Tam ran his dirkpoint through the ashes of a fire. “This ain’t properly out, see? Look at the half-finished bird there, and the broken eggs, too. It looks to me like these vermin left here in a big hurry, eh Doogy?”
His companion picked up a broken shell necklace and a pouch of slingstones. “Aye, ah wonder why they went in such a haste, Tam.”
The warrior squirrel began climbing into a nearby oak. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Doogy, you stay here and keep yore eyes open. Ferdy, time for ye t’do a spot of gallopin’. Make it back t’the patrol an’ tell the Brigadier what’s happenin’. It may be important.”
Tam dropped his shield to the ground so he would not be impeded. A moment later he was whipping through the middle terraces to the north. As he travelled, it was quite easy to track the vermin trail below. Gulo and his band had pushed forward heedlessly, breaking twigs, flattening shrubbery and generally leaving a broad path. It was well into noontide when Tam heard the vermin up ahead. A little further and he would have them in sight. He halted in the broad limbs of a chestnut tree to catch his breath and check his blades. Tam knew that when he reached the vermin, silence would be essential. Wrapping his plaid cloak into a tight bundle about his shoulder, he adjusted the claymore in his belt so that it could be quickly drawn.
There was a faint rustle of leaves from above, in the top branches of the chestnut. Before Tam could raise his eyes to look up, he was hit forcibly by a descending object and knocked out of the tree.
15
Abbot Humble was playing make-believe tea with the Dibbuns. He enjoyed being with the little ones, joining in their games and listening to their baby talk. Mimsie the mousebabe served him with an invisible platter, supposedly full of goodies.
Humble beamed delightedly. “Oh my, these look nice, I like fresh scones!”
Mimsie scowled. “They not sconeses, them’s cream an’ stawb’y cake wot I jus’ maked!”
The Abbot apologised. “Oh, I’m sorry. My old eyes aren’t so good anymore, you know. Cream and strawberry cake, my favourite! Have we got some sweet cordial to drink with it?”
Perkle the hogbabe passed him an imaginary beaker. “No, farver, this bee’s boiled nekkle h’ale!”
Mudge the molebabe winked broadly at Humble. “Yurr, zurr, but doan’t ee tell Sis h’Armel. She’m say Dibbuns shuddent drink boiled nekkle h’ale.”
Humble nodded seriously. “I won’t breathe a word, promise. Boiled nettle ale, eh? Mmmm, tastes good, I like it!”
Perkle squeaked out a warning. “Farver, ’ide it quick. Sis Armel bee’s comin’!”
Sister Armel and Brooky came hurriedly into the dormitory, where the Abbot was playing with the Dibbuns. The pretty Infirmary Keeper could not keep the urgency out of her voice. “Father Abbot, I must speak to you immediately in private. It’s very important!”
Humble carried on pretending, putting both paws behind his back as if hiding the boiled nettle ale. “Right, Sister, just give me a moment, please.”
He whispered to the Dibbuns, “You’d better go and have tea down on the lawn so that Sister Armel doesn’t see the ale.”
Touching paws to snouts secretly, the Dibbuns nodded. They loaded the make-believe meal onto a make-believe trolley and began solemnly trundling it away.
Brooky called after them, “Save some o’ that boiled nettle ale for us, you greedy villains!”
As the Dibbuns clattered out of the dormitory, giggling mischievously, Humble turned to the squirrel and ottermaid, shaking his head. “Cream and strawberry cake with boiled nettle ale? Whatever next! What can I do for you, young Armel?”
The pretty squirrel explained her sudden visit. “When we were in the orchard, solving the puzzle, I suddenly felt drowsy. It must have been only for a moment. Father, I don’t know whether you’ll believe this, but Martin the Warrior appeared to me.”
Humble looked into Armel’s innocent brown eyes. “Why should I doubt you, my child? Did our Warrior speak?”
She nodded emphatically. “He did, though I completely forgot I’d even seen him until a short while ago. Brooky and I were passing through Great Hall when I saw Martin’s picture on the tapestry. Then it all came back to me like a flash!”
The ottermaid laughed. “Oohahaha! Very exciting, isn’t it?”
Humble silenced her with a mild glance. “Tell me, Armel, what did Martin the Warrior say to you?”
Armel remembered everything clearly. “He said he knew me, and that was why he chose me. Then he spoke these lines.
My sword must be carried by maidens two:
one who sees laughter in all, and you.
Bear it southwest through Mossflower Wood,
to he who pursues the vermin Lord.
The Borderer who is a force for good,
that warrior who sold and lost his sword.”
Humble folded both paws into his wide habit sleeves. “Did he say any more?”
Armel sighed. “No, Father, that was all. What should I do?”
The Abbot pondered for a while, then made his decision. “Go and find my cousin, Hitheryon Jem. Brooky, you will seek out your uncle Skipper. Bring them both to the gatehouse. We need to discuss this matter urgently.”
Jem was rather grumbly as he followed Armel across the sunlit lawns to the gatehouse. “Great seasons, ain’t there no rest for a poor ole body? I’m scarce out of a good warm tub an’ into a clean robe when I’m bein’ marched outdoors through the grounds. A beast of my seasons could catch cold, y’know!”
Armel patted his paw as they came to the gatehouse door. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll take no harm, sir. It’s not me who wants you here, it’s your cousin, the Abbot.”
Jem opened the door. “Humble? Oh, that’s different, missy. Why didn’t ye say?”
The young Sister smiled. “I did, but you probably forgot.”
Skipper and Brooky were already there, as was Humble and Gordale the Gatekeeper. Friar Glisum arrived unexpectedly, bearing with him a sliced pie of damsons and honey with a container of his own special pear and redcurrant wine.
He popped his head around the door with the air of a conspirator, commenting, “Hope you don’t mind me joining you. I saw you all hurrying here, and it made me rather curious.”
Humble beckoned him inside. “Come in, Friar. Sit down there and listen carefully, all of you. Sister Armel has something to say. Sister?”
Armel took a deep breath and recounted her experience. When she had finished, the Abbot looked from one to the other. “Well, what do you think, friends?”
Skipper of Otters was first to venture an opinion. “I was ’oping that all last winter an’ right through the spring, ’til now, that this wouldn’t ’appen, Father, but it looks like it must be, eh Jem?”
The old hedgehog answered sadly, “Aye, Skip. This Abbey’s a sizeable buildin’, stickin’ out like a bandaged paw twixt the woodlands an’ flatlands. Stands t’reason that any vermin gang in this part o’ the country is bound to sight it.”
Brother Gordale caught the hedgehog’s drift. “You mean that creature Gulo the Savage and his followers?”
Humble went to the little gatehouse window. There he stood, gazing out at the sunlit lawns and the Abbey building. “We were hoping, Skipper and I, that maybe they’d miss us somehow and go off on a different course. But if I read Martin the Warrior’s message correctly, it seems that Redwall is in danger. Why else would he send us this warning through Sister Armel? One thing, though. Before we go any further, I must ask. Are we all agreed to act upon this?”
Brooky’s sudden laughter made Gordale jump. “Whooohahahoo! We’d be real puddenheads if we didn’t.”
Skipper silenced his niece by treading on her rudder. “Young Brookflow’s right. She’s noisy, but right. So then, Father, what d’ye suggest?”