Triss: A Novel of Redwall Read online

  Apodemus beamed. “Why certainly, Friar, where else on such a day? I can’t think of a more pleasant place!”

  Memm Flackery interrupted. “Only after you’ve sat in Great Hall an’ dealt with those dastardly Dibbuns who are on Abbot’s Report, sah, wot!”

  The Abbot’s face fell. He disliked dealing out sentences, particularly to Dibbuns. Skipper saw this and provided an instant solution to the problem.

  “Wot a mis’rable thing on the first day o’ summer. Bring ’em up t’the orchard, pore liddle tykes. I was a Dibbun meself, y’know, we all were once.”

  The Harenurse cast a jaundiced eye upon the otter chief. “Perish the thought, you a Dibbun?” She shuddered.

  Everybeast laughed at the indignant expression on Skipper’s face. Seizing his otter friend’s paw, the Abbot hurried him off to the orchard gladly.

  “Thanks for getting me out of that task, you sensible ex-Dibbun. My my, but you have grown, haven’t you?”

  Beneath shady fruit trees, mottled by sunshine and shadow, Redwallers chattered merrily as they breakfasted at the long trestle tables and forms, which had been set up in the orchard by Log a Log and his Guosim shrews, who were enjoying a prolonged stay at Redwall.

  Freshly scrubbed and wearing clean smocks, the Dibbuns were shepherded by Memm into their Abbot’s presence. Adopting an attitude of mock severity, Apodemus sat back, looking over the top of his spectacles at the two lines of apprehensive infants. He shook his head several times.

  “What in the name of fur’n’whiskers am I to do with you, eh? Dearie me, what have you got to say for yourselves?”

  Turfee the mousebabe stared hard at the ground. “Ruggum’n’Bikkle sez you gonna chop off us tails. It not fair! Roobil be a molebabe an’im gotta likkle tail, but I bee’s a mousebabe wiv a long tail. Not fair, Farver Habbit.”

  Apodemus weighed this statement, scratching his whiskers. “Hmm, I take your point. What would you do with these villains, Skipper?”

  Brandishing his javelin and scowling savagely, the big otter confronted the trembling miscreants. “Do with ’em, sir! Do with ’em! Why, I’d make the rogues dance twice round these tables singin’ Honeybee Soup. That’s wot I’d do, an’ serve ’em right for their ’orrible crimes!”

  The sentence was greeted with wild applause from the Dibbuns. Foremole Urrm took out a small moleedion and twiddled the opening bars of the jig, which was a great favourite with Abbeybabes. Ruggum and Bikkle deserted their seats and joined the little ones, prancing up and down.

  Sister Vernal looked at them quizzically. “You two aren’t on Abbot’s Report. You don’t have to do what Skipper asked!”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Ruggum replied, “Hurr hurr, you’m troi an’ stop uz, marm!”

  Away the babes went, like a miniature whirlwind, jigging, hopping, leaping and singing wildly:

  “Mix honey with honey an’ honey in honey,

  Get a big pot here an’ pour it on thick,

  Honey, fine honey, so golden an’ sunny,

  We’ll stir it all up with a green willow stick.

  Nod your head wag your tail,

  Sup it from pan or pail,

  Join up our paws an’ go round in a loop,

  Buzz like the bees do to flowers an’ trees,

  But fetch me a bowl of good Bumblebee Soup.

  Oh bumblebee, don’t stumble or tumble,

  Come out of the flowers now, back to your hives,

  Fly back to your home, sir, an’ fill up each comb there,

  For granma’s an’ granpa’s an’ babies an’ wives.

  Striped all with fluffy down,

  Golden an’ furry brown,

  Bow to your partner an’ yell a great whoop,

  Now form a square, an’ you may find it there,

  A bowl of your favourite Bumblebee Soup!”

  Right back to the first verse the little creatures went, paws joined as they whizzed around the orchard at an alarming rate.

  Memm shook her head in despair. “Will you just look at that villain Roobil! I’ve tried to teach him the flippin’ words a dozen or more times. But will he pay attention, wot wot? Indeed he won’t. Rumpitty tum, that’s all he’ll sing, the little bounder. Listen to him. Rumpitty tum, rumpitty tum, rumpitty bloomin’ tum!”

  Foremole Urrm nodded admiringly as Roobil vaulted over his lap and shot off around the pear trees. “Burr hoo, but ee doo ’ave a foine turn o’ paw, marm. Thurr goes ee mole choild arfter moi own ’eart, burr aye!”

  Malbun Grimp agreed wholeheartedly with him. “Aye, I don’t think I’d be worrying about learnin’ words if I could dance half as good as Roobil!”

  Crikulus, who was sitting on the other side of Malbun, looked rather gloomy all of a sudden. He murmured to his companions, “I don’t expect it’ll rain or storm tonight. That’s put the block on us goin’ out to search for Brockhall.”

  Malbun pondered his words for a few moments before replying. “You could be right there. But I don’t intend lettin’ the weather, or lack of it, get in our way. All we need to do is to keep out of the way of those crows. Suppose I was to ask Log a Log and one of those big otters from Skipper’s crew to come with us. Surely a Guosim Chieftain and that hefty young otter Churk could get us through quietly, without upsetting those birds. Log a Log’s an expert tracker, and Churk is well versed in woodland ways—I like her.”

  Crikulus nodded, keeping his eyes on the dancing Dibbuns. “Good idea, Malbun, but don’t let anybeast save Log a Log and Churk know. No point in havin’ them all worryin’ about us. We’ll slip off after supper, the four of us, eh?”

  Malbun agreed. “Aye, after supper, but don’t breathe a word. If the Abbot finds out, he’ll forbid us to go.”

  It was right at that moment that the Abbot stood up and made an announcement. “My friends, Redwallers all. It is my wish that we celebrate the new season this evening with a feast!”

  Everybeast applauded the good news wildly. A groan of despair came from Crikulus as he noticed that the two creatures cheering loudest were none other than Churk and Log a Log.

  The ancient Gatekeeper sighed mournfully. “They’ll never accompany us tonight, Malbun. We’ll just have to put the whole thing off until another time.”

  Malbun’s jaw set in a stubborn line. “Not me, my friend. I’m going. Who needs those two to guide us? Look at us, we’re two well-seasoned creatures. Why shouldn’t we do the job ourselves?”

  Crikulus gnawed doubtfully at his whisker ends. “Out in the woodlands at night, on our own. Dearie me, I don’t know, Malbun, I just don’t know. . . .”

  Malbun, however, was not ready to brook excuses or arguments. “Well, I’ll go alone. I’m not a Dibbun who’s afraid of the woodlands in the dark. Don’t you worry, I can fend for myself!”

  Crikulus clasped his old friend’s paw. “No, no, I’ll go with you. This is a joint effort, y’know.”

  The Abbot was watching the pair. He commented to Skipper, who was sitting next to him, “What d’you suppose those old fogeys are whispering about?”

  The otter spread damson preserve thickly on a scone. “Wot, y’mean Malbun’n’Crikulus? I expect they’re plannin’ on singin’ their song at the feast, Father. You know, that funny one where they both dress up.”

  Apodemus turned his attention to a bowl of oatmeal. “Yes, that’ll be it. I like that song, it’s good fun!”

  Throughout the day the buzz of excitement continued. Skipper and an assortment of moles and shrews went to lend a paw in the kitchens. Log a Log and some of the others vanished into the cellars with Gurdle Sprink. Memm Flackery and Sister Vernal took the Dibbuns off to gather flowers and lay the tables. Foremole Urrm recruited Malbun and Crikulus to help him serve buffet lunch and afternoon snacks on the steps outside the gatehouse. Redwall Abbey became a hive of activity in preparation for the coming feast. Everybeast was busy and cheerful.

  Memm and the Sister were hugely pleased at the way the Dibbuns behaved themselves. The Abbeybabes�
�� conduct was exemplary; not one objection was heard at bath time. They even stood uncomplaining whilst getting dried and dressed.

  The Harenurse kept praising them as she combed and brushed each one. “Oh I say, J.G.D., you chaps, A and B the C of D. Wot!”

  Sister Vernal gave Memm an odd glance. “What are all those letters you’re spouting, marm?”

  The Harenurse explained. “J.G.D. means Jolly Good Dibbuns, an’ A and B the C of D? Thought you’d know that ’un, Vernal. It means above and beyond the call of duty. Good, eh?”

  Lining the Dibbuns up and inspecting them, Sister Vernal nodded approvingly before dismissing the little creatures. “Very good, right. G and P and T.T.S.C. . . . O.E.!”

  Bikkle sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the Sister. “Wot dat all mean, Sissa?”

  Vernal waved a cautionary paw under Bikkle’s nose. “It means, go and play and try to stay clean. . . . Or else!”

  Crikulus and Malbun sat down on the wallstairs during a lull in their duties. Malbun murmured to her friend in low, frustrated tones, “Did y’hear that, everybeast’s saying that you and I are going to do our dress-up monologue at the feast. Huh, that’s the last thing we’ll want to be doing this evening!”

  The ancient gatekeeper shrugged. “Nothing for it, we’ll just have t’do it, I suppose.”

  Malbun’s eyes lit up as an idea occurred to her. “Right! After the feasting is done, we’ll volunteer to go first with our performance. When we’ve finished, we’ll pretend that we feel tired and excuse ourselves. Nobeast will suspect us of leaving the Abbey then, eh?”

  Crikulus still felt slightly unhappy about the venture. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right.”

  From its commencement at early twilight, the feast was a complete success. Brilliantly decorated and lantern-lit tables groaned under the weight of superb food. Still warm from the ovens, fresh-baked breads with crusts ranging from gold to deep brown vied with vegetable salads, fruit junkets, cheeses, pasties, tarts, cakes and turnovers, plus a huge cauldron of the moles’ favourite, deeper’n’ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie. There were hot herbal teas, cordials of all types and a barrel of Special October Ale on tap for the elders. Back and forth the delicious fare went from paw to paw amid banter, laughter and animated conversation.

  Extra lamps and lanterns were lit as darkness fell and the entertainment commenced. Malbun and Crikulus performed their monologue, which was actually a duologue. It was a great favourite with all Redwallers, especially the Dibbuns, who had armed themselves with slapsticks for the finale. Malbun was dressed as a searat, with padded stomach and bottom, large floppy hat, brass earrings, a patch on one eye and a wobbly sword made from soft tree bark. Old Crikulus had garbed himself as a grandmother mouse. He wore a billowy frock, a lacy shawl and a fussy, beribboned bonnet. They strode toward one another, as if meeting on a woodland path. Malbun eyed Crikulus fiercely and declaimed aloud in a rough voice:

  “Here be I a searat fierce, an’ this to all I say,

  I’m evil, villainous, bad an’ tough,

  Let nobeast stand in me way!

  I’ve got two paws like iron claws,

  Granite teeth an’ steely jaws,

  I chopped me ole grandma up fer stew,

  An’ I’ll do the same fer you!”

  Both elders and Dibbuns hissed and booed him heartily. Crikulus rendered the grandmother’s part in a quaky squeak.

  “I’m a little grannie mouse, frisky as a flea,

  An’ I say what ho, this is my motto,

  No bullies dare mess with me!

  ’Cos though I’m old, I’m feisty an’ bold,

  I’ve got twenty-two grandmice too,

  I can spank the tail off any of ’em,

  An’ I’ll do the same for you!”

  Applause and cheers rose from the onlookers, with many Dibbuns calling out. “Spank the naughty rat, grannie!”

  Malbun rolled her eye and waved the floppy sword.

  “Hoho, liddle grannie mouse, scurry off to yore ’ouse,

  Whilst I’m still in a good mood,

  I eats a grannie fer brekkist each morn,

  ’Cos grannies are my fav’rite food!

  I’ll chop off yore tail an’ whiskers,

  I’ll whack off yore nose an’ each ear,

  Then you’ll be the lunch on which I munch,

  Wot think ye of that, me old dear?”

  The booing and hissing of the audience rose to fever pitch. Crikulus winked broadly at the Dibbuns to make them ready, then he began haranguing Malbun.

  “Hah, just try an’ eat me, an’ you’ll soon see

  Us grannies are tough ole things.

  I’ll climb in your mouth an’ pull your teeth out,

  Then use your tonsils for swings!

  But why should I bother to dirty my paws,

  On a sloppy great bully like you?

  Here come all my grandmice, ahoy there,

  Show this searat a thing or two!”

  This was the part the Dibbuns enjoyed most. Grabbing their slapsticks, they bounded out and began chasing Malbun, spanking away at her rear, which was heavily cushioned. Whooping and roaring, Malbun the searat fled the scene.

  Crikulus whipped off his grannie bonnet and did a flourishing curtsy as the Redwallers applauded heartily. Skipper and his two otters chased after the Dibbuns, preventing them from spanking the villain further. Malbun came back and took her bow to loud cheers.

  The Abbot wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks and congratulated them. “Thank you, my friends, heeheehee. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen your performance, but it gets funnier every season. Heeheehee, splendidly done!”

  Malbun grinned ruefully, rubbing at her rear. “Dearie me, those Dibbuns can really whack. I’ll have to get extra cushions in the future. Whew, I’m tired. How about you, Grannie Crikulus?”

  The ancient Gatekeeper mopped at his face with the bonnet. “Ain’t as young as I once was, friend. I think we’ll take an early night in my gatehouse. You take the big armchair, I’ll take the bed. Goodnight to you, Father Abbot, goodnight all. Thank ye for a wonderful evening.”

  With the good wishes of everybeast ringing in their ears, the two old friends left the orchard and the continuing revelry of a happy Summer’s Day Feast.

  Shortly thereafter, Malbun and Crikulus, cloaked and carrying a lantern apiece, left the Abbey and trudged off up the path. On entering Mossflower Wood, they immediately became aware of one thing: the silence. Not a breeze stirred the still-warm air. The sound of night birdsong was completely absent.

  Crikulus kept his voice to a subdued whisper as he remarked upon this to his companion. “Strange, isn’t it? Not a breeze or a peep of anything about.”

  Malbun tried to make light of her friend’s concern. “All the better for us, mate. I was dreading that any moment we’d hear the cawing of those rascally crows, but all seems nice and peaceful. That’s a bit of luck, eh?”

  Crikulus nodded wordlessly as they plowed on through the shrouded woodlands. He felt as if the atmosphere was not at all nice and peaceful. A misty haze had woven a milky carpet around the trees. It was almost waist high, formed by the day’s heat turning the earthdamp into vapour. The ancient shrew decided that everything seemed rather sinister.

  Malbun trod on a twig. Its sharp cracking sound made Crikulus twitch nervously. “What was that?”

  Malbun tried to tread more carefully to reassure him. “Only a twig I stepped on. There’s nothing t’be afraid of.”

  Following the path they had travelled along previously with the Brockhall search party, they pressed onward into the woodlands, their lanterns held high, twinkling in the night like two fireflies. Now Malbun began to feel uneasy. She could not say for certain the cause of it, but a sense of foreboding hung over her. Crikulus was right—it was too quiet. Normally the woodland was alive with nocturnal sounds: owls, nightingales, insects, a healthy breeze rustling the tree canopy.

  Just to reassure herself,
the Healer Recorder spoke to Crikulus. “We are on the right path, aren’t we?”

  The old shrew turned, his lantern light illuminating Malbun’s face. She looked as scared as he himself felt. “Aye, this is the path sure enough. Look, there’s where we stopped to have lunch and the crows attacked us.”

  Malbun found herself wishing that she could hear the caw of a crow, anything to break the oppressive silence. Fear and fatigue were beginning to overcome both creatures. Crikulus pushed through the undergrowth to the tiny clearing and leaned his back against a tree.

  “Let’s stop awhile for a breather here. My footpaws have gone all sort of wobbly an’ shaky.”

  Malbun hung her lantern on a branch. Not wanting to sit down in the mist, she stood alongside Crikulus. “Well, where do you think Brockhall is? I know we’re somewhere in the area.”

  The shrew shrugged at her whispered enquiry. “Could be anywhere in a wide circle from here. I haven’t a clue. I wish those Dibbuns could’ve remembered the way.”

  Slits of moonlight penetrated the trees, slivers of pale silver against the gloomy night. They stood wordless, each wishing they were back in the comfort of Redwall’s gatehouse. Though it was not cold, their dew-laden cloaks felt clammy clinging against them. Malbun removed hers first, with Crikulus following suit. A sound came from the grass nearby. Crikulus whipped his head round in its direction.

  “What was that?”

  It was not an actual noise, more of a slight wet swish. The ancient shrew thought he saw some ferns tremble in a moonlit shaft. Then another sound was heard, from the opposite direction of the first one. Malbun held up her lantern, paws atremble as she peered into the blackness. Her voice took on a strained, panicky edge.

  “Th-there’s another sound, like somethin’ moving through the grass towards us!”

  Then they smelt the odour, musty and bittersweet. It grew stronger. The grass swished in both directions, then it swished behind them, getting closer. Crikulus’s voice was tight with terror. He swallowed hard.