Doomwyte

The Brother chided Bosie, “Don’t touch until the Father Abbot has said grace!” The mountain hare’s ears stood rigid; he was about to reply when Glisam began the grace.

“We who toiled with right good zeal

for the food that makes this meal,

let us pause and spare a thought,

without good cooks, ’twould taste like nought.

To Friar Skurpul and his crew,

our heartfelt thanks we give to you!

The Redwallers applauded this new grace, and the one it was directed at. Friar Skurpul covered both eyes with his flour-dusted paws, shuffling to and fro, in the way moles do, when acknowledging a compliment.

“Burr nay, Oi wurrn’t doin’ n’more than moi dooty!”

Then Abbot Glisam made an announcement. “Friends, if anybeast owns or possesses a key, Samolus Fixa would like to see it. Also, if you know of any door in our Abbey which would require a key, please let Samolus, Bisky, Dwink or Gatekeeper Umfry see where it is. Oh, and there’ll be a reward for whoever finds the key, or the door. Thank you, please enjoy your dinner!”

The very tiny mousebabe’s paw shot up as he piped out, “Pleeze, Farver H’Abbit, can us stay up late to look for doors’n’keys pleeze?”

Glisam sat watching the tiny mousebabe, scrambling up onto his lap. “No, I’m afraid you can’t, little one.” The Abbot rubbed his eyes wearily, knowing what was coming as the mousebabe stuck out his lower lip.

“But why, Farver?”

“Because you have to go to bed.”

“But why, Farver?”

“Because you’re only a babe, and you need your sleep.”

“But why, Farver?”

“So you can grow up big and strong.”

“But why, Farver?”

Sister Violet came to the Abbot’s rescue, sweeping the tiny mousebabe up in her paws. The fat, jolly Violet knew how to deal with Dibbuns, particularly those of the D.A.B. gang.

“Gracious me, who wants to go roamin’ round a dark ole Abbey all the night? Can’t ye hear that rain lashin’ away at our windowpanes? Some o’ those stairways an’ passages can be cold an’ draughty on a night like this. I knows where I’d sooner be, snug an’ warm in my nice, soft bed, aye, an’ that’s exactly where I’ll be soon. Plenty o’ time on the morrow to go a-rummagin’ an’ searchin’ about, liddle un, you mark my words!”

All the time she was speaking, Sister Violet was gently stroking the mousebabe’s head. As a result he had fallen asleep. She crept off to the dormitory, carrying him carefully.

Bosie called out to Glisam, “What’s the reward tae be, Father?”

Skipper nudged him. “Keep yore voice down, matey, or you’ll waken the babe.”

The Abbot replied in an exaggerated whisper, “A special Redwall Abbey fruit trifle that Friar Skurpul has promised to make.”

Murmurs of delight echoed about Great Hall. Friar Skurpul’s special Redwall Abbey fruit trifle was a legendary delicacy.

All through dinner, speculation was rife as to where the mystery objects might be found. Everybeast seemed to have his or her theory about the location.

“Yurr, they’m’ll be unner ee grownd, buried sumplace.”

“I think that key’ll be high up, mebbe in the top attics.”

“Garn! Nobeast’s been up there in twenny seasons!”

“All the more reason the key will be hid there.”

“Might not be hidden, there might be a door up in the attics with a lock to it.”

“Ho aye, zurr, an’ ee key sticken roight in ee key’ole. Hurr, pull moi uther paw!”

Umfry Spikkle confided to Dwink, “H’I think that key might be h’in my gate’ouse, but tomorrow’ll be plenty o’ time to start searchin’ for it. The rain’s too ’eavy h’outside, h’any room h’in yore dormitory, mate?”

The young squirrel nodded. “Aye, there’s a spare bunk or two, but won’t that leave the Gatehouse unattended, Umfry?”

The hulking young hedgehog snorted. “Huh, there h’aint been a sign o’ life passin’ the threshold, not since this rain started three days back, h’its quiet enough h’out there.”

Abbot Glisam yawned. “Dearie me, I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.”

The Laird Bosie took out his odd fiddle. “Aye, ’tis this weather, ye ken. A wee drap o’ sunlight on the morrow will liven us up again.”

Corksnout and Foremole Gullub began shepherding the Dibbuns off to their beds. Even the notorious D.A.B. gang did not complain. It seemed that most Redwallers felt heavy-lidded and languid. Bosie played a beautiful, slow air, which conjured up scenes of quiet, heather-strewn glens, with tranquil streams wending through them. One by one, everybeast drifted off upstairs, until there was only the mountain hare and Samolus Fixa, keeping each other company amidst the flickering shadows cast by guttering candles and fading lanterns.

The old mouse slumped back in his cushioned chair. “Great soakin’ seasons, will ye lissen t’that blinkin’ rain out there, will it never stop?”

Bosie continued playing, with his eyes closed. “Och, ’twill cease when it has a mind tae, mah friend, an’ nary a moment sooner, Ah’m thinkin’.”