Tala went off to the tunnel hole, to watch for her husband’s return. She took some of her companions with her, leaving three to guard the prisoner.
Bisky tested his bonds by tugging them. They were too well tied for any escape to be possible. He tried them again, but after receiving another slash from the willow withe, he gave up. The young mouse hung there, with bowed head, trying to ignore his bruises and scrapes, wondering how his friends were faring.
Back at Redwall Abbey the two Dibbuns, Furff and the very small mousebabe, had become the hero and heroine of the season. Sister Violet had denied any part in the death of the big raven inside the belltower. Besides being a fat, jolly hedgehog, she was also very tenderhearted, and could not admit a part in the death of anybeast, friend or foe. So, it was left to the two Dibbuns to claim the notoriety, which they did, with absolutely no pretence to modesty, or truth. The raven had been displayed out by the main gate prior to being consigned to the ditch outside. Redwallers viewed it, with awed observations as to its size and ferocity.
“Buhurr, jus’ lukk at ee talyons on yon burd!”
“Aye, and the beak, too, imagine getting a peck off that?”
The tiny mousebabe, draped in a cloak which was ten sizes too large for him, strutted shamelessly back and forth, keeping the onlookers at bay. He waved a ladle, his chosen weapon, and a pan lid, which served as a shield, cautioning everybeast, “Don’t not better get too close, y’might get hurted!”
Furff was in her element, she had appropriated one of Friar Skurpul’s vegetable skewers, which she kept jabbing in the direction of the raven’s carcass, muttering darkly, “Good job Umfry wasn’t ringin’ the bells, the big bird woulda gotted ’im!”
It was not long before Brother Torilis appeared on the scene, complaining to the Abbot, “Really, Father, how long is this disgusting spectacle to continue? Wouldn’t it be wise to remove that object from the premises? It makes me sick just looking at it!”
Abbot Glisam was forced to agree with Torilis. “Aye, Brother, I thought I’d just let our Dibbun warriors bask in the glory for a moment or two. Mister Spikkle, will you help the Brother and me to haul this thing out and tip it into the ditch?”
Corksnout tugged a dutiful headspike at Glisam. “Aye, Father, but I kin do it meself, no reason for you two gennelbeasts to soil yore paws, leave it t’me.”
Brother Torilis breathed an inward sigh of relief, knowing he would loathe touching the dead raven. “Thank you kindly, Cellarhog, I’m obliged t’you.”
The tiny mousebabe interrupted gruffly, “That bees our job, me’n’Furff, we drag ’im out!”
Judging the size of both infants to the raven, the Abbot hid a smile. He took both their paws. “I’ve got a much better idea, why don’t we honour our two warriors with a feast by the Abbey pond, eh?”
No second bidding was needed. The two raven slayers, surrounded by a host of their friends, stampeded off in the direction of the pond, roaring and whooping. “A feast, a feast! Redwaaaaaallllll!”
Brother Torilis followed in the Abbot’s wake, still with a note of complaint in his voice as he watched the charge of the Dibbuns. “But what about bedtime? It’s evening already.” He was almost knocked flat from a buffet on the back by Sister Violet.
“Oh, you can go to bed right now if you’re tired, Brother. We’re going to the feast!”
Abbot Glisam winked at the jolly Sister. “Well said, friend, come on, I’ll race you!”
Torilis cast a stern eye at their receding backs, then continued with his own measured pace.
Friar Skurpul had already been told about the feast, he had the orchard laid out wonderfully. The squirrelmaid Perrit had set out all the food on woven rush mats. Not having to sit on chairs at table was a novelty for the little ones. Moreso, when the Abbot and elders joined them on the grass. Friar Skurpul caused much merriment amidst the Abbeybabes by addressing the Father Abbot as though he were a naughty Dibbun.
“You’m moind yurr manners, Glisam, an’ keep ee paws clean, moi laddo. Dugry, keep yurr eye on that un an’ doan’t let ’im go a-jumpin’ abowt!”
Abbot Glisam’s reply caused further hilarity. “What, me jump about? It’ll take four of you to lift me back up onto my paws after this!”
Even before they had taken a bite of the delicious food, the Dibbuns were up and dancing, pulling mock bellropes and stamping their tiny footpaws to an impromptu song. The very small mousbabe roared out the lines, which (with a lot of help from Sister Violet) he had composed. What it lacked in melody and meter, the song made up for in raucuous exuberance.
“Ho we make’d the bad bird fall down dead,
Fall down dead! Fall down dead!
We pulled onna ropes an’ he falled on his head,
Faaalled…on…his…head!
The naughty bird was goin’ to eat us all,
Eat us all! Eat us all!
’Til us pulled the ropes an’ make’d him fall.
Riiiight…on…his…head!
Y’won’t see that ole bird no more
’Cos his head went crack onna Belltower floor.
Bing bong! Ding dong! Boom crash bang!
The bird falled down anna bells all rang!”
Out at the main gate, Corksnout Spikkle was hauling the raven’s carcass out to the ditch. The taloned limbs stuck out stiffly. Facing the bird’s carcass, the big Cellarhog took one in each paw, and began pulling. His imitation cork nose slid down beneath his chin as he strained away. Adjusting it, Corksnout mopped his brow, turning to address his thoughts to the dead bird. “Whew! I didn’t figger on you bein’ so ’eavy. Still, ye are…beg pardon, I mean was, a fine, big lump of a featherbag. Huh, I should’ve let the Father an’ Torilis ’elp me.”
Standing in the open gateway, with his back to the ditch, the burly hedgehog carried on his one-sided conversation with the dead raven. He was totally unaware of the monstrous head rising up from the ditch behind him. The senses of Baliss had caught odour and movement. The giant snake’s blue-marbled eyes filmed over as he reared high and struck with lightning speed.
Down in the tunnels, Chigid, Chieftain of the Painted Ones, was seething with wrath and pain. The pain, from blazing lantern oil searing his tail and nether parts. The wrath, to destroy the beasts who had inflicted such agonising embarrassment upon one of his lofty position. Standing at the rear of his band, he berated them, until the tunnel walls echoed to his scorn.
“Yaaar yigalig! Idjits! Cowwids! Get back down d’passage, charge an’ killem! Killem all, skin ’em, burn ’em like they burn Chigid. Chaaaarge!”
Pushed forward by the back ranks, the front and centre Painted Ones went, stumbling and tripping toward the ledge, which circled the deep abyss.
Behind the stalagmites which fronted Aluco’s retreat, the friends heard the foebeasts’ warcries. “Yeeeee! Gerrem! Killem! Yeeeeeeeeh!”
Skipper shielded the light from their last lantern, muttering grimly, “Belay, mates, sounds like we got vermin tryin’ t’pay us a visit. Are yore slings loaded?”
Dwink’s paws were shaking with nerves, but he replied boldly, “Aye, I’ve got four stones in mine!”
Bosie patted the young squirrel’s back. “Yer a braw laddie. Remember now, don’t shoot ’til I give ye the word. That goes for all o’ ye!”
Foremole Gullub nodded sagely. “Hurr, Oi ’opes ee plan wurks, zurr!”
The Highland hare replied blithely, “Och, it’ll have tae, ’tis the only one Ah’ve got.”
The yells of the enemy sounded louder now, closer. Umfry Spikkle began twirling his sling rapidly. “Do we lets ’em ’ave h’it now?”
Samolus tweaked Umfry’s snout. “Patience, young un, just do as Bosie says, wait!”