The Taggerung

Sound sweet and so clear,

They peal across meadows and streams.

Small birds sing along,

Hear their echoing song,

Whilst bees hum about their small dreams.

So slumber on, little one,

Safe here with me,

All in the warm afternoon.

When the long day is done

And deep night's shade is come

I will bring you the stars and the moon!"

Chapter 28

Tagg woke up scratching. He was itching all over. Still with his eyes half closed, he wiggled a paw in his ear and spat out something that was wandering over his lip. Nimbalo was sitting by the fire, cooking breakfast, his fur plastered wetly against him. He watched the otter scratching madly and shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry, mate. It was dark, 'ow could I tell I'd picked a campsite right inna middle of a bloomin' ant trail? Pond's over there."

Tagg tore past him and did a bounding dive into the still waters of a small lake, ignoring Nimbalo's shout of "Wouldn't mind a perch or a fat ole trout fer brekkist, mate!"

Swimming powerfully, Tagg crossed and recrossed the waters, and then he sped back to the lake's center and dived. It felt so good that he frisked about like an otterbabe, performing underwater somersaults and chasing his rudder playfully. Nimbalo left off cooking to gaze on the unbroken sheet of lake surface, muttering to himself as he waited for his friend to surface.

"C'mon, you ole riverdog, this scoff'll be cold if'n ye stay down there all day!"

Breaking the surface on the far side of the lake, Tagg leaped out shaking himself, then bent down and was lost to sight. Nimbalo snorted impatiently, shouting as he went back to cooking, "Wot's goin' on over there, matey? Found more ants t'play with?"

Tagg came bounding back with his tunic slung over one shoulder. He spilled the contents out in front of Nimbalo. "Look, button mushrooms and cress. I found them growing over there. Anything nice to eat? I'm starving!"

Nimbalo served the food, chuckling. "Pancakes an' honey an' pear cordial, but don't tell the ants!"

Tagg smiled ruefully at the thought of the insects. "You little puddenhead, fancy picking a camp in an ant run!"

Nimbalo shuddered and wriggled. "Ugh! I really earned me title durin' the night, mate. I must've slayed about two 'undred ants every time I rolled over!"

The cress was sweet and fresh, and the mushrooms had a wonderful nutty flavor. They finished breakfast by eating as many as they could.

After breaking camp, the two friends headed into the woodlands, still following the vermin tracks. It was a golden morning, with vagrant breezes chasing small fluffy clouds across a soft blue sky. A vague excitement was stirring in Tagg's mind. He did not recognize the country, yet it felt friendly. He stopped for a moment and leaned against an ancient hornbeam.

"Nimbalo, have you ever had the feeling that you know a place, yet you haven't been there before? I mean ..."

The harvest mouse nodded confidently. “I know wot y'mean, Tagg, though 'tis 'ard to explain. I used t'make a rhyme about it when I was rovin' the flatlands. Lissen.

"There's many's the patch that I ain't trod,

Nor ever been before there,

An' yet it seems as close to me,

As some ole coat I've wore, sir.

Some streams'n'rivers, rocks'n'fields,

That I have come upon, sir,

I'm seein' them for my first time,

Yet I knows every one there.

Now was I here ten seasons back,

Did I sit 'neath that tree there,

An' if I pass this way agin,

Then will I meet meself, sir?"

The harvest mouse had saved a few mushrooms. He tossed one up and caught it deftly in his mouth. "Y'see wot I mean?"

He tossed another mushroom up. Tagg nudged him out of the way and caught it in his mouth. "Aye, it's as clear as porridge on a winter's morn. Nimbalo!" The harvest mouse had suddenly rushed ahead. "Come back here. What is it?"

Dodging between the trees, Nimbalo was pointing upward. "Look, mate! Look!"

There in the distance was Redwall Abbey, the morning sun reflecting off its old red sandstone bulk, rearing into the sky.

Within a short distance of the outer walls Tagg and Nimbalo halted, breathless at the sight of the colossal Abbey up close. Nimbalo strained his head back, staring up at it.

"Great seasons o' swamps'n'streams, ants never built that lot, mate!"

Tagg could hardly believe his eyes. It was a dream coming true. "I'm getting that funny feeling again, mate!"

Nimbalo reminded him of their mission. "Let's git outta the way for a bit an' figger out wot we're goin' t'do. Get be'ind these bushes, Tagg."

The otter came back to reality. He took his friend's wise counsel and ducked down behind a coppiced hazel bush. "You're right, we can't go marching up and banging on their door. Nobeast in there would know us. Then there's the vermin, five of them if the tracks are to be believed. We could be ambushed by them as we stood gawking at that place. So, what's the plan, Nimbalo?"

His friend made a calming gesture with both paws. "We takes it slow'n'easy at first. This is the way I sees it. We'll split up an' take different ways, keep t'the trees, not let ourselves be seen. I'll meet ye back 'ere in the late noon. If one of us makes contact with anybeast inside an' gets hisself welcomed in then we're both all right. But keep yore eyes peeled for those vermin. If y'see them, don't go mad an' start slayin' the villains, an' I won't either. When we meets back 'ere, then we'll make another plan an' set up an ambush on them. Right?"

Tagg took Nimbalo's paw and shook it. "Right. Good plan, mate. Oh, here, you take my blade."

The harvest mouse was puzzled. "Why's that?"

Tagg did not want Nimbalo to be unarmed if he met the vermin, but to save his friend's pride he gave another reason, one that was just as valid. "It won't matter so much if the Abbeybeasts see a harvest mouse with a knife, but a big otter like me, with a tattooed face, if they see me carrying a weapon, what then, eh?"

Nimbalo thrust the blade through his belt. It looked like a sword on his tiny frame. "Yore right, mate. Hmm, this is a nice blade. I could get used to it. Jus' the sort o' thing Nimbalo the Slayer needs."

They split up, Tagg taking the east wall going south, Nimbalo going in the opposite direction.

Egburt came dashing into the Great Hall, colliding with Mhera and Cregga, who were going to the infirmary to visit Fwirl. The Badgermum leaned on Mhera as she halted the hedgehog in his tracks.

"Whoa there, speedy, where are you off to in such a hurry?"

Egburt thrust a wooden serving tray into Mhera's paws. "Its Mr. Boorab, he's gone. See for y'self, miz!"

Cregga tapped the tray impatiently. "Gone? Where's he gone and what's that thing? Tell me, Mhera!"

The ottermaid studied the tray briefly before replying. "It's a serving tray. Boorab has written a message on it with a charcoal stick. Listen. 'Dear chums'n'chaps, gone to get help from Skipper and co. Dashed silly but brave I know. Don't go weeping and wailing for me, only if I don't make it back, then I hope you'll bawl your bonces off for a blinkin' season, wot. Tell Filorn to start cookin' now, yours truly will be rather peckish on his return. Also, if one knows there's stacks of grub waitin', then one will try one's hardest to return. Rather! Regards to all, keep a light burnin' in the jolly old window. Yr faithful probationary music master and Guard Commander, Bellscut Oglecrop Obrathon Ragglewaithe Audube Baggscut. PS. Tell Drogg to keep my haredee gurdee well greased. PPS. Tell miss Fwirl to refuse any physicks if she wants to live. PPPS. I hope old Hoarg's bucket recovers from that arrow (haha). Only joking, got to go, chin up, chest out, wot!'"

Cregga shook her head and leaned down more heavily on Mhera. "The flop-eared idiot. I knew many such hares long ago. Brave, foolish and reckless, or perilous, as the Long Patrol would say. Let's hope fervently that he makes it! Egburt, I'm promoting you to Commander of the Wallguard in Boorab's absence. Are you able for the job, young hog?"

Egburt performed an excellent parody of the hare. "Able, marm, able's my second name, wot wot. Your wish is my command, I won't say another word, attention, smart salute, eyes right, and I'll bid ye a good day. Quick march, one two one two, pick that step up there, laddie buck!"

Eefera released his prisoners and issued them with their weapons. They stood looking bewildered. Vallug sounded almost friendly as he addressed them.

"Surprised t'find yoreselves alive an' kickin' today, eh? Well, so am 1. Those beasts be'ind the walls must be softer'n we thought they was, which is all the better fer us. Now, we're goin' to take a nice liddle walk, up north a bit, across the path an' into the ditch, then back down t'the main gates o' Redwall. Keep yore 'eads down low; they can use slings from those walltops. We've given ye back yer weapons, so try an' look just a bit like Juska warriors. I'll be be'ind youse all the way. First one makes a wrong move an' I'll spit 'em with an arrer. Wot are yew lookin' at me like that for, Gruven? Cummon, speak up."

No matter how hard he tried, Gruven could not shake of his fear of Vallug. It was as if the Bowbeast was looking for an excuse to kill him. Gruven's paws trembled uncontrollably as he tried to speak around the lump of panic welling in his throat.

"I, er, wasn't lookin' at ye."

Vallug brought his face close to Gruven's. "Say sir."

"I wasn't lookin' at ye ... sir."

Vallug grinned wolfishly at Eefera. "If only 'is mammy could see 'im now. Come on, let's get goin'."

Eefera went ahead to show the way; Vallug followed in the rear, keeping the three sandwiched between them. They had not gone far when Eefera raised a paw and halted them. He signaled Vallug to hold the three in silence, then ducked off amid the shrubbery.

Nimbalo scarce had time to do a half-turn before Eefera's spearbutt crashed down upon his skull. Slinging the little fellow over his shoulders, Eefera made his way back to the others. He dumped the unconscious harvest mouse on the ground in front of them.

"See wot I found, mates. Lookit wot's in the mousey's belt, Vallug. Now tell me the Taggerung ain't inside Redwall Abbey!"

Vallug took the knife almost reverently from Nimbalo's belt. "Sawney Rath's blade! Well, slit me gizzard an' stew me tripes! Yore right, this is where Taggerung's got to be!"

None of them had ever seen Nimbalo before, so they took him to be a Redwaller. Vallug prodded the field mouse's limp form with his bow. "Makes yer wonder wot this 'un's doin', totin' the knife around, don't it? I 'ope you ain't killed 'im."

Eefera took a prod at Nimbalo with his spearshaft. "Looks dead. No, wait, I think I seen 'is nose twitch. Dagrab, you'n'Gruven can carry 'im. If'n the mousey comes 'round 'e'll be valuable to us. Must be somebeast special if'n that otter give 'im the blade. Come on, we ain't got all day."

They trekked off north, to where they could cross the path and gain the safety of the ditch without being seen from the Abbey.

Between them, Drogg Cellarhog and Broggle helped old Hoarg up the east wallsteps, though there was no real need to. The ancient dormouse was fully recovered and felt very spry after his welcome discharge from Sister Alkanet's sickbay.

"By hokey, there must've been somethin' in that physick, I feel like a Dibbun this mornin'. Heeheehee!"

Drogg allowed Hoarg to scamper away up the steps. He shook his spiky head admiringly and clapped Broggle's back. "Wish I felt like that. Miz Fwirl will soon be up an' about, I 'ear. 'Ow did she look when ye visited 'er?"

The assistant cook smiled thankfully at Drogg. "She's fine, thank you, and ten times better since I gave her the flowers and your wonderful flask of cordial. Sister Alkanet shooed me out after a while, because Cregga and Mhera had come to visit. You know the Sister, said she didn't want a crowd 'round Fwirl's bed. I'll go up and see her again later." He turned and looked up to the ramparts. "I don't think Hoarg likes it up there. He's coming back down."

Waving his paws and making exaggerated shushing noises, Hoarg descended the steps nimbly. "Keep yore voices down. I just saw a vermin roamin' about in the woodlands. Come an' take a peep, he might still be there!"

Three heads popped over the battlements, watching Tagg moving toward the southeast wallcorner. The otter looked back over his shoulder, causing the spies to crouch down swiftly upon the parapet. Hoarg shuddered.

"Real vermin, that 'un. Did y'see his face, covered in tattoos! He looks as nasty savage a piece o' work as ever I set eyes on. Bet he's killed more'n a few pore innocent creatures!"

Drogg interrupted the old Gatekeeper's tirade. "Wot was the vermin up to when ye first saw 'im, Hoarg?"

"Couldn't see clear, but it looked t'm like he was tryin' the east wickergate below us. Good job 'tis well locked."

Broggle was shaking, though not with fear; the rage was plain on his face. He clenched his paws resolutely. "That vermin could be the scum who put an arrow in my Fwirl. Great tattooed scumfaced coward, let's capture him!"

Drogg stared at the squirrel incredulously. "Capture him? An' how are we goin' t'do that, pray? Did you get a proper look at the beast? He could eat the three of us!"

But Broggle was not to be denied. He bared his teeth viciously. "We won't give him the chance, friends. He's already tried to open the east wickergate. I'll wager an acorn to an oak that he'll try the south wickergate when he reaches there. Well, the blaggard's going to find it unlocked. We'll be waiting just inside the doorway with clubs, to welcome him to Redwall!"

Drogg's face was serious. He took hold of Broggle's paw. "It's dangerous. Are you sure ye want to do this?"

Fired by Broggle's plan, old Hoarg suddenly became belligerent. "I say let's do it. Those cowards are goin' t'pay for stickin' an' arrow in my ear. We'll show 'em that Redwallers aren't fools they can shoot at as they please. I'm with ye, Broggle!"

Drogg became infected by the warlike pair. "Then count me in too, mates! We've got a bit o' time, the rascal didn't look to be in any great 'urry. You two nip down an' open the wickergate bolts, quietly as y'can. I'll go an' get us some weapons. We'll make the vermin sorry they ever messed about with Redwall warriors!"

Tagg strolled slowly and silently along the outside of the southern wall, keeping alert for any sign of the Juska vermin. He stopped often, running his paws across the massive sandstone blocks, awed by the colossal scale of Redwall. Tree cover thinned out, and he found himself on open ground. Crouching close to the wall, he made his way carefully, ever watchful for the foe. About halfway along he encountered a recess in the stonework. It was a small door, stoutly made from seasoned oak. This was a wickergate, similar to the one he had encountered in the east wall. Bending low to avoid hitting his head on the peak-arched lintel, Tagg gave the door an experimental push. It opened slightly. He pushed harder, crouching down and poking his head inside to see what lay beyond the wall 'twixt ramparts and Abbey building. A wooden barrel-coopering mallet and two hard ash axe handles hit the back of his head simultaneously. He dropped like a log.

Hoarg did a little victory dance. "Heehee, poleaxed by an axe pole, heeheehee!"

Broggle silenced the old Gatekeeper sternly. "Stop that, Hoarg, or we'll all be in trouble!"

Drogg placed a footpaw on the back of their fallen foe. "Trouble? How so?"

Broggle, who had come down from his peak of anger, explained, "If Cregga or Mhera finds out, we'll be in for the lecture of our lives. Endangering the Abbey by unbolting a wallgate and almost letting in the vermin. Then it'll be why didn't we let them know, so that the thing could be planned properly, instead of running off in haste on spur of the moment madcap schemes? You know the sort of thing they'd say."

"Aye, I know exactly, young feller." Hoarg stared down at the stricken Tagg. "Ugly-looking great beast, ain't he? With all them tattoos it's impossible to tell what kind of creature he be. So, what do we do with him now, slay him?"

His companions shook their heads vehemently.

"How could any Redwaller murder a fallen beast, vermin or not?"

"None of us have ever taken a life, and I don't think we're about to now. Huh, we've got ourselves into a right mess here."

Drogg decided to take charge. "We can't just leave him lyin' here. Does that ole wheelbarrow by the orchard still work, Broggle?"

The squirrel nodded. "I think so. What's your plan?"

For no apparent reason, Drogg dropped his voice to a whisper. "Go an' get it. There's a little cellar door, where I brings in wood for barrels an' tools. It leads through to my cellars. We'll take him through there an' lock him up in my supply room. Then we can make up a story about how we caught the rogue. I think Cregga an' Mhera will be glad to have a hostage to bargain off against the rest o' the vermin."

Tagg regained consciousness in complete darkness. At first he thought he had gone blind. Lying on a hard stone floor, he brought his paw up in front of his eyes, but he could not see it. Panic set in and despite the abominable aching inside his skull, he sat up. Relief flooded through him when the sight of a pale thin strip of light from beneath a door assured him his eyesight was not gone. With extreme caution he stood upright and began to investigate his prison cell. Holding both paws high, he leaped in the air and barely touched the beam of a ceiling. He landed, sending an agonizing jolt through his head. Stone floors and stone walls, with a single door that felt as solid as the rest of the place and would not budge a fraction. Then he bumped into something and went sprawling. He felt it gingerly, and made out a huge barrel-shaped structure. Putting his weight against it, he shoved. It moved fractionally, and a swishing sound came from within. It was a barrel, and almost full to its brim. He felt around it for some kind of stopper, and found a wooden bung. However, it had been firmly hammered home and was immovable. Dizzy with the effort, he felt the back of his head, where there was a sizable lump and a minute dampness of blood. Pain enveloped him, and he slumped down on the floor and allowed his body to drift into a half stunned sleep in the silent gloom.

Eefera and Vallug crouched in the ditch across the path from the main outer gate. Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback had made slings and collected heaps of pebbles. Vallug had an arrow laid across his bowstring, and several more were stuck point down in the ditchbed, close to paw. Eefera gave the orders.

"You three just keep slingin' stones over the wall, I'll tell ye when t'stop. Vallug, keep yore bow at the ready. Righto, me buckos, get slingin'!"

Nimbalo lay to one side, still out to the world, but breathing.

Egburt came marching into the infirmary, where Cregga and Mhera were drinking medicine beakers of cordial with Fwirl and chuckling over some private joke. The young hedgehog saluted smartly and proceeded to make his report in hare style.

"Ahem, sorry to intrude like this, marms, but the jolly old door was open, so I tootled in, wot!"

Cregga turned her face to him. "Young Egburt, eh? Well you can just tootle out again and get on with commanding the wallguard."

Egburt put on his sternest face, which was wasted on Cregga. "It's about the wallguard I've come, marm. Confounded vermin are slingin' stones over like spring rain. So I've ordered the guards to stand down an' get themselves inside under cover, wot!"

Mhera threw up her paws in dismay. "You've left the walls unguarded, Egburt? That's an excee"

Her speech was cut short by the sound of breaking glass from downstairs. An extra long shot had obviously hit one of Great Hall's large stained glass windows.

Mhera bounded for the door, calling back, "Stay there. I'll see what's going on down below!"

Cregga shuffled after her. "You two stay here, I'm going down too."

Fwirl tried to hoist herself out of bed, but Egburt shoved her firmly back and gave her his commander's glare. "You're not even walkin' wounded, miz. Best stay put. I'll send Broggle up to sit with you."

Sister Alkanet appeared in the doorway. "You certainly will not. I'll say who comes and goes here!"

Egburt bowed his head and threw six swift salutes. "Er, quite, er, mister sarm, I mean Sister marm, I'll just, er, tootle off, wot!"

Alkanet stood, paws akimbo, blocking his way. "Why are you talking in that silly manner? You're not a hare."

Egburt kept saluting and trying to squirm by the Sister. "Only temporarily, marm, sort of harehog, or a hedgehare y'may say..."

The severe Sister placed a paw against Egburt's snout. "Hmm, dry and quite hot, probably with dashing up and down those wallstairs all the time. A good physick should cure that!"

Nimbalo came awake suddenly. He lay in the ditch, unmoving, his eyes riveted on the battle-axe that stood leaning against the ditchside next to Dagrab. She turned and saw him.

"The mouse 'as come 'round! Look, 'e's awake!"

Vallug drew back the shaft upon his bowstring and leaned forward. The arrowpoint was less than a pawslength from Nimbalo's face.

"Move jus' a whisker an' yore dead, mouse. I couldn't miss from 'ere if'n I wanted to. Eefera, tie 'im up."

As Eefera bound Nimbalo's paws behind him, the harvest mouse's eyes shifted from the battle-axe to Dagrab. His voice was calm but deadly cold as he addressed the rat.

"Is that yore axe?"

Dagrab fitted another stone to her sling. "Aye, 'tis. D'yer like it, mousey, eh?"

Vallug stamped on Dagrab's tail. "Less o' the jawin' an' more o' the slingin'!"

Dagrab began whirling her sling as Nimbalo spoke again. "I'm goin' to slay you with that axe, rat!"

The stone clacked sharply against Dagrab's paw. She had forgotten to throw it in astonishment at the harvest mouse's flat statement. Vallug stamped harder on her tail. "Keep slingin', I said! I want these Redwallers to think we got a pile o' clanbeasts out 'ere, not just you dozy loafers!"

Eefera checked Nimbalo's bonds to make sure they were tight. "So then, bucko, wot do they call you?"

Nimbalo looked at him as if he were dirt. "My name's Nimbalo the Slayer, as that there rat's soon goin' to find out. Wot do they call you, maggot breath?"

Vallug threw back his head and laughed. "Hoho, we got a feisty one 'ere. Tell me, mousey, wot d'ye know about an otter they call the Taggerung?"

Nimbalo directed his scorn at the Bowbeast. "A lot more'n you do, slobberchops, but I ain't tellin' ye!"

Eefera dealt Nimbalo a stinging blow to the face. "Yore insolent. We don't like that. You'd better tell 'im wot we want ter know, or it'll be the worse for yer, me liddle 'un!"

Nimbalo licked blood from where the blow had knocked his teeth against his lip. He winked at Eefera.

"If'n I was yore liddle 'un I'd have killed meself from shame long ago. An' wot could be worse than sittin' lookin' at yore face, yer great shamble-toothed snotnosed excuse for an idiot!"

Vallug had to throw his paws around Eefera to stop him from leaping upon the harvest mouse. "Leave 'im be fer now. 'E ain't much use to us dead!"

When Eefera was released he took his spleen out on Gruven, slapping him repeatedly about the face and ears. "Who do ye think yore smilin' at? I'll wipe the grin off'n yore face. Ye don't laugh at me an' get away with it!"

Vallug took a few kicks at Gruven also. When he was allowed to carry on slinging stones, Gruven found himself wishing that he had half the backbone of the little harvest mouse.

Vallug fired an arrow over the wall and roared out his ultimatum: "Give us the Taggerung or yer all goin' to die!"

Tagg awoke in his dungeon with thoughts crowding his mind. Was it night or day? How long had he been here in the pitch dark? Who had clubbed him senseless? When were they going to let him out, or were they just going to keep the door locked and leave him imprisoned here? Where was Nimbalo? The otter could not remember ever being anywhere where he could not feel the wind on his face, see the sky or walk freely. Stumbling about in the blackness, he found the door and began battering on it with clenched paws, roaring for all he was worth, "Let me out! Why have you got me locked up in here! You've got no right to imprison me, d'you hear? Let me oooooooouuuuuttt!"

Chapter 29

Mhera stood in the Abbey doorway with Cregga. Redwallers crowded behind them, ordered to stay inside. Brother Hoben uttered what Mhera was thinking.

"Look at those stones. Two vermin couldn't do that alone. I'm afraid Fwirl made a mistake when she said there were only two."

Cregga leaned on the doorpost, stroking her striped muzzle. "So it seems. How many would you guess there were out there?"

The good Brother shrugged. "Who knows, marm? Certainly more than we first thought."

Mhera made her way to the broken window and climbed onto the redstone sill, gazing out to where the slingstones battered down constantly onto the Abbey lawn. She noticed that they followed a certain pattern, all falling around one central area, apart from the odd long throw, or occasional short casts that landed on the gatehouse path. Gundil peeped over her shoulder, his homely face anxious as he guessed her intent.

"You'm bain't a goen owt thurr, mizzy? They'm slingenrocks wudd crack ee skullbones. Stop ee in yurr wi' us'n's, noice'n'safe."

The ottermaid shook her head. Her mind was made up. "I've got to go out and speak to them, Gundil. We must find out what a Taggerung is. This state of affairs cannot continue; it's only a matter of time before some Redwaller is slain. Even vermin must realize that they've got to communicate with us at some point, if only to clear the whole matter up."

Gundil raised his digging claws in despair. "Ho, lackeeday, bain't no use a talken to ee, miz, oi'm bounden to go owt thurr with ee!"

"And so am I. That makes three of us!"

"Beggin' y'pardon, marm, but as jolly old rankin' officer I'm comin' too, so that makes four, wot!"

Mhera had not noticed Cregga and Egburt below on the floor. She climbed down from the windowsill. "There's no need for you to put yourself in danger."

Cregga reared to her full height, which was considerable. "You seem to forget, Mhera, I am acting Abbess in charge. I would be neglecting my duty if I let you go out there alone."

Gundil reared to his full height, which was not much at all. "Hurr, an' oi'd be agglectin' moi dooty to ee. You'm moi friend!"

Mhera patted his velvety head, forestalling Egburt. "Don't tell me. You'd be neglecting your duty as Wallguard Commander if you didn't accompany me. So we'll all go together, my good friends. Thank you for your support."

By now more Redwallers were gathering in Great Hall, and Mhera and Cregga had to fend off their curious inquiries.

"Egburt said you're going out to talk with the vermin?"

The badger nodded. "Yes, Friar, though I wish he'd kept quiet about it."

"D'you need any help out there, Cregga marm?"

"None, thank you. We're going to parley, not to fight."

Broggle, Hoarg and Drogg were holding a whispered meeting.

"You tell her about our prisoner, Drogg, go on."

"Who, me? I'm not much good at explainin'. You tell 'er, Hoarg."

"Tell who, Mhera or Cregga?"

"Either one'll do. Tell Mhera, she ain't as fierce as Cregga, go on!"

"Er, I wouldn't know what t'say. I think young Broggle should do all the talkin'. 'Twas his idea in the first place."

Sister Alkanet was wearing Cregga's patience thin. "That Fwirl, already she wants to get up. Will you come and tell her she must remain in bed until I say!"

Cregga distractedly released a Dibbun who was clinging to her. "Sister, leave Fwirl alone if she feels well enough to get up!"

Friar Bobb sounded a touch officious as he cornered Mhera. "Will you be back for lunch, miz? Shall I serve it in Cregga's room for you both, or will you eat in the dining room?"

Mhera already had her paw on the latch of the Abbey door. She looked pleadingly at the Friar. "Yes. I mean no. We'll be back shortly, I hope. We'll take lunch in the dining room like everybeast; don't go to any trouble on our behalf, Friar. Now we really must go out there!"

Hoarg and Drogg pushed Broggle forward. In the stress of the moment, his old stammer returned. "Er, er, M-Miz M-Mhera..."

She whirled on him rather sharply. "Now what is it?"

Broggle stared guiltily at the floor.

"I... I w-wanted t-to ..."

Mhera's patience was close to the breaking point when she caught Filorn watching her. The ottermum smiled and shook her head. Mhera bit her lip, and patted Broggle's back gently.

"Forgive me, Broggle. I know you've got a lot on your mind too. Yes, you can go up and visit Fwirl whenever you like, tell Sister Alkanet I said so. You two have a nice time. G'bye now." She kissed Broggle's cheek and threw the door open. "Gundil, Egburt, help our Badgermum, come on. We'll go along the walltops; there's no stones falling there. Keep low, though!"

The door slammed and they were gone.

Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback were paw weary, but Eefera and Vallug would not allow them to stop slinging. Eefera flicked at them smartingly with a whippy twig. "Cummon, put yer backs into it! Sling those stones 'arder!"

Vallug cupped both paws around his mouth and bellowed, "Yer under siege! Give us the Taggerung!"

Nimbalo pulled a face of comic despair. "Under siege? Haha, that's a good 'un. They couldn't 'it a pond if they was standin' in it, the picklepawed oafs!"

Eefera slashed at him with the whippy twig. "Shut yer mouth, you, or I'll cut yer tongue out!"

Nimbalo grinned crookedly at Vallug, a long welt on his face causing him to squint. "Ain't yore pal the tough 'un? 'E's very good at beatin' bound up prisoners. Wonder if'n 'e'd like to try it with me paws free, eh?"

Vallug grabbed the harvest mouse and heaved him bodily out of the ditch onto the path in front of the Abbey's main wallgate. "Think yore safe in there, don't ye?" he shouted out to anybeast who was listening inside. "Well, lissen t'this. We've got one of yore mice 'ere, a prisoner. Name o' Nimbalo the Slayer. If'n ye don't give us the Taggerung then Nimbalo's goin' to die, nice an' slow. So make yore minds up!"

Sister Alkanet fixed Broggle with an icy stare. "Well, Broggle, I'm surprised at you. Oh, I heard it all. Sneaking and speaking to Mhera behind my back like that. If you wanted to visit Fwirl, you only had to ask me. I'm just trying to do my best by her so she'll get well soon. It wasn't very nice of you to go over my head like that!"

Broggle was amazed at the Sister's accusation. "I never went behind your back, Sister. I wasn't even talking about Fwirl, it was Mhera's idea for me to visit anytime. I wanted to tell her something entirely different. Honestly I did!"

Alkanet narrowed her eyes. "Are you telling me the truth?"

Drogg spoke up in his friend's defense. "Of course he is. Broggle was tryin' to tell Mhera about the prisoner we took, him'n'me an' ole Hoarg."

Alkanet folded her paws, turning the frozen stare on Drogg. "Prisoner, what prisoner? You'd better tell me everything!"

Tagg's paws were throbbing from banging on the door, and he had shouted himself hoarse. He leaned against the big barrel, contemplating turning it on its side and rolling it hard at the door, but he soon realized it was a foolish idea. The room area was too small for rolling a barrel of its size with sufficient speed to damage the stout wood. Then he heard pawsteps. A short silence, followed by voices.

"A big vermin, you say?"

"Aye, Sister, big strong-lookin' rascal with a faceful of tattoos that'd frighten the life out of ye!"

"Hmm. And you knocked him out with a mallet and axe handles, then locked him up down here. Why didn't you tell anybeast?"

"We were waiting for the right moment, Sister. I was trying to tell Mhera and Cregga about it when they dashed off."

"I see. What type of vermin is this creature? Is it armed?"

"Er, I dunno. I've never seen many vermin. 'Spect they all look the same, savage an' murderous. He wasn't carryin' any kind o' weapon, but he had a big heavy tail, like an otter's rudder. But I've heard o' weasels an' stoats that had hefty tails. Remember what we learned at Abbey School about that rat, Cluny the Scourge? Didn't he have a big heavy tail?"

Tagg listened intently to the speculation going back and forth. If he had been branded as a vermin, it might make matters worse if he began shouting. They could be frightened off. He decided to hold his silence until somebeast addressed him directly.

Nimbalo lay on his back, shutting his eyes against the sun. He felt furtively around the path until his tightly tied paws encountered what he had hoped to find. A sharp-edged piece of stone, not very big, but sufficient to his needs. Keeping his body as still as possible, he curled both paws inward. Then, gripping the stone securely, he began rubbing the broken edge against his bonds, hoping the vermin would not notice.

Eefera took Gruven's sword and leaned over the ditch's edge to lay it against Nimbalo's ear. "Wot's the matter with ye all in there?" he called out. "Don't ye care about yore liddle friend Nimbalo? Come an' see if yer don't believe us. Come on, ye lily-livered craven, we won't sling or fire arrows, ye've got my word on it!"

Cregga and Mhera lay flat beneath the threshold battlements, flanked by Gundil and Egburt. "What d'you think?" Mhera whispered to the Badgermum. "You know more about vermin than us."

Cregga placed a cautionary paw upon Mhera's shoulder. "Don't trust them, that's the first rule I learned about vermin. I don't know who this Nimbalo creature is, but it may be a trap, so here's what we'll do. Gundil and Egburt, you go back into the Abbey. Tell Drogg and any other able-bodied beasts to arm themselves and come up to the gate. They should be safe enough now the slinging has stopped. If the vermin have got a mouse prisoner, we might get the chance to open the doors quickly, dash out there and rescue him. But tell Drogg to stay by the gate, quietly, until I give the word. Go now."

Eefera's voice sang out from the ditch. "Pore liddle Nimbalo. I wouldn't like to be 'im, if'n one of youse in there doesn't make some kinda move soon. Hahahaha!"

Cregga gave her instructions to Mhera. "I'm going to stand up in plain view. I know how to parley with those scum. You stay low, just so you can see over the wall; that way you can let me know what's going on. Now don't argue, pretty one, do as I say."

Mhera pressed the badger's big paw to her cheek. "All right, but please be careful. You're our only Badgermum!"

Sister Alkanet tapped lightly upon the storeroom door and spoke in her no-nonsense voice.

"Listen to me, vermin, I want straight and truthful answers, or you can stay locked up in there until you perish. Understood?"

She was surprised that the answering voice was not a gruff snarl but a level and reasonable-sounding baritone. "I understand. What do you want to know?"

"What do you and your friends want at Redwall Abbey?"

"There are five vermin outside. They are not my friends, they are my enemies. I am not a vermin, I'm an otter."

Old Hoarg stamped his footpaw and chuckled. "Heehee, I knowed he was an otter, moment I set eyes on him!" He wilted into silence under Alkanet's skeptical stare. She continued.

"They say you have a tattooed face, like the two vermin one of our creatures saw in Mossflower Wood. Why is that?"

Tagg stood with his forehead against the door. He shrugged. "It's a very very long story, if you have the time to listen. Let me ask you a question, marm. Have you seen a harvest mouse lately? His name is Nimbalo the Slayer."

The Sister's severe voice left him in no doubt. "No, we have not! I'm asking the questions, otter, if that's what you are. Do you have a name? What is it?"

"You can call me Tagg. It's what I've been known as for as long as I can remember." The silence that followed was so long that Tagg asked, "What's the matter, marm? Don't you believe me? My name's Tagg!"

This time the Sister's voice sounded a little shrill. "Tagg? Is that short for something? What's your full name? The truth now, I want no lies!"

"Zann Juskarath Taggerung!"

Four voices echoed the last word. "Taggerung!"

Egburt came hurtling into the cellar at that precise moment. Forgetting all his hare impressions, he cried, "Brull said she saw you go down here. Quick, Drogg, an' you too, Broggle an' Hoarg! We're all needed up at the front gate. The vermin have captured a mouse an' they're goin' to kill him!"

Tagg banged upon the cellar door and shouted, "This mouse, d'you know his name?"

Egburt gaped at the door, wide-eyed. "Nimbalo the Slayer they said his name is. Why?"

Suddenly the door shook as the otter smashed his body against it. "Let me out of here, d'you hear me? I must get out! I won't harm anyone, I swear it! I've got to save my friend! It's me the vermin want, me, the Taggerung of the Juska!"

Sister Alkanet shook her head stubbornly. "We'll have to report this to the elders for a counselors' meeting. I'm afraid you'll have to stay locked up until they decide."

It was then that Broggle did something totally unexpected. He pushed the Sister to one side and heaved the bolts back. "Then go and save your friend. Hurry, Taggerung!"

Cregga stood up in full view of the vermin. "We have no mouse here named Nimbalo, but if you are holding him prisoner I beg you not to harm him!"

Vallug rose, an arrow notched full stretch on his bow. "Yore not in any position to make demands of us, stripedog. We'll chop this 'ere mouse inter fishbait if'n yer don't give up the Taggerung!"

Mhera peeped over the battlements and saw the five tattooed vermin and Nimbalo lying bound on the path. Cregga spread her paws. "I don't understand what you mean. There is no such thing as a Taggerung in our Abbey. How can we give what we don't have?"

Eefera whispered to Vallug as he watched the badger's face. "That ole stripedog's blind. See, she's lookin' right past us at the flatlands be'ind. I tell yer, she's blinder'n a stone!"

Vallug laughed scornfully at the old blind badger. "Hohoho, 'ow d'you know you ain't got a Taggerung in there? You couldn't see yer paw in front of ye, y'ole fool!"

Cregga could feel anger coursing through her veins. "Listen, you thickbrained scum, it's you who's the fool. You can stand out there shouting for a Taggerung until you're blue in the face. We haven't got a Taggerung and we don't even know what a Taggerung is. So use what little brain you have and tell us, what in the name of all seasons is a Taggerung, eh?"

Nimbalo sawed through the last of his bonds and burst loose. Bloodlust shone from his eyes as he leaped for the battle-axe sticking up over the ditch's edge. "Death t'the vermin!" he roared.

He grabbed the axehead. The shaft went sideways and struck Vallug on the elbow, and he released the arrow instinctively. Cregga stood stock still, the shaft buried in her chest. Mhera leapt up, screaming.

Tagg came up the stairs like a thunderbolt. Dashing through Cavern Hole, he collided with an ottermum. Stopping momentarily, he held her steady by the paw. "Sorry, marm!" Then he was off up the stairs into Great Hall, leaving Filorn looking as if she had seen a ghost. As he bounded through the Great Hall toward the Abbey door, the otter's eyes flicked left and right, looking for a weapon. He saw the warrior mouse on a huge wall tapestry. Perched above it on two silver spikes, Martin's sword shone like fire on ice. There was no time to stop. Bounding forward, Tagg gave a mighty leap. He snatched the sword and sped out of the door.

Brother Hoben was already at the gate. He saw the big painted otter charging toward him, shouldering Redwallers aside as he came. Broggle was dashing to keep up with Tagg, waving his paws at Hoben, yelling, "Open the gates, Brother! Let him through, open the gates!"

Hoben kicked the wooden bar up and threw open Redwall's gates. Like lightning the otter charged past him, whirling the sword, his voice roaring like thunder upon the wind.

"Vallug Bowbeast, 'tis death to you! I am Taggerung Juskaaaaaa!"

Vallug already had another arrow on his taut bowstring. He let fly at Tagg. The shaft buried itself in the otter's chest, but he kept coming, his mighty wrath unstoppable. Vallug was reaching for another arrow when the great sword flashed downward. Tagg's shout was the last thing the ferret heard in his life.

"For my father!"

Vallug's body remained standing; his head thudded into the ditch, alongside the severed bow. Eefera was up out of the ditch, running across the flatlands. Tagg spanned the ditch in a bound and went after him. Dagrab fled south along the ditchbed, with Nimbalo hard on her heels wielding the battle-axe. Gruven snatched up his fallen sword and ran, terror coursing through him. He ran as he had never run before, north up the ditchbed, away from the melee. Rawback paused, but only for an instant, before he chased after Gruven. As soon as the woodlands came into view on his right, Gruven left the ditch and scrambled into the tree cover, with Rawback in his wake. Together they hurried north, following the woodland fringe until more tree cover appeared on the west side. Recrossing the path hastily, the two stoats stumbled through the ditch and entered Mossflower's west thicknesses, Rawback some way behind as they struck inward. When he ran out of breath Gruven halted. The ground beneath his paws was soft, and immediately he began sinking. With his final effort he pulled himself clear and found dry ground. When Rawback came staggering and panting along, Gruven leaned against a tree, puffing, and waved him on.

"That way, mate. I'll catch me breath an' wait 'ere awhile to stop anybeast followin' us. You go on, I'll catch ye up."

Rawback plowed wearily on. Gruven waited until he heard the terror-stricken screams from the swampland, and then he sat down until he regained enough breath to carry on. When the screaming had stopped, Gruven felt quite recovered. He cut off around the swamp edges, chuckling to himself.

"Dead, all dead an' gone, only me left. Gruven Zann Juskazann!"

Chapter 30

Rose-blushed skies and scattered creamy cloudbanks softened the western horizon with early evening. Twoscore seasoned otters, armed with slings and light javelins, dogtrotted tirelessly on, their footpaws thrumming over the flatlands. Grim-faced and silent, Skipper and Boorab led the column. The otter Chieftain took a bearing from the low-slung sun.

"Chin up, bucko. We'll make it t'the Abbey by nightfall!"

The hare's breathing was ragged. He had not slept since he left Redwall, but stubbornly he fought the weariness that threatened to overwhelm him.

Skipper could not help but notice his plight. "You drop out an' take a blow, mate, carry on when yore rested."

Boorab picked up his pace, snorting defiantly, "Never, sah! Officer never lies down an' naps on a mission, wot. We'll enter the blinkin' Abbey together, side by jolly side!"

Skipper's eyes were never still when he and his crew were on the move. He was constantly reading the land ahead and to both sides. The otter's roving gaze fixed on a bright glinting object, ahead and slightly south. At first he took it for a flame, but as he drew closer he recognized it as a metal object reflecting the reddening sunrays. He veered a point, taking his contingent in its direction.

"Over there, mates. Keep yore javelins ready. At the double!"

Boorab dropped behind slightly, then found himself in the center of the crew, supported by two burly females who rushed him along.

"Let yore footpaws go loose, matey. We'll do the runnin'!"

Skipper was first at the scene, and his keen eyes took it all in at a glance. Death had visited the flatlands.

The weasel Eefera lay slain, mouth lolling open, sightless eyes staring at the sky. Tagg sat slumped nearby, a broken arrow protruding from his chest. His head was bowed, but he still held on to the sword of Martin the Warrior, the blade pointing over his shoulder, resting against his cheek.

Boorab joined Skipper, and surveyed the tableau gravely. "By thunder, sah, now that's what I call a Warrior, wot!"

Skipper reconstructed what had taken place from the tracks and bloodstains round about. "The weasel ain't carryin' bow'n'arrows. This big feller, the tattooed otter, that broken shaft's been in him awhile. See, the weasel's wounds are much fresher." He called to one of his crew who was tracking further forward. "Which way did they come?"

The otter jerked a paw over his shoulder. "Back thataway, Skip, prob'ly from the Redwall direction!"

Skipper picked up the broken halves of Eefera's spear. "Hmm. The way I sees it is that the otter chased this weasel clear from the Abbey. That's a big strong weasel, but he couldn't outrun the otter, even though our friend 'ere 'ad taken an arrow right in his chest. This otter chased the weasel almost a league, aye, an' caught the vermin too. I don't know 'ow he did it, but a terrible fight took place 'ere. That otter slew the weasel, then sat 'imself down an' held the sword up. 'Tis an ole trick: the sun shines off n the blade, like a signal to let yore mates know where y'are. But nobeast came, so the otter died there, sittin' up holdin' Martin's sword, alongside his dead enemy. But 'ow did he come to be carryin' the great sword o' Redwall?" Skipper knelt and tried to prize the weapon loose from Tagg's grasp. "Like y'say, Boorab, 'ere's wot y'call a Warrior. I can't budge the blade from his paws, an' I ain't no weaklin'... by the roarin' river, this bucko's still alive!"

Tagg lifted his head a fraction, one eye flickering half open. "Juska ... leave me Tone... now." Then he slumped over, still gripping the sword.

Boorab called out, "You chaps, take off y'belts. Use 'em with those javelins to make a stretcher. He's comin' back to the Abbey with us. Look sharp there, jump to it now, no time t'waste, wot!"

Skipper stroked his whiskers thoughtfully. "Juska, eh? I've seen Juskas afore. They go in clans, tattooed murderin' thieves. But Juskabeasts are all vermin: rats, stoats an' the like. 'Ow did an otter come t'be mixed up with 'em? See, 'is face is all tattooed up, even more'n an ordinary Juska."

The hare had got his second wind and was feeling impatient. "Won't matter if the chap's tattooed from rock to rudder, looks like he's goin' to peg out soon if we don't get him help. Besides, who knows what's goin' on back at the Abbey, wot? They could be besieged, battered an' waitin' on us to arrive!"

With a renewed sense of urgency they set off again. Borne between eight stout ottercrew, Tagg lay on the stretcher clasping the sword, mercifully unconscious as they traveled at the double.

Nimbalo made his way back along the ditchbed in the failing light, using his battle-axe as a walking staff. He went into a fighting crouch at the sound of a gruff voice.

"Halt, who goes there?"

Brandishing the axe, he answered in equally gruff tones, "Nimbalo the Slayer, so stan' aside, whoever ye be!"

Drogg Cellarhog held out a paw to help him from the ditch. "Yore the 'arvest mouse who went after that rat. C'mon up, friend. Did ye have any luck?"

Nimbalo scrambled up onto the flatlands, where a party of Redwallers were waiting. He winked knowingly at them. "Oh, I 'ad all the luck in the land, 'twas the rat who ran outta luck. She won't be slayin' anymore, y'can bet on that, mates!"

Egburt held up a lantern he had just lit. "Nimbalo, have you seen anything of your otter friend? He ran out here somewhere, chasing a weasel. We've got to find him because he took the sword of Martin the Warrior with him."

Nimbalo leaned nonchalantly on his battle-axe. "Don't worry, matey, if'n Tagg's out 'ere, then he'll find us."

A cry rang out of the darkness. "Ahoy the lantern there! Egburt, is that you, laddie buck?" Skipper and Boorab loomed up out of the darkness, with the otter crew at their back. The hare shook Drogg's paw.

"Well met, old chap, as y'can see I made it. What's the situation back at Redwall? Any problems back home, wot?"

The Cellarhog's spikes rattled as he shook his head, bright tears glistening in his eyes. "This mouse 'ere, Nimbalo, 'twas him an' the otter called Taggerung, they drove the vermin off, but not afore one o' the scum shot Cregga Badgermum with an arrow. She's hit real bad! I don't suppose ye came across the otter? He was carryin' the sword of Martin. We're out searchin' for him."

The ottercrew parted ranks, allowing the stretcher bearers to carry Tagg into the lantern light. Skipper patted his paw. "We found yore otter, lyin' by a slain weasel; there's an arrow in his chest too. But he's still breathin' an' the sword's safe. Though he's got some sort o' death grip on it."

Nimbalo ran to Tagg's side, suddenly feeling frightened and lonely. "Tagg, mate, it's me, Nimbalo. Say somethin', Tagg. 'Tis me, Nimbalo the Slayer, yore ole matey!"

Tagg did nothing. Nimbalo collapsed, grief-stricken, against him.

Boorab detailed two more otters. "Put your shoulders to that stretcher. We can't let this brave beast die. Get Nimbalo up there with him. He can keep his pal company on the way back to the Abbey."

Redwall's main gates were still open. Filorn stood out on the path with old Hoarg, holding a lantern each. Noting the ottermum's drawn, anxious face, Hoarg murmured, "Go an' sit in my gate'ouse, marm. Put your paws up an' have a nice 'ot beaker o' motherwort tea. You'll do no good standin' out 'ere. I'll give ye news, soon as I see them returnin'."

Filorn shook her head, smiling at the kindly dormouse. "No, I must wait here, but you go in, Hoarg. It's been a long weary day for you. Please, go in. I'll be fine right here."

Hoarg tugged his grizzled whiskers courteously. "If yore sure, marm. I ain't as young as I used t'be."

He shuffled slowly inside to the gatehouse, where his supper was awaiting him. Filorn drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders. It was the otter. Something about his tattoo-covered face, the deep sound of his voice, the way he moved. She had to wait and see if the search party had found him. Worry piled upon worry in her mind. Brother Hoben had said he saw the otter hit by an arrow. Was he badly hurt?

"Ho the gate! Is that the pretty young Filorn waitin' to greet me?"

Filorn knew Skipper's gruff voice. She ran south down the path toward a small lantern gleaming over the ottercrew and the Redwallers who had gone searching.

They entered the Abbey, with Filorn holding Tagg's paws, still clasped upon the sword. Nimbalo was aching from supporting his friend's head against the bumping and jogging of the journey. He looked up into Filorn's face. "Don't fret, marm. Tagg's my matey, I won't let 'im die."

Foremole Brail's moles were laying mattresses and cushions upon the floor of Great Hall. Filorn fussed about the ottercrew as they lifted Tagg from the stretcher. "Easy now, lower him gently, try not to bump him, please."

Mhera appeared at her mother's side. "Mama, what is it? Who is that creature with his face all tattooed like a vermin?"

Filorn drew her daughter close, leaning forward with her until Mhera could feel the unconscious otter's shallow breath on her brow. "Look, my child, look. Does his face mean nothing to you?"

Even in repose, Tagg's features looked barbaric because of the red, black and blue markings ingrained into them. The dream came back to Mhera as she stared harder and harder.

"Father ... is it Papa? He looks something like him."

Filorn did not reply, but much to Mhera's astonishment began singing and caressing Tagg's paws, which were still locked onto the sword hilt.

"Mountains rivers valleys seas,

Whose little paws are these, are these?

Meadows, woodlands fields and shores,

These little paws are yours, are yours!

If you don't give me a kiss,

I will tickle paws like this!"

It was many a long season since Mhera had heard her mother sing a baby song. Now Filorn was tickling the big rough paws. Mhera was totally startled by what happened next.

Tagg was still senseless, but he smiled and opened his paws, pads upward. Just like any babe who wanted its mother to do it again. Nimbalo quickly removed the sword. There on Tagg's open right paw was the four-petal mark, pink and distinctive as the day he was born with it.

Filorn hugged Mhera. "I knew it deep inside me, ever since I saw him yesterday. This is my son! He's returned home. He's your brother, Mhera!"

The ottermaid clasped the flower-marked paw between her own, and spoke his name loud and clear. "Deyna!"

Nimbalo scratched the end of his nose. "Deyna! Y'mean Tagg's name ain't Taggerung no more?"

Filorn shook her head, smiling at the harvest mouse. "His real name is Deyna; he has no other."

Nimbalo mused over the new name. "Hmm. Deyna. I don't know whether I like that or not, it ain't like Nimbalo the Slayer. Huh, just Deyna? Couldn't we call 'im Deyna the Deadly or Deyna the Dagger or Deyna the Dangerous? Hoho, I likes that 'un. Deyna the Dangerous, great name!"

Filorn tweaked the little fellow's ear. "If I hear you calling him Deyna the Dangerous I'll tell everybeast that your name is Nimbalo the Nuisance. Understood?"

The harvest mouse shrugged unhappily. "Jus' Deyna it is, then, marm."

Sister Alkanet arrived with Broggle and Friar Bobb, who were carrying bowls of warm water, dressing cloths, ointments and herbal remedies. They waited to one side as she cleaned and inspected the wound. Her pronouncement was not a happy one, though she tried to sound optimistic.

"The arrow has gone too deep, I haven't the skill or experience to remove it. Though I must say, Deyna is the strongest and fittest beast I've ever seen. I've heard in the past of creatures living quite a normal life with arrowheads or spearpoints still in them. Deyna will live, but he'll have to take things easy. I can cut away the arrow shaft, but the point will have to stay in him."

Skipper had been listening, and voiced his opinion. "Beggin' yore pardon, marm, but Rukky Garge could fix Deyna up. Ole Rukky is the best otter fixer on earth."

Sister Alkanet waved her paws dismissively. "Rukky Garge is just some legend. There's no such otter!"

Filorn was inclined to agree. "I believe there was such an otter, but I heard she passed on many long seasons ago."

Skipper merely smiled and pointed to his rudder. "I was scarred deep there when I was a liddlebeast, but Rukky made the scar go away. I still goes to see ole Rukky, takes 'er freshwater shrimp an' 'otroot soup now an' agin. She's like a gran'ma to me, marm. Hoho, she's still kickin' right enough."

Filorn clasped Skipper's paw anxiously. "If she could heal my son I'd take her a hundred pans of shrimp and hotroot soup! I'd give her anything!"

The otter Chieftain understood Filorn's anxiety. "No need t'do that, but I know Rukky likes bright trinkets. She's like a magpie, loves anythin' bright'n'shiny, Rukky does."

Filorn opened her broad apron pocket. "I found this lying in the ditch this afternoon. Perhaps she'd like it, what do you think?"

Skipper inspected the knife of Sawney Rath, with its brilliant sapphire, amber handle and bright silver blade. "I think she'd make a skeleton dance fer this beauty, marm!"

Mhera shifted anxiously from paw to paw. "Let's take him to her straightaway!"

Skipper appeared rather uncomfortable with this suggestion. "Be more'n my life's worth, miz. Rukky's a loner, very awkward pernickety ole body she is, won't 'ave anybeast within a league of 'er. She don't treat nobeast save otters these days, an' then only as a favor to me'n'a few other otters. Look, you leave this to me. I'll take Deyna an' persuade Rukky to cure him. My crew can carry him most o' the way, an' we'll drop in from time to time t'let you know 'ow he's doin'. Mhera, you an' yore mama trust me, I'll take care o' Deyna. I think you'll be needed 'ere, ain't that right, Sister?"

Alkanet pursed her lips, bound, as usual, to have her say. "Correct, Skipper. Cregga is not young and full of energy. I took the arrowhead from her, but she's slowly fading. She needs you by her side, Mhera. Filorn, you know how much Friar Bobb relies on your help, and the others too. I beg you to stay at the Abbey."

Filorn was impressed. She had never heard Alkanet beg anything from a living creature, so she gave in to her request.

"Well, we've come through all these seasons not knowing whether Deyna lived. Now we do know, I suppose we'll have to be patient a little longer, Mhera."

The ottermaid bowed obediently. "We'll be patient, Mama, but it won't be for long, I hope."

This time a bigger, more comfortable litter was made to transport Tagg. Sister Alkanet waited until they were ready to set off and then pulled Skipper to one side.

"I'm surprised that a creature like you still believes in that old relic and her mumbo jumbo of spells and charms. Shame on you! Though I'll be even more surprised if Deyna returns alive. How could you raise the hopes of Filorn and Mhera on stories and tales like that?"

Skipper winked at the Sister. "Maybe I'll surprise you again before too long, marm. Take care!"

Nimbalo joined the otter crew. Skipper looked inquiringly at the battle-axe-wielding harvest mouse. "Belay, mate, where d'you think yore off to?"

The little fellow nodded at the litter. "Wherever me matey goes, that's where I'm off to. Any objections?"

Skipper was very tactful in dealing with the truculent mouse. "I can't stop ye, 'specially since yore the one they calls the Slayer. But this ole otterfixer, Rukky Garge, if she sees anybeast that ain't an otter hangin' about her den, she'll turn us away. No matter wot condition yore matey's in."

Nimbalo's face was the picture of dejection. His lip quivered. "But me'n'Tagg's always been together. Wot'll I do without 'im? We stuck by each other through thick'n'thin, an' now yore goin' to take me matey away. Wot'll I do 'ere, all on me own?"

Mhera's heart went out to Nimbalo. She took his paw. "Wait here at the Abbey with us. You'll like it, I'm sure. It's like being part of a big happy family."

Unknowingly, Mhera had mentioned the wrong word. Nimbalo growled. "Don't talk t'me about families. I ain't part of no family!"

Skipper and his crew slipped quietly off with Tagg, leaving Mhera to practice her diplomacy on the irate harvest mouse. Tactfully, Filorn stepped into the breach.

"I never met a warrior yet who wasn't hungry. Come to the kitchens with me, Nimbalo the Slayer. Let's see what I can find for you. Redwall food is the best anywhere, come on."

Boorab, who had been gently nodding off, came awake at the mention of food. "Ahem, charmin' an' kindly marm, permission to accompany you, wot."

Filorn was never less than gracious to her friend the hare. "Why, of course, sir, you are cordially invited."

Mhera went to sit on Cregga's bed. It had been impossible to carry the wounded badger upstairs, so mattresses had been laid for her beneath the tapestry of Martin, and she lay propped up on them. Sensing Mhera's approach, the Badgermum smiled weakly. "Your mama could charm the birds from the trees. That little harvest mouse doesn't know it, but he's got all the qualities of a Redwaller. You must help to make him happy here, Mhera."

The ottermaid plumped up her friend's pillows. "You mean we must help to make him happy here, Cregga."

The badger stroked Mhera's cheek. "Maybe, if I'm still around, but nobeast lives forever."

Mhera sniffed and straightened the coverlet busily. "Now you can just stop that sort of talk, silly old badger. Deyna's going to get well and so are you. I won't listen to any morbid rambling ab"

Cregga put out a searching paw. "Mhera, what is it? What's the matter?"

The ottermaid held a green strip of cloth close to Cregga's muzzle. "It's one of those pieces of material. Faded green, homespun and scented with lilac. I found it just now, in the folds of your bedspread. I wonder who put it there. Do you know?"

Cregga shook her great striped head slowly. "A blind creature who can hardly move, with a deep painful wound. How am I supposed to know anything? What does it say?"

Mhera read the crude vertical capitals written on the fabric. "FITTAGALL. Oh, dear. What's it all supposed to mean, Cregga?"

A lot of Redwallers joined Nimbalo and Boorab in the kitchens, as there had been no proper meals served, owing to the day's unusual events. Friar Bobb and Filorn aided by Broggle and Fwirl (now much recovered) managed a good makeshift buffet. Nimbalo sampled everything, from soup to desserts. Filorn sat down with him, encouraging the harvest mouse as he ate.

"I'm sure you've got lots of wonderful tales of the adventures you and Deyna had together. Perhaps you could tell us some? Here, let me fill your tankard with October Ale."

Nimbalo was suddenly in his element: lots of good food and drink, and an attentive audience. He shovelled turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie into his mouth and washed it down with a huge draft of the best October Ale.

"Aaaahhhh! That's the stuff t'give yer muscles like boulders, marm. Thankee. Now, where was I? Oh aye. Tagg, that's Deyna, an' me was surrounded by snakes one time."

Foremole Brull shuddered. "Burr, surrpints. Oi carn't aboide ee gurt snakey beasters!"

The harvest mouse gave her his reckless nonchalant grin. "Snakes, marm? Me'n'Deyna was never afeared of 'em!" He rose and swaggered about outrageously.

"There was one time me'n'my mate,

We nearly met our fate,

One dark night, midst a storm,

Just to keep us dry an' warm,

We found a cave an' a cheer we gave,

We rushed in straightaway,

'Twas full of snakes, for goodness' sakes,

All silvery black an' grey.

There was big snakes, small snakes,

Every one was wide awake,

Wrigglin' an' a-hissin' there,

Tongues a-flickerin', tails a-snickerin',

Enough t'curl yore blinkin' hair.

One bit me so I bit it back,

An' my mate gave one such a whack!

We fought the serpents tooth'n'claw,

For every one we slayed there was a dozen more.

Then my ole mate, he took two sticks,

An' in the space of two short ticks,

We grabbed those snakes, me'n'my chum,

An' knitted them up into an apron for his mum,

Chuck one, hurl one, knit one, purl one,

We never went there again,

Don't try to sleep, where the snakes are tummy deep,

Take a snooze out in the rain!"

Nimbalo took a bow amidst the applause and roars of laughter. Boorab presented him with a damson cream pie.

"Top hole, sah. You're a born weaver of yarns, wot. Try some of Friar Bobb's damson cream pie. Bet y've never tasted anythin' as scrumptious as that, wot. Wot wot, hawhawhaw!"

Nimbalo bit into it and smacked his lips. "Thankee. It's good, very nice, but tell me, did ye ever taste a snakeyfish pie?"

The hare looked at him aghast. "Snakeyfish pie, sir? What in the name o' puddens is that? You haven't eaten one yourself, have you, old chap?"

Nimbalo winked at the horrified listeners. "Ye wouldn't believe me if'n I told yer!"

Chapter 31

Tendrils of blue smoke curled through the trees of south Mossflower Wood, wreathing upward from a fire of dead pinecones and fir branches on the rocky ledge of a riverbank. Skipper stirred the contents of a big pot, set on a tripod over the flames. He tasted it and waved his rudder.

"Swash, bring more watershrimp. Blekker, chop more 'otroot an' peppers, an' sliver some o' them scallions in with it!"

The two sturdy otter sisters, Swash and Blekker, brought the ingredients to him and watched as he stirred them into the pot of freshwater shrimp and hotroot soup. Skipper held out the ladle to the pair, proud of his cooking prowess.

"Sup that an' tell me wot ye think?"

They took turns, blowing on the ladle's contents and sipping.

"That's the stuff, Skip. It'd melt moss off'n a boulder!"

"Aye, only you can make shrimp'n'otroot soup like that, Skip!"

Skipper chuckled. "Don't tell yore ma that!"

Deyna was still unconscious. He lay strapped to the litter, scarcely breathing and woefully thin and pale looking. Swash mopped his fevered forehead with some moss she had dipped in the river. His muzzle was hot and dry to the touch.

"Skip, this pore feller ain't eaten in three days now. D'you think we should try an' feed him somethin'?"

But Skipper remained adamant, as he had since they left Redwall. "No vittles for Deyna, just a drop o' clear water now an' agin. We got to leave him like that until Rukky sees wot's best. I don't want to do the wrong thing by feedin' a bad-wounded otter. Right then, clear the decks, me buckos, fill yore bowls an' wait back by the bend for me. Mind an' leave plenty o' the soup for the otterfixer. Don't want 'er in a bad mood."

The crew filled their bowls and took off to await Skipper's return by the riverbend. When they had gone the otter Chieftain went to a massive old larch tree. It was long dead but still standing, its core rotted and eaten away by insects. Standing half a pace off, Skipper swung his rudder and whacked it against the hollow trunk.

"Whock! Whock!"

Behind him on the riverbank an incredibly ancient otter materialized from amid the rock ledges. Her fur was totally silver white, mostly hidden by a heavily ornamented black cloak and hood sewn with crystal shards, seashells, globules of amber and small bright polished stones. Her body was bent with age, and she leaned upon a knobbly stick. From beneath the hood of her cloak she peered out at Skipper. There was not a single tooth in her mouth, but the two eyes that watched him were brighter than her hooped gold earrings.

Skipper bowed. "Rukky Garge, me ole friend, 'tis a pleasure to see ye."

She sucked hard on her gums before replying. "Ahhr weel, 'tis der young riverpup. Did yeer famine-gobbed crew ayt up all Rukky's soup?"

The otter Chieftain helped her courteously up the bank to the pot. "Only the hard tasteless bits, me ole queen. I saved the best for you. Try a taste."

Rukky Garge spooned a ladleful, boiling, straight into her mouth and gulped it down. She licked her lips. " 'Tis a fact, ye kin make d'soup better'n myself can. So, well, ye never came to see Rukky fer nought. What izzit dat ails ye?"

Skipper pointed to the still form of Deyna. "I fetched this pore beast from the Abbey. He took an arrow; see the broken shaft still stuck in his chest? Yore the best otterfixer, my ole charmer. Can you make Deyna better agin?"

Rukky Garge sniffed the wound in Deyna's chest, pushed one of his eyelids up and looked at the upturned eye, rubbed his muzzle, felt all four paws, picked up his rudder, weighed it in her paw and let it drop, all the time muttering away. "Ahhr weel now, Redwall Abbey an' all de clever cratures. Couldn't be curin' a waspy sting atween dem, ahhhr no!"

Skipper broke his respectful silence. "So ye say, me ole darlin', but could you?"

Rukky went back to the pot and supped two more ladles of hot soup. "Dis a Juskabeast. Pictures'n'patterns on de face. Baaaad! Why you ask Rukky to do de otterfixin' for dis varmint, eh?"

Skipper gave his explanation as she made inroads on the soup. "Deyna's the son of an ole mate o' mine. He was taken by Juska when he was a cub. Rillflag was his father an' Filorn's his mother; she still lives at the Abbey, with his older sister Mhera."

The ancient otter repeated Mhera's name, drawing it out. "Meera, Meeeerraaaa! I like well dat name. I fix him!"

Skipper stood where he was, knowing that Rukky did not like shaking paws, or being touched in any way. "My thanks to ye, Rukky Garge. I'll keep the soup goin', good an' hot, night'n'day, whenever ye needs it."

She leaned forward on the knobbly stick. "Ahhr weel now, ye'll need lots o' d'soup. Dis Deyna won't be fixed in wan day. 'Twill be when de russet h'apples fall."

Skipper tried not to look surprised. "That's a long time, marm?"

She attempted to chew on a watershrimp. "So y'say, so y'say. Need longen time to be fixin' arrowhole. Gotta take varmint pictures off da face too, ho yerssss!"

Skipper raised his eyebrows. "You can do that, take off the tattoos?"

She gave up chewing and swallowed the watershrimp. "So I can, so I can. I make dat picture on yore paw, 'member!"

Skipper looked at the pike tattooed on the back of his paw. "Aye, you did, a long time ago I recall."

Rukky shrugged. "So, I put pictures on wid dye an' needle. I take dem off too. An' dat flower on Deyna's paw, I fix it up good, you see. Den he looken like yew, proper riverdog again, not varmint!"

Skipper had to carry Deyna into Rukky's cave and lay him on a long moss-covered shelf. The otterfixer's cave was like her cloak, studded from floor to ceiling with crystal, metal and semiprecious stones, amber, carnelian, peridot and black jet. Two firefly lanterns reflected off the decorations, making the interior dazzle and shine.

Skipper took out the blade of Sawney Rath. "This is for you, Rukky my ole sweet. A liddle gift."

She recoiled, drawing her paws into the voluminous cloak. "Pretty an' bad, baaaaad! I'll not touch d'thing. Stick in inna wall. Dat blade's shedded blood. Baaaaaad!"

Skipper buried the knifepoint in the cave wall. "Fair enough. Now wot d'ye want me to do?"

The ancient one made a dismissive gesture. "Geddout, go you! Make d'soup for Rukky, an' tell yore crew keep 'way, far 'way. Mebbe call if'n I need ye, young pup."

Skipper left the cave as Rukky began building a fire of special herbs and dried roots. Deyna lay motionless on the ledge, oblivious of all around him. Pale whitish smoke wafted around the cave, fragrant and exotic. The otterfixer opened a dark lacquered box and began choosing her instruments.

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

Blekker and Swash were making a rush net to catch freshwater shrimps at the riverbend when Skipper loped up. The others of the ottercrew gathered around to hear his report.

"Rukky sez she can fix Deyna up, but he won't be fit to travel until early autumn, when the russet apples start t'fall. I'm goin' to stay an' keep the soup pot goin' for 'er. Blekker an' Swash, you carry the news back to Redwall. Deyna's mama an' sister'll want to know he's goin' to live. Oh, an' take a score o' the crew with ye. They can stop at the Abbey just in case any more vermin turn up at the gates!"

There was fierce competition among the ottercrew. A stay at Redwall with the best of food and comfort was preferable to several weeks' wait at the riverbend. Skipper got things finally organized, sending Blekker and Swash off with twenty that he had picked himself. The otter Chieftain ordered the rest to keep the soup ingredients coming daily, then he went back upriver to his lonely vigil outside Rukky Garge's den.

Six days had passed since Cregga took Vallug's arrow. She still lay on her large pad of mattresses beneath Martin the Warrior's tapestry in Great Hall. Brother Hoben and Sister Alkanet stepped outside for a breath of the late summer air. Alkanet tucked both paws into her wide habit sleeves.

"Six full days and she's still alive. Can you believe it, Brother?"

Hoben smiled and nodded his head in admiration. "Good old Cregga Badgermum. She's indestructible!" He knew he had said the wrong thing by the look on Alkanet's face.

"Hmph. Typical Redwaller, just like the rest of them, all winks and nods and smiles, telling themselves that Cregga will live forever. Now listen to me. Nobeast knows how old she really is, but that badger has lived more seasons than any four of us put together. 'Tis about time you all realized that. She took the full force of a vermin arrow close to her heart. I removed the shaft and dressed it, so only I have seen how deep and serious the wound is. Cregga hasn't long to live; her seasons have finally run out. You must realize this!"

Hoben kept his voice calm, staring levelly at the Sister. "I assure you, most of us do realize all of what you've said. But hope springs eternal, and where there's life there's hope. So we don't go about telling each other that our Badgermum is about to die. It's very hard for the Dibbuns, and those close to her, like Mhera, Broggle and Fwirl, to accept that soon they'll lose a beloved friend. So I beg you, Sister, please don't start preaching the fatal message to them."

The severe mouse fixed him with her frozen stare. "As you wish, Brother, as you wish!" She stalked off with her head erect.

Mhera and Fwirl were sitting on the mattresses with Cregga. The badger only spoke when it was necessary, and she slept a lot. But Mhera had stayed by her side the whole six days, constantly looking after her friend and chatting to her of what was going on in the Abbey.

"Guess what, Cregga? I hear that there's going to be a little celebration in your honor this evening, isn't that right, Fwirl?"

The pretty squirrelmaid looped her tail over her eyes. "Oh, Mhera, it was going to be a surprise, and now you've gone and given the secret away. What will Friar Bobb and Broggle say?"

Cregga chuckled hoarsely. "I already knew. My hearing is still good as ever. I heard them discussing the menu this morning. I hear quite a lot lying herelike now, for instance. Trouble's headed our way, the rascals." The old badger smiled as Boorab and Nimbalo marched up and seated themselves beside Mhera and Fwirl.

Despite his initial reluctance, the harvest mouse had taken to Abbey life like a duck to water. He was everywhere at once, down in the cellars picking up hints from Drogg, working in the kitchen, learning from the cooks, or out in the orchard, helping with the growing of berries, nuts and fruit. He spent quite a bit of time with Boorab. They got along famously together, usually trying to outfib one another. Today they were both in garrulous form.

"What ho, ladies. Couldn't resist the chance of a visit to three jolly pretty charmers, eh, wot wot!"

"If that oaf thinks I'm a pretty charmer he's blinder than me!" Cregga whispered to Fwirl and Mhera. She turned her attention to the new visitors. "So then, what's your real reason for bothering us? You tell me, Nimbalo. I can't believe a word that hare says."

The harvest mouse stuck his chest out proudly. "Ho, I'm an even better fibber than Boorab, marm, but I'll tell the truth this time. It's that pair in the kitchen, ole Friar Bobb an' Broggle. They won't let us 'elp with the vittles. Run the pair of us off, didn't they, mate?"

Boorab's earbells jingled as he nodded agreement. "Rather. Sent us packin' on our way, an' what for, may I ask? Huh, a couple o' pawfuls of candied chestnuts, a measly taste of summer trifle, a few sips of elderberry wine, an'.. . an'.. . what else was it, Nimbalo old scout?"

"Er, a mushroom'n'gravy flan, bowl o' salad an' some o' that soft white cheese with celery an' hazelnuts in it. An' a"

Mhera interrupted the harvest mouse. "Stop! That's quite enough. It sounds as if you tried to clean the pantries out between you. No wonder you were chased out. If I'd been there I would have showed you the way out with a broom, and you'd still be smarting from it, you pair of gluttons!"

Nimbalo wiped crumbs from his whiskers, saying sorrowfully, "Ah, 'tis an 'ard cruel life, matey, to 'ear those words from the luvly lips of my mate Deyna's own pretty sister. Well, that's wot we get for tryin' to 'elp out a little with the chores!"

Boorab's ears drooped pathetically. "Harsh words an' harsher treatment, laddie buck, that's all you can expect in this bloomin' Abbey. An' I speak as one who's a fifteen-season probationer, always the caterpillar an' never the frog. Or is it always the tadpole an' never the butterfly? I can never jolly well remember. I don't think miz Mhera deserves to see what we found, after that harsh outburst, d'you?"

Fwirl darted forward and tweaked the hare's ear. "Give it to her this instant. Come on, out with it!"

"Owowow! Me flippin' delicate shell-like lug! Give it to her, Nimbalo, quick, before I'm a one-eared relic! Owowow!"

The harvest mouse passed a strip of green fabric to Mhera. "We found it stuck t'the bottom of Friar Bobb's sandal. When he kicked us out of the kitchens it stuck to me tail."

The ottermaid felt the green homespun material. "Hmm, some honey got smeared on it. Apart from that 'tis like the others, green homespun and a scent of lilacs. Let's see what this one has scrawled on it. SITTAGALL! All in capitals."

Fwirl released the hare's ear. "SITTAGALL? That's a strange word. Sounds like the name of some odd creature. SITTAGALL. Are you sure that's not one of the long list of funny names you have, Mr. Boorab?"

The hare massaged his ear ruefully.

"It certainly is not, miz. Jolly strange, though, isn't it? You've collected quite a few others like that, Miz Mhera. HITTAGALLs, PITTAGALLs, SITTAG ALLs an' whatnot. I wonder what it's all supposed to mean? A real puzzler, wot?"

Mhera folded the fabric and put it in her beltpouch, with the others that had been found over that summer. "Indeed it is. I've tried to solve it, but I can't. I've dreamed and thought of it until I'm weary."

Cregga's heavy paw reached out and covered the ottermaid's smaller one, dwarfing it completely. "I've a feeling you'll find out very soon, my friend. Go away now, all of you, out and enjoy the sunshine while it lasts. I'm tired. I need to take a nap."

Mhera stopped in the open doorway and looked back at the Badgermum, lying propped up on pillows beneath the Abbey tapestry. Cregga's observations always turned out to be true. But how soon would it be before she found out the solution to everything?

Chapter 32

They placed the long banqueting tables, one at the bottom of Cregga's bed and one on either side, leaving a space between the latter two and the tapestried wall. It was to be a memorable feast in honor of Cregga. Every little thing Friar Bobb and Filorn knew the Badgermum liked to eat was placed by her, close to paw. Hot scones, soft cheeses, candied fruits and summer salad. Drogg Cellarhog commandeered the willing paws of Boorab, Nimbalo and Foremole Brull. Between them they brought all Cregga's (and quite a few of their own) favorite drinks to the tables. This involved a good amount of choosing and tasting, in which they all took part cheerfully.

"Yurr, this'n strawbee fizzer be's a good 'un!"

"Hmm, y'don't say, marm? Let me taste a smidgen. Nimbalo, old scout, tell me what y'think of this October Ale, wot?"

"Prime stuff, matey. 'Ow d'ye brew this stuff, Mister Drogg?"

"With tender lovin' care, friend. 'Tis a secret known only to Redwall Cellarkeepers, passed down over countless seasons. Now, take a drop o' this pale cider, sweetened with heather'n'clover honey. Ole Cregga Badgermum's very partial to it."

Sister Alkanet appeared in their midst, paws akimbo "Then perhaps you'd better leave a drop in case she thirsty!"

The tasters shuffled about like naughty Dibbuns caught in the act.

"We were just doin' a spot of checkin', marm, wot Right, chaps, let's get this lot up to Great Hall. 'Scuse us. Sister, wot wot!"

Mhera and Fwirl were getting the Dibbuns ready, helped by Egburt and Floburt. Soap wort, blended with rose petals and almond oil, created a sweet aroma around the dormitory. Fwirl and Mhera washed and dried the little ones, passing them on to Floburt and Egburt, who dressed them in spotlessly clean smocks, amid loud protests.

Brother Hoben popped his head around the doorway. "Great seasons, who are all these nice shining creatures? Surely not the mucky little Dibbuns who were playing in the orchard this afternoon!"

Trey the mousebabe waved a tiny paw at Hoben. "You nex' t'get washed, Bruvver. Looka you, ole muckybeast!"

Hoben allowed the Abbeybabes to drag him in, and good-naturedly pretended to protest as Fwirl readied a soapy flannel. "No, please, I haven't got time. I'm very busy. What'll I do if soap gets in my eyes?"

The little mousemaid Feegle scoffed at him scornfully. "Keep you eyes closed then, an' don't cry."

Hoben allowed Fwirl to wash his paws and face, wincing as she dried him roughly and combed the tats out of his whiskers. The Dibbuns roared with laughter at his mock sulks. "Ouch, ow! There's soap in my eye an' you're hurting me!"

Mhera and Fwirl played along with the Brother.

"Be still, you silly great mouse, let me dry down those ears!"

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Brother. Look at these Dibbuns, they never made half the fuss you're making!"

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

Early evening bells tolled out over Redwall Abbey, calling all its inhabitants to the feast. Filorn took her daughter's paw as they crossed Great Hall together. There was a tinge of regret in Mhera's voice.

"I wish Deyna was here tonight. I've never really met him and I only saw him for a short time."

The ottermum patted her paw gently. "Don't fret, Mhera, there are many seasons ahead for you both to get to know one another. Skipper is a good beast. I trust him. He'll bring Deyna back to us safe and sound, you'll see. Now smile, my pretty one. Don't let our Badgermum feel that you're unhappy in any way."

Sister Alkanet shuddered visibly as a discordant jangle grated on her nerves. Boorab and a half-dozen otters lugged the haredee gurdee across the stone floor toward the tables. She sniffed. "I hope you don't intend making a din with that infernal contraption and ruining the evening?"

The irrepressible hare saluted and jingled his earbells. "Din, marm? Beggin' y'pardon, I'm an expert musician, I don't make dins. Never know when one needs a trusty old haredee gurdee at a party, wot. Gangway, you chaps, make way for a priceless instrument an' a valued an' talented creature. Master of Ceremonies, y'know. Miss Mhera said I could perform the honors. Charmin' young gel, that 'un, bit like her dear mama, wot!"

When everybeast was seated and the bells had ceased tolling, Boorab arose and pounded the tabletop with a ladle. "Good evenin', chaps, chapesses an' goodbeasts all. Ahem! Pray silence whilst Brother Hoben says the grace!"

Hoben nodded to the hare and proceeded.

"Seasons of plenty at Redwall,

Yield their bounty to us all,

From the good earth's fertile soil,

We who bent our backs in toil,

Reaped Mother Nature's rich reward,

To bring unto this festive board,

This food which we have labored for,

What honest beast could ask for more,

Save that kind seasons never cease,

And hope to live long lives in peace!"

Midst a loud and fervent amen, Boorab's ladle hit the table again. "Well done, sah! Redwallers, kindly be upstandin'. I propose a toast, to the creature we are here to jolly well honor. Cregga, Badgermum of this Abbey!"

Everybeast, even the smallest Dibbuns, arose and raised a profusion of beakers, cups, goblets and tankards. The roar almost shook the rafters as they took up the toast.

"To Cregga, Badgermum of this Abbey!"

Gundil, quite overcome by the moment, scrambled beneath the table, hurried across to Cregga and shook her paw heartily. "Hurr, mum, ee be's gurtly luvved yurr. Doo ee say a speech!"

Several more came forward to prop the badger up on her pillows. Cregga's sightless eyes turned this way and that, as if she could see every creature sitting around her.

"Thank you, Gundil. I hope you'll bear with me, friends. I have quite a few words to say, some of great importance."

Boorab quaffed off a beaker of redcurrant cordial. "Then say on, old gel. We're all ears, wot!"

"Yore the only one 'ere who's all ears, mate!"

Cregga waved a paw, silencing the laughter Nimbalo's remark had caused. "Thank you. Please, sit down and eat. You must all be hungry, and I know a lot of hard work went into the making of my feast. Eat and listen, for I have a lot to say."

The food was served and the feasting began as Cregga continued, "The seasons of Abbess Song were finished before any of you were born, I think. I was her greatest friend and she left me in charge of our Abbey. I didn't take the position she offered me as Abbess, but chose instead to be a caretaker, until a likely candidate appeared as Abbot or Abbess. I was guided by the teachings and wisdom of my friend Song in my search. Though you did not know it, I waited many many seasons, always listening and paying attention to all about me. One day I discovered a likely prospect. At first I was not sure, so I had to wait longer, observing the young Redwaller who attracted my interest. Then I set about educating my candidate, leaving clues, giving hints and always paying attention to the creature of my choice. Nobeast, not even I, can live forever; since I took that vermin arrow this fact has become quite plain to me. So tonight I propose to elect, with your approval, a new Abbey leader."

Immediately, all Redwallers, including Boorab and Nimbalo, ceased eating to hear Cregga's announcement.

"Mhera, daughter of Filorn, would you come over here to me, please."

The ottermaid stood up amid wild applause, cheers, whistles and ladles pounding upon tables. Willing paws pushed her forward.

"Congratulations, my dear! Oh goodness, to think a daughter of mine is going to rule Redwall!"

"Hurr, miz, ee Badgermum knowed whut she wurr a doin' when she'm chosen ee, ho aye, boi okey she'm did, hurr hurr hurr!"

"Jus' like yore brother, missy, yore a nat'ral leader, but far prettier than 'im, even though 'e is me matey!"

"Oh I say, top hole, m'gel, spiffin', wot! Does this mean I'm not on probation any longer? Well played, you young . . . er, I mean O respected leader an' all that, eh wot!"

"Mhera, best wishes from Fwirl and me, and Friar Bobb!"

Sister Alkanet thrust a clean kerchief into Mhera's paw. "Stand up straight now, miss, and no tears. I'd have chosen you too if I was Cregga. Go to her now."

Mhera made it as far as Cregga's bed, then sat beside the Badgermum and broke down sobbing. "Oh, Cregga, you're not dying, are you?"

The great badger chuckled. "Dry your eyes, pretty one I'm not going to pass on in the midst of my own feast and leave that hare with all the food. Look here." She brought from beneath her robe an object bound with strips of green cloth. She unwrapped the scraps of fabric and gave them to Mhera, together with the small bark-bound volume that had been hidden inside them.

"There's the rest of your mysteries. All the ITTAGALLs old Hoarg and I didn't have time to hide around the Abbey. You can read all about them in the book, but leave that until the morrow. We're right in the middle of a celebration; I can't have ottermaids weeping and riddles unraveling." Cregga raised her voice so everybeast could hear. "Your new Abbess Mhera is going to make an announcement."

In the silence that followed, Trey the mousebabe piped up. "I 'ope it not that alla Dibbun get anuvver wash!"

Mhera burst out laughing at the cheeky infant. "Hahahaha! No it's not. As Abbess of Redwall Abbey I request that you all carry on feasting and have a wonderful time!"

Cregga waited until the roars of approval had died down. "Attention please, friends. I have only a little more to say before I retire and leave Mother Abbess Mhera to watch over Redwall. I would like to confirm that Boorab's probation is now over, and he is a fully fledged Master of Abbey Music."

With his mouth still full of plum pudding and cider, the hare leaped up and went sprawling. He bolted upright and saluted. "Thank you, marm. I wish to say . .."

Drogg Cellarhog blinked and wiped a paw across his face. "Don't you mean you wish to spray? Finish eatin' first!"

Boorab swallowed hastily and looked regally down his nose at Drogg. "Mind y'manners, old chap, wot! Er, where was I? Oh yes. Blinkin' long probation, but thank you, marm, and you too, Mother Abbess. I say, flippin' ottermaid young enough t'be one's daughter an' one's got to call her Mother. Bit thick, wot! Ahem, in honor of the jolly old occasion, marm, I shall play my haredee gurdee and sing for you. Now what is your pleasure? A ballad, a dirge, a song of unrequited love, wot?"

Cregga lay back and smiled fondly. "Nothing mournful or sad, if you please. Play me ... a rousing old marching song, so I can . . . remember the good old days when I ruled the hares of the Long Patrol at Salamandastron. A special. . . favorite of mine was 'The Battle of the Boiling Water.' Do you ... know it, Boorab?"

The hare was already making complicated adjustments to his cumbersome instrument. He chuckled confidently. "Know it, marm? I learned it sittin' on my old grandpa's lap. You remember him, of course, old Pieface Baggscut, the most perilous an' greedy hare in the regiment. 'Twas his favorite song, too. Ah, those were the long sunny days, marm"

Foremole Brull twitched the hare's bobbed tail. "Stop ee jawin' an' sing yurr song, zurr!"

Boorab twiddled the strings, struck a small drum and wound a handle. Three ladybirds flew out of the instrument in a cloud of dust. He launched lustily into the song.

"Well I have to sing of a day in spring,

When I kissed me wife an' daughter,

Then marched away to join the fray,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water.

With a tear in me eye and an apple pie,

I roared the jolly chorus,

As the drums did roll for the Long Patrol,

We conquered all before us!

There was Colonel Stiff an' Sergeant Biff,

Who had a wooden leg sah,

And in the lead, oh yes indeed,

Stood Lady Rose Eyes Cregga,

There was Corporal Black the big lancejack,

An' meself a half ear shorter,

An' a small fat cook with a dirty look,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water!"

As the drums on the haredee gurdee boomed out and Redwallers pounded the tabletops to the jolly marching air, Cregga went back in her mind. She was young and strong, her sight was perfect, and she was striding the dusty flatlands at the head of a thousand young marching hares, carrying her enormous axepike. No day was too long then, no march too tiresome. Like smoke, a dust column rose in a plume in their wake on that high far-off day, long long ago. She hummed the jaunty tune, reveling in the summer heat, glad to be alive and so full of strength. Smiling and nodding to her trusty officers, every one dashing and perilous, the sight of their faces delighting her. Sight. What a glorious gift it was. Blue skies, the sun, like a golden eye, watching over white mountaintops, green valleys, clear meandering streams. The misty figure of Boorab's grandsire appeared before her on the march and threw her a gallant salute with his saber blade.

"All present an' correct, marm. Where to now?"

Cregga heard herself saying, "Into the setting sun, over the hills and far away."

Boorab's voice, and the music of the haredee gurdee, faded slowly as she marched off into the sunny afternoon long gone.

"So we ate our scoff an' the war kicked off,

'Twas a day of fearsome slaughter,

An' a skinny rat shot off me hat,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water.

Then the good old sarge just yelled out 'Charge!'

Ten thousand vermin scattered,

While the puddens flew 'til the air turned blue,

All steamed an' fried an' battered!

Well, I knocked the socks off a fluffy fox,

An' walloped a weasel wildly,

I snaffled the coat off a snifflin' stoat,

An' flattened a ferret finely.

We whacked an' thumped an' kicked an' jumped,

We showed the foe no quarter.

'Til they ran away an' we won the day,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water!"

Mhera was holding the Badgermum's paw, and felt her slip away at the end of the second verse. The ottermaid sat at her friend's side, still holding her limp paw and staring at her smiling face. Cregga looked so peaceful and happy. Boorab finished his song, bowing and posing outrageously as the haredee gurdee groaned and wheezed to a halt amid the cheering and stamping of applauding Redwallers. Sister Alkanet saw Mhera sitting dry-eyed at the badger's side, looking into her still face. Sensing something was wrong, the Sister hastened over, followed by Filorn, who nodded to Boorab, indicating he should sing the song again as an encore. Nobeast noticed, amid the gaiety, what was going on at the bed beneath Martin the Warrior's tapestry.

Alkanet leaned close to Mhera and whispered, "What is it? Has Cregga Badgermum fallen asleep?"

Mhera touched the sightless eyes, closing them for the last time. "Aye, Sister. Our Badgermum has finally gone to rest forever."

A tear brimmed from Alkanet's eye. Mhera wiped it away. "Not now, Sister, we'll weep later. Don't let them know Cregga is gone. Carry on with the feast in her honor; that's what she would have wanted. Chin up now, be brave!"

Sister Alkanet turned to Filorn, and there was awe in her voice. "Truly your daughter is the Mother Abbess of Redwall!"

Chapter 33

Soft autumn mists swathed the dunes, awaiting their banishment under a blossoming sun. Gruven sat atop one of the sparsely grassed dunetops, listening to waves breaking upon the shores below him. He had spent more than a score of days tracking betwixt dawn and nightfall. The trail was becoming distinctly easier to follow as he traveled south. For some reason, unknown to him, the Juskazann had moved location. He had arrived at the original camp only to find the site abandoned. The clan had traveled south, skirting the tideline and dunelands.

Gruven picked the last crumbs of a pasty from his chair, gulped the final dregs of cordial from a flask and hurled it away into the mist. His supplies were exhausted for the moment, but he could always find more. Several mornings ago he had sighted wisps of woodsmoke. A family of mice had dug their cave into the side of a wind-sculpted sandhill, and were sitting in the entrance cooking breakfast. Gruven sneaked up to the hilltop overhanging their home. His callous method of murder was simple: he collapsed the sandhill on them by jumping up and down on the overhang. After taking a few hours' nap, he had dug out all the food supply that was not spoilt, leaving the occupants smothered beneath the stifling avalanche of sand that had snuffed out their lives.

Watching the sun spread welcoming warmth and light, Gruven sat mentally rehearsing his story, cutting parts and embellishing bits until it sounded good to him. Next he practiced indignation and righteous wrath at the moving of camp during his absence. Perhaps he would root out the culprits and slay them, just to establish his authority as clan Chieftain, Gruven Zann Juskazann.

Leaving the dunes, he took to the firm damp sand of the tideline for better walking. There was no real need of further tracking. He knew the clan would establish another camp among the dunes; all he had to do was look out for the smoke of cooking fires. Around early noon, Gruven became bored. It was a warm day with virtually no wind. He sidetracked listlessly into the dunes and lay down in a sandy crater. It was pleasantly warm, and he allowed his eyes to shut and drifted into a comfortable nap.

He had only lain there a short while when he was rudely awakened. He was rolled roughly over, and the sword was snatched from his belt. A noosed rope was thrust over him, pinioning both paws to his sides. There were four of them, two weasels, a stoat and a rat, and they looked lean and tough. Gruven felt fear rise sourly in his throat, but he did his best to put on a hard face and a gruff voice.

"Wot's the meanin' of all this? Who are ye?"

The bigger of the weasels, a female named Gruzzle, prodded him with the point of his own sword. "Shut yer mouth an' get up off yer behind!"

Struggling upright, Gruven recognized one of his old clan, the rat Wherrul. However, he looked different. His facial tattoos had been overlaid with green wavy lines on the brow and a yellow circle on either cheek. Gruven felt a surge of relief.

"Wherrul, mate, wot are you doin' with these beasts? Yore a Juskazann, just like me. Wot's 'appened?"

Wherrul began yanking Gruven along on the rope. He did not sound at all friendly. "I ain't Juskazann no more. We got taken over. I'm part of a big clan now, the Juskabor!"

Further conversation was cut short as Gruzzle prodded Gruven with the sword. "I've already tole you t'shut yer mouth, I won't tell yer agin. Now get movin'. You can do yer talkin' in front o' the Chief!"

It was late noon by the time Gruven was hauled stumbling into the new camp. Right away he noticed that the number of tents had increased fourfold, enough to accommodate at least three hundred Juska. Familiar faces from his old tribe stared at him as he was dragged along. They all had their former Juska marks tattooed over like Wherrul. All in all they looked a warlike mob. There were a lot more foxes in evidence, too. Gruzzle halted in front of a large well-made tent, painted with lots of colored symbols, and kicked Gruven flat in the sand.

"Stay there, you three, an' watch 'im!"

She threw back the tent flap and entered. A moment later she marched out again, three others with her. One was Grissoul the old vixen Seer, accompanied by another equally wizened vixen, who carried all the paraphernalia of a seer or soothsayer. But it was the male fox that Gruven instinctively knew was the Chieftain.

Ruggan Bor was an impressive figure, a big male fox, golden rather than reddish furred, with no black tip to his tail. His face was inscrutable, but one glance informed Gruven that the hard golden eyes were those of a born slayer. He was dressed simply, in a short black shoulder cloak and a black kilt. A saber was thrust through his broad chain-linked belt. Ruggan Bor gave Gruven the briefest of glances, then turned to Grissoul.

"Is this the one who took over from Sawney Rath?"

Grissoul bowed fawningly. "That he be, lord: Gruven Zann, the stoat who vowed to slay the Taggerung."

Ruggan nodded to Gruzzle, who leaped forward promptly. "Loose yonder rope an' return his weapon." The weasel obeyed immediately and without question.

Gruven realized he was not going to be executed on the spot. The knowledge gave him fresh confidence, and he decided to bluff his way along. Ruggan Bor obviously had him tagged as a warrior. Swaggering forward, he faced the Juska Chieftain, leaning on the sword and narrowing his eyes like a veteran killer. However, he did not attempt to speak. Something told him that Ruggan was not a beast to be taken lightly. The big golden fox had not moved a muscle, yet his eyes looked Gruven up and down.

"You are the son of stoat they called Antigra?"

Gruven had to swallow visibly before he answered. "Aye."

Ruggan Bor's paw strayed close to his saber. "I am Ruggan Bor of the Juskabor, Lord of the South Coasts. I took your clan, the Juskazann, and added it to my own. Antigra, your mother, plotted against me. I slew her."

Gruven found it difficult to keep up his attitude of bravado as Ruggan continued, his face still expressionless, "So, Gruven Zann, do you wish to take revenge for your mother? Are you going to challenge me as Chieftain of these Juska? You stand armed and free before me. If you are going to do anything, now would be the time to do it."

Gruven's nerve had already failed him. He knew he was a deadbeast if he lifted the sword. Yet if he was ever to become leader of the clan he could not lose face, so he played his ace card, hoping bluster and bragging would impress the fox warrior. Swelling his chest, he snarled aloud, "My name now is Gruven Zann Taggerung. Eight warriors left camp to track him with me. Only I have returned; the others lie dead. I slew the Taggerung!"

Ruggan turned to his own vixen Seer. "Ermath, what do your omens say?"

The vixen shrugged. "Nought, lord. I saw no signs of a Taggerung's death."

The burning golden eyes faced Grissoul. "And you?"

She averted her gaze humbly. "I cannot say, lord. Who knows if the Taggerung still lives?"

Gruven interrupted her harshly. "I do! The Taggerung still lives because I am Taggerung now. Did you not say that the beast who slew him would take on his name? You said it to me before I left!"

Grissoul was caught between two fires. Maybe Gruven had done the deed, but then maybe he had not. She preferred to go with the one she knew was a Warrior Chieftain, tried and tested. Ruggan Bor.

"Gruven Zann, thou vowed to bring back the Taggerung's head. Where is it?"

Gruven sneered. He had already thought of this answer. "The days have been hot, more than a score and a half of them. What warrior in his right mind would carry such a thing that long? I gave it back to the flies when I reached the old camp!" Thoroughly roused now, and carried upon the surge of his manufactured anger, Gruven turned upon Ruggan Bor. "My word is my honor as a Juska warrior. I tell you 'twas I who slew the otter they called Taggerung. With this sword!"

The golden eyes stared levelly at him out of the expressionless face, though the fox's paw was now on his saber hilt. "So you say, Gruven Zann. But you have not answered my first question. Are you going to avenge your mother or challenge me for the chieftainship?"

Gruven had been doing some quick thinking. "We are both mighty warriors," he shot back. "The clan would gain nothing by our loss. You know of the Taggerung, of his reputation. When you cannot find him you will realize I am the real Taggerung. Then we will let the whole of the Juska decide who is leader!"

Ruggan Bor signaled to Gruzzle. "Take six Juska, find Gruven Zann a tent of his own, give him food and guard him well." He turned his back on Gruven, dismissing him. "I will give you my answer tomorrow. Attend me here to break fast." He strode back into his tent, followed by the two Seers.

Gruven was taken care of. His food was of the best, roasted seabird and barley wine. He sat eating, his mind racing. Was he an honored guest or a prisoner? Did Ruggan Bor regard him as a warrior and a slayer, or had he seen through the bluff? Were the vermin outside an honor guard or jailers? Gruven decided he had some serious thinking to do.

Ruggan sat with his Seers, watching them toss bones and shells, sometimes tracing patterns in the sand, occasionally burning feathers and herbs as they chanted by the fire. He waited patiently until they were finished and listened to the verdicts.

"Lord, 'tis still the same. The omens are cloudy."

"Aye, lord, mayhap time will reveal the answers."

The golden fox looked from one apprehensive face to the other. "Time reveals all, but this one looks like a born plotter with a ready tongue, too ready methinks. I have not got time to wait while he schemes behind my back. There is something I do not like about that stoat. If I was the slayer of a Taggerung, nobeast would dare stand against me. Why did he not choose to fight if he is such a mighty one? I slew his mother, took over his clan. Anybeast who did that to Ruggan Bor would be feeding the sea fishes by now. Leave me. I will reach my own conclusions on this!"

Dawn crept in like a misted ghost. Ruggan Bor sat impassive by the fire embers in his tent. He narrowed one eye and stared at the back of the guard's neck until the ferret outside his tent turned and saluted with his spear. "Lord!"

It was a trick Ruggan had learned through long seasons of commanding Juska vermin. They always felt his eyes upon them.

"Tell my cook to bring vittles for two, then go and bring Gruven Zann to me here."

Gruven had got into the habit of sleeping late, and he was still blinking and stifling yawns when he was marched into Ruggan's tent. Hiding the contempt he felt for lazybeasts, Ruggan nodded.

"Sit, eat, and answer my questions truthfully, Gruven Zann!"

Gruven sat down and began eating, a cornmeal porridge with shellfish in it. He felt rather resentful that his host should ask him to answer truthfully, even though he was prepared to lie at every turn.

Ruggan did not eat as he interrogated his guest. "Where was it, this place where you slew the Taggerung?"

Gruven slopped down blackberry wine mixed with water. "At the old campsite, I think."

"But you said you carried the head until you reached the old camp and threw it away there."

Gruven drank long and slow as he prepared an answer. "Oh, yes. That was where I first saw him. I tracked him north for three days before I killed him. Then I returned to the old camp, to see if anybeast had come back there. There were still no signs of Juska back at the camp, so I threw the head away." He waited with bated breath while Ruggan considered this.

"I see. Then you found our tracks and followed them. Tell me, why did you not notice the traces of us breaking camp when you first arrived there?"

"Oh, that," Gruven explained hastily, the food and drink forgotten as he cursed himself inwardly for his silly mistake. "Well, er, I was tracking a Taggerung, a dangerous and savage beast. I wasn't looking for other trails. Would you?"

Ruggan Bor slowly poured himself wine, mingling it with water. "Hmm, I see, that makes sense. Finish eating, we have to go."

Gruven wiped a paw across his lips, taken by surprise. "Go? Where to?"

The fox's eyes stared at him over the goblet rim. "To the old camp, of course. We must find the Taggerung's head. If you have spoken the truth, you have done what no other warrior alive has ever done. Slain a Taggerung. Have you eaten enough?"

The food turned to ashes in Gruven's mouth. He could only nod.

Leaving a few Juska vermin to guard the tents, Ruggan Bor set off north into the fading mists. Gruven walked slightly behind him, surrounded by six hefty Juskabeasts. Close to three hundred armed vermin accompanied them.

Chapter 34

It was the most glorious of autumn mornings at Redwall Abbey. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben were hard at work in Great Hall. Mother Abbess Mhera could not bear untidiness, and she had cajoled them into doing the job they had been promising to do for the last ten days, repairing two windowpanes that had been smashed by vermin slingstones. Hoarg held the ladder, whilst Brother Hoben fitted the second small sheet of carefully knapped crystal into place and began closing the lead flashing around it by pressing with a smooth block of beech wood. The task completed, he climbed down from the ladder and helped Hoarg to sweep up the broken shards. "There, old friend. Good as new, eh!"

The inseparable pair Fwirl and Broggle came skipping through from the kitchens. They waved to Hoarg and Hoben.

"Good morning! It's another lovely day outside!"

Old Hoarg raised a wrinkled paw as they opened the Abbey door. "If you're goin' out, please don't slam that door. Give these new panes time to settle in; don't want 'em jump in' out."

The squirrels made a great show of shutting the door carefully and skipped off toward the orchard, chuckling.

Fwirl pulled Broggle up at the orchard edge, her eyes shining as she took in the beautiful season. "Oh, isn't it pretty! Look at those leaves, golden and brown and scarlet, and the colors of the fruit: yellow pears, red apples, purple berries. There's our Abbess. Mhera, good morning to you!"

Mhera was standing with several Dibbuns, grouped around a russet apple tree, heavy with fine rust-colored fruit. She waved a paw absently at her two friends, her eyes never leaving the tree. Trey put a paw to his lips and reprimanded the two squirrels.

"Shush, Muvver h'Abbess says not to shout or stamp y'paws. H'apples fall when they be's ready, not afore!"

Fwirl and Broggle joined the group, curious to know what was going on. "Is it a game?" the squirrelmaid whispered to little Feegle. "Can we join in, please?"

Still staring at the tree, Feegle nodded. "First one t'see a h'apple fall down gets a prize off Muvver h'Abbess, so be shushed an' watcha tree!" As she spoke, an apple fell and hit Broggle on the head.

Wegg the hogbabe whooped with excitement. "Me me, I see'd it, Muvver h'Abbess!"

Broggle rubbed his head. "Aye, but I felt it!"

Fwirl was almost knocked over by Mhera as she dashed toward the Abbey, in a most undignified manner for an Abbess, shouting, "Mama, Mama, the russet apples are falling!"

Squeaking and laughing, the Dibbuns raced after her. Broggle touched a spot between his ears ruefully. "What was all that about, Fwirl?"

The squirrelmaid shrugged. "I've no idea. Oh, look, there are harebells growing by the old wheelbarrow. Let's take some to Cregga."

Between them they gathered a small bunch of the delicate drooping blue flowers and carried them to the sunny spot by the northeast wall corner. Cregga's grave was always bedecked with the most beautiful flowers. Fwirl took a beaker with some water in it and arranged the harebells. Broggle placed it gently on top of the headstone, a smooth slab of typical Redwall sandstone with words engraved upon it.

Sleep softly on, Beloved One,

Take with you all our dreams,

To rest in noontide valleys,

Beside old silent streams.

Cregga Rose Eyes, Warrior Badger of

Salamandastron mountain

and Badgermum of Redwall Abbey for

countless seasons.

Filorn and Friar Bobb were busy in the kitchens, decorating a magnificent redcurrant trifle. The Friar's tongue stuck out at one side of his mouth as he inserted flaked almonds into the golden mound of meadowcream surmounting it. Then he stood back, watching Filorn anxiously.

"Easy now. It takes a good eye and a steady paw, marm!"

Filorn leaned over the trifle, holding her breath. Her paw descended fraction by fraction, until the candied strawberry in it came to rest precisely on the peak of the cream.

"That's perfect! But I've seen you do as well, Friar."

Holding out his paw, the old squirrel watched it tremble slightly. "Mayhap when I was younger, but I rely on you now, my friend. Whoa, look out! What's all this stampede?"

Mhera skidded in, her gown swirling as she tried to check herself. Filorn caught her daughter and was rocked back on her paws by the Dibbuns colliding into them both.

"Mercy me, Abbess, there's no need to rush in like that. We've finished the trifle you ordered!"

Mousebabe Trey clambered up Mhera's back and flung himself into Filorn's paws, roaring, "FTorn mum, rusty h'apples be's fallin' down inna h'orchard!"

Filorn stumbled backward. Mhera stopped her, but was unable to rescue Trey. The tiny fellow went headlong into the trifle while Filorn stared as if hypnotized at her daughter. "The russet apples are falling!"

Friar Bobb hooked Trey out of the trifle, the other Dibbuns giggling at the sight of the mousebabe with the candied strawberry stuck on his head. Friar Bobb burst out laughing.

"Hohoho, look at liddle Trey! I'll straighten this mess up, marm, you an' the Abbess go an' do what y've got to do. Hohoho!"

They found the otter sisters, Blekker and Swash, with a few of the ottercrew down at the pond, taking a morning dip. At the sight of Mhera and Filorn, the energetic otters bounded out of the water and waggled their rudders politely in respectful greeting.

"G'day, Abbess, marm, wot can we do fer ye?"

Mhera felt dwarfed by the two big sisters. "The russet apples have started to fall. I saw it myself, in the orchard a short while ago. The message you brought from Skipper said that Rukky Garge would have my brother Deyna healed and well by the time russet apples were falling. What do we do?"

Swash placed a broad calming paw on Mhera's shoulder. "You waits, Abbess marm, that's wot ye do. We'll stand lookout on the walltops. Meanwhiles, you an' yore mama go about yore business. Me'n'Blekker'll let ye know the moment any thin' stirs."

Filorn folded her paws resolutely. "My thanks to you, Swash, but we'll be up on the walltop with you, watching for my son's arrival back home."

Blekker shook water from her coat. "I wouldn't advise it, marm. It could take a day an' a night or two. Skipper wouldn't be too 'appy if'n he knew you was up there that long. Best stay inside. Leave it to us."

But Mhera would not hear of it. "You leave Skipper to me, Blekker, we're going up there with you. Mama, tell Fwirl we'll be taking our meals on the ramparts and ask Foremole Brull to bring up blankets for us and the crew."

It was Gundil who led the party bringing blankets to the walltop. He presented Mhera with a soft pink one. "This 'un's furr ee, h'Abbess. Oi'm stayen oop yuur with ee, hurr!"

Mhera felt a wave of affection for her old friend. "Gundil, I'm sorry I haven't had much time with you lately."

The mole rubbed his downy head against her sleeve. "You'm been gurtly busied, bein' ee Muther h'Abbess an' suchloike. But us'n's gotten lots o' toimes agether in ee seasons t'cumm."

Mhera spread the blanket so they could both sit on it. "So we have, my friend. What's that you've got there?"

Gundil produced Abbess Song's book, with the strips of green cloth wrapped around it, and held it out to the ottermaid. "Oi bain't no gudd at ee readen, Muther h'Abbess. Do ee read owt o' ee likkle book furr oi. Uz molers dearly do luvvs to 'ear ee readen."

Mhera laid the fabric strips next to each other on the parapet before she opened the book. "Right, where do you want me to start from? Oh, and stop calling me mother. Call me Mhera or miz, like you always did."

The mole's face crinkled into a deep grin. "As ee wishen, miz. Start ee frumm th' burginnin'!"

Mhera began to read. "I, Song, daughter of Janglur Swifteye and Mother Abbess of Redwall, do leave these thoughts of mine to be read by the creature who is chosen to rule the Abbey in my stead.

"Humility Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns.

Patience Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns.

Wisdom Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns.

Understanding Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns.

Friendliness Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns.

Strength Is The Thing A Good Abbey Leader Learns."

Mhera tweaked Gundil's digging claws playfully. "They're all in here, the ITTAGALLs, Courage, Compassion, Fairness, Decision... you don't want me to carry on reading them all, do you?"

Gundil tweaked Mhera's paw back, but very gently, because his digging claws were so blunt and powerful. "Burr nay, miz, jus' ee larst wun. Oi loikes that 'un!"

Mhera turned to the back of the book and read the rough untidy scrawl, which contrasted sharply with the other neat script. "I Choose Mhera As The Ottermaid To Rule Our Abbey."

From where they were sitting the gravestone below was visible. Mhera smiled at it fondly. "Imagine the time it must have taken for a blind badger to write that, Gundil. Granted the writing isn't as tidy as Abbess Song's, but Cregga Badgermum did it all right. Look here." She unfolded one last length of fabric from her robe sleeve. ICMATOTROA was scrawled upon it in identical writing to that in the book. "It was the last piece I was supposed to find. This was wrapped around the book the night she gave it to me at the feast. There there now, my friend, don't weep. Cregga wouldn't like to think that she made you unhappy."

Gundil tried bravely to blink away the large teardrops falling from his eyes. "Oi know, miz, but Creggamum wurr such a guddbeast. Oi misses hurr!"

Rukky Garge and Skipper sat by the stream's edge. The old otterfixer tapped her knobbly stick on a boulder.

"Ahhhrrr weel now, Deyna bigbeast, sit ye here by mah side." Deyna did as she ordered, holding still as she pushed and scratched at his face. She consulted Skipper. "Prithee, frien', what say ye now, eh?"

Skipper took Deyna's face in both paws, peering at it closely. "Rukky me ole queen, I wouldn't believe it if'n I didn't see it with me own two eyes. Not a tattoo mark on 'is face. 'Tis a miracle ye've worked!"

The ancient otter blushed like a maiden. "Heeheehee! Show unto yon riverdog yeer paw, Deyna."

Holding forth his right paw, Deyna allowed Skipper to look at it. There was no sign of a flowered birthmark. The pad was totally dark. Skipper scratched his rudder in disbelief. "Well, blow me down to port an' sink me whiskers. 'Ow did she do it, Deyna matey?"

The former Taggerung stared at the paw. "I don't know, Skip. I was asleep most of the time, but in the moments I was awake it burned like fire, my face too."

Rukky smacked her stick down across Deyna's paw. "Ahrra weel, good now though, mah beauty, no feels of hurt?"

Deyna clapped his paws together hard. "None!"

She struck him in the chest with her stick, right where the arrowhead had been. He did not flinch. Rukky gave a toothless grin. "Ayaah, when Rukky Garge fixes otters, they fixed good!" She pointed out a big boulder. "Dat wun!"

Deyna strode across to it. Wrapping his paws around the large smooth granite rock, he picked it up and flung it into the center of the stream. The spray splattered wide. Rukky Garge wiped her face on her cloak and nodded at the stream. "You strong, riverdog, stroooong! Now bring d'stone back out!"

Deyna dived headfirst into the stream, cutting the water like a pike on the hunt. He appeared in midstream, grasping the boulder, and swam back to the bank with it. Rukky made him perform the feat three more times before she was satisfied. Then she allowed him to make his way back and sit by her, breathing lightly. Skipper slapped him heartily on the back.

"If'n I told anybeast about that they'd never believe me, bucko!"

Rukky tapped the otter Chieftain with her staff. "You make de good soup, mah frien'. Now let dis Deyna make some for us, see wot it be tastin' like, eh?"

Deyna made a cauldron of fresh watershrimp and hotroot soup for them, and then Rukky indicated that he too could share it. They sat eating in silence until it was all gone. Skipper smacked his lips and patted his stomach. "Well, mates?"

Rukky Garge and Deyna answered together. "Not as good as yours!"

Skipper's craggy face lit up with pleasure. "Y'took the words right outta me mouth. Though it was passin' fair, for a beginner. Well, Rukky me ole charmer, I got to get our mate back 'ome to his sister an' mama."

Deyna put a paw around the otterfixer's shoulder affectionately. "Thank you, Rukky. I owe you my life!"

She stiffened and shook his paw off. "Don'ta touch me, riverdog! Ah not like bein' touch by anybeast. Go ye to de cave, take back yeer blade an' get from me sight!" Deyna stood up, a hurt expression on his face. The ancient otter rapped his rudder with her stick and cackled. "Heeheehee! But come ye back when ye learns to make der soup better'n Skip. Rukky be pleased ter see ye den!"

Two days and three nights had passed for the watchers on the wall top. By now they had been joined by everybeast except the Friar and his duty cooks. They took turns at night, some watching whilst others slept. Drogg Cellarhog brought a fireholder up to the ramparts and mulled ale with spices in it to keep up their spirits and to ward off the chill of autumn nights and dawns. They sang many songs and recalled lots of old poems and monologues to while away the time. The Dibbuns thought it was a wonderful holiday, even though they were guarded by Sister Alkanet, who had roped them together. "I don't trust these little rogues on high walltops!" She said it until everybeast grew tired of the phrase and the Dibbuns paraded around, linked together, singing impudently.

"Don't trus' us likkle rogues on walltops,

It be sad when a pore ole Dibbun falls,

Fall on yore 'ead an' die, then you start t'cry,

That's wot 'appen to likkle ones on walls!"

They finally gave up when Abbess Mhera threatened them with bath and bed, and Friar Bobb brought them warm mushroom soup to drink.

Fwirl and Broggle sat with Filorn and Boorab. They had drawn the last watch of the third night. Drogg's fireholder was close by, and they sat wrapped in blankets, talking softly. Several times Boorab had volunteered to go down and work in the kitchens. His requests being refused made him rather sulky.

"Pish tush t'the blinkin' kitchens I say, wot. Measly fat little Friar chasin' the tail off a chap: keep your paws out o' this and don't dare touch that, leave those measly flippin' pasties alone, get y'nose out of that pudden. Yah boo to them says I, wot? I say, any of you bounders know when they'll be bringin' a spot of brekkers around? The old turn's gurglin' away like a drain!"

Somewhere a bird twittered, and the first pale milky light showed, reflecting eerily back off the mist. Fwirl wrapped her blanket tightly and scooted nearer the fire. "Isn't it strange being up here in autumn mist?"

Broggle yawned. "Aye, it gives me a floaty feeling when it's thick all around me."

Boorab snorted. "Fiddlededee, laddie buck, y've never been in a real pea souper of a fog. I remember one time I got caught in a fog so bally thick I had t'cut my way out with a knife, wot!"

Nimbalo loomed up like a small blanketed ghost and sat with them. "Huh, that's nothin'. I was in a mountain fog once, they're the worst kind, couldn't see me paw behind me back, or me tail if'n I looked forward. 'Twas so thick I saw a frog walkin' on it!"

A voice spoke from behind Nimbalo. "Mountain fogs are mere wisps compared to a good marsh fog. When I was younger we used to go out looking for marsh fogs, they were so thick and soft. I'd take my needles with me and knit them into blankets for the infirmary!"

The speaker came forward. Wide-eyed with astonishment, the friends sat staring at Sister Alkanet. The stern Infirmary Keeper was smiling. Filorn opened her blanket for Alkanet to share.

"Hahaha. Well done, Sister, you've certainly stopped those two fibbers in their tracks. Blankets for the infirmary, eh? Hahaha!"

Foremole Brull shuffled up, tiny dewdrops forming on her velvety fur. They twinkled in the firelight. "Yurr cumm ee sun. Fog's be a-liften naow."

Within a short space of time it was a soft autumn morning. Warm breezes took faded leaves from the trees, drifting them down to earth. Swallows swirled and soared in patterned flights beneath a clear sky of powdered blue. Gundil took a fallen sycamore seedpod and spun it into the air on its two perfectly shaped wings. Mhera stood between the battlements, watching the woodland fringe and flatlands skirting the path to the south. Blekker stood by her side, leaning on her javelin. Mhera sighed impatiently. "When do you think Deyna will come?"

The big otter squinted her left eye against the sun. "Sorry, Abbess marm, can't say for certain. When ole Rukky Garge said it'd be the time that russet apples fall, she was only sayin' it as a rough guide. Could be another two or three days. Friar's servin' brekkist, marm. Why don't ye go an' eat? I'll keep watch 'ere. Go on, liddle Abbess, y'look tired."

Mhera clenched her paws in frustration. "Oh, if there were only some way to make him come back!" "Ye could try singin' them 'ome!"

Mhera was puzzled by old Hoarg's remark. "What d'you mean, singing them home?"

The old dormouse took a sip of his morning dandelion tea. "It always seemed t'work when I was a liddle 'un. We often stood on the walls and sang to bring travelers safe 'ome."

Blekker and Swash agreed with Hoarg.

"Aye, marm, otters believe in 'ome singin'."

"Skipper said it always works. Try it, Abbess marm. We'll sing the verses if'n you an' yore Redwallers 'elp out on the choruses!"

A smile spread gradually on the young Abbess's face. "What a lovely idea. Listen, you Redwallers, we're all going to join in and help sing my brother home."

Everybeast agreed, with only one exception. Boorab. "I say, bit thick isn't it? I've waited all flippin' night for a bite o' breakfast. Now I've just been served, what've I got to do, eh, wot? Abandon my scoff an' start tra-la-laain' away to some chap who won't even jolly well hear it. Blinkin' liberty if y'ask me, wot, wot wot?"

Mhera tried imitating Sister Alkanet's famous frosty glare. "Sir, you may do as you please. Fill your face by all means, but if you do not join in the singing I will have you barred from the kitchens henceforth. Take note of my decree, Friar Bobb!"

The good Friar nodded vigorously. "Noted, Mother Abbess!"

Boorab cast aside his plate and beaker. "Steady on, chaps, confounded blackmailers ... er, I mean, lovely day for a bit of an old warble, wot. Count me in. You otters there, what're you waitin' for, eh? Sing away, me buckos. Sing!"

Blekker and Swash, together with the other otters Skipper had sent back to the Abbey, lined up. After a bit of throat clearing they went at it lustily.

"When will you return me darlin', are you homeward bound?

See the golden sun a-smilin', warmin' up the ground,

Here I stand an' wait me beauty, though 'tis gettin' late,

Listenin' for the weary paws, a-marchin' to my gate.

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

Are the drums a-beatin' bravely, o'er the lonely moor?

Are ye thinkin' of your mother, standin' at the door?

Do the banners stream out boldly, have the days been long?

Are you marchin' down the road, listenin' for my song?

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

Is that a dusty cloud arisin', out across the plain?

Is that me bonny rover now, come back to me again?

O Grandma turn the blankets down, an' put the kettle on,

I've sung him home, no more to roam, my only one.

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!"

Everybeast enjoyed the song so much, they called for more. Mhera and Broggle picked up the verses as well as the chorus. They stood with the otters, singing out for all they were worth. Behind them, the Dibbuns led a march, backward and forward along the south ramparts, making a great show of shouting tramps aloud at the end of each chorus. Halfway through the third rendition, Nimbalo pulled Boorab out of line. The harvest mouse whispered to the hare, pointing south, to where the woodland jutted out in the distance to connect with the winding path. Mhera watched Nimbalo scramble up onto Boorab's shoulders. He held on to Boorab's ear with one paw, gesturing out with the other, then he started shouting. Filorn saw it too, and had a quick word with Blekker. The otter halted the singing, howling out in her stentorian baritone, "They're on the path! Comin' thisaway! I told ye it'd work!"

Boorab lifted Nimbalo down and took charge. "Well, what'n the name o' sizzlin' seasons have y'stopped singin' for, eh? Don't want to break the jolly old magic spell, do you? Hoarg, get down an' open the gates. Throw wide your portals, old lad. The rest o' you ditherin' duffers form up behind me. Jump to it, now! We'll march down the road singin' to meet 'em, by the left, right'n'center we will, wot wot!"

Boorab sidestepped into the gatehouse, but he soon caught up with the singing marchers. He carried a banner made from an old tablecloth tied around a long window pole. Swaggering along jauntily, the hare was in his element, bellowing aloud, "Anybeast with a frog in their throat, let the frog do the singin'. Hawhawhaw! C'mon now, let's rip the roof off . . .

"What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!"

The ottercrew coming the other way saw the Redwall singing parade and doubled their march speed. Then they were trotting, and the pace hotted up even more, until they were running to meet the welcoming committee. Not to be outdone, Boorab waved his banner and yelled out orders.

"Look at 'em go! Hah, we'll see who meets who first, chaps. If it's a bally charge they want, we're the ones who'll show 'em. Lay back the kitchen sink! Forward the buffs! Blood'n'vinegar an' flyin' fur! Eulaliaaa! Redwallers chaaaaaaaarge!"

They thundered down the path in a headlong stampede, and Boorab was knocked flying into the ditch. But even the fastest of runners were not as fleet of paw as Mhera and Filorn upon that day. The pair were well out in front, hurtling toward the ottercrew charging up from the south. Way out in front of them was one, a big strong figure who could outrun the wind. Filorn could see the dust pluming in his wake, Mhera could even hear his footpaws slamming the hard earth as he streaked toward them like summer lightning. They screamed together. "Deynaaaaaaaa!"

He swept them up as though they weighed nothing and ground to a halt, hugging them both close. Then Nimbalo pounded up like a small juggernaut. Unable to stop himself, he bulled straight into Deyna, Mhera and Filorn, sending himself and them sprawling in a heap together. Instantly they found themselves surrounded by other Redwallers. Then they began to laugh, as happiness flowed from them, infecting everybeast. They laughed until the tears ran down their dusty faces, hugging one another as if they would never let go. The laughter rose into the air, startling birds in the soft autumn morning.

From that long-ago day when his father carried a babe out of the Abbey gates, Deyna, son of Rillflag, had returned home.

Chapter 35

Gruven was in trouble. However, like all liars and cowards he kept on convincing himself that he could wriggle out of it and end up on top. The fact that Ruggan Bor had slain his mother meant little to him. Antigra had always been too pushy, constantly berating and nagging at him. Gruven was glad she was out of the way. What really rankled was the golden fox's taking over his clan, but he could think of no way to reverse their positions. He was wholly frightened of Ruggan, an inscrutable creature, unlike anybeast Gruven had ever met. Ruggan Bor never showed any extremes of wrath or joy, never smiled or snarled. His fascinating golden eyes seemed to detect untruths without a single blink. Gruven could not face him for more than a moment. Every Juskabeast under his command knew Ruggan Bor to be highly intelligent, a redoubtable warrior Chieftain, and a ruthless killer. Gruven was gradually coming to realize this, and it made his blood run cold.

Double time was the order of the long trek back to the old camp. All the vermin kept up the pace without question or complaint. They slept little, ate frugally and went heavily armed. Ruggan Bor strode out at the head of his clan, talking to nobeast save to give orders or consult his Seers. At first, Gruven tried to establish some authority over the six Juska who were detailed to guard him. His efforts went unrewarded. When he complained of the marching speed, a tough lean vixen looped a rope about his waist and growled, "Keep up or we'll drag ye the rest o' the way!"

Gruven was forced to suffer the indignity. His blustering fell upon unsympathetic ears. "You dare to do this to a Taggerung? Hah, I could snap this rope with a single bite! My teeth are like knives!"

A big scar-faced rat prodded his bottom with a lance. "Yew start chewing that rope an' yell be wearin' this lance fer a spine. Shut yer mouth an' keep movin', stoat!"

Gruven turned and spat at the rat's footpaws, trying to act tough. "I won't ferget yore face, rat. Remember this: my name's Gruven Zann Taggerung. I use lances like that as toothpicks!"

A muscular ferret marching alongside Gruven jabbed an elbow hard into his ribs, grinning at Gruven's wince of pain. "Ye won't 'ave no teeth t'pick if'n I land a kick in yer mouth. Now stow the gab an quit slackin'!"

Gruven dragged on the rope, halting the vixen who was pulling him. "I'm not takin' any more o' this. I demand to speak with Ruggan Bor!"

He did not see the blow coming. The vixen belted him across the jaw with her carved spearbutt, snarling nastily, "Do ye, now? Well, 'e don't want ter speak with you. Get marchin'!"

When they stopped for the night, Gruven was set apart from the rest, tied to a tree, with all six guards circling, watching his every move. The scar-faced rat thrust a bowl at him. It contained only water, with a stale crust of barley bread floating in it. The rat eyed him contemptuously. "Get that down ye an' then sleep. We'll be on the move agin soon as 'tis dawn!"

Gruven ate and drank swiftly, then huddled down to rest. His mind was still racing, rehearsing explanations. Where was the imaginary head of the slain Taggerung? Oh, it probably landed in the stream when he threw it away, it would be washed to the sea by now. Then what happened to the body? Ruggan Bor was no fool, he was certain to pose the question. The body? He would have to think about that one, and think fast too. They were covering ground at a rate three times quicker than his laggardly pace. It would not be long before they arrived at the old campsite. Gruven closed his eyes tightly. Think . . . think. Of course! He threw the body into the swamp. Yes, that was the place, the swamp where he sent Rawback to his death. Hahaha! Let them try to search a swamp. Ruggan Bor, huh, the pan-faced fox, aye, him and all his thick-headed lackeys. None of them were a match for Gruven Zann Taggerung. They couldn't find their tails if they grew out of their noses! He would outthink them, he would outsmart them, the same way he had defeated Eefera and Vallug Bowbeast and the rest.

Gruven did not realize he had fallen asleep and was murmuring aloud, "What d'yer mean, never slew 'em? They're all dead, ain't they, an' I'm the only one who's left alive. Oh, I slew 'em right enough!"

The vixen leaned on her spear, watching Gruven. "Wot d'yer suppose that 'un's babblin' about?"

The muscular ferret scoffed. "Sez 'e's slaying all kinds o' beasts."

Looking up from the lancepoint he was sharpening against a stone, the scar-faced rat commented dryly, "Aye, in 'is sleep. That's the only time that 'un's slayed beasts. Got a coward's streak, wider'n an oak trunk, from tip ter tail!"

Only one fire burned in the vermin's makeshift camp, that of Ruggan Bor. He needed it for his Seers to predict. The golden fox sat watching the two old vixens casting shells and stones, burning feathers until the air smelled rank, and mumbling, always mumbling as they tried to read the omens. Which invariably had to be in the Juska Chieftain's favor. He listened awhile, then stretched out, his saber close to paw. "Tell me that last bit again."

Ermath's toothless face looked ghastly in the firelight. "Is the fox not related to the wolf, lord? There is none among vermin who can equal the fox for stealth, guile and ferocity. He alone carries the blood of the Great Vulpuz, Ruler of Hellgates!"

Ruggan ignored his old soothsayer. He had heard all that before. "No, you, Grissoul, what did you say?"

Sawney Rath's former Seer stared at the bones she had cast down.

"He who has the Taggerung slain,

Shall take on the champion's name,

Zann Taggerung, lord of Juskas all,

Beware the bells within Redwall!"

Ruggan's golden eyes reflected the dancing flames. "What does all that mean? Tell me!"

Grissoul remained hunched over the scattered bones, unmoving. Ruggan Bor had witnessed Seers in a trance before, and he repeated the command. "Say the lines again and explain to me what they mean."

Ermath was not overfond of Grissoul. The other vixen had been slowly usurping her position since Ruggan took over her clan. Ermath scuffled across to Grissoul and shook her roughly. "Answer the question. Speak when my lord commands ye!"

Grissoul did not respond. She slumped forward until her muzzle touched the ground. There was shock in Ermath's voice. "Lord, she is dead!"

Ruggan Bor used the flat of his saber blade to lift Grissoul's head. He inspected the dead vixen and let her head drop down again. "She was old. Creatures die when they grow too old. Did you understand what she said? Can you remember the lines?"

Ermath cringed back into the shadows. "Nay, lord, 'tis not for me to read the omens of another Seer. Who knows what anybeast sees at the sight of Hellgates, where rules the"

Ruggan cut her short as he lay down to rest. "Get my guards to bury her. 'Tis of no matter, the ramblings of a dying vixen. Leave me now, I will rest."

Any dreams of bells, Taggerungs or Seers that crossed Ruggan Bor's trails of sleep were forgotten when the impressive fox woke at dawn's misty light.

Four days later, on a morning dampened by fine warm drizzle, the Juskabor clan reached the old campsite. Fires were lighted in the lee of sheltering dunes, and cooks began preparing the first hot meal they had eaten in a while. Ruggan Bor stared around. Pacing the ground, he unsheathed his saber. "Bring the stoat Gruven here to me."

Gruven was hauled forward on his rope by the six guards. He knew it was no good blustering to the golden fox, so he put on a casual air, as if he was in command of the situation.

"Ah, Ruggan, the very beast I've been wanting to see. Well, here we are at last, eh. You know, I left this camp a simple warrior and returned as the Taggerung ..." His voice trailed off under Ruggan Bor's unblinking stare.

"The head, Gruven. Where did you leave the head?"

Again Gruven changed his attitude, drawing himself up regally. "My name is Gruven Zann Taggerung. I protest at your treatment of me. I will not speak until this rope is taken from me!"

The saber whipped through the air, slicing the whiskers from the left side of Gruven's muzzle. Ruggan Bor's expression had not changed. "My next stroke will take off your ears, then I'll start working down your body, bit by bit. Where is the Taggerung's head?"

Gruven sat down on the sand and wept like a babe. "I threw it in the stream."

"What stream? There's no stream around here."

"The stream! The stream! It's back there in the woodlands!"

"Which woodlands? Those northeast of here?"

"Yes, yes! Over that way, that's them!"

"So, what did you do with the body?"

Unexpectedly, Gruven began to laugh. He looked straight up into the fox's golden eyes, giggling and sobbing. "In the swamp! I threw it in the swamp! Heehee, the head too, all in the swamp, gone forever, heeheehee!"

Ruggan nodded to the guards. "Get him up on his paws. Let's go and find this swamp."

Birds were singing, drizzle slackened off and the sun broke through as they entered the woodlands. Ruggan gave orders for his Juskabeasts to fan out and search for the boglands, whilst he and the six guards rested close to the tree fringe, with Gruven in their midst. Halfway through the afternoon a youngish fox came loping back to report.

"Sire, we found the swamp, it's a big 'un. First we thought there was nothin' about 'cept a few frogs'n'lizards. But then we caught this crazy stoat. The rest are bringin' 'im. Be 'ere soon, sire."

"That's two crazy stoats we'll 'ave now, hawhaw!" the scarred rat whispered to the muscular ferret. He went silent as the golden eyes swept by him and came to rest on Gruven.

"Do you know of a crazy stoat hereabouts?"

Gruven's mood had changed. He looked completely mournful. "They're dead, all dead, I killed 'em. All dead an' gone!"

Ruggan heard the party bringing the prisoner in. He did not turn, keeping his eyes fixed on Gruven. Behind him a weasel called out, "Lord, this is the stoat, but 'e's right off'n 'is skull, mad as a toad with a tail!"

The stoat was thrust forward, tightly bound. Ruggan saw Gruven's eyes go wide in horror, his voice screeching hoarsely, "Rawback? Go 'way! Yore dead! Dead, I tell ye!"

Rawback looked plump and well, owing to a plentiful diet of frogs, lizards and other swamp inhabitants, but his eyes burned feverishly, and it was obvious his sanity had snapped at some point of his swampland sojourn. He put his head on one side and poked his tongue out at Gruven, then he turned to Ruggan Bor, as if sharing a confidential secret.

"That'n there thought 'e'd done fer me, y'know. Aye, thought 'e'd sunk ole Rawback in the swamp. Hohoho! Right up ter me nose 'twas, but I ain't no fool, I got out. Big branch, luvly branch, growin' right over me 'ead. I grabbed it. Two days! Two days I was, pullin' meself out, liddle diddy bit by liddle diddy bit. Hohoho! Fooled yer, didn't I, Gruven? You ain't no mate o' mine no more. You wouldn't push nobeast in a swamp, would ye, sir?"

Ruggan signaled the guards to untie Rawback. "Of course I wouldn't, my friend. Sit down here by me. Bring him food and some blackberry wine, we're going to talk together."

Rawback clutched Ruggan's paw and kissed it. "Blackberry wine an' real vittles! Seasons smile on ye, sir. Ye don't know wot this means t'me. Talk? I'll talk to ye, me good sir. Wot d'you want ter know? Ole Rawback'll tell ye!"

Gruven thought of making a dash for freedom, but the scar-faced rat's lance tickled the nape of his neck and the muscular ferret's spearpoint was a hairsbreadth from his stomach.

Rawback ate like a ravening wolf, ripping into warm ryebread and a roasted woodpigeon, guzzling blackberry wine until it dripped down his chin. Ruggan patted his back. "You're one of the old clan, I can tell by your tattoos. Eat up, there's plenty more where that came from. I want you to tell me about Gruven. Did he slay the Taggerung?"

Half-chewed food and wine sprayed from Rawback's mouth. "Wot, you mean Gruven? Hohohoho, d'ye think 'e killed the Taggerung?"

Gruven tried to drown Rawback out by shouting, "Don't lissen to that crazybeast! He's mad! You wouldn't believe anythin' that fool says, would ye?"

The tough lean vixen grabbed Gruven in a headlock. She stuffed his mouth with a sod of earth and grass, holding it shut whilst the scar-faced rat bound the stoat's muzzle shut with his own belt. Ruggan pushed more wine at Rawback. "He won't disturb us, friend. Now tell me everything, right from the start when you left camp."

The blackberry wine swiftly loosened the stoat's tongue, and it seemed to restore his powers of recall also. Rawback related the full tale of the hunt for the Taggerung. Ruggan Bor listened carefully to it all, particularly the episode of what took place at Redwall. For a madbeast, Rawback had an excellent memory.

"Well, there we was, see, all in the ditch outside o' Redwall Abbey's front gate. Eefera an' Vallug's shoutin' fer them to bring out the Taggerung. Then this mouse we was 'oldin' prisoner breaks loose, an' it all goes wrong. Vallug slays an ole blind stripedog with an arrer, an' the mouse grabs a battle-axe an' goes after Dagrab. Nobeast's watchin' me'n'Gruven, so 'e snatches 'is sword an' runs off north up the ditch. That's when I escaped too. I follered Gruven. I chanced to look back to see if we was bein' chased. I saw Vallug Bowbeast lyin' dead, an' I saw the Taggerung too. But 'e was chasin' Eefera westward o'er the plain. It was the Taggerung, though; I'd know 'im anywheres. There was an arrer stickin' out of 'im, but a bowshaft wound wouldn't stop a warrior like 'im. Redwall beasts was floodin' out the gates, yellin' an' shoutin'. I knew it was all over then. So I kept me 'ead down an' ran north along the bottom o' that ditch after Gruven, fast as I could. Next thing, we leaves the ditch"

Ruggan Bor had heard enough. "Finish your vittles now and rest, Rawback. You can join my clan as a Juskabor."

Unused to so much food and wine, Rawback was soon snoring. Gruven was ungagged and brought before Ruggan Bor. The golden fox stared implacably at him. "You heard him. What have you got to say now?"

Gruven spat out soil and grit. He had recovered from his hysteria, and had his story ready. "Rawback's mad. Even you must be able to see that. His mind is fuddled. That was the Taggerung he saw lyin' slain in the ditch, not Vallug. His head was severed from his body. I know, I chopped it off with my own sword!"

Sipping from a flask of blackberry wine, the Juskabor Chieftain thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Why didn't you tell me this at first, instead of making up a lot of foolish lies?"

Gruven went into another of his acts. This time he was the honest warrior, rough and ready, but a little embarrassed. "Sire, I did not want you to know that I fled in the midst of a battle. But I had to, we were greatly outnumbered. I give you my word of honor, though, I slew the Taggerung outside Redwall's gates. There you have it, the truth!" He stood trembling, averting his gaze from Ruggan Bor.

A long silence followed before the Juskabor leader spoke. "I am always prepared to listen to the truth. Since you were first brought to my camp you have wriggled and lied your way all around it, Gruven. I believe Rawback. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. My Juska warriors are wondering why I haven't slain you before now; they've seen me deal with liars and cowards before. But if you are really the Taggerung, I must allow you every chance to prove it. A Taggerung is a mighty legend among Juska clans, one to be respected and honored. I must tell you that when I first heard an otter was the chosen one I was very disappointed. My clan and I always wanted to see a fox as Taggerung. If you slew him as you say, then a lot of creatures must have witnessed the deed. We will find out the real truth, Gruven... when we reach the gates of Redwall!"

Chapter 36

Darkness fell earlier each day as the season drew into mid-autumn. The trees were bare and the harvest was in. Deyna strolled round the Abbey lawns, paw in paw with his sister and mother, savoring the moonlit night. He caught Filorn's glance. "What is it, Mama? Have I sprouted an extra ear?"

Filorn looked away quickly, embarrassed at being caught staring. "No, son, it's just that you're so like your father, a big handsome riverdog." She shuddered slightly in the night air. Deyna swept off his cloak and placed it around her shoulders. He smiled fondly.

"And you're so like my mother and Mhera's so like my sister. Except that I'm supposed to call her Mother Abbess now. I like having two mothers, I get treated twice as well."

Deyna was very tall; Mhera looked up at him, chuckling. "Start calling me Mama and I'll kick your rudder into the pond. Isn't it time we were going inside? I can feel rain."

Deyna placed his sister under the cloak with Filorn. "Sorry. I've spent so long out in the open I hardly notice the weather. Come on, we'll take a slow walk back to the Abbey."

Filorn measured each pace deliberately. Deyna laughed. "I didn't mean that slow, Mama. Come on, I've seen you running. Don't come the old ottermum with me, my beauty."

The Abbey bells tolled out softly, one ring apiece. Filorn suddenly speeded up. "That's what I was waiting for. Come on, you two, I'll race you!"

Shoulder to shoulder with Mhera, she sped off across the Abbey lawn as the first drops of rain fell. Deyna caught up with them, sweeping both off the ground and running for the Abbey door. Mhera and Filorn were laughing, kicking and shouting.

"Hahaha, put me down, you great lump, put me down!"

"I'm the Abbess, you can't do that to me, put me down, baby brother! Hahaha, oh dear, hope nobeast sees us. Hahaha!"

Deyna joined in the fun. "I can't, Mama, you'll get your paws wet, and you too Mother Abbess. Got to keep my little old sister dry. Hohoho!"

Boorab and Nimbalo were waiting in the warm shaft of light from the open door. The harvest mouse shook his head sadly. "Lookit me pore ole mate, forced t'carry 'is wicked family 'round fer the rest of 'is life. Shame, ain't it?"

The hare fixed them with a disdainful glance as they arrived on the doorstep. "Dreadful goin's on, wot? Here's me in me dwindlin' seasons, but I notice the bounder hasn't offered t'carry me around!"

Deyna set his mother and sister down lightly. Then he lifted Boorab up and set him on his shoulder. "Right, where d'you want me to carry you to, sir?"

"I say, jolly decent of you, wot. Straight inside, laddie buck. I can't wait to get at the jolly old harvest feast they've set up in your honor. Absoflippinlutely famished I am!"

The others followed Deyna and Boorab inside, Mhera calling, "You puddenheaded hare, you've given the surprise away!"

Great Hall was decorated with multicolored lanterns and sheaves of flowers, and the tables had been laid beautifully. Everybeast from Dibbun to elder raised a hearty cheer at Deyna's appearance, and he was forced to feign surprise.

"Great seasons of thunder! What a marvelous spread! Thank you, friends one and all. Thank you!"

Boorab tugged Deyna's ear. "I say, old scout, any chance of lettin' me down, wot?"

"Hurr hurr, you'm stayen oop thurr, zurr, give us'n's a chance at ee vikkles. 'Old on to ee gurt glutting, zurr Deyna!"

Boorab bared his teeth at Gundil. "If he does I'll scoff his blinkin' ears one at a time!"

Deyna sat at the head of the big table, with Filorn, Mhera, Nimbalo and Hoarg, Redwall's oldest inhabitant. It was a feast to remember, happiness and friendship enhanced by the best of Redwall fare. Puddings, pies, pasties and cakes were arranged between fruit, berries and nuts, both fresh and preserved in honey from last autumn's harvest. Salads, breads and soups of every variety jostled for position with trifles and flans. Drogg Cellarhog had outdone himself with his selection of ales, cordials, teas and fizzes. But the highlight was a great cheese, produced by Filorn, Boorab, Nimbalo and Gundil. The hare watched anxiously as it was served from the table's far end.

"Steady on there, you molechaps, leave a smidgen for the Master of Abbey Music. Have a bit of respect for my cheese, you rotters!"

However, there was still almost three-quarters of the huge cheese left when it reached the much-relieved hare. He cut a large wedge, arranging it on a platter with some salad, pickled onions and a farl of warm ovenbread, and passed it proudly along to Deyna.

"Try that, sah. Go on, taste it and tell me if you've ever scoffed anything so good, wot?"

Deyna cut the cheese and tossed half to Skipper, so they could both sample it. Filorn smiled at their delighted expressions. "We made a new yellow cheese and spiked it with nuts, celery and herbs, then we soaked it for three days in boiling carrot and dandelion juice mixed with pale cider. Mr. Boorab gave it a name, but it's too complicated to say."

The hare bowed gallantly. "Quite simple, marm. We made it together, so I took a bit of our names, all four. It's a filboonimgun. Nice title, wot?"

Mhera nudged her brother. "I'd never get any if I had to remember that name. I think I'll just call it the nice big tasty cheese."

Nimbalo winked knowingly. "That's 'cos you ain't got a memory like me, Abbess. Ahoy, Friar Bobb, pass me the floggingrumble cheese, will ye?"

Fwirl corrected him. "It's called the grungleflingboo cheese, isn't it?"

Others joined in, complicating the name Boorab had so painstakingly invented.

"No no, miz Fwirl, 'tis the floogenbumble, I think."

"Nay, zurr, et be's ee groggenfumble, oi'm surrpint!"

"Don't be silly, the cheese is called the fumblegroogen!"

"The groggenflingbull, that's what Boorab said!"

Sister Alkanet rapped the table for silence. "Stop this, please! Mr. Boorab, tell them the correct name."

Everybeast sat watching the hare. They had to wait until he had eaten the big lump of cheese in his mouth. There was an expectant silence, then Boorab smiled foolishly. "Er, sorry, but I've completely forgotten, wot. Ha wha wha wha w!"

The entertainment was opened by Skipper and his crew performing a hornpipe, the finale of which saw them all in a circle facing outward, their rudders entwined in a pattern behind them. Fwirl and Mhera were called upon to sing a duet. It was a comic one, but they sang it seriously, with demure looks, fluttering eyelashes and paws joined sedately.

"There's a hedgehog who lives down the lane, down the lane,

And I'm longing to see him again, once again,

I wait by the old log, for that handsome young hog,

Through the cold stormy wind, and the drizzle and fog,

But his mama won't let him come out, him come out,

I can hear every shout from her snout, what a snout,

'Don't you raise a paw, to go out of that door,

Go and tidy your room,' I can hear his ma roar.

Through the window I see his dear face, oh dear face,

By that window a ladder I'll place, I will place,

Then just wait and see, he'll climb down here to me,

We'll go strolling together, how happy we'll be.

So I crept to the window that night, cruel dark night,

I was standing the ladder upright, what a fright!

When his mama rushed out, crying, 'O lackaday,

That naughty young Spike has gone running away!'

So I sit here and weep for my hog, faithless hog,

'Cos they say he's run off with a frog, with a frog?

Take a maiden's advice, if you want to look nice,

Just turn yellow and hop once or twice!"

Fwirl and Mhera hopped primly back to their places amid laughter and applause. Deyna did not wish to do any warrior's tricks that he had learned with weapons, as they might frighten the Dibbuns. Instead he sat twenty of the Abbeybabes on a long form, took it on his shoulders and walked the full length of Great Hall. Amid the cries of admiration and wild cheers, Nimbalo announced, "I taught me mate to do that, y'know, but I used to carry twoscore o' liddle ones!"

Boorab was not to be outdone. "Oh did you indeed? Well, I used to do it with that same number, old lad, plus me fat auntie an' two kegs of ale. Oh yes!"

It was a fibbing contest. Everybeast sat back and enjoyed the pair, each trying to cap the other's achievements by lying outrageously.

"Hah, that's nothin'. When I was only a liddle sprig I could stand in a bucket an' carry meself 'round all day!"

Boorab waggled his ears airily. "Pish tush, laddie. You've seen how high this Abbey is, wot? Well, one time I stood on the lawn outside and landed on the roof with a single flippin' jump. Did it very slowly, of course, had to wait an' rise with the mornin' mist, y'know. If y'don't believe me, ask old Foremole. She saw me do it, didn't you, marm?"

Foremole Brull smiled from ear to ear. "Aye, zurr, oi see'd ee do et wi' moi own three eyes, so oi did!"

Mousebabe Trey decided to take part. He clambered up onto Filorn's lap and wagged a tiny paw at the two fibbers. "Chah! Dat nuffink, I climbed right up on Florn an' felled inna big big trifle, so I eated meself out of it. You ask Frybobb!"

Friar Bobb nodded sagely. "He certainly did. I was there, it was no fib."

"You fell into a giant trifle an' ate your way out?" Boorab stared at the mousebabe with something akin to hero worship in his eyes. Trey patted his small fat stomach.

"Yip, h'l did, sir!"

The hare's gaze misted over as he imagined what it would be like to fall into a monster trifle and eat his way out. "You lucky little blighter. Wish I could've had a try, wot!"

Nimbalo pushed a fair-sized trifle across the table. "Let's see 'ow ye did it, Trey me ole tatercake!"

Sister Alkanet stepped in, catching the little fellow almost mid-dive. Boorab and Nimbalo wilted under the famous icy glare.

"I once physicked a hare and a harvest mouse so severely that they swelled up and couldn't go out through the infirmary door. Then I had to double physick them back to normal. I can still do it. Ask Abbess Mhera, she'll tell you."

"Oh believe me, Sister Alkanet certainly can," the Mother Abbess of Redwall assured them solemnly. " 'Tis a fact!"

Boorab's ears fell flat, either side of his face. "Stone me! A joke's a joke an' all that, but, er, wot wot!"

Nimbalo lifted one of his friend's ears and whispered into it, "Fizzick? Wot's a fizzick, matey?"

"Take the word of an officer, sah, you do not want to inquire further. The good Sister could stop a horde o' stampedin' frogs with just a spoonful of the jolly old jollop she brews up!"

Rain pattered against the warm-lit Abbey windows as the night wore on. Elders loosened their belts and talked of the old days, drowsy young ones were carried off to the dormitories by Skipper's ottercrew. Bearing the famous cheese between them, a cluster of moles, Boorab, Nimbalo and Gundil followed Drogg downstairs. It was an experiment, to see how the cheese complemented the Cellarhog's remaining stock. Old Hoarg and Brother Hoben drifted off to the gatehouse for a game of nutshells and pebbles. Friar Bobb had fallen asleep in his chair, while Floburt and Egburt crept away to the kitchens with Sister Alkanet to bake scones for next morning's breakfast. Others shuffled off yawning to their beds. Deyna was happy just to sit with Mhera and Filorn. He gazed up at the ancient high-raftered ceiling while Abbess Mhera watched him.

"So, do you like our Abbey?"

The former Taggerung ran a paw over his unmarked face. There was no evidence of any tattoo on it. "Like it? I never imagined any place could be so wonderful. I've got you here, and Mama too. It's like living in the midst of a beautiful dream!" He hugged his mother and sister close. Filorn sighed happily.

"The dream will continue. We are a family again, together, here at Redwall."

Several mornings later, Nimbalo was out early, taking a morning stroll along the walltop. He liked rising before dawn and helping in the kitchens amid the good-natured bustle and delicious aromas wafting from the ovens. Friar Bobb would slice some hot bread and pack it with button mushrooms cooked in a savory herb sauce for him. The harvest mouse climbed the east wallsteps with his sandwich and ambled along the ramparts. He was fascinated by everything about the imposing architecture of Redwall, and munched away, his bright eyes taking in every detail. An early frost rimed the red sandstone battlements. Dawn was breaking slowly, calm and windless, tingeing the horizon orange and peach. Below the north wall, rowan trees were clustered thick with red and cream berries; further away he could see the fir cones, now turned brown. In leisurely fashion Nimbalo reached the northwest wall corner. His gaze swept over the flatlands and back to the path that ran alongside the west wall.

There standing in front of the main gate was Ruggan Bor at the head of three hundred armed Juska vermin. They stood immobile and silent, barbaric tattooed faces tight-lipped, awaiting their Chieftain's command. Not a spear or a blade clanked against a shield. Ruggan Bor, the golden fox, leaned on his saber hilt, his inscrutable gaze assessing the walls.

Nimbalo dropped flat below the battlements, his breakfast forgotten as he scrambled away to the north steps.

Chapter 37

Icy ditchwater squelched beneath Gruven's footpaws as he stood in the ditchbed, surrounded by his six guards. His mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out what would happen when Ruggan Bor made his presence known to the Redwallers. Gruven shivered, more from fear than cold, and the ditchwater gurgled and made a sucking noise as he changed position. The tough vixen cuffed his ear and whispered viciously. "Quit hoppin' 'round an' be still or I'll knock ye senseless!"

Slowly the sun rose over the vast thickness of east Mossflower. Ruggan kept his Juska clan close in to the west wall, not wanting to be out on the flatlands with the sun in his eyes. He would wait until the sun got higher and lessened the handicap. Behind him, Rawback gave a slight cackle. Ruggan gave a nod to two of his foxes. They did not bind Rawback, merely gagging the crazed stoat and muttering a few warning words to keep him silent. Ruggan Bor was an experienced leader. Always calm and patient, he could wait until he felt the moment was right.

No sound came from within the Abbey walls, nor from the outside, where massed Juskabeasts lined the path. An hour dragged slowly by. Ruggan checked the wall shadow. It had extended over path and ditch onto the flatland. A single gesture from him sent his troops noiselessly back to the edge of the ditch. Ruggan Bor drew his saber. The time had arrived. He signaled four spear carriers. They ran forward and thudded their spearbutts against the great oaken doors of Redwall.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Ruggan had expected to wait until some old gatekeeper appeared on top of the wall to see who was knocking. Instead the doors swung open and he was faced by a wall of over twoscore otters, tough capable beasts, armed with slings and javelins. An array of squirrels, moles, mice and hedgehogs peered over the battlements, armed with all manner of throwing implements. They were led by a hare carrying a long hooked window pole.

An otter stepped forward, half a head taller than the rest. Ruggan's attention was caught by the sword he carried. It was slightly short for such a big creature, but a magnificent weapon nonetheless. The big otter looked as though he could use the blade. His gaze swept over the Juskabor, then back to their leader.

"What do you want here, vermin?"

Ruggan walked forward until he was but a pace away from the otter. "I am Ruggan Bor, Lord of the Southern Coasts and Chieftain of the Juskabor clan!"

The big otter too stepped forward until his face was a whisker away from the golden fox. His voice held no fear. "And I am Deyna, Warrior of Redwall. I asked you what you want here?"

Ruggan took a pace back, to stay out of sword range. "I want information. Do you have an otter here with his face tattooed in this manner?"

The six guards heaved Gruven out of the ditch. The stoat stared at Deyna, bewildered. The voice was the same, but the face was different from that of the Taggerung. It had not been tattooed.

The strange otter gave Gruven a dismissive glance. He recognized his old adversary immediately, but kept deliberately silent. Fixing his attention on Ruggan Bor, Deyna answered the fox's question levelly. "There is no creature within these walls with vermin tattoos on his face. Why do you ask?"

Ruggan did not like the way his interrogation was going. The otter Deyna was staring him down with cold ruthless eyes. He had an air of confident authority about him. Ruggan decided to turn the tables. His saber was longer than the otter's sword, and he pointed it threateningly in Deyna's face. "Do not lie to me. I have three hundred at my back. We could overwhelm you and search your Abbey!"

Deyna moved like lightning, backward, sideways and forward. Ruggan stood with his saber pointed at nothing, the otter's blade across his throat. Deyna was alongside him, a paw hard on the nape of his neck, so he could move neither forward nor back.

"Nobeast sets paw into Redwall Abbey without my permission. Now take your vermin and begone, or stay here and die!"

Ruggan's expression did not change. "I can only go if I have the information I came for. This otter was called the Taggerung. Was he here? Tell me, Deyna of Redwall."

Deyna nodded. "He was here once, but he is gone now. The Taggerung no longer exists. As far as I'm concerned, he is dead."

Gruven seized the opportunity. Pushing the guards aside, he cried, "I told you he was dead. I slew him right there in that ditch! I am Taggerung now. Gruven Zann Taggerung!"

Nimbalo climbed up onto a battlement, pointing at Gruven and yelling aloud, "Aye, that's the one. I saw 'im slay the big painted vermin!"

Gruven could hardly believe his ears. Here was somebeast, a little mouse, agreeing with his lies. He waved to Nimbalo. "Thank you, my friend, thank you! Hahahaha! Ruggan Bor, did you hear that? Now who d'you believe, crazy Rawback or me? I have a witness, you heard him. I slew the Taggerung!"

Ruggan placed his paw to the blade at his throat. "Put up your sword, otter. We are leaving!"

Ruggan ordered his Juskabeasts across the ditch onto the flatlands. Deyna stood warily, his sword still at the ready. Gruven was jubilant. He grabbed back his sword from the vixen who had taken it and sawed through the rope around his waist, laughing all the time.

"Hahahaha! Gruven Zann Taggerung. Bow before me! Nobeast is mightier than the Taggerung!"

Ruggan stood to one side, holding a hasty whispered conference with his Seer Ermath. Waving his sword and laughing hysterically, Gruven confronted the six Juska who had been his guard.

"Now, you scum, I'll show you what happens to anybeast who treats a Taggerung the way you treated me. Hahahaha! Kneel, all of you, kneel and bow your heads before me. Hahahahaha!"

"Zann Juska Taggerung! He who slays the Taggerung becomes Taggerung himself!"

Gruven half turned as Ruggan Bor swung his saber. And Ruggan Bor kicked Gruven's headless carcass into the ditch.

Ermath the old vixen Seer spread her paws wide to the waiting vermin and called in a reedy trembling voice, "Lord of the Southern Coasts! Chieftain of the Juskabor! Ruggan Zann Taggerung!"

A mighty roar erupted from the three hundred clanbeasts. "Ruggan Zann Taggerung! Taggerung! Taggerung! Juskaaaaaaa!"

Then something happened that nobeast had ever seen before: Ruggan Bor smiled. He grinned from ear to ear and threw back his head, laughing over the spears clattering on shields, over the waving swords and blades of all kinds, over the lances thrust upward at the sky as his laughter mingled with the roar of the Juskabor clan.

Abbess Mhera came to the open gate and wriggled between the ottercrew to her brother's side. "What is it, Deyna? What's going on out here?"

Deyna ushered his sister gently into Skipper's waiting paws. "Go back inside quickly, Mhera. Those vermin are working themselves into a frenzy!"

Deyna was right. Ruggan Bor turned to face him, standing at the ditch edge and whirling his saber. The Juskabor vermin leaned eagerly forward, pointing their spears and blades. Deyna knew that three hundred Juska could not resist the temptation of an Abbey defended by less than a third of their number. He signaled Skipper. "Get everybeast inside and bar the gates, Skip. I think there's going to be trouble!"

Mhera had made her way up to where Boorab was standing on the walltop, balancing between two battlements. "Are the vermin going to attack the Abbey?" she called. "Is Deyna inside?"

Boorab did not answer. Shading his eyes, he peered down to the southern bend of the path at the dustcloud arising betwixt woodland and flatland. He turned back to Mhera with an odd smile on his face.

"Beg pardon, Abbess marm, but best cover your ears. I'm goin' to shout." The hare's narrow chest puffed out to its fullest extent as he sucked in air. Placing both paws around his mouth, he bellowed mightily, "Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Nimbalo wiggled a paw in his ear. "Wot's all the yellin' for, matey?"

Boorab pointed to the dustcloud, grinning like a madbeast. "C'mon, laddie buck, and you, Abbess. Filorn, marm, would you be so kind as to oblige me? You too, Hoarg, Drogg, Hoben. In fact everybeast, all shout together, loud as y'can. Eulalia's the word, pronounced yoo lay lee ahh, long on the ah. One, two, shout!"

"Eulaliiiaaaaaa!"

Boorab had them shout another five times. Then he held up his paw.

Down at the main gate the Juska were about to charge at the still half-open doors, the gap packed with otters prepared to take down as many vermin as they could before the gates closed. The whole scene suddenly became a frozen tableau. A colossal roar, like a tidal wave breaking against a cliff, came up from the south.

"Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!!!"

The roaring continued and the very ground beneath the Juska began to thrum. Through the massive dustcloud emerged a giant Badger Lord at the head of a thousand fighting hares.

Boorab chortled with delight. "I say, you rotters are in for a jolly good pastin', wot," he called down to the vermin. "Here comes the Long Patrol an' a blinkin' Badger Lord t'the rescue."

Redwallers hung over the parapets, cheering. Mhera had never seen a real live Badger Lord before; he was an awesome and frightening sight. Deyna threw open the gates, marching out with Skipper and the ottercrew. Ruggan Bor and his three hundred Juska were completely taken by surprise. They had no option but to put up their weapons and stand still. The hares had split and swirled out in a massive pincer movement, leaving the vermin surrounded, their backs to the open gate, which was blocked by warlike otters. It was all done with startling speed, a smart military example of outflanking the enemy.

Filorn buried her face in her apron. "Mhera, don't look. There's going to be a dreadful slaughter!"

Boorab chuckled reassuringly. "Not at all, marm, those fightin' hares aren't led by some berserkin' Bloodwrath creature. Oh dear me no, that giant beast is none other than the Lord of Salamandastron, Russano the Wise!"

Lord Russano was twice as broad and half as high again as any creature present. He towered over all, like an oak among aspens. He was dressed humbly, in a plain brown cloak and tabard, and his wide woven belt showed no evidence of sword or other blade. In his huge right paw he carried a short length of dark polished hardwood like a scepter. Quiet confidence and immense calm radiated from him. An older hare, with stiff whiskers and a fierce glint in his monocled eye, marched smartly up to the badger and saluted with his lance.

"Position secured, everythin' present an' correct. Sah!"

Russano nodded. "Thank you, Colonel. Who is the Chieftain of these Juska vermin?"

Ruggan Bor was marched into the Badger Lord's presence. Russano looked across to Deyna, who was obviously in charge of the defenders. "Have these Juska harmed or slain any of my Redwall friends?"

The otter gave a small courteous bow. "None, sire, thanks to your timely arrival. We were just about ready to do battle; you spared us a lot of bloodshed."

Russano turned his attention to the Juska Chieftain. "Had you attacked Redwall Abbey it would have been your most fatal mistake. What do they call you?"

The golden fox's voice trembled as he stared up at the Badger Lord. "I am Ruggan Bor."

Russano tapped Ruggan's chest with his hardwood stick. "I have heard your name spoken as Lord of the South Coasts. I am Russano of Salamandastron. Will you challenge me?"

Ruggan Bor laid his saber carefully at Russano's footpaws. "I too have heard of you. Only a fool would attempt such a thing."

Abbess Mhera could not take her eyes from the Badger Lord. She watched, fascinated, as the Juska laid down their arms, wondering what Russano would do next. He pointed to the flatlands beyond the ditch, his voice rumbling out, stern and majestic. "Take your creatures out there and line them up in ranks a score long facing this Abbey. Stand out in front of them, Ruggan Bor!"

Whilst the vermin slunk wordlessly across the ditch, Russano issued orders to his colonel in a low tone. Boorab winked at Abbess Mhera. "By the left, marm, takes a real Badger Lord to make those villains sit up a bit, wot!"

Trey the mousebabe had sneaked up onto the walltop. He tugged Boorab's paw urgently. "Do the vermints all getta tails chopped off now an' buried inna big 'ole?"

The hare picked Trey up and set him on a battlement to watch. "Indeed they do not, you bloodthirsty little bounder. You pay attention now, laddie buck. This'll be somethin' y'can tell your grandmice about, wot!"

Guarded by the colonel and five hundred armed hares of the Long Patrol, the Juskabor clan were ordered down on all four paws as Lord Russano addressed them.

"I have spared your miserable lives. If ever any of you are seen within a season's march of Redwall Abbey again, I will not be so merciful. Go back to your South Coasts and stay there!"

The fierce colonel saw Ruggan Bor starting to rise. He placed his lance on the back of the fox's neck. "Stay on all fours, vermin. This is the way you and your heroes will travel until sunset. Make no mistake, fox, myself an' five hundred o' the best'll go with you to make sure you do. I ain't as easy goin' as Lord Russano. Make one false move an' ye'll soon find that out to your cost, wot! Right now, listen up at the back there, you cads, wait for my sergeant's command!"

Two gimlet-eyed sergeants with ramrod backs and gruff voices began barking at the thoroughly cowed vermin. "Now then, you scruffy misbegotten lot, about turn! On the double, you dozy drooping daffodils! On all fours, heads down, tails cringin' . . . wait for it, wait for it. . . south'ard crawl!"

Away went the Juskabor in shameful banishment, with Ruggan Bor their Chieftain not at their head but at the rear.

Russano stood with Deyna and Abbess Mhera, watching the vanquished enemy raising a dustcloud over the plain. As she curtsied lightly, Mhera noticed that she did not even come level with the badger's waist.

"Lord Russano, I am Mhera, Mother Abbess of Redwall. Surely fate must have sent you to our Abbey today."

Russano knelt and kissed the ottermaid's paw respectfully. "Fate it was, Mother Abbess, that and a dream of Cregga Rose Eyes. She told me that her seasons had run. Cregga had a great and loving heart. I have made a long march from my mountain to visit her resting place, here at the Abbey of Redwall."

Boorab, who had been listening nearby, stepped forward and threw an elaborate salute to the Badger Lord. "Stap me vitals, sah, you arrived in the bally nick o' time!"

With a smile, Russano returned the salute. "We might not have. Our pace was very slow until we heard a fine military-sounding voice giving the war cry. If that was you, then you deserve the compliments of everybeast."

Boorab clicked his footpaws together so hard that he winced. "Thank you, sah. Most kind of you to say so, sah. Only doin' one's duty, wot wot!"

Mhera ushered the Badger Lord inside the gates. "You knew our Cregga?"

The Badger Lord's warm dark eyes smiled. "She nursed me when I was a babe. I recall that for a blind badger Cregga had enormous wisdom and patience, despite the fact that she had once been the wildest of Warrior Badgers ever to march from the mountain. She taught me many things. I lived at this Abbey with her for a while and acted as her eyes when she was blinded in battle. Then I journeyed to Salamandastron and ruled in her stead. This place has many wonderful memories for me."

Deyna held out his paw to Russano. "Abbess Mhera is my sister. I am Deyna, Warrior of Redwall."

The badger shook Deyna's paw cordially. "I knew that as soon as I saw you wearing the sword of Martin. I observe by your eyes that you are used to weapons, Deyna. I think you have led an adventurous life, my friend."

Deyna put a paw about his sister's shoulders and winked at Russano. "I'll tell you about it sometime, though you'd have trouble believing the half of it, matey."

The Badger Lord shrugged his wide shoulders. "Oh, I've seen and heard a few things that would make even your rudder curl, laddie buck!"

When they reached Cregga's grave, Russano took a medallion and chain from around his neck and hung it over the headstone's edge. It had been made at the forge in the mountain of Salamandastron, and was of burnished steel, quite large and heavy. On it was graven a likeness of Cregga, with two rubies for eyes. Russano touched his big striped muzzle to the stone and murmured gently, "My lady, your memory will live forever, both here and at the mountain you once ruled. Sleep in peace!" Standing straight, he breathed deeply and wiped his eyes. "Deyna, I'm sorry I won't have time to hear your story. I've visited Cregga now, and tomorrow morning I must leave. I'm sure you'll forgive me, Mother Abbess."

Mhera arranged the medallion a little more tidily upon the stone. "Why must you hurry away, sir? Don't you like our Abbey?"

Russano waved a paw across the lawns. Hares were flooding through the gate, greeting the Redwallers and playing with the Dibbuns. "Like Redwall Abbey? I love the place! But I have a thousand Long Patrol hares with me, and that would strain even the most generous hospitality of anybeast!"

Placing both paws within the wide sleeves of her habit, Abbess Mhera shook her head reprovingly at Russano. "We owe our lives to you and your hares, lord. This Abbey has more than enough to feed and accommodate your hares for many seasons. I will not hear of your leaving tomorrow for such an absurd reason. You are our honored guests. Surely one of the first things Cregga must have taught you was that the gates of Redwall are ever open to all our good friends!"

The great Badger Lord, Russano the Wise of Salamandastron, sat down beside the grave. He patted the earth, gazed up at the soft autumn afternoon and picked the delicate pink flowers from a vervain growing between the back of the headstone and the wall. Mhera watched him as he smelled its elusive fragrance. Russano looked for all the world like a happy Dibbun, as he must have been when he lived at the Abbey.

He offered her the flower. "Oh, yes, Cregga said that to me often. You sounded just like her then. Say it again for me, please, Mother Abbess."

Deyna felt proud of his sister as she accepted the vervain flower and smiled at Russano. "The gates of Redwall are ever open to all our good friends!"

Epilogue

Extract from the diary of the squirrelmaid Rosabel.

I did not know that my story would be so long. It took me four evenings to read it. Cavern Hole was packed to the door with Redwallers each time. It was a huge success; the congratulations and cheers are still ringing in my ears. Of course, there were questions to be answered. Many Dibbuns wanted to know why the Taggerung allowed Rukky Garge to remove his tattoos and cover the speedwell flower birthmark on his paw. I told them that this was so he could live out his life in peace, unknown to any Juska vermin, under his original name of Deyna. However, being what they are, the Dibbuns found this most unsatisfactory. The idea of having a wild name like Taggerung and running around with a fierce tattooed face appealed to them immensely. Our Abbey Warrior, Deyna, stayed silent throughout my reading. When I was finished he came over and kissed my cheek, and presented me with an old polished bone tailring that he had worn in his wild seasons. He told me to keep it as a souvenir. I think he was profoundly moved; I saw tears in his eyes.

Now, wait until you hear my good news! Abbess Mhera and Brother Hohen asked to see me in Cregga's old bedchamber. 1 went up there wondering what it was all about. Brother Hoben began by saying that my manuscript was to be placed in the Abbey archives. He said it was a remarkable piece of work. Then he told me he was retiring as Recorder, to help old Hoarg in the gatehouse, as the poor old fellow hardly ever leaves his bed these days. Our Mother Abbess then promoted me to the position of full and official Recorder of Redwall Abbey. She told me that Cregga's chamber was to be made into my office! Will somebeast please pinch me? I keep imagining I'll wake and find it's all a dream. Foremole Gundil and his crew are fixing up a desk, shelves and cupboards, all just for me. I am going to keep Cregga Badgermum's big comfortable bed. Fwirl my mother is making me a beautiful coverlet for it, and my father Broggle is helping her with the embroidery. He's very good with needle and thread, though where he finds the time since taking over as Head Cook from Friar Bobb, goodness knows. Everybeast except Filorn said that my father should not have appointed Boorab as Assistant Cook. Boorab respects Abbess Mhera's mum greatly. That hare behaves himself perfectly when she is about. So, who has become Redwall's new Master of Music? Nimbalo, who else? Do you know, he has actually learned to play that great creaking antique known as the haredee gurdee.

Right, I must wash the ink from my paws. Our two new Infirmary Keepers need me to copy out some more remedies for their sickbay records. Sister Floburt and Brother Egburt make the nicest-tasting physieks; Dibbuns invent ailments just so as they can drink a dose or two. Who said that medicine always has to taste nasty? You'll never guess what Sister Alkanet is doing now: she has become old Drogg's assistant in the cellars. I must tell you that some of our cordials have been tasting decidedly odd of late. Boorab put aside a beaker of pennycloud and violet tea at supper last night. He remarked that he would sooner be physicked than have to drink it (wot wot!). Some of us started to laugh, but we soon stopped. Sister Alkanet may be only an Assistant Cellarkeeper, but she still retains her legendary icy glare. Great seasons, is that the dinner bell already? Good job I washed my paws. Sister Floburt and Brother Egburt will have to wait until after dinner. Even Recorders have to eat, you know. I must go, but here is my gift to you, my first signature in my new position.

Rosabel, daughter of Broggle and Fwirl,

Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.