Hoben watched the other elders’ faces carefully as he replied, ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, marm. Quick-thinking heads and sensible decisions are what’s needed among us old fogies, a drop of young blood to liven things up. I suggest we allow our Mhera to take charge of things. I’ve a feeling she won’t let us down. Let’s put it to the vote!’
There was an immediate chorus of ayes, but Cregga’s sharp ears missed nothing. ‘Sister Alkanet, why do you choose to stay silent?’
The stern Sister made her way slowly to the door. ‘I won’t say yes or no to Mhera’s taking charge. However, I must be honest. I think she’s far too young. It’s too much responsibility, and I think you’ll live to regret your decision.’ And Alkanet swept off up the stairs to her infirmary.
Foremole Brull twiddled her digging claws and fixed her eyes on the table in front of her. ‘She’m a gurtly h’odd mouse, that ’un, but she’m atitled to urr umpinnyin’. Hurr, ’tain’t moine, tho’. Oi loikes miz Mhura!’
Filorn smiled across at the kind Foremole. ‘Thanks for your confidence in my daughter. Well, Mhera, you’d best answer Cregga. What’s our next move?’
The elders’ hopeful faces dispelled any nervousness Mhera felt. ‘At the moment there’s not a great deal we can do. If needs be, Fwirl can easily scout the woodlands close to our Abbey. As for the rest, we’ve got to keep an eye on the Dibbuns, see none of them try straying outside. You all know by now that even a locked gate or high walls won’t stop some of those little rogues. The only thing we can do is to sit tight and hope the tattooed vermin will move off sooner or later. Our walls are patrolled and we can sleep safely knowing Mr Boorab is commanding the guard.’
This last remark was greeted by chuckles from the elders. Friar Bobb heaved himself upright, straightening his apron. ‘Villains or no villains, I’ve got cabbage an’ fennel bake to make, aye, and raspberry cream turnovers. Redwallers don’t quit having supper because there’s vermin in the woodlands, oh no!’ The meeting broke up and creatures went off to their chores.
Mhera was helping Cregga from her chair when the Badgermum began rummaging in her belt pouch.
‘Oh, I almost forgot in all the excitement. I found one of your pieces of lilac-smelling cloth. I assume it’s the same colour as the others. It was lying among the fresh torches we put by the east wallgate when we were searching last night.’ She passed the ottermaid a scrap of the green homespun.
Mhera inspected the cloth. It was exactly the same as the others: rough faded green homespun, with a faint odour of lilacs. Inscribed on it in the same vertical capitals was the word WITTAGALL.
Cregga twitched her muzzle impatiently. ‘Well, is it one of those pieces of cloth? Does it have any message on it? Tell me, Mhera?’
‘What? Oh, er, sorry, Cregga. It says WITTAGALL, whatever that’s supposed to mean. I wonder who left it there?’
Cregga leaned on Mhera’s shoulder as they mounted the stairs. ‘How should I know? I’m an old blind badger, not a magician or a mystery solver. It’s not important how it got there, it’s the word and what it means. WITTAGALL. What d’you think it is?’
Mhera stopped, allowing Cregga to rest her paws. ‘You’re asking me? I’m only a simple ottermaid, not a wise old Badgermum who’s lived more seasons than anybeast I know and can tell just by a sound who it is and what they’re doing.’
Cregga tweaked the ottermaid’s cheek. ‘You, my pretty maid, are an old head on young shoulders!’
* * *
24
Across from the path in front of Redwall’s main gate, which faced west, was a partially dried up ditch separating the path from the sprawling flatlands. Twilight’s last vestiges were gleaming as Eefera stood in the ditch, looking up at the solid red sandstone heights of the Abbey’s outer wall.
‘Supposin’ the Taggerung ain’t in there, what then?’
Vallug rubbed beeswax along his bowstring to keep it supple. ‘Huh, ’e’s in there all right, I kin feel it in me bones.’
Eefera took out his long curved knife and began digging at some wild ramsons which was poking through the ditch side. ‘Hmm. Ain’t much chance of us findin’ out if the Taggerung’s in there or not. It’s all ’igh walls, locked doors an’ guards walkin’ round betwixt the battlements. We got no chance o’ gettin’ in there to seek ’im out.’ He began crunching the garlicky-smelling plant. Vallug turned away in disgust from the weasel’s breath.
‘Yurk! D’you ’ave to eat that stuff? I’ll tell ye a good way fer us to get in. You climb up that wall an’ breathe all over ’em, that’ll knock the guards out so you kin open the door fer me.’
Eefera wiped soil from another clump of ramsons and bit into it. ‘Very funny. Yore jokes’ll be the death of you one day, I ’ope. But the way I sees it, we don’t ’ave to try an’ get inter that place, if’n we can make the Taggerung come out to us.’
Vallug gagged as he turned and caught another whiff of ramsons. ‘Go on then, stinkmouth, tell me ’ow we do that. Why should the Taggerung come out if’n ’e knows we want t’kill ’im, eh?’
Eefera picked his teeth with a filthy pawnail. ‘Simple. Yore the great Bowbeast, aren’t yer? All’s you gotta do is kill one o’ those guards up yonder, just as a sort o’ message. Pretty soon they’ll want t’know wot we want, so we, I mean you, kill another one. I’ll tell ’em we’ll slay every Redwaller we see until they gives us the Taggerung. I think that’s a pretty good idea, don’t you?’
Vallug eyed the figures patrolling the walltop. ‘Oh, it’s a marvellous idea, unless I kills one an’ they all comes chargin’ out an’ chops us ter fish scraps!’
Eefera spat out a soily bit of vegetation. ‘Yore plan is better, then? Go on, tell it t’me.’
Vallug knew he had lost the argument, so he blustered. ‘D’ye remember wot Sawney said? ’E didn’t want ter tangle with the warriors in there. Sawney Rath was a wise chief.’
Eefera laughed scornfully. ‘Aye, was! But now Sawney’s a dead chief, an’ it wasn’t no Redwall warriors did it, ’twas ’is own pet otter. So are yer goin’ along with my idea, or are ye scared?’
Vallug pushed his face nose to nose with Eefera, despite the smell. ‘I ain’t scared of yew an’ I ain’t scared of those up there, an’ if yer don’t believe me then watch this!’
Fitting a shaft to his bowstring, Vallug drew it back, judging the breeze and the height. He fired and hit one of the guards standing left of the threshold above the main gate. Vallug watched the Redwaller crumple below the battlements and sneered. ‘Now tell me I’m scared. Vallug Bowbeast ain’t afraid of anybeast ’is arrows can slay. That goes fer them an’ you too. Hoi! Come back ’ere. Where are yer goin’?’
Eefera turned a pitying smile upon the ferret. ‘I’m gettin’ out of the way, back inter the woods. They’ll prob’ly ’ave archers, spearbeasts an’ slingers to fire back at us. But don’t lissen t’me. You stay there an’ chat to yerself all night. I’m off!’
Vallug crouched and followed Eefera at a run, north along the muddy streambed, to where they could make the trees in safety.
Broggle saw the arrow strike, and dashed towards the fallen Redwaller, roaring out in anguish, ‘It’s old Hoarg! They’ve killed Hoarg the Gatekeeper!’
Boorab was on the spot immediately, calling out orders. ‘Stay at your posts, keep those heads down, I’ll see to this!’
Tears streamed down Broggle’s face as he arrived on the scene. ‘What would anybeast want to slay old Hoarg for? He never hurt a living thing in all his life!’
Boorab swiftly pushed Broggle’s head below the parapet. ‘You’ll be next if y’don’t keep your bally head down, laddie buck. Stow the tears, he ain’t hit that bad, wot!’
The ancient dormouse had been wearing an old copper bucket as a helmet, with the handle under his chin. Vallug’s arrow was stuck tight in the side of the bucket, having pierced it. Fwirl came bounding up and peered under the bucket, which was set firmly on the stunned Gatekeeper’s head.
‘Don’t try to remove the arrow or take the bucket off Hoarg’s head. The shaft’s gone through his ear.’
Tucking the ladle tight against his side, Boorab issued more orders. ‘Listen up in the ranks there, chaps, sound the alarm bells, two stretcher bearers up here on the double, carry this poor fellow up to Sister Alkanet’s infirmary. Steady on now, those carrying slings, load ’em up an’ wait on my command. When I give the word, heads up, pepper the ditch below the threshold with one good volley, then heads down smartly, an’ keep ’em down! Ready . . . slings!’
A sharp rain of pebbles battered the ditch where Vallug and Eefera had been. Two moles hoisted Hoarg between them and carried him down the wallsteps. His eyes opened as he was hustled down, and he groaned woefully.
‘Owwww, my pore ear! Wot hit me? Where are ye takin’ me?’
‘Hurr, you’m be’d shot in ee bucket, zurr. Us’n’s be’s takin’ ee to yon affirmery. Doan’t ee wurry, Sister h’Alkurnet’ll fizzick ee gudd, you’m feel gurtly well agin then, hurr hurr!’
Hoarg’s voice echoed round the bucket as it tipped forward over his eyes. ‘If I’d knowed I was goin’ to be dragged off an’ physicked by that ole mouse, I’d have let the vermin kill me!’
In the absence of kitchen staff, who were part of Boorab’s wallguard, Mhera and Gundil helped Filorn and Friar Bobb to make the supper. Between them they made cabbage and fennel bake into pasties, which they parcelled up with table linen, placing the raspberry cream turnovers on trays and filling a clean pail with dandelion cordial. Filorn helped Mhera to load up a trolley to take out to the wallguards.
As she worked, the ottermaid kept reciting to herself, ‘Hittagall Pittagall Wittagall! Hittagall Pittagall Wittagall!’
Filorn looked oddly at her daughter. ‘What in the name of rudders are you talking about?’
Mhera placed a final tray of turnovers on the trolley. ‘I wish I knew, Mama. It’s the three words from the three strips of cloth. Hittagall, Pittagall and Wittagall. I just keep on repeating them to myself in the hope that they’ll suddenly make sense. Trouble is, they don’t.’
Filorn lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Then stop saying them or you’ll have everybeast saying that you’re acting like a Dibbun. Cregga and Hoben have given you a lot of responsibility, and the elders will look to you for guidance. Until this vermin trouble is over, you’d do well to abandon any puzzles and riddles. Don’t you realise, Mhera, you are practically in charge of Redwall Abbey for the moment!’
Before Mhera could reply, the irrepressible Boorab came marching in, his nose atwitch at the smell of food.
‘What’s that? In charge of Redwall Abbey, young feller m’gel? Aha, well you may be, but yours truly is in charge an’ command of the defences, wot. Jolly old outer wall and all who flippin’ well patrol it. Responsibility’s m’middle name, doncha know!’
Mhera rapped the hare’s paw, which was straying dangerously close to the array of raspberry cream turnovers. ‘Then why aren’t you out there carrying out your duties? The kitchen is no place for a commanding officer.’
Boorab swaggered over to Filorn, who had always been sympathetic to him, and gave her his best stiff upper lip smile. ‘Very observant of your beautiful daughter, marm. Everything’s hunky dory out on the ramparts, no vermin showin’ their lousebound features about, all quiet an’ orderly y’might say. Thought I’d take the opportunity of poppin’ in to check up on rations for the troops. One owes it t’the lower rank chaps, y’know, officer has to feed the faces under his command. Me bounden duty, y’see!’
Filorn curtsied to the hare and presented him with a turnover. ‘I understand, sir. Perhaps you’d like to sample one of these, to make sure ’tis of the right quality for your wallguards?’
Mhera watched in amazement as the turnover vanished into the gluttonous hare’s mouth. Licking his paws, Boorab closed both eyes and smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘First class, ladies, absoballylutely top hole, wot. A and B the C of D I’d say. Let me help you take the jolly trolley to my starvin’ companions freezin’ away the bitter night hours on the rugged ramparts, wot!’ He trundled the cart off, with Mhera and Filorn hurrying behind.
‘You shouldn’t encourage him, Mama,’ Mhera whispered disapprovingly. ‘Starving companions freezing away the bitter night? It’s hardly a long while since they were last fed, and it’s a warm summer night without even a breeze!’
Filorn watched the odd lanky figure hurrying across the lawn, taking great care not to spill any food from the trolley. ‘Don’t be too hard on Boorab. His heart’s in the right place and he’s always been very gallant and polite to me.’
Mhera linked paws with her mother as they followed the trolley. ‘You’re too soft-hearted by far. Oh, and what does Boorab mean by A and B the C of D? Sounds like some kind of code.’
‘I asked him once. He said it’s some old military saying,’ Filorn explained. ‘The first letters of the phrase above and beyond the call of duty. A and B the C of D. Apparently his grandsire learned it, when he served with a group of hares called the Long Patrol.’
When they reached the wallsteps, Foremole Brull detailed six of her moles to carry the trolley up to the battlements. Mhera had always admired the friendly mole leader, and she stroked Brull’s velvety paw affectionately.
‘Thank you, marm. I was wondering how we’d get a loaded trolley up there.’
Brull had a smile so jolly, it seemed to light up the night. ‘Doan’t ee wurry, miz. They’m h’only likkle, but they’m axeedingly moighty. Ho, boi the way, do ee be’s cleckin’ likkle piecings o’ ee greeny cloth?’
Mhera felt her curiosity aroused. ‘Yes, I am collecting little pieces of cloth. Have you got one?’
Brull produced the object from inside her sleeve. ‘Oi foinded this ’un stucked to ee bakklement summ whoile agoo.’
It was a green homespun strip, still smelling faintly of lilac. Mhera read the writing on it. UITTAGALL.
‘Be’s et h’any gudd to ee, miz?’
Mhera blinked absent-mindedly. ‘What? Oh, er, yes. Thank you very much, Brull.’
Brull helped Filorn to serve the food as they trundled the trolley round the ramparts. Filorn looked down to the gatehouse wallsteps, where her daughter was sitting studying something. ‘I thought Mhera was going to help us serve? What’s she doing sitting down there in the dark?’
Foremole Brull busied herself with the cabbage and fennel pasties. ‘Ho, leave urr be, missus, she’m lukkin’ at one o’ ee ole greeny cloths oi foinded oop yurr.’
From out of nowhere, Fwirl landed at Mhera’s side. She peered over the ottermaid’s shoulder. ‘Found another of your cloth puzzles, eh?’
Mhera shook the fabric under Fwirl’s nose. ‘Foremole Brull found it not long ago, stuck to a battlement. It says UITTAGALL. Now I’ve got four cloths and I don’t know what even one of them means. But there’s an even greater puzzle, Fwirl. This cloth couldn’t have stayed stuck to a battlement all those seasons since Abbess Song was alive. It would have rotted or blown away ages ago. The riddle may be an ancient and mysterious one, but I’ve been thinking hard about it and I’ve come up with something. Listen to this. The first two pieces we found could have lain there since the time of Abbess Song. One was inside the bell tower, high and dry on the beam, the other was part of an infirmary coverlet. However, look at these last two scraps of cloth. One was found by Cregga, out in the open by the east wallgate, the other was found by Brull up on the walltop, again out in the open. Neither of the outside cloths could have survived the sun, winds, snow, ice and rains of many seasons. So what does that tell us, my friend?’
Fwirl caught on immediately. Her tail whirled excitedly. ‘Somebeast in the Abbey is putting them there. Right?’
Mhera gripped Fwirl’s paws and squeezed them. ‘Exactly! We’re going to keep our eyes open from now on, Fwirl. Because whoever it is holds the key to this whole mystery!’
Filorn came down the wallsteps to find Mhera and Fwirl whirling eac
h other round, chanting singsong style, ‘Hittagall pittagall wittagall uittagall! Hittagall pittagall wittagall uittagall!’
‘Mhera, what have I told you, miss?’ Filorn whispered urgently. ‘Redwallers are watching you. Think of your responsibilities!’
The ottermaid halted momentarily and smiled impudently. ‘Boorab’s a commander, and if he can go around saying A and B the C of D, wot wot, then I’m allowed a bit of fun too. Besides, I’m younger than him. Come on, Fwirl, I’m enjoying this!’
Squirrelmaid and ottermaid started whirling around again. ‘Hittagall pittagall wittagall uittagall!’
Filorn relented. She helped Brull push the empty trolley back to the Abbey, smiling and shaking her head. ‘Just look at those two young ’uns. Mad as march hares!’
Brull nodded admiringly as she watched the performance. ‘Hurr hurr, bless ee gudd ’earts, missus, they’m h’only young once. Oi cudd darnce loike that once; wish’t oi cudd naow. Hurr hurr hurr, oi’m gurtly fattied. Moi darncin’ days be’s long dunn!’
* * *
25
The Dillypin raft was well into deep woodland, floating leisurely along the broad river. It was one of those halcyon summer afternoons Tagg would always remember. After a superb lunch of pancakes and bilberry cordial, he lounged on the stern rail with Jurkin, keeping the raft on course and watching the current. Smooth flowing and deep the water ran, clear to its bed. Long trailing weed tresses, submerged flat rocks and fleet darting minnow shoals passed beneath the rudder. Dragonflies and other insects patrolled the shallows, sheltered by overhanging trees from swallows and willow warblers. Jurkin studied the land, as did Tagg, both with the eyes of experienced trackers. The hedgehog nodded sagely.
‘Aye, see the broken sedge yonder? Yore vermin passed this way. Bound fer Redwall, if’n I ain’t mistaken, matey.’
The Taggerung (Redwall) Page 27
