Nokko agreed. “Yer right, darlin’, they ain’t nothin’ but a bunch o’ skinny, wet rats. Hoi, yew, git back in an’ scrub be’ind yer ears!”
Tugga Bruster threw Samolus a surly salute. “Is it alright fer me to cross with my Guosim now?”
The sprightly old Redwaller nodded. “Aye, go ahead.”
Skipper watched the shrews wading through the stream. “Wot was all that about, mate?”
Samolus eyed the Guosim Log a Log shrewdly. “Bullyin’, Skip. I’ve been watchin’ Bruster. He’s been bullyin’ the prisoners, so I kept him over this side. I don’t like that sort o’ thing.”
Bosie hitched up his kilt as he entered the water. “Och, yon Brusta would’ve slain those Painted Ones tae a beast if we hadn’t stopped him. Ah tell ye, though, he’s plain feared o’ that ratwife, the dead leader’s mate. If looks could kill, he’d be long slain, the way she glares at him!”
Samolus waded into the shallows, nodding. “Aye, she’s a vengeful one, alright. The sooner we loose those rats on the flatlands an’ Tugga Bruster parts company with us, the happier I’ll be.”
Skipper plunged into the broadstream, adding, “Right, mate, I’ve got a feelin’ this whole thing could end badly, if’n we don’t keep a tight rein on the situation.”
Bisky, Dwink and Umfry marched alongside Spingo, being constantly plagued with questions and enquiries about their home. The Gonfelin maid was good company, and so pretty that they suffered her prattling gladly.
“So then, who’s the Pike’ead at yore Abbey, eh?”
Umfry scratched his headspikes. “Wot’s h’a Pike’ead?”
Spingo scoffed. “A Chieftain, my da’s the Pike’ead of all the Gonfelins.”
Bisky smiled. “Oh, I see, a leader. We have an Abbot, Glisam is his name, though I think he might object to being called a Pikehead. You’ll like our Abbot, he’s a friendly, wise, old dormouse.”
Dwink interrupted, “You’ll like Friar Skurpul, too, he’s the best cook in all of Mossflower!”
Spingo nodded. “Sling beltin’ nosh, can he?”
Dwink and Umfry were both mystified, but Bisky had come to learn a few Gonfelin expressions. He explained, “That means, does Friar Skurpul cook good food? Hah, let me tell you, missy, once you’ve tasted our Friar’s breakfast, you won’t be able to wait for lunch!”
Umfry’s face took on a dreamy expression. “Nor h’afternoon tea, followed later by dinner, then supper. But best h’of h’all is Friar’s feasts!”
Spingo looked the picture of wistful innocence. “I’ve never ’ad a feast, wot’s it like?”
As if on cue, Dwink broke out into an old Redwall ditty.
“A feast is a feast, an’ that’s the least,
that any good beast can say.
You’ll want it to start, you won’t want it to end,
but to go on many a day.
When you sit at the board, then rest assured,
you’ll be most wonderfied.
Yore mouth’ll water, you’ll lick yore lips,
an’ yore eyes’ll pop open wide.
‘The feast! The feast!’ all goodbeasts cry,
‘Just look at those vittles, oh me oh my!’
I’d sing you a ballad about this salad,
but that’d slow my pace,
now cut that cake, for goodness sake,
I’m dyin’ to feed my face.
There’s fruit an’ bread, or cheese instead,
there’s soup served by the pail,
ye can wash it down with Strawb’rry Fizz,
or rich October Ale.
There’s pasties an’ pies, ’tis no surprise,
there’s puddens an’ trifles galore,
an’ meadowcream, like a buttery stream,
o’er crumble or flan to pour.
Choose cordial or wine, it all tastes fine,
so come on, one an’ all,
we’re goin’ to attend a feast, my friend,
at the Abbey of Redwaaaaaaallll!”
Dwink had sung it so loud and fast that he ended up puffing for breath. When the surrounding applause was done, Spingo shot him a look of mock disappointment. “Don’t they ’ave porridge? I like porridge.” There was a moment’s pause, then the friends broke into laughter. Nokko winked at Bosie.
“She’s a maid an’ a half, that un!”
Apart from the Painted Ones, the marchers were in high good spirits. Redwallers, Gonfelins and Guosim chatted together, laughing and singing. Tugga Bruster was, of course, the exception. Sullen and ill-tempered, he went out of his way to find fault with everybeast. Tala, mate of the slain Chieftain, Chigid, knew the Guosim Log a Log was avoiding her vengeful stare, so she began taunting him.
“Looka me, spikeymouse, I watcha alla time. First chance Tala gets, she killya. Oh yes, I creep up, all quiet, an’ make worm meat of ye. Don’t turn ya back, don’t sleep, keep watch ’til Tala killya!”
Tugga Bruster began shaking with rage, gripping his iron club even tighter and panting rapidly.
Skipper tapped his shoulder, issuing a warning. “Don’t even think of attackin’ a captive, matey, or it’ll be the last thing ye ever do. Unnerstand?”
The Guosim Log a Log blustered, lying loudly, “I wasn’t thinkin’ of attackin’ nobeast, except that son o’ mine. Huh, dashin’ off without his father’s permission. No manners at all, these young uns!”
Bisky had overheard the exchange. He murmured to Dwink and Umfry, “If Dubble isn’t at Redwall by the time we arrive there, we’ll have t’go an’ search for him.”
Spingo stated flatly, “Aye, an’ I’ll be comin’ with ye, mate. But tell that ould Friarbeast t’save me lotsa feast grub, for when we gets back.”
Umfry chortled. “Hoho, there’s no h’arguin’ with ’er, looks like yore h’included, miz!”
Night had fallen by the time they reached Redwall. Bosie pounded on the main gate. “Open up, will ye, ’tis the Laird o’ Bowlaynee, with a braw company o’ friends, an’ many a rascally prisoner!”
Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw, who had been Gatekeeper that day, emerged from the Gatehouse, shaking his velvety head. “You’m must’ve smelled ee supper, zurr, they’m just settin’ daown to et in Gurt Hall. Coom ee in!”
Everybeast trooped in expectantly. Abbot Glisam, who had been taking a pre-supper stroll, came hobbling over with the aid of a yew stick. The old dormouse straightened up slowly.
“Ooh, this back o’ mine feels twice as old as me. Welcome back, friends, supper’ll soon be on the table. Is everybeast safe and accounted for? Laird Bosie, who are all these vermin you have roped together?”
Drawing the sword of Martin, Bosie pointed with a flourish. “Och, allow me tae present the Unpainted Ones, Father, we had tae clean ’em up a wee bit. Ah’ll dispose of ’em on the morrow, meanwhile we need a place tae keep ’em locked up safe.”
The Abbot stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. Let me see…. Ah, the Belltower, it’s built separate from the main Abbey. They can sit on the floor, and up the stairs. Top window there’s far too high for anybeast to jump from. The belltower should be fine!”
Corksnout Spikkle volunteered to guard the captives. He ushered them into the tower, standing sentry over the single door, armed with his huge bung mallet. Corksnout issued stern commands. “Find somewheres to lay down or sit, an’ not a peep out of anybeast. Oh, an’ just let me hear one ding out o’ those two bells, an’ ye’ll find out just wot this mallet’s for, when it ain’t bein’ used on bungs!”
Nokko stared admiringly at the huge Cellarhog. “Now if’n I was a Painty One, there’s a beast I wouldn’t mess wid. Dat big ’ammer of his makes a sambag look like a baby’s toy!”
It was a strange experience for the Gonfelins, seeing inside Redwall Abbey. They had all heard of it, both in story and song, but for long generations no Gonfelin mouse had been inside the hallowed building. Their curiosity, however, was soon dismissed when they were introduced to their first Abbey supper.