Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Tagg rose from the table, licking honey from his paws. "Downstream into Mossflower, eh? Then I'm bound to go after them, friend. Goodbye, 'twas nice meeting you!"

Jurkin rose from the table with him. "Then ye'll be sailin' with the Dillypins, you an' the mousey. We're goin' that way too, so save the wear on yore paws, matey. Now I ain't takin' no fer an answer: you sail with us as far as we can track 'em afore they goes off inter the woodlands!"

Before they left, Nimbalo took issue with Robald and Great-Aunt Lollery, whom he had grown fond of. "Now lissen, Robald me ole pincushion, never you mind livin' out on the flatlands alone an' 'avin' this good 'ogwife runnin' after ye ten times a season with vittles. Yore Aunt Lollery ain't gettin' any younger, an' you should be livin' 'ere with 'er. If'n I 'ad a Great-Aunt Lollery, I wouldn't leave 'er defenseless on 'er own, I'd keep 'er comp'ny an' take better care of 'er!"

Robald stood looking shamefaced. "Now you come to point it out, friend Nimbalo, I have been a touch selfish. You're right, of course. I'll stay here with my kind nurse, if she'll have a fat lonely hermit, that is."

Lollery fidgeted with her spotless apron and sniffed. "Oh, go on with you, Master Robald. I promised your mama I'd look after you. Goodness knows 'tis a trek out onto those flatlands, carryin' great baskets o' vittles to ye. You're welcome to stay with me forever. Sometimes a body gets so lonely in this liddle cottage that even the Dillypins are a welcome sight!"

That evening the sprawling raft took off into midstream, loaded with Dillypin hedgehogs of all shapes, ages and sizes. Tagg sat on the tiller rail with Nimbalo and Jurkin, holding several ropes apiece. These were attached to hogbabes, to stop them from falling in the water as they wrestled and played all over the broad deck. At the raft's center was a construction, part hut, part tent, complete with chimney, oven and galley fire, though there would be no cooking done that night, due to the fact that Great-Aunt Lollery had provisioned them out with all manner of excellent food: cheeses, breads, puddings, cakes, drinks, and extra supplies of her renowned pancakes, which were marvelous, hot or cold. Robald and his nurse waved them off from the bank as the peculiar vessel caught the midstream current and sailed off.

"Goodbye, friend Tagg, pleasant sailing, friend Nimbalo, thank you for all your help. I'd still be stuck in a ball of mud if you hadn't chanced along. Take care of yourselves!"

"Goodbye, Mr. Nimbalo, Mr. Tagg; goodbye, Dillypins!" The hedgehogs lined the deck, singing their farewell.

"Off down the streams away we go,

Where we'll land up I don't know,

With good ole grub an' lots o' drink,

We'll sail along until we sink.

Sink! Sink! Sink!

We're Dillypins an' we don't care,

As long as sky an' wind is fair,

An' when we spot the foe we say,

Yore just a good stonethrow away.

Way! Way! Way!

Weigh anchor mates we're outward bound,

But we'll be back next time around,

O'er swirlin' stream an' rushin' foam,

To eat you out o' house an' home.

Home! Home! Home!"

Lulled by the watersounds and late-evening sunrays flickering scarlet through drooping treetops, Tagg lay down on a woven deckmat. The little hogs had been hauled in by their mothers for supper and bed, and apart from the first nocturnal birdsong echoing from the dense woodlands things were fairly quiet. Jurkin held the tiller steady. He watched Nimbalo's head starting to nod and Tagg's eyelids growing heavy.

"Best get yore 'eads down, mates; it's been a long day for ye. Go on, sleep. I'll keep this ole scow on course an' watch for signs of the vermin."

Tagg allowed his eyes to close as he answered, "Thankee, mate. I'll wake around midnight and take a turn on the tiller, then you can catch a nap too!"

Nimbalo curled up close to Tagg's footpaws, yawning cavernously. "Ah, this is the life! Wake me next season, but do it gently, an' I'd like some 'ot pancakes an' dannylion tea when y'do. Yowch! Keep that footpaw still, ye great ruffian, or I'll sling yer in the water!"

Jurkin chuckled at the idea. "Savage liddle beast, ain't 'e?"

Nimbalo opened one eye and growled, "One more word out o' you, needlebritches, an' you'll find out why they calls me Nimbalo the Slayer!"

Once more Tagg's dreams were a kaleidoscope of red warriors, vermin faces and inexplicable events. He was running through deep woodlands, trying to catch up with the elusive figure of the mouse warrior, calling out after him, "Deyna, stop, wait for me!"

Amid the trees, the mouse turned, waving his wondrous sword. He called back things Tagg could not understand. There was a look of urgency on the armored mouse's face. Tagg felt a sudden kinship with him, a desire to go with him, to help with whatever needed to be done. Then Vallug appeared, a murderous snarl on his face as he fired an arrow from his bow. It was too late to dodge the shaft, but Tagg thrust out a paw to protect himself. He roared with pain as the arrow pierced his paw.

"Be still, ye great daft lump. Look wot you've gone an' done to yoreself. 'Old 'im still, Jurkin!"

Tagg woke to find the hedgehog pinning him flat, whilst Nimbalo tugged at his paw.

"Pass me that blade, mate, that'll get it out!"

Tagg looked up at Jurkin. "Wh-what happened?"

Shaking his head, the big rough hedgehog relieved the otter of his knife and gave it to Nimbalo.

"Wot 'appened? You tell me, matey. I think you was 'avin' a nightmare. Kickin' an' roarin' away like a madbeast. Pore ole Nimbalo 'ere was near knocked overboard, then you turns over facedown an' slams yore paw right onto a big deck splinter."

Tagg flinched as the harvest mouse released his paw and held a long pine splinter in front of his eyes.

"Lookit that. Size of a blinkin' cob o' firewood!"

Jurkin fetched a herbal paste, cleaned Tagg's paw and put a light softbark dressing on it, talking as he worked.

"Aye, that must've been some kind o' dream, Tagg. Can you remember wot it was about?"

Tagg winced as the paste entered his deep splinter wound. "I can only recall fragments, red warriors, a room with walls of red stone, a mouse warrior carrying a great sword. I think his name is Deyna, I'm not sure."

Jurkin tied off the dressing. "Sounded to me like you was dreamin' of Redwall Abbey."

Tagg felt his neckfur prickle at the sound of the name. "Redwall Abbey? What's that, and why should I be dreaming of it?"

Jurkin's spikes rippled evenly as he shrugged. "Sorry, mate, I can't tell ye that. But from wot you was shoutin' I knew it was summat to do with Redwall Abbey an' Martin the Warrior mouse. I know the place, I was there once."

The otter's eyes went wide with astonishment. "I thought all of this was only some imaginary place in my d reams. But you were there! Tell me about it, Jurkin. Please!"

Jurkin stroked his cheekspikes. "Ain't much to tell. My ole mum'n'dad took me there for a summer when I was just a liddle 'og. We went t'visit some fat ole cellarhog, a first cousin of a second brother twice removed, or summat like that. I remember, though, 'twas the 'appiest season o' my life. What a wunnerful place, Redwall Abbey. There was mice an' squirrels, moles, an' otters an' 'edge'ogs, just like me'n'you, mate, all livin' together there in peace. The vittles, oh, they was better'n anythin' you ever put in yore mouth. Er, that warrior mouse you mentioned, 'is name's not Deyna, it's Martin the Warrior. I saw 'is picture, woven on a big tapestry there, an' the sword too, 'angin' on the wall. Martin was one of the creatures who 'elped t'build Redwall Abbey, long long ago. They say 'e's been dead fer many seasons, but the spirit of Martin still 'elps an' protects that Abbey, aye, an' everybeast in it. Redwall's a very special place, Tagg."