Rakkety Tam

by Brian Jacques

  Tam’s eyes hardened. “Aye, an’ they won’t be able to repair it once we put torches to it, Doogy!”

  He turned to the carnage, which Idga and Araltum were pointedly trying to ignore by gazing in another direction. “This was a massacre indeed, Doogy. By the tracks, I’d say there were about fivescore vermin who did the slaughter. Mostly foxes an’ stoats, though I see the big-pawed one, their Chieftain, leadin’ away over the clifftops.”

  Doogy strained his eyes north and east. “Och, they must’ve been fair speedy villains. There’s no’ a sight of ’em anyplace!”

  Tam faced Araltum. “How many were with ye at the start of yore ceremony?”

  The king shrugged airily. “How should I know?”

  The squirrel warrior glared at him in disgust. “Aye, an’ why should you care, now that yore skin’s saved! Pinetooth, can ye recall what the numbers were?”

  The older squirrel did a quick mental estimate. “Countin’ the singers an’ musicians, I’d say about thirty.”

  Idga Drayqueen snapped her bark fan shut moodily. “Really, what difference does it make? They’re all dead now!”

  Tam scratched his brush as he viewed the slain squirrels. “There’s not one carcase of a foebeast among these. They’re all our creatures. Thirty, ye say, Pinetooth? Well, how d’ye account for the fact there’s only eighteen lyin’ here? Countin’ yourself an’ Driltig, that makes ten missin’.”

  The old squirrel leaned on his spear. “Are ye sure, Tam, only eighteen?”

  Tam gestured. “Count ’em yourself, mate. Doogy, go an’ cast an eye round the edge of the trees to the north, will ye?”

  Idga Drayqueen began weeping in genuine distress. “Oh, that beautiful banner! It took me and my servants almost a full winter season to make it. Is it lost forever, my dear?”

  Araltum patted her paw. “There, there, my pet, don’t you fret. Tam will get it back for us.”

  Gritting his teeth, Tam managed to bite back the insulting words he was about to issue. Just then he heard Doogy hail him from afar. “Will ye come an’ take a look at this, mate?”

  Striding off along the fringe, Tam came upon his companion some distance away. Doogy was swatting flies from the grisly site. Holding a paw over his mouth, he muttered, “Och, the poor beasts, ah reckon there’s little more than their heads left. ’Tis an awful thing tae see, Tam.”

  His friend paced carefully about, identifying the remains. “There’s Chamog an’ Eltur, Birno an’ Rofal, this one could be Girtan. Well, that’s the other five captains. The rest look like singers an’ flute players. See these two, Doogy—they couldn’t have had more’n fourteen summers between ’em. We’re dealin’ with the lowest kind of barbarian brutes here. These squirrels have all been eaten! See, there’s bones’n’fur scattered everywhere!”

  Grim-faced and shaken, the two warriors returned to the main gathering.

  Araltum asked peevishly, “Did you find my Royal Standard? Was it damaged or torn? Your Drayqueen spent a lot of hard work making that bann . . .”

  The king’s back slammed hard against a tree under Tam’s furious charge. Araltum’s eyes popped fearfully wide as the warrior squirrel had him by the throat, his dirk blade almost in his mouth.

  Tam’s voice was ice-cold. “Ye vile little worm! A score an’ a half o’ yore creatures are lyin’ murdered, an’ all ye can do is whine about a stupid flag. I should slay ye an’ leave ye here to rot with these poor creatures!”

  This statement seemed to cheer Doogy Plumm up no end. “Go to it, Tam. Carve the wee lardbucket’s head off!”

  The warrior flung Araltum down on his fat tail, casting him a hate-laden glance. “I’m sore tempted, Doogy, but that’d only make us as bad as the vermin who killed our comrades. The only thing stoppin’ me is that I pledged my sword an’ my oath to Araltum, aye, an’ ate his bread in good faith!”

  Massaging his throat, the king rose, sneering. “That’s right, Rakkety Tam MacBurl. I’m still your king, and you’re still bound to obey me!”

  Doogy drew his claymore, grinning like a disobedient young one. “Ach, ’twas a silly thing we did, but ah’ve a mind tae alter the rules. Let me slay him for ye, Tam.”

  The warrior placed his dirk across his friend’s blade. “Put up yore sword, Doogy Plumm. Without our word, we’re nothin’. Araltum, what would it take to release us from our bond to ye?”

  The king smirked. “Why should I release my two best warriors? What price could you two offer? Hah, you’re nothing but a pair of raggedy-backed swordbeasts. No! You shall serve me unto death as your oath decreed.”

  Idga Drayqueen interrupted, speaking imperiously. “We’ll free you if you return our Royal Standard to us!”

  Araltum stamped his footpaw down hard. “Never!”

  Idga turned upon her husband. “You mean you’ll let those vermin steal away our lovely banner—the one I worked my paws to the bone to make? Oh, you brute!”

  Doogy shook his head sadly, sympathising with her. “Och, yer right there, mah Queen, after all the braw work ye put intae that flag. Yer hoosban’ mustn’t care a whit for ye, the heartless wee beastie!”

  Araltum put a paw around Idga’s shoulders. “But I do care for you, my love. Don’t upset yourself so!”

  The drayqueen shook off his paw and began weeping. “Go away, you nasty creature! I’ll never speak to you again if that’s all the thanks I get for a full winter’s stitching. You’re despicable!”

  Doogy patted the queen’s paw comfortingly. “Aye, there’s nought worse tae have than a despicable king, marm. ’Tis a wonder how ye put up wi’ him.”

  Araltum slumped against a tree. Knowing he was beaten, he glared sullenly at Tam and Doogy. “Alright, alright! Bring back our Royal Standard and I will release you both from your bonds. Once that banner is back here with us, you can go to the very stones of Hellgates for all I care, both of you. But not until then!”

  Tam stared hard at the royal couple. “We have your word?”

  They nodded, speaking together. “You have our word!”

  Doogy looked north across the clifftops. “Then we’ll no’ be hangin’ aroond here tae waste time. Are ye ready, Tam?”

  The warrior squirrel sheathed his dirk. “Aye, as ready as I’ll ever be. Grab some vittles, Doogy, an’ let’s away.”

  Idga forced a smile at Tam. “Er, when will we expect to see you both back with our standard?”

  Tam shrugged. “A season or two, who knows? If we don’t return, ye’ll know the vermin have slain an’ eaten us.”

  Araltum stepped back, horrified. “Eaten you?”

  Doogy winked cheerfully at him. “Aye, eaten us. Go an’ take a peek at yore Cap’ns an’ singers yonder. Ye’ll note there’s nought left o’ them but their heads an’ a few wee scraps o’ fur’n’bone. It shouldnae be much bother buryin’ them. ’Tis the least ye could do for beasts that served ye well an’ died for ye!”

  “Whooooahhhhh!” Idga gave a great swooning moan and fainted in a heap.

  As Tam and Doogy marched off, their last sight of the despicable royal taskmasters was Araltum trying to heave his wife’s considerable bulk upright while courtiers rubbed her paws and dabbed rose water upon her brow.

  Tam winked at his friend. “Ye’ve a fine way with words, Doogy Plumm, there’s no doubt about that!”

  His faithful companion’s tough, scarred face beamed with pleasure. “Och, now ye come tae mention it, mah grannie allus said I was a braw silver-tongued beastie. Have ye no’ seen me charmin’ wee birdies from out the trees?”

  Tam shot him a sideways glance. “No, not yet. Let’s see if we can go an’ charm the royal flag off those vermin with our blades, my bold Doogy. But first we’ll go down to the seaside an’ do a spot o’ ship-burnin’ to cheer ourselves up. Nought like a good fire, eh?”

  Late afternoon sun cast long shadows as they climbed down the cliffs toward the big vessel perched on the tideline rocks. Both were unaware that through the hole smashed into the forw
ard bow, wickedly glittering eyes were watching them.

  6

  Arflow revelled in the freedom of the open sea. This was the young sea otter’s first journey without the constraints of his parents. To date, his life had been spent in the northwestern coastal waters, never venturing far one way or the other. Last spring, Arflow’s family had been visited by distant relatives, a small group of sea otters from the southern coast. Arflow enjoyed their company immensely, especially that of the four young ones who were about his age. Sad when his newfound cousins departed at midsummer to return down south, Arflow promised to come and visit them the following spring. At first, his parents would not hear of their only son, not yet fully grown, going off all that way to the southern coast alone. Arflow nevertheless persisted with his request, despite the unlikelihood that his parents would give in. But at the start of this spring, a miracle happened: the birth of a little sea otter maid to his mother. Named Matunda, the baby kept both parents busy night and day; accordingly, Arflow stepped up his pleas to go visit his cousins. He finally won out one evening when his mother and father were worn out, swum ragged by the antics of little Matunda who, as they complained, was more lively than a sackful of sardines! Arflow’s request was granted, but with a hundred provisos, which included the young otter’s promise to get the proper rest, navigate by the sun and stars, stick to the coast, make his supplies last and mind his manners with others, plus, of course, all the usual things that mother and father sea otters go on about. He agreed to everything without hesitation.

  Arflow had been swimming since early morning. Now, at late noon, the golden orb of the sun had not far to sink before it touched the western horizon—a league and a half past the mountain fortress of Salamandastron. He lay on his back and drifted on the calm surface of the ebbtide, happily reflecting on what a glorious day it was to be young and alive! Arflow looked out to where the waters changed from a light opaque green to a deep aquamarine blue in the west. Though starting to tinge a delicate peach in the distance, the sky was still bright periwinkle blue overhead, dotted with small puffball clouds, their undersides shot gold from sunrays. The young sea otter wriggled with delight at the seabirds wheeling and calling above. He giggled as a cormorant winged nearby, splashing him as it dived headlong into the gentle swell. Sheer exuberance flooded over Arflow. He broke out into a sea otter song which he had learned from his father:

  “Sing hi yo ho, let every creature know,

  I’ll swim where e’er I choose to go,

  on rippling wave or tidal flow.

  Oooooooh, no lark’s as blithe as me!

  Sing hey make way, let nobeast bar my way.

  To frowning faces I will say,

  cheer up and smile now, come and play.

  Oooooooh, be happy on this day!

  Don’t cry, ’tis I who laughs at misery,

  so young, so full of life and free,

  with all the seas to roam and see.

  Oh Moooother Nature, list to me, I thank thee gratefully!”

  Arflow dived, swooped up and sprang from the water, throwing himself high into the air and landing back with a resounding splash. Then he heard the drum. Boom boom! Boom boom! Boom bumpitty bumpitty boom!

  He peered landward at a group of creatures marching along the shoreline. Arflow barely distinguished the distant figures as hares. They were banging a big drum and singing a marching song as they strutted along the beach. Raising a webbed paw, he shouted a greeting, despite knowing they were too far off to hear. That did not bother the young sea otter: they were happy, and so was he.

  Suddenly, without warning, things went amiss. In the distance, other dark shapes, a host of them, appeared. Who they were, Arflow could not tell. For a moment, the hares tried to resist the newcomers, but they were outnumbered by more than ten to one. The invaders surrounded them and hurled themselves upon the small band of hares. Screams and agonised cries rent the air, accompanied by shouts and howls. Even from that distance the sea otter could hear them.

  Boom! The drum sounded once. Then there was silence as the dark shapes settled on the fallen hares like crows upon carrion. Arflow did not know what was happening, but he sensed that something very bad and wicked had taken place on the shore. Shock and worry beset him after the terrifying swiftness of the incident.

  Recovering himself hurriedly, he turned on his stomach and altered course immediately. Cleaving the sea like a blade through satin, Arflow sped back in the direction of Salamandastron. Whatever had occurred, he felt it imperative that Lady Melesme, the Badger Ruler of the mountain, should know. All creatures who were not vermin looked to the fortress and its Badger Ruler, who commanded the army of hares known, and famed, as the Long Patrol. They were sworn to protect the western coastlands, and all about, from harm by foebeasts. Urgency had replaced Arflow’s previous euphoria. The scenic glories of evening’s approach and the joy he had been revelling in were forgotten. He concentrated all his energy into swimming, faster than he had ever moved, toward the distant mountain which stood in the fading light like a giant, purple-shaded sentinel, guarding the shores.

  7

  Springtime had made its welcome presence felt at Redwall Abbey. Brother Demple, the skilful mouse who managed most of the cultivation besides serving as Abbey Beekeeper, was arranging seedlings in the vegetable gardens. Everybeast knew that Demple possessed a knowledge of the earth and an unsurpassed talent for growing things. Hitheryon Jem was helping Demple to bed and water the tiny plants. Both creatures knelt on moss-padded sacking, carefully arranging drills of scallions.

  The Abbey Gardener watched Jem, nodding approvingly at the old hedgehog’s work. “You like doing this, don’t you, friend?”

  Wiping soil from his trowel, Jem straightened his back. “Indeed I do, Brother. I often think I’d have done better as a gardener, instead o’ bein’ just a pawloose rover. Tell me, why’ve ye kept some o’ these scallion sprigs back instead of plantin ’em all at once?”

  Demple bedded another seedling in, covering its delicate roots. “Because they’d all grow at once, and we’d have a wonderfully useless bumper harvest. No, Jem, ’tis better to plant vegetables at different times. Then, when we need some, they can be fresh-picked, leaving us room to grow more. Otherwise, our storerooms would be overfilled.”

  He waved a paw across the vegetable gardens. “See, beetroots, leeks, lettuce, carrot, onion and cress. But never too many growing at one time, that’s the trick.”

  The wise mouse waved his trowel at two Dibbuns who looked as if they were ready to dash right through his produce. “Be careful to walk around the border! Now, how can I help you two rascals, eh?”

  Demple remarked under his breath to Jem, “Sometimes I wish we could plant our babes like seedlings. At least it would stop them from charging through my drills like little ploughs.”

  Mimsie and Mudge skirted the plants, calling out, “Bruvver Dimples, Fry Glis sended us. We gotta fetch herbers an ’tatoes an” coddyflowers, ’cos he’s makin’ a veggible bake wivva crust on it!”

  The kindly Brother smiled. “Stop there, me and Mister Jem will take you to the storeroom to get them.”

  Holding the Dibbuns’ paws, Jem and Demple walked the babes back to the Abbey. Jem raised his spiky eyebrows at the molebabe. “Mudge, you should’ve gone to the stores in the first place. Our stuff isn’t ready t’be picked yet.”

  Mudge gave him a cheerful grin. “Hurr, us’n’s bee’s only h’infants, zurr. Ow’m uz apposed to know that?”

  Jem looked down at the velvety little head. “Didn’t the Friar tell you to get his supplies from the storerooms? I’ll wager he did.”

  Mudge smote his brow with a tiny paw. “Moi gudderness, so he’m did, zurr! But oi aspeck uz furgot to amember thart. Us’n’s only got likkle brains, so uz h’offen furgets all kinds uv fings.”

  Jem nodded sympathetically. “I know exactly wot you mean, mate. It happens to us old ’uns, too. I get like that a lot lately.”

  They were getting
the supplies out of the storeroom when Abbot Humble entered. “Hello! What are you two rascals up to, eh?”

  Mimsie scowled. “Us not rakkles, we get veggibles for Glis!”

  Humble patted her head. “Oh, right, there’s a good little maid. I forgot, we’re having a special supper tonight to honour our moles. Should be good fun, eh, Demple?”

  Molebabe Mudge wagged a stern paw at Humble. “Nought funny abowt ee supper. Et bee’s a gurt honner to bee ee moler, loike oi!”

  Humble shook Mudge’s tiny paw. “My apologies. I’m sure it is a great honour to be a mole, and you, my friend, are a shining example of a wonderful molebabe!”

  Mudge scratched his snout and shuffled his footpaws, a sure sign of embarrassment displayed by Dibbun moles. “Noice uv ee to say so, h’Abbot zurr. Thankee!”

  As the babes continued selecting their supplies, Humble remarked to his wandering cousin, “Jem, I was wondering if you could recall the lines that Askor related to you, the rhyme about the Walking Stone. Do you think you could remember his exact words?”

  Pursing his lips, Jem stared at the ceiling, as if seeking inspiration there. “Hmm, somethin’ about the sun fallin’ from the sky an’ dancin’. No, I’m sorry, I seem to ’ave forgotten it.”

  Mudge left off nibbling a sweet young carrot. “Hurr hurr, you’m furgettin’ to amember jus’ loike oi. Yurr Jem, you’m a dozy ole pudden ’ead, hurr hurr!”

  Jem made a stern face at the molebabe. “Don’t be so cheeky to yore elders, ye young rip, an’ leave those carrots alone!” He turned to the Abbot. “Why do ye wish to know the rhyme?”

  Humble shrugged. “Just because it’s a puzzle, I suppose. The idea of a Walking Stone intrigues me.”

  Jem selected a cauliflower and plucked off a few of its outer stalks. “Hmm, that puzzle had me wonderin’, too, Cousin. Ahah, wait a moment! Screeve wrote it down at the meeting in Cavern Hole. She did, I remember now!”