Cheering themselves hoarse, the pigmy shrews waved their clubs and danced around the big otter as he carried Bodjev shoulder high around the cavern.
‘Your biggun be wisefriend,’ Alfik whispered to Nimbalo. ‘Lookit Daddy, he smile an’ smile lots!’
The harvest mouse feigned a yawn and sat himself down. ‘So ’e should be, mate. I taught ’im everythin’ ’e knows!’
* * *
18
For the first time since the start of an ill-fated trip, Gruven felt himself really in command. He sat by the replenished fire, which Vallug had made, watching Dagrab, Ribrow and Rawback. Dawn was well up and the three vermin were lying so close to the fire that he could smell singeing fur. Gruven snapped twigs, flicking them at the sleepers until they stirred and sat up rubbing their eyes. Rawback looked around. ‘So, Vallug an’ Eefera never came back durin’ the night, Chief?’
Gruven poked at the fire with his sword. ‘Huh! Did you expect ’em to? Those two are long gone, an’ good riddance too, I say. Who needs ’em?’
He listened as the three vermin speculated.
‘Mebbe they picked up the otter’s tracks an’ went after ’im theirselves, eh?’
‘Suppose they got lost an’ they’re layin’ out there in the snow, frozen stiff?’
‘Don’t talk daft. One of ’em lit this fire, an’ it was still burnin’ when we found it last night. I think somethin’ ’appened to ’em!’
‘Like wot?’
‘I dunno, maybe they was attacked.’
‘Attacked by who? Vallug an’ Eefera are both good fighters, they could take care of themselves.’
‘Suppose it was somebeast who was better’n ’em. You don’t know wot sort o’ creatures are livin’ on this mountain.’
Gruven jumped upright and scattered the fire with his sword. The trio leaped back, brushing sparks from themselves as he snarled, ‘Yore like a bunch of ole gossipers, sittin’ there arguin’. I’ll tell ye wot I think, then we’ll go an’ do somethin’ about it instead of sittin’ freezin’ our tails off!’
By the respectful silence which followed, Gruven knew he was boss.
‘If Vallug an’ Eefera was killed by otherbeasts up ’ere, we ain’t stoppin’ round t’find out. I always said climbin’ this mountain was a waste o’ time. That otter was never up ’ere. So, this is wot we’re gonna do. We’ll get off the mountain an’ track Vallug an’ Eefera, an’ I bet they’ll lead us to the otter. Then all three of ’em are goin’ to die, the otter ’cos that’s who we came to kill, Vallug an’ Eefera ’cos they’re traitors, desertin’ their own clanbeasts, leavin’ us to perish from cold an’ starvation. Come on, let’s move!’
The two stoats, Rawback and Ribrow, walked behind Gruven and Dagrab, conversing in whispers.
‘D’you think Gruven knows where ’e’s leadin’ us?’
‘No, mate, but anywhere’s better’n ’ere.’
‘Right y’are. Keep yore eyes peeled for vittles. I’m famished.’
The rat Dagrab slithered alongside Gruven, warm sunlight on the hard-packed snow making the downhill descent quite difficult. She kept her eyes down, watching the ground underpaw.
‘Look, Chief, prints in the snow!’
Gruven inspected the faint impressions left in the previous night’s snowfall. ‘Hah, I was right! Vallug an’ Eefera passed this way. Good work, Dagrab. We’re on their trail right enough. Scout on ahead a bit, see wot y’can find!’
‘Huh, ’e was right?’ Ribrow scoffed, covering his mouth with a paw. ‘Wot ’e means is ’e was lucky Dagrab wuz keepin’ ’er eyes about ’er.’
Once they were clear of the snow, the going became much easier. By mid afternoon Gruven’s party were on the lower slopes among huge boulders, scrub vegetation and shale. Gruven and the two stoats rested by a trickling stream, gnawing on some milk vetch leaves. Gruven was feeling cheerful.
‘See, warm weather, clean water an’ a bit o’ food. Good, eh?’ Ribrow and Rawback continued eating in silence as Gruven continued, ‘Dagrab lost the tracks a bit back there, but she’ll pick ’em up again. Don’t worry, I won’t steer us wrong.’
Ribrow spat out a hard bit of stalk, nodding downhill. ‘Oh, we ain’t worried, Chief, but Dagrab doesn’t look too ’appy. ’Ere she comes now, see.’
Scrabbling breathlessly uphill, Dagrab returned to make her report. ‘Looks like all kinds o’ stuff growin’ down there on some ledges, Chief. Proper vittles, mushrooms, wild onions, some turnips an’ stuff like that. Only thing is there’s a load of liddle beasts, look like shrews. Good job they never saw me. There’s a lot of ’em an’ they look well armed, clubs, knives, spears . . .’
Gruven tossed away a pawful of vetch leaves. ‘Liddle beasts like shrews, eh, with plenty o’ vittles too? Let’s go an’ take a look.’
From their vantage point on a rocky boulder-strewn spur, the four vermin lay looking down. Far below were broad terraces above the foothills covered in deposits of rich alluvial soil. The pigmy shrews were farming, planting seedlings and gathering in their vegetable crops. Between where they were working and the high spur where the vermin lay was a steep wasteland of thistle, fern, scree, boulders and shale.
Gruven’s smile was one of pure wickedness. ‘This’ll prob’ly make a bit o’ mess, but we’re not interested in next season’s crops, just enough fer a few good meals.’
Putting his shoulder to a rounded boulder he pushed it over the edge, calling to the others, ‘Come on, send some rocks down that slope!’
The boulders hit the steep incline, bouncing and setting other boulders and shalebanks on the move wherever they struck, smashing fernbeds, crushing thistles and sending huge masses of scree into a thundering avalanche. Pigmy shrews scattered hither and thither, squealing in panic as the mountain thundered down on them, crushing anybeast not swift enough to avoid the destruction.
Gruven laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. The plan was working. ‘Hahahaha! It’s like droppin’ pebbles an’ sand on ants, hahahaha! Lookit ’em, they don’t know which way t’run fer the best, hahaha!’
The three other vermin caught his mood and began tipping more boulders over the edge on to the creatures below.
‘Whoohoo! Looka that ’un runnin’. Hoho, ’e’s tripped an’ fell!’
‘Watch me get those two ‘idin’ be’ind that rowan tree!’
‘Heehee, that liddle one just vanished under a load o’ shale!’
They watched until the massive landslide subsided. Gruven leaned on his sword and smirked at his companions. ‘That’ll teach ’em, fillin’ their bellies while there’s ’ungry Juska warriors starvin’ up ’ere. There’s a good few baskets full o’ fresh picked food down there that never got buried. Told yer I wouldn’t steer ye wrong, didn’t I? Let’s slide down there an’ see wot the pickin’s are like.’
Nimbalo jumped at the sudden rumbling and clattering which echoed through the cavern.
‘Great seasons, wot’s that, mate? Thunder’n ’lightnin’ again?’
Alfik scrambled up the streambank to the curtaining waterfall which shielded the entrance. ‘Stay. Not thunder’n’lightnin’, that’s rockfall, not safe. Stay!’
Nimbalo made to follow him, but was stopped by Tagg’s strong paw. ‘Best stop here, mate. These creatures know their own mountain best. That rockfall sounds bad!’
They waited until the rumblings ceased. There was a brief silence, then the Cavemob shrews began chattering wildly and moving towards the cave entrance. Bodjev headed them off, calling for calm.
‘Shushupp, shushupp, alla beast! Nogo, stay ’ere. Alfik cleverwise son, know best. Wait, wait ’til Alfik comeback!’
The wait was rather a long one. Anxious shrews who had family and friends outside chattered away interminably to one another. Nimbalo covered his ears, screwing his face up.
‘The blinkin’ noise that lot are makin’ is worse than the rockfall.’
Tagg nodded sympathetically. ‘Aye, but they’ve probably got kin
out there and they’re worried. I wish Alfik would come back. Hope he’s all right.’
Virtually as the otter finished speaking, Alfik came splashing hurriedly through the watery cascade and made straight for Tagg. ‘Death be’s out there, lotsa death, much hurted Cavemobs. Four beasts too, biggabeasts, mebbe yore size, big knifes, spear, lookalike bad. Muchbad!’
The big otter drew his blade, his tattooed face grim. ‘Bodjev, you and your shrews stay here for a while. Wait a bit before you follow me. I know who those beasts must be, and I don’t want any of the Cavemob hurt because of me!’
Nimbalo picked up a flint-studded club and followed his friend to the entrance. Tagg shook his head. ‘Not this time, mate. This is something I’ve got to do alone!’
The harvest mouse brushed by him. ‘No mate o’ mine fights standin’ alone, I don’t care wot ye say. I’m goin’ with ye, Tagg. If there’s four of ’em you’ll need somebeast to watch yore back, no arguments!’
Tagg flashed him a quick smile. ‘You’re a real pal, Nimbalo the Slayer!’
Surrounded by the devastation they had caused to the neatly farmed terraces, the four vermin laughed amid fallen boulders and dead pigmy shrews, callously feeding themselves. Gruven stuffed fresh button mushrooms into his mouth, grabbing at Dagrab as she passed with a basket.
‘Strawberries! Why didn’t ye tell me there was strawberries ’ere? Gimme some o’ those, ye greedy rat!’ He spat out the mushrooms and began stuffing strawberries.
Ribrow had a basket part filled with scallions. He munched on a bunch and belched loudly. ‘Nothin’ like fresh picked veggibles. ’Ere, mate, d’yer want some?’ He held out the basket to a groaning pigmy shrew, buried to the chest in rubble, with blood crusting upon his brow. ‘Doesn’t know wot’s good fer ’im,’ Ribrow scoffed. ‘’E don’t want none. Rawback, chuck some of that celery over ’ere, will ye?’
Rawback was nibbling on some tender young carrots. He threw the celery, but it missed Ribrow’s outstretched paw, landing on the back of a dead shrew. Ribrow shot him a look of disgust.
‘I ain’t gonna eat that now. Yore a lousy thrower!’
Gruven pulled a face and stood up, patting his stomach. ‘Too many strawberries gives me the gripes. Anythin’ else that looks tasty round ’ere?’
He turned to scan the far end of what had been the Cavemob shrews’ terrace field and saw Tagg, still some fair distance away. For an instant, shock rooted the stoat to the spot. But then he sprang into action. Without a word he ran off down the mountainside in the opposite direction. When Dagrab saw him hurtling off through the rubble and into a grove of rowans, she forgot the strawberry in her paw. ‘Where’s the chief off to?’
Rawback looked up and saw Tagg thundering towards them. ‘Yaaaargh! The Taggerung!’
They leaped up and fled like sparrows from a hawk, in the direction Gruven had taken. Ribrow was slightly slower than Dagrab or Rawback, and his paw struck a sharp rock. Leaping and yelping, he hobbled as fast as he could, until a sinewy paw caught the back of his neck in a ferocious grip. Tagg spun the stoat round and stunned him with a resounding blow from his rudder.
Nimbalo had now reached the avalanched area and was yelling, ‘Tagg, mate, there’s wounded an’ injured all over the place ’ere. Lend a paw, will you? You’ve got to ’elp me with ’em!’
For a moment Tagg was torn by indecision. He looked in the direction Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback had taken, his eyes blazing hatred, his whole body quivering as he strove to control himself. Then, hauling the unconscious Ribrow over his shoulder, he growled, ‘You’ll do for now. I’ll track those other three down. They can’t run fast or far enough with a Taggerung on their trail!’
Driven by fear, Gruven ran like a hunted animal. Some distance behind he could hear what he thought to be the furious otter coming after him. Actually it was Dagrab and Rawback trying to catch up with him, but Gruven did not intend stopping to face the enemy. He pushed on, certain that the other three had run in different directions, or had been hunted down and slain. He struggled open-mouthed to suck in air, his paws pounding over rock, grass and earth alike. Behind him he heard the crackle of snapping foliage. Panic swept over him and he dodged to the left, into an area of boulders, stunted trees and a fast-flowing stream, which bordered the flatlands. He tried to bridge the stream with a running leap and failed, coming down with a splash into the shallows below the opposite bank. His right footpaw was almost skinned to the bone as it shot between a rock and a root under the water. A screech of pain welled from his throat and he overbalanced to fall backward into the stream.
With their tongues lolling and chests heaving like bellows, Dagrab and Rawback tried to halt at the edge of the narrow stream, but their momentum carried them sliding awkwardly on the damp grass into the shallows below. Scrambling upright they spat out water, staring open-mouthed at Gruven in the shallows near the other side. Their leader was lying on his back, trying to scrub mud and water from his eyes and wailing piteously, ‘Don’t kill me, please! It was the others who caused the landslide, I tried to stop them! Let me live an’ I’ll ’elp ye to hunt ’em down, I’ll do anythin’, only spare me, please!’ He broke down, blubbering and pleading.
Rawback waded across and stood over Gruven, a look of loathing and contempt plain on his villainous face.
‘Gerrup, ye whimperin’ idiot, an’ pack in yer whingein’! ’Tis only us!’
Gruven dried his eyes swiftly. ‘Where’s the otter? Is he comin’ after us?’
Dagrab waded over to study the muddy bankside. ‘We never ’eard ’im followin’ us. So there’s no need fer all the shoutin’ an’ cryin’.’
Suddenly Gruven was back to his old self. ‘I wasn’t cryin’. I was callin’ out ’cos I’m in pain. If’n yer took the trouble t’look, you’d see my footpaw’s trapped!’
Rawback grinned wickedly. ‘Why, so ’tis. ’Ere, let me ’elp yer, Chief.’
The stoat could have freed the paw instantly, but he pretended it was a difficult task. Leaning down on Gruven’s injured limb, he ignored his leader’s cries, wrenching and scraping the hurt footpaw maliciously, but keeping his voice pleasant.
‘There there now, on’y babes cry an’ moan. So, you was the one who tried ter stop us causin’ the landslide, eh? Ain’t you the big brave Juskazann. Young Gruven the terror, eh? All we could ’ear on the journey was ’ow you was goin’ to slay the otter. All those ‘orrible things you wuz goin’ t’do when ye laid paws on ’im. Hoho, soon as ye clapped eyes on the Taggerung you took off, like a butterfly from a jackdaw. Wot ’appened, O Mighty One? Why didn’t ye stand an’ fight like yore mama told yer to?’
Gruven pushed Rawback aside and wrenched his footpaw free. ‘Why didn’t you, or you, Dagrab? Yore supposed to be veteran trackers an’ killers. I’d ’ave taken that otter on if’n you two cowards would’ve stayed t’back me up. Aye, we could’ve done with Vallug an’ Eefera there too. They ran long afore the otter showed up. Though if’n they ain’t trackin’ ’im, wot are they up to?’
Dagrab pointed at the bankside. ‘Well, we’ll soon know when we catch up wid ’em. There’s Eefera’s pawprints. Weasels ain’t ’ard to reckernise. Aye, an’ Vallug’s still with ’im. See the scratches off’n ’is bowtip an’ the deep prints ’e made leverin’ ’imself over the banktop? They’re ’eaded west by the look o’ things.’
Gruven slapped cooling mud on his scraped limb, binding a dock leaf to it with weed strands, then stood up and tested his balance.
‘Right, we’re goin’ after those two slybeasts. ’Tis all clear t’me now. They knew all along that the otter’d never show ’is face near a Juska camp again, an’ no clanbeast’d ever come this far from our territory to check any story they might tell. So all they do is turn up back at camp an’ tell Grissoul that we’re all dead, the otter too, an’ next thing y’know they’re clan chiefs. That’s it!’
Rawback climbed to the banktop, shaking his head. ‘Ye’ve got it right, ’cept fer one thing. Only one o
f ’em’ll make it back to camp. Ain’t no room fer two chiefs. I’ll wager ’tis Vallug who returns alone. ’E wuz always the deadliest slayer.’
Dagrab climbed up beside Rawback. ‘Huh, that’s wot you say, but Eefera ain’t no fool. I’ve tracked alongside that weasel many a time, an’ they don’t come any slyer. Vallug’s big an’ powerful, but my bet is that the one who makes it back’ll be ole Eefera. ’E’s the craftier of the two.’
Gruven scrambled to the banktop, motioning them to move off. ‘I don’t care which one ’tis, I’ll slice ’is ’ead off with this sword as soon as we make it back to camp. All you two’s gotta remember is that I killed the otter. Stick to that story an’ I’ll promote ye both to Chief Trackers. You can ’ave yore own followers, give yer own orders, an’ live off the cream o’ the land. Now let’s get goin’ while there’s still plenty o’ daylight!’
* * *
19
Every fourth summer, Skipper and his ottercrew went off to a Hullabaloo. They would follow streams and rivers down to the shores of the great sea, where they would meet up with other ottercrews and many of the sea otters from the far north. Hullabaloo was a festival which could last until autumn, as long as the otters were having fun. Meeting old friends and relatives, sporting in the waves, singing, dancing and lighting bonfires each night on the beach for the inevitable feasts was good rough fun, of the sort which ottercrews enjoy immensely.
Skipper and his crew marched out of Redwall’s gates that morning, waving, cheering, and promising to bring back lots of shells for the Dibbuns. Mhera stood out on the path with her friends, calling goodbyes and fluttering kerchiefs until the crew merged into the sun-shimmering distance of the flatlands.
Fwirl accompanied the ottermaid back inside the Abbey. ‘Why didn’t you go with them, Mhera? ’Twould be a lovely holiday for you and your mama.’
Mhera shrugged. ‘We’ve not been part of any crew for many seasons now. Skipper said we were welcome to join them, but there’s too much to be done here, Fwirl. Friar Bobb couldn’t do without Mama; she loves the kitchens as much as he does. As for me, well, I’ve got my riddle to solve and Cregga to watch over. Besides, I like Redwall in summer. There’s always something going on.’
The Taggerung (Redwall) Page 21