Toran sat in the orchard, surrounded by the Dibbuns, telling the tale to them whilst Sister Setiva and Martha tended his wound. The incident, while being humorous, worried Martha.
“I wish Sarobando and Bragoon were here now.”
The ottercook patted his newly bandaged shoulder. “Don’t upset yourself, young ’un. Those vermin’ll leave when they find there’s nought here for ’em except the ole pail o’ rubbish. Ain’t that right, Sister?”
Setiva knotted off the bandage neatly. “Aye, like as not. Ye say there’s but ten o’ the rogues altogether. Hmm, they shouldnae be much trouble. Aye, but ’twould be fine if we had some otters or shrews aboot the place.”
Toran stood up and flexed his paw. “Huh, ye’ll not find otters around here, save for me. They’ve gone off to camp on the seashores all summer. As for shrews—well, they go wherever the streams an’ rivers take ’em. I know we ain’t got many at Redwall of fightin’ age, but we’ll do at a pinch.”
Martha folded the rug across her lap. “I hope you’re right. I’d hate to see vermin get into Redwall. What would happen to these little ones?”
Muggum picked up a stick. “Uz foight ’em, miz, we’m gurt fierce Dibbuns. B’ain’t that roight, Shilly?”
The squirrelbabe, and all the other Dibbuns, set up a fearful clamour. Brandishing sticks, wooden spoons and stones, they paraded up and down, scowling, growling and shouting dire threats.
Though Martha could not help smiling inwardly, she covered her ears and looked shocked. “Dearie me, I wouldn’t like to be a vermin with all these great rough warriors around. Would you, Toran?”
Her friend nodded. “Aye, miss, thank the seasons we can sleep safe in our beds. These liddle ’uns are reg’lar terrors!”
The smallest of the Dibbuns, the tiny shrew called Buffle, picked up a stone which was far too big for him. He fell over backward and sat there muttering unintelligible sounds.
“Gurrumvurbilbultumcuchachukchuk!”
Toran removed the stone from Buffle’s stomach. He picked the babe up with one paw and set him on Martha’s lap. “Well, I wonder what that’s all about?”
Yooch, who seemed to be the only one who could understand Buffle, translated. “Buffle sez he eat vermins all up!”
Sister Setiva cleaned a few dandelion seeds from the shrewbabe’s whiskers. He tried to bite her paw. Setiva raised her eyebrows. “Och, ye wee terror, don’t ye dare tae eat me all up!”
Buffle clenched his tiny paws and came out with a long torrent of garbled baby talk.
Martha turned to Yooch. “What’s he saying now?”
Yooch giggled. “Buffle sayin’ lotsa naughty fings!”
Sister Setiva looked shocked. “Time for your nap, young shrew!” She swept him off protesting loudly. Setiva was a no-nonsense shrewnurse and ignored Buffle’s tirade. “Och, ye can stop all that gobbledygook—ah’m no’ impressed!”
22
Badredd and his crew had left the ditch and crossed back into Mossflower Wood. With all manner of fruit, berries and wild vegetables to be had there during this summer season, the vermin had no difficulty finding food. Crinktail and Juppa gossiped as they prepared food for the others. Neither was very optimistic.
Juppa plucked away at a moorhen, which Rogg had brought down with his bow. “I tell ye, ’twill be a long time afore we see the Northlands again. Badredd’s more determined than ever now.”
Crinktail chopped away at dandelion roots and wild celery with a thin-bladed dagger. “Aye, that’s true enough. Where is our fearless chief? I ain’t seen him round lately.”
Slipback strolled in and threw down a sizeable bunch of watercress. “Who, Badredd? That ’un’s takin’ a bath in the stream, tryin’ to get the smell o’ that rubbish off ’im. He ain’t too pleased, I can tell ye, two baths in two seasons is hard on a beast. He only took a bath last spring.”
Flinky emerged from the undergrowth, his tunic full of pears. “Ah sure, any vermin knows that bathin’ weakens ye. How’s the vittles comin’ along, me ould darlin’?”
Crinktail winked fondly at her mate. “They’ll be ready soon enough, ye great starvin’ stoat. Sit by the fire here an’ stir the pot awhile. Ye can give us a song while yore at it.”
Flinky knew more vermin songs than all the crew put together. He sang aloud, hoping the strains might reach Badredd whilst he was taking his bath in the stream not far away. The rest of the crew drifted in to listen, sniggering and nudging a bit at the words.
“Oh hear my song, young vermin,
and take heed to wot I say,
I had a fine young son like you,
who bathed most every day.
Whenever he saw water, straight off he’d dive right in,
a-scrubbin’ an’ a-washin’ of himself, then he’d begin:
Oooooooohhhhhhh! I smell just like a rose,
from me tail up to me nose,
why, even all the blossoms envy me.
An’ all I’ll ever lack,
is a mate to scrub me back,
I’m the cleanest vermin that you’ll ever
see . . . eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I’m clean as a weasel’s whistle,
shiny as a stoat’s best coat.
Just pass the scented essence,
in camomile I’ll float.
All lathery suds an’ lilac buds an’ pine tree fragrance, too,
with me teeth so white an’ me fur so bright an’ eyes of baby blue.”
The last verse was sung sadly and with great feeling.
“But then one summer dawn,
I had to weep an’ mourn,
I went down to the bathing pool that day.
There was not one poor young hair,
just a sweet aroma there.
Alas, he’d gone an’ washed himself away.
Awayeeeeeeeeeee!”
Badredd strode to the fire, dripping wet. Jiggling a claw in one ear, he gave Flinky a frozen stare. “Get them vittles cooked an’ shut yore stupid gob. When we’ve eaten, we’re movin’ on, fast!”
Flinky returned his stare blankly. “Ah sure, an’ wot’s the hurry, yore ’onour?”
The little fox buckled his cutlass on. “I want to take a look round the back o’ that Abbey, there’s got to be a way in!”
Flinky passed a secret wink to Crinktail, who tried to fob Badredd off with an excuse. “But, Chief, by the time we’ve finished the meal and got round there, it’ll be dark.”
Badredd picked up a bowl and held it forth to be filled. “Good, that’ll be the ideal time to get the job done!”
Abbot Carrul felt much relieved as he surveyed the path and the ditch from the west walltop. “Thank goodness there’s no sign of the vermin. What do you think, Toran, have they gone for good?”
The ottercook had lashed sharp kitchen knives to the tops of two window poles. He and Junty each had one. Toran peered up the path into the gathering darkness.
“Looks like they have, Father, but I’m takin’ no chances. Me an’ Junty’ll stay guard up here an’ keep a weather eye out. If the things are still all clear tomorrow, we’ll do a patrol around the outer wall just to make certain.”
Carrul patted his friend’s stout back. “As you wish, I’ll have food sent up to you.”
It was a fine warm night. Cavern Hole was packed with Redwallers, all happy and relaxed since hearing the news their Abbot brought, that the vermin fear had passed. Granmum Gurvel and her molemaids served a celebratory supper of mushroom and barley soup, harvest-baked loaves and a dessert of apple and blackberry crumble made from fresh ingredients, which the Dibbuns had gathered from the orchard.
Foremole sat down next to Sister Portula, digging into his bowl of crumble and smiling happily. “Gudd arpatoit to ee, marm, ee trubble bee’s gonned naow!”
Portula raised a beaker of October Ale. “Good appetite to you, sir. Hmm, look at young Martha, she doesn’t seem to be enjoying herself. I wonder what’s the matter with her.”
Foremole pondered the situation for a moment, then pronounced his judgement. “Oi ’spec Miz Marth’s missin’ urr bruther.”