Loamhedge (15 page)

The otter looked mournfully at the festive board. “Nothin' really, I was just thinkin' of all the Redwall feasts I've missed since me'n Saro left the Abbey.”

Toran scoffed. “Don't fret, it looks like yore makin' up for it with a will!”

Saro adopted a wheedling tone toward the ottercook. “Anybeast who can cook vittles like these should be famous. Toran, ole pal, why don't ye come adventurin' with me'n yore brother? You could cook for us an' everybeast we meet.”

Toran lowered his eyes modestly. “No thankee, marm. I'm a mite too round in the waist for travellin'.”

Sister Portula put aside her plate in mock indignation. “Take our ottercook, indeed! Mayhaps you'd like to take Junty Cellarhog, too, in case you feel the need of a drink?”

Bragoon chortled. “Haharr, a capital idea, Sister!”

Abbot Carrul's eyes twinkled as he joined the conversation. “I'm with you, Bragoon, a marvellous scheme! Take Toran and Junty, they'd make life much easier for you and Saro. However, I must insist that you take Sister Setiva along. If ever you are wounded, or fall ill, you'll surely need a dedicated creature to care for you both. Agreed?”

Bragoon suddenly became interested in a bowl of plum pudding and meadowcream. He mumbled hastily, “Me'n' Saro will make the journey alone, thankee Carrul.”

 

Good-humoured banter and cheerful gossiping carried on into the warm summer noontide, a perfect accompaniment to the delicious feast. Having eaten their fill, the Dibbuns ran off to play within the Abbey grounds.

After awhile, Saro glanced at the sun's position and announced, “We'll have t'get goin' soon. Best be on the road afore we lose the daylight.”

Her otter friend patted his stomach. “Aye, though I reckon we won't need much feedin' for a day or two. That was the nicest food an' the best company I can ever recall. Thankee, friends, for everythin'.”

The Abbot smiled. “It was our pleasure. I knew you'd be going today, so I've had two packs of provisions made up by Granmum Gurvel. They should last you quite a time. Inside them you'll find all you need—the map, the poem telling of the location of Sister Amyl's secret and extra garments to wear. Now, is there anything else you two would like to take, anything?”

Bragoon replied without hesitation. “I'd like to take with me the memory of a sweet song. Martha, would ye sing us a song to send us on our way?”

Saro added. “Aye, go on, missy, put the birds t'shame!”

The haremaid's clear voice rang out into the still noon air. She sang for her two friends as she had never sung before. They sat entranced by Martha's beautiful voice.

 

“I planted her gently last summer,

all in quiet evening shade,

within an orchard bower,

her little bed I made.

Alone I sat by my window,

as autumn leaves did fall,

they formed a russet cover for

My Rose of Old Redwall.

 

Through winter's dreary days she slept

beneath the cold dark ground,

when all the earth was silent,

white snows lay deep around.

Bright stars came out above her,

as to the moon I'd call,

take pity on my dearest one,

My Rose of Old Redwall.

 

How the grass grew green and misty,

soft fell the rain that spring,

her dainty budded head arose,

and made my poor heart sing.

Then summer brought her just one bloom,

so white, so sweet and tall,

with ne'er a thorn to sully her,

My Rose of Old Redwall.”

 

Both the hardy old adventurers were sobbing like babes. Saro scrubbed roughly at her eyes. “Come on, mate, time to go. We'll push ye as far as the gate, missy, so ye can wave us good-bye.”

They were met at the gatehouse by Foremole Dwurl and Granmum Gurvel, each carrying a pack of provisions. Old Phredd emerged from the gatehouse with a long, slender bundle, which he presented to Bragoon.

The otter stared at the strange object. “Thankee kindly, Phredd. What is it?”

Abbot Carrul answered. “It is the sword of Martin the Warrior. I want you to take it on your quest for Loamhedge. Should you need a weapon to defend yourselves, you could not have a finer one. I trust you both with the sword, and I know when the journey is done, you will bring it back safe to Redwall. May the spirit of Martin go with you, my friends, and the good wishes of all in this Abbey!”

Bragoon bound the still-wrapped sword across his shoulders. “Ye do us great honour. How could we fail with Martin's sword to keep us company? Go back to yore Summer Feast now, an' don't fret. Me an' Saro'll bring back Sister Amyl's secret—that is, providin' it makes ye walk, Martha.”

The young haremaid's eyes shone with resolution. “Walk? I'll do better than that! One day I'll dance for both of you. I'll
dance on top of that wall, right over the threshold, for my heroes Bragoon and Sarobando. I swear it upon my solemn oath in front of you both!”

Bragoon laughed. “Haharr, that's the stuff, me darlin'!”

Saro swung her pack up on one shoulder. “So ye will, beauty, so ye will. Good-bye!”

They had only taken a dozen paces down the path to the south when Toran came running up and threw himself upon Bragoon. “Take care of yoreself, brother, an' look out for Saro, too!”

Bragoon gasped for breath as he tried to pull free of Toran's embrace. “We've taken care o' each other since we was Dibbuns. If'n ye don't let go of me, I'll get me ribs crushed afore the journey's started!”

Toran released his brother and stood weeping on the path. Bragoon looked away as Saro kissed the ottercook fondly.

“Go on now, ye great lump, back to yore feast. We'll be just fine. But keep this in mind, Toran Widegirth, when we come back to Redwall ye've got to make us a feast, as good as the one we had today. Promise?”

Toran ran back to the Abbey, shouting, “That 'un today'll look like afternoon tea to the feast I'll make ye when ye return, I promise!”

They watched him go inside, then walked to the south wall gable and struck off southeast into Mossflower.

Horty stood at the dormitory window, watching as Toran returned and assisted Old Phredd in closing the main gate. Both beasts then headed for the orchard and what remained of the Summer Feast. The young hare turned to his two companions, who were sprawling about on their beds.

“Well, chaps, Toran's back an' the gate's closed, wot! That means those two aging relics have finally gone off on the quest. Is everything ready, you blighters?”

Springald leaned over and pulled three bulging sacks from under her bed. “These are going to take some carrying!”

Horty scoffed. “Pish an' tush, m'gel, one can't have enough tuck. It's vital, mark m'words, bally vital!”

Fenna gathered their walking staffs and three travelling cloaks from the wall closet. “But how do we get out of the Abbey without being spotted? It won't be dark for hours yet. Huh, you'd think Bragoon and Saro would've waited until dawn tomorrow.”

Horty sat down on his bed, ruminating. “Hmm, you've got a jolly good point there. I'll have to think up a cunning plan. Spring, pass me one of those sacks. A chap can't think on a blinkin' empty tummy, wot!”

Springald kept a tight grip on the foodsacks. “Forget your confounded stomach, Horty! Get thinking, and be quick about it. We can't sit around here until it's dark and we've lost their trail.”

Horty rose and strode back to the window, muttering, “Forget one's tum, wot? Easy for you t'say, Miss Mouse. I'm a flippin' hare, y'know. Forgetfulness of the old stomach is bally impossible to types like me . . . Ahah, Dibbuns, the very chaps!”

Flinging the window open, Horty called down to Muggum and a crew of Abbeybabes who were cavorting on the lawn below. “What ho there, my pestilential friends!”

Shilly the squirrelbabe looked up and pointed an accusing paw. “Naughty 'orty, you been sended up t'stay inna dormitee.”

Horty stared down his nose at the little squirrel. “Let me inform you, my broom-tailed friend, I am here merely out of choice. I can come down when I flippin' well please. Now listen closely, you little bounders. Would you like to hear a secret, wot?”

Muggum wrinkled his button nose. “Ee seekurt? Us'n's gurtly fond o' seekurts. Ho urr aye!”

Fenna called out in a hoarse whisper. “Horty, what are you up to? Who are you talking to?”

Waggling his ears at her, the young hare looked secretive. “I've just thought up a super wheeze, a plan t'get us out unnoticed, wot. Create a diversion, that's the idea. Leave this to Hortwill Braebuck, marm!”

A hogbabe named Twiglut, having grown impatient, squeaked up at the window. “Are ya goin' a tell uz dis seekrut? Well 'urry h'up, or we go an' play wiv sticks!”

Horty waved his paws earnestly to gain the Dibbuns' attention. “No no, don't go an' play with sticks, my tiny pincushion. I'll tell you the secret. This mornin' we went down to the pond, an' guess what? We saw lots of big fishes . . .”

Muggum butted in. “Wurr they'm gurt hooj fishies, zurr?”

Horty stretched his paws wide, indicating their size. “Huge? They were blinkin' colossal! Anyhow, they gave us rides on their backs all round the jolly old pond. Oh, it was loads o' fun, I can tell you, absoballylutley top hole an' all that, wot!”

The Dibbuns began dancing with excitement.

“Will ee fishies still be thurr?”

“Uz wanna ride on der fishies!”

Horty scratched his ears. “Hmm, they said they'd be there
late afternoon, just before evenin'. I say, you chaps, it's round about that time now, isn't it?”

Roaring delightedly, the Dibbuns thundered off in the direction of the Abbey pond.

Horty called after them. “Have fun, you little savages. Tell the fishies Horty sent you!”

The realisation of what was taking place suddenly hit Springald. Leaping up, she hurled Horty away from the window. Cupping both paws to her mouth she yelled. “No, don't go! Come back this instant, all of you, come back!”

But the Dibbuns could not hear because of the din they were setting up. Like a small stampede, they ran out of sight around the Abbey corner.

Springald turned on Horty. “You blathering fool, what have you done? Idiot!”

Horty flapped his ears airily. “Creatin' a small diversion. No need to get your fur in an uproar, old thing, wot?”

Fenna's tail went stiff as Horty's foolish act dawned on her. “You puddenbrain! Can't you see that those babes will be drowned if there isn't anybeast responsible to watch over them?”

The young hare slapped a paw to his brow. “Oh corks, you're right! I never gave that a flippin' thought.” Leaning wide out of the window, he bellowed, “I say, little chaps, come back this very instant. D'ye hear?”

“Dearie me, what's all the shouting about?”

Horty found himself staring down into the questioning face of Brother Gelf, who was returning some bowls to the kitchen when he heard the commotion.

Fenna pushed past Horty, her voice shrill with anxiety. “Hurry, Brother, the Dibbuns are down at the pond alone. There's nobeast with them. Oh hurry, please!”

The mouse sped off as fast as his paws would carry him.

 

In a trice, the bells of Redwall were tolling out an alarm. Creatures could be seen hurrying toward the pond. Toran was out in front, shedding his apron as he ran and plunging straight into the water. Luckily, none of the Dibbuns was harmed. Most of them were garnered from the shallows by willing paws, though Toran had to swim for Muggum. The
molebabe was well out of his depth, floating about like a ball of downy fur. Foremole Dwurl's resounding bass tone could be heard, calling to the Abbot, as he panted up, pushing Martha's chair.

“They'm awright, zurr h'Abbot, oanly ee bit wetted!”

Horty was shaking all over as he turned to his friends and laughed with relief. “No harm done, chaps. At least my diversion worked, wot?”

Springald and Fenna leapt upon him, boxing his ears and kicking his bottom. They were furious.

“No thanks to you and your bright ideas!”

“You great waffling flannel-brained nincompoop!”

Horty broke loose and seized the travelling gear. “What's done is done. Sorry, chaps, an' all that. We'd better make ourselves scarce. Let's go while the goin's good!”

 

Sister Setiva was towelling the babes dry with Toran's apron and her shawl; others were helping, using anything that came to paw. The shrewnurse railed on at the Dibbuns, alternately drying and hugging each one.

“Och, why wid ye want tae do sich a silly thing, mah babbies? Have ye no been told aboot playin' alone by the water, eh?”

Under the stern eyes of Abbot Carrul, Martha and a dripping wet Toran, the whole story emerged. Martha could scarcely believe her ears when she heard that it was her brother who had encouraged the little Dibbuns. Seething with righteous wrath, she turned to Toran.

“Mr. Widegirth, would you kindly push me up to the Abbey? I wish to have some severe words with that brother of mine!”

The ottercook bowed politely. “Certainly, Miz Braebuck. I'm shore there's one or two wants words with Master Horty, one of 'em bein' me!”

A procession of Redwallers followed Martha into the Abbey. The Dibbuns were enjoying the affair hugely, seeing some other beast getting blamed for their escapade. They tagged along, muttering darkly of tail chopping and bottom-skelping punishments. Some were even speculating that Horty would be boiled in a soup pan.

Their delight, however, was short-lived. Sister Setiva and some molewives whisked them off, down to Cavern Hole.

“Intae the bath, ye filthy wee beasts. Och, there's nae tellin' whit muck'n'mire ye picked up in yon pond!”

The Abbeybabes wailed piteously but to no avail.

 

Boom! Boom!
Toran's hefty paw reverberated on the dormitory door. After a moment's silence, his voice rang out harshly.

“Master Horty, yore sister an' Father Abbot want a word with ye downstairs. Miz Fenna an Miz Springald, ye'd best show yoreselves, too!”

Martha sat down in Great Hall and waited. Soon she heard the dormitory door slam, followed by the sound of Toran's footpaws pounding down the stairs. Abbot Carrul looked over his glasses as the grim-faced ottercook entered the hall.

“Don't tell me they're gone?”

Toran sat down on a table edge. “No trace of 'em, Father. I searched that dormitory from top't'bottom, but I'll wager they're hidin' someplace. You leave it t'me, I'll find those villains.”

The Abbot began pushing Martha's chair toward the kitchens. “I don't think you will somehow. Follow me, please.”

Granmum Gurvel met them as they entered the kitchen. Clearly in a proper tizzy, the poor old molecook began chattering angrily. “Foive gurt h'apple puddens, ee gurt meadow-creamy troifle, strawbee scones, celery an h'onion flans, pasties full o' carrut'n'gravy. They'm all be gonned? Burrrrrooooh! Wait'll oi get'n moi paws on ee Dibbun rarscalls. H'all moi luvverly arternoon bakin' furr tomorrers lunchen an' supper. Varnished!”

Martha kept her eyes downcast as she informed Gurvel, “It wasn't Dibbuns, Granmum. It was my brother Horty and his friends, Fenna and Springald. They're the thieves who raided your kitchen. Now they've run off to join Bragoon and Saro on the quest.”

Toran's rudder rapped loudly on the floor. “Of course, that's it, Martha! But why'd they have to cause so much upset to everybeast—us, an' the Dibbuns, an' Gurvel? Why?”

Abbot Carrul raised his eyes and sighed. “Sadly, that's the way most young 'uns behave at that age. Forbidding them to do something is like encouraging them. Unfortunately, they do things without thinking.”

Old Phredd shuffled in, bowing creakily to the Abbot. “I just found my main gate open, but me and young Toran barred it shut this afternoon. How did that happen, eh, eh?”

Carrul patted the Gatekeeper's bony paw. “No doubt you've closed it again, Phredd. It was Horty, Fenna and Springald—they've gone off adventuring.”

Phredd chuckled drily. “Just like Bragoon and Saro when they were younger, eh, eh?”

Junty Cellarhog, who had just come into the room and heard Phredd, thrust his big paws into his apron belt. “No, ole feller, not like Saro an' Bragoon at all. Them two was born tough, rovin' was in their blood. But young Horty doesn't remember anytime afore comin' to Redwall, an' both maids was borned 'ere. They don't know wot 'tis like out there in the big world. I think they'll 'ave to learn t'grow up fast.”

Martha felt a pang of alarm at Junty's words. “What does he mean, Toran?”

The ottercook explained. “Well, miss, look at their vittles. Apple puddens, strawberry scones an' a meadowcream trifle? No proper travelbeast'd take such stuff along. Huh, it'd be smashed t'bits afore they got a day's march in, eh Gurvel?”

The old molecook nodded wisely. “Aye, et surpinkly wudd, zurr. Oi maked speshul marchin' vikkles furr ee uther two. Lots o' cheese, ee h'oatbreads, summ candied fruits an' canteens o' moi gudd dannelion'n'burdock corjul furr drinken.”

Martha grasped Toran's paw. “You don't think they'll come to any harm, do you?”

The ottercook's eyes softened. “Don't ye fret yoreself, Martha. If'n they picks up my brother an' Saro's trail, they'll be safe enough. Mind, though, they won't get no special treatment. Horty an' his pals will learn the hard way. Now, if'n they lose the trail, Redwall's stickin' up in plain view for a good distance. Once yore brother gets hungry, he'll dash back to this Abbey like a scalded toad. The others are sure to follow. If'n ye pardon me sayin', Martha, Horty's a natural
glutton. He won't stray too far without vittles—starvation's a hard taskmaster!”

The haremaid fiddled with the fringe of her lap rug. “I'd feel happier if somebeast could overtake them and bring them back, so they don't get lost or hurt.”

The Abbot looked at Toran and Junty Cellarhog, both big, stout beasts and very competent. “Perhaps our Martha is right. Do you think you two could catch up with them before it gets too dark?”

Junty took off his canvas apron and nodded to the ottercook. “We'll give it a try, Father. Are ye ready, mate? Come on!”

They left the Abbey by the main gate. No sooner had Carrul and Old Phredd closed and barred it then Junty and Toran were pounding on the timbers to get back in.

Toran's voice was loud and urgent.

“Open up quick! There's vermin comin' down the path from the north! They're headin' this way. Hurry and let us in!”