Rakkety Tam Read online

  “Yurr, marm, take ee moi likkle dagger, h’it bee’s gurtly sharp. An’ take ee moi ole granfer’s cloak, too!”

  “Remember now, if ye see any vermin, don’t stop to talk with the nasty sly brutes. You just run off, fast as y’can!”

  Humble cast an amused glance at Armel. “I think you and Brooky will leave here with more information than your heads can carry, and more clothing, food and weapons than your paws can bear, eh Sister?”

  Armel put aside a lucky pebble, which had been donated by Mudge the molebabe. “Aye, Father, but everything is given in friendship and with good heart. How can we refuse them?”

  Wandering Walt whispered to her, “Doan’t ee fret, marm. Give ’em all to oi. Oi’ll give ee h’all ee gifts back on yore safe return, hurr aye.”

  Brooky interrupted. “Thankee, Walt. How’s the footpaw, still split? Maybe it’ll split altogether. Then you’ll have three footpaws. Hahahaha!”

  Old Walt chuckled. “Nay, marm, oi spreaded et with ee h’ointment from Sister’s affirmery. ’Tis foine now. Oi’m gurtly taken with ee affirmery medicines, they’m gudd.”

  Armel took a quick peep at Walt’s footpaw. “Well done, sir! Perhaps you’d like to fill in as Infirmary Keeper while I’m away?”

  The ancient mole beamed with pleasure. “Thankee gurtly, Sister. ’Twould be noice to ’old such an ’igh posishun!”

  Brooky raised her goblet to him. “Listen everybeast, this good mole is our new healer. From now on, he will be known as Sister Walt. Hahahahaha!”

  Foremole Bruffy called out, “Yurr Sister, can ee cure moi blister? If’n ee do, oi’ll give ee a gurt kiss. Hurrhurrhurr!”

  Walt scowled. “Burr, then oi’ll raise anuther blister, zurr, roight on ee skull!”

  Good food and merry banter went back and forth. Humble waited until there was a lull in the proceedings before he signalled to Skipper. The otter chieftain went to the tapestry. Standing upon a tall chair, he took the sword of Martin from its two brackets above the tapestry. A hush fell over all as he laid the blade on the table in front of Armel.

  The Abbot addressed her in a voice which could be heard by every Redwaller present. “This is the sword of Martin the Warrior, made by a Badger Lord in the fires at Salamandastron. It is said that the blade was forged from the metal of a star which fell from the skies. This sword has always stood as a symbol of truth, honour and justice at Redwall. I place it in your care, Sister Armel. You must promise to bring it back here when its task is fulfilled.”

  Apart from a red pommel stone, the sword hilt was a plain black grip, serviceable and strong. Armel laid her paw upon it, gazing in awe at the legendary blade. This was fashioned with a centre channel and double edges, keen as ice in midwinter, running to a point which shimmered like a searing flame.

  The blade was as old as forgotten dreams and as lethal as death’s shadow.

  Armel’s voice was hushed, yet it echoed round Great Hall. “Father, it is a strange thing for a maid who knows only about healing, and caring for the sick, to be bearing such a weapon. But I will deliver it to the warrior whom Martin has spoken of. When the sword has served its purpose, I swear upon my life that I will return it to you, here in this room at Redwall!”

  Amid applause and cheers of approval, Humble embraced the young squirrel, whom he had seen grow from infancy to a well-loved member of his Abbey. Tears dewed in his eyes for the unknown dangers she might be facing.

  16

  Slow-drifting cloudbanks masked a buttercup-hued half-moon in the spring night. Somewhere off in the distant trees a nightjar churred its nocturnal melody. At the south wallgate, Skipper withdrew the bolts of the little door in the wall. The mouse Gatekeeper, Brother Gordale, eased the door back on its well-oiled hinges.

  Skipper patted his niece’s cheek affectionately. “Be a good young maid now, an’ watch out for Sister Armel an’ that sword. D’ye hear me?”

  Even Brooky knew that this was no time for laughter. She pressed her uncle’s big paw. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on ’em both.”

  Humble assured Sister Armel, “We’ll be watching every day for your return. Go now, and may good fortune smile upon you both.”

  The little walldoor closed quietly as two hooded and cloaked figures ventured off into the darkness.

  Armel and Brooky went quickly over the small area of grassland which skirted the south wall. They headed for the path which curved through Mossflower Wood. Outside of the Abbey, everything looked different without the blessing of sunlight.

  Armel shuddered. “I’ve only been outside the Abbey a few times, and then not far—either gathering herbs or for picnics when I was small. It feels very lonely out here with just each other for company.”

  Brooky stifled a titter, trying her best to sound confident. “You stay close t’me and you’ll come t’no harm, pal. I’ve been twice to the north shores in the summer with Uncle Skip and his crew. I’m used to this sort o’ thing, y’know.”

  She tripped on a rock and went headlong into a pile of broom. Armel could not help chuckling as she took hold of Brooky’s paw. “Up you come, mate. Are you alright?”

  The stout ottermaid shot up immediately. “Right as rain, thankee! Though I wish that moon’d keep still an’ stop dodging behind the clouds. This cloak’s a nuisance, too. Can’t take a step without it tripping me!”

  They made the path without further incident and followed it south for a while. Armel began getting used to the dark. “Watch the ditch on your right side, Brooky. Hold on a tick while I fix this sword.”

  Brooky helped her friend adjust the sword, which was wrapped in a sheath of soft barkcloth. She fixed it so that the blade hung flat down Armel’s back beneath her cloak, away from prying eyes. The ottermaid took charge of both their foodpacks, toting them easily over one shoulder. “I’ll carry these. You take care of the sword, pal.”

  Armel smiled gratefully. “Thanks, mate. Friar Glisum said that he thought up some travelling rations specially for us, stuff that doesn’t need cooking. He said there’s a full meal in each piece. Oh, and Burlop Cellarhog gave us a flask of a recipe he’s invented to save carrying too much weight.”

  Brooky flexed her shoulder. “Feels light enough. What is it?”

  Armel explained. “A syrup made from boiled-down fruit juices and honey. Burlop said you only have to add water to it and it’ll make a sweet, nourishing drink. Good, eh?”

  The ottermaid commented doubtfully, “I’ll let you know after I’ve tried it. Hadn’t we better cut off west into the trees? This path runs mainly south.”

  Armel agreed. “Good idea, but how do we cross the ditch?”

  Brooky suddenly regained her sense of fun. “The best plan would be to jump over it, ’cos we can’t very well jump under it. Hahahaha, here goes!”

  She took a short run and jumped, making the other side with ease. “See that, Armel! I should’ve been born a bird really, I just flew over. Your turn now—ready, steady, jump!”

  The squirrelmaid took a short run at the ditch, but at the crucial moment of jumping, her footpaw became snarled in her cloak hem. With a small cry of dismay, she plunged headlong into the ditch.

  Her otter friend came swiftly to the rescue. “Oh, bad luck, pal. Stay there, I’ll get you out!” She slid down into the ditch, which was deeper than she had thought it would be.

  The moon came from behind the clouds, throwing a pale light down to illuminate the scene. Armel was flat on her back, almost rigid with fright as she called out, “Brooky, stand still, don’t move!”

  There was no water in the ditch, just a deep layer of damp leaves and weeds. Right between the two travellers, a snake reared its head out of its scaly coils, hissing venomously. “Thrrrrttsss!”

  Wide-eyed with horror, Armel whispered, “Brooky, I think it’s an adder. What do we do now?”

  The ottermaid had been studying the reptile carefully. Slowly she took the ration packs from her shoulder. As she did this, Brooky appeared to be striking
up a conversation with the snake. “Well, are you an adder?”

  Its head swivelled to face her. “I am death to allbeastssssss!”

  Brooky seemed quite fascinated by this declaration. “Are you really? Well, what can we do for you, Mister Death?”

  The snake slithered toward Brooky, its forked tongue flickering. “I like to eat thingssssss!”

  As soon as the reptile had its back to her, Armel began inching her paw slowly toward the sword hilt. However, there was no need for any action on her part because of what Brooky did next.

  The ottermaid smiled engagingly at the snake. “You like to eat things . . . haha, don’t we all! Listen, we’ve got lots of nice vittles with us. Why not try some?”

  She swung both the ration packs with lightning speed. Whap! Smack! Thunk! Wallop! Four hefty blows landed forcibly on the snake’s head, leaving it slack-coiled and totally senseless.

  Armel struggled up and ran to her friend. “Oh Brooky, I thought the adder was going to kill you! How wonderfully brave you were, attacking it like that!”

  The young otter looked up from the packs, which she was checking for damage. “Hahahaha! Wonderfully brave, my grannie’s apron! You great, fluffy-tailed buffer, don’t you know the difference twixt an adder an’ a grass snake? Huh, Mister Death, eh!”

  Armel stammered, “B . . . but I didn’t know, I thought it was poison!”

  Brooky scoffed. “Just look at its back, the thing hasn’t got a diamond pattern. Adders have diamond patterns along their backs. Grass snakes only have markings on their sides. Look.”

  She wiped the unconscious reptile’s back off with her cloak hem. There, beneath the layer of ditch mud and rotten leaves, was the black V-marked head and zigzag marks of an adder.

  Brooky thought this was hilarious. “Oh hahahahoohoo! Silly me, it was an adder after all. Well, the food looks alright, so there’s no harm done, really—except to Mister Death there. He’ll have a headache that should last him until midsummer. Let’s get out of this slimy place. I’ve never liked hanging about in ditches.”

  Armel joined in the spirit of the thing. Nobeast could stay gloomy for long in the company of the happy otter. “Neither have I. Let’s leave Mister Death to his nap.”

  Laughing together, they climbed out of the ditch and headed into the woodlands. They had not gone far when Brooky halted, scratching her ear. “How will we know we’re going southwest? I’m not too bright on all that northing and southing business.”

  Armel reassured her. “It’s quite simple, really. The sun rises in the east, you see, so if you have it directly at your back, you’ll be going west. South is off to the left if west is straight ahead, so we take the middle course, and we’ll be travelling southwest. Get it?”

  Brooky shook her head. “I’m still as baffled as when you started explainin’. So you be the pathfinder, and I’ll deal with any hungry snakes that we come across!”

  They trekked all night until the dawn sunrays told them they were on the right track.

  Armel rubbed her eyes. She was feeling quite tired. “Walk by night and rest by day, that’s what we were told. So let’s make camp, have a spot of breakfast and a nice little snooze. Does that sound like a good idea?”

  Brooky grinned from ear to ear. “Do you hear me objectin’? How about camping at the base of that big elm over there?”

  They spread their cloaks and opened the ration packs. Armel opened one parcel that contained two wheaten loaves. She bit into one, passing her friend the other.

  “Mmm, this tastes good! Look, it has cheese, mushrooms, carrots and onions baked inside. What’s yours like?”

  Brooky took a healthy mouthful from her loaf, which was sweetened ryebread. “Haha, this is full of thick honey, chopped hazelnuts, cooked apple and blackberry. Good old Friar Glisum, he’s given us two courses in two loaves. Tell you what, we’ll swap when we’re halfway through ’em. Then we’ll have had main meal an’ dessert together.”

  Armel found one of the drink flasks and two beakers. “I’ll go and find some water to mix with Burlop’s fruit syrup. There might be a stream or a spring nearby.”

  The squirrelmaid was not gone for long. Brooky was dozing gradually. She opened one eye when her friend returned. “Well, did you find some water?”

  Armel slumped down beside her. “No, couldn’t see any around, but I did find something.”

  The ottermaid’s eyelids began drooping. “What was that?”

  Armel yawned. “The path from last night. It runs straight with the direction we’re going. We’ve been struggling along through the woodlands all night, not knowing that the path was hardly a stone’s throw away. It must run southwest for quite a bit. So, Miss Puddenhead, who said that we should take to the woods because the path goes straight to the south?”

  The ottermaid imitated a snoring sound. “Not me, must have been you. Don’t disturb me, I’m asleep!”

  Armel lay down, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “It was you, you great, fat-tailed fibber. Good night!”

  Brooky wrinkled her nose. “Heeheehee, don’t you mean good day?”

  Armel smiled. “Don’t speak to me, I’m not talking to you!”

  Brooky snuggled down into her cloak. “I’m not speaking, I’m sleeping. Don’t wake me, please. Heeheehee!”

  The day was both warm and pleasant, heralding a fine summer to come. Butterflies and wood moths fluttered noiselessly through the tranquil woodland glade. Bees droned soothingly amid small blossoms of white campion, whitlow grass, sweet woodruff and blackberry. By midmorn the ground was dry and sunkissed. Partially shaded by the foliage of the big elm, the travellers enjoyed their first sleep outside the protection of Redwall Abbey. Morning drifted serenely into noontide, shifting the shadows as the sun began its descent from midday zenith.

  Brooky, the more volatile of the two, awoke around midnoon, with sun shining in her eyes and an inquisitive yellow brimstone butterfly fluttering about her half-open mouth. The ottermaid blew it away and tried to resume her slumber. The combination of daylight and a growing thirst, however, kept her awake. She looked across at Armel, still sleeping peacefully, wrapped loosely in her cloak.

  Brooky sat up, yawning loudly and heaving gusty sighs. The moment she saw that the sounds were making Armel stir, she began complaining. “Oh, it’s not a bit of use, I can’t sleep anymore!”

  Her friend awakened, blinking. “Why, what’s the matter?”

  The ottermaid cast aside her cloak and stood up. “ ’Cos the flaming sun’s in my eyes, I’m being trampled on by all sorts of insects and my tongue’s like a baked sandal. I’m thirsty, aren’t you?”

  To her surprise, Armel arose and began folding her cloak. “Aye, let’s go and find some water. I could do with a drink.”

  They broke camp and walked to within sight of the path, heading southwest alongside the ditch.

  Before long, Brooky stopped. She held up a paw. “Listen, can you hear the sound of water? Come on, pal, it’s coming from down that way!”

  It was an underground rivulet, trickling out of the ditchside. Armel tested the water; it was clear and cold. She filled both their beakers about a quarter full with Burlop Cellarhog’s fruit syrup, then topped them up with the water.

  Brooky stirred hers with a twig and took a good swig. “Hahahaha, good old Burlop. Delicious!”

  Armel also found the taste of the mixture very pleasant. They each drank two beakers before their thirst was satisfied. Both travellers, feeling quite refreshed at last, were ready to continue their journey.

  Brooky suddenly vanished momentarily, then returned carrying a long, thick branch. “Haha, this is the very thing we need! No more falling down ditches and fighting adders for us, pal. Watch this!”

  Pushing one end of the branch down firmly into the bed of the ditch, she vaulted across onto the path. “Hohohoho! Clever young me, eh? Come on, miss, your turn!”

  She pushed the branch back to Armel, who took a tight grip on it and swung herself eas
ily over the ditch. The squirrelmaid was both surprised and pleased with herself. “My goodness, I am getting quite daring! What would Abbot Humble have said if he could’ve seen me leaping a ditch?”

  Brooky patted Armel on the back. “He’d have said well done! Right, let’s step out now. We’ve got plenty o’ daylight left, and it’s a good straight path.”

  Between them the pair covered a fair distance. The shadows were starting to lengthen as they marched down the path, with Brooky singing out in a fine melodious voice to keep them in step.

  “There was an old otter who lived down a well,

  the truth of this tale I can readily tell.

  His wife an’ ten young ’uns lived with him as well,

  an’ they dwelt there together for quite a long spell.

  Left right! Two three! March along in step with me!

  Such an odd situation did ever you see!

  Then one frosty morning there came a good mole,

  he waggled his tail as he peeped down the hole.

  ‘Come down,’ cried the otter, ‘an’ live here with me,

  for ’tis cosy an’ warm an’ the rent is quite free.’

  Left right! Two three! Down went the mole and his familee,

  his wife an’ his grandpa an’ mole Dibbuns three!

  The very same evenin’ there came a poor mouse,

  who the wind an’ the rain had washed out of his house.

  The otter took pity an’ cried out, ‘Come in,

  you won’t take up much room, ’cos ye look pretty thin.’

  Left right! Two three! The mouse went down right happily,

  with five uncles, six aunts an’ a pet bumblebee!

  Then who should turn up but a fat little flea,

  he stood all alone there a sad sight to see.

  He called down to the otter, ‘Move over a bit,

  ’cos I see a small space there where I might just fit.’

  Left right! Two three! That’s a tale my mother told to me,