Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

The tiny lizard shook its head and nestled under Saro’s paw. The dormouse bedded down by the fire, letting the hat brim cover his face. “I ain’t clever like you beasts, I’m just an old Toobledum. No matter, ye can search for yore own clues around Loam’edge in the mornin’. We’ll git there afore midday. I’ll bid ye ’appy dreams one an’ all, g’night!”

Bragoon settled down with the sword close to paw. “I’ll stay awake for first watch, mates.”

Toobledum’s voice came from under the hat. “You git some sleep, I’ve taken Bubbub off ’is lead. That likkle feller’s better’n any sentry, ’e’ll stand guard all night for ye.”

Horty grinned with relief at Fenna. “Saves us a job, wot!”

The squirrelmaid curled up in her cloak beneath the cart. “Indeed it does. Goodnight, Cooky.”

The young hare’s ears shot up stiffly. “Cooky yourself, miss! Go an’ boil your blinkin’ heads, the bloomin’ lot of you!” He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the replies.

“Nighty-night, Cooky!”

“Not staying up to plan breakfast then, Cooky?”

“I expect he has a special menu writer to do it for him back home at Redwall, don’t you, Cooky?”

“A leader with stout paws, a wise ruler of an Abbey an’ a cooky with a heart o’ gold. Ain’t we the lucky ones!”

Next day dawned on the wasteland, a warm flood of glorious colours, muted by dusty haze. The travellers ate a cold breakfast, eager to be on their way. Toobledum lingered, gossiping and trying to spin the meal out. It was only after gentle prodding that Bragoon urged the dormouse to get under way. Saro took Bubbub’s lead, and Springald volunteered to pull the cart. They took up the rear, while Toobledum walked in front with Horty and Fenna. Ambling slowly along, the dormouse chatted with them.

They had been marching awhile, when Bragoon began having suspicions about the route. He called to Toobledum, who was still talking at length with Horty and Fenna, “Now then, matey, when d’ye reckon we’ll be at Loamhedge?”

Without turning around, the dormouse shouted his answer. “Oh, it won’t be ’til after lunch, I’m thinking. But don’t ye fret, we’re makin’ fair progress, one an’ all.”

Nodding knowingly, the otter whispered to Saro. “Aye, I thought so, this ole buffer’s got us on a vinegar trip.”

She glanced quizzically at the otter. “Wot are ye talkin’ about, mate?”

Keeping his voice low, Bragoon explained. “See those hills off to the right? We’ve been followin’ them east instead o’ south. Can ye see ’ow slow Toobledum’s walkin’, did ye notice how he lingered over brekkist?”

Saro was becoming impatient. “Spit it out, mate. Wot’s goin’ on?”

The otter conveyed his thoughts to her. “Well, we ain’t exactly goin’ the wrong way, the dormouse’ll get us there, sooner or later. But he’s stringin’ the trip out so we’ll feed ’im agin at lunchtime. Trouble is, the old feller loves vittles too much, an’ he mightn’t have much food at ’ome. So he wants to scoff our rations an’ have Horty doin’ all the cookin’ for ’im!”

Saro looked down at Bubbub. “Is that right?”

The little sand lizard grinned and nodded as the squirrel patted him. “Well, the crafty ole grubswiper!”

Bragoon winked at her. “I’ll fix that fat swindler, mate!”

He called aloud to Toobledum. “We ain’t stopping fer lunch. Best press on to Loamhedge. When we arrives we’ll have a big lunch an’ a good rest.”

The dormouse immediately altered course and speeded up, heading for the hills as he answered. “Aye, good idea. Foller me, I’ve just remembered a good shortcut. We’ll be there afore ye know it!”

Saro whispered to Bragoon. “Lookit liddle Bubbub there, I’ll swear he just sniggered.”

39

In less than an hour the travellers had reached the hilltops. Below them the land took on a complete change. Gone was the arid dusty wasteland, replaced with an expansive green valley—not lush green like Mossflower woodlands but pleasant enough to appear refreshingly welcome to desert travellers. The whole area in the dip of the vale was dotted with brush, heather, grass and some stunted trees.

Toobledum whipped off his hat and made a sweeping gesture. “There ’tis, one an’ all. Loam’edge!”

Halfway down the slope, Fenna stooped to pick a few daisies. She crumbled some earth in her paws and sniffed it. “This was probably rich fertile country in some bygone time.”

The dormouse watched her braid the flowers into her tailbush. “Most likely it was, young missy. Mebbe those mice who lived around ’ere long ago tended the land an’ farmed it t’keep it that way.”

Horty stared about. “Don’t see any streams or runnin’ water.”

Toobledum plucked a daisy stem and chewed on it. “There’s underground water at the middle o’ the valley. I gets it cold’n’sweet from a well down there. Once we crosses the Abbey boundary I’ll take ye to it.”

They carried on downhill. When the dormouse was almost on level ground he kicked aside some long grass and shrubbery. “See ’ere, that’s the top o’ the ole boundary wall. It must’ve collapsed an’ been buried in the long ago, when the ground used to dance an’ shake.”

He exposed a line of coping stones, each one decorated with a skilful carving of a mouse. Toobledum straightened up, arching his back as he gestured around the valley bottom. “If’n ye takes the trouble, an’ yore fond o’ diggin’, y’can follow it all around in a big square. I’ve never bothered meself, ’cept when I needs stones for me ’ouse. Right then, come on one an’ all, don’t shilly-shally, ’tis lunchtime.”

They followed the old dormouse into a grove of stunted, knobbly trees, stopping as they reached a rickety hut, a rambling structure knocked together from odds and ends of stone, timber and debris.

Toobledum announced proudly, “Well, this is it, one an’ all, me likkle ’ome. Me’n Bubbub wouldn’t trade it fer a palace!” He set about lighting a fire beneath a rock slab oven, which stood outside the front door. Bubbub frisked happily about as the old dormouse sang.

“All round an’ round the land ye well may roam,

lots o’ places I ’ave rambled, far’n’near,

but there ain’t no nicer nest than me ol’ ’ome,

’tis so comfy an’ we loves it, oh so dear.

The moment that we gets ’ere, me an’ me likkle mate,

we lights a fire an’ puts the kettle on,

though we ain’t got much to eat, we gets along just great,

’cos two kin live ’ere just as well as one.”

Bragoon had a quiet word with Horty. “Give ’em all we can spare from the rations. Make it a lunch to remember for the ole beast an’ Bubbub.”

The young hare saluted smartly. “To hear is to obey, O Wise Otter, sah. I’ll make it a spread that none of us’ll forget!”

Fenna blew a sigh. “As long as you don’t serve us fried fruit salad again!”

Horty began rummaging through their meagre supplies. “Pish tush, miss! I shall treat that remark with the blinkin’ contempt it bally well deserves, wot!”

He did, however, cook a very passable meal. Drawing water from the dormouse’s well, Horty produced a tasty vegetable soup and some scones and honey, with penny- cress and comfrey cordial to wash it down.

Saro ate it with relish but could not resist a wry remark. “Mmm, tastes good, but I ain’t even goin’ to ask wot’s in it.”

Horty licked honey from his paws and reached for another scone. “Just as well really, marm. Wild frogs wouldn’t drag the recipe from me. We cooks have our secrets, y’know!”