Tiria made room for her. “Sister, you’re usually one of the first here every morning. What kept you late today?”
Snowdrop dipped her farl in hot mint tea and sucked at it. “I am rather late, Miss Wildlough, so would you do me a favour? Please don’t bring any more large birds to this Abbey at mealtimes. Yesterday it was an osprey, just before supper. Today it was a barnacle goose at breakfast time. Quelt had me dashing around the library, pulling out reference books on geese and their seasonal flying times. It doesn’t do a creature’s eating habits any good, you know!”
Tiria licked sauce from her paw. “Sorry about that, Sister. So, Quelt has met Brantalis, has he?”
Snowdrop nodded. “He has indeed. It is his opinion that geese are more sociable and forthcoming than ospreys. He likes the Skyfurrows especially, having treated several of their gaggle in bygone seasons.”
The ottermaid agreed. “I like Brantalis, too. Did he say how he came by his wound?”
The little Sister poured herself more tea. “Brother Perant said the wound could have been a lot worse. He was cleaning and dressing it as I left the Infirmary. Your friend Brantalis told Quelt that he had been shot by a cat’s arrow.”
Brinty interrupted. “A cat’s arrow? But there aren’t any cats in Mossflower Country anymore. I wonder where he was when he received the wound?”
Using her habit sleeve, Snowdrop wiped steam from the tea from her tiny square glasses. “Over the great seas, in someplace called Green Isle, that’s what I heard him say.”
Girry thumped the table, sending plates clattering. “Green Isle! That’s the place you said the otter lady mentioned in your dream, Tiria!”
The ottermaid promptly repeated the line. “Seek the Green Isle through her knowledge.”
The Sister looked up from her breakfast. “Through whose knowledge? What are you young ’uns rattling on about?”
Tiria had already left the table and was heading for the stairs. “I’ll tell you later, Sister. Right now I’ve got to go and speak with that goose!”
She hastened up to the Infirmary, followed by her three friends and a curious Sister Snowdrop.
Brother Perant showed them into his sickbay, bowing ironically. “Ah, welcome to the Abbey nesting place. Any more big birds today, Tiria? A swan, or an eagle perhaps, or is it too early for them to come calling?”
Brantalis came waddling behind the Brother. He seemed spry enough and was proudly sporting a clean white-linen dressing around his neck. The barnacle goose pointed his beak at the Infirmary Keeper. “Right you were, Tiria. A great healer this mouse is, I am thinking. See, Brantalis is lively as an eggchick!”
The ottermaid nodded approvingly, then came straight to the point. “What do you know about a place called Green Isle?”
The osprey, perched up on the windowsill picking at the remains of his fish, spoke for the first time. “Kyeeh! Pandion Piketalon knows more of Green Isle than a Skyfurrow. It is my home. His kind only stop to feed there before flying on. Piketalons have always lived on Green Isle!”
Brantalis spread his powerful wings and flapped them. “Anywhere would I sooner dwell than the place of cats. A bad and wicked isle it is.”
Tiria stepped between both birds, who were now eyeing each other truculently. “Please, let’s not start arguing. Pandion Piketalon, do you know where the Green Isle is?”
The osprey looked slightly crestfallen. “Keeharr! I was hurt, and driven high over the great waters in a mighty storm. I could not tell you how I came to Red Walls. Kraaawk, I am far from home and lost!”
Brantalis puffed out his chest. “I am of the Skyfurrows. I am knowing the way, but I am thinking, no earth crawler could follow where I fly!”
Tribsy wrinkled his snout sagely. “Burr, you’m surrpintly currect thurr, zurr!”
Brinty threw up his paws irritably. “Then what’s the point of solving dream riddles if you can’t get to this confounded Green Isle place, eh?”
Sister Snowdrop looked over the rims of her tiny square spectacles. “Will somebeast please tell me, what is all this business of dreams and riddles?”
The osprey fluttered down from his perch. “Kreeaah! I know nought of dreams or riddles!”
Brantalis edged away from the fierce fish hawk, murmuring, “I am thinking the Piketalon knows nought but catching fish.”
Pandion’s golden eyes stared unblinkingly at the goose. “Better than dabbling in mud and honking to frighten clouds!”
Brother Perant stamped his paw and raised his voice. “Enough, do ye hear me? I will not have squabbling in my Infirmary. You, Pandion, back up on that sill! Brantalis, under the table and hold your beak!”
Girry winked at the normally mild-mannered healer. “That’ll teach ’em, eh Brother?”
Perant pointed to the door in a frosty manner. “Out, the lot of you! Go and solve your problems elsewhere, and leave me in peace. Come on, begone with you, and you, too, Sister Snowdrop!”
They shuffled silently out onto the landing. As the door slammed behind them, the little old Sister pulled a comical face, even though Perant could not see her. “Yah, stuffy old bandage bonce, go and physick yourself!”
Tiria shook her head wearily. “We’re not getting very far with this, are we?”
Snowdrop took her by the paw. “Don’t be so easily defeated, young ’un. Follow me, I’ll help you with your riddles and puzzles. I’m rather good at that sort of thing.”
Sister Snowdrop took them upstairs to the lower attics, where she worked as Old Quelt’s assistant. “Let’s go into the library. I can think better in there.”
The friends were reluctant to invade Quelt’s inner sanctum, since it was the ancient squirrel’s retreat from everyday life. Tiria whispered to the little Sister, “But won’t Old Quelt object to us disturbing him?”
For all her long seasons, Snowdrop was quite young at heart. Placing her paw on the library doorlatch, she giggled. “Heehee, not to worry, the old buffer’s probably taking his morning nap!”
Without warning, the door opened inward and the Sister fell flat as she went with it. Snowdrop found herself sprawled on the floor, staring up into the face of Redwall Abbey’s revered Librarian-cum-Recorder.
Quelt bowed politely. “Come in, friends. As you can see, the old buffer’s had his morning nap. Eh, Sister Snowdrop?”
6
It was late night over Green Isle. The river flowed smoothly along toward the sea, reflecting a half-moon and the brief flash of a comet blazing its track across the dark sky vaults. Two figures stole silently through the undergrowth which fringed the bank. They halted as a nightjar called from the darkened shallows. One of the two otters, Whulky, cupped both paws around his mouth and croaked like a frog.
A floating log materialised out of the shadows. Leatho Shellhound, who was poling it, jumped ashore and joined paws with the pair. “Sure I knew ye’d come. Y’weren’t followed, I trust?”
Chab, Whulky’s companion, reassured him. “The guards are so stuffed with roasted birdflesh that they’re snorin’ at their posts!”
The outlaw otter’s teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he drew in a short, angry breath. “A murderous an’ brutal affair, buckoes. All those pore birds killed to suit the whim of Riggu Felis. Ah well, hop on, an’ I’ll take ye to the gatherin’.”
As they poled the log downriver, Whulky whispered, “Is it true Zillo the Bard will be there?”
Keeping his eyes on the watercourse, the sea otter replied, “For sure ’tis. He’s been takin’ the enchanted slumber agin.’Twill be interestin’ to hear his ballad.”
Tall stones protruded up from the scrubland behind the shore dunes. Berthing the log, the three otters headed for them. In the past, sea and stream otters had gathered at this time-honoured venue in the hundreds. However, owing to the regime of Riggu Felis, that night’s attendance was no more than twoscore in number.