Salamandastron (Redwall) Page 4

  The Abbess stroked her chin thoughtfully. ‘Hmmm, I can see what you mean. What do you think, Bremmun?’

  Recalling his harsh judgement of Samkim and Arula, the old squirrel shrugged uneasily. ‘Well, they do look rather pitiful, Mother Abbess, but I think the decision is finally yours.’

  Dingeye’s voice quivered with emotion, and he went limp in the Foremole’s strong grasp, shaking his paws in despair.

  ‘The decision is yores. ‘E’s right, lady. Turn us out, back inter the crool world. We should never ’ave darkened yer doorstep, two misfortunate wretches such as us!’

  Despite his size, Thrugg was softhearted, and he sniffed aloud. ‘Stow that kind o’ talk, matey. Our Abbess ain’t got an ’eart made o’ stone!’

  Thrugg’s words seemed to make up the Abbess’s mind, and she nodded decisively. ‘All right, you can stay. But remember this: whilst you are guests at Redwall you must behave, mind your manners and keep your paws to yourselves. Is that clear?’

  Dingeye and Thura broke away from their keepers. Falling on all fours, they began kissing the hem of the Abbess’s robe.

  Trying not to grimace with distaste, she shook them off. ‘Here, Samkim and Arula, I’ve a job for you. These two creatures are your responsibility while they are with us. If you need any help, ask Thrugg or Foremole. Dear me, how I wish Redwall had a badger Mother again. Right, back to work, Redwallers. There is much to be done if we want a good Nameday tomorrow!’

  The Abbeydwellers were dispersing as the squirrel and the mole introduced themselves.

  ‘I’m Samkim and this is Arula.’

  ‘Pleased ter make yer acquaintance, young’n’s. I’m Dingeye, this is me mucker Thura. Righto, where do we eat an’ sleep?’

  The odour of unwashed stoats made Arula wrinkle her nose. ‘Nay nay, zurrs. ’Ee’ll be worken awhoil afore it be toim to eat an’ sleepen. Us’ns be agoin’ to ’elp in ’ee kitchens, a-cooken an’ a-baken.’

  Thura brightened at the mention of food. ‘Cookin ’n’ bakin’, that sounds all right ter me, mucker!’

  Samkim blanched. He too had caught the unsavoury whiff from the ragged pair. He grabbed both by their paws. ‘Not so fast, friends. First you must take a bath and get clean smocks!’

  Dingeye and Thura recoiled in horror.

  ‘Bath? Not me, mucker. It ain’t ’ealthy!’

  ‘Dingeye’s right, young un, bathin’d be the death of us!’

  Samkim gave a broad wink to Thrugg and Foremole. ‘Perhaps you would like to take our friends for a stroll by the Abbey pond? It’s lovely in the summer.’

  A short time later two clean smocks lay on the grass at the pond’s edge. Foremole stood menacing the stoats with a long window pole, Thrugg was in the water with a block of soap and a scrubbing brush. Dingeye and Thura clung to each other in panic as Foremole prodded them pondwards with the pole.

  ‘Coom on, durtybeasts. Washen woant kill ’ee, hurr hurr.’

  ‘Mercy, yer Honour. That stuff’s water – it’s all wet!’

  ‘Aye, an’ there’s a fish monster in there. I can see it!’

  Playfully Thrugg splashed water at them. ‘Bless yer filthy ’earts, mateys, he don’t mind if you don’t. Get yer paws wet now. Come on, this is the best lilac an’ heather soap. Sink me if you don’t come out smellin’ like two pretty flowers!’

  There was a final shriek of terror as Foremole pushed them in with the window pole, and stood menacing them with it. ‘Naow do ’ee be still whoil Maister Thrugg scrubbs you’m mucky ol’ necks.’

  The otter went to it with a will, ducking and scouring.

  ‘Owoch oo oo! Soap’s in me eye, sir. I’m blinded. ’Elp, ’elp!’

  ‘Waaa! Water’s gone up me nose. Please, sir, no m—Glubbublub!’

  5

  Friar Bellows was as wide as he was high. The tubby mouse looked up from trimming pie crust and winked at Samkim and Arula. ‘Hoho, what can I do for you two liddle rips today?’

  Arula tied on an apron. ‘Hurr, zurr Bellers, ’ee were agoin’ t’ show us’ns ’ow to make a Gurtall cake, doant ’ee amember?’

  The Friar gave them each a honeyed damson from a big jar. ‘So I did, so I did. Hmm, you must have clean paws to make a Great Hall cake. Let me see them.’

  He inspected the two pair of freshly scrubbed paws. ‘Very good, very good! Hmm, righto, climb up on these stools and check the ingredients with me. Here’s the list.’

  ‘Arrowroot and pollen flour.’

  ‘Chopped chesknutters an’ ‘unneyed damsens.’

  ‘Very good, very good. Sugared violets and raspberries.’

  ‘Flaked beechnuts, dried plums and rosehip syrup.’

  ‘Woild buttercup cream, hurr, an’ blackb’rry cream, zurr.’

  ‘Very good, very good. Almond paste, greensap milk and young crystallized maple leaves. That seems to be the lot!’

  As they mixed the ingredients, Friar Bellows kept an eye on them, whilst at the same time overseeing other kitchen helpers. Bellows seldom missed a detail of any kind.

  ‘Brother Hal, watch that dandelion custard, it’s coming to the boil. Very good, very good. Rub the arrowroot and the pollen flour together, dribbling greensap milk in slowly like thus. Very good, very good. Dumble! You’re supposed to be chopping those candied chestnuts up, not gobbling them. I’ll whack your tail off with a frying pan, my laddo! Now, add the flaked beechnuts, saving a few to scatter on the almond paste, and put a few more dried plums in. Arula, line the bottom of the baking dish with a dusting of pollen flour. Right. Place the honeyed damsons and raspberries so, one damson, one raspberry, in nice neat rows. Very good, very good! How’s the leek and cheese flan coming along, Sister Nasturtium . . .? Dumble! What have I told you?’

  When the Great Hall cake was mixed and set in its dish the two companions slid it far into the oven with long wooden paddles. Magnificent aromas of bilberry scones, hazelnut muffins and oatrose turnovers assailed their nostrils from the top shelves of the four-tiered oven. They washed cake mixture from their paws as Friar Bellows explained the next step.

  ‘Very good, very good, you two! The cake will be baked and taken out to cool. Once it is firm enough, here is what you do: slice it longways three times, bottom layer spread with rosehip syrup and sugared violets, place next layer lightly on top – this one will be spread with blackberry cream sprinkled with crystallized maple leaves. Next layer lightly on top – that’s the secret, lightly – spread with almond paste scattered with flaked beechnuts. Very good, very good. Pay attention now. Top layer, spread thick with wild buttercup cream, dash on some chopped chestnuts, then a light coat of rosehip syrup to give it that lovely faint pinkish colour, and presto! There we will have a Great Hall cake. Very good, very good!’

  As the kitchens were very hot and crowded, Mrs Faith Spinney had prepared a light lunch of summer salad and mintcream wafers near the gatehouse wall. The workers ate gratefully, some lounging in the sun upon the grass, others sitting on the wallstairs in the shade.

  Samkim and Arula sat on the grass with Dingeye and Thura, chuckling gleefully as the stoats recited the catalogue of atrocities perpetrated upon them since their arrival.

  ‘On me oath, muckers, I don’t know which was the worstest, starvin’ an’ trampin’ outside or gettin’ dragged in ter this Redhall place. It’s a crool life, I tell yer!’

  ‘Yer right there, Dingeye. Call that ’ospitality, gettin’ near drownded by a fierce waterdog, nearly et by a monster fish, an’ ’avin’ flowery soap stuffed up yer nose. Hah! An’ that’s besides bein’ bopped on the bonnet by a mole with a pole.’

  ‘Yer right, mucker. If I’m not dead with flooenzer from gettin’ a bath by nightfall, me name ain’t stoat!’

  Thura shuddered violently and plucked at the sleeves of a clean but much darned smock Foremole had made him put on.

  Dingeye waggled a paw in his ear to remove surplus soap. ‘Phoo! That’s some kind o’ welcome fer two pore stoats, mucker – an’ they burned our
good clothes too. Makes yer wonder wot these woodlands is comin’ to. I tell yer, that’s the first bath I’ve took in me life, an’ the last one too, thank yer kindly!’

  Samkim and Arula could hardly eat for laughing, and little Dumble was doubled up with an attack of the giggles.

  Samkim poured cider for all. ‘Hahahaha! What – hahaha – happened then?’

  Dingeye quaffed his drink indignantly. ‘Well may yer ask, mucker. That there longtailed bully of a hotter an’ that savage liddle molefeller dragged us along to the kitchens to ’elp.’

  Thura’s mouth was watering. ‘Aye, the whole place was full of scones, an’ cakes an’ trifles an’ flans an’ puddens an’ custids an’ . . .’

  Dingeye took another drink to wash the taste of soap away as he complained bitterly. ‘But did we get to work among the goodies? Not a frog’s chance, mucker! That fat ol’ Friarmouse took one look at us an’ sniffed. Aye, sniffed, ’e did! Then ’e tells that hotter an’ his pal the Fivemole to put us to scrubbin’ greasy pans clean. Up to our noses in more water – it was ’orrible, awful, I tell yer. Two noble stoats like us, togged up in smocks like a pair o’ dog’s dinners, wipin’ an’ a-scrubbin’ at black pots an’ crusty ol’ bowls. Good job they let us come out ’ere in the fresh air. I was about to throw meself in the sink an’ drown all mizzuble like in that there greasy dishwater!’

  Arula was drinking from her beaker as he issued this statement. Unable to laugh and drink at the same time, she fell forward, sputtering out a spray of cider. ‘Burrhurrhurrhurr! You’m pore beasts ’ad a drefful toim of et all, tho’ I do say it moiself. Hurrhurrhurr!’

  Thrugg strode cheerily up and grabbed the unhappy stoats. ‘Righto, mates, vittles is finished. Back to the galley now, me lucky layabouts!’

  Thura gave a heartfelt moan of despair. ‘I’ve gone all limp, mucker. That dishwater’s gone ter me brains an’ it’s affectin’ me paws. No more pots ’n’ pans, please!’

  Dingeye wriggled feebly in Thrugg’s grip. ‘If I dies, mucker, promise you’ll put a pot an’ a pan on me grave, ter show wot caused it all!’

  Samkim interceded with the otter on their behalf. ‘Let them stay here awhile, Thrugg. They look more worn out than two of last season’s apple cores. Oh look, Sister Nasturtium is here!’

  The Sister was a plump mouse, very pretty and jolly, and she had always been very popular with the young ones. They pushed about, making room for her.

  ‘Yurr, marm, cum an’ set along wi’ us’ns.’

  She sat with them, helping herself to food. Samkim began coaxing her into singing; Nasturtium was famed throughout Redwall for her fine voice.

  ‘Sister, these two poor stoats have never heard you singing. Could you do a little something for them, please?’

  She gave a good natured laugh. ‘It’s not them, it’s you who wants me to sing, Samkim.’

  The young squirrel flushed. ‘Oh please, Sister, we all want to hear you.’

  Nasturtium put aside her food and took a sip of cider to clear her throat. Other Redwallers gathered closer to listen to her melodious voice.

  ‘In days of old a warrior bold,

  All pawsore, tired and lame,

  Came marching through the winters cold,

  And Martin was his name.

  Martin, Martin, the Warrior of Redwall,

  With courage and his trusty sword, he came to save us all.

  Now in those high and far-off days,

  The country was oppressed

  By vermin cruel, whose tyrant ways

  Would let no creature rest.

  But truth and brav’ry won the day,

  For through all Mossflow’r wide,

  Good honest creatures made their way

  To stand by Martin’s side. . . . And they cried:

  Martin, Martin the Warrior of Redwall,

  With courage and his trusty sword, he came to save us all.

  The evil ones he put to flight

  And justice he restored.

  His heart was strong, his cause was right,

  And mighty was his sword.

  He helped to build our Abbey here,

  The land rings with his fame.

  Now peace lives here, we know no fear,

  For Martin was his name.

  Martin, Martin the Warrior of Redwall,

  With courage and his trusty sword,

  He came to save us all!’

  Every creature joined in the last rousing chorus and set up a loud cheer. The echoes bounced off the homely red walls and soared to the blue summer skies above. Dingeye and Thura cheered as loud as anybeast, then they looked at each other in slight bewilderment.

  ‘Wot’re we cheerin’ for? We don’t even know who Martin is.’

  ‘Well, whoever ’e is, I bet ’e don’t ’ave ter wash pots ’n’ pans. Oh aye, I shouldn’t think they’d be a-sayin’, ‘“Ey you, with the mighty sword, get those greasy ol’ pots scrubbed.”’

  Samkim explained about Martin to the stoats. ‘Martin the Warrior is the symbol of our Abbey. He lived many many years ago.’

  Dingeye waved a careless paw. ‘Oh, y’mean ’e’s dead. No wonder they never make ’im wash pots, heeheehee! Yowch!’

  Thrugg had clipped Dingeye neatly over the ear. ‘Show some respect, matey. Martin is our Abbey Warrior.’

  Ruefully rubbing his stinging ear, the stoat complained, ‘Well, ’ow was I ter know? Besides, if a creature’s dead, then ’e’s finished, an’ that’s all there is to it.’

  Sister Nasturtium patted the stoat’s back. ‘You don’t understand. Martin may have died a long time ago, but his spirit lives on in the very stones of Redwall and its creatures. Maybe he has not been seen or felt because this is a time of peace, though in troubled times he has visited certain ones and inspired them to great deeds.’

  Thura scratched his head. ‘Have you ever seen Martin?’

  A silence fell over the company as they watched Nasturtium. She looked as if she were dreaming. With her eyes wide open fixed on the red stone walls in front of her, she started slowly to recite words they had never heard before.

  ‘I am but an orchard shadow in the sunny tide of noon,

  The dust of olden seasons on a stone.

  My paw is light and silent as a waning autumn moon;

  I walk the halls of memory, alone.

  You may hear me as a whisper that the wind has left behind,

  Or see me as the pale calm light of dawn,

  Feel me take the toll of care, from off your sleeping mind,

  In times of deep despair and hope forlorn.

  Then I will be beside you in the corridors of dream.

  A warrior’s strength I’ll give to you, my friend,

  Like the waters of a storm that swell a tiny mountain stream,

  A mightiness your loved ones to defend.

  Injustice and evil will flee from your law,

  As all about you will say,

  “There walks one touched, by the Warrior’s paw.”

  So wait, I will find you one day.’

  In the eerie hush that followed, little Dumble’s voice piped up. ‘Aaaahhh silly! I no no worra’s all about, Sista.’

  Nasturtium blinked and shuddered. ‘That makes two of us, Dumble. I don’t know what made me say those lines, I’ve never heard them before. It was . . . it was as if someone else were speaking and not me!’

  Brother Hal, who was sitting nearby, stood up quickly. ‘Can you remember the poem again, Sister? Wait there, I’ll go and get quill and parchment. It is my duty as Recorder to write it all down.’

  Nasturtium shook her head. ‘Strange, I can’t remember a single word. I’m afraid the whole thing has gone clear out of my head. How odd! It’s as if some other creature was in charge of my tongue, and my mind too!’

  Friar Bellows came panting up. He was waving a ladle. ‘Come on, you lot. Nameday tomorrow. The food isn’t going to prepare itself, y’know. Up on your paws and look busy now!’

  Ther
e were a few groans, but most of the helpers went willingly. Dingeye and Thura were among the back stragglers.

  ‘Huh, I wish we c’d train those pots ’n’ pans to scrub ’emselves. Hup there, cauldron, jump in the sink and give yerself a good scourin’ now!’

  ‘Or maybe we could get that Martin spirit to wash a few. Owch!’

  Dingeye had not realized Thrugg was still in hearing range.

  6

  Earlier that morning a sombre pall hung over the fortress of Salamandastron. Mara lay abed for as long as she could before rising to make her way down to the dining hall. Urthstripe sat in his large chair with Sergeant Sapwood and Big Oxeye either side of him. Mara sidled in and took a seat at the far end of the big table next to Pikkle; Klitch and Goffa sat on her other side. Usually there would be lots of good-natured joking and chatter over the plain fare, but today breakfast was a dismal affair; silence hung broodingly over the assembly.

  Pikkle passed Mara a bowl of wild oatmeal porridge and a beaker of sage tea, keeping his voice to a whisper as he said, ‘Jolly lot, aren’t they, wot? I say, old gel, did you get an awful tickin’ off from Lord Urthstripe last night?’

  Mara’s appetite had deserted her. She dabbed at the porridge with a crust of ryebread. ‘Oh, it was much the same as usual. One word led to another and I ran off to bed in the end because I couldn’t stick it.’

  Klitch leaned over, the sly blue eyes he had inherited from his father Ferahgo now radiating candour and sympathy. ‘You didn’t get into trouble because of Goffa and me, did you?’

  The young badger maid shrugged. ‘It was nothing to do with you, Klitch. I just get tired of being pushed and bossed like a silly infant around here.’

  ‘Did you father shout at you?’ Goffa refilled his bowl from a nearby serving dish.

  Pikkle wiped his bowl with ryebread. ‘He’s not her father.’

  Klitch stole a quick glance up the table at Urthstripe. ‘Then why does Mara have to do as he says? I wouldn’t, me and Goffa do as we please – nobeast gives us orders!’