The Rogue Crew

32

Out at the western horizon, Razzid Wearat had kept all the Greenshroud’s canvas furled. Leaning on the tiller, he wiped his injured eye, watching night descend amidst dark, heavy cloudbanks rolling overhead. Rain hissed against the stern timbers, as further west lightning flared briefly, followed by a distant roll of thunder. Shekra stood sheltered beneath the aft stairway. She hurried forward as Razzid beckoned her with his trident. The vixen quailed as Razzid reached out, drawing her close. “So then, my Seer, shall I tell ye what ye see?”

Without waiting for a reply he continued, “A night for storm! For swift sailing! For blood an’ slaughter! For death! For victory! For Redwall Abbey, which will be mine by morning light! Is that what ye see?” His voice rose to a harsh roar; he shook Shekra until the teeth in her head rattled and her limbs did a crazy jig. “Is that what ye see? Tell meeeeee!”

The vixen could hear herself wailing in terror as the Wearat’s grip tightened on her throat. “Aye, Lord, aye! ’Tis as ye say, truly it is, Lord!”

With a burst of insane laughter, he cast her aside. Pointing the trident at his crew, who were gathered, rain drenched, amidships, Razzid bellowed, “Haul in the anchor cable! Put on all sail from stem to stern, every stitch o’ canvas! Let’s hear the storm singin’ through the ratlines! Jump to it, ye rakin’s an’ scrapin’s o’ Hellgates!”

Corsairs and searats clambered aloft, loosing all sail. Ropes were swiftly hauled through blocks and made fast to cleats and bollards. As the last vermin slid to the decks, a mighty gust of wind smote the vessel’s stern. Greenshroud lurched forward, sent on her voyage of evil by a mighty thunderclap and a sheet of lightning.

Razzid pointed his trident at Mowlag and Jiboree. “Haharr, attend yore cap’n, messmates!”

The pair approached him warily, saluting.

“Aye aye, Cap’n!”

He could see fear stamped on both their faces. Leering wickedly, he snarled, “Come here an’ stand by me!” Enjoying the distress he was causing them, Razzid tapped the tiller arm. “Git yore paws on this, both of ye!”

As their trembling paws rested on the tiller, the Wearat’s mood changed abruptly. He winked roguishly at them. “Stay true to yore ship an’ trust yore cap’n, mateys. Will ye do that for me, eh?”

The relief was so great that they babbled readily.

“Aye, Cap’n, we’ll stay true t’the Greenshroud!”

“We’d trust ye with our lives, Cap’n, we swear it!”

He grinned, nodding his head cheerfully. “That’s the spirit, mateys. Now you hold ’er on course, dead east. Hahaarrr, this time tomorrer we’ll be livin’ like lords inside Redwall. Waited on paw’n’tail, the finest o’ vittles, barrels o’ grog an’ soft beds to lay our heads on. Wot d’ye say t’that, mates?”

Together with the rest of the crew, Mowlag and Jiboree took up the cry. “Razzid! Razzid! Razzid!”

As the chant continued, Razzid strode for’ard, acknowledging their shouts by waving his trident.

Mowlag blew rainwater from his snout, exchanging looks with Jiboree. “The scabby-eyed fool don’t suspect a thing, I’m sure of it!”

Jiboree spat over the side bitterly. “Puttin’ the fear in us like that. Hah, just wait’ll that Abbey’s ours. He won’t live to enjoy it!”

Mowlag glared hatred at Razzid Wearat through the storm-swept night. “Aye, the length o’ my blade through’is gizzard is all our cap’n will get from me!”

Razzid had reached the big bow set up on the forward peak. He turned, leaning against it, staring back at the two grasping the tiller, his good eye unblinking, regardless of the wind-driven downpour.

As though fearing to be overheard, Jiboree muttered to Mowlag, “Keep chantin’, mate, ’e’s watchin’ us.”

As the mate and the bosun resumed chanting, Shekra, who was still crouching nearby, slid off silently. She had heard all that went on between her one-time conspirators.

Now Greenshroud’s sails were stretched tight, thunder boomed as lightning flashed overhead. The wheeled vessel sped east like a juggernaut, jouncing and lurching over tussock and hollow, timbers groaning, rain sheeting along its length as it clattered over the flatlands, straight for Redwall Abbey. Razzid ordered crewbeasts to load the big bow on the peak.

He crouched behind it, peering along the huge arrowshaft, murmuring to himself, “This’ll be a good way to knock on their door, though I don’t suppose there’ll be anybeast there to answer it. They’ll all be snorin’ in their nice liddle beds!”

Twangee, the young weasel nephew of the cook Badtooth, clambered nimbly down from the crow’s nest, where he had been posted as lookout. His paws slapped the deck wetly as he hastened to Razzid’s side to tell him the news. “Cap’n, Cap’n, I seen it, I seen the Redwall place!”

Razzid stared down at the bedraggled young weasel. “Are ye sure?”

Twangee waved his paws excitedly. “Sure, I’m sure, Cap’n—ye’ll see it for yerself soon. There’s liddle gold lights, like stars. That’ll be from some o’ the rooms upstairs, an’ if’n ye look ’ard enough, ye can just about make out its shape!”

The Wearat patted Twangee’s head. “Ye did well. Now find Redtail an’ send ’im t’me.”

Redtail the stoat was the ship’s official lookout; he had keener sight than most. Razzid ordered him up to the crow’s nest.

“I wants ye to take a good look around, then come back down an’ report t’me. Look sharp, now!”

Sensing the urgency of his captain, Redtail performed his task smartly, clambering swiftly back to the deck. “’Tis the Abbey, Cap’n, we’re on a course right for it. If’n this weather keeps up, we’ll be there in about three hours by my reckonin’.”

The Wearat was trembling eagerly. “I wants this ship to hit those Abbey gates dead centre. Git back up there an’ make sure we stays on course, Redtail. I’ll take over the tiller, so there’ll be no mistake!”

Mowlag and Jiboree were glad to be relieved of the tiller. They were soaked and wind battered from trying to hold the vessel on its wild, careering course. Tugging their snouts in salute, they slunk off toward the galley, where there was warmth and grog to be had. However, before they had gone a few paces, Razzid’s voice halted them.

“Ahoy, mates, I’ve got a job for ye both up on the for’ard peak. Bein’ as yore such trusty beasts, ye can stand by, ready to throw that log bridge o’er the ditch when we reaches it. Git ye up on that forepeak now, cullies!”

He watched them being driven for’ard by the gale, both cursing under their breath at the perilous task they had been allocated. One false slip at the crucial moment of bridging the ditch was a virtual death sentence. The Wearat laughed callously as he urged them on.

“Jump to it, me lucky friends! Show our crew ’ow true to me ye are. Haharr, I wouldn’t trust nobeast to do it, except me ole shipmates Mowlag an’ Jiboree!” Casting a swift glance over the crew, he called four hulking ferrets to him, issuing them with orders. “Hearken t’me, bullies, go an’ arm yoreselves with long pikes. If’n Mowlag or Jiboree don’t stand fast an’ carry out my biddin’, then kill ’em an’ take their place!”

The brawniest of the ferrets, a corsair named Lugsnout, narrowed his eyes viciously. “Leave it to us, Cap’n. If’n they moves a paw back’ards, they’re both worm meat!”

As they went to get pikes, Razzid reached behind him, dragging Shekra forward by her tail.

“An’ you, my Seer, you’ll be watchin’ the watchers. If’n anythin’ goes amiss, the job o’ bridgin’ the ditch’ll be yores. Unnerstand?”

The vixen protested, “But, Lord, I’ve got a ruined paw. I couldn’t lift those pine trunks on my own!”

Razzid winked at her. “You’d be surprised at wot ye can do if’n I comes behind ye with my trident. Go on with ye!”

Whilst all this had been going on, Greenshroud had been rattling forward over the flatlands. Razzid pulled himself up on the tiller, peering ahead. He was rewarded by the sight of Redwall Abbey in the distance, its monumental bulk highlighted by twinkling lantern lights from dormitory windows. The Wearat shuddered with unholy joy.

“I see ye now. Ye can’t run or hide from ole Razzid. I’m comin’—there’s nought ye can do to stop me!”

Howling gale-force winds drove battering rain at the main door of the Abbey building. Fortunately, almost all the Redwallers were dry and warm inside. Friar Wopple and her helpers busied themselves in the kitchens, baking, cooking and preparing for the valiant defenders on the outer walltops. Sister Fisk and her assistants were hard at it in the Infirmary, readying supplies of bandages, poultices and healing remedies for the inevitable casualties of the coming conflict. However, the proudest creature in the Abbey was Uggo Wiltud, who had been ordered by the Abbot to guard the door against all comers. Armed with the sword of Martin the Warrior, the young hedgehog stood sentinel behind the huge oaken door. This was the greatest honour ever bestowed on him, and live or die, Uggo was determined to see it through.

Outside on the ramparts, it was difficult to distinguish anything on the western flatlands. Corporal Welkin Dabbs and Kite Slayer, two of the keener-sighted beasts, were on lookout. Skor Axehound and Captain Rake Nightfur stood alongside them in an effort to keep watch. Blustering winds and driving rain, plus the heavily clouded darkness of the night skies, limited their vision drastically. Captain Rake turned his head aside, dashing rain from his eyes. “Och, can ye nae see anythin’ out yonder?”

Welkin Dabbs blew water from his nosetip. “Alas, sah, not a bloomin’ thing, I’m afraid. What about you, miss? Your eyes are jolly much younger’n mine, wot?”

Kite Slayer shielded her vision with a dripping paw. “Huh, waste o’ time tryin’ t’spot anythin’ in this foul lot!”

Skor patted her back. “Keep lookin’, young Kite.”

The other hares and otters sat below the walltops with their backs against the battlements, crouching hooded and cloaked on the lee side of the storm.

Buff Redspore tugged the hem of Rake’s cloak. “Beg pardon, but might I take a peep, sah?”

Sergeant Miggory shot her a reproving glance. “You’ll h’obey h’orders, miz. Keep yore ’ead down, like you’ve been told to!”

Lieutenant Scutram cast an eye over the waiting warriors, dispensing some sound advice. “Steady in the ranks, chaps. Stoppin’ where you are gives us the element of surprise, y’see. I’m sure you’d all like t’be up on watch, but that’d let the vermin spot us. Don’t jolly well want that, do we? By the left, we don’t—it’d lose us the blinkin’ edge. Right, Cap’n?”

Rake nodded. “Aye, that’s mah plan. Though if anybeast has a canny idea tae suggest, Ah’m ready tae listen.”

A Guosim shrew piped up eagerly, “Wot about sendin’ up a pile of fire arrows? Then we’d be able to see the vermin.”

Log a Log Dandy stared scathingly at the unfortunate shrew. “Fire arrows? How long d’ye suppose a flamin’ shaft’d last in this storm? Huh, the way the wind is blowin’, it’d come straight back at us. Fire arrows! Are ye crazy?”

The Guosim ducked back under his cloak, murmuring, “Sorry, Chief. ’Twas just a thought.”

Dandy softened his tone. “Never mind, mate, we’re all on edge.”

Everybeast gave a start as a thunderous blast boomed out directly overhead. Then a prolonged flash of chain lightning ripped its way across the sky for several seconds.

Corporal Welkin Dabbs pointed, roaring out frantically, “The ship! There they are! I saw the ship, sah!”

Rake hastened to the corporal’s side. “Ye saw it? Where away?”

Dabbs kept his paw pointing out into the storm-torn night. “Right there, sah, midway twixt us an’ the horizon, comin’ this way, sah!”

Another fitful flash of lightning lit the land briefly. It was enough. All four lookouts saw Greenshroud clearly.

Nothing could have stopped the vermin vessel. It was stampeding madly forward, every stitch of sail canvas stretched almost to bursting. Timbers cracked and groaned; rigging whistled a dirge in the gale. The four wheels jounced and banged over every hillock and rut as the ship careered toward the Abbey at an alarming rate.

Skor was in his element. Bounding up onto the battlements, he whirled his huge battleaxe. “Come on, wavescum! I’m the Axehound, Warchief o’ the Rogue Crew! Come an’ take our name to Hellgates with ye. Come on!”

The lightning that crackled over the scene also allowed the vermin a plain view of Redwall. Perched high on the masthead, the stoat lookout took a swift bearing on their target. Scrambling to the deck, he informed Razzid, “Cap’n, I kin see that Abbey plain as a pikestaff. ’Tis dead ahead, an’ we’re bound to hit the door plumb centre afore too long!”

The Wearat seized a stout coil of line, skilfully lashing the tiller into a fixed position. He grabbed his trident. “Thankee, Redtail. Let’s go up for’ard—I don’t want to miss any o’ this!”

The searats and corsairs toward the prow were knocked roughly aside as Razzid bulled his way up to the forepeak.

Shekra followed close on his paws, waving and gesturing. “Sire, we won’t need those pine trunks, at the rate she’s goin’—Greenshroud will jump that ditch at a go!”

Pawing Mowlag and Jiboree aside, the Wearat stood out on the prow, grasping at staylines to steady himself.

“Aye, nothin’ can stop us now. Mowlag, Jiboree, git yoreselves on that big bow. As soon as ye see that main gate clear, then loose one o’ those shafts at it, an’ don’t miss!”

Relieved from a virtual death sentence of their former task, both beasts sprang smartly to obey the new order.

Corporal Welkin Dabbs joined Skor and Rake on the threshold, waving and pointing. “I say, lookit the speed o’ that bloomin’ ship! Well, chaps, ’twon’t be long before they arrive here, eh, wot!”

Skor bared his teeth savagely. “Hah, the gates ain’t locked. ’Tis only good manners to open the doors to visitors, eh, Rake!”

The tall, dark hare drew both his blades. “Aye, let ’em come. But Ah’d no’ be surprised if yon ship doesnae get stuck in that gateway. Looks tae me like it might, d’ye think?”

The big sea otter scratched his matted beard. “Mayhap’twill, but they’ll still have to face us. Right, let’s get down there an’ form a welcomin’ committee.” Swinging his battleaxe, he roared out over the storm, “Rogue Crew, all down to the gates. Yaylahoooooo!”

Skor’s warriors needed no urging. They rushed to the wallsteps yelling bloodcurdling war cries.

Long Patrol hares and Guosim shrews arose, ready to follow, until Log a Log Dandy shouted sternly, “Hold yore positions. Ye ain’t been told t’move yet!” They stared from the ramparts, spellbound, as Greenshroud burst out of the storm-tossed night. The vessel’s rattling wheels could be plainly heard now.

Rake watched it come, calling to his warriors, “Hauld tight here until she strikes the gates!” He commented aside to Scutram, “Then Ah’ll know best what move tae make.”

Young Kite Slayer was easily the swiftest of paw in the crew. The ottermaid was first down the wallsteps, arriving in the curved stone alcove of the main gates. Brandishing spear and buckler, she called to her comrades, who were still coming down the steps. “There’ll be a lot more notches on this shield rim afore the night’s out. Come on, ye stinkin’ vermin, we’re wait—”

Her words were cut off as the giant arrow hit the gates dead centre. Both gates fell open, and the big shaft whizzed through, slaying Kite and whizzing on across the lawns. The Abbey’s main door shook under the impact as the shaft buried its point in the stout oak timbers.

On the walltop, Sergeant Miggory bawled out a warning to the Rogue Crew as the Greenshroud shot over the narrow ditch. “Stan’ aside beloooooooow!”

The otters hurled themselves to both sides of the long sandstone arch as the enemy vessel arrived.

Thrust onward by the immense gale force, the ship rammed into the open gateway. Both gates were ripped from their hinges, carrying on with the momentum as they were cleaved to the sides of the foebeasts’ craft. With a cracking and snapping of timber, the masts hit the main arch, breaking like twigs as they struck the stonework. Some vermin were killed amidst the wreckage, crushed under falling timbers and rigging. Yet still the Greenshroud continued its wild rush forward.

With the awful din singing in his ears, Razzid Wearat had fallen flat on the bowsprit. His good eye stared wildly about as he scrambled upright. Seeing the gateway wide open in his wake, he felt the ship still rolling across the Abbey lawns. Razzid grabbed his trident, bellowing jubilantly, “Ahoy, mates, we’re in! Now for the slaughter. Yahaaaaaar!”