“Now close your eyes and open your mouth, young Brinkle. Be brave, this physic will make you feel better and stop all that shivering and sweating. You’ll be right as rain by teatime, believe me, young feller.”

*   *   *

Tudd Spinney found his old friend Burrley Mole seated with his back to a barrel of October ale down in the wine cellars. He shook his stick disapprovingly. “You been oversamplin’ of our October ale again, Burrley?”

The mole’s normally bright eyes lacked luster. He waved a hefty digging claw at his hedgehog companion. “Hummm! Go ’way, Tudd. Oi feels orful an’ drefful, nor a drop’n of ’ee Nextober ale ’as passed moi lips t’day!”

Tudd heaved Burrley up onto his paws. “C’mon, ol’ mate. May’ap yore sickenin’ for summat. Let’s git you up to the ’Firmary.”

*   *   *

By evening the Infirmary was full. Abbess Vale and Hollyberry were discussing using one of the upper galleries of the Abbey as a sickbay when Baby Dumble began his interminable tugging upon her habit.

“Muvva Vale, Muvva Vale, there’s a funny old un wiv a cloud stucked on ’is face at the main gate. Wantsa see you, Muvva!”

The Abbess pried Dumble free from her gown. “Yes yes, Dumble. Now go and play like a good little dormouse. I’ll be down as soon as I can.”

However, there was no need for the Abbess to go to the main gate. Mrs. Faith Spinney had opened it to the stranger, and she brought him to the upper gallery.

“Vale, my dear, this is Furgle Woodvole the Hermit. Would you believe, he met Samkim and Arula today. I think he wants to speak with you.”

Abbess Vale took Furgle’s paw. “So good of you to come with news of our young ones, Mr. Furgle. You must be tired and hungry coming such a long way. Come with me and I’ll see you’re fed and rested. Mrs. Spinney, would you take over here with Brother Hollyberry while I see to our visitor.”

*   *   *

Seated in the privacy of the Abbess’s room, Furgle took elderberry wine and plumcake with relish. When he had satisfied his hunger he turned to the Abbess with a look of concern upon his face.

“You look like a sensible lady, Abbess. I’ve got something serious to say to you, so listen carefully.”

Vale’s paws plucked nervously at her sleeve. “Is it Samkim or Arula? Oh please, Mr. Furgle, tell me that they’re all right!”

The hermit refilled his beaker with the dark red wine. “Oh, they’re fine, madam, just fine. It’s the stoat I’ve come to tell you about—one of the two that were here at Redwall. This very day at sometime before noon he dropped dead. I’ve gone over all the possibilities on the way to your Abbey. I’m certain now: by the look of that creature he died from Dryditch Fever!”