The Bellmaker

The Bellmaker

Redwall, Book 7

Brian Jacques

V2.0 There were lots of scanning errors; doubtless many remain. Chapter headings before 10 missing.

Storm-bruised clouds, heavy and lowering, dropped teeming rain into the howling March wind, slanting in from the northwest to batter the last of winters snow that clung to the stones of Redwall Abbey. Inside the gatehouse it was snug and warm, though there was not much room. All the available chairs and floor space had been taken up by little creaturesmoles, mice, squirrels, and hedgehogs. They watched in silence as an ancient squirrel, silver haired and bent with age from long seasons, banked up the fire with two beech logs. He turned slowly and, shooing two very young mice from his armchair, the aged squirrel sat, a twinkle in his eye as he watched his audience.

“Sit still, be good, my Dibbunsthe special breakfast will soon be here. Listen for the knock now; my ears dont work very well these days.

The little ones, who were collectively known as Dibbuns, cupped paws about their ears, listening intently. All that could be heard was the spattering rain on the windows and the wind mourning its dirge around the outside walls. The knock came upon the door like a spell being broken. A bass-voiced molebabe stood up shouting, “Hurr et be, brekkist!

Several of the young ones had to force the door open against the gale. A fat old hedgehog backed himself inside, pulling a trolley loaded with a cauldron, wooden bowls, and spoons. No sooner was he inside than the wind whipped the door shut with a loud slam. Shaking rainwater from his venerable gray spikes, the hedgehog lifted the cauldron lid. A delicious aroma from the steaming vessel caused cries of delight. He wiped the corners of his eyes on a spotted kerchief and winked at his companion in the armchair.

“Pearl Queen Pudden, messmatenothin like it on a cold wet day. Come on, me little mateys, pass these bowls n spoons around while its still nice an hot.

All that could be heard was the scrape of spoon upon bowl as they sat eating breakfast. The ancient squirrel finished his portion and ruffled the ears of a mouse sitting on the chair arm. “You enjoying that, Jerril?

The little mouse licked his spoon. “Pearl Queen Pud-dens nice. Whats in it?

“Ask my mate. He made it.

The old hedgehog cleared the Dibbuns from his armchair on the other side of the hearth and sat down chuckling, his huge stomach shaking like a bowl of jelly. “Hohohoh! Ill tell ye whats in Pearl Queen Pudden, young Jerril. Anythin a beast can lay his paws on. Apples, nuts, berries, plums, an memories, lots o memories. Aint that right, messmate?

The squirrels eyes shone as he gazed into the fire.

“Aye, thats right. Memories. Long seasons gone an high old summers that never fade from our minds.

The bass-voiced molebabe looked up from his second helping. “Do that mean ee goin to tell usns a tale, zurr? he asked.

“Well, theres nothing else tdo in weather like this, said the ancient squirrel, as he put aside his bowl and spoon. “Aye, Ill tell you a story, but my mate will have to help me out in parts, because its a very long tale.

Jerril was licking his bowl, but he popped his head out to say, “Did yer make it up, sir?

The squirrel shook his grizzled head vigorously. “Make it up? Indeed not. No, young feller, this story is true. Tis not just my story; it belongs to many creatures. 1 gathered their own bits from each one of em.

The hedgehog in the armchair opposite nodded. “Aye, though it wouldve never happened but for one, a mouse called Joseph the Bellmaker, for the dream was his.

Outside, the rain flattened young grass and the wind rattled leafless branches that were trying hard to put out small buds. A delicately thin icicle tinkled from the gatehouse roof, like the last tear of winter. Inside, the ruddy firelight gleamed on the young faces, each one watching the ancient squirrel as he leaned forward and began the story.