Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

There were two fluted half-columns, flat against the wall, one either side of the tapestry. Both had small iron lanterns hanging from them, to illuminate the image of the Warrior at night. It was still daylight, so they were unlit. Mhera looked from one lantern to the other. "Lantern Holder Columns, but which one?"

She took down the lanterns from their hooked iron holders and examined them with Gundil, whilst the blind badger went carefully up and down each column, sniffing and running her paws over the stonework. It was not a successful exercise.

Brother Hoben the Recorder came toward them, pulling a little cart containing oil, candles, wicks and cleaning equipment. He watched their activities curiously. "What are you doing there, may I ask?"

Cregga immediately recognized the mouse Recorder's voice. "Ah, Brother Hoben. Come to refill the lanterns, I suppose."

Hoben took a pitcher of lilac-scented vegetable oil from his cart and went about his task. " 'Tis the Recorder's job, always has been. To shed the light of knowledge and learning by keeping our Abbey's records, and to shed illumination where it is needed. Every sixth day I come 'round, replacing candles, collecting old beeswax and trimming each lantern and lamp wick. As you can see, I make sure each one is topped up with fresh oil. Why do you ask? Is there something amiss?"

Taking him by the paw, the Badgermum led Hoben to the column on the left of the tapestry. She guided his paw-to a gap between the carved stones, where the cement pointing had been hacked out, leaving a slot. "Did you ever remove anything from here, a piece of paper, a slat of wood, perhaps a flat piece of slate?"

"Indeed I did, marm," Hoben answered immediately. "A flat piece of slate, just as you said. Though it was a while back now, let me see, eight, no nine seasons ago, or perhaps it was nearer ten, let me see"

Mhera interrupted him. "Pardon me, Brother, but it's not important how long ago you removed the slate. Have you still got it?"

The Recorder responded to her question in his most dignified manner. "Do I look like a mouse who throws things away willy-nilly, miz? As Recorder to Redwall Abbey it is my solemn duty to preserve anything at all that has writing on it in any form!"

"Hurr, then beggin' ee parden agin, zurr, wudd ee koindly take us'n's to whurr et be?"

Hoben directed one of his rare dry smiles at the mole. "Why, certainly. Follow me, please."

They followed him, Mhera wriggling and skipping, all agog. "It's got writing on it, Brother Hoben said so!"

Gundil grabbed her paw and leaned heavily on it. "Stop thoi jumpen an' frulliken abowt. 'Member wot oi said abowt h'Abbesses fallin' o'er on they'm 'eads!"

Old Hoarg stood at the gatehouse door, enjoying the sunny evening. He winked at Mhera and the mole. "Back agin, mates? Two visits in a single day; makes an old dormouse feel honored. What is it now?"

Hoben nodded to him and entered the gatehouse. "Some old records I want to dig out from the archives."

Hoarg held a paw to his lips. "Then dig 'em out quietly, Brother. Mhera's mama is takin' a nap in my big ole chair. Looks like she deserves it, too."

A feather from one of the cushions had lodged itself close to Filorn's mouth. It fluttered up and down as she breathed in and out. Gundil chuckled fondly. "Bless yore mum's 'eart, miz, she'm ee 'ardest wurrken creetur in all ee h'Abbey. Better cooker'n Froyer Bobb, too, hurr aye, but doan't ee tell 'im oi sedd so!"

Cregga stood with Gundil and Mhera in the doorway, watching Brother Hoben chunnering his way through dusty volumes.

"Hmm, autumn of the weeping willow . . . no, 'tis further back than that. Summer of the singing skylark, spring of the swooping swallows . . . ah, here it is. Winter of the ceaseless snows." He brought the book out into the open and dusted it off.

They sat on the lower walltop steps as Hoben flicked through the pages. He produced a wafer-thin oblong-shaped slate of a bluey grey hue and passed it to Mhera. "Is that the thing you're looking for?"

Mhera recognized Abbess Song's precise and well-formed script. She read aloud what it said.

"My first is third, like the sound of the sea,

My second's the center of you, not me,

My third is the end of him but not you,

My fourth starts a picture, not a view,

My fifth is in bean though not in been,

My sixth and seventh start seldom seen.

Sunrise and sunset, warmth and cold,

Put them together a sign will unfold."

Gundil lay flat on his back, holding his head in both paws. "Whoo urr, whutt be a pore molechoild t'make uv thatt? Et be's more'n moi likkle brain cudd stand!"

Mhera smiled at her molefriend. "Wait until you hear the rest. Listen to this.

"The strangest thing you've ever heard,

A point that makes a noisy word,

The other three make quieter pleas,

Let me start you off with 'teas'."

Cregga lay alongside Gundil, she too holding her head. "Move over, friend. That's more than my brain can stand too!"

Mhera tapped her tail on the step in frustration. "That's the second time I've been interrupted. There's another two separate lines to go yet. Will you two sit up and listen!"

Gundil sat up quickly, folding his paws and looking attentive. "Yurr, Creggum marm, us'n's better pay 'tenshun, or ee gurt h'Abbess'll make uz wash pots in ee kitchen."

The badger sat up, folding her paws primly. "Oops, sorry, Mother Abbess. Carry on, we're all ears!"

Mhera stifled a grin. "Stop calling me Abbess, you two, and listen. Here's the last two lines.

" 'Twixt water and stone I stand alone,

Sounding burnt but alive I survive!"

Brother Hoben preened his straggly whiskers thoughtfully. "Well, what do you think of that?"

Filorn had wakened and emerged from the gatehouse. She stood on the path below them and called up, "I think it's dinnertime, but you can sit on those damp steps all night if you like!"

Old Hoarg left the gatehouse and accompanied them across the lawn. "Minted potato'n'leek turnover, now there's a dish to set the ole mouth waterin'. Mmmmm!"

Helping their elders, Mhera and Gundil wended their way slowly over the rainwashed grass in the warm evening sunlight.

"What's for afters, Mama?"

"Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if Broggle and Friar Bobb have made a woodland trifle. They said they were going to."

"With flaked almonds and meadowcream, marm?" "Friar Bobb always says that's the way a woodland trifle should be, Brother."

"Hurr, be thurr any zoop furr starters, mum? Oi loikes I .oop!"

"Well, you should know, Gundil. You and my Mhera chopped the celery and carrots this morning."

"So us'n's did, mum. Oi'd furgotten to amember that, hurr hurr!"

"Cregga, you ole stripedog, can't you move any faster? By the sound of that dinner we'll be lucky to get any if Boorab gets to the tables first!"

"You're right, Hoarg. Come on, let's run!"

They entered the Cavern Hole breathless and laughing. Boorab was already seated next to his friend Drogg Cellarhog. The hare raised an eyebrow as he saw them taking their places.

"Late for dinner an' laughin' like frogs at a fry-up, wot? Not the sort o' thing one does in the mess. Very serious business, eatin'. Only time I laughed at table was one suppertime long ago when my big fat auntie's chair collapsed. She bumped her blinkin' head on the table an' passed out. Only laughed then because I got her bally share. Hawhawhaw, er, beg y'pardon!"

Redwallers were a bit surprised that Cregga had not taken the big chair at the main table, which was the customary place for anybeast acting as leader. Instead, she chose to sit among the younger element, creatures like Gundil, Egburt and Floburt, many seasons out of Dibbunhood but not yet considered adults. At the badger's request, Brother Hoben and Mhera, who was actually regarded as a proper young adult, sat down with Cregga. The big chair remained empty. Gossip hummed about freely. Redwallers liked to discuss the day's events over dinner. As the servers arrived with their trolleys, Cregga tapped the tabletop with a spoon. A respectful silence fell over all. Broggle, who was still called young Broggle for all his size, was selected by the Badgermum to say the grace. However, the squirrel had developed such a fine tenor voice that he always chose to sing it.