Every fourth summer, Skipper and his ottercrew went off to a Hullabaloo. They would follow streams and rivers down to the shores of the great sea, where they would meet up with other otter crews and many of the sea otters from the far north. Hullabaloo was a festival that could last until autumn, as long as the otters were having fun. Meeting old friends and relatives, sporting in the waves, singing, dancing and lighting bonfires each night on the beach for the inevitable feasts was good rough fun, of the sort that ottercrews enjoy immensely.

Skipper and his crew marched out of Redwall’s gates that morning, waving, cheering, and promising to bring back lots of shells for the Dibbuns. Mhera stood out on the path with her friends, calling goodbyes and fluttering kerchiefs until the otters merged into the sun-shimmering distance of the flatlands.

Fwirl accompanied the ottermaid back inside the Abbey. “Why didn’t you go with them, Mhera? ’Twould be a lovely holiday for you and your mama.”

Mhera shrugged. “We’ve not been part of any crew for many seasons now. Skipper said we were welcome to join them, but there’s too much to be done here, Fwirl. Friar Bobb couldn’t do without Mama; she loves the kitchens as much as he does. As for me, well, I’ve got my riddle to solve and Cregga to watch over. Besides, I like Redwall in summer. There’s always something going on.”

Fwirl linked paws with her friend. “I do too. Haha, we’re both becoming a regular old pair of Abbeybeasts. Come on, I promised Broggle that I’d help your mama and Friar Bobb to get lunch ready. It won’t be too difficult, with twoscore otters out of the way. Race you to the kitchens!”

*

Even though the lunch that day was a splendid one, Mhera sat toying with her plate of celery and chestnut bake, rearranging the salad surrounding it into random patterns. A leaden lump in her chest would not allow her to enjoy the food. Failure weighed heavily upon the ottermaid. Raucous laughter from the far table, where Drogg Cellarhog and old Hoarg were challenging one another to imaginary feats of eating, did nothing to lift her spirits.

Drogg was gesturing airily with a wooden spoon. “I could chase down a chestful o’ chestnuts with cherry juice wine!”

Hoarg smiled patronizingly over his glasses at this effort. “I could purloin a portion o’ pears an’ pop ’em down with a pot o’ pennycress cordial!”

And so the banter went back and forth.

“Ho, ye could, could ye? Well, you’d best step aside when I attack an Abbeyful of apples an’ ask for an ample allocation of ale afterward!”

“Step aside? I step aside for nobeast, whether it be a hallowed hedgehog, an officious otter, a seasoned squirrel, a mutterin’ mole or a befuddled badger!”

Boorab, who was referee, rapped old Hoarg’s paw with an oatfarl. “Foul, sah! Infringement of the rules. You changed your initial letter no less than five times an’ never jolly well mentioned food once. You lose two points, old chap, an’ that slice o’ fruitcake. No kerfufflin’, penalty must be accepted!”

Amid gales of laughter, the hare stole a slice of fruitcake from Hoarg’s plate and bolted it. The younger element began calling, “You have a go, Mr. Boorab, go on, show ’em how ’tis done!”

Boorab gulped the fruitcake down and obliged. “Ahem! I could simply scoff sixty-six sticks of celery separately, swallow seventeen swigs o’ sweet cider an’ sensationally scrunch a selection of salad whilst simperin’ smilin’ and singin’ soulfully to serenade Sister Alkanet’s stern stares!” Amid hoots of merriment he bowed to the Sister. “So sorry your name didn’t begin with an S, marm!”

She rose abruptly and carried her plate and beaker off to another table, where she sat glaring frostily at the funsters. “Ridiculous! Grown Redwallers behaving like naughty Dibbuns!”

Boorab bounded over and plonked himself down alongside Mhera, attempting to cheer her up.

“I say, wot? Pretty young thing like y’self sittin’ there with a face on you like a frog who’s lost his fiddle. Y’best hurry up an’ jolly well smile, or you’ll stick like that, ask Sister Alkanet. She knows all about that stuff. Her face stuck like that when she was an infant, doncher know, missed her mouth an’ poured a bowl of custard down her ear, never smiled since, wot!”

Cregga’s huge paw lifted the hare right out of his seat. “Away with you and leave my friend Mhera alone.”

As he rose in the air, Boorab took Mhera’s plate of lunch with him. “Er, right you are, mighty marm. I say, you don’t mind me taking this with me, wot. Save it bein’ wasted. Can’t abide waste, y’know.”

Mhera relieved him of the plate and returned it to the table. “You can have it if you apologize to Sister Alkanet about the rude and unkind remarks you made about her!”

The Badgermum stroked Mhera’s cheek softly. “He’s right, you know. Sitting there scowling won’t solve much.”

Mhera pushed the plate of food away. “I’m sorry, Cregga, it’s just that I haven’t the time to fool about. I’m just so angry with myself that I can’t solve the mystery of the green cloth with the writing on. I need to get away on my own, so I can think clearly. It’s noisy in here.”

Lifting her head, the badger checked the chattering, the clatter of plates and the scraping of chairs with her keen senses.

“Hmm, it is rather boisterous, but then summer lunchtimes are usually like this. You’ve never noticed because a certain ottermaid named Mhera is normally part of it all. Would you like to go up to my room for a bit?”

“I’d love to. Thanks, Cregga!”

The Badgermum put her head on one side as if pondering something. “Wait. Maybe it’d be better if you went up and took a rest in the infirmary sickbay. It’s nice and quiet in there, you know.”

Mhera could not help pulling a wry face at this suggestion. “I don’t feel ill. Why should I go to the sickbay?”

Cregga shrugged. “No urgent reason really, but I was just thinking. Abbess Song loved to take a nap up there when it was empty. She liked the room, said it was both cool and clean.”

Mhera rose from the table. “Clean and cool. Good. I’ll give it a try.”

Boorab came to the table when Mhera had left. He reached for the leftover luncheon, but Cregga’s paw closed over his. “Well, sah, did you apologize graciously to Sister Alkanet?”

“Yith, marb, I dibb!”

Cregga frowned. “What are you talking like that for?”

“I ’pologithed add webt to kitth hurr paw.”

Cregga translated. “You apologized and went to kiss her paw, is that what you’re trying to say? What happened?”

“The Thithter thmacked bee inna node wib a pudden thpoon!”

Cregga nodded approvingly. “Sister Alkanet smacked you in the nose with a pudding spoon. Well, good for her! Does it hurt?”

“Yith. It thmarth!”

“Oh, I see. And do you look unhappy?”

“Udhabby? Ob courth I lukk udhabby!”

Cregga allowed him to take the plate. “Well, there you are, Boorab, but don’t forget to smile, or you’ll stick like that, remember!”

Boorab wandered off, muttering darkly, “Thmile? Huh, she bight thigg I’b laffig add gibb be anudder thock wib ’er pudden thpoon!”

*

It was indeed quiet, peaceful and clean in the little sickbay. Mhera lay down on a truckle bed and gazed around. The room had a wonderful old aroma of verbena. A warm circle of sunlight, coming through the small circular window, shone on the far wall like a pink sun in a sandstone sky, the sandy streaks in the stone appearing to her mind as faint cloud layers. She recalled a couple of spring days she had spent in the sickbay, one season when she was very young. Sister Alkanet had treated her for a sprained footpaw. The Sister had not been stern with her, but kindly and considerate. Maybe she was different when not on duty. There was a scroll, opened out and fixed to the back of the door, with a poem written on it in beautiful copperplate script. The edges were wreathed in artistically painted fruits and flowers. Mhera read the poem to herself as she lay there, feeling calm and rested.

Mhera smiled, recalling the time when she and Floburt were fascinated with the aroma of sweet woodruff. They had persuaded Friar Bobb to make them a flask of the wonderful vanilla-perfumed scent. However, both maids used it so liberally on ears, throat and paws that it became overpowering. Redwallers complained at dinner and Cregga Badgermum ordered them both to eat outside in the orchard. Of course, she had been a lot younger then, and Floburt nought but a Dibbun. Slumber overcame the ottermaid as she lay there reminiscing. With her dreams bygone events came back to sadden her: the sight of her mother weeping over an empty cradle, the chubby, fuzzy babe with a flowermark on his paw. Her brother. Had he lived, Deyna would be a big strong otter of almost sixteen seasons now. Her father, lifting her up and kissing her before he left with the babe, so proud of his little son and his pretty daughter. She missed her father so much.

Mhera awoke weeping. There was somebeast tapping upon the sickbay door. Hastily wiping her eyes on the coverlet, she called out, “Please come in!”

Fwirl and Broggle peeped around the door.

“Cregga told us we’d find you here.” Fwirl ran straight to Mhera and put a paw about her. “Oh, dear, you’ve been crying. Are you all right?”

The ottermaid sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the worn green coverlet from the bed. “It was just a dream. Silly of me really, I’ll be all right in a moment. A creature of my seasons, weeping like a Dib—”

Suddenly, Mhera buried her nose completely in the coverlet, her whole body stiffening.

Broggle tugged the coverlet gently. “What is it, Mhera? What’s the matter?”

She thrust the coverlet at her friends. “Smell! It’s lilacs!”

As they put their noses to it, Mhera felt the cloth’s texture. “It’s very old, and homespun. It’s green, too, faded green, just like the scrap of cloth from the bell tower beam!”

There followed a shuffling sound, coupled with paws tapping against the wall. Cregga entered the sickbay.

Fwirl could not contain herself. Words rushed from her mouth. “Oh, Cregga, oh, mum, look what Mhera’s found. Sorry, you can’t look, can you? Feel this, smell it, what does it remind you of?”

Sitting down on the bed, Cregga did as she was bid. “Hmm, now don’t tell me. It’s a coverlet, the sort Sister Alkanet uses to keep the sheets from getting dusty. Am I right?”

Mhera’s voice rose almost to a squeak. “It smells of lilacs and it’s old green homespun!”

Cregga lay back against the pillows and sighed. “Think I ate too much lunch. Oh, is there writing on it anywhere?”

Mhera found it immediately, below the hem she was holding. A single word, which she read out slowly. “PITTAGALL. All in capital letters again, running downward.” She pursed her lips, seething with frustration. “First we had HITTAGALL, now we’ve got PITTAGALL. Well, that’s a great help, I don’t think!”

Cregga nestled her head comfortably into the pillows. “What were you expecting to find?”

The ottermaid gestured helplessly. “Something . . . I don’t know. Maybe an object that’ll tell us who the next Abbess or Abbot of Redwall is to be. Something solid and positive I could recognize plainly, not all this HITTAGALL and PITTAGALL nonsense!”

Cregga heaved herself from the bed. “Well, I’m not going to get a very good nap here. I think I’ll go to my room and rest in my chair.” She waved them away as she felt her way out of the sickbay. “No need to help me, I can make it on my own quite easily. I’ll leave you young ’uns here to solve your puzzles. Don’t get too angry with yourself, Mhera my dear. You’ll come to a solution if you give it a little thought and time. Patience, my friend, patience.”

When Cregga had gone, Mhera and Fwirl found some shears and a needle and thread in Sister Alkanet’s cupboard. They set about snipping the worded piece from the coverlet and sewing a new hem right along the edge. Broggle watched them, a smile hovering on his pudgy face.

“You’ll excuse me saying, misses, but you aren’t very good seamstresses, are you? Here, you’d better let me do that.”

Mhera could not help laughing at the crooked line of stitching she and Fwirl had worked on. She gave the coverlet to Broggle. “Thanks, pal. I was always pretty dreadful with needle and thread.”

Fwirl frowned. “I thought we were doing quite well, but I’ve had no experience of needlework, so how would I know? I’d love to learn how to do it properly, though.”

The assistant cook took out his little kitchen knife and began unpicking the haphazard stitching. “Would you really, Fwirl? Then watch me and I’ll show you. It’s quite simple once you get the hang of it.”

Mhera took the lettered cloth to the round window and studied it while Broggle, who was an extremely quick and neat worker, instructed Fwirl in needlework. The ottermaid soon gave up staring at the scrap of cloth and stood gazing out of the window, to where Durby and his Dibbun chums had finished eating their woodland trifle with meadowcream topping. Trundling from the gatehouse, carrying the empty basin between them, they were making for the pond. Mhera could see their happy little faces, all with beards and mustaches of meadowcream, and she wondered what they were up to. They waddled into the shallows and began washing the mess from themselves, knowing that they might be saving themselves from a thorough bathing by any elder who found them covered in cream and trifle. But, being Dibbuns, they quickly found better uses for Abbey pondwater than washing, and a full-scale watersplashing battle soon broke out. Mhera chuckled to herself as she watched the fun. However, her good humor suddenly turned to alarm. Whilst the rest were splashing one another, they had completely ignored the tiniest Dibbun of all, Wegg the hedgehog babe. He had launched the big beechwood trifle bowl onto the pond and clambered into it.

Paws cupped around her mouth, Mhera yelled down at them, “Durby, Feegle! Pull that bowl ashore and get little Wegg out!” But they were splashing and shouting so loudly that they were oblivious of Mhera’s calls from the high window.

Broggle looked up from his work. “Is that the Dibbuns? What are they up to?”

Mhera dashed from the room, calling back to the needleworkers, “You carry on with your task. I’ll see to this!”

She was across the landing, down the stairs and through the Great Hall like a flash. Whizzing through the open Abbey doorway, she almost collided with her mother, who was coming in from the orchard with an apron full of fresh pears. Filorn bent to pick up the fallen ones, shaking her head.

“Dearie me, the number of times I’ve told that daughter o’ mine not to rush. She’s as bad as any Dibbun, even now she’s grown up!”

Bounding over the lawn toward the south wall, Mhera could see the trifle bowl well out on the lake as the splashing Dibbuns sent up waves. They had still not noticed the hogbabe’s absence. But Wegg saw Mhera. Standing up in the bowl, he waved his tiny paws.

“Meeler, Meeler, ukka me!”

He toddled to the edge of the bowl and capsized it.

As she ran, Mhera saw the silvery flash rise close to the surface, then the long high purplish dorsal fin of a big male grayling, closing in on the squeaking hogbabe. Durby and the others saw it too. They stopped splashing and began yelling.

“Cumm owt o’ thurr, likkle Wegg!”

“Yeeeek, big fish comin’ to eat ’im all up!”

“Out of the waaaaaaay!”

Mhera went sailing over their heads in a long powerful dive. It was all over in the wink of an eye. She struck the hunting grayling in its midsection, stunning it. Swirling her rudder, the ottermaid did a spinning turn and grabbed Wegg, then made a beeline for the shallows, with the hogbabe perched on her head, giggling as if it were all a great game.

Filorn had dropped her pears and set off after Mhera, realizing that something was amiss. She was followed by Hoarg, Broggle, Drogg and Sister Alkanet. They arrived at the pool in time to see Mhera come to land with Wegg. Before they could ask what had happened, Durby, Feegle and the other Dibbuns were relating the adventure en masse.

“Ee gurt fisher, bigger as ee h’Abbey, eated Wegg all oop!”

“Meeyra dived up in the air, right right up to th’sky!”

“Boi ’okey, roight daown ee gurt fisher’s mouth ’urr go’d!”

“Yehyeh an’ she pulled likkle Wegg out an’ swimmed away wiv ’im!”

Filorn felt Mhera’s sodden robe. “You’re soaked, miss. Is everybeast all right?”

Mhera passed the hogbabe to her mother. “They’re fine. This one went sailing in your trifle bowl. He fell in and a grayling went after him, but I got him back safe.”

Sister Alkanet pointed a paw severely in front of her. “You Dibbuns, form a line, right there. Just look at the dreadful state you lot are in!”

Hanging their heads and shuffling paws, the Abbeybabes fell in line. Drogg Cellarhog eyed them sternly. “Wot’ve you been tole about goin’ in the pool by yoreselves, eh?”

Before they could answer, Sister Alkanet opened Feegle’s mouth and peered at her tongue. “Ugh! Pondwater, sand and I don’t know what you’ve been swallowing. Right, follow me to the infirmary. ’Tis a dose of agrimony physick all ’round and a good bath in clean water and soapwort for all of you. Better bring Wegg along too, Miz Filorn!”

The ottermum felt sorry for the Dibbuns, but she knew as well as they did that lessons must be learned. She kept a straight face as she asked accusingly, “And pray tell me, where’s my best trifle bowl?”

Durby tried one of his most winning molesmiles. “Et be’s daown unner ee ponder, missus. Ee gurt fishes makin’ troifle in et, tho’ not as noice as yourn, moi dearie!”

Filorn wagged an admonitory paw at the Dibbuns. “Well, I can’t make any more woodland trifles with meadowcream if I don’t have my favorite bowl, no more ever. Now d’you see what your disobedience and naughtiness have cost you?” The Dibbuns were led off wailing heartbrokenly.

When they had gone, Mhera waded back into the pond. She waved to her mother. “Seeing as I’m wet already, I’ll go and get it back.”

Boorab touched his injured nose gingerly. “I’b glad deb liddle ’uns’re geddin’ physicked ad nodd bee. Blurgh! Id tasthes like boiled frogth!”

Old Hoarg agreed heartily with the hare. “I mind one time she physicked me for a bad tummy. Phwarr! I swore I’d die afore I took the Sister’s physick again.”

Mhera emerged from the pool carrying the bowl. “That old grayling looks as if he’s in need of some medicine. I had to butt him real hard. Couldn’t take a chance on letting him get to little Wegg.”

Filorn patted her daughter’s soggy back gratefully. “You did the right thing. Thank you, my dear. I’d have missed this bowl very much. Your father made it for me. I think you’re as good a swimmer as he ever was, Mhera. Up you go now. Dry off and get out o’ those wet robes. There’s fresh ones in my linen chest.”

Drogg Cellarhog watched Mhera squelch off back to the Abbey. “You got a wunnerful daughter there, marm. Anybeast’d be proud to ’ave ’er as kin!”