footpaw with her stick. “Hmm, you’ve grown since I last saw ye,” she commented as she stepped over him. “Y’were
only a fuzzy babe then—fine big hare now though, eh? Pity your wits never grew up like your limbs, y’were far nicer
as a little ’un.”
Mem Divinia wiped floury paws on her apron hem and rushed to meet the visitor, her face alight with joy. “Well,
fortunes smile on us! Russa Nodrey, you roamin’ rascal, how are you?”
Russa avoided Mem’s flour-dusted hug and made for the comer seat at the table, as she remembered it was the
most comfortable and best for access to the food. She winked at Mem.
“Oh, I’m same as I always was, Mem. When I’m not trav-elin’ up an’ down the country, I’m roamin’ sideways
across the land.”
Mem winked back at Russa and whispered, “Your visit is very timely, friend. I have something to ask of you.”
Then, on seeing the Colonel approaching the table, she quickly mouthed the word “later.” Russa understood.
Colonel Cornspurrey De Fformelo Tussock viewed the guest with a jaundiced eye and a snort. “Hmph! Respects to
ye, marm, I see you’ve installed y’self in my flippin’ seat! Comfortable are ye, wot?”
Russa managed a rare smile. “Aye, one seat’s as good as another. How are ye, y’old fogey, still grouchin’ an’
throwin’ orders around like they’re goin’ out of style? I’ve seen boulders that’ve changed faster than you!”
The conversation was cut short by Osmunda thwacking a hollow gourd with a ladle, summoning the inhabitants of
Camp Tussock to their evening meal.
Mem Divinia and her helpers always provided the best of victuals. There was steaming hot, early-spring vegetable
soup with flat, crisp oatmeal bannocks, followed by the famous Tussock hotpot. In a huge earthenware basin coated
with a golden piecrust was a delicious medley of corn, carrots, mushrooms, turnips, winter cabbage, and onions, in a
thick, rich gravy full of Mem’s secret herbs. This was followed by a hefty apple, blackberry, and plum crumble topped
with Osmunda’s green-sap and maple sauce. Hot mint and comfrey tea was served, along with horse-chestnut beer and
red-currant cordial. Afterward there were honeyed barleyscones, white hazelnut cheese, and elderflower bread, for
those still wanting to nibble.
Tammo sat quietly, still out of favor with his father, the Colonel, since the battle-ax incident. He listened as Russa
related the latest news she had gathered in her wandering.
“Last autumn a great storm in the west country sent the waves tearing up the cliffs, and a good part of ’em
collapsed into the sea.”
The Colonel reached for cheese and bread with a grunt. “Hmph! Used to patrol down that way, y’know, lots of
toads, nasty slimy types, murderous blighters, hope the cliffs fell on them, wot! Anythin’ happenin’ at Salamandastron
of late?”
Tammo leaned forward eagerly at the name: Salamandastron, mountain of the Badger Lords, the mysterious place
that was the headquarters of the Long Patrol.
Unfortunately Russa dismissed the subject. “Hah, the badger mountain, haven’t been there in many a long season.
Place is still standin’, I suppose ...”
The Colonel’s monocle dropped from his eye in righteous indignation. “You suppose, marm? Tchah! I should jolly
well hope so! Why, if Salamandastron weren’t there, the entire land would be overrun with Searats, Corsairs, vermin,
Rapscallions, an’ ... an’ ... whatever!”
Russa leaned forward as if remembering something. “Spoke to an owl last winter. He said a whole fleet of
Rapscallions had taken a right good thrashin’ on the shores near Salamandastron. Wotsisname, the old Warlord or
Firstblade or whatever they call him? Tunn! Gormad Tunn! He was wounded near to death. Anyhow, seems they’ve
vanished into thin air to lick their wounds since then. I’ve seen no signs of Rapscallions, but if I were you I’d sleep
with one eye open, y’can never tell where they’ll turn up next. Crudest pack o’ slayers ever to draw breath, that lot!”
“I don’t think we need worry too much about Rapscallions,” Mem interrupted her friend. “They only plunder the
coasts in their ships. Strange how they never sail the open seas like Searats an’ Corsairs. Who’s the Badger Lord at
Salamandastron now, have y’heard?”
Russa poured herself a beaker of tea. “Big female, they say, madder than midwinter, stronger than a four-topped
oak, temper like lightnin’, full o’ the Bloodwrath. She’s called Cregga Rose Eyes, wields a pike that four otters
couldn’t lift!”
Osmunda nodded in admiration. “Hurr, she’m got’n a purty name, awright.”
Russa laughed mirthlessly. “There’s nought pretty about it! That one’s called Rose Eyes because her eyes are
blood red with battle light. I’d hate to be the vermin that tried standin’ in her path.”
All eyes turned on Tammo as the question slipped from his mouth: “What’s a Rapscallion?”
The Colonel glared at his son. “Barbarian-type vermin, too idle t’work, too stupid t’build a decent home. Like
y’mother says, they only raid the coastlines, nothin’ for you t’worry your head over. Mind y’manners at table, young
’un, speak when y’spoken to an’ not before, sah!”
Russa shook her head at the Colonel’s statement. “You an’ Mem are both wrong. Rapscallions are unpredictable,
they can raid inland as easily as on the coast. I saw their Chief’s sword once when I was young. It’s got two edges, one
all wavy for the sea, an’ the other straight for the land. There’s an old Rapscallion sayin’: ‘Travel whither blade goes,
anyside the sword shows.’”
The Colonel cut himself a wedge of cheese. “Huh! What’s all that fol-de-rol s’posed t’mean, wot?”
“Have we not had enough of this kind of talk, swords’n’vermin an’ war?” cried Mem Divinia, banging her beaker
down on the table. “Change the subject, please. Roo-lee, what d’you make of this weather?”
The mole changed the conversation to suit Mem, who could see by the light in her husband’s eye that he was
spoiling for an argument with Russa.
“Ho urr, ee weather, marm ... Hurr ... umm ... Well, ee burds be a tellin’ us’n’s ’twill be a foine springtoid, aye.
May’ap missie Whinn’ll sing ee song abowt et.”
Mem coaxed a young hedgehog called Whinn to get on her paws and sing. Whinn had a good voice, clear and
pretty; she liked to sing and did not need much urging.
“Blow cobwebs out of corners, the corners, the corners,
Throw open all your windows
To welcome in the spring.
Now icicles are shorter,
And turning fast to water,
Out yonder o’er the meadow,
I hear a skylark sing.
All through the earth a showing, a showing, a showing,
The green grass is a growing,
So fresh is everything.
Around the flow’rs and heather,
The bees do hum together,
Their honey will be sweeter
When ’tis made in spring.”
Tammo and the other creatures at the table joined in as Whinn sang the song once more, and there was much
tapping and clapping of paws. The evening wore on, with everybeast getting up to do his bit, singing, dancing, reciting,
or playing simple instruments, mainly small drums or reed flutes.
Owing to the amount of food he had eaten and the warmth of the oven fire, Colonel Cornspurrey had great
difficulty keeping awake. With a deep sigh he heaved himself up and took a final draught of chestnut beer, then,
swaying a little he peered sleepily at Russa Nodrey, and said, “Hmph, I take it you’ll be off travelin’ again in the
momin’, marm?”