Scarum’s ears drooped. “I thought you were on my side! What in the name of fiddlesticks d’you expect us to do, scoff ’em raw an’ drink streamwater? It’s not jolly well civilised.”
Sagax pulled the boat into the land and moored it to a tree. “Sshh! Listen, can you hear singing?”
The strains grew louder and clearer as they listened. From round an upstream bend, four shrew logboats appeared. They were packed with shrew families, singing at the tops of their voices to the accompaniment of drums and tambourines. Stringed instruments blended with the harmonious melody. The shrews did not appear to have a single care in the world.
“Summer, summer, what a lazy afternoon,
Music, laughter, sun a-waitin’ for the moon,
Twilight, my light, stream is all a-slumber, too,
Babes a-sleepin’, willows weepin’, skies so blue.
Nothin’ like a good ole river,
On a sunny afternoon with you,
Sittin’ in a dear ole logboat,
Plunkin’ out a tune or two.
We’ll sail off to a shady bower,
Kettle will be boilin’ soon,
While we sport an’ play, the livelong day,
An’ sleep beneath a golden moon.
I’ll find a place so filled with mem’ries,
Where the waters kiss the shores,
When yore ma an’ pa ain’t watchin’,
You’ll hold my paw in yours.
Then we’ll have a good ole picnic,
With such nice things to eat,
While the babes all go a-paddlin’,
Let’s dance to the ole drum’s beat.
Summer, summer, what a lazy afternoon,
Music, laughter, sun a-waitin’ for the moon,
Twilight, my light, stream is all a-slumber too,
Babes a-sleepin’, willows weepin’, skies so blueooooooooooh!”
Triss had never seen creatures so happy. There was no question of their being foebeasts. She dashed into the shallows, waving and calling to them, “Hello there, good afternoon to you, friends!”
A fat shrew wife in flowered pinafore and bonnet waved her parasol back at the squirrelmaid. “An’ the same to you, missy, that’s a luvverly boat you got there. Want to tag along an’ join our picnic? There’s plenty for everybeast, yore welcome!”
Scarum danced along the bankside, grinning like a buffoon and blowing kisses outrageously. “Profusions of thankfulness, gorgeous creature, we accept your wonderful offer gratefully, nay, jubilatorially!”
Shogg squinted one eye and scratched his rudder. “Jubila . . . wotsit? I’d better warn ’em not to go downstream, they’ll run into those vermin. Ahoy, marm, comin’ aboard!”
He dived into the water, vanished momentarily, then popped up on the logboat’s deck. “Beggin’ yore pardon, marm, but we’re bein’ chased by a pack o’ vermin. I wouldn’t go downstream if’n I was you.”
A stout old shrew touched his snout respectfully. “Thankee for tellin’ us, sir. Looks like we’ll ’ave to put about an’ go t’the water meadows. You follow us in yore pretty boat. Nobeast’ll find ye there, we’ll make sure o’ that.” He waved a paw back upstream. “Backpaddle, we’re goin’ to the water meadows an’ takin’ these goodbeasts in tow. Backpaddle, Guosim!”
Poling along behind, they followed the logboats along a series of cutoffs and backwaters. Scarum worked harder than his four companions.
“Keep up, chaps, don’t want t’get lost an’ miss the picnic now, do we? Stop dawdlin’ an’ move yourselves, wot!”
Scarum had a dreadful singing voice. However, that did not stop him from breaking out into an off-key warble:
“O I don’t wish to be rude,
But the very mention of food,
Is the nicest word I’ve heard,
Tumpty tumpty tum tum,
Lalalah deedly dee,
I’ve forgotten the next flamin’ word . . .”
Shogg chuckled. “Keep singin’ like that, mate, an’ they’ll banish ye from the picnic for frightenin’ the babes.”
Dragonflies hovered low over platelike water lilies, butterflies and gaily hued moths stood swaying on reed ends, bees droned to and fro with a leisurely hum. The water meadow was a haven of peace and tranquillity, fringed with bulrushes and backed by willows, splurge laurel and catkin-laden osiers. The Guosim shrews lashed their logboats to the small vessel, forming an island in the shallows that was hidden by reeds and treeshade. Food hampers and picnic baskets were brought out, lots of them.
Scarum could scarcely restrain himself. “Oh corks, I say, these shrew chaps don’t believe in stintin’ themselves, do they, wot? Allow me to help you with that heavy grub container, marm. Hoho, your little ones look fine and chubby—I expect you feed ’em jolly well!”
He flinched as the hefty paw of Sagax drew him to one side. The young badger’s eyes had a no-nonsense look about them. “Listen carefully to what I say, Scarum. If I catch you hogging food, or offending these good shrews, I’ll personally deal with you. No excuses this time—put one paw wrong and you’re on your own. Triss, Kroova, Shogg and myself will personally disown you, and our friendship will be ended. Now, did you hear me? Have I made myself clear?”
Scarum twisted neatly out of the badger’s grasp. He appeared quite indignant. “Me, are you talkin’ about me, old chap? Tut, pish an’ fiddlesticks, how you can say such things is beyond belief. You mind your own manners, sah!”
He stalked regally off to join the feast. Triss murmured to Sagax, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
The jollity, singing, dancing, drinking and feasting in the sunlit water meadow made Triss happy, but wistful. Mimsy, the kind shrew wife who had invited them, passed the squirrelmaid a leek-and-turnip pasty.
“Eat up, m’dearie, this ain’t no day for mopin’ about. What ails ye, little sad face? Have some raspberry fizz!”
Triss accepted her offer, forcing a smile. “Are your creatures always as happy as this, Mimsy?”
The shrew chuckled. “Only when we’ve got nothin’ t’be sad about—we’ve got our ups an’ downs, y’know. I can sense that you’ve not led a carefree an’ happy life, Triss, but try an’ be like us. When ye get the good times, don’t stop to mope about the bad ’uns. Enjoy yoreself while ye can.”
Scarum lifted his nose out of a high-piled plate to agree. “Well said, marm, that’s my motto too, wot. Even though I was reared poorly, often beaten an’ starved constantly. Crusts, roots an’ springwater, that’s what I was jolly well brought up on. Pale, thin little chap, that was me. Oof!”
Sagax, who had given the hare a playful buffet on the back, laughed heartily. “Plus being a terrible fibber, a great fat scoffbag, and the biggest bounder at Salamandastron. If your mum and dad could hear you talking like that! Pay no attention to the flopeared fraud, marm.”
Mimsy stroked Scarum’s paw. “Let him be. I like a beast who can tell a good fib—this hare is fun t’be with. Come on now, Scarum, I’m sure you can manage some damson crumble an’ cream?”
From behind the backs of Triss and Mimsy, the incorrigible hare made a face at Sagax, as he allowed himself to be pampered. “Seasons bless you, marm, I’ve never tasted damson crumble an’ cream in m’life. I’ve watched Sagax stuffin’ it down many a time, though. He’s the son of a mountain Lord, y’see, while I’m just a lowly peasant type. I say, that tart looks rather nice, wot!”
Mimsy carved off a large slice. “Oh, you poor beast, here, try some, an’ have some more raspberry fizz.”
Sagax looked on aghast as Mimsy and Triss plied Scarum with delicacies from every hamper. The gluttonous hare accepted everything coyly.
“Oh, I wonder if I’ll be able to eat a portion that big? I’m only used to nibblin’, y’know, but thank y’marm. I’ll certainly try my best t’get through it, wot.”
Kroova flicked an apple pip at the young badger. “You should see yore face, matey!”
32
Plugg Fireta
il awoke in the late evening and found himself lying by a fire, covered in an old blanket. Scummy and Grubbage hovered about, watching him anxiously.
“Take it easy, Cap’n, don’t try to sit up, you been wounded.”
Plugg lay still, listening to them relate what had taken place when the jollyboat was rammed by a stake. He put a paw to his lower back and grimaced. “It ’urts like the blazes, mates, but I’ll be shipshape soon. No real damage done, eh?” He glared quizzically at the pair as they kept silent. “Wot? Tell yore cap’n, wot’s up, am I bad ’urted?”
Scummy’s paw scuffed the grass awkwardly as he explained. “That sharp cob o’ wood, Cap’n, it stuck deep in yore, bot—er, ’indquarters. We managed t’get it out, me’n Grubbage. . . .”
Plugg was fast losing patience. He gritted at them. “Stop picklepawin’ round an’ tell me wot’s wrong!”
They both moved out of paw range. Grubbage stammered, “You ain’t got no tail, Cap’n, it sorta fell off.”
The Freebooter’s ugly face squinched up in horror. “Me tail? Fell off? Where is it?”
Scummy held up the severed tail. “I got it, Cap’n.”
The fox covered his face and groaned in despair. Plugg’s tail had been his proudest possession. He had been born silver-furred, unlike other foxes. However, his tail was a beautiful goldy-red–furred one. This had given rise to his second name, Firetail. Often as a young Freebooter Plugg would wash his tail each day, carefully shampooing it with soapwort and almond oil. On going into battle, he had always ordered a crewbeast to run behind, holding a lantern close to display the shine and sheen of that tail. But now the feared Freebooting Captain, Plugg Firetail, had not even a stump of this former glory. Swiftly he snatched the tail from Scummy, looking about furtively.
“Who else knows I’ve lost me tail, eh?”
“Nobeast, Cap’n, we never told any of ’em!”
“Aye, on me oath, Cap’n, only us knows, an’ you, too, o’ course!”
Plugg’s eyes danced shiftily as he pondered a solution. “Get sticky stuff.”
Grubbage leaned forward, squinting. “Why d’ye want skilly’n’duff, Cap’n, are ye ’ungry?”
The fox swatted him with the tail. “You shurrup! Scummy, get me some sticky stuff, any kind, but make it good’n’sticky, ’asten now!”
He stuffed the tail under his blanket as Kurda approached. She eyed him up and down in disappointment. “So, you don’t be dead, yarr. Vot a pity, I vas hoping der shtake vould haff slayed you.”
Plugg spat, but missed her. “So sorry not to please yer, but ’ere I am, fit’n’well, yore ’igh royalness.”
Kurda shrugged. “Never mind, der vound might get poisoned and kill you, den I be very glad, yarr.”
Plugg bared his crooked teeth at the Pure Ferret. “If’n it does, I’ll come back an’ haunt yew, missie!”
She stalked off, sniggering to herself.
Scummy returned with a beaker that contained a few lumps of pine resin. He placed it on the fire. “This should do the trick, Cap’n. I’ll ’ave ye lookin’ good as new in a tick. Grubbage, you sit on the Cap’n an’ ’old ’im still. This is goin’ to ’urt, Cap’n, ’old tight!”
“Yeeeeguuurrr! Blisterin’ barnacles, that stuff burns. Pour some in the wound, too, mate, that’ll keep it clean. I ain’t about t’die, just ter please that snotty liddle madam. Well, ’ow does it look, Grubbage? Tell the truth now!”
“Looks pretty as a summer morn covered wid roses, Cap’n.”
The Freebooter stood up, wincing. “Never mind no summer morn wid roses, long as it looks like my tail, in its proper place, too. Well, does it?”
Both crewbeasts nodded furiously. “Oh, it do, Cap’n, it do!”
Before they could blink, Plugg had them both by their noses. His claws sunk in ruthlessly. “Now lissen, buckoes, one word of this gets out an’ I’ll be a laughin’stock. So, you keeps yore gobs buttoned tight, or I’ll skin ye both alive an’ make a cloak of yore ’ides. Do yew ’ear me? Say ‘Aye aye, Cap’n’ if’n ye do.”
Tears flooding their eyes, both crewbeasts danced tip-pawed on the spot as they obeyed the command.
“Hi hi, Capin, uth heerth yith. Yeeeeek!”
Plugg limped a few steps—the tail held firm. He wheeled on Scummy and Grubbage. “From now on, wherever I goes, you two follow right be’ind me. Everywhere! Keep yore eyes on me tail an’ fix it if’n it slips, afore anybeast can see. Aye aye, mates, look who’s sneakin’ into camp, ’tis the slavecatcher.”
Riggan padded noiselessly down the bank to where Kurda and Vorto were sitting at their own fire, apart from the Ratguards and crewbeasts. Plugg and his two followers trailed in her wake. Kurda stared haughtily at the three Freebooters, but they did not move. Leaning on his battle-axe, Plugg sneered back at her.
“We knew yore spy sneaked out o’camp. Well, go on, Riggan, make yore report to liddle miss pinky eyes.”
Kurda could see there was no fooling the fox. She nodded for Riggan to go ahead with what she had learned. Firelight glinted off the tracker’s keen eyes as she spoke.
“I picked up the slaves’ trail, marm, further upstream. They stopped there awhile, then joined up wid some shrews. Nobeast spotted me—I kept ’idden. I tracked them up t’the far side o’ that big water meadow, where we lost the voles. Fools! They was all singin’ an’ dancin’ an’ feastin’. So I got as close up to ’em as I could an’ lissened. The stripedog said they was bound fer a place called Redwall Abbey, an’ the leader of the shrews said ’e knowed where it was. Said ’e’d take ’em there. Tomorrow morn at dawn light they’re settin’ off. Four logboats an’ yore vessel.”
Plugg interrupted maliciously, “My boat ye mean, rat-face. Haharr, Redwall Abbey, I’ve ’eard grand tales about that place. ’Tis a treasure ’ouse, ripe fer the pluckin’. We’d best break camp if’n we’re goin’ to follow ’em.”
Kurda smiled thinly. “You injured, fox, not able to keep up mitt us, yarr.”
The Freebooter winked roguishly. “Don’t fret yore pretty ’ead about me, I’ll be right up front with ye. An’ if’n I finds the goin’ a bit ’ard, well, I’ll lean on yore fat brother’s ’ead an’ use ’im fer a crutch. Hahaharrr!”
Kurda ignored the insulting fox. Rising from her fire, she drew her sabre and pointed upriver. “Ve march now, to der Abbey of Redvall!”
Plugg set off at her side, but felt himself pulled back by Grubbage. He turned irately on the fat searat. “Will ye stop tuggin’ at me, wot is it?”
Grubbage held the tail up. “This just fell off, Cap’n, must’ve been the heat from that fire,” he whispered.
With a swift motion, Plugg grabbed the tail and punched Grubbage on the nose. “Why don’t ye shout a bit louder an’ let the ’ole woodlands know, bigmouth!”
Running stooped, Scummy panted as he fixed Plugg’s tail back in place, with the fox marching forward boldly. Scummy muttered to Grubbage, “I ’ope this Redwall place ain’t too far!”
Grubbage nodded agreement. “Aye, mebbe we shoulda used tar!”
The Abbot had finished his oft-interrupted breakfast in the orchard and was looking for means of escape from the boisterous horde of Dibbuns. Wherever he moved there seemed to be one or other of the Abbeybabes, clinging to his robe, wanting to know the answer to a thousand and one unreasonable questions.
Friar Gooch came to his rescue, fending off the little ones. As he shepherded the Abbot from the orchard, the squirrel cook pointed with his ladle at the midwest wallsteps and remarked, “Seems t’be a deal of disturbance over there, Father. Did ye hear young Churk whoopin’? Great seasons, I thought we were under some sort of attack!”
Nodding absentmindedly, the Abbot replied, “I was certainly under attack from those Dibbuns. D’you know why a gooseberry has its pips inside and a strawberry has pips on the outside?”
The good Friar looked nonplussed. “Never thought of it, really.”
Shaking his head, the Father Abbot chuckled. “Neith
er did I, until molebabe Roobil asked me. Right, let’s go and see what all the kerfuffle is about at the wallsteps. Nothing as difficult as Roobil’s problem, I hope.”
Skipper, Mokug, Crikulus and Malbun waved and cried out to them across the lawn, “Come and see, Churk has found the solution!”
Churk waited until Friar and Abbot were seated on the sunwarmed sandstone steps. Skipper puffed out his chest and waved his rudder proudly. “When ye come t’think of all the scholars within our walls, an’ who was it solved the mystery o’ the scroll an’ pawring? Haharr, none other than me own pretty niece Churk. Let me tell ye, Father, an’ you, Friar, this ottermaid ’as got an ’ead on ’er shoulders, ten, nay, twenny seasons beyond ’er age. Ain’t that right, beauty? We’ll find that entrance now, sure enough!”
Churk lowered her eyes politely. “Uncle Skip, will ye stop embarrassin’ me in front o’ these goodbeasts an’ let me speak for meself?”
The otter Chieftain patted her paw. “Sorry, missy, you tell ’em all about yore discovery—me lips are sealed!”
Churk indicated the symbol on the pawring. “The leaf is five times three, that’s the key to it all.” She opened the scroll, pointing to the two bottom lines set apart from the rest. “I wondered why this bit was written separate, so I counted the number of symbols on the line: Twenty-six, and each one is different. Now, what’s five times three, Father?”
An immediate answer came from the Abbot. “Fifteen, why?”
Churk smiled secretively. “Simple, really. Count along these signs, sir, an’ stop at the fifteenth one.”
Moving his paw along the parchment, the Abbot counted. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Why, it’s the leaf!”
Churk asked her next question. “What’s the fifteenth letter of the alphabet, Crikulus, sir?”
The shrew did a quick count on his paws. “Letter O is.”
Churk spread her paws triumphantly. “Right! Don’t ye see, those twenty-six signs at the bottom are an alphabet, from A to Z!”
Triss: A Novel of Redwall Page 27