User:ScottyBlue

In Real Life: Christian and proud of it!

Favorite verses: Matthew 25:40, 1 Corinthians 13:13, All of Romans chapter 12, John 3:16

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=GINGIVERIAN: A Tale of Redwall=

A note from the Author
'''THE FOLLOWING TALE IS MY REDWALL FAN FICTION STORY; MY CHARACTER DOESN'T ACTUALLY APPEAR IN IT, THOUGH, AS IT HAPPENED BEFORE HER TIME. THE SETTING OF THE STORY FALLS BETWEEN THE REAL BOOKS Eulalia! AND Doomwyte. I DON'T KNOW IF I WILL EVER FINISH IT OR NOT, BUT AS I ADD CHAPTERS TO THE FAN-FIC GALLERY, I WILL ADD THE WORDS IN THEM TO THE SINGLE PAGE HERE FOR EASIER READING. IF ANYONE WISHES TO LEAVE COMMENTS ABOUT THE STORY, PLEASE EITHER FIND THE INDIVIDUAL CHAPTER YOU WISH TO COMMENT ON IN MY BLOG POSTS, OR POST THE COMMENTS ON MY TALK PAGE. I ADDED A FULLY NAVIGABLE TABLE OF CONTENTS TO THE STORY, SO ONE MAY JUMP TO THE CHAPTER THEY LEFT OFF ON WITH EASE.

THANKS,

'''--Scotty Bluefleck, Mountain Hare from the Highlands Matt 25:40

P.S. PLEASE NOTIFY ME ON MY TALK PAGE IF YOU MAKE ANY TYPO CORRECTIONS OR OTHER EDITS.

Introduction
From far away, we marched to lands

We had not ever known before;

Never again to return home

To bitter, cold, forsaken shores.

New friends we found; old foes as well,

Upon our first arrival there.

Would you like to hear the story?

Come, then, friends! Pull up a chair

And listen to our family's tale

Of friendship, sadness, love and woe,

Of battles, songs, feasts and fights;

That happened not so long ago.

Dibbun, Elder, Young one, Old one,

All you Redwall friends draw near;

I'll tell you tales of the descendants

Of the famed prince Gingivere.

Few earthly entities are more wild, more merciless, and more terrifying than a summer storm at night. This is especially the case if the storm happens to hit in Mossflower Country; the opressive darkness of the trees, crashing thunder and crackling chains of lightning overhead, overflowing riverbanks, and howling gales ripping the woodland foliage apart are enough to strike fear into the hearts of even the stoutest warrior. Any creature with a grain of sense would have sought immediate shelter at the first sign of the approaching typhoon; only the bravest, or possibly the most insane, would venture out into a night like this.

Like pellets of iron, enormous, wind-driven droplets of rain sheeted down remorselessly upon what appeared to be a slowly moving heap of black on the woodland floor. The traveler's clothes and voluminous dark cloak were in tatters; she was gaunt and emaciated, and wounded in dozens of places. With the wind blowing directly against her she could barely manage to put one paw in front of the other as she staggered onward, onward, ever onward.

Several times, due to the storm, she had been reduced to crawling on all fours, or inching along on her stomach; still she never ceased her progression towards her destination. Many times it had seemed wise to halt, or to find a hidden place to ride out the weather. But still she continued, knowing that there was no time to be lost. Onward, onward....the memories of the barren northern islands, viciously destroyed by ruthless enemies were burned into her brain. These same foes were sure to be following; failure was never an option in the Ranks of the Shadow. The mission had been total destruction; to them the mere thought of any escapees was simply intolerable.

Onward, ever onward, the determined creature staggered feebly against the mighty force of the weather. Two long seasons of traveling, losing her way, finding it again, fighting countless bands of robbers and thieves, sometimes going days without food or water, were beginning to take their toll. But she could not give up; there was a mission to be completed, and she, too, had left no room for failure. Resolutely determined not to rest until the goal was acheived, the traveler limped, crawled, struggled her way through Mossflower; onward, ever onward, to the safe haven of Redwall Abbey.

Chapter One
Extract from the writings of Sister Flim, dormouse Recorder of Redwall Abbey

''"Dearie me, that storm last night was indisputably the worst I can remember in all my long seasons as Recorder; I can say with some authority that not a creature in Redwall slept a wink last night. The wind and thunder shook the building so much, Abbess Saffron feared some of the ancient roofing or windowpanes would give way and had all the elders and young ones moved to the cellars for their safety. Let me tell you, an overcrowded cellar full of terrified, squealing babes and frantic elders trying to restore order is not a pleasant place to be in the middle of the night. Those few Dibbuns who had not the sense to be terrified by the storm caused us even more trouble; tiring of the noise in the cellars, they attempted several times to escape to the upper floors so they could look out the windows at the lightning. Jorty the Cellarkeeper and her husband Bumbill tried to solve the problem by blocking the staircase with barrels, but we learned soon enough that this was more a hindrance to us than to the babes so we were forced to take the whole thing down again and take turns standing guard. Add to this the perpetual nuisance of our Abbey Librarian, Brother Willow (who indefatigably tried to boss everyone about, spouting off historical references to past storms the whole way), and there you have our long and wearying evening in a nutshell.''

''I have yet to tell the worst though; the storm is still raging! It is almost midday now, and there is no sign of its slowing in the slightest. Friar Dimp and a few of his kitchen helpers managed to make us a light breakfast, but all other chores have been suspended by the Abbess until this veritable hurricane finally blows through. I shudder to think of the damage that will be left in the wake of this storm. The orchards and gardens are probably a wreck; furthermore, the building has been struck by lightning at least thrice, to my knowledge. Fortunately, as the majority of our beautiful home is red sandstone, it would be difficult for it to completely burn down, especially in this strong a rain; however, Skipper and his crew of able-bodied Redwallers are busy making sure the flames are completely extinguished. Goodness, I think we've been hit again; that bang was too close for my liking! I certainly hope none of the creatures on the roof with Skipper have been hurt.''

''Confound that Brother Willow; does he never cease talking? I suppose I should not be so quick to judge him; he's probably just as nervy and frightened as I am. But I do wish he'd keep himself occupied with his own business, not everyone else's. Oh, dear, there goes that hogbabe again; I shall have to postpone recording for now."''

"Biddee, you little nuisance; come back here this minute!" Casting her parchment and charcoal aside, Sister Flim rose to chase after the infant hedgehog maiden, who was surprisingly speedy for one of her age and had already made it to the top of the cellar stairs. Knowing she could easily outpace the old, overweight dormouse, Biddee paused to wave at her impudently.

"Heehee! Nevernever catchee me Sissyflim! Biddee go to watch lightning; go Boom bangybang!" The Dibbun fled, shrieking with laughter. Sister Flim pursued her for a short distance before becoming out of breath; turning back, she implored the other weary creatures slumped about the cellars, most of whom were trying to catch a few minutes' doze after the long, sleepless night.

"Someone, please go catch that infernal rascal before she gets outside!"

Brother Willow, a tall, thin, dour-looking shrew, chastised the Sister. "You were supposed to be standing guard, you know; if you had been paying attention, you might have headed her off. It's your own fault!"

The good Sister's temper finally snapped. "And, tell me, pray; how does insulting an Abbey Recorder help to catch a runaway Dibbun? If you can't think of anything helpful to do or say, will you please stay out of this?!"

Brother Willow was taken aback by Sister Flim's ferocity; he stammered angrily, searching for a reply. "Why you...you...!"

Grandmum Dawbil, the Abbey Healer, placed herself between the two irate creatures, rumbling in her deep mole accent. "Stop ee this foightin' roight away; it be a bad day enuff wi'out you two gurt foozles makin' it even worserer, burr aye! Yurr, Shurmee, goo ee arter ee liddle 'un."

The young leveret Shermy was the fastest creature in the Abbey; this was the seventh time in the last few hours that he had been sent to round up a stray Dibbun. Though he was red-eyed and weary, as were all the other creatures in the cellar, he saluted obediently and darted up the stairs. "Righty-ho, marm! Be back in a tick, wot! I say, come back here, you spiny little cad!"

Biddee had, by this time, made it to the Great Hall of Redwall Abbey, and was hiding behind a column. The Great Hall was normally used for feasts and celebrations, when it would be decorated with huge banquet tables and rows of brightly lit lanterns. In these instances, the tall stone columns, stained glass windows, and great tapestry depicting the first Abbey Warrior, Martin, would seem to dance gaily in the bright lights. However, in the gloom of the storm, punctuated every now and then with flickering flashes of lightning, the huge chamber looked positively eerie. Shermy tried hard to keep his voice from trembling as he scooted across the back wall of the room, searching for the missing Dibbun. "You fiend, just you wait until I get you back in the cellars! I wouldn't want to be in your fur, let me tell you! Come out from wherever you're hiding this instant; this INSTANT, I say!"

He yelped involuntarialy as lightning struck the abbey building yet again; the accompanying crash of thunder shook the room, knocking out several small windowpanes, which shattered on the stone floor. Throwing himself flat, Shermy covered his ears with his paws until the deafening vibrations ceased.

Biddee, unmoved by the terror of the storm, had now reached the main door of the Abbey, but the door handle was far too high for her to reach. She, too, threw herself on the floor, and began to pitch a horrible tantrum. "Waaaaaaaaahaaaahaaa, Wanna go play in the raaaaaaaaaiiin!"

Shermy stood, sighing with relief. "Oh, there you are, wot." He glanced at the tapestry above him; noticing the two empty brackets above it, he furrowed his brow in confusion. He shouted across the hall to the hedgehog maid. "I say, you rotter, what did you do with Martin's Sword? It was hanging here a bally moment ago!"

Biddee ceased wailing, pouting sulkily. "I never take Ma'tin sword. It dere in da floor."

The bang of thunder had shaken the legendary weapon loose from its holders above the tapestry; it had fallen point first, embedding itself in a chink between two floorstones, directly behind where Shermy had been lying. It was a simple weapon; the only ornament was the bright red pommel stone in the leather-bound hilt. The blade, though countless seasons old, still shone as if it were newly polished. The young hare grasped the hilt and began to tug, addressing the figure of the warrior mouse on the tapestry. "Well, that nearly took off my tailbob, didn't it? Next time I need to hide, I jolly well won't do it under here. I say, this sword of yours is really something, Martin, old lad; it cut this stone like a bally cake, wot! Whoops!"

The blade popped free, sending the young hare stumbling backwards. He started to replace the sword, then thought better of it, propping it up in a corner. "I'll just leave this here, then; we'll put it back after the storm desists. Save other innocent beast's tails, doncha know..."

He stopped rigid and stared. In the dim light of the one lit lantern in Great Hall, Shermy had been watching his reflection in the blade as he talked. The reflection however, had seemed to take a shape of its own, until it was not the leveret's own face, but that of the mouse in the tapestry, staring back at him. Martin pointed at the young hare, then at the hedgehog babe. He spoke but a single word, in an unmistakable voice of command. "Outside!"

Having been brought up at Redwall, Shermy knew from old tales that creatures sometimes saw Martin in dreams when there was a great need. He nodded, being the obedient young creature he was. "Righto, old chap. Hi, you there, Biddee. You wanted to go outside, did you?"

The young hedgehog brightened up; she nodded. Shermy bounded across the room and grasped her paw, warning her sternly. "Well, one quick stroll then. But you hold my paw and do exactly as I say, understood? One false move and I'll tan your spiky little behind with a big stick, missy!"

Opening the door against the driving wind was no easy task, but between them, the two managed to push it wide enough to nip outside. Together, the leveret and the hedgehog Dibbun plowed their way through the abbey grounds, which were covered with broken branches and turned soppingly muddy with the downpour. His ears and fur plastered flat with water, Shermy took a quick look about, and announced to empty air. "Well, we're outside, wot! What's so jolly well important about outside? We already knew it was a bloomin' mess out here, if that's the case! Oh, lackaday, we're in for it now if we get caught out here in this muck!" He started to turn back. "That's enough for now, little one, we're going back in."

But Biddee pulled her paw free, dashing away, her face a picture of alarm. "Lookee, lookee! Onna path, Shermeeee!"

The leveret started to pursue the little one again, but pulled up with a halt, his mouth hanging open in shock. A bolt of lightning had blasted the huge main gate of the abbey, competely shattering one of the two immense wooden doors. Through the wreckage and pelting rain, the woodland path that led up to the abbey was plain to see; so was the biggest, blackest, most intimidating looking creature that Shermy had ever seen, which was lying in a pathetic, huddled heap just outside the gate.

Chapter Two
Skipper Windryder was markedly tough and brawny, and had a reputation for stoutheartedness; however, he was none too happy about being so high off the ground in such bad weather, as perilously leaping slippery roof tiles to beat at flames and sparks was not his strong point. A score or so of other creatures, mostly squirrels and other otters, scurried around with him, trying desperately to stop the lightning-induced blazes before they got out of hand, whilst avoiding being struck themselves. Every single one of them was tied to a roof column, and each other, by huge lengths of rope, sturdily knotted by the skillfull otter cheiftain. This was to ensure that, should anybeast lose their footing, they would not plummet all the way down to the abbey grounds, hidden from sight in the wet darkness below.

The one exeption to this rule was Dippertail, the abbey's resident falcon. He fluttered about the rooftoops, yelling instructions and acting as a sort of lifeguard to the less experienced climbers. Being a bird with unusually sharp eyes, he also had the ability to tell, from watching the clouds, when lightning was about to strike. This proved to be an invaluable aid to the fire-fighters, struggling in the dangerous heights. He zipped by the otter cheiftain, screeching the alarm.

"Hyeeeeeeeeeee! Ryder, strike coming!"

Skipper saluted the bird, bellowing the order. "Aye, aye, Dip. Take cover, mates!!!!"

BANG!

The whole rooftop shook and the world lit up bright white as a bright bolt connected with the giant Abbey weathervane, high overhead. Dippertail circled the structure, then landed beside Skipper, fluffing his drenched feathers in a futile attempt to dry them out. "Yeeeeeeeark! It only hit metal; no damage was done."

"Ahoy, Skip, Abbess overboard!" one of the otters shouted, some distance off.

Windryder spoted the small figure swinging from a rope about her waist some distance below and groaned. "Dip, get her up again, quick!"

The falcon took off again, but there was no need; the sprightly, middle-aged squirrel who was Abbess of Redwall Abbey was an excellent climber. Within moments, she had shinned her way back up the rope and onto the roof tiles. Skipper gently berated her, rasing his voice to be heard over the storm. "Beggin' yore pardon, marm, but you really ought not to be up here! Why don't you let us handle this?"

Saffron shook her head resolutely. She was small for a squirrel, with beautiful golden-red fur and fierce, dark eyes; these bored into the otter cheiftain as she spoke. "Please, Skipper, don't worry about me. I know you mean well, but my leaving is not an option. I said every able-bodied Redwaller who knows how to climb should be up here helping preserve our home and that includes myself. Quick, help me put out that rafter!"

One particularly large blast had made a hole in the roof and had lit some of the girders inside; the flames had not been noticed, however, until they were already starting a fine blaze. Saffron had dropped her wet sack when she fell; she whipped the cowl off her habit and began beating the rafter with it. Skipper joined her, shouting across the expanse of roof. "Tings, Raggle, get us a bucket, sharpish!"

The mouse and the black squirrel were both very young and very frightened; almost too young and frightened to be of much good on the roof. They were stoutly fastened to a shorter rope, right by a gargoyle water chute; from it, they filled an assortment of buckets and passed them along to the more experienced firefighters. Raggle tossed a full bucket to Dippertail, who caught the handle neatly as he swooped by. "One bucket, comin' up! Tings, fill another, just in case!"

Through the coordinated efforts of the brave Abbeybeasts, the blazing rafters were soon extinguished. Dippertail announced the fact to the two young creatures on bucket duty, then flew off to inspect other areas of the roof for flames that might have been missed. Tings, the young mousemaiden, sat down with a sigh. "Thank goodness for that. I sure hope that's the last of it! If I have to lean out over that edge and fill a bucket again, I swear I'll faint dead away!"

Raggle the black squirrel joined her, holding his bushy tail over his head like a rain hat. "Aye, that'd be a long drop for sure, if the rope were to break. And to think we volunteered for this!"

Tings snorted bitterly. "Well, what else could we do? It was either come up here or stay in the cellars with Brother Willow and all those screaming babes! How Shermy puts up with it, I don't know."

Raggle's tail was becoming waterlogged and heavy; he was forced to let it drop. "I'd sooner be in a noisy cellar than up here right now. It'll take us two seasons to dry off after this lot!"

Abbess Saffron joined them, slumping in a most un-Abbess-like manner beside them. "Phew! Thank you for your hard work with the bucket brigade, you two; some of those fires took root so quickly we couldn't have put them out without your help."

Tings forced a smile. "Oh...er...thank you. All in the line of duty, I suppose."

The Abbess nodded her head. "You're quite right, young one. It is every Redwaller's duty to make sure our home and friends are free of danger; be it from vermin, weather, or any other issue."

Raggle felt a bit ashamed for complaining earlier. He looked away, trying to change the subject. "Seems the wind has finally died down. Maybe that means the storm's almost over, eh, Abbess marm?"

Saffron wiped rainwater from her eyes. "I certainly hope so! It'll take my fur ten seasons to dry out after this downpour!"

Tings quickly turned away, stifling a giggle at the look on Raggle's face.

Dippertail appeared suddenly out of the darkness, landing in a flurry of feathers to join the trio. Tings was nearly knocked off the roof with the force of the falcon's descent; she sloshed a half-full bucket over him. "Watch what you're doing, Dip! You nearly cannoned me right over the edge!"

The falcon ignored her, dancing agitatedly in front of the Abbess. "Kyeeeek! There be a injured beast at the gate!"

Abbess Saffron leapt up, staring off into the gloom. "Where?"

A flicker of lightning briefly lit up the tableau far below; Saffron spotted the dark smudge on the path below and began issuing orders. "Never mind, I see them. Tings, Raggle, you two are excused from bucket duty as of now. Go down to the cellars and get Grandmum Dawbil and her helpers at once! Dippertail, you stand by the poor beast until help arrives, understood?"

The falcon saluted, leaping off the roof and going into a steep dive. "Aye aye, Abbess! Hyeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

The mousemaid and the black squirrel also saluted. "We'll take care of it, don't worry!"

Slicing through their holding ropes with a knife she had borrowed from the kitches, the Abbess pushed them towards the trap door that led from the attics to the roof. "Go then, but be careful!"

Chapter Three
Shermy had never seen anything like the beast on the path in all his born days. What manner of creature it was, he could not tell; it seemed to be almost entirely obscured by a tattered and flapping black cloak, which spread out in folds around it on the ground. What little of the actual creature was visible was plastered with mud until it was unrecognizable. He and Biddee had halted within ten paces of the intruder, unsure if they should draw any nearer.

The Dibbun stared at the unmoving mass. "What do it be, Shermee?"

The leveret twitched his nose and ears (his way of showing nervousness). "You're guess is as jolly well good as mine, old scout. I wonder if it's still alive?"

From beneath the cloak came a mewling, whimpering sound; Biddee nodded. "It alive, Biddee heard it. What we do?"

The question was answered for them when Dippertail soared in for a squelchy landing in the path mud beside them. He spread his wings aggressively. "Yiiiiiieeeeeeeeek! What are you doing here? Young ones should not be out in weather like this!"

Shermy started to explain. "Well, sah, the little one escaped the cellars so I...."

Another moan from the injured beast interrupted them. Dippertail clacked his beak dismissively. "Yeek! Go inside, now, before you catch a chill; and tell the old mole we need her help!"

Gathering up the infant hedgehog in his paws, Shermy flew across the lawn, into the building, and down the stairs to the cellar. Sister Flim shook her head at the bedraggled, muddy pair, addressing the young hare. "I take it you had to go outside. How did that little one get the door open? Or did she use a window?"

Shermy did not feel like explaining; he waved a paw. "Never mind that. There's some poor beast on the ground outside, and it's badly wounded, by the look of it."

There was an immediate clamor of questions and speculations; Grandmum Dawbil held up a digging claw for silence. "Shoutin' won't get us'ns nowhere. Oi'll go tend to ee sichewation direkly. Yurr, Aggit, bring thoi molecrew."

Foremole Aggit, who was Grandmum Dawbil's nephew and the leader of the abbey's mole population, nodded his velvety head. "Roight, Marm. Jorty, you'm and thoi husband stay here wi' ee uthers. The rest of you'm moles follow Oi!"

The rescue party left the cellars in a rush; Shermy collapsed wearily to the floor. "Whew! If you lot don't mind, I'll not be going after any more bloomin' young ones at the moment. Wake me next season, wot!"

Foremole Aggit poked his snout back into the cellars. "Yurr, Shurmee, coom ee and show moi crew whurr the crittur bee. We'm doan't much feel loike wunderin' ee entoire grounds in ee rainwet!"

Pulling a wry face, the young hare rose to accompany the molecrew.

Up on the roof, Tings and Raggle were having a hard time negotiating the wet and slippery tiles. Without the ropes about their waists, both young creatures had almost no confidence left. Raggle, being a squirrel, was slightly better off than his companion; after much struggles, he had finally made it over to the trapdoor to the attics. "Come on, Tings, hurry up!"

The mousemaiden was lying flat on her stomach, clinging desperately to the top edge of the roof, and sobbing piteously. "It's no good, I can't go on!"

Raggle, striving desperately to keep himself from panicking, scooted back over to her. "Here, take my paw; we'll go together!"

Tings shook her head firmly, wailing, "No, no! I can't...I can't do it. I'll fall!"

Raggle grabbed her sleeve, pulling her firmly along with him. She still refused to release her grip. The young squirrel fairly screamed at his mousemaid friend. "You've GOT to let go; come on!"

BLAM! A cloud-to-cloud lightning strike directly overhead caused a deafening reverberation of thunder. Tings screamed and let go her hold on the roof, involuntarialy jumping out into space. Raggle stared in dumb shock at the ripped habit sleeve, dangling uselessly from his paw; and the rapidly diminishing figure of Tings, plummeting towards the earth far below.

Dippertail had managed to coax the weary beast onto its feet; staggering almost drunkenly, it followed the waddling falcon towards the main abbey door. The bird had noticed the strange animal was carrying a large traveling sack on its back; relieving the burden to carry it himself, the falcon held a one-sided conversation with the beast, trying to keep its spirits up.

"Yeeee! You've come to a good place, friend. There are healers here; you'll be all right soon. There's no hurry, don't over-exert yourself. Hyeeeear, we'll have you a nice soft bed soon enough. Good food, too. Yieeak, don't worry, this bird will keep your bag safe."

A thunderclap, followed by a scream from above caused both falcon and visitor to look upwards. Dippertail spotted the falling mousemaid; dropping the sack, he spread his wings, preparing to launch into flight.

But the beast in the cloak reacted swifter.

With a sudden, powerful bound, it sprang through the air, catching Tings neatly in its paws. Performing a barrell roll in mid-air, it came crashing down to the muddy earth back first, with the young one on top of its stomach.

Shermy, Grandmum Dawbil, and the crew of Foremole Aggit emerged into the drenched lawns just in time to witness the rescue; joining Dippertail, they hurried over to where the two now-unconscious creatures lay. Shermy was the first to find his voice. " I say, that was awfully decent of the chap, wot! I wonder what poor rotter it was that fell off the roof."

Foremole prised the creature's paws from the limp form they held. "It bee liddle mizzy Tings!"

Shermy cried out in alarm as he recognized his friend. "Is she hurt? Oh, say she's not hurt!"

Aggit chuckled. "Nay, zurr, she'm a tough liddle mouseymaiden; she bees roight as rain."

The leveret looked around at the storm damage, which was more visible now that the rain was slowing to a drizzle. "Huh, don't bloomin' well see what's jolly well right about rain, old chap."

Grandmum Dawbil inspected Tings' rescuer. "Yurr, Aggit, this beast'n be bad hurt; goo ee and get oi a stretcherer!"

The Foremole repeated the order to several of his moles, who scurried back inside to do his bidding. Shermy turned to Dippertail. "I say, old thing, don't you think you'd better nip back up to the rooftop and let the others know Tings isn't hurt? Poor Raggle's probably in a fine tizzy right now."

Dippertail passed the bag to the young hare. "Yieeeer! You're right. Take this thing inside, will you?"

Without further ado, the falcon took to the skies, sailing back up to the rooftop. Shermy dragged the large sack across the grounds; it was very heavy. In fact, it was extremely heavy; almost too heavy for a mere travelers' pack. Overcome with curiosity, the young hare looked inside one of the many holes that pocked the sack.

Releasing it with a cry, he shouted over to the moles. "Miz Dawbil, I think you should see this!"

Chapter Four
In the woodlands, some distance away from Redwall Abbey, the rain-swollen River Moss thundered along its winding course to the sea, carrying a substantial amount of mud and woodland undergrowth with it. The shrews of the Guosim had been on their way to Redwall for a long-overdue visit; knowing it would be foolish to attempt to shoot the storm-induced rapids, they had pulled their logboats ashore, and pitched camp in a large bankside cave until the weather died down. The Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower were small, fierce, spiky-furred creatures, who followed a cheiftain they designated as the Log-a-Log. They were stout warriors all, renowned for both their bravery and their tendecy to bicker and squabble amongst themselves in their spare time; however, there was not a shrew among them who felt like arguing now, as they viewed the terrible scene about them.

Log-a-log Yik, the long-bearded chieftain of the Guosim, was still in a state of shock, as were many of his tribe. Some little while back, two tall strangers bearing swords had marched boldly into the shrews' cave. They were obviously some type of vermin, but, as they wore hooded blue cloaks and masks made of adder skulls, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what manner of creature they were. They had imperiously demanded that the shrews surrender all of their provisions and one of their logboats, saying that they would be needed by the Ranks of the Shadow. As he had no idea what the Ranks of the Shadow were, and it was still a good three days' journey to Redwall, the dutiful Log-a-log had refused point blank. When the creatures repeated their demand with a threat to use force, he had ordered his shrews to take the two beasts prisoner.

That was the last thing Yik remembered clearly; everything afterwards was a jumble of teeth, claws, blades and screams, followed by total blackness as one of the vermin knocked him unconscious with its sword hilt. Now, almost a score of his creatures lay dead, and a dozen more wounded. All their supplies had been looted, and every boat but the one the villains had taken was smashed to pieces.

Ringo, a much older shrew, tended the bump on his chieftain's skull, making a report as he did so. "There were more of 'em in hidin', Yik; four of those vermin in masks and two full-growed snakes. We never stood a chance; they fought like demons!"

Yik's face blanched; he, like most shrews, had a horror of serpents. "Were the snakes adders?"

Ringo shook his grey head. "No, they were blacksnakes; big 'uns, too. One of 'em crushed pore Dribble's footpaw with just th' end of its tail!"

Dribble, the shrew in question, was Yik's second in command; he hobbled over on a makeshift crutch, cut from a tree limb. "I sent some scouts upriver, Chief; they went as far as they deemed safe, given the circumstances. No sign of the vermin; they're well away. What do we do now?"

Log-a-log Yik gazed once more at the sorry state the Guosim were in, and made a pronouncement. "Nothin' much we can do, mate; not until this storm lets up. As soon as the weather clears a bit, we'll make for Redwall, on foot. There should be enough forage in the woodlands for us t'get by. Ringo, ye'd better see about getting some carrying litters made for any beast too bad hurt t'walk well; we need t'get there as soon as we can!"

The old shrew passed the instructions along to to the other shrews, who began immediately to lash broken logboat timbers together with the now-useless mooring ropes. Dribble sat painfully down beside his chieftain. "I agree with ye there, Log-a-log; I gotta feelin' they'll be needin' us at Redwall, with them Shadow creatures roamin' Mossflower!"

Back at Redwall Abbey, the storm had slowed to a misty drizzle. The fire brigade on the roof, deeming their work finished, had descended to the dormitories to dry off; several of them stopping by the sickbay on the way, to be treated for chills and sniffles. Abbess Saffron had allowed the rest of the Abbey Population to leave the cellars and return to their everyday tasks, or to their beds, if they so desired. Now, she was presiding over a council of Redwallers in Cavern Hole. This was the room used for gatherings when the Great Hall was not being utilized for that purpose; it was smaller and cosier than Great Hall, and a good deal warmer, due to the lit fireplace in one wall.

Tings had been placed upon a moss-covered ledge in Cavern Hole until she recovered from her faint; she awoke to the sound of Abbess Saffron's voice. "Raggle, do sit down; pacing back and forth won't make Tings wake up any faster. That's better, thank you. Skipper, what's your assessment of the damage?"

Windryder tapped the floor with his rudder pensively. "Well, marm, there's at least two holes in the roof, an' a few fire-damaged tiles 'n girders to replace. A good crew workin' in shifts should take care of that in not too much time. The windowpanes didn't break as bad as we feared, either; only about 'arf a dozen of 'em need work. The orchard's no worse than it usually is after a big 'ole storm, either. What really is worryin' me is that gate; havin' a busted main gate's just askin' fer trouble with vermin and such like. If you'll take my advice, we should concentrate on that first thing."

The Abbess adjusted the large towel she had wrapped about her shoulders, nodding her head. "That sounds sensible. Tomorrow, when we've all rested up a bit, you, Foremole, and Dippertail take as many creatures as you'll need into the woodlands and search for some timber; preferably good, strong oak beams, if possible. While you're at it, you could have a scout round for materials to repair the roof. Jorty Cellarmole, could you and Bumbill see to the woodcutting tools?"

Bumbill, a jolly, perpetually-smiling mole, answered for his wife. "Burr, we'm could doo et awright, Missus. Leave it to us'ns!"

Tings sat up a bit, interested in the conversation; Dippertail spotted her, and alerted the others. "Yieeeeek! The young one has awakened, I believe."

Raggle and Shermy, who had attended the council, were immediately at the mousemaid's side. The young squirrel grasped his friend's paw, nearly sobbing with relief. "Tings! Thank goodness you're all right. I'm sorry I couldn't catch you; the fabric just ripped off in my paw!"

Shermy was grinning from long ear to long ear; he patted Tings on the shoulder. "Well, good afternoon to you, miss. Feeling better, wot?"

The mousemaid nodded gingerly, as her neck was a bit sore from the impact. "Much better, thank you, though I doubt I'll be going on the roof again anytime soon. You don't have to apologize, Raggle; it wasn't your fault I fell. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm still here, myself. What happened?"

Shermy explained in detail - as he had already to the council - about his vision of Martin, the creature at the gate, and how the mousemaid had been rescued. His face showed great admiration for Tings' preserver as he wrapped up the narrative. "Leapt up like a bloomin' frog on a cinder soon as she saw you falling, wot! Must be a rare creature, that one, risking life and limb for a total stranger. Grandmum Dawbil says the strain might've done her in, even without the rough landing. Whoever she is, she's no wiltin' lily, that's for certain; a few weeks' rest and good feedin' should have her tip-top again, if you ask me!"

Brother Willow's harsh, derisory voice interjected from across the room. "We all would like to hope that's the case, young 'un, but it is a fact the poor beast's half starved, and badly wounded in several places. No one knows what's going to happen, really. Grandmum Dawbil doesn't even know, and you only recently became an infirmary assistant so you couldn't possibly have the experience to... "

"Thank you, Brother, that's quite enough of that!" Abbess Saffron interrupted firmly. "We appreciate your input, but now is not the time for lectures."

Tings stood; somewhat shakily, as her head was still a bit fuzzy. Raggle threw a paw about her shoulders to support her. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall again. Where to?"

The mousemaid smiled. "Thanks, Rag. I'd like to go thank my rescuer; would that be possible?"

Shermy supported his friend on the other side. "I certainly don't see why not; I'm due back in the infirmary, anyhow. I say, might we be excused from the council, Abbess Marm?"

Saffron gave them her permission. "I believe you've told us all you can for now. Go on, friends."

With Tings between them, the leveret and the black squirrel made their way upstairs to the sickbay.

By the time they reached the infirmary, the mousemaid had regained her balance enough to totter a few paces on her own. The door to the sickbay was bolted and locked, as Grandmum Dawbil wished to discourage the horde of curious Abbeybeasts from suffocating her patient. Raggle rapped noisily on the door; a gruff mole voice answered.

"Goo ee away, oi need et quoiett round yurr!"

Shermy looked offended. "I say, steady on, miz Dawbil, marm! It's only myself and two others; Tings wants to offer her thanks to the beast that saved her life, y'see."

There was a pause, then the door slid open a fraction to reveal the old mole healer. She wrinkled her velvety nose in a smile. "Of course ee can enter, young'uns. Furgive moi bad mannurrs; oi thought you'm bee more o' they pesky Dibbuns, nosey likkle villyuns!"

Timidly, the trio entered the infirmary. Grandmum Dawbil shut the door behind Raggle, the last to enter, and gestured to the back room of the infirmary. "Roight thiz way, doan't ee be afeared."

As Shermy had helped to clean the mud off of the patient, he knew what to expect; the other two young creatures stopped dead, drawing in their breath sharply. Sprawled across two beds pushed together was a scrawny, full-grown female wildcat. Her fur was a smoky grey, with dark flecks here and there; the spots converged into black rings on her tail and to black stripes on her head. The tip of her tail and her ears were black; her paws, however, were snowy white. She wore a shredded and tattered tunic of sharksin, the only ornaments being a fishbone necklace and a braided scarf headband. There was also a single gold hoop earring through her right ear; a rip in the left ear showed where the other ring had been wrenched off, some time ago. Countless scars and raggedly healed wounds showed through the fur, all over her body; one particularly large, curved scar ran from her left ear to her chin, right over a permanantly closed eyelid. She was a barbaric and terrifying sight; yet, at the same time, curiously pathetic.

Grandmum Dawbil lowered her voice to a whisper. "B'ain't a purdy soight, burr no; but she'm bain't as bad 'urted as oi furst thought. Goo on, mizzy Tings, she'm woan't 'urt ee. Oi've a'ready had ee wurd or two wi' ee gurt catbeast, moiself."

Swallowing hard, the mousemaid approached the prone wildcat. She lay so still at first that Tings thought she might be asleep; however, as soon as the mousemaid stopped beside the bed, the beast's one good eye snapped open. There was a tense silence as the cat stared rigidly and appraisingly at the newcomer; it lasted so long, Tings thought she might scream.

Finally, the wildcat sighed, relaxing again. Her voice, when it came, was feeble and rasping. "I suppose you're one of the healer's assistants, but I don't remember seeing you before."

Tings was caught off guard; she stammered a bit, staring at the other creatures for help. "Er...ah...n-no, I don't work in the..er, infirmary..."

Shermy, sensing a rescue was in order, rose to the occasion. "This, madam, is none other than the famous Tings, who fell of the rooftops earlier today."

The cat's smile showed a row of needle-sharp teeth, but it was friendly. "So it is; thank you, Shermy. Well, how do you do, miss? Good to see you up and about so soon."

Tings found her voice. "Yes, I'm all right, thanks to you. You saved my life, you know; I'll not lightly forget that. You must be either a very brave or a very stupid creature, sticking your neck out like that for a total stranger."

The wildcat smiled again, chuckling softly. "I suppose I should take that as a compliment; thank you, Tings. It really was no trouble, though."

"No trouble?!" Raggle blurted out. "How can you say that, when you nearly broke your spine?"

"And who might you be?" The cat's friendly gaze turned upon the speaker.

The young squirrel's bushy black tail drooped over his eyes in embarrassment. "Er, Raggle, marm; I'm a friend of Tings and Shermy."

The cat proffered a scarred and calloused paw, which the young squirrel accepted; his paw was completely enveloped by the huge white mitt as they shook. "Nice to meet you, Raggle; and you, too, Tings. My name's Siyuzin Stoneclaw. Now, Raggle, let us suppose you were seeking shelter in a strange place. Say, just as you got there, you saw one of the inhabitants in deadly peril, and you were possibly the only one who could do anything about it. Now tell me, what would you do?"

Raggle was nonplussed; he thought for a moment. "Well...I suppose the same thing you did, miz Stoneclaw. That is, if I were brave enough."

"I think you would be; you seem a heroic sort to me." The wildcat chuckled again, closing her eyes. "Oh, and please, call me Sy. Everyone does."

Sensing that her patient wished to rest, Grandmum Dawbil whispered in Tings' ear. "Oi think we'm best be a-goin naow."

The mousemaid began heading for the door, with her two friends and the molewife following. "I think we'll be heading to supper now; we'll be sure to have Friar Dimp send you up something. How does watershrimp-and-hotroot soup with mushroom pastie sound to you, Sy?"

Siyuzin Stoneclaw waved goodbye feebly. "As long as it's vittles and I can eat it, it sounds just fine, missy. Come back and see me again sometime. Oh, Shermy, if you see Rivereye or Speedwell, tell them not to worry about me; I should be fine after a few weeks' rest."

"Will do, marm." Shermy threw a lazy salute, then muttered conspiritorially to Raggle. "See? What did I jolly well tell you?"

Once Grandmum Dawbil had shut the trio outside in the corridor, Tings turned to her hare friend. "We don't know any Rivereye, or Speedwell. What on earth was she talking about?"

The leveret threw a paw dramatically across his brow. "Oh, fiddlesticks, I completely forgot to tell you about that, wot! I had a word with old Siyu-what-her-whiskers earlier; was wondering why old Martin thought she should come here, y'see. She didn't tell me much, but it seems some particularly brutal vermin coves raided her tribe's home. Goodness knows how many leagues from here that is, we've not had wildcats around here for nigh on a squillion seasons, y'know. Anyway, Sy and her aunt's two babes were the only beasts to escape. They're certainly in far better health than their cousin; were just about terrified into a bloomin' stupor by the time we got 'em inside the good old Abbey, though."

Tings, like most young Abbey females, adored babes of any sort; she was immediately sympathetic. "Poor little mites, they must have been through a lot. Well, at least they'll be safe here...provided, of course, that the other Dibbuns don't pester them to death!"

Laughing at this little joke, the three friends descended to the kitchens.

Chapter Five
Dankfur Clawhook was a born leader. The tall, fearsome pine marten with the gold hook replacing his left paw had an unmistakable air of command, a deadly skill with his saber, and a ruthless determination to succeed unrivaled by any other. In the unlikely event that, after all this, he still had trouble enforcing his will, he had his two enormous blacksnakes, Jettcoil and Whiptail; these he had raised from hatchlings, bullying and torturing them until they were completely under his sway and would obey his orders without question.

Many long seasons ago, Dankfur had been the Captain of the Redclaw, a ship crewed entirely by pine martens like himself. Roaming the seas, they pillaged many unsuspecting merchant ships and coast dwellings. However, Dankfur had begun to tire of the sea, as the life of a marauding corsair did not present to him many challenging opponents to vanquish. One day, messengers had come to the ship, offering the marten, who had already made quite a name for himself, a position as a Captain in the feared Ranks of the Shadow. His whole crew could join if they so wished, as could the two snakes; for, as the messenger explained, there were many serpents in the ranks already and a couple more would be more than welcome. Dankfur had leapt at the chance; within the space of a week he and his creatures were part of the cloaked and masked horde.

As time went by, the former sea raider acquired quite a reputation for his brutal, relentless drive to succeed; almost inevitably, he found himself rising in rank, until he had gained a new title - The Voice of the Shadow, second in command only to the mysterious and tyrannical Black Shade himself, Ruler of the Northern Isles. His two snakes, who far outdid all the others in size, equally inevitably became the rulers of the reptile section of the Ranks and gathered quite a reputation of their own. Soon, nobeast on the northern shores would speak the name of Dankfur without a shudder of terror; even the closest creatures to him looked upon him with horrified awe.

There was not a single vermin in the Ranks suprised when Dankfur was selected for the special mission, nearly three seasons back; it was a well-known fact that when he led a raid, it did not fail. Thus it was, on that fateful day, the marten had led a special, hand-picked band mostly consisting of his own crewbeasts away from the Black Shade's lair. They had set sail in his old ship for an offshore clump of tiny islands, where a tribe of wildcats had lived for countless generations. The basic instructions were simple; destroy the villiage, allowing none to escape. Dankfur knew there would be little resistance; the cats were mostly fisherbeasts, not fighters. However, the Black Shade had specifically ordered that those few cats who were strong warriors were not to be slain, but were to be captured and delivered to him alive. This was a highly unusual command, and a difficult one to carry out; but nobeast dared to argue with the Black Shade.

Dankfur came up with a fiendishly ingenious plan of campaign. First, he and his crewbeasts had hid themselves for nearly half a season, while the two blacksnakes scouted the villiage to determine which cats were fighters and which were not. Then, one night, he had ordered his crew to set fire to the entire villiage, casting buckets of special herbs on the conflagration. The sick, bewildered wildcats stood no chance against the vermin, who had plugged their nostrils with rancid-smelling plants to avoid the poisoned fumes; it was all over in a matter of minutes. Yet, for all this cunning, something still managed to go awry.

It was just as the horde were celebrating their evil victory that Dankfur spotted the Redclaw, sailing away from the islands towards the mainland. For an instant, the marten thought the three creatures he had left to guard the ship were inexplicably deserting him; the truth dawned on him, however, when the same trio staggered from the island foliage, all of them in a sorry state. Two of them, both weasels, had claw slashes across their bodies; the other, a rat, had his adderskull facemask shattered, and a horrendously ugly purple swelling on the side of his face. The rat explained that a huge female wildcat, accompanied by two kittens, had jumped aboard the ship. The guards had done their best to stop her - he, the rat, had even slashed her face with his cutlass. However, the cat struck him such a blow to the head that it had sent him hurtling overboard; she then proceeded to slam the two weasels into the deckrailing, snapping the timbers and sending them crashing back-first into the sea.

Dankfur had been beside himself with fury; not only had this creature escaped, but she had stolen his ship and stranded him to boot! Then and there he had sworn revenge, promising he would not return to the lair until he had finished the mission and paid back the wildcat for her deeds. Lashing together rafts, the group returned to the mainland; but they were too late to catch the wildcat, who had run the ship aground and abandoned it some time ago. Sending the majority of his group back to the lair with the prisoners, the Voice of the Shadow had taken an only an elite force (ten of his martens and the two blacksnakes) with him; this, he reasoned, would be a logical course of action, as he knew he could keep better control of a smaller group, and that the brunt of the Black Shade's wrath would fall upon the other creatures and not himself.

Now, it was nearly two seasons later, and the group was still tracking, though not with any great relish. None of the crew had forseen the hunt lasting this long, or taking them so deep into strange territory, or being such tough and hungry going. The force had now dwindled from thirteen beasts to seven; yet, they continued the search, for their relentless leader would allow no margin for surrender or failure.

Some distance away from the site of the attack on the shrews, Dankfur and his first mate, Gronk, huddled miserably under a willow tree, watching the other martens' failed attempts to get a fire going in the drizzle. They, like the Guosim, had found the storm-swollen River Moss too dangerous to sail at the moment, so they had pulled the logboat into a concealed sidestream until the weather cleared. Drawing patterns in the dirt with his hook, Dankfur muttered darkly. "Well, that's another good crewbeast lost."

Gronk, not as well-spoken as his captain, flung his mask and saber into the mud, venting his frustration. "First it was Burmin an' Dunpaw, inna swamp. Then Gribby got 'erself et up by pikefishes, an' Ridgeback an' Kordun both got th' fever, an' now pore ol' Greyfleck gits hisself drownded inna rapids! How long we gotta keep this up, cap'n? We ain't never gonna find 'em; even if we did, we'd still haveta take 'em all the way back to..."

He stopped, his head forced back by the saber at his neck. Dankfur growled through clenched teeth, "We don't surrender until the mission is finished. How many times do I have to pound that into your thick skull before it sinks in?!"

Gronk babbled hastily, "Aye, Cap'n, sorry, Cap'n, I'll keep me gob shut, Cap'n!"

He yelped in pain as a deft flick of the saber sliced the tip of his ear. Dankfur sat back down. "You'd better; I'd hate for us to be six in number instead of seven. Get your mask back on, and help the others."

Gronk scurried off; Dankfur signalled his two serpents to attend him. "Jettcoil, find the cats' trail again. Figure out which direction they're headed in and report back to me. Whiptail, bring us something to eat; and don't you dare come back with just roots and berries this time."

Neither blacksnake was much of a talker; nodding their heads in salute, they slithered silently off to do their master's bidding. Dankfur sat back against the willow trunk to wait, the whole of his mind occupied with nothing but the desire to exact vengeance on the one creature who had dared to make him look foolish.

Chapter Six
Back at Redwall Abbey, a delicious and much-anticipated supper had been laid out in Cavern Hole. Friar Dimp and the Kitchen staff were obviously trying to make up for the missed luncheon and afternoon tea; from end to end the tables were lined with a bewildering variety of delicacies. There were apple, pear, and cherry flans, all topped with honey and meadowcream; fresh scones, piping hot from the oven, with every conceivable type of jam or preserve alongside; at least a dozen puddings, all of different sizes and consistencies; roasted chestnuts, with melted cheese for dipping; three kinds of soup (spring vegetable, watershrimp-and-hotroot, and wild onion); an enormous Deeper'n'Ever Turnip'n'Tater'n'Beetroot Pie for the moles; and, as Tings had predicted, some of Friar Dimp's secret-recipe mushroom pasties, which had been a Redwall dinner staple ever since the tubby squirrel had accepted the position as head cook. Thoughtfully, Jorty Cellarmole had warmed some mint tea and apple cider to serve alongside the meal; several creatures were still sniffling and sneezing a bit after the ordeal on the rooftops. It was a feast fit to tempt even the most picky of eaters; however, none of the creatures sitting around had started eating yet, as they were politely waiting for the last empty places at table to be filled. Unfortunately, the ones missing were the Dibbuns, who were in the process of being bathed by Sister Flim and the Abbess; depending upon how rowdy a mood the abbeybabes were in, this task could quite easily last over an hour.

Shermy wiped a paw across his mouth hurriedly, hoping his friends hadn't noticed him drooling; he, like most hares, was possessed of a mighty appetite. "I say, that giant hazelnut pudd looks scrumptious, wot!"

Raggle nodded. "Aye, and I'd wager you could eat the entire thing yoreself, given the chance."

Shermy did not argue the point. "There's a wager you'd most definitely win, old chap. I'm flippin' famished!"

Tings stifled a giggle, whispering in the hare's ear. "You're not the only one. Look at Skipper; he can't keep his paws and rudder still, he's so impatient." She stole a glance at the doorway. "I wonder how much longer we've got to wait?"

This question was answered by a shrill squealing noise as the room was suddenly invaded by a horde of freshly bathed and clean-smocked Dibbuns, every last one of them screaming in delight at the long-awaited sight of food. Brother Willow covered his ears, raising his voice to a shout to be heard over the din. "Why doesn't someone control those little nuisances? This is worse than being in the cellars!"

Foremole Aggit muttered under his breath. "Burr, as oi rekkeleck, you'm made more noise than ee likkle 'uns doawn thurr."

Abbess Saffron and Sister Flim entered the room. The Sister was gently ushering a wide-eyed, bewildered kitten in front of her; the Abbess had a much younger one cradled fast-asleep in her paws. As if by magic, all noise ceased, as every head turned to look upon the newcomers. Many Redwallers, especially the young ones, had never seen so much as a picture of a wildcat before. There was an awkward silence for a few moments; Brother Willow, as per usual, broke it.

"I suppose the bigbeast in the infirmary is a cat, too?" Upon seeing a few otherbeasts nod the affirmative, Willow huffed irritably. Well, this is certainly a fine state of affairs. Somebeast could have told me our 'guests' were vermin!"

Immediate cries of reproach rang out from the other beasts in the room. Sister Flim was frankly mortified; she covered her charge's ears. "Brother Willow! How dare you say a thing like that to a babe!"

Willow did not seem to think he had said anything wrong; he attempted to justify his remark. "Wildcats have always been classified as enemies, our historical records state that quite clearly." He adressed the company about him. "Those who've been to Abbey School should recall the dreaded names- Ungatt Trunn, who attempted to conquer the southern shores long before the Abbey was built; Verdauga Greeneyes, who ruled and oppressed Mossflower for many seasons; Tsarmina Greeneyes, his daughter, who nearly slew Martin the Warrior; Riggu Felis, whom the famed otterqueen Tiria Wildlough sailed away from the Abbey to battle. I stand by what I've said; babes they may be, but they're vermin, all right - just like the big 'un upstairs!"

Further cries of recrimination broke out. Tings and Shermy had to restrain Raggle from leaping across the table and attacking Brother Willow with his claws; the young squirrel was almost chattering with rage. "Liar! Sy nearly got killed saving Tings' life, and you call her a vermin!"

Shermy agreed with him. "I say, that is a bit strong, Willow, old chap. You don't even know the creature, and you've already judged her, wot!"

Dippertail contributed his opinion; he had been to Abbey School when he was a chick. "Yieeeer, what about Gingivere Greeneyes, Tsarmina's Brother? He and his wife Sandingomm were friends of the Abbey, as I recall."

Brother Willow looked as if he had been waiting for somebeast to say this; he wagged a claw, smiling condescendingly at the falcon. "Ah, but they were unusual beasts, and the only of their kind, I should say. Besides, their line died out with Squire Julian Gingivere, in the time of Matthias the warrior."

Fresh arguments arose, filling the room with ill-humoured clamor. Abbess Saffron had taken quite enough; passing the infant kitten to Sister Flim, she leapt nimbly upon the largest dining table, holding up both paws for silence and addressing the astonished company sternly. "Please, friends! This is no way for decent creatures to behave; especially not at mealtimes!" A hush fell over the room; Saffron addressed Brother Willow. "I cannot force you to change your opinion, friend, but, as Shermy said, it is not just or fair to judge a creature - ANY creature - before giving them a chance. Please bear his advice in mind in the future. "

Brother Willow would never admit that any creature, especially a youngbeast, could be right where he was wrong. He shrugged sulkily. "As you wish, Abbess."

"Thank you, Brother." Saffron turned to the rest of her creatures. "As for the rest of you, I wish this discussion to be closed at once. We are here to welcome our two new Dibbuns and to have a good time, not to argue amongst ourselves or cause bad feeling." She descended from the table, all eyes watching her in guilty silence. Accepting the slumbering babe back from Sister Flim, she settled herself into a chair. There was a pause, then the Abbess grinned, gesturing to Friar Dimp and his assistants. "Well, what are you waiting for, friends? Serve the soup! I'm practically starving!"

There was an outburst of laughter from the creatures present, then the meal progressed full-swing. Friar Dimp winked cheerily at the Abbess as he ladled her a serving of her favorite wild onion broth. "Well done, Ronny; that cleared the matter up nicely, I think."

Saffron smiled. Dimp was her brother, and five seasons her senior; he always referred to her by the pet name Ronny. "It would certainly seem so. Oh dear, all the Dibbuns are trying to feed Speedwell at once. Silly little things, I suppose they mean well."

Dimp chuckled. "He certainly doesn't seem too put out, does he?"

Speedwell, a ginger tabby kitten, was vigorously attacking a serving of hazelnut pudding, whilst appraising with his eyes the various dishes pressed upon him by the eager abbeybabes.

"Yurr, troi summ veggibul zoop, it bees vurry tasty!"

"Biddee favorite be scones an' blackerbee jam, you try it!"

"Eat up alla dat puddin, make y'grow big n' strong."

"Unka Dimp allus make 'shroomy pasty, it yummy delisheeus!"

Skipper noticed that the other kitten, Rivereye, had awakened and was trying to get at the food. He fished a watershrimp from his bowl of soup, passing it to the babe. "Eat hearty, liddle matey, there's plenny where that came from."

The kitten, an albino with blue eyes, practically inhaled the morsel. Skipper chuckled, passing him another shrimp. "Nothin' wrong with that 'uns appetite, that's fer sure. I think he'll settle right in here, won't ye, matey? Yeowch! Eat the shrimp, not me paw!"

Laughter echoed round Cavern Hole yet again. Only Brother Willow remained silent, sulkily and resentfully glaring at the two young cats recieving such a warm welcome from his fellow Abbeybeasts.

Chapter Seven
By the time the darkness of night had fallen on Mossflower Woods, the rain had completely stopped; the clouds still lingered overhead, rumbling quietly with distant thunder. Water continued to drip from the saturated leaves of the trees, creating a monotonous, musical plinking noise as the droplets splashed into the countless puddles on the ground. It was a gloomy place to be at midnight, the woodlands after a rainstorm; however, there were few creatures about to remark upon this fact, as most of the wooddwellers were safely abed.

There was one creature, at least, who was awake to observe the unnerving darkness. Jettcoil, the mighty blacksnake, was not in the best of moods as he half-slithered, half-swam his way through the deluged woodlands. Though he had been raised on board a ship, and was an excellent swimmer, the enormous reptile was not very fond of water and was becoming increasingly annoyed as his search turned up nothing but more puddles and mud holes to fight through. His annoyance, however, was focused on the cats and not on his master Dankfur, whose cruel treatment had almost hypnotized the serpent into believing he could not disobey the marten.

His mate, the even larger blacksnake Whiptail, met up with him as he transversed a fallen log. Dropping the woodpigeon carcass she carried in her mouth, she flicked her tongue lazily. "Ssssssssssso, my husssssband, how goessss your sssssssearch?"

Jettcoil flailed the end of his body angrily, snapping several low bush branches. "It isssssss no good. The trailssssss, they are all falsssssse! No ssssssign or sssssscent at all in these accursssssed woodsssssss, none!" He collapsed limpy, panting with the exertion.

Whiptail nosed the woodpigeon across the log. "Eat, I have already delivered the mate and eggsssss of this one to the masssster. He sssssssent me to assssssissssst you." As her mate devoured his grisly meal, Whiptail flicked her blue-black tounge out again, smelling the damp woodland air. Her shining yellow eyes lit up with an evil gleam. "Miccccccce, I sssssmell many miccccce and sssssquirrels!"

Jettcoil mumbled grumpily around around a full mouth, "Mmmmmffff, the entire woodsssss sssssstink of thossssse hereaboutssssss. We ssssshould sssseek catsssssss, not rodent sssssscum!"

Whiptail sniffed the air again. "Yessssss, but consssssider, the catsssss were injured lassssst we sssscented them. Perhapssssss they have sssssought sssshelter with the wood-dwellerssssss."

Swallowing the rest of the woodpigeon whole, Jettcoil pondered her words for a moment. "It isssss a thought, that." He descended from the log, beckoning to his mate with his head. "Come! Let ussss ssssee where the ssscent will lead, if for no other reasssson than to ssssssatisfy our curiosssssssity. Mayhapsssss we will find the trail of the catsssss, asssss well."

Furze Pinspikes and his wife, Teezl, had been the Abbey Gatekeepers longer than anybeast cared to recall. They also had the largest family in Redwall Abbey; thirteen little ones total, with one more on the way. Though the Dibbun-aged members of the brood slept inside the dormitories, the majority of the Pinspikes family spent their evenings in the gatehouse, a small but comfy dwelling that jutted from the inside of the wall next to the main doors of the Abbey. It was a tight squeeze, but the hogfamily did not seem to mind; in fact, the youngest ones dreamed of the day when they would be cosidered mature enough to be promoted to join their parents and older siblings on guard duty.

The system the Pinspikes family had worked out was simple; every night, a different one of them kept watch on the walltops over the gate, while the others slept in the many armchairs, hammocks, and couches in the gatehouse. There had not been a threat of vermin invasion for many seasons now, but, as the Pinspikeses figured, there was no point in taking chances. This night, watch duty had fallen to the eldest Pinspikes daughter, a burly hog by the name of Ayeriss. Every Pinspikes took his or her duty very seriously; especially so tonight, with one of the gates hanging shattered and useless by just one hinge. Gripping a stout window pole, Ayeriss stared grimly at the bleak path beneath her, watching for signs of foes; gruffly muttering dire threats to potential invaders under her breath, as was her wont.

"Cummon, yew robbers, jus' yew try an' get in here, I dares yeh. Ho boy, would I like t'see yeh try. I'd give yew sech a drummin' wi' me stave ye'd weep 'til autumn come, by 'eck I would. Then I'd yell 'til the Abbey shook so's Skipper'd cummout an' beat yeh s'more. Cummon, show your lousy faces, I dares yeh...."

At that moment, the moon broke free of the clouds; as if rejoicing in its freedom, it shone a bright beam of light on the scene below, illuminating it in rich blues and purples. Ayeriss caught her breath; something large was moving in the deep, weed-filled ditch that ran parallell to the wall some distance off. She gripped her pole even tighter, swallowing hard. Putting on a brave swagger, she called gruffly into the night. "Who goes there? If yeh be friends, cummon out, I won't harm ye. Woe be it to ye if yore foes, though. Cummon, quit sneakin' in that muddy hole and walk on the path like a beast witha grain o' sense!"

The enormous, ugly black head of Jettcoil arose from the ditch; Ayeriss blanched, suddenly turned speechless with fright, as the serpent unhurriedly wound his way onto the path. Coil after seemingly endless coil, the gigantic reptile emerged into full view in the patch of moonlight. Rearing nearly a third of his long body off the ground, until he stood nearly twice the height of a grown badger, Jettcoil hissed savagely at the sentry hog. "Where are the catsssss? We have followed their ssssscent to thisssss redssssstone housssssse; tell usssssss!"

Ayeriss could no more answer the hideous apparition than fly to the moon; with a groan, she swooned backwards onto the parapet stairs, bouncing all the way down to the grounds, where she lay, out cold.

Whiptail, still concealed in the ditch, bit her mate savagely on the tail. "Fool! You have frightened the ssssssspikedog, you sssssshould not have left the ditch! Now the wood-dwellersssss know of our presenssssssssse!”

Jettcoil knew his haste had been untimely; he slid back into the mud with an angry hiss. “Never mind, it isssss to late now; we musssst report back to masssster that we have found the catsssss at lasssssst!”

Shermy, Raggle and Tings had decided not to sleep in the dormitories, wishing to keep Siyuzin Stoneclaw company, and to be on hand should she need anything. Grandmum Dawbil had agreed, reasoning that there were plenty of empty beds in the sickbay at present. Rivereye, the younger kitten, had been taken to the Dibbuns’ dormitory; his older brother Speedwell, however, had refused to go, and had accompanied the trio of young ones to his cousin’s room. Though it was well after midnight, and they were all weary, none of the four could seem to get to sleep after the day’s excitement. Accordingly, they sat awake, conversing in hushed tones so as not to awaken the resting giant wildcat; or Grandmum Dawbil, snoring in the chair beside her.

Yawning, Shermy addressed the younger cat. “I say, Speedwell old thing, why don’t you tell us a bedtime story, wot? Help us to get some shuteye, doncha know.”

The cat Dibbun shook his head. “Not know bedtime stories. Sy tell alla bedtime stories.”

Raggle shook his head. “Shame on you, asking the babe to do all the work. You tell the story, Shermy.”

The leveret drooped his ears comically. “That’s a bit of a tall order, sir; I’m more a singer than a storyteller, y’know.”

Raggle lobbed a pillow at his friend. “So sing us a lullabye then, puddenhead!”

The young hare threw the pillow back half­heartedly: Raggle easily ducked it. “Shan’t! I asked for the blinkin’ entertainment first, old chap.”

Speedwell giggled as Tings intercepted Raggle’s return throw. “Oh, stop it, you sillies. Here, I’ll sing the song.

She launched into an old Abbey lullabye, being careful not to raise her voice.

“When sunset tinges woodlands gold,

''Find me there, my friend.

''We’ll walk along the path together

As the day doth end.

''We’ll follow trails the moonbeams mark,

''O come with me, my friend,

''We’ll follow streams turned liquid silver,

As the day doth end.

''For I, the sprite of Slumber deep,

''Will keep you safe, my friend,

''As we transverse the realm of Dreamland,

As the day doth end.

''And when the sun shall rise again,

''Our ways will part, my friend;

''But you shall meet me every evening,

As the day doth end.

''Then, once again, we’ll roam together,

''Just you and I, my friend,

''By paths of gold and streams of silver

As the the day doth end.”

The haunting, gentle melody had its effect; even Tings drifted off to sleep as the song ended. As Shermy slept, he was visited once again by Martin the Warrior. Seeing the heroic figure appear in his dream, the young hare smiled. “Hello again, wot.”

Martin smiled as well, a gentle, fatherly smile. “The Abbey is a place of peace, but in the days to come you must be brave, for strong warriors will be needed. Tell your friends this.”

Shermy was suprised. “Certainly I will, but might I ask why, old chap?”

But the vision of Martin had already faded; as Tings had described in the lullabye, Shermy found himself walking pleasantly through the peaceful forest of dreams, beside a silver river.

Chapter Eight
Darker than the sky on a clouded, moonless night; darker than Raggle's fur, or Jettcoil's scales; darker than the smoke wreathing from an oily fire; darker than the bottom of the deepest crater on earth were the mind, the heart, the very being of Enzi Grexx, the sable-furred wolf known as the infamous Black Shade.

No wolf had ever before inhabited the area near Northern Shores; indeed, their kind lived even farther to the north, in the bitter, harsh uncharted territories where snow stayed on the ground the majority of the year. They were, as a rule, social creatures; living in large, barbaric, cooperative communities under the leadership of the strongest and wisest of the group. Some seasons back, when he was little more than a pup, Enzi Grexx had wished to be that leader, and had done all in his power to wrest the position from its current owner, up to the point of a direct physical attack. This had proved to be a near fatal mistake. The other wolf, though a female and long in years, had been an expert fighter with a mace and chain; even after disarming the younger wolf, she had cruelly beaten her opponent within an inch of his life before granting his frantic pleas for mercy. Shunned and ridiculed by his clan, and many others, Enzi Grexx had fled southward in disgrace.

Lone wolves, especially young and injured ones, often do not survive in strange territory; but hate, and the desire for power, often can drive a creature on in the most desperate of situations. Knowing he could not return to the frigid lands from whence he came, Enzi Grexx had made up his mind then and there to establish himself as ruler of the strange, new country he found himself in, gathering a huge army for himself and making his name one spoken only in total terror; no creature would dare to ridicule and humiliate him then. It might very well take scores of seasons, but he would do it; this he promised himself. Keeping himself going with this growing obsession, he wandered the Northern Shores and the mountains nearby, watching and waiting for his chance.

When he had stumbled into the coastal cavern teeming with adders and other snakes, his first reaction had been to flee for his life; but then, as he later watched them from a distance, the great idea struck the wolf; why not use them? Few creatures were as terrifying, as horrific as serpents, especially poisonous ones; furthermore, this group seemed to have learned to live and hunt as a community, much like his old clan. With time, and the right methods, he could knock them into a regular war machine! But, the problem still remained; how to take over a dangerous clan of snakes, many of which could kill him with a single bite?

The chance arrived one bitterly stormy morning, some weeks later. The obvious leader of the snakes, a huge, ancient adder, had exited the cave alone. Usually, he traveled with two smaller adders as sort of a bodyguard; the formidible creature really had no need of them, but he was not the sort to take chances. However, for reasons best known to himself, he had decided to hunt solo this particular morning.

The young wolf never hesitated; the opportunity was not one to be missed. Using the darkness of the storm as extra cover, he had run ahead of the monster up the path to the clifftops, the fertile area where the snakes usually did their hunting. He had then crouched by a large rock on an outcrop ledge, where he knew the adder would have to pass to get to the hunting grounds; gripping his long spear (the only weapon he had brought with him on his journey), he had waited for his opponent to arrive.

As soon as the huge head had passed the boulder, Enzi Grexx had struck, ramming his spear into the ugly neck with both paws. It was over in an instant; the snake gave one horrific whiplash of its body, then lay still. Howling his victory to the rainy skies, the wolf proceeded with his cunning plan.

Great had been the consternation in the snake community two days later, when a huge, black-furred creature had marched boldly into their den. None of the serpents had ever seen a wolf before; the tallest furred creatures they knew of were badgers, and this strange beast was half as tall again as the largest of these. To add to the shock, the dark behemoth was wearing the upper part of the skull of their chieftain as a mask, and a tunic and cloak made from his hide. The two largest fangs were still in the skull, and hung down the sides of the beast's muzzle like a grisly decoration; the pin of the cloak, and the belt of the tunic, were fashioned from the remaining, smaller teeth. All of the serpents knew of their chieftain's reputation as a battler; any beast who could totally defeat him must have been invincible, and possibly even magic! Without even a whisper of dissent, they had capitulated to the conqueror. Thus it was that Enzi Grexx, a discraced young wolf banished from his home, became the Black Shade, feared ruler of the Northern Shores.

As seasons ran on, the Black Shade gathered other beasts to his army; these he trained in the art of war, and the art of controlling serpents. Any beast he thought could serve his purpose was recruited into the Ranks of the Shadow - rats, stoats, weasels, foxes, ferrets, martens, even a raven. Though the Black Shade always sent messengers to try to peaceably convince the vermin to join him first, he had no qualms about using force on the obstinate and unwilling; hence, his attack on the wildcat colony, creatures who had dared to refuse being under his rule. Now, he had well over five hundred vermin, and untold thousands of serpents, in his command; he had also matured to his full growth, and attained superior skill with his spear, the double ends of which he had replaced with the fangs of another large adder. His pride, skill, and cruelty made him a beast not to be trifled with; several unfortunates had found that out, to their cost.

This thought was running through the mind of Scraggback, a ferret captain in the ranks, as he entered the inner sanctum of the Black Shade's dwelling. Though most of the serpents still dwelt in their seaside cavern, about a hundred of them, and just about all of the other beasts in the Ranks of the Shadow, lived with their leader in the Shadelair. In his travels, Grexx had found a mass of monolithic stone columns sticking out from the sea, some little distance offshore from the serpent's cave. Between two of these columns, suspended high in the air, the wreck of what had once been the biggest pirate ship to sail the seas was permanantly fixed, her huge iron prowspike driven into one of the monoliths. The ship, whose name was the Goreleech, had four decks counting the topmost, giving her plenty of room to house the Black Shade and his followers. As time went by, a massive rope and plank bridge had been constructed from the clifftops above the snakes' cave to the rock island the ship's stern rested against; many smaller ones ran between ledges on the rock islands, where several stone hut lookout posts had been built for extra housing. The Black Shade himself spent most of his time in what had been the captain's cabin of the ship; he had refurbished and decorated it with grisly snake-carcass trophies and special, green-flamed fire brasiers to give it an eerie air.

Scraggback gulped visibly as the great wolf's pale, flat eyes bored into him from behind the eye sockets of the adder skull. The Black Shade was not a creature of many words; he spat out a single, commanding question. "Well?"

The ferret tried to keep his paws from shaking as he made his report. "Master, please do not be angry with me. My patrol and I have continued to beat, starve, and torture those wildcats in exactly the manner you instructed. Two more of them have perished under the treatment, yet the rest still refuse to join our Ranks. The eldest male tried to do battle with us again; several of my patrol were badly injured." He gestured to a painful swelling over his right eye to confirm this statement.

The wolf's growl was low, but menacing. "What of the Voice of the Shadow, and his crew?"

Scraggback's voice quavered with fear. Dankfur had been the closest thing to a friend and kindred spirit the Black Shade had; the ferret knew his news was not going to be recieved well. "The fivescore scouts you sent out returned this morning, Master. They searched as far as a good fortnight's journey from here, scouring the land, but there were no tracks to be seen anywhere. However, Captain Yirta found these..."

The ferret yelped in alarm as the wolf ripped the proffered satchel from his paws. Upending it, the Black Shade dumped the contents unceremoniously on the floor; the tattered remains of an embroidered blue hooded cloak, a rusted saber, and the skull and a few other bones of a marten. Enzi Grexx glared first at the pitiful remains, then at his minion, his voice tight with fury as he demanded, "How did this happen?"

Scraggfur gulped again, edging towards the door. "Master, believe me, I do not know. Yirta says one of his soldiers found these about the twelfth day of their search."

The wolf was silent for a moment, breathing hard through his nostrils in an attempt to keep his temper in check. Scraggback stifled a moan as he watched his master's paw tighten on the double-headed spear. Then, the Black Shade spat out a command. "Send Yirta to me."

Realizing that he was not going to be slain, Scraggback knelt, sighing in relief. "Master, I thank you for sparing my...yeeek!"

He leapt to his paws and fled, nearly tripping over the spear that was embedded in the deck timbers where he had been kneeling a second earlier. The wolf's roaring shout rang through his ears. "Get out of my sight, you pathetic, useless worm! Get out! Out! OUT!!!"

Enzi Grexx listened to the ferret's receding footsteps until they were no longer audible. His jaw tightened grimly as he stared again at what had once been a pine marten. Dankfur had been his most loyal follower, his closest ally, and the beast he relied on to carry out his most difficult commands. His loss would be a terrible blow to the Ranks of the Shadow; especially now, with the time for carrying out the Black Shade's newest master plan fast approaching. Only Dankfur and his blacksnakes had known of the plot, as the Black Shade felt he could trust no other creature with the information at present.

Yirta was the only raven in the Ranks; as such, he wore a embroidered blue cowl instead of a cloak and mask. He poked his beak nervously around the door frame. "Yaaark! You wished to see me, sire?"

The Black Shade snapped tersely. "Stop dithering in the doorway and get in here."

Yirta complied, bowing low. "Kraaaak! As you say, sire. Might I ask the reason for this summons? We have completed your mission."

He squawked in terror as the wolf bulled him into the cabin wall, shouting into his startled face. "Two seasons ago my strong right paw left in search of three escaped prisoners, taking the two largest serpents of my army with him. He did not return, and none of you useless rabble could find any trace of him. Now you dare to return with this bundle of rags, and say the mission is completed?!!! Where did you find these, and why did you not trace the beast responsible?!"

The raven could hardly speak for being throttled; he managed to choke out his message. "Eeeaark...riverbank, near swamp, twelve days from here....gggaaak, lots of pikefishes...urk...these washed up on the bank!"

The Black Shade released his victim, who fell to the floor, gasping and coughing. His voice dropped to a more reasonable tone. "You'd better be telling me the truth."

"Haaaaark, nobeast would lie to you, sire." The raven feebly rasped. "There were other bones, ripped by the pikefishes' teeth. This one was eaten, sure enough. Rraaak!"

"Was there a gold hook in the remains?"

"Kraark, no. Why would there be, sire?"

The wolf's voice dropped dangerously low; his eyes narrowed. "You dare to ask me that question?"

The raven had regained his composure; he gestured with a wing at the body. "Rrraark, it is not Dankfur, if that is what you were thinking, sire. I would know the bones of a female beast anywhere; this is a she-marten."

He backed up to the wall again as the Black Shade advanced on him threateningly, hissing through clenched teeth. "Are you sure of this?"

Yirta's throat bobbed as he swallowed several times. "Kkkaaaak, sire, nobeast knows more about carrion and bones than a raven."

Grexx knew this was true; he concealed a sigh of relief, gesturing to the door. "That will be all, Yirta. Go, now. I need to think."

The raven obeyed with alacrity, fleeing at top speed as Scraggback had done. Prising his spear loose from the deck timbers, and seating himself in a carved wooden chair, the Black Shade thought furiously. So, these were not Dankfur's bones; they were the remains of Gribby, the only female pine marten in Dankfur's crew. Then where was Dankfur, and the rest of his band? Had they, too, perished in the pike-infested waters, or had they managed a crossing? The wolf smote the arm of his throne in frustration. He needed his Voice back; and soon, before his whole grand scheme came crashing down in failure.

Suddenly, an idea struck Enzi Grexx; leaping to his paws, he marched out of the door. Throttling a rat sentry, who was unlucky enough to be within pawreach, the Black Shade rapped out an order. "Get Scaleflier."

He dropped the unfortunate, who scuttled off, pawing his throat. The black wolf allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his features. No creature under his rule would disobey him; his first obsession and goal had been, for all intents and purposes, acheived. Now, all that was needed to carry out his second, grander scheme was his second-in-command, whom he had no doubts of finding now. All of the snakes were excellent trackers, and could travel many times faster than a vermin at full-tilt run; but Scaleflier was the fastest and best hunter by far. If he were sent to the place where Gribby's remains were found he would soon pick up the trail, and bring the marten crew back. Of course, this would mean leaving a wildcat and her two kittens unpunished, but what were a pawful of escaped prisoners to the Black Shade? They couldn't possibly do him any damage at this point, he reasoned; let them be forgotten as casualties of war.

And it was with this decision that Enzi Grexx, the Black Shade, made his second huge mistake.

Chapter Nine
Though the clouds had finally blown away, the air was still quite damp from the storm of the night before. Like swirling seas of gold, sunrise-tinged puffs of mist practically obscured the woodlands. Here and there, a beam of sunlight was broken into countless shining shards by the branches of a tree they were forced to shine through, creating harlequin patterns of light and dark through the fog. It was a beautiful, and breathtaking sight; yet it meant little to Dankfur and his four remaining martens, crouched miserably in the mud by a damp, smoking fire as they waited on the return of the blacksnackes. Aside from a roasted woodpigeon and her clutch, which they had divided amongst themselves, the group had eaten nothing all evening; all of their looted supplies from the Guosim had washed overboard when they had tried to shoot the rapids in the previous day's storm.

Gronk, the first mate, had learned his lesson about complaining outright, and had the dock-leaf bandage about his ear to prove it. He tried to stay conversational as he posed his captain a question. "So, when do ye think them two snakes is gonna come back, Cap'n?"

A smallish, stunted marten named Scruffgutt beat Dankfur to the answer. "When they's ready to, addlebrain! Huh, of alla shoopid questions...oooooffff!"

Gronk kicked him savagely in the stomach, sending him flat on his back. "I ain't talkin' ter ye, Shorty, keep outa this."

Gronk suddenly found himself sprawling beside his victim; he looked up into the eyes of Scruffgutt's hefty brother Uja. The giant was shaking a clenched paw threateningly. "Ye had no call ter do that!"

Not a bit short of nerve, or strength, Gronk leapt upright, catching Uja a belt in the nose with his sword hilt; knocked off-balance, the big clumsy marten stumbled backwards into the stream with a booming splash. Gronk shook his saber threateningly at his spluttering comrade. "Yew lay a paw on me again, Fatty, an' ye ain't gonna live ter remember it. Git outta there afore ye catches fever. What the....Gerroff!"

Scruffgutt had leapt upon the first mate's unprotected back, knocking the saber from his paws and pulling him backwards to the ground. Gronk retaliated by rolling over and punching his assailant in the eye; not to be outdone, Scruffgutt grabbed the first mate's injured ear and bit, hard. Ignoring a bloodied nose, Uja scrambled from the streambank and joined the fray, booting Gronk in the behind. Ringgob, the only member of Dankfur's crew who had not participated up to this point, decided to help Gronk out; he flung himself upon the giant's footpaws, sending Uja crashing to earth. Roaring and screeching at each other, the four martens scuffled paw to paw, careening up and down the sludgy riverbank. Dankfur dropped his head into his paws in despair, not even bothering to intervene. "Idiots, I've got idiots for a crew!"

The two blacksnakes slid silently into camp, a bit out of breath from the dash; they had covered an amazing distance that night. Whiptail made her report, then gestured with her blunt snout at the now-unrecognizable muddy blobs still fighting each other tooth and nail. "What issss thissss about, Massssster?"

The Voice of the Shadow shot a disgusted glare at the continuing scuffle. "Just squabbles, brought about from too much hardship and not enough feeding." He pointed his hook at Jettcoil. "Well, what are you waiting for? You know what to do."

For a creature of his monstrous size, the blacksnake could be very stealthy when he wished to. Slithering, undetected, up to the squabblers, he sent the lot of them into the water with one powerful flick of his neck. Spluttering and hawking water, the four looked up into the steely eyes of their captain. Dankfur gestured with his hook dramatically. "Just look at you. You call yourselves servants of the Black Shade, or even mere pirates? You're nothing but a pack of babes fighting over trifles. Now get out of there and gather your things. The serpents have run our quarry to earth at last, about three days travel from here at our speed. We'll have enough enemies to fight then, without bickering amongst ourselves."

Abashed, but still glaring resentfully at one another, the martens exited the stream, gathering up swords, daggers, cloaks and masks from where they had fallen on the bank during the melee. As the logboat began to sail down the sidestream towards the still-rough River Moss, Dankfur questioned the blacksnakes again. "You're sure the cats are still inside the building you told me about?"

Jettcoil, who was traveling on the bankside with his mate, answered. "Yesssss, Masssster. The tracksssssss ended at the gate; there were no otherssssssss."

"And the directions again, in case we become separated?"

"Follow the great ssssssstream until it reachessssss a ford, then follow the path from the ford to the redssssssstone fortressssss."

Gronk, now in better spirits at the thought of immenent victory, gave his captain a lopsided grin. "Ain't too difficult, eh, Cap'n? We'll have 'em back in no time, now."

Dankfur shot him a withering look. "You don't realize what we're up against, do you?"

The first mate was puzzled. "A big redrock buildin', I thought."

Ringgob, a marten with an unusually large mouth, had caught on. "Idjit! That's Redwall H'abbey! It ain't gunna be no easy job git'n them cats outta there; I heard lotsa bad tales 'bout that accursed place."

Horrorstruck, the other three martens looked towards their captain for confirmation. Dankfur nodded, driving his message home by repeatedly pounding his hook into his good paw. "He speaks the truth. Countless warlords have been done to death by the inhabitants of Redwall. This job is going to take every ounce of cunning I possess, and complete, unquestioning obedience from you lot. Anybeast who's got any objections may as well throw himself overboard right now; there will be no room for loose ends once we reach that Abbey. Understood?"

The four former corsairs nodded furiously; they knew, by the look in their captain's eyes and the way he pawed his long saber, that he meant every word.

Friar Dimp, as befits a ruler of Redwall's kitchens, always rose before the sun was fully up to begin preparing breakfast. This morning, the good squirrel had decided the main course would be oatmeal, served with strawberries, honey, and almonds; thinking it would be nicer to use fresh strawberries instead of preserved ones, Dimp gathered up a few baskets and made his way to the main door. Normally, he would have awakened his kitchen assistants to have them help with the task, but, after yesterday's ordeal, the kind-hearted Friar had decided to let the younger beasts sleep in a little.

Out on the lawns, the main abbey building and its surrounding walls rose majestically out of the mists, tinged a pale, dusty rose in the soft, pre-dawn light; but there, any suggestion of beauty ended. The grounds and orchards were a soppy, muddied mess, covered in fallen fruits and branches. Now that it could be seen more clearly, the useless main gate was a sobering, horrific sight. Friar Dimp was a meticulously tidy creature; squelching his way through the mud with a grimace of distaste upon his face, he sighed heavily, announcing to empty air, "This wreckage will take ages to repair!"

Fumbling and dropping some of his baskets, the Friar sighed again; attempting to hold a berry-picking expedition by oneself was no easy task. He turned his pawsteps to the Gatehouse, deciding he would ask Furze or Teezl to give him some assistance.

Suddenly, he broke into a run; disregarding baskets and muddied clothes, he dashed to the side of the fallen Ayeriss, kneeling and taking her in his paws. A quick glance showed that she had suffered a terrible concussion; a bit of blood from where a sharp staircorner had caught her head was congealed in her spikes. Assuring himself that the hogmaid was still breathing, the Friar leapt to his paws again, and barged noisily into the Gatehouse.

Some little time later, Shermy and his friends were awakened by a frantic pounding on the door of the infirmary, followed by Grandmum Dawbil's gruff shout. "A'roight, oi'm a-cummin, keep ee shurt on!"

She opened the door to reveal a disheveled and muddied Friar Dimp; the pudgy squirrel was panting and weeping so hard that he could only articulate nonsense syllables. After a short moment of staring at the rare spectacle of a dirty Friar Dimp, Grandmum Dawbil threw a hefty digging claw about his shoulders, ushering him gently into the sickbay. "Thurr, naow, take ee deep breather'n tell oi all about et, zurr."

Shermy, Raggle, Tings, and Speedwell all leapt from their beds, crowding round the distraught Friar as he sobbed out his message. "Found her outside...Ayeriss Pinspikes...her parents are tending to her now...oh, it's horrible, friends, just awful!"

He burst into fresh tears, unable to continue. The old mole healer immediately took charge of the situation, her voice ringing out authoritatively. "Shurmee, Raggle, goo ee an' foind out what happun'd. Oi'll stop hurr wi' ee Froir till you'uns get back."

"Aye, Miz Dawbil, marm!" The hare and black squirrel charged out the door and down the stairs. The big wildcat, Siyuzin Stoneclaw, had come awake more slowly than the other beasts in the infirmary; her voice came from the back room. "What's going on, what's wrong?"

Tings came to the cat's side, her face drawn and anxious as she explained, "Friar Dimp says one of our gatekeepers has been hurt." Immediately, Sy heaved herself into a sitting position. Tings became seriously alarmed. "No, no, it's all right, Shermy and Raggle already went downstairs. Wait here, they'll come back and tell us what happened."

The wildcat smiled at the agitated mousemaid. "Don't worry, missy, I'm not getting up. I just want to look out the window here."

There was a large, shuttered window beside the cat's bed; she threw it open with one swipe of her mighty paw. Tings and Speedwell joined her; together, they gazed through the rapidly clearing mist at the scene below.

The entirely of the Pinspikes family and a large percentage of the Abbey population were out on the lawn; some crowding around a huddled figure on the ground, others milling about as if unsure what to do. News of Ayeriss' injury had traveled fast, in the strange way that all news seemed to find its way around the Abbey with no real effort on the part of anybeast. Dippertail, spotting the open infirmary window, soared up to it and landed on the sill. He bowed politely to the bigger wildcat. "Yiieer! Nice to see you feeling a bit better."

Sy gestured to the mass of creatures. "What's this all about?"

The falcon shook his head sadly. "Heeeeek, the night sentry fell down the stairs last night; probably fainted with exhaustion after the hard night and day before. Yeeeeak, she has injured her head very badly; she does not look well at all."

He took off again, sailing back down to help Skipper Windryder and his otters to take charge of the situation. The crowd dispersed as two of the otters carried the burly hogmaid into the abbey, while the rest helped Abbess Saffron to shepherd the curious Abbeybeasts back to their normal daily chores. Tings stifled a sob. "No wonder the Friar was so upset, finding her like that. Poor Ayeriss, she was always such a tough beast."

Grandmum Dawbil had managed to calm Dimp, and send him off to his room to clean himself up; she addressed the mousemaid firmly. "Naow, thurr be no use in a-talkin' like ee pore hogmaid be dead'n a'ready, Miz Tings. You'm probl'y upsettin' ee babe."

Sy stroked her cousin on the head, her face grim. "Believe me, he's seen and heard far worse. Though it wouldn't be a bad idea to get him out of here before they bring the poor beast in."

Taking the hint, Tings took the kitten's paw, forcing a cheerful smile. "Come on, little one. Let's see if we can help clean up the orchard."

Taking the back way down from the dormitories, so as not to pass Windryder's otters carrying the unconscious Ayeriss, the duo descended to the lower levels of the Abbey. Raggle met them as they crossed the Great Hall; the young squirrel's paws and limbs were trembling with shock. Tings, motioning meaningfully with her eyes at the Dibbun beside her, addressed him brightly. "We're going to ask Abbess Saffron if there's any room on cleanup detail for two more. Want to come with us and make it three?"

Raggle seemed to come out of his stupor. "Huh...oh, er, right." He took the kitten's other paw, giving a shuddering sigh. "I've never really seen a bloody wound before. Turned my stomach a bit."

Tings shook her head at him reprovingly as they turned towards the kitchens, where the Abbess could be heard trying to motivate the cooking assistants in the absence of the Friar. "Let's not talk of it, please. Watch that step, Speedwell; here, we'll swing you over. One, two, hup!"

For the first time since his arrival at Redwall, the kitten giggled, allowing his footpaws to leave the floor. "Wheeee, again, again!"

Raggle smiled, too, as he and Tings swung their charge over another step. "Good to see him happy, after what he's been through. One, two, hup!"

A sound of pattering footsteps caused Tings to look over her shoulder; she groaned, lowering her voice to a murmur. "Oh, no, here comes Brother Furze, right at us."

Raggle also glanced at the Pinspikes patriarch approaching, whispering back, "He sure looks upset. Well, it can't be helped; probably just needs somebeast to talk to."

They stopped and turned, waiting for Furze Pinspikes to catch up. Tings took his paw as he reached her, adopting her most soothing tone. "Poor fellow, rushing about isn't going to help matters much. Why don't you come with us to the kitchens for a nice cup of tea, to help calm your nerves while we wait for news of Ayeriss?"

The hedgehog pulled his paw free. "Not worried about Ayeriss; that rabbet who helps in the 'firmary sez she wuz startin' t'come round when 'e took 'er up. Where's Muther H'Abbess?"

Raggle gestured ahead of him. "In the kitchens, why?"

But Furze was off again, shambling at a trot (the fastest pace he could manage) down the passage. Still swinging the chuckling Speedwell between them, Raggle and Tings followed, their youthful curiosity aroused.

Just as the trio reached the kitchen, Furze and Abbess Saffron emerged, deep in conversation. Raggle hailed the latter. "Excuse me, marm, but we were wondering if there were any chores for us to do? You know, helping with the storm damage and such like."

Saffron waved a paw; she looked rather flustered. "Skipper and Foremole Aggit are in the orchard, organizing that sort of thing. I really must get on. Great seasons, it never rains but it pours... "

The two young ones and the kitten fell in step with the Abbess, following her and Furze to the door; Tings voiced the question that was in their minds. "What's wrong now?"

The Abbess patted the mousemaid's head gently. "Nothing for you to be alarmed about, young one. Teezl Pinspikes is going to have her new baby - wonderful news, really - but with all that's been going on, it's a complication we really have no need of at the moment."

She and Furze Pinspikes separated from the group, heading towards the Gatehouse while the rest turned toward the orchard. Raggle shook his head in bewilderment as he addressed Tings. "First the storm, and you falling off the roof. Then Shermy sees Martin, and we wind up with two badly injured beasts in the infirmary; and now this! What next?"

Tings laughed nervously, helping Speedwell skirt a large puddle. "I'm almost afraid to ask that question, myself."

Chapter Ten
Ayeriss floated back and forth between unconsciousness and half-consciousness all throughout the day; Grandmum Dawbil, judging this to be the worst case of the three patients she had on paw, had left Teezl (who had been relocated to the sickbay) and Sy to the other infirmary assistants while she tended to the injured hogmaid. Shermy had taken complete control of the care of the wildcat; nobeast disagreed with this, as he had been the one led to find her by Martin the Warrior. Bathing the dirt crust and blood from a re-opened wound on his patient's tail, the young hare kept up a lively conversation with his new friend, interspersed here and there with commands to his fellow healers.

"Jolly bad wound, this; how'd you come by it? Twigga, bring us a clean basin of water, there's a good lass."

Sy tilted her head so her good eye could see the wound in question. "Oh, that. No interesting story to that one, I'm afraid; one of my scimitars slipped its sheath and I sat on it."

"HAW-hahaha...whoops, sorry, old thing. No offense intended. Bit amusin' though, wot?"

The cat ruffled the hare's ears. "Of course it is, laugh away, friend. Better to smile at your misfortunes than to weep, I always say."

Shermy disengaged his head from the heavy paw. "Steady on, miss, d'you want to snap me blinkin' bonce off? Hi, Twigga! Hurry up with that water, will you!"

The harvest mouse swept into the room, plonking the refilled basin onto a side table. She was older than Shermy, but, like the rest of the healers, respected his fast-growing skills highly. "There you are, sorry for the delay. The sickbay water barrel was a bit low, so I stopped to send for a refill. I'd best go attend to miz Teezl now; call me if you need anything else."

She exited the back room again; Shermy washed off his cleaning rag in the fresh water. "After we bandage this up, I'll nip down to the kitchens and see about getting us some tucker; all this healer work makes a bod jolly hungry, wot! I say, this is a deeper wound than I thought; if you'd sat on that blade a fraction harder, you might only have half a blinkin' tail now."

Sy grinned. "Well, at any rate, I'd still have more than your fuzzy little stub, friend." Before Shermy could offer an indignant rejoinder, she added, "By the way, whatever happened to my two scimitars, and my cloak?"

"I'm afraid miz Dawbil lent the cloak to a group of Dibbuns. It's probably a tent or sailing ship's mast now, wot! Hang on a tick..." Shermy called to the old mouse passing by the back room entrance at that moment. "Sister Jerrabeau, what'd we do with those whackin' great blades of hers?"

The Sister shrugged, not halting her progress. "Oh, you mean the two we found out on the lawn? They're with the rest of the armory, in the cellars."

The young hare nodded. "Well, there you are. Shall I fetch them?"

The wildcat waved a paw. "No, it's all right, just so long as they aren't lost. They're family heirlooms, you see." A quick spasm of grief crossed Sy's barbaric features, but only for a moment; she was her cheerful self again in a matter of seconds. "And you may tell the little ones they may keep my old rags; I really have no need of them."

Shermy wrung the excess water from his cloth and reached for a roll of bandages, glancing at the shredded tunic the cat wore. "Yes, and we'll have to see about finding you some decent togs, wot. Though I certainly don't know where we'll get anything your size; begging your pardon, marm." He coughed, a bit embarrassed. "Oh, er, by the way, a little rotter by the name of Biddee asked me to give this to you, though I really don't know if you'll like it. She and some of the other Dibbuns made it, y'see; typical silly toddler's play."

Almost guiltily, he pressed something into Sy's paw. It was a crude eyepatch, made from a length of garden twine and a large freshwater musselshell. A tear escaped the wildcat's good eye, and she hastily wiped it off; seeing Shermy's almost scarlet face, she burst into a roar of laughter. "Hohohohahahaha, you should see yourself. You're pinker than a cooked shrimp, hahaha!"

The hare grinned sheepishly. "Well, it's always a tad embarrasin' bringin' up a facial disfigurement, doncha know. I saw that tear, too."

The cat patted his paw reassuringly. "This shell's my cousin Rivereye's favorite toy; odds are he probably came up with the idea and got your Dibbuns to help out. I was just a bit moved, that's all. Here, help me put it on, will you?"

Shermy complied, tying the string behind her head while she held the patch in place over her scar-sealed blind eye. The young hare sat back to view the effect in the afternoon sunlight, which was streaming through the open window. "Doesn't look to bad, really. First thing the small terrors of the Abbey have done right in a while, wot!"

The unmistakable wail of a babe interrupted the conversation; Twigga the harvest mouse dashed into the back room, her face wreathed in smiles. "Come quick, Shermy, the new Pinspikes babes have arrived!"

Tying off his bandage, the hare grinned. "Well, what do you know. Be there in a moment, wot..." Something suddenly struck him; he cast a quizzical glance at his fellow healer. "Babes? Don't you mean babe?"

Twigga disappeared from view, her voice carrying back into the room as she called over her shoulder. "No, babes; it's twins again."

Shermy rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, explaining to a confused Sy, "This marks the fourth set of twins that bloomin' hogwife's had, not to mention a set of triplets about eight seasons back."

The wildcat's eye widened. "Goodness, how many children are in that family?"

Shermy began reciting names, finishing off the bandage knot with a twirl. "Well, lets see, first there's Kavvin and Ruddtipp, twin brothers, both about your age. Then poor Ayeriss, followed by her brother Eethian and her sister Dahleeah, all some seasons older than me. After that come the twin sisters, Jazppur and Buttrycupp (the Pinspikes h'ain't the most educated in matters of spelling, y'see); they're around the same age as my goodself."

The wildcat shook her head as the hare went on, washing his paws as he continued down the long list. "Let's see, whose next? oh, yes, the triplets, Veera, Frinjjy and Jonjon. That's two sisters and a brother, all some four or five seasons my junior. Then comes the next set of twin sisters, Harrbuckll and Kwinsee, both older Dibbuns, y'know; then, their terrible toddler sister, the infamous Biddee."

Sy counted on her paws, astonished. "So that's five...ten...thirteen of them!"

Shermy headed to the door. "Actually, fifteen now, miss. New twins, remember? I'll be back in a tick, wot."

To his great suprise, the wildcat stood, slowly and painfully, grasping a large crutch that had been left by her bed. "I'd like to see the babes, too. Don't argue; I know I can walk that short a distance."

Teezl Pinspikes had yet to get a good look at the big wildcat; she suppressed a cry of alarm, sitting up in her bed. "What's she doin' up?"

Siyuzin Stoneclaw flashed her bright smile, offering a paw. "Shermy and I just wanted to offer our congratulations to you for your new babes, ma'am." She cast her eye over the tiny, adorable bundles being tended to by Sister Jerrabeau. "And what lovely babes they are; they take after you tremendously."

The hogwife's suspicious glare vanished; she shook paws with the newcomer. "Well, my thanks t'yeh, miss, tho' yeh had no need t'get up on my 'umble account."

Shermy stroked the soft, unformed spikes of one of the babes. "Handsome little fellers, wot! Er, that is...they are fellers, I assume?"

Teezl nodded. "That'n is; t'other's a gel. Oh dear, yew got company, young'un."

Grandmum Dawbil's glare would have curdled cream; she advanced on Shermy threateningly. "Oi thot oi tol' ee to keep ee gurt catbeast abed!"

Sy intervened on her friend's behalf. "It's all right, miz Dawbil, he had nothing to do with it; I just wished to see the new arrivals."

The old mole thought for a moment, then shook her claw sternly under the wildcat's nose. "Well, a'roight then, but ee goo barck abed roight after. You'm bain't well enuff t'be oop yet; bo urr, no."

"Speakin' of well 'nuff, how's my older gel?" Teezl interrupted.

Dawbil turned her attention to the hogwife. "She'm betterer, tho' still bad hurted. She'm probly bee a-comin' round in full late t'noight; oi've leaved 'er sleep furr naow."

Teezl gave a sigh of relief. "As long as she be gettin' better, yew do whatever yeh want." Noticing Sy stumble a bit, the motherly hog took pity on her. "Ye'd better do as the old 'un sez an' git back t'bed, miss. Thank yeh f'r yore visit, tho'."

Leaning on both the crutch and a struggling Shermy, the wildcat did as she was bidden. Puffing and grunting from the exertion, Shermy gently helped his patient back into the bed. "Better never to argue with miz Dawbil, y'know; bloomin' mole's got a flamin' temper, wot!"

Outside, over half the abbey population had been recruited by Skipper and Foremole to tidy up the grounds. The woodcutting trip to Mossflower Woods had been postponed, as a quick reconnaissance by Dippertail had shown the forest floor to be far too swampy at the moment. Taking Foremole Aggit's advice, most the creatures split into groups of four; three to clean up debris and the other to carry a basket for salvagable material. The rest of the abbeydwellers had formed a long chain out the main gate to the ditch; any creature overburdened with unsavable debris passed their findings to this chain, who in turn carried the trash to the ditch and dumped it in. Tings and Raggle had been assigned to work the chain, and were actually the first two links in it; Speedwell, like many of the other Dibbuns, had been put to work with the cleaning crews.

Raggle chuckled as he watched the hogmaid Kwinsee and the tiny kitten Rivereye stumbling along with a basket of windfall fruit between them. "They're never going to make it to the door; those pears are going right back on the ground in a minute."

Tings stifled a titter, passing a piece of broken gatepost to her friend. "You're probably right, though they won't mind; it's an excuse to play in the mud. I wonder how Shermy's doing upstairs, with three beasts in the sickbay?"

Raggle accepted the gatepost, passing it along to the next in line. He shuddered, remembering how the sight of blood had affected him earlier. "I'm sure he's probably enjoying himself, though I don't envy him his job. I bet he's learned a lot, talking to Sy; we'll have to ask him what she's said when he comes down."

A squeak of dismay followed by a squelchy thud proclaimed that Raggle's earlier prediction had come true; the two now-muddied dibbuns returned the way they had come, toddling towards the abbey pond with pawfuls of dirty pears to wash. Brother Willow, next to Raggle on the chain, shook his head disparagingly. "None of the Dibbuns should be out here, really; they're getting terribly underpaw, and just look at the state their clothes are in!"

Raggle had not quite forgiven the Librarian-cum-Abbey Schoolteacher for his remarks of the night before; he was hard put to keep calm as he replied, "Well, they aren't under our paws, and none of the otherbeasts seem to be complaining. Besides, clothes can always be washed, can't they?"

Brother Willow clipped his ear smartly. "Mind your manners when you speak to an elder, smartmouth!"

The young black squirrel opened his mouth to reply, but Tings caught his paw, whispering, "Let it be, Raggle, don't start a fight."

The fight, however, had already broken out; not between Raggle and Brother Willow, but between Brother Willow and Raggle's mother Sedgebrush, who was standing on the Librarian's other side. "How dare you strike another beast within the abbey walls, and my son at that?"

"You heard what he said, the disrespectful little..."

" 'E wuz right, yew big bully!" Brother Furze chimed in from beyond Sister Sedgebrush. "Yew sh'd be ashamed, raisin' a paw t' a young'un like that!"

"Right or wrong, he had no need to speak to me in that tone, sir. Would you kindly stay out of this?"

"Let him talk, if he has a mind to. Just because you've read every scroll and book in the abbey doesn't make you the ruler of it, old one." Sedgebrush pointed out.

Having no ready answer, Brother Willow stomped off across the lawn, nose in the air. "I came out here to offer my assistance, not to be insulted for exercising proper discipline. I bid you all good day!"

Raggle sighed as the Librarian dissapeared into the main abbey building, pulling the door to with a bang. "I suppose we'll all get a lecture from Abbess Saffron now, after he's reported this and changed it to make out he's the victim. Why on earth was he ever promoted to Librarian, mum?"

The thin, grey squirrel and the rest of the chain spaced themselves out to make up for Brother Willow's absense. "He wasn't, really; he just sort of assumed the empty position, long afore you were born. He used to be just Head Teacher; now that he's got two positions, and the power's gone to his head, he gets more insufferable every day."

Tings shook her head. "You're right there. Something's going to have to be done about it, though I can't imagine what."

An otter Dibbun by the name of Squirt had been dragging a stricken branch to the debris chain; he giggled. "Choppa h'ole sh'ew tail off, dat show 'im!"

Taking the branch, Tings playfully flicked some mud at the otterbabe, who fled, squealing with laughter. "Away, you bloodthirsty little rogue. Chop the old shrew's tail off, indeed!"

Sister Sedgebrush grinned fiendishly. "You know, he might not have a bad idea, at that. Perhaps we should ask the Abbess if her brother will lend us a knife?"

Brother Furze laughed so hard he fell to the ground and had to be helped up again.

Chapter Eleven
Scaleflier was a racer, a smallish, dull green snake with a thin body and tapered head. It was said that no reptile within a thousand leagues of the Northern Shores could outdo him for sheer, untiring speed; it was also said that no creature in the world could follow a trail as easily as he. Unlike some of the Ranks of the Shadow, Scaleflier had heard of Redwall Abbey, and it had struck the clever reptile that the obvious place for anybeast fleeing from vermin to seek would be that legendary building; as he had followed the nearly imperceptible signs onward, he soon became assured beyond a doubt that this was indeed the case. By avoiding the confused meanderings and wanderings of the wildcats and the crew that hunted them, and heading straight for the Abbey, Scaleflier had already covered more than a quarter of the distance, even though it had only been one day and night since he set out from the Shadelair. He had crossed the pike stream unharmed when it was dark, and the big fish were resting; now, with the sun beginning to rise, he was already approaching the hills that preceded Mossflower Woods to the north.

Resting on a sunwarmed rock, the small snake took the moment to turn his mind from the task at hand to more bitter, personal thoughts. Being much more intelligent than the average serpent, Scaleflier had been the only resident of the coastside cave to not be fooled by Enzi Grexx's apparent triumph in battle with the chief of adders many long seasons ago; he had deduced, quite correctly, that the only way the wolf had survived the encounter was if he had treacherously attacked the monster from behind, slaying him before he had a chance to defend himself. Unfortunately, the other snakes were of a much more superstitious nature, and were mostly larger, bulkier, and more poisonous than the racer; none would really listen to his assessment of the situation, and the few that even took the time to hear it would probably slay him for speaking dissent about the Black Shade, whom they almost idolized. True, he had helped them to become more feared than ever before, and made sure their needs were provided as well as he could, but the fact still remained that the Black Shade was a mountebank, a lying imposter; and Scaleflier highly resented the fact that he was forced to follow him.

The serpent coiled and uncoiled himself, stretching in the rising sunlight; he shot a glare of sheer hatred at a fluttering, dark shape in the pale sky above him. Imposter though he was, the Black Shade was no fool; in order to ensure that Scaleflier would obey his commands, Enzi Grexx had commanded Yirta, his loyal raven Captain, to follow the serpent on his quest. Yirta was not a very bright creature, but he was totally ruthless; also, he was certainly large and strong enough to seriously injure Scaleflier if he thought he was disobeying. Furthermore, when not having to accomodate his speed to the furred members of the Ranks that often followed him, Captain Yirta was a formidably fast flier, and could easily keep pace with his reptilian subordinate.

Seeing the serpent had halted, Yirta swooped down to a low tree branch, nibbling some berries off an undergrowth bush. "Haaaaark! Rest is good, but we must not tarry long. The Black Shade will not be pleased at unnecessesary delays."

Scaleflier stuck his tounge out insolently at the raven. "It isssss a full sssssunrise and sssssunssset ssssince we left the Ssssshadelair. Do not pretend you do not need sssssssssleep assss much asssss I do."

Yirta was indeed beginning to feel fatigued, but he tried not to show it. "Rrrrak! I will not sleep with you about, I am not a fool. Small snakes are just as bad as a strangling noose."

The snake nodded pensively, as if the thought had only just struck him. "Yessssss, I could ssssssneak up on you no matter where you perched, and ssssssmell you out wherever you fly to resssssssst." Suddenly aggressive, he reared as much of his body as he could off the ground, pointing his snout warningly at the raven. "Beware of me, winged one; I am a dangeroussssss enemy indeed!"

For an answer, Yirta dropped like a stone from his perch, cruelly embedding his talons in Scaleflier's head and striking his body several times with his rock-hard beak. "Krrrrraaaaah! How dare you threaten a Captain of the Ranks? Insolent reptile, no one talks to Yirta like that!"

"Sssssssssss, mercccccccy, sssssspare me!" The wretched, writhing Scaleflier was forced to cry out as the raven pressed home his attack.

Administering a few more pecks to drive his point home, Yirta released his squirming victim, fluttering back up to the high peak of a fir tree and closing his eyes complacently. "Rrrrraaaak, remember which of us is the strongest, my creeping comrade!"

Scaleflier could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face from where the raven's claws had raked; curling miserably under a bush, he muttered darkly to himself. "You may be the sssssstrongessssst, but we sssshall ssssoon sssssee who isss sssssmartesssst, my feathered foe."

Confirming Grandmum Dawbil's expectations, Ayeriss Pinspikes did not come round until near midnight; when she did, she was in such an incoherent, panicked state that the old mole had felt compelled to administer a strong sedative and send the hogmaid back to sleep again, hoping that when she awakened a second time she would be able to communicate clearly what it was that had so badly frightened her.

Sy Stoneclaw, the wildcat, was making such a rapid recovery that she could now hobble quite easily around the sickbay with the aid of the long crutch Skipper's ottercrew had made for her; she had also shed her dirty ragged tunic and donned an ornate badger's robe, which Dippertail had found in a closet somewhere in an obscure part of the dormitories. Having never before been in such a huge building; or around many other creatures besides wildcats, seabirds, and marauding vermin; or even in the company of a healer, for that matter; the curious wildcat wandered ceaselessly around the room, totally captivated. Ever since shortly before dawn she had been up, exploring here, peeking there, sniffing this, touching that, opening cupboards, asking questions, and generally making a thorough nuisance of herself. Finally, Grandmum Dawbil had taken enough; she threw her digging claws up in exasperation, addressing Shermy. "If ee doan't get ee gurt catbeast to set'n daown, oi moight just chain ee both oop so' oi c'd have ee bit o' peace!"

Too absorbed with curiousty to have heard the remark, Sy apprached Shermy with a jar of candied chestnuts. "These smell nice, what do they cure?"

The young hare, ever hungry, grabbed a pawful and shoved it into his mouth, spraying bits of shell as he spoke. "Mmmff, s'good. No medicinal value here, old chum, just treats for the little ones, wot! Been wonderin' where that jar got to, though."

Dawbil swiped the jar from Sy's paw, shaking a claw under Shermy's crumb-festooned whiskers. "Oi hid et from ee a-purpose, gurt feedbag hurrbeast! Goo ee an' take that'n with ee afore oi goes mad wi' dustrackashun!"

Taking the hint, Shermy led Sy to the door. "Let's go, wot. Poor miz Dawbil's worried sick over that Pinspikes gel; she's not really angry at us, y'know. Come on, I'll show you around the jolly old Abbey, if you feel up to it."

Sy responded with a grin and a very accurate mimiking of Shermy's mode of speech. "I say, that's a spiffin' idea, old chap, though perhaps we should get a spot of brekkers first, wot?"

The young hare was momentarily taken aback; recovering his composure, he laughed. "Took the words right out of my mouth, by the fur! I suppose you've taken to being a hare now, eh, miss?"

The wildcat relapsed into her normal voice. "Not really, just fun with imitations. Speedwell says I'm pretty good at it."

Taking Sy's free paw, Shermy helped her descend a short flight of stairs to the dormitory floor. "I wouldn't argue with him there, that sounded just like me then. Let's here you do Grandmum Dawbil, go on!"

The wildcat thought for a moment, then rumbled hesitantly, "Oi a-dunno if oi c'n be a moler better'n a catbeast'n; et be a vurry hard voice, bo urr."

Foremole Aggit had emerged from his dormitory just as Sy made the remark; chuckling, he fell in step with the duo, joking good naturedly. "Hurr hurr hurr, oi argree wi' ee, missus; if oi a-sounded loik that oi'd take t'bein' a catbeast moiself, hurr hurr!"

Friar Dimp, fully recovered from the shock of his discovery, was once more the absolute ruler of Redwall's kitchens. Donning his spotless white apron and oven mitt, he issued instructions to the busy beasts in his domain.

"Kavvin, Ruddtipp, see to the bread, make sure it doesn't burn!"

The twin brothers, eldest of the Pinspikes brood, plied their wooden bread paddles skillfully, lifting the nut-filled loaves from the ovens onto waiting trolleys to be carted to the breakfast table. Dimp turned his attention to the otter in charge of one of the carts. "Now, you remember what I said about running with the trolley, Squirt."

The otter Dibbun grinned cheekily. "S'far's I know, you said t'not to."

Dimp wagged a paw severly at him before continuing his rounds. "And I mean that, you young scamp! Go on with you now; slowly! Veera, find where the damson preserve's got to, it's been misplaced. Sister Sedgebrush, could you lend her a paw with that? Thank you, that's better.

"Oh, goodness me, would you just look at this mess! Spread the honey on those loaves, Raggle, don't sling it on! Brother Marc, get a mop, would you?

"Yes, Speedwell, I'll teach you how to make toasted apples in a minute; go ahead and gather some russets from that barrel there and I'll come as soon as I can. Oh, and see if you can get Sister Tracy to refill that honeypot while you're at it, there's a good little fellow.

"Honestly, Eethian, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, use potholders when you're making the mint tea. Grandmum Dawbil has enough on her paws without having to tend to your burnt ones. Oh, great seasons...Ronny, please stop Leeam volebabe from climbing up the fruit shelves before he falls and injures himself!"

Abandoning the cauldron of porridge she was stirring, the Abbess bounded agily onto a counter and retrieved the miscreant, who promptly set up a wail. "But I on'y wanna get bilbees f'the cake!"

Saffron looked at the infant vole strangely. "What cake? We don't eat cake for breakfast!"

Harrbuckll Pinspikes and another Dibbun (a mole) looked up from a huge mixing bowl they had been playing with; both were so covered in batter as to be unrecognizable. Huffy the molebabe waved a wooden spoon at the Abbess, scattering blobs of batter everywhere. "Hurr, ee gurt silly, acourse we'm eat'n cake."

Harrbuckll nodded her dripping head. "That right, Muvva H'abbess. We be makin' pannycakes wi' bilbees onna top."

At that moment, Sy, Shermy, and Aggit entered the kitchen; their arrival caused little sensation, as the creatures preparing the breakfast were too busy to look up at the door. Speedwell, the ginger tabby kitten, was the exception; allowing a double pawful of apples to crash to the floor, he rushed over to hug his cousin. "You better, you better!"

Unable to bend down because of the crutch, Sy gently ruffled the young ones ears. "I told you it wouldn't take long; I'll be completely better before the week's out, probably."

"Just like yours truly said all along, wot!" Shermy grinned, helping himself to an apple.

Foremole slipped on a patch of batter the Dibbuns had left on the floor; he grabbed a countertop to steady himself, glaring at the bespattered molebabe. "Burr, what bees a-goin' on in yurr, Huffy?"

Before the Dibbun could answer, Saffron interrupted, addressing the wildcat. "Welcome to Redwall Abbey, friend; I certainly hope you are enjoying your stay here. I am Abbess Saffron; Teezl told me all about you when she brought her babes down to the gatehouse. You seem to be a rare and fine creature, indeed, Miss Stoneclaw."

Sy shook paws with the Abbess, and with the volebabe she was carrying. "Thank you, Abbess, but please, call me Sy; no need to be formal on my account. Goodness, little one, your paw is bleeding!"

Leeam opened his clenched paw to reveal a squashed bilberry. "No t'aint, I makin' bilbee juice to put onna cake!"

Noticing the wildcat's bewildered expression, Saffron explained. "He means pancakes."

Huffy flung more batter about as he gestured with his spoon at the cat. "That's roight, we'm made ee pannycakers an' now we'm a-putten bilbees onna top."

Sy stiffled a titter, looking at the three serious-faced Dibbuns and the mess they had created. "That certainly sounds tasty, but don't you think you'd better cook the pancakes before you put the berries on?"

Harrbuckll, Leeam, and Hoffy looked the picture of dismay; the Hogmaid clapped a hand to her brow, making a sticky splodge. "Mercy me, we nevva t'oughta that."

The wildcat had a soft spot for young ones; shaking and nearly purple from trying not to burst out laughing, she took pity on the trio. "Why don't we see if there's any way a young healer and a poor, lost traveler could help three skilled cooks like yourself? Here, let me have the mixing bowl. Say, does anyone have a chair I can borrow?"

A curious Raggle had been edging closer during the whole conversation; he dashed off, returning in a flash with a tall kitchen stool. "How's this?"

Sy accepted it, positioning herself in front of a freshly warmed stovetop with a few empty iron pans atop it. Allowing the three Dibbuns to climb into her lap, she dipped a claw in the batter, tasting it. "Mmmmmm, you certainly knew what ingredients to use; though maybe we should add a bit more almond flour and some cider, to increase the mixture before we start cooking. Shermy?"

The hare sprinted across towards the flour barrels. "Righty-ho, friend! I say, Bumbill old thing, could you nip down to the cellars and have your wife bring us a firkin of apple cider?"

The jolly mole tossed a jar-sized barrel to Shermy. "We'm a'ready brought quoite a lot o' ee cider oop, yurr ee go."

Being unprepared for the throw, Shermy missed the catch entirely. The firkin crashed to the floorstones and burst, sending sweet cider trickling and oozing across the floor. Sister Tracy and Brother Marc slipped on the wet patch and cannoned into one another; Brother Marc's mop and Sister Tracy's honeypot hit the floor the same time the two mice did. Trying to avoid sliding on the cider or sticking to the honey, Shermy bent to help the pair up. "Beg pardon, sir, and madam; confounded mole doesn't give a chap enough warning when he chucks stuff about, wot!"

Alerted from across the room by the crash, Brother Willow had left the special pot of herbal tea he was brewing for himself and sped over, his face a mask of wrath. "What in thunder is going on here...whoo-hhooo-oops!"

The mop handle had landed at an angle, supported against the burst firkin; tripping over it, Brother Willow went head over heels, landing on Shermy's bent back and sending both himself and the hare crashing to the floor amid the debris. The old shrew leapt up, pointing first at the messy Dibbuns and their culinary efforts, then at the three other creatures floundering in shards of wood, pottery, and the rapidly spreading sticky mess of cider and honey. "Friar Dimp, just take a look at this, will you! Total disruption, it's a disgrace!"

If Brother Willow had been expecting the Friar to be upset over the mess, he was sadly mistaken. Dimp, though a bit of a tyrant in his kitchens, had a bit of a mischevious streak in him; some creatures maintained that he had never fully grown out of his Dibbun seasons. Helping the fallen beasts up, the Friar bent and scooped a pawful of honey from the otherwise spotless kitchen floor, sticking it in his mouth. "Mmmmm, this certainly tastes good with cider mixed in." He scooped another glob, winking as he held it under the Librarian's nose. "Try a bit, Brother?"

Flabbergasted, Willow was about to make a wrathful reply when a shrill whistle recalled him to his teapot; he hurried off, unknowingly leaving one of his sandals behind, still stuck in the honey.