Doomwyte

The fat Chieftain proclaimed proudly, “’Cos Gonff the Prince o’ Mousethieves was our ancestor. Gonfelins are all descended from him!”

Dubble interrupted, “How do ye know that?”

Nokko shook his sandbag at the shrew. “Yer a hard-necked beast, askin’ a Pike’ead o’ Gonfelins sumthin’ like that. I know ’cos my da knew, an’ his da afore ’im, right back to Gonff we go. So let that be the end o’ the daft questions, awright?”

Bisky knew he was on dangerous grounds, still he continued enquiring. “Sir, I don’t mean to give any offence, but Gonff came from Redwall Abbey, so why don’t you live there? He and his wife, Lady Columbine, and Martin the Warrior all helped to build the Abbey, but I suppose you know that.”

Nokko shrugged nonchalantly. “Course I did, I’ve even ’eard of Martin the Warrior, too. But I never knew Gonff’s missus was called Lady Cumbilline. Nice name that, maybe I’ll call me next daughter Cumbilline, or Cumbillino, that sounds better. Er, as fer livin’ at Redwall, I believe we did, a long time ago. The story goes that our great-great-grandda’s great-great-grandda didn’t like bein’ bossed about by Abbots an’ Friars, an’ elders. Any’ow, he didn’t like takin’ orders, so he left Redwall with his family, as far as I know.”

Young Spingo wagged a paw at her father. “Ooh, Da, tell the truth, they was kicked out fer stealin’!”

Bisky looked at Nokko. “For stealing!”

Nokko thrust out his chin aggressively. “Well, wot’s wrong wid that, Gonff was a thief, wasn’t he? Nothin’ wrong wid stealin’, long as yer don’t get caught. Bet you’ve stole stuff y’self, Bisky.”

The young mouse shook his head. “Never, even though I’m a descendant of Prince Gonff myself. I’m no thief!”

Nokko upbraided him scornfully. “Yew, a descendant o’ Gonff? Rubbish! Anybeast wid Gonfelin blood in their veins would draw rings around yer, even my pretty liddle Spingo. Go on, darlin’, tell this woffler wot bein’ a Gonfelin’s all about!”

Nokko pulled out a reed flute and began playing a lively little tune. Spingo leapt up, dancing and singing at the same time. She had a voice like a tinkling bell, and was light as sunbeams on her paws. She twirled around Bisky until his head was spinning.

“There ain’t no lock nor bolt or key,

that could put a hold on me,

I can move like shadowy night,

free as a breeze an’ twice as light.

’Cos…I’m a Gonfelin, a Gonfelin that’s me!

I’ll tell you, friend, that I believe

you don’t know wot it is to thieve,

so better keep close watch on me,

I steal most anythin’ I see.

’Cos…I’m a Gonfelin, a Gonfelin that’s me!

I’ll pinch the shell from off an egg,

I’ll rob the wings right off a bee,

I’d steal the eyes straight out your head,

if you weren’t watchin’ me.

’Cos…I’m a Gonfelin, a Gonfelin that’s me!

O make sure all ye have is yours,

count both ears an’ all four paws

then check you’ve got an open mind,

an’ see yore tail still hangs behind,

’cos…I’m a Gonfelin, a Gonfelin that’s me!”

It was well danced and prettily sung. Bisky joined in the applause. Spingo bowed, flashed a smile, then sat down beside him again. Turning to her father, she enquired, “Well, Da, ain’t yew goin’ to show Bisky an’ Dubble the jool that our ancestors were slung out o’ Redwall for stealin’ in the ole days?”

Nokko took an object from his wife, Filgo. It was carefully wrapped in fine moss velvet. He opened it slowly, exclaiming, “Jus’ looka that, ain’t it a beauty!”

Firelight cast blood-hued needles of colour into Bisky’s eyes. He blinked. Even on first sight, he instinctively knew that the pigeon’s egg ruby he was staring at could only be one thing.

One of the lost Eyes of the Great Doomwyte.

20

A pretty summer morn lent its freshness to Mossflower woodlands, with birdsong resounding through high-canopied trees. The Guosim band, together with the Redwallers, had spent the night in the dried-up ditchbed, which had not proved uncomfortable. Tugga Bruster was up at the crack of dawn, bullying his shrews as usual.

“Up off yore laggardly tails, you lot. Marul, take six o’ these layabouts, an’ scout that clearin’ up ahead t’see if’n that serpent’s gone. Then report back ’ere t’me. Well, go on!”

The shrew Marul did not seem too pleased at the prospect. He chose six of his reluctant fellowbeasts, saluting Tugga Bruster as he paced back and forth. “Er, but suppose the giant snake’s still there, Chief?”

The Guosim Log a Log chuckled mirthlessly. “Then ye’ll run back ’ere twice as quick, won’t ye? Stop tryin’ to wheedle out of it, get yore paws movin!”

Marul led the six off in a desultory fashion, all of them paw shuffling and lagging behind. Tugga Bruster worked himself into a fine temper, roaring at them.

“Call yoreselves Guosim, ye yellow-bellied, lily-livered ditherers. When yore Log a Log gives ye an order, ye jump to it! Now git up t’that clearin’ afore I move yore bottoms with me warclub!”

He was swinging the iron club threateningly, when Bosie purposely bumped into him, sending the Guosim Chieftain sprawling. The hare made a flourish, waving the kerchief he carried in his sleeve.