Rakkety Tam (20 page)

then small birds fly off to nest.

Feel the peace lie on the meadows,

'tis a time that I love best.

 

Slumber on, little one,

I am ever near.

Drowsily, lean on me,

dream small dreams, my dear.

 

All the jewelled stars a-twinkle,

watch the clouds drift through the night.

Sail upon thy boat of dreaming,

to the rays of dawning's light.

 

Slumber on, day is gone,

by thy side I'll lay.

Fear no harm, rest in calm,

'til the golden day.”

 

Doogy yawned as he remarked to Yoofus, “Och, ye could live here forever with no' a thing tae bother ye.”

He was about to continue eulogising when he saw that the water vole was snoring peacefully. The Highlander chuckled. “Just like a thief, eh? Stolen off tae sleep!”

Ferdimond had a mischievous glint in his eye. “Look at the little curmudgeon. I say, I've just thought of a super
wheeze. See that empty cradle hanging over yonder?”

Skipper caught on right away, grinning broadly. “Good idea, Ferdy. Come on Doogy, Butty . . . lend a paw over here, will ye!”

The four companions carefully lifted the sleeping water vole. They tippawed over the log floor, carrying Yoofus between them, and laid him gently into the hanging cradle. The little thief snuffled a bit but carried on slumbering.

Doogy added a humourous touch by sliding a shrewdolly between his paws and a shrewbabe's bonnet upon his head. “Och, doesn't the wee darlin' look sweet? Ah've never seen such a bonny bairn, the robbin' wee scruffbag!”

Tam, who had been sitting outside, suddenly came striding in. “I've got it! Listen, here's the plan for tomorrow. . . .”

Tergen did not like wearing a splint upon his wing; it irked him and hampered his movement. The goshawk was highly disappointed that Sister Armel had not cured him instantly, giving him back the power of flight. He trundled about the Abbey grounds, brooding and grumbling to himself as he shrugged his good wing.

“Kruuuurrrrk! This bird never fly. Tergen no use to anybeast now. Huh, vermin be glad of that!”

Armel sat on the gatehouse steps with Abbot Humble and the brigadier, watching the hawk. Humble felt a certain sympathy with the wounded bird. “Poor Tergen. It must be very hard for him, being grounded like that. I wish I could help him in some way.”

Sister Armel, however, did not share Humble's view. “I'll tell you, that bird's trouble, Father. He's got no patience at all. Oh, he'll fly again, I'm sure. The wing just needs lots of rest, then plenty of exercise.”

The brigadier polished his monocle. “I've seen some of my hares actin' like that after they've been injured. That
chap needs something to occupy his mind an' make him feel jolly well useful again, wot!”

Armel sighed wearily. “I've tried everything I could think of. I made Tergen a sickbay assistant, but all he did was eat the rest of my candied chestnuts and lay on the beds. Then I introduced him to Friar Glisum as a kitchen helper. He said the kitchens were too hot and he couldn't breathe. Next came a spell with Ulba molewife, minding Dibbuns, but he was short-tempered and frightened the little ones. So, Brigadier, what would
you
do with that goshawk?”

Crumshaw toyed with his moustache. “I see what y'mean, Sister. Hmm, what t'do with the chap. Hah, I've just thought o' the very thing—discipline!”

He rose smartly and paced off wagging his swagger stick. “I say, you there, Turfill, or whatever y'flippin' name is. Come with me! Liven y'self up now, laddie bird, I've got a job for you, wot!”

The hawk's gold-rimmed eye glared icily at the brigadier. “Karrraaa! This bird be named Tergen. What job you have, eh?”

Crumshaw marched up the west wallsteps, explaining as he went. “Rampart sentry, ideal for a bird like y'self, wot! Nobeast has an eye as jolly well sharp as a hawk. Eyes like a hawk—you've heard the expression, wot? Need somebeast I can rely on to patrol these walltops regular. Keep an eye out for those confounded vermin, should they come skulkin' about. Well, are you up to the task, wot wot?”

Crumshaw was forced to back off a pace as the goshawk advanced. For a moment the hare thought Tergen was about to attack him. Then the wonder occurred: Tergen raised his good wing and saluted, his chest swelling proudly. “Greekah! Brigadier Wotwot is right. This bird have good eyes, see all. Tergen will do job for Brigadier Wotwot!”

The hawk ambled along the walltop to the south, stopping at each space between battlements and peering down
avidly. The other hares on walltop guard kept well out of the fierce-looking goshawk's way.

Crumshaw stumped down the gatehouse steps and resumed his seat with Humble and Armel. “Well, he seems to be fairly happy up there. Peculiar blighter, though. Seems t'think my name's Brigadier Wotwot. Can't think how that notion got into his head. Can you, Father?”

Humble was hard put not to burst out laughing. “What, er, I've no idea at all, Brigadier!”

Three of the hare wallguards excused themselves as they came hurrying down the steps. The brigadier rose indignantly. “Just a tick! Where the dickens d'ye think yore off to, wot?”

Young Flummerty threw him a hasty salute. “Beggin' y'pardon, sah, but that bird chased us from our posts. Said he didn't need us 'cos he could see everything!”

The monocled eye halted the trio where they stood. “Oh did he, indeed? An' you three shrinkin' violets take that as an excuse to disobey orders, wot? Now get back up there t'your posts at the double, an' if ye get any blinkin' arguments from that bird, tell him it's me, Brigadier Wotwot, who's givin' the orders round here!”

A moment later, the hawk was leaning over the parapet, calling down to Crumshaw, “Yikhaah! They stay up here with this bird, I teach 'em to stand watch proper. You right, Brigadier Wotwot!”

Giggles of uncontrolled glee greeted this announcement.

Crumshaw rose huffily and marched off muttering, “Must see what the grubslingers have cooked up for afternoon tea. Brigadier Wotwot, indeed! Who ever heard of such foolishness, wot wot!”

 

Captain Zerig and his vermin watched the Abbey walls from the tree fringe beyond the sward which fronted the south wall. Freeta, the mate of slain Captain Shard, crouched alongside Zerig. She viewed the high red sandstone construction doubtfully.

“If we were birds, 'twould be easy to fly over those walls.”

Zerig replied as he studied the situation. “Aye, 'twill be a hard task, but we must do it, or face Gulo. He will not want to hear excuses.”

The vixen spat viciously. “Speak not to me of that savage! Shard might yet have been alive were it not for Gulo. But I will have my revenge someday, I swear it!”

Zerig chewed on a milky stem of grass. “Brave words, Freeta, but 'tis not likely that Gulo will ever be defeated by anybeast, or even tenbeasts. Forget him for now, our problem lies before us. What would thy mate Shard have done if he were here? I recall he was ever a crafty and wise captain.”

Freeta dropped her voice so the rest of the vermin could not hear. “I am as sly as Shard. He often came to me for counsel. I think we should wait until dark, then send two reliable beasts to scout the place for openings.”

Zerig looked at Freeta with a newfound respect. “A sensible plan, but which ones would ye send?”

After casting an eye over the vermin warriors, she beckoned forth two. “Fargil, Graddu, attend Captain Zerig. He would speak with ye.”

Two big, white, well-armed foxes crept forward. Zerig eyed them approvingly. “When darkness falls, I want ye to scout around the outside of this place. See if ye can find any weakness, a spot where we might enter in secret.”

Both foxes merely nodded, then went back to rest among the trees.

Freeta whispered to Zerig, “They are a silent pair, but good. More reliable than ermine.”

Zerig lay back, closing his eyes and enjoying the sun. “We will see.”

 

The two hares, Cartwill and Folderon, were pacing the north wall together, as far away from the goshawk as they could get. Cartwill's stomach made an ominous rumble. He held a paw to his mouth politely.

“Pardon me! Time for afternoon tea, ain't it? I'm famished!”

Folderon peered expectantly at the Abbey door. “Chin up, we should be gettin' relieved soon. Oh corks, what does that flippin' hawk want now, eh?”

Tergen was signalling them from the south wall, waving his good wing to attract their attention.

Cartwill groaned. “Another one of his confounded lectures about havin' eyes as sharp as a hawk, prob'ly. Come on, we'd best stroll over there or the nuisance won't give us a moment's peace.”

They marched along the west wall, calling to the goshawk.

“Not to fret, old lad, we're keeping the old peepers peeled.”

“Rather, not missing a bally thing!”

Tergen glared at them. “Kuuuurk, shushushh, you be hushed!”

Folderon dropped her voice. “Why, what's up?”

Tapping his talons on the south parapet, the goshawk whispered, “Ssssshuuuuk! You stan' here, don't move. This bird must go to speak with Wotwot.”

He stumped off down the steps, leaving both young hares bewildered and rather indignant.

Cartwill's ears stood rigid. “Well, of all the bloomin' cheek, where does he think he's off to? Leavin' us here like two frogs in a flippin' bucket!”

Folderon watched the hawk hopskipping off over the lawns. “Stole a march on us there, crafty old featherbag. I'll bet he's gone for afternoon tea!”

Brigadier Crumshaw and Sergeant Wonwill were taking tea in Great Hall with Burlop and Abbot Humble when Tergen came hurrying in.

Wonwill looked up from spreading a scone with greengage preserve. “Looks like the 'awk 'as somethin' to report, sah!”

Crumshaw put aside his beaker of mint and rosehip tea. “Ah, our hawkeyed sentry, wot. Everything hunky-dory on the ramparts, old chap, wot wot?”

Tergen helped himself to an almond slice. “Karrak!
Everythin' not hory-dunky, Wotwot. Vermin are outside, good job you got eyes of hawk to see 'em!”

Crumshaw came promptly upright, moustache bristling. “Vermin, y'say? How many, where, when did ye spot 'em, wot?”

Tergen preened his feathers calmly. “Wotwot, not get ears in flap! Listen to this bird. In trees by south wall I see vermin hidin'. Yaaaark! They think nobeast know they there—huh, I spot white fur easy. No hurry, vermin just hidin', restin'. Not attack, not do anythin' yet. I think maybe twoscore, maybe fifty.”

Humble stared anxiously at the brigadier. “What do you suggest we do, friend?”

The old campaigner regained his composure. “Hmm, nothin' for the moment, Father. The bird's right, they won't attack right off in broad daylight. Eh, Sergeant?”

Wonwill put aside his scone. “Aye, sah, they'll wait h'until nighttime. I'd better git our lot on the h'alert.”

Crumshaw cautioned Humble and Burlop, “Not a peep to your Redwallers, mum's the word. Don't want a few-score rascals upsettin' peaceful creatures. We can deal with the blighters, believe me!”

Tergen grabbed some scones and another almond slice. “Yeehaaak! This bird go back on walltop. I watch vermin close, but they not know I spy on 'em!”

Crumshaw picked up his swagger stick. “Very good! Sergeant, turn the troops out, slings an' bows'n'arrows. Tell 'em to keep their ears down below the battlements. Don't want the enemy t'know we're aware of their presence yet. We'll be ready when they make a move. Father, I suggest you keep all Redwallers indoors for the rest of the day, an' more especially the night, wot wot!”

Humble nodded to his young Cellarhog. “Come on, Burlop, let's find Brother Demple. He'll help us to get everybeast inside—though they'll think it strange, being called in on such a fine afternoon.”

Burlop lent the Abbot his paw for support. “Then we'll have to think of an idea, Father, something to make them
want to be indoors. What about some sort of contest, with prizes for the winners?”

The Abbot brightened up. “An excellent scheme, Burlop. Do you know, it's been a while since we had a riddle competition. That's always good fun!”

The young Cellarhog guided his Abbot outdoors. “I've got a keg of strawberry fizz we can use, and I'll ask Friar Glisum to bake up some goodies. We'll hold the contest down in Cavern Hole.”

Wonwill watched them trundling paw in paw across the lawn outside. “A riddle competition, eh? I'd like to 'ave a go at that, sah.”

Crumshaw breathed on his monocle and polished it. “Oh, for the carefree life, Sergeant. But duty calls, eh?”

The craggy-faced Wonwill saluted. “H'indeed it does, sah!”

 

Westering sunrays painted the walls of the Abbey like a deep blushing rose in the lengthening shadows; larks trilled their evening song as they descended to the flatlands beyond the ditch. All around the ramparts, hares crouched below the battlements, bows and slings close to paw.

Young Folderon sniffed and wiped a paw across her eyes. The sergeant nudged her lightly. “Nah then, missy, wot's all this?”

She blinked furiously. “Beg pardon, Sarge, but I was just thinkin', what a glorious sundown! Day endin' an' all that. A pack of vermin villains waitin' in hidin'. Makes you wonder how many of us'll live to see the dawn, if the worst comes to the worst, if y'know what I mean?”

The kindly Wonwill passed her his kerchief. “Oh, I don't think much'll 'appen tonight, young 'un. Ye'll still be 'ere to stuff yore face at brekkist tomorrer. Now dry up an' stop reddenin' those pretty eyes.”

 

Down in Cavern Hole, the Redwallers were eagerly watching Sister Screeve, who had devised most of the riddles, questioning Hitheryon Jem. “Now, I want you to tell me,
who would be saying this? ‘Why Myrtle, me dear, ouch ouch! How nice to see you, ouch!' ‘Likewise, dearie, ouch! And how's your family? Ouch ouch!' ”

Jem answered without hesitation. “Marm, that's two ole hedgehog wives huggin' each other.”

Screeve ticked her parchment. “Correct! Now stand over there, Jem. Next please!”

Mudge the molebabe strode boldly up. “Yurr naow, marm, you'm doan't arsk oi any 'ard riggles. Oi'm only ee h'infant!”

Screeve gave the molebabe a pretend scowl. “I don't have any favourites, my questions are all hard. Right, answer this. You are a mole, and he isn't a mole—he's not your father, yet you call him Father. Who is he?”

Mudge stood gnawing his digging claw. “Urm, urm . . .”