Dwink hopped eagerly from one footpaw to the other. “Oh, come on, Father, if’n you run we’ll get there in no time.” The young squirrel grinned cheekily. “I’ll race ye, Father Abbot!”
Glisam shook his head ruefully. “Alas no, Dwink, my running seasons are long gone.”
Samolus went into a sporting crouch. “Here, young un, I’m about the same age as our Abbot, I’ll race ye…. On y’marks, get set—go!”
They shot off into the rain like two arrows.
Glisam chuckled. “Just look at them go! Who d’you think’ll win, Bisky?”
“My old grandunk of course, Father, he can still beat me, an’ I’m a faster runner’n Dwink. Come on, Father, watch ye don’t slip on the wet grass.”
Paw in paw, the old dormouse and his young friend shuffled off into the curtains of sheeting rain. If they could not be bothered to skirt puddles, they simply trudged through them. The Abbot suddenly did a little jump, causing a splash. He laughed.
“Good fun, really, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I had a good old splash and splosh.”
Bisky kicked out, sending a sheet of water widespread. “Let’s sing the Dibbuns’ rainsong, Father!”
It was just as well that Brother Torilis was not there to witness the undignified performance: young Bisky and the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey, roaring the song as they cavorted happily about in the rain.
“When the clouds are cryin’ rain,
we run outdoors an’ play,
splash an’ splosh about in pools,
splash an’ splosh all day!
Jump about an’ wot do y’get,
’tis only rain, you just get wet,
get wet as y’like an’ it’s alright,
then we won’t need a bath tonight!
Splashin’ here an’ splashin’ there,
splishin’ sploshin’ everywhere,
sloppy sandals soakin’ fur,
up to bed you naughty pair!
Splish diddly splash splash…splosh splosh!”
Young Umfry Spikkle, the big hedgehog Gatekeeper cum Bellringer, called from the Gatehouse doorway to Bisky and the Abbot. “Come in h’out that there rain afore youse catches a dose h’of the chewmonia, ’urry up. Sam’lus an’ Dwink ’ave been ’ere awhile, waitin’ for ye.”
Bisky stood aside, letting the Abbot enter first. “Who won the race, Umfry?”
Dwink showed himself, drying his handsome brush off with a towel. “Huh, your ole grandunk, that’s who!”
Samolus could be seen within. He was trotting about in small circles, his eyes twinkling. “Glad I ain’t young no more—got no energy, these young uns today, heeheehee!”
Umfry was still a youngish hog, a simple type who was not overburdened with learning. However, nobeast ever remarked on this, because he was a big hedgehog of prodigious strength. He tossed the newcomers a warm towel apiece, and poured two beakers from a kettle resting on the hearth. “Youse drink this down, h’its coltsfoot an’ burdock tonic. Mind now, h’its ’ot!”
Samolus stopped jogging. “Be a goodbeast an’ give me a lift up t’the rafters, Umfry. I’ve got some stuff stowed up there that we need to look at.”
Umfry lifted the old mouse over his head, as though he were merely placing a book back on a high shelf. “I never knew you was ’idin’ stuff up there, Sam’lus, wot sort o’ stuff is it?”
Reaching into a recess where two rafters crossed, Samolus brought out a parcel of scrolls, and two books. “Oh, it’s just some ancient records. Nothing that’d interest you, Umfry.”
The burly hedgehog placed Samolus carefully on the gatehouse floor. Samolus tossed the parcel on the table. “Ole records, eh? I never been able t’make spike or snout o’ that written stuff, h’it’s like a pile o’ wriggly worms t’me.”
Abbot Glisam patted the Gatekeeper’s hefty paw. “I’ll have to see about reading lessons for you, young fellow. Meanwhile, you just sit quiet and listen while Samolus reads to us.”
The old mouse took up a beautifully bound little volume, the front of which was adorned with a skilful drawing of a dainty flower. “See, this is a columbine, just like Gonff’s wife’s name. It was her diary.” He leafed slowly through the pages of neat, close-written script.
“Ah, here ’tis, listen to this….”
I could tell that Gonff had been stealing again. As soon as he came in last evening. It made me feel very anxious for him. My Gonff is no ordinary thief, he’d never steal from good creatures, but if he takes a fancy to something owned by a foebeast, a vermin or any evil creature, then he’ll steal it. I didn’t say anything, knowing that he’d tell me all about it, sooner or later. It was a warm summer evening, we took supper on the banks of the Abbey pond, with some of our friends. Martin the Warrior was off on a quest, so I sat with my Gonff, and our dear mole friend Dinny. It was he who noticed that all was not well with Gonff.
“Yurr zurr, you’m not a scoffen ee vikkles much. Wot bees up with ee, zurr Gonffen, you’m gone aseedingly soilent. Coom on, mate, owt wi’ et!”
Gonff took us both to a quiet corner of the orchard, not wanting any other Redwaller to hear what he had to say. It was a strange tale he related.
“A few nights back I was out on one of my rambles, in Mossflower Wood, when I saw an odd thing. Two little lights, pale, flickerin’ flames, dancin’ about in the darkness, as pretty as you please. At first, I felt like going to see just what they were, but something warned me not to show myself, so I stayed hidden, in a yew thicket.
“Then I spotted the stoat. He was a fat, raggedy vermin, swiggin’ away at a big flask o’ grog. I could smell the stuff, even from where I was, it was foul, probably made from bogweed an’ withered berries. So I watched Mister Stoat, he was bumblin’ along, bumpin’ into everythin’ an’ singin’ a vermin drinkin’ song that’d curl yore ears. He caught sight o’ the two little flames, the fool. Gigglin’ like a Dibbun an’ offerin’ ’em drinks o’ grog, he goes staggerin’ off after those tiny lights. I stayed where I was for a moment, then went off quietly, followin’ t’see what’d happen.
“Now I know my way round Mossflower better’n most beasts, an’ I could tell that we were near to the eastern marshes. Not a place that any creature with a grain o’ sense’d go wanderin’ about in the dark o’ night. I stopped on firm ground an’ saw it all. The lights led that ole raggy stoat on a right merry dance, jiggin’ about, just out of his reach. Round an’ round they danced him, then they took off, straight over the marshes. Before I could do anythin’, the stoat chased after the two lights.
“Needless t’say, he went down into the swamp like a stone. Right up to his chin, an’ sinkin’ fast he was, with the two little lights hoverin’ over him. I couldn’t quite make it all out, but they seemed t’be whisperin’ to the stoat. Somethin’ about whites, hissing softlike, it sounded like…Wytessssss!
“Then he was gone, under the mud, never t’be seen again. I’ve never liked vermin as y’know, but I felt a bit sorry for the stoat, bein’ murdered in that horrible way. I say murdered, because that’s wot those two pretty little flames did to the pore fool, lured him off an’ murdered him. So I decided to trail the lights an’ see where they went. Two points east an’ one point south they headed, or as otters’n’shrews say, east sou’east! Then it was me that felt foolish—the tiny flames vanished altogether, just afore dawn.
“Aye, there I was, trailin’ empty air, I began to doubt I’d ever seen those two little lights. So, I had a bite o’ brekkist, a drink from a stream an’ climbed an elm tree to get my bearin’s.