Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

The big otter cast swiftly about, then pulled a stem with yellow buds adorning it. “Like this. Try it.”

The young hedgehog took the stem, sniffed it, then took a tentative nibble. “Tastes funny—wot is it?”

Jum shook his head pityingly. “You young uns are too used t’bein’ carried round an’ gettin’ vittles served up on a platter. That’s young dannelion, matey. I ate many a stem o’ that when I was yore age. Now, try some o’ these.”

He gathered various pieces of early vegetation, feeding them one by one to Uggo and explaining.

“This is alkanet—taste like cucumber, don’t it? Try some coltsfoot. Nice, ain’t it? This one’s tutsan, good for ye. Charlock, sweet Cicely. There’s all manner o’ vittles growin’ wild in the woodlands. No need t’go ’ungry.”

Uggo chewed gingerly, pulling a wry face at the bitter flavour of one particular plant.

“T’aint the same as proper food, though, is it, Mister Gurdy?”

Jum snorted at the lack of gratitude. “Maybe not to yore way o’ thinkin’, but ’twill keep ye goin’ until lunchtime. Now stop moanin’ an’ git walkin’!”

When midday eventually came, Jum was secretly glad of the rest. He had aged, and he had put on weight being in charge of Redwall’s Cellars. It was some while since he had undertaken a journey to the coast. Careful not to let his young companion see that he was tired, the big otter put on a springy step.

“Keep up now, Master Wiltud. Yore fallin’ behind agin!”

Uggo was not in a good mood. He pointed angrily upward. “You said we was goin’ t’stop for lunch when the sun reached midday. It did that some time ago, an’ you ain’t stopped. Wot are we waitin’ for, Mister Gurdy, nighttime?”

It was the sight of a stream ahead which prompted the otter to say, “On the bank o’ yon water ’neath that willow. That’s the spot I was aimin’ for. Would’ve been there afore, except for yore laggin’ behind.”

It was indeed a pleasant location. They soon had a small fire going and mint tea on the boil. From the haversack, Jum sorted out some cheese, scones and honey. Cooling his footpaws in the shallows, he oversaw Uggo toasting two scones with cheese on them. “That’s the way, matey. Nice’n’brown underneath with bubbly cheese atop. Perfect!”

The young hog did not mind preparing lunch. “I’ll need two more scones, to spread honey on for afters.”

Uggo was surprised at how good food tasted outdoors.

After they had eaten, Jum spread a large dockleaf over his eyes. Lying back against the willow trunk, he settled down.

“Let’s take a liddle nap. Ain’t nothin’ like the sound of a gentle runnin’ stream at early noon.”

Uggo skimmed pebbles awhile, then felt bored. “I ain’t sleepy, Mister Gurdy.”

The otter opened one eye. “Go ’way an’ don’t bother me fer a while. Do a spot o’ fishin’ or somethin’.”

Uggo stared into the clear running stream. “But there ain’t no fish t’be seen round here.”

The otter gave a long sigh. “Well, go downstream. There’s a small cove where the water’s still. May’aps ye’ll find some freshwater shrimp there, an’ we’ll make soup fer supper t’night.”

Uggo persisted. “I’ll need a rod an’ line.”

Jum took on a threatening tone. “Ye don’t catch watershrimp with a rod’n’line. Take one o’ them scone sacks an’ make a net. I trust yore not so dim that ye can’t make a simple fishnet, are ye?”

Uggo stumped off, muttering, “O’ course I can make a net. I ain’t dim, Mister Gurdy. You take yore nap. Huh, oldbeasts need naps!”

It was lucky for him that Jum did not hear most of what he said. Closing his eyes, he settled down with a yawn.

Finding a long twig with a forked end, the would-be shrimpcatcher attached the ends to either side of the little cloth sack. Making his way downstream, he watched the water intently, feeling happy about his new purpose, still murmuring to himself. “Just wait, Jum Gurdy. I’ll catch a whole netful o’ watershrimps. Then I’ll creep back an’ flop them in yore lap—that’ll waken ye!”

The cove was further than he had expected, but Uggo finally came across it—a small inlet, patrolled by dragonflies skimming the still, dark water. There were no shrimp to be seen, but Uggo gave his net a speedy pull beneath the murky surface. Pulling it out, he turned the net inside out and was rewarded by the sight of two tiny, transparent-grey, wriggling things.

“Ahaah! There ye are, me liddle watershrimps! Any others swimmin’ about down there? Let’s see, shall we?”

A curious wasp, investigating one of Jum Gurdy’s eyelids, woke him. He brushed it off dozily and was about to continue his nap when he noticed the position of the sun through the hanging willow branches. It was past midnoon! The big otter heaved himself upright. Had he really been asleep all that time? Taking the pan of lukewarm mint tea from the ashes of the dead fire, he drank it in one draught. A quick dash of streamwater across his face brought Jum fully awake and alert.

“Where’s that liddle rascal got to? He should’ve been back an’ waked me long since!”

Wading into the shallows, the otter cupped both paws around his mouth, shouting aloud. “Uggo! Git back ’ere right now! Uggo! Uggooooo!”

Raising a spray of water with his rudderlike tail, Jum splashed back onto the bank. He stood, looking this way and that before bellowing again.

“Uggo Wiltud, where are ye? If’n ye ain’t back by the time I’ve counted to ten, then I’m leavin’ without ye! One . . . two. . . . Can ye hear me, ye liddle rascal?”

He counted to ten, then repeated the performance, with more dire threats. All to no avail. Packing everything back into his haversack, he tried to recall his words before napping.

“The cove downstream . . . freshwater shrimp . . . that’s it!”

Without further ado, he scooped water over the fire ashes and stumped off along the bank, downstream.

Every now and then, Jum paused, calling into the surrounding woodlands. He tried to be less bad tempered, not wanting to scare the young hedgehog away. “Uggo, come on, liddle mate, I ain’t mad at ye. ’Twas my fault for goin’ off t’sleep like that. Come on, show yoreself, there’s no real’arm done!”

Still travelling on and calling out, Jum came upon the cove. There was the improvised shrimping net, floating in the water. He pulled it out with a cold fear creeping through his stomach. Had Uggo fallen in? Could young hedgehogs swim? Swimming was no problem to otters, but what about hedgehogs—were they like moles or squirrels? He had never seen any of them showing a fondness for water. That did it. Jum Gurdy dived into the cove.

Through his frantic underwater efforts, he stirred the cove into a muddy area. Four times he dived, each time scouring the cove from end to end, side to side, with no success. Regaining his breath, the big otter swam out of the cove. He searched the stream for a great length in either direction.

The sun was setting in crimson splendour when Redwall’s Cellardog sat upon the streambank, weeping. Why had he slept so long at midday? Why had he been so irate with his young friend? He would regret it for the rest of his life. Uggo Wiltud was gone, drowned and carried off downstream to the sea. Shouldering his pack, Jum plodded wearily off, following the stream out over the flatlands toward the dunes, the shore and the sea.

It was a warm, still afternoon at the Abbey as Friar Wopple settled herself down on the southeast corner of the rampart walkway. She relished a quiet afternoon tea with Sister Fisk after all the bustle and heat of the kitchens. Spreading a cloth on the worn stones, the plump watervole laid out the contents of her hamper. Two oatfarls filled with chopped hazelnut salad, a latticed apple and blackberry tart, napkins and crockery.