Doomwyte

“Yurr, drink et all oop loik a guddbeast, cummon, marm!”

They watched as Blodd Apis happily drained the beaker. “More please, I like it, you see!”

Perrit giggled. “Well, there can’t be much wrong with the honey drink if she can swig it down like that!” The squirrelmaid filled all the beakers, by dipping them in the urn.

Dwink took a sip, proclaiming, “Great seasons, this is delicious. What did ye say this was made from, marm?”

“Just honey from my bees, an’ fresh springwater, nought else, you see,” replied Blodd Apis, raising a full beaker. “But ’tis not to be sipped, you see. The right way is to drink it in one go, like this.” The curious old hedgehog drained the beaker with a single draught, smacking her lips as she cackled, “Just like that, you see!”

Her four guests did likewise, each giving their verdict. “Bo urr, ee’ll ’ave to tell Oi the ressipery furr ee hunny drink, marm. Ole Corksnout wudd h’enjoy et!”

“Oh, it’s wonderful, I’ve never tasted anything like it!”

“I told you, Perrit, absolutely delicious, eh, Skip?”

The Otter Chieftain refilled all five beakers. “Ye can say that agin, young Dwink, a real pretty drop o’ stuff. Well, mates, good ’ealth to one an’ all!” They quaffed their drinks down swiftly.

Dwink took the beakers. “Hahaha! My turn now…. Oops!” He chuckled as he dipped the drinking vessels into the big urn. “Nearly toppled in! Hahaha, that’d be a good idea, it’d save havin’ t’fill these beakers up. We could all jump in for a drink!”

The drinks were downed with alacrity. Skipper refilled them, commenting, “Yore shore ’tis only made of honey an’ springwater, missus, nothin’ else?”

“Nay, nought but honey and springwater, just as I said, you see.”

Blodd Apis topped them up again. Perrit took a good swig. She blinked owlishly, staring into the urn. “Funny an’ stringdaughter, eh, very nice!” She hiccupped as she supplied them with more.

Dwink slopped liquid down his front, swaying to and fro, he sighed happily. “Y’right, Ferrit ole mate. S’nice, veryveyveyvey night. Hahahaha! G’night….” Letting the beaker slip, he curled over, asleep.

Perrit hiccupped again, then giggled. “Heehee, Drink’s dropped his dwink. Wait, tha’s rot, night. Heeheehee. Whoooogolly me!” Flopping down alongside Dwink, Perrit closed her eyes. Within moments, she was snoring in the most unmaidenly manner.

Skipper staggered about, eyes rolling as he tried to focus on Blodd Apis. Grabbing his javelin he wagged it at the ancient hog. “You…you did sump’n to that drink, didn’t ye? Hah! If’n anythin’ happens t’my mates, I warn ye, missus.” The Otter Chieftain took a step forward, tripped over his own javelin and fell flat, banging his head on the sandstone ledge. He lay there, senseless to the world.

Repeatedly, Foremole tried to rise from a sitting position. Each time he slumped back clumsily. He watched Blodd Apis removing the leather sling halter from her neck. “Yurr, marm, bein’ ee h’assistant cellarbeast at ee h’Abby, Oi’m a-knowen ’bout drinks.”

Taking Foremole’s half-filled beaker, Blodd Apis finished it off in one swallow. “Then ye know ’tis not poison. Never heard of mead, have ye? Mead is just honey an’ springwater mixed. When it’s been sealed up for a season, mead becomes strong, you see. Aye, the longer ’tis stored, the stronger it gets. I gave you an’ yore friends my Special Ten Season Mead. I’ve lived all my life on mead you see, so I’m used to it. Hah, but otherbeasts aren’t, ’tis far too strong for ’em!”

Foremole blinked blearily, his head dropped. “Hurr, marm, you’m an ’ole villyun, aye, a gurt trickybeast. Fie on ee, you’m maked uz drunken!”

From her garlands of moss and festooned bee carcasses, Blodd Apis drew forth a woven grass bag. She emptied the contents of the small receptacle onto the ledge. There were two objects: one, a hollow reed tube, stoppered with beeswax at either end to contain the liquid inside. The other was the pigeon’s egg–shaped emerald. It glowed with fabulous green light as she stroked it covetously. “Fools, this is no serpent’s eye, ’tis the Green Star of the Woodlands. Only a Queen may possess it, you see!”

Foremole raised his head with an effort. “Ho no, marm, that’n bees ee surrpint’s eye, an’ et doan’t berlong to ee at all, burr nay!”

Blodd Apis hastily stowed the emerald in her bag. Foremole was still trying to rise, when she kicked him back down. There was a wicked glimmer in her eyes. “Stupid soildigger, do ye think the Queen of Wild Bees would let anybeast take the Green Star from her? Both you and your friends will be dead by sunset, you see. Now you will know what it is to feel the Death of a Thousand Stings!”

The threat of all of them being slain immediately lifted the mead-induced stupor from the good mole. However, he decided not to let the malignant old hedgehog know. Sprawled on his back, he blinked feebly at her. “Burr, you’m wicked rarscal, wot bees you’m plannen?”