High Rhulain

19

Tiria’s first dawn aboard the Purloined Petunia was heralded by a rude awakening. The ottermaid was sound asleep in the little galley by the bows when the stentorian bellowing of Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw cut through her slumbers like a bucket of cold water being thrown into her face.

“Hahaarr! Belay yore bows’ls an’ begin burnin’ brekkist! Fire up yore galleystove an’ get some vittles underway!”

Pandion stayed at his perch on the masthead, regally ignoring the hare’s nautical tirade, which was directed at Tiria. Cuthbert watched as she staggered out of the galley onto the swaying deck. Then he continued.

“Top o’ the mornin’, shipmate Tillie! The sun’s in the sky, the waves ’neath our keel, an’ a fair wind at our stern. So let me read ye the articles o’ this vessel. Bein’ as I’m cap’n, the navigatin’ an’ steerin’ are my task, an’ there ain’t a bully afloat does it better’n me! Ole Pandion up yon is the lookout an’ fish catcher. Now, cock yore lugs an’ lissen, me briny beauty. Yore the first mate, head cook, bottlewasher, deckscrubber an’ scoffburner!” ’

Tiria felt it appropriate to throw a salute. “Aye aye, Cap’n, what’s your orders?”

Cuthbert scowled. “Orders! Are ye still asleep, Tillie? Yore cap’n craves vittles, so let’s see wot sort o’ grub ye can dish up. Jump to it, me ’earty!”

The ottermaid decided to play along with the eccentric hare and adopted her best seagoing manner. “Aye aye, Cap’n, I’ll whomp you up a prime scoff, sir! But you’ll excuse my asking, Cap’n, I thought we were bound westward, but we’re sailing south. I can still see the coast. Why is that, Cap’n?”

Cuthbert kept the vessel on its southward tack, replying, “Haharr, that’s ’cos we’re hard on course for the mount o’ Salamandastron, Tillie gel. Got t’call in an’ pay me respects to ole Lord Mandoral afore we turn west into the main. Now get those vittles scorchin’ afore I throws ye to the jellyfish!”

The small galley was equipped with a water barrel and a slate oven. Tiria was not familiar with cooking, having been served superbly prepared meals by Abbeycooks all her life. So she set about experimenting, using the heap of stores that the Guosim had loaded aboard. Tiria soon had a fire going with seacoal, wood and charcoal, which she added to the stove embers. First she took carrots, barley, white turnips, lentils, cabbage leaves and dandelion roots and chopped them finely. Then she added sea salt and crushed peppercorns. Finally she tossed the lot into a pan of boiling water and allowed it to simmer. After a while the concoction began to thicken, as Tiria continued stirring away, trying to ignore her ravenous captain’s shouts.

“Tillie, ye plank-ruddered swab, ain’t me vittles ready yet?”

Tiria shouted back, exchanging insults with Cuthbert. “No, they aren’t, you lollop-lugged old tyrant, and they won’t be ready until I say they are, so there!”

She expected the hare to come back at her with some salty threat about being thrown to the sharks, but instead he merely chortled and broke out into a comical ditty.

“Don’t steal your grandpa’s wooden leg an’ run away

to sea,

an’ leave yore family sheddin’ salty tears.

That cap’n only needs ye ’cos his ship ain’t got a sail,

an’ you was born with two big floppy ears.

Yore innocent an’ stupid, so stay home with me, o

child,

’cos if ye takes a voyage with sailors rough,

ye’d soon be usin’ language that’d rot yore grandma’s

frock,

an’ roarin’ out for skilly an’ plum duff!

For a life at sea is hard an’ rather lonely,

especially if you’ve got no hankychief.

With no mother hov’rin’ near to scrub out yore

scruffy ear,

you’ll catch the lurgy an’ you’ll come to grief!

Stay home, stay home, don’t buzz off o’er the foam,

stay home, don’t break yore aged mother’s heart.

You can use yore grandpa’s wooden leg to stir the por-

ridge with,

an’ Grandma’s teeth to crimp the apple tart!”

Tiria could hardly stop giggling long enough to call out that the meal was ready. Cuthbert lashed the tiller on a straight course and dashed down to the galley.

Pandion took a brief leave from his lookout post to flap down and give the food a scornful glance. “Kwaaaark! No fish stew!” He soared out over the waves to catch his own meal.

Tiria filled a bowl for herself, leaving the gluttonous hare with the ladle and the pan. She watched him apprehensively as he guzzled down a great mouthful, then smacked his lips approvingly.

“Haharr, prime scoff, Tillie me darlin’, wot d’ye call this burrgoo?”

Tiria sampled her own bowl. Surprisingly, it was very tasty. “Oh, er, it’s called Nofish stew, sir. And my name is Tiria, so would you kindly stop calling me Tillie?”

Lifting the musselshell patch from his eye, Cuthbert peered closely at her. “Tiria, eh? I don’t know no Tiria. My ole mate Urfa said I was takin’ a gel called Tillie to the Green Isle. I reckon we’d best turn round and head back t’the dunes, so we can look for Tillie. Wot d’ye think?”

The ottermaid sighed resignedly. “I was only joking, Cap’n. My name’s not Tiria, it’s Tillie.”

The hare treated her to a glare of disapproval. “One name should be good enough for anybeast, Tillie. T’ aint a matter to joke about, you mark my words.”

Tiria almost choked on her stew at this observation. The hare had already changed his name twice since they had met and would doubtless adopt other titles before long. She swallowed hard and saluted.

“Aye aye, Cap’n. Tillie’s my name, no more jokes.” Cuthbert licked the ladle clean. “Well said, Tillie. Right, I’m off back to me steerin’. If’n I was you, I’d get down t’makin’ some skilly’n’duff for supper. Us seadogs is very partial to skilly’n’duff.”

Tiria shook her head as she watched him swagger off astern. “Skilly’n’duff, what in the name of goodness is that? They never served skilly’n’duff at Redwall. I wonder how much skill it takes to make duff. Oh well, here goes!”

Over the next few days, Tiria became accustomed to the odd habits of Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw. They got on well together. Pandion, too, though for the most part the osprey kept to his perch or sailed aloft scouring the sea for fish. Tiria gradually realised that she had a natural talent for cooking. Virtually any dish she attempted turned out well, even skilly’n’duff. Cuthbert became exceedingly fond of her cheese and leek bake, followed by a dessert of dried apple and preserved plum tart. The pair also began composing songs together and often could be heard singing out lustily.

On the evening of the fourth day out, Tiria was in her galley, baking a large-sized potato, carrot and mushroom pastie. She was singing alternate verses of a duet they had made up the previous day. Cuthbert warbled out his parts from his position as steersbeast. He had a somewhat wobbly baritone. Pandion did an awkward hob jig on his lookout perch, contributing an odd squawk. It was a raucous pirate song, boasting about what infamous creatures the cook and the captain were, with both joining in on the chorus.

“Ho wreck me rudder, stove me planks,

an’ rust me anchor chain,

salute me twice as you walk by,

or ye’ll never walk again, hahaarr!

I’m Tillie the wild’n’terrible, the fiercest cook afloat,

I was born in a storm one icy morn on a leaky pirate

boat,

I can lick me weight in vermin, so don’t dare mess

with me,

I’m a high-falutin’ plunderin’ lootin’ terror o’ the sea!

Ho rip me riggin, batter me bows,

an’ splinter my mainmast,

when I says move out of me way,

ye’d better move right fast, hahaarr!

I’m Cap’n Cuthbert Bloodpaw, an’ me father was a

whale,

so stay clear of me vittles, or I’ll bite off yore tail,

I cut me teeth on a cutlass, oh I was a savage child,

I’m a hairy scarey go anywherey buckoe bold’n’wild!

So tear me tiller, scrape me stern,

an’ gut me galley twice,

I’ll send ye to the ole seabed,

with y’tail tied in a splice, hahaarr!”

As Tiria and the big hare finished their duet, Pandion was squawking uproariously.

Cuthbert scowled up at the osprey. “That bloomin’ bird ain’t got no sense o’ harmony!”

Tiria watched the fish hawk hopping about on his perch. “Aye, he’s just ruined our last chorus there!”

Pandion swooped down to the deck and flapped his wings. “See, it is the big rock, the big rock!”

Tiria peered ahead down the coast at the dark monolith standing out against the crimson sunset in solitary majesty. She gasped. “So that’s Salamandastron!”