Rakkety Tam

21

Despite the last-moment rush, the buffet lunch went off smoothly. Glisum’s prediction proved correct, with everybeast seating themselves on the broad, sun-warmed steps which fronted the Abbey building’s main door.

Foremole Bruffy remarked to Humble as they shared a pastie, “Stan’ on moi tunnel, zurr. H’oi never see’d owt loiken it in moi loife. They’m hurrs bee’s gurt vikklers!”

The Abbot watched Corporal Wopscutt wolfing his way through a mound of salad and swigging pale cider furiously. “Indeed, they don’t seem to stint themselves at mealtimes. ‘Perilous scoffing,’ I’ve heard them call it. I remember, in old Friar Furdle’s time, he used to say, ‘I’d sooner feed a hare half a day than a full season.’ Furdle certainly had a point there.”

Tam and Doogy brought their laden platters from the table and sat beside Armel and Brooky. The border warrior dipped a grilled chestnut in melted cheese and bit into it. “No wonder you like Abbey life, Armel. This lunch is superb!”

The Infirmary Sister sipped at her beaker of plum cordial. “I’m glad you like it. What’s the matter with your friend up there, doesn’t he like company?”

Tergen was perched on a dormitory windowsill, making inroads to a sizable slice of pear flan.

Doogy nodded in the goshawk’s direction. “Och, he cannae get away from the wee ones. As soon as yore Dibbuns found out he wasnae goin’ tae eat them, they all wanted tae play wi’ him.”

Tam took up the matter of the goshawk with Armel. “I don’t know how Tergen got up there, he has an injured wing. See, the one that flaps down by his side? He was wounded by a vermin arrow. I was wonderin’, Armel, with your knowledge of herbs an’ healin’, could you do anything for him? ’Tis a sad thing to see a bird like that hobblin’ about, unable to fly.”

The pretty Sister readily agreed. “Indeed it is. Bring him up to the Infirmary later, I’ll see what I can do. You do travel in some odd company, Tam—a wounded hawk and a thief! By the way, I haven’t seen Yoofus about. Where d’you suppose he’s got to?”

Sitting close by, Brother Gordale could not help overhearing the conversation. He tapped Tam’s shoulder. “Pardon me, but I saw the water vole ye call Yoofus. As soon as lunch was served, he filled himself a platter and went off down to the south wall. Mayhaps he’s a trifle bashful around others.”

Doogy questioned the mouse Gatekeeper. “Was he carryin’ a bundle an’ sword like mine, sir?”

Gordale thought for a moment. “Yes, he was actually. . . .”

The Gatekeeper got no further. Tam and Doogy were off and running down to the south wall.

When Doogy saw the small south wickergate hanging ajar, he stamped his footpaw down. “Ah knew it! The saucy wee robber, he’s made off with yore claymore an’ the flag. Ach, I’ll love tae get mah paws on the thievin’ rascal!”

Tam closed the wickergate and bolted it. “So would I, mate, but he’s long gone now. I’ll find him sooner or later, an’ I’ll mend his thievin’ ways for him. I just hope he doesn’t fall into the clutches of Gulo an’ his vermin first. You wouldn’t wish that on anybeast, not even a thief. Ah well, back to lunch, Mister Plumm.”

The small Highlander shook his head in mock sadness. “Dearie me, ’tis a hard an’ sore life we lead, Tam. Ah wonder what supper’s goin’ tae be like, eh?”

After lunch, Tam and Doogy were called to the gatehouse, where the brigadier, Sergeant Wonwill, Abbot Humble, Ferdimond and Armel awaited them. Sister Armel and Skipper met them at the door.

The otter chieftain nodded briefly to Tam. “Wot’s all this about, matey?”

Tam ushered them inside. “Council o’ war, prob’ly.”

Crumshaw waved his swagger stick at the border warrior. “Well-guessed, MacBurl, that’s exactly what it is. We can’t rest inside Redwall, eatin’ these good creatures out o’ house’n’home, with a hundred of the perishin’ foebeast wanderin’ the woodlands outside. Bad form, wot!”

Humble settled both paws into his wide sleeves. “So, Brigadier, what action do you propose?”

Crumshaw looked at the broad linen sling which was holding his wounded shoulder still. “Not a jolly great lot I can do with this blinkin’ thing hamperin’ me. I was hopin’ for some sensible suggestions.”

Ferdimond De Mayne pawed at his long rapier hilt. “I say we march out tomorrow an’ give the blighters a spot of good old Long Patrol blood’n’vinegar, sah!”

The brigadier was watching Tam closely. “An’ what d’ye say, buckoe?”

Tam had his answer ready. “Well, I’d say we’re pretty evenly matched against the vermin, as regards numbers. But if we march out to find ’em an’ fight ’em, that leaves the Abbey unprotected, so we need a proper plan.”

Wonwill tapped Ferdimond’s ear. “I ’ope yore lissenin’, young blood’n’vinegar, there’s experience talkin’ for ye!”

He winked at Tam. “My ’pologies for h’interruptin’, sah. I could tell ye had a plan.”

Tam outlined his suggestions to the group. “First, we’ve got to split the Patrol, half to stay here an’ defend Redwall. They’ll be commanded by the Brigadier. Doogy an’ I will take the others out to fight the vermin.”

Sister Armel looked alarmed at the suggestion. “But Tam, you’ll be outnumbered two to one, and those vermin are vicious brutes!”

Humble chided her mildly. “Don’t be so hasty, Sister, hear him out first. You were saying, Tam?”

The warrior squirrel continued. “I’m not talking about meeting Gulo an’ his mob head-on in a charge. We’ll use hit an’ run tactics, small, swift raids, pickin’ the enemy off a few at a time. Never stoppin’ in one place for long. We’ll be like hornets, stingin’ the great beast, then disappearin’, always drawin’ them further away from the Abbey.”

Crumshaw rapped the table with his stick. “A capital tactic, sah! Duck an’ jolly well weave, hit ’em where it hurts, then vanish like smoke. That’s the ticket, wot wot!”

Tam outlined his strategy further. “Aye, but I’ll need somebeast who knows the territory like the back of his paw to help us. Skipper?”

The burly otter nodded. “That’s me, mate! When d’we leave for this liddle jaunt?”

Tam pondered for a moment before answering. “I think the best time would be late tonight, while the supper is still bein’ held. We’ll slip out by the east wallgate. One thing, though—the hares will have to leave their regimental tunics behind. Father, d’you think ye could lend ’em somethin’ to wear? Stuff that wouldn’t stand out so brightly in the woodlands?”

Humble rose from his armchair. “I’ll have a word with Foremole Bruffy. He knows about that sort of thing.”

The meeting broke up. Crumshaw and Wonwill stayed behind to go through the roster and decide who would go with Tam and who would stay behind at Redwall. Tam and Doogy helped Armel to entice the goshawk for treatment at the Infirmary.

Tergen expressed reluctance to have his injured wing attended to. “Naaaaar! Wing get better by itself, Burl. Not go to ’fermery. Haf knifes up there, cut this bird’s wing off!”

Armel decided the best tactic was ridicule. “Well, dearie me, you great big Dibbun! Haha, Brigadier Crumshaw had a worse wound than yours, and he got treated without a murmur. I’ve never used a knife to cut anybeast. I’m here to heal, not to injure. Right, Doogy?”

The small Highlander agreed. “Aye, right lassie, but if’n yon auld featherbag is too feared tae be made better, what can ye do, eh?”

Tam winced as the hawk’s powerful talons latched on to his paw. Tergen glared icily at Doogy and Armel. “Yeehok! Take this bird to ’fermery, Burl, wot wot!”

The goshawk proved to be a worthy patient. He perched on a bed end, nibbling candied chestnuts which Armel kept in a big jar for her Dibbun patients.

As the Sister worked on the goshawk’s wing, she explained to Tam the significance of the sword she had given him. “Have you seen the picture of Martin the Warrior on the tapestry in Great Hall?”

Tam passed Armel the bowl of verbena water she had requested. “Aye, he looks like a mighty warrior. No wonder, too, with a sword like this.”

The Sister cast a quick glance at the sword, which had seldom left Tam’s side since he had been in charge of it. Then she proceeded with her account to the warrior squirrel. “It is countless seasons since the days of Martin, but his legend, and that of the great sword, lives on. We learned at Abbey school that the hilt of the sword was the one which originally belonged to Luke, Martin’s father. A Badger Lord named Boar the Fighter made the blade in his forge at Salamandastron. It is said that the metal came from a fallen star. There is no steel keener or stronger than that blade. The sword of Martin the Warrior belongs to Redwall Abbey and must always return here, though at special times an outstanding warrior may be chosen to wield it when danger threatens us. Martin appeared to me in a dream, proclaiming that you were the one he had chosen, Tam.”

Doogy selected a candied chestnut mournfully. “Och, are ye sure yore Martin dinnae mean me, lassie?”

Tam picked up the sword. Swinging it in a flashing arc, he clipped the candied chestnut that his friend was holding neatly in half. He twirled the blade back and forth, watching the sunlight from the window playing along its edges as it cleaved the air.

“Great seasons o’ slaughter, what a weapon! The balance and lightness, the way it fits my paw. I could face any ten vermin armed with this sword!”

Armel rapped Doogy’s paw as he reached for another chestnut. “Mr. Plumm, those are only for injured Dibbuns!”

Tergen cackled as he grabbed another from the jar. “Kraahahaa, an’ wounded birds who be not feared!”

The banquet supper that evening was a splendid affair. Redwallers sat cheek by jowl with Long Patrol hares, chattering and laughing as they did justice to the culinary triumphs of Friar Glisum and some of Burlop’s best cellar produce. The centrepiece was a huge meadowcream trifle garlanded with pink rosebuds of almond icing. Soups, dips and salads took up the border of the table. Behind them came pasties, turnovers, tarts and flans; closer in were the crumbles and cakes. As each course was completed, the dishes were removed and the next course brought forward. Burlop presided over a side trestle which was lined with drinks—from October Ale and pale cider, to cordials and squashes, with mint and fragrant herb teas. Even the ravenous hares were sated after a while, yet there was plenty left, and always new dishes being ferried in by helpers with trolleys.

A variety of entertainment was provided by numerous of the banquet attendees: a mole did some magic tricks; a trio of mousemaids danced an intricate reel, which involved weaving multicoloured ribbons into a plaited circle; then a party of Dibbuns performed a high-kicking jig, their little faces screwed up with concentration as everybeast called out encouragement to them.

During a lull when the tankards and beakers were being refilled, Tam and Doogy obliged with a sword dance from their northern home. They received great applause but had to warn some enthusiastic Dibbuns about attempting to imitate them.

Banging their tankards on the tabletops, the Long Patrol called to Wonwill and Crumshaw.

“I say, sah, how about you an’ the Sarge givin’ us a ballad?”

“Yes, give us that jolly one about Algy an’ Bobbs!”

“Aye, clear the floor there for the Brigadier an’ the Sergeant. Give order please, you chaps!”

Crumshaw and Wonwill got up, much to the delight of the younger hares. They sang an old Salamandastron barrack room ballad, waltzing about paw in paw with a dignified air.

“Old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me,

received the official call,

to attend A.S.A.P.

at the Regimental Ball.

All togged up in our best,

weren’t we a sight to see,

combed an’ brushed an’ polished,

old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!

Honour an’ bow to your partners,

chaps of the Long Patrol.

Whirl’n’curl’n’twirl your tail,

as round the floor we roll.

All the pretty ladies, lookin’ for company,

an’ didn’t we oblige them,

old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!

Refreshments then were served,

an’ Bobbs slipped on a flan.

He bumped the Colonel’s daughter

headfirst into a pan.

Then Algy slung a pudden,

hit the Major’s bride-to-be.

An’ the Sergeant fired a crumble

at Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!

O pass me a trifle smartly,

with a cherry on top for luck.

It smacked the Quartermaster,

he was bowled out for a duck.

Lathered in cream an’ howlin’,

‘Arrest those bloomin’ three.’

We wound up in the guardhouse,

old Algy an’ Bobbs an’ me!”

Finishing with a swirl and a flourish, the brigadier and the sergeant bowed and curtsied to hoots of applause from the rankers.

The banquet continued as Foremole Bruffy signalled to Skipper. “Ee garmunts you’m arsked for bee’s ready in ee kitching, zurr.”

Those who had been picked excused themselves and went to get kitted out. Shortly after, they emerged, clad in simple, short smocks of subdued brown and green. Their blades had been smoke-blackened over a fire by Friar Glisum.

Brigadier Crumshaw looked them over. “Stap me, ye look like a right crew o’ rogues, wot!”

Wonwill saluted. “Beggin’ yore pardon, sah, but they h’aint goin’ out for no dress parade!”

With his good arm, Crumshaw clasped his faithful sergeant’s paw firmly. “Let’s hope they come back safe, wot.”

Tam’s fifty hares took a moment to bid good-bye to their comrades and the friends they had made at Redwall.

“Well, toodle pip, old lad, an’ chin up, wot!”

“Hah, you lucky toads have got the hard job, stoppin’ back here an’ scoffin’ all that super grub, eh?”

“Aye, we’ll be thinkin’ of ye. Give ’em a few biffs for us, will you?”

Kersey, who had been sitting in the background, presented Ferdimond with Dauncey’s sling and pebble bag. “Take this along with you, and watch out for yourself.”

He bowed gallantly. “I’ll be lookin’ out for you when I come back, if I may?”

A faint smile creased Kersey’s lips. “Thank you, Mister De Mayne, that would please me.”

Armel gave Tam a small satchel. “This is a few herbs and dressings in case you’re wounded, Tam.”

He winked at the pretty squirrelmaid. “I’ll use ’em to bandage up Doogy’s mouth if he starts grumbling. Stay safe now, and don’t worry about me.”

The border warrior turned to salute the brigadier. “All present an’ correct, sah. Ready t’move off!”

Crumshaw smiled at Tam. “I knew I could count on ye, MacBurl. Right, forward the buffs, eh wot! True blue an’ never fail, that’s the ticket!”

Skipper tweaked Brooky’s nose lightly. “Behave yoreself now, missy. Don’t ye go whoopin’ an’ laughin’ an’ upsettin’ everybeast while I’m gone.”

The ottermaid hugged her uncle tightly. “Right ho, Skip. I’ll cry in the night an’ keep ’em all awake until you get back.”

Brother Gordale opened the east wickergate, patting each one on the back as they stole off silently into the night-shrouded woodlands. He bolted the door shut, remarking to Sister Screeve, who had accompanied him, “Well, there they go, luck and fortune go with them.”

The Recorder mouse shuddered, drawing her cloak close. “Thank the seasons that Redwall has such brave allies!”