Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

Razzid wiped at his bad eye, the good one transfixing the crew. “That’s sea otters, flashin’ the last o’ the sunlight off their swords an’ axeheads. We’ve been spotted sailing into these waters. They’ll be gatherin’ round those fires on the headland. Ain’t that right, lookout?”

Splitears was not about to contradict a Wearat. He called back, “Aye, Cap’n, right ye are. There’s fires all over that’eadland. That’s where they’ll be waitin’.”

Razzid made a sweep from the south to the far point with his trident, dropping his voice to a rasping growl. “Aye, that’s the enemy, waitin’ on us, an’ we’re headin’ in straight to war with ’em. I don’t care a barnacle’s blister how many fightin’ beasts their chief can face us with. I couldn’t care less how many axes, spears, swords, slings an’ fire arrows they’ve got. I’m Razzid Wearat, an’ I’ll fight ’em down to my last crewbeast, aye, an’ go down battlin’ myself. I tell ye, mates, the name o’ Greenshroud will be a name t’be remembered on the High North Coast. Haharr, that it will! Well, are ye with me?”

What he had hoped for happened then. There was silence from the crew. He banged the gallery rail with his trident haft. “Well, are ye?” The only sound was a shuffling of footpaws. Avoiding his eyes, searats and corsairs stared at the deck planking.

Razzid shook his head. He no longer sounded confident. “Does none of ye want to fight the wavedogs?”

Still no reply was forthcoming. He slammed his trident points down into the deck, scorn dripping from his voice. “I’ve been lissenin’ t’the talk aboard this ship. What ye want is to find the Abbey o’ Redwall an’ loot it.”

A few murmurs arose from the welldeck, but Razzid silenced them with a wave of his claws.

“Harr, ye can’t fool me, ye cringin’ seascum. Right, then, so be it, let’s have a show o’ paws. All those wantin’ to invade the Abbey place?”

There was an immediate mass show of paws—all but three. Razzid drew in a breath, which sounded like a sigh of despair. “Now, all those who wants to fight the wavedogs?” Mowlag, Jiboree and Shekra held up their paws.

Apart from the sound of waves and the creak of rigging, there was silence aboard the Greenshroud.

Razzid let them wait awhile, then wiped at his bad eye and grunted, “Mowlag, take the tiller an’ turn this vessel about. Set a course south an’ east.”

Turning abruptly, he stumped off to his cabin, slamming the door after him. Though nobeast cheered aloud, there was subdued chuckling from the crew.

Jiboree cut it short, hissing sharply, “Don’t start enjoyin’ yoreselves too soon, or the cap’n might want to make a few examples. It ain’t pleasin’ ’im too much, bein’ outvoted by’is own crew.”

As they dispersed silently, he winked at Mowlag and Shekra. “Looks like we’re ’eaded for the easy life, mates.”

Mowlag grinned. “Aye, ’twas a close-run vote, though.”

Shekra added a word of caution. “We’re not home an’ dry yet, friends. Does either of ye know how to get to this Redwall Abbey?”

They shrugged wordlessly.

The vixen spoke. “An’ neither do I!”

Uggo and Posy were kicked into wakefulness. It was just after dawn. The stoat Jonder and his ferret companion, Wigga, were still sleepy and irritable at having to rise early. Jonder showed them his long sling.

“Ya see diss? Well, I’m a dead shot wid it. Got a seagull right through the eye, killed it first go. So one funny move outta yew two spikepigs an’ it’ll be ya last, understand?”

Wigga produced a short rope halter and tied Uggo’s left footpaw to Posy’s right.

The pretty hogmaid protested, “Isn’t it enough that we’re both tied together by the waist already?”

The young ferret ushered them out into the open at spearpoint. “Shut ya mouth an’ move!”

In other circumstances it would have been a pleasant day. The sea was releasing small wavelets as it ebbed, and the rising sun warmed their backs as it slowly evaporated the mist from the calm waters. Uggo took the two lines, which he had prepared the night before. They were already baited with fragments of mussel and weighted by pebbles. He passed one to Posy, pretending to sound experienced.

“Now just stand on the edge of the water. Keep a tight hold of your line with one paw, an’ chuck it out with the other, like this.”

He cast his line, which fell miserably short, plopping into the shallows not far from their footpaws. As he was doing this, Uggo was peering anxiously into the misted sea for a sign of a log, but there was none.

Wigga prodded him with his spear. “Are ya sure ye’ve done this afore, pin’ead?”

Jonder also appeared scornful. “Hah, there ain’t no fishes round ’ere. I kin see inta dat water, an’ there’s nuthin’ there!”

Posy tried to help with a suggestion. “I think the fish must be farther out. We’ll have to wade in a bit. Might be mackerel or herring if we go deeper.”

At that moment, Uggo caught sight of a dark, blurred shape off to their right in the mist. He tried hard to act casual. “Er, right, let’s head outward this way.”

They had taken only a few paces into the sea when Jonder called after them, “Where do ya think yer goin’?”

Putting a bold face on, Uggo retorted, “Where d’ye think? We’re goin’ after fish!”

Wigga leaned on his spear. “Wot, all the way out there?”

Uggo could see the object. It was a log, still some distance away—an old pine trunk, with branches sticking from it. He nudged Posy, but she could already see the log.

Jonder waded into the water, shouting at them. “Don’t ya go no deeper—dat’s far enough!” He struggled quickly back ashore, shaking himself. “Brr, dat water’s blinkin’ well freezin’. I ain’t goin’ after ’em, are yew?”

Wigga spat into the ebbing tide ripples. “Who, me? I ain’t gittin’ drownded fer a couple o’ ’edgepigs. Leave ’em ta fish. They can’t go nowhere, it’s only sea out there.”

Posy chanced a backward glance at the vermin guards. “They’re not following. Must be afraid of the cold sea.”

Uggo drew in a deep breath as they forged deeper into the water. “About time we made a break for that log, Posy. Can you swim?”

She shook her head. “No.”

Uggo shrugged. “Neither can I. Come on, let’s try!” Dropping the fishing lines, they splashed off toward the log.

Now the vermin had spotted it. Jonder set a stone in his sling, yelling, “Git back ’ere, or I’ll slay ya. Git back!”

His stone fell short.

Wigga kicked him angrily. “I thought yew was supposed ter be a dead shot wid dat thing. Snaggs’ll skin us both if’n we go back widout those ’ogs. Cummon!”

He waded in, holding the spear above his head, forging after the captives as fast as he could. Jonder slung more stones, until Wigga roared at him.

“Stop slingin’, ya idjit, afore I gets ’it by a stone!”

Now the sea was too deep for wading. Uggo and Posy tried their best, but they kept sinking. Posy spat out salt water.

“Phwoo—that one with the spear’s after us now!” Uggo shouted. “Ahoy, the log, we’re sinkin’ an’ the vermin are comin’ for us. Heeeeelp!”

Then things developed swiftly. Four dark shapes sped past them, straight for Wigga. Two huge, strong paws lifted their heads clear of the sea. It was Jum Gurdy. He bore them both across to the log, lifting them onto the floating pine trunk. The Redwall Cellardog’s homely face beamed at them. “Hold on tight, young uns. Yore safe!”

Wigga was not a bad swimmer. He struck out after Uggo and Posy, his teeth clenched around his spear. That was when the four dark shapes hit him like flying missiles. He sank limply beneath the waters, leaving a broken spear floating on the surface. At the tideline, Jonder was puzzled at the turn of events. Why had Wigga vanished from sight like that?