Boorab was not to be outdone. "Oh did you indeed? Well, I used to do it with that same number, old lad, plus me fat auntie an' two kegs of ale. Oh yes!"
It was a fibbing contest. Everybeast sat back and enjoyed the pair, each trying to cap the other's achievements by lying outrageously.
"Hah, that's nothin'. When I was only a liddle sprig I could stand in a bucket an' carry meself 'round all day!"
Boorab waggled his ears airily. "Pish tush, laddie. You've seen how high this Abbey is, wot? Well, one time I stood on the lawn outside and landed on the roof with a single flippin' jump. Did it very slowly, of course, had to wait an' rise with the mornin' mist, y'know. If y'don't believe me, ask old Foremole. She saw me do it, didn't you, marm?"
Foremole Brull smiled from ear to ear. "Aye, zurr, oi see'd ee do et wi' moi own three eyes, so oi did!"
Mousebabe Trey decided to take part. He clambered up onto Filorn's lap and wagged a tiny paw at the two fibbers. "Chah! Dat nuffink, I climbed right up on Florn an' felled inna big big trifle, so I eated meself out of it. You ask Frybobb!"
Friar Bobb nodded sagely. "He certainly did. I was there, it was no fib."
"You fell into a giant trifle an' ate your way out?" Boorab stared at the mousebabe with something akin to hero worship in his eyes. Trey patted his small fat stomach.
"Yip, h'l did, sir!"
The hare's gaze misted over as he imagined what it would be like to fall into a monster trifle and eat his way out. "You lucky little blighter. Wish I could've had a try, wot!"
Nimbalo pushed a fair-sized trifle across the table. "Let's see 'ow ye did it, Trey me ole tatercake!"
Sister Alkanet stepped in, catching the little fellow almost mid-dive. Boorab and Nimbalo wilted under the famous icy glare.
"I once physicked a hare and a harvest mouse so severely that they swelled up and couldn't go out through the infirmary door. Then I had to double physick them back to normal. I can still do it. Ask Abbess Mhera, she'll tell you."
"Oh believe me, Sister Alkanet certainly can," the Mother Abbess of Redwall assured them solemnly. " 'Tis a fact!"
Boorab's ears fell flat, either side of his face. "Stone me! A joke's a joke an' all that, but, er, wot wot!"
Nimbalo lifted one of his friend's ears and whispered into it, "Fizzick? Wot's a fizzick, matey?"
"Take the word of an officer, sah, you do not want to inquire further. The good Sister could stop a horde o' stampedin' frogs with just a spoonful of the jolly old jollop she brews up!"
Rain pattered against the warm-lit Abbey windows as the night wore on. Elders loosened their belts and talked of the old days, drowsy young ones were carried off to the dormitories by Skipper's ottercrew. Bearing the famous cheese between them, a cluster of moles, Boorab, Nimbalo and Gundil followed Drogg downstairs. It was an experiment, to see how the cheese complemented the Cellarhog's remaining stock. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben drifted off to the gatehouse for a game of nutshells and pebbles. Friar Bobb had fallen asleep in his chair, while Floburt and Egburt crept away to the kitchens with Sister Alkanet to bake scones for next morning's breakfast. Others shuffled off yawning to their beds. Deyna was happy just to sit with Mhera and Filorn. He gazed up at the ancient high-raftered ceiling while Abbess Mhera watched him.
"So, do you like our Abbey?"
The former Taggerung ran a paw over his unmarked face. There was no evidence of any tattoo on it. "Like it? I never imagined any place could be so wonderful. I've got you here, and Mama too. It's like living in the midst of a beautiful dream!" He hugged his mother and sister close. Filorn sighed happily.
"The dream will continue. We are a family again, together, here at Redwall."
Several mornings later, Nimbalo was out early, taking a morning stroll along the walltop. He liked rising before dawn and helping in the kitchens amid the good-natured bustle and delicious aromas wafting from the ovens. Friar Bobb would slice some hot bread and pack it with button mushrooms cooked in a savory herb sauce for him. The harvest mouse climbed the east wallsteps with his sandwich and ambled along the ramparts. He was fascinated by everything about the imposing architecture of Redwall, and munched away, his bright eyes taking in every detail. An early frost rimed the red sandstone battlements. Dawn was breaking slowly, calm and windless, tingeing the horizon orange and peach. Below the north wall, rowan trees were clustered thick with red and cream berries; further away he could see the fir cones, now turned brown. In leisurely fashion Nimbalo reached the northwest wall corner. His gaze swept over the flatlands and back to the path that ran alongside the west wall.
There standing in front of the main gate was Ruggan Bor at the head of three hundred armed Juska vermin. They stood immobile and silent, barbaric tattooed faces tight-lipped, awaiting their Chieftain's command. Not a spear or a blade clanked against a shield. Ruggan Bor, the golden fox, leaned on his saber hilt, his inscrutable gaze assessing the walls.
Nimbalo dropped flat below the battlements, his breakfast forgotten as he scrambled away to the north steps.
Chapter 37
Icy ditchwater squelched beneath Gruven's footpaws as he stood in the ditchbed, surrounded by his six guards. His mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out what would happen when Ruggan Bor made his presence known to the Redwallers. Gruven shivered, more from fear than cold, and the ditchwater gurgled and made a sucking noise as he changed position. The tough vixen cuffed his ear and whispered viciously. "Quit hoppin' 'round an' be still or I'll knock ye senseless!"
Slowly the sun rose over the vast thickness of east Mossflower. Ruggan kept his Juska clan close in to the west wall, not wanting to be out on the flatlands with the sun in his eyes. He would wait until the sun got higher and lessened the handicap. Behind him, Rawback gave a slight cackle. Ruggan gave a nod to two of his foxes. They did not bind Rawback, merely gagging the crazed stoat and muttering a few warning words to keep him silent. Ruggan Bor was an experienced leader. Always calm and patient, he could wait until he felt the moment was right.
No sound came from within the Abbey walls, nor from the outside, where massed Juskabeasts lined the path. An hour dragged slowly by. Ruggan checked the wall shadow. It had extended over path and ditch onto the flatland. A single gesture from him sent his troops noiselessly back to the edge of the ditch. Ruggan Bor drew his saber. The time had arrived. He signaled four spear carriers. They ran forward and thudded their spearbutts against the great oaken doors of Redwall.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Ruggan had expected to wait until some old gatekeeper appeared on top of the wall to see who was knocking. Instead the doors swung open and he was faced by a wall of over twoscore otters, tough capable beasts, armed with slings and javelins. An array of squirrels, moles, mice and hedgehogs peered over the battlements, armed with all manner of throwing implements. They were led by a hare carrying a long hooked window pole.
An otter stepped forward, half a head taller than the rest. Ruggan's attention was caught by the sword he carried. It was slightly short for such a big creature, but a magnificent weapon nonetheless. The big otter looked as though he could use the blade. His gaze swept over the Juskabor, then back to their leader.
"What do you want here, vermin?"
Ruggan walked forward until he was but a pace away from the otter. "I am Ruggan Bor, Lord of the Southern Coasts and Chieftain of the Juskabor clan!"
The big otter too stepped forward until his face was a whisker away from the golden fox. His voice held no fear. "And I am Deyna, Warrior of Redwall. I asked you what you want here?"