Brian Jacques - Redwall #15 - The Taggerung

"Oh the saddest sight on earth,

I'll tell you for what it's worth,

Is the sight of a chap with an empty turn,

Laid low in the grass without a chum,

A jolly pal, who'd stay close by,

An' feed a poor fellow some apple pie,

Or perchance a slice of onion pastie ..."

He stopped and gazed up at the faces of Skipper's crew surrounding him. "I say, what rhymes with pastie?"

Broggle offered a suggestion without thinking. "Fastie?"

The hare looked thoughtful. "D'you think so? Let's give it a try. Or perchance a slice of onion pastie, with which to break my morning fastie... hmm. Many thanks, old scout, but it'll need a bit of workin' on, wot!"

Two of the ottercrew lifted the instrument from the hare. Skipper grabbed him and pulled him upright. "Tell me, how long've ye been in these woods? Have ye seen anythin' of a growed otter an' a newborn otterbabe? Or did ye cross the path of any vermin lurkin' 'ereabouts? Speak up!"

The hare blinked and flopped his long ears to either side. "Bit of a tall order, old lad, but here goes, wot! I'm merely a wayfarin' traveler, passin' through, y'might say. As for otters, big or small, haven't spotted any, aside from your goodself. Not a sign of a vermin either, lurkin' or disportin' their scummy hides t'me view. Sorry I can't help you, sah!"

Skipper eyed the odd creature up and down. "I think you'd best tell us yore name, matey, and what yore doin' 'round here."

Before he could stop him, the hare had seized Skipper's paw and was shaking it heartily. "Matey? Do I detect a nautical twang, sah? Well, me name ain't matey. Boorab the Fool at y'service, bound to take up an exalted position as Master of Music, Occasional Entertainer, Composer, Melodic Tutor and Instructor in all things lyrical. Without payment, of course. My services are rendered purely out of the kindness of my heart, y'know. The only remuneration I require is vittles. Food, sah. Grub, tucker, scoff, call it what y'will, as long as they're not stingy with the portions, eh, wot wot! By the bye, do any of you chaps know the way to an establishment known as Redwall Abbey?"

Skipper broke the furious paw-shaking grip of Boorab. "Yore goin' to Redwall Abbey?" He turned to Brother Hoben, who had volunteered for the search. "D'you know any thin' about this, Brother?"

Hoben, being Recorder, had his paw on all Abbey business. He shook his head in bewilderment. "First I've heard of it. Tell me, Mr. Boorab, who appointed you?"

Boorab waggled his ears nonchalantly. "Nobeast really. One hears these things, y'know. Did you treat a goose with a bashed-up wing pinion last summer, perchance?"

Hoben recalled the incident. "We did! He spent quite a bit of time with us until Sister Alkanet got him flying again. Why do you want to know?"

Boorab relieved Drogg Spearback of a candied chestnut he had taken from his apron pocket, and chewed on it reflectively. "That was the very chap. Big white feathery cove, honked a lot. It was him who told me that your jolly old Abbey hasn't got a hare, or a music master in residence there. So I thought I'd nip down an' fill the post, wot. Hope no other bally hare's beaten me to the blinkin' job. Got to keep the old eye out for cads an' rotters an' job pinchers these days, y'know, wot!"

Drogg drew Skipper to one side. "I thinks we'd best take 'im t'the Abbey," he murmured. "Cregga will decide what to do with 'im. What d'ye say, Skip?"

The brawny otter smiled as he shot a glance at the quaint beast. "Hmm. Hares are good mates, 'cept when yore sittin' next to one at dinner. I think we'll 'ave to take Boorab back with us, Drogg. Supposin' 'e fell over again. With that thing lyin' atop of 'im the pore creature might never get up. I couldn't 'ave that on me mind an' sleep easy. Makes y'feel responsible for 'im, don't he?"

Drogg turned back to Boorab and gave him the good news. The hare was delighted, but he changed mood swiftly. Facing the ottercrew, he puffed out his narrow chest and acted as though he were challenging them.

"Right, laddie bucks, any of you think you're stronger than me?"

Otters are fiercely proud of their agility and strength. Two hefty young ones sprang forward, a male and a female, and spoke together as one. "I am!"

Boorab clapped them on their backs. "Splendid. Two towerin' figures of otter muscle, wot! I'll wager you could lift that instrument with me jolly well sittin' atop of it, right?"

It was the otters' turn to swell their chests and flex their muscles. They chorused in agreement. "Right!"

Skipper knew what was coming, and he chuckled as Boorab answered, "Good, then I won't sit on the instrument. You two carry it an' I'll walk. I'm not lazy, y'know!"

Skipper walked alongside Boorab. He was developing a liking for the comical hare. "Boorab the Fool, eh? You ain't such a fool, matey, I can tell. That's the queerest ole instrument I've ever clapped eyes on. What d'ye call it?"

Boorab stumbled slightly, and gathered up his flapping robes. "That, sah, is a haredee gurdee. Made it m'self. Mandolin, drums, fiddle, flutes, bugles an' harp, all in one. With a space in the mandolin bowl to carry one's vittles. Empty now, as ill luck an' a healthy appetite would have it."

Broggle trundled along between Skipper and Boorab, carrying the big otter javelin. Boorab cast an eye over the fat little squirrel. "Ah, my friend the rhymester. What do they call you, young sir?"

"B-Broggle, M-Mr. Boorab s-sir!"

Boorab glanced across at Skipper. "How long has the little chap had that stammer, wot?"

Skipper shrugged. "Long as I've knowed 'im."

Boorab turned back to Broggle. "Say ah!"

"Ah!"

"Now longer. Say aaaaaahhh!"

"Aaaaaaahhhhhh!"

"Excellent. Now sing out like this." The hare composed a small tune on the spot. "My name is Broggle, Mr. Boorab saaaaah!"

Skipper nodded at the young squirrel to do as he was bidden.

Broggle took a deep breath and sang forth. "My name is Broggle, Mr. Boorab saaaaaaaah!"

The hare smiled. "Very good. Did y'notice anything, Broggle?"

"N-no, s-sir?"

Boorab chucked him lightly under the chin. "You never stammered once when y'had to sing."

An expression of awe and delight framed the young squirrel's face. "I d-didn't, s-sir?"

"No, of course y'didn't, laddie buck. Try singin' instead of talkin'. It'll help, you'll see, wot!"

Suddenly Broggle brandished the javelin and sang out in a clear little voice.

"I didn't stammer once when I had to sing,

So now I'm going to sing everything!"

Boorab winked at Skipper. "Told you that chap was a good rhymester. We'll soon get rid of that stammer, wot wot!"

Skipper grinned from ear to ear. "I think ole Cregga Badgermum's goin' to like you, matey."

Broggle skipped ahead, waving the javelin and singing lustily.

"I work in Redwall kitchens, with old Friar Bobb,

'Cos I'm the cook's assistant, that's my job!"

The hare raised his eyebrows. "Assistant cook, wot? A tine chap t'know, I'd say. I think I'll give the little grubslinger his singin' lessons in the kitchen. Marvelous places, kitchens. Full of food, y'know."

Cregga was in the kitchens with Mhera, Filorn and Friar Bobb, beginning to work on a menu for the feast. Filorn realized that the others were trying to cheer her up, and to please them she joined in with the proceedings, her enthusiasm rising every time Mhera smiled at her.

"Oh, Mama, say you'll bake your apple and raspberry flan, with meadowcream and the pattern of mint leaves on top. Oh, please, we haven't had it for ages!"

Filorn fussed with her apron ties. "I'm not sure I can remember how to do it. The apples are very important. But it's the wrong season for apples, is it not, Friar?"

The fat Friar chuckled. "Not at all, marm. What sort o' Friar would I be if'n I didn't keep a good stock of last autumn's russet apples in my larders? Nothin' like a nice russet!"