Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

"There's the rest of your mysteries. All the ITTAGALLs old Hoarg and I didn't have time to hide around the Abbey. You can read all about them in the book, but leave that until the morrow. We're right in the middle of a celebration; I can't have ottermaids weeping and riddles unraveling." Cregga raised her voice so everybeast could hear. "Your new Abbess Mhera is going to make an announcement."

In the silence that followed, Trey the mousebabe piped up. "I 'ope it not that alla Dibbun get anuvver wash!"

Mhera burst out laughing at the cheeky infant. "Hahahaha! No it's not. As Abbess of Redwall Abbey I request that you all carry on feasting and have a wonderful time!"

Cregga waited until the roars of approval had died down. "Attention please, friends. I have only a little more to say before I retire and leave Mother Abbess Mhera to watch over Redwall. I would like to confirm that Boorab's probation is now over, and he is a fully fledged Master of Abbey Music."

With his mouth still full of plum pudding and cider, the hare leaped up and went sprawling. He bolted upright and saluted. "Thank you, marm. I wish to say . .."

Drogg Cellarhog blinked and wiped a paw across his face. "Don't you mean you wish to spray? Finish eatin' first!"

Boorab swallowed hastily and looked regally down his nose at Drogg. "Mind y'manners, old chap, wot! Er, where was I? Oh yes. Blinkin' long probation, but thank you, marm, and you too, Mother Abbess. I say, flippin' ottermaid young enough t'be one's daughter an' one's got to call her Mother. Bit thick, wot! Ahem, in honor of the jolly old occasion, marm, I shall play my haredee gurdee and sing for you. Now what is your pleasure? A ballad, a dirge, a song of unrequited love, wot?"

Cregga lay back and smiled fondly. "Nothing mournful or sad, if you please. Play me ... a rousing old marching song, so I can . . . remember the good old days when I ruled the hares of the Long Patrol at Salamandastron. A special. . . favorite of mine was 'The Battle of the Boiling Water.' Do you ... know it, Boorab?"

The hare was already making complicated adjustments to his cumbersome instrument. He chuckled confidently. "Know it, marm? I learned it sittin' on my old grandpa's lap. You remember him, of course, old Pieface Baggscut, the most perilous an' greedy hare in the regiment. 'Twas his favorite song, too. Ah, those were the long sunny days, marm"

Foremole Brull twitched the hare's bobbed tail. "Stop ee jawin' an' sing yurr song, zurr!"

Boorab twiddled the strings, struck a small drum and wound a handle. Three ladybirds flew out of the instrument in a cloud of dust. He launched lustily into the song.

"Well I have to sing of a day in spring,

When I kissed me wife an' daughter,

Then marched away to join the fray,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water.

With a tear in me eye and an apple pie,

I roared the jolly chorus,

As the drums did roll for the Long Patrol,

We conquered all before us!

There was Colonel Stiff an' Sergeant Biff,

Who had a wooden leg sah,

And in the lead, oh yes indeed,

Stood Lady Rose Eyes Cregga,

There was Corporal Black the big lancejack,

An' meself a half ear shorter,

An' a small fat cook with a dirty look,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water!"

As the drums on the haredee gurdee boomed out and Redwallers pounded the tabletops to the jolly marching air, Cregga went back in her mind. She was young and strong, her sight was perfect, and she was striding the dusty flatlands at the head of a thousand young marching hares, carrying her enormous axepike. No day was too long then, no march too tiresome. Like smoke, a dust column rose in a plume in their wake on that high far-off day, long long ago. She hummed the jaunty tune, reveling in the summer heat, glad to be alive and so full of strength. Smiling and nodding to her trusty officers, every one dashing and perilous, the sight of their faces delighting her. Sight. What a glorious gift it was. Blue skies, the sun, like a golden eye, watching over white mountaintops, green valleys, clear meandering streams. The misty figure of Boorab's grandsire appeared before her on the march and threw her a gallant salute with his saber blade.

"All present an' correct, marm. Where to now?"

Cregga heard herself saying, "Into the setting sun, over the hills and far away."

Boorab's voice, and the music of the haredee gurdee, faded slowly as she marched off into the sunny afternoon long gone.

"So we ate our scoff an' the war kicked off,

'Twas a day of fearsome slaughter,

An' a skinny rat shot off me hat,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water.

Then the good old sarge just yelled out 'Charge!'

Ten thousand vermin scattered,

While the puddens flew 'til the air turned blue,

All steamed an' fried an' battered!

Well, I knocked the socks off a fluffy fox,

An' walloped a weasel wildly,

I snaffled the coat off a snifflin' stoat,

An' flattened a ferret finely.

We whacked an' thumped an' kicked an' jumped,

We showed the foe no quarter.

'Til they ran away an' we won the day,

At the Battle of the Boiling Water!"

Mhera was holding the Badgermum's paw, and felt her slip away at the end of the second verse. The ottermaid sat at her friend's side, still holding her limp paw and staring at her smiling face. Cregga looked so peaceful and happy. Boorab finished his song, bowing and posing outrageously as the haredee gurdee groaned and wheezed to a halt amid the cheering and stamping of applauding Redwallers. Sister Alkanet saw Mhera sitting dry-eyed at the badger's side, looking into her still face. Sensing something was wrong, the Sister hastened over, followed by Filorn, who nodded to Boorab, indicating he should sing the song again as an encore. Nobeast noticed, amid the gaiety, what was going on at the bed beneath Martin the Warrior's tapestry.

Alkanet leaned close to Mhera and whispered, "What is it? Has Cregga Badgermum fallen asleep?"

Mhera touched the sightless eyes, closing them for the last time. "Aye, Sister. Our Badgermum has finally gone to rest forever."

A tear brimmed from Alkanet's eye. Mhera wiped it away. "Not now, Sister, we'll weep later. Don't let them know Cregga is gone. Carry on with the feast in her honor; that's what she would have wanted. Chin up now, be brave!"

Sister Alkanet turned to Filorn, and there was awe in her voice. "Truly your daughter is the Mother Abbess of Redwall!"

Chapter 33

Soft autumn mists swathed the dunes, awaiting their banishment under a blossoming sun. Gruven sat atop one of the sparsely grassed dunetops, listening to waves breaking upon the shores below him. He had spent more than a score of days tracking betwixt dawn and nightfall. The trail was becoming distinctly easier to follow as he traveled south. For some reason, unknown to him, the Juskazann had moved location. He had arrived at the original camp only to find the site abandoned. The clan had traveled south, skirting the tideline and dunelands.

Gruven picked the last crumbs of a pasty from his chair, gulped the final dregs of cordial from a flask and hurled it away into the mist. His supplies were exhausted for the moment, but he could always find more. Several mornings ago he had sighted wisps of woodsmoke. A family of mice had dug their cave into the side of a wind-sculpted sandhill, and were sitting in the entrance cooking breakfast. Gruven sneaked up to the hilltop overhanging their home. His callous method of murder was simple: he collapsed the sandhill on them by jumping up and down on the overhang. After taking a few hours' nap, he had dug out all the food supply that was not spoilt, leaving the occupants smothered beneath the stifling avalanche of sand that had snuffed out their lives.