Doomwyte

Baliss had wakened in the passage to the main cavern. Driven insane by agonising pain, one thing became uppermost in the giant snake’s mind. To seek cool water, the only thing that could relieve the persistent torture. Driven by the desire to immerse his head in cooling water, Baliss slid gradually into the fetid air of the big cave.

32

Redwall Abbey’s twin bells tolled gently for the midnight hour. A soft, golden midsummer moon presided over the tranquil scene. Hardly a breeze was about, to stir the leafy tree canopy of Mossflower woodlands. On the terrace outside the Abbey building, Abbot Glisam and Perrit pushed Dwink in the rickety old wheelchair. Glisam breathed the scented night air fondly.

“Ahhhh! This is one of life’s simple pleasures, a quiet stroll in Redwall’s grounds on a summer night. There’s nothing quite like it.”

Dwink chuckled. “Try telling that to Umfry and Sister Violet. Did you see them, Father? Once we’d finished supper they couldn’t wait to get off to their beds. A pair of champion snorers, I’d say.”

Perrit steered the wheelchair toward the Belltower. “They don’t know what they’re missing. I don’t suppose Brother Torilis was interested in a little stroll, either. Did you see the face on him, Father? He stormed off without a word after you broke open that earthenware onion.”

Dwink snorted. “Aye, I noticed that, too. Blinkin’ stiff-necked old misery, had a face on him like a wrinkled sour apple. Property of the Infirmary indeed, huh. You put him in his place, Father!”

The Abbot shook his head. “It gave me no pleasure to address him in that manner. We mustn’t be too hard on Torilis, he’s an excellent Herbalist, and a dutiful Infirmary Keeper. Trouble is that he lives by his own rigid rules. I must make things up to him somehow, soothe his wounded pride. Dwink, what was the message on that scrap of cloth, remind me.”

The young squirrel had already memorised the clue which Gonff had scrawled long ago, in the dim, distant past. He repeated it from memory, word perfect.

“To find the eye of the serpent,

to the morning sunrise roam,

where death may visit those that fear,

in the wild sweet gatherers’ home.”

There was silence, except for the creak of the chair wheels. The Abbot turned the ancient vehicle. “Come on, you two, that’s enough for one night. I think the beds beckon us. No doubt you’ll be up and about at the crack of dawn. Questing for the wild sweet gatherers’ home, which you’re bound to do.”

Perrit speeded up her pushing, all agog. “Oh, can we really, Father, what an adventure it’ll be!”

Dwink moved his injured footpaw, testing it. “I won’t need this bloomin’ chair tomorrow. Brother Torilis is making a splint for me, I’ll get along just fine on that. We’ll be alright, Father, don’t you worry!”

The Abbot opened the main Abbey door, allowing them inside. “Oh, I’m not too worried, young un, there won’t be just two of you going alone.”

Perrit pouted slightly. “Oh, why’s that, Father?”

Glisam patted her paw. “Well, miss, one of the lines in the clue said, ‘where death may visit those that fear.’ In view of any possible danger, I’ve decided to send Skipper Rorgus and Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw. A warrior and a wise head shouldn’t go amiss, do you agree?”

Dwink seemed quite happy with the arrangement, “That’ll be fine, Father, but what about Bosie?”

Glisam explained, “Bosie isn’t too familiar with this area, and he can be a bit of a harum scarum at times. No, I think Skipper and Foremole would be more fitted to accompany you.”

Perrit giggled. “Harum scarum, I like that. Hare um scare um! What d’you think, mate?”

The young squirrel grinned. “Bosie is enough to scare anybeast, just by the amount he can eat. We’d better not mention it to him, though, I wouldn’t like his feelings to be hurt.”

Glisam ruffled Dwink’s ears. “Well said, young un!”

Skipper was always up and wide awake in the hour before dawn. Feeling responsible for the security of Redwall, he would take a brisk patrol. The Otter Chieftain checked outside the Abbey building, ending up with a march around the walltops. Completing the full circuit of the parapet and battlements, he ended his routine by going to the kitchens for an early breakfast.

Friar Skurpul greeted him. “G’mawnin’, zurr, you’m bees a wanten yore zoop?”

The otter twitched his whiskers at the tempting aroma. “An’ a good mornin’ t’you, Friar. Is that my very fav’rite watershrimp an’ hotroot soup I can smell, bubblin’ away there?”

The kind Friar began ladling a bowl of the soup out. “Aye, that et bees, zurr, jus’ ’ow you’m loikes et each mawnen!”

They were soon joined by Dwink and Perrit, who came, pulling a dozy Foremole between them. Gullub Gurrpaw nodded sleepily to Skipper. “H’on moi loife, Skip, these yurr rascals turned Oi out o’ moi bed afore daybreak. Et seems us’ns bees h’off a-questin’.”

Skipper looked up from his bowl of soup. “Aye, mate, Abbot woke me last night with the news, I ’ope you’ve packed us lots o’ prime vittles, Friar, questin’s a hungry business.”