the creekside would have been appropriate, but the otter crew had eaten all the food, so they drank the last of the
October Ale and plum cordial, then got the boats headed out. Log-a-Log called out to the moles, who had remained
onshore, “Come on, mateys, back to the Abbey. ’Twill be a fine fast sail downriver, we’ll be back afore ye knows it!”
Foremole wrinkled his nose, trundling off along the bank-side. “You’m go, zurr Log, an’ gudd lukk to ee. Us’n’s
be walkin’ back even if’n it takes ten season t’do et. No more sailin’ fur molers!”
Tammo watched, fascinated, as Midge Manycoats applied his disguise before a burnished copper mirror in Sister
Viola’s dormitory. The small hare explained as he went along.
“Alter the face first, that’s half the trick. See, I roll my own ears down and put on this ole greasy cap with false
ears stickin’ out the side of it, one’s only half an ear an’ the other has a slice out of it, just like some smelly ole
vermin. Now, I rub m’face with this oily brown stuff—pass me that candle, Tamm. Singe the whiskers down an’ rub
’em ’til they’re scrubby. Good! Put a patch over one eye, and paste a thin bit o’ bark over the other, givin’ it a nasty
slant. Aye, that’s more like it. Look, a little black limpet shell, stick it on the end of my handsome nose with a blob o’
gum, an’ presto! Snidgey pointed vermin hooter, wot! Few bits o’ darkened wax over the teeth, two long thorns stuck
in the wax just under the top lip. Haharr, fangs! Pass me that greasy charcoal stick, hmm, two wicked downcurved
lines, one either side of the mouth, that’s it! Righto, I throw this filthy tattered sack over me, belt it with a loose cob o’
rope, crouch down a bit, hunch shoulders, shuffle footpaws. What d’you see, Tammo?”
The young hare gasped in amazement. Standing before him was an aged vermin creature, neither wholly rat, ferret,
or stoat, but definitely vermin of some type.
“Great seasons o1 soup! No wonder they call you Midge Manycoats!”
Midge adopted the whining vermin slang. “Harr, wait’ll yer sees yerself when I’m done wid ye, cully!”
Rockjaw Grang was having what he figured would be his last good hot meal for a while, working his way through
an immense potato, mushroom, and carrot pastie oozing rich dark herb gravy. Dibbuns surrounded the big hare,
watching his throat bob up and down as he polished off a tankard of dandelion and burdock cordial. Gubbio the
molebabe pushed a steaming cherry and damson pudding in front of Rockjaw, and Sloey, none the worse for her
adventure, poured yellow mea-dowcream plentifully over it.
“Whoo! A you goin’ to eat alia dat up, mista G’ang?”
Rockjaw sat the mousebabe up on the table. “Sithee, jus’ you watch me, liddle lass, but keep out of t’way, else I’ll
scoff thee an’ all. Aye, y’d be right tasty wi’ a plum in yore mouth an’ some cream o’er yore ’ead!”
Clapping their paws and jumping up and down, the Dibbuns chortled, “Goo on, mista G’ang, eat Sloey alia up!”
The giant hare set Sloey back down on the floor. “Only if she’s very naughty. ’Ey up, wot’s this?”
Two thoroughly evil-looking vermin shuffled into the kitchens and began dirtying their blades by coating them
with vegetable oil and soot from the stovepipes. The Dibbuns shrieked and leapt upon Rockjaw, clinging tearfully to
his neck. He patted the tiny heads soothingly.
“Shush now, liddle ’uns, ’tis only Midge an’ Tammo actin’ at bein’ varmints. You go an’ play with the babby owls
an’ Russano now. I’ll eat those two up if’n they frightens any more Dibbuns.”
Shad the Gatekeeper took Abbess Tansy and Craklyn down to the platform beneath the south wall. They lowered
two lanterns on a rope and saw that the water had dwindled away to a mere trickle.
Shad grunted with satisfaction. “Y’see, marms, they found the stream an’ likely blocked it off. Soon it’ll be dry
down there. May’aps then we’ll go down an’ take a look around. I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’m real curious t’see wot
’tis like. I know you are too, miz Craklyn.”
The old Recorder peered down at the drying stream bed. “It’s my duty to see what’s down there. Everything has to
be recorded and written up for future generations of our Abbey. Which leads me to think I’ve been looking in the
wrong place to find out more about this—the answer might lie in your gatehouse, Shad. I suspect that if we look
through Redwall’s first records, the truth about all this may emerge.”
Tansy kissed her old friend’s cheek. “But of course! What a clever old Recorder you are, Craklyn.”
The Recorder of Redwall turned away from the pit, signaling Shad to escort them aboveground. “You’re no spring
daisy yourself, Mother Abbess. Come on, we’ve a long dusty job ahead of us.”
Shad hastily excused himself from the task. “Beggin’ yore pardons, but I got other chores t’do. You ladies ’elp
yoreselves to anythin’ y’need in my gate’ouse. I can’t abide the dust an’ disorder when you starts unpackin’ those ole
record books’n’scrolls off the shelves, miz Craklyn.”
Tansy watched the otter hurrying off across the Abbey lawns. “Other chores to do, indeed, great wallopin’ water-
dog!”
Craklyn chuckled as she took her friend’s paw. “Don’t be too hard on poor Shad. Otters never made good scholars.
He’s probably off to play with little Russano and the baby owls.”
37
The south wallgate had been jammed shut by the subsidence, so Tammo, Midge, and Rockjaw were leaving by the
little east wallgate. Major Perigord and Pasque Valerian saw them off. Perigord was none too happy about Tammo
going.
“Now remember, you chaps, keep y’heads down an’ don’t attract too much attention to yourselves. Normally I
would have sent Tare or Tuny with Midge, but as the rhyme names you, Tamm, well it seems you’re the one to go. So
take it easy, young bucko, an’ report back to Rockjaw whenever you can. We’ll get news of the battleground to you as
soon as we hear back from Torgoch and Mono. Look after ’em, Rock. I’ve no need to tell you of the danger they’ll be
in.”
Rockjaw Grang saluted the Major. “Never fear, sah, y’can rely on me!”
The soft brown eyes of Pasque looked full of concern. Tammo winked roguishly at her from beneath his vermin
disguise. “Don’t fret, chum, we’ll be back before you know it!”
Perigord watched them threading their way south through the woodland until the three figures were lost among the
trees. He locked the east wallgate carefully, then, turning to the dejected Pasque, he chucked her gently beneath the
chin. “C’mon now, missie, you’ll bring on the rain with a face like that, wot! Your Tammo’ll be back in a day or two,
full o’ tales of how he outwitted the Rapscallions. Cheer up, that’s an order!”
Midge Manycoats had done an excellent job of disguising Tammo, making him look old and thoroughly evil by
giving him shaggy beetling brows to hide his eyes and a matted straggling beard. To this he added a greasy flop hat,
lots of jangling brass ornaments, and an old dormitory blanket that was literally in frayed tatters, after he had finished
trouncing it about in the orchard compost heap. Tammo not only looked villainous, but smelled highly disreputable.
Both hares found themselves gasping for breath under their camouflage. Leaning against an oak tree, they pleaded
with the long-striding Rockjaw.
“I say, Rock, ease off a bit, will you, you’ve got the pair of us whacked with that pace o’ yours!”
“Aye, slow down, mate, or we’ll perish long before we find the vermin camp. Whew! I’m roasted under this lot!”