The Taggerung

" 'Tis difficult to catch yer breath up 'ere. Huh, I see you packed in searchin'. 'Ow long've ye been squattin' 'ere warmin' yer paws?"

Vallug stared into the paltry wisps of flame. "Long enough t'do some thinkin'."

The weasel glanced sideways at the big ferret. "Thinkin', en? Tell me about it."

The Bowbeast nodded up at the peak. "Ain't no vittles up 'ere, we never brought robes or cloaks. We could freeze or starve t'death, an' nobeast of the Juska clan would ever know wot became of us."

Eefera thrust his paws closer to the fire. "Aye, there's some truth in that. We've been on this stinkin' mountain almost two days now, an' not a track, nary a single pawmark that the otter's been even near the place. Vallug, do ye think that 'e could've put one over on us? I mean laid a false trail along that riverbank, jus' to make it look as if 'e was comin' 'ere?"

Vallug said what his companion was thinking. "An' give us the slip so's 'e could go elsewhere?"

Eefera shrugged. "But where's 'e gone?"

Vallug lowered his voice as if eavesdroppers were about. "That's wot I been thinkin' about. You remember ole Grissoul mutterin' about omens an' prophecies? She was the one who saw the Taggerung at the river ford where it ran across the long path. Sawney told me somethin' about a big place with bells. 'Twas a long time back, but I can recall it. Sawney didn't want t'go near that place, said it was dangerous an' filled with warriors."

Eefera nodded impatiently. "Aye, I remember all right. Redwall, 'e called it. Grissoul spoke about the red place like 'twas magic. Wot d'you think, Vallug?"

The Bowbeast curled his lip scornfully. "There ain't no such thing as magic. I never seen nobeast that one o' my arrows couldn't stop. I think that otter I slew, the liddle one's father, I think that 'e came from the Redwall place. I'll tell yer wot else I'm thinkin'. I'll wager that sometime in 'is seasons with the Juskarath, that Taggerung 'eard of Redwall too. If'n that otter's laid a false trail fer us t'follow, then 'e's bound for Redwall, the place where 'e was born!"

Eefera had been listening so intently that his paw strayed into the flame. He drew it back sharply and rubbed snow on it.

"Right, Vallug. Yore right! So, wot's the plan?"

Vallug picked up his bow and shouldered it. "We go after 'im. I don't mean those other fools an' Gruven. Leave em 'ere on the mountain. Like I said, they'll freeze or starve t'death up 'ere an' nobeast will ever know, 'cept us."

Eefera smiled wickedly. "An' we won't tell, will we. They was all killed, Gruven too. By pikes, serpents, drownded, all of em. Sad, ain't it, mate?"

It was Vallug's turn to smile. He nudged Eefera. "Aye, 'twas an 'ard job, tryin' to save 'em. We was lucky to get back alive, me'n'you, but we slayed the otter between us, eh!"

Vallug spat on his paw and offered it to Eefera. "No sense in 'angin' 'round 'ere, mate. Let's git goin' afore those other block'eads come back. I couldn't stand another night of Gruven's company, braggin' one moment, whinin' the next..."

Eefera spat on his paw and gripped Vallug's to seal their pact. "Yah, the cold an' 'unger'll take care of 'em. Come on, back t'the sunny woodlands an' a chance o' some decent vittles!"

Vallug stood to one side deferentially. "Good idea, mate. After you."

Eefera did a mock bow, but stayed where he was. "Nay, friend, you go first."

They stared hard at one another, eye to eye, then both broke out into false hearty laughter and strode off together. Neither of the two vermin wanted to expose his back to the other.

The stream did as many turns as a switchback, rambling and meandering hither and yon. Tagg and Nimbalo were not in any hurry, each enjoying the other's company. Eventide of the second day found them camped on a grassy spur where the waterway forked, one branch disappearing into the flatlands and the other rounding a fairly swift-flowing bend that took the water back into the base of the mountain.

Tagg tested the flow with his footpaw. "Shall we go this way tomorrow? It looks as if the current flows into some underground caves. Would you like to try it, mate?"

The harvest mouse threw more turf on the fire. " 'Twill be a bit of a bumpy ole ride on our log. Aye, let's try it. In the mornin', though; we'll rest tonight. Y'know, these fruit loaves wot Ruskem gave us, they're pretty good. I like 'em!"

The otter cut a chunk from one with his blade. " Ruskem's dandelion an' burdock cordial's very tasty too. Try some."

Nimbalo took hold of his friend's paw as he passed the flask. "Where'd ye get that mark on yore paw from? It's like the shape of a speedwell flower. Is it a tattoo?"

The otter glanced at the mark, then ran a paw over his heavily marked face. "No, I think 'tis some sort of birthmark. These on my face are tattoos, put there long before I can remember. They're clan marks, to show I belong to a certain tribe."

He allowed Nimbalo to touch the tattoos. The mouse snorted. "Bit silly, ain't it? If'n ye ever want to leave the tribe, then yore stuck wid yore face all marked with a big black stripe an' red dots an' the blue lightnin' flash on yer left cheek."

Tagg's paw strayed to feel the flash. "Juska law says that the only time you leave the tribe is when you're dead. I'm marked for life now, but at least I can get rid of these!"

Tagg pulled off his woven wristbands, unsnipped the big gold earring from his ear, and flung them into the stream. Nimbalo smiled sympathetically at his big friend. "You ain't 'ad much fun runnin' 'round with that tribe, 'ave yer? Well, never mind, Tagg me ole tater, you got a new life now, an' you got Nimbalo the Slayer as a pal, so come on, cheer up!"

Tagg lay back, gazing up at the stars. "I'm tired, pal. Play something for me, a peaceful tune."

Nimbalo tootled his reed flute and played awhile, then, putting it aside, he quietly sang a traditional harvest mouse ditty.

"When the corn is so heavy it bends on the stalk,

See the berries are purple with bloom,

And the wild oats do rustle as if they could talk,

There I watch for the gold harvest moon.

Then if you will help me friend,

Stay here oh do not roam,

And we'll sit by the fire,

In my harvest mouse home.

There'll be lots of good food when the work is all done,

And a barrel of old barley beer,

Mellow cheese and fresh bread, for everyone,

While the babes sleep in peace without fear.

We'll gather the fruit,

And the sweet honeycomb,

And some wood for the fire,

Of my harvest mouse home."

Nimbalo put aside his flute and lay down with a long sigh. "Aaaah. I forget the rest. Pretty, ain't it, Tagg? Nothin' like the real thing, though. My life ain't been no bed o' roses, oh no. Let me tell yer about wot I went through, mate ..." He glanced over and saw his otterfriend was already fast asleep. "Oh well, maybe some other time."

The fire burned low as four little shadowy figures watched the camp. Three of them wore new belts about their tiny waists, Tagg's two wristbands and his golden earring, which had landed on the wristbands as they floated off downstream. The one who was minus a new belt whispered to his three companions, "Yik yik, 'arvest mousey gotta nice belt. Jus' fitta me!"

The biggest of the four clipped him soundly over the ear. "Shushyerrupp! Yew wakey da biggin an' we get all eated up!" He patted his new gold earring belt thoughtfully before delivering the noisy one a clip across his other ear. "Go gerrem ole Bodjev, tellim bring alla Cavemob. Go go!"

He sloshed resentfully off along the streamshallows, calling back in a loud whisper, "Doncha pinch d'mousey belt while I 'way!"

The larger one sent him on his way with a kick in the tail. "Go on, go on, shout louder, nip'ead. Wake alla mounting up!"

One of the two wearing a wristband belt held a paw to his mouth. "Shushyer, Alfik, dey wakey up an' us don't gerra no likkle snakeyfishes, fryken 'em alla way!"