Unable to think of anything more to say, Skipper Johndam sipped October Ale, and Samuel, unable to think of anything else to stare at, watched him sipping it.
After a while, the Skipper gestured, with his mug, toward the Dibbuns' table. "Huh, look at 'em - still as stones. You'd never 'ave thought that only yesterday, when Miss Marianne took 'em out to play, they were scamperin' about, hootin' an' screechin' and ignorin' poor Friar Jerome. When I 'eard aboutit, I told all th' two-faced little brats off! "
Samuel shrugged again. "I should know, mate. Was puttin' up with Salome since I was a youngster. 'Ave any babes of yore own?"
Skipper shook his head. "No, and with th' state th' Abbey's in today, I wouldn't want to 'ave one. My younger brother, Jamire, plans to marry an ottermaid when th' crew comes t' spend this winter at th' Abbey. Th' Abbess says she prays every night that th' offspring they bear will grow to be more courageous, less lazy an' less gluttonous than th' youngsters we 'ave now."
Samuel watched Marianne, who was making an effort to rejuvenate the Dibbuns, by singing the "Butterfly in Spring" verse. Before long, however, the little creatures were laughing so uproariously that Marianne could scarcely hear her own voice - for Salome was standing in the background, performing what she thought was a theater-worthy pantomime of a soaring butterfly.
When the performance came to an end, the Abbeybabes flocked about the two young maids, clamoring for an encore. Ironically, Salome was the one who seemed to be disgruntled.
"I don't see wot could be so funny. I think I did that beautifully!"
Marianne, laughing, shoved her playfully. "Oh, stop your moanin' - at least th' Dibbuns were amused. Let's hurry off before they start t' mob us."
Salome and Marianne made a dash for the Abbey pond, with nearly a score of Dibbuns in pursuit. Samuel could not help but to smile at the sight. "Yore Miss Marianne 'as a nice voice, eh, Skipper?"
Skipper chuckled. "Aye, it was sweet to 'ear, 'til Miz Salome spoiled it. Think ye could do better, mate?"
Samuel stared after the little shadows, slipping, skidding, and then vanishing against the sunlit greenery. This warmth must've cast some sort o' magic spell on us - couldn't see myself sittin' here, tossin' jokes back an' forth with Skipper Johndam!
"No, I ain't no singer, Skipper - yore eardrums'd be damaged for life!"
And so it was. Though merriment was slow i n the earlier parts of the day, by eveningtime, all had grown brighter.
By then, every grown creature had retired to Cavern Hole, having had more than his / her share of food. There was still very little open jollity to be seen - but smiles were everywhere, lively, jest-filled chatter was exchanged, and not a sullen face lay in sight. Like a handful of fairy dust, the beauty of a warm, starlit summer night had transformed them.
The Dibbuns, however, had assembled in Great Hall, where Sister Jane was seating herself. Salome made herself comfortable against the wall, beside Marianne.
It was Story Hour! The little creatures clustered about the Sister's chair, almost (but not quite) wriggling with excitement. Salome was just as enthusiastic as they were, for, although she had never been much of a reader, she had always been fond of stories - so long as they weren't longwinded, overly wordy ones, but, seeing as this was a tale intended for Dibbuns, that was no great worry.
The "blue storybook", as the Abbeybabes called it, was, perhaps, the most beautiful book that Salome had ever seen. It wore a sapphire-colored, velveteen cover, lined with golden-threaded letters.
Unable to contain herself, the young ferret-maid demanded, "What story are you about to read, Sister Jane?"
Sister Jane, leafing through the tome, glanced up from a page. Her brown eyes twinkled. "This has always been your favorite, Marianne - Akil and the Ghosts.
Once, on an autumn day, when the sky was crisp and bright, the fields around the Abbey were golden and the trees were laden with amber brown and scarlet, a little weasel named Akil came to the gates, begging for food and shelter.
"Please, kind sir, ' he said to the Abbot, 'you've been given a plentiful harvest this year. Give me some of that harvest, and share the warmth of your fireside with me, for I am cold and hungry.'"
Inwardly, Salome cringed. Had she and Samuel sounded as piteous as that whinging little urchin, only a day before?
"Of course, " the Sister continued, "the Abbot could never turn away a creature in need. 'How is it that we are gathering to celebrate a season of peace and plenty, ' he wondered, 'while, just outside of our walls, creatures endure poverty and starvation? '
"To the little weasel, he said, 'You are welcome into our Abbey, my child, and you are welcome to what it yields! '
"Now, was that little weasel grateful for the Abbeycreatures' kindness? Not one bit! No sooner did he set footinto the Abbey, than he sniggered - quietly, so that no one would hear.
To himself, he said, 'Ah, look at those beautiful colored windows! The creatures of this Abbey are wealthy indeed. I will find many valuable things to steal from them.'
"The little weasel was given food and a bed in the dormitory. Before he retired, he thanked the goodbeasts and pretended to wipe away a tear of gratitude.
"The next morning, the Friar went to the kitchens and began to count his silverware.
'I say, ' he cried, 'at least half of my forks are gone! "
Salome would have sworn aloud if she could have. Hellgates, I won't 'ave no luck if these Abbeycreatures count that well!
Apparently, Akil wasn't half as clever as the Sister sought to convince the Dibbuns that he was. He got caught red-pawed, and was given a ton of dishes to scrub. The very thought of a Redwall Abbey-style dishwashing sentence was enough to put Salome off of stealing for the next five seasons. But Akil, oaf that he was, stole two times after, and the disgruntled Abbeycreatures decided to end his thieving once and for all. One night, just before Akil retired to bed, the Abbot stole into his bedroom, hung ghost-figured white sheets over the walls, darkened the room, hid the candlesticks and pushed the curtains aside, allowing the moonlight to seep in and produce a "ghostlike" effect. When Akil entered his room for the night, the Abbot secretly jammed the door shut to prevent him from escaping. In the morning, the Abbot came to unjam the door, released Akil and lectured him on all of the evil souls who were roasting in Hellgates. From that day on, Akil was a reformed creature - much to the Dibbuns' delight.
The Sister rose now, yawning.
"Its past your bedtime, little ones. Don't pout; the feast will continue tomorrow - but only if you promise to behave and take your baths like good little creatures."
Within seconds, Sister Jane, Marianne and Salome found themselves standing in the middle of a completely Dibbunless Great Hall. Marianne laughed. "They had more fun this eve than they"ve 'ad in their lives! "
After a hesitation, Salome peered up into the Sister's gentle face - whereupon it became gentler.
"What is it, little one? "
"Sister Jane, marm. . . " Here Salome hesitated again. "I was thinkin' - why in all o' Mossflower did th' weasel go an' steal things, like silver spoons? They're right pretty t' look at, but they ain't worth a bit if you don't sell "em - and he couldn't 'ave 'ad anybeast to sell 'em to."
No sooner had she relieved herself of this comment, than she expected to be berated for asking nonsensical questions about a Dibbuns' nursery tale, for displaying a lack of "good sense", as Samuel would have said.
But the Sister shook her head slowly.
"Little one, Akil was a real, living creature. And every bit of that story was true - except for its ending!"
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