Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

But it was not the plop of dewdrops or the charming birdsong which wakened the sturdy Highlander—it was Yoofus. Unable to sleep, and in an effort to stir his wife into providing breakfast from the sack which now served as her pillow, the water vole began singing and tapping a footpaw against the great drum. Boom baboom babumpitty bumpetty boom!

“Sure there was an ould vole called Dumplety Tim,

now wasn’t he just the grand feller.

He wore britches of scarlet, a scarf snowy white,

an’ a tailcoat with buttons of yeller.

He could dance a fine jig in his high-buckled boots,

he could quaff off a flagon of scrumpy,

he wore a great feather of green in his hat,

an’ his stummick was round, fat an’ lumpy.

Ah rumplety bumplety Dumplety Tim,

he could charm all the ladies around.

He was merry’n’cheery an’ never grew weary,

the smile on his face never frowned.

Such a nice darlin’ creature in every fine feature,

you’d hear any ould biddy remark,

‘He’s oh so polite an’ from mornin”til night,

he can sing like a silver-tongued lark.’

Ah rumplety bumplety dumplety . . . Yowwwccch!”

Yoofus was knocked sideways as the loaded foodsack clouted him over the head. Didjety, who had thrown it, stood over him, paws akimbo.

“Now will ye hush that rambunctious din! Yore frightenin’ all the frogs in the neighbourhood with that racket!”

Yoofus massaged his ear ruefully. “But I thought ye were fond of me singin’!”

Doogy unwrapped the cloak from around his head. “Singin’ ye call it? Och, ’tis more like somebeast killin’ a duck with a mallet! Thief is the right title for ye. Ah’ve been robbed o’ mah sleep with all that drumbangin’ an’ caterwaulin’!”

The incorrigible Yoofus gave him a wink and a grin. He began rummaging in the foodsack. “Ah, but Mister Plumm, me ould darlin’, ye wouldn’t want to be sleepin’ such a sunny mornin’ away now, would ye? Sure a day like this gives a beastie like meself a roarin’ appetite. Let’s see wot we’ve got fer brekkist.”

Didjety snatched the foodsack from him. “I’m in charge of the rations around here! Stir yore stumps now, an’ find me some firewood.”

Thrusting her head into the sack, the volewife investigated its contents, then called to her husband, “Don’t bother yoreself with the firewood. There’s nothin’ in here but a few crusts an’ me cookin’ pan an’ kettle.”

The volethief’s jaw dropped. “Ye mean t’tell me we’re out o’ vittles?”

Didjety’s paws poked through a big hole in the bottom of the sack. “Indeed we are, an’ here’s the reason why!”

Her husband’s normally cheerful face was the picture of misery. “We’ll starve t’death completely, so we will!”

The volewife glared at Doogy and Yoofus. “All the more reason for you two witless wanderers to find the Abbey o’ Redwall then, isn’t it?”

Yoofus pointed the paw at Doogy. “ ’Twas him that got us lost, not me!”

The Highlander defended himself indignantly. “Och, ye wee fibber! Who was it wanted us tae turn left at that three-topped oak last night, instead o’ right as I suggested, eh?”

Yoofus looked shocked. “Startin’ that, are we? Then who suggested we turn west by the stream yesterday mornin’? Tell me that, ye great fluffy-tailed fraud!”

He dodged behind the drum as Doogy came after him angrily. “Ah never said west. Ah was all for carryin’ on north!”

Yoofus hooted. “North? Sure ye wouldn’t know north from the nutnose on yore face. I was the one who said to go north. I may be a thief, but I ain’t a liar like some I could mention!”

Doogy was outraged. “Who are ye callin’ a liar? Ah’ll punch yore fat head intae the middle o’ next season—aye, an’ send yore fat wee bottom after it!”

Boooooommmm! Didjety struck the drum hard with her cooking pan. “Silence, the pair of ye! This is gettin’ us nowhere. Any more arguin’ an’ I’ll settle it with this pan over both yore thick skulls, d’ye hear me?”

They both sulked about like two Dibbuns being sent to bed.

“Och, ’twas yore husband that started it, marm!”

“Ooh, did ye hear that, Didjety? He’s tryin t’put the blame on me now!”

“Aye, well that’s where the blame belongs, mah friend.”

“Oh no it doesn’t!”

“Och yes it does!”

Bonk! Bonk! Didjety once again wielded the pan as Yoofus and Doogy both stood, rubbing their heads. “I warned ye! Now let’s pack up an’ get goin’. I’ll lead the way. You two follow, I’ll find Redwall for ye.”

Yoofus touched his head gingerly. “But, me luv, ye’ve never been to Redwall Abbey afore!”

The volewife squared her shoulders decisively. “Maybe not, but I can’t make much more of a mess findin’ it than you two bright sparks. Come on, quick march!”

They crawled out of the little shelter, and Doogy shrugged. “Quick march sure enough, marm, but which way?”

Didjety placed her pan on the ground and spun it. She nodded at the direction the panhandle was pointing. “This way!”

Then she looked at Rockbottom. The little tortoise nodded his agreement.

Though they had to ford a shallow stream and skirt some patches of marshland, the going was fairly smooth. Wherever possible, the volewife kept to what looked like obvious paths betwixt the tall trees. Doogy followed behind her, rolling the great drum along, whilst Yoofus trudged in the rear.

The volethief began grumbling and muttering to the tortoise who was strapped to his back. “Sure I thought you’d have taken my side o’ things back there agin those two, but ye never supported me cause by a nod or a wink, did ye? Now look where it’s got us! We’ll wind up at the back of noplace like this. I’m tellin’ ye, me liddle stony friend, my Didjety’s a darlin’ creature, but she couldn’t find the floor if she fell on it. See, I told ye, she’s had to halt.”

Yoofus approached his wife triumphantly, nodding and smirking. “Sure, an’ why’ve ye stopped, me ould duckodill? Lost, are ye?”

Didjety looked up from the watercress she was gathering from the side of a tiny brook. “Does it look like I’m lost, ye great omardorm? Go an’ gather some firewood an’ I’ll make us somethin’ to eat. Mister Plumm, will you gather those wild mushrooms an’ pick some of that ransom? Not too much, though, it can taste a bit strong in a soup.”

Upon the mention of food, Yoofus hurriedly began gathering dead twigs and dried grass. “Soup! Will ye lissen to her? Mister Plumm, sir, don’t ye wish ye had a grand liddle wife like me?”

When it came to cooking, the volewife certainly knew what she was doing. Toasting the crusts of oatcake over the fire, she crumbled them into her cooking pan, which she had filled half full with brookwater. Borrowing Doogy’s dirk, she chopped her ingredients into the pan—a touch of the wild garlic known as ransom, a few dozen of the white mushrooms, lots of watercress, some dandelion roots, charlock pods, wild radish, hedge mustard, sweet woodruff petals and a good pinch of the rock salt which she always carried in her apron pocket. Yoofus and Doogy sat by the brook, sniffing appreciatively at the savoury aroma emanating from the bubbling pan over the fire.

The Highlander winked at the volethief as he fashioned some scoops from a piece of bark. “Yore a braw lucky beast, mah friend, havin’ a wee wifey who can make a meal out o’ nothin’. That soup smells bonny!”

Yoofus smiled. “An’ she can sing, too. Lissen!”

The Highlander pushed him playfully. “Aye, an’ ah ken she sings far better than ye do!”

Didjety stirred away at the thickening soup, singing in a clear, sweet tone.