Brian Jacques - Redwall #01 - Lord Brocktree

Jukka the Sling raised her eyebrows at the old hare. "Methinks Bigbones has a fine opinion of himself, an' that's the hare thou art going up against. Well, good luck to thee. Yon fellow must have the might to back up his challenge."

Mirklewort poked a grimy paw at Fleetscut. "Hah, so y'are goin' to take up the challenge, eh! Don't yer think yore a bit long in tooth an' seasons?"

Fleetscut patted the top of his grey head and then his chest. "Marm, there may be winter on the mountain, but there's spring at its heart. I must accept the challenge if I'm to raise an army to take Salamandastron, for we need this Buckowotsit and his followers on our side. So I'll search old Bigchops out an' throw down the bally gauntlet, wot!"

Drucco raised his dripping spikes from the pudding bowl. "Aye, me, too. I'll take a wiffle at it!"

"But you can't, sah," Fleetscut objected. "You're a blinkin' baron of hogs. How can y'be a king of hares, wot?"

Drucco shrugged and collared another bowlful from a smaller rabblehog. "Huh, 'ares or 'ogs, all the same t'me. I knows 'ow t'be boss an' put me paw down firm. 'Ard but fair, that's me!" He emphasized the point by draining the tankard belonging to the hedgehog on his left, rubbing his stomach and belching aloud. "Ah, that's betterer! Wot d'yer say we join forces an' seek this King Bucko out together, eh? We ain't got a clue where t'find 'im. Wot about you, cully?"

Without consulting Jukka, Fleetscut drew out the poem he was carrying. "Right y'are, baron, we'll go together. Safety in numbers, wot. Listen t'these directions. 'Discover then a streamwolf's ford, rug thrice upon the royal cord, then my honor guard will bring, loyal subjects to their king!' Does that make any sense to you, old chap?"

Drucco scratched his stubby headspikes reflectively. "Aye, it's poetry, ain't it? All those funny words put t'gether like a song, but y'speak 'em, 'stead o' singin'. That's the answer, it's poetry!"

He sat back, looking quite pleased with himself, until his wiry little wife gave him a shove, which sent him sprawling on his backspikes.

"Pay no 'eed t'that nincompoke," Mirklewort snorted. "A stone's got more brains than 'im. I think I might know where 'tis. 'Round 'ere they calls all the pikefishes stream-wolf. Two of our scouts found a place coupla days back. A shallow crossin' just afore the stream breaks inter the river. That's a ford, ain't it?"

Jukka picked up her short spear. "Canst thou take us there, hogwife?"

Ignoring her husband's struggles to get up off his back, Mirklewort bawled at the rabblehogs, "Belaaaay! Break camp, 'ogs. Barleyburr, Shunko, take us t'that place you scouted out, if'n yer can unmember where it was. Stir yer spikes or we'll leave yer behind, Drucco!"

The combined forces cut into a winding path, which took them into what seemed a dim maze of thick ancient trees. Apart from the odd sunshaft breaking through the foliage, it was silent, still and clothed in a soft green radiance. Jukka and Fleetscut marched together at the rear. The squirrel was highly displeased with the old hare's tactics and told him so in no uncertain manner.

'"Twould have been fitting had thou asked me about joining my tribe up with these spiked, ill-mannered vagabonds. Rabble they be named and rabble they areI like them not. An' who gave thee authority to decide whither we go, eh? Thou art no better than them, long-ears, treating us in such fashion, after we came all this way with thee!"

Fleetscut's dislike of Jukka still persisted. Moreover, he was feeling better now, full of crumble and ready for an argument.

"Well pish tush, me old bushtail, y'know what we always say at Salamandastron? If you don't like it, then y'can jolly well lump it. So there! Come all this way with me, indeed! I never asked you to, marm. You an' your squirrels can go sling your hooks, wot! Aye, go on, back t'your safe little pine grove. Though it'll probably be swarmin' with all kinds o' bottle-nosed blue-bottomed vermin by now. Huh, I could say I wish you good luck, but I blinkin' well don't!"

The squirrel leader bared her teeth viciously. "I don't need thy good-luck wishes, old 'un. Ye branded me cowardI'll show ye I'm not, nor my warriors. We're with thee to the last step o' this journey, end where it may!"

Fleetscut curled his lip in contempt. "Oh aye, you're with me all the way. For vengeance, no! For honor, hah, what would you know about honor? Jukka the famous Sling. Tchah! To see what weapons an' plunder y'can get your paws on, that's why you're with me, lady. An' you call these hedgehogs ill-mannered vagabonds? Let me tell you, treewalloper, you're no better'n them. Matter o' fact, they're more honest about it than you, wot!"

Glaring and snorting at one another, the two continued without further words.

Chapter 16

Lord Stonepaw had been watching the passage outside the cavern for sight or sound of foebeasts. Both he and Stiffener were taking turns on sentry, but there had been little to report in the last several hours. The Badger Lord arrived back in the cavern to find his hares grouped around old Bramwil, urging him to recall something.

"C'mon, old chap, you say it's called Littlebob Hare, eh?"

"Now think carefully, how did it go?"

Bramwil was very old and confused. He looked pleadingly at the faces around him. "Eh, wot, surely y'can recall it yourselves?"

This announcement was followed by snorts of impatience.

"Twas before our time. Nurse Willoway was long gone then!"

Stonepaw joined them. Placing a paw around Bramwil's skinny old shoulders, he silenced the rest. "Calm down now, friends. What's going on here?"

"Bramwil thinks he knows a way out, sah!"

"But the old buffer's gone an' forgotten the bally thing!"

Stonepaw raised his eyebrows reprovingly at the speaker. "A hare can forget lots of things when he reaches the winter seasons, you should know that. Look at us we're no bunch of spring chicks anymore. I'm older than you all. Don't pick on Bramwil. He can't help it, can you, old lad?"

Bramwil pounded a feeble paw against his grey head, ""lis in there, sire, the old skiprope rhyme that Nurse Willoway used to teach young leverets. But alas, it was so long ago I can't remember it. Though I'm sure it was called Littlebob Hare, or somethin' like that... hmmm!"

Stonepaw scratched his stripes pensively. "I was here in Nurse Willoway's time. She was a stern creature. I'll never forget those herbal tonics and physics Willoway brewed up for the young 'uns. What a smell! Glad I never had to take 'em. Wait! Littlebob Hare? I recall that'twas the one little haremaids used to chant when I swung the rope for them to skip. I'll tell you what, old friend. You and I will sit down someplace quiet together with a bite of cheese and some ale. We'll work it out together, and Blench can write it down as we remember it. Right, Stiffener, your turn for sentry go. Blench, get some charcoal from the fire and a flat piece of stone; the rest of you, take a nap and stay clear of Bramwil and me!"

Torleep put his ear to the barred oak door of the cell where he and the other captives had been locked. He listened carefully, trying to distinguish the voices he could hear coming from somewhere beyond, but he was distracted by a fat, hungry old hare behind him called Woebee, bewailing the fact that she was short of food, as someor mosthares will. Torleep tried ignoring her, an impossible feat.

"Bit of a frost that was, Sailears old gel. If you an' Torleep hadn't cheeked the Trunn beast we might've had a morsel between us to keep fur'n'ears together. My word, I can't ever recall starvin' like this. I'm gettin' pains in me tummy. What time is it? Just past noon, wot. I'd normally be sittin' down to me post-luncheon snack now. Rosepetal an' maple wafers, scones with strawberry preserve an' meadowcream, with a nice pot o' mint an' comfrey tea. Now we haven't got a crust or a confounded swig o' water 'twixt the lot of us. How long'll we have t'put up with this state of affairs? Starvin's no fun!"