21Author's Note: The chapter introducing the ferrets to Redwall will need alot of revision. I'm going to revise it as soon as I can. Thank you so much for your suggestions and comments!: ) Remember, they always help me to become better.
Not long after, Sister Jane retired to bed, leaving the young maids alone in Great sat side by side, reclining against the coolness of the wallstones.
Without turning her head, Salome remarked, "Well, it wasn't so bad, was it?"
After a moment of silence, Marianne said, "It was nice - seein' th' Dibbuns 'appy." Her voice bore an odd, wistful note.
"What did th' Sister mean? About Akil?"
Marianne began to toy with the sleeves of her pinafore.
"I wasn't aught but a Dibbun then, so I don't remember much - mostly what th' Sister told me. There was a youngish weasel - about my age - who called 'imself Akil. Told th' Abbess he was starvin', an' she let him in. But no sooner did he set foot into th' Abbey than he started up thievin'. Th' Abbess never caught him red-pawed, but she knew as well as anybeast else that he must've been guilty. Still, she said it'd be unjust to punish him without evidence. But soon th' Abbeybeasts were grumblin' an' th' Abbess knew she 'ad t' take some sort o' action. Then one morning, Akil just strode up t' th' Abbess, confessed, an' returned th' stolen things. He seemed so broken up that th' Abbess 'ad to give him another chance." Marianne paused for a moment. "An' a few days later, they all woke t' find th' varmint had run off. But he didn't take a bit of silver or anythin' valuable with him - leastways, not anythin' the creatures noticed. It was a Dibbun he took - a little squirrelmaid named Fainlie. I remember she was a bit older than I was, an' th' night before Akil took her, he was in charge of puttin' us t' bed. Fainlie wouldn't lie down - kept rompin' and skippin' and bouncin' about the room. An' Akil just stood there, smilin', like it didn't trouble him."
About an hour later, Marianne and Salome visited the kitchens, where Friar Jerome had finished the dishwashing and was now sitting beside the fire, enjoying a well-deserved rest. He had had to prepare mountains of food for the festive tables (all the while fretting over the possibility that it would fall to waste, or that too much would be eaten and the Abbess would lodge a complaint against him - which of the two would be worse, he could not be certain) and manage the Cellars in the indisposed Brother Aaron's stead. Now, catching sight of the two young creatures, the good hedgehog Friar waved the dishcloth that he had been using as a fan.
"Evenin', Marianne an' Miz Salome. Now don't come with yore dancin' an' whoopin' an' shoutin' an' leapin' about. My pore 'ead feels like a stone - an' we 'ave hours o' work ahead of us tomorrow!"
My 'ead would feel just as bad, thought Salome, if it was full of spikes and needles like a pincushion.
Going over to the Friar's side, Marianne embraced him carefully,doing her best to avoid his spines. "You poor old creature, there's no need to cook a new spread everyday. We've enough food t' last three days. It will save us a heap of toil."
Samuel, who was returning wit a cauldon that had just been emptied of dishwater, added under his breath, "Aye, an' it'll save th' Abbess a lot o' preachin' about gluttony an' extravagance! "
The Friar heaved himself upright long enough to glare in his direction. "Don't you dare let me hear you speak a word of disrespect about th' Abbess of Redwall, lad, or I'll 'ave you polish this kitchen from top t' bottom!"
Samuel slumped into a chair, giving another one of his under-the-breath sermons about free speech. Friar Jerome yawned. "Well, what do you young 'uns need?"
Marianne adopted a studiedly nonchalant manner; she managed a smile. "We only came t' ask you if we might 'ave a basket o' sweetmeats t' take t' Muryet."
Friar Jerome stared hard at both young faces, and found nothing but earnestness. After a few moments, his expression softened.
"All right, missie, but mind yore manners an' be careful."
While Marianne busied herself with the basket, Samuel excused himself, and gestured for Salome to follow him out of the kitchens.
When Samuel felt certain that they had a small amount of privacy, he hissed, "Wot in 'ellgates are you doin', pokin' about with that woodlander-maid, Salome? Tryin' to bribe some old mousewife who says she can frighten off demons?"
Salome snorted. "In an Abbey? I'm just goin' with Marianne t' see some creature who's always shut up in a gatehouse. She ain't no madbeast - just a squirrelmaid whose sister got kidnapped when she was a babe."
No sooner had she spoken the words, than she cringed, expecting to receive an earful about sticking her snout into crannies that it didn't belong in.
Samuel was quiet for a bit.
Then he said, "Her sister was kidnapped, eh?"
"Aye." Here, Salome dared to cast a glance up into his face. "Samuel . . .?"
Samuel gritted his teeth, without warning. "Go on, you little ninny, do wot you want. Just don't go actin' a fool an' gettin' yoreself in trouble. If you do, you'll be th' one wot's stuck in th' mud, nobeast else is goin' t' get 'imself stuck along with you an' you'll be lucky if anybeast pulls you out."
dN