Doomwyte

The saturnine Infirmary Keeper glared at Samolus. “Borrow Sister Ficaria…. Borrow? No, you may not, she has important work to attend to. Go away!” He was about to slam the door in their faces, when a small, high-pitched voice called out from within.

“Wait’ll I get my stick. Wait, I’m coming!” A moment later a tiny mouse scooted out, carrying a walking stick, which was totally unneccessary.

Bisky offered her his paw, renewing the request. “Might we borrow ye for a bit, marm?”

Old Sister Ficaria beamed a twinkling smile. “What a handsome young mouse, of course ye may.” She looked over the rims of her tiny glasses at Torilis. “I’m sure you can do without me for a few moments, Brother. Won’t be long!” Leaning on Bisky’s paw she trotted off along the corridor. “’Tis just down here. My, my, isn’t this all exciting. Pay no heed to Torilis, he means well!”

Old Sister Ficaria’s room was above the Dibbuns’ dormitory, a cosy, medium-sized bedchamber. She invited them in. “Sit anywhere, friends, I shared this room for many, many seasons with Miz Laburnum. There’s only me here since she passed on. Hmm, that was awhile back, fifteen, twenty seasons. Who knows?”

Samolus installed her in a woven osier armchair. “Sister, it’s about the Pompom rhyme. You remember, the one you told me about.”

Umfry Spikkle looked totally bemused. “Pompom?”

The little old Sister smiled at him. “Yes, that’s the one, do you know it, too?”

Samolus crouched in front of her, holding both her paws to focus the Sister’s attention. “No, he doesn’t, there’s only you who knows the rhyme. Can you say it for us please?”

She stared at Samolus as if seeing him for the first time. “You’re quite old, aren’t you?” Then the Sister patted Bisky’s paw. “But you’re very young, and very handsome, too. I saw a picture of Prince Gonff once, you look very like him. You’re not Gonff, are you?”

The young mouse smiled back at her. “No, Sister, my name’s Bisky. I’d love to hear you say the rhyme.”

Folding both her paws, and holding up her chin, Ficaria looked as though she were about to recite. Then she went off into an explanation. “Miz Laburnum was very old indeed, you know. She was the Abbey schoolteacher. Every lesson, every song and every rhyme she knew, Miz Laburnum wrote them down in her manuals.”

Dwink leant forward eagerly. “Which manuals, Sister, where are they?”

Ficaria began fidgeting with the tassels on her shawl. “All gone now, all gone. The hot summer, about ten seasons back, or was it twelve, no matter. It was the sun, you see. I left my glasses on the windowsill one afternoon, when I went down to tea. Brother Torilis said that the sunrays magnified through the glasses. That’s what caused the fire. Quite dreadful, but they managed to put it out. As for Miz Laburnum’s manuals, all gone, every one of them. But I remember things that were written in them, that Pompom poem.” She seemed to drift off, staring into space. Suddenly she began reciting.

“Pompom Pompom, where have my four eyes gone?

There’s a key to every riddle,

there’s a key to every song,

there’s a key to every lock,

think hard or you’ll go wrong.

Pompom Pompom, who’ll be the lucky one?

What holds you out but lets you in,

that’s a good place to begin.

What connects a front and back,

find one, and then just three you’ll lack.

Pompom Pompom, the trail leads on and on.”

Old Sister Ficaria stopped speaking. Samolus held up his paw to the others, lest she start again. However, that was all she had to say. They sat awhile in silence, then Ficaria glanced coyly at Bisky. “Did you like my poem, Prince Gonff?”

Without correcting the ancient mouse, Bisky clasped her frail paws warmly. “It was a very nice poem, Sister, you did it beautifully. Now, you see those two friends?” He gestured toward Dwink and Umfry. “Well, they are going down to the kitchens to bring something nice for you. Tell them what you want.”

Sister Ficaria brightened up. “Hot mint tea, with honey in it, lots of honey. Oh, and if Friar has some of those wonderful almond biscuits, I’d like one or two, and perhaps a damson tart, please.”

Samolus nodded to Dwink and Umfry. “You young uns run along now, me’n’Bisky’ll stay with the Sister. I’ll get some parchment an’ charcoal. Mayhaps she’ll say the lines again, I’ll copy ’em down this time. Right, Sister?”

Ficaria stared fixedly at Samolus. “Yes, I’d do that if I were you, sir. Being as old as you are, it would be wise to record the poem, before you forget it!”

Samolus glared at Bisky as he went to fetch writing materials. The young mouse was spluttering to hold back his laughter.