Rakkety Tam (34 page)

Armel and Fortindom blinked at the glint of sunlight which flashed through the window as Tam moved the shield. The captain nodded in admiration. “Well done that chap, wot. That's the stuff! Nothin' like a smartly presented warrior marchin' off t'meet the rascally foe. Appearances count, doncha know!”

Armel watched Tam labouring away under the bright sun. “I suppose they do. I've never thought about it, really.”

Fortindom warmed to the subject. “Oh yes, Sister. When I was a young recruit at Salamandastron, we had a Drill Sergeant, real stickler he was. Had all the new buckoes polishin' night'n'day. Haha, I had a messmate, name o' young Fluffscuttle, as I recall. Well, it seems one day his sword was a mite dusty on parade. By the left! That Sergeant gave him a right old dressin' down, had the poor bloke quiverin' in his fur. The Sarge roared at him, ‘Yew 'orrible liddle fiddle-pawed, boot-nosed, flop-eared h'excuse for a recruit. H'is that dust h'I sees on yore blade? Sit right down there, laddie buck, an' clean it off. Polish it until the rag wears out! Polish it until y'can see me face in the blade, or I'll 'ave yore tail fer tiffin, yore tripes fer tea an' yore ears fer afters!' ”

Armel smiled. “Oh, poor young Fluffscuttle! What happened?”

Fortindom carried on with his anecdote. “Happened? I'll tell ye what happened, me beauty. Off marches the Sergeant, leavin' Fluffscuttle sittin' in the middle of the
blinkin' parade ground, polishin' away like the clappers at his sword. Of course the Sarge forgets all about the incident, doesn't he! Hah, comes midnight an' the Brigadier's comin' out o' the mess on his way back to quarters. The old boy's crossin' the parade ground when he sees young Fluffscuttle, still sittin' there polishin' away like fury at his flippin' sword. I tell ye, miss, that sword was shinin' like the bloomin' sun on a summer morn. The Brigadier stops to admire it, sayin', ‘I tell you, young 'un, that's the shiniest sword I've ever seen. Top marks, Fluffscuttle! Come on now, off t'your bed, it's after midnight.' But Fluffscuttle just keeps polishin' the confounded sword, an' says to the Brig, ‘Afraid I can't, sah. The Sergeant said I've got to polish this sword until I can see his face in it. But I've polished an' polished, sah, an' I still can't see the blinkin' Sergeant's face in it!' Wasn't the brightest star in the sky, that young Fluffscuttle! Wot?”

The Abbot, Foremole and Armel were laughing when Skipper glanced up at the sky, announcing, “Nearly high noontime, mates. Come on, Cap'n, we'd best be on our way. Tam's waitin' on us down there.”

Duge saw the Abbey gates opening. Six creatures emerged, three hares, an otter and a hawk, walking side by side, with a squirrel two paces in front of them. Upon her hurried return, the ermine found Gulo and the other five vermin sitting around, their backs toward Doogy and their once well-lit torches now just butts stuck down into the earth. The wolverine was chewing on the raw carcase of a nightjar which the old fox had felled earlier with his sling. Crunching on a bone, Gulo stared up at Duge through hooded lids.

“Do they bring the Walking Stone with them?”

The ermine nodded. “Sire, the riverdog carries it in a basket around his shoulder. They are all well armed, save for the bird.”

Gulo rose in a leisurely fashion, wiping a few downy feathers from his lips. He swelled his powerful chest and flexed his mighty limbs confidently. “Come, my slayers! Let us taste the flesh of these fools!”

Doogy Plumm had been gagged three times, but still he had managed to rip and shred each binding.

Not a beast to be silenced, the stout Highlander laughed mockingly. “Hahaarr, ye scum-faced braggarts, all ye'll taste this day is goin' t'be the soil ye tread on!”

Gulo ignored him, but a white fox climbed up on the wood kindling surrounding the squirrel and struck him a blow to the face. “Silence, treemouse! Nobeast defeats Gulo the Savage. He could slay twice their number with ease!”

Doogy quickly retorted, “Hoho, could he now, the sauncy great thing! Well, let me tell ye, mah bonnie wee vermin, yer Chief has yet tae meet Rakkety Tam MacBurl!”

Then he bellowed forth, “Hawaaaay the Braw, Taaaaam!”

Tam answered the cry as he leaped the ditch ahead of his friends. “Haway the Braaaw, Doogy Plumm! MacBurl for aye!”

Both shouts set off a thunderous roar from the creatures gathered on the high rampart walls. “Redwaaaaaaallllll! Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!”

At a signal from Gulo, Duge began rolling the drum forward, striking it with the basket hilt of Doogy's claymore as she raised the vermin into a chant. “Gulo! Gulo! Gulo! Kill! Kill! Kill!”

Both sides marched forward to within six paces of each other, then halted. Gulo and Tam advanced two more paces. They stood facing, eye to eye. Skipper placed the basket containing Rockbottom upon the ground. Then he stood over it, hefting a long javelin. One of the foxes eyed the basket, his paw straying to his curved sword hilt. A swift rasp of steel was all it took, and Derron Fortindom's long blade was out and pointing at the fox.

“Come anywhere near that basket before this contest is finished, sirrah, an”tis death to ye. Take my word! We're here to see fair play. This is a one-on-one fight, Tam against Gulo. All others stay out of it. Clear?”

Gulo and Tam began circling warily, each riveted on the other, their eyes unblinking. With his huge, menacing appearance, the wolverine had created immediate fear in all
the beasts he had ever faced. He towered over the squirrel warrior, baring his teeth, flexing his claws and breathing heavily. Showing neither fear nor hesitation, and holding the sword of Martin loosely at his side, Tam looked up at his enemy.

Gulo gave a blood-curdling growl, setting up a small cloud of dust as he stamped his footpaws down heavily. He leered at his smaller opponent wolfishly. “Little warrior, ye are bold to face Gulo. Thy body will add strength to mine. Thy heart belongs to me!”

Normally, this would have set anybeast in a tremble, but Tam's reply was completely unexpected. “I could not give my heart to one as ugly as ye. 'Tis promised to a fair pretty maid!”

With eye-blurring speed, Tam swung his sword, which produced a pinging sound as it nicked a claw from the wolverine's paw. Gulo let out an unearthly shriek and charged him. The Borderer's shield shook as his enemy's mighty paw struck it. Tam dodged nimbly to one side, avoiding the force of the blow. He swung a counterslash with his blade, but it only shored off a thick bunch of hair. As Tam brought his shield back up into position, Gulo dived headlong. His massive head caught the shield's centre boss, bowling the squirrel backward, head over tail, and sending him skidding over the grass.

The watchers scattered in all directions as Gulo howled triumphantly and went after his quarry like a thundering juggernaut. Tam recovered quickly. Half kneeling, he held up his shield against an onslaught of blows from both of the wolverine's ponderous paws. Instinctively, he slashed out with his sword and was rewarded by a sharp grunt of pain as it pierced the huge beast's footpaw. Scrambling upright, Tam held the battered shield at shoulder height, sweeping beneath it furiously with the keen blade of Martin's sword as he retreated toward the Abbey.

Gulo came after him, more careful now that he had to avoid the scything blade. He rasped hoarsely at the squirrel
warrior, “Ye can back up an' run, but ye cannot escape Gulo the Savage!”

Retreat, however, was not part of Tam's plan. He suddenly changed tactics. Dropping the shield to his side, the squirrel warrior brought the sword up and forward in a blurring figure-eight movement, forcing Gulo to back off. But he could not keep up the manoeuvre forever. The moment his pace with the blade slacked, the wolverine leaped forward and sideways. The claws on his footpaw raked Tam from knee to paw. He paused, gasping in agony. Gulo swept a swinging crossways strike at Tam's midriff. Only by jumping back a half pace and sucking in his stomach could the squirrel avoid a blow which would have opened him through the middle. Gulo missed, but his paw struck the backside of the shield, ripping it from his opponent's grasp and sending it sailing up and away. The shield landed on the edge of the ditch, side on, its rim buried deep in the earth.

Some of Tam's friends as well as Gulo's vermin had been running forward while at the same time following the progress of the two rivals' life-and-death struggle. To one side of him, Gulo glimpsed the white fox who was carrying Doogy's claymore. The wolverine held out his paw. “Give me yon blade!”

The fox passed it to his chieftain. Ferdimond De Mayne, one of the least experienced Long Patrol hares, made as if to stop him, but Sergeant Wonwill pulled him back. “Stay out of it, young 'un. No rules say they can't be armed!”

Now Gulo came after Tam with the claymore, bludgeoning and hacking. The squirrel was hard put to defend himself.

 

All along the western walltop, silence had descended on the onlookers. It seemed that fate had placed Tam on the losing side. Steel clanged upon steel as the Borderer was driven back by the relentless blows Gulo rained upon him. Back, back he went, countering and parrying as the
long-bladed claymore hammered against his own, shorter sword. Tam could not look to see where he was being driven, but he knew he was being forced toward the ditch, which ran alongside the path outside the Abbey wall.

Gulo began roaring as he delivered each crushing blow. “Gulo! Kill! Gulo! Kill!”

Then Tam tripped . . .

He fell heavily backward, striking the ground with a force which almost knocked the wind from him. The last thing he saw was Gulo, flinging himself forward with the claymore upraised.

For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, none too soon, Tam sighted the wolverine in midair, falling toward him, with claymore raised for the fatal blow. Blood-red eyes ablaze, the Border warrior seized his final chance with the speed of chain lightning. Gripping the sword of Martin, hilt and blade with both paws, he held it up horizontally. A fierce spirit possessed him as he shot both footpaws up rigid at the descending wolverine. A wild howl of rage ripped from Tam's throat—“Haway the Braaaaaaw!” Then the weight of his adversary fell upon him as Tam thrust upward with the sword and all four paws in a stupenduous burst of power.

Like a stone from a slingshot, Gulo was carried through the air by the impetus of the mighty effort. He slammed to earth, just short of the ditch. His own massive body weight sent his outstretched neck right onto the edge of Tam's shield, which was buried upright in the earth at the edge of the ditch. Gulo was transfixed for one horrifying heartbeat, his body at the ditch's edge.
Clunk!
His head fell into the dried leaves on the ditchbed.

Gulo the Savage would never return to rule the lands of ice and snow beyond the cold north seas!

Tam recalled distantly his very young days, when he had grasped a thistle whilst picking flowers for his mother, or
was
it his mother? He could not recall who, but it was a creature with deep, dark eyes, murmuring to him, soft as a summer stream, “Hold still now, it's nearly done. There, that did it!”

Opening his eyes, he found himself lying in Redwall Infirmary on a spotless white-sheeted bed. Sister Armel shielded his eyes from the midnoon sunlight pouring in through the open window. She put aside a length of fine flax and a small thorn needle, reaching for some warm water, ointment and dressings.

Still dazed, the Borderer murmured dozily, “Did y'get all the prickles out? I didn't cry, did I?”

Doogy Plumm's voice answered him. “Nay, ye didnae cry, ye were a good wee babe. Hahahaha!”

Sister Armel spoke severely to the Highlander. “Mister Plumm, stop moving his paw and hold it still, or I'll never get this dressing on!”

Tam came fully awake now. He tried to sit up but was
pushed back down firmly by the Infirmary Sister. Craning his neck, he could see the crowd gathered in the passage beyond the open door. Sister Armel, Doogy and Abbot Humble were the only ones allowed inside the room.

Slightly bewildered, Tam looked questioningly at Doogy. “What happened? Oooh, my leg feels stiff!”

Armel tied off the paw bandage, explaining briefly, “Your leg
should
feel stiff, Mister MacBurl. It was cut to the bone by that creature's claws. I've put it in a splint. Your left paw was almost sliced through by Martin's sword. You were holding the blade when that awful beast fell upon you. I've stitched it up and it should heal properly, providing you keep it still and get lots of rest!”

Tam wrinkled his nose at Doogy. “She's being bossy again, mate. I can always tell when she's in that mood, 'cos she calls me Mister MacBurl. All I can remember from out there is passing out. Tell me, what really went on?”

Doogy began playing their old game, speaking to Tam in mock bad temper. “Ah'll tell ye what happened, laddie. Ye ruined mah best an' only claymore! Och, ah don't know what sort o' steel Martin's sword is made of, but it cut great chunks out o' mah blade. When ah picked it up, mah poor claymore fell in two pieces! Oh, an' another thing, yore shield will nae go intae battle again. 'Tis battered an' holed an' bended a'most in two halves. An' what possessed ye tae sharp its edge all around like a blade, eh?”

Tam laid his head back on the pillow. “Oh, that was a little tip I got from Martin the Warrior.”

Doogy Plumm threw up his paws in resignation. “Och, that explains everythin'. He should've been called Martin the Destroyer o' Weapons. That's a bonny claymore an' a fine buckler completely destroyed, thanks tae him!”

Abbot Humble and Armel could not help smiling as they listened to both warriors wryly arguing.

“Yer a terrible beast, Doogy Plumm! Sittin' tied nice an' comfy to a stake whilst I'm left fightin' Gulo. By the bye, did I win, or did ye take a nap an' miss it all?”

“Aye, ah took a wee doze, but they tell me ye cut off ole
Gulo's head wi' yer shield edge. Personally, ah don't believe it. Ah think he slew hisself, 'cos he was a-feared ah'd break loose tae teach him a lesson. His head's still in the ditch. Ye can go an' ask him yerself, though ah dinnae ken he'll want tae talk to ye anymore!”

Tam grimaced. “Aye, he must be a bad loser, Doogy. I suppose ye let the other vermin escape?”

The Highlander scratched his tail. “Well, we were considerin' it. The rest of the vermin fought hard, but that Cap'n Fortindom, he's no' very fussy on vermin. Him an' Wonwill finished 'em afore we got the chance. Och, ah'll tell ye, Tam, those shrews were no' pleased at all!”

Tam looked mystified. “What shrews?”

Doogy gave him a jaundiced glance. “Do ye not recall Log a Log Togey tellin' ye he was goin' tae fetch help when ye parted company? Ye've got some explainin' tae do, laddie. The Cap'n an' Wonwill had no sooner put paid tae the last vermin when who comes chargin' oot o' the trees but Togey an' tenscore o' Guosim, armed tae the teeth an' roarin' blood'n'slaughter! Mind, that was nothin' compared tae auld Friar Glisum when he saw he had two hunnerd more mouths tae feed fer a few days. So that's mah bad news. Now, have ye got any good news fer me?”

Tam winced as Doogy patted his injured paw absently. “Good news, aye. Did ye hear I got my claymore back, an' Araltum's Royal Banner, too? Skipper found a hole in the streambank where that thievin' volerobber had hidden 'em!”

Doogy grinned. “So ah heard. As a matter o' fact, ah talked the good Sister Armel intae givin' me yore claymore, seein' as how ye ruined mah claymore wi' yon hardsteel sword ye were carryin'. Ah thought 'twas only fair!”

Tam sat up, outraged, but Armel pushed him back down before explaining herself. “I was only acting for the best, Mister MacBurl. Besides, what would you be needing two swords for?”

Tam spluttered, “But one of 'em belongs to Redwall. It's Martin's sword, not mine!”

The Infirmary Sister shrugged. “Well, it's always there,
should you need to defend Redwall against foebeasts. Oh, I sewed the tears in your banner and I washed and pressed it. I must say it looks a bit more acceptable now.”

Tam, however, was not listening to Armel. He was raving on at Doogy Plumm. “Hah, some mate you are! Yore worse'n that Yoofus Lightpaw, wheedlin' my best claymore off an innocent Infirmary Sister. Shame on ye! There's nobeast more disgustin' than a claymore thief. Huh, I'd best hide my dirk an' Sgian Dhu before ye take a fancy t'them, too!”

Armel waved her paws sternly. “Enough, I've heard enough! Clear this room so that my patient can get some rest. Out you go, Mister Plumm, and you, too, Father Abbot. Be off with you! And the rest of you hanging about that passage outside, have you no chores downstairs? Begone everybeast!”

Humble protested, “But I was just sitting here quietly!”

Tam winked at him. “I'd go if I were you, Father. She's in one of her bossy moods. See how her chin sticks out?”

The pretty young squirrel tried not to smile. “One more word out of you, Mister MacBurl, and . . . !”

Tam scowled fiercely. “And you'll what?”

She smiled sweetly. “And I'll have Friar Glisum make us a nice tray of afternoon tea for two. So what do you think of that, Mister MacBurl, eh?”

Rakkety Tam MacBurl gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I think that's a wonderful idea, Sister Armel!”