Doomwyte

11

It was still night, but not more than two hours before dawn. The magpies, Griv and Inchig, perched on the tussocked rim of a deeply carved depression. This was the old quarry; it had been the habitat of adders, back into the mists of time. Far below, the two grass snakes and the toad wended their way over the quarry floor, skirting thistlebeds and large pools left by the heavy rains.

Inchig cocked his head on one side, curiously. “Raaak! Is this where the giant Baliss lives?”

Griv indicated an area, overgrown with hairy bittercress and white deadnettle, at the foot of the north quarry wall. “Karrah! There are many hidden entrances behind those weeds. Baliss dwells in the caverns and tunnels over that way.”

Inchig watched the three reptiles threading their way through the vegetation. Swelling his chest, the male magpie strutted about on the rim. “Kayyar! Are we supposed to go down there also?”

Griv eyed him humorlessly. “Yikk! You can, if you are foolish enough. I am staying here, to do what we have been sent here for. To watch and wait.”

Inchig’s chest deflated, he squatted down by his mate. “Haayak! We must obey orders.”

The toad blinked, gazing into the black hole which confronted them. Everything about the entrance reeked of danger. The strange, musty odour, complete silence and impenetrable darkness. He began to waddle backward but was jolted to a standstill, by vicious butts from the snakes’ blunt snouts. Previously, the grass snakes had ignored their fat, bloated companion, merely making sure it was with them, and travelling in the right direction. The unwitting toad, had of course, been deeply hypnotised by the skilful Sicariss. However, faced with the mysterious black entrance hole, the toad grew fearful. The grass snakes also had their orders. They fiercely set upon the frightened creature, hissing, and nipping with their fangs. The unfortunate victim was left with no alternative; it hopped forward in ungainly fashion, to escape the slashing teeth. Straight into the hole, falling awkwardly down a dark, steep slope.

The grass snakes retreated a short distance. There they writhed and curled into grotesque attitudes, lying frozen in that manner. Feigning death is considered a good defence by grass snakes, when threatened with danger.

The toad had reached the bottom of the sloping tunnel. Feeling something nearby, it, too, tried to remain completely still. It was, however, betrayed by its pulsing throat, which seemed to have gained a life of its own. Now, a large but delicately forked tongue caressed the toad’s skin. A disembodied voice whispered almost soothingly, “Baaaallliiisssssss!” Then a heavily scaled body shot forward, enveloping the victim in its irresistible embrace. In less time than it had taken the wretched toad to slide down the underground slope, there was no trace that it had ever existed. Nothing, save for the sated hiss, which echoed about. “Baaaalllliiiisssssssss!”

Dawn filtered slowly over the quarry. Early sunlight touched the clifflike walls, with their banded layers of buff and dull red sandstone. The two magpies were still perched on the quarry rim. Griv was dozing, but Inchig had wakened with the early sunrays. He ruffled his feathers, clacking his beak irritably.

“Kraak! What’s going on down there, how long have we got to wait? There’s no sign of this monster serpent, no movement of any kind. Look at those two grass snakes, they’re not moving at all. Mayhap Baliss slew them, sneaked up in the dark, with his poison fangs. What d’you think?”

Griv was annoyed at being disturbed from her nap. “Rakkahakk! Have ye never seen grass snakes playing dead before? Why don’t you do as I’m doing, just be still and watch. When something happens, it’ll happen without all your grumbling. Now be still!”

Inchig was about to obey his irate partner, when he spied movement below. He began hopping about, spreading both wings, and fanning his tailfeathers. “Chakkachakka! Something happens, see, see!”

Griv stared at the scene below in horrified awe.

From the tangled vegetation camouflaging the entrance hole, a head emerged, a huge, spade-shaped thing, his sightless eyes two milky, bluish-white orbs. Baliss halted, probing the air with a forked, viperine tongue. Then with smooth rapidity the mighty serpent slithered forth into the open. The snake was a nightmarish sight, dark brown, with the V shape at the base of his skull connecting to a broad zigzag pattern, which ran the length of his back. Bunching powerful scaled coils, the reptile reared high, head moving in a lazy, swaying arc. The flickering tongue explored the still morning air. Ignoring the grass snakes, in their twisted mock death poses, Baliss began crossing the quarry floor with a sinuous, unhurried grace.

Inchig was jigging about frantically, cawing and cackling aloud. “Karrakah! Look at that serpent, Griv, see the size of him! How long d’you think he is? Akkarr! He must be as thick as a great oak limb!”

Griv had risen onto her talons, berating Inchig. “Fool, shut your beak, be silent, noisy idiot!”

Baliss halted, again rearing his monstrous head. He pointed directly at the magpies on the rim. “Wingbirdzzzz, why does Korvussss sssend ye here?”

Inchig ceased his frenzied dance; he shot Griv a befuddled look. “Harraah! How does he know Korvus Skurr sent us?”

Baliss provided the answer. “Who but the raven would sssend carrion, wormzzzz and a croaker to my domain?”

Griv came to the very edge of the rim, noting that the head moved to mark her progress. “Hayyakh! Our Chieftain would speak with ye. If ye follow us and the grass snakes, we’ll take you to him.”

Baliss nodded, dropping his bulky coils to the ground. “I know where your masssster livezzzz. Go now, tell him Balissssss will meet with him. Tomorrow noon at the sssstream, where hisss guardzzz wait in the birch tree. I will sssspeak to Korvusssss. Go!”

Griv glared at her mate, as Inchig babbled, “Yakkarah! So, we can go now, good! But what about those grass snakes?”

The giant adder began returning across the quarry floor. Both magpies heard his departing remark. “Go, Balisssss will take care of your grass snakesssss.”

Inchig watched with bated breath, as the huge serpent slithered toward the death-feigning snakes. Griv dealt him a smack with her open wing. He scowled. “Ayyakk! What was that for?”

She readied her wing for a second blow. “Raahaak! Our work is done here, ye heard Baliss. Go!”

As they winged their way back, Inchig was still curious. “Karra! D’you think those snakes will get away with playing dead?”

Griv cackled, “Yakyakyak! They will until Baliss shows them real death!”

Inchig gasped in disbelief. “Raah! A snake eating snakes?”

Griv set her gaze on the dew-kissed distance. “Yahaar! That evil beast would eat anything!”

News of the secret door and the key being discovered in the Abbey cellars spread swiftly around Redwall. Plus, of course, the rumours, which were mainly put about by Dibbuns.

“H’Abbot sez we not t’go down in Mista Spikkle’s cellars, case Googlybeasties gets uz!”

“Burr, wot bees Googlybeasters?”

“Ho, great hooj vermints, wiv teeffs an’ twenny claws!”

“Gurr, bees that roight, Sissy Vi?”

Sister Violet was not about to encourage Abbeybabes to venture down to the cellars alone. She nodded. “Well, if’n Father Abbot says so, I s’pose ’tis right enough. Go an’ wash those paws now, afore lunch.”

As it was a warm, sunny day, the Dibbuns dashed off toward the Abbey pond. This was as good an excuse as any for getting wet and paddling about. Sister Violet lumbered after them, wheezing.

“Walk, don’t run, wait for me, yore not allowed around that pond on yore own. Dugry, come back here!”

A committee of Redwall Elders was assembled in the orchard to question Bisky, Dwink and Umfry. Bisky related the events of the incident. Having finished, he stood watching the Abbot studying the rusty, old iron key, holding it up for inspection.

Samolus was jubilant at the discovery. “Aye, that’ll be the very key the riddle spoke of. I’ll wager it fits that door like my ole grandad’s nightie fitted ’im!”

The Laird Bosie brushed a dust speck from his cuff. “What’n the name o’ crimmens has yer auld grandad’s nightgown tae do wi’it, did et have a keyhole?”

Brother Torilis sniffed audibly. “Sheer foolishness, an’ oldbeasts’ tales, that’s all it is. The door’s probably rusted too badly to open.”

Samolus cut in on him sharply. “A door rusted too badly to open, Brother? I’d say that’s a bit o’ sheer foolishness. Leave it to me, there’s nothing in this Abbey I can’t put right, from a wobbly table leg to some rusty, old door. And as for oldbeasts’ tales, where d’you suppose you gained most o’ yore knowledge of herbs an’ cures, eh?”

Brother Torilis was taken aback by the old mouse’s verbal attack. Samolus was still facing him, his jaw jutting forth truculently.

Skipper Rorgus placed himself between the pair, in an attempt to calm the situation. “Steady on, mateys, this is only a friendly parlay. Let’s keep it that way. Father Abbot, wot’s yore view on doors’n’keys?”

Abbot Glisam had already formed an opinion, ever since the three young ones had told of their discovery. The excitement and happiness in their eyes was enough for him. “Friends, there’s no question about it. These three scamps must find what lies beyond the door….” Glisam got no further—he was smothered by Bisky, Dwink and Umfry, hugging, patting and paw shaking.

“Good ole Father Abbot, thankee kindly, sir!”

“H’I knew you was h’our mate, Father, h’I jus’ knew h’it.”

“An’ I promise we’ll clean out the cellars as soon h’as we can, Father!”

Bosie extricated the Abbot from the trio’s embrace. “Haud on there. If’n yore bound tae gang through yon door, Ah’m comin’ wi’ ye. As protector an’ warrior o’ Redwall an’ its beasties, ’tis mah right!”

Skipper pounded the mountain hare’s back. “Well spoken, bucko, I volunteers to come with ye!”

Samolus was still ready to argue with anybeast. “Well, you lot ain’t goin’ nowhere without me. Any objections?”

Foremole held up a sturdy digging paw. “Ee’ll need a trusty moler with ee, if’n you uns bees axplorin’ unner they’m cellars.”

Glisam shook his head in admiration of the Foremole. “You can’t argue with good, sound mole logic. I think it’s a sensible idea. Er, just one more thing, I think we’ve got enough for the task now, otherwise we’ll have the entire Abbey wanting to come along.”

The remark was greeted with general laughter.

Perrit the squirrelmaid approached; smiling prettily she curtsied to the Abbot. “I hope they’re not thinking of going now, Father, I think they should wait until after lunch.”

Bosie winked at her. “Och, yer right, lassie, who’d go anywhere wi’out a wee bite o’ lunch!”

Bisky was so excited that he was hard put to gobble down some late spring vegetable soup, and a portion of turnip, leek and parsnip pasty. He tried taking in all the information which was being given to him and his friends. Some of it was good and practical advice.

“You’ll need lanterns. Make sure they’re properly filled and trimmed.”

“Oh, an’ some flint steel and tinder in case the lights get blown out.”

“Ropes, too, you’ll need ropes, they always come in useful.”

Friar Skurpul wrinkled his snout at Bosie. “Hurr, an’ sum vikkles, juzz to keep ee goin’, zurr.”

Bosie flourished an elegant bow to the Friar. “Mah thanks tae ye for thinkin’ o’ the main essentials, sir, yer a paragon among beasties, Ah’m thinkin’.”

Early afternoon found the party gathered in the back cellar. Lanterns illuminated the scene as they sat on the floor watching Samolus. At the bottom of the stairs, the old mouse was working on the rusted doorlock. Bisky, Umfry and Dwink were reciting the rhyme which Sister Ficaria had recalled. They chanted aloud:

“Pompom Pompom, where have my four eyes gone?

There’s a key to every riddle,

there’s a key to every song.

there’s a key to every lock,

think hard or you’ll go wrong.

Pompom Pompom, who’ll be the lucky one?

What holds you out but lets you in,

that’s a good place to begin.

What connects a front and back,

find one, and just three you’ll lack.

Pompom Pompom, the trail leads on and on.”

The head of Samolus appeared from the stairwell. He held a mangled iron bar in one paw, rubbing dust and rust flakes from his face with the other. His aggressive mood had not yet worn off. “Hoi! Can you keep it quiet up there, I can’t hear myself think. Sound really echoes down there, y’know!”

Skipper thumped his rudder in a soft, sympathetic manner. “Looks like ye ain’t havin’ much luck with that door, Sammo.”

The old mouse gritted his teeth, declaring his determination to the Otter Chieftain. “I needs to concentrate, Skip, a bit o’ quiet is all I asks. I’ll crack it, you’ll see. Might take me a bit o’ time, but an ole iron door isn’t goin’ to defeat Samolus Fixa. No sir!”

Abbot Glisam placed a paw to his lips, beckoning the three young ones and Bosie to follow him. Up into Great Hall they went, wondering what Glisam wanted. The old dormouse trundled across the hall, explaining as they went.

“You young uns, stay with me. Then if Samolus can’t open the door, he won’t be able to blame you. Dearie me, he has got himself into a bit of a tizzy. Now, Laird Bosie, what do you know of Martin the Warrior?”

The hare answered as best he could. “Is that not the beastie who had the job o’ Abbey Warrior afore me? Ah’m told he’s lang departed, Father. But Ah’ve seen his likeness over yonder. Aye, an’ a braw bonny laddie he looks, too. Ah wouldnae like tae meet him as a foe in battle!”

They arrived at the recess where the great tapestry was displayed. There was Martin, the very spirit of Redwall Abbey, woven expertly, by loving paws, to stand through all seasons. He was depicted in full armour, with his legendary sword. Courageous, confident and heroic, with vermin enemies fleeing in all directions to get away from him.

Bisky had seen the tapestry almost every day of his life. He often wondered how anybeast could look so tough, yet carry in his eyes a twinkle of humour and kindness. The young mouse had tried often to emulate Martin’s expression, until one day, Brother Torilis suspected he was suffering from some form of rictus, and physicked him thoroughly with pungent herbal medicines. Bisky broke off his reminiscences, to hear what the Abbot was saying.

“A warrior with the responsibility of protecting others should carry the best of weapons. Now I know, Bosie, that you have your fiddlebow thing, with the little metal shafts, but in a confined space, fighting paw to paw, for instance, a sword is more useful, would you agree?”

The mountain hare nodded, but with no great enthusiasm. “Ah’ll grant ye there’s those who fancy the blades. Ah’ve fought afore now, armed wi’ a claymore. Ach, but they’re unwieldly things, Father. Besides, Ah doubt ye’d own sich a thing.”

Glisam went to the wall to one side of the tapestry. He took the blade from the silver pins which held it, passing it to Bosie. “This is the sword of Martin the Warrior. Long ago in the mists of bygone times, it was made by a Badger Lord at Salamandastron, from a piece of a star which fell from the sky. You may borrow it, to fight in defence of our Abbey and its creatures.”

The Laird Bosie McScutta of Bowlaynee took it. Testing its weight and balance, he inspected the sword from the bloodred pommel stone, to the plain, black-bound grip, over the elegant, flaring, crosstree hilt and down the channelled and embossed blade. The entire weapon shone with a radiance of its own, sharp as a midwinter ice storm, pointed like a deadly needle.

Bosie swung it, revolving the sword in a figure-eight motion. He flipped it back and forth until the blade gave out a high-pitched whine. Whipping it down to floor level, he spun it in a blinding arc of steel, leaping over the blade nimbly. Banging to a sudden halt he thrust the blade at Bisky’s face, stopping it a hairsbreadth from the young mouse’s nose. Whirling about, Bosie charged full-tilt at Umfry, yelling, “Bowlaaaayneeee awaaaaa!”

The young hedgehog stood frozen, immobile, as Martin’s sword neatly clipped a single spike from between his ears. Bosie halted his performance by holding the sword to his lips and kissing it. “Oh, mah babbies, ’tis a braw blade, an’ Ah think Ah’ve got the hang of et now. By mah sporran, yon Martin didnae have much bother bein’ a warrior wi’ a weapon sich as this beauty!”

The Abbot was full of admiration for Bosie’s prowess with the sword. “That was superb, but you said that you weren’t one for swords. Unwieldy things, so you said?”

The Highland hare shrugged. “Aye, true enough, Father, but Ah’d ne’er felt a bonny blade like this afore. Let’s go an’ take a peek at how our friend Samolus is getting on with yon door.”

They were halfway down the stairs when a loud boom rent the air. Hitching up his habit, Glisam hurried the pace. “What was that? I hope nobeast has been hurt!”

The door had been knocked flat. Samolus was dusting off his paws; he appeared to have cheered up somewhat. Skipper and Corksnout were busy hauling a barrel back up the little flight of steps.

Samolus told them how he had solved the problem. “Hah, ’twould’ve taken me more’n a day to move that lock. So I rolled a barrel of October Ale at it. Sometimes there’s nought like brute force to get a result, aye, plus a big drop of good October Ale!”

Corksnout heaved the barrel upright. “Huh, first time my ale’s been used as a batterin’ ram. Don’t seem any the worse for wear, though, do it?”

Bisky stood on the fallen door, sniffing the air of the dark, rough corridor that stretched out in front of him. “That’s strange, the air down here seems quite fresh. You’d have thought an old, sealed-up tunnel like this would be smelly, musty and dank.”

Samolus joined him. “Hmm, yore right. So, what d’you think we should do, stand here sniffin’ the air, or get on with the search for the Eyes o’ the Doomwyte?”

It was a rough and tortuous tunnel, twisting and dipping unexpectedly. Sometimes the walls were natural rock, but mostly they were earth, with roots of trees protruding downward. In places, the going was wet and sloppy, where stream- or springwater seeped through.

Bosie and Samolus led the way, with Bisky, Dwink and Umfry following. Skipper Rorgus and Foremole Gullub were rear guard. Holding their lanterns, they pressed onward into the narrow world of looming shadows and hanging roots.

It was Skipper who posed the question: “Ahoy, mateys, ye don’t mind me askin’, but have we got any clues t’go on?”

Foremole chuckled gruffly. “Hurhurr, et do sounds loike ee gudd question, zurrs, elsewhoise we’m bees a-wunderin’ willy an’ nilly!”

Bosie halted at a spot where the passage widened a bit. “Let’s halt here an’ see what we’ve got. You young uns, recite the poem again tae us.”

Dwink recited the lines, slowly and clearly.

Samolus scratched his chin. “We’ve been through most o’ that, ’twas all about the door an’ the key, that’s been solved. Give me the last four lines, Dwink, maybe they mean somethin’.”

The young squirrel recited:

“That’s a good place to begin.

What connects a front and back,

find one, and just three you’ll lack.

Pompom Pompom, the trail leads on and on.”

Skipper questioned the leading line. “What connects a front an’ back. What’s that supposed t’mean?”

Umfry explained, “We h’already solved that, ’twas h’a door, that’s the connection. Front door, back door.”

The Otter Chieftain continued, “Must be the next bit. ‘Find one and just three you’ll lack.’ Sounds to me like we’re searchin’ for just one o’ the jewels. Then there’s all this Pompom stuff. Where does that leave us?”

Bisky crouched with his back against the tunnel wall. “Nowhere, I s’pose, it says the trail leads on an’ on, but it doesn’t give any clues on where to search.”

Foremole wrinkled his button nose. “May’aps that bees wot’n we’m got to do. Go on an’ on, fullowin’ ee trail.”

Samolus patted the mole’s back. “Yore right, mate, we go on an’ on, to see where it leads us. Who knows, it might take us right to the Doomwyte’s Eye!”

Bosie had something to add. “Ah ken what ye say, though ’tis mah opinion that we should search this passage for more clues as we go.”

Bisky sprang upright. “Sounds like good sense t’me. Right quick march, or should I say slow march an’ keep yore eyes peeled!”

They seemed to have been marching for an age. Dwink stumbled, bruising his footpaw on a piece of flint. He complained, “You’d think whoever built this tunnel, they could have at least put a smoother floor to it.”

Foremole Gullub answered, “Hurr, ’tworrn’t nobeast builded this un, it bees ee tunnel wot’s allus been yurr, zurr. Could’ve bee’d summ unnerground stream wot dried out longen ago.”

Samolus, who was slightly ahead of the rest, called out, “Come an’ look at this, mates!”

The old mouse was standing at a forked junction, where the tunnel divided, going two ways. Samolus began to get peevish again. “So, the trail leads on an’ on, eh? Two bloomin’ ways!”

Foremole opened one of their supply packs. “Sit ee daown an’ eat, zurrs. Vikkles bees guud furr ee brains, Oi allus says.”

Bosie plumped himself on the ground. “Och, yore a guid, wise mole, that’s the best suggestion Ah’ve heard t’day!”

They ate in silence, glancing from one fork to the other, until Bisky spoke. “So, wot’s it t’be, carry on together, or split up?”

Skipper was in no doubt. “No sense in comin’ this far, an’ havin’ to leave one tunnel unexplored. We’re best splittin’ into two parties, mates. Now, how d’ye split seven up?”

Foremole Gullub had a suggestion. “Oi’ll stay by yurr, wurr ee tunnels splitten, you’m go three uppen wun way, three uppen t’uther.”

Bosie shrugged. “Ye cannae argue wi’ that, though maybe auld Gullub should go with one party, an’ I’ll bide here, just tae keep guard on the vittles, ye ken.”

Samolus shook his head. “You guardin’ vittles? Huh, an’ who’d we leave here t’guard you, my greedy friend? No, you can come with me an’ Dwink. Skip, you take Bisky an’ Umfry with ye. Right, which one do ye fancy, left or right?”

The otter Chieftain had an idea. “We’ll let Martin’s sword choose. Give it a whirl, Bosie.”

Placing the glistening blade flat on the ground, the Highland hare spun it. The swordpoint stopped spinning, facing to the right tunnel. Foremole gave the verdict.

“You’m bees ee sword carrier, zurr, so take ee the path et points to.”

Umfry started off down the left passage. “We’ll h’all report back ’ere later h’on, good luck.” Without further ado they went their separate ways.

Foremole sat by the ration packs, with one lantern for illumination. He watched the lights of both groups until they were out of sight, hoping none of his friends would come to any harm.