“Yeeeeek! The fire ’as got me! Eeeeeeeeh!”
Bosie overtook Samolus, bounding upward, three stairs at a time. Doors began slamming open, the night peace was broken by cries.
“Wot’s goin’ on out there!”
“Who’s doin’ all the yellin’?”
“Lookit them lights, is the Abbey on fire?”
Bosie caught sight of the mousebabe. He was floating toward the stairs, a short distance above the floor. With two stretching leaps, the hare caught up with the screaming Dibbun. Grabbing him, Bosie seemed to jump up and down hard, several times. Sister Violet, flopping about in slippers and nightgown, trundled toward a window, bellowing.
“Whoooooo! It’s tryin’ to take pore liddle Furff away. Heeeeelp!”
The tiny squirrel was floating, suspended between two of the lights. They fluttered about, as if trying to open the wooden window shutter. Bosie was moving faster than anybeast, knocking Sister Violet to one side as he fitted one of his metal shafts to the bow of his fiddle. The shutter flew open, blowing rain into the passage. Both lights were halfway out of the window, still holding on to Furff, when Bosie fired the metal arrow. There was a harsh, anguished croak. One of the Wytes released its hold on the Dibbun. The other one, unable to sustain the burden alone, let Furff go. She landed on the open windowsill with a bump.
Charging forward, Bosie grasped the little squirrel’s tail and nightgown, grabbing her back inside. As they both fell flat upon the floor, several more lights flew out of the window, into the rain-slashed darkness. Breathing heavily, Samolus arrived on the scene. Staring out into the night, he wiped rainwater from his eyes.
“What’n the name o’ fur’n’whiskers? There they go, the lights are all gathered round one, as though it’s havin’ trouble floatin’!”
Bosie passed Furff to Abbot Glisam, who had just come trundling up. “Aye, it’ll have problems floatin’, or flyin’ should Ah say. Yon were braw big birds, bigger’n yon carrion Ah slew outside yore gates. Anyhow, Ah hit the scum, Ah know Ah did!’”
Skipper Rorgus and Corksnout came running to the Abbot’s side. The Otter Chieftain brandished a throwing javelin in a businesslike way. “The rest o’ those lights went out by the main door downstairs, Father. They were too quick for us. Straight over the lawns they floated, an’ right out the big west gate, which, by the way, was lyin’ open.”
The young squirrelmaid Perrit was calling from the far end of the passage. “I’ve got the mousebabe, he’s not hurt. Yurrrk! What is this thing, someun bring a lantern!”
After Bosie had saved the mousebabe, he had sped straight on to rescue Furff. The pretty squirrelmaid had picked the mousebabe up and crouched against the wall, hugging him tight to her. Close by, there was something writhing sluggishly for the stairs. Brother Torilis hurried up, holding a lantern. Placing himself between Perrit and the thing, he stooped forward, peering through the lantern light. It was a snakelike reptile, dull brown, with a single thin, dark stripe along its spine. The features looked more lizardlike than serpentine. Bosie had jumped on it several times, with devastating force. The reptile was fatally injured, but still dangerous. It tried to coil and strike at Torilis.
“Don’t move, Brother, stand very still!”
Thwack! Skipper despatched the thing, with a sweeping blow from his javelin. It slumped like a wet piece of cord. The otter Chieftain looped the coils around his javelin with a skilful flick. “A slow worm? Sink me, ’tis a few seasons since I clapped eyes on one o’ these. This rascal was a full-growed feller. Ahoy, lookit the head, it’s shinin’, with a kind o’ light!”
Bosie knelt down to inspect the head. “Och, so ’tis, Ah’ve never seen ought like it!”
Corksnout, who was standing behind the hare, made another revelation. “Aye, the bottom o’ yore footpaw’s shinin’, too, Bosie. How does it feel, hot?”
The Highland hare snorted. “Ach, it doesnae feel like anythin’. It must’ve come frae when Ah did a wee jig on yon beastie’s skull. Er, ye dinna think ’tis poison, do ye, Brother?”
Torilis inspected the faint glow on Bosie’s footpaw pads. “It’s not poison, only if you were to lick it off. That’s what is called a phosphorescence, probably some mixture of mineral compounds. If you come along to my sick bay I have an herbal wash that will clean it off.”
As if fearing to walk normally, Bosie hobbled off with Torilis, thanking him, and apologising also. “Weel, Ah’m sorry Ah made mock o’ ye earlier, friend. Ye’re a right braw beastie, an’ finely learnit. Lissen the noo, frae this very-day, iffen anybeast speaks ill of ye, or mocks ye, they’ll answer tae the Laird Bosie McScutta o’ Bowlaynee. Ye can tak’ mah word on that!”
When the excitement had died down, Abbot Glisam bade everybeast to assemble in Cavern Hole, where he addressed them.
“I think it would be wise for us all to spend the remainder of the night down here. Bisky, Dwink, would you please see that there are plenty of blankets and pillows brought in. Sister Violet, keep a good fire burning in the hearth, please. Samolus, I’d like all doors and window shutters secured, and bolted where possible. Skipper, take Corksnout, Gullub Foremole and some molecrew with you. Our Abbey must be searched thoroughly, make sure there are no more strangebeasts within the grounds, or this building. Only Friar Skurpul and anybeast on breakfast duty is authorised to leave Cavern Hole. Settle down now and try to get some sleep. Thank you!”
The Redwallers began occupying every ledge, nook or comfortable place they could find. Before he departed with the search party, Corksnout had a word to say.
“Er ’as anybeast seen that grand’og o’ mine, Umfry?”
Dwink staggered in, carrying a load of cushions. “Umfry? Hah, he’s curled up in the dorm, fast asleep an’ still lickin’ rose’ip syrup off his paw, sir.”
The big Cellarhog nodded grimly. “Righto, young un, when he wakes, tell ’im t’wait in the cellars. I wants a word or two with an idle Gate’ouse Keeper who leaves the main gates swingin’ open at night!”
Far from settling down to rest, a festive atmosphere pervaded Cavern Hole. Abbot Glisam retired to a corner, not wanting to spoil the happy mood. He reasoned that it would help to dispel any fears of strange lights haunting the Abbey. Sister Violet started up the singing, whilst the incorrigible D.A.B. showed off their jigging prowess. The song took the form of a repeating line, which required a clever singer. Sister Violet held her own. She had a pleasant voice, though she was pleased when others joined in. None of the older Redwallers attempted the dancing; this was the speciality of the Abbeybabes. Dibbuns can be very athletic, and quite competitive. It was not a jig for the fainthearted. Jumps, turns, somersaults, backflips and special pawshuffles were executed energetically. Two old moles on flute and side drum accompanied Sister Violet and the singers.
“Well there was an ole hogwife who dwelt in the wood.
The wood the wood, oh summer be good!
And this is the song she’d sing.
I eats plum pudden an’ gooseberry pie.
Oh pudden an’ pie some more says I!
I’m as happy as bees in blossom trees.
Those bees in trees do as they please!
Whilst the birds fly up in the sky.
The wood the wood, oh summer be good!
Oh pudden an’ pie some more says I!
Those bees in trees do as they please!
’Tis better to laugh than to cry!”
Outside, the searchers braved the rain-drenched night, after securing the main outer gates. Bosie went through the gatehouse for a second time, accompanied by Corksnout. The mountain hare looked around admiringly. “’Tis a braw wee hoose, but there’s naebeast here, eh, Corkie?”
The huge hedgehog ducked as he went through the doorway. “Right y’are, Bosie, let’s search the orchard. Leave the pond area to Skipper’n’Gullub.”