Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

There were heartfelt murmurs of agreement from the hares. Melesme held up a huge paw, restoring silence. “I have scouts out following the Gulo beast’s tracks. At dawn, a force of one hundred fighting hares will leave Salamandastron. They will track the vermin and their chief until they face them. It is my command that they send those evil murderers, everybeast of them, to Hellgates!”

She turned to the two squirrels. “Will you be joining in the hunt?”

Doogy nodded. “Ah’m thinkin’ ye’ll have tae be marchin’ at the double tae get at yon vermin afore we do. Eh, Tam?”

Ferdimond De Mayne pawed at his rapier hilt. “Indeed, sah, an’ I say ye’ll be eatin’ our flippin’ dust if ye try to keep up with the Long Patrol. Wot wot!”

A shout of agreement came from the hares but was quickly stifled by a stern bark from Lady Melesme. “Silence! Stop this foolishness! You officers and any other of my warriors will answer to me if you do not work together with our two friends. Is that clear?”

Captain Derron Fortindom and Lancejack Wilderry drew their sabres and saluted, replying together, “Crystal clear, marm!”

Melesme beckoned Sergeant Wonwill forward. “You are older and more experienced than any. I want you to keep an eye on these younger bucks. Understood?”

The scar-faced veteran touched a paw to his eartip. “My ’eart’n’paw, marm, h’I’ll keep the young rips in line. H’attention, Long Patrol! Ye’ve got less’n three hours to rest, provision h’an choose yore weapons. At crack o’ dawn I wants to see ye on parade, smartly turned out an’ fit t’march. Brigadier Crumshaw’ll be on the square, so ye knows wot to h’expect. Dismiss!”

Tam approached Melesme. “Marm, we need our blades.”

She stopped Ferdimond from walking off. “De Mayne, return these warriors’ weapons, please.”

There was still a rebellious glint in Ferdimond’s eye, but he complied with the order promptly. Tam accepted his shield and blades from the hare, but Doogy was out to rankle him.

“Och, mind ye dinna slice yore paws on mah claymore, laddie. ’Tis a sword for braw beasties, no’ a fancy-talkin’ rabbet like yoreself who carries a bodkin!”

Ferdimond threw Doogy’s gear on the ground. “Get ’em yourself, treewalloper. Just call me rabbit one more time, an’ y’see this rapier? I jolly well promise ye it’s no bodkin, an’ it’ll chop the insolent snout off ye!”

Doogy belted on his claymore, grinning broadly. “Oh, dearie me, ole fellow, ole chap, ye’ve got me all scairt stiff now. Ach, away with ye, rabbet!”

They stood glaring at each other until Sergeant Wonwill stepped between them. “Nah, nah, you gennelbeasts, break it up! You ’eard Lady Melesme’s h’orders, be’ave yoreselves!”

Tam pulled Doogy away. “Come on, mate, let’s find someplace to get a spot o’ shuteye for a few hours. What’s the matter with ye, Doogy? Just ignore Ferdimond!”

The little Highlander followed Tam reluctantly. “Yon taffy-nosed buck is strokin’ mah tail the wrong way. Ah’ll have tae teach him some wee manners, so ah will!”

Tam led his friend down to a grotto, thickly carpeted in dry grass and soft moss. He waved a paw under his nose. “Listen t’me, Wild Doogy Plumm. If yore bound to cross blades with that hare, then wait until we’re clear of here. I won’t have ye abusin’ Lady Melesme’s hospitality. Now curl yore tail up an’ get some sleep!”

The sergeant appeared with two steaming beakers which gave off an aromatic scent. “Get this down yore throats afore ye go t’sleep, buckoes. H’it’ll do the bumps on yore noggins a power o’ good. Mister Doogy, pay no ’eed to young De Mayne—that un’s perilous an’ lightnin’ fast with a blade, but Ferdimond’s young an’ ot’eaded like you, so steer clear of each h’other.”

Tam eyed the sergeant’s battered face curiously. “Thankee, Sarge. Ye don’t mind me sayin’, but all ye carry is a slingshot. Is that yore only weapon?”

The hare winked and held up his paws. “Weapons, mate? These is my weapons. I’m a boxin’ hare. The ole slingshot’s good for long-range hittin’, but fer close work there ain’t nothin’ better’n these two trusties!”

Doogy sipped his fragrant cordial, feeling the headache recede immediately. He inspected the sergeant’s clenched paws. “A boxin’ hare, eh? What manner o’ beastie is that, Sarge?”

Wonwill dropped into a fighting pose, lowering his brows and circling with both paws. Like lightning, he shot out a right, then a left, the air whistling around him as he danced lightly, ducking and weaving, throwing punches. “I was born to box, that’s me trade. Y’know why they calls me Wonwill, no? Then I’ll tell ye. If’n me right don’t get ye, then me left one will. Left or right, mates, either one will set ye on yore tail. Wonwill, see?”

Doogy was mightily impressed. “Ah wouldnae mind learnin’ how tae box, Sarge. Mayhap ye’ll give me some wee lessons sometime, eh?”

Wonwill relaxed, dropping his guard. “Per’aps I will, mate, when I ain’t busy lookin’ arter the young Patrollers. Mark my words, they ain’t h’experienced, but they’re Salamandastron born’n’bred. All made o’ the right stuff, an’ perilous brave. I’ve just got ter stop ’em knockin’ the stuffin’ outta one another. Know wot I mean?”

He gave Doogy a wink. “I’ll bid ye a good night now.”

11

Following their few hours of sleep, both squirrels woke refreshed, with all aches and pains banished. Tam tickled his friend’s ear, and Doogy leapt up.

“Top o’ the mornin’ tae yeh, Tam. Ah’m feelin’ braw an’ sprauncy the noo. Yon cordial did me a power o’ good!”

Just as Tam was about to reply, a fat, smiling hare entered the grotto, bearing a tray of breakfast which he placed between them. Unshouldering two filled haversacks, he saluted comically. “Mornin’ chaps, wot! Name’s Wopscutt, Corporal Butty Wopscutt. In charge of the jolly old supplies an’ provisions. Tuck doncha know, vittles for the use of!”

Doogy returned his friendly smile. “Mah thanks tae ye. Vittles for the use of what?”

Butty did a scut twirl and waggled both ears. “For the use of eatin’, o’ course. That’s the way we talk here, wot. I’d shift my tail if I were you, old Crumshaw’s takin’ the parade. Wouldn’t keep him waitin’ if I was you, chaps. No sir, not his nibs, he’d have your tails for tea an’ your guts for garters. So quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the jolly old action, wot wot!”

The tubby corporal marched off without further ado. After belting his blades on, Tam hefted his shield and fixed the Sgian Dhu in his cap. “Up ye come, Doogy Plumm, this is the life for us. Marching with real fighters who know what they’re doin’, an’ do it right!”

Brigadier Buckworthy Crumshaw was a fine figure of a hare—from his eye monocle, to his bristling moustache, to the highly polished buttons on his freshly brushed pink tunic, down to the short swagger cane he carried. The brigadier was smart as paint, and old school to the rigid backbone. He squinted ferociously through his monocle, taking in the fivescore ranks of Long Patrol hares, all standing stiffly to attention. That was when he caught Tam and Doogy creeping up, trying to slip into line unnoticed.

Crumshaw pointed his stick at the latecomers. “Parade at first light o’ dawn means just that, an’ not two flippin’ blinks of an eye later, laddie bucks. Sergeant, are these two laggards supposed t’be with us? Get ’em fell into line immediately!”