Doomwyte

Umfry did not see the funny side of things. He shrugged. “Prob’ly ’cos we’re h’in a cellarful o’ drinks. Come on, let’s get the brooms h’an make a start!”

The back cellar was a fair distance from the main chamber. Lanterns had to be lit there before they could see anything clearly. Even then it had a slightly morbid atmosphere, full of shapes and shifting shadows. Barrels, casks, kegs and firkins were stacked in rows, from ceiling to floor. Umfry moved to the far corner, tapping a heap of standing barrels with his paw.

“These are empty h’ale barrels. Let’s dust ’em h’off.”

Bisky made a sensible suggestion. “Aye, we can roll ’em out into the passage. They’ll be ready then, for the next October Ale brewing.”

They worked steadily at the barrels, with Umfry singing a little song he had learned from his grandad.

“Ye can’t do no more than a good day’s work,

to earn a good day’s feed,

so bend that back an’ when yore done,

some grub is wot you’ll need!

There ain’t no room for idlebeasts,

nowheres about this place,

if ye sit about an’ shirk yore chores,

you’ll end with an empty face!

Keep goin’ it ain’t lunchtime yet,

don’t dare pull tongues at me,

a cellarbeast must earn his bread,

the vittles here ain’t free!

A drop o’ sweat an’ soon I’ll bet,

you’ll see that I was right,

with a back that’s sore an’ a dirty paw,

you’ll sleep like a hog all night!”

Having returned from breakfast, Corksnout looked in. He gave a nod of approval which knocked his nose askew. “Hoho, that’s the way, me jollybeasts. Shift those last two barrels out, then take yore lunchbreak. Here’s some elderflower an’ bilberry cordial for ye to drink.”

They moved the remaining barrels out into the passage in a burst of energetic speed, then sat down to lunch.

Where the friends were seated was practically in the dark. The next pile of barrels blocked out the lantern light. Umfry groaned. “Ooh, me pore back’s breakin’, get h’up an’ move that lantern, so’s h’I can see where me mouth is h’an’ put some vittles h’in it!”

Bisky perched on a sack of sand, which was used for breaking the fall of barrels from the pile. He scoffed, “Get up yourself, y’great lump, I’m tired, too!”

Umfry made no move to stir himself, but turned his persuasive charms on Dwink. “That’s a h’awful way to talk to h’a beast with ’is back broke. You’ll move the lantern, won’t ye, Dwink?”

The young squirrel replied indignantly, “I’d move me footpaw round yore fat, lazy bottom, if it wasn’t all covered with spikes!”

Umfry felt around in the gloom. He found an open half-sack of corks and flung one at Dwink. It went straight into Dwink’s open mouth.

“Yaggsplooh! Who did that?”

Looking the picture of innocence, Umfry pointed at Bisky. “He did, h’an’ ’e threw one at me, too.”

Dwink flung himself upon Bisky, who retaliated by doing something the young squirrel could not abide. He tickled the tip of Dwink’s bushy tail. “Yowoostoppitgerroff!” Bisky was hurled onto Umfry. Dwink jumped on top of them both. Chortling, tickling, pinching and yelling, the three friends rolled about in the lantern-lit gloom. Recklessly they cannoned into the heap of barrels, which rumbled and shifted.

“Look out, they’re fallin!”

The empty barrels made a noise like a pile of bass drums, as they thundered and bumped about the cellar. The noise continued a short time, then ceased. Dwink felt about in the darkness, calling, “The lantern’s gone out, are you two alright?”

After a good deal of coughing, and hawking up dust, Umfry answered, “My skull’s broke, but h’I’m sittin’ h’on a rhubarb crumble, so h’I’ll be h’alright!”

Dwink scrambled up, tripped over a barrel and landed in Umfry’s lap. “Where’s Bisky?”

Umfry spoke through a mouthful of crumble. “Dunno.”

Bumbling and stumbling his way out into the passage, Dwink grabbed a lantern from the wall and hurried back, yelling, “Bisky, mate, where are ye, speak t’me!”

He was answered by a stunned mutter. “Nuuuunhhh!”

“H’over ’ere, h’I’ve found ’im!” Umfry yelled.

Dwink held the lantern up, scrambling over heaped barrels to the far angle of the wall. Umfry lay atop two barrels, pointing down. “Fetch that lantern—’e’s down there!”

In the shifting shadows of the swinging light, Bisky could be seen. He had fallen down some kind of hollow in the floor, his footpaws sticking up in the air.

Dwink found a bracket in the wall and hung the lantern on it. “Stay still, mate, we’re comin’. Umfry, come on, let’s move these barrels so we can get at him!”

Forgetting their aches and stiffness, the two friends thrust the barrels wildly aside, until a space was cleared.

Bisky sounded much recovered as he shouted, “Down here, lend a paw, look what I’ve found!”

It was a small flight of five stone steps, running away into the corner. Down in the stairwell, Bisky hauled himself upright, his eyes glittering in the lantern light as he pointed to an ironbound door. The young mouse was yelling. “Look, it’s a door, a door with a keyhole, and guess what?” He held an object up, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I’ve found the key!”

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