The Rogue Crew

19

It was a moonless night out on the marsh. The two trackers, Ricker the searat, and Voogal the ferret, had not gone far. The supply of food and grog they had taken from Greenshroud’s galley interested them more than what seemed like a pointless task. Finding a relatively safe spot, they made camp and lit a small fire. Sitting with their backs against a fallen alder trunk, they broke out the rations.

Ricker sampled a stodgy mess, then, pulling a wry face, spat it out. “Yurk! Wot’s this supposed ter be?”

Voogal sampled the lumpy mass, seeming to like it. “Skilly’n’duff, wot’d dried up inna pan. It’s good stuff, mate. Yore too fussy, that’s yore trouble!”

Ricker uncorked a large earthenware flask. He drank from it, then put it aside, making the same pained expression. “This is Strong Addersting grog. Why didn’t ye take some o’ the good stuff, like Blistery Barnacle?”

Voogal took a swig, nodding approval. “Nothin’ wrong wid Strong Addersting, it’s me favourite. Now, is there anythin’ else to complain about, fussbucket?”

The searat scowled. “Less o’ the fussbucket, ye great slopbin. Yew’d shove anythin’ down yore face!”

His ferret shipmate put some of the cold skilly’n’duff on the fire to warm. He watched it sizzle. “I’m glad I’m a slopbin an’ not a fussbucket like yew. Complainin’ an’ moanin’, that’s all yore good for!”

Ricker pointed indignantly to himself. “Wot me, a moaner an’ complainer? Hah, wot’ve I got ter moan an’ complain about, eh? Sent off on an idjit’s errand, wanderin’ round inna dark, covered in stinkin’ marsh slop, an’ all because the cap’n wants ter git ’is paws on two stoopid liddle ’ogs. Ho, no, bucko, I ain’t complainin’. Lookit me—I’m ’avin’ the time o’ me life!”

Voogal prodded the mass on the fire with a twig. “Then whilst yore enjoyin’ yerself so much, ye’d best start thinkin’ of wot we’re gonna tell Razzid when we gits back t’the ship widout any ’edge’og prisoners, ’cos I can’t see ’ow we’re supposed t’find ’em in this neighbour’ood, kin yew?”

Ricker stood up. Shielding his eyes, he tried to peer beyond the fire into the darkness, calling mockingly, “Ahoy there, me darlin’ liddle ’ogs! Come on out ’ere. Me’n nice ole Uncle Voogal ’ave got vittles an’ grog for ye. Don’t be shy, now, come on out—graaaagh!”

He was tossed over backward as a huge, dark shape swooped on him, ripping the left ear from his head. It was Sircolo the marsh harrier.

Voogal had not fully comprehended what was going on. Hearing Ricker’s agonised yell, he leapt up, drawing his blade. “Ricker, are ye alright, mate? Wot was it?”

Apart from another screech of pain, that was as far as the searat got. Peeved that he had missed his quarry, Sircolo made a lightning turn, striking Ricker with both sets of talons and a savage beak.

From where he crouched on the other side of the alder trunk, the ferret watched in frozen horror as the feathered hunter despatched Ricker with swift savagery. The mighty bird lifted his prey bodily, launching off into the night air. Blood spattered Voogal as he stared upward. The mighty wings flapped, and both Sircolo and Ricker vanished into the darkness.

The ferret gave an unearthly yell. Taking to his paws, he left food, drink and the campfire deserted. Hurtling off willy-nilly into the marshy scrubland, Voogal ran as he had never run before. Brush and gorse scratched at him like attacking claws. He stumbled, breaking through the marsh crust several times, but scrabbling swiftly free, he continued his flight. Completely panicked, he blundered on, unknowingly following the path of the very beasts he had set out to pursue. The ferret’s only thought was to get out of the range of the giant winged predator.

Back at the Guosim streambank camp, a sentry was knocked flat by Voogal stampeding through the camp boundary. The shrew jumped up, calling the alarm.

“Logalogalogaloooog!”

The ferret was almost at the stream’s edge when Dandy Clogs, who was never a heavy sleeper, came sailing sideways through the air. Clakk! The shrew Chieftain’s clogged footpaws connected with Voogal’s jaw, knocking him senseless.

Immediately the camp sprang to life. Dandy bellowed orders. “Vermin! Arm up, Guosim, an’ check the area!”

It did not take long until shrew warriors began calling back, “All clear here, Dandy!”

“Ain’t no more of ’em—must’ve been only one o’ the scum!”

Uggo and Posy hurried to where Dandy was standing over the unconscious Voogal. Brushing off the side of one clog, Dandy commented coolly, “Just nicked the villain. He’s out cold, but he’ll live. Do either of ye know him?”

Kneeling, Uggo studied the ferret’s face. “Aye. I saw this un aboard the ship. I warned ye they’d come after us!”

Rekaby chuckled drily. “Lucky we met friend Dandy, isn’t it? I’ll wager he could lay a whole crew o’ those curmudgeons flat with those clogs o’ his!”

Dandy nodded. “Good job there wasn’t a full crew with him. Rawkin, sluice this rascal down with water ’til he comes round. The rest of ye, go back to sleepin’—we’ve got an early start in the morn.”

Posy spoke for herself and Uggo. “Can we stay and watch him, Dandy, please?”

The Guosim Chieftain shrugged. “As y’please, missy.”

Voogal spat water, wincing, trying slowly to rise. An ornate clog landed on his narrow chest, thrusting him back down. Dandy leaned over him, his eyes glinting like chips of flint in the firelight. He addressed the vermin in a flat, dangerous tone.

“Stay where ye are, muckface. I’ve got questions for ye.”

Seeing the big bird was nowhere about boosted Voogal’s courage. He snarled his reply. “Questions, eh? Wot makes ye think I’m goin’ to answer ’em, watermouse?”

Dandy smiled at Posy. “Listen to him. He don’t know the difference twixt mouse or shrew. A real thick un, eh?” He turned back to Voogal, still smiling. “You’ll answer, thick’ead, an’ they’d better be answers I like, or things might get a bit hot for ye. Rawkin, shove yore rapier blade in the fire, will ye?”

Posy put a paw to her mouth. “You’re not going to . . . ?”

Dandy turned away from Voogal, tipping Posy a huge wink. “Better stay out the way, me darlin’. This won’t be fit for a young maid t’see. Rawkin, tell me when that blade gets to glowin’ red.”

Voogal sighed deeply. “Alright. I’ll answer any of yore questions, shrew. I ain’t takin’ any punishment fer a cap’n who don’t care if’n I lives or dies. Ask away.”

Playing along with Dandy, Posy scowled fiercely. “If’n I was you, I’d tickle the scum up with that hot blade first, show him ye means business!”

Voogal gulped visibly. “No, don’t! I’ll tell ye all ye wants ter know, on me affydavit I will!”

Dandy nodded. “Oh, I think this un’ll sing just fine without me havin’ to dirty a good blade on his hide, missy.”

The Guosim Log a Log’s eyes twinkled as he whispered to Posy, “Away with ye, bloodthirsty liddle snip!” He turned his attention back to the ferret. “Now, me snot-nosed ole vermin, tell us yore story.”

Voogal was readily blurting out the name of his ship and captain when Dandy held up a paw. “I already know all that from young Posy an’ Uggo. So tell me, why were ye ordered to hunt ’em down?”

The ferret replied promptly. “’Cos the one called Uggo comes from a place named Redwall, an’ my cap’n wants ter find out where ’tis.”

The shrew Chieftain glared sternly at Uggo. “Why didn’t ye tell me this?”

Uggo shrugged. “Er, didn’t have time to. . . . We were tired’n’hungry when Rekaby brought us here. I forgot.”

Dandy shook his head in disbelief. “Razzid the Wearat has a shipload of vermin murderers aboard of a vessel that can travel land or water, an’ he wants t’go to Redwall Abbey. What for, d’ye suppose? To take tea wid Abbot Thibb, eh?”

All Uggo could do was to murmur lamely, “Wasn’t my fault, all I did was forget. Sorry.”

Dandy struck his clogs on a stone, sending sparks flying. “Sorry! Is that all ye’ve got t’say, sorry? Rawkin, Dobble, Banktail! Ready the logboats! Guosim, break camp an’ ship yore gear. We’re leavin’ now!”

The fat Guosim called Banktail scratched his ear in bewilderment. “Now, Chief?”

Dandy roared at the hapless shrew, “Aye, now! We’ve got t’get to Redwall afore the Wearat an’ his vermin do. We got to warn ’em there’s goin’ t’be an attack, so come on, shift yore fat tail!”

Dandy pushed past Uggo, berating him coldly, “An’ you, make yoreself useful an’ lend a paw. But if’n ye can’t do that, then stay out of me way!”

Feeling completely crushed, Uggo hung his head, staring at the ground.

Old Rekaby patted his back. “Don’t fret, young un, we all make mistakes. Dandy’ll be in a better mood once the logboats are on the move. Us Fortunate Freepaws won’t be goin’ with ye. We’ve got t’join the rest of our tribe. It’s been good meetin’ ye an’ you, too, Posy. Good fortune go with ye, friends!”

Posy hugged the ancient silver squirrel. “Thanks for everything, Rekaby. You’re a kind creature.”

Without warning, young Swiffo also embraced Rekaby. “Aye, yore one o’ the best I ever travelled with. I’ll miss ye, too, ole silvertail!”

Rekaby merely smiled ruefully at the sea otter. “So you’re off, too, ye young ripscarum. I wondered how long ’twould be afore ye grew tired of our peaceable ways.”

Swiffo grinned roguishly. “I’ve got t’go with Posy an’ Uggo, ’cos I’d hate to miss out on an adventure an’ mayhaps a slice of action. Ahoy, Dandy, got room for another one?”

The Guosim Chieftain laughed. “Hop aboard, I wouldn’t refuse a son o’ Skor Axehound!”

They boarded the logboats, which Guosim paddlers steered skilfully out into midstream. Rekaby and his followers waved them off from the bank.

“Safe journey, hope ye make it to Redwall in time!”

Swiffo nodded toward Voogal. “D’ye want us to ship that vermin aboard with us?”

Rekaby considered the request briefly.

“No, thankee. We’ll dress his wounds an’ keep him with us. Maybe teach him not t’be such a bottlenosed curmudgeon!”

From the prow of the lead logboat, Dandy called out orders to his Guosim. “Keep ’em head down an’ centre current. Stay in line, slipstream the boat in front of ye. No sails, there ain’t a puff o’ wind to fill ’em tonight. Hark, now, I wants t’see those paddles double strokin’ good’n’deep. We got a long way t’go an’ a short time t’do it in, so dig deep, me buckoes!”

Uggo and Posy sat with Swiffo in the stern of the back logboat. They felt a surge as their craft lurched forward under the power of double stroking. With their gruff bass voices, the Guosim shrews struck up a stream shanty, keeping the pace fast and smooth.

“Raise that paddle, dip it now,

an’ don’t miss yore turn.

With a bow, wave at each prow,

trailin’ a wake astern.

Down the waters Guosim travel. On on on!

One day here, an’ on the morrow gone gone gone!

“O you pilot in the lead,

ply yore paddle down now.

Watch for rocks an’ beds o’ weed,

or overhanging’ tree bow.

Smoothly send yore blade a dippin’ deep deep deep!

Stay alert and don’t dare think of sleep sleep sleep!

“Dark an’ swift we’re headin’,

keep both banks in sight.

See the ripples spreadin’,

twinklin’ with starlight.

Hold her in midstream, me buckoes. Stroke stroke

stroke!

Bend yore backs until ye think they’re broke broke

broke!”

It was such a catchy tune that Posy found herself bumping a footpaw to keep time.

Swiffo cautioned her, “Don’t do that, pretty one—ye’ll put the rowers off.”

Uggo snorted. “No, she won’t. Posy’s just helpin’ ’em along.” He tapped the back of the Guosim rower sitting in front of him. “Ahoy, mate, you Guosim certainly knows how to row. D’ye mind if’n I borrow yore paddle an’ have a try?”

The oar shrew was big and tough. He spat into the stream, turning scornfully to Uggo. “Lissen, daftspikes. Try puttin’ a paw near my paddle an’ I’ll belt ye right inta next season with it!”

Uggo’s voice sounded small and apologetic. “Sorry, sir. I was only tryin’ to ’elp.”

The Guosim, a hard-faced warrior, curled his lip. “Only tryin’ to ’elp, eh? Gettin’ us to lose a full night’s sleep, an’ paddlin’ like madbeasts round these streams. You’ve done enuff as ’tis, fool. So belt up, or get belted!”

Swiffo clouted the back of the shrew’s head sharply. “Lissen, mudsnout, if’n ye feel like beltin’ anybeast, then why not try me fer size, eh? Go on, I’ll belt ye into that stream afore ye can raise a paw. So just shut yore trap an’ row!”

Without a word, the Guosim went straight back to paddling.

Swiffo whispered to his two hedgehog friends, “An’ you two stop bumpin’ the side o’ the boat. Don’t argue wid Guosim beasts, an’ grab some sleep whilst ye can!” The young sea otter grinned broadly, winking at them both.

They drifted into sleep on the dark night-shaded stream, cheered up by the fact that they had a good companion, and a real tough one, to boot.

Despite the fact that they were eager to exact retribution on Razzid Wearat and his crew, the march in search of the vessel Greenshroud was both long and arduous. This was mainly owing to the scorching pace set up by both hares and otters trying to outmarch each other. It became a question of regimental pride on the Long Patrol’s side, opposed by a display of Rogue Crew toughness and stamina. Neither side was prepared to concede a fraction to the other. Skor Axehound, bringing up the rear with Captain Rake Nightfur, began to fall some way behind. Neither had spoken a word thus far, merely pressing onward, spitting dust and fine sand.

The big sea otter finally halted, nodding toward the marchers. “This has gone far enough, Rake. They’re goin’ to run themselves into the ground if’n they keep on like that!”

The hare captain caught his breath, nodding. “Aye, Ah’m with ye there, mah friend. D’ye ken they’d hear ye if ye called a halt?”

“Let me give it a try, eh!” Skor spat on his paws, cupping them about his mouth. His massive chest swelled as he sucked in air. Then he let out a bellow which had Rake covering both ears. “On my command . . . haaaaaaaalt!”

Surveying the dust cloud which arose over the marchers, Skor chuckled. “Haven’t lost my touch, it’d seem!”

Both sides sat in the sand, heads down, fighting for breath but still defiant.

“By the left, what’ve we jolly well stopped for, wot?”

“Search me, I was just gettin’ warmed up!”

Neither side would admit tiredness. They carried on thus until Sergeant Miggory (one of the few who was still breathing normally) sprang up to attention. “Silence h’in the ranks. Offisahs’n’chieftains present!”

Skor strode up and down, shaking his big bearded head. “If we met up with those vermin now, wot good would any of ye be, eh? I order ye to stop this foolishness. Captain Rake, would you like to say a word?”

His companion fixed them all with a reproving glare. “This is nae a race, ye ken. Skor Axehound’s right, an’ Ah’m surprised at the behaviour of mah Long Patrol officers. Whit were ye thinkin’ of, eh? Right now, let’s do things proper. Take a rest for a while, but no food, just a small drink each, tae quench the dust. Then we’ll be up an’ marchin’ again in good order. Lieutenant Scutram, ye’ll do us the honour o’ a marchin’ song, an’ I mean a proper sauncy air, not a stampede scramble. Understood?”

Scutram threw him a smart salute. “As y’say, Cap’n, I’ll keep it to a brisk march, sah!”

When the march resumed, things went a lot better, progressing at an even pace. Much to everybeast’s amusement, Skor strode at the head of the parade, hurling his battleaxe high and catching it deftly as Scutram’s tuneful tones rang out.

“Chest out! Chin in! Left right together!

Eyes front! Back straight! Can ye smell that heather?

“Derry down the fields of clover,

see the gold sun dawning,

ain’t it grand to be a rover?

“Chest out! Chin in! Left right together!

Eyes front! Back straight! Can ye smell that heather?

“O’er the deep sea gulls a-wheeling,

larks are soaring inland

on we go, behind us leaving,

pawprints in the sand.

“Chest out! Chin in! Left right together!

Eyes front! Back straight! Can ye smell that heather?

“Hope my love will wait for me,

with a fond heart yearning,

aye, she’ll smile with joy to see,

her warrior returning.

“Chest out! Chin in! Left right together!

Eyes front! Back straight! Can ye smell that heather?”

After the song, one of the sea otters, Garrent, chuckled as he chatted to Big Drander. “Wot sort o’ marchin’ song is that? Bit sissy, ain’t it?”

Drander kept his eyes front, muttering out the side of his mouth, “Tell that to Cap’n Rake. He wrote it.”

Kite Slayer, the tough ottermaid, scowled darkly. “Ain’t the sort of marchin’ song I’d be caught singin’. Would ye like to hear a Rogue Crew song? One Skor wrote?”

Trug Bawdsley nodded affably. “Jolly nice of ye, missy. Carry on an’ warble away.”

Without further ado, Kite launched into the sea otter tune.

“O there’s blood on the axe,

an’ there’s blood on the shield,

an’ blood on the swordblade, too.

An’ if yore a foe of our Rogue Crew,

there’ll be blood all over you!

Blood blood! Blood blood—”

Corporal Welkin interrupted before Kite could sing another verse. “Oh, well done, miss. What a jolly little ditty, a right pretty paw tapper, wot!”

A nearby sea otter nodded. “Aye, it’s brought a tear to many an eye, I can tell ye.”

Young Flutchers chuckled. “Indeed, old chap. I’d wager it’s brought more’n a bloomin’ tear to some. Wot!”

Lancejack Sage, who was up in the vanguard, called out, “Scouts returnin’ ahead!” Accompanied by Gil and Dreel the ottermaids, Buff Redspore loped up, saluting Rake and Skor.

“See that long ridge ahead, sah, sort of hillscape? The vermin ship has been there, anchored in the cove. But we’re afraid she’s gone now.”

Skor scratched at his bushy beard. “Gone, which way?”

Buff answered respectfully, “Wouldn’t like to make a guess, Lord. Mayhaps you’d like to judge for yourself? It ain’t far.”

From the ridgetop, Dreel pointed to the clear waters of the calm bay below. “It’s not deep. See the mudpatch on that clean sand beneath the water? That’s where they’ve been careenin’ marsh dirt off’n their hull.”

Her sister Gil explained, “That mud won’t move for a day or two. Ain’t much tide, water’s almost still.”

It was late noon when they explored the cove. Being an expert tracker, Buff Redspore ventured her opinion. “No wheelmarks in the sand, so Greenshroud never left the water. Only one beast came ashore—fox, prob’ly a vixen by the prints. But see here, there was already another over by the base of the hill. Looks like an old hedgehog.”

Skor stared at the tracker. “How d’ye know that?”

Buff produced a few greyish spines. “Old enough t’be losin’ these. The vixen took the old un back aboard the ship with her.”

Rake studied the twin tracks. “Tae get information out o’ the beastie, Ah think. So, where does that leave us?”

Buff shrugged. “She hasn’t gone inland, an’ she’s already been up north, so she must be sailin’ south.”

Ruggan Axehound mused, “If’n ye say the vermin wouldn’t attack yore mountain again, then wot do they want down south?”

Jum Gurdy, who had stayed in the background thus far, now came forward. The big Cellardog looked worried. “D’ye think they’re plannin’ on havin’ a go at Redwall?”

Captain Rake Nightfur stamped his paw down hard. “Och, aye! Ah’m a fool for no’ thinkin’ o’ that mahself. But why has the Wearat no’ gone inland tae do it? He has a vessel on wheels.”

Jum Gurdy told him why. “Further south, twixt here an’ yore mountain, there’s a river runs o’er the shore, Cap’n—’tis called the River Moss. Runs through the woodlands an’ dunes, over the beach, into the sea.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded. “We crossed o’er h’it on the fourth day h’outward bound, sah. I remembers it well, ’cos the water was sweet to drink, an’ fresh.”

Skor looked ready to march onward. He boomed impatiently, “Well, we’re losin’ time standin’ here chinwaggin’ about it. We should be marchin’ south t’find this River Moss!”

Jum Gurdy interrupted. “Could I make a suggestion?”

Rake forestalled Skor by saying, “Aye, please do.”

Quickly, Jum scratched out a rough map in the sand. “This is the coastline goin’ south. River Moss should be somewheres about ’ere. It flows out o’ the east. Where the path to Redwall Abbey is, there’s a ford o’er the water. So, if the vermin are goin’ to the Abbey, this is my plan, friends. Instead o’ followin’ the coastline south, we should cut inland now, on a southeasterly course. That way we’ll save time an’ we might even spot ’em.”

With a brief nod of thanks, Skor Axehound turned and began marching off, away from the sea, commenting gruffly, “Well, wot are we waitin’ for? We’re losin’ time!”

Following his example, everybeast fell in behind him. Within a short time, they had crossed some hills and were out of sight of the cove.

In their haste, they had forgotten one of their number, Crumdun. The fat little stoat had seized his opportunity to slink away during the discussion. He squeezed in beneath some rocks at the base of the hill, pulling an old wet sack he had found over himself. He waited until there was complete silence within the cove before venturing out. Crumdun heaved a great sigh of relief. He quite liked the hares, who had fed him, treating him decently. However, he lived in mortal fear of the sea otters, convinced that with their hatred of vermin, he would be slain by them sooner or later. His new sense of freedom filled him with happiness. No more captivity or serving as a ragmop on corsair ships. Opening the sack, Crumdun found a variety of shellfish and molluscs. Later that evening he sat by a small fire roasting his supper whilst reflecting aloud.

“This ain’t a bad life. I can suit meself wot I does. Funny, I allus wanted to be like me ole mate, Braggio Ironhook. But that ain’t such a good idea, or I’d ’ave ended up wid me ’ead stuck atop o’ Greenshroud’s foremast. No, I’m best off just bein’ meself, liddle fat Crumdun!”

Which was indeed a fact, because not many vermin ended up being as lucky as him.