The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

Taken by surprise at the Waterhog’s courtly manner, Mother Buscol smiled and dipped a deep curtsy. ‘Indeed to goodness, sir, I’ll just warm up the pasties and heat some soup. Would you be takin’ gooseberry cordial with it?’

  Gurgan bowed, sticking one of his immense boots forward as he made what he considered to be an elegant leg.

  ‘’Twould be more’n sufficient, m’lady, ’specially if it were served by yore own fair paws!’

  Chuckling, the old squirrelmother set about her task.

  Log a Log nudged Gurgan. ‘You fat ole flatterer, all she was about t’give us was a swipe with ’er ladle. ‘Ow d’you do it, matey?’

  Gurgan led them out to the tables, winking slyly. ‘A smidgeon o’ sugar’s worth ten barrels o’ rocks, friend. Lackaday, who did that to yore nose, Shad?’

  The burly otter Gatekeeper was seated at the table, feeding candied chestnuts to the little badger Russano. He touched the dock leaf wrapped tenderly round his snout. ‘Never lean too close to owlchicks, matey, they got beaks on ’em like liddle scissors. I just found that out when I was playin’ with ’em. Savage beasts they are, they’ll eat anythin’ at all!’

  Skipper laughed and tickled the badgerbabe’s footpaws. ‘An’ ’ow’s my liddle mate ’ere behavin’ ’imself, eh?’

  Shad patted Russano proudly. ‘I just taught ’im a new word. Watch!’

  He held a candied chestnut up, just out of Russano’s reach. The tiny fellow reached out his paws, uttering the word gruffly. ‘Nut! Nut!’

  The otters and shrews thought Russano’s new word was a source of great hilarity. They gathered round him, chanting, ‘Nut! Nut! Nut! Nut!’

  The two Little Owls, Orocca and her husband Taunoc, came flying out of the kitchens. They landed on the tabletop, contracting and dilating their massive golden eyes and flexing their talons.

  ‘Which beast is making all the noise out here?’

  ‘Waking our eggchicks with that silly nut nut call?’

  Straightfaced and serious, all the otters and shrews pointed at the badgerbabe Russano, who lay innocent and smiling. ‘’Twasn’t us, it was him!’

  * * *

  38

  SKAUP THE FERRET and a dozen or more Rapscallions were out foraging, roaming further than they usually did. Skaup was pleased: they had slain several birds and in addition had two clutches of waterfowl eggs and a fat old perch they had found floating dead in a stream. They were seated in a patch of shrub which had a blackberry sprig growing through it. Although the berries were only partially ripe, the vermin crew readily picked and ate them, the reddy-purple juice staining their paws and mouths.

  Suddenly a stoat pointed to the left. ‘Over there, three beasts. Look!’

  Rockjaw Grang dropped swiftly out of sight at the sound of the stoat’s shout. He scurried off backwards, bent double. ‘I ain’t sure they got a proper glimpse o’ me. You’ll have to bluff ’em, Midge. Good luck, you two!’

  Swords drawn, the Rapscallions advanced on the pair. Midge muttered urgently to Tammo, ‘Remember, you’re dumb. Leave this t’me!’

  A moment later the tip of Skaup’s blade was touching Midge’s throat. ‘Who are yer an’ where’d you come from?’

  Midge stood his ground fearlessly, curling his lip at the ferret. ‘I could ask you th’ same question, bucko!’

  ‘You ain’t in no position to ask questions, rag’ead,’ Skaup sneered back at him. ‘There was three o’ yer. Where’d the other one go to?’

  Ignoring the swordtip, Midge shook his head pityingly. ‘If you seen three of us then you’ve either bin swiggin’ grog or yer eyes are playin’ tricks on yer. I’m Miggo an’ this is me matey Burfal. There ain’t nobeast with us.’

  The stoat who first sighted Rockjaw scratched his head. ‘I’d swear I saw another, a big ’un ’e was, I’m sure of it!’

  Midge pushed Skaup’s blade aside and grabbed the stoat, pulling him close. ‘Ho, so yore the one seen three of us? Well wotta useless lump you are! I wager yer don’t even know there’s a chestnut in yore ear, do yer?’

  Reaching out quickly, Midge gave the stoat’s ear a sharp tug. The vermin yelped in pain, but his companions stood goggle-eyed, staring at the candied chestnut which the stranger had apparently pulled from the stoat’s ear.

  Tammo caught on right away to Midge’s trick. Sliding a candied chestnut from the pouch under his blanket he hobbled past Skaup, who had lowered his sword. Midge noted what Tammo had done, and gave the ferret a snaggle-toothed grin. ‘Look at yer swordpoint, mate!’

  Skaup lifted the sword level with his eyes, and found himself gazing at a candied chestnut impaled upon it. ‘But . . . ’ow did that get there?’

  Midge cackled as he performed a shuffling little jig. ‘Heeheehee! An’ how did two of us turn up ’ere when we’re supposed ter be three? I dunno, do you, mate?’

  Midge looked so comical that some of the vermin started laughing. Tammo joined in with his friend’s dance, the pair of them whirling and stamping, rags and tatters jouncing and twirling. Soon all the vermin were laughing at their antics, even Skaup.

  From his hiding place behind a stately elm, Rockjaw smiled. Midge and Tammo were safe for the moment. Keeping a safe distance, the big hare shadowed the party as they made their way back to the Rapscallion camp.

  Skaup trudged alongside Midge, eyeing him curiously. ‘Yore a clever ole beast, Miggo. Let’s see yer pull a chestnut out o’ my ear, go on!’

  Midge’s unpatched eye twinkled slyly. ‘No need to, bucko. Look, there’s one stuck to yer cloak!’

  Skaup shook his head in wonderment as he pulled the sticky nut from the cloak across his shoulders and munched happily on it. ‘Yore pal there, Burfal, why don’t ’e never say anythin’?’

  Midge passed a paw across his throat, grinning wickedly. ‘We ’ad an argument when we was both young ’uns. Burfal called me some bad names, so I cut ’is throat. Haharr, ’e lived through it, but ’e ain’t never spoke a single word since that day. Heeheehee! Ole Burfal won’t call anybeast bad names no more!’

  It was getting towards evening when they reached the Rapscallion camp on the hillside above the stream. A shudder passed through Tammo as he followed Skaup’s party. There were countless vermin crouched around fires; cooking, resting, squabbling and arguing with their neighbours. Drums throbbed ceaselessly and hideously painted faces glared curiously at the two disguised hares. Everybeast was armed with an ugly array of weaponry, from cutlasses and spears down to what looked like sharpened hooks set on long poles.

  Smoke from the fires swirled around them as they reached the streambank. Skaup halted his party in front of a tent with four rats guarding the entrance, and laid the supplies they had foraged for on the ground.

  Tammo and Midge were pushed forward. Suddenly the tent flap was thrown back and they found themselves face to face with Damug Warfang, Firstblade of all Rapscallions. Though the fur on his back stood rigid with fright, Tammo could not help being impressed by Damug’s barbarically splendid appearance. The Greatrat was wearing the helmet with a skull on its spike, and his slitted feral eyes glared at them out of a scarlet and blue painted face. He wore a close-meshed tunic of silver mail, belted about with a broad snakeskin band. Sandals and gauntlets of green lizard skin covered his paws.

  Damug Warfang leaned forward, his powerful frame like a coiled steel spring as he pointed at the hares with his symbol of office, the sword with two edges, one straight, the other like the waves of the sea.

  ‘What do you want here? You are not Rapscallions!’

  Midge nodded his head knowingly as he spoke out boldly, ‘I was a Rapscallion long afore you was born. I served under yore father, Gormad Tunn. Wait now, don’t tell me, you’ll be Damug the youngest son, or was it the eldest, I forget. Didn’t you ’ave a brother? Haharr, I remember now, ’twas Byral. Where’s ’e got to these days?’

  Damug’s eyes glinted dangerously. ‘You ask a lot of questions for a ragged old creature. Silence is the best policy for one such a
s you when I am holding a sword!’

  Midge sat down on the ground. Pulling an assortment of coloured pebbles and some carved twigs from beneath his sacking gown, he tossed them in the air. Totally ignoring the Warlord he studied the jumble of wood and stone on the grass in front of him. Then in a sing-song voice he said: ‘I got no need to ask questions, my signs tell me all. The moon an’ stars, the wind in the trees an’ water that runs through the land, all these things whisper their secrets to me.’

  Midge could tell by the look in Damug’s eyes that he had captured the Warlord’s interest. The Greatrat sheathed his sword. ‘You are a Seer, one who can look into the future?’

  ‘Somebeasts have called me Seer, maybe they’re right, who can tell?’

  ‘Who is that beast with you, is he a Seer also?’

  ‘Not Burfal. He is called the Silent One an’ must be allowed to roam free an’ unhindered. Burfal, go!’

  Tammo sensed that Midge was giving him an excuse to find Rockjaw and report to him. Smiling foolishly he wandered off.

  Damug turned to Skaup. ‘Let nobeast harm Burfal; he may go where he pleases. Seer, what do they call you?’

  ‘My name is Miggo. ’Twas given to me on the night of the dark moon by a black fox.’

  Damug stared at Midge for a long time, then beckoned to him. ‘Come into my tent, Miggo. You there, bring food and drink for this creature. The rest of you, get about your business.’

  Tammo’s footpaws shook as he made his way through the camp. He could feel Skaup watching him, so instead of travelling in a straight line he wandered willy nilly. The aim of his walk was to take him over the hilltop, away from the camp, where he would seek out Rockjaw Grang.

  Night had fallen now, and all over the hillside the vermin campfires burnt small islands of light into the darkness. Tammo was threading his way round one fire when he stumbled awkwardly. A hardwood stick had been thrust between his footpaws by one of the vermin seated at the edge of the fire. It was the ferret Rinkul. As Tammo tried to pull himself upright, Rinkul kicked him flat.

  ‘Wot are you doin’ skulkin’ round our camp, yer dirty ole bundle of smells? Well, speak up!’

  Tammo shook his head wildly, pointing dumbly to his mouth.

  One of Rinkul’s friends, a wily-looking vixen, snatched the dirk from Tammo’s rope belt and held it to the firelight. ‘An ole slobberpaws like you shouldn’t be carryin’ a blade like this’n round. Bit o’ cleanin’ up an’ this’ll make a fine weapon fer me.’

  Suddenly Skaup was on the pair of them, whacking both Rinkul and the vixen heftily with his spear haft. ‘Don’t y’dare put a paw near Burfal again, either o’ ye!’

  Tammo retrieved his dirk from where the vixen had dropped it, then he staggered off into the night as Skaup continued beating Rinkiil and the vixen.

  ‘Owch! Yaagh! We was only ’avin’ a bit o’ fun. Yowch! Aargh!’

  ‘Fun was it? I’ll give ye fun! Firstblade’s orders is that nobeast is to bother ole Burfal. Either o’ ye lay paw on ’im agin an’ Warfang’ll slay yer good’n’slow. See!’

  Skaup thwacked away with the spear haft until he decided they had been punished thoroughly.

  Tammo was relieved to be away from the Rapscallion camp. It was calm and peaceful on the other side of the hill; only the distant throb of drums on the night air reminded him of the vermin encampment. Suddenly, a big dark figure detached itself from a clump of boulders and waved to him.

  ‘Sithee, Tamm, over here, mate!’

  Good old Rockjaw Grang. They crouched together in the outcrop, and Rockjaw dug oat scones, cheese and cider from his sizeable pack. He shared the food with Tammo as the young hare made his report.

  ‘Midge has got his jolly old paws well under the table there. Damug thinks he’s some kind o’ Seer. Any news of the battleground yet, Rock?’

  The giant hare demolished a scone in one bite. ‘Nay, ’tis too early yet. May’aps the Major’ll get word to me on the morrow.’

  Tammo squinted uncomfortably from beneath his odious rags. ‘Sooner the better, wot. I don’t want t’stay in that foul place a moment longer’n I have to, chum.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s wot y’get for runnin’ with Long Patrol, young Tamm. You’d best finish up vittlin’ an’ get back afore yore missed. I’ll be here tomorrow night, same place.’

  * * *

  39

  MIDGE KNEW HE was playing a risky game. Damug was no fool. He sat staring at the disguised hare across a small fire, which was laid in a pit at the centre of his tent.

  ‘Speak to me, Miggo, tell me something.’

  Midge stared into the flames awhile, then he spoke. ‘I see a mountain and a badger Warrior with eyes like blood. I see Gormad Tunn and a fleet defeated there.’

  Damug Warfang rose and, reaching across the fire, seized Midge around the neck. Lifting him high, Damug shook him like a rag. ‘Anybeast could have told you that, you snivelling wreck. Tell me of my future and tell me quickly, before your future ebbs away as I strangle you!’

  Fighting for breath and with coloured lights dancing before his eyes, Midge Manycoats dangled above Damug’s head. Grabbing what he needed from beneath his ragged garb, he planted the object, at the same time kicking out with a footpaw and catching the Warlord in one eye.

  Midge managed to shout hoarsely, ‘I see! I see your future!’

  Damug dropped him, squinting hard, and pawed at his eye to make sure no damage had been done. Midge sat up, massaging his throat. Damug was sitting in his former position, the eye watering and smarting slightly. He stared unruffled at Midge, unwilling to let him see that he had been hurt.

  ‘Well then, what do you see? Tell me.’

  Midge went back to his former seat at the other side of the fire. Again he took out his pebbles and twigs, tossing them in the air and watching how they fell. He spoke like one in a trance.

  ‘Here are ten twigs, each of them represents one hundred Rapscallions; this means you command a thousand. These stones are red, the colour of blood, the colour of a red sandstone Abbey. Only one stone can rule that place, that is your stone, the brown one. Brown, the colour of the earth and the symbol of the Firstblade who will conquer all the earth.’

  Midge closed his eyes and lapsed into silence. After a while, Damug became impatient, wanting to know more.

  ‘Where is this brown stone? I see only twigs and red stones on the floor. Tell me quickly, Seer, where is the brown stone?’

  Reaching into his rags, Midge cast a pawful of powder into the fire. The flames gave forth smoke as they burned blue.

  ‘Aaaahh! ‘Tis up to ye to find it, Firstblade. The stone cannot be found in yore heart. Allbeasts know that a Warlord’s heart is made o’ stone, so how can a stone be found within a stone? But ’tis also known that you are wise – mayhaps the stone is in yore brain. Can you look inside yore skull, Damug Warfang?’

  Mystified, the Greatrat took off his helmet and placed it on the ground. He touched his own head, back, front and beside both ears, all the time glaring through the firesmoke at Midge.

  ‘Find a brown stone inside my own skull? Do you take me for an idiot? Let me warn you, Miggo, if you think you’re going to pull something from my ear, I’ve seen that done before – try it and you’re a deadbeast!’

  Midge folded his paws, staring back at Damug. ‘I’ll sit over here, Sire. If I tried anythin’ you’d say it was a trick. My voices tell me the brown stone is inside yore skull; more’n that I cannot say.’

  Damug touched his head again, this time more carefully – running both paws along his jawline, around his eyes and the base of his skull. Suddenly he jumped up angrily, shaking his head. ‘This is stupid! You talk in riddles. How could there be a brown stone inside my skull? Rubbish!’

  He kicked the war helmet to one side. From the mouth of the rabbit skull impaled on its spike, a brown stone rolled forth.

  Trying not to show his immense relief, Midge pointed. ‘See, the skull belongs t’you. Did I not say the
brown stone could be found inside yore skull?’

  Midge Manycoats had guessed correctly. Damug Warfang was like any other conqueror, superstitious and ready to believe in omens and signs.

  Damug picked up the simple brown pebble and gazed in wonder at it. ‘You spoke truly, Miggo. You have the gift of a Seer. What is my future? Tell me – I must know!’

  Midge knew now that he had his fish well hooked. Closing his eyes he sat back, remote and aloof. ‘I need food and drink now, rest too. Have quarters prepared for me and my friend, Burfal the Silent One. Tomorrow we will talk.’

  Rinkul the ferret was smarting from the beating he had received, but that did not stop him. He limped about the Rapscallion camp, looking for the one called Burfal. There was something about the dumb creature that disturbed him. Using the hardwood stick to aid his walking, he crisscrossed the hillside, checking the creatures around their campfires. Maybe it was something in Burfal’s eyes, in the way he had looked at him?

  ‘If yer after vittles, we ain’t got none ’ere, mate!’

  Rinkul ignored Sneezewort and questioned Lousewort. ‘May’aps you’ve seen a raggy ole beast about, one o’ the two who came inter camp earlier on? Did ’e pass this way?’

  Lousewort sucked on a fishbone and thought for a moment. ‘Er er, y’mean the Silent One. Stay away from ’im, matey, Firstblade’s orders. Did you ’ear, Cap’n Skaup knocked the livin’ daylights out o’ a few smartychops that tried interferin’ wid that dumb beast. Stupid fools, serves ’em right I say!’

  Rinkul’s hardwood stick rapped Lousewort’s nose viciously. ‘When I wants yore opinion I’ll ask for it, mud-bottom. Now, which way did the dumb beast go?’

  Sneezewort pointed towards the stream. ‘Went by us a moment back, ’eaded thataways.’

  Supported by his stick, Rinkul hobbled off to the stream. Lousewort hugged his nose tenderly as he watched the ferret go. ‘There wath no need for him to do that, wath there!’

  Tammo had seen the caged squirrel on the streambank. Pulling faces, and pushing the two stoats guarding the cage, he made it clear that he did not want them around. The guards retreated a distance to the nearest fire, where they sat warming themselves. Word had got around regarding the Silent One, and they were careful not to offend him.