The Rogue Crew: A Tale of Redwall Page 12
Miggory muttered sternly as he peeked over at Drander. “The great wallopin’ lump’ead. I’ll deal with him later. Keep yore ’ead down, Master Wilbee, an’ be quiet!”
The empraking knelt alongside Captain Rake, making a pretence of tucking him in as he spoke quietly. “As soon as the queen thinks you rabbets are unconscious, she’ll have your maids moved out of here.”
Rake Nightfur spoke out the side of his mouth. “Where’ll she take the lassies?”
Empraking Dibby moved close to Rake’s ear. “Outside, to the left, it looks like an ordinary dune, but it’s been built like this place. It’s got a secret entrance which only Dukwina an’ her cronies know about.”
Corporal Welkin had sharp ears. He had caught all the conversation, so he joined in. “Beg pardon, ole Majesty, but how’ll she explain their disappearance, wot?”
Empraking Dibby fussed with the rug as he replied. “She doesn’t need to. Once they’re hidden away, she’ll just come back in here an’ sleep where she is now. She’ll act as surprised as you when you see the maids are gone. I know her well. She’ll say that they’ve probably gone on alone, an’ the best course is for you to follow them. I must go now, before she gets suspicious. Good luck, Captain.”
After some moments had passed, Captain Rake felt a footpaw nudge him a few times. He lay inert, not moving a muscle. One of Dukwina’s courtiers called out, “If they’re all flat out like this one, Majesty, then there’s no need to bother with any of these rabbets.”
The queen and a group of her helpers bundled the three haremaids, Sage, Ferrul and Buff Redspore, in rugs, rolling them up and dragging them off.
Through half-closed eyes, Miggory watched until they left the dwelling. “They’re gone, sah. Wot’s the next move?”
The tall, black-furred captain outlined a swift plan.
Young Trug Bawdsley, who was lying at the back of the others, hissed a warning. “Silence, chaps—be still now. They’re comin’ back!”
Dukwina strode in with her attendants in tow. She noticed the empraking and some other males settling down. “An’ what, pray, are you idle beasts up to?”
Her husband answered meekly, “Just goin’ to sleep, Dukky darling.”
She bustled over to him, paw jabbing the air. “Never mind Dukky darling. Have you cleaned all the dishes an’ pots an’ tidied up? No, you haven’t! Don’t you, or any of your idle good-for-nothing friends, even think of sleep until all the chores are done!”
The empraking and his little following scuttled off quickly.
Dukwina chuckled grimly as she and her ladies settled close to the ovens, wrapped in their rugs. “Keep them on their paws an’ give them lots to do. Empraking, indeed! All Dibby an’ his friends are good for is fetching, carrying, mopping an’ dusting. Make them know their place, that’s what I say!”
In the warmth and comfort of the dwelling, it would have been easy to relax and sleep. However, apart from big Drander, who was snoring gently, the hares of the Long Patrol lay awake, listening and watching Queen Dukwina and her retinue of pygmy shrews and sand lizards intently.
After what seemed a long while, Captain Rake moved into a crouch, issuing whispered orders. “They’ve all gone off tae sleep now. Flutchers, go an’ keep that wee stoat quiet. Sergeant Miggory, collect up all the rugs. Scutram, Welkin, watch our backs. The rest o’ ye follow me, wi’ nae clankin’ o’ weapons, ye ken!”
Drawing both his claymores, the dark-furred captain crept like a night shadow toward the queen and her companions.
12
Earlier that day, whilst Captain Rake and his column were inside the Pygmy shrew dwelling being entertained, the storm broke out over the sea. Heralded by dull thunder and some forked lightning flashes, the purple-grey cloudbanks released a veritable deluge of rainwater. With winds prevailing westerly, the face of the deep became a scene of chaos. Foam-crested waves were lashed into a fury of mountains and troughs, battered by the incessant downpour.
Without sail, rudder or any means of propulsion other than branches broken from the pine trunk, the escapers were in real trouble.
Jum Gurdy was half in, half out of the water, trying to stop the log rolling over. Spitting seawater, he shouted above the din of the gale. “Throw those branches away, young uns. Try to stay in the middle of this thing, an’ ’old on for dear life!”
Uggo and Posy were terror-stricken. They clutched each other and the pine bark, sobbing with fear. Never in their wildest imaginings had they ever witnessed the awesome force of a storm on the high seas. There was no controlling the log as it was swept further out from sight of land. Drenched and sodden to the spikes, the two young hedgehogs were sickened to their stomachs by the seesaw motion—first up on the high crest of a wave, then dropping swiftly down into a deep watery vale. Sometimes they would glance up from the trough to find themselves facing a wall of translucent blue-green water. Next moment would find them riding a foam-lathered wavecrest with nothing above them save an angry, purple-bruised sky.
It was at the top of such a wave that the log began to topple from end to end. Uggo and Posy screamed as they hung in midair for a brief moment, grabbing at the underside of the rolling pine. Trying to hold one end of the log from an underwater position, Jum saw them both slip into the sea. He struck out toward them with the dull, boiling boom of breaking waves above him.
Uggo and Posy had gone under, still hanging on to one another. The big old otter grabbed them both, hurling them back onto the log, which was just descending from another wavetop. They scrabbled onto the pine trunk, but Jum Gurdy was not so lucky. He was struck over the head by the log end.
The pine trunk careered wildly off to the northwest, skidding between the serried lines of rollers. Uggo and Posy clung to the branches, half crouching, half standing as they yelled, “Jum! Jum Gurdy! Juuuuuuummmmm!”
Though they shouted until they were hoarse, there was no sign of their otter friend anywhere amidst the wild world of trackless heaving sea.
Aboard the Greenshroud Razzid Wearat and Mowlag fought to master the swivelling tiller arm to hold the vessel on some kind of course. Rigging sang, and drenched sails ballooned out tightly as the corsair galley flew through the storm-wrenched seas like a great green-plumed bird.
Blowing spume from his muzzle, Razzid snarled orders at his crew. “Set up those pawlines runnin’ fore to aft—make fast every sheet an’ sprit. We’ll keep her out to sea an’ ride this storm out, ’tis the only way!” Shielding his good eye, he peered up to the mainmast head. “Ahoy, what d’ye see up there? Is there any break ahead?”
Jiboree had lashed himself into the crow’s nest. Dashing spray from his eyes, he peered about, then his paw shot out. “Ahoy, the tiller, south an’ east! I can spy the edge o’ the gale. See, there!”
Razzid passed his hold on the tiller to a searat. Making his way for’ard, he limped out onto the long prow. Clinging to the rigging, he stood upright, staring southeast. There it was, the end of the cloudbanks. Long rays of early evening sunlight shafted down, like golden slides from sky to sea.
He laughed triumphantly. “Take ’er on a tack, port an’ ahead as she goes!”
Shekra the vixen looked distinctly wan; she was no lover of storms. A grizzled searat clapped her on the back.
“Haharr, we’ll be outta this by nightfall, fox. There ain’t a ship on the seas like ole Greenshroud, aye an’ not another master to ’andle ’er so well as Cap’n Razzid!”
Shekra leaned over the starboard rail gloomily. “Aye, an’ nobeast has any idea where Redwall Abbey is. I’ve a feeling we’d be better off taking to the land.”
The ship dipped suddenly into a trough. Shekra floundered halfway over the rail before she was yanked back by the grinning Searat. “Haharr, the only land ye’ll find down there’ll be the seabed. Ain’t no Abbey down there!”
The vixen smiled weakly. “You’re right. I’d better stay amidships.”
The seas calmed as night fell. True to the searat’s predi
ction, Greenshroud had weathered the storm. Razzid and his crew were so fatigued from fighting the elements that they did nothing further that day. A sounding line was lowered, and the water was found to be of a suitable depth for a kedge-anchor. This was an anchor on a long hawser, which stopped the vessel drifting too far in any direction.
It was past midnight when Shekra, still feeling queasy, could no longer abide the muggy surroundings of the galley. Leaving the grog fumes, the smell of cooking fish and stodgy skilly’n’duff, she wandered out on deck. Being Razzid’s Seer, the vixen did not want to go to the captain’s cabin. It would only mean a further round of questions as to the location of the fabled Redwall. Razzid would want her to start casting spells and reading omens, a dangerous thing to do if they did not agree with his ideas.
She was leaning over the stern gallery, staring into the dark waters, when something hit the starboard side close to the stern. It was not a great impact, merely a gentle thud. Unhooking a lantern, Shekra moved around to locate the object.
There it was, rocking against the hull—a battered pine trunk, with two senseless little hedgehogs draped over it. Shekra quickly got a boathook, a long, pikelike implement. Using the point and the hook, she maneuvered the log easily along, until it was amidships.
The searat she had spoken to previously lurched out onto the deck. “Still a touch wobbly on the ole paws, are ye, fox?’Ere, take a swig o’ this grog, that’ll set ye right!”
Shekra declined the offer. “Put that stuff aside and help me to get these two creatures aboard.”
Razzid Wearat sat at his cabin table, staring at the two bedraggled young ones. They lay on the decking in a pool of water, still senseless. He touched Posy with his footpaw.
“Ye say ye found them adrift on a log? Now I wonder what two liddle ’edgepigs would be doin’ out at sea alone. They’re still breathin’—see to them, Shekra. If they come around, maybe they’ve got a tale to tell.”
The vixen had Uggo and Posy carried to the galley, where it was warm. She laid them on a worn rope fender in a corner. The cook cackled as he honed his skinning knife. “Brought ’em for the pot, ’ave ye, fox? I never peeled one o’ those spikybeasts afore. Still there’s always a first time, eh. Wot say ye, shipmates?”
The crewbeasts guffawed coarsely, commenting, “’Tis a while since we ’ad some fresh meat!”
“Huh, they’ll make skinny pickin’s, I’ll wager!” Shekra stood over her charges, snarling, “Git back, ye seascum. These two ain’t t’be touched or hurt—cap’n’s orders, so stay yore distance!” She whipped out a thin, keenedged blade, menacing them.
A slobbering weasel gave her a look of mock alarm. “Ho, deary me, ye’ve got us all frightened, marm!”
The vixen jabbed her blade, making him stagger back. “Better t’be frightened than dead, grogsnout. Then cooky would have t’cook you. Anybeast fancy weasel stew?”
Her remark appealed to the corsairs’ macabre humour and made the atmosphere more cordial. They began bantering.
“Ahoy, mate, ’ave ye ever tasted weasel stew?”
The fat greasy cook, himself a weasel, shook his head. “Nah, us weasels don’t taste nice. I bit me tongue once, an’ I tasted ’orrible!”
Even Shekra had to smile at that. Taking down a wheezy and tattered concertina, the greasy cook sang in a raucous tone a ditty he had composed.
“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,
pay ’eed now whilst I sing,
I’m a salty cove, give me a stove,
an’ I’ll cook anything!
“When I first went to sea,
’twas a long long time ago,
as second cook to an ole searat,
who taught me all I know.
An’ many’s the fox we fried,
an’ ferrets we flambéed,
’til I slew the cook wid a rusty ’ook,
wot a tasty dish ’e made!
“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,
pay ’eed now whilst I sing,
I’m a salty cove, give me a stove,
an’ I’ll cook anything!
“But I’ll tell ye, shipmates,
there’s nought like roasted rat,
an’ not a skinny, weedy one,
just roast ’im to a turn,
an’ serve wid skilly’n’duff,
all pipin’ ’ot, right out the pot
haharr, mates, that’s the stuff!
“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,
the fact is pretty plain,
once you’ve chewed at a roasted rat,
y’ll be back for more again!”
Several irate searats whipped out their blades. The cook hopped out of the galley smartly, shouting, “Wot’s the matter, mates—can’t ye take a joke?”
Uggo opened his eyes. Spitting seawater, he sat up gingerly, gazing around. “Where am I? Wot happened? Posy, are you alright?”
The pretty hogmaid attempted to rise but fell back. “Oh, my head. I feel awful, Uggo!”
Shekra hauled them both up. “Come on, you two. Now yore awake, the cap’n will want a word with ye. Come on,’tis not good to keep him waitin’.”
The vixen shoved them out onto the deck, still half dazed and bewildered. Uggo was looking up at the mainsail when Shekra chivvied him along. “Stop gawpin’ about an’ move yoreself, ’edgepig!”
Posy heard Uggo murmur to himself, “That sign on the sail—where’ve I seen it before?”
They were bundled roughly into the captain’s cabin. Razzid had his back to them but turned at the sound of their entry. The truth hit Uggo Wiltud like a thunderbolt. Before he could think properly, he blurted out, “I’ve seen you before, an’ that sign on the sail—a big fork with evil eyes starin’ through it!”
The Wearat hooked a claw about Uggo’s neck, drawing him close. “Where was it ye saw all this?”
The young hedgehog quailed as he gazed at Razzid. The burn-scarred features, the weeping half-closed eye and the other one, which bored into him like a gimlet.
He answered in a faltering stammer. “I—I don’t mean I really saw you, like now. It was in a dream I had at Redwall Abbey, sir.”
Owing to his facial wounds, Razzid’s smile was more of a wicked grimace. He pulled the young hedgehog closer. “Redwall Abbey, eh? I like the sound o’ that. We’ve got a lot to talk about, my friend!”
Queen Dukwina was sleeping soundly when she was ambushed by Captain Rake and his hares. She was immediately smothered by rugs, a lot of them, cutting off her muffled cries. The queen’s retinue slumbered soundly on, unaware of the incident. Silently, the hares carried her out of the dwelling. The empraking followed them, hopping excitedly alongside Miggory.
“I hope you’re going to take her far away so she won’t find her way back here. Promise me you will.”
The sergeant chuckled quietly. “Keep yore voice down, Majesty. Now, could ye point out this place where they’ve taken our maids?”
Empraking Dibby skipped eagerly along in front of them. “I’ll show you, follow me. Though I don’t know the way in—it’s a secret, you see!”
He led them to another dome, virtually unnoticeable to the casual observer. It looked like a solid wall connecting two dunes, much smaller than the main construction. Corporal Welkin, Flutchers and the captive stoat Crumdun staggered up, bearing the hulking form of Drander between them.
Welkin let Drander’s footpaws drop to the floor. “Whew, stripe me, that big buffoon weighs more’n three of us put t’gether! Is this where they’ve got our maids locked up, sah? How do we get into the confounded place? Can’t see any doors as such, wot!”
The little empraking kicked the bundle of rugs lightly. “She knows. Make her tell you—stick things in her that’ll loosen her tongue!”
Scutram chuckled. “My word, Dibby, you’re a proper little savage. Fancy doin’ that to your beloved!”
Captain Rake began undoing the rug bundle.
“Och, Ah’ve nae doubt the wee lad’s had plent
y o’ provocation. Ah’d no’ like her tae be mah queen. The auld biddy has a tongue like an adder!”
He hauled the kicking Dukwina out of the rugs.
“Now, marm, will ye no’ open this thing for us?”
The queen straightened her wrinkled finery, then let out a piercing yell. “Guards! Heeeeeeelp meeeeeee!”
The empraking remarked wistfully, “I told you sticking things in her would’ve been best.”
Sergeant Miggory poked his head around the main dwelling entrance. “Sah, we’d best do somethin’ sharpish. They’re comin, h’armed t’the teeth an’ lookin’ like business!”
Captain Rake acted swiftly. “Lieutenant Scutram, hauld ontae the queen! Sergeant Miggory, take the column an’ keep them off! Young Bawdsley, stay by me. Ah’m goin’ tae force an entrance tae this place!”
The horde of shrews and lizards advanced, waving their weapons and hissing viciously. However, they halted short of the Long Patrol hares, who stood resolutely, ready for trouble. Dukwina’s army danced, bared their teeth and threatened, but they did not seem disposed to charge the young warriors.
Trug Bawdsley ran his paws over the smooth sandcemented surface in front of them. “Not havin’ much luck, sah. Can’t even find a flamin’ crack!”
Dukwina smirked. “Hah, an’ you won’t find a crack, either!”
Captain Rake replied coolly, “So we won’t find a crack, marm? Och, then Ah’ll just have tae make one!” Drawing both his claymores, he attacked the wall, striking it repeatedly in the same spot using the butt of his left blade as a hammer and the point of the right as a gouge. It produced a curious sound on the hardened shell.
Thock! Thock! Babbong! Thock!
Wilbee came from the entrance to report, saluting smartly. “Beg pardon, sah, but the sarn’t told me t’tell you that we can’t hold the foebeast off much longer. They’re gettin’ rather jolly close to us now. Sah!”