Doomwyte (26 page)

Could nothing slay the giant?

Afternoon tea was about over in Redwall’s orchard. Dishes were being cleared onto trolleys when the Redwallers heard the tawny owl’s hoots of alarm. At first, nobeast seemed to recognise the distress call for what it was. Furff, the Dibbun squirrelmaid, clambered onto Skipper’s shoulder. She was giggling. “Heeheehee wot’s dat funny noise goin’ wooowoooowoohoo!”

The brawny Otter Chieftain smiled. “I don’t know, liddle missy, let’s go an’ see.” With Furff still perched on his shoulder, Skipper ran from the cover of the orchard hedge. Once he was out on the open lawn, it was clear to see the main Abbey building door. There was Aluco, staggering about, with both wings folded on top of his head. As he stumbled to and fro, the owl was hooting for all he was worth. Placing Furff down on the lawn, Skipper broke into a run, shouting back to the others in the orchard, “Somethin’s wrong, mates, Aluco looks hurt!”

Within moments, Aluco was being cared for, with a crowd of Redwallers on the wide stone walkway pressing around him. Brother Torilis soaked a towel with pennycloud cordial, still cold from its storage in the cellars. He held it on the feathered head, making a compress. “Lie quite still please, looks like you took a bad tumble there. How did you come to trip?”

Aluco was made of stern stuff, as most owls are. Shrugging Torilis aside, he held the towel himself. “Why do you assume I tripped, owls are not in the habit of tripping and falling about. I was struck over the head by somebeast. Father Abbot, I think you’ll find that your emerald has gone.”

The news struck like a thunderbolt; everybeast was talking at once, most of them repeating the same thing.

“Gone, you mean stolen?”

“And you were struck over the head!”

“Who’d do such a thing?”

“Did you see who did it?”

The clamour rose, until the Laird Bosie roared, “Hauld yer weesht, ye daft, noisy bunch. Silence!” Abbot Glisam sighed gratefully as the mountain hare took command, with fine military precision. “Clear those dishes off yon trolley, an’ get the poor, braw bird on it. Stand back an’ stay oot the way, all of ye. Right, ma bonnies, let’s go tae the scene o’ this rascally outrage. Sister Violet, control these wee beasties, can ye no keep these babbies frae under mah paws? Skipper, Samolus, hurry ahead an’ guard the scene o’ the crime!”

Even before they had reached the tapestry, Aluco scrambled from the trolley, smoothing his feathers with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’m well enough to get along unaided, thank you. Hah, just look at this!”

The tawny owl hurried over to the place where he had been struck down. He waved the object with his formidable taloned leg. “I think this is what the thief knocked me down with!”

Ignorant of such matters, Brother Torilis stared at the weapon. “What’s that supposed to be?

The Gonfelin mouse, Gobbo, supplied the answer. “Huh, ain’tcha never seen a sambag afore?”

Samolus took it, weighing it with one paw. “Aye, ’tis a sandbag sure enough, a good, well-made one, too. Sort of thing a Gonfelin might use.”

Amidst angry growls from the Gonfelin mice, Gobbo faced aggressively up to Samolus. “Aye aye, ould un, wot’s all this, are yew tryin’ t’say it was one of our lot who clobbered that owlburd, eh?”

The Abbot interceded. “No, no, not at all, my friend. All Samolus said was that the sandbag is normally a weapon favoured by your tribe. I don’t suspect one of you Gonfelins for a moment.”

Tenka, a young Guosim shrew, stepped forward, paw grasping the short rapier at his belt. “An’ wot about us Guosim, eh?”

Brother Torilis sniffed audibly. “Oh your tribe aren’t to blame, neither are these Gonfelins. I suppose the emerald took it upon itself to strike Aluco down, then it just rolled off, for fun!”

Skipper slammed his hefty rudder hard upon the floorstones. His eyes were cold and angry. “Stop all this silliness! The Abbot ain’t accusin’ nobeast. But the Doomwyte Eye is gone, an’ that’s a fact. Now not another word from anybeast…. Abbot?”

Glisam bowed to the Otter Chieftain. “Thank you, Skipper Rorgus. I’ll talk to the leaders of the Gonfelin and Guosim, perhaps they might shed a little light upon the problem.”

The Abbot looked around both groups. “Er, has anybeast seen Nokko, or Tugga Bruster?”

Brother Torilis pointed upstairs to his Infirmary. “I have the Guosim Log a Log in my sick bay. A most unpleasant beast, I’m treating him for two minor head wounds. You may interview him, should you so wish, Father.”

Filgo, who was one of the Gonfelin Pikehead’s wives, ventured further information. “My Nokko’s up in Prince Gonff’s ole room, takin’ a nap. Said he had a headache, just afore tea.”

The Abbot appeared puzzled. “Prince Gonff’s old room?”

Samolus interrupted, “Er, that’s my fault, Father. Nokko kept pestering me about which room Gonff used to occupy. I didn’t know, but he kept on and on about it. So I chose the first attic room, above the dormitories. Who knows, Gonff might have stayed there at some time. I meant no harm, really.”

Filgo smiled. “Well, it’s pleased my Nokko no end. He loves that liddle room like it was his own.”

In company with Samolus, Skipper and Bosie, Abbot Glisam followed Torilis up to the sick bay. Tugga Bruster was lying in bed, propped up by three pillows. He gave the visitors a surly glare. “Well, what d’ye want, come to persecute me some more, have ye?”

When he needed to be, Abbot Glisam could be quite formidable. This was such a moment. He gave the Guosim Chieftain a haughty stare. “I haven’t come to bandy words with you, about alleged tribulations you have received during your stay here. I’m going to ask you some questions, to which I need straight answers!”

Tugga Bruster adjusted the bandage on his brow, and gave a sigh of obvious boredom. “Ask away then, but don’t take all day. I need me rest.”

Glisam came straight to the point. “Brother Torilis tells me that he brought you up here this morning. Have you moved from this room for any reason?”

The Log a Log shrugged. “Why should I, that un there, yore Healer, said I was to lie still an’ rest. So that’s wot I’ve been doin, ain’t moved nowheres.”

Torilis nodded. “That’s true enough, Father Abbot.”

Glisam turned to the Brother. “And you were with him all the time he was here?”

The Infirmary Keeper nodded. “Yes, I was here, except for going to take afternoon tea in the orchard.”

From a stool next to the bed, Bosie picked up a dark green cloak with a hood attached to it. “What’s this thing supposed tae be?”

Samolus answered, “Oh that, it’s one of the old habits. Sister Violet an’ myself found a pile of them in an old chest. So we made them into dressing gowns or bedjackets. Some of these rooms can get a bit draughty in the winter season.”

The Abbot paused a moment, then gave further instructions. “Samolus, take me to Nokko’s room, I’ll speak to him next. Skipper, would you and Laird Bosie kindly search this room from top to bottom.”

The Gonfelin Pikehead was roused from his sleep by Samolus and the Abbot knocking on his chamber door. Placing a paw on his bandaged brow, he called out grumpily, “Go ’way, an’ give a porebeast some peace, will ye!”

Without further ceremony the two Redwallers entered.

Nokko smiled feebly. “Sorry, mates, I was right inna middle of a nice ole snooze then. So, wot can I do for ye, come an’ siddown on me bed.”

The pair remained standing as Samolus came right to the point. “What ye can do for us, Nokko, is to tell us where you’ve been since teatime this afternoon.”

The Gonfelin looked from one to the other. “Why, wot’s up, mates, wot’s botherin’ ye?”

Abbot Glisam placed both paws in his habit sleeves. “My friend, you’d help us by answering the question.”

Sensing that it was a matter of some import, Nokko replied promptly, “Well, d’yer remember that sherrew, Bruster? I put ’im down with a good ole butt, just after ’e slung young Dwink inta the ditch earlier t’day. I tell ye, Abbo, that Bruster must ’ave an ’ead like a boulder. Ye can’t see it, but under this bandage I’ve got a right ole bruise, an’ a lump like a duck egg. I missed afternoon tea through it. Me skull began to ache somethin’ fierce, so I came up ’ere to Prince Gonff’s ole room, just to rest me pore ’ead. Afore I knew it I dropped off t’sleep on this liddle bed. Good job ye woke me, or I’d ’ave missed supper, an’ snored through until tomorrer!”

Samolus nodded. “So this is where you’ve been all afternoon.”

Nokko grinned guiltily. “That’s right, Samo, mate. Why?”

Feeling rather embarrassed, the Abbot answered, “Because the green Doomwyte Eye has been stolen, and Aluco was assaulted by whichever beast did it.”

Nokko leapt from the bed, a look of shock on his face. “Ye don’t think I did it, do ye?”

Shaking his head hastily, Abbot Glisam assured him, “No, my friend, something tells me that you could not find it in yourself to do such a mean act. However, an investigation will have to take place. Would you be willing to take part in it?”

Picking up the dark green hooded cloak, which had been folded neatly at the bottom of the bed, Nokko donned it. “Of course, Abbo, lead on!”

Bosie met them on the stairs to Great Hall. “We’ve searched yon sour-faced shrew’s room, but there was nought tae find. What now, Father?”

Glisam bowed to Nokko. “Excuse us a moment, sir.” Drawing to one side, he went into a huddle with Samolus and Bosie. After a whispered conference, Bosie favoured Nokko with an elegant bow.

“Ah hear ye’ve no’ had afternoon tea, let me take ye to the kitchens whilst we remedy the situation forthwith. We’ll take tea teagether, eh?”

The Gonfelin Pikehead was pleased, but puzzled. “Thank ye kindly, mate, but ’ave’nt yew already had yore tea?”

The gluttonous hare struck a noble, but long-suffering pose. “It fair pains me tae see a braw beast eat alone. Ah’ll force mahself tae endure another helping the noo!”

The venue chosen for the enquiry was at the scene of the crime. Samolus elected to set the stage, clearing the mass of onlookers to one side. Aluco was now back to his former self, having spurned all offers of aid from Brother Torilis. The tapestry of Martin the Warrior provided the backdrop, as Samolus issued instructions. “Silence, everybeast, thank you! Now, Aluco, would you take up your position at the spot where you were when you first saw the intruder.”

The tawny owl made his way to the niche, twixt column and wall, where he had begun his surveillance. “I was right here, just dozed off slightly, after a drink and a bit of afternoon tea.”

Samolus turned to the Abbot. “We’re ready now, Father.”

Having finished their repast, Bosie escorted Nokko to the candle sconce where the emerald had rested. The hare left the Gonfelin standing alone there.

Samolus put the question to the owl. “Is that the creature you saw earlier today?”

Aluco peered at the dimly lit figure in the late afternoon shadows. “Hmm, it could have been, tell him to turn his head slightly toward me, please.” Nokko did as asked, without any instruction. Aluco stared hard, declaring, “Aye, it could well have been the beast. I can see a touch of bandage showing from under the hood. Aye, I remember now, the beast was wearing a bandage around his head. I caught a glimpse of it as I was knocked down!”

Nokko’s pretty wife, Filgo, called out in protest, “All us Gonfelins are thieves, just as Prince Gonff was. But we ain’t sly villains, my Nokko would never steal from friends, or commit evil acts. It ain’t fair, that’s wot it ain’t!”

Bosie interrupted her tirade. “Ah’ll have tae ask ye tae be silent, marm, there’ll be no interferin’ wi’ this investigation, ye ken. So hauld yer wheesht an’ be a guidbeast, or Ah’ll have tae banish ye tae the orchard.”

Nokko smiled fondly at his pretty wife. “He’s right, me ole darlin’. Leave it to our Redwall mates, they’ll git t’the bottom o’ this.”

Angry words erupted across Great Hall, from the stairs. It was Tugga Bruster, who was being hauled to the scene by Skipper. The Log a Log was blustering and struggling in the Otter Chieftain’s firm grip.

“Git yer paws off’n me, riverdog, yew can’t make me go anyplace where I don’t wanna go!”

Skipper kept tight hold of the dark green habit that the shrew was wearing. “You come along quiet now, mate, there’s nothin’ t’fear from a few questions if yore innocent.”

The Guosim Log a Log clapped a paw to his bandaged head, slumping back as though he was fainting. “Leggo, can’t yer see I’m injured?” He caught Skipper unawares, sliding free of the flowing habit and kicking him hard in the stomach.

The otter responded with surprising speed. Falling backward on the stairs, he lashed out with his hefty rudder. Tugga Bruster received a thwack on the back of his neck which sent him tumbling down the remaining steps. He hit the floor facedown. There was a noise, like a pebble dropping, as the round, green emerald popped from his belt purse. In the silence which followed, it rolled slowly over the stones, coming to rest in front of the Abbot.

Tugga Bruster sprang upright, avoiding Skipper’s paws. He stared desperately about, yelling, “It’s a trick, that riverdog planted it on me!”

Bosie confronted him contemptuously. “Ach, ye canna’ dress a worm up as a warrior. Yer a miserable robber wi’ no a scrap of honour tae yore name!”