The kindly Wonwill passed her his kerchief. “Oh, I don’t think much’ll ’appen tonight, young ’un. Ye’ll still be ’ere to stuff yore face at brekkist tomorrer. Now dry up an’ stop reddenin’ those pretty eyes.”
Down in Cavern Hole, the Redwallers were eagerly watching Sister Screeve, who had devised most of the riddles, questioning Hitheryon Jem. “Now, I want you to tell me, who would be saying this? ‘Why Myrtle, me dear, ouch ouch! How nice to see you, ouch!’ ‘Likewise, dearie, ouch! And how’s your family? Ouch ouch!’ ”
Jem answered without hesitation. “Marm, that’s two ole hedgehog wives huggin’ each other.”
Screeve ticked her parchment. “Correct! Now stand over there, Jem. Next please!”
Mudge the molebabe strode boldly up. “Yurr naow, marm, you’m doan’t arsk oi any ’ard riggles. Oi’m only ee h’infant!”
Screeve gave the molebabe a pretend scowl. “I don’t have any favourites, my questions are all hard. Right, answer this. You are a mole, and he isn’t a mole—he’s not your father, yet you call him Father. Who is he?”
Mudge stood gnawing his digging claw. “Urm, urm . . .”
Sister Armel whispered in the molebabe’s ear. He grinned, replying, “Hurr hurr, that bee’s ee h’Abbot, marm!”
The Recorder ticked her scroll. “Very good! We all call the Abbot by the title Father. Correct, stand over there!”
Mudge waved at Humble. “Oi daon’t call ee Farther, zurr. Oi allus calls ee h’Abbot, duzzent oi!”
Humble smiled absentmindedly as he murmured to Burlop, “It should be almost dark outside now.”
The young Cellarhog patted his elder’s paw. “Don’t worry yore ’ead, Father. The Long Patrol will take care of everythin’. Come on, up ye go, ’tis yore turn.”
“Here’s your riddle, Father.” Sister Screeve chuckled, then continued. “Oh, I’ve got this name all mixed up! It says ‘Read well baby’ on my parchment. What should it say?”
Humble looked distracted. His mind was on the vermin and the hares outside. “I’m sorry, Sister, I’ve no idea.”
Armel encouraged him. “Oh, come on, Father, it’s easy. What do we call this lovely place where we live?”
Humble answered without thinking. “Redwall Abbey. Why?”
Wandering Walt applauded loudly. “Well done, zurr, that bee’s ee h’answer. Redwall Abbey!”
Screeve pointed her quill at Armel. “Any more helping with answers, Sister, and it’s straight up to bed with you!”
The Dibbuns roared with laughter at the idea of an Infirmary Sister being sent off to bed like a naughty babe.
Darkness had descended outside. Captain Zerig signalled the two scouts from the shelter of the trees. “Go now, an’ take care ye are not discovered.”
Checking their weapons, the big, hard-eyed foxes made for the south wall in utter silence. Skilled at the art of concealment, they both moved like drifting cloud shadows over the grassy sward, using every hump and hollow as they crept toward the outer ramparts.
Tergen murmured to the brigadier as he observed their every move, “Kyuuurh, they come now. Two foxes—one will go to the left, the other right. Other vermin stay hidden.”
Crumshaw kept his head low. “Scoutin’ the Abbey out, eh? Sergeant, take Folderon with ye, go t’the left. Cap’n Fortindom, you take Cartwill an’ take the fox on the right. I want at least one of the scum alive. I intend sendin’ their leader a stern warnin’. Off y’go!”
Both Graddu and Fargil stopped at the south wallgate. They tested it and found the small wicker door locked tight. Then they parted company, searching the high walls for possible pawholds to climb and checking the earth at the wall base for soft soil or possible tunnels.
Captain Derron Fortindom was renowned in the Long Patrol for his skill with the sabre. He had fought honourably in many campaigns. Removing his cloak, he watched Cartwill easing open the locks on the small east wallgate. Fortindom slid out into the surrounding woodland, murmuring to Cartwill, “Lock this door an’ stay inside, young ’un. Open it only when y’hear my voice again.”
Cartwill gripped his javelin eagerly. “But Captain . . .”
Derron Fortindom shook his head. “Those are my orders, obey ’em!”
Cartwill barred the gate, then hurried up the east steps to join some others who were spread out along the walltop.
Kersey, the runner who had lost her twin, gritted her teeth. “I’d give that scum what for if I was down there now!”
Another hare reassured her, “Don’t fret, mate. The vermin ain’t been born who could cross blades with Cap’n Fortindom an’ live t’tell the blinkin’ tale!”
Fortindom still had the sabre belted to his side. He leaned casually against a sycamore trunk, almost invisible in the darkness, watching as Graddu, inspecting the walls, drew closer. He allowed the fox to pass him by a few paces before stepping out into the open to address him.
“Tut tut, all alone, wot. You must be a bold ’un! Where’s your gang, scumface?”
Graddu whirled around to face him, curved sword in one paw and a short axe in the other. He began circling Fortindom, bared fangs showing in an evil grin. “A big rabbit, all to myself? Such luck! I had to share the last one I ate, down upon the beach!”
Fortindom drew his sabre and moved, countering his circle. “Aye, it took enough of ye—a hundred to eight, wasn’t it? Ssssssdeath!”
The hare captain moved like chain lightning, his sabre flashing up and across. The severed axe handle fell to the ground, almost in unison with the stricken fox. Fortindom wiped his blade upon Graddu and stepped over his carcase. Cartwill came dashing down the steps with Kersey close behind. They wrestled the doorlocks open and stood staring at the captain in dumb admiration.
He pulled Cartwill out into the woodlands, rapping an order at Kersey. “You, miss, bar the door. Come with me, Cartwill. We’ll go around the outside in case the other one’s runnin’ away from Sergeant Wonwill. We may be able to cut the vermin off. Step lively now!”
The hares on the west wall stood with Folderon and Wonwill, peeping over the battlements as they monitored the progress of the remaining white fox along the outer walls.
When the sergeant heard the main gates rattle slightly, he whispered to the hares around him, “Quick’n’quiet’s the drill now, mates. We got to take this vermin alive. Stick to my h’orders now, young ’uns.”
Fargil the fox had his curved sword through a gap in the centre of both gates, using it as a lever to release the long wooden bar. Then, without warning, the gates opened, swinging inward. Fargil found himself facing a lean, grizzled Wonwill and ten young hares. Instinctively he turned to run, but Captain Derron Fortindom already had a sabre point to his throat. “One move, sirrah, an’ ye’ll be crowmeat!”
Sergeant Wonwill knocked Fortindom’s blade aside. “Brigadier’s orders, Mister Derron. Put up yore sabre, sah. This ’un’s mine. Sentries, form a ring!”
Swiftly, the hares made a circle around Wonwill and the big fox. Holding up his paws to show he was unarmed, the sergeant addressed the hulking Fargil. “Yore a big, tough-lookin’ murderer. Come on, let’s see wot ye can do! An unarmed beast should be about the right mark for the likes of a bully like you!”
Fargil had his curved sword ready, but he pulled a long dagger from his belt, charging at Wonwill double-bladed. The sergeant skipped to one side, his clenched paw punching the fox’s shoulder twice.
Rap! Rap! The dagger clattered upon the path. With his numbed paw held limply by his side, Fargil let out a bellow of pain, swinging his sword back in an effort to cleave his opponent’s skull.
Whoooofff! The wind was driven from him by a hard right to his stomach. The fox was bent almost double. Crouching, Wonwill delivered two hard uppercuts to the vermin’s face. Stepping on the swordblade, the sergeant trapped it against the ground. He grabbed Fargil, hauling him upright by the ears. “H’up ye come, me bold buckoe. Let’s see wot sort of a shape ye can make!”