Tipping his snout politely, the mole grinned up at them. He roared up in a deep bass voice, speaking in the quaint mole accent, “Oi beg ee pardon, zurrs, but bee’s you’m goin’ to leave us’ns owt yurr ’til we’m both a-turned into snowbeasts?”
Skipper leaned out over the battlements. “Well, scuttle me rudder, ’tis Hitheryon Jem an’ Wanderin’ Walt. Where’ve you two ole relics been for the last eight seasons? We’d give up ’ope of seein’ ye again!”
Hitheryon Jem, the hedgehog, waved a mittened paw. “Good wintertide to ye, Cousin Humble, an’ to you, Skipper. We ain’t sayin’ another word ’til we’re through yore gates an’ eatin’ good vittles in front of a blazin’ fire. So look lively an’ let us in, ye ole streamwhomper!”
Skipper led Humble along the west rampart and down the wallstairs. They both banged on the gatehouse door.
Still clad in nightshirt and bedcap, Brother Gordale, the mouse Gatekeeper, shuffled out, yawning and scratching. “Brrr, snow. What’s all the kerfuffle about? ’Tis scarcely daybreak, can’t ye sleep?”
Skipper began unbarring the main gates. “Visitors, matey. Lend a paw ’ere, we’ve got guests!”
Snow was drifting against the bottom of the heavy oaken gates, making a crunching sound as the Redwallers tugged them open. The two visitors trundled their cart inside, then helped to close the gates and bar them.
Simultaneously, the main door of the Abbey building burst open. A horde of cheering, squealing Dibbuns stampeded out, roaring with delight at the sight of snow, a first experience for some of them. Within moments the Abbey grounds were a scene of chaos.
Abbot Humble raised his eyes resignedly to the sky. “Oh, dearie me, let’s get indoors quickly!”
Ducking snowballs, and avoiding sliding little ones, they made their way through the melee. Older Redwallers stood in the doorway, holding mufflers, mittens, scarves and hoods. Their entreaties were lost on the wild herd of Dibbuns.
“Come back here and get dressed properly!”
“You’ll be snufflin’ with cold if you don’t put decent winter clothes on!”
“You’m cumm back yurr, this vurry h’instint, rarscals!”
“Put those snowballs down, please . . . Don’t you dare!”
Volleys of snowballs were hurled by the rebellious pack of Abbeybabes. Trying to get inside the building, the Abbot and his friends were caught on the front steps with the Dibbun minders. Everybeast came in for a good pelting.
Humble faced the little ones, paws open wide. “Now stop this, please! I command you to st . . . Ooooff!”
A well-aimed snowball caught him on the snout. More snowballs spattered across Skipper’s back as he rescued the Abbot and pushed him inside. Still throwing, the Dibbuns retreated in the direction of the pond, intent on trying out the ice.
Skipper called to one of his ottercrew, “Follow those villains, mate. Make sure none of ’em goes through the ice!”
Gordale slammed the Abbey door shut as a barrage of snowballs burst against it. He brushed snow from his nightshirt indignantly. “Hooligans, rogues! The manners of young ’uns these days, really!”
Shaking snow from his habit sleeves, Humble chuckled at the old Abbey Gatekeeper. “Forgotten your Dibbun seasons, Brother?”
Jem pulled snow from his headspikes. “Aye, let the babes have their fun. Right, lead me to those kitchens. As the Abbot’s cousin, I demand it!”
Walt was fully in agreement. “Burr aye, let oi toast moi paws boi ee stove an’ git summ brekkist in ee ole stummick!”
Friar Glisum put aside his ladle and shook the travellers’ paws cordially. “Enter, weary travellers. Come in and let me feed your bodies and warm your hearts. My kitchens are at your disposal!”
Walt winked at Jem. “Boi ’okey, thurr bee’s a creetur oi cudd dearly h’admire!”
Glisum seated them on a heap of dry sacks. They gasped with pleasure as the Friar opened his big oven, gesturing with a long paddle. “Mushroom pasties with hot gravy, leek and carrot bake topped with yellow cheese, or maybe some fresh-baked crusty wheatbread? Murly, heat up some of that harvest vegetable soup we had for supper last night. There’s a good little maid!”
A tubby little molemaid, in frilly apron and mob cap, curtsied. “Zoop bee’s cummen roight h’away, zurrs!”
Skipper gaped in awe as the guests shed their travelling gear and fell upon the food hungrily. “Great seasons, ’tis a good job there’s only two of ye, mates! ’Ow many famines ’ave ye lived through?”
Jem looked up from his second pastie. “Too many, mate. We done nought but dream o’ Redwall grub for eight seasons!”
Walt grabbed a crusty loaf. After tearing it apart, he began dunking it in the savoury onion gravy. “Ho gurt h’Abbey vikkles!”
Virtually no conversation ensued as Hitheryon Jem and Wandering Walt applied themselves wholeheartedly to the good fare provided by Friar Glisum and his kitchen staff. Abbot Humble and the others knew they would have to wait for news of the comings and goings in other places until both guests had taken their fill. It had been a long time since the travellers’ last visit, and the Abbey creatures were anxious to hear the news from places far beyond Redwall. As the kitchens would be busy with mealtimes, Humble ordered the fire to be banked up in Cavern Hole and two comfortable armchairs moved close to the hearth. His guests could rest there and talk in relative comfort and peace.
Much later in the morning, Jem and Walt vacated the kitchens. As they made their way across Great Hall, the main door opened. The Dibbuns finally had been rounded up and were being marched in for a very late breakfast. Sister Armel, the pretty young squirrel who was Infirmary Keeper, led the way. She was accompanied by her two helpers—Foremole Bruffy and Sister Screeve, the stout, cheery mouse who was Abbey Recorder. All three were trying to gain some semblance of order amid the excited little ones.
“Wipe those paws thoroughly on the mat, please! Stand in line.”
Sister Armel eyed a tubby mousebabe sternly. “Mimsie, please take that snowball outside and throw it away.”
Mimsie waved cheerily to Humble. “Goo’ mornin’, h’Abbit. I jus’ gonna frow dis snowball ’way.”
Abbot Humble nodded understandingly. “There’s a good little maid, it’s not nice to take snowballs in to breakfast.”
Mudge the molebabe called out helpfully, “Hurr, ’cos snowyballs can’t eat breffist. Can they’m, zurr?”
A hedgehog Dibbun named Perkle piped up. “An’ hysiggles can’t not eat breffist, neither, can they?”
Mudge shook his head solemnly. “No, they’m carn’t, you’m gurt pudden-’eaded choild!”
Sister Screeve retrieved a long, pointed icicle from Perkle. “Give me that icicle before you put somebeast’s eye out with it.”
Skipper laughed at the antics of the Dibbuns, who, now that they remembered they were hungry, were anxious to be fed. They squeaked and bounced up and down as the helpers tried to keep them in line. They splashed about in puddles of melted snow which dripped from them.
The otter chieftain called to the helpers, “Sister Armel, when you get that lot brekkisted, may’aps you’n Foremole an’ Screeve might like to drop by Cavern ’ole to ’ear the latest news from Jem’n’Walt.”
Sister Screeve chivvied three latecomers into line. “Thank you, I’ll bring quill and parchment to record any important events. We’ll see you down there shortly.”
3
An hour later, all Redwallers interested in hearing the news were gathered in Cavern Hole. They waited respectfully until Hitheryon Jem had sipped at a tankard of mulled October Ale. He smacked his lips appreciatively, glanced at the eager faces of his audience and then commenced.
“Well now, my good friends, those last two winters were so deep an’ hard that me’n ole Walt here couldn’t make it up to yore Abbey, but here we are now. Other seasons were fine—springtimes fresh, summers warm an’ autumns agreeable. There weren’t much to report on until this late autumn. Then we came across a mighty strange thing, didn’t we, Walt?”