Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Nimbalo took hold of his friend's paw as he passed the flask. "Where'd ye get that mark on yore paw from? It's like the shape of a speedwell flower. Is it a tattoo?"

The otter glanced at the mark, then ran a paw over his heavily marked face. "No, I think 'tis some sort of birthmark. These on my face are tattoos, put there long before I can remember. They're clan marks, to show I belong to a certain tribe."

He allowed Nimbalo to touch the tattoos. The mouse snorted. "Bit silly, ain't it? If'n ye ever want to leave the tribe, then yore stuck wid yore face all marked with a big black stripe an' red dots an' the blue lightnin' flash on yer left cheek."

Tagg's paw strayed to feel the flash. "Juska law says that the only time you leave the tribe is when you're dead. I'm marked for life now, but at least I can get rid of these!"

Tagg pulled off his woven wristbands, unsnipped the big gold earring from his ear, and flung them into the stream. Nimbalo smiled sympathetically at his big friend. "You ain't 'ad much fun runnin' 'round with that tribe, 'ave yer? Well, never mind, Tagg me ole tater, you got a new life now, an' you got Nimbalo the Slayer as a pal, so come on, cheer up!"

Tagg lay back, gazing up at the stars. "I'm tired, pal. Play something for me, a peaceful tune."

Nimbalo tootled his reed flute and played awhile, then, putting it aside, he quietly sang a traditional harvest mouse ditty.

"When the corn is so heavy it bends on the stalk,

See the berries are purple with bloom,

And the wild oats do rustle as if they could talk,

There I watch for the gold harvest moon.

Then if you will help me friend,

Stay here oh do not roam,

And we'll sit by the fire,

In my harvest mouse home.

There'll be lots of good food when the work is all done,

And a barrel of old barley beer,

Mellow cheese and fresh bread, for everyone,

While the babes sleep in peace without fear.

We'll gather the fruit,

And the sweet honeycomb,

And some wood for the fire,

Of my harvest mouse home."

Nimbalo put aside his flute and lay down with a long sigh. "Aaaah. I forget the rest. Pretty, ain't it, Tagg? Nothin' like the real thing, though. My life ain't been no bed o' roses, oh no. Let me tell yer about wot I went through, mate ..." He glanced over and saw his otterfriend was already fast asleep. "Oh well, maybe some other time."

The fire burned low as four little shadowy figures watched the camp. Three of them wore new belts about their tiny waists, Tagg's two wristbands and his golden earring, which had landed on the wristbands as they floated off downstream. The one who was minus a new belt whispered to his three companions, "Yik yik, 'arvest mousey gotta nice belt. Jus' fitta me!"

The biggest of the four clipped him soundly over the ear. "Shushyerrupp! Yew wakey da biggin an' we get all eated up!" He patted his new gold earring belt thoughtfully before delivering the noisy one a clip across his other ear. "Go gerrem ole Bodjev, tellim bring alla Cavemob. Go go!"

He sloshed resentfully off along the streamshallows, calling back in a loud whisper, "Doncha pinch d'mousey belt while I 'way!"

The larger one sent him on his way with a kick in the tail. "Go on, go on, shout louder, nip'ead. Wake alla mounting up!"

One of the two wearing a wristband belt held a paw to his mouth. "Shushyer, Alfik, dey wakey up an' us don't gerra no likkle snakeyfishes, fryken 'em alla way!"

Within a short while, Bodjev, the tiny fat Chieftain of his pigmy shrew tribe, returned with a large bunch of his warriors, each bearing a pine club, tipped with flint shards, over his shoulder. He threw himself down alongside Alfik, his son, hissing with shock as he caught sight of Tagg.

"Wow wow! Whereja find dat monister? Lookarra size of 'im!"

Alfik wrinkled his long nose in a show of careless bravery. "Ho, I jus' finded d'beast, sleepyin' 'ere. Warra us do now, Daddy?"

Bodjev glared at his son and clipped him a good one on the ear. "You norra Squidjee nomore. Worr I tellya? Chief's name Bodjev, only Daddy when you was likkle. Bodjev now, 'member dat!"

One of the Cavemob tribe called out a warning as Tagg groaned and rolled over in his sleep. "Y'be shushed or d'big fella come awakey!"

Bodjev could not identify the voice, so he satisfied himself by dispensing clipped ears to any shrew within reach. "Who you tella to shushed? Talk t'me like dat! All shushed now, wait for da snakeyfishes to come. Den after dat we catcher d'mousey anna bigga monister!"

Tagg glimpsed the mouse warrior with the beautiful sword, wandering through the corridors of his mind. He pursued him, but, unable to run, he floated helplessly through a warm pink mist, calling out the mouse's name. "Deyna! Deyna!"

The warrior mouse halted and turned, shaking his head and smiling. Touching a paw to his armored breastplate, he spoke one word. "Martin!" Then he disappeared, leaving the sleeping otter mystified. If he was Martin, then who was Deyna?

Further dreams were shattered. Both Tagg and Nimbalo leaped up amid a sea of slithering silver. They slipped and fell flat as the slim shining shapes slid over them. Wild squeaks rent the dawnlight. Pigmy shrews were everywhere, striking wildly at the silvery threadlike mass with small clubs and shouting to one another.

"Dink a dink! Gerra snakeyfishes!"

"Yik yik, chukkem inna water!"

"Dink a dinky dink dink! Plenny snakeyfishes, brudders!"

Tagg grabbed Nimbalo. Kicking his way through the wriggling mass, he made it to the top of a rocky mound and stared in wonder at the scene around him. Nimbalo knew what the glimmering threads were. He had seen them once before on the flatlands.

"Elvers, mate! Those are little tiny eels. They travel on the dewy grass, shoals an' shoals of 'em. They can go fer many a league. But where'd all the baby shrews come from?"

Tagg watched the shrews as they raced about killing the elvers, dispatching each one with a quick blow to the head from their flint-tipped clubs. Dead elvers were tossed into the water and washed away downstream into the mountain caves. As they struck out with their clubs, the shrews squeaked triumphantly.

"Dink! Gorra nudder one!"

"Dink a dink! I gorra two snakeyfishes!"

Expertly they flicked the dead elvers into the water with their clubtips. Tagg shook his head. "They aren't babies. Some of them have grey whiskers. Those are fully grown shrews. I've never seen anything like it!"

Nimbalo was taller than the tallest shrew by more than a head. He stood on tip-paw and puffed out his chest scornfully. "Huh, I knew that, mate. Crowd o' liddle nuisances if y'ask me, wakin' us up jus' so they can stock up their larders with elvers!"

The shrews did not let up their mass kill until a good while later, by which time most of the elvers had passed. They slid away like mobile tinsel, the morning sun reflecting off their packed masses as they glided into the distance. Their countless numbers were scarcely affected by the slaughter.

Alfik and Bodjev approached the mound, clubs at the ready. The Chieftain's son wiggled his nose ferociously at Tagg. "We be's Cavemobs, my daddy a Chief. Who be's you?"

Tagg was about to reply when Bodjev clipped Alfik's ear. "Wot I tellya, nit'ead? My name be's Bodjev!" He shook his head almost apologetically at Tagg. "Norra brains, norra manners. Yik yik, younger shrews dese seasons alla same. No respecks!"

Nimbalo bristled at the father's treatment of his son. "No need t'be whackin' 'is lug like that, mate!"

This gave Tagg an idea. Very gently he kicked Nimbalo's bottom and rolled his eyes expressively at the pigmy shrew Chieftain. "I know exactly what you mean, sir. They're always speaking when they're not spoken to. Put a latch on your lip, young Nimbalo!"