Rakkety Tam (31 page)

Wandering Walt dug his spoon into a crumble and served himself a hefty portion. “Hurr, that ain't apprisin', missy. Ee burd were used to flyen' an' huntin' all 'is loife, b'aint gudd t'be ee hawk wi' a broked wing—no, marm!”

Desultory talk went back and forth over the lunch. Outside the drizzling rain continued for longer than the Redwallers had predicted. After eating, some of the hares
retired to the dormitories, while others went down to Cavern Hole to nap the dull noontide away.

Whilst Sister Armel tended to the Dibbuns, Tam went outside. He roamed the walltops, peering into the misty veils of drizzle in the hope that he would spy the short, sturdy figure of Doogy Plumm returning to Redwall Abbey. But there was no sign of his Highland friend.

Fortune, they say, favours the valiant—though not always, for Dame Fortune is a fickle lady. Sometimes she is quite impartial to the goings-on of those in her charge and gives her favours to evil creatures.

Gulo the Savage was alive!

When the huge fallen willow tree shot off wildly down the rapids with its cargo of vermin, it was spinning about from roots to foliage, whirling uncontrollably on the racing current. On and on it careered, revolving crazily. The vermin clung on with fang, tail and claw, their screeches and screams drowned out by the ever-increasing roar of the approaching waterfall. Gulo lodged himself between the roots, enveloped in boiling white spume as he grasped the limber taproots fiercely. Just ahead of them he spied the dead end of the rapids, where the maddened waters were transformed into a cataclysmic torrent. A fearful howl ripped from his mouth as the tree went round and round like a top, headed for destruction.

Whuuuump!
Suddenly he was almost dislodged from his perch. The treetrunk had temporarily stuck lengthways
across the towering rocks, right on the brink of the cascading deluge! Gulo swayed perilously but held on to the roots, whilst all along the length of the trunk vermin were knocked loose by the shock of the collision.

Yeeeeeaaaaaarrrgh!
Ermine and white foxes hurtled off into midair. Down, down, down they plunged into the seething curtain of waterspray. Gulo gritted his fangs, seeking a firmer pawhold. The willow creaked and groaned as it moved, the crashing torrent slowly pushing it forward. An ermine close to the wolverine stretched out his paw for help. He vanished with a wail of despair as he grasped his leader's footpaw, only to have Gulo kick him off angrily.

Self-preservation was uppermost in Gulo's mind—he had to act swiftly or die. With a mighty bound he flung himself from the spreading roots, landing awkwardly on a crag that protruded from the left bank. Sliding over onto a slippery ledge, the beast watched the willow being swept further ahead.

Gulo bellowed at the small group of vermin closest to the roots, “Jump, fools! Jump or be killed, now!”

In a blind panic, the vermin released their holds on the log and came leaping and stumbling along it. Only eight made the rocks. The others, who had still been nerving themselves for the leap, met their demise when the furious current pushed the willow over the brink and off into the awful void. The survivors lay on the wet, moss-covered ledge, wide-eyed with shock and speechless with terror.

Gulo broke through their fear with a harsh command. “Follow me, or I'll see ye follow them!”

Knowing that the wolverine never made empty threats, they scrabbled along the slippery ledge in his wake.

By early evening they made the top of the rocky canyon and tumbled exhausted onto firm ground. There Gulo the Savage, and what was left of his army, fell dripping to the woodland floor amid a welter of streamwater and slathering sweat. No fires were lighted, no food searched for. Sobbing with weariness, they collapsed into deep sleep, punctuated throughout the night by whimpers and wails as they dreamt
of being hurled into endless depths and smashed to pieces on the rocks below. The thunderous boom of the mighty falls echoed up through the rocky canyon to reinforce the stark terror of their nightmares.

 

The morning was half gone when Gulo blinked his eyes and stirred. Rising, he kicked his small band into wakefulness, ordering two to kindle fire and four others to forage for food. The two remaining—a scrawny female ermine called Duge, and a male white fox named Herag—stood frozen, awaiting Gulo's commands.

He nodded to the ermine. “Climb yon tall fir tree and tell me what ye can see.”

The wolverine stared at the fox, who shifted uncomfortably. “Thou art my Captain now. Have ye a name?”

The fox gulped out, “Herag, Mighty One.”

Gulo spoke almost to himself as Herag stood to stiff attention. “We will go to the Redwall place when we have eaten.”

Leaving the new captain staring after him, Gulo wandered off amid the trees, talking to himself aloud. “It does not finish here. Askor, my brother, I will find thee. Mayhap my captains already have. Doubtless they have conquered the Redwall place an' have thee bound in some cellar, awaiting my arrival. Hahaha, 'twill be so, I know!”

A white fox came into the camp carrying firewood. He began stacking it and setting steel to tinder over some dry moss.

Herag crouched down beside him, whispering, “Listen, can ye hear Gulo? Methinks his brain has snapped! He talks with himself and laughs like a madbeast!”

The other fox, far older than Herag, murmured flatly, “Have ye only just realised that? I served under both brothers, aye, and the father. They were all three crazed, though methinks Gulo is the maddest of the lot, an' the most dangerous. Keep thy mouth shut and avoid his eyes, ye might live longer that way. Now leave me to my work.”

Herag stayed crouching beside the elder. “This is a fine warm land of plenty Gulo has brought us to, though we have had nought but strife an' hardship whilst we've been here. Methinks the bodies of our comrades are scattered all across these fair lands.”

The old fox could sense which way Herag's conversation was going. He watched the spiral of blue smoke transformed into a pale tongue of flame as he breathed on it gently. He looked around, checking that Gulo was not within earshot.

“Heed me now, young 'un. What I say may save thee from an awful death. We are bound to Gulo the Savage, for better or worse. We serve him, not through love or loyalty, but through fear. Put any thoughts from thy mind about deserting. Gulo would find ye, an' ye would scream for death ere he was done with ye. Now begone, an' speak no more to me of foolish ideas.”

The ermine Duge climbed down from her perch in the tall fir. She approached Gulo, who appeared to be in conversation with a bed of ferns. He was smiling slyly and nodding his head.

“Go tell thy master that I, too, am a son of Dramz. But 'tis I who rules the lands of ice and snow. I, Gulo the Savage, the one who slew the Great Dramz. Say to Askor my brother that I am coming, an' I will devour his heart!”

He whirled suddenly, glaring at Duge. “Did Askor send ye to spy on me?”

The ermine backed off, avoiding her master's insane glare. “Mighty One, ye told me to climb a tree an' scout the land.”

Gulo looked at her as if suddenly seeing her anew. “I told ye to do that?”

Duge nodded. “Aye, sire, I have come to report what I saw.”

Gulo placed a claw to his lips, his mad eyes darting furtively to and fro. “Ssshhh! Not here, they will hear ye. Come.”

The fire was burning well. Beside it lay a woodcock, which the foragers had slain with stones as it sat on its nest. There was a clutch of eggs from the nest, plus some edible roots, a small heap of half-ripe pears and a few berries they had gathered. Everybeast stood back as Gulo led Duge to the fire. He crouched by the flames, pulling the ermine down close to him.

Seemingly oblivious of the others, the wolverine whispered to Duge, “Now speak softly. What did ye see?”

Absentmindedly, Gulo grabbed the dead bird and began eating it raw, spitting out feathers as he placed his ear close to the ermine's mouth. Feathers landed on Duge's nose as Gulo's fearsome mouth, a hairsbreadth from her own, crunched through flesh and bone.

The terrified ermine tried to control her voice. “Mighty One, over to the north I saw a broadstream. It flowed down this way to the join the waters we travelled yesterday. It flows down from the northeast through the woodlands.”

She fell silent, watching Gulo apprehensively as he dug a feather from between his fangs before responding. “Is that all there was?”

Duge nodded, her head bobbing nervously. Gulo ripped another mouthful from the bird. Ignoring the ermine, he stood up, dropping the remnants of the woodcock carelessly into the fire as he strode off, his eyes darting hither and thither at the trees in front of him.

“Tell my Captain to bring the others. We go to the Redwall place.”

Herag watched as he walked off into the woodlands. Duge looked perplexed. “Does he mean we go now?”

Herag shook his head. “But we have not yet eaten.”

The older fox pulled the remnants of the bird from the fire and extinguished the burning feathers. He grabbed a pear and set off hastily after Gulo, cautioning the others, “If Gulo says go, then we go. I'll do my eating on the march!”

The other vermin knew it was useless to protest. Shoving against one another, they seized the remaining food and hurried after the old fox.

 

Morning had ended when they reached the banks of the broadstream. The pace had been furious, and the vermin were panting for breath. Sometimes they had to run to keep up with Gulo; other times they went at a swift jog as he trotted in front of them, wagging his paw at rocky outcrops and speaking to them as though they were living creatures.

“Tell him he cannot hide from me, the Walking Stone is mine by right. Thy days are numbered, brother!”

Without warning, Gulo halted on the streambank and smiled. “ 'Tis pleasant here, do ye not think?”

The old fox nodded. “Aye, pleasant, Lord.”

The wolverine lay down amid the moss on the sunny bank where he curled up and promptly went to sleep.

The others watched him in puzzlement. The old fox shrugged, his face expressively silent as he beckoned them to follow their leader's example. With a collective sigh of relief, the weary vermin settled down to sleep.

Serene summer afternoon pervaded the area—it was, as Gulo had remarked, pleasant. Over the smooth-running broadstream, dragonflies patrolled on iridescent wings. Mayflies basked on rush stalks, whilst yellow brimstone and swallowtail moths grazed among the late-flowering hawthorns. Osiers spread their variegated shade over the bankmoss, creating dappled patterns when stirred by the warm, gentle breeze. A kingfisher swooped over the water, glinting like a bejewelled brooch. The cooing of distant woodpigeons blended with small birdsong in the background. The old fox slept on, dismissing the thought of Gulo actually having described the scene as pleasant. The wolverine had never commented on nature's beauties, but his mind was crazed, so the old fox absolved him from this temporary lapse.

 

Noon shadows were lengthening when the vermin arose. Gulo was already awake and seemed in good humour. He sat watching the head of Herag drifting away on the broadstream current.

Without turning, the wolverine spoke to his remaining followers, the usual shouting and snarling absent in his tone. “I knew that one was going to run, so I stayed awake and watched him until he made one foolish move.”

He turned to Duge, explaining almost apologetically, “Gulo has to make examples for his warriors to follow, do ye not think?”

Totally robbed of words, the ermine could only nod.

As Gulo surveyed his remaining seven followers, his eyes glittered evilly. He rose and continued the march, calling to them, “Now that we are rested, we will carry on through the night until dawn. Methinks we will soon sight the Redwall place.”

Behind them the broadstream placidly flowed on into evening, the bank where they had camped restored to its former serenity, as though murder had never occurred there. A pleasant place.

The old fox tramped on through the long night hours. Like the rest, he was afraid not to keep up or to fall behind through tiredness. Truly Gulo was mad! Who in his right mind would slay a warrior from a force so severely diminished? But now nobeast would even think of deserting. The old fox bit down hard on his lip to keep himself awake as he stumbled onward, reflecting. It was a salutary lesson, enforced by a beast made cunning by madness.

It was late afternoon on the day following the continuous drizzle. During the night, the rain had ceased altogether. Dawn rose brilliantly over a small camp in southeast Mossflower. Doogy Plumm, Yoofus Lightpaw and his wife Didjety, together with the little tortoise Rockbottom, had spent a passably comfortable night. In a worn old sandstone formation they had come across amidst the trees, they had made a small shelter by laying boughs and ferns over an undercut ledge. Bright sunlight reflected in each dewdrop hanging from bush and bough. Somewhere nearby, two finches were cheeping, and a mistle thrush warbling. Rising sunrays shafted through the foliage.

But it was not the plop of dewdrops or the charming birdsong which wakened the sturdy Highlander—it was Yoofus. Unable to sleep, and in an effort to stir his wife into providing breakfast from the sack which now served as her pillow, the water vole began singing and tapping a footpaw against the great drum.
Boom baboom babumpitty bumpetty boom!

 

“Sure there was an ould vole called Dumplety Tim,

now wasn't he just the grand feller.

He wore britches of scarlet, a scarf snowy white,

an' a tailcoat with buttons of yeller.

He could dance a fine jig in his high-buckled boots,

he could quaff off a flagon of scrumpy,

he wore a great feather of green in his hat,

an' his stummick was round, fat an' lumpy.

 

Ah rumplety bumplety Dumplety Tim,

he could charm all the ladies around.

He was merry'n'cheery an' never grew weary,

the smile on his face never frowned.

Such a nice darlin' creature in every fine feature,

you'd hear any ould biddy remark,

‘He's oh so polite an' from mornin”til night,

he can sing like a silver-tongued lark.'

Ah rumplety bumplety dumplety . . . Yowwwccch!”

 

Yoofus was knocked sideways as the loaded foodsack clouted him over the head. Didjety, who had thrown it, stood over him, paws akimbo.

“Now will ye hush that rambunctious din! Yore frightenin' all the frogs in the neighbourhood with that racket!”

Yoofus massaged his ear ruefully. “But I thought ye were fond of me singin'!”

Doogy unwrapped the cloak from around his head. “Singin' ye call it? Och, 'tis more like somebeast killin' a duck with a mallet! Thief is the right title for ye. Ah've been robbed o' mah sleep with all that drumbangin' an' caterwaulin'!”

The incorrigible Yoofus gave him a wink and a grin. He began rummaging in the foodsack. “Ah, but Mister Plumm, me ould darlin', ye wouldn't want to be sleepin' such a sunny mornin' away now, would ye? Sure a day like this gives a beastie like meself a roarin' appetite. Let's see wot we've got fer brekkist.”

Didjety snatched the foodsack from him. “I'm in charge
of the rations around here! Stir yore stumps now, an' find me some firewood.”

Thrusting her head into the sack, the volewife investigated its contents, then called to her husband, “Don't bother yoreself with the firewood. There's nothin' in here but a few crusts an' me cookin' pan an' kettle.”

The volethief's jaw dropped. “Ye mean t'tell me we're out o' vittles?”

Didjety's paws poked through a big hole in the bottom of the sack. “Indeed we are, an' here's the reason why!”

Her husband's normally cheerful face was the picture of misery. “We'll starve t'death completely, so we will!”

The volewife glared at Doogy and Yoofus. “All the more reason for you two witless wanderers to find the Abbey o' Redwall then, isn't it?”

Yoofus pointed the paw at Doogy. “ 'Twas him that got us lost, not me!”

The Highlander defended himself indignantly. “Och, ye wee fibber! Who was it wanted us tae turn left at that three-topped oak last night, instead o' right as I suggested, eh?”

Yoofus looked shocked. “Startin' that, are we? Then who suggested we turn west by the stream yesterday mornin'? Tell me that, ye great fluffy-tailed fraud!”

He dodged behind the drum as Doogy came after him angrily. “Ah never said west. Ah was all for carryin' on north!”

Yoofus hooted. “North? Sure ye wouldn't know north from the nutnose on yore face. I was the one who said to go north. I may be a thief, but I ain't a liar like some I could mention!”

Doogy was outraged. “Who are ye callin' a liar? Ah'll punch yore fat head intae the middle o' next season—aye, an' send yore fat wee bottom after it!”

Boooooommmm!
Didjety struck the drum hard with her cooking pan. “Silence, the pair of ye! This is gettin' us nowhere. Any more arguin' an' I'll settle it with this pan over both yore thick skulls, d'ye hear me?”

They both sulked about like two Dibbuns being sent to bed.

“Och, 'twas yore husband that started it, marm!”

“Ooh, did ye hear that, Didjety? He's tryin t'put the blame on me now!”

“Aye, well that's where the blame belongs, mah friend.”

“Oh no it doesn't!”

“Och yes it does!”

Bonk! Bonk!
Didjety once again wielded the pan as Yoofus and Doogy both stood, rubbing their heads. “I warned ye! Now let's pack up an' get goin'. I'll lead the way. You two follow, I'll find Redwall for ye.”

Yoofus touched his head gingerly. “But, me luv, ye've never been to Redwall Abbey afore!”

The volewife squared her shoulders decisively. “Maybe not, but I can't make much more of a mess findin' it than you two bright sparks. Come on, quick march!”

They crawled out of the little shelter, and Doogy shrugged. “Quick march sure enough, marm, but which way?”

Didjety placed her pan on the ground and spun it. She nodded at the direction the panhandle was pointing. “This way!”

Then she looked at Rockbottom. The little tortoise nodded his agreement.

 

Though they had to ford a shallow stream and skirt some patches of marshland, the going was fairly smooth. Wherever possible, the volewife kept to what looked like obvious paths betwixt the tall trees. Doogy followed behind her, rolling the great drum along, whilst Yoofus trudged in the rear.

The volethief began grumbling and muttering to the tortoise who was strapped to his back. “Sure I thought you'd have taken my side o' things back there agin those two, but ye never supported me cause by a nod or a wink, did ye? Now look where it's got us! We'll wind up at the back of noplace like this. I'm tellin' ye, me liddle stony friend, my Didjety's a darlin' creature, but she couldn't find the floor if she fell on it. See, I told ye, she's had to halt.”

Yoofus approached his wife triumphantly, nodding and smirking. “Sure, an' why've ye stopped, me ould duckodill? Lost, are ye?”

Didjety looked up from the watercress she was gathering from the side of a tiny brook. “Does it look like I'm lost, ye great omardorm? Go an' gather some firewood an' I'll make us somethin' to eat. Mister Plumm, will you gather those wild mushrooms an' pick some of that ransom? Not too much, though, it can taste a bit strong in a soup.”

Upon the mention of food, Yoofus hurriedly began gathering dead twigs and dried grass. “Soup! Will ye lissen to her? Mister Plumm, sir, don't ye wish ye had a grand liddle wife like me?”

When it came to cooking, the volewife certainly knew what she was doing. Toasting the crusts of oatcake over the fire, she crumbled them into her cooking pan, which she had filled half full with brookwater. Borrowing Doogy's dirk, she chopped her ingredients into the pan—a touch of the wild garlic known as ransom, a few dozen of the white mushrooms, lots of watercress, some dandelion roots, charlock pods, wild radish, hedge mustard, sweet woodruff petals and a good pinch of the rock salt which she always carried in her apron pocket. Yoofus and Doogy sat by the brook, sniffing appreciatively at the savoury aroma emanating from the bubbling pan over the fire.

The Highlander winked at the volethief as he fashioned some scoops from a piece of bark. “Yore a braw lucky beast, mah friend, havin' a wee wifey who can make a meal out o' nothin'. That soup smells bonny!”

Yoofus smiled. “An' she can sing, too. Lissen!”

The Highlander pushed him playfully. “Aye, an' ah ken she sings far better than ye do!”

Didjety stirred away at the thickening soup, singing in a clear, sweet tone.

 

“Now me mammy once said, don't ye live all alone,

keep yore bits an' small pieces together,

for one day you'll need them to furnish yore home,

'neath a roof warm an' safe from the weather.

 

For of all the fine places a heart's ever known,

sure there's none that I love like me dear little home.

 

Then go find ye someone who will care for ye good,

to sit quiet by yore side at the fire,

an' if he treats ye decent as you hoped he would,

you'll have all that your heart can desire.

 

For of all the fine places a heart's ever known,

sure there's none that I love like me dear little home.

 

Let the wind howl outside an' the rain batter down,

with the hearth snug an' cosy indoors,

no Queen in a palace who wears a gold crown,

knows a life full and happy as yours.

 

For of all the fine places a heart's ever known,

sure there's none that I love like me dear little home.”

 

Yoofus smiled fondly. “How would ye like a grand sweet wife like that now, Doogy Plumm?”

The Highlander rubbed his head thoughtfully. “Aye, she could slay all mah enemies by beltin”em o'er their skulls wi' that cookpan o' hers.”

The soup was thick and delicious. They shared it equally, with a small portion set aside to cool for Rockbottom.

Doogy watched the little creature as Didjety fed him from a folded dockleaf. “D'ye reckon he'll ever talk one day?”

The volewife giggled. “Sure if he ever does, 'twill be only to ask wot's for dessert! Won't it, me little darlin'?”

The tortoise seemed to smile and nod his head. The Highlander was still curious about Rockbottom, though Yoofus and Didjety did not seem bothered at all.

Doogy stroked the little fellow's head with his paw, enquiring further, “Ah wonder, has he ever ventured out o' yon shell?”

The volethief replied, straight-faced, “He doesn't like anybeast seein' him wearin' only his nightie. I saw him once, but he ran back into the shell.”

Doogy looked as if he believed Yoofus for a moment, then realised the water vole was joshing him. “Ye wee fibber!”

Yoofus looked innocent. “No I'm not!”

Doogy retorted, “An' I say ye are!”

Didjety raised the empty cooking pan. “Here now, let's have no more of that. Let's be on our way.”

They continued the journey, Yoofus and Doogy lagging behind slightly, whispering to each other.

The Highlander shook his head. “Ah wonder if Tam an' the Patrol made it back tae the Abbey.”

Yoofus watched his wife's back as she plodded on with dogged determination. “Sure we'll never know, mate. We'll be wanderin' this land until we've both got long grey beards an' walkin' sticks.”

Doogy nodded agreement; his confidence in their pathfinder was at a very low ebb. “Ah thought when we set out this mornin' that yore wee wifey had some idea o' the route tae go.”

Yoofus hitched Rockbottom up in his harness. “Mark my words, ould Doogy Plumm, we're well lost. I don't know wot possessed me t'let her lead the way. My Didjety's never been much further than her own doorstep.”

A hill appeared ahead of them. Didjety hurried forward, ascending the steep slope. Yoofus stared up at her before commenting, “Didn't we go up this hill yesterday? The pore creature's demented, she's dashin' about like a madbeast now. Look!”

The volewife had reached the hilltop. She was dancing up and down, pointing frantically and shouting, “There it is! Redwaaaaaalllll!”

After a hasty scramble, Yoofus and Doogy joined her on
the summit. The Highlander shaded a paw over his eyes. There in the distance he could see the south side of the Abbey.

The volethief cut a jig. Grabbing his wife, he hugged and kissed her, crying jubilantly, “Hahahaha! I knew ye'd find it, me own darlin' sugarplum! Ye'd take us t'Redwall ye said, an' sure enough ye did! Wasn't I just sayin' to Doogy here, if'n anybeast can get us to that Abbey, then my Didjety's the one t'do it?”

Doogy sat down upon the great drum, nodding readily. He did not have the heart to speak the truth. “Och, he's had nothin' but the bonniest things tae say about ye, marm. An' who am I tae doubt yore husband's word?”

The Highlander looked at Rockbottom, who shook his little head and retreated into his shell.