Ruark, the Skipper of Otters, had taken to sleeping in the gatehouse of late. Granvy, the old hedgehog Recorder, always slept there, in his armchair, leaving the big, comfortable bed vacant. Ruark took full advantage of this. It was not yet daylight when urgent knocking roused him.
Granvy blinked drowsily from his armchair. "Eh, who's that? It's still dark out there!"
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The big otter made a beeline for the door. "You stay there, mate. I'll see who 'tis."
He opened the door, to be confronted by an almost incoherent hogwife.
Drull kept covering her face with the flowery apron, gabbling nonstop. "Oh, corks a mercy me, wotever's 'appened--I never seen ought like it in all me borned days, so I never!"
Skipper pulled the hysterical creature inside and pushed her down into a chair, questioning her. "Wot haven't ye seen, marm? Slow down, now, what is it?"
Drull jumped up. Waving her paws, she bustled out of the gatehouse, still alarmingly talkative. "Come an' see, come an' see for yoreself, sir. Oh, corks'n'crabshells, y'ain't never seen nothin' like it. There's a vermin in the kitchens!"
Grabbing his javelin from behind the door, Skipper sped past her. "A vermin y'say, marm--stay away, an' keep everybeast out o' the kitchens!"
The young stoat, Globby, had indeed found the big cooking place, after a long, furtive search. Friar Soogum lay asleep in his office, unnoticed by the intruder. Globby had never seen so much food in one place. It was like paradise to the hungry young vermin. Trays of freshly baked scones, biscuits and breakfast bread were cooling on the shelves. The aroma almost sent him into ecstasy.
He was stuffing his face with a scone, a thin almond biscuit and a small crispy farl when he spotted the large earthenware jars with wooden ladles beside them. Honey, damson preserve, plum jam. In a moment, he was dripping with a combination of all three, his paws, chin, snout and cheeks literally plastered with the mixture. Then he discovered the flasks of pale cider, October Ale and elderberry wine. After a protracted period of sheer gluttony, gorging and swigging, Globby curled up on a ready floured table surface, nestling his head on a heap of unkneaded dough. He slumped into a satisfied sleep amidst the culinary
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wreckage he had created. Scones, bread, biscuits lay scattered in a soggy mess, with honey, preserves, spilled drink and an upset cauldron of cold oatmeal porridge.
Skipper Ruark spotted Globby as soon as he entered the kitchens. Knowing the slumbering vermin presented no immediate danger, the Otter Chieftain moved silently, searching the area for other foebeasts. He found Friar Soogum, who had just wakened. The old water vole yawned, rubbed his eyes and smiled.
'G'mornin', Skip. I'll get breakfast goin' right away."
Skipper placed a paw to his lips. "Nay, sir. You stay there until I call ye. Don't come out!"
Word had swiftly gone around the early risers. Abbess Marjoram, Foremole Darbee, several of his crew and Cel-larmole Gurjee crowded the doorway as Skipper roused Globby into consciousness.
The young stoat blinked, stared at the otter for a moment, then bounded from the table with the mound of dough still stuck to the side of his face. The brawny Skipper seized him by the tail, slamming him back onto the table. Grabbing a breadknife, he put the point against Globby's nosetip.
"If'n ye value yore mizzrubble life, mudface, ye'll start talkin' fast. Wot are ye doin' here, eh?"
The young Ravager had expected to be slain on the spot. Finding himself still alive, his natural insolence came to the fore. He grinned cheekily. "I was 'ungry, so I thought ye wouldn't mind me borrowin' a bite o' vikkles an' a drop t'drink."
Abbess Marjoram came to the table, staring at him coldly. "And tell us, pray, how did you get into this Abbey?"
Globby wrinkled his jam-smeared snout at her. "That's my liddle secret, missis. I ain't tellin' yer!"
That was when Skipper's temper got the better of him. Throwing aside the breadknife, he grabbed a wooden oven paddle. Roughly flopping Globby over on his stomach, he proceeded spanking away with the paddle.
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Thwack! Splat! Thwack! Splat! Thwack! Splat!
Skipper roared over the Ravager's squeals and screeches. "Who d'ye think ye are, talkin' to the Mother Abbess o' Redwall like that, ye hardfaced liddle whelp!"
Marjoram stayed the big otter's paw in midspank. "You'd best stop before you injure him seriously!"
Skipper released Globby, who immediately fell to the floor holding his rear end as he wriggled about in a horizontal dance.
"Waaaahwaaaah! Eeeeeeyowwww! Hoohoohoowaaaah!"
Foremole Darbee shook a hefty digging claw at him. "Hurrhurr, may'aps ee'll keepen a siverful tongue in you'm 'ead, moi bold vurrmint. Naow, you'm answer ee h'Abbess, noice an' perloit loike!"
Kicking his footpaws frenziedly Globby continued his agonised howls. Skipper grabbed the scruff of his neck, hauling him back over the table.
"I don't reckon he 'eard ye, sir. I'll just carry on 'til his manners improves."
Globby wailed brokenly, "Waaaahaaah--don't 'it me no more. I'll tell ye. I climbed over the back wall!"
Marjoram continued her interrogation of the stoat. "The back wall? You mean our eastern rampart? How in the name of seasons did you manage that?"
One glance at Skipper's stern face convinced Globby to reply truthfully. "Climbed uppa big tree an' went along a branch near the wall. I jumped it."
Skipper clapped a paw to his brow. "We've forgotten to trim back the branches for three seasons now. They must've grown good'n'long!"
Marjoram reassured him. "It's my fault, friend. There's been peace for so long that there's been no need of tree trimming. So, let's remedy the situation today!"
Skipper Ruark saluted. "Leave it t'me, marm. Gurjee, bring any axes, saws or cuttin' tools up from yore cellars. Brother Tollum, gather the best climbin' squirrels t'gether. Foremole, take yore crews up to the walltops.
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Drull, marm, tell the Friar we'll need packed lunches for the workers, if'n ye please."
The hogwife fidgeted anxiously with her apron strings. "But nobeast's 'ad brekkist yet, sir."
The Abbess interrupted. "I'm sure the branch trimming is far more important, Drull. Besides, breakfast is already ruined, and it'll take time to clear up the mess, no thanks to this scruffy savage!"
Friar Soogum emerged from his makeshift bedroom. The old water vole shook his head in disbelief. "You mean t'tell me one vermin did all this to my kitchen? Drull, you see to the packed lunches. You, what's your name?"
The young stoat avoided the Friar's icy stare. "Globby."
Soogum rolled up his habit sleeves in a businesslike manner. "Well, listen to me, Globby. You're goin' to clean this kitchen from top t'bottom. What are you goin' t'do?"
Globby saw the Friar pick up the oven paddle and give the air a few experimental whacks.
"Er, leave it t'me, sir. I'll 'ave the ole place shinin' like a new pin afore ye knows it!"
Dawn was streaking the skies with pale light as Dinko dropped into the ditch beside Daclaw and Raddi. His arrival wakened Daclaw, who had been catching a nap. He glared sourly at the young rat.
'Wot are yew doin' 'ere? Yore supposed t'be watchin' the back gate with yer mate."
Dinko told his group leader what had taken place. "Well, it's like this, y'see. When we was round there last night, Globby kept on about the nice vittles wot must be inside. So 'e climbed a big tree, crawled along an 'igh branch an' jumped onto the top of the wall. Said 'e was goin' t'look for stuff to eat. Any'ow, he went in, an' I ain't seen 'ide nor 'air of 'im since, Chief. So I thought I'd better tell ye."
Daclaw paced up and down the ditchbed irately. "Went into Redwall, did 'e? Jelly-brained idjit! Young Globby's
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dead either way. If'n those inside don't slay 'im, Zwilt the Shade will fer disobeyin' orders. Frogskins an' 'ells teeth, wot am I goin' t'do now, eh?"