Doomwyte (10 page)

Griv devoured another ant, nodding after the reptiles. “The grass snakes, I suppose.” She sniggered wickedly. “The toad is nothing but a food offering.”

Frintl, the young hog, had already crept out of Cavern Hole for a quick outing. She was about to pop out of the main door, when Skipper Rorgus, coming in from the orchard, caught her. He sent the young hogmaid back to Cavern Hole, where she would have to wait with the others until the breakfast bell sounded. Frintl went back, but only after she had gossiped with a few of the kitchen helpers.

Dwink roused himself from the mossy ledge, which he and Bisky had occupied overnight. He yawned, gazing around at the Dibbuns and young ones, most of whom were still asleep in the quiet warmth. Frintl was chuckling to herself as she stole back into the temporary dormitory. Dwink’s voice startled her. “Where’ve you been, missy?”

Picking up her blanket, Frintl began folding it. “Oh, I just went outdoors for a stroll, it’s a lovely mornin’, nice ’n’bright.”

Umfry Spikkle entered; rubbing his eyes, he smiled dozily at the hogmaid. “G’mornin’, Frintl.”

She pursed her lips primly. “Not for you it ain’t, Master Spikkle. Father Abbot wants t’see you, an’ not after brekkist, but soon as yore up an’ about. Sister Violet jus’ told me!”

Umfry sat back, nursing his head in both paws. “Spikes’n’Spikkles, suppose I’m in for h’it!”

Bisky hopped down from the ledge, bringing Dwink with him. “Never mind, mate, we’ll go along with ye, an’ put in a good word, if’n we get the chance.”

Abbot Glisam had decided to see Umfry out in the orchard. The gorgeous spring morn and the bright, blossoming trees did little to allay his dismay. Glisam turned to the group of elders who had joined him, shaking his head sadly. “Oh dear, I detest having to sit in judgement on others, especially young uns. I don’t like it at all.”

Umfry’s grandsire, Corksnout Spikkle, sat down on an upturned barrow. “Yore too soft-’earted, Father, best leave this t’me. I was supposed to see the young rip down in my cellars earlier on, but young Frintl said he was sleepin’ sound. So if ye’ll allow me I’ll have a stern word with ’im.”

Glisam smiled gratefully. “Thank you, sir, I’m obliged.”

Brother Torilis sniffed, issuing a disapproving sound. “Hmph!”

The Laird Bosie, who was also in attendance, held out a spotless, scented kerchief. “Here, mah friend, blow yore snout if’n ye’ve got the sniffles.” He watched Torilis stalk off stiffly, then winked at Glisam. “Och, was it somethin’ that Ah said?”

Umfry plodded into the orchard, flanked by Bisky and Dwink. He bowed to the Abbot, who pointed to Corksnout.

“I think it’s your grandfather who wants to hear what you’ve got to say for yourself, young un.”

Corksnout glared at Umfry. “Well?”

Dwink immediately spoke out. “It was my fault, I said that he could sleep in our dormitory last night, ’cos of how bad the weather was. It’s a long walk t’that Gate’ouse through all the wind an’ rain…an’ all that….”

His voice trailed off, so Bisky cut in. “I told him to stay indoors, too, sir, he might’ve caught a cold an’ the sniffles, y’see.”

Corksnout’s gaze moved from one to the other. “I ain’t speakin’ to either of you two. So, young Umfry, wot’s yore excuse for leavin’ the main outer gate open an’ unguarded last night, eh?”

Umfry shuffled his footpaws, mumbling, “The gate was shut an’ barred when h’I left it, sir.”

Samolus added, “He’s prob’ly right, it must’ve been the intruders that opened it.”

Umfry took a grip of himself. Standing up straight, he spoke out loud and clear. “Maybe h’it was, but that’s no h’excuse, ’tis my job h’as Gatekeeper to guard that gate. Well, h’I didn’t. So h’I’ll ’ave to h’ask ye to h’accept me h’ apologies, ’twon’t ’appen again, sir!”

Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw nodded approvingly. “Hurr, well spaken, zurr, wot do ee says, Corkie?”

The burly Cellarhog stroked his chin. “Well said right enough, but something, ’as t’be done about it, so this is my judgement. Umfry, yore relieved of gatekeepin’ duties ’til I says. As a punishment, ye can clean the cellars out, from top to bottom. Sweep, ’em until there ain’t a sign o‘ dust nor cobweb anywhere. All the stock must be restacked, every barrel, keg, puncheon, cask an’ firkin, neat’n’tidy. Dwink an’ Bisky, you confess to encouragin’ Umfry to desert his post?”

Both the young creatures stood to attention. “Aye, sir, we did!”

Corksnout nodded grimly, then adjusted his nose, which had slid into his mouth. “Right, then you can ’elp Umfry with the task!”

Abbot Glisam sighed with relief. “Well, that’s that! But who’ll mind the gate?”

Foremole Gullub raised a huge digging claw. “Hurr hurr, that’ll be Oi, zurr, ee gurt bed in yon gatey’ouse bees the mostest cummfibble wun Oi ever see’d in moi loife.”

A smile played around the Father Abbot’s lips. “As long as you don’t neglect your duties by snoring all day in it. Permission granted!”

Dwink twirled his bushy tail. “When do we start our job?”

Corksnout stood up from the barrow, fixing the trio with a severe stare. “How about right now this instant!”

Umfry’s jaw dropped. “But wot about brekkist?”

Gullub beckoned toward the Abbey. “Cumm ee with Oi, may’ap ee Froir wull make you’m up ee packed vikkles.”

Samolus watched them trotting off happily. “There goes three good young uns, proper friends!”

Bosie waggled his ears. “Aye, ye ken the way they helped each other oot? Och there’s nae much wrong wi’ them!”

Friar Skurpul greeted the friends at the kitchen doorway. “Goo’day, likkle zurrs, you’m cummed to ’elp Oi at ee ovens furr awhoil?”

Foremole Gullub came trundling in behind them. “Hurr, Oi’m afeared they’m b’aint a-worken at ovens t’day, Froir. Thurr bees tarsks furr ’em a-cleanen owt ee cellars. Straightaways, too, an’ they’m b’aint havved a taste o’ brekkfust yet.”

The kindly Friar ladled out three beakers from a cauldron. “Yurr now, set ee doawn an sup moi leekybean soup, whoilst Oi pack summat furr you’m pore stummicks!”

Foremole Gullub helped himself to a tankard of the savoury soup, and a small crusty loaf. He waved to them as he left the kitchen. “Goo’bye, Oi’m off t’moi Gatey’ouse. Hurr hurr, you uns have fun in ee cellars!”

The cellars at Redwall Abbey were ancient, and widespread. Bisky placed the big food parcel, which the Friar had made up, on a barreltop table. He smiled ruefully. “There’s enough cleanin’ work down here to keep us busy for a season or two, I think!”

Dwink had already begun inspecting the contents of the parcel. “Good golly, mates, ole Skurpul’s packed enough to keep us fed for twice that long. Look, apple’n’blackberry turnovers, cheese’n’onion pasties, a full rhubarb crumble, scones, honey an’ salad. Anyone for brekkist?”

Umfry sighed. “Not just yet, Dwink, we’d best make h’a start with the cleanin’ first.”

“That’s the spirit, young uns, work first, eat later!” Corksnout stood in the cellar doorway. “I’m just off to Great ’All for brekkist. But I’ll be back t’see ’ow yore goin’ on with the task. Now you’ll find brooms, mops, pails, dusters an’ so on, outside o’ my room over there. Bend yore backs t’the job at paw, an’ we’ll get on fine t’gether.”

Bisky saluted the big Cellarhog. “Right, sir, where’d you like us to start?”

Corksnout pointed. “Right at the far wall o’ the back cellar. Move all the barrels, dust ’em, make sure the bungs are tight an’ check ’em for leaks. Brush all the floor an’ walls, then restack the barrels.” He strode jauntily off, humming a tune.

Umfry mopped imaginary perspiration from his headspikes. “H’I feel tired jus’ lissenin’ to that ole hog!”

Dwink had gone back to checking their food. “I’ve just noticed somethin’. Friar Skurpul never gave us anythin’ to drink.”

Bisky was grinning broadly, winking at Umfry. “I wonder why, got any ideas, mate?”

Umfry did not see the funny side of things. He shrugged. “Prob’ly ’cos we’re h’in a cellarful o’ drinks. Come on, let’s get the brooms h’an make a start!”

The back cellar was a fair distance from the main chamber. Lanterns had to be lit there before they could see anything clearly. Even then it had a slightly morbid atmosphere, full of shapes and shifting shadows. Barrels, casks, kegs and firkins were stacked in rows, from ceiling to floor. Umfry moved to the far corner, tapping a heap of standing barrels with his paw.

“These are empty h’ale barrels. Let’s dust ’em h’off.”

Bisky made a sensible suggestion. “Aye, we can roll ’em out into the passage. They’ll be ready then, for the next October Ale brewing.”

They worked steadily at the barrels, with Umfry singing a little song he had learned from his grandad.

Having returned from breakfast, Corksnout looked in. He gave a nod of approval which knocked his nose askew. “Hoho, that’s the way, me jollybeasts. Shift those last two barrels out, then take yore lunchbreak. Here’s some elderflower an’ bilberry cordial for ye to drink.”

They moved the remaining barrels out into the passage in a burst of energetic speed, then sat down to lunch.

Where the friends were seated was practically in the dark. The next pile of barrels blocked out the lantern light. Umfry groaned. “Ooh, me pore back’s breakin’, get h’up an’ move that lantern, so’s h’I can see where me mouth is h’an’ put some vittles h’in it!”

Bisky perched on a sack of sand, which was used for breaking the fall of barrels from the pile. He scoffed, “Get up yourself, y’great lump, I’m tired, too!”

Umfry made no move to stir himself, but turned his persuasive charms on Dwink. “That’s a h’awful way to talk to h’a beast with ’is back broke. You’ll move the lantern, won’t ye, Dwink?”

The young squirrel replied indignantly, “I’d move me footpaw round yore fat, lazy bottom, if it wasn’t all covered with spikes!”

Umfry felt around in the gloom. He found an open half-sack of corks and flung one at Dwink. It went straight into Dwink’s open mouth.

“Yaggsplooh! Who did that?”

Looking the picture of innocence, Umfry pointed at Bisky. “He did, h’an’ ’e threw one at me, too.”

Dwink flung himself upon Bisky, who retaliated by doing something the young squirrel could not abide. He tickled the tip of Dwink’s bushy tail. “Yowoostoppitgerroff!” Bisky was hurled onto Umfry. Dwink jumped on top of them both. Chortling, tickling, pinching and yelling, the three friends rolled about in the lantern-lit gloom. Recklessly they cannoned into the heap of barrels, which rumbled and shifted.

“Look out, they’re fallin!”

The empty barrels made a noise like a pile of bass drums, as they thundered and bumped about the cellar. The noise continued a short time, then ceased. Dwink felt about in the darkness, calling, “The lantern’s gone out, are you two alright?”

After a good deal of coughing, and hawking up dust, Umfry answered, “My skull’s broke, but h’I’m sittin’ h’on a rhubarb crumble, so h’I’ll be h’alright!”

Dwink scrambled up, tripped over a barrel and landed in Umfry’s lap. “Where’s Bisky?”

Umfry spoke through a mouthful of crumble. “Dunno.”

Bumbling and stumbling his way out into the passage, Dwink grabbed a lantern from the wall and hurried back, yelling, “Bisky, mate, where are ye, speak t’me!”

He was answered by a stunned mutter. “Nuuuunhhh!”

“H’over ’ere, h’I’ve found ’im!” Umfry yelled.

Dwink held the lantern up, scrambling over heaped barrels to the far angle of the wall. Umfry lay atop two barrels, pointing down. “Fetch that lantern—’e’s down there!”

In the shifting shadows of the swinging light, Bisky could be seen. He had fallen down some kind of hollow in the floor, his footpaws sticking up in the air.

Dwink found a bracket in the wall and hung the lantern on it. “Stay still, mate, we’re comin’. Umfry, come on, let’s move these barrels so we can get at him!”

Forgetting their aches and stiffness, the two friends thrust the barrels wildly aside, until a space was cleared.

Bisky sounded much recovered as he shouted, “Down here, lend a paw, look what I’ve found!”

It was a small flight of five stone steps, running away into the corner. Down in the stairwell, Bisky hauled himself upright, his eyes glittering in the lantern light as he pointed to an ironbound door. The young mouse was yelling. “Look, it’s a door, a door with a keyhole, and guess what?” He held an object up, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I’ve found the key!”

It was still night, but not more than two hours before dawn. The magpies, Griv and Inchig, perched on the tussocked rim of a deeply carved depression. This was the old quarry; it had been the habitat of adders, back into the mists of time. Far below, the two grass snakes and the toad wended their way over the quarry floor, skirting thistlebeds and large pools left by the heavy rains.

Inchig cocked his head on one side, curiously. “Raaak! Is this where the giant Baliss lives?”

Griv indicated an area, overgrown with hairy bittercress and white deadnettle, at the foot of the north quarry wall. “Karrah! There are many hidden entrances behind those weeds. Baliss dwells in the caverns and tunnels over that way.”

Inchig watched the three reptiles threading their way through the vegetation. Swelling his chest, the male magpie strutted about on the rim. “Kayyar! Are we supposed to go down there also?”

Griv eyed him humorlessly. “Yikk! You can, if you are foolish enough. I am staying here, to do what we have been sent here for. To watch and wait.”

Inchig’s chest deflated, he squatted down by his mate. “Haayak! We must obey orders.”

The toad blinked, gazing into the black hole which confronted them. Everything about the entrance reeked of danger. The strange, musty odour, complete silence and impenetrable darkness. He began to waddle backward but was jolted to a standstill, by vicious butts from the snakes’ blunt snouts. Previously, the grass snakes had ignored their fat, bloated companion, merely making sure it was with them, and travelling in the right direction. The unwitting toad, had of course, been deeply hypnotised by the skilful Sicariss. However, faced with the mysterious black entrance hole, the toad grew fearful. The grass snakes also had their orders. They fiercely set upon the frightened creature, hissing, and nipping with their fangs. The unfortunate victim was left with no alternative; it hopped forward in ungainly fashion, to escape the slashing teeth. Straight into the hole, falling awkwardly down a dark, steep slope.

The grass snakes retreated a short distance. There they writhed and curled into grotesque attitudes, lying frozen in that manner. Feigning death is considered a good defence by grass snakes, when threatened with danger.

The toad had reached the bottom of the sloping tunnel. Feeling something nearby, it, too, tried to remain completely still. It was, however, betrayed by its pulsing throat, which seemed to have gained a life of its own. Now, a large but delicately forked tongue caressed the toad’s skin. A disembodied voice whispered almost soothingly, “Baaaallliiisssssss!” Then a heavily scaled body shot forward, enveloping the victim in its irresistible embrace. In less time than it had taken the wretched toad to slide down the underground slope, there was no trace that it had ever existed. Nothing, save for the sated hiss, which echoed about. “Baaaalllliiiisssssssss!”

Dawn filtered slowly over the quarry. Early sunlight touched the clifflike walls, with their banded layers of buff and dull red sandstone. The two magpies were still perched on the quarry rim. Griv was dozing, but Inchig had wakened with the early sunrays. He ruffled his feathers, clacking his beak irritably.

“Kraak! What’s going on down there, how long have we got to wait? There’s no sign of this monster serpent, no movement of any kind. Look at those two grass snakes, they’re not moving at all. Mayhap Baliss slew them, sneaked up in the dark, with his poison fangs. What d’you think?”

Griv was annoyed at being disturbed from her nap. “Rakkahakk! Have ye never seen grass snakes playing dead before? Why don’t you do as I’m doing, just be still and watch. When something happens, it’ll happen without all your grumbling. Now be still!”

Inchig was about to obey his irate partner, when he spied movement below. He began hopping about, spreading both wings, and fanning his tailfeathers. “Chakkachakka! Something happens, see, see!”

Griv stared at the scene below in horrified awe.

From the tangled vegetation camouflaging the entrance hole, a head emerged, a huge, spade-shaped thing, his sightless eyes two milky, bluish-white orbs. Baliss halted, probing the air with a forked, viperine tongue. Then with smooth rapidity the mighty serpent slithered forth into the open. The snake was a nightmarish sight, dark brown, with the
V
shape at the base of his skull connecting to a broad zigzag pattern, which ran the length of his back. Bunching powerful scaled coils, the reptile reared high, head moving in a lazy, swaying arc. The flickering tongue explored the still morning air. Ignoring the grass snakes, in their twisted mock death poses, Baliss began crossing the quarry floor with a sinuous, unhurried grace.

Inchig was jigging about frantically, cawing and cackling aloud. “Karrakah! Look at that serpent, Griv, see the size of him! How long d’you think he is? Akkarr! He must be as thick as a great oak limb!”

Griv had risen onto her talons, berating Inchig. “Fool, shut your beak, be silent, noisy idiot!”

Baliss halted, again rearing his monstrous head. He pointed directly at the magpies on the rim. “Wingbirdzzzz, why does Korvussss sssend ye here?”

Inchig ceased his frenzied dance; he shot Griv a befuddled look. “Harraah! How does he know Korvus Skurr sent us?”

Baliss provided the answer. “Who but the raven would sssend carrion, wormzzzz and a croaker to my domain?”

Griv came to the very edge of the rim, noting that the head moved to mark her progress. “Hayyakh! Our Chieftain would speak with ye. If ye follow us and the grass snakes, we’ll take you to him.”

Baliss nodded, dropping his bulky coils to the ground. “I know where your masssster livezzzz. Go now, tell him Balissssss will meet with him. Tomorrow noon at the sssstream, where hisss guardzzz wait in the birch tree. I will sssspeak to Korvusssss. Go!”

Griv glared at her mate, as Inchig babbled, “Yakkarah! So, we can go now, good! But what about those grass snakes?”

The giant adder began returning across the quarry floor. Both magpies heard his departing remark. “Go, Balisssss will take care of your grass snakesssss.”

Inchig watched with bated breath, as the huge serpent slithered toward the death-feigning snakes. Griv dealt him a smack with her open wing. He scowled. “Ayyakk! What was that for?”

She readied her wing for a second blow. “Raahaak! Our work is done here, ye heard Baliss. Go!”

As they winged their way back, Inchig was still curious. “Karra! D’you think those snakes will get away with playing dead?”

Griv cackled, “Yakyakyak! They will until Baliss shows them real death!”

Inchig gasped in disbelief. “Raah! A snake eating snakes?”

Griv set her gaze on the dew-kissed distance. “Yahaar! That evil beast would eat anything!”

News of the secret door and the key being discovered in the Abbey cellars spread swiftly around Redwall. Plus, of course, the rumours, which were mainly put about by Dibbuns.

“H’Abbot sez we not t’go down in Mista Spikkle’s cellars, case Googlybeasties gets uz!”

“Burr, wot bees Googlybeasters?”

“Ho, great hooj vermints, wiv teeffs an’ twenny claws!”

“Gurr, bees that roight, Sissy Vi?”

Sister Violet was not about to encourage Abbeybabes to venture down to the cellars alone. She nodded. “Well, if’n Father Abbot says so, I s’pose ’tis right enough. Go an’ wash those paws now, afore lunch.”

As it was a warm, sunny day, the Dibbuns dashed off toward the Abbey pond. This was as good an excuse as any for getting wet and paddling about. Sister Violet lumbered after them, wheezing.

“Walk, don’t run, wait for me, yore not allowed around that pond on yore own. Dugry, come back here!”

A committee of Redwall Elders was assembled in the orchard to question Bisky, Dwink and Umfry. Bisky related the events of the incident. Having finished, he stood watching the Abbot studying the rusty, old iron key, holding it up for inspection.

Samolus was jubilant at the discovery. “Aye, that’ll be the very key the riddle spoke of. I’ll wager it fits that door like my ole grandad’s nightie fitted ’im!”

The Laird Bosie brushed a dust speck from his cuff. “What’n the name o’ crimmens has yer auld grandad’s nightgown tae do wi’it, did et have a keyhole?”

Brother Torilis sniffed audibly. “Sheer foolishness, an’ oldbeasts’ tales, that’s all it is. The door’s probably rusted too badly to open.”

Samolus cut in on him sharply. “A door rusted too badly to open, Brother? I’d say
that’s
a bit o’ sheer foolishness. Leave it to me, there’s nothing in this Abbey I can’t put right, from a wobbly table leg to some rusty, old door. And as for oldbeasts’ tales, where d’you suppose you gained most o’ yore knowledge of herbs an’ cures, eh?”

Brother Torilis was taken aback by the old mouse’s verbal attack. Samolus was still facing him, his jaw jutting forth truculently.

Skipper Rorgus placed himself between the pair, in an attempt to calm the situation. “Steady on, mateys, this is only a friendly parlay. Let’s keep it that way. Father Abbot, wot’s yore view on doors’n’keys?”

Abbot Glisam had already formed an opinion, ever since the three young ones had told of their discovery. The excitement and happiness in their eyes was enough for him. “Friends, there’s no question about it. These three scamps must find what lies beyond the door….” Glisam got no further—he was smothered by Bisky, Dwink and Umfry, hugging, patting and paw shaking.

“Good ole Father Abbot, thankee kindly, sir!”

“H’I knew you was h’our mate, Father, h’I jus’ knew h’it.”

“An’ I promise we’ll clean out the cellars as soon h’as we can, Father!”

Bosie extricated the Abbot from the trio’s embrace. “Haud on there. If’n yore bound tae gang through yon door, Ah’m comin’ wi’ ye. As protector an’ warrior o’ Redwall an’ its beasties, ’tis mah right!”

Skipper pounded the mountain hare’s back. “Well spoken, bucko, I volunteers to come with ye!”

Samolus was still ready to argue with anybeast. “Well, you lot ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Any objections?”

Foremole held up a sturdy digging paw. “Ee’ll need a trusty moler with ee, if’n you uns bees axplorin’ unner they’m cellars.”

Glisam shook his head in admiration of the Foremole. “You can’t argue with good, sound mole logic. I think it’s a sensible idea. Er, just one more thing, I think we’ve got enough for the task now, otherwise we’ll have the entire Abbey wanting to come along.”

The remark was greeted with general laughter.

Perrit the squirrelmaid approached; smiling prettily she curtsied to the Abbot. “I hope they’re not thinking of going now, Father, I think they should wait until after lunch.”

Bosie winked at her. “Och, yer right, lassie, who’d go anywhere wi’out a wee bite o’ lunch!”

Bisky was so excited that he was hard put to gobble down some late spring vegetable soup, and a portion of turnip, leek and parsnip pasty. He tried taking in all the information which was being given to him and his friends. Some of it was good and practical advice.

“You’ll need lanterns. Make sure they’re properly filled and trimmed.”

“Oh, an’ some flint steel and tinder in case the lights get blown out.”

“Ropes, too, you’ll need ropes, they always come in useful.”

Friar Skurpul wrinkled his snout at Bosie. “Hurr, an’ sum vikkles, juzz to keep ee goin’, zurr.”

Bosie flourished an elegant bow to the Friar. “Mah thanks tae ye for thinkin’ o’ the main essentials, sir, yer a paragon among beasties, Ah’m thinkin’.”

Early afternoon found the party gathered in the back cellar. Lanterns illuminated the scene as they sat on the floor watching Samolus. At the bottom of the stairs, the old mouse was working on the rusted doorlock. Bisky, Umfry and Dwink were reciting the rhyme which Sister Ficaria had recalled. They chanted aloud:

The head of Samolus appeared from the stairwell. He held a mangled iron bar in one paw, rubbing dust and rust flakes from his face with the other. His aggressive mood had not yet worn off. “Hoi! Can you keep it quiet up there, I can’t hear myself think. Sound really echoes down there, y’know!”

Skipper thumped his rudder in a soft, sympathetic manner. “Looks like ye ain’t havin’ much luck with that door, Sammo.”

The old mouse gritted his teeth, declaring his determination to the Otter Chieftain. “I needs to concentrate, Skip, a bit o’ quiet is all I asks. I’ll crack it, you’ll see. Might take me a bit o’ time, but an ole iron door isn’t goin’ to defeat Samolus Fixa. No sir!”

Abbot Glisam placed a paw to his lips, beckoning the three young ones and Bosie to follow him. Up into Great Hall they went, wondering what Glisam wanted. The old dormouse trundled across the hall, explaining as they went.