The Rogue Crew

Any reply Rake made was drowned by enthusiastic cheers. Abbot Thibb found himself hoisted onto the brawny shoulders of Ruggan and Big Drander, who bore him swiftly forward.

“Point the way, Father, an’ send somebeast to warn the cook!”

Dorka Gurdy spotted Uggo. She ignored his spikes, giving him a fond hug. “Well, well, look wot the wind blew in. Have ye brought my brother Jum back with ye, Uggo?”

The young hedgehog shook his head. “No, marm, but last time I saw Mister Jum ’e was well enough. I ’spect he’ll turn up sooner or later. This is my friend Posy, but she ain’t a Wiltud.”

Dorka smiled. “She’s far too pretty for that. Yore a lucky young beast, Uggo. Well, come along. I ’spect yore all ready to take a bite o’ supper.”

All the Redwallers, even the Dibbuns, who had been wakened by the din, flooded into Great Hall to mingle with the new arrivals. Extra help was brought into the kitchens, and more trestle tables were laid out.

Rogue Crew and Long Patrollers, who were experiencing their first visit to the Abbey, were overwhelmed by the sheer size and grandeur of the place. Friar Wopple soon had helpers scurrying out, filling the boards with food from their trolleys. Everything was in a glorious state of organised chaos.

Abbot Thibb had a quiet word with Ding Toller, who carried the cloak-wrapped form of young Swiffo off to rest temporarily in the entrance chamber of the belltower. Thibb seated himself in the Abbot’s chair, with Rake and Skor sitting either side. Silence fell over the gathering as Thibb rose and recited a special grace.

“Welcome to this table, friends,

our greetings to you all,

who offer paws and hearts so brave,

in service to Redwall.

But ere pale dawn lights up the earth,

come, eat and drink for all you’re worth!”

Skor raised a tankard of best October Ale. “Thankee, Father, I’ll drink to that!”

Then supper commenced in earnest.

Huge summer salad, garnished with hazelnut and chestnut cheese, sage- and thyme-crusted bread, leek and onion soup, mushroom and carrot pasties in gravy. Followed by plumcake and sweet arrowroot pudding with blackberry sauce, latticed apple tarts, mixed fruit turnover and meadowcream. All was washed down with a variety of drinks. October Ale, hot mint tea, dandelion and burdock cordial or rosehip and elderflower water.

Whilst they dined, the Abbot listened to their journey account, then brought them up to strength on the latest news of Razzid Wearat and the Greenshroud.

Rake held a short conference with Skor, then issued orders. “Sergeant Miggory, Ruggan Axehound, Ah’d be obliged if ye would take a score of our braw lads tae guard the walls. They’ll be relieved throughout the night. Ah want ye tae pay special attention tae the westward plain. Let us know if the vermin ship is sighted anywhere aboot!”

Thibb placed his paw on Skor’s huge mitt. “I was sorry to hear about your young son, Lord. Is there anything we can do to aid you in this matter? Please don’t take offence at our simple offer.”

The sea otter Chieftain stared at the tabletop. “No offence taken, Father—I’m grateful to ye. My son was more a creature of peace than war, but Swiffo was a fine young un. Is there a place to bury his body within your Abbey walls, somewhere quiet?”

Thibb nodded. “Indeed there is. Just behind the belltower there’s a peaceful spot shaded by an old yew tree. I’ll make arrangements with our bellringer for tomorrow.”

Some of the Dibbuns were curious as to who old Drogbuk Wiltud was. He pointedly ignored them as he stuffed his face with food. Guggle the squirrelbabe was trying to peer inside the garb which Pinny had tailored from the vermin cloak.

“Pardin’ me, but wot sorta h’aminal are you?”

Drogbuk pulled his outfit closer to his spineless frame. “Go ’way, ye nosey liddle wretch!”

Murty molebabe chuckled, wrinkling his snout at Drogbuk. “Oi’m thinken you’m a blizzard or ee toadybeast, zurr!!”

Kite Slayer took Murty on her lap, allowing him to nibble at her plumcake. “Nay, liddle un, he’s only a daft ole ’og wot’s lost his spines, ain’t ye, Drogbuk?”

The ancient hog was reaching for a tankard of October Ale when Fottlink rescued it, pushing a beaker of cordial forward. “Drogbuk, eh? I recall that name—you’d be a Wiltud, the one who’s been banished twice from Redwall.”

Dorka Gurdy wagged a paw at Drogbuk. “I thought I recognised ye, old un. Well, ye can stay, but keep yore rovin’ paws off vittles that ain’t yores an’ no ale or strong wine, either. I’ll be watchin’ ye!” Dorka turned her wagging paw upon Pinny. “An’ you too, marm. Yore a Wiltud. One false move whilst yore at our Abbey an’ out ye’ll go!”

Posy smiled winningly at the big ottermum. “Oh, Dorka, don’t shout at Miz Pinny, please. She’s a nice, kind Wiltud.”

Dorka sniffed. “Aye, missy. Well, she’s yore responsibility from hereon. Keep ’er out of trouble, y’hear!”

Friar Wopple was called from the kitchens, shuffling her footpaws. She took a bow amidst the rapturous applause afforded her by the new supper guests.