Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Gruven felt argumentative. "Where's the sense in that? Why should he want t'go there? It's stupid if you ask me."

The rat Grobait replied without even looking at him. "Mountains is made o' rock. 'Tis 'arder to track a beast over rock. That's the way I'd go if I was 'im."

Gruven spat into the stream. "Huh! Who asked you?"

Further conversation was forgotten as Eefera reappeared. "Come an' look at this. I was right."

They followed him to a spot on the bank further upstream. Eefera pointed out the signs. "I said otters favored streams. See? This is where he came out. There's part of a pawprint, in the mud, under that stone, an' 'ere, this's where the riverdog's tail flattened an' broke two young ferns. Sometime late last night, I'd say."

Gruven was prepared to argue the point. "Sometime last night, huh? How d'you know that?"

Eefera did not answer. He strode off, further up the bank. Gruven smiled at the others, shaking his head. "The great tracker, eh? Couldn't give me an answer, could he?"

Milkeye felt the bottom part of the broken fern stems. "Didn't 'ave to. Feel that. It takes a good few hours fer the rain to wash away the sticky sap that leaks out, an' these ain't sticky. They been stannin' 'ere broke in the rain since it started late lastnight. Come on, Eefera's on ter sumthin'."

Gruven drew his sword and raced ahead of the others, making certain he was in the lead this time. "Aye, come on, mates. Follow me!"

He dashed off as Eefera's voice called back through the bushes, "Stop 'im! Grab ahold o' the vole!"

Gruven turned this way and that, saw the bushes shake and hurled himself forward, crashing through them. Something dodged by him; he tripped and collided head-on with Eefera. They scrambled together in the bush cover until Eefera kicked him aside and leaped up, blood streaming from his mouth as he yelled, "In the water! The vole's in the water. Gerrim, Vallug!"

Swiftly the Bowbeast loosed two shafts at the shadowy figure before it disappeared underwater, speeding downstream with the current. He fitted a third arrow to his bow, then turned away in disgust, calling back to Eefera, "Shoulda let me know quicker. I only got 'im in the back paw. No use chasin' after 'im; that vole's well away by now!"

Eefera wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and spat into the stream. He turned slowly upon Gruven, controlling his temper with great difficulty. "I nearly caught the vole. You made me miss 'im!"

Quailing under the weasel's icy glare, Gruven blustered, "Well, it was you who yelled out for me to stop 'im."

Eefera picked up Gruven's fallen sword from beneath a bush. His tongue probing at a loosened tooth, he answered, "Sorry ... Chief. I didn't know it was you I was shoutin' to. I thought it was one of the others, a beast with a bit o' sense."

Gruven shrugged, trying to dismiss the sarcastic reply. "It was only a scummy little vole. What would y'want with a vole?"

Eefera looked at him as if he were totally stupid. "Information?" He made as if to give Gruven's sword back and thought better of it, tossing the weapon carelessly away over his shoulder.

Gruven took a little time locating the sword, and when he hurried back to the others it was to find them moving off. Joining them, he noticed they were eating pears. The stoat grabbed hold of Milkeye, one of the few he could bully into obeying him.

"Where'd you get those pears?"

Milkeye gestured back to the place they had just left. "Top of an 'ill yonder. There's a pear tree there, Chief."

Gruven spun the weasel around forcefully. "Run back an' get me a few. Go on, get moving!"

Milkeye avoided a slap from the flat of Gruven's swordblade. "All right, Chief, I'm goin'!"

Krobzy crouched in the secret passage entrance with Sekkendin, bandaging the watervole's footpaw with a dressing of sanicle, dock leaf and hair moss. Sekkendin placed his paw gingerly on the ground and smiled.

"Yarr, I'll live! Take more'n some ole Juska arrow to kill me."

Krobzy picked up a reed blowpipe and a tufted dart, its point smeared with laburnum and agaric fungus juices. "Aye, mate, but the vermin that gets this in its behind won't bo able t'say the same thing. You lay 'ere an' rest. No Juska varmint's goin' t'do that to a vole an' live fbrag about it!"

Milkeye grabbed two pears from the tree and dashed off, not wanting to be left adrift in strange country.

"Ouch!" He felt the sting on the back of his neck and slapped at it. "Scummy liddle gnat, take that!"

He continued his hurried progress to catch up with the others. Krobzy followed until he found his dart lying in the grass. Picking it up gingerly by the tuft, he dropped it into a tiny box and thrust it into his belt pouch.

"Yarr, dat's one liddle gnat you won't ferget, varmint!"

Midnoon sunlight sparkled off the waters, fleecy white clouds decorated the bright skies. Krobzy had predicted the weather accurately. Tagg shipped his paddle. Reaching up, he grabbed an overhanging alder branch and pulled his coracle into the still shallows of a small cove. Beaching the little craft amid some concealing bushes, he waded ashore and stretched his limbs. It was a pleasant spot, with blackberries growing in profusion. Tagg made a leisurely meal of some flat cakes with dried fruit baked into them and a flagon of pear cordial from his vole supply sack, and a few pawfuls of the ripest berries he could find. In a patch of sunlight amid the alders, he spread his cloak and lay down upon it, humming an old tune that had always been with him, though he could not remember from where. The otter fell into a doze, trying to recall the words, his eyelids slowly closing.

Dim kindly faces hovering about him, soft clean linen touching his cheeks, the scent of spring flowers. He was in the magic place, the room of old red stone where peace and happiness lived. Two female otter voices were singing to him from far far away, a young one and an older one, singing sweetly, gently. Calm and serenity, safety and peaceful joy.

"Where glides the butterfly,

O'er some still pond,

There is my little love,

Dear one so fond.

Hush now you humming bee,

Soft shadows creep,

Silent in summer's eve,

Sleep baby sleep."

The happiness Tagg felt was intense, yet, as in all dreams, elusive. Even though he was in the realms of slumber, he realized this and sought to retain the feeling. He strove to make it clearer, to see more, to understand the dream, so that he could recall it at will and experience its joyous warmth. But the dream faded, like smoke on the wind.

How long he lay curled on the cloak in that silent glade, Tagg did not know. Then the mouse warrior was standing in his mind, pointing at him with the wondrous sword and calling, calling . . . "Deyna! Deyna!" It stirred him to wakefulness for a brief second. Eyes half open, he began to sit upright. Then he felt a heavy blow across his skull, and fell backward into agonizing darkness.

Eefera studied the bank edge, close to the water, and called back to the stoat Rawback, who was following behind with the others. "Still no signs near the shallows. What about you, any luck?"

Further back and higher up on the bank, Rawback, who had taken the lead, shouted his reply. "Nobeast been along 'ere 'cept us. Nary a trace!"

Eefera waited until they caught up. He was staring at the water. "He's on this stream, though, I know he is. I think he must 'ave some sort of light boat, a fast 'un."

Gruven sat cooling his paws in the shallows, cynical as ever. "Where would he get a boat? He's an otter, isn't he? Otters are supposed to be great swimmers."

Eefera did not dignify Gruven's ignorance with a reply. Rabbad the fox sat down to wet his footpaws in the stream. Gruven looked at him triumphantly. "Well, I'm right, aren't I?"