Doomwyte (24 page)

Dawn was banishing the dark night hours, turning the skies to a kaleidoscope of gentle, pastel hues. Woodpigeons in Mossflower’s trees commenced their broody chuckling, as the first larks of day ascended chirruping joyously. None of the inhabitants of Redwall had yet broken their fast, but they appeared in force on the dew-kissed lawns. Everybeast had turned out early—even the Dibbuns—to witness the banishment of the Painted Ones to the western flatlands. The spectators crowded the walltop over the main gate.

Fully armed, Bosie led a contingent of Gonfelins, Guosim and able-bodied Abbeybeasts to the door of the Belltower.

Corksnout Spikkle stood guarding the entrance. He saluted with his huge bung mallet, knocking his cork nose to one side. Hastily adjusting it, he indicated the tower with a nod. “Ain’t been a peep out of ’em all night, mate!”

Bosie returned the salute with a flourish of Martin’s sword. “Mah thanks tae ye, sirrah. Off tae yore bed now, Ah’ll take charge o’ this wee task!”

Completely subdued, the tree rats filed out of the Belltower. Since their bath in the stream, plus the removal of their grisly body trophies, and the attendant weeds, they looked a sorry bunch.

Nokko moved them along with a stick. “Well now, ya don’t look like much, eh? No more painty faces, an’ trees to ’ide in. Step lively at the back there, awkward paws!”

The watchers on the walltop stood silent, as the heavily guarded rodents shuffled their way to the big front gate. Then the tiny molebabe set the Dibbuns off, with his raucous bass shouts. “Gurrout of yurr, you’m villyuns, goo on be h’off!” The Abbeybabes booed and hissed, shouting out some quite ripe comments at the sullen mob of captives.

“Hah, I cut you tails off wiv a hooj knife!”

“Yurr, et won’t smell so stinky in yurr when you uns bees gone, hurr hurr!”

“H’if youse cumm back, Mista Bosy’ll baff ye again. Better run very quicker!”

Abbot Glisam stood on the threshold, at the west wall centre. He waited until all the prisoners were lined up on the path, facing the flatlands on the far side of the ditch. Silence fell over everybeast when he raised his paws. Then he addressed the vermin prisoners in a no-nonsense voice.

“Hear me now: you are to be given your freedom, which is more than your tribe ever did for anybeast. But, there are conditions, under which you are released. There will be no return to Mossflower woodlands for any of you. Travel west, toward the setting sun at eventide. After one night out on those plains, you may choose whichever way you want to go. West, south, north, but not east, not back this way. I will post guards to look out from these walls. By this time tomorrow it will spell death for any they can see. Is this clearly understood?”

Amidst the silent shuffling of footpaws, Bosie paced up and down, sword on shoulder, berating the rats. “If’n certain beasties, whom Ah willnae mention, had their way, ye’d all be lang slain! Och, ye wee, ungrateful creatures, do ye not want yer life an’ freedom? Bow tae the guid Abbot an’ thank him right now. Come on, bow yer scruffy heids an’ say ‘thankee, Father,’ all of ye!”

With very bad grace the tree rats bobbed swift bows, muttering thanks. Abbot Glisam nodded to his guard force, below on the path.

“That’s sufficient, send them on their way now!”

Many of the rats hesitated at the edge of the ditch, but they were urged on by stern warriors, with shoves and pushes. “Come on, it ain’t that deep, either climb down, or jump over!”

Nokko put his footpaw behind one or two. “I ain’t carryin’ youse over on my back, git goin’!”

Tugga Bruster was about to swing his iron club at Tala, the mate of Chigid, whom he had slain. However she preempted the move by leaping right across to the other side of the ditch, where she faced him, hatred and defiance glittering in her eyes.

“See me, spikeymouse, I be Tala, I killya one day!”

The Guosim Log a Log began waving his club, roaring, “I’ve taken enough o’ this, I’m comin’ over there to finish you off, like I should’ve done!”

The Abbot shouted from the walltop. “There’ll be no killing done here, stop him!”

Dwink shot forward, grabbing Tugga Bruster in a head-lock. The shrew bit his paw, tripping him and pushing him into the ditch. Nokko was on Bruster in a flash, knocking the iron club to one side. With a driving headbutt he knocked the Shrew Chieftain out cold. The Gonfelin leader smiled.

“I been wantin’ t’do that fer a good while now! Cummon, young un, out ye come.” Reaching down he grasped Dwink’s paw and heaved.

The young squirrel tried to stand, then cried out in pain. “Yowhooch! Me flippin’ footpaw!”

Samolus scrambled down to his side, inspecting the footpaw. “Must’ve fell awkwardly, it’s broken!”

Willing volunteers carried Dwink into the Gatehouse, where Brother Torilis hastened to attend him.

Up on the threshold rampart, Abbot Glisam watched the freed vermin wandering willy-nilly, as if in no particular hurry. He turned to Skipper Rorgus. “Is that a bow you have there, friend?”

The otter proffered the weapon. “Aye, Father, ’tis.”

Glisam selected an arrow from the Skipper’s quiver. Laying the shaft upon the string, he drew back and let fly. The arrow fell just behind the back vermin rank. Glisam raised his voice in command. “Right, all archers prepare to shoot on my order. Ready…”

Without turning to ascertain the threat, the vermin took to their heels and fled in disorder. Sister Violet watched the receding dust cloud, remarking to Skipper, “I didn’t know Father Abbot was such a fine bowbeast, that was a splendid shot!”

Glisam did something quite out of character for the Father Abbot of Redwall. He winked roguishly at the astonished Sister, mimicking a rough otter voice. “Haharr, there’s a lot ye don’t know about me, matey, ain’t that right, Skip?”

Skipper Rorgus returned the wink.

“Aye, right as rain, me ole shipmate!”

Inside the Gatehouse, Dwink stifled a yelp as Brother Torilis gave the injured footpaw an experimental waggle. The gaunt-faced Torilis pronounced solemnly, “More than one bone fractured. Some poultices to prevent swelling, a firm dressing, lots of rest and you should be up and about by autumn.”

“Autumn?” the young squirrel cried. “I ain’t layin’ round here ’til then, we’ve got to go an’ find Dubble!”

Torilis gave him a wry glance. “We? If you mean me I have no intention of going searching for a shrew, and you, sir, are certainly not going anywhere. Huh, we!”

Dwink explained with a pained expression, “I didn’t mean you, Brother, I meant Bisky, Spingo and Umfry Spikkle. We vowed to help Dubble.”

Bisky and Spingo wandered into the Gatehouse. The Gonfelin maid smiled cheerily at Dwink. “How’s the ole hoof, Dwinko?”

Brother Torilis looked up from a draught he was mixing for the patient. “The old hoof, as you so quaintly put it, is fractured in two places. So, miss, you and your friend can take yourselves off, and allow me to care for the injured.”

Dwink shrugged helplessly at them. “Sorry, mates.”

Bisky patted his friend’s bushy tail. “Don’t worry about it, me’n’Spingo will find ole Dubble. You’ll have Umfry for company, though. Corksnout Spikkle left word that he can’t leave the Abbey ’til he’s finished up the job we started out to do. Cleanin’ out the cellars, an’ tidyin’ all those barrels, remember?”

Dwink nodded. “That seems like a long time ago now. Anyhow, you two take care of each other, an’ good luck with the search. I hope ye find Dubble safe.”

Friar Skurpul was kindness itself to both young searchers; he packed them a haversack apiece. “Yurr naow, Oi put in summ gurt vikkles for ee. Hunnycakes, dannyloin’n’burdocky corjul, candied chesknutters, parsties an’ ee few o’ moi speshul ’efty dumplin’s!” The good old mole gave a rumbly chuckle. “Ahurrhurrhurr, Oi wuddent go a-swimmen arfter eatin’ wun o’ moi dumplin’s. Loikely you’d be a-sinken, daown to ee bottum. Hurrhurrhurr, they’m not a-called ’efty furr nought!”

The pair thanked Skurpul, and quit the kitchens in high spirits, feeling a great sense of adventure for their coming trip. Striding across the sunlit Abbey lawns, Spingo encouraged Bisky to get into step by lustily singing a Gonfelin marching song.

Perrit, the young squirrelmaid, opened the main gates for them; she smiled and waved them through. “Goodbye, friends, good luck!”

Tugga Bruster was sitting on the path outside, looking dazed as he nursed a lump on his forehead. The surly Guosim Log a Log glared at the happy pair. “An’ where d’ye think yore off to, eh?”

Bisky politely sidestepped the shrew as he scrambled upright, answering him curtly, “We promised to go and search for Dubble.”

Tugga Bruster blocked their way. He was looking for a quarrel. “Dubble, huh, that worthless scrap o’ fur got himself lost again has he. Right, if’n ye find him, fetch him back t’me, I’ll teach him t’go runnin’ off without my permission!”

Bisky was about to reply, when Spingo confronted the irate Log a Log. “You’ll do nothin’ of the sort, ugly mug, I’m glad you ain’t my da, ya big bully!”

Tugga Bruster grabbed Spingo by her paw, his face was twisted with rage. “Yore father was the one wot knocked me down, ye hard-nosed snippet.”

He was raising a footpaw to kick Spingo when Bisky struck. He swung his haversack, catching the shrew a mighty belt between the ears. Tugga Bruster went down like a felled tree. Bisky was shaking slightly at the prospect of having struck a Shrew Chieftain. He laughed nervously. “Er…ha ha…one of Friar Skurpul’s hefty dumplin’s must’ve got him!”

Spingo curled her lip as she stepped over the shrew. “Shouldn’t never be a Pike’ead of Guosims, that un. Nasty piece o’ work, ain’t ’e. Can’t leave ’im ’ere, though. Yore healer, wotsisname Toreerlilero, he’ll need to treat ’im, after two bumps on the noggin.”

They lugged the senseless shrew across to the main entrance, banged on the gate for attention and hurried away giggling. It was Foremole Gullub who opened the gate. Looking down at the unconscious shrew, he shook his velvety head.

“Gurt seasons, ee’m musta knocked on ee gate wi’ his ’ead, t’get loike that. Yurr, Mizzie Perrit, lend Oi ee paw t’get this gurt foozle h’inside.”

Dwink lay on the big bed in the Gatehouse, trying to stop himself dozing off—it was after all, still early morning. However, he could not resist the potion which Torilis had administered. It took rapid effect. Bright summer day ebbed into the distance; sounds of birdsong, Dibbuns at play and the customary hum of Abbey life receded.

Sprawled on the big, soft Gatehouse bed, Dwink entered the odd realm of dreams. He saw Martin the Warrior materialise out of the mist. His voice was both strong and soothing, his eyes kind and wise as he delivered a message to the young squirrel.

“The eyes of the owl must watch the eye of the snake. He must watch for other eyes which covet the green one. Trust not the beast who is the friend of nobeast. Redwall will gain the raven’s eye from a thief, but the rest you may seek. Return to the door, the door with no key, which holds the key. On, on, and on for one. For one can give you all!”

Dwink was rudely awakened in warm noontide. Three Dibbuns, Dugry, Furff and the very tiny mousebabe, landed with a thump on the bed. Dwink sat up abruptly. “Rogues, ruffians, watch out for my footpaw!”

The Abbeybabes ignored his warning. Leaping over Dwink they burrowed under the counterpane. The mousebabe popped his head out, twitching his snout at Dwink like a fellow conspirator. “Uz playin’ hide’n’seek wiv Mista Bosie.” Seeing this had no effect on the young squirrel, the mousebabe growled savagely, “Dwink, don’t tell ’im where us are, norra word, or I choppa tail off!” He vanished beneath the counterpane, from where muffled giggles emerged.

The Laird Bosie suddenly strode into the Gatehouse. He sniffed the air, looking around dramatically. The bumps moving about beneath the embroidered covering, coupled with the noise of chortling Abbeybabes, were a real giveaway. The lanky hare winked at Dwink. “Have ye no seen three wee rogues aboot?”

The young squirrel kept a straight face. “Three, ye say? No sir, I’ve been fast asleep here since I fell into the ditch an’ injured my footpaw.” As he was saying this, Bosie was beckoning him to move aside, which Dwink did, rather gingerly, being very careful with his bandaged footpaw.

Bosie then announced loudly, so that the fugitives could hear, “Och, well, if ye should see them Ah’ve nae doubt ye’ll tell me forthwith!” He strode noisily toward the open door, then tippawed swiftly back to the bed. With lightning speed he bundled all three Dibbuns up in the counterpane, swinging it over his shoulder. “Hah, Ah’ve caught ye, mah bonnies. Sister Violet’s waitin’ wi’ lots o’ sweet-scented soap, an’ a tubful o’ guid, warm water. It’s bathtime for ye!”