Vermin? You sure?
~~~
Chapter Three
"Why are you here?" Tagg snarled at his captive. "Come to finish off Nimbalo, eh?"
Alysoun shook her head. "I'm here because Sylver asked me to come." The otter raised his eyebrows.
"Why don't you kill me then?" the weasel asked. Really, she was scared out of her wits, but if she'd been captured by someone else, say Magellan the mercenary fox, Alysoun knew that she'd be dead right now. The jill was curious to know why she wasn't.
The otter shook his head. "I'm not a killer. . . that's the vermin way out." Without taking his eyes off his captive, he securely tied her up with a long piece of cord.
"Why do you call us vermin? We are perfectly respectable mustelids. . . well, outlaw mustelids. . . but still! We are not vermin. . ."
Tagg frowned whenever the weasel said "mustelid"; he had no idea what it meant, but he wasn't about to ask her.
The otter sighed and ran a paw over his heavily tattooed face. "You know very well what vermin means, weasel. Vermin are you - rats, stoats, weasels, ferrets, foxes and other sly, murderous creatures."
Alysoun was miffed at being classed with rats and stoats, and was about to say as much when the harvest mouse began to stir by the fire. "Tagg?" Nimbalo called hoarsely, and began to shiver.
The otter gave Alysoun a murderous glance where she lay trussed up, and walked over to his friend. "Shh, mate. Tagg's here," the otter said as he stroked Nimbalo's forehead, calming him down.
Alysoun was shocked. The harvest mouse had actually spoken! Then, an immediate feeling of guilt enveloped her, for if he was indeed an intelligent being, and he died of the wounds that she and her companions had given him, she really was what the otter had called her; vermin.
"Wot 'appened, mate?" asked Nimbalo, his breathing erratic.
"Well, remember how we split up to look for Redwall?" The harvest mouse nodded, painfully. "Y'were ambushed by weasels. . . threw some darts. I captured an inquisitive one. She's over there." The otter nodded towards the rope-wreathed form of Alysoun.
"Cowards," Nimbalo spat. "Couldn't take me one on one, eh, mate?"
During this conversation, Alysoun had been listening intently to her surroundings. She knew that the rest of Sylver's band were approaching. She had also been listening to the conversation of her captors, and felt that she now had to speak out.
"Cowards?" she said. "We aren't cowards. We hunt because we need food, unlike the stoats, who hunt and kill for amusement and profit."
Nimbalo sat up, slowly, wincing, and told her, "Well, this's one meal ye ain't going to get, vermin."
"We didn't know that you were an intelligent being. All of the mice around here are incapable of thought. If we'd known, we'd never have attacked you." Alysoun paused. "If I could speak with my band, I'm sure that our healer, Wodehed, would gladly fix you. I see that you aren't much of a healer, otter."
Tagg snorted at this implication, even though it was entirely true; he had next to no healing skills. Still, what could he do? They were lost in a strange land, the weasels seemed honourable enough, and Nimbalo did need medical attention.
The tattooed otter nodded slowly and cut through the bonds on her forelimbs. "Call your friends."
Alysoun put a paw to her mouth and gave an ear-splitting whistle. Immediately, eight weasels, including a tiny finger-weasel, entered the clearing. Their leader, the marked weasel Sylver, bow to Tagg and Nimbalo and spoke.
"We heard all that was said, and we apologise." He beckoned to another weasel. "This is Wodehed, our magician and healer."
The weasel in question then went to work on a silent and surly Nimbalo. The weasels sat themselves down by the fire. Tagg seemed a giant in comparison to them; a monolith compared to the finger-weasel.
Sylver introduced himself and his band, and afterwards, inquired of the otter's name. "I am Tagg; known to most vermin as Taggerung, the mighty warrior. My friend is Nimbalo the Slayer." Tagg proceeded to tell of his adventures.
In turn, as promised, Sylver explained about the situation on Welkin, and their band's quest to find the humans and bring them back, to repair the dykes. Tagg smiled; humans were completely mythical, storybook monsters used to frighten naughty little ones. Had these legendary creatures ever existed, they were long extinct, and judging by the horrific tales told around campfires late at night, that was a good thing. Tagg hadn't the heart to tell the weasels his thoughts, though - they seemed so convinced that the humans could solve their problems.
After all was said, Sylver spoke to both Nimbalo and Tagg, speaking for the whole band. "We would like to invite you to join our group, at least until you find your way to this 'Redwall' place." All of the weasels around the fire nodded eagerly.
The otter glanced at his harvest mouse friend, who nodded in affirmation. The tattooed otter smiled his acceptance and shook the offered paw. "We promise to help in any way we can in your quest, and to protect our newfound comrades against the stoat threat." The otter glanced around. "I feel that it's my first duty as a member of your band to inform you of the fact that there seems to be a large group of stoats coming this way."
All heads turned in the direction that Tagg pointed, just as the first stoat soldier appeared in a gap in between two trees.
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