‘Heeheehee, look at that liddle scamp. Bet he’d catch it off his mother if she saw him doing that!’
With a resounding splash the little one hit the water, vanished and came up again, washed recognisable. Trimp hid a smile as Dinny roared gruffly at the culprit: ‘Yurr, git out’n thurr, maister Chugg. You’m bain’t no h’otter – you’m apposed t’be ee squiggle, ee likkle rip!’
Chugger wrinkled his nose at the mole. ‘I norra swiggle no more. Chugger a notter now!’
Crafty Gonff waved to the squirrelbabe. ‘Righto then, otter matey, you stay there. We’re goin’ now.’
Chugger scrambled up the bank and clung to Trimp. ‘Norra notter no more. Chugger go wiv you to da norfen seashores. ‘Urry up, Martin, we go now!’
Below the falls the pool narrowed again into the stream. Queen Garraway lifted the fringe of bushes growing on its bank, showing them their transport.
‘Here ’tis, mates, a stout liddle raft. C’mon, Gonffo, lend a paw to pull it out here.’
It had a collapsible mast and a sail which would double as a tent, plus four long ash poles, paddle-shaped at one end. They heaved it into the water and leaped aboard. Martin shook the Otterqueen’s paw heartily.
‘Thank you for everything, Majesty. May your tribe live in peace and plenty here always!’
The brawny otter grinned cheerfully at them. ‘Thankee, an’ may yore journey be a safe ’un. Go now, find what ye seek, an’ don’t let ole Gonffo git his nose into the grub supplies too often!’
* * *
6
BY MID-MORNING THE the stream had widened out considerably, small white clouds decorated the sunny skies and a gentle breeze convinced the friends they should erect the mastpole and spread sail. Dinny was never fond of water, and had to be dug out of the jumble of sail canvas where he had hidden himself. Gonff, however, took on a decidedly nautical mood, calling out orders.
‘Ahoy, mateys, rig up that mastpole amidships, will ye? Set yon sail an’ unfurl ’er smartlike to catch the breeze!’
Martin and Trimp chuckled as Dinny threw a derisory salute.
‘Aye aye, Cap’n Gonff zurr. Do ee got any more h’orders furr uz common waterbeasties?’
Hiding a grin, Gonff called back haughtily, ‘I say, Martin, tie a rock t’that fat ole mole’s tail an’ chuck him in the river, will you? He’s slowin’ us up!’
Bushy-edged banks slipped by, casting lacy patterns of sunshadow on the translucent waters. Trimp munched on a damson scone and sipped raspberry cordial.
‘Ah, this is the life, pals . . . Ouch!’
A muddy stick came spinning out of the northbank bushes, striking her on the cheek, followed by a mocking imitation of the hogmaid’s voice.
‘This’s the life, pals, heeheehee!’
Martin grabbed a pole and punted the raft towards the south bank. Gonff’s sharp eyes picked out the culprit.
‘There he is, see, runnin’ along behind the bushes!’
They followed the direction of Gonff’s outstretched paw. A young grey-brown rat was barely visible amid the foliage. Then it emerged on to the bank, pointing back at the Mousethief and mimicking his voice in a nasty manner.
‘Runnin’ along be’ind the bushes, be’ind the bushes, heehee!’
Martin’s grip relaxed on his swordhilt. ‘Ignore the little villain. He’s only trying to annoy us.’
The rat flung another stick, but the raft was now too far away from the north bank to be hit. He stuck out his tongue at Martin. ‘Ignore the liddle villain, liddle villain, heeheehee!’
Chugger looked stem, and shook a tiny paw at the rat. ‘Go ’way, naughty mouse, or I biff ya!’
Martin took hold of the little squirrel, who was about to jump from the raft, and held him wriggling in the air. ‘Now now, I told you, ignore the naughty mouse!’
But something unlikeable in the creature’s swaggering attitude caught Gonff’s attention. He stood up. ‘I thought that was a mouse at first, but he’s a sneaky young water rat. Look at that thick tail, mates!’
The rat stuck his claws in both ears and waggled them impudently at the Mousethief, dancing up and down provokingly. ‘Oh, look at ’is tail, mates, look at ’is tail. Heehee!’
Gonff whipped out his sling, fitted a small pebble to it and lobbed it expertly off. The stone, which Gonff had not cast with any great force, caught the rat a stinging blow on the tail. It leaped up and down, clinging to its tail and howling tearfully.
‘Owowowowow, the mouse nearly slayed me. owowowowow!’
Gonff returned his impression of the whining vermin. ‘Owowow, naughty mouse nearly slayed me, owow!’
The rat stopped wailing, his face a picture of fury. ‘You shut ya face. Think ya funny, don’t ya?’
Trimp came to stand beside Gonff. ‘What’s the matter, rat, don’t you like a taste of your own medicine? Be off with you, go and boil your ugly head!’
The rat kept running along the bank to keep up with the raft, throwing twigs, mud and anything he could lay paws upon. But they fell far short of the travellers. He was livid with rage, shrieking out at them, ‘Oh, you done it now, wait’n’see! Nearly slayed Riddig, son of mighty Girfang, Boss of alla streamrats!’
Gonff fitted another stone to his sling, a proper-sized rock this time. ‘Ah, stop whingin’ an’ run off home to yore daddy. Quick now, or I’ll show ye what a real slingstone can do. I’ll give ye t’the count o’ three, rat. One, two . . .’
Riddig stopped running and ducked off hastily into the bushes, still calling out threats to his enemies.
‘Don’t go ’sleep t’night – better not turn yer back. Youse lot are all deadbeasts, wait’n’see!’
Martin sighed, shaking his head at Gonff. ‘That’s all we need, more trouble. First the Flitchaye, now streamrats. Didn’t I tell you to ignore him?’
Gonff shrugged apologetically. ‘Nasty liddle vermin. Couldn’t ’elp myself, mate.’
Trimp was about to agree when Dinny interrupted.
‘Burr, nor could oi, Marthen, tho’ oi’d ‘a’ gotten ee vurmint a gudd crack furst toim wi’ moi slinger!’
Chugger thrust out his little jaw truculently. ‘An’ I woulda swimmed over an’ bited ’is tail off too!’
Martin tickled Chugger behind the ear fondly. ‘I wager that would’ve made him jump, eh, Chugg? Personally I felt a desire to kick that young horror’s tail up and down the bank a bit, just to teach him a lesson in manners. But keep your eyes peeled, mates. I’ve a feeling we haven’t heard the last of this little incident.’
The remainder of a pleasant day was spoiled for Trimp. She watched every rustle of bush or reed along the banks, expecting at any moment to see a mob of rats come springing out at them. However, the situation did not seem to bother her companions a bit. Chugger curled up amid the food packs and snored like a holtful of otters, whilst Martin, Dinny and Gonff chatted amiably, lying back and trailing their paws in the water. Had Trimp observed them more closely she would have noticed that the three Redwallers were alert as hunting hawks, keeping their weapons close by at all times.
Evening fell, and still there was no sign of rats. Martin took precautions by nosing the raft on to a rock which jutted up in centre stream and making a rope fast to it. Dinny fished about until he located a broad flat stone close to the rock. Hauling it aboard, the clever mole built a small fire on it. Martin chopped vegetables with his sword, whilst Trimp dug out dried watershrimp and herbs from a haversack. Gonff filled their small cauldron with fresh streamwater, and Chugger sat warming his paws by the fire. Martin tossed the vegetables into the pot and wiped his sword clean.
‘A fire at night isn’t the best idea in these parts, Din.’
The mole watched his soup carefully as he stirred it. ‘May’ap ’tain’t, zurr, but if’n anybeast be a-goin’ to attack us’n’s, they’d do et, foire or not. Breezes on ee water be a bit chill. Nought loik a gudd drop o’ soup, noice an’ ’ot, to keep ee warm an’ ’appy!’
Gonff c
ut a loaf of ryebread into chunks. ‘Can’t argue with mole logic, mate, ole Din’s right.’
Dinny’s soup was good, and they sat around the cauldron, each with a wooden spoon and a chunk of bread, sharing the meal in true traveller fashion. Martin set up two oarpoles and brought the sail forward, draping it over them as a precaution against rain during the night. Trimp found a narrow flagon of elderberry wine and they passed it round, each taking a few sips.
The hogmaid smiled. ‘There, that should keep the chills away. What now, mates?’
Gonff smiled back at her. ‘Now you give us a song, missie.’
‘No no, my voice would carry over water. Let Dinny sing.’
A look passed between Martin and Gonff, and they both sighed.
‘Never heard a mole sing before, have you, Trimp?’
‘No, I can’t say I have. Why?’
‘Oh, nothin’, mate. You’re sure you want t’hear molesong?’
‘Of course I do, that’s if Dinny would be kind enough to oblige us with one of his songs.’
The mole’s homely face creased deeply with pleasure. ‘Hurr, ’ow cudd oi refuse a pretty maid loik ee, miz!’ Then he placed a paw over one ear in traditional molesinger’s manner and launched into a mole ballad.
‘Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer mornin’!
Bold Doogul mole were gurtly brave,
As oi wurr told boi moi muther,
Furr maidens boi the score ee’d save,
Loik chesknutts wun arfter anuther,
Each morn ee rode owt frum ’is abode,
A-mounted on a milky whoit toad,
Surchin’ ee danjeruss forest road,
A-lukkin’ furr ee maidens.
Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer mornin’!
Ee spied a gurt fat molewoif thurr,
An’ doffed ’is ’at to ’er proudly,
Which froikkened ee molewoif out’n ’er wits,
She’m started to wail roight loudly,
Ee shuvved ’er up onna back of ’is toad,
An’ troid t’ride off down ee road,
But two fat moles was an ’evvy load,
An’ ee toad wurr crushed loik a beekle.
Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer mornin’!
Then oop cumm ee gudd an’ stoutly mole,
Ee croid, “Woe thurr bless moi loif,
Thurr be two villyuns tryin’ to steal,
Moi dear ole fatty gurt woif!”
So pullin’ owt a knotty ash club,
Bowth toad an’ Doogul ee did drub,
Ee gave ’em black’n’bloo lumps t’rub,
An’ ’is wolf gave ’im cabbage furr supper.’
Trimp and little Chugger were laughing so hard that they had trouble trying to join in on the chorus. Gonff shook his head at them sadly.
‘Don’t encourage him, mates. I’ve heard that song – there’s still another forty-seven verses t’go yet!’
Martin leaped on Dinny suddenly, stifling the mole’s mouth with both paws. Trimp sniffed at the Warrior severely.
‘Don’t be so bad-mannered, sir. Let poor Dinny finish his song. Chugger and I were enjoying it!’
Martin shot her a warning glance, his voice an urgent whisper. ‘Don’t make another sound, Trimp. Gonff, throw some water on that fire, and let’s get in the stream, quick!’
They obeyed Martin without question. Gonff flung water on the flames, which sizzled and hissed in clouds of white steam. Trimp found herself breathless in the cold stream, pulled there by Dinny. Keeping their heads low the travellers clung to the raft. A hail of arrows hit the sailcloth shelter, some zipping through, others bouncing off to stick in the deck timbers. These were followed by a volley of slingstones and a couple of throwing spears, both of which buried their points in the food haversacks. Then there was silence.
Chugger clung to Martin’s neck, shivering. ‘I cold an’ wet, not nice inna water!’
Another lot of arrows hit the raft. Martin stroked the little squirrel’s head, whispering softly, ‘Ssshhh now, Chugg. Right, let’s swim over to the far bank. Try not to make any splashes, go easy.’
As they swam off, a harsh voice called from the opposite bank, ‘Give ’em some more just t’make sure, then we’ll board the raft an’ have fun with any still breathin’!’
The travellers made it safely to the far bank. Trimp found some dry grass and rolled Chugger in it, then she joined her friends, watching in the thick bushes by the stream’s edge. Swaying under the impact, the raft took several more salvos of missiles. Gonff nudged Dinny. ‘D’you reckon we’re slain by now, Din?’
‘Hurr, they’m ratters given ee raft ’nuff to finish off ee troib o’ badgerfolk, oi be thinken!’
Martin began gathering pawfuls of pebbles from the shallows. ‘Let’s see how they like a spot of sniping. Wait for my word.’
Launching crude logboats, the rats made it clumsily across to the raft. There were so many of them that the raft began to tilt crazily. Boss Girfang, their leader, caught hold of his son Riddig, who was trying to undo one of the haversacks, and snarled at the young rat, ‘Well, where are they, these creatures that tried t’slay yer? I don’t see ’em anywheres.’
Riddig cowered under his father’s angry glare. ‘I dunno where they went, but there was five o’ them, two ole mice, a fat mole, a young ’og an’ a liddle squirrel. They all battered me wid slingstones fer no reason at all. I was jus’ layin’ on the bank, takin’ a nap!’
Girfang tweaked his son’s ear sharply. ‘An’ you jus’ lay there an’ let ’em do it, you, a Boss’s son? Stinkin’ liddle coward, y’make me sick!’
Riddig squealed as Girfang stamped on his tail, protesting, ‘I never jus’ lay there. I got the ’og wid a stick an’ the two mice wid big round stones. They can’t ’ave got far!’
A dull thud sounded in the night, and one of the rats toppled into the water. Girfang turned on the rest.
‘Be still an’ leave them ’aversacks alone or you’ll ’ave us all in the stream. Stop rockin’ the raft, willyer!’
Thonk! A rat screeched and clapped both paws to his jaw. Girfang grabbed the nearest rat, using him as a shield.
‘Somebeast’s slingin’ at us. Get ’em!’
Splat! Thwack! Crack! Thunk!
Vermin let out agonised yells, two fell in the stream, and the raft rocked wildly as big round river pebbles whizzed out of the darkness, causing injury and chaos.
Girfang leaped with the others into the water. Seizing their logboats’ sides, they swam madly back to their own bank, peppered relentlessly with stones. No sooner was Girfang on dry land than the slinging ceased. He grabbed Riddig roughly by the scruff and hauled him ashore, then snapped a willow switch from a young sapling.
‘Two ole mice, a fat mole, a young ’og an’ a liddle squirrel, eh? Yew rotten barefaced liar!’
Riddig danced in an agonised circle, his father holding him tight by the neck scruff and whaling away mercilessly with the willow switch.
‘Yeeeee! Oohooh! I wuz tellin’ the truth, sir, ’onest I was! Aaaaagh! Yeekyeek! Owowowow!’
‘Truth? Yew wouldn’t know truth if’n it fell on yer ’ead out of a tree, yer mealy-mouthed fork-tongued worm!’ Girfang laid on heavily with the switch, punctuating each word to drive home his message. ‘There was more’n five beasts stonin’ us there, yew forty-faced toad. Must’ve been at least a dozen, all trained warriors by the way they could aim an’ hit so good! Own up, now. There was twelve of ’em, mostly otters from upstream, wasn’t there, ye wretch? Tell the truth or I’ll flay yer!’
Gonff twirled his sling idly, winking at Trimp as they crouched in the bushes on the far bank. ‘Does yore heart good lissenin’ t’justice bein’ done, missie.’
The hedgehog maid listened with satisfaction as she heard Riddig’s wails echoing into the night.
‘Wahaaar, there was twelve
otters beside the others. Don’t ’it me no more, Boss, please! Twelve otters, you was right. Wahaaahaaahaaa!’
Following this revelation, Girfang could be heard calling to the rest of his tribe as they deserted him. ‘Where are you lot off to? Git back ’ere!’
Derisive shouts followed his command. ‘Yah, we ain’t scrappin’ wid no twelve otters. Go an’ fight yer brat’s battles yerself. Yore Riddig started it!’
Gonff grinned, stowing his sling about his waist. ‘Y’know what they say, truth never hurt anybeast!’
Martin unbuckled his sword and borrowed Gonff’s dagger. ‘So they say, mate, but you try telling that to Riddig. I wager he’s sorry he ever threw that stick at Trimp. Wait here, I’ll swim out to our raft and cut it loose.’
Next morning, dry and well breakfasted, the friends sailed onward, staying close to the far bank. Summer warmth raised their spirits, with Gonff confiding aloud to Martin and Trimp, ‘I reckon it wasn’t Riddig caused all that fuss, y’know.’
Trimp looked up from the dough she was kneading for lunch. ‘Was it not? Who do you think was responsible, then?’
‘Dinny’s singin’, of course. It drove the rats wild an’ they attacked us just to stop the ’orrible noise, missie.’
‘Hurr, you’m turrible crool, zurr Gonffen. Moi ole granmum allus said oi ’ad a voice loik ee lark at furst loight.’
‘Haha, that’s ’cos yore ole grandmum was deaf as a post, Din.’
Dinny continued chopping candied fruit, not raising his eyes. ‘Aye, an’ thy ole grandad allus said you’m wurr ee most gurtly ’andsome creature. Noice ole beast ee wurr. Oi used to take ’im furr walks lest ee bump into trees. Bloind ee wurr, pore creetur!’
High noon found them pulled in to a shady inlet out of the hot midday sun. Trimp wanted to bake a candied fruit turnover, but she had no oven. With mole ingenuity, Dinny solved the problem. He cemented flat pieces of shale together with stiff brown clay and water, making a neat little box, which, with the turnover inside, was placed on the fire. Martin and Gonff repaired the torn sail, rent by rat weapons. Nobeast paid much attention to little Chugger. Trimp warned him to stay close to camp, and he did for a while, but whilst Trimp was busy with her cooking and Dinny was digging for fresh roots and vegetables, Chugger wandered off.