Latura of Redwall, Book I: A Pageant, Festive and Myriad

by Highwing

An unexpected new figure emerges in the wake of the Accord between Lord Urthblood and King Tratton. The third Urthblood novel after "The Crimson Badger" and "The Shrew War."

11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The Point was moving.

Urthblood, Lord of Salamandastron, stood at the solitary window to one of the uppermost chambers of the mountain fortress, gazing through it to the east. The lowering spring sun cast a golden glow upon the ragged line of peaks dividing the coastlands from Mossflower proper. That low range hid the rest of the lands, and Redwall, and even the incredible summit of Foxguard, from his view. Only above, on the very plateau of this natural citadel, could the observation deck of the swordfox tower be spied, and then only with the aid of one of the Badger Lord's telescopic long glasses. Typically, all that the two fortresses ever saw of each other were the flashes from their signaling mirrors, and then only when they had something to say to each other.

But Urthblood did not need line-of-sight to view what he sought; indeed, he knew full well that no telescope of his making would be powerful enough to bring into focus the object of his present scrutiny.

Nearly thirty seasons before he had received a prophecy, now carved into the rock walls of Salamandastron's hidden throne room, a prophecy destined to set into motion sweeping events which would alter the course of history for all the lands, forever. That prophecy had driven him from his home here and sent him into the Northlands, where he determined to forge alliances and lay the groundwork to meet the coming calamity his dire verses predicted. And it was there, in the early seasons of his campaigns, that his prophetic sight had first perceived the glimmers of the spectral phantom that would haunt him from that day to this.

His carven prophecy had foretold some things and hinted at others, all in their own vague way. But not even their maddeningly indefinite Badgerscript runes had hinted at this challenger to his power, a creature as heavily touched by destiny and burdened with fate as he was. Only his active, ongoing vision into worlds beyond this one had revealed this menace to him at all, and then only as a shadow among shadows, a dark figure hiding in the night.

Who this beast was, or how exactly it would oppose him, remained hidden from his most penetrating probes into the realms of dreams, and his most focused attempts to glean any identity at all. Yet from the very beginning, and those first taunting psychic echoes impinging upon his otherworldly awareness, this future foe who could undo all his works had worn a single simple, unvarying, unmistakable shape to help Urthblood guide his actions.

The shape of a rat.

This omen even led him to temporarily abandon his Northlands campaigns in the midst of his efforts there, drawing him down to the shores of the Western Sea to await the shipwreck of the searat captain Whiteclaw's vessel there. Urthblood's future sight had shown him this creature as well, and for a time the badger warrior supposed that they might very well be one in the same, in which case slaying one would take care of both. But it quickly became clear after the wreck that Tratton Whiteclaw had a different part to play in these events, and was not the veiled figure from Urthblood's visions. So badger and rat worked together to rebuild a smaller ship from the remnants of the larger, and then set out to sea at each other's side. During these maritime adventures, Urthblood slew a great many searats, and had many more pass before him as he manipulated Tratton's ascension to the throne of Terramort, but nowhere did he discover the rat who might challenge him as no other could. After a season, with Tratton solidly installed to fulfill his necessary role, Urthblood returned to dry land to resume his preparations there. If his phantom opponent was not to be found among searatkind, then he would turn his gaze - both his gazes - back to the Northlands, and to Mossflower, and even to Southsward if need be, until the one he sought was brought to light and properly dealt with.

And thus did the situation remain until seven seasons ago, when his path brought him down from the Northlands to Redwall. While staying at the Abbey, this mental phantom had solidified for him in a way it never had before, coalescing before his inner eye with a sense of presence it had heretofore lacked. It was then that Urthblood knew with virtual certainty that the rat he sought dwelt somewhere within Mossflower. Exactly where he still could not say, anymore than he could ascribe a name or visage to this creature. But what had never been more than an elusive ghost to him now proclaimed itself as a definite physical entity occupying the same lands as he. And it was then that Urthblood began to think of his quarry as the Point - a target to be isolated and identified, just as any military objective could be pinpointed on a map and then engaged accordingly.

But as fate would have it - and fate always claimed the final word in such matters - Urthblood was in no position just then to capitalize on this new wrinkle in his perceptions. He'd brought a large portion of his forces south with him, and he had an alliance to forge with Redwall, and thence had to journey to Salamandastron to tend to the situation there, and make sure the rule of the mountain was placed under a single strong paw. He'd already set contingencies into motion along these lines, and could not deviate from his prearranged itinerary. And then there was Tratton to consider as well; the Searat King was required to dance on the puppet strings of history along with everybeast else involved in these times, and dance Urthblood would make certain he did, until the sea tyrant was forced to the negotiating table and the Accord was made a reality. Only then would the way be cleared ...

All in all, things had worked out surprisingly well. To have gained all he had since embarking upon his grand gambit, to have positioned all the players so precisely, proved that he truly was following the footsteps of destiny. The loss of his sword paw was a small price to pay for what he had achieved.

And now, seven seasons later, and for the first time ever, Urthblood felt the Point shifting in real space, in real time. He'd hardly sat by and ignored the issue in the intervening seasons; while reassigning his Northland shrews to Doublegate the previous spring and summer, he'd instructed that they travel along any number of prescribed routes - some straight along the main path by Redwall, others through the Western Plains between Mossflower and the coastlands, and still others through the deeper woodlands east of the Abbey. And then there were all the shrews who'd helped with the construction of Foxguard. But no matter where they went, those wandering shrews all bore the same set of secondary instructions: to keep their eyes and ears open for any reports or rumors of a rat who could predict future events, and who could know things no ordinary beast could possibly know.

And they had turned up ... nothing. Not in the north of Mossflower, where the mountain of Icetor towered over all. Not in the Western Plains, with all their bands and settlements. Not around Redwall, nor around the quarry, nor along the River Moss, nor in the environs of the Big Inland Lake, nor anywhere throughout the depths and fastnesses of southern Mossflower, all the way down to the edge of the wastelands there. If this mystery rat resided in Mossflower at all - and he doubted for not a moment that it did - then it was either keeping very much to itself (perhaps aware that it was being hunted?) or else it occupied some remote corner of the lands his forces had yet to search.

Whatever the case, it was on the move now. From what secret lair had it emerged, and what had set it in motion? Where had it come from, where was it now, and - most pertinent of all - where was it headed? All these details remained hazy. But the situation would need to be watched. It would need to be watched very closely indeed.

Another beast announced its presence at the chamber doorway. "Um, My Lord?"

"What is it, Captain?" Urthblood did not turn to look at his senior ranking Gawtrybe officer at Salamandastron, recognizing Matowick by voice alone.

"Captain Klystra arrived some time ago. I took his preliminary report up on the plateau, but thought you might wish to debrief him more thoroughly yourself."

"Yes, I probably will," the badger said to the open window. "How went his mission?"

"He delivered your message to Foxguard in full, as ordered. Tolar is now abreast of all that has been happening here and in the Northlands these past two seasons, and should be making ready to receive our party and render them any assistance they require."

"And all is well at Foxguard?"

"Klystra did not indicate otherwise ... or indicate that Tolar indicated otherwise."

"Any reports of trouble or strife abroad in wider Mossflower?"

"Just that horde building to the northeast of Foxguard. It's getting bigger, but Klystra doesn't deem it to be any major threat. At least not yet."

"There will soon be more Gawtrybe in that region than any horde will know what to do with," Urthblood rumbled dismissively. "But, this horde ... did Klystra indicate whether it included any large number of rats?"

The squirrel captain gave an unseen shrug. "I imagine it includes all manner of vermin, and in large numbers. It's a horde, after all. But, as you say, my Gawtrybe will be there soon ... and we know what to do with rats. And the rest of those villains too, for that matter."

"Very good. And the rest of Captain Klystra's flight proved uneventful?"

"He ran into some of the Redwall Sparra on his return leg ... "

This finally prompted Urthblood to turn his head toward Matowick, although he otherwise remained rooted to his spot. "What was he doing near Redwall? His instructions were to steer well clear of the Abbey."

"He wanted to follow the most direct route back to Salamandastron to report to you on the success of his mission. He thought he was flying high enough to escape the notice of the Redwallers, or to avoid any hails if he was spotted. He did not anticipate being accosted by some of their youngbirds."

"I trust that he divulged no sensitive information to them?"

Matowick answered with a smirk, "From what he told me, they were too busy being rescued by him to press him for any details he cared not to share. Seems sparrows can't fly as high as falcons, and tend to go into a tailspin when they try!" The squirrel turned more serious. "I don't know why you don't just tell them about this latest campaign, My Lord. They already know of the Accord, and must surely appreciate that certain conditions must be met to preserve the peace. They're going to be finding out soon enough anyway ... "

"For the same reason I kept the true shape and scope of Foxguard from them until the tower was well underway. It is more difficult to oppose something once it is already an accomplished fact. As it was then, so must it be now. We must commence this campaign in Mossflower without their awareness, approval or counsel."

"And if they do oppose it, even after it's begun?"

"They will not agree with it, of that I am certain. It will be a careful balancing act, Captain, there can be no doubt. Relations with Redwall are crucial, but this operation is equally crucial. They may not approve of what we are doing, but as long as they are not asked to take part in our activities, our alliance may be preserved."

"It hasn't been much of an alliance, if you ask me. They didn't help you fight your brother, they didn't help you fight Tratton, they didn't help you fight Snoga, and they seem to question your motives and honor at every turn. Why is it so important that we remain in their good graces?"

"Redwall is a force not to be dismissed lightly, and opposed at one's own peril. It may be slumbering now, but a spirit resides there which can be terrible if provoked. We may not have seen it stir so far in our lifetimes, but trust me, it is there. And, as you well know, the future concerns me more than the past. Redwall stands to play a central role in events to come; there is no way it cannot. That is why we must keep the Abbeybeasts within our fold, as close as we can."

"Close, as in the way you keep some of your enemies close?" Matowick asked, invoking an expression - and a strategy - he'd heard Urthblood voice on more than one occasion.

The badger returned his gaze to the mountains framed by his window. "May fate preserve all the lands if Redwall and I are to ever become enemies."

"And yet you feel they may oppose you on this matter ... "

"Creatures of good heart but differing philosophies may often disagree without coming to blows or growing mired in destructive enmity. It has happened - as witnessed by the current lack of otters in my service."

Matowick bristled a bit at this sensitive subject, although now that Urthblood had brought it up himself, the squirrel did not shy away from it. "That's what distinguishes a real army like yours from a horde, My Lord. Anybeast can follow orders, but only a goodbeast can follow its conscience as well. Saybrook and his otters did what they felt they had to, after what they witnessed, and nobeast should think any less of them for doing so. Not even you, My Lord."

"And what of you and your Gawtrybe, Captain? Do you ever feel conflicted between following your orders and your consciences?"

"There are certain ... weapons and tactics we would prefer to never see used again, if may be. But if you decide they must be used to win the day on the field of battle and to safeguard the lands, we will stand firm and follow your orders. We Gawtrybe have stood by you so far, and we aren't about to abandon you now. You must realize this yourself, or else you would not have placed the primary responsibility for executing your current policy squarely upon our shoulders, first in the Northlands and now in Mossflower as well."

"Most perceptive of you. Yes, the Gawtrybe possess the skills and natural abilities needed for this campaign. And once it is concluded, the lands will be a far more secure and stable place."

"This is what we all hope, My Lord ... although some may see it differently. Redwall still concerns me. What if they do move into open opposition against us over this?"

"Even with the Long Patrol stationed there, Redwall possesses no real army, not on the order of the forces I command. Their defenders may be more than adequate for protecting their Abbey and holding it against any would-be conqueror, but they have no way to project their power far beyond their walls in any meaningful way without spreading their fighters so thin that they would risk losing everything." Urthblood's gaze rested upon the near range, and the unseen Abbey beyond, and the obscured yet persistent Point beyond even that. "If Redwall were to declare itself against us, we will simply do what we would have done anyway, and what we have largely been doing all along: leave them holed up and isolated within their own sanctuary while we go around them, and do what must be done."

00000000000

Browder strode from the classroom-turned-rehearsal hall, brushing his paws together in satisfaction over a job well done. His thespian pupils were at last ready for their shining moment upon the stage - or as ready as they were ever going to be, at any rate.

He found his wife Mizagelle waiting in the corridor just outside. "Oh, hullo there, Mizzy m'dear. Wot brings you here to this stompin' ground for budding talent?"

"I've actually been out here for some time, watching through the doorway so I wouldn't distract you. Wanted to see my fabled hubby in action for m'self."

"Then you jolly well came in th' blink o' blinkin' time, wot, since today's th' last day of rehearsals. Show goes on tomorrow, whether these tykes're ready for it or not."

"They looked ready to me," Mizagelle said, looping her paw around Browder's waist as they ambled down the corridor together. "By all accounts, you've done a fine job helping prepare them for their moment in th' sun. A true service to this Abbey."

"Yah, well, t'wasn't easy, me Mizz. Quite tryin' at times, really, gettin' some of th' rowdier rumpkins to listen to the voice of experience an' follow directions like true bally troupers. Fur knows, they're just as like t' start improvisin' an' cavortin' all over th' boards when th' bally curtain goes up."

"There isn't any curtain, you silly fool! But in any case, I found it thrilling to - yikes!" Mizagelle was almost bowled over - and Browder along with her - by the sudden torrent of rushing youth as Winokur dismissed his class and all the keyed-up students spilled out into the hall.

"Gangway, gangway, I'm Martin th' Warrior!" Pirkko shouted as he pounded past the two hares. "An' Matthias too!"

"Well, then I'm Slagar th' Cruel!" Budsock bellowed as he chased after his shrew friend, waving a fake spear that wobbled harmlessly. "Watch out, 'cuz I'm gonna steal away yer bratty son!" Droge and several others followed up in hot pursuit of heroic doublemouse shrew and the dastardly squirrelfox, with the three Sparra Harpreet, Skytop and Brybag bringing up the rear, half-running and half-fluttering to keep up with the rest. And then the frenetic whirlwind of fur and feathers and spikes was gone, as quickly as it had come.

Browder scratched at his head in bewilderment. "Slagger th' Cruel? We've not even got any bally beast in th' bloomin' script by that name!" Shrugging it off, he returned his attention to his wife. "You were sayin', Mizz m'love?"

"I was saying I found it a thrill to see you up at the head of that class, puttin' all your player's knowledge on full display as you coached those youngbeasts and brought out their best. It really is wot you're best at, wot? So, why don't you ever put on any performances of your own for Redwall? We could've used such diversions down in Cavern Hole any number of long nights this past winter."

Browder seemed to blanch at this very suggestion, ears wilting forward as he and Mizagelle started down the staircase to Great Hall. "Mizzy, I ... I could never do such a thing. 'Specially not here."

"Whyever not?! You're a pro!"

"Surprised you even hafta ask. Yeah, I'm a spankin' pro - which is just why Urthblood picked me for that ruse of his. Way things are now, if I was t' give any kinda performance here at Redwall, with all our fellow longears in attendance, whaddya s'pose they'd see? Wouldn't matter wot role I was playin', or wot the story was, all they'd be able t' see would be my treachery at Salamandastron, as they like t' call it. My place here's precarious enough, don'tcha know, without that kind of openin' old wounds that've barely scabbed over. The Long Patrol barely tolerates me as it is."

"I'm Long Patrol too, y'know," Mizagelle reminded him with a playful squeeze at his hips.

"Oh, I know it, an' you're my bally savin' grace too, luckiest things that ever came my way, wot? Without you, I'd be pushin' up th' bloomin daisies instead o' siring fine, strong Redwall leverets with you. But I think you get my point: my performin' days're well an' truly over, since I dare not go back to 'em."

Mizagelle gazed down, focused on fitting her overlarge footpaws onto the stone steps. "They sure didn't make these stairs for stompers big as ours, did they? Yeah, I suppose you're right. Never thought about it that way before. Seems a shame, you havin' to give up wot you were so good at when you decided to settle here."

"Oh, I'd given it up well before that," Browder said. "All that summer an' fall an' winter followin' that sorry debacle, even after I retired back up to the Northlands to escape the vicinity of my sad disgrace, I never could act again. Not even for old friends who wanted me to. My old heart just wasn't in it anymore, th' spirit unwillin', the fire in th' belly banked, inspiration fled, an' all that poetic rot. That's why, when Urthblood sent for me again t' help with scoutin' duties during his war with th' searats, I didn't hesitate. Needed t' find some way t' make myself feel useful again, 'cos all I'd done before was like ashes in the mouth, don'tcha know."

"Why in th' world didn't you ever tell me any of this before, Browder?"

"Guess it jolly well never came up, wot?"

"Well, that's just ... just a shame, really. Th' one thing you were really good at, an' now thanks to ol' Bloodface, you'll never be able to enjoy doin' it again. I swear, that badger despoils every flippin' thing he touches, doesn't he?"

"That seems t' be th' growin' sentiment 'round here, doesn't it? Exceptin' a certain squirrel queen, that is. But that wasn't the only thing I was ever good at, beggin' your pretty pardon. Also quite th' runner in my day, if you'll recall, able t' match paces with the best of 'em, don'tcha know!"

"But of course. You never could've given that performance before Lord Urthfist without first makin' that impressive three-day Redwall-to-Salamandastron run."

"Um, er, uh ... " Browder stammered to a standstill, chagrined anew. "Really, Mizzy, when you line up all my past misguided misdeeds all in a row like that, sometimes I'm amazed you ever found it in your magnanimous heart to forgive me t'all."

"Maybe I didn't," she said quietly as they stepped off the stairs and out into Great Hall. "Maybe some things can't be forgiven. Or maybe I've forgiven you for the hare I now know you to be, without forgiving your actions during those events. We both know who was pullin' all th' bloody strings in that blackhearted affair, an' you're hardly the first or only beast His Bloodiness hoodwinked 'n' bamboozled."

"Huh. Well, wotever you've forgiven or haven't, I'm just glad to have a lovely an' understandin' harewife who's not lookin' to plant a dagger 'twixt my ribs, as so many of your friends would no doubt love t' do. An' speakin' of the long-eared devil, here comes one of 'em now."

Saticoy, having spotted Browder and Mizagelle emerging from the staircase, altered his path through Great Hall to intercept them. He approached with no apparent malice or threat; indeed, as he drew up to them, he made the common Long Patrol show of pointedly ignoring Browder as if the former player wasn't there.

"Wot is it, Satty?" Mizagelle inquired, seeing quite clearly that Saticoy had flagged her down with some specific purpose in mind.

The mute hare launched into a rapidfire recitation of whistles, trills, tongue clicks and cheek squelches, all accompanied by a series of deft paw signals. The effect might almost have been comical, if not for the underlying reason for his display: a throat wound at the Battle of Salamandastron had left his vocal chords severed, robbing him of his speaking voice forever. Only prompt attention from Urthblood's healers had saved him at all ... and only this new vocabulary of gestures and mouth noises, devised between Saticoy and his fellow Long Patrol, allowed him to communicate with his companion hares in any meaningful fashion.

"Wot's that you say? Colonel wants t' meet us out in th' orchard? Call t' order for the entire Patrol?"

Saticoy affirmed her translation with an emphatic, satisfied nod.

"Now that's a jolly wheeze," Browder commented, impressed anew at Saticoy's wordless communication. "I know performances, an' that one was a right corker. One o' these days, I'll really hafta learn that language for m'self."

Saticoy shot him a baleful glare. "No, you won't," he said, quite distinctly, with skilled squelches that conveyed overtones of a far less polite bodily function.

Mizagelle patted Browder's shoulder. "Now, now - you may be my husband, but Satty's whistles and signals are for Long Patrol only. Sorry."

Favoring Browder with one last scornful glance, Saticoy turned on his heel and started for the Abbey door. Mizagelle took Browder's arm in hers as they followed after the voiceless hare. "Well, you may's well come along. If th' Colonel doesn't want you there on account o' this bein' Long Patrol business an' for our ears only, he won't be shy about sayin' so. Tho', if it were any sensitive matter, don't think he'd be holdin' this meet out in the orchard 'stead of down in our tunnels."

"Right. If you say so, Mizzy m'gel. You lead, an' I'll jolly well follow, until I'm told t' bugger off. Pretty used to that by now, don'tcha know." Browder studied Saticoy's back, as the mute soldier maintained his disdainful lead over the distasteful player hare. "I daresay, though, that one'd make for some spankin' fine 'tween-the-acts entertainment for our pageant tomorrow, wouldn'tcha say so?"

The threesome kept to their staggered formation all the way out to the orchard, where they found every other hare of the Patrols already gathered, standing or sitting or leaning on treetrunks in a loose circle around Clewiston. Apparently Mizagelle had been the last rounded up for this haremeet, and the others had been waiting on her to start. Choosing a spot where the late afternoon sun slanted between damson and plum trees, creating a pool of springtime warmth upon the fertile ground, Mizagelle settled onto her haunches to see what all the fuss was about, with Browder taking a legs-splayed-out-before-him seat alongside her.

Lieutenant Gallatin was hardly alone in regarding Browder with unmasked hostility, but as the second-ranking hare present, it fell to him to voice what everybeast else was thinking. Turning to the Colonel, he complained, "I say, sir, does he really hafta be here?"

Clewiston shrugged, as if Browder was worth no more of his time or energy than that. "Doesn't matter. Won't be discussin' anything confidential or tactical, so he may's well stay."

"So, Colonel," Sergeant Peppertail called out, "now that we're all present an' accounted for, wot's th' big deal? Why've you called us all here?"

"If you want to know th' answer to that, Sergeant, look down at your beltline, if you can see it past your tum t'all."

This brought chuckles and snickers from many of the hares clustered around the winter-plumped Peppertail, but Clewiston was quick to stifle the good-natured jibes and merriment.

"Yuck it up, you butterball bumpkins, but honest truth is, there's not a hare amongst us who hasn't let itself go this past season." He patted his own ample midsection. "An' I do mean not a one. But this stops today! We're Redwall defenders, not dozy dormice just wakin' up from a long winter's slumber. We're th' bally Long Patrol, by my scut, so it's time we whipped ourselves inta shape an' started actin' like it again!"

"Wot about me?" Lieutenant Gallatin's wife Florissant ventured, leaning against a pear tree with paws interlaced over her gravid belly. "Does this go for those of us who're preggers?"

"Harewives are a happy exception," Clewiston quickly amended. "Or at least those currently carryin' are. You've been goin' above 'n' beyond the call of duty, doin' your parts t' bolster our regiment an' expand our numbers, so you're exempt, Flossie m'gel, along with Kynnelle an' Stahanna too. But as for th' rest of us ... "

"So, wot's it gonna be, sir?" Gallatin queried with muted enthusiasm; he enjoyed Redwall's fare as much as any hare, and more than most - as his recent expansion in girth wordlessly testified. "Half-rations until we take a notch off our belts? Extra laps around the Abbey grounds an' walltop? Longer patrols out through forest 'n' field?"

"I'm very much afraid we've grown beyond all that. Now that spring's here, all manner of vermin 'n' miscreants're likely to be on th' move again, an' could show up at our gates without notice. We haven't got all season t' get ourselves back inta fightin' form. No, I'm afraid there's naught else for it: I'm resurrectin' th' Salamandastron Dance!"

If any announcement could have stunned the seasoned and unflappable campaigners of the Long Patrol, this was it. For long moments every hare merely stared at Clewiston in disbelief, until Sergeant Traughber found the temerity to point out, "But, sir ... this's Redwall, not Salamandastron!"

"Brilliant brainstormin' observation there, Sergeant. I'll remember you for th' bally cognizance award, next time medals are given out."

"But, Trobbs is right," followed up Baxley, a younger male hare and husband to Mizagelle's sister Givadon. "We've only ever held the Salamandastron Dance in ... well, Salamandastron!"

Clewiston refused to be swayed, maintaining his ramrod-straight officer's posture. "Yes, well, Bax, I s'pect our old mountain home's current overlord would hardly welcome us back for a night of rearrangin' th' furniture in the main mess so we can kick up our heels to some lively tunes, wot?"

Melanie shared the other hares' apprehension over what her commander husband was proposing. "Clewy, that Dance has only ever been for the Long Patrol alone, presided over by Lord Urthfist. No other beasts have ever taken part, or even witnessed it. I mean, the very idea of holdin' a Salamandastron Dance somewhere other than Salamandastron ... it just doesn't feel right."

"Then call it th' Long Patrol Dance if it'll make you all feel more at ease about it. Sand 'n' seasalt, call it the Idiot Hares Makin' Flippin' Fools of Themselves Dance for all I care!" Clewiston ran his unflinching gaze over all his fellows. "But make no mistake, the Dance will resume - startin' tonight!"

"Tonight?!" several declared at once, to which Traughber amended, "But we've got no Badger Lord to oversee th' Dance! It's not th' Dance without that!"

"Redwall's got a perfectly fine specimen of badgerhood, in case none of you nearsighted nitwits have noticed, and I'm sure Mother Maura would be more'n happy to stand in for us."

"Yes, but," Peppertail put in, "all the Abbeyfolk'll be around too! Some of 'em might even want to join in! We can't have that! I'm as like to stomp on a mouse, trample a mole, tread on a hedgehog or send a shrew flyin' as anything!"

Clewiston stifled a snort. "With that extra padding you're carryin' these days, Pep, I'd be surprised if you could lift your footpaws high enuff t' step on an ant! An' if you wanna prove me wrong, well, you'll have your chance tonight! You all will. But ev'ry hare will dance - an' that's an order!"

Traughber gave a resigned shrug. "Well, guess that seals th' bally deal then. Orders is orders, an' if th' Colonel says we gotta dance, then that's wot we'll be doin'!"

"You got that right, Sergeant." Gallatin turned to Clewiston. "So, when will this frightful affair be startin', sir?"

"Right after dinner, so we can waste no time narrowin' our waists 'n' burnin' off our meals. Word to th' wise, chaps 'n' chapesses: don't scoff too much for your supper, otherwise you'll be too weighted down to cut any proper rugs, wot?"

"An' wot about music?" Baxley asked. "Can't very well have a Dance without some lively tunes to dance to, wot?"

"Oh, there'll be music, even if we hafta make it ourselves," Clewiston assured them. "I remember a few of those old Dance ditties, even if the rest of you don't. I'm sure the words'll come back to you, once I lead th' way. A score of us singin' out hale 'n' hearty while the other half of us shakes their scuts an' swings their stumps oughta be enuff t' keep the Dance goin'. Throw in some enthusiastic pawclaps an' footpaw stomps, an' we'll raise enuff happy din to qualify us as a regular all-hare martial band."

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Florissant weighed in from against her treetrunk. "High time we showed these Abbeylubbers wot a real dance is, wot? Once we get t' fully rollickin', not even their otters'll be able t' keep up with us!"

Givadon shot the pregnant harewife a sour look. "You're just sayin' that 'cos you're expectin', Flossie, so nobeast'll be expectin' you to join th' rest of us on th' floor."

"Hey, I'm not that far along!" Florissant protested. "You might just see me out there with th' rest of you - at least for a round or two."

Melanie laid a gentle paw on Clewiston's shoulder in a show of support. "Y'know, now that I've had some bit to think it over, I think bringin' back the Dance is a smashing ruse. My Lysander proposed to me, an' I accepted his paw, at one of th' Dances presided over by ... well, in happier times. Before that accursed prophecy turned everything upside down. Lord Urthfist kept up th' tradition t' help buoy our spirits in those dark times, bless his brave 'n' courageous heart, an' while our lives have gotten a lot easier since settlin' at Redwall after losin' our Lord an' so many of our dear companions, we could still use all the extra uplift we can get. So on with the Dance, I say!"

Her inspiring words had their intended effect. All her fellow hares - just a few at first, but then more, and soon an enthusiastic cascade of every last Long Patrol present - applauded and whooped and cheered the prospect of the impending festivities which, mere moments before, they'd greeted with such tremulous reservations. Clewiston fought to keep his countenance properly prim and officer-like, but in the end was left grinning like an idiot over the belated zeal with which his pronouncement was being met, with the lower ranks literally lining up to take turns pounding him on back and shoulders and shaking his paw in congratulation. Melanie stood back to allow her Colonel husband to bask in his moment, although she beamed nearly as widely.

Nearly lost amidst the happy hubbub and hoopla - which was by now surely attracting the notice of some of the Abbey's other residents - Browder leaned over to Mizagelle and half-shouted into her ear, "Wot was that th' Colonel said about there bein' music at these stompfests?"

"Just old traditional Long Patrol songs o' celebration," she replied. "There's a whole host of 'em. Once th' Colonel shouts out the openin' lines to a few of 'em tonight, you can be sure most of us'll remember th' rest, just like he said. Why?"

"Well, I was just wonderin' whether I might wanna join in on this ... "

Mizzy's ears crossed in consternation. "I wouldn't push it, Browder. These Dances are for Long Patrol only, an' I don't think you'd be welcome, no matter how spiffin' a hoofer you are. Or how bad, if you had in mind providin' th' comic relief ... "

"Didn't have in mind struttin' my scut at all, but there's more to a dance than just th' bally dancin', wot? Tell me, just how many of those old Long Patrol songs d'you know yerself?"

"Um, a few. But ... "

Rising to his footpaws, he pulled her up off the ground along with him and guided her toward the Abbey. "A few's all we need, since that's all I'll have time to learn 'tween now an' suppertime!"