The rapier flicked from Jigger’s paw. It whipped through the air, then quivered pointfirst in the prow of his father’s big logboat which was drawn up on the bank.
Jigger gasped. “Scuttle me keel! How’d ye do that, mate?”
Bragoon winked roguishly at him. “That’s a secret, young ’un!”
The Guoraf shrew greatly admired the otter’s prowess. “Could I see yore sword, sir, just fer a moment?”
Bragoon held the blade about a third of the way up. Raising his paw, he did a short hop and threw it. It turned once in the air, almost lazily; then, with a solid thud, buried its point into the logboat, next to the rapier.
The otter nodded. “Aye, ’elp yoreself. But take care, yon’s a sharp blade.”
Jigger retrieved his own rapier, but he could not budge the sword since it was too deeply imbedded in the oaken boat. Bragoon went to sit down with Briggy.
The shrew chieftain stroked his beard. “Where’d ye pick up swordtricks like that?”
The otter shrugged. “A Long Patrol hare from Salamandastron showed me some dodges with a blade one time. That ’un was wot they called a perilous beast, a real swordfighter, no mistake!”
Horty looked up from the remnants of a huge pastie. “A Long Patrol hare, indeed! That’s what I’d like to jolly well be someday, wot!”
Saro patted Horty on the stomach, knocking the wind from him. “Then ye’ll have to scoff less an’ exercise more. Long Patrol hares are fightin’ fit.”
The young hare got quite huffy. “Fiddlesticks, marm, one’s got to get the right nourishment t’grow strong first, wot?”
Briggy smiled at him. “Yore right there, Horty, an’ ye need a full night’s sleep, too. Go an’ pick yoreself out a good berth on my vessel. We’ve got a journey upriver t’make at dawn. I’ll put ye to the oars, that’ll toughen yore muscles up a bit. You git yore rest now, an’ you, too, Jigger.”
Horty gathered up some bread, cheese and pear cordial. “Right y’are, Cap’n Briggathingee. I’ll just take along a light snack to guard the young body against night starvation. I suffer from it terribly, y’know. I was born with the illness. I say Jigger, old lad, not takin’ any rations with you? Well, suit y’self, laddie buck, but don’t come pesterin’ me durin’ the flippin’ night.”
Jigger, however, was not listening. He had found a new object for his admiration. The young shrew was all smiles and attention for Springald. Carefully he helped the mousemaid aboard the logboat that he was travelling on.
“Watch yoreself, Miz Spring, these boats are tricky craft. You take some o’ my cushions an’ a soft blanket. Sleep up in the prow, that’s the best spot aboard!”
The pretty mousemaid played him up outrageously, fluttering her eyelashes and allowing him to make up her bed. “Oh thank you, my friend, that’s so kind of you!”
Fenna scooted in and flopped down on the cushions. “Plenty of room for us both here, Spring. Thanks, Jigger mate!”
Sitting by the fire with Briggy and her otter friend, Saro watched the young ones with amusement. “Nice to see ’em gettin’ on well t’gether, eh?”
Stirring the flames with his rapier, Briggy laughed. “Haharr, bless ’em, they’re only young once. The seasons soon fly by, ain’t that right, Brag, ye ole battler?”
Bragoon polished Martin’s sword with a piece of damp bark. “Ye never spoke a truer word, ole pal. Me’n Saro have gotten quite fond o’ those three young ’uns, they’re made of the right stuff. Now an’ agin we gotta yell at ’em, but they learn fast. By the way, on that chart o’ mine it says Long Tails an’ desert beyond the river. Will that mean danger for us?”
Briggy looked scathing. “Huh, Long Tails? My ole Granpa whopped those rats seasons afore I was born. Guorafs drove ’em off into the desertlands south o’ the great gorge. They shouldn’t trouble ye, though the desert might. ’Tis a long dusty trek to the gorge. D’ye want us t’come with ye?”
Saro clapped the stout old shrew’s shoulder. “No, mate, you git back to yore river, that’s what ye know best. We’ve managed one desert by ourselves, another one won’t make much difference. We’ll be fine!”
Briggy seemed relieved. “I thankee fer that, Sarobando. I don’t like bein’ far from runnin’ water anytime. But I’ll tell ye wot I’ll do. We’ll bring the boats back to where we drop youse off, say in about six days. I’ll pick ye up for the return journey. There’s a secret route I know that’ll take ye back to the flatlands below the plateau. It means shootin’ a mighty waterfall to git down there. But don’t fret, my crews kin do it if anybeasts can. ’Twill get ye back ’ome to Redwall much faster.”
Bragoon shook the old shrew’s paw heartily. “Yore a real friend, true blue’n never fail, Log a Log Briggy!”
The shrew chieftain rose from beside the fire. “Think nothin’ of it, mate. I’m off t’me bed, if’n that young Horty ain’t stolen it. Us old ’uns need sleep as much as the young do. Pleasant dreams, ye pair o’ rips!”
The aging otter and his lifelong friend sat by the fire awhile. Bragoon stared into the flames. “We’re gettin’ too old for this sorta thing, Saro. I think when this adventure’s over I’ll settle back down at Redwall. Maybe that brother o’ mine’ll teach me to be a cook.”
The squirrel stared levelly at him. “If’n that’s wot ye want, then fair enough, matey. I’ll be by yore side wherever ye are.”
The otter chuckled drily. “An’ so ye will be, we been together since we was Dibbuns. I wouldn’t know where to turn widout ye.”
That night they slept by the fire, dreaming dreams of the sunny old days at the Abbey when they were both young tear-aways together.
34
Martha was up at dawn, trying out her newfound skill—walking! At first it was painful and slow, but the progress she was making, holding on to things for support, was remarkable. With the aid of Sister Setiva’s blackthorn stick, which the Infirmary nurse had parted with happily, the haremaid wandered joyfully along Great Hall.
Martha laughed inwardly at what Setiva had said: “Och, take this auld thing an’ use it in good heath, ma bonny lass. Ah’ve only kept it tae threaten Dibbuns with—not that they ever took much notice, the wee villains!”
The young haremaid manoeuvred the stairs, pausing every few moments to revel in her newfound freedom. Walking!
Abbot Carrul came up behind her, watching Martha’s progress, until she turned and noticed him.
“Good morning, Father Abbot, it’s a fine morning!”
Carrul beamed back at her. “ ’Tis the finest of mornings, young miss, and all the better for seeing you up and about!”
As Toran came out onto the dormitory landing, he waved down to them. “Now then, you two gabby idlers, why ain’t ye bringin’ brekkist up to the pore beasts on guard, eh?”
Martha started eagerly back downstairs. “Breakfast for how many, sir—one, two, ten? It’ll be up there directly!”
Granmum Gurvel came trundling through Great Hall, heading a small convoy of moles who were pushing four trolleys. She brandished her best copper ladle at Martha.
“Ho no you’m woant, brekkist bee’s ee cook’s tarsk roun’ yurr. Miz Marth’, you’m ’asten oop to ee durmitrees an’ set ee on a churr. Rest yore paws naow. Doo ee hurr?”
Brother Weld had joined Toran on the landing. “Best do as she says, or old Gurvel’ll skelp your tail with her ladle. That’s one old molecook who’ll stand no nonsense.”
Breakfast in the dormitory was a makeshift affair, rather inconvenient for most but huge fun for the Dibbuns. The Abbeybabes, who thought everything was a game, perched in the oddest places, singing, playing and eating together. Sister Portula was trying to coax Muggum, and several of his cohorts, down from a shelf, where they were bouncing up and down as they squabbled over hot scones and honeyed oatmeal.