Rakkety Tam Read online

  “Hah, that’s nothin’! There was one bird there the size of a flippin’ feather mattress. Picked me up by me ear, would y’believe! I lost my sword, but I kicked him until the fiend let me go. Mister MacBurl loaned me his big knife, so I finished the villain off. Aye, an’ two more like him. . . .”

  The speaker’s voice trailed off as she noticed that Tam was within hearing range. The border warrior looked over at her and winked. “That’s right, I saw it myself. You were very brave, miss, an example to the Patrol.”

  His remark set off a string of other tales, each one full of self-congratulation.

  “Did y’see me, Mister MacBurl? I had two on the point of my javelin quick as a flash!”

  “One was swoopin’ down on me, an’ I remembered Sarge Wonwill’s boxin’ lessons. I hit him such a punch that the blighter shot to one side an’ buried his beak in an oak. Hoho, you should’ve seen him strugglin’ t’get loose, flappin’ an’ scratchin’ like I don’t know what, wot!”

  “Hold on, buried his beak in an oak? That was a pine grove! Wasn’t a flamin’ oak in sight, old lad!”

  “Oh, er, haha, did I say oak? I meant a pine, yes, a pine!”

  The boasts went back and forth until Wopscutt whispered to Tam, “Did I tell you about how I slew a score of rooks an’ carried four wounded out on my back?”

  Tam stifled a laugh as he replied, “Don’t be too hard on the young ’uns, it was prob’ly their first real battle. Can you remember how you boasted after your first encounter, mate? I can—it took them a full season to shut me up, the way I bragged about it.”

  Butty chuckled. “I recall it well, Tam. I was very young then, but to hear me tell the tale o’ that battle, ’twas a waste o’ time attendin’ it for the Long Patrol. Accordin’ to me, I won it single-pawed. Let ’em carry on with their tall tales, wot. They’re not doin’ harm to anybeast by boastin’. After a few days the excitement’ll wear off. Then one night they’ll cry themselves t’sleep, rememberin’ the pals they lost back there.”

  Tam nodded slowly. “Aye, I can remember doin’ that myself.”

  When they reached the hilltop, the Patrol could see the river far below through the trees. Oneshrew and Twoshrew were waiting to meet Tam at the hilltop.

  Oneshrew shook his paw. “Well, sir, ye came out of it alive. Did yore plan work?”

  The border warrior glanced back at the pine grove on the far hillcrest. “I think so, at least Gulo isn’t out of there yet. Though I can’t imagine a monster like him t’be defeated by any number o’ black birds. Can you?”

  Twoshrew shrugged eloquently. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ve been sent here to watch the land, an’ get word back if he shows by tomorrow’s dawn. Our Log a Log is waitin’ down there for ye, he’s got a feed laid on.”

  Tam tweaked Ferdimond’s ear. “Did ye hear that? The Guosim have got vittles ready for us.”

  Without further ado, Ferdimond set off briskly downhill. “I say, jolly decent of the old shrewtypes, wot. They certainly know how to sling a salad an’ present a pastie. Haw haw haw! Fightin’ by mornin’ an’ feastin’ by night, eh? Just show me that bloomin’ grub!”

  Tam nodded to Butty. “Hear that? He’s almost forgotten the fight, the moment food was mentioned!”

  The corporal marched off smartly in Ferdimond’s wake. “Well, wot can one expect? The chap’s young—he’s got an appetite an’ he’s a hare. Stands t’reason, don’t it?”

  Tam kept pace downhill with Butty, listening to a little ditty he was singing.

  “I wake up in the mornin’, so glad the night is past,

  it’s straight down to the table, to break my flippin’ fast.

  O Breakfast! Breakfast! Us chaps must have some breakfast,

  there’s oatmeal honey toast an’ tea, an’ seconds just for me!

  When I finish brekkers, I hang around the kitchen,

  the smell of vittles cookin’ is gettin’ quite bewitchin’.

  Luncheon! Luncheon! That’s wot I’ll soon be munchin’,

  on soup’n’salad chomp an’ chew, I think I should eat two!

  The afternoon’s a desert, I wait impatiently,

  until I hear the cook call, he’s servin’ noontime tea.

  O Teatime! Teatime! An utterly sublime time,

  each dainty cake an’ homely scone, I’m first in line for one!

  When chaps race to the table, it’s always me the winner,

  I’m fairly famished as a frog, when I run in to dinner.

  O Dinner! Dinner! My figure ain’t much thinner,

  I lick at both my plate an’ paw, then I yell out for more!

  I’m starvin’ flippin’ hungry, oh isn’t it a crime,

  that interval from dinner, to good old suppertime.

  Supper! Supper! How super, serve ’er up, sir,

  then pack some scoff up good’n’tight, to take to bed tonight!”

  The Guosim cooks had dug a baking pit on the riverbank with a fire to one side of it.

  Log a Log Togey greeted Tam and Butty warmly. “It does me heart good to see ye again, mates. Well then, how did yore plan work out? Is everybeast back in one piece?”

  Tam returned the Guosim chieftain’s hearty pawshake. “We left Gulo an’ his vermin to argue it out with the black birds. I’m still waitin’ on the outcome of it. There’s six or seven hares wounded, but not too badly. We lost three to the crows’n’rooks—I didn’t imagine there’d be so many birds roostin’ in those pines. Doogy an’ Yoofus have gone missin’, but I’m sure those two rogues are still on the loose someplace. So, how goes it with you an’ yore Guosim, friend?”

  Togey pointed to the pit and the fire. “Whilst we was waitin’, the cooks spotted a shoal o’trout swimmin’upriver, so we snared a few. They’ve got a troutbake goin’. It’ll be ready afore evenin’. I’ve posted two lookouts to watch the pines for ye. My healers will tend to yore wounded. Come aboard for some snacks an’ a drink. There’s somethin’ that’s been botherin’ me, I want to talk with ye about it.”

  Tam, Butty and Ferdimond sat beneath an awning on Togey’s big logboat, drinking rosehip cordial and nibbling at a tray of preserved fruits. With the late noon sunlight shimmering off the gently flowing water, Tam and the hares sat back and relaxed for the first time that day.

  Butty called to the young hares on the bank who were shouting and gesticulating as they told the Guosim of their heroic exploits. “I say, you chaps, please keep it down to a dull roar!” He turned to the shrew chieftain. “Now then, old lad, what’s on y’mind, eh?”

  Togey scratched his beard. “It’s somethin’ ye said back at the water meadows, Tam. When ye joined up with the Long Patrol hares, how many vermin were ye trackin’?”

  The border warrior pursed his lips. “Oh, about fivescore, I figured—an’ Gulo, of course. But no more’n that.”

  Togey nodded. “I thought that’s wot ye said. But when I sent Oneshrew an’ Twoshrew out to find where the vermin were camped last evenin’, they reported back that there was only slightly more’n twoscore of ’em!”

  Ferdimond glanced from one to the other. “Oh corks! That leaves half o’ the blinkin’ villains unaccounted for, wot?”

  Butty bit his lip. “Y’know what that means, Tam?”

  Tam stood up, fired by a sense of urgency. “The other half’ll be attackin’ the Abbey. We’d best get the Patrol on the move back to Redwall!”

  Log a Log Togey gestured the squirrel back to his seat. “I’ve lived a few seasons more’n you beasts. Runnin’ off with half a scheme is a sure route to failure. Let’s take time to figure things out properlike. I’ve got one or two ideas I’d like to put to ye.”

  Tam sat down. “I’m always ready to listen an’ heed a Chieftain of your experience, Togey. Carry on, mate.”

  The Guosim leader explained his scheme. “If’n you could get through those birds in the pines, then Gulo could, though I don’t know wot shape his number o’ vermin’ll be when he does. Rest assured, though, he’ll
be comin’ after ye, so we can’t afford to ignore him. Yore first plan was to draw the vermin away from Redwall an’ pick ’em off until they were finished, but that plan won’t hold water anymore, Tam. I think we should stay put by this river. When Gulo comes out o’ the pines an’ picks up the trail again, then we move. We’ll wait ’til the last moment, then leave a clear trail for him t’follow. My Guosim can get ye back to Redwall, by one waterway an’ another, until we’re not far from the Abbey. I’ll have scouts sent out to otherbeasts who’ll help us. I know lots o’ creatures who are friendly to the Redwallers. They’ll help without question.”

  Tam winked at the wise old shrew. “Right, Togey, a great plan! What d’you think, Butty?”

  Corporal Wopscutt smiled his approval. “Capital tactic, wot! Right, what’s the next move, chaps?”

  Tam quaffed the last of his drink and rose once more. “Get out there on the riverbank, make lots o’ noise an’ keep a good fire goin’. Then Gulo an’ his vermin can see where we are an’ come after us again, eh, Togey?”

  The Guosim chieftain was in complete agreement. “Don’t want to lose ’em, do we?”

  It was dark by the time the troutbake was ready. By the light of three good fires, the Guosim cooks raked away the glowing embers on top of their pit. Uncovering a layer of earth and steaming damp foliage, they scooped out the apples, celery, onions and watercress lying on top of the baked trout. The fish, which had been placed on a bed of hot stones at the bottom of the pit, were cooked to perfection. Hares and shrews sat together on the riverbank, drinking old shrewbeer and doing justice to the delicious meal. Four young Long Patrol members entertained everybeast with a barrack room ditty which was an old favourite from the sergeants’ mess at Salamandastron. Some of their harmonies were a bit off-key, but what they lacked in melodic content they made up for in volume. All the others knew the “walla walla” chorus and taught it to the shrews as they sang along raucously.

  “A gallant young warrior lay weary,

  on a battlefield far from his home.

  He tried to sit up and sound cheery,

  an’ these were the words he did moan. Ooooooohhh

  Walla walla wimbo, bing bang bimbo,

  wullyah wullyah wullyah whoo!

  Wot I wouldn’t give for a basinful

  of me grandma’s hard-baked stew!

  Give this pudden back to me dear mother,

  an’ tell her I slew ten vermin with it.

  Say I don’t wish to cause any bother,

  but the Sergeant’s a silly great twit!

  Oooooooohhhhh

  Walla walla wimbo, bing bang bimbo,

  wullyah wullyah wullyah whoop!

  I must complain I’ve got a pain,

  an’ the cook makes poison soup!

  Tell my fat little sister I love her,

  an’ give her this flea-ridden coat.

  Say it comes from her handsome young brother,

  it was swiped off a greasy old stoat.

  Oooooooohhhhh

  Walla walla wimbo, bing bang bimbo,

  wullyah wullyah wullyah whoo!

  Me ears are green an’ me bottom’s red,

  an’ me nose is turnin’ blue!

  Now the foebeast are nearly upon me,

  I’m eatin’ a raw onion pie.

  I’ll remember me auntie quite fondly,

  but it’s so jolly hard not to cry. Ooooooohhhhhh

  Walla walla wimbo, bing bang bimbo,

  wullyah wullyah wullyah yaah!

  I’ve finished me scoff so I’ll be off,

  I’ll be home by teatime, Ma!”

  Log a Log Togey, having learned the “walla walla” bit quickly, sat tapping both footpaws and singing rowdily throughout the proceedings. When the song was over, he smoothed his beard and sat up straight, remarking to Tam, “Silly pointless song, huh? The things these young hares sing! Y’wouldn’t catch a Guosim warblin’ rubbish like that!”

  Just then Threeshrew, another one of the sisters, and Fourshrew, her brother, leapt up. They cavorted around the bank, holding paws and splashing in and out of the shallows as they performed a lively rendition of a Guosim favourite. Tam had trouble keeping a straight face in Togey’s presence as he listened to the words.

  “Splish splash bumpitty crash!

  all in and out the water.

  Amid the cascade, bow to the maid,

  an’ kiss the cook’s young daughter!

  How happy we’ll be, just you’n me,

  we’ll have a good ole wash.

  Yore mother’ll say ‘O lack a day,’

  Splish splash splosh!

  Splish splash bumpitty crash!

  The little maid she said sir,

  ‘Just look at the mess o’ my fine dress,

  I’ll blame it on the weather!’

  And as for you, I’ll tell you true,

  my daddy’ll yell ‘Good gosh!’

  He’ll tan yore tail an’ make you wail,

  Splish splash splosh!”

  Tam glanced sideways at Togey. “Splish splash splosh?”

  The Guosim chieftain glared challengingly at him. “Aye, a fine old song, part of our shrew tradition. A bathtime ditty, as I recall. Mothers sing it to their babes whilst they scrub ’em in the tub. Anythin’ wrong with that, Mister MacBurl?”

  The border warrior hastily reassured the old patriarch, “Oh no, sir, a traditional Guosim song, just as y’say!”

  One of the young shrews seated nearby called out to Threeshrew and Fourshrew, “Sing us another, mates! How about Wully Wolly Whoppo or Groggity Groo Mallog?”

  Log a Log Togey tweaked the young one’s ear, murmuring quietly to him, “Enough of that, ’tis past yore bedtime.”

  He turned to Ferdimond, changing the subject quickly. “So then, wot did ye think o’ Guosim vittles, eh?”

  The hare was mopping his platter with a crust, watching the cooks eagerly for a third helping. “Oh, absolutely top-hole, sah! If this is the standard of Guosim grub, I might join up with your flippin’ crew an’ become a jolly old shrew, wot?”

  One of the cooks was heard to groan. “Fates forbid the day. I’d sooner run off an’ be a vermin than have t’feed that famish-faced glutton for a season!”

  Night wore steadily on, the fires burning down to scarlet embers, tingeing the broad, calm river with their glow.

  Gulo the Savage and his vermin had emerged from the pine thickets just before sundown. They had fought their way out to a point south of the hares’ exit place. The wolverine’s losses were severe, his followers now numbering only thirty—all due to Gulo’s insane love of killing and fighting. He had revelled in the combat against the birds. Forgetting all else, he had stayed within the pines to inflict mighty slaughter upon the rooks and crows who had dared to attack him. The deep-carpeted pine needle floor was littered with winged carcases.

  Unwittingly, Gulo had done the shrews a great service. Never again would the predatory birds roost in sufficient numbers to harass the Guosim in their water meadows. This, however, did not concern the wolverine as his mind settled back to more urgent matters—the capture of the Walking Stone and deadly revenge upon his brother. He ignored the raking scratches, wounds and dried blood upon his powerful frame, tearing feathers from a slain rook and sinking his fangs into it.

  The surviving vermin had lit a fire out on the open hillside. Crouched about it, they licked scratches, tended injuries and roasted the bodies of their dead enemies. Gulo watched them closely, gauging their mood, which he knew to be less than willing. It did not matter to him how they felt: a beast such as Gulo the Savage was concerned only with his own desires.

  A badly wounded ermine gave a whimper of pain. Tossing aside a half-eaten crow, he lay back, exhausted and dispirited. Unaware that his leader’s keen senses were focussed on him, the ermine moaned softly to his comrades, “I lost an eye to those black birds. They tore such a rip in my guts that I can’t hold vittles down. Ohhhhh! Methinks I need to rest for a long while.�
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  Gulo padded over to the wounded vermin. He leaned over him, enquiring in an unusually gentle voice, “Thy injuries are bad. Do ye crave sleep, friend?”

  The ermine was both pleased and relieved at his master’s concern for his welfare. “Aye, Lord.”

  A single brutal blow from the wolverine’s paw broke the vermin’s neck. Kicking the lifeless beast to one side, Gulo straightened up, the campfire flames reflecting in his insane eyes as he growled out a harsh warning. “Who wants to join this whining coward?”

  The remaining ermine and foxes averted their eyes and held their breath as his wild stare swept over them. Gulo grabbed a charred crow from the fire, crunching his fangs into it. After devouring the bird, he sat down, gazing into the flames while snarling out his commands. “Two of ye, go and scout out where my brother and his band are at. The rest of ye, eat! Fill your mouths on the flesh of our foes. Mayhaps ’twill put some fire into your bellies, some iron into your spines!”

  Nearly every vermin stood up—all wanted to go scouting, fearing to stay in their wild leader’s company.

  Gulo’s voice stopped them in their tracks. He pointed with the dead crow’s taloned leg. “I said two, you an’ you. The rest of ye, stay with me. Let me hear a chant of war to show me ye are ready to serve Gulo the Savage.”

  His creatures knew better than to refuse. They stood around the fire, stamping their footpaws and waving blades as they roared out one of their battle rousers from the lands of ice beyond the great sea.

  “What is fear, I know it not!

  What is death, the foebeast’s lot!

  Gulo! Gulo! Gulo!

  Blood is what my blade drinks,

  slaughter what my mind thinks.

  Kill! Kill! Kill!

  Lead us on, O Mighty One!

  O’er the bodies of the slain.