Lycian spotted Sister Snowdrop coming to join them. She whispered hastily to the molemum, “Burbee, don’t mention how we feel about Quelt to Snowdrop. She’s been friends with that old squirrel a long time. I wouldn’t want to offend her feelings.”
The little Sister plumped herself down upon the bank and flung a pebble into the pond with some force. “Honestly, that Old Quelt, sometimes he makes me so angry with his uppity attitude. You’d think he was the only creature in Redwall who could solve riddles!”
Lycian and Burbee could not help breaking out into giggles. Snowdrop looked bewildered. “Sorry, did I say something funny just then?”
Brother Perant stormed up unexpectedly. Flinging himself down, he began spreading a parchment on the ground. It was a copy he had made of the rhyming puzzle.
Perant muttered, “Right, let’s take a look at this riddle in peace. I’m tired of sitting at the breakfast table, listening to that Recorder drivelling on about it. Who does he think he is, anyway?”
Perant looked oddly at Lycian, Burbee and Snowdrop, who were hooting with merriment. “Er, excuse me, ladies, but is this a private joke, or am I allowed to join in the mirth?”
Once the Abbess had her laughter under control, she dabbed at her eyes with a kerchief. “Oh, it’s just a bit of silliness. Pay no attention to us, Brother.”
Brantalis was a little more forthcoming with his explanation. “Friend, I am thinking it is about the Old Quelt squirrel, who is annoying everybeast with his tiresome wisdom.”
The Infirmary Keeper’s normally sober face lit up in a grin. “Well said, my feathered friend, and so he is!”
Any kind of praise was apt to flatter the barnacle goose. Flapping both wings, he swelled his chest and honked. “Read me out your riggul. I am thinking this bird might be good at solving rigguls!”
The good Brother commented wryly, “Yes, and it seems you’re becoming good at molespeech, too. The word is pronounced ‘riddle,’ or if you can’t manage that, try the word ‘puzzle.’ Oh well, I don’t suppose it can do any harm. Listen carefully now:“ ‘Twixt supper and breakfast find me,
In a place I was weary to be,
Up in that top tactic (one see)
Lies what was the limb of a tree.
It holds up what blocks out the night,
And can open to let in the light.
For a third of a lifetime one says,
Looking up I could see it sideways.
Tell me what we call coward (in at)
Then when you have worked out that,
You’ll find your heart’s desire,
By adding a backward liar.
Ever together the two have been set,
Since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet.”
Brantalis waddled about, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “What is twixt supper and breakfast? I am not understanding.”
Molemum Burbee simplified the phrase with her logic. “Ee darkness bee’s atwixt suppertoime’n’brekkist. Noight!”
Perant regarded her with newfound respect. “Good grief, you’re right, marm!”
Burbee poured him a beaker of tea, adding, “Hurr, uz molers allus are, zurr. We’m no foozles!”
Sister Snowdrop interjected eagerly. “So, you could read the first two lines thus: ‘At nighttime find me in a place I was weary to be!’ ”
The barnacle goose clacked his beak to gain attention. “I am thinking that would be in those strange nests you creatures call beds. Is that correct?”
The young Abbess smote a paw to her brow. “Very clever! All it really comes down to is this: ‘At night I am tired so I go to bed.’ Gracious me, who needs Old Quelt when we can solve the riddle ourselves! Read on, Brother. What’s the next bit?”
Perant recited the next two lines of the poem:“Up in that top tactic (one see)
Lies what was the limb of a tree.”
Nestling his beak down into his arched neck, Brantalis did his best to appear knowledgeable. “I am thinking that is . . . er, that is . . .”
The big bird ruffled his feathers huffily. “I am not knowing what to think. This riggul is stupid!”
Reluctantly, Abbess Lycian agreed with him. “Dearie me, it looks like we’re confounded by another of Sister Geminya’s strange quirks. What in the name of goodness is a top tactic one see? Really, I don’t know who’s the more irritating—Geminya or Quelt!”
“Oh, I’d say Geminya every time, Mother Abbess.”
They whirled around to the sound of a familiar voice. There stood Old Quelt, accompanied by Brinty, Girry and Tribsy. The ancient Recorder had crept up quietly, smiling disarmingly over his glasses at them.
“I do beg your pardon, stealing up on you like that. Is there any room for a few young friends to join you? And, of course, an irritating old busybody?”
The company was totally embarrassed except for Brantalis. “I am thinking there is room for anybeast who can solve rigguls, old one. Sit down and drink tea with us.”
Quelt gratefully accepted a beaker of tea. He sat down and began scanning Perant’s copy of the riddle. “No doubt you’ve all solved the first two lines, my friends, and I have, too. Alas, it was this odd twist in the third line—‘Up in that top tactic (one see).’ I confess it had me quite perplexed. Like yourselves, I was baffled—until young Girry provided the answer.”
Lycian seized the young squirrel and hugged him soundly. “You solved it? Oh, you combination of brains and beauty, tell us the answer this very instant!”
Girry spread his bushy tail down over his face, wriggling out of the Abbess’s embrace. “It was all by accident, I think. Instead of starting at the beginning of the line, I began at the end. One see, that’s a typical Geminya trick. The word ‘see’ really means the letter C. ‘Tactic’ was the only word that contained two letter C’s, so I removed one from it. When I spelled it out without the C, it read ‘tacti.’ That didn’t sound right, so I replaced it and removed the other C. ‘tatic.’ It sounded a bit better, so I kept repeating it, and thinking hard. Tatic, tatic, tatic! I suddenly twigged on that this was one of those mixed-up word puzzles. What was the name you called it, sir?”
Quelt explained. “It’s called an anagram, a jumble of letters which can be sorted out into a proper word. Tell them, Girry.”
“Five letters: an A, two T’s, an I and one C. ‘Attic’! ”
Quelt shook the young squirrel’s paw warmly. “Solved like a true scholar! So, what do we have now? Somewhere at night that Sister Geminya would retire to when she felt tired. A bed. And where will we find that bed?”
Brinty could not stop himself from blurting out, “In that top attic!”
The Recorder beamed. “Exactly! The very place that my young friends and I were just on our way to find. However, I thought it best to let you know, Mother Abbess, so you good creatures wouldn’t feel left out. How would you feel about accompanying three young rips and one old fogey on a little quest?”
Though Quelt did not say it, the Abbess guessed that this was his way of apologising for his behaviour at breakfast. She replied with a twinkle in her eye, “Thank you for your gracious offer, sir. We accept. Er, by the way, which are you—the fogey or one of the rips?”
Tribsy took Lycian’s paw cheerily. “He’m an ole rip, h’Abbess, ’n oi bee’s a young fogey!”
Brantalis ruffled his feathers and honked. “I am thinking we should stop talking all this gobbledygoose and go to find the top attic!”
Lycian chuckled as she whispered to Tribsy. “Gobbledygoose? That’s a new one on me!”
Brink Greyspoke and Skipper Banjon were sitting on a barrel in the cellars. Between them they were sharing a flask of rosehip and redcurrant wine, accompanied by a wedge of strong yellow cheese with roasted chestnut flakes in it. The two friends were trying to recall forgotten lines of an old Cellarbeast’s song, taking alternate verses and singing the chorus together.
“I keeps my ole cellars cool an’ still,
stacked up with great oake
n casks.
I’ll serve ye up with right goodwill,
with any fine drink ye asks!
October Ale or cider pale,
or dannelion wine,
ole nettlebeer, I got som ’ere,
by ’okey it tastes fine.
Cordial brewed from plum’n’pear,
or raspb’rry crimson ripe,
try my whortleberry sherry,
’tis wot the ladies like.
I keeps my cellars fresh’n’clean,
each barrel keg or firkin,
an’ day an’ night I tends ’em right,
I’m a Cellarbeast hard workin’!
Strawberry fizz, that’s nice that is,
the young ’uns like its flavour,
dark damson wine matured by time,
that’s wot the old ’uns savour.”
Skipper paused, scratching his rudder. “Wot comes next, mate? Was it ‘beetroot port, poured long or short’?”
Brink cut himself a sliver of the strong cheese. “Nay, as I recalls, that’s the last verse. Hmm . . . let me see. Er, I think it went like this: ‘sweet burdock cup, just fill it up, de dah dee dum de deedee.’ ”
“Excuse me, Mr. Greyspoke, but Mother Abbess wants to know if you’ve got any spare lanterns please?”
Brink turned to Brinty, who was standing in the doorway. “We got lanterns aplenty, young ’un. Wot d’ye need ’em for?”
The young mouse gestured upward. “To search for the top attic. We’ve discovered some clues in the riddle, y’see, sir.”
Skipper Banjon threw a paw about Brinty’s shoulders. “We’re comin’ with ye, matey. Brink, where d’ye keep spare lanterns for searchin’ top attics with?”
The big Cellarhog trundled over to an empty ale barrel. “In here. How many d’ye want, sunbeam?”
Brinty tugged his ear politely. “As many as ye can spare, Mr. Brink. There’s a lot of us going on the search.”
A huge party was gathered at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. It seemed that everybeast in Redwall wanted to participate in the adventure. Friar Bibble waved a floury paw at the heavily laden trio who had staggered up from the cellars.
“Indeed to goodness, they must be on light duties, look you!”
Skipper distributed the lanterns, issuing a warning. “All stay together up there. We don’t want to lose anybeast. Top attics is a dark ole place.”
Old Quelt made his way through a gang of Dibbuns, who were milling about noisily. “Do we have to take these little ones along? I don’t want Dibbuns getting under my footpaws, do you?”
Howls of dismay and outrage went up from the Abbeybabes as Quelt tried to shoo them away.
The kindly Abbess intervened on their behalf. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be alright. None of our little ones have ever been beyond their own dormitory stairs. It will be a bit of fun for them. I think they should come.”
Squirrelbabe Taggle agreed wholeheartedly. “On’y a birra fun, we be good, me promises. Us don’t gerrunder a footpaws if’n we gets carried!”
The Dibbuns raised a cheer when Skipper lifted an otterbabe called Smudger upon his shoulders. “Aye, it’ll be no trouble to give these rogues a ride.”
Smudger perched smugly on the otter’s shoulders, wrinkling his nose impudently at Quelt. “See, now we go wiv ya, teeheehee!”
There was no need for lanterns on the first floor, where most of the dormitories were situated, nor was there on the second floor, where Old Quelt kept his library. The third floor, however, was a different matter. It was all in darkness, apart from the chamber above the library where the uncatalogued books and scrolls were stored. Everywhere else it was black and gloomy, coated thick in the dust of untold ages. One or two of the more fainthearted searchers suddenly found they had other chores downstairs to tend. Mumbling excuses, they dropped out of the quest. The remainder, headed by Skipper, Brink and the Abbess, pressed on.
The third floor was a maze, a veritable warren of passages, steps, chambers and side rooms. As the group made its way down a winding corridor, Sister Snowdrop shuddered uneasily.
“Little wonder that Sister Geminya was an oddbeast, living up here all alone. It’s very creepy, isn’t it?”
Brushing away curtains of gossamer cobwebs with his bushy tail, Girry took the Sister’s paw, speaking with a boldness he did not feel. “Come on, Sister. If the place is empty, what’s to fear?”
The procession bumped one into the other, as they were forced to halt. A big, old, locked door barred the way. It was shut tight, its hinges and locks rusted together.
Sister Doral’s voice quavered as she called to Skipper, “Oh dear, we’ll never get that open. Let’s go back, it’s nearly lunchtime, you know.”
Brink took the bung hammer, which he had been using earlier, from his belt. He rooted in his broad Cellarhog’s apron pocket and came up with a broad, stubby chisel.
“Don’t fret now, marm. Me’n Banjon’ll take care o’ this!”
Between them, the two sturdy beasts broke the lock and pushed the door open. It gave a long, eerie-sounding creak, which echoed through the lantern-shadowed gloom.
Burbee was trembling from snout to tail with fear. Little Ralg, the Gatekeeper’s babe, leaned down from his father’s shoulders and stroked the molemum’s head sympathetically.
“Hushee now, marm, I mind you, ’cos I ferry ferry brave!”
Burbee patted Ralg’s tiny paw. “Thankee, choild. Boi’okey, wot oi wudden’t give furr ee ’ot cup o’ tea roight naow!”
They entered a chamber as vast as Great Hall, though much lower ceilinged. Foremole Grudd got his powerful digging claws into a wooden shutter and tore open a window. Much to the relief of all, bright midday sun flooded in. Sparkling dust motes hung thick on the air.
Abbess Lycian espied a small door in one corner. “Look, I wonder where that leads to?”
There was no lock on the door. Skipper pulled it open. “We’ll soon find out, marm!”
He held his lantern high and peered in. It was a narrow space with circular walls of rough sandstone. An ancient flight of rickety wooden stairs were fixed to the wall. The whole thing wound upward into stygian darkness and oppressive silence.
After lifting little Smudger down from his shoulders and passing him to Burbee, Skipper ventured onto the first stair. The wood gave a protesting groan, causing Skipper to step back carefully.
“We can’t all go up there, those stairs’d collapse. They won’t even take my weight. So, what’s t’be done?”
Otterbabe Smudger wriggled free of the molemum. Without a backward glance, he trundled to the stairs. “Alla stay down ’ere. Me go h’up!”
The Abbess caught the little fellow before he could venture further. “Come here, you bold creature!”
Sister Snowdrop made a suggestion. “Actually, that Dibbun’s right, in a way. Nobeast of any size or weight could make it up the stairs. But if a few smallish, light ones—like myself, say, and two others—went carefully, one behind the other, I think we could make it to the top.”
The Abbess took the initiative. “I think Sister Snowdrop and I should go. Girry, would you like to join us?”
The young squirrel’s tail stood up straight. “Yes, please!”
Taking a lantern between them, the trio began the ascent, with Girry in the lead.
Skipper cautioned them, “If’n there’s ought up there that ye don’t like, then come straight back down here. Or if’n ye get in trouble, just give us a shout.”
Brink gripped his bung mallet tightly. “Aye, you just shout, mates, an’ no rickety stairs’ll stop us. We’ll come runnin’!”
The wooden spiral staircase was extremely narrow and unsteady. Every step had to be taken carefully.
Girry laughed nervously. “Ha ha, it’s like being inside a well with stairs.”
Sister Snowdrop shielded her eyes from the dust that he was unintentionally kicking down. “That’s probably why it’s called a stairwell. Can you see anything up there???
?
The young squirrel held the lantern high as he managed a few more steps. “Yes, there’s a sort of landing above us, and I think I see a door!”
They speeded up their pace, but the stairs began swaying, and there was the sound of a piece of timber falling below them. The Abbess froze.
“Stand still, both of you. Wait until these stairs stop moving. I think one of the struts has fallen away. Be perfectly still now!”
They stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, until the structure stopped swaying. Climbing upward gingerly, step by step, Girry arrived at the landing. He was glad to feel that it was fairly solid underpaw. Lying flat, the young squirrel assisted his two companions up.
Snowdrop went straight to the door, brushing away the cobwebs and dust which lay thick upon it. “I can’t find a handle or a latch, but there’s some letters carved on the lintel.”
Lycian held the lantern close. “What do they say?”
The little Sister read out the graven script. “As far as I can make out, it says ‘I say regiments!’ ”
The Abbess sounded bemused. “Are you sure, Sister? ‘I say regiments’? I can’t recall hearing of any regiments in the attics of our Abbey!”
Snowdrop replied, almost apologetically, “Well, that’s what it says, Mother Abbess. ‘I say regiments.’ ”
Girry narrowed his eyes as he scanned the words. “Put the lantern down, Abbess. Over there, where the dust is still undisturbed, please.”
Unquestioningly, Lycian placed the lantern on the floor. Using a pawnail, Girry traced the words “I say regiments” into the dust in a circle, like the figures on a clockface. After studying the ring of letters for a moment, he nodded to Sister Snowdrop.
“Well, do you see it, marm?”
She stared a while and nodded knowingly. “Yes, indeed. I see it now.”
Lycian looked from one to the other. “See what? Will you please tell me?”