Doomwyte

The Redwall contingent dashed gallantly through the woodlands, brushing aside or flattening everything in their way. None could travel faster than Bosie, who kept running from one end of the column to the other, roaring encouragement as he brandished his sword. “Come on, mah bonny beasts! Hasten tae the rescue! Move now, ye braw runners! Bowlayneeeee!”

With Nokko, Dubble and Bisky in the lead, they rushed onto the bankside of the creek, where the Guosim logboats lay moored. Everybeast was hurried aboard, with the moles arriving last, for as anybeast knows, moles are not the greatest runners in Mossflower.

There were four shrew paddlers to each craft, with Gonfelins and moles seated amidships. Bosie occupied the stern seat of the lead vessel, along with Nokko, Bisky, Dubble, Samolus and Garul. The logboats manoeuvred their way out of the creek, into the mainstream.

Garul shouted to Dubble, “What course do we take?”

“Straight on, an’ don’t take no sidewaters. Keep paddlin’ in the midstream, ’til ye see the big wooded hill ahead, that’s where we’re bound!”

But Nokko had other ideas. “Us Gonfelins knows the lay o’ the land round ’ere. I know a faster way, wot’ll bring youse up be’ind that big mound!”

Bosie patted the Pikehead’s back. “Very guid, mah friend, get yoreself for’ard an’ tell ’em the way tae go!”

Scrambling over paddlers and passengers, Nokko made his way to the prow, where he gave orders. “The quickest way is to take the next slipstream on yore right. There ’tis, the one wid the big ould willow over’anging the bank. There’s a few rapids, but that’ll get us there a bit faster!”

Dubble was paddling alongside Garul. He took the time to enquire, “Wot happened to Tugga Bruster, tell me.”

The older Guosim kept his eyes on the stream as he told Dubble of his father’s fate.

When he had heard the whole disgraceful story of his father and the former Log a Log’s shameful end, the young Guosim wiped a swift paw across his eyes, then breathed deep as he pulled on his paddle.

“I know he was my father, but I can’t bring myself to grieve heavy over him. Tugga Bruster was never a lovin’ parent, aye, an’ he wasn’t much of a Log a Log, either. But you knew that. Our tribe deserves a better Chieftain than him.”

Garul backed water as they turned into the slipstream. “Aye, Dubble, these Guosim think you’ll make a good Log a Log, they all like you.”

Bending to avoid the overhanging willow branches, Dubble met the older shrew’s gaze. “No, mate, I’m finished with the Guosim life. Once this is over I’m goin’ to live at Redwall. I’ve not had much experience of the Abbey, but I know I’ll find peace an’ happiness there. One day, maybe, I’ll forget the shame of Tugga Bruster.”

Garul was bewildered by Dubble’s decision. “But wot about our tribe, wot’s to become of us?”

The young shrew released his paddle long enough to grasp the older beast’s paw warmly. “These Guosim will do just fine with you as their Log a Log. You’ve always been a good an’ wise ole paddle whomper, Garul. You’ll make a better Log a Log than I ever could!”

The news echoed swiftly from boat to boat. All the Guosim raised their paddles in salute, roaring, “Garul! Garul! Logalogalogalooooooog!”

The little flotilla hit the rapids, the logboats shot along. Shrews guided them skilfully, fending off rocks, banks and shoals as they sang.

“Ho, look out for the shallows now,

watch how fast yore goin’,

you’ll never beat a Guosim shrew,

paddlin’ or rowin’.

Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,

wait for me, my darlin’,

go set the skillet on the fire,

’cos I’ll be home by mornin’.

Oh, watch her on the banksides now,

rapids an’ white waters,

here’s a health to all our wives,

an’ our pretty daughters.

Hi to me rum drum toodle hey,

throw me out a line oh,

or a bowl o’ stew, an’ a drink or two,

would suit a Guosim fine oh!”

Bosie had put up his sword, he was feeling rather nervous as he clung to the prow. Spray soaked his whiskers as the logboat leapt and bucked along the rapids. Keeping a brave face, the Highland hare muttered aloud, “Och, will ye no look at this mad stream. Ah tell ye, Ah dinna know what they’re singing for.”

Having been told by Dubble, Bisky already knew. “Singin’ helps ’em with the paddle beat, an’ it keeps the logboat on an even keel.”

Bosie slacked his grip upon the prow, standing up slightly, he tried a quick smile. “Oh, verra guid, that’s the stuff, mah buckoes, keep the song goin’, Ah like it just fine!”

However, Friar Skurpul and his molecrew did not care for the lively jaunt. Throwing themselves facedown in the boats, they gave voice to their fears.

“Ho, corks, Oi wish’t Oi’d never left ee h’Abbey!”

“Hurr, we’m surtink to get sunken unner ee water!”

“Ho, woe bees Oi, Oi’ll never leave ee land agin!”

Now the bankside trees were shooting by as the logboats picked up more speed. Guosim left off paddling, to fend off the rock-faced sides. Samolus gnawed his lip anxiously. “Er, Mister Nokko, are you sure this is the right way to the wooded hill?”