Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Durby allowed them to bathe and dry him, then he waved all three imperiously aside and marched to the door lintel. "Oi'll just be a-measurin' oi t'see if'n oi shrinked!"

His mother measured him against the marks she had made to check his growth. She patted his head fondly. "Thurr thurr, choild, ee bain't shrunken, ee growed summ, lookit!"

The molebabe eyed her suspiciously. "Oi 'opes you'm bain't tellen ee fibs!"

Broggle was deep in conference with Brother Hoben, Gundil and Cregga when Mhera and Fwirl returned to the bedroom. Cregga held out her paws, and Gundil and Broggle heaved her out of her chair.

"Come on, let's go down to dinner. I've had enough of puzzles and riddles for one day. Are you hungry, Fwirl?"

"I'm always hungry, the food's so good at Redwall!"

"Ooh, my old bones!" Cregga complained as they negotiated the stairs. "Ah well, what a pity Abbess Song's clue led us nowhere. Dearie me, they did give my room a good search, though. It's feeling tidier than ever now, thanks to you two."

Mhera allowed the Badgermum to lean upon her as they entered the dining room. "We'll take another look tomorrow. Mmmm, smell that!"

Fwirl did. "Delicious! Wonder what it is?"

Cregga sniffed the air briefly. "What? You mean the damson and plum pudding Mhera's mum is steaming off, or the hazelnut, mushroom and turnip casserole Friar Bobb's taking from the oven, or the dandelion and burdock cordial Drogg Cellarhog is pouring from its barrel?"

Broggle seated Fwirl at the table, chuckling. "That Badgermum's sense of smell is better than the eyesight of a dozen Redwallers. Oh, look out, here comes trouble!"

Boorab bounded up and struck an eloquent pose between the tables. "And now, my good creatures one an' all, a delectable appetizer of the muse before we strap on the old nosebags, wot wot. A poem, composed by m'goodself. Pray attention for the official poet.

"I beg you listen to my verse, Ode to a damson plum pud,

"Tis not much better than it's worse, in fact it's jolly good!

Oh queen of puddens as ever was born, a gentle ottermum called Filorn,

Has made to grace our scoff this night, by steamin' pot an' oven light,

A pudden to tempt the hungriest turn,

Full of flour an' honey an' nuts an' all sorts of gorgeous scrumptious an' absolutely spiffin' ingredients from the kitchens where she's worked like a blinkin' madbeast all day long . . . an' of course from damson an' plum!

Pass me a plate, an' I'll say it's great!

Bung me a dish, an' I'll say what you wish!

Slip me a large platter, oh what does it matter!

Slide me a basin, with lots of space in!

Sling me a bowl, as deep as a hole!

Chuck me a pail, an' I won't wail!

As long as it's full of what does a chap good,

Heroic hare-sized portions, of damson an' plum pud!"

Boorab made a long and leggy bow, flourishing both ears and tail. In the silence that followed, he stalked majestically to his seat, but tripped and fell before he reached it. Midst laughter and applause he poked his head out from under the table and tried to silence them with a dignified glare.

"Perfect poetry's wasted on you lot, bounders! Tchah, laughin' at a chap's misfortunes. Small things amuse small minds, my dear old mater used t'say. Some of you never grew up from bein' blinkin' Dibbuns if y'ask me, wot!"

"That's it, that's the answer!"

Everybeast turned to see what Mhera was shouting about. She smiled self-consciously. "Er, sorry, but something just dawned on me. It was hovering in my mind when Durby measured himself against the door lintel. It came to me fully when I heard what Mr. Boorab just said. Growing up, that's the key. The ash tree has grown up since Abbess Song placed her monocle there. We were looking through the lens in the wrong place!"

Cregga started out of her seat. "Of course! Why didn't we think of that earlier?"

Boorab was still sulking. "Huh, why indeed? 'Cos you were too busy titterin' at a poor chap who'd just fallen an' fractured his flippin' tail, that's why!"

Filorn began serving him a massive portion of damson and plum pud. "Poor Mr. Boorab, I never laughed at your fall. Thank you for the lovely poem you composed about my pudding. I think you deserve a double . . . no, a treble helping for your pains."

The hare's mood lightened considerably. "Gracious marm, you are truly a gem among otters, not like these other bucolic bumpkins. Er, excludin' Miz Mhera, wot!"

Fwirl had been thinking of the next move. "As soon as it's daylight tomorrow we'll explore the wall below the window. Whatever it is that could be seen through the monocle back then should be lower down. Leave it to me. Let's see if I'm as good a wallwhiffler as I am a treewhiffler. I'll need a long thin cord and a heavy knife." The squirrelmaid winked at her bemused companions. "Don't ask me what I need them for. You'll see tomorrow!"

Regaining consciousness was a slow and painful experience. Every time Tagg moved his head he was aware of the lump on the back of it, painful as a knife thrust. However, he could not reach a paw to touch it because he was bound securely. Somebeast was moving nearby. Tagg kept his eyes shut, listening as he tried to locate the position of the creature. The floor he was lying on shook frequently. Tagg groaned and rolled onto his side, facing away from where he reckoned the other beast was. He heard it move, felt its breath on the side of his face, then sensed it going back to its former position. Slowly, Tagg opened an eye, the one closest to the floor. It was night. He glimpsed the darkened foliage and realized that he was up in one of the alder trees, on a platform between two main branches, laid with boughs lashed securely together. It was open to the sky, having neither walls nor roof, only the foliage to shelter it.

"Stinkin' scum-splattered vermin, kill 'em all!" The creature was talking not to him, but to itself. "Rotten slime, festerin' spawn, don't deserve t'live. Kill 'em!"

Tagg lay quite still, listening to the hoarse voice raving on.

"Dirty foul vermin, nothin' on their minds but evil an' death. Death, eh? I'll show 'em death, I know a bit about that. Death!"

The creature began crawling toward him. Tagg lay quite still, the hairs on his nape prickling as it got nearer.

"Death, the best thing that can happen to vermin. Death, the slower the better. Make 'em suffer like I did. Yes, yes, oh yes!"

Tagg decided to make his move swiftly. As soon as he felt the other one's breath close to his back he lashed out hard with both footpaws. The creature gasped sharply as Tagg's bound footpaws kicked the breath out of it. Rolling over, Tagg pursued it across the narrow platform, still kicking out furiously, hoping to stun his captor. Whatever species the beast was, it was a tough creature, clawing and mauling him roughly. What was really odd was that it was talking and chuckling to itself as they tussled upon the platform.

"Hahaha! Death's the thing for you, bully, good'n'slow, hahaha!"

Tagg saw its bared teeth flashing close to his eyes. Rearing his head back like a striking snake, he butted it hard, the impact of colliding heads almost stunning him. Then they both rolled off the platform, the strange beast's claws locked into Tagg's belt. He got a fleeting glimpse of leafy foliage rushing by as they plummeted earthward. Tagg twisted, his lightning reflexes putting him on top of his attacker. They struck the ground with a hard thud. Both lay completely stunned.

A long interval passed before Tagg stirred. The creature beneath him was still unconscious, though it was groaning and muttering through its stupor. He realized that his foe would soon regain its senses; he would have to work quickly to free himself. Tagg rolled off the beast, shaking himself until its claws came loose from his belt. The otter's mind was racing, with one thing uppermost. His knife, where was it? An idea occurred to him. Using his footpaws he rolled the beast over, facedown. There was the blade, thrust into the back of his adversary's belt, Tagg's teeth closed around the handle, and with a mighty effort he tugged the knife free. The beast groaned and rolled over onto its back. It was coming slowly awake; there was no time to lose. Holding the knife point forward in his mouth, Tagg worked his head up and down, sawing away at the bonds on his paws, which were tied tightly in front of him. It did not take long. Sawney Rath's blade could slice a leaf floating in the air. Keeping an eye on the fast-reviving beast, Tagg sliced through the thongs about his footpaws.