Rakkety Tam (33 page)

It was still dark when Doogy wakened, swimming through the black sea of senselessness into a world of pain. The back of his skull throbbed with one massive headache. The sturdy Highlander could neither move nor cry out. Something scratched against his footpaw. Opening one eye slowly, he craned his head to gaze down. He was bound tight by all paws, neck and chest to a stake, which was driven into the ground. A white fox and an ermine were heaping dead boughs, branches, twigs and dried ferns about him. The white fox saw Doogy's head move.

Checking that the filthy gag was secure around the Highlander's mouth, the fox called out in a hoarse whisper, “Mighty One, the captive wakens.”

Doogy opened both eyes. In the gloom he saw Gulo the Savage sitting on the drum facing him. The wolverine did not speak for a moment. Doogy swallowed hard. Here he was, helpless, gazing into the insane face of his ferocious foe.

Gulo grinned, his murderous fangs showing through the white-frothed foam that flecked his lips. The wolverine's
nostrils flared wide beneath the glinting joy darting from his maddened, red-rimmed eyes as he peered at his captive.

He chuckled wickedly. “Now we shall see if my brother will save thee. When 'tis day again, I will lay down my challenge to Askor. He knows he can never rule the lands of ice and snow whilst I live. Askor must face me in combat, that is our law! Hear me, treecrawler, thy life depends on the courage of my brother. Do ye think he will defeat Gulo?”

Doogy could not say anything, though he was gnawing at the gag that stifled his mouth. Surely this crazed beast did not think that his brother was alive, and living at Redwall Abbey? Gulo flexed his paws, the long lethal claws curving out from his heavily matted limbs. “A pity our father Dramz is not here to see his favourite son slain by the one he never looked in favour on. I can see ye are a warrior. 'Twill be a rare sight for ye to witness. Combat to the death, winner takes all. The Walking Stone, this great drum, even the Redwall place yonder—and, of course, thy life. 'Tis a fair wager, is it not?”

Then he seemed to completely ignore Doogy. Leaping from the drum, Gulo raced out onto the western flatlands, clods of earth shooting to either side as he stormed about in a wide circle. With his broad chest heaving, the wolverine gazed about—up, down and around.

His voice became a triumphant snarl. “Dramz, my father, do ye see me from Hellgates where I sent thee? When thy name is gone and forgotten, beasts will still speak of me. The Mighty One, Gulo the Savage!”

The ermine Duge looked up from a torch she was fashioning from a wooden stave topped with a broom of moss and twigs. She took a cord binder from the aged fox who had served Gulo the longest, remarking quietly to him, “Only a beast as crazy as Gulo could think that his brother is alive inside that Redwall place.”

The ancient white fox shrugged. “Who can say whether 'tis true or not? My eyes are still sharp, methinks I saw the Walking Stone last evening. 'Twas strapped to the back of
the small, hairy creature who fled into that building. Mayhaps Askor is truly in there also. There is hope for us few yet, friend. Askor is a better creature than his brother. Life was easier serving under him. Nothing in this world is certain—he may yet best Gulo in combat.”

Duge knotted the cord around the torchhead, tugging it tight. “Aye, an' methinks fish may fly an' birds swim under the waters. Nobeast could best Gulo in combat!”

The old fox nudged Duge. “Silence now, Gulo returns.”

Gulo came back to sit upon the drum again, turning his back upon Doogy. He saw the first faint flush of dawn out to the east beyond the treetops. Indicating a spot close by, he ordered the old fox, “Make fire here. Give me that torch!”

As the fox dug a shallow hole and set steel and flint to tinder over some moss, Gulo began striking the drum with the butt of the torch.
Baboom! Boom! Boom!

Doogy spat out raggy bits of cloth from the gag. In the breaking day he took stock of his position. They were on the western flatlands in front of Redwall Abbey, just out of bowshot. He blinked hard, focussing his gaze upon the walltops. There was Tam, Skipper, a crowd of hares and Tergen the goshawk. Furiously, the sturdy Highlander ripped and tore at the cloth bound across his mouth until he felt it was weakened enough. The binding also went around the stake. With a hard forward thrust of his head, Doogy snapped the gag.

His aching skull felt as though it were lifting off his shoulders as he roared, “Haway the Braaaaaawww! Ah'm Wild Doogy Plumm! Hawaaaay!”

He slumped forward, stunned, as a swift blow from the torch stave cracked across his jaw.

Holding his head on one side, the wolverine actually smiled at his prisoner. “Leastways thy friends will know ye are still alive.”

Gulo thrust the torch into the small fire set by the old fox, watching it crackle into flame.

Still smiling, he called out, “Now it begins, my brother. Now it begins!”

 

Tam was struggling wildly in the restraining grips of Skipper, Wonwill and Fortindom. They held him tight as he tried to free himself, calling out, “Doogy! 'Tis Doogy Plumm that beast has there! I must get to him. Take yore paws off me!”

Sergeant Wonwill whispered sternly in his ear, “Nah then, Mister MacBurl, just you 'old still awhile. Lookit, ole Gulo's comin' forward fer a parley. Please, sah, calm down. H'I don't want t'give ye a straight left an' put ye asleep, now do I? Be a good h'officer, sah. All the young 'uns are lookin' at ye!”

The sergeant's advice filtered through to Tam, despite his agitated state. He saw Wonwill's hard left paw clenching and took the hint. “Relax, Sarge. I'm alright now.”

Gulo stood within comfortable listening distance of the walltop. Waving the flaming torch, he peered toward the Abbey and shouted, “Heed my words an' save thyselves grief an' misery. 'Tis not thee I want, but my brother Askor. Do ye hear me?”

Skipper stood forward, his voice firm and clear. “We hear ye, Gulo. Now you hear me. There ain't nobeast called Askor at this Abbey. Ye must be mad to think we'd take any brother o' yores inside our gates!”

Gulo laughed, turning hither and thither as though he were consulting others. “Mad? Nay, waterdog, 'tis thee who is mad! I know that thou art sheltering Askor, aye, an' the Walking Stone. I mean no harm to ye, but this is none of thy business. 'Tis a blood feud. Ye must send out my brother an' the Stone. I will meet him in combat, one to one. The life of that one out there depends upon it!”

Paw on sword hilt, Captain Derron Fortindom came to the battlements. “An' if we don't?”

The wolverine brandished the lighted torch. “Then I'll burn thy comrade, an' yonder drum also!”

Fortindom curled his lip distastefully. “Hmm, about what one'd expect of scum like you. But ye listen t'me, laddie buck. I've got eyes in me blinkin' head, an' I see that the best ye can put in the field amounts to only six vermin. There's about thirty times that number in here, all true blue an' fightin' fit. What's to stop us chargin' out an' makin' short work of ye? Tell me that, sirrah!”

Gulo scoffed, showing his fangs in a cold sneer. “Numbers mean nought to me! I am Gulo the Savage, I carry no weapons. The Mighty One could slay any ten of ye with just tooth an' limb! But fire can slay thy friend slow an' painfully. It can also destroy the drum which I took from the longears. Then if ye don't send out my brother, fire may destroy the doors of this place, an' I will come in an' get him. So what think ye of that?”

Whilst Fortindom and Gulo were talking, Tam had been cudgelling his brain for a solution, but unknown words kept running through his mind—“Save my Abbey, thou art the Warrior chosen!” At first he thought it was only tiredness from standing on watch all night. Then he blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Bright lights blossomed throughout Tam's senses, and for a brief moment he saw the speaker. It was Martin the Warrior, whose sword he was carrying. Suddenly he wrenched himself from the restraining paws of his friends and strode to the battlement edge.

As he pointed a paw at the wolverine, Tam's voice rang out, clear as a bell. “Son of Dramz, thou art looking for a deadbeast. 'Twas I who slayed thy brother! 'Tis me ye want to meet!”

Gulo stared long and hard at the figure on the walltop. “What foolishness is this? Ye say my brother is dead . . . an' slain by thee?”

The Borderer clenched a paw across his heart. “Aye, 'twas me, Rakkety Tam MacBurl, an' I'll prove it to thee!”

Tam whispered briefly to Sergeant Wonwill, who saluted and then shot off like an arrow toward the Abbey.

Gulo shook his huge head. “Nobeast could kill a wolverine in combat. We rule the lands of ice and snow beyond the cold seas!”

Tam nodded at the bulk of the Abbey behind him. “This is where I rule. Do ye think this place could be held by a fool? Hah, thy brother did, an' he paid dearly for it. I am the Warrior of Redwall an' its Champion. I stand against anybeast, an' none has ever defeated me! Gulo the Savage, eh? More like Gulo the Fool! Look upon this!”

Wonwill arrived, panting. He thrust Rockbottom into Tam's outstretched paw. Tam held the little tortoise up within Gulo's view before addressing him again. “If I did not slay Askor, then how did I get this?”

Gulo stood dumbfounded, knowing that, if his brother were alive, he would never have parted with the Walking Stone.

The Borderer's stern tones brought Gulo back to reality. “When the sun stands at its height, I will meet thee out there on the flatland. Six will come with me to watch thy vermin lest ye try to play me false. Harm one hair of my comrade before then an' we will charge out an' overwhelm ye. Go now, I have spoken!”

Silence reigned all along the ramparts as the wolverine shuffled off.

Armel grasped Tam's paw as she pleaded with him. “Oh, you're not really going to fight that monster, are you?”

Tam freed his paw lightly and patted hers. “Well, of course I am! You can't boss me out of this one, Sister. It's the only solution to the problem, y'see.”

Fortindom muttered out the side of his mouth, “May I offer my services, Mister MacBurl? Likely you'll need a little help with that flesh-eatin' murderer, wot?”

Tam shook his head. “No thanks, Cap'n. I've got all the help anybeast could need—the word an' the sword of Martin the Warrior. Is that good enough?”

Skipper gave Tam a pat on the back which almost knocked him over. “That's good enough for me, mate!”

Sergeant Wonwill saluted. “H'excuse me, sah, but wot'll we be doin' while all this combat's goin' on?”

Tam took out his dirk and Sgian Dhu, placing them on the walkway along with Martin's sword. “Just bring me my shield, Sarge. Then leave me alone up here. When the time comes, I'd like you, the Cap'n, Skipper, Tergen, Lancejack an' Ferdimond to go out there with me.”

 

Abbot Humble stood at one of the top dormitory windows with Armel, Skipper and Foremole Bruffy at his side. They had a fine view of the western flatlands, shimmering gently in the warmth of high summer, brilliant with a profusion of yellow-and-cream pennycress, white clover, red valerian and patches of burnet rose. It would have made a pretty picture had it not been for the presence of Gulo and his six vermin, standing guard with lighted torches over the prisoner bound to the stake and surrounded by kindling material.

Humble stared at the dark, bulky wolverine, whose power and might seemed to dominate all about him. “Let's hope fortune favours Tam today.”

Armel caught the note of doubt in the old hedgehog's voice. “It's not fair, Father. I know Tam is a true warrior, but no single creature should have to face that horrible monster!”

Foremole Bruffy shook his velvety head. “Oi agree wid ee, missy, but they'm says all be furr in luv an' war. B'aint that roight, Skip?”

The otter chieftain leaned on the windowsill, nodding. “That's wot they say, matey. I think our Tam's got a good chance, though. He's small, aye, but light an' speedy. I've seen him fightin'. He's lightnin' wid those blades of his. Don't you fret yoreself, Sister.”

Armel climbed up on the sill and sat by the otter. “I hope you're right, sir!”

She looked down to the walltop where she could see Tam. He was sitting with his back to them, readying his weapons. Armel listened to the rasp of steel on stone as the warrior honed his blades. When he had finished, Tam took
a soft cloth and dipped it in a paste of wood ash dampened with a sprinkle of water.

“What's he doing now?”

Captain Fortindom, who had just come into the dormitory, came to the window to see what Tam was doing. “Burnishing his blades, Sister, givin' 'em a jolly good old polish, wot! Don't matter whether a chap's a cook, farmer or warrior, marm. Every trade has its tools, y'know, an' if one's blinkin' good at his business, he cares for his implements. I say, just look at MacBurl workin' on that shield of his. He's got the flippin' thing glitterin'!”