Chapter 7
If The Roaming Whimsical Troupe had prayed that the Redwallers would be mildly impressed with their talents, their prayers would've been answered tenfold.
The abbeydwellers were just as amazed by the Troupe as the Troupe was of the abbey. They howled with laughter when the clown-mice came out on their stilts, making silly faces as they tried to walk along a tightrope. Some of the other clown-mice were on their own two footpaws, turning cartwheels and somersaults, playing instruments and throwing jokes to one another.
And then, when all the mice took a bow and went behind the carts that served as a backstage, Ferdinand bounded out, announcing the coming of "Rogak the Mighty!"
The large otter was met with great cheering and clapping. The ottermaids squealed and swooned when Rogak flexed his muscles.
"Alright, alright!" Ferdinand shouted. "Come on, now then! Stop flexing those muscles and makin' the pretty maids faint, wotwot!"
"Yes, yer honor," Rogak replied. He then turned his attention to the large table he was supposed to lift. Crouching down beneath it, the otter huffed and puffed, preparing himself for the heavy load. Finally, Rogak stood tall, lifting the table high above his head.
The Redwallers gasped and cheered. Even more ottermaids swooned.
"Ah, my good beasts!" Ferdinand declared theatrically. "You haven't seen anything yet! Here come the Juggling Moles!"
All the moles, clad in red-and-gold jester suits, trundled out, juggling several items between themselves: fruit, clubs, and balls of two sizes: small ones that they tossed paw to paw, and big ones that they bounced on their heads.
Rogak then crouched down, allowing all five to climb up onto the table. The Redwallers held their breath. Would the otter be able to lift them all?
Yes! Rogak stood even taller, holding the mole-laden table high. Not only that, but the Juggling Moles kept on juggling. Not one juggling instrument was missed or dropped, much to the awe of the Redwallers.
"And now," called Ferdinand. "For the Dancing Squirrels!"
Eight beautiful squirrelmaids came out, swaying in wispy gowns and waving long scarves about. The four moles on the tables' corners paused in their juggling to jump down from the table, and in the same moment, four of the squirrelmaids leapt up and took their places. The four moles who had jumped off continued to juggle amongst themselves, but they didn't leave out the fifth mole who remained on the table. And all around them, the squirrelmaids danced and danced.
The Redwallers were astounded. Never before had they seen such precise skill! Surely one of the flying instruments would hit a squirrel or get caught in her scarf? Or one of the dancers on the table would most certainly fall off and get hurt?
But it never happened.
Just then, one of the dancers on the ground, who had the reddest fur any Redwaller had ever seen, began to leap past the audience, waving her scarf cheekily in their faces. But the little squirrel was so graceful, and surely it was just all part of the act, so the abbeydwellers found it easy to forgive her. Besides, she suddenly started making comical imitations and gestures that made them all laugh.
All this time, from behind the carts came music that kept a rhythm going among the performers. The Redwallers hardly noticed it, being so absorbed in what was going on in front of them. But suddenly, there came a particular note that was loud and brief. It was in that moment that every mole and squirrel suddenly stood still, turning to the audience and bowing – and not one juggling instrument had been dropped.
The abbeybeasts went wild with applause, standing up and whistling.
As Rogak carried the table backstage with the moles and squirrels, Ferdinand came out again to introduce the next and final act.
"Aaaannnnnnddddd nnnoooooowwwwww," the hare shouted. "For our next and final act, we give you a special treat! Among us is a magician like no other! Oh yes, my dears," he added to the awestruck Dibbuns. "A magician. Come, sit still and please keep silent for our own Spiketipp, the Magic Hedgehog, who will be assisted by our very own – and very lovely – Primrose!"
The Redwallers clapped as Spiketipp trundled out, clad in sparkling robes with a rounded hat perched atop his spiky head. They were a bit stunned at the sight of Primrose, both because of her species, and because of her beauty.
The ferretmaid had carefully washed and groomed herself before the act (partially because it was a performance, after all, but also because she knew Dren would be watching). Her fur gleamed brightly and looked very soft. The dark eyes in her delicate face sparkled like wine, and as she curtsied prettily before the audience, they scanned the room for the male ferret.
As soon as the clapping died down, Spiketipp pulled from his sleeve a very large piece of cloth. Primrose then twirled gracefully past the hedgehog, who suddenly draped the cloth over her.
Then, with a sharp jerk, Spike lifted the cloth–
–and Primrose wasn't there.
The audience gasped. Where'd the pretty ferret go?
Spiketipp held the cloth out between his two paws, turned it over so they could see both sides. Then he gave a whirl, spinning the cloth–
–and Primrose came twirling back out of it.
The Redwallers clapped and cheered in awe and relief.
Spiketipp proceeded to amaze the abbeydwellers with his skill. He made Primrose levitate three feet in the air; he made the ferretmaid disappear from sight and then reappear across the room; he made strange gestures with his paws, only to pull a bouquet of flowers out of thin air and present them to her (this got some "Awws" from the Redwallers); but what got the audience most was when he pulled out a very long line of silk kerchiefs from both of her ears.
Primrose had sat patiently throughout the trick, though after awhile her brow started to furrow, as well as tap her footpaw. But the hedgehog eventually got all the silk cloths out of her head. The Redwallers were in stitches by the end of that act.
Finally, with a bow and a curtsy, Spike and Primrose scurried backstage. Ferdinand then came bounding out, crying aloud,
"O good Redwallers! I hope you enjoyed our humble performances tonight!"
The hare was met by a tidal wave of approval. Abbot Grove stood up.
"Indeed, my good hare," the old mouse said after the clapping had died down. "We owe you our best fare for such a wonderful show! I only wish we'd have known ahead of time how tremendous your Troupe would be!"
"We'll be the judges of how good your tuck is, Father Abbot, just as you have been the judge of how good our act has been. Troupe! Fall in!"
The entire Roaming Whimsical Troupe came out, only to be met by thunderous applause. The Troupe bowed and curtsied once again.
"Please, please!" Abbot Grove called. "Let the performers get to their seats so that we may all share in tonight's dinner!"
As soon as the Troupe made their way into the seats that were saved for them by the Redwallers, the abbot said the grace.
"May good fortune never cease,
Where we build and till the soil,
Mother Nature grant us peace,
And reward us for our toil.
Autumn's harvest has been so sweet,
Food is here for one and all,
In good friendship let us eat,
As one family at Redwall."
"Amen!" everybeast said gratefully.
Trolleys were pushed out, and bowls, baskets, plates, and platters of food were stacked onto the tables. The Troupe's eyes bugged out at the sight of so much food. And what food!
"Mm-MMM!" Ferdinand said as he wiped his lips daintily with his kerchief. "When I first came to Redwall as a leveret, I remember tasting a marchpane cake such as this! The meadowcream that topped it was simply scrumptious! Such a lovely butter color to it! Only I think this one is much tastier, for I don't remember the other one being covered in candied chestnuts and honey-preserved rose-petals!"
"You came here as a leveret?" Abbot Grove asked over a large wedge of cheese and an onion-and-leek turnover. "How odd! I don't recall any hares by your name ever being here during my time!"
"Well, we weren't here for very long, my mother and I," Ferdinand replied as he seized a salad with lettuce leaves, watercress and scallions. "But the abbey certainly did make an impression on me! I never forgot it – nor its food!"
The abbot laughed, accepting a damson pudding from a well-behaved young one. "I'm glad that the abbey caused you such joy as a little un. But tell me, how old are you, and how old were you then? Because it seems so strange that I shouldn't remember you."
"Well, let's see," the hare replied, dipping his spoon into a vegetable stew. "I am forty-five seasons old, I think – I could be wrong, I really don't keep track of things like that. Though I'm almost certain I was around four or five, or maybe even six seasons when we first came here."
"Well, then, let me think," Grove said, pondering over a warm rye farl. "If I'm correct, that was forty seasons ago, and I would've been around twenty at that time . . . then it would explain why I don't remember you, because I left the abbey for a time when I was that age."
"Really?" Ferdinand asked, sinking his teeth into some sliced apples while reaching for a latticed pear tart. "Why did you leave?"
"Oh, to gain wisdom, I suppose," the old mouse replied, shrugging. "I was young and wild then. I needed to get out into the world to see if abbey-life really was for me. And as it turned out, it was!"
Spiketipp was munching on a gooseberry crumble with meadowcream topping. Sitting next to the hedgehog were Vanna and Acorn, both of whom were feeding each other from the bowls of vegetable salad and fruit salad before them.
Spike snorted at the giggling, lovesick squirrels. "Here now, none of that stuff at the table! There are young uns about!"
"My sentiments exactly!" said one of the Dancing Squirrels, who was eating an apple pie.
Rogak was surrounded by every ottermaid in the abbey.
"Ooh, Mister Rogak! You're so strong! Here, have some of this apple sponge pudding! I made it myself!"
"Mmrrff! Mm! Delicious, young maid! Why I–"
"Here, have some of this!" another ottermaid said hurriedly, holding out a heavy fruitcake. "I made this one myself, too!"
"Mm-mmm! Scrumptious! And is that a strawberry shortcake I see over there?"
A volley of squealing ottermaids fell on the shortcake, all intent on feeding Rogak.
"Let go! It's mine! I get to feed him!"
"No, you don't! I'm the one who made it!"
"Did not! I did!"
Primrose, who was nibbling on an almond tart, giggled at the spectacle. "Ah, that Rogak. Always getting the maids so excited." She turned and smiled at Dren, who was eating a honey scone. The male ferret didn't look up, his attention seemingly focused on his food.
The ferretmaid was still astounded to be in the presence of another creature like her, but so far Dren had turned out to be not so good company: he was very quiet, and almost surly. It seemed impossible that such a creature could be unhappy in a place like Redwall; it reminded Primrose so much of Noonvale! Only Noonvale didn't have such food.
Pansy, who was gobbling down a wild cherry turnover, said, "Yes, I just hope those maids don't overturn the tables; I'm still eating!"
Dren gave a snorting laugh. This surprised (and somewhat irritated) Primrose, who hadn't been able to get much out of him.
A handsome mouse sitting across from the ferretmaid, whose plate was covered with a thick vegetable flan, leaned forward and said, "That was quite a performance you put on, miss!"
"Thank you," Primrose replied, smiling. "Though most of the credit should go to Spiketipp, he's the magician."
"Well, you were very patient when he pulled all those kerchiefs out of your ear!"
The ferretmaid laughed. "How do you do, I'm Primrose."
The mouse introduced himself, "Marek. Uh oh, I wonder if yon otter can eat all that."
The ferretmaid turned and saw that Rogak was being plied with an almond cake with candied lilac buds. "Oh, I think Rogak can down all that, and then some."
Marek laughed. "I must say, it's a great pleasure that a troupe such as yourselves came to our abbey!"
"Thank you. And I must say, it's an equally great pleasure that an abbey such as yourselves welcomed us to share such lovely food!"
"Hurr, that'n's wot ee gurt abbey's for, young missy!" grinned the mole sitting next to Marek.
"Oh, Primrose, meet Foremole Billum," Marek smiled.
"Pleased to meet you," the ferretmaid said cordially. "What's that you got there, sir?"
Billum winked. "Oi bee diggin' moi snout through ee deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie, moi dear! Burr arr!"
"Sounds lovely."
"Hurr, you'm better eat up, afore all ee vittles are all gone," the mole warned. "You'm be needin' ee strength for shows!"
Primrose laughed and chose a pear and chestnut flan. "Alright, if you say so." She glanced over at Dren. He too had chosen a flan, a mushroom one covered in onion sauce. The ferretmaid hoped he'd come out of his shell soon.
"Say, what's that you got there?" Pansy called over to Skipper.
"It's watershrimp and hotroot soup," replied the big otter.
"Can I try some? Please?"
"It might be a bit hot for you, missy."
"Don't 'missy' me! I'll be the one to decide what's too hot for me, thank you!"
Skipper chuckled a little at the squirrelmaid's forthright manner. Nevertheless, he scooted his bowl over to her. Pansy dunked her spoon into it and took a big gulp.
"Whoa! Augh! Whoop!"
The otter chieftain laughed, and set about for something cold for her to drink. At first he grabbed a bottle of plum'n'beetroot wine, but then decided that some gooseberry crush would be more suitable for a youngbeast. Pansy gurgled it all down, but still looked about for a cool beverage. Skipper snatched a chestnut and buttercup beer out of her paws, telling her that she was too young for such drinks.
He did, however, allow her a dandelion and burdock cordial, a dandelion beer, and some pale cider. But he wasn't fast enough to reprieve her of a nutbrown ale. After that, Skipper just gave up and picked up a few biscuits and loaves, stuffing them with several different types of cheeses to make himself a rough sandwich.
"Ah, cheese," said Merola, who was sitting next to Skipper (she had watched with great amusement the past proceedings, deciding that things would be more interesting if she allowed Pansy to drink the soup). "What would we do without such fine stuff?" The badgermum picked up two types, deep yellow and pale cream, both studded with nuts, celery and herbs.
The meal wore on, everybeast (especially the Roaming Whimsical Players) managing to tuck in a bit of everything. Damson, apple, and blackberry tarts with pastry latticed tops were passed around the Dancing Squirrels; strawberry fizz was quickly being downed by various Dibbuns; otters were sharing around some Bubblin' Bobbs and riverbank salad; Merola dined on an arrowroot scone with honey; Abbot Grove had some mushroom and chestnut stew; and Ferdinand had managed to consume some wild onion and leek soup, spring vegetable pasties, nutbread, oatfarls, wheatcobs, blackberry and apple tarts, plum maple pudding, elderberry pie with yellow summercream, and gooseberry preserve scones hot with buttercup spread.
Skipper leaned back in his chair, patting his belly, which had expanded greatly after all that he had consumed. "I think I'll have to skip a few meals over the next few days," the otter chieftain remarked idly to Merola. "Don't want to end with a great big paunch!"
Merola, sipping some chestnut brown beer, chuckled. "Don't think you'll be any less of a warrior of you did. I know a warrior whose weight could make you look like a twig!"
"Really? Who was he?"
"Markas the Warrior. He's the uncle of my first charge, Lily. Ah, but he could really try a beast's patience sometimes. I'm so glad his niece didn't turn out like him. Or Primrose, for that matter. Pansy, though. . . ." the badgermum trailed off, watching as the squirrel gobbled down a cherry cake glazed with candied nuts.
Skipper blinked. "Prim . . . you mean you raised the ferret?"
Merola fixed the otter with a severe glare. "I'll thank you not to refer to her as 'the ferret', my good sir."
"Ah, please, forgive me," Skipper quickly said. "I didn't mean offense. But you must realize, my role in this abbey is to protect it from all those who bring it harm. And usually, those who do bring it harm. . . ."
"I understand what you mean," Merola said, though she softened up a little. "I must admit, I myself was a bit skeptical about taking in a ferret at first. But who would've thought that–" she swiftly broke off.
"Who would've thought what?" Skipper inquired.
"Well," the badgermum said, lowering her voice. "Please don't tell anybeast, but Primrose ended up becoming my favorite charge."
The otter's eyes widened. "R-really?"
"Oh yes. I know it's wrong to play favorites with children, but she always caused me the least grief growing up. I mean, with Pansy, she was always very troublesome; either sticking her paw into the honey jar or pulling some prank or making fun of somebeast's 'enormous bottom'."
Skipper laughed in surprise, declining the leek and chestnut pasty covered in thyme and radish sauce that one of his otters was offering him.
"And then there was Petunia," continued Merola. "She's a hare, by the way, and didn't find any talent on the stage; she went to Salamandastron with Markas. But anyway . . . with Petunia, she was a polite little thing, very sweet and kind, and so wonderfully bright! But exceedingly frustrating with the way how she wore her clothes. No matter what she wore or how many times I warned her, that little hare-mite would find some way of dirtying it up. Or if it wasn't soiling the frock, it was ripping it! I tried her whole life to turn her into a lady, but Petunia wouldn't have anything to do with it!
"Which is why I ended up favoring Primrose. She was always so eager to learn how to be a lady, and so pretty, too! It was always a delight to make new gowns for her, not just because she would look beautiful in them, but also because she'd take good care of them."
"That is an interesting twist," Skipper mused, glancing at the two maidens. They were splitting a damson and hazelnut flan topped with mint cream. "But . . . how did you come to join the troupe?"
"Oh, we lived in a place called Noonvale, once upon a time," the badgermum answered, munching on some roast chestnuts with cream and honey. "This last spring was when The Roaming Whimsical Troupe came by and performed for us. Primrose and Pansy both found talent in stage-work: Primrose excelled at acting, and Pansy is a natural-born dancer. It only seemed natural they should become members of the Troupe. But somebeast had to keep an eye on them, which is why I came along. Besides, Lily had recently married, and they needed the cottage all to themselves."
"Fascinating. Alright, fine!" Skipper finally accepted some food from one of his otters: some clover oatcakes dipped in hot redcurrant sauce. "I suppose I've still got room left. So, you raised her since infancy?"
"Yes, that's right."
If that was true, then maybe Skipper didn't have much grounds for worrying about Primrose; he hadn't met a badger yet who was evil. "Well, then, I suppose I should apologize again for being suspicious of your charge."
"You didn't know," shrugged Merola. "And as long as you don't let her know about it . . . but I am curious, though, about that male ferret she's sitting next to. What's the story behind him?"
Skipper's face suddenly clouded over. "Oh, him. That one I'd keep my eye on. If I had my way, he wouldn't be living in the abbey right now. He's been nothing but unpleasant ever since he got here. It's a wonder, I think, that Abbot Grove still allows Bluebell to keep him here."
Merola suddenly looked with concern over at the two ferrets. "What do you mean? Explain."
Dren put some celery and herb cheese on acorn bread with chopped radishes as Primrose continued her attempt to engage him in conversation.
"So, how long have you lived here?"
"Long enough."
Primrose frowned. Her excitement at meeting another ferret was swiftly waning. To all her questions and statements, he had either ignored her or gave short, unsatisfying answers. It was so infuriating!
Pansy looked up from the huge seed and sweet barely cake with mint icing that she was feasting on. "I don't see how anybeast could live here long enough!"
"Give it a few days, and maybe you will," the male ferret answered darkly, sipping some pear cordial.
Primrose was quickly beginning to dislike Dren. He was rude and cynical. Hardly the type she need fall for. Pansy was also feeling the same the way, and could tell her sister was disappointed that the first ferret she met was so unsavory.
"Say, Prim, want to finish off my strawberry juice?" the squirrel said in an attempt to cheer her up.
"No, thanks."
Abbot Grove had long left off eating, allowing his rotund stomach to settle as he sat marveling at Ferdinand, who was still going strong – and not gaining an ounce of fat.
"Mm-mmm! My goodness, Father Abbot! I've never tasted better bulrush and watershrimp soup in my life! Oh, and these honeyed toffee pears, whose idea was it to create these? Pure genius! Ah, maple tree cordial, mmm! Exquisite! Ooh, seedcake and potato scones! And is that October ale I see over there?"
"Yes, take it," the old mouse said, smiling and arching his eyebrows as he passed the tankard the hare's way.
Ferdinand took a good, long drought. Wiping the foam away from his lips, the hare continued to rain praise down on the abbey's cooking. "Simply marvelous, dear boy! Absolutely spiffing, wotwot! Ah, and while I have just a little bit of room left. . . ."
Grove's eyes became very round as he witnessed the hare consume a colossal turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot'n'bean'deeper'n'ever pie with tomato chutney, followed by hotroot punch and hotroot celery cream dip.
"Ahhh, I think I've had all that I can tuck, good sir abbot. Can't thank you enough!"
"Well, I'm certainly glad that we were able to repay you for such a fine performance. And hopefully the remainder of your stay will be just as delightful."
"I should hope so, Father Abbot!"
"Ahem, now then," Abbot Grove said, raising his voice so that all the abbey could hear him. "I think its best that we all start getting to bed. Would somebeast see to it that the Dibbuns get put to bed and–"
A loud, youthful voice interrupted the abbot.
"DAB!"
Following that, came more small voices, echoing the first one.
"DAB!"
"DAB!"
"DAB!"
"DAB!"
Within moments, practically all of the Dibbuns were up and running about, screaming at the top of their lungs, "DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB! DAB!"
"Oh dear, not more 'Dibbuns Against Bedtime'!" groaned the abbot. "Somebeast, stop them!"
Some of the abbeydwellers were already on it, scurrying after the tiny animals. Even some of the Troupe lent a paw. But nobeast could've predicted what happened next:
"Yes! That's right, run, little ones! Run!"
Pansy had stood up on her chair and shouted those words. She then jumped down and began running with the Dibbuns, screaming "DAB! DAB! DAB!" herself.
Skipper sighed. "Shouldn't have let her have all that ale."
Merola leapt into action; it was practically second-nature to her to apprehend naughty little ones. The old badger bored down on the tiny beasts, barking, "None of this nonsense! Now, stoppit! All of you! Stoppit!"
Rogak extricated himself from the group of ottermaidens and called to the Dibbuns, "Here! Anybeast want to go on a boat-ride?" The big otter was then piled on by eager youngsters. "Alright, then! Let's go!" And with that, he followed Sister Bluebell up to where the dormitories were.
Merola followed, her arms also filled with Dibbuns, all of whom were subdued by the badger's size and strength.
As for Pansy, she had been intercepted by Primrose.
"No fair, you big cheat!" the squirrelmaid whined as the ferret dragged her up by the tail. "You didn't even give me a chance to fight back!"
"Too bad," was all Primrose would answer.
They left Great Hall with everybeast else laughing themselves silly.
Later that night, after he helped put dishes away and set the stools and chairs back right, Skipper Torren made his way up to the dormitories. The otter was tired and sleepy, his belly full of food (less than half of which what his crew had forced on him; Skipper had the suspicion that his otters were trying to make him fat just to annoy him) and his head full of thoughts about the maiden he had deemed 'vermin' on first sight.
He was still not sure if he should trust Primrose, a ferret. True, she was raised by woodlanders and traveled in woodlanders' company, but . . . Skipper just needed a little more assurance.
As he walked through Great Hall, the otter chieftain paused and looked up at the great tapestry of Martin the Warrior. The warriormouse smiled down at Skipper, who found himself silently asking the legendary hero for help.
Please, Martin. Please, tell me something: is that ferret to be trusted? Is there anything that I need to worry about? You know what I've been through because of her kind, but I can't turn her out, not after all that's happened. And this isn't my abbey; it's up to Father Grove to make that decision. But . . . just please, Martin, please, just let me know. . . .
Skipper's tired eyes continued to stare into the woven ones of Martin. Once before, he had been spoken to by the warrior's ghost: Sister Bluebell had taken a group of youngbeasts out on a picnic luncheon to show them what types of herbs were good for healing. Later, Skipper had gone for a swim in the abbey pond, and while he was floating about, he had a vision of Martin telling him that Bluebell was in danger.
The otter chieftain then rallied a small group of his otters and followed the mousemaid's tracks. Skipper's vision had proven true: a small band of vermin had been surrounding the group picnicking woodlanders. The skirmish that followed ended quickly enough, but the otter knew that had not Martin warned them, the abbeybeasts would've been killed.
Oddly enough, it was that very band of vermin that Dren the ferret had been apart of. Skipper hadn't seen it, but Bluebell claimed that Dren tried to stop the vermin leader from attacking her. The young ferret had been knocked unconscious, and Bluebell was adamant about bringing him back to Redwall for her to take care of. Skipper naturally objected, but at the same time, he knew it was cowardly to finish off a fallen opponent. So he had his otters carry Dren back to the abbey.
So far, Skipper didn't know for sure if was a mistake to let the ferret in. It had been a season since the incident, and Dren had never been outwardly aggressive or harmful to any of the abbeybeasts. But the ferret's surly attitude and ungrateful behavior turned off many a Redwaller. The only creatures that could seemingly still stand Dren were Bluebell and the abbot.
Skipper sighed and shook his head. He had already made up his mind to keep an eye on the male ferret, but what about Primrose? He hoped that Martin would answer him on that. The otter chieftain would forever be very grateful and relieved for the first time Martin gave him assistance, and right now, he needed it even more. Skipper kept on gazing up at the warriormouse's image on the tapestry. Everything was so still and silent and dark. . . .
. . . and then he heard a voice. A voice he had heard only once before, nor did the sound of it make Skipper want to look around for its source. Somehow, he knew he was already looking at the source.
The maiden bears no ill will. Trust her, she is on our side.
Skipper went to bed feeling a whole lot better about Primrose. Now if only he could get his crew to stop stuffing him. . . .
A/N: Interesting fact; all the food that was listed in the feast, its all the food that Martin was stuffed with in "Martin's Greatest Challenge"! XD
