Doomwyte (17 page)

Evening shafts of red, gold and violet sunlight flooded through the long windows into the Great Hall, casting random patterns over the supper tables. Friar Skurpul and his staff were kept busy, serving a repast to the returned searchers, and their new feathered friend. Dibbuns crowded around to stare at Aluco. Never having seen a real tawny owl close up, they peppered him with questions.

“Hurr, Oi never see’d ee real h’owl, wot bees yurr name, zurr?”

“Farver Abbot sez you can make the
whoo hoo
noise, will ye do it for me?”

“I wish I could turn my head roun’ an’ roun’ like you. Will ye teach me how t’do it?”

Abbot Glisam shook a paw at the little ones. “Would you please stop bothering Aluco and let him get on with his supper? Be off, shoo!”

The owl merely waved a wing at Glisam. “The little uns aren’t bothering me, Father, not when there’s vittles like these about.” His huge eyes widened with pleasure as Friar Skurpul sliced off a portion from a big iron skillet on to his platter. “Thankee, Friar, Redwall food is the best I ever tasted. This is delicious, what d’you call it?”

The good mole smiled proudly. “’Tis ee cornmeal panny-cake, zurr, wi’ hunny, chesknutters an’ ’azelnutters baked into it. Oi b’ain’t never cooked furr a h’owlyburd afore, Oi ’opes you’m loikes it, zurr.”

Aluco was profuse with his praise. “Like it, Friar, great howls’n’hoots, I can’t imagine living with anything so wonderful and not having it to eat ten times a day. It’s absolutely super!”

Dwink and Umfry had wolfed their supper down in silence. They sat drumming the tabletop impatiently, not joining in the general enjoyment. Friar Skurpul chucked both of them under their chins with a floury paw. “Boi okey, young maisters, ee’ll bringen on rain an’ thunner wi’ faces loike that. Wot ails ee?”

Umfry let Dwink do the talking. The young squirrel stared around him bitterly. “How can ye all sit there scoffin’ an’ laughin’ whilst our mate Bisky might be held a prisoner, or even lyin’ slain somewhere?”

Samolus interrupted stridently, “Now hold hard there, young un, didn’t you hear Bosie say that as soon as we’ve had a bite to eat, we’d do something about Bisky? I’m concerned about him, too, y’know, he’s my nephew!”

But Dwink was not about to be browbeaten. He came right back at Samolus, waving his paws around. “Well, where is Bosie, an’ Skipper, too, for that matter? Doesn’t anybeast care?”

“Och, did somebeast mention us, we’re here the noo!”

Bosie and Skipper had arrived back from the Infirmary; both had poultices of dockleaf and sanicle bound round their paws. Pushing in next to Umfry and Dwink, the otter and the hare helped themselves to massive portions of bread, cheese, soup and salad. Bosie held up his bandaged paws.

“Will ye no look at what yon whey-faced torturer did tae us. Ah swear, ’tis the only time Ah’ve seen Brother Torilis smile, when he was pullin’ Corksnout’s spike from mah paws, wi’ that long pair o’ scissors!”

Skipper paused, with a soup bowl halfway to his mouth. “Aye, mate, ole Torilis did seem t’be enjoyin’ hisself. But he got the job done well, I will say that for him.”

The Abbot nodded his approval. “Pray tell, how is our Cellarhog faring, is he well?”

Bosie chuckled. “Aye, auld Corkie’s lookin’ bonny, though Ah’m thinkin’ he won’t be sittin’ doon for a wee while yet. Brother Torilis pulled enough spikes out o’ his behind tae fill a bucket.”

Skipper tried to hide a smile. “Pore Corksnout, he looks like a big bumblebee, with his bottom covered in bandages.”

Amidst the merriment which followed, Umfry was about to interrupt and enquire what Bosie intended to do about Bisky, when Perrit the pretty squirrelmaid came bustling in to make an announcement.

“Father Abbot, I was taking a stroll on the walltops, to see if the giant snake was still about, when I saw a lot of shrews at the main gate. I think they want to see you. Do we let them in? They’re still out there.”

Abbot Glisam nodded to Foremole Gullub. “The Guosim are always welcome at our Abbey. Unbar the gate for them, friend.”

Threescore Guosim shrews strode into the Great Hall. Some of the Dibbuns ran and hid—they were a fierce-looking band. Spiky furred, with coloured headbands, they wore small kilts and broad, buckled belts. Each one had the traditional Guosim short rapier thrust in his belt. Other weapons—clubs, slingstones, bows and arrows and spears—were much in evidence.

Glisam met them with open paws. “Welcome to Redwall Abbey, friends, I’ll tell our cooks to provide you with a meal and drink. Please sit. I am Glisam, Father Abbot of Redwall, how can we help you?” Redwallers vacated the supper tables; the Guosim were about to sit when their leader called out.

“Stand fast, all of ye, we ain’t here t’feed our faces!” This was the Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim. He was no taller than the others, but powerfully built, having a hard potbelly and sporting a grey beard. He carried a long club made of solid iron. Swinging it over one shoulder he faced the Abbot aggressively. “I’m Tugga Bruster, Log a Log of the Northstream Guosim, an’ I’m here to ask ye a question!”

Skipper immediately decided that he did not like either the tone or the manner of Tugga Bruster. He hurried forward, placing himself in front of Glisam. “Ahoy, bully, ye can ask wot questions ye like, but there won’t be any answers until yore manners improve!”

Tugga Bruster held his club forward threateningly. “Out o’ me way, riverdog, I ain’t talkin’ to you!”

Skipper whirled like lighting; his thick rudder struck the shrew’s paws, knocking the iron club from his grasp. It rang out, like a hammer striking an anvil, as it hit the floor. Skipper clenched his paws. “Well, I’m Rorgus, Skipper o’ the Mossflower Otters, an’ I’m talkin’ to you, watermouse!”

The Guosim shrew whipped out his rapier, yelling, “I’ll send ye to Hellgates for that!”

It was Bosie’s turn to step in now. He drifted in from the side, unknown to Tugga Bruster. As the Shrew Chieftain was about to lunge with his rapier, he was halted by the sword of Martin pricking his neck. The Highland hare stood poised, his tone leaving nobeast in any doubt. “Allow me tae introduce mahself, laddie. Ah’m the Laird Bosie McScutta o’ Bowlaynee. Unlike mah friend Skipper, Ah dinna come tae the dance unarmed. So, let’s talk. Ah’d advise ye tae put up yore blade, mine’s bigger, d’ye see. Oh, an’ tell yore clan not tae move a paw, or Ah’ll lay yore heid on the floor an’ play ball with it. Now, mah braw bucko, do we understand each other?”

Tugga Bruster thrust the rapier back into his belt. “I hear ye, rabbit!”

Zzzzzip!
One deft stroke of Martin’s sword sheared hairs from the shrew’s beard. Bosie shook his head. “Tut tut, yore a hard one tae learn. Och, but ye’ll find me a stern teacher. Now, state yore business.”

Tugga Bruster backed off, his voice quivering. “Two things. Do ye keep Wytes at this place?”

Bosie leant on his sword, as if pondering the answer. “Ach, certainly not, what do ye take us for, rogues? Carry on, laddie, what’s the other thing?”

The Shrew Chieftain asked in a more reasonable tone, “Has a young Guosim been seen hereabouts, goes by the name o’ Dubble?”

The Abbot stepped out from behind Skipper; he had begun to put two and two together. “Do I take it that you think this young un, Dubble, has been captured by Wytes?”

The Log a Log nodded. “Aye, that’s about it!”

Glisam beckoned to the tables. “All of you, and you, too, sir, please sit and take supper. Come on, Guosim shrews have always been friends of our Abbey. There’s no need to create bad blood between us. Sit ye down now, please.”

At a nod from their Log a Log, the shrews rushed to the table. Glisam made way for their leader to sit next to him. He enquired about the lost shrew. “Is Dubble one of your tribe, sir?”

Tugga Bruster nodded, as though it was hard to admit. “Aye, he’s my son. We’ve come down from the North, this country is new to us.”

The Abbot nodded understandingly. “It must be hard to have your own kin lost in a strange place, a dreadful feeling.”

Skipper winked at Tugga. “When you’ve eaten yore fill, mayhaps ye’d like to join us. One of our own young uns, a mouse called Bisky, is missin’. He was snatched by the Painted Ones. I take it ye’ve heard o’ those villains, eh, Tugga?”

The Shrew Chieftain set his jaw grimly. “Aye, what beast hasn’t heard about ’em? Dirty, savage tree rats. There wasn’t so many of the scum in my younger seasons, but they’re in every reach of forest or woodland these days.”

Samolus nodded agreement. “The gang we’re after have their dwellings in an’ round a five-topped oak, southeast of here. Who knows, maybe they’ve got yore son. Well, d’ye fancy joinin’ us, Tugga?”

Tugga Bruster rose, adjusting the rapier in his belt. Shouldering his iron club, he called to the Guosim, “On yore hunkers an’ join these goodbeasts. Y’can eat those vittles on the march, let’s be off!”

In soft, dusk light the party left Redwall by the small east wickergate, heading straight into the verdant woodlands. Dwink and Umfry strode alongside a couple of shrews who were about their age, one called Marul, the other named Tenka. They chatted to one another in low voices. Umfry was curious about the Guosim way of life, which Marul tried to give him a flavour of.

“We lives mainly on the water, in logboats. You’ve got to be good with a paddle if’n yore a Guosim.”

Dwink enquired, “Where’s yore logboats now, mate?”

Tenka gestured off to his left. “Moored in a broadstream over that way, out o’ sight.”

He was silenced by Tugga, who had heard them talking. “Ahoy, silence back there, ye ain’t out on a picnic. Shut yore gobs!”

The young Guosim promptly obeyed, but Umfry murmured indignantly, “Who does ’e think ’e h’is, givin’ h’out h’orders left an’ right?”

Samolus turned and tweaked the young hedgehog’s snout before delivering a whispered caution. “He’s a Guosim Chief, a Log a Log, an’ whether ye like him or not, wot he says makes sense. Remember, you an’ Dwink ain’t in the Abbey now, yore out in woodlands by night. So ye keep yore eyes open an’ your mouths shut, an’ obey orders, see!”

Samolus went back to the rear of the band, where he fell in step with Bosie. Skipper marched up front alongside Tugga Bruster; the Otter Chieftain had a fair idea of where the five-topped oak would be. Every once in a while pale moonlight showed through the gaps in the treetops, casting moonshadow on the woodland floor. Samolus nodded ahead. “Ah, I know where we are now, pretty soon we’ll come to a clearing up yonder. Skipper will be able to take a bearing on the oak from there.”

Bosie silenced the old mouse with a wave of his paw. “Wheesht, can ye not hear that sound?”

Samolus stood still, listening. “Aye, sounds like a sort of rustlin’ an’ thrashin’, but I ain’t certain where ’tis comin’ from.”

Bosie crouched low, letting the others march ahead as he listened carefully, down close to ground level. “Och, that could be more than one creature, comin’ up from behind us. Ah think it’s headed this way. You go an’ tell everybeast tae get off to the right o’ this trail. We’ll lie low an’ see what it can be, mebbe find out if ’tis followin’ us.”

Word ran swiftly along the column, whilst Bosie crept back along the trail to investigate. Dwink and Umfry obeyed the urgent signals of Samolus, as did the Guosim. The young Redwallers found themselves, along with Marul and Tenka, lying flat in a dried-up watercourse, to the right of the trail.

Now they could all hear the noise. At first it sounded like a stiff breeze, rushing low around the ferns and shrubbery of the woodland floor. But then they heard the sounds of twigs snapping, and some beast, or beasts, beating about amidst the vegetation. The noises grew closer, along with a slight musty odour, quite unpleasant, a bit like dead fish and old damp bark.

Dwink flinched slightly as Bosie dived in the dried watercourse beside him. The hare warned him to silence with a swift glance. Then the hissing could be clearly heard. It was Baliss!

The giant adder had been driven to madness. Leaving the ditch outside Redwall, he had battered his wounded head against tree trunks, trying to rid himself of the many hedgehog spikes which had pierced his mouth, nostrils, face and snout. Some broke off under the pounding, others were driven deeper into the huge, blind reptile. Each wound became swollen and infected. With the double handicap of blindness and having no means of extracting the tormenting needles, Baliss became insane with agony. Having lost all sense of smell, and direction, the snake rampaged around the woodlands, hissing venomously, unable to do anything about his worsening condition.

Samolus watched, fascinated, as the thick, loathsome coils bunched and straightened like steel springs. Everybeast stayed motionless, unscathed, whilst the monster careened madly past the dry watercourse, along the trail and up into the clearing ahead. Samolus, his voice shaky from shock, stared at Dwink and Umfry. “See, ye never know wot ye’ll run into at night in these woodlands. I hope you young Guosim realise that, too!”

However, Marul and Tenka, like the rest of the Guosim, had an all-consuming terror of snakes. The effect that Baliss had upon them was one of total fear. They lay shivering and moaning softly, unable to control themselves. Watching Tugga Bruster whimpering and cringing on the ground, Bosie turned to Skipper, remarking, “Would ye ken he was the braw beastie who was going tae run ye through with his blade this evenin’?”