Part 5 (1/2)

The Sly One swirled his cloak impatiently. ”Then sing it over and over again. You two, try to pick up the tune 63.

on the flute and drum. The rest of you, tumble about in the road and join Skinpaw on the 'La la la' bits.”

Slagar kept his eye against a joint that was slightly open in the solid gate timbers.

The entire troupe went through the routine several times. Slagar waved his paw encouragingly at them.

”Keep it up, louder, louder! I can see they've heard us. They're coming across the grounds. Keep it up, keep going.”

The hooded fox leapt aboard the cart. Crouching, he covered himself with a pile of old coloured wagon sheeting.

There was a sc.r.a.ping of drawbars and bolts, and the door opened partially as Matthias came out onto the path, followed by Constance the badger and Ambrose Spike. They stood awhile, watching the performers, then Matthias called out. ”Hey there. What can we do for you?”

”Send 'em on their way, scruffy bunch of ragbags,” Ambrose Spike snorted.

”Ambrose, don't be so ill mannered!” Constance nudged him sharply. ”We can at least be civil to travellers. Leave the talking to Matthias and myself.”

Slagar bounded up in a whirl of coloured cloth. Leaping over the edge of the cart, he landed on the path, twirling his cape this way and that.

”Happy Midsummer Eve to you, my lords,” he said, doing his level best to keep his grating voice light and cheerful. ”You see before you a band of strolling entertainers, foolish fellows and peace-loving buffoons. We travel the roads merely to bring you songs, stones, tumbling and leaping, comical antics to amuse you and your families. Where do we come from? No creature knows, except I, Stellar Lunaris, master of the moon and stars.”

The fox whirled round and round, showing the fining of his cape, the silk s.h.i.+mmering and twinkling in the hot summer twilight on the dusty roadway.

64.

Constance relaxed slightly. Only a band of travelling players. Her keeii old eyes checked the ditch that ran west of the path for signs of others hidden there. It was clear.

Before he could be stopped, Ambrose Spike called out, ”And what will it cost us, this magical entertainment?”

Slagar stopped the cloak revolving and spread his paws. ”A crust from your grand table, maybe a drink of cool water and the safety of your Abbey walls so that my friends and I can sleep without fear through the night. Oh, do not worry, good creatures. We will sleep upon the gra.s.s out here if you fear us.”

Matthias the Warrior of Redwall stepped forward, rubbing his paw across the red pommel stone of the wondrous sword he carried sheathed at his side.

”We fear no creature. Redwall buried its foes many seasons back. Stay here a moment, I would talk with my friends.”

The trio drew back into the gateway, where groups of curious revellers had left the table and were peering round the gates. ”Well, what d'you think, Warrior?” Constance asked in a low voice. ”They look harmless enough to me, even though they are led by a fox.”

Matthias pursed his lips. ”Hmm, the rest are weasels, stoats and ferrets. Nothing that we can't cope with. They'd be outnumbered at least fifteen to one inside Redwall, and they don't seem to have any hidden army waiting to spring out in ambush on us. I think they look ragged but harmless enough.”

Behind them the young ones were eagerly craning their necks, calling out excitedly. ”Hurray! Clowns and tumblers. Oh, can we see them, Constance?”

”Look, there's a magic one. Ooh, see his cloak!”

Vitch was leading the youngest in a chant. ”We want to see, we want the show . . . !”

Basil Stag Hare pushed his way though to Matthias. He was chuckling indulgently and waving his ears for silence.

”Steady on, chaps, haw haw! A jolly old concert party, wot? Don't be an old stick in the mud, Constance. Let the blighters in, as long as they don't pull rabbits out of hats/'

Constance shook her big striped head from side to side doubtfully. The chanting broke out even louder. Finally she winked at Matthias and nodded to the hooded fox.

”Oh all right! Come on then. You youngsters, move aside and let me open the gates, otherwise these tumblers won't be able to get in.”

The young ones gave a great cheer.

Slagar was impressed with the long tunnel of arched sandstone. It denoted the ma.s.sive thickness of the Abbey walls. The travelling troupe looked around at the great Abbey of Redwall standing in its own grounds, the magnificent alfresco feast lit by the flames from the baking pit. This was a place of riches and plenty.

They were patted down by Abbey dwellers searching for arms. Slagar shook his head sadly. ”Alas, these are untrusting times we live in.”

Abbot Mordalfus bowed courteously. ”Merely a precaution, friend. The feast is far from over yet. Kindly come and sit with us at the table. There is plenty for all.”

The silken hood quivered as Slagar wiped away an imaginary tear.

”Such hospitality and kindness. Thank you, sir. My friends and I will repay you by putting on an extra special performance for you and your good creatures.”

As they moved over to the table, n.o.body noticed Vitch slip a small scroll to Slagar. The sly one secreted it beneath his voluminous cape.

Wartclaw crept up behind Skinpaw with a jug of water poised to throw at him. A ferret named Deadnose who stood facing Skinpaw was juggling three b.a.l.l.s, unaware that Wartclaw was about to drench Skinpaw with the water.

66.

The youngsters squirmed with glee as they shouted out, ”Look out, he's behind you!”

”Who, what did you say?” Skinpaw wrinkled his false red nose and grinned a silly grin.

”Ooooh, look out, he's behind you!”

Deadnose dropped one of the b.a.l.l.s he was juggling. Skinpaw bent to pick it up at the exact moment that Wartclaw flung the water from the jug at him. The youngsters roared with laughter as Deadnose was drenched instead of Skinpaw.

Scringe darted in with a large floppy wooden clapper. He swung it and smacked Wartclaw across the bottom with a loud comic slap. Wartclaw whooped with surprise, dropped the jug and stepped in it by accident, getting his paw stuck inside. They ran off with Wartclaw hop-skipping, clumpetty thump, the jug fixed on his paw, while Scringe followed up, whacking his bottom with the clapper.

All the inhabitants of Redwall laughed merrily. Abbot Mordalfus held his sides as he chuckled to Basil, ”Ohohoho, I knew that juggler would get drenched, hahaha. Oh, look, the red-nosed fellow is eating one of the juggling b.a.l.l.s, hee hee hee. It was an apple all the time, ohahaha!”

”Hawhawhaw. Silly old blighter. I say, the weasel chappie's trying to eat the other juggling b.a.l.l.s. Oooh-oohoo, they're real wooden ones! Spit 'em out, old lad, y*ll break your teeth.”

Slagar was prancing about the tabletops, giving out paper b.u.t.terflies to the young ones, they flew just like real b.u.t.terflies. n.o.body noticed that every time he pa.s.sed a jug, flagon or bowl a little powder was dropped into the drink.

Skirting the back of the gathering, Slagar stood behind the flames of the baking pit and threw a pawful of powder into the fire. It caused a whoosh of green flame to shoot upward. Leaping across the pit, the sly one seemed to materialize out of the middle of the emerald-coloured flames.

”Stellar Lunaris, Lunar Stellaris! I am the Lord of Mountebanks. Is there one among you named Ambrose Spike?”

”Aye, that's me over here. But how did you know my name?”

”The Lord of moon and stars knows all, Ambrose Spike. You are the keeper of the cellars, and your October ale next season will be even better than before.”

”Well I'm blowed, the jolly old firejumper knows about you. Spike me lad.”

Slagar whirled round. ”Is that Basil Stag Hare I hear speaking, famed scout and retired foot fighter?”

”Aye, and famous glutton and singer of dreadful songs.”