“Dearie me, what’s all the shouting about?”
Horty found himself staring down into the questioning face of Brother Gelf, who was returning some bowls to the kitchen when he heard the commotion.
Fenna pushed past Horty, her voice shrill with anxiety. “Hurry, Brother, the Dibbuns are down at the pond alone. There’s nobeast with them. Oh hurry, please!”
The mouse sped off as fast as his paws would carry him.
In a trice, the bells of Redwall were tolling out an alarm. Creatures could be seen hurrying toward the pond. Toran was out in front, shedding his apron as he ran and plunging straight into the water. Luckily, none of the Dibbuns was harmed. Most of them were garnered from the shallows by willing paws, though Toran had to swim for Muggum. The molebabe was well out of his depth, floating about like a ball of downy fur. Foremole Dwurl’s resounding bass tone could be heard, calling to the Abbot, as he panted up, pushing Martha’s chair.
“They’m awright, zurr h’Abbot, oanly ee bit wetted!”
Horty was shaking all over as he turned to his friends and laughed with relief. “No harm done, chaps. At least my diversion worked, wot?”
Springald and Fenna leapt upon him, boxing his ears and kicking his bottom. They were furious.
“No thanks to you and your bright ideas!”
“You great waffling flannel-brained nincompoop!”
Horty broke loose and seized the travelling gear. “What’s done is done. Sorry, chaps, an’ all that. We’d better make ourselves scarce. Let’s go while the goin’s good!”
Sister Setiva was towelling the babes dry with Toran’s apron and her shawl; others were helping, using anything that came to paw. The shrewnurse railed on at the Dibbuns, alternately drying and hugging each one.
“Och, why wid ye want tae do sich a silly thing, mah babbies? Have ye no been told aboot playin’ alone by the water, eh?”
Under the stern eyes of Abbot Carrul, Martha and a dripping wet Toran, the whole story emerged. Martha could scarcely believe her ears when she heard that it was her brother who had encouraged the little Dibbuns. Seething with righteous wrath, she turned to Toran.
“Mr. Widegirth, would you kindly push me up to the Abbey? I wish to have some severe words with that brother of mine!”
The ottercook bowed politely. “Certainly, Miz Braebuck. I’m shore there’s one or two wants words with Master Horty, one of ’em bein’ me!”
A procession of Redwallers followed Martha into the Abbey. The Dibbuns were enjoying the affair hugely, seeing some other beast getting blamed for their escapade. They tagged along, muttering darkly of tail chopping and bottom-skelping punishments. Some were even speculating that Horty would be boiled in a soup pan.
Their delight, however, was short-lived. Sister Setiva and some molewives whisked them off, down to Cavern Hole.
“Intae the bath, ye filthy wee beasts. Och, there’s nae tellin’ whit muck’n’mire ye picked up in yon pond!”
The Abbeybabes wailed piteously but to no avail.
Boom! Boom! Toran’s hefty paw reverberated on the dormitory door. After a moment’s silence, his voice rang out harshly.
“Master Horty, yore sister an’ Father Abbot want a word with ye downstairs. Miz Fenna an Miz Springald, ye’d best show yoreselves, too!”
Martha sat down in Great Hall and waited. Soon she heard the dormitory door slam, followed by the sound of Toran’s footpaws pounding down the stairs. Abbot Carrul looked over his glasses as the grim-faced ottercook entered the hall.
“Don’t tell me they’re gone?”
Toran sat down on a table edge. “No trace of ’em, Father. I searched that dormitory from top’t’bottom, but I’ll wager they’re hidin’ someplace. You leave it t’me, I’ll find those villains.”
The Abbot began pushing Martha’s chair toward the kitchens. “I don’t think you will somehow. Follow me, please.”
Granmum Gurvel met them as they entered the kitchen. Clearly in a proper tizzy, the poor old molecook began chattering angrily. “Foive gurt h’apple puddens, ee gurt meadow-creamy troifle, strawbee scones, celery an h’onion flans, pasties full o’ carrut’n’gravy. They’m all be gonned? Burrrrrooooh! Wait’ll oi get’n moi paws on ee Dibbun rarscalls. H’all moi luvverly arternoon bakin’ furr tomorrers lunchen an’ supper. Varnished!”
Martha kept her eyes downcast as she informed Gurvel, “It wasn’t Dibbuns, Granmum. It was my brother Horty and his friends, Fenna and Springald. They’re the thieves who raided your kitchen. Now they’ve run off to join Bragoon and Saro on the quest.”
Toran’s rudder rapped loudly on the floor. “Of course, that’s it, Martha! But why’d they have to cause so much upset to everybeast—us, an’ the Dibbuns, an’ Gurvel? Why?”
Abbot Carrul raised his eyes and sighed. “Sadly, that’s the way most young ’uns behave at that age. Forbidding them to do something is like encouraging them. Unfortunately, they do things without thinking.”
Old Phredd shuffled in, bowing creakily to the Abbot. “I just found my main gate open, but me and young Toran barred it shut this afternoon. How did that happen, eh, eh?”
Carrul patted the Gatekeeper’s bony paw. “No doubt you’ve closed it again, Phredd. It was Horty, Fenna and Springald—they’ve gone off adventuring.”
Phredd chuckled drily. “Just like Bragoon and Saro when they were younger, eh, eh?”
Junty Cellarhog, who had just come into the room and heard Phredd, thrust his big paws into his apron belt. “No, ole feller, not like Saro an’ Bragoon at all. Them two was born tough, rovin’ was in their blood. But young Horty doesn’t remember anytime afore comin’ to Redwall, an’ both maids was borned ’ere. They don’t know wot ’tis like out there in the big world. I think they’ll ’ave to learn t’grow up fast.”
Martha felt a pang of alarm at Junty’s words. “What does he mean, Toran?”
The ottercook explained. “Well, miss, look at their vittles. Apple puddens, strawberry scones an’ a meadowcream trifle? No proper travelbeast’d take such stuff along. Huh, it’d be smashed t’bits afore they got a day’s march in, eh Gurvel?”
The old molecook nodded wisely. “Aye, et surpinkly wudd, zurr. Oi maked speshul marchin’ vikkles furr ee uther two. Lots o’ cheese, ee h’oatbreads, summ candied fruits an’ canteens o’ moi gudd dannelion’n’burdock corjul furr drinken.”
Martha grasped Toran’s paw. “You don’t think they’ll come to any harm, do you?”
The ottercook’s eyes softened. “Don’t ye fret yoreself, Martha. If’n they picks up my brother an’ Saro’s trail, they’ll be safe enough. Mind, though, they won’t get no special treatment. Horty an’ his pals will learn the hard way. Now, if’n they lose the trail, Redwall’s stickin’ up in plain view for a good distance. Once yore brother gets hungry, he’ll dash back to this Abbey like a scalded toad. The others are sure to follow. If’n ye pardon me sayin’, Martha, Horty’s a natural glutton. He won’t stray too far without vittles—starvation’s a hard taskmaster!”
The haremaid fiddled with the fringe of her lap rug. “I’d feel happier if somebeast could overtake them and bring them back, so they don’t get lost or hurt.”
The Abbot looked at Toran and Junty Cellarhog, both big, stout beasts and very competent. “Perhaps our Martha is right. Do you think you two could catch up with them before it gets too dark?”
Junty took off his canvas apron and nodded to the ottercook. “We’ll give it a try, Father. Are ye ready, mate? Come on!”
They left the Abbey by the main gate. No sooner had Carrul and Old Phredd closed and barred it then Junty and Toran were pounding on the timbers to get back in.
Toran’s voice was loud and urgent.
“Open up quick! There’s vermin comin’ down the path from the north! They’re headin’ this way. Hurry and let us in!”