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!”
Epilogue
It is now fifteen seasons since Gulo the Savage was slain by my father. Fallen green leaves are turning to gold and brown, covering our orchard with a thick carpet, which is deliciously crisp underpaw. But what a beautiful summer it has been! Let me tell you of the trip I made, quite an adventure for a maid who has never strayed far from Redwall Abbey. What excitement!
Armel, my mother, finally persuaded Tam, my father, and my uncle, Doogy Plumm, to return the great banner to its owners. Father was willing, but Uncle Doogy did a lot of grumbling—“Och, ah’d let the auld fusspots stew in their own juice, an’ weep salty tears tae get their flag back!” Those were a few of his words.
But Mother became very bossy and had her way in the end. Dad laughs a lot when she gets like this. Soon we were on our journey—Dad, Mum, Uncle Doogy, Tergen and my mother’s dear friend, Aunt Brooky. I’d never imagined Mossflower Wood was so vast! But we were in no hurry. I was fascinated to see the campsite where my dad stole the sword of Martin back from the vermin. Oh, incidentally, Old Abbot Humble let us take the sword along in case it was needed. Uncle Doogy insisted that I wear the sword—from the day I took my first steps, he and my dad were the ones who taught me the ways of the blades. I’m told I used to wield the little Sgian Dhu; I learned to fence with it. Then, as I grew taller, I was given the dirk to use; then, finally, at the end of my eleventh season, I could use two swords—either the blade of Martin or Uncle Doogy’s claymore (which my dad still claims is his).
Mother was slightly worried about me being the sword carrier, but I remember exactly what Uncle Doogy said to reassure her—“Och, cease frettin’, Armel. The wee maid’s a better swordbeast than mahself or her great lump of a daddy. Ah ken she’d draw rings aroond us wi’ one paw!”
Well, the first stream we came to, guess what happened? We were met by a fleet of logboats! I’ve got another uncle now, a fine old fat, bearded shrew everyone calls Log a Log Togey. I like him! He told me I’d make a good Guosim, and let me steer his big logboat. Have you ever been on a stream for a few days? Sailing along peaceful, shaded waterways, letting your paw run through the water. Especially getting to sleep aboard under a canopy, lulled by the murmuring current. . . . It’s a dream! And the delicious Guosim food, what a treat!
But we did have some hair-raising moments fighting our way up a stretch of very rough rapids. Finally, though, the water calmed, and on the fourth day we said good-bye to the shrews. They were sorry to see us go, but they looked relieved to be rid of Tergen. I think shrews are not great lovers of fierce goshawks.
Not far from the stream was an abode where we spent another few, very happy days. The dwel
ling was the home of Yoofus Lightpaw and his wife Didjety. What a jolly pair! I even saw the famous Walking Stone, though at first I thought Rockbottom was a pawstool (silly me)! What an extraordinary creature little Rockbottom is, and what fun his owners are. On the first night we were there, Didjety made us a huge batch of her famous sausage rolls. (I say “famous,” because she gave the recipe to Friar Glisum, and now they are the favourite food of Redwall Dibbuns—and most elders, too.) I never laughed so much in my life, and neither did Aunt Brooky (and she’s laughed a lot in her life, I can tell you). We had a feast, a real celebration: Didjety sang us funny songs and did comical dances, Yoofus told us hilarious tales of his thieving adventures and Rockbottom sat on my lap all evening.
On the morning we were going, the great banner and Uncle Doogy’s claymore were missing. My Mum and Mrs. Lightpaw gave poor Yoofus such a scolding that he returned them immediately, saying, “Ah sure, I was only havin’ a liddle borrow of the grand flag an’ the big ould sword. Wasn’t I now, Rock, me ould icecake?” And do you know what? Rockbottom nodded and smiled, I’ll swear he did. Really, the nerve of those two!
Early one sunny morning, we crossed some heathlands, climbed a lot of dunes and came to some lovely tree groves. Beyond them I could see the sea, a first-time experience and a real treat for me.
Uncle Doogy began grumbling again. “Och, ah’d as soon fling this flag intae the waves than return it tae those two snooty-nosed wee braggarts!”
For a moment I thought my dad was going to do it, but Mum took Uncle Doogy by the ear and wagged a paw at them both. “If either of you two rogues even dare, we’ll chuck you in straight after it. Right, Brooky?”
Auntie Brooky enjoys anything like that. “Whoooohooohooohaha! Let’s do it, Armel. Hahahahaaa!” See what I mean?
We sat down and had lunch on the fringes of the trees. Uncle Doogy whispered to Tergen, who flew off into the groves. (The high-strung bird has been flying since the autumn following the death of Gulo the Savage.) No sooner had we finished eating than we heard a lot of scurrying and squealing from within the trees. Out tumbled a score of squirrels. Our fierce goshawk came swooping behind them. As they huddled in a terrified mass, Tergen stood over them.
Uncle Doogy clashed his claymore upon his shield and shouted, “Ah can see two wee maggots in there called Araltum an’ Idga. Shove ’em out! We want tae have words with ’em!”
The pair were pushed out by the other squirrels. Honestly, I had never set eyes on two more fat, wheezy, overdressed little beasts. Tearstained and wailing, with both their homemade crowns askew, they grovelled on the ground in front of us. A moment later, a young squirrel, almost as fat as the two of them put together, strutted out. He was fearfully ugly and had a squeaky, petulant lisp.
“Who are these cweatures? Thwow them in pwison an’ give them no bwead or dwink for thwee days!”
Uncle Doogy scowled at him. “An’ who are ye, mah bold wee barrel-bottomed babe?”
The young squirrel stamped a podgy footpaw angrily. “Insolent squiwell, you are addwessing the Cwown Pwince Woopurt. Show some wespect, an’ bow before me, wetch!”
My dad ignored him. Taking the banner, he rolled it lengthways into a long scarf. This he knotted loosely about the necks of King Araltum and his Drayqueen Idga.
Dad sounded very stern when he spoke to them. “I bring ye back the banner now, as I vowed I would. Doogy and I were fools to ever swear our oaths to ye. Release us from our bond now, Araltum. Keep your promise!”
Dad and Doogy both drew their swords. Araltum arose, trembling. He placed his paws on both blades and said, “I release you from your bonds and pledges, from hereon you may use your swords as freebeasts!” All the squirrels—including more who had emerged from the groves—drowned out any further speeches by the pompous king with their cheering and leaping about.
Little Crown Prince Roopert kicked the nearest squirrel, shouting shrilly at him, “Tweason, you’re all under awwest for tweachery!”
Pinetooth, the old squirrel he had kicked, was a longtime friend of my father. He kicked Roopert back, right on his fat little rear end. Then he winked at my dad and Uncle Doogy. “I’ve been wantin’ to do that for a while now, mates. ’Tis time Araltum an’ Idga’s rule came to an end!”
Amid happy celebrations, the squirrels marched with us from the groves down to the sea. Pinetooth, and another old squirrel named Hinjo, offered the twin crowns of Araltum and Idga to my mum and dad. Mother was magnificent. After taking both crowns and throwing them into the sea, she made a speech.
“Friends, there will be no more tyranny. From now on, you must live together in harmony. We wish you peace and long life!”
Setting our faces toward the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, which loomed to the north like a silent sentinel guarding the shores, we marched off. The jubilant squirrels cheered us until they were mere dots on the tideline, far behind us.
I always thought Redwall Abbey was a big place, but the sight of Salamandastron, from close up, took my breath away. Simply colossal! What a delegation came out to meet us! Though I had never seen the hares before (they had left Redwall long before I was born), I was able to put names to some of their faces—Sergeant Wonwill, Captain Derron Fortindom, Lancejack Wilderry, Flunkworthy, Folderon and a couple who had been wed for five seasons now, Ferdimond De Mayne and Kersey. These two had their infant son with them, a chubby creature named Dauncey De Mayne (Dauncey, in memory of Kersey’s twin brother). The Long Patrol put on a Guard of Honour, escorting us into the large Banquet Hall. A feast was held to welcome us—and, I must say, those regimental cooks did us proud! I was especially overawed by Lady Melesme; she was every bit the Badger Ruler of Salamandastron. Tall, stately and dignified, dressed in only simple homespun robes, she radiated serenity and respect. Now I know why badgers are regarded as such special creatures.
We spent six glorious days at the mountain. In my spare time this winter, I plan to write a journal to recount this experience, though it will be difficult to properly describe what a fascinating place the mountain is—so shrouded it is in grandeur, legend and mystery.
I was loath to leave when the time came, and I promised to visit them in the future. We left there with an escort of twoscore Long Patrol hares to guide us back home. Actually, it was twoscore and three—Ferdimond and Kersey, together with baby Dauncey, are coming back to the Abbey as our resident hares. Sadly, we left minus one of our number: the goshawk Tergen had elected to stay on at Salamandastron as lookout and scout to the regiment. Such a fierce heart as he will, I’m sure, find his true destiny there among the warriors.
What more can I tell you, my friend? We are back once more in our beloved home, and the autumn season is upon us. Burlop Cellarhog has predicted the harvest will begin tomorrow at dawn. Tonight there is a beautiful harvest moon. Mother and I will be taking all the Dibbuns, including little Dauncey De Mayne, out to our Abbey pond. There we will cast pebbles at the moon’s reflection in the water. They say that if you make a wish before the ripples reach the pond’s edge, your wish will be granted. So I will cast my pebble right into the centre of the moon’s reflection and make a wish for all of us—the creatures of Redwall, my family and friends, and a special one, just for both of us. I wish for the harvest to be an abundant one, and I wish that the feast we have tomorrow night in the orchard will have the most beautiful decorations of flowers and many-hued lanterns. I wish for peace and prosperity, love and happiness for all. I know I will not have to wish that the food will be at its most delicious. How else could it be at our Abbey? I will lay a place at our table for you and hope you can join us, if not in body, then in the world of your imagination, where you can visit us any time.
Melanda MacBurl. Recorder of Redwall Abbey
in Mossflower Country
He lost a sword an’ gained a sword,
tae triumph at the slaughter.
He’s met a Sister, found a wife
an’ gained a bonny daughter!
Tam
took his bond back off the fool,
he left him sore an’ grievin’.
An’ gave tae friends o’ former days,
a grand auld taste o’ freedom!
Rakkety Rakkety Rakkety Tam,
the drums are beatin’ braw.
Och, now ye’ve gained a heart’s desire,
ye’ll no more march tae war!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is
http://www.penguinputnam.com
Brian Jacques, Rakkety Tam
(Series: # )
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