Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

Sagax congratulated Cumarnee and the Migooch tribe. Thank you, friends, thank you for your hard work and fine skills. I don’t know how we’d have managed without your help. Alas, my friends and I have nothing to offer you in return but our gratitude.

Cumarnee swiped playfully at them with his straw hat. Arrh, away with ye, we did it ‘cos yer grand beasts an’ we’ve takin’ a likin’ to ye.

A Migooch doesn’t look for any reward from friends, at all at all!

All the Migooches shook their heads and echoed the words. At all at all, ah no, not at all!

Mammee waved her ladle at them. Faith, an’ will ye be after standin’

there all day, tellin’ each other wot fine creatures ye are, or will I go back to the tenty to cook dinner an’ eat it meself?

The sudden mention of food to hungry workers sent them all trudging smartly back to the tents.

Sagax covered his eyes and groaned at the sight that greeted him on entering the tent. Oh no!

Snoring blissfully, Scarum lay amid a debris of half-eaten pies, breadcrusts, salad scraps, empty flagons and the remains of what had once been a large fruitcake. The hare’s stomach resembled an inflated balloon. His whiskers, ears and nose were liberally sprinkled with crumbs.

Some of the Migooch hogs regarded him with awe.

Muther Nature, will ye look at him!

Ah shure, he must be a grand ould scoffer!

The bold feller must have t’keep up his strength after wrasslin’ an’

slayin’ all those sharks!

Kroova and Sagax had never felt so embarrassed in their lives. Shamefaced, the otter averted his eyes from Mammee. Marm, what can we say, after all yore ‘ospitality, for a friend of ours t’do this!

The good hogwife patted his paw comfortingly. Ah now, don’t be fussin’

yerself, ‘twas not yore fault a hare has the appetite of a wolfpack.

Wot d’ye say we do about it, Cumarnee?

The Chieftain of the Migooches had the answer instantly. Do? Is it me advice yer after askin’? Well, I’ll tell ye! We goes to yer sister’s tenty for dinnerÑshe’s gotten more vittles than ye could shake a stick at. Arrh now, Mr. Sagax, an yerself, Mr. Kroova, if’n ye’ll permit me,’tis me-self will decide a penance for the bold Scarum. Now don’t be worryin’, I won’t go too hard on the ould beast. He can’t help bein’

a hare, after all.

Sagax bowed respectfully to Cumarnee’s wish. You can do what you like with the villain, sir. No penance could be too severe for a creature who abuses a friend’s good nature. We leave him in your capable paws.

Mammee’s sister Roobee was a jolly fat sort, and the equal of her kinhog at cooking. They sat down to a spread of cabbage’n’turnip pasties, carrot’n’mushroom bake topped with cheese, wild beetroot soup, and Roobee’s special baked fruitloaf, with elderberry and plum cordial, or pen-nycress and comfrey tea for those who liked it. Roobee’s husband, Birty, thought Scarum’s gluttony was hilarious and kept remarking upon it.

Heeheehee, curl me spikes, that Scarum Sharkslayer’s a real boyo. He’s got a belly on him like an ould stuffed duck. I wager his ma danced a jig the day he left home!

Roobee noticed Sagax and Kroova’s silence at Scarum’s gluttonous acts.

She nudged her husband none too gently. Arrh, will ye shove some vittles in yer ould gob an’ give it somethin’ useful t’do, Birty. Eat up an’

hold yer peace!

That night they all slept in Roobee’s tent, leaving the disgraced Scarum to himself.

Dawn came misty, with a light drizzle that would give way to brighter weather in the course of the day. Scarum slowly sat up, clutching his stomach, alone in the deserted tent.

Ooooh, me poor old turn. I say, you chaps, just leave me here to die, would you? Tell my ma that the last words her sufferin’ son spoke were’no breakfast this mornin’ for me!’

He groped around in the grey half-light and groaned. Cor, sufferin’

icecakes! What sort of a bally good mornin’ is this, wot? A faithful pal lyin’ here with his head bangin’ an’ his tummy bustin’, and not a flamin’ beast around to comfort him. Rotters, I s’pose they’re all out fixin’ that blinkin’ boat, thoughtless lot o’ bounders!

Staggering out of the tent, he spotted a firelight shining through the walls of Roobee’s dwelling. Hah, now that’s more the ticket, wot. A jolly good fire to sit by whilst some good-natured hogwife fetches a chap a drop or two of herbal tea to bring him round. Splendid!

Entering the tent, Scarum got quite the reverse of what he had been expecting. It was a makeshift court, with Mi-gooch hogs sitting solemn-faced and silent. Cumarnee seemed to be presiding, with Sagax and Kroova standing stiffly either side of him. Scarum gave them a feeble smile, but received only stern glares.

Er, haha, I say, wot. Bit gloomy this mornin’, ain’t it?

The tribe leader’s voice lanced into his aching head. Be it known to all the hogs of Migooch that this creature stands accused of idleness, slacking, la/iness, vittle robbery and damage to pies, cakes, salads and other sundry eatables. What has the accused to say in his defence?

Clutching his stomach, Scarum stammered and waffled. Er, wot, er, steady on, chaps, can’t blame a young hare for havin’ a measly snack, especially a shipwrecked type.

Cumarnee stamped his footpaw down hard. Silence! He approached the hare, pointing accusingly at him.

Babes had to go hungry to their beds because of you! Hogwives were left weeping over their spoiled supplies because of you! Workers who had laboured hard all day, repairing your vessel, were left starving because of you! 1 want a show of paws. Do we find this hare guilty?

Every paw in the tent shot up, and there was a loud shout. Guilty!

Pleadingly, Scarum looked toward his two cold-eyed friends. Sagax, Kroova, my faithful old messmates, can’tyou put in a jolly good word or two for a chum, wot wot? The young badger shook his head. Sorry, it’s not up to us. The Migooch tribe’s laws have been broken; you must answer to them. The only advice I can give is, stand up straight like a Salamandastron hare and take the medicine Cumarnee dishes out to you.

Scarum tried to straighten up, but his aching stomach kept him half bent. His ears drooped limply. He looked mournfully at Cumarnee and spoke in a hoarse whisper. Sentence me t’be slain, sah, it’ll put me out of my misery. Tell me dear old ma an’ pa that it was my stomach which caused all the trouble, not me!

Cumarnee shook his head resolutely. Death? Hoho, me fine buckoe, that’d be too easy. Your punishmentll be to serve the Migooches as a slave for ten seasons, no, better make that twenty!

Several hogs nodded. Aye, twenty, that’s about right for the tumble ould glutton, twenty good long seasons!

Scarum’s face was the picture of shock and misery. Twenty blinkin’

seasons, that’s a bit jolly much, wot? I’ll be on a perishin’ walkin’

stick, old’n’grey by the time twenty confounded seasons have passed.

O mercy!

However, the stern, righteous faces of the Migooch tribe dashed any of the hare’s hopes for leniency.

The Stopdog bobbed at anchor, repaired and provisioned, straining at her bowline as high tide swelled, like a dog eager to be unleashed.

Followed by all of the Migooch hogs, Sagax and Kroova waded out to the ketch. The pair climbed aboard and made ready to sail.

Cumarnee and Mammee exchanged paw shakes with them. May the wind be at yer back an’ the sun not in yer eyes!

Thankee, marm, an’ our thanks for loadin’ us up with yore fine vittles.

We’ll think of ye when we’re eatinem!

Sagax saw Scarum standing dejectedly nearby, ears drooping, tears dropping from his cheeks to mingle with the salt water. Cumarnee shook the young badger’s paw, passing him a secret wink.