Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

On a slightly lower bough, Dandy clung to the trunk. “Aye, me too, an’ I can see the weather vane stickin’ up!” What happened next was not clear, but Dandy, who was looking down, suddenly yelled, “Look out, Swiffo, there he is—look out!”

Swiffo clutched his throat, gave a gurgling groan, then plunged headlong from his high perch. Dandy was scrambling down behind him, roaring, “It’s that fox, off t’the right! Grab ’im. Stop the fox!”

Buff Redspore spotted the shadowy form slinking off amidst the trees. She pointed. “There he goes!”

She raced off, with Ruggan Axehound at her side. Skor was bellowing like a stricken beast. “Yaaahaaarrr! My son, my liddle young son!”

Swiffo lay in a heap at the base of the ash trunk. Sergeant Miggory had reached him first. He plucked a long, tufted dart from the young otter’s throat. One look from him to Captain Rake confirmed the worst.

Miggory shook his head sadly. “H’afraid ’e’s gone, sah!”

Skor picked his dead son up tenderly. Tears were streaming down his huge beard. Then he seemed to go rigid. Endar Feyblade and Kite Slayer took Swiffo from his paws.

Skor Axehound threw back his head, howling like a wildbeast. “Heeeeylaaaahooooh!” Swinging his big battleaxe, he crashed off into the shrubbery like a runaway boulder.

Captain Rake grabbed Miggory’s paw. “Come on, Sergeant, we’ll have tae stop him hurting hisself!”

Lieutenant Scutram cast about, coming up with a very long, hollow reed and two more of the tufted darts. “This confounded thing could shoot further than a bloomin’ arrow, accurately, too. Poor young blighter didn’t stand a chance. These darts are poisoned.”

Posy was sitting holding Swiffo’s head in both paws. She was weeping, rocking him back and forth. “But why, what was the reason, why did he have to die?”

Lancejack Sage patted the hogmaid’s paw. “Who can say what’s in a vermin’s mind.”

In his wrath, Skor had stumbled, thudding his head against an elm trunk. He dropped his battleaxe, kneeling with his head shaking. That was how Rake and Miggory came across him. Without a thought for their own safety, they threw themselves on the burly chieftain, restraining him. Skor struggled, weakly.

“Free me or I’ll slay ye both, friend or foe, it don’t matter t’me. I’ve got to catch my son’s killer!”

Captain Rake’s body was bobbing up and down as he tried to hold the big beast in a headlock. “Och, ye couldnae outrun a fox, mah friend. Those days are lang gone, ye ken!”

Sergeant Miggory was blinking—a huge footpaw had kicked him in one eye. He clung grimly on to Skor. “Lookit, sah, ’ere comes Redspore. Hi, Buff, h’over ’ere!”

The Long Patrol tracker, seeing the situation, leaned over Skor, shouting, “Be still, sah. Ruggan caught up with the fox!”

Skor straightened, shrugging off his two captors with a couple of shakes. Forgetting the bark-splintered bruise which stood out from his forehead, he spoke in a dazed mutter. “Ruggan caught the fox? Where is he?”

“Right here, Lord, an’ I brought this with me!”

The fox’s head bounced dully off the elm trunk.

Ruggan strode up, still gripping his axe. “I spread the rest of the murderer out amongst the trees, vittles for the carrion. See who ’e was, Cap’n?”

Rake held the head up by its ears, gazing into the halfopen eyes. “Ach, ’tis Ketral Vane, Laird o’ the Hinterwoods. Though Ah dinnae think he’ll rule anymore, eh!”

Buff Redspore could not take her eyes off the grisly trophy. “But how did he find us?”

Ruggan pointed back the way he had come. “He was with another one—that ferret Viglat, who got away from us. Their paths must’ve crossed, an’ Viglat told him which way we were headed. Hah, he didn’t escape a second time, I’ll tell ye. That un’s fishbait now!”

Back at the ash tree, there was an air of sadness over everything. Skor wrapped Swiffo in his cloak, binding him in tight. “We’ll lay ’im t’rest in Redwall Abbey.”

He straightened up, wiped his eyes and addressed everybeast. “You lost a good comrade. I lost my youngest son. Now, ’tis hard I know, but we must go on an’ rid this land o’ the Wearat and his vermin afore they do serious damage to Redwall Abbey. That’s always been our task, an’ our friends, the Long Patrol Hares and Guosim Shrew warriors, are needed to protect Mossflower an’ its coasts. If we sat about weepin’ an’ didn’t carry out our vows, how d’ye suppose Swiffo would feel? What would he say, eh?”

Captain Rake drew his twin blades. “Ah’m with ye. We’ll do it in honour o’ your son!”

Suddenly sea otters, hares, Guosim shrews and hedgehogs were up on their paws, waving weapons as they yelled, “For Swiffo! For Swiffo!”

Ruggan swung his bloodstained axe overhead until the air thrummed. “On to Redwall, mates, paw an’ heart!”

They broke camp, thundering across the stream, splashing out into the woodlands on the far side. The pace stepped up, faces were set grim, weapons grasped tight. On to the Abbey of Redwall, and bad fortune to any foebeasts who dared stand in the way of such warriors!

31

On the Abbey’s walltop, the fire was still burning a red-gold warning against the night sky. However, it was a somewhat diminished blaze, owing to Ding Toller’s rationing of wood. Foremole Roogo had his back to the comforting warmth.

Dorka Gurdy noted the blissful look on his face. “Wot’ll ye do when winter comes, huh, a-warmin’ yore back agin’ that fire on a warm summer night?”

Foremole wrinkled his velvety snout, chuckling. “Hurrhurrhurr, Oi do loike a foire ennytoime, marm, be it warmish or cold. Boi ’okey, ’tis a gurt feelin’!”

Fottlink had been dozing against a battlement. His head drooped forward, bumping against stone. He righted himself quickly, remembering he was on guard duty, then peered north up the path. The mouse Recorder became instantly alert. “Look, the vermin ship’s moving!”

Abbot Thibb, who had been resting on the north steps, came running. “Moving, did you say? Which way?”

Those on guard, the Abbot included, hurried to see. Dorka Gurdy shielded her eyes against the firelight. “Well, I never. They must’ve built some sort o’ bridge, ’cos the vermin are pushin’ it o’er the ditch!”

Ding Toller hissed, “Get down, everybeast down! We don’t want ’em t’know we can see wot they’re doin’!”

Everybeast crouched below the wall, leaving Ding to spy on Greenshroud.

“The ship’s over on the western flatlands now. They’re hoistin’ the sails. Wot d’ye think, Father, are they goin’ away?”

Abbot Thibb scratched his ears. “I hope they are, friend, but who can tell? What are they doing now?”

The tall, sombre squirrel reported. “So that’s how they got over the ditch—six logs made into a bridge. Now they’re bindin’ ’em t’the ship’s sides an’ takin’ ’em along. All the vermin are back aboard. I can see that Wearat at the tiller. I tell ye, it does look odd t’see a ship sailin’ along on wheels.”

Dorka Gurdy prodded Ding’s back. “We know that! Which way’s the ship bound?”

Ding pointed. “Straight into the west. She’s only goin’ along slowlike. There’s nought but a breeze to help ’er. But there she goes. It’s safe enough now. See for yoreselves.”

Heads popped up all along the west walltop. Foremole Roogo shook a clenched paw after the vessel. “Goo orn, away with ee, durty ole vermints. Burr aye, an’ doan’t ee cumm back yurr no more!”