It was evening when Mhera came back down from her room. She had taken a short nap, cleaned herself up and dressed in a soft magnolia robe with a brown cord girdle. She found Broggle and Fwirl sitting together in the orchard.

“Hello, you two. Well, Fwirl, how was your sewing lesson?”

Broggle pulled a face and held his paws up. “Don’t even ask, Mhera! We’d just finished with that coverlet when in marches the good Sister with a crowd of muddy wet Dibbuns. She made us help her to physick and bathe them.”

Mhera winked and smiled at Fwirl. “That’s Sister Alkanet for you!”

“But that wasn’t all,” the squirrelmaid went on to explain. “She admired our needlework so much that she found us a lot of old sheets that needed repairing. So now I know all about sewing, thanks to you cutting a piece from the coverlet. That started it all!”

The three friends were still laughing when Floburt and Egburt came running along.

“Hi there. Have you put your names down for the wall race?”

Mhera clapped a paw to her brow. “Great seasons, I’d forgotten. Is it this evening? Come on, pals. We’d better get to the gatehouse!”

Fwirl was all agog. “What’s a wall race? Can I take part?”

Broggle chuckled at his pretty friend’s eagerness. “Of course you can, Fwirl; you should be good at it. Everybeast who enters has to nominate how they’ll run, wall or grass. The grass runners run alongside the wall on the ground, but the wall runners go along the parapet of the ramparts. The race starts from the threshold over the gatehouse, and you run right ’round the four walls back to the starting spot. Anybeast can enter, but it’s usually the good runners who win. The elders just watch.”

They gave their names to Hoarg. Egburt, Floburt, Mhera and Fwirl nominated to go by the wall. Gundil and quite a few other moles, who were not fond of heights, nominated to go on the grass course. Fwirl asked the mole what the prize was, and Gundil touched his snout knowingly.

“Ee’ll soon foind owt if’n ee wins, bootiful miz, hurr hurr!”

Foremole Brull marshaled the runners on the grass, kindly allowing the Dibbun entrants a starting line far ahead of the rest. She kept pointing and explaining to the little ones, “You’m goes thataway. Amember naow . . . thataway ee be runnen!”

Up on the parapet old Hoarg was lining the walltop runners in position. Alongside Egburt, Fwirl watched the antics of Foremole Brull and the Dibbuns curiously.

“What’s the Foremole telling them, Floburt?”

The hedgehog chuckled as she explained, “She’s telling them which way to go. When the race starts, some of the little ’uns are so dozy that they run all over the place, in the opposite direction, back to the Abbey, wherever. Last time some of them ended up dashing into the pool or straight into the gatehouse. You can never tell with Dibbuns, they get so excited.”

Fwirl watched the Dibbuns dancing up and down, their faces alight, chattering to one another in baby talk. “Hahaha, bless their little hearts!”

Boorab’s nose had recovered sufficiently for him to start the race. He stood on the gatehouse steps, holding a yellow flag, which had once been a grain sack.

“All contestants pay attention please for the annual wall’n’grass race, wot! Y’must observe the jolly old rules. No shovin’ or pushin’. Straight ’round the wall boundaries an’ back here, no shortcuts or secret routes. Right ho, chaps’n’chapesses, good luck to everybeast an’ let’s have a good clean race. Ready . . . on y’marks, get set . . . go!”

The runners took off helter-skelter, both on the grass and along the ramparts. Mhera was out in front, with Floburt and a mouse named Birrel, all running neck and neck. Cregga stayed on the threshold with the other elders. She grabbed Friar Bobb’s paw, her sightless eyes blinking rapidly. “What’s happening? Who’s in the lead? Tell me, tell me!”

The Friar began shouting an excited commentary for her benefit. “Mhera, Floburt and Birrel are leading, though only just now, Egburt is nearly up there with them. Oh, look out! Great seasons, here comes our Broggle, and Filorn too. I never knew those two could run like that. Oh, great flyin’ fur an’ footpaws, what in the name of thunder is that?”

Cregga smiled knowingly. “Our pretty Fwirl, I’ll bet!”

Old Hoarg was waving his stick and roaring, “She’s whipped right past ’em all, leapin’ along the battlement tops. I never seen aught like it. Fwirl’s goin’ like a streak o’ red lightnin’. Go on, young ’un, you show ’em the way ’round!”

Everybeast yelled their admiration for the newest Redwaller. Friar Bobb turned his attention to the grass runners. “The ground racers have just turned the sou’west corner, it’s Gundil in the lead, goin’ bravely, with three molemaids on his tail. They’ve just gone behind the bushes on the south wall. Hohoho, Durby and Feegle have skirted the bushes and are running over to the orchard as if they mean business!”

Drogg Cellarhog groaned. “My pore strawberry patch!”

Fwirl was tugging old Hoarg’s sleeve. “Excuse me, sir, I think I’m first back.”

The ancient gatehouse keeper stared in amazement at her. “But . . . but . . . the others are on’y midway along the north walltop!”

As the last of the wall runners came in there was much paw-shaking and back-slapping. All attention was now riveted on the grass runners down below. Gundil was only leading by a whisker, with two hedgehogs and the three molemaids pounding almost alongside him. Mhera, Broggle and Fwirl cheered their molefriend on uproariously.

“Keep going, Gundil, keep going!”

“Don’t look back, keep going, you can do it, Gundil!”

Panting and blowing like a bellows, the worn-out mole staggered past the wallgate to win the grass race, amid wild cheers.

Both winners were carried back into the Abbey shoulder high. Fwirl looked down at Broggle as they went in. “What happens now?”

Broggle had no time to answer before lusty singing broke out.

“Hail both the winners,

Who raced ’round our wall,

On a summer solstice eve,

The longest day of all.

Valiant and fleet of paw,

Tributes they’ll receive,

Lord and Lady victors,

On this midsummer’s eve!”

A ceremony had been prepared in honor of Fwirl and Gundil, who were both draped in woven reed cloaks, their heads garlanded with wreaths of primrose and kingcup. Drogg Cellarhog, who had donned a clean apron for the ritual, rolled in a barrel, its staves dyed pink, and upended it in the center of Great Hall. Both winners were presented with artistically carved and polished tankards made from the bole of an elm tree. Drogg did not bother knocking a spigot into the cask bung, but raised a big coopering mallet and addressed himself to the winning pair.

“Ten summers ago I laid down this barrel of strawberry fizz to mature, and now you will be the first to taste it. Only those who have your permission may dip their bowls, flagons or tankards into the barrel. For you have won the titles for one night only of Lord an’ Lady Strawberry. And well deserved, says I!”

He swung the mallet and stove in the cask head with a tremendous crash, causing everybeast nearby to be drenched in delicious pink strawberry fizz.

“Broggle, come and have some!” Fwirl cried over the cheering.

“Hurr, miz, that bain’t ee way to do et,” Gundil whispered in her ear. “Us’n’s got to drink furst!”

They dipped their new tankards in and quaffed off a good mouthful each. Fwirl squeaked in surprise. It was the first time she had ever tasted the wonderful cordial. “Yeek! I’m full of fizzy bubbles! It’s marvelous!”

Gundil instructed her on how to invite others to share it. He held forth his tankard to Cregga and recited:

“Whoi, ’tis so delishus an’ so gudd that oi think,

Oi’ll h’invite ee Badgermum to join oi in a drink!”

Cregga dipped her bowl into the barrel and bowed to Gundil.

“Why, thank you, Lord Strawberry, I’ll drink right willingly,

To good health and long seasons, and to your victory!”

Fwirl caught on to the rhyme instantly and called again to Broggle.

“Why, ’tis so delicious and so good that I think,

I’ll invite my friend Broggle to join me in a drink!”

Willing paws pushed the bashful young squirrelcook forward. He dipped his beaker in the barrel and bowed to the pretty squirrelmaid.

“Why, thank you, Lady Strawberry, I’ll drink right willingly,

To good health and long seasons, and to your victory!”

Everybeast stood on tip-paw, raising the drinking vessels and shouting out to the winning pair to grant them permission to sup the fizz. Trays of special nut shortbreads were brought out and served. Fwirl and Gundil, between gulps of the drink, dispensed permissions as speedily as they could. Music and dancing broke out amid the scene of happy revelry.

Fwirl placed her garland on Filorn’s head, and threw a paw about Mhera, her eyes shining. “I never realized what a good runner your mama is, for her seasons, that is. You ran a great race, marm!”

Filorn raised her beaker. “But not as swift as you, pretty one!”

Broggle joined them, clapping a paw to his mouth. “Whoo! This fizz is lively stuff. Best old Drogg’s ever made, I’d say. Well, Fwirl, if you’ve decided to stay at Redwall, we’ll never win the wall race again, none of us!”

Fwirl draped her cloak about his shoulders. “Well, I’ll be the starter next time, I won’t volunteer as a runner.” She held up a paw and did a very good imitation of Boorab. “Wot wot, I say, you chaps, get in line there, no shovin’ or jolly old shortcuts, you rotters, wot wot!”

Mhera joined in the laughter, but stopped when she caught sight of Trey, the youngest mouse in the Abbey, weeping over by the main door. Pushing her way through the revelers, she reached his side. “Dearie me, a big fellow like you crying? What’s the matter, Trey?”

“Us went onna race again, me’n’Durby’n’Feegle,” the mousebabe explained between sobs. “We run like big ’uns onna wall. Then Durby’n’Feegle run like Miz Furl onna bakklemints, but they felled off over d’wall!”

*

Torches flared in the midsummer night and cries rang out over the darkened Abbey grounds as Redwallers dashed to the walls. Throwing little Trey up on his shoulders, Boorab sped along the walltops with Broggle, Filorn, Mhera and Fwirl in attendance, pumping Trey for information as he went.

“Where were they when they fell, old fellah? Here, over there, by the threshold, north wall, where?”

Mhera followed the direction of the mousebabe’s pointing paw. “He’s pointing to the center of the east wall.”

They arrived panting at the location. Fwirl leaped up onto the battlements. “Was it here, Trey?”

The Dibbun nodded dumbly. Broggle looked pale in the torchlight. “If they’d fallen this way they would’ve landed here on the parapet. Did they fall over into the woodlands, little ’un?”

Again Trey merely nodded. Mhera’s voice was laden with concern. “Tell us, Trey, when did this happen? Just now?”

This time the mousebabe shook his head. Mhera questioned further. “How long ago was it? Why didn’t you run and tell us straightaway?”

Trey played with the bells on Boorab’s ears as he confessed wanly, “It ’appen long ago when all went inna h’Abbey. Durby say notta tell anybeast we playin’ onna wall. They felled off an’ I come’d inna Hall. Trey frykkinned to tell, get sended uppa bed!”

Boorab shouted down to old Hoarg. “Get the main gate open, old chap. Search party needed outside!”

Fwirl did not need an open gate. She vanished over the wall with eye-blurring speed. Mhera issued instructions as she raced for the east wallsteps. “We’ll use the east wicker gate, it’ll be quicker. Mama, take Trey inside. Broggle, Mr. Boorab, follow me, we’ll need your torches for light!”

The lock on the east wicker gate was stiff, but a solid kick from the hare’s long back paws shot it open. The little gate creaked as they dashed out into the woodlands.

Fwirl was already out alongside the trees growing closest to the wall, her pretty face grim as the light fell on it. She spoke the words they were dreading to hear. “There’s no sign of them!”

Blazing torches and lantern lights flickered all around the outside perimeter of Redwall Abbey’s outer walls. Search parties chased up and down, looking for the lost Dibbuns, hoping that they would naturally have followed the wall around to the main gate. Mhera was rounding a huge sycamore when a big paw fell on her shoulder. She sighed with relief at the sound of Cregga’s voice.

“Mhera, is that you? Any sign of them yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Cregga. It’s as if the little rogues vanished into thin air.”

Worriedly the Badgermum sniffed the night air. “I don’t like this, there’s too many out here. Those without torches or lanterns could get lost. Mossflower Wood is a very deceptive place, particularly at night. Everybeast is out here, even the elders, and that’s not good. One spark from a torch, or a fallen lantern, could cause a forest fire!”

It was a terrible thought, but true. Mhera clenched her paws. “Right, get them to search inside the walls. Durby and Feegle may have wandered back in through the open gate. I’ll take Broggle, Fwirl and Boorab, and we’ll continue to look out here. Leave the east wicker gate ajar, so we can report in if they’re found. Keep Sister Alkanet close, tell her to have medicines ready, and splints too. They might have broken limbs from the fall and could be lying out here unconscious somewhere. Will you do that, my friend?”

Cregga patted the ottermaid’s cheek. “Good thinking, Mhera. I’ll have Drogg leave some fresh torches unlit, by the wicker gate. Anything else you need?”

Mhera signaled Boorab over to her side. “Only lots of luck and some early dawn light if we don’t find those two Dibbuns soon!”