A fire-swinger hit the main Abbey door with a loud crash, and the Dibbuns broke into startled squeaking. Mellus distributed candied chestnuts as she reassured them.
"Hush now. It's nothing. Saxtus and Flagg will deal
with it."
oo
Graypatch tore at the roasted meat from the fire. Grinning wolfishly at Kybo, he winked.
"This is the life, eh, messmate! A whole Abbey at
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our mercy an' nobeast to stop us. Ahoy, Ranzo. Any more of these skylarks skylarkin' round?"
Ranzo fitted an arrow to his bow, squinting upward. "Leave it till evenin' Cap'n, they start to come down then."
The searat sprawled on the grass in the warm summer noon. "Aharr, this is a land of plenty, not like those cold northern isles." He stuck an apple on a stick and began toasting it.
Bigfang came to the fire to light another fire-swinger. Graypatch leaned close and whispered in his ear, "Brains, Bigfang. That's what it takesbrains. You leave the thinkin' to old Graypatch, matey. I'll guarantee they'll want to talk terms by this time tomorrow."
Bigfang held his silence, determined not to rise to Graypatch's bait. He would wait to settle their score.
oo
Evening brought no change in the situation. The fire-swingers poured in with perilous regularity, each one coming from a different angle to land in an unexpected place, according to the mood of the searat that hurled it. Tired and red-eyed from fighting conflagrations which had sprung up all over the Abbey grounds, Saxtus and Flagg with their fire crews sat drinking cold mint tea, awaiting the next fire-swinger attack. Rufe Brush and his sentries on the west wall shouted warnings at the approach of each missile.
"Hiyo the grounds, fire coming in high and north!"
They dashed over as the incendiary missile appeared at the north end, Sister Sage calling out, "It's hit the north wall wicker gate. Quick!" Stumbling and tripping in the dark, they reached the blaze and began beating the flames down with wet sacking and green boughs. It took a while to defeat the blaze as they were bone-weary and dog-tired.
"Hiyo the grounds," Rufe Brush's voice called out once more. "One coming in dead center, right over me!"
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The fire-fighters hitched up their habits and began dashing off in the direction of the main gateway. Saxtus tripped and fell flat. He rested a moment with his scorched face against the grass. A rapping sound caused the young mouse to look up. He gazed around in the darkness quizzically. There it was again. Saxtus stood up and investigated the noise further. It was coming from the wicker gate. Now there were voices.
"Y'don't suppose they've bally well gone to bed, wot?"
"Hardly, old chap. After all, they are under invasion, y'know."
"Imagine sleepin' through a fire-swinger attack. Whoohahahahooh!"
"Please, Rosie, don't laugh so close to me poor old ear, it's jolly well deafenin'. In fact, don't gurgle at all if y'can help it, old gel. Just think happy thoughts, eh."
"Oh come off it, Clary you old bodger. If I didn't have a good hoot now and again I'd prob'ly swell up an' burst!"
"Hmm, no such blinkin' luck, wot?"
"Oh, whoohahahahooh! You are a card, Brig Thyme."
Saxtus unbolted the wicker door. Searats didn't laugh like that!
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In the fading eventide light the four travelers breasted the big hills to find themselves confronted by a breathtaking sight. A long rocky beach lay beneath them. Lapping up to the shore, the rippling waves broke in a dark blue cascade, glittering red as the setting sun caught the sea, turning it to an iridescent green midway, which faded to purply black on the horizon. The huge crimson half-circle sank slowly in the west, throwing up gold and umber shadows on the undersides of long cloud layers with cream tops. Dandin and Durry had never seen the great waters before. They stared at the magnificent spectacle, awestruck by the immensity of sky and sea.
Durry sat down on the hilltop, spreading his arms wide. "I've seen the Abbey pond and that stream wi' the pikes a-swimmin' in it, but this . . . 'tis too much fer one poor lad's eyes to take all in."
Dandin could add nothing to the truth in his friend's simple words.
They descended to the shore and found that what looked like a rocky beach from above was a mass of tall stone outcrops which gave them the sensation of wandering through a mazelike canyon.
Tarquin glanced up at the huge blockform monoliths.
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"We'll camp somewhere hereabouts for the night, wot?"
"Ye'll be washed away by the night tides if ye do!"
A fat old dormouse had appeared from nowhere. He stood smiling at them over the top of his quaint square eyeglasses. "My name's Bobbo."
Tarquin bowed with the old-fashioned elegance common to hares. "Pleasant evenin', Bobbo. Allow me to introduce us ..."
As Tarquin went through the formalities, Mariel quietly assessed their new acquaintance. The dormouse was quite old and plump; he carried a knobbly stick which he leaned heavily upon; his garb consisted of a faded velveteen longcoat, tied about the middle with tough dried seaweed; all in all a curious character. His homely eyes twinkled behind the glasses as he wagged his stick up at a towering rock close by.
"Weary travelers all, come ye up to my abode. Follow Bobbo, if ye please."
He was such a friendly, harmless-looking old character that they followed, reeling instinctively that somehow they could trust him.
The dormouse's house was a sizable cave set high in the rock, and they made their way to it up natural ledges which formed a stairway in the stone.
oo
A cheerful sea-coal fire illuminated Bobbo's home; the walls were hung with homemade fishnets and odd-shaped pieces of driftwood sculpted by sand and tide; rush mats scattered about served as seats, and delicious odors wafted from a black stockpot set on a tripod over the fire. Bobbo took a ladle and stirred the contents of the pot.
"It's only shrimp-and-sea-cabbage stew with a few turnips thrown in, but ye be welcome to share it."
He issued them with deep scallop shells and bade them help themselves.
Durry nearly sat on a small yellow-throated newt,
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which scampered fearfully away to a ledge at the back of the cave. It sat watching them, eyes blinking, throat pulsating. Bobbo strained some of the cooked shrimp from the pot and placed it on the ledge beside the newt.
"Take ye no heed to him, wayfarers. He fell from yon hilltops at high tide and was washed here by the sea waters. I named him Fid. Though he never speaks to me, he's a grand listener, aren't ye, Firl?"
The small newt blinked and began eating. Bobbo drew them each a drink of cloudy liquid from a gourd he kept hanging near the entrance, where night breezes kept it cool.
"'Tis dandelion flower and wild-barley water. The plants grow plentiful on the hillside. Do ye like it?"
Durry took a long draught from his shell bowl. "By 'ecky! Most afreshin'. My old nuncle Gabe would dearly like t' know how you brew this, Mr. Bobbo. Would y'tell me how to make it?"
The dormouse added more sea-coal to his fire. "All in good time, Master Durry. 'Tis a long night and I've sat alone here many a season, longing for the sound of another voice. But first, let me tell you how I came to this place, then you can tell me all about yourselves and your long journeys from the good homes you left."