Blustery and wild were the days of late spring, wet and windy, with little sign of more placid weather. Thus it was that night, when Griv sought shelter from battering rain and buffeting winds out of the east. Redwall Abbey was the perfect place. Tossed about on the dark skies, like a scrap of black-and-white rag, the magpie caught sight of the imposing building as she was swept high over the swaying green of Mossflower woodlands. Skilfully she went into a steep dive, tacking and sidesweeping on drenched wings. Homing in on the Abbey’s west face, Griv sought shelter on the leeside, out of the gale.
She made an ungainly but safe landing upon the sandstone sill of a second-storey dormitory window. What attracted the magpie to that particular spot was the welcome golden light, slanting narrowly from between wooden shutters. Ruffling and grooming her wet plumage, Griv edged along the sill until she was securely lodged, twixt stone and timber, in a corner.
Ever curious, she peered through a slim gap in the shuttering. There were creatures inside, young mice, moles, squirrels and hedgehogs. One, a mouse, only slightly older than the rest, was speaking. He was relating a story to his audience, who were listening intently, hanging upon his every word. From her perch on the window ledge outside, Griv listened also….
The narrator, a young mouse named Bisky, was in full dramatic flow. Leaping up on the little truckle bed, he made a number of gouging gestures above his head. Bisky held out his other paw as though he were thrusting a dagger, relating avidly to his goggle-eyed friends, “One, two, three, four! Prince Gonff stole the four precious stones, which were the statue’s eyes. Aye, mates, old Gonff popped ’em out, just like that, robbed the eyes from the great Doomwyte Idol!”
A Dibbun hedgehog (Dibbun is the name given to the youngest Redwallers) interrupted curiously, “Why did ’e doo’d that?”
Frintl, his older sister, sighed impatiently. “’Cos ’e wuz Gonff the Prince o’ Mousethiefs, dat’s why, sillyspikes!”
Bisky was accustomed to Dibbuns butting in—he carried right on with the story. “Well, there was all manner of ’orrible vermin chasin’ after Gonff, but he just laughed, ha ha, an’ he escaped ’em easily….”
“Wot bees ee gurt Doodley whoit eyeful?”
Bisky looked down at the tiny mole who had poked his head out from beneath the bed. Moles speak with a curious accent, but Redwallers can always understand them. The young mouse smiled. “It’s the Great Doomwyte Idol, a big statue with four eyes. They’re actually precious stones, that’s why Gonff the Prince of Mousethieves stole ’em.”
The mole Dibbun, who was called Dugry, nodded solemnly. “Ho urr, Oi see. But whurr did zurr Gonffen take ee h’ idol’s h’ eyes to?”
Bisky spread his paws wide. “Right here to Redwall Abbey he brought them!”
Dugry thought about this, before asking, “Hurr, then whurr bees they?”
The young mouse explained patiently, “Nobeast knows where the eyes of the Great Doomwyte Idol are, ’cos Gonff hid ’em.”
The little hogmaid Frintl posed a question. “Hah, an’ I don’t s’pose you know where they are?”
The storyteller shook his head. “No, ’cos they’re in a very secret place, but someday I’ll find ’em, just see if’n I don’t!”
A young squirrel, Dwink, who was the same age as Bisky, chortled scornfully. “Yah, wot a load of ole pieswoggle! You made it all up, big fibberface Bisky!” He hurled a pillow, which caught the young mouse in the face. Bisky flung it back, but missed.
“’Tisn’t pieswoggle, Samolus told me it was true!” Dibbuns like nothing better than a pillow fight at bedtime. In the wink of an eye the dormitory was transformed into a noisy battleground. Babes and young ones squealed with merriment as they flung and swung pillows at each other.
Outside on the window ledge, the magpie Griv had heard everything. Regardless of the stormswept night, she flew off, headed for a place where her information might prove profitable. Griv, like most magpies, always had an eye to the main chance.
Back at the dormitory, the pillow fight was at its height, as was the noise. Redwall Abbey’s Infirmary and sick bay were on the same floor as the Dibbuns’ dormitory. Brother Torilis, the Herbalist and Infirmary Keeper, did not bother to knock. Flinging the door open, he strode straight into the scene of chaos. His paw shot up, catching a pillow in mid-flight. A hush fell over the entire chamber, broken only by a volebabe falling from the top of a wardrobe onto a bed, where he lay at rigid attention. A few small feathers and wisps of pillow stuffing drifted silently to the floor, as every young eye became fixed upon the tall, saturnine figure of the squirrel Herbalist. His voice was quiet, but loaded with menace.
“What is going on here?” No answer being expected, or given, he continued, “And who, may I ask, is responsible for this riot?”
The bleak gaze of Torilis swept the dormitory, coming to rest upon the hogmaid Frintl. She could no more resist Torilis’s stare than a baby chick confronted by a hunting serpent. Frintl’s chubby paw shot forth, pointing at Bisky. Words bubbled forth unbidden from her.
“’Twas him, Brovver, a-tellin’ fibby stories, he’s the one wot started it, honestly, Brovver!”
The Infirmary Keeper turned swiftly on the culprit. “I might have known. You, as one of the older dormitory creatures, ought to know better. You should be setting an example, instead of behaving like a madbeast!”
Bisky bit his lip at the injustice of it. Dwink was the one who had started the pillow fight. He tried to explain. “But Bro—”
Torilis’s harsh tone cut across his words sharply. “Silence! Not another word, you young savage! Directly after breakfast tomorrow you will appear on Abbot’s Report!”
Bisky knew there was no point in protesting. Nobeast, particularly a young one, would dare argue with the grave-faced Brother Torilis. Instead, he contented himself with glaring at Frintl.
With a final strict instruction, the Infirmary Keeper swept from the dormitory. “Straight into your beds, and go to sleep immediately, all of you!”
As the door slammed shut, Dwink curled his lip at Frintl. “Why couldn’t you keep yore mouth shut?”
The hogmaid began to blubber and babble at the same time. “’Twasn’t my fault, soon as he looks at me like that I can’t help it….”
Brother Torilis had not gone straight back to his sick bay chamber, he had paused outside the dormitory door. Now his voice rang out like thunder. “One more word and you’ll all be up in front of the Abbot tomorrow. Silence in there!”
The dormitory became immediately quiet, some of the more nervous Dibbuns trying hard not to breathe aloud.
On a moonless night, Mossflower Wood could be a daunting prospect, particularly for travellers who were not familiar with its thickness and diversity. It was made doubly eerie by the storm. In the total darkness, anybeast roaming abroad could be easily unnerved. Winds wailed through the crowded avenues of massive tree trunks. Sometimes the gale rose to a sound like that of a tortured beast, whilst often it subsided to a dirgelike moan. Driving rain caused foliage and twigs to bend in a mystical dance. The patter of raindrops upon broad leaves was said to sound like some phantom, creeping up behind the unwary wanderer. All in all not the best place to be, the woodlands on a stormy night.
These thoughts had occurred more than once to Slegg and Gridj, as they stumbled and floundered their way through Mossflower. The two rats had been lost for almost a day and a night. Their object was to reach the western seashore, which Slegg seemed to know all about. Gridj, the younger rat, was regretting he had ever listened to his companion, and was telling him so in no uncertain terms.
“Which way now, mate, straight ahead, eh? Go on, cabbage brain, straight ahead you said. Huh, an’ we been goin’ straight ahead, all day an’ ’arf the night. Aye, straight ahead in circles!”