The Taggerung

The harvest mouse dashed to the shrewmaid's side and put a protective paw about her shoulders, roaring defiantly, "Not while Nimbalo the Slayer's 'round she ain't. I'll drop the first one who puts a paw on 'er!"

The pigmy shrews rushed him. Tagg bounded into the fray to help his friend. Shrews piled in on the pair until they were completely swamped and subdued. Tagg lay trying to breathe under the masses of small furry bodies, unable to move as much as a single paw. Nimbalo was in the same position. The old robed shrew pointed to the shrewmaid Dinat, then to the lake where the monster eel waited, its long backfin stirring the water. Dinat looked as if she was in a trance as the shrew called out, "Yo Karr waits. Go to Yo Karr. You be chosen!"

Dinat walked slowly forward onto the rock ledge that formed the brief shallows at the side of the deep lake. The eel turned and swam slowly forward, stalking the terror-stricken shrewmaid.

Tagg could feel himself blacking out as the crowded shrewbodies pressed down on him. The mouse warrior was suddenly in front of his mind's eye.

"Deyna!" The warrior spoke the one word, then bared his teeth savagely, opening his mouth wide and snapping his teeth together.

"Yeek! Yahee! Aaaarr!"

Pigmy shrews were sent hurtling off the pile, some ot them with blood showing on backs and paws. Furious energy coursed through the big otter's muscles and sinews. Between bites he sucked in mighty gulps of life giving air. His limbs and rudder together lashed out like steel pistons. Nimbalo felt the shrews being kicked from him and began lashing out, yelling, "Go at 'em, mate! Give 'em the ole one-two!"

Tagg was standing upright, like a colossus, shaking oft the Cavemob. He roared at the sight of the shrewmaid, locked in the eel's swirling coils as she was dragged screaming from the ledge. Then he broke free and tore toward the lake, hurtling straight into the air and diving down. He cut the water like a knife, locking all four paws around the huge eel's head and setting his teeth into the back of its heavy neck. Nimbalo booted aside a few venturesome shrews and ran to the stream. Tearing the elver net loose, he grabbed the nearest shrew, who happened to be Alfik, and shouted in his face, "Don't jus' stan' there! Lend a paw 'ere or I'll slay ye!" Between them they began dragging the net toward the lake. Bodjev joined them, seizing the heavy net and dragging with them.

Now the eel had its coils around Tagg. It had released Dinat and was concentrating upon its attacker. Arching its head back, it tried biting at the otter, but Tagg clung on like a grim nemesis, clenching his viselike jaws as he bit deeper into the monstrous neck, seeking bone. Down, down they sank, locked together. Tagg felt the air being squeezed from his lungs as the eel tried to kill him by crushing tighter and tighter. The lake was seemingly bottomless and icy cold. Otter and eel sank farther into a world of aquamarine ribboned with scarlet. Bubbles burst in a stream from Tagg's mouth, and he began to feel certain that he would die in the watery depths with an eel embracing him. Then something brushed against his face. It was the tip of the net.

Freeing his teeth from the eel, he locked them around one of the stone weights woven into the net's hem. Squirming around, the eel bit his shoulder and clung on. Despite the pain, Tagg bent his elbow around and got the monster in a headlock. They began rising swiftly toward the surface, the otter with his neck and jaw muscles rigid as he gripped the net with all the strength he could muster. Looking downward from the corner of his left eye, he could see the eel's gold-and-black-rimmed eye staring back at him, his elbow lock preventing its teeth from reaching his outstretched throat.

Then everything was roaring sound, and Tagg's head broke the surface. He saw Nimbalo and a host of yelling shrews, standing on the shallow ledge, heaving on the net.

"Pull! Pull, ye string-snouted swabs, gerrim up 'ere on the ledge!"

Tagg sensed himself and the thrashing eel being hauled sideways, felt his rudder scrape the ledge and then he was in the shallows. Nimbalo hurled himself upon the eel, kicking, biting and punching. "Ye great slimy son of a greasy rope, let's see 'ow many pies we can make outta you!"

Wrenching its teeth from the otter, the eel went for Nimbalo. Tagg felt the constricting coils slacken slightly. Like lightning he whipped out his blade and stabbed deep into the creature's neck where his teeth had been sunk earlier. Suddenly the monster resembled, in truth, the piece of greasy rope Nimbalo had called it. All power left its body, and the bulky coils fell uselessly away from Tagg. It lay hissing softly, its once bright eyes clouding over.

Bodjev waded in and patted it. "Yikyikyik! Make an' 'undred pies outta Yo Karr; mebbe two!"

Chichwife splashed in and cuffed his ear smartly. "Phwah! I not gonna cook datbeast inter pies. Back inna lake wirrim. Back inna lake, brudders!"

As best they could, Nimbalo, Bodjev and Alfik dragged Tagg from the water onto the cavern floor. He lay there exhausted and watched the shrews roll the eel off the ledge. It sunk limply into the depths until it was lost to sight. The shrewmaid Dinat and her three sisters set about dressing Tagg's shoulder, and then she clasped the otter's paw gratefully.

"Thankee much much, big fella, you save this Dinat's life!"

Nimbalo took the knife from Tagg and cleaned it. "Sorry I took so long gettin' the net to ye, matey. I 'ad t'pull Dinat out wid it first, an' by then you'd gone so far down we could 'ardly see yer. I thought you was a goner that time, on me oath I did."

Tagg grinned. "Well, I'm back now, handsome golden one."

Taking his blade back, he beckoned to Bodjev. "Yo Karr's dead now. Listen, friend, you're the Chieftain here. You should never have let that happen to your own daughter."

Bodjev looked sheepish. He shrugged awkwardly. "Law. It was ole Cavemob law, always be'd thataway."

Tagg jabbed his fat stomach with the knife handle. "Don't let it ever happen again. Sacrificing creatures' lives! What an awful idea. You're the Chief, make some new laws. The elvers'll still come back, you'll see."

Bodjev stuck out his stomach and shouted to the pigmy shrews, "Lissen, alla Cavemobs. I Chief make lotsa new law. Nomore Yo Karr, nomore die, snakeyfish still come back, you see."

Alfik stepped up beside his father amid the cheering. "Nomore Cavemobs die! Good ole Daddy!"

Bodjev cuffed his ear. "Worra I tell you, nit'ead?"

Tagg caught Bodjev's paw as he raised it again. "And no more ear-smacking, or name-calling. Why not be kinder to one another? It'll make life a lot nicer."

Alfik saw his father's footpaw starting to rise. "An' nomore tailkick!" he shouted.

Bodjev stared at Tagg in disbelief. "Nomore tailkick?"

The otter shook his head. "No more tail kicks, ear smacks or name calls. The Cavemob will be polite and live happily together. This is the law now. All who wish it this way, raise your paws and shout aye."

The response was thunderous. Paws waved wildly and roars of "Aye" resounded throughout the cavern. Tagg noticed that Bodjev was looking rather crestfallen, so he waited for the noise to die away and made another announcement.

"This is the new law of Bodjev, mighty Chief of the Cavemob, whose name will be forever remembered among your tribe."

Cheering themselves hoarse, the pigmy shrews waved their clubs and danced around the big otter as he carried Bodjev shoulder high around the cavern.

"Your biggun be wisefriend," Alfik whispered to Nimbalo. "Lookit Daddy, he smile an' smile lots!"

The harvest mouse feigned a yawn and sat himself down. "So 'e should be, mate. I taught 'im everythin' 'e knows!"

Chapter 18

For the first time since the start of an ill-fated trip, Gruven felt himself really in command. He sat by the replenished fire, which Vallug had made, watching Dagrab, Ribrow and Rawback. Dawn was well up and the three vermin were lying so close to the fire that he could smell singeing fur. Gruven snapped twigs, flicking them at the sleepers until they stirred and sat up rubbing their eyes. Rawback looked around. "So, Vallug an' Eefera never came back durin' the night, Chief?"

Gruven poked at the fire with his sword. "Huh! Did you expect 'em to? Those two are long gone, an' good riddance too, I say. Who needs 'em?"

He listened as the three vermin speculated.

"Mebbe they picked up the otter's tracks an' went after 'im their selves, eh?"

"Suppose they got lost an' they're layin' out there in the snow, frozen stiff?"

"Don't talk daft. One of 'em lit this fire, an' it was still burnin' when we found it last night. I think somethin' 'appened to 'em!"

"Like wot?"

"I dunno, maybe they was attacked."

"Attacked by who? Vallug an' Eefera are both good fighters, they could take care of themselves."

"Suppose it was somebeast who was better'n 'em. You don't know wot sort o' creatures are livin' on this mountain."

Gruven jumped upright and scattered the fire with his sword. The trio leapt back, brushing sparks from themselves as he snarled, "Yore like a bunch of ole gossipers, sittin' there arguin'. I'll tell ye wot I think, then we'll go an' do somethin' about it instead of sittin' freezin' our tails off!"

By the respectful silence that followed, Gruven knew he was boss.

"If Vallug an' Eefera was killed by otherbeasts up 'ere, we ain't stoppin' 'round t'find out. I always said climbin' this mountain was a waste o' time. That otter was never up 'ere. So this is wot we're gonna do. We'll get off the mountain an' track Vallug an' Eefera, an' I bet they'll lead us to the otter. Then all three of 'em are goin' to die, the otter 'cos that's who we came to kill, Vallug an' Eefera 'cos they're traitors, desertin' their own clanbeasts, leavin' us to perish from cold an' starvation. Come on, let's move!"

The two stoats, Rawback and Ribrow, walked behind Gruven and Dagrab, conversing in whispers.

"D'you think Gruven knows where 'e's leadin' us?"

"No, mate, but anywhere's better'n 'ere."

"Right y'are. Keep yore eyes peeled for vittles. I'm famished."

The rat Dagrab slithered alongside Gruven, warm sunlight on the hard-packed snow making the downhill descent quite difficult. She kept her eyes down, watching the ground underpaw.

"Look, Chief, prints in the snow!"

Gruven inspected the faint impressions left in the previous night's snowfall. "Hah, I was right! Vallug an' Eefera passed this way. Good work, Dagrab. We're on their trail right enough. Scout on ahead a bit, see wot y'can find!"

"Huh, 'e was right?" Ribrow scoffed, covering his mouth with a paw. "Wot 'e means is 'e was lucky Dagrab wuz keepin' 'er eyes about 'er."

Once they were clear of the snow, the going became much easier. By midafternoon Gruven's party were on the lower slopes among huge boulders, scrub vegetation and shale. Gruven and the two stoats rested by a trickling stream, gnawing on some milk vetch leaves. Gruven was feeling cheerful.

"See, warm weather, clean water an' a bit o' food. Good, eh?" Ribrow and Rawback continued eating in silence as Gruven continued, "Dagrab lost the tracks a bit back there, but she'll pick 'em up again. Don't worry, I won't steer us wrong."

Ribrow spat out a hard bit of stalk, nodding downhill. "Oh, we ain't worried, Chief, but Dagrab doesn't look too 'appy. 'Ere she comes now, see."

Scrabbling breathlessly uphill, Dagrab returned to make her report. "Looks like all kinds o' stuff growin' down there on some ledges, Chief. Proper vittles, mushrooms, wild onions, some turnips an' stuff like that. Only thing is there's a load of liddle beasts, look like shrews. Good job they never saw me. There's a lot of 'em an' they look well armed, clubs, knives, spears ..."

Gruven tossed away a pawful of vetch leaves. "Liddle beasts like shrews, eh, with plenty o' vittles too? Let's go an' take a look."

From their vantage point on a rocky boulder-strewn spur, the four vermin lay looking down. Far below were broad terraces above the foothills covered in deposits of rich alluvial soil. The pigmy shrews were farming, planting seedlings and gathering in their vegetable crops. Between where they were working and the high spur where the vermin lay was a steep wasteland of thistle, fern, scree, boulders and shale.

Gruven's smile was one of pure wickedness. "This'll probly make a bit o' mess, but we're not interested in next season's crops, just enough fer a few good meals."

Putting his shoulder to a rounded boulder, he pushed it over the edge, calling to the others, "Come on, send some rocks down that slope!"

The boulders hit the steep incline, bouncing and setting other boulders and shalebanks on the move wherever they struck, smashing fern beds, crushing thistles and sending huge masses of scree into a thundering avalanche. Pigmy shrews scattered hither and thither, squealing in panic as the mountain thundered down on them, crushing anybeast not swift enough to avoid the destruction.

Gruven laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. The plan was working. "Hahahaha! It's like droppin' pebbles an' sand on ants, hahahaha! Lookit 'em, they don't know which way t'run fer the best, hahaha!"

The three other vermin caught his mood and began tipping more boulders over the edge onto the creatures below.

"Whoohoo! Looka that 'un runnin'. Hoho, 'e's tripped an' fell!"

"Watch me get those two 'idin' be'ind that rowan tree!"

"Heehee, that liddle one just vanished under a load o' shale!"

They watched until the massive landslide subsided. Gruven leaned on his sword and smirked at his companions. "That'll teach 'em, fillin' their bellies while there's 'ungry Juska warriors starvin' up 'ere. There's a good few baskets full o' fresh picked food down there that never got buried. Told yer I wouldn't steer ye wrong, didn't I? Let's slide down there an' see wot the pickin's are like."

Nimbalo jumped at the sudden rumbling and clattering that echoed through the cavern.

"Great seasons, wot's that, mate? Thunder'nlightnin' again?"

Alfik scrambled up the streambank to the curtaining waterfall that shielded the entrance. "Stay. Not thunder'n'lightnin', that rockfall, not safe. Stay!"

Nimbalo made to follow him, but was stopped by Tagg's strong paw. "Best stop here, mate. These creatures know their own mountain best. That rockfall sounds bad!"

They waited until the rumblings ceased. There was a brief silence, then the Cavemob shrews began chattering wildly and moving toward the cave entrance. Bodjev headed them off, calling for calm.

"Shushupp, shushupp, alla beast! Nogo, stay 'ere. Alfik cleverwise son, know best. Wait, wait 'til Alfik comeback!"

The wait was rather a long one. Anxious shrews who had family and friends outside chattered away interminably to one another. Nimbalo covered his ears, screwing his face up.

"The blinkin' noise that lot are makin' is worse than the rockfall."

Tagg nodded sympathetically. "Aye, but they've probably got kin out there and they're worried. I wish Alfik would come back. Hope he's all right."

Virtually as the otter finished speaking, Alfik came splashing hurriedly through the watery cascade and made straight for Tagg. "Death be's out there, lotsa death, much hurted Cavemobs. Four beasts too, biggabeasts, mebbe yore size, big knifes, spear, lookalike bad. Muchbad!"

The big otter drew his blade, his tattooed face grim. "Bodjev, you and your shrews stay here for a while. Wait a bit before you follow me. I know who those beasts must be, and I don't want any of the Cavemob hurt because of me!"

Nimbalo picked up a flint-studded club and followed his friend to the entrance. Tagg shook his head. "Not this time, mate. This is something I've got to do alone!"

The harvest mouse brushed by him. "No mate o' mine fights standin' alone, I don't care wot ye say. I'm goin' with ye, Tagg. If there's four of 'em you'll need somebeast to watch yore back, no arguments!"

Tagg flashed him a quick smile. "You're a real pal, Nimbalo the Slayer!"

Amid the devastation they had caused to the neatly farmed terraces, the four vermin laughed amid fallen boulders and dead pigmy shrews, callously feeding themselves. Gruven stuffed fresh button mushrooms into his mouth, grabbing at Dagrab as she passed with a basket.

"Strawberries! Why didn't ye tell me there was strawberries 'ere? Gimme some o' those, ye greedy rat!" He spat out the mushrooms and began stuffing strawberries.

Ribrow had a basket part filled with scallions. He munched on a bunch and belched loudly. "Nothin' like fresh-picked veggibles. 'Ere, mate, d'yer want some?" He held out the basket to a groaning pigmy shrew, buried to the chest in rubble, with blood crusting upon his brow. "Doesn't know wot's good fer 'im," Ribrow scoffed. " 'E don't want none. Rawback, chuck some of that celery over 'ere, will ye?"

Rawback was nibbling on some tender young carrots. He threw the celery, but it missed Ribrow's outstretched paw, landing on the back of a dead shrew. Ribrow shot him a look of disgust.

"I ain't gonna eat that now. Yore a lousy thrower!"

Gruven pulled a face and stood up, patting his stomach. "Too many strawberries gives me the gripes. Anythin' else that looks tasty 'round 'ere?"

He turned to scan the far end of what had been the Cavemob shrews' terrace field and saw Tagg, still some fair distance away. For an instant, shock rooted the stoat to the spot. But then he sprang into action. Without a word he ran off down the mountainside in the opposite direction. When Dagrab saw him hurtling off through the rubble and into a grove of rowans, she forgot the strawberry in her paw. "Where's the Chief off to?"

Rawback looked up and saw Tagg thundering toward them. "Yaaaargh! The Taggerung!"

They leaped up and fled like sparrows from a hawk, in the direction Gruven had taken. Ribrow was slightly slower than Dagrab or Rawback, and his paw struck a sharp rock. Leaping and yelping, he hobbled as fast as he could, until a sinewy paw caught the back of his neck in a ferocious grip. Tagg spun the stoat around and stunned him with a resounding blow from his rudder.

Nimbalo had now reached the avalanched area and was yelling, "Tagg, mate, there's wounded an' injured all over the place 'ere. Lend a paw, will you? You've got to 'elp me with 'em!"

For a moment Tagg was torn by indecision. He looked in the direction Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback had taken, his eyes blazing hatred, his whole body quivering as he strove to control himself. Then, hauling the unconscious Ribrow over his shoulder, he growled, "You'll do for now. I ll track those other three down. They can't run fast or far enough with a Taggerung on their trail!"

Driven by fear, Gruven ran like a hunted animal. Some distance behind he could hear what he thought to be the furious otter coming after him. Actually it was Dagrab and Rawback trying to catch up with him, but Gruven did not intend to stop and face the enemy. He pushed on, certain that the other three had run in different directions, or had been hunted down and slain. He struggled open-mouthed to suck in air, his paws pounding over rock, grass and earth alike. Behind him he heard the crackle of snapping foliage. Panic swept over him and he dodged to the left, into an area of boulders, stunted trees and a fast-flowing stream, which bordered the flatlands. He tried to bridge the stream with a running leap and failed, coming down with a splash into the shallows below the opposite bank. His right footpaw was almost skinned to the bone as it shot between a rock and a root under the water. A screech of pain welled from his throat and he overbalanced to fall backward into the stream.

With their tongues lolling and chests heaving like bellows, Dagrab and Rawback tried to halt at the edge of the narrow stream, but their momentum carried them sliding awkwardly on the damp grass into the shallows below. Scrambling upright, they spat out water, staring openmouthed at Gruven in the shallows near the other side. Their leader was lying on his back, trying to scrub mud and water from his eyes and wailing piteously, "Don't kill me, please! It was the others who caused the landslide, I tried to stop them! Let me live an' I'll 'elp ye to hunt 'em down, I'll do anythin', only spare me, please!" He broke down, blubbering and pleading.

Rawback waded across and stood over Gruven, a look of loathing and contempt plain on his villainous face.

"Gerrup, ye whimperin' idiot, an' pack in yer whingin'! 'Tis only us!"

Gruven dried his eyes swiftly. "Where's the otter? Is he comin' after us?"

Dagrab waded across to study the muddy bankside. "We never 'eard 'im followin' us. So there's no need fer all the shoutin' an' cryin'."

Suddenly Gruven was back to his old self. "I wasn't cryin'. I was callin' out 'cos I'm in pain. If'n yer took the trouble t'look, you'd see my footpaw's trapped!"

Rawback grinned wickedly. "Why so 'tis. 'Ere, let me 'elp yer, Chief."

The stoat could have freed the paw instantly, but he pretended it was a difficult task. Leaning down on Gruven's scraped limb, he ignored his leader's cries, wrenching and scraping the hurt footpaw maliciously, but keeping his voice pleasant.

"There there now, on'y babes cry an' moan. So, you was the one who tried ter stop us causin' the landslide, eh? Ain't you the big brave Juskazann. Young Gruven the terror, eh? All we could 'ear on the journey was 'ow you was goin' to slay the otter. All those 'orrible things you wuz goin' t'do when ye laid paws on 'im. Hoho, soon as ye clapped eyes on the Taggerung you took off, like a butterfly from a jackdaw. Wot 'appened, O Mighty One? Why didn't ye stand an' fight like yore mama told yer to?"

Gruven pushed Rawback aside and wrenched his footpaw free. "Why didn't you, or you, Dagrab? Yore supposed to be veteran trackers an' killers. I'd 'ave taken that otter on if'n you two cowards would've stayed t'back me up. Aye, we could've done with Vallug an' Eefera there too. They ran long afore the otter showed up. Though if'n they ain't trackin' 'im, wot are they up to?"

Dagrab pointed at the bankside. "Well, we'll soon know when we catch up wid 'em. There's Eefera's pawprints. Weasels ain't 'ard to reckernize. Aye, an' Vallug's still with 'im. See the scratches off'n 'is bowtip an' the deep prints 'e made leverin' 'imself over the banktop? They're 'eaded west by the look o' things."

Gruven slapped cooling mud on his scraped limb, binding a dock leaf to it with weed strands, then stood up and tested his balance.

"Right, we're goin' after those two slybeasts. 'Tis all clear t'me now. They knew all along that the otter'd never show 'is face near a Juska camp again, an' no clanbeast'd ever come this far from our territory to check any story they might tell. So all they do is turn up back at camp an' tell Grissoul that we're all dead, the otter too, an' next thing y'know they're clan chiefs. That's it!"

Rawback climbed to the banktop, shaking his head. "Ye've got it right, 'cept fer one thing. Only one of 'em'll make it back to camp. Ain't no room fer two chiefs. I'll wager 'tis Vallug who returns alone. 'E wuz always the deadliest slayer."

Dagrab climbed up beside Rawback. "Huh, that's wot you say, but Eefera ain't no fool. I've tracked alongside that weasel many a time, an' they don't come any slyer. Vallug's big an' powerful, but my bet is that the one who makes it back'll be ole Eefera. 'E's the craftier of the two."

Gruven scrambled to the banktop, motioning them to move off. "I don't care which one 'tis, I'll slice 'is 'ead off with this sword as soon as we make it back to camp. All you two's gotta remember is that I killed the otter. Stick to that story an' I'll promote ye both to Chief Trackers. You can 'ave yore own followers, give yer own orders, an' live off the cream o' the land. Now let's get goin' while there's still plenty o' daylight!"

Chapter 19

Every fourth summer, Skipper and his ottercrew went off to a Hullabaloo. They would follow streams and rivers down to the shores of the great sea, where they would meet up with other otter crews and many of the sea otters from the far north. Hullabaloo was a festival that could last until autumn, as long as the otters were having fun. Meeting old friends and relatives, sporting in the waves, singing, dancing and lighting bonfires each night on the beach for the inevitable feasts was good rough fun, of the sort that ottercrews enjoy immensely.

Skipper and his crew marched out of Redwall's gates that morning, waving, cheering, and promising to bring back lots of shells for the Dibbuns. Mhera stood out on the path with her friends, calling goodbyes and fluttering kerchiefs until the otters merged into the sun-shimmering distance of the flatlands.

Fwirl accompanied the ottermaid back inside the Abbey. "Why didn't you go with them, Mhera? 'Twould be a lovely holiday for you and your mama."

Mhera shrugged. "We've not been part of any crew for many seasons now. Skipper said we were welcome to join them, but there's too much to be done here, Fwirl. Friar Bobb couldn't do without Mama; she loves the kitchens as much as he does. As for me, well, I've got my riddle to solve and Cregga to watch over. Besides, I like Redwall in summer. There's always something going on."

Fwirl linked paws with her friend. "I do too. Haha, we're both becoming a regular old pair of Abbeybeasts. Come on, I promised Broggle that I'd help your mama and Friar Bobb to get lunch ready. It won't be too difficult, with twoscore otters out of the way. Race you to the kitchens!"

Even though the lunch that day was a splendid one, Mhera sat toying with her plate of celery and chestnut bake, rearranging the salad surrounding it into random patterns. A leaden lump in her chest would not allow her to enjoy the food. Failure weighed heavily upon the ottermaid. Raucous laughter from the far table, where Drogg Cellarhog and old Hoarg were challenging one another to imaginary feats of eating, did nothing to lift her spirits.

Drogg was gesturing airily with a wooden spoon. "1 could chase down a chestful o' chestnuts with cherry juice wine!"

Hoarg smiled patronizingly over his glasses at this effort. "I could purloin a portion o' pears an' pop 'em down with a pot o' pennycress cordial!"

And so the banter went back and forth.

"Ho, ye could, could ye? Well, you'd best step aside when I attack an Abbeyful of apples an' ask for an ample allocation of ale afterward!"

"Step aside? I step aside for nobeast, whether it be a hallowed hedgehog, an officious otter, a seasoned squirrel, a mutterin' mole or a befuddled badger!"

Boorab, who was referee, rapped old Hoarg's paw with an oatfarl. "Foul, sah! Infringement of the rules. You changed your initial letter no less than five times an' never jolly well mentioned food once. You lose two points, old chap, an' that slice o' fruitcake. No kerfufflin', penalty must be accepted!"

Amid gales of laughter, the hare stole a slice of fruitcake from Hoarg's plate and bolted it. The younger element began calling, "You have a go, Mr. Boorab, go on, show em how 'tis done!"

Boorab gulped the fruitcake down and obliged. "Ahem! I could simply scoff sixty-six sticks of celery separately, swallow seventeen swigs o' sweet cider an' sensationally scrunch a selection of salad whilst simperin' smilin' and singin' soulfully to serenade Sister Alkanet's stern stares!" Amid hoots of merriment he bowed to the Sister. "So sorry your name didn't begin with an S, marm!"

She rose abruptly and carried her plate and beaker off to another table, where she sat glaring frostily at the funsters. "Ridiculous! Grown Redwallers behaving like naughty Dibbuns!"

Boorab bounded over and plonked himself down alongside Mhera, attempting to cheer her up.

"I say, wot? Pretty young thing like y'self sittin' there with a face on you like a frog who's lost his fiddle. Y'best hurry up an' jolly well smile, or you'll stick like that, ask Sister Alkanet. She knows all about that stuff. Her face stuck like that when she was an infant, doncher know, missed her mouth an' poured a bowl of custard down her ear, never smiled since, wot!"

Cregga's huge paw lifted the hare right out of his seat. "Away with you and leave my friend Mhera alone."

As he rose in the air, Boorab took Mhera's plate of lunch with him. "Er, right you are, mighty marm. I say, you don't mind me taking this with me, wot. Save it bein' wasted. Can't abide waste, y'know."

Mhera relieved him of the plate and returned it to the table. "You can have it if you apologize to Sister Alkanet about the rude and unkind remarks you made about her!"

The Badgermum stroked Mhera's cheek softly. "He's right, you know. Sitting there scowling won't solve much."

Mhera pushed the plate of food away. "I'm sorry, Cregga, it's just that I haven't the time to fool about. I'm just so angry with myself that I can't solve the mystery of the green cloth with the writing on. I need to get away on my own, so I can think clearly. It's noisy in here."

Lifting her head, the badger checked the chattering, the clatter of plates and the scraping of chairs with her keen senses.

"Hmm, it is rather boisterous, but then summer lunchtimes are usually like this. You've never noticed because a certain ottermaid named Mhera is normally part of it all. Would you like to go up to my room for a bit?"

"I'd love to. Thanks, Cregga!"

The Badgermum put her head on one side as if pondering something. "Wait. Maybe it'd be better if you went up and took a rest in the infirmary sickbay. It's nice and quiet in there, you know."

Mhera could not help pulling a wry face at this suggestion. "I don't feel ill. Why should I go to the sickbay?"

Cregga shrugged. "No urgent reason really, but I was just thinking. Abbess Song loved to take a nap up there when it was empty. She liked the room, said it was both cool and clean."

Mhera rose from the table. "Clean and cool. Good. I'll give it a try."

Boorab came to the table when Mhera had left. He reached for the leftover luncheon, but Cregga's paw closed over his. "Well, sah, did you apologize graciously to Sister Alkanet?"

"Yith, marb, I dibb!"

Cregga frowned. "What are you talking like that for?"

"I 'pologithed add webt to kitth hurr paw."

Cregga translated. "You apologized and went to kiss her paw, is that what you're trying to say? What happened?"

"The Thithter thmacked bee inna node wib a pudden thpoon!"

Cregga nodded approvingly. "Sister Alkanet smacked you in the nose with a pudding spoon. Well, good for her! Does it hurt?"

"Yith. It thmarth!"

"Oh, I see. And do you look unhappy?"

"Udhabby? Ob courth I lukk udhabby!"

Cregga allowed him to take the plate. "Well, there you are, Boorab, but don't forget to smile, or you'll stick like that, remember!"

Boorab wandered off, muttering darkly, "Thmile? Huh, she bight thigg I'b laffig add gibb be anudder thock wib 'er pudden thpoon!"

It was indeed quiet, peaceful and clean in the little sickbay. Mhera lay down on a truckle bed and gazed around. The room had a wonderful old aroma of verbena. A warm circle of sunlight, coming through the small circular

window, shone on the far wall like a pink sun in a sandstone sky, the sandy streaks in the stone appearing to her mind as faint cloud layers. She recalled a couple of spring days she had spent in the sickbay, one season when she was very young. Sister Alkanet had treated her for a sprained footpaw. The Sister had not been stern with her, but kindly and considerate. Maybe she was different when not on duty. There was a scroll, opened out and fixed to the back of the door, with a poem written on it in beautiful copperplate script. The edges were wreathed in artistically painted fruits and flowers. Mhera read the poem to herself as she lay there, feeling calm and rested.

White campion rooted from its bed,

Will cure the pains of aching head,

For one who can't sleep easily,

Then use valerian . . . sparingly.

If ague and fever hang about,

Wild angelica hounds them out.

For wounds of sword and spear or arrow,

The plant to heal them all is yarrow,

Placed o'er the scars where cuts have been,

Dock and sanicle keep all clean.

Use waterparsnip and whitlow grass,

On warts and swellings, they'll soon pass.

And when the snuffles and sniffs are seen,

Just drive them out with wintergreen,

And oft the wise ones do report,

Keep them at bay with pepperwort,

Whilst maidens full of health and cheer,

Dab sweet woodruff behind each ear!

Mhera smiled, recalling the time when she and Floburt were fascinated with the aroma of sweet woodruff. They had persuaded Friar Bobb to make them a flask of the wonderful vanilla-perfumed scent. However, both maids used it so liberally on ears, throat and paws that it became overpowering. Redwallers complained at dinner and Cregga Badgermum ordered them both to eat outside in the orchard. Of course, she had been a lot younger then, and Floburt nought but a Dibbun. Slumber overcame the ottermaid as she lay there reminiscing. With her dreams bygone events came back to sadden her: the sight of her mother weeping over an empty cradle, the chubby, fuzzy babe with a flowermark on his paw. Her brother. Had he lived, Deyna would be a big strong otter of almost sixteen seasons now. Her father, lifting her up and kissing her before he left with the babe, so proud of his little son and his pretty daughter. She missed her father so much.

Mhera awoke weeping. There was somebeast tapping upon the sickbay door. Hastily wiping her eyes on the coverlet, she called out, "Please come in!"

Fwirl and Broggle peeped around the door.

"Cregga told us we'd find you here." Fwirl ran straight to Mhera and put a paw about her. "Oh, dear, you've been crying. Are you all right?"

The ottermaid sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the worn green coverlet from the bed. "It was just a dream. Silly of me really, I'll be all right in a moment. A creature of my seasons, weeping like a Dib"

Suddenly, Mhera buried her nose completely in the coverlet, her whole body stiffening.

Broggle tugged the coverlet gently. "What is it, Mhera? What's the matter?"

She thrust the coverlet at her friends. "Smell! It's lilacs!"

As they put their noses to it, Mhera felt the cloth's texture. "It's very old, and homespun. It's green, too, faded green, just like the scrap of cloth from the bell tower beam!"

There followed a shuffling sound, coupled with paws tapping against the wall. Cregga entered the sickbay.

Fwirl could not contain herself. Words rushed from her mouth. "Oh, Cregga, oh, mum, look what Mhera's found. Sorry, you can't look, can you? Feel this, smell it, what does it remind you of?"

Sitting down on the bed, Cregga did as she was bid. "Hmm, now don't tell me. It's a coverlet, the sort Sister Alkanet uses to keep the sheets from getting dusty. Am I right?"

Mhera's voice rose almost to a squeak. "It smells of lilacs and it's old green homespun!"

Cregga lay back against the pillows and sighed. "Think I ate too much lunch. Oh, is there writing on it anywhere?"

Mhera found it immediately, below the hem she was holding. A single word, which she read out slowly. "PITTAGALL. All in capital letters again, running downward." She pursed her lips, seething with frustration. "First we had HITTAGALL, now we've got PITTAGALL. Well, that's a great help, I don't think!"

Cregga nestled her head comfortably into the pillows. "What were you expecting to find?"

The ottermaid gestured helplessly. "Something . . . I don't know. Maybe an object that'll tell us who the next Abbess or Abbot of Redwall is to be. Something solid and positive I could recognize plainly, not all this HITTAGALL and PITTAGALL nonsense!"

Cregga heaved herself from the bed. "Well, I'm not going to get a very good nap here. I think I'll go to my room and rest in my chair." She waved them away as she felt her way out of the sickbay. "No need to help me, 1 can make it on my own quite easily. I'll leave you young 'uns here to solve your puzzles. Don't get too angry with yourself, Mhera my dear. You'll come to a solution if you give it a little thought and time. Patience, my friend, patience."

When Cregga had gone, Mhera and Fwirl found some shears and a needle and thread in Sister Alkanet's cupboard. They set about snipping the worded piece from the coverlet and sewing a new hem right along the edge. Broggle watched them, a smile hovering on his pudgy face.

"You'll excuse me saying, misses, but you aren't very good seamstresses, are you? Here, you'd better let me do that."

Mhera could not help laughing at the crooked line of stitching she and Fwirl had worked on. She gave the coverlet to Broggle. "Thanks, pal. I was always pretty dreadful with needle and thread."

Fwirl frowned. "I thought we were doing quite well, but I've had no experience of needlework, so how would I know? I'd love to learn how to do it properly, though."

The assistant cook took out his little kitchen knife and began unpicking the haphazard stitching. "Would you really, Fwirl? Then watch me and I'll show you. It's quite simple once you get the hang of it."

Mhera took the lettered cloth to the round window and studied it while Broggle, who was an extremely quick and neat worker, instructed Fwirl in needlework. The ottermaid soon gave up staring at the scrap of cloth and stood gazing out of the window, to where Durby and his Dibbun chums had finished eating their woodland trifle with meadowcream topping. Trundling from the gatehouse, carrying the empty basin between them, they were making for the pond. Mhera could see their happy little faces, all with beards and mustaches of meadowcream, and she wondered what they were up to. They waddled into the shallows and began washing the mess from themselves, knowing that they might be saving themselves from a thorough bathing by any elder who found them covered in cream and trifle. But, being Dibbuns, they quickly found better uses for Abbey pondwater than washing, and a full-scale watersplashing battle soon broke out. Mhera chuckled to herself as she watched the fun. However, her good humor suddenly turned to alarm. Whilst the rest were splashing one another, they had completely ignored the tiniest Dibbun of all, Wegg the hedgehog babe. He had launched the big beechwood trifle bowl onto the pond and clambered into it.

Paws cupped around her mouth, Mhera yelled down at them, "Durby, Feegle! Pull that bowl ashore and get little Wegg out!" But they were splashing and shouting so loudly that they were oblivious of Mhera's calls from the high window.

Broggle looked up from his work. "Is that the Dibbuns? What are they up to?"

Mhera dashed from the room, calling back to the needleworkers, "You carry on with your task. I'll see to this!"

She was across the landing, down the stairs and through the Great Hall like a flash. Whizzing through the open Abbey doorway, she almost collided with her mother, who was coming in from the orchard with an apron full of fresh pears. Filorn bent to pick up the fallen ones, shaking her head.

"Dearie me, the number of times I've told that daughter o' mine not to rush. She's as bad as any Dibbun, even now she's grown up!"

Bounding over the lawn toward the south wall, Mhera could see the trifle bowl well out on the lake as the splashing Dibbuns sent up waves. They had still not noticed the hogbabe's absence. But Wegg saw Mhera. Standing up in the bowl, he waved his tiny paws.

"Meeler, Meeler, ukka me!"

He toddled to the edge of the bowl and capsized it.

As she ran, Mhera saw the silvery flash rise close to the surface, then the long high purplish dorsal fin of a big male grayling, closing in on the squeaking hogbabe. Durby and the others saw it too. They stopped splashing and began yelling.

"Cumm owt o' thurr, likkle Wegg!"

"Yeeeek, big fish comin' to eat 'im all up!"

"Out of the waaaaaaay!"

Mhera went sailing over their heads in a long powerful dive. It was all over in the wink of an eye. She struck the hunting grayling in its midsection, stunning it. Swirling her rudder, the ottermaid did a spinning turn and grabbed Wegg, then made a beeline for the shallows, with the hogbabe perched on her head, giggling as if it were all a great game.

Filorn had dropped her pears and set off after Mhera, realizing that something was amiss. She was followed by Hoarg, Broggle, Drogg and Sister Alkanet. They arrived at the pool in time to see Mhera come to land with Wegg. Before they could ask what had happened, Durby, Feegle and the other Dibbuns were relating the adventure en masse.

"Ee gurt fisher, bigger as ee h'Abbey, eated Wegg all oop!"

"Meeyra dived up in the air, right right up to th'sky!"

"Boi 'okey, roight daown ee gurt fisher's mouth 'urr go'd!"

"Yehyeh an' she pulled likkle Wegg out an' swimmed away wiv 'im!"

Filorn felt Mhera's sodden robe. "You're soaked, miss. Is everybeast all right?"

Mhera passed the hogbabe to her mother. "They're fine. This one went sailing in your trifle bowl. He fell in and a grayling went after him, but I got him back safe."

Sister Alkanet pointed a paw severely in front of her. "You Dibbuns, form a line, right there. Just look at the dreadful state you lot are in!"

1 langing their heads and shuffling paws, the Abbeybabes fell in line. Drogg Cellarhog eyed them sternly. "Wot've you been tole about goin' in the pool by yoreselves, eh?"

Before they could answer, Sister Alkanet opened Feegle's mouth and peered at her tongue. "Ugh! Pondwater, sand and I don't know what you've been swallowing. Right, follow me to the infirmary. 'Tis a dose of agrimony physick all 'round and a good bath in clean water and soapwort for all of you. Better bring Wegg along too, Miz Filorn!"

The ottermum felt sorry for the Dibbuns, but she knew as well as they did that lessons must be learned. She kept a straight face as she asked accusingly, "And pray tell me, where's my best trifle bowl?"

Durby tried one of his most winning molesmiles. "Et be's daown unner ee ponder, missus. Ee gurt fishes makin' troifle in et, tho' not as noice as yourn, moi dearie!"

Filorn wagged an admonitory paw at the Dibbuns. "Well, I can't make any more woodland trifles with meadowcream if I don't have my favorite bowl, no more ever. Now d'you see what your disobedience and naughtiness have cost you?" The Dibbuns were led off wailing heartbrokenly.

When they had gone, Mhera waded back into the pond. She waved to her mother. "Seeing as I'm wet already, I'll go and get it back."

Boorab touched his injured nose gingerly. "I'b glad deb liddle 'uns're geddin' physicked ad nodd bee. Blurgh! Id tasthes like boiled frogth!"

Old Hoarg agreed heartily with the hare. "I mind one time she physicked me for a bad tummy. Phwarr! I swore I'd die afore I took the Sister's physick again."

Mhera emerged from the pool carrying the bowl. "That old grayling looks as if he's in need of some medicine. I had to butt him real hard. Couldn't take a chance on letting him get to little Wegg."

Filorn patted her daughter's soggy back gratefully. "You did the right thing. Thank you, my dear. I'd have missed this bowl very much. Your father made it for me. I think you're as good a swimmer as he ever was, Mhera. Up you go now. Dry off and get out o' those wet robes. There's fresh ones in my linen chest."

Drogg Cellarhog watched Mhera squelch off back to the Abbey. "You got a wunnerful daughter there, marm. Anybeast'd be proud to 'ave 'er as kin!"

Chapter 20

It was evening when Mhera came back down from her room. She had taken a short nap, cleaned herself up and dressed in a soft magnolia robe with a brown cord girdle. She found Broggle and Fwirl sitting together in the orchard.

"Hello, you two. Well, Fwirl, how was your sewing lesson?"

Broggle pulled a face and held his paws up. "Don't even ask, Mhera! We'd just finished with that coverlet when in marches the good Sister with a crowd of muddy wet Dibbuns. She made us help her to physick and bathe them."

Mhera winked and smiled at Fwirl. "That's Sister Alkanet for you!"

"But that wasn't all," the squirrelmaid went on to explain. "She admired our needlework so much that she found us a lot of old sheets that needed repairing. So now I know all about sewing, thanks to you cutting a piece from the coverlet. That started it all!"

The three friends were still laughing when Floburt and Egburt came running along.

"Hi there. Have you put your names down for the wall race?"

Mhera clapped a paw to her brow. "Great seasons, I'd forgotten. Is it this evening? Come on, pals. We'd better get to the gatehouse!"

Fwirl was all agog. "What's a wall race? Can I take part?

Broggle chuckled at his pretty friend's eagerness. "Of course you can, Fwirl; you should be good at it. Everybeast who enters has to nominate how they'll run, wall or grass. The grass runners run alongside the wall on the ground, but the wall runners go along the parapet of the ramparts. The race starts from the threshold over the gatehouse, and you run right 'round the four walls back to the starting spot. Anybeast can enter, but it's usually the good runners who win. The elders just watch."

They gave their names to Hoarg. Egburt, Floburt, Mhera and Fwirl nominated to go by the wall. Gundil and quite a few other moles, who were not fond of heights, nominated to go on the grass course. Fwirl asked the mole what the prize was, and Gundil touched his snout knowingly.

"Eell soon foind owt if'n ee wins, bootiful miz, hurr hurr!"

Foremole Brull marshaled the runners on the grass, kindly allowing the Dibbun entrants a starting line far ahead of the rest. She kept pointing and explaining to the little ones, "You'm goes thataway. Amember naow . . . thataway ee be runnen!"

Up on the parapet old Hoarg was lining the walltop runners in position. Alongside Egburt, Fwirl watched the antics of Foremole Brull and the Dibbuns curiously.

"What's the Foremole telling them, Floburt?"

The hedgehog chuckled as she explained, "She's telling them which way to go. When the race starts, some of the little 'uns are so dozy that they run all over the place, in the opposite direction, back to the Abbey, wherever. Last time some of them ended up dashing into the pool or straight into the gatehouse. You can never tell with Dibbuns, they get so excited."

Fwirl watched the Dibbuns dancing up and down, their faces alight, chattering to one another in baby talk. “Hahaha, bless their little hearts!"

Boorab's nose had recovered sufficiently for him to start the race. He stood on the gatehouse steps, holding a yellow flag, which had once been a grain sack.

"All contestants pay attention please for the annual wall'n'grass race, wot! Y'must observe the jolly old rules. No shovin' or pushin'. Straight 'round the wall boundaries an' back here, no shortcuts or secret routes. Right ho, chaps'n'chapesses, good luck to everybeast an' let's have a good clean race. Ready ... on y'marks, get setgo!"

The runners took off helter-skelter, both on the grass and along the ramparts. Mhera was out in front, with Floburt and a mouse named Birrel, all running neck and neck. Cregga stayed on the threshold with the other elders. She grabbed Friar Bobb's paw, her sightless eyes blinking rapidly. "What's happening? Who's in the lead? Tell me, tell me!"

The Friar began shouting an excited commentary for her benefit. "Mhera, Floburt and Birrel are leading, though only just now, Egburt is nearly up there with them. Oh, look out! Great seasons, here comes our Broggle, and Filorn too. I never knew those two could run like that. Oh, great flyin' fur an' footpaws, what in the name of thunder is that?"

Cregga smiled knowingly. "Our pretty Fwirl, I'll bet!"

Old Hoarg was waving his stick and roaring, "She's whipped right past 'em all, leapin' along the battlement tops. I never seen aught like it. Fwirl's goin' like a streak o' red lightnin'. Go on, young 'un, you show 'em the way 'round!"

Everybeast yelled their admiration for the newest Redwaller. Friar Bobb turned his attention to the grass runners. "The ground racers have just turned the sou'west corner, it's Gundil in the lead, goin' bravely, with three molemaids on his tail. They've just gone behind the bushes on the south wall. Hohoho, Durby and Feegle have skirted the bushes and are running over to the orchard as if they mean business!"

Drogg Cellarhog groaned. "My pore strawberry patch!"

Fwirl was tugging old Hoarg's sleeve. "Excuse me, sir, 1 think I'm first back."

The ancient gatehouse keeper stared in amazement at her. "But. .. but... the others are on'y midway along the north walltop!"

As the last of the wall runners came in there was much paw-shaking and back-slapping. All attention was now riveted on the grass runners down below. Gundil was only leading by a whisker, with two hedgehogs and the three molemaids pounding almost alongside him. Mhera, Broggle and Fwirl cheered their molefriend on uproariously.

"Keep going, Gundil, keep going!"

"Don't look back, keep going, you can do it, Gundil!"

Panting and blowing like a bellows, the worn-out mole staggered past the wallgate to win the grass race, amid wild cheers.

Both winners were carried back into the Abbey shoulder high. Fwirl looked down at Broggle as they went in. "What happens now?"

Broggle had no time to answer before lusty singing broke out.

"Hail both the winners,

Who raced 'round our wall,

On a summer solstice eve,

The longest day of all.

Valiant and fleet of paw,

Tributes they'll receive,

Lord and Lady victors,

On this midsummer's eve!"

A ceremony had been prepared in honor of Fwirl and Gundil, who were both draped in woven reed cloaks, their heads garlanded with wreaths of primrose and kingcup. Drogg Cellarhog, who had donned a clean apron for the ritual, rolled in a barrel, its staves dyed pink, and upended it in the center of Great Hall. Both winners were presented with artistically carved and polished tankards made from the bole of an elm tree. Drogg did not bother knocking a spigot into the cask bung, but raised a big coopering mallet and addressed himself to the winning pair.

"Ten summers ago I laid down this barrel of strawberry fizz to mature, and now you will be the first to taste it. Only those who have your permission may dip their bowls, flagons or tankards into the barrel. For you have won the titles for one night only of Lord an' Lady Strawberry. And well deserved, says I!"

He swung the mallet and stove in the cask head with a tremendous crash, causing everybeast nearby to be drenched in delicious pink strawberry fizz.

"Broggle, come and have some!" Fwirl cried over the cheering.

"Hurr, miz, that bain't ee way to do et," Gundil whispered in her ear. "Us'n's got to drink furst!"

They dipped their new tankards in and quaffed off a good mouthful each. Fwirl squeaked in surprise. It was the first time she had ever tasted the wonderful cordial. "Yeek! I'm full of fizzy bubbles! It's marvelous!"

Gundil instructed her on how to invite others to share it. He held forth his tankard to Cregga and recited:

"Whoi, 'tis so delishus an' so gudd that oi think,

Oi'll h'invite ee Badgermum to join oi in a drink!"

Cregga dipped her bowl into the barrel and bowed to Gundil.

"Why, thank you, Lord Strawberry, I'll drink right willingly,

To good health and long seasons, and to your victory!"

Fwirl caught on to the rhyme instantly and called again to Broggle.

"Why, 'tis so delicious and so good that I think,

I'll invite my friend Broggle to join me in a drink!"

Willing paws pushed the bashful young squirrelcook forward. He dipped his beaker in the barrel and bowed to the pretty squirrelmaid.

"Why, thank you, Lady Strawberry, I'll drink right willingly,

To good health and long seasons, and to your victory!"

Everybeast stood on tip-paw, raising the drinking vessels and shouting out to the winning pair to grant them permission to sup the fizz. Trays of special nut shortbreads were brought out and served. Fwirl and Gundil, between gulps of the drink, dispensed permissions as speedily as they could. Music and dancing broke out amid the scene of happy revelry.

Fwirl placed her garland on Filorn's head, and threw a paw about Mhera, her eyes shining. "I never realized what a good runner your mama is, for her seasons, that is. You ran a great race, marm!"

Filorn raised her beaker. "But not as swift as you, pretty one!"

Broggle joined them, clapping a paw to his mouth. "Whoo! This fizz is lively stuff. Best old Drogg's ever made, I'd say. Well, Fwirl, if you've decided to stay at Redwall, we'll never win the wall race again, none of us!"

Fwirl draped her cloak about his shoulders. "Well, I'll be the starter next time, I won't volunteer as a runner." She held up a paw and did a very good imitation of Boorab. "Wot wot, I say, you chaps, get in line there, no shovin' or jolly old shortcuts, you rotters, wot wot!"

Mhera joined in the laughter, but stopped when she caught sight of Trey, the youngest mouse in the Abbey, weeping over by the main door. Pushing her way through the revelers, she reached his side. "Dearie me, a big fellow like you crying? What's the matter, Trey?"

"Us went onna race again, me'n'Durby'n'Feegle," the mousebabe explained between sobs. "We run like big 'uns onna wall. Then Durby'n'Feegle run like Miz Furl onna bakklemints, but they felled off over d'wall!"

Torches flared in the midsummer night and cries rang out over the darkened Abbey grounds as Redwallers dashed to the walls. Throwing little Trey up on his shoulders, Boorab sped along the wall tops with Broggle, Filorn, Mhera and Fwirl in attendance, pumping Trey for information as he went.

"Where were they when they fell, old fellah? Here, over there, by the threshold, north wall, where?"

Mhera followed the direction of the mousebabe's pointing paw. "He's pointing to the center of the east wall."

They arrived panting at the location. Fwirl leaped up onto the battlements. "Was it here, Trey?"

The Dibbun nodded dumbly. Broggle looked pale in the torchlight. "If they'd fallen this way they would've landed here on the parapet. Did they fall over into the woodlands, little 'un?"

Again Trey merely nodded. Mhera's voice was laden with concern. "Tell us, Trey, when did this happen? Just now?"

This time the mousebabe shook his head. Mhera questioned further. "How long ago was it? Why didn't you run and tell us straightaway?"

Trey played with the bells on Boorab's ears as he confessed wanly, "It 'appen long ago when all went inna h'Abbey. Durby say notta tell anybeast we playin' onna wall. They felled off an' I come'd inna Hall. Trey frykkinned to tell, get sended uppa bed!"

Boorab shouted down to old Hoarg. "Get the main gate open, old chap. Search party needed outside!"

Fwirl did not need an open gate. She vanished over the wall with eye-blurring speed. Mhera issued instructions as she raced for the east wallsteps. "We'll use the east wicker gate, it'll be quicker. Mama, take Trey inside Broggle, Mr. Boorab, follow me, we'll need your torches for light!"

The lock on the east wicker gate was stiff, but a solid kick from the hare's long back paws shot it open. The little gate creaked as they dashed out into the woodlands.

Fwirl was already out alongside the trees growing closest to the wall, her pretty face grim as the light fell on it. She spoke the words they were dreading to hear. "There's no sign of them!"

Blazing torches and lantern lights flickered all around the outside perimeter of Redwall Abbey's outer walls. Search parties chased up and down, looking for the lost Dibbuns, hoping that they would naturally have followed the wall around to the main gate. Mhera was rounding a huge sycamore when a big paw fell on her shoulder. She sighed with relief at the sound of Cregga's voice.

"Mhera, is that you? Any sign of them yet?"

"I'm afraid not, Cregga. It's as if the little rogues vanished into thin air."

Worriedly the Badgermum sniffed the night air. "I don't like this, there's too many out here. Those without torches or lanterns could get lost. Mossflower Wood is a very deceptive place, particularly at night. Everybeast is out here, even the elders, and that's not good. One spark from a torch, or a fallen lantern, could cause a forest fire!"

It was a terrible thought, but true. Mhera clenched her paws. "Right, get them to search inside the walls. Durby and Feegle may have wandered back in through the open gate. I'll take Broggle, Fwirl and Boorab, and we'll continue to look out here. Leave the east wicker gate ajar, so we can report in if they're found. Keep Sister Alkanet close, tell her to have medicines ready, and splints too. They might have broken limbs from the fall and could be lying out here unconscious somewhere. Will you do that, my friend?"

Cregga patted the ottermaid's cheek. "Good thinking, Mhera. I'll have Drogg leave some fresh torches unlit, by the wicker gate. Anything else you need?"

Mhera signaled Boorab over to her side. "Only lots of luck and some early dawn light if we don't find those two Dibbuns soon!"

Chapter 21

Tagg stood covered in dust and soil, his chest heaving and his paws weary from digging. Nimbalo squinted at the setting sun as the last injured pigmy shrews were carried back into the mountain cave, then gazed sadly around at the deep layers of shale, scree and rocky debris.

"Well, mate, we saved all those we could. No tellin' 'ow many pore wretches lie buried under this lot. C'mon, there ain't no more we can do 'ere, Tagg. Let's go an' get cleaned up."

The big otter hung his head in despair. "None of this would've happened if I hadn't come here!"

The harvest mouse cast an eye to their prisoner. "Yer wrong, mate, you mean none o' this would've 'appened if'n that scum an' 'is vermin 'adn't come 'ere. You can't blame yoreself. Wrong 'uns is wrong 'uns wherever they goes. Huh, they would've only brought sufferin' on some other pore beasts."

Tagg nodded wearily. "Maybe there's some truth in that. Come on, you, get moving!" He took out his blade and severed the rope that anchored Ribrow's footpaws to a long, heavy piece of shale.

The stoat stumbled upright, rigid with fear. "Yore goin' to kill me, I know you are!"

Tagg kicked him on his way to the water-covered cavern entrance. "Not just yet, scumface. There's some questions I need answers to."

Ribrow had nothing to lose. "An' wot if I don't answer yer questions, eh?" he snarled back at his captor.

Nimbalo smiled amiably at him. "Then we'll turn yer over t'the kin of those you murdered."

The remark took all the boldness out of Ribrow. He collapsed in a sobbing heap, pleading pitifully, "No, please, don't let those beasts gerrat me!"

Tagg grabbed him savagely, pulling him up so fiercely that his footpaws left the ground. He held the stoat at eye level, narrowing his eyes to a deep stare of icy hatred.

"If you don't tell me what I want to know, you'll wish I had turned you over to the Cavemob tribe by the time I'm done with you. So you'd best loosen up that tongue of yours!"

When they reached the cave, Nimbalo took a refreshing shower beneath the cascade of cold mountain water that curtained the entrance. Taking Tagg's blade, he guarded the prisoner whilst the otter did likewise, energetically washing away the day's dirt and grit. It was as they dragged Ribrow to the cascading screen that they made a fortunate discovery. He was afraid of water. The stoat dug his heels in and yowled, "No! No! I ain't goin' inter that! Lemme go!"

Tagg smiled at Nimbalo. "Leave this to me, matey!" Seizing the stoat by his tail and the scruff of his neck, the powerful otter frogmarched him under the waterfall and held him there. Ribrow thrashed about, unable to escape that relentless grip.

"Owowow! I'm drownin'! Yaaaaargh! Don't drown me!"

Tagg pulled him out, allowed him to get his breath, then shoved him under again, shaking him like a rag. "Talk or I swear I'll drown you! Talk, you black-hearted vermin!"

"Yesyesyes I'll talk! Get me out! Waaahahhahaaaargh!"

Tagg pulled him out and hurled him to the ground. Alfik emerged from the cavern to issue a warning. "Not to bring that'n inna Cavemob dwellin', tribe wanna rip 'im inta bits. My daddy holdem back 'til you finish wirrim!"

Nimbalo winked at the pigmy shrew. "Thanks, mate. We'll stay out 'ere t'night an' keep the stinkin' villain with us."

Ribrow did talk. He told Tagg everything that had occurred since he left the Juska, leaving nothing out. Nimbalo heard it all, but not knowing much about Tagg's past he was rather puzzled until Tagg began explaining.

The harvest mouse sat listening, nibbling at the supper that Chichwife had passed out to them. "So, this Sawney Rath, who was pretendin' to be yore father, 'e's dead. Now yore old tribe's got a new chief, Gruven Zann, an' that's the beast who's out t'bring yore 'ead back an' prove hisself boss of the Juska clan, 'ave I got it right?"

Tagg added sticks to the small fire he had built. "That's it, roughly. My next job is to track Gruven and the other two down. I can take care of that. But the other pair, Eefera and Vallug Bowbeast, they're a different sort altogether. Sawney's two best killers they were, real trained trackers and murderers. Trouble is, I don't have any idea where they could've gone. That worries me, because they're ten times as bad as this idiot we've caught. They're very crafty, too; you wouldn't sleep easy with them within a league of you, knowing what type they are."

Nimbalo was still slightly mystified. "But ain't you supposed t'be called the Taggerung? You tole me that meant yore the greatest warrior of 'em all. I bet you must've slayed more beasts than the whole clan put t'gether, eh, mate?"

Tagg drew his friend aside, out of Ribrow's hearing, and spoke low. "Apart from that big eel I've never slain anybeast. I never had to, you see; I was tougher, quicker and more skilled than any Juska. I always brought them back alive. It was only Sawney wanting me to kill Felch the fox, by skinning him alive, that caused me to split from the clan. Beasts feared my name and reputation, but really I was only Sawney Rath's trained errand runner. When I realized that I could never kill just for fun, the way the Tuska do, I suddenly wanted to be free of them and live my own life. But it seems they aren't going to let me do that."

Nimbalo suddenly felt sorry for his friend. He winked at Tagg. "Oh, ain't they now? Hah, we'll soon change their minds about that, me ole Tagg. You've got Nimbalo the Slayer with you now, pal. Those Juskas'll be glad to leave ye alone by the time I'm done wid 'em. Then ye can lead any kind o' life y'like; it'll be even better than the time afore you was a Taggerung!"

Tagg smiled at the irrepressible little harvest mouse. "Thanks, but I can't recall how I lived before I was Taggerung." But even as he spoke, a sudden idea was building in the otter's mind. He turned back to Ribrow, who was sitting nearby, wet and sullen. The stoat huddled defensively against a rock, sensing that his captor was going to start interrogating him again.

"I told yer everythin' I know. There ain't no more, see!" Ribrow's throat bobbed nervously as Tagg took out his blade and began tapping it against the boulder. "Wot d'yer want now? I told yer I know nothin'."

The otter honed his blade on the boulder, looking at the razor-sharp edge, speaking softly. "Tell me, how long have you been with the Juska clan?"

"Dunno exactly, thirty seasons, more mebbe, I'm not sure."

Tagg nodded agreeably, his eyes still fixed on the blade. "Then you must remember how I came to be with the clan. Take your time, stoat, think carefully. I wouldn't want you to make any mistakes, that would make me angry, very angry!"

The otter's voice was like his steel blade, there was cold danger in it. Ribrow felt himself trembling, and held out his paws pleadingly. "Wait, wait, let me think. 'Twas all a long time ago!"

Tagg licked the blade, his tattooed face ferocious in the firelight. "Go on, Ribrow, I'm waiting ..."

Ribrow decided to tell what he knew. "There was talk that Grissoul's omens said a Taggerung was comin' to the Juskarath clan. Antigra claimed 'twas 'er babe, but the omens were wrong for 'im. There was an argument an Sawney slew Antigra's mate, wid that blade you've got in yer paw now. Grissoul 'ad visions 'twas to be a babe, wid a marked paw."

"How did you know this?" Tagg interrupted.

The stoat shrugged. "Everybeast was gossipin' about it on the quiet. You know wot Juska are like, always keepin' their ears open in case there's summat in it for them. Next thing, Sawney ordered us to break camp an' follow 'im. I tell yer, I never knew Sawney Rath t'be so nervous an' excited. Nobeast'd seen Sawney like that afore. We marched fer days; 'e drove us 'ard. The new camp was in Mossflower Wood, south'n'west as I recall, by a river. Then 'e picked a bunch of us, I was one, me matey Dagrab was anudder. I can't remember who else, 'ceptin' Eefera an' Vallug Bowbeast, 'is pet killers, they was always with Sawney. We went to a place where a path ran through the water, a ford. The orders was to keep our 'eads down an' be silent. An otter came there, big feller like yerself, carryin' a babe. Sawney gave the word an' Vallug slew the big otter, put a shaft in 'is heart. Sawney grabbed the little 'un, that was you."

Tagg's voice trembled audibly. "Go on, what happened then?"

Ribrow closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "We 'ad to run fer it, fast, Sawney out in front carryin' you, an' the rest of us guardin' 'is back."

Tagg could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I never knew Sawney Rath to turn and run from anything in his life. What was he afraid of?"

Ribrow's reply was immediate. "The Red Warriors, that was it! Aye, I remember now. Sawney said to us there'd be Red Warriors, or somethin' like that, comin' after us. We ran like blazes, 'cos 'e said that they didn't take prisoners an' 'e'd leave be'ind anybeast who couldn't keep up. We went dashin' off west, t'the dunelands by the sea. Sawney made clanbeasts cover the trail with stalks of wild mint, an' they 'ad to brush the ground be'ind us. One thing, though: Sawney wouldn't let nobeast near you 'cept Grissoul. I saw 'im ruin a fox's paw fer life with that blade, just fer goin' near you. Wot was 'is name now? Lemme see. Felch, that was the fox. Aye, Felch!"

Tagg was intrigued by the tale. Pieces began to fit together. "Tell me more about these Red Warriors who were coming after you. Did you ever see them? Why did Sawney fear them?"

Ribrow shook his head. "Nah, we never seen 'em. Huh, would've took a bird t'keep up with us, we were runnin' that fast. Wait! I remember ole Grissoul sayin' somethin' about a bell. Er ... the sound of the bell. Aye, that was it. Beware the sound of the bell, the very words she spoke. Lissen, that's all 1 kin remember. We was never allowed t'come near you when you was growin' up. Sawney saw that you got the best of everything vittles an' trainin' too. Only times I ever saw ye, I 'ad to bow me 'ead an' say Zann Juskarath Taggerung. All the clan did too. I've told ye all I know. 'Twas Gruven who started the landslide, not me. You won't slay me, will yer, Taggerung? Say ye'll spare me!"

Tagg grabbed some rope and bound Ribrow tightly for the night. "I'll spare you if you don't make another sound tonight. Now shut up and get some sleep. We'll decide what to do with you tomorrow."

Tagg slept knife in paw by the fire, his dreams teeming with red warriors and clanging bells. Sometimes he saw the mouse warrior, and he too was red. Tagg called after him, "Deyna, Deyna!"

The mouse warrior raised his sword and called back, "Martin!" Everything became jumbled then, the face of Sawney Rath, poor dead pigmy shrews buried beneath the avalanche of debris, then Vallug Bowbeast, grimacing evilly as he notched an arrow to his bow. The Bowbeast loosed the shaft, Tagg's mind flew back to the soft red room, and he saw the otter's face clearly. Except for the tattoos, he felt as if he were looking at himself. It was his father! Tagg felt the arrow strike his heart and water splash his face as he fell back into the ford.

"Wake up, mate. Lookit wot's 'appened to yore prisoner!" Nimbalo was crouching over him in the early dawn, splashing ice-cold mint and rosehip tea from a bowl onto Tagg's face. "Come on, matey, look, they brought us brekkist!"

Bodjev and Alfik were waiting, with a lot of Cavemob shrews, all carrying weapons. Tagg went over to where Ribrow lay dead, stiff as a board. Tagg looked up, his expression hardening. Alfik grinned. "A mornin' to ye, big fella, yikyik! No worry 'bout tharra one, 'e norra comin' wirrus. Ho no. Dink dink, like snakeyfish. Now 'e nomore kill Cavemobs!"

Seeing Tagg's face, Nimbalo stood between the otter and the shrew. "Ye can't blame 'em, matey. Ole Ribrow didn't show much mercy to the pore Cavemob beasts that 'e killed. They want t'come with us an' slay the others. We've got our own liddle army!"

Tagg did not want the Cavemob along with him, and decided to convince Bodjev dramatically. Drawing his blade, he laid it across both paws and held it forth to the Chieftain.

"O great Chieftain of the Cavemob, I thank you for your help. But we must travel alone, far and wide, to find the vermin and slay them. You cannot march off and leave your beloved mountain unguarded. Who is strong enough to rule with you gone? I will seek out your enemies and punish them for you. Because . . ." Tagg performed a mighty somersault, right over the astounded shrews, and landed brandishing the blade and roaring, "Because I am the Taggerung, faster than the wind and more deadly than a serpent's tooth. I am Taggerung, I slew Yo Karr!"

Sweeping Nimbalo up onto his shoulder, the big otter bounded off with massive speed and energy. The harvest mouse clung tight to his friend's neck, dawn breeze rushing past as they dashed through the rowans and rocks, shale spurting right and left. Nimbalo gripped Tagg's neck tighter and tighter, shouting in his ear, "Slow down, ye great madbeast. Don't trip, or ye'll kill us both!"

Pounding over rocks, leaping streams and dashing over turf and sedge they went. The sun was well up when Tagg slackened his pace to a fast lope. "They never followed us, did they, mate?"

Nimbalo brought his head around to stare into the otter's eyes. "Follow us, those fat short-pawed liddle maggots? Are you jokin', matey? An eagle would've 'ad trouble tryin' to toiler us!"

Tagg laughed at his friend's windswept face. "Good, so d'you mind not trying to strangle me, please!"

"Right, then put me down. My pore paws've gone t'sleep tryin' to 'ang on up 'ere for so long!"

The otter put his friend down and slowed his pace. They walked along together, enjoying the warm summer morning. Nimbalo stopped. "Lissen, can you 'ear that?"

Instantly alert, Tagg drew his blade. "Hear what?"

Nimbalo patted his stomach and pulled a mournful face. "That! We left a good brekkist and travelin' packs o' food back there when you took to leapin' 'round. I'm starvin'!" Then Tagg's stomach rumbled so loudly that they both laughed.

"Aye, I'm a bit peckish too, mate. Let's keep going and see what we can find. By the way, I think we're completely lost."

Nimbalo took their bearings. "Well, there's the mountain be'ind us. I think I saw a stream up yonder when I was on yore shoulders. So let's make for the stream an' follow it. Might find some eats over that way."

It was a narrow stream, getting dryer as the summer progressed, high-banked and muddied in the shallows with reeds and marshy-looking plants sprouting through the water. Clouds of midges flew everywhere. Tagg kept brushing a paw across his face and swatting at them.

"Whew! It's not much fun down in this streambed. What d'you say we go back up on the bank? At least we won't get eaten alive."

Nimbalo was a stubborn little beast. He stuck to his original idea. "No, no, let's carry on down 'ere awhile. If it gets no better beyond that bend, then we'll go up on the bank."

As they rounded the bend they were faced with a curious sight. It looked like a huge ball of dried mud, almost as tall as Tagg. The curious part was that it could talk in a well-educated squeak.

"Help! Assistance! Anybeast, please take pity on me. Hello, is there another creature out there? Answer me, I beg you!"

The mud had set, dry and solid in the sun. Tagg approached and knocked on it, his paw making a hollow sound. He put his mouth close. "Hello? Anybeast at home? What d'you want us to do? I'm an otter and I have a harvest mouse with me. I'm Tagg, and he's Nimbalo."

The reply was polite, but with an edge of urgent impatience. "I'll tell you what I require, I want you to dispense with the formalities and get me out of here before I suffocate. Now, can you do that, sir? Answer yes or no, please!"

Tagg got busy hacking away dried mud with his blade. "Yes!"

Nimbalo found a big club, carved from sycamore root, and dragged it across to Tagg. "See wot y'can do with this, mate!"

Tagg swung the club, dealing the mudball several good blows. Dust and dried mud clods showered him. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" he called out. "Are you all right in there?"

The reply was shaky, but still rather urgent. "As well as can be expected, my dear fellow. Kindly continue."

Tagg battered away forcefully until the mud prisoner called to him, "Stop! Desist, I pray. I'd be most upset if you slew me with my own club, sir, most upset!"

When the dust cleared, they were facing a hedgehog, hanging awkwardly out of a half ball of dried mud. Blinking dust from his eyes, he sneezed.

"Kachoooh! Beg pardon. Ah, I see you have a knife. Would you be so good as to cut this rope? But mind my snout, I pray you."

Tagg saw that a rope ran through the center of the hedgehog's face from spikes to chin. He severed it with a swift slice of the blade. The hedgehog began straining and gasping as the mud started to crack from around his spiky bulk.

"Aaaaah, my thanks to you, sir. Uuuuuunh! Stand clear now!" He popped out free, leaving the rope and a considerable number of spikes embedded in his former prison. Splashing into the shallow stream, he lay on his back, wriggling and sighing. "Aaaaah, that's better. Ooooooh, that feels rather good!" Sitting up, he proffered a muddy paw. "Robald Forthright at your service, sirs. May I express my heartfelt thanks for your prompt actions here today!"

Nimbalo shook his paw. "Please t'meetcher I'm shore, mate, but 'ow didyer get into that blinkin' mess?"

Robald shook Tagg's paw, allowing the otter to help him upright. "Not by my own making, I assure you. Come to my humble abode and I will relate the incident to you in its entire dreadfulness."

Chapter 22

Robald's home was a turf hut up on the bank. It had been plundered and wrecked. The big stout hedgehog dug a broken-down old armchair from the wreckage, righted it, and dusted it off.

"They never found my emergency rations, fortunately for us." Removing a few slats of wood, he revealed a cupboard full of food. "Plumcake, damson cordial, nutcheese, fruit biscuits, spikebeer, candied apples and Great-Aunt Lollery's raisin teabread. They missed this little lot. Oh, don't stand on ceremony, help yourselves, friends. Don't worry about the mess, I'll clear up later."

As Tagg used his blade to slice the plumcake and teabread, the hedgehog told his story.

"Last night I was quietly dozing the sunset away when I was attacked. Can you believe it, set upon in one's own domicile. Three vermin, ruffianly louts they were, came at me whilst I was half asleep. I didn't even get a chance to reach for my club. One villain had a sword, kept jabbing at me, so what else could a body do? I rolled myself up into a ball, as we hogs are apt to do when in danger. But did that stop them? It certainly did not, the fiends! They tied me with my own rope, bound me painfully tight, so I became stuck in the curled-up position. Then without so much as a by-your-leave they rolled me up and down the bank for what seemed like an eternity. Lucky for me I got a hollow reed into my mouth, so I could breathe a little. Well, what more can one say? They played at their wicked game until I became the mudball you encountered today. Then they had the colossal nerve to ransack my dwelling and eat a pot of mushroom soup and a carrot and turnip flan. Just as well that Great-Aunt Lollery had visited a day earlier. She can't stand vermin!"

Tagg felt he had to interrupt. "Who's Great-Aunt Lollery?"

The hedgehog raised his eyebrows as he poured damson cordial. "Silly me, I forgot to mention, she's not my great-aunt really. She was my old nurse in my younger and better seasons. Lives in the woodlands now, won't move out here at any price. She's my cook, you know, and a hog more skilled in the culinary arts I've yet to meet. Dear old Great-Aunt Lollery, what a treasure she is. Goodness me, you don't think I made all this food, do you? Hah! Couldn't cook to save my life. She was only saying on her latest visit, as she always does, Master Robald, she says, you'd burn a salad if you didn't have Lollery to look after you! She's right, too. Why, I remember last winter..."

Tagg interrupted again. "Did you by chance hear the vermin's names, sir?"

Robald Forthright consumed a fruit biscuit topped with cheese at one bite, nodding vigorously. "Oh, yes, indeed I did. One was called Chief, stoat I think; there was another stoat too, Rawback, and a rat, ratess she was, name of Dagrab. Great seasons, where do they get these odd names, eh?"

Suddenly Robald put aside his food. "Good grief, I've just thought on, if they follow the streamcourse they're bound to come out in the woodlands, right by Great-Aunt Lollery's cottage. Oh dearie me, doesn't bear thinking about, does it?"

Tagg stood up, quickly putting together enough food to eat as they traveled. "You'd best show us the way to your nurse's cottage, Robald."

The hedgehog picked up his carved sycamore club. "Do you think I shall need this? It's fearfully heavy and I've never had cause to use it before. I'm not sure I could, really."

Nimbalo stood tapping his tail impatiently. "Sling it away, mate. No use totin' a club if'n ye can't use it."

Robald put the weapon aside gingerly. "Quite! Follow me, please."

He set out across the flatlands. Tagg scratched his head, bemused. "I thought you said your nurse lived in the woodlands close to the streambank. What are we going this way for? Wouldn't it be best to follow the course of the stream?"

Robald wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. "Most creatures would think that, my friend; a common misconception, I fear. Over the seasons I've found this route the shorter by a considerable time. The stream course meanders and winds far too much. Trust me, my way is altogether more convenient."

Tagg could see the woodland fringe through the layers of midday heat haze. "Looks like he's right," he murmured to Nimbalo. "This is a quicker way."

"Aye, prob'ly is, mate," the harvest mouse whispered out the corner of his mouth, "but I jus' wish ole Robald'd give 'is face a rest. Huh, 'e could talk the leg off'n a table!"

The hedgehog smiled patronizingly at Nimbalo. "I could not help but overhear your remark, friend Nimbalo. Quite incorrect, of course; it would take physical force to remove a table leg. However, as to my verbosity, I fear you are right. When deprived of company one tends to practice the art of conversation far more than one normally would. Had you seen my abode prior to its present state, you would have promptly noticed the absence of birds, bees, wasps, midges and sundry other creatures frequenting the area. They invariably leave after listening to my interminable prattling. Forthright by name and Forthright by nature, as Great-Aunt Lollery often says. I speak my mind, you see, always and often, even since infancy."

Tagg and Nimbalo strode out with a will, speeding up their pace and leaving the talkative Robald behind. The otter had to stifle his laughter as Nimbalo impersonated the hedgehog. "Spoke 'is mind since infancy? Hahaha, can you imagine that 'un when 'e was an 'ogbabe, sittin' up in the cradle an' spoutin' away like that? HT say, Great-Auntie Lollery, frazzle me up a measured portion of the ole oatmeal porridge inna pan, but make certing the fire is at the correct temperature, will ye? Ho yes!"

Robald had now fallen far behind. "I say," he called, "would you kindly do me the courtesy of accommodating your pace to mine? I feel distinctly breathless!"

"Then stow the gab, y'ole windbag," Nimbalo shouted back. "Button up yore mouth an' let yore paws do the work. We ain't stoppin' for ye!"

Robald broke into a scurrying waddle and caught them up. "Point taken. I am suitably chastened, and from hereonin my lips shall remain sealed. Thank you for your comments, friend Nimbalo."

Hot and dusty, they arrived at the fringe of the sheltering trees, entering gratefully into the cool shade of woodlands dappled by the noontide sun. Robald was about to sit on the moss beneath a broad spreading oak when Tagg hauled him back onto his paws.

"If you're worried about Aunt Lollery, there's no time to rest. Which way do we go now?"

Robald gestured with weary resignation. "You are right, of course, friend Tagg. Over that way. The stream grows quite broad there, where it joins the river. In a moment or two of walking you'll hear the watersounds. Extremely soothing to one's nerves after crossing the exposed flatlands."

He was right. Within the space of a short walk they reached the point where river met stream. Laburnum, willow and spindle trees trailed their drooping branches gracefully into the placid dark waters of a calm inlet. Robald quickened his pace and hurried out onto a spur dotted with cranberry, water mint and flowering rush. A huge raft was moored there, which seemed to upset Robald. He jumped up and down, stamping his paws.

"No! No! Nononono! Why oh why did I pick the same time to visit as those confounded Dillypins?"

Tagg raced to join the hedgehog. "Robald, what is it? Has something happened to your nurse?"

The hedgehog pointed an accusing paw at the raft. "Don't you see, it's those uncouth ignoramuses. Those ... those ... great spiked louts. The Dillypins, I mean!"

His rantings were cut short as a small rough-looking hogbabe emerged from the shrubbery behind them and whacked Robald's footpaw with a little club. He hopped about in agony as the hogbabe threw back his head and went into gales of gruff laughter.

"Ahohohoho! Gotcha dat time, h'Uncle Robald. Hohohohoho!" The babe brandished his club and went after Nimbalo's paws. Tagg picked him up in one paw and took his club away.

"Where's your mum and dad? Quick, before I eat you!"

The hogbabe showed no fear, merely pointing along the stream. "Down dere, h'eatin' up Lollery's pancakes. I show ya. Lemme down!"

Robald limped along in the rear as Tagg and Nimbalo hurried through the trees after the speeding hogbabe. Rounding a sharp curve in the streambank, he pointed to a cottage. It was all a woodland cottage should be, built from logs and roofed with sod and moss on larch trellis. A neat little garden of flowers and vegetables with a white rock border skirted the front. Rough laughter, singing and the strains of odd instruments came from behind the cottage. Robald hobbled up, a look of despair and pain on his chubby features.

"Forgive me, but I'd much rather you had found the three vermin here than that ill-disciplined lot. Oh well, you'd better come and meet the other side of Great-Aunt Lollery's family. No relation to the Forthrights, I'm glad to say!"

Chaos reigned in the back garden. Fat rough hedgehogs, their spikes adorned with flowers and trailing weeds, were guzzling down food, drinking and having belching contests, singing, fighting, dancing and completely ignoring the visitors. A homely greyspiked hedgehog, old and thin, dressed in a spotless white smock and a flowery apron, was frying pancakes on top of an outdoor oven. The three newcomers drew close, wordlessly watching her. She tipped a thick paste of ground corn and nutmeal onto the hot stone oventop, where it spread and fried quickly before she flipped it skillfully over with a broad thin slate. As the bottom fried she ladled honey and chopped berries on top, then folded the whole thing in two and served it to a waiting hedgehog. Looking up from her task, she smiled at Robald.

"I think you smelt my pancakes, Master Robald. Would you and your friends like some? Of course you would. Now, what brings you here? I only visited you two days ago. Oh, there I go, chatting on without introducing myself. I'm Great-Aunt Lollery."

The otter bowed politely. "My name's Tagg and this is Nimbalo. Pleased to meet you, Aunt Lollery. We came here because we thought you might be in danger from three vermin we are tracking."

The hedgehog she had been serving was a particularly big, tough specimen. He chuckled scornfully. "Three vermints? Hohoho! Y'mean those three who tried callin' on us as Lollery was cookin' brekkist? Well, ye've missed 'em, mate. Afore they'd even crossed the stream we sent the bullies on their way with a few good lumps t'think about, eh, Lollery!"

Lollery waved a paw at the three newcomers and continued the tale. "It was so funny. There I am, cooking breakfast, when one of the babes comes to me and says that there's three beasts across the stream, who must've smelled my good cooking. So I went out and there they were, two stoats and a rat, all tattooed up, just like you, Mr. Tagg. Hmph! They weren't very polite, I can tell you. One of them wades into the water waving a sword, saying he was going to chop me into fishbait if I didn't give them vittles. Of course he was shouting so loud that Jurkin here heard him. So the whole Dillypin family came out, loaded up their slings and gave those vermin a pounding they richly deserved!"

Jurkin unwound a hefty sling from his waist, fitted a big round riverpebble into it and whirled the thing overhead. "Aye, us Dillypins knows 'ow t'swing a rock. Gimme a target."

Tagg pointed. "Poplar branch sticking out there, see?"

Jurkin whipped off the stone. It zipped through the air and snapped off the poplar branch with a resounding Crack! Grinning, he held out the sling to Tagg. "Wanna try it, riverdog?"

The otter smiled and shook his head. "Not really, mate. See that woodrush flower in front of the poplar?"

Jurkin squinted. "Y'mean that 'un growin' low down agin the trunk?"

Tagg's blade flashed through the air. It landed quivering in the poplar trunk, pinning the star-shaped woodrush flower through its center. Tagg winked broadly at Jurkin. "Want to try it, spikedog?"

Robald pulled Tagg away, beckoning him urgently to sit and eat. It was obvious that Robald was no friend of Jurkin.

"Aunt Lollery has made us some of her delicious pancakes. We'd be well advised to consume them before some Dillypin does."

Great-Aunt Lollery served the delicious pancakes, pouring everyone a beaker of greensap milk. Serving Tagg first, she whispered, "You eat 'earty now, sir, an' pay no heed to that Jurkin."

Nimbalo tucked into his food, remarking to Robald, "Wot's ole Jurkin glarin' at Tagg like that for? Lookit the face on 'im. You'd think 'e was sittin' on a wasp."

"Jurkin's a decent enough type, as far as Dillypins go," Robald explained. "But he's always got to be top hog wherever he goes. You shouldn't have showed him that knife trick, Tagg. He can't do it, so now he's working himself up to challenge you to some silly game that he knows he's best at. If I were you I'd keep my eye on him."

Robald's prediction turned out to be correct. Jurkin and his crew became extra noisy, tussling with each other and bumping into Tagg's table without apologizing. Then they started flicking small pebbles at one another. Jurkin waited until a young hog was between him and Tagg, and then flicked a pebble lazily at the youngster, who was swift enough to dodge it easily. The pebble struck Tagg on his cheek, which seemed to cause great hilarity among the Dillypins, Jurkin laughing loudest.

Tagg picked up the pebble, calling cheerfully to Jurkin, "Not much of a shot, mate. You'd better learn to throw properly!"

The otter tossed the pebble back over his shoulder and batted it hard with his tail. It zinged off, whacking the tip of Jurkin's nose painfully. Clapping a paw to his injured snout, Jurkin waited until the other Dillypins had stopped laughing. He hid the anger in his eyes by smiling at Tagg.

"Good job yore on'y a riverdog, or I'd spiketussle ye!"

Placing a paw against his forehead with the claws spread wide, Tagg smiled back at the big hedgehog. "Oh, don't let that stop ye, spikedog. Will this do for spikes?"

Spiketussling is the hedgehog form of wrestling, in which two hogs lock headspikes and try to throw each other. Tagg was offering his outspread pawclaws as spikes. Jurkin grimaced fiercely.

"Claws'll do fer spikes, if'n yore fool enough to try it, mate. I've been spiketusslin' champion o' the Dillypins since I was a babe. Come on, mate, an' I'll teach ye a lesson y'won't forget!"

He charged Tagg immediately, head down, spikes extended. The otter leaped over the table and met the onslaught, locking his claws into Jurkin's powerful headspikes. Dillypins scattered to get out of the way and benches and tables were overturned as the two roared aloud, pushing one another back and forth around the garden. Shrubs cracked, grass flew and leaves showered from low tree branches. Hedgehogs yelled.

"Give it the neckwhip, Jurkin, you've got 'im!"

Jurkin twisted his neck suddenly, but Tagg went with it, turning a somersault and landing upright. He saw the surprise on Jurkin's face as he carried on the maneuver by throwing another somersault in the same direction. Unable to halt his momentum, the hedgehog flew into the air, landing with a heavy thud on the ground. Belying his hefty bulk, he leaped up, and Tagg did it again, somersaulting so that his opponent was immediately floored once more. He repeated the move every time Jurkin rose. Six times the hedgehog hit the floor, then he tried to rise and fell back, panting hoarsely. Tagg leaned over Jurkin, holding him down, grinning into his face.

"Good game, eh? Want to try some more, spikedog?"

Jurkin held his paws up submissively. "Ye've cracked every spike on me back, y'great riverwhomper!"

Releasing Jurkin's spikes, Tagg helped him up. He grasped the hedgehog's paw and shook it firmly, announcing aloud, "I've never tangled with a beast so powerful in all my life. Good job you never got up again, mate, or you'd have licked me!"

Jurkin held Tagg's paw up, calling to all his crew, "This is my matey Tagg. Anybeast wants to fight with 'im 'as got t'fight with me too. Loll, bring more pancakes, will ye!"

Robald shook his head as he watched the pair scoffing pancakes and swigging greensap milk like brothers. "I'm afraid it's all a bit beyond me, Nimbalo. Just look at them. Only a moment ago I thought they were trying to kill each other."

The harvest mouse shook his head admiringly. "Aye, my mate Tagg's like nobeast ye've ever met!"

Tagg told Jurkin his story. The hedgehog demolished a pancake as he listened, then he grunted approvingly. "So, yore trackin' these three vermin, Tagg? They're 'eaded downstream an' into Mossflower Wood, y'know. That's the way they went when we sent 'em packin'!"

Tagg rose from the table, licking honey from his paws. "Downstream into Mossflower, eh? Then I'm bound to go after them, friend. Goodbye, 'twas nice meeting you!"

Jurkin rose from the table with him. "Then ye'll be sailin' with the Dillypins, you an' the mousey. We're goin' that way too, so save the wear on yore paws, matey. Now I ain't takin' no fer an answer: you sail with us as far as we can track 'em afore they goes off inter the woodlands!"

Before they left, Nimbalo took issue with Robald and Great-Aunt Lollery, whom he had grown fond of. "Now lissen, Robald me ole pincushion, never you mind livin' out on the flatlands alone an' 'avin' this good 'ogwife runnin' after ye ten times a season with vittles. Yore Aunt Lollery ain't gettin' any younger, an' you should be livin' 'ere with 'er. If'n I 'ad a Great-Aunt Lollery, I wouldn't leave 'er defenseless on 'er own, I'd keep 'er comp'ny an' take better care of 'er!"

Robald stood looking shamefaced. "Now you come to point it out, friend Nimbalo, I have been a touch selfish. You're right, of course. I'll stay here with my kind nurse, if she'll have a fat lonely hermit, that is."

Lollery fidgeted with her spotless apron and sniffed. "Oh, go on with you, Master Robald. I promised your mama I'd look after you. Goodness knows 'tis a trek out onto those flatlands, carryin' great baskets o' vittles to ye. You're welcome to stay with me forever. Sometimes a body gets so lonely in this liddle cottage that even the Dillypins are a welcome sight!"

That evening the sprawling raft took off into midstream, loaded with Dillypin hedgehogs of all shapes, ages and sizes. Tagg sat on the tiller rail with Nimbalo and Jurkin, holding several ropes apiece. These were attached to hogbabes, to stop them from falling in the water as they wrestled and played all over the broad deck. At the raft's center was a construction, part hut, part tent, complete with chimney, oven and galley fire, though there would be no cooking done that night, due to the fact that Great-Aunt Lollery had provisioned them out with all manner of excellent food: cheeses, breads, puddings, cakes, drinks, and extra supplies of her renowned pancakes, which were marvelous, hot or cold. Robald and his nurse waved them off from the bank as the peculiar vessel caught the midstream current and sailed off.

"Goodbye, friend Tagg, pleasant sailing, friend Nimbalo, thank you for all your help. I'd still be stuck in a ball of mud if you hadn't chanced along. Take care of yourselves!"

"Goodbye, Mr. Nimbalo, Mr. Tagg; goodbye, Dillypins!" The hedgehogs lined the deck, singing their farewell.

"Off down the streams away we go,

Where we'll land up I don't know,

With good ole grub an' lots o' drink,

We'll sail along until we sink.

Sink! Sink! Sink!

We're Dillypins an' we don't care,

As long as sky an' wind is fair,

An' when we spot the foe we say,

Yore just a good stonethrow away.

Way! Way! Way!

Weigh anchor mates we're outward bound,

But we'll be back next time around,

O'er swirlin' stream an' rushin' foam,

To eat you out o' house an' home.

Home! Home! Home!"

Lulled by the watersounds and late-evening sunrays flickering scarlet through drooping treetops, Tagg lay down on a woven deckmat. The little hogs had been hauled in by their mothers for supper and bed, and apart from the first nocturnal birdsong echoing from the dense woodlands things were fairly quiet. Jurkin held the tiller steady. He watched Nimbalo's head starting to nod and Tagg's eyelids growing heavy.

"Best get yore 'eads down, mates; it's been a long day for ye. Go on, sleep. I'll keep this ole scow on course an' watch for signs of the vermin."

Tagg allowed his eyes to close as he answered, "Thankee, mate. I'll wake around midnight and take a turn on the tiller, then you can catch a nap too!"

Nimbalo curled up close to Tagg's footpaws, yawning cavernously. "Ah, this is the life! Wake me next season, but do it gently, an' I'd like some 'ot pancakes an' dannylion tea when y'do. Yowch! Keep that footpaw still, ye great ruffian, or I'll sling yer in the water!"

Jurkin chuckled at the idea. "Savage liddle beast, ain't 'e?"

Nimbalo opened one eye and growled, "One more word out o' you, needlebritches, an' you'll find out why they calls me Nimbalo the Slayer!"

Once more Tagg's dreams were a kaleidoscope of red warriors, vermin faces and inexplicable events. He was running through deep woodlands, trying to catch up with the elusive figure of the mouse warrior, calling out after him, "Deyna, stop, wait for me!"

Amid the trees, the mouse turned, waving his wondrous sword. He called back things Tagg could not understand. There was a look of urgency on the armored mouse's face. Tagg felt a sudden kinship with him, a desire to go with him, to help with whatever needed to be done. Then Vallug appeared, a murderous snarl on his face as he fired an arrow from his bow. It was too late to dodge the shaft, but Tagg thrust out a paw to protect himself. He roared with pain as the arrow pierced his paw.

"Be still, ye great daft lump. Look wot you've gone an' done to yoreself. 'Old 'im still, Jurkin!"

Tagg woke to find the hedgehog pinning him flat, whilst Nimbalo tugged at his paw.

"Pass me that blade, mate, that'll get it out!"

Tagg looked up at Jurkin. "Wh-what happened?"

Shaking his head, the big rough hedgehog relieved the otter of his knife and gave it to Nimbalo.

"Wot 'appened? You tell me, matey. I think you was 'avin' a nightmare. Kickin' an' roarin' away like a madbeast. Pore ole Nimbalo 'ere was near knocked overboard, then you turns over facedown an' slams yore paw right onto a big deck splinter."

Tagg flinched as the harvest mouse released his paw and held a long pine splinter in front of his eyes.

"Lookit that. Size of a blinkin' cob o' firewood!"

Jurkin fetched a herbal paste, cleaned Tagg's paw and put a light softbark dressing on it, talking as he worked.

"Aye, that must've been some kind o' dream, Tagg. Can you remember wot it was about?"

Tagg winced as the paste entered his deep splinter wound. "I can only recall fragments, red warriors, a room with walls of red stone, a mouse warrior carrying a great sword. I think his name is Deyna, I'm not sure."

Jurkin tied off the dressing. "Sounded to me like you was dreamin' of Redwall Abbey."

Tagg felt his neckfur prickle at the sound of the name. "Redwall Abbey? What's that, and why should I be dreaming of it?"

Jurkin's spikes rippled evenly as he shrugged. "Sorry, mate, I can't tell ye that. But from wot you was shoutin' I knew it was summat to do with Redwall Abbey an' Martin the Warrior mouse. I know the place, I was there once."

The otter's eyes went wide with astonishment. "I thought all of this was only some imaginary place in my d reams. But you were there! Tell me about it, Jurkin. Please!"

Jurkin stroked his cheekspikes. "Ain't much to tell. My ole mum'n'dad took me there for a summer when I was just a liddle 'og. We went t'visit some fat ole cellarhog, a first cousin of a second brother twice removed, or summat like that. I remember, though, 'twas the 'appiest season o' my life. What a wunnerful place, Redwall Abbey. There was mice an' squirrels, moles, an' otters an' 'edge'ogs, just like me'n'you, mate, all livin' together there in peace. The vittles, oh, they was better'n anythin' you ever put in yore mouth. Er, that warrior mouse you mentioned, 'is name's not Deyna, it's Martin the Warrior. I saw 'is picture, woven on a big tapestry there, an' the sword too, 'angin' on the wall. Martin was one of the creatures who 'elped t'build Redwall Abbey, long long ago. They say 'e's been dead fer many seasons, but the spirit of Martin still 'elps an' protects that Abbey, aye, an' everybeast in it. Redwall's a very special place, Tagg."

The otter was bewildered by his friend's revelations. "But... but who is Deyna?"

The hedgehog's brow furrowed. "I dunno. I'm tellin' ye wot I recall of Redwall, but that was a long time ago, mate. I can't remember everythin', y'know!"

Tagg clenched his bound paw and stared hard at it. "Sorry, Jurkin. Neither can I. That's why I was asking you."

Nimbalo sat looking from one to the other and shaking his head. Tagg caught the look of comic amusement on his friend's face.

"What's the matter with you, grinning away, with a face on you like a mole sitting on a feather?"

The harvest mouse rested his chin on one paw. "Wot a pair, eh? Yore tellin' Jurkin about some ole dream you 'ad, an' Jurkin's tellin' you about the place in yore dream. A place that 'e's been to!"

Jurkin stared hard at Nimbalo. "So?"

Puffing out his little chest, Nimbalo roared, "So why don't ye tell Tagg where the place, this Redwall Abbey, is, eh? Then 'e can go an' see fer hisself!"

It struck Tagg like a hammer blow. "Right! Tell us where Redwall is, mate!"

The Dillypin Chief gnawed thoughtfully on a facespike. "Er, if I can remember ..."

************************************

Book 3

Deyna

Chapter 23

Dawn had passed, morning was through and Mossflower Woods shimmered gently in noontide sun. Durby and Feegle, however, were not aware of it as they lay bound inside a smelly sack down a dark disused mole tunnel. Poskra the water rat kicked the wriggling sack and snarled.

"Wun more peep out o' yiz an' inter the dinnerpot y'ill go!" He ran his tongue around the one tooth left in his gums. Life was hard, but good fortune had finally fallen on him. He cackled to himself. Fallen on him literally, right from the battlements of the Abbey's east wall.

Poskra was a loner. He had been thrown out of several tribes, lucky to be alive after the petty thefts and malicious acts he had perpetrated. Long seasons of travel and hardship had sharpened his natural cunning, but without leading to any great success, until he stumbled on Redwall Abbey. Knowing the good Redwallers would not even allow one like him past their gates, he had hung about watching, staying well hidden. He knew that sooner or later an opportunity would present itself, and it did. The previous evening he had been dozing in the woodland close to the east wall when he was roused by the shouts and giggling of small creatures, some of Redwall's precious Dibbuns. There atop the battlements, two tiny figures were staggering precariously along, squeaking and laughing. Instantly Poskra knew one or both of them would overbalance and fall, and he hoped fervently that they would fall outward, not inward. The little mousemaid leaped from one battlement to the next, where she stood teetering back and forth. Then the molebabe leaped and cannoned into her. Poskra could hardly stifle his delight as they plunged outward and down. Hurrying to them, he looped cords around their stunned forms and stuffed them both into the empty gunny sack he collected food in, when there was any. A squeak and a cry from inside the wall told him that there was a third Dibbun, who had most likely gone to rouse the Redwallers. He had to hurry. Hoisting the sack on his back, Poskra backed away into the woodlands, obliterating his tracks as he shuffled off. His best night's work in many a long season. Now he would stay hidden, maybe a full day, so that all the Abbeydwellers would be worried as to the whereabouts of the babes. Then he would approach the Abbey and trade for their lives. Damson wine was the love of Poskra's life: warming, rich, fruity and dark. Meat and tough stringy vegetables did not matter to him anymore; his toothless mouth could cope with neither. Mostly he lived off soups, which he made by boiling down any growing thing he came across, and off birds' eggs filched from low-lying nests. But damson wine, that was the stuff to keep warmth in a body on cold nights in the woodlands. He could live on it and would not have objected to drowning in it. Damson wine!

First he would take along some items of clothing, to convince the Redwallers of his position. Four or five flasks of the wine would do to start, then he would demand two casks, one for the safe return of each Dibbun. Poskra cackled again, this time a little louder. No, he would make it two casks ransom for each babe. Why not? He was in command. The things he could threaten to do to the infants would horrify the goodbeasts of Redwall so much that they'd be glad to pay up.

Popping his head out of the tunnel, Poskra made sure the coast was clear, then dragged the sack up after him. Emptying his prisoners out onto the grass, the water rat produced a long, vicious-looking needle, red with rust. He waved it like a wand before the terrified Dibbuns' eyes.

"Wun, jus' wun werd, an' yiz'll never see yer mummies n'more. Yew, mousey, gimme yiz apron. Moley, gimme yiz likkle belt. Look lively now, or I'll stick yiz both wid this bodkin!"

Wordlessly the Dibbuns did as they were bidden.

Eefera watched them from behind the rotting trunk of a fallen beech tree. Vallug lay on his back, fletching an arrow with a woodpigeon feather.

"Wot's the ole slimeskin up to now?"

Eefera dropped down beside the Bowbeast. "Takin' the apron of fa the mouse an' the belt from the mole."

Vallug sighted one eye along the arrow shaft, testing its level. "Wot does the fool want t'do that for?"

Always the clever one, Eefera knew the answer. "I think the rat's kidnapped 'em an' he's after ransom from the Abbey. We could use those two infants."

Vallug thought a moment before he caught on to the idea. "Aye, we could use 'em as hostages an' trade 'em for the otter!"

There was no disguising the sarcasm in Eefera's voice. "By the carcass of Sawney, did ye think of that all by yerself?"

The arrow point suddenly nicked Eefera as it pressed against his neck. Vallug smiled coldly. "Aye, I did. I've 'ad a few good ideas lately. Do I really need a partner like you, that's one of 'em!"

The arrow point pressed harder, but Eefera did not seem impressed. "Cut yore own nose off to spite yer face, wouldn't ye, Vallug? The game ain't over yet; you'll need me. Now, don't y'think you'd best do summat about those babes afore the rat gets away with 'em, instead of lyin' 'ere arguin', eh?"

Poskra was trying to stuff the Dibbuns back into the sack, but he was encountering difficulty doing it. Feegle squeaked in pain as he grabbed her by the neck. Though still bound, Durby launched himself on the water rat and bit his ear.

"Yurr, ratten, you'm leavin' moi Feegul be!"

Poskra let go of Feegle. Clapping a paw to his bleeding ear, he raised the needle, kicking Durby over onto his back. "I make yiz scream loud fer dat, mole!"

Poskra stood for a moment with the rusty needle raised, then dropped it. His eyes turned upward, and he fell upon Durby, with a newly fletched arrow protruding from the back of his skull.

"Hurr," the molebabe called breathlessly from beneath Poskra's body. " 'Elp oi, Feegul. Ee ratten be a-crushen oi gurtly!"

The mousebabe gave a shrill scream of fright. Eefera's evil tattooed face loomed over her as he pulled the carcass of Poskra off Durby and tossed it aside.

"Nasty ole water rat that 'un, wasn't 'e, mousey?"

Durby smiled politely at the murderous Vallug. "Gudd day to ee, zurr. You'm be a-taken us'n's back to Redwall?"

Vallug shouldered his bow and gave Durby a long stare. "Oh aye, we're takin' yer back to Redwall right enough!"

He bundled them both into the sack.

Mhera was beating her way through a fern bed with a willow withe, calling out the lost babes' names. "Feegle, Durby, answer if you can hear me. It's me, Mhera!"

Fwirl came hurtling out of a sycamore, twigs and leaves falling all about as she landed near Mhera, pointing, "Over that way! I've found them. They're in danger!"

Mhera grasped her friend's paw. "Go back to the Abbey and get help!"

Fwirl clenched her paws resolutely. "There isn't any time for that. I've got a plan. Come on!"

The first stone struck Eefera in the eye. He dropped the sack and clapped both paws to the eye, staring at the very pretty squirrelmaid who was readying another stone to hurl.

"Yer little scum. Get 'er, Vallug!"

The second stone stung Vallug's ear, clacking off the side of his bow. Fwirl chose another stone from her pouch. This time it hit Eefera's left footpaw hard. He danced about, screwing his face up and haranguing the Bowbeast.

"Get the squirrel, don't jus' stand there. Kill 'er!"

Fwirl dodged nimbly, and the shaft quivered in a rowan trunk. She caught Vallug a beauty on the shoulder with a biggish stone. Adding insult to injury, she popped her tongue out impudently. "Nyaah nyaah! Daft old paintyface!"

Eefera began hobbling toward her, but a pebble caught him smartly in the throat. Her next stone clacked hard off the paw that Vallug was using to draw back his bowstring. The arrow fell awkwardly from the bow, and Vallug wrung his paw in the air. Eefera rubbed at his throat, and another stone caught his jaw. He stiffened with rage at his tormentor's merry laughter.

"Hahahaha! I nearly got that one down your big mouth. Hahaha!"

Eefera grabbed the sack and knotted its neck, unsuccessfully trying to dodge the well-aimed stones. He slung it upon a broken branch protruding from an ash tree. Vallug had picked up his bow, though every time he tried to take aim Fwirl took his mind off the task by hitting him with stones. Eefera rushed her, both paws up to protect his face, and a pebble bounced off his forehead. Thokk! His paw came away bloody when he touched the spot.

"Why, yer liddle ... I'll skin yer for that!"

He waved a paw behind his back. Vallug saw it and began circling to get behind their attacker. Eefera advanced, dodging from tree to tree. Fwirl backed skillfully off.

Mhera emerged from behind the ash trunk and unhooked the sack from the broken branch stub. A sound from behind caused her to turn swiftly. Broggle was pointing at the sack.

"Still no sign of them. What's in the sack? I heard a lot of noise over this way, so I came to see. Where's Fwirl?"

Using teeth and claws, Mhera ripped the sack apart. "Broggle, don't ask questions, take Durby, I'll take Feegle. Run for the Abbey, this way, not that way. If you see Redwallers in the woods, tell them to get inside quickly. Now go, as fast as you can. I'll be right behind you!"

Eefera and Vallug kept their eyes riveted on a low bush where Fwirl had gone to earth. Vallug sent an arrow ripping into it, and there was a faint scream. The Bowbeast smiled, notching another shaft to his bowstring, and both vermin advanced slowly. The delivery of the second arrow was followed by a low gasp. Vallug Bowbeast straightened up confidently.

"First one wounded 'er, but that second arrow finished 'er off!"

They arrived at the bush to find both arrows buried in the soil at its roots. Furiously they began destroying the shrub to find their elusive foe. A rain of pebbles dropped on their heads from the upper branches of a nearby elm, followed by a dramatic cry.

"Oooohhhhh! You got me! That first one wounded me, but the second arrow finished me off. Oooooohhhh! Hahahahaha!"

Fwirl shot off through the treetops, too high and fast for any arrow to follow. Eefera looked stonefaced at his companion.

"I'll wager when we get back to that sack those young 'uns will be well gone."

It was Vallug's turn to sound sarcastic. "Did yer think o' that all by yerself?"

It was late afternoon. All gates had been secured and every Redwaller was safe inside the Abbey. Mhera had lookouts and wallguards posted all around the ramparts. The elders were holding an impromptu meeting in Cavern Hole, and she hurried down to join them. Seldom had she seen Cregga so wrathful. The Badgermum brought her paw down on the table with a blow that almost split it. She bared her teeth, growling ferociously, "Vermin in Mossflower, trying to steal our Dibbuns? Gurrrr, if I had the sight of just one eye they'd wish their mothers never gave birth to them. You saw them, Mhera. What were they like?"

As best she could, the ottermaid described Vallug and Eefera, mentioning the barbarous facial tattoos of the Juska clan.

Boorab waited until she had finished. "Hmm, sound like a right pair o' scallawags if y'ask me. Young Fwirl said there was another, an old rat, but one of those two bounders slew him with an arrow, wot. Scoutin' party, that's what us chaps need, spot of reccying in the jolly old woodlands, wot. See how many more of the tattooed blighters are out there an' so on. Right, I'll volunteer to command said party"

Mhera took it on herself to interrupt the hare. "I think Fwirl can do all the scouting and spying that's required. She's a very courageous creature, and deserves our wholehearted thanks for her brave efforts. Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Boorab, but it would be better if you stayed put here. There's few enough of fighting age since Skipper and his crew went off to the Hullabaloo. This Abbey and its creatures' safety is our main concern; we don't want any outside skirmishes. The defense of Redwall is most important."

Boorab's reply was, to say the least, a trifle frosty. "Oh, beg pardon an' chop off my tongue for mentionin' it. Tut! So that's how a gallant chap gets treated for offerin' help, wot!"

Mhera immediately set about appeasing him. "But you misunderstood me, sir. I already had plans for you. We need an officer, one who knows what he's doing, to command the wallguards and see to the outer walls' security. I was hoping that you'd accept the post."

Boorab sprang to attention, knocking his chair over, and saluted with a wooden ladle, almost raising a bump on his head. "Say no more, O fair one, say no more. I'm the very chap you're lookin' for, wot, wot wot! Leave it to me! I'll straighten out that idle sloppy lot on our walltops, or m'name ain't Bellscut Oglecrop Obrathon Ragglewaithe Audube Baggscut. Commencin' duties as of now. Permission t'leave the mess, Cregga marm!"

Cregga made a small salute. "Permission granted. Carry on, sah!"

Boorab performed a smart left turn, tripped over the leg of his fallen chair, went flat and leaped upright in the same movement. He marched off, muttering under his breath in fine military form.

"Right, look out, you bunch of limp lilies, here comes an officer on parade, wot! I'll have your guts for garters, spikes for supper an' snack on your spines, when I've straightened 'em up a bit! Hoho, me bold laddie bucks, eyes front, chests out, shoulders square, backs straight, paws at an angle t'the seam o' the garments, wot wot, wotwotwotwotwot!"

Cregga and the elders waited until Boorab was well out of earshot before the Badgermum nodded to Mhera.

"Well done, friend, that was very diplomatic of you. So, then, what's your next move to be?"

Mhera felt rather flustered. "I'm sorry, Cregga, I didn't mean to interrupt an elders' meeting. I only came to see if I could be of any help."

Cregga turned her sightless eyes toward Brother Hoben. "Well, I for one think Mhera's been an enormous help. Already she's got rid of that babbling hare and taken care of the Abbey defenses at the same time. What d'you think, Brother?"

Koben watched the other elders' faces carefully as he replied, "I couldn't agree with you more, marm. Quick-thinking heads and sensible decisions are what's needed among us old fogies, a drop of young blood to liven things up. I suggest we allow our Mhera to take charge of things. I've a feeling she won't let us down. Let's put it to the vote!"

There was an immediate chorus of ayes, but Cregga's sharp ears missed nothing. "Sister Alkanet, why do you choose to stay silent?"

The stern Sister made her way slowly to the door. "I won't say yes or no to Mhera's taking charge. However, I must be honest. I think she's far too young. It's too much responsibility, and I think you'll live to regret your decision." And Alkanet swept off up the stairs to her infirmary.

Foremole Brull twiddled her digging claws and fixed her eyes on the table in front of her. "She'm a gurtly h'odd mouse, that 'un, but she'm atitled to urr umpinnyin'. Hurr, 'tain't moine, tho'. Oi loikes miz Mhura!"

Filorn smiled across at the kind Foremole. "Thanks for your confidence in my daughter. Well, Mhera, you'd best answer Cregga. What's our next move?"

The elders' hopeful faces dispelled any nervousness Mhera felt. "At the moment there's not a great deal we can do. If needs be, Fwirl can easily scout the woodlands close to our Abbey. As for the rest, we've got to keep an eye on the Dibbuns, see none of them try straying outside. You all know by now that even a locked gate or high walls won't stop some of those little rogues. The only thing we can do is to sit tight and hope the tattooed vermin will move off sooner or later. Our walls are patrolled, and we can sleep safely knowing Mr. Boorab is commanding the guard."

This last remark was greeted by chuckles from the elders. Friar Bobb heaved himself upright, straightening his apron. "Villains or no villains, I've got cabbage an' fennel bake to make, aye, and raspberry cream turnovers. Redwallers don't quit having supper because there's vermin in the woodlands, oh no!" The meeting broke up amid creatures going off to their chores.

Mhera was helping Cregga from her chair when the Badgermum began rummaging in her belt pouch.

"Oh, I almost forgot in all the excitement. I found one of your pieces of lilac-smelling cloth. I assume it's the same color as the others. It was lying among the fresh torches we put by the east wallgate when we were searching last night." She passed the ottermaid a scrap of the green homespun.

Mhera inspected the cloth. It was exactly the same as the others: rough faded green homespun, with a faint odor of lilacs. Inscribed on it in the same vertical capitals was the word WITTAGALL.

Cregga twitched her muzzle impatiently. "Well, is it one of those pieces of cloth? Does it have any message on it? Tell me, Mhera."

"What? Oh, er, sorry, Cregga. It says WITTAGALL, whatever that's supposed to mean. I wonder who left it there?"

Cregga leaned on Mhera's shoulder as they mounted the stairs. "How should I know? I'm an old blind badger, not a magician or a mystery solver. It's not important how it got there, it's the word and what it means. WITTAGALL. What d'you think it is?"

Mhera stopped, allowing Cregga to rest her paws. "You're asking me? I'm only a simple ottermaid, not a wise old Badgermum who's lived more seasons than anybeast I know and can tell just by a sound who it is and what they're doing."

Cregga tweaked the ottermaid's cheek. "You, my pretty maid, are an old head on young shoulders!"

Chapter 24

Across from the path in front of Redwall's main gate, which faced west, was a partially dried up ditch separating the path from the sprawling flatlands. Twilight's last vestiges were gleaming as Eefera stood in the ditch, looking up at the solid red sandstone heights of the Abbey's outer wall.

"Supposin' the Taggerung ain't in there, what then?"

Vallug rubbed beeswax along his bowstring to keep it supple. "Huh, 'e's in there all right, I kin feel it in me bones."

Eefera took out his long curved knife and began digging at some wild ramsons that were poking through the ditch side. "Hmm. Ain't much chance of us findin' out if the Taggerung's in there or not. It's all 'igh walls, locked doors an' guards walkin' 'round betwixt the battlements. We got no chance o' gettin' in there to seek 'im out." He began crunching the garlicky-smelling plant. Vallug turned away in disgust from the weasel's breath.

"Yurk! D'you 'ave to eat that stuff? I'll tell ye a good way fer us to get in. You climb up that wall an' breathe all over 'em, that'll knock the guards out so you kin open the door fer me."

Eefera wiped soil from another clump of ramsons and bit into it. "Very funny. Yore jokes'll be the death of you one day, I 'ope. But the way I sees it, we don't 'ave to try an' get inter that place, if'n we can make the Taggerung come out to us."

Vallug gagged as he turned and caught another whiff of ramsons. "Go on then, stinkmouth, tell me 'ow we do that. Why should the Taggerung come out if'n 'e knows we want t'kill 'im, eh?"

Eefera picked his teeth with a filthy pawnail. "Simple. Yore the great Bowbeast, aren't yer? All's you gotta do is kill one o' those guards up yonder, just as a sort o' message. Pretty soon they'll want t'know wot we want, so we, I mean you, kill another one. I'll tell 'em we'll slay every Redwaller we see until they gives us the Taggerung. I think that's a pretty good idea, don't you?"

Vallug eyed the figures patrolling the walltop. "Oh, it's a marvelous idea, unless I kills one an' they all comes chargin' out an' chops us ter fish scraps!"

Eefera spat out a soily bit of vegetation. "Yore plan is better, then? Go on, tell it t'me."

Vallug knew he had lost the argument, so he blustered. "D'ye remember wot Sawney said? 'E didn't want ter tangle with the warriors in there. Sawney Rath was a wise Chief."

Eefera laughed scornfully. "Aye, was! But now Sawney's a dead Chief, an' it wasn't no Redwall warriors did it, 'twas 'is own pet otter. So are yer goin' along with my idea, or are ye scared?"

Vallug pushed his face nose to nose with Eefera, despite the smell. "I ain't scared of yew an' I ain't scared of those up there, an' if yer don't believe me then watch this!"

Fitting a shaft to his bowstring, Vallug drew it back, judging the breeze and the height. He fired and hit one of the guards standing left of the threshold above the main gate. Vallug watched the Redwaller crumple below the battlements and sneered. "Now tell me I'm scared. Vallug

Bowbeast ain't afraid of anybeast 'is arrows can slay. That goes fer them an' you too. Hoi! Come back 'ere. Where are yer goin'?"

Eefera turned a pitying smile upon the ferret. “Im gettin' out of the way, back inter the woods. Theyll prob'ly 'ave archers, spearbeasts an' slingers to fire back at us. But don't lissen t'me. You stay there an' chat to yerself all night. I'm off!"

Vallug crouched and followed Eefera at a run, north along the muddy streambed, to where they could make the trees in safety.

Broggle saw the arrow strike, and dashed toward the fallen Redwaller, roaring out in anguish, "It's old Hoarg' They've killed Hoarg the Gatekeeper!"

Boorab was on the spot immediately, calling out orders. "Stay at your posts, keep those heads down, I'll see to this!"

Tears streamed down Broggle's face as he arrived on the scene. "What would anybeast want to slay old Hoarg for? He never hurt a living thing in all his life!"

Boorab swiftly pushed Broggle's head below the parapet. "You'll be next if y'don't keep your bally head down, laddie buck. Stow the tears, he ain't hit that bad, wot!"

The ancient dormouse had been wearing an old copper bucket as a helmet, with the handle under his chin. Vallug's arrow was stuck tight in the side of the bucket, having pierced it. Fwirl came bounding up and peered under the bucket, which was set firmly on the stunned Gatekeeper's head.

"Don't try to remove the arrow or take the bucket off Hoarg's head. The shaft's gone through his ear."

Tucking the ladle tight against his side, Boorab issued more orders. "Listen up in the ranks there, chaps, sound the alarm bells, two stretcher bearers up here on the double, carry this poor fellow up to Sister Alkanet's infirmary. Steady on now, those carrying slings, load 'em up an' wait on my command. When I give the word, heads up, pepper the ditch below the threshold with one good volley, then heads down smartly, an' keep 'em down! Ready . . . slings!"

A sharp rain of pebbles battered the ditch where Vallug and Eefera had been. Two moles hoisted Hoarg between them and carried him down the wallsteps. His eyes opened as he was hustled down, and he groaned woefully.

"Owwww, my pore ear! Wot hit me? Where are ye takin' me?"

"Hurr, you'm be'd shot in ee bucket, zurr. Us'n's be's takin' ee to yon affirmery. Doan't ee wurry, Sister h'Alkurnet'll fizzick ee gudd, you'm feel gurtly well agin then, hurr hurr!"

Hoarg's voice echoed around the bucket as it tipped forward over his eyes. "If I'd knowed I was goin' to be dragged off an' physicked by that ole mouse, I'd have let the vermin kill me!"

In the absence of kitchen staff, who were part of Boorab's wallguard, Mhera and Gundil helped Filorn and Friar Bobb to make the supper. Between them they made cabbage and fennel bake into pasties, which they parceled up with table linen, placing the raspberry cream turnovers on trays and filling a clean pail with dandelion cordial. Filorn helped Mhera to load up a trolley to take out to the wallguards.

As she worked, the ottermaid kept reciting to herself, "Hittagall Pittagall Wittagall! Hittagall Pittagall Wittagall!"

Filorn looked oddly at her daughter. "What in the name of rudders are you talking about?"

Mhera placed a final tray of turnovers on the trolley. "I wish I knew, Mama. It's the three words from the three strips of cloth. Hittagall, Pittagall and Wittagall. I just keep on repeating them to myself in the hope that they'll suddenly make sense. Trouble is, they don't."

Filorn lowered her voice confidentially. "Then stop saying them or you'll have everybeast saying that you're acting like a Dibbun. Cregga and Hoben have given you a lot of responsibility, and the elders will look to you for guidance. Until this vermin trouble is over, you'd do well to abandon any puzzles and riddles. Don't you realize, Mhera, you are practically in charge of Redwall Abbey for the moment!"

Before Mhera could reply, the irrepressible Boorab came marching in, his nose atwitch at the smell of food.

"What's that? In charge of Redwall Abbey, young feller m'gel? Aha, well you may be, but yours truly is in charge an' command of the defenses, wot. Jolly old outer wall and all who flippin' well patrol it. Responsibility's m'middle name, doncha know!"

Mhera rapped the hare's paw, which was straying dangerously close to the array of raspberry cream turnovers. "Then why aren't you out there carrying out your duties? The kitchen is no place for a commanding officer."

Boorab swaggered over to Filorn, who had always been sympathetic to him, and gave her his best stiff-upper-lip smile. "Very observant of your beautiful daughter, marm. Everything's hunky-dory out on the ramparts, no vermin showin' their lousebound features about, all quiet an' orderly y'might say. Thought I'd take the opportunity of poppin' in to check up on rations for the troops. One owes it t'the lower-rank chaps, y'know, officer has to feed the faces under his command. Me bounden duty, y'see!"

Filorn curtsied to the hare and presented him with a turnover. "I understand, sir. Perhaps you'd like to sample one of these, to make sure 'tis of the right quality for your wallguards?"

Mhera watched in amazement as the turnover vanished into the gluttonous hare's mouth. Licking his paws, Boorab closed both eyes and smacked his lips appreciatively. "First class, ladies, absoballylutely top hole, wot. A and B the C of D, I'd say. Let me help you take the jolly trolley to my starvin' companions freezin' away the bitter night hours on the rugged ramparts, wot!" He trundled the cart off, with Mhera and Filorn hurrying behind.

"You shouldn't encourage him, Mama," Mhera whispered disapprovingly. "Starving companions freezing away the bitter night? It's hardly a long while since they were last fed, and it's a warm summer night without even a breeze!"

Filorn watched the odd lanky figure hurrying across the lawn, taking great care not to spill any food from the trolley. "Don't be too hard on Boorab. His heart's in the right place and he's always been very gallant and polite to me."

Mhera linked paws with her mother as they followed the trolley. "You're too softhearted by far. Oh, and what does Boorab mean by A and B the C of D? Sounds like some kind of code."

"I asked him once. He said it's some old military saying," Filorn explained. "The first letters of the phrase above and beyond the call of duty. A and B the C of D. Apparently his grandsire learned it, when he served with a group of hares called the Long Patrol."

When they reached the wallsteps, Foremole Brull detailed six of her moles to carry the trolley up to the battlements. Mhera had always admired the friendly mole leader, and she stroked Brull's velvety paw affectionately.

"Thank you, marm. I was wondering how we'd get a loaded trolley up there."

Brull had a smile so jolly, it seemed to light up the night. "Doan't ee wurry, miz. They'm h'only likkle, but them'm axeedingly moighty. Ho, boi the way, do ee be's cleckin' likkle piecings o' ee greeny cloth?"

Mhera felt her curiosity aroused. "Yes, I am collecting little pieces of cloth. Have you got one?"

Brull produced the object from inside her sleeve. "Oi foinded this 'un stucked to ee bakklement summ whoile agoo."

It was a green homespun strip, still smelling faintly of lilac. Mhera read the writing on it. UITTAGALL.

"Be's et h'any gudd to ee, miz?"

Mhera blinked absentmindedly. "What? Oh, er, yes. Thank you very much, Brull."

Brull helped Filorn to serve the food as they trundled the trolley around the ramparts. Filorn looked down to the gatehouse wallsteps, where her daughter was sitting studying something. "I thought Mhera was going to help us serve? What's she doing sitting down there in the dark?"

Foremole Brull busied herself with the cabbage and fennel pasties. "Ho, leave urr be, missus, she'm lukkin' at one o' ee ole greeny cloths oi foinded oop yurr."

From out of nowhere, Fwirl landed at Mhera's side. She peered over the ottermaid's shoulder. "Found another of your cloth puzzles, eh?"

Mhera shook the fabric under Fwirls nose. "Foremole Brull found it not long ago, stuck to a battlement. It says UITTAGALL. Now I've got four cloths and I don't know what even one of them means. But there's an even greater puzzle, Fwirl. This cloth couldn't have stayed stuck to a battlement all those seasons since Abbess Song was alive. It would have rotted or blown away ages ago. The riddle may be an ancient and mysterious one, but I've been thinking hard about it and I've come up with something. Listen to this. The first two pieces we found could have lain there since the time of Abbess Song. One was inside the bell tower, high and dry on the beam, the other was part of an infirmary coverlet. However, look at these last two scraps of cloth. One was found by Cregga, out in the open by the east wallgate, the other was found by Brull up on the walltop, again out in the open. Neither of the outside cloths could have survived the sun, winds, snow, ice and rains of many seasons. So what does that tell us, my friend?"

Fwirl caught on immediately. Her tail whirled excitedly. "Somebeast in the Abbey is putting them there. Right?"

Mhera gripped Fwirl's paws and squeezed them. "Exactly! We're going to keep our eyes open from now on, Fwirl. Because whoever it is holds the key to this whole mystery!"

Filorn came down the wallsteps to find Mhera and Fwirl whirling each other around, chanting singsong style, "Hittagall pittagall wittagall uittagall! Hittagall pittagall wittagall wittagall!"

"Mhera, what have I told you, miss?" Filorn whispered urgently. "Redwallers are watching you. Think of your responsibilities!"

The ottermaid halted momentarily and smiled impudently. "Boorab's a commander, and if he can go around saying A and B the C of D, wot wot, then I'm allowed a bit of fun too. Besides, I'm younger than him. Come on, Fwirl, I'm enjoying this!"

Squirrelmaid and ottermaid started whirling around again. "Hittagall pittagall wittagall uittagall!"

Filorn relented. She helped Brull push the empty trolley back to the Abbey, smiling and shaking her head. "Just look at those two young 'uns. Mad as march hares!"

Brull nodded admiringly as she watched the performance. "Hurr hurr, bless ee gudd 'earts, missus, they'm h'only young once. Oi cudd darnce loike that once; wish't oi cudd naow. Hurr hurr hurr, oi'm gurtly fattied. Moi darncin' days be's long dunn!"

Chapter 25

The Dillypin raft was well into deep woodland, floating leisurely along the broad river. It was one of those halcyon summer afternoons Tagg would always remember. After a superb lunch of pancakes and bilberry cordial, he lounged on the stern rail with Jurkin, keeping the raft on course and watching the current. Smooth flowing and deep the water ran, clear to its bed. Long trailing weed tresses, submerged flat rocks and fleet darting minnow shoals passed beneath the rudder. Dragonflies and other insects patrolled the shallows, sheltered by overhanging trees from swallows and willow warblers. Jurkin studied the land, as did Tagg, both with the eyes of experienced trackers. The hedgehog nodded sagely.

"Aye, see the broken sedge yonder? Yore vermin passed this way. Bound fer Redwall, if'n I ain't mistaken, matey."

Tagg had been following the telltale signs. He looked up. "Redwall? You mean they're going to the same place I'm heading?"

Jurkin kept his eyes on the bank and shallows. He shrugged. "Mebbe so. We'll find out tomorrer when we comes t'the big rocks. We'll stop then, an' if'n y'see their trail goin' off inland, then you'll know fer sure. Great pins'n'prickles, lissen to that liddle mousemate o' yourn. 'E's a worse fibber'n me!"

Nimbalo was entertaining the Dillypin hogs, who sat around listening wide-eyed as he related a monologue of his adventures. Waving a celery stick, he parried and thrust at invisible foes as he leaped about, reciting dramatically.

"I'm Nimbalo the Slayer, haha hoho,

A strange ole name ye may say,

So I'll tell ye how I won me title,

Long ago, on a fine summer day.

1 was the son of a mighty King,

Me an' two hundred others,

Half of them was sisters of course,

But the other two halves was brothers.

We was out on a picnic one evenin',

In a forest all dark'n'thick,

Some picked ants out the pudden,

While I just picked on a nick.

Suddenly we was under attack,

By ten thousand vermin, 'twas bad,

Some began shoutin' for 'elp an' aid,

An' others for Mum an' Dad!

There was willful weasels, rotten rats,

Fat foxes, fierce ferrets an' stoats,

With swords an' knives, to take our lives,

An' one had a spear in 'is coat!

When this I did spy, 'Hoho,' sez I,

'It looks like you scum wanna fight?'

So I slew a score wid my left paw,

An' another twelve with me right.

'That mouse is a slayer,' their leader cried,

'But by me spear he'll die!'

So I knocked that rat flat,

With a swipe of me hat,

An' the crust off a dead apple pie.

Then takin' a sword, his whiskers I chopped,

All the while he was shoutin' out 'Save me!'

But in the din 'twas hard to hear,

I thought he was shoutin' out 'Shave me!'

Those villains dashed off in a panic,

'Cos they saw I was in a bad mood,

'Go boil yore bottoms,' I shouted,

(an' other things far more rude).

That's why me name's Nimbalo,

An' I'm a Slayer bold,

I'll fight the good fight,

From morn until night,

But not if me supper gets cold!"

"Did you chase da naughty villuns an' catch 'em, Mista Nimbal?" a hogbabe piped up when the applause had died down.

The harvest mouse chomped on his celery sword. "No, they caught me an' killed me, but I'll get 'em next time!"

Tagg shook his head in mock despair at his friend. "You're a dreadful fibber, Nimbalo."

Patting his well-filled stomach, the harvest mouse winked. "After that good lunch, matey, I'm a sleepy dreadful fibber. I think 'tis about time fer me noontide nap." He stretched out on a deckmat and was soon snoring.

It was not long after that Tagg noticed the hogbabes and young ones chattering excitedly.

"We're coming up t'the water meadows," Jurkin explained. "They likes to paddle in the shallows an' pick berries. Some good 'uns grow 'round there. But if'n yore in an 'urry, Tagg, we'll sail on by 'em."

Tagg would not hear of the idea. "No no, let the little 'uns have their fun. We can always make up the time later. I like water meadows too, you know."

Jurkin chuckled. "So do I, mate. Thankee."

The hogbabes were all agog, dancing and waving their paws. "Warty medders! There's a warty medders!"

The barge hove in to the vast woodland-fringed area. It was a pretty sight. No more than waist deep, the entire expanse was carpeted in water lilies, plant life and bulrushes. All manner of insect life, including many beautiful butterflies, hovered on the still noontide air. Whooping and yelling, the Dillypins scooted off, some to paddle, others to gather berries and fruit. Tagg left Nimbalo sleeping and joined a bunch of mothers and babes with baskets. They found pears, apples, hazelnuts, blackberries, raspberries and wild damsons, all around the far-flung margin.

They returned aboard in the late noon, happy with their harvest, speculating on the flans, pies, puddings and preserves that would be made with them. The otter put down the two babes he had been carrying shoulder high and waved to Jurkin, who had stayed aboard the raft.

"I enjoyed that. 'Twas well worth it, mate. Where's Nimbalo?"

The Dillypin leader nodded for'ard. "Sittin' up yon with a face like stone. 'E woke just after you went, been sittin' like that all afternoon."

Nimbalo did not even look up when Tagg sat beside him. Never had the otter seen his harvest mouse friend so glum and depressed. By the marks on his face he had obviously shed tears. Tagg leaned close and lowered his voice.

"What's up, matey? Are you all right?"

Nimbalo continued gazing into the water. "Aye, I suppose so. It's just this place, I can't stand it."

Tagg was astonished. The water meadow was a place of great beauty. "Why, what's so awful about it? Tell me."

Nimbalo indicated the far margin with a nod. "Jus' beyond there was where I was reared by my papa. I never knew my mother. Maybe she died when I was young, that's wot I like to think. But 'twas prob'ly Papa drove 'er to run off. 'E was a hard cruel beast. I hid in these 'ere reeds many a time, when Papa was goin' to take a belt to me, for not doin' the chores the way 'e wanted 'em done. There was jus' me an' Papa t'keep the farm goin'. I was never allowed any friends. Little food an' lots o' beltin', that was my life. Said 'e did it to bring me up proper. Papa used to trade with beasts usin' the river, like these Dillypins. I never met 'em, Papa made me stay 'ome an' scrub out the farm'ouse. Always took 'is belt off t'me when 'e got back. Said I was lazy an' shiftless. Enny'ow, one night when I'd growed a bit, Papa took the belt off once too often, I fought with 'im an' ran off. Never been back since. That's why I ain't fond o' this place: 'twas my ole stampin' grounds. Will ye do me a favor, Tagg?"

The big otter was almost close to tears himself. "Of course I will. Anything for you, mate, anything!"

Nimbalo stood up, dusting himself down. "Will ye come with me, over t'the farm? I want Papa to see that I never turned out worthless an' lazy."

Tagg forced a jolly laugh for his friend's benefit. "Hohoho, worthless and lazy, you? Come on, matey, we'll show the miserable old sourface how his son looks now. Lead on, Slayer!" He winked at Jurkin as they disembarked from the raft. "Hold the boat for us, will you, matey? We've got a small errand ashore. We'll be back by suppertime."

The Dillypin Chief tightened off a mooring rope. "Righto, Tagg, supper'll be ready an' waitin'. There'll be all kinds o' good vittles cooked up from the stuff we got today."

Beyond the far side of the water meadow, Tagg and Nimbalo made their way through a grove of trees. They emerged on the edge of a small flatland, which was sectioned and cultivated. Directly across the field was a thatched cottage. The harvest mouse halted and gave the scene a brief glance.

"Hmm, things ain't changed much. Same ole patch o' dirt. Strange, though. Somethin's not quite right."

Tagg looked down at his friend's furrowed brow. "Like what?"

Nimbalo gnawed at his lip. "There's no sign o' Papa. 'E usually works 'til dusk. If 'e was in the farm'ouse there'd be smoke risin' from the chimbly, an' there ain't a single wisp. Somethin's wrong, I can feel it!" He took off at a run across the field, his paws sending young lettuce and radishes flying, Tagg hard on his tail.

"Nimbalo, stop! Wait for me! Slow down, mate!"

But the harvest mouse had kicked open the unlatched door and dashed inside. Tagg put on a burst of speed and chased in after him, halting immediately as he crossed the doorstep.

There in a pool of afternoon sunlight from the single window sat Nimbalo, amid the wreckage of what had once been his home. Chairs were smashed, curtains and coverlets ripped and food trampled everywhere. Nimbalo's father lay dead, stretched out with a gaping wound in his chest.

Tagg knelt and studied a bloodstained pawprint in the dust. He breathed one word. "Gruven!"

Nimbalo had been sitting head in paws by his father's body. At the sound of Tagg's voice he looked up at the wall above the fireplace, where two nails were driven. "They killed 'im with 'is own axe. Lookit that wound, only one weapon could've done that. Papa kept an ole battle-axe over the fireplace there. Ohhhh, Tagg! I know 'e was only a mean-spirited misery of a mouse, but why'd they slay 'im like that an' wreck the place they way they did? Ohhhh, Papa, Papa, wot was it made you like ye were?"

Tagg placed a paw gently on Nimbalo's shoulder. "Is there anything I can do, friend?"

The harvest mouse sniffed and scrubbed a paw across both eyes. "No, mate, 'cept leave me alone 'ere awhile. You go an' wait across the field. Go on, I won't keep ye long."

Tagg closed the door behind him as he left.

Sitting in the tree shade at the field's edge the otter stared at the farmhouse, feeling immensely sad for his little friend. Nimbalo had been nervous on the way over from the water meadows. It had caused him to laugh and joke about what a horrible old grouse his papa had been, and how he was going to show him that his son had not turned out the same. Poor Nimbalo. This was the last thing he had expected. What a homecoming for him.

Tagg wondered what his own father had been like, his mother too. He knew from Ribrow that his father was dead, but maybe, just maybe, he had a mother somewhere. Did she ever wonder what had become of her baby son? The otter sat for a long time puzzling various unknown bits of his former life, and then he saw a wisp of white smoke rising from the farmhouse chimney.

Nimbalo emerged, carrying a heavily buckled belt and a nail from the chimney wall. Closing the door, he took a rock and nailed the belt to the doorjamb. Passing the belt through the door handle, he tugged, buckling it tight, locking the door shut securely. He sniffed, scrubbed at his eyes one last time and straightened his shoulders. Tagg rose and greeted his friend as he paced back across the field.

"You look a bit better now, mate. Ready to go?"

The harvest mouse nodded briskly. "I cleaned the place up, made a fire out o' some broken furniture an' dressed Papa in a clean smock. I sat 'im in 'is favorite chair an' then locked the place up with that. . . er, I locked the place up good'n'tight. D'ye think Papa would've liked that, Tagg?"

The otter took his friend's paw as they walked away. "I'm sure he would have, Nimbalo. You did right."

Nimbalo pulled Tagg to a halt. "Don't you ever tell anybeast about this, especially those Dillypin 'ogs. Promise me ye won't breathe a word!"

Tagg winked knowingly. "Mateys don't tell otherbeasts their secrets."

They skirted the water meadow, making for the raft. Nimbalo waved to the hedgehogs on deck, muttering to Tagg in an undertone, "When we do catch up with yore vermin, one of 'em'll be carryin' a battleaxe. Leave that 'un to me, 'e'll be the beast who slew my father. I'll pay that feller back in full!" Nimbalo's eyes were as hard as ice-coated granite. Tagg nodded.

As long as he lived, Tagg would never be able to figure his friend out. That night aboard the raft, Nimbalo was the very life and soul of things, laughing, singing and bantering with the hedgehogs. Supper was a spectacular affair. Jurkin had baked a massive outsized dish, which he called allfruit duff. It was a huge soft-crusted crumble, with every fruit or berry they had gathered smeared with honey and baked inside it. The whole thing was covered with a thick white sauce that tasted of vanilla and almonds. It was very tasty; heavy, but satisfying.

Jurkin sat with Tagg, laughing at Nimbalo's antics. "That liddle mouse o' yourn, lookit 'im now singin' an' scoffin' with my 'ogs, yet only this noon 'e looked like a thunnercloud. Where did you two go when ye left the raft?"

The otter shrugged carelessly. "Picking up vermin tracks. Seemed they circled the water meadow, but they're still headed downriver. Nimbalo's just happy that we're still hot on their trail."

Jurkin spooned himself another bowl of his allfruit duff. "That's the way all travelers widout a vessel go. We're still on their tails, right enough. But we'll prob'ly part company with them in the mornin' when we reach the big rocks, where the trail splits. Hoho, lookit Nimbalo doin' the pawspike dance. I thought only 'ogs knew 'ow t'do that 'un."

Tagg winked at the Dillypin Chief. "You'd be surprised at what my little mate knows!"

Nimbalo was in his element, standing in line with the hedgehogs, doing all the actions and singing aloud. It was a very old chanting dance, performed only by the Dillypin tribe. However, the harvest mouse was a quick learner.

"Rum chakka chum chakka chum chakka choo!

I'm a Dillypin who are you?

Choo chakka choo chakka choo chakka chah!

River'ogs is wot we are.

Tap y'paws tap y'spikes tap y'snout an'turn,

Bow to y'partner like a swayin' fern,

'Round an' 'round now, tap that paw,

Who's that knockin' on my door?

Rap chakka chap chakka chap chakka chin!

Ho 'tis you, well come on in.

Chin chakka bin chakka bin chakka choo!

I can dance as good as you.

Clap y'paws, shake y'spikes, touch snouts with me,

Sail down the river right to the sea,

Wot'll we find there wild an' free,

Golden sands an' silv'ry sea.

Whoom chakka boom chakka boom chakkawhoa!

Hold on tight an' away wegoooooooo!"

They all dashed forward, clasping paws, and collapsed laughing on the deck. Leaping up, Nimbalo led the scramble for flagons of cold pale cider, which had cooled in the river current, tied in a sack trailing astern of the raft.

"Let me liddle niece Tingle give a song!" Jurkin called.

Tagg joined the rest in encouraging the young hogmaid. "Aye, come on, Tingle, give us a song!"

Tingle obliged shyly. She had an unusual soft husky little voice.

"Old places I traveled long seasons ago,

Kind faces of friends I have seen,

What's 'round the riverbend, dear I don't know,

'Tis a land where my heart's never been.

Will I sit in the shade of tall willows above,

If I gaze in the stream may I see,

There standing beside, the one that I love,

Or all sad and alone must I be?

The tears I have shed here are mingled and gone,

Through waters which flow without end,

And I must drift, ever seeking that one,

Waiting there 'round some far riverbend."

Tingle threw her apron up over her face and scurried off amid hearty applause and shouts of "More! More!"

Jurkin mopped his eyes with a spotty kerchief and sniffed aloud. "That's me favorite song. Ain't she a luvly singer!"

"She certainly is," Tagg agreed, "and that song was beautiful!"

Jurkin stowed his kerchief away quickly. "Aye, an' guess who wrote it? That plum-faced oaf Robald. Wonders never cease, eh? Where'd a fool who's never 'ad a fight in 'is life get the brains to write summat like that? Hoho, Nimbalo, changed yore tune agin? Now yore weepin'!"

The harvest mouse glared at the big Dillypin hog. "No I wasn't, I was sneezin'. Jus' some cider went down the wrong way. So wipe that stoopid grin off'n yore face or I'll do it for yer, big as ye are!"

Jurkin held up his paws, feigning terror. "No offense, matey, don't start slayin' anybeast, we're 'avin' a good time. Cummon, Tagg, are ye goin' t'get up an' give us a song or a dance, matey?"

The otter shook his head ruefully. "Where I was brought up, singing and dancing were the last things anybeast was called on to do. I'm only good at the use of weapons, or at using my body as a weapon. 'Tis what I was trained for."

Jurkin waved a paw airily. "Then show us a bit o' that. Stand clear, Dillypins, give my mate Tagg a bit o' room!"

The otter expelled a great sigh and shrugged. "All right, then, if you really must. Keep your eyes on my blade."

Tagg whipped out the beautiful knife and began twirling it with one paw. It spun until it was nought but a shining blur.

"Heyya hupp!"

As he shouted, Tagg struck the spinning blade with his other paw. It flashed off and stuck deep in the cabin wall. With an enormous somersault he was alongside the wall, pulling the knife out almost on the instant it struck. The blade began twirling again. This time he was facing Nimbalo as his paw shot out. The harvest mouse yelled, throwing himself flat on the deck. A concerted "Aaahhhh!" arose from the hedgehogs, who thought Nimbalo had been slain. With a powerful leap, Tagg was at Nimbalo's side, helping him up. The harvest mouse patted his chest, throat and both ears, thoroughly shaken.

"Wh-where's the blade?"

Tagg threw back his head and laughed. "I don't know. Ask Jurkin."

Looking mystified, Jurkin scratched his headspikes. "I dunno, mate. Where'd it go?"

Tagg pointed downward. "Look between your footpaws!"

The blade was there, still quivering. Jurkin jumped back a pace. "Seasons o' spikes'n'stickles, 'ow did ye do that?"

Tagg whipped the blade free and resumed spinning it. His paw flicked out and everybeast ducked. He chuckled. "Where is it now, eh?"

They looked between their footpaws, at the deck and the cabin wall. Jurkin narrowed his eyes. "Stuck in somewheres."

Tagg turned slowly so they could all see. "Aye, stuck in the back of my belt where 1 always keep it. Never mess with a blade, unless you've spent fifteen seasons learning how to use one. Now I'll bid you all good night!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Mammeeeeeeee! Daddeeeeeeee!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

The husband popped out and echoed, "Ashamed of yourself!"

She tugged his snout sharply. "Silence, Merradink. I'll deal with this rabble."

He retreated behind her voluminous dress. "Yes, Campathia dear."

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

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

Merradink's head poked out again. "Not like us!"

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

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

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

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

Tagg interrupted her flow. "When did they leave? Where's your camp?"

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

"Within the hour."

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

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

The camp was little more than an elaborately embroidered linen square of considerable size, pegged across a low hornbeam branch and a fallen larch tree. It had been ripped to tatters by the vermin, and a small homemade rock oven nearby was smashed down into the ashes of a fire beneath it. Nimbalo sniffed at the ashes as Tagg inspected the ground, pointing out the unmistakable pawprints ot Dagrab, Rawback and Gruven.

"They're headed west and a bit south. It's them all right!" He stepped around Tagg to retrieve a scrap of barkcloth fiber that was snagged on a holly bush. "Aye, lookit this, mate!"

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

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

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

"Yer mealy-mouthed, snake-tongued, bandy-spiked fibber!"

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

"Such language!" her husband echoed.

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

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

"Early eee!"

She stamped on Merradink's footpaw, silencing him. Tagg nodded courteously. "Thankee, marm. We'll be on pur way!"

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

"Tagg, mate, 'ow did ye know they 'adn't been there all summer?"

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

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

"An' 'er family again!"

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

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

Chapter 26

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she persisted. "Lissen, Chief . . . lissen!"

Gruven rose moodily, sneering. "Lissen to wot, yore slobberin' mouth?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you get this? Tell me, Trey."

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

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

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

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

"Cregga, can I ask you something?"

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

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

Cregga gave the impression she was thinking hard, then answered, "Yes, there was one other Redwaller who entered the orchard."

Mhera clasped the badger's paw urgently. "Who?"

"You!"

Vallug Bowbeast centered his shaft on the figure striding the north battlements and let fly. Eefera watched as the Redwaller fell back onto the parapet.

"Good shootin'! You got it. Wasn't that the squirrel who slung stones at us yesterday?"

Vallug fixed another shaft to his bowstring. "She won't be throwin' no more stones. I think I dropped 'er good, but I'm not certain. Right, let's get their attention!" He sighted on the bell tower's top arched window, where the two bells could be seen, and gritted his teeth as he pulled the big bow to its full stretch. "Sittin' target, can't miss. This'll wake 'em up!"

The arrow hissed off upward. It struck one bell, bouncing off the metal and causing a sharp clang. Another arrow followed swiftly, striking the other bell. Ding! The pair dashed off to the northeast wallpoint, shifting their position to avoid slingstones.

As the bells rang, Boorab, who was having an afternoon doze in the gatehouse, came hurtling out. He took the north wallsteps three at a time, bounding up to the ramparts and yelling at the top of his lungs, "Redwaller down! Bearers over here! Quickly now, everybeast lie flat! Redwaller down!"

Mhera heard the bells and came hurrying out, with Cregga, Filorn, Broggle and Friar Bobb in her wake. Dibbuns poured out after them, shrieking and milling about, frightened by the noise. Gundil, Foremole Brull and four of her moles came scuttling down the wallsteps. Between them, on a stretcher made from window poles and drapes, they carried Fwirl. Broggle bellowed hoarsely, as if the arrow had found him instead. The sight of Fwirl laid out with the shaft still in her side was more than the poor assistant cook could bear. He ran alongside the stretcher, holding his friend's paw and stroking her brow. "Fwirl! They've killed Fwiiiiiiirl!"

"You in there ... lissen! D'ye hear me .. . lissen!"

Cregga held up both paws for silence, whispering to Brull, "Get her up to the infirmary, right away. Silence, everyone!"

Rough and gratingly loud, the voice from over the wall rang out. "Are ye lissenin'? Answer me!"

Mhera sped up the wallsteps and threw herself down beside Boorab, who was lying flat beneath the battlements. "Answer him, go on!"

Boorab called out, loud and curt. "We're listenin'. Who are you and what d'you want?"

Vallug's voice came back a moment later. "Never mind who we are. Send out the Taggerung!"

Boorab looked at Mhera, who gave a mystified shrug. "What in the blazes d'you mean?" he shouted back.

This time it was Eefera's voice that replied. "We've come fer the Taggerung!"

The hare had been binding his kerchief to the end of the ladle he carried about as a swagger stick. He sprang up waving it. "Truce, chaps, truce!" He sidestepped smartly, but was not quick enough to stop Vallug's arrow slicing a wound in his cheek as it zipped by.

"No truce, rabbit. Send the Taggerung out to us, or yore all deadbeasts, that's all!"

Vallug fired two more arrows over the wall. "That should give 'em summat t'think about fer today."

Eefera led the way as they retreated into the woodlands. "Aye, we'll kill another tomorrer. They'll soon send 'im out!"

Sister Alkanet cut the barbed head from the arrow and pulled the wooden shaft out of the wound in Fwirl's side. She gave the arrowhead to Brother Hoben and set about mixing herbs and powders from her infirmary shelves. "It went right through. Never hit anything vital, or this pretty one would be dead. I can clean and dress this while she's still unconscious. Good thing the shock and pain knocked her out. Would you see if that arrowhead is poisonous? Vermin often do that to shafts. This squirrel won't be up and about for a while, but she'll live. You can go and give Broggle the good news."

In the passage outside the sickbay, Foremole Brull, Drogg Cellarhog and Gundil had tight hold of Broggle, who was struggling and pleading with them.

"Let me go and see Fwirl. I must be with her, I must! Please!"

Brull had a strong but kindly paw about the squirrel's neck. "Naow, zurr, doan't ee fret yurrself. You'm h'only be inna way an' ee Sister wuddent never 'ave that, burr nay, she'm surpintly wuddent. You'm be a guddbeast an' be ee still noaw, maister!"

The door opened and Brother Hoben came out. He smiled at Broggle. "Fwirl's not dead, my friend, merely senseless. She'll be fine provided that this arrowhead isn't poisoned."

Drogg Cellarhog took the arrowhead. He licked it and smacked his lips thoughtfully. '"Tain't poisoned. Any good cellar'og can taste badness after a lifetime o' brewin' all manner o' drinks. Nah, that'-s clean. Cummon, Broggle, me ole bushtail, smile. Yore Fwirl will be right as rain afore the season's out."

Blinking away his tears, Broggle smiled hopefully. "Does that mean I can go in and see her?"

Drogg throw a sympathetic paw about the squirrel's shoulder. "Put one paw in there an' ole Alkanet'll physick the tail off ye, young feller. Best come with me t'the cellar, an' I'll give ye a flask of me special tearose an' violet cordial. When miz Fwirl feels brighter, y'can pick 'er a nice bunch o' flowers an' take 'em up with the cordial." They went off together down the stairs, Broggle talking animatedly.

"Is it good stuff, this cordial? Will Fwirl like it? Now, what kind of flowers should I pick? Er, pansy, marigold and celandine if there's any still about. She likes golden-colored flowers."

Foremole Brull nudged Gundil. "Hurr, so does oi, but et be's a long toime since oi 'ad any."

Gundil smiled from ear to ear. "Hurr hurr, oill goo an' pick ee summ, marm. Keep Broggle cumpany."

On his way downstairs, Gundil passed Mhera, assisting a reluctant Boorab up to the infirmary.

"Oh, pish tush, m'geL nothin' a plum pudden won't cure, wot. I'd sooner have a plum pudden than a blinkin' physick off that stern-faced poisoner. I'll bet there's chaps gone in there an' never come out again after one of Sister Alkanet's potions was poured down their flippin' faces. I'll just nip down t'the kitchens. Nothin' a beaker of October Ale an' the odd bucket o' salad won't take care of, wot wot?"

Mhera kept a firm grip on the hare's ear. "Come on, you great fusspot, that wound needs dressing. I'll see that you get extra supper after she's finished with you."

The suggestion of extra food heartened Boorab considerably. "Oh, well, have it your own way, miz. By the way, d'you know what a Taggerung is? 'Cos I'm jolly well blowed if I do."

Mhera's face was grim as she knocked on the sickbay door. "No, I don't know what a Taggerung is, but just let one show its face around here. Mayhap we'll find out more at the elders' meeting tonight. Surely somebeast has heard of a Taggerung."

Chapter 27

Even though the night was warm and a full moon hung in the sky like a new gold coin, Vallug felt sulky. He had always lit a campfire at night. Eefera crouched in the shelter of a broad beech tree, trying to ignore the ferret. Vallug looked at the small heap of twigs he had gathered.

"Nighttime's miserable when y'don't 'ave a fire!"

Eefera was enjoying the Bowbeast's discomfort. "Well, go on then, you light a fire. But don't expect me t'sit by it. I told yer, those beasts in there ain't stupid. If they've got any good slayers or seasoned warriors, they'll be out searchin' for us right now. It makes sense, don't it? We prob'ly killed two of theirs an' wounded the big rabbit. If they're supposed t'be the fighters Sawney Rath reckoned 'em t'be, they ain't goin' to let that go without strikin' back. You don't need no fire, not on a summer night like this. Yore gettin' soft in yer old age."

Vallug stood slowly. Stiff-necked, he clenched his paws. "Lissen, weasel, d'you want ter try me, see 'ow soft I am, eh?"

"Sssshh, stow it!" Eefera cocked an ear, listening carefully to the sounds of the nighttime woodlands. "See, I told yer," he whispered. "I can 'ear 'em. Lissen!"

Vallug tuned in his senses to the sounds amid the trees. "Aye, yore right. What'll we do?" He watched a slow, wicked smile spread across the weasel's face.

"Sounds as if there's no more'n three of 'em. Let's light the fire an' 'ide nearby. We'll kill one an' take the other two alive!"

Dagrab sniffed the warm dry air suspiciously. "I kin smell fire. Pine an' dead beech twigs, over yonder."

Gruven drew his sword, signaling the other two to arm themselves. They crept forward, Gruven whispering urgently, "Take no prisoners. Kill anybeast who's by that fire!" Then he dropped back slightly, allowing Dagrab and Rawback to go unwittingly ahead of him.

Stalking carefully between the trees, the two vermin reached the fire and waited until Gruven caught up. Dagrab turned as he appeared between them. "Chief, there's nobeast there."

Gruven crouched down. "Take a look around."

Rawback blinked as he scanned the area beyond the flames. "Dagrab's right, Chief, there ain't nobeast about."

Gruven laid his sword upon the grass. Placing a paw on each of their backs, he shoved them stumbling into the firelight. "Well, if there's nobeast there wot're ye scared of?"

Both vermin gave a panicked squeak, and turned to jump back out of the firelight. Eefera leaped from the shadows and whacked them flat with a long chunk of dead oak branch. Gruven reached for his sword, but it was not there. Vallug's bow dropped over his head from behind and was pulled backward, choking Gruven as the swordpoint prodded at his spine. Vallug marched him into the firelight.

"Well, if it ain't the Gruven Zann Juskazann called to visit 'is ole mates. Isn't that nice? 'E brought Dagrab an' Rawback along too. We're all one big 'appy family agin, eh?"

Any ideas Gruven had harbored of killing Vallug and Eefera by ambush collapsed. Pangs of fright caused him to flop down on the ground. His cowardly nature took over, and he emitted a choking sob.

"Th-there's f-food in the sacks."

Eefera grabbed the supply sacks from the stunned vermin. He shook their contents out in front of the fire. It was the remains of the provisions they had plundered from the southern Forthrights.

"Hoho! Flatcakes an' nuts; fruit, too. Wot's in the flasks? Cordial? Looks good, eh? Aha, a fruitcake, a nice big 'un! Bet you was keepin' this fer yerself, Gruven, bein' Chief an' all that."

Vallug dug the swordpoint into Gruven's back a little. "Oh, this 'un's a real Juskazann all right. Did ye 'ear 'im back there? Take no prisoners, kill anybeast who's by the fire? Then 'e 'angs back an' lets those two dead'eads go forward!"

Still keeping the sword at Gruven's back and the bow around his neck, Vallug leaned forward until he was breathing down his prisoner's ear. His voice dripped contempt. "Yore a gutless worm, Gruven. Go on, tell us wot you are. Say it!"

Gruven's nose was dribbling. He made no attempt to hide his tears, and his voice sobbed brokenly as the bowstring pulled tighter. "A gutless worm. Please don't kill me!"

Munching cheerfully on a flatcake and drinking cordial, Eefera sat next to Gruven and winked at him.

" 'S all right, mate, we ain't goin' t'kill ye. Yore goin' to be useful to me'n Vallug. Wipe y'nose an' stop blubbin' now."

Vallug had every intention of killing Gruven there and then. But he wanted Eefera to think he was clever also. He loosed the bowstring and withdrew the sword, kicking Gruven flat. "Aye, stop slobberin'. You'll fit in nicely with our plans!"

Eefera made the three sit together by the fire, with Gruven in the middle. He bound Gruven's paws, one to Dagrab, the other to Rawback. Taking the free paws of Dagrab and Rawback, he bound one to the other behind them.

"There now, all nice'n'comfy. Ye can't run anywhere among trees tied like that. Y'see, we killed a few creatures from that Abbey over yonder. They might 'ave warriors out lookin' to kill us, an' that's enough t'stop anybeast gettin' a good night's rest, ain't it? So 'ere's the plan, mates. You sit by the fire, an' I'll pile a bit more wood on so it won't go out. Now, if'n there ain't warriors out lookin' fer tattoo-faced Juskas, you'll be safe enough. But if'n there is, well, luck o' the game, ain't it? Either way, me'n'Vallug can sleep easy 'til dawn. Good, eh?"

Vallug was impressed by Eefera's plan, although he never said so. But just to emphasize that he too was smart, he checked the captives' bonds for tightness, warning them, "Don't try to escape. We'll be somewheres close by all night, an' you won't know if'n one of us is awake, watchin' yer!" Then the pair retired into the shadows, leaving their three decoys bound together in full view of the fire.

"Vallug was right, Gruven," Dagrab muttered savagely. "You are a gutless worm!"

Though still frightened, Gruven had recovered some of his bad temper. "Shut yer snivelin' face," he snarled. "I'm tryin' to think!"

Rawback laughed ironically. "Huh, snivelin' face, you should've saw yerself a moment ago. Im a gutless worm, please don't kill me. Think about that! We musta been mad t'follow you, Gruven. Y'never change, do yer? Once a coward always a coward, that's you!"

Gruven's eyes blazed hatred as he glared at Rawback. "You'll die fer that, I promise!"

Rawback bared his teeth at Gruven. "We might all be dead by mornin', bigmouth!" Torches and lanterns burned late in Cavern Hole. All who were able attended the meeting. Cregga addressed the anxious-faced assembly.

"First things first. Does any Redwaller know what the word Taggerung means? Apparently those vermin will leave us in peace if we send them out a Taggerung."

Mhera gazed around at the silent puzzled faces. "I never heard the word until today. It's probably a vermin term for something. Could it mean loot, or booty, do you think?"

Tentative suggestions started to come.

"Aye, they might think we keep treasure here?"

"Mayhap it means somebeast in authority, an Abbot or Abbess?"

"But we don't have an Abbot or Abbess, and even if we did, the last thing we'd do is turn them over to a mob of vermin!"

"Hurr, who'm said they'm wurr ee mob? Miz Furl said she h'only seed two of ee vermints."

"How is Fwirl? Have you seen her yet, Broggle?"

Sister Alkanet fixed the speaker with a stern eye. "No he has not. I'll say when that squirrelmaid is fit to receive visitors. Old Hoarg is well now, he'll be up and about by tomorrow morning, but I wish to complain about that hare"

Boorab, who had a bandage under his chin reaching up to a bow tied off between his ears, rapped the table and interrupted. "You're gettin' away from the point, marm, though if you'd nipped out an' physicked those two vermin bounders, they'd be well on their way, wot! A Taggerung, eh? Well, with our knowledge of vermin type slang, they may's well have asked for a bucketbung or a jolly old bellwotrang, eh, eh?"

Cregga's booming voice silenced the hare. "This is no time for joking. Kindly keep any silly remarks to yourself, sah. If we don't know what a Taggerung is, then we cannot deliver it to the vermin. But they are murderous beasts; it was only by pure luck that Hoarg and Fwirl weren't slain. Have you any thoughts on the matter, Mhera?"

The ottermaid had, and she made them known. "I think we'd be best concentrating our attention on the vermin. Fwirl said there were only two, with heavily tattooed faces. However, although that may have been all she saw, who knows how many of them are out there? I don't wish to scare anybeast, but we could be in real trouble if vermin have come in numbers. We don't have any real warriors at the Abbey now that Skipper and his crew are away. So, can I suggest three things. One, we must all stay indoors, except the wallguards, and they must not show themselves above the parapet. Two, we must send a good runner, somebeast who is fleet of paw, to find Skipper and bring him back here with his crew. Finally, three. If we cannot fight the vermin, then we have to get them to parley, so that we can understand what it is they want from us."

Sister Alkanet had immediate objections to Mhera's last point. "Give vermin what they want? Why not just fling our gates open wide and let them march into the Abbey? I've never heard anything like it. Parley with vermin? Never. I'd fight them to my last breath!"

Drogg Cellarhog grabbed the Sister's paw and sat her down. "An' wot good would that do, marm? Mhera never said anythin' about lettin' vermin march in here. Why don't you listen? She's tryin' to do the best for all of us, tryin' to buy us time until help arrives. Hopin' to find out the full strength of the foebeast."

There were cries of "Well said, Drogg!" and Cregga had to pound the table to restore order.

"When I had eyes I slew more vermin than you've ever seen. Make no mistake, vermin are cruel, heartless murderers. Mhera is right in what she says: we must do what is best for all. Tomorrow we'll try to ascertain just howmany vermin are at our gates, then we can decide calmly what must be done. Meanwhile, everybeast will stay inside and the guard patrol will continue, but they must not expose themselves to danger. Now go to your beds, please, and get a good night's sleep. We'll need clear heads to see this crisis through. Friar Bobb, Filorn. Broggle, will you see that the guards have sufficient food and drink for the night? Boorab, do you still feel fit enough to command the sentries?"

The hare threw an extremely smart salute and winced slightly. "Fit as a physicked frog, marm, as long as they sling portions of this an' that to keep the old energy up through the darkened hours. Chap can get hungry in the dreary night watches, wot! Can't have us guardian coves perishin' at our posts, y'know."

Filorn reassured the gluttonous hare. "I'll see you're well supplied, Mr. Boorab. Sister, is there anything special our Guard Commander must eat for his injury?"

Alkanet cast a frozen glare at the hare. "Just food!"

Boorab bowed and smiled broadly at her. "Just food, eh? Wonderful thought, marm, wot!"

That night Mhera had the strangest dreams she had ever experienced. In the meandering pathways of sleep she saw a beloved face from the past: Rillflag, her father. The ottermaid ran toward him through a misty early morning field. He smiled, holding his paws wide to embrace her, and she called out, "Papa, Papa!"

She recalled his face so well, yet it was not exactly as she remembered it. There was something different. He looked younger. He vanished bit by bit as Mhera tried to run faster, calling his name. Down, down he sank into the swirling, milky-hued vapor. She ran to the spot and knelt down. It was the bank of a river. Sunlight dispersed the foggy tendrils, and the ottermaid stared into the cool dark waters. But it was not her own reflection gazing back at her, it was Martin the Warrior. He held up one paw pad foremost, pointed at the front of it with the other, and spoke just one word. "Taggerung!"

Then she was sitting on her mother's lap, on the old wheelbarrow in the orchard. Deyna, the little brother she had lost many long seasons ago, was beside her. Filorn looked radiant, young and beautiful, happy as any ottermum with her young ones. Mhera stopped tossing and turning in her sleep. She lay still and contented, listening to her mama sing.

"Bells o'er the woodland