The Long Patrol Page 10

  ‘Looks very temptin’ indeed, eh, gel?’

  ‘Exactly, good spot for an ambush I’d say.’

  Tammo remembered the last time he had rushed forward to water. The hares were right, this time he would be on his guard.

  The Major issued orders in a whisper. ‘Sergeant Torgoch, take young Pasque an’ scout the terrain downstream. Cap’n Twayblade, do likewise upstream, take one with you.’

  ‘Permission t’go with you, Cap’n. Please, marm, I’d like a chance t’be a real part of the patrol!’

  Twayblade could not help smiling at the eager Tammo. ‘Stripe me, but you’re a bright’n’brisk ’un. Still, one volunteer’s worth ten pressed creatures. C’mon then, young Tamm.’

  Leaving the edge of the fern cover, Twayblade drew her deadly long rapier and stooped low. ‘Follow me, Tamm, duck an’ weave, take advantage of any cover, keep your eyes open an’ do as I do. That is until I give you an order, then it’s do as I say!’

  Tammo enjoyed learning from an expert. He kept low, rolling behind mounds, bellying out to crawl over open spaces swiftly, then stopping dead and remaining motionless, disguised among bushes. Never traversing in a straight line they headed east, keeping with the outer edge of the tree fringe until Twayblade decided they had gone far enough. She flattened herself against a gnarled dwarf apple tree, and for a moment Tammo lost sight of the Captain. She blended in with the tree bark until she was almost invisible to the casual observer and only by staring hard could the young hare make her out.

  ‘Great seasons, Cap’n,’ he chuckled admiringly, ‘you nearly vanished altogether then! Mayhaps you’ll teach me that trick, marm?’

  Twayblade shook her head vigorously. ‘Not me. Little Midge Manycoats is the chap, he’ll teach you all about disguise an’ concealment, he’s the best there is. Righto, let’s make our way to the riverbank an’ follow it back down t’where we left the patrol. Everythin’ seems to be safe enough hereabouts, but let’s not get careless, Tamm. Keep that splendid blade o’ yours at the ready, wot!’

  They took a drink at the river’s edge; the water was cold and sweet. Splashing through the shallows, they cooled their footpaws as they went. Tammo noticed a good patch of watercress, fronds streaming out around a limestone rock beneath the water. He did not stop to gather it, but noted the spot and carried on in Twayblade’s wake. The rest of the journey back was pleasant and uneventful, and they arrived at the ferns as noontide shadows lengthened.

  The Captain made her report. ‘Well, well, I see you lot’ve had a nice little nap whilst we were gone, wot! Nothin’ to report, the coast’s clear up that way.’

  Torgoch and Pasque returned; the Sergeant threw a brisk salute. ‘River narrows downstream, sah, lots o’ rocks stickin’ up. That’s where the vermin made their crossin’, still wet pawprints on the stones. We’d catch ’em up by midnight if the patrol got under way smartlike, sah.’

  Perigord judged the sun’s angle. ‘I think we’ll make camp here, Sergeant. No sense in chasin’ our tails off, wot. Early start tomorrow, good fast march, an’ I’ve little doubt we’ll encounter ’em about high noon. Camp down, troop.’

  Insects skimmed and flitted on the river surface in quiet twilight, and the campfire flickered warmly. Tammo and Russa opened their haversack. The squirrel dug out the last of her pancakes and distributed them, saying, ‘Warm these over by the fire, toast ’em up a mite, they’re good!’

  Rockjaw spitted his on a willow twig and held it over the flames. ‘How’s the soup a comin’ along, Rubbadub?’

  Corporal Rubbadub pulled a wry face as he took a sip from his ladle. ‘Brrrrumbum dubadub!’

  Lieutenant Morio raised an eyebrow. ‘As bad as that, eh? Nothin’ hereabouts we can add to it?’

  Tammo rose and winked at them. ‘Wait there. I spotted some fresh watercress earlier on. Won’t be a tick!’

  It was slightly eerie being alone in the gathering gloom as Tammo made his way back upriver. Once or twice he thought he heard noises, and each time he drew his blade and halted, listening, but the only sounds he could make out were those of the flowing water. The young hare gripped his weapon tight, chiding himself aloud.

  ‘Not very good form, sah, behavin’ like a ditherin’ duckwife!’ Squaring his shoulders he loped onward until the limestone rock showed pale and ghostly through the gloom. Wading out to it he gathered pawfuls of the fresh watercress, lopping it off below the waterline with his dirk. Carrying the delicious treat back to the bank, Tammo stuck his blade in a sycamore trunk and began tying the cress in a bundle, using his shoulder strap to secure it.

  Four dark shapes dropped out of the branches overhead, making Tammo their target. Footpaws whamming on to his back, shoulders and head drove Tammo flat, stunning him. Before he had a chance to recover and fight back a cruel noose slid over his head, pulling tight about his neck. Cords were whipped skilfully around his paws. Tammo was unable to cry out; groggily he tried to headbutt one of the wraithlike figures, but a heavy stick struck him in the midriff. Doubled up and fighting to suck air through his wide-open mouth, Tammo was shoved roughly into a cradle made from woven vines. In a trice he was hoisted up into the tree foliage, high among the leafy branches. A dirty gag was bound around his mouth and the noose loosened.

  Savage greenblack faces came close to his, lots of them – they seemed to be everywhere.

  ‘Mayka move! Goo onbeast, mayka move! Choohakk! Cutcha t’roat an’ eatcha iffya mayka move!’

  A paw stroked Tammo’s long ears and a deep grating voice chuckled, ‘Choohoohoo! Dis a nicey wan, dis wan ours!’

  * * *

  19

  ON THE AFTERNOON that the weather cleared and brightened up, there was great activity in Redwall Abbey. Armed with axes, saws and pruning knives the creatures set about the task of dismantling the beech tree which had collapsed upon the already unstable south wall. Arven and Shad the Gatekeeper took a long, double-pawed saw, and between them they tackled the heaviest limb they could reach.

  Viola Bankvole stood by as Infirmary Sister, with an array of unguents, salves, bandages and medicines, in case of injuries. Mother Abbess Tansy had given her permission for any willing Redwallers, young or old, to join in. She remarked to her friend Craklyn as they watched the beech being decimated, ‘Far better to let everybeast take part, don’t you think? It makes a heavy chore into more of a social activity.’

  The squirrel Recorder had her doubts. ‘We need more organization, Tansy. Look at Sloey and Gubbio – they’re sitting perched up on that branch with hammers, knocking away at twigs, the little turnipheads!’

  Tansy smiled fondly up at the two Dibbuns. ‘Oh, leave them, they can’t get into much mischief doing that.’

  Craklyn pointed lower down the same branch. ‘But see, Brother Sedum and Sister Egram are trying to saw through the bottom of the same branch. Look out – there it goes!’

  The branch snapped with a sharp crack, Sedum and Egram fell backwards with a joint yell, and the two Dibbuns squeaked in dismay as they plummeted earthward.

  ‘Haharr gotcha!’

  Lithe and brawny, Skipper of otters dropped his axe and leapt beneath the branch to catch Sloey and Gubbio in his strong paws. Giggling helplessly the three of them fell into the mass of leafy foliage, the Dibbuns crowing aloud with excitement, ‘Again! Do it again! More, more!’

  Skipper sat up rubbing his head. ‘Ouch! You liddle coves – watch where yore a wavin’ those ’ammers!’

  Viola was over like a shot. ‘I knew it, some creature was bound to get hurt! Come away from there, you naughty babes! And you, call yourself a Skipper of otters, have you no sense at all? Stop scrabbling about in those leaves with the Dibbuns this instant!’

  She swept Sloey up in her paws, and the mousebabe, who was still waving her hammer, which was no more than a small nut mallet, bopped the good Sister an unlucky one between the ears. Viola turned her eyes upward, gave a faint whoop and sat down hard.

  Skipper shook with laughter as he
gave orders to some other Dibbuns who had just arrived on the scene. ‘Ahoy, mates, git bandages an’ ointment, fix pore Sister Viola up, she’s sore wounded!’

  Full of mischief, the Abbeybabes needed no second bidding.

  Viola floundered about helplessly on the grass as they poured ointment on her head and dashed round and round her until she was swathed in bandages. Tansy and Craklyn had to turn away, they were chuckling so hard. Then Tansy caught sight of the cook.

  ‘Mother Buscol, perhaps you and Gurrbowl would like to set up the evening meal out here? There’s lots of deadwood from the tree for a fire. Couldn’t we have a chestnut roast and baked parsnips? Craklyn and I will help – I know, we’ll make honey and maple apples. Is there any strawberry fizz in the cellars? That would be lovely for our workers!’

  Grumbling aloud, the fat old squirrel trundled off to the kitchens for her ingredients. ‘Lackaday, an’ what’s wrong with a kitchen oven may I arsk? Indeed to goodness, look you, a full picnic meal for who knows ’ow many creatures, an’ everywhere ’tis nought but bushes an’ bangin’. Come on, Gurrbowl, we’ll ’ave to see what can be done!’

  Goodwife Gurrbowl the Cellar Keeper shook her head severely at Sister Viola as she passed. ‘Moi dearie me, b’aint you’m gotten no sense, Viola, a playin’ wi’ ee Dibbuns an’ gittin’ eeself all messed oop loik that!’

  Skipper and his crew, with Arven and the more able-bodied Redwallers, set to with a will, chopping, sawing and hauling heavy branches. The work went well. They struck up a song as they toiled:

  ‘Oh, seed is in the ground an’ up comes a shoot,

  Seed is in the soil an’ down goes a root,

  Here comes a leaf an’ there goes a twig,

  Seasons turn as the tree grows big!

  Saplin’ bends with the breeze at dawn,

  Wearin’ a coat of bark t’keep warm,

  Growin’ lots o’ green leaves ’stead o’ fur,

  Birds go a nestin’ in its hair.

  Some gets flow’rs as they spread root,

  Some gets berries, some gets fruit,

  Trees grow t’gether in a glade,

  All through summer that’s nice shade.

  Lots o’ trees do make a wood,

  Just the way that good trees should,

  Ole dead trees when they expire,

  Keep my paws warm by the fire!’

  They had scarcely finished the song when a voice rapped sternly from the deepest section of the foliage, ‘That’s still no reason to cut down a tree, is it?’

  Skipper looked at Arven strangely. ‘Did you say somethin’, mate?’

  ‘No, I thought it was you for a moment, Skip.’

  The voice sounded out again, quite irritable this time. ‘Honestly, where there’s no feeling there’s no sense. I’m trapped in here, you great pair of buffoons. In here!’

  Skipper thrust himself into the foliage. ‘Sounds like an owlbird t’me!’

  A deep sigh escaped from the leafy depths. ‘Owlbird? Did I call you an otterdog? No! Then pray have the goodness to at least get the name of my species right. Owl, say it!’

  Skipper shrugged his brawny shoulders. ‘Owl!’

  ‘Thank you!’ the voice continued. ‘Now are you going to stand about jawing all day or do you think you and your friends can muster up the decency to get me out of here?’

  Right at the heart of the foliage was a thick dead limb with a deep weather-spread crack in it, and wedged there was a female of the type known as Little Owls. She had wide grey eyebrows and huge yellow eyes which were fixed in a permanent frown.

  Arven climbed over a limb and nodded amiably at her. ‘Good day to ye, marm. You’ll excuse my sayin’, but we never cut down your tree, the storm knocked it down.’

  The owl moved her head from side to side huffily. ‘So you say. All I know is that I’m not three days in this nest, hardly settled down, Taunoc gone hunting for beetles, when the whole world collapses in on me. Knocked unconscious, completely out! I’ve only just regained my senses, due to your infernal banging and knocking of course!’

  Skipper put down his axe guiltily. ‘An’ are ye all right, marm?’

  The owl was a very small one, but she puffed herself up until she filled the entire crack, glaring at the otter. ‘All right? Do I look all right? Clutching on here, half upside down, doing my level best to stop three eggs spilling out and breaking all over the ground. Oh yes, apart from that and being knocked out, I suppose I’m all right!’

  Tansy and Craklyn pushed into the foliage, all concern for the owl’s predicament.

  ‘Oh, you poor bird! Three eggs and your home’s destroyed!’

  ‘Viola, come quick! Arven, Skipper, hold this branch steady. Stay still, my dear, we’ll have you and your eggs out of there safely in no time at all!’

  The Redwallers flocked in to help; carefully they extricated the Little Owl from the crack. The nest, with its three eggs intact, was lifted out as gently as possible. Then, chopping away twigs and foliage, they led the bird out into the open.

  Tansy found out that the owl’s name was Orocca. They brought her to the fire, placing the nest on a pile of blankets. Orocca was small but looked formidably strong and fierce. She ruffled her feathers and sat on her nest, staring aggressively at everybeast, the pupils of her immense golden eyes dilating and contracting in the firelight.

  Mother Buscol gave her warm candied chestnuts, hazelnuts crystallized in honey, and some strawberry fizz. ‘Indeed to goodness, bird, you need sweet food to get over your shock. Eat up now, look you, there’s plenty more.’

  As Orocca ate voraciously, Viola approached her with herbs and medicines. The owl shot her a glare that sent her scuttling. Timidly she stood behind Skipper and called to Orocca, ‘When will your egg babies be born?’

  The answer was terse and irate. ‘When they’re ready and not a moment before, silly!’

  Foremole Diggum and his team arrived at the fire. Diggum clacked his digging claws together in delight. ‘Hoo arr, lookee, Drubb, ’unny apples an’ chesknutters by ee foire! Gurr, us’n’s be fair famishered. ‘Scuse oi, marm, ’opes you’m doant objeck to molers settin’ ’longside ee?’

  To everybeast’s surprise, Orocca actually smiled at Diggum. ‘Please be seated, sir, I enjoy the company of moles immensely. I find them wise and sensible creatures, not given to ceaseless chatter and inane questions.’

  Foremole and his crew sat, heaping their platters with food.

  Arven scratched his head in bewilderment. ‘Orocca doesn’t seem too fond of us, yet she took to you straight away. What’s your secret, Diggum?’

  Foremole’s homely face crinkled into a knowing grin. ‘Hurr, oi ’spect ’tis our ’andsome lukks, zurr!’

  Striving to keep a straight face, Arven sat next to Diggum. ‘Oh, I see. But pray tell me, sir, apart from admiring yourself in a mirror, what else have you been up to this afternoon?’

  The mole poured himself a beaker of strawberry fizz. ‘Us’n’s been a diggen, oi’ll tell ee wot oi found, zurr!’

  Later on Arven sought out Tansy, who was in the dormitory with Mother Buscol, bedding down Dibbuns for the night. Peeping round the door Arven watched in silence, recalling fondly his own Dibbun times. The Abbeybabes lay in their small beds, repeating after Abbess Tansy an ancient poem. Arven had learnt it from Auma, an old badger mother, long ago.

  He listened, mentally saying the lines along with the little ones.

  ‘Night comes soft, ’tis daylight’s end,

  Sleep creeping gently o’er all,

  Bees go to hive, birds fly to nest,

  Whilst pale moonshadows fall.

  Silent earth lies cloaked in slumber,

  Stars standing guard in the skies,

  ’Til dawn steals up to banish darkness,

  I must close my weary eyes.

  Safe dreams, peace unto you, my friend,

  Night comes soft, ’tis daylight’s end.’

  Mother Buscol stayed with the yawning Dibbun
s while Tansy drifted quietly outside to see what her friend wanted. Together they descended the stairs and strolled out into the beautiful spring night, and Arven related what Diggum Foremole had told him.

  ‘Diggum and his team located the exact spot where the trouble with the south wall began. Today while we were dealing with the tree, he and his moles began excavating. I’ve arranged with him to show us what he found.’

  Holding lighted lanterns, Diggum and his stout crew awaited them at the edge of a sloping shaft they had dug into the ground near the wallbase.

  Tugging his snout courteously to Tansy, the mole Chieftain greeted her. ‘Gudd eventoid to ee, marm, thurr be summat yurr oi wanten ee t’cast thy eye ower. Oi’ll go afront of ee an’ moi moles’ll foller, keepen furm ’old o’ yon rope.’

  Sensibly the moles had pegged ropes either side of the shaft walls, forming a strong banister. Gingerly, everyone followed Diggum into the shaft. The earth was moist and slippery underpaw.

  Following Diggum’s advice, Tansy held tight to the ropes. By lantern light she saw that the shaft levelled out into a small tunnel, where she was forced to crouch, her gown sweeping its sides.

  ‘Burr, oi’m sorry you’m ’abit be gettin’ amuckied oop,’ Foremole murmured apologetically. ‘’Tis only a place fit furr molefolk, marm.’

  The Abbess patted the broad back in front of her. ‘Oh, ’tis nothing a washday won’t solve, friend. Lead on, I’m dying of curiosity to see what you’ve discovered.’

  When she did see it, Tansy was almost lost for words. She stood awestruck at what the flickering lantern light revealed.

  ‘Great seasons o’ sun an’ showers, what is it?’

  BOOK TWO