Doomwyte (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Dwink looked from one to the other. “Pardon me askin’, but wot about me?”

  Perrit stifled a giggle. “You can come, too. That’s if you can go charging down a full flight of stairs in a wheelchair….” She saw the doleful look on Dwink’s face and regretted what she had said. “I’m sorry, mate, but that contraption wasn’t built for stairs an’ steps. It looks like you’ll have to wait at the top of the stairs. I’ll take some parchment an’ charcoal down there, if there’s anything to record you’ll be the first to see it.”

  Dwink was getting painful little twinges in his footpaw. He scratched at the bandaged poultice, which Brother Torilis had bound on. “Righto, when is all this supposed to be happenin’?”

  Perrit rubbed her paws gleefully. “As soon as we’ve had tea, no sense wasting time.”

  Brother Torilis approached, opening his satchel. “Best let me take a look at the footpaw, young un. Is it paining you?”

  The young squirrel sighed. “Aye, ’tis a bit, Brother.” He whispered to Umfry and Perrit, “You two go an’ look at the door. Leave me here, but come straight back if there’s anythin’ to report.”

  Brother Torilis had Skipper lift Dwink from the wheelchair to a blanket spread on the ground. Seeing Dwink was in some discomfort, the good Brother administered more of his potion. Dwink began to feel drowsy again. Meanwhile, the Dibbuns commandeered the wheelchair, calling to the Laird Bosie eagerly.

  “Us wanna ride, Mista Bosie, cummon, you be a pusher!”

  Demolishing a sizeable portion of fruit pudding and meadowcream, the lanky hare obliged good-naturedly. “Right, mah bonnies, all aboard an’ hauld tight. Och, but dinnae blame me if’n mah speed affrights ye.” With four Abbeybabes sitting in the seat, and four more perched in various positions, Bosie took off like an arrow from a bow, yelling, “Awaaaaay Bowlayneeeee!”

  The Dibbuns squeaked, but not from fear. “Wheeeeeee! Fasta, fasta! Redwaaaaaallll!”

  Brother Torilis looked up from his task. “I suppose my next patients will be several Dibbuns and a foolish hare, judging by the reckless speed of that old contraption.”

  Friar Skurpul merely chuckled. “Sumtoimes ee can be a roight ole mizrubble beast, zurr. Still, Oi supposen it keeps you’m ’appy.”

  Being an owl, Aluco was not overfond of sunlit afternoon teas—he preferred the indoor shadows. Moreover, he had also vowed to guard the big emerald, in its candle sconce, by Martin the Warrior’s tapestry. The Abbey building was practically deserted, most Redwallers having taken themselves outdoors, enjoying the summer day. Aluco visited the kitchens, choosing his own afternoon tea: a small wooden bowl filled with candied chestnuts, and a wedge of hazelnut and celery cheese. A little flask of old elderberry wine proved too tempting, so he took that also. Making his way to Great Hall, the tawny owl sought out the corner where the legendary Redwall tapestry hung in serene splendour. Green lights emanated from the fabulous orb of the emerald, which had once belonged in one of the eye sockets of the Doomwyte idol. It was displayed in a candle sconce, directly in front of Martin’s likeness.

  Aluco loved the tranquil solitude of the deserted hall. In its centre, the worn floorstones were softened by varying pastel hues of sunlight, pouring through the high, stained crystal windows. The tawny owl found a shadowed niche alongside one of the immense sandstone columns. Settling down there, he did full justice to his improvised tea, emptying the bowl, and draining the wine flask. Through the hallowed silence, he caught far-off echoes from the orchard. It was Sister Violet, accompanied by Bosie’s fiddlelike instrument. She was singing a beautiful old summersong of sentimental love.

  “Far away from noise and bustle I would be,

  where sun doth kiss the blooms and warm the stone,

  by still green lakes I’d wander peacefully,

  ’midst their mossy banks I’d wait for him alone.

  Watched only by small birds and butterflies,

  with humble bees to drone their little tune,

  in some tranquil glade where purple shadow lies,

  dreaming through the sunlit halls of afternoon.

  Oh, willow bending low so gracefully,

  all in quiv’ring raiment standing there,

  let breezes part thy boughs that I may see,

  my love smile on the face he holds so fair.”

  The combination of good food, wine and sweet song was fast closing Aluco’s eyes. Then a rustling sound passed close to him. The tawny owl blinked as he wandered dozily out of his niche. “Hullo, who is—”

  A figure, heavily hooded and cloaked, laid him low with a single blow. Aluco fell stunned to the floor. The verdant light of the Doomwyte emerald was extinguished, as the phantom figure stowed it in the folds of its robe. As the thief stepped over the fallen bird, something dropped by Aluco’s side. The intruder padded swiftly off, leaving the empty sconce, and the owl, groaning softly as he tried to rise.

  27

  In his anxiety to grab Zaran’s sword, Dubble made a snatch in the dark. He fell from the poplar trunk, onto the hillside. Whatever his attacker was, it fell upon him. The young Guosim could not help letting out a yelp as he and his assailant rolled down the slope, locked together. They crashed into a bush. Dubble had not managed to get the sword, but he began battling tooth and paw to free himself. The thing did not put up much fight, but its size overwhelmed him—he was smothered by a dark, feathery mass. Dubble gave a muffled shout as it enveloped his face. Panic swept through him, the suffocating bulk robbed him of breath.

  As suddenly as it had started, his ordeal ended. The thing was heaved from him, and he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the dark, savage face of Zaran, the black otter. She nodded curtly at the dark bundle lying nearby.

  “Only crow, ’twas almost dead.” Zaran made a twisting motion with her powerful paws, and a clicking sound issued from her mouth. “Crow dead now, Zaran make sure of that!”

  There was a commotion of cawing and flapping from down at the cave entrance. Dubble followed Zaran to a place where they could see what all the upset was about. Even in the dark of night, a number of dead and badly injured birds could be seen. Some were draped about the branches of the downy birch, others lay limp in the stream. Wide-eyed, the young shrew turned to his companion.

  “What is it, what’s happenin’?”

  The otter pulled him to her side; gripping the back of Dubble’s neck, she directed his gaze to where the small stream swirled around the rocky entrance. “See…. It is Baliss!”

  The young shrew shuddered as he saw the tail of the reptilian bulk sliding slowly into the passage of the subterranean lair.

  Veeku, leader of the carrion crows, stumbled into the rear cave, one wing hanging useless at his side. He crowed weakly, “Craaak, Baliss is here.”

  Korvus Skurr emerged from the shadows, mounting the rock above the deep, cold pool, where his monstrous fish, Welzz, dwelt. He stood impassively, trying to hide his fear as he awaited Veeku’s full report. Korvus had hoped, against hope, that the big snake might not reach his caves. From the messages that had reached him, he knew Baliss was badly hurt, and acting strangely. But all the Lord of the Ravenwytes’ speculations had been in vain. The giant adder had not succumbed to illness, or suffered further injury. It was inevitable, the massive reptile was akin to a force of nature. Baliss was unstoppable, and now he had finally arrived at the threshold of the Doomwytes’ realm.

  Favouring his broken wing, Veeku nodded back to the entrance tunnel. “Yaaarrr, Baliss has slain and wounded many carrion crows outside, now he rests in the passage to your main cavern. I was lucky to escape with my life, Mighty One.”

  Showing no sympathy for Veeku’s plight, Korvus Skurr stood watching the entrance between both caves. His keen eyes had not missed the smoothsnake trying to slide in undetected. The raven called out in a harsh monotone, “Raaaharr, come in, Sicariss, attend me. I will not slay you, we need counsel, my friend.”

  Sicariss had been avoiding her raven master fo
r awhile. Still she had sought him out, knowing that old quarrels would be forgotten now, in the face of the ultimate peril. She wriggled forward, staying at a safe distance. “Lord of Doomwytesssss, how can my humble counsel help? I am at your ssssservice.”

  There was an amount of water in the entrance tunnel, which had slopped in from the stream outside. Baliss laid his diseased head in it, trying to gain some temporary relief from the hot, throbbing pain which raged through his senses.

  The giant reptile could neither smell the poisoned air, wafting from the boiling, sulphurous lake, nor visualise its immensity. Baliss lived in a world of pain, wrath and madness. The cold-water immersions were growing less effective as the infection from long-embedded hedgehog spines advanced, worsening rapidly. Truly, he could feel his once strong life starting to ebb.

  The snake held his blunt snout in the shallow trough of water. Only the desire for revenge on Korvus Skurr and his creatures drove him onward, filling his crazed mind and occupying every waking moment. The narrow passage was completely blocked by the thick coils of Baliss.

  From their vantage point above the entrance, the two watchers saw the end of the giant adder’s tail slide out of sight, into the hill. A thought struck Dubble. “If we could only collapse this lot in right now! Just think, Zaran, all Mossflower’d be rid of that slimy monster, as well as Skurr and his gang, eh?”

  The black otter shook her head ruefully. “Not ready, Dubble, too much work yet.”

  Together they made their way back to Zaran’s retreat beneath the streambank ledge, where Dubble began kindling a small fire with flint and the otter’s steel blade. He shrugged when the otter looked at him quizzically.

  “There’s no need to hide away now, I don’t think our enemies are lookin’ to ambush us. Huh, they ain’t in any position to attack anybeast right now. Fetch yore vittles out, mate. I’ll cook us a nice late supper whilst we try to think up some sort o’ plan. Wot rations have ye got there?”

  Zaran had very little—a withered section of comb honey, a few nuts and berries and two big apples, wrinkled but still edible.

  Dubble grinned at her encouragingly. “Us Guosim are great cooks, I’ll soon show ye a trick or two. I’ll borrow that blade o’ yores, if’n I might. You put more wood on the fire.”

  There was only streamwater to drink, but Zaran was pleased with her friend’s inventive cooking. They tucked into roasted apples, filled with berries, nuts and hot liquid honey, which Dubble had stuck on sharpened sticks.

  The young shrew nibbled away reflectively, posing the question, “Isn’t there anythin’ we can do to collapse that entrance in? Maybe I’ll help ye to dig, so we’ll get done quicker.”

  The otter licked honey from her paw. “No faster, Dubble only get in my way.”

  The young shrew hmmphed indignantly. “Sorry I opened me mouth!”

  Zaran flashed him one of her rare smiles. “I did not mean to hurt you, friend.”

  Dubble sipped water from a rough clay bowl. “I know ye didn’t, no offence taken, mate. What?”

  Zaran held up a paw to silence him; leaning toward the water, she listened carefully. Then Dubble heard the splash also. This was accompanied by a hollow bumping sound, and two quarrelsome voices.

  “I told you to paddle on the other side, now look what you’ve done!”

  “Hah, wot I’ve done, ya puddle-’eaded Abbeymouse, didn’t ye never learn t’paddle?”

  “Glubb, yuk! No, didn’t you?”

  “Gonfelins don’t need boats, so wot’s the blinkin’ use of learnin’ ’ow to wave an oar around, eh?”

  “Oh, stop moaning an’ give me y’paw before you drown!”

  “Huh, me drown? Who d’ye think helped ya t’the bank!”

  Jumping into the water, Dubble began wading out to the main stream. “I know who that is, come on, mate!”

  Bisky was on the bank, pulling a dripping Spingo up onto the rocks, when his paw slipped and she fell, splashing back into the water.

  She floundered about, yelling, “Didn’t they ever teach ya how t’pull a beast out o’ the water at that bloomin’ Abbey…. ’Ey, wot? Leggo! Gerroff me!”

  But the black otter lifted her, spluttering, onto the bank. “I am Zaran, friend of Dubble, you safe now, stop shouting!”

  Dubble moored the capsized Guosim logboat to the shore. “Wot’n the name o’ fur’n’feathers are you two doin’ here?”

  Bisky waved cheerily to him. “We’ve come to save you, in case you were in trouble!”

  Dubble shook his head in disbelief. “Me in trouble? Oh, an’ where did ye get the Guosim logboat, who said ye could borrow it?”

  Spingo stamped her paw irately. “That was ole bright snout’s idea, we found it up a sidestream, with some others. But I wish we’d left it where it was now, flippin’ useless thing!”

  Dubble gave the slim craft a sharp heave, tipping the water out and setting it upright. He retrieved the paddles, throwing them in the logboat. “Well, at least ye picked the pride o’ the fleet. That’s Tugga Bruster’s vessel, he won’t let anybeast near it!”

  Spingo giggled. “Oh, I’m glad it was that ole sourface’s boat I pinched. Shame we never sunk it for good.”

  Bisky went a few paces down the bankside and retrieved their haversacks, which were safe and dry. “Good job I slung these ashore before we were shipwrecked. Anyone for a bite o’ supper?”

  Dubble winked at Zaran. “Oh, I think we could manage a bite or two, especially if’n those vittles come from Redwall. Come on, ye can get dried out by our fire.”

  The searchers sat around the fire, steam rising from them as they listened to the account of Dubble’s travels. A Redwall supper was much appreciated. Zaran took an immediate liking to Friar Skurpul’s hefty dumplings; the rest, including dandelion and burdock cordial, went down exceedingly well. Bisky brought Dubble up to strength on the news from the Abbey prior to their departure, finishing with their encounter with Tugga Bruster. Dubble averted his face from the firelight, obviously embarrassed.

  “I don’t blame ye for what ye did to Bruster, mate. I know he’s me father, but I’ve never liked him. He’s always been a bully an’ a slybeast. D’ye know I used to look at other young Guosim, whose dads had been killed, or gone off missin’, an’ I wished I was like ’em. Awful thing t’say, ain’t it?”

  Spingo nudged the Guosim shrew playfully. “My da always sez ye can’t choose yore family, but ye can choose yore friends. So never mind, Dubbo, ye’ve always got us, we’re as good as family!”

  They sat in silence, gazing into the flames, until Zaran noticed them yawning. “Sleep now, I keep watch. Dry and warm here, you sleep!” The otter brought some moss and dried grasses from the back ledges, spreading them around. Dubble curled up next to his friends.

  “Aye, sleep, an’ while y’do, try an’ think of an idea that’ll help Zaran an’ me to collapse that entrance in. Redwall wouldn’t be troubled agin by Wytes an’ that big snake if’n ye could.”

  Watching the shifting water patterns cast by the firelight on the ledges, listening to the peaceful gurgle of the night streamwater as it played along the bankside, the three young creatures fell asleep, each with their own thoughts and dreams.

  Starlight twinkled along Zaran’s double-bladed sword. She sat outside on the rocks, ever watchful, determined that the tragedy which had befallen her own family would not be visited on her new young friends.

  BOOK THREE

  Baliss

  Could nothing slay the giant?

  28

  Afternoon tea was about over in Redwall’s orchard. Dishes were being cleared onto trolleys when the Redwallers heard the tawny owl’s hoots of alarm. At first, nobeast seemed to recognise the distress call for what it was. Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, clambered onto Skipper’s shoulder. She was giggling. “Heeheehee wot’s dat funny noise goin’ wooowoooowoohoo!”

  The brawny Otter Chieftain smiled. “I don’t know, liddle missy, let’s go an’ see.” With Furff still pe
rched on his shoulder, Skipper ran from the cover of the orchard hedge. Once he was out on the open lawn, it was clear to see the main Abbey building door. There was Aluco, staggering about, with both wings folded on top of his head. As he stumbled to and fro, the owl was hooting for all he was worth. Placing Furff down on the lawn, Skipper broke into a run, shouting back to the others in the orchard, “Somethin’s wrong, mates, Aluco looks hurt!”

  Within moments, Aluco was being cared for, with a crowd of Redwallers on the wide stone walkway pressing around him. Brother Torilis soaked a towel with pennycloud cordial, still cold from its storage in the cellars. He held it on the feathered head, making a compress. “Lie quite still please, looks like you took a bad tumble there. How did you come to trip?”

  Aluco was made of stern stuff, as most owls are. Shrugging Torilis aside, he held the towel himself. “Why do you assume I tripped, owls are not in the habit of tripping and falling about. I was struck over the head by somebeast. Father Abbot, I think you’ll find that your emerald has gone.”

  The news struck like a thunderbolt; everybeast was talking at once, most of them repeating the same thing.

  “Gone, you mean stolen?”

  “And you were struck over the head!”

  “Who’d do such a thing?”

  “Did you see who did it?”

  The clamour rose, until the Laird Bosie roared, “Hauld yer weesht, ye daft, noisy bunch. Silence!” Abbot Glisam sighed gratefully as the mountain hare took command, with fine military precision. “Clear those dishes off yon trolley, an’ get the poor, braw bird on it. Stand back an’ stay oot the way, all of ye. Right, ma bonnies, let’s go tae the scene o’ this rascally outrage. Sister Violet, control these wee beasties, can ye no keep these babbies frae under mah paws? Skipper, Samolus, hurry ahead an’ guard the scene o’ the crime!”