The Long Patrol

by Brian Jacques

  Craklyn raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Taunoc hasn’t seen his babes yet? Where is he?’

  Orocca lifted her talons, allowing the chicks to stumble forward. ‘Poor Taunoc was in a worse tizz than that young squirrel of yours. The moment he heard eggshells cracking he took off in a fluster, muttering about hunting to feed five beaks now. He’ll be back.’

  The Little Owls were mere fuzzballs, with eyes practically larger than their bodies. When they were not dumbling and stumbling to stay upright they were huddling together to keep their balance. Orocca knocked the door open wide with a sweep of her wing.

  Now all the Redwallers could see the three chicks clearly, there were exclamations of delight, particularly from the Dibbuns, whom Skipper and his otters had lifted on to their shoulders so they could get a clear view.

  ‘Burr, can they’m owlyburds coom out t’play with us’n’s?’

  ‘Why don’t they say noffink yet?’

  “Ello, likkle owlyburds, d’you want some brekkfist?’

  Viola Bankvole, keeping a safe distance from Orocca, took charge. ‘A sensible idea, why don’t we all go in to breakfast and leave Orocca to clean up her nest?’

  Viola and Tansy ushered the crowd out, whilst Mother Buscol and Gurrbowl Cellarmole stayed behind to help the owls.

  Skipper of otters whacked his tail down hard upon the tabletop. ‘Stow the gab now, mateys, yore Abbess wants a word!’

  Nodding thanks to Skipper, the Abbess tucked paws into her dressing-gown sleeves and stood to address the Redwallers. ‘Listen carefully now – this won’t take long. Summer’s nearly here, ’tis a beautiful day outside, so here’s my plan. I say we cancel all work and worries until tomorrow, and let today be one of feasting and celebration for the three little lives that have arrived into our Abbey. A triple birthday party out in the orchard!’

  Cheers of joy rang to the rafters of Great Hall.

  Brother Ginko was Redwall’s Bellringer. Today he didn’t stand below and pull on the ropes; instead, he climbed the stairs to the steepletop chamber, stood on the beams between the two bells and operated them by pushing with both paws. The warm brazen sounds rang out over Mossflower.

  Larks took to the meadow air and woodland birds fluttered out over the green tree canopy, adding their morning songs to the belltones rising into a bright sunlit sky.

  Below in the line of trees skirting the east ramparts, a furtive figure slunk close to the wall’s edge. Rinkul the ferret, last of the vermin band being pursued by the hares, fled south along the woodland edge. Dried swamp mud clung to his matted fur as he hurried on, chewing roots and berries and casting fearful glances backward. Rinkul hoped the bells were not ringing to denote that he had been spotted – he could see the figure of Brother Ginko framed against the open arches of the steeple chamber. He held still awhile, then, satisfied he had not been detected, Rinkul left the shelter of the Abbey wall to cut off over the south commonlands, where he could see a stream that would provide him with drinking water.

  With the sun warm upon his back and the bells booming in his ears, the ferret lay flat on his stomach, drinking greedily of the fresh streamwater. After a while he rose into a crouch, checking that he was still alone. He stared hard and long at what he saw. It seemed incredible, but he trusted the evidence of his own keen sight. Redwall’s battlemented south ramparts were collapsing. The line of high, thick masonry had been breached by the fall of a massive tree, and further along, the wall dipped and leaned inward, as if messed about by some colossal paw.

  Rinkul backed into the shallows, still staring at the fractured outer wall. Following the streamcourse southeast to hide his tracks, he tucked Russa Nodrey’s hardwood stick into his belt.

  ‘Got to find the Rapscallion armies,’ he muttered delightedly to himself. ‘This information’ll make me an officer, a Rapmark!’

  Brother Ginko had his back to the fleeing ferret. He shielded his eyes and stared hard at the two figures loping steadily down the path from the north towards the Abbey. Hares – it was two hares!

  Halting the toll of one bell, he continued ringing the other singly, warning of creatures approaching. Skipper and Shad came racing out of the Abbey, hard on the heels of Arven, who was belting on the great sword of Martin the Warrior.

  The squirrel Champion cupped both paws around his mouth and yelled upward, ‘Strangebeasts on the path, Ginko?’

  The Bellringer leaned outward, pointing. ‘Aye, two hares come out o’ the north!’

  The look of concern melted from Skipper’s tough face, to be replaced by one of comic dismay. ‘Did you say ’ares, messmate? Lock up the vittles an’ stan’ by fer a famine, prepare to be eaten outta ’ouse’n’ome!’

  Breaking cover from the woodlands, Tammo stared excitedly at the soaring towers and gables of the red sandstone building further down the path. Pasque’s voice at his side echoed both their thoughts.

  ‘Golly, is that Redwall Abbey? ‘Tis even bigger’n I thought it’d jolly well be. What a beautiful sight!’

  Sergeant Torgoch kept his eyes ahead as he said, ‘None more luvverly, miss! Right, fall inter twos an’ let’s see us marchin’ up there like Long Patrol an’ not a bunch o’ waddlin’ ducks on daisy day! Chins up, chests out, shoulders back, tails twitchin’ smartly! Keep up at the back there, Grang!’

  The giant hare, Rockjaw Grang, was carrying the baby badger in a sling across his chest. He frowned at the Sergeant. ‘Beggin’ thy pardon, Sarge, but could y’keep thy voice down. Sithee, ah’ve just gotten yon tyke asleep for his mornin’ nap!’

  Major Perigord, who was marching at the head of the column, smiled whimsically at the thought of Rockjaw as a nursemaid. ‘Don’t fret, Rock. If Galloper Riffle an’ Turry are already there, they’ll have no shortage of blinkin’ badger minders t’take the little ’un off y’paws, then you can sit down to a good ol’ tuck-in with the rest o’ the chaps, wot?’

  A dreamy look crossed Rockjaw’s face as he wiped a paw across his lips. ‘Redwall Abbey vittles, by ’eck, lead me to ’em!’

  * * *

  28

  ABBESS TANSY AND Arven, with a deputation of otters and elders, stood in the open gateway to greet the Long Patrol. Captain Twayblade broke ranks to embrace the Abbess warmly.

  ‘Mother Abbess, so good t’see you, old friend. You look wonderful!’

  ‘Twayblade, what a lovely surprise. Welcome to our Abbey again!’

  Old friends met old friends and new ones were made as introductions flew thick and fast. The dashing hares of Long Patrol were much admired by the Redwallers as they stood there chatting in the Abbey gateway, leaning on their weapons, smartly clad in their tunics, with medals and ribbons on display. Secretly, even the most humble Abbeydweller wished they too could present such a picture – jolly, courteous and kind, but feared by their enemies and totally perilous.

  Major Perigord winked at Skipper. ‘What d’ye say, old lad, d’ye think everybeast here would like to march in with us, make a jolly good entrance, wot!’

  Skipper stood smartly to attention at the Major’s side. ‘Good idea, matey. Ahoy, form up in a line o’ fours, let’s bring our guests ’ome in style. Arven, Shad, up front ’ere with me’n’the Major. Great seasons, I wish we ’ad a band!’

  Perigord drew his sabre with a flourish and a rattle. ‘Your word is my command, sah. Rubbadub, beat us in with your best drums, if y’would!’

  Dibbuns whooped in delight and amazement as Corporal Rubbadub milled about, waving his paws and setting up a dust and a din.

  ‘Baboom! Baboom! Baboombiddy boombiddy boom! Drrrrrapadapdap! Drrrubbadubdub! Bababoom! Bababoom! Bababoom!’

  Cheering aloud and stamping their paws in time to the beat, the cavalcade marched across the lawns to the Abbey in fine military style. Tammo and Pasque strode alongside Friar Butty and the molebabe Gubbio, chatting animatedly. The young squirrel Friar had excellent news for them.

  ‘You’ve arrived at a good time, friends. Today we’re havin’ a great f
east to celebrate the birth of three liddle owlchicks.’

  Pasque’s normally soft voice was shrill with excitement. ‘I say! Y’mean we’re actually goin’ t’be guests at a famous Redwall feast?’

  Gubbio grabbed her paw as he hop-skipped to Rubbadub’s drums. ‘Ho aye, marm, ee’ll ’ave such vittles’n’fun as ne’er afore!’

  As soon as they were inside the Abbey, those hares who had never visited Redwall were led off on a grand tour by a gang of eager Dibbuns. Other Redwallers went about their tasks to prepare for the festivities, whilst Abbess Tansy and her elders retired to Cavern Hole with Perigord, Twayblade, Rockjaw and Torgoch.

  The hares were offered light refreshments of candied fruits and redcurrant cordial as they exchanged news and information with their hosts. Tansy listened carefully to the account of the skirmish in the defile, shaking her head in sorrowful bewilderment at the death of Russa Nodrey, who had visited Redwall many times in bygone seasons. When the tale was told, Rockjaw opened the sling, which he had held easily concealed beneath his tunic, and presented the Abbess with his precious burden.

  ‘Sithee, marm, this is the babby. A grand likkle male an’ good as gold for company on a march, ’e is!’

  Tansy could not wait to hold the tiny bundle. Placing a cushion in her lap she laid him on it. He was no more than a season old, hardly any age at all. Lying flat on his back, the babe yawned and opened his soft dark eyes as the Abbess inspected him. The badger’s back was silver grey, and his chest and paws were velvety black. He had a moist brown nose and a snow-white head, sectioned by two thick black stripes running either side of the muzzle from whiskers to ears, covering both eyes.

  Craklyn touched the upturned footpads. ‘Seasons of winter! Just look at the size of these paws! He’s goin’ to be big as an oak when he grows to full size!’

  Tansy chuckled fondly as she tickled the babe’s tiny white-tipped ears. ‘Welcome to Redwall Abbey, little sir, and pray, what name do you go by?’

  The baby badger held out his paws to her, growling, ‘Nunnee! Nunnee!’

  ‘The little chap’s said that several times,’ Major Perigord explained, ’only word he seems t’know. We’ve surmised that it means Nanny, the old badger he was with. She was prob’ly his grandmother or nurse – ’fraid we haven’t a clue as to who his parents are. There was certainly no sign of them where we found him. Had there been two grown badgers with him, those vermin would’ve given the place a wide berth, wot!’

  Foremole Diggum placed a honeyed hazelnut in the babe’s paws, and immediately he began chewing the nut hungrily.

  ‘Burr,’ said Diggum, ’ee may be a h’orphan, but thurr b’aint nuthin’ amiss wi’ ee appetoit, no zurr!’

  A bowl of creamy mushroom soup was sent for, and Tansy fed the babe whilst other matters were discussed. The Redwallers knew nothing of Rapscallions, nor had any other vermin been sighted in the region of late. Arven related the dangerous position of the Abbey’s outer south wall and their plans to rebuild it.

  By the time the discussions were near their close, the little badger had licked the soup bowl clean and gone back to sleep in the Abbess’s lap. Major Perigord had listened pensively to the problems faced by Redwall and its creatures. He stood abruptly, having reached a decision.

  ‘Well, chaps, my duty as Commanding Officer, Long Patrol is pretty clear. Until your wall is rebuilt and the Abbey safe’n’secure once more, me an’ my hares will guard Redwall an’ patrol the area night and day. Couldn’t do any less, wot! Lady Cregga’d have me ears’n’tail if I didn’t. So, marm, if you are willin’ to accept us, me an’ my troop are at y’service!’

  Bowing low, Perigord presented his sabre hilt-first to the Abbess. Abbess Tansy touched the handle, signifying her approval.

  ‘My humble thanks to you, Major. I am sure that I speak for all Redwallers when I say that we are assured of safety by your presence, and your gallant offer is warmly accepted!’

  Foremole Diggum threw in a gem of mole logic. ‘Gudd! Then if you’n’s be afinished usin’ gurt long apportant words, may’ap us’n’s best go an’ get ee feast ready, ho urr aye!’

  Midge Manycoats sucked his paw ruefully. ‘Huh, I’ve just been pecked by perishin’ owlbabes!’

  Chuckling, Friar Butty replaced the lid on a steaming pan. ‘You must taste good to ’em, Midge. Come over ’ere an’ lend a paw. I’m showin’ Tammo an’ Missie Pasque how t’make Mossflower Wedge.’

  Both hares were intrigued by the goings-on in Redwall’s kitchens; it made such a pleasant change from marching and fighting. Pasque had lined a rectangular earthenware dish with pastry, which Butty was viewing approvingly.

  ‘Well done, missie, we’ll make cooks of you hares yet. Tammo, are you ready with the first layer?’

  Tammo wielded a ladle, enjoying himself immensely. ‘Wot? I’ll say I am. Now don’t tell me, Butty, just watch this!’ He spread the chopped button mushroom and grated carrot mixture on its pastry base, making sure it was level.

  ‘There! Righto, Pasque, you an’ Midge chuck in the next layer!’

  Watched by the Friar, the two hares spread sliced white turnip and chopped leeks as a second layer. Then Butty placed a third layer of diced potato and slivered white cabbage.

  He winked at Tammo and stood back, wiping his paws on a cloth. ‘Go on then, Tamm, I’m not tellin’ you what’s next, ’tis up t’you.’

  Tammo took the lid off a panful of dark rich gravy. ‘Mmm, smells absolutely super duper! Stand clear, please!’ He poured the gravy over the layered vegetables evenly, watching it soak through, pulling his paw back swiftly to avoid a slap with Butty’s damp cloth.

  ‘No takin’ secret licks at the pan, or I’ll tell yore Sergeant an’ he’ll have yore tail for supper, or wotever it is he does. C’mon now, take an end o’ this cover each.’

  Gingerly they lifted a big pastry top between them and flopped it gently over the dish. Butty took a knife and trimmed it whilst Tammo and Midge crimped the edges. Pasque borrowed Butty’s knife to cut a series of arrowhead slits in the centre, then she brushed the top with a mixture of light vegetable oil and finely chopped spring onions.

  The squirrel Friar shook their paws. ‘Well done, good effort for y’first Mossflower Wedge. Now, how long does it stand in the oven?’

  Pasque and Tammo spoke out together. ‘Until it tells you it’s done!’

  ‘Right! And when’s that?’

  ‘When the crust is golden brown an’ shiny, an’ there’s no more steam coming out of the slits in the middle!’

  ‘Correct! See, I told you I’d make Redwall cooks out of you. Now, let’s see how good y’are at makin’ Abbey Trifle . . .’

  A single lantern had been left burning at the platform dug by the moles beneath the south outer wall. The pale light flickered, sending its radiance down into the deeps of the darkened chasm, where it shone feebly on the spray-drenched stones by the rushing water. In the dim light bunched wet scales glistened, savage rows of ivory-hued teeth showed briefly and two slitted eyes filmed over. The creature had heard the furry creatures above, it had seen them, so it waited hungrily, knowing that sooner or later they would be descending into the gloomy rift. Coiling its sinister length around a rock, to prevent it being swept away . . . it waited.

  * * *

  29

  SNEEZEWORT SAT ON the hillslope enjoying the mid-morning sunshine. In an old upturned helmet he was boiling up a broth of frogspawn and some stream vegetation on his fire. The rat watched his companion approaching, then turned his gaze upon the helmet, pretending to be engrossed with the task of cooking.

  Lousewort came damp-furred and shivering. An enormous lump showed between his ears as he squatted by the fire to dry his shivering body.

  Sneezewort spoke to his former companion without looking up. ‘Thought yew was supposed ter be an officer gettin’ punished?’

  Lousewort peered hungrily at the mess bubbling in the helmet. ‘Er er, well I ain’t a ossifer no more, mate. Er er, tha
t looks good. I’m starvin’.’

  Sneezewort stirred the broth with his dagger. ‘Don’t you mate me, I ain’t yore mate no more. Why aren’t yer still stannin’ up t’yer neck in chains inna river?’

  The other rat shrugged noncommittally. ’Er er, they all escaped durin’ the night, with Borumm an’ Vendace, but I got left be’ind.’

  ‘Left be’ind? Didn’t yer wanna go wid ’em? Better’n freezin’ yore tail off inna stream, I woulda thought.’

  ‘Er, well I got knocked over me ’ead an’ left senseless.’

  ‘Harr harr! Wouldn’t take much t’leave you senseless. Wot ’appened then?’

  ‘Er er, well I woke up an’ shouted the alarm. Lord Damug sent Skaup the ferret out wirra ’undred or more, to ’unt ’em down. Er, Lord Damug said t’me that at least I was loyal, stoopid but loyal ’e called me, an’ ’e said that I wasn’t fit ter be an ossifer an’ told me I’d got me ole job back, servin’ in the ranks. So ’ere I am, mate, we’re back together, jus’ me’n’you.’

  Sneezewort snorted as he picked the helmet off the flames between two sticks and set it down by the fireside. ‘Hah! So y’think yer can come crawlin’ back t’me, eh? Where’s all yer brother officers now, tell me that? An’ anudder thing, don’t think yore sharin’ my vittles, slobberchops! Go an’ get yore own, y’big useless gullywumper!’

  Lousewort sulked by the fire, looking hurt and touching the lump between his ears tenderly. Then as if remembering something he reached into his sodden garments and drew out a big dead gudgeon, its scales glistening damply in the morning sunlight.

  ‘Er er, I stood on this an’ killed it when I jumped off the rock in the stream. D’yer think it’ll be all right to eat?’

  Sneezewort nearly knocked the helmet over as he grabbed the fish. ‘Course it will, me ole mate. Tell yer wot I’ll do, I’ll shove it in wid this soup an’ cook it up a bit on the fire, while you scout for more firewood, mate. You kin ’ave the ’ead’n’tail, those are the best bits, I’ll ’ave the middle ’cos yew prob’ly damaged that part by jumpin’ on it, mate!’