The roar of approval that followed bounced off the hallowed walls of Great Hall several times. Molemum Burbee removed both paws from her ears when the din had passed.
“Oi’ll make ee tea furst, then us’ll get a-started.”
Mother Abbess Lycian shook her head in admiration. “Who could say better than that?”
19
Tiria’s first dawn aboard the
“Hahaarr! Belay yore bows’ls an’ begin burnin’ brekkist! Fire up yore galleystove an’ get some vittles underway!”
Pandion stayed at his perch on the masthead, regally ignoring the hare’s nautical tirade, which was directed at Tiria. Cuthbert watched as she staggered out of the galley onto the swaying deck. Then he continued.
“Top o’ the mornin’, shipmate Tillie! The sun’s in the sky, the waves ’neath our keel, an’ a fair wind at our stern. So let me read ye the articles o’ this vessel. Bein’ as I’m cap’n, the navigatin’ an’ steerin’ are my task, an’ there ain’t a bully afloat does it better’n me! Ole Pandion up yon is the lookout an’ fish catcher. Now, cock yore lugs an’ lissen, me briny beauty. Yore the first mate, head cook, bottlewasher, deckscrubber an’ scoffburner!” ’
Tiria felt it appropriate to throw a salute. “Aye aye, Cap’n, what’s your orders?”
Cuthbert scowled. “Orders! Are ye still asleep, Tillie? Yore cap’n craves vittles, so let’s see wot sort o’ grub ye can dish up. Jump to it, me ’earty!”
The ottermaid decided to play along with the eccentric hare and adopted her best seagoing manner. “Aye aye, Cap’n, I’ll whomp you up a prime scoff, sir! But you’ll excuse my asking, Cap’n, I thought we were bound westward, but we’re sailing south. I can still see the coast. Why is that, Cap’n?”
Cuthbert kept the vessel on its southward tack, replying, “Haharr, that’s ’cos we’re hard on course for the mount o’ Salamandastron, Tillie gel. Got t’call in an’ pay me respects to ole Lord Mandoral afore we turn west into the main. Now get those vittles scorchin’ afore I throws ye to the jellyfish!”
The small galley was equipped with a water barrel and a slate oven. Tiria was not familiar with cooking, having been served superbly prepared meals by Abbeycooks all her life. So she set about experimenting, using the heap of stores that the Guosim had loaded aboard. Tiria soon had a fire going with seacoal, wood and charcoal, which she added to the stove embers. First she took carrots, barley, white turnips, lentils, cabbage leaves and dandelion roots and chopped them finely. Then she added sea salt and crushed peppercorns. Finally she tossed the lot into a pan of boiling water and allowed it to simmer. After a while the concoction began to thicken, as Tiria continued stirring away, trying to ignore her ravenous captain’s shouts.
“Tillie, ye plank-ruddered swab, ain’t me vittles ready yet?”
Tiria shouted back, exchanging insults with Cuthbert. “No, they aren’t, you lollop-lugged old tyrant, and they won’t be ready until I say they are, so there!”
She expected the hare to come back at her with some salty threat about being thrown to the sharks, but instead he merely chortled and broke out into a comical ditty.
“Don’t steal your grandpa’s wooden leg an’ run away
to sea,
an’ leave yore family sheddin’ salty tears.
That cap’n only needs ye ’cos his ship ain’t got a sail,
an’ you was born with two big floppy ears.
Yore innocent an’ stupid, so stay home with me, o
child,
’cos if ye takes a voyage with sailors rough,
ye’d soon be usin’ language that’d rot yore grandma’s
frock,
an’ roarin’ out for skilly an’ plum duff!
For a life at sea is hard an’ rather lonely,
especially if you’ve got no hankychief.
With no mother hov’rin’ near to scrub out yore
scruffy ear,
you’ll catch the lurgy an’ you’ll come to grief!
Stay home, stay home, don’t buzz off o’er the foam,
stay home, don’t break yore aged mother’s heart.
You can use yore grandpa’s wooden leg to stir the por-
ridge with,
an’ Grandma’s teeth to crimp the apple tart!”
Tiria could hardly stop giggling long enough to call out that the meal was ready. Cuthbert lashed the tiller on a straight course and dashed down to the galley.
Pandion took a brief leave from his lookout post to flap down and give the food a scornful glance. “Kwaaaark! No fish stew!” He soared out over the waves to catch his own meal.
Tiria filled a bowl for herself, leaving the gluttonous hare with the ladle and the pan. She watched him apprehensively as he guzzled down a great mouthful, then smacked his lips approvingly.
“Haharr, prime scoff, Tillie me darlin’, wot d’ye call this burrgoo?”
Tiria sampled her own bowl. Surprisingly, it was very tasty. “Oh, er, it’s called Nofish stew, sir. And my name is Tiria, so would you kindly stop calling me Tillie?”
