Doomwyte

Old Sister Ficaria cheerfully recited the poem again, fortified by honeyed mint tea, a plate of Friar Skurpul’s special almond shortbreads and a daintily latticed damson tart. Studiously following her every word, Bisky wrote the lines down neatly. Dwink listened to his friend rereading the entire thing. The young squirrel waved his tail rhythmically to and fro. “It sounds just like a Dibbun thing, you know, the sort of chant they do when they’re playing games.”

Umfry agreed. “Like h’a sort of singsong rhyme. Maybe that’s h’exactly what h’it was, d’ye think so, Sister?”

Sister Ficaria’s small crystal spectacles had slipped awry on her nosetip; the little old mouse had dozed off. Samolus took a rug and covered her gently.

“Hush now, let’s go downstairs to study this.”

7

They went to Cavern Hole, where Samolus set about repairing a chair seat. Bisky watched his granduncle artfully weaving dried reeds and stripping away broken ones. “Tell me somethin’, Grandunk, how did you come to find out about this rhyme?”

Samolus trimmed the reed ends with his sharp blade. “Oh, ’twasn’t too hard, though it happened quite by accident. When I was readin’ through Lady Columbine’s diary, she wrote that as a joke, she often called Gonff the Pom. When he asked her why, she kept him in the dark. Then one day he guessed, the first letters. Prince of Mousethieves…Pom!”

Samolus inspected the repair he had completed. “There, that should do! C’mere, young Bisky, make yoreself useful. See this soft moss pad, it’s full o’ beeswax an’ lavender. Give this chair seat a good rubbin’. It’ll give it a nice shine, a sweet scent an’ keep the reeds supple.”

Bisky obeyed, but continued with his questions. “You found out that Pom stands for Gonff’s title, what happened then?”

The old mouse sheathed his sharp blade carefully. “’Twas some time back, beginnin’ o’ spring. I was in the sick bay, fixin’ up a new shelf for all those potions an’ pots of ointment. Huh, that Brother Torilis, always has a face on him, like a fried frog. He never spoke a word t’me, or offered me a bite to eat or drink. So, I worked away an’ kept meself to meself.

“After awhile I noticed little Sister Ficaria, sittin’ in a corner hemmin’ sheets she was. Guess wot, she was chantin’ that poem as she stitched away at her work. Said it three or four times she did. I never thought any more of it, ’til this mornin’. I was on me way to brekkist, an’ I stopped at the big tapestry picture of Martin the Warrior in Great Hall. I always look at Martin’s eyes, have ye ever noticed anythin’ about ’em?”

Bisky looked up from his task. “Aye, they seem to follow you wherever you go.”

Samolus winked at the young mouse. “That’s right! Well-noticed young un, yore a Gonffen sure enough. Anyhow, I stood there, starin’ at Martin, an’ he’s starin’ back at me, an’ I thought, good ole Martin, he was Gonff’s best friend, aye, Gonff the…I was goin’ t’say Gonff the Prince of Mousethieves, when I suddenly said that word. Pom! Now don’t you young uns make fun o’ me, but I gives you me word. Martin’s eyes twinkled, an’ Sister Ficaria’s rhyme shot straight into me head. That was when I knew the words meant somethin’ special! Dwink, read it out.”

The young squirrel took up the parchment.

“Pompom Pompom, where have my four eyes gone?

There’s a key to every riddle,

there’s a key to every song,

there’s a key to every lock,

think hard or you’ll go wrong.

Pompom Pompom, who’ll be the lucky one?

What holds you out but lets you in,

that’s a good place to begin.

What connects a front and back,

find one, and then just three you’ll lack.

Pompom Pompom, the trail leads on and on.”

Umfry appeared quite elated, his spikes stood up straight. “Did ye hear that, it says, that’s a good place to begin, what connects a front and back?”

Dwink hazarded a guess. “A middle?”

Bisky shook his head. “No, no, you’re lookin’ at the wrong bit. Start at the line which goes, ‘What holds you out but lets you in, that’s a good place to begin.’”

Dwink frowned. “It doesn’t make sense, I don’t know anythin’ that holds me out but lets me in.”

Umfry provided the answer quite unwittingly. “Huh, ’cept a door, h’I think.”

Samolus raised his eyebrows. “Is that what ye think, Umfry, I wonder why that is?”

The hulking young hedgehog gave his reasons eagerly. “’Cos the words are all about keys, an’ that’s what ye need to h’open doors.”

Samolus had already solved the riddle, but he wanted the young ones to think for themselves. “What’s your answer, Dwink?”

The squirrel screwed his face up in concentration. “Er, er, I think it’s right, wot Umfry said, I mean. An’ a door’s the only thing that needs a key.”

Samolus sighed. “Yore right, it is a door, but the words tell ye of other things that need keys. A riddle, a song and a lock. So think about this, what can hold you outside, or let you inside?”

Dwink replied, “Is it a door, Mister Sam’lus?”

The old mouse turned his attention to Bisky. “Of course it is. Can you tell us why? Come on, think!”