Part 3 (1/2)
”Never mind. Tell you what-if you get me some cider from Gabriel Quill to bake my horse chestnuts in, I'll let you try one each.”
The pair dashed off happily to the wine cellars. Mellus chuckled as she helped herself to a pawful of apple, cheese and nut salad that Sister Sage was chopping.
”Poor old Dandin and Saxtus. That young Treerose is enough to turn any novice's head and set him on his tail. She does it all the time.”
Sister Sage topped the salad off with crushed mint dressing. ”Yes, I can remember a young mouse being like that about me when I was a snip of a mousemaid. Brother Hubert, would you believe.”
Mellus chuckled deeply. ”What? You mean old dusty drawers Hubert? Surely not!”
”Oh, he was quite a handsome young dog at one 39.
time. We studied together under Sister Verity. She was a stern old stickler; 'Hubert/ she'd say, 'stop staring like a hungry owl at Sage and get on with your work.' ” Sister Sage patted her rotund little waist. ”That was when I fell out of love with Hubert and into love with food. Ah well, that's the salad. What's next? Pears in custard with wild cherries. Mmmm, my favorite!”
In the wine cellars, Dandin and Saxtus followed Gabe Quill. His nephew Durry carried the lantern for them as Gabe pointed out some of his specialties.
”See that liddle keg yonder-aye, that un. Well, that's the best wild plum brandy ever fermented in these cellars. They do say it was made by big Brown-spike O'Quill, my ancestor. Marvelous stuff it is, one tot of that'd cure a drownin' fish. That's why Sister Sage or Simeon are the only beasts who use it-medicinal purposes. That big tun barrel at the back now, that's dandelion beer. Very good of a cold winter's night with toasted cheese. This one here, haha, you must try this rascal. Funniest drink I ever did make. It was meant to be b.u.t.tercup 'n' honey cordial, but I made it too sweet, so I takes a herb here an' a plant there an' chucks 'em in to bitter it a touch. Mercy me! It didn't go any less sweet, no sir, it started a-fizzin' an' bubblin'. Little uns do love it dearly. Here, try some.”
Dandin, Saxtus and Durry stood wide-eyed as Gabe Quill tapped the barrel and drew three small beakers off. The bright yellow cordial popped, fizzed and gurgled as if it were alive. Drinking it proved almost impossible. Gabe Quill stood by, quaking with mirth as the three young ones tried.
”Whan! Ooh, it's gone right up my nose!” ”Heeheehee! It tickles all the way down!” ”Woogolly! It's like having a tummyful of mad b.u.t.terflies!”
Gabe took a jug over to his cider barrels. ”D'you want a drinkin' cider or a cookin' cider?”
40.
”Oh, a cooking one, I s'pose. Whoops, heehee! Er, sorry. It's for Mother Mellus. She's baking horse, teehee, chestnuts, whoo! For the Jubilee, phwaw! That stuff could tickle you to death, Mr. Quill. Hahaha!”
”Well, it's certainly got you young uns all of a-wiggle. You'd never make it upstairs carryin' a jug o' cider. Siddown now an' sip some of this cold motherwort tea.
That'll calm you a bit.”
Above stairs in the kitchens, Friar Alder was at his wits' end. The Foremole and his team had decided to make the biggest raspberry cream pudding ever seen in Mossflower country. Alder threw his hat down and danced upon it.
”Flour, raspberries, honey and cream everywhere. I can't stand it!”
Foremole ignored him, but a fat mole named Buxton waved a rea.s.suring paw at the hara.s.sed Alder. ”Burr, doant you a-froight yerself, maister. Us'ns knows wot we're about.”
A young mole named Danty, white with flour from tail to tip, climbed into one of the huge copper stock-pots.
”Hurr aye, doant 'ee fret thoi whiskers, zurr Alder. Yurr, Burgo, tipple some o' they rabserries in yurr, an' moind that garleck doant go near 'em.”
Burgo turned indignantly to Foremole, who blanched at the smell of the wild garlic Burgo always carried. His voice sounded squeaky through the peg he wore at the tip of his snout. ”Yurr, wot's Danty rubblin' on about? Oi doant loik the smell o' garleck noither. 'At's whoi oi allus pegs me nose up toight. Oh lookit, liddle Grubb's fell in 'ee honey.”
Foremole fished Baby Grubb out of the panful of warm honey. ”Gurr you'm toiny racsal, wot do 'ee want ter fallen in honey furr?”
Grubb waved a sticky carefree paw. ”Hurr, better fallen in honey than mud, oi allus says. Baint nothen wrong wi' honey. Bees makes et.”
Foremole wrinkled his b.u.t.ton nose, nodding in agreement. ”Ho urr, the choild be roight, he'm be growen up wisely clever. Stan' o'er thurr an' lick thoi-self off, liddle Grubb. Buxton, Drubber, see wot you'm c'n do for zurr Alder-he'm fainted roight away. Doant leave 'im alyin' thurr in yon rabserry pudden mixture.”
From the kitchen doors Abbot Bernard stood watching the proceedings, with Simeon chuckling beside him.
”My my, those moles are certainly teaching Friar Alder a thing or two, Bernard. His kitchen will never be the same again.”
”Indeed, Simeon. Excuse me a moment, will you? Brother Ash, would you help those little mice to roll that great cheese they're trying to move? If it falls on one of them he'll be flattened. Oh, Treerose, I don't wish to interfere, but is that a woodland summercream pudding I can smell beginning to burn in the ovens?”
Treerose had been bustling about, efficiently attending to several things at once. However, she had forgotten the woodland summercream pudding she had put in the oven some time before. Panic-faced, she dashed off to attend to it.
Simeon nodded in admiration. ”Your sense of smell is getting better, Bernard.”
”Thank you, Simeon, but I had a double motive. Treerose is very pretty but far too efficient and snippy. It will teach her that even the best of us can make mistakes. Also, I would hate a woodland summercream pudding to be burnt in the ovens, especially hers. To tell the truth-and I wouldn't tell her-Treerose does make the best woodland summercream I've ever tasted.”
Treerose arrived at the ovens, grabbed up a cloth and swung the door wide.
”My pudding. . . . It's gone!”
”I smelled the crust edges just begin to scorch so I pulled it out for you.”
She turned to see Rufe Brush standing by her pudding, which was set on the big flat cooling slate. Rufe was a rough-looking squirrel, not given overmuch to hanging about kitchens or joining the growing band of Treerose's admirers. He sniffed at the pudding before sauntering off. ”Looks all right to me.”
Treerose watched him go. What a fine bushy tail, well-pointed ears and powerful shoulders . . .
Mother Mellus banged a ladle upon a saucepan. ”Come on, all you Dibbuns. Bedtime now.”
Abbot Bernard yawned. ”I think I'll join the Dibbuns, Simeon.”
”Me too, Bernard. It's been a long day and we're getting no younger, my friend. I'll just take a stroll first and check that all the outer gates are secured.” Simeon the blind herbalist placed a paw on his friend's shoulder.
”Right, I'll come with you.”
”No you won't. I can sense your weariness. Besides, what could you see in the dark that i could not feel ten times better? Day and night are alike to me.”
”You are right, of course. Good night, Simeon.”
”Good night, Bernard. Sleep well.”
The Abbot went off to his room, knowing that shortly the kitchen fires would be damped for the night, the cooks would retire and peace would settle over his beloved Redwall Abbey.
As Gabool predicted, the s.h.i.+p Greenfang had crossed bows with Darkqueen, the huge black galley commanded by Saltar. Upon hearing of the death of his brother Bludrigg, the corsair Captain put about, piling on sail and oars as he set course for Terramort Isle. The whips cracked belowdecks as drivers flogged the galley slaves on to greater efforts. The searat atop of the mizzenmast scoured the waves for sight of land; below his claws 43.
the wide sails bellied out on the night breeze. Saltar stood in the bows putting a fine edge to his curved sword on an oilstone. Bleak-eyed and grim-faced, the searat muttered beneath his breath.
”I'll send you down where the fish will eat your flesh and the sea water rot your bones, Gabool the Wild. There was never any love lost between me and Blud-rigg, but he was my brother, and blood must be repaid with blood.”
”Terramort rocks sighted off the starb'd bow, Cap'n,” the lookout called down. ”We can drop anchor in the cove afore dawn with this wind behind us.”
Saltar sheathed his sword and began polis.h.i.+ng the needletip of his cruel gaff hook, scowling at the dark lump on the horizon which marked the black forbidding rocks of Gabool's pirate kingdom.
”Ledder, douse all lights. When we're close enough to harbor, furl in all sails. Tell the crew to arm up and stand ready. There's killin' to be done tomorrow.”
Saltar's first mate Ledder went aft to carry out his orders.