The Legend of Luke

Trimp helped the Guosim shrews haul her friends aboard and looked questioningly at Furmo as he ordered the craft into the south bank, behind a curve. "What is it, what's happening?"

The shrew Chieftain explained. "Painted Ones are in those pine woods ahead. Folgrim found traces o' the blaggards."

Trimp was plainly puzzled. "What d'you mean, Painted Ones?"

"Nobeast knows fer sure, missie, but most of us thinks they're some kind o' tree rats. My Guosim ain't been down this far in seasonsweren't any about then. I reckon they must've been driven out o' their own territory an' settled in the pines yonder. Painted Ones is vicious savages, never just a few. They always come in big gangs. Those woods'd be ideal for 'emthey paints themselves all over, like sunlight stripes an' shadows. Painted Ones live up in the trees, an' woe betide any pore traveler tryin' to pass through their stampin' grounds. Killin's second nature to 'em! They're very good at disguisesyou could be walkin' in the pines, thinkin' nobeast is there, then bang! The villains 'ave got you, an' yore a dead 'un!"

Dinny shook his head sorrowfully. "Et be a gurt pity, 'cos we'm be orfully near ee seashores. Oi cudd feel et in moi diggen claws."

Trimp sighed sadly. "But we can't go any farther now."

Gonff chucked her gently under the chin. "Lackaday, lookit that long face, like a toad with toothache. Cheer up, pretty one, or you'll have it rainin'. Leave it to me, I've got apian!"

Dinny wrinkled his nose. "You'm got ee plan, zurr?"

Gonff adopted his devil-may-care expression. "Why d'ye think they call me Prince of Mousethieves? Of course I've got a plan, you ole tunnel-grubber!"

Martin prodded his friend's well-fed middle. "I hope 'tis a plan that'll work, matey?"

"Oh indeed, an' did you ever know any o' my plans that didn't work, O swinger of swords?"

"Aye, lots of them, O pincher of pies!"

"Well this won't be one of that sort, O noble whiskers!"

"It had better not be, O pot-bellied soup-swigger. Now tell on."

"We won't wait 'til lightwe'll set sail and shoot past them in the dark. They won't expect that."

The raft stayed tied to the bank until midnight; then they cut loose the kedge anchor and hoisted the sail. Drifting out into a moonless dark midstream, Gonff nodded to Furmo, who was seated in the logboats with his Guosim. Digging paddles deep, they shot the craft off downstream, with Martin, Dinny and Folgrim punting long poles at the stem. A light breeze caught the sail, billowing it out beautifully. Gonff and Trimp laid out slings and heaps of well-rounded stream pebbles where they could be easily reached. The Prince of Mousethieves chuckled. "The speed she's goin', we'll be through an' past 'em afore they even guess we've arrived, eh, missie?"

Covering Chugger's sleeping form with foodsacks and loose canvas, Trimp snuggled down by him. "I hope you're right, Gonff, for all our sakes, but mainly for this little mite's. I don't know what I'd do if any harm befell Chugger."

Folgrim turned from his pole, file-sharpened teeth glinting in the darkness, his one good eye roving wildly. "If'n yer wants t'see deadbeasts, pretty miss, take a look at any vermin puttin' a paw near my pal Chugg!"

Trimp shivered, certain that the scar-faced otter did not issue idle threats.

As the flotilla of raft and logboats neared the pine wood, myriad eyes, aglow with evil intent, watched it from the bankside trees on both sides. Small harsh excited whispers sounded through the conifers.

"Yikkyikkyikkyikk! Heerdee comm.!"

"Many many lotsa shroobs'n'micers, too. Yikkayikka!"

"Betcher deez viddlez, too, loddza viddlez!"

"Fassta fassta inta dee trapp. Yeehikkayikka!"

"Fattee moledigga an' 'edgepiggee, avva fun wid dose!"

Then the raft was into the wooded area. Martin congratulated Gonff quietly on his daring scheme. "Well done, mate. We're shooting through like a shaft from a bow. Not much can stop us now!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the raft hit a thick series of vine ropes, stretched at different heights above and below the water. Everybeast aboard was thrown flat with the impact, and both leading logboats and the front of the raft were jammed fast in the cunning trap.

Chapter 11

Martin was first to spring upright. He lashed about with the long punting pole as Painted Ones dropped from the trees onto the raft. Several were sent screeching into the water. Furmo and his shrews began laying about them with their logboat paddles, hollow thonking noises sounding as they struck tree rats in midair. Screams and splashes mingled with roars and shouts rent the blackness of the stream between the dark spreading pines. It was a scene of total chaos. Folgrim groped his way to the canvas protecting Chugger and Trimp and stood over them, flailing viciously, the air thrumming as he wielded his long pole. Whack! Thwock! Thunk! Splat! Gonff and Dinny were hard at it with their poles.

Panting heavily, Martin called to them, "There's too many of 'emwe can't keep this up. Hold the vessel as best you can. I'll be back soon. If not, go without me. That's an order!" He broke his pole over the backs of three who were trying to climb aboard, then dived into the fast-flowing stream.

As soon as he felt himself hurled against the ropes by the current, Martin latched his footpaws onto the heavy vines and unsheathed the great sword from his back. It was tremendously hard trying to swing his blade in the rushing water, but swing it the mouse Warrior did. He hacked and hewed with might and main until his grip was frozen to the sword by cold water and weariness. By a superb feat of will he forced himself to continue. Heavy wet strands struck his face as the razor-sharp blade whipped through them, and water filled his mouth as he roared like a wild beast, battling the powerful woven ropes of wet vine. Lowering the blade underwater, Martin sawed furiously at the ones that he had twined his footpaws into, ducking his head beneath the surface and hunching both shoulders to put more force into his efforts. Then the raft was running overhead, scraping his back as it was liberated from the trap. Martin went head over tail, automatically shifting the sword to one paw and reaching out frantically with the other as the vessel sped forward.

Dinny felt somebeast grab his footpaw as he stood astern, swinging his pole. He was about to deal whoever it was a resounding blow with the pole butt when Martin's head emerged from the streamwater.

"Dinn, the pole, quick!"

The mole shot his pole into the water and Martin grabbed it. Throwing his sword onto the raft, he struggled aboard with Dinny's help. The raft was still swarming with Painted Ones. Martin seized the fabulous blade, and whirling it aloft, he gave full cry to the battle call of Badger Lords.

"Eulaliaaaaaa!"

Screeching with fright, the tree vermin threw themselves from the raft, splashing frenziedly for shore.

Gonff threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Hahahaha! Look at 'em go! The ole Eulalia's worth a dozen fighters, an' let me say, matey, that 'un of yores was a right blood-freezer. I near jumped out o' my fur!"

Martin was grinning as he slumped wearily down to the deck. "Let's just say it was an additional idea to make your plan work. I was far too tired t'do anything except shout. Owow! What're you villains doing to me?"

Trimp and Chugger scrubbed roughly at the Warrior with clean dry foodsacks. The little squirrel growled, "Be still an' stoppa shoutin', we dryin' you off. Don't wanna catcha deff o' cold, do ya?"

The hedgehog maid was hard put to keep a straight face. Her squirrelbabe was becoming quite a one for being severe with otherbeasts. She cleaned Martin's ears out roughly. "That's the stuff, Chugg, you tell him. Warriors have to get dry, too, same as any other creature!"

Luckily none of the friends were seriously injured, though there were the usual number of bumps, cuts, scratches and scrapes sustained, as in any rough-house encounter with vermin. Trimp and Log a Log Furmo set about ministering to the slight casualties, while Gonff and Dinny kept a weather eye out for any likely berth, now they had left the pine wood behind. A small midstream island loomed up out of the darkness, perfect as a resting place for the remainder of the night.

However, after their hazardous scrape with the Painted Ones, they were far too keyed up for sleeping. Guosim cooks built a small fire in the shelter of some bushes and cooked up a cauldron of vegetable soup. Gonff took some soft bread and chopped scallions, made Bubbling Bobbs and tossed them in the cauldron. Trimp sat around the fire with the rest, feeling a strong sense of camaraderie with them, laughing, chatting and fishing for Bubbling Bobbs with clean sharp twigs. Furmo regaled them with a comic song called "The Festive Fight."

"One dark an' stormy night, As the sun set in the east, To Granma's house I went, For to partake of a feast, With frogs an' fat hedgehogs, Some otters an' a sparrow, An' a squirrel who attended, too,

Armed with a bow an' arrow.

The seedcake had been served,

When a dormouse in a bonnet,

Took one bite, oh what a sight,

She broke her teeth upon it.

Then backward fell a mole,

Tail first into the custard,

Ole Granpa grabbed his spoon,

An' lookin' quite disgusted,

He hit the mole a smack,

Then like a flash of lightnin',

An otter brained him with a flan,

That started off the fightin'.

We fenced with celery sticks,

With pies an' puddens pelted,

The squirrel with the bow,

By a pot of soup got belted,

A sparrow flung a scone,

It laid the otter senseless,

Then Granma swung her pan,

An' left us all defenseless,

Two frogs sailed out the door,

A hedgehog up the chimney,

Whilst me an' ole Granpa,

To the mantelpiece hung grimly.

So hark an' hear my tale,

Stay safe at home an' starve sir,

Steer clear of Granma's house,

When there's goin' t'be a feast there!"

Chugger had fallen asleep leaning against Folgrim, a soggy Bubbling Bobb still clutched in his grubby paw. After the fight with the Painted Ones, Trimp trembled fitfully, thinking what might have happened had they fallen into the claws of the foe. However, the feeling passed as she looked around at the cheery faces of her friends. Ribbing one another good-naturedly and chuckling, they sat around the fire, finishing off the meal with gusto. Nobeast would guess that but a short while ago, they had been battling for their lives, and hers. Allowing her eyes to close slowly, she snuggled down on some dry moss. Who would not feel safe in the company of such brave creatures?

Murmuring streamwater soon had them all lulled, with the exception of Martin and Folgrim, who sat, outwardly relaxed, but inwardly alert. Fading to glowing embers, the fire burnt down. Somewhere a nightjar called, and moonshadows cast soft patterns through lazy breeze-stirred foliage. Peace lay over the little island in midstream, awaiting the calm hours of dawn.

Day broke fine and clear, with a warm summer wind blowing westerly. Log a Log Furmo hopped aboard the raft, wetting a paw and holding it up. "Hoist that sail, mates, an' ship the paddles. We're on a good fast run t'the big sea!"

Picking up speed, the raft fairly zinged along the broad watercourse. With his bushy tail blowing forward over both ears, Chugger perched backward in the bows of a lead logboat, shouting aloud with exhilaration. "Whooooeeeeee! Us goin' a sea!"

Dinny clung nervously to a stayrope, not too sure whether he was fond of the vessel's wild ride downstream. "Hurr, zurr Log, bain't us'n's a-goin' ee bit farst yurr?"

Log a Log laughed and performed a nimble jig round the edges of the logboats flanking the raft. "Fast, me liddle fat mate, fast? See the way those banks down yonder take a deep dip? When she 'its there, you'll know wot fast means!"

The mole shut his eyes tight, grabbing the stayrope tighter as Furmo gave it a mischievous twang. Folgrim and Trimp rescued Chugger from his precarious position and tied a line to his chubby middle, whereupon he promptly hopped back to his former position. Furmo began booming out a song in his wonderful bass voice.

"You stay aft mate, I'll stay fore,

Mind the rocks an' watch the shore,

Like good shipmates you an' me,

Roll down t'meet the sea!

Fast as fast as you can wish,

Through the waters like a fish,

Our ole craft do wend its way,

On this bright summer's day!

Wid spray in yore face,

An' a crackin' pace,

An' a runnin' stream afore,

If y'never lack a wind at y'back,

Then who could ask for more!

Ooooooh rum a doodle aye doh

Go where I go

Rum a doodle aye doh follow me!"

The raft bucked sharply, entering a canyon of buff-hued rock. Everybeast yelled and held on to something. Chugger was thrown into the water from his perilous perch. Trimp screamed in alarm, but Folgrim had a good grip on the line, and with a powerful heave he swung the little fellow back on board.

"Up y'come, rascal. 'Ere, Gonff, look wot I caught, a Chuggfish! Funny liddle critter, never seen one wid a tail that long!"

Shaking water from his ruffled fur, the baby squirrel drew himself imperiously to his full height. "I norra Chuggfish, h'i a likkle squiggle!"

White water boiled about the surface, while high banks narrowed and dipped sharply downward. Furmo gave orders to stow the sail, and his Guosim shrews took up their positions at the logboats' oars, keeping the vessel in midstream with strong skillful strokes. Soon they were all thoroughly drenched by spray and unable to hear each other talk because of the roaring waters. Log a Log and Martin with long poles sculled at the after end. The Warrior mouse noticed that the shrew Chieftain was no longer singing and smiling. Grim-faced and silent, he struggled to keep the raft on course.

Now the raft really began to buck, side to side and up and down, sometimes rearing high out of the stream and returning to hit the water with a resounding splash. Twice it was whirled completely around on the treacherous current, Martin and Furmo poling furiously to turn it. Trimp knew they were in trouble when Gonff pushed her and Chugger flat, shouting at them to hold tight. Gripping the tough vines that held their craft together, Trimp locked both footpaws around her little friend. Lifting her face, the hedgehog maid took a quick glance ahead. What she saw took her breath away.

A rainbow bridged either bank, shining through a misty curtain of cascading watermist. The raft rushed through it. Then there was nothing!

Martin heard himself yell with surprise as his pole snapped on a rock at the waterfall's edge. The entire vessel, raft and logboats, sailed out into space. Log a Log's voice cut across the sudden silence.

"Hang on, maaaaaaaaaates!"

Then the thunderous roar of falling water took over. They were falling, down, down, with a view of beach and sea to the front and an awesome sheet of rushing water at their back. Gripping fiercely to anything within reach, the breath torn from their mouths, they plunged downward, tilting as the raft went head first, for what seemed like an eternity. Down, down, down ... Whooooooom!

The broad surface of a pool at the bottom exploded with the impact. By its own momentum the vessel was plunged deep into the pool, breaking into pieces as it went.

Water rushed into Trimp's mouth. Her eyes opened. Everything was cold, silent and vague. Half conscious, she stared about. Somewhere high above, the water was billowing in thick white clouds, and she tried to fight down panic as she felt Chugger pawing feebly at her. They were both trapped under a log from the raft, which had become wedged in the rocks at the pool's bottom. Then the little squirrel's paws went limp. Panic surged through Trimp with the sudden realization that both her and Chugger's lives were going to end, trapped underwater and alone. Bubbles burst from her mouth as water flooded relentlessly in. Forgetting her plight for a moment, the hedgehog maid felt a tremendous wave of pity tug at her heart for Chugger. The little squirrel was still a baby. What a sad way for him to end a tragically short life. She reached down and held his paw, thinking that at least he would have her with him. Then the arrival of Folgrim jolted her failing senses.

Setting himself between the rocks, he bent his body, levering outward with all four paws, veins standing out on his neck as he added the strength of his rudderlike tail and the back of his broad skull. Folgrim pushed until the scars on his face stood out like blue ropes. There was a grinding crunch, followed by a muffled clonking noise. The log floated upward, free, the rocks trapping it having been forced apart by the otter's wild strength. Folgrim seized Chugger by his tail and Trimp by one paw. Setting himself firm in the sand, he thrust mightily upward, tail and footpaws working in unison. In a stream of bubbles all three shot to the surface. Willing paws pulled them ashore.

Martin took a quick check of his crew. "Dinny, where's Dinny?"

The words had hardly left his mouth before Folgrim plunged in again, streaking underwater like an arrow. White sand and shell fragments, together with weeds and grains of rock, clouded the bottom a pearly gray color. Folgrim swam to an overturned logboat and wormed his way underneath. The otter's head broke water in a small air pocket trapped in the upturned vessel, and Dinny's head was facing him. The mole tugged his snout in polite relief. "Gudd day to ee, zurr. Oi 'oped sumbeast'd cumm afore ee air runned out in yurr. Oi doan't moind tellin' ee, oi'm gurtly affrighted o' liven unnerwater. Us moles be loik that, 'appy unnerground, but sad unnerwater, ho urr!"

The otter showed his filed teeth in a smile. "Then shut yore eyes, 'old yore breath an' 'ang on t'my paw, mister Din. Soon 'ave y'back on land, matey!"

Chugger shot fountains of water everywhere as he recovered. Trimp, who was no worse for her ordeal, sat watching Furmo anxiously. "Oh, say he's going t'be all right, sir?"

Chuckling, the Guosim leader pressed gently on the little squirrel's stomach and another jet of water arose. "This 'un'U be fine, missie, don't git yoreself in a fret. I seen shrewbabes swaller twice that amountit never seemed to 'arm the liddle fellers a bit!"

Chugger opened one eye, his paw rising to point accusingly at Furmo. "You keep punchin' Chugga's tummy an' I swirt water in you eye, sh'ew!"

Furmo held Chugger upside down and shook him thoroughly, letting the baby squirrel go as he snapped at his footpaws. "See, I told yer, miss, he's stronger'n a growed eel!"

Dinny rolled himself into the warm sand until he looked like a white moleghost. He went and sat by Martin, who shook his head and burst out laughing.

"Have a rest, go to north shores, make it a holiday, take all summer! Some rest, eh, Din? Some holiday!"

Gonff dug a big raft splinter from his tail and sighed with relief. "Well, look at me, mates, I'm enjoyin' meself no end. Only one thing missin' though ..."

Martin knew what was coming, so he interrupted Gonff. "Food! That's what it is, isn't it, you felonious famine-faced soup-stealer!"

Gonff picked his teeth nonchalantly with the splinter. "How'd you guess, noble britches? Ahoy there, Furmo, wot's the position on vittles, matey?"

One of the Guosim cooks answered for his leader. "Flour's ruined, fruit's all right though, plenty o' fresh water in that pool. Biscuits we baked this mornin' are lost in the stream. I reckon we could stand a few fresh supplies of wotever the land has to offer 'ereabouts."

Martin took charge, issuing orders. "Right, anybeast who feels up to it can forage for food. We'll split up around these hills and dunes on the shoreline. Dinny, you stay here with miss Trimp and Chugger and take a rest. See what you can salvage from the wreckage."

Chapter 12

Trimp was still feeling a bit sick and dizzy from her ordeal in the pool, but with Chugger about it was difficult to rest.

"Chugger, come away from that water. It's very deep!"

"Ho, Chugg know it deep. I beena bottum of it!"

"Yes, well that's where you'll find yourself again if you don't come away. Come on, this instant!"

"Yah, lea' me alone, me an' mista Din doin' a job, see!"

The mole picked him up with one huge digging claw. "Oi can doo ee job on moi own thankee, maister. Naow, you'm do loik miz Trimp tell ee an' no cheek frumm ee!"

A fox appeared as if from nowhere. Behind him were four roguish-looking vermin, an assortment of rats and ferrets.

The fox looked the wickedest of all five. He was obviously their leader, and wore big hooped brass earrings and tattered silks. Faded tattoos showed on the paw holding a sharp single-headed ax. He gestured at Chugger.

"Haharr, young 'un, you lissen t'yore elders an' don't be cheekin' 'em. Avast now, cullies, wot 'ave we 'ere?"

One of the vermin sniggered. "Dinner, that's wot we got!"

Shaking his head in censure, the fox growled, "Stow that kind o' gab, Fribb, these 'ere are gentlebeastsa mite grubby, but respectable. Ain't that right, missie?"

Trimp had decided instantly that she did not like the vermin, or their leader, but her voice showed no fear. "Who are you and what do you want?"

Strutting insolently about, the fox rummaged through the salvaged supplies with his axblade. He chose an apple, polishing it on his ragged sleeve. "I could ask you the same question, me pretty."

Trimp picked up a solid spar of raftwood. "I'm not your pretty, and 'tis usually considered good manners to ask before helping yourself to the food of others!"

Scornful sniggers echoed from the four vermin. Pausing with the apple halfway to his mouth, the fox grinned. "This 'un's got me quakin' in me boots, mates. Gut me, she's a right mouthy liddle baggage, ain't she?"

Trimp brandished her wooden spar, trembling slightly, but still game for trouble. "Aye, but you'll find I can back up my words when dealing with bullies. Now who are you and what do you want here?"

Making as if to go, the fox sidled past Trimp. Suddenly he turned, knocking the spar from the hogmaid's paw with a deft flick of his axblade. Dinny went for him with a deep growl, but one of the vermin tripped him with a cutlass blade. He tried to rise, only to find another one menacing his throat with a pike. Biting into the apple, the fox pulled a face and spat the piece out. He held the ax under Trimp's chin, his voice hard and commanding.

"I'm Sholabar, lord of these coasts. See that boat out there? Well, 'tis mine. I patrols these waters an'"

Trimp interrupted him sharply. "I don't see any boat out there!"

Sholabar growled at one of the vermin. "Where did ye berth the boat, Grimleg?"

"Be'ind the point, like y'told me to, cap'n."

The fox shrugged. "Well, no matter. Point is, missie, yore on my land. All around ye, far as y'can see, belongs t'me. Even this freshwater pool. So yore a trespasser, see!"

Trimp pushed the ax away from her chin and laughed in the bully's face contemptuously. "Haha! Don't talk stupid, nobeast owns the shores and sea!"

Shaking with rage, Sholabar raised his ax at her. "Snotnosed liddle spikeback, I'll skin yer alive!"

Chugger bounded forward and sank his teeth in the fox's leg.

"Yahowww! Leggo! Gerrim offa me! Yaaarrgh!"

The little fellow clung like a limpet, sinking his teeth deeper and growling fiercely. One of the vermin grabbed him by the tail. Trimp seized Sholabar's paw, trying to stop him swinging the ax at Chugger. The fox roared, "Aaaargh! Stretch 'im out, Grimleg! Yaaaah! I'll chop the liddle brat in two!" He shook his arm, trying to loosen Trimp's hold, while Chugger's little teeth dug deeper and deeper. "Fribb, get this brat offa me! Eeeyarrr! He's bitin' me leg t'the bone! Owowow!"

Before the fox could issue another yell, Folgrim came hurtling out of nowhere and struck him like a thunderbolt. There was an ominous crack. The fox's head went backward at a crazy angle under the force of the otter's blow, and he fell slain upon the sand. Taking one swift look at Folgrim, the four vermin fled for their lives. Martin and Gonff were rounding the corner of a nearby dune, carrying wild onions and dandelion shoots, and two of the fleeing vermin ran straight into them. Gonff butted one in the stomach, laying him out, gasping for air. Martin tripped the other one and grabbed him hard by the scruff. The other two vermin ran the opposite way, only to find themselves surrounded by Guosim rapier points.

Hauling the four vermin roughly along, the foragers arrived back at the poolside. Martin had to place himself between the captives and the scar-faced otter, who was trying to get at them with the dead fox's ax. Martin spoke calmingly to him. "No more slaying, friend, they've had enough. You four, sit down there and explain yourselves. What's been going on here? The truth, now!"

Grimleg the ferret managed a good act, whining pitifully. "We're nought but porebeasts, sir, we roams the sands, lookin' fer vittles t'keep skin an' bones together, sir. Woe is us, sir, we fell foul o' this robber band. We begged 'em for food but they attacked us. That liddle 'un tried to eat our cap'n, er, Sholabar, an' yon 'ogmaid was goin' t'brain us wid a club. Sir, 'tis the truth 1 tell ye. See that savage riverdog? That 'un slew our mate Sholabar fer no reason at all, sir. An' that mad mole 'ad a sword 'e was goin' t'kill me wid!" Grimleg picked up the cutlass he had dropped when he fled. "Aye, this is the very blade, I swears it on me mother's eyes, sir. They'd 'ave murdered us if you 'adn't arrived!"

Trimp noted Martin's wink before he turned to her stern-eyed and demanded, "Is this true, did you attack these poor creatures? Speak!"

Trimp caught on immediately. Cringing and rubbing her paws nervously, she groveled on the sand, performing a passable imitation of a vermin lying its way out of trouble.

"Oh, 'tis true, yer honor, 'tis true, we 'ad a wicked upbringin' y'see. But spare our lives an' we'll give up bad livin', on me granma's whiskers I swear we will. Kind sir, just let us sail off in our boat, that's moored be'ind the south point, an' you'll never see 'ide nor 'air of us agin, on me oath!"

At the mention of a boat, Furmo exchanged glances with Martin. "So they've got a boat. What d'you think, matey?"

Surveying the wreckage of what had once been their vessel, Martin nodded, as if considering the matter. "Aye, it'd save us long days of walking, eh, Gonff?"

Gonff drew his dagger and stood over the four vermin. "Fear not, friends, justice has come to yore aid. These ruffians, the hogmaid an' her crew that attacked you so wickedly, here's how we'll deal with 'em. My friends an' I will confiscate their boat an' take them with us as deck slaves for punishment. That way they'll bother honest creatures like yoreselves no more. What d'ye say to that?"

Grimleg and his vermin companions were nonplussed. In one fell swoop they had been foiled of their prey, lost their boat and also their captain to boot. The ferret was about to object when Furmo drew his rapier and stood facing him, cold eyed. His voice, when he spoke, was like ice.

"I'd say 'twas a good idea. These honest beasts should make no objection, as long as the tale they told us is true. 'Cos I can't abide a liar, y'see! Liars is worse than thieves or murderers, I always say. Show me a liar an' I'll silence his untruthful tongue forever. Gurr! I can't stand liars!"

Gonff placed his paw on Furmo's rapier hilt. "Put up yore blade, matey, these are honest creatures!" Grimleg and his vermin nodded furiously, trying hard to look poor but honest. Gonff pointed an accusing paw at Trimp and her friends. "Now this lot, they're a different kettle o' fish. They've got the look o' savage murderin' villains t'me!"

Folgrim narrowed his one eye and squinted wickedly. "Aye, I'm a bad lot, alius 'ave been. Ain't 'appy 'less I'm slayin' pore honest beasts wid me ax."

Chugger bared his teeth and emitted a small growl. "Ho, we's villings sure nuff, choppa tail off an' cutcha froats us will. Gurrr!"

Dinny squinched up his snout and made evil gestures with his digging claws at all and sundry. "Burr aye, an' stuffen ee tails up'n ee noses. Gurrurr!"

Trimp kicked sand at the seated vermin. "Hah! Gimme a sharp blade an' a cookin' pot, an' I'll show ye what I do to pore honest beasts. Yarrrrr!"

Gonff gave a shudder of mock horror. "Enough o' that foul talk, ye blaggards! Off t'the boat with you an' keep a bridle on those wicked tongues!"

Martin drew his sword and marched the miscreants off. Gonff and the Guosim shrews had to bite their lips to keep from bursting out laughing.

Log a Log Furmo kept his face solemn. He patted the backs of the four miserable vermin heftily, then shook each one by the paw, with a grip that caused them to wince. "Lucky for you we came along, my friends, very lucky!"

One of the Guosim cooks whispered to Gonff in a voice that all could hear. "I 'opes they thanks the Chiefhe can't stand ungrateful beasts. Why, I've seen Furmo take 'is blade an' ..." Before the sentence was finished the vermin were gabbling aloud in panic.

"Aye, lucky indeed fer us, sire, thank ye!"

"Don't know wot we'd 'ave done without ye, Chief!"

"True, true, we'll never forget 'ow you saved us!"

"Thankee, thankee kindly, sir!"

Gonff gathered up the vermin weapons, tut-tutting like an old mousewife. "Nasty sharp things. Don't fret, friends, we'll take care o' these lest you injure yoreselves on 'em!"

Furmo presented them with the piece of wood that Trimp had intended using. "Sorry about yore friend the fox. You can dig a nice restin' place for him with this. Goodbye to ye."

As they marched off down the beach, one of the vermin, a big skinny rat, kicked the sand ruefully. "Huh, why did we ever come 'ere in the first place, that's wot I'd like ter know?"

Grimleg whacked him over the head with the piece of wood. "Ah shuddup, screwnose!"

Log a Log Furmo was delighted with the new vessel. He splashed about in the shallows, admiring it as the others clambered aboard. It was a long flat-bottomed skiff, with a single square midsail. Bluffed at the stern and pointed at the bows, fashioned from seasoned beech, elm and rowan wood, it had oarlocks and paddles, four to each side, plus a fine carved tiller and rudder. There was a stern shelter of canvas, stretched over a frame of willow, for cover in rough weather.

When Furmo climbed aboard, he went beneath the shelter, then emerged crowing with joy. "Lookit, Guosim, a liddle stone hearth an' a clay oven, an' three good bench seats. I reckon this craft'd hold a score an' a half of crew. I tell ye, mates, whoever built this vessel knew wot they were doin'. True craftsbeasts they must've been. A real beauty, eh, Gonffo?"

The Mousethief shook his head in amazement. "I wager 'twill go like the wind, too. Where'd those ole badbeasts ever lay paws on a marvelous craft like this?"

Chugger swaggered about, now immersed in his new role as a pirate captain. "Us robbed it offa ole frogdad an' boiled 'is tail for vikkles. Heeheehee!"

Trimp reprimanded him sharply. "That's quite enough of that kind of talk, thank you, Chugger."

The miscreant shot up the mastpole scowling darkly. "I norra Chugger no more. H'i a villyun, a orful bad 'un!"

Dinny went to sit beneath the stern awning. "Well oi bain't a bad 'un no more, zurr, ho no. Et 'urts moi face, a-scowlin' an' a-snarlin' all ee toim. Oi'm nought but a good ole mole, oi surpose."

Tacking close to the shore, they threaded northward. Furmo and his Guosim shrews were in absolute ecstasies about their new craft. Being great boatbuilders, they could readily appreciate the skill and ingenuity that had gone into its construction.

"I thought you were only traveling with us as far as the shore, my friend," Martin reminded the shrew gently. "Weren't you supposed to return to your camp and tribe, once we were safely downstream?"

Furmo was sniffing the deck, licking the mast, listening to the prow timbers and rapping his paws experimentally on the carved elm oarlocks. He smiled absently at Martin. "Oh, y'mean goin' back upstream t'the domestic life? Well I tell ye, matey, I'd get a right ole tellin' off from me wife if'n I went back to tell 'er we lost the logboats an' raft together. Huh! I might be a Log a Log, but my missus Honeysuckle, she's the real ruler of our tribe. She'd skelp the ears off me if'n I went back boatless!"

Martin nodded his agreement. "So what are you going t'do?"

A crafty smile flitted across the shrew's rugged face. "I'm goin' t'stay with ye, 'til yore adventure's done. Then you can sail back 'ome with me an' explain to me darlin' wife how you couldn't 'ave done without me'n'my Guosim crew. In fact you'll be so pleased with me that you'll present me with this boat, t'make up fer the ones we lost. In return I'll throw a smashin' feast for you'n'yore crew, an' we'll top it all off by namin' the vessel Honeysuckle in me dear wife's honor. Done?"

Grinning broadly, Martin clasped Furmo's paw. "Done, you golden-tongued rascal!"

Chapter 13

The days that followed were sunny and uneventful, and good progress was made by the little ship Honeysuckle. She was ideally built for skimming the coastal waves, responding quickly to any vagrant wind, sliptide or rockshoal by just a touch on her tiller. Chugger was a constant source of amusement. The little squirrel had promoted himself to captain, still keeping up his new identity as a villainous sea rover. Folgrim and Trimp often had to stifle smiles and chuckles at his antics. Swaggering about the deck, armed with a stick for a sword, he growled out orders to all and sundry.

"Gerra vikkles cooked, or I fro y'to a sharkers!"

"Keepa tiller straight, mista Furmo, or cap'n Chugg make ya scrubba deck!"

"All singa funny song, or I choppa tails off!"

Gonff saluted him smartly. "Cap'n Chugg, sir, I've checked the provisions, an' we're runnin' low on every-thin'. We need more vittles."

Chugger stroked his chin reflectively, as he had seen Martin do, then he waved his tiny paws irately. "Well saila ship to d'shore an' get lotsa more vikkles. Hmph! Don't 'nnoy me, mouse, I busy bein' cap'n!"

Gonff looked to Furmo. "Well, we do need more provisions.

The shrew Chieftain tacked the vessel artfully across two cresting rollers, watching the shoreline intently. "We'll sail 'til evenin' then put in t'shore. A night on dry land'll do us good. Tomorrow will be time enough to send out a foragin' party. Er, if'n the cap'n approves."

Chugger was binding a colored shrew headband around his brow to make himself look more dashing. He nodded. "Good good, dat's wot we do. All 'ush now an' be quiet. Cap'n Chugg gonna take 'is nap!"

By evening the weather had grown noticeably brisker. Folgrim pointed shoreward, to where the beach was sandy and rockstrewn, dotted with dunes and backed by grassland with stunted trees and bushes. "Best chance a landfall there, afore the light fades."

Leaning on the tiller, Furmo sent the Honeysuckle skimming toward the beach. There the crew waded ashore and took up the ship's bowline, while they waited on Furmo's word. Watching the incoming waves carefully, he yelled as a high one caught the stern. "Take 'er in, me hearties. Heave!"

Without any difficulty they ran the vessel up high and dry above the tideline, where it lay safe.

Dinny immediately trundled up the beach, pleased to be on dry land, calling back to them, "Thurr be an owd boat up yurr. Oi thort et wurr a rock!"

Upside down and half buried in the sand, the boat lay, long forgotten on the deserted shore. Folgrim viewed it wistfully. "Wonder who it belonged to?"

Trimp ventured closer, peering into the dark cavern formed by the upturned craft. "I don't know, but it'd make a snug shelter for the night. We could get a fire going and make a decent meal with the last of our rations. Come on, it'll be fun!"

Before anybeast could stop her, the hedgehog maid stooped and scurried under the wrecked hull.

"Yeeek!" She came scampering out hastily, with a huge redbacked crab chasing her, its claws open and extended aggressively. She hopped clear, but the crab stood outside on the sand, menacing the travelers, protecting its shelter. It was joined by another crab of equal size and ferocity. Trimp was shaking like a leaf, and Chugger hid behind her.

"Yaaah! It a bigga spider! No, two bigga spiders now!"

Martin stayed Folgrim's paw as it strayed to the ax he had taken from the vermin. "Easy now. Killing's not necessary, friend. They're not spiders, Chugg, they're crabs, pretty big 'uns, too. But not to worry, our Prince of Mousethieves knows how to deal with crabs, don't you, O chubby one?"

Gonff bowed low, muttering to his friend, "Less of the chubby one, matey." He turned to Trimp. "Fear not, pretty one, crabs an' I are ole chums. Furmo, build a fire over yonder an' bring me two long pieces o' wood, will you? Stand clear the rest of ye!"

While Furmo and his Guosim shrews built a fire of driftwood, both crabs held their ground, never going forward or back, but scrabbling sideways with their fearsome pincers wide open, giving out danger signals to the intruders. Gonff took the two long wooden spars offered by a shrew and bound them at both ends with rags soaked in lamp oil, keeping one eye on the crabs.

"These should do fine. Now watch this an' remember, mates, a crab's the daftest creature livin'. Once he latches on to somethin' he won't let go, unless 'tis food he can push into his silly mouth, an' these poles ain't food!" He charged the nearest crab, with the pole held out horizontally, shouting, "C'mon, ole shellback, bite on this!"

Clack! The creature's powerful claws seized the pole.

"Now one for your ole pal there. Bite on this, stalk-eyes!" Gonff thrust the second pole at the other crab in like manner. Obediently the fearsome pincers grabbed it. Boldly the Mousethief stood a hair's breadth from both crabs and turned his back on them to face the audience. "Y'see, they ain't got enough brains between 'em to let go of those poles, an' while they're hangin' on to 'em, they can't hurt us with their nippers. Now, they'll stand there like that 'til the crack o' doom if I let 'em. But here's the best way to get rid o' crabs. Watch!"

Taking a blazing piece of wood from the fire, Gonff raced nimbly around both crabs, touching the flames to both ends of each pole. Agitatedly, the big crustaceans continued their sideways patrol, stalk eyes waving wildly in the firelights they were carrying, stumbling and tripping in dumb panic. The Mousethief advanced upon them, swinging his crackling torch.

"You rock-backed oafs, go on, get out o' here afore yore nippers get burned. Go on, into the water with yer!"

He chased them a short distance down the beach, until the crabs' tiny brains realized the answer to their burning problem. They scuttled off sideways into the sea. Gonff skipped back up the beach, chuckling. "Ain't got the sense they was born with, those two!"

Everybeast waited while the fearless Gonff went beneath the boat hull with his lighted torch. "Come on in, buckoes, the place is empty!"

Guosim cooks like nothing better than to improvise with their cooking. That night they did the crew proud. Barley broth with wild onions and dried watershrimp, hot mint and dandelion tea, and the piece de resistance: a big pan, lined with thick slices of honey-soaked shrew-bread, into which they placed all their dried apples and pears and hazelnuts, mixed with the last of their fresh berriesblackcurrants, strawberries and raspberries. The pan was covered with a flat slab of stone and placed on the fire. After a while, the aromas drifted temptingly aroundln the shelter formed by the upturned boat. While Folgrim was not looking, Chugger emptied his barley broth into the otter's bowl and sat happily licking his seashell spoon.

"Cummon, mista Fol, eaty up all barley broff, or you don't get no pudden. See, Chugg eat all his up, yum yum!"

The scarred otter tugged his friend's bushy tail fondly. "Ain't it strange 'ow a bowl can fill itself up agin? Yore a forty-faced liddle skinnamalinker, cap'n Chugg!"

The pudding was perfectly cooked, a triumph. Every-beast had their bowls heaped, and they tucked in willingly.

"Mmmm, this is marvelous!"

"Best I ever tasted, pipin' 'ot an' delicious!"

"Burr aye, gurtly noice an' turrible tasty et be's!"

"Any chance o' second 'elpings there, cooky?"

"If'n you wants to end up in the sea wid yore crab-mates, Gonff, jus' keep callin' me cooky!"

"Oops, sorry, O well-furred an' beautiful Guosim Boss!"

"Oh, all right, pass yore bowl 'ere!"

Outside the night grew cold, with a stiff wind driving sand spirals across the shore. Fortunately, the shelter was in the lee of the wind, and they sat around the cheery fire amid the good food and banter. During a lull in the conversation, Trimp cocked an ear to the opening. "Listen. Can you hear anything, Martin?"

Martin listened. "Aye, like a sort of moaning."

Furmo refilled Dinny's bowl. "ProbTy the wind."

But Martin's paw was on his sword. He leaned forward, alert. "That's not the wind. Listen carefully!"

In the silence that followed they all heard the audible moaning from outside, eerie, ghostly.

"Oooo oo ummmm, ooo oooo aaaahhhh . .."

It seemed to fade and rise with the lonely wind out on the moonless stretches of coastline. Furmo shuddered. "Don't sound like nothin' livin' t'me!"

This remark started off a lot of fearful speculation.

"Mayhap 'tis the spirits of deadbeasts?"

"Aye, mate, could've been the long-dead crew o' this boat!"

"They say strange things 'appen on ole lonely shores!"

"I've 'eard tell o' that, too. Bet they comes back on dark nights, to visit the spot where they perished!"

"Ooh urr, us'n's should've stayed aboard ee boat on ee sea!"

"Hark, I can 'ear 'em singin' words!"

Sure enough, the words came clear and distinct. Beneath the boat, fur stood on end, paws trembled and creatures drew closer to the fire. They could not avoid hearing the wailing dirge, which rose and blended with the sighing winds.

"Ooooo ooo ummmm! Ooooo ooo aaahhhh!

From the deep cold seas afar,

Spirits of the dead arise,

Rattling bones and sightless eyes,

From the deep mysterious sea.

Wand'ring lonely beach and shore,

We must walk eternally,

Wand'ring, seeking evermore,

When the pale moon sends its light.

Or in dark and starless night,

Roaming near and traveling far,

Ooooo ooo ummmm! Ooooo ooo aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!"

Trimp's face was blanched with fear. Chugger was trembling like a leaf, and she hugged him close to her. The breath caught in her throat as a spectrally hollow knock sounded on the upturned boat hullWhock! Whock! Whock!followed by unearthly-sounding voices.

"Leave the coast, desert our shore,

Or stay here for evermore,

Go by land or go by sea,

Heed these warning words and fleeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Martin looked at the terror-stricken faces around him. Drawing his sword, he turned to the only one, beside himself, who did not appear to be affected by the eerie chants. "Well, what d'you make of that little lot, Gonff?"

The Mousethief drew his dagger. "Don't see how a ghost could be solid enough to knock its paws on a boat hull, mate. You stay here in case it's some kind o' trap take care of these ditherin' daisies. I'll go an' take a look out there!"

Gonff slid out into the night. A moment later he reappeared, a great deal faster than he had left. Martin gripped his friend's paw as the dagger slid from it. This was not like Gonff, who sat ashen-faced and trembling. The Warrior gazed into his haunted eyes. "What is it, mate? What did you see out there?"

Gonff swigged down a beaker of dandelion and mint tea. He regained his composure slightly, though it was some time before he managed to speak. "I tell ye, matey, I never want to see aught like that again. Tall they were, very tall, with 'orrible faces an' long white bodies that seemed to flutter'n'float!"

One of the Guosim shrews recoiled in horror, his paw shaking as he pointed out beneath their shelter entrance. "Eeaaargh! I see one! There 'tis!"

A vague misty shape was gliding about outside. Martin sheathed his sword and seized a long paddle. "I've had enough of this nonsense. Let's see what these ghosts have got to say for themselves!" As the apparition drifted by again, Martin struck out with the paddle, giving it a good hard sweep.

The ghost gave a yell of surprise and collapsed into a heap. Martin grabbed the struggling mass and dragged it inside the shelter. Ripping off the flowing white cloth, he exposed a hedgehog on stilts.

The creature's face was daubed thickly with some kind of white clay, and long seabird feathers were stuck into the clay. Blackened beneath the eyes and painted bright red about the mouth with plant dyes, it gave the hedgehog a fearsome appearance. It glared at Martin defiantly. "Arrah now, an' aren't you the bold ould Sea Rogue! Goo on now, cullie, kill me an' get it over wid. That fine blade you carry looks fit t'do the job. You durty murtherin' omadorm!"

Martin grabbed the hedgehog firmly by its clay-encrusted ear. "Listen, my friend, keep a civil tongue in your head or I'll box your ears for you. We're not Sea Rogues and we don't go about slaying others willy-nilly!"

A huge grin cracked the white-clayed face. "Muther of all the seasons, now ain't that a mercy! By the spikes o' me fat uncle, does that fine pudden taste as good as it smells? Could y'not serve me up a large morsel of the luverly stuff, an' could meself not sit next t'that pretty darlin' hogmaid while I show her the powers o' me tumble appetite, sir?"

Martin was smiling as he extended a paw. "I'm Martin the Warrior of Redwall, and these are my friends, who no doubt will introduce themselves."

The hedgehog shook the proffered paw vigorously. "An' 'tis pleased I am to meet ye, Martin sir. I'm Murfo, son o' Chief Dunespike, Allcoast Champion Spinetussler."

Gonff immediately took to Murfo. Sensing in him a kindred spirit, he exchanged a wink with the newcomer. "Don't y'think you'd better ask yore dad an' the others in out o' the weather, Murfo? They'll catch their death o' cold, stumpin' about in long white nighties on a night like this. Go on, give 'em a shout."

Murfo stuck his head outside and roared, "Hoi, da, these beasts are friends, an' they've got pudden on the hob. Bring the boyos over, will ya!"

In the blink of an eye, the shelter and the beach surrounding it was packed with hedgehogs, all untying stilts from their footpaws and casting aside their long white ghost robes. Murfo's father, Dunespike, was possibly the biggest hedgehog Martin had ever set eyes on. Introductions were made all around, with Dunespike offering his apologies for frightening them.

"Ah, 'tis sorry I am for puttin' the fears into honest craturs like yerselves, but we've seen that sleek boat of yours afore, so we'd be forgiven for thinkin' that you were the durty scut of a fox an' his flotsam that usually sail in it. Ah yis indeed, Martin me ould son. Well now, isn't this all grand?"

As one all the hedgehogs nodded and chorused, "Ah, 'tis grand, grand indeed, sir!"

Furmo scraped his ladle around the big pan, commenting, "Sorry there ain't enough pudden t'go round all yore tribe."

Chief Dunespike accepted the last bowl and passed it to his son, shaking his head ruefully. "More's the pity, but those who get none'll never know what they missed an' be no worse for the missin' of it! Here, me son, get that down yer gob an' don't go tellin' your ould da how grand it tastes. Bad cess t'this rotten tooth o' mine, it won't abide the sweet stuff an' torments the very life o' me if I go near anythin' sweetish, so it does."

All the hedgehogs' spikes rattled as they shook their heads and chorused in unison, "Ah yis, the ould tooth torments the big feller tumble!"

Trimp could not resist asking a question. "But why do you parade around the shore at night dressed as ghosts?"

While Dunespike sat nursing his tooth, Murfo explained, "Sure, to scare off the sea vermin. They're all superstitious wretches. Scarin' them is far simpler than gettin' the half of our tribe slain in battle. It works just grand, missie. Ain't that right, boyos?"

Again all the tribe nodded their heads and spoke together. "Ah yis, 'tworks just grand, grand, grand!"

Still nursing the side of his jaw, which looked painfully swollen, Dunespike glanced admiringly at Martin's sword. " I5y the spike of the great hog himself, 'tis a grand an' powerful blade you have there, Martin sir!"

Martin unsheathed his sword, holding it forth for all to see. "Aye, that it is. The hilt was my father's and the blade was forged by a Badger Lord from a piece of a star that fell from the skies. This sword is a magic weapon!"

Dunespike shook his huge head in amazement. "Magic, you don't tell me! How so?"

He did not see the wink that passed between Martin and Gonff. Martin turned the sword, so that the red pommel stone at its hilt top twinkled in the firelight. "This stone can soothe pains and heal wounds!"

The big hedgehog Chief stared reverently at the stone. "And toothaches?"

Martin smiled. "Aye, toothaches, too!" Digging a hole in the sand with his swordpoint, he pushed the sword in upside down. He held it in the deep wet sand until he judged the stone was cold enough. "Sit down here, sir. Gonff, will you get the other side of the Chief and hold his head?"

Dunespike sat down gingerly. Gonff braced the hedge-warrior's head still by leaning against the uninjured side. The hog looked uncertainly at Martin, who was withdrawing his sword from the sand. "You wouldn't be goin' to hurt me now, would you, Martin?"

The Warrior smiled reassuringly. "Me, hurt you? I'm not even going to touch you, Chief. 'Tis the pommel stone does all the magic. Sit still and relax." Very gently, Martin began moving the cold stone in slow circles around the patient's swollen jaw, murmuring as he did so, "Easy now, easy. How does that feel, nice and cool?"

Dunespike closed his eyes, leaning heavily against Gonff. "Ah, 'tis grand, grand, like a butterfly's breath on a morn in spring. Don't stop, Martin, keep doin' that, 'round an' 'round me ould rotten, achin' tooth."

Martin whispered soothingly in Dunespike's ear. '"Round and 'round with the magic stone, that's the stuff. Is your tooth in the middle of this area I'm circling?"

Dunespike sighed contentedly. "Yis, so 'tis, so 'tis."

Gripping the crosshilt with both paws, Martin whacked the pommel stone, hard and sudden, right at the middle of the swelling, where the tooth was located. Thump!

"Yaaaargooooogh! I'm destroyed, he's killed me! Aaargh!"

The entire tribe of Dunehogs leaped forward. Martin swung his blade aloft, halting them with his fearsome war cry. "Eulaliaaaaa!"

Dunespike stopped roaring. He opened his eyes, felt the side of his jaw, then spat out a blackened molar. "Haharrharr! Look at that now! I'm free of painme ould tooth's out! Oh, seasons preserve y'grand name, Martin sir!"

Trimp put a pawful of sea salt in warm water and stirred until it dissolved. She gave it to Dunespike, saying, "Take this and swish it around where the tooth came out, sir. 'Twill clean the hole and help it to heal."

The big hedgehog patted Martin's back so heartily that he almost knocked him flat. "Sure, an' I wish ye'd done that when we first met, then I would've been able to tackle that grand pudden of yours. Martin of Redwall, yer a mighty cratur, sir, heroical, y'are."

The Dunehog chorus echoed their Chief's sentiments.

"Ah yis yis, heroical indeed!"

"Isn't he the grand mouse!"

"Oh, that he is, grand, grand!"

Murfo appealed to his father. "Da, would y'have Martin an' his friends sittin' the night out under some battered ould boatwreck? Sure an' 'twould only be good manners to invite them back t'the roundhouse."

Chapter 14

Trimp walked ahead of the main party with Murfo and a party of admirers, all of whom, it seemed, wanted to hold her paw lest she slip. They were deep among the dunes when Murfo stopped and tapped the side of his nose. "Well, missie, what d'you think of our roundhouse?"

Trimp looked round. All she could see was sand dunes. "Where? I can't see any roundhouse."

The hedgehogs danced with glee, highly amused.

"Can ye not see it at all, pretty one?"

"Ah sure, maybe she's got her eyes shut!"

"An' the roundhouse starin' her right in the face!"

"She's pretty all right, pretty short-sighted. Hahaha!"

At that Trimp lost her patience. "Very funny, I'm sure. Now would one of you stilt-legged, clay-faced buffoons show me this roundhouse?"

Murfo stepped forward to the side of the biggest dune and slid aside a screen of brushwood and dead grass, revealing an opening. Bowing low to Trimp, he bade her enter. "How d'you like it, me beauty? This whole big dune is our roundhouse, an' none can find it except the Dunehogs."

It was an ingenious structure, built from stones, timber, clay and wattle, completely disguised as one massive sand dune. Inside, it was lit by lanterns and a fire glowing beneath a stone oven, with secret air vents to the outside. Everybeast sat upon woven rush mats, and a silence fell as Dunespike entered and threw up his paws. "Do we know who we are?"

Every hedgehog held up their paws and answered, "Sons o' the sand an' daughters o' the dunes!"

The Chieftain looked around until he had selected a very young beast, who was still learning the tribe's rules. A question-and-answer session started between master and novice. Older Dunehogs watched, nodding sagely.

"Do we fight our enemies?"

"Dunehogs would rather use fright than fight!"

"How tall is a Dunehog?"

"As tall as his stilts!"

"Where do Dunehogs live?"

"In a roundhouse where nobeast knows!"

"Why don't they know?"

" 'Cos we cover our tracks!"

"An' when is it your turn to cover tracks?"

"Dawn 'til night, first quarter o' the moon!"

"Right. You did grand, young 'un, just grand!"

"I thankee, Chief Dunespike!"

Food was served amid a babble of chatter. Dunespike plumped his huge bulk down between Martin and Trimp, knocking Murfo out of the way. "Ah, that's better now. My turn t'sit next t'the pretty maid." He tweaked Trimp's headspikes before turning to Martin. "These young 'uns must learn the rules, y'know. Sit ye an' welcome to our ould home. Eat hearty now."

The crew of the Honeysuckle soon got into the habit of eating like Dunehogs. There was a board, piled high with wafer-thin ryeflour pancakes, and between each four creatures two earthenware pots were placed, steam arising from both. One of the pots contained a thick stew, consisting of overboiled potato, finely chopped cabbage, wild onions and various types of shellfish. This was spooned onto a pancake and rolled up carefully. One end was twisted a couple of times to stop the contents spilling out.

Gonff was an expert within seconds. He nudged a nearby Dunehog. "Good idea, this, mate. Saves a lot o' plate washin'."

"Oh, that it does, sir. 'Tis a grand ould idea!"

Gonff, the perfect mimic, answered him in Dunehog idiom. "Ah sure 'tis. Grand, grand!"

Everybeast within hearing chuckled appreciatively.

When the first pot was finished, there was still about half the amount of pancakes left. These they used in like manner with the contents of the second pot: a sweet hot mass of pulped berries and honey, with some strange tangy spice mixed in.

Dunespike chomped away blissfully. "Ah, thank ye, Muther Nature, for the good ould sweet stuff. 'Twas meself was thinkin' I might never taste it again until yourself magicked me rotten tooth away, Martin!"

For entertainment the Dunehogs laid on an exhibition of Spinetussling. A circle was cleared and two contestants tied on pairs of half-size learning stilts. They stood balancing at the ring's inner edge. Then a few oldsters, acting as referees and judges, shouted, "Hold y'circle, no paw touchin' now. Get set. Tussle!" The pair stumped adroitly out, charging one another. They were two fully grown males and had lots of supporters.

"Ah, g'wan there, Doggie, make him eat sand!"

"Get into the great lump, Paykel. Throw him spike o'er stilts an' let's see the soles of his footpaws!"

"Watch the divvil now, Doggie. Look out fer those sweeps with his stilts!"

"Go on, Tussle will ye, Tussle!"

Both hedgehogs circled awhile then met in the middle with a resounding bump of heads. They locked head-spikes and began trying to throw each other over. Not being allowed to touch one another with their paws made it very hard. Sweating and grunting, they pushed back and forth, every now and again trying a side hop to unbalance the unwary one.

"Now, Doggie, now, give him the ould sidehead twist!"

"Use the one two forward butt, Paykel, an' you'll Tussle him!"

In the end Doggie triumphed. He took the advice, using a combination of the sidehead twist and a left stilt-sweep. With a roar of surprise, Paykel spun once in the air, stilts flying high, to land flat on his back. Cheers rang out from Doggie's supporters as he leaned down and rapped on his opponent's stilts thrice, which is considered a very sporting gesture in Spinetussling circles.

Now the Dunehogs were calling for the Chief to enter the ring, but he shook his head, smiling.

Murfo yelled across at him. "G'wan, da, show 'em how a real champion Tussles, or is yer belly gettin' too grand?"

This aroused jeers and laughter. Still smiling, Dunespike plodded down to the ring's edge. "Are you fit to be thrown, Doggie?"

Doggie performed an agile dance on his stilts. "Aye, Chief, I am that. Though I'm thinkin' 'twill take somehog younger an' faster than yerself to throw me, ye fat ould omadorm."

Dunespike raised one eyebrow. There was menace behind his smile as he tied on one stilt. "Ah sure mebbe I am gettin' on in seasons, but let's see if we can't make ye kiss the sand wid yer backspikes!"

A gasp arose from the audience as Dunespike stood erect.

"Will ye look at that, he's goin' to Tussle wid only one stilt. I )oggle will make crab bait of the ould fool!"

One of the judges pointed at Dunespike. "D'ye not know ver wearin' only one stilt, Chief?"

"I do!"

"An' y'wisli to Tussle like that tonight?"

"I do!"

The judge shook his head in resignation. "Right. Hold y'circle now, no paw touchin', get set. Tussle."

The agility and skill of one so old and heavy shook Martin. Dunespike bounded across the ring on his one stilt, meeting Doggie, who was yet not halfway across. Down went the Chief's huge head, spikes bristling, and he caught his opponent a mighty butt, locking spikes and twisting powerfully. Doggie went sailing through the air sideways, to land amid the spectators. Roaring with laughter, Dunespike hopped over to knock his opponent's stilts thrice amid wild applause. Then he looked at Martin. "Would ye like to tie the ould stilts on an' Tussle wid me, Martin of Redwall?"

Shaking his head, Martin held up both paws, laughing. "I'd sooner tangle teeth with a shark than Tussle with you, sir. You're a warrior born!"

Gonff chimed in. "Martin's a warrior too, y'know, an' sure he's a grand one with the ould sword. Let him show ye!"

Martin shook his head wearily at the Mousethief. "Gonff, if you want any exhibitions of sword dancing, you can do them yourself. I don't like showing off every time we meet new friends."

Gonff shrugged glumly. Trimp felt sorry for him and immediately tackled Martin.

"It's not a case of you showing off, Martin, it's wanting to show you off to our friends. He's so proud of you, as we all are. Couldn't you manage just one little example of your bladeskill?"

Martin threw his paws about them both. "When you put it like that, I've no option, missie. Forgive my bad manners to you, Gonff. Right, let's see what we can do with these stilts!"

At Martin's request the Dunehogs thrust two stilts upright in the sand and balanced another one across their tops. The three stilts looked like a doorframe standing freely in the middle of the ring. The Warrior bade everybeast stand clear. A silence fell as they eagerly watched Martin take up position, holding the sword over one shoulder in a classic fighting stance. After weighing the stilts up, he hopped a half-pace back and went into action with a roar. "Redwaaaaaaaalllllll!"

Like a shimmering blur of light the fabulous blade hit the topmost, horizontal stilt, sending it flying in the air. Almost within the same breath the sword zipped left and right, chopping both the upright stilts clean through their middles. Before the top stilt had hit the ground, Martin's sword severed it in midair. Even before the thunderstruck audience could shout or applaud, Martin had sheathed his battleblade and was sitting calmly next to Dunespike.

Amid the tumultuous applause, stamping footpaws and rattling spikes, the hedgehog Chieftain found his voice. "Well stagger me spikes an' pickle me paws! Martin of Redwall, ye'd be a useful mouse t'have around anyplace! I thought me own two eyes were tellin' fibs t'me. Sure an' I still don't believe I seen y'do what y'did, sir!"

It was enough to end the battleplay. A great old hogwife took out a curious stringed instrument and began twanging it with her headspikes, another began shaking a tambourine, and a third took up his little paw-drum and beat a lively tattoo.

Murfo seized Trimp's paw. "Haharr, can y'dance an' sing, miss?"

Trimp skipped down to the ring ahead of him. "Just try me. I recognize that tune, 'tis 'Hogstamp Pawclap'!"

Setting the sand flying, both young creatures went at the dance with a will, putting in all the fancy steps they knew.

"Hogstamp pawclap all around the floor,

Shake those spikes that's what they're for.

Day is ended, work is done,

Hogstamp pawclap everyone!

Curtsy the pretty maid, bow down sir,

You've never danced with one so fair.

Take y'partner one two three,

Swing to the left, love, follow me!

Rap rap rap! Let's hear those paws,

I'll stamp mine if you stamp yours,

'Round an' 'round now jump up high,

Lookit that young hogmaid fly.

Hogstamp pawclap, move to the right,

I could dance with you all night,

Skip into the middle o' the ring,

Raise y'voice let's hear you sing!

Can't you see, merry are we,

Here's the land and there's the sea.

Promenade, let's hear you say,

Honour your partner, jig away!

With a hog an' a stamp an' a clap clap clap,

Raise the dust up slap slap slap,

Beat that drum an' pluck those strings,

Ain't we all such lucky things!

Easy with the spikes now . . . Hedgehogs!"

As Trimp and Murfo halted, the music struck up again and nearly everybeast began dancing. Dunespike and Martin sat tapping time with tankards of Seafoam, a fine beer that the Dunehogs brewed themselves. Martin smiled as he watched Chugger kicking up his heels with a tiny hogmaid, and leaned toward Dunespike. "Guess who's just changed from a squirrel to a hedgehog. Haha, yesterday he was a Sea Rogue captain!"

Dunespike took a deep swig and wiped a paw across his mouth. "An' good luck t'the liddle sprig, sez I. See, Martin, yore pal the otter thinks he's a bit of an ould hedgehog, too!"

Martin was amazed at the transformation that had come over Folgrim. The scarred otter was roaring with laughter as he whirled a hogmaid around and around. Dunespike nudged Martin. "Sure an' I wish that otter was one o' me hogs. The boyo looks as if he'd stand no ould buck from anybeast!"

The Warrior winked at his friend. "That's the truth, mate, nobeast messes with Folgrim twice!"

Dunespike was still watching Folgrim as he answered, "Beasts without fear are far'n'few. I knew soon as I clapped eyes on you'n'Folgrim that you were two of that rare ould stock. Only other two I ever heard of was a mouse like yerself an' a black squirrel. 'Twas said that they were a grand ould pair of battlers who didn't know the meanin' o' the word fear, no sir!"

Martin came alert. "What were their names? Where did they come from, Chief, do you know?"

Dunespike had eaten and drunk copiously, and he was tired. "D'ye know, I'm not certain. The mouse had a short kind o' name. The squirrel now, was her name Rangfarl or somethin'? I can't think properly some days, me ould head must be turrible muddled from all that Spine-tusslin'. Wait now! I heard it said that the mouse came frorn north of here, up the coast a ways, though 'tis meself'd be lyin' if I told ye any more. Sometimes I wonder if there are more butterflies flyin' 'round in me head than there are out on the dune flowers."

Martin patted the old Chieftain's paw. "Never mind, matey. Though I'd be obliged if you could tell me how far the north shore is?"

Dunespike lay back on the rush mats and yawned cavernously. "Oh, four days about. You'll easily know, 'cos the weather gets much colder an' you'll see a great ould rocky point stickin' out into the sea. Martin, I can't keep me eyes open, so I'll bid ye goodnight an' peaceful dreams."

When the festivities had ceased and the lanterns had been doused, Martin sat awake in the firelight's glow. All around the Dunehogs' shelter creatures sprawled, snoring, murmuring, some even chuckling or singing broken snatches of song in their sleep. For some reason unknown to himself, a great weight lay on him, and tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. Then the Warrior realized what the cause of his distress was. He had been laughing, singing, drinking, eating and dancing, with hardly a thought for them.

"Them" being the father and mother he could hardly remember, who had lived only four days away from the place where he now sat. A vision of a ship, sailing off into a snowswept day, sprang into his mind, a memory of overwhelming sadness and pain. He gripped his sword tightly, knowing it was the only link between himself and the small young mouse who stood on the shore, watching the ship vanish into swirling snow and heaving waves. Weariness overtook Martin of Redwall. He lay down and let his eyes close. The small mouse, the ship and that long ago day grew dimmer and dimmer, then vanished into the realms of merciful dreamless sleep.

Chapter 15

Over the following days and nights, Martin hardly rested or ate. He was unusually silent, and spoke only when he had to. Draped in a blanket and sailcloth, he sat at the prow of the Honeysuckle, regardless of the hostile weather, which grew colder by the day. Dunespike and his tribe had given them a marvelous send-off, plying the crew with stores of food and delicacies. Trimp and the others had been sorry to sail off, the hedgehogs were so hospitable and funny. Martin's sombre mood affected the crew of the Honeysuckle deeply, and they were not the jolly bunch of companions who had traveled downstream together.

Log a Log Furmo cooked a special damson crumble, with Trimp assisting two of his Guosim shrews to make tempting arrowroot and redcurrant sauce for it. They sat beneath the stern shelter while Gonff dished it up to the crew, filling each bowl brimful and remarking, "Dig in, mateys, this'll put the roses in yore cheeks an' a smile on yore faces. Best skilly'n'duff I ever saw!"

Furmo raised his ladle warningly. "Ahoy, Gonffo, I'll raise a good lump 'twixt yore ears if'n I hear ye callin' my best damson crumble an' miz Trimp's sauce skilly'n'duff. Hmph! Skilly'n'duff indeed! What does he think we are, missie, a pack o' sea vermin?"

Trimp held out a bowl to Gonff. "Fill it up, friend. I'd better take some to Martin. He only had a beaker of mint tea for breakfast, and 'tis late noon now and he hasn't had a thing since."

Gonff heaped a good portion into the bowl. "Best let me take it, pretty 'un. I know him better'n anybeast, 'cept my Columbine. Wish she was here nowliddle Gonflet, too. They'd cheer him up."

Dinny's homely face creased in a smile. "Hurr, oi'm thinken ee h'infant an' yore pretty woif wudd cheer you'm up gurter'n anybeast, zurr Gonffen."

Gonff sat down. Putting the bowl to one side he wiped at his eyes with a piece of rag. "That's the truth, Din. I miss Columbine an' the liddle feller a lot. I ain't the cheerful rovin' type I used t'be."

Chugger leaped onto the Mousethief's lap and hugged him. "Shush now, mista Gonff, I be yore likkle one, eh?"

The Mousethief could not help smiling through his tears. "Bless yore 'eart, Chugg, course you will, though I 'ope you ain't a Dune'og no morethey're too prickly to hug. Beggin' yore pardon, miz Trimp. No reflection on you."

Martin came striding astern. He threw off the blanket and sailcloth, nodding to Furmo. "Tell your shrews to trim the sail and take up oars. I can see the rockpoint standing out in the distance!"

Furmo went up the mast like a squirrel. He peered ahead at the dark jutting line far off, then came back down. "Aye, that'll be the start o' the northlands right enough. Folgrim, will ye take the tiller an' keep 'er dead ahead? Gonff, 'elp tie off the lines. We'll make landfall tonight if'n she holds a tight sail. Stir yore stumps, Guosim. Show our friends wot a shrew rower looks like!"

The Honeysuckle sprang forward, only having to tack the slightest bit, running before a wind out of the southeast. Martin took the for'ard port oar, with Gonff plying the opposite one. The Warrior set a vigorous pace, though Trimp cautioned him. "Easy now, Martin, not so fast. Think of the others."

Gonff blew off spray that was tickling his nose. "That's the stuff, Trimp. You tell 'im. Otherwise we'll all be flat on the deck afore we're halfway there. Don't forget, it's not safe to row like a madbeast on a full stomach of skilly'n'duff. Yowch!"

The Guosim rowers chortled gruffly as Furmo stood over Gonff armed with his stout wooden ladle. "I told ye wot I'd do, you insultin' rascal. Now, say after me. 'Damson crumble with good hot sauce!'"

Gonff repeated it dutifully, and Furmo made him say it again. The phrase made such a good rowing chant that the Guosim shrews took it up, bending and straightening their backs in time to the cadence.

"Damson crumble an' good hot sauce! Damson crumble an' good hot sauce!"

Chugger was acting captain again. He strode officiously up to Gonff and nodded approvingly. "Mista Gonff, you like a damser crum an' good 'ot sauces?"

The Mousethief licked his lips appreciatively. "I certainly do, me liddle mate!"

Patting his tiny stomach, Chugger growled fiercely, "Well you can't avva no more, I eated it all up, an' I not yore likkle mate now. I cap'n Chugg, see!"

Not stopping for anything they rowed doggedly on, trying to keep up the pace, which Martin had unconsciously increased again. Midnight had gone by an hour when they rounded the point. Everybeast lay back, panting with exhaustion, as Furmo gave orders to ship oars. Everybeast except Martin. As the Honeysuckle's hull scraped to a halt in the shallows, he was upright, staring at the deserted shore, which was bathed in pale moonlight. Like lonely sentinels, the cliffs stood high in the background, topped by sparse vegetation. Darkened caves, partially covered by weather-warped driftwood and rubble, which had once disguised them from hostile eyes, lay forlorn and abandoned. A floodtide of memories poured in on Martin's senses. Every rock, even the wind-driven sand drifts, looked familiar to him. Turning to his tired companions, the Warrior spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"I was born here, I know this place!"

Slipping overboard, he waded through tne shallows.

Drawing his rapier, Log a Log Furmo signaled to his Guosim. Folgrim picked up his ax, determined to go ashore with them. Gonff backed to the rail and stood in their path, holding up both paws.

"No, mates. Let our friend go alone. 'Twould not be right to intrude on him this night!"

The crew of the Honeysuckle laid aside their weapons and sat down to await Martin's return.

Striding slowly up the beach, Martin turned to his right, the cave which had once been his home drawing him to it like a magnet. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him. Halting, he stared hard at the feeble glow emanating from the cave. It was a light. Somebeast had lit a fire there recently, which had died to glowing embers. Drawing his sword, the Warrior of Redwall crouched, moving forward silent as moonshadow. Entering the cave, he flattened himself against the rock wall, waiting until his eyes were accustomed to the dim light.

Covered by a long traveling cloak, an old mouse sat dozing by what was left of the fire. Martin crept close, extended his blade and tapped the mouse's paw lightly with its point. He did this once again, then the creature stirred, turning its face to him. The old mouse spoke in an awestruck voice. "Luke, is that you?"

Wordlessly Martin placed some broken twigs on the fire. Laying aside his sword, he sat down opposite the ancientcreature, staring at it through the rising flames. A slow smile of pure joy stole across the old one's lined face.

"Oh, Luke, Luke, it is you! But how ...?"

The Warrior spoke softly, so as not to frighten the old fellow. "I'm Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. Pray, what is your name, sir?"

Rising slowly, the old mouse shuffled around the fire. Sitting next to Martin, he reached out and touched the Warrior's face. Martin watched in silence as tears rolled down the mouse's cheeks and his head began to shake.

"Ahhhh, so many seasons, so long ago. I've returned here through snow, rain and sun, many many times, and sat waiting alone, always alone."

Tears overcame further speech. Martin drew the old mouse to him, placing a paw about his scrawny back and wiping away the tears with the cloak hem. He rocked him gently. "There, there, no need to weep further, friend. I am Luke's son and I have come. You are not alone."

The old mouse's eyes searched Martin's face. "Aye, you are Martin. So like your father, so like him. D'you not remember me? I'm Vurg, I was Luke's best friend."

Martin could not remember him, but he nodded. "Of course. I didn't recognize you in the dark. Vurg, my father's strong right paw. I recall you now. How are you, Vurg?"

Holding forth his withered paws, Vurg chuckled. "How am I? I'm old, Martin, old, old, old! Heeheehee, I've got more seasons on me than a hedgehog has spikes!"

Martin hugged the scrawny form to him fondly. "Nonsense, I think you look just the same as you always did. I'll wager your appetite's still as good. Are you hungry, Vurg?"

"Heehee, anybeast tough enough t'be livin' on the northlands coast is always in need o' good vittles!"

Martin sheathed the sword across his shoulder. "Right, come on back to the boat with me. I've got a crew of Guosim shrews there who'll feed you 'til you burst!"

Vurg rose creakily, retrieving a beaded linen bag from the sand. This he stowed beneath his cloak. "Well, young Martin, what're we standin' 'round here waitin' for? Lead me t'the grub!"

Together they crossed the shore, Vurg leaning heavily on Martin's paw for support, chattering away.

"Guosim shrew cooks, eh? Bet they know 'ow to serve up proper-made vittles. Not like ole Cardo, now there was a mouse who'd burn a salad. Cook? Cardo couldn't boil water to save his life. You remember Cardo, don't you?"

Martin lied as he kept the oldster on a steady course. "Oh, Cardo! How could anybeast forget that buffoon!"

Gonff was on watch, sitting in the prow. He saw the two mice approaching the Honeysuckle and roused the crew from their slumbers.

"Ahoy, mates, Martin's comin' back. Looks like he's brought company, too. Stand byhe might need help."

Furmo and Folgrim assisted in getting Vurg aboard. The old mouse winked at the scarred otter. "Heehee, bet you could take care o' yerself in a scrap?"

Folgrim's pointed teeth bared in a savage grin. "I've taken care of a few in me time, sir!"

Vurg mused absently as they seated him comfortably under the stern awning. "Aye, so did Luke an' Ranguvar, they took care o' more'n a few. Heeheehee!"

Furmo patted the old one's paw fondly. "How's yore sweet tooth, Grandad?"

"I tell ye, young whipsnout, a sweet tooth's about the only one I got left in me mouth. Heehee!"

The shrew stoked up his stove with seacoal and driftwood. "Then how does a baked river roll with hot maple syrup sound t'ye? I makes it with sweetflour an' all manner o' candied fruit, folds it careful-like into a big roll, bakes it to a turn an' pours 'ot maple syrup over it. Got a beaker or two of Dunehog Seafoam ale t'go with it. Sound good?" _y

Vurg wiped a paw across his lips. "I'll tell ye when me mouth quits waterin', young 'un!"

Morning came, with overcast skies and a bitter wind. Martin sat beneath the stern shelter with his friends, sipping barley and carrot broth. Vurg lay behind them, close to the oven, wrapped snugly in his cloak, sleeping off the feast he had consumed.

Gonff sat Chugger on his lap, allowing him to steal his beaker of broth. "You finish that all up, matey. An' don't be dashin' about kickin' up a rumpus. Old Vurg needs lots o' sleep. Well, Martin, did y'find out what you needed to know from the ole feller, about yore dad an' so on?"

Martin shook his head as he watched Vurg sleeping. "Didn't want to rush him. Vurg will tell me when he's ready. Though I did hint that I needed information."

Dinny looked over the top of his beaker. "Wot did ee'm owd feller say 'bout that, zurr?"

Martin shrugged. "Not much, though he did say I'd find out all I needed to know when we took him back home to someplace called Tall Rocks."

Chugger was beginning to wriggle out of Gonff's grasp. Trimp took charge of him, stroking the tiny squirrel's head soothingly. She looked inquiringly at Martin. "Tall Rocks? Where's that?"

The Warrior stared out at the gray wintry seas. "Somewhere up north of here. Vurg said he'd show us the way."

Furmo picked up the linen bag from where it had fallen out of Vurg's cloak, and passed it to Martin. "What d'you suppose is in this?"

Martin sighed deeply and placed the bag carefully back in the folds of Vurg's cloak without disturbing him. "He'll tell us when he's ready, I suppose. Though I'm not certain I want to know now. I have a feeling inside that 'tis going to be a long and tragic tale."

Vurg woke before noon feeling much refreshed, and to prove it he ate a huge breakfast. Under his directions they pushed off and continued north. Martin watched, silent and pensive once more, as his birthplace faded into the distance.

Chapter 16

It was a late noon, two days out from Martin's former home, when Tall Rocks hove into view. Rain was falling heavily and the wind had died completely. The sea surface, though pitted constantly by rainfall, was relatively calm, with a notable absence of the huge foam-crested rollers usual in the area. Vurg stood in the bows, Martin at his side, and relayed directions. Furmo and Dinny held the tiller between them, listening out for instructions.

"Keep her head out to sea a bit. Stick to that course!"

Furmo obeyed, but voiced his doubts. "Wouldn't we be better tackin' in closer to the land side?"

Martin swiftly gave him his answer. "No, no! Stay seaward. Vurg says the underwater reefs are close to the surface inshore. Out here the sea runs very deep, so the reefs are far below us. Keep her head out!"

"Right enough. Just as well the tide's runnin' smooth t'day."

Martin agreed. "Aye, Vurg says that if any waves start up youjnust steer right out to sea, away from Tall Rocks, and forget the whole thing until ebb tides arrive. Otherwise the Honeysuckle'& be smashed against the rocks!"

Dinny glanced fearfully to the horizon. "O seas, keep ee gurt waves clear of us'n's. Thurr be nuthin' wurser'n a drownded molebeast, no zurr!"

Trimp and the remainder of the crew stood aghast at the size of Tall Rocks. Monumental pillars of stone, they reared out of the sea like monsters from the dawn of time, huge and forbidding. For leagues of the coastline the seas were dotted with them, colossal and weirdly shaped, some cylindrical, others triangular or square-sided, their bases festooned with seaweed, kelp and dark moss above the columns of dark basalt stone. The Honeysuckle's sail was taken in, and the most expert Guosim oarbeasts sat at the rowlocks, knowing their lives depended on the accuracy and sureness of their strokes. The order came when they were almost abreast of a cluster of columns, fronted by one half as big again in girth and height as the rest.

"Take 'er in steady. Keep the big 'un on yore portside!"

Trimp held tight to Folgrim's paw. "Good grief! Look at the size of those rocks, Folgrim!"

Chugger, who had climbed onto the otter's shoulders, clung there like a leech, whimpering. "I frykened, mista Fol, Chugg no like this!"

Folgrim tickled the little squirrel's footpaw. "Aye, I'm frightened too, matey. So is the whole crew, an' even Martin, so we're in good company, I reckons!"

All else was forgotten as the monstrous pinnacles loomed close. Fear echoed in Furmo's high-pitched yell. "Bring 'er 'round! Round the big rock! Push 'er off'n'take 'er 'round, mates! Now!"

Rising in a smooth high swell, the sea swept the skiff, like a cork, straight for the big rock. Paddlers on one side banked her, rowing furiously, while Martin and Gonff joined the others, fending the rock off by pushing against it with oars and long poles. With an audible sucking and gurgling the swell receded. Down they shot into a deep trough, with the Honeysuckle swerving bravely in a swift arc around the basalt monolith. No sooner were they on the lee side of the rock than the peril of their position increased. Now they were in a narrow channel betwixt the main column and the others grouped behind it. Obeying Vurg's orders, the Guosim Chieftain sang out, "I'm steerin' for that pack o' rocks! Make ready to tie up, for'ard, aft an' amidships! But don't tie 'er fast, mates, leave slack so she can ride the swells!"

The moment they were in reach of the grouped pinnacles, Martin whirled a weighted line, as did Folgrim in the midships and Gonff at the prow. Again the swell lifted them and Furmo shouted, "Heave those lines out, mates!"

The strong slender ropes snaked out and up. Three iron grapnels clanked simultaneously into the stone crevices. The Honeysuckle was secured safely, and bobbed up and down alongside the rocks, with the slack lines allowing her to ride easily on the swells.

Log a Log Furmo could not stop his paws shaking. He wobbled along the deck and leaned against Martin, pale, breathless and shaken. "By the fur'n'blood o' the great Guosim, at least ten times there I thought we was a goner, matey!"

Martin grasped his friend's paws, steadying them. "You did it superbly, Furmo. Nobeast could keep her on course like you did'twas nothing short of a miracle!"

Stamping his footpaw against the deck, Furmo smiled proudly. "Aye, an' no other craft in all the rivers'n'seas could've done it like our Honeysuckle. Wot a ship! I'll tell some stories about 'er t'my tribe when we gets back!"

Vurg took a deep breath. Cupping paws around his mouth, he called out in a quavery voice, "Ahoy the Arfship! Ahoy there, can you 'ear me?"

There was no answer. Furmo felt recovered enough to roar out in a thunderous baritone, "Ahoy Arfship, 'tis Vurg an' some company. Ahoooooy!"

Martin pulled the shrew to one side just in time to avoid a hefty rope ladder with timber rungs which came down out of the rocks and clattered to the deck.

Gonff stared in puzzlement at Vurg. "Who are we shoutin' to, an' wot's an arfship, mate?"

On the ledge above them a hare appeared. He looked as ancient as Vurgolder, in fact. Shaking a tremulous paw at Vurg he called down, "Where in the name of my auntie's apron have you been, wot? I've been sittin' up here like a blinkin' sickly seagull, worryin' about you, sah! Now y'come sailin' up here, pretty as y'please, in charge of this jolly old rats' regatta. Wot!"

Vurg mounted the rope ladder with Trimp's assistance, followed swiftly by her friends. The old mouse argued with the hare as he climbed up to the ledge.

"Oh, give yore flappin' jaws a rest, Beau. These creatures are friends. They brought me back from the north shore. Which is more'n I can say for you. I'd grow whiskers t'me footpaws waitin' on you t'come an' fetch me, y'great flop-eared bag-bellied droopy-pawed rockrabbit!"

The old hare's ears stood up indignantly as he helped Vurg onto the ledge. "Hah, rockrabbit is it, you blather-bottomed old dodderer, wot wot. I've had a barnacle casserole bubblin' here for two confounded days waitin' for you. Bad form, sah! I was goin' t'make a plum pudden too, but I flippin' well ain't now. So you can go an' jolly well whistle f'your blinkin' dessert for all I care. An' I hope the casserole keeps you awake all night. Ungrateful bounder!"

Martin popped his head over the ledge. "When you two creatures have stopped arguing, would you mind moving aside? We've got a ship's crew to get up this ladder."

The hare fitted a rock crystal monocle into one eye and glared down at Martin. "Oh, have you now? Well my compliments t'you, sah, an' your crew, wot! I s'pose you've come to eat us out of house an' home without a by your leave or jolly old toodle pip!"

Vurg interrupted the hare's tirade. "Ahoy, Beau, mind yore manners. Take a close look at yon mouse an' tell me who ye think he is?"

Beau crouched down, holding his back and grimacing. He brought his face level with Martin's. The eyeglass popped out with surprise as he stared at the Warrior mouse.

"Luke! Well burn my auntie's taters, wot! You're a bounder, a rotter an' a curmudgeon, sah! How is it that you've stayed so jolly young while we've grown old? Not the done sort o' thing, I'd say. Bally cad!"

Martin sprang up onto the ledge. Smiling, he grasped Beau's paw and pumped it up and down.

"I'm Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing, sir?"

The hare shook his hoary silver head, returning the smile. "Knew y'father well, sah. Excellent chap! I'm Beauhair Fethringham Cosfortingsol. No I ain't, I'm Beausol Fethringhair Cosfortingclair. No I ain't, wait a tick. I'm Beauham Fethringclair Confounditall. Tchah! I'm so old I've forgotten me own name. What a disgrace, wot!"

Vurg sniggered. "Heehee, try Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham. That's yore silly long name."

The hare scratched his scraggy whiskers. "Ah! Of course it is. Thank you, old chap." Then, scratching his whiskers again, he turned on Vurg. "On the other paw, who asked you, sah, you battered old mouserelic? When I need somebeast to tell me m'name I'll jolly well ask m'self. Pish tush! The very idea, tellin' a chap his own moniker!"

Vurg approached him until they stood nose to nose. "Battered ole mouserelic? Well of course I am, an' who wouldn't be, lookin' after you all these seasons. Should've left you on Twin Islands, that's wot I should've done!"

Martin clapped a paw to his brow, looking beseechingly to Gonff. The Mousethief pushed Beau and Vurg apart. "Quiet now, you two, an' lissen t'me. Aboard our ship we got a way of settlin' arguments. We let any quarrelsome beasts settle things by challengin' our argument counselor. Folgrim, come over 'ere!"

Testing his ax edge by licking it, Folgrim strode over. Baring pointed teeth, he turned his scarred face from Vurg to Beau. The otter's voice sounded like a blade hacking ice.

"Well now, anybeast got an argument t'settle wid me, choose yore weapons. Axes or teeth, it don't make no odds t'me!"

Vurg immediately hid behind Beau, whose throat bobbed like an apple on a string as he gulped. "Arguin'? Who's arguin', old chap? Merely a bit o' humorous banter 'twixt my erstwhile companion and m'goodself, wot? I say, Vurg, hadn't we better get these seagoin' types aboard the good vessel Arfship? They look jolly hungry an' tired t'me. We could fricassee a shark or two for friend Folgrim, or maybe he'd prefer just to gnaw on the messdeck table. Er, ahaha, follow me, chaps. No offense, mister Folgrim sir, merely a jocular jest, wot wot!"

Vurg and Beau led them through a perfectly round tunnel in the rock. They emerged on the other side amid the massed pinnacles and stood gazing up in open-mouthed awe at the sight that greeted them. Beau managed to make an elegant leg and bowed slightly. "Welcome to the vessel Arfship!"

Jammed between the column they stood upon and the one immediately next to it was half a ship. High overhead it stood, lodged between both pinnacles, more than two-thirds of the way up. From midships to for'ard end it was wedged firmly, a huge rusting iron spike at its forepeak driven into the rock by some tremendous force. The thing had once been red, but now through seasons of harsh weather, seaspray, sun and rain, it was faded to a rose-pink hue.

Dinny's voice cut the silence. "Well fill moi tunnel! Arf a ship oop in ee air!" Ascending another rope ladder, they climbed up to the old habitation. Trimp stared about in astonishment at the immensity of it all. It was like being in some great chamber. Timbered bulkheads with holes for oarports let in the light, as did the opened hatch covers high above them. Furmo's voice echoed spectrally in the vast space, as the crew of the Honeysuckle walked through it wide-eyed.

"An' this is supposed t'be only arf a ship! I tell ye, mates, could you imagine it afore it was broken, with the other arf attached? It must've been like a floatin' village! I wager there wasn't anythin' that size ever sailed the seas!"

Vurg nodded his old head. "Oh but there was, an' this is what's left of it. See through those open hatch covers? There's another deck above this an' another one above that again. Yore lookin' through three decks up t'the main one, which, if y'count it, makes four altogether. We keeps the 'atches open to give light, battens 'em down in bad weather. Up these stairs is the for'ard cabins. Come on, I'll show ye!"

Martin shook his head as he passed rows of benches, with chains dangling from them and long broken oars hanging through the ports. They looked well worn from constant use. "Beau, was this a slave ship?"

"Indeed it was, old lad, the foulest, most evil vessel that ever plied the ocean. Now 'tis our home, our beloved Arfship. Actually, 'twould have been Half Ship if I'd had me way, but the others called it Arfship, so Arfship it is, wot. Come an' eat now, questions later, that's the drill!"

Following him up the ornately carved staircase, they entered a roomy cabin with its skylights thrown open. It was a complete living area. Tables, chairs, bunks and cupboards were all about, clean and neat. Two mice, old and gray, were working at a table next to a big glowing stove with its smokepipe thrusting through the edge of the skylight. Vurg introduced them.

"This is all of us left from those who sailed off long ago from the north shores. Myself, Dulam and Denno."

The mouse called Denno went straight to Martin and took the Warrior's face gently in both his flour-dusted paws. "No need to tell ole Denno who you areI know. Luke's son Martin. Couldn't be no otherbeast. Yore the spittin' image o' the great Luke, though you got yore mother Sayna's eyes."

Martin shook visibly, blinking hard. "You knew my mother?"

Denno nodded. "Course I did, an' a prettier, more gentle creature there never was. I knew 'em all, Martin, everybeast. But we've got all night to talk of that. Sit and rest now, the food will be ready soon."

Barnacle casserole was a delicious concoction of sea vegetables and shellfish. Guosim cooks hurried back to the Honeysuckle and brought up more supplies. Beau relented, and aided by Folgrim and Trimp he began mixing a big plum pudding. Gonff helped the Guosim cooks to bake scones and bread. Martin and Chugger cut up an excellent cheese, studded with beech mast and hazelnuts. Dinny put together a salad with any spare vegetables he rooted out. Mint tea was put on to boil, and dandelion and burdock cordial poured from a keg into serving jugs.

After the tables were pushed together and set, they sat down. Gonff proposed a toast.

"To the end of a journey, to my best friend Martin the Warrior an' to the wonderful vittles an' good hospitality showed to us by the crew of the Arfship!

Everybeast raised their beakers and drank cheerfully. As they ate, Furmo could not resist asking the question that was puzzling him greatly.

"Tell me, Vurg, 'ow did the for'ard half of a great ship land up 'ere? It just don't seem possible."

Vurg munched shrewbread and cheese as he explained. "Yore right, mate, I wouldn't 'ave believed it meself if'n I hadn't been aboard at the time, but 'ere's how it came about. Durin' the biggest storm anybeast'd ever seen, the Goreleech for that was once wot this ship was calledstruck that big rock pillar out in front. I tell ye, waves twice as high as this vessel were runnin' on a sea driven by wind an' rain. 'Twas more like a hurricane than a gale. Well, she whacked that big rock side on, with a force you couldn't imagine. Smashed the Goreleech clean in two, like an 'ot knife goin' through butter. On board the for'ard part were oarslaves an' Sea Rogues doin' battle. We were flung to the decks like wet leaves in a wind. There was screamin', shoutin' an' weepin'everybeast was sure they'd met their deaths. The stern half fell backward into the sea, and sank in the blink of an eye.

Now, the same great wave that sank it carried us, an' the other half, swirlin' 'round to the back of the big rock. Down, down we went as the wave ebbed away in a torrent of suckin' an' whirlin', an' we thought we was surely done for. Then another giant wave rounded the rock an' lifted us, easy as a paw lifts a grain o' sand. Up we rose, up, up, high in the air. From where I lay on the deck, I saw the two pinnacles as the wavecrest flung us forward. Suddenly a shudderin' shock ran through me from tail to eartips. Then everythin' went still.

"I opened me eyes and stood up. We were wedged fast, right up 'ere, the broken midships restin' flat on a ledge of one column, the prow on another, with the big iron spike that stuck out front, driven like a nail, deep into the rock!"

Gonff forgot the beaker which was halfway to his lips, and sat shaking his head. "An' what happened next, Vurg?"

The old mouse chuckled as he speared a scone with his knife. "Me'n'Beau rallied our fighters fast an' finished off those scummy Sea Rogues afore they 'ad a chance t'get us. We've lived 'ere ever since. Nothin'll shift the ole Arfship. She's weathered time'n'tides, storm an' seasons, aye, an' never budged a splinter. After a while we made a rope cradle an' rigged a line over t'the cliffs on shore. Many creatures left an' went off t'find their ole homes. A score of us stayed 'ere. But that was long ago. Now there's only Dulam, Denno, me'n'Beau left out o' them all. Most o' our mates died. They're wrapped in sailcloth, weighted down with stones, sleepin' on the seabed far below us. Fates be kind t'their memories!"

Martin decided that the time had come. "Tell me, Vurg, what became of my father, Luke the Warrior?"

Beau rose stiffly and went to a cupboard. He returned to the table with a large, dusty volume. " 'Tis all within these pages, Martin, everything, as best as the four of us can recall. We spent many a winter an' autumn night recordin' the entire tale. 'Twas a joint work. D'y'know, I thought it might be found by somebeast, long after we were gone. But fate an' fortunes've smiled on us, laddie buck. There's food'n'drink on the table an' a long night ahead of us, wot! Here, Denno, you young whipper-snapper, you can understand your own writing best. Read the journal to our friends, there's a good chap!"

Denno polished a tiny pair of glasses. Perching them on his nose, he looked over at Martin. "I was the scribe, y'see. Right, let's start at the beginning. I 'ope you like the title. 'Tis called 'In the Wake of the Red Ship,' this being an account of Luke the Warrior, written by his friends."

Outside, the eternal seas washed against Tall Rocks, and breezes sighed a wistful dirge about the basalt columns where seabirds wheeled and called. In the cabin, high among the pinnacles, Martin of Redwall listened as the saga of his father, Luke the Warrior, unfolded.

************************************

************************************

Book 2

Luke

Chapter 17

There were other mice in the tribe, older and more experienced, younger mice also, bigger and stronger. But everybeast regarded Luke as their natural leader. As mice? go, he was nothing special to look upon, of average height and stocky build. However, on closer observation it became obvious that Luke was a warrior born. Behind his calm dark eyes there lurked a flame, his stance bespoke fearlessness, some indefinable quality in his whole attitude marked him as one in whom others could put their unquestioning trust. A mouse tribe could look to him for guidance, and he could always be counted on for fairness and wisdom in his decisions. Such a creature was Luke the Warrior.

Over many seasons the tribe had wandered under his leadership. Long ago they had left the warm areas of abundance, those places where verminous villains preyed upon any who sought the peaceful life. Constant warfare against outnumbering odds had forced Luke's tribe into the nomadic way, always seeking and searching for some place where they would not have to sleep paw on sword, with one eye open. From the fertile middle lands they roamed north, where the weather was cold and the land bleak and sparse. On the day they reached the northland coast, Luke thrust his sword into the earth. This would be his tribe's new home. It was a lonely place, quiet and undisturbed.

The tribe approved Luke's decision. Hardworking beasts could wrest a living from the ground here, providing they were left in peace to do so. There were caves in the base of the cliffs which backed the shore, a high rocky cape thrusting out into the sea at the southern point. It felt safe, with cliffs at the back and the seas in front of them. There was good soil on the clifftops, which could be planted and farmed in spring, summer and autumn.

For the first few days they kept a low profile, living off what supplies they had stored, making the caves habitable. During this time, Luke and his friends patrolled the area, watching out for enemies, robber bands and vermin raiders. Luke knew that his tribe was only a small one, wearied by constant travel, and would not be able to resist any major attack from a large force. But happily there was neither sight nor trace of foebeast.

Then, on the fourth day, Luke strode ahead of the rest as they made their way back to the caves. His step was light, and a shudder of joy ran through him. He felt that this forsaken northland coast was already bringing him happiness. Only two days before, his wife Sayna had given birth to their first little one, a son. They would call the new baby mouse by the name of Martin. Luke's grandsire had been named Martin, and when he was young, Luke had often listened to tales that were told of the formidable Warrior mouse. It was his sword that Luke carried in the sheath on his back, given to him by his own father. Luke was the third of his family to carry the old battleblade, and one day, when the time was right, little Martin would be the next.

The tribe was busy preparing a feast for Luke and Sayna's son, the first little one to be born on the northland coast. There was to be a great bonfire, too. As Luke came within sight of the caves, he could see the ever growing mound of driftwood and dead timber being piled above the tideline. Two young mice were struggling to drag a big chunk of driftwood along the shore. Luke approached them, a smile hovering on his face at their efforts.

"Well well, Timballisto and Fripple, when d'you plan on gettin' that log to the bonfire pile, next season?"

Both mice were little better than three seasons old. They sat down wearily on the log, big round eyes imploring Luke.

" 'S too blinkin' big for us, Luke. Will y'lend a paw?"

The Warrior mouse drew his ancient battlesword from its sheath on his back and swung it high overhead, bringing the sharp blade down to bite deep into the wood.

"Righto, you two rascals, grab ahold of the swordhilt with me. We'll see if it moves any easier with us three strong beasts pulling it. Come on!"

Heaving energetically, Luke tugged the lump of wood through the sand. He watched fondly as the two little mice pulled valiantly, each latched onto the crosshilt.

When they brought the log to the pile of timber, Luke allowed Fripple and Timballisto to help him loose the swordblade, though he could have easily done it alone. He passed a paw across his brow, winking at them. "Whew! Thankee, mates, 'twas a job well done!"

The little mousemaid Fripple took hold of Luke's paw. "Please, Luke, will y'take me to your cave to see your new baby Martin, please, Luke?"

Luke could not help chuckling at the beseeching look on Fripple's face. He tweaked her paw gently. "Of course I will, pretty one. What about you, Timbal?"

Timballisto scowled fiercely. "I'll stay 'ere an' guard our wood 'til y'get back!"

Martin's cradle was a hollowed-out log, lined with soft moss and a woven blanket. The only family Luke had left in the world sat by it, his wife Sayna and her mother Windred. Crowing with delight, Fripple leaned over the cradle and took the baby's paw in hers. "Oh my my, isn't he a lovely likkle feller!"

Sayna held the mousemaid's smock, lest she fall into the cradle. "Aye, he's a good baby, no trouble at all. I think he will grow bigger and stronger than his daddy."

Martin's eyes watched solemnly as his father loomed over him. He raised a tiny paw, reaching for the hilt protruding over his father's shoulder. This delighted Luke.

"Hoho, look at this bucko, tryin' to draw my sword!"

Windred hovered around the cradle anxiously. "Be careful, he might cut himself on that blade!"

Luke reassured the fussing old mousewife. "Oh no he won't. Martin's a warrior born, I feel it. Let my son hold the sword. It'll be his one day."

Sayna watched her serious-faced babe trying to wrap his little paws around the blackbound haft with its redstone pommel. She shivered slightly. "May the fates forbid that he'll ever have to use it in war."

Luke released Martin's hold and stood up straight. "Don't worry, Sayna. That'll never happen while I'm around. Besides, I don't think we'll be bothered here, being this far north. We searched the shores an' cliffs both ways. There's nothin' much to the south, an' if you go farther north there's only some great tall rocks stickin' up out o' the sea about three days from here. Not a pawprint of vermin anywhere. Now, what about our son's feast?"

Windred turned to the cave entrance. Out on the shore the mice of the tribe were setting out what food they had foraged by the unlit bonfire. Each had brought what they could afford to spare, but it was not much. Windred spoke. "Hah! Feast, you say? 'Tis a wonder we keep fur around bone on this forsaken coast. You've brought us to a cold an' hungry place, Luke!"

Sayna checked Windred reprovingly. "That's not fair, mother. 'Tis not Luke's fault. Where the food was plentiful, so were our enemies. At least we have safety up here, and when spring comes we'll be able to farm and plant the clifftop lands. Luke says there's good soil up there. What about those berries old Twoola saw yesterday?"

Luke glanced from one to the other. "What berries? Where did Twoola see them?"

Sayna explained. "He took a walk last evening, north along the shore, and said he saw lots of berries growing in a rift near the clifftop. But there were great seabirds up there, too, nesting. I thought it might be dangerous, which is why I didn't mention it yesterday. Seabirds can be very fierce creatures."

Luke patted his swordhilt. "Aye, an' so am I when our tribe needs food. Leave it to me. I'll take some good well-armed fighters with me, and Twoola can show us the spot. We won't harm the seabirds if they don't attacktis, and I don't think they will, for what need have they of berries? Seabirds live on what they can scavenge from the sea and the tideline. We'll gather the fruit and uproot a few young bushes to plant on the clifftops back here. Now there's no cause for worry or fuss. I'll leave some warriors back here to guard our camp, and I'll be back as soon as I can, with whatever we find up there. Carry on with the feastthe youngsters are expecting it. I'll try to return before 'tis finished."

Sayna placed Luke's warm cloak about his shoulders. "You'll need this. It gets cold out there at night. Bring me back a little blackberry bramble, and I'll plant it so that Martin will be able to help me pick the berries in a few seasons."

Windred adjusted the cloak around Luke's sword. "Aye, and be careful out there. This is still strange country to us, Luke."

With a score and a half of good mice that he could depend upon, Luke set out north along the shore. However, they could only travel as fast as old Twoola, and the ancient mouse hobbled along at a slow creaky gait. It was close to midnight when the foraging party reached the high crag where the berries grew. Twoola sat down wearily upon the sand, pointing upward. "That's the place, Luke, but I ain't goin' up there. Some o' those seabirds are big as eagles!"

Luke took off his cloak and wrapped it around the old fellow. "You did well getting us this far, Twoola. Stay here and restwe'll go up. Vurg, Denno, bring those ropes."

By those who knew the coasts and high seas, one name was whispered with terror and loathing.

Vilu Daskar!

The pirate stoat was known by other names. Butcher, thief, torturer, murderer. But none more frightening than his own.

Vilu Daskar!

Captain of the biggest vessel ever to plough the main. A trireme, with three banks of oars, pulled by wretched slaves. Crimson red, from the pennants fluttering at its forepeaks, down through the four mighty sails to its gigantic keel. Always leaving behind it a thin red wake, from the dyes which oozed out of its timbers. Jutting out from the prow stood an immense iron spike, rusted red by long seasons of salt water. Such was the red ship, named the Goreleech by its master.

Vilu Daskar!

Evil was his trade, the red ship his floating fortress. Aboard it he could disappear into the trackless wastes of seas and oceans, materializing again to prey on the unwary. Coastal settlements, inland hamlets, even the island havens of other Sea Raiders and Corsairs. None were safe from the Goreleech and its bloodthirsty crew, a mob of wild cruel vermin. Mercenaries, assassins, cutthroats, the flotsam and jetsam of earth and waters. These Sea Rogues were ruled by two things alone: a lust for plunder and slaughter, and a blood-chilling fear of their lord.

Vilu Daskar!

He reveled in the dread his name instilled into all.

In the 'tweendecks of the Goreleech, relentless drums pounded incessantly. Chained to the oars, masses of gaunt slaves bent their backs and pulled, straightening with a joint groan as they heaved on the long wooden sweeps. To the accompaniment of slave drivers cracking their whips and the ever-present drumbeat, the red ship sailed into the waters off northcoast.

Vilu Daskar leaned against the stern gallery rail, his alert dark eyes watching constantly, like a snake about to strike. Unlike other seagoing vermin, he was highly intelligent, well-spoken and modestly garbed. He wore a long red cloak, beneath which was a plain black tunic, belted by a broad red calico sash through which was thrust a long bone-handled scimitar. The only concession to finery was his headgear, a white silken scarf bound about his brow, atop of which he wore a rounded silver helmet with a spike at its center. Tall and sinewy, he cut a quietly elegant figure, unlike the crew under his command, all arrayed in a jumble of tattered finery and sporting heavy tattoos and masses of gaudy earrings, necklets and bracelets.

Evening light was fading fast over the cold seas when, from high on the mainmast, a searat called Grigg sang out from the crow's nest: "Laaaand awaaaay off larboard, cap'n. I sees a light onshore, sire, to the north o' that rocky point!"

Vilu flicked his eyes in the direction given, without moving his body. Akkla, the ferret steersbeast, held the ship's wheel steady, awaiting his captain's command. Even if it meant running the Goreleech onto rocks, he knew better than to change course without Vilu's order.

The stoat spoke without raising his voice. "Sweep south and take her in behind that big rock point."

Two other vermin stood waiting as Vilu peered hard at the faint glow, far off on the shoreline. He issued orders to them without turning, knowing they would obey instantly.

"Reef and furl all sails, and increase the oarstroke to double double speed. We need to get out of sight quickly."

Abruptly he strode off for'ard, where his bosun, the sear at Parug, had a better view of the shore.

"So, my keen-eyed bosun, what do you see?"

Parug scratched at his beribboned whiskers, plainly bewildered. " 'Tis 'ard to tell, cap'n. Ho, that's a fire right enough, an' a good big 'un, t'be seen from this distance, sire."

A thin smile hovered on Vilu's lips. "But?"

The bemused bosun shook his head. "But anybeast'd be mad t'light a fire that big on northland shore. Wot are they up to, cap'n?"

Vilu lost sight of the glow as the Goreleech turned south, the headland blocking his view. "Well, no creature in their right mind would set up a signal beacon on that shore, so they are either out of their minds, or ignorant of the danger. Maybe that's it, Parug, they might merely be simple beasts having some kind of celebration, eh?"

Parug's dull face broke out in a grin. "Oh, like a kinda feast, y'mean, sire?"

The stoat's paw strayed to his bone-handled scimitar. "Quite. Not very courteous of them. The least they could have done was to invite us!"

Parug's grin widened. "So we anchors the other side o' yon point, comes over the rocks, an' invites ourselves, eh, cap'n?"

Vilu stroked the white bone scimitar hilt. "Exactly. We might not attend the feast, but the least I can do is present my calling card."

Parug stared blankly at his captain. "Callin' card? Wot's a callin' card, sire?"

With lightning speed the scimitar blade's tip was touching the bosun's throat. "This is my calling card!"

Parug's throat bobbed nervously under the sharp bladetip. "Oh, er, I see, sire, er, haha!"

Vilu Daskar tired of the one-sided conversation. He put up his sword and strode off.

Darkness had fallen. Luke's tribe laughed and sang around the bonfire, unaware of the big red ship anchoring on the other side of the south point.

Chapter 18

Luke threw the first rope up into the darkness. A moment later he heard the wooden bar tied to its end clack upon some rocks. He tugged it, making sure the bar held in the rocks it had wedged itself among. Paw over paw Luke went up, whispering to Vurg, "Follow on with the other rope, mate, but be quiet. We don't want to disturb any of those seabirds."

Vurg climbed up after him, and they balanced together, lodging their footpaws in the sides of the fissure. Luke took the second rope and began twirling it, paying the coils out as he swung it wider before throwing it strongly upward.

This time there was no sound of wood striking stone, but the rope went taut. A gruff friendly voice called down in quaint speech, "Oi got et, zurr, oi'll make ee rope farst whoile ee clamber up yurr!"

Vurg grabbed Luke's paw in the darkness. "Sounds like a mole t'me. What d'you think, Luke?"

"Aye, 'tis a mole sure enough, though what he's doin' up a cliff I don't know. He sounds friendly enough, anyway. Come on!"

Both mice climbed until they reached a flat ledge, where there were several other moles and some hedgehogs to meet them. The mole who had hailed them took tinder and flint and lit a lantern, rumbling on in his curious mole dialect.

"Burr, us'n's doan't be gettin' mouseybeasts a-clamberin' up to call on uz, zurr, but welcumm to ee anyways. Oi be Drunn Tunneller, these 'uns be moi fambly, yon 'ogs be ee Tiptip brood, an' that 'un be Welff."

A friendly-looking hedgehog wife in a broad rough apron twitched her spikes and curtsied. "Pleased t'meet ye, I'm sure, but what be you goodbeasts a-doin' up 'ere in the dark night?"

Luke introduced his party as they climbed up to the ledge. Then he explained the reason for their visit.

"We came to take some o' those berries an' maybe some young plants while the seabirds were sleepin', marm. I'm sorry, though, I didn't realize they were your property."

Welff brushed the apology aside cheerfully. "Oh, you take all the berries an' shoots y'need, my dearie. Rain's washed good soil into this crevice for many a season. We got raspberry, blackberry, all manner o' berries growin' 'ereabouts. Ole Drunn's father tunneled through to 'ere from the clifftops long ago. We've got a cave back there. Now don't ye be afeared o' the seabirds. We leaves 'em be an' they don't bother us a mite. Matter o' fact, they makes good watchbeasts in daytime, warns us if'n Sea Rogues be a-comin', so we can go an' hide in our cave."

Luke stared questioningly at Welff Tiptip. "Sea Rogues?"

"Oh, lackaday, sir, ain't you knowin' about those badbeasts? Why, they comes to this northcoast often as not."

Luke began to feel the first stirrings of unease. "But there's nothing t'be had on northland coast. Why do they choose to put in here?"

Drunn Tunneller waved a huge digging paw. "Thurr be nobeast yurr to wurry abowt, zurr, so they'm cummin' to take on fresh water, patch ee sails, repair ee ships an' so forth. Burr, they'm all scum'n'villyuns!"

Welff nodded agreement with her molefriend. "So they are. We hides in our caves an' stays well clear until those badbeasts are gone. Else we'd get slayed, or taken for slaves by 'em. Oh, Luke sir, what be the matter wi' ye? Do y'not feel well?"

Though the night was cold, Luke felt suddenly hot and sick. "Farther south, down the shoreline, my tribe have lit a big bonfire on the shore. We didn't think there'd be any danger this far north!"

Drunn's big digging claws took hold of Luke's shoulders. "You'm must 'urry, zurr. Do ee take yore mouseybeasts an' get ee back with all 'aste. Dowse ee flames, an' put out yon fire. Et be loik ee beacon to Sea Rogues. Oi beg ee, 'urry!"

Welff called after the party of mice scrambling down the cliff, "Good luck go with ye, sir Luke. We'll follow ye on in the morn, with baskets o' berries an' wotever plants you may need. Aye, an' Drunn's moles will show ye how to hide yore dwellin's from the sight of Sea Rogues!"

Welff's words were lost upon Luke and his friends. They were already down and charging along the shoreline headlong, with old Twoola hobbling in their wake.

Dawn came wild and angry. Cold howling easterly gales swept the shoreline sand, piling it in buttresses against rocks and whipping grains widespread across the ebbing tide. Drunn Tunneller and Welff Tiptip led their little band along the beach, bearing between them the promised baskets of berries and young plants. Wearing cowled cloaks and mufflers over their noses and mouths, they pressed on gallantly toward Luke's encampment, heads bowed against the weather's onslaught. To cover her anxiety Welff chattered feverishly to her molefriend.

"Now if 'twere late spring an' the weather milder, a body would expect Sea Rogues visitin' our shores. Any-beast afloat in stormy seas like we get this time o' season is nought but a fool. I know 'twasn't wise for Luke an' his mice to light great fires in full view onshore, but I reckon mayhap no harm will've befell them, eh, Drunn?"

The mole was about to agree with her when a fierce gust of sandgritted wind caused him to turn his face seaward. He groaned aloud and dropped his basket. "Guhuuuurr noooo! Look yon, 'tis ee gurt redship!"

Through the fleeting spume of sand and seawater, Welff glimpsed the mighty bulk of the Goreleech, her crimson stern riding high on the main, red sails bellying tight as she sped westward out onto the deep. The good hogwife stood watching the fearful sight, tears mingling with the grit sticking to her face, and she moaned like a stricken beast. "Waaaow, lackaday, the redship! Fortunes an' fates 'a' pity on those pore mice!"

Drunn grabbed her paw, signaling to his friends to follow. "Coom on, missus, ee beasts be needin' our 'elp!"

Vurg was covered in swirling wood ashes from the scattered fire embers. He sat on the shore, lost in a dumb trance. Between them, Drunn and Welff shouldered his paws, steering him to the meager knot of survivors who huddled forlornly in the mouth of Luke's cave. Old Twoola was the only mouse who seemed able to explain what had taken place. "Friends, you come at a terrible time for us. Many graves will need to be dug in these bloodstained sands."

Welff spoke softly to the old one. Now that she had recovered from her first shock, she was all business. "Aye, 'tis so, but first we must attend to the living. Drunn, will you light a fire in this cave and set water to boil? Our family will prepare food for you. Dig out any ole linen you possesswe'll need bandages!"

As the moles and hedgehogs took care of the shore-mice, their dreadful tale came out piecemeal.

"There was hundreds of 'em. We didn't stand a chance!"

"It was a massacre. Only those out lookin' for firewood escaped. We could do nothing to stop those evil killers!"

"Windred was lucky. She ran out on the shore with the babe, stumbled an' fell. Her cloak was over them both, an' the wind covered it with sand an' hid them. 'Tis a wonder little Martin wasn't smothered."

Windred sat by the fire, washing sand from the babe's face with warm water and the hem of her dress. "Aye, an' he never made a single sound the whole time. Pore liddle mite, they slew his mother. Scum, they are! I'll remember that 'un's name to my dyin' day. Vilu Daskar! She tried to fight him off with a stick, but he had a big curved blade. He was shoutin' his own name, Vilu Daskar, an' enjoyin' what he was doin'. That stoat was laughin' as he cut my daughter down. Laughin' like a madbeast!"

Drunn looked up from a wound he was attending to. "Ee maister o' redship shows mercy to nobeast, marm. Yurr, but whurr be zurr Luke gone to?"

The young mouse Timballisto, who had survived by climbing the cliff face, nodded toward the sea. "Luke's out there, but nobeast can come near him, sir."

Waist deep in the sea stood Luke, buffeted by the cold waves, with ice forming on his tear-stained features as he gazed westerly after the red ship which was now naught but a blurred dot far out by the horizon.

Twoola shook his head sadly. "He will not even look upon his own son, or his wife's mother. Alas, he has no ship to sail after the murderers. But he would have ended up slain if he did. Either way, I think Luke will die and be swept away when the tide turns. His life has been destroyed and he cannot exact a warrior's vengeance upon the Sea Rogues. Luke has no will to live."

Welff hitched up her apron decisively. She turned from the sight of the forlorn creature standing in the sea to those who stood watching. "I ain't havin' this, by the paws'n'prickles I ain't! You there, Cardo, go and fetch a stout rope. Vurg, give that stave you carry to Drunn. That liddle mousebabe's not growin' up without a father. Twoola, get every able-bodied beast out here. Move!"

Galvanised into action by Welff's no-nonsense manner, they dispersed quickly to their allotted tasks.

Drunn Tunneller tied the rope end around his middle and gripped Vurg's stave tight. "Hurr, oi never was one furr pagglin' in ee sea, marm."

The hogwife eyed him sternly. She was not about to be disobeyed in any circumstances. "Go to it, Drunn, afore Luke freezes t'death!"

The mole trundled dutifully into the sea. "Hurr, 'tis a good job oi trusters ee, missus!"

Luke was totally unaware of the mole wading up behind him, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the Goreleech had disappeared from sight. Drunn heaved an unhappy sigh. "Whurrrr! Oi 'ates t'do this, zurr Luke, but 'tis furr thoi own gudd an' furr ee h'infant, too, burr aye!" With one blow of the stout beech stave he knocked Luke unconscious. Looping the rope about Luke so that they were bound together, Drunn called back to the watchers onshore. "You'm 'eave away farst. Oi'm most colded t'death out yurr!" Willing paws pulled the rope swiftly in to dry land.

The days that followed were hard upon the survivors. They buried their dead and would have gone on mourning all season, but for the help of the moles and the hedgehogs. Welff chided them ruthlessly and Drunn bullied them cheerfully, until they began to pick up the pieces and get on with the business of living. Luke recovered, but he spoke to none, sitting silently at the back of his cave, gazing into the fire. Every once in a while, he would wander out into the night, and then sleepers would be awakened by his roaring down at the water's edge, shouting one name.

"Vilu Daskar! Vilu Daskar! Vilu Daskaaaaaaar!"

The morning following one such night, Luke's cave had become the meeting place for everybeast. They were gathered around the fire, breakfasting on hot oatcakes and blackberry preserve. Welff brewed a big pot of mint and comfrey tea, which they sipped as they ate. Luke had returned from the sea's edge, and he lay on a rocky ledge, wrapped in his cloak, sleeping. Cardo had a flat driftwood board, and his knife was heating in the flames as he announced to the gathering, "I'm going to burn the names of our lost ones onto this wood with my knifepoint. Don't let me forget anybeast. I'll fix it in the sand on top of the big grave, agreed?"

Young Timballisto sniffed and rubbed a paw at his eyes. "Will you put Fripple's name on it, sir?"

Cardo took his blade from the fire. He smiled sadly. "Of course I will, Timbal. How could I forget my own daughter? I'll put a little flower after it, she'd like that."

To break the atmosphere, Welff turned their attention to the baby Martin. "Dearie me, will you lookit that mite, he's out of his cradle again. Where's he a-crawlin' to now?"

Windred knew. "He's after his father's sword again. Watch."

The solemn chubby mousebabe crawled over until he could get his paw on Luke's swordhilt. He sat quietly enough, trying to lift the weapon, which was twice his height.

Drunn squinted his eyes admiringly at the babe's efforts. "Ee vurmints beware when that 'un grows!"

Windred looked across to Martin's sleeping father. "Aye, an' bad fortune to any Sea Rogues when Luke awakens properly. He will, you mark my words. I know him!"

Chapter 19

In the seasons that followed, Luke and his surviving tribe did well and learned many things. No longer were they hungryfarming the clifftop land, foraging farther afield in good weather, and gathering mollusks, shrimp and shellfish from rockpools and tide shallows. Drunn and his moles taught them how to create screens of rock, driftwood and overhanging vegetation for their caves, disguising them from the gaze of unwanted visitors and providing windbreaks against harsh weather. Windred looked after little Martin, who had become a sturdy toddler, living the simple life, still as solemn and well behaved as ever.

Luke, however, was a different creature from the easygoing, good-humored leader he had been before his wife's death. His tribe learned to give him a wide berth and ask no questions of him. He kept a cave apart from the others, in which he was making and storing weapons. He came and went at odd times, returning with materials he had gathered in his wandering. Martin was the only one he would confide in, though he constantly questioned Drunn and Welff on the habits of Sea Rogues. How often did they visit the north coasts? Did they ride at anchor or beach their vessels? What sort of discipline did they employ, what was the average size of a crew, what type of weapons and tactics did they favor? If a ship was sighted out on the main, all creatures ran for cover, but Luke would lie on the clifftops with Martin, watching it. The little fellow listened carefully to what his father had to say.

"I hope that vessel doesn't put in here, son. I'm not ready for them yet. Better that it stays out to sea and sails off. But when I'm ready, the day will arrive when I'll be looking for a ship to land here, and then we'll see what the seascum are made of. Look, she's veering off southward. We won't be bothered by that one, thank fortune. Come on, you can help me to build up our weapon supply."

Luke showed his son how to make arrows, while he himself attended to the bows. "See these, they're ash branches, good heavy wood. I've chosen the ones that are medium thick and straight, and dried the ends out by standing them in warm sand around the fire. Now, we make a slit in the opposite end and fit a piece of feather in it, like so, then bind above and below the feather with twine. Next, I place the dried end of the wood in the fire, let it burn, but not too much, then rub it to a point on this rock, burn a little more, rub a little more. Here, Martin, try the end of this with your paw. Be careful."

Martin dabbed his paw gently on the needlelike point his father had rubbed onto the fire darkened ash. He smiled. "Oo, it shark!"

Luke smiled at his little son, who was still learning to pronounce words. "Aye, 'tis shark all right, very shark. Sea vermin don't wear armor, so an arrow doesn't need a metal or flint tip. A good hefty ash shaft with a firepoint will stop 'em!"

Vurg entered the cave and indicated Martin with a nod. "His Grandma Windred is lookin' for him. Dinner's ready in the big cave. Are you coming, Luke?"

Luke glanced up from the bowstring he was twining and greasing. "I'll be along. There's still work to do here."

Vurg looked around at the rows of stakes waiting to be sharpened, flint axheads, unstrung yew bows, and gnarled driftwood limbs waiting to be fashioned into clubs. "A fair ole bit o' work I'd say, Luke. Why don't me'n'Cardo an' some of the others help you?"

Luke knotted off the end of his finished bowstring. "My son's a good little helper, but I could do with some like you to lend a paw. Why didn't you offer sooner, Vurg?"

His friend smiled wryly. "Because none of us fancied gettin' our heads bitten off."

Luke offered his paw. "Sorry, mate. I accept your help gratefully. 'Tis not your heads I'm lookin' to bite off, just the Sea Rogues'."

Vurg took Luke's paw and shook it warmly. "Good. Let's go an' get some dinner, then every able-bodied beast in camp will pitch in with pleasure!"

From then on Luke became a real Warrior Chieftain, directing his creatures in the making of weaponry, drilling and training his fighters and marking off the shoreline around the caves in various strategies and plans for when the time was ripe.

It came unexpectedly, one evening the following summer. Having finished their day's chores, the tribe sat about after dinner in the big cavemouth, their backs warmed by the fire within, enjoying the pleasant evening. Windred was singing an old song which had been passed down through her family.

"Old Ninian mouse and his goodwife,

Needed a house to build,

They had a family grown so large,

Their tent was overfilled.

To setting sun the old wife toiled,

From daybreak in the east,

But Ninian was a lazy mouse,

Who loved to sleep and feast.

The wife heaved stone and carried wood,

For door and wall and beam,

While Ninian idly in daylight,

Snored on in peaceful dream.

She raised the gables, built a roof,

Her back was bent and sore,

As Ninian ate up all the food,

And loudly called for more.

So when the house at last was built,

His wife nailed up a sign,

Which stated 'THIS AINT NINIANS!'

She said, 'That shows 'tis mine!'

Then when the countless seasons passed,

And all within had died,

The rain and storm of ages long

Had swept the sign outside.

It washed the first three letters out,

But left the rest intact.

That sign now reads, 'S AINT NINIANS!'

A church? A joke? A fact!

So traveler if you read the sign,

Then take my word 'tis true:

A dreamer can become a saint,

So can a glutton, too!"

Welff applauded with the rest, chuckling and shaking her head at Windred's song.

"Tell me, Windred m'dear, is it true, is there such a place as Saint Ninian's, or is it really a joke?"

Luke answered for her. " 'Tis a fact, marm. I was born at Saint Ninian's, as was Sayna my poor dear wife. We were driven out, when I was a babe, by an evil warlord, a wildcat named Lord Greeneye Verdauga who had a horde of vermin at his command, so they told me, but I was far too young to remember. This is our home now, and nobeast will ever drive us from here while I am about."

Drunn Tunneller dashed toward them, waving. He was panting hard, having clambered down from the cliff tops.

"Burr, git ee insoid, guddbeasts all, ee Sea Rogue ship be a cummen yurr!"

Immediately the tribe began pulling out driftwood and vegetation to disguise the cave's entrance as they had been shown. Luke nodded to Vurg and Dulam to accompany him down to the tideline.

Shading their eyes against the westering sun, the three mice stood in the ebbing tide shallows watching the ship. Vurg scratched his head and looked to Luke. "Doesn't look quite right t'me, mate. What d'you make of it?"

Luke scrutinized the vessel keenly. It was still a good distance from land. "Hmm, could be just an honest merchant trader, but in these waters I doubt it, Vurg. It doesn't seem to be making good headwayif it's trying for land, it won't make it here until near daybreak tomorrow at the rate 'tis goin', eh, Dulam?"

Dulam watched the strange craft take a north tack, as if trying to catch the wind. He pointed. "See, she's got a broken mast, I think. That's why the going's so hard for that ship!"

Luke checked Dulam's sighting. "You're right, mate. Maybe this is just what we've been waiting for. Back to the cave and rouse our fighters!"

Reynard Chopsnout, captain of the vessel Greenhawk, was in high bad humor. His ship was taking on water, and to make matters worse, add a broken mainmast and ten days on short rations. Moreover, the crew were becoming mutinous and he was hard pressed to maintain command. The Corsair fox pawed irritably at the hard polished blob of pitch which served him as a snout. It was stuck on where his nose had been until he came off worse in a swordfight with a skillful ferret.

Chopsnout roared at the hapless weasel who was wrestling with the tiller. "Hold 'er fast to the wind, Bootbrain. What's the matter with ye? To the wind I said, wagglepaw, the wind!"

Some of the vermin crew were aloft, trying to rig a jury mast. One of them called down mockingly, "Don't shout too 'ard, Choppy, yer nose'll fall off!"

Chopsnout grabbed a belaying pin and hurled it up at the rigging. It fell back, almost hitting him. Amid the hoots and jeers of the crew, he yelled, "Who said that? Come on, own up, ye lily-livered poltroon!"

Another insult rang out from below, where other crew members were baling out the water the Greenhawk was shipping. "Bootbrain'd 'andle the tiller better if yer fed us proper, yew ole vittle robber!"

Chopsnout could not see who made the remark. He danced and stamped in anger on the deckplanking. "Liar. Filthy foul-tongued liar. I get the same amount o' vittles that everybeast aboard gets!"

There was an ominous clack. Chopsnout quit stamping and dropped on all fours, scuttling about the deck. This caused great hilarity among the crew, and bold ones began yelling.

"Oops, ole Choppy's lost 'is hooter agin, mates. Hahaharr!"

"Let's 'ope it don't bounce down 'ere an' kill some-beast."

"Give 'im a chance, mateys, 'e's on the scent of it. I leehee!"

"Arr now, don't say that, bucko, 'e'll go an' get all sniffy on us. Hohohoho!"

The irate fox soon found his pitchblob nose and stuck it on hastily. He paced the deck waggling his cutlass ominously. "Go on, laugh, ye slabsided slobberin' swabs, but don't come whinin' t'me for aid or advice. I'm finished, d'ye hear, finished!"

He strode off huffily to his cabin. Bootbrain dithered at the tiller, not sure of which way to swing it. "Harr, cummon, cap'n, we was only funnin'. Wot course d'yer want me to set?"

Chopsnout poked his head round the cabin door and cast a withering glance at the weasel. "Course? I couldn't give a frog's flipper wot course you set. Sail where y'fancy, let the ship leak 'til she sinks, leave the mainmast broken. 'Tain't my bizness. I'll leave the command o' the Greenlwivk to youse clever-tongued beasts, an' see 'ow you like it!"

There was an uneasy silence from the crew. Darkness was falling fast and nobeast was about to take on the responsibility of running the vessel. Chopsnout smiled triumphantly. "So, what've ye got to say t'that, me fine buckoes?"

Bootbrain, who was never given to teasing or insulting his captain, could not help making an observation. "Cap'n, yore nose is on the wrong ways round. Ye've stuck it on backward."

The final straw came when a strangled titter rang out from below. Reynard Chopsnout slammed his cabin door shut and sat sulking in his cabin.

Sometime after midnight there was a rap on the cabin door. Chopsnout snarled at the beast without, "Go 'way an' leave me alone!"

The rapping persisted, accompanied by a voice. "But cap'n, lissen, 'tis yore ole mate Floggtail. I've spotted somethin' on the shore. Come an' look!"

Adopting a stern face, Chopsnout emerged from his cabin. The crew were gathered on deck, peering at a fire burning on the beach some distance away. The Corsair fox could not help smirking as he addressed Floggtail, the searat first mate.

"Well well, a fire, eh? Looks no different from any other I've seen. What d'ye plan on doin' about it, mate?"

Floggtail stared hard at the firelight, scratching his fat stomach distractedly. "Er, er, Scritchy an' Wippback reckons we oughter tack a bit an' sail beyond that point stickin' up south'ards, cap'n."

Chopsnout smiled encouragingly at the two searats. "Hmm, clever thinkin', you two. Wot next?"

Both searats hastily explained their plan.

"We drops anchor t'other side o' the point, cap'n."

"Aye, then, er, we climbs over that point an' drops in on 'em."

"That's right, then we slaughters 'em all an' robs any vittles we find!"

Chopsnout shook his head in despair at their stupidity. "How d'ye know that those creatures on shore ain't already sighted us an' armed theirselves up, eh? An' tell me this, wot's t'stop this ship sinkin' if'n you takes the time to tack around be'ind yonder point? Well cummon, I'm waitin' fer an answer off'n some bright spark?"

There followed a deal of paw shuffling and blank looks, then Floggtail appealed sheepishly to Chopsnout. "Er, cap'n, 'ow would yew go about it, sir?"

Chopsnout snorted airily. "Ho, yore in trouble now, so youse need yore ole cap'n agin, eh? Well I ain't makin' a move 'til I gets a full apology off'n this crew for the insults I've bore!"

Staring at the deck as if the answer lay there, the vermin crew mumbled disjointedly.

"Sorry, cap'n, er, about yore no ..."

"About wot we said to yer."

"Aye, we didn't mean it, cap'n."

" 'Twas on'y a joke, cap'n, we won't say nothin' no more."

"Yore the best cap'n ever t'sail the seas, sir!"

Chopsnout attempted a sniff, holding onto his nose, which was starting to wobble slightly. "Well all right, so be it. But next time you start any o' that I'm done with ye for good. Now, 'ere's the way I sees it. That fire on shore is only a liddle 'un, an' all I can see is two beasts sittin' by it, mouses mebbe. If'n there was a full tribe o' them, there'd be a great big fire, so I figgers there's on'y the pair of 'em, prob'ly some ole hermit an' his wife. They're either daft or blind, 'cos they ain't seen us, or they wouldn't've lighted a fire an' give themselves away. Hark t'me now, this is my plan. Leave off fixin' the mast an' balin' out water, all four paws on deck 'cos the tide's starting to ebb. Grab any spare planks, timbers or oars an' start paddlin' 'er for the shore double quick. We'll run the Greenhawk up on the sand an' beach 'er high'n'dry. Then we'll capture those two mice an' torture 'em 'til we finds out where they've hid all their vittles. After they've cooked us a good feast, the rest's simple. We fixes the leaks an' the mainmast, chops the ole mouse'n'his wife up fer fishbait, then sails off south fer a bit o' sun an' plunder!"

Bootbrain nodded his head in admiration of Chopsnout. "Stripe me, 'ow d'you remember it all, cap'n? Yore a clever 'un, no two ways about it!"

The Corsair fox drew his ragged frock coat about him haughtily, staring down his imitation nose at the astounded vermin crew. "Aye, that's why I'm a cap'n, so mind yore manners an' git about yore business, you dumbclucks!"

Vurg raised his eyes from the fire on the beach that he and Luke were sitting by. "She's headed straight for us. They've put out paddles. You were right, Luke, that ship'll land here around dawn."

Luke reassured himself by touching the sword concealed beneath his cloak. "Good. Is everything ready, Dulam?"

The mouse who had crawled up in the sand behind Luke made his brief report. "Aye, ready. Old 'uns an' the babes are well away, hidden beyond the cliffs, an' our fighters are waitin' in the caves."

Luke watched the Greenhawk moving closer to land, speaking to Dulam without turning his head. "Tell them to make every shaft count'twill be kill or be killed. We'll only get one chance to capture that vessel."

Dulam wriggled off back to the caves. Luke sensed Vurg's trembling, and he placed a steadying paw on his friend. "Take it easy, Vurg. This is the best chance we're ever goin' to get of startin' to avenge our loved ones. Trust me."

His companion stole a glance at the hard-eyed warrior sitting beside him. There was not a shred of pity or unsureness showing on Luke's face, just cold wrath and determination. Vurg suddenly stopped trembling.

"I'm all right, Luke. I trust you. All of yore tribe do!"

The Greenhawk was aided by a light breeze caught by her square-rigged aftersail, speeding up the vessel's progress, drawing her closer to the pair of forlorn figures huddled about the guttering fire onshore. Reynard Chopsnout drew his cutlass and climbed up to the prow. He crouched there, putting a final edge to his blade on an iron cleat. Already he could mentally hear the whimpers of the two shorebeasts, pleading for their lives. This was going to be as easy as falling off a log!

Chapter 20

Somewhere on the clifftops a small bird raised its beak to herald the dawn, as day's first pale streaks washed the sky outward from the east. The crew of the Greenhawk sweated and cursed as they pushed their craft onshore with makeshift paddles. She rose on a swell and forged forward, scraping her hull into the sand and listing to port, keeling slightly as the ebbing water dropped her on the beach. Roaring and shouting, Chopsnout urged his vermin over the side. "Grab 'em, mates, I want those two alive!"

Luke shrugged off his cloak. Raising his sword, he watched the savage-looking Sea Rogues pounding up the beach. Vurg took up his position, spear at the ready, steeling himself against the wild war cries of the charging foe.

"Haharr, let's see the color o' yer innards, mice!"

"Lop off'n their footpaws so they can't run away!"

"Gimme a cloak made out o' mouse's skin!"

"Eeeeeyaaaaargh!"

Chopsnout could scarce believe his eyes. Leaping down from the prow to bring up the rear, he saw the first wave of ten or so crewbeasts vanish into the ground.

Halfway up the beach, Luke's fighters had dug a trench, lining it with sharpened stakes and covering it with rush mats strewn thinly over with sand. Vermin screamed in shocked agony as they plunged into it. Luke gave the signal, letting his swordpoint dip as he bellowed aloud to his companions, "Now! Strike now!"

Both Luke and Vurg dropped into a crouch. Arrows hissed angrily overhead, thudding into the vermin who were hovering on the edge of the spiked trench. Two more flights of shafts followed speedily, then Luke leaped upright, wielding his sword as the archers dropped their bows and seized fire-hardened lances.

"Chaaaaarge!"

They dashed forward, with Luke and Vurg out in front, leaping the trench and hurling themselves upon the enemy.

Chopsnout had lost his pitchblob nose as soon as he hit the sand. He stood yelling hoarsely at his vermin crew. "Retreat, back to the ship, retreat!"

However, they were suddenly outflanked. The rest of Luke's small force thundered out from a cave situated on the far edge of the point, armed with long cudgels and slings. Rocks whistled through the morning air, cutting down several of the routed vermin, then they were hit from both sides by Luke's lances and the swinging clubs of grim-faced, ruthless mice. Reynard Chopsnout leaped ineffectively at the high beached bulwarks of the Greenhawk. He slid awkwardly back to the moist sand, half raising his scimitar as Luke's battlesword found him. It was over in less time than it had taken for the vermin to beach their boat.

Luke was now every inch the Warrior Chieftain of his tribe. Sheathing his blade, he nodded curtly at the stunned faces of the fighters surrounding him. "Well done, we've gained ourselves a ship!"

Cardo let his lance drop, obviously shocked. "Luke, they're dead. We've slain them all."

Luke picked up the lance, pressing it into his friend's paw. "Aye, that was the idea, mate. Or would you sooner that we were caught nappin' an' murdered like our families were?"

There were loud cries of agreement with Luke. Friends crowded around to shake his paw or pat his back.

Luke glanced up at the clifftops. "Steady, mates, plenty o' time for that later. Some of you fill in that trench. Dulam, you an' the others roll those vermin carcasses into the sea, the ebbin' tide'U carry 'em out. I don't want the young 'uns to see any of this. Vurg, come with me. We'll have to rig up some means o' haulin' the ship above the tideline, so she don't get carried back out on the floodtide."

Luke and Vurg hurried to the cliffs, intercepting Drunn, who was climbing down to see the result of the battle.

"Burr, you'm winned, zurr Luke. Oi alius knowed ee wurr a gurt Wurrier, ho urr!"

Luke took the friendly mole's outstretched paw and shook it heartily. "Drunn my old mate, how are ye at movin' ships up beaches?"

The mole sized up the situation immediately. "Et be the least oi c'n do furr ee, zurr!"

Before the incoming tide had arrived Drunn, with the aid of his moles, some mice and the hedgehogs, had dug a shallow channel from the Greenhawk 's prow to a spot above the tideline. This he lined with slabs of cliff shale, well wetted down with seawater. On the vessel's forepeak was a windlass, a simple mechanism for hauling up the ship's anchor, with a horizontally revolving barrel. Welff Tiptip and her hogs helped to carry the anchor up onshore, where they wedged it firmly between two big rocks jutting up out of the sand. Now the ship was attached to the land by its anchor rope. Drunn chose the stoutest creatures to turn the windlass, which they did by ramming home stout poles into the housing. Once the slack of the rope was taken up, they began turning the windlass in earnest.

The young ones and oldsters had come down from the clifftops. Extra paws were needed, so they all joined in. Windred and old Twoola ran back and forth, splashing more water on the shale slabs as the ship slid forward, up onto shore, creaking and groaning. Martin and young Timballisto pushed with all their might against the windlass spokes, along with the rest.

It was a happy day. A sprightly breeze moved the clouds away, sunlight beat down on the workers. Joyfully they toiled, turning the windlass bit by bit, moving their ship up the shore on its own anchor rope. Some even improvised a shanty to keep up the rhythm of the task, and soon everybeast was singing it.

"Oh don't it make a sight so grand,

A ship that travels on the land,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

We'll soon have her above the tide,

Then we'll clean an' scrape each side,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

We've got to find a good tree fast,

Then we'll build a new mainmast,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

With pitch an' rope we'll make her right,

All shippyshape an' watertight,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!

You vermin scum, oh mercy me,

Beware when Luke puts out to sea,

Keep that windlass turnin', bend yore backs an' push!"

Gradually the ship slid over its runway of wetted shale slabs, finally coming to rest above the tideline, with the bow end firmly wedged between the two standing rocks that had secured the anchor. Luke was smiling broadly, as he patted the barnacle-encrusted hull. "Well, there she is, a right old slop bucket if ever I saw one, mates, but by winter I guarantee she'll be good'n'ready." He called to Martin, who was down by the tideline with Timballisto, stowing things behind a rock. "Ho there, son, what are you doing?"

Martin beckoned his father to join them and explained, "We collected all the weapons for you, see."

He unrolled an old length of sail canvas, revealing a jumbled assortment of swords, daggers and various blades that had been once owned by the crew of the Greenhawk.

Luke ruffled his young son's ears approvingly. "Well done, Martin. You, too, Timbal. These are far better than our makeshift weapons!"

Timballisto selected a short sword for himself. Martin picked up a longish curved blade and began thrusting it into his belt. But Luke took the sword from his son and tossed it back with the other weapons.

"No, you're far too young to carry a blade yet, son. Timbal, you may keep your blade. "Tis about time you had oneyou'll be fully grown in another couple o' seasons." Seeing the disappointment on Martin's face, Luke threw a kindly paw about his son's shoulders. "Martin, you don't need the blade of any seascum. My sword is yours by right. It was passed on to me by my father and one day I will give it to you."

The young mouse's piercing gray eyes searched his father's face. "When?"

In his mind Luke saw himself asking the same question of his own father. He gave Martin the same answer he had received long ago.

"When I think you are ready."

************************************

Throughout the remainder of summer and all of autumn, the tribe of Luke worked long evenings, after their day's chores of farming food and foraging the shores was done. Gradually the once rickety Sea Rogue ship took shape. The hull was careened, ridding it of weed, barnacles and other saltwater debris. Unsound and rotten planking was torn out and replaced with good stout oak, which they traveled far to find and haul back. Cauldrons of pitch and pine resin bubbled continuously. Lengths of rope were woven and hammered in between the ship's timbers. Then the pitch and resin were poured into the joints, sealing them and making the vessel watertight. Any spare food was cooked and preserved in casks for ship's stores, along with new barrels for fresh water to be carried in. Luke oversaw everything, paying careful attention to the slightest detail.

"Do it proper and 'twill serve you well!" Everybeast in the tribe became familiar with their Chieftain's constant motto.

Winter's first icy breath was coating the northern coast with rimefrost when the new mainmast was raised. Vurg and Drunn had chosen a good tall white willow, which would bend with the wind where other wood might crack and break. Newly patched and hemmed, the wide single mainsail was hoisted, fluttered a moment, then bellied proudly out in the cold north breeze. A cheer went up from the creatures who had worked so hard to repair the vessel. Luke stood back upon the shore with Martin and Windred, surveying the new craft. It had three curving sails from the bowsprit to the mainmast, with the big triangular sail and a tall oblong one either side of the new willow. At the stern was a smaller mast with one other triangular sail. It obviously met all Luke's requirements. He smiled at Martin. "She'll have to have a new name, son."

Martin, like all youngsters, always had a question. "Why do they always call ships 'she'?"

Luke had to think about that one for a moment. "Truth t'tell, son, I'm not sure, but I think they call ships she because, well, she's like a mother to her crew."

Another inquiry followed immediately from the serious-faced young mouse. "I haven't got a mother. Will she be my mother?"

Luke's eyes were sad as he replied, "No, son, I'm afraid not."

Windred stared reprovingly at Luke. "D'you mean you're not taking Martin along with you? He's your son, Luke!"

The Chieftain nodded. "Aye, he is, and that's why I'm not goin' to risk his young life out there on the seas. Beside that, Windred, you're his grandmother, so he'll have to look after youthe only family I have left in this world is you two. Now let's hear no more of it. Would you like to name the ship, son?"

Martin would not let anybeast see tears in his eyes, so he rushed off along the shore, calling back to Luke, "Call her Sayna after my mother!"

Windred watched her grandson dash down to the sea, where he stood throwing pebbles into the waves. "I'm sorry, Luke, I should have kept my silly mouth shut."

Luke rested a paw gently on her shoulder. "Don't be sorry, Windred, I'd have had to tell him sooner or later. Martin's made of tough stuff. He'll grow to be a fine warrior, though the only way he'll learn is to be told the plain truth. 'Twould be no good telling him lies."

That night, a feast to mark the completion of the vessel Sayna was held in Luke's cave. Autumn's harvest had been good and the cooks had excelled themselves. Martin cheered up as he and Timballisto joined a young hog-maid called Twindle and Drunn's nephew Burdle. The four sat together, giggling and joking beneath a lantern at the rear of the cave, ruddy firelight twinkling in their eyes. They had never seen such a sumptuous spread. "Yurr, lookit ee gurt plum pudden!"

"Oh, an' see those likkle tarts, they've got cream on top that looks like a twirl. Bet my mum Welff made those!"

"Mmm! Have you tasted the soup yet? 'Tis full o' rockshrimps an' veggibles!"

"I want a slice o' that big cake, the one with honey an' redcurrants all over the top!"

They sipped Drunn's fizzy apple cider and munched hot wheat scones that contained chunks of candied pear. The elders drank special barley beer and cut off slices of celery and onion cheese to go with it. Old Twoola raised his beaker and broke out into song.

"Oh the weather's cold outside outside,

But we're all snug in here,

With thee an' me, good company,

An' lots o' barley beer!

Oh the snow comes down outside outside,

An' winter winds do moan,

But sit us by a roarin' fire,

An' you'll not hear one groan!

Oh the night is dark outside outside,

But the soup is good an' hot,

Good food, fine friends an' happy hearts,

I'd say we've got the lot!"

Amid the laughter and applause that followed, old Twoola poured himself another beaker, crying out, "That's the stuff. 'Tis a feast an' we be here to enjoy ourselves. Who's got a song?"

Drunn began using a gourd as a drum, beating out a rhythm on it with two wooden spoons. "Goo urr, missus Welff, show 'urn 'ow ee can sing!"

Goodwife Welff was immediately up, apron swirling as she danced a jig, clapping her paws and singing.

"Two plums grew on a pear tree,

A wise old owl did say,

Oh dearie me I'm certain,

They shouldn't grow that way.

For beechnuts come from beech trees,

While Mother Nature rules,

As long as acorns come from oaks,

No wisdom comes from fools!

Then came a little hedgehog,

Who said with simple smile,

Good day to you, wise creature,

Now list' to me awhile.

Why does a tree stay silent,

And yet it has a bark,

An' why do shadows fall at night,

But never leave a mark?

Though you may think me silly,

I know 'tis only fair,

Most any fool can tell you,

That two plums make a pair!"

The mice had never heard this quaint ditty before, and they chuckled at the logic of the little hedgehog.

Dulam poured Welff a beaker of cider, offering her his seat, so that she could catch her breath. "Good song, marm, that was very clever."

The hogwife winked at him. "If'n you think that's clever, then ponder on this. How many pears in a dozen pair, six or twelve?" She watched the bemused mouse trying to work it out.

"Er, six, I think, aye 'tis six."

Goody Welff chuckled. "Then I wouldn't send you to the orchard for my pears."

Dulam scratched his head and did some more figuring. "No, twelve, the answer's twelve!"

"Twelve pair o' pears, are you sure?"

"Er, er, aye! I'm sure, marm!"

Goody Welff drained her beaker, eyes twinkling. "But that's twenty-four, twelve pairs o' pears."

Dulam scratched his head furiously. "You've got me all mixed up, marm!"

Drunn patted the puzzled mouse's back heartily. "Ee try wurkin' et out in apples, zurr!"

Late into the night they carried on feasting, singing and setting riddles. The fire was burning low when Windred moved the cave barricade a little and peered outside. She shuddered and hurried back to the fire. "Brr, snow's beginnin' to fall out there!"

Luke took his cloak and spread it over Martin and Burdle, who had drowsed off together in the corner. Windred waited until Luke returned to the fire, then asked, "Couldn't it bide until the spring?"

Luke stared into the red embers. "No. I have stayed too long already. Snow or not, I'm bound to sail in the morning."

Windred sat silent awhile, listening to the snow-laden winds sweeping the shore outside. Suddenly she leaned forward and gripped Luke's paw fiercely. "Go then, and seek out Vilu Daskar. Slay him and destroy his blood-colored ship. Steal the life from him who robbed us of our Sayna. I'll take care of Martin and when he's grown enough, he'll care for me. But swear to me that one day you'll return here to the creatures who love you, Luke the Warrior!"

Holding his swordblade over the fire, Luke watched the embers reflecting red against it. "I swear that when I'm done the seascum will murder no more innocent creatures. On my oath I will return here when my work is done!"

Chapter 21

It was a bitter winter noon when the ship Sayna, crewed by Luke and a score of his fighting mice, slid down its shale runway on the ice the season had provided. With one fluke buried in the sand, the anchor held the ship against an ebbing tide. Even though her sails were furled, the Sayna strained against the anchor rope, as if eager to be gone. All the farewells had been made, and the crew had sent their friends and families back into the caves, not wishing them to stand out tearful and freezing to wave the ship off. Luke was last to leave. Martin sat stone-faced outside the cave. Luke could not reason with him.

"Son, son, you would not last two moons out there on the high seas. I cannot risk your life pitting you in battle against the seascum I am sworn to do war with. Listen to me, I know what is best for you!"

But Martin would not listen. "I want to sail on the ship and be a warrior like you!"

Luke spread his paws wide and sighed with frustration. "What am I going to do with you, Martin? You have my warrior spirit and your mother's determination. Listen, son, take my sword."

It was a fighting sword and well used. Luke pressed it into his son's paws. The young mouse gazed wide-eyed at the battle-scarred blade and gripped the handle tight as if he would never let go.

Luke smiled, recalling the time when his father had passed the sword on to him. Tapping a paw against the crosshilt, he said, "I can see it is in you to be a fighter, Martin. The first thing warriors must learn is discipline."

Martin felt as though the sword were speaking for him. "Tell me what to do and I will obey."

Relief surged through Luke, as he commanded the would-be warrior. "You will stay and help defend our cave against all comers, protect those weaker than yourself and honor our code. Always use the sword to stand for good and right, never do a thing you would be ashamed of, and never let your heart rule your mind." He tapped the blade once more as its pitted edge glinted in the winter morning. "And never let another creature take this sword from you, not as long as you live. When the time comes, pass it on to another, maybe your own son. You will know instinctively if he is a warrior. If not, hide the sword where only a true warrior who is brave of heart would dare to go and find it. Swear this to me, Martin."

"I swear it on my life!"

The young mouse's gray eyes reflected the wintry sea as he spoke. Luke saw that the tide would soon be turning.

"It might be some seasons before I return, but I'll be back, son. Meanwhile, Timballisto is a promising and sensible creature, with more seasons under his belt than you, and I have left him in charge of our tribe. Obey him."

A determined smile, reminiscent of his mother, hovered on Martin's lips. "Of course I'll obey him, but one day I shall be in charge."

A great feeling of pride enveloped Luke. "I'm sure you will. Farewell, my son."

Rigging ropes hummed around broad-bellying sails as the Sayna skimmed the deeps like a great white swan, headed west out onto the main. Luke turned for a moment from the tiller and looked back astern. He saw the small figure standing on the pebbled strand alone, waving the sword in a warrior's salute. The vessel dipped, bow into a rolling trough, and when she rose on the next wavecrest, the shoreline was lost in an afternoon of snow and icy winter spume. Luke turned back to his crew, certain he had chosen fighters whom he could trust to be at his side through thick and thin. Vurg, Cardo, Dulam, Coll and the rest, they stood waiting his orders, clinging to the taffrails to stay upright on the heaving deck. Cardo was not looking too well. Luke shook his head. "Get below decks, all of you. Batten down everything and stay there. 'Tis goin' to get rough. I'll take tiller an' first watch. We have t'learn to be sailors now, seabeasts, so like all beginners we can expect to be sick me, too. There's nothin' to be ashamed of. We'll get used to stormy seas in a few days."

Cardo had definitely taken on an unhealthy pallor. "Permission to jump over the side an' drown myself, cap'n!"

Just looking at his friend made Luke feel queasy.

"I'll drown you myself if you start that cap'n business. My name's Luke an' that's what you'll call me. Permission denied. Now get below, all of you!"

The entire crew shouted back at him, "Aye aye, cap'n!"

Luke was glad they had not lost their sense of humor.

It was three days before they were out of the stormy latitudes. The evening of the fourth day saw calm seas with no trace of snow. Luke realized they must have dulled southwest instead of holding the northwest i nurse. A meeting was held in the captain's cabin, and I uke tolil the others what had happened. "'Twas my fault, re.ilK . I'm still only learning aboutbein' at sea. You ni.iv've noticed the weather's changed for the better well, that's because we've drifted south."

But Vurg would not hear of his friend taking the blame. "Oh, frogfeathers, mate, it's the fault of everybeast here, we've all taken our turn at the tiller. Bein' seasick or sleepy didn't help things. Little wonder we drifted off course. Ain't that right, pals?"

The crew agreed, though Coll had a question.

"Er, just what was our original course? Seems to me we've just been sailin' willy-nilly, eh, Vurg?"

"Well, I s'pose there's little else y'can do when you're searchin' the seas for that red ship."

Luke gestured at the empty shelves around the cabin. "What were we supposed t'do? There's not a chart or a map aboard the vessel. Most of these pirates sail by instinct. I've been thinkin', maybe 'tis best what we're doin', lettin' the winds an' currents carry us."