitation of the owl.

“Business for goodness sake,

Perhaps we can find some cake.

Maybe, my friend, we will bring to you

A shrewcake baked by a shrew.”

At first Sir Harry looked undecided, then he stamped his talons and clacked his hooked beak in

approval.

“Not bad, not bad at all.

At least it made me smile.

For a Warrior, I’d say quite good,

You have a certain style.”

Matthias sheathed his sword. “Wait here, sir. I’ll be back in a short while, then we can talk business.”

The warrior mouse set off in search of Log-a-Log and his shrews.

Basil cleared his throat noisily and faced Sir Harry.

“I beg you listen to me,

I’m a fellow spirit, you see.

I was once considered a champion poet.

I just thought you’d like to know it….”

Cheek tittered and avoided Basil’s paw in the same instant.

Sir Harry turned his back and delivered a cutting line:

“I beg, I implore you, sir,

Stick to being a hare!”

Basil twiddled his ears huffily. “Hmph! Some chaps wouldn’t know a rhyme if you chopped it up and

served it with custard in a bowl. Stick to being a hare, huh!”

Matthias reappeared with Log-a-Log. The shrew leader was carrying a flat white cake, its sides oozed

honey, and dark specks at its middle were definitely some kind of dried fruit baked into it. He presented it

to Sir Harry.

The owl looked it over dubiously. He pecked at the cake, made small noises of approval, then gobbled it

up greedily. Crumbs of shrewcake still clung to his beak as he nodded in satisfaction.