High Rhulain

The Recorder beamed. “Exactly! The very place that my young friends and I were just on our way to find. However, I thought it best to let you know, Mother Abbess, so you good creatures wouldn’t feel left out. How would you feel about accompanying three young rips and one old fogey on a little quest?”

Though Quelt did not say it, the Abbess guessed that this was his way of apologising for his behaviour at breakfast. She replied with a twinkle in her eye, “Thank you for your gracious offer, sir. We accept. Er, by the way, which are you—the fogey or one of the rips?”

Tribsy took Lycian’s paw cheerily. “He’m an ole rip, h’Abbess, ’n oi bee’s a young fogey!”

Brantalis ruffled his feathers and honked. “I am thinking we should stop talking all this gobbledygoose and go to find the top attic!”

Lycian chuckled as she whispered to Tribsy. “Gobbledygoose? That’s a new one on me!”

Brink Greyspoke and Skipper Banjon were sitting on a barrel in the cellars. Between them they were sharing a flask of rosehip and redcurrant wine, accompanied by a wedge of strong yellow cheese with roasted chestnut flakes in it. The two friends were trying to recall forgotten lines of an old Cellarbeast’s song, taking alternate verses and singing the chorus together.

“I keeps my ole cellars cool an’ still,

stacked up with great oaken casks.

I’ll serve ye up with right goodwill,

with any fine drink ye asks!

October Ale or cider pale,

or dannelion wine,

ole nettlebeer, I got som ’ere,

by ’okey it tastes fine.

Cordial brewed from plum’n’pear,

or raspb’rry crimson ripe,

try my whortleberry sherry,

’tis wot the ladies like.

I keeps my cellars fresh’n’clean,

each barrel keg or firkin,

an’ day an’ night I tends ’em right,

I’m a Cellarbeast hard workin’!

Strawberry fizz, that’s nice that is,

the young ’uns like its flavour,

dark damson wine matured by time,

that’s wot the old ’uns savour.”

Skipper paused, scratching his rudder. “Wot comes next, mate? Was it ‘beetroot port, poured long or short’?”

Brink cut himself a sliver of the strong cheese. “Nay, as I recalls, that’s the last verse. Hmm . . . let me see. Er, I think it went like this: ‘sweet burdock cup, just fill it up, de dah dee dum de deedee.’ ”

“Excuse me, Mr. Greyspoke, but Mother Abbess wants to know if you’ve got any spare lanterns please?”

Brink turned to Brinty, who was standing in the doorway. “We got lanterns aplenty, young ’un. Wot d’ye need ’em for?”

The young mouse gestured upward. “To search for the top attic. We’ve discovered some clues in the riddle, y’see, sir.”

Skipper Banjon threw a paw about Brinty’s shoulders. “We’re comin’ with ye, matey. Brink, where d’ye keep spare lanterns for searchin’ top attics with?”

The big Cellarhog trundled over to an empty ale barrel. “In here. How many d’ye want, sunbeam?”

Brinty tugged his ear politely. “As many as ye can spare, Mr. Brink. There’s a lot of us going on the search.”

A huge party was gathered at the bottom of the dormitory stairs. It seemed that everybeast in Redwall wanted to participate in the adventure. Friar Bibble waved a floury paw at the heavily laden trio who had staggered up from the cellars.

“Indeed to goodness, they must be on light duties, look you!”

Skipper distributed the lanterns, issuing a warning. “All stay together up there. We don’t want to lose anybeast. Top attics is a dark ole place.”

Old Quelt made his way through a gang of Dibbuns, who were milling about noisily. “Do we have to take these little ones along? I don’t want Dibbuns getting under my footpaws, do you?”

Howls of dismay and outrage went up from the Abbeybabes as Quelt tried to shoo them away.

The kindly Abbess intervened on their behalf. “Oh, I’m sure they’ll be alright. None of our little ones have ever been beyond their own dormitory stairs. It will be a bit of fun for them. I think they should come.”

Squirrelbabe Taggle agreed wholeheartedly. “On’y a birra fun, we be good, me promises. Us don’t gerrunder a footpaws if’n we gets carried!”

The Dibbuns raised a cheer when Skipper lifted an otterbabe called Smudger upon his shoulders. “Aye, it’ll be no trouble to give these rogues a ride.”

Smudger perched smugly on the otter’s shoulders, wrinkling his nose impudently at Quelt. “See, now we go wiv ya, teeheehee!”

There was no need for lanterns on the first floor, where most of the dormitories were situated, nor was there on the second floor, where Old Quelt kept his library. The third floor, however, was a different matter. It was all in darkness, apart from the chamber above the library where the uncatalogued books and scrolls were stored. Everywhere else it was black and gloomy, coated thick in the dust of untold ages. One or two of the more fainthearted searchers suddenly found they had other chores downstairs to tend. Mumbling excuses, they dropped out of the quest. The remainder, headed by Skipper, Brink and the Abbess, pressed on.