High Rhulain

The third floor was a maze, a veritable warren of passages, steps, chambers and side rooms. As the group made its way down a winding corridor, Sister Snowdrop shuddered uneasily.

“Little wonder that Sister Geminya was an oddbeast, living up here all alone. It’s very creepy, isn’t it?”

Brushing away curtains of gossamer cobwebs with his bushy tail, Girry took the Sister’s paw, speaking with a boldness he did not feel. “Come on, Sister. If the place is empty, what’s to fear?”

The procession bumped one into the other, as they were forced to halt. A big, old, locked door barred the way. It was shut tight, its hinges and locks rusted together.

Sister Doral’s voice quavered as she called to Skipper, “Oh dear, we’ll never get that open. Let’s go back, it’s nearly lunchtime, you know.”

Brink took the bung hammer, which he had been using earlier, from his belt. He rooted in his broad Cellarhog’s apron pocket and came up with a broad, stubby chisel.

“Don’t fret now, marm. Me’n Banjon’ll take care o’ this!”

Between them, the two sturdy beasts broke the lock and pushed the door open. It gave a long, eerie-sounding creak, which echoed through the lantern-shadowed gloom.

Burbee was trembling from snout to tail with fear. Little Ralg, the Gatekeeper’s babe, leaned down from his father’s shoulders and stroked the molemum’s head sympathetically.

“Hushee now, marm, I mind you, ’cos I ferry ferry brave!”

Burbee patted Ralg’s tiny paw. “Thankee, choild. Boi’okey, wot oi wudden’t give furr ee ’ot cup o’ tea roight naow!”

They entered a chamber as vast as Great Hall, though much lower ceilinged. Foremole Grudd got his powerful digging claws into a wooden shutter and tore open a window. Much to the relief of all, bright midday sun flooded in. Sparkling dust motes hung thick on the air.

Abbess Lycian espied a small door in one corner. “Look, I wonder where that leads to?”

There was no lock on the door. Skipper pulled it open. “We’ll soon find out, marm!”

He held his lantern high and peered in. It was a narrow space with circular walls of rough sandstone. An ancient flight of rickety wooden stairs were fixed to the wall. The whole thing wound upward into stygian darkness and oppressive silence.

After lifting little Smudger down from his shoulders and passing him to Burbee, Skipper ventured onto the first stair. The wood gave a protesting groan, causing Skipper to step back carefully.

“We can’t all go up there, those stairs’d collapse. They won’t even take my weight. So, what’s t’be done?”

Otterbabe Smudger wriggled free of the molemum. Without a backward glance, he trundled to the stairs. “Alla stay down ’ere. Me go h’up!”

The Abbess caught the little fellow before he could venture further. “Come here, you bold creature!”

Sister Snowdrop made a suggestion. “Actually, that Dibbun’s right, in a way. Nobeast of any size or weight could make it up the stairs. But if a few smallish, light ones—like myself, say, and two others—went carefully, one behind the other, I think we could make it to the top.”

The Abbess took the initiative. “I think Sister Snowdrop and I should go. Girry, would you like to join us?”

The young squirrel’s tail stood up straight. “Yes, please!”

Taking a lantern between them, the trio began the ascent, with Girry in the lead.

Skipper cautioned them, “If’n there’s ought up there that ye don’t like, then come straight back down here. Or if’n ye get in trouble, just give us a shout.”

Brink gripped his bung mallet tightly. “Aye, you just shout, mates, an’ no rickety stairs’ll stop us. We’ll come runnin’!”

The wooden spiral staircase was extremely narrow and unsteady. Every step had to be taken carefully.

Girry laughed nervously. “Ha ha, it’s like being inside a well with stairs.”

Sister Snowdrop shielded her eyes from the dust that he was unintentionally kicking down. “That’s probably why it’s called a stairwell. Can you see anything up there?”

The young squirrel held the lantern high as he managed a few more steps. “Yes, there’s a sort of landing above us, and I think I see a door!”

They speeded up their pace, but the stairs began swaying, and there was the sound of a piece of timber falling below them. The Abbess froze.

“Stand still, both of you. Wait until these stairs stop moving. I think one of the struts has fallen away. Be perfectly still now!”

They stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, until the structure stopped swaying. Climbing upward gingerly, step by step, Girry arrived at the landing. He was glad to feel that it was fairly solid underpaw. Lying flat, the young squirrel assisted his two companions up.

Snowdrop went straight to the door, brushing away the cobwebs and dust which lay thick upon it. “I can’t find a handle or a latch, but there’s some letters carved on the lintel.”

Lycian held the lantern close. “What do they say?”

The little Sister read out the graven script. “As far as I can make out, it says ‘I say regiments!’ ”