Chapter Four

The steady dripping of water falling off of paddles could be heard near the river, where several of the Guosim's logboats were moving. The Log a Log had left a quarter of his shrews back where he had found Porran, to tell the returning escorts where the rest of the party had gone.

The shrew chieftain sat in the prow end of his logboat, which was in front of the rest, and paddled leisurely. His mind kept wandering back to the young stoat that was now traveling to Redwall, and the three shrews he had sent to go with him. Surely, he was not evil like the rest, and he had not made a mistake? Log a Log set his jaw and nodded to himself firmly. No, he could not have made a mistake.

A voice from directly behind him disturbed his reverie. A male shrew, young in seasons but still tough and lean, started to question Log a Log. "Sir, why did ye let that stoat go with Nurano and the rest to Redwall? Vermin are vermin; he could have been pretending to be good, so that we could all be deceived into letting him go."

Log a Log shook his head. "Nay, young one," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the River Moss. "'Twas said to me by Martin the Warrior that he would be comin'."

The young shrew's eyes widened in disbelief. "Martin, as in, the spirit of Martin the Warrior? He's talked to ye, Chief?"

"Aye, so he has. Do you know what he told me?" Log a Log inquired, tilting his head back slightly so that, from his peripheral vision, he could look at the shrew. After a brief moment, he trained his eyes back on the water.

The shrew seemed baffled. "No, I don't know, sir."

Log a Log chuckled and continued to paddle. "Well, this is exactly what he told me, young 'un.

"When midmorn comes to welcome noon,

And footpaws drum their dirge,

Where velvet greens on ground lay strewn,

An ally ye will discover.

Judge him not by his hide,

Or the way he speaks his tongue,

Receive him with heart opened wide,

And lead him to the Abbey."

The young shrew was silent for a moment, then grunted in response. He stared out over the water, where his paddle made ripples in the surface. "Well, guess that makes sense," he muttered. "We were marching at midmorning, and I'll guess that the velvet greens were the moss that stoat was layin' on?"

"Correct." Log a Log smiled and chuckled. "I just 'opes that the good creatures at Redwall will make him feel at 'ome. 'Tis an 'orrible life for a goodbeast if he's not liked by anybeast else, eh, young 'un?"

The shrew behind him nodded agreement, even though he knew the Log a Log could not see him. "Yes, sir!"

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Porran stood gaping at the sight of the huge monolithic form of Redwall Abbey. His escorts, the three shrews Log a Log had appointed for the task, abandoned him on the path as they sauntered up to the big wooden front gate and knocked haughtily on the huge timbers. Taking a pace back apiece, they stole a quick peek over their shoulders to see that the young stoat was still back on the path.

For a moment, nothing happened, and the four beasts stood in front of the Abbey in silence. Then, with a heavy creaking noise, one side of the gate swung slowly open to reveal the inner grounds of the Abbey.

Porran squinted his eyes as he leaned to the side a little. The homely face of a mole was standing at the door. But, surely such a creature could not open such a hefty gate! The stoat felt himself unbalancing, and quickly regained his former position, still staring incredulously at the mole. Maybe it had friends with it?

Porran's muse was broken as Veria called over her shoulder to him. "Hey, you comin'?" The shrews were making for the opened door at a leisurely pace.

The stoat grunted in reply and scurried to catch up to them.

The mole touched his snout with a heavy digging claw and bowed his head to the shrews. "Hurr, did you'm guddbeasts get lost?" he asked, his smile evident on his homely features.

Welfin, the youngest of the three, shook his head. "No, sir, we're just escorts for him." He nodded back at Porran.

One glance at the young stoat had the mole's eyes flying wide in alarm. He swung his head over, back to the three shrews. "Nay zurrs, whoi did you'm bring back yon gurt stoat?" he asked, shuffling back a step. "Stoats be varmints, zurrs!"

Welfin sniffed. "Yes, we know that, but Log a Log has put his trust in this 'un. I don't know 'ow he would ever do that, but, he's our Log a Log, he knows best." He set about adjusting his colorful headband, refusing to say any more about the subject.

The mole hesitated a bit, then relented. "Burr then, cumm on in 'ere. Oi'll interrduct ee to ee Father h'Abbot." He turned on his paw and ambled into the Abbey.

The three shrews looked back to Porran. "After ye," Veria said, gesturing inside. Porran hastened to obey; as he staggered past the gate, he could feel three pairs of eyes on his back, and he gulped.

The four followed in the mole's wake until they reached the orchard. Porran's eyes glittered as he scrutinized the mounds of fruit, vegetables, and flowers in bloom in the huge gardening area. He felt saliva start to dribble down his chin, but stopped himself hastily, forcing himself to look down at his footpaws. He had to abandon the bad habits he had picked up from being with Vartun's vermin horde fast.

The mole waved a paw at the visitors, indicating they should stay where they were. He then strolled to a wiry old otter and exchanged a few words with him.

The otter, his fur aging and turning grey, stood up, adjusting his small spectacles so that it perched more comfortably on his nose. He swept his gaze from the shrews to Porran; then he started to walk, straight towards the stoat.

Porran gulped nervously, taking a staggering pace backwards as he stared at the otter. His paws tingled as the instinct to grab his scimitar and dagger came into effect, but he pushed it away hastily, not wanting to make a bad first impression upon the Abbeybeasts. Moreover, he did not want to anger the shrews of whom were glowering at him, not three feet behind.

The ancient otter came a hairsbreadth from Porran and began examining him closely, his whiskery face almost touching the stoat's. "Tell me sir, where are you from?"

Porran took another step back to bow his head without colliding with the otter's. "I'm from an 'orde that travels far from here, sir," he explained, then hurriedly put in, "but I don't like the way they think, which is why I came 'ere, ran h'away."

The otter nodded curtly, stroking his chin with a paw. "What's yore name, son?"

Son? Was this otter crazed or something? Porran was not his son, nor was he even in the same species. Nevertheless, he answered politely, "Porran, sir."

A stiff, tense silence followed. The otter broke it only when he smiled kindly at the stoat. "Well, Porran Sir," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "I'm the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey. Welcome to my domain, and I'm sure your presence will be welcome by allbeasts, including myself." He put out a paw. "Father Sefro," he introduced.

Porran's face was the picture of astonishment. He gingerly clasped Sefro's paw in his, and shook it. Sefro surprised the young stoat by grasping his paw firmly and shaking it back, quite heartily.

Sefro winked at Porran. "So, y'must be hungry, mate," he rasped. "Why don't we go to the kitchens and get something to eat?" He swiveled his head and slapped his rudder against the ground. "And of course, to our three escorts, you'll be joining us I hope?"

Nurano, usually a quite, strange one, piped up on his companions' expense, as well for himself. "Aye Father, that'd suit us fine!"

Inside the Abbey kitchens, Munglo was idling away, twirling his tail while leaning over a counter, staring out into the midmorning day. He had been dismissed from the kitchens by Brother Renim and Friar Trepin. However, the young squirrel did not want to go away; he loved the scents of the various goodies baking, cooling, and cooking too much to leave so soon.

The sight of a stoat swaggering doggedly after Abbot Sefro, who was at a swift walking gait, sent him dashing to the kitchen's entrance. Opening the door, he waved his paws in the air, calling in alarm, "Father, there's a stoat following you, can't you see?"

Sefro chuckled and waved back with a leisurely air. "Yes, I know Munglo. His name's Porran, hungry for some food and Redwall hospitality."

All Munglo could do was gape.

As the young stoat passed the squirrel, he turned and bowed his head swiftly. "I'm not like the rest, mate," he reassured him, "I swear my life by it, 'onest!"

"Hoi, you're blocking the entrance, Porran!"

Porran peeked back and chuckled sheepishly. "Er, sorry there," he called to the three shrews, and hurried to where the Abbot had situated himself. The Guosim shrews shuffled by Munglo in his wake, calling curt greetings to the young squirrel.

Yet, all Munglo could do was turn and gape at the stoat.