Rakkety Tam (17 page)

Doogy sat on the ditchtop, clipping at daisies with his claymore. He greeted them mournfully. “Ach, I never even got tae raise mah blade. Tam did for 'em all afore I could get goin'. Ye'll have tae find me a sword like that 'un. 'Tis a braw, bonny blade!”

Tam came walking back up the ditch bed, cleaning the sword on his kilt. He stared at it in wonder, reflecting aloud, “I tell ye, this thing felt like a lightnin' flash in my paw. The beast who forged this blade knew what he was doin'. I'll stake my name on that!”

Abbot Humble and his team of Redwallers helped the Long Patrol carry their wounded into the Abbey. He walked alongside the stretcher on which the brigadier was being carried.

Humble held the hare's paw. “I can't thank you enough for coming to our rescue the way you did, sir.”

Crumshaw's jaw tightened as he was jolted slightly. “Don't mention it, Father. All in the line o' duty, y'know.”

Captain Fortindom and Sergeant Wonwill carried the body of Dauncey between them. Ferdimond De Mayne came hurrying over to place a comforting paw about the shoulders of Dauncey's twin sister, Kersey.

“There, there now, old gel, what can one say? Your brother went down bravely. He was a perilous warrior, wot!”

Kersey was dry-eyed and tight-faced, obviously in deep shock. A kindly molewife intervened to take care of her. “You'm leave thiz yurr young 'un to oi, zurr. Cumm ee with oi, moi dearie. Ee bee's needen a gurt rest.”

Sister Armel and Brooky were assisting a hare who had
an arrow protruding from his footpaw. As they came through the gate, Tam joined her, still carrying the sword of Martin. “Armel, how are you?”

She nodded at her patient. “Much better than this poor hare, thank you. I heard how you leaped the Abbey wall and slew five of those brutes single-pawed. It was a very brave thing to do, Tam.”

Shuffling awkwardly, the border warrior chuckled. “You've been listening to rumours—Doogy was with me. We scaled down the wall. It's not hard t'do when you know how. As to slayin' the five vermin, well, I was just in the right place at the right moment.”

Doogy scowled as he trundled past, trailing his sword. “Och, if he fell doon a well, he'd come up wi' a cake in his paw. Next time yer passin' oot braw swords, lassie, dinna forget tae save one for the bonny han'some Highlander!”

The pretty squirrelmaid passed the wounded hare to them. “I will, sir, if you can find me a bonny handsome Highlander! Will you and Tam help this patient up to my Infirmary? Come on, I'll show you the way.”

When they arrived at the Sister's sickbay, there were other casualties waiting besides the Abbot and Brigadier Crumshaw. Though he was the most seriously wounded, the brigadier refused to be treated until all his injured creatures had been seen to.

He chatted with Tam as he waited. “Heard all about ye, MacBurl. From what I'm told, you're a brave an' perilous fighter, wot! Six o' the blaggards an' ye put paid to 'em all, single-pawed, by jingo!”

Tam corrected him. “ 'Twas only five, sir, an' I was just doin' my duty. I was very sorry to hear about young Dauncey, he was a gallant young galloper. I hope I got the scum who slew him, sah.”

The brigadier heaved a great sigh. “Young life like that, wasted. My fault, really. I should've kept the rascal on cookhouse duties. But who knows? Maybe his luck would've run out in a different way. Ah me, I tell ye, Tam, the Long Patrol is a hard an' dangerous life for anybeast.”

Abbot Humble nodded in agreement. “Indeed it is, Brigadier. But where would the peaceable creatures be without their protection? We'd have been long ago overrun and enslaved, or killed by vermin.”

Tam rested his chin on the pommel stone of Martin's wondrous sword. “Aye, yore right there, Father, an' so are ye, sir. We all choose our different paths. Some are born gentle, whilst others are destined to be warriors. Look at Doogy an' me—all we've ever lived by are our blades. We could no more live quietly in an Abbey than Abbot Humble could take to the sword. None of us was forced to do anything against our will. Poor young Dauncey, he was just one of the unlucky beasts. He loved gallopin' an' fightin' with the Patrol. If he had to die, I don't suppose he'd have had it any other way. It could happen to any warrior. Our fates are in the wind!”

Sister Armel brought her trolley of dressings and herbs across to where Crumshaw lay. She eyed Tam curiously. “You're quite a deep thinker!”

Doogy looked up from a roll of bandage he was playing with. “Aye, lassie, ye ken he learned all his deep thinkin' from me. Ah had a fearful job tryin' tae teach him!”

She slapped Doogy's paw and took the bandage from him. “Do something useful, Mister Plumm. Take hold of the Brigadier's paw. Tam, would you take his other paw, please? You'll have to hold him still whilst I remove that arrow.”

The Highlander took a grip on Crumshaw's paw. “Och, yon Sister's a fearsome creature, Tam. She's a braw pawslapper, too!”

Smiling, Armel ignored the jibe. She worked skilfully on the wound, explaining as she went. “Luckily the arrow went right through. If I break the shaft, it pulls out easily from the back, see? Hmm, there's no broken bone in there, it's a clean injury. I'm not hurting you—am I, sir?”

Holding the barbed point and the broken arrow up to his monocle, the brigadier shook his head. “Not at all, m'dear.
Wish I could jolly well steal you away t'be the healer at Salamandastron. Pretty gel like you, who knows what she's doin'! Not like old blood'n'fluff Hackworthy, the hare who's the present sawbones. Hah! Saw a young chap go to him with an ingrown pawclaw one time. D'ye know what the confounded buffoon did? Pulled two o' the poor beast's teeth out, wot wot!”

Armel stifled a giggle. “I've packed the wound with boiled stream moss, some sanicle leaves and curled dock leaves. We'll bandage it firmly but not too tight. Drink this cordial, it's made from motherwort and gentian root. It will ease any pain and help you to rest.”

Tam winked at the Infirmary Sister. “That must have took some deep thinking to learn all about herbs an' dressin's, eh?”

The pretty young squirrelmaid answered modestly. “Not really, just a lot of bitter experience and hard concentration. Now, shall we escort the wounded down to lunch? I'm sure you'll enjoy Redwall cooking.”

Brigadier Crumshaw leaned on Tam and Doogy, chortling. “By the left! Redwall scoff! I've visited here before, doncha know. Finest vittles anywhere! Makes our tucker taste like stale haversack rations an' hardtack. Lead on, sweet Sister, point us to the blinkin' trough!”

However, before anybeast could eat, there was a burial to attend, that of the unfortunate galloper Dauncey. Foremole Bruffy and his crew had seen to the digging arrangements. It was a quiet little spot at the corner of the southwest wall, shaded by an old cherry-plum tree which had rooted itself into the base of the wall. Kersey, unable to bear watching her twin laid in his grave, sat stone-faced by the fire in Cavern Hole, attended by the homely molewife.

After the burial, the hares of the Long Patrol sang a short verse as a farewell to their comrade.

 

“Now the sunny glades are silent,

where our fallen warriors lay.

As in memory we treasure

all the brave who marched away.

Through the dusty seasons rolling,

o'er our passing out parade,

how we laughed and sang together,

Oh your face 'twill never fade.”

 

Most of the younger hares broke down in tears as Sergeant Wonwill stepped forward and placed the galloper's empty despatch purse and belt on the flowerstrewn mound.

The brigadier wiped something from his eye, replaced his monocle and addressed his command. “Vigilance in battle, alertness on the march! Somethin' everybeast o' the Long Patrol must bear in mind. Obedience to the officers' orders an' strict attention to the advice of veteran comrades, vitally important! I say vitally, because if ye adhere t'these rules, it may save your life. This young galloper lost his life. I don't want to witness any more lives, particularly young 'uns, lost needlessly. You march to the warrior's way, learn those ways well an' burn 'em into your minds. You'll all get your chance to avenge the memory of young Dauncey in the comin' days. That'll help him to rest easy, knowin' his friends are continuin' the fight against evil an' brutal vermin. That's all I've got to say. Sergeant!”

Wonwill threw a smart salute. “Sah! All ranks t'the mess, an' remember yore manners in front o' these kind creatures. Dismiss!”

 

Nobeast could ever be gloomy for long at Redwall Abbey. The newcomers were made heartily welcome by the Abbot and his creatures. Friar Glisum and his helpers had the kitchens working to capacity. With his ample past experience in feeding hares, the good Friar was aware of the huge appetites they possessed and was well prepared to cater to the Long Patrol.

Glisum bustled about his kitchens, checking everything for quality and quantity. “Salad, we need mountains of good spring salad! Chop more carrots, add extra radishes!
Borty, that little few stalks of celery won't be nearly enough. Go and get some more from Brother Demple, lots more!”

Borty the mole tugged his snout. “Aye, zurr, an h'oill fetch ee gurt load o' waterycress, an' scallions an' leekers, too. Yurr Mudge, bring ee likkle cart an' lend oi a paw!”

Skipper strolled into the kitchens, dipping a paw into a big wooden bowl and licking it with relish. “Hmm, that tastes nice, though it'd be better with a dash of 'otroot pepper in it.”

Glisum raised his ladle threateningly. “Away, you great plank-ruddered marauder! That's my own special recipe—rosehip vinegar and almond-oil salad dressing with grated dandelion bud. Anyhow, what are you doing in my kitchens, eh?”

The otter chieftain stole a hot scone from a tray which had just come out of the ovens. He retreated to the door, jiggling it between both paws. “Abbot says to tell ye lunch'll be out on the lawns. He said to serve it buffet style, 'cos he wants a full banquet supper laid out in Great Hall this evenin'.”

Glisum threw up his paws in despair. “Well, this is a fine time to be telling me that! Ulba, please run down to the cellars right away. Tell Burlop to bring up the trestle with the folding legs. Have it set out on the lawn, not too far from the steps. Everybeast sits on those steps when we have lunch out there. Now, what next? Mushroom and onion gravy for the pasties, hazelnuts for the fruit slices, damson glaze for the pear flan . . . Cheese! I knew I'd forgotten something, ripe yellow cheese for the grilled chestnut dip.”

Despite the last-moment rush, the buffet lunch went off smoothly. Glisum's prediction proved correct, with everybeast seating themselves on the broad, sun-warmed steps which fronted the Abbey building's main door.

Foremole Bruffy remarked to Humble as they shared a pastie, “Stan' on moi tunnel, zurr. H'oi never see'd owt loiken it in moi loife. They'm hurrs bee's gurt vikklers!”

The Abbot watched Corporal Wopscutt wolfing his way through a mound of salad and swigging pale cider furiously. “Indeed, they don't seem to stint themselves at mealtimes. ‘Perilous scoffing,' I've heard them call it. I remember, in old Friar Furdle's time, he used to say, ‘I'd sooner feed a hare half a day than a full season.' Furdle certainly had a point there.”

Tam and Doogy brought their laden platters from the table and sat beside Armel and Brooky. The border warrior dipped a grilled chestnut in melted cheese and bit into it. “No wonder you like Abbey life, Armel. This lunch is superb!”

The Infirmary Sister sipped at her beaker of plum
cordial. “I'm glad you like it. What's the matter with your friend up there, doesn't he like company?”

Tergen was perched on a dormitory windowsill, making inroads to a sizable slice of pear flan.

Doogy nodded in the goshawk's direction. “Och, he cannae get away from the wee ones. As soon as yore Dibbuns found out he wasnae goin' tae eat them, they all wanted tae play wi' him.”

Tam took up the matter of the goshawk with Armel. “I don't know how Tergen got up there, he has an injured wing. See, the one that flaps down by his side? He was wounded by a vermin arrow. I was wonderin', Armel, with your knowledge of herbs an' healin', could you do anything for him? 'Tis a sad thing to see a bird like that hobblin' about, unable to fly.”

The pretty Sister readily agreed. “Indeed it is. Bring him up to the Infirmary later, I'll see what I can do. You do travel in some odd company, Tam—a wounded hawk and a thief! By the way, I haven't seen Yoofus about. Where d'you suppose he's got to?”

Sitting close by, Brother Gordale could not help overhearing the conversation. He tapped Tam's shoulder. “Pardon me, but I saw the water vole ye call Yoofus. As soon as lunch was served, he filled himself a platter and went off down to the south wall. Mayhaps he's a trifle bashful around others.”

Doogy questioned the mouse Gatekeeper. “Was he carryin' a bundle an' sword like mine, sir?”

Gordale thought for a moment. “Yes, he was actually. . . .”

The Gatekeeper got no further. Tam and Doogy were off and running down to the south wall.

When Doogy saw the small south wickergate hanging ajar, he stamped his footpaw down. “Ah knew it! The saucy wee robber, he's made off with yore claymore an' the flag. Ach, I'll love tae get mah paws on the thievin' rascal!”

Tam closed the wickergate and bolted it. “So would I, mate, but he's long gone now. I'll find him sooner or later, an' I'll mend his thievin' ways for him. I just hope he
doesn't fall into the clutches of Gulo an' his vermin first. You wouldn't wish that on anybeast, not even a thief. Ah well, back to lunch, Mister Plumm.”

The small Highlander shook his head in mock sadness. “Dearie me, 'tis a hard an' sore life we lead, Tam. Ah wonder what supper's goin' tae be like, eh?”

 

After lunch, Tam and Doogy were called to the gatehouse, where the brigadier, Sergeant Wonwill, Abbot Humble, Ferdimond and Armel awaited them. Sister Armel and Skipper met them at the door.

The otter chieftain nodded briefly to Tam. “Wot's all this about, matey?”

Tam ushered them inside. “Council o' war, prob'ly.”

Crumshaw waved his swagger stick at the border warrior. “Well-guessed, MacBurl, that's exactly what it is. We can't rest inside Redwall, eatin' these good creatures out o' house'n'home, with a hundred of the perishin' foebeast wanderin' the woodlands outside. Bad form, wot!”

Humble settled both paws into his wide sleeves. “So, Brigadier, what action do you propose?”

Crumshaw looked at the broad linen sling which was holding his wounded shoulder still. “Not a jolly great lot I can do with this blinkin' thing hamperin' me. I was hopin' for some sensible suggestions.”

Ferdimond De Mayne pawed at his long rapier hilt. “I say we march out tomorrow an' give the blighters a spot of good old Long Patrol blood'n'vinegar, sah!”

The brigadier was watching Tam closely. “An' what d'ye say, buckoe?”

Tam had his answer ready. “Well, I'd say we're pretty evenly matched against the vermin, as regards numbers. But if we march out to find 'em an' fight 'em, that leaves the Abbey unprotected, so we need a proper plan.”

Wonwill tapped Ferdimond's ear. “I 'ope yore lissenin', young blood'n'vinegar, there's experience talkin' for ye!”

He winked at Tam. “My 'pologies for h'interruptin', sah. I could tell ye had a plan.”

Tam outlined his suggestions to the group. “First, we've got to split the Patrol, half to stay here an' defend Redwall. They'll be commanded by the Brigadier. Doogy an' I will take the others out to fight the vermin.”

Sister Armel looked alarmed at the suggestion. “But Tam, you'll be outnumbered two to one, and those vermin are vicious brutes!”

Humble chided her mildly. “Don't be so hasty, Sister, hear him out first. You were saying, Tam?”

The warrior squirrel continued. “I'm not talking about meeting Gulo an' his mob head-on in a charge. We'll use hit an' run tactics, small, swift raids, pickin' the enemy off a few at a time. Never stoppin' in one place for long. We'll be like hornets, stingin' the great beast, then disappearin', always drawin' them further away from the Abbey.”

Crumshaw rapped the table with his stick. “A capital tactic, sah! Duck an' jolly well weave, hit 'em where it hurts, then vanish like smoke. That's the ticket, wot wot!”

Tam outlined his strategy further. “Aye, but I'll need somebeast who knows the territory like the back of his paw to help us. Skipper?”

The burly otter nodded. “That's me, mate! When d'we leave for this liddle jaunt?”

Tam pondered for a moment before answering. “I think the best time would be late tonight, while the supper is still bein' held. We'll slip out by the east wallgate. One thing, though—the hares will have to leave their regimental tunics behind. Father, d'you think ye could lend 'em somethin' to wear? Stuff that wouldn't stand out so brightly in the woodlands?”

Humble rose from his armchair. “I'll have a word with Foremole Bruffy. He knows about that sort of thing.”

 

The meeting broke up. Crumshaw and Wonwill stayed behind to go through the roster and decide who would go with Tam and who would stay behind at Redwall. Tam and Doogy helped Armel to entice the goshawk for treatment at the Infirmary.

Tergen expressed reluctance to have his injured wing attended to. “Naaaaar! Wing get better by itself, Burl. Not go to 'fermery. Haf knifes up there, cut this bird's wing off!”

Armel decided the best tactic was ridicule. “Well, dearie me, you great big Dibbun! Haha, Brigadier Crumshaw had a worse wound than yours, and he got treated without a murmur. I've never used a knife to cut anybeast. I'm here to heal, not to injure. Right, Doogy?”

The small Highlander agreed. “Aye, right lassie, but if'n yon auld featherbag is too feared tae be made better, what can ye do, eh?”

Tam winced as the hawk's powerful talons latched on to his paw. Tergen glared icily at Doogy and Armel. “Yeehok! Take this bird to 'fermery, Burl, wot wot!”

The goshawk proved to be a worthy patient. He perched on a bed end, nibbling candied chestnuts which Armel kept in a big jar for her Dibbun patients.

As the Sister worked on the goshawk's wing, she explained to Tam the significance of the sword she had given him. “Have you seen the picture of Martin the Warrior on the tapestry in Great Hall?”

Tam passed Armel the bowl of verbena water she had requested. “Aye, he looks like a mighty warrior. No wonder, too, with a sword like this.”

The Sister cast a quick glance at the sword, which had seldom left Tam's side since he had been in charge of it. Then she proceeded with her account to the warrior squirrel. “It is countless seasons since the days of Martin, but his legend, and that of the great sword, lives on. We learned at Abbey school that the hilt of the sword was the one which originally belonged to Luke, Martin's father. A Badger Lord named Boar the Fighter made the blade in his forge at Salamandastron. It is said that the metal came from a fallen star. There is no steel keener or stronger than that blade. The sword of Martin the Warrior belongs to Redwall Abbey and must always return here, though at special times an outstanding warrior may be chosen to wield it when danger threatens us. Martin appeared to me in a
dream, proclaiming that you were the one he had chosen, Tam.”

Doogy selected a candied chestnut mournfully. “Och, are ye sure yore Martin dinnae mean me, lassie?”

Tam picked up the sword. Swinging it in a flashing arc, he clipped the candied chestnut that his friend was holding neatly in half. He twirled the blade back and forth, watching the sunlight from the window playing along its edges as it cleaved the air.

“Great seasons o' slaughter, what a weapon! The balance and lightness, the way it fits my paw. I could face any ten vermin armed with this sword!”

Armel rapped Doogy's paw as he reached for another chestnut. “Mr. Plumm, those are only for injured Dibbuns!”

Tergen cackled as he grabbed another from the jar. “Kraahahaa, an' wounded birds who be not feared!”

 

The banquet supper that evening was a splendid affair. Redwallers sat cheek by jowl with Long Patrol hares, chattering and laughing as they did justice to the culinary triumphs of Friar Glisum and some of Burlop's best cellar produce. The centrepiece was a huge meadowcream trifle garlanded with pink rosebuds of almond icing. Soups, dips and salads took up the border of the table. Behind them came pasties, turnovers, tarts and flans; closer in were the crumbles and cakes. As each course was completed, the dishes were removed and the next course brought forward. Burlop presided over a side trestle which was lined with drinks—from October Ale and pale cider, to cordials and squashes, with mint and fragrant herb teas. Even the ravenous hares were sated after a while, yet there was plenty left, and always new dishes being ferried in by helpers with trolleys.

A variety of entertainment was provided by numerous of the banquet attendees: a mole did some magic tricks; a trio of mousemaids danced an intricate reel, which involved weaving multicoloured ribbons into a plaited circle; then a party of Dibbuns performed a high-kicking jig, their
little faces screwed up with concentration as everybeast called out encouragement to them.

During a lull when the tankards and beakers were being refilled, Tam and Doogy obliged with a sword dance from their northern home. They received great applause but had to warn some enthusiastic Dibbuns about attempting to imitate them.

Banging their tankards on the tabletops, the Long Patrol called to Wonwill and Crumshaw.

“I say, sah, how about you an' the Sarge givin' us a ballad?”

“Yes, give us that jolly one about Algy an' Bobbs!”

“Aye, clear the floor there for the Brigadier an' the Sergeant. Give order please, you chaps!”

Crumshaw and Wonwill got up, much to the delight of the younger hares. They sang an old Salamandastron barrack room ballad, waltzing about paw in paw with a dignified air.

 

“Old Algy an' Bobbs an' me,

received the official call,

to attend A.S.A.P.

at the Regimental Ball.

All togged up in our best,

weren't we a sight to see,

combed an' brushed an' polished,

old Algy an' Bobbs an' me!

 

Honour an' bow to your partners,

chaps of the Long Patrol.

Whirl'n'curl'n'twirl your tail,

as round the floor we roll.

All the pretty ladies, lookin' for company,

an' didn't we oblige them,

old Algy an' Bobbs an' me!

 

Refreshments then were served,

an' Bobbs slipped on a flan.

He bumped the Colonel's daughter

headfirst into a pan.

Then Algy slung a pudden,

hit the Major's bride-to-be.

An' the Sergeant fired a crumble

at Algy an' Bobbs an' me!

 

O pass me a trifle smartly,

with a cherry on top for luck.

It smacked the Quartermaster,

he was bowled out for a duck.

Lathered in cream an' howlin',

‘Arrest those bloomin' three.'

We wound up in the guardhouse,

old Algy an' Bobbs an' me!”