Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

Deyna put a paw around the otterfixer's shoulder affectionately. "Thank you, Rukky. I owe you my life!"

She stiffened and shook his paw off. "Don'ta touch me, riverdog! Ah not like bein' touch by anybeast. Go ye to de cave, take back yeer blade an' get from me sight!" Deyna stood up, a hurt expression on his face. The ancient otter rapped his rudder with her stick and cackled. "Heeheehee! But come ye back when ye learns to make der soup better'n Skip. Rukky be pleased ter see ye den!"

Two days and three nights had passed for the watchers on the wall top. By now they had been joined by everybeast except the Friar and his duty cooks. They took turns at night, some watching whilst others slept. Drogg Cellarhog brought a fireholder up to the ramparts and mulled ale with spices in it to keep up their spirits and to ward off the chill of autumn nights and dawns. They sang many songs and recalled lots of old poems and monologues to while away the time. The Dibbuns thought it was a wonderful holiday, even though they were guarded by Sister Alkanet, who had roped them together. "I don't trust these little rogues on high walltops!" She said it until everybeast grew tired of the phrase and the Dibbuns paraded around, linked together, singing impudently.

"Don't trus' us likkle rogues on walltops,

It be sad when a pore ole Dibbun falls,

Fall on yore 'ead an' die, then you start t'cry,

That's wot 'appen to likkle ones on walls!"

They finally gave up when Abbess Mhera threatened them with bath and bed, and Friar Bobb brought them warm mushroom soup to drink.

Fwirl and Broggle sat with Filorn and Boorab. They had drawn the last watch of the third night. Drogg's fireholder was close by, and they sat wrapped in blankets, talking softly. Several times Boorab had volunteered to go down and work in the kitchens. His requests being refused made him rather sulky.

"Pish tush t'the blinkin' kitchens I say, wot. Measly fat little Friar chasin' the tail off a chap: keep your paws out o' this and don't dare touch that, leave those measly flippin' pasties alone, get y'nose out of that pudden. Yah boo to them says I, wot? I say, any of you bounders know when they'll be bringin' a spot of brekkers around? The old turn's gurglin' away like a drain!"

Somewhere a bird twittered, and the first pale milky light showed, reflecting eerily back off the mist. Fwirl wrapped her blanket tightly and scooted nearer the fire. "Isn't it strange being up here in autumn mist?"

Broggle yawned. "Aye, it gives me a floaty feeling when it's thick all around me."

Boorab snorted. "Fiddlededee, laddie buck, y've never been in a real pea souper of a fog. I remember one time I got caught in a fog so bally thick I had t'cut my way out with a knife, wot!"

Nimbalo loomed up like a small blanketed ghost and sat with them. "Huh, that's nothin'. I was in a mountain fog once, they're the worst kind, couldn't see me paw behind me back, or me tail if'n I looked forward. 'Twas so thick I saw a frog walkin' on it!"

A voice spoke from behind Nimbalo. "Mountain fogs are mere wisps compared to a good marsh fog. When I was younger we used to go out looking for marsh fogs, they were so thick and soft. I'd take my needles with me and knit them into blankets for the infirmary!"

The speaker came forward. Wide-eyed with astonishment, the friends sat staring at Sister Alkanet. The stern Infirmary Keeper was smiling. Filorn opened her blanket for Alkanet to share.

"Hahaha. Well done, Sister, you've certainly stopped those two fibbers in their tracks. Blankets for the infirmary, eh? Hahaha!"

Foremole Brull shuffled up, tiny dewdrops forming on her velvety fur. They twinkled in the firelight. "Yurr cumm ee sun. Fog's be a-liften naow."

Within a short space of time it was a soft autumn morning. Warm breezes took faded leaves from the trees, drifting them down to earth. Swallows swirled and soared in patterned flights beneath a clear sky of powdered blue. Gundil took a fallen sycamore seedpod and spun it into the air on its two perfectly shaped wings. Mhera stood between the battlements, watching the woodland fringe and flatlands skirting the path to the south. Blekker stood by her side, leaning on her javelin. Mhera sighed impatiently. "When do you think Deyna will come?"

The big otter squinted her left eye against the sun. "Sorry, Abbess marm, can't say for certain. When ole Rukky Garge said it'd be the time that russet apples fall, she was only sayin' it as a rough guide. Could be another two or three days. Friar's servin' brekkist, marm. Why don't ye go an' eat? I'll keep watch 'ere. Go on, liddle Abbess, y'look tired."

Mhera clenched her paws in frustration. "Oh, if there were only some way to make him come back!" "Ye could try singin' them 'ome!"

Mhera was puzzled by old Hoarg's remark. "What d'you mean, singing them home?"

The old dormouse took a sip of his morning dandelion tea. "It always seemed t'work when I was a liddle 'un. We often stood on the walls and sang to bring travelers safe 'ome."

Blekker and Swash agreed with Hoarg.

"Aye, marm, otters believe in 'ome singin'."

"Skipper said it always works. Try it, Abbess marm. We'll sing the verses if'n you an' yore Redwallers 'elp out on the choruses!"

A smile spread gradually on the young Abbess's face. "What a lovely idea. Listen, you Redwallers, we're all going to join in and help sing my brother home."

Everybeast agreed, with only one exception. Boorab. "I say, bit thick isn't it? I've waited all flippin' night for a bite o' breakfast. Now I've just been served, what've I got to do, eh, wot? Abandon my scoff an' start tra-la-laain' away to some chap who won't even jolly well hear it. Blinkin' liberty if y'ask me, wot, wot wot?"

Mhera tried imitating Sister Alkanet's famous frosty glare. "Sir, you may do as you please. Fill your face by all means, but if you do not join in the singing I will have you barred from the kitchens henceforth. Take note of my decree, Friar Bobb!"

The good Friar nodded vigorously. "Noted, Mother Abbess!"

Boorab cast aside his plate and beaker. "Steady on, chaps, confounded blackmailers ... er, I mean, lovely day for a bit of an old warble, wot. Count me in. You otters there, what're you waitin' for, eh? Sing away, me buckos. Sing!"

Blekker and Swash, together with the other otters Skipper had sent back to the Abbey, lined up. After a bit of throat clearing they went at it lustily.

"When will you return me darlin', are you homeward bound?

See the golden sun a-smilin', warmin' up the ground,

Here I stand an' wait me beauty, though 'tis gettin' late,

Listenin' for the weary paws, a-marchin' to my gate.

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

Are the drums a-beatin' bravely, o'er the lonely moor?

Are ye thinkin' of your mother, standin' at the door?

Do the banners stream out boldly, have the days been long?

Are you marchin' down the road, listenin' for my song?

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!

Is that a dusty cloud arisin', out across the plain?

Is that me bonny rover now, come back to me again?

O Grandma turn the blankets down, an' put the kettle on,

I've sung him home, no more to roam, my only one.

What if the sky goes dark! Well, I'll light for you a lamp!

So I'll see you comin' dear. Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!"

Everybeast enjoyed the song so much, they called for more. Mhera and Broggle picked up the verses as well as the chorus. They stood with the otters, singing out for all they were worth. Behind them, the Dibbuns led a march, backward and forward along the south ramparts, making a great show of shouting tramps aloud at the end of each chorus. Halfway through the third rendition, Nimbalo pulled Boorab out of line. The harvest mouse whispered to the hare, pointing south, to where the woodland jutted out in the distance to connect with the winding path. Mhera watched Nimbalo scramble up onto Boorab's shoulders. He held on to Boorab's ear with one paw, gesturing out with the other, then he started shouting. Filorn saw it too, and had a quick word with Blekker. The otter halted the singing, howling out in her stentorian baritone, "They're on the path! Comin' thisaway! I told ye it'd work!"