Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Rawback waded across and stood over Gruven, a look of loathing and contempt plain on his villainous face.

"Gerrup, ye whimperin' idiot, an' pack in yer whingin'! 'Tis only us!"

Gruven dried his eyes swiftly. "Where's the otter? Is he comin' after us?"

Dagrab waded across to study the muddy bankside. "We never 'eard 'im followin' us. So there's no need fer all the shoutin' an' cryin'."

Suddenly Gruven was back to his old self. "I wasn't cryin'. I was callin' out 'cos I'm in pain. If'n yer took the trouble t'look, you'd see my footpaw's trapped!"

Rawback grinned wickedly. "Why so 'tis. 'Ere, let me 'elp yer, Chief."

The stoat could have freed the paw instantly, but he pretended it was a difficult task. Leaning down on Gruven's scraped limb, he ignored his leader's cries, wrenching and scraping the hurt footpaw maliciously, but keeping his voice pleasant.

"There there now, on'y babes cry an' moan. So, you was the one who tried ter stop us causin' the landslide, eh? Ain't you the big brave Juskazann. Young Gruven the terror, eh? All we could 'ear on the journey was 'ow you was goin' to slay the otter. All those 'orrible things you wuz goin' t'do when ye laid paws on 'im. Hoho, soon as ye clapped eyes on the Taggerung you took off, like a butterfly from a jackdaw. Wot 'appened, O Mighty One? Why didn't ye stand an' fight like yore mama told yer to?"

Gruven pushed Rawback aside and wrenched his footpaw free. "Why didn't you, or you, Dagrab? Yore supposed to be veteran trackers an' killers. I'd 'ave taken that otter on if'n you two cowards would've stayed t'back me up. Aye, we could've done with Vallug an' Eefera there too. They ran long afore the otter showed up. Though if'n they ain't trackin' 'im, wot are they up to?"

Dagrab pointed at the bankside. "Well, we'll soon know when we catch up wid 'em. There's Eefera's pawprints. Weasels ain't 'ard to reckernize. Aye, an' Vallug's still with 'im. See the scratches off'n 'is bowtip an' the deep prints 'e made leverin' 'imself over the banktop? They're 'eaded west by the look o' things."

Gruven slapped cooling mud on his scraped limb, binding a dock leaf to it with weed strands, then stood up and tested his balance.

"Right, we're goin' after those two slybeasts. 'Tis all clear t'me now. They knew all along that the otter'd never show 'is face near a Juska camp again, an' no clanbeast'd ever come this far from our territory to check any story they might tell. So all they do is turn up back at camp an' tell Grissoul that we're all dead, the otter too, an' next thing y'know they're clan chiefs. That's it!"

Rawback climbed to the banktop, shaking his head. "Ye've got it right, 'cept fer one thing. Only one of 'em'll make it back to camp. Ain't no room fer two chiefs. I'll wager 'tis Vallug who returns alone. 'E wuz always the deadliest slayer."

Dagrab climbed up beside Rawback. "Huh, that's wot you say, but Eefera ain't no fool. I've tracked alongside that weasel many a time, an' they don't come any slyer. Vallug's big an' powerful, but my bet is that the one who makes it back'll be ole Eefera. 'E's the craftier of the two."

Gruven scrambled to the banktop, motioning them to move off. "I don't care which one 'tis, I'll slice 'is 'ead off with this sword as soon as we make it back to camp. All you two's gotta remember is that I killed the otter. Stick to that story an' I'll promote ye both to Chief Trackers. You can 'ave yore own followers, give yer own orders, an' live off the cream o' the land. Now let's get goin' while there's still plenty o' daylight!"

Chapter 19

Every fourth summer, Skipper and his ottercrew went off to a Hullabaloo. They would follow streams and rivers down to the shores of the great sea, where they would meet up with other otter crews and many of the sea otters from the far north. Hullabaloo was a festival that could last until autumn, as long as the otters were having fun. Meeting old friends and relatives, sporting in the waves, singing, dancing and lighting bonfires each night on the beach for the inevitable feasts was good rough fun, of the sort that ottercrews enjoy immensely.

Skipper and his crew marched out of Redwall's gates that morning, waving, cheering, and promising to bring back lots of shells for the Dibbuns. Mhera stood out on the path with her friends, calling goodbyes and fluttering kerchiefs until the otters merged into the sun-shimmering distance of the flatlands.

Fwirl accompanied the ottermaid back inside the Abbey. "Why didn't you go with them, Mhera? 'Twould be a lovely holiday for you and your mama."

Mhera shrugged. "We've not been part of any crew for many seasons now. Skipper said we were welcome to join them, but there's too much to be done here, Fwirl. Friar Bobb couldn't do without Mama; she loves the kitchens as much as he does. As for me, well, I've got my riddle to solve and Cregga to watch over. Besides, I like Redwall in summer. There's always something going on."

Fwirl linked paws with her friend. "I do too. Haha, we're both becoming a regular old pair of Abbeybeasts. Come on, I promised Broggle that I'd help your mama and Friar Bobb to get lunch ready. It won't be too difficult, with twoscore otters out of the way. Race you to the kitchens!"

Even though the lunch that day was a splendid one, Mhera sat toying with her plate of celery and chestnut bake, rearranging the salad surrounding it into random patterns. A leaden lump in her chest would not allow her to enjoy the food. Failure weighed heavily upon the ottermaid. Raucous laughter from the far table, where Drogg Cellarhog and old Hoarg were challenging one another to imaginary feats of eating, did nothing to lift her spirits.

Drogg was gesturing airily with a wooden spoon. "1 could chase down a chestful o' chestnuts with cherry juice wine!"

Hoarg smiled patronizingly over his glasses at this effort. "I could purloin a portion o' pears an' pop 'em down with a pot o' pennycress cordial!"

And so the banter went back and forth.

"Ho, ye could, could ye? Well, you'd best step aside when I attack an Abbeyful of apples an' ask for an ample allocation of ale afterward!"

"Step aside? I step aside for nobeast, whether it be a hallowed hedgehog, an officious otter, a seasoned squirrel, a mutterin' mole or a befuddled badger!"

Boorab, who was referee, rapped old Hoarg's paw with an oatfarl. "Foul, sah! Infringement of the rules. You changed your initial letter no less than five times an' never jolly well mentioned food once. You lose two points, old chap, an' that slice o' fruitcake. No kerfufflin', penalty must be accepted!"

Amid gales of laughter, the hare stole a slice of fruitcake from Hoarg's plate and bolted it. The younger element began calling, "You have a go, Mr. Boorab, go on, show em how 'tis done!"

Boorab gulped the fruitcake down and obliged. "Ahem! I could simply scoff sixty-six sticks of celery separately, swallow seventeen swigs o' sweet cider an' sensationally scrunch a selection of salad whilst simperin' smilin' and singin' soulfully to serenade Sister Alkanet's stern stares!" Amid hoots of merriment he bowed to the Sister. "So sorry your name didn't begin with an S, marm!"

She rose abruptly and carried her plate and beaker off to another table, where she sat glaring frostily at the funsters. "Ridiculous! Grown Redwallers behaving like naughty Dibbuns!"

Boorab bounded over and plonked himself down alongside Mhera, attempting to cheer her up.

"I say, wot? Pretty young thing like y'self sittin' there with a face on you like a frog who's lost his fiddle. Y'best hurry up an' jolly well smile, or you'll stick like that, ask Sister Alkanet. She knows all about that stuff. Her face stuck like that when she was an infant, doncher know, missed her mouth an' poured a bowl of custard down her ear, never smiled since, wot!"