Her dæmon, a Pikachu, was sitting on the steps. "I personally don't believe you… you trudge miles from home, and all the Sentinels, just to 'pop in' their Spring Feast? Tsk tsk!"

"I know," said Pikestaff. "Some rotter must've told 'em I was coming, so they jolly well left the country. What a flippin' waste, wot? C'mon, Skrowe, let's see if we can find an open window or something." She began to slowly circle the Abbey, followed closely by her dæmon.

"Give it up, already," said Skrowerife. "They've obviously gone somewhere. Nobody's home, got it?"

"Quit whining," said Pikestaff. "If there's food, it's worth it to find a bloomin' way inside. Hello, what's this…" she approached a small, wooden side door. "Oooh, it's a backdoor. And…" she tried the doorknob. "Well, whadaya know? It's open! These old beans don't know it's bally impossible to lock ol' Pikestaffy out of a feast, wot wot?"

The door opened into a thin, blue hallway. Without regard to safety Pikestaff rocketed down it and ended up in… of all places… the kitchen.

Pikestaff would have made a dash for the nearest banana cream pie if Skrowerife hadn't of nipped her right there and then. "Look," he said, nodding toward the kitchen door. There, written in whipped cream on the door of the deserted kitchen, was a notice. "To whom it may concern-I s'pose that's us, wot? -Ahem, to whom it may concern, we have been kidnapped by a terrible horrible psychotic chemically imbalanced troubled evil Communist rat-type person, right in the middle of our cute cuddly fluffy Redwall Feast. Find the alethiometer and ask it where we are and how to get there so you can save us poor helpless mice," Pikestaff read.

"Well, there you go," said Skrowerife. "You want food? Save the mice."

Pikestaff was plainly agitated, and finally Skrowerife showed some of this agitation by collecting electricity in his cheeks and swinging his tail back and forth.

"Oh, the horror!" cried Pikestaff, holding a paw to her forehead. "Now there will be no FOOD! At least, not until we find the alethio-whatsit," she finally began to calm down. "Now, where could it be?"

"Well, think," said Skrowerife, "If the Redwallers know about this thing, then it's probably in the Abbey somewhere, right?"

"I bally suppose so," sighed Pikestaff. "Got any idea where it might be, Skrowe?"

"Perhaps you could try Great Hall," her dæmon suggested. "They like to put items of significance there."

"Yeah…" said Pikestaff, deep in thought. "Under the tapestry, I'll reckon. Perfect spot for a thingy-meter, doncha' know. And I wouldn't be surprised if…"

A mock heroic march wafted out from the rafters, briefly interrupting Pikestaff's train of mind. "Nice mood music, there, wot!"

"That would be a cue," said Skrowerife. "Time for us to march gallantly down Great Hall and save the day."

"Save the day. I like it. Has a nice ring to it. Well then, shall we?"

Just a few moments later, Pikestaff Starwood Silverfur the Unlucky and her Pikachu dæmon were dashing bravely down Great Hall, streaks of light beaming out from behind them, illuminating Pikestaff's gleaming gray pelt as the score by Gustav Holst reached a triumphant section. A white dove flew right past the gallant pair, symbolizing what else but Pikestaff's quest for truth and peace, and then the music and the lighting and the doves had stopped, because Pikestaff had reached the tapestry, and now the mood was darker.

Embroidered on the blue tapestry was a picture of Martin the Warrior, smiling broadly and holding a toothbrush in one paw and a tube of Colgate in the other. Pikestaff looked at it and remarked, "I never did doubt Redwall's potential as a licensable franchise," before sweeping it to one side, revealing a large steel safe behind it. "I figure the alethio-doodad must be in this jolly metal box."

Skrowerife was eyeing the combination lock, which consisted of the numbers 1 through 4. "This shouldn't be too tough to figure out," he said.

Pikestaff looked at the lock and quickly recoiled in horror. "What's this, first they lock me out of a bally party, then they lock me out of their safe and their alethingymeter, and then the final insult: they doubt my ability to handle more than three numbers!"

"It's four numbers," prompted Skrowerife.

"Whatever! It's a bally-hootin' insult to my intelligence. Fischer Price's My First Combination Lock. What do they think this is, Florida? Palm Beach?"

"Pikestaff…"

"And don't blame me, Skrowe, I voted for both of them!" "Pikestaff, I don't think it was personal. It's the mice that can't handle over four numbers, not you."

Pikestaff finally calmed down. A little. She could sense that Skrowerife was about to say something, and she knew what it was, so she said quickly, "No Watership Down jokes, please. It's not bloomin' funny."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Yes you were, and you know it. It involved rabbits and the word hrair. Do I look like a rabbit to you?"

"Okay, I'm sorry," said Skrowerife. "Now let's just open the safe."

Pikestaff thought for a moment, trying to decide what combination would be easiest for the Redwallers to remember. Then she tried 1-2-3. To her surprise… okay, maybe she wasn't that surprised… it swung open. Inside was a fortune cookie, which Pikestaff threw hastily into her mouth. A few seconds later, she spat the crumbled paper inside into her paw. She untwisted the paper, which was actually quite long, and read aloud, "If this paper you are readin', then the cookie you must've eaten. Which means you must've found the spot where we keep special things a lot. Now look upwards to the sky, (there really is no reason why), except that's the way you have to peek if it's our truth-teller that you do seek."

"We should have known there would be a riddle involved," quipped Skrowerife as he fidgeted with his tail.

Pikestaff, too, was growing bored. "They're just trying to make this into another of their 388-page books. The Legend of Pikestaff, wot? Then they'll throw in a couple jolly feasts to make it longer. Which, of course, is not a complaint on my part…"

"Well," said Skrowerife, "Up is the direction to look."

Pikestaff looked up. "Oh yes, and what a lovely ceiling."

"I'll bet it's on the ceiling of the safe," said Skrowerife.

So Pikestaff reached in the safe with a paw and felt its ceiling, and sure enough she pulled out a glimmering golden compass, which had been attached to the metal ceiling with about 200 little pieces of Scotch tape.

Skrowerife wanted to see it, so Pikestaff knelt down by him and they looked at the gold instrument. "Well," said Pikestaff, "I assume this is the alethia-doohicky-thingy-ma-bobby-meter. Now what?"

Skrowerife looked at the back of the compass quickly. He was looking for a Made In Taiwan sticker, but he didn't find one. "Umm… maybe it comes with an instruction booklet."

"Come on, Skrowe, does Hallmark make instruction booklets?"

"Hallmark?"

"Well, obviously. Look how expensive it must be. It would be perfect on a Hallmark shelf."

"Fine, but how do you expect to read it?"

"Read it? It's not a bally book. Where'd you get the idea that I have to read it?!"

Skrowerife pulled out what appeared to be a TV Guide and read, "Quote, 'Pikestaff bravely rescues the fluffy Redwall mice from an evil rat-type individual by reading an alethiometer,' Unquote. Rated SP for Slightly Psychotic. Film at Eleven on the Sci-Fi channel."

"Oh," said Pikestaff.

Skrowerife pointed to a knob on top of the alethiometer. "There, try that."

Pikestaff did, and soon found that she could set some hands on the instrument to three different pictures. She chose a picture of a psycho communist rat, a picture of Redwall, and what appeared to be a picture of herself, except that here ears were too long. Then she watched the needle swing, in turn, to every symbol at least once before she was satisfied.

"What's it say?" asked Skrowerife.

"That they're being held hostage in the backyard," she replied decisively. "And the rat's name is Mr. I. D. Freak, and he lives at the K-Mart at 400 Oak Street, and he kidnapped the mice because they're d-d-def-definitely more fun than K-Mart, of course, the maple syrup has to be on the table before the pancakes, and…" she squinted at the alethiometer, "…oh yes, and the rat is 6 foot 3, weights about 200 pounds… okay, 203.66 repeating, he has brown fur, and green eyes, seven whiskers, three on one side, four on the other…" the alethiometer's needle finally stopped on a picture of a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

Once again some galumphing music started playing in glorious surround sound, and Pikestaff ran triumphantly down Great Hall, with streaks of light beaming out… okay, so you know abut that part already. Anyhow, she eventually reached the backyard, where the evil rat Mr. I. D. Freak stood wearing $400 Oakleys and a leather jacket, while a couple dozen fluffy white mice cowered, whimpering, in another corner of the lawn.

Pikestaff pointed threateningly at Mr. Freak and said, "Mr. Freak, you are a terrible horrible chemically imbalanced and delinquent rat-type person, and I am Pikestaff, defender of justice and all things edible, and I'm going to save the bally day!!"

Silence. A hawk called somewhere in the distance. A mouse made a sniffling sound, and then Mr. Freak laughed. It was, of course, a terrible horrible chemically imbalanced and delinquent laugh, which Pikestaff realized with a growing dread. Mr. Freak's dæmon was a Golem, huge and pure rock, and Skrowerife remembered self-consciously that he was a tiny Pikachu.

"Save the day? That's a good one," Mr. Freak said finally. "Through what? A fist fight, or a dæmon battle?"

Pikestaff weighed about half as much as Mr. Freak, and he was wearing iron knuckles and it didn't look like he was willing to remove them, so a fist fight was clearly out. But Skrowerife's electric attacks would do zero damage to a rock and ground type Golem.

"Um… er… may I use a lifeline?" Pikestaff stalled. "I think I'll jolly well just go ahead and ask the audience if any of their dæmons would like to lend a paw…" then she realized that every single one of the Redwallers' dæmons was either a Clefairy or a Jigglypuff, normal-types which also would do zero damage to a Golem.

Pikestaff was ready to ask to call it a draw when a mouse pointed roof ward, yelling, "Here comes the Abbey Warrior!" She looked up and saw a mouse jumping down from the roof, brandishing a sword. He was handsome, dashing, daring, athletic, had a 2-D personality and… his dæmon was a Charizard. In his moment of valor he had forgotten that Golems were super-effective against flying-types, and also against fire-types, and that Charizard was both. Before Pikestaff could blink the Abbey Warrior and his dæmon were both out for the count on the floor.

"Oh deary goodness," deadpanned a mouse. "What will we ever do now?"

"The Spirit of Martin will save us," droned another.

"Oh pish and tush, I've had enough of this," said Pikestaff. "Skrowe, are you up for a challenge?"

"Most certainly," replied Skrowerife smoothly, and he ran toward the Golem dæmon. But she swatted him like a fly, and he was sent tumbling backwards. Pikestaff felt it too, and she fell hard onto her back. At that point her life began to flash before her eyes, and she realized it looked like a candy commercial.

Skrowerife said, "That was pathetic."

Pikestaff knew he was talking about her life. "I know," she lamented. "I need time to change. My life has been an utter and complete waste! Well, except for that raspberry cream pie…"

"We have time," said Skrowerife comfortingly. He rolled over so he could see Pikestaff lying a few feet off. "Time to confess about those peanut butter cookies you stole…"

"Oh yes…"

"Talk to that cute hare guy…"

"I will, things will be different…"

"Raise your Grade Point Average…"

"Yes, I'll work on that, definitely…"

"Go to Girls' Camp…"

Pikestaff stared at her dæmon. "Hey, you never liked Girls' Camp either, Skrowe."

"Maybe not, but at least I tolerated it. It fell under the category of, 'Things We Should Do.'"

"Well, anyhow," said Pikestaff, "We've bally lost. The End. No more story. We don't have a chance."

"True," said Skrowe. "But villains never win in Redwall books. Some deux ex machina always lets the good guy win."

Pikestaff was about to retort that this story was far too skewed to be a real Redwall book when she heard a phone ring. She turned her head and there… inches away from her right paw… was a cell phone. It rang again. "What is this, a bally Cellular One commercial?" Pikestaff demanded.

"Actually," said Skrowerife, "I think it's our deux ex machina."

Pikestaff tentatively picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Pikestaff," said a smooth, deep voice. "Do you know who this is?"

The camera dramatically closed in on Pikestaff's head. "Morpheus," she whispered.

"Pikestaff," said Morpheus, "There is no evil psychotic rat-type person."

"There isn't?"

"No," said Morpheus. "Because the Matrix has you."

"What is the Matrix?"

"Have you ever had a dream, Pikestaff…?"

"Okay, okay," said Pikestaff. "No more playing around. I have a jolly day to save. Now am I, or am I not The One, wot?"

"Let me put someone else on the phone," said Morpheus. There was a pause, and then a voice that could only belong to a cute hare guy said, "Pikestaff? This is Dirk Steelpelt."

Pikestaff suddenly felt dizzy. "Yes, this is Pikestaff Steelpelt… er, I mean, Silverfur…"

"There's something I wanted to tell you…"

"Me too, actually," said Pikestaff, thinking of Prom. "But you go first."

"The Oracle told me that the hare I would fall in love with would be The One…"

Suddenly the evil rat person Mr. Freak grabbed the phone out of Pikestaff's paws. "You shoulda killed me," he said with a thick Australian accent.

"Nooo… I was going to ask him to Prom!" Pikestaff reached for the phone. Then she remembered what Morpheus had said.

There is no evil psychotic rat-type person.

"Sorry Mr. Freak," she said smugly. " I hate to say it, but you don't exist. Have a nice day."

Mr. Freak pulled out a Starfleet Federation phaser and began firing, but Pikestaff leaned back and dodged the beams as the camera switched to slow motion and circled around her. Then as techno music played, she began a flurry of martial arts on Mr. Freak.

Mr. Freak pulled himself away for a minute, looked reproachingly at The One, and said, "Miss Silverfur…"

She looked up. "My name… is Pikestaff!" In a flash of light she threw herself at Mr. Freak and in another second he exploded into several raisin-sized pieces.

It took a while for the dust and debris to clear up, but when it did the fluffy white Redwallers looked up and saw Pikestaff wearing a black trench coat and dark shades, her Pikachu dæmon identically dressed, as fire blazed behind them and a rock remix blared from invisible speakers.

Then the music and the fire died down and Pikestaff pulled off the trench coat and sunglasses. "Well, that's that. No more communist rat-type chap. I have saved the day!"

It took the Redwall mice about an hour to realize what had happened, but when it finally occurred to them that they could leave the lawn they prepared a grand feast, with Pikestaff "The One" Silverfur as the guest of honor. She didn't stop eating until the sun had set and Redwall's bells tolled over all of Mossflower Woods and beyond.

~Extract from the writings of Pikestaff~
Well, I suppose this jolly book was a success. Once again Redwall is saved from the clutches of a terrible horrible psychotic delinquent chemically imbalanced troubled evil Communist rat-type person. What else is new? I, in the meantime, have raised my GPA, talked to Dirk Steelpelt (about Prom!) and even gone to Girls' Camp. In fact, it was my idea to have The Matrix for a theme, wot! Our bunk was called the Agent Destroyers. Oh yes, and one other thing, the door to Redwall Abbey is always open to anybeast insanely bored enough to drop in, so be sure to come pay me a visit someday.
Presents are greatly appreciated.
Cookies, in fact, would be nice.
And please make them peanut butter.

THE END

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