Guffy scowled darkly as he plumped down on the lawn. “Samwidge beast you’m self, zurr!”
Slopgut had watched the tree-lopping exercise. He scurried back and reported to Daclaw.
Furtively the group leader took his Ravagers around to the east wall—the wickergate was open. Bidding the rest to wait in the shrubbery, Daclaw and his mate, Raddi, peeped carefully through the gateway. Raddi watched the Redwallers lunching. She could smell the soup and the other food. The ferret licked her lips.
“I don’t blame young Globby wantin’ vittles like that. Makes ye wish y’was a woodlander yerself, don’t it?”
Daclaw glared at her. “Don’t talk like that, mate. If’n Zwilt the Shade hears ye, it’s sure death!”
Raddi pulled him back from the gateway suddenly.
“Wot did ye do that for?” Daclaw protested indignantly.
She clamped a paw around his mouth, whispering fiercely, “Didn’t ye see? There’s two young uns comin’ this way. The others haven’t noticed ’em. I think they’re takin’ their vittles out into the woods, mebbe to ’ave a picnic. Lissen, mate, we’ll grab the pair of ’em, gag their mouths an’ clear out of ’ere fast before they’re missed. Are ye ready?”
Daclaw whipped off his tattered shirt, tearing it into two makeshift gags. He passed one to Raddi.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, mate. Ssshh, I can ’ear ’em!”
Back inside on the Abbey lawn, everybeast relaxed after the work, lying about in the sun as they enjoyed a well-earned lunch.
Sister Fumbril made certain the Abbess was sure to hear her as she called out her request. “Perhaps some kind an’ beautiful creature’ll give us permission to carry on with the Redwall Bard Contest. Round about teatime this afternoon, in front of the gatehouse—that’s a quiet, sunny place.”
Granvy wiped soup from his whiskers, commenting, “Sunny it may be, but quiet? Not with this lot scrapin’ fiddles, bangin’ drums an’ caterwaulin’ away. What d’ye think, Mother Abbess?”
Marjoram chuckled. “Then you’d best plug your ears up, my friend, because the kind, beautiful creature has just given her permission for the contest to carry on.”
Brother Tollum waited until the cheering had died down before he asserted his claim. “Er, I think it was my turn to sing next, right, Granvy?” The hedgehog Recorder sighed. “So be it, Brother. But please don’t sing any mournful dirges with a hundred verses.”
Skipper smiled mischievously. “Oh, I dunno. I think ole Tollum’s songs are nice an’ restful. How’s about ‘The Burial Lament for the Flattened Frog’s Granpa’?”
Tollum brightened up slightly. “I know that one!”
There were yells of dismay and groans of mock despair. The Redwallers shouted impassioned protests, plus some rather impudent insults. They carried on eating lunch and joking about various singers.
Nobeast had noticed the absence of two little Dibbuns, who had been trapped, gagged and carried off by a band of vermin Ravagers.
7
It was a pleasant enough stream, running from the woodlands out onto the flatlands. However, this was where Oakheart Witherspyk ran the raft aground. The big, florid hedgehog had dozed off at the tiller, causing his craft to bump over some rocks which lurked in the shallows. The Streamlass was a fine old craft, with a blockhouse of logs at its centre. It had ornate wooden rails and a single mast, from which hung strings of washing and a square canvas sail. The faded sign painted on this sail announced “The Witherspyk Performing Players.” (Though the sign painter had made a spelling error—the word Performing read “Preforming.”)
The shock of the raft bumping roughly aground caused chaos on board. Oakheart’s mother, Crumfiss, and his wife, Dymphnia, clutching baby Dubdub to her, came stampeding onto the streambank. These were followed by the rest of his family, four other hedgehogs, a mole, a squirrel, and two bankvoles. (The latter four creatures he and his wife had adopted.) Everybeast was waving paws in alarm and crying out, either in panic or anger.
Dymphnia bellowed at her husband, “Oakie, you dozed off again, you great bumbler!”
Rising from his armchair, which was nailed to the deck alongside the tiller, Oakheart pointed at himself, booming out dramatically, “Dozed? Did I hear you say dozed, marm? Nay, alas, ’twas a cunning twist of devious water current which cast us ashore thus. I never doze whilst navigating, never!”
A young hogmaid held a drooping paw to her brow, declaiming, “Oh, Papa, I thought we were all to be drowned, lost sadly ’neath the raging waters!”
Dymphnia wiped the babe’s snout on her shawl, casting a jaundiced eye on her daughter. “Do be quiet, Trajidia. Don’t interrupt your father. Well, Oakie, are we stuck here?”
Removing a flop-brimmed hat and sweeping aside his timeworn cloak, Oakheart stared glumly over the rail at a number of rocks beneath the surface.
“Aye, m’dear. Fickle fortune has swept us hard upon the strand. Rikkle, can you see if anything can be done to relieve our position? There’s a good chap!”
One of the bankvoles hurled himself into the water and vanished beneath the raft. After a brief moment, Trajidia, who never missed the opportunity to be dramatic, clasped her paws, staring wide-eyed at the place where Rikkle had submerged.
“Oh, oh, ’tis so hard to bear, one of such tender seasons, gone to a watery grave!”
One of her brothers, Rambuculus, smiled wickedly. “It’s plum duff for supper. If he doesn’t come up, can I have his share, Ma?”
Dymphnia clouted him over the ear with her free paw. “Ye hard-hearted young blight!”
Baby Dubdub, who was learning to speak by repeating the last words of his elders, shook a tiny paw at his brother. “Young blight!”
Rikkle climbed back aboard shaking himself, treating those nearby to a free shower. “Ain’t no good, Pa. We’re jammed tight, unless we can find somethin’ to lever ’er off with.”
Oakheart was not in the levering mood; he sniffed. “Leave it ’til the morrow. Perchance the stream may run at flood and float our Streamlass off.”
Wading into the shallows, he held forth a paw to assist his wife and their babe onto dry land.
“Right, Company, all paws ashore, if ye please!”
Dubdub shouted in his mother’s ear, “Paws ashore, please!”
They were grounded in the area where the trees thinned out onto the heathland. Oakheart rummaged through a pile of effects on the bank, coming up with a funnel fashioned from bark. This he held to his mouth and began calling aloud for the benefit of anybeast within hearing distance.“Hear ye, hear ye, one and all!
All goodbeasts now, hark to me,
see here upon this very spot,
the Performing Witherspyk Company!
What’ll you see here when we start?
Why, tales to delight the rustic heart,
plays enacted on nature’s stage,
dramas of avarice, war and rage.
Stories of love to make you sigh,
tragedies bringing a tear to the eye.
Mayhaps a comedy we’ll make,
You’ll feel your ribs with laughter ache.
Yet what seek we as our reward?
Merely to share your supper board.
A drop to drink, a crust, perchance.
We act, we sing, recite or dance.
Aye, food would aid our noble cause,
though mainly we feed upon applause.
You’ll not regret a visit to see,
The Performing Witherspyk Companeeeeeeeee!”
Oakheart’s mother, Crumfiss, a venerable greyspiked hog, prodded him none too gently with her walking stick. “Oh, give your face a rest, Oakie. This is the back of nowhere. There’s nobeast around for leagues!”
Rambuculus sniggered wickedly. “Poke him again, Granma. Go on—good’n’hard!”
Crumfiss brandished the stick at him. “I’ll poke you, ye impudent young snickchops! Do somethin’ useful. Go on, gather firewood for your ma!”
Oakhea
rt rounded on them, paw upraised. “Hist, voices, d’ye hear?”
From not too far off, a voice sounded, getting louder. “I say, there. Are you chaps callin’ to us, wot? Hold on a tick, we’ll be right with you!”
Two hares and a shrewmaid approached through the woodland fringe. It was Buckler, Diggs and Flib. Oakheart beamed a welcoming smile.
“Over here, friends. Over here!”
Flib wiggled a paw in one ear, wincing. “Do ye have ter yell through that thing?”
The florid hog lowered his megaphone. “Ah, forgive me, my dainty miss—force of habit, y’know.”
Flib scowled at him. “Ye can cut that out right now. I ain’t nobeast’s dainty miss—I’m Flib the Guosim, see!”
Buckler rapped her paw lightly with the bellrope. “Mind your manners. He’s just trying t’be friendly.”
Oakheart did not seem to take offence. He continued holding forth merrily. “Ah, a Guosim shrew, no less. Stout creatures. Perhaps you know one who is an acquaintance of mine, Jango Bigboat by name, something of a chieftain amongst his kind, I believe.”
Flib seemed flustered by the mention of Jango Bigboat. She dropped back, standing behind Diggs, murmuring, “No, I ain’t ’eard o’ that un, sir.”
After introductions had been made all round, Buckler strode down to the streambank, where he viewed the grounded raft.
“Mister Oakheart, perhaps we could help you to refloat your craft. It’s a wonderful thing—I’ve never seen one like it.”
Dymphnia took over from her spouse. “Oh, just call him Oakie, Mister Buckler. Everybeast does. Maybe you’d like to come aboard the Streamlass and share supper with us, such as it is. We can always refloat our raft tomorrow.”
Buckler bowed gallantly. “A pleasure, marm. But call us Buck, Diggs and Flib. We have supplies we could share with you. Oakie tells me you are actors.”
Diggs unhitched the haversack from his back. “Jolly types, actors. We’ve had visits from them once or twice at Salamandastron, doncha know.”
Granma Crumfiss leaned on Diggs’s paw as they went aboard. “Salamandastron, ye say? I played there when I was nought but a young hogmaid. A fine young badger was the Lord. Brang, as I remember. Is he still there?”
It was a memorable evening. The raft’s log cabin was comfortable, if slightly crowded. The two hares contributed food from their packs. Dymphnia served them with bowls of plum duff, ladling her special pear and hazelnut sauce thickly over it. Oakheart broke out a cask of his own brew, which he had named Witherspyk Waterporter. It was slightly sweet, very dark and nourishing.
As they ate, Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes at Diggs, enquiring, “Pray, to where are you warriors of the wilderness bound?”
Crumfiss spoke sternly. “Don’t be so nosey, miss. ’Tis none o’ yore concern where these goodbeasts are goin’!”
Buckler smiled. “Oh, it’s no secret. We’re bound for Redwall, with a gift for the Abbess.”
Oakheart banged his tankard down in surprise. “ ’Pon my liver spikes’n’paws! Why, that’s also our destination, friend Buck. Perhaps when we float our vessel into navigable waters on the morrow, you’d wish to accompany us to that hallowed establishment?”
Buckler winked at Diggs, allowing him to answer. “Wot, oh, I say, wouldn’t we just jolly well love to, Oakie, old lad. Super wheeze, wot wot?”
Baby Dubdub, who was being fed by his mother, pushed away the spoon. “Wheeze, wot wot!”
Everybeast laughed, and Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes even harder. “Oh, how brave and gallant, Papa. We’ll have valiant hares to guard us from any vermin foes!”
Oakheart refilled his tankard. “Indeed we will, m’dear! Eat hearty now, my trusty protectors, and thank ye kindly for offering your skills to us.”
Buckler returned the compliment. “No sir, thank you for offering us such a wonderful way to travel. It’s Diggs an’ I who are grateful to you.”
Diggs winked roguishly at Trajidia. “Rather! An’ in such bally charmin’ company, wot! Never travelled with actors before. Wouldn’t mind havin’ a go at the jolly old actin’ m’self.”
Rambuculus did not hold out much hope for Diggs. “Hmmph, bein’ a warrior, you might come in useful for fights an’ battle scenes. There’s more to actin’ than ye think. You’ve got to be a singer, a dancer, an—”
Diggs cut in on him. “Dancin’? Listen t’me, laddie buck. I can twiddle as neat a flippin’ paw as anybeast. Ask Miggy M’ginnerty, our drill sergeant’s daughter. She’n’I were the bloomin’ toast of the Mess Ball when we tootled round the floor t’gether. Twinklepaws Diggsy, they called me, ain’t that right, Buck?”
Buckler nodded. “That’s correct, mate, an’ you were a good warbler, too, as I recall. Go on, give us a song!”
His chubby companion needed no second bidding. Bounding from his seat, he threw his paws wide and launched into his favourite ditty.“Oh, I hail from Salamandastron,
that old mountain in the west,
with a pack upon me shoulder,
an’ a smartly buttoned vest.
My ears stand to attention,
an’ gels cry out, Look there,
he’s a member of the Long Patrol,
a handsome gallant hare!
“What ho what ho, ’tis true y’know,
no creature can compare,
to a dashin’ singin’ harum-scarum,
Salamandastron hare . . . wot wot!
“I’ll whack a score o’ weasels,
or marmalise a stoat,
there’s many a ferret shiverin’,
when I’ve torn off his coat.
I’m vicious with all vermin,
but show to me a maid,
I’ll kiss her paw an’ shout haw haw!
Pray, marm, don’t be afraid.
“What ho what ho, I tell ye so,
ye gentle gels so fair,
I’m a high-fulorum cockle-a-dorum,
Salamandastron hare . . . wot wot!”
As Diggs finished his song, he made an elegant bow. The Witherspyk Company applauded him heartily, even young Rambuculus. Oakheart was impressed.
“ ’Pon me snout’n’spikes, young Diggs, ye have the makin’s of a fine performer. There’s a position in me troupe for you, should you ever wish to take it! But an actor’s life can be hard, y’know, and hungry, too. Some seasons ye can see more suppertimes than suppers. Well, what d’ye say, friend Diggs, eh?”
The young hare’s ears seemed to wilt. “Er, I think I’ll stick to the jolly old warrior’s path, sir. It’s prob’ly better in the long run.”
Trajidia looked disappointed. “You’re not afraid of acting, are you?”
Buckler answered for his friend. “Diggs ain’t afraid of anything, miss, except starvin’.”
Diggs pouted a little. “Well, a chap needs his scoff, y’know. I wouldn’t look so jolly han’some if I was thin.”
Dymphnia patted his paw. “We understand. Now, tomorrow we’ll follow the stream overland, going south and a point east. That should take us over some flatlands, then back into the trees. When we spy the rock ledges, it’s not far from there to the Abbey. Right, time for sleep, my dears. Early call at dawn, I think. The Streamlass will need to be worked on, so that we can free her.”
The twins, Jiddle and Jinty, went to fetch their blankets. “Mamma, Mamma, can we sleep out on the bank?”
Dymphnia raised her headspikes indignantly. “Certainly not. Who knows what goes on out there at night? You’ve got perfectly good bunks onboard!”
The twin hedgehogs complained bitterly.
“But Granma Crumfiss snores somethin’ dreadful!” “An’ Trajidia keeps talkin’ in her sleep, recitin’ lines from the plays!”
Dymphnia remained obdurate, until Flib interceded. “Let ’em sleep outdoors, marm. I’ll go with the twins an’ keep an eye on ’em. Oh, go on—it’s a warm night.”
Oakheart sighed. “Aye, let them sleep on shore, m’dear. ’Twill stop ’em gettin’ up f
or drinks o’ water all night.”
Wearing their blankets like cloaks, Jiddle and Jinty dashed from the cabin, whooping and squealing.
As Flib followed them, Buckler cautioned her, “Remember now, missy, keep a sharp eye on them!”
The shrewmaid replied icily, “No need t’remind me. I knows wot I’m doin’!”
Diggs caught hold of her paw. “You jolly well take heed of what he says, m’gel, wot!”
She broke his hold roughly, snarling, “An’ yew mind yer own bizness, fatty. Keep an eye on yoreself in case ye go bang after all that scoff!”
To ease the tense moment, Crumfiss turned to her son. “Oakie, why don’t ye sing us a nice little comic ditty before we turn in. Buck an’ Diggs have never heard you performin’.”
Oakheart Witherspyk was never a beast to miss a chance of displaying his talents. Holding that most peculiar of instruments, the Hogalino, over his head, he strummed it across his top spikes and burst into song.“ ’Twas a snowy morn one summer,
an’ the moon was shining bright,
when my dear ma kissed me a fond good-bye.
So I asked where I was going,
as she shoved me out the door.
She blew her snout and then began to cry.
‘Oh, don’t run off to sea, my son,
you’ll break your mother ’s heart.
I’ve reared you since you were an ugly pup!’
But I didn’t want to go,
and I tried to tell her so,
but she locked the door and nailed the windows up.
Off I went to sail the main,
as cabin hog aboard the Scruffy Dog.
The Skipper wore no vest, and tattooed upon his chest,
was a picture of a flea lost in the fog.
Well, it turned out that old Captain,
was a hog named Gusty Snout,
my long-lost daddy that I’d never seen.
So me and that old tar, sailed right back home to Ma,
who saw us coming and let out a scream.
The Sable Quean (Redwall) Page 7
