In the relative reduction of noise in the smaller cavern, Korvus Skurr bent his head, staring down at the smoothsnake. “Haaarrr! So what does Welzz say now? Or do you have to think up more lies to placate me?”
Sicariss did not move to the pool’s edge. “Fagry iss the one who speaksss liessss, Mighty One. Even if Welzzzz did not talk, I alwayssss gave you good advice, you lisssstened to my counssssel.”
The murderous eyes of the Doomwyte tyrant bored into Sicariss. The truth was now out. “Yaggaaah! I was a fool to believe you ever could speak to the Welzz, you were only serving your own interests!”
The snake knew she was in a perilous position. However, she had always thought she could outwit Skurr. Coiling up onto the raven’s head, she took her crowning position, whispering sibilantly, “You were never a fool, Lord of Doomwytesssss. I tell you truly, I can sssspeak to Welzzzzz. I have sssspoken to him many timesssss, believe me.”
Korvus Skurr moved to the edge of the cold, bottomless lake. He inclined his head slightly. Down below in the icy depths, the monster fish could be seen, making its way slowly upward. “Hakaar! I believe you, my faithful Sicariss. Will you speak to the Welzz for me now?”
The smoothsnake swayed gently, satisfied to be back in favour. “Command your ssservant, Lord. What would you have me sssssay?”
Korvus inclined his head closer to the water. “Haykkarr! You said to me that I was no fool. Now tell it to the Welzzz!”
Without giving time for Sicariss to coil around his neck for balance, the raven gave his head a powerful flick, sending her into the pool. The gargantuan fish broke the surface in a shower of spray, catching the snake in its gaping mouth, then vanishing back into the fathomless waters.
Baliss had wakened in the passage to the main cavern. Driven insane by agonising pain, one thing became uppermost in the giant snake’s mind. To seek cool water, the only thing that could relieve the persistent torture. Driven by the desire to immerse his head in cooling water, Baliss slid gradually into the fetid air of the big cave.
32
Redwall Abbey’s twin bells tolled gently for the midnight hour. A soft, golden midsummer moon presided over the tranquil scene. Hardly a breeze was about, to stir the leafy tree canopy of Mossflower woodlands. On the terrace outside the Abbey building, Abbot Glisam and Perrit pushed Dwink in the rickety old wheelchair. Glisam breathed the scented night air fondly.
“Ahhhh! This is one of life’s simple pleasures, a quiet stroll in Redwall’s grounds on a summer night. There’s nothing quite like it.”
Dwink chuckled. “Try telling that to Umfry and Sister Violet. Did you see them, Father? Once we’d finished supper they couldn’t wait to get off to their beds. A pair of champion snorers, I’d say.”
Perrit steered the wheelchair toward the Belltower. “They don’t know what they’re missing. I don’t suppose Brother Torilis was interested in a little stroll, either. Did you see the face on him, Father? He stormed off without a word after you broke open that earthenware onion.”
Dwink snorted. “Aye, I noticed that, too. Blinkin’ stiff-necked old misery, had a face on him like a wrinkled sour apple. Property of the Infirmary indeed, huh. You put him in his place, Father!”
The Abbot shook his head. “It gave me no pleasure to address him in that manner. We mustn’t be too hard on Torilis, he’s an excellent Herbalist, and a dutiful Infirmary Keeper. Trouble is that he lives by his own rigid rules. I must make things up to him somehow, soothe his wounded pride. Dwink, what was the message on that scrap of cloth, remind me.”
The young squirrel had already memorised the clue which Gonff had scrawled long ago, in the dim, distant past. He repeated it from memory, word perfect.
“To find the eye of the serpent,
to the morning sunrise roam,
where death may visit those that fear,
in the wild sweet gatherers’ home.”
There was silence, except for the creak of the chair wheels. The Abbot turned the ancient vehicle. “Come on, you two, that’s enough for one night. I think the beds beckon us. No doubt you’ll be up and about at the crack of dawn. Questing for the wild sweet gatherers’ home, which you’re bound to do.”
Perrit speeded up her pushing, all agog. “Oh, can we really, Father, what an adventure it’ll be!”
Dwink moved his injured footpaw, testing it. “I won’t need this bloomin’ chair tomorrow. Brother Torilis is making a splint for me, I’ll get along just fine on that. We’ll be alright, Father, don’t you worry!”
The Abbot opened the main Abbey door, allowing them inside. “Oh, I’m not too worried, young un, there won’t be just two of you going alone.”
Perrit pouted slightly. “Oh, why’s that, Father?”
Glisam patted her paw. “Well, miss, one of the lines in the clue said, ‘where death may visit those that fear.’ In view of any possible danger, I’ve decided to send Skipper Rorgus and Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw. A warrior and a wise head shouldn’t go amiss, do you agree?”
Dwink seemed quite happy with the arrangement, “That’ll be fine, Father, but what about Bosie?”
Glisam explained, “Bosie isn’t too familiar with this area, and he can be a bit of a harum scarum at times. No, I think Skipper and Foremole would be more fitted to accompany you.”
Perrit giggled. “Harum scarum, I like that. Hare um scare um! What d’you think, mate?”
The young squirrel grinned. “Bosie is enough to scare anybeast, just by the amount he can eat. We’d better not mention it to him, though, I wouldn’t like his feelings to be hurt.”
Glisam ruffled Dwink’s ears. “Well said, young un!”
Skipper was always up and wide awake in the hour before dawn. Feeling responsible for the security of Redwall, he would take a brisk patrol. The Otter Chieftain checked outside the Abbey building, ending up with a march around the walltops. Completing the full circuit of the parapet and battlements, he ended his routine by going to the kitchens for an early breakfast.
Friar Skurpul greeted him. “G’mawnin’, zurr, you’m bees a wanten yore zoop?”
The otter twitched his whiskers at the tempting aroma. “An’ a good mornin’ t’you, Friar. Is that my very fav’rite watershrimp an’ hotroot soup I can smell, bubblin’ away there?”
The kind Friar began ladling a bowl of the soup out. “Aye, that et bees, zurr, jus’ ’ow you’m loikes et each mawnen!”
They were soon joined by Dwink and Perrit, who came, pulling a dozy Foremole between them. Gullub Gurrpaw nodded sleepily to Skipper. “H’on moi loife, Skip, these yurr rascals turned Oi out o’ moi bed afore daybreak. Et seems us’ns bees h’off a-questin’.”
Skipper looked up from his bowl of soup. “Aye, mate, Abbot woke me last night with the news, I ’ope you’ve packed us lots o’ prime vittles, Friar, questin’s a hungry business.”
The Friar’s homely face wrinkled with pleasure, “Oi surrpintly ’ave, you’m woant go ’ungry, zurr. Though you’m moight ’ave iffen ee zurr Bosie wurr along with ee. B’aint no feedin’ that un!”
Foremole thanked the Friar, then he and Skipper listened as Perrit read out Gonff’s clue.
“To find the eye of the serpent,
to the morning sunrise roam,
where death may visit those that fear,
in the wild sweet gatherers’ home.”
Skipper tapped his rudder against the floor. “Well, mates, that’s a poser, an’ no mistake! I can’t make tail nor whisker of it. Any ideas?”
Foremole Gullub answered with his irrefutable mole logic, which, as anybeast knows, must be heeded. “You’m best not maken tails’n’whiskers of ought. Us’ns knows wot to look furr, a surrpint’s h’eye. Read Oi ee second loine, likkle missy.”
Perrit repeated the second line once more. “‘To the morning sunrise roam,’ what does that mean?”
Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw quaffed off a bowl of hot comfrey tea at a single gulp. Smacking his lips with relish, he trundled off to the door. “Hurr
hurr et means we’m abound outsoide, to see sunroise, leastways that be wot Oi thinks!”
Dwink grabbed a few hot scones from the kitchen table. “Just wot any sensible creature’d think. Right, mates, outside it is…. Ooof!” The young squirrel winced as he tested his newly splinted footpaw.
Friar Skurpul took a stick from the window ledge. It was T-shaped. He gave it to Dwink. “Yurr, young maister, take moi window prop. Oi uses it t’keep ee window open on ’ot days, may’ap ’twill surve ee as a crutcher.”
The makeshift crutch could not have suited better had it been made personally for Dwink.
The four questers made their way over to the gatehouse, where they stood in the murky grey light which precedes day. Perrit sat on the wallsteps, peering up at the sky. “So, this is where it begins.” As the squirrelmaid spoke, dawn’s first pale light beamed faintly over the Abbey rooftop.
Dwink called out eagerly, “There it is, the sun comin’ up. This is the way we go, eh, Skip?”
The Otter Chieftain shrugged the haversack full of supplies into position on his back. “Aye, young un, the sun ain’t never risen in the west, as far as anybeasts know. So ’tis east we’re bound. Though how far we’ll be travellin’ is a question yet t’be answered!”
The little party marched off in a lively manner. Across the lawns, around the Abbey building, through the vegetable patches and the herb garden. Up on the walltops, Corksnout Spikkle had begun his daily perambulation, which he termed the afore-brekkist walk. He saw Foremole unbolting the small east wallgate, and called to him.
“Where are ye off to so early in the day? I thought ye’d be lendin’ a paw in the cellars. There’s a pile of apples needs pressin’ t’make cider!”
Foremole waved a hefty digging paw. “Us’ns off on ee search furr ee surrpinks h’eye.”
Corksnout adjusted his false nose, which had slipped over onto his left cheek. “Well, I ’opes ye enjoy yoreselves. Huh, apple pressin’ is an ’ard task for just one pair o’ paws!”
Skipper replied, “I gave young Umfry a shake early on, but he just turned over an’ kept on snorin’. May’ap he’d like to help ye. Oh, will ye bolt this gate after us, mate?”
Corksnout wandered ponderously down the east wallsteps, ruminating to himself as he made for the gate. “Hoho, sleepin’ his life away an’ missin’ a quest, is he? Well, that young grand’og o’ mine is about to git a rude awakenin’. Aye, an’ he can pass a profitable day, learnin’ t’be an apple presser!”
Out in the summer vastness of Mossflower Wood, the searchers pressed forward slowly, looking for any possible clues. Dwink stumped along on his crutch at a comfortable pace. He caught up with Perrit, who was slightly ahead of the others. “How do we know that we’re going east? It’s easy to wander astray in these woodlands.”
The squirrelmaid pointed. “Keep going this way. See the moss growing on the side of that sycamore? Make sure it’s on your left. Moss gathers on the north side of trees. Also, you must check that the sun is in your face, then at high noon it’ll be overhead. After that the sun will be going west, so keep it at your back. That’s the best way to travel east.”
Dwink was surprised by his pretty companion’s knowledge of woodlore. He pressed her further. “But how’ll we know when we’re at the place where death may visit those who fear?”
Perrit treated him to her sweetest smile. “Oh, I suppose we’ll just carry on until we’re feared to death of where we are.”
Dwink laughed nervously. “I suppose you’re right!”
The Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee was not best pleased that Redwallers had left the Abbey, without the benefit of his protection. Gathering pawfuls of food from the breakfast table, he picked up the sword of Martin and sped off in a huff, berating all and sundry. “Och, ’tis a sad thing when a sworn protector cannae do his duty. Ah’m bound tae catch up with yon puir beasties an’ offer them mah services!”
Watching the lanky hare lope off across the dewy lawn, Aluco remarked to the Abbot, “Act in haste and repent at leisure, eh, Father?”
Abbot Glisam nodded. “Indeed. See, he’s gone out of the main gate, and they went east. Oh dear, I know he means well, let’s go and tell him.”
Out on the path, Bosie was gobbling hot scones and oat biscuits, peering left and right. “Now, which way have they gone?”
Samolus came yawning and stretching out of the Gatehouse. “Which way have who gone? Yore the first to use this gate today, sir. Who are ye lookin’ for?”
Bosie ignored him. Spying two distant figures emerging from the woodlands to the northeast, he sprinted off toward them. “Och, that’ll be two of ’em, Ah’ll wager they’ve come back tae ask for mah help already. Hi, there!”
It was Bisky and Dubble. Having left the logboat, they were running pell-mell for Redwall. Samolus and Bosie met them. Gasping for breath, the pair informed them of the perilous situation Spingo was in.
Redwall bells tolled out the general alarm, as Abbeybeasts, Gonfelins and Guosim flooded outside to hear the news. Everybeast wanted to help, for awhile it was complete chaos. Then, after a quick consultation with the Abbot, Samolus arranged a rescue party, under Bosie’s command. Samolus called for order.
“Listen now, goodbeasts, from what I’ve been told there’s not a moment to waste. We need the Guosim shrews’ swiftest paddlers, a full molecrew and some Gonfelin warriors. I know you all want to help, but there’s not enough room for everybeast. So I’ll let the leaders pick out their own squads, then we’ll have to get moving without delay.”
In place of Foremole Gurrpaw, Friar Skurpul deputised. “Hurr, Rooter, Soilclaw, Burgy, Frubb, Grabul an’ Ruttur, yore moi crew. Gett ee kwippment an’ stan’ boi ready!”
Nokko selected his most warlike Gonfelins. “Duggo, Fraggo, Bumbo, Tungo, Flaggo an yew, Gobbo. Arm yoreselves up. An’ yew, Gobbo, button yore lip an’ do as I tells yer. Right!”
Garul, the Guosim Elder, deferred to Dubble. “Yore Log a Log now, so choose yore paddlers.”
Dubble was perplexed. “But where’s Tugga Bruster?”
Garul took him to one side. “Tugga ain’t around no more, I’ll tell ye as we go. Better pick yore crews quick, Guosim!”
The young shrew’s jaw tightened, he turned away. “You choose ’em, old un, I’ll go along with ye!”
Bosie shouldered his sword, and stood impatiently in the open gateway. “If’n we’re tae save the wee maid there’ll be no hangin’ aboot…. Double march!”
Crowding the walltops, the remaining Redwallers cheered the rescue party off.
“Goo’ lukk, zurrs, you’m ’urry up naow!”
“Aye, an’ may the wind be at yore backs!”
“You bring that liddle maid safe back here!”
Abbot Glisam watched the dust cloud as they rushed off into the woodlands. “May fortune speed your paws, friends!”
The very tiny mousebabe latched onto the Abbot’s robe. “I wanna go wiv them, Father!”
Glisam picked him up. “Maybe next time, little one.”
Dugry the molebabe nodded sagely. “Hurr, an’ Oi bees a-goin’ nex’ time, zurr.”
Sister Violet smiled at the Dibbuns. “An’ so you shall, next time. But meanwhile, who’s to guard the Abbey and keep us all safe?”
Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, narrowed her eyes ferociously. “Us’ll do dat, marm!”
Aluco gave a hoot of mock relief. “Thank goodness we can all sleep safe tonight!”
33
Still trapped beneath the rock slab on the hillside above the caverns, Spingo had lost all count of time. Crushed into a shallow depression by the stone, the Gonfelin maid could feel her consciousness fading. She concentrated on one thing, the effort to continue breathing. Water and food were unimportant, but air, fresh air, was precious.
The atmosphere in the confined space was stifling. Sandy soil trickled softly in the darkness, decreasing the area within. Only the sparse amount of air coming through the two narrow holes made by Zaran w
ere keeping her alive. However, even that was not enough—Spingo could feel her senses gradually slipping away. Though she fought the desire to sleep, it was becoming more pressing in her failing mind.
The black otter Zaran continued her vigil on the hillside. It had been quite a time since the Gonfelin maid’s misfortune. Zaran did not know whether Spingo was dead or alive. However, she leant close to the little holes she had made with her beech stick, whispering constant encouragement to the young mouse entombed below.
“Spingo, help will soon be here, your friends will return, with many others. Answer if you can hear Zaran, do not give up hope, my friend.”
But no reply was forthcoming, and the otter could not help any further. She knew that if she tried digging to reach Spingo, the movement might shift both soil and stone, smothering Spingo forever.
The Redwall contingent dashed gallantly through the woodlands, brushing aside or flattening everything in their way. None could travel faster than Bosie, who kept running from one end of the column to the other, roaring encouragement as he brandished his sword. “Come on, mah bonny beasts! Hasten tae the rescue! Move now, ye braw runners! Bowlayneeeee!”
With Nokko, Dubble and Bisky in the lead, they rushed onto the bankside of the creek, where the Guosim logboats lay moored. Everybeast was hurried aboard, with the moles arriving last, for as anybeast knows, moles are not the greatest runners in Mossflower.
There were four shrew paddlers to each craft, with Gonfelins and moles seated amidships. Bosie occupied the stern seat of the lead vessel, along with Nokko, Bisky, Dubble, Samolus and Garul. The logboats manoeuvred their way out of the creek, into the mainstream.
Garul shouted to Dubble, “What course do we take?”
Doomwyte (Redwall) Page 29
