Hon Rosie pulled Storm down beside her. "Steady on, old gel. We know you're the bravest of the brave, and all that rot, but you're in a strange land now, among strange creatures; this is dangerous territory. We're only trying to get you back to your own bally kind. I mean, what better for one than to be with one's own creatures, eh?"
Pakatugg gathered up the kettle and beakers. "Huh, y'can dress it up whichway you likes, I'm not bein' saddled with no mindless mouse, by the great 'ornbeam I'm not!"
For the first time, Storm felt alone and unwanted. She walked off out of the squirrel's bower into the surrounding trees, swinging her rope.
"Me and Gullwhacker don't need anybeast. We're all right."
Brigadier Thyme eyed the squirrel coldly. "Now see what you've done, bucko."
Pakatugg pulled his tail over his head and chewed the end. "Oh, all right, then. But mark, you landotters ain't havin' things all yer own way, by cracky yer not!" Cupping his paws he called to Storm: "Come on back
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'ere, mouse, afore you ferget who we are. I'll take you to Redwall Abbey, but only on certain conditions ..."
Storm had turned and was walking back. "Conditions, what conditions?"
Pakatugg turned to the hares. "Grub! I need food fer the journey, nice grub like you landotters carry, so I'll take her if you give me all the food out o' those havvysacks."
Clary twitched his whiskers. "I say, steady on. What'll we eat?"
"Oh, we can live off the jolly old land until we make it back to Salamandastron," Hon Rosie interrupted. "We've done it before."
Brigadier Thyme emptied his knapsack out. "So be it. What else, squirrel?"
"Hah well, I don't want everybeast in the world knowin' where my gaff is, see my home's me own secret. So I want the mouse blindfolded when I take 'er to Redwall, so's she can't find the way back to this place."
Hon Rosie looked at Storm. "You can use your Gullwhacker as a blindfold."
Storm nodded agreement. She was becoming curious about this place called Redwall Abbey. Pakatugg made his final demand.
"Lastly, I don't stir paw until tomorrow dawn crackstake it or leave it."
Clary waited for Storm's nod of assent before he spoke.
"Righto, you old vagabond, but you take jolly good care of this mousegel, d'you hear. She's got all the makin's of a top-flight warrior."
Within a very short time Pakatugg had settled down on the mossy bank and was snoring loudly. Clary shrugged as he, too, lay down.
"Cool and snug here. If old Pakatugg says it's a secret place, then y'can bet a bee to an ant it is. We might as well have a rousin' good snooze; tomorrow we travel
to Salamandastron. As for you, young Storm, you're bound for a new life at jolly old Redwall Abbey. What d'you think of that?"
But no answer came from the young mouse. She was curled up asleep on the moss in the green stillness, with Gullwhacker her rope weapon clutched tight in both paws.
8
Dandin was composing songs for the Abbot's feast. He sat in the shade of a great spreading oak, trilling on his flute, running through old songs, tunes and ditties. Saxtus sat with him, as did several of the moles and Redwall creatures. They joined in choruses of well-known songs and called for Dandin to sing some more. The moles would not be satisfied until Dandin rendered their particular favorite.
"Sing us 'ee song 'bout zur Gonffen an' 'ee gurt cake, Dandin."
Dandin nodded and picked up his flute. It was one of his own special ballads, telling of how his ancestor Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves, stole a cake baked by Abbess Germaine, first Mother of Redwall Abbey. He trilled an introduction on Gonff's own flute before launching into song.
"It happened in the springing time,
When all the leaves were green,
And once again Abbess Germaine,
A-baking cakes had been.
She stirred them good and mixed them fine,
With honey, nuts and flour,
Then put them out to cool awhile,
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Until the teatime hour.
But then along came bold Sir Gonff,
His eyes a-twinkling bright.
A cake he'd set his heart upon,
For suppertime that night.
He took the greatest cake of all, from off the window
ledge
And hid it in a secret place, close by the forest edge. The Abbess came to check her cakes, about the mid-noontide And found the mousethief with a bow, and arrows
at his side.
'Why stand you there, O Gonff/ said she, 'With bow and arrows armed?' 'My good Abbess/ the thief replied, 'You must not
be alarmed. I saw an eagle steal your cake, he swooped then
flew away. So I stand guard upon your cakes lest he returns
today.' The Abbess chose another cake, which to Sir Gonff
she gave,
'Take this reward, young mouse/ she said, 'because you were so brave. And when upon each baking day, my lovely cakes
I make, I'll save a special one for you, for your kind action's
sake.' "
The moles fell about, rolling on the grass with helpless merriment.
"Ahurr hurr hurr! Yon zur Gonffen, 'ee wurr a tricky un!"
"Boi 'ecky, 'ee wurr a villyun aroight, a scrumpin' 'ee gurt cake. Hohurrhurr!"
"Come on there," Saxtus called to a mole named Willyum. "What about a song from you, Willyum? You're the champion mole singer, aren't you?"
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Willyum heaved his tiny fat body up from the grass; he needed no second bidding. Smoothing down his velvety coat and polishing his nose, he clasped his huge digging paws in front of him and began singing in the traditional manner of the moles, his voice a deep rusty bass, surprising in one so small.
"Oi luvs a woodland stew, oi do; oi do loik apple
tart, An' good October ale that foams is dear unto moi
'eart. Of rabs'rry cream oi oft do dream, et makes moi
eyes to shine, Tis a fact that oi loiks anythin, when oi sets daown
to dine. O mole, mole, daown thee 'ole, doant you'm eat
none o' mine, Else oi won't get a bite to ate, when oi sets down
to diiiiiiinnnnneeee."
He bowed and kissed his paws to the company as they applauded, wrinkling his nose until his round black eyes were almost lost behind chubby cheeks.
Turning to Saxtus, Willyum returned the compliment. "Now et be thoi turn to sing a song, zurr Sackuz."
Saxtus waved his paws, blushing modestly. "No no, I'm the worst singer in the Abbey, my voice sounds like a mad owl with his beak trapped in a log."
Dandin clapped his friend upon the back. "Go on, you dusty old bookworm, you're as dry as Brother Hubert. Ah, I've got an idea! Why don't you recite us a poem? You've learned lots of them from those old books and parchments in the gatehouse. Go on, Saxtus. Have a go!"
Saxtus remained seated, he shuffled and coughed nervously.
"Oh, all right, if you really must, but I'm not too good at this sort of thing. Right, here goes. This is a
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rhyme I found on a scroll in the gatehouse some seasons ago, I'm not sure what it means, but I like the words." Saxtus summoned up his courage and began reciting.