Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

The shrew pointed to a lot of flint shards on the mantelpiece. " 'Twas me. I like makin' pitchers, got a good eye fer it. Those are my kin, ma, pa, grandma an' grandpa. That 'un's my ole missus, seasons rest 'er pore 'eart, the rest are me sons an' daughters. Gone, all gone now. Those that ain't died 'ave packed up an' left. There's on'y me now. But 'tis my 'ome an' I likes it enough ter live wot seasons I got left right 'ere. You get some rest now, Flagg. Big feller like you needs plenty o' shuteye. Nighty night!"

Sometime during the night, Tagg woke up. Ruskem was snoring gently in his chair, but Nimbalo was talking in his sleep, sobbing too. In the dim glow of the turf fire, Tagg watched his friend tossing about on the bed, and listened to the harvest mouse's disjointed ramblings.

"But Papa, I've done all the work. I'm hungry. Ow! Ow! Please don't beat me, Papa, I've done all the work. Where's Mama? I want my mama! What . . . Oh, Mama, please come back..."

Nimbalo sobbed heartbreakingly. Tagg rose quietly and stroked his friend's head as gently as he could, murmuring, "Hush, matey, sleep easy now. Hush, hush."

Nimbalo's eyes opened wide, and he sat up with his paws clenched. Tagg could tell he was still sleeping. Nimbalo's voice grew hard. "Put that belt down, Papa! I said put it down, you ain't goin' to beat me with it no more. No more, I say!"

Tagg pushed him back down and passed a paw over his eyes. "Sleep, now. Tagg's here, mate. Sleeeeeep."

Nimbalo uttered a single word. "Tagg." His eyes closed and he slept peacefully for the remainder of the night. Tagg dozed off sitting by the fire. So Nimbalo was a runaway who had received a hard upbringing from a cruel father. Now Tagg knew why his friend presented a tough exterior to all. He wanted to show he could not be bullied or beaten anymore.

Tagg woke late next morning. Nimbalo was still asleep, but Ruskem was up and about. He added mixed oats and barley and some strawberries to the shrewburgoo. Stirring in a chunk of honeycomb, he nodded to Tagg.

"G'mornin', Trogg. Wot d'ye think? Shall I toss in some wild celery an' onions to this lot?"

The otter wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No, I think the strawberries an' honey should be enough, sir. What's the weather like outside, I wonder?"

The ancient shrew poured tea from the kettle for his guest. "Fresh as a daisy an' prettier'n a rosebud. Rain's all gone, stream's runnin' muddy but full. What more could a beast want?"

Tagg went to the bed and shook the snoring harvest mouse. "A traveling partner who's awake, that's what I want."

Nimbalo sat up, rubbing his eyes and lying in his teeth. "I'm awake, I'm awake! Been awake fer blinkin' ages, watchin' youse two makin' breakfast. Fooled yer, eh?"

Ruskem passed him a steaming bowl. "Then try foolin' yore stomach wid some o' this, Bongbul!"

When they had breakfasted, the old shrew sat back in his chair. Reaching down among the cushions, he pulled out two pieces of slate, with fair likenesses of Tagg and Nimbalo etched on them. He displayed them proudly.

"Hah! I was up long afore youse pair. Well, wot d'ye think?"

Tagg studied them. "They're very good, sir, very good!"

Ruskem was pleased with the otter's verdict. "Heeheehee! Thankee, Blogg. I'll put 'em up on me wall after yore gone. Youse kin be part o' me family, eh!"

"I don't wanna be part o' no fa"

Tagg clapped his paw over Nimbalo's mouth and picked him up. "Let's go outside and stretch in the fresh air, matey!"

Ruskem put the portraits aside. "Wot's wrong wid young Bimbo?"

"Tummy trouble. He bolted down that hot breakfast."

Tagg swept Nimbalo out onto the sunlit bank. "No need to be insulting to the old fellow. He was honoring us by putting our pictures on the walls with his kin."

The harvest mouse looked shamefaced. "I better go back in an' say I'm sorry to Ruskem."

Tagg patted his friend's paw. "No need to. I don't think he heard you. Just remember to be nice to him. He wasn't obliged to help us, but he did."

Blinking against the sunlight, the ancient shrew hobbled out. "Heehee! See, I told ye. 'Tis a mornin' to be alive on. Nothin' looks prettier'n these 'ere flatlands after a summer storm!"

Nimbalo politely helped the old fellow to sit at the stream edge. "Yore right, sir. It certainly is!"

Ruskem waved his stick back at the den. "Yell find some liddle fruit loaves that I baked an' two flasks o' dannelion an' burdock cordial in there. I take it yore bound fer the mountain? I was up there once. A strange an' wunnerful place 'tis, but mind 'ow you go, especially you, young Bungalo."

Nimbalo seemed a bit distracted as he answered. "Aye, sir, we'll take care . . . Tagg, can you 'ear a bumpin' sound?"

The otter listened carefully, turning downstream. "Sounds as if it's coming from down that way. What d'you think?"

Ruskem turned in the opposite direction. "I think 'tis a-comin' from upstream, but yore ears are younger an' better than mine, Trigg."

They chose to search downstream, around a bend. A gaunt pine tree trunk was floating there, its thick end bumping the bank, trapped in the shallows as the stream rushed swiftly by.

Tagg tested it with his footpaw, leaning down hard.

"Good fortune for us, mate, a ready made boat. This'll save our footpaws for a day or so. We can make it to the foothills on this."

Ruskem pointed up the mountain's north face. "Stream starts up there, in the north foot'ills. When there's been a storm it swells, an' one part branches off to loop down here before circlin' 'round t'the mountain again. Dries up after a score o' days. Yore right, though, Cragg; if ye can free that trunk while the flood's this high it'll take ye close t'the west face in no time."

Tagg trimmed spare branches from the pine and held the trunk steady, whilst Nimbalo boarded with their provisions. Wading waist deep, the otter pushed the makeshift craft out into the current and leaped aboard. Ruskem waved his stick as they were swept speedily away.

"Fare ye well, Frogg an' Numble. May yore stummicks be full an' yore path smooth!"

They shouted back as the log raced downstream.

"Goodbye, Ruskem. Take good care o' yourself!"

"Aye, an' thankee for yore 'ospitality, mate!"

The ancient shrew watched until they were out of sight, waving his stick and murmuring to himself, "Wish I was a-goin' with ye. Heehee, there's two young rips bound off adventurin'. Ah no, I'm 'appy where I am. Did enough rovin' in me younger days. Oh well, time fer me nap."

Ruskem went into his den without bothering to look beyond the upstream bend, where he thought the noise had come from. Had he taken a glimpse there he would have seen the bloated carcass of Grobait, washed up and stuck to the bankside as the sun dried the mud, baking it hard as rock.

Chapter 16

Broggle had been on breakfast duties in the kitchen. Filorn watched him hastily stacking dishes and wiping tables. The kindly ottermum relieved him of his tasks.

"I'll finish off here. You're anxious to be with your friends in Cregga Badgermum's room, aren't you? Go on, off with you!"

Wiping his paws on his apron, Broggle backed off, bowing politely. "Thankee, marm, very kind of you, marm, you're a real mal, parm, er, I mean a real pal, marm!" He turned and dashed away upstairs.

Boorab, who was last at table, rose and began collecting dishes. "Allow me to assist you in these menial chores, O fair one."

Filorn smiled at him and curtsied deeply. "My thanks t'you, kind sir. Pray, what's the reason for this sudden rush of helpfulness?"

The hare winked broadly as he loaded a tray with bowls. "Just my sense o' duty, marm, an' of course there's always lots o' nice leftovers from brekkers, wot!"

Filorn picked up a tray of beakers and followed him out to the kitchens. "Oh, I'm sure we can find you somethin' to tickle your palate, sir. I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a nice cup of rosehip tea together."