The Rogue Crew

4

Dawn had scarcely shown its pale light over the western coast when pandemonium broke loose at Salamandastron. A bugle blasting out its brassy alarm set every hare on the mountain dashing to the call. Lady Violet Wildstripe hurried from her forge chamber, joining Colour Sergeant Miggory and Lieutenant Scutram as they rushed downstairs. From dormitory, mess hall, kitchens and barrack room, Long Patrol members charged to the main gate. They parted to make way for the Badger Lady and her officers.

A bewhiskered and monocled Major Felton Fforbes was waving his swagger stick, rapping out orders. “All ranks back off now, quick as y’like, wot! Come on, chaps, give ’em room t’jolly well breathe, if y’please!”

Two young hare cadets, Lancejack Sage and Trug Bawdsley, who formed half of the Seawatch dawn relief, were sitting slumped against a gatepost. Both were obviously in shock, shivering and moaning incoherently.

The colour sergeant twitched his ears enquiringly. “Nah, then, wot’s goin’ h’on ’ere, buckoes?”

Lady Violet came forward, sweeping off her warm cloak. She draped it about both the hares. Then, crouching down in front of them, she enquired in a calm low voice, “One thing at a time, young uns—easy does it now, take your time, try to speak slowly and clearly. Sage, make your report. What’s upset you so?”

Lancejack Sage, normally an ebullient haremaid, stared blankly into space. She spoke in a flat, halting, monotone. “We went straight out t’the south beach, to relieve the night Seawatch. I came back straight away with Trug. We left Ferrul an’ Wilbee with ’em. Not proper form, y’see, marm, leavin’ ’em alone like that. . . .”

Violet took the haremaid’s face in both paws, staring into her dazed eyes. “Left Ferrul and Wilbee with whom? Tell me.”

Sage’s companion, Trug Bawdsley, a hefty young buck, could no longer restrain himself. He shouted aloud, “Saw them in the mess yesterday, had tea with ’em. Now all four o’ the poorbeasts are dead! Gilbee, Dobbs, Dunwiddy an’ my sister Trey. They’re dead, I tell ye!” Here the sturdy fellow broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Nobeast was swifter than the Badger Lady. Seizing a lance from a wall rack, she swung into action. “Sergeant Miggory, Lieutenant Scutram, bring a score of armed warriors and follow me! Major Felton, see these two are cared for. Fortify the gate and shutter all windows!”

It was a sad and shocking scene on the sands of the south shore. Four young hare cadets, the night Seawatch, lying mangled and pierced by arrows amidst the cold ashes of their fire. Ferrul and Wilbee, whom the lancejack had ordered to stay, were staring hypnotised at the ghastly tableau. Running in Lady Violet’s wake, Scutram and Miggory halted the rest at the badger’s command.

“Hold fast there until I can see what went on. Do you have a tracker with you, Sergeant?”

Miggory waved his paw at a lean haremaid. “Buff, go with ’er Ladyship, see wot ye can find.”

Buff Redspore wore the tan-hued tunic of an expert scout and tracker. She walked with Violet to where the four slain hares lay. Beckoning Ferrul and Wilbee to remain still, Buff ran a paw through the fire ashes. “Hmmmm. Burnt out long before dawn.”

She turned her attention to the dead hares.

“Look at these young uns, marm. Three of ’em crushed by somethin’, then shot by an arrow apiece, one in the chest, two in the throat, as they lay there. Now, see this fourth cadet—he escaped bein’ crushed an’ ran. Three arrows took him in the back, first one just near the nape o’ the neck.”

Lady Violet studied the evidence. “How can you tell, Buff?”

The tracker explained. “He’s clutchin’ at the shaft in his neck—that was his reaction to the first hit. Next two in the back finished him. Wasn’t crushed, though, Milady. No wheelmarks on him at all.”

The Badger Ruler interrupted. “Did you say wheelmarks?”

Buff nodded. “Aye, marm, wheelmarks. Those three never had time t’run. They were ambushed by some sort o’ big, heavy cart. Just mowed ’em down like reeds, pore things. Must’ve been archers ridin’ on the cart. Note the angle these arrows are leanin’ at. They were shot after bein’ run down. No need for it—they were already dyin’, marm.”

Violet spread her paws in despair. “But why? Run over by a big cart, then shot by arrows? It doesn’t make any sense, Buff.”

Picking up a stray arrow, the tracker pointed with it. “Way back up there in the dunes, that’s where the wheelmarks seem t’come from. Aye, straight down here at a pretty fast rate, I’d say. The young uns were on Seawatch, facin’ the water. They didn’t see it comin,’ all except one of ’em, an’ he was too late to escape.”

Violet shook her head in bewilderment. “But where is this big, heavy cart? I can’t see it, can you?”

Buff scratched her ear with the arrow she was holding. “No, Milady, though I can say this. It had iron-rimmed wheels, I think—look at those marks it made. Came speedin’ down the dune slopes, not makin’ a sound, hit the young uns from behind, then carried right on toward the sea. Left marks in the damp sand by the tideline. Passed that way just as the tide was on the turn.”

Violet blinked, scanning the Western Sea. It was fairly still, and overlaid with thick mist. “And you think this big cart went into the sea?”

Buff shrugged. “That’s what it jolly well looks like, marm. Who can flippin’ well say? The tracks are plain, an’ what don’t speak don’t blinkin’ well lie, as my pa used t’say.”

Lady Violet’s paw suddenly shot out, pointing northwest. “What’s that out there, off to the right, Buff? Something green, maybe—it’s not too clear, but it will soon be out of the mist. . . . See? It’s a ship!”

On the long prow of Greenshroud, Razzid Wearat, flanked by the searat Mowlag and his bosun, the mean-featured weasel called Jiboree, showed themselves in plain view. Razzid pointed his trident at the creatures onshore. “Let them take a good look an’ see who killed their little rabbets!”

Mowlag sniggered. “I wagers they’re wishin’ we was in arrow range so they could pay us back for wot we did.”

Razzid wiped at his weepy eye, judging the distance. “We ain’t in their range, but they’re in ours. Let’s give ’em somethin’ else t’think about. Jiboree, get the for ’ard weapon ready!”

Razzid and Mowlag moved back behind a huge crossbow, which was set up on the prow. Two corsairs carried forward a massive bolt, a long, thick, timber arrow, iron tipped, with stiff canvas flights. The thing was half the length of Greenshroud’s mainmast. Laying it flat on the crossbow, they notched it against a bowstring of greased heaving line and cranked the handle which wound the bowstring taut. Razzid stood behind it, sighting with his good eye and muttering, “That big stripedog’s a prime target!”

He tripped the lever with his trident pole. With a mighty whoosh, the bolt shot off over the sea. Streaking over the shore, it missed Lady Violet by a pawlength. Whizzing on, it ended its flight buried in a duneside.

The Wearat spat into the water viciously. “Missed! Ahoy, Mowlag, sail closer in. Put the ship about an’ load the back bow. I’ll get ’er as we sails off!”

The vessel was brought about so it sailed landward. Now it was stern onto the shore. The few hares who were armed with firing equipment hurled slingstones, javelins and arrows, none of which reached their target.

Razzid bared his fangs as he tripped the lever. “Yaharr, stripedog, off to Hellgates with ye!”

Violet had beckoned everybeast back now. She stood boldly on the tideline, facing the stern crossbow. The huge bolt sped out, straight at her. With graceful contempt, she paced a step to her right, watching the lethal projectile rush by. It went right across the sand, smashing to splinters on the rocky fortress base.

Long Patrol warriors seized the chance, charging forward into the shallows, hurling everything they could at the big green ship. A few arrows got as far as the highgalleried stern. As they stuck into the timbers, Razzid shouted orders.

“Mowlag, get them oarbeasts workin’. Take ’er out to sea!” Moments later, the Greenshroud had vanished into the thinning curtain of mist.

Colour Sergeant Miggory rattled out orders at the Long Patrollers who were wading into deeper water to attack the enemy ship. “H’all ranks inna water will retreat! Fall back! Move yoreselves h’afore that ship turns round an’ cuts ye off from the shore!”

As the hares waded reluctantly back to land, the sergeant turned to Lady Violet and Buff Redspore. He saluted the Badger Ruler. “Well, Milady, you nearly got yoreself slain twice there, h’if’n ye don’t mind me mentionin’ h’it!”

Violet watched the bright morning sun dispersing the mist over the Western Sea. “Rest easy, friend. I knew what I was doing.”

Buff Redspore nodded. “Aye, marm, you were tryin’ to bring that confounded ship closer in, so you could inspect her, wot? So, did ye manage to jolly well see what I saw?”

Violet made a circular motion with one paw. “Indeed I did, Buff. I know how our hares were murdered. It wasn’t a cart. It was a ship with four wheels.”

Miggory’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “A wot? A ship with bloomin’ wheels, Milady?”

The tracker confirmed Violet’s words. “Aye, Sergeant. I saw ’em m’self, four iron-rimmed wheels, two for’ard and two aft. I glimpsed them when the vermin ship turned about. The crafty scum—who’d have thought up such an idea, wot?”

Violet shrugged. “Not all vermin are stupid. It was a fiendish idea, but a good one from their point of view. The beast carrying the trident, who stood out on the prow, was that the Wearat?”

Buff Redspore answered. “That was him, marm. I’ve seen the blighter twice in bygone seasons. Once when I was scoutin’ far down the south coast and again when that ship was in these waters. That time he sailed right by our mountain, though he didn’t dare jolly well try an’ land. Like most of his flippin’ kind, a born coward when it comes to meetin’ real warriors.”

Lieutenant Scutram joined the conversation. “Be that as it may, that Wearat can do as he likes with a craft like that. Either by land or sea. Did ye see the size of the two crossbows she was carryin’? ’Pon my word, they could do some damage, I’ll tell ye!”

The speculation was interrupted by young Trug Bawdsley. He marched up to Lady Violet with tears streaming down his sturdy face, then saluted her.

“Permission to form a burial detail, marm. For our fallen cadets. I don’t want t’see my poor young sister Trey lyin’ out on the sands like that, marm!”

His head drooped as he began weeping inconsolably. As Lady Violet pulled him gently to her, Trug buried his face in her robe, sobbing pitifully. Violet patted his back.

“You have my permission, Trug. We’ll turn the regiment out at sunset and give them full honours.” She nodded to the tracker and any officers present. “Make your way back to my forge chamber. We’ve got important business to discuss, which can’t wait.”

Inside Salamandastron, a late breakfast was served in the forge chamber. All senior Long Patrol officers listened intently to Lady Violet as she spoke of the day’s tragic events.

“I, and no doubt you, too, friends, are deeply grieved at what took place before dawn today. You’ve heard Buff Redspore’s report on the corsair vessel, and you are aware of the danger it threatens.”

She paused to acknowledge a very old, overweight hare. “Yes, Colonel Bletgore?”

Colonel Blenkinsop Wilford Bletgore was the oldest hare on the mountain. His tunic, which could hardly be seen for medals and ribbons, was weathered from scarlet to faint pink. Huffing and puffing, he was hauled upright from his chair by two younger hares. Bletgore’s profuse silver whiskers jumped up and down in time with his wobbling chins as he grunted.

“Stap me swagger stick, vermin ships attackin’ this mountain fortress—stuff’n’nonsense, marm, fiddlesticks an’ hobbledehoy! Wot, wot, wot! Stand as much chance as a gnat chargin’ a bloomin’ oak tree!”

Lady Violet remained patient until the ancient colonel had run out of humphing and blathering. Picking up a slim rapier, she pointed to the relief map graven on the stone wall, showing all the coast, from north to south on the west side.

Politely, she explained, “Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate what you say, but it isn’t just us. The entire coastline, and this part of it in Mossflower, is our responsibility. We must protect all good creatures, not just ourselves. So, my friends, I’m open to any helpful suggestions.”

Old Colonel Bletgore spoke out to nobeast in particular. “Blood’n’vinegar, wot—that’s all vermin understand! Shout Eulalia, charge an’ leave none o’ the villains alive. That’s what we did in my younger seasons, eh, wot!”

Major Felton Fforbes sniffed. “Trouble is, we’ve never had a navy. No disrespect to you, marm, but vermin ships can commit murder, then sail off, free as flippin’ larks. There ain’t a bally thing us hares can do about it, wot?”

Sergeant Miggory summed up further. “Now they’ve got h’a ship that can sail the land, too. We’re in double trouble, so wot’s the h’answer? Do we get h’our own navy, marm?”

Lady Violet toyed with the rapier hilt. “There’s no vermin force that could stand against our Long Patrol warriors, even in land-borne ships. Major Fforbes is right. If they can slip back into the sea, we can’t pursue them. Hares have never been seabeasts, it’s no good talking about us having a navy. We know little of mariners’ ways. We need allies who are skilled in the ways of sailoring.”

Lieutenant Scutram had a suggestion.

“What about otters, marm? I don’t mean river an’ stream types who dwell inland, but sea otters.”

Buff Redspore spoke out in agreement. “Aye, sea otters who are fighters. I know there’s a lot of ’em up on the High North Coast. They like nothin’ better than a good skirmish. I’ll wager they’d be willin’ to jolly well help us!”

Colonel Bletgore, who had been dropping off into a doze, immediately began a diatribe at the idea. “Hah, sea otters? Confounded rogues, ye mean! Not a scrap o’ manners among that flamin’ lot. Skor Wotjamicallim . . . Hatchet Dog, or some other dreadful outlandish name. Hah, pish an’ tosh, marm. Never!”

Lady Violet looked around the assembly. “I think I’ve heard him spoken of as Skor Axehound. Has anyone further knowledge of him or his tribe?”

Captain Rake Nightfur, a tall, dangerous-looking black hare, with a deep scar running from ear to chin, stepped forward, pawing the hilts of two claymores he wore across his shoulders. “Afore Ah came tae Salamandastron, Ah lived on the High North Coast. When Ah was younger, Ah fought alangside the braw Skor an’ his warriors. Ye’ll no’ find bonnier an’ no mair fearsome beasties than the Chieftain Skor—aye, an’ his Rogues.”

Captain Rake paused, staring around the forge chamber. “Hark tae me. Ah’ll no’ tolerate a slight or ill word against Skor Axehound or his crew. D’ye ken?”

Lady Violet smiled at the captain. “Oh, I think we all got the message, Cap’n Rake. This High North Coast you speak of, I take it the territory is some fair distance from here. Would you be willing to visit there as an ambassador from me?”

Rake bowed gallantly, then drew his swords, placing them in front of Violet. “Mah fealty, mah blades, mah heart an’ paws are yours tae command, fair lady!”

The Badger Ruler’s violet-hu ed eyes twinkled momentarily. “I never doubted that for an instant, Rake, thank you! Now, I wish you to start as soon as possible on this mission. Take with you a score of Long Patrollers of your own choosing, and may fortune be with you.”