Doomwyte

Abbot Glisam arrived panting. He leant on Skipper, gasping for breath. “Whoo! What’s been going on here?”

The Otter Chieftain pointed to the glittering bundle of dark plumage, slumped in the gateway. “’Twas a crow, Father, big, ugly bird. Tried to fly off with one of our Dibbuns.”

Samolus ventured close to the bird. “Never heard o’ that afore. Wot stopped it?”

Skipper Rorgus nodded to the gatehouse door. “He did, right in the nick o’ time, too.”

The door opened to reveal a mountain hare, clad in a green-and-lilac plaid kilt and tunic, with silver buttons at cuffs and collar. His fur was patched white and tan. Slung on his back was an odd instrument, resembling a fiddle. In one paw he carried a short, curved bow, fashioned from bone. The hare strode languidly over to the fallen bird. He turned the carcass over with a deft shove of one massive footpaw. There was a slim, flightless metal rod protruding from the crow’s chest. Placing his footpaw on the dead bird, the hare tugged until the rod came free. With a grimace of distaste he tossed the rod to Bisky.

“Here, laddie, would ye be sae kind as tae wipe ma arrow clean, Ah cannae abide dirty shafts!” From the lace ruffles at the hem of his tunic sleeve, he drew forth a daintily embroidered silk kerchief which gave off the scent of heather and lilac. Wiping it fastidiously over the paw which had held the metal rod, he twirled the kerchief, making an elaborate bow as he introduced himself. “Guid day to ye, even though the weather is a wee bit inclement. Ah’m the Laird Bosie McScutta o’ Bowlaynee, at y’service!”

The Abbot inclined a brief bow in return. “My pleasure, m’Laird, I am Glisam, Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey. My thanks for your brave and prompt action in saving the life of a Redwaller.”

Accepting the cleaned-up shaft from Bisky, the hare slotted it into a built-in quiver, which formed the arm of his fiddle-like instrument. He shook Glisam’s paw. “Ach, away with all that m’Laird stuff, ye can call me Bosie, or just plain hungry. D’ye no serve afternoon tea at this place?”

Glisam smiled. “Forgive me, of course we do, Bosie. Come, you’ll be our honoured guest for what you’ve done. I hope little Dugry has thanked you.”

Bosie set out for the Abbey, paw in paw with Glisam. “Land sakes, there’s no need for that. Ah wouldnae be much o’ a Warrior Minstrel if Ah let a crow scoot off with a wee molebairn. Ah was comin’ doon the path outside when Ah heard the ruckus. Then who should be flappin’ o’er yon wall but a roguey of a crow, with the bold, wee Dugry in his bill. So Ah dropped him wi’ a single shaft. Bein’ a thrifty beast, Ah never use more than one arrow on carrion like yon rascal. So, this is the braw Redwall Abbey. Ah’ve heard lot’s o’ guid things aboot it, especially the vittles.”

The Abbot squeezed his new friend’s paw. “I pride myself on saying that you won’t be disappointed, Bosie!”

Back at the gate, Umfry was about to lock up, when Corksnout indicated the slain bird. “Don’t shut yore gate yet. Lend a paw to sling this one into the ditch, the insects will make short work of him. I ain’t hangin’ about to dig holes for villains. You take the talons, an’ I’ll take the head. C’mon, young Dwink, you, too, grab a wing. Bisky, you get the other wing. Right, lift!”

As they manoeuvred the carcass across the path, which ran north to south outside the Abbey, Corksnout spoke. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ about that word, pincer. I’ll tell ye wot I think, it’s an anagram of Prince.”

Umfry chuckled. “Yore a clever ole grandad, I would ’ave never guessed that, would you, Dwink?”

The young squirrel replied airily, “Oh, I prob’ly would have, sooner or later. Wot are you grinnin’ about, Bisky?”

His friend’s grin became even wider. “I’ve solved it, or at least I think I have. Thanks for guessing that pincer was really Prince, Mister Spikkle. Right, let’s put it all together, this is how it goes….”

They paused on the edge of the ditch, listening as the young mouse explained.

“‘The bird has no rubies, the snake has no emeralds, two rubies and two emeralds, where are the stones? A prince of thieves hid them well!’ That’s it!”

Corksnout grasped Bisky’s paw and shook it heartily. “Yore right, young un, those two words after pincer, or Prince, those five, they’re an anagram which comes out as…of thieves. But how did ye guess?”

Bisky explained, “I just kept repeatin’ the lines as we’d solved them. Then when you said Prince, it all fell into place!”

The big Cellarhog cautioned them both. “Now don’t ye go tellin’ ole Gullub that I solved the pincer word, or he’ll be gettin’ all in a tizzy with me, moles are funny creatures sometimes, y’know.”

Dwink released his hold on the dead bird. “I wish we had a mole with us now, I’ll wager he’d dig a hole for this villain quick enough.”

Umfry shook rainwater from his spikes. “We h’aint diggin’ a buryin’ ’ole, are we, Grandad?”