Doomwyte

Rigid with terror, Gridj watched the lights sweep around him. Frightened out of his wits, he babbled, “Stay away from me, wot d’yer want, why did ye lead me pore mate inter the swamp like that, we weren’t doin’ ye no harm, we was only goin’ t’the seashore, ’twasn’t our fault we got lost….”

Cruel claws seized Gridj, ramming his head hard into the tree trunk. A net was thrown over him and secured tightly. Through the net holes he gazed, half-stunned, at the pale lights dancing closer.

A harsh voice hissed, “Hakkah, the Doomwytes have got you now, rat!” His head was banged against the tree trunk again. Gridj fell into the dark pit of senselessness, all hopes of visiting the seashore gone forever.

2

Brother Torilis rapped briefly on the Abbot’s chamber door before entering. He bore a steaming beaker to the bedside. “Good morning, Father Abbot, did you sleep well?”

The Abbot of Redwall, a fat, old, hairy-tailed dormouse named Glisam, sat up slowly, removing his tasselled nightcap. Sighing, he gazed out into the grey dawn. “Not much change in the weather, Brother.”

Torilis placed the beaker on the table, close to paw. “That wind has died down. ’Tis not a cold day, but still raining, I’m afraid, Father.”

Abbot Glisam got creakily out of bed, lowering himself gingerly into his favourite armchair. “Rain and the rheumatiz go together, y’know. My poor old joints are creaking like a rusty gate.”

The Herbalist moved the beaker closer to Glisam. “That’s why I brought you musselshell and agrimony broth. You’ll feel better once you’ve taken it.”

Glisam used his nightgown sleeves to protect his paws against the hot beaker. He pulled a wry face as he took a perfunctory sip.

“Sometimes I think I’d be better off just putting up with the rheumatiz. This stuff tastes foul, absolutely horrid!”

Brother Torilis ignored his Abbot’s protest. “You must drink it up, every drop. Sea otters brought those musselshells all the way from the north beach rocks, and I scoured the ditchsides to get that agrimony. The broth is a sovereign remedy for rheumatism in older creatures. Drink!”

The fat, old dormouse kept sipping under the pitiless eye of the stern squirrel. When the last drop was drained, Glisam tossed the beaker down on the table. “Yakkkblech! Rotten broth, it’ll kill me before it cures me, mark my words, Brother!”

The Abbey’s head cook, Friar Skurpul, came bustling in, a jolly mole in his prime season. “Burrhoo, zurr h’Abbot, Oi bringed ee a candy chesknutter, hurr, ’twill taken ee narsty taste away!”

Glisam gratefully accepted the candied chestnut. Cramming it in his mouth, he munched away at the sweet tidbit. “Mmm mmm, thankee, friend!”

The good Friar helped his Abbot get dressed. “Yurr naow, this un’s a noice clean habit. Oi warmed it on ee kitching oven furr ee, zurr.”

Glisam nestled into the clean, warm garment. “Ooh, that’s comfy, better than all those stinky concoctions for rheumatiz. I feel better already!”

Brother Torilis merely sniffed. “That will be my broth working. Shall we go down to breakfast, Father? You have to hear young Bisky, I put him on report last night.”

Leaning on Torilis and the Friar, Abbot Glisam went haltingly downstairs, speaking his thoughts aloud, mainly to Skurpul. “Dearie me, what’s poor young Bisky been up to now? I do so hate to sit in judgement, dishing out penalties and punishments, especially to young uns.”

Torilis kept his eyes straight ahead, declaring firmly, “Well, that is one of the duties of a Father Abbot. Things can’t always be candied chestnuts and warm robes, can they?”

Glisam patted the Brother’s paw. “You’re right, Torilis, thank you for reminding me of my responsibilities. You know, sometimes I wonder about being Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey. Mayhaps I might have been better suited as a cook, a gardener or even a Gatekeeper.”

Friar Skurpul chuckled. “Nay, zurr, you’m bees a h’Abbot, an’ gurtly beluvved boi all, hurr aye!”

No matter what the occasion, Glisam seldom lacked an appetite. He shuffled eagerly to his seat at top table. Redwall’s Great Hall was packed with mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, moles, otters and sundry other woodlanders. Everybeast rose as the Abbot came to table and recited morning grace.

“Throughout each passing season,

in fair or stormy weather,

we live, work, eat and rest,

in Redwall here together.

Attend ye to this day’s first meal,

in friendship, truth and peace,

enjoy the fruits of honest toil,

and may good fortune never cease.”