Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

Briggy stroked his beard a moment, before answering. “Aye, so be it then. Leave those onions now, young ’un, go amidship an’ lend the cook a paw in the galley.”

Horty galloped off, overjoyed at the prospect of working amid food. “Help the cook, I say, what a spiffin’ job! A thousand thanks to you, Captain Briggaboat, an’ you, my two chums. You have a handsome young hare’s undying thanks!”

Bragoon chuckled. “Same modest Horty, eh?”

Aboard Jigger’s logboat, Fenna and Springald were being treated like royalty. Fenna had also gained an admirer, a stout young shrew named Wuddle. Both he and Jigger could not do enough for the pretty Redwall maids. The shrews brought extra cushions, erected an awning to shade them from the sun and served more delicious snacks than both of them could possibly eat. Then the two creatures vanished momentarily, to reappear grinning awkwardly, carrying with them two accordionlike instruments, which they said were called shrewlodeons. Jigger and Waddle twiddled a few keys, then launched into a song. Springald and Fenna were convulsed with laughter at the faces that both shrews pulled while singing. On verses they would be scowling savagely, whilst on the choruses they adopted expressions of peaceful concern. Both had wonderful bass voices and sang in harmony.

“When I meets a beast wot ain’t polite to laydeez,

I grabs ’im round the throat ’til he turns blue,

I holds him tight in check as I squeezes on his neck,

then I boots his tail three times around the deck!

’Cos be they sisters mothers aunts or daughters,

all laydeez must be treated tenderly,

they’re dainty an’ they’re neat, an’ they don’t have much to eat,

an’ they rouses gentle feelins within me.

When I’m around an’ you insults a laydee,

I’ll jump on yore stummick very forcibly,

then I’ll punch you in the snout an’ I’ll prob’ly knock you out,

an’ black both of yore eyes so you can’t see!

’Cos be they sisters mothers aunts or daughters,

all laydeez must be treated tenderly,

they’re dainty an’ they’re neat, an’ they don’t have much to eat,

an’ they rouses gentle feelins within me.

So mind yore manners an’ be very careful,

when in the company of laydeez sweet,

or I’ll shove you in a sack, after fracturin’ yore back,

an’ I’ll stamp upon yore paws if you gets free!”

After the final chorus, they escorted both maids on a pleasant promenade of the deck, snarling fiercely at any of the poling shrews who dared to look sideways at Fenna or Springald.

Supper on a mossy bank, overhung by weeping willows, was a total success. It was all due to Horty’s onion soup. The Guorafs congratulated him on his cooking skills. He lapped up any compliments with a complete lack of modesty.

“Tut tut, nothin’ to it, dear chaps—a pinch o’ this, a smidgeon o’ that an’ a sprinklin’ of the other. Plus, of course, blinkin’ loads of those confounded onions. I tell you, I shed many salt tears into the recipe, wot! Wild onions? Hah, I wasn’t too blinkin’ pleased, havin’ to tame ’em down for you lot. I’d sooner be skinned me bloomin’ self than have to skin another wild onion!”

Log a Log Briggy watched the young ones cavorting, singing and playing, then lay back and stretched. “Beats me where they find the energy! Ah well, let ’em be merry while they can, ’specially those three young ’uns o’ yores. I reckon we’ll make our voyage end by midmorn tomorrer. That’s when all the fun’n’games will finish for Horty an’ the maids. I’m glad I don’t have t’make the slog over desert an’ gorge to Loamhedge with ye. That’s country I was never fond of.”

Bragoon flicked a twig into the fire. “They’ll do alright, with me’n my mate to look after ’em.”

Saro smiled. “Aye, but by the creakin’ o’ my ole bones, ’tis them who’ll be lookin’ after us by the time this liddle jaunt is finished!”

Next morning, they arrived on time at the spot, just as Briggy had predicted. It was indeed hard, arid country. They had been sailing upriver since the crack of dawn. Nobeast could fail to notice the difference in the terrain. Trees, bushes and grass thinned out along the banks, whilst a hot breeze wafted in dust from the wastelands.

Briggy smiled at the young creatures’ downcast faces. “Cheer up, mates, it ain’t good-bye just yet. We’ll be moored alongside this bank when ye come back wid a cure for Horty’s sister. Get goin’ now, an’ good fortune go with ye!”

“Thanks for everythin’, ole friend!”

“Aye, we’d a-been in a right pickle widout you an’ yore crews, matey.”

“See ye in six days, eh!”

Loaded with shrew hardtack biscuits and two canteens of water apiece, the travellers set off into the unknown.

Briggy called out as the logboats pulled away. “Keep the sun on yore right cheek, ye’ll see the Bell an’ Badger Rocks afore dark. But y’won’t be able to reach ’em until ye figure out ’ow to cross the great gorge!”

Silence reigned over the searing, dusty flatness at high noon. Bragoon led the party, with Saro bringing up the rear.

It was not long before Horty began complaining. “Phew, my ears are roasted, my tongue’s parched an’ my bally feet are fryin’. My word, it’s even too hot to sweat! Walkin’ walkin’, always flamin’ well walkin’. It’s the story of m’life, chaps. First I was walkin’ up’n’down on a blinkin’ logboat, pushin’ an oarpole. Now I’m walkin’ again through this food’n’drink-forsaken place!”

Saro tugged the hare’s tail. “We’re all walkin’, ole gabby gob. We’re walkin’ t’bring back somethin’ that’ll make yore sister Martha walk. So stop moanin’ an’ keep walkin’.”

The otter glanced over his shoulder, turning his attention on Springald and Fenna. “Ahoy there, you two. Keep yore faces like that an’ it’ll rain afore long, ye mis’rable pair o’ mopes!”

Springald dragged her paws in the dust, replying sulkily. “There’s nothing at all wrong with our faces, thank you. Anyhow, you wouldn’t understand.”

Saro piped up from behind. “Why wouldn’t we unnerstand?”

Fenna pouted. “ ’Cos you just wouldn’t, that’s all!”

Horty could not resist smirking. “They’re jolly miserable because they’ve been parted from old Jigger an’ his pal, wotsisname, Cuddles! Oh lack a day an’ woe are they! I expect your little hearts are breakin’, wot?”

Kicking dust at the mocking hare, Fenna shouted, “His name isn’t Cuddles, it’s Wuddle, and he’s far nicer than you, Horty Braebuck. So there!”

Skipping ahead of the two maids, Horty made an elegant leg and bowed with a flourish. “Fie upon you, marm, there’s nobeast nicer than the charming I. Not in all the lands, or the river. Not like those two spike-headed water whompers who caterwaul songs like stricken ducks!”

This time it was Springald who kicked dust at Horty. “You vain, pompous, floppy-eared boaster!”

Horty was about to kick dust back, when Bragoon grabbed his ear and tweaked it soundly. “If’n ye value yore ear, then stop embarrassin’ those maids, right now! All three of ye are startin’ to try my patience. Come on, Spring, cheer up. You, too, Fenn. It won’t be long afore ye see those young shrews agin. Quit bein’ so mean to each other, an’ no more teasin’!”

Horty rubbed at the ear that had been tweaked. “Who, me? I barely uttered a blinkin’ word, it was those two who jolly well started it!”

It was Saro’s shout that put an end to the bickering. “Look, mates, there’s the Bell’n’Badger Rocks!”

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