Dymphnia took over from her spouse. “Oh, just call him Oakie, Mister Buckler. Everybeast does. Maybe you’d like to come aboard the
Streamlass
and share supper with us, such as it is. We can always refloat our raft tomorrow.”
Buckler bowed gallantly. “A pleasure, marm. But call us Buck, Diggs and Flib. We have supplies we could share with you. Oakie tells me you are actors.”
Diggs unhitched the haversack from his back. “Jolly types, actors. We’ve had visits from them once or twice at Salamandastron, doncha know.”
Granma Crumfiss leaned on Diggs’s paw as they went aboard. “Salamandastron, ye say? I played there when I was nought but a young hogmaid. A fine young badger was the Lord. Brang, as I remember. Is he still there?”
It was a memorable evening. The raft’s log cabin was comfortable, if slightly crowded. The two hares contributed food from their packs. Dymphnia served them with bowls of plum duff, ladling her special pear and hazelnut sauce thickly over it. Oakheart broke out a cask of his own brew, which he had named Witherspyk Waterporter. It was slightly sweet, very dark and nourishing.
As they ate, Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes at Diggs, enquiring, “Pray, to where are you warriors of the wilderness bound?”
Crumfiss spoke sternly. “Don’t be so nosey, miss. ’Tis none o’ yore concern where these goodbeasts are goin’!”
Buckler smiled. “Oh, it’s no secret. We’re bound for Redwall, with a gift for the Abbess.”
Oakheart banged his tankard down in surprise. “ ’Pon my liver spikes’n’paws! Why, that’s also our destination, friend Buck. Perhaps when we float our vessel into navigable waters on the morrow, you’d wish to accompany us to that hallowed establishment?”
Buckler winked at Diggs, allowing him to answer. “Wot, oh, I say, wouldn’t we just jolly well love to, Oakie, old lad. Super wheeze, wot wot?”
Baby Dubdub, who was being fed by his mother, pushed away the spoon. “Wheeze, wot wot!”
Everybeast laughed, and Trajidia fluttered her eyelashes even harder. “Oh, how brave and gallant, Papa. We’ll have valiant hares to guard us from any vermin foes!”
Oakheart refilled his tankard. “Indeed we will, m’dear! Eat hearty now, my trusty protectors, and thank ye kindly for offering your skills to us.”
Buckler returned the compliment. “No sir, thank you for offering us such a wonderful way to travel. It’s Diggs an’ I who are grateful to you.”
Diggs winked roguishly at Trajidia. “Rather! An’ in such bally charmin’ company, wot! Never travelled with actors before. Wouldn’t mind havin’ a go at the jolly old actin’ m’self.”
Rambuculus did not hold out much hope for Diggs. “Hmmph, bein’ a warrior, you might come in useful for fights an’ battle scenes. There’s more to actin’ than ye think. You’ve got to be a singer, a dancer, an—”
Diggs cut in on him. “Dancin’? Listen t’me, laddie buck. I can twiddle as neat a flippin’ paw as anybeast. Ask Miggy M’ginnerty, our drill sergeant’s daughter. She’n’I were the bloomin’ toast of the Mess Ball when we tootled round the floor t’gether. Twinklepaws Diggsy, they called me, ain’t that right, Buck?”
Buckler nodded. “That’s correct, mate, an’ you were a good warbler, too, as I recall. Go on, give us a song!”
His chubby companion needed no second bidding. Bounding from his seat, he threw his paws wide and launched into his favourite ditty.
“Oh, I hail from Salamandastron,
that old mountain in the west,
with a pack upon me shoulder,
an’ a smartly buttoned vest.
My ears stand to attention,
an’ gels cry out, Look there,
he’s a member of the Long Patrol,
a handsome gallant hare!
“What ho what ho, ’tis true y’know,
no creature can compare,
to a dashin’ singin’ harum-scarum,
Salamandastron hare . . . wot wot!
“I’ll whack a score o’ weasels,
or marmalise a stoat,
there’s many a ferret shiverin’,
when I’ve torn off his coat.
I’m vicious with all vermin,
but show to me a maid,
I’ll kiss her paw an’ shout haw haw!
Pray, marm, don’t be afraid.
“What ho what ho, I tell ye so,
ye gentle gels so fair,
I’m a high-fulorum cockle-a-dorum,
Salamandastron hare . . . wot wot!”
As Diggs finished his song, he made an elegant bow. The Witherspyk Company applauded him heartily, even young Rambuculus. Oakheart was impressed.
“ ’Pon me snout’n’spikes, young Diggs, ye have the makin’s of a fine performer. There’s a position in me troupe for you, should you ever wish to take it! But an actor’s life can be hard, y’know, and hungry, too. Some seasons ye can see more suppertimes than suppers. Well, what d’ye say, friend Diggs, eh?”
The young hare’s ears seemed to wilt. “Er, I think I’ll stick to the jolly old warrior’s path, sir. It’s prob’ly better in the long run.”
Trajidia looked disappointed. “You’re not afraid of acting, are you?”
Buckler answered for his friend. “Diggs ain’t afraid of anything, miss, except starvin’.”
Diggs pouted a little. “Well, a chap needs his scoff, y’know. I wouldn’t look so jolly han’some if I was thin.”
Dymphnia patted his paw. “We understand. Now, tomorrow we’ll follow the stream overland, going south and a point east. That should take us over some flatlands, then back into the trees. When we spy the rock ledges, it’s not far from there to the Abbey. Right, time for sleep, my dears. Early call at dawn, I think. The
Streamlass
will need to be worked on, so that we can free her.”
The twins, Jiddle and Jinty, went to fetch their blankets. “Mamma, Mamma, can we sleep out on the bank?”
Dymphnia raised her headspikes indignantly. “Certainly not. Who knows what goes on out there at night? You’ve got perfectly good bunks onboard!”
The twin hedgehogs complained bitterly.
“But Granma Crumfiss snores somethin’ dreadful!” “An’ Trajidia keeps talkin’ in her sleep, recitin’ lines from the plays!”
Dymphnia remained obdurate, until Flib interceded. “Let ’em sleep outdoors, marm. I’ll go with the twins an’ keep an eye on ’em. Oh, go on—it’s a warm night.”
Oakheart sighed. “Aye, let them sleep on shore, m’dear. ’Twill stop ’em gettin’ up for drinks o’ water all night.”
Wearing their blankets like cloaks, Jiddle and Jinty dashed from the cabin, whooping and squealing.
As Flib followed them, Buckler cautioned her, “Remember now, missy, keep a sharp eye on them!”
The shrewmaid replied icily, “No need t’remind me. I knows wot I’m doin’!”
Diggs caught hold of her paw. “You jolly well take heed of what he says, m’gel, wot!”
She broke his hold roughly, snarling, “An’ yew mind yer own bizness, fatty. Keep an eye on yoreself in case ye go bang after all that scoff!”
To ease the tense moment, Crumfiss turned to her son. “Oakie, why don’t ye sing us a nice little comic ditty before we turn in. Buck an’ Diggs have never heard you performin’.”
Oakheart Witherspyk was never a beast to miss a chance of displaying his talents. Holding that most peculiar of instruments, the Hogalino, over his head, he strummed it across his top spikes and burst into song.
“ ’Twas a snowy morn one summer,
an’ the moon was shining bright,
when my dear ma kissed me a fond good-bye.
So I asked where I was going,
as she shoved me out the door.
She blew her snout and then began to cry.
‘Oh, don’t run off to sea, my son,
you’ll break your mother ’s heart.
I’ve reared you since you were an ugly pup!’
But I didn’t want to go,
and I tried to tell her so,
but she locked the door and nailed the windows up.
Off I went to sail the main,
as cabin hog aboard the
Scruffy Dog.
The Skipper wore no vest, and tattooed upon his chest,
was a picture of a flea lost in the fog.
Well, it turned out that old Captain,
was a hog named Gusty Snout,
my long-lost daddy that I’d never seen.
So me and that old tar, sailed right back home to Ma,
who saw us coming and let out a scream.
She cried, ‘Alas alack, are you two villains back?’
And beat us soundly with a knotty log.
And as she wouldn’t stop it, well, we both had to hoppit,
now we’re back aboard the good old
Scruffy Dog
!”
Sometime later that night all paws on the raft were fast asleep. The woodlands were still, and the ground was warm from the summer day, with not even a whisper of breeze to stir either grass or leaves.
Grakk and two other weasels had not taken any more captives. On returning to the River Moss, they had been unable to locate the Guosim shrews. Following a sidestream south, Grakk and his cohorts met up with two other Ravagers. It was the small, scrawny fox and the burly weasel who had been in trouble with Buckler and Diggs.
All five vermin were at that moment lying low in the woodland fringes, watching the three young creatures who were sleeping not far from the streambank. The small fox looked around nervously.
Grakk crawled up alongside him. “Wot are yew lookin’ so jumpy about, eh?”
The fox pointed to Flib, who was curled up amidst the moss and fallen leaves. “See that un? She’s a shrew—we met up with ’er afore. I know ’tis the same beast, ’cos I kin see a knife an’ a club wot she stole off us.”
Grakk’s whisper oozed scorn. “Yer let a shrewmaid take yore weppins, huh, an’ you two calls yerselves Ravagers?”
The burly weasel defended himself and the fox. “ ’Twas a trap, see. We was tricked by ’er—she ’ad two others lyin’ in wait fer us. Aye, two o’ those big fightin’ rabbets, an’ they weren’t short o’ weppins, big swords an’ loaded slings, daggers, too, an’ prob’ly a couple o’ spears. I tell ye, Grakk, ye wouldn’t like t’meet up wid that pair. Killers they were, champeen warriors!”
Grakk stared hard at the fox. “So, wot ’appened? Why wasn’t ye killed by ’em, eh?”
The small fox glared right back at him, lying earnestly. “ ’Cos we escaped from them. We ’ad to run fer it, an’ we lost our weppins in the scramble. They chased us fer over a day an’ night, but we outran them.”
“Hah, youse two ran faster ’n two big rabbets? Ye must be jokin’!”
The burly weasel butted in belligerently. “Well, we ain’t, an’ if’n you ’ad two big fightin’ rabbets chasin’ ye with long swords, you’d ’ave run, too, fer yore life. ’Cos ye don’t stop t’mess about wid beasts like them, see!”
Not wanting to continue the dispute, Grakk held up a paw. “Keep yer voice down, mate. I believe ye. So, if’n ye can’t see the big rabbets anyplace around, let’s grab those three young uns an’ get movin’ fast, while the goin’s good.”
Flib had been knocked out cold by a blow from the club, which had once belonged to the vermin. The small fox kicked her spitefully.
“I should kill ye right now for wot ye did to us!”
Grakk slammed his spearpoint into the ground beside the fox. “Ye can cut that kinda talk, or ye’ll answer to Zwilt the Shade. You’n’yore mate, lash ’er paws t’gether an’ sling ’er on the spearpole. Are those two young ’ogs ready t’go?”
Jinty and Jiddle sat terrified, with their mouths gagged. A weasel bound their forepaws, dragging them upright.
Grakk blindfolded them and tapped both their snouts with his dagger point as he hissed savagely, “One wrong move an’ we’ll roast ye for dinner. If’n ye want t’live, then do as yore told, got it?”
Not waiting for them to nod, he shoved the young hogs roughly. “Now, git goin’—move yerselves.”
The Ravagers sped off into the night, prodding their captives forward.
Flib was still unconscious, hanging from the spearhaft as the burly weasel and the small fox hurried to keep up with the others.
The early noontide peace was shattered as Redwall’s twin bells, Matthias and Methuselah, tolled out a brazen alarm. Casting dignity to one side, Abbess Marjoram hurried about, yelling, “Everybeast to the east wallgate. There’s two Dibbuns missing. Has anyone seen Guffy and little Tassy?”
She was intercepted by Granvy. The old hedgehog scribe tried to calm her down. “Mother Abbess, we don’t know if they’re lost out in the woodlands. They may still be within the Abbey. Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to? Listen, now, you go inside, take Friar Soogum and whatever kitchen helpers he has to spare. Search inside the Abbey from attics to wine cellars. Guffy and Tassy may be hiding, or perhaps merely taking a nap.”
Marjoram managed a smile. “Yes, you could be right, my friend. If they’re in there, I’ll find the scamps. But where are you going?”
The Recorder tapped the side of his snout knowingly. “I’ve got an idea. You know I just said, ‘Who can explain what Dibbuns get up to?’ Well, I think I know the answer. Other Dibbuns! When I began looking for Guffy and Tassy, I saw the Dab gang over by the gatehouse, playing near the steps. I’ll ask them.”
Marjoram looked puzzled. “The Dab gang?”
Granvy chuckled. “Haven’t you heard of the Dab? Dibbuns Against Bedtime, that’s their initials.”
The Abbess nodded. “Of course. I’d just forgotten about it. Right, you go and see them, and I’ll search the Abbey building. Good luck!”
By teatime that afternoon, there was still no sign of the missing Dibbuns. It was a worried gathering of Redwallers who sat upon the main Abbey steps. Friar Soogum passed around with food and drink, doling it out to everybeast.
“C’mon, now, eat somethin’ for seasons’ sakes. It won’t do any good if’n ye make yoreselves ill with hunger. Oh, there’s a thought, Skipper. I’ll wager those two liddle rascals will show up once they get empty tummies!”
The Otter Chieftain sighed. “Ye could be right, Friar, but they already ’ad vittles at lunchtime, so they won’t be ’ungered just yet. Wot luck did you ’ave, Granvy?”
The hedgehog Recorder scratched his untidy beard. “Well, I should’ve expected not to get much sense out of Dibbuns. One small wretch said that he actually saw Guffy and Tassy fly up in the air, when I asked him where they went—he said right up over a moon! I quote him literally. Another fanciful little miss said that the big butterfly had eaten them, and some other tiny fibber said Friar Soogum had made them into soup. Though most just spread their paws and said ‘Gone!’ Just as babes will, no explanation but ‘Gone!’ So, that’s the sum total of my information.”