Rakkety Tam (30 page)

I charged them single-pawed,

with boudoir mirror for a shield,

and parasol for sword.

 

I curled their ears and brushed their teeth,

and wiped their runny noses,

then sprayed on toilet water,

until they smelt like roses.

 

They ran away in swift retreat,

that rabble so unseemly.

My General then promoted me,

for beating them so cleanly.

 

So when you see me on parade,

you chaps must all salute.

I'm called the Primrose Major now, and

Isn't that a hoot?”

 

Everybeast laughed and applauded, especially the shrews.

Log a Log Togey remarked to the lancejack, “Hohoho, that 'un's a pretty liddle maid, ain't she?”

Wilderry nodded. “She is indeed, sah, but don't be fooled. Merriscut is hard as steel, an' death with a lance. She's what y'd call a perilous beauty, wot!”

Togey observed drily, “All these young 'uns are perilous, both shrews an' hares. 'Tis the life we chose.” He turned to Skipper. “Well, matey, wot d'ye reckon to Guosim stew, eh?”

The burly otter was into his third bowl. “Ho, very tasty, very nice! But ain't you buckoes never 'eard of hotroot pepper?”

Togey pulled a wry face. “Aye, but that stuff's a bit too warm for Guosim stummicks. No doubt ye'll soon be slurpin' it down when ye get t'the Abbey. They prob'ly got lots of hotroot pepper there.”

The otter chieftain gazed fondly into the fire. “They do indeed, mate. Good ole Redwall, I can't wait for dawn when we begin the march to my Abbey!”

 

Dawn came soon enough, sooner than some expected, who were looking forward to a late sleep. The camp came abustle with hastily taken breakfast.

Log a Log Togey briefed Tam and Skipper. “I'm takin' my crews back off t'the logboats. Got some business t'see to, mates. Redwall's about a couple o' days good marchin' from here. I'll leave ye Oneshrew an' Twoshrew. They'll guide ye back to the Abbey.”

After they had said their good-byes, Tam found that, in the absence of Corporal Butty Wopscutt, he was left to give the orders. The Borderer did so with practised ease. Soon his bark was echoing round the camp.

“Come on now, me lucky lads'n'lassies, time to march for Redwall! Fall in the Long Patrol. Lancejack an' Fieldbud, front'n'centre! Right markers, fall in! Tenshun! Look to your dressin', yew sloppy lot of fiddle-pawed, wobble-lugged excuses for hares! Silence in the ranks there! By
the left! Quick march! Hup two, hup two, hup two. . . .” The column strode off briskly through the morning woodlands.

One of the young hares murmured to his companion, “Strewth! Did ye hear Mister MacBurl then? I thought it was ole Sarge Wonwill for a blinkin' moment!”

His friend replied, “Sounded jolly well like him, wot! Nearly brought a tear to me flippin' eye, thinkin' about Sarge Wonwill, grumpy ole gravel-gutted beast. I miss him.”

“I'll bring a tear to yore eye, laddie buck!” The young hare cut his eyes sideways to see Tam marching on the other side of him. The Borderer looked every inch the sergeant major, with his dirk tucked horizontally like a swagger stick.

He scowled ferociously at the talkers. “I'll bring so many tears to both your eyes you'll think yore marchin' underwater! Now straighten those shoulders, move those paws an' shut those mouths! No gossipin' in the ranks, d'ye hear me?”

Both hares tucked their chins in and bawled simultaneously, “Yes, sah! No gossipin' in the ranks, sah!”

Tam fell back a pace or two, smiling to himself. Skipper caught up with him, nodding his admiration. “That sounded good, mate! Where'd ye learn to give orders like that? 'Twas just like a proper roughneck officer.”

Tam shrugged. “Oh, here'n there . . . y'know, Skip. For the past few seasons, I've been in the service of a fool Squirrelking. You sort of pick it up as y'go along.”

Midafternoon, the shrewscouts reported back. Oneshrew and her sister had nothing urgent to convey—the route was clear, and they had picked out a spot for an early evening stopover.

Tam dismissed them, then called out to his hares, “Listen up now, you bedraggled, bewildered beauties! Our scouts have found an early evenin' layover spot. D'ye want to stop there, or march on until dark an' see if we can make Redwall Abbey in record time?”

A roar of well-drilled voices came back at him. “March on, sah, march on!”

Skipper surprised Tam by bellowing out, “March on it is, ye lollopin' lilies! Keep up the pace there! I want to get to Redwall afore I grow old an' need a stick. Step lively there!”

The otter chieftain winked at Tam. “How d'ye think I did?”

Tam saluted his friend. “Well done, Skip. Yore a born Sergeant Major! We'll share the commands from here to Redwall.”

Skipper beamed like a morning sunrise. “Righto, Sergeant!” They camped that night at another spot the shrewscouts had chosen further on. It was dark, and the marchers were weary. Tam and his company bathed their paws in a small brook. After a short snack of haversack rations, they curled up in a shaded glade and fell asleep immediately.

Skipper was awake shortly after daybreak. He roused the hares like a true regimental sergeant. “Come on, my liddle beauties, up on yore dainty paws now! Right, who'd like a luvverly brekkist o' fresh salad, 'ot scones an' some blackberry tarts?”

A gullible young hare stretched and yawned. “Oh, I say, sah, that'd just fit the bill nicely!”

The otter chieftain gave him a jaundiced eye, roaring at the unfortunate in a voice like thunder, “Well, you ain't goin' t'get nothin' like that 'ere, laddie buck! Grab an apple an' some water, then up on yore hunkers an' get fell in for marchin'! Yew lollop-eared, bottle-nosed, misbegotten muddlers! Move, or I'll 'ave yore guts for garters an' yore tails for tea!”

Tam winked at the otter's verbosity. “I like that one, Skip! Misbegotten muddlers . . . I must remember that. How far to the Abbey now, I wonder?”

Skipper studied the woodlands ahead. “Not too far now, mate. I'm startin' to recognise a few landmarks. Oneshrew an' Twoshrew are good liddle maids, they're trackin' well.
If'n we make fast time, I reckon we'll reach the Abbey early tomorrow morn.”

 

They marched on through the day, making only one brief halt in the early noontide. Just before dusk they stopped at a place the two Guosim sisters had chosen for the night's rest. It was situated on a streambank.

Skipper nodded with satisfaction. “Well, root me rudder, mate! D'ye reckernise this place?”

Tam dabbled his paws in the cooling waters. “Everywhere's beginnin' to look the same t'me, Skip. I'm a Borderer, not a Woodlander. Where are we?”

The otter pointed slightly downstream. “Round about there, that's where wotsisname, the pesky liddle vole robber, hid yore sword an' the flag. Let's see!” He dived like an arrow into the water and streaked away beneath the surface.

Not having heard Skipper's conversation with Tam, the hares watched him in awe. Two of the most opinionated in the group exchanged comments.

“Strewth! Must have some blinkin' energy, wot? Marchin' since dawn, then goin' off for a jolly old swim like that!”

“Indeed, you wouldn't catch me doin' that, old lad. Dabble the paws a bit, that's my style. Where's the Skipper gone, sah?”

Tam lay back on the bank, closing his eyes. “Wait an' see.”

They had not long to wait. Shortly thereafter, Skipper bounded up onto the bank and tossed a long, wrapped bundle to Tam. “Found these in a hole on the other bank, right where that rascal stowed 'em awhile back!”

Tam unwrapped the wet banner of Squirrelking Araltum from about his claymore. He wielded the blade fondly. “My thanks to ye, Skip. You've done me a great favour!”

Skipper shook himself like a dog, spraying some young hares with water. “My pleasure, Tam. The sun'll dry yore
flag out tomorrow. Ye can polish yore sword up, an' the followin morn y'can march into the Abbey—double-bladed, wavin' the flag an' singin' yore 'ead off!”

Tam looked thoughtful. “Maybe, Skip. That's if Redwall hasn't been taken by the vermin!”

Abbot Humble was halfway between sleep and wakefulness in the grey dawn when he realised that somebeast was pounding on the wine cellar door. Rising in his bed slowly, the old hedgehog called out hoarsely, “Who in the name of seasons is banging like that?”

The sounds had roused young Burlop. He hastened to the door, assuring the Abbot, “I'll see who it is, Father. Don't disturb yourself!”

Humble sat up in his little truckle bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked up and found himself confronted by Sister Armel. “What is it, Sister? Has somebeast been taken ill? Do you need my help at the Infirmary?”

Armel sat down on the side of the bed. “Nothing like that, Father, but I must speak with you.”

Blinking dozily, Humble held up a paw to silence her. “Wait, don't tell me! You've had a dream . . . Martin the Warrior spoke to you. Am I right?”

Astonishment was evident on the Sister's pretty face. “But . . . But . . . How did you know?”

The old hedgehog smiled indulgently at his young
friend. “Because I've had one, too. It all came back to me the moment I looked up and saw you standing here.”

Armel's big brown eyes went wide. “Martin sent me a message in verse. Listen to this. . . .”

Before she could speak further, Humble was repeating the words, line by line.

 

“Behold two swords and a banner,

watch out for the Walking Stone.

The brother is gone, 'tis the warrior

who must face the Savage alone.”

 

Sister Armel grasped the Abbot's paw. “Those were Martin's very words, Father. What does he mean?”

Humble shook his head. “If I knew that, Armel, I would be wiser than any beast who ever ruled Redwall as Abbot.”

Brother Burlop arrived with two pottery beakers of freshly brewed mint and comfrey tea. “Just a liddle somethin' I made on the forge fire for ye. Be careful, Sister, it's hot. You'n the Father sip that. 'Twill wake ye up while you talk. Don't mind me, I'll just go about my chores.”

They thanked Burlop. Armel watched him strapping on his heavy coopering apron and trundling off with an empty cask. “He's such a kind and caring creature! Isn't he, Father?”

Humble blew steam from his beaker and sipped gratefully. “The best! Young Burlop's the son I never had. Now, what about our dream, Sister?”

They were interrupted by a thump against the door and muffled squeaks from the stairs outside. After another thump, the frowzy little head of Mimsie the mousebabe appeared around the door.

“Sitter H'Armil, that naughty Mudge bee's pullin' me tail!”

Mudge the molebabe could be heard behind her. “Ho no oi b'ain't! You'm a-tellin' tales abowt yurr tail, jus' to get oi in trubble!”

The door creaked open to reveal both Dibbuns, still in nightshirts, wrestling.

“Hoo! You'm pullen' moi nose! Lookit, marm, she'm turmentin' oi gurtly!”

Mimsie let out a piteous wail. “Waaaaah! Mudge jus' stampid on me paw!”

Armel smiled apologetically at the Abbot. “Sorry, Father. Our talk will have to wait until later.”

She hurried to the stairs and separated the tiny pair. “Be still, both of you! What are you doing out of bed? It's nowhere near breakfast time yet! The morning bell hasn't even sounded and you're running around down here in your nighties. I can't abide naughty Dibbuns, nor can the Father Abbot!”

Tearfully, Mimsie pointed an accusing paw at Mudge. “He woked me up an' hitted me wiv a pillow!”

The molebabe stuck out his small, fat stomach truculently. “No oi diddent! You'm a gurt mowsey fibber!”

“Yis y'did!”

“No oi diddent!”

“Did!”

“Diddent!”

Armel raised her voice. “Silence, both of you! Mudge, what did I tell you only yesterday about fighting with your friends?”

The molebabe growled out indignantly, “You'm only telled oi not to foight wi' Perkle, marm. Ee diddent say ought about foightin' Mimsie!”

Armel wagged a paw severely at him. “I meant all Dibbuns, not just Perkle.”

Mudge stared at the Sister pityingly, then threw up his paws. “Then you'm should've said h'all. 'Ow bee's oi apposed t'know?”

The Abbot appeared, fully dressed. A broad smile was growing over his face as he grabbed both Dibbuns by their paws. “Sister Armel, what do you say we take these two rogues up to breakfast? I'm sure Friar Glisum is up and
about now. But we'll have to ask him nicely, because I don't think he serves early breakfast to naughty Dibbuns. Come on.”

All four retreated upstairs, chattering animatedly.

“Does h'Abbots bee's naughty, too, Sitter H'Armil?”

“Certainly not, Mimsie. You have to be good if you want to be Abbot. Isn't that right, Father?”

“It certainly is, Sister Armel. I was a good little Dibbun.”

“Hurr, no you'm wurrn't, zurr. Wunderin' Walt sayed you'm wurr a likkle villyun.”

“Oh, did he indeed? I'll have to have a word with Wandering Walt!”

“Oi'm goin' t'be naughty when oi'm h'Abbot!”

“Hmph, when you grow up we'll probably make you Abbey villain!”

“Hurrhurr, h'Abbey villyun. Oi loikes that gurtly, marm!”

 

Morning brought with it soft, grey skies and a fine drizzle of warm rain, which many Redwallers predicted would last through midnoon. There was plenty to do inside the Abbey; everybeast busied themselves with a multitude of chores. Sister Armel sat in the Infirmary with the Abbot and Sister Screeve, trying to figure out the meaning of Martin's cryptic message. Outside, Brother Demple tended to his vegetable patch and orchard. A true son of the soil, Demple was never bothered by rain. The stolid mouse made a hood, which went over his head and shoulders, from an old sack. He worked on alone, weeding between the drills of his salad crop.

The Abbey Gardener was totally unaware of any activity on top of the east wall. Rakkety Tam MacBurl had scaled a high elm, close to the wall in the outside woodlands. He raced along a broad branch which quivered up and down as he bounced upon it. With a tremendous bound he flung himself out into space. No other beast but Tam could have accomplished such a daring feat. His paws latched on to a battlement; there he clung a moment before
leaping up and over, landing silently on the walkway. Drawing the small Sghian Dhu from his hat, the squirrel warrior cautiously descended the east wallsteps and quietly opened the wallgate. Leaving Skipper and the Long Patrol hares to follow him, Tam raced through the deserted, drizzle-cloaked grounds, heading for the hooded figure he had espied.

Hit from behind, Brother Demple went down like a sack of cabbages. The Borderer spun him over swiftly. Clamping a paw across Demple's mouth, he whispered urgently, “Brother, I don't have time for idle chitchat, understand?”

Demple nodded, and Tam continued. “Has the Abbey been attacked by vermin?” Eager for an answer, Tam released his paw from Demple's mouth.

The gardener licked his lips nervously. “Aye, they actually got inside the grounds.”

The border squirrel's jaw tightened. “Where are they now, inside?”

Brother Demple sat up. “No, they were all slain. We buried them out on the flatlands.”

Skipper and the hares gathered around him.

“I say, good show, wot!”

“Indeed, old lad, at least the chaps we left behind didn't spend all their time jolly well feastin' an' nappin' whilst we were dashin' round the blinkin' woodlands.”

Brother Demple wiped drizzle from his eyes. “We helped the hares. In fact, we Redwallers actually took out quite a few of the vermin. How did you lot get on?”

Skipper helped Demple up. “Oh, we did our bit, mate, but let's get in out of this rain. We can swap yarns over a good meal. Yore dealin' with 'ungry beasts here!”

Everybeast came rushing into Great Hall to meet the returning creatures. Friar Glisum threw up his paws in alarm, squeaking at his helpers.

“Stoke up the oven fires, load up the ovens! We need lots of fresh bread! Extra salad, cheeses, pasties, mushroom an' cauliflower soup, a crumble—no, six large
rhubarb'n'blackberry crumbles, with sweet arrowroot sauce! Er, er, scones, extra batches of hot scones, with plum'n'damson preserve! Hurry 'em along, Murly. These famine-faced hares need feeding!”

The mole hitched up her pinafore. “Gurt seasons, get ee frum under moi paws, you'm Dibbuns. We'm got lots o' vikklin' t'be dun!”

Abbot Humble embraced Tam fondly. “Welcome back to Redwall Abbey, my friend. Welcome!”

“Mister MacBurl, thank goodness you're safe and well!” Tam found himself gazing over the Abbot's shoulder into the Sister's gentle brown eyes.

He winked at her roguishly. “I would've torn down the Abbey walls t'be back here with you, Sister!”

She cast her eyes down, smiling. “Is that a compliment or a threat, Tam?”

Releasing himself from Humble's grip, Tam bowed gallantly. “Beauty is to be complimented, not threatened, Armel. See, I kept my promise—I brought back the sword.”

She stayed his paw as he grasped Martin's blade. “Please, keep it by you, Tam. I'll explain later, but the Abbot and I think you'll have need of it.”

The border warrior looked puzzled. “But why?”

Skipper was whirling his niece, Brookflow, round the floor. They both collided with Tam and Armel, almost knocking them over.

The ottermaid hooted with laughter. “Whoohoohoooo! Never mind that now. Give the pretty Sister a kiss. She's done nothin' but mope since you went away!”

Armel glared reprovingly at her friend. “Really, Brooky!”

The hares had begun ragging their comrades good-naturedly. The ones who had remained at Redwall were singing.

 

“I can't believe me eyes, what a horrible surprise,

yore as welcome as a famine at the door.

Look what the wind blew in, all bedraggled, wet'n'thin,

an' look at the mess yore makin' on the floor!

Come sit down by the fire, if eatin's your desire,

there's not a bit o' scoff nowhere about.

You missed breakfast, lunch'n'tea, an' I'll tell ye candidly,

you'll have to call again when we are out!”

 

Sergeant Wonwill's voice cut across the banter. “Nah then, you dreadful lot, fall in line an' get down to Cavern 'ole. Clean up an' get out o' those rags! Cartwill, Folderon, Flummerty . . . issue 'em with their proper regimental tunics. On the double now!”

Owing to the efficiency of Redwall's kitchens, lunch was prepared and laid out before midday. Lancejack Wilderry had brought Captain Fortindom up-to-date on the losses they had sustained, whilst the sergeant broke the news about Brigadier Crumshaw to the returning hares. But nobeast could give Tam any information about the whereabouts of his friend Doogy.

Normally Tam never worried too much about his Highland friend. He and Doogy had been separated many times in the past. However, he could not help feeling a growing anxiety about Doogy. This was confirmed as he sat down at table with Armel. She recited Martin's words to him.

 

“Behold two swords and a banner,

watch out for the Walking Stone.

The brother is gone, 'tis the warrior

who must face the Savage alone.”

 

The Borderer looked grim. “So, is that why you told me to hold on to Martin's sword?”

He turned to Skipper. “Do you think that Gulo is still alive, Skip? Maybe the waterfall didn't kill him.”

The otter chieftain looked up from a bowl of
shrimp'n'hotroot soup, which Friar Glisum had made specially for him. “Well, accordin' to ole Log a Log Togey, nobeast could ride over those falls on a log an' live. A Log a Log of the Guosim knows wot he's talkin' about when it comes to rivers'n'streams, mate. But who can tell? That Gulo ain't nobeast like we've ever seen!”

 

The homecoming meal was not the jolly event Abbot Humble had hoped it would be. There was an undercurrent of sadness over lost comrades; even the Long Patrol hares seemed to lack their usual gaiety, though Hitheryon Jem noted they had lost none of their ravenous appetites.

“Hmm, they ain't jokin' an' singin' much, but those buckoes can certainly tuck the rations away. Eh, Tam?”

The warrior chuckled. “Aye, I'm a wee bit peckish myself.”

Sister Armel passed him a hot leek and mushroom pastie. “No doubt you've been missing our cooking.”

Tam tackled the pastie appreciatively. “I wonder some of you Redwallers aren't as fat as barrels, eating food as delicious as this. By the way, Armel, I don't see our goshawk Tergen around. Is he still with you?”

Armel topped up a tankard with October Ale for Tam. “Don't mention that bird to me. He's become very sulky and bad-tempered because his wing hasn't healed yet. I think he also misses the Brigadier a lot, they were such close friends. I worry about Tergen, he's taken to living in the attics above the dormitories, and he won't talk to anybeast. We never see him at meals—I think he eats very little. He never comes to the infirmary. I think Tergen is feeling forlorn.”