17

Late-afternoon sunlight poured in through the Infirmary window at Redwall Abbey. Malbun lay on her bed, fiddling with the edge of the tasselled counterpane. Sleep was eluding her. There was a gentle tap on the door, and Abbot Apodemus entered, carrying a tray. Skipper and Log a Log came in with him. The Abbot checked to see if Malbun was awake.

“Ah, having trouble taking a nap, eh, Mal? I thought you’d like a teacake and a nice beaker of mint and comfrey tea.”

Malbun sat up. “Indeed I would. Thank you, my friend.”

As Malbun ate and drank, the Abbot began talking to her of the previous night’s events.

“I take it, then, that you and Crikulus left the Abbey late last night during the feast. Still searching for Brockhall, probably. Well, Malbun, what did you find?”

The Healer Recorder shrugged dismissively. “Oh, nothing.”

Log a Log and Skipper exchanged suspicious glances. The Guosim Chieftain kept his voice deceptively casual. “Ye don’t mind me askin’, marm, but ’ow come we found you an’ Crikulus miles from anywhere?”

Malbun suddenly became interested in the teacake crumbs on her plate. She hesitated. “Er, we got lost. Took the wrong path in the, er, dark.”

Skipper dropped his question in casually. “Wot were the two of ye runnin’ away from, marm?”

Malbun looked surprised. “Running? What makes you think we were running? There was nothing chasing us, we never ran.”

Seeing she had finished her snack, the Abbot removed the tray. “Our Guosim trackers said that your trail looked as if you were dashing through the woodlands in a panic.”

Detesting the lies she was telling to her friends, Malbun carried on unhappily. “When creatures are lost in darkened woodlands, they crash and stumble about a bit, through bushes, across streams. . . . I assure you, we weren’t running or being chased.”

Apodemus held his friend’s paw, staring into her eyes. “Are you sure there’s nothing more you want to tell us?”

Malbun pulled her paw free and lay back, closing her eyes. “I can’t tell you anything more. I’m tired and injured, I need to have a sleep. Please leave me alone.”

Apodemus signalled to Skipper and Log a Log that they should leave. He patted Malbun’s footpaw. “Of course you need to rest. Forgive us for intruding.”

As Skipper opened the door, Malbun called out, “Thank you for rescuing us from those vermin. Don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t arrived in time.”

Log a Log bowed gallantly. “Think nought of it, marm. You take a nice liddle rest now.”

The door closed. Malbun opened her eyes and rubbed her aching head miserably, still fighting to rid her mind of the sickly-sweet odour of death and grass rustling in the night.

Halfway down the stairs, the Abbot turned to his companions. He looked mystified. “Well, what d’you make of that? Malbun was telling lies, I’m certain of it. That’s not at all like her.”

Skipper sat down on the worn sandstone steps. “I’m glad you said that instead o’ me, Father Abbot. It grieves me t’think of any Redwaller bein’ a liar. Especially that nice ole mouse!”

Log a Log scratched his whiskers thoughtfully. “She must’ve had a reason. Hmm, I wonder wot ole Crikulus would say if’n we asked ’im?”

Apodemus folded both paws up his wide sleeves. “Now, that’s a thought! Leave this to me, friends. Let me go and have a word with our Gatekeeper, on my own.”

With an appetite that belied his long seasons and frail appearance, Crikulus ravenously tucked into everything within paw range. He stuffed himself with toasted teacakes, slices of heavy fruitcake, cucumber sandwiches, a cheese-and-celery pasty, and a large tankard of October Ale, after which he retired to his beloved gatehouse and slumped in the big armchair with his footpaws resting on a dusty old hassock. Almost immediately he fell into a deep slumber.

Apodemus lifted the latch carefully and crept in, closing the door quietly behind him. Seating himself on the wide chair arm, the Father Abbot whispered into the ancient shrew’s ear, “Ah well, we’re safe back in your gatehouse now, old fellow.”

Crikulus moved his lips. “Mmm, mmm, aye, safe . . . safe . . . Redwall . . . mmm . . . Who’s that?”

He stirred, and the Abbot stroked his paw, relaxing him. “Ssshhh, ’tis only Malbun. My my, we were lucky out there in those woodlands, my friend, very lucky.”

Crikulus nodded in his sleep, smiling at the recollection. “Aye, near chopped my footpaw off with that hatchet. Vermin scum! Good job Skipper arrived. Log a Log, too. Redwallers, true friends, y’know. Those stoats were goin’ to kill us. Haha . . . Bet they’re still runnin’ . . . mmm.”

Apodemus leaned closer, whispering urgently, “We were running, too, last night, through the woodlands, me and you, running. What was it that was after us?”

Crikulus thrust a paw out in front of him, his face screwed up. Shaking his head from side to side, he gave a hoarse, high-pitched whimper. “Eeehh! They’re in the grass, coming toward us! Malbun, oh, that smell, it’s everywhere! Can’t you hear the grass moving? . . . Run!”

“I say, either of you two chaps spotted that scallywag Ruggum? Oops, sorry, were you takin’ a nap?” Memm Flackery stood framed in the open door, sunlight streaming into the gatehouse around her.

Crikulus’s eyes popped open. He sat up, blinking. “Eh? what’s th . . . Oh, it’s you, Memm. Father Abbot, what’re ye doin’ sitting on my chair? What’s happening?”

Swiftly the Abbot slid from the chair arm, making a pretence of searching around the gatehouse. “Oh, nothing, sorry we disturbed you. We were searching for little Ruggum, weren’t we, Memm?”

The Harenurse stared stupidly at the furiously winking Abbot. “Got somethin’ in your eye? Here, let me take a squint.” She rolled an apron corner and licked it.

Apodemus was quickly at her side, muttering, “Play along with me!”

Memm did not have a clue what was going on. “Play along, sah? Righto, what d’you want to play? Hunt the acorn, toss the pebbles? Bit silly playin’ flippin’ games instead of lookin’ for that confounded Ruggum, wot?”

Crikulus regarded them both curiously. He was not in the best of humour at having his nap broken. “What, pray, are you two gabbling on at, eh? Can’t I have a bit o’ peace after all I’ve been through? Clear off!”

Memm sauntered out of the gatehouse huffily. “Hmph, wish we could all sleep the bloomin’ day away, instead of gettin’ our bally jobs done. Fine state the jolly old Abbey’d be in then. Wot wot wot?”

Crikulus was settling back down. As the Abbot was leaving, he tried one more time to fathom the mystery.

“I’ll leave you to get on with your nap, old fellow. But just a moment ago, as I came in the gatehouse, you were talking in your sleep. You seemed quite upset.”

Crikulus opened one eye. “Did I? What was I saying?”

The Abbot spoke hesitantly, as if trying to remember, “Something about a smell being everywhere and the grass moving. You seemed very unhappy about it all, because you were telling some other beast to run, shouting it aloud. Almost as if something was chasing you both.”

Crikulus was wide awake now, and on the alert. Apodemus noted the look of horror on his face as he answered, “It was nothing . . . only a dream . . . leave me alone, Father!”

Apodemus bowed. “As you wish.” He left the gatehouse.

Log a Log and Skipper were on the ramparts at the northeast corner, staring into the silent fastness of Mossflower Woods, when the Abbot joined them and told them what Crikulus had said.

The Guosim Chieftain felt the fur on his nape prickling. “At first I thought they might’ve been attacked by the crows, but this is different. I don’t like it, Father Abbot. Wot d’you say, Skip? A smell bein’ everywhere an’ grass movin’?”

Grasping his javelin, the big otter shook his head. “Crows don’t attack at night, leastways I never ’eard of ’em doin’ so. Mebbe ’twas those three stoats trailin’ Malbun an’ Crikulus. They smelt pretty strong, but no worse’n any other vermin that ain’t washed in two seasons. Hmm, ’tis a puzzler, right enough. May’ap you’n me might go an’ take a look tomorrow, eh, Log? In the meantime, Father Abbot, you’d best forbid anybeast leavin’ the Abbey to go wanderin’ round Mossflower.”

Apodemus patted the otter’s well-muscled back. “At least until this matter is cleared up. Thank you for your advice, my good friend.”

The three stoats had gnawed through the ropes that bound their footpaws together. They sat in the thick woodlands, far from the spot where they had met up with the Redwallers. Vanquished and humiliated, their mood was far from happy.

Wicky, the self-appointed leader of the trio, flung the rope scraps viciously into the bushes. He curled his lip scornfully at the other two. “Hah, youse two was a lot of ’elp. That shrew ’ad me down, took me by surprise, ’e did. Kligger, why didn’t yew grab yore ’atchet an’ chop ’im? An yew, Burgogg, fancy lettin’ a h’otter bust yer spear in arf like that. Idjits!”

Kligger bared his uneven teeth at Wicky, snarling, “Will ye lissen to ’im? ’E jus’ stood there an let the liddle shrew take the sword outta ’is paws. I was too far away from me ’atchet, I ’ad four shrews’ rapiers at me throat. Huh, I didn’t notice yew goin’ for ’em wid yore sword!”

Burgogg picked rope strands from his teeth with a filthy claw. “Didyer see the size of that h’otter? I didn’t stan’ a chance. That spear belonged to me old granpa. The shaft was strong as an oak, but ’e busted it like a twig!”

Wicky kicked out at him. “Next time you lets a h’otter break your spear, I’ll bust you like a twig!”

Burgogg spat at him, but missed. “Huh, yew an’ who else, scringenose? Jus’ try an’ put a paw near me!”

Wicky stood up and cast about for a stick. “Scringenose, is it? Right, I’ll show yew, barrelbum, toadbelly, plinkypaws!”

Burgogg looked hugely offended. “Ooh, didyer ’ear that, ’e called me plinkypaws. I’ll fetch a coggy lump on yore ’ead, soon as I finds a good rock!”

Kligger rose in disgust. “Why don’t youse two give yer gobs a rest. We won’t git our bellies filled by callin’ each other daft names. I ain’t ’ad vittles fer two days now. Let’s search around fer roots an’ things to eat.”

Burgogg clapped a paw to his nose. “Phwaw, wot’s that stink?”

Wicky caught a waft of the foul odour and blanched. “Pew! Yew’d better find a stream an’ gerra bath, yew greasy-eared wibble!”

Burgogg looked quizzically at Wicky. “Wot’s a wibble?”

Wicky spotted something hanging from a tree behind Burgogg and pushed past him, remarking scathingly, “I dunno, but if there was a wibble, I bet it’d smell jus’ like yew. An’ you ain’t gettin’ one o’ these!”

He gathered up the two cloaks and two lanterns that had belonged to Malbun and Crikulus.

Burgogg’s face fell. “Give us one o’ those cloaks. I ain’t got a warm cloak.”

Wicky poked out his tongue like a naughty vermin babe. “Ho no, yew ain’t gittin’ nothin’. I’ll give one o’ these cloaks an’ a lanting to Kligger, that’ll teach yer t’call me a scringenose. Hoi, Klig, ’ere’s some booty fer ye!”

The odour grew more powerful as he looked around, calling, “Kligger, mate, where are yer, ’ave yew found some vittles? I’ll trade ye, vittles fer a lovely cloak an’ a lanting!”

Kligger had found a door, partly open, in the trunk of a great spreading oak. Though the smell was overpowering, he could not resist opening the door fully to see what lay inside.

Wicky and Burgogg heard his scream cut the quiet woodland air like a knife. “Aaaaarrrreeeeegh!” They dashed toward the sound and saw Kligger as he was dragged into the tunnel beneath the oak. They also saw the thing that had him.

No sound issued from their fear-clamped mouths. Eyes bulging with terror, both stoats stood petrified for a moment. Then the overpowering stench of the thing hit both stoats like a solid wall moving forward. They took to their paws and fled, running twice as fast as Malbun and Crikulus had run.

A short while thereafter, the sounds of Wicky and Burgogg had receded into the distance as they tore through the woodlands running due north. Around the area of the spreading oak, all was silent in the sunlit summer noon. Two cloaks and two lanterns lay forgotten on the ground amid the musty, bittersweet odour.