Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

"Haha, or play tunes on Boorab's haredee gurdee!"

Cregga sat on the bottom stair to catch her breath. "Insolent wretches! I'll have you know I was very skilled at entertaining in my younger seasons. Maybe I'll perform a quick acrobatic dance, that should do the trick!"

Mhera and Fwirl were laughing so hard that they could not help Cregga upright again.

Inside the bell tower it was dim and cool, but the spiral stairs seemed to go on forever. Halfway up, Brother Hoben had to sit down and rest awhile. "Phew! Lackaday, now I know why Cregga didn't want to come!"

Fwirl's voice came from high above them. "Put a move on down there, I'm already up here!"

Gundil wiped a paw across his brow, trudging doggedly on. "Hurr, easy furr ee t'say, moi booty, but this choild bain't nuthin' but ee pore molebeast, not fitted furr cloimbin' oop sturrs wot goes 'round an' 'round!"

Together they stood up near the small conical roof, astride a massive wooden beam with stout ropes bound around it. Below them was a dizzying drop, with two tolling ropes hanging the length of it. Mhera pointed out the two bells suspended from the beam below their footpaws.

"The one on your left is the Matthias bell, this one on the right is the Methuselah bell. See their names embossed around the edges? A pretty awesome sight, isn't it?"

Gundil's nosetip had gone dry. He turned his eyes aside, moaning, "Bwhurr, oi bain't no burd, an' oi bain't feelen too gudd noither!"

Mhera and Fwirl assisted him off the beam and sat him lower down on the steps. The mole turned his face to the wall. "Oi woan't be 'arpy 'til oi'm saferly on ee gudd furm grownd."

Broggle inspected the beam on all fours. "This is definitely made from a great oak. Look at this huge scar cut across it. Wonder how that happened?"

Brother Hoben, being the Recorder, instinctively knew. "That's where Matthias severed the bell rope with Martin's sword. Such a forceful blow he struck that he scored the beam deeply."

Broggle picked at it with his small kitchen knife. "Must have hit the hem of his habit, too. Look, there's a piece of cloth wedged in the cut."

Mhera saw what was going on as she returned to the beam with Fwirl. "Don't damage it in any way, Broggle. Try as carefully as you can to get the cloth out all in one piece!"

Broggle shaved the wood delicately away, either side of the cloth. "That's easy. See, it just lifts out!"

"He's a real artist with that little blade," Mhera whispered to Fwirl, loud enough for Broggle to hear. "There's nobeast in Redwall more skilled with a kitchen knife than our Broggle."

Blushing with modest pride, the assistant cook gave the cloth to Mhera. It was only a small square of light green material, simple and homespun, nothing elaborate or special. Mhera sniffed it before laying it flat on the beam.

"Hmm. Still got a faint scent of lilac on it. I wonder who it belonged to? Ah, there's letters inked onto it. Let's see . .. HITTAGALL? What's that supposed to mean? The letters aren't even written straight across horizontally, like ordinary writing. They're written vertically. HITTAGALL all in capitals from top to bottom. Brother Hoben, what d'you make of it?"

Folding the material carefully, Hoben slid it into his belt pouch. "Nothing right now, but let me think on it. What do you say we go down and discuss this over lunch? I think Gundil's illness is catching. I'm beginning to feel a bit woozy up here."

Friar Bobb was sitting with the rest of the audience in front of the west wallsteps, by the gatehouse. When the friends appeared he waved for them to sit down by him, whispering, "Sorry about lunch, I'll fix something later. Come and enjoy yourselves. We've had some marvelous entertainment here."

Egburt and Floburt were tootling flutes and performing a jig, while Grandpa Drogg beat a small drum as he sang for them.

"We never have to comb our spikes,

Because they won't lie flat,

An' that is why you'll never see,

A hedgehog wear a hat.

I've seen some hares wear helmets,

And bees in bonnets too,

While molemaids favor mob caps,

All stitched with bluebells blue.

But hedgehogs don't wear headgear,

An' that's my sad refrain,

Poor hedgehogs get as wet as frogs,

When left out in the rain!"

They skipped off to great applause, still tootling their flutes.

The next item was a real novelty. Sister Alkanet and three little ones, Durby the molebabe, a tiny mousemaid named Feegle and the smallest hedgehog who could just about toddle, called Wegg, climbed up on to the wallstep, which served as a stage. In her severe and precise tones, the Sister recited a cautionary poem. Much to the hilarity of the audience, the three infants acted out the lines with serious faces and much paw wagging.

" 'Tis often said by otherbeasts,

And trust my word 'tis so,

There are certain manners,

Which Abbeybabes should know!

All Dibbuns must behave themselves,

From break of dawn 'til night,

Tug their ears, touch their spikes,

In general, be polite.

Bid all their elders time of day,

Don't interrupt. .. My word!

Our rule is Dibbuns may be seen,

But very seldom heard.

One must wash one's paws and face,

Before one ventures out,

And up one's sleeve a kerchief keep,

With which to wipe one's snout.

Never sup soup noisily,

Say please and thanks when able,

Remember to excuse oneself,

Before one leaves the table.

If Dibbuns heed these golden rules,

They grow up good and true,

Early to bed, straight to sleep,

And don't hide when bathtime's due .. . Thank you!"

The little ones bowed, to tumultuous applause, though Foremole Brull was heard to remark to Cregga, "Doan't hoide when barthtime be due? Hurr hurr, lookit likkle Durby thurr, larst toime me an' 'is mum barthed that 'un ee water turned to solid mudd, burr aye!"

Before any other contestant had a chance to present themselves, Boorab leaped up, flourishing his long robes dramatically. "I do this not for any triflin' reward, wot wot, get it, trifle? Ahem, pray attention, goodbeasts all, for as Abbey Poet I have composed a small recitation that I shall recitate. These few lines would bring tears to the blinkin' eye of an underwater fish! Mothers, cover your babes' tender ears! For 'ere goes, ear goes? Hawhaw, that was a good 'un, wot wot?"

"Oh, get on with it, you great long-eared windbag!"

Boorab glared at old Hoarg, who had shouted out the remark. "Fie on you, sah. Even windbags have feelin's!" Then, drooping his ears and waving a limp paw, Boorab soulfully began.

" 'Twas winter one summer an' spring was in bloom,

The turnips were twittering gaily

As I cleaned out my humble room,

Three times I do it, twice daily!

When a mole flew in by my window,

He bid me good night and day too.

His eyes were yellow, his nose was green and his tail was pinkyblue.

That mole gave me a very odd stare,

Which I put in me pocket for later,

He then asked me if I was a hare,

Or a rascally impersonator?

I replied to him, in accent grim,

'Good sir, I'm a him not a her,

I'm a him that's a hare not a her that's a him,

And the least is as large as the greater!'

'If you're a hare that's a him, he quoth,

As he left my room with a leap,

'When I return this leap, you'll be,

Not a hare or a him, but a-sleep!'"

Boorab bowed elegantly, tripped over his robes and leaped up in the same instant, calling out to Filorn, "Who could compete with that pulsatin' performance, marm, wot? Deliver the toothsome old trifle to me room at once, so I won't have to share it with these talentless bounders. Don't applaud too loud, chaps. Only doin' me job, y'know. Modest as ever, that's me!"