Coveting a huge bowl of salad, a wedge of cheese and a fresh-baked farl, Bosie viewed them with awe, whilst repelling one or two of the raggedy mice from his own portion. “Och, will ye no’ look at the wee terrors, Ah’ve never seen beasts shovin’ vittles doon like that! Yowch! Away, ye fiend, that wee rascal bit mah paw!”
Glisam was being introduced to his new guests. Nokko shook the Father Abbot’s paw cordially. “Me name’s Nokko, Pike’ead of all Gonfelins, pleased t’meet ye, Abbo, sir!”
Bisky had to explain that all Gonfelin names ended with an o. Glisam smiled.
“Abbo, eh, I like it. Well, friend Nokko, allow me to present Brother Torilo, Friar Skurpo and our owl, Aluco.”
The tawny owl bowed. “Actually, my name really is Aluco, so I could be considered as a Gonfelin, in an honorary sort of way.”
Bosie raised his nose from the salad bowl. “Ah’m no bothered what ye call anybeast, as long as ye don’t refer tae me as Bozo!”
Nokko spotted Bosie’s one-string fiddle, the bow of which he also used for firing short metal rods. The Gonfelin inspected it, enquiring, “Is this thing a figgle, can ya play it?”
Amused by Nokko’s mispronunciation, the hare nodded. “Aye, ’tis a fiddle right enough, an’ Ah can play it. Do ye play the fiddle yersel’, Chief Nokko?”
Shaking his head, Nokko passed the instrument to Gobbo, adding, “No, I never learnt to figgle, but Gobbo can. Hah, it’s the only thing he’s useful for. Cummon now, Gobbo, me ould son, play the figgle an’ sing for yer supper, as a thank-ye to the Abbo.”
Gobbo twanged the string once. Satisfied with the tone, he sang the quickest ditty that any Redwaller had ever heard.
“Wot’s in a name, a Gonfelin name,
would ye really like to know?
Now just you wait an’ I’ll tell ye, mate,
they all ends with o…oooooh, there’s
Robbo an’ Dobbo an’ Bumbo an’ Bobbo, an’
Gobbo of course, that’s me.
There’s Glibbo an’ Fibbo, an’ Nokko, too,
our great Pike’ead is he.
There’s Slumbo an’ Tumbo an’ Jimbo an’ Jumbo,
an’ Filgo, now that’s me ma,
so I’ve gotta mention Nokko agin,
’cos he’s me blinkin’ da.
We don’t end in a b you know,
all Gonf’lins end in oooooooooooooooh!”
Amidst the general laughter and applause, Skipper Rorgus called out to the Gonfelin leader, “Ahoy, mate, I don’t mind bein’ called Rorgo, in fact, ye can call me wot y’want, long as ye don’t call me late for vittles!”
Nokko responded cheerfully to the Otter Chieftain, “I agree with ye there, bucko, these Redwall Abbey vikkles are the finest anybeast could sit down to, ain’t never tasted scran so great. Wot do yer say, mates?”
Both the Gonfelins and the Guosim roared their approval, pounding the tables and raising their beakers. When the merry tumult died down, Tugga Bruster remarked loudly, “Huh it’s not so bad, I’ve tasted worse!”
There was a horrified silence, then Nokko roared, “Say that agin an’ I’ll knock yer inta the middle o’ next season!”
The Guosim Log a Log reached for his club. “Ye won’t knock me anywhere, cheeky ragamuffin. I’m free t’speak my mind if’n I so please!”
Nokko let his paw stray to his war hatchet. “Touch that club o’ yores an’ it’ll be the last thing ye do, sherrew!”
At a signal from the Abbot, Bosie was between the two, with drawn sword, whilst the Father Abbot of Redwall made a pronouncement. “Put aside those weapons, there will be no violence done within this Abbey!”
Nokko protested, “But did ye hear wot ’e said about yore good food, Abbo?”
The Abbot nodded. “Somebeasts have a habit of making contrary remarks. Log a Log Bruster is one of them. But that is no reason to draw weapons and fight. As our friend said, he is free to speak his mind.”
Sister Violet, the jolly hedgehog, came up with an acceptable solution to the dispute. “Then why not let both beasts speak their minds, Father, how about an insulting battle?”
Nokko quaffed off a beaker of October Ale, grinning as he wiped a paw across his mouth. “Us Gonfelins are good at that, I’m game!”
Tugga Bruster curled his lip scornfully. “I wouldn’t lower meself to bandy words with that scruffy object!”
Nokko thrust out his chin aggressively. “Ho, please try, sir. Ye bowlegged, snot-snouted, baggy-bottomed excuse fer a Chieftain!”
Lots of stifled chuckles were heard from the Guosim. Bruster had never been a popular Log a Log. Tugga trembled with rage. He was forced to reply, “You…you…fleabag, you thief!”
Nokko laughed lightly. “Thief? That’s a compliment where I comes from. Ye thick’eaded, spiky-bellied, waxy-eared paddle paw!”
His opponent seethed, struggling for words. “Yore worse than a Painted One, smelly toad!”
Now in his element, the Gonfelin Chieftain chuckled. “Bet ya wish yore mother hadn’t dropped yew on yer ’ead when ye were little. Is that wot made ye grow daft? Ye slobnoggled, piddlypawed, ould onion bum!”
There was a gasp of wholesale shock at Nokko’s language. Some parents covered their young ones’ ears. Tugga Bruster was lost for a reply. All he could do was to perform a stamping dance of rage.
Nokko roared with laughter. “Hohoho! Lookit the mighty Log a Log, he even dances like an ould frogwife. He must’ve practiced his dancin’ wid a broom, ’cos no maid could face such an ugly partner. Hahaha, mind ya don’t trip up o’er yer tail, ploppypaws!” The Gonfelin tribe and the Guosim shrieked with laughter, as Nokko began tapping his paws and singing.
“Ho one two, come t’the feast,
even yew, ye awkward beast,
bow to the maids, wot’s that ye say?
There ain’t one left they’ve run away!”
With the laughter of everybeast ringing in his ears, Tugga Bruster fled, defeated. The door slammed behind him as the ill-humoured Log a Log dashed off outdoors.
Spingo winked at Bisky. “Hah, that’ll teach ’im to mess wid my da, he’s a champeen insulter, y’know.”
Some of the Dibbuns thought the contest had been great fun; they started repeating Nokko’s insults at one another. “Hurr hurr, you’m a baggity-bottum, snotty ole snout!”
“Heehee, an’ yore a pigglypaw h’onion bum, so there!”
Abbot Glisam rapped the tabletop sharply. “We’ve heard quite enough of that language for one evening, thank you. The next beast I hear using dreadful insults will be scrubbing greasy pans for a day. Now let’s forget all bad feeling and enjoy supper like real Redwall friends. Here’s a toast to our new companions, the Guosim, the Gonfelins—oh, and our new permanent resident, Mister Aluco!”
The tawny owl bowed solemnly. “Thank you, Father Abbot, and all Redwall creatures. This is a most happy day for me, and I wish you to accept this with my heartfelt best wishes.” He hopped over to the Abbot’s table, and placed the round, green emerald on it. Nokko was heard to gasp, “Seasons of swipin’, will ye lookit that jool!”
Spingo whispered to him, “Easy now, Da. That belongs to Redwall Abbey, so keep yore eyes off it!”
Nokko patted her paw. “Shame on yer for thinkin’ such a thing, darlin’.”
Abbot Glisam held the shining green orb up, for all to see. “A most generous gift, friend Aluco, we will treasure it. Please accept our gratitude. Skipper, where do you suggest we keep such a treasure?”
The Otter Chieftain pondered for a moment. “I think ’twould look good in front o’ Martin the Warrior’s tapestry, Father. I’ll put it in an empty candleholder. The light from the lanterns’ll shine through the jewel nicely.”
Samolus held up a paw. “I second that, a wonderful idea, Skip. What do you think, Abbot?”