After firing the arrow, Raaji saw it strike the walltop, glance off of it and go sailing downwards, out of sight. It had done its job, but he did not know it; it had not shattered against the sandstone, or landed on Abbey grounds, as he had hoped it would. But it had landed on something, it seemed, as evidenced from the cry that he heard.
The creature who had emitted the cry was too far below for him to make out, as was the creature who hastened over, shortly after, to gather the fallen beast up.
"Open th' gates, we're bein' shot at! Open th' gates, 'urry!"
That voice.
He could not see the face of its owner, or even the color of its fur, but the passing of a thousand seasons could not have stopped him from remembering that voice.
Raaji, still crouched upon the branch, staring at the two distant figures, thinking only of what he had just heard and of the fleas that had missed the Abbey grounds, did not remember the presence of other archers - until the tree bough on which he perched was caught in a hailstorm of arrows.
A tearing, searing pain in his chest; the collision of earth with skull, and the last words that Raaji breathed were:
"I should've slain you when you were a thievin' youngster, son of Matt!"
Having gotten Salome to the infirmary, Skipper Johndam, along with several of his creatures, began scouting outside of the Abbey walls.
The squirrel Alder found the corpse of a weasel, propped up by a bloodstained arrow like an apple on a roasting stick.
Skipper Johndam pulled the arrow free, for the sight was too unnerving for many of the scouts, most of whom had never seen battle owing to many seasons of relative peace. He snorted.
"One dead corpse. There's got t' be other vermin somewhere, there was three of 'em when they came past the Abbey! They couldn't 'ave just vanished int' thin air!"
He spun about to face the squirrels and his crew and began to rap out orders, absentmindedly scratching himself as he did so.
"Alder, Barklyn, yore th' 'eads of th' Abbey guard. Oaktwill, Riverpound, Siltflower, Dogwood, yore comin' with me into Mossflower Woods! If those scum ain't about 'ere, they've got t' be someplace out there! We'll -"
"Skipper Johndam!"
Skipper Johndam fell silent. He knew that voice and that tone far too well, as did every Abbeybeast. But the owner of that voice had never before addressed him with the tone with which she was addressing him now, and it boded ill for him.
Abbess Elinor stood upon the walltops, back straight as a spear and just as unbending, paws folded into her sleeves. Though the Skipper could not see her, he could picture, very well, the thin line into which her lips had been pressed, the flash in her eyes, her expectant gaze.
Skipper Johndam spoke softly, a thing that was most unusual for him.
"On the walltops, everybeast. I'll give you yore orders in a bit."
The sentries returned to the walltops , as Skipper bade them. The Skipper himself stepped into Abbey grounds, allowing the gates to be shut, then stood a few feet off from them, waiting, as Abbess Elinor made her way over to him.
"Well, Skipper, this is a fine state of affairs, indeed! I left you in charge of minding the ferrets' chamber - explain to me, I beg of you, why you were outside of the Abbey building with both of them, and what on earth has happened here?"
Skipper Johndam spoke only when he was certain that Abbess Elinor was finished.
"I meant t' get them out o' 'ere, Mother Abbess, marm."
It took a moment for Abbess Elinor to comprehend his words. He had not believed it possible for her to draw herself up or stiffen her spine more than she had already, but she did. Her eyes were aflame.
"Ah! Then you decided that you could not trust me to decide what to do with the ferrets, you must decide yourself, help them to flee so that they couldn't be turned in to the Walking Dead. Even if it might have saved the lives of the Abbeybeasts! You've made yourself a proper ruler of Redwall, haven't you?"
Skipper Johndam had expected nothing less than what he was receiving. "Mother Abbess, I'd no intentions of doing anythin' like it. I 'ope you'll understand why I did it an' forgive me."
Abbess Elinor sat down in the grass, covering her face with her paws.
"No, I do not understand why you did it. Tell me why, Skipper! Was it because you wanted me to have no other choice but to take up arms?"
Skipper Johndam shook his head.
"T'wasn't that, Mother Abbess, marm. Then, may'ap it was, a bit - a part o' why I did it. An' yet, as ye know, a bigger part o' me figured we 'ad no choice but t' fight, any'ow, an' still don't." Abbess Elinor released a breath of exasperation. "I know I wasn't in th' right t' do wot I did, but it's 'ard t' think somebeast could die, brutally, without need, without benefit, an' on our orders. I know you understand 'ow I felt, 'cos yore a good'earted creature, Abbess Elinor."
Abbess Elinor rose, with such swiftness that Skipper half-expected her to buffet him. Then, that was not in her character. Her tongue was the only scourge that she had ever used, and she did not spare him the rod now.
"Why, thank you, Skipper J., for the reassurance. I, too, consider myself a goodhearted creature, one who would prefer not to see scores of creatures killed for the sake of two, who might very well perish of plague along with the others regardless of our efforts, and it certainly puts my heart at ease to know that you think of me well, especially after you've shown me how willing you are to disregard my orders, to sneak around me!" Her voice was as low as ever, but was almost shaking. "What were you planning to do, sir, before I came onto the scene? Look at yourself - you are tearing at your flesh with your claws - like a creature who's been bitten by fleas!"
Skipper had taken no notice, until now, of the flea bites or the accompanying discomfort. Alarmed though he was, he forced himself to stop "tearing at his flesh."
"No good in faintin' over a few fleas, Abbess, marm; I ain't badly 'urt. I'll bathe an' call th' crew t' get a move on. Th' attackers 'ave got t' be found afore we lose 'em!"
Abbess Elinor gave him a milk-curdling look. "You'll set not one paw outside of this Abbey, Skipper Johndam, till you've explained to me what happened out here and have been examined by Sister Bethelle."
"I - I think it was this, M-Mother Abbess, marm."
Abbess Elinor turned to see Marianne, tearful, but standing upright, having mustered her courage, prepared to confess to her role.
In her paw, she clutched a shard of earthenware - stained red along the edges, as if with blood. Abbess Elinor peered at it.
"What is this?"
"I-it was on Salome's 'ead - when Skipper carried her in. There were other bits, too - all covered in blood. They'd cut her skin, an' Sister Bethelle made me leave 'cos she said were all over 'er!"
Now Skipper J. fully understood.
"I saw th' arrow come flyin' in, an' a jar or bottle o' some sort came down t' crack Miz Salome across th' skull. I didn't see aught come out of it then, but, by th' devil, it 'ad t' 'ave been fleas!"
Abbess Elinor took command. "Skipper, inside - wash and see Sister Bethelle. Marianne, do the same - I won't have you standing about in this grass a moment longer!"
She raised her voice to address the sentries.
"Sentries, please remain in your places until further notice! I will send for you shortly. Allow me a moment to think."
Marianne touched her paw, hoping to remind her of her presence.
"Mother Abbess, marm - I . . ."
Abbess Elinor brushed her off. "Not now, little one. Do as I tell you!"
Her confession must wait, after all.
oooooOooooOooooooooOooooooo
Skipper J. did not accept the Abbess's decision readily. Having taken a hasty bath, he rejected Sister Bethelle's ministrations and followed Abbess Elinor into Cavern Hole, clawing at himself all the while, to attempt to convince her that some efforts at flea extermination should be made. The Abbess crushed the notion, saying to him that the grass would make it far too difficult and dangerous to hunt for the tiny parasites.
Skipper J. trailed her into Great Hall, up to the tapestry of Martin. "Then won't ye at least permit me t' round up a scoutin' party?"
Abbess Elinor whirled on him. "No! For the love of Martin, Skipper J., leave me alone!"
This little outburst stunned her as much as it did Skipper. The Abbess sank to the floor, resting her weary back upon the cool wallstones.
"Forgive me, Skipper. I am not myself."
After a hesitation, Skipper Johndam stooped beside her. Gently, he took one of her paws into his.
"I know you ain't, Mother Abbess, marm. An' as for me - I'm still myself, an' don't know when t' stop th' pushin' an' jabberin'. Forgive me."
Abbess Elinor gazed up into the benevolent face of the Warrior, the mouse who never became angry or dispirited. "Aye, you are always yourself, regardless of what happens - irrepressible, fearless. Nobeast I have known has ever been as resolute or as resilient as you are, Skipper.
"It isn't your talk that has upset me - nor is it what you did earlier. I know why you went against me, and I forgive you. You aren't to blame for any of this."
Skipper Johndam blinked, as if there were a flea in the corner of his eye, but otherwise appeared as stoic as before. "Just think - 'ad I not 'ad those gates opened, that jar might 'ave glanced off o' th' wall and landed outside o' th' Abbey without 'ittin' Miz Salome or lettin' those fleas in."
Abbess Elinor withdrew her paw from his. "There's nothing we might have done to rid the Abbey completely of the danger that jar of fleas posed to us. We can only try to think of a way to ensure that the rest of our creatures - the sentries, namely - get indoors as safely as we can manage."
Her voice became very soft. "Sister Bethelle has ten of the creatures who were bitten by fleas during the cleaning of Great Hall in her infirmary. They are beginning to complain that they feel poorly. I am afraid to have any other creatures cross that lawn - but the only alternative would be to clothe some other creatures in such a manner that every inch of their fur would be protected, and send them out with wheelbarrows to carry the sentries indoors. Oh, God in heaven, would it work? How would we manage it? Would it be safe to take any sentries who had been bitten by fleas indoors and leave the others out to guard the Abbey? Could they be harmed out there? How would we carry sentries in and out each day for their shifts? In all of my days, I have never felt so lost."
Skipper J. understood these words as his cue. The Abbess had pardoned him, and, once again, the outspoken, truculent otterChief was at liberty to do what he did best. "Blasted if I ain't as lost as you are, Mother Abbess, but I'll rack this noggin o' mine an' we'll 'ave somethin' pieced t'gether afore long."
Abbess Elinor managed a tiny smile. "Dear Skipper. What would I do without you!"
oooooOooooOooooooooOooooooo
She had been expelled from the infirmary, rebuffed by Samuel, who, too, had been banished by Sister Bethelle, but refused to budge from the outside of the infirmary, despite Friar Jerome's remonstrations, and had been sent away from the kitchens on the grounds that she was too exhausted to work and ought to be in bed. Thus Marianne, who could not rest, roamed the corridors around the dormitory like a lost soul.
She wandered almost blindly, stopping when she tripped over a rag doll that some careless Dibbun had left lying about. Only then, as she pushed herself into the sitting position, did she realize that she exhausted herself with her walking.
The door of the Library owned, and Sister Jane emerged, a tome tucked beneath one arm.
"Afternoon, Sister Jane." Marianne's greeting was scarcely audible.
Sister Jane came to stand beside the huddled little figure.
"Good day, Marianne." She knelt down, searching her face. "Now what's this? What's the matter, my dear?"
Marianne glanced up, wondering whether her ears had received her.
"Sister Jane . . .'what's th' matter'? 'aven't you 'eard about . . .about. . .anything?"
She flushed as soon as the words had departed her, for she had not meant to end her question with such impudent-sounding phrasing. But the Sister merely shook her head.
"No, my dear, not since the incident in Great Hall. I've been alone in the Library, searching for information regarding the Black Death."
Marianne flew to her feet, alert and eager now. "Then that's wot you came out 'ere for! You've found information?"
"I believe I've found a small amount of information." Sister Jane placed a gentle paw upon her arm. "It was good of you, little one, to let the Abbess know that I was researching the illness. But why did you tell her ahead of time that I had found information about it and that I wanted her in my Library? Surely announcing a discovery before it's made won't heal our friends any more quickly."
Marianne froze. She opened her mouth, but no words volunteered themselves, and so she closed it.
"You deceived Abbess Elinor. It isn't like you to tell falsehoods, Marianne." Sister Jane sat beside her, setting the tome upon the floor. "Tell me all that I don't know."
Marianne, after swallowing hard, narrated the events of today, as well as the happenings of the evening before.
As she spoke of the vote the Abbess had held, she realized that the Sister had, indeed, been absent.
"Did you vote, Sister Jane?" Those huge brown eyes were unfaltering, beseeching. "You never voted, did you?"
Sister Jane stroked the cover of her tome.
"No, little one. As I told you, I never knew of this."
After a moment, she added, "Perhaps the Abbess, having her own opinion as to what should be done, and feeling uneasy, was not overly eager to insist upon the presence of anybeast who had not come."
She rose. "Dry your eyes and come with me, my dear. Sister Bethelle will have to admit me."
At the prospect of visiting Salome and Muryet, Marianne's spirits rose somewhat. Still, she hesitated.
"Sister Jane . . . I . I voted t' fight, an' so did th' Friar . . .only so nothin' would 'appen t' Salome an' Samuel."
She could not meet Sister Jane's eyes, nor could she bring herself to go on speaking. It was obvious to anybeast that if she had intended, by hatching the escape plan, to prevent anything from "happening" to Salome or Samuel, she had failed miserably.
Sister Jane stroked Marianne's paw.
"We'll discuss this later, little one. Come, to the infirmary."
Marianne obeyed with uncharacteristic meekness. She could scarcely do otherwise.
