Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

The vixen relaxed slightly. “Were your old wounds troublin’ ye?”

Razzid spoke but one word. “No.”

She allowed a pause before speaking again. “A dream disturbed your slumbers, then, Lord.”

Razzid sat back slightly. “Aye, a dream. What do ye know of a warrior who carries a flaming sword?”

Even though she was puzzled, Shekra was on more familiar territory. “This warrior, what manner of beast was he, Lord?”

His reply startled her.

“A mouse, I think.”

The vixen covered her surprise by nodding, gaining time. “Sire, I will have to consult my omens. What did the mouse look like?”

As she rummaged for materials in her satchel, Razzid snapped irately, “Idiot, he looked like a mouse, in armour.”

Having gained a scrap of information, Shekra cast pebbles, bones and shells. Her tone became foreboding. “The omens predict a sign of warning. Do ye fear that, sire?”

Razzid laughed scornfully. “I fear nobeast, least of all a mouse. Wot else do ye see? Tell me!”

The vixen gained confidence, resorting to flattery. “’Tis right ye fear nobeast, Great One. The creature has not been born that can defeat ye. Ignore this mouse, go forward and conquer the redstone fortress. Nought will stop ye—’tis your right to rule there!”

She awaited his reaction. The Wearat seemed buoyed up by the fact he was nearing his objective. Then his mood swung suddenly. He fixed her with a fearsome stare.

“Do ye speak truly, Seer? Well, do ye?”

Shekra adopted her mystic expression. “When did I ever lie? I always speak truly to ye, Lord.”

Razzid mused aloud. “I often wonder if yore a Seer or just a Soothsayer. So, ye say truly I have nought to fear.”

The vixen decided to add a cautionary word, covering herself against future events. “One thing, my Lord—beware the flames from the sword of your dream. Remember, it was fire that almost killed ye!”

The Wearat scowled darkly. “Aye, that’s somethin’ I won’t easily forget. I’ll bear these scars for life!” Razzid sat silent briefly, drumming his paw lightly on the trident haft, then startled Shekra by rising speedily, an unexpected smile on his face.

“Come on, friend, let’s go and take a look at the famous Redwall, eh!”

The vixen stood to one side respectfully, but Razzid held back, making an elaborate paw gesture. “No, no, you go first. From now on, I want all my crew to go first, d’ye know why?”

Shekra shook her head. “No, Lord.”

She flinched as Razzid tickled her back gently with the trident prongs, answering casually, “Because I trust only those who are in front of me.”

The crew were jubilant. They cheered their captain as he strode out on deck.

“Ye did it, Cap’n, ye did it!”

“Aye, there’s the easy life, dead ahead of us, an’ ’twas you wot brought us ’ere, Cap’n!”

Smiling graciously, the Wearat partially mounted the rigging, so he could get a better view of the Abbey. They cheered him to the echo as he held out his trident, pointing it at their goal. Smiling benevolently, he nodded acknowledgement, noting as he did that Shekra was standing between Mowlag and Jiboree, murmuring something to them. All three turned. For a moment his single good eye was smiling straight at them, almost with a mocking expression.

Dorka Gurdy put little Guggle down on the walkway as Abbot Thibb and his followers came up the northern wallstairs to the ramparts. The Dibbun squirrel protested strongly.

“Lif’ Guggle up agin, Dorky. Me wanna see da big ship!”

This caused Alfio to take up the cry. “Me too! I wanna see da big ship!”

The Abbot shook his head pointedly at Dorka, who caught on immediately. “What big ship? I didn’t see no ship. Run along, now, or you’ll be late for brekkist, go on!”

Paw in paw, they toddled off down the wallstairs, both minds with a single thought now. Breakfast.

“I wants ’ot scones an’ hunny, wiv a big bowl of rasbee corjul!”

“Heehee, me too! I race you. One, two . . . go!”

Thibb watched them for a moment, then climbed nimbly up onto the battlements. Standing tippawed, the others peered over the walltop at the still-distant vessel. Dorka Gurdy could not resist the drama of the moment.

“So liddle Uggo Wiltud’s dream ’as come true. I’ll wager when that thing gets near enough, we’ll see the Wearat sign on its green sail!”

Roogo Foremole, always practical, interrupted. “Bo urr, that bee’s all vurry gudd, marm, but wot’s us’ns goin’ t’do abowt et, Oi arsks?”

Abbot Thibb hopped neatly down to the parapet. “Good question, Foremole. We’d best come up with an answer quickly. I reckon that vessel will be alongside us around lunchtime. What d’you say, Friar?”

The weighty watervole replied sharply, “Well, they won’t be gettin any lunch from my kitchens!”

Fottlink the mouse Recorder could not resist a smile. “I’m sure they won’t, Friar. First thing we must do is to keep everybeast indoors, especially the Dibbuns.”

Sister Fisk was still staring at Greenshroud. “That’s a big ship, Father Abbot. Have you thought, when it draws alongside our Abbey, its mast tops will be as high as this wall? I think they could climb from there to where we are now. If they’re seagoing vermin, they’ll be rough, savage beasts. How’ll we stop them?”

Dorka Gurdy sat down with her back against the battlements. “Wish that brother o’ mine was ’ere now, Father. I wager Jum would think of an idea.”

Fottlink nodded. “Aye, no doubt he would. Now, what was it that Jum told us about the Wearat? Ah, I remember. He said that Razzid Wearat had been beaten by the sea otters on the High North Coast. Weren’t they supposed to have slain a lot of the ship’s crew and sent it on its way in flames? Aye, that was what he said!”

Friar Wopple made a sobering statement. “All well’n’good, but we ain’t no warrior sea otters.”

Foremole held up a huge digging claw. “Mebbe we’m b’aint, zurr, but us’ns knows ’ow to make ee fire, hurr aye!”

Sister Fisk clenched her paws resolutely. “Then we’ll make fire, lots of fire. A big blaze up here won’t harm the wallstones!”

The Infirmary Sister’s determination gave them heart.

“That’s the way! We’ll make those rascals sorry they ever thought of coming to Redwall!”

“Boi ’okey, uz’ll burn thurr ship to ee cinder, hurr hurr. They’m vurrmints’ll be a-scarmperin’ abowt wi’ thurr tails’n’bottums a-blazin’!”

Abbot Thibb held up his paws for silence. “Please, friends, let’s not get carried away. I’m sure it’s a sound idea, but we’ll act only if they start to threaten us. Now, let’s make some preparations.”

Razzid Wearat had positioned himself astern. He stood leaning on the tiller, watching his crew, who were all for’ard. As far away from him as they could get, the three conspirators, Shekra, Mowlag and Jiboree, stood on the bow peak.

Mowlag muttered angrily at the vixen, “How d’ye know he suspects anythin’, eh?”

Shekra cast a swift glance back at Razzid. “I told ye wot he said. Why d’ye think he’s stayin’ astern? He knows, I tell ye. Razzid Wearat ain’t stupid!”

Jiboree had his eyes fixed on Redwall. “Wot d’ye say we rush ’im? We could slay Razzid an’ take the ship. After all,’e’s only one beast, ain’t ’e?”

Mowlag curled his lip. “Well, you carry on, mate. I won’t be with ye. I know Razzid. He’d either kill one or all of us. Right?”

Shekra was forced to agree. “Right, an’ another thing, the crew are all set on gettin’ the prize—that place an’ all the good life wot goes with it.” The vixen was getting more disenchanted with the idea of a mutiny since her interview with the Wearat. “I think we’d be best forgettin’ any of our plans until after that place is taken. We need Razzid for that.”