[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (23 page)

Girry slouched over to the window, scowling rebelliously. “That's alright for you to say, Sister. You've been studying since long before we were born, but we're still young. We want to be outdoors in the summer days, like all the others. Hah, I'll bet Tiria's having a great time right now, travelling on a long journey and having all sorts of adventures probably. Somebeasts have all the good fortune!”

Brinty pouted. “Aye, and here's us, swotting away and getting old'n'dusty. What did her letter say—‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life'? Ancient life! Huh, that's what we'll become sitting round here!”

Snowdrop looked to the letter. “That's exactly what it says: ‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.' ”

Tribsy sighed. “You' m read that twoice afore, marm. But et bain't gotten us'n's much furtherer.”

Snowdrop tapped the letter decisively. “But these lines mean something important, I'm sure!”

Old Quelt made a suggestion. “Snowdrop, why don't you and I ponder on this awhile? Meanwhile, our young friends can pop down to the kitchens and ask Friar Bibble to pack a picnic lunch for five. Then we can all meet up at the Abbey pond to do our work. Perhaps the open air will do us good.”

Cheered up by the idea, the three young ones were already making for the door. Brinty called out happily, “That's the stuff, Mister Quelt. We'll ponder by the pond!”

The ancient Recorder thought for a moment, then chuckled. “How very droll, ponder by the pond. I like that!”

 

Many other Redwallers had the same plan. Taking lunch by the pond was quite popular on warm summer days. They spread out around the bank, ever watchful of the Dibbuns, who were drawn like magnets to water. The little ones frolicked gleefully in the shallows.

Hillyah Gatekeeper and her husband, Oreal, were constantly calling out warnings to their twin babes.

“Irgle, come back here. Don't go too far out, d'you hear me?”

“Stop splashing that water about, Ralg, you'll soak us all!”

Quelt opened the hamper that the three young ones had brought. “Oh, I say, Bibble's done us proud! Damson pie, hazelnut crumble, sage and turnip pasties, celery cheese and dandelion cordial. Hmm, I would have enjoyed a cup of tea, though. Cordial always makes me dozy at lunchtime.”

Molemum Burbee came promptly to Quelt's rescue. “Yurr ole zurr, 'ave summ tea out of our new h'urn!”

The Abbess and Burbee had replaced their lost teapot with an ingenious new invention. It was a small copper boiler, which Brother Perant had donated to their cause. Lycian and Burbee had cleaned it up and mounted it on a little trolley. The urn had a small charcoal heater in its base, enabling them to have a constant supply of hot tea wherever they went, always on tap.

The five puzzlers had plenty of help from the pondside diners. Interest was aroused as they gathered around to hear Girry read again the two relevant lines from Tiria's letter.

“ ‘Leave thy Redwall friends to read that tale of ancient life, when Corriam the castaway took Mossguard maid as wife.' ”

Brinty opened up the discussion to their audience. “Well, does anybeast understand that?”

Sister Doral put forward a timid enquiry. “Er, excuse me, but who is Corriam the castaway?”

Tribsy replied through a mouthful of pastie. “Us'n's doan't be knowen, marm. That's whoi we'm arskin'.”

Snowdrop leafed slowly through the Geminya Tome. “Let's see if there's any reference to it in here, shall we?”

As they waited on Snowdrop's study, Hillyah Gatekeeper began rocking back and forth, eyes shut and paws clenched.

Oreal, her husband, looked quite concerned for her. “What is it, dear, are you feeling ill?”

Hillyah opened her eyes. “No, it's just something that flashed through my mind a moment ago. Ralg, I'll not tell you again, stop splashing that water about! Oh dear, I've gone and lost it again, just when it was right on the tip of my tongue. Most annoying!”

Abbess Lycian poured tea for the harvest mouse mother. “What was it, Hillyah? Were you trying to recall something?”

Hillyah wiped little Irgle's snout distractedly with her apron hem. “Oh, pay no attention to me, Abbess. It probably wasn't important anyhow.”

Brinty shouted excitedly as he watched Snowdrop turning the pages of the Tome. “There it is, there it is! No, not there, turn back a few pages, Sister. Stop there! Middle of the page. Do you see? There's that name, Corriam!”

Finding the line, the little Sister read aloud. “ ‘Corriam's lance, a gift from Skipper Falloon of the Mossguard. See T.O.A.L. Chap two, F.W.' ”

Old Quelt polished his glasses hastily. “Let me see that, please. What else does it say, Sister?”

Snowdrop showed him the page. “Nothing else. This was only a note jotted in the margin. All the rest is about the great sword of Martin the Warrior, stuff that we already know, not relevant to our puzzle.”

Girry munched on a slice of hazelnut crumble. “What's a Chap two supposed to mean, I wonder?”

Quelt answered promptly. “It's merely short for chapter two. Most scholars know that. T.O.A.L. and F.W.—they're the letters that are baffling me.”

Hillyah startled them all with a whoop. “I've got it! T.O.A.L., Tales of Ancient Life! That's what I was trying to remember. I've seen it somewhere before, I know I have. It's a book!”

Oreal smiled helpfully. “Where did you see it, dear?”

Hillyah tugged at her apron strings in frustration. “That's the trouble. I can't remember!”

Oreal hauled little Ralg from the pond shallows. “Well, don't get upset about it, my love. You'll recall everything sooner or later, you usually do. Listen, I'll see to our babes. Why don't you go and have a lie-down on the bed in the gatehouse? That always helps.”

Hillyah's eyes widened in realisation. “Of course, the bed! Come on, you scholars, I've got something to show you!”

She bustled off with a crowd in tow, relating to the Abbess, who was keeping pace with her, “When Oreal and I first moved into the gatehouse, long before the twins were born, you understand.... Well, my goodness, that place was in a dreadful mess, after lying empty half a season after Old Gruggle passed on. He was never the tidiest of mole Gatekeepers, but you couldn't imagine the dust and disorder! So I rolled my sleeves up and went straight to work on it. The first thing I tackled was that big bed in the corner. I think it was put there when the gatehouse was first built, a great, solid old thing. There must've been a hundred seasons of dust and fluff underneath it. Anyhow, there I was, flat out underneath the bed with my broom, sweeping and cleaning. Sneezing, too. That was when I saw it.”

Girry leaped over a flower bed as they hurried across the lawns. “What was it, marm?”

Hillyah explained eagerly. “The bed fitted square to the walls in one corner. I noticed that the leg that fitted into that angle was broken off short. It was propped up by two thick books. One was called
Gatewatcher's Poems,
written by somebeast named Porgil Longspike, and the other was
Tales of Ancient Life,
by Minegay. They're still in the same place, I never got round to asking Brink Cellarhog if he'd make a new bedleg for me.”

Little Sister Snowdrop, walking slightly behind Hillyah, cried out. “Huh, Minegay, I'll wager that's one of the names Sister Geminya made up for herself. Same letters!”

Old Quelt was last to arrive inside the gatehouse. He saw three pairs of footpaws sticking out from beneath the big, old four-poster bed. “What have you found, is there anything there?”

Girry's voice sounded rather hollow and stifled. “Oh, the book's here alright, sir, but it's jammed tight, and this bed's far too heavy to lift!”

Grudd Foremole moved Quelt gently to one side. “You'm cummen out'n thurr, youngbeasts. This yurr bee's a tarsk furr moi crew. Rorbul, fetch oi summ proppen an' foive gudd liften beasts!”

Foremole's sturdy assistant, Rorbul, ambled out of the gatehouse. He returned in a short while with five able-looking moles and two blocks of beechwood from the kindling pile by the north wall. Headed by Grudd Foremole, the crew scrambled under the bed. The watchers saw the big bed slowly begin to rise under Grudd's directions.

“Yurr naow molers, put ee backs oop agin et an' lift. Wun, two, h'up she cumms. Hurr, roight crew, 'old et thurr!”

Following some knocking and bumping, Grudd called out, “Hurr, take et daown noice'n'easy, moi 'earties.”

Effortlessly, the bed fell down into its former position. The molecrew emerged, dusting their digging claws off, satisfied with a chore well done.

Grudd passed the books over to Quelt. “Yurr, zurr, they'm cummed to no gurt 'arm.” He tugged his snout politely to Hillyah. “Thoi bed bee's as furm an' cumfy as ever 'twas, marm.”

The onlookers crowded out onto the sun-warmed wallsteps alongside the gatehouse. Old Quelt sat in their midst. He opened the book in question and sought the appropriate page, from which he read aloud, “ ‘Chapter two. Fabled Weapons. Concerning the lance of Corriam Wildlough, brother of the High Queen Rhulain.' ”

 

Two logboats sailed downstream. Tiria sat in the stern of the leading craft, listening as both Guosim crews plied their vessels skillfully, singing a shrew waterchant in their gruff bass tones.

Morning sun twinkled through the tree foliage which formed a leafy canopy over the water. The current was fairly fast, running through a high-banked slope, chuckling as though it were enjoying a secret joke of its own. Dobra was in the prow of the second logboat, which had a crew of four Guosim paddlers and was carrying a cargo of food. Log a Log Urfa commanded the leading craft. Tiria could see his back, forward of their four shrew crew. Skipper sat amidships with Brink alongside him. The Cellarhog's face looked drawn and wan. Not the best of sailors, he clung to the slim logboat's side miserably.

Feeling sorry for the poor hedgehog, Tiria called out to Urfa, “How long will we be on this River Moss, sir?”

There was a hint of laughter in the Guosim chieftain's voice as he shouted back to her. “This ain't the Moss, beauty.'Tis only a sidestream that leads to it. See the bend up yonder? Well, the river lies beyond it. Hold tight now, miss, it gets a bit bumpy soon. We'll be headin' downhill, y'see, over a few rapids, but nothin' t'worry about. Ye'll know yore on the River Moss when we jump the ripflow that joins it with this stream. If'n ye likes sailin', then ye'll enjoy that part.”

Though Tiria sympathised with Brink's discomfort, she had to admit to herself that she was enjoying the experience immensely. As the crew slewed the logboat deftly around the bend, spray cascaded high, and the stream really began to race along downhill. The ottermaid felt like yelling aloud with joy at the wildness of it all.

Log a Log Urfa stood balanced expertly in the prow, bellowing out orders as they weaved and tacked down the wild, watery slope. “Keep 'er down at the stern an' up by the head, buckoes! Back water to port, take 'er round those rocks! Don't reef the banks now, keep ridin' 'er to midstream!”

Bankside trees shot by in a green blur as water sprayed everywhere, with Urfa still roaring over the melee. “Luff yore starb'd oars now, luff I say! Steady to port! Steady . . . steady! Now give 'er full oars, me buckoes! Get yore backs into it! Heave! Pull! Heave! Pull! Up oars an' ship 'em, Guosim!”

Tiria felt the logboat leave the water, leaping like a fighting fish. Then it slammed down hard, catching the boiling rift of breakwater. Both boats skimmed out like arrows onto the broad swirling surface of the River Moss.

They were out of the trees, with the sun beaming on them from an open summer sky. Everybeast cheered loudly as they slid sleekly along. The crews slowed their oars back to a normal stroke. The river was wide, with shallows and sandbanks either side.

Banjon pointed upward. “See, Tiria, there's yore matey!”

The ottermaid waved to Pandion Piketalon as he wheeled overhead. The osprey hung briefly on a thermal, then went into a sidelong skim and called, “Kraaahakaaaah!”

As they drifted through the bright morning, Tiria watched the countryside gradually change. Green-mantled flatlands merged into hummocks, lilac and yellow with heather and gorse. Now the ottermaid understood why the Guosim loved to travel in their logboats.

She was about to mention this to her father and Urfa but found them busy attending to Brink. The Redwall Cellarhog was still suffering from his water-motion sickness. Skipper bathed Brink's face with a cold, damp cloth, whilst Urfa dosed him with herbs and encouraging advice.