Part 2 (2/2)
There was a loud chorus of ayes this time, as the silken hood was beginning to suck in and out rapidly, denoting Slaga^s mounting temper.
Hairbelly was a little slower than the rest, still unhappy with his role as the balancer.
'If s still not fair though, Chief,” he piped up. ”You'll probably only be standing about, watching tomorrow night while we do all the work.”
Slagar seemed to ignore him for a moment. Turning to the cart, he whipped out a swirling silk cloak. It was decorated with the same design as his headcover, and the lining was black silk, embellished with gold and silver moon and star symbols. Twirling it expertly, he threw it around his body, leaping nimbly on to a row of pews. Then Slagar spread his paws wide in a theatrical gesture.
'1 will be Lunar Stellaris, light and shadow, hither and thither like the night breeze, presiding over all. Lord of Mountebanks, now you see me. . . .”He dropped out of sight behind the pews, calling, ”And now you don't!”
The audience strained forward to see where he had hidden himself. Slagar was gone from behind the pews. Suddenly, as if by magic, he reappeared in the midst of his band. Right alongside Hairbelly.
”Haha, Lunar Stellaris, Lord of light and dark. But to those who disobey my word I am Slagar the Cruel, Master of life and death.”
Before Hairbelly could blink an eye, Slagar had run him through with his sword. The stricken weasel stared at Slagar in surprise and disbelief, then he looked down at the sword protruding from his middle and staggered as his eyes misted over.
40.
Slagar laughed, an evil, brutal sn.i.g.g.e.r. ”Take this fool outside and let him die there. We don't want his blood in here. Now, any one of you sc.u.m that wants to join him, just let me know!”
The morning of RedwalTs feasting dawned misty at first light. Abbot Mordalfus and Matthias had fished since the previous afternoon. Having had little luck in daylight, they elected to continue until such time as they made a catch. Tradition dictated that a fish from the Abbey pool must grace the center of the festive board. In bygone years they had been lucky enough to land a grayling, but this year there were few. Out of respect for the graylings, they had let two fine big specimens slip the lines, fis.h.i.+ng doggedly throughout the night. In the hour before daybreak they struck a medium-sized carp. It was a fine battle. The small coracle-shaped boat was towed round and round the waters, ploughing through rushes and skidding across shallows. Mordalfus was an experienced fishermouse, and he plied all his skill and guile, remembering the time when he was plain Brother Alf, keeper of the pond. Helped along by Matthias's strong paws, the carp was fought and tackled, diving and tugging, leaping and backing, until it was finally driven into the shallows, blocked on by the boat, and beached on the gra.s.sy sward.
Warbeak the Sparra Queen was up early that day. She roused the sparrow tribe who lived in the roof of the Abbey when she spied the activity at the pond.
”Warbeak say Sparras help Matthias and old Abbot-mouse.”
Matthias and Mordalfus were glad of the a.s.sistance. Tired, wet and hungry, they sat breathing heavily on the bank.
”Warbeak, whew! Thank goodness you've arrived/' Matthias saluted his winged friend and her tribe. ”The Abbot and I are completely tuckered out. What d'you think of our fish?”
The fierce little bird spread her wings wide. ”Plenty big fishworm, friend Matthias. My warriors take urn to fatmouse Friar; he b.u.m um fish good. Sparra tike fishworm; we eat plenty at big wormtime.”
As the Sparra folk towed the carp off in the direction of the kitchens. Abbot Mordalfus turned, smiting, to Matthias.
”Good friends, our sparrow allies, though why everything is worm this or worm that I'll never know. Can you imagine Hugo's face when Warbeak tells him to burn fishworm good?”
Matthias shook pond droplets from his paws. ”If s just their way of talking, Abbot. Sometimes I wonder who is the harder to understand, a sparrow or a mole/'
Mordalfus glanced up. The sun was piercing the mists, casting a rosy glow over the world of Mossflower with die promise of a hot midsummer day. From the bell tower the sounds of the Abbey bells pealed merrily away, calling the inhabitants of Redwall to rise and enjoy the day.
Constance the badger ambled down to the pond and beached the coracle with one mighty heave.
”Whoofl If s going to be a real scorcher,” she remarked. ”My word, t.i.ttle Tim and Tess are certainly energetic. Listen to them ringing the Methusaleh and the Matthias bells. Still, we mustn't waste the day, there's so much to do before we can sit down to feast this evening.”
Matthias yawned and stretched. ''Well, I'm for a swift forty winks and a bath after all that night fis.h.i.+ng. IT you realize, the Abbot and I have been stuck in that boat since yesterday noon? Right, Mordalfus?”
Constance held a paw to her muzzle. ”Ssshhh, he's fallen fast asleep. Good old Alf.”
The Abbot was curled up on the gra.s.sy bank, snuffling faintly, still tackling the carp in his dreams.
Matthias smiled, parting his friend gently. ”Aye, good old Alf. I remember him taking me on the pond for my first fish. It was a grayling, as I recall. Hmm, I was even younger than my own son then. Ah well, none of us is getting any younger as the seasons pa.s.s.”
”Huh, I'm certainly not,” the badger snuffled. ”Neither is Alf. But I'm not sure about you, Matthias. Sometimes I wonder if you've aged at all. You go off and get your rest now, and I'll see to our angling Abbot here.”
Constance quietly scooped the slumbering Mordalfus up on to her broad back and trundled slowly off in the direction of the Abbey dormitories.
On his way over to the gatehouse cottage, Matthias spied Cornflower and Mattimeo carrying flower baskets and pruning knives. He waved to them.
”We landed a beautiful carp. I've got to have a nap and a bath.”
Cornflower tied her bonnet strings in a bow. ”Oh I'm glad you caught a good fish, dear. I've left your breakfast on the table, we'll see you later, Mattimeo is so kind, guess what? He's promised to help me all day with the flowers.”
Matthias winked cheerily at his scowling son. ”What a splendid fellow he is. Cornflower. I'll bet it was all his own idea too.”
As the morning sun rose higher, Redwall came to life. A team of young hedgehogs and squirrels sang l.u.s.tily as they carried firewood, damp gra.s.s and flat rocks to the baking pit, which the moles were busy putting the final touches to.
”Dig'm sides noice'n square, Jarge. Gaffer, pat yon floor gudd an flattish loik.”
”Yurr, you'm 'old your counsel, Loamdog. Oi knows wot oi'm a-doin'.”
”Ho urr, be you serpint if n deepwoise enuff?”
”Gurr, goo an arsk Friar to boil your 'ead awhoil, Rooter. Ma/ap ee'U cook summ sense into you'm.”
Friar Hugo paced several times around the fish and dabbed at it with his dockleaf.
43.
”Hmm, long time since I baked a carp. Brother Trugg, bring me bay leaves, dill, parsley and flaked chestnuts. Oh, and don't forget the hotroot pepper and cream, lots of cream.”
An otter lingered near the carp, licking her lips at the mention of the sauce ingredients.
”How's about some fresh little watershrimp for a garnish, Friar,” she suggested. ”Thafd make prime vitties.”
The fat mouse shooed her off with his dockleaf. ”Be off with you, Winifred. I've counted every scale on that fish. Er, if you're going for water shrimp, I'll need at least two nets full for a decent garnish.”
The bee folk had been extra productive and kind in this Summer of the Golden Plain, and honey was plentiful. It dripped off the symmetrical combs in s.h.i.+ning sticky globules. Jess Squirrel and her son Sam were storing it in three flat b.u.t.ts, the dear, the set, and the open-comb type much favoured by squirrels. From the cellars came the slightly off-key sound of singing, a quavering treble from Basil Stag Hare, backed by the gruff ba.s.s harmony of Ambrose Spike.
”O if I feel sick or pale.
What makes my old eyes s.h.i.+ne?
Some good October ale And sweet blackcurrant wine.
I'd kill a dragon for half a flagon.
I'd wrestle a stoat to wet my throat.
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