Fenna pursued her enquiry. “But why hadn’t it turned to dust like everything else down there?”
Bragoon picked something that resembled a tiny pellet from under his pawnail. “See . . . beeswax. It was wrapped tight in dock leaves covered with beeswax. I tell ye, it was difficult, separatin’ that liddle roll o’ paper from the beeswax, but we did it!”
Toobledum poured them more drink. “Well done, mates, you found wot you was questin’ for. I’m ’appy for ye, one an’ all!”
Horty humphed. “Three scones on a wall, ridiculous, wot?”
Saro pulled Horty upright. “I’ve had enough o’ this nonsense. Toobledum, bring me some ’ot water, not too ’ot, mind. Brag, lay Horty on one side, wid that muddy ear upwards, an sit on ’im. I couldn’t put up with ’im talkin’ rubbish all the way ’ome!”
Horty guffawed. “Hawhawhaw! Walkin’ cabbage an’ a bone? Poor old Saro’s finally gone off her rocker, wot!”
Sudden panic struck as Bragoon pushed Horty down and sat on him. “What the . . . ? Gerroff me, you great plank-tailed bounder! Good grief, what’s that nutty old squirrel doin’ with a jug o’ steamin’ water? Help, somebeast, help! They’re tryin’ to kill me! Murderers, assassins! Boilin’ me blinkin’ brain, an’ just ’cos I scoffed three flamin’ bowls of stew? Spring, Fenna, strike the cads with rocks’n’clubs, save me!”
But no help was forthcoming. The otter held him tight whilst Saro washed out his ear with warm water. A moment later it was all over. Toobledum gently treated the young hare’s cleaned-up ear.
“There there, Sir Horty, ye’ll live t’cook agin. This is an ole dormouse remedy, my special ointment. I makes it wid sanicle, feverfew an’ a few secret herbs. So, ’ow does that feel, young master?”
Horty relaxed, closing his eyes blissfully. “Bloomin’ marvellous, old top, me ear is at peace an’ very comfortable. Amazin’ thing, too, I can hear again!”
Saro wiped mud and moss from her paws. “See, we never killed ye after all.”
Springald muttered under her breath. “Pity.”
Bragoon whispered back to her. “Shame we missed our chance.”
Fenna’s eyes twinkled as she chuckled along with them. “Just think of the food we’d have saved without a hare to feed.”
Horty opened one eye and fixed them with a baleful stare. “I heard all that, you rotters!”
They burst into laughter; even little Bubbub did a squeaky giggle.
Dawn of the following day saw the travellers bidding farewell to the dormouse and his lizard.
Fenna hugged the pair fondly. “Why don’t you come with us to Redwall? You’d both be very welcome there.”
Toobledum’s hat wobbled as he shook his head. “Nay, pretty miss, me’n likkle Bubbub wouldn’t ever leave Loam’edge. We ain’t got much, but ’tis ’ome to us.”
Saro stroked the little sand lizard one last time.
Bragoon clasped the old dormouse’s paw warmly. “As ye wish, matey, take care of each other, an’ live happy. Good-bye an’ good fortune to ye!”
Standing on the hilltop above the valley, the five travellers looked back. Bubbub was shaking his tail as Toobledum waved his hat and shouted, “Fare ye well, one an’ all, an’ take our good wishes with ye!”
Fenna wiped her eyes as they marched off into the wastelands. “Those poor creatures, it must be terrible for them. Living that lonely life, and with so little to eat.”
Bragoon ruffled her ears affectionately. “Aye, they’re both goodbeasts, Fenn. But don’t ye go believin’ all that ole dormouse told ye, miss. Yore too young an’ soft’earted.”
Horty took a pull from his canteen, filled with fresh water from Toobledum’s well. “Steady on, I liked Toob an’ Bub. Bit unkind to talk about the old chap like that, wot?”
Springald agreed with him. “I think so, too. They’ve only got each other for company, and they shared what little they have. Why shouldn’t we believe what Toobledum said?”
The otter cast a wry glance at his old friend. “That dormouse is a hermit, he likes bein’ alone. As fer not havin’ much in the way o’ vittles . . . tell ’em, Saro.”
The aging squirrel explained. “When I was swillin’ Horty’s ear out, I watched Toobledum goin’ to fetch that special ointment. Hah, the ole fogy didn’t think I could see ’im. He went into a corner an’ lifted a floorstone. Do ye know wot was underneath it? A cellar, packed from wall t’wall wid vittles. Drinks, dried fruits, veggibles, nuts, enough t’feed an army fer ten seasons. That’s ’ow short o’ food Mister Toobledum was, mates. Brag saw it, too!”
Horty stopped in his tracks. “Well, the flamin’ old fraud, wolfin’ down all our grub an’ tellin’ whoppin’ fibs about havin’ none himself. What a blinkin’ cheek!”
Fenna could hardly believe what she had heard. “That’s a shameful thing to do, the old liar!”
Springald was about to add to their condemnation of Toobledum, when the otter cut in. “Don’t be too ’ard on the ole feller. Vittles an’ drink is precious in this region. If ye’ve got none, yore a deadbeast. Toobledum was only thinkin’ of hisself an’ liddle Bubbub. We were just passin’ visitors. Now that we’ve gone, he’s got to provide for ’imself an’ his mate. ’Tis called survival. Ye don’t go dashin’ to the first beast ye see an’ offerin’ them a cellarful o’ grub, ye takes care of yore own first.”
Fenna held up her paws. “Alright, we understand, Toobledum’s only doing what’s best for himself and Bubbub. Please don’t rub it in by telling us we’re only young and we’ll learn.”
Saro winked knowingly at her. “Wouldn’t dream of it . . . young ’un!”
A raven flew out of the great gorge. Soaring high, it hovered on the evening thermals, a dark sinister shape framed against the setting sun for a brief moment. Then it swept off southward. Down below, standing at one of the three cave entrances, a cloaked figure watched the bird’s departure, then turned and went into the tunnel. Pushing through the mass of dark creatures, the cloaked one made its way to where the sulphurous flame burned constantly, a tall column of fire, giving off its acrid stench.
Kharanjul, the Great Wearet Slayer, stood waiting for the news his guard captain brought. The cloaked creature lay flat on the rocky floor and lifted its face.
“It is as ye said, Mighty Lord, the travellers are even now returning, to sully thy abyss with their presence!”
Kharanjul’s hideous face stared impassively down at the captain. “Did Korvusa say when they would arrive in my domain?”
The speaker lowered his eyes from the Wearet’s piercing gaze. “The bird said that they would reach the gorge rim in the second hour of darkness, Great Slayer.”
Kharanjul’s trident pointed at the messenger. “Take a score of my creatures across, to the other side of the long tree. Hide there and await my signal.”
Accompanied by twenty spearbearers, the captain marched out, prepared to cross the tree trunk that spanned the forbidding drop.
The Wearet’s harsh voice grated out, echoing around the cavern. “None of the trespassers must be slain, they are to be taken alive . . . to die at my pleasure!”
The dark masses rose, spearblades glinting as they chanted, “Blood of the Wearet runs in thy veins, O Mighty Kharanjul. Ruler of the Abyss! Lord of Life and Death!”
42
Abbot Carrul sat soaking up the warm morning sun at the orchard entrance. Folding his paws across his stomach, he smiled at Old Phredd, sitting across from him at the breakfast buffet table. The ancient hedgehog Gatekeeper was chatting away to a bumblebee, which had landed on the rim of his beaker.
“Dearie me, have you seen the mess those vermin made of my gatehouse? There’s scrolls, books and parchments scattered about on the floor. One would think a herd of wild beasts had been living there. Hmm, they have really, haven’t they?”