He rose dismissively and wandered casually indoors. Stopping in the fortress doorway, Riggu Felis called back over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and let their families join them beneath the pier. They can accompany them to Deeplough. That might help to loosen their tongues before tomorrow.”
Atunra and the catguards marched the otters off. Whulky and Chab were in deep shock at the horror they and their families would have to face.
7
Old Quelt smiled at the embarrassment on the faces of Sister Snowdrop and her four companions. “Don’t stand staring at the floor and shuffling your paws like naughty Dibbuns. Come in, all of you, and welcome. Redwallers have been making jokes about Old Quelt since long before you were born, Sister Snowdrop. Please run along and find these young ’uns something to drink.”
Snowdrop brought a flagon of pennycloud-and-rosehip tonic and some beakers from a window ledge, and poured the drinks. Tiria and her friends sat at a long, well-polished beechwood table, gazing about them at Quelt’s pride and joy: Redwall Abbey’s first library.
All four walls were shelved out from floor to ceiling with good oaken planking. Every possible area was full of books and scrolls. Thin pamphlets stood spine to spine with tall tomes, thick volumes and beribbonned rolls of parchment, all in neat order. To one side of the fireplace was a nook, which held a writing desk with two padded stools. Quill pens and charcoal sticks, together with hardwood rulers, sealing wax and sheafs of parchment, lay stacked, ready for use.
The ancient squirrel peered over the top of his glasses at his gaping guests. “Almost a lifetime’s work. I did it, you know. Helped, of course, by the good Sister Snowdrop, our trusty Cellarhog Carpenter and many obliging moles. So, what do ye think?”
Tiria acted as spokesbeast. “It’s wonderful, sir, most impressive. I hadn’t realised there were so many books and scrolls in our Abbey.”
Snowdrop refilled their beakers. “This is now the repository for all the written works of Redwall. Quelt gathered them in this former attic room. It took us long seasons to clear out the gatehouse records, and even longer to empty out the Abbess’s chambers, and the kitchens, cellars and dormitories.”
The Librarian-cum-Recorder sighed wearily. “Aye, and we’re still searching, discovering, dusting, repairing and cataloguing old writings. Huh, and that’s beside my work as Redwall Recorder.”
Brinty complimented Quelt. “You’ve worked wonders, sir. I expect you’re very proud of your library!”
The oldster wiped a drop of tonic from the tabletop with his sleeve. “ ‘Proud’ is not the word I’d use, ‘fulfilled’ sums it up better. Yes, I feel fulfilled by my achievement. But you haven’t come here to listen to some doddering old fogey rattling on about his library. What exactly are you looking for? Is there any way I can be of assistance?”
Sister Snowdrop glanced at Tiria. “Tell him about your dream riddle.”
Quelt began rolling up his wide habit sleeves. “Oh do, miss, I pray you. Riddles, puzzles or conundrums, I’ve always been pretty fair at that type of thing. Now, you may start at the beginning, and please leave nothing out!”
The ottermaid related her dream in detail—the big lake and its shore, and her encounter with Martin the Warrior and the otter lady. Word for word she recited the poem, then explained about her dream’s aftermath.
“It was very odd. After I woke up, I couldn’t even recall that I’d had a dream. Then my father unknowingly repeated the line about Wildlough blood, and it all came back as clear as day to me.”
Old Quelt picked up quill, parchment and ink. He stroked at his scraggy, silver whiskers reflectively before replying. “Hmm, very interesting. What do you young ’uns make of it all?”
Tribsy wrinkled his velvety snout. “We’m wuz ‘opin’ you’m or ee Sister cudd make sumthin’ of it all, zurr. Arter all, we’m bain’t gurt scholarbeasts like you’m bee’s.”
Girry agreed. “Huh, I wasn’t very bright at Abbeyschool.”
Brinty shook his head. “Neither was I. What about you, Tiria?”
The ottermaid smiled ruefully. “Afraid not, mate. When I should’ve been studying, I was always fooling about with slings and stones. Wish I’d paid more attention now.”
Sister Snowdrop stared at them through her small square glasses. “Oh, I’m sure you’re being too hard on yourselves, you four never struck me as dullards. Most riddles can be solved with some serious concentration. Let’s put our heads together and make a joint effort at finding the solution.”
Quelt pointed his quill pen at his assistant. “A sensible idea, Snowdrop. Come on, you can be the Recorder for a change. I want you to write down what Tiria has to say. Miss, would ye kindly repeat the poem again for us? Slowly, please.”
Tiria spoke the rhyme methodically, allowing the little Sister to keep pace with her words.
“Like the sun, High Rhulain will rise anew,
to set the downtrodden free.
A warriormaid with Wildlough blood
must cross the Western Sea.
She who looks ever through windows
at the signs that feathers make,
seek the Green Isle through her knowledge,
for all thy kinbeasts’ sake.”
Brinty came up with an immediate idea. “Why don’t we go down to the front lawns, stand back and watch all the Abbey windows? We may catch sight of the one who is always looking through them.”
Snowdrop put aside her pen. “Really, young mouse, you’ve lived at Redwall how long, fifteen or sixteen seasons? Tell me, in all that time did you ever see any creature who had little else to do than stand about gazing through windows night and day, eh?”
Brinty saw how foolish his idea must have sounded. “Sorry, Sister, I see what you mean. I was only trying to help.”
Tribsy rapped a huge digging claw upon the table. “Oi says ee bestest way to solve ee riggle bee’s to start at ee beginnin’ of et, hurr!”
Snowdrop complimented him. “An excellent suggestion! I always said that nobeast could beat sound mole logic. Now, we know that the sun rises anew each day, but we don’t know what a Rhulain is. However, this mention of a warriormaid with Wildlough blood fits your description, Tiria.”
The ottermaid pointed at herself. “Me? I’m not a warrior!”
A wry look crossed the old Sister’s face. “Excuse my asking, but are you not the one who led the charge against a gang of water rats and saved the osprey? And do you not carry around a sling named Wuppit, a weapon with which you slew a vermin with a single throw from an incredible distance? Please correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t the blood of Wildlough otters run through your veins, hence the very name you go by, Wildlough?”
Tiria attempted to equal her interrogator’s irony. “Huh, we know all that! Kindly stop quibbling and get on with your explanation of the poem, my good mouse.”
Snowdrop resumed without comment. “It states that you must cross the Western Sea, but let’s skip ahead a few lines. The object of your journey is to aid your kinbeasts, doubtless that means other otters. We know that they dwell on this place called Green Isle and are in some kind of difficulty. So that’s a start.”
Girry interrupted by referring to the lines Snowdrop had skipped over. “Right then, but we’re not on Green Isle, neither is Tiria. So our first task is exactly what Brinty meant: We must first find the window watcher who is always looking at the signs feathers make. That seems to be the key to this puzzle. I wonder who it can be.”
Tribsy blinked a few times, allowing the information to sink in. “Oi doan’t know who et bee’s, do ee?”
Brinty looked to the Recorder. “Have you any ideas, sir?”