Doomwyte

by Brian Jacques

  The raven hopped down to the pool’s edge. “Bring them here to me!”

  An escort of rooks and choughs brought the two crows forward. Veeku took his place beside Korvus. “Mighty One, my birds did not capture the one who told stories, but they bring useful information.”

  Sicariss hissed, “Let them ssspeak for themselvesss!”

  The two crows prostrated themselves, with outspread wings, in front of Korvus. The larger of the two spoke. “Hakaaarr! Our brother captured a young one from the Redstone house, but he was slain by a strangebeast and flung into a ditch. There were many Redstone creatures there, we had to hide, or we would have been slain also. But we heard their words, O Mighty One.”

  Korvus Skurr raked the stone floor with his fearsome talons. “Speak then, tell me what they said.”

  The two crows relayed the solution of the puzzle, as best they could, speaking alternately.

  “Bird has no rubies, snake no emeralds….”

  “Where are the stones, hidden well by Prince of Thieves….”

  They waited in silence, not daring to look up.

  “You heard thosssse wordssssss?”

  Veeku spoke for both his crows. “If that is what they said, then that is what they heard.”

  Korvus lowered his head, allowing Sicariss to slither down onto the mossdamp stones. “See if they speak truly.”

  The smoothsnake positioned herself in front of the larger crow. “Look into my eyesssss…look deeeeeeep!” The bird was compelled to obey. He stared in fascination at the two gold-rimmed, black-beaded reptilian eyes. The snake’s head moved back and forth as it intoned, “Deeeeeep…look deeeeeeep! All you have to fear isssss death itsssself…. Sssspeak to Sicarissssss!”

  The carrion crow fell immediately under the snake’s spell. He spoke slowly in a dreamlike voice. “We were afraid for our lives…hid in the ditch. Those were the words I heard. I wanted to return…wanted to report words to Leader Veeku.”

  The snake’s tongue flickered toward the other crow. “And thissss one, what did he want? Ssssspeak!”

  The larger crow replied automatically, “He did not want to come back, but I said we must.”

  With eye-blurring speed, Sicariss whipped her coils about the smaller crow’s neck and began bunching her muscles, constricting in a death grip. Korvus turned to look at Veeku. The crow leader clacked his beak.

  “Kayaah, there is only one reward for disobedience!”

  The smaller crow flapped and rent the air with his claws, gurgling. Then he went limp. Sicariss swiftly loosed her victim, sliding slowly up the big raven’s outspread wing until she regained her former position on the tyrant’s head. Korvus went back to his perch on the rock, nodding to Veeku.

  “Welzz awaits him.”

  The carrion crow leader thrust the dead one into the pool’s icy waters, leaping back as the monster fish struck.

  Veeku waited until Korvus was finished watching the revolting spectacle, then spread his wings in salute. “Yarrra, Great One, this lowly bird awaits your orders.”

  The raven and his snake seemed to hold a whispered conversation. Then Korvus turned to Veeku. “This time I will send my Wytes to the Redstone house, they will bring me what I want. You will go with them, but stay outside the place. This is what I want you to do, listen carefully.”

  Outside it was still raining, with no sign of a break in the dull, brooding clouds. The dark beast lurking on the hill outside the caverns had watched all the comings and goings, of both birds and reptiles. No movement from below escaped its fierce, vigilant eyes. Whenever there was no activity from below, the mysterious creature would continue its demolition of the heavily forested slope, using tools it had fashioned roughly, digging and gouging implements. Beneath its jet-black coat, the beast’s sinews and muscles flexed and strained as it attacked the rain-soaked earth, levering loose rocks and boulders, and severing tree roots. It was a formidable task for one creature alone, but the worker toiled on doggedly. It might take seasons of labour, but the dark beast would accomplish the task, because it was driven, regardless of its own life, by the quest for vengeance!

  6

  That strange mountain hare, the Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee, was highly impressed at the magnificent spread of afternoon tea laid out in Great Hall. Having been introduced to all and sundry, he shook Friar Skurpul’s paw soundly. “Och, ye had nae need tae put on a special spread for me, mah guid fellow.”

  The Friar grinned cheerily. “Nay, zurr, Oi b’aint dun nawthin’ speshul furr ee. This’n yurr bees moi yooshul arternoon Abbey tea.”

  Abbot Glisam patted the seat on his right side. “Please sit down and help yourself, Bosie.”

  Everybeast present stared in amazement as the warrior bard applied himself unsparingly to the food, commenting between mouthfuls. “Is that nutbread ye have there, aye, an’ celery cheese, too? Jings, there’s nought like it, wi’ a dab o’ honey, some slices of apple an’ a leaf or two o’ lettuce. Ah’m verra partial tae it, ye ken.”

  Using the nutbread as a base, Bosie built himself a sandwich of epic proportions. “Mmmff gruch grrulp! Would ye like tae pour me a beaker o’ yon mint tea, mah wee lassie?”

  The squirrelmaid Perrit obliged willingly. “Careful, sir, it’s hot. There’s October Ale or Pale Summer Cider, if you’d like something cooler.”

  Hot mint tea did not seem to bother Bosie, he swigged off the beaker at a single gulp. “Weel, that hit the spot nicely. Ah’ll take a tankard o’ yore ale, an’ mebbe one o’ yon cider. Och, Ah’m thinkin’ ’twould be a sensible scheme, if’n ye were tae hire me as wee bairn rescuer tae your Abbey. Would ye no consider it, Father?”

  Glisam sliced into a warm scone. “I’d not deny you the position, if you so wish it, friend. Though it isn’t every day you’d be called on to rescue Dibbuns from carrion birds.”

  Bosie ploughed through a plum pie reflectively. “True, true, but if’n yer foes knew that Laird McScutta o’ Bowlaynee was guardin’ the entire Abbey, och, the rascals would be afeared tae come near. Anybeast knows Ah’m a braw, bonny warrior o’ wide repute. As for mah needs, Ah’d bother ye little, Father. A place tae rest mah heid, an’ six square meals a day—not countin’ snacks an’ supper ye ken, we McScuttas are noted as frugal creatures. So what d’ye say?”

  Abbot Glisam buried his nose in a beaker of pennycloud cordial, trying hard not to burst out laughing. Calming himself, he turned to Sister Violet, seated nearby. “Hmm, that sounds fair enough, what’s your opinion, Sister?”

  The jolly hedgehog Sister replied promptly, “Oh no, don’t drag me into it, Father, go and ask Friar Skurpul, vittles are his responsibility. Er, excuse me, Laird Bosie, I see you own a musical instrument. Perhaps you’d like to play or sing for us.”

  The hare left off licking an empty meadowcream bowl. “Aye, ’twould be mah pleasure, marm. Clear the floor!” With a bound he was up, tuning his fiddle-like instrument. Holding it at waist height, he drew the short bow across its strings. Bosie launched into a pleasant, lively air. The lyrics were hard to understand, being in the Highland dialect. As he sang, Bosie danced a jig, his huge footpaws and flailing legs whirling at odd angles. The music was so lively that many Redwall paws began tapping, particularly the Dibbuns, who considered themselves the very cream of dancing beasts.

  “A braw wee beastie tramped o’er the hill,

  Red Jemmie was his name sir,

  tae pay some court tae a bonny young maid,

  who dwelt hard by the burn there.

  Sae skirl the pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

  an’ Ah’ll sing all the day,

  is the wit, the heart or the belly tae rule?

  Ah canna truly say.

  Bold Jem he came tae the wee lassie’s door.

  ‘Are ye within, mah darlin’?’

  She yelled, ‘Awa’ ye roguey scamp,

  how dare ye come a callin’.’

  Well skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

  och, are ye afear’t tae pl
ay?

  Does a girlie’s nay mean yea mayhap,

  or does her yae mean nae?

  She’s barred the door on puir young Jem,

  she’s spinnin’ by the fire,

  an’ left him langin’ in the cauld,

  far frae his heart’s desire.

  So skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

  ’tis aye mah golden rule

  that Ah will sing an’ dance an’ woo,

  but Ah’ll be naebeast’s fool!

  Now Ah’m awa’ tae mah wee bit hame,

  havin’ suffered enough ill will,

  an’ Ah’ve commandeered yore mammy’s pie,

  frae off yon windowsill.

  Aye, skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

  Ah’ll relish every bit,

  for ’tis many the maid may rule mah heart,

  but mah belly commands mah wit!”

  Brother Torilis picked up two Dibbuns, who had been cutting a fancy jig upon the tabletop. Stern-faced, he wiped honey from the little ones’ footpaws before placing them down on the floor. “Really, Father Abbot, do we have to put up with this sort of rowdiness at mealtimes? All this shouting, singing and dancing, it isn’t very dignified. I think it sets a bad example!”

  Glisam, who was still applauding the music and dance, shook his head. “Oh no, Brother, it was such good fun. I vote we give Laird Bosie the job!”

  Any objections Brother Torilis attempted were drowned out by cheering Redwallers and squeaking Dibbuns. Bosie put away his instrument. Spotting a half-plate of scones, he sat down and attacked them vigorously.

  “Mmmf grmff sninch! Mah thanks tae ye all, Ah’ll do mah best tae be worthy o’ the task!” He waggled his long ears at Brother Torilis. “An’ you, mah friend, practice smilin’, but watch yore face doesnae crack an’ fall off!”

  Torilis stalked off in a huff, whilst Bosie helped himself to what was left of the spring vegetable soup. He winked at Bisky and Dwink. “A wee word of advice, laddies: Always see the table is well cleaned afore ye leave it!”

  They sat watching him in openmouthed awe.

  Corksnout addressed Umfry. “D’you see wot I told ye, ole Bosie’s a beast to be reckoned with, whether fightin’, singin’ or eatin’. Pore Friar Skurpul is wot I say.”

  Umfry could only shake his head and mutter, “Six square meals a day, not countin’ supper h’or snacks?”

  Gullub Gurrpaw, who besides being Cellarmole was also Foremole, Chieftain of Redwall Abbey’s mole community, sat down between Bisky and Dwink. “Well, zurrs, did ee solven ee riggle?”

  Corksnout butted in swiftly. “Oh yes, of course they did, an’ without any ’elp from me, I might add. Go on, Dwink, you tell Foremole Gullub about it.”

  The young squirrel explained, “Well, we worked out that pincer meant Prince, from then on it was easy. A Prince of Thieves hid them well!”

  “Hurr, that wurr sloightly easy….” Gullub wrinkled his velvety brow, casting a wry glance at his cellarmate. Corksnout returned the mole’s look indignantly.

  “I never breathed a single clue to ’elp those young uns, may my spikes fall out if’n I did!”

  Bisky threw a paw to his mouth in comic alarm. “What’s that rattlin’ noise?”

  The Cellarhog quickly inspected the floor behind him. “Where, what rattlin’ noise?”

  Dwink, Umfry and Bisky stifled their giggles.

  Foremole Gullub poured Corksnout a tankard of October Ale. “Thurr ee go, matey, Oi knows you’m did et with ee best of attentions, hurr so ee did!” The mole turned his attention to the young ones. “Naow, you’m lissen to Oi. Et may be summat an’ et may be nought, but Oi’ve found sumthen that you uns moight be interested in.”

  Bisky sat up alertly. “Golly, sir, is it another riddle?”

  Bosie peered over the rim of the soup bowl he was licking. “A riddle, is it, Ah’m pretty guid at riddles, ye ken. What goes underwater an’ never gets wet?”

  Even Umfry knew that old puzzle. “A h’egg in a duck’s tummy, sir.”

  The mountain hare sniffed. “Och, ye’re far tae clever for yore own guid, laddie!” He rose, wiping his whiskers fussily on his scented silk kerchief. “Ah’ve a mind tae acquaint mahself with this braw place. Mebbe ah’ll start wi’ a tour o’ the kitchens.”

  Abbot Glisam was at his side with alarming haste. “Kitchens? My dear Laird, there’s a whole Abbey to view before we get to the kitchens. Allow me to be your escort, you’ll find Redwall a fascinating place, I’m sure.”

  Corksnout caught the Abbot’s urgent nod. Rising swiftly, he joined Glisam, so that they had Bosie hemmed in on both sides. The big Cellarhog steered the hare toward the stairs. “Er, may’aps ye’d like t’see the dormitories?”

  Gripping Bosie’s paw, and treating him to a beaming smile, the Abbot interrupted, “What a splendid idea, you’ll need a place to sleep of course. Now tell me, d’you mind sharing a room, or do you prefer to be alone?”

  Bosie tried hanging back, but Corksnout took a firm grip on his other paw, propelling him stairward. The Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee found himself outmanoeuvred, but he continued to plead his case. “Och, Ah’m nae bothered where Ah lay mah heid, any auld bunk’ll do for me. But Ah’d be well pleased tae view those kitchens, aye, an’ the larder, too, Father. There’s nought like a well-stocked larder, ye ken!”

  However, the Abbot was determined not to let the gluttonous mountain hare loose upon either kitchen or larder. He and Corksnout practically frog-marched their guest up the stairs.

  Bisky, Dwink and Umfry grinned as they watched the unwilling Bosie being taken to inspect the sleeping accommodations.

  Samolus seated himself next to them, observing glumly, “Huh, that lollop-eared rascal didn’t leave much afternoon tea. Mark my words, he’ll eat us out of house’n’home afore yore much older.”

  Bisky nodded. “No doubt he will, but y’can’t help likin’ Bosie, he’s good fun. You stay here, Grandunk, I’ll go and get you some vittles from the kitchen.”

  The old mouse toyed with some crumbs on the tabletop. “I’ll get some later, thankee.” He beckoned them close, dropping his tone. “I’ve found another clue, would ye like t’see it?” Three heads nodded eagerly. Samolus tapped a paw to the side of his nose. “Foller me, young mateys.”

  Samolus rapped on the Infirmary door. Behind him the three young friends stood looking nonplussed. Dwink had a horror of infirmaries and sick bays; he twiddled his paws nervously. “What’re we doin’ here, there’s nothin’ wrong with me. I don’t like this place!”

  Samolus was about to reply when the door opened. He found himself gazing up into the stern face of Brother Torilis.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?”

  The old mouse forced a tight smile. “Well, it’s er, like this, Brother, er, er…can we borrow ole Sister Ficaria for awhile? ’Twon’t take long, an’ we’ll bring her right back.”

  The tall, sombre squirrel frowned at the little party. “Is this some kind of foolish prank?”

  Samolus spread his paws disarmingly. “Oh no, Brother, we just need t’borrow her for a bit.”

  The saturnine Infirmary Keeper glared at Samolus. “Borrow Sister Ficaria…. Borrow? No, you may not, she has important work to attend to. Go away!” He was about to slam the door in their faces, when a small, high-pitched voice called out from within.

  “Wait’ll I get my stick. Wait, I’m coming!” A moment later a tiny mouse scooted out, carrying a walking stick, which was totally unneccessary.

  Bisky offered her his paw, renewing the request. “Might we borrow ye for a bit, marm?”

  Old Sister Ficaria beamed a twinkling smile. “What a handsome young mouse, of course ye may.” She looked over the rims of her tiny glasses at Torilis. “I’m sure you can do without me for a few moments, Brother. Won’t be long!” Leaning on Bisky’s paw she trotted off along the corridor. “’Tis just down here. My, my, isn’t this all exciting. Pay no heed to Torilis, he means well!”


  Old Sister Ficaria’s room was above the Dibbuns’ dormitory, a cosy, medium-sized bedchamber. She invited them in. “Sit anywhere, friends, I shared this room for many, many seasons with Miz Laburnum. There’s only me here since she passed on. Hmm, that was awhile back, fifteen, twenty seasons. Who knows?”

  Samolus installed her in a woven osier armchair. “Sister, it’s about the Pompom rhyme. You remember, the one you told me about.”

  Umfry Spikkle looked totally bemused. “Pompom?”

  The little old Sister smiled at him. “Yes, that’s the one, do you know it, too?”

  Samolus crouched in front of her, holding both her paws to focus the Sister’s attention. “No, he doesn’t, there’s only you who knows the rhyme. Can you say it for us please?”

  She stared at Samolus as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re quite old, aren’t you?” Then the Sister patted Bisky’s paw. “But you’re very young, and very handsome, too. I saw a picture of Prince Gonff once, you look very like him. You’re not Gonff, are you?”

  The young mouse smiled back at her. “No, Sister, my name’s Bisky. I’d love to hear you say the rhyme.”

  Folding both her paws, and holding up her chin, Ficaria looked as though she were about to recite. Then she went off into an explanation. “Miz Laburnum was very old indeed, you know. She was the Abbey schoolteacher. Every lesson, every song and every rhyme she knew, Miz Laburnum wrote them down in her manuals.”

  Dwink leant forward eagerly. “Which manuals, Sister, where are they?”

  Ficaria began fidgeting with the tassels on her shawl. “All gone now, all gone. The hot summer, about ten seasons back, or was it twelve, no matter. It was the sun, you see. I left my glasses on the windowsill one afternoon, when I went down to tea. Brother Torilis said that the sunrays magnified through the glasses. That’s what caused the fire. Quite dreadful, but they managed to put it out. As for Miz Laburnum’s manuals, all gone, every one of them. But I remember things that were written in them, that Pompom poem.” She seemed to drift off, staring into space. Suddenly she began reciting.