Brian Jacques - Redwall #22 - The Sable Quean

The plump complainer plopped down beside him, rubbing his paws and chortling gleefully. "Splendid day for a spot o' lunch, wot. Shall we dine from my rations or yours? Better make it yours, 'cos you've already got your haversack off. Heehee!"

Tearing open Buckler's supplies, he enthused happily, "Oh, I say, just the ticket, bread'n'cheese, an' a drop o' good old cider. What ho, Buck--nothin' like simple fare when a feller's famished. Hello, what's this? A jar of plums preserved in honey, what luck. That'll hit the jolly old spot, wot wot! Well, well, who'd have thought old Cooky would bung in some vegetable turnovers? Raspberry cordial, too, an' a hefty old fruitcake. It'll lighten your load once I've dealt with that. Hah, an' will you look at this--"

Buckler rapped his paw with the wooden bellrope end. "Hold up, there. This is only a light lunch, not a midsummer-eve banquet. Glutton, you'd wolf the lot if I let you!"

Diggs sucked his paw resentfully. "No need to break a chap's limb over a mouthful of tuck!"

Buckler shared out enough for a frugal repast. They dined on bread and cheese, a slice of fruitcake apiece and some cider. Diggs finished his in record time, then sat watching every mouthful his friend ate, licking his lips longingly.

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When it became clear he was getting no more, he lay back upon the sun-warmed sand, complaining, "Hope we have afternoon tea at a respectable time. I'm still pretty hungry, y'know. Another cob o' that good cheese an' a pasty wouldn't go amiss, wot!"

Buckler ignored the irrepressible Diggs, who drew patterns in the sand, belched, excused himself, then lay back, closing his eyes.

Buckler snorted. "Y'great, idle lump, you're not going to nod off. We haven't made a half day's march yet!"

Diggs twitched his nose. " 'Sno good talkin' t'me, old lad. I'm asleep, y'see. Didn't sleep much last night, what with this bally journey hangin' over me, an' after all that fibbin' you did, not lettin' on about a visit to Redwall. Dearie me, it's depressin' my spirit so much I'll need a good few hours' shuteye before I even think about more pawsloggin' again."

Buckler decided he had taken just about enough. Shouldering his haversack, he rolled Diggs roughly over, relieving him of the bellrope and his backpack. He walked off, carrying the lot, without looking back.

Diggs sat bolt upright. "I say, where'n the name o' fiddlesticks d'you think you're goin?"

Without turning, Buckler shouted back, "I'm goin' it alone--don't need you. Report back to Lord Brang, see what he has to say!"

Suddenly Diggs was alongside him, claiming back his equipment. "Well, hoity-toity sirrah, who said I wasn't goin', wot? Just you try an' stop me. They don't call me old Determined Diggs for nothin', y'know. Step along lively now, laddie buck. I know, what about a good old marchin' song? Remember that one we made up when we were both leverets?"

Buckler suddenly found himself smiling. "I certainly do, mate. Go on, you lead off!"

Away they went at the double, often changing step and back kicking. It was more of a comic dance, which they

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had performed at mess parties as cadets. Sometimes they sang solo, though mostly together.

"They call me Diggs ... an' my name's Buck,

If you draw a blade on us you're out o' luck!

I'm an expert with a sword!

I'm a champion with a spoon!

We'll fight or feast with anybeast

come mornin', night or noon.

So left right left right,

Wot ho, me pretty one!

Is your ma a good ole cook, an' where do you come from?

Let's walk you home ... don't go alone, you charmin' little duck.

Then introduce your ma to us, our names are Diggs an' Buck!

So left right left right, are we nearly there?

Salute the Colonel's daughter, parade around the square.

We're jolly brave an' handsome, at war or scoffin' tuck, we're perilously perfect 'cos ...

they call us Diggs an' Buck!"

They sang it through again, trying to outdo each other with sidesteps and fancy twiddles. When they halted, both hares were panting and laughing.

Buckler adjusted his backpack. "It's been a few seasons since we sang that together."

Diggs flopped down on the warm sand. "Rather. Blinkin' wonder we still remember it, wot!"

Buckler noticed that the sandhills were getting smaller. "That's the worst of the dunes behind us, mate, though there's a tidy bit o' this heath an' scrubland still to go. Come on, matey, up y'come--there's plenty o' daylight left yet."

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They pressed onward, with Diggs beginning to lag and chunner again.

"Blinkin' grasshoppers chirrupin'--it's enough t'drive a poor beast potty. Aye, an' those bees could pick better tunes to hum. Bloomin' monotonous buzzin', eh?"

Buckler suddenly held up a paw. "Hush--can you hear that noise?"

Diggs carried on until he bumped into his friend's back. "Noise? What confounded noise? A rowdy butterfly, d'ye think!"

Buckler clapped a paw around Diggs's mouth. "Give your jaws a rest an' listen. Sounds like somebeast in trouble t'me. Over there, behind that hill--d'ye hear it?"

Diggs cocked up his ears, removing Buckler's paw. "More'n one beast, I think. Shall we take a peep?"

Dropping their haversacks, the pair crouched low, then crept toward the source of the outcry.

A scrawny-looking fox and a hulking weasel had captured a young shrewmaid. They were trying to get a rope halter around her neck, threatening her with all manner of torments.

"Yew better 'old still, missy, or I'll knock yer snout outta joint, so 'elp me I will!"

However, the shrewmaid was a feisty little creature, giving back as good as she got. She swung the rope, striking the scrawny fox in one eye.

"Leggo a me, ye snot-bubblin' grubbers. Git yore filfy paws offa me!"

The hulking weasel drew a wicked-looking knife. "Grab 'er neck, mate. We'll see wot she 'as t'say when I carves 'er tongue out!"

Watching from the tall grass to one side of the hill, the two hares realised it was time to step in on the vermin. Buckler drew his long rapier, but Diggs stayed his paw.

"Allow me t'deal with this little fracas, old lad. I'll give you a hoot if I need you t'lend a jolly old paw, wot?"

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Buckler watched as Diggs unwound his sling and loaded it with a sizeable rock.

"Go ahead, then, be my guest. But I don't think those vermin'll fall for that old trick."

Diggs winked confidently, as he swaggered toward the scene. "We'll bally well see what we shall see, matey!"

The tubby young hare called out in a commanding tone. (He could be rather good at commanding tones, when required.) "I say, you two, scraggy-bottom an' clod-head! Take your foul paws off that young creature this very instant! Refrain an' desist, sirrahs, an' pack it in!"

The weasel advanced on Diggs, wielding his blade. "Are you talkin' to us, rabbet?"

Diggs halted half a pace from the weasel. "Rabbet, is it? Have a care, barrelbottom--you happen to be addressing Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite. But let's not stand on ceremony. You can address me as sir. Now, unpaw that charmin' shrew."

The scraggy fox let the rope go. Joining the weasel, he sneered at the newcomer. "Or wot, eh?"

As he was saying this, the fox produced a wooden club.

The shrewmaid called out a warning. "Watch them-- they're sly, dangerous vermin!"

Diggs chuckled nonchalantly, edging around until he was standing close to both his enemies. "Pish tush, m'dear, sly, dangerous?" He faced the weasel squarely, still twirling the loaded sling playfully. "Let me give you a demonstration of my prowess before you decide on attacking me, wot! D'ye see that skylark up there?"

The weasel stared up at the empty sky. "Where? Wot skylark--"

That was as far as he got. Diggs swung the heavily loaded sling up, thwacking it hard beneath the vermin's chin. He carried on with the blow, up and over. The rock-loaded sling made a distinctive Bonk! as it struck the scraggy fox between both ears.