THE CRIMSON BADGER - Chapter Thirty

Wolfrum made straight for Great Hall once he was back inside the Abbey, seeing no sign of any morning meal having been taken out on the lawns. By the time he reached the tables, most Redwallers had departed and Friar Hugh's staff were clearing away the dishes. The hot tarts had grown cold, the pancakes even colder, and only crumbs remained of the wild plum crumble ... none of which stopped Wolfrum from grabbing a plate for himself and filling it until the food was falling off the edges. The kitchen helpers looked at each other and shook their heads at the greedy spectacle the rat made of himself, bolting down the poor leftovers like he hadn't eaten in days and heedlessly flinging crumbs everywhere.

"Hey, mole!" he yelled out at a passing dish-laden beast. "Where's me mates? Y'know, the other rats I stick with?"

"Burr hurr, they'm be oop in thurr durmitrees, sleepin' loik et wurr noighttime. You'm moight's well join 'em, noaw you've 'ad summ brekkist, zurr."

"What? Y'say they're upstairs?" Wolfrum turned away from the retreating mole in disgust. "Cripes! Why carn't some critters learn t' speak proper? Moles down 'ere in Mossflower're as bad as th' ones up northways." He stood and pushed aside his dirty plate on the crumb-strewn table place. "Ah, well, if'n sleep's good 'nuff fer them other muckers, guess it's good 'nuff fer me too. After sleepin' unner a tree all night, I'm ready fer some real rest in a real bed."

He turned toward the stairs leading up to the dormitory levels ... and found himself face to face with Machus.

"Going somewhere, Wolfrum?"

"Er ... yeah, I'm goin' up t' get some honest sleep."

"Funny. I thought honest sleep was only for honest beasts. But you had the night off, remember? At least, I don't recall seeing you up on the walltop last night with the rest of your squad. That means you get day duty ... starting with drill practice out on the lawns, right now. The Abbess and Skipper Montybank have been kind enough to allow us to drill here inside the Abbey so that we don't have to go outside for that. And some of the otters might even help us out with our exercises. A contest, to see if you louts can hold your own against some real fighting beasts."

"But, sir!" Wolfrum protested. "I didn't get two winks all night! I'm in no shape fer drillin'. Why, I 'aven't even got the strength t' swing a sword decent!"

"Oh, that won't be a worry. You won't be getting your sword back today. You can brush up on your quarterstaff skills - there's bound to be a good stout pole lying about somewhere that you can use. If not, you can work on your paw-to-paw combat. You rats have let that slide, as I'm sure those weasels and ferrets out there can show you. Now, get moving, soldier!"

Wolfrum saw that further protest would only land him deeper in trouble with the swordfox captain. Swallowing his bile, he marched forlornly out onto the warm sunny lawns, with Machus following at his heels to make sure the rat didn't stray toward the dorm stairs.

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Down in the archives, Geoff had just finished selecting a new assortment of journals and scrolls for their daily reading of the histories. Cyrus stood waiting, loaded with a stack of records that came up to his chin.

Geoff glanced about him, looking for that one last extra book or parchment that he always tried to squeeze in. Cyrus's whiskers were already beginning to twitch from his short time in the dusty archives, and the young mouse could see that his elder was too preoccupied to notice his plight.

"Um, don't you think we have enough, Geoff sir?" Cyrus broadly hinted. "It'd take us all day just to read what I'm holding ... "

The mouse historian scratched at an ear, his back to his youthful assistant. "There was one more thing ... "

Cyrus did a quick double-sniff, realizing a more direct approach was needed. "I really think we should be going, Geoff sir."

"Mmm ... Oh? What's that?"

"The sneezes are about to begin again," Cyrus said pointedly. "And I haven't got a free paw. I think I'm about to get one of Abbot Bernard's diaries all mucked up."

Geoff turned and saw Cyrus wrinkling and twitching his snout over the top of his load of histories. "Oh! Oh, my word, we can't have that! Start on up, Cyrus ... I'll be right behind you." Grabbing a think folio in one paw and their solitary lantern in the other, the recorder mouse fell into step behind his companion.

"You know," he said as they passed through the tunnels and into Cavern Hole, "I really am surprised that we haven't found anything by now. I mean, at first we were just chasing after some vague prophecy, with no real idea of what we were looking for. But now, after seeing the vast army Lord Urthblood has assembled, with vermin and woodlanders marching side by side, and knowing that there are two Badger Lords who may be about to go to war with each other ... Events such as these have never been seen in all the history of the lands, yet we've read through generations' worth of Abbey records, without any foreshadowing or hint that such things might come to pass in our time. I can't understand it."

"Maybe nobeast ever saw these things coming," Cyrus suggested.

"I find that hard to believe, Cyrus. After all, if Martin the Warrior could foresee the coming of Matthias as Redwall's new Champion, and Abbess Germaine left clues to help us against Slagar and Malkariss ... no, I think there may be something that we simply haven't gotten to yet. There are still many of the records that we have yet to read."

"They didn't predict General Ironbeak, when he tried to take over the Abbey," Cyrus said, recollecting a journal from the time of Abbot Mordalfus that he'd read in the past day or two.

Geoff came to a dead stop halfway up the stairs between Cavern Hole and Great Hall, his sandaled paws planted on the wide middle step of the short flight. A strange light was in his eyes.

"No," he murmured. "No, I don't believe they did. Now, why would that be?"

Cyrus stopped on the top step, weaving slightly under the weight of his burden as he turned to look back at the historian. "I just meant, they couldn't see everything, Mr. Geoff sir."

"No, not everything, of course," agreed Geoff. "But a threat like Ironbeak, that's no small matter." He glanced down at the flagstone step beneath his feet. According to the historical records, this middle step in the flight of seven - the fourth down from Great Hall or up from Cavern Hole - could be slid aside to reveal the secret entrance to the tomb of Martin the Warrior.

Geoff was feeling very peculiar. Cyrus's casual comment about General Ironbeak, uttered just as Geoff was over this spot, had triggered something in his mind. There was something very important here ... but what? Could it be that the spirit of Martin was trying to communicate with him? That had never happened to anybeast currently living at the Abbey, as far as Geoff knew.

"Cyrus, what made you say that? About General Ironbeak?"

"I dunno. I read about it a day or two ago. I just remembered it."

"How do you feel? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No. I feel fine, Mr. Geoff sir. Except that these books are pretty heavy ... "

"What? Oh, yes, of course. Sorry. Let's get you and your load outside before your paws break." Geoff shook his head and continued up the steps. "But I think you may have stumbled upon something vital that's right under our noses. I just can't put my paw on it. I think later I'll take a look through some of the histories from the time of Matthias - namely, the ones you were reading, about Ironbeak. I think there may be something there that we're missing."

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Two of Wolfrum's fellow rats, Speeg and Gorsul, found sleep hard to come by, and ended up down on the lawns, watching Machus putting the other troops through their paces. The two rats, having stood watch all night, were officially off duty and on their own time. But that didn't stop Machus from coming over to them with a word of advice.

"Not sleepy, eh?" the swordfox inquired. "Well, you can sit out here in the sun all day if you want, but if I catch either of you napping at your post during your next shift, I'll have your ugly tails as decorations to hang from the battlements. So you might want to think about heading back to your beds."

"Aw, how's a beast s'posed t' sleep with th' sun shinin' so bright?" Speeg whined.

"An' them confounded birds!" complained Gorsul. "With alla their twitterin' an' cheepin', the racket were keepin' me awake!"

"Not t' mention that meal we et," Speeg added. "T'wasn't very consid'rate o' these Redwall lot, if'n you ask me, servin' so much food afore we were goin' t' bed. How'd they expect us to sleep on such a full stomach?"

Machus placed paws on hips. "I don't seem to recall anybeast telling you that you had to eat so much. That was breakfast for the entire Abbey, not a bedtime snack prepared especially for you. Maybe you'll learn to take smaller helpings next time."

The two reclining rodents watched Machus stalk off. "Oh, it's a tough life we've got, mate," Speeg said to Gorsul. "Allers bein' told when to sleep, what t' eat, when t' march 'n' fight 'n' stand watch ... sometimes I don't know 'ow I c'n stand it."

"Know wha'cher mean, Speeg ol' buddy. That fox always did think 'ee was better'n us rats an' weasels. Got that fine ol' sword from Lord Urthblood ... won't see any o' us gettin' any weapon like that, not if'n we live a hunderd seasons."

Speeg gave a snorting laugh. "Yeah, well, now 'ee's got Wolfrum's sword, too. Hee hee, lookit that rat, tryin' t'best Veach at a quarterstaff duel! That ferret's good as any otter when it comes t' whackin' rods."

"Or whackin' rats. Oo, pore ol' Wolf jus' took a smack 'tween 'is ears sumpthin' fierce! If Veach ain't careful, he'll put Wolfrum up in the 'firmary."

"Well, it was pretty stupid of 'im pickin' a fight with that 'hog lady yesterday. Ain't gettin' naught but wot 'ee deserves."

Gorsul cupped his paws to his mouth and called out, "Hey, Wolfy! Don't let that stinky ol' ferret pummel ya like that! Give Veach some lumps fer us!"

Distracted by his comrade's shouting, Wolfrum turned and scowled at the pair ... which gave his ferret opponent Veach an opening to knock Wolfrum's legs out from under him, spilling the rat to the ground.

"Well, mebbe not." Gorsul lay back on the cool grass and closed his eyes. "Y'know, Speegy, now that we're out in th' fresh air 'n' sunshine, I do believe I could fall asleep. That'd make mean ol' Machus happy."

Speeg shrugged and copied his companion. "You said it, chum. Orders is orders, after all."

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Speeg and Gorsul weren't the only ones watching Urthblood's troops being put through their practice paces. Cyril, too, had a ringside seat for the event.

For the older of the two bellringer mouse brothers, looking back on his desire to journey with Jans and Broggen to Salamandastron was like peering back at a dream, something not quite real. Although Cyril was still serious about his warrior's aspirations, the conflict between the two Badger Lords would have to play out without him.

Cyril sat on the grass a short distance away, intent upon the militaristic display taking place on the Abbey lawns. He'd gotten special permission from Montybank to be here, as long as he promised not to stray too close to the drilling Northlanders. Before, when he'd watched all six hundred of them doing mock battle outside the walls, it had been difficult to focus on any one of the scores of duels that were taking place at any given moment. And he'd never gotten closer to the action than the high ramparts. Observing from way up on the walltop was a very different experience than being on the ground right alongside the fighters, as Cyril now discovered.

Most of the swordfoxes who hadn't stood watch the night before were up on the battlements, taking their turn on lookout duty. Elmwood stood in charge of the squirrels there, since Alexander had gone out on a morning patrol with Lady Mina. Most of the rats, too, were sleeping after their sentry rotation. That left mostly weasels, stoats and ferrets to take part in the duelling contest with Monty's otters.

The Redwall otters were too skilled to let their opponents get the best of them, but also too mindful of their place as hosts to thoroughly trounce them ... not that this would have been easy. Urthblood's troops held their own quite well against the otters, and gave few openings for Monty's crew to take advantage of them.

Machus and Monty were constantly wading in and out among the playful combatants, offering laughs and backslaps and encouraging words to their respective underlings. Neither commander wanted his beasts to forget that this was a friendly match, a game for each side to show the other its best in skill and strength, and nobeast was to injure another under any circumstances. These measures helped ease any tension that might have built and led to an unfortunate incident.

The strategy seemed to do the trick. While there was much grunting and few smiles from the jousting weasels, they acted with the discipline of professional soldiers and were gracious whenever the otters scored against them. A few of them even engaged in friendly, if panted, conversations with their otter opponents, remarking on each other's fighting style, offering compliments on strengths and commenting on weaknesses. It didn't even seem to matter that the otters did far more of the latter than the weasels did.

Wolfrum was kept apart from the others. Machus wanted his ferrets, stoats and weasels to have the rat all to themselves ... and he hinted that they did not have to worry about going easy on Wolfrum.

Maura was most careful to keep her young charges far from the duelling creatures on the south lawns. She did not want a repeat of what had happened with Droge the day before. Sister Aurelia helped her. Balla spent her morning down in her beloved cellars, and kept her nephew with her; she and Droge had had their fill of vermin for the season.

Most of the other Redwallers ignored the drilling as best they could while they went about their chores; Redwallers were for the most part peaceful woodlanders, and the majority of them were far less captivated by the warlike exhibition than Cyril was. Vanessa and Arlyn, after looking on for a time to make sure no trouble would start, soon wandered away to tend to other matters and enjoy the day in their own way.

Brother Geoff and Cyrus emerged from the Abbey, and were almost immediately confronted by the mock fighting before them.

"Oh, goodness, this will never do!" Geoff declared, as he and Cyrus stood by the open door. "Listen to all that racket ... why, the clacking of the staffs alone is enough to distract us from getting any reading done." He sniffed at the air, looking up. "Bit too breezy to go up on the wall, our papers will get blown all around. Guess we'll have to go back inside. Maybe we can spread out on the table in Cavern Hole."

"Oh, Mr. Geoff, it's not so bad!" Cyrus protested, disappointed by the prospect of being indoors on such a beautiful summer day. "We can still read out here!"

"Hmm ... maybe on the north lawns, I suppose, away from all this hubbub. And there'll be some nice shade too - this day's shaping up to be rather sweltering." Geoff searched the lawns. "While we're here, I was also thinking of asking Cyril to rejoin us in our archive search. Now that Winokur has left with Lord Urthblood, I think the two of us could use another pair of eyes to help us with our reading."

"But, Cyril didn't want to read the histories anymore," Cyrus said.

"Maybe we can convince him to change his mind," Geoff said with a knowing smile, "now that I have some clearer ideas to follow up on. Care to go ask him? I think he might be more inclined to listen to you."

"Okay," Cyrus agreed, depositing his stack of records on the Abbey steps. "I think I see him over there, by Mr. Machus and the otters. I'll go get him!" The young mouse ran off to fetch his brother.

"Stay well clear of those fighting beasts!" Geoff called out after him, but got no response that Cyrus had heard. The recorder mouse settled himself down on the top step with a sigh. "Ah, well. Young legs do have a will of their own on such summer days as this!"