The Rogue Crew (29 page)

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

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

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.

A stiff wind blowing easterly from across the sea buffeted
Greenshroud
's starboard side as she ploughed southward through rising waves. From atop the mainmast, a keen-eyed searat who was lookout that day bawled out a sighting.

“I kin see a river runnin' across the shore!”

Jiboree, who was fighting to keep the tiller steady, called back, “A river, eh? Where away?”

“Mebbe a point or so to port,” came the reply.

Gratefully, the weasel eased off his pressure on the long timber arm, allowing the tiller to drift
Greenshroud
landward at a southerly angle. He stopped a passing crewbeast. “Go an' tell the cap'n a river's been spotted.”

Razzid Wearat wiped at his injured eye, staring at the approaching river. “Hmm, could be this River Moss. Shekra, go an' get that 'ole spikehog. He'll know.”

Drogbuk Wiltud was in no fit state to walk. He staggered on deck, supported by Shekra and Mowlag. The drunken old hedgehog's head was lolling on his chest; his eyes were shut.

Grabbing him by the headspikes, Razzid yanked his head up. “Ahoy, I wants to talk with ye. Liven yoreself up, ole fool!”

Shekra cut in helpfully. “Here, Lord, let me try.” She patted Drogbuk's limp, scrawny paw. “Wake up, friend, we need yore advice.”

The wretched creature managed to open one eye blearily. “Eh, what . . . ? Where's grog? I need more!”

Knocking Shekra aside, the Wearat began beating Drogbuk round his head, snarling with each blow. “Ya dribblin' ole grog stopper, lookit yon river an' tell me, is that the River Moss ye told us about?”

Drogbuk made a swift recovery, trying to cringe from the vicious blunt-clawed paws. He babbled pitifully, “Aye, that'd be the Moss. But you said ye was my friend. Wot are ye hittin' me for?”

Razzid smiled wickedly as he twisted his victim's snout. “I'll hit ye if'n ye don't shape up an' tell me wot I want. Now, wot's our next move, ye drunken idjit? Talk!”

Drogbuk pointed at the stretch of clear water gushing over the beach into the sea. “Ye follows it, that's all. Just follow it east.”

Loosened by age, the old hedgehog's body quills rattled to the deck as Razzid shook him violently.

“We goes east along the river. Wot then? Where's Redwall?”

Drogbuk sank to the deck whimpering. “I needs more o' that grog, I needs it bad, sir!”

Mowlag kicked him. “Then tell the cap'n the way first.”

Stammering and weeping, Drogbuk explained, “O'er the shore, through the dunes an' hills, then into the woodlands. Stay wid the river 'til ye comes to a ford. There's a path either side of it. Redwall Abbey lies to the south along that path. But ye'll have ter leave yore ship at the ford an' march the rest o' the way.”

Jiboree sniggered. “Hah, that's wot yew think, eh, Cap'n?”

Razzid ignored him, hauling his captive upright roughly. “Swear to me now, is that all I needs to know?”

More quills rattled to the deck as Drogbuk nodded hastily. “I've told ye true, on me oath I 'ave, Cap'n. Now can I get a taste o' yore grog, sir? Me pore 'ead's achin' somethin' awful. Just a drop o' grog to wet me sufferin' lips.”

Razzid turned to watch the oncoming river. “Kill 'im!”

Shekra leaned close, murmuring, “Is that wise, Lord? Who knows wot lies ahead. We may need him yet.”

The Wearat shrugged. “Then let's keep 'im awhile. But no more grog fer that un. Bind 'im t'the mast.”

With the wind at her stern,
Greenshroud
entered the Moss shallows, half sailing, half rolling as the wheels were driven under full sail. It was an odd sight, the big green-sailed vessel gliding smoothly over the beach.

Jiboree managed the tiller easily, cautioning Drogbuk, whose moans were beginning to pall on him. “Quit yore whingin', y'ole grogbucket, or I'll give ye a taste—but it won't be grog, it'll be a rope's end!”

High-sided dunes formed a canyon either side of the river. The wind dropped after
Greenshroud
navigated several meandering turns, leaving the ship becalmed twixt the steep sandy slopes. All through the noontide, crewbeasts sweated as they poled away with long oars to keep the ship going.

Mowlag spat on his paw. Holding it up, he announced, “Keep goin', mates. We might catch the wind again by nightfall, mebbe once we make the woodlands.”

An exhausted searat leaned on his paddle. “Huh, that's alright fer Mowlag t'say. All I'm catchin' is a pair o' sore paws from shovin' this oar.”

His companion, a thin-faced weasel, complained, “It ain't right. Ships shouldn't be sailin' through places like this. The sea's the place fer a ship.”

Mowlag's stern voice silenced any further complaints. “Save yore breath an' keep goin'. I'm the ship's mate, an' I'm only carryin' out Cap'n's orders. So unless ye wants me t'take the rope's end to yore backs . . .” He left the threat unfinished, knowing it would have the desired result.

 

Further north, the going was also arduous for Log a Log Dandy and his Guosim crew, travelling along the streams toward the River Moss. Taking only a brief rest for sleep in a side inlet turned out to be an uncomfortable mistake. They were wakened by clouds of midges. Uggo, Posy and Swiffo were forced to leap ashore, besieged by myriads of the tiny insects. The inlet, as it turned out, was a cul-de-sac choked with weeds, mud and stagnant water. Log a Log Dandy and the other shrews were not slow in following their passengers' example—they too jumped ashore and ran. The midges did not stay with them but went back to their creek, the habitat they lived in.

The entire party spent time beating out midges, which had clung to fur, spikes and clothing.

Swiffo spat out a midge. “Phwaw—that wasn't much of a place to catch a nap, was it?”

Dandy merely shrugged. “It happens now an' agin, not t'worry. When we anchored there, we weren't to know. Anyhow, 'tis a fine, bright day an' no real harm done, eh!” He ordered a fire to be lit and materials to be gathered.

Uggo, like the rest, found himself holding a bundle of dead twigs, wet grass and some greenery bound together with bur marigold stems.

Swiffo explained, “This'll drive the midges off so's we can get the logboats back out into clear runnin' water. Cover yore mouth, then light that torch in the fire.”

Once the torches had taken light, the Guosim set off back to the brackish inlet in a fog of smoke. Even though Posy had her mouth covered, she soon found herself coughing and pawing at streaming eyes. However, the scheme worked well. Thick smoke soon dispersed the insect hordes, allowing Guosim paddlers to hasten the logboats out into the midstream, and fresh air. Torches sizzled as they were flung into the water.

Uggo splashed fresh water onto his face. “Ugh, I can't stand liddle crawly things!”

Around midday, the stream broadened. On the surface it looked calm, but the boats began moving faster. Little eddies appeared close to the banks.

Posy sat back and relaxed. Dappling sunlight poured through the high foliage of cedar, grey willow and wych elm, flooding the stream with patterns of light and shade. She sighed dreamily. “It's all so peaceful and pretty, isn't it?”