Log a Log pointed out a serious-faced shrew. Grifty, yore always spoutin’
poems an’ songs about the woodlands. Yore ole mum was a healer, wasn’t she?
The Guosim shrew Grifty prodded the fire with a stick. Aye, best healer in all Mossflower, my mother was. She knew all the names o’ plants, bushes, trees an’ flowers. She needed to use all of’em for’er remedies.
Well, wot can y’tell us about trees?
Grifty was considering Log a Log’s question as he poked at the fire.
Trees, hmm, now let me see. I can do ye a rhyme about trees. Would that be any help?
Mokug chuckled. We needs all the help we can git, mate. Do your rhyme for us, please.
It took Grifty a moment to recall the rhyme, then he looked up from the fire and began reciting:
Most trees are old, long-standing friends, With crowns of leaf and trunks of wood, Their lives o’er countless seasons span, And learn from them we should.
Great oak is king of woodlands,
It rules both copse and glade,
To give us acorns from its cups,
Midst wondrous spreading shade.
Bold chestnut, too, has nuts for you,
Some maples’ sap is sweet,
Slim rowan, known as mountain ash,
Bears berries red to eat.
Dark baubles from the elder,
And juniper so fine,
Like fruits of good wild cherry,
Can all be turned to wine.
But other trees are not like these,
Take caution and beware,
Some are born to carry death,
Although they may look fair.
Bright berries of spurge laurel,
Laburnum’s flowers of gold,
And blossoms from a guelder rose,
All beauteous to behold,
But poison in their nature,
I say to you, my friend,
Ignore this timely warning,
And your days will swiftly end!
Shogg slapped his rudder sharply on the ground. Ha-harr, there’tis, plain as the crust on a pie! Laburnum flowers o’ gold an’ they’re poison, too. Twixt leanin’ ash an’ poison gold.’ We’re lookin’ for a laburnum crossed by an ash tree wot ain’t growin’ straight!
Mokug tugged at Triss’s robe. Wot does a laburnum look like?
Triss explained. It’s not a big tree, but quite slender, with smallish spearhead-shaped leaves and long chains of bright yellow flowers hanging from every branch. Laburnum’s a deadly tree, though, not just the flowers, but the leaves, wood and bark and all.
She was interrupted by Log a Log calling to his scouts, Take a look round the woods, mates, see if ye can bring back a laburnum branch to show ole Mokug.
Triss was surprised by the shrews’ alacrity. They seemed to have been gone no time at all, when one came racing back. In his paw he clutched a laburnum branch, wrapped around one end with dock leaves to protect himself.
As soon as Mokug caught sight of it, he was beside himself with eagerness.
I’ve seen one of’em before, a tree all covered wid those yellow flowers.
I’ve seen one, I tell ye!
Shogg was caught up in the excitement. Where, mate, where?
Mokug ceased jumping up and down. Er, er, I couldn’t put me paw on it right now, but I’ll remember, never fear, mates. I know’twas someplace east of where ye found me when that ole owl was slain. Aye, I’ll know it when I sees it!
Log a Log shook his head. But that’s away from the vermin tracks we’re followin’, well away.
There was a momentary silence, then Churk spoke up. All the better for us, I say. If the vermin are trackin’ the snakes to their den, they’ll be goin’ in by the front way. But if we can find the back entrance, we’ll know where both the vermin an’ the serpents are. Inside!
Sagax left off whetting his axe blade and viewed the sky. How far off would you say the two trees are, Mokug?
The hamster scratched his ear. Oh, a fair piece, I’d say, at least half a mornin’s walk.
Log a Log thrust his rapier into the earth. Right, then we camp’ere tonight an’ break camp at dawn. With any luck, that’ll bring us to the place before midday sun shines bright for us!
38
Redwall’s rose-coloured sandstone walls still felt warm from the summer day’s heat. Blackbirds could be heard warbling throatily in the evening’s stillness. Father Abbot had gone back to his Dibbun days; he was enjoying himself down at the Abbey pond with a group of Abbeybabes.
The old mouse cut a comical figure as, with his long habit rucked up, he dashed into the shallows and joined in with the fun of skipping stones, chortling happily, Three, four, five, look, my stone bounced six times!
Ruggum glared at him suspiciously. Yurr, oi only counted foive bouncers, zurr, b’ain’t that roight, Malbun, marm?
Malbun, who was sitting on the grassy bank with Criku-lus and Memm, agreed with the infant mole. Aye, Rug-gum, five it was. You still hold the record for six bounces. You counted wrong, Father Abbot!
Abbot Apodemus pulled a face that had the Dibbuns squeaking with laughter.
You just don’t want me to win the candied chestnut trifle, you old cheatÑbet you’re going to share it with Ruggum. You’re both in this together!
Crikulus looked sternly over his glasses. Six bounces gets the trifle, sirÑyours was only five. I counted’em me-self!
The Abbot registered an expression of comic shock. You’re both on Ruggum’s side now! Memm Flackery, tell them my stone bounced six times, please.
The Harenurse’s ears twitched. I certainly will not, sah! An Abbot of your age, cheatin’! What’s Redwall comin’ to?
Friar Gooch solved the dispute by marching up with Furrel, his molemaid assistant, in tow. My candied chestnut trifle’s been stolen!
Wading out of the pond, the Abbot unhitched his wet habit. Are you sure you’re right, Gooch, stolen?
Furrel assisted him up the bank. Burr aye, zurr, ee troi-fle’s bee’d stoled roight enuff. Oi see’d ee Friar putten et on ee gurt slate shelf, to let it be coolen.
Gooch cut in, fluttering his jaws wildly. A moment later, there it was, gone!
Paws akimbo, Memm stared accusingly at one or two likely Dibbun candidates. Own up, you villains, who’s sneaked back to the kitchens instead of playin’ skimmin’ stones, wot?
Kroova’s head broke the surface of the pond’s centre, where he had been acting as lifeguard, and swam ashore. None of these liddle’uns been away from this pond, marm, I’ve kept a close check on’em since we arrived’ere. The question ye should be askin’ is, where’s Scarum?
The Abbot gaped disbelievingly at Kroova. Scarum? You don’t mean he ...
The otter nodded decisively. Aye, Scarum. As hares go, beggin’ y’pardon, miz Memm, Scarum is the biggest glutton’twixt’ere an’ the cracks o’
doom. Come on, let’s find’im!
The young hare in question was snoring in an upturned barrow at the orchard entrance. A candied chestnut was stuck to the fur between his ears, meadowcream liberally festooned his whiskers, and traces of redcurrant, blackberry, maple sponge and other trifle ingredients clung to his narrow chest and bulging stomach.
He grumbled dreamily as Kroova poked a paw into his midriff, Gerroff, it’s all mine, go an’ get your own, rotter! Memm took the wheelbarrow and turned him out with a mighty heave. Scarum sat up, blinking.