Doomwyte

Bisky could explain his reply, and he did. “A door connects front an’ back. Back door, front door. But we need a key for the door. Even then we won’t find the four Eyes of the Doomwyte. Next to last line, find one, and just three you’ll lack. Right?”

Samolus sat down on the newly repaired chair. “Right, but at least it’s a start. Now, where would we find door keys, eh?”

Surprisingly, it was Umfry who spoke out. “But there h’aint no keys h’in Redwall, an’ I should know, ’cos h’I’m the Gatekeeper!”

Samolus looked dumbfounded. “Great seasons, young un, yore right! In all me time at our Abbey I’ve never seen a door with a key’ole an’ a key to fit it. We’ve got doors you can bar, an’ doors ye can bolt, but I’ve never seen one ye could turn a key on!”

Dwink shrugged. “So wot’s the use of this riddle if’n we’re lookin’ for a door that locks with a key, an’ there ain’t one in the whole bloomin’ Abbey?”

Bisky had a suggestion to make. “Suppose it’s a door to a cupboard, or a wardrobe, or, or, somethin’ like that?”

Samolus pondered the idea, then rejected it. “No, I don’t think so, leastways I’ve never seen a locked cupboard. As for wardrobes, most of them have a curtain instead of a door. It looks like we’re stuck on this puzzle, mates, unless…”

Umfry stared at the old mouse expectantly. “Unless wot, sir?”

Samolus explained, “Unless we put the question to every creature in Redwall. Somebeast’s sure to know. Listen now, here’s what we do….”

By dinnertime that evening, Abbot Glisam felt he was close to the end of his tether, as did Corksnout Spikkle, and one or two others. Glisam watched the Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee bounding off to his chosen room, calling cheerily, “Ah’ll be back in the twitch of an ear the noo. It doesnae take me long tae freshen up an’ change for dinner!”

The Abbot slumped down on the stairs, sighing. “At least it doesn’t look like he’s escaping to inspect the kitchen and larders again!”

Corksnout clenched his powerful paws. “Did ye see the number o’ barrels an’ kegs that he opened in my cellars? Sniffin’ an’ samplin’. I tell ye, Father, ’twas all I could do to stop meself reachin’ for a bung mallet an’ sendin’ him off for a good afternoon nap with a sharp tap!”

Skipper Rorgus shook his head and chuckled, “Stap me rudder but ye can’t help likin’ Bosie, can ye now. He’s an amusin’ beast, aye, an’ good company, too. Even though ye can’t understand everything he says.”

The Abbot smiled ruefully. “I suppose you’re right, Skip, he does possess a certain charm. Ooh, I think my old bones are setting, lend a paw here please or I’ll end up stuck fast and miss my dinner.”

Taking hold of the Abbot’s paws, Skipper and Corksnout hauled him up off the stairs. On the way into dinner, Samolus caught up with Glisam, and had a whispered word with him. The Father Abbot nodded understandingly.

“Of course, friend, you have my permission.”

Dinner at Redwall was always a pleasant and lively event. Before the Abbot arrived at top table everybeast was already seated, listening to a rendition of a Dibbun song. This was performed by a notorious crew known as the D.A.B. (Dibbuns Against Bedtime). They were a raucous bunch of infants, constantly in rebellion against authority. A very tiny mousebabe conducted with a spoon as they sang. What they lacked in melody, they made up for in enthusiasm, particularly the small moles’ bass section.

“Life is ’ard for likkle Dibbuns,

anybeast can tell us off,

an’ they makes us swaller fizzicks,

every time we sneeze or cough.

Us gets sent t’bed too early,

baffed an’ scrubbed wiv soap an’ brush,

an’ if us sez we don’t like it,

they scrub ’arder an sez ‘Shush.’

Mind dat langwidge, watch dose manners,

don’t talk back an’ walk don’t run,

all sit still an’ don’t be naughty,

for us Dibbuns dat’s no fun!”

Resplendent in dress kilt and fresh ruffles, Bosie turned up to accompany them on fiddle. He sniffed away an imaginary tear, sending out waves of fragrance as he dabbed both eyes with his silk kerchief. “Och, aren’t they dear, wee, bonny beasties!”

Brother Torilis upbraided the mountain hare. “Hardly. I’d advise you not to encourage them.”

For answer, Bosie jigged around Torilis, bowing his odd instrument gaily.

“Och, were ye no a babby once,

ye hairy auld yahoo?

Ah’ll bet yore kinfolk got a fright,

when they set eyes on you.

Ye must ha’ lived up in a tree,

on gruel an’ mouldy bread,

a-hauntin’ all the countryside,

until the neighbours fled!”

Skipper Rorgus beckoned Bosie to sit alongside him. “Ahoy, mate, join me here, an’ don’t be teasin’ pore Brother Torilis. He can’t ’elp bein’ the way he is. Some o’ the young scamps round here needs a creature like Torilis t’keep ’em in line.”

Bosie reached for a plate of carrot’n’onion pasties. “Ach, the auld misery, Ah cannae take tae a beast who doesnae know how tae smile.” As the hare selected a pasty, Torilis rapped his paw, making him release it.