The Rogue Crew

28

Startled by the sudden invasion, Long Patrol, Rogue Crew, Guosim and hedgehogs ducked into the water. The very air above them thrummed with noise and ear-splitting squeaks. Gasping for air, Swiffo broke the surface, still holding the smouldering torch. Dimly he could make out masses of black shapes wheeling and swooping everywhere. He struck out with the dead torch, left and right, trying to defend himself. However, he hit only empty air, no matter how hard he tried.

Skor Axehound came up for air. Swiftly sensing what was going on, he grabbed the torch from his young son.

“Don’t harm ’em—stay still!”

Hugging himself and closing both eyes tight, Swiffo obeyed. One by one, the others emerged from the water, with Skor still calling the same advice to them. Everybeast stood stock-still, some covering their ears to shut out the deafening sounds. Then as suddenly as it started, all was normal again. They were left standing waist deep in the watery, dark tunnel. Fresh torches blossomed into light, bringing relief to the gloom.

Lancejack Sage shook herself. “I say, what’n the name o’ blinkin’, blitherin’ seasons was that, wot?”

Skor lifted her onto the ledge with a single huge paw. “That was bats, missy. Hundreds, nay, thousands o’ the things. They must roost up there inside yon hole.”

Captain Rake chuckled. “Och, ’tis nae wonder our foebeasts didnae pursue us. They’re affrighted o’ the beasties!”

Big Drander exclaimed, “Well, I don’t bloomin’ well blame ’em. They gave me a few nasty moments, I tell ye.”

Sergeant Miggory agreed. “Aye, me too, h’I must confess, but those batbeasts ’ave gone now. Let ’em go an’ frighten the rascals who were shootin’ poison darts h’at us.”

Lieutenant Scutram mounted the ledge. “Indeed! There certainly were a lot o’ bat blighters. How many would ye say, sah?”

Rake Nightfur scratched an ear. “Och, as many as ye like. Mahself, Ah wasnae countin’, just wonderin’ how we’re goin’ tae get oot o’ this place!”

Buff Redspore pointed up to the hole. “I’d say by that route, sah. The stream’ll only take us underground, an’ we ain’t otters. What if it goes deeper, maybe up to the tunnel roof? There’d be no room for us to breathe. I vote we go up through the hole. It’s drier, an’ there ain’t no bats up there right now, wot!”

Skor shouldered his great battleaxe. “We’re with ye. Sounds like a sensible idea. Huh, that’s if’n a beast like me will fit through that hole.”

Ruggan patted his father’s ample midriff. “Right, you go last. If ye get stuck, we can always pull ye through, ole wavedog!”

Skor pawed his axe, nodding at his son. “You ain’t so big I can’t clip yore rudder a touch. Now, move! Shrews, hogs’n’hares first, Rogue Crew t’the rear!”

Sergeant Miggory went first, setting a torch in a crack as he helped Uggo and Posy through into the dark, silent hole. Ever practical, the tough colour sergeant found some thick dead roots protruding overhead. These he pulled out, making more torches. Soon they were all assembled, even Skor, who had managed to bull his thick body through after two tries.

Buff Redspore, along with Gil and Dreel, the young otter scouts, went ahead whilst the others took a short rest.

Log a Log Dandy rubbed his paws together, shuddering. “Gloomy flippin’ place, ain’t it? Sort of eerie, eh!”

Captain Rake looked around at the thick-packed earth and rock, with roots dangling from the low ceiling. “Ah’m no’ verra fond o’ it mahself. We’ll move on soon, before the bats come back.”

Old Drogbuk, who had remained quiet so far, began grumbling. “Huh, stuck unnerground without a thing to eat or sup, an’ my rheumatiz is playin’ me up after sloppin’ through that stream. Wish I’d never come ’ere.”

Skor waggled his axe under Drogbuk’s snout. “Well, yore here now, ole pincushion, so stop moanin’ or I’ll land ye a smack that’ll knock all those spines out!”

The trackers returned. Buff Redspore threw Skor and Rake a quick salute. “Got to report more bats ahead, though they ain’t in our way. They’re in a sort of chamber off to one side.”

Captain Rake drew his claymores. “Right, let’s go an’ see. Try not tae make much noise, mah bonny beasties.”

Uggo grasped Posy’s paw. “Oh, no, more bats. I ain’t too fond o’ bats!”

Posy pulled him along with the others. “Oh, Uggo, they’re only creatures, same as us, an’ they haven’t done us any harm so far. Trust Cap’n Rake.”

The side chamber was off to the left of the winding uphill passage. Holding up a torch, Rake peered in. “Och, nothin’ tae fret aboot in there. ’Tis full o’ babes an’ a few auld batwives, all hangin’ upside doon.”

Swiffo pushed past him. “Can I take a look?”

Skor dragged him back by his rudder. “Leave them alone an’ get back with the Crew.”

Swiffo mumbled, “Huh, only wanted a quick peep.”

The bats began setting up a feeble clamour of squeaks.

Skor shook his head at his young son. “See wot ye’ve done, upset the creatures, ye scamp!”

Sergeant Miggory held up a paw for silence. “It ain’t Swiffo wot’s h’upset ’em, sah. H’it’s a snake.”

Skor stepped back from the chamber. “Wot makes ye say that, Sar’nt?”

Miggory confirmed his suspicion. “That smell, that sound, h’I’d know h’it anywhere. There’s a serpent in there, stalkin’ the bat babes.”

Lieutenant Scutram waggled his ears. “Hmm, stands to reason, I’d say. Just the place for those confounded reptiles, a ready-made larder o’ vittles. Could ye say what type o’ snake the blighter is, Sarn’t?”

Miggory drew closer to the chamber, sniffing the air. “A h’adder, sah. I’d stake me scut h’on it!”

Skor made to march onward. “Well, let’s hope there’s no more ahead, eh!”

Rake Nightfur confronted him. “Ye cannae just march off an’ leave the babbies t’be eaten by a snake. ’Tain’t right, Skor!”

The Rogue Crew Chieftain stared oddly at Rake. “Then wot d’ye propose we do? Adders can kill with a single strike—poisonfangs, we call ’em. Best left alone, eh?”

The hare captain turned away, throwing a nod in Miggory’s direction. “Right, Sarn’t, we’ll deal with this.”

Miggory’s craggy features broke into a grin. “D’ye mean a quick decoy an’ the ole one-two, sah?”

Rake winked at him. “Aye, that should do the job, Ah ken!”

The word went round like wildfire.

“Surely they ain’t goin’ t’take on a bloomin’ adder, wot?”

“They must be mad—us Guosim stays away from adders!”

“Well, come on, buckoes, we’ve got t’see this!”

Lieutenant Scutram gave an order. “You beasts, stay away from the chamber. Ye can watch, but stay still an’ quiet. Cap’n Rake an’ the sarn’t can deal with an adder. I’ve seen’em do it before. So stand clear!”

It was indeed an adder, a fully grown female complete with black chevrons decorating its scales. Slowly, it was making its way up the chamber wall toward the tiny hanging bats. The older batwives were squeaking piteously, unable to deter the snake from its purpose. Unaware of the peril, the little ones squeaked along with their elders.

With sinister, unhurried grace, the predator slithered up the wall, latching on to outcrops for support. Rake sheathed one of his blades, arming himself with the other and a torch. He nodded to the sergeant.

“Are ye fit’n’ready, mah friend?”

Miggory was balanced lightly, both paws clenched. “Aye, let’s h’open the ball, sah!”

He dropped to one side of the snake as Rake inched forward and touched its tail tip with the lighted torch.

Then things happened with a speed which amazed the onlookers. The snake spun around, jaws open, fangs exposed. Captain Rake thrust the claymore blade edge-on at it. Instinctively, the reptile struck, clamping its mouth on the blade edge. Before it could let go, Sergeant Miggory slipped in beneath it. With lightning rapidity, he delivered two stunning uppercuts, right under the adder’s jaws.

Bang! Whack!

Rake watched the snake slide off his blade, senseless. “Mah thanks t’ye, Sarn’t. Ah think two blows is enough.”

Miggory picked up the snake, checking its fangs. “Never needed more’n two blows to break h’a sarpint’s fangs, sah. That’n won’t be a-feedin’ off baby bats no more!” He tossed the unconscious adder to one side and was immediately surrounded by young hares and sea otters.

“Blood’n’thunder, Sarge, how did ye do that? I never seen anythin’ so fast in all me life!”

One of the Rogue Crew seemed a bit cynical. “’Twas all some sort o’ trick, wasn’t it, Sergeant?”

Miggory’s fisted paws wove a dazzling pattern around the otter’s face. He leaned back against the tunnel wall, awestruck. The tough veteran hare chuckled lightly.

“Allus remember, young sah, the quickness o’ the paw can deceive the eye—h’an’ like h’as not, blacken h’it!”

Lieutenant Scutram gave the order to move on. “Right, chaps, let’s leave the batbabes t’their nap an’ the serpent to a jolly sore mouth when it wakens. Fall in by the right, straighten up, but mind your nut on the ceilin’, especially you, Drander!”

No sooner were they on the march again than old Drogbuk started complaining. “I’m starvin’ t’death. Don’t we even get a mizzuble bite to eat?”

Skor trod on the back of his footpaw, making him stumble. “Give yore tongue a rest, y’ole famine-faced nuisance. There ain’t vittles nor drink for any of us, so quit moanin’ about it. Just shut up an’ keep up!”

Trug Bawdsley was startled by an ominous rumble. “What’s goin’ on chaps? Is the blinkin’ tunnel collapsin’, wot?”

Big Drander answered mournfully, “’Tis this flippin’ stomach o’ mine, it won’t stop grumblin’.”

A loud gurgling groan confirmed this. Drander smiled wanly. “See, I told ye. The jolly old tum’s got a mind of its own!”

Corporal Welkin Dabbs glared at the culprit. “Keep that up, bucko, an’ I’ll put your stomach on a charge!”

Drander raised his voice over his protesting abdomen. “I say, steady on, Corp. That ain’t fair!”

Captain Rake stifled a chuckle. “If ye can sing a bonny tune, I’ll drop all charges on ye, Drander.”

The big hare promptly broke into song.

“Here I’m sittin’ in the guardhouse,

wot a sad old sight to see,

so take warnin’ by my story, chaps,

an’ lissen carefully. . . .

Oh, don’t let your stomach rule your life,

don’t let your gut decide your fate,

you’ll regret it in the end, so hearken to me, friend,

a glutton doesn’t have a single mate. . . .

Oh, noooooooo!

Drander had long been voted the worst singer in the Long Patrol. There was general laughter as Captain Rake called out to him, “Och, that’s enough, bonny lad. Ah’ve changed mah mind—Ah’ll put ye on a charge if ye continue singin’!”

Corporal Welkin Dabbs chuckled. “I say, Drander old lad, why not let your jolly old tum give us a verse or two, wot? It’d sound a lot better’n that voice o’ yours!”

The tunnel ceiling became gradually lower. All the taller beasts had to duck their heads or bend. Skor Axehound’s grunts echoed around the gloomy passageway.

“Flamin’ hard t’catch breath down here, an’ my back’s startin’ to bother me. Shall we take a rest, eh?”

Captain Rake was in agreement with the sea otter Chieftain. “Aye, a wee rest’ll nae harm us. Buff, take yon two wee otterscouts an’ see what lies ahead.”

Everybeast sat down gratefully, backs to the tunnel wall. Posy cupped a paw around one ear, listening. “Hark, I can hear noises from behind us, a bit faint yet.”

Lieutenant Scutram’s long ears stood up. “Aye, I hear it too, missy. Sounds like those bats returnin’. Keep y’voices down, chaps, we can do without a visit from them.”

Uggo murmured unhappily, “I don’t like it down here. We could be goin’ anywhere or nowhere, could even be lost forever!”

Young Wilbee was equally miserable. “I say, imagine never seein’ flippin’ daylight again, wot. Dyin’ of hunger’n’thirst miles underground!”

Sergeant Miggory raised his voice sternly. “H’attention, now, ye can stow that kind h’o’ talk. We’ll get h’out of ’ere sooner or later, right, sah?”

Rake nodded. “Right, Sarn’t. Och, here’s the scouts returnin’. They’ve no’ been gone long. What’s tae report, Buff?”

The haremaid saluted. “Not very good news, I’m afraid, sah. Just round the next bend there’s a whoppin’ great hole in the tunnel floor blockin’ the flippin’ path. There ain’t no way around it. Come an’ take a look, sah!”

Rake, Skor and a small party went to investigate. Buff Redspore led the way, holding forth her torch as they came to the spot.

The floor fell sharply away, leaving them on the edge of a gaping abyss, which threw up a pale green light.

Ruggan edged to the rim, peered down, then stepped back. “Blood’n’bones, it makes ye dizzy just lookin’ at it!”

Sergeant Miggory chanced a peep. “Aye, ’tis h’a long way down. There must be water at the bottom—that’s wot’s makin’ the green light.”

Rake stared across to the other side of the huge hole. “Och, only a bird could cross that!”

Taking a lighted torch, he swung it to gain momentum, then flung it. The torch twirled in a blazing arc, landing on the far side in a shower of sparks.

Skor shook his grizzled head. “Ye can see the tunnel continues over there. Steel an’ hellfire, how do we get across that distance?”

Buff Redspore answered, “We can’t, sah. Without ropes or planks, it looks like we’re blinkin’ stuck here!”

They faced the disappointing fact in silence.

Then trouble piled upon trouble when the remainder of the company came running. Behind them the whirr and squeak of bats rose to a deafening crescendo as Uggo yelled, “The bats are comin’, thousands of ’em!”

Then the dark horde broke over them like a tidal wave.

Protecting Greenshroud from the menace of fire, Razzid Wearat ordered his ship to retreat from the bonfire on Redwall’s northwest walltop. Amidst the cheers of Redwallers, Abbot Thibb maintained his stance on the battlements, holding high the flaming sword of Martin the Warrior.

Foremole Roogo stared at him in admiration. “Boi ’okey, zurr, you’m looken gurtly brave oop thurr. Oi thought et wurr Marthen ee Wurrier cummed back to save us’ns frum they vurrmints!”

Not returning the trusty mole’s glance, Thibb spoke out of the side of his mouth as he held his pose. “I’m hoping that’s what the vermin think also, Roogo. D’you think I’ll have to stay up here for long? My paw is tired from holding up the sword, and I don’t want the burning oil to drip down on me.”

Fottlink, the mouse Recorder, nodded toward the enemy ship. “I think you and our bonfire warned them off, Father. Come on down and tell us, what gave you the idea of dressing up?”

Ding Toller and the Foremole helped Thibb down onto the parapet. He put aside the flaming sword gratefully. “Whew, I could feel the heat from that blade!”

Friar Wopple removed Thibb’s helmet, chuckling. “My copper trifle mould suited you well, Father.”

Accepting a beaker of cold pear cordial, the Abbot removed the rest of his disguise. “Thank you, Friar, the trifle mould was indeed yours, just as the sword belonged to Martin. As for the rest, this red cloak is my bedcover, the gauntlets are a pair of oven mitts which one of your kitchen helpers loaned to me. The idea must belong to Martin the Warrior. I stood in front of his tapestry long enough, wonderin’ what to do. Then I sat down on the floor—I must have dropped off for a while. Suddenly, I knew exactly what I must do, so I took his sword, disguised myself as him and came straight up here. Just in time, too, so we’ve got our Abbey Warrior to thank.”

Dorka Gurdy spoke, dampening the victorious mood slightly. “No matter what we do, I think those rascals are goin’ to attack sooner or later.”

Aboard the Greenshroud, Razzid had been putting his mind to the problem. He had not come this far to see himself turned away from his aim. Having reached a decision, he called the crew together.

“Well, buckoes, one thing’s for sure, they ain’t goin’ to attack us. Those woodlanders’ll sit tight behind their big stone walls. So, we’re safe enough here, eh?”

“So wot d’ye say, Cap’n, are we goin’ to take that place, or ’ang about ’ere ’til we grows old?”

The voice, which came from a group amidships, was that of Jiboree.

Giving no clue that he knew this, Razzid answered, “Dig the dirt outta yore lugs an’ I’ll tell ye. I wants a good gang of ye to go into that forest. Yore to chop down about six good-sized trees—pines or firs should do, good straight ones. When ye’ve done that, bring ’em back ’ere, an’ I’ll tell ye the rest o’ my plan.”

The crew stood in silence, as if unsure of the next move.

Razzid wiped moisture from his bad eye. “Mowlag, Jiboree, yore in charge o’ the tree-choppin’ gang. Pick twoscore crewbeasts an’ get to it. Vixen, I wants a word with ye. Come t’my cabin!”

As the searat and the corsair weasel chose their party, Razzid jabbed his trident toward the cabin. “You go first, fox.”

Filled with trepidation, Shekra entered the cabin. Razzid closed the door behind him. Leaning on his trident haft, he fixed the vixen with a piercing stare, stating flatly, “Ye know the penalty for mutiny agin yore cap’n, I suppose?”

With a sob in her voice, Shekra protested, “Sire, I have always been loyal to you, I swear!”

He knocked her flat with a swift kick, hissing viciously, “D’ye take me for an idiot? I know wot’s been goin’ on twixt you an’ those other two, Mowlag’n’Jiboree. Speak just one more lie an’ I’ll rip yore throat out with this trident. Tell the truth an’ I’ll let ye live. So?”

Shekra had no option but to confess, though with a little twist of her own. “Lord, they threatened to kill me if I didn’t go along with ’em. They were going to murder you as we sailed up the River Moss, but I talked them out of it. I said wait until we conquer Redwall first. I was playing for time, you see. I was going to warn you, believe me, sire.”

Razzid nodded. “I see, an’ were the crew with them, too?”

The vixen sensed a further opportunity. “They wouldn’t tell me, sire. Some were, some weren’t. But leave it to me. I’ll discover who was in on it with them.”

The Wearat leaned forward, his breath tickling her nostrils. “Leave that to me, an’ heed wot I say now. Nobeast, not Mowlag, Jiboree or any o’ the crew must know of this—not a single word, d’ye hear me?”

Shekra gulped. “My lips are sealed, Cap’n!”

Razzid’s searching eye never left her for a moment. “They’ll be sealed for good if’n ye play me false. Get up!”

The vixen staggered up on shaking limbs as Razzid pointed to the bulkhead wall. “Stand there an’ raise yore right paw. Go on, fox, do it. I ain’t goin’ to kill ye. Just raise that paw an’ swear to serve me truly.”

Gaining a little confidence, Shekra spoke up. “I give my oath I’ll always serve you truly, sire!”

Razzid struck like lightning.

Thud! The trident’s middle prong went right through the vixen’s paw into the wall behind. She gave an agonised screech, which was stifled by Razzid’s paw across her mouth. Smiling savagely at Shekra, he explained his cruel act. “Said I wouldn’t kill ye, didn’t I? That didn’t mean ye weren’t to be punished for plottin’ agin me.”

Shekra gave vent to a long-stifled moan as he twisted the trident, withdrawing it. Razzid shoved her contemptuously toward the door. “Yore still alive, ain’t ye? Stop whinin’ an’ git out o’ my cabin. Yore gettin’ blood everywhere!” With her face a drawn mask of pain, the Seer reeled out on deck, clasping her paw tightly to stanch the wound.

Razzid put his head out, calling to the cook, “Badtooth, bring me some decent food an’ a jug o’ the best grog. Move yoreself, I’m famished!”

Badtooth, the fat greasy weasel, watched as Razzid divided a roast wood pigeon into two portions and placed beakers of grog on the table. Razzid winked. “Join me, my ole shipmate—ye did well.”

Badtooth gnawed on the meat, then slopped down some grog. “Thankee, Cap’n. Anythin’ else ye need me t’find out for ye?”

Razzid clinked beakers with his spy. “Just keep yore eyes’n’ears open when ye mix with the crew.”

The fat weasel cackled. “Heeheehee! That’ll be easy. Oh, I sent me liddle nephew Twangee out wid the tree-choppin’ gang. Young Twangee’s got a sharp pair of ears on ’im fer a wee galley weasel.”

Razzid nodded. “Good! When ye dish up vittles t’night, give the crew an extra ration o’ grog, eh!”

The cook’s huge stomach wobbled as he laughed. “Heehee, ain’t nothin’ like extra grog t’set their tongues loose an’ waggin’. I’ll give ’em plenty! Well, Cap’n, here’s t’the death of yore enemies an’ a victory over that Abbey!”

Razzid winked his good eye at Badtooth. “I’ll drink to that, shipmate!”

Dusk was falling as Sister Fisk and Milda the volemaid supervised the Dibbuns’ bedtime. It was difficult, as there was an air of excitement amongst the Abbeybabes. No sooner were they put into their truckle beds than they wriggled out and scurried to the dormitory windows. The Sister stamped her footpaw firmly down.

“Back in those beds immediately. Right now, d’ye hear me?”

The squirrelbabe Guggle yelled as Milda prised her paws from the windowsill.

“Lemmego, Mildy, wanna see da big naughtybeast ship!”

Sister Fisk tried not to raise her voice. “There’s nothing to see—it’s dark outside. Now go to bed!”

Alfio, the Dibbun shrew, wrinkled his nose cheekily as he encouraged the others to set up a chant. “Dab! Dab! Dab!”

Milda sighed. “They’re starting the Dibbuns Against Bedtime chant, Sister. What’ll we do?”

Ever resourceful, Fisk emptied the contents of a small vial into a jug of warm plum cordial. This she poured into small beakers, coaxing the Dibbuns into their beds with it.

“Last one in bed doesn’t get any plum cordial—hurry now!”

There was a mass scramble to be first under the covers. As Fisk and Milda distributed the drinks, the little ones kept up a constant chatter, each question demanding a reply.

“Will the bad naughtybeasts go away, Mildy?”

“Oh, yes, I expect they will, when Father Abbot has a word with them. Careful with that drink now.”

“Hurr hurr, ee h’Abbot choppen they tails off with Marthen’s gurt sword—they’m wull soon go ’way!”

Sister Fisk smiled at the molebabe. “Indeed he will, and you’ll be next if you’re not asleep soon.”

Alfio the shrewbabe sat up, shaking his head decisively. “Alfio can’t go t’sleep wivout a song!”

Milda gently eased him back down. “All close your eyes, then I’ll sing for you.”

The young volemaid had a warm, soothing voice. She sang a lullaby as Sister Fisk moved quietly about, collecting the beakers.

“When all the trees stand silent,

this is the time I love best,

after old daylight’s faded,

when the sun has sunk to rest.

Off midst the tranquil darkness,

a nightingale sings to the moon,

butterflies close their eyes,

they’ll be a-slumb’ring soon.

Lullaby, hush you now,

after your busy day,

even bees on nights like these,

cease bumbling away.

Deep streams go quietly murm’ring,

faintly small breezes sigh.

Hush now . . . hush now . . . lullaaaaby.”

Sister Fisk patted Milda’s paw. “Oh, well done, miss. Now come away carefully, we don’t want to disturb them.”

Outside the dormitory door, Milda remarked, “The little ones were asleep before I’d finished, Sister, but I usually have to sing the lullaby twice.”

Fisk held up the small vial, chuckling. “My last few drops of marjoram oil—pure and harmless, the best slumber medicine I know. I shouldn’t say this, but I wish the Dibbuns would sleep through all of this ill fortune which has descended on us. Mark my words, young un, there’s trouble ahead for our Abbey. Big trouble!”