The Rogue Crew

Uggo stumped off, muttering, “O’ course I can make a net. I ain’t dim, Mister Gurdy. You take yore nap. Huh, oldbeasts need naps!”

It was lucky for him that Jum did not hear most of what he said. Closing his eyes, he settled down with a yawn.

Finding a long twig with a forked end, the would-be shrimpcatcher attached the ends to either side of the little cloth sack. Making his way downstream, he watched the water intently, feeling happy about his new purpose, still murmuring to himself. “Just wait, Jum Gurdy. I’ll catch a whole netful o’ watershrimps. Then I’ll creep back an’ flop them in yore lap—that’ll waken ye!”

The cove was further than he had expected, but Uggo finally came across it—a small inlet, patrolled by dragonflies skimming the still, dark water. There were no shrimp to be seen, but Uggo gave his net a speedy pull beneath the murky surface. Pulling it out, he turned the net inside out and was rewarded by the sight of two tiny, transparent-grey, wriggling things.

“Ahaah! There ye are, me liddle watershrimps! Any others swimmin’ about down there? Let’s see, shall we?”

A curious wasp, investigating one of Jum Gurdy’s eyelids, woke him. He brushed it off dozily and was about to continue his nap when he noticed the position of the sun through the hanging willow branches. It was past midnoon! The big otter heaved himself upright. Had he really been asleep all that time? Taking the pan of lukewarm mint tea from the ashes of the dead fire, he drank it in one draught. A quick dash of streamwater across his face brought Jum fully awake and alert.

“Where’s that liddle rascal got to? He should’ve been back an’ waked me long since!”

Wading into the shallows, the otter cupped both paws around his mouth, shouting aloud. “Uggo! Git back ’ere right now! Uggo! Uggooooo!”

Raising a spray of water with his rudderlike tail, Jum splashed back onto the bank. He stood, looking this way and that before bellowing again.

“Uggo Wiltud, where are ye? If’n ye ain’t back by the time I’ve counted to ten, then I’m leavin’ without ye! One . . . two. . . . Can ye hear me, ye liddle rascal?”

He counted to ten, then repeated the performance, with more dire threats. All to no avail. Packing everything back into his haversack, he tried to recall his words before napping.

“The cove downstream . . . freshwater shrimp . . . that’s it!”

Without further ado, he scooped water over the fire ashes and stumped off along the bank, downstream.

Every now and then, Jum paused, calling into the surrounding woodlands. He tried to be less bad tempered, not wanting to scare the young hedgehog away. “Uggo, come on, liddle mate, I ain’t mad at ye. ’Twas my fault for goin’ off t’sleep like that. Come on, show yoreself, there’s no real’arm done!”

Still travelling on and calling out, Jum came upon the cove. There was the improvised shrimping net, floating in the water. He pulled it out with a cold fear creeping through his stomach. Had Uggo fallen in? Could young hedgehogs swim? Swimming was no problem to otters, but what about hedgehogs—were they like moles or squirrels? He had never seen any of them showing a fondness for water. That did it. Jum Gurdy dived into the cove.

Through his frantic underwater efforts, he stirred the cove into a muddy area. Four times he dived, each time scouring the cove from end to end, side to side, with no success. Regaining his breath, the big otter swam out of the cove. He searched the stream for a great length in either direction.

The sun was setting in crimson splendour when Redwall’s Cellardog sat upon the streambank, weeping. Why had he slept so long at midday? Why had he been so irate with his young friend? He would regret it for the rest of his life. Uggo Wiltud was gone, drowned and carried off downstream to the sea. Shouldering his pack, Jum plodded wearily off, following the stream out over the flatlands toward the dunes, the shore and the sea.

It was a warm, still afternoon at the Abbey as Friar Wopple settled herself down on the southeast corner of the rampart walkway. She relished a quiet afternoon tea with Sister Fisk after all the bustle and heat of the kitchens. Spreading a cloth on the worn stones, the plump watervole laid out the contents of her hamper. Two oatfarls filled with chopped hazelnut salad, a latticed apple and blackberry tart, napkins and crockery.

Seeing Sister Fisk coming up the south wallsteps, Wopple waved, hailing her friend. “Cooee, Sister!”

Redwall’s Infirmary mouse came bearing a steaming kettle. The Friar rubbed her paws in anticipation as Fisk sat down beside her. “I’ve set all our food out. What sort of tea are we drinking today?”

Fisk poured out two dainty beakers of the hot amber liquid, passing one to her companion. “Taste and guess, then tell me if you like it.”

Blowing fragrant steam from the drink, Wopple sipped. “Ooh, it’s absolutely delicious, Sister. I’d never guess, so you’d best tell me.”