Doomwyte

Dwink blinked several times, then shook his head. “It doesn’t feel too bad now, thank you. Great seasons, don’t know wot Brother Torilis puts in his medicine, but it’s enough to knock out a regiment o’ badgers. He says I’ll be well by autumn, with plenty o’ rest.”

Umfry sighed dreamily. “Wish it was me, h’imagine bein’ able to rest for that long!”

Perrit giggled. “I’m glad you can’t, with the way you can snore you’d drive everybeast in the Abbey mad!”

Dwink sympathised with the huge, young hedgehog. “Is Corksnout working you hard, or have you finished tidyin’ up the cellars?”

“Oh, there h’aint much tidyin’ up left, h’I’ve almost finished the job now. Ole Corksnout gave me time h’off, t’be yore chairpusher. C’mon, Dwink, h’is there anyplace ye want me to shove ye to?”

Dwink recalled that he had not eaten that day. “I’m blinkin’ well starvin’, is afternoon tea finished yet?”

Perrit replied, “They’re having tea in the orchard whilst the weather’s fine. Look, this is a big ole chair, there’s room enough for two of us on that seat. Unless of course Umfry’s too weary to push us there.”

Flexing his paws on the chairback, Umfry assured his two friends, “Whenever vittles h’is mentioned h’I don’t feel weary h’anymore. C’mon, you two, let’s go for tea.”

“What about Aluco?” Perrit looked toward the owl as he opened his huge eyes.

“I will make my own way at my own pace, thank you.” As the owl settled back to sleep Dwink was out of bed and seated with Perrit in the ancient wheelchair.

Umfry justified the squirrelmaid’s judgement of him as a good chairpusher. Putting all his considerable force into the task, the big, young hedgehog whizzed them across the lawns with lightning speed.

They skirted the apple and pear trees, rattling and clattering into the orchard, amidst raucous cheers from the Dibbuns. Panting for breath, Umfry called to Friar Skurpul, “Three more for tea h’if ye please!”

Sister Violet served them, loading plates with plum tart, almond slice, honeyed nutbread and fresh fruit. She topped up their beakers with dandelion and burdock cordial, chilled from the cellars. As they ate, Dwink related what Martin the Warrior had said in his dream.

Perrit lowered her voice, trying to contain her excitement. “Listen, Umfry, if you’re still working in the cellars, you’ll have to investigate that door again, give it a good looking over.”

Dwink nodded his agreement. “Aye, I’ll wager there’s more clues to be found. Maybe a riddle, or some secret writing!”

Umfry muttered in embarrassment, “Er, that might be a problem, mates. Y’see h’I ain’t much good h’at readin’. Words just look like squiggles t’me.”

Perrit patted Umfry’s hefty paw. “Don’t worry, I’ll come with you, I’m a good reader, always have been since Abbey School.”

Dwink looked from one to the other. “Pardon me askin’, but wot about me?”

Perrit stifled a giggle. “You can come, too. That’s if you can go charging down a full flight of stairs in a wheelchair….” She saw the doleful look on Dwink’s face and regretted what she had said. “I’m sorry, mate, but that contraption wasn’t built for stairs an’ steps. It looks like you’ll have to wait at the top of the stairs. I’ll take some parchment an’ charcoal down there, if there’s anything to record you’ll be the first to see it.”

Dwink was getting painful little twinges in his footpaw. He scratched at the bandaged poultice, which Brother Torilis had bound on. “Righto, when is all this supposed to be happenin’?”

Perrit rubbed her paws gleefully. “As soon as we’ve had tea, no sense wasting time.”

Brother Torilis approached, opening his satchel. “Best let me take a look at the footpaw, young un. Is it paining you?”

The young squirrel sighed. “Aye, ’tis a bit, Brother.” He whispered to Umfry and Perrit, “You two go an’ look at the door. Leave me here, but come straight back if there’s anythin’ to report.”

Brother Torilis had Skipper lift Dwink from the wheelchair to a blanket spread on the ground. Seeing Dwink was in some discomfort, the good Brother administered more of his potion. Dwink began to feel drowsy again. Meanwhile, the Dibbuns commandeered the wheelchair, calling to the Laird Bosie eagerly.

“Us wanna ride, Mista Bosie, cummon, you be a pusher!”

Demolishing a sizeable portion of fruit pudding and meadowcream, the lanky hare obliged good-naturedly. “Right, mah bonnies, all aboard an’ hauld tight. Och, but dinnae blame me if’n mah speed affrights ye.” With four Abbeybabes sitting in the seat, and four more perched in various positions, Bosie took off like an arrow from a bow, yelling, “Awaaaaay Bowlayneeeee!”

The Dibbuns squeaked, but not from fear. “Wheeeeeee! Fasta, fasta! Redwaaaaaallll!”

Brother Torilis looked up from his task. “I suppose my next patients will be several Dibbuns and a foolish hare, judging by the reckless speed of that old contraption.”

Friar Skurpul merely chuckled. “Sumtoimes ee can be a roight ole mizrubble beast, zurr. Still, Oi supposen it keeps you’m ’appy.”