Rakkety Tam

31

Gulo the Savage and his twenty-nine vermin arrived at the broad stream too late. Tam and the hares had gone with the Guosim, sailing two hours or more downstream. The wolverine sat down upon the bank, wearied after his ordeal in the pines and the subsequent race to catch up with his foes. He knew his warriors were exhausted, too. Gulo, however, would permit no signs of fatigue—neither his own nor those of his vermin.

Watching the foxes and ermine flopping down, sorely in need of rest, the tyrant scorned them harshly. “Hah, even as a babe I could fight all day an’ run beasts like ye into the ground. Rest, then, drink the waters an’ cool your paws, for ’twill be woe unto the beast who lags behind when we get going!”

He called Eissaye, an ermine tracker, to his side. “Our enemies do not travel without purpose, methinks. Whither would they be bound to on this water?”

Eissaye shrugged. “Who knows, Lord?”

He squeaked with pain as the wolverine’s claw pierced the lobe of his ear. Gulo dragged him forward until they were face-to-face. His voice brooked no argument. “Thou art a tracker an’ a scout. Who would know better than thee? Now use thy brains before I spill them onto this bank, fool! Tell me, where are they bound?”

With his face screwed to one side, Eissaye gasped out an explanation based on what he had learned of the territory thus far. “Unless the watermice have some secret hiding place downstream, ’tis likely they are going north again, Mighty One. If this water does not go straight to the redstone fortress, it must pass by it someplace that is but a short march from the water. That is where they will go, Lord.”

Gulo released him and sat pensively, licking the blood from his claw. “Well said. The Redwall place would be a wise refuge for my brother and his creatures.”

Eissaye was certain that Askor was not with those they were tracking, but he was not prepared to doubt Gulo’s supposition. “Aye, ’twill be as thou sayest, sire.”

Rakkety Tam stood watch at the stern of Log a Log Togey’s big logboat, gazing back upstream. Skipper joined him. “No sign of ’em followin’ yet, mate?”

Tam eyed the point of the bend they had just negotiated. “No, Skip, but ye can rest assured they’ll be on our trail soon enough. But we’ve got an advantage—we’re afloat on a pretty fast current, an’ they don’t have boats. This is the way to travel, eh?”

The otter chieftain nodded. “Aye, Tam, so ’tis. Those vermin’ll have the paws run offa theirselves, tryin’ to follow the bankside. We could do with sailin’ a bit slower, if’n we want to keep ’em on our tails.”

A shout from Togey in the bow interrupted them. “Ho there, back-water, Guosim, tree ahead!”

Tam grinned wryly. “Well, that’ll slow us down if anything does. Let’s go an’ see this tree!”

The other Guosim craft had pulled into the bank shallows. Aboard the big boat, shrews back-watered energetically with their long paddles, fighting the swift current. A massive old willow had collapsed across the stream, blocking it completely. Heeling about until it was broadside on, the big logboat slowed down, coming to rest against the willow trunk with a gentle bump amidships.

The Guosim chieftain turned to Skipper and Tam, sighing irately. “Well, this is a nice liddle mess we’ve run into. I’ll have t’see wot can be done.”

A young shrew called out from the shallows, “Looks like we’ll ’ave to portage the boats, Chief!”

Log a Log Togey eyed him sceptically. “Portage, y’say? Ten tribes o’ badgers couldn’t lift this craft o’ mine to carry it over that ole monster!”

Lancejack Wilderry leaned against the protruding willow trunk. “Well, what the dickens d’you suggest, sah?”

Togey laughed humourlessly. “I dunno, sah. Ye got any bright ideas yoreself?”

Corporal Butty Wopscutt emerged from under the awning where he had been assisting the Guosim cooks. “Bloomin’ great log, ain’t it, chaps? Can’t go under it or bally well over it, wot!”

Togey glared at him. “Is that all the help ye can offer, matey?”

Wopscutt dusted flour from his paws, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, sorry, sah. Were y’lookin’ for suggestions? Well, how’s about the old fulcrum’n’lever, wot?”

The one called Fiveshrew clapped the hare’s back soundly. “That’s it, fulcrum’n’lever! Ye could shift anythin’ that way!”

Shrews like nothing better than a good argument, and the Guosim crew were no exception. One shrewmate after another exchanged comments vociferously.

“Fulcrum’n’lever . . . rubbish! There’s no movin’ that thing!”

“Ah, who asked you? Get me a fulcrum’n’lever an’ I’ll move it!”

“Huh, you an’ whose army? Ye’d never find a lever long enough t’shift that trunk. Don’t talk twoddle!”

“Ahoy, big gob, I’ll twoddle you if’n I comes over there. I’ll tell ye how t’do it!”

“Oh ye will, will ye? Go on then, clever clogs!”

“S’easy, ye use two o’ the smaller logboats. One fer a fulcrum, the other fer a lever. Ain’t that right, Eightshrew?”

“Oh aye, but while yore leverin’ one end, ye’ll have to get the other end movin’, too.”

“Move the other end . . . why’s that?”

“Don’t ye know nothin’, thicktail? So as the log’ll lie straight in the water an’ get washed downstream outta our way. That’s why!”

Soon everybeast was shouting, with clenched paws raised and snouts butted together truculently.

Log a Log Togey broke up the argument, bellowing, “Rifto, get yore boat over ’ere, that’ll be the fulcrum. Streambob, yore craft’ll do as a lever. Use both of yore crews t’do it. The rest of ye, start shovin’ wid paddles agin the root end o’ that trunk. Come on Guosim, get an ole heavie ho goin’!”

The shrews leaped into action as Log a Log murmured to Tam, “See that? That’s the way to solve a problem Guosim fashion—by democratic an’ sensible debate!”

Skipper stifled a chuckle, whispering to the Borderer, “It looked so democratic an’ sensible there fer a moment, I thought they was all goin’ to knock one another out flat!”

As the shrews went about the business of moving the fallen tree, Tam took Skipper and the hares back up the bank to watch out for signs of Gulo and his vermin pursuing them. As they moved cautiously along, using the trees close to the water as cover, Tam shook his ears in vexation. “Listen to those shrewbeasts singin’ their heads off. The vermin are sure t’hear ’em if they’re in the area!”

Skipper took a more philosophical view. “Well, it ain’t as if ole Gulo don’t know we’re up this way, mate. The Guosim are only singin’ to ’elp the job get done.”

Corporal Butty wrinkled his nose. “I say, catchy little tune, ain’t it, wot?”

Tam set his jaw, trying to ignore the heaving song.

“Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!

Bend yore backs, each mother’s son.

Lean down haul! One an’ all!

’Tis the only way the job gets done.

Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!

Do yore best, ’tis all I ask.

Lean down haul! One an’ all!

Git yore paws into this task.

Shove an’ push! Heave an’ ho!

Guosim don’t ye slack about.

Lean down haul! One an’ all!

Bring ’er round an’ drag ’er out!”

Since young Eissaye had the best sight and the sharpest ears of all the vermin, Gulo had despatched him to scout ahead. The wolverine was still weary, but reluctant to give up and rest. In high bad temper, he followed up the rear of his command as a threat to any who would dare to stop or drop out.

After a long and arduous march along the streambank, squelching through mud and sliding over wet rocks, Eissaye came hurrying back to report, “Lord, I heard singing ahead!”

Gulo called his band to a halt. One look from him warned them to be silent. He strode several paces ahead of where the rest stood, bringing Eissaye along with him. “Singing . . . where? I hear no singing.”

Eissaye could hear it, but he knew better than to contradict the wolverine. Cupping a paw around one ear, Gulo continued his interrogation. “No, I cannot hear it! What was the singing about?”

All the ermine could do was to explain and suffer the consequences. “Mighty One, I could not hear the words, but my ears are keen. I heard the sound of singing.”

His answer did little to improve Gulo’s mood. The wolverine’s paws shot out, buffeting Eissaye so heavily about both his ears that the force knocked him down.

Gulo stood over him, snarling, “Now I’ll wager thy ears are singing aloud. Idiot, we are wasting time here. Get up and fetch the others!”

Moving the willow trunk by fulcrum and lever was not as easy as the shrews had figured. The mere size of the huge, ancient tree was a daunting sight. Long, thick limbs, branches, boughs, twigs and foliage covered the fallen giant’s crown. A mass of twisted and tangled roots, some half as thick as the actual trunk, formed the base, protruding in all directions above and below the waters of the broadstream. The Guosim laid one of their logboats sideways at the top of the trunk; the second, lifted clear of the water, was placed across the middle of the first craft amidships, forming a type of seesaw. At the rooted end of the willow, shrews crowded the shallows—some ready to push, whilst others attached ropes at the other side, ready to pull. The principle of the scheme was to move the tree until it floated in the water, parallel to both banks, enabling the entire thing to drift off downstream, clearing the navigable waterway.

But theory and practice were strange bedfellows to the argumentative Guosim. Log a Log Togey stood on the centre of the mighty trunk, roaring orders, whilst his shrews squabbled and disputed furiously.

“Take the strain on those ropes, Guosim! Right, now dip the for’ard bow of the top boat down, underneath the tree. Puddenhead! I said the for’ard end, not the stern!”

“Ahoy, Chief! When we pull on these ropes, we might drag the tree over on top of us!”

“No ye won’t, dulltail. You just pull an’ we’ll push!”

“Huh, that’s easy fer yew t’say, rumblegut. Yore over on the safe side!”

Togey did a dance of rage. “Shuddup, all of ye! Ready, now all at once. Puuuuush! . . . Shoooove!”

Within moments, the crossfire of shrew comments began anew.

“Waaaah! The bottom boat’s sinkin’!”

“Well, geroutofit mothbrain! Yore not s’posed t’be in it!”

“Whoa . . . ’elp! I’m swingin’ in the air, hangin’ on to the stern of this boat ’ere!”

Togey ran up and down the trunk like a madbeast. “Ye bottle-nosed beetlebrains! Lend ’im a paw on the stern there! Take the strain on those ropes! Gerroff yore bottoms an’ push that root end. Move! Push! Pull! More of ye down t’the stern, get yore weight onto it! Heeeeeaaaaave!”

Gulo and Eissaye crept forward with the rest of the vermin behind them. The distant squabbling and roaring of orders reached Gulo’s ears.

Just as he halted, preparing to speak, one of the white foxes whispered to him, “Lord, there are the foebeast, yonder! See?”

Gulo drew back behind an elm as he glimpsed the lanky figure of a hare dead ahead, no more than half a stone’s throw. He spotted more hares, a squirrel and an otter, coming slowly along the streambank.

Gesturing in a semi-circular movement towards the woodlands, the wolverine gave murmured orders. “Scouts, eh? We will get around the back of them and cut them off from the watermice and their boats. Follow me quietly if ye want fresh meat!”

Drawing their weapons, the ermine and foxes stole off to the left, following Gulo in a long arc.

Skipper shouldered his lance. Turning away from the upstream bank, he addressed Tam. “No sign o’ the vermin, mate. They must be limpin’ along after their scrap wid those black birds.”

Tam put up his sword. “Aye, let’s get back to the Guosim. Mayhaps we can lend ’em a paw to shift that tree.”

As the company turned, an arrow whipped out, catching Skipper through the side.

Corporal Wopscutt, who had been bringing up the rear, yelled, “Ambush! It’s the vermin!”

Two hares went down, felled by arrows and a spear. Then Gulo dashed out at the head of his vermin, roaring, “Gulo! Gulo! Killkillkill!”

Completely taken by surprise, Tam called to the Patrol hares, “Into the water! Get downstream!”

Arrows, axes and spears pelted at them. Tam grabbed Skipper, hauling him into the water and thrusting him out into the current. “Get back to the Guosim, quick!”

Rushing back ashore, he drew the sword of Martin. After striking down a fox that was about to spear Lancejack Wilderry, Tam hurled himself at the advancing vermin, still yelling for the hares to get in the stream, where they would stand a chance of being saved by the swift current. Five hares were down, but the rest broke free, retreating into the broadstream.

Corporal Butty Wopscutt was harassed to the front and left by vermin. Tam had run no more than a few paces in the direction of his beleaguered comrade before he was stopped in his tracks by Gulo the Savage, who suddenly bounded out at him. The border warrior slashed out blindly with his sword. Gulo screeched as the blade lopped off his right ear. Blood was flowing freely from the wound as the wolverine clapped a paw to it. Tam ran by him, finally reaching the besieged Butty, who was gallantly holding off the main charge with his long rapier.

Together the two warriors fought, side by side, their backs to the stream, stifling the advancment of the vermin. Though vastly outnumbered, Tam and Butty, each with his blade slashing like a windmill in a gale, fought so furiously that their foe could not overcome them.

Gulo was screaming in the background, urging his vermin on. “Kill! Kill! Charge and bring them down!”

Ashen-faced and tight-jawed, Butty muttered to Tam as they battled on, “Into the water, friend. Save yourself.”

Tam’s blade thrust at a leering face. “Not while you’re by my side, mate. We go in together!”

The hare caught Tam’s eye as he repelled an axe swing. “We’d be slain in the shallows! There’s too many of the scum. I order you, go now, sirrah!”

Tam feinted a spearthrust. “Not without you, Corporal!”

Butty almost doubled up but recovered himself. “Gulo got me in the back with his fangs an’ claws. You must go before he gets you. Go, Tam, I’m already a deadbeast!”

The border warrior chanced a quick glimpse over his friend’s shoulder. He gasped in horror at the long, ripping wounds, Butty’s blood now mingling with the water in the shallows. “Matey, come with me. We’ll make it together!”

Butty shook his head resolutely. “No, sah, my string’s run out. I’ve only got moments. Go while I still have strength to cover your back, friend. If y’get a chance another day, then slay Gulo for me, wot!”

Without waiting for an answer, the hare charged straight at the press of vermin, roaring out his last war cry, “Eulaliiiiiaaaaaaa!”

Tam turned and dived into the current. He was caught in the downstream swirl and whipped away. Water filled his mouth and nostrils as he vowed silently to fulfill the task the hare had put on him.

Fortunately, Rakkety Tam was out of sight before his friend was slain. He had not died easily. Pierced by a forest of weaponry, the gallant hare broke his rapier blade in two and flung it at the enemy. He had no time for another war cry, because his teeth were set in the throat of a screaming ermine. Thus died Corporal Butty Wopscutt of the Long Patrol, a fighter to the bitter end.

Log a Log Togey and his shrews finally moved the fallen tree, but not as planned. Several Guosim were lost, crushed beneath the heavy, rooted base as it shifted back on them. The tree did not move free in one go: first the top half budged under the pressure of fulcrum and leverage, but the base end remained put. Then, aided by the current, the willow swept side on over the water in a single mighty rush. Instead of landing midstream, the tree had positioned against the far bank, rolling backward through the shallows and killing the shrews who had been pushing at the rooted end. The haulers had been forced to wade for their lives without benefit of the ropes, which had been swept underwater but now lay tangled beneath the trunk. The waterway, however, had been cleared. Under Togey’s frantic orders, the crew righted the longboats and brought them into the bank.

Before they even had time to recover the bodies of their dead comrades, Skipper came wallowing downstream, gasping, “Lend us a paw, mates, an’ make ready t’sail!”

Once the otter had been pulled out of the water by the long Guosim rowing poles, it was clear that, somehow, he had been injured. Log a Log Togey enquired, as he slapped bankmud on the wound to the otter chieftain’s side, “Wot ’appened, Skip?”

The otter spat out a jet of water. “Ambushed by the vermin. No time fer chitchat, mate, ’ere come the others. Pull ’er out an’ git under way. Y’best put a move on, Togey. Gulo an’ the vermin are on our tails!”

Groups of Long Patrol hares were hauled from the racing current onto the logboats. The bloodcurdling yells of Gulo’s band could be heard drawing closer as the hares were pulled aboard and the small flotilla of logboats shot out into midstream.

Skipper grabbed a shrew. “It’s Tam! See, there he is. Pass ’im an oar, quick!”

Exhausted, the warrior squirrel was trying to keep his head above the surface as he was rushed downstream. Behind him, vermin were running along the bank, shooting arrows at him. Tam had never let go of Martin’s sword since the start of the ambush. He saw the thick ash paddle splash into the stream ahead of him. With his last ounce of strength, he swung the blade, bedding it in the paddle and hanging on tight to the sword with both paws. The Guosim crew heaved him aboard just in time.

The banks had become rocky, rising higher, funnelling the already fast water into a roaring, boiling tunnel. Gulo’s archers vanished from view as the boats swept away on the wild torrent. Everybeast threw themselves flat to the decks of the logboats, which were well out of control as they hurtled through a chain of rapids. High, white-crested masses of water shot by madly as the logboats bumped against one another and scraped over protruding rocks.

The returning archers found Gulo the Savage sitting on the fallen willow at the bankside, slapping pawfuls of bankmud on his severed earstump to stem the bleeding.

Eissaye pointed with his bow. “Mighty One, they escaped downstream. The flow was too fast, and the banks high with rock. We could not keep up with the speed of their craft, Lord.”

Gulo was off the trunk with a bound and onto the bank. “My brother Askor, and the Walking Stone—did ye sight them?”

Eissaye wisely backed out of range. “Nay, sire. . . .”

Gulo, his eyes gleaming madly, seemed to ignore the scout. “Hah, hiding in the boats, that’s where they’ll be! But never fear, I’ll get them. You there, and you . . . all of ye! We have our own craft, use your spears. Roll this tree into the water! We will travel as fast as they do. I will have them before they reach the Redwall place. Cut those ropes ’an make haste!”

Eissaye wanted to tell Gulo about the rapids, but he held his silence. There was no talking to the wolverine in his present mood.

Within moments, the huge willow trunk was crashing downstream with the vermin clinging to it for their lives. Oblivious to the blood that streamed from his wounded ear, Gulo stood upright, filled with exhilaration at his first taste of riding rough waters. An insane light shone in Gulo the Savage’s glittering eyes. He kicked at the nearest vermin, shouting at them above the thundering current, “Paddle! Use thy spears an’ paddle! Fast! Fast!”