Chapter Twelve
Stroker the otter's faith in Vanessa and the Abbot's healing skills was not unfounded; the fever's victims showed immediate improvement once they were fed the broth, and as new cases broke out in the days that followed, the patients were treated accordingly. Nobeast ended up spending more than two days in the Infirmary, and that proved to be a vital point: since so many of the Abbeydwellers would eventually suffer a bout with Greenwood Fever, it was important to have a quick turnaround to keep bedspace available for those who needed it most.
Of all the different creatures living at Redwall, only the otters as a group remained unaffected by the fever. Nor did Highwing succumb, which was a great relief to Vanessa, who worried all during the remainder of that season how she would cope with such a turn of events, since it was by no means certain that a sparrow would respond to the remedy as favorably as all of her furred patients had.
Alexander was one of the last to come down with the fever, as summer was drawing toward its end and the days were growing noticeably shorter. The young squirrel spent his two days in the Infirmary, suffering through the bowlfuls of Vanessa's bitter broth and the enforced bedrest that is always so hard on the energy-filled creatures of tender seasons. Finally, he was allowed up and about, with only a trace of a sniffle and general weakness as the last vestiges of his ordeal.
Highwing was out for a practice fly when he spotted Alexander walking along the walltop, and swooped down to alight on the battlements alongside his squirrel friend.
"Hey, that was one of your better landings!" Alex greeted him.
"I've been practicing." Highwing hopped from the crenellated stonework down onto the walkway. "Glad to see you're feeling back in sorts; Monty said you weren't one of Vanessa's more cooperative patients."
"It's tough spending two days stuck in bed, especially when you've gotta drink that horrid broth - uhgh!"
"Yes, I can imagine. I'll take a nice hot bowl of shrimp 'n' hotroot stew any day!"
"You don't have to tell me." Alex waved a paw in front of his nose. "I can smell it from here. You should go easier on that stuff, or you'll develop a permanent case of otter-breath!"
"It keeps me healthy," Highwing asserted. "You haven't seen me or any of the otters catch any of that nasty fever, have you?"
"That I haven't," Alex admitted. "Maybe there's something to that after all. Vanessa should - "
Alex was interrupted by a rustling of feathers and rush of flapping wings as a redbreasted robin alighted on the walltop right next to them. Thinking for an instant that it was another Sparra attack, Alex reached instinctively for the long knife in his belt; then, seeing that the bird was making no threatening moves and was in fact not a sparrow at all, he moved his paw away from the weapon's hilt.
The robin didn't miss the squirrel's subtle motion. "Whoa, whoa, no harm do I mean you!" the bird jabbered. "I'm a friend, just a friend!"
"Sorry 'bout that," Alex apologized. "We've been having some trouble with birds this past season. Not robins like yourself, just Sparra like this one here ... " He indicated Highwing. "I reacted automatically."
"Trouble, eh?" The robin cocked his head knowingly, his bright eyes blinking in the sun. "Cannot be worse than trouble them birds got now for themselves. Why I flew down here, to let you ground folks know."
"Uh, we appreciate it," Alexander thanked him. He'd been wondering why the robin had come; such a visit was uncommon, though not unheard of. Even though Redwall's hospitality was open to all creatures of good will, the feathered species rarely took advantage of it.
Highwing hopped right up to the robin. "Exactly what kind of trouble is going on up in Warbeak Loft?"
The other bird cast an amused eye at Highwing. "Ooo, such a wellspoke bird! An' what's that cape s'posed to be? You been spending too much time with groundcrawlers, friend!"
"Never mind my fashion sense, or my vocabulary. What's the trouble with the Sparra?"
"Sick, they all sick!"
Highwing and Alexander exchanged glances. "The Greenwood Fever?" Alex wondered aloud.
"That's a logical assumption." Highwing turned to the robin. "How do you know about this?"
"Just up there, taking look around. Didn't try an' stop me, like they usually do. Mean nasty Sparra, now justa buncha sickbirds, couldn't fight a Mayfly."
"How bad is it?" Highwing asked.
"Some dead, some dying, all pretty sick." The redbellied bird shrugged. "No matter to me, wish they'd all die, bully Sparra nothing but trouble for us decent birds. This your Abbey, Redwall always friend to my kinfolk, just thought you'd wanna know what's happening under your own roof, case you didn't already." And with that, the robin flapped off, giving the two Redwallers not so much as a backward glance.
"I should have realized something was wrong," Highwing said. "I've been doing lots of practice flying lately, and I haven't seen many Sparra about at all, not even when I've been high over the Abbey. I guess we were all just assuming the fever wouldn't affect them, since they're so far up and never have any contact with us. I wonder how long the sickness has been with them?"
"Awhile, probably, if some have already died," Alex surmised. "We should go inform the Abbot right away."
"You go." Highwing stepped clear of his squirrel companion to give himself wing room. "I'm flying up there to have a look for myself."
"No, it's not safe," Alexander warned, but Highwing was already airborn, flapping lopsidedly up toward the roof. Flustered, Alex raced down the nearest wall stairs to alert his fellow Redwallers.
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Highwing had not been in Warbeak Loft since the dim and forgotten days before he was cast out by the Sparra called Grym. But he'd flown by the outside of the sparrow's court many times since discovering he could fly, and he knew well all the various entrances under the eaves used by his estranged kinfolk. Guessing from the robin's report that there would be nobird standing sentry to challenge him, Highwing flew right up to one of the arched openings and clambered into the home of Redwall's Sparra.
He paused beyond the threshold to give his eyes a few moments to adjust. The day was bright and sunny outside, but the only source of illumination for Warbeak Loft was the eave openings, which Highwing now saw doubled as both doors and windows. Having just come out of the brilliant sunshine, the roofspaces seemed gloomy by comparison.
The home of the Sparra was a single long attic, its sloped ceiling peaked in the middle since it conformed to the outside of the Abbey's roof. There were no apparent walls or partitions; it seemed these birds lived communally in an open shared space, much as the wandering Guosim did, forsaking any private rooms or chambers. To Highwing, who had grown accustomed to having his own dormitory room, it was a very strange arrangement.
All along the outer walls, tucked into the sheltered spaces between eave openings, were the nests of the Sparra, woven tangles of twig and straw that served as each bird or family's small dwelling among the larger scheme of Warbeak Loft. Now, as his eyes grew accustomed to the muted lighting, Highwing could see that nearly every one of the nests was occupied, some by a single bird and others by small groups huddled together. Where the nests had grown too crowded, solitary Sparra sat on the wooden floorboards like forlorn outcasts. A few lay on their sides in unnatural positions, clearly very ill or already dead. There was very little activity, even from the nest-sitters who appeared fairly healthy. A dread stillness hung over the dim vault of Warbeak Loft, the oppressive hush of fear and death.
Many heads turned his way as Highwing stepped further into the loft space - some worried and questioning, others bleary-eyed and delirious. Highwing went over to one of the larger gatherings he could see, positioning himself so he could address several of the nest groupings at once.
"Who is in charge here?" he boomed out in his most authoritative voice.
None of the birds answered, but all who were coherent continued to stare fearfully at him.
"I know what sickness this is you have," he told them, raising his voice so that every Sparra in Warbeak Loft might hear him, "and I know how it can be cured. I am a Sparra of Redwall, and I have come to help you."
The only reply Highwing got was a harsh, raspy squawk from behind him that made him jump and spin around.
"No, youcome to die!" Another sparrow, a big and threatening male, had strode out into the Sparra court from a cleverly concealed chamber at one end of the attic space. Only a bird of high standing would be likely to have a private room of its own, and Highwing had a fairly good notion as to the identity of this one stalking towards him now.
"You one verrastupid birdworm, come here all byself," the newcomer cawed. "Me Grym Sparra, me rule all Sparra! Me throw you outta Loft when you just troublesome eggchick, now me throw you out again, and this time me killee you dead, dead!"
Highwing studied Grym with an appraising eye. The belligerent sparrow carried himself with the self-assurance of a bully on his home turf, but beyond his outward bravura were signs that he was not wholly unaffected by the fever. His eyes were rheumy and red-rimmed, his feathers trembled ever so slightly as an indication of suppressed shivers, and his gait betrayed a weakness that would only be evident to a trained joust-spar fighter. Highwing's playful matches with Montybank had sharpened his powers of observation so that none of this escaped his notice.
The Redwall Sparra hopped back toward the center of the attic floor, angling to put a little more distance between himself and Grym.
"Listen to me, Grym," he implored, "I don't care about what's gone on between us in the past. Whatever differences we have aren't important now. Your birds are dying, and you don't have the skills to save them. You must let me help you."
"You no givva orders here, groundworm!" Grym shouted, immune to Highwing's appeal. "You no Sparra, you no one a us! Me King of Sparra, me say you die now ... caaargh!"
Grym flew forward, talons outstretched toward Highwing. The fight to the death had begun.