The Rogue Crew

31

On the Abbey’s walltop, the fire was still burning a red-gold warning against the night sky. However, it was a somewhat diminished blaze, owing to Ding Toller’s rationing of wood. Foremole Roogo had his back to the comforting warmth.

Dorka Gurdy noted the blissful look on his face. “Wot’ll ye do when winter comes, huh, a-warmin’ yore back agin’ that fire on a warm summer night?”

Foremole wrinkled his velvety snout, chuckling. “Hurrhurrhurr, Oi do loike a foire ennytoime, marm, be it warmish or cold. Boi ’okey, ’tis a gurt feelin’!”

Fottlink had been dozing against a battlement. His head drooped forward, bumping against stone. He righted himself quickly, remembering he was on guard duty, then peered north up the path. The mouse Recorder became instantly alert. “Look, the vermin ship’s moving!”

Abbot Thibb, who had been resting on the north steps, came running. “Moving, did you say? Which way?”

Those on guard, the Abbot included, hurried to see. Dorka Gurdy shielded her eyes against the firelight. “Well, I never. They must’ve built some sort o’ bridge, ’cos the vermin are pushin’ it o’er the ditch!”

Ding Toller hissed, “Get down, everybeast down! We don’t want ’em t’know we can see wot they’re doin’!”

Everybeast crouched below the wall, leaving Ding to spy on Greenshroud.

“The ship’s over on the western flatlands now. They’re hoistin’ the sails. Wot d’ye think, Father, are they goin’ away?”

Abbot Thibb scratched his ears. “I hope they are, friend, but who can tell? What are they doing now?”

The tall, sombre squirrel reported. “So that’s how they got over the ditch—six logs made into a bridge. Now they’re bindin’ ’em t’the ship’s sides an’ takin’ ’em along. All the vermin are back aboard. I can see that Wearat at the tiller. I tell ye, it does look odd t’see a ship sailin’ along on wheels.”

Dorka Gurdy prodded Ding’s back. “We know that! Which way’s the ship bound?”

Ding pointed. “Straight into the west. She’s only goin’ along slowlike. There’s nought but a breeze to help ’er. But there she goes. It’s safe enough now. See for yoreselves.”

Heads popped up all along the west walltop. Foremole Roogo shook a clenched paw after the vessel. “Goo orn, away with ee, durty ole vermints. Burr aye, an’ doan’t ee cumm back yurr no more!”

Friar Wopple came trundling up the stairs; the old vole was in a panic. Thibb helped her onto the ramparts. “Friar, what is it?”

The good cook was quite out of breath, but she did the best she could to explain. “I . . . I . . . was out in my liddle’erb patch behind the Abbey, pickin’ some fresh mint for brekkist tea, y’see. Then I ’ears noises from outside. There’s creatures in the woodlands at the east wallgate, Father!”

Dorka thumped her rudder hard on the stones. “I knowed those rascals was up to somethin’. I could feel it in me whiskers, I swear I could!”

Fottlink grabbed her paw. “What d’ye mean, marm?”

The ottermum snorted, “A trap, a trick, that’s wot I mean. That great scummy Wearat was tryin’ to makes us think he’d sailed off. But he’s split his crew. I wager there’s a gang o’ the murderin’ scoundrels tryin’ to break in the back o’ the Abbey whilst we’re all watchin’ the front wall!”

Ding Toller looked grim. “Aye, that makes sense. Good job ye heard ’em, Friar. I’ll sound the bells an’ raise our creatures!”

Abbot Thibb halted him. “No, wait. Our bell sound carries a long way. The Wearat could hear it. Knowing we’re wise to his plan, he’d come back and attack us, maybe at the south wall, where there isn’t a fire burning.”

Fottlink waved his paws in agitation. “Oh, dear, what’ll we do?”

Thibb did not hesitate. “We’ll sneak over to the east wall and see how many vermin there are. Once we know that, I’ll be able to put some sort of plan into action. Come along, all of you, but go quietly as you can.”

They crept off in a bunch along the north walltop. As they neared the northeast gable, Fottlink gave a squeak of alarm. “There’s somebeast on the battlements yonder—a rat, I think!”

An indignant voice hailed them. “Rat yoreself, old mouseyface! Don’t ye know a Guosim Log a Log when ye see one?”

Dandy Clogs hopped nimbly from the battlements and swaggered up to meet them. “Has everybeast at Redwall got moss in their ears? We’ve been knockin’ on that liddle wallgate for long enough!”

Chuckling with relief and joy, Thibb held out a welcoming paw. “Guosim! Thank the good seasons for that. Do ye have some of your warriors with you, Log a Log?”

Dandy clasped the outstretched paw warmly. “Oh, I’ve got a couple o’ Guosim with me, but our bunch is mainly a load o’ Long Patrol hares an’ Rogue Crew sea otters. They’ve only come along ’cos they’ve heard o’ Redwall’s fine vittles, so ye’d best warn yore cook. Right now ye’d do well to open that small wallgate, afore Skor Axehound decides to take his battleaxe to it!”

Abbot Thibb was ecstatic as he saw the warriors crowding in through the wickergate. Captain Rake performed a smart salute with his blades. “Ah’m Captain Rake Nightfur, commandin’ a score o’ Long Patrol fighters frae Salamandastron. This is mah companion, Skor Axehound, Chieftain o’ the Rogue Crew from the High North Coast. We’re at your service, mah friend!”

Thibb waved his paws excitedly. “Let’s not stand on ceremony, Captain. I’m Thibb, Father Abbot of Redwall, but I’m sure we’ll all become acquainted soon enough. Right now I’m sure you’d much sooner be enjoying our hospitality at supper. How does that sound?”

Any reply Rake made was drowned by enthusiastic cheers. Abbot Thibb found himself hoisted onto the brawny shoulders of Ruggan and Big Drander, who bore him swiftly forward.

“Point the way, Father, an’ send somebeast to warn the cook!”

Dorka Gurdy spotted Uggo. She ignored his spikes, giving him a fond hug. “Well, well, look wot the wind blew in. Have ye brought my brother Jum back with ye, Uggo?”

The young hedgehog shook his head. “No, marm, but last time I saw Mister Jum ’e was well enough. I ’spect he’ll turn up sooner or later. This is my friend Posy, but she ain’t a Wiltud.”

Dorka smiled. “She’s far too pretty for that. Yore a lucky young beast, Uggo. Well, come along. I ’spect yore all ready to take a bite o’ supper.”

All the Redwallers, even the Dibbuns, who had been wakened by the din, flooded into Great Hall to mingle with the new arrivals. Extra help was brought into the kitchens, and more trestle tables were laid out.

Rogue Crew and Long Patrollers, who were experiencing their first visit to the Abbey, were overwhelmed by the sheer size and grandeur of the place. Friar Wopple soon had helpers scurrying out, filling the boards with food from their trolleys. Everything was in a glorious state of organised chaos.

Abbot Thibb had a quiet word with Ding Toller, who carried the cloak-wrapped form of young Swiffo off to rest temporarily in the entrance chamber of the belltower. Thibb seated himself in the Abbot’s chair, with Rake and Skor sitting either side. Silence fell over the gathering as Thibb rose and recited a special grace.

“Welcome to this table, friends,

our greetings to you all,

who offer paws and hearts so brave,

in service to Redwall.

But ere pale dawn lights up the earth,

come, eat and drink for all you’re worth!”

Skor raised a tankard of best October Ale. “Thankee, Father, I’ll drink to that!”

Then supper commenced in earnest.

Huge summer salad, garnished with hazelnut and chestnut cheese, sage- and thyme-crusted bread, leek and onion soup, mushroom and carrot pasties in gravy. Followed by plumcake and sweet arrowroot pudding with blackberry sauce, latticed apple tarts, mixed fruit turnover and meadowcream. All was washed down with a variety of drinks. October Ale, hot mint tea, dandelion and burdock cordial or rosehip and elderflower water.

Whilst they dined, the Abbot listened to their journey account, then brought them up to strength on the latest news of Razzid Wearat and the Greenshroud.

Rake held a short conference with Skor, then issued orders. “Sergeant Miggory, Ruggan Axehound, Ah’d be obliged if ye would take a score of our braw lads tae guard the walls. They’ll be relieved throughout the night. Ah want ye tae pay special attention tae the westward plain. Let us know if the vermin ship is sighted anywhere aboot!”

Thibb placed his paw on Skor’s huge mitt. “I was sorry to hear about your young son, Lord. Is there anything we can do to aid you in this matter? Please don’t take offence at our simple offer.”

The sea otter Chieftain stared at the tabletop. “No offence taken, Father—I’m grateful to ye. My son was more a creature of peace than war, but Swiffo was a fine young un. Is there a place to bury his body within your Abbey walls, somewhere quiet?”

Thibb nodded. “Indeed there is. Just behind the belltower there’s a peaceful spot shaded by an old yew tree. I’ll make arrangements with our bellringer for tomorrow.”

Some of the Dibbuns were curious as to who old Drogbuk Wiltud was. He pointedly ignored them as he stuffed his face with food. Guggle the squirrelbabe was trying to peer inside the garb which Pinny had tailored from the vermin cloak.

“Pardin’ me, but wot sorta h’aminal are you?”

Drogbuk pulled his outfit closer to his spineless frame. “Go ’way, ye nosey liddle wretch!”

Murty molebabe chuckled, wrinkling his snout at Drogbuk. “Oi’m thinken you’m a blizzard or ee toadybeast, zurr!!”

Kite Slayer took Murty on her lap, allowing him to nibble at her plumcake. “Nay, liddle un, he’s only a daft ole ’og wot’s lost his spines, ain’t ye, Drogbuk?”

The ancient hog was reaching for a tankard of October Ale when Fottlink rescued it, pushing a beaker of cordial forward. “Drogbuk, eh? I recall that name—you’d be a Wiltud, the one who’s been banished twice from Redwall.”

Dorka Gurdy wagged a paw at Drogbuk. “I thought I recognised ye, old un. Well, ye can stay, but keep yore rovin’ paws off vittles that ain’t yores an’ no ale or strong wine, either. I’ll be watchin’ ye!” Dorka turned her wagging paw upon Pinny. “An’ you too, marm. Yore a Wiltud. One false move whilst yore at our Abbey an’ out ye’ll go!”

Posy smiled winningly at the big ottermum. “Oh, Dorka, don’t shout at Miz Pinny, please. She’s a nice, kind Wiltud.”

Dorka sniffed. “Aye, missy. Well, she’s yore responsibility from hereon. Keep ’er out of trouble, y’hear!”

Friar Wopple was called from the kitchens, shuffling her footpaws. She took a bow amidst the rapturous applause afforded her by the new supper guests.

“I say, marm, well done. Top-hole vittles, wot!”

“Aye, we ain’t got scoff anythin’ like this up on the coast!”

“Indeed, marm, any chance o’ givvin’ us some of your recipes, ’specially the one for that jolly nice pasty with the gravy? That’d perk up some o’ the lads back at the mess in Salamandastron, eh, wot!”

Wopple smiled shyly. “Wait’ll ye taste my breakfast tomorrow.’Twill be a treat for hearty eaters like yoreselves.”

This prompted further cheers from the trencherbeasts.

Later that night, when the guests had been shown to Cavern Hole, which was to be their sleeping quarters, a conference was held by those still at table.

Lieutenant Scutram allowed the Abbot to replenish his tankard. “So, what d’ye make of all this kerfuffle with the Wearat an’ his vermin, eh, Father?”

Thibb pondered the question before answering, “Well, as I’ve already told you, I think my disguise as Martin the Warrior, plus the bonfire we built on the walltops, was enough to put the vermin off attacking us. Now, earlier tonight, they went away, out across the flatlands. We’re rather hoping they’ve left for good. But I’m sure you know more about the ways of vermin, so I’d value your opinion, friends.”

Skor Axehound growled flatly. “They’ll be back!”

Captain Rake nodded his agreement. “Aye, Ah doubt ye’ve seen the last of them, Father. Razzid Wearat didnae come all this way tae turn tail an’ run awa’. Skor’s right, he’ll be back!”

Fottlink licked his lips nervously. “But when?”

Sergeant Miggory replied, “When yore least h’expectin’ it, sah—that’s the way with vermin murderers. We’ve h’already seen ’is work at Salamandastron.”

Rake gripped his beaker so tightly that the earthenware cracked. “Aye, an’ we’re lookin’ forward tae the return engagement, Father, so Ah’d be grateful if ye’d leave the business of bloodshed tae me an’ Skor!” He said it with such a coldness in his voice that the Abbot felt his fur tingle.

Thibb nodded. “Just as you say, Captain, but my Redwallers will be here to offer you any help you require.”

Skor patted his back fondly, knocking the wind from Thibb. “Thankee, Father, but you look after yore liddle uns an’ keep our beasts in drink’n’vittles—that’s all we ask of ye!”

Dawn broke calmly, with ascending larks trilling beneath a sky awash with pale pastel hues. Out on the flatlands, grasshoppers set up their rusty chirruping as varicoloured butterflies flitted silently around the soft blue forget-menot, bright gold tormentil and pinky cranberry blossoms skirting the ditchside.

Lancejack Sage viewed it all from the threshold battlements, commenting dreamily, “Jolly pretty, ain’t it, wot!”

A stern voice in her ear startled her to attention. “You h’aint up ’ere to sniff the flowers, missy. Yore supposed t’be on watch for vermin. Now git those lovely eyes workin’. Do yore duty an’ don’t let me catch ye nappin’ agin, or yore on a fizzer!”

Not daring to turn and look at Sergeant Miggory, Sage sprang to attention, saluted with her javelin and set her gaze on the horizon. “Indeed, Sergeant, ’twon’t happen again, I jolly well promise ye, sah!”

Miggory nodded to four kitchen helpers, who carried a trolley up the wallstairs to the top. He beckoned the guard with a wave of his ears.

“Wilbee, Drander, Bawdsley an’ you, Lancejack, come an’ take a bite o’ brekkist, compliments o’ Friar Wopple. But eyes front whilst yore h’eatin’, d’ye hear?” He stalked off along the ramparts, still issuing orders. “When ye’ve h’eaten, these goodbeasts will take yore place for h’a while. Go straight back to the billet h’an spruce h’up. We’ll all be on parade shortly, to bury Lord Axe’ound’s young un. So look smart, best be’aviour, h’an’ the time’ll be slow march, with bowed ’eads. H’unnerstood?”

After breakfast, the sea otters and Long Patrol hares formed up in ranks of four. At their centre, Skor, Ruggan, Rake and Scutram bore the body, still bound in his father’s cloak, to the burying spot. Ding Toller rang both Matthias and Methusaleh, the two Abbey bells, to keep pace with the solemn, slow march.

At the graveside, Skor watched the bundle being lowered. Wiping a paw across both his eyes, he enquired gruffly, “I’m not good with words at a time like this. Anybeast got a song to sing or a line to say?”

Kite Slayer was weeping openly. She shook her head. “Only songs or lines I know are all about blood’n’war. Swiffo was a gentle creature. ’Twouldn’t suit him.”

Buff Redspore made a suggestion. “Beg pardon, sah, I’m a pretty hopeless singer m’self, but I’ve heard Lancejack Sage singin’ a jolly nice song. I say, Lance, you know the one—somethin’ about a dove’s wing. D’ye recall the ditty, wot?”

Lancejack Sage pondered briefly. “Hmm, a dove’s wing . . . Oh, yes, it’s a lovely song. I say, Lord Axehound, would you like me to sing it for Swiffo?”

Skor nodded his huge bearded head. “Aye, miss, I’d be beholden if’n ye did, please.”

Everybeast was moved to tears by the beauty of Sage’s voice and the heartfelt way in which she sang.

“When sunlight wanes and evening shadows fall,

old weary earth in dusky silence lies,

a small lost dove doth mournful call,

its lone lament to darkling skies.

“Hark to its cry, poor little thing,

it rests with head beneath one wing, and breeze that wends through woodland fair,

passes it by with ne’er a care.

“Throughout the night in trembling fear and dread,

until the welcome light of gentle morn,

the little dove lifts up its downy head,

and soars into the heav’nly dawn.”

The sea otters and Long Patrol hares walked away then, leaving Skor and Ruggan alone to complete the burial.

Roogo Foremole broke the oppressive silence by calling from the walltop, “Yurr, zurrs, Oi bee’s a-seein’ summat yonder!”

Relieved to be doing something, Captain Rake sprinted up the wallstairs with a crowd of warriors at his heels.

Roogo was standing on the western threshold, with both paws shading his eyes, peering off to the horizon. “Moi ole eyes b’aint vurry gudd these days, zurr, but see far yonder? Wot do ee think that’n is?”

Rake’s keen gaze found the object. “’Tis the vermin ship, mah friend, nae doubt o’ that. Corporal Dabbs, can ye no’ see what they’re aboot?”

Welkin Dabbs, who was noted for exceptional clarity of vision, watched the distant vessel intently. “Some kind o’ maneuver, I’d say, Cap’n. She’s piled on all sail. Comin’ this way, if’n I ain’t mistaken. No, wait . . . now they’re tackin’ south an’ west. Can’t see much else, I’m afraid. She’s vanished o’er the horizon.”

“Testin’ the wind, that’s wot the vermin are up to!” It was the sea ottermaid Kite Slayer who had spoken. Rake continued staring at the horizon.

“How d’ye know, bonny lass?”

Kite leaned back against the battlements. “We’ve seen it lots o’ times, up on the High North Coast. Ships’ll do that if’n they want to sail in fast an’ launch an attack. They stands off, doin’ little trial runs, until the wind’s just right an’ strong enough. That’s when they come in, hopin’ to raid us. Hah, our scouts have seen ’em long since, an’ the Rogue Crew’s waitin’ for ’em. Lord Skor gives ’em blood’n’steel. They never come back for more, usually ’cos they’re all fishfood by the time we get done with ’em!”

Kite licked her paw, dabbing it on both eartips. She turned this way, then that. “Ain’t much wind today—it’s gentle an’ sou’west.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded grimly. “Ye know wot that means, sah!”

The captain nodded. “Aye, yon Wearat an’ his crew’ll be payin’ us a wee visit soon, eh?”

All talk stopped momentarily as Ruggan and Skor strode up the gatehouse wallsteps. There was something about the presence of the sea otter Chieftain which engendered silence. He began honing the blade of his mighty battleaxe on the side of a battlement, looking up to stare bleakly out to the western horizon. His voice was a bitter snarl. “Oh, Razzid Wearat’ll be comin’, sure enough. Sometime after midnight, I reckon.”

Lancejack Sage looked dubious. “Beg pardon, m’Lord, but what makes ye say that?”

Testing his axe edge on a paw, Skor gave her a rare smile. “Ye’ve got a wonderful voice, Miz Sage, an’ ye sang my young son peacefully to his rest. I thank ye. I’ll tell ye why I’m so sure the vermin’ll attack late tonight. I’ve lived all my life on the High North Coast, an’ I know all about sea, wind an’ weather. That liddle breeze ye feel is a sou’wester, but by noon ’twill be startin’ to blow from the due west. By dark we’ll get rain, more as the night progresses. There’ll be clouds hidin’ wot moon there is. That’s when they’ll come.”

Abbot Thibb looked to Captain Rake, who nodded, confirming Skor’s words.

Thibb heaved a sigh. “I was hoping we’d seen the last of the vermin ship.”

Skor chuckled humorlessly. “Just wot ye’d expect a peaceful Abbeybeast to think, Father—no offence meant, o’ course. Rake, my friend, would ye like to tell him how they’ll come at this place?”

Drawing one of his claymores, the Long Patrol captain pointed straight out across the threshold.

“From yonder, with full speed, under all sail, right at us. Ah mean, Father, what better way tae do it, eh? A dark, moonless night, runnin’ with a west wind at his stern an’ thinkin’ ye’ll all be tucked up in your beds. Wearat could nae charge stone walls with fire blazin’ atop o’ them, so he’ll sail full tilt at Redwall’s front gates. They’re made o’ wood, d’ye see. Aye, a real surprise ambush, ye ken!”

Skor could not resist a smile of grim satisfaction. “Right enough, Father, but wot Razzid don’t know is that we’re here now, ready an’ waitin’ to welcome him an’ his crew. I won’t miss him a second time, I swear it!”

Recorder Fottlink had a question. “But if he rams Redwall’s gates, he’ll ruin his own ship, won’t he? Doesn’t seem to make sense.”

Lieutenant Scutram answered, “Put y’self in his position, old lad. What’d you sooner have, a ship or Redwall Abbey? I know what I’d jolly well prefer, wot!”

Skor patted the mouse Recorder’s head. “Don’t worry, old un. He won’t ruin either ship or gates, ’cos we’ll leave the gates unlocked for him, eh, Rake?”

The captain sheathed his claymore. “Aye, so we will. Ah want Razzid an’ his crew in here. We’ll lock the gates behind him an’ trap ’em within these walls. Now that’s what Ah call a canny plan!”

Abbot Thibb seemed quite upset with the wild scheme. “What, here inside my Abbey, a ship and its vermin crew? I . . . I’ve never heard of such a preposterous thing!”

Sergeant Miggory threw a friendly paw around Thibb’s shoulder. “Don’t ye fret, sah. We’ll take care h’of h’everything. Er, by the way, wot’s for lunch today, sah?”

Abbot Thibb looked totally bemused. “Lunch? You can speak of lunch at such a time as this?”

Big Drander coughed politely to gain Thibb’s attention. “Beg pardon, Father old chap, but every bloomin’ Patrol an’ Crewbeast is lookin’ forward to a spot o’ the famous Redwall vittles—at a time like this, or any flippin’ time y’care to mention, wot!”

The Abbot took a glance at the hulking hares and burly otters, all young, and all ready to eat at the drop of a crust. It was difficult not to smile.

“How about a big extended picnic luncheon in the orchard? I could have our good Friar run it on into afternoon tea.”

Big Drander’s ears waggled with anticipation as he added, “Mayhaps it could carry on through dinner, then into supper.”

Thibb chortled as he waved them down the wallsteps. “Aye, why not indeed, as long as you keep eating!”

Captain Rake patted Thibb’s paw sympathetically. “Och, ye braw mousey, Ah think ye’ll regret those words afore the day’s out, mah friend. These walkin’ stomachs will be eatin’ as lang as yer Friar keeps sendin’ more.”

Thibb shrugged. “That’s because they’re young and full of life. Don’t fret, Captain. We’ll feed ’em like heroes—’tis the least Redwall can do for those who’ll be defending our Abbey.”

Uggo Wiltud overheard Thibb. He piped up boldly, “Does that include me, Father?”

The Abbot shook his head. “No, I have other plans for you.”

The orchard lunch was up to Redwall standards—in a word, delicious! Sister Fisk sat sharing some apple and blackberry flan with Skor. The sea otter Chieftain interested her, and she plied him with questions as he did full justice to the lunch.

“Pardon my asking, sir, but doesn’t it put you off food, knowing that you’ll be fighting a war with the vermin soon?”

The big beast took a long draught of October Ale. “Why should it, marm? Warriors never give such things much thought.”

Fisk topped up his tankard. “Forgive me. I’m not a warrior, so I wouldn’t know.”

Reaching for bread and cheese, Skor touched her paw lightly. “Let me tell ye somethin’ about warriors, Sister. We always eat well and never worry, because tomorrow we may be hungry, or dead. It doesn’t do to dwell on the past or the future. Take me, now. Today I laid my young son to rest. ’Twas a sad an’ hard thing t’do. But I’m a chieftain—my Crew look to me. I can’t sit round for a season, mopin’, weepin’ an’ tendin’ a grave. There’s others to think of, my other son, an’ the Rogue Crew, an’ my friend Captain Rake, with his Long Patrol, d’ye understand?”

The Sister nodded. “Indeed I do, sir, but I just wish there was something us Redwallers could do to help you.”

Skor chuckled gruffly. “Feedin’ this lot is a big help, marm, but I’ll tell ye wot else ye can do. When the action starts, ’twould help if’n the Abbeybeasts stays out of our way. Lock yoreselves up in Cavern Hole, take care o’ yore babes an’ Dibbuns. Then after the battle’s end, ye can serve us with yore healin’ knowledge. I’m told yore good at bandagin’ an’ salvin’, eh?”

Sister Fisk smiled modestly. “So I’m told, sir. Thank you for your advice, and now perhaps you’d best take care of that great appetite, before your otters and those hares clear the board of every crumb!”

The feasting continued until early evening, when Sergeant Miggory whispered in Abbot Thibb’s ear. “H’it’s startin’ t’cloud over, Father. Captain Rake says the breeze is freshenin’ from westward, an’ ole Drogbuk’s just felt a spot o’ rain. No panic, Father. Get yore Redwallers inside, h’in a h’orderly manner.”

In a short time the Abbeybeasts had gone from the orchard, leaving only the Rogue Crew, Shrews and the Long Patrol.

Rake drew his twin blades. “Which d’ye choose, Axehound, the main gates, or walltops?”

Flexing both paws, Skor gripped his battleaxe haft. “We’ll come to the walltop with ye. Then when the vermin ship is sighted, I’ll take my crew down t’the gate. Agreed?”

Rake felt raindrops beginning to patter on the rising wind. “Agreed, mah bonny friend. Let’s get tae it!”