The mole Friar looked them up and down. “Hurr, young uns, you’m bees soaken frum ee rain. Hmm, ’ow wudd ee loike a job on ee warm uvvens, pullen owt breadloaves. That’ll dry ee!”
Gratefully the pair hastened to join the oven crew, and began using long wooden paddles to retrieve freshly baked items. They joined in with their mates, singing what they termed the “Oven Shanty.” Helping on the ovens was a chore enjoyed by all the young Abbeydwellers. Side by side, they wielded the long beech paddles, roaring out the verses lustily, like sea otters aboard ship.
“Vittles don’t get cooked by themselves.
Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!
Paddle ’em from the hot oven shelves,
then paddle in plenty new vittles oh!
All fresh an’ crusty that’s the job,
Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!
Each farl an’ loaf or twist an’ cob,
there’s nowt like new baked bread oh!
Step lively now an’ paddle those pies,
Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!
Some scones for the Abbot, a nice surprise,
an’ maybe a raspberry tart oh!
Who bakes such wunnerful things as these?
Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!
With onion gravy an’ bubblin’ cheese?
’Tis Redwall’s kitchen crew oh!
So heave an’ ho an’ paddle oh.
Kick open that door an’ load in more,
afore we’re all done paddlin’ oooooooohhhh!”
Frintl placed a big plum cake on Bisky’s paddle. She smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry I snitched to Brother Torilis about you, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Bisky smiled as he shot the cake along the oven shelf. He wiped a paw across his brow cheerfully. “It turned out pretty well for me, don’t fret, matey!”
4
Contrary to popular hopes, the rain didn’t stop after lunch. If anything it seemed to increase, driven by a gusting east wind. This meant that the young ones, and particularly the Dibbuns, could not play outdoors. The molebabe Dugry and his trusty aide, a tiny squirrelmaid called Furff, were leading a band of their companions to the main Abbey door, until they were confronted by Skipper Rorgus. The brawny otter gave them a comical scowl.
“Shudder me rudder, I’ve caught a band o’ deserters!”
None of the Dibbuns feared Rorgus, they thought he was quite amusing. Furff wrinkled her snub nose at him. “Wot’s bandazerters?”
Rorgus allowed Furff to clamber up until she was perched on his shoulder, then he winked at her. “A band o’ deserters, me liddle darlin’, are scamps who run away when their friends need ’em.”
Molebabe Dugry began the ascent of Skipper’s legs. “Burr, we’m b’aint runnen ’way, zurr, us’ns jus’ loikes t’goo owtsoide an’ get soaked wet in ee rain!”
Rorgus clasped a paw dramatically to his brow. “Haharr, don’t go, mates, ye’ll all be drowned out there. Parts o’ that lawn are flooded deeper’n yore liddle heads. Stay indoors, I begs ye!”
A very tiny mouse spread his paws wide. “I soona get drownded. Wot us do in ’ere, eh, nuthin’!”
Skipper crouched down, looked left and right, squinting one eye, and beckoned them close. He spoke in a secretive whisper to the Dibbun band. “Nothin’? You mean pore ole Skipper’s goin’ t’be all on his own up in that dormitory?”
The very tiny mouse whispered back to Rorgus, “Worra you do up inna dormitty?”
The otter confided in a low, urgent tone, “I gotta ship up there, ready to set sail right away. I’m goin’ on a trip until this rain stops an’ I finds a rainbow. But I needs a crew—anybeast knows where a pore Skipper can find strong, trusty beasts?”
There was an immediate clamour of volunteers. A moment later, Rorgus was labouring up the stairs, laden down by his clinging crew. Abbot Glisam, who had overheard everything, smiled as he watched them go.
“I think our Skipper should keep them amused. You know, I’m not sure who enjoys that otter’s games more, him or the Dibbuns.”
Violet, the jolly hedgehog Sister, shook her head. “A table turned upside down, with one o’ my good bedsheets for a sail. Those liddle uns do ’ave fun!”
Samolus nodded wearily. “So they do, Sister, an’ what pray will we get. A table for me to fix, an’ a torn bedsheet for you to mend. That’ll be Skipper’s ship!”
Glisam agreed with both his friends. “Aye, that’s how it usually ends, but you wouldn’t begrudge the babes a bit of enjoyment on a rainy day, would you now?”
Sister Violet adjusted the fussy embroidered cap she always wore. “Gracious me, Father, I’d be the last one to complain. In fact, I think I’ll go to the kitchens and make a small parcel of provisions for those poor mites on their long voyage.”
Stifling a chuckle, the Abbot turned to Samolus. “I’m glad they won’t go hungry. So, my old friend, what’ll we do with the rest of our day?”
Samolus scratched his tail, as if it were a weighty decision. “Hmm, let me see. Ah yes, I thought we might join our young friends, Bisky, Dwink and Umfry, just to sort out Prince Gonff’s journal, and find where he hid those precious jewels.”
They gathered in the cellars to begin their research. Apart from the sounds of Corksnout and Gullub Gurrpaw working amongst the barrels, it was relatively peaceful. Using a barrelhead as a table, they sat near a forge, where the Cellarkeepers burnt old cask staves to make charcoal. It was pleasantly warm amidst the fragrant aromas of charred oak, October Ale, maturing wines and fruit cordials.
Abbot Glisam tossed Gonff’s journal to Bisky. It was an ordinary, green-covered volume, with an elaborate letter G written on it to denote its owner. The Abbot shook his head.
“I glanced through that during lunch. One thing’s certain: Gonff might have been the Prince of Mousethieves, but he was nowhere near as neat and concise as Lady Columbine. The whole thing is a frog’s dinner, just look at it!”
With Dwink and Umfry leaning over both his shoulders, Bisky did. At first he tried to study the notes carefully, but he ended up merely riffling through the worn and dog-eared pages.
“I see what you mean, Father, how is anybeast supposed to make tail or snout of this? It’s a mess, a jumble of scribbles and silly little sketches.”
Dwink took the book, opening it at the centre pages. “Aye, it’s a hotchpotch alright, but listen to this:
‘Red’n’green green’n’red
gouged out of an idol’s head
spurned by flower red’n’green
for the evil ye have seen
where are they, four magic lights
seek for them in vain, ye Wytes.’”
Samolus took the book. “I’ve read this bit a few times over the seasons, ’tis one of the few bits that makes sense. At least it confirms that Prince Gonff stole the stones and hid them. It also verifies Columbine’s version of the story.”
Umfry stared hard at the words, rubbed his eyes and enquired, “How d’ye make that h’out, Sam’lus?”
It was Bisky who explained it to Umfry. “Look at the line, ‘spurned by flower red’n’green.’ Columbine is the flower, red and green are the jewels. Remember what she said in her diary. Lady Columbine refused to take the stones from Gonff, so he hid them.”
Samolus glanced over at Bisky. “Well spotted, young un, do ye see anything else there? Take your time, go on, study the book.”
The Abbot interrupted, “While you’re searching, keep this in mind. It would be excellent if we stumbled immediately on where the stones are buried, or hidden, but I don’t think that will be the case. We know Gonff’s book is a mess of scribbles and sketches, none of them have much connection with the other. So, I think the exact location of the four stones will come out in due course. However, first we must establish which area they would be in.”