“Now, who can tell me what day it is today, eh?”
The shrewbabe Alfio held up a chubby paw. “It a nice sunny day, I fink.”
Fottlink ruffled Alfio’s ears. “Right, it is a nice sunny day, but it’s a very special time. Who knows?”
Brinky, the tiny volemaid, smiled shyly. “A speshilly noice, sunny day, sir!”
Fottlink returned her smile, murmuring to himself, “Aye, well, we’re getting nowhere fast.” He moved to the placid water’s edge. “See, if I’d stood here a few days back, I’d have got my paws wet. What do you make of that?”
Brinky’s friend, Murty, scratched his velvety head. “Ee pond is gone likkler!”
The Recorder encouraged him. “Very good. Now, feel this stone. Move over, Guggle, and let Murty feel the stone you’re sitting on. Go on, move, shoo!”
The Dibbun squirrelmaid moved, protesting, “But it’s nice’n’warm ta sit on!”
Fottlink’s paw shot up. “Exactly! The pond has shrunk, and the stones are warm—it’s a sign, you see? The first day of summer!”
A tiny dot of a mousebabe looked at Fottlink blankly. “Summa, wot’s dat?”
It suddenly dawned on the Recorder that this was probably the first summer most of them had seen, or could recall.
He sighed wistfully and was about to launch into an explanation about changing seasons when a charming young volemaid came from the direction of the Abbey.
“Brother Fottlink, Abbot says to tell you the meeting’s about to start in Cavern Hole, an’ you should attend.”
The Recorder took her paw gratefully. “I’ll go right away, thank you, Milda. Er, would you mind looking after the little uns? Take them to the orchard, away from this water, please.”
Milda curtsied. “Yes, Brother. Come on, mates, who wants to learn how to make daisy chains?”
They dashed off with her, shrilling, “Us goin’ ta make daisies chains wiv Mildee!”
Most of the senior Redwallers were gathered in Cavern Hole, with Abbot Thibb presiding. “Help yourselves to the lunch table and take a seat, friends.”
Fottlink piled a platter with salad, cheese and a thick slice of nut and honey roly-poly pudding. Taking a beaker of cool mint tea, he seated himself next to Sister Fisk.
When everybeast was settled, Thibb addressed them. “There’s three things we have to discuss. Uggo Wiltud’s dream, Twoggs Wiltud’s final words and the fact that they came in some way from Martin the Warrior. Any thoughts?”
Roogo Foremole raised a digging claw. “Aye, zurr, we’m bounded to ’eed ee warnens.”
Friar Wopple was in agreement. “My feelin’s exactly, Father, but you never told us fully about what young Uggo’s dream was. Can you explain?”
Thibb deferred to his Gatekeeper. “Dorka Gurdy was the one who recognised Uggo’s dream for what it was. Dorka?”
The otter Gatekeeper explained simply. “Uggo dreamed a ship was comin’ to attack our Abbey—he saw it in his dream. I would’ve said ’twas only the ravin’s of a liddle’og who’d eaten enough cake t’give ’im nightmares. But then he described the ship, a green-sailed craft with the Wearat sign on its mainsail. Said he saw a beast aboard it, so ugly it could’ve been the Wearat hisself. I think ’twas a true vision.”
Abbot Thibb nodded. “Aye, so did your brother Jum. That’s why he went off with Uggo, to find your old uncle Wullow. Jum said Wullow had told him the Wearat was slain by sea otters, and his ship sank after being fired. He went to find if Wullow was telling the truth.”
Sister Fisk stood up to be heard. “Added to that, there’s the message we received from that old Wiltud hog Twoggs. What was it she said?”
Here Fottlink took out a piece of bark parchment. “I recorded our Father Abbot’s exact words—listen.”
“Redwall has once been cautioned,
heed now what I must say,
that sail bearing eyes and a trident,
will surely come your way.
Then if ye will not trust the word,
of a Wiltud and her kin,
believe the mouse with the shining sword,
for I was warned by him!”
Fottlink held up the parchment for all to see. “So said Twoggs Wiltud, a wretched old hogwife who had neither skill to read nor write. Those words could only have been put in her mind by our Abbey’s guiding spirit, Martin the Warrior. To me, this can mean only one thing—we are in danger of being attacked by a Wearat. I know it sounds unlikely, but this beast is coming to Redwall in a green-sailed ship! Who amongst us would doubt the word of Martin?”
An uneasy silence fell over the assembly. It was soon broken by Foremole Roogo with practical mole sense. “Hurr, nobeast be doubten et, zurr. Point bee’s, wot’n be us’ns a-goen to do abowt et?”
Abbot Thibb shook the Foremole’s paw. “Thank you, Roogo. There’s nought to beat mole logic. So, what are we going to do, friends?”
Ding Toller, the Abbey’s squirrel Bellringer, spoke. “Say nought to the young uns. No point in scarin’ ’em. I say let’s not go jumpin’ to rash decisions. We need to go away an’ think deeply about this problem. Abbot?”
Thibb settled both paws in his wide habit sleeves. “What Ding says is right. Hard, sensible thinking may well provide a solution. However, I have an immediate proposal. We need to have lookouts on all four walltops, night and day. Foremole, will you see to it? Two guards to each wall, with volunteers to relieve them four times a day. Bring any news of sightings straight to me. In the meantime, friends, let’s go about our duties calmly.”
The meeting broke up then as Redwallers set about their everyday chores. The remainder of the day passed without incident. Things grew quiet, even at supper that night, when conversation usually flowed back and forth, spiced with banter and good humour.
Abbot Thibb noticed this. Sitting next to Fottlink at the head of the main table, he mentioned it. “Our friends seem taken up with their thoughts tonight.”
The Recorder nibbled at a mushroom and carrot pasty. “Hmm, but they’re only doing what Ding Toller suggested. What about you, Thibb, have you had any thoughts?”
The Abbot sipped at his blackberry cordial. “Yes, I have. What about if you and I go to Martin’s tapestry? After they’ve all gone to their dormitories, of course. In the silence of the small hours, maybe our Warrior’s spirit will send us a message, some words of wisdom perhaps.”
Fottlink brushed pasty crumbs from his habit front. “A splendid idea. I’ll bring charcoal sticks and parchment, to record anything which may occur.”
Thibb dropped his voice to a secretive whisper. “Give it a while after they’ve all gone up, then knock on my chamber door.”
It was sometime after midnight. Thibb had not gone to bed; he stood at his small window. From there, he could see the west walltop. Two moles were patrolling up and down, alert but unhurried. The Father Abbot of Redwall felt a surge of pride in his faithful friends. Redwallers could always be relied upon for whatever he wished. He was distracted by a faint tap on the door. It was Fottlink, carrying a satchel containing his recording materials. He grinned furtively.
“Are you ready, Thibb?”
Silently the pair tippawed downstairs and started to cross Great Hall, in which areas of dark shadow alternated with soft golden lantern light. A cold draught of air caused them to halt—they heard the creak of the main door opening.
Thibb pulled Fottlink behind one of the huge sandstone columns, whispering, “I thought there’d be nobeast about at this hour, but someone’s just come in the Abbey. Hush, now, let’s find out who could be wandering about.”
A moment later, Dorka Gurdy drifted past them. Looking neither left nor right, the otter Gatekeeper moved slowly and smoothly through the hall.
Fottlink watched her intently. “Hmm, sleepwalking, would you say, Thibb?”
The Abbot noted her trancelike stare as she passed them. “Sleepwalking definitely, I’d say. Best not wake her, though. Come on, let’s follow her quietly.”