The aging squirrel leaped up. “Aye, I’ll say we did! Right, c’mon, me liddle darlins, I’ll show ye a step or two. I once was Redwall’s Champion Dibbun Dancer!”
Even before the first notes rang out, the Dibbuns clasped paws and whooped. Saro was whirled off amid a crowd of molebabes, tiny mice, infant squirrels and small hoglets. All the Dibbuns roared the molespeech lyrics with gusto, hurtling themselves into the wild reel. Martha was convulsed with laughter at their antics and amazed at Saro’s skill. The squirrel was a born dancer, twirling and somersaulting recklessly as she sang out in mole dialect along with the Dibbuns.
“Whooooaaah! Let’s do ee jig o’ Dungle Drips,
woe to ee furst likkle paw wot slips,
chop off ee tail, throw um in bed,
wiv a bandage rownd ee hedd!
Feed ee choild on strawbee pudd,
gurt fat h’infants uz darnce gudd,
Dungle Drips naow clap ee paws,
tug moi snout an’ oi’ll tug yores.
Bow to ee h’Abbot, gudd day zurr,
twurl ee rounden everywhurr,
Dungle Drips bee’s gurt gudd fun,
oop t’bed naow likkle ’un. Whoooooaaah!”
The dance grew more frantic, the singing faster as Bragoon speeded up his fiddling. Muggum and his crew performed some very fancy pawwork—shuffling and high kicking, raising raucous cheers and calling for the fiddler to play even faster. The scene of wild abandon suddenly stretched out into a double line with Saro bringing up the rear as the Abbeybabes cavorted furiously across the lawns and vanished into the Abbey.
Bragoon stopped playing and blew upon his heated paws. “Whew! Wot happened there, Carrul?”
Bewildered, the Abbot shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Sister Setiva, do you know what those babes are up to?”
The shrewnurse shrugged. “Och, the wee beasties must have danced off tae their beds. ’Tis no great surprise, ah’m thinkin’, after all that racin’, eatin’ and jiggin’. Ye ken, they must be rare wearied.”
The Redwallers sat sipping tea for quite some time. There was no sound from within the Abbey. Then Saro emerged. Chuckling to herself, she sat down wearily, accepting a beaker of tea gratefully.
“Whew, I ain’t as young as I used t’be! That was some dance, I tell ye. Those Dibbuns jigged through the Abbey, up the stairs they went, straight into their dormitory. Before you could say boo, they were flat out on their beds an’ snorin’! I felt like joinin’ ’em myself. Huh, looks like the liddle ’uns have called it a day.”
Toran looked perplexed. “But wot about the Summer Feast?”
Abbot Carrul saw the look of disappointment on his friend’s face. “Cheer up, Toran, we’ll have it at midday tomorrow. ’Twill keep until then.”
Horty’s ears drooped mournfully. “I say, you chaps, all I’ve had to eat is a few measly scones an’ a drop o’ tea.”
Martha slapped his paw playfully. “Shame on you, I wouldn’t call three plates of scones measly. Don’t pull such faces, you’ll last until tomorrow.”
The gluttonous young hare went into a sulk. “Jolly easy for you t’say, wot. Skin’n’blisters never scoff much anyway, not like us chaps. So be it then! If none of you lot see me round an’ about tomorrow, you’d best take a blinkin’ good search. You won’t be smilin’ then. Not when you find the skeleton of a gallant young hare in some lonely corner. Oh yes, indeed, that’ll be me, perished t’death from flippin’ hunger, wot! Woe is us, you’ll cry, an’ weep absolute buckets o’ tears, thinkin’ we should’ve let the poor brave lad have a small extra scoff last night.”
Bragoon played along with Horty, shaking his head sadly. “An’ wot’ll yore skeleton reply to us, ole mate?”
Horty sniffed. “It’ll say, too blinkin’ late, but I told you so, an’ yah boo sucks to you, cruel rotten lot! I leave you to your guilty consciences, you heartless bounders. My famished lips are sealed. Wot!” He stalked frostily into a corner whilst stealing the last scone from under Sister Portula’s nose.
11
It was still warm as darkness fell. When the Redwallers stopped by the water, enjoying a faint breeze, talk turned to the life of Redwall Abbey and gradually to Martha’s story. Bragoon and Saro, who had become very fond of the pretty young haremaid, listened intently. Abbot Carrul, Sister Setiva, Toran and Sister Portula all contributed to the narrative, with Martha filling in the details.
When the tale ended, Bragoon sat staring at the haremaid’s unmoving footpaws, peeping from under her lap rug. The aging otter’s voice was extremely sympathetic. “What a terrible thing t’happen to a young ’un! An’ you’ve never been able to walk since ye can first remember?”
Martha shook her head. “No, sir, though ’tis not for the want of trying. I collapse every time I do, as if my footpaws were held there by two pieces of wet string.”
Saro was impressed by the young one’s frankness. “That’s a hard thing for anybeast t’bear. If’n ye don’t mind me askin’, Martha, wot d’ye do with yourself all day?”
Martha shrugged. “Oh, I get around. There’s always my kind friends to push me, though I can wheel myself around if I need to. I do a lot of reading and studying, too. Oh, that reminds me, Sister Portula, I left your book in the gatehouse. Old Phredd’s still up, I can see the light at his window from here. Let’s pay him a visit.”
They all strolled across to the gatehouse with Bragoon and Saro pushing Martha’s chair. Unusually for Phredd, he was wide awake and answered the door promptly.
“Young Martha, I was hoping you’d come. I see you brought all your friends, eh? Well come in, everybeast. You’ll have to find somewhere to sit, there’s not much room, y’know!”
Phredd spoke to the latch as he closed the door behind them. “Heehee, got something to show this haremaid, haven’t we?”
Martha sat up eagerly. “Have you found anything, sir?”
The old hedgehog sat on the side of his bed, opening Sister Portula’s book at a page he had marked. “Found something? Hah, the moment that race was over and I could rescue my armchairs back in here, I did some serious reading. There’s more important things in life than running oneself silly around walltops, y’know. After all, Martin the Warrior sent you a message that mustn’t be ignored, missy.”
Bragoon suddenly became interested. “Martin the Warrior sent ye a message, Martha? What did he say?”
The haremaid explained. “I fell asleep near the tapestry. Martin and another young mouse named Sister Amyl appeared to me. Martin told me to read, because reading is knowledge, then Sister Amyl spoke this rhyme to me.
“Where once I dwelt in Loamhedge,
my secret lies hid from view,
the tale of how I learned to walk,
when once I was as you.
Though you cannot go there,
look out for two who may,
travellers from out of the past,
returning home someday.”
Saro looked very serious. “I remember Martin the Warrior spoke to me an’ Brag when we were young.”
Abbot Carrul peered over his spectacles in astonishment. “Martin spoke to you two? Did he really?”
Saro kept her face straight. “Oh aye, I’ll tell ye wot he said.
“Seek adventure, liddle mates,
go ye forth from Redwall’s gates.
Both of ye, wild and unchecked,
begone afore my Abbey’s wrecked!”
Bragoon chuckled. “She’s only jokin’, of course.”
Old Phredd glared at them both. “This is no joking matter. As soon as I saw you down by the pond today, I knew you were the two travellers from out of the past. Eh, eh, the two that Sister Amyl’s poem spoke of, right?”
Horty’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Right indeed, wot!”
Phredd tapped the open book he held. “Stop jabbering and listen, please, this is most important. I have found the story of Sister Amyl. It was written by another, Recorder Scrittum. He was the Loamhedge brother who put most of this story together—and very well he did it, too. Listen to this!”