Triss: A Novel of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  “Shark! Quick, charge for the shore, shark!”

  However, charging through waist-deep seas would be slow and difficult. Kroova slapped their backs.

  “Get ahead, mates, move yoreselves! It’s comin’ after us!” Turning away from them, the sea otter plunged into the waves and swam straight for the big fish.

  Without looking back, Sagax and Scarum plunged ahead, the going getting better as the water ran shallower. With tiny ripplets splashing round their paws, the pair made it onto the firm wet sands.

  Scarum sat down, badly frightened and shaking. Sagax threw himself next to him, panting heavily as he stared around. “Where’s Kroo . . . Oh, great blood’n’vinegar, look out there!”

  Kroova was at waist depth, with the shark circling him. The sea otter had hold of something. He tugged it this way and that, sometimes tugging it sharply, which seemed to send the great seabeast in another direction. Seawater, pounded creamy white by the struggle, leaped high about Kroova and the shark.

  Scarum gnawed at his whiskers in anguish at the dangerous spectacle. “Oh my fat aunt, it’s followin’ him in!”

  Then Sagax saw what Kroova had hold of. “No, he’s towing it! That’s a rope—it’s stuck to the shark somehow. He’s playing it as if he were fishing!”

  They both jumped up, yelling and bawling.

  “Don’t let it get you, mate, stay clear!”

  “Watch the blighter, old lad, he’s got better teeth than me!”

  Rolling and thrashing, the shark showed its huge pale underbelly. They saw its wicked round eye and rows of curved, razorlike teeth. It made a dive at Kroova. The sea otter leaped the opposite way and hauled the rope hard, forcing his adversary to flounder off in another direction. All the time the two were getting closer to the shore.

  Now the shark’s body was sticking up out of the water. It would not give up, though it was beginning to roll and flop slightly. Suddenly Kroova whipped the rope deftly round a nub of rock and raced to the safety of dry land.

  The two friends helped him ashore, where he sat blowing and heaving awhile before turning to Scarum with a comical grin on his tough face.

  “That there shark’s an ole pal o’ yores, messmate. See the rope ’angin’ out its mouth? That’s the one you caught it on. The villain’s still got yore ’ook stuck in its mouth!”

  Scarum stared in amazement at the fish, which, now that it could stretch the rope by pulling against it, was biting through the fibres.

  “Good grief, so it is.” The hare began shouting at the shark. “Hi there, old lad! Remember me, the chap you took for a boat ride? Hoho, missed me again, didn’t you? Silly great blighter, that’ll teach you t’mess with fearless seafarers. Go on, be off with you, fishface!”

  At that moment the rope snapped and the shark wallowed awkwardly out to deep water again, still towing a small tail of rope from its mouth.

  Scarum flung several pebbles after it. “Call back anytime if y’want more of the same, wot!”

  “Arrh, weel now, sorr, ye must be awful brave beasts!”

  They turned to see a little hogmaid standing watching them. She had her headspikes tipped with flowers and wore a clean tunic of green woven linen with a flowery patterned pinafore over it.

  Scarum put on a courageous, carefree face. “All part of the job, pretty miss. We’re shark hunters really, chase the old sea monsters hither an’ thither, wot. Not a bally shark in the seas won’t turn tail an’ run at the mention of us. So then, me spiked beauty, where d’you live?”

  Completely friendly, the little hogmaid took Scarum’s paw. “If yore honour’ll come wid me, I’ll be showin’ ye.”

  The hare nodded at his companions to follow. Making an elegant leg at the little hogmaid, he allowed her to lead him off to some dunelands backing the shore.

  “It’ll be a pleasure, m’gel. I’ll go with anybeast who looks as plump an’ jolly well fed as you. Your family got plenty of grub, have they? Hawhaw, lead on, little charmer!”

  A hogwife appeared on the dunetops, waving a ladle as she called to the little hogmaid, “Is that yourself, Fridilo Migooch? An’ wot’ve ye been told about wand’rin’ off alone? ’Tis a ladle I should be takin’ to yer tailspikes. Ah shure an’ where in the name o’ fleas did ye find those three raggity ould tramps?”

  Scarum murmured to Kroova, “Raggedy ould tramps, I say! Bit much, isn’t it, wot wot?”

  The sea otter winked at him. “Leave this t’me, mate.” He bounded up the dune and smiled disarmingly at the hogwife.

  “Pleasant day to ye, marm. We’re pore shipwrecked creatures who found yore liddle ’un lost, so we was just bringin”er back ’ome to ye.”

  The hogwife waved her ladle at Fridilo. “That’n lost? Arrh, ’way with ye, she’s no more lost than a dumplin’ in a soup pot. So now, ’tis yoreself an’ those other two a-fetchin’ the babe home. At least yore not pirates. Ye look fair famished, all of ye. I’m thinkin’ ye’d best come t’the tenty an’ take an’ ould gobfull.”

  Scarum was beside her in a bound, holding the little one in his paws, grinning bravely as he was prickled by her. “My dear lady, I take it that you mean we’re invited to dinner. May I express the hope that it tastes as good as you look, beautiful creature, wot!”

  A half-smile appeared on the hogwife’s homely features. “Away with ye, y’great silver-tongued ould hooligan, I’m not yer dear lady. I’m Mammee Migooch, so I am!”

  The “tentys,” as Mammee called them, were great sand-coloured tents of hessian weave, almost invisible among the dunes. They were the home of the roving Migooch tribe, nomad hogs who wandered the coastline. There were roughly a hundred of them, all shapes and sizes, cheerful creatures who lived from day to day without any thought for the morrow. The travellers stood to one side as Fridilo related the shark incident with lots of comical dancing and rapid baby talk. When she was done, a fat old male, wearing a tattered straw hat and a soup-stained smock, shook Kroova’s paw heartily.

  “Arrh, an”tis yoreself the great shark wrestler? I raise me hat t’ye, sorr, I do indeed. Cumarnee Migooch is proud t’be shakin’ the paw that shook a shark!”

  Scarum strode forward, flexing his ears. “Actually, old chap, ’twas me who wrestled the blighter, doncha know. When the jolly old shark was worn out, I sent Kroova in to deal him a whack or two. Scarum Sharkslayer at y’service, sah!”

  Cumarnee raised his bushy eyebrows. “Weel now, aren’t ye the bold feller? We’ll take a trip down t’the shore later an’ let ye show us how you wrestle wid d’great sharks. How’ll that suit ye?”

  The garrulous hare had his answer ready. “Er, I’m restin’ at the moment. Besides, y’won’t see a fin for miles around. Sharks know I’m here, y’see. Oh yes, mention Scarum Sharkslayer an’ they paddle off pretty fast. Can’t blame the poor cads really, can you, wot!”

  A pretty hogmaid of about sixteen seasons gazed adoringly at Scarum. “Faith, sorr, ye must’ve had some turrible times wid the ould sharks. I’d be afeared just to see one!”

  Sagax and Kroova were having trouble stifling their laughter. The hare glared at them and whispered, “Titter not, chaps, got to impress the locals. They don’t give tramps very big portions, y’know. But I’ll bet they feed heroes like bloomin’ kings.”

  He turned to the hogmaid. “No need t’be feared of sharks, m’dear, not whilst I’m around. Just before we go in to dinner, let me tell you the story of how I fought the great giant monster hog-eatin’ shark. Hah, that was a day I’ll never forget, eh, wot!”

  The Migooch tribe loved nothing better than a good story. They sat down on the sand and listened to Scarum’s horrendous, and totally untrue, account. He strutted about with his chest puffed out, shutting one eye and glaring ferociously at his audience.

  “This happened down the coast, south from Salamandastron, about, er, two summers ago. Were any of you chaps there at the time?”

  An oldster raised his paw. “Meself was there, sorr!”

  Scarum twitche
d his whiskers. “Er, no, ’twas three summers back, now I come t’think of it. Paws up, anybeast who was there three summers back?”

  No paws were raised, so the hare continued with his lies. “Ah yes, chaps’n’chapesses, ’twas a bright sunny day an’ I was walkin’ along the shore, when all of a bally sudden two small hedgehogs, dear little types, came chargin’ out of the sea, cryin’ an’ wailin’ in pitiful voices. ‘Ho, Scarum Sharkslayer,’ they cried, ‘save our granma!’ ”

  A hogmaid tugged at Scarum’s footpaw. “Pray, sorr, what was their names?”

  He stared down at the hogmaid. “Don’t know, m’dear, I’d never met ’em before. Now sit quietly an’ listen.”

  But she would not. “Arrh, weel how did they know your name if ye didn’t know theirs, ’cos you’d never met ’em afore?”

  Scarum fixed her with an icy smile. “Because, my inquisitive beauty, everybeast down that way knows the name of Scarum Sharkslayer, wot!”

  The oldster raised his paw. “But I was never knowin’ your name afore today, sorr, an’ I been down thataways many times.”

  Shaking with mirth, Sagax and Kroova held their sides as Scarum began losing patience with his audience. He bellowed at the oldster, “Well, y’must be flippin’ well deaf if you’ve been down south of Salamandastron an’ never bloomin’ well heard of Scarum Sharkslayer. Now shut your snout an’ listen!”

  He was about to continue when another paw was raised. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sorr, but what was that shark’s name?”

  “How should I flippin’ well know?” Scarum roared. “The blighter didn’t have a name, it was . . . it was the blinkin’ great, bloomin’ giant, confounded monster, wot-jermacallit, hog-eatin’ shark. At least that’s what all the hedgehogs called it. Satisfied, eh, wot?”

  A hogwife shook her head wonderingly. “Ah now, isn’t that the grand ould name for such a beast!”

  The hog sitting next to her ventured his opinion. “D’ye think so? Well, I’m a hedgehog, so I am, an’ I never knew a shark with a name like that. What was it called again, yer honour, I might be rememberin’ if’n ye tell me?”

  The hare danced up and down, waving his paws. “The thing wotsabloomin’ name shark-eatin’ monster hog!”

  The little hogmaid tugged his footpaw again. “Ah now, that’s not what ye said the first time, sorr.”

  The rest of the audience began discussing it among themselves, ignoring the storyteller.

  “Shure the maid’s right, he said a different name!”

  “Away with ye, how’d you know, you was half asleep!”

  “What, a monster shark-eatin’ hog? I’m thinkin’ that Scarum feller’s been out in the sun too long!”

  “Ah now, you leave him alone, doesn’t he tell a fine ould tale. You go on, sorr, we’re lissenin’ to ye!”

  “You lissenin’, hah, ’twas you doin’ all the interruptin’!”

  “I take that from nobeast, stand up an’ say it t’me face if’n ye dare!”

  The storytelling became an argument, which broke out into a fight. Scarum gave up and sat down with his head in his paws. Sagax and Kroova were helpless with laughter as Cumarnee led them off.

  “Come an’ get some vittles. I forgot to tell your friend that the Migooch tribe is turrible at arguin’ an’ fightin’, so they are!”

  They were treated to huge bowls of vegetable soup, hot brown bread and some delicious mixed berry cordial, followed by an apple and pear turnover. Whilst they dined, the tent shook and bellied as the conflict raged outside. Cumarnee and Mammee carried on eating as though nothing was happening.

  Cries from the combatants echoed round the dunes as Cumarnee and his wife passed the pie and poured cordial.

  “Take that, y’ould pincushion!”

  “Yowch! Wait’ll I get me paws on ye!”

  “I say there, chaps, steady on. Oof!”

  “Owp! Kick me, would ye, well try this fer size!”

  “Yerrrk! Ye great lump, you bit me nose, take that!”

  “Steady on, chaps, now stop all this fightin’. Ooch!”

  Scarum staggered into the tent, one eye half-closed and rapidly changing colour, his nose looking puffy and swollen. Cumarnee moved over and made a place for him to sit.

  The hedgehog chuckled. “So now, me bold beast, how did the story end?”

  Scarum touched his swollen nose and winced.

  “The shark ate me, I think. Jolly ungrateful lot, your tribe. I say, that turnover looks rather good!”

  Kroova licked his lips and grinned happily. “It certainly was, me old messmate. I’m just eatin’ the last slice.”

  The hare’s ears drooped in dejection as he gazed longingly toward the pot. “An’ the soup?”

  Mammee picked up her ladle. “ ’Tis all gone nearly, but I’ll scrape ye up a drop from it. Here, take this ould crust of bread, sorr, ’tis the last bit. Have ye any cordial left fer the great Sharkslayer?”

  Little Fridilo shook the empty flagon. “None at all, Mammee, but there’s a beaker of fresh water over here. Drink that, sorr, ’twill do ye good.”

  As Sagax and Kroova discussed the possibility of the Migooch tribe helping with the repairs to their ship, Scarum could be heard muttering complaints to himself.

  “Rotten lot, hoggin’ all the scoff while a chap’s out there defendin’ his reputation an’ tryin’ to restore order. Huh, I’d sooner face a score of sharks any day. Savage cads, bad-mannered bounders, hope a bloomin’ great shark comes along an’ eats them all, wot!”

  19

  In the misty dawn of the following day, they went out to the ledge, accompanied by all the able-bodied hogs of the Migooch tribe. It was the time of day when the tide was at its lowest ebb. The ketch Stopdog lay heeled over, almost high and dry.

  Kroova stood on the tideline, explaining what was to be done. “We’ve got to get ’er back ’ere for fixin’. I know she ain’t a big craft, but ’twill be ’eavy goin’.”

  Cumarnee spat on his paws and rubbed them together. “Ah, now don’t ye fret. Us Migooches are well up t’the job!”

  He was right. The tribe were expert salvagers, having spent their lives living off the flotsam and jetsam thrown up by the seas on all types of coastlines.

  Carrying huge coils of rope and pushing a cartload of rounded wood logs, they padded out over the wet sand. When they reached the ketch, Cumarnee began shouting orders to his tribe. Sagax was surprised at the energy and obedience of the normally disorganised beasts.

  “Hear me now, buckoes,” Cumarnee yelled. “Make fast those lines t’the bowsprit, for’ard peak an’ amidships. I’ll draw ye a grand ould line in the sand with me stick, lay the logs straight on it. That’s the way, yer doin’ a lovverly job. Right now, shoulder those ropes an’ I’ll mark the pullin’ time for ye with an ould shanty!”

  Cumarnee perched in the lopsided bows of the Stopdog, singing the hauling shanty, the pullers joining him on the appropriate lines as the ketch rolled forward on the logs.

  “Ahoy, me lads, when I was young,

  Many’s the lively song I sung.

  Way haul away! Way haul away!

  Me paw was strong, me back was, too,

  I’d pull a ship from under you.

  Way haul away! Way haul away!

  An’ though ’tis not me way t’boast,

  I’ve towed a ship off many a coast.

  Way haul away! Way haul away!

  We’ll pull ’er to the sandy shores,

  So bend yer back, dig in yer paws.

  Way haul away! Way haul away!

  For when I was a babe so young,

  Me mother o’er me cradle sung.

  Way haul away! Way haul away!”

  Kroova and Sagax were out in front, ropes looped about their shoulders, hauling heartily with the hedgehogs. The badger nudged the sea otter.

  “Scarum’s on the midship side with a rope, can you hear him?”

  Kroova smiled as he listened to the hare’s nautical bellows.


  “When I get our ship to the shore,

  I’ll need some scoff an’ then lots more.

  You can haul away! I’ll just eat all day!

  Soup’n’salad, pudden an’ pie,

  Just load me plate up, don’t ask why.

  Bloomin’ rotten hogs! Scoff-pinchin’ dogs!”

  Mammee and some others were waiting the other side of the tideline with a couple of pails full of nettle-and-dandelion beer. No sooner was the Stopdog dragged onto the warm dry sand than the toilers cast aside their ropes and gratefully gulped down great beakers to quench their thirst. However, their rest was short-lived. Cumarnee soon had them up on their paws again, bustling about as he sent his orders left, right and centre.

  “ ’Tis a good fire I’ll be needin’! Light one right here! Build me an ould sandhill, a long one, about the height of the Stopdog’s decks. Here now, start pilin’ up the sand alongside the ship. Mammee, did ye bring along the pitch an’ resin with ye? Bring it here t’me. Fridilo, me likkle darlin’, fetch me that ould bushy rope. Aye, that’s it!”

  Sagax and Kroova helped to build the long sandhill and wedge the Stopdog hard up against it. Another sandhill was built on the vessel’s other side, so that she stood straight and upright. They sat, taking a rest, sipping beakers of nettle-and-dandelion beer, watching the pitch and resin bubbling together in a cauldron over the fire.

  Kroova’s eyes searched among the workers. “I don’t see Scarum around, ain’t seen ’im in a while. Any ideas where that flopeared layabout’s got to, mate?”

  Sagax refilled his beaker. “Anywhere there’s food, that’s where you’ll find him, I suppose. That pitch and resin looks about ready.”

  The crew went back to work, plugging up the gaps between the planking staves of the Stopdog’s bows. Old rope was hammered into the cracks with mallets and flat-bladed chisels, after which the molten pitch and resin were poured liberally over the whole job. By early evening the ketch was completely shipshape and watertight once more.

  Sagax congratulated Cumarnee and the Migooch tribe. “Thank you, friends, thank you for your hard work and fine skills. I don’t know how we’d have managed without your help. Alas, my friends and I have nothing to offer you in return but our gratitude.”