The Rogue Crew

16

Mowlag judged the distance between the flat shoreline and the dunetops. “Don’t see ’ow we’ll catch ’em if’n they’ve gone up there, Cap’n.”

Razzid wiped at his weeping eye, answering caustically, “I didn’t think ye would. D’ye recall who got us atop o’ the dunes by the stripedog mountain?”

Jiboree wagged his head admiringly. “That was you, Cap’n!”

The Wearat nodded. “Right, an’ here’s how ye do it. First we find the easiest of these dunes, the smallest. Then ’tis just like steerin’ a ship at sea. Get the wind behind ye, then tack an’ weave from a distance away. Get the crew standin’ by to punt with the oars on both sides. We gets up speed on the flat, then goes full sail at the smallest hill. Soon as we hit it, the crew start helpin’ her up by pushin’ with the oars. Remember now, mudbrain?”

Mowlag tugged his snout meekly. “Aye, Cap’n, ’twas yore idea. Once we’re up, it’s like sailin’ up an’ down the waves.”

Swiffo and the others watched Greenshroud from where they crouched in the dunetop reeds.

Frudd scratched his bushy head. “Wot are they up to? Maybe they’re goin’ back to sea, eh?”

Rekaby, who had been eyeing the vessel keenly, shook his head. “I don’t think so. Look, she’s caught the breeze on the turn to get up a fair lick along the hard sand.”

Swiffo gasped. “Lookit the speed it’s goin’ now, good gosh!”

With a stiff breeze bellying out all sails, Greenshroud really whipped along below the tideline. Suddenly the big craft changed course, thundering at an angle toward the lowest dune. Excited shouts could be heard from the vermin as their ship hit the reeded slope. Oarpoles shot out, port and starboard, digging into the sand to keep up the momentum. The wheels scarce had time to settle on the duneside. It was an amazing sight.

Gaining the dunetop, Greenshroud careered off across the hilly summits, skilfully steered by corsairs heaving and slacking the rigging and ratlines under Razzid Wearat’s command.

Rekaby kept his head low, muttering to his companions, “I think ’tis time we weren’t here!” The small party made a hasty retreat, though as they surmounted the next dune, a hoarse cry rang out from Greenshroud’s lookout at the mainmast peak.

“Ahoy, Cap’n, there they go, the two ’ogs an’ four otherbeasts. Straight ahead, an’ a point starboard. See ’em, Cap’n? Atop o’ that dune, crouchin’ down!”

Old Rekaby shook his head woefully. “D’ye hear that, the bottlenosed curs have spotted us. I wonder how they managed that.”

Young Swiffo knew. “It’s that ole tail o’your’n. Sticks up like a curly silver flag. We’d best make ourselves scarce!”

Rekaby sighed. “Aye, but don’t take the trail back to our Fortunate Freepaws, or they’ll be huntin’ us all down.”

Fiddy pointed northeast. “We’ll lead ’em away from our tribe first. Then try to lose the villains somehow.”

Posy looked doubtfully at the suggested route. “But we’ll be leaving the dunes for the heathland. Surely they’ll overtake us easily on the flat.”

Swiffo grinned mischievously. “Hah, but you don’t know this country like we do, miz!”

Greenshroud was rolling along smoothly under Razzid’s command. Driven by the breeze under full sail, the ship glided uphill and down dale without a hitch.

The Wearat yelled up to his lookout, “Where away are they now, Redtail?”

The keen-sighted stoat laughed aloud, pointing. “Haharrharr! The fools are makin’ fer the flatlands, Cap’n. We’ll run ’em down wid no trouble!”

Jiboree grinned wickedly. “We kin keep the liddle ’ogs’til they tell us where Redwall is. But wot d’ye say we does wid the rest, Cap’n?”

Razzid twirled his trident, imitating a spit. “Been a while since we ’ad somethin’ that wasn’t bird or fish. Some roast red meat would cheer us all up, eh!”

Now the fugitives were on the heathland, which apart from some scrub, was level ground. Uggo managed to run up front with Swiffo.

“I hope ye know wot yore doin’, mate.”

The young otter glanced back over his shoulder. “Save yore breath, friend. That wheely boat’ll soon be out o’ the dunes. Lissen, wot can ye hear?”

Uggo listened carefully. “Nothin’ much. Wot d’ye want me to hear, Swiffo?”

Breaking stride, Swiffo caught something in his paw. He showed it to Uggo before it leapt away. “Grasshoppers, big fellers—the sort we calls marsh hoppers. Now look, there’s dragonflies, an’ black darters. Wot does that tell ye?”

The young hedgehog looked blank; he shrugged. “Wot?” Swiffo called to Posy, who was running behind them, “D’you know, Miz Posy?”

“Dragonflies are usually flying near water—streams, riverbanks an’ such. Is there a river round here?”

Rekaby spotted Greenshroud coming down the last duneside. “Looks like we’ll soon have company. How far now to the marsh, Swiffo?”

The otter scout replied, “We’re already on the start of it. Single line, now, an’ follow in my trail.”

Uggo looked nonplussed. “Wot is all this about—” Running to one side of Swiffo, Uggo’s footpaw suddenly sank.

The young otter grabbed him back on track. “Told ya to stay in my trail. I knows the track through this marsh like the back o’ me own paw, so stick close.”

Uggo’s paw had made a hole in the crust of the marsh, which was only a thin cover of soil and dead vegetation. The paw made a sucking noise as he pulled it from the foulsmelling, dark green ooze.

Posy covered her mouth against the fetid odour. “Phwaaah! Stinks like cabbage boiled last summer and bad eggs. Don’t come near me ’til you’ve cleaned it off!”

Grabbing a pawful of moss, Uggo began scrubbing at his footpaw. However, he was brought up sharply by a kick on the bottom from Rekaby.

“No time t’be lackadaisical, young un. We’ve got a shipload o’ vermin on our tails. Now, get ye goin’, an’ keep in line with Swiffo. Ye can get cleaned off later!”

Greenshroud had made a speedy descent out of the dunes, and a lively breeze was astern. Corsairs and searats crowded her for’ard deck, leaning over the sides and shouting at their quarry, which was looming up in clear view.

“Hoho, supper’s ahead, mates—we’ll ’ave ’em soon!”

“I wants first go at those fat, ’airy mouses!”

“Makes no diff’rence t’me. They’ll all taste the same once they’re roasted!”

“Ahoy there, friends, don’t run, it’ll only tire ye out. Come up ’ere an’ ride with us, we’ll take care o’ ye!”

Mowlag began distributing boat hooks and pikes. “Git up on the prow an’ ’ook them aboard once they’re within reach. Look sharpish!”

Jiboree’s face was one huge smirk. “Shall I tell that greasy ole cook to stoke up ’is galley fires, Cap’n?”

Razzid frowned. To him this all seemed a bit too easy; he was beginning to feel suspicious.

“Slack off sail, Mowlag. I think there’s somethin’ we don’t know about this place that those beasts do—”

Greenshroud suddenly lurched head down as its weight burst the marsh crust. Two corsairs standing out on the bowsprit with pikes at the ready were hurled from the ship. Razzid’s intuition had worked, but too late.

Fiddy and Frudd, who were bringing up the rear, heard the noise and turned to look back. Both hairy voles began leaping jubilantly.

“It worked, it worked! Look at the fools!”

“Haharr, that’s wot ye get for chasin’ Fortunate Freepaws!” Swiffo shouted at them. “Their ship’s stuck, but they can still track an’ hunt us. Come on, we ain’t got time t’waste. Once nightfall comes, even I could git lost in this marsh!”

Back at Greenshroud, it was a scene of chaos, and incredible stench. The big vessel was almost bow deep in the dark soup, with its front two wheels buried up to their rims. Razzid Wearat laid about at everybeast with his trident haft, bawling furiously, “Get aft, all paws aft! Mowlag, we need ropes, hawsers, lines, anything. Lash ’em to the stern an’ back wheels. Get off the ship—see if’n ye can find trees or rocks an’ tie up to them. We’ve got t’stop ’er sinkin’ further!”

Pushing, kicking and shoving crewbeasts, Mowlag and Jiboree ran about in a frenzy, bellowing, “Yew ’eard the cap’n, empty the rope locker! Shekra, git a shore party an’ scout out rocks or trees. Move!”

A slimy paw reached out of the mess, clutching at the bowsprit, where it clung for a moment before slipping back into the gurgling marsh. That was all there was to be seen of the two crewbeasts who had fallen in.

Razzid came gingerly from the stern onto the gently heaving marsh crust. Swiftly making his way to safer ground, he encountered the fat, greasy cook. “You, get a fire goin’ here, an’ don’t go pokin’ that peg leg of yores through the floor.”

The cook, a peg-legged weasel named Badtooth, saluted. “Aye, Cap’n, a fire might drive the smell away, eh?” As he spoke, his wooden peg punctured the crust, sending up a jet of odorous liquid.

Razzid was about to hurl his trident at the unlucky Badtooth when the searat Dirgo came creeping carefully up to make a report.

“Cap’n, the vixenfox says to tell ye she’s found a big ole tree. ’Tis close enough to haul yore ship out.”

The Wearat almost thrust his trident into the quaking ground, but thinking better of it, he waved it at Dirgo. “Show me this tree. I’d best take charge o’ gettin’ the ship free, rather’n trust yew idiots!”

As the runaways forged onward, shades of evening began to fall. Posy looked fearfully at Uggo. “Hope we don’t get lost here once it goes dark. It’s a vile, stinky place!”

Rekaby silenced her with an upraised paw. “Hush, listen!”

From somewhere not too far off, a harsh, challenging cry rang out. The old squirrel smiled.

“We’ll be alright now. Sircolo’s here. Wait, I’ll call him.” Rekaby shouted in an equally aggressive manner, “Ahoy, old raggedy tail, if’n you eat me, I’ll poison ye, just for spite!”

There was a whistling noise, and Rekaby was almost knocked flat by Sircolo’s huge wings as the big bird came out of nowhere to land in their midst.

Uggo and Posy ran back several paces, awestruck at the appearance of the visitor. Sircolo was a fully grown male marsh harrier, with slate grey back and tail, cream and white underwing plumage and reddish feathered legs. The harrier had the curved beak common to hunting hawks and eyes that were frightening to look at. Sircolo held forth a lethal yellow-scaled talon, which Rekaby shook cordially.

The harrier blinked at him. “Yirrrk! Who would eat you, old gristlebag!”

Rekaby chuckled. “Well, there’s a crew of vermin on our tails who ain’t too particular what they eat.”

Swiffo boldly came up and rubbed his back under Sircolo’s neck. The harrier obviously liked this and made a hoarse chuckling sound.

Swiffo spoke soothingly. “Just think of it, mate. Fat, juicy searats, plump stoats, nice easy pickings, eh!”

Sircolo eyed the present company so hungrily that Posy wondered if the savage bird was really joking.

“Vermin make good eating, much better than you scrawny lot. I suppose you want me to get ye back to firm ground before nightfall?”

Swiffo stroked under the harrier’s beak. “Aye, if’n ye’ll be so good. The vermin can wait ’til later. They won’t be goin’ far—their ship’s bogged down.”

Sircolo seemed to ponder things for a moment, then he rapped his beak lightly on the young otter’s head.

“Well, alright, but this is the last time I help you cumbersome beasts. Next time I’ll eat ye all. Agreed?”

Uggo noticed that Sircolo’s eyes were twinkling; so were Rekaby’s as he twitched his tail in agreement. “Cumbersome, eh? That’s a good new word. What’s it mean?”

The harrier snapped his savage beak close to Rekaby’s nose. “It means you’re a nuisance, but better than nothing to a hungry bird!”

The ancient squirrel wrinkled his snout at Sircolo. “Fair enough. This is the last time we’ll bother ye, friend. Next time we do, we won’t do it again. Right?”

The harrier held up a taloned foot. “Enough! Just follow me. I’ll put ye off at the start of the woodlands. Ye can rest safely there. By the way, just how many vermin are there?”

The hairy vole, Fiddy, spread his paws wide. “Lots’n’lots o’ the scum. Far too many for you to scoff.”

Sircolo stared down his beak at Fiddy, then sniffed. “Don’t fret, little furbag. I’ll give it a good try!”

Back at Greenshroud, Razzid supervised the rescue of his vessel from the marsh. The tree, which had been found, was an old grey alder, which had long since seen its best seasons. Razzid gave the trunk a whack with his trident; it emitted a hollow sound.

Shekra kept well out of his reach. “There’s not much else around here, Mighty One. It’s the best of a poor lot.”

The Wearat rudely interrupted her. “’Twill have to do. You lot, smear that grease around the trunk. Jiboree, set that tackle up. Come on, the longer ye hang about, the deeper she’ll drop. Shake a paw!”

Between them, Jiboree and Mowlag reeved several stout ropes around the trunk, which was thickly greased. The ropes were attached at one end to the ship’s stern. The other ends were tied to long oars, six of them. Four crewbeasts were yoked to each oar. The rest of the vermin, armed with pikes and pieces of wood, stood almost waist deep in the marsh, ready to push at the hull as the haulers pulled on the ropes.

Razzid paced up and down. Checking that all was ready, he roared, “Right, now. When I gives the orders, ye heave an’ haul! Ahoy, you, wot are ye jumpin’ about for?”

The weasel corsair in question stopped jumping but continued slapping at his neck and back. “I’m bein’ bitten, Cap’n, by gnats, I think. Yowch!”

Razzid wielded his trident. “Pay attention to my orders, or ye’ll get bitten by this. Now . . . heave . . . haul!” The entire crew went at it, straining and shoving. The hauling ropes moved slightly around the alder trunk, but the vermin in the swamp slipped, slid and fell as they tried to get a purchase with their implements. Greenshroud moved out of the marsh a fraction, then settled back to her former position.

Razzid stabbed his trident angrily into the ground. Corded sinews stood out on his neck as he bellowed at the unhappy vermin. “Idiots! Oafs! The ship was movin’ an’ ye stopped! Why? Has the stink gone to yore brains? Are ye so stupid that ye can’t obey my orders? Mowlag! Shekra! Jiboree! Get heavin’ on those oars with me. We’ll show these wooden’eads how to do it!”

Pushing his way into position on an oarshaft, Razzid waited until Shekra, Mowlag and Jiboree joined crewbeasts on the other shafts. He glared at them all, snarling harshly, “If’n the ship don’t start movin’, here’s wot I’ll do. I’ll choose one who ain’t pullin’ his weight, an’ I’ll sink ’im in that swamp, with rocks tied round ’is neck. Then if’n she still ain’t movin’, I’ll pick another idle beast an’ do it agin! Are ye ready? Right . . . heave!”

The knowledge that Razzid would carry out his threat was enough. Searats and corsairs hauled with an energy fuelled by fear. Greenshroud emerged to the accompaniment of the sucking gurgle of marsh slime.

No sooner were the stern wheels showing than an enterprising weasel, who had been pushing from the after end, waded from the mud. Grabbing a pike, he leapt in behind a wheel, yelling, “Leave ’er stern end, mates. Git pikes’n’paddles under ’er wheels—we’ll lever ’er out!”

Others joined him, calling out in triumph, “Haharr, ’ere she comes, mateys. Keep ’er goin’!”

With the combined hauling and leverage, Greenshroud rolled out, back onto solid ground.

Razzid left off hauling to bellow orders. “Don’t stop for anythin’. Keep ’er movin’! Pull! Shove! Pull! Shove! Don’t stop fer nothin’!”

Mowlag protested, “But Cap’n, she’ll hit the tree!”

Razzid bawled frantically, “Never mind the tree, it’s an old un. It won’t stand in the way of my big ship!”

He was right. The old grey alder snapped at its base as the prow struck it head-on. Greenshroud rolled over the stump as the trunk fell to one side.

The weasel who had come up with the idea of levering the wheels slid in the mud, falling flat. As the for’ard wheels rolled over him, snapping his spine, he screamed, wailing to the Wearat, “Aaaargh! Cap’n, ’elp me!”

Razzid, however, had problems of his own, which beset both himself and the crew. A colony of mosquitoes, formerly housed in the fork of the tree, had been dislodged. They fell upon the vermin in an angry horde. Greenshroud rolled on alone, ropes, mud, marshweed and paddles trailing alongside.

Cavorting and leaping about like madbeasts, the vermin crew waved their limbs about wildly, trying to fend off the vengeful insects as they wailed aloud.

“Yaaah, I’m bein’ et alive!”

“Gerremoff, I ’ates skeeters!”

“Yirkk! One’s gone down me ear!”

“Owchyowch! There’s millions o’ the liddle ’orrors!”

Spitting out a mosquito and pawing one from his bad eye, Razzid picked up his trident and took off after the runaway vessel. “Come on, move yoreselves! All paws aboard—’tis the only way we’ll git away from these things!”

Hastily they followed their captain’s command. It resembled some sort of crazy travelling dance. Still beating at themselves, the crew hopskipped alongside the moving vessel. Clumsily seizing the trailing ropes, they stumbled aboard.

A grizzled searat pointed back to the marsh, addressing Razzid. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but wot about Buppler?”

The Wearat smeared a mosquito underpaw. “Buppler? Who’s ’e?”

The searat sniffed. “Buppler’s me matey, Cap’n. ’E was the one who fell under the wheels. Must’ve been bad injured, pore Buppler—’e was still alive an’ callin’ for ’elp when you ordered us outta there.”

Razzid cast a jaundiced eye over the searat. “Anybeast stupid enough t’get hisself run over like that deserves wot’e gets. Don’t bother me, I got a ship to run. If’n yore mate’s’urt bad, then he’ll die, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

Jiboree slapped an insect flat upon his cheek. “Wot’s yer orders, Cap’n?”

Razzid tested the breeze on a damp claw. “Make all sail. Let’s get back t’sea. We needs to careen the muck off’n this ship o’ mine an’ clean it up. Good salt water’ll rid us of any mosquitoes still with us. Now, I needs two good trackers t’do me a service.”

Jiboree volunteered a pair. Ricker, a shifty-eyed searat, and Voogal, a lanky ferret, did not seem overpleased to be selected, but they could not refuse Razzid’s wishes.

He explained what he wanted. “Those beasts we were after, I want ye to trail ’em. Wot I needs is the two liddle’ogs, Posy an’ Uggo. Catch ’em an’ bring ’em back t’me if’n ye can. Take a couple o’ lanterns an’ tell the cook t’give ye enough vittles an’ grog to last ye. We’ll be somewheres south along the coast, prob’ly lyin’ at anchor ’til she’s shipshape agin. Any questions?”

Ricker saluted. “Wot about the other lot, those ’airy mouses an’ some squirrels? D’ye want them, Cap’n?”

Razzid waved his trident dismissively. “Slay ’em, roast’em, do wot ye want, just fetch me the ’ogs.”

It sounded like a task very suitable to the pair. They saluted eagerly. “Aye aye, Cap’n. Leave it to us!”

When they had departed, Razzid called Shekra to him. “The ’og called Uggo knows where Redwall is, I’m sure of it. If’n ’e won’t talk I’ll make his liddle friend weep a few tears—that’ll loosen ’is tongue. I ain’t givin’ up on findin’ that place, an’ you mark my words, vixen, it better be as good as ye say ’tis. I don’t like my Seer disappointin’ me. Unnerstood?”

Shekra nodded vigorously. “Trust me, Mighty One, ’twill be all ye desire an’ more. The omens never lie!”