The Taggerung

Boorab dragged his haredee gurdee forward and announced, "In honor of our fair winner I will now render the Ballad of the Brainy Duck. Thank you!"

Sister Alkanet pushed her plate away. "That's completely ruined my appetite!"

The hare shot her a haughty glance. "I heard that remark, marm!" Notwithstanding, he tugged levers and wound wheels until the instrument groaned into action. Much to everybeast's hilarity it kept making noises like a duck. Boorab launched into his song.

"Some said his head was full of stones,

Some said 'twas full of muck,

But I tell you, that wasn't true,

Oh Dingle was a brainy duck!

He knew history and geography,

Read books from front to back,

But the poor little fellow with his webs so yellow

All he could say was Quack!

Oh geese go honk and sparrows tweet,

I suppose jackdaws shout Jack,

But the cleverest bird you've ever heard,

Was the duck who just went Quack!

One day there came a cunning fox,

Who said 'I'm Doctor Black,

And all the ducks believed he was,

'Til Dingle called him Quack!

Oh Quack Quack Quack! Quack Quack Quack!

Brave Dingle Quacked and raved,

So the ducks jumped Quackly in the pond,

And from that fox were saved.

If ever you meet dear Dingle,

Good manners he won't lack,

Just shake his wing, you'll hear him sing,

Quack Quack Quack Quack Quack!"

Midst rousing cheers, Boorab took his bow and, as usual, tripped over the haredee gurdee, rolling under the table with it. Filorn peered down. It was difficult to tell what was hare and what was haredee gurdee, the two were so enmeshed.

"Oh, you poor creature. Are you all right, Mr. Boorab sir?"

His head emerged from between a set of accordion bellows. "Er, hawhaw, quite well, thankee, marm, just makin' a minor adjustment, wot. Me quackin' mechanism overheated, doncha know!"

The friends made their escape to the comparative peace of Cregga's room, where they confronted the remainder of the puzzle. Brother Hoben read it aloud.

"The strangest thing you've ever heard,

A point that makes a noisy word,

The other three make quieter pleas,

Let me start you off with 'teas.'"

Cregga settled into her armchair. "This gets odder by the moment. What's teas supposed to mean?"

Hoben took on a teacherlike air. "Quite simple, really. Teas is just the letters of east messed around a bit, right, Mhera?"

"Yes, Brother, like north makes, er, er . . . thorn!"

Cregga caught on quickly. "And west makes, let me see ... stew!"

Hoben nodded. "It's an old trick, but it will fool you easily if you don't look out for it. So, that leaves south, the point that makes the word shout. That's a noisy word, I'd say. Oh, then there's these two final lines. Listen carefully.

" 'Twixt water and stone I stand alone,

Sounding burnt but alive I survive!"

Hoben tapped his paw on the slate. "And that is the important part, friends. That is what we are searching for."

Gundil scrambled down from Cregga's chair arm, where he had been perching. "Boi 'okey, coom on, we'm a goen south'ard!"

The Badgermum's huge paws lifted him back onto the armchair. "It's nearly dark out. No use searching in that."

Mhera stared at the badger's sightless eyes. "How do you know it's dark, Cregga? You can't see."

Cregga chuckled and held a paw in the direction of her window. "I can feel the heat of the stars, it's almost an hour since dinner, and I'm feeling more tired than I do in daytime. Is that explanation good enough for you, Miz Mhera?"

Mhera sat by the chair, resting her head on Cregga's footpaws. "I don't believe the first bit, about feeling the heat of the stars. That's a dreadful fib for an acting Abbess."

Cregga reached down and stroked her friend's head. "Come on, this old beast's weary for sleep. It's been a long day. We'll continue our search straight after breakfast tomorrow."

Mhera jumped up. "Breakfast tomorrow? Oh dear, Gundil, we promised Mama and Friar Bobb we'd give some help kneading the oatmeal scones for the morning. Come on, mate!"

Brother Hoben stretched out on the bed, which Cregga never used, preferring her big armchair, which was easier to get up from. The Recorder settled himself comfortably.

"Oh for the energy of the young. The speed those two dashed out with, eh, Cregga?"

The Badgermum grunted dozily. "Glad I can't run that fast anymore. Makes me feel exhausted just thinking about it. Nighty night, Brother."

Filorn shooed Mhera and Gundil off as they ran into the kitchens.

"Off to bed, the pair of you. The scones are in the oven. Drogg Spearback and two of Skipper's crew lent a paw. I hardly did anything, so I don't feel a bit tired after that nap in the gatehouse. Go on, you two go up. I'll wait until the scones are baked and help the Friar take them from the ovens."

Broggle poked his head around the pantry door. "Scone pullin' is my job, marm. No need for you to wait about down here. Good night, marm!"

Filorn accompanied Mhera and Gundil upstairs. "Young Broggle is such a nice creature, isn't he, Gundil?"

"Oh, ee'm passen furr, marm, but miz Mhera, she'm the noicest creetur in ee h'entire h'Abbey!"

Mhera shook her head. "No, no. The nicest, most sweet-natured, politest beast in all of Redwall is . . . Gundil!"

Twirling his tail and ducking his head, the mole shuffled about on the top stair. "Burr, miz, you'm gotten oi all uv a tizzy naow!"

Filorn laughed heartily, throwing her paws about them both. "Why don't you two get off to your beds and dream of fresh compliments to pay each other tomorrow. Nicest, most sweet-natured, huh? That little soilwhumper?"

Gundil grinned. "Thankee, marm, an' gudd noight to ee!"

Chapter 10

Antigra went north into Mossflower Wood, to the place where she knew that doves nested among the oak and beech trees. It was soft and mossy underpaw, dappled with sunlight and shadow, fern beds reflecting that calm translucent greenish light often found in deep woodlands. Nature's beauties were lost upon the stoat, as crouching low in the ferns she loaded a small hard pebble into her sling. Two doves were feeding on the ground, picking among last autumn's rotted acorns. Slowly, carefully, Antigra stood, her eye fixed upon the fatter of the pair as she began to twirl her sling. The pebble pouch she carried stuffed into her belt slipped loose and stones clacked noisily as they spilled out. The doves flew off to their nest, high up in an old oak. Still twirling the sling, Antigra cursed her bad fortune. Just then the fatter of the doves poked its head out of the nest, and she whipped the pebble off at it. The random throw was unlucky for the dove. Antigra immediately knew she had slain the bird, by the way its head flopped as the pebble struck it. Then it was her turn to have the bad luck. Instead of tumbling to the ground, the dove fell back into its nest, and its partner flew off in fright.

The stoat told herself there was nothing for it but to climb the tree and retrieve her kill. Fixing the pebble pouch firmly into her belt, she looped the sling about her neck and began climbing. It was very difficult at first, but as she went higher and the branches became more close growing her progress was easier. She reached the nest, and found two eggs in it with the dead dove. Her climb had not been in vain. Straddling the bough, Antigra settled her back against the trunk. The eggs were her bonus. The stoat sat sucking them and gazing about her, interested at how the land looked from a high vantage point. She could not see the Juskarath camp, but far over to the north a glimpse of snow-peaked mountaintops showed beyond the woodlands, bathed in early-evening sunlight. Antigra turned her attention to looking for other nests, but she saw none. She began climbing down, halting when her keen eyes spotted movement below on the woodland floor. She watched from her hiding place in the foliage. A shadow slipped from tree to tree, pausing a moment amid some ferns before hastening silently off northward. It was the Taggerung!

Antigra had no knowledge of what had taken place back at the camp. Instantly a plan formed in her cunning mind. She would climb down and track him. Her aim with a sling was good. Nobeast would know it was she who had slain the Taggerung. If she was careful and accurate, her son Gruven would soon become Taggerung of the Juska. She was almost halfway down when another movement below caused her to freeze. Sawney Rath came loping along, halting momentarily to inspect a bruised fern frond. He smiled grimly, pleased to have picked up the trail of his quarry. Antigra seized the moment. Fitting a large pebble to her sling, she changed her plans.

Whirring the loaded sling until it was a blur, she yelled sharply, "Sawney Rath, I'm up here!"

The Juska Chieftain looked upward, shock stamped upon his face as the stone struck him between his eyes, slaying him on the spot. With the dead dove lying forgotten halfway up the tree, Antigra scrambled down out of the boughs and dropped to the ground. Sawney lay still, one paw still gripping the spear he had been carrying, eyes open wide, staring at the sky. She circled him apprehensively, as if expecting her feared enemy to leap up at any moment. Without warning, sounds of some otherbeast traveling toward the scene reached Antigra. But this was no stealthy tracker or hunter she could hear. It was the labored, staggering noise of some wearybeast, unwittingly heading her way.

Antigra slipped quietly behind the oak tree and waited. Felch came stumbling along, gasping for breath. He ground to a halt in front of the Juskarath Chieftain's body. Like the stoat, he too circled it warily. Antigra stepped out from behind the oak.

"He's dead. 'Twas I who slew him," she said flatly.

Felch exhaled loudly with relief. He knelt at the ferret's side and inspected the wound, then looked at Antigra's weapon. "Aye, so ye did. A slingstone took his life. The Taggerung carried only a knife when I last saw him. I was much slower than either of 'em. I hid myself an' let 'em pass by me, first the Taggerung, then Sawney tracking him." He broke the dead Chieftain's grasp upon the spear and stood up. "You said you'd wait an' get Sawney one day. Hah! The 'igh an' mighty Sawney Rath, eh? You won't be slingin' yer orders 'round no more. You don't look so tough now, ferret-faced scum!"

Felch stabbed the body with the spear. He grinned at Antigra. "Long seasons I dreamed of doin' that. I wager you did, too."

The stoat grinned back. "Aye. Tell me, what happened back at the camp? Why was Sawney hunting the otter?"

As the fox explained, a crafty gleam entered Antigra's eyes. "So, we're rid of them both, Sawney and his pet otter."

Felch brandished the spear. "No more worries, eh? We'll rule the clan together now, just you'n'me. Chieftains together!"

Antigra pounded the fox's back. "Give me that spear. I want to stab him too!"

Giggling like a naughty Dibbun, Felch passed the spear over. He was still giggling as Antigra whirled and ran him through. A look of pained surprise crossed the fox's face as he stood swaying, grasping the spear shaft with both paws. Antigra stared back at him, her eyes hard and bright as flint.

"My son will rule the clan. There's no room anymore for you, Felch. You've seen and heard too much!"

Fresh wood had been heaped on the campfires. Grissoul sat beside the one outside Sawney's tent, gazing into the night. She felt the spearpoint touch her back, and heard the whisper issuing from the darkness behind her.

"Sawney Rath is dead!"

Without attempting to turn, Grissoul answered, "The omens have already told me this, Antigra."

The stoat's breath felt hot on the back of the vixen's neck. "And did your omens tell you who slew him? Think carefully if you wish to continue living."

Grissoul reached behind her and pushed the spear gently aside. "My omens told me that thou would know the answer to that question. They said no more; it is not for me to guess at the answer."

Antigra kept to the shadows where she could not be seen. "You are a wise beast, old one. I've had a vision that my son Gruven is Taggerung now. Do you agree? Answer me!"

Grissoul shook her head. "It cannot be. Nay, Antigra, put down thy spear and listen. I have had no vision of the Taggerung's death. Juska law says that only he who slays a Taggerung can be called Taggerung in his place. Thy son cannot be Taggerung while the chosen one lives. But a new Chieftain can always take the place of a Chieftain who is slain. I will help thee to have thy son named Gruven Zann Juskazann, leader of this clan. Does my new vision sound fitting to thy desires?"

Antigra liked the idea immediately. "Your vision is good. Tell me what to do, Grissoul!"

The Seer closed her eyes. "Wait awhile before entering camp. Then tell thy story to all. I'll agree with it; the Juska will not doubt my word. I will send thy son off with strong warriors to hunt down and slay the Taggerung, and together you and I will rule the clan until the day of his return."

Antigra nodded. "It is a bargain." She slid back into the darkness.

A short time later, Antigra roused the clan vermin. She staggered into camp, shrieking, "Sawney Rath is dead, murdered by the Taggerung!"

The crowd followed her up to the fire outside Sawney's tent, where Grissoul was still sitting. The Seer got immediate silence by throwing a pawful of something into the flames, which caused them to send up a blue flame.

"I saw the death of Sawney Rath in my omens when he left camp today. Some of you saw me cast the stones and bones."

The stoat Rawback spoke up. "Aye, I saw her. She clasped her head in her paws!"

Gruven sneaked up to his mother's side and whispered, "What's happened? Did you see Sawney get killed?"

Antigra pinched his side between her claws sharply. "Do as I say," she muttered. "Stay out of this and keep your mouth shut until I tell you. Big things are at stake here tonight."

Other vermin were backing Rawback up.

"Grissoul looked as though the omens were bad."

"I saw 'er too. She looked like a creature who'd seen death!"

The Seer leapt up, her painted face taking on a blue tinge from the flames, and swirled her cloak back and forth dramatically. "Let Antigra speak! Tell thy clanbeasts what took place, Antigra!"

All eyes turned on the stoat.

"I was up a tree after birds' eggs and I heard noises. First came Felch, then Sawney, following him. He shouted the fox's name, Felch turned and Sawney slew him with a spear cast. I did not know that the traitor Taggerung was hiding nearby. He saw Sawney unarmed and threw the very blade that was once Sawney's. It did not fly true, but the stone at its handletop struck Sawney 'twixt the eyes and laid him out, unconscious I think. The Taggerung could not see me, so I started climbing down from the tree to defend our Chieftain. But alas, before I reached the ground, the otter had pulled the spear from the body of Felch and murdered Sawney with it. He ran off, north toward the mountains. I could do nought but hurry back here to bring you the bad tidings. It was a treacherous and horrible sight, I'll never forget it!" Antigra slumped on the ground, covering her eyes. "Vengeance upon the traitorous Taggerung," she wailed. "The spirit of Sawney Rath cries for vengeance from the gates of Dark Forest!"

Grissoul's sudden scream rent the night. She began a shuffling dance, holding both paws forth. Vermin shrank from her touch. They feared what they could not understand; it was a night of omens. The Seer's paws finally touched Gruven's face. He looked to his mother, and she nodded at him to stay still. Grissoul cast herself down in front of him, her voice rising to an eerie pitch.

"Is this the one to do thy will, O Sawney Rath?" A great sigh escaped her, and she touched her head to Gruven's footpaws.

"Gruven Zann! Juskazann!

Take our name, rule our clan,

Heed the voice of the Chieftain now dead,

Bring back to this Seer the traitor's head!"

A roar of approval came from the tribe, caught up in the hypnotic ritual. Grissoul led Gruven to the fire, where even his slightly puzzled features looked impressive in the changing hue of the flames. The Seer cast pawfuls of different powders into the blaze. Antigra, who had darted into Sawney's tent a moment before, came dashing out to drape the dead ferret's best cloak about her son's shoulders. She pressed his sword into his paw, hissing in his ear, "Try to look less like a befuddled frog and more like a clan chief, can't you? Say something to them, stir them up. Speak!" She mingled in with the crowd and yelled hoarsely, "Gruven Zann Juskazann!"

Others took up the cry until it became a deafening chant. "Gruven Zann Juskazann! Gruven Zann Juskazann!"

Gruven held up his sword and they fell silent as if by magic. He repeated every word that Grissoul, who was standing behind him, whispered in his ear.

"Warriors of the Juskazann, fear not. The coward Taggerung cannot run far or fast enough from my wrath. I vow upon this sword that the otter will pay for his treachery. Aye, I will choose from our best to accompany me, and I'll bring back his head. We leave at dawn. I will make the name of our clan feared throughout the land. Tell me, you brave ones, what are you called?"

The clanbeasts roared, waving their weapons high. "Juskazann! Juskazann! Gruven Zann Juskazann!"

Grissoul knew then that her plan was working. The clanbeasts were in a frenzy. The Seer sprang up in front of Gruven and flung more powders into the fire. Blue, red, green, silver and purple smoke wreathed her as she cast her bones and shells on the ground. Everybeast was awed by the sight of her, an eerie multihued apparition, howling like a demon.

"Sawney Rath calls to me from beyond the Hellgates! The otter is a traitor Taggerung, a Chieftain murderer and a cowardly runaway! He is not fit to be Taggerung! Shame will fall on our clan if he lives! Gruven Zann Juskazann must slay him and take his title. My omens say that the one who slays a traitor Taggerung can then be called Taggerung by right! Go now, Gruven Zann Juskazann, bring honor to your new-named clan, avenge our fallen Chieftain, bring death to the fleeing coward and take on the name of Gruven Zann Taggerung!"

Even through the flames and smoke, Grissoul could see the fanatical burning light of satisfaction in Antigra's eyes.

Far north in Mossflower Wood, Tagg surfaced from a broad stream. Shaking himself dry he sat on the bank, t tying to define his present mood. He was banished from t he company of the only beasts he could remember living with, a loner, an outcast from the clan. Yet he felt light-hearted, free and happy. Sometimes he had admired Sawney, his strength, leadership and determination, but he had never really liked the ferret, never called him lather, never loved him. Tagg was not bothered that Sawney was hunting him. He had grown old, slower, and more prone to making mistakes because of his quicktempered mood changes. The otter felt a shudder of joy pass through his entire body from ear to rudder. He was glad to be rid of the whole Juskarath. Life was his, to do with as he pleased. Exactly where he was going and what he intended to do had not occurred to him. Then he remembered the mountain.

Several times that day Tagg had glimpsed it as he traveled 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 bankvoles 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 toward 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?"

Snaking 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. Facedown 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 onto their paws. "Sorry, I didn't know the pears were yours. Yes, I am hungry. I haven't eaten since midday."

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 tast and comprised of 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 gob 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 draft 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 traveled 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.

Chapter 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 sitting 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 onto 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. Humph, 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 toward 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."

"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 around 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 Red waller."

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 chamomile 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 oft 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 defense 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 and 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 saber 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 favorite 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 realized 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!"

Chapter 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 tlearn, 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. Yell 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 travelin' 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 alius 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!"

Milkeye turned from his flint and tinder, so that his good eye could see the stoat. "Wood's all wet with the rain. Can't make a fire with damp wood."

Gruven turned his bad temper elsewhere. Vallug Bowbeast was gnawing some dried fish from the meager rations they had brought along. Gruven tossed a pinecone at him. It missed.

"Hey, Vallug, are you goin' to sit there stuffin' your face 'til it bursts? Where's my breakfast? I'm clan Chieftain."

"Not yet you ain't," Vallug commented with his mouth half full. "Sawney always said that a leader had to prove 'imself first. We ain't seen you do nothin' yet except complain. I'm not yer mother. Get yer own vittles!"

Gruven sat glaring at the big ferret. Vallug was a killer, a dangerous beast to get the wrong side of. He wished he had picked on somebeast weaker. He tried to save face by growling, "When I catch up with that otter, then I'll prove myself all right!"

Eefera strode into view. He had been up before dawn, searching for tracks. Without reporting to Gruven, he threw himself down and grabbed some dried fish. He addressed himself to Rabbad, a small, sly-looking fox. "Waste o' time tryin' to track in this weather. There's a stream over yonder. Otters favor streams."

Rabbad collected water, dripping from the trees, onto a dock leaf. He poured it into his mouth and swallowed. "Ye reckon we should follow the water course, then? Which way d'ye think the streamdog went?"

Vallug shouldered his bow and quiver of arrows. "Prob'ly north. That's the way he was travelin'."

Gruven decided the time had come to assert his authority. Leaving his shelter, he strode off purposefully, snarling orders. "Right, we're headed north. Break camp, you lot, no time for squattin' 'round eating. Follow me!"

There were definite sounds of gruff laughter from the group. He wheeled around to see Eefera pointing in the opposite direction. There was a hint of contempt in the weasel's voice. "It's this way . . . Chief."

Gruven found himself trailing at the rear. It was too narrow a trail to push past the others and regain the lead.

By midmorning they were well along the riverbank, traveling at a fast lope. Though Gruven was big and well built, he found it difficult to keep pace with the others. They were older than him, but lean and hardy for the most part. He was silently relieved when Vallug stopped them for a short rest on the bankside. Eefera scouted ahead whilst the others sat under the shade of some weeping willows, out of the continuous drizzle. Dagrab nodded northward. "Riverdog'll be makin' for the big mountains."

Gruven felt argumentative. "Where's the sense in that? Why should he want t'go there? It's stupid if you ask me."

The rat Grobait replied without even looking at him. "Mountains is made o' rock. 'Tis 'arder to track a beast over rock. That's the way I'd go if I was 'im."

Gruven spat into the stream. "Huh! Who asked you?"

Further conversation was forgotten as Eefera reappeared. "Come an' look at this. I was right."

They followed him to a spot on the bank further upstream. Eefera pointed out the signs. "I said otters favored streams. See? This is where he came out. There's part of a pawprint, in the mud, under that stone, an' 'ere, this's where the riverdog's tail flattened an' broke two young ferns. Sometime late last night, I'd say."

Gruven was prepared to argue the point. "Sometime last night, huh? How d'you know that?"

Eefera did not answer. He strode off, further up the bank. Gruven smiled at the others, shaking his head. "The great tracker, eh? Couldn't give me an answer, could he?"

Milkeye felt the bottom part of the broken fern stems. "Didn't 'ave to. Feel that. It takes a good few hours fer the rain to wash away the sticky sap that leaks out, an' these ain't sticky. They been stannin' 'ere broke in the rain since it started late lastnight. Come on, Eefera's on ter sumthin'."

Gruven drew his sword and raced ahead of the others, making certain he was in the lead this time. "Aye, come on, mates. Follow me!"

He dashed off as Eefera's voice called back through the bushes, "Stop 'im! Grab ahold o' the vole!"

Gruven turned this way and that, saw the bushes shake and hurled himself forward, crashing through them. Something dodged by him; he tripped and collided head-on with Eefera. They scrambled together in the bush cover until Eefera kicked him aside and leaped up, blood streaming from his mouth as he yelled, "In the water! The vole's in the water. Gerrim, Vallug!"

Swiftly the Bowbeast loosed two shafts at the shadowy figure before it disappeared underwater, speeding downstream with the current. He fitted a third arrow to his bow, then turned away in disgust, calling back to Eefera, "Shoulda let me know quicker. I only got 'im in the back paw. No use chasin' after 'im; that vole's well away by now!"

Eefera wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and spat into the stream. He turned slowly upon Gruven, controlling his temper with great difficulty. "I nearly caught the vole. You made me miss 'im!"

Quailing under the weasel's icy glare, Gruven blustered, "Well, it was you who yelled out for me to stop 'im."

Eefera picked up Gruven's fallen sword from beneath a bush. His tongue probing at a loosened tooth, he answered, "Sorry ... Chief. I didn't know it was you I was shoutin' to. I thought it was one of the others, a beast with a bit o' sense."

Gruven shrugged, trying to dismiss the sarcastic reply. "It was only a scummy little vole. What would y'want with a vole?"

Eefera looked at him as if he were totally stupid. "Information?" He made as if to give Gruven's sword back and thought better of it, tossing the weapon carelessly away over his shoulder.

Gruven took a little time locating the sword, and when he hurried back to the others it was to find them moving off. Joining them, he noticed they were eating pears. The stoat grabbed hold of Milkeye, one of the few he could bully into obeying him.

"Where'd you get those pears?"

Milkeye gestured back to the place they had just left. "Top of an 'ill yonder. There's a pear tree there, Chief."

Gruven spun the weasel around forcefully. "Run back an' get me a few. Go on, get moving!"

Milkeye avoided a slap from the flat of Gruven's swordblade. "All right, Chief, I'm goin'!"

Krobzy crouched in the secret passage entrance with Sekkendin, bandaging the watervole's footpaw with a dressing of sanicle, dock leaf and hair moss. Sekkendin placed his paw gingerly on the ground and smiled.

"Yarr, I'll live! Take more'n some ole Juska arrow to kill me."

Krobzy picked up a reed blowpipe and a tufted dart, its point smeared with laburnum and agaric fungus juices. "Aye, mate, but the vermin that gets this in its behind won't bo able t'say the same thing. You lay 'ere an' rest. No Juska varmint's goin' t'do that to a vole an' live fbrag about it!"

Milkeye grabbed two pears from the tree and dashed off, not wanting to be left adrift in strange country.

"Ouch!" He felt the sting on the back of his neck and slapped at it. "Scummy liddle gnat, take that!"

He continued his hurried progress to catch up with the others. Krobzy followed until he found his dart lying in the grass. Picking it up gingerly by the tuft, he dropped it into a tiny box and thrust it into his belt pouch.

"Yarr, dat's one liddle gnat you won't ferget, varmint!"

Midnoon sunlight sparkled off the waters, fleecy white clouds decorated the bright skies. Krobzy had predicted the weather accurately. Tagg shipped his paddle. Reaching up, he grabbed an overhanging alder branch and pulled his coracle into the still shallows of a small cove. Beaching the little craft amid some concealing bushes, he waded ashore and stretched his limbs. It was a pleasant spot, with blackberries growing in profusion. Tagg made a leisurely meal of some flat cakes with dried fruit baked into them and a flagon of pear cordial from his vole supply sack, and a few pawfuls of the ripest berries he could find. In a patch of sunlight amid the alders, he spread his cloak and lay down upon it, humming an old tune that had always been with him, though he could not remember from where. The otter fell into a doze, trying to recall the words, his eyelids slowly closing.

Dim kindly faces hovering about him, soft clean linen touching his cheeks, the scent of spring flowers. He was in the magic place, the room of old red stone where peace and happiness lived. Two female otter voices were singing to him from far far away, a young one and an older one, singing sweetly, gently. Calm and serenity, safety and peaceful joy.

"Where glides the butterfly,

O'er some still pond,

There is my little love,

Dear one so fond.

Hush now you humming bee,

Soft shadows creep,

Silent in summer's eve,

Sleep baby sleep."

The happiness Tagg felt was intense, yet, as in all dreams, elusive. Even though he was in the realms of slumber, he realized this and sought to retain the feeling. He strove to make it clearer, to see more, to understand the dream, so that he could recall it at will and experience its joyous warmth. But the dream faded, like smoke on the wind.

How long he lay curled on the cloak in that silent glade, Tagg did not know. Then the mouse warrior was standing in his mind, pointing at him with the wondrous sword and calling, calling . . . "Deyna! Deyna!" It stirred him to wakefulness for a brief second. Eyes half open, he began to sit upright. Then he felt a heavy blow across his skull, and fell backward into agonizing darkness.

Eefera studied the bank edge, close to the water, and called back to the stoat Rawback, who was following behind with the others. "Still no signs near the shallows. What about you, any luck?"

Further back and higher up on the bank, Rawback, who had taken the lead, shouted his reply. "Nobeast been along 'ere 'cept us. Nary a trace!"

Eefera waited until they caught up. He was staring at the water. "He's on this stream, though, I know he is. I think he must 'ave some sort of light boat, a fast 'un."

Gruven sat cooling his paws in the shallows, cynical as ever. "Where would he get a boat? He's an otter, isn't he? Otters are supposed to be great swimmers."

Eefera did not dignify Gruven's ignorance with a reply. Rabbad the fox sat down to wet his footpaws in the stream. Gruven looked at him triumphantly. "Well, I'm right, aren't I?"

Rabbad enlightened him. "Even otters can't swim at full speed all the time, especially agin the currents. We're makin' good time, travelin' fast. If'n 'e was swimmin', we'd 'ave caught up with 'im afore now. So the otter must be usin' a fast boat like Eefera sez."

Gruven turned their attention away from his stupidity by sniggering as Milkeye, who had fallen far behind, came staggering crazily along the bank to join them.

"Oh, look who's arrived! What're ye pantin' an' slobberin' for, deadlamp? Is the goin' too tough for yer? Don't go lyin' down. We're movin' off soon. Where's the pears I sent yer for?"

Milkeye collapsed on the bank, unable to move an inch further. "Water, mates . . . water!"

Gruven looked up at the weasel, huddled on the banktop. "Idle hound. There's plenty o' water right here. Come an' get it yoreself. What d'ye think we are, skivvies?"

Eefera made his way up the bank. Crouching beside Milkeye, he raised the weasel's head. "Wot's wrong with ye? Have y'taken a sickness?"

Milkeye's face was beginning to bloat, and his one good eye was half shut and red-rimmed. He clasped Eefera's paw feebly. "Pain, all over . . . I'm burnin' up .. . Water!"

Eefera cast about until he found a large dock leaf. "All right, mate, I'll get ye some water."

He was halfway down the bank when Milkeye made a horrible gurgling noise. His paws thrashed about momentarily, and then he went still. Grobait prodded him with a footpaw.

"Milkeye's dead! By the blood'n'fang, wot d'ye think of that?"

They weighted the body down with a few stones lashed to its middle and threw it into the stream. Eefera and Vallug then conferred as to the group's next move. Gruven joined the rest, foraging for berries and birds' nests, smarting with resentment because the two self-appointed leaders were ignoring him. He returned with a pawful of dandelion roots and two apples and boldly sat himself down next to the Bowbeast.

"Well, what's our next move?"

Vallug pointed with one of his arrows at the far bank. "We need to scout both sides o' the water. The otter could be leavin' tracks on the other edge."

Gruven chuckled nervously. "I'm not swimmin' across there. 'Tis deep an' fast."

Vallug shot him a glance that dripped contempt. "You won't 'ave to, yore stayin' this side with me .. . Chief. For all the use you'll be," he added under his breath.

Eefera waded into the stream to test the current. He was almost swept off his footpaws, and Vallug had to reach out his bow to help him back to the bank. "Young mudbrain's right," the weasel muttered to Vallug, out of Gruven's hearing. "It is too deep'n'fast, an' there's trailin' weeds that wrap around the paws, too. I think I stepped on ole Milkeye's carcass trapped in 'em. We'll ford it further along."

They spent the remainder of the afternoon trekking along the bank, searching for a spot where a crossing could be made. Unwittingly the hunters went right past the place on the opposite side where Tagg had pulled in and hidden the coracle. Toward evening, they halted beyond a bend where the stream eddied, prior to increasing its speed when it hit the straight. Eefera favored the spot.

"Water swirls a bit 'ere, but it ain't so bad. See, there's reeds stickin' up near t'other side, no current there. This'll do to cross. Ribrow, Grobait an' Rabbad, you come with me. The rest of ye stay this side with Vallug."

Holding paws, the four vermin entered the stream, with Eefera in the lead. At the center they had to hold their heads back, chins up. Rabbad spat out a mouthful of water. "I didn't think it'd be this deep. We might 'ave tswim fer it!"

Eefera, who was slightly taller, silenced the fox. "It gets shallower from 'ere to the bank. Keep goin'. You let go of anybeast's paws an' we're all in trouble!"

There were no shallows on the other side. The bank was a rock ledge that dropped straight down, so the stream remained the same depth as at its center. However, there was little or no current near the far side. Eefera entered the reeded area, which slowed progress. "Nearly there now ... Yowch, I'm bit!"

Disregarding his own instructions, Eefera loosed Grobait's paw and floundered as fast as he could to the bank. Grabbing the rock ledge, he hauled himself out with panicked energy.

His actions caused chaos among the other three. They let go of each other; it was everybeast for himself. The water began threshing with big ugly mottled brown fish as a shoal of burbot attacked from their base in the reedbeds. Lying flat on the bank, Eefera extended his spearpole to Grobait. Shrieking aloud, the rat grabbed the spear, hauling himself along on it. "Yaaaargh! One of 'em's got me!"

As he clambered up the bank, Eefera took a rock and pounded on the broad frightening head of a big burbot, which had its teeth sunk into Grobait's backside. The stoat Ribrow, who had been last on the chain of linked paws, pushed away from the reeds and swam awkwardly, but fast, back to the other bank, pursued by two burbot, their rounded backfins cutting the water behind him. Vallug Bowbeast dispatched one expertly with a well-aimed arrow. Rawback and Dagrab ran into the shallows, beating off the other with sticks as Ribrow stumbled ashore, his eyes wide with fear.

Rabbad was the unlucky one. He screamed in agony as several of the huge fish attacked him. Turning, he tried to emulate Ribrow by swimming back to the far bank, only to meet the one who had been driven away by Rawback and Dagrab's sticks. Gruven stood horrified as he watched the fox being pulled down by the burbot shoal. Monstrous heads, with two short spikes protruding from their nostrils and a long one trailing from the chin, reared open-mouthed out of the water to rip at the helpless fox. He screeched shrilly as the water reddened around him. More burbot, and two large pike, came skimming to the fray, attracted by the blood swirling in the stream. Rabbad went under, the water stifling his last cries.

The bedraggled vermin stood stunned, staring at the eddying, bloodied waters where he had disappeared. Vallug was the first to move. Wading in, he reached out with his bow, trapping the arrow that was sticking out of the burbot he had shot. He pulled it in to shore, inspecting the long heavy body with its sharp dorsal fin and fan-shaped tail, and called across to Eefera, "Bad fortune on Rabbad, dinner for us. I see you got a fish too!"

"Aye, but it nearly ate Grobait's be'ind," the weasel answered, pointing to his companion. "We'll stop 'ere t'night an' start trackin' again at dawn."

Gruven gazed hungrily at the burbot grilling over a fire, spitted on a green willow branch, watching Vallug prod it with an arrow to see if it was ready. "Wot sort of fish d'ye call that ugly monster?"

Ribrow had seen them before. "Burbot."

Gruven nodded, drawing closer to the fire. "Burbot, eh? It should make good eatin'."

Vallug continued prodding the fish as it sputtered over the fire. "Well, I'm the only one who'll find that out, 'cos I killed it. Go an' catch yer own fish if'n you want one. This 'un's mine!"

Gruven's voice went shrill with indignation. "Lookit Eefera. He's sharin' his with Grobait."

Vallug chuckled dryly. "So 'e should. They caught it t'gether, an' Grobait's bottom was the bait. Huh huh! Grobait. .. bait! That's a good 'un!"

Rawback, Dagrab and Ribrow knew better than to ask Vallug Bowbeast for a share of his fish. They remained silent, gnawing roots and apples. But Gruven felt a sense of injustice, and he said so.

"Lissen, Vallug, I'm supposed to be yore Chief. I should get a share of that fish!"

The big ferret had just taken a piece and was chewing on it. He spat out a bone and turned to face Gruven. "Then try an' take it... Chief!"

Gruven knew the others were watching him. He decided the moment had come to show them who was leader, and his paw strayed to the sword thrust through his belt. Vallug leaped forward and floored him with a hefty punch to the nose, then stood over him. "I'll tell yer who they'll call Chief, the beast who brings back that otter's 'ead! An' I tell yer, snotnose, it won't be you. We all saw the Taggerung give you a wallopin' back at camp. You ain't no Chief, Gruven; yore mama's tougher'n you. Ole Grissoul will make up a load of mumbo jumbo fer the one who slays the otter, the one who's tough enough t'do it, an' that'll be the clan leader. So you keep outta my way, unless ye want to die. I got no time fer bigmouthed fools, see! You was nothin' but a snivelin' cub when Sawney brought that otter into our camp. I was the one who slew 'is father, an' I'll be the one to slay the son too!"

On the opposite bank, Eefera could hear Vallug's every word on the still night air. Licking fish scales from his paws, he murmured to himself, "Oh, will ye now? We'll see about that, Bowbeast."

Gruven lay where Vallug had felled him, wiping blood from his nose and planning how he was going to kill the Bowbeast. Vallug sat with his back to him, wolfing fish. The ferret spat a bone into the fire and spoke, as if he was reading the other's thoughts.

"You ain't got the guts t'kill me, Gruven. Put one paw near that sword an' I'll stuff it down yer neck!"

Gruven made no reply, just lay there alone with his thoughts of murder. As did Vallug, who liked the idea of being a Chieftain. Eefera sat on the other side of the stream, watching them both. His plans involved a double killing. He had learned a lot and his teacher had been one of the best. Sawney Rath.

Chapter 13

Cregga sat exhausted in her big armchair. Her bedroom was teeming with Redwallers, plus the tiny mole Dibbun called Durby. He had installed himself on the Badgermum's lap and was amusing himself by repeating everything she said. Every other beast was searching, for it stood to reason that if the monocle in the ash tree focused on the room, then there should be something of interest within. Boorab opened the corner cupboard, as numerous others had done that day. The hare poked his head inside, to find Floburt rummaging about busily.

"Jolly hungry work, missie, wot? Found anything, have you?"

The hogmaid brushed dust from her apron and sneezed. "Kerchoo! Only a lot of dust an' cobwebs. It'd be nice to know what we're searching for."

Boorab whispered secretively to her. "Some ancient map to a secret hoard of crystallized scoff. Probly all sorts of super chuck preserved in lashings of honey!"

Sister Alkanet pushed past them both. "Tch tch. Just the sort of a senseless idea that only a hare could think up. Let me take a look in there!"

"This is the sixth time you've searched my room today," Cregga pleaded wearily, with Durby acting as echo. "Will you please go away and leave me in peace? There's nothing here!"

"Hurr, thissa sixy time you'm be's a surchin' moi room. Go eeway an' leaven oi en pieces. Thurr bain't nuthen yurr!"

Boorab tripped over Drogg, Alkanet got locked in the cupboard, and an argument broke out between two mice who were stuck beneath the bed. Mhera decided that enough was enough. "Stop!" she called sternly. "Stop what you are doing, be quiet and stand still. Now!"

She was pleasantly surprised when they did, even the Counsel elders. Mhera changed to a reasonable tone. "Friends, please, have some respect for your Badgermum's feelings. This room has been searched thoroughly several times without success. Leave Cregga in peace now, I beg you. Go about your tasks or leisure time elsewhere. The only creatures who really need to stay are the original searchers."

Cregga smiled as she listened to them filing out in sheepish silence. She waited until the door closed. "Thank you, Mhera, that was beautifully done. You were quite firm and you used a considerable amount of tact."

"Hurr, thankee, Murrer, ee were bootiful undunned. Mmmmf!"

Mhera placed a paw gently over Durby's mouth. "What will we do about this little terror?"

Broggle put on a gruff voice. "Chop off his tail and stick it in his mouth to keep him quiet. I'll take him to Friar Bobb's kitchen and we'll make molesoup of him!"

Durby scuttled down from the badger's lap. Hurling himself on her bed, he began to make snoring noises. Then he opened one eye. "Whurroo, you'm wuddent chop ee tail off'n ee sleepin' choild! Nay, zurr, you'm a gurt koind beast, an' oi be a-sleepen."

Cregga chuckled. "Thank goodness for that!"

Mhera began tidying things back into place. Fwirl lent a paw, and together they got the room back to normal. Fwirl sat down beside Broggle on a paw hassock, looking glum. "Phew, Redwallers don't mess about when they search a room! Your friends certainly scoured this place from top to bottom. For a while there it was enjoyable, because I've never been inside a building before. But I feel unhappy now that we didn't find anything."

Mhera stared at the pretty squirrelmaid in astonishment. "You've never been inside a building before? How is that, Fwirl?"

They listened sympathetically as she told her story.

"I don't remember much of my early seasons. I must have been only a babe, for I can hardly recall my parents' faces. I can remember cries in the night; I think we were attacked by foxes. I was thrust into a hollow log, and I could hear fighting, then screams, followed by foxes laughing. I must have stayed inside that log almost all night and half a day. When I crawled out my mother was lying quite still, with a deep wound on her head and blood everywhere. My father was gone, the foxes too. I sat with my mother for a long time, but she didn't move. I was hungry and couldn't stop weeping. Next morning I wandered off into the woodlands to search for food. Being only an infant, I got lost. That was as far back as I can recall. There's not much more to tell. I've lived in the woodlands, fending for myself ever since, always keeping on the move. Then one day I came upon your Abbey. At first I was afraid, not knowing who lived here. I used to climb the high trees so I could see inside. I watched you all; you seemed so happy and peaceful. I stayed close to the walls, and that was when I met my friend Broggle. He brought food which he had prepared for me, told me all about his Redwall friends. It must be like a dream living here."

Mhera was smiling, though her eyes were bright with unshed tears at the squirrelmaid's tale. She spoke to Fwirl, knowing the others would welcome her decision. "Then dream on, friend. Redwall Abbey is your home from now on!"

Fwirl clapped a paw to her mouth. "But I. . . you mean I can . .. live here forever?"

Broggle took the liberty of giving her paw a squeeze. "Haha. Nobeast lives forever, but you can stay here until you grow older than Cregga Badgermum!"

"You impudent young rip!" Cregga growled jovially. "Fwirl, my dear, let me be the first to welcome you to your new home. You are now a Redwaller!"

Durby poked his head from beneath a pillow. "An' oi be ee secund to wellcum ee, missus. Ee be gurtly wellcumed to moi h'Abbey, ho aye!"

The Badgermum nodded toward the bed. "And as your first official chore you can take that little rip down to Cavern Hole. His mother will be looking for him. Go with Fwirl and show her the way, Mhera."

They had to play Durby's game. Holding a paw apiece, Fwirl and Mhera bounced the molebabe's footpaws on each stair as they descended, the ottermaid reciting an old Abbey rhyme.

"Where's the naughty Dibbun, tell me where?

Is that him upon the stair?

Hear the little pawsteps, one two three,

And the Dibbun shouting, 'Can't catch me!'

What's for dinner, dumplin' an' pie,

Nice an' hot for you an' I,

If you don't come down those stairs,

Guess who'll eat it, two fat hares!"

Durby's mum wagged a paw at her babe. "Whurr you'm been, rascull? Oi'm out'n moi moind lukken furr ee."

The molebabe crinkled his button nose at her cheekily. "Yurr, doan't ee take on so, moi ole mum. Whurr be's moi vikkles?"

The two friends had to stifle their laughter as the molemum seized her son and hauled him off to the tub. "You'm bain't gettin' vikkles until oi barth ee, Durby Furrel!"

"Woaw!" Durby wailed aloud, trying to reason with his mother. "Keep oi out'n ee warter or oi'll be a-shrunkened. Woaw!"

Durby's mum appealed to Fwirl and Mhera. "Missus, will ee tellen this choild ee warter woan't shrink 'im?"

They helped the molemum to bathe Durby as they assured him, "No, no, water doesn't shrink you. Look at me and Mhera, we both get lots of baths, and we haven't shrunk, have we?"

Durby allowed them to bathe and dry him, then he waved all three imperiously aside and marched to the door lintel. "Oi'll just be a-measurin' oi t'see if'n oi shrinked!"

His mother measured him against the marks she had made to check his growth. She patted his head fondly. "Thurr thurr, choild, ee bain't shrunken, ee growed summ, lookit!"

The molebabe eyed her suspiciously. "Oi 'opes you'm bain't tellen ee fibs!"

Broggle was deep in conference with Brother Hoben, Gundil and Cregga when Mhera and Fwirl returned to the bedroom. Cregga held out her paws, and Gundil and Broggle heaved her out of her chair.

"Come on, let's go down to dinner. I've had enough of puzzles and riddles for one day. Are you hungry, Fwirl?"

"I'm always hungry, the food's so good at Redwall!"

"Ooh, my old bones!" Cregga complained as they negotiated the stairs. "Ah well, what a pity Abbess Song's clue led us nowhere. Dearie me, they did give my room a good search, though. It's feeling tidier than ever now, thanks to you two."

Mhera allowed the Badgermum to lean upon her as they entered the dining room. "We'll take another look tomorrow. Mmmm, smell that!"

Fwirl did. "Delicious! Wonder what it is?"

Cregga sniffed the air briefly. "What? You mean the damson and plum pudding Mhera's mum is steaming off, or the hazelnut, mushroom and turnip casserole Friar Bobb's taking from the oven, or the dandelion and burdock cordial Drogg Cellarhog is pouring from its barrel?"

Broggle seated Fwirl at the table, chuckling. "That Badgermum's sense of smell is better than the eyesight of a dozen Redwallers. Oh, look out, here comes trouble!"

Boorab bounded up and struck an eloquent pose between the tables. "And now, my good creatures one an' all, a delectable appetizer of the muse before we strap on the old nosebags, wot wot. A poem, composed by m'goodself. Pray attention for the official poet.

"I beg you listen to my verse, Ode to a damson plum pud,

"Tis not much better than it's worse, in fact it's jolly good!

Oh queen of puddens as ever was born, a gentle ottermum called Filorn,

Has made to grace our scoff this night, by steamin' pot an' oven light,

A pudden to tempt the hungriest turn,

Full of flour an' honey an' nuts an' all sorts of gorgeous scrumptious an' absolutely spiffin' ingredients from the kitchens where she's worked like a blinkin' madbeast all day long . . . an' of course from damson an' plum!

Pass me a plate, an' I'll say it's great!

Bung me a dish, an' I'll say what you wish!

Slip me a large platter, oh what does it matter!

Slide me a basin, with lots of space in!

Sling me a bowl, as deep as a hole!

Chuck me a pail, an' I won't wail!

As long as it's full of what does a chap good,

Heroic hare-sized portions, of damson an' plum pud!"

Boorab made a long and leggy bow, flourishing both ears and tail. In the silence that followed, he stalked majestically to his seat, but tripped and fell before he reached it. Midst laughter and applause he poked his head out from under the table and tried to silence them with a dignified glare.

"Perfect poetry's wasted on you lot, bounders! Tchah, laughin' at a chap's misfortunes. Small things amuse small minds, my dear old mater used t'say. Some of you never grew up from bein' blinkin' Dibbuns if y'ask me, wot!"

"That's it, that's the answer!"

Everybeast turned to see what Mhera was shouting about. She smiled self-consciously. "Er, sorry, but something just dawned on me. It was hovering in my mind when Durby measured himself against the door lintel. It came to me fully when I heard what Mr. Boorab just said. Growing up, that's the key. The ash tree has grown up since Abbess Song placed her monocle there. We were looking through the lens in the wrong place!"

Cregga started out of her seat. "Of course! Why didn't we think of that earlier?"

Boorab was still sulking. "Huh, why indeed? 'Cos you were too busy titterin' at a poor chap who'd just fallen an' fractured his flippin' tail, that's why!"

Filorn began serving him a massive portion of damson and plum pud. "Poor Mr. Boorab, I never laughed at your fall. Thank you for the lovely poem you composed about my pudding. I think you deserve a double . . . no, a treble helping for your pains."

The hare's mood lightened considerably. "Gracious marm, you are truly a gem among otters, not like these other bucolic bumpkins. Er, excludin' Miz Mhera, wot!"

Fwirl had been thinking of the next move. "As soon as it's daylight tomorrow we'll explore the wall below the window. Whatever it is that could be seen through the monocle back then should be lower down. Leave it to me. Let's see if I'm as good a wallwhiffler as I am a treewhiffler. I'll need a long thin cord and a heavy knife." The squirrelmaid winked at her bemused companions. "Don't ask me what I need them for. You'll see tomorrow!"

Regaining consciousness was a slow and painful experience. Every time Tagg moved his head he was aware of the lump on the back of it, painful as a knife thrust. However, he could not reach a paw to touch it because he was bound securely. Somebeast was moving nearby. Tagg kept his eyes shut, listening as he tried to locate the position of the creature. The floor he was lying on shook frequently. Tagg groaned and rolled onto his side, facing away from where he reckoned the other beast was. He heard it move, felt its breath on the side of his face, then sensed it going back to its former position. Slowly, Tagg opened an eye, the one closest to the floor. It was night. He glimpsed the darkened foliage and realized that he was up in one of the alder trees, on a platform between two main branches, laid with boughs lashed securely together. It was open to the sky, having neither walls nor roof, only the foliage to shelter it.

"Stinkin' scum-splattered vermin, kill 'em all!" The creature was talking not to him, but to itself. "Rotten slime, festerin' spawn, don't deserve t'live. Kill 'em!"

Tagg lay quite still, listening to the hoarse voice raving on.

"Dirty foul vermin, nothin' on their minds but evil an' death. Death, eh? I'll show 'em death, I know a bit about that. Death!"

The creature began crawling toward him. Tagg lay quite still, the hairs on his nape prickling as it got nearer.

"Death, the best thing that can happen to vermin. Death, the slower the better. Make 'em suffer like I did. Yes, yes, oh yes!"

Tagg decided to make his move swiftly. As soon as he felt the other one's breath close to his back he lashed out hard with both footpaws. The creature gasped sharply as Tagg's bound footpaws kicked the breath out of it. Rolling over, Tagg pursued it across the narrow platform, still kicking out furiously, hoping to stun his captor. Whatever species the beast was, it was a tough creature, clawing and mauling him roughly. What was really odd was that it was talking and chuckling to itself as they tussled upon the platform.

"Hahaha! Death's the thing for you, bully, good'n'slow, hahaha!"

Tagg saw its bared teeth flashing close to his eyes. Rearing his head back like a striking snake, he butted it hard, the impact of colliding heads almost stunning him. Then they both rolled off the platform, the strange beast's claws locked into Tagg's belt. He got a fleeting glimpse of leafy foliage rushing by as they plummeted earthward. Tagg twisted, his lightning reflexes putting him on top of his attacker. They struck the ground with a hard thud. Both lay completely stunned.

A long interval passed before Tagg stirred. The creature beneath him was still unconscious, though it was groaning and muttering through its stupor. He realized that his foe would soon regain its senses; he would have to work quickly to free himself. Tagg rolled off the beast, shaking himself until its claws came loose from his belt. The otter's mind was racing, with one thing uppermost. His knife, where was it? An idea occurred to him. Using his footpaws he rolled the beast over, facedown. There was the blade, thrust into the back of his adversary's belt, Tagg's teeth closed around the handle, and with a mighty effort he tugged the knife free. The beast groaned and rolled over onto its back. It was coming slowly awake; there was no time to lose. Holding the knife point forward in his mouth, Tagg worked his head up and down, sawing away at the bonds on his paws, which were tied tightly in front of him. It did not take long. Sawney Rath's blade could slice a leaf floating in the air. Keeping an eye on the fast-reviving beast, Tagg sliced through the thongs about his footpaws.

Still holding the knife in his teeth, Tagg massaged the life back into his limbs. The otter's head was banging and he was sore all over from the fight. But he was alive. Sheltered from the moonlight, it was totally dark in the tree shadow. Tagg still did not know what type of creature he was up against. It was not quite his height, but much bulkier. Suddenly it sat bolt upright, laughing madly.

"Hahaha! So you stayed t'get yourself killed, eh?"

Tagg did a forceful twirl. His rudderlike tail thwacked hard, right across his opponent's forehead, sending it down again. Like a flash he was upon it, straddling the creature's chest, his blade across its throat. "Be still! Still, I say! Don't move, or you'll be the one who gets killed. Be still, I warn you!"

Two glittering eyes grinned wildly up at him. "Hahahaha! Kill me then, vermin. Go on, get it over with!"

Reversing the knife, Tagg thwacked his opponent between the eyes, stunning it again. Piecing together the thongs that had bound him, he tied an end around one of the beast's paws. He dragged it upright and slammed it face forward against the nearest alder. Running the thong around the trunk, he tied it to the beast's other paw and let it slump down into a sitting position, paws spread, embracing the tree it was bound to. Tagg staggered down to the water's edge and lay flat in the shallows, letting the cold streamwater wash the aches from his body. Then, feeling refreshed, he went to where he had hidden his coracle and found the pack of supplies given him by the voles. Having eaten a few small cakes of oats and dried fruit, he drank some pear cordial and felt much better.

Tagg curled up in the coracle and dozed away the remaining night hours with his blade held ready. At dawn's first light he strolled cautiously back up to the clearing. His prisoner was still there, bound to the tree, sitting with its forehead resting against the trunk, muttering away.

"Vermin won't escape me, oh no, I'll track him an' bring him back an' watch him die, nice an' slow. Beggin', pleadin' an' moanin', just like all scum-mouthed vermin do."

As Tagg got closer, he realized it was a squirrel, a big old strong female, clad in a tunic of what looked to be skins of weasels, rats and foxes. Tagg sat down in a spot where the squirrel could see him and spoke to her quietly.

"Why did you try to kill me? I'm not a vermin."

She stared at him scathingly awhile, then answered, "Painted face, gold earring, eelskin belt, fancy patterned wristbands, an' you tell me you're no vermin. You even carry an assassin's blade. Don't tell me you ain't a vermin. Go an' take a look at yourself in a shady pool down by the stream. Go on, then come back here an' tell me what you see . . . vermin!"

"Karrr, she be right, she be right, vermin you be!"

Drawing his blade, Tagg whirled around to face the eavesdropper. A large male bittern, practically invisible because of his brown, black and fawn plumage, came up from the riverbank reeds. Stalking gracefully along on thick green legs, he halted between Tagg and the squirrel, splaying his strong talons and poking a long needle-pointed beak in the otter's direction.

"Kaburrrrr! You fool, not Botarus. I see verminbeasts, hunting the banks they be. On this stream, both sides. Kurrrrrr!"

Tagg nodded, knowing now that hunters had been sent after him. "How many of them? Where are they now?"

The black iris of the bittern's umber eye widened. "Think you I be fool? I tell and you be calling them to you."

The squirrel gave an insane chuckle. "Hahaha! Let him call 'em. You free me, Botarus, an' I'll kill 'em all, every murderin' vermin mother's son of 'em!"

Tagg stowed the knife in his belt. 'The last thing I want to do is call them. I'm not a vermin, they're the vermin.They've been sent to hunt me down and slay me!"

Botarus put his head on one side, the bright eye questioning. "You they hunt, these vermin? For why?"

Tagg did not want to go into the long story, so he made up an answer that was not far from the truth.

"I am an otter, see. I am not ferret, fox, rat, weasel or stoat. I was captured by them, and they tried to make me a vermin too. I escaped, and now they hate me and want to kill me."

The bittern pondered Tagg's answer before replying, "Krrrrrrum! Then why want you to kill my friend?"

Tagg pointed to the squirrel. "Her? I had no intention of killing her, she wanted to kill me! I was only protecting myself. That's why I had to tie her up!"

Botarus looked at the squirrel and nodded toward Tagg. "Krrrror! Riverdog he be, truth I think he speaks!"

Tagg tapped his rudder impatiently on the grass. Drawing his blade, he slashed through the thong, freeing the squirrel. "There, is that good enough for you two?"

The squirrel bounded upright, pointing an accusing paw at him. "Then why d'you look an' dress like a vermin eh?"

Botarus held his position between both creatures. "Krrrrrrr! Told you that already the riverdog has. Where be you going on yonder volecraft?"

Tagg pointed north. "To the mountain."

Botarus preened his chest feathers carefully. "Karrrrr. Go ye not by water in the volecraft. Ahead of you they be the vermin. Seeing not your craft, passed by here yesterday they did. Here leave your craft. Overland go, sweep 'round west by north. To the path I will take you myself."

Tagg bowed his head politely. "Thank you, Botarus. Wait, please, I'll get my food."

Tagg went back to the coracle and collected his stores, Botarus and the squirrel following him. The squirrel watched him shoulder his supply sack. "Give me the food. I want it!"

Tagg did not like the tone of his former foe's voice. However, he emptied some food out onto the ground, adding a flask of drink. "Here is half of what I have. I need food for myself. You can take the coracle too, and if any vole asks you how you came by it, tell them it was a gift from me, Tagg."

The squirrel inspected the boat as Tagg gathered up his cloak. He turned to see her brandishing the paddle.

"Your blade, it's a good one, I'll have that too!"

Botarus shot out his long leg and knocked the paddle out of the squirrel's paws. He glared fiercely at her. "Enough you have, Madd. Stop you here now. With me Tagg goes, back I'll be by eventide. Riverdog Tagg, come you!"

The otter gave a wary berth to the squirrel, who picked up the paddle and shook it at him.

"Hahaha! Come back this way sometime an' visit me. So that I can kill you, vermin. Hahahahahaaaa!"

Tagg and Botarus made their way through the alders and into sparser woodlands. Tagg sighed with relief.

"Thank you, Botarus. I'm glad to be shut of that beast. I heard you call her Madd. Is that her name?"

The big bittern shrugged. "Mad she be, so Madd I call her. She knows not any other name."

Tagg strode swiftly to keep pace with Botarus. "Madd is a good name for her. She's a nasty dangerous beast."

"Krrrror, so would you be, were you her," Botarus commented dryly. "Killed her family, vermin did, for dead they left her. Three days lay she there. Found her I did, wound in her head, deep, so deep. Any otherbeast 'twould have killed outright. Together now we've been, long long seasons. Not easy to get along with is Madd."

Tagg smiled at the bittern. "Then why do you stay with her?"

Botarus smiled back, the gleam in his eyes sudden and savage. "I like not the vermin either. As mad as her am sometimes."

Approaching midday they reached the limits of the woodlands. Tagg could see the mountain clearly slightly off to his right, still far off. Botarus pointed his beak out across the flatlands and outlined the route.

"Go you that way, 'twill keep ye clear o' the stream and your enemies. Krrrr, watch you, Tagg, there be drylands an' wetlands before foothills you reach. Live there many reptiles do, active in summer they be. Tread you careful an' fare you well!"

Botarus went into an ungainly run, but once he took to the air there was nothing awkward about his graceful flight. He soared and wheeled to gain height, then flew off with a long cry. "Krrrrrrooooooooommmmmmm!"

Chapter 14

It was baking hot out on the flat scrublands. Dry heather, furze and teasel dotted the landscape, grasshoppers everywhere kept up a dry chirruping, butterflies in swarms visited every scrap of flowering vegetation. Bees hummed busily as they bumbled around the blossoming heathers. Tagg strode out energetically, tasting the light lemonish tang of some dandelion buds he was sucking, his eyes on the cool white of the snowcapped mountain, shimmering in the distance. The place belied the name flatlands. Hollows, hummocks and rises, combined with dry watercourse beds, made it extremely lumpy going. At midnoon he found sheltering shadow in the lee of an oddly shaped hillock. Conserving his meager rations, Tagg ate sorrel, wild onions and some cornsalad leaves. He drank sparingly from his remaining flask of pear cordial and dozed off with the background noises of the heathlands lulling him into slumber.

It was not shouts or screams that wakened him, but a series of smothered grunts, mingled with hissing noises. He listened until he located the sounds, which came from the other side of the hillock where he was resting. Tagg drew his blade and went to investigate.

He had seen smooth snakes before, but this one was a particularly large specimen, light grey in color, with a narrow head and a dark stripe across both eyes. The snake had a harvest mouse in its coils and was trying to crush it to death by constricting its slim smooth-scaled body. However, the mouse was a game little fellow, and he kept struggling loose and inflicting some sharp bites upon the predator's flanks. Never once did he shout or cry out for help. Tagg admired his courage and jumped smartly in to help. Stamping down, he pinned the snake's head to the sandy ground and grabbed its tail firmly, straightening it out. Once the reptile had nowhere to anchor itself for purchase it was virtually helpless. Tagg winked at the harvest mouse.

"Best get out o' the way, friend. This villain's not going to be very pleased when I let him go!"

The harvest mouse straightened his little yellow tunic and bared his teeth. He performed a dance of rage. "Then pass me that dagger o' yourn, mate, an' I'll chop that stringy mouse mangier into bite-sized bits, the scaly-nosed scumtail, the fish-eyed field forager, the legless land lizard! Just gimme the blade, an' I'll show that 'un how t'make a new tunic out of snakeskin!"

Tagg was taken aback at the mouse's ferocity. He flicked him aside with his rudder. "I said stay clear. I'll deal with this."

The mouse was practically doing somersaults in his anger. "Well, gerron with it an' quit jawin', will ye? You came along just when I had that snake well an' truly whipped. Don't stand there like a weasel on a washin' line. Kill it!"

Tagg twirled his knife so he was holding the blade, and dealt the smooth snake two sharp blows on its head. It went limp.

"There, that's put him to sleep for a while, though he'll have a rare old headache when he wakes. Come on, let's get going."

The mouse stamped his footpaw and ground his teeth. “ 'Y'mean you ain't going to slay the blaggard? Are ye soft in the head or wot? Fine big lump of an otter like you an' you can't even kill a rotten reptile! Wot's wrong with ye, eh?

Tagg swung the mouse up onto his shoulders and strode off. "Bloodthirsty little scoundrel, aren't you? No reason to kill the snake; you got away all right. By the way, my name's Tagg."

A tiny paw appeared for him to shake. "Please t'meetcher. I'm Nimbalo the Slayer. Next time y'see me finishin' off a snake, just leave us alone, will ye?"

Tagg tried his best to stop laughing. "How did y'come to be out here alone, Nimbalo?"

"Got taken by an eagle," the harvest mouse replied airily. "Caught me asleep, y'know. Anyhow, he was flyin' me off t'the mountain, so I broke his claws an' dropped off down here. I fell into some soft sand, an' that's where that overgrown worm found me. Huh! Lucky for it I was a bit dazed!"

Tagg now had his laughter under control, and merely nodded. "It certainly was, Nimbalo, but where did you come from? I mean, your tribe, your family, where do they live?"

Nimbalo gave the otter's ear a tug. "Bit nosy, ain't you? Where do I come from? Oh, 'ere an' there, y'know. I've been 'round the rocks a few times, matey. As for families an' tribes, huh, who needs them? They ain't nothin' but a load o' bother. Nimbalo the Slayer travels alone!"

Tagg raised his eyebrows as the mouse shifted position. "Except when you're traveling with me, eh?"

Nimbalo leaned over Tagg's head and stared down into his eyes. "Don't contradict me, riverdog. It don't pay to cross Nimbalo. Any'ow, what're you doin' 'round this neck o' the land? Let's 'ear you doin' a bit of talkin' fer a change."

The otter told Nimbalo the story he had made up for Botarus and the squirrel, about being captured by vermin and trying to escape being one of their tribe. The harvest mouse chuckled.

"Yore right there, Tagg. Steer clear o' tribes an' families, they'll only bring ye grief. So, why are ye goin' to the mountain?"

Tagg stared longingly at the snowy peak ahead. "It's hard to say, really. It looks so cool and clean, sort of free and away from it all. I think the mountain might be a good place to live, though I've never been there. Have you?"

Nimbalo spread his paws expansively. "Mountains, I've been 'round 'em, down 'em, up 'em an' about 'em. I've crossed more mountains than you've ate dinners, me ole mate!"

Tagg halted. He took the harvest mouse down from his shoulders and faced him. "You've certainly led a long and adventurous life, my friend. Tell me, how many seasons old are you?"

Nimbalo started to count upon his whiskers, then dismissed it. "A lot older'n you, pal, by a good stretch. Ho yerss, us 'arvest mice could fool anybeast. We're usually about ten times older than ye'd think!"

The otter put his next question flatly. "Why do you tell so many lies, Nimbalo? Don't you ever tell the truth?"

Nimbalo punched Tagg's paw lightly and grinned. "Truth? What's the truth, eh? Just a pack o' lies made up by otherbeasts so you'll believe 'em. Of course I always tell lies. What's wrong wid that, Tagg? They don't 'urt you, do they?"

Tagg stood bemused, stuck for an answer. His companion swaggered jauntily onward, in his odd hopskip manner.

"Come on, me ole riverdog. Life's too short t'worry about things like that. I'll go to the mountain with ye. Hah, suppose I'll 'ave to. Big honest streamwalloper like you, ye need a smart 'un like me to look after ye. Well, are you comin'?"

Over the remainder of the day, Tagg grew quite fond of Nimbalo, who was an excellent traveling partner and never at a loss for words. At one point he had Tagg cut him the thick stem from a gentian flower. Nimbalo gnawed holes in it, hollowed it out and made a whistle. As they trekked along a dry streambed he kept Tagg amused by tootling tunes on it and singing comic ditties in between.

"I'm the fiercest mouse livin' in all the wide land,

Me fur is so fine an' me muscles are grand,

If I ever meet with some ole vermin band,

I give all the rogues a good towsin'!

For although I'm real savage, me temper I'll bide,

But beware of me dander, ye'd best step aside,

Or you'll find out why so many blaggards've died,

Givin' lip to Nimbalo the Slayer!

When I meet a bad crew all the warriors do hide,

'Cos me fame goes afore me both far an' both wide,

But to mothers an' young 'uns I bow with great pride,

That's the way o' Nimbalo the Slayer!

So take care when you see this mouse passin' by,

I can knock ye out flat with the wink of me eye,

You just ask any mousemaid, she'll blush an' she'll sigh,

He's a hero, Nimbalo the Slayer!"

Nimbalo turned and winked at Tagg. "Oh, I fergot to mention, I'm modest too!"

Summer evening shades began falling as the hot day drew to a close. The two friends made camp in a hollow on top of a rise. Tagg was pleasantly surprised by Nimbalo's foraging and cooking skills. Gathering dried turf, the otter lit a fire and awaited Nimbalo's return, as the harvest mouse had insisted on finding food by himself. Purpling layers of cloud backed the mountain, tapering off to gold and red toward the west, sweet aromas came from the turf fire. Tagg settled himself comfortably on the sandy slop of the dip, savoring the beauties of twilight. Nimbalo broke the spell on his return. He tossed a bunch of roots and vegetation onto Tagg's chest, leaping over the top of the rise and shouting, "Halloo the camp! Stir yore stumps, big feller, let's get supper goin'. I'm starved!"

Tagg inspected the tangle of vegetation. "What's all this, mate?"

Nimbalo rummaged cheerfully through the mass. "I can see yore used to woodland vittles. These are flatlands food. See, whitlow, tastes just like cabbage, pennycress, touch bitter, but nice. There's comfrey roots, pepperwort an' bindweed flowers. You'll like them, they're sweet."

Tagg sniffed the flowers appreciatively. "Hmm, lovely smell. Hope they taste as good. Ah, dandelion leaves and roots, wild strawberries and some blackberries. I've got some fruit and wild oatcakes the voles gave me and most of a flask of pear cordial."

Using both paws, Nimbalo hauled the blade from Tagg's belt. "Sounds good, mate. I'll start choppin' the salad with this sword of yours. Keep that fire low, though. Turf don't give off much smoke, it just glows. Those vermin you said was trackin' you, any idea where they might be?"

Tagg gestured to the mountain's east side. "Probably over that way. They were following a stream, so I went off in the opposite direction. I can't see them troubling us yet awhile. Maybe when we're on the mountain we might run into them. Do you carry a weapon, Nimbalo?"

Baring his teeth in a ferocious grin, the mouse replied, "These is all the weapons I need, mate, teeth an' paws. If I needs more you can cut me a big stick."

Their meal was frugal, but enjoyable. Nimbalo played a few tunes on his whistle and they sat by the fire, watching the night draw in. When Nimbalo stopped playing, the otter went to the top of the rise. He ducked as a group of swifts winged low over him, then he listened carefully. Nimbalo sprawled in the hollow, watching him.

"Wot's the matter, big feller? Somethin' up?"

Tagg slid down beside him. "Birds flying low, I thought I heard a far-off rumble, and the air feels heavy. There may be a storm on the way."

1 )usting sand from his tunic, the harvest mouse stood up. "I've been in more storms than an ole gull at sea. We'd better make a move an' find shelter. I tell ye, Tagg, you don't wanna get caught in a storm on these flatlands."

Lightning flared briefly beyond the mountain. Tagg gathered his cloak and pack together, hearing the distant thunder rumble. "Sounds like it'll be a bad one, mate. Come on!"

Complete darkness fell as the moon became shrouded by heavy cloud. They hurried along the dry bed of a stream, feeling the first heavy raindrops strike their heads, Tagg pulled his waterproof cloak over them both. Nimbalo pointed. "Lucky ole us, matey. There's a little cave in the side of the bank, I can just make it out."

Rain was sheeting straight down, lightning splitting the night skies in spectacular jagged rips and thunder booming overhead. Nimbalo skipped smartly up the bankside and held out a paw to his friend. "C'mon, ye great lump, inside afore ye get soaked!"

Tagg huddled in alongside Nimbalo. There seemed to be plenty of room. They lay in the entrance, the cloak draped over their heads, watching the awesome spectacle of the huge summer storm. Tagg shuddered and wriggled with pleasure.

"It's great to watch a big storm, especially when you're nice and dry and not caught out in it!"

The harvest mouse elbowed him roughly. "Be still, willyer? Near rolled over an' crushed me then!"

Tagg pulled himself back from the cave entrance. "Sorry, pal. I'll get back in here a bit. Hmm, this is quite a sizable cave. Maybe we could light another fire, what d'you think?"

Nimbalo turned around. He sniffed the interior air and froze. "Stay still, Tagg, stay still, fer pity's sake!"

Tagg answered him from the darkness. "Why?"

Rustling coils and venomous hissings told him the reason even before Nimbalo whispered it into the menace-laden blackness.

"Snakes!"

Following both sides of the stream course up into the foothills, the hunting party came together again. Vallug found a broad shallow expanse where he was able to lead his followers across by a series of stepping-stones that showed above the surface. They joined up with Eefera on the opposite side. Gruven saw Grobait resting, clutching a paw to his bottom, and sniggered. "I wouldn't let any fish take a chunk out o' my behind."

Eefera pushed roughly by him. "Easy fer you to say. You didn't even have t'get yore paws wet. Any luck with tracks on yore side, Vallug?"

"None. What about you?"

"None, same as you. What d'ye think? Will we be wastin' our time climbin' the mountain to look for 'im?"

Gruven interrupted them to air his opinion. "If no tracks lead up here, I reckon we're on a fool's errand. What's the point of climbin' a mountain? I said it was a stupid idea from the first!"

Even Grobait could not keep the patronizing tone out of his voice as he took it on himself to answer Gruven. "He was travelin' upstream, not down. This is the only place he could go. So wot's the use comin' this far an' not lookin' on the mountain fer the otter? Mebbe we didn't find any tracks, but he could've left the stream an' found an easier way up. We'd be the ones lookin' stupid, to come this far an' not even bother takin' a look up there!"

Gruven indicated Grobait's injury with a nod. "Well, you won't get far with that wound. Wot d'you plan on doin'?"

Grobait spat into the stream. "I'll keep up, don't fret yerself!"

Vallug had been sniffing the air. He turned moodily on them. "You'd better keep up, both of yer. See that rock ledge up yonder? I'm gettin' under it. The rest of ye'd best do the same if'n you don't want to get caught in the storm!"

Disregarding everybeast, Vallug started climbing. Gruven was about to make a smart retort when the first drops of rain splattered on his head. He joined the others following Vallug.

"Lend us a paw 'ere!" Grobait called as he struggled upright.

Gruven could not resist snickering an answer. "Why? You've already got four like the rest of us."

They huddled under the ledge as the rain began sheeting down. A thunderclap caused Ribrow to jump, and he touched the ledge above him nervously. "This mightn't be a safe place t'stay. S'pose the thunder an' lightnin' struck this mountain an' collapsed it down on us? We'd all be crushed to death by these rocks!"

Gruven snorted at the idea. "If yer frightened you don't have t'stay 'ere. Go an' sit out there with Grobait."

The injured rat had hardly moved. He lay by the swelling stream almost battered flat by the heavy downpour. Eefera stared callously at the prone figure. "That wound must've gone bad on 'im. He's been limpin' all day. Looks like 'is back leg's stiffened up an' gone useless."

A lightning flash illuminated Grobait's pitiful figure. "Don't lay out there," Dagrab shouted to him. "Come up 'ere!" None of them made a move to help the wounded rat. Vallug sneered.

"Grobait ain't goin' anywhere, unless the stream swells up an' sweeps 'im away in the night. Save yer breath, Dagrab."

Gruven peered through the curtain of rain spilling from the ledge. "Yore the Bowbeast, Vallug. Put Grobait out of 'is misery."

Turning to Gruven, the big ferret smiled wickedly. "That 'un ain't worth wastin' an arrow on. But if it was you out there, well, I'd use an arrow, mebbe even two or three. I wouldn't consider 'em wasted on you ... Chief!"

Chapter 15

Very slowly Tagg drew his blade, whispering to Nimbalo, amid the hissing and slithering, "Pass me my cloak, mate. Do it very carefully; don't make any quick or sudden moves. When I shout, you must jump right out of this cave. Don't hang about for me. I'll be right behind you."

The otter put a paw behind his back, feeling Nimbalo pass him a corner of the cloak from his position at the cave mouth. Outside, the rain continued its onslaught. Below the cave there was a swirling, gurgling sound. The storm was filling up the dry bed of the stream. Tagg felt something dry and scaly slide over his footpaw. The weight and breadth of the reptile could mean only one thing. Adders!

The vicious hissing increased. He figured there were at least six snakes in the darkened cave. Now that they had scented other creatures and felt movement stir the air, they would be ready to strike with their poisonous fangs. Tagg acted with every fiber of his great strength and uncanny reflexes honed to their limit. Flinging the blanketlike cloak where he judged the adders to be gathered, he slashed low all about him and yelled, "Jump! Quick!"

The harvest mouse was actually in midair when, propelled by a massive back somersault, Tagg cannoned into him. With a resounding splash they both hit the water. The otter grabbed Nimbalo with one paw and shoved him high, clear of the flood. Tagg slashed out with the blade held in his other paw, right down the ugly head of a big adder, with almost half its body length extended as it struck. Hissing madly, it pulled back into the cave, its skull sliced to the bone.

Tagg shoved off, swimming strongly, following the current, with Nimbalo still held high, yelling shrilly, "Don't drop me! I can't swim!"

The otter was a powerful swimmer, even with one paw holding the harvest mouse clear of the swollen streamrace. He continued for quite a while, then his head broke the surface close to Nimbalo. "Are you all right, little mate?"

The mouse kicked and squirmed. "All right? I'm near drowned by this rain! Get me ashore!"

As soon as he spotted a rock, sticking sideways out of a fern patch a few lengths from the bank, Tagg abandoned the stream and set Nimbalo down. Slithering and sliding, they made their way up the bankside and stumbled to the welcome cover beneath the large stone chunk. Rolling thunder sounded more distant now; lightning flashed far off. Tagg wiped mud from his paws onto a fern and lay back.

"Storm's moving away now. The rain should slack off before dawn. Well, mate, we've lost our supplies and the cloak, but we're lucky. We could've lost our lives to those serpents back there."

Using his tail as a probe, Nimbalo dug mud from his left ear. "Gave me a good ride, didn't ye, big feller? I was foolin', y'know; I'm a champion swimmer really. Faster'n a fish, that's me!"

Tagg went along with the joke, knowing his friend was lying. "Well, you scoundrel, I never knew you could swim, and me carrying you all that way, swimming with three paws an' a rudder. Rascal!"

Nimbalo tweaked Tagg's ear affectionately. "Never mind, pal. Next time I'll swim an' hold you up over the water, I promise!"

Tagg chuckled. "I'll keep you to that promise, you rogue."

Sleep was out of the question. They sat watching the rain. It had slackened somewhat, but was still quite heavy, with a light breeze beginning to drive it sideways. Tagg sat Nimbalo on the lee side, taking most of the wetness on his right side. Nimbalo peered out onto the rainswept plain. "Can you see a light out there?"

Tagg saw the dimly flickering glow. "Aye, and it's coming this way."

They sat still and silent, the otter gripping his blade, as the light got closer. Nimbalo screwed his eyes up against the rain. "It's some ole beast carryin' a lantern!"

Tagg slid the blade back into his belt and moved over a bit, to make room for the newcomer. It was an ancient shrew, bent almost double, covered in a blanket cloak and hobbling along with the aid of a blackthorn stick, Groaning faintly, he put the lantern down and sat between them. Throwing back his cloak hood, the shrew dug a spotted kerchief from it and wiped his whiskers.

"Filfy night 'tis, plain filfy. Yew nearly fell into me den as youse climbed the bank back there. Hoho, that woulda been wot y'call droppin' in fer a visit, wouldn't it, me ole cullies?"

He tapped the side of his lantern, and about six fireflies flared their tiny lights in response. The ancient shrew cackled. "Heeheehee! I'd got 'ere sooner, but I 'ad to feed me pals. A liddle 'oney'n'water, that's all they needs. Sparky bugs, they are. Now, wot are youse two doin' out 'ere on a night like this?"

Tagg allowed Nimbalo to act as spokesbeast. "We was about to ask you the same, me ole greysnout."

The shrew tapped Nimbalo's paw with his stick. "Yore an 'ardfaced liddle 'arvest mousey. Wot's yore name, eh?"

"Nimbalo the Slayer. Everybeast 'round 'ere knows me!"

The shrew sucked his toothless gums, looking Nimbalo up and down. "Well, I don't, but I'll tell ye why I'm 'ere, Lamino, I come t'see if'n youbeasts was needin' shelter in me den. 'Tain't much, but it's all mine, an' 'tis dry too. So, wot d'ye say, Limbow? Does you an' yore big silent brudder want a night's lodgin', eh?"

Tagg touched his paw to his nose politely. "Thankee, that'd be very nice. My name's Tagg, sir."

The old one arose creakily and picked up his lantern. "Well, my name's, er, er, Ruskem. Hah, 'tis so long since anybeast spoke it I'd almost forgotten. Come on, then, Tugg, foller me. Come on, Minaglo, you can carry the lantern."

As they made their way back to the bank, Nimbalo whispered, "Wish he'd get me name right!"

Tagg wiped rainwater from his eyes. "Don't get too upset, mate; Ruskem has trouble remembering his own name, poor old beast. He must live all alone."

Ruskem's den entrance was near the banktop above the waterline. He ushered them in with his stick. "In 'ere, Togg an' Ninnybo, this is me ole den."

It was tiny inside. Tagg had to bend his head to avoid the ceiling. However, it was homely and comfortable, with a turf fire glowing in a stone hearth, an armchair, a bed, and thick rugs of woven moss and reeds carpeting the floor. Ruskem produced a ladle and two polished elm bowls, which he proceeded to fill from a big cauldron hanging over the fire.

"Shrewburgoo, that's wot 'tis, an' don't ask me wot's in it. That pot ain't been empty since I don't know when. I just adds to it aught I c'n find, berries, fruit, roots an' all manner o' things. One fer you, Numbowl, an' the big bowl fer Tigg. There's a kettle o' mint'n'comfrey tea on the 'earth, so 'elp yoreselves."

The shrewburgoo tasted wholesome and filling, though some parts of it tasted sweet and other bits were definitely savory. Ruskem poured them tea, and saw Nimbalo's eyelids start to droop.

"Yore in need o' slumbertime, Binflow. I'll sleep in me chair, you take the bed. Fogg, yore too big fer either. You kin sleep on the rugs, they're nice an' soft."

Nimbalo swigged his tea off, flopped on the bed and fell asleep without further ado. Ruskem sat in his chair and sighed. "Don't tell me yore story, Wagg. It'll tire me ole brain out."

Tagg was gazing around the walls, which were filled with pieces of slate. Each one had a skillfully executed portrait of a shrew's face on it, some male, others female. The otter smiled. "Oh, I won't tell you my story, Ruskem, it bores me listening to it. These are good pictures. Who did them?"

The shrew pointed to a lot of flint shards on the mantelpiece. " 'Twas me. I like makin' pitchers, got a good eye fer it. Those are my kin, ma, pa, grandma an' grandpa. That 'un's my ole missus, seasons rest 'er pore 'eart, the rest are me sons an' daughters. Gone, all gone now. Those that ain't died 'ave packed up an' left. There's on'y me now. But 'tis my 'ome an' I likes it enough ter live wot seasons I got left right 'ere. You get some rest now, Flagg. Big feller like you needs plenty o' shuteye. Nighty night!"

Sometime during the night, Tagg woke up. Ruskem was snoring gently in his chair, but Nimbalo was talking in his sleep, sobbing too. In the dim glow of the turf fire, Tagg watched his friend tossing about on the bed, and listened to the harvest mouse's disjointed ramblings.

"But Papa, I've done all the work. I'm hungry. Ow! Ow! Please don't beat me, Papa, I've done all the work. Where's Mama? I want my mama! What . . . Oh, Mama, please come back..."

Nimbalo sobbed heartbreakingly. Tagg rose quietly and stroked his friend's head as gently as he could, murmuring, "Hush, matey, sleep easy now. Hush, hush."

Nimbalo's eyes opened wide, and he sat up with his paws clenched. Tagg could tell he was still sleeping. Nimbalo's voice grew hard. "Put that belt down, Papa! I said put it down, you ain't goin' to beat me with it no more. No more, I say!"

Tagg pushed him back down and passed a paw over his eyes. "Sleep, now. Tagg's here, mate. Sleeeeeep."

Nimbalo uttered a single word. "Tagg." His eyes closed and he slept peacefully for the remainder of the night. Tagg dozed off sitting by the fire. So Nimbalo was a runaway who had received a hard upbringing from a cruel father. Now Tagg knew why his friend presented a tough exterior to all. He wanted to show he could not be bullied or beaten anymore.

Tagg woke late next morning. Nimbalo was still asleep, but Ruskem was up and about. He added mixed oats and barley and some strawberries to the shrewburgoo. Stirring in a chunk of honeycomb, he nodded to Tagg.

"G'mornin', Trogg. Wot d'ye think? Shall I toss in some wild celery an' onions to this lot?"

The otter wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No, I think the strawberries an' honey should be enough, sir. What's the weather like outside, I wonder?"

The ancient shrew poured tea from the kettle for his guest. "Fresh as a daisy an' prettier'n a rosebud. Rain's all gone, stream's runnin' muddy but full. What more could a beast want?"

Tagg went to the bed and shook the snoring harvest mouse. "A traveling partner who's awake, that's what I want."

Nimbalo sat up, rubbing his eyes and lying in his teeth. "I'm awake, I'm awake! Been awake fer blinkin' ages, watchin' youse two makin' breakfast. Fooled yer, eh?"

Ruskem passed him a steaming bowl. "Then try foolin' yore stomach wid some o' this, Bongbul!"

When they had breakfasted, the old shrew sat back in his chair. Reaching down among the cushions, he pulled out two pieces of slate, with fair likenesses of Tagg and Nimbalo etched on them. He displayed them proudly.

"Hah! I was up long afore youse pair. Well, wot d'ye think?"

Tagg studied them. "They're very good, sir, very good!"

Ruskem was pleased with the otter's verdict. "Heeheehee! Thankee, Blogg. I'll put 'em up on me wall after yore gone. Youse kin be part o' me family, eh!"

"I don't wanna be part o' no fa"

Tagg clapped his paw over Nimbalo's mouth and picked him up. "Let's go outside and stretch in the fresh air, matey!"

Ruskem put the portraits aside. "Wot's wrong wid young Bimbo?"

"Tummy trouble. He bolted down that hot breakfast."

Tagg swept Nimbalo out onto the sunlit bank. "No need to be insulting to the old fellow. He was honoring us by putting our pictures on the walls with his kin."

The harvest mouse looked shamefaced. "I better go back in an' say I'm sorry to Ruskem."

Tagg patted his friend's paw. "No need to. I don't think he heard you. Just remember to be nice to him. He wasn't obliged to help us, but he did."

Blinking against the sunlight, the ancient shrew hobbled out. "Heehee! See, I told ye. 'Tis a mornin' to be alive on. Nothin' looks prettier'n these 'ere flatlands after a summer storm!"

Nimbalo politely helped the old fellow to sit at the stream edge. "Yore right, sir. It certainly is!"

Ruskem waved his stick back at the den. "Yell find some liddle fruit loaves that I baked an' two flasks o' dannelion an' burdock cordial in there. I take it yore bound fer the mountain? I was up there once. A strange an' wunnerful place 'tis, but mind 'ow you go, especially you, young Bungalo."

Nimbalo seemed a bit distracted as he answered. "Aye, sir, we'll take care . . . Tagg, can you 'ear a bumpin' sound?"

The otter listened carefully, turning downstream. "Sounds as if it's coming from down that way. What d'you think?"

Ruskem turned in the opposite direction. "I think 'tis a-comin' from upstream, but yore ears are younger an' better than mine, Trigg."

They chose to search downstream, around a bend. A gaunt pine tree trunk was floating there, its thick end bumping the bank, trapped in the shallows as the stream rushed swiftly by.

Tagg tested it with his footpaw, leaning down hard.

"Good fortune for us, mate, a ready made boat. This'll save our footpaws for a day or so. We can make it to the foothills on this."

Ruskem pointed up the mountain's north face. "Stream starts up there, in the north foot'ills. When there's been a storm it swells, an' one part branches off to loop down here before circlin' 'round t'the mountain again. Dries up after a score o' days. Yore right, though, Cragg; if ye can free that trunk while the flood's this high it'll take ye close t'the west face in no time."

Tagg trimmed spare branches from the pine and held the trunk steady, whilst Nimbalo boarded with their provisions. Wading waist deep, the otter pushed the makeshift craft out into the current and leaped aboard. Ruskem waved his stick as they were swept speedily away.

"Fare ye well, Frogg an' Numble. May yore stummicks be full an' yore path smooth!"

They shouted back as the log raced downstream.

"Goodbye, Ruskem. Take good care o' yourself!"

"Aye, an' thankee for yore 'ospitality, mate!"

The ancient shrew watched until they were out of sight, waving his stick and murmuring to himself, "Wish I was a-goin' with ye. Heehee, there's two young rips bound off adventurin'. Ah no, I'm 'appy where I am. Did enough rovin' in me younger days. Oh well, time fer me nap."

Ruskem went into his den without bothering to look beyond the upstream bend, where he thought the noise had come from. Had he taken a glimpse there he would have seen the bloated carcass of Grobait, washed up and stuck to the bankside as the sun dried the mud, baking it hard as rock.

Chapter 16

Broggle had been on breakfast duties in the kitchen. Filorn watched him hastily stacking dishes and wiping tables. The kindly ottermum relieved him of his tasks.

"I'll finish off here. You're anxious to be with your friends in Cregga Badgermum's room, aren't you? Go on, off with you!"

Wiping his paws on his apron, Broggle backed off, bowing politely. "Thankee, marm, very kind of you, marm, you're a real mal, parm, er, I mean a real pal, marm!" He turned and dashed away upstairs.

Boorab, who was last at table, rose and began collecting dishes. "Allow me to assist you in these menial chores, O fair one."

Filorn smiled at him and curtsied deeply. "My thanks t'you, kind sir. Pray, what's the reason for this sudden rush of helpfulness?"

The hare winked broadly as he loaded a tray with bowls. "Just my sense o' duty, marm, an' of course there's always lots o' nice leftovers from brekkers, wot!"

Filorn picked up a tray of beakers and followed him out to the kitchens. "Oh, I'm sure we can find you somethin' to tickle your palate, sir. I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a nice cup of rosehip tea together."

Bells tinkled on Boorab's ears and cap as he shook his head in admiration of Filorn's understanding nature. "You, marm, are an opal among otters, if you'll allow a chap t'speak poetically. A diamond midst the dreary dross of daily duties, wot!"

Fwirl placed her paw on the windowsill, judging it as accurately as she could. "There, that's about dead center, I'd say."

Mhera approved her decision. "Right, put the nail right on that spot, please, Broggle."

With a stone-headed hammer, Broggle drove a small clout nail into the woodwork, to about half its length. Fwirl explained her plan as she worked. "This is how you make a plumb line. I tie one end of the thin cord to this knife hilt, and now I let it out over the windowsill."

Gundil scrambled up onto the sill. "Ee knoife be's goen' daown an' daown on ee corder, miz."

Fwirl played the cord out slowly. "Tell me when 'tis almost near the ground, Gundil."

The mole watched the knife's steady descent. "Jus' ee likkle bit more, miz . . . Stop! That be furr enuff!"

Fwirl tied the cord around the nail as Cregga called from her chair, "What's going on? Keep me informed, please."

Brother Hoben did the explaining. "Fwirl has made a plumb line. It runs straight and true, right from the center of your window to the ground below."

Cregga levered herself up out of the chair. "Of course! The clue that Song could see through the monocle before the ash tree grew will be somewhere on that line, probably between the cracks or on the wall itself!"

Gundil thought he had found a flaw in the plan. "Oi' bain't a-climberin' oop ee gurt 'igh walls. You'm be needen summ turrible long ladders furr ee job!"

Cregga lifted Gundil down from the windowsill. "Who needs ladders when we've got our Fwirl?"

"But that'n be ee flatted wall, et bain't ee tree," Gundil protested. "Miz Furl be a-fallin' off on she'm skullbones. Hurr!"

Fwirl reassured the doubting mole. "Don't fret, Gundil. I can walk up a wall as easily as you can walk about on the ground, you wait and see."

Gundil scurried to the bed. Burying his head beneath a pillow, he cried out in a muffled voice, "Ho no, luvly mizzy, oi cuddent burr to watch ee. Moi 'ead wudd be assidurably dizzied a-wurryin' abowt ee. Burr, lackeeday!"

Redwallers gathered on the grass below, necks craned upward, while those in the bedchamber leaned over the windowsill to stare downward. All eyes were on the squirrelmaid, searching the wall, spreadeagling herself parallel with the plumb line as she moved back and forth. Broggle was practically bursting with pride and admiration.

"Now that's what I call a champion climber. Skillful, magnificent!"

Fwirl stopped moving, concentrating on one particular block of wallstone. She studied it for a moment, her bushy tail twirling with excitement, then she shot upward like an arrow, straight back through the window and onto Cregga's lap.

"I've found it! Writing carved into the stone, but I can't read or write words down. What should I do?"

Mhera and Brother Hoben came up with a simple scheme right away, and shortly thereafter Fwirl scampered back down and found the sandstone block with the carving on it. She spread a clean white table napkin, its four corners smeared with honey, over the writing. Then, taking a stub of beeswax candle, the squirrelmaid colored in the white linen all over and made a perfect rubbing of the characters beneath the cloth. A cheer went up from the onlookers as she pulled it from the wall and waved it like a banner, crying shrilly, "I did it! I've got it!"

Cregga's room became jammed to the door again. Everybeast listened in breathless silence as Brother Hoben read out the message carved into the wall of the Abbey long seasons ago.

" Twas I slew the Scourge in days of old,

Then I was one, but now we are two.

We who are dumb, yet sound so bold,

Day and night to order you.

We are those who announce a feast,

Or victories of the brave-hearted.

We are those whose solemn farewell,

Mark sadly a loved one departed.

On our oak see knowledge unfold,

We never speak 'til we're told?

We never speak 'til we're told?"

In the brief silence that followed, Fwirl shook her head. "What a puzzle. Great seasons, what's it supposed to mean?"

Her comment was greeted by roars of laughter. Broggle bristled. "Don't laugh at her, it's not fair!"

Mhera pounded the small tabletop until she restored silence. "Broggle's right, you shouldn't laugh at Fwirl. She's only just come to our Abbey. How is she supposed to know about Redwall?"

Everybeast began explaining at once, until Cregga roared, "Silence, please! Floburt, would you like to explain it all to Fwirl? I don't want to hear a murmur from anybeast except Floburt, thank you!"

The hogmaid recited what every Redwaller had learned at Abbey school.

"The poem means our two Abbey bells. They're called Matthias and Methuselah. A long time ago Redwall had only one great bell, called the Joseph Bell, after its maker. Our Abbey was captured by an evil rat, Cluny the Scourge, but a mouse named Matthias fought him. Matthias took the great sword of Martin the Warrior and cut the ropes holding the Joseph Bell. It fell on Cluny and killed him, but the bell was split by its fall. Later, the metal was melted down and recast into two smaller bells, Matthias and Methuselah, the pair we have in our bell tower today. If you know this the answer becomes clear. Bells cannot speak, yet they make sounds, ringing out at midnight, midday and eventide. They ring for feasts, triumphs and also for a death. The line that's repeated at the poem's end is a clever play on words. We never speak 'til we're told. Think about it. A bell will make no sound until you toll it, so they never speak 'til they're tolled!

Old Hoarg the Gatekeeper sat down on the bed. "Hah! I didn't see that 'un 'til you explained it, Floburt. Very clever indeed. But wot about the line speakin' of knowledge unfoldin' on our oak? Where do we find our oak?"

Mhera whispered something to her mother. Filorn nodded understandingly, then she made an announcement. "You'll learn the answer right after the entertainment contest!"

Everybeast appeared bemused at this.

"What entertainment contest?"

"Hurr, furst oi yurr'd abowt et."

" 'Tis a new one on me too."

"I didn't know about any entertainment contest, did you?"

Mhera restored order. "It's to be held by the gatehouse very shortly. Give your names to Gatekeeper Hoarg if you wish to enter. Any kind of entertainment will be considered. My mum will present the winner with a large woodland fruit trifle, topped with meadowcream. Line up outside the gatehouse if you'd like to put your name down!"

Seconds later, Broggle gazed around the deserted bedchamber. "Well, Mhera, that certainly cleared the place. They went out of here like ants chasing honey. Still, who wouldn't for one of your mum's woodland trifles with meadowcream? Whose idea was that?"

Mhera giggled like a Dibbun. "It was mine. The entertainment contest, too. We don't need that lot following us around all day. Come on, let's go and take a look in the bell tower. That appears to be the place where this riddle is centered."

Cregga shook her great striped head as she rose from her chair. "You're a crafty otter, Mhera. That was cleverly done. Now, I'm too old for climbing bell tower stairs, there's too many of 'em for my liking. But you could drop me off by the gatehouse. I want to hear about this entertainment contest. Who knows, I might put my name down. I'd dearly love one of your mum's trifles all to myself."

The search party assisted the Badgermum down the stairs, joking.

"What'll you do, Cregga? Sing the song of the ancient badger?"

"Ee cudd resoite summ gurt dramatuck vursus, marm!"

"Haha, or play tunes on Boorab's haredee gurdee!"

Cregga sat on the bottom stair to catch her breath. "Insolent wretches! I'll have you know I was very skilled at entertaining in my younger seasons. Maybe I'll perform a quick acrobatic dance, that should do the trick!"

Mhera and Fwirl were laughing so hard that they could not help Cregga upright again.

Inside the bell tower it was dim and cool, but the spiral stairs seemed to go on forever. Halfway up, Brother Hoben had to sit down and rest awhile. "Phew! Lackaday, now I know why Cregga didn't want to come!"

Fwirl's voice came from high above them. "Put a move on down there, I'm already up here!"

Gundil wiped a paw across his brow, trudging doggedly on. "Hurr, easy furr ee t'say, moi booty, but this choild bain't nuthin' but ee pore molebeast, not fitted furr cloimbin' oop sturrs wot goes 'round an' 'round!"

Together they stood up near the small conical roof, astride a massive wooden beam with stout ropes bound around it. Below them was a dizzying drop, with two tolling ropes hanging the length of it. Mhera pointed out the two bells suspended from the beam below their footpaws.

"The one on your left is the Matthias bell, this one on the right is the Methuselah bell. See their names embossed around the edges? A pretty awesome sight, isn't it?"

Gundil's nosetip had gone dry. He turned his eyes aside, moaning, "Bwhurr, oi bain't no burd, an' oi bain't feelen too gudd noither!"

Mhera and Fwirl assisted him off the beam and sat him lower down on the steps. The mole turned his face to the wall. "Oi woan't be 'arpy 'til oi'm saferly on ee gudd furm grownd."

Broggle inspected the beam on all fours. "This is definitely made from a great oak. Look at this huge scar cut across it. Wonder how that happened?"

Brother Hoben, being the Recorder, instinctively knew. "That's where Matthias severed the bell rope with Martin's sword. Such a forceful blow he struck that he scored the beam deeply."

Broggle picked at it with his small kitchen knife. "Must have hit the hem of his habit, too. Look, there's a piece of cloth wedged in the cut."

Mhera saw what was going on as she returned to the beam with Fwirl. "Don't damage it in any way, Broggle. Try as carefully as you can to get the cloth out all in one piece!"

Broggle shaved the wood delicately away, either side of the cloth. "That's easy. See, it just lifts out!"

"He's a real artist with that little blade," Mhera whispered to Fwirl, loud enough for Broggle to hear. "There's nobeast in Redwall more skilled with a kitchen knife than our Broggle."

Blushing with modest pride, the assistant cook gave the cloth to Mhera. It was only a small square of light green material, simple and homespun, nothing elaborate or special. Mhera sniffed it before laying it flat on the beam.

"Hmm. Still got a faint scent of lilac on it. I wonder who it belonged to? Ah, there's letters inked onto it. Let's see . .. HITTAGALL? What's that supposed to mean? The letters aren't even written straight across horizontally, like ordinary writing. They're written vertically. HITTAGALL all in capitals from top to bottom. Brother Hoben, what d'you make of it?"

Folding the material carefully, Hoben slid it into his belt pouch. "Nothing right now, but let me think on it. What do you say we go down and discuss this over lunch? I think Gundil's illness is catching. I'm beginning to feel a bit woozy up here."

Friar Bobb was sitting with the rest of the audience in front of the west wallsteps, by the gatehouse. When the friends appeared he waved for them to sit down by him, whispering, "Sorry about lunch, I'll fix something later. Come and enjoy yourselves. We've had some marvelous entertainment here."

Egburt and Floburt were tootling flutes and performing a jig, while Grandpa Drogg beat a small drum as he sang for them.

"We never have to comb our spikes,

Because they won't lie flat,

An' that is why you'll never see,

A hedgehog wear a hat.

I've seen some hares wear helmets,

And bees in bonnets too,

While molemaids favor mob caps,

All stitched with bluebells blue.

But hedgehogs don't wear headgear,

An' that's my sad refrain,

Poor hedgehogs get as wet as frogs,

When left out in the rain!"

They skipped off to great applause, still tootling their flutes.

The next item was a real novelty. Sister Alkanet and three little ones, Durby the molebabe, a tiny mousemaid named Feegle and the smallest hedgehog who could just about toddle, called Wegg, climbed up on to the wallstep, which served as a stage. In her severe and precise tones, the Sister recited a cautionary poem. Much to the hilarity of the audience, the three infants acted out the lines with serious faces and much paw wagging.

" 'Tis often said by otherbeasts,

And trust my word 'tis so,

There are certain manners,

Which Abbeybabes should know!

All Dibbuns must behave themselves,

From break of dawn 'til night,

Tug their ears, touch their spikes,

In general, be polite.

Bid all their elders time of day,

Don't interrupt. .. My word!

Our rule is Dibbuns may be seen,

But very seldom heard.

One must wash one's paws and face,

Before one ventures out,

And up one's sleeve a kerchief keep,

With which to wipe one's snout.

Never sup soup noisily,

Say please and thanks when able,

Remember to excuse oneself,

Before one leaves the table.

If Dibbuns heed these golden rules,

They grow up good and true,

Early to bed, straight to sleep,

And don't hide when bathtime's due .. . Thank you!"

The little ones bowed, to tumultuous applause, though Foremole Brull was heard to remark to Cregga, "Doan't hoide when barthtime be due? Hurr hurr, lookit likkle Durby thurr, larst toime me an' 'is mum barthed that 'un ee water turned to solid mudd, burr aye!"

Before any other contestant had a chance to present themselves, Boorab leaped up, flourishing his long robes dramatically. "I do this not for any triflin' reward, wot wot, get it, trifle? Ahem, pray attention, goodbeasts all, for as Abbey Poet I have composed a small recitation that I shall recitate. These few lines would bring tears to the blinkin' eye of an underwater fish! Mothers, cover your babes' tender ears! For 'ere goes, ear goes? Hawhaw, that was a good 'un, wot wot?"

"Oh, get on with it, you great long-eared windbag!"

Boorab glared at old Hoarg, who had shouted out the remark. "Fie on you, sah. Even windbags have feelin's!" Then, drooping his ears and waving a limp paw, Boorab soulfully began.

" 'Twas winter one summer an' spring was in bloom,

The turnips were twittering gaily

As I cleaned out my humble room,

Three times I do it, twice daily!

When a mole flew in by my window,

He bid me good night and day too.

His eyes were yellow, his nose was green and his tail was pinkyblue.

That mole gave me a very odd stare,

Which I put in me pocket for later,

He then asked me if I was a hare,

Or a rascally impersonator?

I replied to him, in accent grim,

'Good sir, I'm a him not a her,

I'm a him that's a hare not a her that's a him,

And the least is as large as the greater!'

'If you're a hare that's a him, he quoth,

As he left my room with a leap,

'When I return this leap, you'll be,

Not a hare or a him, but a-sleep!'"

Boorab bowed elegantly, tripped over his robes and leaped up in the same instant, calling out to Filorn, "Who could compete with that pulsatin' performance, marm, wot? Deliver the toothsome old trifle to me room at once, so I won't have to share it with these talentless bounders. Don't applaud too loud, chaps. Only doin' me job, y'know. Modest as ever, that's me!"

The trifle was immense, a real beauty. It was displayed in the gatehouse doorway. Helped by Mhera and Fwirl, Cregga mounted the steps, at Filorn's request, to deliver her judgement. She held forth her paws for silence.

"What a wonderful entertainment. You've made my task very difficult. I was going to award the trifle to Boorab, but you all heard him say that he required no trifling reward. So I've decided to give the prize to all the Dibbuns who took part. It's such a huge trifle that I'm sure it's far too much for any onebeast!"

Laughter and cheers greeted the Badgermum's popular decision. The Abbeybabes dragged the trifle inside the gatehouse and slammed the door.

Mhera turned to Brother Hoben. "Well, Brother, have you had time to think about the piece of cloth and the lettering on it?"

Hoben took out the article in question and stared at it. "I've racked my brains until my head's aching, but I'm afraid it's a complete mystery to me. Sorry, Mhera."

Friar Bobb picked the cloth up. "Is this your latest find? What is it?"

Fwirl put her chin in both paws glumly. "We haven't the faintest idea, sir. D'you think Cregga will know?"

They took it to the Badgermum, who sniffed it and felt it. "Faint scent of lilac, that's about all I can say. What is the lettering on it? Read it to me, please, Broggle."

"HITTAGALL. All in capital letters, marm, written in a downward line. Is that any help?"

Cregga passed the cloth back to Brother Hoben. "I'm afraid it doesn't mean a thing to me."

Looking thoroughly downcast, the good Brother sighed. "Then that's it, we're defeated. 'Twas all for nothing."

Mhera slapped her rudder down hard against the step. "Well, I'm not defeated, I'll solve that riddle somehow. I'm not going to give up hope or let it beat me!"

The friends strolled paw in paw back to the Abbey, their air of gloom not even dissipated by Boorab, who was pounding the gatehouse door, pleading with the Dibbuns inside.

"Have a bally heart, little chaps, open up for a poor starvin' hare, wot! I'd have given you a jolly good share if I'd won the trifle, honest I would, cross me ears an' hope to turn blue. Come on, open up an' be reasonable, little bods. At least let me lick the bowl. If I die of the horrible hungers it'll be your fault, y'know. Festerin' bounders! Trifle thieves, meadowcream marauders! I hope you all get the screamin' tummy ache. Cads!" He loped off and caught up with Mhera and her friends. "I say, you lot look pretty sad, wot. Did you want to win the trifle too?"

Mhera smiled weakly. It was one thing having plenty of fighting spirit and stern resolution, but she was as baffled as the rest. Brother Hoben was right; all their questing had amounted to nothing. The entire thing was still a mystery.

Chapter 17

It was the evening of their second day upon the mountain, and still the hunters had not sighted any sign of their quarry. Vallug Bowbeast sat shivering over a small fire made from odd twigs and dead heather. He stared out at the tracks of his own party, crisscrossing the snowfields that ran up toward the peak. His stomach made a squirling noise. It needed food, but there was none whatsoever to be had. Eefera was the first to show over the high ridge. He trudged down to the glimmering fire, long bluish shadows of eventide creeping down after him. White steamy breath issued from his mouth as he sat down beside Vallug.

" 'Tis difficult to catch yer breath up 'ere. Huh, I see you packed in searchin'. 'Ow long've ye been squattin' 'ere warmin' yer paws?"

Vallug stared into the paltry wisps of flame. "Long enough t'do some thinkin'."

The weasel glanced sideways at the big ferret. "Thinkin', en? Tell me about it."

The Bowbeast nodded up at the peak. "Ain't no vittles up 'ere, we never brought robes or cloaks. We could freeze or starve t'death, an' nobeast of the Juska clan would ever know wot became of us."

Eefera thrust his paws closer to the fire. "Aye, there's some truth in that. We've been on this stinkin' mountain almost two days now, an' not a track, nary a single pawmark that the otter's been even near the place. Vallug, do ye think that 'e could've put one over on us? I mean laid a false trail along that riverbank, jus' to make it look as if 'e was comin' 'ere?"

Vallug said what his companion was thinking. "An' give us the slip so's 'e could go elsewhere?"

Eefera shrugged. "But where's 'e gone?"

Vallug lowered his voice as if eavesdroppers were about. "That's wot I been thinkin' about. You remember ole Grissoul mutterin' about omens an' prophecies? She was the one who saw the Taggerung at the river ford where it ran across the long path. Sawney told me somethin' about a big place with bells. 'Twas a long time back, but I can recall it. Sawney didn't want t'go near that place, said it was dangerous an' filled with warriors."

Eefera nodded impatiently. "Aye, I remember all right. Redwall, 'e called it. Grissoul spoke about the red place like 'twas magic. Wot d'you think, Vallug?"

The Bowbeast curled his lip scornfully. "There ain't no such thing as magic. I never seen nobeast that one o' my arrows couldn't stop. I think that otter I slew, the liddle one's father, I think that 'e came from the Redwall place. I'll tell yer wot else I'm thinkin'. I'll wager that sometime in 'is seasons with the Juskarath, that Taggerung 'eard of Redwall too. If'n that otter's laid a false trail fer us t'follow, then 'e's bound for Redwall, the place where 'e was born!"

Eefera had been listening so intently that his paw strayed into the flame. He drew it back sharply and rubbed snow on it.

"Right, Vallug. Yore right! So, wot's the plan?"

Vallug picked up his bow and shouldered it. "We go after 'im. I don't mean those other fools an' Gruven. Leave em 'ere on the mountain. Like I said, they'll freeze or starve t'death up 'ere an' nobeast will ever know, 'cept us."

Eefera smiled wickedly. "An' we won't tell, will we. They was all killed, Gruven too. By pikes, serpents, drownded, all of em. Sad, ain't it, mate?"

It was Vallug's turn to smile. He nudged Eefera. "Aye, 'twas an 'ard job, tryin' to save 'em. We was lucky to get back alive, me'n'you, but we slayed the otter between us, eh!"

Vallug spat on his paw and offered it to Eefera. "No sense in 'angin' 'round 'ere, mate. Let's git goin' afore those other block'eads come back. I couldn't stand another night of Gruven's company, braggin' one moment, whinin' the next..."

Eefera spat on his paw and gripped Vallug's to seal their pact. "Yah, the cold an' 'unger'll take care of 'em. Come on, back t'the sunny woodlands an' a chance o' some decent vittles!"

Vallug stood to one side deferentially. "Good idea, mate. After you."

Eefera did a mock bow, but stayed where he was. "Nay, friend, you go first."

They stared hard at one another, eye to eye, then both broke out into false hearty laughter and strode off together. Neither of the two vermin wanted to expose his back to the other.

The stream did as many turns as a switchback, rambling and meandering hither and yon. Tagg and Nimbalo were not in any hurry, each enjoying the other's company. Eventide of the second day found them camped on a grassy spur where the waterway forked, one branch disappearing into the flatlands and the other rounding a fairly swift-flowing bend that took the water back into the base of the mountain.

Tagg tested the flow with his footpaw. "Shall we go this way tomorrow? It looks as if the current flows into some underground caves. Would you like to try it, mate?"

The harvest mouse threw more turf on the fire. " 'Twill be a bit of a bumpy ole ride on our log. Aye, let's try it. In the mornin', though; we'll rest tonight. Y'know, these fruit loaves wot Ruskem gave us, they're pretty good. I like 'em!"

The otter cut a chunk from one with his blade. " Ruskem's dandelion an' burdock cordial's very tasty too. Try some."

Nimbalo took hold of his friend's paw as he passed the flask. "Where'd ye get that mark on yore paw from? It's like the shape of a speedwell flower. Is it a tattoo?"

The otter glanced at the mark, then ran a paw over his heavily marked face. "No, I think 'tis some sort of birthmark. These on my face are tattoos, put there long before I can remember. They're clan marks, to show I belong to a certain tribe."

He allowed Nimbalo to touch the tattoos. The mouse snorted. "Bit silly, ain't it? If'n ye ever want to leave the tribe, then yore stuck wid yore face all marked with a big black stripe an' red dots an' the blue lightnin' flash on yer left cheek."

Tagg's paw strayed to feel the flash. "Juska law says that the only time you leave the tribe is when you're dead. I'm marked for life now, but at least I can get rid of these!"

Tagg pulled off his woven wristbands, unsnipped the big gold earring from his ear, and flung them into the stream. Nimbalo smiled sympathetically at his big friend. "You ain't 'ad much fun runnin' 'round with that tribe, 'ave yer? Well, never mind, Tagg me ole tater, you got a new life now, an' you got Nimbalo the Slayer as a pal, so come on, cheer up!"

Tagg lay back, gazing up at the stars. "I'm tired, pal. Play something for me, a peaceful tune."

Nimbalo tootled his reed flute and played awhile, then, putting it aside, he quietly sang a traditional harvest mouse ditty.

"When the corn is so heavy it bends on the stalk,

See the berries are purple with bloom,

And the wild oats do rustle as if they could talk,

There I watch for the gold harvest moon.

Then if you will help me friend,

Stay here oh do not roam,

And we'll sit by the fire,

In my harvest mouse home.

There'll be lots of good food when the work is all done,

And a barrel of old barley beer,

Mellow cheese and fresh bread, for everyone,

While the babes sleep in peace without fear.

We'll gather the fruit,

And the sweet honeycomb,

And some wood for the fire,

Of my harvest mouse home."

Nimbalo put aside his flute and lay down with a long sigh. "Aaaah. I forget the rest. Pretty, ain't it, Tagg? Nothin' like the real thing, though. My life ain't been no bed o' roses, oh no. Let me tell yer about wot I went through, mate ..." He glanced over and saw his otterfriend was already fast asleep. "Oh well, maybe some other time."

The fire burned low as four little shadowy figures watched the camp. Three of them wore new belts about their tiny waists, Tagg's two wristbands and his golden earring, which had landed on the wristbands as they floated off downstream. The one who was minus a new belt whispered to his three companions, "Yik yik, 'arvest mousey gotta nice belt. Jus' fitta me!"

The biggest of the four clipped him soundly over the ear. "Shushyerrupp! Yew wakey da biggin an' we get all eated up!" He patted his new gold earring belt thoughtfully before delivering the noisy one a clip across his other ear. "Go gerrem ole Bodjev, tellim bring alla Cavemob. Go go!"

He sloshed resentfully off along the streamshallows, calling back in a loud whisper, "Doncha pinch d'mousey belt while I 'way!"

The larger one sent him on his way with a kick in the tail. "Go on, go on, shout louder, nip'ead. Wake alla mounting up!"

One of the two wearing a wristband belt held a paw to his mouth. "Shushyer, Alfik, dey wakey up an' us don't gerra no likkle snakeyfishes, fryken 'em alla way!"

Within a short while, Bodjev, the tiny fat Chieftain of his pigmy shrew tribe, returned with a large bunch of his warriors, each bearing a pine club, tipped with flint shards, over his shoulder. He threw himself down alongside Alfik, his son, hissing with shock as he caught sight of Tagg.

"Wow wow! Whereja find dat monister? Lookarra size of 'im!"

Alfik wrinkled his long nose in a show of careless bravery. "Ho, I jus' finded d'beast, sleepyin' 'ere. Warra us do now, Daddy?"

Bodjev glared at his son and clipped him a good one on the ear. "You norra Squidjee nomore. Worr I tellya? Chief's name Bodjev, only Daddy when you was likkle. Bodjev now, 'member dat!"

One of the Cavemob tribe called out a warning as Tagg groaned and rolled over in his sleep. "Y'be shushed or d'big fella come awakey!"

Bodjev could not identify the voice, so he satisfied himself by dispensing clipped ears to any shrew within reach. "Who you tella to shushed? Talk t'me like dat! All shushed now, wait for da snakeyfishes to come. Den after dat we catcher d'mousey anna bigga monister!"

Tagg glimpsed the mouse warrior with the beautiful sword, wandering through the corridors of his mind. He pursued him, but, unable to run, he floated helplessly through a warm pink mist, calling out the mouse's name. "Deyna! Deyna!"

The warrior mouse halted and turned, shaking his head and smiling. Touching a paw to his armored breastplate, he spoke one word. "Martin!" Then he disappeared, leaving the sleeping otter mystified. If he was Martin, then who was Deyna?

Further dreams were shattered. Both Tagg and Nimbalo leaped up amid a sea of slithering silver. They slipped and fell flat as the slim shining shapes slid over them. Wild squeaks rent the dawnlight. Pigmy shrews were everywhere, striking wildly at the silvery threadlike mass with small clubs and shouting to one another.

"Dink a dink! Gerra snakeyfishes!"

"Yik yik, chukkem inna water!"

"Dink a dinky dink dink! Plenny snakeyfishes, brudders!"

Tagg grabbed Nimbalo. Kicking his way through the wriggling mass, he made it to the top of a rocky mound and stared in wonder at the scene around him. Nimbalo knew what the glimmering threads were. He had seen them once before on the flatlands.

"Elvers, mate! Those are little tiny eels. They travel on the dewy grass, shoals an' shoals of 'em. They can go fer many a league. But where'd all the baby shrews come from?"

Tagg watched the shrews as they raced about killing the elvers, dispatching each one with a quick blow to the head from their flint-tipped clubs. Dead elvers were tossed into the water and washed away downstream into the mountain caves. As they struck out with their clubs, the shrews squeaked triumphantly.

"Dink! Gorra nudder one!"

"Dink a dink! I gorra two snakeyfishes!"

Expertly they flicked the dead elvers into the water with their clubtips. Tagg shook his head. "They aren't babies. Some of them have grey whiskers. Those are fully grown shrews. I've never seen anything like it!"

Nimbalo was taller than the tallest shrew by more than a head. He stood on tip-paw and puffed out his chest scornfully. "Huh, I knew that, mate. Crowd o' liddle nuisances if y'ask me, wakin' us up jus' so they can stock up their larders with elvers!"

The shrews did not let up their mass kill until a good while later, by which time most of the elvers had passed. They slid away like mobile tinsel, the morning sun reflecting off their packed masses as they glided into the distance. Their countless numbers were scarcely affected by the slaughter.

Alfik and Bodjev approached the mound, clubs at the ready. The Chieftain's son wiggled his nose ferociously at Tagg. "We be's Cavemobs, my daddy a Chief. Who be's you?"

Tagg was about to reply when Bodjev clipped Alfik's ear. "Wot I tellya, nit'ead? My name be's Bodjev!" He shook his head almost apologetically at Tagg. "Norra brains, norra manners. Yik yik, younger shrews dese seasons alla same. No respecks!"

Nimbalo bristled at the father's treatment of his son. "No need t'be whackin' 'is lug like that, mate!"

This gave Tagg an idea. Very gently he kicked Nimbalo's bottom and rolled his eyes expressively at the pigmy shrew Chieftain. "I know exactly what you mean, sir. They're always speaking when they're not spoken to. Put a latch on your lip, young Nimbalo!"

Bodjev held his fat stomach as he chuckled. "Yikyikyikyik! Go make playplay, yew two's. I be's Bodjev. Wot be's your name?"

Tagg held out his paw courteously. "Pleased to meet you, Bodjev, sir. My name's Tagg."

Bodjev grinned as he looked the otter up and down. "Tagg? Yikyik, be's a likkle name for a big fella. So, Tagg, you an' your son be likin' snakeyfish pie?"

Tagg kept a polite smile on his face as he shook the shrew's paw. "Never tasted it, sir, but I'm sure 'tis delicious!"

Bodjev put his head on one side as he tried to pronounce delicious. "Lishus! Lishus! Yikyik, good, eh? You come a me, bring de likkle son, we alla 'ave snakeyfish pie. Plenny good!"

Tagg waded through the shallows, with Nimbalo on his shoulders. The harvest mouse was boiling with ill-concealed temper at the treatment he had been shown. "Yore son? That flap-'eaded wiggle-snouted pudden-bellied beast thinks I'm yore son? An' another thing. Wot did you think y'were doin', kickin' me tail like that? Who gave you the right"

Tagg's paw stifled any further remarks. "Safety first, mate. I was only protecting us by making friends with the Chief. Look, I know they're only tiny shrews, but there must be thousands of them, all carrying stone-tipped clubs. We might get a lot of them in a fight, but they'd bring us down in the end, just by their weight of numbers!"

Nimbalo yanked Tagg's paw from his mouth, unappeased. "So ye let 'im whack his son an' yer kicked me tail, just t'make friends. That's very nice, izzenit? We could've battled our way through, betcha an acorn to an oak we could. I remember one time when I fought me way outta a nestful of crows. Hah, slew a good few of them I did, an' I got away safe!"

The otter turned his face to Nimbalo, a no-nonsense look in his eyes. "Where's the point in fighting and slaying if you can make a friend out of anybeast instead of a foe? From now on, while we're the guests of these creatures, we might have to do a few things we don't like. But that's the way it is, mate, and I'll hear no more argument about it. Now straighten your face and smile. You look like a beetle with a bruised brow!"

The harvest mouse kept a grin pasted on his face as he replied, "An' you look like a blackbird with a boiled behind!"

Tagg smiled sweetly, answering from between clenched teeth, "And you look like duck with a webful of custard!"

"Well, you look like a stoat with a stink up 'is nose!"

"In that case you look like a bumblebee with a boil!"

"Hoho, well, you look like a ... a ... a hedgehog with a head h'ache!"

"A head h'ache?"

The two friends burst out laughing.

They skirted a small pool, with a little stream from up in the mountains spilling into it, the cascade hiding the entrance to the pigmy shrews' cave. Dodging through the miniature waterfall, Tagg and Nimbalo emerged into what appeared to be a cathedral-like cavern. It was lit by scores of firefly lanterns and torches and populated by literally thousands of pigmy shrews. The stream continued into the cavern, where it ran into a central lake. Halfway down the stream a net had been stretched under and above the water. Shrews dipped sievelike paddles in and pulled out the dead elvers. These were taken away on a small cart to the kitchen, which was merely lots of cooking fires under wide rock ledges. The cooks there were busy doing all manner of things with the young eels: stewing, baking, roasting and frying. All activity ceased at the sight of Tagg. Every pigmy shrew stood gaping wordlessly at the giant who had entered their domain. Bodjev waddled over to the cooking fires and began boxing ears left, right and center.

"Worra you stan' there for? Thissa my frien' Tagg anna likkle son. You be cookin' lotsa snakeyfish pies for us, quicknow!"

A fat little pigmy shrew pulled a batch of pies out of the crude rock oven with a large wooden paddle. No sooner had she placed them on a cooling shelf than she swung the paddle and caught Bodjev a sharp whack on his behind, shouting fiercely, "Doo a this, doo a that! Kachah! Thissa my kitchen, Daddy Bodjev. You keep 'way, likkle fat lump!"

Bodjev did a tip-pawed dance, rubbing his smarting rear. A combined snigger arose from the cooking staff. The Chieftain backed off, replying savagely, but not too loudly, "One day I bake you inna pie, Chichwife!" He turned to Tagg and Nimbalo with a rueful smile. "Yikyik, my Chichwife, always makin' joke. She love me muchmuch!"

An alcove in the cavern was sumptuously furnished, by pigmy shrew standards, for Bodjev's family and high-ranking friends. He took Tagg and Nimbalo there to dine, away from the main population of Cavemob shrews. The otter could see them from where he sat on a thick mat of springy fernmoss. Their table manners were little better than atrocious. Amid the echoing din of insult and argument, they stole food from their neighbors and engaged in pie fights of amazing savagery.

Bodjev clapped his paws officiously. Four very pretty shrewmaids appeared with lunch, and he nodded at them. "Move youselfs, daughter. Serve, serve!"

His four daughters were quite taken with Nimbalo. Ignoring their father, they served the harvest mouse, fussing about him.

"Thissa rosehip an' almond flower tea, special cold. Yikyikyik!"

"Pies good? Our Chichmum a fine fine cooker, eh? Yikyik!"

Bodjev banged his fork against his empty bowl. "Stoppa gigglin', missies. Poor Daddy be's starvin'!"

Nimbalo was glad when the four shrewmaids left him alone to serve Bodjev and Tagg. He straightened his ruffled headfur and applied himself to the food. The rosehip and almond flower tea was refreshingly cold, obviously made with snow from the mountaintop.

If anybeast had told Tagg that he would enjoy snakeyfish pies before he had tasted the dubiously named dish, he would have declared them mistaken. But the pies were absolutely delicious, round and flat with a soft white pastry crust and a filling that did not resemble anything that looked, smelled or tasted like an elver. It had a texture of oatmeal and a flavor of salt, parsley and sage. Much to the awe of his host, Tagg ate six. Bodjev's wife Chich beamed pleasurably when she was told, and came straight over to the alcove.

"Daddy Bodjev, these goodbeasts you bring here. Big fella's mighty eater. Yik yik, goldie one very hamsing. Chich like him!"

Nimbalo did not know where to put his face. Evidently his light golden brown fur appeared quite attractive to pigmy shrew females. He applied himself to some leftover piecrust. "Thankee, marm. Yore very, er, hamsing y'self!"

Chich threw her apron up over her face and giggled. "Yikyikyikyik! Lissen, big fella, when you go 'way from here, take fatty likkle Bodjev alonga wid you an' leave hamsing goldie here wid Chich. I cook lotsa snakeyfish (lies for that 'un!"

Tagg smiled mischievously. "I'll certainly think about it, marm. What d'you say, handsome goldie?"

Nimbalo scowled as Tagg chucked him under the chin playfully. "Don't even think about it, ye treacherous riverdog!"

The incident was forgotten as a pigmy shrew began battering a huge bronze gong, which reverberated through every corner of the massive cavern. All the Cavemob shrews set up a pitiful wail, then fell silent. Tagg looked to Bodjev. "What's that all about, friend?"

"Izza ole Cavemob law," the Chieftain explained in a subdued voice. "Us gotta make goodsure snakeyfish come back nex' time."

Nimbalo poured himself more iced tea. "Hmm. 'Ow d'yer manage t'do that, mate?"

Bodjev pointed upward at the high cavern ceiling. It was smooth limestone rock, with one long stalactite hanging down. All the pigmy shrews had drawn back to the cave walls, leaving the area beneath the stalactite, not far from the deep lake's edge, completely clear. In the total silence a drop of water fell from the tip, falling through the air for several seconds.

Plock!

The sound echoed about as Bodjev went on to enlighten the visitors. "Waterdrop will fall on chosen Cavemob shrew."

The gong was struck again, and an old shrew in long robes cried out, "Make snakeyfish line. Dance, now!"

All the shrews formed an immense line, long enough to trail around the cavern interior three times. Bodjev rose and nodded to his family. "Us go now, join line. Fortune keep us 'eads dry!"

"Yo Karr, fortune keep us 'eads dry!" Chich, Alfik and his four daughters repeated solemnly.

Nimbalo took hold of the shrewmum's paw. "What'n the name o' fur'n'feathers is goin' on 'ere, Chich?"

She dabbed her apron at her eyes and sniffed. "Everytime snakeyfishes come, Cavemob must choose one to meet Yo Karr, or snakeyfishes come no more. Drop of water fall on shrew head as we dance. That shrew meets Yo Karr."

Bodjev's family went and joined the line, splitting up and each finding a separate place among the others. The shrews began chanting. "Yo Karr, Yo Karr, Yo Karr!" The line moved off, slowly shuffling, swaying from side to side. As they passed under the stalactite, each shrew shut its eyes tight, paws sliding along through the wet area.

Tagg shrugged. "Probably some silly old ritual that goes back as far as anybeast can remember. Look, the ones who've passed under it are going off to stand by the walls again."

Nimbalo watched with growing interest. "Aye, 'cos the drop didn't fall on 'em. I wonder wot Yo Karr is? Must be some kind of award, eh?"

Tagg saw the relief on the faces of those who had passed under the stalactite and come away dry. He noticed the looks of fear on those whose turn was yet to come. "Huh. It doesn't appear to be an award anybeast wants to gain."

Plock!

A mighty cry arose from the pigmy shrews as the line broke. "Yo Kaaaaarrrrr!"

One of Bodjev's pretty daughters stood rooted to the spot, the fat drop of water running down her brow to mingle with her tears. An uneasy feeling had been building up in Tagg's chest. He stood up.

"Come on, mate. Let's go out there and see what's going to happen!"

Huddled together, the shrewmaid's family hugged one another and wept. Tagg pulled Bodjev away from them. "Listen, friend, I don't like this. Now tell me once and for all, what's going on? Why are you all blubbering like this, eh?"

Tears ran openly down the fat little Chieftain's face. He pointed to the deep lake near the cavern's center. "It is law. You look, you see."

Picking pawfuls of dead elvers from a bowl, the old robed shrew who had beaten the gong hurled them into the lake. From the bluegreen translucent depths something came rushing up and broke the surface. Tagg felt himself go stiff with fright. A gigantic eel glided about, its needlelike teeth snapping the elvers into its ugly mouth. It swirled back under, lying just beneath the surface, its thick olive-hued back and dirty amber underside clearly visible as it waited on more food.

The fur on Nimbalo's neck was bristling with horror and anger as he yelled at the pigmy shrew Chieftain. "Yore not goin' t'let'em feed yer daughter to that thing, are ye?"

Bodjev hung his head and turned away. "It is law of Cavemob shrews, so snakeyfish will return. Dinat must go to meet Yo Karr."