Chapter Thirty-Seven
Early in the afternoon's festivities, Montybank stacked two short benches one atop the other, then positioned a small keg of strawberry fizz on the upper bench, held in place by chocks so it wouldn't roll off. His activities had soon drawn a small crowd of curious onlookers.
"Whayya doin' that, Mista Monty?" young Droge asked.
"You jus' wait 'n' see, me spikey li'l bucko!" The otter Skipper retrieved a mug from the nearest table and returned to his odd construct. "Now, normally, this 'ere cordial has just a wee bit o' fizzle to it - barely enuff t' tickle a mousebabe's whiskers! But here's a way t' get a hearty head o' foam on yore drink that a beast can really sink its muzzle inta!"
The two trestles elevated the cask of cordial high above the ground. Monty lined up his mug with the spigot and opened the nozzle. Once the fizzy fruit drink began to flow, he lowered his mug until it was almost touching the grass, causing the cordial to cascade in a long descent before splashing into the vessel. A frothy cap of fine bubbles formed, rising up and spilling over the sides of the mug.
The otter twisted the spigot shut and proudly upheld his foamy beverage for all to see. "Now there's a right proper head fit fer a thirstybeast! Here y' go, Drogey lad! Stick yore nose inta that!"
The 'hogchild took the proffered mug and did as bidden, with much obvious delight. Droge didn't know which he liked more, the feathery-prickly taste of the strawberry foam against his tongue or the splendid mess of the sweet lather running down the sides of the cup.
"Lemme, lemme!" Droge's shrewfriend Pirkko begged, holding out his own cup to Montybank as he danced side-to-side with excitement.
"Shore thing, Log-a-Tyke!" Monty happily obliged, presenting the Guosim chieftain's son with an overly-fizzed drink of his own.
The commotion attracted the attention of the healer vixen Mona, who detached herself from the company of her two fellow foxes and drifted over to observe, standing behind the ranks of delighted youngsters. "What are you doing, good sir otter?" she inquired.
"Aw, you don't hafta call me sir, ma'am," Monty grinned. "I only make me crew call me that! I were just showin' these liddle cullies an old drinkin' trick t' liven up their party fun! Here, I'll show ya!" He produced another cup with a flourish, repeated the flamboyant procedure, and held the foamy offering out to her. "Mind yore whiskers, marm - might tickle a bit!"
Mona stared at the mug as if mortified, making no move to take it.
Monty regarded her, baffled by her apparent rebuke. "Now, I know it's a wee messy, ma'am ... "
The vixen took an unsteady step backward, her unblinking stare fastened upon the mug. All the color had drained from her face; she looked almost deathly.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" Monty asked, concerned. All the children had stopped laughing and roughhousing and now stood staring at Mona too.
"It's ... " She shook her head as if throwing off something unpleasant. "It reminds me of something ... I witnessed once ... please excuse me ... " On shaky legs, Mona hastily retreated to her table.
"Huh. You'd think she'd seen a ghost, y' would." Monty gave the cordial intended for the vixen to Cuffy the dormouse instead; the youth took it with great enthusiasm.
The otter chief glanced around him. "Hey," he told his fellow otters, "let's see if'n we can't get us a couple more o' these benches over here an' get a cask of October ale up on top of 'em! Then we'll show everybeast here what real drinkin's about!"
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Once all the children had received their cupfuls of foam-capped strawberry fizz, Broggen was the first on line among the grownups to sample the sweet, bubbly concoction. The affable stoat wasted no time in dipping his snout into the pink head, coating his muzzle and whiskertips with a rosy moustache.
Sergeant Fryc of the Northland shrews wandered over. "Hey, whatcha drinkin' there, longneck?"
"Oh, um, just some strawberry cordial, Sarge. 'ere, try some - it's quite tasty!"
Fryc took a sip from Broggen's own mug, then pulled a distasteful face. "Blaugh! This stuff ain't fit fer a shrewbabe, much less a strappin' big stoat like yerself! Pour out that youngbeasts' brew, an' lemme fill yer cup with something that'll put fur on yer chest an' frazzle yer tail!" He started toward the elevated cask of October ale.
"Oh no," Broggen protested, holding up a paw. "I daresn't."
"Eh? Why not?'
"Doesn't agree with me, Sarge."
"Don't agree? What th' frack's that s'posed t' mean?"
"I don't hold me spirits very well," Broggen explained, or tried to. "I don't know when t' stop, an' it gets me all outta sorts."
"Aw, don't go frettin' over suchlike, friend, there's beasts aplenty 'ere today who'll keep ya from overindulgin'. It's a once-a-season celebration ... so go on an' celebrate!"
Broggen stood staring down at the shrew. It was the first time since his arrival at Redwall that anybeast had tried to force any alcoholic beverage upon him. Of course, Fryc was a new visitor here, and clearly did not know Broggen's personal history. Every longtime Abbey resident was familiar with the story of how the stoat had once terrorized some goodbeasts while on a drunken rampage, and had narrowly escaped a punishment of death at the paws of Lord Urthblood. Fryc, being a mere sergeant, probably hadn't even entered Urthblood's service until well after those events had taken place; the shrew was nobeast Broggen recognized from his time in the Northlands, so it was possible their paths had never crossed until recent days.
"I am celebratin', Sarge," Broggen insisted. "In me own fashion. You drink what you want, an' I'll keep to what works fer me. Cheers!" He lifted his cup and drained it of the strawberry fizz with a loud slurp.
"Huh. Pansy of a stoat, drinkin' that sweet stuff," Fryc muttered to himself as he made his way to the October ale. "T'ain't natural, a burly beast like 'im quaffin' liquid candy. This's s'posed t' be a festival, an' that ain't no way t' be festive! Hey, otters! Gimme somma that there ale!"
Montybank had left Brydon and Rumter in charge of the October ale. The two young otters were happy to have the job of dispensing the beverage, since nearly every adult beast would be by eventually to partake of Redwall's famous ale, and this would allow Brydon and Rumter to get in their full measure of socializing without ever having to leave this spot.
Brydon ran a frothy tankard of ale from the tap and presented it to Sergeant Fryc. The shrew scowled at the tall head, then blew at it, scattering flecks of foam all over the front of Brydon's tunic.
"Hey, watch it there, matey!" Brydon forced a laugh as he wiped a paw over his garment, although inwardly he was somewhat miffed by Fryc's behavior. "I'm a waterdog, not a tailwallopin' dishrag!"
Fryc looked askance at his mug after he'd taken a long draught of the October ale. "Hey, this stuff tastes like ginger ale! My momma's milk was sterner stuff than this!"
"Abbess said t' put out a weaker batch," Rumter explained. "Didn't want anybeast gettin' tipsy today!"
"Don'tcha got anything with a little more kick to it?" Fryc inquired. "Me 'n' me shrews're accustomed to some real drink, if y' take my meanin' ... "
The two otters traded glances. "Well, Balla's got brandy an' rum an' wine an' such down in the cellars," Brydon mused. "Reckon we could ask that ol' spikemarm whether she could trot out some o' that ... "
"Couldja?" the shrew encouraged them. "We'd much 'preciate it."
"But th' Abbess said t' keep th' spirits light," Rumter reminded his companion. "Th' children an' all ... "
Fryc pointed to the cask of ale atop the benches. "Just put it up there, an' no youngbeast'll be able t' reach it. Fur, I can't even reach it m'self!"
Rumter stroked his chin. "I s'pose that'd work. Lemme go ask Balla what she c'n do fer ya ... "
While Rumter bustled off to find the hedgehog cellarkeeper, Fryc held out his still mostly-full mug of ale to Brydon and pointed back over his shoulder to the strawberry cordial. "Hey, tell ya what - wouldja mind toppin' off my brew with somma that sweet juice?"
Brydon made a face and stuck out his tongue as he took the vessel from the shrew. "Mix October ale with strawberry fizz?"
"Yeah - might make fer a good bubbly punch. Worth a try, huh?"
Brydon shrugged. "Well, okay ... Yore th' guest here, so whatever's yer pleasure ... " He and Fryc went over to the cordial keg. The Sergeant's tankard was still about three-quarters full of the mild ale. Brydon filled it the rest of the way to the top, holding the mug close to the spigot so that the cordial fizz wouldn't all foam up over the edge right away.
"There y' go," Brydon grinned, eagerly awaiting Fryc's reaction upon tasting the questionable concoction. To his surprise, the shrew started walking away. "Hey, where're y' goin'?"
"Ain't fer me," Fryc called back. "It's fer a friend!"
Broggen had by this time returned to his seat with Cyril, Cyrus and Smallert. Fryc sauntered up alongside the stoat and slammed his full tankard down on the table alongside Broggen's empty one. "Drained yer mug already? Good thing I broughtcha more then!"
Broggen ganced from Fryc to the drink and back again. "Why, that was mighty kind o' ya, Sarge. Thanks!"
"Don't mention it." Fryc stood back, a knowing smile on his face as he watched Broggen lift the drink to his lips and quaff deeply from it.
Broggen abruptly put down the tankard after three swallows. "Hey! There's spirits in this fizz!"
"Y' don't say? Wonder how that coulda happened?" Fryc tipped his paw to his brow and started off to rejoin his shrews. "Enjoy!"
Broggen sat glowering at the mug of ale-cordial mixture as if it were a personal enemy, a flurry of emotions flitting across his face. The mouse brothers Cyril and Cyrus regarded their stoat friend with concern; in all the time they'd known Broggen they'd never seen him like this. Smallert, who had a better idea than the two mice as to what was going on with Broggen, reached out to remove the offending beverage. "Here, Broggs, lemme get this away from ya an' fetch ya some more o' th' pure fizz ... "
"No. Wait." Broggen's paw shot out, grasping Smallert by the wrist before the weasel could touch the tankard. "It tasted like there was just a little bit o' ale in that drink. It's gotta be mostly cordial." He picked it up and held it under his nose, sniffing at it, then took another healthy swallow.
"Now, Broggs," Smallert cautioned, "y' know y' ain't s'posed t' be drinkin'. We all 'member what happened up north ... "
"Aw, that t'were a whole root cellar o' potent blackberry brandy that landed me in hot water then." Broggen helped himself to another gulp. "This don't begin t' compare."
"Well ... I guess," Smallert conceded dubiously, noting that Broggen had already polished off half the drink. "Long as you stop at one, I guess it's okay ... "
"Sure it's okay," Broggen said, licking his lips. "I mean, what could it hurt?"
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The Abbey children, fueled by repeated servings of strawberry fizz, were engaged in a high-speed game of tag through the orchard.
Mona sat alone on a solitary stump near the orchard's edge, afternoon sun sheening off her red fur as she watched the youngsters racing to and fro in their tireless play. The vixen had wandered away from the main festival shortly after her episode of strangeness with Montybank at the cordial barrel, and showed no indication of rejoining the celebration.
Abbot Arlyn ambled over to where she rested. Along with most of the other Abbey leaders, the old mouse had heard about Mona's bizarre reaction to the sight of the fizzy beverage, and at Vanessa's behest set out to see if he could discover the explanation or help the pretty fox in any way.
She looked up at his approach. "Mind if I share your seat?" Arlyn asked. "These ancient legs of mine aren't much good for standing at long stretches."
"Oh, yes. Of course, Abbot." Mona scooted to one side of the treestump; there was plenty of room for a second beast to sit there.
Arlyn settled down and joined the pensive vixen in watching the children at play. "Are you enjoying our Nameday festivities?"
"It is wonderful, Abbot. The weddings, the Abbess's naming of the season, not to mention more food and drink than I've ever seen in one place ... Truly, I never imagined such a refuge of happiness was to be found anywhere in the lands."
"I'm glad to hear that. I was a little worried, after that moment I heard you had back at the drink casks."
Mona shot Arlyn a glance, then quickly looked away again, clearly reluctant to discuss the matter. The retired Abbot decided not to press the subject, and the two of them sat in silence for some moments.
Out in the orchard, Droge had been tagged "it." But the young hedgehog was more concerned with having fun than winning, and had taken to pursuing his playmates by hurling himself this way and that along the ground rolled up into a spiky ball. His friends laughed so hard at his antics that they almost forgot to run, and several were very nearly tagged - or rather, pricked - to be the next chaser.
"Full of energy, aren't they?" Arlyn commented. "A beast can get tired just watching them!"
"Indeed." Mona gave a soft sigh. "But they're all going to die someday."
Arlyn nearly fell off his side of the stump at this unexpected statement. He studied the side of her face, but her placid gaze remained on the cavorting children.
"Everything that lives must someday die," he said at last. "That is nature's way. But those young ones have many, many seasons ahead of them, or so I hope, and many joys and blessings too, before they will have to think of such things. And, if you don't mind my saying, Mona, you yourself are too young to have such thoughts bouncing around inside your skull. They might be more appropriate to somebeast like me, who nears the end of his seasons, but not for you."
Now she did turn his way. "Doesn't that bother you? That your life is near its end?"
"Not in the least, my child. I have lived my full measure of seasons, and they have been happy ones, filled with the companionship of all my friends here at Redwall. I have been blessed with good health, and doubly blessed to have been born into one of the most peaceful eras of Mossflower's history. Never in my life has war or strife touched the forestlands around our fair Abbey. This has made my tenure as Abbot so much easier than it could have been, and I can only hope that Vanessa's term at Redwall's helm may be as uneventful as mine was, in spite of Lord Urthblood's dire warnings of a crisis to come. Serving our community here has been the most profoundly rewarding duty you can imagine, and I was extraordinarily fortunate to have had that privilege. So, to answer your question, no, I am neither saddened nor fearful nor resentful that my life is drawing near its end. I will embrace my passage from this world when it comes, be it tomorrow or ten seasons from now."
Mona heaved a deeper sigh. "When I first arrived at Redwall, you all asked me how I became a healer. I always danced around the question, putting you off with responses that weren't answers at all. That's because the incidents surrounding my full awakening in that field are as unpleasant for me to think upon as it would be for you good folk to hear."
Sympathy crossed Arlyn's face. "I'm sorry. We didn't know ... "
"How could you have? But the truth is that when I was quite young - not even an adult yet - I saw my older sister killed."
Arlyn rested a paw atop hers. Mona flinched at the first contact, as if unaccustomed to receiving compassion from anybeast, then accepted the gesture. "You have my sympathies," he told her.
"She met her end at the claws of searats," the vixen went on, "and I very nearly did too," she added with a shudder. "She said many unkind things to me in our seasons together - I think the burden of being responsible for me was one she would rather have done without - but never once did she beat me, or send me to sleep hungry or cold if she could help it. Deep down, I do believe she cared for me. I would have been lost without her. Fortunately, Lord Urthblood's troops rescued me, and that badger immediately recognized in me an innate healers' ability. So, he educated me more thoroughly in medical lore ... and that is how I came to be what I am today."
"It sounds to me," said Arlyn, "like fate has been both very cruel and very kind to you."
"Ever since then, death has fascinated me. When I encounter a deadbeast - and believe me, I have seen plenty, following Lord Urthblood around the Northlands on his campaigns - I will study it in as many ways as I can, testing, probing ... it is the passage from life to death, especially in a sudden or violent manner, that captivates me so. At what point does death occur? What physical damage can a creature sustain before it is injured beyond all hope or chance of repair? What knowledge or lore, still to be discovered, might allow us to save beasts who now would surely die from their illness or injuries? How do our bodies work? These are the mysteries that hold me in their thrall. Their exploration is my life now."
Arlyn sat contemplating Mona's words for some moments. Even though abundant sunshine lit the grounds around them in a shimmering golden glow, it seemed to the retired Abbot as if a dark shroud had fallen over this particular treestump. There was nothing overtly threatening or sinister about Mona - indeed, sitting there alongside the old mouse she seemed almost to exude an innocent purity in her delicate beauty - but nevertheless her statements unsettled him.
"These deadbeasts you ... study. Do you ever, ah, cut them open in your examinations?"
"A study of the entire body - inside and out - is necessary to complete understanding, Abbot."
"Ah. And, you wanted to examine our recently-deceased hare Broyall ... " Arlyn left it an unspoken question.
"Abbot, I would never have defiled a beloved member of your community. I merely wanted to have a look at him. I've never had a chance for a close look at a hare ... "
"And that opportunity shall have to wait for another day," Arlyn said stiffly. "Too bad you weren't at Salamandastron last summer - you would have had plenty of subjects for your studies. In fact, I'm surprised Lord Urthblood didn't bring you along, if your healing skills are so formidable. Your talents surely would have come in useful after the battle."
"I would have liked to have been there, Abbot, for any number of reasons. But Lord Urthblood must have known there might be fierce fighting, and I am no soldierbeast. I might have been lost in that conflict."
"I suppose ... "
"Do you know anything of the healing arts, Abbot?"
"Not as much as our current Abbess, who was once the keeper of our Infirmary before attaining her present position. I did my share of shifts in the Infirmary in my younger days, but I was never in charge of it as Vanessa was."
"Still, you must know enough of such things to appreciate my view. If you could learn the secrets of life and death enough to ensure that virtually nobeast delivered into your care would ever die, wouldn't you at least try?"
"Nobeast can cheat death, my child."
"I beg to differ, Abbot. As you say, everybeast must die someday ... but why should that day arrive one moment sooner than it absolutely has to?"
"That is fine - up to a point. As long as one does not unnaturally resist what is meant to be."
"And who determines what is natural and what is not?"
"Why, nature does, of course. It always has."
"But, are we not part of nature ourselves? And if we say it is to be some other way than it has always been ... "
"Then it might become a case of nature turned against itself - and that can never be good."
Mona was silent a moment, then nodded. It was not a nod of agreement, but one that said she saw no use in continuing the conversation. "Anyway, Abbot, you can now understand why I acted so strangely earlier. I apologize if I put a damper on your holiday."
"It's quite all right, Mona. No harm done. But, I still don't understand why you found the sight of our strawberry fizz so disconcerting. How exactly did your sister die?"
"I will not darken your feast day anymore than I already have, Abbot. That unpleasantry has no place even in this morbid conversation. Perhaps someday I will tell you. But not today." She rose from the treestump. "Thank you for coming over to rescue me from my own gloom. Now let me go take advantage of the rest of this lovely celebration you've provided for us."
