Chapter Six
As the spring undertook its long and glorious march toward summer, Redwall Abbey shook off its winter doldrums to become a hive of activity. Quite literally, in the case of the bees and the brothers and sisters who tended them for their honey. But all over Redwall there were a hundred and one things that needed doing. The Guosim shrews had departed for their warmer-weather wanderings, leaving just the permanent year-round residents to look after the Abbey until late fall, when the shrews would return.
Not that there was any shortage of willing paws to perform all the outdoor tasks that needed doing. Indeed, some of the Abbeydwellers became quite creative at inventing nonsense jobs which would get them outside on the beautiful days that this particular season provided in abundance. Even the most straight-laced of the Redwallers were heard to take time out for brushing the lawns, polishing any outdoor metal fixtures that could be found, washing down treetrunks in the orchard, or picking dead reeds out of the pond shallows. And, needless to say, sentry duty proved to be especially popular, with often three times the usual number of lookouts walking the walltop ... except on rainy days, of course.
Highwing continued to grow and flourish, both in body and in wordplay. In the former category, the otters supplied him with a light oak stave which the young sparrow could manage more easily than the heavier steel javelins; his mortal duels with Montybank became almost a daily event, enjoyed immensely by both bird and otter, and Highwing's fighting skills improved rapidly, even if it was all just for sport.
When he wasn't playing, Highwing sat in on Brother Trevor's classes for the younger children, learning more about the ways and history of Redwall Abbey, as well as reading and writing. Vanessa joined him whenever she could, although her days were increasingly occupied by her sessions with Sister Marisol up in the Infirmary. Vanessa had been excused from any further general schooling, and the classes Highwing attended were for primary students, things the mousemaid had learned long ago. Still, she dropped in on Trevor's schoolroom often, enjoying the company of all the youngbeasts - who were always happy to see her, since she was very popular with them - and checking the progress of her favorite Sparra. Geoff, too, welcomed her visits, since none of the students were near his own age, and Vanessa's presence gave him a break from working solely with the older teacher and their young pupils.
It was on one particularly splendid afternoon halfway toward summer that Vanessa stopped by the classroom to find Trevor's students having a song and poetry competition. The day before, Trevor had assigned each youngster the task of composing a short piece to be sung or recited for the class. They could be as serious or as whimsical as each child cared to make them, but the main point was to have fun.
Vanessa took a seat next to Geoff at the back of the room. He leaned over to her and whispered, "Are you sure you want to stick around for this, Nessa? Some of these tykes have voices that could shatter glass. And when they get to singing, some of them can get quite ... enthusiastic, shall we say."
Vanessa patted his paw. "I'm sure they'll be just fine. Besides, I want to hear what Highwing's come up with."
Each child was called upon by Brother Trevor to take a turn standing up at the front of the class to recite or sing their compositions. Some mumbled shyly, barely to be heard, while others performed with boisterous abandon, eager for all the attention. Balla the hedgehog gave a particularly spirited rendition of a song she'd cowritten with her uncle Jovey the cellarkeeper, singing the praises of all the various beverages to be found in Redwall's casks and barrels. It was quite humorous and much applauded by the hogmaid's classmates when she'd concluded, far and away the best-received of the offerings made that day ... until Highwing's turn came.
The sparrow waited until everybeast else had finished, then hopped up to take his place at the head of the class. His fellow students greeted him warmly, for they knew that Highwing had a natural way with words and was likely to have concocted a most entertaining verse for the occasion. Vanessa lent her applause to the rest, anticipating what her Sparra friend would sing or say.
Highwing noisily cleared his throat and clacked his beak. "Ahem! This piece was written as a tongue-twister, or perhaps beak-twister is more correct - anyway, it's meant to be sung very fast, so please bear with me. It doesn't have a title, but I think the words say it all. Listen closely, and you should be able to catch them all."
Puffing out his breast and squaring his wing shoulders in a dignified posture, Highwing launched into his song.
"Ooooooooo,
A Sparra I am and a Sparra am I
And there's no other bird that I'd like to be.
Not a nasty jackdaw or a thieving magpie,
Not a guillemot nor a dovekie.
I'd never get over being a plover,
An albtross, gony or mollymawk.
Not a lonely kestrel nor a wind-hover,
Not a fearsome falcon, kite, eagle or hawk.
I'd truly quail if I were a quail
And I'd surely rail against being a rail.
Don't make me a firetail or a pied wagtail,
No, not even a nightingale.
Not a chiffchaff nor a chaffinch,
Not a duck, mallard or drake.
Not a linnet, greenfinch or goldfinch,
Not a coot or a crane or a crake.
So glad am I that I'm not a raven,
An ousel or blackbird or bloody-billed chough,
A bare-faced rook or a crow so craven;
Of those villains we have quite enough!
I'd never have made a good cuckoo,
Heron, cormorant or egret.
Nor a whaup, whimbrel or curlew;
To be a seagull I'd deeply regret.
Swift, swan and swallow I all can name,
Woodcock, woodlark and bittern.
I'll not be an owl if it's all the same,
Nor a dove, tinker, titmouse or tern.
No willow warbler or wryneck or wren,
No dabchick or dunlin or knot;
No robin or redpoll or fat mother hen,
And a speedy sandpiper I'm not.
Of goose or gander Redwall has no need,
Nor of skylark or song thrush or scout;
Not peewit or lapwing, oh no not indeed,
And who needs a pipit or whitethroat about?
I'd not be a bunting, starling or pheasant,
Woodpecker, partridge, pigeon or grouse.
And while a martin might not be unpleasant,
I'll stick with Martin the Warrior Mouse!
O, a Sparra am I and a Sparra I am,
And this I think I can safely say:
You'll surely agree, dear sir or ma'am,
That I'd have it no other way!"
Highwing began his song swaying on the tips of his talons in time with the verse, shifting his weight back and forth from one claw to another. The farther into the song he got, the more animated he became, until he was practically dancing a jig in place at the front of the classroom, flouncing and fluttering with complete abandon. Yet so fine had the young sparrow's skills at recitation become that he did not miss a beat nor misspeak a single word of his intricate, rapid-fire lyrical delivery. It was a bravura performance, better even than Balla's cellar song, and his classmates absolutely loved it. Highwing breathlessly (and quite immodestly) took a deep and ostentatious bow into the applause, cheers and laughter that greeted the conclusion of his final line.
Vanessa and Geoff came forward to congratulate him. "That was marvelous!" the mousemaid exulted, ruffling Highwing's neck feathers. "However did you come up with such a clever song?"
"Well, I did get a little help from Monty and the other otters," the bird admitted. "Now that the shrews have left, those waterdogs are Redwall's best songsters and lyricmakers."
Geoff nodded knowingly. "Yes, I rather thought I detected an otter influence to that rhyme. Well, there wasn't anything in Brother Trevor's assignment saying that you couldn't get help in composing your songs and poems for this little contest. After all, Balla got help from her Uncle Jovey, too ... and I'd say you both did a superb job."
Brother Trevor smiled. "I knew something was up when Highwing came to me after yesterday's lessons, asking me for a list of every kind of bird I could think of. I must admit, I heard a few in there that even I wouldn't have been able to come up with. The otters must have helped with more than just the song structure."
"Even so, Highwing," said Vanessa, "you must have been up half the night getting all that worked out."
"Oh, 'twas nothing," the sparrow shrugged off, then abruptly dropped his beak onto his chest, shut his eyes, and emitted a loud snore, eliciting peals of laughter from everybeast around him. Even Brother Trevor chuckled aloud.
"So, who's was better?" Balla demanded to know of the teacher. "Who wins, me or Highwing?"
Trevor beamed at the hogmaid. "Why, we are all winners here today, and our prize was getting to hear two such fine songs as yours and Highwing's. But," he added mischieviously, "for those of you who feel there ought to be more reward than that, we'll all just have to troop down to Cavern Hole to sample the strawberry-cream three-layered trifle I had Friar Hugh whip up for the occasion!"
Nearly every voice in the room squealed in delight at this announcement, so much so that Geoff winced and covered his ears. As Trevor was organizing the children for an orderly march down to the kitchens, Sister Grace appeared in the doorway with a stricken look on her face. "Oh, Vanessa, I've found you at last! You must come quickly!"
A dire mood settled over the room as everybeast fell silent. "What is it?" Vanessa asked the older mouse.
"It's ... it's Sister Marisol," Grace's voice cracked, and she turned away, unable to say anything more.