"Just doin' one's duty," he muttered up the steps after them, somewhat crestfallen. "I was only jolly well askin' a civil question, wot. Humph, some creatures!"
Hoben was right. The broad walkway of the ramparts, backed by the battlemented wall, was more peaceful. Mhera liked being up high. She could see the land to the south unfolding below her and the path meandering off into the distance.
Cregga took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. "Ah, that's better! Mhera, my pretty, let me borrow your eyes. Which way are you facing and what can you see?"
"I'm looking south, Cregga, and I see the woodlands to my left and the open space below, then the path. Off to my right there's the flatlands and a few hills over toward the horizon."
The badger leaned her back against the battlements. "That's all? Nothing out of place, no unusual objects sticking up you'd not noticed before? Come on, you two, get looking and help her out."
Brother Hoben and Gundil searched the scene carefully.
"Not a thing, Cregga. It all looks fairly normal."
"Burr aye, et be's a noice purty soight though, marm!"
The Badgermum issued her next instruction. "Now turn 'round, right 'round, facing into the Abbey grounds. Tell me, what do you see now?"
They pieced together the picture for their blind companion.
"Mossflower Wood's treetops and the north wall, the beehives and the flower gardens, then the lawns."
"Burr aye, then ee gurt h'Abbey buildin' an' ee path frum et runnen to ee gate'ouse an' ee west wall wi' main gate in et."
Cregga stopped Gundil with an upraised paw. "Take it from there, Mhera. Slowly and carefully. Leave nothing out, and remember, we're looking for something that sounds burnt but alive, whatever that's supposed to be."
Mhera started from the east wall. "Well, I can see the south side of the Abbey and the orchard between that and the east wall, and further west more lawns running right down to the west wallsteps, south of the gatehouse . . . Wait. We're looking for something that stands alone 'twixt water and stone, aren't we?"
Cregga suddenly became alert at the ottermaid's tone. "Yes, yes. Have you seen it?"
Mhera concentrated hard, feeling she was on the edge of a solution. "Not exactly, but it occurred to me that I might narrow it down a bit. 'Twixt water and stone. Suppose this wall . . . the one we're standing on ... is meant to be the stone, between here and the south side of the Abbey is the pond. Maybe that's the water we're looking for!"
A slow smile of satisfaction spread over the badger's broad face. "Now we're getting somewhere. 'Twixt water and stone, between this wall and our Abbey pond. What else is there?"
"Hurr, marm, on'y ee gurt ole tree."
"What sort of tree?"
Brother Hoben shrugged. "Probably an ash tree, I think. Why?"
Mhera spotted Drogg Cellarhog down below and called to him. "See that tree I'm pointing at? What sort is it, please?"
The stout old hedgehog replied without even looking. "That'n's an ash, miz. I gets all my tool shafts from it. Fine timber, 'tis; makes goodly furniture too!"
Mhera patted the rough greyish-hued bark as they stood around the tree in question. "What a bunch of puddenheads we are. Ash! A living tree which sounds by its name as though it had been burned. What next?"
Brother Hoben had a suggestion. "We inspect the trunk and the ground around it, to see if we can find out what Abbess Song meant."
Cregga had an even better idea. "I am taller than any of you and my paws are extra sensitive. I'll inspect the trunk all around as high as I can reach. You three stand back a bit and look at the trunk and the ground. Use your eyesight to examine the ash."
Filorn and Foremole Brull passed by the tree with a crowd of Dibbuns around them. The otter waved to her daughter. "Brull and I are taking the babes for a paddle in the pond. It'll give Friar Bobb and Broggle a chance to get cleared for lunch. Please don't swing on my apron strings like that, you'll pull me over. Let me go, Durby!"
The molebabe trundled over to Mhera and attached himself to her smock. "Oi be goen a-skwimmin' in ee deep ponder!"
Mhera laughed as she detached the tiny creature. She wagged a paw at him and replied in mole dialect. "Ho no you'm bain't, likkle zurr, ee be's goen a-pagglin'. Skwimmin' bain't furr ee, lessen you'm a h'otter!"
Durby sucked on a digging claw as he thought about it, then trundled off chortling. "Hurr, miz, you'm a-tryen to cloimb ee gurt tree, an you'm bain't ee squirrler. Hurr hurr hurr!"
His logic struck the ottermaid immediately. "Cregga, he's right! We need a squirrel. Who better to examine a tree? Come on, let's get ourselves a squirrel!"
Friar Bobb was too old and young Broggle, by his somewhat well-fed girth, was not quite in athletic trim. The good Friar gave thought as to whom he could recommend.
"Hmm. What you want is a first-class treewhiffler, a specialist climber. 'Tis a bit of a problem, friends. Overweight parents, old 'uns like me, and some Dibbuns. They're the only squirrels we have at the moment. Broggle, can you think of anybeast who'd fit the job?"
Curling his tail soulfully, the assistant cook spoke one word as if it were a prayer. "Fwirl!"
Mhera stared at the dreamy-eyed Broggle. "Just tell me two things, please. What do you mean by a treewhiffler, and who in the name of seasons is Fwirl?"
Broggle was tongue-tied. Friar Bobb replied for him. "A treewhiffler is the squirrel name for a champion climber. There's a young squirrelmaid, called Fwirl, living alone in the woodlands. She's quite shy, but Broggle knows her. He often takes a few goodies up to the east battlements as a gift for her. We're hoping that someday she'll join us as a Red waller."
Gundil was grinning at the adoring look on Broggle's face every time the name Fwirl was mentioned. "Hurr, may'aps you'm'd loike t'fetch miz Ferl to meet us'n's? She'm sounden loike ee roight h'aminal furr ee job."
Young Broggle dug into his apron pocket and produced a neatly wrapped package, tied with a fancy bow of chamomile stalk. His tail curled over his eyes and he scuffed the ground with his footpaw as he explained. "I was, er, just going to see her. I'll, er, ask Fwirl if she wants to help. No need to come with me. I can go myself, thanks. Oh, an' if she is good enough to come, please don't refer to me as young Broggle, just Broggle will be sufficient. Wait here, I'll be back."
Brother Hoben watched the chubby figure ambling oft to the east wall. "Our young Broggle looks as if a barrel of October Ale just fell on his head. He's evidently smitten with Miz Fwirl."
Cregga shook her great striped head in wonderment. "Young Broggle, eh? Who'd have ever thought it?"
Gundil gave a deep bass chuckle. "Hurrhurr, that'n lukken loike 'is stummick be full o' buttyflies an' 'is 'ead be full o' bumblybees!"
Mhera spoke up in defense of the assistant cook. "Now just stop that talk, please. I won't have Broggle made fun of, poor creature. It's obvious he thinks a lot of Fwirl, so let's not do anything to embarrass either of them!"
Friar Bobb bowed his head courteously to the ottermaid. "Thank you, Mhera. That was kindly said. I knew that Broggle was visiting the squirrelmaid, I've known it a while now, but I never told anybeast, lest they made fun of him. I've practically reared Broggle, and he's a hard worker, loyal to our Abbey. If he were my son I couldn't think more of him!"
Cregga held a paw to her mouth. "Ssh! I hear him coming back!"
Broggle marched up with a jaunty swagger. "I spoke to Fwirl, and she's agreed to help us."
Brother Hoben looked about and spread his paws wide. "Thank you, Broggle. But where is she?"
The tubby squirrel folded his paws and smirked. "Up in the ash tree. Where did you expect her to be?"
Cregga gave an involuntary start. She took Broggle's paw. "Just a moment, sir. I never heard a thing. To do as you say she'd have had to dash around to the west wall, scale it, and come up behind us so silently that we didn't hear. Then she'd have had to climb that tree without us even seeing her."