The good Sister's voice dropped to a whisper. "She'll fall into a deep sleep if'n I can get this down her."
Surprisingly, Diggs took charge of the medicine. "Beg-gin' y'pardon, allow me, marm!"
Almost casually, he pried Clarinna loose from Buckler, chatting amiably to her. "Retrieve your little uns--I should say so, marm. Why, old Buck an' I were about to dash off posthaste an' do that very thing. Indeed, we'll jolly well have the little blighters back here before y'can say Salamandastron, ain't that right, Buck, wot?"
Clarinna instantly attached herself to Diggs's sleeve. "Oh, thank you, Subaltern Digglethwaite, and you, too, Buckler. Are you going to get them right now?"
Diggs nodded affably. "This very instant, dear lady--but 'fraid we can't leave until you've taken this stuff. Mmmm, smells rather nice, wot, may I taste it?"
Sister Fumbril caught on promptly to the tubby hare's ruse. "Mister Diggs, sir, you give that beaker to Miz Clarinna right away. T'aint for you. She'll need all her strength to care for those babbies once they're back at Redwall."
Clarinna released Diggs. "Yes, I will, won't I? Calla and Urfa can be very lively, y'know. I'd best be ready." Taking the beaker, she drained it to the last drop.
Sister Fumbril put a supporting paw around the hare-wife, nodding to Skipper, who did likewise as Fumbril coaxed her along. "A nice, soft bed an' a quiet room are the best things for ye, dearie. You come with us now."
Log a Log Jango turned to the Recorder after Clarinna
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had left. "Don't let me stop ye, old un. Carry on with what ye was about to tell us."
Granvy tapped the open page of the volume he had been studying. "Thank the seasons for ancient records. Funny how places and events get forgotten after a while--"
Abbess Marjoram cut him off sharply. "Granvy, will you stop dithering and get on with it? What's the matter--don't you want to tell us what you found?"
The old Recorder sighed. "Of course I do, but I blame myself for not studying our Abbey's history. I've always been too busy doing other things."
Marjoram nodded. "I, too, friend--so part of the blame rests with me. Tell us now and all's forgiven."
Granvy looked directly at Jango. "Why are your tribe called the Guosim?"
The Log a Log shrugged. "We've always been known as Guosim. 'Tis a word made from the first letters of wot we're about: Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. But why d'ye ask? Everybeast knows that."
"Aye, but now I know what Corim means--that's made up of first letters, too: Council of Resistance in Mossflower. Bear with me whilst I explain. In the long-distant past, there was no Abbey of Redwall, just a castle named Kotir. It was ruled by a wildcat, Queen Tsarmina. She commanded a vermin horde, which enslaved the whole country. Well, to cut a long story short, the woodlanders, led by Martin the Warrior, waged war against Kotir and its evil beasts."
Diggs nodded stoutly. "Well, good for them, say I. Must've been jolly excitin'. Did they win?"
Buckler nudged his friend. "Stow the gab and listen."
Granvy paused, then picked up the thread of his narrative. "Martin and his friends had to have somewhere to live, a base to operate from. Fortunately, there was an ancestral badger home, place called Brockhall. A brave badger lived there, Bella of Brockhall. She offered them her home, even fought alongside them. As I've said, it's a very long story. But they were victorious in the end, the
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Corim--that's what they called themselves. Without those gallant creatures, there would have never been a Redwall Abbey. There you have it."
Oakheart Witherspyk stroked his headspikes reflectively. "Hmm, so 'tis possible that Althier an' Brockhall are one and the same place. D'ye have any ideas as to where we might find it, sirrah?"
The Recorder shut the big volume ruefully. "Alas, no. It's so long ago, shrouded in the mists of countless seasons, I'm afraid."
Buckler took over. "Well, let's see what we've got so far. This Sable Quean creature is obviously using it as a hideout. But she doesn't keep her main force, the Ravagers, there. Now, the young uns are probably imprisoned at Althier, and as we've established, it ain't more than a day's march from here. Remember what she said, she's returning here soon. At a rough guess, that's a day for her to get back there, a day's rest, then back here the day after, right?"
Jango nodded. "Aye, an' d'ye recall wot that vermin prisoner said? Most of the Ravager force don't know where Althier is--they're kept away from there by Zwilt the Shade. If'n tenscore vermin were camped at Althier, it'd be pretty easy to track 'em, eh, Sniffy?"
The Guosim Tracker agreed. "That's right, Chief!"
Diggs, who had been taking it all in, gave his opinion. "Indeed, old lad. The dreadful old Sable Quean must have just a bodyguard an' some jailers at her hideaway. That leaves the rest o' the blighters camped out in the blinkin' woodlands somewhere. Any ideas, chaps?"
Skipper had returned; he was standing in the doorway. "Here's an idea for ye. Wherever the Ravagers' camp is, it can't be far from the Quean's hidin' place. Find 'em an' the young uns will be locked up not far away."
Foremole Darbee rapped his digging claws on the volume. "Hurrhurr, roight clever thinkun', zurr. Ee mole cud-dent not've dun better, boi 'okey!"
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Diggs brightened up considerably. "Then alls we've got t'do is find the bloomin' place, wot?"
Buckler shook his head. "Wrong. You've forgotten two important things, mate. First, those vermin aren't stupid, especially the two sables. They threatened to harm the young uns if we were spotted tryin' to follow 'em. Second thing is Redwall itself. We'd be fools to leave it undefended with tenscore armed Ravagers in the neighbourhood. I think we're in a bit of a cleft stick."
Oakheart placed a big paw on the young hare's shoulder. "You're right, sirrah, on both counts. But what's t'be done about our little uns? We can't just leave them at the mercy of those scurvy vermin."
It was a pretty subdued group of friends who were gathered in the Abbess's room, pondering the results of the meeting. Unable to stop himself, Diggs emitted a cavernous yawn. He recovered his composure. "Oops, pardon me, chaps!"
Marjoram looked around the group. "It's late. Without proper sleep, we won't be good for anything. Consider this--the young ones aren't in any immediate danger. The Sable Quean knows they're far too valuable to her alive. She won't be returning here until the day after tomorrow, so this gives us a bit of time to think things out. Agreed?"
Buckler bowed to the Abbess. "Agreed, marm, what you say makes sense. We'd do well to sleep on it for the moment. A rest might refresh our minds."
They broke up then. The Abbess left, followed by Oakheart. Buckler intercepted the others before they could leave. Jango winked at him.
"Yore goin' after 'em, aren't ye?"
The young hare nodded grimly. "Aye, I'm leaving right now. Diggs, will you see to the defence of the Abbey? I'm puttin' you an' Oakie in charge."
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The tubby hare made an elegant leg. "At y'service, sah, leave it t'me. I'll shake this lot into some sort o' Salamandastron shape, by the left I will!"
Jango pulled a face. "I ain't havin' that chunnerin' fat bucket givin' me orders. I'm comin' with you, Buck."
Buckler allowed himself a smile. "I was hopin' you'd say that, mate. We'll need Sniffy, your Tracker, along with us. Are you comin', Skip?"
The brawny otter clasped Buckler's paw. "You try an' stop me, culley. I'll just get me javelin."
Before the Abbey bells had tolled the midnight hour, they slipped away by the east wallgate--Buckler, Jango, Sniffy, Skipper and Big Bartij, the Gardener and Infirmary assistant. They were dressed in muted green cloaks made from old Redwall habits, and armed.
Diggs bolted the east wickergate behind them, whispering, "Good luck, you chaps, an' if ye come across any vermin, give 'em blood'n'vinegar, wot!"