Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Sawney tweaked the otterbabe's stomach. The infant growled at him for disturbing its feed, and the ferret Chieftain chuckled. "Hoho. Did you hear that? My little Tagg has a temper. Eat it all up and grow strong, my son. Did they bring in some fresh young scallops for his supper?"

Grissoul shrugged. "They say the tide is strong yet. When it ebbs they will search for some among the rocks."

Sawney's mood changed. He whirled on a group lounging nearby. "Juskarath clanbeasts frightened of a few waves? Up, up off your idle backs and get foraging. Our Taggerung needs only the youngest, most tender scallops for his evening meal. You, Felch, take Antigra and the rest of your lazy crew. Get out of my sight, and I warn you, don't come back with empty paws!"

They hurried to obey. Sawney turned his back on them, to face four rats who came stumbling hot and tired down a steep dune. "Well, did you cut any sign of creatures tracking us?"

Shaking his head, the lead rat hunkered down in the sand. "Nah, nary a pawmark or a bruised leaf. 'Tis more than twoscore days now. If they was comin' after us we'd 'ave spotted 'em long since, Chief."

Sawney drew his blade and pointed it at the rat. "I asked for your report, not your opinion, Grobait. How far back did you search? Tell me the truth!"

Grobait cringed visibly under Sawney's ruthless eyes. "Close on a day back upstream, Chief. There wasn't a sign of anybeast, I swear it on me oath!"

Sawney toyed with the trackers as they nodded agreement with Grobait and sat waiting on their clan leader's word. He turned, as if dismissing them.

"A day upstream, eh? Well, let's see you try a little further afield this time. Say two days upstream. Get going!" He tossed his knife, catching it by the point, ready to throw. "Now go!"

Allowing himself a humorless smile, Sawney strode off, listening to the labored grunts of the rats as they clambered wearily back through the shifting sand to the dunetops.

Standing shoulder-deep in a rockpool, Antigra shielded her eyes as a wave cascaded over the stones. The other vermin who had been sent with her and Felch to gather scallops coughed and spluttered seawater. Antigra kept her gaze riveted on the ferret Chieftain, who was swaggering about among the tents, issuing orders. The stoat mother gritted her teeth.

"Look at him, Sawney Rath the high and mighty clan chief, giving out commands like the warlord of a battlehorde. Run here, run there, fetch me this and give me that, bring the best of scallops. And what for? The supper of an otterbrat!"

A weasel named Milkeye tossed a scallop into the bag slung about Wherrul's neck and turned his one good eye on Antigra. "Better not let him 'ear yer talkin' like that!"

Antigra hurled a scallop against the rock, smashing the shell. "An ottercub, a mewling puking little riverdog, lying on a blanket in the shade, getting the choicest vittles specially cooked and fed to it. Look at my babe Gruven. I had to leave him lying there alone, out in the sun, while I forage for the next meal of a so-called Taggerung!"

Milkeye rescued the broken scallop and sucked the contents from its smashed shell. " 'Tis agin the clan law to speak like that about a Taggerung."

Antigra curled her lip in contempt. "You'll see who the real Taggerung is when my son grows. He'll be ten times tougher and faster than that spoilt little ruddertail, you wait and see. Since Sawney brought that creature to our clan he's changed. Treading roughshod over us, killing and injuring his own tribe."

Felch held up his useless paw. "Aye, Antigra's right, but who's goin' to challenge Sawney? He's like lightnin' with that blade of his."

Antigra flattened her back against the rocks, avoiding another shower from a breaking wave. "Sawney Rath's father was even harder and swifter, but time caught up with him. I remember him being the Taggerung when I was a young 'un. He lived on his legend. Sawney is older than us, growing out of his prime, more every season. We can wait. The time will arrive when his paw isn't so strong, nor his eye so keen. That's when I'll take my revenge, aye, me and my son against him and his parentless brat!"

Wherrul nudged Antigra. "Hush. 'Ere comes the vixen!"

Grissoul came to the pool's edge, calling to them over the booming surf. "Bring enough scallops for Sawney Rath too, and don't be all day about it. I want thee to forage for wild celery and onion in the dunelands. Bring any fresh herbs ye see growin' there also!"

Wherrul hauled himself from the water, the bag of scallops clacking against his chest. "Young scallops cooked in wild celery'n'onion an' herbs," he muttered under his breath. "I wouldn't mind a bowlful o' that meself."

Milkeye elbowed the rat aside. "Huh! You'll git wot yore given, like the rest of us, a lick of Sawney's temper an' leftover scraps!"

Antigra reached out a paw and helped Felch ashore. "Don't fret. It may take seasons yet, but we can wait. One day the tables will be turned, and then 'twill be us eating off the fat of the land!"

At Redwall Abbey there was no shortage of good food. That same evening Redwallers shared the best of everything as they sat in a lantern-lit orchard to celebrate the Summer of Friendship feast.

Before the food was served, the elders, counselors and parents took their places. Smiling and nodding to one another, they watched as the newly formed Dibbuns' choir filed in and stood in order of height, tallest standing at the rear, a line kneeling in front of them, and the front row, of the smallest, sitting cross-legged. All were holding tiny lanterns, and their clean robes and well-scrubbed faces were bright in the soft reflected light.

Boorab strode majestically to the rostrum, which was the old upturned wheelbarrow decked out in summer blossoms. The hare made a dignified bow to the elders, and then, taking out a bulrush baton, he coughed formally.

"Lady Cregga, respected elders, good creatures all, may I present tonight for your delight an' delectation"

"Wot's a dite of lectation?" little Floburt piped up, much to everybeast's amusement. Boorab silenced her with a severe twitch of his nose.

"Without further ado the Jolly Dibbuns Choir of Redwall will render for you, under my expert direction, a recently composed masterpiece, written by m'goodself, wot wot..."

"Wot wot!" several Dibbuns chorused together. The hare waggled his ears fiercely at them before continuing.

"... entitled, 'Welcome to the Feast'."

Boorab produced a small reed pitch flute and blew upon it, then attempted to get the key right. "Fahfahfah . . . Sooooooodomeelah . . . Lalalalahhhhh. One two . .. !"

The little ones made a ragged start but soon picked up the air.

"Welcome to the feast, the feast,

Oh welcome one and all.

Good creatures that you are, la la la,

Who dwell within Redwall.

The lark descends unto its nest,

The sun has sunk into the west,

And we are left all evening long,

To bring you light and song.

Sing out sing out each joyous beast,

Oh welcome to the feast, the feast,

We wish you happy seasons long,

And hope you liked our soooooong!"

Applause broke out as the final note drifted clear upon the summer night air. Boorab took a hasty bow and turned back to his Jolly Dibbuns Choir.

"Well done, chaps an' chapesses. Dismiss to your seats now. Not you, young Egburt. Come here, sir, this very instant!"

The little hedgehog quailed under his hare conductor's gaze. "Er, heehee, I sorry, sir. I sing d'right words nex' time."

Boorab held the quivering baton under Egburt's snout. "Fiend! Lyric wrecker! What were those words y'were singing? C'mon, spit it out. Recite 'em back t'me, sah!"

Egburt remained silent until his Grandpa Drogg growled, "You do as Mr. Boorab sez, young 'un, or 'tis straight up t'bed for ye. Go on, what were you singin'? Tell the truth!"