27

Crikulus and the Abbot were in Great Hall, cleaning wax out of the candle sconces, when they heard the squeals of Dibbuns from outside. Before the two old friends could make a move, Skipper and Log a Log rushed by them, shouting as they headed for the Abbey door, “Leave this to us, stay inside, you two!”

Dibbuns fought to get past Skipper and Log a Log as they threw open the door. The little ones were shrieking, “Yeeeek! Big birdy, big birdy! Yeeeeeek!”

Bluddbeak, the great red kite, looked even bigger lying flat upon the lawn with both his enormous wings spread wide. Skipper took one look and commented to the Guosim Chieftain, “Yon must be Ovus’s friend Bluddbeak, come to ’elp us.”

Log a Log whispered as they approached the red kite, “Aye, though he looks as if he couldn’t ’elp ’imself right now, the bird’s exhausted, and he seems t’be very old. Look at ’is eyes, they’re cloudy with age.”

Squinting hard, the red kite clacked his lethal hooked beak. “Keerah! Stand still or die! Bluddbeak slay, be keeerful!”

Skipper held up his paws in a peace sign. “We’re friends, matey. Ye’ve arrived at Redwall Abbey. You’ll be Bluddbeak—we asked Ovus to fetch you ’ere. I don’t see him, though—where’s that owl got to?”

Cocking his head contemptuously on one side, Bluddbeak scoffed, “Kraah! Ovus is old, he will take long to get here!”

Sheathing his rapier, Log a Log bowed politely. “You look tired, sir, is there anythin’ we can do for ye?”

Bluddbeak’s head swivelled, as if just noticing him. “Karrah! I no tired, this bird just rest. You get me some greensap milk, mix with honey, that what Bluddbeak need right now, mouse.”

Log a Log bristled. “I ain’t no mouse, I’m a Guosim shrew. If’n y’could see me, ye’d know that right off!”

The red kite’s milky eyes glared ferociously at him. “Kreegarr! I see you, nothing wrong with this bird’s eyes. Still waiting for my milk an’ honey. You very slow!”

All Redwall turned out to see the great red kite lying sprawled on their front lawn. The Abbot seated himself on the doorstep, next to Skipper. He listened to what the otter had to say.

“That rascal Ovus sent us an ancient red kite, Father. Bluddbeak’s almost blind, deadbeat weary, an’ real bad-tempered. We’d best keep ’im an’ Log a Log apart—they put one another’s backs up at first sight!”

Abbot Apodemus shook his head despairingly. “We were fools to listen to Ovus. That poor old kite should be back in his mountains, dozing on a warm rock.”

“Gangway there, milk’n’honey comin’ through!”

Skipper and the Abbot shifted, allowing Friar Gooch and Furrel to pass with the red kite’s drink.

Bluddbeak guzzled away at a panful of the mixture, throwing back his head and swallowing noisily. Greensap milk and clear honey slopped down over his throat and chest plumage.

Memm kept the Dibbuns in check with a long window pole, nudging them back. “Steady in the junior ranks there, chaps, that blinkin’ monster’ll scoff you if y’get too flippin’ close!”

Whooping excitedly, the Abbeybabes fled off to the orchard. Memm had created a new game for them: Ruggum, Turfee and Roobil became red kites, chasing the others and trying to scoff them. All good fun.

It was midnoon by the time Bluddbeak had sufficiently recovered himself. The onlookers got out of his way as he hopped awkwardly through the open door and into Great Hall.

Malbun met Gurdle Sprink coming out. “What’s that bird up to in there?”

The Cellarhog shrugged. “Great silly thing, ’tis flyin’ about an’ bumpin’ into everythin’, see!”

Outside window casements rattled as the huge feathery form inside hit them several times.

Log a Log chuckled sourly. “Prob’ly tryin’ to knock some sense into hisself.”

Skipper gave a slight start as Ovus flapped out of nowhere to land beside him. The otter took him straight to task.

“Hah, so there ye are, matey. Wot in the name o’ seasons made you send us that useless ole bag o’ feathers, eh?”

The owl’s eyes widened indignantly. “Have a care what you say about Bluddbeak, that kite saved my life more than once. He’s the greatest hunter I’ve ever known, and a much faster flyer than I’ll ever be! What have you done with him, where is he now?”

As if in answer, Bluddbeak staggered out into the sunlight. Blinking rapidly, he attempted to arrange his plumage, which was sticking out at all angles. He looked irritable. “Karrakarraka! Not like it in there, this bird bang head on roof, knock against stones. Arrekk! Dark in there, not good for kite! Ovus, friend, you here now. Yayhakkar! We go now an’ hunt poisonteeth, slay adders. Come!”

Without another word, the two birds waddled off toward the gatehouse. Appearing very distressed, the Abbot called to Skipper and Log a Log.

“From your description of the thing out there in the woodlands, those two don’t know what they’re walking into. Hadn’t we better stop them?”

The otter watched both birds flap their ungainly way over the outer walls. He turned to Log a Log. “Round up yore Guosim, an’ I’ll get my crew. We can’t stop ’em goin’, but at least we can stand by, in case of trouble.”

As slowly as the two birds flew, it was difficult keeping up with them by paw. Skipper hurried the rearguard through the trees, whilst keeping sight of the winged pair drifting over the high foliage. Bluddbeak and Ovus finally descended, just short of the clearing where Skipper had found the cloaks and lanterns.

Stumbling from his perch in an elm, Ovus gazed sadly at his talons. “Rheumatiz, can’t grip anything properly anymore.”

Standing on the same branch where they had both landed, the red kite blinked at the space where the owl had been. “Karrh! What was that, what you say, where are ye?”

Ovus called up from the ground where he now stood. “Down here, friend, it’s the rheumatiz.”

Bluddbeak licked at the honey and milk stuck in his plumage. “Chakkarr! Wait till you get it in wingfeathers, like me!”

Skipper and his party emerged from the bushes. The red kite flapped his wings in surprise.

“Arreeka! Where you think you going?”

“To see ye don’t get yoreselves in too much danger, mates.”

Bluddbeak glared down imperiously, offended by the remark. “Krakkah! Not need your help, squirrel. You stay here, or I slay all. Bluddbeak has spoken, stay or die. Kar-rohakk!”

He launched himself off into the woodlands, followed by Ovus.

Log a Log flicked his rapier in their direction. “Who does that ole relic think ’e is? Come on, Skip, let’s go an’ see those two crusty birds get themselves eaten. Snake’unter, my footpaw! That kite couldn’t tell if you was an otter or a squirrel!”

Skipper did not want his followers spread out—it was far too dangerous. Keeping close together, they proceeded cautiously toward the glade. The smell came then, strong and almost overpowering. Hairs stood rigid on everybeast’s neck.

Log a Log signalled them to halt, calling out in a hoarse whisper, “Bluddbeak, Ovus, come back or that thing’ll get ye!”

There was a terrible sound of squawking, beating feathers and hissing. Raising his javelin, Skipper leaped forward. “We’ve got t’do somethin’, come on! Redwaaaaaalllll!”

They charged into a scene of what had obviously been chaos. Branches were snapped, grass flattened, kite feathers strewn everywhere. Ovus was lying prone, with a strange-looking, golden-furred mouse bending over him. Of Bluddbeak and the monster there was no trace, save for the vile sweetish odour enveloping the glade. The golden mouse caught sight of them and suddenly bolted off into the undergrowth. Log a Log and four shrews sped after him.

Skipper hurried to the owl’s side. Ovus could only half open his great dark eyes as he spoke in a weak, fading voice.

“Tried to save Bluddbeak . . . got bitten. . . . Where’s golden mouse . . . helped me . . . Skipper, that you?”

The otter placed a paw under the owl’s head. “Aye, ’tis me, mate. Lie still, yore bad hurt.”

Ovus could not stop his eyes from fluttering rapidly. “Funny . . . rheumatiz isn’t hurting anymore . . . had to try and save that old kite . . . saved my life several times, y’know.”

His eyes finally closed and his head lolled loosely from Skipper’s paw. The adder’s poison had proved fatal. Skipper brushed a paw roughly across his eyes.

“Ole fools, brave, perilous ole fools, why did ye try it?”

Log a Log and his four Guosim returned, dragging the golden mouse along with them. He appeared to be in his late seasons, painfully thin and completely terrified. He was pleading pitifully, “Don’t ’urt ole Mokug, mates, I don’t mean ’arm to nobeast!”

Skipper placed his paw firmly about Mokug’s shoulders, signalling the shrews to release their hold on him. The otter Chieftain’s voice was cheerful and comforting.

“We ain’t goin’ to hurt ye, ole matey. Mokug, eh? Where’d you spring from? Ain’t seen you afore.”

The golden mouse relaxed then, knowing he was safe. “You ain’t Freebooters or Riftgarders, Mokug can tell.”

Skipper gave him a reassuring little hug. “We’re Redwallers, friendliest beasts y’could ever meet. So tell us, Mokug, wot’re ye doin’ around ’ere?”

Mokug’s mood changed, his eyes darted to and fro, and he moved in close to Skipper, as if for protection. “Been ’ere since I was a young ’un, ever since Sarengo died. I was the King’s personal slave, y’know, the only slave ’e fetched on that voyage. ’Course I was only a young ’un then.”

Log a Log twirled a paw next to his head and murmured to Skipper, “Looks like ole Mokug’s crazy as a fried frog.”

Mokug peeped at the shrew from behind Skipper. He smiled. “Well, if’n Mokug’s the only beast left alive from that voyage, he ain’t so crazy, is ’e, mate?”

Skipper looked down at the pitiful creature. “Yore right there, ole feller, but where d’ye live?”

Mokug tapped the side of his nose secretively. “Where nobeast can find me, but ’tis an ’ard life. I likes you, streamdog. Come on, I’ll show ye, ’tis a real golden hamster’s den. Nobeast kin find it, ’cept me!”

The golden hamster led them to a bramble patch a short distance north of the glade, where he pointed to a tiny hole amid the thorny creepers.

“In there’s where Mokug lives. All these long seasons gone, all on me own. Heehee, but I’m the only one left!”

Skipper looked at the tiny opening and shook his head. “Bit small for me, mate. I’d take the skin off’n meself tryin’ t’get in there. You come with us, we’ll find ye a decent ’ome at Redwall Abbey.”

Mokug wiggled his snub nose. “Will Mokug like it there?”

Skipper winked at him. “Best berth anywheres, ye’ll love it!”

The hamster scuttled into his hole, calling back, “Wait, wait, Mokug’s got to collect ’is tackle.”

While they waited, Skipper told Log a Log of what had happened to Ovus and Bluddbeak. Shaking his head regretfully, the Guosim Chieftain sighed. “ ’Twas a foolish venture right from the start. Cold steel or beak an’ talon are useless against that horror. Still, I’m sorry about Ovus, an’ sorry, too, that I can’t take back wot I said about that ole kite. ’E was a warrior born. Me’n my Guosim will bury Ovus where he fell, close to where ’is mate was slain. The owl’d like that.”

It took Mokug some little time to pack up his belongings. At last he emerged backwards from the den, dragging a big sailcloth bundle with him. The big ottermaid Churk and her brother Rumbol kindly carried it between them. The party headed off back to Redwall, leaving behind them a lonely grave with a crudely inscribed wood marker:

“Ovus and Bluddbeak, friends and warriors.”

Abbot Apodemus was desolated by the loss of the two brave birds. As evening fell, he stood on the west walltop and held his paws wide, calling aloud an old chant to the crimson fires of the setting sun:

“They are gone from the land,

We will see them no longer,

To a place where the fearless ones go.

In the valley of noonshades,

They will meet there to wander,

Where the tranquil green waters do flow.

But oh, their brave memory will rest with us all,

Through the flowers of summer so dear,

Through the winter’s cold winds, after autumn leaves fall,

Lives a home in our hearts for them here.

Their brave lives were lost in the service of others,

They died so that we might live free,

O ye sad grieving friends, O ye fathers and mothers,

Spare a tear as the sun meets the sea!”

All along the other three walls, Abbeydwellers stood in silence, watching as Skipper moved to stand by the Abbot. As the otter Chieftain raised his javelin overhead, they honoured the dead with a mighty shout:

“Redwaaaaaaaalllll!”