Perigord’s mouth was watering furiously, but he wiped his lips on a kerchief and drooped an elegant ear in Tansy’s direction. ‘Quite, er, thank ye, marm!
Thanks to seasons an jolly good luck,
We’ve all got a sword an’ a head,
An’ the way we’ll tuck into these vittles,
Will show that we’re living not dead.’
‘Haharrharr!’ Shad the Gatekeeper chortled. ‘Short’n’sweet, that’s ’ow I likes it, mate. Dig in!’
Everybeast did so with a will. Redwallers had no strict rules about dining: sweet was as good as salad to start, stew as acceptable as cake, and all shared the feast with one another.
‘Here, mate, try some o’ this plum slice with blackcurrant sauce!’
‘Whoi thankee, zurr mate, may’ap you’m aven summ o’ moi deeper’n ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie. Hurr – that be th’stuff!’
‘Mmmm! Well, what d’you think of our Mossflower Wedge, eh, Pasque?’
‘Excellent. I never knew I was such a jolly good cook, wot!’
‘I say, this Abbey Trifle is absoballylutely top hole!’
‘Just give me good ol’ fresh crusty bread an’ ripe yellow cheese, oh, with some o’ these tangy pickles, an’ a plate o’ salad, an’ maybe some stuffed mushrooms. Put that fruitcake on the side, I’ll deal with it later. More October Ale please!’
‘Damson an’ gooseberry pudden with meadowcream, that’s f’me!’
‘Ahoy, Dibbun, drink any more o’ that strawberry fizz an’ you’ll go bang!’
‘Awright den, me go bang. Ooh, likkle berryfruit tarts, me like ’em!’
Taunoc dropped in, and peered at the owlchicks in their barrel, saying, ‘Goodness, what handsome chicks. I think they resemble me strongly.’
‘Wot a pity,’ a raucous voice called out. ‘Shame they don’t look more like yore missus, hahaha!’
The Little Owl sniffed pityingly. ‘There speaks a beast with all his taste in his mouth.’
‘Have you decided on names for the little ones yet, marm?’ the Abbess called across to Orocca.
Orocca took her beak out of a hazelnut turnover long enough to reply. ‘Owls never name their eggchicks. They’ll tell us their own names once they are ready to speak.’
Tansy gave her a charming nod and a smile, then, pulling a wry face, she turned to Craklyn. ‘Oops, excuse me for asking, but what about our badgerbabe? We’re going to need a name for him, soon. Anybeast come up with a good idea yet?’
Craklyn paused from her rhubarb and maple crumble. ‘D’you see the giant hare over there, the one they call Rockjaw? Well, I think he’s thought up a name for the little fellow.’
At their request, Rockjaw emerged from behind a pair of platters piled high with salad, bread, cheese, cake and pasties and wiped his mouth daintily on the tablecloth hem. ‘By ’ecky thump, marms, there’s only one thing better’n food – more food! Sithee, I’ve dubbed yon likkle tyke well. ’E’s to be named Russano.’
Captain Twayblade nodded her agreement. ‘Aye, ’tis a good strong name. Russa Nodrey saved his life, so her name’ll live on in the badger. ’Twas clever of ol’ Rock really, he took Russa’s first name an’ the first two letters of her second. Russano, I like it. Here’s to Russano!’
Everybeast raised their drinks to toast the babe’s new name.
‘Russano! Good health, long seasons!’
‘May he always remember his pretty ol’ nurse Rockjaw Grang!’ Lieutenant Morio added, then ducked quickly beneath the table as Rockjaw picked up a pie.
‘Ah’ve never struck a h’officer wi’ an apple an’ redcurrant pie afore, but there’s allus a first time, ’tenant Morio!’
Amid the general laughter Craklyn got up and sang an old Abbey birthing song.
‘O here’s to the little ones,
Sunshine on all,
As we grow old’n’small,
May they grow tall,
Not knowing hunger or winter’s cold bite,
Fearing no living thing, by day or night,
Strong in the heart, and sturdy of limb,
Making us proud to know, of her or him.
Here’s to the life we love, honest and new,
Grant all these hopes and dreams come true,
With each fresh dawn, may joy never cease,
Long seasons of happiness and peace!’
Perigord thumped the tabletop with his tankard. ‘Splendid, well sung, marm! Long Patrol, let us honour little Russano in Salamandastron style. Draw steel!’
Tammo was not sure what to do, though he felt privileged to be part of the hares’ brief ceremony. Pulling forth his blade, he held it flat over the vegetable basket like the rest. Gazing solemnly up through a crisscross of deadly steel, the badgerbabe watched Major Perigord as he intoned:
‘We are the Long Patrol, these are our perilous blades,
Pledged to your protection across all the seasons,
Our lives are yours, your life is ours.
Eulaliaaaaaaaaa!’
‘Blister me barnacles, mate,’ Skipper of otters whispered to Arven. ‘I felt the fur rise all along me back when those warriors shouted their battle cry!’
The Champion of Redwall smiled. ‘Aye, me too, but did y’see the little Russano? He never batted an eyelid. He’ll grow to be a cool ’un, I wager.’
‘I’ve heard that hares can’t sing,’ Ginko the Bellringer called out. ‘Is that right?’
Pasque Valerian threw a paw across Rubbadub’s shoulders. ‘An’ where pray did y’hear that, sir? Everybeast up on y’paws an’ form two rings, one inside the other. One ring goes left, the other circles right. Midge, Riffle, you show ’em. Rubbadub, you beat time an’ I’ll do the singin’. “Hares on the Mountain”.’
Whooping and leaping, the hares gripped their Redwall partners’ paws.
‘“Hares on the Mountain”, beat it out good’n’fast!’
Rubbadub grinned massively, striking up his drum noises. ‘Rubbity dubbity dumbaradum, rubbity dubbity dumbaradum . . .’
Both circles began moving counter to each other with the beat, at every third step banging both paws down hard and doing a double clap. Soon the Redwallers had the hang of it. When the circles were moving to Pasque’s satisfaction she sang out loud and speedy:
‘“O mother dear mother O mother come quick,
Calamity lackaday bring a stout stick,
There’s hares on the mountain they’re all rough’n’big,
A cuttin’ up capers an’ dancin’ a jig!
They wear rusty medals an’ raggy old clothes,
There’s one with an apple stuck fast to his nose,
Another’s got seashells all tied to his back,
There’s hares on the mountain alas an’ alack!”
“O daughter my daughter now listen to me,
Such rowdy wild pawsteps I never did see,
Run into the house quick an’ cover your eyes,
An’ I’ll give those ruffians such a surprise!”
A hare in a frock coat so fine an’ so long,
Scraped on a small fiddle an’ banged a big gong,
He seized the poor mother an’ gave a loud cry,
“Let’s warm up our paws with a reel you an’ I!”
“O mother sweet mother oh may I look now?”
“Come stir y’stumps daughter an’ look anyhow,”
As she whirled around the good mother did call,
“There’s a handsome one here with no partner at all!
So batter that drum well an’ kick up your paws,
I’m reelin with mine an yore jiggin’ with yours,
A leapin’ an’ twirlin’ as cares fly away,
Those hares on the mountain can call any day!”’
All through the grounds of the Abbey the warm sunny afternoon resounded with the joyous sounds of feasting and laughter. Sloey the mousebabe filled her apron pockets with candied nuts and dashed off with the other Dibbuns to play hide and see
k.
Gubbio and the rest drew straws to see who would be denkeeper. A tiny hedgehog named Twingle drew the short straw. Covering his eyes with a dock leaf, he began counting aloud in baby fashion.
‘One, three, two an’ a bit, four, sixty, eight, three again, an’ a five-seventy-nine . . .’
Squealing and giggling with excitement the little creatures dashed off to hide before Twingle finished counting.
‘Four, two an’ a twelve, don’t knows any more numbers, I’m a cummin’ t’find youse all now!’
Back at table the moles were broaching a great new cask of October Ale, singing uproariously along with the Redwallers, showing the Long Patrol hares what good voice they were in.
‘October Ale, ’tis brewed when summer’s done,
From hops’n’yeast an’ barley fine,
With just a pinch of dandelion,
A smidgeon of good honey, a taste of elderflower,
An’ don’t forget the old wild oat
Culled at the dawn’s first hour.
We puts it up in casks of oak,
All seasoned well with maple smoke,
Then lays it in cool cellars deep,
Ten seasons long to sleep.
October Ale, no drink so good’n’cheery,
In winter by the fireside bright,
To warm your paws the whole long night,
Or after autumn harvesting, to rest an’ take your ease.
Just sip a tankard nice’n’slow,
With crusty bread an’ cheese,
‘Tis wholesome full an’ hearty,
For any feast or party.
We’d tramp o’er forest hill an’ dale,
For good October Ale!’
Gurrbowl wielded her mallet, knocking the spigot through the bung with a satisfying thud. Skipper and his otters lined up with tankards and beakers as the foaming dark brew splashed forth. Sergeant Torgoch brushed his bristling moustache with the back of a paw, smacking his lips and clunking beakers with Galloper Riffle as they sampled the new barrel’s contents.
Torgoch placed a coaxing paw around the Cellarmole’s shoulders, saying, ‘Wot d’ye say, marm, ’ow about comin’ to be Head Cellar Keeper at Salamandastron? Just think of all those poor hares who ain’t never tasted yore October Ale. Take pity on ’em, I beg yer!’
The molewife was so flustered by the compliment she threw her pinafore up over her face. ‘Hurr, go ’way, zurr, you’m a turrible charmer, but oi wuddent leave this yurr h’Abbey for nought, so thurr!’
With a twinkle in her eye, Abbess Tansy chided Torgoch. ‘Shame on you, Sergeant, trying to rob us of our Cellar Keeper! But seeing as you like Redwall’s October Ale so much, here’s what I propose. You may take as many barrels back to Salamandastron as you can carry.’
Rockjaw Grang placed his paws around a barrel. Grunting and straining, he was barely able to move it. The Sergeant pulled a mock mournful face. ‘Thankee, marm, yore too kind, I’m sure!’
Suddenly, Twingle the hedgehog Dibbun came stumbling up to the table, waving his paws wildly and shouting, ‘Come a quick, ’urry ’urry!’
Arven picked him up and sat him on the tabletop. ‘Now then, you liddle rogue, what’s all this noise about?’
Twingle struggled down from the table, yelling urgently, ‘We was playin’ ’ide-seek an’ Sloey failed down d’big ’ole!’
Shad the Gatekeeper lifted the Dibbun with one big paw. ‘What, y’mean the pit under the south wall, Sloey fell down there?’
Breathless and tearful the Dibbun nodded. ‘All a way down inta the dark she gone!’
Like a flash the otters and hares were away, running headlong with Arven leading them.
Sloey’s fall was broken by the rushing waters far below. The swift current was about to whip her off into the bowels of the earth when suddenly she was plucked from the roaring torrent by her apron strings and flung up on the bank. Half conscious, the mousebabe struggled upright and screamed with fright as a coil, heavy and scale-covered, knocked her back down. Something licked her paw, and she caught the dreadful waft of stale breath, hot against her quivering nostrils. A long, satisfied sigh sounded close to her face.
‘Aaaaaahhhhhhh!’
* * *
32
TAMMO WAS WITH Arven, Perigord and Skipper as they hurried on to the platform over the chasm. Shad could be heard calling behind them, ‘Stay back, too many’ll collapse the platform! Stay back, mates!’
Grabbing a rope, Major Perigord knotted it through the carrying ring of the lantern left there by the moles. He swung the light out into the gorge, paying the rope out. Everyone leaned over the edge, peering down as the lantern illuminated the abyss.
Arven bellowed down, ‘Sloey, can you hear me? Sloey?’
A wail of terror drifted upward as the lantern travelled lower.
Perigord grabbed Skipper’s paw. ‘Great thunderin’ seasons. Look!’
A big yellow river eel was menacing the mousebabe on the bank, its brown back and muddy umber sides rearing up snakily, the gashlike downturned mouth open revealing glittering teeth. It swayed slowly, as if savouring the anticipation of a meal, while its eyes, amber circles with jet-black centre orbs, focused on the helpless mite.
Skipper wiped a nervous paw across his dry lips, calling hoarsely, ‘Keep quiet, liddle ’un! Stay still, don’t move!’
Arven stared anxiously down at the horrendous scene. ‘Oh mercy! What’ll we do?’
Skipper of otters acted swiftly. Grabbing the dirk from Tammo, he climbed up on to the rail of the platform. ‘I’ll borrow yore blade, matey, speed’s the thing now. One of you follow me down by usin’ the rope. Rescue the Dibbun an’ get ’er back up ’ere. Can’t stop t’chat, mates, ’ere goes!’
With the long knife between his teeth, Skipper dived head first into the gorge.
Something flashed by Sloey and landed in the water with a booming splash. Instantaneously the big male otter surfaced and bounded clear of the rushing stream. The eel was about to strike down on its prey when Skipper hurled himself on the coiling monster.
‘Redwaaaaaaallllll!’
The eel struck, burying its teeth in the otter’s shoulder and whipping its coils around his body. Skipper had sunk his teeth into the eel’s back and was stabbing furiously with the dirk. Eel and otter went lashing and thrashing into the churning waters, locked together in a life and death struggle. In a flash they were both gone, swept away underground.
Arven and Perigord took hold of the rope together, but Tammo ducked between them and slid over the platform, clinging to the rope.
‘I’m lighter than you chaps. Stand by t’pull me up when I get the Dibbun!’
Paw over paw the young hare descended, looking down to where the babe lay and shivered in the light of the bobbing lantern. Tammo dropped lightly beside Sloey and, taking off his tunic, he wrapped her in it, talking in a soft, friendly tone.
‘There now, that nasty thing’s gone, thank goodness. I know, we’ll make you a nice seat so they can pull you up, wot!’
Sloey turned her tearful face to her rescuer. ‘I failed downa hole an’ nearly got eated up!’
Tammo detached the lantern, knotted a fixed loop into the rope’s end and sat the mousebabe in it. ‘Yes I know, but you’re safe now, Sloey. You go on up an’ have some more food at the feast, that’ll make y’feel lots better.’
He signalled and the Dibbun was lifted up in the makeshift sling, clinging tight to the rope and calling back down, ‘Tharra naughty fishy snake, me ’ope Skipper smack its bottom good’n’ard!’
Lying flat on the rocks, Tammo allowed the waters to drench him as he held up the lantern and squinted away to where the boiling torrent raced off downhill into the darkness. Nowhere could he see sight or sound of Skipper or the yellow eel.
A pall had been cast over the golden afternoon. The feast lay abandoned as Perigord explained what had happened. In stunned silence the Redwallers heard the news.
Abbess Tansy stood by her chai
r, wide-eyed with disbelief. ‘Oh, poor Skipper, is there nothing we can do?’
Tammo wiped his wet paws on the grass. ‘I stayed down there an’ took a good look, marm. The water goes straight down underground – ’fraid Skipper’s gone. What a brave beast he was, though. Never considered his own safety at all!’
Arven leaned against a table, his eyes downcast. ‘I saw his face before he jumped. I could tell that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to stop little Sloey being hurt. Skipper of otters was a true Redwaller!’
Major Perigord gripped his sabre handle tightly.
Some distance southeast of Redwall Abbey the streams, brooks and back channels became less rapid, flowing placidly through Mossflower Wood. It was here that they converged on the margins of a sprawling water meadow. Log a Log the Guosim Chieftain gave orders to ship oars and let the little fleet of logboats drift. He sat in the prow of the lead vessel, conversing with his friend Frackle, their voices a low murmur, as if to preserve the sunlit peacefulness which hung over the flooded meadows like an emerald cape.
A half-grown dragonfly landed on the boat, close to Log a Log’s paw. It rested, unconcerned by the shrews, its iridescent wings fanning gently.
‘Hmmm, nothin’ like a bit o’ peace,’ the shrew leader sighed. ‘I never yet rowed through this place, always let the boat drift. See, Frackle, ’tis summer, the water lilies are startin’ to open, an’ look over there ’twixt the fen sedge an’ bulrushes – yellow poppies sproutin’ with the cudweeds. I tell you, matey, this is the place to take a picnic on a quiet noontide!’
Frackle let her paw trail in the dark water, swirling a path amid the minute green plants which carpeted the surface.
Then a white-fletched arrow hummed, almost lazily, through the still air, burying itself in the prow of the logboat, and a gruff roar rang out from somewhere behind the banks of fern and spikerush: ‘Thee’d ha’ been dead now hadst thou been a foebeast!’
Log a Log stood up in the bows of his logboat, reassuring the other Guosim with a quick wave of his paw. Then, sitting back down, he pretended to stifle a yawn as he replied idly, ‘Yore brains are all in yore boots, Gurgan Spearback. If I’d been a foebeast I’d have spotted the smoke up yonder creek, from the chimneys o’ those clumsy floatin’ islands you call rafts!’
The Long Patrol Page 17
