It was the most glorious of autumn mornings at Redwall Abbey. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben were hard at work in Great Hall. Mother Abbess Mhera could not bear untidiness, and she had cajoled them into doing the job they had been promising to do for the last ten days, repairing two windowpanes that had been smashed by vermin slingstones. Hoarg held the ladder, whilst Brother Hoben fitted the second small sheet of carefully knapped crystal into place and began closing the lead flashing around it by pressing with a smooth block of beechwood. The task completed, he climbed down from the ladder and helped Hoarg to sweep up the broken shards. “There, old friend. Good as new, eh!”

The inseparable pair Fwirl and Broggle came skipping through from the kitchens. They waved to Hoarg and Hoben.

“Good morning! It’s another lovely day outside!”

Old Hoarg raised a wrinkled paw as they opened the Abbey door. “If you’re goin’ out, please don’t slam that door. Give these new panes time to settle in; don’t want ’em jumpin’ out.”

The squirrels made a great show of shutting the door carefully and skipped off toward the orchard, chuckling.

Fwirl pulled Broggle up at the orchard edge, her eyes shining as she took in the beautiful season. “Oh, isn’t it pretty! Look at those leaves, golden and brown and scarlet, and the colors of the fruit: yellow pears, red apples, purple berries. There’s our Abbess. Mhera, good morning to you!”

Mhera was standing with several Dibbuns, grouped around a russet apple tree, heavy with fine rust-colored fruit. She waved a paw absently at her two friends, her eyes never leaving the tree. Trey put a paw to his lips and reprimanded the two squirrels.

“Shush, Muvver h’Abbess says not to shout or stamp y’paws. H’apples fall when they be’s ready, not afore!”

Fwirl and Broggle joined the group, curious to know what was going on. “Is it a game?” the squirrelmaid whispered to little Feegle. “Can we join in, please?”

Still staring at the tree, Feegle nodded. “First one t’see a h’apple fall down gets a prize off Muvver h’Abbess, so be shushed an’ watcha tree!” As she spoke, an apple fell and hit Broggle on the head.

Wegg the hogbabe whooped with excitement. “Me me, I see’d it, Muvver h’Abbess!”

Broggle rubbed his head. “Aye, but I felt it!”

Fwirl was almost knocked over by Mhera as she dashed toward the Abbey, in a most undignified manner for an Abbess, shouting, “Mama, Mama, the russet apples are falling!”

Squeaking and laughing, the Dibbuns raced after her. Broggle touched a spot between his ears ruefully. “What was all that about, Fwirl?”

The squirrelmaid shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Oh, look, there are harebells growing by the old wheelbarrow. Let’s take some to Cregga.”

Between them they gathered a small bunch of the delicate drooping blue flowers and carried them to the sunny spot by the northeast wall corner. Cregga’s grave was always bedecked with the most beautiful flowers. Fwirl took a beaker with some water in it and arranged the harebells. Broggle placed it gently on top of the headstone, a smooth slab of typical Redwall sandstone with words engraved upon it.

Filorn and Friar Bobb were busy in the kitchens, decorating a magnificent redcurrant trifle. The Friar’s tongue stuck out at one side of his mouth as he inserted flaked almonds into the golden mound of meadowcream surmounting it. Then he stood back, watching Filorn anxiously.

“Easy now. It takes a good eye and a steady paw, marm!”

Filorn leaned over the trifle, holding her breath. Her paw descended fraction by fraction, until the candied strawberry in it came to rest precisely on the peak of the cream.

“That’s perfect! But I’ve seen you do as well, Friar.”

Holding out his paw, the old squirrel watched it tremble slightly. “Mayhap when I was younger, but I rely on you now, my friend. Whoa, look out! What’s all this stampede?”

Mhera skidded in, her gown swirling as she tried to check herself. Filorn caught her daughter and was rocked back on her paws by the Dibbuns colliding into them both.

“Mercy me, Abbess, there’s no need to rush in like that. We’ve finished the trifle you ordered!”

Mousebabe Trey clambered up Mhera’s back and flung himself into Filorn’s paws, roaring, “F’lorn mum, rusty h’apples be’s fallin’ down inna h’orchard!”

Filorn stumbled backward. Mhera stopped her, but was unable to rescue Trey. The tiny fellow went headlong into the trifle while Filorn stared as if hypnotized at her daughter. “The russet apples are falling!”

Friar Bobb hooked Trey out of the trifle, the other Dibbuns giggling at the sight of the mousebabe with the candied strawberry stuck on his head. Friar Bobb burst out laughing.

“Hohoho, look at liddle Trey! I’ll straighten this mess up, marm, you an’ the Abbess go an’ do what y’ve got to do. Hohoho!”

*

They found the otter sisters, Blekker and Swash, with a few of the ottercrew down at the pond, taking a morning dip. At the sight of Mhera and Filorn, the energetic otters bounded out of the water and waggled their rudders politely in respectful greeting.

“G’day, Abbess, marm, wot can we do fer ye?”

Mhera felt dwarfed by the two big sisters. “The russet apples have started to fall. I saw it myself, in the orchard a short while ago. The message you brought from Skipper said that Rukky Garge would have my brother Deyna healed and well by the time russet apples were falling. What do we do?”

Swash placed a broad calming paw on Mhera’s shoulder. “You waits, Abbess marm, that’s wot ye do. We’ll stand lookout on the walltops. Meanwhiles, you an’ yore mama go about yore business. Me’n’Blekker’ll let ye know the moment anythin’ stirs.”

Filorn folded her paws resolutely. “My thanks to you, Swash, but we’ll be up on the walltop with you, watching for my son’s arrival back home.”

Blekker shook water from her coat. “I wouldn’t advise it, marm. It could take a day an’ a night or two. Skipper wouldn’t be too ’appy if’n he knew you was up there that long. Best stay inside. Leave it to us.”

But Mhera would not hear of it. “You leave Skipper to me, Blekker, we’re going up there with you. Mama, tell Fwirl we’ll be taking our meals on the ramparts and ask Foremole Brull to bring up blankets for us and the crew.”

It was Gundil who led the party bringing blankets to the walltop. He presented Mhera with a soft pink one. “This ’un’s furr ee, h’Abbess. Oi’m stayen oop yuur with ee, hurr!”

Mhera felt a wave of affection for her old friend. “Gundil, I’m sorry I haven’t had much time with you lately.”

The mole rubbed his downy head against her sleeve. “You’m been gurtly busied, bein’ ee Muther h’Abbess an’ suchloike. But us’n’s gotten lots o’ toimes agether in ee seasons t’cumm.”

Mhera spread the blanket so they could both sit on it. “So we have, my friend. What’s that you’ve got there?”

Gundil produced Abbess Song’s book, with the strips of green cloth wrapped around it, and held it out to the ottermaid. “Oi bain’t no gudd at ee readen, Muther h’Abbess. Do ee read owt o’ ee likkle book furr oi. Uz molers dearly do luvvs to ’ear ee readen.”

Mhera laid the fabric strips next to each other on the parapet before she opened the book. “Right, where do you want me to start from? Oh, and stop calling me mother. Call me Mhera or miz, like you always did.”

The mole’s face crinkled into a deep grin. “As ee wishen, miz. Start ee frumm th’ burginnin’!”

Mhera began to read. “I, Song, daughter of Janglur Swifteye and Mother Abbess of Redwall, do leave these thoughts of mine to be read by the creature who is chosen to rule the Abbey in my stead.

Mhera tweaked Gundil’s digging claws playfully. “They’re all in here, the ITTAGALLs, Courage, Compassion, Fairness, Decision . . . you don’t want me to carry on reading them all, do you?”

Gundil tweaked Mhera’s paw back, but very gently, because his digging claws were so blunt and powerful. “Burr nay, miz, jus’ ee larst wun. Oi loikes that ’un!”

Mhera turned to the back of the book and read the rough untidy scrawl, which contrasted sharply with the other neat script. “I Choose Mhera As The Ottermaid To Rule Our Abbey.”

From where they were sitting the gravestone below was visible. Mhera smiled at it fondly. “Imagine the time it must have taken for a blind badger to write that, Gundil. Granted the writing isn’t as tidy as Abbess Song’s, but Cregga Badgermum did it all right. Look here.” She unfolded one last length of fabric from her robe sleeve. ICMATOTROA was scrawled upon it in identical writing to that in the book. “It was the last piece I was supposed to find. This was wrapped around the book the night she gave it to me at the feast. There there now, my friend, don’t weep. Cregga wouldn’t like to think that she made you unhappy.”

Gundil tried bravely to blink away the large teardrops falling from his eyes. “Oi know, miz, but Creggamum wurr such a guddbeast. Oi misses hurr!”

*

Rukky Garge and Skipper sat by the stream’s edge. The old otterfixer tapped her knobbly stick on a boulder.

“Ahhhrrr weel now, Deyna bigbeast, sit ye here by mah side.” Deyna did as she ordered, holding still as she pushed and scratched at his face. She consulted Skipper. “Prithee, frien’, what say ye now, eh?”

Skipper took Deyna’s face in both paws, peering at it closely. “Rukky me ole queen, I wouldn’t believe it if’n I didn’t see it with me own two eyes. Not a tattoo mark on ’is face. ’Tis a miracle ye’ve worked!”

The ancient otter blushed like a maiden. “Heeheehee! Show unto yon riverdog yeer paw, Deyna.”

Holding forth his right paw, Deyna allowed Skipper to look at it. There was no sign of a flowered birthmark. The pad was totally dark. Skipper scratched his rudder in disbelief. “Well, blow me down to port an’ sink me whiskers. ’Ow did she do it, Deyna matey?”

The former Taggerung stared at the paw. “I don’t know, Skip. I was asleep most of the time, but in the moments I was awake it burned like fire, my face too.”

Rukky smacked her stick down across Deyna’s paw. “Ahrra weel, good now though, mah beauty, no feels of hurt?”

Deyna clapped his paws together hard. “None!”

She struck him in the chest with her stick, right where the arrowhead had been. He did not flinch. Rukky gave a toothless grin. “Ayaah, when Rukky Garge fixes otters, they fixed good!” She pointed out a big boulder. “Dat wun!”

Deyna strode across to it. Wrapping his paws around the large smooth granite rock, he picked it up and flung it into the center of the stream. The spray splattered wide. Rukky Garge wiped her face on her cloak and nodded at the stream. “You strong, riverdog, stroooong! Now bring d’stone back out!”

Deyna dived headfirst into the stream, cutting the water like a pike on the hunt. He appeared in midstream, grasping the boulder, and swam back to the bank with it. Rukky made him perform the feat three more times before she was satisfied. Then she allowed him to make his way back and sit by her, breathing lightly. Skipper slapped him heartily on the back.

“If’n I told anybeast about that they’d never believe me, bucko!”

Rukky tapped the otter Chieftain with her staff. “You make de good soup, mah frien’. Now let dis Deyna make some for us, see wot it be tastin’ like, eh?”

Deyna made a cauldron of fresh watershrimp and hotroot soup for them, and then Rukky indicated that he too could share it. They sat eating in silence until it was all gone. Skipper smacked his lips and patted his stomach. “Well, mates?”

Rukky Garge and Deyna answered together. “Not as good as yours!”

Skipper’s craggy face lit up with pleasure. “Y’took the words right outta me mouth. Though it was passin’ fair, for a beginner. Well, Rukky me ole charmer, I got to get our mate back ’ome to his sister an’ mama.”

Deyna put a paw around the otterfixer’s shoulder affectionately. “Thank you, Rukky. I owe you my life!”

She stiffened and shook his paw off. “Don’ta touch me, riverdog! Ah not like bein’ touch by anybeast. Go ye to de cave, take back yeer blade an’ get from me sight!” Deyna stood up, a hurt expression on his face. The ancient otter rapped his rudder with her stick and cackled. “Heeheehee! But come ye back when ye learns to make der soup better’n Skip. Rukky be pleased ter see ye den!”

*

Two days and three nights had passed for the watchers on the wall top. By now they had been joined by everybeast except the Friar and his duty cooks. They took turns at night, some watching whilst others slept. Drogg Cellarhog brought a fireholder up to the ramparts and mulled ale with spices in it to keep up their spirits and to ward off the chill of autumn nights and dawns. They sang many songs and recalled lots of old poems and monologues to while away the time. The Dibbuns thought it was a wonderful holiday, even though they were guarded by Sister Alkanet, who had roped them together. “I don’t trust these little rogues on high walltops!” She said it until everybeast grew tired of the phrase and the Dibbuns paraded around, linked together, singing impudently.

They finally gave up when Abbess Mhera threatened them with bath and bed, and Friar Bobb brought them warm mushroom soup to drink.

Fwirl and Broggle sat with Filorn and Boorab. They had drawn the last watch of the third night. Drogg’s fireholder was close by, and they sat wrapped in blankets, talking softly. Several times Boorab had volunteered to go down and work in the kitchens. His requests being refused made him rather sulky.

“Pish tush t’the blinkin’ kitchens I say, wot. Measly fat little Friar chasin’ the tail off a chap: keep your paws out o’ this and don’t dare touch that, leave those measly flippin’ pasties alone, get y’nose out of that pudden. Yah boo to them says I, wot? I say, any of you bounders know when they’ll be bringin’ a spot of brekkers around? The old turn’s gurglin’ away like a drain!”

Somewhere a bird twittered, and the first pale milky light showed, reflecting eerily back off the mist. Fwirl wrapped her blanket tightly and scooted nearer the fire. “Isn’t it strange being up here in autumn mist?”

Broggle yawned. “Aye, it gives me a floaty feeling when it’s thick all around me.”

Boorab snorted. “Fiddlededee, laddie buck, y’ve never been in a real pea souper of a fog. I remember one time I got caught in a fog so bally thick I had t’cut my way out with a knife, wot!”

Nimbalo loomed up like a small blanketed ghost and sat with them. “Huh, that’s nothin’. I was in a mountain fog once, they’re the worst kind, couldn’t see me paw behind me back, or me tail if’n I looked forward. ’Twas so thick I saw a frog walkin’ on it!”

A voice spoke from behind Nimbalo. “Mountain fogs are mere wisps compared to a good marsh fog. When I was younger we used to go out looking for marsh fogs, they were so thick and soft. I’d take my needles with me and knit them into blankets for the infirmary!”

The speaker came forward. Wide-eyed with astonishment, the friends sat staring at Sister Alkanet. The stern Infirmary Keeper was smiling. Filorn opened her blanket for Alkanet to share.

“Hahaha. Well done, Sister, you’ve certainly stopped those two fibbers in their tracks. Blankets for the infirmary, eh? Hahaha!”

Foremole Brull shuffled up, tiny dewdrops forming on her velvety fur. They twinkled in the firelight. “Yurr cumm ee sun. Fog’s be a-liften naow.”

Within a short space of time it was a soft autumn morning. Warm breezes took faded leaves from the trees, drifting them down to earth. Swallows swirled and soared in patterned flights beneath a clear sky of powdered blue. Gundil took a fallen sycamore seedpod and spun it into the air on its two perfectly shaped wings. Mhera stood between the battlements, watching the woodland fringe and flatlands skirting the path to the south. Blekker stood by her side, leaning on her javelin. Mhera sighed impatiently. “When do you think Deyna will come?”

The big otter squinted her left eye against the sun. “Sorry, Abbess marm, can’t say for certain. When ole Rukky Garge said it’d be the time that russet apples fall, she was only sayin’ it as a rough guide. Could be another two or three days. Friar’s servin’ brekkist, marm. Why don’t ye go an’ eat? I’ll keep watch ’ere. Go on, liddle Abbess, y’look tired.”

Mhera clenched her paws in frustration. “Oh, if there were only some way to make him come back!”

“Ye could try singin’ them ’ome!”

Mhera was puzzled by old Hoarg’s remark. “What d’you mean, singing them home?”

The old dormouse took a sip of his morning dandelion tea. “It always seemed t’work when I was a liddle ’un. We often stood on the walls and sang to bring travelers safe ’ome.”

Blekker and Swash agreed with Hoarg.

“Aye, marm, otters believe in ’ome singin’.”

“Skipper said it always works. Try it, Abbess marm. We’ll sing the verses if’n you an’ yore Redwallers ’elp out on the choruses!”

A smile spread gradually on the young Abbess’s face. “What a lovely idea. Listen, you Redwallers, we’re all going to join in and help sing my brother home.”

Everybeast agreed, with only one exception. Boorab. “I say, bit thick isn’t it? I’ve waited all flippin’ night for a bite o’ breakfast. Now I’ve just been served, what’ve I got to do, eh, wot? Abandon my scoff an’ start tra-la-laain’ away to some chap who won’t even jolly well hear it. Blinkin’ liberty if y’ask me, wot, wot wot?”

Mhera tried imitating Sister Alkanet’s famous frosty glare. “Sir, you may do as you please. Fill your face by all means, but if you do not join in the singing I will have you barred from the kitchens henceforth. Take note of my decree, Friar Bobb!”

The good Friar nodded vigorously. “Noted, Mother Abbess!”

Boorab cast aside his plate and beaker. “Steady on, chaps, confounded blackmailers . . . er, I mean, lovely day for a bit of an old warble, wot. Count me in. You otters there, what’re you waitin’ for, eh? Sing away, me buckos. Sing!”

Blekker and Swash, together with the other otters Skipper had sent back to the Abbey, lined up. After a bit of throat clearing they went at it lustily.

Everybeast enjoyed the song so much, they called for more. Mhera and Broggle picked up the verses as well as the chorus. They stood with the otters, singing out for all they were worth. Behind them, the Dibbuns led a march, backward and forward along the south ramparts, making a great show of shouting tramps aloud at the end of each chorus. Halfway through the third rendition, Nimbalo pulled Boorab out of line. The harvest mouse whispered to the hare, pointing south, to where the woodland jutted out in the distance to connect with the winding path. Mhera watched Nimbalo scramble up onto Boorab’s shoulders. He held on to Boorab’s ear with one paw, gesturing out with the other, then he started shouting. Filorn saw it too, and had a quick word with Blekker. The otter halted the singing, howling out in her stentorian baritone, “They’re on the path! Comin’ thisaway! I told ye it’d work!”

Boorab lifted Nimbalo down and took charge. “Well, what’n the name o’ sizzlin’ seasons have y’stopped singin’ for, eh? Don’t want to break the jolly old magic spell, do you? Hoarg, get down an’ open the gates. Throw wide your portals, old lad. The rest o’ you ditherin’ duffers form up behind me. Jump to it, now! We’ll march down the road singin’ to meet ’em, by the left, right’n’center we will, wot wot!”

Boorab sidestepped into the gatehouse, but he soon caught up with the singing marchers. He carried a banner made from an old tablecloth tied around a long window pole. Swaggering along jauntily, the hare was in his element, bellowing aloud, “Anybeast with a frog in their throat, let the frog do the singin’. Hawhawhaw! C’mon now, let’s rip the roof off . . .

The ottercrew coming the other way saw the Redwall singing parade and doubled their march speed. Then they were trotting, and the pace hotted up even more, until they were running to meet the welcoming committee. Not to be outdone, Boorab waved his banner and yelled out orders.

“Look at ’em go! Hah, we’ll see who meets who first, chaps. If it’s a bally charge they want, we’re the ones who’ll show ’em. Lay back the kitchen sink! Forward the buffs! Blood’n’vinegar an’ flyin’ fur! Eulaliaaa! Redwallers chaaaaaaaarge!”

They thundered down the path in a headlong stampede, and Boorab was knocked flying into the ditch. But even the fastest of runners were not as fleet of paw as Mhera and Filorn upon that day. The pair were well out in front, hurtling toward the ottercrew charging up from the south. Way out in front of them was one, a big strong figure who could outrun the wind. Filorn could see the dust pluming in his wake, Mhera could even hear his footpaws slamming the hard earth as he streaked toward them like summer lightning. They screamed together. “Deynaaaaaaaa!”

He swept them up as though they weighed nothing and ground to a halt, hugging them both close. Then Nimbalo pounded up like a small juggernaut. Unable to stop himself, he bulled straight into Deyna, Mhera and Filorn, sending himself and them sprawling in a heap together. Instantly they found themselves surrounded by other Redwallers. Then they began to laugh, as happiness flowed from them, infecting everybeast. They laughed until the tears ran down their dusty faces, hugging one another as if they would never let go. The laughter rose into the air, startling birds in the soft autumn morning.

From that long-ago day when his father carried a babe out of the Abbey gates, Deyna, son of Rillflag, had returned home.