The young hare shrugged. “After all the tall stories we’ve heard about ’em, wot? Actually, old bean, you could be right. Those two ain’t exactly the huge giants we’ve been told about. A bit blinkin’ old, an’ jolly ordinary, too, though everybeast seems tip over tail to see ’em back, wot? Let’s toddle over there now that the huggin’n’kissin’ is all done with. Come on, chaps, I want to get a closer dekko at the bold blinkin’ Bragoon an’ the startlin’ Sarobando.”
Martha was being introduced to the pair by Sister Setiva.
Bragoon shook the haremaid’s paw gently. “Martha, eh? A pretty name for a pretty maid. Well, Martha, you don’t look anything like us two when we were young. I wager you’ve heard a lot o’ stories about the villainy we got up to in the old days.”
Martha thought Bragoon had a kind face; she liked him immediately. She tried changing the conversation from his past misdeeds. “How did you and Sarobando get into the Abbey, sir, with the gate locked and barred?”
Old Phredd scratched his scrubby beard. “Aye, how did you get in, eh, eh?”
Saro shrugged modestly. “Oh, ’twas nothin’ really, just a little trick we used to do with the east wallgate. Don’t worry, Phredd, we locked it behind us.”
Fenna interrupted. “Mister Bragoon, I heard that you were once a Skipper of Otters. Is that true?”
The aging otter nodded. “ ’Tis true enough, miss, but ole Saro didn’t fancy bein’ an otter. So I gave it up to go rovin’ with her.”
Springald enquired, rather pertly, “Are you as good a cook as your brother Toran?”
Bragoon chuckled at the idea. “Wot, me? No, pretty one, I’ll wager that Toran’s the best cook anywhere. Huh, I’d prob’ly end up burnin’ a salad!”
Ignoring the Abbot’s stern gaze, the mousemaid continued. “Miz Saro, are you as quick as they say you are? I bet I’m faster than you. I won the Abbey wallrace last summer.”
Saro grinned from ear to ear and shook Springald’s paw. “My congratulations, missy! So then, I’ll have a bit o’ competition in this wall race. I’m plannin’ on runnin’ in it for a prize of an afternoon cream tea. Mmm! ’Tis many a long season since I tasted one.”
Springald blurted out, “You’re too old, I’ll beat you easy!”
Abbot Carrul was shocked by her behaviour. “Springald, show some respect for your elders!”
However, it was Saro who interceded on her behalf. “Not at all, Father, I like to see a young ’un with a bit o’ spirit. She’s like me at her age. Don’t ye fret now, ’twill be a fine race, I’m sure. Let’s go to the wall an’ get it started. No time like the present, eh, mate?”
Supremely confident, Springald winked at Horty and whispered to Fenna. “That old relic’s in for a surprise.”
Turning to Saro, she bowed mockingly. “After you, marm!”
10
The crowd gathered under the threshold of the gatehouse. None of the wall racers was interested in entering. Everybeast was talking about it, eager to see the race between Springald and Saro.
The Abbot held up his paws. “So be it, the wall race will start from the threshold above this gate. One circuit of the entire rampart’s area, ending back on the same spot. Pushing or shoving means instant disqualification. Runners may use all of the walkway, including the battlements. Any questions?”
Shilly the squirrelbabe piped up. “Farver h’Abbot, worrabout uz likkle ’uns an’ the very very h’old ’uns?”
She was referring to the ground race, which was run over the same distance but from the ground level. This was for Dibbuns and Elders, mainly to avoid the dangers of falling from the walltops, where only fit and experienced runners competed.
The Abbot watched as Foremole Dwurl scored a deep line along the ground with his formidable digging claws. “Of course, we mustn’t forget the ground race. All competitors come up to the line, please. No crowding or jostling!” He checked the walltop, where Springald and Saro were standing level.
Brother Weld, acting as walltop official, waved down to the Abbot. “All ready up here!”
Bragoon and Toran sat on the lawn where they could see both races at the same time. Toran patted his ample stomach.
“Me racin’ days are long gone. What about ye, Brother? Yore the same age as Saro, why ain’t you runnin’?”
Bragoon folded his paws and settled back. “I’m far too old. Saro was born on the same day as me, but she’s an hour younger.”
Toran scoffed. “An hour, that’s nothin’ in a lifetime!”
His brother Bragoon maintained a straight face. “Oh it isn’t, eh? Ye try holdin’ yore breath for an hour, matey!”
Every Dibbun in Redwall was hopping and leaping on the line, waiting for the start.
Abbot Carrul held up a big spotted red ’kerchief, taking one last look around as he called, “Is that all now, last chance for any late entrants!”
Horty came bowling up, pushing Martha in her chair as she protested. “No, please Horty, I’ve never raced before!”
The garrulous hare pushed his sister onto the line. “Oh piffle’n’twodge, miss. We’ll show these blighters what us Braebucks are jolly well made of, wot! Two stout runnin’ paws an’ a splendid set o’ wheels. Hahah, we’ll leave ’em all bally well standin’, wot wot!”
Toran and Bragoon applauded from the sideline. “That’s the stuff, give it a go, miss!”
Springald stood in a ready stance. Saro glanced sideways at her as she pawed the line.
“Good luck to ye, young ’un!”
The mousemaid kept her eyes set on the course ahead. “Aye, good luck to you, too, old ’un. You’re going to need it!”
Several of the Dibbuns made overenthusiastic false starts, causing a slight delay as Toran and Bragoon got them back into line.
Abbot Carrul stood out on the lawn and shouted as the ’kerchief fluttered in the breeze.
“On your marks . . . Ready . . . Steady . . . Go!”
Away everybeast went, young and old, on walltop or ground, running at top speed.
Carrul sat on the grass with the two otters. “Dearie me, some of those Dibbuns have raced off in the opposite direction.”
Toran laughed. “Oh, let ’em go. They’ll still run the same distance at the finish. Flyin’ fur’n’feathers! Lookit young Springald go, ye’d think she had wings on ’er footpaws. Looks like Saro is laggin’ behind a bit. D’ye think she’s in trouble already, Brag?”
The otter shook his head. “She’s just pacin’ herself, keepin’ the mousemaid lookin’ back over her shoulder, ye’ll see.”
Both walltop runners were almost at the north wall corner, with Springald a good two paces in front.
Below on the grass, chaos ensued. A molebabe and a tiny shrewlet had decided to stop and share some candied chestnuts between them. Another molebabe tripped over them. He forgot the race and joined the pair.
“Hurr, worrum ee got thurr, candee chesknutters, oi’m gurtly fond o’ they’m, boi ’okey oi arr!”
The shrewlet passed him a few. “Den h’eat dese up, nuts make y’go faster, we still winna race, mate!”
Martha clung tight to the chair as the little cart bounced and bumped furiously forward, with Horty yelling out a warning to them. “I say there, you bounders, make way or we’ll run ye down. Watch out for the corner, me old skin’n’blister. Steer quicker, or we’ll knock a hole in that wall, wot!”
Abbot Carrul shook his head in admiration as he viewed the walltop runners. “My word, the speed of those two, they’re nearly at the east corner already. Look at them go!”
As Toran saw them negotiate the corner and tear off along the parapet southward, he groaned softly, “Aaaah, pore ole Saro’s flaggin’ now. See, Springald’s stretched her lead, I think she’s bound to win.”