Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

They battled on, neither giving any quarter. A simultaneous barrage of punches from both sides sent the two contestants down. Staggering up and blowing for breath, they swiped out wearily at each other until they both collapsed again.

The sergeant had filled Doogy’s shield with streamwater. He winked at the brigadier, who nodded knowingly.

Splash! Wonwill drenched the pair. As the two gasping opponents sat up, the sergeant beckoned them upright to paw the line. “I ’aven’t called an ’alt yet, sirs! Ye wanted to fight, so stop malingerin’. H’up off yore hunkers an’ fight!”

Bone tired, they hauled themselves upright and fought on. Everybeast had fallen silent now. They looked on as the two exhausted battlers raised leaden paws and swiped away. Most of the punches were only hitting midair; twice, in fact, the weary rivals found themselves back to back, actually peering about for each other. Tottering around, they tripped over their own paws and finally collapsed in a heap.

Satisfied, Brigadier Crumshaw signalled Wonwill, who called a final halt. “Well, sirs, ’ave ye both ’ad enough now?”

Ferdimond had trouble lifting his head to reply. “I’ve had enough if he has.”

Doogy raised a swollen paw. “Aye, an’ ah’ve had mah fill if’n he has.”

Crumshaw stepped in, helping the sergeant to stand them upright. Joining both their paws, he concluded, “Well fought, chaps! A good scrap, I’d say, without havin’ to wipe each other out with swords, wot! Take a bow!”

Both the Long Patrol and Tam gave the fighters three rousing cheers.

The brigadier patted both their backs. “Absolutely top-hole! I hope this has solved any small differences ye may have had in the past, wot! Now, shake paws like two good eggs, then clean yoreselves up in the stream, eh?”

Doogy and Ferdimond shook paws as best they could. The young hare grinned lopsidedly. “Sorry for what I said about you, old lad. I was wrong. You, sir, are a true flippin’ warrior!”

Doogy attempted a wink, but both his eyes were swollen. “Och, yer no’ sae bad yoreself, matey. ’Twas all mah fault, ye’ll have tae excuse me for bein’ so touchy, ye ken!”

Holding each other upright, they staggered into the stream to the accompaniment of hurrahs and backslapping.

“What a go! Well fought, you two!”

“Here’s to two perilous beasts, wot!”

“Rather, that scrap’ll go down in Long Patrol annals!”

“Aye, never seen one like it in me blinkin’ life!”

Tam squatted by the fire with Wonwill. “Haha, just look at Doogy, wipin’ Ferdimond’s nose. They seem happy enough now, eh Sarge?”

The old veteran smiled. “Like the Brigadier said, better’n seein”em carved to death by swords. A good ’ealthy boxin’ match h’is just the ticket for clearin’ the air, Tam!”

Crumshaw, who had joined them, sniffed the night air with relish. “Only one thing better’n the smell of a streambank on a springtime evenin’—skilly an’ duff for supper, wot wot!”

Corporal Butty Wopscutt, assisted by the haremaids Folderon and Flummerty, were cooking away industriously. Tam took in the savoury odour from the cooking fire. “Hope it tastes as good as it smells, sah.”

Crumshaw stirred the fire with his swagger stick point. “Young Wopscutt’s the finest cook we’ve ever had, a real treasure, that ’un. An’ he ain’t put off by those pretty gels! By the way, Tam, that comrade o’ yours, Doogy wotsisname, quite a game feller, put up a superb fight. I’ve a feelin’ we’re goin’ to need chaps like him before the season’s out.”

Tam watched Doogy and Ferdimond splashing in the stream. “Aye, yore right there, sah. Goin’ up against the Gulo beast an’ his vermin, we’ll want good warriors to conquer beasts who are so savage that they eat their enemies!”

12

On the morning following the moles’ celebratory supper, young Burlop Cellarhog was up and about his duties before Abbot Humble awakened. Burlop busied himself in the cellars, selecting a new barrel of October Ale. Having found the one he had marked out, the young hedgehog upended it, single-pawed. He began knocking a spigot through the centre bung so the liquid could be tapped. Humble emerged from his bed in the corner, fastening the waist cord of his habit.

The stout young Cellarhog touched his headspikes apologetically. “Father Abbot! I’m sorry, did my noise wake you up?”

Humble stifled a yawn, smiling at his protégé. “Certainly not, Burlop. I merely slept a bit late after last night’s mole supper. What a pleasant evening it was, eh?”

Burlop gave the spigot a final knock and set a tankard under it. “ ’Twas most enjoyable, Father, though the moles and our creatures finished off a barrel of the October Ale. I’m just replacing it. Would you care to taste a sip?”

He stood back respectfully as Humble sniffed round the barrel staves, tapping his paw on the lid several times and then listening, as if for an answer. Burlop always deferred to his Abbot’s expertise. Humble turned the spigot tap, allowing a measure of ale to gurgle forth into the tankard. He spilt a drop on his paw and held it up to a lantern, checking on its colour and clarity. Burlop looked on anxiously as the Abbot took a sample mouthful.

The old hedgehog rolled the ale round his palate, then swallowed it slowly. Beaming happily, he smacked his lips. “Excellent! Marvellous judgement, young Burlop! Of all the October barrels within our cellars, you could not have chosen a finer one!”

Burlop bowed low, allowing his spikes to stand up and then letting them fall back flat several times—the typical hedgehog way of receiving a great compliment. “Thank you, Father. I learned all I know from you, and I’m always ready to heed your wise counsel.”

Humble gazed fondly over the top of his spectacles. “I wouldn’t trust my cellars to any hog but you, friend. Now, what was I about to do, eh?”

“Go up to breakfast perhaps?” Burlop suggested helpfully.

The Abbot scratched his chinspikes reflectively. “Hmm, yes, but there was some other business also. Ah, I remember now! I’ve got to get Brother Gordale, my cousin Jem and old Walt together. Today we begin trying to solve the rhyme puzzle. If anybeast comes looking for me, please tell them I’ll either be in the kitchens or the orchard.”

Burlop helped Humble with his overcloak. “Certainly, Father.”

Humble stared around the kitchen passage at those being served with breakfast. None of the three he wanted was there.

Sister Armel, the pretty young Infirmary Keeper, approached him cheerfully. “Good morning, Father Abbot. Are you looking for somebeast?”

Humble accepted a plate of hazelnut and honey turnovers from Friar Glisum absently. “Er, good morning, Sister. Have you seen Gordale or Jem or Walt about?”

Armel put aside her tray. “No, but I’ll soon find them for you. There’s quite a few still abed after last evening’s festivities. I’ll give them a call.”

Humble began loading up his tray. “Oh, thank you, that would be a help. Tell them I’ll have breakfast set up in the orchard. We’re supposed to be solving that rhyme puzzle today, you know.”

Sister Armel’s big brown eyes lit up. “May I help you, Father? I’m very good at puzzles.”

Humble chuckled. “Of course you can, pretty one. A young head might prove a welcome addition to us elders.”

The orchard was carpeted with pink and white petal blossoms, shed by the many apple, pear, plum, cherry, damson and almond trees.

Brother Demple, the mouse who was Abbey Gardener, put aside his trowel as he saw Humble approaching with a heavily laden tray.