Chapter Eighty-Four

Extract from the diary of Winokur Otter, assistant Recorder of Redwall Abbey:

It is to be the Summer of the Red Tower!

Yes, I know, it's hardly a secret. I think half of Redwall must have figured it out on their own by now, but then how could they not, with the finished tower of Foxguard rearing so high above the forest to the east, dominating all of Mossflower? Still, it is nice to have confirmation from Geoff and Arlyn, the two beasts responsible for choosing this season's official name. Our esteemed once-and-current Abbot won't announce it until our Nameday feast two days hence, in keeping with longstanding Abbey tradition, but he let it slip to me just this morning over breakfast. Now I have to be twice as careful not to leave this journal of mine lying about where somebeast might sneak a peek at these words and have the surprise spoiled for them!

Yes, sad to say, it was up to Geoff and Arlyn to pick the season name this time around. The responsibility could not help but fall on their shoulders, since Vanessa is still in no shape to perform any of the duties an Abbess would be expected to assume. We all thought - and fervently hoped - that she would have returned to some semblance of her old self by now, but it hasn't worked out that way. It has certainly been long enough - close to half a season - but Vanessa still carries on like the most willful and undisciplined child Redwall has ever seen. Any attempts to explain to her that she's not a youngbeast and was in fact Abbess are met with either a blank-faced stare of incomprehension or a scoff of derision ... after which she invariably runs off laughing and carefree, in search of the "other" youngsters or whatever trouble she can get into - often both at once. She is utterly incapable of accepting the fact that she is an adult in body and in seasons. The situation isn't helped any by Droge and Budsock and that whole gang encouraging Vanessa in her delusions. They all think it's a grand hoot, seeing their Abbess acting like this, and once they got over their initial disconcertment at her state, they were only too willing to accept her as a playmate. After all this time I'm beginning to think they actually forget sometimes that she was ever Abbess. Of course, when Vanessa gets it into her head to take on the role of ringleader in their mischief, I suspect her former authority makes her accomplices fall right into line - after all, if the Abbess is saying they should do these things, it must be all right to do them, no? It is an awkward state of affairs, all the moreso when it comes time for classes. Vanessa attends them, of course, regarding herself as being of an age to do so and not wanting to be separated from all her newfound friends. And with Geoff spending so much time helping Arlyn run the Abbey, more of the work of conducting lessons is falling to me; indeed, there have been mornings when Geoff has left me alone to do all the teaching myself. So here I am, a novice otter, trying to command the attention and respect of the very mouse who made me a novice in the first place, often when she is in no mood to lend me either one. I mean, if she decides to disrupt the class (which has happened on more than one occasion) or persuades some of her classmates to join her in playing hooky (ditto, in spite of severe reprimands from Maura), what am I to do? I feel like a fraud trying to discipline the beast I once called Abbess, and it doesn't help that some of the other students can pick up on how uncomfortable such situations make me. Thank heavens for Cyrus! He can be as intimidated by the situation as I am, but two heads are always better than one when a united front is needed to quell disobedience, and on the days when Geoff has been called elsewhere, Cyrus has been a great help to me. I don't know whether our younger bellringer will someday graduate to being a full-fledged teacher - perhaps after Geoff has retired and I fully take his place as Abbey Recorder - but as a student teacher he is invaluable. He knows his Redwall history nearly as well as I do, and his youth makes it easier for him to relate to the students, since he was in their place himself just a season or two ago. Pity Cyril never displayed the same academic aptitude, but then I guess two student teachers would really be one more than we need.

Mona still has no idea when or if Vanessa will recover. That vixen, for all her knowledge and experience as a healer, is as mystified by this whole thing as any of us. I can tell she's disappointed by her failure to make any progress with Vanessa; I really think she was expecting to have our affected Abbess partly or completely back to normal before the time came for her to move to Foxguard. If we are experiencing an overabundance of qualified teachers these days, then we are suffering the exact opposite in regard to healers. With what happened to Aurelia and Vanessa last season, and Mona leaving us soon (I suspect she might have departed already, if we hadn't convinced her to stick around for our Nameday festivities), we will soon be without a regular Infirmary keeper. That young badger Metellus has done a remarkable job learning many of the basic medical skills from Mona, demonstrating a singlemindedness and sense of purpose that is almost hard to credit in a beast of such tender seasons. But for all his dedication and enthusiasm, Metellus is still little more than a child - indeed, very much a child as badgers measure maturity - and cannot be expected to assume such responsibilities until he is quite a bit older. If he proves serious in these ambitions, there is talk of sending him to Foxguard so that he can continue to study under Mona. He has already learned a great deal from that vixen, so perhaps in the fullness of time he will indeed become Redwall's chief healer. In the meantime, Arlyn is the most knowledgeable Abbeydweller we have in such areas, so once Mona leaves us I suppose we shall just have to rely on him for awhile. We're all rather concerned with his age - assuming the mantles of both acting Abbot and interim Infirmary keeper will be quite a chore for a mouse who'd thought he was retired from formal duties - and there is some thinking that he ought to just name Geoff as Abbot so he can concentrate on the Infirmary and not spread himself too thin. I've a feeling he might end up doing just that, once Nameday is behind us.

Ah, yes - Nameday! Even with the unfortunate events of our last seasonal celebration still fresh in our minds, I would hazard a guess that there is not a single creature at Redwall who is not looking forward to this feast with all the anticipation of the most overeager youngbeast. Perhaps some see it as a chance to bury those recent tragedies once and for all, with a Nameday that truly lives up to our longstanding traditions. I know for a fact that Friar Hugh intends to top every spread he's ever presented; I don't see how such a thing is possible, but I certainly welcome him to try! Of course, with Vanessa as a constant reminder that all is not as it should be around here, and Cyril still saddened by Broggen's passing, I can't help feeling that a certain pensiveness will hang over the festivities. It will certainly be interesting to see how things turn out.

As I've already written, there was really only one choice for the naming of this summer. For all that has happened in and around Mossflower recently, Foxguard overshadows all else, literally and figuratively. Even from the Abbey lawns, it is the thing that draws the eye and commands the attention when one steps outside and glances east, rearing high above the walltop even from that low perspective. From the ramparts the view is all the more more spectacular - one might go so far as to say breathtaking. Never did any Redwaller imagine that there might someday rise a structure in Mossflower which would require a beast standing upon our battlements to look UP to see its apex. The idea that it lies clear on the other side of the River Moss only makes it all the more incredible. I have gazed upon that tower on many occasions, at many different times of day and in all kinds of weather, and it never fails to fill me with awe. Very often it does not look real; simply, nothing can be that BIG, and it does funny things to the eye and the mind of anybeast who beholds it. It is majestic, magnificent, grand and splendid. I suppose for many generations to come, that red tower, that impossible stone needle that seems to pierce the very sky itself, will come to be regarded as much a part of Mossflower as the green forest canopy and the Western Plains and the road outside our gates and perhaps even Redwall itself. Generations will be born who will never have known a time when Foxguard wasn't there, dominating the eastern horizon and standing over us like a slender red sentinel. But this is where those times begin, and so there is no way this could be anything but the Summer of the Red Tower.

The first of those generations is almost upon us, in fact. Mizagelle, Givadon and Florissant are all carrying heavy, and it will be a very close race to see which arrives first, Nameday or the harebabes. Everybeast is quite excited by the prospect of so many births coming at once, none moreso than the Long Patrols themselves, and the new fathers in particular. One might have expected Browder to be in a bit of a tizzy over his impending fatherhood, but there's something undeniably amusing about seeing seasoned veterans like Baxley and Lieutenant Gallatin similarly at loose ends. At least Browder has made a full recovery from that drubbing Hanchett gave him; it would hardly do to have that player hare celebrating both Nameday and the birth of his first child while sporting black eyes, split lips, swollen cheeks and a torn ear. Unfortunately, Kurdyla is still mending from having his leg tendons severed, and must remain in bed most of the time. Some of our Abbey tinkerers did get together and build a large wheelchair so that our invalid otter can be taken out of the Infirmary on occasion. It requires the full strength of Maura and several of Skipper Montybank's crew to bear Kurdyla down the stairs to Great Hall, but once he's there and in his chair he has virtually the run of the Abbey. Foremole has constructed a temporary stone ramp sloping down to the lawns alongside the regular steps, so Cavern Hole and the cellars are really the only places off-limits to our crippled friend. We've even taken him up to the walltop on some of the nicer days; he is as awestruck by the sight of Foxguard as are any of us. At least he won't be stuck up in our sickbay on Nameday, and that's something.

The weather has grown quite warm in recent days, with not a drop of rain in nearly a fortnight. If this keeps up, it might almost be too hot to hold our feast outdoors, although we almost certainly will anyway. If the sun is too strong, there's plenty of room in the orchard to set up our tables under the shady branches. I think only the arrival of an ill-timed thunderstorm could chase us back into Great Hall. There are more than a few beasts around here, I suspect, who might secretly welcome such a break in this heat wave ... or not so secretly, in the case of our expectant harewives. Being fully pregnant when it's so hot out is no picnic, apparently - not that I'll ever be in any position to find that out for myself firstpaw!

I suppose Grayfoot and Judelka's son Pearce would have to be included as well among that first generation who would never know a Mossflower without Foxguard, even if those ferrets are technically not Redwallers. Grayfoot's Tavern is nearly complete save for the furnishings and a few other finishing touches, and most of the moles and otters dispatched to help build that inn have returned to the Abbey. We expect the rest to arrive later today or tomorrow, along with Sergeant Traughber and Captain Grayfoot himself; there's not a Redwaller alive who'd miss a Nameday if they can help it, and unless our ferret barkeep wants to be left all alone in his new establishment, he'll be coming with them. Vanessa had, before that unfortunate incident at Foxguard robbed her of her sensibilities, promised Grayfoot enough sheets, blankets and pillows for his family and guest rooms at his tavern, and Arlyn is not about to go back on that agreement. And Balla has indicated a willingness to return to the tavern with Grayfoot and his family after Nameday, to help get him started on brewing and distilling his own cellar stocks. So, in a sense, I suppose those ferrets WILL be Redwallers after all, since they and their guests will be sleeping on Abbey bedding and their ale and spirits will be based upon Balla's recipes.

As for Percy himself, that ferretbabe is growing like a weed! Just the other day he took his very first steps, and as wobbly as they were, it was like seeing a little corner of the world being born anew. Such a shame Grayfoot wasn't here to see his son's first steps, but at least he's not likely to miss the adorable tyke's first words too. Pearce hasn't started speaking yet, but that hasn't stopped nearly every female beast at Redwall from speaking to him, usually in tones of exaggerated affection that I personally find quite embarrassing. Although, even I am forced to admit that they're awfully cute at that age, but then, aren't we all? Certainly, many among us will be sad to see him go when the time finally comes for Grayfoot to permanently move his family to the tavern. We all just hope that this tiny smidgen of Redwall upbringing we've been able to give him will rub off on Percy and stay with him for the rest of his seasons, because he's not likely to receive the same from just his parents. Oh, well - perhaps he'll be able to visit the Abbey once in awhile to play with children his own age, or perhaps some of ours can make a few day trips down to his neck of the woods. Our three harebabes will be less than a season younger than he is. Wonder what kind of playmates hares and a ferret will make for each other?

I got to see my own newest friend not too long ago. Tolar thought it only proper to dispatch a courtesy message to us when the tower of Foxguard was completed, and since Tolar himself was too busy as the new Sword to get away from his responsibilities there, he sent Sappakit and Roxroy to deliver this news. We have of course been keeping in touch with those swordfoxes and their comrades through our Sparra, but there's nothing like seeing a beast of whom you've grown fond face-to-face, being able to hear their voice and see their face and shake paws and slap backs. Roxroy's own paw was still in a cast to make sure the bones set properly, but that didn't stop him from engaging in a little left-pawed sparring with me during the two days he spent here. I went easy on him, of course, but I must say he acquitted himself very well all the same. His masters clearly have not allowed his injury to stand in the way of continued training; I doubt I could have done as well with my favored paw out of commission. Neither Roxroy nor Sappakit knew whether any of the Foxguarders (hey, its as reasonable a name as any!) would be able to make it to our Nameday celebration as they did last season. Arlyn re-extended the invitation to them yesterday through Highwing, but our Sparra leader could not secure a definite answer from them one way or the other. Even though the tower has been finished for some time now, they still have the rest of the fortress to build, and then the outer wall around it. I think that incident with Snoga did indeed set their schedule back, and if they were not able to have the fortress itself completed by the first of summer as they'd hoped, then they would like to have it finished as soon after that date as they possibly can. Knowing how seriously those foxes take anything relating to their military duties, it is hardly surprising that they would insist on being punctual in this matter. It's too bad that, when Foxguard eventually is completed, eighteen of its namesake beasts who helped build it will not be able to enjoy the home in which they would have lived ... including the successor to Machus, their first Sword.

And what of Snoga and his preposterously-named True Guosim? That is the question on everybeast's mind. We know from Cyril and Sergeant Traughber that Hanchett took off after those criminals, no doubt with the intention of tracking them and most probably doing them further harm. It must be remembered that Hanchett took Vanessa for slain in the ambush at Foxguard, and is likely still laboring under this false assumption, so his zealotry in pursuing Snoga is understandable in that light. (Although, in a sense, perhaps he is right. The Vanessa we all knew as a wise Abbess and dependable voice of reason did not come back from Foxguard, and unless some cure is brought about in her addled mind, the mouse she was may be gone forever.) We can only guess what might have befallen these beasts, for of Hanchett and Snoga there has been not a word. It is assumed they are somewhere in south Mossflower, far below Redwall and Grayfoot's Tavern and perhaps even Lorr's Bridge, far enough from this Abbey that word of what happens in those parts seldom reaches our ears.

Even so, their seemingly total disappearance remains a puzzlement. Twice in the past half-season, Lord Urthblood's falcon captain Klystra has come to us, not bearing news but seeking it. Not even that badger's eyes in the sky have had any luck in turning up Snoga or Hanchett. It was clear from Klystra's demeanor that he was hoping our wayward hare might have doubled back and returned to the Abbey. Remarkably, once Urthblood had heard his falcon's account of what had happened at Foxguard, he did not mount a military expedition to hunt down the remnants of Snoga's forces, apparently satisfied that the losses they'd suffered would remove them as a threat to the lands, and content to let Klystra keep tabs on them. Which would all have been well and good, if that bird had been able to find them again. Perhaps they all blundered into a vast bog and now sleep beneath the muck - one can always hope. I just hope Hanchett had the wherewithal not to follow them to such a desolate grave. That grim young hare has been a worry to us ever since he came to live at Redwall, but now we worry for him in a different way. In spite of all that happened with Browder and Kurdyla, there's not an Abbeybeast here who wouldn't heave a sigh of relief to see Hanchett walking back through our gates once more, safe and sound. Well, maybe one or two. But I daresay Arlyn might even pardon that hare for his transgressions and allow him to dwell at Redwall again. As long as he promised not to thrash anymore of his fellow woodlanders ...

For now, however, we can only guess, and ponder, and speculate. It is true that much of south Mossflower is an untamed wilderness area, with pathless forests as dense as anything in the Northlands and an entire network of rivers and streams fit to confuse even the most experienced boater. A beast can truly lose itself in those reaches ... or even a small army of beasts, apparently. Perhaps Urthblood was wise to just let Snoga go, if not even his birds can find him. That badger does have the benefit of prophetic sight, after all ... although I've heard it is not infallible. And given his current state of war with Tratton, he must have more important matters on his mind.

And here I've just spent another entire afternoon scribbling away in this journal! My paws are a mess, and starting to cramp a little, and I'm almost out of ink anyway. And hark, unless my ears deceive me, there are the Matthias and Methuselah bells calling everybeast to supper! So I will end this here, give one last look toward the imposing grandeur of Foxguard before I head down from the walltop, and try my best to avoid any of those pranks set by Droge, Budsock and their newest partner in mischief Vanessa. That's one good thing about being an "assistant Recorder" - I can laze away most of a day scratching at this book, and have it pass as work! If my secret is ever discovered, Redwall will have scores of Recorders and nobeast to do all the real jobs!

Mmm! Dinner smells wonderful! Down I go!

00000000000

The morning sun was still not as high in the sky as the top of Foxguard when Grayfoot, Sergeant Traughber and the last few of the Redwall helpers showed up at the Abbey gates. The retired ferret captain and his companions had left the tavern before sunrise, since it looked to be yet another in this unbroken string of hot and sultry forest days, and they wanted to reach the Abbey well before noon if they could. Also, they were not certain which day Arlyn had chosen for the naming of the season, and if this chanced to be that day, they wanted to be sure to arrive in time for the celebration's start.

The otters Brydon and Rumter were on lookout duty atop the west wall that morning, and hurried down to open the gates when they spotted the small party approaching. The first thing the travellers did upon stepping through the open doors was to sweep the Abbey grounds with their gazes. They all breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing no signs of a feast about to commence.

"Guess we didn't miss Nameday, huh?" Grayfoot queried.

"Naw, it's tomorrow," Rumter assured the new arrivals. "Abbot was gonna send a Sparra later on t'day t' let you know, but now I guess he won't hafta, will he?"

"Reckon not, tho' I s'pose we'd better let 'im know we're here so he don't send any birds out unnecessarily." Grayfoot glanced toward the gatehouse cottage that served as Arlyn's retirement home. "He in there?"

"Um, no, now that he's hadta take over from Vanessa, the Abbot spends most of his time up in her study, which used t' be his study back when. Tho', with this heat wave we're havin', he's as like t' be down in Cavern Hole coolin' off, or even in Balla's cellars. So y' might hafta snoop around a bit t' find him. But I'm sure he'll turn up somewhere!"

"Yeah, it does look like summer came early this time 'round, huh? Or is this typical fer Mossflower?"

"Not hardly!" Brydon told the Northland ferret. "Fact is, we were all debatin' right up 'til yesterday whether we'd be able t' have our Nameday festival outdoors at all. But it's too much of a tradition not to, when y' get right down to it, so I guess we'll just put all th' tables out under th' trees in the orchard an' hope it don't rain!"

"Don't see why it would tomorrow, when it's held off for so many bally days so far," Traughber commented. "Fields're gettin' a tad parched down our way. Beginnin' t' wonder whether we'll ever see water from these skies again ... "

"We'd better," Rumter responded, "elsewise it's gonna be a long an' thirsty summer 'round here!

While the hare sergeant hastened away to report in to Colonel Clewiston, Grayfoot took his leave of the welcoming otters and set out to find Abbot Arlyn. Everybeast he passed greeted him with a smile and a friendly word or a nod or a tug of the snout. Maybe it was just the prevailing Nameday spirit, but it really made the ferret feel like he'd come home. It was not a feeling he could ever remember having felt before.

Before anything else, he stopped down in Cavern Hole. The Abbot wasn't there, but that didn't stop Grayfoot from taking a seat and quenching his roadparched throat with a tall mug of October ale. He had, after all, just made a half-day's march in half that time, under the unblinking sun of an unusually warm morning. And since it would still be some time before lunch was served, he felt entitled.

Finishing his drink quickly, he thanked Balla for her service and excused himself from the others who were in Cavern Hole seeking some escape from the day's heat, and made his way up to the Abbey's second floor. Aside from seeking out Arlyn, Grayfoot had a couple of other beasts he was very eager to visit.

Once Cyril and Traughber had arrived at the Abbey and told everybeast that Grayfoot and his construction crew were aware of what had happened at Foxguard, the hare sergeant was dispatched back to the tavern to clarify the situation. Traughber assured them there was nothing they would be able to do to help the situation even if they returned to Redwall, so they might as well just keep on with building the tavern, and word would be sent if anything changed. So Grayfoot and his team labored on as the spring days grew increasingly summery, until at last the inn was all but finished and it was time to put aside their tools and journey north to share in the celebration of the new season's arrival.

Foxguard was quite visible from Grayfoot's Tavern, of course. That tower's sheer height would lend it dominance to these woodlands for miles around. Many times during the building of the inn, Grayfoot and the others would pause just to stand and stare in marvel at the incomprehensible edifice that daily rose higher and higher to their northeast. And when it was at last finished, its vertiginous heights fluted out at the summit with the observation deck, the mere sight was almost dizzying, even from this distance. As Traughber had commented, "I'd hate t' be th' bally beast who hasta climb to th' top of that skyscrapin' horror fer lookout duty!"

During their return trek to Redwall that morning, hardly a moment passed when Foxguard wasn't a mere glance away; only in a few places where the full fastness of Mossflower encroached upon the eastern edge of the path did the trees shield the tower from view. Its very presence made it seem like an uninvited partner on their short march, watching over their every step, and the feeling was not an entirely comforting one. They could only imagine how it would appear from Redwall.

"Gee," one of the otters had joshed Grayfoot with a wink and a nudge, "an' all you got was a tumbledown tavern!"

"Ha ha," he'd responded dryly. "Well, I guess we don't hafta wonder what th' Abbot's gonna name this summer, eh?"

Now as Grayfoot mounted the last steps up to the second floor of the Abbey, he was met by the sight of a young female mouse in fine but unextravagant woodlander garb, walking a tiny ferretbabe by the paw down the corridor toward him. It took the retired captain a moment to realize there could be but one ferretbabe at Redwall, and a smile of joy lit up his masked face. "Percy! They gotcher walkin' already, huh?" Grayfoot rushed forward, bending down onto one knee as he greeted his son.

At first the child shied away from this large and unfamiliar beast who so directly embraced him. "Aw, y' don't recognize yer pappy, do ya? Well, don'tcha fret none, 'cos I'm here now, an' I'll not be leavin' you again!"

Percy, used to receiving great amounts of adoration and attention from Redwall's other children and females (and even some of the adult malebeasts), was quickly soothed by his estranged father's gentle smile and affectionate tone, and in no time he was grinning and giggling along with Grayfoot. The babe had good reason for his initial confusion; the only other creature he'd ever seen who looked like this was his mother, who at the best of times was aloof and distant from her own babe. He was still too young to realize that he himself was a ferret, or to comprehend the idea of how he might appear to others. He knew Judelka was somebeast special in his life, by her taste and her smell and her touch, but her maternal shortcomings left him looking to his woodlander caregivers for deeper and more meaningful emotional attachments. But now here was a malebeast who shared the same shape and coloration as his cool and remote mother but was acting the way a hare or an otter might. Percy didn't know what it all meant, but he would be sure to make the best of it!

"So, you're his Daddy, huh?"

Grayfoot looked to the young mousemaid who'd been escorting Percy down the corridor. "Yes, I ... Abbess?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated sigh. "Why does everybeast keep calling me that? What's wrong with all of you?"

"Um ... er ... " Grayfoot wasn't sure what to say. He'd been told all about Vanessa's condition, but to see it with his own eyes was something else entirely. She genuinely did come across as a completely different - and much younger - mouse. Finally he settled for, "Wouldja happen t' know where this tyke's mater is? Wanna say hi to her ... "

Vanessa jerked a pawthumb over her shoulder. "Her room's back that way, to the right just past the Infirmary, I think. She's crazy, you know."

Grayfoot couldn't keep a scowl from coming to his face. "She ain't the only one ... "

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean?" Vanessa demanded.

"Or, er, nuthin'. Come along, Percy, let's go see yer mammy ... " Grayfoot stood and started to lead his son along the hallway, then realized Vanessa had not yet relinquished her grip on the ferretbabe's other paw. "Um, d' ya mind there, missy?"

"But I was just taking him down for a paddle in the pond!" she protested with a trace of petulance. "That's become one of his favorite things in this hot weather, now that he can walk."

"Well, then mebbe his mum 'n' me'll bring him down fer that after we all get reacquainter'd. We're 'is family, after all."

"With a family like that, it's a good thing he's got all us Redwallers looking after him. A father who only shows up for Nameday, and a mother who doesn't seem to know where she is half the time ... "

Grayfoot narrowed his eyes at Vanessa. "Think I liked you a lot better when you wasn't touched in th' head - or so rude."

"When did you know me?"

"Mebbe someday I'll tell ya." Grayfoot finally succeeded in liberating his son from the affected mousemaid's paw and pulled Percy down the hall after him on their way to see Judelka.

Vanessa gazed after them for a few moments, then shrugged and continued on her way, in search of playmates or mischief or, ideally, both. By the time she got down to Great Hall, her meeting with Grayfoot had been all but forgotten.