Brian Jacques - Rakkety Tam

Whilst Fortindom and Gulo were talking, Tam had been cudgelling his brain for a solution, but unknown words kept running through his mind—“Save my Abbey, thou art the Warrior chosen!” At first he thought it was only tiredness from standing on watch all night. Then he blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Bright lights blossomed throughout Tam’s senses, and for a brief moment he saw the speaker. It was Martin the Warrior, whose sword he was carrying. Suddenly he wrenched himself from the restraining paws of his friends and strode to the battlement edge.

As he pointed a paw at the wolverine, Tam’s voice rang out, clear as a bell. “Son of Dramz, thou art looking for a deadbeast. ’Twas I who slayed thy brother! ’Tis me ye want to meet!”

Gulo stared long and hard at the figure on the walltop. “What foolishness is this? Ye say my brother is dead . . . an’ slain by thee?”

The Borderer clenched a paw across his heart. “Aye, ’twas me, Rakkety Tam MacBurl, an’ I’ll prove it to thee!”

Tam whispered briefly to Sergeant Wonwill, who saluted and then shot off like an arrow toward the Abbey.

Gulo shook his huge head. “Nobeast could kill a wolverine in combat. We rule the lands of ice and snow beyond the cold seas!”

Tam nodded at the bulk of the Abbey behind him. “This is where I rule. Do ye think this place could be held by a fool? Hah, thy brother did, an’ he paid dearly for it. I am the Warrior of Redwall an’ its Champion. I stand against anybeast, an’ none has ever defeated me! Gulo the Savage, eh? More like Gulo the Fool! Look upon this!”

Wonwill arrived, panting. He thrust Rockbottom into Tam’s outstretched paw. Tam held the little tortoise up within Gulo’s view before addressing him again. “If I did not slay Askor, then how did I get this?”

Gulo stood dumbfounded, knowing that, if his brother were alive, he would never have parted with the Walking Stone.

The Borderer’s stern tones brought Gulo back to reality. “When the sun stands at its height, I will meet thee out there on the flatland. Six will come with me to watch thy vermin lest ye try to play me false. Harm one hair of my comrade before then an’ we will charge out an’ overwhelm ye. Go now, I have spoken!”

Silence reigned all along the ramparts as the wolverine shuffled off.

Armel grasped Tam’s paw as she pleaded with him. “Oh, you’re not really going to fight that monster, are you?”

Tam freed his paw lightly and patted hers. “Well, of course I am! You can’t boss me out of this one, Sister. It’s the only solution to the problem, y’see.”

Fortindom muttered out the side of his mouth, “May I offer my services, Mister MacBurl? Likely you’ll need a little help with that flesh-eatin’ murderer, wot?”

Tam shook his head. “No thanks, Cap’n. I’ve got all the help anybeast could need—the word an’ the sword of Martin the Warrior. Is that good enough?”

Skipper gave Tam a pat on the back which almost knocked him over. “That’s good enough for me, mate!”

Sergeant Wonwill saluted. “H’excuse me, sah, but wot’ll we be doin’ while all this combat’s goin’ on?”

Tam took out his dirk and Sgian Dhu, placing them on the walkway along with Martin’s sword. “Just bring me my shield, Sarge. Then leave me alone up here. When the time comes, I’d like you, the Cap’n, Skipper, Tergen, Lancejack an’ Ferdimond to go out there with me.”

Abbot Humble stood at one of the top dormitory windows with Armel, Skipper and Foremole Bruffy at his side. They had a fine view of the western flatlands, shimmering gently in the warmth of high summer, brilliant with a profusion of yellow-and-cream pennycress, white clover, red valerian and patches of burnet rose. It would have made a pretty picture had it not been for the presence of Gulo and his six vermin, standing guard with lighted torches over the prisoner bound to the stake and surrounded by kindling material.

Humble stared at the dark, bulky wolverine, whose power and might seemed to dominate all about him. “Let’s hope fortune favours Tam today.”

Armel caught the note of doubt in the old hedgehog’s voice. “It’s not fair, Father. I know Tam is a true warrior, but no single creature should have to face that horrible monster!”

Foremole Bruffy shook his velvety head. “Oi agree wid ee, missy, but they’m says all be furr in luv an’ war. B’aint that roight, Skip?”

The otter chieftain leaned on the windowsill, nodding. “That’s wot they say, matey. I think our Tam’s got a good chance, though. He’s small, aye, but light an’ speedy. I’ve seen him fightin’. He’s lightnin’ wid those blades of his. Don’t you fret yoreself, Sister.”

Armel climbed up on the sill and sat by the otter. “I hope you’re right, sir!”

She looked down to the walltop where she could see Tam. He was sitting with his back to them, readying his weapons. Armel listened to the rasp of steel on stone as the warrior honed his blades. When he had finished, Tam took a soft cloth and dipped it in a paste of wood ash dampened with a sprinkle of water.

“What’s he doing now?”

Captain Fortindom, who had just come into the dormitory, came to the window to see what Tam was doing. “Burnishing his blades, Sister, givin’ ’em a jolly good old polish, wot! Don’t matter whether a chap’s a cook, farmer or warrior, marm. Every trade has its tools, y’know, an’ if one’s blinkin’ good at his business, he cares for his implements. I say, just look at MacBurl workin’ on that shield of his. He’s got the flippin’ thing glitterin’!”

Armel and Fortindom blinked at the glint of sunlight which flashed through the window as Tam moved the shield. The captain nodded in admiration. “Well done that chap, wot. That’s the stuff! Nothin’ like a smartly presented warrior marchin’ off t’meet the rascally foe. Appearances count, doncha know!”

Armel watched Tam labouring away under the bright sun. “I suppose they do. I’ve never thought about it, really.”

Fortindom warmed to the subject. “Oh yes, Sister. When I was a young recruit at Salamandastron, we had a Drill Sergeant, real stickler he was. Had all the new buckoes polishin’ night’n’day. Haha, I had a messmate, name o’ young Fluffscuttle, as I recall. Well, it seems one day his sword was a mite dusty on parade. By the left! That Sergeant gave him a right old dressin’ down, had the poor bloke quiverin’ in his fur. The Sarge roared at him, ‘Yew ’orrible liddle fiddle-pawed, boot-nosed, flop-eared h’excuse for a recruit. H’is that dust h’I sees on yore blade? Sit right down there, laddie buck, an’ clean it off. Polish it until the rag wears out! Polish it until y’can see me face in the blade, or I’ll ’ave yore tail fer tiffin, yore tripes fer tea an’ yore ears fer afters!’ ”

Armel smiled. “Oh, poor young Fluffscuttle! What happened?”

Fortindom carried on with his anecdote. “Happened? I’ll tell ye what happened, me beauty. Off marches the Sergeant, leavin’ Fluffscuttle sittin’ in the middle of the blinkin’ parade ground, polishin’ away like the clappers at his sword. Of course the Sarge forgets all about the incident, doesn’t he! Hah, comes midnight an’ the Brigadier’s comin’ out o’ the mess on his way back to quarters. The old boy’s crossin’ the parade ground when he sees young Fluffscuttle, still sittin’ there polishin’ away like fury at his flippin’ sword. I tell ye, miss, that sword was shinin’ like the bloomin’ sun on a summer morn. The Brigadier stops to admire it, sayin’, ‘I tell you, young ’un, that’s the shiniest sword I’ve ever seen. Top marks, Fluffscuttle! Come on now, off t’your bed, it’s after midnight.’ But Fluffscuttle just keeps polishin’ the confounded sword, an’ says to the Brig, ‘Afraid I can’t, sah. The Sergeant said I’ve got to polish this sword until I can see his face in it. But I’ve polished an’ polished, sah, an’ I still can’t see the blinkin’ Sergeant’s face in it!’ Wasn’t the brightest star in the sky, that young Fluffscuttle! Wot?”