The Taggerung (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Tagg turned slowly so they could all see. ‘Aye, stuck in the back of my belt where I always keep it. Never mess with a blade, unless you’ve spent fifteen seasons learning how to use one. Now I’ll bid you all goodnight!’

  He strolled out on to the deck and found a quiet place to sleep. Nimbalo swaggered out in his friend’s wake, but not before saying, ‘Good, isn’t ’e? That’s me matey Tagg. I taught ’im all ’e knows!’

  Like twin spectres, the rocks loomed up out of dawn mist. Tagg woke to the sound of Jurkin calling orders.

  ‘Bring ’er in portside there an’ make fast for’ard an’ aft!’ He presented Tagg and Nimbalo with a bag each. ‘’Tain’t much, some leftover allfruit duff an’ a flagon o’ cider apiece. Stir yore stumps, mates. Let’s go an’ find yore vermin tracks, see which ways they’re bound.’

  They leaped ashore on to the base of the two great limestone rocks protruding out of the woodlands. Making their way round the huge monoliths they entered the deep, silent tree cover. Sunlight pierced the leafy canopy, turning the ground mist into golden tendrils amid the dark green shadows. Jurkin took the centre, with Tagg and Nimbalo ranging out either side of him. All three were accomplished hunters and trackers, their paws making no sound as they trod carefully, avoiding dead twigs or anything that could crack or rustle underpaw. No words were exchanged; keeping each other in view, they communicated silently by head and paw gestures. Ranging between the trunks of mighty oaks and lofty elm, spreading beech and stately poplar, Tagg kept his eyes riveted on the ground and his ears alert. Through fern beds, loam and moss-carpeted sward they went, until both river and tall rocks were well behind them. The distant trilling of a tree pipit caused the trackers to halt and listen carefully. The little bird sounded either angry or upset. As three heads turned in the direction of the birdsound, Jurkin pointed and Nimbalo wordlessly mouthed, ‘Over there!’

  Tagg pointed to himself, indicating that he would go ahead and his friends follow a short distance behind. Drawing his blade, the otter clamped it between his teeth and vanished into a low clump of brush. He wriggled swiftly through a broad swath of rosebay willowherb and into the base of a small spreading buckthorn, where he crouched, still as a rock. Peering through the leaves, he found himself looking at the back of a small hedgehog, trimly outfitted in a bright yellow smock and green apron. Tagg reached out and tugged the apron strings lightly. Turning round, the little hogmaid took one look at the tattooed otter holding a blade in his clenched teeth, and screamed.

  ‘Mammeeeeeeee! Daddeeeeeeee!’

  Tagg struggled through the buckthorn as everybeast arrived on the scene at a run, Nimbalo and Jurkin from behind and the hogmaid’s parents from the front. Jurkin recognised them and shook his quills impatiently.

  ‘Tell liddle miss fussyfrills to put a cork in that wailin’, willyer? We’re trackin’ vermin!’

  Smothering her daughter’s tearful face in her billowing dress, the mother stared haughtily down her snout at Jurkin. ‘Tut tut, I might have known it. A Dillypin!’

  Her husband, a little fat fellow, peeped out from behind her and repeated, ‘Dillypin!’

  Jurkin spread his paws wide, gesturing at their surroundings. ‘What’n the name o’ spikes’n’stickles are Forthrights doin’ in this neck o’ the woodlands?’

  The mother patted her child’s back soothingly. ‘This is our summer woodland domicile, away from hot sun and open country, if that’s any business of yours, Jurkin Dillypin. And as for hunting vermin, how can you possibly be doing that by bringing one along with you? Great tattoo-faced savage with that sword in his mouth, frightening the life out of our little Pecunia. You should be ashamed of yourself!’

  The husband popped out and echoed, ‘Ashamed of yourself!’

  She tugged his snout sharply. ‘Silence, Merradink. I’ll deal with this rabble.’

  He retreated behind her voluminous dress. ‘Yes, Campathia dear.’

  Nimbalo pointed at Campathia. ‘Are you ole Robald’s sister or summat like that, marm?’

  She gave him a look that would have frozen custard. ‘I most certainly am not! We are the southern Forthrights. Robald is one of the eastern Forthrights, an indifferent bunch. They are sadly lacking in personal tidiness, not like us!’

  Merradink’s head poked out again. ‘Not like us!’

  Tagg felt the discussion was getting them nowhere. He became forcefully polite with the prissy Campathia. ‘Begging your pardon, marm, I am no vermin, despite my appearance. I apologise for upsetting your little one, I didn’t mean to. Now, just answer my questions and we’ll be on our way and leave you in peace. Have any vermin, with tattoos like mine, passed this way? If so, when and where?’

  Campathia pointed to Tagg’s blade, which he held in his paw. ‘Put that . . . thing away, sir. I refuse to converse with armed ruffians. Put it away this instant!’

  As Tagg returned the blade to his belt, he heard Merradink. ‘This instant!’

  Placated by the otter’s obedience, Campathia answered the question. ‘Late last night. I was cooking supper, and I heard them before I saw them. Three vermin, two stoat creatures and a disgusting female rat, all tattooed in a similar fashion to yourself. Acting promptly, we left our camp and hid nearby. They commandeered our camp and ate our supper. The rat said that she had smelled the fire from a distance. Their behaviour was dreadful, their manners atrocious, and their language! Suffice it to say I had to cover my babe’s ears. They were totally uncouth—’

  Tagg interrupted her flow. ‘When did they leave? Where’s your camp?’

  Campathia gestured over her shoulder. ‘Over there. After eating everything in sight and taking what they could carry, the miscreants left within the hour.’

  ‘Within the hour.’

  Jurkin peeped around her dress at Merradink. ‘Come on, echo, take us to yore camp.’

  Campathia waggled a stern paw at Jurkin. ‘His name is not echo, as you well know. Follow me!’

  The camp was little more than an elaborately embroidered linen square of considerable size, pegged across a low hornbeam branch and a fallen larch tree. It had been ripped to tatters by the vermin, and a small home-made rock oven nearby was smashed down into the ashes of a fire beneath it. Nimbalo sniffed at the ashes as Tagg inspected the ground, pointing out the unmistakable pawprints of Dagrab, Rawback and Gruven. ‘They’re headed west and a bit south. It’s them all right!’

  Nimbalo stepped around Tagg to retrieve a scrap of barkcloth fibre which was snagged on a holly bush. ‘Aye, lookit this, mate!’

  The otter took the barkcloth fragment and sniffed it carefully before turning his attention to Campathia. ‘How long have you been at this camp, marm?’

  She sniffed and replied indifferently, ‘All summer long, if that’s any business of yours.’

  Tagg shook his head at Jurkin, to indicate that she was lying. Jurkin tipped him a broad wink, then launched into a tirade at her, just as Merradink was repeating ‘business of yours’.

  ‘Yer mealy-mouthed, snake-tongued, bandyspiked fibber!’

  Horrified, Campathia covered Pecunia’s ears. ‘You common riverhog, how dare you use such language!’

  ‘Such language!’ her husband echoed.

  Jurkin was enjoying himself. He raised his voice and roared, ‘Then tell the truth, ye fat, icy-snouted, beady-eyed nettlebush!’

  Campathia withered under Jurkin’s furious salvo. Dropping her head, she brushed imaginary dust specks from her dress. ‘Day before yesterday. We arrived in the early evening.’

  ‘Early eee!’

  She stamped on Merradink’s footpaw, silencing him.

  Tagg nodded courteously. ‘Thankee, marm. We’ll be on our way!’

  The three friends cut off through the undergrowth, leaving the snobbish southern Forthrights behind. Nimbalo was curious.

  ‘Tagg, mate, ’ow did ye know they ’adn’t been there all summer?’

  The otter tucked the barkcloth scrap into his belt. ‘Because they’d be
dead if they had. Just before they arrived and made camp there, Vallug and Eefera passed through. It was Eefera gave the game away by tearing his tunic on that hollybush. I can smell weasel any time, and his scent was still on the cloth. That means we’re tracking Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback, who are tracking Vallug and Eefera. Isn’t that nice, mate? We’re all going the same way. But what about you, Jurkin? Hadn’t you better get back to your Dillypins and the raft?’

  The sturdy hedgehog nodded ruefully. ‘Aye, mate, even though I’d like to stand alongside ye when y’catch up wid those vermints. But I’ll take another route back t’the ole scow. Don’t want to bump inter Campathia Forthright an’ ’er family again!’

  ‘An’ ’er family again!’

  Jurkin roared with laughter at Nimbalo’s impersonation of Merradink. ‘Hohohoho! I’ll miss you, ye liddle rascal. Take good care of each other, now. ’Twas a pleasure meetin’ ye both. Tagg, mate, may the stream be smooth an’ yore rudder never bust on ye!’ The three joined paws for a moment, then Jurkin turned and cut off at a tangent, back to his family and the raft.

  The trail was clear now. Tagg knew he was following five vermin. He recalled his dreams, the mouse warrior Martin beckoning him urgently, Vallug firing the arrows at him, trying to slay him, to stop him. The otter knew then, with a ruthless certainty, nothing was going to stop him going to Redwall. Nothing and nobeast!

  * * *

  26

  Gruven strode along confidently. He had gradually come into his own since the journey from the mountain. Granted, there had been setbacks. He had lost some face, having to flee the Taggerung, but there was no sign of the otter now. Doubtless he had perished along the way, or got lost. Then there had been the incident with those hedgehogs. He dismissed it from his mind. There had been too many of them and they were experts at stone slinging. It could have happened to any Juska warrior, caught waist deep in a stream, pelted by a mob. He probed with his tongue at a loose back tooth. There was no shame in retreating from that lot. He would go back there one night, when he was clan Chieftain, and burn them alive in their cottage. Other than that, things had worked out well. They had feasted on the best of food from the hog who lived on the flatlands, aye, and left him to die, trapped inside a mudball. Then, just as provisions were running low, they had found the belligerent old harvest mouse and his farmhouse. Gruven had enjoyed that, he liked inflicting pain on others, though he had granted Dagrab the privilege of slaying their victim when the time came to move on. A pity they had not captured the hogs at the latest camp. He harboured a deep-rooted hatred for the spiky creatures after his last encounter with them. But again, things had turned out well enough. Having wrecked the place, they had left carrying valuable supplies of food. Not only that, but it was he who rediscovered the trail of Eefera and Vallug, which Dagrab had lost some time before out on the flatlands. Gruven was the one who was showing the way; it was he who was in undisputed charge of the other two. Dagrab and Rawback obeyed his every command, without question.

  He exerted his authority now, pointing to a small pool set in a clearing, a welcome oasis in the thick woodlands. ‘We’ll camp ’ere awhile. You two get some vittles ready!’

  Dagrab put down her battleaxe and took the sack of supplies from Rawback. Between them they gathered firewood and found a flat stone, and then Dagrab made a fire whilst Rawback ground a paste from nuts, wild oats and barley, taken from the Forthrights.

  ‘This’ll make some good flatcakes for us, Chief. I’ll bake ’em over the fire on this flat stone. You’ll like my flatcakes.’

  Gruven ignored Rawback’s comments and concentrated on what lay ahead. He told himself that he had no fear of Vallug or Eefera. They were the only creatures who could prevent his gaining leadership of the Juskazann, therefore they would both have to die, preferably by ambush. Dagrab and Rawback he could dispose of easily, leaving the field clear for him to return to the clan, with a harrowing tale of the hunt. How his brave companions had all met their deaths, leaving only him, Gruven Zann, to slay the traitor Taggerung and return to claim his rightful place as Chieftain. Gruven Zann Juskazann!

  His train of thought was interrupted by Dagrab, tapping him hesitantly on the shoulder. ‘Can’t yer see I’m tryin’ to think?’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Go away, leave me alone.’

  But she persisted. ‘Lissen, Chief . . . lissen!’

  Gruven rose moodily, sneering. ‘Lissen to wot, yore slobberin’ mouth?’

  The rat cupped her ear to one side. ‘Bells! Can’t you ’ear ’em? ’Tis bells, I tell ye!’

  Gruven paid attention then. His ears caught the warm brazen tones of two bells from afar. Rawback had finished his baking. He jiggled two hot flatcakes in his paws, announcing triumphantly, ‘Lookit these beauties, Chief. I done a whole batch of ’em!’

  Gruven drew his sword, pointing in the direction of the tolling bells. ‘No time fer that now. Pack ’em up in the sack, we’ll eat as we go. C’mon, you two, follow me. Keep yer mouths shut an’ do as I say, an’ hold yer weapons ready!’

  Friar Bobb came scurrying from the kitchens into Great Hall, panting and scratching his stomach distractedly, peering into corners. Mhera, Broggle and Fwirl were making for the main door when the Friar spotted them.

  ‘Hi there, have you seen a Dibbun about? We’ve lost one!’ He came trundling over to them, mopping at his brow. ‘Mhera, your mother an’ I were watching the little ’uns. We took them to the kitchens and were showing them how to make strawberry flan. Great seasons, those Dibbuns take some watchin’. We’d not got the pastry rolled when your mama realised that little Trey had vanished. Anyhow, she’s searchin’ the kitchens with Brother Hoben, whilst I’m taking a look up here. Ooh, that Trey, the scamp! There’s no tellin’ where he’ll get to next.’

  Mhera reassured the anxious Friar. ‘Trey won’t have gone far. Mama will probably find him hiding in the larders and stuffing himself. You keep searching round here, and we’ll take a look outside. I’ll have a word or two to say to Trey if he’s out there. All Dibbuns have been told to stay indoors while there’s vermin in the woods firing arrows over.’

  Fwirl swung the main door open. ‘Mhera, you and Broggle search out in the grounds. I’m going into the treetops to scout out the woodlands and see if those two painted blaggards are still roaming about by the walls.’

  Broggle patted his friend’s paw. ‘Watch yourself out there, Fwirl. We’ve already had one injured. Be very careful and don’t stay out there too long!’

  Fwirl gave him one of her prettiest smiles and saluted. ‘Yes sir, got it sir, watch m’self sir and don’t stay out too long sir. I hear and obey your orders, sir!’

  Cregga was sitting in the old wheelbarrow at the orchard entrance, dozing in the late noontide sun. Mhera could not help shaking the ancient Badgermum a bit sharply. ‘Marm, what are you doing out here?’

  The badger twitched a fly from her muzzle. ‘Just catching a little nap in the fresh air. It’s nice out here.’

  Mhera wagged a stern paw at her friend. ‘Maybe, but it’s not showing much of an example to other Redwallers. Nobeast is supposed to be outside, except the guards!’

  Cregga’s sightless eyes turned in the ottermaid’s direction. ‘Then what are you and Broggle doing out here, may I ask?’

  Broggle looked disappointed. He had hoped the badger had not noticed his presence. ‘Trey the mousebabe has gone missing, and we’re searching for him. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed him, marm?’

  Cregga chuckled. ‘He’s over yonder in the strawberry patch. I was going to catch him on the way back and take him inside. Oh, talking of which, would you help me back inside, please, Broggle?’

  Mhera began helping Cregga from the barrow. ‘Here, I will.’

  The Badgermum placed her hefty paw on Broggle’s shoulder. ‘No, you go and get Trey. Broggle can help me. Come on, my favourite assistant cook, help an old beast to the dining room. It’s almost time for tea.’

  Mhera found Trey sitting h
appily in the strawberry patch, covered in juice and berry pippins. She hoisted him up as he continued stuffing his mouth.

  ‘What were you told about coming outside on your own, you rascal!’

  Trey grinned and popped a strawberry in the ottermaid’s mouth. ‘Saved a big ’un for you, Mura. I no on me own, Badgeymum sayed Trey could pick strawbeez.’

  Mhera hid a smile, glad that the little fellow was safe. ‘Oh did she now! Well, I’ll have a word or two with Lady Cregga. Just look at the mess of you! Don’t wipe your face on that dirty smock. Use your kerchief, you mucky mouse!’

  Trey pulled out a strip of green homewoven fabric and began scrubbing at his juice-stained mouth. Mhera took it from him. It smelled of lilacs, and the word KITTAGALL was written on it in the same unmistakable capitals.

  ‘Where did you get this? Tell me, Trey.’

  The mousebabe wrinkled his brow and whispered furtively, ‘Dat cloff was hid inna strawbee leafs. I finded it!’

  Matching his secretive manner, Mhera whispered back, ‘Very clever of you, Trey. Did you see who put it there?’

  Pulling a large fat strawberry out of his smock sleeve, Trey put his nose up against Mhera’s and explained, as if she was the Dibbun and not him, ‘Frybobb an’ F’lorn not let Trey eatta strawbeez inna kitchen, say no, no, they for makin’ a flans wiv. So Trey comes out inna strawbee patch t’look for strawbeez. Not look for cloffs, ho no, cloff jus’ there inna leafs, all hided. I no see who purra there.’ He shoved the big strawberry in his mouth and refused to talk further.

  Mhera carried Trey inside, her mind in a turmoil. Who could have placed the green cloth in the orchard, and why had they chosen that spot? Passing through the dining room on her way to the kitchen, she saw Cregga sitting alone in a corner.

  ‘Cregga, can I ask you something?’

  The Badgermum yawned. ‘Won’t let me take my nap, outside or inside. Yes, Mhera, yes, you may ask me something. What is it, O curious one?’

  ‘Besides Trey, did you notice any other creature go into the orchard while you were sitting in the barrow? Think hard, it’s important.’