Brian Jacques - Redwall #16 - Triss

Shogg squinted one eye and scratched his rudder. Ju-bila ... wotsit?

I’d better warn’em not to go downstream, they’ll run into those vermin.

Ahoy, marm, comin’ aboard! He dived into the water, vanished momentarily, then popped up on the logboat’s deck. Beggin’ yore pardon, marm, but we’re bein’ chased by a pack o’ vermin. I wouldn’t go downstream if’n I was you.

A stout old shrew touched his snout respectfully. Thankee for tellin’

us, sir. Looks like we’ll’ave to put about an’ go t’the water meadows.

You follow us in yore pretty boat. Nobeast’ll find ye there, we’ll make sure o’ that. He waved a paw back upstream. Backpaddle, we’re goin’

to the water meadows an’ takin’ these good-beasts in tow. Backpaddle, Guosim!

Poling along behind, they followed the logboats along a series of cutoffs and backwaters. Scarum worked harder than his four companions.

Keep up, chaps, don’t want t’get lost an’ miss the picnic now, do we?

Stop dawdlin’ an’ move yourselves, wot! Scarum had a dreadful singing voice. However, that did not stop him from breaking out into an off-key warble:

O I don’t wish to be rude,

But the very mention of food,

Is the nicest word I’ve heard,

Tumpty tumpty turn turn,

Lalalah deedly dee,

I’ve forgotten the next flamin’ word ...

Shogg chuckled. Keep singin’ like that, mate, an’ they’ll banish ye from the picnic for frightenin’ the babes.

Dragonflies hovered low over platelike water lilies, butterflies and gaily hued moths stood swaying on reed ends, bees droned to and fro with a leisurely hum. The water meadow was a haven of peace and tranquillity, fringed with bulrushes and backed by willows, splurge laurel and catkin-laden osiers. The Guosim shrews lashed their log-boats to the small vessel, forming an island in the shallows that was hidden by reeds and treeshade. Food hampers and picnic baskets were brought out, lots of them.

Scarum could scarcely restrain himself. Oh corks, I say, these shrew chaps don’t believe in stintin’ themselves, do they, wot? Allow me to help you with that heavy grub container, marm. Hoho, your little ones look fine and chubbyÑI expect you feed’em jolly well!

He flinched as the hefty paw of Sagax drew him to one side. The young badger’s eyes had a no-nonsense look about them. Listen carefully to what I say, Scarum. If I catch you hogging food, or offending these good shrews, I’ll personally deal with you. No excuses this timeÑput one paw wrong and you’re on your own. Triss, Kroova, Shogg and myself will personally disown you, and our friendship will be ended. Now, did you hear me? Have I made myself clear?

Scarum twisted neatly out of the badger’s grasp. He appeared quite indignant. Me, are you talkin’ about me, old chap? Tut, pish an’

fiddlesticks, how you can say such things is beyond belief. You mind your own manners, sah!

He stalked regally off to join the feast. Triss murmured to Sagax, Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.

The jollity, singing, dancing, drinking and feasting in the sunlit water meadow made Triss happy, but wistful. Mimsy, the kind shrew wife who had invited them, passed the squirrelmaid a leek-and-turnip pasty.

Eat up, m’dearie, this ain’t no day for mopin’ about. What ails ye, little sad face? Have some raspberry fizz!

Triss accepted her offer, forcing a smile. Are your creatures always as happy as this, Mimsy?

The shrew chuckled. Only when we’ve got nothin’ t’be sad aboutÑwe’ve got our ups an’ downs, y’know. I can sense that you’ve not led a carefree an’ happy life, Triss, but try an’ be like us. When ye get the good times, don’t stop to mope about the bad’uns. Enjoy yoreself while ye can.

Scarum lifted his nose out of a high-piled plate to agree, Well said, marm, that’s my motto too, wot. Even though I was reared poorly, often beaten an’ starved constantly. Crusts, roots an’ springwater, that’s what I was jolly well brought up on. Pale, thin little chap, that was me. Oof!

Sagax, who had given the hare a playful buffet on the back/ laughed heartily. Plus being a terrible fibber, a great fat scoffbag, and the biggest bounder at Salamandastron. If your mum and dad could hear you talking like that! Pay no attention to the flopeared fraud, marm.

Mimsy stroked Scarum’s paw. Let him be. I like a beast who can tell a good fibÑthis hare is fun t’be with. Come on now, Scarum, I’m sure you can manage some damson crumble an’ cream?

From behind the backs of Triss and Mimsy, the incorrigible hare made a face at Sagax, as he allowed himself to be pampered. Seasons bless you, marm, I’ve never tasted damson crumble an’ cream in m’life. I’ve watched Sagax stuffin’ it down many a time, though. He’s the son of a mountain Lord, y’see, while I’m just a lowly peasant type. I say, that tart looks rather nice, wot!

Mimsy carved off a large slice. Oh, you poor beast, here, try some, an’ have some more raspberry fizz.

Sagax looked on aghast as Mimsy and Triss plied Scarum with delicacies from every hamper. The gluttonous hare accepted everything coyly.

Oh, I wonder if I’ll be able to eat a portion that big? I’m only used to nibblin’, y’know, but thank y’marm. I’ll certainly try my best t’get through it, wot.

Kroova flicked an apple pip at the young badger. You should see yore face, matey!

32

Plugg Firetail awoke in the late evening and found himself lying by a fire, covered in an old blanket. Scummy and Grubbage hovered about, watching him anxiously.

Take it easy, Cap’n, don’t try to sit up, you been wounded.

Plugg lay still, listening to them relate what had taken place when the jollyboat was rammed by a stake. He put a paw to his lower back and grimaced. It’urts like the blazes, mates, but I’ll be shipshape soon. No real damage done, eh? He glared quizzically at the pair as they kept silent. Wot? Tell yore cap’n, wot’s up, am I bad’urted?

Scummy’s paw scuffed the grass awkwardly as he explained. That sharp cob o’ wood, Cap’n, it stuck deep in yore, botÑer,’indquarters. We managed t’get it out, me’n Grubbage....

Plugg was fast losing patience. He gritted at them. Stop picklepawin’

round an’ tell me wot’s wrong!

They both moved out of paw range. Grubbage stammered, You ain’t got no tail, Cap’n, it sorta fell off.

The Freebooter’s ugly face squinched up in horror. Me tail? Fell off?

Where is it?

Scummy held up the severed tail. I got it, Cap’n.

The fox covered his face and groaned in despair. Plugg’s tail had been his proudest possession. He had been born silver-furred, unlike other foxes. However, his tail was a beautiful goldy-red-furred one. This had given rise to his second name, Firetail. Often as a young Freebooter Plugg would wash his tail each day, carefully shampooing it with soapwort and almond oil. On going into battle, he had always ordered a crewbeast to run behind, holding a lantern close to display the shine and sheen of that tail. But now the feared Freebooting Captain, Plugg Firetail, had not even a stump of this former glory. Swiftly he snatched the tail from Scummy, looking about furtively.

Who else knows I’ve lost me tail, eh?

Nobeast, Cap’n, we never told any of’em!

Aye, on me oath, Cap’n, only us knows, an’ you, too, o’ course!

Plugg’s eyes danced shiftily as he pondered a solution. Get sticky stuff.

Grubbage leaned forward, squinting. Why d’ye want skilly’n’duff, Cap’n, are ye’ungry?

The fox swatted him with the tail. You shurrup! Scummy, get me some sticky stuff, any kind, but make it good’n’sticky,’asten now!

He stuffed the tail under his blanket as Kurda approached. She eyed him up and down in disappointment. So, you don’t be dead, yarr. Vot a pity, I vas hoping der shtake vould haff slayed you.