out there instead o’ me. The nerve!
Log a Log watched a moth hovering round the glint from his rapier blade.
Never mind, Scarum. I’ll tell young Furrel to pack ye an’ extra-big lunch tomorrow.
Scarum nodded. Friendly little molemaid, I like her.
Lunch, did you say lunch, old lad? Why would she be packin’ me a lunch, am I goin’ anywhere?
Skipper leaned over from his walltop perch and tickled the hare’s ear.
If’n the vermin don’t show up afore mid-morn, we’re takin’ a scoutin’
party out t’see wot’s goin’ on in Mossflower woodlands. Are ye comin’?
The hare tried to poach Sagax’s soup beaker and got a rap over the paw for his audacity. Count me in, old scout, anythin’s better’n sittin’
up here like a caterpillar waitin’ to change into a bloomin’ butterfly, wot wot wot!
Sagax gave Scarum his beaker, but it was empty. He smiled at his friend’s dejected expression.
Oh, stop looking like a boiled bumblebee. I know you’re bored, we’re all bored, and it’s a long time until dawn. Come on, Scarum, entertain us. Give us that monologue about your uncle GurdiloÑI like that one.
The hare sniffed. It’s Burdilo, not Gurdilo, an’ all you’ve given me tonight is a flarmn’ empty soup beaker. Shan’t!
Triss picked up the beaker. Oh, do it, please, I’ve never heard about your uncle Burdilo. I’ll fill this beaker with soup again if you recite it for us. Promise.
Scarum rose stiffly. You do know the way to a chap’s heart, miss, or is it his stomach? Same thing. Oh, all right, here goes. The hare soon had them all chuckling with his comic poem.
My uncle Burdilo was a chap that you’d like to know. He’d paws like iron an’ a back like oak, All in all quite a handsome bloke! They say he scoffed his own weight twice, In the space of a bloomin’ day, An’
licked ten times his weight in foes, At least that’s what they say, hey. Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh. That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!
His eyesight was so jolly good, Do you know what they say? He could spot a fly on an apple pie, A score o’ miles away... even on a foggy day! So strong and tough a hare he was, D’you know what he did one day?
He stood in a pail an’ picked it up, An’ carried himself away, hey.
Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh, That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Bur-dilo!
He’d swim wide seas with skill an’ ease, And often for a joke, He’d run so fast, as he sped past, His footpaws puffed out smoke! Y’know what they say, he raced one day, Until his tail was burnin’, He ran, of course, with such great force, He met himself returnin’. Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh, That’s how he spelt his name, y’know.
My uncle Bur-dilo!
During the laughter and applause that followed, Scarum bowed and flourished both ears outrageously. He flopped down beside Triss.
Now, then, how’s about that beaker o’ soup, m’gel?
She smiled sweetly at him. Oh, that. No need for me to go dashing off to the kitchensÑhere come Foremole Urrm and Furrel with two big jugs of soup for refills.
The hare’s face was the picture of outrage. You knew they were comin’.
Hoodwinker, charlatan! I’ll never trust a pretty face again, wot, you see if I bally well don’t, huh!
Sagax pushed him playfully. Oh, stop grumbling, it passed away a pleasant moment or two, didn’t it?
Scarum held out his beaker to be filled, muttering, Might have for you rotten lot, but it took quite a bit out of me, wastin’
my artistic an’ poetic talents on a pack o’ soup-guzzlin’ buffoons, wot. I say there, Furrel, you charmin’ young molemaid, keep pourin’.
This blmkin’ beaker’s only half fullÑkeep goin’, me pretty one!
The molemaid wrinkled her snout. Hurr hurr, you’m a gurt flatterer, zurr, h’oi can’t resist ee!
Kroova whispered to Sagax, I’m glad somebeast can’t! Scarum shot him an icy glance. I heard that, y’know!
37
As all the able-bodied Redwallers were guarding the wall-tops, there was nobeast to relieve them. Night’s dark hours dragged by with painful slowness. The defenders paired off, one napping whilst the other kept watch. Beyond the walls, Mossflower Woods lay calm and peaceful/ but to the sentries’ eyes they looked different. Every shifting moonshadow or breeze-swayed bough represented the threat of a fresh vermin attack.
Triss watched the silent plain spread out in front of her. Many thoughts wandered in and out of her mind. The friends she had left on Riftgard’s cold northern coasts, still trapped in a life of miserable slavery.
Agarnu, the fat white King, stumping about on his false limb, while his tyrannical mind dreamed up new schemes that added to the harsh existence of the wretched captives who served his every whim. The vow she had made to poor old Drufo.
Triss touched the hilt of Martin’s wondrous sword. Silently she renewed her vow to return and free the slaves. Martin the Warrior’s spirit had guided her across the seas to Redwall. She would do what she had to and help her new friends to defend their Abbey against evil. But the day would come when she would set paw again on Riftgard’s shores to avenge Drufo’s memory, and that of the father she had never known, Rocc Arrem.
Lying on a bed near the dormitory door, Memm Flackery stuck out a paw, stopping the Dibbun Bikkle from leaving the room. The Harenurse murmured.
Where d’you think you’re off to, little miss?
The squirrelbabe climbed up onto Memm’s bed. Breff-ist, it bee’s time for breffist, Bikkle,’ear a larker!
The bed creaked as Memm rose and carried Bikkle to an open window. Dawn’s first lark twittered thinly, ascending into the pale light of a new day. Delicate rose hues stippled the horizon, dispersing the dark blue of night as soft gold sunrays threaded out between creampuff clouds.
Ruggum trundled up beside Memm and Bikkle. Yurr, ee larker bee’s a-tellin’ uz et’s toime furr breffist.
Taking in the glorious scene before her, Memm absently patted the molebabe’s head. Hmm, the beauties of Mother Nature are never lost on you, Ruggum, wot!
Nodding solemnly, the molebabe agreed. Hurr, they’m surpintly b’ain’t, marm!
The morning wore on, with no sign of the vermin returning to attack Redwall. Skipper and Log a Log had shared their plans with the Abbot: a force was to be sent out into the woodlands. It was vital that they knew what had caused the Freebooters and Ratguards to break off the attack.
Triss was pleasantly surprised when they consulted her as to who should go and who would stay behind to protect the Abbey. Scarum was chosen to stay with the home-guard, as was Gurdle Sprink and all the shrews who had arrived with Mimsy and Gulif, most of whom had families. The rest would be Redwallers, those too young or old to travel, and possibly fight. Triss suggested that they leave at least one more capable warrior behind, to assist Scarum and Curdle. They decided it would be one of the four otters. Shogg, Kroova, Churk and Rumbol drew lots, and it fell to the sea otter.
Kroova was slightly disappointed, but he made light of it. Hah, it’ll be easy enough defendin’ the walltops, mates, but who’s goin’ to defend the kitchens against old Scarum?
Foremole and his crew were out on the path, having just finished burying the slain vermin and cleaning the oatmeal from the gateway. He touched a heavy digging claw to his snout as the tracking party emerged from the Abbey.
Hurr, gudd luck to ee, zurrs’n’marms, you’m be careful an’ watch owt furr ee vermint villyuns.