Tagg woke up scratching. He was itching all over. Still with his eyes half closed, he wiggled a paw in his ear and spat out something that was wandering over his lip. Nimbalo was sitting by the fire, cooking breakfast, his fur plastered wetly against him. He watched the otter scratching madly and shrugged apologetically.
“Sorry, mate. It was dark, ’ow could I tell I’d picked a campsite right inna middle of a bloomin’ ant trail? Pond’s over there.”
Tagg tore past him and did a bounding dive into the still waters of a small lake, ignoring Nimbalo’s shout of “Wouldn’t mind a perch or a fat ole trout fer brekkist, mate!”
Swimming powerfully, Tagg crossed and recrossed the waters, and then he sped back to the lake’s center and dived. It felt so good that he frisked about like an otterbabe, performing underwater somersaults and chasing his rudder playfully. Nimbalo left off cooking to gaze on the unbroken sheet of lake surface, muttering to himself as he waited for his friend to surface.
“C’mon, you ole riverdog, this scoff’ll be cold if’n ye stay down there all day!”
Breaking the surface on the far side of the lake, Tagg leaped out shaking himself, then bent down and was lost to sight. Nimbalo snorted impatiently, shouting as he went back to cooking, “Wot’s goin’ on over there, matey? Found more ants t’play with?”
Tagg came bounding back with his tunic slung over one shoulder. He spilled the contents out in front of Nimbalo. “Look, button mushrooms and cress. I found them growing over there. Anything nice to eat? I’m starving!”
Nimbalo served the food, chuckling. “Pancakes an’ honey an’ pear cordial, but don’t tell the ants!”
Tagg smiled ruefully at the thought of the insects. “You little puddenhead, fancy picking a camp in an ant run!”
Nimbalo shuddered and wriggled. “Ugh! I really earned me title durin’ the night, mate. I must’ve slayed about two ’undred ants every time I rolled over!”
The cress was sweet and fresh, and the mushrooms had a wonderful nutty flavor. They finished breakfast by eating as many as they could.
After breaking camp, the two friends headed into the woodlands, still following the vermin tracks. It was a golden morning, with vagrant breezes chasing small fluffy clouds across a soft blue sky. A vague excitement was stirring in Tagg’s mind. He did not recognize the country, yet it felt friendly. He stopped for a moment and leaned against an ancient hornbeam.
“Nimbalo, have you ever had the feeling that you know a place, yet you haven’t been there before? I mean . . .”
The harvest mouse nodded confidently. “I know wot y’mean, Tagg, though ’tis ’ard to explain. I used t’make a rhyme about it when I was rovin’ the flatlands. Lissen.
“There’s many’s the patch that I ain’t trod,
Nor ever been before there,
An’ yet it seems as close to me,
As some ole coat I’ve wore, sir.
Some streams’n’rivers, rocks’n’fields,
I’m seein’ them for my first time,
Yet I knows every one there.
Now was I here ten seasons back,
Did I sit ’neath that tree there,
An’ if I pass this way agin,
Then will I meet meself, sir?”
The harvest mouse had saved a few mushrooms. He tossed one up and caught it deftly in his mouth. “Y’see wot I mean?”
He tossed another mushroom up. Tagg nudged him out of the way and caught it in his mouth. “Aye, it’s as clear as porridge on a winter’s morn. Nimbalo!” The harvest mouse had suddenly rushed ahead. “Come back here. What is it?”
Dodging between the trees, Nimbalo was pointing upward. “Look, mate! Look!”
There in the distance was Redwall Abbey, the morning sun reflecting off its old red sandstone bulk, rearing into the sky.
*
Within a short distance of the outer walls Tagg and Nimbalo halted, breathless at the sight of the colossal Abbey up close. Nimbalo strained his head back, staring up at it.
“Great seasons o’ swamps’n’streams, ants never built that lot, mate!”
Tagg could hardly believe his eyes. It was a dream coming true. “I’m getting that funny feeling again, mate!”
Nimbalo reminded him of their mission. “Let’s git outta the way for a bit an’ figger out wot we’re goin’ t’do. Get be’ind these bushes, Tagg.”
The otter came back to reality. He took his friend’s wise counsel and ducked down behind a coppiced hazel bush. “You’re right, we can’t go marching up and banging on their door. Nobeast in there would know us. Then there’s the vermin, five of them if the tracks are to be believed. We could be ambushed by them as we stood gawking at that place. So, what’s the plan, Nimbalo?”
His friend made a calming gesture with both paws. “We takes it slow’n’easy at first. This is the way I sees it. We’ll split up an’ take different ways, keep t’the trees, not let ourselves be seen. I’ll meet ye back ’ere in the late noon. If one of us makes contact with anybeast inside an’ gets hisself welcomed in then we’re both all right. But keep yore eyes peeled for those vermin. If y’see them, don’t go mad an’ start slayin’ the villains, an’ I won’t either. When we meets back ’ere, then we’ll make another plan an’ set up an ambush on them. Right?”
Tagg took Nimbalo’s paw and shook it. “Right. Good plan, mate. Oh, here, you take my blade.”
The harvest mouse was puzzled. “Why’s that?”
Tagg did not want Nimbalo to be unarmed if he met the vermin, but to save his friend’s pride he gave another reason, one that was just as valid. “It won’t matter so much if the Abbeybeasts see a harvest mouse with a knife, but a big otter like me, with a tattooed face, if they see me carrying a weapon, what then, eh?”
Nimbalo thrust the blade through his belt. It looked like a sword on his tiny frame. “Yore right, mate. Hmm, this is a nice blade. I could get used to it. Jus’ the sort o’ thing Nimbalo the Slayer needs.”
They split up, Tagg taking the east wall going south, Nimbalo going in the opposite direction.
*
Egburt came dashing into the Great Hall, colliding with Mhera and Cregga, who were going to the infirmary to visit Fwirl. The Badgermum leaned on Mhera as she halted the hedgehog in his tracks.
“Whoa there, speedy, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Egburt thrust a wooden serving tray into Mhera’s paws. “It’s Mr. Boorab, he’s gone. See for y’self, miz!”
Cregga tapped the tray impatiently. “Gone? Where’s he gone and what’s that thing? Tell me, Mhera!”
The ottermaid studied the tray briefly before replying. “It’s a serving tray. Boorab has written a message on it with a charcoal stick. Listen. ‘Dear chums’n’chaps, gone to get help from Skipper and co. Dashed silly but brave I know. Don’t go weeping and wailing for me, only if I don’t make it back, then I hope you’ll bawl your bonces off for a blinkin’ season, wot. Tell Filorn to start cookin’ now, yours truly will be rather peckish on his return. Also, if one knows there’s stacks of grub waitin’, then one will try one’s hardest to return. Rather! Regards to all, keep a light burnin’ in the jolly old window. Yr faithful probationary music master and Guard Commander, Bellscut Oglecrop Obrathon Ragglewaithe Audube Baggscut. PS. Tell Drogg to keep my haredee gurdee well greased. PPS. Tell miss Fwirl to refuse any physicks if she wants to live. PPPS. I hope old Hoarg’s bucket recovers from that arrow (haha). Only joking, got to go, chin up, chest out, wot!’”
Cregga shook her head and leaned down more heavily on Mhera. “The flop-eared idiot. I knew many such hares long ago. Brave, foolish and reckless, or perilous, as the Long Patrol would say. Let’s hope fervently that he makes it! Egburt, I’m promoting you to Commander of the Wallguard in Boorab’s absence. Are you able for the job, young hog?”
Egburt performed an excellent parody of the hare. “Able, marm, able’s my second name, wot wot. Your wish is my command, I won’t say another word, attention, smart salute, eyes right, and I’ll bid ye a good day. Quick march, one two one two, pick that step up there, laddie buck!”
*
Eefera released his prisoners and issued them with their weapons. They stood looking bewildered. Vallug sounded almost friendly as he addressed them.
“Surprised t’find yoreselves alive an’ kickin’ today, eh? Well, so am I. Those beasts be’ind the walls must be softer’n we thought they was, which is all the better fer us. Now, we’re goin’ to take a nice liddle walk, up north a bit, across the path an’ into the ditch, then back down t’the main gates o’ Redwall. Keep yore ’eads down low; they can use slings from those walltops. We’ve given ye back yer weapons, so try an’ look just a bit like Juska warriors. I’ll be be’ind youse all the way. First one makes a wrong move an’ I’ll spit ’em with an arrer. Wot are yew lookin’ at me like that for, Gruven? Cummon, speak up.”
No matter how hard he tried, Gruven could not shake of his fear of Vallug. It was as if the Bowbeast was looking for an excuse to kill him. Gruven’s paws trembled uncontrollably as he tried to speak around the lump of panic welling in his throat.
“I, er, wasn’t lookin’ at ye.”
Vallug brought his face close to Gruven’s. “Say sir.”
“I wasn’t lookin’ at ye . . . sir.”
Vallug grinned wolfishly at Eefera. “If only ’is mammy could see ’im now. Come on, let’s get goin’.”
Eefera went ahead to show the way; Vallug followed in the rear, keeping the three sandwiched between them. They had not gone far when Eefera raised a paw and halted them. He signaled Vallug to hold the three in silence, then ducked off amid the shrubbery.
Nimbalo scarce had time to do a half-turn before Eefera’s spearbutt crashed down upon his skull. Slinging the little fellow over his shoulders, Eefera made his way back to the others. He dumped the unconscious harvest mouse on the ground in front of them.
“See wot I found, mates. Lookit wot’s in the mousey’s belt, Vallug. Now tell me the Taggerung ain’t inside Redwall Abbey!”
Vallug took the knife almost reverently from Nimbalo’s belt. “Sawney Rath’s blade! Well, slit me gizzard an’ stew me tripes! Yore right, this is where Taggerung’s got to be!”
None of them had ever seen Nimbalo before, so they took him to be a Redwaller. Vallug prodded the field mouse’s limp form with his bow. “Makes yer wonder wot this ’un’s doin’, totin’ the knife around, don’t it? I ’ope you ain’t killed ’im.”
Eefera took a prod at Nimbalo with his spearshaft. “Looks dead. No, wait, I think I seen ’is nose twitch. Dagrab, you’n’Gruven can carry ’im. If’n the mousey comes ’round ’e’ll be valuable to us. Must be somebeast special if’n that otter give ’im the blade. Come on, we ain’t got all day.”
They trekked off north, to where they could cross the path and gain the safety of the ditch without being seen from the Abbey.
*
Between them, Drogg Cellarhog and Broggle helped old Hoarg up the east wallsteps, though there was no real need to. The ancient dormouse was fully recovered and felt very spry after his welcome discharge from Sister Alkanet’s sickbay.
“By hokey, there must’ve been somethin’ in that physick, I feel like a Dibbun this mornin’. Heeheehee!”
Drogg allowed Hoarg to scamper away up the steps. He shook his spiky head admiringly and clapped Broggle’s back. “Wish I felt like that. Miz Fwirl will soon be up an’ about, I ’ear. ’Ow did she look when ye visited ’er?”
The assistant cook smiled thankfully at Drogg. “She’s fine, thank you, and ten times better since I gave her the flowers and your wonderful flask of cordial. Sister Alkanet shooed me out after a while, because Cregga and Mhera had come to visit. You know the Sister, said she didn’t want a crowd ’round Fwirl’s bed. I’ll go up and see her again later.” He turned and looked up to the ramparts. “I don’t think Hoarg likes it up there. He’s coming back down.”
Waving his paws and making exaggerated shushing noises, Hoarg descended the steps nimbly. “Keep yore voices down. I just saw a vermin roamin’ about in the woodlands. Come an’ take a peep, he might still be there!”
Three heads popped over the battlements, watching Tagg moving toward the southeast wallcorner. The otter looked back over his shoulder, causing the spies to crouch down swiftly upon the parapet. Hoarg shuddered.
“Real vermin, that ’un. Did y’see his face, covered in tattoos! He looks as nasty savage a piece o’ work as ever I set eyes on. Bet he’s killed more’n a few pore innocent creatures!”
Drogg interrupted the old Gatekeeper’s tirade. “Wot was the vermin up to when ye first saw ’im, Hoarg?”
“Couldn’t see clear, but it looked t’m like he was tryin’ the east wickergate below us. Good job ’tis well locked.”
Broggle was shaking, though not with fear; the rage was plain on his face. He clenched his paws resolutely. “That vermin could be the scum who put an arrow in my Fwirl. Great tattooed scumfaced coward, let’s capture him!”
Drogg stared at the squirrel incredulously. “Capture him? An’ how are we goin’ t’do that, pray? Did you get a proper look at the beast? He could eat the three of us!”
But Broggle was not to be denied. He bared his teeth viciously. “We won’t give him the chance, friends. He’s already tried to open the east wickergate. I’ll wager an acorn to an oak that he’ll try the south wickergate when he reaches there. Well, the blaggard’s going to find it unlocked. We’ll be waiting just inside the doorway with clubs, to welcome him to Redwall!”
Drogg’s face was serious. He took hold of Broggle’s paw. “It’s dangerous. Are you sure ye want to do this?”
Fired by Broggle’s plan, old Hoarg suddenly became belligerent. “I say let’s do it. Those cowards are goin’ t’pay for stickin’ an’ arrow in my ear. We’ll show ’em that Redwallers aren’t fools they can shoot at as they please. I’m with ye, Broggle!”
Drogg became infected by the warlike pair. “Then count me in too, mates! We’ve got a bit o’ time, the rascal didn’t look to be in any great ’urry. You two nip down an’ open the wickergate bolts, quietly as y’can. I’ll go an’ get us some weapons. We’ll make the vermin sorry they ever messed about with Redwall warriors!”
*
Tagg strolled slowly and silently along the outside of the southern wall, keeping alert for any sign of the Juska vermin. He stopped often, running his paws across the massive sandstone blocks, awed by the colossal scale of Redwall. Tree cover thinned out, and he found himself on open ground. Crouching close to the wall, he made his way carefully, ever watchful for the foe. About halfway along he encountered a recess in the stonework. It was a small door, stoutly made from seasoned oak. This was a wickergate, similar to the one he had encountered in the east wall. Bending low to avoid hitting his head on the peak-arched lintel, Tagg gave the door an experimental push. It opened slightly. He pushed harder, crouching down and poking his head inside to see what lay beyond the wall ’twixt ramparts and Abbey building. A wooden barrel-coopering mallet and two hard ash axe handles hit the back of his head simultaneously. He dropped like a log.
Hoarg did a little victory dance. “Heehee, poleaxed by an axe pole, heeheehee!”
Broggle silenced the old Gatekeeper sternly. “Stop that, Hoarg, or we’ll all be in trouble!”
Drogg placed a footpaw on the back of their fallen foe. “Trouble? How so?”
Broggle, who had come down from his peak of anger, explained, “If Cregga or Mhera finds out, we’ll be in for the lecture of our lives. Endangering the Abbey by unbolting a wallgate and almost letting in the vermin. Then it’ll be why didn’t we let them know, so that the thing could be planned properly, instead of running off in haste on spur of the moment madcap schemes? You know the sort of thing they’d say.”
“Aye, I know exactly, young feller.” Hoarg stared down at the stricken Tagg. “Ugly-looking great beast, ain’t he? With all them tattoos it’s impossible to tell what kind of creature he be. So, what do we do with him now, slay him?”
His companions shook their heads vehemently.
“How could any Redwaller murder a fallen beast, vermin or not?”
“None of us have ever taken a life, and I don’t think we’re about to now. Huh, we’ve got ourselves into a right mess here.”
Drogg decided to take charge. “We can’t just leave him lyin’ here. Does that ole wheelbarrow by the orchard still work, Broggle?”
The squirrel nodded. “I think so. What’s your plan?”
For no apparent reason, Drogg dropped his voice to a whisper. “Go an’ get it. There’s a little cellar door, where I brings in wood for barrels an’ tools. It leads through to my cellars. We’ll take him through there an’ lock him up in my supply room. Then we can make up a story about how we caught the rogue. I think Cregga an’ Mhera will be glad to have a hostage to bargain off against the rest o’ the vermin.”
*
Tagg regained consciousness in complete darkness. At first he thought he had gone blind. Lying on a hard stone floor, he brought his paw up in front of his eyes, but he could not see it. Panic set in and despite the abominable aching inside his skull, he sat up. Relief flooded through him when the sight of a pale thin strip of light from beneath a door assured him his eyesight was not gone. With extreme caution he stood upright and began to investigate his prison cell. Holding both paws high, he leaped in the air and barely touched the beam of a ceiling. He landed, sending an agonizing jolt through his head. Stone floors and stone walls, with a single door that felt as solid as the rest of the place and would not budge a fraction. Then he bumped into something and went sprawling. He felt it gingerly, and made out a huge barrel-shaped structure. Putting his weight against it, he shoved. It moved fractionally, and a swishing sound came from within. It was a barrel, and almost full to its brim. He felt around it for some kind of stopper, and found a wooden bung. However, it had been firmly hammered home and was immovable. Dizzy with the effort, he felt the back of his head, where there was a sizable lump and a minute dampness of blood. Pain enveloped him, and he slumped down on the floor and allowed his body to drift into a half stunned sleep in the silent gloom.
*
Eefera and Vallug crouched in the ditch across the path from the main outer gate. Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback had made slings and collected heaps of pebbles. Vallug had an arrow laid across his bowstring, and several more were stuck point down in the ditchbed, close to paw. Eefera gave the orders.
“You three just keep slingin’ stones over the wall, I’ll tell ye when t’stop. Vallug, keep yore bow at the ready. Righto, me buckos, get slingin’!”
Nimbalo lay to one side, still out to the world, but breathing.
*
Egburt came marching into the infirmary, where Cregga and Mhera were drinking medicine beakers of cordial with Fwirl and chuckling over some private joke. The young hedgehog saluted smartly and proceeded to make his report in hare style.
“Ahem, sorry to intrude like this, marms, but the jolly old door was open, so I tootled in, wot!”
Cregga turned her face to him. “Young Egburt, eh? Well you can just tootle out again and get on with commanding the wallguard.”
Egburt put on his sternest face, which was wasted on Cregga. “It’s about the wallguard I’ve come, marm. Confounded vermin are slingin’ stones over like spring rain. So I’ve ordered the guards to stand down an’ get themselves inside under cover, wot!”
Mhera threw up her paws in dismay. “You’ve left the walls unguarded, Egburt? That’s an excee—”
Her speech was cut short by the sound of breaking glass from downstairs. An extra long shot had obviously hit one of Great Hall’s large stained glass windows.
Mhera bounded for the door, calling back, “Stay there. I’ll see what’s going on down below!”
Cregga shuffled after her. “You two stay here, I’m going down too.”
Fwirl tried to hoist herself out of bed, but Egburt shoved her firmly back and gave her his commander’s glare. “You’re not even walkin’ wounded, miz. Best stay put. I’ll send Broggle up to sit with you.”
Sister Alkanet appeared in the doorway. “You certainly will not. I’ll say who comes and goes here!”
Egburt bowed his head and threw six swift salutes. “Er, quite, er, mister sarm, I mean Sister marm, I’ll just, er, tootle off, wot!”
Alkanet stood, paws akimbo, blocking his way. “Why are you talking in that silly manner? You’re not a hare.”
Egburt kept saluting and trying to squirm by the Sister. “Only temporarily, marm, sort of harehog, or a hedgehare y’may say . . .”
The severe Sister placed a paw against Egburt’s snout. “Hmm, dry and quite hot, probably with dashing up and down those wallstairs all the time. A good physick should cure that!”
*
Nimbalo came awake suddenly. He lay in the ditch, unmoving, his eyes riveted on the battle-axe that stood leaning against the ditchside next to Dagrab. She turned and saw him.
“The mouse ’as come ’round! Look, ’e’s awake!”
Vallug drew back the shaft upon his bowstring and leaned forward. The arrowpoint was less than a pawslength from Nimbalo’s face.
“Move jus’ a whisker an’ yore dead, mouse. I couldn’t miss from ’ere if’n I wanted to. Eefera, tie ’im up.”
As Eefera bound Nimbalo’s paws behind him, the harvest mouse’s eyes shifted from the battle-axe to Dagrab. His voice was calm but deadly cold as he addressed the rat.
“Is that yore axe?”
Dagrab fitted another stone to her sling. “Aye, ’tis. D’yer like it, mousey, eh?”
Vallug stamped on Dagrab’s tail. “Less o’ the jawin’ an’ more o’ the slingin’!”
Dagrab began whirling her sling as Nimbalo spoke again. “I’m goin’ to slay you with that axe, rat!”
The stone clacked sharply against Dagrab’s paw. She had forgotten to throw it in astonishment at the harvest mouse’s flat statement. Vallug stamped harder on her tail. “Keep slingin’, I said! I want these Redwallers to think we got a pile o’ clanbeasts out ’ere, not just you dozy loafers!”
Eefera checked Nimbalo’s bonds to make sure they were tight. “So then, bucko, wot do they call you?”
Nimbalo looked at him as if he were dirt. “My name’s Nimbalo the Slayer, as that there rat’s soon goin’ to find out. Wot do they call you, maggot breath?”
Vallug threw back his head and laughed. “Hoho, we got a feisty one ’ere. Tell me, mousey, wot d’ye know about an otter they call the Taggerung?”
Nimbalo directed his scorn at the Bowbeast. “A lot more’n you do, slobberchops, but I ain’t tellin’ ye!”
Eefera dealt Nimbalo a stinging blow to the face. “Yore insolent. We don’t like that. You’d better tell ’im wot we want ter know, or it’ll be the worse for yer, me liddle ’un!”
Nimbalo licked blood from where the blow had knocked his teeth against his lip. He winked at Eefera. “If’n I was yore liddle ’un I’d have killed meself from shame long ago. An’ wot could be worse than sittin’ lookin’ at yore face, yer great shamble-toothed snotnosed excuse for an idiot!”
Vallug had to throw his paws around Eefera to stop him from leaping upon the harvest mouse. “Leave ’im be fer now. ’E ain’t much use to us dead!”
When Eefera was released he took his spleen out on Gruven, slapping him repeatedly about the face and ears. “Who do ye think yore smilin’ at? I’ll wipe the grin off’n yore face. Ye don’t laugh at me an’ get away with it!”
Vallug took a few kicks at Gruven also. When he was allowed to carry on slinging stones, Gruven found himself wishing that he had half the backbone of the little harvest mouse.
Vallug fired an arrow over the wall and roared out his ultimatum: “Give us the Taggerung or yer all goin’ to die!”
*
Tagg awoke in his dungeon with thoughts crowding his mind. Was it night or day? How long had he been here in the pitch dark? Who had clubbed him senseless? When were they going to let him out, or were they just going to keep the door locked and leave him imprisoned here? Where was Nimbalo? The otter could not remember ever being anywhere where he could not feel the wind on his face, see the sky or walk freely. Stumbling about in the blackness, he found the door and began battering on it with clenched paws, roaring for all he was worth, “Let me out! Why have you got me locked up in here! You’ve got no right to imprison me, d’you hear? Let me oooooooouuuuuttt!”