The Rogue Crew

26

Time hung frozen over the awful tableau. Then one of the foxes dropped his crossbow, calling out hoarsely, “Lord Ketral, halt!”

He was held by both ears from behind by Skor Axehound, Warchief of the Rogue Crew, who was swinging his battleaxe.

“Kill the young uns an’ I’ll slay ye all, startin’ with this bush-tailed scum!”

In the pause that followed, twin claymore blades came from behind, trapping Ketral Vane’s throat. A heavy highland voice whispered in his ear, “Aye, laddie. An’ ye’ll be second in line at Hellgates. Wi’out a head an’ all, but dinnae fret, Ah’ll send that on wi’ one o’ yer braw beasties!”

The next voice was Sergeant Miggory, reporting, “H’all secure’ere, sah. Just give the nod an’ not one’ll be left standin’, sah. Drander, don’t let that lance droop. Keep h’it tight by the lady’s shoulderblades!”

Big Drander pressed his lance firmly against the vixen. “Beg pardon if this tickles ye, marm, but I’d stay jolly still if I were you, wot!”

Swiffo was smiling from ear to ear, shaking his head. “Pa, where’d you come from?”

Ruggan patted his head roughly. “From the High North Coast to find ye, little brother. Hmm, got yoreself in a bit of a fix, I see.”

Swiffo shook his brother’s paw heartily. “Oh, ’twas nothin’ I couldn’t have got out of!”

Log a Log Dandy winked at Skor. “Ye’d best believe ’im, Axehound. Swiffo ain’t short o’ nerve when it comes to the action.”

Skor passed his captive over to the bloodythirsty maid, Kite Slayer. He held out both paws.

“Come here, ye young rip, let’s take a look o’ ye!”

As Skor hugged his youngest son, Ruggan enquired, “Wot d’we do with these villains, sir?”

Skor replied casually, “They’re vermin, ain’t they? Kill’em!”

Captain Rake was quick to countermand the order. “Och, no, ye auld savage. We’re warriors, not murderers!”

The big sea otter Chieftain shook his head, sighing. “As ye wish, Nightfur, but ye’ll be sorry one day. Take their weapons an’ throw ’em on the fire. Let’s get some vittles cookin’—I’m famished!”

Bound paw and tail to the giant tree trunks, Ketral Vane and his foxes were forced to look on as otters and hares broke out supplies and readied a meal.

Trug Bawdsley poked the flames with an unstrung crossbow. “Funny-lookin’ weapons, Sarn’t. Are they any good?”

The sergeant curled his lip. “Too fussy, take too long t’get ready. An’ they don’t fire as good as a proper yew longbow. Make decent firewood, though, don’t they?”

Lancejack Sage had roasted a slice of the cauliflower fungus on a crossbow bolt. She took a dainty bite. “I say, this tastes jolly good. Wonder what it’s called.”

Lieutenant Scutram munched on a roasted chestnut. “Poison puffball, I should think, missy.”

The lancejack smiled sweetly at him. “Lovely flavour, though, sah. Any left there, you chaps?”

Skor questioned Dandy. “Now then, old bristlebonce, y’still haven’t told us what yore doin’ so far off the track.”

The Guosim Chieftain seemed to ignore the term bristlebonce for a moment, but then he came back pointedly. “Well, I’ll tell ye, ole barrelbelly. We ain’t so much far off the track as tryin’ to get ahead o’ the vermin crew. I plan on makin’ it to Redwall ahead of the Greenshroud. That way we can warn the Redwallers, stand alongside of ’em an’ face Razzid Wearat in a united group. Aye, an’ from behind good, high stone walls. Drogbuk reckons he knows a shortcut that should get us to the Abbey double quick, y’see.”

Skor pointed with his axehaft at the ancient hog.

“What, y’mean that ole bag o’ bones an’ shaky spikes? Huh, looks as though he couldn’t find his snout with all four paws t’me, Dandy. You should’ve followed the riverbanks.”

Drogbuk Wiltud waved a piece of broken crossbow at Skor. “Ahoy, bigbeast, who d’ye think yore insultin’, eh? If’n I was a few seasons younger, I’d tan yore rudder with this!”

Holding up his paws in mock fear, Skor hid a grin. “’Tis a good thing I fetched some warriors to defend me. Righto, Granpa, which way is it to Redwall Abbey, then?”

Drogbuk chunnered as he tried to get his few remaining teeth around a roasted chestnut. He pointed vaguely. “Er, lemme see, that way, I think. . . .”

Log a Log Dandy threw up his paws in bewilderment. “Ye think? But you told us ye knew the way for certain!”

The old hedghog scowled. “No, I never. All I said was I think I know a shortcut. I never said for certain. I’m old, y’know. Ye forgets things when yore old.”

Ruggan shook his head in disbelief. “I think we should cut ye loose on yore own, y’ole idjit!”

Drogbuk stamped his paw down hard; there was a rattle of falling spikes. He turned on the young sea otter fiercely. “Who are yew callin’ an ole idjit, eh? Lissen, fuzzface, ye’ll be old yoreself one day. Hah, I ’opes they cut yew loose then, widout a crust or a drop t’drink, so there! Besides, you ain’t so smart, the lot of ye, or haven’t ye noticed anythin’ amiss?”

Buff Redspore looked up from a beaker of pennycloud cordial. “Not really, sah. Er . . . can you see anythin’ amiss, wot?”

Drogbuk employed a grimy claw to root amidst his tooth stubs. “While ye’ve been so busy feedin’ yore faces an’ tellin’ me wot an ole fool I am, yore foxes ’ave escaped.”

Captain Rake dashed toward the deserted tree trunks. “Why didn’t ye say somethin’, auld un?”

Drogbuk inspected his claw before wiping it, commenting, “’Cos ye never asked me. Besides, I’ve only just noticed it.”

Sure enough, Ketral Vane and his six foxes had vanished, leaving behind their long black and green capes amidst a lot of severed bonds. Big Drander stared in disgust at Endar Feyblade, one of Skor’s crew.

“I say, weren’t you supposed t’be watchin’ ’em?”

Ruggan confronted the big young hare. “No, I thought that was yore famous Long Patrol’s job!”

The ottermaid Kite turned sternly on Log a Log Dandy. “We just saved you lot. The least ye could’ve done was to keep an eye on them foxes!”

Captain Rake had to shout to be heard over the squabbles which erupted. “Och, will ye no hauld yer whisht! We’re no’ gettin’ anywhere yammerin’ on like a lot of auld ninnies. Silence, Ah say! Those foxes slipped away like smoke. They’re vermin, aye, but braw, canny beasts. So what d’we do now? Ah’m lookin’ for sensible ideas, ye ken!”

“We runs fer our lives afore they come back in force!”

It was Drogbuk who had spoken.

Skor Axehound brandished his battleaxe, towering over the old hedgehog. “Not whilst I’m Warchief o’ the Rogue Crew. We don’t run from anybeast!”

Drogbuk sucked on a roasted acorn and chuckled. “Brave words, wavedog. I’m goin’ t’run fer it. You can stay’ere an’ face a load o’ toads armed with blowpipes an’ poisoned darts. That Ketral comman’s some snakes, too. Ye can always take a chance whether they’re poison or not. Shouldn’t be much trouble to fightin’ beasts like yew lot.”

Sergeant Miggory squatted down in front of Drogbuk. “We gets yore point, h’old feller. None of us ’ave been ’ere afore, so we wouldn’t know where t’run. Where would you’ead for, mate?”

Drogbuk tapped the side of his snout and winked. “I knows one place they stays well away from. D’ye want me to take ye there?”

Lieutenant Scutram held forth a paw, helping the old one up. “Lead on, dear chap, lead on. We’re with you!”

They all moved off, with Drogbuk in the lead, assisted by Uggo and Posy lest he stumble. He took them on a twisting route through the big trees, fern beds and yielding loam. The atmosphere became distinctly gloomier.

Young Flutchers cast a worried glance at their surroundings. “I say, can’t get much bloomin’ murkier, can it? There’s not even that sort o’ green light about anymore, wot.”

Corporal Welkin tweaked Flutchers’s ears to silence him. “That’ll be because it’s nighttime, laddie buck. Now no more talking—mum’s the word, wot!”

Flutchers was about to ask why when he heard Dandy the Guosim Chieftain murmuring to Ruggan. “They’re on to us. We’re bein’ followed, listen to that.”

A high-pitched yipping could be heard from some distance.

Sergeant Miggory identified it. “Fox call, h’if I h’aint mistaken. Comin’ from h’off t’the left. There’s a couple more fox cries, one t’the right an’ two t’the rear of us someplace. D’ye ’ear ’em, sah?”

Captain Rake nodded. “Aye, Ah can that, Sarn’t. Sounds tae me like they’re tryin’ tae trap us in a pincer movement. We’ll have tae march double quick an’ stay quiet.”

Skor caught up with Drogbuk in the lead. “Ahoy, old un, where’s this place yore takin’ us to, an’ how far away is it?”

Accompanied by Uggo and Posy, the ancient hog was limping. “Can’t be too far off now. Hear that runnin’ water? It’s over that way. Me ole footpaws aren’t workin’ right. I’m slowin’ down, but there ain’t much I can do about it.”

The sea otter Chieftain summoned four burly Rogue Crew members. Lashing two shields to spear poles, they made a portable chair. Skor gave his orders.

“Carry this ole beast, an’ go whichever way he tells ye.”

As the sounds of running water drew closer, so did the fox calls. Captain Rake found the water source first. It was a medium-sized stream with steep banks.

Drogbuk pointed ahead. “Keep goin’ this way ’til ye see the hill with a tunnel goin’ into it. That’s the place we want.”

Lancejack Sage was heard to remark, “Well, we’d better find it jolly soon, chaps. Sounds like those bloomin’ foebeasts are right on our tails, wot!”

Skor issued a command to his best archers. “Fall back t’the rear o’ the column an’ pick off any enemy ye can spy. Nothin’ like a good ash shaft to discourage pursuers.”

Wilbee whispered to Kite Slayer, “He’s enjoyin’ this, ain’t he?”

Fitting an arrow to her bowstring, the bloodthirsty ottermaid halted to let the rear marchers catch up. “Well, of course he is. I am, too. War is wot we’re best at.”

The keen eyes of Buff Redspore were first to see their goal.

“There ’tis—straight ahead, big dark openin’ where the stream comes out o’ the hill!”

Trug Bawdsley exclaimed, “Have we got t’go in there, Sarn’t?” Sergeant Miggory pushed him forward.

“O’ course we ’ave, young sir. In ye go. Let’s see ye get those footpaws wet.”

Everybeast splashed into the dark, icy current, pushing their way into engulfing darkness. Some of the Guosim shrews were in over their heads, but they were buoyed up by hares and otters.

Big Drander supported Uggo and Posy. “Grab on to me, young uns, but mind those spikes, please.”

Skor stayed on the bank with his bowbeasts close to the entrance. He whirled a heavily loaded sling.

The sounds of pursuers drew closer as he whirled the sling faster. “Wait now . . . wait! No sense in firin’ until we know we can hit ’em. One good go, then straight in after the others. Don’t wait for the scum to return volleys. They’ll be usin’ poison darts, remember. Right, Crew, let’s give ’em a warm greetin’. . . . Shoot!”

Long arrows hissed off into the woodland gloom, like a flight of angry hornets. Immediately this was followed by a scream and gurgling cries. Having hurled off his slingstones, Skor nodded with satisfaction.

“That should slow the slimy scum a bit. Right, into the tunnel with ye, hurry now!”

They went—all but one, Garrent, who was putting another shaft to his bowstring.

Skor dashed back to him. “I said into the tunnel. Now move!”

Garrent ignored the order, loosing off an arrow. “Hahah! Got ’im, big toad. I saw him comin’—uuuuunnnhh!”

He dropped like a log, pierced in over six places by long, tufted darts. Skor knew that Garrent was done for. Two darts pinged off his metal shieldplate as he threw himself into the stream, wading against the current to join the rest.

The tunnel took two bends. Skor came upon the others, waiting around the curve in the second one. He shook his big bearded head angrily.

“Lost one o’ my Rogue Crew, Garrent, a great warrior, but headstrong. Wanted t’stay an’ fight, just like I do. I never retreated in my life. Can’t we go back an’ face ’em?”

They waited in the dark silence until Lieutenant Scutram put flint and steel to a couple of torches, which he had had the foresight to make on the march.

Skor struck the rock wall with his axe, repeating his challenge. “What’s the matter with ye? Come on, let’s go back an’ make a real fight of it. Who’s with me?”

Captain Rake Nightfur shook his head. “Our task, mah friend, is tae get tae Redwall an’ battle wi’ the real enemy—Razzid Wearat an’ his vermin crew. There’d be nay point in riskin’ valuable fighters just tae show yon Ketral Vane we’re no’ feared o’ him.”

Log a Log Dandy sided with Rake. “The cap’n’s right, Skor. We press on to Redwall. I’ve got unfinished business with that Wearat—he slew most of my clan, an’ wot’ve you lost? One warrior?”

The sea otter Chieftain put up his battleaxe. “I’m sorry, Dandy. Yore right, I can see that. ’Tis just when the blood rises in my eyes, I can’t help myself. We go to Redwall, but I warn ye now, the Wearat’s mine!”

Sergeant Miggory had a salient point to make. “Beggin’ yore pardon, sah, but the Wearat ’as slain some of our hares, nice beasts, young uns, too. So h’it’s first there, first served, h’if I says so meself.”

Skor grinned wolfishly. “Then we’ll take a piece of him each!”

They continued following the flooded tunnel underground. By and by, it became shallower. A rock ledge emerged on one side. Thankfully, the Guosim and the three hedgehogs climbed onto it, some of the hares also. However, the sea otters were strong swimmers. They scorned the ledge, preferring the water. The shrew Dobble voiced a thought which had been bothering others.

“Why haven’t the foxes an’ their creatures followed us in here? That’s wot I’d like t’know.”

Posy shrugged. “So would I, but I suppose we’d better just thank our fortune an’ carry on.”

Ruggan swam ahead with a torch clenched in his teeth. He had not been gone long when he called back to them, “There’s another tunnel up here—come an’ look!”

Wading onward, Drogbuk replied, “Another tunnel. . . . Which one are we supposed t’take, eh?”

Corporal Welkin assisted the old hog along the ledge. “We’ll find out when we jolly well come to it. Keep movin’, sah.”

The water began deepening again, and the current grew stronger. Ruggan was waiting for them around a further bend.

Skor looked puzzled. “Where’s this other tunnel?”

Ruggan indicated with his blazing torch. “Above the ledge, up there in the wall, see?”

Dandy reached up from the ledge where he was standing. “Funny sort o’ tunnel. Wot’s it doin’ that far up the wall?”

Skor looked up at the opening. “’Twill be a bit of a squeeze for me to get through that. Any volunteers to be first in there?”

Ruggan began heaving himself out of the water. “I found it, so s’pose I’d best go first.”

He was almost on the ledge when his younger brother, Swiffo, denied him the chance. Bounding skilfully up onto Ruggan’s shoulders, Swiffo leapt, catching hold of the entrance rim. He pulled himself up, disappearing into the dark hole. There was a momentary silence, which was cut by Skor’s booming voice echoing off the tunnel walls.

“Now then, ye young scallawag, wot’s it like in there?”

Swiffo’s head appeared at the entrance.

“Too dark t’see anythin’. Pass me the torch, Ruggan.”

Ruggan lobbed the lighted torch carefully. It described a fiery arc, but Swiffo caught it deftly. He waved and vanished again. Everybeast watched as the flickering rays diminished.

Captain Rake called out, “Dinnae get yoreself lost up there, laddie!”

More silence, then a sound began to build. It was like a gale-force wind over a grove of trees, whooshing along into a crescendo, peppered with high-pitched squeals, multitudes of them.

Sergeant Miggory had to bellow to make himself heard over the gathering tumult.

“Wot’n the name o’blood’n’thunder’s that, sah?” Swiffo came hurtling out, still grasping the smouldering torch as he hit the water and went under.

Then the huge dark shape descended on the shocked creatures.

Redwall Abbey was the picture of tranquillity in early summer dawn. Dorka Gurdy was up early, strolling the walltop, sipping a steaming beaker of comfrey and dandelion tea and nibbling on a crusty oat farl.

The rampart walks at dawn and sunset had become almost a ritual with the Abbey’s otter Gatekeeper. Her constant hope was the return of her brother Jum Gurdy and Uggo Wiltud. They had been absent some considerable time now, but she never gave up hope of seeing the pair strolling home along the path which ran alongside the Abbey. Standing on the threshold above the main gate, Dorka enjoyed the quiet moments before Redwallers awakened. Far out across the flatlands a mist-shrouded horizon was being transformed by the eastern sunrise. Soft grey, faint blue and pale gold touched distant slow-drifting cloud wisps. Wood pigeons, with their constant broody chuckles, mingled with melodious blackbird and thrush serenades from the woodlands behind. The plaintive chirrup of ascending larks blended sweetly with the chorus. The Abbey Bellringer, Ding Toller, joined her.

“I was just on my way to ring the morning bells, but who needs them, with music like this, marm?”

Dorka rested her beaker on a battlement, nodding at the tall, sombre squirrel. “Aye, who indeed, sir.”

Ding glanced southward down the path, then out over the flatlands. “No sign of Jum an’ young Uggo?”

The big otter shook her head. “Not yet, but they’ll come soon—you’ll see. Though I think they’ll arrive from the north. Don’t know why, suppose ’tis just a feelin’ I get.”

Ding nodded. “Aye, ye could be right, marm. North’s as good as any place t’come from. Ye’ll excuse me, but I has t’go an’ see to my bells.”

He was about to move off when he saw two small figures clambering up the north wallstairs.

“Will ye look at those two liddle snips! Who told ’em they could come up to these walltops alone?”

He hurried along the west rampart, followed closely by Dorka, calling out to the Dibbun pair.

“Stay where ye are, don’t take another step!”

It was Alfio the shrewbabe and Guggle the tiny squirrel. They waved cheerily.

“Goo’ mornin’ to ee. Nice up ’ere, izzen it? We was goin’ t’climb up on a wall an’ look out.”

Ding took Alfio by the paw. “Ho, no, you knows the rules about liddle uns wanderin’ round up here alone. Now, come on down, ’tis breakfast time.”

Guggle the squirrelbabe scrambled up Dorka’s habit to perch on her shoulder. “I kin see everyfink from up here, Dorky—alla trees an’ the path an’ the big ship!”

Holding him tight, Dorka mounted the battlement top.

“Big ship? Where?”

Guggle’s tiny paw shot out. “Up there onna path, see!”

There was the Greenshroud, far off as of yet, but quite distinct. The green sails hung limply as it trundled gently forward, propelled by its vermin crew wielding oarshafts.

Ding helped Dorka down, passing the custody of Guggle to her. “Forget the bells—marm, you watch this un. I’ve got t’go an’ tell our Abbot about this!”

In Great Hall, Father Abbot Thibb presided over the day’s first meal. He was halfway through the grace when Ding Toller burst in, his footpaws slapping the floorstones as he hurried to the Abbot’s side.

Thibb gave him a reproachful stare. “Could this not wait until later?”

Panting from the run, the Bellringer tried to keep his voice down as he explained hurriedly, “Big ship with green sails comin’ down the path from the north. Me’n’Dorka saw it with our own eyes, Father!”

Thibb stepped away from the table, drawing Ding close. “Carry on with breakfast in my place, and not a word to anybeast. Roogo Foremole, Sister Fisk, Fottlink, Friar Wopple, follow me, please.”