The Rogue Crew

The kind watervole waved a package of candied chestnuts at the Cellardog. “Be off with ye, Jum Gurdy. I’ll not see any Redwaller starve on a journey. Besides, y’might like to give some o’ these vittles to yore ole uncle Wullow.”

Jum smiled as he slipped a flask in with the food. “Aye, thankee. Ole Wullow’d like that, marm. I’m takin’ ’im some o’ my best beetroot port as a gift.”

Young Uggo Wiltud, who had got over his ill stomach and was now sentenced to three days’ pot washing, looked over from his greasy chore. The gluttonous hedgehog was always interested in the subject of food or drink.

“I’ve never tasted beetroot port, Mister Gurdy. Wot’s it like?”

Jum shouldered his loaded haversack, commenting, “Never mind ’ow it tastes, young Wiltud. You just get on with yore pot scourin’!”

Scowling, Friar Wopple picked up one of the pots. “The whole Abbey’d be down with tummy trouble if they had to eat vittles cooked in this—it’s filthy! Do it again, Uggo, an’ make sure ye scrub under the rim!” She turned to Jum with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ve never seen a young ’og so dozy in all my seasons!”

Uggo’s voice echoed hollowly as he poked his head into the pot. “I can’t ’elp it if’n I ain’t a champeen pot washer!”

The Friar waved a short wooden oven paddle at him. “Any more of those smart remarks an’ I’ll make yore tail smart with this paddle. Stealin’ hefty fruitcake is about all yore good at, ye young rip!”

Still with his head in the pot, Uggo began weeping. “I said I was sorry an’ wouldn’t steal no more cakes. But nobeast’s got a good word for me. I’m doin’ me best, marm, but I just ain’t a pot washer.”

Jum Gurdy suddenly felt sorry for Uggo. There he was, clad in an overlong apron, standing atop a stool at the sink, with grease and supper remains sticking to his spines. The big Cellardog lifted him easily to the floor. “Smack me rudder, matey. Yore a sorry sight, an’ that’s for sure. Stop that blubberin’, now. You ain’t been a Dibbun, not for three seasons now. So, tell me, wot are ye good at, an’ don’t say eatin’ cake!”

Uggo, managing to stem his tears, stood staring at the floorstones, as if seeking inspiration there.

“Dunno wot I’m good at, Mister Gurdy.”

Jum hitched up the haversack, winking at Friar Wopple. “I think I know wot we should do to this scallywag, marm.”

The Friar leaned on her oven paddle, winking back. “Oh, an’ wot d’ye think you’d like t’do to Master Wiltud? Fling him in the pond, maybe?”

Uggo flinched as Jum took off the long apron. The otter walked around him, looking him up and down critically. “Hmm, he don’t look like a very fit beast t’me, Friar. Bit pale an’ pudgy, prob’ly never takes any exercise, eats too much an’ sleeps most o’ the day. I think a good long walk, say a journey to the sea. That might knock ’im back into shape. Wot d’ye think, Friar marm?” Wopple agreed promptly. “Aye, it might do our Uggo the world o’ good, sleepin’ outdoors, marchin’ hard all day, puttin’ up with the bad weather an’ not eating too much. I think y’might have somethin’ there, Jum!”

Uggo’s lip began to tremble as he looked from one to the other. “Marchin’ all day, sleepin’ out in the open, gettin’ wet’n’cold in the wind an’ rain. Wot, me, Mister Gurdy?”

Jum shrugged. “As y’please, mate. There’s always more pots t’wash an’ floors to scrub, I shouldn’t wonder, eh, marm?”

Friar Wopple narrowed her eyes, glaring at Uggo. “Oh, yes—an’ ovens to clean out, veggibles to peel an’ scrape, the storeroom to sweep out . . .”

Jum Gurdy began trudging from the kitchens, calling back, “Ah, well, I’ll leave ye to it, Uggo mate. ’Ave fun!”

The young hedgehog scrambled after him, pleading, “No, no, I’ll go with ye, Mister Gurdy. Take me along, please!”

Hiding an amused grin, Friar Wopple waved a dismissive paw. “Take him away, Jum. The rascal’s neither use nor ornament around here. Go on, young Wiltud—away with ye!”

She followed them to the kitchen door as Jum strode off, commenting blithely, “Well, come on then, young sir, but ye’d best keep up, or I’ll ’ave to tie ye to a tree an’ pick ye up on the way back. Come on, bucko. Move lively, now!”

Uggo scurried in the big otter’s wake. “I’m goin’ as fast as I can, Mister Gurdy. You wouldn’t leave me tied to a tree, really, would you . . . would you?”

Abbot Thibb saw the pair walking across Great Hall as he entered the kitchens. He picked up a fresh-baked scone, spread it with honey and took a bite.

“Good morning, Friar. What’s going on with those two?”

The Friar poured cups of hot mint tea for them both. “Oh nothin’, really. I suspect that Jum’s givin’ young Uggo a lesson in growing up usefully. A trek to the seacoast with our Cellardog behind him may do that hog a power o’ good, Father.”

Thibb blew on his tea and sipped it carefully. “Right, marm. I think Jum Gurdy’s just the beast to teach that scamp a lesson or two.”

In the belltower, Matthias and Methusaleh, Redwall’s twin bells, boomed out into the clear spring morn, signalling breakfast at the Abbey.