Read The Sable Quean for Free Online Page B

limb over a mouthful of tuck!”
    Buckler shared out enough for a frugal repast. They dined on bread and cheese, a slice of fruitcake apiece and some cider. Diggs finished his in record time, then sat watching every mouthful his friend ate, licking his lips longingly.
    When it became clear he was getting no more, he lay back upon the sun-warmed sand, complaining, “Hope we have afternoon tea at a respectable time. I’m still pretty hungry, y’know. Another cob o’ that good cheese an’ a pasty wouldn’t go amiss, wot!”
    Buckler ignored the irrepressible Diggs, who drew patterns in the sand, belched, excused himself, then lay back, closing his eyes.
    Buckler snorted. “Y’great, idle lump, you’re not going to nod off. We haven’t made a half day’s march yet!”
    Diggs twitched his nose. “ ’Sno good talkin’ t’me, old lad. I’m asleep, y’see. Didn’t sleep much last night, what with this bally journey hangin’ over me, an’ after all that fibbin’ you did, not lettin’ on about a visit to Redwall. Dearie me, it’s depressin’ my spirit so much I’ll need a good few hours’ shuteye before I even think about more pawsloggin’ again.”
    Buckler decided he had taken just about enough. Shouldering his haversack, he rolled Diggs roughly over, relieving him of the bellrope and his backpack. He walked off, carrying the lot, without looking back.
    Diggs sat bolt upright. “I say, where’n the name o’ fiddle-sticks d’you think you’re goin?”
    Without turning, Buckler shouted back, “I’m goin’ it alone—don’t need you. Report back to Lord Brang, see what he has to say!”
    Suddenly Diggs was alongside him, claiming back his equipment. “Well, hoity-toity sirrah, who said I wasn’t goin’, wot? Just you try an’ stop me. They don’t call me old Determined Diggs for nothin’, y’know. Step along lively now, laddie buck. I know, what about a good old marchin’ song? Remember that one we made up when we were both leverets?”
    Buckler suddenly found himself smiling. “I certainly do, mate. Go on, you lead off!”
    Away they went at the double, often changing step and back kicking. It was more of a comic dance, which they had performed at mess parties as cadets. Sometimes they sang solo, though mostly together.
    “They call me Diggs . . . an’ my name’s Buck,
If you draw a blade on us you’re out o’ luck!
I’m an expert with a sword!
I’m a champion with a spoon!
We’ll fight or feast with anybeast
come mornin’, night or noon.
So left right left right,
Wot ho, me pretty one!
Is your ma a good ole cook,
an’ where do you come from?
Let’s walk you home . . . don’t go alone,
you charmin’ little duck.
Then introduce your ma to us,
our names are Diggs an’ Buck!
So left right left right,
are we nearly there?
Salute the Colonel’s daughter,
parade around the square.
We’re jolly brave an’ handsome,
at war or scoffin’ tuck,
we’re perilously perfect ’cos . . .
they call us Diggs an’ Buck!”
    They sang it through again, trying to outdo each other with sidesteps and fancy twiddles. When they halted, both hares were panting and laughing.
    Buckler adjusted his backpack. “It’s been a few seasons since we sang that together.”
    Diggs flopped down on the warm sand. “Rather. Blinkin’ wonder we still remember it, wot!”
    Buckler noticed that the sandhills were getting smaller. “That’s the worst of the dunes behind us, mate, though there’s a tidy bit o’ this heath an’ scrubland still to go. Come on, matey, up y’come—there’s plenty o’ daylight left yet.”
    They pressed onward, with Diggs beginning to lag and chunner again.
    “Blinkin’ grasshoppers chirrupin’—it’s enough t’drive a poor beast potty. Aye, an’ those bees could pick better tunes to hum. Bloomin’ monotonous buzzin’, eh?”
    Buckler suddenly held up a paw. “Hush—can you hear that noise?”
    Diggs carried on until he bumped into his friend’s back. “Noise?