The Taggerung (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Burr aye, then ee gurt h’Abbey buildin’ an’ ee path frum et runnen to ee gate’ouse an’ ee west wall wi’ main gate in et.’

  Cregga stopped Gundil with an upraised paw. ‘Take it from there, Mhera. Slowly and carefully. Leave nothing out, and remember, we’re looking for something that sounds burnt but alive, whatever that’s supposed to be.’

  Mhera started from the east wall. ‘Well, I can see the south side of the Abbey and the orchard between that and the east wall, and further west more lawns running right down to the west wallsteps, south of the gatehouse . . . Wait. We’re looking for something that stands alone ’twixt water and stone, aren’t we?’

  Cregga suddenly became alert at the ottermaid’s tone. ‘Yes, yes. Have you seen it?’

  Mhera concentrated hard, feeling she was on the edge of a solution. ‘Not exactly, but it occurred to me that I might narrow it down a bit. ’Twixt water and stone. Suppose this wall . . . the one we’re standing on . . . is meant to be the stone, between here and the south side of the Abbey is the pond. Maybe that’s the water we’re looking for!’

  A slow smile of satisfaction spread over the badger’s broad face. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. ’Twixt water and stone, between this wall and our Abbey pond. What else is there?’

  ‘Hurr, marm, on’y ee gurt ole tree.’

  ‘What sort of tree?’

  Brother Hoben shrugged. ‘Probably an ash tree, I think. Why?’

  Mhera spotted Drogg Cellarhog down below and called to him. ‘See that tree I’m pointing at? What sort is it, please?’

  The stout old hedgehog replied without even looking. ‘That’n’s an ash, miz. I gets all my tool shafts from it. Fine timber, ’tis; makes goodly furniture too!’

  Mhera patted the rough greyish-hued bark as they stood around the tree in question. ‘What a bunch of puddenheads we are. Ash! A living tree which sounds by its name as though it had been burned. What next?’

  Brother Hoben had a suggestion. ‘We inspect the trunk and the ground around it, to see if we can find out what Abbess Song meant.’

  Cregga had an even better idea. ‘I am taller than any of you and my paws are extra sensitive. I’ll inspect the trunk all round as high as I can reach. You three stand back a bit and look at the trunk and the ground. Use your eyesight to examine the ash.’

  Filorn and Foremole Brull passed by the tree with a crowd of Dibbuns around them. The otter waved to her daughter. ‘Brull and I are taking the babes for a paddle in the pond. It’ll give Friar Bobb and Broggle a chance to get cleared for lunch. Please don’t swing on my apron strings like that, you’ll pull me over. Let me go, Durby!’

  The molebabe trundled over to Mhera and attached himself to her smock. ‘Oi be goen a skwimmin’ in ee deep ponder!’

  Mhera laughed as she detached the tiny creature. She wagged a paw at him and replied in mole dialect. ‘Ho no you’m bain’t, likkle zurr, ee be’s goen a pagglin’. Skwimmin’ bain’t furr ee, lessen you’m a h’otter!’

  Durby sucked on a digging claw as he thought about it, then trundled off chortling. ‘Hurr, miz, you’m a tryen to cloimb ee gurt tree, an’ you’m bain’t ee squirrler. Hurr hurr hurr!’

  His logic struck the ottermaid immediately. ‘Cregga, he’s right! We need a squirrel. Who better to examine a tree? Come on, let’s get ourselves a squirrel!’

  Friar Bobb was too old and young Broggle, by his somewhat well-fed girth, was not quite in athletic trim. The good Friar gave thought as to whom he could recommend.

  ‘Hmm. What you want is a first class treewhiffler, a specialist climber. ’Tis a bit of a problem, friends. Overweight parents, old ’uns like me, and some Dibbuns. They’re the only squirrels we have at the moment. Broggle, can you think of anybeast who’d fit the job?’

  Curling his tail soulfully, the assistant cook spoke one word as if it were a prayer. ‘Fwirl!’

  Mhera stared at the dreamy-eyed Broggle. ‘Just tell me two things, please. What do you mean by a treewhiffler, and who in the name of seasons is Fwirl?’

  Broggle was tongue-tied. Friar Bobb replied for him. ‘A treewhiffler is the squirrel name for a champion climber. There’s a young squirrelmaid, called Fwirl, living alone in the woodlands. She’s quite shy, but Broggle knows her. He often takes a few goodies up to the east battlements as a gift for her. We’re hoping that someday she’ll join us as a Redwaller.’

  Gundil was grinning at the adoring look on Broggle’s face every time the name Fwirl was mentioned. ‘Hurr, may’aps you’m’d loike t’fetch miz Ferl to meet us’n’s? She’m sounden loike ee roight h’aminal furr ee job.’

  Young Broggle dug into his apron pocket and produced a neatly wrapped package, tied with a fancy bow of camomile stalk. His tail curled over his eyes and he scuffed the ground with his footpaw as he explained, ‘I was, er, just going to see her. I’ll, er, ask Fwirl if she wants to help. No need to come with me. I can go myself, thanks. Oh, an’ if she is good enough to come, please don’t refer to me as young Broggle, just Broggle will be sufficient. Wait here, I’ll be back.’

  Brother Hoben watched the chubby figure ambling off to the east wall. ‘Our young Broggle looks as if a barrel of October Ale just fell on his head. He’s evidently smitten with miz Fwirl.’

  Cregga shook her great striped head in wonderment. ‘Young Broggle, eh? Who’d have ever thought it?’

  Gundil gave a deep bass chuckle. ‘Hurrhurr, that’n lukken loike ’is stummick be full o’ buttyflies an’ ’is ’ead be full o’ bumblybees!’

  Mhera spoke up in defence of the assistant cook. ‘Now just stop that talk, please. I won’t have Broggle made fun of, poor creature. It’s obvious he thinks a lot of Fwirl, so let’s not do anything to embarrass either of them!’

  Friar Bobb bowed his head courteously to the ottermaid. ‘Thank you, Mhera. That was kindly said. I knew that Broggle was visiting the squirrelmaid, I’ve known it a while now, but I never told anybeast, lest they made fun of him. I’ve practically reared Broggle, and he’s a hard worker, loyal to our Abbey. If he were my son I couldn’t think more of him!’

  Cregga held a paw to her mouth. ‘Ssh! I hear him coming back!’

  Broggle marched up with a jaunty swagger. ‘I spoke to Fwirl, and she’s agreed to help us.’

  Brother Hoben looked about and spread his paws wide. ‘Thank you, Broggle. But where is she?’

  The tubby squirrel folded his paws and smirked. ‘Up in the ash tree. Where did you expect her to be?’

  Cregga gave an involuntary start. She took Broggle’s paw. ‘Just a moment, sir. I never heard a thing. To do as you say she’d have had to dash around to the west wall, scale it, and come up behind us so silently that we didn’t hear. Then she’d have had to climb that tree without us even seeing her.’

  Broggle winked at them and nudged Cregga. ‘Well, you said you wanted a good treewhiffler! Fwirl, would you like to come down and meet my friends?’

  Fwirl was not just pretty, she was startlingly beautiful, with huge almond eyes, dainty paws, snow white teeth and a curling redgold tail unlike that of any squirrel Mhera had ever seen. She was clad in a short belted tunic of soft green.

  Mhera welcomed her with an outstretched paw. ‘Well, hello, Fwirl. You must be the champion treewhiffler of all Mossflower!’

  Fwirl’s smile lit up the bright summer day even more. ‘Haha, you’ve been listening to Broggle. He’s told me all about you. I feel as though I know you all. How can I help you? I do climb a bit.’

  Cregga ran a paw over Fwirl’s perfect features. ‘That’s what I like to hear, a squirrel who doesn’t beat about the bush. We’ve examined the ash tree and the ground around it as far as we can, Fwirl. But I think whatever we’re after is much higher than the trunk. Could you take a look up in the boughs and foliage for us? ’Twould be a great help.’

  The squirrelmaid shot away like lightning, her tail swirling in a blurring circle. Halfway up the trunk, which she covered in the blink of an eye, Fwirl turned an
d addressed Cregga. ‘What am I looking for, Badgermum?’

  Cregga liked the squirrelmaid’s friendly manner. ‘Well, it could be anything at all: a carved message, a slip of parchment, or an object you wouldn’t normally find in an ash tree. By the way, I hope you’re going to join us for lunch?’

  Fwirl vanished into the foliage, calling back, ‘It would be my pleasure, but let’s take a peep up here first!’

  The friends sat on the grass in the welcome shade of the old ash. Broggle sighed. ‘Isn’t she just . . . just . . . Isn’t she?’

  Gundil lay flat on his back peering up into the foliage. ‘She’m surrpintly is, zurr. You’m a gurt lucky beast!’

  Broggle plucked a blade of grass and chewed on the stem. ‘I hope Fwirl decides to come and live at our Abbey, if that’s all right with you, Cregga marm?’

  ‘All right with me? We’d be delighted to have her, eh, Mhera?’

  Mhera threw a paw about her squirrel friend’s shoulder. ‘I’m sure Fwirl will come to live at Redwall. Especially as she knows you’re here, pal!’

  Fwirl was back down among them in a surprisingly short time and made her report. ‘No carvings or secret messages, I’m afraid. No parchments either. However, I did come across this.’

  Brother Hoben took the object she produced from her belt. ‘It’s like half a pair of glasses with an old bit of cord hanging from it. What do you make of it, marm?’

  Cregga took the object. She sniffed it, ran her paws gently over it and smiled wistfully. ‘Long long ago, a gallant and perilous hare gave this to me. His name was Perigord Habile Sinistra, the most dangerous sabre fighter ever to come from the mountain of Salamandastron. Alas, the dust of long seasons has blown over his brave bones now. This is a monocle. You wear it in one eye, with the cord looped around your neck, so as not to lose it. Let me tell you, Abbess Song was a little vain. She would not wear glasses, even when she was very old. I gave her this monocle, and she kept it hidden in the sleeve of her habit. If ever she had to read anything, she would slip it out and use it secretly. I often wondered what became of it. Where exactly did you find it, Fwirl?’

  With the exception of Cregga, they all looked up to where the squirrelmaid’s paw was pointing. ‘On the north side, near the top of the tree. It was lodged in the joint of two boughs. Somebeast had cut two little slots into the bark so it would stay in position. I hope I did the right thing by bringing it down here?’

  ‘I’m sure you did, missie,’ Friar Bobb reassured her. ‘But you say there was nothing else up there whatsoever?’

  Fwirl shrugged expressively. ‘Nothing, Brother. Only the monocle.’

  Friar Bobb excused Broggle from cooking duties so that he could sit next to Fwirl at lunch. Taking advantage of the good summer, Redwallers liked to dine outside. Cregga had the food served on linen cloths in the orchard, away from the search site. Fwirl enjoyed everything that Broggle put in front of her, particularly some little farls of warm bread, which she ate with her cream of mushroom soup and salad. Filorn served her some more, extolling Broggle’s reputation as a baker.

  ‘That’s Broggle’s nutfarls, my dear. He made them this morning. There’s hazel, beech, and chestnuts in them. They’re my favourite too. Nobeast bakes a nutfarl like our Broggle!’

  The squirrelmaid bit into another one. ‘Mmm, they’re delicious. I could make a full meal of just your nutfarls. What a wonderful skill you have, Broggle!’

  Boorab had fallen asleep whilst guarding the steps. He came hurrying in late and plonked himself down between the two squirrels. Halfway through loading a platter with salad, cheese and nutfarls, he suddenly noticed Fwirl.

  ‘Wellwellwell. Howdy doody, m’dear. I say, what an absolute corker your charmin’ pal is, Broggle. A real spifferoo, wot wot. Come on, Broggle, y’old rascal, you lucky grubslinger, how’s about introducin’ a chap to your stunnin’ luncheon guest, wot, wotwot?’

  Cregga’s massive paws descended on the garrulous hare, and she lifted both him and the plate he was holding clear of the two squirrels. ‘I thought you were left to guard the south wallsteps, sah. Skipper, escort this malingerer back to his post. Let him take that plateful of vittles with him. Back to your duties now, you horrible hare!’

  The brawny Skipper of Otters chivvied Boorab along. ‘Right y’are, marm. Come on, Mr Boorab. Remember, yore still on probation ’ereabouts. One two, one two, eyes front, that’s it!’

  Boorab’s protests faded into the distance, amid general laughter. ‘I say, you rotten old riverdog, get y’paws off me. Still on probation? Pish tush, sah, flippin’ length o’ time I’ve been at this confounded Abbey, I should be on pension, not bally probation. The nerve o’ that great stripe-muzzled mauler, eh, wot?’

  Gundil ruminated as he worked his way through a turnip and gravy pastie. ‘Whoi wudd ee h’Abbess be a leaven ee mononokle oop in yon tree?’

  Brother Hoben selected a maple wafer spread with white cheese. ‘Yes, and why in that one particular place?’

  Mhera spoke the answer before she had realised it. ‘Monocles are for seeing through. Maybe she placed it there so somebeast could climb up there and look through it.’

  Cregga smote a paw against her forehead. ‘Of course! It was placed facing north, Fwirl said.’

  The squirrelmaid allowed Broggle to fill her beaker with cordial. ‘From the position of the monocle in between the boughs, I’d say anybeast looking through it would be viewing the Abbey building on its south side, if that’s any help?’

  Gundil wiped a serviette across his mouth. ‘Us’n’s ull foind that owt doireckly arfter lunch, hurr aye!’

  The second visit to the ash tree involved taking along one of Drogg Cellarhog’s stout ropes. Fwirl took it up into the tree, and looping it around a high bough she let the end down, scampering to the ground behind it.

  ‘Have you got the monocle, Mhera? Come on, I’ll help you up.’

  Cregga gave the ottermaid final instructions. ‘Place the monocle back in its slot and look through it. The instant you see something, shout down and tell me. Up y’go, friend!’

  Assisted by the treewhiffler, Mhera climbed into the spreading ash, hauling herself up on the rope whilst allowing Fwirl to find holds for her footpaws. She chanced a glance down. ‘We’re getting rather high up, aren’t we?’

  Fwirl placed her shoulder under Mhera’s footpaw to steady it. ‘Don’t look down, Mhera. Keep going. Nearly there now.’

  The friends below on the ground stood patiently waiting. After a while they heard sounds.

  ‘Hurr. Et’s miz Mhurra an’ she’m larfin’ fit t’burst.’

  Cregga turned her face upward. ‘Mhera, have you found anything? What are you laughing at?’

  Ottermaid and squirrelmaid were both chortling. Mhera called back down to the bemused Badgermum. ‘Hahahaha! You, haha, you’ll never believe it, Cregga. Ahahaha! I’m staring straight into your bedroom window. Hahahaheeheehee!’

  * * *

  12

  Rain drizzled lightly through the early morning mist rising from the surface of the broad stream. The two voles, Krobzy and Sekkendin, emerged from the secret tunnel with Tagg. The otter carried a small sack of supplies and a cloak which they had presented to him. Krobzy blinked up at the indifferent milky sky.

  ‘Yarr, drizzlin’ won’t last long; my ingrowed paw claw ain’t twingein’ enough. ’Twill clear up afore noon an’ the sun’ll smile on us again. Tagg, I wish ye wouldn’t go, mate. Stay ’ere wid us. Ye could make an ’appy ’ome midst our voles.’

  Tagg clasped the bankvole’s chubby paw fondly. ‘I’ve never had such a happy time as I spent with your tribe, friend, but I must go. There’s bound to be Juska beasts following me, Sawney for one, and I don’t know how many others. It would not be the act of a friend to bring trouble upon your creatures. Juska are thieves and killers. Stay out of their way. Keep to your homestead and be watchful for the next few days.’

  Two more voles emerged from the tunnel, carrying what appeared to be a
large basket. Sekkendin showed it to Tagg. ‘This is a coracle. When yer finished wid it, just cast it out into the stream. ’Twill drift back ’ere by itself.’

  Tagg tried to hide a smile as he inspected the flimsy craft. ‘A coracle? Are you sure I’ll fit into it?’

  Krobzy chuckled. ‘Ye’ve still gotta lot t’learn, big feller. A coracle’s a good liddle craft, light an’ easy on the paws. There’s just one paddle, see, wid a blade on each end. Yer paddle’s a mast, too, when y’slip it atwixt those two blocks.’ Two small chunks of sycamore had been tied into the woven rushes of the craft’s base. Tagg stood the paddle end up between them.

  ‘Good idea, but where’s the sail?’

  Sekkendin indicated the cloak Tagg had been given. ‘That ain’t just a cloak, matey. ’Tis a sail, too, an’ I’ll tell ye somethin’ else. Our cloaks are special made, wid beeswax an’ secret plant oils soaked into the weave. Ye’ll find rain an’ water don’t affeck them. They’ll keep ye dry anywheres!’

  Krobzy tossed the sack of supplies into the small round coracle. ‘Yarr, those vittles too, they’re travellin’ rations. Full o’ goodness t’keep yore strength up.’

  They launched the coracle into the water and Tagg got in. Despite his size it floated well, and he pushed off into the current, dabbing left and right with the double-ended paddle.

  ‘This is wonderful! ’Tis so easy to steer, even going upstream against the current. Thanks, friends. My best wishes to you and all your tribe. I’ll never forget your kindness. Please don’t stand waving on the bank. Go in, and keep your heads low for a while. Keep a weather eye out for Juska vermin. Goodbye, and may your seasons be long and happy!’

  The voles scuttled into their secret tunnel, calling back, ‘Yarr yarr, Tagg, call back an’ see us agin. Yore allus welcome!’

  Krobzy stayed at the entrance for a time, watching the sturdy otter paddle his coracle off into the drizzly mists. ‘Good fortune to yer, Taggerung. I ’opes you meets friendly beasts like us along yore way!’

  Drizzle was still falling in moist curtains when the hunters woke, damp and uncomfortable, in unfamiliar woodland after a night spent out in the open. Gruven huddled into a dry space beneath a fir tree, irate and hungry. He snarled at the weasel Milkeye. ‘What’s the matter with you, deadlamp? Did y’never learn to light a fire properly? You’ll be all day puffin’ an’ blowin’ there!’