Crikulus whipped off his grannie bonnet and did a flourishing curtsy as the Redwallers applauded heartily Skipper and his two otters chased after the Dibbuns, preventing them from spanking the villain further.
Malbun came back and took her bow to loud cheers.
The Abbot wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks and congratulated them. Thank you, my friends, heeheehee. I don’t know how many times I’ve seen your performance, but it gets funnier every season. Heeheehee, splendidly done!
Malbun grinned ruefully, rubbing at her rear. Dearie me, those Dibbuns can really whack. I’ll have to get extra cushions in the future. Whew, I’m tired. How about you, Grannie Crikulus?
The ancient Gatekeeper mopped at his face with the bonnet. Ain’t as young as I once was, friend, I think we’ll take an early night in my gatehouse. You take the big armchair, I’ll take the bed. Goodnight to you, Father Abbot, goodnight all. Thank ye for a wonderful evening.
With the good wishes of everybeast ringing in their ears, the two old friends left the orchard and the continuing revelry of a happy Summer’s Day Feast.
Shortly thereafter, Malbun and Crikulus, cloaked and carrying a lantern apiece, left the Abbey and trudged off up the path. On entering Mossflower Wood, they immediately became aware of one thing: the silence.
Not a breeze stirred the still-warm air. The sound of night birdsong was completely absent.
Crikulus kept his voice to a subdued whisper as he remarked upon this to his companion. Strange, isn’t it? Not a breeze or a peep of anything about,
Malbun tried to make light of her friend’s concern. All the better for us, mate. I was dreading that any moment we’d hear the cawing of those rascally crows, but all seems nice and peaceful. That’s a bit of luck, eh?
Crikulus nodded wordlessly as they plowed on through the shrouded woodlands. He felt as if the atmosphere was not at all nice and peaceful.
A misty haze had woven a milky carpet around the trees. It was almost waist high, formed by the day’s heat turning the earthdamp into vapour.
The ancient shrew decided that everything seemed rather sinister.
Malbun trod on a twig. Its sharp cracking sound made Crikulus twitch nervously. What was that?
Malbun tried to tread more carefully to reassure him. Only a twig I stepped on. There’s nothing t’be afraid of.
Following the path they had travelled along previously with the Brockhall search party, they pressed onward into the woodlands, their lanterns held high, twinkling in the night like two fireflies. Now Malbun began to feel uneasy. She could not say for certain the cause of it, but a sense of foreboding hung over her. Crikulus was rightÑit was too quiet. Normally the woodland was alive with nocturnal sounds: owls, nightingales, insects, a healthy breeze rustling the tree canopy.
Just to reassure herself, the Healer Recorder spoke to Crikulus. We are on the right path, aren’t we?
The old shrew turned, his lantern light illuminating Malbun’s face.
She looked as scared as he himself felt. Aye, this is the path sure enough. Look, there’s where we stopped to have lunch and the crows attacked us.
Malbun found herself wishing that she could hear the caw of a crow, anything to break the oppressive silence. Fear and fatigue were beginning to overcome both creatures. Crikulus pushed through the undergrowth to the tiny clearing and leaned his back against a tree.
Let’s stop awhile for a breather here. My footpaws have gone all sort of wobbly an’ shaky.
Malbun hung her lantern on a branch. Not wanting to sit down in the mist, she stood alongside Crikulus. Well, where do you think Brockhall is? I know we’re somewhere in the area.
The shrew shrugged at her whispered enquiry. Could be anywhere in a wide circle from here. 1 haven’t a clue. I wish those Dibbuns could’ve remembered the way.
Slits of moonlight penetrated the trees, slivers of pale silver against the gloomy night. They stood wordless, each wishing they were back in the comfort of Redwall’s gatehouse. Though it was not cold, their dew-laden cloaks felt clammy clinging against them. Malbun removed hers first, with Crikulus following suit. A sound came from the grass nearby.
Crikulus whipped his head round in its direction.
What was that?
It was not an actual noise, more of a slight wet swish. The ancient shrew thought he saw some ferns tremble in a moonlit shaft. Then another sound was heard, from the opposite direction of the first one. Malbun held up her lantern, paws atremble as she peered into the blackness.
Her voice took on a strained, panicky edge.
Th-there’s another sound, like somethin’ moving through the grass towards us!
Then they smelt the odour, musty and bittersweet. It grew stronger.
The grass swished in both directions, then it swished behind them, getting closer. Crikulus’s voice was tight with terror. He swallowed hard.
That sound ... th-the smell... We’re being hunted by somebeast we c-c-can’t see!
Malbun felt every hair on her body standing up. The sounds and the vile, powerful smell were almost upon them. Her voice was little more than a petrified squeak. There’s m-more than one of th-th-them. Yaaaaaaah!
Dropping lanterns and cloaks from nerveless paws, the two ran headlong into the pitch-black woodlands, away from whatever was seeking them as prey. Blundering, bumbling, tripping, stumbling. Crashing through ferns and nettlebeds, stubbing footpaws on roots, they raced. Mists swirled about them, their habits ripping and tearing on tree branches that seemed to be grabbing at them as they passed. They plunged onward, heedless of any direction save that in which the unknown peril lurked.
They splashed through a small stream and raced through a bog, so fast that they hardly sank enough to impede their wild charge.
Crikulus grabbed the cord girdle on his friend’s habit as they fled across a clearing and into a pine grove. Overcome by fright, Malbun turned her head to see what was holding on to her. Still running, she slammed side-on into the trunk of a thick fir. There was a sudden stab of pain as a broken branch stub pierced her cheek. Then she fell down senseless. The ancient shrew collapsed by her side,his hoarse rasping breathsounds mingling with those of his companion. He scrabbled around in the dark with the clean scent of pine needles banishing the musty odour from his nostrils. His paw struck Malbun’s face. He felt the broken branch splinter sticking from it and the sticky wetness, which he knew to be blood, upon his paw. Mai-bun, are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you? Speak to me! Say something, Malbun, oh please, say something!
There was no sound from her. Crikulus tried hard to get a grip of himself, moving along until he had his friend’s head resting in his lap. They were not being followed; he sensed that they were out of danger. But they were lost. Malbun was breathing heavily, still lying senseless.
The wood had gone deep into her cheek. He set his teeth round the broken fir twig and rugged it free. Spirting it out, he tried to compose his nerves by speaking aloud.
There’s no real harm done, mate, though a bit further up and you might have lost an eye!
The thought of such an injury, combined with the memory of swishing grass and musty odours, suddenly sent the old shrew into a violent paroxysm of shivering and shuddering. His teeth clattered like castanets and his entire body shook uncontrollably. He sat there alone in the night, trembling and nursing Malbun’s head in his lap, weeping.
Didn’t want to come. Good thing I did. Couldn’t leave you on your own, old friend. Hope somebeast finds the main gate unlocked. I only jammed it shut with that stupid bonnet. Oh, say something, Malbun, say something.