Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

A pot or two o’ barley stew,

an’ nutbread by the plateful,

an’ a bathtub full o’ custard, lads,

would find me ever grateful!”

The sea otters laughed and applauded Garfo heartily, then gathered round as he shook paws, patted backs and kissed babes, all the while hooting in booming tones, “Whoohoohoo, slap me rudder an’ curl me whiskers! Lookit ye lot. Wot ’ave youse been feedin’ yoreselves on? Y’all look so chub’n’sparky! Ma Sork, me ole tatercake, are ye still bakin’ the primest nutbread in the northeast?”

Old Sork whacked him playfully with her ladle as he picked her up and hugged her. “Put me down, ye great fatbarrel. I’ve been up all night bakin’ nutloaves to feed yore hungry gob!”

Garfo put her down and cast a jolly eye over Lonna. “Whoohoo, shrivel me snout an’ gravel me guts! So this is the giant stripedog I’m carryin’ as cargo. Hah, I thought I was a big ’un, but ye could eat dinner of’n me head, mate!”

Lonna shook Garfo Trok’s paw. “Pleased to meet you, mate, but I’m not just cargo. My name is Lonna Bowstripe, and I can wield a paddle as good as most.”

Garfo was big and well built for an otter, but Lonna’s giant frame towered over him. He released the badger’s huge paw.

“Wield a paddle, big feller? Whoohoo, ye look strong enough t’carry me an’ my old boat Beetlebutt up a waterfall on yore back! Belay, Lonna, let’s get some brekkist afore we sail.”

Lonna had already eaten, so he sat nibbling a crust of rye bread and sipping some plum cordial whilst Garfo dealt with breakfast. The otter was a mighty eater and extremely odd in his choice of food. He spread nutbread with honey and dunked it into hotroot soup. Breaking up an apple pie, he crumbled it into a bowl of mushroom stew, daubing plum preserve on an onion-and-leek pastie.

Clearing the lot in a remarkably short time, Garfo stood up, patting his big stomach. “Ahoy, Lonna, pack that bow’n’ arrers an’ let’s go sailin’. Can’t waste a fine mornin’ sittin’ here vittlin’, like some I’ve seen. Never could abide greediness in a beast!”

The otters had packed Beetlebutt with an amazing array of provisions. Lonna looked around at the faces of all these otters that he had come to like so much. It was going to be a sad experience saying good-bye to them. Garfo stood, waiting to push off, as the badger went in turn to each of his otter friends—Shoredog, Sork, Marinu and many others, saving his last farewell for Abruc and young Stugg. Lonna embraced Abruc warmly and clasped his paw. A tear coursed down the big badger’s scarred face.

“Farewell to you and your family, my good friend. I will never forget you and your son. You saved my life, cared for me, fed and nursed me. All I can give you in return are my thanks and undying friendship!”

Abruc scuffed the ground with his rudder, then looked up at the big badger. “Friendship is the greatest gift one can give to another. You are a goodbeast, Lonna. I know ye would’ve done the same for me an’ mine if’n ye found us lyin’ hurt. Go on, mate, you go now, an’ know our thoughts are always with ye!”

Stugg tugged at Lonna’s paw until the badger lifted the young otter and held him level with his eyes. His face solemn, Stugg wiped a tear from Lonna’s striped muzzle.

“Lonn’, der is somet’ink you can do for me an’ my farder. Get Rag’ Bol an’ dose Searats, so they don’t hurt no more pore beasts!”

The badger put Stugg back down and stepped aboard the boat. Raising his bow, he called out as Garfo pushed off into the midstream.

“Stugg, my little mate. I swear by the fine string your father made for this bow. I will wipe Raga Bol and his Searats from the land forever. This is my oath, and my promise to you. Good-bye!”

Putting aside the bow, he joined Garfo Trok at the paddling poles.

Fighting away the tears, Lonna did not look back as they sped downstream. Behind him the tribe of Shoredog stood on the banks, singing an old sea otter song of farewell.

“When the sun sets like fire,

I will think of you,

when the moon casts its light,

I’ll remember, too,

if a soft rain falls gently,

I’ll stand in this place,

recalling the last time,

I saw your kind face.

Good fortune go with you,

to your journey’s end,

let the waters run calmly,

for you, my dear friend.”

Garfo Trok had spent his life amid the northeast streams and rivers. There was no waterway for leagues that the burly otter was not familiar with. Lonna obeyed his every order, backing and tacking down the broad stream. They made good progress. Midday found the Beetlebutt running smoothly with a fair breeze running astern.

Garfo shipped his long paddle, gazing up at the blue, cloud-flecked sky. “Let the ole lady drift for awhile, mate. Belay that paddle an’ we’ll haul sail an’ take a bite o’ lunch.”

They released the sail and made its ends fast to the cleats. Lonna had been wondering when the otter’s appetite was going to reappear. Together they sat on the roof of the little midships cabin, drinking cider and eating nutbread.

Garfo chuckled as he watched the big badger consume his lunch. “Whoohoo, ain’t nothin’ wrong with a beast who kin eat hearty, mate! That limp o’ yourn will soon clear up with a good cruise. Ye won’t be walkin’ so much.” Lonna liked the feel of a boat beneath his paws; he felt rested and well.

Gesturing ahead, he enquired, “How long can we go by water, Garfo?”

The otter refilled his beaker. “Almost into Mossflower. This ole stream takes a turn there an’ runs back east. I kin see yore wonderin’ ’ow far ahead those vermin are.”

Lonna eyed him keenly. “Aye, can ye tell me, mate?”

Garfo scratched his rudder thoughtfully. “Raga Bol has t’go by land since they ain’t got no boat an’ there’s too many of ’em for small rivercraft. Those Searats should be well into Mossflower Wood by now. I’d say ye was about ten days behind ’em, Lonna. But I kin cut that down to eight, wid some canny sailin’. Don’t fret, mate.”

The badger’s eyes narrowed, the look on his ruined face caused the otter to shudder. Lonna laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, I’m not fretting at all. I’ll catch up to them for sure!”

The country they were sailing through was open, with no tree cover. Gradually it ran into hills and gorges, the streambanks growing higher on either side.

Garfo pointed to a steep bend up ahead. “When we round the point of yon bend, we’ll be meetin’ up with Buteo. Now I know yore not a-feared of anybeast, but don’t start anythin’ wid him. I’ve knowed Buteo a long time.”

Lonna was intrigued. “Just as you say, mate, but who is Buteo?”

Garfo crumbled some nutbread on the cabin roof. “Oh, ye’ll find out soon enuff, matey, soon enuff!”

Beetlebutt took the bend smoothly, keeping to midstream. Halfway around it, Lonna was startled to feel a slight cuff on the back of his head. Buteo landed like a bolt of lightning, silent and menacing. He was a honey buzzard—a large, savage-looking bird of prey. From fawn-barred tail to mottled chest, and huge wingspan to lethal-hooked beak and a fierce eye, Buteo looked every inch a killer. Folding his wings, the buzzard stared disdainfully at the crumbled nutbread that Garfo had put out for him, then pointed a lethally sharp talon at them.

“Heek! This be Buteo territory, I rule here. Heeeeeekah!”

Garfo replied cheerily. “So ye do, me ole burdy, but we ain’t trespassin’, just passin’ through.”

Buteo cocked his head to one side, glaring at them. “Yaheeek! I riddle you riddle, you spin me a spin. Only pass here if you win. Good?”