The Rogue Crew by Brian Jacques
“Well, buckoes, one thing’s for sure, they ain’t goin’ to attack us. Those woodlanders’ll sit tight behind their big stone walls. So, we’re safe enough here, eh?”
“So wot d’ye say, Cap’n, are we goin’ to take that place, or ’ang about ’ere ’til we grows old?”
The voice, which came from a group amidships, was that of Jiboree.
Giving no clue that he knew this, Razzid answered, “Dig the dirt outta yore lugs an’ I’ll tell ye. I wants a good gang of ye to go into that forest. Yore to chop down about six good-sized trees—pines or firs should do, good straight ones. When ye’ve done that, bring ’em back ’ere, an’ I’ll tell ye the rest o’ my plan.”
The crew stood in silence, as if unsure of the next move.
Razzid wiped moisture from his bad eye. “Mowlag, Jiboree, yore in charge o’ the tree-choppin’ gang. Pick twoscore crewbeasts an’ get to it. Vixen, I wants a word with ye. Come t’my cabin!”
As the searat and the corsair weasel chose their party, Razzid jabbed his trident toward the cabin. “You go first, fox.”
Filled with trepidation, Shekra entered the cabin. Razzid closed the door behind him. Leaning on his trident haft, he fixed the vixen with a piercing stare, stating flatly, “Ye know the penalty for mutiny agin yore cap’n, I suppose?”
With a sob in her voice, Shekra protested, “Sire, I have always been loyal to you, I swear!”
He knocked her flat with a swift kick, hissing viciously, “D’ye take me for an idiot? I know wot’s been goin’ on twixt you an’ those other two, Mowlag’n’Jiboree. Speak just one more lie an’ I’ll rip yore throat out with this trident. Tell the truth an’ I’ll let ye live. So?”
Shekra had no option but to confess, though with a little twist of her own. “Lord, they threatened to kill me if I didn’t go along with ’em. They were going to murder you as we sailed up the River Moss, but I talked them out of it. I said wait until we conquer Redwall first. I was playing for time, you see. I was going to warn you, believe me, sire.”
Razzid nodded. “I see, an’ were the crew with them, too?”
The vixen sensed a further opportunity. “They wouldn’t tell me, sire. Some were, some weren’t. But leave it to me. I’ll discover who was in on it with them.”
The Wearat leaned forward, his breath tickling her nostrils. “Leave that to me, an’ heed wot I say now. Nobeast, not Mowlag, Jiboree or any o’ the crew must know of this—not a single word, d’ye hear me?”
Shekra gulped. “My lips are sealed, Cap’n!”
Razzid’s searching eye never left her for a moment. “They’ll be sealed for good if’n ye play me false. Get up!”
The vixen staggered up on shaking limbs as Razzid pointed to the bulkhead wall. “Stand there an’ raise yore right paw. Go on, fox, do it. I ain’t goin’ to kill ye. Just raise that paw an’ swear to serve me truly.”
Gaining a little confidence, Shekra spoke up. “I give my oath I’ll always serve you truly, sire!”
Razzid struck like lightning.
Thud! The trident’s middle prong went right through the vixen’s paw into the wall behind. She gave an agonised screech, which was stifled by Razzid’s paw across her mouth. Smiling savagely at Shekra, he explained his cruel act. “Said I wouldn’t kill ye, didn’t I? That didn’t mean ye weren’t to be punished for plottin’ agin me.”
Shekra gave vent to a long-stifled moan as he twisted the trident, withdrawing it. Razzid shoved her contemptuously toward the door. “Yore still alive, ain’t ye? Stop whinin’ an’ git out o’ my cabin. Yore gettin’ blood everywhere!” With her face a drawn mask of pain, the Seer reeled out on deck, clasping her paw tightly to stanch the wound.
Razzid put his head out, calling to the cook, “Badtooth, bring me some decent food an’ a jug o’ the best grog. Move yoreself, I’m famished!”
Badtooth, the fat greasy weasel, watched as Razzid divided a roast wood pigeon into two portions and placed beakers of grog on the table. Razzid winked. “Join me, my ole shipmate—ye did well.”
Badtooth gnawed on the meat, then slopped down some grog. “Thankee, Cap’n. Anythin’ else ye need me t’find out for ye?”
Razzid clinked beakers with his spy. “Just keep yore eyes’n’ears open when ye mix with the crew.”
The fat weasel cackled. “Heeheehee! That’ll be easy. Oh, I sent me liddle nephew Twangee out wid the tree-choppin’ gang. Young Twangee’s got a sharp pair of ears on ’im fer a wee galley weasel.”
Razzid nodded. “Good! When ye dish up vittles t’night, give the crew an extra ration o’ grog, eh!”
The cook’s huge stomach wobbled as he laughed. “Heehee, ain’t nothin’ like extra grog t’set their tongues loose an’ waggin’. I’ll give ’em plenty! Well, Cap’n, here’s t’the death of yore enemies an’ a victory over that Abbey!”
Razzid winked his good eye at Badtooth. “I’ll drink to that, shipmate!”
Dusk was falling as Sister Fisk and Milda the volemaid supervised the Dibbuns’ bedtime. It was difficult, as there was an air of excitement amongst the Abbeybabes. No sooner were they put into their truckle beds than they wriggled out and scurried to the dormitory windows. The Sister stamped her footpaw firmly down.
“Back in those beds immediately. Right now, d’ye hear me?”
The squirrelbabe Guggle yelled as Milda prised her paws from the windowsill.
“Lemmego, Mildy, wanna see da big naughtybeast ship!”
Sister Fisk tried not to raise her voice. “There’s nothing to see—it’s dark outside. Now go to bed!”
Alfio, the Dibbun shrew, wrinkled his nose cheekily as he encouraged the others to set up a chant. “Dab! Dab! Dab!”
Milda sighed. “They’re starting the Dibbuns Against Bedtime chant, Sister. What’ll we do?”
Ever resourceful, Fisk emptied the contents of a small vial into a jug of warm plum cordial. This she poured into small beakers, coaxing the Dibbuns into their beds with it.
“Last one in bed doesn’t get any plum cordial—hurry now!”
There was a mass scramble to be first under the covers. As Fisk and Milda distributed the drinks, the little ones kept up a constant chatter, each question demanding a reply.
“Will the bad naughtybeasts go away, Mildy?”
“Oh, yes, I expect they will, when Father Abbot has a word with them. Careful with that drink now.”
“Hurr hurr, ee h’Abbot choppen they tails off with Marthen’s gurt sword—they’m wull soon go ’way!”
Sister Fisk smiled at the molebabe. “Indeed he will, and you’ll be next if you’re not asleep soon.”
Alfio the shrewbabe sat up, shaking his head decisively. “Alfio can’t go t’sleep wivout a song!”
Milda gently eased him back down. “All close your eyes, then I’ll sing for you.”
The young volemaid had a warm, soothing voice. She sang a lullaby as Sister Fisk moved quietly about, collecting the beakers.
“When all the trees stand silent,
this is the time I love best,
after old daylight’s faded,
when the sun has sunk to rest.
Off midst the tranquil darkness,
a nightingale sings to the moon,
butterflies close their eyes,
they’ll be a-slumb’ring soon.
Lullaby, hush you now,
after your busy day,
even bees on nights like these,
cease bumbling away.
Deep streams go quietly murm’ring,
faintly small breezes sigh.
Hush now . . . hush now . . . lullaaaaby.”
Sister Fisk patted Milda’s paw. “Oh, well done, miss. Now come away carefully, we don’t want to disturb them.”
Outside the dormitory door, Milda remarked, “The little ones were asleep before I’d finished, Sister, but I usually have to sing the lullaby twice.”
Fisk held up the small vial, chuckling. “My last few drops of marjoram oil—pure an
29
In the close confines of the tunnel, countless bats filled the limited space. There were so many of the dark-winged creatures that the hares, otters and the three hedgehogs had to crouch so low they were almost flat with the ground.
Sergeant Miggory covered Posy with his paws. “H’are you alright, missy?”
The young hogmaid replied, “I’m fine, thank you, Sergeant. There’s so many bats, but I haven’t been touched by one yet.”
Lancejack Sage added. “Neither have I. Jolly odd, ain’t it?”
Skor had overheard them. He called out from nearby, “We’re swamped by bats, but all ye can feel is the breeze from their wings as they fly by.”
As quickly as it had started, all bat activity ceased.
Captain Rake stood up cautiously, gazing around as he picked up a fallen torch. “Ah dinnae know what’s happenin’ now. Look, the things are hangin’ upside doon everywhere. Ah wonder what they want.” As far back as the eye could see, covering the ceiling over the void and massed on the far side, the bats had stationed themselves.
Everybeast stood up slowly, with old Drogbuk hissing a warning. “Keep a close eye on the brutes. I think they’re goin’ to attack. Hah, I never trusted bats in me life!”
A bunch of quills rattled as Ruggan gave Drogbuk’s rear a light kick. “Silence, y’ole fool. If’n they were goin’ to attack us, they’d have done it by now. Cap’n Rake, look!”
A convoy of bats came looming toward them, headed by one larger than the rest. Between them a line of bats were carrying the writhing form of the adder which had been hunting their young. All that could be heard was the hissing of the injured reptile. Silently the bats bore it out, over the deep abyss, holding it there until the big bat motioned with one wing. They dropped the snake, and it fell, down, down, finally disappearing from sight into the waters far below. The big bat gave a piercing squeak to the others gathered on the opposite side of the chasm. In a group they winged soundlessly back, bearing a long, rough cable of woven root and vine.
The big bat spoke in a low whisper to Sergeant Miggory. “I am Hiposir, Bigwing of this tribe . . . this tribe. You are Stonepaw . . . Stonepaw . . . saviour of our babes and old ones . . . old ones. With one blow, Stonepaw . . . one blow . . . you rid us of the great Poisontooth . . . Poisontooth. Hiposir thanks you. I go now . . . go now. Follow the sweet smell . . . the sweet smell. Long may ye live . . . live . . . live.”
Hiposir glided off, followed by all his tribe, in a rush of wing noise and squeaking.
Uggo Wiltud was first to break the uncanny silence which followed the bats’ departure. He winked roguishly at Sergeant Miggory. “Good ole Stonepaw the serpent stunner, eh!”
Miggory picked up the loose cable end. “That’ll be h’enough out o’ you, young un. Me name’s Miggory, Colour Sarn’t Nubbs Miggory, h’in fact. Beggin’ yore pardon, Cap’n, but wot are we supposed t’do with this, h’a bloomin’ tightrope walk?”
Rake took the cable from the sergeant. He gave it a tug. “Ah think ’tis tied to somethin’ over yonder. Here, mah bonnies, lend a few wee paws an’ we’ll see, eh?”
Willing paws heaved on the thick cable, stowing it behind as it payed out.
Old Drogbuk roared excitedly, “Lookit, ’ere she comes . . . lookit lookit!”
It was a curious affair which they heaved across the rift. A wide, primitive-looking net, woven from roots, fibres and branches.
Posy clapped her paws. “It’s a bridge. I wonder who made it.”
Lieutenant Scutram shook his ears happily. “We’ll never know, miss, but a jolly good vote o’ thanks to ’em, whoever they flippin’ well were. Come on, chaps, take firm hold. We don’t want the bally thing fallin’ down that confounded hole, wot!”
They hauled away until the structure was taut. Skor grabbed the original single cable, securing it several times around the bulky taproots of some woodland giant whose ends penetrated the tunnel ceiling. “Right, who’s goin’ to try it, eh?”
Even before he had finished speaking, Swiffo was out on the crude network, picking his way nimbly across.
Skor roared after his youngest son, “Go easy, ye young rip. Slow down or ye’ll fall!”
Balancing on his rudder, Swiffo swayed playfully, halfway across the abyss. He was followed by the equally nimble Log a Log Dandy.
Swiffo shouted to his father, “Yore next, Pa—but stow yore axe lest ye trip on it!”
Skor’s huge, booming laughter echoed around as he gave Corporal Welkin Dabbs a pat on the back, which almost sent him sprawling. “Impudent young blood pudden. Wouldn’t ye just love to have a son like ’im, eh?”
Swiffo reached the other side and danced a little jig. “C’mon, mates, let’s go an’ find a sweet smell to follow!”
Skor stepped gingerly out onto the raftlike network over the chasm. He crouched there wobbling and calling out, “Never mind dancin’ around over there, ye scallawag. Get back here an’ help me across this contraption!” Fortunately the frame held whilst everybeast made his way across, with Dandy shouting advice.
“Don’t look down or shut yore eyes, mates, just keep starin’ straight ahead at this side. Ahoy there, Drander, you’ll have to tote ole Drogbuk across on yore back, or he’ll hang around there ’til next season!”
The ancient hedgehog put up a struggle as Drander heaved him up onto his back. “Lemme go, ye great omadorm—I ain’t goin’, I tell ye!”
The big young hare held Drogbuk firmly and started out. “Oh, yes, you are, sah, so hold on now. Phew! When was the last time you took a bloomin’ bath?”
They gathered on the other side at the continuation of the tunnel. Corporal Welkin Dabbs checked everybeast out quickly. “They’re all present an’ correct, sah, everyone safe over!”
Captain Rake saluted. “Thank ye, Dabbs. Right, Sergeant, form these bonny lads up an’ let’s be on our way.”
With torches flaring, they marched off down the gloomy passage, kicking up dust as they went.
Lancejack Sage wiped a paw across her mouth. “I’m absoballylutely dyin’ of the thirst, wot!”
Corporal Dabbs, a bit of an old campaigner, gave her some timeworn advice. “Try suckin’ a pebble, miss. That should help, wot.”
Sage was in no mood for old remedies. “Oh, go an’ boil your blinkin’ head, Corp. All that gives you is a dusty mouth. I’ve tried it.”
Captain Rake spoke out so everybeast could hear. “Och, did Ah hear insubordination an’ insult to a corporal? We’ll have less o’ that, wee lassie. There’s no drink or vittles until we’re out o’ here, is that clear? So if’n ye quit jawin’ an’ start pawin’, mebbe we’ll get closer tae guid nourishment!”
This quickened the pace, which after a while became difficult. Young Wilbee complained, “I seem t’be goin’ slower. Huh, must be the air in this confounded place, or the lack of it.”
Buff Redspore knew the reason. “It’s because we’re marchin’ uphill. Can’t ye feel it?”
Though Skor Axehound was gasping for breath, he sounded happy. “Must mean we’re gettin’ somewhere. Not much further t’go, eh! Gil, Dreel, go ahead with the Long Patrol tracker. See wot ye can find an’ report back. I’ve got t’have a rest, Rake.”
The captain ordered a short halt.
This time it was Log a Log Dandy who began to go on about food. He started up an old Guosim river ditty. Nobeast tried to stop him, in fact, one or two joined in. It seemed to lighten the mood in all that gloom.
“My oh my oh my,
what would I give for a pie,
just like me dear old granny used to bake,
stuffed full o’ juicy plums, an’ to lubricate me gums,
enough good ale to fill a forest lake!
“Why oh why oh why,
doesn’t somebeast hear my cry,
an’ toss me just a hunk o’ bread’n’cheese,
with a pot o’ cold mint tea, I could sup not fussily,
go tell the cook that I ain’t hard to please!
“Dear oh dear oh dear,
I’m so close t’death, I fear,
who’s goin’ to grant a poor ole beast’s last wish?
If ye sit me in a seat an’ let me eat an’ eat an’ eat,
I’ll lick the pattern off the flamin’ dish!”
The trackers returned. Buff was behind Gil and Dreel, who reported jointly.
“The way’s pretty safe up ahead.”
“Aye, but the tunnel splits off two ways.”
“Er, so we weren’t sure which is the right un to take.”
Ambling up, Buff threw a casual salute. “’Cos they never stayed long enough t’jolly well find out, sah. The tunnel we follow is the one with the sweet scent.”
Dandy wrinkled his snout. “Sweet scent, wot sweet scent?”
Buff Redspore allowed herself a huge smile as she explained, “Fresh air, m’friend. What smells sweeter than that after wanderin’ about these musty old tunnels, wot!”
The news caused a joyous uproar. Creatures leapt up and made to run off and find the exit tunnel. It was Skor Axehound’s booming shouts which stopped them in their tracks.
“Stand steady, there. You ain’t had orders t’move off! Try an’ behave like warriors—an’ that goes for you hogs, too.”
Posy retorted sharply, “Oh, does it really. Well, where have your young scouts run off to, eh?”
Log a Log Dandy chuckled. “Aye, barrelbelly, ye should see to yore Rogue Crew afore shoutin’ at others. Where’ve Gil an’ Dreel gone, pray tell?”
The big chieftain’s head swivelled this way and that as he enquired of his crew, “Where’ve those two liddle rips gone?”
Ruggan shrugged. “Prob’ly dashed off to smell the air. Let’s hope they take the right tunnel this time. Don’t worry about ’em. They’ll be waitin’ for us out in the open.”