Free The Sable Quean by Brian Jacques Page B

well-earned lunch.
    Sister Fumbril made certain the Abbess was sure to hear her as she called out her request. “Perhaps some kind an’ beautiful creature’ll give us permission to carry on with the Redwall Bard Contest. Round about teatime this afternoon, in front of the gatehouse—that’s a quiet, sunny place.”
    Granvy wiped soup from his whiskers, commenting, “Sunny it may be, but quiet? Not with this lot scrapin’ fiddles, bangin’ drums an’ caterwaulin’ away. What d’ye think, Mother Abbess?”
    Marjoram chuckled. “Then you’d best plug your ears up, my friend, because the kind, beautiful creature has just given her permission for the contest to carry on.”
    Brother Tollum waited until the cheering had died down before he asserted his claim. “Er, I think it was my turn to sing next, right, Granvy?” The hedgehog Recorder sighed. “So be it, Brother. But please don’t sing any mournful dirges with a hundred verses.”
    Skipper smiled mischievously. “Oh, I dunno. I think ole Tollum’s songs are nice an’ restful. How’s about ‘The Burial Lament for the Flattened Frog’s Granpa’?”
    Tollum brightened up slightly. “I know that one!”
    There were yells of dismay and groans of mock despair. The Redwallers shouted impassioned protests, plus some rather impudent insults. They carried on eating lunch and joking about various singers.
    Nobeast had noticed the absence of two little Dibbuns, who had been trapped, gagged and carried off by a band of vermin Ravagers.

7
    It was a pleasant enough stream, running from the woodlands out onto the flatlands. However, this was where Oakheart Witherspyk ran the raft aground. The big, florid hedgehog had dozed off at the tiller, causing his craft to bump over some rocks which lurked in the shallows. The Streamlass was a fine old craft, with a blockhouse of logs at its centre. It had ornate wooden rails and a single mast, from which hung strings of washing and a square canvas sail. The faded sign painted on this sail announced “The Witherspyk Performing Players.” (Though the sign painter had made a spelling error—the word Performing read “Preforming.”)
    The shock of the raft bumping roughly aground caused chaos on board. Oakheart’s mother, Crumfiss, and his wife, Dymphnia, clutching baby Dubdub to her, came stampeding onto the streambank. These were followed by the rest of his family, four other hedgehogs, a mole, a squirrel, and two bankvoles. (The latter four creatures he and his wife had adopted.) Everybeast was waving paws in alarm and crying out, either in panic or anger.
    Dymphnia bellowed at her husband, “Oakie, you dozed off again, you great bumbler!”
    Rising from his armchair, which was nailed to the deck alongside the tiller, Oakheart pointed at himself, booming out dramatically, “Dozed? Did I hear you say dozed, marm? Nay, alas, ’twas a cunning twist of devious water current which cast us ashore thus. I never doze whilst navigating, never!”
    A young hogmaid held a drooping paw to her brow, declaiming, “Oh, Papa, I thought we were all to be drowned, lost sadly ’neath the raging waters!”
    Dymphnia wiped the babe’s snout on her shawl, casting a jaundiced eye on her daughter. “Do be quiet, Trajidia. Don’t interrupt your father. Well, Oakie, are we stuck here?”
    Removing a flop-brimmed hat and sweeping aside his timeworn cloak, Oakheart stared glumly over the rail at a number of rocks beneath the surface.
    “Aye, m’dear. Fickle fortune has swept us hard upon the strand. Rikkle, can you see if anything can be done to relieve our position? There’s a good chap!”
    One of the bankvoles hurled himself into the water and vanished beneath the raft. After a brief moment, Trajidia, who never missed the opportunity to be dramatic, clasped her paws, staring wide-eyed at the place where Rikkle had submerged.
    “Oh, oh, ’tis so hard to bear, one of such tender seasons, gone to a watery grave!”
    One of her brothers,