The Rogue Crew

23

Jum Gurdy wandered amongst the injured Guosim on the streambank, looking for new arrivals. The old squirrel Rekaby and his band of Fortunate Freepaws were doing a fine job treating wounded shrews. Foober the squirrelmaid knew what Jum was looking for. She shook her head sympathetically at him.

“Yore liddle ’ogfriends ain’t showed up, Mister Gurdy. I think we’ve seen the last of the beasts wanderin’ in now.”

Redwall’s big old Cellardog heaved a weary sigh. “Thankee, miss. I was tryin’ not t’give up hope of seein’ Posy an’ Uggo, but it looks like they ain’t about to turn up’ere. Where could those young uns ’ave got to?”

Foober noticed that the infant hog was no longer with Jum. She reproached him mildly. “Wot ’appened to baby Wiggles? Weren’t ye in charge of ’er?”

Jum waved his rudder toward a huge sycamore. “The liddle scamp’ll be up there. Who taught a hogbabe to climb like a squirrel, I’d like to know?”

Foober carried on splinting a shrew’s footpaw. “Sorry. That was me.” She shouted toward the sycamore, “Wiiiiggggllleeeesss! Git down ’ere right now, or I’ll skelp yore behind!”

The upper branches shook, then Wiggles’s head appeared amidst the foliage—she was giggling.

“Heeheehee! No, no, not ’til ole fattydog comes up t’get me!”

Jum shrugged at Foober. “The scamp knows I can’t climb trees. Leave ’er. When she’s hungry, she’ll come down.”

However, Foober was made of sterner stuff. Passing Jum a bandage, she leapt up. “You carry on bindin’ this splint, Mister Gurdy. I’ll see t’that cheeky wretch afore she’s much older!”

With a bound, the squirrelmaid was up the sycamore trunk, vanishing into the foliage. There was a sudden rustle of leaves, followed by squeaks of dismay.

“Yeeeeek! Leggo a Wiggles! I only a likkle babe, y’know!”

In the blink of an eye, Foober dropped from the lower boughs with Wiggles firmly in her paws. She was outraged at being captured so easily.

“Leggo of Wiggles or I bite ya wiv me sharp likkle teefs!”

But Foober had other ideas. Grabbing a pawful of bandages and a splint, she went to work on Wiggles.

She liked the idea of the swing Foober rigged up for her on a low bough. But she soon began squealing when the squirrelmaid bound her to it with the bandages. Wiggles’s tiny paws kicked helplessly in all directions.

“Yeeeek! ’Elp me—get Wiggles down, ole Rekbee, ’elp!”

Rekaby took an extra length of bandage, shaking it at Wiggles. “One more squeak out of ye, liddle curmudgeon, an’ I’ll gag ye, an’ that’s a promise!”

Wiggles took the threat to heart and hung there scowling darkly in silence.

Rekaby watched Jum trying to bind the splint, smiling at his efforts. “Finish off that dressin’, Foober. Friend Jum’s a bit lackadaisical at dressin’s.”

He took Jum to one side. “Can I ’ave a word with ye, mate?”

The big otter nodded. “Have as many words as ye like.”

Rekaby patted Jum’s back. “Good, now how’s this for an idea. I know yore still hopin’ that Uggo’n’Posy are still alive. So am I. So if’n they ain’t turned up ’ere, they’ve prob’ly carried on tryin’ to find their way to Redwall. Would ye agree with that?”

Jum nodded. “Aye, I would, old un, but ’ow can we do anythin’ about that?”

The silver-furred squirrel explained, “Well, it looks like everybeast is bound for Redwall. Sea otters, hares, mebbe any Guosim who escaped the slaughter an’ those vermin with their ship on wheels, curse their rotten ’ides! So, we’ve got a logboat left to us by Cap’n Rake. Why don’t we travel to Redwall as well? I’ll send Fiddy’n’Frudd for the rest o’ my bunch, we’ll rest up today an’ start tomorrow. I’ll load the worst-injured Guosim into the logboat an’ we’ll tow it from the banks.”

Jum liked the idea. “Aye that’d work, an’ may’aps when we gets t’the Abbey we’ll find Uggo’n’Posy are already there.”

Rekaby winked at Jum. “’Twouldn’t surprise me.”

Foober looked up from her work. “Skor Axe’ound an’ Cap’n Rake might’ve found yore two ’ogs by now. I wonder if they’ve caught up with the vermins’ ship yet.”

At that very moment, Skor was fishing a deadbeast from the river a league or two upstream.

Lieutenant Scutram leaned out from the prow of a logboat. “Not one of ours, eh, sah?”

The sea otter Chieftain heaved the carcass up onto the bank with his axeblade, commenting gruffly, “A vermin, dead stoat. Arrowshaft clean through his neck. Wot d’ye make o’ this, Ruggan?”

His eldest son inspected the arrow closely. “Guosim shrew, I’d say. Good shot, from someplace up in a tree, judging by the angle.”

Rake called from the prow of his logboat, “Yonder’s another, Ah’d say. Can ye reach him, Sarn’t?”

Miggory trapped the second vermin with his paddle. “H’it looks like h’a searat t’me. Got no arrers in ’im, though.”

Buff Redspore seized the searat’s tail, hauling it round so she could view it. Buff gave a prompt verdict. “Slingstone got this villain—right through the eye, wot!” She released the tail disgustedly. “Savages! Don’t they ever bury their slain comrades, wot?”

Rake chuckled mirthlessly. “Och, Ah’d like tae see mair o’ the rascals floatin’ round. So, et looks like we’ve got some Guosim allies, eh?”

Gil and Dreel, who had taken to the bankside, called out their findings. “Tracks here, Lord, looks like them.”

“Aye, ’bout somewheres over half a score, mostly shrews, but there are two pair o’ hedgepig prints an’ one that belongs to a sea otter, sire.”

Skor gave a great rough laugh. “Hohoho! That’ll be my young bucko. I’d wager he was the slingstone thrower, eh, eh, hohoho!”

Rake motioned both logboats to the bank. “Buff, go with those two Rogue Crew trackers. We’ll bide here awhile. Find where the tracks go an’ report back tae me. Off ye go, now!”

There was not even time to sit and enjoy a snack. The trackers returned in a surprisingly short time. Buff Redspore, who was by far the superior trail reader of the trio, made a prompt report to Rake and Skor.

“Shrews must be followin’ the confounded vermin ship, sah. No signs of either, but by the condition o’ the ground thereabouts, I’d say there was a jolly old watermeadow not too far away. P’raps we’ll catch ’em up there, wot!”

Rake helped Buff back into the logboat.

“Aye, ’tis likely we may. Time tae get underway again.”

Some of the Rogue Crew took to the water, whilst others trotted along on either bank. Sergeant Miggory stretched out in the stern of a logboat, trailing his paw in the river. “This beats marchin’ h’into a cocked ’at. C’mon, you layabouts, get paddlin’. Don’t stray h’into rough waters, now. Stay in the nice, smooth bits.”

Big Drander splashed out with his paddle, soaking the colour sergeant. He apologised, grinning from ear to ear. “I say, Sarn’t, sorry about that, me jolly old paddle slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye?”

Miggory held a paw toward Drander. “I dunno—tell me wot you think, big feller.”

Drander stood awkwardly, reaching out to touch the sergeant’s paw. As he did, a quick flick from Miggory toppled him into the river. Miggory watched as his comrades rescued Drander.

“Ho, sorry h’about that, young sah, me jolly h’old paw slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye, wot?”

Drander was hauled aboard, muttering, “Couldn’t get much bloomin’ wetter, could I?”

Corporal Welkin Dabbs winked at the big young hare. “A lesson learned is knowledge gained, doncha know!”

They reached the watermeadow in the early evening. Trackers were sent out again as Ruggan scanned the surface. He picked up an arrow.

“This is a vermin shaft, an’ here’s another. Looks like they were gettin’ a few shots off at the shrews.”

Buff Redspore fished out a third searat arrow. “Seems they didn’t have much blinkin’ luck. There’s no dead Guosim, or even bloodtrail on the banks. Anyhow, the Greenshroud’s left here, carried on back to the jolly old River Moss, if ye ask me.”

Skor scratched his matted beard. “Right, but where’ve the shrews an’ that son o’ mine got to?”

Rake Nightfur offered an explanation. “They’re bound tae follow the ship, but with nae boats, they’ll have tae go the long way around, by the bank.”

Skor waded ashore. “Yore right. I say we follow ’em.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded. “Good idea, sah. We might even catch up with the Guosim at the river. Then we could join forces h’an’ give those vermin wot for, eh!”

It appeared to be a good plan, with both hares and otters in agreement. They set off along the watermeadow fringes, following the trail, which began to lead inland. Instead of abandoning the two logboats, they took turns to portage them.

Trug Bawdsley murmured to Flutchers, “Actually, this don’t look like the way to the bloomin’ river t’me, wot. Where d’ye suppose we’re goin’?”

Corporal Welkin tweaked his ear from behind, reminding him sternly, “Yore bally well goin’ where the officers tell ye to go, Bawdsley, so save yore blinkin’ breath!”

Flutchers came to his friend’s defence. “I say, steady on, Corp. All old Trug was sayin’ was that if we’re jolly well headin’ inland, then there ain’t much flamin’ chance we’re goin’ t’bump into a bloomin’ boat, now, is there, wot?”

Welkin Dabbs tweaked Flutchers’s ear, though not too hard. “It’s a ship, Flutchers, a ship, not a blinkin’ boat. I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, laddie buck—it’s a ship with four wheels. So why shouldn’t we bump into it, eh?”

Trug came back smartly, “Because we’ve got three good trackers with us, an’ not one of ’em’s reported a single bally wheelmark, that’s why!”

Captain Rake saved the corporal’s face by upbraiding all three. “Och, will ye no’ stop janglin’ like two auld mouse biddies at a tea party? Eyes front, now, an’ lips sealed, ye ken?”

Trug and Flutchers replied as one. “Sah!”

However, in the light of what Trug had said about the lack of wheeltracks, the dark-furred captain was beginning to have his doubts about the scheme.