Nutwing flapped his wings resignedly. "Hmm. Sky's too far up for me to see. I don't bother with it."
Friar Butty came around outside the gatehouse to where the owl stood. "Well, friend, I'm sure you didn't come this far just to chat about the weather. What d'you want?"
Nutwing thought long and hard, blinking and moving his head from side to side. "Hmm, mm, er, let me see, was it something t'do with ... No, that wasn't it... Perhaps it was . .. Hmm, no, I'd forgotten about that..."
Butty smiled indulgently. "Was it anything to do with strawberries, perhaps?"
Nutwing looked astonished. "How did you know?"
"Because when you flapped your wings a strawberry Jell out on the grass. There it is."
It was a giant of a fruit, shiny red, plump and speckled with seeds. Nutwing grinned happily. Retrieving the strawberry, he gave it to the squirrel. "I brought this beauty over for you, friend. They're taking the berries to tin' kitchen, and your advice is needed."
Friar Butty bit into the fruit, wiping juice from his whiskers as he chewed. "Oh, delicious. I hope they're all lln" same quality as this'n. What a wonderful thing a strawberry is. It has a flavor and fragrance all of its own the taste of a good summer. Right, let's go to the kitchens and see how I can be of help."
IWigermum Cregga was totally blind, though it did not seem to hamper her greatly. She waited at the Abbey's main door to greet the pair. "Ah, well done, Nutwing, you remembered your errand. Come on, Butty, finish eating that strawberry and get along to the kitchens."
The old Friar was amazed. "But how did you ..."
Redwall's blind Badgermum forestalled the question. "I know 'tis you because you limp a bit on that rheumatic paw and any creature with half a nose and one ear can tell by the aroma and the sound of chomping when some-beast is enjoying a big strawberry. Now, hurry along before the Dibbuns decide what to do with the entire crop."
Gubbio Foremole and Sister Sloey had their paws full, trying to control the greedy Abbeybabes, the Dibbuns, from ravaging the baskets of fruit that were piled up everywhere around the kitchens.
"Yurr, you'm rarscal, git'n ee paws outen yon barsket!"
Foremole lifted a tiny mouse down from the shelftop, where she was rummaging in a basket to find the biggest berries. Sister Sloey menaced two small moles who were stained from ear to smock with crimson juice, shaking a wooden spoon at them as they stuffed strawberries into their mouths with both paws.
"Not another one, d'you hear me? Stop immediately!"
Through a mouthful of the fruit one of the molebabes explained patiently to the Infirmary Sister why they had to complete their self-appointed task. "Nay, marm, us'n's be on'y h'eatin' ee ones that'll go bad soon. Hurr, it'n 'ard job furr ee loikes of uz h'infants!"
The Sister did not share their viewpoint. "The only things that'll go bad are your tummies. You'll be sick as stuffed frogs, the pair of you. Now, stop it this instant!"
All the Dibbuns froze as Cregga's voice boomed severely through the kitchens. "Just point out any Dibbuns who've been pinching strawberries an' I'll deal with them, by the thundering seasons of strife I will!"
The molebabe, Wugger, tugged Friar Butty's habit cord and whispered, "Yurr, zurr Butty, doan't ee tell Badgermum oi bin pinchin' st'awbees an' oi woan't tell on ee!"
The old Friar winked secretly at Wugger and spoke out loud. "Cregga, marm, how could you say such things? I'm sure none of the Dibbuns would be so villainous as to pinch strawberries. They're merely helpin' to carry them in and stack the baskets."
A chorus of agreement burst from the Dibbuns.
"Yuss, Friar be right, marm!"
"Us'n's be gudd an' 'onest beasts!"
"Nono pincha st'awbees, not never!"
Cregga nodded solemnly. "Well, I'm very glad to hear it, because once, many seasons before any of you were born, we had a Dibbun at Redwall who . . . D'you remember what happened to him, Sister Sloey?"
Sloey pursed her lips forbiddingly as she continued the tale. "Oh, I recall that one right enough. He ate strawberries from dawn to dusk on the day of the harvest, never listened to a word when he was told to stop, kept on pinchin' and scoffin' all the biggest and juiciest ones. Guess what happened to him as he was on the stairs to the dormitory?" Sloey gazed around at the wide-eyed Dibbuns hanging on her every word. Suddenly she clapped her paws sharply and shouted out, "He went... Bang! Just like that! Exploded! Was never seen again! Isn't that right, Friar Butty?"
The old squirrel nodded sadly. "Aye, that's what happened, Sister. You can still see the red mark he left halfway up the stairs, poor greedy little mite!"
Shocked and horrified Dibbuns unloaded strawberries from their smock pockets back into the baskets, stunned by the fate of the gluttonous Dibbun in that far gone season. Then they rushed from the kitchens, squeaking and shouting as they headed for the dormitory stairs where the incident was reputed to have taken place.
When they had gone, Cregga popped a strawberry into her mouth, chuckling. "Haha! That story works every summer. I wonder what that bright red mark on the stairs is, though? It feels quite smooth. Probably a lump of quartz in the stone."
Nutwing watched Cregga feel around in the basket beside her for another large strawberry. "Hmm, mm. I've seen it. A bit too big for a Dibbun. Must've been a greedy badger who wouldn't stop pinchin' strawberries, eh?"
Tragglo Spearback the Cellarkeeper, an immense hedgehog, lumbered in. Stuffing both paws in his wide canvas apron pocket, he grinned and winked at Nutwing. "Aye, may'aps 'twere a badger. Now then, ole Butty, which ones are mine? Make sure they're good'n'juicy enough to brew into a barrel o' strawberry fizz."
Friar Butty did his rounds of the baskets, sniffing and prodding gently at the fruit they contained, and marking certain ones with a charcoal stick.
"Those should be enough for you, Tragglo, a dozen good baskets. Sister Sloey, you take this one, to sweeten up those herb potions you give to sick Dibbuns. Brother Melilot?"
A fat dormouse emerged from an unlit oven with scrubbing brush and pail in his paws.
"Last time I let moles make damson jam in my oven. Sticks like glue when it bubbles over. Did y'want me, Friar?"
Butty indicated the unmarked baskets. "These are all yours. What d'you plan on making? Strawberry tarts, obviously. I noticed a pot of redcurrant jelly cooling on the windowsill as I came in."
Melilot took off his greasy apron and began tying on a freshly laundered one. "Strawberry tarts for sure, with good shortcrust pastry and lots of whipped meadow-cream on top. I'll probably do some strawberry and pear flans too, and a big strawberry trifle if you'll be good enough to help me, Friar."
Butty agreed willingly. "Oh, yes, an extra big trifle, with plums and raspberries in it too."
Everybeast began contributing its ideas of what made the perfect trifle.
"An' lots o' flaked almonds an' hazelnuts sprinkled on top!"
"Aye, with a good beaker of elderberry wine poured in."
"Be sure to set it in blackberry jelly."
"With lots of honeysponge slices t'make it nice an' soggy!"
"Sweet arrowroot custard too, good'n'deep!"
"Burr hurr, an' gurt globbets o' clotted meadowcream .itop o' that!"
The discussion was interrupted when a stocky older M|iiirrel strode in, a younger one in his wake, both carrying pails in either paw. The older squirrel, Rusvul, was obviously hot and rather irritated.
"Anybeast interested in lendin' a paw to fetch water from the pond for that orchard out there? Seems there's only me an' my son left t'do it."
Cregga placed a paw across her brow. "Oh, I'm sorry, Rusvul. I meant to send Nutwing over to tell you the orchard's been watered enough for today."
Nutwing smiled behind his pebble-thick glasses. Hmm, mm. Glad I'm not the only creature who forgets things."
Rusvul had been at Redwall less than three seasons. He had been a wanderer and a warrior, but when his wife died he'd come to stay at Redwall, bringing with him his son Dannflor, a quiet young squirrel. Both were strong and good workers, but Rusvul had changed since the death of his wife. He was no longer the happy-go-lucky creature of former days, but was often quick to take offense, and sometimes difficult to get on with.