[Redwall 18] - High Rhulain (30 page)

Though Quelt did not say it, the Abbess guessed that this was his way of apologising for his behaviour at breakfast. She replied with a twinkle in her eye, “Thank you for your gracious offer, sir. We accept. Er, by the way, which are you—the fogey or one of the rips?”

Tribsy took Lycian's paw cheerily. “He'm an ole rip, h'Abbess, 'n oi bee's a young fogey!”

Brantalis ruffled his feathers and honked. “I am thinking we should stop talking all this gobbledygoose and go to find the top attic!”

Lycian chuckled as she whispered to Tribsy. “Gobbledygoose? That's a new one on me!”

 

Brink Greyspoke and Skipper Banjon were sitting on a barrel in the cellars. Between them they were sharing a flask of rosehip and redcurrant wine, accompanied by a wedge of strong yellow cheese with roasted chestnut flakes in it. The two friends were trying to recall forgotten lines of an old Cellarbeast's song, taking alternate verses and singing the chorus together.

Skipper paused, scratching his rudder. “Wot comes next, mate? Was it ‘beetroot port, poured long or short'?”

Brink cut himself a sliver of the strong cheese. “Nay, as I recalls, that's the last verse. Hmm . . . let me see. Er, I think it went like this: ‘sweet burdock cup, just fill it up, de dah dee dum de deedee.' ”

“Excuse me, Mr. Greyspoke, but Mother Abbess wants to know if you've got any spare lanterns please?”

Brink turned to Brinty, who was standing in the doorway. “We got lanterns aplenty, young 'un. Wot d'ye need 'em for?”

The young mouse gestured upward. “To search for the top attic. We've discovered some clues in the riddle, y'see, sir.”

Skipper Banjon threw a paw about Brinty's shoulders. “We're comin' with ye, matey. Brink, where d'ye keep spare lanterns for searchin' top attics with?”

The big Cellarhog trundled over to an empty ale barrel. “In here. How many d'ye want, sunbeam?”

Brinty tugged his ear politely. “As many as ye can spare, Mr. Brink. There's a lot of us going on the search.”

A huge party was gathered at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. It seemed that everybeast in Redwall wanted to participate in the adventure. Friar Bibble waved a floury paw at the heavily laden trio who had staggered up from the cellars.

“Indeed to goodness, they must be on light duties, look you!”

Skipper distributed the lanterns, issuing a warning. “All stay together up there. We don't want to lose anybeast. Top attics is a dark ole place.”

Old Quelt made his way through a gang of Dibbuns, who were milling about noisily. “Do we have to take these little ones along? I don't want Dibbuns getting under my footpaws, do you?”

Howls of dismay and outrage went up from the Abbeybabes as Quelt tried to shoo them away.

The kindly Abbess intervened on their behalf. “Oh, I'm sure they'll be alright. None of our little ones have ever been beyond their own dormitory stairs. It will be a bit of fun for them. I think they should come.”

Squirrelbabe Taggle agreed wholeheartedly. “On'y a birra fun, we be good, me promises. Us don't gerrunder a footpaws if'n we gets carried!”

The Dibbuns raised a cheer when Skipper lifted an otterbabe called Smudger upon his shoulders. “Aye, it'll be no trouble to give these rogues a ride.”

Smudger perched smugly on the otter's shoulders, wrinkling his nose impudently at Quelt. “See, now we go wiv ya, teeheehee!”

 

There was no need for lanterns on the first floor, where most of the dormitories were situated, nor was there on the second floor, where Old Quelt kept his library. The third floor, however, was a different matter. It was all in darkness, apart from the chamber above the library where the uncatalogued books and scrolls were stored. Everywhere else it was black and gloomy, coated thick in the dust of untold ages. One or two of the more fainthearted searchers suddenly found they had other chores downstairs to tend. Mumbling excuses, they dropped out of the quest. The remainder, headed by Skipper, Brink and the Abbess, pressed on.

The third floor was a maze, a veritable warren of passages, steps, chambers and side rooms. As the group made its way down a winding corridor, Sister Snowdrop shuddered uneasily.

“Little wonder that Sister Geminya was an oddbeast, living up here all alone. It's very creepy, isn't it?”

Brushing away curtains of gossamer cobwebs with his bushy tail, Girry took the Sister's paw, speaking with a boldness he did not feel. “Come on, Sister. If the place is empty, what's to fear?”

The procession bumped one into the other, as they were forced to halt. A big, old, locked door barred the way. It was shut tight, its hinges and locks rusted together.

Sister Doral's voice quavered as she called to Skipper, “Oh dear, we'll never get that open. Let's go back, it's nearly lunchtime, you know.”

Brink took the bung hammer, which he had been using earlier, from his belt. He rooted in his broad Cellarhog's apron pocket and came up with a broad, stubby chisel.

“Don't fret now, marm. Me'n Banjon'll take care o' this!”

Between them, the two sturdy beasts broke the lock and pushed the door open. It gave a long, eerie-sounding creak, which echoed through the lantern-shadowed gloom.

Burbee was trembling from snout to tail with fear. Little Ralg, the Gatekeeper's babe, leaned down from his father's shoulders and stroked the molemum's head sympathetically.

“Hushee now, marm, I mind you, 'cos I ferry ferry brave!”

Burbee patted Ralg's tiny paw. “Thankee, choild. Boi'okey, wot oi wudden't give furr ee 'ot cup o' tea roight naow!”

They entered a chamber as vast as Great Hall, though much lower ceilinged. Foremole Grudd got his powerful digging claws into a wooden shutter and tore open a window. Much to the relief of all, bright midday sun flooded in. Sparkling dust motes hung thick on the air.

Abbess Lycian espied a small door in one corner. “Look, I wonder where that leads to?”

There was no lock on the door. Skipper pulled it open. “We'll soon find out, marm!”

He held his lantern high and peered in. It was a narrow space with circular walls of rough sandstone. An ancient flight of rickety wooden stairs were fixed to the wall. The whole thing wound upward into stygian darkness and oppressive silence.

After lifting little Smudger down from his shoulders and passing him to Burbee, Skipper ventured onto the first stair. The wood gave a protesting groan, causing Skipper to step back carefully.

“We can't all go up there, those stairs'd collapse. They won't even take my weight. So, what's t'be done?”

Otterbabe Smudger wriggled free of the molemum. Without a backward glance, he trundled to the stairs. “Alla stay down 'ere. Me go h'up!”

The Abbess caught the little fellow before he could venture further. “Come here, you bold creature!”

Sister Snowdrop made a suggestion. “Actually, that Dibbun's right, in a way. Nobeast of any size or weight could make it up the stairs. But if a few smallish, light ones—like myself, say, and two others—went carefully, one behind the other, I think we could make it to the top.”

The Abbess took the initiative. “I think Sister Snowdrop and I should go. Girry, would you like to join us?”

The young squirrel's tail stood up straight. “Yes, please!”

Taking a lantern between them, the trio began the ascent, with Girry in the lead.

Skipper cautioned them, “If'n there's ought up there that ye don't like, then come straight back down here. Or if'n ye get in trouble, just give us a shout.”

Brink gripped his bung mallet tightly. “Aye, you just shout, mates, an' no rickety stairs'll stop us. We'll come runnin'!”

The wooden spiral staircase was extremely narrow and unsteady. Every step had to be taken carefully.

Girry laughed nervously. “Ha ha, it's like being inside a well with stairs.”

Sister Snowdrop shielded her eyes from the dust that he was unintentionally kicking down. “That's probably why it's called a stairwell. Can you see anything up there?”

The young squirrel held the lantern high as he managed a few more steps. “Yes, there's a sort of landing above us, and I think I see a door!”

They speeded up their pace, but the stairs began swaying, and there was the sound of a piece of timber falling below them. The Abbess froze.

“Stand still, both of you. Wait until these stairs stop moving. I think one of the struts has fallen away. Be perfectly still now!”

They stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, until the structure stopped swaying. Climbing upward gingerly, step by step, Girry arrived at the landing. He was glad to feel that it was fairly solid underpaw. Lying flat, the young squirrel assisted his two companions up.

Snowdrop went straight to the door, brushing away the cobwebs and dust which lay thick upon it. “I can't find a handle or a latch, but there's some letters carved on the lintel.”

Lycian held the lantern close. “What do they say?”

The little Sister read out the graven script. “As far as I can make out, it says ‘I say regiments!' ”

The Abbess sounded bemused. “Are you sure, Sister? ‘I say regiments'? I can't recall hearing of any regiments in the attics of our Abbey!”

Snowdrop replied, almost apologetically, “Well, that's what it says, Mother Abbess. ‘I say regiments.' ”

Girry narrowed his eyes as he scanned the words. “Put the lantern down, Abbess. Over there, where the dust is still undisturbed, please.”

Unquestioningly, Lycian placed the lantern on the floor. Using a pawnail, Girry traced the words “I say regiments” into the dust in a circle, like the figures on a clockface. After studying the ring of letters for a moment, he nodded to Sister Snowdrop.

“Well, do you see it, marm?”

She stared a while and nodded knowingly. “Yes, indeed. I see it now.”

Lycian looked from one to the other. “See what? Will you please tell me?”

Girry swept his paw around the dusty circle. “It's another anagram. I'm getting pretty good at them. This is the place we're looking for, Mother Abbess. Huh, ‘I say regiments'! It's only a mixed-up name, and guess whose name it is?”

Lycian recognised it suddenly. “Sister Geminya!”

Girry dusted off his paws. “Correct. So let's get that door open, shall we?”

In the big chamber on the lower floor, Quelt shuffled to the foot of the stairs. He peered up into the darkness, twitching his grey whiskers impatiently. “What in the name of confounded seasons are they doing up there all this time, eh?”

Grudd Foremole replied, with typical mole logic, “Oi aspeck they'll tell ee, arter they'm cooms down, zurr.”

Sister Doral, who was trying to stop otterbabe Smudger from climbing out of the window, confided to Burbee, “They have been up there for rather a while now. I'm beginning to feel concern for them.”

The molemum dusted little Smudger off absentmindedly. “Hurr, an' so'm oi, marm. But no matter 'ow us'ns bee's a-feelin', t'won't affeck they'm beasts up ee stairs.”

A loud bang suddenly came from the room above. This was followed rapidly by the most unearthly shriek and clattering noises. The Redwallers rushed to the door at the foot of the stairs, with Skipper in the lead, roaring, “Stand by, mates. I'm comin' up!”

He bounded onto the stairs, which shattered in a rending crash of ancient timbering. There was another earsplitting screech. Then thick clouds of dust billowed out into the chamber, enveloping everybeast.

Under cover of darkness, the
Purloined Petunia
sailed in toward the mystic mountain fortress of Salamandastron. Somewhat puzzled but obedient to her captain's orders, Tiria manoeuvred the tiller, steering the vessel into the broad, curving bay. Twin beacons on the shoreline burned holes into the night, guiding her in. The ottermaid could make out figures running to and fro onshore. She surmised that these must be the legendary fighting hares of the Long Patrol, the Badger Lord's perilous warriors. Cuthbert had gone forward, concealing himself in the tiny lean-to between galley and prow. Tiria guessed he had his own purpose in doing this; she had long given up questioning her odd companion. Vast and primitive, the mighty mountain loomed above her as she hove in, blocking out the eastern sky.