"04 - Mariel of Redwall" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

Old stories told by travelers, Great songs that bards have sung, Of Mossflower summers, faded, gone, When Redwall's stones were young. Great Hall fires on winter nights, The legends, who remembers, Battles, banquets, comrades, quests, Recalled midst glowing embers. Draw close now, little woodlander, Take this to sleep with you, My tale of dusty far-off times, When warrior hearts were true. Then store it in your memory, And be the sage who says To young ones in the years to come: "Ah yes, those were the days."

BOOK ONE

The Maid from the Sea

Abbot Bernard folded his paws deep into the wide sleeves of his garb.

From a viewpoint on the threshold of Redwall Abbey's west ramparts he watched the hot midsummer day drawing to a glorious close. Late evening light mellowed the red sandstone Abbey walls, turning them to dusty scarlet; across the flatlands, cloud layers striped the horizon in long billows of purple, amber, rose and cerise. Bernard turned to his friend Simeon, the blind herbalist.

"The sun is sinking, like the tip of a sugar plum dipping into honey. A perfect summer evening, eh, Simeon?"

The two mice stood silent awhile before Simeon turned his sightless face toward the Abbot.

"Father Abbot, how is it that you see so much yet feel so little? Do you not know there is a mighty storm coming tonight?"

The Abbot shook his head, disbelieving, yet unwilling to deny Simeon's unerring instinct. "A storm? Surely not!"

Simeon chided Abbot Bernard gently. "Perhaps you have other things on your mind, my friend. Maybe you have not felt the cooling breezes die away. The air has

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become still and hot, the birds stopped their evensong much earlier than usual, even the grasshoppers and the buzzing bees have ceased what little noise they make. Listen!"

The Abbot cocked his head on one side, perplexed. "I hear nothing."

Simeon chuckled dryly. "That is because you are hearing the sound of silence, Bernard. One thing I have learned in my life is to listen to the sounds of Mossflower country. Every sound carries information; so does every silence. This is going to be a mighty storm, one that we have not seen the like of in many a long season."

Taking Simeon by the paw, Abbot Bernard led his blind companion down the rampart steps and across the lawn toward the main Abbey building.

Simeon sniffed the air. "Mmmm! I smell hot apple pie and raspberry cream pudding, and scones, fresh from the oven too, with damson preserve spread on them. We'd best hurry before the moles get here or there'll be none left."

The Abbot quickened his pace. "How d'you know the moles are coming?"

"Bernard, Bernard, did you ever know Sister Sage to serve raspberry cream pudding and no moles to arrive?"

"Right again, Simeon. Your powers of observation leave me in the shade. Oh, I must tell young Dandin to beat the log alarm. It'll warn anybeast still outdoors to come in."

Simeon grimaced. "Oh dear, do we have to suffer that noise again? Young Dandin is a bit overenthusiastic at beating a hollow log with two clubs."

Abbot Bernard smiled reflectively. "Yes, he does rather put his heart into it, doesn't he. Still, I wish everyone were as willing in their duties as our Dandin. If ever Redwall Abbey gets a bell, I'll be the first to vote him as bellringer."

The two mice made their way between the flowerbeds which dotted the dark greensward. An ominous grumble of thunder muffled its way over the far horizon to the northwest. Abbot Bernard turned in the doorway of the Abbey, attempting to conjure up his powers of smell.

"Hmmm, cider poured cold from the cask, eh, Simeon?"

The blind herbalist wrinkled his nose. "Wrong, it's pear cordial."

The Father Abbot of all Redwall tried not to look amazed. Even though Simeon could not see him, he might sense his Abbot's expression.