Doomwyte

“Father Abbot, I was taking a stroll on the walltops, to see if the giant snake was still about, when I saw a lot of shrews at the main gate. I think they want to see you. Do we let them in? They’re still out there.”

Abbot Glisam nodded to Foremole Gullub. “The Guosim are always welcome at our Abbey. Unbar the gate for them, friend.”

Threescore Guosim shrews strode into the Great Hall. Some of the Dibbuns ran and hid—they were a fierce-looking band. Spiky furred, with coloured headbands, they wore small kilts and broad, buckled belts. Each one had the traditional Guosim short rapier thrust in his belt. Other weapons—clubs, slingstones, bows and arrows and spears—were much in evidence.

Glisam met them with open paws. “Welcome to Redwall Abbey, friends, I’ll tell our cooks to provide you with a meal and drink. Please sit. I am Glisam, Father Abbot of Redwall, how can we help you?” Redwallers vacated the supper tables; the Guosim were about to sit when their leader called out.

“Stand fast, all of ye, we ain’t here t’feed our faces!” This was the Log a Log, Chieftain of the Guosim. He was no taller than the others, but powerfully built, having a hard potbelly and sporting a grey beard. He carried a long club made of solid iron. Swinging it over one shoulder he faced the Abbot aggressively. “I’m Tugga Bruster, Log a Log of the Northstream Guosim, an’ I’m here to ask ye a question!”

Skipper immediately decided that he did not like either the tone or the manner of Tugga Bruster. He hurried forward, placing himself in front of Glisam. “Ahoy, bully, ye can ask wot questions ye like, but there won’t be any answers until yore manners improve!”

Tugga Bruster held his club forward threateningly. “Out o’ me way, riverdog, I ain’t talkin’ to you!”

Skipper whirled like lighting; his thick rudder struck the shrew’s paws, knocking the iron club from his grasp. It rang out, like a hammer striking an anvil, as it hit the floor. Skipper clenched his paws. “Well, I’m Rorgus, Skipper o’ the Mossflower Otters, an’ I’m talkin’ to you, watermouse!”

The Guosim shrew whipped out his rapier, yelling, “I’ll send ye to Hellgates for that!”

It was Bosie’s turn to step in now. He drifted in from the side, unknown to Tugga Bruster. As the Shrew Chieftain was about to lunge with his rapier, he was halted by the sword of Martin pricking his neck. The Highland hare stood poised, his tone leaving nobeast in any doubt. “Allow me tae introduce mahself, laddie. Ah’m the Laird Bosie McScutta o’ Bowlaynee. Unlike mah friend Skipper, Ah dinna come tae the dance unarmed. So, let’s talk. Ah’d advise ye tae put up yore blade, mine’s bigger, d’ye see. Oh, an’ tell yore clan not tae move a paw, or Ah’ll lay yore heid on the floor an’ play ball with it. Now, mah braw bucko, do we understand each other?”

Tugga Bruster thrust the rapier back into his belt. “I hear ye, rabbit!”

Zzzzzip! One deft stroke of Martin’s sword sheared hairs from the shrew’s beard. Bosie shook his head. “Tut tut, yore a hard one tae learn. Och, but ye’ll find me a stern teacher. Now, state yore business.”

Tugga Bruster backed off, his voice quivering. “Two things. Do ye keep Wytes at this place?”

Bosie leant on his sword, as if pondering the answer. “Ach, certainly not, what do ye take us for, rogues? Carry on, laddie, what’s the other thing?”

The Shrew Chieftain asked in a more reasonable tone, “Has a young Guosim been seen hereabouts, goes by the name o’ Dubble?”

The Abbot stepped out from behind Skipper; he had begun to put two and two together. “Do I take it that you think this young un, Dubble, has been captured by Wytes?”

The Log a Log nodded. “Aye, that’s about it!”

Glisam beckoned to the tables. “All of you, and you, too, sir, please sit and take supper. Come on, Guosim shrews have always been friends of our Abbey. There’s no need to create bad blood between us. Sit ye down now, please.”

At a nod from their Log a Log, the shrews rushed to the table. Glisam made way for their leader to sit next to him. He enquired about the lost shrew. “Is Dubble one of your tribe, sir?”

Tugga Bruster nodded, as though it was hard to admit. “Aye, he’s my son. We’ve come down from the North, this country is new to us.”

The Abbot nodded understandingly. “It must be hard to have your own kin lost in a strange place, a dreadful feeling.”

Skipper winked at Tugga. “When you’ve eaten yore fill, mayhaps ye’d like to join us. One of our own young uns, a mouse called Bisky, is missin’. He was snatched by the Painted Ones. I take it ye’ve heard o’ those villains, eh, Tugga?”

The Shrew Chieftain set his jaw grimly. “Aye, what beast hasn’t heard about ’em? Dirty, savage tree rats. There wasn’t so many of the scum in my younger seasons, but they’re in every reach of forest or woodland these days.”

Samolus nodded agreement. “The gang we’re after have their dwellings in an’ round a five-topped oak, southeast of here. Who knows, maybe they’ve got yore son. Well, d’ye fancy joinin’ us, Tugga?”