Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

The vixen spoke confidentially. “It came to me in a dream, sire. Here is what I saw. Wigsul, the corsair weasel, was in this cabin with you. Then all went blurred an’ I heard these words.

“A weasel of the Greenshroud ’s crew,

will try to take his captain’s life—

be watchful, Lord, and know this beast

is skilful with the knife.”

“When my vision cleared, you were lyin’ on the cabin floor with a knife in your back, sire. The weasel was shouting to the crew that he was now the captain.”

Shekra held her breath, trying not to flinch under Razzid’s stare. He spoke calmly.

“An’ who are the two, beside yoreself, who are loyal to me? Have no fear. Ye can speak their names.”

The vixen almost smiled with relief. “Mowlag an’ Jiboree, sire.”

Razzid resumed pacing the cabin, rubbing at his weeping eye and nodding. “Good, good. Now, I want ye to bring Wigsul to me, but make sure he suspects nothing. Can ye do that?”

Now Shekra smiled. “Leave it to me, Lord.”

Mowlag, Jiboree and Wigsul were lounging on the prow, watching flies congregating on the remains of the roast pike.

Shekra joined them. “Do any of ye fancy a nice bit o’ roasted pikefish?”

Jiboree ignored the vixen’s remark. “Wot did ye tell the cap’n, fox?”

Shekra chuckled. “The Wearat’s a law unto himself. Ye can’t tell him anythin’ he don’t want to hear.”

Wigsul swept the flyblown piece of fish overboard.

Mowlag persisted. “So wot went on in that cabin, eh?”

The vixen was hiding something alongside her paw. She stood behind Wigsul, addressing Mowlag and Jiboree. “The cap’n never mentioned you two.” She patted Wigsul’s back at about waist height. “Said he wanted a word with you, mate.”

The weasel corsair looked bemused. “Cap’n wants t’see me?”

Shekra nodded. “Aye, you, matey. He’s in a good mood, so it can’t be anythin’ serious. Off ye go now.”

Razzid was sitting at his table with both paws concealed beneath its edge. Wigsul knocked on the cabin door and entered. Standing in front of the table, he tugged his right ear in salute.

“Ye wanted t’see me, Cap’n?”

Razzid looked up as if he had just noticed the weasel. “Are ye loyal to me, Wigsul?”

The corsair nodded, trying to keep his wits about him. “Aye, Cap’n, loyal as the day’s long.”

Razzid nodded. “Good! An’ ye wouldn’t come to my cabin t’do me any harm, would ye?”

Wigsul shook his head rapidly, wondering what he had walked into. “No, Cap’n, on me oath, I wouldn’t!”

Razzid made a twirling gesture with one paw. “Turn round, right round so yore facin’ me agin.”

The weasel obeyed, though he was shaking nervously.

When he had completed the turn, Razzid spoke as though he was sharing a joke with the crewbeast. “Now, I want ye to take that thing out of yore belt careful like, with one paw. Do it slowly, use yore left paw, easy now. . . .”

Wigsul’s face went rigid as he drew the dagger from his belt. He stammered, “H-h-how did that get there? It ain’t mine, Cap’n, I swear it ain’t!”

Razzid replied softly, “Now, there’s a strange thing. Do me a favour, mate, put that blade on the table, right here in front o’ me.”

The corsair leaned over the table, placing the dagger close to his captain, still protesting his innocence. “I never seen this blade afore. Ye’ve got to believe me, Cap—”

Still bent forward over the table, he froze. Razzid had thrust the trident hard through the flimsy timber top, his eye meeting Wigsul’s stricken gaze as he snarled, “Yore relieved o’ duty aboard Greenshroud. Get to Hellgates!”

Pulling the trident loose, he pushed the slain weasel from him, calling aloud, “Don’t go slopin’ off—git in here, all three of ye. Come on, jump to it!”

Mowlag, Jiboree and Shekra shuffled in. He winked his good eye at them. “I knew ye’d be spyin’ out there. Well, wot d’ye think o’ this mutinous scum, eh?”

Shekra bowed. “He won’t go round plottin’ against ye anymore, Lord, that’s for sure!”

The Wearat’s piercing gaze swept over them. “Are ye loyal to me?”

Three heads bobbed in unison. “Aye, Cap’n!”

He watched in silence until they showed signs of squirming. “Then look at this un an’ remember wot happens to those who ain’t. Get that thing out o’ my cabin.”

None of the trio spoke as they dropped Wigsul’s carcass over the side. Then Mowlag glared at Shekra.

“Wot was all that about, fox?”

The vixen murmured, “Keep your voice down, mate. Razzid could feel somethin’ was brewin’, so I gave him Wigsul. Now ain’t the time for a mutiny. When Razzid conquers the red Abbey, then we’ll deal with him. Between us we can outsmart him, when the time comes.”

Mowlag grabbed Shekra’s paw. “Yore talkin’ mutiny an’ murder. Wot makes ye think I wants any part in it, eh?”

The Seer withdrew her paw coolly from his grasp. “Because I’ve been watchin’ ye. I could tell, believe me. Wigsul had a big mouth—he’d have done for us all sooner or later. Razzid thinks he’s quelled any mutiny now, an’ that’s the way we’ll keep it, until the time’s ripe.”

Jiboree agreed. “She’s right, mate. Once the cap’n is outta the way, we’ll be in charge o’ everythin’, that Abbey, an’ all wot goes wid it!”

Mowlag looked from one to the other, then nodded. “I’m with ye!”

Shekra lowered her eyes to the deck, whispering, “Look out, he’s watchin’ us!”

Razzid had been standing in his cabin doorway. He began walking toward them, but a cry from the mast top brought him up short.

“The ford, Cap’n! ’Tis dead ahead as she goes. The ford!”

25

Uggo gripped Posy’s paw tightly, even though they were travelling in the centre of the group. Old Drogbuk Wiltud was supposedly taking them on a shortcut to Redwall, so they could arrive ahead of Greenshroud and Razzid Wearat’s crew. They were in a forbidding and eerie part of Mossflower, one seldom used by other travellers. The trees were enormous, their upper foliage coming together—cedar, oak, elm, sycamore, ash, beech and other varieties—blocking out the sunlight. It was a world of green gloom haunted by dark shadows. Nothing except trees and odd fern beds seemed to grow there in the all-prevailing silence. The woodland floor was deeply coated with leaf loam and dead pine needles.

Uggo chuckled nervously. “Ain’t much fun strollin’ through this place, is it?”

His voice echoed hollowly around the monolithic trunks. Posy squeezed his paw. “Hush, now, be quiet. Sound carries round here.”

The Guosim shrew Banktail whispered furtively, “D’ye think somebeast might be lissenin’?”

Log a Log Dandy, who was bringing up the rear, pawed at his rapier hilt, putting on a show of bravado. “I don’t care who they are. They can lissen long as they like, providin’ they don’t try anythin’ on me. All they’ll git off’n this Guosim is a taste o’ cold steel!”

Walking in the lead with Drogbuk, Swiffo had to slow his pace to match the ancient hog. He was not best pleased when the oldster sat down on a fallen spruce trunk.

The young sea otter held forth his paw.

“C’mon, Granpa, up ye come. Let’s get goin’—I don’t like this place. Sooner we’re outta here the better, eh?”

Drogbuk shook the paw off his shoulder, stating moodily, “I don’t like this place either, but a beast o’ my seasons ’as to rest. I ain’t as spry as you whippersnappers.”