'Tis Martin who chooses our Champion,
Should peril or dangers befall,
But who selects the Abbess,
Or Abbot to rule Redwall?
I was once your Abbess,
A task not like any other,
To follow a path in duty bound,
I took on the title of Mother.
Mother Abbess, Father Abbot,
They look to you alone,
For sympathy, aid, and counsel,
You must give up the life you've known.
To take on the mantle of guidance,
As leaders before you have done,
Upholding our Abbey's traditions,
For you alone are the One."
There was a brief silence, then Cregga repeated the last line. "For you alone are the One!"
Mhera looked perplexed. "Me?"
Gundil climbed up and sat on the arm of Cregga's chair. "Wull, et surrpintly bain't oi. This yurr moler wurrn't cutted owt t'be no h'Abbess, no miz, nor a h'Abbot noither!"
Cregga chuckled, stroking the mole's furry head. "You've got a point there, friend. I couldn't imagine you in the robes of an Abbot."
Gundil folded his digging claws over his plump stomach. "Nor cudd oi, marm, gurt long flowen garmunts, oi'd trip o'er an' bump moi 'ead!"
Mhera held up a paw for quiet. "There's writing on this other page too, that's if you want to hear me read it?"
Gundil spoke out of the side of his mouth to Cregga. "Yurr, she'm a h'Abbess awready, bossen uz pore beasters abowt. We'm best lissen to miz h'otter!"
Mhera gave them a look of mock severity and coughed politely. "Ahem, thank you. Now, there are several things written down here. First of all it says this. Oak Leaf O.L."
Cregga passed her the leaf. "Here's the oak leaf. Take a close look at it, Mhera."
The ottermaid inspected it. "O.L. It's a bit faded, but Abbess Song wrote those two letters here on the leaf."
Gundil cast his eye over the two carefully inked letters. "Ho urr. O.L. Stan's furr h'oak leaf. Wurr ee h'Abbess a-tryen to tell us'n's sum think?"
Cregga gave his back a hearty pat. "That's sound mole logic, my friend. Read on, Mhera!"
The next lines Mhera read affirmed what Gundil had guessed.
"Though I am no longer here,
I beg, pay heed to me,
O.L. stands for Oak Leaf,
A.S. leaves you her key.
A.S."
Cregga caught on fast. "A.S. Abbess Song! It's simple really."
Mhera interrupted her. "Not as simple as you think. I .isten to the second verse.
"If you would rule this Abbey,
G.H. is the place to be,
At the T.O.M.T.W.
Look to the L.H.C."
Gundil scratched his snout in puzzlement. "Hoo urr, they'm a gurt lot o' letters!"
Mhera smiled confidently. "Let's go down to the gatehouse and find out, shall we!"
Cregga eased herself from the big armchair. "C latehouse?"
Mhera took her friend's paw. "Of course. G.H., gatehouse. Lend a paw here, Gundil."
Even with their help, the Badgermum had great difficulty managing the stairs. When they reached the bottom step Cregga sat down, shaking her huge striped head.
"You two carry on to the gatehouse. I'll wait here. I'm not as spry as I once was. Don't get that parchment wet with rain."
Mhera tucked the scroll carefully into her apron pocket. "But Cregga, don't you want to come with us and find out what it all means?"
The blind badger sighed wearily. "I'll only slow you down. You can let me know what you found out when you come back. Go on now, you two."
When they had gone, Boorab, who had been banished from the kitchens, sauntered by. The gluttonous hare was munching on a minted potato and leek turnover, which he hid hastily as he caught sight of Cregga.
"Er, how dee do, marm? Bit of inclement weather, wot wot?"
She held out her paw. "Help me up, please." As the badger was hauled upright, she sniffed the air. "I smell mint. Have you been plundering in the kitchens again?"
The hare's look of injured innocence was wasted on a blind badger. His earbells tinkled as he shook his head stoutly. "Shame on you, marm. I haven't been within a league of your confounded kitchens. I was down in Cavern Hole, composing a poem to your wisdom an' beauty an' so forth. But I'll bally well scrap the whole thing now. Hmph! Accusin' a chap of my honest nature of pinchin' pastries, wot!"
Cregga shrugged. "But I can still smell mint and I know that Friar Bobb is baking minted potato and leek turnovers for dinner tonight."
Boorab sniffed airily. "Well, of course you can jolly well smell mint. I always put a dab or two of mint essence behind each ear after my mornin' bath. Gives a chap a clean fresh smell, doncha know?"
Cregga inclined her head in a small bow. "Then forgive me. I apologize heartily. We'll share a turnover or two at dinner this evening. I like them best when the crust is dark brown and the potatoes have melted into the leeks."
Boorab fell into the trap unthinkingly. "Well, they're not quite at that stage yet, marm. The potato is still a bit lumpy and the crust is only light brown."
As he bit his lip, the badger patted Boorab's pocket, squashing the turnover against his stomach. "Aye, I'd leave them to cook properly, if I were you," she growled. "As far as I'm concerned, you're still on probation at Redwall."
The hare watched her lurch slowly off. Dipping his paw into the mess inside his pocket, he sucked it resentfully. "Fifteen blinkin' seasons' probation. Bit much for any chap, wot!"
Grass squelched underpaw in the rain as Mhera and Gundil hurried across the front lawns to the little gatehouse by the Abbey's main outer wall entrance. Gundil was about to knock when old Hoarg opened the door.
"What're you two doin' out in this? Yore wetter'n fishes in water. Come in, come in!" He tossed them a big towel to dry their faces. "So then, what brings ye here, Miz Mhera?"
Taking the parchment from her pocket, Mhera spread it on the table and told the ancient dormouse gatekeeper the whole story to date. Placing small rock crystal spectacles on the end of his nose, Hoarg inspected the document, staring at it for what seemed an age. The two friends maintained a respectful silence. Hoarg sat in an armchair and mused awhile. "Well then, you've come to my gatehouse to search for clues?"
Gundil sounded a trifle impatient. "Yurr, uz 'ave, zurr. May'aps you'm 'elp us'n's?"
The old dormouse nodded sagely. "Oh, I'll help ye all right. But first tell me, Mhera, do you think wisdom, patience, an' the ability not to rush at things would be good qualities in an Abbess?"
Mhera was very fond of the old gatekeeper. "Oh, I do, sir. Why d'you ask?"
Pursing his lips, Hoarg stared out of the window at the rain. "Hmm. Learning, too, I wouldn't wonder. Gatehouse is one single word, you know, not two separate ones. So this place would only be referred to as a single G on your scroll. Now I want you to take your time and think. Name me a place at Redwall Abbey that starts with the two letters G and H."
Mhera slammed her paw down on the table as realization hit her. "Great Hall, of course. Come on, Gundil!"
Hoarg's voice checked them as they dashed for the door. "There you go, rushin' off without thinking. I never make a move before I think anythin' out. I've solved the next bit of that puzzle. I know what T.O.M.T.W. means."
Mhera grabbed the scroll and stuffed it in her apron pocket, her paws aquiver with excitement. "Oh, tell us what it is, sir, please please tell us!"
"Only if you promise to go a bit slower in the future and stop to reason things out, instead of hurtlin' 'round like madbeasts."
"You'm roight, zurr. Us'n's be loike woise snailers frumm naow on, oi swurr to ee!"
Hoarg removed his spectacles and put them away slowly. "I could be wrong at such short notice, but I think that T.O.M.T.W. means Tapestry Of Martin The Warrior."
With his cheek still damp from the kiss Mhera had planted on it, Hoarg sat back in his armchair. He heard the door slam and the two sets of footpaws pounding away over the drenched lawn toward the Abbey building. The dormouse chuckled. "Ah, the speed and energy of younger ones. I'm glad I lost it a long time ago."