Campathia pointed to Tagg's blade, which he held in his paw. "Put that... thing away, sir. I refuse to converse with armed ruffians. Put it away this instant!"
As Tagg returned the blade to his belt, he heard Merradink. "This instant!"
Placated by the otter's obedience, Campathia answered the question. "Late last night. I was cooking supper, and I heard them before I saw them. Three vermin, two stoat creatures and a disgusting female rat, all tattooed in a similar fashion to yourself. Acting promptly, we left our camp and hid nearby. They commandeered our camp and ate our supper. The rat said that she had smelled the fire from a distance. Their behavior was dreadful, their manners atrocious, and their language! Suffice it to say I had to cover my babe's ears. They were totally uncouth"
Tagg interrupted her flow. "When did they leave? Where's your camp?"
Campathia gestured over her shoulder. "Over there. After eating everything in sight and taking what they could carry, the miscreants left within the hour."
"Within the hour."
Jurkin peeped around her dress at Merradink. "Come on, echo, take us to yore camp."
Campathia waggled a stern paw at Jurkin. "His name is not echo, as you well know. Follow me!"
The camp was little more than an elaborately embroidered linen square of considerable size, pegged across a low hornbeam branch and a fallen larch tree. It had been ripped to tatters by the vermin, and a small homemade rock oven nearby was smashed down into the ashes of a fire beneath it. Nimbalo sniffed at the ashes as Tagg inspected the ground, pointing out the unmistakable pawprints ot Dagrab, Rawback and Gruven.
"They're headed west and a bit south. It's them all right!" He stepped around Tagg to retrieve a scrap of barkcloth fiber that was snagged on a holly bush. "Aye, lookit this, mate!"
The otter took the barkcloth fragment and sniffed it carefully before turning his attention to Campathia. "How long have you been at this camp, marm?"
She sniffed and replied indifferently, "All summer long, if that's any business of yours."
Tagg shook his head at Jurkin, to indicate that she was lying. Jurkin tipped him a broad wink, then launched into a tirade at her, just as Merradink was repeating "Business of yours."
"Yer mealy-mouthed, snake-tongued, bandy-spiked fibber!"
Horrified, Campathia covered Pecunia's ears. "You common riverhog, how dare you use such language!"
"Such language!" her husband echoed.
Jurkin was enjoying himself. He raised his voice and roared, "Then tell the truth, ye fat, icy-snouted, beady-eyed nettlebush!"
Campathia withered under Jurkin's furious salvo. Dropping her head, she brushed imaginary dust specks from her dress. "Day before yesterday. We arrived in the early evening."
"Early eee!"
She stamped on Merradink's footpaw, silencing him. Tagg nodded courteously. "Thankee, marm. We'll be on pur way!"
The three friends cut off through the undergrowth, leaving the snobbish southern Forthrights behind. Nimbalo was curious.
"Tagg, mate, 'ow did ye know they 'adn't been there all summer?"
The otter tucked the barkcloth scrap into his belt. "Because they'd be dead if they had. Just before they arrived and made camp there, Vallug and Eefera passed through. It was Eefera gave the game away by tearing his tunic on that holly bush. I can smell weasel anytime, and his scent was still on the cloth. That means we're tracking Gruven, Dagrab and Rawback, who are tracking Vallug and Eefera. Isn't that nice, mate? We're all going the same way. But what about you, Jurkin? Hadn't you better get back to your Dillypins and the raft?"
The sturdy hedgehog nodded ruefully. "Aye, mate, even though I'd like to stand alongside ye when y'catch up wid those vermints. But I'll take another route back t'the ole scow. Don't want to bump inter Campathia Forthright an' 'er family again!"
"An' 'er family again!"
Jurkin roared with laughter at Nimbalo's impersonation of Merradink. "Hohohoho! I'll miss you, ye liddle rascal. Take good care of each other, now. 'Twas a pleasure meetin' ye both. Tagg, mate, may the stream be smooth an' yore rudder never bust on ye!" The three joined paws for a moment, then Jurkin turned and cut off at a tangent, back to his family and the raft.
The trail was clear now. Tagg knew he was following five vermin. He recalled his dreams, the mouse warrior Martin beckoning him urgently, Vallug firing the arrows at him, trying to slay him, to stop him. The otter knew then, with a ruthless certainty, nothing was going to stop him going to Redwall. Nothing and nobeast!
Chapter 26
Gruven strode along confidently. He had gradually come into his own since the journey from the mountain. Granted, there had been setbacks. He had lost some face, having to flee the Taggerung, but there was no sign of the otter now. Doubtless he had perished along the way, or got lost. Then there had been the incident with those hedgehogs. He dismissed it from his mind. There had been too many of them and they were experts at stone slinging. It could have happened to any Juska warrior, caught waist deep in a stream, pelted by a mob. He probed with his tongue at a loose back tooth. There was no shame in retreating from that lot. He would go back there one night, when he was clan Chieftain, and burn them alive in their cottage. Other than that, things had worked out well. They had feasted on the best of food from the hog who lived on the flatlands, aye, and left him to die, trapped inside a mudball. Then, just as provisions were running low, they had found the belligerent old harvest mouse and his farmhouse. Gruven had enjoyed that, he liked inflicting pain on others, though he had granted Dagrab the privilege of slaying their victim when the time came to move on. A pity they had not captured the hogs at the latest camp. He harbored a deep-rooted hatred for the spike creatures after his last encounter with them. But again, things had turned out well enough. Having wrecked the place, they had left carrying valuable supplies of food. Not only that, but it was he who rediscovered the trail of Eefera and Vallug, which Dagrab had lost some time before out on the flatlands. Gruven was the one who was showing the way; it was he who was in undisputed charge of the other two. Dagrab and Rawback obeyed his every command, without question.
He exerted his authority now, pointing to a small pool set in a clearing, a welcome oasis in the thick woodlands. "We'll camp 'ere awhile. You two get some vittles ready!"
Dagrab put down her battle-axe and took the sack of supplies from Rawback. Between them they gathered firewood and found a flat stone, and then Dagrab made a fire whilst Rawback ground a paste from nuts, wild oats and barley, taken from the Forthrights.
"This'll make some good flatcakes for us, Chief. I'll bake 'em over the fire on this flat stone. You'll like my flatcakes."
Gruven ignored Rawback's comments and concentrated on what lay ahead. He told himself that he had no fear of Vallug or Eefera. They were the only creatures who could prevent his gaining leadership of the Juskazann, therefore they would both have to die, preferably by ambush. Dagrab and Rawback he could dispose of easily, leaving the field clear for him to return to the clan, with a harrowing tale of the hunt. How his brave companions had all met their deaths, leaving only him, Gruven Zann, to slay the traitor Taggerung and return to claim his rightful place as Chieftain. Gruven Zann Juskazann!
His train of thought was interrupted by Dagrab, tapping him hesitantly on the shoulder. "Can't yer see I'm tryin' to think?" he muttered through clenched teeth. "Go away, leave me alone."
But she persisted. "Lissen, Chief . . . lissen!"
Gruven rose moodily, sneering. "Lissen to wot, yore slobberin' mouth?"