The Taggerung (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Several times that day Tagg had glimpsed it as he travelled north through the woodlands, its pure white craggy cone standing out against the clear blue sky. He moved further along the bank to a higher point, and standing on tip-paw he saw it again, mysterious and cool, its snows turned soft grey by the starry night. Suddenly Tagg wanted to be there. He had never been on a mountain. Fired by the prospect, he leaped high in the air and shouted at the object of his desire. ‘I’m coming to see you, mountain!’

  As he jumped his head struck something in the overhanging foliage of a tree. Tagg reached up among the leaves, and discovered it was a pear. The fruit was not quite ready; it was still hard, but sweet and slightly juicy. Tagg laughed aloud, shouting through a half-full mouth as he plucked another one. ‘Aye, you stay there, mountain, I’m coming!’

  ‘Yeek! ’Tis a mad riverdog! Stay ’way from ’im, Krobzy!’

  ‘Yarr, don’t fret yore snout, Prethil, I kin deal wid ’im!’

  Tagg stood still, instantly alert, looking about to see where the voices were coming from. Two bank voles were standing at the water’s edge below him. He smiled politely at them. ‘Hello!’

  The male was a small fat fellow, clad in a homespun nightshirt. He brandished a club and stood protectively in front of the female, wiggling his nose aggressively, as bankvoles do when they are ready to fight. He pointed the club at Tagg. ‘Donchew ’ello me, ruddertail, or I’ll boff ye a good ’un. Wot’s yore name an’ wot’s yore business on our midden, eh, eh?’

  Tagg leaned his paw against the dagger in his belt. ‘I wouldn’t chance trying to boff me if I were you.’

  The bankvole started up the hill towards Tagg, with the female trying to pull him back. The otter’s words had roused his temper. ‘Hohoh, wouldn’t ye now? Lissen, streamwalloper, I’ve boffed bigger’n you many a time, don’t fret yore snout about that!’

  Tagg did not want to hurt the bankvole. He tried reasoning. ‘Now now, what are you getting so carried away about, friend?’

  Shaking the female off, the bankvole hopped excitedly about. ‘Carried away, me? Hoho, that’s a good ’un! Yore stannin’ up there, bawlin’ an’ shoutin’ an’ wakin’ the babies. Stealin’ an’ pinchin’ an’ scoffin’ away at our pears. Wotjer expeck me t’do, come out an’ give ye a big kiss, eh, eh?’

  He hurled himself at Tagg, who moved swiftly to one side. As the bankvole went sprawling, Tagg disabled him by placing a footpaw on the back of his head and pinning his clubpaw to the ground with his strong rudderlike tail. Face down and helpless, the angry creature snuffled his snout against the earth.

  The female sat down, weeping into her nightie. ‘Ahoohoo hoo! I tole ye the riverdog wiz mad. Now ’e’ll murdify both of us an’ eat us all up. Oh, ’elp us, somebeast. Ahoohoohoo!’

  Taking the club away from the male, Tagg picked him up and sat him down next to his blubbering partner. ‘Hush now, marm, I’m not going to murder or eat either of you. I wouldn’t hurt you, I’m a friend. Come on now, dry your eyes.’

  She pushed his comforting paw aside. ‘Go ’way an’ don’t even speak t’me, ye villigan!’

  The male seemed to compose his temper rapidly. He winked at Tagg before throwing a sympathetic paw around the female. ‘Yarr, cummon, muther, turn the waterfall off. ’E ain’t goin’ to ’urt us, are ye, sunshine? I’m Krobzy an’ this is me missus, Prethil. Wot’s yore name?’

  Tagg held out his paw. ‘Oh, just call me Tagg. Pleased to meet you.’

  Prethil scrubbed at her eyes with the nightie hem. ‘Pleased to meechew like . . . ler . . . hic! Ler hic! Hic! . . . wise. Hic!’

  Krobzy hugged his little fat wife. ‘Lookit, ye’ve gone an’ gived yoreself ’iccups now wid all that cryin’. Grab ’old of yore snout an’ bang yer tail aginst the floor, that always stops the ’iccups. Are you ’ungry, Tagg? Is that why yore scoffin’ our pears, eh, eh?’

  The otter helped them both up on to their paws. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know the pears were yours. Yes, I am hungry. I haven’t eaten since mid day.’

  Krobzy dusted Prethil down before attending to himself. ‘Well why didn’t ye say so, ye great rudderwhacker? Come on back to the ‘omestead. We’ll feed yore big famine-stricken gob!’

  The homestead was actually built under the hill Tagg had been standing on, with a tunnel leading to it from a secret entrance on the bank. It was a big comfortable place with pear tree roots tracing their way across the ceiling and down the walls. There were other bankvoles living within, alongside a big family of watervoles and another family of fieldvoles. They gathered around the otter, touching the amber-hilted knife with its blue pommel stone. Little ones rode Tagg’s tail by sitting on it, others felt his paws and strong limbs admiringly.

  ‘Big feller, ain’t ’e!’

  ‘Aye, fine pow’ful beastie!’

  ‘Wouldn’t like t’meet ’im up a creek on a dark night, eh, eh?’

  ‘Phwarr! That’n would swipe the tail offa ye wid that blade!’

  ‘Oh aye, fine sharp blade that’n is, eh, eh?’

  Prethil shooed them away and led Tagg to a table. ‘Will ye leave the pore beast alone? ’E’s ’ungry!’

  This statement caused even more speculation from the voles.

  ‘Bet ’e could wade through a fair bit o’ grub?’

  ‘Yarr, so c’d you if ’n you was ’is size!’

  ‘No use givin’ ’im a small bowl an’ a liddle tankard, eh, eh?’

  Krobzy pushed them aside and sat down with Tagg. A bushy male watervole joined them. Krobzy introduced him. ‘Tagg, this is Sekkendin. We calls ’im that ’cos ’e’s my sekkendin command round ’ere.’

  The table moved as a pile of younger voles pushed in against it, trying to get closer to the newcomer. Sekkendin glared at them. ‘Goo ’way, g’wan, the lot of ye. Go an’ show Tagg ’ow youse kin dance. Rakkadoo, make some gob music for ’em, willyer!’

  A kindly looking fieldvole placed hot nutbread and a pan of vegetable stew in front of the otter, commenting, ‘Bowl’d be too liddle for the likes of ye, sir. Eat ’earty now.’

  Krobzy poured out tankards of a fruity-tasting beer, which the voles called bankbrew. Tagg ate and drank as he witnessed the voles’ pawskills at dancing.

  Two elders began twanging on jawharps and the one called Rakkadoo rattled out a curious melody. It was very fast and comprised odd sounds interwoven with words.

  ‘Ho rang tang rattledy battledy,

  Twirl y’tails an’ kick up y’paws,

  Flibberty flabberty rumple dee doo,

  Which ’un’s mine an’ wot one’s yores?

  Y’jump like a trout an’ y’caper about,

  An’ don’t dare stamp on anybeast’s tail,

  Roll like a vole playin’ toad in an ’ole,

  An’ rackit an’ rampit an’ fetch the good ale!

  Rubbledy dubbledy fleas never troubled me,

  Fiddledee faddle an’ diddle dee doo,

  Slugs never ’it me an’ bugs never bit me,

  I’m far too fast so I’ll leave ’em t’you.

  A rap tap tap I jump so ’igh,

  There’s birds beneath me flyin’ by,

  Flippin’ an’ flappin’ me paws are a tappin’,

  To beat a vole dancin’ y’never should try. Hi!’

  Apart from seeing a few rats sing the odd verse around the campfire, Tagg had never known anything like the voles’ dancing. His own footpaws felt weary from rapping the floor in time with them. Even the smallest of infant voles could dance expertly, and not only that but they could somersault, backflip and perform the most amazing acrobatics without missing a beat of the music. They came crowding around the table again, but Prethil appeared brandishing a stone and a branch in her paws.

  ‘Last beast a snorin’ gets rubbed down with a rock’n’a root in the river!’

  With fearful yowls the little voles fled into another chamber, where they flung themselves on the moss-strewn floor and began making small snoring noises. Krobzy smiled.


  ‘Yarr, that’s got rid o’ the pests fer the night. Now then, Tagg me ole sunshine, tell us all about yoreself. We got all night an’ us voles do like a good yarn!’

  The otter took a draught of bankbrew to moisten his throat. ‘Let me see, now. How did it all start . . . ?’

  Dawn broke clear and quiet. Gruven was still slumbering deep when his mother’s footpaw stirred him awake. ‘Gruven Zann, up now. There’s big things for you to do!’

  The stoat sat up, picking at the corners of his eyes. ‘It’s not properly daylight yet. I’m tired!’

  He rolled aside as Antigra slammed the swordpoint into the ground beside him. Bringing her face close, she hissed, ‘I didn’t wait all these seasons for you to be tired. You are a clan Chieftain now. Get up!’

  He rose hastily and donned the cloak he had been given the previous evening. It was a dark red dyed barkcloth, a touch short for Gruven, but it added slightly to his bearing as a new Chieftain. Recalling the events of the last few days he tugged the sword free, allowing anger and hatred to build inside him. Antigra straightened the cloak about her son. She stared into his vengeful eyes, murmuring in a low voice, so that those waiting outside could not hear, ‘That’s more like it. Remember this: as long as the otter lives you cannot really call yourself leader of the Juskazann. Keep that in mind, and hunt as you have never hunted before. When you do catch up with him, slay him by any means, fair or foul. Only then can you return here to claim your full title. Go now!’

  Grissoul awaited Gruven outside the tent. The Seer had eight vermin with her, fully armed. She waited until Antigra came out to join her before speaking.

  ‘Gruven Zann Juskazann! I have chosen eight of our best to go with thee. Eefera, Dagrab, Ribrow, Grobait, Milkeye, Rabbad, Rawback and Vallug Bowbeast. Command them well and bring back the head of the traitor Taggerung. Thy mother and I will go with thee as far as the spot where Sawney Rath lies slain. You will pick up the trail from there. You warriors, guard your chief with your lives. If you return here without him you will all die.’

  From their open tents and around cooking fires, the clan watched as Antigra and Gruven led the hunting party out of the clearing. Through the summer-dappled trees of Mossflower they trotted, heading north for the oak tree where the murders occurred. Grissoul travelled at the rear, with one of Sawney’s most trusted lieutenants, the weasel Eefera. He was a big taciturn beast, well versed in the art of death. Grissoul had instructed him precisely. He knew what to do should Gruven shrink from his mission or show fear. Accidents could always happen out among the woodlands.

  * * *

  11

  Brother Hoben woke late next morning in Cregga’s room. The Badgermum’s empty chair was evidence that she was already up and about. The Recorder muttered to himself as he sluiced down his face in the bowl of water on a cornerstand. ‘Huh! Might have given me a shake. Leaving me to lie abed half the morning. Not like Cregga at all.’

  He hurried downstairs, only to find the dining tables deserted. There seemed to be nobeast about; the place was silent. Hoben stood gnawing his whisker ends, completely perplexed. Then he heard a sound. The squeak of trolley wheels sent him scurrying to the kitchens from whence it issued.

  Young Broggle was loading the trolley with jugs of cold mint tea and blackberry pies, which he was pulling from the ovens with a long paddle.

  ‘What’s going on around here?’ Hoben demanded indignantly. ‘Where’s everybeast gone?’

  Broggle elbowed him gently to one side as he loaded his cart. ‘Going on, Brother? I’ll tell you what’s going on. Mhera and Cregga’s search has turned into a full scale picnic. Since we solved that riddle poem last night there’s not a creature in the Abbey who doesn’t want to be involved with it. At the moment they’re all down at the south wall having breakfast in the open. I just came up here for more supplies. Fresh air makes them ravenous, apparently. Did you oversleep, Brother?’

  Hoben began lending a paw to finish loading the trolley. ‘Aye, I slept like a log, it was so quiet and peaceful in Cregga’s room. Her bed is absolutely massive. She never uses it, sleeps in her armchair all the time. Quiet and peaceful that room, no Dibbuns playing round the door an hour before sunrise. Come on, Broggle, I’ll push and you pull. Easy now, watch those jugs.’

  Around the south wall was a scene of merry chaos. Boorab came to meet them, a beaker of pennywort cordial in one paw and a half-eaten oatmeal scone, dripping honey, in the other. He appeared to be in fine fettle. ‘What ho, here’s two gallant chaps bearing munchable reinforcements to the front, wot. Well done, chums. You can leave that trolley to me now. I’ll see to it, wot wot!’

  ‘Get your plundering paws away from that trolley this instant, you flop-eared reprobate!’

  The hare evaded Friar Bobb’s ladle with a sideskip. ‘Only tryin’ to help, old scout. Offerin’ one’s services, y’know!’

  Filorn caught up with Boorab and took his paw. ‘Come and help me to get the Dibbuns down from the walltops, sir. I’ll shoo them off and you can stand sentry on the wallsteps to make sure they don’t get back up again.’

  Boorab strolled off gallantly, holding the ottermum’s paw on his in courtly fashion. ‘Never refuse a pretty gel, wot. Duty is me second name, marm. I’ll guard those wallsteps against the little blighters with my very life. Hi there, you midget savages, down off the bally battlements. Down I say, sir. Yowch!’

  A well-aimed apple core bounced off the hare’s scut tail. Filorn struggled to keep her face straight as Boorab closed one eye and glared fiercely up at a molebabe. ‘Assassin! You leave me no alternative but to declare war on you and all your fiendish crew, sah!’

  Hoben found Mhera and Gundil with Cregga, breakfasting on an old rug spread close to the wall. He sat down with them, helping himself to barley toast, quince jam and a beaker of cold mint tea. Cregga waved away an inquisitive wasp.

  ‘A beautiful morning, Brother. Before you start telling me off, I left you asleep on the bed because it seemed a shame to waken you. Your breathing sounded so peaceful I hadn’t the heart to disturb you. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

  The Recorder felt abashed that he had misjudged his friend. ‘What’s to forgive, marm? I had the best night’s sleep I’ve known in many a season. Well now, how far have we got with our latest riddle? What was it? Ah, I remember. All the clues ran south, until those last two lines.

  ‘’Twixt water and stone I stand alone,

  Sounding burnt but alive I survive!’

  Gundil picked daintily at a candied plum. ‘You’m gotten ee gurt membery, zurr. Oi surpose et’s ’cos ee be’s an Accorder. We’m bain’t gotten no furtherer with ee riggle.’

  Mhera poured more mint tea for the Badgermum. ‘But ’tis not for want of trying, Brother. We’ve sat here racking our brains since dawn, without a result.’

  Cregga shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Look around if you want to see the reason why. We’ve had a hare filching our food, Dibbuns racing around us like wild things, Sister Alkanet complaining about this that and the other, and young Broggle fracturing our ears with his ceaseless chatter. Hardly a good place to sit and solve problems, is it?’

  Brother Hoben pointed upward. ‘Then let’s adjourn to the walltop. Mhera’s mama has cleared it of Dibbuns and Boorab’s guarding the steps. It should be quiet enough for us to do some thinking up there.’

  Boorab’s spear was a window pole. He stood on the second step, barring their way. ‘Who goes there? State y’business, wot?’

  Brother Hoben tapped an impatient paw on the bottom step. ‘Come out of the way, please. We’re going to the walltop.’

  The hare twitched his whiskers officiously. ‘No Dibbuns allowed up here. You’re not Dibbuns, are you?’

  Cregga took hold of the window pole he was clasping and lifted both Boorab and the pole, with one paw, down on to the grass. ‘Do we look like Dibbuns? Don’t try my patience, sah!’

  ‘Just doin’ one’s duty,’ he muttered up the steps after them,
somewhat crestfallen. ‘I was only jolly well askin’ a civil question, wot. Hmph, some creatures!’

  Hoben was right. The broad walkway of the ramparts, backed by the battlemented wall, was more peaceful. Mhera liked being up high. She could see the land to the south unfolding below her and the path meandering off into the distance.

  Cregga took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. ‘Ah, that’s better! Mhera, my pretty, let me borrow your eyes. Which way are you facing and what can you see?’

  ‘I’m looking south, Cregga, and I see the woodlands to my left and the open space below, then the path. Off to my right there’s the flatlands and a few hills over towards the horizon.’

  The badger leaned her back against the battlements. ‘That’s all? Nothing out of place, no unusual objects sticking up you’d not noticed before? Come on, you two, get looking and help her out.’

  Brother Hoben and Gundil searched the scene carefully.

  ‘Not a thing, Cregga. It all looks fairly normal.’

  ‘Burr aye, et be’s a noice purty soight though, marm!’

  The Badgermum issued her next instruction. ‘Now turn round, right round, facing into the Abbey grounds. Tell me, what do you see now?’

  They pieced together the picture for their blind companion.

  ‘Mossflower Wood’s treetops and the north wall, the beehives and the flower gardens, then the lawns.’