A/N: please forgive my lack of agricultural knowledge! I just had to think of something for them to do outside in November, and since they're a farming community, I thought…well…if you want to review and correct me, please be my guest!
Further A/N: Seadog Driftwood, thanks for the heads up! I went back and checked the book, and sure enough, I'd forgotten two of the Rambling Rosehip Players…*blushes*
Chapter 2: The Rambling Rosehip Players
It took Martin a full five minutes after waking to realize that he had only dreamed of proposing to Rose. He looked around the small room at Redwall Abbey that he shared with Grett Fieldmouse. The window was open. The Warrior—former Warrior, he corrected himself—stood and walked over to it. The cold air struck his scarred face, wakening him fully. It was hard to believe that after all this time—had it really been fifteen seasons?—he still dreamt of Rose, and of what might have been. Every July 16th, the anniversary of her death, he relived that horrible moment in his sleep. At other times, he dreamed of what their life together might have been. Like last night.
Martin sighed and turned away from the window. He liked to think that Rose was his guardian angel. But she couldn't be, because his dreams of her were so mocking, almost a punishment. Unless…but no. If she didn't love him, she just wouldn't bother being his guardian angel. Rose wasn't the type to prolong vengeance over fifteen seasons. Actually, he amended; she wasn't the type to seek vengeance at all.
Grett, who was a kitchen apprentice, had risen before dawn even in the winter, and was gone. Martin mulled over his dream as he washed, dressed, and headed downstairs to Cavern Hole for breakfast. At the bottom of the stairs, he met Columbine going up, carrying a tray.
"Morning, Martin," she said, not bothering to hide the strain in her voice.
"Morning, Columbine," he responded. "How's Gonflet this morning?"
" Better, I think, but still pretending to have a stomach ache. It was real yesterday, of course, but I don't believe him anymore. He's making me serve him breakfast in bed, so I'm giving him only bread and water. I can neither tickle, pry, nor threaten his paws from the bedpost that he hangs onto to stop me from carrying him down. I give you full permission to take any desperate measures if he's not up by lunch. See how he acts then." The mousewife stalked away, muttering.
Martin chuckled. He had been elected Infirmary Brother just the previous week, but hadn't gotten around to moving to the Infirmary yet. He had also refused the title "Brother." Most everybeast in the Abbey, including himself, thought that "Brother Martin" did not fit his character at all.
The new Healer finally reached Cavern Hole and sat down between his friends Gonff and Dinny. He reached for a bowl of porridge and started eating.
"Morning, Martin," Gonff said.
"Yurr, gudd mornin, Marthen," Dinny added. "You'm be doin' anything today?"
Martin considered. Gesturing with his spoon, he replied, "Good morning. Yes, Dinny, I might get around to moving today. Maybe I'll help you plant the winter crops, too, if you don't have a problem with it."
"Whoi, o'course, you'm may 'elp."
They went outside into the frigid cold, heading towards the south wall where the winter crops were to be planted. Every now and then Martin would throw a random snowball at a pack of Dibbuns. It would usually miss—he aimed poorly on purpose—but the Healer mouse would always have to dodge five or so retaliatory snowballs and almost as many retaliatory insults.
"Yah, Martin, you cudden hit de Abbey gates!"
"Hurr, hurr, Oi'll get 'ee wid this'un!"
"Cummon, stand an' fight!"
Martin, Dinny, and some others who had come to help spent a quiet morning planting winter crops. They broke for lunch, and then resumed the work.
Evening shadows grew long, earlier than usual, because Midwinter's Day was a month away. The workers, stiff and cold, trudged back to the Abbey. They were rounding the west wallcorner when a burst of song wafted over the parapet, floating down to where they stood.
"We're the Rambling Rosehip Players,
And we please both old and young.
Over field serene and forest green,
Our praises have been sung!"
Martin froze in his tracks. He listened for a moment, and turned to the planting party. "Who's singing that? Where's it coming from?"
Trimp gestured at the wall. "I think 'tis coming from outside, Martin."
The Healer was off like a shot to the main gates. Skidding to a halt inside the entry arch, he fumbled with the crossbar for a minute, and then swung the gates open wide. He scrambled out onto the snowy pathway like a little Dibbun, yelling in delight.
"Rowanoak! Ballaw! Kastern! Trefoil! Buckler!Celandine! Gauchee!" Rowanaok the badger, shocked, nonetheless swept her friend up in a bone-shattering hug.
"Martin! You're here!"
"Absoballylutely splendid to see you, old chum!"
"What happened to your sword?"
"Yurr, 'tis gudd to see 'ee again, Marthen!"
"You live here?"
The Healer broke away from the hug, massaging his half-crushed ribs. "Hello, my dear friends! Yes, Gauchee, I do live here. Welcome to Redwall! What brings you so far south?" A shadow of worry crept into his voice and heart. "Noonvale doesn't need any help, does it? You're not in trouble?" He waited with bated breath for the answer, wondering if he would be able to stop his sanity from cracking again if it was yes. If Noonvale was in trouble, then all the sacrifices that all of them had made had been in vain.
A hedgehog and two moles emerged from behind the cart, fastening on cloaks. The hedgehog spoke.
"Nay, Martin. Noonvale's in no trouble. We're just taking one last tour before the troupe retires from its travels and becomes Noonvale's resident performers."
Martin's jaw dropped. He took a step forward. "Pallum? Bungo? Grumm?" A lump rose to his throat, and to disguise the fact that he felt ready to cry for the first time in several seasons; he hugged all of them at once, ignoring the hedgehog's spikes.
They were just about to go into the Abbey for dinner when a clatter sounded from inside the cart. A young female's voice called out, "Bungo, where'd you stash my cloak? I can't find…oh, never mind. Here it is."
The speaker, a mousemaid, leaped lightly to the ground, fastening her cloak. Martin had to blink a few times to convince himself that he wasn't dreaming. She looked just like Rose! Except…her eyes were green, instead of hazel. In spite of himself, Martin felt a wave of bitter disappointment wash though him.
The mousemaid, noticing him, held out a paw. "Hello. My name is Lily, daughter of Brome."
He shook her paw, smiling pleasantly and swallowing his disappointment. "Nice to meet you, Lily. I'm Martin." The Healer let go of Lily's paw and gestured everyone inside. "Please, everybeast, follow me. It's dinnertime now, and we'll find you quarters after we eat."
***
During dinner, Martin was plied with questions about how he'd come to know the playing troupe. He said, in a loud enough voice that all the guests could hear and take the hint, "During my wandering seasons, I stopped over in their home, Noonvale, for a little while. This troupe was there, too. I helped them get rid of some stranded sea rats that were hanging around, causing trouble, but couldn't stay for…ah, personal reasons. So I kept going south."
Chugger clambered up on his lap. "What're perthonal reasons, Marthen?"
Trimp batted the small squirrel's ears reprovingly. " 'Personal reasons' means that he doesn't want to tell you because you don't need to know. It's bedtime now, Chugg. Come on." The hedgehog maid lifted up Chugger and carried him out of the room.
Pallum leaned over to talk to his friend. "I should probably warn you about Lily. She's a little strange. Not slow," he added quickly. "On the contrary, she's brilliant. Just…out of it, maybe. You see, we think that she's a seer. But she doesn't see the future. She sees the past. She says that she sees the spirits of the dead."
Martin stared. "The spirits of the dead?"
"Aye. And probably she's been seeing them all her life, because it's not a shock for her when they appear. Sometimes you'll be talking to her, and she'll just…go away. She'll look over your shoulder, and then her face will go all slack, and her eyes blank." The hedgehog shuddered. "It gives me the creeps. Nobeast in Noonvale knows if she's hallucinating, or actually seeing ghosts."
Martin blinked. "Thank you for telling me, Pallum. But why do you call this a warning?"
Pallum shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Because the spirits, if they're really there, tell her things. Not always true things. One of the things that Lily claims she learned from them is that you are related to her. Not by birth. By marriage. She might start to call you her uncle."