Loamhedge (14 page)

The four exchanged sly winks. Flinky began singing a lullaby in a soft soothing voice.

 

“All the walkin' today that I've done, done, done,

trampin' through mud in the sun, sun, sun,

it reminds me of the days when me dear ould mother said,

come on now liddle feller, time for bed . . . bed . . . bed.

So hush a-bye, looh ah-lie, baby close yore eyes,

an' dream about the moon up in the starry skies.”

 

He repeated the verse again, even softer, with the other three vermin humming gently in the background.

Badredd's head drooped forward slightly, the cutlass lying limp in his open paw. His thoughts drifted back to his own young seasons. Through a golden haze of memory, he was barely aware of Flinky's singing. It was the same tune but with different words.

 

“It looks like the fox has gone to sleep, sleep, sleep,

Slippy now be quiet as ye creep, creep, creep,

an' stick a good sharp spear straight through his head,

then the moment that he wakes up he'll be dead, dead, dead!

So hush a-bye, don't ye cry, foxy close yore eyes,

an' ye'll soon make lovely vittles for the ants an' flies!”

 

The murderous scheme might have worked out successfully had it not been for Plumnose. He thought that the altered words were so funny that he clapped his paws and broke out into hearty guffaws.

“Duh, haw haw haaaw! Dat's a gudd 'un, I like dat, Flink! Haw haw haw, wake up dead, berry gudd!”

Badredd snapped immediately back to reality. He caught Slipback, brandishing a spear not three paces from him. Grabbing up his cutlass, the fox raised it threateningly.

“Wot are yew up to, weasel?”

Slipback veered and went past him. He started jabbing at the shrubbery at the edge of the glade.

“Thought I saw those bushes movin', Chief. It might've been that otter an' the squirrel, er, Sagroon an' Bando!”

Flinky interposed. “I know who ye mean, Bragoon an' Saro. I saw the bushes move, too, Chief. Slipback could be right!”

Thinking swiftly, Badredd turned the situation to his advantage. “No sense in takin' chances then. We'd best git movin' fast. Come on, up on yore paws!”

Badredd drove them hard for the remainder of the day by adopting a simple but effective scheme. He ordered Rogg and Floggo to fire off arrows from time to time. The deadly shafts fell just short of the marchers' rear, causing them to hasten forward. Oaths and curses accompanied the arrival of each arrow, but they kept going, knowing they were only getting tit for tat. The plot to rid themselves of the little fox had failed, but they realised that, had it been Burrad or Skrodd in Badredd's place, Flinky and Slipback would have been slain as retribution. They were getting off lightly.

Progress was good. By evening, Badredd was heartened to hear Plumnose calling out, “Dere's duh path at de end ob the trees!”

Sure enough, they had reached the border of the woodlands. In front of them lay the path, which ran down from the north to the south.

Flinky leaned on an elm trunk, smiling cheerfully as the fox came up to see. “Ah well, there ye are now, Chief. All we gotta do is follow that road t'the left an' keep goin' 'til we hit Redwall Abbey!”

Larks soared joyfully on the flatlands outside of Redwall, singing their hymns to the newborn day. Chiming a melodious bass line, the Abbey's twin bells boomed out warmly. Indoors, all the young ones were already up and about, anticipating the arrival of Summer Feast.

Sister Setiva invariably rose to the tolling bells. Up and dressed, tidy and neat, she rapped on the sickbay door with her blackthorn stick, berating the sleepers within.

“Oot o' those beds, ye great dozy lumpkins. If your no' out here in a braces o' shakes, ah'll be in there an' haul ye both oot by your tails!”

Bragoon poked a sleepy head from beneath his coverlet. “Hear that, mate? I think we'd best get up. Huh, I'd sooner face a regiment o' vermin than that ole shrewnurse!”

Reaching out a paw, Saro grasped a bedside stool and rattled it noisily on the floor, calling out. “We're both up, Sister, just makin' the beds an' tidyin' round. We'll be out there in a tick!”

Setiva's shrill warning came back loud and clear. “Och, you're a braw fibber. Ah'll be doonstairs, keeping an eye out for ye. Laggardly sluggards!”

The pair sat up at the sound of her retreating stick taps. Saro yawned and thumped her head back on the pillows. “Just leave me here for the rest o' the season, Brag. I'd forgotten how comfy a real bed feels. Mmmmmmmm!”

Leaping out of bed, the otter swished water from a ewer on his face and towelled it vigourously. “Fair enough, me ole bushtail, you stop there. I haven't forgotten how good a Redwall brekkist tastes.”

Without bothering to wash, Saro pursued him downstairs. “I'm right with ye, ole ten bellies. You ain't scoffin' all the vittles afore I gets a crack at 'em!”

Martha had just finished making up a tray for herself and Old Phredd when she saw the pair rush in and begin loading up two trays from the long buffet tables set up in the kitchen passage. She giggled at the sight of them, helping themselves to some of everything, chuckling with delight at the food.

“Almond wafers with raspberry sauce, my favourite!”

“Oatmeal with apple'n'honey, just the stuff! Granmum Gurvel, me ole beauty, pass me some o' that pastie. Wot's in it?”

“Burr, ee mushenrooms an' carrot, zurr, wi' h'onion sauce.”

“Onion sauce! Gimme two portions, one for Starvation Saro!”

“Hah, lissen to ole bucket mouth! You get us two mint teas, Brag, an' I'll fill two beakers o' Junty Cellarhog's best damson cordial. Oh great, hot scones! Gimme, gimme!”

Leaving the buffet, they beamed at the haremaid over the tops of their laden trays. “Mornin', Miss Martha, we're just makin' up for the lost brekkists, ain't that right, Bragg?”

The otter winked roguishly. “Haharr, sleepin' in a real bed gives a beast a powerful appetite.”

Martha looked up at their heaped trays. “I'm sure it does. Perhaps you'd like to take breakfast in the gatehouse with Phredd and me, away from all this bustle.”

Balancing the tray skilfully on his head, Bragoon began wheeling Martha's chair. “An honour an' a pleasure, miss. Besides, 'twill get us out of Sister Setiva's way. Come on, afore she finds we ain't made our beds or tidied the sickbay.”

Halfway across the lawn, Abbot Carrul caught up with them. “Oh dear, Martha, I've brought breakfast for Phredd, too.”

The haremaid indicated her two companions. “Don't worry, Father, it won't go to waste!”

 

The old hedgehog Gatekeeper welcomed them in. He reached for his nightshirt, then shook his head absentmindedly. “Hmm, must've gone to bed in my daytime habit. Look at me, putting my nightshirt on to start the day. What's it all coming to, eh, eh?”

Phredd gestured at the volume lying on the table. “The account by Tim Churchmouse about the route to Loamhedge, when Matthias was searching for his son. If you two read it, you'll learn of how to get there.”

Saro leafed briefly through the ancient pages. “Me'n Brag ain't champion readers like you, sir. We'd rather see the map—that'll tell us more.”

No sooner had Martha showed them the copy she had made of the map, than the squirrel and the otter glanced at one another and nodded.

Bragoon tapped his paw upon the map. “We've travelled this country afore. I can recall most of it—those high cliffs, the pine forest, river, desert an' the great gorge. Dangerous country, eh Saro?”

The aging squirrel held the map this way and that as she studied it. “Aye, bad territory, though we came to it a different way. I remember those rocks, the ones shaped like a bell an' a badger's head, but I can't bring that tall tree to mind.”

Bragoon tapped his rudder thoughtfully against the floor. “It prob'ly collapsed with age. This map was made seasons afore we were born. But 'tis the same area alright, riddled with vermin an' all manner o' perils. I was glad to get away from it!”

Martha looked disappointed. “Does that mean it's too dangerous to make the journey?”

The otter laughed. “Haharr, wot ever gave ye that idea, me beauty? Danger's wot me an' Saro live on. We'd both end up dead afore our seasons was out livin' at Redwall.”

The squirrel nodded mournfully. “All the good vittles an' soft beds, that'd finish us off. Huh, if Sister Setiva didn't.”

Abbot Carrul poured mint tea for Old Phredd. “Then when will you be going?”

Saro selected a hot scone and bit into it. “Straight after the Summer Feast, if'n we can still walk. Late noon prob'ly. We'll travel southeast.”

After breakfasting they set off for the orchard to help with the festive preparations. Horty, with his two friends, Springald and Fenna, came out of the Abbey, carrying a trestle board. The young hare hailed Bragoon and Saro.

“Hello there, you chaps. Well, have you sorted out a jolly old way to Loamhedge for us, wot?”

Bragoon answered him rather abruptly. “Aye!”

Springald bounced up and down eagerly. “Oh good, when are we leaving?”

Fenna's eyes shone happily. “A journey to Loamhedge. Great seasons, I've been looking forward to this!”

Horty looked from Bragoon to Saro excitedly. “Come on then, you bounders, who's got my copy of the bally map? Remember, I'm the flippin' pathfinder, y'know.”

Bragoon turned to face the trio, his voice stern. “This ain't no daisy dance! Me'n my mate Saro'll be makin' the journey to Loamhedge . . . alone!”

Horty's ears drooped. “But you said . . .”

Saro interrupted him. “We never said nothin', young 'un. Yore the one whose been doin' all the sayin'. Bragoon an' me knows the country we got to go through. We can make it alone, but it'd be far too dangerous with three young 'uns in tow.”

Fenna was outraged. “You mean you aren't taking us?”

Bragoon nodded. “That's right, missy. 'Tis too much responsibility. We couldn't show our faces back in this Abbey if'n ye were slain by vermin or killed in an accident. We're goin' alone, an' that's that!”

Springald tried to make an appeal to the Abbot. “What's he talking about? We've as much right to go as they have! Martha's our friend, too. Father, you're the Abbot of Redwall. You make all the decisions here, tell them!”

Abbot Carrul beckoned the three young ones to him. Putting his paws about their shoulders, he spoke kindly. “Now, now, what Bragoon and Saro say makes sense. None of you has ever been further than the main gate. You're far too inexperienced to make such a trip, trust me. Our two friends are thinking of your own good.”

Horty pulled away from the Abbot, his ears standing stiffly with indignation. “Tosh'n'piffle, sah! We're young and strong.
We can put up with anythin' those two old fogies can! Bragoon and Saro are old chums of yours. That's why you're blinkin' well siding with 'em. And anyhow, what flippin' right have you to stop us goin', wot?”

Springald and Fenna supported him volubly. “Horty's right, it's not fair. You let us think we were going all along, then changed your mind at the last moment!”

“Aye, it's just because we're young, and those two old wrecks want to grab all the glory for themselves. What do you think, Martha? Come on, tell them we're right.”

Martha shook her head. “If the message from Sister Amyl, when she appeared in my dream with Martin the Warrior, had mentioned that you should go, I'd be the first to say yes. But only the two travellers, Bragoon and Saro, were included in the rhyme. So I'm afraid I must say no—not that my decision matters. Our Father Abbot has forbidden you to journey to Loamhedge, so you must abide by his word. Also, I trust Bragoon and Saro. They know of the dangers and are far more experienced at things like this than the three of you.”

Horty exploded. “It's nothin' but a confounded plot against us. Shame on all of you, shame I say!”

Abbot Carrul put his footpaw down sternly. “Enough of this talk! Arguing and casting insults is not the way in which any decent Redwaller should behave. Any more of this from you, Horty, or your two friends, and there'll be three empty seats at the Summer Feast this afternoon!”

Horty glared back at the Abbot, his temper completely out of control. “Keep your rotten feast, blinkin' bounders!”

The Abbot's paw shot out. “Go to your rooms and stay there until you are ready to apologise, all three of you!”

The trio ran off, shouting, “Don't worry, we wouldn't be seen dead at your Feast!”

“Come on, leave those old greywhiskers to themselves!”

“You'll be jolly well sorry, we'll stay in the blinkin' dormitory until we die of flippin' starvation. So there!”

Abbot Carrul comforted Martha, who had become so upset that she had begun weeping. “There, there, Martha, don't you waste tears on those three. Could you imagine Horty starving himself to death? 'Tis as unlikely as me trying to leap over the belltower. Give them a day and they'll have changed
their minds, trust me.” Carrul bowed slightly to Bragoon and Saro. “Please forgive the bad manners of those three young ones.”

Saro smiled wryly. “No need to apologise to us, friend. I can recall two, younger'n'Horty an' his pals, two more bad-mannered liddle scuts ye never did see!”

Martha blinked through her tears. “Were you really that bad?”

Bragoon shuffled his rudder awkwardly. “Oh, much worse, missy. Take me word fer it!”

Abbot Carrul chuckled heartily. “Aye, now that you've come to mention it, 'tis a wonder you turned out so well!”

Bragoon clapped him on the back. “An' ye, too, Carrul. Ye wasn't exactly a model Dibbun as I remember!”

Whipping out a clean kerchief, the Abbot busily wiped away at Martha's eyes. “Yes, well, that was a long time ago. Now then, missy, are you going to keep weeping and bring on the rain, or are you going to smile for our Summer Feast?”

She smiled happily. “Are you still going to carry on with the feast, Father, I mean after what just took place?”

Abbot Carrul reassured her. “Of course I am, no need to halt it because of three surly young 'uns. If they want to join in, all they have to do is apologise for their bad manners. Come on, friends, I wouldn't miss my Summer Feast for anything!”

 

Set in the orchard against a background of ripening fruit and summer flowers, complete with sumptuously decked tables, the feast turned out to be a huge success. Freshly washed and dressed, the Redwallers took their places, waiting on the Abbot to start the proceedings. Martha sat between Bragoon and Saro. The three of them stared in awe at the magnificent spread. Salads, pasties and savouries were still being brought on trolleys by the servers. These were placed among the pies, tarts and flans. Jugs of various cordials and fizzes stood between trifles, crumbles, puddings and candied fruits. Loaves of many shapes and types, still fresh from the ovens, were set amid cheeses of different hues—from pale cream to golden yellow.

Everybeast, even the Dibbuns, ceased their chatter as Abbot Carrul stood up and recited a verse, specially written for the event.

 

“We celebrate this happy day,

with fair and right good reason,

in friendship, let us share the fruits,

of this fine summer season.

 

We seed and plant the fertile earth,

to use what she may give,

and thank the kindly summer sun,

which gives us joy to live.”

 

Granmum Gurvel, resplendent in a new floral-embroidered apron, called out. “You'm never spoked truer wurds, zurr!”

With that, the Summer Feast began in earnest. Junty Cellarhog tapped a barrel of strawberry fizz, which he had made the previous summer. Dibbuns squealed with delight as the bubbles tickled their mouths. Carving a wedge from a soft hazelnut cheese, Bragoon added it to his salad. Toran noticed him brushing away a teardrop.

“Wot's the matter with ye, brother?”