“Go ’way, yore dead! Get away from me, d’ye hear?” The Searat captain caught Ferron looking strangely at him across the fire. “Who are ye gawpin’ at, long face, eh?”
Ferron knew better than to answer back. Instead, he lay back down and closed his eyes. All the crew had been saying the same thing. Lately Cap’n Bol was acting very strange.
9
Dawn was only moments old, but Redwall Abbey was awake and buzzing. Today was the special day Abbot Carrul had promised. Breakfast was already being served from a large buffet table, set up in the passage outside the kitchens. With laden platters, the Redwallers sat down to eat at anyplace which took their fancy. Horty and his friends looked out from the dormitory window at the scene below. Dibbuns thronged together on the broad front step of the Abbey, spooning down bowls of oatmeal mixed with honey and fruit. Anybeast wanting to dine outside had to step carefully over them to reach the lawns or the orchard. It was a jumble of happy confusion.
Muggum waved his beaker at the passing elders, who tip-pawed around him. “Yurr, moind ee paws, you’m nearly trodded in this choild’s brekkist. Whurr’s ee manners? Hurr!”
Warm sunlight was rapidly dispersing the mist into a golden haze. Fenna the squirrelmaid leaned out over the dormitory sill and dropped a fragment of scone down into the hood of Sister Setiva’s habit, giggling as she drew back inside.
“Did she notice it?”
Horty reassured her. “Not at all. She’s toddled off down to the pond with Brother Gelf. Hahaha! I expect old Setiva’ll be set upon by the first blinkin’ bird that spots it. Should liven her up, wot!”
Springald watched the Infirmary Sister balancing her tray gingerly as she crossed the lawn. “Huh, pity help the bird who tries to set upon her. She’ll bath it in the pond and physick it silly. Look out, here comes Father Abbot!”
The mischievous trio ducked below the windowsill as Abbot Carrul, Toran, Sister Portula and Martha emerged from the Abbey. Toran lifted Martha’s chair over the step and assisted Portula with a trolley full of food. They set out for the gatehouse together, with Abbot Carrul stretching his paws and breathing deeply.
“My my, it’s a good-to-be-alive day. Let’s hope we get a few hours of peace to tackle our studies.”
Toran had to rap loudly on the gatehouse door to gain attention. Old Phredd could be heard inside, arguing with an armchair.
“Come out my way and let me see who ’tis. It’s your fault, being so comfy and allowin’ me to sleep like that!”
A moment later, his frowzy, prickled head poked around the door. “Oh, er hmm. Good morning, I suppose it’s morning, isn’t it? Of course, if ’twas noon, the sun would be much higher, eh, eh?” Dabbing his face in a bowl of water, the ancient hedgehog absentmindedly wiped his eyes on Martha’s lap rug. “There, that’s better. Oh good, I see you brought breakfast with you. Splendid, I’m starving!”
Martha ate very little, trying to hold back her impatience as Phredd slowly munched his way around the food. Toran, however, got to the point right away.
“Well then, sir, how did yore studyin’ go? Did ye find out anythin’ useful about Loamhedge?”
Phredd nodded toward a dusty book lying on his bed. “Oh, that. Take a look in the old volume there. I read it until I could keep my eyes open no longer. Hmm, quite interesting really, an exciting little story, eh?”
Martha opened the book, its pages yellow with age and so brittle that they were cracking and beginning to flake. She read aloud from the neatly scribed lines of purple, faded ink. “Written by Tim Churchmouse. Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country . . .”*
Phredd interrupted her as he dealt with a hazelnut roll. “It was written in the seasons of Abbot Mordalphus. The account of Mattimeo, son of Matthias the Abbey Champion. All about abduction and slavery, a search, a chase and so on. If you’re looking for a route to the old Abbey of Loamhedge, the descriptions are very long and complicated, but there’s a map included that should be a help. Actually I only got a third of the way through the account before I dropped off. . . .”
Abbot Carrul shook his head in wonder. “In the seasons of Mordalphus, . . . Dearie me! That book must be nearly as old as time itself!”
Sister Portula put aside her beaker of mint tea. “The land will have changed a lot since then, what with rains and floods altering water courses and storms blowing down trees. There’ll be new areas of woodland grown over the ages, and I don’t know what. Do you think it will be much help, Toran?”
As she had been speaking, the noise of stamping paws and singing voices had been swelling outside.
Toran went to the door. “Who knows, Sister? Great Seasons, what’s all that rackety din about?”
Old Phredd chuckled. “They’re singing the Summer Feast song. What a happy sound! Let’s go out and watch, eh, eh?”
Martha was less than enthusiastic, since she wanted to continue studying the book. But the Abbot patted her paw encouragingly. “You know, we can study the problem at our leisure, but next summer’s first day is a long time away. They sound so joyful and excited! Come on, young ’un, let’s go and see.”
Smilingly, the haremaid relented.
Up and down the wallsteps and all over the lawns, Redwallers, led by Horty, were joining paws and skipping about, singing lustily to the jolly tune.
“The sun could not shine brighter
upon this summer’s day,
my heart could not be lighter.
I’ve heard our Abbot say
there’ll be a feast this evening,
so listen one and alclass="underline"
This afternoon we’ll run a race
around the Abbey wall!
Come form up in a line, pals,
and listen for your names,
it’s ready steady set and go,
for Redwall Abbey games!
There’s vittles in the kitchen,
good ale and cordials, too,
fine singers and musicians,
to play the evening through.
But first I’ll gird my robe up,
so I don’t trip or fall.
I’m going to be the first around
that high old Abbey wall!
Come form up in a line, pals,
and listen for your names,
it’s ready steady set and go,
for Redwall Abbey games!”
Martha could not resist the merry cavalcade. Clapping her paws in time to the lively song, she laughed happily. Sister Portula, whooping like a wildbeast, grabbed Martha’s chair and dashed off into the throng.
Abbot Carrul winked at Phredd. “My mistake for starting all this, but who could sit indoors studying on such a wonderful day?”
Toran, in complete agreement, shepherded both of his friends out of the way of the dancers. “You two stay here. I’ll go an’ bring two armchairs an’ the rest o’ the food out of the gatehouse. Ye can sit back an’ watch the whole thing in comfort. We can always look through dusty ole books tomorrow.”
Old Phredd spoke to a buttercup growing by the wall. “Heehee, now there’s a sensible young creature. Beasts like that make a body enjoy his old age, eh, eh?”
Bragoon and Saro stood outside the main gate. Memories flooded back as they touched the stout oak timbers.
The aging squirrel looked misty-eyed. “Dear ole Redwall Abbey! Sounds like they’re havin’ a good time in there, mate. Well, do we knock for the Gatekeeper?”
Bragoon scuffed the gravel path with his rudder as he pondered the question. “Hmm, we’ve been a long time gone. Suppose nobeast knows us anymore. Or worse, supposin’ they do recognise us an’ recall wot a pair of scoundrels we were! They might not want us back. Wot d’ye think?”