Doomwyte (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Still there was no movement from within the feathered ranks. Veeku, the crow leader, was nearby, his damaged wing hanging uselessly. Drawing himself up, Korvus towered over the wounded crow.

  “Haaarrr! Tell them to do as I command!”

  Veeku bowed his head. “Korrah! Lord, why should these birds find food for a fish? If they cannot leave to hunt outside, they will need the reptiles to feed upon.”

  Korvus lashed out with his wicked talons, felling his once-faithful servant. Overtaken by rage, the big raven struck Veeku a barrage of blows with his heavy, lethal beak, crying harshly, “Rakkachakk! I will be obeyed! I am the Great Doomwyte!”

  Crows, rooks, jackdaws and choughs flew screeching harshly from their perches, seeking the upper rocky crags close to the ceiling. Korvus placed his talons on the dead Veeku, calling to them.

  “Yakaaaar! Death to all who disobey me. This one will feed my Welzz, watch, and witness the wrath of your Great Doomwyte!”

  Dragging the dead crow leader to the lake, he flung Veeku into the water. The carcass floated on the dark surface momentarily. Then the water exploded as Welzz came rushing upward and engulfed the offering.

  Korvus strutted over to Sicariss. “Hayaak! Now you will speak to Welzz. Ask if Baliss will die soon!”

  If indeed the voracious fish could have spoken, it might well have mentioned what was going on above the Doomwytes’ realm. Bisky and Spingo had elected to help Dubble and Zaran with their task of collapsing the cave entrance. Once they had been told of the black otter’s plan, plus the fact that Baliss was also inside with the reptiles and vermin, they volunteered eagerly. Zaran was less enthusiastic, giving them her reasons tersely.

  “This is my task, Zaran does not need others. Revenge upon Skurr and his creatures is my vow. There is much danger, I would not forgive myself if young ones were killed or hurt.”

  Being a Gonfelin, and seldom lost for words, Spingo reasoned with the avenging otter. “Enemies is enemies, my da always sez. Yore our friend, so your enemy is ours. Lissen, mate, ye won’t get a better chance than this. Not only is Skurvybottom an’ his mob in those caves, but now y’ve gorra chance t’get them an’ that big ould snake, too. Aye, an’ why should the likes of us get hurt an’ killed, eh? We ain’t gonna scrap with ’em paw’t’paw. All we’re doin’ is blockin’ ’em in, so that we don’t have ter look at their ugly mugs agin!”

  Bisky seconded the pretty mousemaid. “Spingo’s right, marm. Besides, four pair o’ paws should get the job done quicker!”

  Arming themselves with Zaran’s tools, they set to work on the hillside. The black otter shrugged. “It is not the work of one day or ten. Do not expect this hill to collapse soon, young friends!”

  “Oh, we know that, don’t we, mates? You jus’ tell us where t’dig, an’ we’ll get the job done, no matter ’ow long it takes!” Spingo assured her.

  Zaran indicated a massive slab of rock, protruding from the side of the slope. “I think we dig that out, then balance it careful.”

  Dubble nodded. “Righto, then when the time comes a good push’ll send it down in front o’ the entrance, with any luck.”

  There was a big old beech tree growing alongside the slab. A lot of its root network had to be hacked away as they excavated into the uphill side of the ponderous stone. Zaran took her double-bladed sword, attacking the big beech roots. Bisky commenced digging at the back of the slab, Dubble took the side opposite the beech tree. Spingo threw all her energy into excavating the front side of the ponderous stone. They laboured steadily, the three young ones digging, and Zaran severing the thick root tendrils which impeded the task.

  Dubble stopped to take a drink of water, as he straightened up he was hit by a pile of soil. Spitting earth and wiping at his eyes, he complained loudly, “Ahoy there, Bisky, watch where yore throwin’ that stuff, will ye!”

  Popping his head up over the rear of the slab, Bisky protested, “It wasn’t me, mate, I’m chuckin’ my soil backward. Watch out, here comes some more!”

  Dubble ducked, just in time, as a shovelful of loose earth came sailing over. Zaran looked up from working on a weighty root. She pointed to the front of the stone, sidestepping more soil. “Young maid, working like wildbeast!” The black otter carried on working, whilst Bisky and Dubble climbed out of the meagre holes they had dug. They went to the front, to see what progress Spingo had made.

  She could not be seen, but they could hear her grunting as she dug. The industrious mousemaid had burrowed a tunnel, she was practically underneath the slab. Bisky ducked to one side as more loose earth came flying from Spingo’s excavation. He called down the long hole.

  “What’n the name o’ fur’n’tails are you doing down there?”

  Another pile of loose earth shot out of the tunnel, followed by Spingo’s reply. “I’m gittin’ the job done, mate, that’s wot I’m doin’, ’ow are you’n’Dubble gettin’ on?”

  Dubble stared in amazement at the hole. “Not half as well as you are, miss, are ye sure none of yore ancestors were moles?”

  Bisky interrupted his friend. “Spingo, come out o’ there, it looks dangerous!”

  More soil flew from the hole, then Spingo answered, “I’ll just finish off down ’ere, then I’ll come up for a drop o’ water. Thirsty work, eh!”

  Nobeast could have predicted what happened next. Spingo’s shovel could be heard striking against the bottom of the huge slab, as she gouged out more earth. Zaran hacked through the last of the heavy root she was working on. Without warning the entire slab moved. The black otter leapt from the stone as it sank, settling down into the hillside. Bisky fell flat on his stomach, scrabbling at the stone-filled hole as he yelled, “Spingo! Spingo!”

  Dubble and Zaran joined him, digging away with their bare paws at rock and earth, roaring, “Stay where ye are, missy, don’t move, we’ll get ye out!”

  The slab moved a fraction more. Zaran pulled Bisky and Dubble away from it. She tapped against the stone several times, holding up a paw for silence. After what seemed like an age, they heard the shovel striking rock, somewhere below. Bisky gripped his shovel so tight that it hurt his paws.

  “She’s alive, did ye hear her? Spingo’s alive!”

  Zaran dug with her sword, between the hillside and the edge of the slab. It moved, settling down another fraction. They heard Spingo, banging urgently away with her shovel. Dubble waved his paws furiously.

  “Stop, don’t dig anymore or we’ll crush ’er t’death!”

  A horrific thought struck Bisky. “She might be suffocatin’ down there, what’ll we do?”

  Rushing to the beech tree, Zaran chopped off a long branch with a few strokes of her double-bladed weapon. “We try this. I work fast!”

  Swiftly lopping off any side shoots and leaves, she sharpened a point on the thinner end of the branch. Now she had what looked like a long javelin. Pushing it into the earth alongside the slab, the powerful otter started twisting the pole, whilst pushing her weight down on it. The beech spear sank deeper with each turn and push. Bisky and Dubble hurried to assist Zaran, but she shoved them aside. “No no, too much force will snap this wood. Zaran will do it. See!” The beech pole moved up and down freely. She withdrew it, cupping her paws over the hole, and calling down into it, “Spingo, you hear Zaran?”

  A faint, pitifully thin voice answered, “Aye…. I c’n breathe now…. Don’t dig anymore…y’ll bring the stone down on me!”

  There was a moment’s awkward silence, then Zaran called gently down the tiny airhole, “We hear you, don’t worry. I make another hole, you’ll breathe better. Be silent now, stay still.”

  The black otter repeated the pressing and twisting process with the sharpened beech rod. Working away she muttered to herself, “Never should let young ones dig, too much danger. All my fault—”

  Dubble cut in sharply, “Lissen, mate, stop talkin’ silly. It ain’t nobeast’s fault. We should be puttin’ our brains on ’ow t’get Spingo out, so quit blamin’ yoreself. Now, wot
’n the name o’ Guosim are we goin’ t’do? Tenscore like us couldn’t lift that bloomin’ big stone, an’ if we dig it’ll only sink an’ crush pore Spingo. So, wot d’we do, any ideas?”

  The brain wave hit Bisky like a lighting bolt. “I know! Moles, that’s what we need!”

  Zaran repeated the word. “Moles?”

  Bisky warmed eagerly to his plan. “Aye, moles, what else? Redwall Abbey has a Foremole an’ a mighty crew of moles. What they don’t know about diggin’, tunnellin’ an’ shorin’ up isn’t worth knowin’. Right, we’ve got a logboat, too.”

  A glimmer of hope shone in Zaran’s dark eyes. “You can get moles here quickly?”

  Dubble became suddenly fired by the plan. “You stay with Spingo, mate, keep ’er spirits up, an’ tell ’er this. Me’n’ Bisky are goin’ to bring a full molecrew to git ’er outta there! Aye an’ they’ll be travellin’ like the wind in a fleet o’ logboats, with the best Guosim paddlers in Mossflower to speed ’em on their way. Right, Bisk?”

  Bisky seized his friend’s paw, shaking it hard. “Right, Dubble, let’s go to Redwall!”

  Below in the darkness, Spingo crouched beneath the massive slab. Zaran had informed her of the plan, so she tried to keep up her spirits by inventing a little ditty.

  “O ’tis dark down ’ere,

  but I’ll never fear,

  with mates to ’elp me out,

  good friends an’ true

  an’ I’ve got one or two,

  who’ll come if I just shout.

  So come to my aid,

  I’m a liddle Gonf’lin maid

  Just longin’ to be free.

  I’m stuck down an ’ole,

  just waitin’ for a mole,

  t’drop right in for tea….”

  Spingo could not think of another line, so she lay there in pitch blackness, with the mighty stone pressing down…and wept.

  30

  Down in the cellars of Redwall Abbey the quest for clues was on. Perrit and Umfry Spikkle descended the small flight of steps, and unbolted the little door. Holding a lantern, the squirrelmaid watched her burly young hog friend withdraw the bolt. He touched the door cautiously. “H’it’s a good repair job, the hinges don’t even creak no more. Nice, strong bolt, too.”

  Sensing his apprehension, Perrit nudged his back gently with the lantern. Umfry uttered a startled squeak. “Yeek! Don’t sneak h’up on me like that.”

  She chuckled. “‘I’m with you, mate, open the door and let’s take a look. Don’t be afraid.”

  Umfry bristled, his spikes stood up indignantly. “Who’s h’afraid? Not me, miz! Right then, you go first, ’cos you’ve got the lantern.”

  Once they were in the tunnel, Perrit closed the door behind them. Umfry complained in a loud whisper, “No, don’t close the door, miz, leave h’it h’open. H’anything could ’appen down ’ere!

  The squirrelmaid held the lantern up, scanning the back of the old door. “I want to take a better look at this, here.” Taking a pinewood torch, which had been left on the floor, she lit it from the lantern flame. The resiny wood flared immediately as she passed it to Umfry. “Mayhaps you’d like to explore the tunnel a bit more, there may be more clues.”

  The timid hedgehog took no more than two paces before deciding it was not a good idea. He stayed close to his companion, muttering excuses. “Huh, no point h’in doin’ that, me’n’Skipper an’ the rest h’already did h’it. There’s nought t’see down there. Pore Dwink’s h’on ’is h’own we’d best get back to ’im h’up there. Nearly dinnertime, y’know.”

  Perrit replied absently as she inspected the door, “Stop carrying on like a dithering duck, Umfry. Dwink’s probably napping in his wheelchair…. These two nails sticking out here, I wonder what they’re for?”

  Umfry held his torch closer, inspecting the pair of broad-headed nails, which had not been fully driven into the woodwork. “Mister Samolus said that was where the Doomwyte h’eye was placed. There h’aint no more t‘see h’on this door, miz, let’s go.”

  Perrit, however, was not looking at the door any longer. Her attention had been distracted by something else higher up. “Umfry, can you lift me up, I want to take a quick peep on top of the door lintel.”

  Putting aside his torch, the burly hedgehog swung Perrit up to the lintel with ease. “Keep messin’ h’about down ’ere, miz, h’and we’ll get no dinner.”

  The squirrelmaid sighed wearily. “Just hold me still please, we’ll get dinner as soon as I get this thing loose.” She gave the object a mighty tug, it broke away, sending them tumbling backward.

  Umfry helped her up. “H’are you alright, miz, wot h’is that thing?”

  Perrit could not resist a smirk of satisfaction. “A piece of slate with something drawn on it. Let’s get upstairs, I promised Dwink he’d get first look at anything we found. You can go to dinner if you wish.”

  Umfry pursued the sprightly maid up to Great Hall. “Not afore h’I’ve seen wot h’it says!”

  Dwink could not wait to give them his news. “There’s been a real kerfuffle up here, mates. Aluco was knocked down, and guess wot, that horrid Guosim, Tugga Bruster, he’s dead. Aye, killed by a Painted One, so Samolus told me. We’d best get in to dinner, did you find anything?”

  Perrit waggled the flat slate fragment at him. “I’ll show you it at dinner. All of a sudden I’m starving. Good fresh bread and cheese is what I need right now, eh, Umfry!”

  Umfry Spikkle took on a superior tone. “Dearie me, h’eatin’ is h’all you can think of, miz!”

  There was bread and cheese aplenty at the dinner table, with some tasty vegetable soup, a selection of pasties, a fine summer salad, plus damson and pear crumble for dessert, with the option of a honeyed plum pudding. Dwink, Perrit and Umfry huddled round like conspirators, studying the piece of slate as they ate dinner. Their privacy was short-lived, though they did not object when Samolus and Sister Violet joined them. Umfry was consumed with curiosity.

  “Wot’s all that writin’ h’and those drawin’s h’about? C’mon, Dwink, read h’it to me.”

  Samolus tweaked Umfry’s snout. “You wouldn’t have to ask other beasts if’n ye’d learned to read, would ye? Dwink looks a bit dozy still, Perrit, would you like to read what’s on the slate?”

  The squirrelmaid obliged willingly.

  “What’s mixed will thicken, there’s the place!

  Is it there or has it gone?

  Framed above a Friars Grace.

  On, on, I. The middle one.”

  Umfry interrupted, through a mouthful of plum pudding, “Oh, no, h’another blinkin’ puzzle!”

  Perrit glanced up at him from the slate. “D’you mind, Umfry Spikkle, I’m not finished yet.”

  Suitably chastened, the young hedghog fell silent as Perrit read out the remainder of the clues.

  “Where to seek a raven’s eye?

  What’s not sad, yet makes one cry,

  with what a plum has at its middle?

  The Prince of Mousethieves set this riddle.”

  Sister Violet sipped at her mint tea thoughtfully. “I agree with you, young Umfry, it is a blinkin’ puzzle. ‘Wot’s mixed will thicken, there’s the place.’ Goodness me, whatever is that supposed to mean? ’Tis all gobbledygook to me, my dears.”

  Samolus helped himself to a pasty. “Well, o’ course it is, marm, that’s how puzzles are supposed t’be, right, Dwink?”

  The young squirrel sat up straight in his wheelchair. “It sounds t’me like that first line is narrowin’ things down to the area where we should look. What’s mixed will thicken. I think it’s one of those anagram things again. What’s mixed will thicken…hmmmm, maybe it’s what’s and will jumbled together, eh, Perrit?”

  The squirrelmaid shook her pretty head. “’Twill, swat, still, slats, shawl. No, there’s far too many possibilities, I think the word thicken is a better idea.”

  Sister Violet winked slyly at Perrit. “That’s ’cos you’ve already solved it, you
ng missy. Well go on, don’t keep us all a-waitin’.”

  Perrit smiled. “There’s only one sensible word I can make from thicken. Kitchen!”

  Umfry chuckled with delight. “Kitchen, there’s the place. Come h’on, last one t’the kitchen’s a fried frog!”

  Dwink shook his head. “Hold on, mate, we can’t just dash off because we’ve solved one word.”

  Perrit began pushing the wheelchair away from the table. “There’s no harm in going t’the kitchens and taking a look around. Maybe it’ll help us with the rest of the puzzle.”

  Friar Skurpul welcomed them into the Abbey Kitchens cheerfully.

  “Coom in yurr, eee guddbeasts, you’m cummed to say noice things about moi cooken?”

  Sister Violet curtsied. “Oh, no, Friar, though there ain’t a better cook nowhere, yore dinners are always the best.”

  The good mole beamed from ear to ear. “Thankee gurtly, marm. Hurr, then may’aps you’m cumm to ’elp with ee washen up?”

  Dwink explained, “No, Friar, we’re trying t’solve a riddle. We’re lookin for something that might be here, or may be gone.”

  Skurpul laughed. “Hurrhurr hurr, naow that do bees a riggle. Summat as moight be yurr but maybe gone’d. Boi okey, an’ wot moight that bee, young maister?”

  Perrit attempted to make things a bit clearer. “Listen to this, Friar: ‘Is it there or has it gone? Framed above a Friars Grace. On, on, I. The middle one.’ We’d be grateful if you could throw any light on it, sir.”

  Wiping floury paws upon his apron, Skurpul commented, “Oi’d be grateful if’n Oi cudd throw any light on et, too, missy, but Friars bees only clever at cooken. Sorry Oi can’t ’elp ee, zurrs’n’marms, but you’m welcumm to search these yurr kitchens, long as ee puts things back as ee foinded ’em.” Leaving them some candied fruits to nibble on, Friar Skurpul continued with his work.