But the poor little fellow with his webs so yellow
All he could say was Quack!
Oh geese go honk and sparrows tweet,
I suppose jackdaws shout Jack,
But the cleverest bird you’ve ever heard,
Was the duck who just went Quack!
One day there came a cunning fox,
Who said “I’m Doctor Black,”
And all the ducks believed he was,
’Til Dingle called him Quack!
Oh Quack Quack Quack! Quack Quack Quack!
Brave Dingle Quacked and raved,
So the ducks jumped Quackly in the pond,
And from that fox were saved.
If ever you meet dear Dingle,
Good manners he won’t lack,
Just shake his wing, you’ll hear him sing,
Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack!’
Midst rousing cheers, Boorab took his bow and, as usual, tripped over the haredee gurdee, rolling under the table with it. Filorn peered down. It was difficult to tell what was hare and what was haredee gurdee, the two were so enmeshed.
‘Oh, you poor creature. Are you all right, Mr Boorab sir?’
His head emerged from between a set of accordion bellows. ‘Er, hawhaw, quite well, thankee, marm, just makin’ a minor adjustment, wot. Me quackin’ mechanism overheated, doncha know!’
The friends made their escape to the comparative peace of Cregga’s room, where they confronted the remainder of the puzzle. Brother Hoben read it aloud.
‘The strangest thing you’ve ever heard,
A point that makes a noisy word,
The other three make quieter pleas,
Let me start you off with “teas”.’
Cregga settled into her armchair. ‘This gets odder by the moment. What’s teas supposed to mean?’
Hoben took on a teacher-like air. ‘Quite simple, really. Teas is just the letters of east messed around a bit, right, Mhera?’
‘Yes, Brother, like north makes, er, er . . . thorn!’
Cregga caught on quickly. ‘And west makes, let me see . . . stew!’
Hoben nodded. ‘It’s an old trick, but it will fool you easily if you don’t look out for it. So, that leaves south, the point that makes the word shout. That’s a noisy word, I’d say. That’s the direction we’re looking for. Oh, then there’s these two final lines. Listen carefully.
‘’Twixt water and stone I stand alone,
Sounding burnt but alive I survive!’
Hoben tapped his paw on the slate. ‘And that is the important part, friends. That is what we are searching for.’
Gundil scrambled down from Cregga’s chair arm, where he had been perching. ‘Boi ’okey, coom on, we’m a goen south’ ard!’
The Badgermum’s huge paws lifted him back on to the armchair. ‘It’s nearly dark out. No use searching in that.’
Mhera stared at the badger’s sightless eyes. ‘How do you know it’s dark, Cregga? You can’t see.’
Cregga chuckled and held a paw in the direction of her window. ‘I can feel the heat of the stars, it’s almost an hour since dinner, and I’m feeling more tired than I do in daytime. Is that explanation good enough for you, miz Mhera?’
Mhera sat by the chair, resting her head on Cregga’s footpaws. ‘I don’t believe the first bit, about feeling the heat of the stars. That’s a dreadful fib for an acting Abbess.’
Cregga reached down and stroked her friend’s head. ‘Come on, this old beast’s weary for sleep. It’s been a long day. We’ll continue our search straight after breakfast tomorrow.’
Mhera jumped up. ‘Breakfast tomorrow? Oh dear, Gundil, we promised Mama and Friar Bobb we’d give some help kneading the oatmeal scones for the morning. Come on, mate!’
Brother Hoben stretched out on the bed, which Cregga never used, preferring her big armchair, which was easier to get up from. The Recorder settled himself comfortably.
‘Oh for the energy of the young. The speed those two dashed out with, eh, Cregga?’
The Badgermum grunted dozily. ‘Glad I can’t run that fast any more. Makes me feel exhausted just thinking about it. Nighty night, Brother.’
Filorn shooed Mhera and Gundil off as they ran into the kitchens.
‘Off to bed, the pair of you. The scones are in the oven. Drogg Spearback and two of Skipper’s crew lent a paw. I hardly did anything, so I don’t feel a bit tired after that nap in the gatehouse. Go on, you two go up. I’ll wait until the scones are baked and help the Friar take them from the ovens.’
Broggle poked his head round the pantry door. ‘Scone pullin’ is my job, marm. No need for you to wait about down here. Good night, marm!’
Filorn accompanied Mhera and Gundil upstairs. ‘Young Broggle is such a nice creature, isn’t he, Gundil?’
‘Oh, ee’m passen furr, marm, but miz Mhera, she’m the noicest creetur in ee h’entire h’Abbey!’
Mhera shook her head. ‘No, no. The nicest, most sweet-natured, politest beast in all of Redwall is . . . Gundil!’
Twirling his tail and ducking his head, the mole shuffled about on the top stair. ‘Burr, miz, you’m gotten oi all uv a tizzy naow!’
Filorn laughed heartily, throwing her paws about them both. ‘Why don’t you two get off to your beds and dream of fresh compliments to pay each other tomorrow. Nicest, most sweet-natured, huh? That little soilwhumper?’
Gundil grinned. ‘Thankee, marm, an’ gudd noight to ee!’
* * *
10
Antigra went north into Mossflower Wood, to the place where she knew that doves nested among the oak and beech trees. It was soft and mossy underpaw, dappled with sunlight and shadow, fern beds reflecting that calm translucent greenish light often found in deep woodlands. Nature’s beauties were lost upon the stoat, as crouching low in the ferns she loaded a small hard pebble into her sling. Two doves were feeding on the ground, picking among last autumn’s rotted acorns. Slowly, carefully, Antigra stood, her eye fixed upon the fatter of the pair as she began to twirl her sling. The pebble pouch she carried stuffed into her belt slipped loose and stones clacked noisily as they spilled out. The doves flew off to their nest, high up in an old oak. Still twirling the sling, Antigra cursed her bad fortune. Just then the fatter of the doves poked its head out of the nest, and she whipped the pebble off at it. The random throw was unlucky for the dove. Antigra immediately knew she had slain the bird, by the way its head flopped as the pebble struck it. Then it was her turn to have the bad luck. Instead of tumbling to the ground, the dove fell back into its nest, and its partner flew off in fright.
The stoat told herself there was nothing for it but to climb the tree and retrieve her kill. Fixing the pebble pouch firmly into her belt, she looped the sling about her neck and began climbing. It was very difficult at first, but as she went higher and the branches became more close growing her progress was easier. She reached the nest, and found two eggs in it with the dead dove. Her climb had not been in vain. Straddling the bough, Antigra settled her back against the trunk. The eggs were her bonus. The stoat sat sucking them and gazing about her, interested at how the land looked from a high vantage point. She could not see the Juskarath camp, but far over to the north a glimpse of snow-peaked mountaintops showed beyond the woodlands, bathed in early evening sunlight. Antigra turned her attention to looking for other nests, but she saw none. She began climbing down, halting when her keen eyes spotted movement below on the woodland floor. She watched from her hiding place in the foliage. A shadow slipped from tree to tree, pausing a moment amid some ferns before hastening silently off northward. It was the Taggerung!
Antigra had no knowledge of what had taken place back at the camp. Instantly a plan formed in her cunning mind. She would climb down and track him. Her aim with a sling was good. Nobeast would know it was she who had slain the Taggerung. If she was careful and accurate, her son Gruven would soon become Taggerung of the Juska. She was almost halfway down when another movement below caused her to freeze. Sawney Rath c
ame loping along, halting momentarily to inspect a bruised fern frond. He smiled grimly, pleased to have picked up the trail of his quarry. Antigra seized the moment. Fitting a large pebble to her sling, she changed her plans.
Whirring the loaded sling until it was a blur, she yelled sharply, ‘Sawney Rath, I’m up here!’
The Juska Chieftain looked upward, shock stamped upon his face as the stone struck him between his eyes, slaying him on the spot. With the dead dove lying forgotten halfway up the tree, Antigra scrambled down out of the boughs and dropped to the ground. Sawney lay still, one paw still gripping the spear he had been carrying, eyes open wide, staring at the sky. She circled him apprehensively, as if expecting her feared enemy to leap up at any moment. Without warning, sounds of some otherbeast travelling towards the scene reached Antigra. But this was no stealthy tracker or hunter she could hear. It was the laboured, staggering noise of some wearybeast, unwittingly heading her way.
Antigra slipped quietly behind the oak tree and waited. Felch came stumbling along, gasping for breath. He ground to a halt in front of the Juskarath Chieftain’s body. Like the stoat, he too circled it warily. Antigra stepped out from behind the oak.
‘He’s dead. ’Twas I who slew him,’ she said flatly.
Felch exhaled loudly with relief. He knelt at the ferret’s side and inspected the wound, then looked at Antigra’s weapon. ‘Aye, so ye did. A slingstone took his life. The Taggerung carried only a knife when I last saw him. I was much slower than either of ’em. I hid myself an’ let ’em pass by me, first the Taggerung, then Sawney tracking him.’ He broke the dead Chieftain’s grasp upon the spear and stood up. ‘You said you’d wait an’ get Sawney one day. Hah! The ’igh an’ mighty Sawney Rath, eh? You won’t be slingin’ yer orders round no more. You don’t look so tough now, ferret-faced scum!’
Felch stabbed the body with the spear. He grinned at Antigra. ‘Long seasons I dreamed of doin’ that. I wager you did too.’
The stoat grinned back. ‘Aye. Tell me, what happened back at the camp? Why was Sawney hunting the otter?’
As the fox explained, a crafty gleam entered Antigra’s eyes. ‘So, we’re rid of them both, Sawney and his pet otter.’
Felch brandished the spear. ‘No more worries, eh? We’ll rule the clan together now, just you’n’me. Chieftains together!’
Antigra pounded the fox’s back. ‘Give me that spear. I want to stab him too!’
Giggling like a naughty Dibbun, Felch passed the spear over. He was still giggling as Antigra whirled and ran him through. A look of pained surprise crossed the fox’s face as he stood swaying, grasping the spear shaft with both paws. Antigra stared back at him, her eyes hard and bright as flint.
‘My son will rule the clan. There’s no room any more for you, Felch. You’ve seen and heard too much!’
Fresh wood had been heaped on the campfires. Grissoul sat beside the one outside Sawney’s tent, gazing into the night. She felt the spearpoint touch her back, and heard the whisper issuing from the darkness behind her.
‘Sawney Rath is dead!’
Without attempting to turn, Grissoul answered, ‘The omens have already told me this, Antigra.’
The stoat’s breath felt hot on the back of the vixen’s neck. ‘And did your omens tell you who slew him? Think carefully if you wish to continue living.’
Grissoul reached behind her and pushed the spear gently aside. ‘My omens told me that thou would know the answer to that question. They said no more; it is not for me to guess at the answer.’
Antigra kept to the shadows where she could not be seen. ‘You are a wise beast, old one. I’ve had a vision that my son Gruven is Taggerung now. Do you agree? Answer me!’
Grissoul shook her head. ‘It cannot be. Nay, Antigra, put down thy spear and listen. I have had no vision of the Taggerung’s death. Juska law says that only he who slays a Taggerung can be called Taggerung in his place. Thy son cannot be Taggerung while the chosen one lives. But a new Chieftain can always take the place of a Chieftain who is slain. I will help thee to have thy son named Gruven Zann Juskazann, leader of this clan. Does my new vision sound fitting to thy desires?’
Antigra liked the idea immediately. ‘Your vision is good. Tell me what to do, Grissoul!’
The Seer closed her eyes. ‘Wait awhile before entering camp. Then tell thy story to all. I’ll agree with it; the Juska will not doubt my word. I will send thy son off with strong warriors to hunt down and slay the Taggerung, and together you and I will rule the clan until the day of his return.’
Antigra nodded. ‘It is a bargain.’ She slid back into the darkness.
A short time later, Antigra roused the clan vermin. She staggered into camp, shrieking, ‘Sawney Rath is dead, murdered by the Taggerung!’
The crowd followed her up to the fire outside Sawney’s tent, where Grissoul was still sitting. The Seer got immediate silence by throwing a pawful of something into the flames, which caused them to send up a blue flare.
‘I saw the death of Sawney Rath in my omens when he left camp today. Some of you saw me cast the stones and bones.’
The stoat Rawback spoke up. ‘Aye, I saw her. She clasped her head in her paws!’
Gruven sneaked up to his mother’s side and whispered, ‘What’s happened? Did you see Sawney get killed?’
Antigra pinched his side between her claws sharply. ‘Do as I say,’ she muttered. ‘Stay out of this and keep your mouth shut until I tell you. Big things are at stake here tonight.’
Other vermin were backing Rawback up.
‘Grissoul looked as though the omens were bad.’
‘I saw ’er too. She looked like a creature who’d seen death!’
The Seer leaped up, her painted face taking on a blue tinge from the flames, and swirled her cloak back and forth dramatically. ‘Let Antigra speak! Tell thy clanbeasts what took place, Antigra!’
All eyes turned on the stoat.
‘I was up a tree after birds’ eggs and I heard noises. First came Felch, then Sawney, following him. He shouted the fox’s name, Felch turned and Sawney slew him with a spear cast. I did not know that the traitor Taggerung was hiding nearby. He saw Sawney unarmed and threw the very blade that was once Sawney’s. It did not fly true, but the stone at its handletop struck Sawney ’twixt the eyes and laid him out, unconscious I think. The Taggerung could not see me, so I started climbing down from the tree to defend our Chieftain. But alas, before I reached the ground, the otter had pulled the spear from the body of Felch and murdered Sawney with it. He ran off, north towards the mountains. I could do nought but hurry back here to bring you the bad tidings. It was a treacherous and horrible sight, I’ll never forget it!’ Antigra slumped on the ground, covering her eyes. ‘Vengeance upon the traitorous Taggerung,’ she wailed. ‘The spirit of Sawney Rath cries for vengeance from the gates of Dark Forest!’
Grissoul’s sudden scream rent the night. She began a shuffling dance, holding both paws forth. Vermin shrank from her touch. They feared what they could not understand; it was a night of omens. The Seer’s paws finally touched Gruven’s face. He looked to his mother, and she nodded at him to stay still. Grissoul cast herself down in front of him, her voice rising to an eerie pitch.
‘Is this the one to do thy will, O Sawney Rath?’ A great sigh escaped her, and she touched her head to Gruven’s footpaws.
‘Gruven Zann! Juskazann!
Take our name, rule our clan,
Heed the voice of the Chieftain now dead,
Bring back to this Seer the traitor’s head!’
A roar of approval came from the tribe, caught up in the hypnotic ritual. Grissoul led Gruven to the fire, where even his slightly puzzled features looked impressive in the changing hue of the flames. The Seer cast pawfuls of different powders into the blaze. Antigra, who had darted into Sawney’s tent a moment before, came dashing out to drape the dead ferret’s best cloak about her son’s shoulders. She pressed his sword into his paw, hissing in his ear, ‘Try to look le
ss like a befuddled frog and more like a clan chief, can’t you? Say something to them, stir them up. Speak!’ She mingled in with the crowd and yelled hoarsely, ‘Gruven Zann Juskazann!’
Others took up the cry until it became a deafening chant. ‘Gruven Zann Juskazann! Gruven Zann Juskazann!’
Gruven held up his sword and they fell silent as if by magic. He repeated every word that Grissoul, who was standing behind him, whispered in his ear.
‘Warriors of the Juskazann, fear not. The coward Taggerung cannot run far or fast enough from my wrath. I vow upon this sword that the otter will pay for his treachery. Aye, I will choose from our best to accompany me, and I’ll bring back his head. We leave at dawn. I will make the name of our clan feared throughout the land. Tell me, you brave ones, what are you called?’
The clanbeasts roared, waving their weapons high. ‘Juskazann! Juskazann! Gruven Zann Juskazann!’
Grissoul knew then that her plan was working. The clanbeasts were in a frenzy. The Seer sprang up in front of Gruven and flung more powders into the fire. Blue, red, green, silver and purple smoke wreathed her as she cast her bones and shells on the ground. Everybeast was awed by the sight of her, an eerie multi-hued apparition, howling like a demon.
‘Sawney Rath calls to me from beyond the Hellgates! The otter is a traitor Taggerung, a Chieftain murderer and a cowardly runaway! He is not fit to be Taggerung! Shame will fall on our clan if he lives! Gruven Zann Juskazann must slay him and take his title. My omens say that the one who slays a traitor Taggerung can then be called Taggerung by right! Go now, Gruven Zann Juskazann, bring honour to your new-named clan, avenge our fallen Chieftain, bring death to the fleeing coward and take on the name of Gruven Zann Taggerung!’
Even through the flames and smoke, Grissoul could see the fanatical burning light of satisfaction in Antigra’s eyes.
Far north in Mossflower Wood, Tagg surfaced from a broad stream. Shaking himself dry he sat on the bank, trying to define his present mood. He was banished from the company of the only beasts he could remember living with, a loner, an outcast from the clan. Yet he felt lighthearted, free and happy. Sometimes he had admired Sawney, his strength, leadership and determination, but he had never really liked the ferret, never called him father, never loved him. Tagg was not bothered that Sawney was hunting him. He had grown old, slower, and more prone to making mistakes because of his quick-tempered mood changes. The otter felt a shudder of joy pass through his entire body from ear to rudder. He was glad to be rid of the whole Juskarath. Life was his, to do with as he pleased. Exactly where he was going and what he intended to do had not occurred to him. Then he remembered the mountain.
The Taggerung (Redwall) Page 11
