The otter stroked his rudderlike tail reflectively. "If this storm's blowed itself out by dawn we'll start the search for anybeast roamin' Mossflower then. Aye, marm, we could do with some Abbeybeasts to lend a paw. I never refuse a willin' offer. Ifn they want to volunteer I won't refuse 'em!"
"S-sir, II'd like to vo-vo-volunteer!"
Friar Bobb shook his head. "Your job is here with me in the kitchens, Broggle, not scouring the woodlands."
The blind Badgermum reached out and ruffled Broggle's ears. "We can't refuse a willing heart, Friar. Let him go."
Skipper chuckled, pressing his big hardwood javelin into the young squirrel's chubby paw. "That's the spirit, matey. You'n'me between us, we'll be a right pair o' terrors!"
Broggle nearly overbalanced trying to lift the big javelin. "Any v-vermin'd better w-watch out for us, s-sir!"
Cregga began to feel her way to the door, smiling broadly. "Aye, Broggle, woe to the villains who run into you, but take good care of Skipper. He's not a Redwall Warrior like you."
Thunder exploded over Great Hall just as a vivid lightning flash illuminated the place in sudden white light. Cregga ran her paw along the walls, each stone familiar as she made her way toward the dormitory stairs. Over the din of the rain battering against the high windows, the badger's keen ears detected another noise. It was the sound of somebeast weeping aloud, over by the far wall, where the great Redwall tapestry hung. Silently the blind Badgermum moved in that direction, holding out her paw until it came into contact with the tear-wet face of a young ottermaid. Drawing her close, Cregga held her comfortingly.
"Mhera, my pretty, I thought you were upstairs with your mother. What are you doing down here all alone?"
Mhera allowed the Badgermum to stem the tears with her apron. "Mama knew there'd be no news of Dad and little Deyna. She cried herself to sleep, and I did too. But the thunder woke me, so I came down here to ask Martin the Warrior if he knew what had happened to my dad and the baby."
Cregga touched the tapestry, feeling the beautiful embroidery that countless paws had worked upon. Martin the Warrior mouse, Hero of Redwall, there had never been one braver than he. Martin was depicted standing in his armor, holding the great sword, whilst terror-stricken vermin fled from him in all directions. The Warrior had a strong but kindly face, and wherever anybeast stood in Great Hall he seemed to be looking at them, eternally watching over his beloved Abbey.
Cregga placed her paw on Mhera's head. "My poor little one. Did he tell you anything?"
Mhera wiped a paw across her eyes. "Not really. I just stood here waiting for an answer, but none came. Then I began to feel happy and sad just looking at him. I decided to cry all of my tears out for the last time. I felt determined not to spend my life weeping, but to comfort and help my mama as best I could. I think Martin was trying to tell me to be strong. Does that sound silly, marm?"
Cregga felt her spirit lift. Mentally she thanked Martin. "No, little one, it sounds good and brave. Well, seeing as you have the desire to help others, you can guide me up to my room."
Mhera managed a tiny smile. "Now that sounds silly, marm. Nobeast knows their way about the Abbey better than you. What need do you have of me?"
Cregga took Mhera's paw and patted it. "I don't tell this to every creature, but I'll let you in on a secret. I'm a very very old badger whom everybeast relies upon for advice, about all sorts of things, especially Abbey matters. So I try to help as much as I can, but nobeast ever seems to ask if I need anything. Old Cregga can take care of this and old Cregga can sort that out. But who is there to help old Cregga? I tell you, Mhera, the older I get the more I need a friend."
The ottermaid clasped the Badgermum's big paw tightly. "I'll be your friend, marm, forever."
Cregga opened the door to her room and ushered Mhera in. Rain pattered heavy and drumlike on the window. The badger found her massive overstuffed armchair and collapsed into it with a grateful sigh. There was lots of room on the arm for the young otter to perch upon.
Cregga put her footpaws up on a worn buffet. "This room once belonged to a great friend of mine, Abbess Song. She passed on seasons before even your mother was born. Ah me, the times Song and I spent together. She was a happy creature, always singing; that's why her name suited so well. If she were here now, looking at two miserable creatures like us, I know what she'd have to say."
"Go on then, marm, tell me what Abbess Song would say.
"She'd say, if that young otter's your friend, tell her to stop calling you marm and call you by your name, Cregga. Then she'd say that the way to stop feeling sad and sorry is to think up an excuse for a feast. One involving all the Redwallers. Get everybeast feeling happy and you'll feel happy yourself, that's what Song always said."
Mhera thought about this, but only for a second. "What a wonderful idea, Cregga! Let's have a great feast. It'll be summer's first day when the new moon appears, six days from tomorrow. Is that a good excuse for a feast?"
A lightning flash lit up the badger's silver-striped muzzle. "It's a marvelous excuse, young 'un. We always have a feast at change of season, so let's make this one an extra special feast. We'll call it... er ... what shall we call it?"
Mhera clapped her paws. "The Summer of Friendship feast!"
Cregga drummed her footpaws on the buffet. "Splendid! What a lovely idea, the Summer of Friendship feast. Now, besides the food we want lots of games, singing, dancing, poetry and musicians. We'll be in charge of that part, and leave the food and drink to those who know best, the Friar and Drogg Cellarhog. First thing tomorrow the preparations begin. We'll make this a feast to remember, eh, Mhera?"
The ottermaid agreed wholeheartedly. "We certainly will. My mama can help Friar Bobb; she's a great cook, you know. It'll help to take her mind off things."
Cregga could fight her weariness no longer. A huge yawn escaped her lips. "Oh, dear. Wish I was as young as you again!"
Mhera plumped the pillows behind her friend's head. "Sleep now, Cregga. You can get a lot of things done in dreams. Start planning our festivities. I'll see you in the morning."
Listening to the door close as Mhera crept back to her mother's room, Cregga mused to herself in a drowsy murmur, "Get a lot of things done in dreams. What a wise young creature my young friend is. Yes, just the type Redwall needs ... wise."
Thundersound grew more distant, the lightning less frequent. The volume of rain decreased to a drizzle as the storm moved east from Redwall and the green vastness of Mossflower Wood. Peace fell over the Abbey. Cregga in her armchair, Dibbuns in their dormitories, grown creatures in their beds, slept on through the night hours calm and undisturbed. New-baked bread, flat oatcakes, scones and turnovers lay on the warming shelves in the kitchens, ready for breakfast. Red embers glowed in the oven fires, casting flickering shadows in the silence. Friar Bobb, who never left his beloved kitchens, snored gently upon the truckle bed in the cool larder. Skipper and his crew snored uproariously in Cavern Hole, sprawled on forms, tables and makeshift mattresses. Broggle, the fat little assistant cook, lay on the first stair, still gripping Skipper's big javelin. He growled and showed his teeth in slumber, hunting evil foebeasts through the woodlands, and, of course, subduing and capturing every one of them.
You can get a lot of things done in dreams.
Chapter 4
Grissoul had a fire going in a small cave on the riverbank, a tiny island of light in the darkness. Outside, the clan huddled in their hastily erected shelters, mostly frayed pieces of canvas draped over branches and spearshafts. They ate what they had managed to forage that day on the journey westward. Squatting in any dry place, the vermin cursed the storm under their breath, hoping for fairer weather with the arrival of dawn.