The Rogue Crew

10

Between them, Lieutenant Scutram, Captain Rake and Sergeant Miggory buried the remains of the old sea otter. They worked swiftly, marking the sandy grave with a charred piece of timber, which had served Jum Gurdy’s uncle Wullow as a paddle. The stoat Crumdun was standing nearby, guarded by Corporal Welkin. Captain Rake beckoned him forward.

“Ye say ye seen nought of what happened here?”

The former corsair shook his head vigorously. “Nay, sir, an’ by the look of wot was left o’ that pore creature, I’m glad I didn’t. On me oath, sir!”

The captain looked to Scutram, who nodded. “I’m inclined to believe the rascal, sah, ’pon me word. Though I can’t believe that a livin’ thing, vermin or not, could do such a cruel deed to another, wot!”

Crumdun stared at the grave, still shaking his head. “I’ll tell ye, gentlebeasts. Razzid Wearat enjoyed doin’ things like that. I’ve ’eard stories about that un as’d make yore fur curl. My ole mate, Braggio—d’ye know wot the Wearat did to ’im? Wait’ll I tell ye—”

Captain Rake cut him off sharply. “No, ye won’t, mah friend. Ah don’t want tae hear another word about the murders done by yore Wearat master. An’ mind, Ah forbid ye tae speak o’ it tae any o’ mah young Patrollers, d’ye ken?”

The stoat tugged his snout. “Aye, sir!”

The tall captain saluted the grave. “’Tis a sad end tae anybeast, but rest easy, mah laddie, an’ know that your death’ll be avenged by us. We’ll make yon Wearat weep tears o’ bluid, Ah swear et on these blades!”

Touching his lips to the blades of the twin claymores, which he had drawn to salute the fallen otter, Rake Nightfur sheathed them, turning smartly. “Sarn’t Miggory, get the Patrol underway, if ye please!”

They marched off along the shore into the sunlit spring day, though gossip was rife throughout the ranks about what they had missed seeing.

“I say, why d’you suppose we weren’t allowed one bally peek?”

“Search me. We’ve all seen deadbeasts before, haven’t we?”

“Speak for y’self, Wilbee, I jolly well haven’t!”

“Huh, must’ve been somethin’ pretty dreadful, wot!”

The stern voice of Sergeant Miggory warned the speaker. “Somethin’ pretty dreadful will ’appen t’you h’if ye keep on blatherin’ h’in the ranks, laddie buck. H’an that goes for you, too, Miss Ferrul. Eyes front, now, an’ pick up the pace. Left right, left right!”

Corporal Welkin called out to Miggory, “Only one thing t’keep ’em marchin’ smartlike an’ stop the blighters talkin’, Sarn’t!”

Miggory bellowed back to him. “Ho, an’ wot’s that, Corp?”

Welkin’s reply came back equally loud. “Get ’em singin’ an’ slap anybeast who ain’t singin’ out ’earty enough on a fizzer, wot!”

The colour sergeant performed a maneuver which amazed the young hares. Twirling about, he began marching backward without breaking pace, keeping up with the column and roaring cheerfully at them. “H’I say, wot a spiffin’ h’idea! Right, you ’orrible lot, h’I wants to ’ear you singin’ like flippin’ larks. H’every verse o’ that liddle dittie h’entitled ‘The Barracks Bunfight’! An’ woe betide h’anybeast whose tonsils h’I can’t see wagglin’ like the clappers. Corporal Welkin, will you lead off? The rest of ye, join in smartly now h’in yore best voices!”

The marching ballad Miggory had chosen was one to cheer their spirits and drown any curiosity and speculation about former incidents. Everybeast sang lustily, with even the officers joining in.

“One two three four, tell me, Sergeant, tell me more!

The bloomin’ barracks bunfight’s a sight you ought to

see,

we went along last winter, old Tubby Dobbs an’ me,

with brushed an’ curled moustaches, an’ buttons

polished bright,

the gels were flutterin’ lashes at both of us that night.

“Five six seven eight, on the dot an’ don’t be late!

Stap me flippin’ vitals, the barracks did look bright,

all spiffed up with lanterns, an’ glitt’rin’ candlelight.

Two buffet tables groanin’ ’neath scads o’ lovely stuff,

pudden’n’pie’n’trifle, an’ pots o’ skilly’n’duff.

“One two three four, off we jigged across the floor!

The band was tootlin’ gaily, when Tubby gave a wail,

he’d backed into a candle, which set fire to his tail,

he bumped into the colonel, who was wolfin’ down his

grub,

they both went staggerin’ headlong, into the port wine

tub.

“Five six seven eight, Wiggy cried, ‘Look out, mate!’

The cook was servin’ duff, which went flyin’ off his

spoon,

it splattered an old fiddler, scrapin’ out a tune,

his bow shot like an arrow, an’ hit the major’s niece,

she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, so she gave him a

piece.

“Nine ten eleven, sah, give ’em blood an’ vinegah!

Hurrah for barracks bunfight, I leapt into the fray,

I meant to hit the fiddler, but his pal got in the way,

a regimental bandbeast, a hefty chap, by gum,

this ain’t a hat I’m wearin’, it’s . . . a euphonium!”

Captain Nightfur chuckled, stepping out jauntily. “Och, that’s the stuff tae give ’em, Sergeant. Can ye no’ sing ‘Hares o’ the Highlands’? That’s a braw ditty—an’ ‘Long Patrol Laddies,’ too. There’s nought like a wee spot o’ singin’ tae keep the spirit up, the noo!”

They made good progress throughout the morning. Lunchtime found the column halted in the lee of some dunes. Last autumn’s russet apples, cheese, oat bannocks and pennycloud cordial was the fare. There was no more talk of the early morning’s events.

Lieutenant Scutram winked at the sergeant. “They seem jolly cheerful now, wot!”

Miggory brushed crumbs from his tunic. “Aye, that’s as’ow h’it should be. Look out, ’ere comes the for ’ard tracker, back from scoutin’ ahead.”

Buff Redspore came loping in, throwing a hasty salute. She ignored the food which was passed to her and went straight to the captain. “Wish to report, sah. Spears ahead,’bout half a league.”

Rake Nightfur gave a quizzical glance at her. “Ah think ye’d best explain. What spears?”

The tracker clarified her report. “Further north, sah, from the tideline t’the dunes, line o’ spears, about twoscore. Stickin’ up in the sand, with skulls an’ tails decoratin’’em. Looks like some kind o’ warnin’, sah. Couldn’t see anybeast about but felt I was bein’ watched. So I did a jolly quick about-paws an’ came straight back to inform you, sah!”

The tall, dark hare snapped out orders. “Sergeant Miggory, Scutram, Lancejack Sage, come with me. We’ll stick tae the dunes until we see how the land lies. Corporal Welkin, whilst we’re awa’ get them tae clean an’ ready their weapons, an’ stay on the alert.”

With Buff Redspore leading them as pathfinder, the four hares set off at a lope through the dunes. The rest of the column relaxed, seeing as the officers were not there. Corporal Welkin berated them in real parade-ground manner. “Nah, then, you idle lot, you heard the offisah. Get them blades clean an’ sharp, no slackin’ now, an’ that means you, young Drander!”

The hulking Drander spat on his sabre blade, rubbing it moodily with sand. “Not much flamin’ point sharpenin’ weapons if a chap doesn’t get the chance to use the bally things, is there, wot!”

Corporal Welkin treated him to a stern glare. “Yore here t’do as you’re jolly well ordered, Master Drander, not what ye bloomin’ well please!”

Ferrul pouted as she tugged a knot from her sling. “T’ain’t blinkin’ fair though, is it, Corp? Why don’t we ever get to join in the fun?”

Welkin roared at her. “Stannup, miss. Attention! Chin in, shoulders square, straighten that back!”

He paced around her in a tight circle. “Join in the fun, did I hear ye say, m’gel? Go chargin’ into a row o’ spears full o’ skulls’n’tails an’ get slain by a band of savage vermin? Stop talkin’ tosh an’ look to your weapons! Aye, an’ be grateful that there’s gallant offisahs goin’ out to face up to the foe just for your benefit. Now get t’work, the whole idle, shiftless, scroungin’ lot of ye!”

Buff Redspore crouched in the reeds on a dunetop, nodding at the shore below. “Looks scary, don’t it, Cap’n, wot?”

Captain Rake took in the line of spears at a glance. “Och, weel, Ah dinnae think those things were placed there tae welcome travellers, lassie. Ye were right, though. Ah feel as though we’re bein’ watched!”

Boom boom boom!

“Yikaaaheeeee!”

The sound of drums and bloodcurdling cries rent the noontide air. Scutram drew his sword.

“Can’t see ’em, sah, but it sounds as if there’s a horde o’ the blighters, wot?”

Rake Nightfur drew both his claymores, setting off at a leisurely pace. “Fine braw warriors we’d be if we let noises frighten us awa’. Let’s gang doon an’ take a closer look. Mayhap they’ll show themselves.”

They followed the captain’s easy advance. Sergeant Miggory, guarding their rear, noticed that Lancejack Sage, the youngest of the party, could hardly hold her javelin for shaking. The drumming and screeching rang out louder. Sage half turned to run, but the craggy-featured sergeant placed a firm paw on her back, murmuring softly, “Nah, then, missy, put h’a bold face on things an’ don’t be afeared. Vermin are only vermin, no matter ’ow they paints their mugs an’ yells!”

Sage took a deep breath, smiling nervously. “I know, Sarge. It’s not bein’ able to see the blighters that worries me. Where in the name o’ sufferin’ seasons are they?”

A hollow booming voice rang out. “Death awaits all those who venture into the Bloodrippers’ territory! Yaaaaah!”

Lieutenant Scutram chuckled grimly. “Well, at least they’re speakin’ to us, wot!”

“Waaaah, look!” The cry came from Buff Redspore, who was pointing to a low hillock.

A skull, probably that of some vermin, ferret or weasel, was moving over the crest of the low rise. It halted, gave a despairing screech and tumbled down onto the shore not far from them. It lay there, bleached white, grinning through socketless eyes at them. The drums pounded out, increasing their intensity.

Early eventide saw the galley Greenshroud in sight of the High North Coast. She drifted far offshore on Razzid Wearat’s orders. He no longer desired to avenge himself on sea otters, knowing they were too warlike and on the alert for battle. Redwall Abbey was Razzid’s current desire—his crew were not relishing any coming conflict with Skor Axehound’s warriors. Neither, for that matter, was Razzid, but he could not afford to lose face in front of his vermin. In the light of this, he had planned craftily to gain his aims. Knowing that even from this distance, his ship had been sighted by the sea otters, he acted. Pacing the deck with trident in paw, he scowled landward, calling up to the lookout, “Ahoy, what goes on ashore, Splitears?”

The lookout, a weasel with both ears torn from tip to base, called back from the masthead, “Lights on the point nor’east, Cap’n. Looks like alarm beacons t’me!”

Razzid nodded to Mowlag. “Muster my crew—all paws on deck!”

Searats and vermin corsairs trooped onto the welldeck, glancing up at their captain, who stared down at them from the stern gallery rail. He pointed slightly south. “See yonder lights—look hard or ye’ll miss them. Well, do ye see?”

Shekra, who stood with the crew, replied dutifully, “Aye, Cap’n, I see the lights. They glint now an’ then. Ha, there’s one, just flashed.”

Razzid wiped at his bad eye, the good one transfixing the crew. “That’s sea otters, flashin’ the last o’ the sunlight off their swords an’ axeheads. We’ve been spotted sailing into these waters. They’ll be gatherin’ round those fires on the headland. Ain’t that right, lookout?”

Splitears was not about to contradict a Wearat. He called back, “Aye, Cap’n, right ye are. There’s fires all over that’eadland. That’s where they’ll be waitin’.”

Razzid made a sweep from the south to the far point with his trident, dropping his voice to a rasping growl. “Aye, that’s the enemy, waitin’ on us, an’ we’re headin’ in straight to war with ’em. I don’t care a barnacle’s blister how many fightin’ beasts their chief can face us with. I couldn’t care less how many axes, spears, swords, slings an’ fire arrows they’ve got. I’m Razzid Wearat, an’ I’ll fight ’em down to my last crewbeast, aye, an’ go down battlin’ myself. I tell ye, mates, the name o’ Greenshroud will be a name t’be remembered on the High North Coast. Haharr, that it will! Well, are ye with me?”

What he had hoped for happened then. There was silence from the crew. He banged the gallery rail with his trident haft. “Well, are ye?” The only sound was a shuffling of footpaws. Avoiding his eyes, searats and corsairs stared at the deck planking.

Razzid shook his head. He no longer sounded confident. “Does none of ye want to fight the wavedogs?”

Still no reply was forthcoming. He slammed his trident points down into the deck, scorn dripping from his voice. “I’ve been lissenin’ t’the talk aboard this ship. What ye want is to find the Abbey o’ Redwall an’ loot it.”

A few murmurs arose from the welldeck, but Razzid silenced them with a wave of his claws.

“Harr, ye can’t fool me, ye cringin’ seascum. Right, then, so be it, let’s have a show o’ paws. All those wantin’ to invade the Abbey place?”

There was an immediate mass show of paws—all but three. Razzid drew in a breath, which sounded like a sigh of despair. “Now, all those who wants to fight the wavedogs?” Mowlag, Jiboree and Shekra held up their paws.

Apart from the sound of waves and the creak of rigging, there was silence aboard the Greenshroud.

Razzid let them wait awhile, then wiped at his bad eye and grunted, “Mowlag, take the tiller an’ turn this vessel about. Set a course south an’ east.”

Turning abruptly, he stumped off to his cabin, slamming the door after him. Though nobeast cheered aloud, there was subdued chuckling from the crew.

Jiboree cut it short, hissing sharply, “Don’t start enjoyin’ yoreselves too soon, or the cap’n might want to make a few examples. It ain’t pleasin’ ’im too much, bein’ outvoted by’is own crew.”

As they dispersed silently, he winked at Mowlag and Shekra. “Looks like we’re ’eaded for the easy life, mates.”

Mowlag grinned. “Aye, ’twas a close-run vote, though.”

Shekra added a word of caution. “We’re not home an’ dry yet, friends. Does either of ye know how to get to this Redwall Abbey?”

They shrugged wordlessly.

The vixen spoke. “An’ neither do I!”

Uggo and Posy were kicked into wakefulness. It was just after dawn. The stoat Jonder and his ferret companion, Wigga, were still sleepy and irritable at having to rise early. Jonder showed them his long sling.

“Ya see diss? Well, I’m a dead shot wid it. Got a seagull right through the eye, killed it first go. So one funny move outta yew two spikepigs an’ it’ll be ya last, understand?”

Wigga produced a short rope halter and tied Uggo’s left footpaw to Posy’s right.

The pretty hogmaid protested, “Isn’t it enough that we’re both tied together by the waist already?”

The young ferret ushered them out into the open at spearpoint. “Shut ya mouth an’ move!”

In other circumstances it would have been a pleasant day. The sea was releasing small wavelets as it ebbed, and the rising sun warmed their backs as it slowly evaporated the mist from the calm waters. Uggo took the two lines, which he had prepared the night before. They were already baited with fragments of mussel and weighted by pebbles. He passed one to Posy, pretending to sound experienced.

“Now just stand on the edge of the water. Keep a tight hold of your line with one paw, an’ chuck it out with the other, like this.”

He cast his line, which fell miserably short, plopping into the shallows not far from their footpaws. As he was doing this, Uggo was peering anxiously into the misted sea for a sign of a log, but there was none.

Wigga prodded him with his spear. “Are ya sure ye’ve done this afore, pin’ead?”

Jonder also appeared scornful. “Hah, there ain’t no fishes round ’ere. I kin see inta dat water, an’ there’s nuthin’ there!”

Posy tried to help with a suggestion. “I think the fish must be farther out. We’ll have to wade in a bit. Might be mackerel or herring if we go deeper.”

At that moment, Uggo caught sight of a dark, blurred shape off to their right in the mist. He tried hard to act casual. “Er, right, let’s head outward this way.”

They had taken only a few paces into the sea when Jonder called after them, “Where do ya think yer goin’?”

Putting a bold face on, Uggo retorted, “Where d’ye think? We’re goin’ after fish!”

Wigga leaned on his spear. “Wot, all the way out there?”

Uggo could see the object. It was a log, still some distance away—an old pine trunk, with branches sticking from it. He nudged Posy, but she could already see the log.

Jonder waded into the water, shouting at them. “Don’t ya go no deeper—dat’s far enough!” He struggled quickly back ashore, shaking himself. “Brr, dat water’s blinkin’ well freezin’. I ain’t goin’ after ’em, are yew?”

Wigga spat into the ebbing tide ripples. “Who, me? I ain’t gittin’ drownded fer a couple o’ ’edgepigs. Leave ’em ta fish. They can’t go nowhere, it’s only sea out there.”

Posy chanced a backward glance at the vermin guards. “They’re not following. Must be afraid of the cold sea.”

Uggo drew in a deep breath as they forged deeper into the water. “About time we made a break for that log, Posy. Can you swim?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Uggo shrugged. “Neither can I. Come on, let’s try!” Dropping the fishing lines, they splashed off toward the log.

Now the vermin had spotted it. Jonder set a stone in his sling, yelling, “Git back ’ere, or I’ll slay ya. Git back!”

His stone fell short.

Wigga kicked him angrily. “I thought yew was supposed ter be a dead shot wid dat thing. Snaggs’ll skin us both if’n we go back widout those ’ogs. Cummon!”

He waded in, holding the spear above his head, forging after the captives as fast as he could. Jonder slung more stones, until Wigga roared at him.

“Stop slingin’, ya idjit, afore I gets ’it by a stone!”

Now the sea was too deep for wading. Uggo and Posy tried their best, but they kept sinking. Posy spat out salt water.

“Phwoo—that one with the spear’s after us now!” Uggo shouted. “Ahoy, the log, we’re sinkin’ an’ the vermin are comin’ for us. Heeeeelp!”

Then things developed swiftly. Four dark shapes sped past them, straight for Wigga. Two huge, strong paws lifted their heads clear of the sea. It was Jum Gurdy. He bore them both across to the log, lifting them onto the floating pine trunk. The Redwall Cellardog’s homely face beamed at them. “Hold on tight, young uns. Yore safe!”

Wigga was not a bad swimmer. He struck out after Uggo and Posy, his teeth clenched around his spear. That was when the four dark shapes hit him like flying missiles. He sank limply beneath the waters, leaving a broken spear floating on the surface. At the tideline, Jonder was puzzled at the turn of events. Why had Wigga vanished from sight like that?

Swinging his sling, he ventured into the shallows, crying, “Wigga, where are ya, mate? They’re gittin’ away!”

The four dark shapes came speeding at him through the sea. Jonder dashed back to dry land, yelling in terror.

“Snaggs, the fish monsters ’ave got Wigga! ’Elp, Snaaaggggs!”

The fox and his young vermin gang came rushing to the tideline. One of the monsters shoved its sleek head above the surface. It made a defiant honking sound, as if challenging the vermin.

Snaggs snatched the sling from Jonder. “I ain’t afeared o’ no fish monster—’ere, take this!” He slung the stone at the sleek-headed beast, but the thing caught the missile in its mouth. Spitting it back at him, it flapped a pair of webbed flippers, encouraging Snaggs to have another try.

The rat Blawd threw his club at the fish monster. This time it caught it skilfully in its mouth, tossed it in the air and began balancing it expertly on its nosetip. The beast’s three companions surfaced, clapping their flippers in applause.

As Uggo and Posy perched on the log, watching the performance, Jum Gurdy floated beside them, holding on to the log. He explained, “They’re seals. That big un doin’ all the clever tricks is a bull seal. They’ve been with me ever since they came across me waitin’ offshore with this log. I don’t know wot t’make of ’em, really. That big ole bull seal just popped up alongside an’ nudged me hard with his snout. Prob’ly warnin’ me away from his wives. They never said a word, even though I tried to talk with ’em. They kept me company, swimmin’ easy-like an’ keepin’ an eye on me. Then those vermin showed up. Did ye see the way they slew the ferret? I tell ye, young Wiltud, those seals are big dangerous beasts, an’ they don’t seem t’take kindly to vermin.

“Anyhow, whilst they’re keepin’ the fox an’ his cronies busy, we’ll get out of here. Snap off a few o’ those branches an’ get paddlin’. I’ll rest awhile. I’m bone tired after pushin’ this thing around half the night in cold seawater. Oh, er, who’s yore pretty liddle friend?”

The hogmaid shook Jum’s paw. “I’m Posybud, sir, but you can call me Posy. I was captured in early spring by the vermin. They murdered my pore ma an’ pa.”

Jum caught the desolate look on Posy’s face, so he quickly changed the subject. “Well, ’tis a pleasure t’meet ye, Posy— an’ you, young Uggo. I thought for certain you was dead, drowned in that woodland pool back there, then washed out t’sea on the stream. So I followed the stream awhile, then I saw the smoke from the vermin fire an’ spotted their den. I could see this log driftin’ round in the shallows. So, figurin’ there was too many o’ those rascals to fight with, I thought up my plan.”

They were a fair distance from the seals and vermin now. Uggo smiled as he looked back at the scene. “I don’t know wot would’ve become of us without you, Mister Gurdy, an’ the seals, too.”

Posy was watching the performance of the big bull and his three mates. “See, the seals are tormenting the vermin, but Snaggs is afraid of taking them on in the sea. He must be furious that we’ve escaped.”

Jum continued helping to propel the log along. “Well, let’s not give ’em a second chance, young un. Let’s get out o’ the way o’ vermin, an’ seals, too. We’ll stay on this course until I see someplace to land. Mebbe I’ll spot ole Uncle Wullow, then we’ll get vittles, a fire an’ a place to rest our heads in peace. Wouldn’t that be nice!”

Uggo pointed to a dark cloudbank rolling in from the western horizon. “Looks like rain!”

There was a flash and a distant boom.

Posy nodded. “Aye, rain, and a lot more, if I’m not mistaken. It sounds like we’re in for a storm!”