Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

They stared in horror at the scene far below. Cascades of thundering water, mist and a rainbow wreathed around forbidding rocks surrounding a mighty waterfall.

Swiffo chuckled nervously. “Fancy sittin’ in a boat an’ shootin’ down into that lot. Ye’d have no chance!”

Further speculation on what their fate would have been was interrupted by the Guosim Chieftain. “Ahoy! Are ye goin’ to stand gawpin’ down there all day, or are ye goin’ to lend a paw t’get these logboats up?”

It was backbreaking work, hauling six logboats and provisions up to the summit. With aching limbs and paws raw from heaving on ropes, they slumped down to rest after the final boat was up.

Dandy sparked his clogs against a rock, berating them. “Wot’s this, floppin’ down on yore tails to take a nap? This ain’t no pickernick—we got boats to portage. Up on yore hunkers, mates, look lively, now!”

Each crew lifted their logboat, upside down, over their heads. Portaging was no easy chore. With Swiffo and Dobble leading the way down the steep, wooded slope, everybeast followed, scrabbling and scrambling to carry their burden whilst keeping upright. Posy and Uggo brought up the rear, along with some older shrews, all carrying rations and paddles.

The afternoon was far advanced when they reached the bottom. Skirting the falls, they continued, with Dandy jollying them along.

“Come on, me beauties, not far now. No mutterin’ from under those boats, d’ye hear!”

Dobble, who had been scouting ahead, returned with heartening news. “Stream’s runnin’ calm again up ahead, Chief. There’s a nice shady bank where we can sit an’ take a bite of vittles, aye an’ may’aps a swig of shrewbeer, eh?”

Dandy shook his head. “We’ll take t’the water if ’tis calm enough. Should be on the River Moss by evenin’—then ye can rest an’ feed yore faces all night. So come on, mates, make an effort. Don’t be showin’ our guests how lazy ye are!” He broke into a song, urging them onward.

“There’s always a camp at the end o’ the day,

at least that’s wot my ole pa used t’say.

Someplace to rest those tired-out paws,

there’s noplace like the great outdoors.

Then sling off yore load when we gits there,

throw yore weary bones down any ole where,

plant yoreself there, mate, an’ I’ll sit ’ere,

an’ we’ll swig off a tankard o’ nice cold beer!

“So tramp tramp tramp, onward to camp,

we’ll both find somewheres t’stay,

o’er woodland an’ hill keep marchin’ until,

’tis the end of a long, dusty day . . . hey hey,

the end of a long, dusty day!”

Although it was a lively tune, Dandy had a dreadful voice. He sang off-key in a croaky tone.

Swiffo smiled politely. “Well, that was a lively ole song, an’ no mistake!”

One of the Guosim, Rawkin, murmured out the side of his mouth, so that Dandy would not hear. “Aye, there was nothin’ wrong with the song, mate—’twas the singer. Our Log a Log’s a champion dancer, an’ a great leader, but when he opens his mouth t’sing, it sounds like a score o’ frogs bein’ pelted with rocks!”

His companion, Banktail, agreed fervently. “I was goin’ to say that meself, but I didn’t want to ’urt the feelin’s of any nearby frogs, mate!”

It was twilight when they reached the navigable section of the stream. Dandy relented, allowing them to cook a meal on the bankside.

“Get a fire goin’ there, you cooks. See if’n ye can come up with some good vittles. We’ll eat here, then take the stream into the River Moss an’ lay up there for the night. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to the ford by dawn.”

Even Uggo, who had spent his life eating Redwall fare, had to admit that Guosim cooks could serve up marvellous food. Hungry after the long day’s labours, they dined on mushroom and fennel soup and flatbreads baked with cheese and flavoured with wild parsley, followed by a chestnut and acorn roll stuffed with dried plums and apple. There was pennycloud cordial to drink, or some fine pale cider.

Dobble sighed, patting his stomach. “Aaaah, that’s the stuff t’feed the tribe!”

One of Dandy’s clogs nudged him lightly.

“Now, don’t ye think of takin’ no after-vittle naps. Douse those fires, mates. All aboard the boats, quick as y’like. I wants t’be on the Moss afore midnight!” As Log a Log, Dandy Clogs brooked no arguments. Shortly thereafter, the logboats were on their way along the stream as twilight turned to dusk.

Posy dozed in the stern of the back boat, but she was aware of the little flotilla entering the main river. The boats eddied in the swirl of changing currents and gurgling waters. Downstream changed to upriver. The paddlers dug deep, though the river was not running at any great speed. They had been travelling awhile when Dandy called out orders.

“String ’em together across the river. Rawkin, Swiffo, moor the lead an’ rear craft to those elms. Finished with paddles, mates. Make the most of yore shut-eye—there’s another hard day t’come in the morn!”

Roped together and secured to an elm trunk on either bank, the logboats bobbed gently on the darkened river. Within moments, all that could be heard above the waterflow ripple was the snuffling and snoring of exhausted creatures. Everybeast was so wearied that they gave no thought to guards or sentries. After all, what need of keeping watch in mid-river? They slept deeply, every last creature.

Greenshroud came out of the night like a giant predator. The river was wide enough for Razzid to order full sail; she caught the wind from the sea that she had enjoyed earlier that day. The current was gentle. Mowlag was taking a turn around the deck when he discerned the glimmer of a single lantern on the water. As the big vessel closed in over the darkened river, it became clear that several small boats were moored, stem to stern, across the water. It was but the work of a moment for Mowlag to rouse his captain and the vermin crew.

The Wearat felt a shudder of evil joy run through him. This was too good an opportunity to miss, defenceless sleeping creatures with no knowledge of what was about to happen.

Greenshroud struck the rope at its centre, the force ripping both ends from the elm trunks. This left the Guosim logboats trailing both sides of the big ship, being towed upriver. Bleary-eyed shrews, still half asleep, sat up in bewilderment as Razzid Wearat gave his signal for the slaughter to begin.

21

Though he had never been a great walker, Skor Axehound marched doggedly onward alongside Rake Nightfur at the head of the column. It had been a difficult trek; Rake could hear Skor breathing heavily. Accordingly he enquired, “D’ye no’ think ye need tae rest awhile, mah friend?”

The sea otter Chieftain replied gruffly, “I don’t need any rest. D’you?”

The hare Captain chuckled. “Och, no. Ah’m jist fine, thank ye!”

Skor replied stubbornly, “Well, I’m fine, too, an’ I can march just as good as you can, Nightfur!”

Knowing his friend was in a prickly mood, Rake changed the subject by casting a glance at the waning stars. “It’ll be dawn soon, Ah’m thinkin’. We’ll both rest then.”

He was about to say more when Sergeant Miggory called out, “Scouts returnin’, sah. May’aps now we’ll find ’ow far h’off this bloomin’ Moss River we h’are!”

Buff Redspore, with the sea otter trackers, Gil and Dreel, loped out of the half-light. Buff saluted.

“River’s through that pine grove an’ over a small rise, sah!”