Rakkety Tam (12 page)

There was a faint rustle of leaves from above, in the top branches of the chestnut. Before Tam could raise his eyes to look up, he was hit forcibly by a descending object and knocked out of the tree.

Abbot Humble was playing make-believe tea with the Dibbuns. He enjoyed being with the little ones, joining in their games and listening to their baby talk. Mimsie the mousebabe served him with an invisible platter, supposedly full of goodies.

Humble beamed delightedly. “Oh my, these look nice, I like fresh scones!”

Mimsie scowled. “They not sconeses, them's cream an' stawb'y cake wot I jus' maked!”

The Abbot apologised. “Oh, I'm sorry. My old eyes aren't so good anymore, you know. Cream and strawberry cake, my favourite! Have we got some sweet cordial to drink with it?”

Perkle the hogbabe passed him an imaginary beaker. “No, farver, this bee's boiled nekkle h'ale!”

Mudge the molebabe winked broadly at Humble. “Yurr, zurr, but doan't ee tell Sis h'Armel. She'm say Dibbuns shuddent drink boiled nekkle h'ale.”

Humble nodded seriously. “I won't breathe a word, promise. Boiled nettle ale, eh? Mmmm, tastes good, I like it!”

Perkle squeaked out a warning. “Farver, 'ide it quick. Sis Armel bee's comin'!”

Sister Armel and Brooky came hurriedly into the dormitory, where the Abbot was playing with the Dibbuns. The pretty Infirmary Keeper could not keep the urgency out of her voice. “Father Abbot, I must speak to you immediately in private. It's very important!”

Humble carried on pretending, putting both paws behind his back as if hiding the boiled nettle ale. “Right, Sister, just give me a moment, please.”

He whispered to the Dibbuns, “You'd better go and have tea down on the lawn so that Sister Armel doesn't see the ale.”

Touching paws to snouts secretly, the Dibbuns nodded. They loaded the make-believe meal onto a make-believe trolley and began solemnly trundling it away.

Brooky called after them, “Save some o' that boiled nettle ale for us, you greedy villains!”

As the Dibbuns clattered out of the dormitory, giggling mischievously, Humble turned to the squirrel and ottermaid, shaking his head. “Cream and strawberry cake with boiled nettle ale? Whatever next! What can I do for you, young Armel?”

The pretty squirrel explained her sudden visit. “When we were in the orchard, solving the puzzle, I suddenly felt drowsy. It must have been only for a moment. Father, I don't know whether you'll believe this, but Martin the Warrior appeared to me.”

Humble looked into Armel's innocent brown eyes. “Why should I doubt you, my child? Did our Warrior speak?”

She nodded emphatically. “He did, though I completely forgot I'd even seen him until a short while ago. Brooky and I were passing through Great Hall when I saw Martin's picture on the tapestry. Then it all came back to me like a flash!”

The ottermaid laughed. “Oohahaha! Very exciting, isn't it?”

Humble silenced her with a mild glance. “Tell me, Armel, what did Martin the Warrior say to you?”

Armel remembered everything clearly. “He said he knew me, and that was why he chose me. Then he spoke these lines.

 

My sword must be carried by maidens two:

one who sees laughter in all, and you.

Bear it southwest through Mossflower Wood,

to he who pursues the vermin Lord.

The Borderer who is a force for good,

that warrior who sold and lost his sword.”

 

Humble folded both paws into his wide habit sleeves. “Did he say any more?”

Armel sighed. “No, Father, that was all. What should I do?”

The Abbot pondered for a while, then made his decision. “Go and find my cousin, Hitheryon Jem. Brooky, you will seek out your uncle Skipper. Bring them both to the gatehouse. We need to discuss this matter urgently.”

 

Jem was rather grumbly as he followed Armel across the sunlit lawns to the gatehouse. “Great seasons, ain't there no rest for a poor ole body? I'm scarce out of a good warm tub an' into a clean robe when I'm bein' marched outdoors through the grounds. A beast of my seasons could catch cold, y'know!”

Armel patted his paw as they came to the gatehouse door. “Oh, I'm sure you'll take no harm, sir. It's not me who wants you here, it's your cousin, the Abbot.”

Jem opened the door. “Humble? Oh, that's different, missy. Why didn't ye say?”

The young Sister smiled. “I did, but you probably forgot.”

Skipper and Brooky were already there, as was Humble and Gordale the Gatekeeper. Friar Glisum arrived unexpectedly, bearing with him a sliced pie of damsons and
honey with a container of his own special pear and redcurrant wine.

He popped his head around the door with the air of a conspirator, commenting, “Hope you don't mind me joining you. I saw you all hurrying here, and it made me rather curious.”

Humble beckoned him inside. “Come in, Friar. Sit down there and listen carefully, all of you. Sister Armel has something to say. Sister?”

Armel took a deep breath and recounted her experience. When she had finished, the Abbot looked from one to the other. “Well, what do you think, friends?”

Skipper of Otters was first to venture an opinion. “I was 'oping that all last winter an' right through the spring, 'til now, that this wouldn't 'appen, Father, but it looks like it must be, eh Jem?”

The old hedgehog answered sadly, “Aye, Skip. This Abbey's a sizeable buildin', stickin' out like a bandaged paw twixt the woodlands an' flatlands. Stands t'reason that any vermin gang in this part o' the country is bound to sight it.”

Brother Gordale caught the hedgehog's drift. “You mean that creature Gulo the Savage and his followers?”

Humble went to the little gatehouse window. There he stood, gazing out at the sunlit lawns and the Abbey building. “We were hoping, Skipper and I, that maybe they'd miss us somehow and go off on a different course. But if I read Martin the Warrior's message correctly, it seems that Redwall is in danger. Why else would he send us this warning through Sister Armel? One thing, though. Before we go any further, I must ask. Are we all agreed to act upon this?”

Brooky's sudden laughter made Gordale jump. “Whooohahahoo! We'd be real puddenheads if we didn't.”

Skipper silenced his niece by treading on her rudder. “Young Brookflow's right. She's noisy, but right. So then, Father, what d'ye suggest?”

Humble placed a paw on the otter chieftain's shoulder.
“I say we should carry out Martin's words to the letter. That is, if Armel and Brooky are willing to undertake the task. As to anything else, I tell you truly. I am only a Cellarhog who was fortunate enough to become Father Abbot of Redwall. As such, I am concerned with its safety, and all the creatures within who are under my care. I know nothing of the ways of war or defence. I have always entrusted those matters to you, Skipper.”

The burly otter bowed slightly. “Thankee, friend, I wouldn't 'ave it any other way. Now then, Sister Armel, will you carry out the task Martin has sent ye? An' you, too, Brookflow, 'cos yore the one who sees laughter in all, an' yore a maid, too. So?”

The Infirmary Sister took Brooky's paw. “I'll go if you come with me.”

The sturdy ottermaid giggled with embarrassment. “Heeheeheehee, just you try and stop me!”

Skipper ruffled his niece's head fondly. Unwinding a sling from his waist, he gave it to her with a full pebble bag. “Take good care o' this, ye scallywag. 'Tis me best sling. I want ye to take good care o' Sister Armel, too!”

Brooky helped herself to a slice of the friar's pie. “Nice sling, nunky Skip. Of course I'll take care of Armel. If I don't, you can load me into this sling an' chuck me out the attic window. Hahahahaha!”

Armel gave her a playful shove. “Don't worry, Skip, we'll look out for each other. When do we go?”

Jem looked up from the deep armchair he was occupying. “Travel by night is best. Stick to the shadows on the pathside an' don't make any noise. Me'n ole Walt should be goin' along with ye by rights, but the seasons are weighin' too 'eavy on us now, an' we'd be slowin' ye down, missy.”

Skipper bit his lip, looking a bit worried. “I could hunt out a few o' my otter mateys. Them stayin' close by both of ye wouldn't go amiss. Couple o' big coves with javelins.”

However, Armel would not hear of this. “Definitely not,
but thank you, Skip. Martin was quite clear who should go: ‘My sword must be carried by maidens two, one who sees laughter in all, and you.' I would not risk disobeying the word of Martin the Warrior. We will leave tonight after supper. The directions are also quite clear—southwest through Mossflower Wood, until we find the Borderer who is a force for good. Right, Brooky?”

The ottermaid nodded cheerily. “Correct. We're out to deliver Martin's sword to this Borderer cove. ‘That warrior who sold and lost his sword.' Bit careless of him, wasn't it? Hope he doesn't lose Martin's sword. Hohohohoho!”

Skipper glared at Brooky so fiercely that she quailed. “Don't even think of it, Brookflow!”

 

Supper that evening was served in Great Hall, the tables laid out beneath Martin's tapestry. Both maids were the centre of attention. It seemed that every Redwaller wanted to give them gifts, either knowledgeable information or equipment for their journey.

“Yurr, marm, take ee moi likkle dagger, h'it bee's gurtly sharp. An' take ee moi ole granfer's cloak, too!”

“Remember now, if ye see any vermin, don't stop to talk with the nasty sly brutes. You just run off, fast as y'can!”

Humble cast an amused glance at Armel. “I think you and Brooky will leave here with more information than your heads can carry, and more clothing, food and weapons than your paws can bear, eh Sister?”

Armel put aside a lucky pebble, which had been donated by Mudge the molebabe. “Aye, Father, but everything is given in friendship and with good heart. How can we refuse them?”

Wandering Walt whispered to her, “Doan't ee fret, marm. Give 'em all to oi. Oi'll give ee h'all ee gifts back on yore safe return, hurr aye.”

Brooky interrupted. “Thankee, Walt. How's the footpaw, still split? Maybe it'll split altogether. Then you'll have three footpaws. Hahahaha!”

Old Walt chuckled. “Nay, marm, oi spreaded et with ee h'ointment from Sister's affirmery. 'Tis foine now. Oi'm gurtly taken with ee affirmery medicines, they'm gudd.”

Armel took a quick peep at Walt's footpaw. “Well done, sir! Perhaps you'd like to fill in as Infirmary Keeper while I'm away?”

The ancient mole beamed with pleasure. “Thankee gurtly, Sister. 'Twould be noice to 'old such an 'igh posishun!”

Brooky raised her goblet to him. “Listen everybeast, this good mole is our new healer. From now on, he will be known as Sister Walt. Hahahahaha!”

Foremole Bruffy called out, “Yurr Sister, can ee cure moi blister? If'n ee do, oi'll give ee a gurt kiss. Hurrhurrhurr!”

Walt scowled. “Burr, then oi'll raise anuther blister, zurr, roight on ee skull!”

Good food and merry banter went back and forth. Humble waited until there was a lull in the proceedings before he signalled to Skipper. The otter chieftain went to the tapestry. Standing upon a tall chair, he took the sword of Martin from its two brackets above the tapestry. A hush fell over all as he laid the blade on the table in front of Armel.

The Abbot addressed her in a voice which could be heard by every Redwaller present. “This is the sword of Martin the Warrior, made by a Badger Lord in the fires at Salamandastron. It is said that the blade was forged from the metal of a star which fell from the skies. This sword has always stood as a symbol of truth, honour and justice at Redwall. I place it in your care, Sister Armel. You must promise to bring it back here when its task is fulfilled.”

Apart from a red pommel stone, the sword hilt was a plain black grip, serviceable and strong. Armel laid her paw upon it, gazing in awe at the legendary blade. This was fashioned with a centre channel and double edges, keen as ice in midwinter, running to a point which shimmered like a searing flame.

The blade was as old as forgotten dreams and as lethal as death's shadow.

Armel's voice was hushed, yet it echoed round Great
Hall. “Father, it is a strange thing for a maid who knows only about healing, and caring for the sick, to be bearing such a weapon. But I will deliver it to the warrior whom Martin has spoken of. When the sword has served its purpose, I swear upon my life that I will return it to you, here in this room at Redwall!”

Amid applause and cheers of approval, Humble embraced the young squirrel, whom he had seen grow from infancy to a well-loved member of his Abbey. Tears dewed in his eyes for the unknown dangers she might be facing.