Doomwyte

3

In the warmth and comfort of Cavern Hole, Abbot Glisam, Bisky and Dwink sat listening to Samolus Fixa talking as he worked upon restoring the old table. For all his long seasons, the sprightly old mouse seemed to have perfect recall.

“Aye, they were three lifelong pals, Martin the Warrior, Gonff the Mousethief and a mole called Dinny. Though ye could say they were four, ’cos there was Gonff’s lovely wife, the Lady Columbine. Be that as it may, I’ll go straight to wot I knows of the Wytes.”

Dwink scratched at his bushy tail. “What are Wytes, what do they do, sir?”

The Abbot replied as Samolus searched through his box for a scribing tool, “I learned about Wytes from an old owl I once knew. Nobeast can say for certain what a Wyte is. It could be bird, reptile or some type of vermin, one has never been caught, or found dead. From what I’ve gathered, a Wyte is a sort of flickering light, which lives in the woodlands. They say that it can lead travellers astray.”

Dwink interrupted, “You mean make ’em get lost, Father?”

Abbot Glisam settled both paws into his long sleeves. “Aye, completely lost, or gone forever. There’s no record of anybeast turning up again, once they’ve been enchanted away by the Wytes.”

Bisky snorted. “Hah, all ’cept Prince Gonff. No Wyte would ever steal him away, eh, Grandunk?”

Samolus had found his scribe. He began marking out a design upon the tabletop with its sharp, little iron spike, not taking his gaze from the work as he answered, “That’s true, but ole Gonff, he weren’t silly enough to go off followin’ Wytes, ’twas a totally different thing wot led him to their lair.” Samolus paused to resharpen his scribe point with a file.

The Abbot enquired, “How do you know all this, where d’you keep all the research you say you’ve collected? Did you make notes?”

The old mouse tested the scribe point on one pawpad. “’Tis not just notes, Father, it’s reasonin’, ponderin’ an’ keepin’ yore wits about ye. Oh, I’ve got lots of notes, the main two bein’ Dinny’s mole scrolls an’ Lady Columbine’s diary. I don’t doubt ye’d like to see ’em. Right, then, come along wi’ me. I’ve done enough ’ere for awhile, my eyes gets tired easy these days.”

Abbot Glisam opened the Abbey building’s main door. It was raining hard. He stared glumly out across the lawns and flowerbeds, to the western outer wall. On one side of the threshold gate stood the small Gatehouse. Pulling up his hood, Glisam complained, “Do we really have to go all the way over there in this downpour, just to look at some records?”

Dwink hopped eagerly from one footpaw to the other. “Oh, come on, Father, if’n you run we’ll get there in no time.” The young squirrel grinned cheekily. “I’ll race ye, Father Abbot!”

Glisam shook his head ruefully. “Alas no, Dwink, my running seasons are long gone.”

Samolus went into a sporting crouch. “Here, young un, I’m about the same age as our Abbot, I’ll race ye…. On y’marks, get set—go!”

They shot off into the rain like two arrows.

Glisam chuckled. “Just look at them go! Who d’you think’ll win, Bisky?”

“My old grandunk of course, Father, he can still beat me, an’ I’m a faster runner’n Dwink. Come on, Father, watch ye don’t slip on the wet grass.”

Paw in paw, the old dormouse and his young friend shuffled off into the curtains of sheeting rain. If they could not be bothered to skirt puddles, they simply trudged through them. The Abbot suddenly did a little jump, causing a splash. He laughed.

“Good fun, really, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I had a good old splash and splosh.”

Bisky kicked out, sending a sheet of water widespread. “Let’s sing the Dibbuns’ rainsong, Father!”

It was just as well that Brother Torilis was not there to witness the undignified performance: young Bisky and the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey, roaring the song as they cavorted happily about in the rain.

“When the clouds are cryin’ rain,

we run outdoors an’ play,

splash an’ splosh about in pools,

splash an’ splosh all day!

Jump about an’ wot do y’get,

’tis only rain, you just get wet,

get wet as y’like an’ it’s alright,

then we won’t need a bath tonight!

Splashin’ here an’ splashin’ there,

splishin’ sploshin’ everywhere,

sloppy sandals soakin’ fur,

up to bed you naughty pair!

Splish diddly splash splash…splosh splosh!”

Young Umfry Spikkle, the big hedgehog Gatekeeper cum Bellringer, called from the Gatehouse doorway to Bisky and the Abbot. “Come in h’out that there rain afore youse catches a dose h’of the chewmonia, ’urry up. Sam’lus an’ Dwink ’ave been ’ere awhile, waitin’ for ye.”

Bisky stood aside, letting the Abbot enter first. “Who won the race, Umfry?”

Dwink showed himself, drying his handsome brush off with a towel. “Huh, your ole grandunk, that’s who!”

Samolus could be seen within. He was trotting about in small circles, his eyes twinkling. “Glad I ain’t young no more—got no energy, these young uns today, heeheehee!”

Umfry was still a youngish hog, a simple type who was not overburdened with learning. However, nobeast ever remarked on this, because he was a big hedgehog of prodigious strength. He tossed the newcomers a warm towel apiece, and poured two beakers from a kettle resting on the hearth. “Youse drink this down, h’its coltsfoot an’ burdock tonic. Mind now, h’its ’ot!”

Samolus stopped jogging. “Be a goodbeast an’ give me a lift up t’the rafters, Umfry. I’ve got some stuff stowed up there that we need to look at.”

Umfry lifted the old mouse over his head, as though he were merely placing a book back on a high shelf. “I never knew you was ’idin’ stuff up there, Sam’lus, wot sort o’ stuff is it?”

Reaching into a recess where two rafters crossed, Samolus brought out a parcel of scrolls, and two books. “Oh, it’s just some ancient records. Nothing that’d interest you, Umfry.”

The burly hedgehog placed Samolus carefully on the gatehouse floor. Samolus tossed the parcel on the table. “Ole records, eh? I never been able t’make spike or snout o’ that written stuff, h’it’s like a pile o’ wriggly worms t’me.”

Abbot Glisam patted the Gatekeeper’s hefty paw. “I’ll have to see about reading lessons for you, young fellow. Meanwhile, you just sit quiet and listen while Samolus reads to us.”

The old mouse took up a beautifully bound little volume, the front of which was adorned with a skilful drawing of a dainty flower. “See, this is a columbine, just like Gonff’s wife’s name. It was her diary.” He leafed slowly through the pages of neat, close-written script.

“Ah, here ’tis, listen to this….”

I could tell that Gonff had been stealing again. As soon as he came in last evening. It made me feel very anxious for him. My Gonff is no ordinary thief, he’d never steal from good creatures, but if he takes a fancy to something owned by a foebeast, a vermin or any evil creature, then he’ll steal it. I didn’t say anything, knowing that he’d tell me all about it, sooner or later. It was a warm summer evening, we took supper on the banks of the Abbey pond, with some of our friends. Martin the Warrior was off on a quest, so I sat with my Gonff, and our dear mole friend Dinny. It was he who noticed that all was not well with Gonff.

“Yurr zurr, you’m not a scoffen ee vikkles much. Wot bees up with ee, zurr Gonffen, you’m gone aseedingly soilent. Coom on, mate, owt wi’ et!”

Gonff took us both to a quiet corner of the orchard, not wanting any other Redwaller to hear what he had to say. It was a strange tale he related.

“A few nights back I was out on one of my rambles, in Mossflower Wood, when I saw an odd thing. Two little lights, pale, flickerin’ flames, dancin’ about in the darkness, as pretty as you please. At first, I felt like going to see just what they were, but something warned me not to show myself, so I stayed hidden, in a yew thicket.

“Then I spotted the stoat. He was a fat, raggedy vermin, swiggin’ away at a big flask o’ grog. I could smell the stuff, even from where I was, it was foul, probably made from bogweed an’ withered berries. So I watched Mister Stoat, he was bumblin’ along, bumpin’ into everythin’ an’ singin’ a vermin drinkin’ song that’d curl yore ears. He caught sight o’ the two little flames, the fool. Gigglin’ like a Dibbun an’ offerin’ ’em drinks o’ grog, he goes staggerin’ off after those tiny lights. I stayed where I was for a moment, then went off quietly, followin’ t’see what’d happen.

“Now I know my way round Mossflower better’n most beasts, an’ I could tell that we were near to the eastern marshes. Not a place that any creature with a grain o’ sense’d go wanderin’ about in the dark o’ night. I stopped on firm ground an’ saw it all. The lights led that ole raggy stoat on a right merry dance, jiggin’ about, just out of his reach. Round an’ round they danced him, then they took off, straight over the marshes. Before I could do anythin’, the stoat chased after the two lights.

“Needless t’say, he went down into the swamp like a stone. Right up to his chin, an’ sinkin’ fast he was, with the two little lights hoverin’ over him. I couldn’t quite make it all out, but they seemed t’be whisperin’ to the stoat. Somethin’ about whites, hissing softlike, it sounded like…Wytessssss!

“Then he was gone, under the mud, never t’be seen again. I’ve never liked vermin as y’know, but I felt a bit sorry for the stoat, bein’ murdered in that horrible way. I say murdered, because that’s wot those two pretty little flames did to the pore fool, lured him off an’ murdered him. So I decided to trail the lights an’ see where they went. Two points east an’ one point south they headed, or as otters’n’shrews say, east sou’east! Then it was me that felt foolish—the tiny flames vanished altogether, just afore dawn.

“Aye, there I was, trailin’ empty air, I began to doubt I’d ever seen those two little lights. So, I had a bite o’ brekkist, a drink from a stream an’ climbed an elm tree to get my bearin’s.

“There’s some nice country over that way, parts I’ve never seen. But I recognised the big hill over to the east, I’d seen it before, but never been there. Huge high mound, all covered in trees an’ woodland. Did those little flames go to the hill? I decided to go an’ take a look myself.

“’Twas a stretch o’ the paws, I can tell ye! Daylight was beginnin’ to fade when I made it to a stream runnin’ round the base o’ the main mound. Things seemed to grow thicker in that part, there was no shortage of growin’ vittles. Apples, pears, nuts an’ berries, all up an’ ripened, well before autumn. It felt warmer, too, just like those places the ole sea otters tell about, beyond the sunset, over the great seas. Just then I hears birds, cawin’ an’ cacklin’, carrion birds, crows an’ the like, four of ’em. I saw them flap by, they didn’t spot me. Next thing they were gone! Crossin’ the stream, I found the place. An entrance, all grown over with reeds an’ trailin’ vines. Well, bein’ a Prince o’ Mousethieves, I’d never turn away an’ leave it unexplored, so in I went!

“It was a long, twisty, rock tunnel, more than paw deep in streamwater. After awhile there was a few lit torches, an’ firefly lanterns, hangin’ from the walls. The air became close an’ hot, awful smelly, too, like rotten eggs. Then I came round a sharp bend and into a cavern—it was so massive that it could have held Redwall Abbey an’ all its grounds inside! Everything was in a sort of green light. There were carrion birds perched everywhere, reptiles, too, lizards, toads, grass snakes an’ birds flyin’ round up near the ceiling. It was a dangerous place to be, so I hid behind a big heap of bones.

“Suddenly the cave became alive with noise, birds cacklin’, toads croakin’ an’ a big drum bangin’. A gang o’ the carrion an’ reptiles came in, draggin’ a net with two creatures trapped inside it. They lugged it to this big lake, in the middle of the cave. There was clouds o’ the green mist comin’ off this lake, it was bubblin’ like a cauldron over a fire. There was an island at the centre of the lake, with a statue on it. The thing looked like a huge black bird, with a serpent coiled on its head, like a crown. But it was the eyes of the statue that caught my attention. Four of ’em, great, glitterin’ jewels, two red for the bird, an’ two green for the snake. They shone like fire, twinklin’ an’ dazzlin’ like stars!”

Bisky whispered to Dwink, “The Eyes of the Great Doomwyte, see, I told you it was true….”

Samolus silenced Bisky with a glare. He turned back to the ancient diary as Umfry Spikkle interrupted eagerly, “Wot ’appened next, Sam’lus, tell h’us more!”

Abbot Glisam reprimanded the big Gatekeeper mildly. “Hush now, Umfry, give Samolus a chance.”

The old mouse turned the yellowed pages slowly.

“Then a giant crow, with a snake curled about his head, just like the statue, came flyin out o’ the mist. All the birds an’ reptiles started chantin’, ‘Rigvar Skurr! The Wytessss! The Wytesss!’ Then the big drum set off to boomin’ again. From where I was hidin’, I could see that the two trapped in the net were Guosim shrews, friends of Redwall. But there was nothing I could do to help them. It was horrible wot happened to those two pore beasts, too awful to tell ye.”

Samolus paused as he turned the page. “Lady Columbine takes up the story now.”

My Gonff would speak no more about the fate of the Guosim shrews. He sat quiet awhile, breathing in the sweet scent of the orchard before he spoke again.

“How lucky we are to be living in this beautiful Abbey, able to breathe clean air, and see the sky above. Just the thought of that cave gives me the shivers, but some good came out of it. Everybeast has to sleep sometime, that was when I took my revenge on those evil ones, for the cruel way they slew those shrews. I stole what seemed to me their most treasured possessions, and escaped the cave without being noticed. For am I not Gonff, the Prince of all Mousethieves!”

Bisky clapped his paws with delight. “Ha ha, good ole Prince Gonff, he swiped the eyes out o’ the statues!”

Samolus tweaked the young mouse’s ear. “Excuse me, who’s telling this tale, me or you?”

Smilingly, the Abbot corrected him. “Lady Columbine, I think, friend. You’re only the reader.”

Samolus sniffed. “Good, then perhaps you’ll allow me to carry on with my reading. Right, back to Columbine.”

Gonff produced a cloth bag from his jerkin, and gave it to me. There were four stones in it, each the size of a dove’s egg. They were brilliant, two as red as embers in a winter night’s fire, the other two as green as sunlight shining through a mossy pool.

“These are for you, my dear,” said Gonff.

However, I could not think of accepting such gifts, and gave him my reason for refusing. “If these jewels are the eyes of the statue you told me of, then they have seen many evil deeds. I could not wear them, touch them, and I feel very uneasy just looking at them. You must put them somewhere where they will never again be seen. Someplace where they will not bring danger to Redwall. If their owners ever find out it was you who stole the eyes of their statue, it could bring death to our Abbey. They are stones of ill fortune!”

Samolus closed the book. “So there you have it, Father, the tale young Bisky told was mostly true, with just a few words of his own invention to make the recital of it more thrilling. Is that not right, young un?”

The young mouse shrugged self-consciously. “Aye, just as ye say, Grandunk. But wot happened to the Eyes of the Great Doomwyte? Did Prince Gonff ever tell where he’d hidden them?”

Abbot Glisam let his curiosity show. “Indeed, it would be very interesting to know. Is there nothing in Lady Columbine’s book?”

Samolus shook his head. “Nothing at all, Father, she never mentions the subject again. But do you see this other book, and these scrolls, that I had hidden in the rafters? Well, this book belonged to Gonff, it’s one long riddle from beginning to end. As for the scrolls, they’re the mole Dinny’s notes.”

Dwink chimed in brightly, “Please, sir, could we have a look through them, maybe we could find some clues….”

Abbot Glisam perked up suddenly. “What fun that would be. May we look, Samolus? I don’t suppose there’d be any harm in just looking. Who knows, we may even find the jewels.”

The old mouse willingly placed the material on the Gatehouse table. “Be my guest, friends. I’ve taken a good peek through ’em meself an’ had no luck. So if you think ye can translate the scribbles of a mousethief, an’ the squiggled ramblin’s of a mole, yore welcome to ’em!”

Bisky leapt upon Gonff’s journal. “Leave this to me, pals, I’ll find those jewels!”

Abbot Glisam forestalled him, by gathering up the lot. “Of course you will—straight after your kitchen duties, and lunch. Is it still raining outside?”

Umfry poked his spiky head outside the Gatehouse door. “Aye ’eavier than h’ever, Father. We’ll ’ave to put these towels h’over us an’ run for it.”

Carrying the records between them, they donned towels and dashed over the waterlogged lawns, through the pelting, wet curtains of rain.

Abbot Glisam took charge of the volumes and scrolls. Samolus and Umfry went to visit the wine cellars, which were jointly run by Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw and Umfry’s grandfather, Corksnout Spikkle. Old Corksnout was the biggest hedgehog who ever lived, or so they said. An injury in a bygone battle had robbed him of his nose, but the ever resourceful Samolus fashioned him a new one from a keg cork attached by a string to his headspikes. Even Umfry was dwarfed by the size of his grandfather. Bisky and Dwink both reported to Friar Skurpul in the kitchens, where they were assigned duties.

The mole Friar looked them up and down. “Hurr, young uns, you’m bees soaken frum ee rain. Hmm, ’ow wudd ee loike a job on ee warm uvvens, pullen owt breadloaves. That’ll dry ee!”

Gratefully the pair hastened to join the oven crew, and began using long wooden paddles to retrieve freshly baked items. They joined in with their mates, singing what they termed the “Oven Shanty.” Helping on the ovens was a chore enjoyed by all the young Abbeydwellers. Side by side, they wielded the long beech paddles, roaring out the verses lustily, like sea otters aboard ship.

“Vittles don’t get cooked by themselves.

Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!

Paddle ’em from the hot oven shelves,

then paddle in plenty new vittles oh!

All fresh an’ crusty that’s the job,

Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!

Each farl an’ loaf or twist an’ cob,

there’s nowt like new baked bread oh!

Step lively now an’ paddle those pies,

Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!

Some scones for the Abbot, a nice surprise,

an’ maybe a raspberry tart oh!

Who bakes such wunnerful things as these?

Ho paddle away, mates, paddle away!

With onion gravy an’ bubblin’ cheese?

’Tis Redwall’s kitchen crew oh!

So heave an’ ho an’ paddle oh.

Kick open that door an’ load in more,

afore we’re all done paddlin’ oooooooohhhh!”

Frintl placed a big plum cake on Bisky’s paddle. She smiled sheepishly at him. “Sorry I snitched to Brother Torilis about you, I just couldn’t help myself.”

Bisky smiled as he shot the cake along the oven shelf. He wiped a paw across his brow cheerfully. “It turned out pretty well for me, don’t fret, matey!”