The Bellmaker Part 29

They both deserve their happiness."

Log-a-Log and Blerun marched up with both their tribes in tow. Sitting themselves between Foremole and Weldan, they accepted beakers of blackberry cordial.

The shrew Chieftain unbuckled his rapier and put it to one side. "Ah well, that's the horderat prisoners gone. We shoved 'em aboard one o' their s.h.i.+ps an' pointed them off to the open sea. They come back under pain of death, I told 'em."

Egbert the Scholar sat a few steps above them, surrounded by Furrp and his tribe and Foremole. They inspected the huge medal he wore about his neck.

"Burr, et be a vurry noice thing, zurr Hegb.u.t.t," said Furrp. "Urr, wot be et furr?"

Egbert felt very important as he explained to the rustic moles. "This is my symbol of office. By royal appointment, I am now Castle Librarian and Archivist of Floret, Official Recorder for Southsward Country and Dynastic Concordance Coordinator to the House of Gael."

Furrp scratched his snout with a heavy digging paw. "Gudd luck to ee, zurr. Oi wuddent sleep wi* a gurt 'eavy medal an' a name long as a wuirm's tail loik that, hurr no!" Egbert sat with a look of injured dignity as the moles all fell about chuckling.

The four leverets and Bowly Pintips were demolis.h.i.+ng a weighty plumcake, listening to their uncle Meldrum and Hon Rosie as they discovered ancestral connections.

"Hmm, Woodsorrel y'say, marm-not one of the Long Patrol Westsh.o.r.e Woodsorrels, by any chance?''

"Whoohahahooh! The very fellows-that's my Tar-quin's branch of the family. D'you know them, Meldrum?"

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"Know 'em? Listen, m'dear, my great-uncle Bracken was the head of the bunch, marvelous old cove. They called him Bracken the Brave, y'know."

"Did they indeed? That's not what my Tarquin told me. He said the story goes that Bracken told so many fibs about his exploits, that the Long Patrol nicknamed him Old Bracken the Blowbag. Whoohahahooh, good name, wot?"

Amid the laughter that followed young Foghill piped up, "I say, Uncle Mel, your ears have gone all red!"

Meldrum the Magnificent addressed his nephew sternly. "Never mind my ears, you young pup. What've I told you about callin' me Uncle Mel? Confined t'bar-racks for two days, sah, for incorrectly referrin' to a senior officer!"

Joseph lay full stretch in the soft gra.s.s of the valley floor, shaded by a rowan. He was watching Durry Quill and some young shrews who had borrowed Mariel's Gull-whacker and made a swing from the branches of a sycamore. Rufe Brush sat by Joseph, his eyes red from weeping. nudged the young squirrel gently. "Come on, Rufey, how about a smile for an old gray-beard?"

Rufe stared at the daisies that brightened the gra.s.sy shade. "I can't get Patch out of my mind; I'll never forget him."

Joseph saw a teardrop spill from Rufe's cheek to the gra.s.s. "I should hope you never will forget Patch," he said. "He was a brave shrew to give his life for you. I'll bet wherever he is now he must be in a fine old temper."

Rufe rubbed a paw across his eyes and sniffed. "Why would Patch be in a temper, Joseph?"

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plucked a dockleaf and gave it to his young friend. "Here, wipe your face; I'll tell you why. Patch gave his life so that you could live on and enjoy yours. If I were Patch I'd be in a real temper now, knowing that you were not enjoying the life I'd given you, sitting weeping amid the joys of freedom on a summer day."

Durry Quill had been listening from a distance. Now he trundled up and stood looking down at the Bellmaker. "You're right, sir, an 'ole Finnbarr would be in an even worser mood lookin' at your face-'tis more miserable than a frog who's swallered a b.u.mblebee. Come on, you two, let's play on the swing!"

"Look out, Durry!"

A young shrew had swung the wrong way. He came spinning in on the rope, knocking Durry ears over tip into Joseph and Rufe, and now all three lay in a heap.

Joseph sat up glaring at the swinging shrew, then he began to chuckle. Rufe tried to sit up and fell back onto Durry; the hedgehog pushed him off. "Gerroff me, y'great Rufey lump!"

Rufe could not resist the smile spreading across his face. "Fat wettysnout p.r.i.c.klybottom cakeface!"

All three stood up laughing heartily. Joseph dashed off toward the rope, shouting, "Me first. You two are so fat you'd burst the swing!"

They raced after him giggling.

"You great big Dibbun!"

"Wait'11 we tell Mariel you was playin' swings!"

Afternoon drifted on in a warm, summery haze. Gael Squirrelking supervised the lowering of the drawbridge

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that Deekeye and Weldan had repaired. Gael looked anything but a king as he sat on the edge of the bridge with his newly adopted young ones, Wincey, Benjy, and Figgs, competing to see who could skim flat pebbles the farthest along the moat.

Dusk fell like a velvet mantle, and by the light of myriad lanterns twinkling across the valley Mariel paced out an area by the dip, where the final battle had been fought.

"Here, this is where the monument shall stand!" she announced.

Joseph, Gawjun the hedgehog, and Blerun the otter stood forward from the crowd who had gathered to watch. Gawjun pointed out a hill. "Yonder stands a great boulder on the hilltop. Blerun, thy tribe can roll it down here. Together we will set it straight and hew it with chisels. Egbert shall write the words to be carved upon it."

Joseph stared up at the boulder perched on the hill. * 'And I shall stay and make a bell to crown it. Each dawn it will ring out to honor the courage of those creatures who gave their lives to free Southsward from the Foxwolf and his horde. Their memory will live on into legend!"

38.

Autumn leaves turned gold, drifting down to carpet the path outside Redwall Abbey in the soft misty mornings. Fruits that had ripened on bough and vine were harvested in to larder and storecupboard. It was time for the fine October ale to be brewed, chestnuts to be candied, and berries to be preserved in honey. Abbot Saxtus stood over the threshold on the gatehouse wall with Blind Simeon.

Saxtus folded his paws into wide habit sleeves, saying, "Well, my friend, we are a fine pair, standing up here admiring the season. By rights we should be down in the kitchens, helping to make jams, jellies, and preserves."

Simeon stared sightlessly out as a breeze rustled the dry leaves of Mossflower. There was a twitter and flurry of wings overhead. "The buds fly off to follow the sun where fresh harvests are ripening. Let us earthbound creatures stop here awhile and talk, Father Abbot. It would spoil the Dibbuns' fun if you appeared in the kitchens; they'd have to behave with an Abbot hanging around. This feast you once talked of, to celebrate the memory of 385.

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Mother Mellus. When is it to be?"

Saxtus ran a paw over the worn red stones of a battlement. "Soon now, I hope."

"When our friends return from their quest?"

"I didn't say that, Simeon."

"I know you didn't, Saxtus, but that is what is in your mind."

The Father Abbot clasped the blind one's paw warmly. "There are no secrets from you, old friend."

Simeon's whiskers twitched, and he leaned forward, listening. "Here comes another of your secrets, Father. A carrier of information, if I'm not mistaken."

Saxtus peered into the gray autumn distance. "I can't see anything," he said.

Simeon pointed to where Mossflower Wood bordered the path. "There, it's Blaggut, scurrying along at the woodland's edge."

There was no mistaking the bulky shape of the former searat as he waddled into view. Saxtus shook his head in amazement. "How did you know it was him?"

The blind mouse held on to his Abbot's paw as they made their way down the wallsteps to the main gate. "That one is a stranger to bathwater; I always smell him before others can see him. But don't tell him that; one can forgive a little ripeness from a creature with a good heart."

Blaggut sat in the gatehouse, drinking old cider from a beaker and bolting warm damson scones as he related his information.

"Twas last eve I saw 'er. Father h'Abbot, just afore twilight, a s.h.i.+p I once knowed, the Pearl Queen. She was out t'sea, comin' up from the south. So I stowed meself 387.

be'ind some rocks an' watched 'er. When the crew sighted land they started shoutin' the name Redwall. I figgered they must be yore friends who went a questin'. Well, t'cut a long story short, I came straight 'ere to tell yer the news. Y'll fergive me, but I never let 'em see me, 'cos not knowin' who I am, they might've mistook me fer a searat an' slayed me."

Saxtus refilled Blaggut's beaker. "You did well, friend. Thank you for traveling all night to bring me the good word. If you go to the kitchens you can visit your friends, mousebabe and Furrtil. I will tell Brother Mallen to fill a sack with food for you, knowing how you like our Red-wall fare."

Blaggut bobbed his head respectfully at Saxtus. "There ain't no tastier vittles in all the world, sir, thankee. Ha-harr-I bet those Dibbuns are growin' big an' plump now, bless 'em."

Early noon brought breeze, suns.h.i.+ne, and scudding clouds. Simeon and Saxtus stood with Furrtil and the mousebabe on the path outside Redwall, waving goodbye to Blaggut as he shuffled off, sack on shoulder, into the tree shade of Mossflower.

"Fare ee well, zurr. Doan't eat ee vittles too farst!"

"Gu'bye, Mister Blackguts. Thanks for fixin' me boat!"

Blaggut turned and winked roguishly. " 'Appy sailin', mateys. See yer agin soon, I 'opes!"

He disappeared into the woodlands. Simeon addressed Saxtus. "Well?"

"Well what, friend Simeon?"

"Well, what about the feast, friend Saxtus?"

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The Father Abbot kept a straight face as he replied, "You can stand there all day saying 'well,' or get yourself off to the kitchens and tell the cooks to get started on it!"

Simeon felt both his paws grabbed by the two Dibbuns, and he was whisked off at a run, with Funtil and the mousebabe roaring, "Party! Party! There's goin' t* be a partyfeast!"

The great Joseph Bell tolled three hours before midnight. Furtively cloaked in a dark-colored curtain, Tarquin L. Woodsorrel poked his head around the main gateway, which had been left open. One glance confirmed what he was looking for. Ears streaming out behind him, die long-legged hare sprinted for the Abbey. He arrived with a bound through the doors of Great Hall. ' 'What ho, they're comin' along the path, chaps!" he yelled.

Saxtus gazed around at the laden tables of the festive board. "Is everything ready, Sister Sage?"

"Ready as ever, Father Abbot, as soon as the Harvest Vegetable Soup arrives. Ah! Here it is now."

Brother Fingle, a.s.sisted by several helpers, wheeled in a trolley weighted down by a huge, steaming cauldron. Halting it in front of the main table, he bowed proudly.

"One large pot of Harvest Vegetable Soup, simmered since mid-morning, Father. The best of celery, carrots, cabbage, mushrooms, leeks, and white turnips, cooked to perfection!"

Tarquin threw off his cloak and gave a smart salute. "Cellar supplies all up an' waitin'. First barrel of last October's ale tapped, strawberry cordial, mint tea, dandelion an' burdock fizz, oh, and a small firkin of blackcurrant wine, to keep out the chill. All correct!"

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Saxtus walked around the tables twice, taking note of everything that had been laid out to welcome back his companions. The centerpiece was a ma.s.sive moist fruitcake, decorated with sugared maple leaves and surrounded by trifles of various colors-bright red-currant, green gooseberry, pale pink rose, and delicate woodland violet. Loaves with s.h.i.+ning fresh crusts-seeded, patterned, farls, cobs, and batons-ranged between cheeses of white and yellow. Pies and tarts, apple, bilberry, plum, and pear, latticed or open, twinkled as their fillings caught the candle and lantern lights. The last of the fresh summer salads were laid in flat wooden bowls, chopped and dressed with herbs from the woodlands.

Saxtus's paw strayed near a confection of meadow-cream and whipped honey piled high and fluffy in a basin. The mousebabe clucked disapprovingly. "Teh tch, Sister Sage smacka paw, naughty!"

Despite the warning, Saxtus took a quick dip. Sucking his paw, he winked at the mousebabe. "She can't smack my paw; I'm the Father Abbot-good job, isn't it? Mmmm, delicious!"

A knock sounded loud on the door of Great Hall. Saxtus scurried to his Abbot's chair and held a paw to his lips for complete silence. All around the tables Redwallers sat, decked out in their best habits, s.h.i.+ning-eyed with antic.i.p.ation, waiting quietly.

The knock sounded again, louder this time. Still the creatures at the festive tables sat in silence. Dibbuns clapped paws tight across their mouths, shaking with glee at the joke their elders were playing.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Four loud knocks that sounded suspiciously like the 390.

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knotted end of a Gullwhacker hitting the door, followed by the unmistakable voice of Dandin.

"Ahoy there, anybeast home?"

Mousebabe wriggled uncontrollably, stuffing the tablecloth edge into his mouth to keep from laughing aloud. The great, heavy, curled-iron handle turned. All eyes were riveted on the door as it opened slightly.

Hon Rosie Woodsorrel poked her head into Great Hall.

" Whoohahahooyaaaaah!"

She banged the doors open wide; they thudded against the walls on either side, and the homecoming adventurers flooded in. Redwallers dashed from their seats at table to meet them.

"Rosie, Rosie, dear old thing, you're home!"

"Tarquin! My babes, come here! Mmmmmch!"

"I say, Mater, steady on with the kissin'. Yukk!"

"Dandin, you rogue, you haven't changed a bit!"

"Haha, you have though, Saxtus; you look more like an old Father Abbot than ever! Dearie me, what a tummy!"

Blind Simeon felt the contours of the face before him. "Mariel, the Warriormaid of Redwall, welcome home!"