Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

The friends made their escape to the comparative peace of Cregga's room, where they confronted the remainder of the puzzle. Brother Hoben read it aloud.

"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 settled into her armchair. "This gets odder by the moment. What's teas supposed to mean?"

Hoben took on a teacherlike air. "Quite simple, really. Teasis just the letters of eastmessed around a bit, right, Mhera?"

"Yes, Brother, like northmakes, er, er . . . thorn!"

Cregga caught on quickly. "And westmakes, let me see ... stew!"

Hoben nodded. "It's an old trick, but it will fool you easily if you don't look out for it. So, that leaves south,the point that makes the word shout.That's a noisy word, I'd say. Oh, then there's these two final lines. Listen carefully.

" 'Twixt water and stone I stand alone,

Sounding burnt but alive I survive!"

Hoben tapped his paw on the slate. "And that is the important part, friends. That is what we are searching for."

Gundil scrambled down from Cregga's chair arm, where he had been perching. "Boi 'okey, coom on, we'm a goen south'ard!"

The Badgermum's huge paws lifted him back onto the armchair. "It's nearly dark out. No use searching in that."

Mhera stared at the badger's sightless eyes. "How do you know it's dark, Cregga? You can't see."

Cregga chuckled and held a paw in the direction of her window. "I can feel the heat of the stars, it's almost an hour since dinner, and I'm feeling more tired than I do in daytime. Is that explanation good enough for you, Miz Mhera?"

Mhera sat by the chair, resting her head on Cregga's footpaws. "I don't believe the first bit, about feeling the heat of the stars. That's a dreadful fib for an acting Abbess."

Cregga reached down and stroked her friend's head. "Come on, this old beast's weary for sleep. It's been a long day. We'll continue our search straight after breakfast tomorrow."

Mhera jumped up. "Breakfast tomorrow? Oh dear, Gundil, we promised Mama and Friar Bobb we'd give some help kneading the oatmeal scones for the morning. Come on, mate!"

Brother Hoben stretched out on the bed, which Cregga never used, preferring her big armchair, which was easier to get up from. The Recorder settled himself comfortably.

"Oh for the energy of the young. The speed those two dashed out with, eh, Cregga?"

The Badgermum grunted dozily. "Glad I can't run that fast anymore. Makes me feel exhausted just thinking about it. Nighty night, Brother."

Filorn shooed Mhera and Gundil off as they ran into the kitchens.

"Off to bed, the pair of you. The scones are in the oven. Drogg Spearback and two of Skipper's crew lent a paw. I hardly did anything, so I don't feel a bit tired after that nap in the gatehouse. Go on, you two go up. I'll wait until the scones are baked and help the Friar take them from the ovens."

Broggle poked his head around the pantry door. "Scone pullin' is my job, marm. No need for you to wait about down here. Good night, marm!"

Filorn accompanied Mhera and Gundil upstairs. "Young Broggle is such a nice creature, isn't he, Gundil?"

"Oh, ee'm passen furr, marm, but miz Mhera, she'm the noicest creetur in ee h'entire h'Abbey!"

Mhera shook her head. "No, no. The nicest, most sweet-natured, politest beast in all of Redwall is . . . Gundil!"

Twirling his tail and ducking his head, the mole shuffled about on the top stair. "Burr, miz, you'm gotten oi all uv a tizzy naow!"

Filorn laughed heartily, throwing her paws about them both. "Why don't you two get off to your beds and dream of fresh compliments to pay each other tomorrow. Nicest, most sweet-natured, huh? That little soilwhumper?"

Gundil grinned. "Thankee, marm, an' gudd noight to ee!"

Chapter 10

Antigra went north into Mossflower Wood, to the place where she knew that doves nested among the oak and beech trees. It was soft and mossy underpaw, dappled with sunlight and shadow, fern beds reflecting that calm translucent greenish light often found in deep woodlands. Nature's beauties were lost upon the stoat, as crouching low in the ferns she loaded a small hard pebble into her sling. Two doves were feeding on the ground, picking among last autumn's rotted acorns. Slowly, carefully, Antigra stood, her eye fixed upon the fatter of the pair as she began to twirl her sling. The pebble pouch she carried stuffed into her belt slipped loose and stones clacked noisily as they spilled out. The doves flew off to their nest, high up in an old oak. Still twirling the sling, Antigra cursed her bad fortune. Just then the fatter of the doves poked its head out of the nest, and she whipped the pebble off at it. The random throw was unlucky for the dove. Antigra immediately knew she had slain the bird, by the way its head flopped as the pebble struck it. Then it was her turn to have the bad luck. Instead of tumbling to the ground, the dove fell back into its nest, and its partner flew off in fright.

The stoat told herself there was nothing for it but to climb the tree and retrieve her kill. Fixing the pebble pouch firmly into her belt, she looped the sling about her neck and began climbing. It was very difficult at first, but as she went higher and the branches became more close growing her progress was easier. She reached the nest, and found two eggs in it with the dead dove. Her climb had not been in vain. Straddling the bough, Antigra settled her back against the trunk. The eggs were her bonus. The stoat sat sucking them and gazing about her, interested at how the land looked from a high vantage point. She could not see the Juskarath camp, but far over to the north a glimpse of snow-peaked mountaintops showed beyond the woodlands, bathed in early-evening sunlight. Antigra turned her attention to looking for other nests, but she saw none. She began climbing down, halting when her keen eyes spotted movement below on the woodland floor. She watched from her hiding place in the foliage. A shadow slipped from tree to tree, pausing a moment amid some ferns before hastening silently off northward. It was the Taggerung!

Antigra had no knowledge of what had taken place back at the camp. Instantly a plan formed in her cunning mind. She would climb down and track him. Her aim with a sling was good. Nobeast would know it was she who had slain the Taggerung. If she was careful and accurate, her son Gruven would soon become Taggerung of the Juska. She was almost halfway down when another movement below caused her to freeze. Sawney Rath came loping along, halting momentarily to inspect a bruised fern frond. He smiled grimly, pleased to have picked up the trail of his quarry. Antigra seized the moment. Fitting a large pebble to her sling, she changed her plans.

Whirring the loaded sling until it was a blur, she yelled sharply, "Sawney Rath, I'm up here!"

The Juska Chieftain looked upward, shock stamped upon his face as the stone struck him between his eyes, slaying him on the spot. With the dead dove lying forgotten halfway up the tree, Antigra scrambled down out of the boughs and dropped to the ground. Sawney lay still, one paw still gripping the spear he had been carrying, eyes open wide, staring at the sky. She circled him apprehensively, as if expecting her feared enemy to leap up at any moment. Without warning, sounds of some otherbeast traveling toward the scene reached Antigra. But this was no stealthy tracker or hunter she could hear. It was the labored, staggering noise of some wearybeast, unwittingly heading her way.

Antigra slipped quietly behind the oak tree and waited. Felch came stumbling along, gasping for breath. He ground to a halt in front of the Juskarath Chieftain's body. Like the stoat, he too circled it warily. Antigra stepped out from behind the oak.