Doomwyte

10

Frintl, the young hog, had already crept out of Cavern Hole for a quick outing. She was about to pop out of the main door, when Skipper Rorgus, coming in from the orchard, caught her. He sent the young hogmaid back to Cavern Hole, where she would have to wait with the others until the breakfast bell sounded. Frintl went back, but only after she had gossiped with a few of the kitchen helpers.

Dwink roused himself from the mossy ledge, which he and Bisky had occupied overnight. He yawned, gazing around at the Dibbuns and young ones, most of whom were still asleep in the quiet warmth. Frintl was chuckling to herself as she stole back into the temporary dormitory. Dwink’s voice startled her. “Where’ve you been, missy?”

Picking up her blanket, Frintl began folding it. “Oh, I just went outdoors for a stroll, it’s a lovely mornin’, nice ’n’bright.”

Umfry Spikkle entered; rubbing his eyes, he smiled dozily at the hogmaid. “G’mornin’, Frintl.”

She pursed her lips primly. “Not for you it ain’t, Master Spikkle. Father Abbot wants t’see you, an’ not after brekkist, but soon as yore up an’ about. Sister Violet jus’ told me!”

Umfry sat back, nursing his head in both paws. “Spikes’n’Spikkles, suppose I’m in for h’it!”

Bisky hopped down from the ledge, bringing Dwink with him. “Never mind, mate, we’ll go along with ye, an’ put in a good word, if’n we get the chance.”

Abbot Glisam had decided to see Umfry out in the orchard. The gorgeous spring morn and the bright, blossoming trees did little to allay his dismay. Glisam turned to the group of elders who had joined him, shaking his head sadly. “Oh dear, I detest having to sit in judgement on others, especially young uns. I don’t like it at all.”

Umfry’s grandsire, Corksnout Spikkle, sat down on an upturned barrow. “Yore too soft-’earted, Father, best leave this t’me. I was supposed to see the young rip down in my cellars earlier on, but young Frintl said he was sleepin’ sound. So if ye’ll allow me I’ll have a stern word with ’im.”

Glisam smiled gratefully. “Thank you, sir, I’m obliged.”

Brother Torilis sniffed, issuing a disapproving sound. “Hmph!”

The Laird Bosie, who was also in attendance, held out a spotless, scented kerchief. “Here, mah friend, blow yore snout if’n ye’ve got the sniffles.” He watched Torilis stalk off stiffly, then winked at Glisam. “Och, was it somethin’ that Ah said?”

Umfry plodded into the orchard, flanked by Bisky and Dwink. He bowed to the Abbot, who pointed to Corksnout.

“I think it’s your grandfather who wants to hear what you’ve got to say for yourself, young un.”

Corksnout glared at Umfry. “Well?”

Dwink immediately spoke out. “It was my fault, I said that he could sleep in our dormitory last night, ’cos of how bad the weather was. It’s a long walk t’that Gate’ouse through all the wind an’ rain…an’ all that….”

His voice trailed off, so Bisky cut in. “I told him to stay indoors, too, sir, he might’ve caught a cold an’ the sniffles, y’see.”

Corksnout’s gaze moved from one to the other. “I ain’t speakin’ to either of you two. So, young Umfry, wot’s yore excuse for leavin’ the main outer gate open an’ unguarded last night, eh?”

Umfry shuffled his footpaws, mumbling, “The gate was shut an’ barred when h’I left it, sir.”

Samolus added, “He’s prob’ly right, it must’ve been the intruders that opened it.”

Umfry took a grip of himself. Standing up straight, he spoke out loud and clear. “Maybe h’it was, but that’s no h’excuse, ’tis my job h’as Gatekeeper to guard that gate. Well, h’I didn’t. So h’I’ll ’ave to h’ask ye to h’accept me h’ apologies, ’twon’t ’appen again, sir!”

Foremole Gullub Gurrpaw nodded approvingly. “Hurr, well spaken, zurr, wot do ee says, Corkie?”

The burly Cellarhog stroked his chin. “Well said right enough, but something, ’as t’be done about it, so this is my judgement. Umfry, yore relieved of gatekeepin’ duties ’til I says. As a punishment, ye can clean the cellars out, from top to bottom. Sweep, ’em until there ain’t a sign o‘ dust nor cobweb anywhere. All the stock must be restacked, every barrel, keg, puncheon, cask an’ firkin, neat’n’tidy. Dwink an’ Bisky, you confess to encouragin’ Umfry to desert his post?”

Both the young creatures stood to attention. “Aye, sir, we did!”

Corksnout nodded grimly, then adjusted his nose, which had slid into his mouth. “Right, then you can ’elp Umfry with the task!”

Abbot Glisam sighed with relief. “Well, that’s that! But who’ll mind the gate?”

Foremole Gullub raised a huge digging claw. “Hurr hurr, that’ll be Oi, zurr, ee gurt bed in yon gatey’ouse bees the mostest cummfibble wun Oi ever see’d in moi loife.”

A smile played around the Father Abbot’s lips. “As long as you don’t neglect your duties by snoring all day in it. Permission granted!”

Dwink twirled his bushy tail. “When do we start our job?”

Corksnout stood up from the barrow, fixing the trio with a severe stare. “How about right now this instant!”

Umfry’s jaw dropped. “But wot about brekkist?”

Gullub beckoned toward the Abbey. “Cumm ee with Oi, may’ap ee Froir wull make you’m up ee packed vikkles.”

Samolus watched them trotting off happily. “There goes three good young uns, proper friends!”

Bosie waggled his ears. “Aye, ye ken the way they helped each other oot? Och there’s nae much wrong wi’ them!”

Friar Skurpul greeted the friends at the kitchen doorway. “Goo’day, likkle zurrs, you’m cummed to ’elp Oi at ee ovens furr awhoil?”

Foremole Gullub came trundling in behind them. “Hurr, Oi’m afeared they’m b’aint a-worken at ovens t’day, Froir. Thurr bees tarsks furr ’em a-cleanen owt ee cellars. Straightaways, too, an’ they’m b’aint havved a taste o’ brekkfust yet.”

The kindly Friar ladled out three beakers from a cauldron. “Yurr now, set ee doawn an sup moi leekybean soup, whoilst Oi pack summat furr you’m pore stummicks!”

Foremole Gullub helped himself to a tankard of the savoury soup, and a small crusty loaf. He waved to them as he left the kitchen. “Goo’bye, Oi’m off t’moi Gatey’ouse. Hurr hurr, you uns have fun in ee cellars!”

The cellars at Redwall Abbey were ancient, and widespread. Bisky placed the big food parcel, which the Friar had made up, on a barreltop table. He smiled ruefully. “There’s enough cleanin’ work down here to keep us busy for a season or two, I think!”

Dwink had already begun inspecting the contents of the parcel. “Good golly, mates, ole Skurpul’s packed enough to keep us fed for twice that long. Look, apple’n’blackberry turnovers, cheese’n’onion pasties, a full rhubarb crumble, scones, honey an’ salad. Anyone for brekkist?”

Umfry sighed. “Not just yet, Dwink, we’d best make h’a start with the cleanin’ first.”

“That’s the spirit, young uns, work first, eat later!” Corksnout stood in the cellar doorway. “I’m just off to Great ’All for brekkist. But I’ll be back t’see ’ow yore goin’ on with the task. Now you’ll find brooms, mops, pails, dusters an’ so on, outside o’ my room over there. Bend yore backs t’the job at paw, an’ we’ll get on fine t’gether.”

Bisky saluted the big Cellarhog. “Right, sir, where’d you like us to start?”

Corksnout pointed. “Right at the far wall o’ the back cellar. Move all the barrels, dust ’em, make sure the bungs are tight an’ check ’em for leaks. Brush all the floor an’ walls, then restack the barrels.” He strode jauntily off, humming a tune.

Umfry mopped imaginary perspiration from his headspikes. “H’I feel tired jus’ lissenin’ to that ole hog!”

Dwink had gone back to checking their food. “I’ve just noticed somethin’. Friar Skurpul never gave us anythin’ to drink.”

Bisky was grinning broadly, winking at Umfry. “I wonder why, got any ideas, mate?”

Umfry did not see the funny side of things. He shrugged. “Prob’ly ’cos we’re h’in a cellarful o’ drinks. Come on, let’s get the brooms h’an make a start!”

The back cellar was a fair distance from the main chamber. Lanterns had to be lit there before they could see anything clearly. Even then it had a slightly morbid atmosphere, full of shapes and shifting shadows. Barrels, casks, kegs and firkins were stacked in rows, from ceiling to floor. Umfry moved to the far corner, tapping a heap of standing barrels with his paw.

“These are empty h’ale barrels. Let’s dust ’em h’off.”

Bisky made a sensible suggestion. “Aye, we can roll ’em out into the passage. They’ll be ready then, for the next October Ale brewing.”

They worked steadily at the barrels, with Umfry singing a little song he had learned from his grandad.

“Ye can’t do no more than a good day’s work,

to earn a good day’s feed,

so bend that back an’ when yore done,

some grub is wot you’ll need!

There ain’t no room for idlebeasts,

nowheres about this place,

if ye sit about an’ shirk yore chores,

you’ll end with an empty face!

Keep goin’ it ain’t lunchtime yet,

don’t dare pull tongues at me,

a cellarbeast must earn his bread,

the vittles here ain’t free!

A drop o’ sweat an’ soon I’ll bet,

you’ll see that I was right,

with a back that’s sore an’ a dirty paw,

you’ll sleep like a hog all night!”

Having returned from breakfast, Corksnout looked in. He gave a nod of approval which knocked his nose askew. “Hoho, that’s the way, me jollybeasts. Shift those last two barrels out, then take yore lunchbreak. Here’s some elderflower an’ bilberry cordial for ye to drink.”

They moved the remaining barrels out into the passage in a burst of energetic speed, then sat down to lunch.

Where the friends were seated was practically in the dark. The next pile of barrels blocked out the lantern light. Umfry groaned. “Ooh, me pore back’s breakin’, get h’up an’ move that lantern, so’s h’I can see where me mouth is h’an’ put some vittles h’in it!”

Bisky perched on a sack of sand, which was used for breaking the fall of barrels from the pile. He scoffed, “Get up yourself, y’great lump, I’m tired, too!”

Umfry made no move to stir himself, but turned his persuasive charms on Dwink. “That’s a h’awful way to talk to h’a beast with ’is back broke. You’ll move the lantern, won’t ye, Dwink?”

The young squirrel replied indignantly, “I’d move me footpaw round yore fat, lazy bottom, if it wasn’t all covered with spikes!”

Umfry felt around in the gloom. He found an open half-sack of corks and flung one at Dwink. It went straight into Dwink’s open mouth.

“Yaggsplooh! Who did that?”

Looking the picture of innocence, Umfry pointed at Bisky. “He did, h’an’ ’e threw one at me, too.”

Dwink flung himself upon Bisky, who retaliated by doing something the young squirrel could not abide. He tickled the tip of Dwink’s bushy tail. “Yowoostoppitgerroff!” Bisky was hurled onto Umfry. Dwink jumped on top of them both. Chortling, tickling, pinching and yelling, the three friends rolled about in the lantern-lit gloom. Recklessly they cannoned into the heap of barrels, which rumbled and shifted.

“Look out, they’re fallin!”

The empty barrels made a noise like a pile of bass drums, as they thundered and bumped about the cellar. The noise continued a short time, then ceased. Dwink felt about in the darkness, calling, “The lantern’s gone out, are you two alright?”

After a good deal of coughing, and hawking up dust, Umfry answered, “My skull’s broke, but h’I’m sittin’ h’on a rhubarb crumble, so h’I’ll be h’alright!”

Dwink scrambled up, tripped over a barrel and landed in Umfry’s lap. “Where’s Bisky?”

Umfry spoke through a mouthful of crumble. “Dunno.”

Bumbling and stumbling his way out into the passage, Dwink grabbed a lantern from the wall and hurried back, yelling, “Bisky, mate, where are ye, speak t’me!”

He was answered by a stunned mutter. “Nuuuunhhh!”

“H’over ’ere, h’I’ve found ’im!” Umfry yelled.

Dwink held the lantern up, scrambling over heaped barrels to the far angle of the wall. Umfry lay atop two barrels, pointing down. “Fetch that lantern—’e’s down there!”

In the shifting shadows of the swinging light, Bisky could be seen. He had fallen down some kind of hollow in the floor, his footpaws sticking up in the air.

Dwink found a bracket in the wall and hung the lantern on it. “Stay still, mate, we’re comin’. Umfry, come on, let’s move these barrels so we can get at him!”

Forgetting their aches and stiffness, the two friends thrust the barrels wildly aside, until a space was cleared.

Bisky sounded much recovered as he shouted, “Down here, lend a paw, look what I’ve found!”

It was a small flight of five stone steps, running away into the corner. Down in the stairwell, Bisky hauled himself upright, his eyes glittering in the lantern light as he pointed to an ironbound door. The young mouse was yelling. “Look, it’s a door, a door with a keyhole, and guess what?” He held an object up, his voice hoarse with excitement. “I’ve found the key!”