The Sable Quean (6 page)
Authors: Brian Jacques
Buckler decided he had taken just about enough. Shouldering his haversack, he rolled Diggs roughly over, relieving him of the bellrope and his backpack. He walked off, carrying the lot, without looking back.
Diggs sat bolt upright. “I say, where’n the name o’ fiddle-sticks d’you think you’re goin?”
Without turning, Buckler shouted back, “I’m goin’ it alone—don’t need you. Report back to Lord Brang, see what he has to say!”
Suddenly Diggs was alongside him, claiming back his equipment. “Well, hoity-toity sirrah, who said I wasn’t goin’, wot? Just you try an’ stop me. They don’t call me old Determined Diggs for nothin’, y’know. Step along lively now, laddie buck. I know, what about a good old marchin’ song? Remember that one we made up when we were both leverets?”
Buckler suddenly found himself smiling. “I certainly do, mate. Go on, you lead off!”
Away they went at the double, often changing step and back kicking. It was more of a comic dance, which they had performed at mess parties as cadets. Sometimes they sang solo, though mostly together.
“They call me Diggs . . . an’ my name’s Buck,
If you draw a blade on us you’re out o’ luck!
I’m an expert with a sword!
I’m a champion with a spoon!
We’ll fight or feast with anybeast
come mornin’, night or noon.
So left right left right,
Wot ho, me pretty one!
Is your ma a good ole cook,
an’ where do you come from?
Let’s walk you home . . . don’t go alone,
you charmin’ little duck.
Then introduce your ma to us,
our names are Diggs an’ Buck!
So left right left right,
are we nearly there?
Salute the Colonel’s daughter,
parade around the square.
We’re jolly brave an’ handsome,
at war or scoffin’ tuck,
we’re perilously perfect ’cos . . .
they call us Diggs an’ Buck!”
If you draw a blade on us you’re out o’ luck!
I’m an expert with a sword!
I’m a champion with a spoon!
We’ll fight or feast with anybeast
come mornin’, night or noon.
So left right left right,
Wot ho, me pretty one!
Is your ma a good ole cook,
an’ where do you come from?
Let’s walk you home . . . don’t go alone,
you charmin’ little duck.
Then introduce your ma to us,
our names are Diggs an’ Buck!
So left right left right,
are we nearly there?
Salute the Colonel’s daughter,
parade around the square.
We’re jolly brave an’ handsome,
at war or scoffin’ tuck,
we’re perilously perfect ’cos . . .
they call us Diggs an’ Buck!”
They sang it through again, trying to outdo each other with sidesteps and fancy twiddles. When they halted, both hares were panting and laughing.
Buckler adjusted his backpack. “It’s been a few seasons since we sang that together.”
Diggs flopped down on the warm sand. “Rather. Blinkin’ wonder we still remember it, wot!”
Buckler noticed that the sandhills were getting smaller. “That’s the worst of the dunes behind us, mate, though there’s a tidy bit o’ this heath an’ scrubland still to go. Come on, matey, up y’come—there’s plenty o’ daylight left yet.”
They pressed onward, with Diggs beginning to lag and chunner again.
“Blinkin’ grasshoppers chirrupin’—it’s enough t’drive a poor beast potty. Aye, an’ those bees could pick better tunes to hum. Bloomin’ monotonous buzzin’, eh?”
Buckler suddenly held up a paw. “Hush—can you hear that noise?”
Diggs carried on until he bumped into his friend’s back. “Noise? What confounded noise? A rowdy butterfly, d’ye think!”
Buckler clapped a paw around Diggs’s mouth. “Give your jaws a rest an’ listen. Sounds like somebeast in trouble t’me. Over there, behind that hill—d’ye hear it?”
Diggs cocked up his ears, removing Buckler’s paw. “More’n one beast, I think. Shall we take a peep?”
Dropping their haversacks, the pair crouched low, then crept toward the source of the outcry.
A scrawny-looking fox and a hulking weasel had captured a young shrewmaid. They were trying to get a rope halter around her neck, threatening her with all manner of torments.
“Yew better ’old still, missy, or I’ll knock yer snout outta joint, so ’elp me I will!”
However, the shrewmaid was a feisty little creature, giving back as good as she got. She swung the rope, striking the scrawny fox in one eye.
“Leggo a me, ye snot-bubblin’ grubbers. Git yore filfy paws offa me!”
The hulking weasel drew a wicked-looking knife. “Grab ’er neck, mate. We’ll see wot she ’as t’say when I carves ’er tongue out!”
Watching from the tall grass to one side of the hill, the two hares realised it was time to step in on the vermin. Buckler drew his long rapier, but Diggs stayed his paw.
“Allow me t’deal with this little fracas, old lad. I’ll give you a hoot if I need you t’lend a jolly old paw, wot?”
Buckler watched as Diggs unwound his sling and loaded it with a sizeable rock.
“Go ahead, then, be my guest. But I don’t think those vermin’ll fall for that old trick.”
Diggs winked confidently, as he swaggered toward the scene. “We’ll bally well see what we shall see, matey!”
The tubby young hare called out in a commanding tone. (He could be rather good at commanding tones, when required.) “I say, you two, scraggy-bottom an’ clod-head! Take your foul paws off that young creature this very instant! Refrain an’ desist, sirrahs, an’ pack it in!”
The weasel advanced on Diggs, wielding his blade. “Are you talkin’ to us, rabbet?”
Diggs halted half a pace from the weasel. “Rabbet, is it? Have a care, barrelbottom—you happen to be addressing Subaltern Meliton Gubthorpe Digglethwaite. But let’s not stand on ceremony. You can address me as sir. Now, unpaw that charmin’ shrew.”
The scraggy fox let the rope go. Joining the weasel, he sneered at the newcomer. “Or wot, eh?”
As he was saying this, the fox produced a wooden club.
The shrewmaid called out a warning. “Watch them—they’re sly, dangerous vermin!”
Diggs chuckled nonchalantly, edging around until he was standing close to both his enemies. “Pish tush, m’dear, sly, dangerous?” He faced the weasel squarely, still twirling the loaded sling playfully. “Let me give you a demonstration of my prowess before you decide on attacking me, wot! D’ye see that skylark up there?”
The weasel stared up at the empty sky. “Where? Wot skylark—”
That was as far as he got. Diggs swung the heavily loaded sling up, thwacking it hard beneath the vermin’s chin. He carried on with the blow, up and over. The rock-loaded sling made a distinctive
Bonk!
as it struck the scraggy fox between both ears.
Bonk!
as it struck the scraggy fox between both ears.
The fox was out cold, but the weasel was sitting on the ground, making odd noises as he hugged his chin.
Buckler walked up, shaking his head. “When’ll you ever learn, mate? You should’ve belted the fox under the chin first. The second hit would’ve put that weasel’s spark out, if you’d have smacked him over the head.”
Diggs consulted the half-stunned weasel. “You must have a flippin’ granite jaw. Didn’t that knock you out, old lad?”
The weasel looked dully up, nursing broken teeth and a bitten tongue. He said what sounded like, “Mmmmufffm!”
Diggs nodded sympathetically. “Sorry about that, old scout. Here, try this one!”
Whop!
The sling bounced off the vermin’s brutish head. He fell back, out to the world.
The sling bounced off the vermin’s brutish head. He fell back, out to the world.
Diggs nodded to his friend. “I’ll remember that next time—little un to the chin, big un right on the bonce, wot!”
The little shrewmaid was watching them both, giggling merrily. “Youse two are funny rabbets.”
Diggs huffed as he proffered her a sweeping bow. “Hares, marm, Salamandastron hares of the Long Patrol. I’m Diggs, an’ this is my friend Buck, wot! Pray, who have we the pleasure of addressing?”
The shrewmaid bobbed a quick curtsy. “Me name’s Flib ber, but youse kin call me Flib.”
Buckler prodded the unconscious vermin with a f ootpaw.
“Pleased to meet ye, Flib. What did these two want with you?”
Flib shrugged. “Huh, I dunno. They jus’ snucked up on me an’ tried t’drag me off sumplace, dunno where!”
She took the knife from the weasel and the club from the scraggy fox, commenting grimly, “But they won’t do it again—no blunkin’ vermins will. Hah, jus’ lerrem try, now that I’ve gorra few weppins meself!”
Diggs enquired, “What are you doin’ out here on your own, missy? Where are you from, wot?”
She pointed the blade at him aggressively. “None of yer bizness, nosey!”
Diggs went off to get their supply haversacks, chunnering as usual. “Mind my own jolly business, indeed. There’s flippin’ gratitude for you. Lay two vermin low, save the wretch’s life, an’ that’s all the bloomin’ thanks one gets. If I hadn’t made her my business, she’d be in a bally bad spot now, indeed she would, ungrateful liddle snip. Huh, young uns these days, wot!”
Buckler tried reasoning with Flib. “It wouldn’t hurt to say where you hail from, Flib. What about your parents? I’ll wager they’re prob’ly quite worried about you.”
It was all to no avail. She scowled at him. “Yore nosier ’n yer pal, you are. Lissen, yew attend to yore bizness, an’ I’ll see t’mine, alright?”
Buckler turned away from her. “Suit y’self, miss.”
Diggs, returning with their gear, was greatly cheered when his friend announced that they would camp there for the night. He promptly began setting up preparations for a meal. Flib feigned indifference, though she spoke to Diggs.
“Worra youse gonna do wid those two scum, eh?”
Diggs cast an eye over the two unconscious vermin. “Couldn’t say, really. Er, what d’you suggest?”
The shrewmaid tested the edge of her knife blade. “Leave it t’me. I’ll slay ’em wid this!”
Buckler swiftly wrested the weapon from her grasp. “You’ll do no such thing! Vermin or not, they’re helpless creatures, unable to defend themselves.”
Not daunted, she grabbed her club and waved it. “Stan’ outta me way, youse. They woulda slayed me!”
Buckler’s long rapier sent the club flying. “You savage little murderer—keep away from them!”
Flib sucked her paw, scowling at him. “Yew two are daft. Yer a right pair o’ softies. Don’t yer know that the only good vermin is a dead un? That’s wot ole Jango sez!”
Diggs nodded as he chopped up a fruit salad. “I’ve heard that, too. Who’s this Jango feller?”
She curled her lip contemptuously at him. “I’ve told yew once, mind yer own bizness, fatty!”
Buckler winked at Diggs. “If that’s the way she wants things, mate, then let her be. She can sit apart from us and mind her own bloomin’ business, for all I care!”
Diggs agreed stoutly. “Fair enough by me, old scout. She can sit alone in solitary blinkin’ splendour, for all I care. Aye, an’ she can shift for her bally self. I ain’t givin’ no supper to that ill-mannered little spitwhiskers, nor a drop t’drink, wot. I should jolly well think not, so there!”
Flib sat apart from them, her nose in the air. “I don’t blinkin’ well care!”
Diggs would not let it go. He retorted, “An’ we don’t jolly well care that you don’t blinkin’ well care, so yah boo sucks t’you, marm!”
The moment the two vermin began to stir and groan, Buckler took the rope halter to them. He bound the weasel and the fox back-to-back, tying both forepaws and footpaws tightly.
Pretending that she cared little, Flib commented, “Worra ye gonna do wid the scum now, eh?”
Buckler answered without looking at her. “Don’t know, really. Haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Shades of evening were streaking the sky as Buckler joined his friend by their little fire. “So, young Diggs, what’ve we got here for supper?”
The tubby young hare was a very good cook. He announced the menu aloud. “Some summer fruit salad, toasted cheese on oatcakes, slab o’ fruitcake an’ a drop o’ the jolly old dandelion cordial t’wash it down. How does that sound t’ye, young sir, wot?”
His friend rubbed paws together, pointedly ignoring the shrewmaid sitting by with her nose in the air. “Mmmm, just the stuff t’feed two Long Patrollers!” He bit into an oatcake, topped thickly with cooked cheese.
Diggs slurped down fruit salad as though he had lived through a famine season. Dipping fruitcake into the honeyed juice, he made loud sucking noises.
Flib suddenly slumped on the sand, allowing a strangled sob to escape.
Diggs looked up from his soggy cake. “I say, did you hear somethin’—sounded like a bloomin’ toad bein’ throttled, wot?”
Buckler replied conversationally, “Y’know, if I was a foolish little creature, a shrew, let’s say, well, I wouldn’t go about insulting those who helped me an’ being an ill-mannered young grump. D’you know what I mean, Diggs?”
The tubby hare sucked juice from his paws. “Indeed, old top, I know exactly what y’mean. No excuse for bad behaviour, wot. I think I’d stop blubberin’ an’ beg chaps’ pardons, show ’em I was civilized an’ whatnot. Who knows, there might even be a spot o’ supper left for the silly little swab!”
A moment went by, then Flib took the hint. Rubbing her eyes, she shuffled to the fire. Staring at her footpaws, she murmured, “M’sorry f’bein’ rude.”
Diggs began milking the situation, holding a paw to one ear and calling out like an irate old colonel, “Eh, what’s that y’say? Speak up, young un, out with it!”
Buckler heard the shrewmaid’s teeth gritting as she sang out lustily, “I said I’m sorry f’bein’ rude. I ’pologise for me bad manners!”
Diggs kept up his aged-colonel act. “Hah, did ye hear the little maggot, Blademaster Buckler? I s’pose she thinks that entitles her to some of our bloomin’ supper, wot?”
Buckler nudged his friend hard. “Right, that’s enough, mate. Apologies accepted, Flib. Come and sit here. Diggs, serve our guest with supper, please.”
She ate like a madbeast, cramming everything in with all the speed she could muster.
Diggs passed her a beaker of cordial. “Whoa, marm, slow down before ye go bang! Here, take a sip o’ this, slowly now. Sufferin’ stewpots, how long is it since you last had vittles, wot?”
Flib chewed hard, swallowed, then sighed. “Caw, nothin’ like vikkles when yer ’ungry, eh? It’s a couple o’ days since I ’ad a feed.”
Buckler refilled her beaker. “So now will you tell us what you’re doing out here all on your own, bein’ attacked by vermin?”
At that point, the scraggy fox, who was now wide awake, shouted angrily, “Untie us, I’m warnin’ ye. Cut us loose right now!”
Buckler rose. Bowing to his supper companions, he drew his long rapier. “Pardon me a moment, please.”
Crossing to where the vermin lay bound, he began assisting them to stand. “C’mon, up on your hunkers. That’s the stuff, cullies!” Buckler the Blademaster circled them, swishing the air with his long, lethal blade.
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