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 were 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?”
“Straight on, an’ don’t take no sidewaters. Keep paddlin’ in the midstream, ’til ye see the big wooded hill ahead, that’s where we’re bound!”
But Nokko had other ideas. “Us Gonfelins knows the lay o’ the land round ’ere. I know a faster way, wot’ll bring youse up be’ind that big mound!”
Bosie patted the Pikehead’s back. “Very guid, mah friend, get yoreself for’ard an’ tell ’em the way tae go!”
Scrambling over paddlers and passengers, Nokko made his way to the prow, where he gave orders. “The quickest way is to take the next slipstream on yore right. There ’tis, the one wid the big ould willow over’anging the bank. There’s a few rapids, but that’ll get us there a bit faster!”
Dubble was paddling alongside Garul. He took the time to enquire, “Wot happened to Tugga Bruster, tell me.”
The older Guosim kept his eyes on the stream as he told Dubble of his father’s fate.
When he had heard the whole disgraceful story of his father and the former Log a Log’s shameful end, the young Guosim wiped a swift paw across his eyes, then breathed deep as he pulled on his paddle.
“I know he was my father, but I can’t bring myself to grieve heavy over him. Tugga Bruster was never a lovin’ parent, aye, an’ he wasn’t much of a Log a Log, either. But you knew that. Our tribe deserves a better Chieftain than him.”
Garul backed water as they turned into the slipstream. “Aye, Dubble, these Guosim think you’ll make a good Log a Log, they all like you.”
Bending to avoid the overhanging willow branches, Dubble met the older shrew’s gaze. “No, mate, I’m finished with the Guosim life. Once this is over I’m goin’ to live at Redwall. I’ve not had much experience of the Abbey, but I know I’ll find peace an’ happiness there. One day, maybe, I’ll forget the shame of Tugga Bruster.”
Garul was bewildered by Dubble’s decision. “But wot about our tribe, wot’s to become of us?”
The young shrew released his paddle long enough to grasp the older beast’s paw warmly. “These Guosim will do just fine with you as their Log a Log. You’ve always been a good an’ wise ole paddle whomper, Garul. You’ll make a better Log a Log than I ever could!”
The news echoed swiftly from boat to boat. All the Guosim raised their paddles in salute, roaring, “Garul! Garul! Logalogalogalooooooog!”
The little flotilla hit the rapids, the logboats shot along. Shrews guided them skilfully, fending off rocks, banks and shoals as they sang.
“Ho, look out for the shallows now,
watch how fast yore goin’,
you’ll never beat a Guosim shrew,
paddlin’ or rowin’.
Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,
wait for me, my darlin’,
go set the skillet on the fire,
’cos I’ll be home by mornin’.
Oh, watch her on the banksides now,
rapids an’ white waters,
here’s a health to all our wives,
an’ our pretty daughters.
Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,
throw me out a line oh,
or a bowl o’ stew, an’ a drink or two,
would suit a Guosim fine oh!”
Bosie had put up his sword, he was feeling rather nervous as he clung to the prow. Spray soaked his whiskers as the logboat leapt and bucked along the rapids. Keeping a brave face, the Highland hare muttered aloud, “Och, will ye no look at this mad stream. Ah tell ye, Ah dinna know what they’re singing for.”
Having been told by Dubble, Bisky already knew. “Singin’ helps ’em with the paddle beat, an’ it keeps the logboat on an even keel.”
Bosie slacked his grip upon the prow, standing up slightly, he tried a quick smile. “Oh, verra guid, that’s the stuff, mah buckoes, keep the song goin’, Ah like it just fine!”
However, Friar Skurpul and his molecrew did not care for the lively jaunt. Throwing themselves facedown in the boats, they gave voice to their fears.
“Ho, corks, Oi wish’t Oi’d never left ee h’Abbey!”
“Hurr, we’m surtink to get sunken unner ee water!”
“Ho, woe bees Oi, Oi’ll never leave ee land agin!”
Now the bankside trees were shooting by as the logboats picked up more speed. Guosim left off paddling, to fend off the rock-faced sides. Samolus gnawed his lip anxiously. “Er, Mister Nokko, are you sure this is the right way to the wooded hill?”
The Gonfelin Pikehead scowled. “Of course I’m sure, I knows this neck o’ the woods like the back o’ me own paw. D’yer think I’m goin’ the wrong way ’cos me best young daughter’s in trouble, ye daft ould bat!” The logboat scudded over a gravel rift, causing Nokko to sit back hard. Samolus helped him upright.
“Forgive my stupid remark, sir, I’m certain we’re on the right course.”
Nokko shrugged. “Ah, don’t take any notice o’ me, mate, I shouldn’t ’ave spoke to yer that way.”
Gobbo interrupted, “Aye, me da’s just worried about Spingo, so don’t take no notice of ’im.”
Nokko latched onto his talkative son’s snout, twisting it sharply. “Who asked yew t’put yore paddle in, gabbygob? One more word outta yew an’ I’ll stuff yer tail down that mouth an’ pull it out yer ear, me son. So purra nail in it, right?”
Gobbo rubbed his snout ruefully. He was about to have the last word with his da by muttering a smart reply, when Bosie called out from the prow, “Ah think yon’s the hill we’ve been seekin’!”
Sure enough, as the rapids subsided into smoother waters, the broad, tree-covered hump could be seen. It rose up ahead on the port side of the logboats. Dubble squinted hard at it. “Doesn’t look familiar t’me.”
Nokko explained, “That’s ’cos this is the back part. I figgered it’d be safer landin’ on this side. Those carrion birds guard the other side. I’ve seen ’em meself, perched in the trees. Huh, feathery scumwytes, that’s wot I call ’em!”
No sooner did the logboats nose in to moor at a small inlet, than Bisk
y leapt onto the shore. He raced off uphill as the rest gathered on the bank. Friar Skurpul stamped his footpaws, grateful to be on solid ground once more. “Burr, ee young Bisky bees in a gurt ’urry.”
Drawing his blade, Bosie pointed uphill. “Aye, he’s hurrying tae save the wee lassie, just as we should be doin’, ye ken. Garul, you an’ yore Guosim help yon molebeasts tae transport their tackle. Come as fast as ye can. Hearken, the rest o’ ye, follow me, up an’ o’er the hilltop after Bisky. Stay silent, for we dinnae know what awaits us. Come on, mah braw buckoes. Charge!”
Nokko and Dubble kept pace with Bosie, they thundered uphill. Lances, bows and slings at the ready, Gonfelin warriors, silent and grim-faced, followed them in a life-and-death race to save their Chieftain’s daughter.
34
It was noontide in east Mossflower, with scarce a vagrant breeze to stir the thick, green foliage. Skipper Rorgus called a halt beneath a massive old beech. Dwink, thinking it was for his benefit, protested. “I don’t need to rest my footpaw, I can travel on quite a bit yet, Skip.”
Unshouldering the big provision haversack, the Otter Chieftain sat with his back against the trunk. “Can ye now, Master Dwink, well, I’m pleased to hear it, ’cos I can’t. Foremole an’ me ain’t young uns no more. We likes to rest when we can.”
Foremole nodded agreement. “Boi ’okey we do, zurr. If’n you’m young uns bees so fulled of h’energy, may’aps ee’d loike to surve us’ns sum vittles.”
Perrit placed a paw beneath her chin, and gave a charming little curtsy. “As you wish, O ancient and weary ones.”
Foremole’s face creased in a friendly smile. “You’m a h’imperdent likkle villyun, miz!”
They dined on soft, white cheese, preserved hazelnuts and beechnuts and a flask of coltsfoot and pennycloud cordial.