- Brian Jacques
It was a late summer night. The name had been chosen for the season that day and the festivities went on all day. An old mole was putting the dibbuns to bed. “Burr, you dibbuns be getting to sleep now.”
A young rabbit protested. “Please, can you tell us a stowy, wot?”
The other dibbuns all chimed in. “Yeah! A stowy!”
“Ok, young’ns. If yous’ns insist’er. Oi’ll tell yas a story of dibbuns, much loik yew.T’was many a season ago. It all began when a wolf’n crossed the sea…”
And so the mole began his tale and the dibbuns listened in wonder.
“Oh, Daniel! What am I going to do with you?” the abbot sighed. Alfred started giggling. “And don’t think that you’re off the hook, Alfred!” the abbot said, pointing at the little mouse. “I still need to talk to you about the frog that was found in Friar Ansom’s pants.” Alfred lowered his head. “Now, Daniel,” the abbot continued, “what possessed you to put itching leaves in Alison’s bed? She’s furious at you. You’re lucky that I don’t let her deal with you!”
“It was supposed to be a joke, Abbot Cornelius,” Daniel answered, ashamed.
“That doesn’t matter, Daniel. What you did was wrong. You will have to be punished for it.”
Daniel’s head sank even lower.
“Now then,” Cornelius said, turning to Alfred, “what you did was also unacceptable. I want both of you to report to Friar Ansom. Tell him you are to work there until the supper dishes are washed.”
“Yes, Abbot,” both Alfred and Daniel chimed.
“Then, be off with you,” Cornelius said, shooing them away with his hands. The two young mice ran off to fulfill their punishment.
Alison, the mother of Redwall Abbey, came up to Cornelius. “They never learn, do they?” the big badger asked Cornelius.
“No, Alison,” the abbot replied. “They never do.”
“I just found those other two, Gunthre and Gonjur, in the celler,” Alison said. “They snuck past William and got themselves sick with Strawberry Cordial. I sent them to the infirmary to help Sister Rose with the herbs and supplies.”
“Good,” the abbot answered. “Let’s hope that at least those two may learn their lesson.”
Trager held a sparrow in his paws. “Where is Redwall Abbey?” he asked, threateningly.
“That’a way,” the sparrow said, pointing east. “Wormabbey be thata’ way.”
“That’s what I was hoping to hear,” the beast said, drawing his dagger. “Where do they keep the mighty sword of Martin the Warrior?”
“They keepa’ wormsword ina’ the Great Hall by the wormfoodtapestry.”
“Good enough,” Trager said. “Thank you, bird, for tonight, I feast on sparrow!”
With that, the sparrow died and Trager the Beast laughed. He knew where the sword was and nothing would stop him from getting it.
Meanwhile, close by.
“Did’ja hear that?” Burgune asked. “The swords ina’ Reedwell h’abbey. That sword is as good as mine!”