Chapter 7
Rainwater drummed against the high stained glass windows of Redwall Abbey. It had poured down since midnight of the previous day. Even the hardiest of workbeasts had left their outdoor tasks for dry ones indoors. Mhera and her faithful friend Gundil emerged from the kitchens to sit upon the cool stone steps to Great Hall. Brushing a paw across her brow, the ottermaid blew a sigh of relief. "Whooh, goodness me, it's hot in there, Gundil!"
The mole undid his apron and wiped the back of his neck. "Yuss, marm. If'n oi'd stayed thurr ee moment longer they'm be 'avin' ee roastified mole furr dinner. Hoo aye!"
Filorn's call reached them from the kitchens. "Mhera, Gundil, come and take this tray, please."
She met them just inside the kitchen entrance. Filorn was no longer a young ottermum. Her face was lined and she stooped slightly, but to her daughter she still looked beautiful. Mhera, who was now much taller than Filorn, touched her mother's workworn paw gently.
"Why don't you finish in there for the day? Go to the gatehouse and take a nap with old Hoarg in one of his big chairs."
Filorn dismissed the suggestion with a dry chuckle. "Food doesn't cook itself, you know. I'm well able for a day's labor. Huh! I can still work the paws from under either of you two young cubs!"
Gundil tugged his nose in courteous mole fashion. "Hurr, you'm surpintly can, marm. Boi 'okey, you'm a gurt cooker, all roight. But whoi doan't ee take a likkle doze?"
Filorn presented them with the tray she was carrying. "If I listened to you two I'd never get out of bed. Now take this luncheon up to Cregga Badgermum, and be careful you don't trip on the stairs. Gundil, you carry the flagon and Mhera can take the tray."
Cregga was dozing in her chair when she heard the approaching pawsteps. "Come right in, friends," she called. "Gundil, you get the door. Put the flagon down in case you drop it!"
They entered, shaking their heads in wonder. Cregga patted the top of the table next to her overstuffed armchair. "Put the tray down here, Mhera. Mmmm, is that mushroom and celery broth I can smell? Filorn has put a sprinkle of hotroot pepper on it, just the way I like it."
She checked Gundil. "Don't balance that beaker on the chair arm. Put it there, where I can reach it easily."
The mole wrinkled his snout. "Burr, 'ow do ee knoaw, Creggum? Anybeast'd think you'm 'ad ten eyes, 'stead o' bein' bloinded."
She patted his digging claw as he replaced the beaker. "Never you mind how I know. Hmph! That door has swung closed again. Open it for me, please, Mhera my dear. This room can get dreadfully stuffy on a rainy summer's day."
Mhera opened the door, but it would not stay open. "Warped old door. It's starting to close again, Cregga."
The badger blew on her broth to cool it. "Have a look in the corner cupboard. I think there's an old doorstop in there, on the bottom shelf."
Mhera did as she was bidden, finding the object immediately. "Oh, look, it's a little carved squirrel, made from stone, I think. No, it's made from heavy dark wood. Where's it from?"
Cregga dipped a barley farl in her broth and took a bite. "It belonged to Abbess Song. Her father, Janglur Swifteye, carved it from a piece of wood he found on the seashore. That was longer ago than I care to remember. Though I do recall that when Song was old she used it as a doorstop too. She gave it to me before she passed on. Why don't you take it, Mhera? When Song was young she was a lot like you in many ways. I was going to leave it to you when my time comes, but you might as well have it now."
Mhera took the carved statuette to the window and turned it this way and that, admiring it. "Thank you, Cregga, it's lovely. Abbess Song's dad must have been a very skilled carver, it looks so alive. What a pity it ended up as just a doorstop. Here, Gundil, take a look."
The mole took hold of the carved squirrel and inspected it closely, sniffing and tapping it with his digging claws. "Burr, wunnerful h'objeck. 'Tain't no doorstopper, tho'. This 'un's a bokkle."
Mhera looked at her molefriend curiously. "A bottle? You mean a sort of flagon?"
Gundil nodded sagely. "Ho urr. Oi see'd one afore. Moi ole granfer 'ad one shapened loike ee moler. Kep' beer in et ee did."
Cregga poured herself cold mint tea. "Tell us then, Gundil, how can a statue be a bottle? How would you get anything into it? Where's the top, where's the neck?"
The mole grinned from ear to ear with delight. "Hurrhurr, marm, see, you'm doan't be a knowen everythin' arfter all. Ee top is ee head an' you'm turn ee neck. Lukkee!" He twisted the statuette's head, and it came away from the neck. Inside had been cunningly carved out to form a bottlelike container.
Gundil passed it to the badger, and Cregga felt it all over with her huge paws. The Badgermum's voice went hoarse with excitement. "Mhera, your paws are daintier than mine. There's something inside. Can you reach in and get it out?"
Mhera's paw fitted easily into the cavity. She brought forth a scroll, held by a ribbon with a red wax seal. "It's an old barkcloth parchment with a ribbon and seal!"
Cregga abandoned her lunch and sat up straight. "Is there a mark upon the seal?"
Mhera inspected the seal. "Yes, Cregga, there's a letter S with lots of wavy lines going through it. I wonder what it means?"
The Badgermum knew. "The Abbess's real name was Songbreeze. Her sign was the S with breezes blowing through it. Can you see properly, Mhera? The light in here means nothing to me. Gundil, run and fetch a lantern, please. Hurry!"
Clearing the tray from the table, they placed both lantern and scroll upon it. Cregga felt the seal with her sensitive paws. It had stuck to both scroll and ribbon.
"What a pity to break this lovely thing. I would have liked to keep it, as a memento of my old friend Abbess Songbreeze."
"Yurr, you'm leaven et to oi, marm, oi'll get et furr ee!" From his belt pouch, Gundil took a tiny flat-bladed knife, which he used for special tasks in the kitchen. It was as sharp as a freshly broken crystal shard. Skillfully he slit the faded ribbon of cream-colored silk and slid the blade under the wax, cleverly lifting it away from the scroll in one undamaged piece.
Mhera held it up admiringly. "Good work, Gundil. It looks like a scarlet medallion hanging from its ribbon. Here you are, Cregga."
Taking it carefully, the Badgermum smiled with pleasure. "I'll treasure this. Thank you, Gundil. I'm sure nobeast but you could have performed such a delicate operation!"
Gundil scratched the floor with his footpaws, wiggling his stubby tail furiously, which moles will often do when embarrassed by a compliment. "Hurr, et wurrn't nuthin', marm, on'y a likkle tarsk!"
Mhera was practically hopping with eagerness. "Can we open the scroll now, Cregga!"
The blind badger pulled a face of comic indifference. "Oh, I'm feeling a bit sleepy. Let's leave it until tomorrow." She waited until she heard her friend's sighs of frustration. "Ho ho ho! Go on then, open it. But be sure vou read anything that's written down there loud and clear. I wouldn't miss this for another feast. Well, carry on, Mhera!"
The barkcloth had remained supple, and Mhera unrolled it with meticulous care. There were two pieces. A dried oak leaf fell out from between them, and she picked it up.
"There's two pages of writing. It's very neat; Abbess Song must have been really good with a quill pen. A leaf, too."
Cregga held out her paw. "Give me the leaf." Holding it to her face, she traced the leaf's outline with her nosetip. "Hmm, an oak leaf. I wonder if it's got any special meaning? What does Song have to say? Come on, miz otter, read to me!"
Mhera began to read the beautifully written message.
"Fortunate are the good creatures,
Dwelling within these walls,
Content in peaceful harmony,
As each new season falls.
Guided in wisdom by leaders,
One living, the other long dead,
Martin the Warrior in spirit,
And our chosen Abbey Head.