“Ho, away over the hills, mate,
from dawn through to night,
an’ don’t trip over yer paws now,
Left left right!
Marchin’ out is great on a fine summer day,
luggin’ a bag o’ vittles
along to scoff upon the way.
As long as you got mateys
to pace along with you,
whilst there ain’t no storms a-blowin’
an’ the sky stays blue.
Ho, away over the hills, mate,
from dawn through to night,
an’ don’t trip over yer paws now,
Left left right!”
Perrit, the young squirrelmaid, opened the main gates for them; she smiled and waved them through. “Goodbye, friends, good luck!”
Tugga Bruster was sitting on the path outside, looking dazed as he nursed a lump on his forehead. The surly Guosim Log a Log glared at the happy pair. “An’ where d’ye think yore off to, eh?”
Bisky politely sidestepped the shrew as he scrambled upright, answering him curtly, “We promised to go and search for Dubble.”
Tugga Bruster blocked their way. He was looking for a quarrel. “Dubble, huh, that worthless scrap o’ fur got himself lost again has he. Right, if’n ye find him, fetch him back t’me, I’ll teach him t’go runnin’ off without my permission!”
Bisky was about to reply, when Spingo confronted the irate Log a Log. “You’ll do nothin’ of the sort, ugly mug, I’m glad you ain’t my da, ya big bully!”
Tugga Bruster grabbed Spingo by her paw, his face was twisted with rage. “Yore father was the one wot knocked me down, ye hard-nosed snippet.”
He was raising a footpaw to kick Spingo when Bisky struck. He swung his haversack, catching the shrew a mighty belt between the ears. Tugga Bruster went down like a felled tree. Bisky was shaking slightly at the prospect of having struck a Shrew Chieftain. He laughed nervously. “Er…ha ha…one of Friar Skurpul’s hefty dumplin’s must’ve got him!”
Spingo curled her lip as she stepped over the shrew. “Shouldn’t never be a Pike’ead of Guosims, that un. Nasty piece o’ work, ain’t ’e. Can’t leave ’im ’ere, though. Yore healer, wotsisname Toreerlilero, he’ll need to treat ’im, after two bumps on the noggin.”
They lugged the senseless shrew across to the main entrance, banged on the gate for attention and hurried away giggling. It was Foremole Gullub who opened the gate. Looking down at the unconscious shrew, he shook his velvety head.
“Gurt seasons, ee’m musta knocked on ee gate wi’ his ’ead, t’get loike that. Yurr, Mizzie Perrit, lend Oi ee paw t’get this gurt foozle h’inside.”
Dwink lay on the big bed in the Gatehouse, trying to stop himself dozing off—it was after all, still early morning. However, he could not resist the potion which Torilis had administered. It took rapid effect. Bright summer day ebbed into the distance; sounds of birdsong, Dibbuns at play and the customary hum of Abbey life receded.
Sprawled on the big, soft Gatehouse bed, Dwink entered the odd realm of dreams. He saw Martin the Warrior materialise out of the mist. His voice was both strong and soothing, his eyes kind and wise as he delivered a message to the young squirrel.
“The eyes of the owl must watch the eye of the snake. He must watch for other eyes which covet the green one. Trust not the beast who is the friend of nobeast. Redwall will gain the raven’s eye from a thief, but the rest you may seek. Return to the door, the door with no key, which holds the key. On, on, and on for one. For one can give you all!”
Dwink was rudely awakened in warm noontide. Three Dibbuns, Dugry, Furff and the very tiny mousebabe, landed with a thump on the bed. Dwink sat up abruptly. “Rogues, ruffians, watch out for my footpaw!”
The Abbeybabes ignored his warning. Leaping over Dwink they burrowed under the counterpane. The mousebabe popped his head out, twitching his snout at Dwink like a fellow conspirator. “Uz playin’ hide’n’seek wiv Mista Bosie.” Seeing this had no effect on the young squirrel, the mousebabe growled savagely, “Dwink, don’t tell ’im where us are, norra word, or I choppa tail off!” He vanished beneath the counterpane, from where muffled giggles emerged.
The Laird Bosie suddenly strode into the Gatehouse. He sniffed the air, looking around dramatically. The bumps moving about beneath the embroidered covering, coupled with the noise of chortling Abbeybabes, were a real giveaway. The lanky hare winked at Dwink. “Have ye no seen three wee rogues aboot?”
The young squirrel kept a straight face. “Three, ye say? No sir, I’ve been fast asleep here since I fell into the ditch an’ injured my footpaw.” As he was saying this, Bosie was beckoning him to move aside, which Dwink did, rather gingerly, being very careful with his bandaged footpaw.
Bosie then announced loudly, so that the fugitives could hear, “Och, well, if ye should see them Ah’ve nae doubt ye’ll tell me forthwith!” He strode noisily toward the open door, then tippawed swiftly back to the bed. With lightning speed he bundled all three Dibbuns up in the counterpane, swinging it over his shoulder. “Hah, Ah’ve caught ye, mah bonnies. Sister Violet’s waitin’ wi’ lots o’ sweet-scented soap, an’ a tubful o’ guid, warm water. It’s bathtime for ye!”
Dwink chuckled. “You mean they weren’t playin’ hide-an’-seek?”
Bosie gave the wriggling bedspread a firm shake. “Be still, ye villains! Mebbe they were playin’ games, but Sister Violet isn’t. She sent me tae find these babbies. They’ve been dodgin’ her since breakfast. How is yore footpaw farin’?”
Dwink shrugged. “Oh, I’ll live, thank ye. Bosie, would you do me a favour, please? Tell Aluco I’d like to see him.”
As it happened, the owl in question was at that moment passing the Gatehouse doorway. With him was Brother Torilis, heading a party of Guosim shrews, who were assisting Tugga Bruster up to the Abbey Infirmary. Leaving them to go on their way, Torilis and Aluco popped in to see Dwink.
Torilis inspected the footpaw dressing, assuring his patient, “I’ve an old wheelchair which you can use to get back up to the Abbey. I’ll have it sent down, after I’ve dealt with that silly Guosim. Can you imagine it, being knocked senseless twice in one morning?”
Aluco stayed after Torilis and Bosie had left. The owl focused his huge, tawny eyes on Dwink. “Is there some way I can help you, friend?”
Having recalled his dream in full detail, Dwink related it to Aluco. Ruffling his feathers, Aluco hopped onto the bed, where he settled down fussily.
“I understand that when your warrior spirit sends a message, it is wise to heed it. So, I will gladly keep watch on the green stone which I donated to Redwall Abbey. Rest assured of that.”
Dwink returned his feathered friend’s stare. “But what d’ye make of the rest of Martin’s message?”
The owl swivelled his head, almost right around. “Well, obviously I’ll be watching for any creature who looks as if they’re envious of Redwall possessing the green jewel, but I can’t think of any immediate suspects, can you?”
“No, but I haven’t given it any serious thought yet. But the other part of Martin’s message, where he said that Redwall would gain the raven’s eye from a thief. What d’you make of that, Aluco?”
The tawny owl swivelled his head back and forth. “I would be hard put to narrow it down to a single beast, Dwink. After all, there’s a whole tribe of self-confessed thieves visiting the Abbey at this very moment. The Gonfelins!”
Dwink scratched his bushy tail as he mused, “Of course it’s hard to choose from a whole band of the rascals, they’re all so proud of being thieves.”
Both creatures sat in silence for a moment, pondering the questions which Martin’s message had posed. Dwink felt his eyelids beginning to droop once more. Aluco took his cue from the young squirrel. The owl was quite partial to frequent naps. He ruffled his plumage, settling his beak into it. Peace and quiet reigned in the Gatehouse as it fell into deep noontide shadow.
It was however, short-lived. Dwink and
Aluco were roused by a racketing, rattling, whooping and shouting. Surrounded by a cloud of dust, Umfry Spikkle came stampeding into the Gatehouse, furiously pushing an ancient wheelchair, with Perrit as a passenger. He dragged it into a swerving halt, narrowly missing the bedside, laughing and shouting.
“Whoohoho! ’Ow was that, miss, fast h’enough for ye?”
The pretty squirrelmaid leapt from the chair, brushing dust from her apron. “Whew! That was faster’n I’ve ever been, yore a good chairpusher, Umfry.” She turned, smiling, to Dwink. “Brother Torilis sent us with this wheelchair, we’re to take care of you. Poor Dwink, does your footpaw hurt you a lot?”
Dwink blinked several times, then shook his head. “It doesn’t feel too bad now, thank you. Great seasons, don’t know wot Brother Torilis puts in his medicine, but it’s enough to knock out a regiment o’ badgers. He says I’ll be well by autumn, with plenty o’ rest.”
Umfry sighed dreamily. “Wish it was me, h’imagine bein’ able to rest for that long!”
Perrit giggled. “I’m glad you can’t, with the way you can snore you’d drive everybeast in the Abbey mad!”
Dwink sympathised with the huge, young hedgehog. “Is Corksnout working you hard, or have you finished tidyin’ up the cellars?”
“Oh, there h’aint much tidyin’ up left, h’I’ve almost finished the job now. Ole Corksnout gave me time h’off, t’be yore chairpusher. C’mon, Dwink, h’is there anyplace ye want me to shove ye to?”
Dwink recalled that he had not eaten that day. “I’m blinkin’ well starvin’, is afternoon tea finished yet?”
Perrit replied, “They’re having tea in the orchard whilst the weather’s fine. Look, this is a big ole chair, there’s room enough for two of us on that seat. Unless of course Umfry’s too weary to push us there.”
Flexing his paws on the chairback, Umfry assured his two friends, “Whenever vittles h’is mentioned h’I don’t feel weary h’anymore. C’mon, you two, let’s go for tea.”
“What about Aluco?” Perrit looked toward the owl as he opened his huge eyes.
“I will make my own way at my own pace, thank you.” As the owl settled back to sleep Dwink was out of bed and seated with Perrit in the ancient wheelchair.
Umfry justified the squirrelmaid’s judgement of him as a good chairpusher. Putting all his considerable force into the task, the big, young hedgehog whizzed them across the lawns with lightning speed.
They skirted the apple and pear trees, rattling and clattering into the orchard, amidst raucous cheers from the Dibbuns. Panting for breath, Umfry called to Friar Skurpul, “Three more for tea h’if ye please!”
Sister Violet served them, loading plates with plum tart, almond slice, honeyed nutbread and fresh fruit. She topped up their beakers with dandelion and burdock cordial, chilled from the cellars. As they ate, Dwink related what Martin the Warrior had said in his dream.
Perrit lowered her voice, trying to contain her excitement. “Listen, Umfry, if you’re still working in the cellars, you’ll have to investigate that door again, give it a good looking over.”
Dwink nodded his agreement. “Aye, I’ll wager there’s more clues to be found. Maybe a riddle, or some secret writing!”
Umfry muttered in embarrassment, “Er, that might be a problem, mates. Y’see h’I ain’t much good h’at readin’. Words just look like squiggles t’me.”
Perrit patted Umfry’s hefty paw. “Don’t worry, I’ll come with you, I’m a good reader, always have been since Abbey School.”
Dwink looked from one to the other. “Pardon me askin’, but wot about me?”
Perrit stifled a giggle. “You can come, too. That’s if you can go charging down a full flight of stairs in a wheelchair….” She saw the doleful look on Dwink’s face and regretted what she had said. “I’m sorry, mate, but that contraption wasn’t built for stairs an’ steps. It looks like you’ll have to wait at the top of the stairs. I’ll take some parchment an’ charcoal down there, if there’s anything to record you’ll be the first to see it.”
Dwink was getting painful little twinges in his footpaw. He scratched at the bandaged poultice, which Brother Torilis had bound on. “Righto, when is all this supposed to be happenin’?”
Perrit rubbed her paws gleefully. “As soon as we’ve had tea, no sense wasting time.”
Brother Torilis approached, opening his satchel. “Best let me take a look at the footpaw, young un. Is it paining you?”
The young squirrel sighed. “Aye, ’tis a bit, Brother.” He whispered to Umfry and Perrit, “You two go an’ look at the door. Leave me here, but come straight back if there’s anythin’ to report.”
Brother Torilis had Skipper lift Dwink from the wheelchair to a blanket spread on the ground. Seeing Dwink was in some discomfort, the good Brother administered more of his potion. Dwink began to feel drowsy again. Meanwhile, the Dibbuns commandeered the wheelchair, calling to the Laird Bosie eagerly.
“Us wanna ride, Mista Bosie, cummon, you be a pusher!”
Demolishing a sizeable portion of fruit pudding and meadowcream, the lanky hare obliged good-naturedly. “Right, mah bonnies, all aboard an’ hauld tight. Och, but dinnae blame me if’n mah speed affrights ye.” With four Abbeybabes sitting in the seat, and four more perched in various positions, Bosie took off like an arrow from a bow, yelling, “Awaaaaay Bowlayneeeee!”
The Dibbuns squeaked, but not from fear. “Wheeeeeee! Fasta, fasta! Redwaaaaaallll!”
Brother Torilis looked up from his task. “I suppose my next patients will be several Dibbuns and a foolish hare, judging by the reckless speed of that old contraption.”
Friar Skurpul merely chuckled. “Sumtoimes ee can be a roight ole mizrubble beast, zurr. Still, Oi supposen it keeps you’m ’appy.”
Being an owl, Aluco was not overfond of sunlit afternoon teas—he preferred the indoor shadows. Moreover, he had also vowed to guard the big emerald, in its candle sconce, by Martin the Warrior’s tapestry. The Abbey building was practically deserted, most Redwallers having taken themselves outdoors, enjoying the summer day. Aluco visited the kitchens, choosing his own afternoon tea: a small wooden bowl filled with candied chestnuts, and a wedge of hazelnut and celery cheese. A little flask of old elderberry wine proved too tempting, so he took that also. Making his way to Great Hall, the tawny owl sought out the corner where the legendary Redwall tapestry hung in serene splendour. Green lights emanated from the fabulous orb of the emerald, which had once belonged in one of the eye sockets of the Doomwyte idol. It was displayed in a candle sconce, directly in front of Martin’s likeness.
Aluco loved the tranquil solitude of the deserted hall. In its centre, the worn floorstones were softened by varying pastel hues of sunlight, pouring through the high, stained crystal windows. The tawny owl found a shadowed niche alongside one of the immense sandstone columns. Settling down there, he did full justice to his improvised tea, emptying the bowl, and draining the wine flask. Through the hallowed silence, he caught far-off echoes from the orchard. It was Sister Violet, accompanied by Bosie’s fiddlelike instrument. She was singing a beautiful old summersong of sentimental love.
“Far away from noise and bustle I would be,
where sun doth kiss the blooms and warm the stone,
by still green lakes I’d wander peacefully,
’midst their mossy banks I’d wait for him alone.
Watched only by small birds and butterflies,
with humble bees to drone their little tune,
in some tranquil glade where purple shadow lies,
dreaming through the sunlit halls of afternoon.
Oh, willow bending low so gracefully,
all in quiv’ring raiment standing there,
let breezes part thy boughs that I may see,
my love smile on the face he holds so fair.”
The combination of good food, wine and sweet song was fast closing Aluco’s eyes. Then a rustling sound passed close to him. The tawny owl blinked as he wandere
d dozily out of his niche. “Hullo, who is—”
A figure, heavily hooded and cloaked, laid him low with a single blow. Aluco fell stunned to the floor. The verdant light of the Doomwyte emerald was extinguished, as the phantom figure stowed it in the folds of its robe. As the thief stepped over the fallen bird, something dropped by Aluco’s side. The intruder padded swiftly off, leaving the empty sconce, and the owl, groaning softly as he tried to rise.
27
In his anxiety to grab Zaran’s sword, Dubble made a snatch in the dark. He fell from the poplar trunk, onto the hillside. Whatever his attacker was, it fell upon him. The young Guosim could not help letting out a yelp as he and his assailant rolled down the slope, locked together. They crashed into a bush. Dubble had not managed to get the sword, but he began battling tooth and paw to free himself. The thing did not put up much fight, but its size overwhelmed him—he was smothered by a dark, feathery mass. Dubble gave a muffled shout as it enveloped his face. Panic swept through him, the suffocating bulk robbed him of breath.
As suddenly as it had started, his ordeal ended. The thing was heaved from him, and he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the dark, savage face of Zaran, the black otter. She nodded curtly at the dark bundle lying nearby.
“Only crow, ’twas almost dead.” Zaran made a twisting motion with her powerful paws, and a clicking sound issued from her mouth. “Crow dead now, Zaran make sure of that!”
There was a commotion of cawing and flapping from down at the cave entrance. Dubble followed Zaran to a place where they could see what all the upset was about. Even in the dark of night, a number of dead and badly injured birds could be seen. Some were draped about the branches of the downy birch, others lay limp in the stream. Wide-eyed, the young shrew turned to his companion.
“What is it, what’s happenin’?”
The otter pulled him to her side; gripping the back of Dubble’s neck, she directed his gaze to where the small stream swirled around the rocky entrance. “See…. It is Baliss!”