The Badgermum filled the three cups, then waited until they had taken a couple of sips and dried their eyes.
"Tastes like sweet fire, doesn't it? I usually have a drop on winter mornings, just to get me up and about. There, that's better. I've seen lots of winters, you know, far more than anybeast I know. Every grey hair on my black stripes is a winter. Aye, I've seen friends too, good companions, die and pass over to the silent streams and sunlit glades. Oh, I'm not the hard old blind warrior everybeast thinks I am. I've grieved and shed tears, long and loud, for my departed loved ones. Don't be ashamed to weep; 'tis right to grieve. Tears are only water, and flowers, trees and fruit cannot grow without water. But there must be sunlight also. A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us."
Filorn clasped the badger's paw. "Thank you for your kind words, Cregga."
The Badgermum could not resist pouring them another small tot of the damson wine. "Oh, don't thank me, I'm speaking for all our Redwallers. 'Tis they who want to thank you for arranging and cooking most of this feast. Friar Bobb and young Broggle had almost the entire evening off because of your splendid efforts. As for me, well, I don't want to see you both hiding in these kitchens, and neither would your dad if he was here, Mhera. Isn't that right, Filorn?"
Drinking her wine off in one draft, the otter mother lost her breath for a moment, then stood up, nodding. "Whooh! Yes, that's right. Rillflag always used to say that time heals everything and life must go on."
Skipper was standing on a chair. He spotted the lantern Mhera was carrying and called out in a hoarse whisper, "Belay, mates, 'ere they come. Are ye ready?"
Loud cheers resounded as the trio entered the orchard. Redwallers gathered around to thank Filorn and Mhera.
"Many many thanks for the wonderful spread, ladies!"
"Hurr aye, missus, et wurr greatly impreciated boi all!"
"Never had a blinkin' scoff like it in me jolly old life, wot!"
While a molemaid presented each of the otters with a bouquet of flowers, Drogg tipped the wink to Boorab, who had the Jolly Dibbuns Choir ready with a song. Giving Egburt a swift warning glance, Boorab tapped his baton against the upturned wheelbarrow and started them off on the background harmony.
"Rum be diddle dee dum, be diddle dee dum, dee diddledy dum..."
The hare pointed an ear at his soloist. Broggle stepped to the front and sang out beautifully into the lantern-lit orchard.
"Ladies dear oh ho we thank you,
For this evening's wondrous feast,
Every Dibbun every elder,
From the greatest to the least.
We can say with paw on heart,
That your efforts did you proud,
So in tribute to your art,
Let us sing with joy aloud.
Ladies dear oh how we thank you,
And in truth we always will,
Knowing that your gracious beauty,
Is in keeping with your skill!"
Amid the applause, Foremole Brull pounded Broggle's back. "Gurtly dunn, young maister. Ee doan't be a-stammeren when ee singen. 'Tis ee marvel!"
The young squirrel flicked his bushy tail triumphantly. " No, marm, an' I don't stammer when I speak anymore, as you can see. Completely cured, thanks to my good friend Mr. Boorab. I sang the words in my mind as I spoke them at first, but now I don't even have to do that anymore. I just speak as I like an' out it comes, without a stammer or a stumble or a trip. Talk? It's the simplest thing on earth! Would you like to hear me recite the alphabet, forward, backward or sideways as you please? 'Tis quite simple, listen. . ."
Broggle was forestalled by Boorab's thrusting a honeyed hazelnut slice into his mouth. The hare pulled Brull to one side.
"Confounded young bounder found his voice earlier this evenin', an' now I can't shut him up. Lackaday, he's babblin' like a bally brook. There's no stoppin' him. Humph. Wonder if I did the right thing, givin' him my special lessons, wot?"
Brull poured the hare a tankard of strawberry fizz. "Nay, zurr, you'm can't teach ee young Broggler to stammer agin. Us'n's ull 'ave to put up wi' et. Hurr hurr hurr!"
Broggle buttonholed Mhera and Filorn. He had decided to practice his newfound speech powers on anybeast who would listen.
"Ahah, a very pleasant evening to you both. What a magnificent and sumptuous feast, or as my friend Mr. Boorab would say, super scoff, wot wot? Sumptuous. Now, there's a word I could never say when I stammered, but now it's sumptuous, superior, superlative, splendid! What a splendid word splendid is, just like the food you made for us and this smashing summer evening in our Abbey's awesome orchard. It's all too splendiferous for words, ladies!"
Filorn put a paw around Broggle's shoulder and laughed. "It certainly is, young squirrel, and all the better for hearing you speak properly for the first time. Congratulations!"
"Huh, easy for your mum to say," Friar Bobb muttered to Mhera out of the corner of his mouth. "She doesn't have a bedspace near Broggle in the kitchen larder. I'm going to kip down on the Abbey roof if he starts talking in his sleep. What are you laughing at, missie? It's not funny, y'know!"
Mhera took a drink of strawberry fizz from Boorab's tankard. "Oh, hahaha. Sorry, Friar, I'm not laughing at you. Hahaha. It's just that I feel happy all of a sudden!"
Boorab cast a jaundiced eye into his near-empty tankard. "Er, excuse me, my pretty young gel, but next flippin' time you start feelin' happy would you mind standin' next to some other chap's drink, wot!"
Little Gundil offered his beaker to Mhera. "Yurr, miz, you'm can taken ee drink o' mine."
The ottermaid was about to accept the offer when the hare neatly relieved the molebabe of his beaker.
"My turn to pinch somebeast's drink, old chap, wot!"
He swigged down a good mouthful, swallowed it and clapped a paw to his throat. A look of horror spread across his face. He charged off toward the Abbey pond, roaring, "Yaaaagh! It's 'orrible! I'm poisoned! I'm on fire! Whoooaah!"
Gundil stuck out a bottom lip as he inspected the empty beaker. "Hurr, et wurr only summ 'otroot zoop'n'dannyline wine an' 'ot minty tea wi' roasted chesknutters a-floaten in et. 'Tis moi fayvert drink. Vurry tasty, hurr aye!"
Mhera, Filorn, Friar Bobb, Cregga and Foremole Brull fell about laughing helplessly. Broggle wandered amongst them, waving a paw in the air and declaiming airily, "Taken aback was my unfortunate instructor, stricken by a cunning concoction, whilst about him many mingled in mirthful merriment. Truly the Summer of Happiness and Friendship was off to a memorable start, or should that be splendiferous start? I like that word, it's splendiferous!"
Book 2
Fifteen Seasons On
Chapter 6
Felch the fox had run, taking the blade of Sawney Rath with him. Trees, shrubs, bushes and grass merged into a green blur in the dawn rain as the fox staggered along on leaden paws. Felch had been running since midnight. He was glad of the rain, hoping that it would obliterate his tracks and throw his pursuer off the scent. Instinctively he knew that Sawney would send only one creature to hunt him down. The Taggerung. Blundering into nettlebeds and crashing through groves of fern, Felch felt a numbing terror constrict his aching chest. Who could escape the Taggerung? Now the weariness was pressing upon him; he could feel himself making stupid errors. Rain or no rain, he was leaving a trail that a one-eyed toad could follow. But the sound of a river in the distance drove him onward through north Mossflower. It was the only place where he could possibly stand a chance. Rainwater dropped from his nosetip onto his parched tongue, and he blinked away the raindrops that broke against his slitted eyelids. A fat woodpigeon, which had been feeding on the ground, whirred up in front of him. The startled fox let out a ragged yelp and tripped over an elm root. Ignoring the blood seeping from an injured footpad, he struggled upright and continued a crazily weaving course. River noise grew loud in his ears as he skirted a yew thicket, his heart rising at the sight in front of him: a high riverbank with alder and willows overhanging it. There were rocks sticking up from the water, which was deep with no shallows. Felch grabbed a leafy bough and scrabbled down. Cold swirling currents took his breath away for a moment as he landed shoulder-deep in front of a rock ledge. Pushing through the overhanging willow foliage, he wedged himself safely under the bank, out of the main current. Rain dappled the river surface, its noise making hearing difficult. The fox was bone weary, hungry, wet and miserable, but at least he was alive. His eyes flickered from side to side as he watched for any unusual movement around him, some inner sense suddenly telling him there was another creature nearby. From above, small fragments of rock and earth splashed into the water, and overhanging willow branches swayed, dipping downward into the current.