Malbun, a normally placid mouse, became quite animated. She waved her paws about in excitement. Oh, it’s a must, we’ve just got to go, can’t you see, treasure or no! Brockhall must be rediscovered. You’ve no idea how important it is to our Abbey archives!
Malbun’s outstretched paw hit a stack of heavy volumes, which toppled to the floor, causing a veritable eruption of dust. The Healer Recorder went into a fit of sneezing. Assisting the Abbot from his armchair, Skipper shepherded all three creatures out into the sunlight. Malbun stifled her face in a blue spotted kerchief.
Achoo! Achoo! Ah ... Ah ... Achoooooh! Whew, pardon me!
They sat on the wallsteps together. Raising his eyebrows in resignation, the Abbot sighed. Oh well, if it’s that vital I suppose we’ll have to organise the whole thing and do it properly. Skipper, would you like to be in charge of things?
The otter waved his rudder respectfully. My pleasure, Abbot.
Apodemus leaned back, closing his eyes at the bright sun.
Thank you, my friend, I know I can rely on you. Mmm, it’s nice and warm here. Summer’ll soon be upon us.
Skipper began to remember what it was he had been going to say.
Unfortunately his thoughts were interrupted by Memm Flackery, leading a pack of dancing Dibbuns toward them, each one of the little creatures singing uproariously,
Summer summer summer sun, Rumpetty dumpetty dumpetty dum, See birds a-chirpin’ in the air An’ bees a-buzzin’ everywhere. With sun to shine an’ warm my fur, Oh how could I have a care, a care, Oh how could I have a care?
Summer summer summer sun, That’s the time for havin’ fun, Grasshoppers whirr an’ hop around, Flowers come shootin’ out the ground, Butterflies pass without a sound, As bright long days abound, abound, As bright long days abound!
Summer summer summer sun, Can’t catch me ‘cos off I’ll run, I’ll dash into the stawb’rry patch An’ every one I see I’ll snatch. Gobble it up, right down the hatch, A fine tummyache I’ll catch, I’ll catch, A fine tummyache I’ll catch!
Panting and blowing, Memm Flackery plumped down on the wallsteps, mopping her brow with an apron corner. Whoo, I’m getrin’ too blinkin’
old for this lark, wot! Just lookit those little fiends, each one of
‘em could scoff enough breakfast to sink a ship and then sing like a pack of wolves an’ dance the bloomin’ paws from under you!
The Dibbuns swarmed over Abbot Apodemus, sitting on his lap, leaning on his shoulder and clambering on his back.
Goo’ mornin’, Farver H’Abbot, lubberly day izzenit!
Apodemus groaned under the weight of Abbeybabes, chuckling. So, what do you villains want from your Abbot, eh?
Turfee the mousebabe tugged on the Abbot’s whiskers. Us wanna go onna treasure ‘unt with you, h’all of us!
Skipper scooped tiny bodies off Apodemus.
Ahoy there, mates, we can’t take you all. There’s far too many in yore crew, you’d be gettin’ lost all over Moss-flower. Ruggum’n’Bikkle’s the only two we need.
The Dibbuns, who could shed bitter tears at a moment’s notice, set up a heartrending chorus of wails. Waaaaaha-hawaaaaaaahwannagooooo!
The Harenurse tweaked Skipper’s rudder severely. Y’ great heartless beast, sah, fancy upsettin’ my babes like that. S’pose I’ll jolly well have to make the peace. She pulled a tiny mole out of the pack and wiped his eyes. Listen up, young stumptail, I want y’to go and find Fore-mole.
Tell him that Memm will be baking blackberry cream tarts today. Oh, an’ ask him if he can find some jolly helpful creatures t’lend a paw to make ‘em. Run along now, wot!
As if by magic the wailing and weeping ceased. Dibbuns bounced up and down like mad frogs, waving their paws and shouting at the Harenurse.
Me! Me! I ‘elp you, Memm! Me, me, I wanna ‘elp!
Memm shook her head, as if doubtful. Tut tut, I never heard anybeast sayin’ please.
One of the Dibbuns shouted Please!
Memm scratched her ears, turning to Skipper. What d’you say, old lad, d’you think they look like good helpers for makin’ blackberry cream tarts, wot?
Skipper nodded vigorously, watching the hopeful infants. Ho aye, marm, I don’t think ye could’ave a bettercrew in yore kitchens. They looks big’n’strong enough t’me.
There was no time for Memm to reply, as she was grabbed by her apron strings and tugged away to the kitchens by the Dibbuns, all of them yelling and shouting. Cummon, Memm, where our aprons?
I the bes’ berrycream tart baker inna world!
Yurr, uz make lots’n’lots’n’lots, gurt ‘eaps of em!
Looka, me paws be clean, me don’t ‘ave to wash ‘em! Malbun was laughing as she nudged Skipper. Heehee! You’d best go an’ rescue Ruggum’n’Bikkle, they’ve trone off with the rest!
The big otter dashed after the baking party. Ahoy there, you two, get back ‘ere. Yore needed by us treasure ‘unters! Come back ‘ere, I say!
The Abbot rose stiffly, patting Malbun’s paw. Well, I see you’re off to a good start. I wish you luck with your enterprise, old friend!
1O
By midmorning the searchers were leaving Redwall Abbey with Skipper and his two stalwart otter mates acting as guards. The party was composed mainly of grownup creatures, with Ruggum and Bikkle hemmed neatly in the middle of the shrews, still protesting at being excused from their tart-baking duties. Apodemus locked the main gates behind them and climbed up to the north ramparts. He stood watching his creatures trudge away up the path until they cut off at an angle into Mossflower Wood.
The going was fair, as they kept up a leisurely pace through the woodlands.
Log a Log Groo and the Guosim shrews knew the exact location where they had found the two Dibbuns. This took a lot of guesswork out of the route.
Crikulus tramped alongside the shrew leader. D’you happen to know that old Guosim song, ÔFootlecum Durr, I think it was called? I heard one of your beasts singin’ it when you visited the Abbey last winter. I like it.
Log a Log Groo kept his eyes on the path ahead. Even if I did, I couldn’t sing it, old ‘un. I’m more of a dancer than a singer. Hoi, Burrl, you know that’n, don’t ye, ÔFootlecum Durr’? Sing it out good’n’loud for us.
Burrl was a smallish, skinny-looking shrew, but he had a voice like a foghorn. He sang out loud and clear:
Young Footlecum Durr, I do declare, Was a fanciful little shrew. With waxy grease he curled his fur An’ wore a greatcoat o’ blue. His ma was ever so fond of him, That lest his paws should bruise She made for him from aspen skin A brand-new pair of shoes.
Well, pickle my fur, I tell you, sir,
Do you believe the news?
O what to do, a Guosim shrew,
Clompin’ about in shoes!
With laces green, the best you’ve seen,
An’ silver bells each end,
He strutted here an’ swaggered there,
An’ jigged about no end
Til Footlecum took off his shoes,
An’ paddlin’ went one day.
Then a big old owl, the thievin’ fowl,
Swooped down an’ stole’em away.
So now in the night, if you wake in a fright At a strange sound in the air,
Tis only that bird that you have heard
In the shoes of Footlecum Durr.
Too whit too woo, a ding dong clomp,
He’s dancin’ round out there,