The great Joseph Bell rang out the noontime hour, two wet moles hanging onto the ropes for dear life. Finally, Brother Harwood, Recorder at Redwall Abbey, pulled the little dibbuns off.

"That's about enough of that, Grimmble. You too, Rupple." The two young moles stared at Harwood, Grimmble smiling slightly.

"Yoo zee, zurr? Oi doo bee stron'er 'an 'ee!"

Brother Harwood was an aging mouse, with gray silver fur. Although he was of many seasons, he was still surprising strong, second only to the Skipper of the Otters. He laughed at the little creature and then winked at Skip as the otter ascended the steps.

"Aye, that ya may be, mate. But are ya stronger than Skipper o' the Otters?" Skipper lifted the two moles with a single swipe of his paws. They laughed gleefully and Rupple pounded Grimmble's arm.

"Thur Grimm'le! You'm not stron'er 'an maister Skip!"

Grimmble shook his head indignantly, waving his hefty digging claws about his head. "Nay, liddle moley! Oi be so stron' oi bee pickin' up maister Skip an' 'ee!"

Brother Harwood and Skipper laughed fondly at Grimmble. It was hard not to like the two mole twins.

"C'mon me messmates! It's time fer a bit o' vittles!" The otter turned to look at Harwood. "Ya comin' 'ar?"

The Recorder shook his head. "If you don't mind Skip, I'd like the food sent to my room. I've been doing some research on the southern lands and I keep meaning to get back to it."

The otter nodded. "Sure, I'll be right back. Ready mates?" He looked at the small moles and they nodded. "Righto then, off we go!" Skipper sped off through the rain and down into the

Great Hall.

Sighing wearily, Harwood trundled down the stairs and into his room, pushing through mounds of scrolls littered across the floor. He sat down on his bed and carefully picked up a piece of yellowing parchment. Then he picked up his quill and began copying part of the parchment. After a while, the Recorder grew sleepy and leaned his head back against the cool stone wall.

"Yeowch!" He turned to look at the wall and found that the stone had gone far into

the wall and settled in a crevice far back. Consumed with curiosity, he reached a paw in and found an old piece of paper. He carefully smoothed it and pushed his spectacles up. Then he read aloud.

"Badgers come, badgers go, Some die young, some die old. Each defeat the mighty hordes, Except the year of wetness told. The Darkness consumes, Too great is the horde. Fangs of evil, Destroy the mighty Lord. Send forth the two, The two in the Red. Search all the Walls, Conquering group by these led. Red and dark velvet, Lead the way for all ends. Two shall go, Two shall defend. Guardian returns, Original lied. One shall deem new title, One shall be at my

side. High on the wall, I see it true. Look to the symbol, Truth in the blue."

Brother Harwood scratched his head in a puzzled manner. At that moment, Skipper entered, balancing in one paw, a tray filled with shrimp and watercress soup, honeyoat scones with mint cream on the side, and with the other paw holding a flask of October Ale. He even had a half-eaten vegetable pastie in his mouth.

"Hoo there, Har. Lunch is served." He set the food down, pushing scrolls away and glancing at the Recorder. "Getcha some vegetable pasties too if ya want." When he noticed the mouse wasn't listening to him he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Whatcha got there, mate?"

Harwood handed the paper to Skipper. "Go ahead and read it, Skip."

Skipper cleared his throat in an embarrassed way. "'ar, I never bothered ta learn, to busy teachin' messif fightin' an that."

The Recorder smiled and took the paper back from the abashed otter. He cleared his throat and read the poem aloud. When he was finished, Skipper sat down on the edge of the bed and shrugged.

"I can't make 'ead er rudder of it, mate. 'Spose it's a riddle?"

Harwood nodded, pointing his paw at the parchment. "That's exactly what it is, Skip. It's also a prediction of the future, written many, many seasons ago!"