Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

"Forgive me, but I'd much rather you had found the three vermin here than that ill-disciplined lot. Oh well, you'd better come and meet the other side of Great-Aunt Lollery's family. No relation to the Forthrights, I'm glad to say!"

Chaos reigned in the back garden. Fat rough hedgehogs, their spikes adorned with flowers and trailing weeds, were guzzling down food, drinking and having belching contests, singing, fighting, dancing and completely ignoring the visitors. A homely greyspiked hedgehog, old and thin, dressed in a spotless white smock and a flowery apron, was frying pancakes on top of an outdoor oven. The three newcomers drew close, wordlessly watching her. She tipped a thick paste of ground corn and nutmeal onto the hot stone oventop, where it spread and fried quickly before she flipped it skillfully over with a broad thin slate. As the bottom fried she ladled honey and chopped berries on top, then folded the whole thing in two and served it to a waiting hedgehog. Looking up from her task, she smiled at Robald.

"I think you smelt my pancakes, Master Robald. Would you and your friends like some? Of course you would. Now, what brings you here? I only visited you two days ago. Oh, there I go, chatting on without introducing myself. I'm Great-Aunt Lollery."

The otter bowed politely. "My name's Tagg and this is Nimbalo. Pleased to meet you, Aunt Lollery. We came here because we thought you might be in danger from three vermin we are tracking."

The hedgehog she had been serving was a particularly big, tough specimen. He chuckled scornfully. "Three vermints? Hohoho! Y'mean those three who tried callin' on us as Lollery was cookin' brekkist? Well, ye've missed 'em, mate. Afore they'd even crossed the stream we sent the bullies on their way with a few good lumps t'think about, eh, Lollery!"

Lollery waved a paw at the three newcomers and continued the tale. "It was so funny. There I am, cooking breakfast, when one of the babes comes to me and says that there's three beasts across the stream, who must've smelled my good cooking. So I went out and there they were, two stoats and a rat, all tattooed up, just like you, Mr. Tagg. Hmph! They weren't very polite, I can tell you. One of them wades into the water waving a sword, saying he was going to chop me into fishbait if I didn't give them vittles. Of course he was shouting so loud that Jurkin here heard him. So the whole Dillypin family came out, loaded up their slings and gave those vermin a pounding they richly deserved!"

Jurkin unwound a hefty sling from his waist, fitted a big round riverpebble into it and whirled the thing overhead. "Aye, us Dillypins knows 'ow t'swing a rock. Gimme a target."

Tagg pointed. "Poplar branch sticking out there, see?"

Jurkin whipped off the stone. It zipped through the air and snapped off the poplar branch with a resounding Crack! Grinning, he held out the sling to Tagg. "Wanna try it, riverdog?"

The otter smiled and shook his head. "Not really, mate. See that woodrush flower in front of the poplar?"

Jurkin squinted. "Y'mean that 'un growin' low down agin the trunk?"

Tagg's blade flashed through the air. It landed quivering in the poplar trunk, pinning the star-shaped woodrush flower through its center. Tagg winked broadly at Jurkin. "Want to try it, spikedog?"

Robald pulled Tagg away, beckoning him urgently to sit and eat. It was obvious that Robald was no friend of Jurkin.

"Aunt Lollery has made us some of her delicious pancakes. We'd be well advised to consume them before some Dillypin does."

Great-Aunt Lollery served the delicious pancakes, pouring everyone a beaker of greensap milk. Serving Tagg first, she whispered, "You eat 'earty now, sir, an' pay no heed to that Jurkin."

Nimbalo tucked into his food, remarking to Robald, "Wot's ole Jurkin glarin' at Tagg like that for? Lookit the face on 'im. You'd think 'e was sittin' on a wasp."

"Jurkin's a decent enough type, as far as Dillypins go," Robald explained. "But he's always got to be top hog wherever he goes. You shouldn't have showed him that knife trick, Tagg. He can't do it, so now he's working himself up to challenge you to some silly game that he knows he's best at. If I were you I'd keep my eye on him."

Robald's prediction turned out to be correct. Jurkin and his crew became extra noisy, tussling with each other and bumping into Tagg's table without apologizing. Then they started flicking small pebbles at one another. Jurkin waited until a young hog was between him and Tagg, and then flicked a pebble lazily at the youngster, who was swift enough to dodge it easily. The pebble struck Tagg on his cheek, which seemed to cause great hilarity among the Dillypins, Jurkin laughing loudest.

Tagg picked up the pebble, calling cheerfully to Jurkin, "Not much of a shot, mate. You'd better learn to throw properly!"

The otter tossed the pebble back over his shoulder and batted it hard with his tail. It zinged off, whacking the tip of Jurkin's nose painfully. Clapping a paw to his injured snout, Jurkin waited until the other Dillypins had stopped laughing. He hid the anger in his eyes by smiling at Tagg.

"Good job yore on'y a riverdog, or I'd spiketussle ye!"

Placing a paw against his forehead with the claws spread wide, Tagg smiled back at the big hedgehog. "Oh, don't let that stop ye, spikedog. Will this do for spikes?"

Spiketussling is the hedgehog form of wrestling, in which two hogs lock headspikes and try to throw each other. Tagg was offering his outspread pawclaws as spikes. Jurkin grimaced fiercely.

"Claws'll do fer spikes, if'n yore fool enough to try it, mate. I've been spiketusslin' champion o' the Dillypins since I was a babe. Come on, mate, an' I'll teach ye a lesson y'won't forget!"

He charged Tagg immediately, head down, spikes extended. The otter leaped over the table and met the onslaught, locking his claws into Jurkin's powerful headspikes. Dillypins scattered to get out of the way and benches and tables were overturned as the two roared aloud, pushing one another back and forth around the garden. Shrubs cracked, grass flew and leaves showered from low tree branches. Hedgehogs yelled.

"Give it the neckwhip, Jurkin, you've got 'im!"

Jurkin twisted his neck suddenly, but Tagg went with it, turning a somersault and landing upright. He saw the surprise on Jurkin's face as he carried on the maneuver by throwing another somersault in the same direction. Unable to halt his momentum, the hedgehog flew into the air, landing with a heavy thud on the ground. Belying his hefty bulk, he leaped up, and Tagg did it again, somersaulting so that his opponent was immediately floored once more. He repeated the move every time Jurkin rose. Six times the hedgehog hit the floor, then he tried to rise and fell back, panting hoarsely. Tagg leaned over Jurkin, holding him down, grinning into his face.

"Good game, eh? Want to try some more, spikedog?"

Jurkin held his paws up submissively. "Ye've cracked every spike on me back, y'great riverwhomper!"

Releasing Jurkin's spikes, Tagg helped him up. He grasped the hedgehog's paw and shook it firmly, announcing aloud, "I've never tangled with a beast so powerful in all my life. Good job you never got up again, mate, or you'd have licked me!"

Jurkin held Tagg's paw up, calling to all his crew, "This is my matey Tagg. Anybeast wants to fight with 'im 'as got t'fight with me too. Loll, bring more pancakes, will ye!"

Robald shook his head as he watched the pair scoffing pancakes and swigging greensap milk like brothers. "I'm afraid it's all a bit beyond me, Nimbalo. Just look at them. Only a moment ago I thought they were trying to kill each other."

The harvest mouse shook his head admiringly. "Aye, my mate Tagg's like nobeast ye've ever met!"

Tagg told Jurkin his story. The hedgehog demolished a pancake as he listened, then he grunted approvingly. "So, yore trackin' these three vermin, Tagg? They're 'eaded downstream an' into Mossflower Wood, y'know. That's the way they went when we sent 'em packin'!"