The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques
“Did ye see that, sah? This Bloodripper territory must be haunted. Ooooh, I don’t like it one little bit!”
Captain Rake Nightfur, however, was made of sterner stuff. He made straight for the skull. “Och, fiddlesticks, lassie. There’s nought tae be fear’t frae an auld vermin skull!”
Thrusting a claymore point through one of the eyeholes, he flicked the thing in the air. With a squeak of dismay, a small greeny-brown sand lizard fell out. It scrabbled about, looking for somewhere to hide.
Sergeant Miggory leapt smartly forward, trapping it neatly under his footpaw. He addressed it in a very sergeant-major voice. “Nah then, young bucko, stay still h’an I won’t ’ave to squelch ye. That’s the ticket, laddie, stand easy!”
The warning voice boomed out once more. “If ye slay a Bloodripper, ye will not live to see the sun set on this day. Be warned and fear the Mighty Bonecrusher. Aaaaaiiiiieeeee!”
Lieutenant Scutram’s ears began twitching. He took a hasty look around, then whispered to Captain Rake, “Keep the blighter talkin’, sah. I’ve an idea where he is. Chat to the rascal an’ buy me a bit o’ time, wot!”
Nightfur began a harangue with the unknown Bloodripper as Scutram crept off into the dunes.
“Ach, Ah’m nae scair’t o’ anybeast. Who d’ye think ye are, talkin’ tae me in that uncouth manner?”
The mystery voice retorted angrily, “Fool, you would do well to fear the Bloodrippers. We will make you curse the mother who gave birth to you!”
The captain continued baiting the speaker. “Leave mah mother oot o’ this, or mah blade’ll find your gizzard. Aye, an’ don’t dare tae call me fool!”
Now the voice sounded truly wrathful. “Enough! The boldness of your tongue has brought down doom on ye—yeeeeeek! Gerroff! Lemmego!”
Lieutenant Scutram came marching out of the dunes with his prisoner.
Sergeant Miggory fell about laughing. “Hahaha. Where’d ye get that liddle maggot, sah?”
Scutram had a pygmy shrew by the scruff of its neck. It wriggled and kicked furiously, striking out at him with a huge megaphone fashioned from birchbark. Captain Rake brought a halt to its struggles by placing a claymore point to its tubby little stomach.
“Be still, ye wee ruffian, or Ah’ll carve a bit o’ the blubber from ye. Be still, Ah say!”
Scutram placed the pygmy shrew next to the small sand lizard. He upturned the megaphone and slammed it down, imprisoning both creatures beneath it.
Buff Redspore smiled sheepishly. “So that’s all it jolly well was—a couple o’ bloomin’ runts, eh, wot!”
Always on the alert, Miggory spoke out the side of his mouth to the tracker. “There’s more’n h’a couple o’ runts marm, look around ye.”
The dunes were crowded from top to bottom with sand lizards and pygmy shrews, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The shrews were armed with bundles of what seemed to be reed javelins. Most of the lizards carried thin slings or spears tipped with pieces of broken shell.
Buff Redspore inched closer to Sergeant Miggory, gazing fearfully around. “There must be a horde of the blinkin’ little fiends. What do we jolly well do now?”
Rake Nightfur sheathed both claymores, spreading his paws wide in a gesture of peace. He addressed the lizards and shrews in a cordial tone. “Mah friends, we mean ye no harm. Och, we’re only passin’ through here, on the way tae the north.”
An aged pygmy shrew came forth to speak. He was dressed in a woven grass tabard and carried a carved driftwood stick. His manner was terse.
“Ye have no permission to pass through that barrier of spears. Why did ye not make a request?”
Scutram could tell by Rake’s erect ears that he was not about to put up with the old one’s attitude. Sidling past the tall, dark captain, he remarked casually, “Sah, if you’ll allow me, a touch of the jolly old diplomacy mightn’t be out o’ place, wot?”
Rake stepped aside. “Aye, carry on, Lieutenant. Buff, Sage, retreat guid an’ slow now, then get ye back tae the column an’ bring them here on the double, ye ken.”
As Buff and Sage backed slowly away, Scutram smiled disarmingly. “Apologies for our clumsiness, sire, but there didn’t seem t’be any of your chaps about to, ah, put in our request to pass through your domain.”
A sharp little voice rang out from a dunetop. “It’s my domain, not his! Me, Empraking Dibby Drampik! Hah, you should’ve asked me!”
A half dozen sand lizards scuttled to his side. They were towing a moss-cushioned chair, which slid along on broad, flat runners. The empraking sat on it, waving the lizards to proceed. They set the chair in motion downhill, jumping hastily onto the runners and standing to attention. Despite the comical idea of an armchair sliding down the duneside, the empraking retained his regal dignity. His retainers steered the chair-cum-sled to a smooth halt in front of the hares. He did not alight until several attendants dressed him in a colourful woven cloak and a ridiculously tall crown adorned with seashells, dried flowers and small bird feathers. A ceremonial mace, topped with a polished agate, completed the ensemble. He peered shortsightedly up at Scutram.
“I’m the one you ask! I’m emperor round here—king, too, an’ ruling Bloodripper! So, what d’ye want? Speak out.”
Lieutenant Scutram saluted courteously. “Permission to pass through your territory, sah!”
The pompous little creature scratched his rotund stomach, paced up and down once, then sat back on his chair, waving a dismissive paw.
“Not today. Tomorrow maybe, I don’t know.”
Colour Sergeant Miggory planted himself in the path of the chair, his jaw jutting aggressively. “Then ye’d better git t’know, bucko. Y’don’t talk like that to h’officers of the Long Patrol!”
He was suddenly dragged down by a score of pygmy shrews, who were making stabbing gestures with their javelins.
Rake Nightfur sprang into action. With a bound, he was at the empraking’s throat with both claymores, roaring, “Touch mah sergeant, an’ Ah’ll slay this wee braggart. Stan’ ye clear o’ him—Ah mean it!”
Through the centre of the melee came a pygmy shrew wearing a coronet. This was the empraking’s queen, Dukwina, a dumpy little figure in regal garb, with a voice of earsplitting volume. “What’s all this, what’s all this? Gerroff that ole rabbet this instant! An’ you, big black un, stow them swords or I’ll make ye eat ’em!”
Everything stopped. Shrews and lizards threw themselves facedown on the ground in homage to the one who was the real power in Bloodripper territory. She stumped up to the empraking and seized him by the ear, twisting savagely as she gave him a public dressing-down.
“You’re nought but trouble, Dibby Drampik. Now wot’ve you been up to, eh? No good, I’ll be bound!”
She had the little empraking out of his chair doing an agonised dance as she tweaked his ear fiercely. He was squeaking pitifully.
“Owyeek, leggo! I wasn’t up to nothin’, Dukky darling. Those rabbets were tryin’ to cross through our lands. Yaaaargh! Ooh! Yeek! You’ll pull my ear off!”
Captain Rake noticed that though the shrews and lizards were still facedown in front of royalty, there was a good deal of giggling and mirth at the empraking’s dilemma. His dumpy little wife was still berating him.
“Silence or I’ll pull both your ears off! Huh, you never listen to what I say anyway. Is that wot all the fuss was, a few travellers passin’ through?”
The older pygmy shrew with the carved driftwood stick spoke out hesitantly. “But, Majesty, they were intruders, trespassing on Bloodripper ground!”
“Shuttup, you dodderin’ ole fool. Who asked you, eh?” She turned upon her unfortunate husband again. “I put that rule there for vermin—foxes, rats an’ such like. Have ye got mud in yore eyes as well as yore ears? Do they look like vermin? Well, do they?”
With tears streaming down his face, her husband wailed, “No, no, my sweet Dukky dear. Owowow, my poor ear!”
She released him with a shove that
“Sorry ’bout that. I’m Her Majesty Queen Dukwina Drampik, an’ you are . . . ?”
Scutram flourished an elegant bow, kissing her paw. “Lieutenant Algernon Scutram of the Long Patrol at Salamandastron, at y’service, marm. These other hares”—he stressed the word hares—“are Captain Rake Nightfur an’ Colour Sergeant Miggory.”
A female lizard attendant whispered something to Dukwina, pointing up at the sky. She nodded.
“Captain, as you can see, a rainstorm is due. May I offer you an’ your friends our hospitality?”
Rake saluted gallantly. “Och, we’d be obliged tae ye, marm!”
The Bloodrippers’ communal home came as a revelation. A short way into the dunes, it had been built in a clearing between four of the high sandhills, connecting them under a huge roof. Scutram was mightily impressed at the construction.
“Beggin’ pardon, marm, but how’s this all been made, wot?”
She called a shrew who was wearing an apron. He had thick crystal spectacles and a charcoal drawing stick behind one ear. “Burmboss, tell our friend what you do.”
Burmboss smiled over the rim of his glasses. “Mats, that’s the thing, sir. Mats made out o’ thick woven dunegrass, aye, big mats made by scores o’ weavers. Sand then, good, sharp shoresand, limestone, ground down to powder, white wood ash an’ fresh water. My workers makes it into a paste—cement, ye might say. Then ’tis plastered o’er the mats an’ erected.”
He took Scutram to a section that reached the ground. Knocking his paw against the surface of the wall, he proclaimed proudly, “See? Tougher’n a hazelnut shell, but light. Warm in winter, cool in summer, an’ ’twill last forever. Providin’ the dunes stay where they are, supportin’ it. Oh, an’ with a final outer coat o’sand, it’s invisible from the outside. Just looks like part of the dunes to those as don’t know.”
There was a firepit at the centre of the dwelling, and there were several clay ovens. Queen Dukwina bade the guests sit on soft woven mats. They were given drinks.
Miggory sipped approvingly. “Hmm, tastes like wild fennel an’ coltsfoot ’erbs—very nice!”
The old tabard-clad shrew took a message from a sand lizard and communicated it to Dukwina. “Majesty, there’s almost a score o’ rabbet—er, hares—proceeding along the dunetops toward us.”
Dukwina scowled at the empraking’s counsellor, who was obviously in her disfavour. “Proceeding, ye say, Vigbil? Aren’t they marching, walking or running, like any normal creature? Well, don’t stand there thinkin’ up more fancy terms. Go out an’ meet them. Proceed them in here, if y’please, so our cooks can feed ’em.”
With the arrival of the column, there was consternation amongst the shrews and lizards at the sight of Crumdun, the captive stoat, being led on a rope. Empraking Dibby was first to complain.
“Vermin, vermin—take it out an’ slay it!”
Dukwina twitched a paw at him. “Dibby, dearest, d’ye want me to treat your ear again? No? Then hold your tongue an’ go an’ help the cooks.” The king went off nursing his ear, muttering sulkily, “S’not fair. It’s Vigbil’s turn. I did it yesterday!”
Dukwina ignored him, beckoning to the hares of the column who had newly arrived. “Come in, sit ye down—you two, sit by me!”
Ferrul and Buff Redspore, whom she had indicated, did as they were bade. There was an immediate hurry to serve them with drinks before the rest.
Rake Nightfur murmured aside to Miggory, “Looks like the lassies rule the roost here, mah friend.”
The craggy-featured sergeant shrugged. “Ye could be right, sah, but h’I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ’cos h’I don’t want t’get me h’ear twisted.”
Lancejack Sage, whom the queen had not previously noticed, called out eagerly at the arrival of the food, “I say, chaps, that scoff looks jolly scrumptious!”
Dukwina waved a paw at the haremaid. “Then we shall have to see that you get lots of it. Come and sit over here with us, missy.”
The food was excellent. There was a savoury cress and seaweed soup, as well as dishes of chopped acorn, hazelnut and wild celery garnished with a fresh late-spring salad. The bread was warm and crusty, with a hint of sorrel to it. Apart from hawthorn and buttercup cheese, there was a steaming whortleberry pudding with sweet arrowroot sauce. Cool mint tea was served constantly.
Drander, the biggest of the young hares, proclaimed after his second helping of pudding, “Oh, whacko! This is the stuff t’give a chap, eh wot?”
Flutchers, who was tucking in with a will, agreed. “Rather, better’n the flippin’ mess vittles at Salamandastron, I’d say, old lad!”
Seated beside the queen, Ferrul called to Flutchers, “I heard that! Did ye know that Mess Cook Sergeant Frawler is my uncle? Shall I tell him what you said when we get back, old lad?”
Dukwina smiled at Ferrul’s quick reply. She patted the haremaid’s paw. “Well done, my dear. Just look at the face on your friend now. . . .”
Still smiling, she turned her attention to the captain. “What clever young maids you have in your patrol. Perhaps you could spare them to join me at my court for a season. It would please me greatly.”
Rake Nightfur returned her smile, assuming that her request was merely a joke. He countered politely, “Och, Ah’m sure it’d please mah lassies, too, marm, but we’re on a mission, ye ken, an’ they’ve their duties tae attend.”
Dukwina’s eyes hardened momentarily, then she chuckled. “I understand, Captain.”
She waved an imperious paw at her minions.
“Some music, singin’ an’ dancing for our guests. Dibby, bring out my special wine for them—quickly, now!”
Drums began a slow, muffled beat as an octet of young crested newts danced sinuously. In the background, a pygmy shrewmaid choir hummed soft harmonies.
Corporal Welkin, who was seated behind Scutram and the captain, leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “I’ve noticed somethin’ since I h’arrived ’ere. The chaps are the ones who does all the runnin’ an’ servin’, bowin’ an’ scrapin’, y’might say. But the ladies, they just sits about enjoyin’ theirselves h’an givin’ out h’orders.”
Lieutenant Scutram put aside his platter. “Top marks. I’ve noticed that meself, doncha know. What d’ye think, Cap’n?”
The tall hare answered without taking his eyes off the dancers. “Aye, Ah think the same mahsel’. Yon wee queen’s a force tae be reckoned with. Weel, now. Here comes a dram o’ the special wine, an’ will ye look who’s servin’ et!”
Empraking Dibby waddled up bearing a tray with a crystal decanter surrounded by an array of beautifully crafted cherrywood goblets. Pouring out the first, he passed the goblet of purple-tinted liquid to the captain.
Leaning close, Dibby whispered, “Drink that an’ ye won’t waken for a day or two, rabbet, be warned. She’s out to steal your maids!”
Smiling cordially, Rake raised his drink, calling across to the queen, “A toast tae yer very guid health, Majesty!”
He murmured a swift aside to Miggory. “Dinnae drink this wine—pass the word on.”
Scutram lifted the goblet, watching keenly over its rim. “I say, look! There’s a shrewmaid servin’ the queen an’ her cronies from another tray!”
Corporal Welkin was equally vigilant. “Aye, an’ that queen’s servin’ our gels from ole Dibby’s tray. Oh, corks, h’an they’re suppin’ it, too, sah!”
Miggory made a pretence of drinking from his goblet. “H’aint nothin’ t’be done about that fer now, Corp. We’ll just ’ave to ’ope for the best!”
The choir began singing a tranquil song that was almost a lullaby, soothing and melodious.
“Hushed golden sand covers the land,
lazily swirling, by warm breezes fanned,
still summer noontide ’neath tranquil blue sky,
far, far away now, I hear seabirds cry.
Live without fear, shed not a tear,
a vale of quiet shadows awaits thee, my dear.
“Sleep now in peace, list’ whilst I sing,
nightshade falls dark as the black raven’s wing,
tired eyelids close as weary day dies,
flutt’ring and drooping like small butterflies.
Feel cares drift away in slumber’s broad wake,
fading as ripples o’er some moonlit lake.”
The drums beat softer, the choir subsided to a muted hum, the dancers folded gracefully into recumbent positions.
From beneath partially closed eyes, Captain Rake saw Buff, Sage and Ferrul curled up on the woven mats, fast asleep. Covering his lips with a paw, he spoke in an undertone to those closest to him. “Watch me. Follow mah lead.”
Stretching his paws, he blinked. Simulating a cavernous yawn, he apologised to Queen Dukwina. “Och, ye’ll have tae pardon me, marm. Ah’m fair wearied an’ feelin’ the need tae sleep.”
Scutram put on a similar act in agreement. “D’ye know, sah, I think we’re all ready for a jolly good old nap. Must be with trampin’ through the sand all day, then tuckin’ in to all that scrumptious fodder, wot!”
Dukwina gestured magnanimously. “Why not sleep right here? It’s warm and the floor mats are easy enough to lie upon. I’ll have some rugs brought for you all. Dibby, you and Vigbil get some rugs for our guests. Come on, stir yourselves. Can’t you see they’re tired?” The little empraking and his aide hurried to obey their overbearing queen.
The two pygmy shrews were covering the supposedly sleeping hares over with soft rugs when Wilbee whispered to the sergeant, “I say, Sarge, I think big Drander must’ve drunk that bloomin’ stuff. He’s snorin’ away like a flippin’ hog!”
Miggory muttered sternly as he peeked over at Drander. “The great wallopin’ lump’ead. I’ll deal with him later. Keep yore ’ead down, Master Wilbee, an’ be quiet!”
The empraking knelt alongside Captain Rake, making a pretence of tucking him in as he spoke quietly. “As soon as the queen thinks you rabbets are unconscious, she’ll have your maids moved out of here.”