High Rhulain

That evening at supper, the Great Hall of Redwall was abuzz with the exploits of Tiria and her friends. The ottermaid sat with her father, Abbess Lycian, molemum Burbee, Brink Greyspoke and Foremole Grudd. She had already related her story of the incident, though quite modestly.

The Abbess clasped Tiria’s paw warmly. “You were very brave to save the bird’s life, my dear, particularly when you were outnumbered two to one by the vermin. You have a courageous daughter, Skipper.”

Almost at a loss for words, Banjon swelled with pride as he patted Tiria’s back. “I wish yore mamma had lived to see ye now, gel. She always said us Wildloughs were a warrior clan from somewhere. Yore a credit to us, Tiria.”

The ottermaid asked a question she had often mulled over. “Do you think I’ll become a Skipper someday?”

Her father put aside his tankard of October Ale, explaining almost apologetically to her, “Ye’d make a finer Skipper than any otter I’ve ever met, myself included. But the Law of Otters says that maids can’t become Skippers. I know it’s not fair, Tiria, but the law’s the law, an’ we’ve always lived by it.”

Tiria persisted. “But I’ve heard tales saying that there were maids who became Skippers in other parts of the land.”

Banjon took a draught of his October Ale and then slammed the tankard down decisively. “This ain’t the time or place t’be talkin’ of these matters, me gel. May’ap there are places where it happens, but not in Mossflower territory, an’ I ain’t responsible for wot sea otters do. We abide by our Otter Law, an’ that’s that!”

There was a moment’s awkward silence, which was broken by the arrival of Friar Bibble. The shrewcook was pushing a trolley, upon which rested a steaming cauldron. He wiped perspiration beads from his snout with a spotted kerchief before he proclaimed proudly, “Look you, Tiria. I’ve made a pot of special shrimp’n’hotroot soup, just for you, my brave young ’un!”

Freshwater shrimp’n’hotroot soup was a dish dear to the heart of all otters. Tiria sniffed its fragrant aroma, complimenting the kindly friar. “Marvellous! Nobeast can make shrimp’n’hotroot like you do, sir!”

As he began ladling the soup out, Bibble winked at Skipper. “Indeed to goodness, missy, don’t be sayin’ things like that. You’ll be causin’ trouble twixt me an’ your da!”

Banjon accepted a bowlful eagerly. “Oh no, mate, ’tis a fact. Even I can’t make it taste like you do. Ye can make ’otroot better’n an otter, Bibble!”

Tiria chuckled. “Exactly what do you put in it, sir?”

The friar began explaining. “Well, I uses more watercress an’ scallions than some does, an’ a touch of wild ransom . . . ” He halted and glared at her with mock censure. “Indeed to goodness, missy, I can’t be tellin’ everybeast about those secret herbs an’ spices I uses in my recipes!”

Foremole Grudd had been watching Brinty, Tribsy and Girry. They were seated at the other end of the table, telling of the day’s adventures . . . with many embellishments to the facts.

Grudd laughed aloud. “Hurr hurr hurr! Do ee lissen to they’m young ’uns? Oi never hurd such fibbin’ in all moi borned days!”

Brinty was positioning various items on the table as he told of his role. “See these candied chestnuts? Well, they were the water rats. Wicked villains, all twelve of ’em!”

The molebabe Groop interrupted. “Oi hurd Miz Tirree sayen’ et wurr h’eight ratters!”

Girry cleared his mouth of plum pudden. “She was too busy whackin’ about with her sling to be counting vermin. Actually, there were thirteen rats. I battled with two of ’em, big rascals who’d climbed up onto the branch of the tree while I was cuttin’ the big bird’s rope.”

Tribsy left off demolishing some rhubarb crumble to make his contribution to the fictional action. He took two loaves and stuck a fork in each one, placing them amid the candied chestnuts. “Yon loafers wurr ole Brinty an’ moiself. Hurr, wot ee purr o’ wurriers we’m was! These yurr forks bee’s ee yew staves us wurr a-carryen’. Bain’t that roight, Brin?”

Brinty got carried away as he invented further heroics. Using the loaves and forks, he sent chestnuts bouncing and flying widespread as he yelled, “That’s right, we fought ’em! Bangbashwallopsplat! We sent all fourteen of those giant rats scurryin’. Wailin’ for their mammas they were, the fatty-bottomed cowards!”

After wiping a splash of soup from his cheek, Skipper Banjon peered at the candied chestnut floating in his bowl. “Look, a rat’s just landed in my soup. We’d best eat up, daughter, afore they tell the tale again an’ increase the number of vermin they defeated!”

After supper, most Redwallers went to sit out on the Abbey steps to enjoy the summer evening’s warmth. Tiria and her father joined Abbess Lycian and Brink Greyspoke on a visit to the Infirmary to check on the hawk’s progress. Brother Perant and Old Quelt, the Recorder-cum-Librarian, were studying the bird. It had flown up onto a window ledge and was inspecting its new surroundings.