Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

Tam closed the wickergate and bolted it. “So would I, mate, but he’s long gone now. I’ll find him sooner or later, an’ I’ll mend his thievin’ ways for him. I just hope he doesn’t fall into the clutches of Gulo an’ his vermin first. You wouldn’t wish that on anybeast, not even a thief. Ah well, back to lunch, Mister Plumm.”

The small Highlander shook his head in mock sadness. “Dearie me, ’tis a hard an’ sore life we lead, Tam. Ah wonder what supper’s goin’ tae be like, eh?”

After lunch, Tam and Doogy were called to the gatehouse, where the brigadier, Sergeant Wonwill, Abbot Humble, Ferdimond and Armel awaited them. Sister Armel and Skipper met them at the door.

The otter chieftain nodded briefly to Tam. “Wot’s all this about, matey?”

Tam ushered them inside. “Council o’ war, prob’ly.”

Crumshaw waved his swagger stick at the border warrior. “Well-guessed, MacBurl, that’s exactly what it is. We can’t rest inside Redwall, eatin’ these good creatures out o’ house’n’home, with a hundred of the perishin’ foebeast wanderin’ the woodlands outside. Bad form, wot!”

Humble settled both paws into his wide sleeves. “So, Brigadier, what action do you propose?”

Crumshaw looked at the broad linen sling which was holding his wounded shoulder still. “Not a jolly great lot I can do with this blinkin’ thing hamperin’ me. I was hopin’ for some sensible suggestions.”

Ferdimond De Mayne pawed at his long rapier hilt. “I say we march out tomorrow an’ give the blighters a spot of good old Long Patrol blood’n’vinegar, sah!”

The brigadier was watching Tam closely. “An’ what d’ye say, buckoe?”

Tam had his answer ready. “Well, I’d say we’re pretty evenly matched against the vermin, as regards numbers. But if we march out to find ’em an’ fight ’em, that leaves the Abbey unprotected, so we need a proper plan.”

Wonwill tapped Ferdimond’s ear. “I ’ope yore lissenin’, young blood’n’vinegar, there’s experience talkin’ for ye!”

He winked at Tam. “My ’pologies for h’interruptin’, sah. I could tell ye had a plan.”

Tam outlined his suggestions to the group. “First, we’ve got to split the Patrol, half to stay here an’ defend Redwall. They’ll be commanded by the Brigadier. Doogy an’ I will take the others out to fight the vermin.”

Sister Armel looked alarmed at the suggestion. “But Tam, you’ll be outnumbered two to one, and those vermin are vicious brutes!”

Humble chided her mildly. “Don’t be so hasty, Sister, hear him out first. You were saying, Tam?”

The warrior squirrel continued. “I’m not talking about meeting Gulo an’ his mob head-on in a charge. We’ll use hit an’ run tactics, small, swift raids, pickin’ the enemy off a few at a time. Never stoppin’ in one place for long. We’ll be like hornets, stingin’ the great beast, then disappearin’, always drawin’ them further away from the Abbey.”

Crumshaw rapped the table with his stick. “A capital tactic, sah! Duck an’ jolly well weave, hit ’em where it hurts, then vanish like smoke. That’s the ticket, wot wot!”

Tam outlined his strategy further. “Aye, but I’ll need somebeast who knows the territory like the back of his paw to help us. Skipper?”

The burly otter nodded. “That’s me, mate! When d’we leave for this liddle jaunt?”

Tam pondered for a moment before answering. “I think the best time would be late tonight, while the supper is still bein’ held. We’ll slip out by the east wallgate. One thing, though—the hares will have to leave their regimental tunics behind. Father, d’you think ye could lend ’em somethin’ to wear? Stuff that wouldn’t stand out so brightly in the woodlands?”

Humble rose from his armchair. “I’ll have a word with Foremole Bruffy. He knows about that sort of thing.”

The meeting broke up. Crumshaw and Wonwill stayed behind to go through the roster and decide who would go with Tam and who would stay behind at Redwall. Tam and Doogy helped Armel to entice the goshawk for treatment at the Infirmary.

Tergen expressed reluctance to have his injured wing attended to. “Naaaaar! Wing get better by itself, Burl. Not go to ’fermery. Haf knifes up there, cut this bird’s wing off!”

Armel decided the best tactic was ridicule. “Well, dearie me, you great big Dibbun! Haha, Brigadier Crumshaw had a worse wound than yours, and he got treated without a murmur. I’ve never used a knife to cut anybeast. I’m here to heal, not to injure. Right, Doogy?”

The small Highlander agreed. “Aye, right lassie, but if’n yon auld featherbag is too feared tae be made better, what can ye do, eh?”

Tam winced as the hawk’s powerful talons latched on to his paw. Tergen glared icily at Doogy and Armel. “Yeehok! Take this bird to ’fermery, Burl, wot wot!”

The goshawk proved to be a worthy patient. He perched on a bed end, nibbling candied chestnuts which Armel kept in a big jar for her Dibbun patients.

As the Sister worked on the goshawk’s wing, she explained to Tam the significance of the sword she had given him. “Have you seen the picture of Martin the Warrior on the tapestry in Great Hall?”

Tam passed Armel the bowl of verbena water she had requested. “Aye, he looks like a mighty warrior. No wonder, too, with a sword like this.”

The Sister cast a quick glance at the sword, which had seldom left Tam’s side since he had been in charge of it. Then she proceeded with her account to the warrior squirrel. “It is countless seasons since the days of Martin, but his legend, and that of the great sword, lives on. We learned at Abbey school that the hilt of the sword was the one which originally belonged to Luke, Martin’s father. A Badger Lord named Boar the Fighter made the blade in his forge at Salamandastron. It is said that the metal came from a fallen star. There is no steel keener or stronger than that blade. The sword of Martin the Warrior belongs to Redwall Abbey and must always return here, though at special times an outstanding warrior may be chosen to wield it when danger threatens us. Martin appeared to me in a dream, proclaiming that you were the one he had chosen, Tam.”

Doogy selected a candied chestnut mournfully. “Och, are ye sure yore Martin dinnae mean me, lassie?”

Tam picked up the sword. Swinging it in a flashing arc, he clipped the candied chestnut that his friend was holding neatly in half. He twirled the blade back and forth, watching the sunlight from the window playing along its edges as it cleaved the air.

“Great seasons o’ slaughter, what a weapon! The balance and lightness, the way it fits my paw. I could face any ten vermin armed with this sword!”

Armel rapped Doogy’s paw as he reached for another chestnut. “Mr. Plumm, those are only for injured Dibbuns!”

Tergen cackled as he grabbed another from the jar. “Kraahahaa, an’ wounded birds who be not feared!”

The banquet supper that evening was a splendid affair. Redwallers sat cheek by jowl with Long Patrol hares, chattering and laughing as they did justice to the culinary triumphs of Friar Glisum and some of Burlop’s best cellar produce. The centrepiece was a huge meadowcream trifle garlanded with pink rosebuds of almond icing. Soups, dips and salads took up the border of the table. Behind them came pasties, turnovers, tarts and flans; closer in were the crumbles and cakes. As each course was completed, the dishes were removed and the next course brought forward. Burlop presided over a side trestle which was lined with drinks—from October Ale and pale cider, to cordials and squashes, with mint and fragrant herb teas. Even the ravenous hares were sated after a while, yet there was plenty left, and always new dishes being ferried in by helpers with trolleys.