Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

The otter was bewildered by his friend's revelations. "But... but who is Deyna?"

The hedgehog's brow furrowed. "I dunno. I'm tellin' ye wot I recall of Redwall, but that was a long time ago, mate. I can't remember everythin', y'know!"

Tagg clenched his bound paw and stared hard at it. "Sorry, Jurkin. Neither can I. That's why I was asking you."

Nimbalo sat looking from one to the other and shaking his head. Tagg caught the look of comic amusement on his friend's face.

"What's the matter with you, grinning away, with a face on you like a mole sitting on a feather?"

The harvest mouse rested his chin on one paw. "Wot a pair, eh? Yore tellin' Jurkin about some ole dream you 'ad, an' Jurkin's tellin' you about the place in yore dream. A place that 'e's been to!"

Jurkin stared hard at Nimbalo. "So?"

Puffing out his little chest, Nimbalo roared, "So why don't ye tell Tagg where the place, this Redwall Abbey, is, eh? Then 'e can go an' see fer hisself!"

It struck Tagg like a hammer blow. "Right! Tell us where Redwall is, mate!"

The Dillypin Chief gnawed thoughtfully on a facespike. "Er, if I can remember ..."

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Book 3

Deyna

Chapter 23

Dawn had passed, morning was through and Mossflower Woods shimmered gently in noontide sun. Durby and Feegle, however, were not aware of it as they lay bound inside a smelly sack down a dark disused mole tunnel. Poskra the water rat kicked the wriggling sack and snarled.

"Wun more peep out o' yiz an' inter the dinnerpot y'ill go!" He ran his tongue around the one tooth left in his gums. Life was hard, but good fortune had finally fallen on him. He cackled to himself. Fallen on him literally, right from the battlements of the Abbey's east wall.

Poskra was a loner. He had been thrown out of several tribes, lucky to be alive after the petty thefts and malicious acts he had perpetrated. Long seasons of travel and hardship had sharpened his natural cunning, but without leading to any great success, until he stumbled on Redwall Abbey. Knowing the good Redwallers would not even allow one like him past their gates, he had hung about watching, staying well hidden. He knew that sooner or later an opportunity would present itself, and it did. The previous evening he had been dozing in the woodland close to the east wall when he was roused by the shouts and giggling of small creatures, some of Redwall's precious Dibbuns. There atop the battlements, two tiny figures were staggering precariously along, squeaking and laughing. Instantly Poskra knew one or both of them would overbalance and fall, and he hoped fervently that they would fall outward, not inward. The little mousemaid leaped from one battlement to the next, where she stood teetering back and forth. Then the molebabe leaped and cannoned into her. Poskra could hardly stifle his delight as they plunged outward and down. Hurrying to them, he looped cords around their stunned forms and stuffed them both into the empty gunny sack he collected food in, when there was any. A squeak and a cry from inside the wall told him that there was a third Dibbun, who had most likely gone to rouse the Redwallers. He had to hurry. Hoisting the sack on his back, Poskra backed away into the woodlands, obliterating his tracks as he shuffled off. His best night's work in many a long season. Now he would stay hidden, maybe a full day, so that all the Abbeydwellers would be worried as to the whereabouts of the babes. Then he would approach the Abbey and trade for their lives. Damson wine was the love of Poskra's life: warming, rich, fruity and dark. Meat and tough stringy vegetables did not matter to him anymore; his toothless mouth could cope with neither. Mostly he lived off soups, which he made by boiling down any growing thing he came across, and off birds' eggs filched from low-lying nests. But damson wine, that was the stuff to keep warmth in a body on cold nights in the woodlands. He could live on it and would not have objected to drowning in it. Damson wine!

First he would take along some items of clothing, to convince the Redwallers of his position. Four or five flasks of the wine would do to start, then he would demand two casks, one for the safe return of each Dibbun. Poskra cackled again, this time a little louder. No, he would make it two casks ransom for each babe. Why not? He was in command. The things he could threaten to do to the infants would horrify the goodbeasts of Redwall so much that they'd be glad to pay up.

Popping his head out of the tunnel, Poskra made sure the coast was clear, then dragged the sack up after him. Emptying his prisoners out onto the grass, the water rat produced a long, vicious-looking needle, red with rust. He waved it like a wand before the terrified Dibbuns' eyes.

"Wun, jus' wun werd, an' yiz'll never see yer mummies n'more. Yew, mousey, gimme yiz apron. Moley, gimme yiz likkle belt. Look lively now, or I'll stick yiz both wid this bodkin!"

Wordlessly the Dibbuns did as they were bidden.

Eefera watched them from behind the rotting trunk of a fallen beech tree. Vallug lay on his back, fletching an arrow with a woodpigeon feather.

"Wot's the ole slimeskin up to now?"

Eefera dropped down beside the Bowbeast. "Takin' the apron of fa the mouse an' the belt from the mole."

Vallug sighted one eye along the arrow shaft, testing its level. "Wot does the fool want t'do that for?"

Always the clever one, Eefera knew the answer. "I think the rat's kidnapped 'em an' he's after ransom from the Abbey. We could use those two infants."

Vallug thought a moment before he caught on to the idea. "Aye, we could use 'em as hostages an' trade 'em for the otter!"

There was no disguising the sarcasm in Eefera's voice. "By the carcass of Sawney, did ye think of that all by yerself?"

The arrow point suddenly nicked Eefera as it pressed against his neck. Vallug smiled coldly. "Aye, I did. I've 'ad a few good ideas lately. Do I really need a partner like you, that's one of 'em!"

The arrow point pressed harder, but Eefera did not seem impressed. "Cut yore own nose off to spite yer face, wouldn't ye, Vallug? The game ain't over yet; you'll need me. Now, don't y'think you'd best do summat about those babes afore the rat gets away with 'em, instead of lyin' 'ere arguin', eh?"

Poskra was trying to stuff the Dibbuns back into the sack, but he was encountering difficulty doing it. Feegle squeaked in pain as he grabbed her by the neck. Though still bound, Durby launched himself on the water rat and bit his ear.

"Yurr, ratten, you'm leavin' moi Feegul be!"

Poskra let go of Feegle. Clapping a paw to his bleeding ear, he raised the needle, kicking Durby over onto his back. "I make yiz scream loud fer dat, mole!"

Poskra stood for a moment with the rusty needle raised, then dropped it. His eyes turned upward, and he fell upon Durby, with a newly fletched arrow protruding from the back of his skull.

"Hurr," the molebabe called breathlessly from beneath Poskra's body. " 'Elp oi, Feegul. Ee ratten be a-crushen oi gurtly!"

The mousebabe gave a shrill scream of fright. Eefera's evil tattooed face loomed over her as he pulled the carcass of Poskra off Durby and tossed it aside.

"Nasty ole water rat that 'un, wasn't 'e, mousey?"

Durby smiled politely at the murderous Vallug. "Gudd day to ee, zurr. You'm be a-taken us'n's back to Redwall?"

Vallug shouldered his bow and gave Durby a long stare. "Oh aye, we're takin' yer back to Redwall right enough!"

He bundled them both into the sack.

Mhera was beating her way through a fern bed with a willow withe, calling out the lost babes' names. "Feegle, Durby, answer if you can hear me. It's me, Mhera!"

Fwirl came hurtling out of a sycamore, twigs and leaves falling all about as she landed near Mhera, pointing, "Over that way! I've found them. They're in danger!"