Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

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?”

A Guosim paddler, who overheard her, remarked, “Won’t be fer long, missy. Sit up straight an’ hold on to the boatsides. . . .”

From the lead vessel, Dandy’s shout confirmed what he had said. “Belay oars an’ wait on my word—rapids comin’!”

Uggo felt the boat jump slightly as an underwater rock ledge scraped its keel. The little flotilla of logboats began picking up speed rapidly, some of them starting to turn sideways. Now Dandy began roaring commands.

“Port now! Back water! Keep ’em head-on to the flow!”

Rocks poked up into view, with white water foaming around them. The banksides rose steeply; ominous sounds of rushing water echoed all round. Shocked by the sudden change, Uggo and Posy clung grimly to the logboat’s sides.

Swiffo, however, stood erect, balancing with the aid of his rudder. He seemed to be enjoying the situation. “Don’t worry, mates. Makes no difference—sea, river or stream—no two stretches o’ water’s ever the bloomin’ same!”

Log a Log Dandy had to bellow to be heard now. “All paws stroke deep to starboard! Make for the cove ahead. We’ll have to beach an’ portage!”

Uggo could tell by the urgency of Dandy’s voice that they were in trouble. Some of the port shrews joined those on the other side of the boats, adding their paddle power to move across the headlong flow.

Dandy yelled, “Heavin’ lines sharp, now—make a chain!”

Sinewy ropes snaked out as prowbeasts and sternbeasts skilfully caught them and tied up, forming the boats into a connected line. Posy saw the cove looming up ahead. It was an arch, scooped out by constant pushing currents. The surface was thick with floating debris—at some point a dead and broken poplar had been swept in there; its branches and shorn trunk poked out of the water.

Dandy slung a heaving line, snagging the trunk. He and two other shrews pulled hard on it, drawing the front logboat into the cove. Some of the other boats were almost swept by, but willing paws hauled on the lines, bringing them to the safety of the cove, where the water was milling in a slow circle, away from the main rushing currents.

Swiffo tied a line around his waist, joined by Uggo, Posy and four Guosim. They scaled the steep, rugged bankside. Once on top, the line was secured around the sturdy trunk of a pine. Half of the Guosim crew climbed up to the summit.

Dobble, the shrew scout, took a few paces to one side. Peering down, he pointed. “Good job we found haven there, mates. Lookit wot we would’ve run into. Dollrags, that’s wot we woulda been ripped into!”