Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

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 sent him flat on his tail. Instantly her demeanour changed. The queen put on a polite smile, offering Lieutenant Scutram her paw.

“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!”