High Rhulain

Lifting the musselshell patch from his eye, Cuthbert peered closely at her. “Tiria, eh? I don’t know no Tiria. My ole mate Urfa said I was takin’ a gel called Tillie to the Green Isle. I reckon we’d best turn round and head back t’the dunes, so we can look for Tillie. Wot d’ye think?”

The ottermaid sighed resignedly. “I was only joking, Cap’n. My name’s not Tiria, it’s Tillie.”

The hare treated her to a glare of disapproval. “One name should be good enough for anybeast, Tillie. T’ aint a matter to joke about, you mark my words.”

Tiria almost choked on her stew at this observation. The hare had already changed his name twice since they had met and would doubtless adopt other titles before long. She swallowed hard and saluted.

“Aye aye, Cap’n. Tillie’s my name, no more jokes.” Cuthbert licked the ladle clean. “Well said, Tillie. Right, I’m off back to me steerin’. If’n I was you, I’d get down t’makin’ some skilly’n’duff for supper. Us seadogs is very partial to skilly’n’duff.”

Tiria shook her head as she watched him swagger off astern. “Skilly’n’duff, what in the name of goodness is that? They never served skilly’n’duff at Redwall. I wonder how much skill it takes to make duff. Oh well, here goes!”

Over the next few days, Tiria became accustomed to the odd habits of Cuthbert Frunk W. Bloodpaw. They got on well together. Pandion, too, though for the most part the osprey kept to his perch or sailed aloft scouring the sea for fish. Tiria gradually realised that she had a natural talent for cooking. Virtually any dish she attempted turned out well, even skilly’n’duff. Cuthbert became exceedingly fond of her cheese and leek bake, followed by a dessert of dried apple and preserved plum tart. The pair also began composing songs together and often could be heard singing out lustily.

On the evening of the fourth day out, Tiria was in her galley, baking a large-sized potato, carrot and mushroom pastie. She was singing alternate verses of a duet they had made up the previous day. Cuthbert warbled out his parts from his position as steersbeast. He had a somewhat wobbly baritone. Pandion did an awkward hob jig on his lookout perch, contributing an odd squawk. It was a raucous pirate song, boasting about what infamous creatures the cook and the captain were, with both joining in on the chorus.

“Ho wreck me rudder, stove me planks,

an’ rust me anchor chain,

salute me twice as you walk by,

or ye’ll never walk again, hahaarr!

I’m Tillie the wild’n’terrible, the fiercest cook afloat,

I was born in a storm one icy morn on a leaky pirate

boat,

I can lick me weight in vermin, so don’t dare mess

with me,

I’m a high-falutin’ plunderin’ lootin’ terror o’ the sea!

Ho rip me riggin, batter me bows,

an’ splinter my mainmast,

when I says move out of me way,

ye’d better move right fast, hahaarr!

I’m Cap’n Cuthbert Bloodpaw, an’ me father was a

whale,

so stay clear of me vittles, or I’ll bite off yore tail,

I cut me teeth on a cutlass, oh I was a savage child,

I’m a hairy scarey go anywherey buckoe bold’n’wild!

So tear me tiller, scrape me stern,

an’ gut me galley twice,

I’ll send ye to the ole seabed,

with y’tail tied in a splice, hahaarr!”

As Tiria and the big hare finished their duet, Pandion was squawking uproariously.

Cuthbert scowled up at the osprey. “That bloomin’ bird ain’t got no sense o’ harmony!”

Tiria watched the fish hawk hopping about on his perch. “Aye, he’s just ruined our last chorus there!”

Pandion swooped down to the deck and flapped his wings. “See, it is the big rock, the big rock!”

Tiria peered ahead down the coast at the dark monolith standing out against the crimson sunset in solitary majesty. She gasped. “So that’s Salamandastron!”

20

Through the overhead foliage, midday sunlight dappled a lacy pattern upon the three otters resting in a woodland glade. Big Kolun Galedeep rubbed his midriff ruefully.

“I never realised the journey’d be this long. We should’ve brought some vittles along with us, mate.”

Leatho flicked a curious insect away from his eyelid. “D’ye think ye’ll last the day out, or will ye perish of starvation afore sunset?”

Kolun sighed gustily. “That’s alright for you t’say, Shellhound, but I’ve got to eat to keep up with me size. A midget like you only has to eat once every season!”

Banya Streamdog patted the big fellow’s paw in mock sympathy. “Pore Kolun, it must be awful bein’ a giant. You stay here an’ save yore strength, mate. I’ll go an’ see if’n I can find somethin’ to tempt yore appetite.”

She rose giggling and slid off through the undergrowth, while Leatho continued teasing his big friend.

“Aye, Kolun, rest yore famished rudder a while. Try not to think of that lovely freshwater shrimp’n’hotroot soup Deedero will be cookin’ up back at Summerdell. I’ll wager she’s bakin’ flatcakes an’ a damson pudden, too.”

Kolun’s huge paw shot out, covering the outlaw’s mouth. “Now don’t ye start goin’ on about vittles, y’rascal. It ain’t funny. It’s torture, that’s wot it is!”