Brian Jacques - The Rogue Crew

“How d’ye know, bonny lass?”

Kite leaned back against the battlements. “We’ve seen it lots o’ times, up on the High North Coast. Ships’ll do that if’n they want to sail in fast an’ launch an attack. They stands off, doin’ little trial runs, until the wind’s just right an’ strong enough. That’s when they come in, hopin’ to raid us. Hah, our scouts have seen ’em long since, an’ the Rogue Crew’s waitin’ for ’em. Lord Skor gives ’em blood’n’steel. They never come back for more, usually ’cos they’re all fishfood by the time we get done with ’em!”

Kite licked her paw, dabbing it on both eartips. She turned this way, then that. “Ain’t much wind today—it’s gentle an’ sou’west.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded grimly. “Ye know wot that means, sah!”

The captain nodded. “Aye, yon Wearat an’ his crew’ll be payin’ us a wee visit soon, eh?”

All talk stopped momentarily as Ruggan and Skor strode up the gatehouse wallsteps. There was something about the presence of the sea otter Chieftain which engendered silence. He began honing the blade of his mighty battleaxe on the side of a battlement, looking up to stare bleakly out to the western horizon. His voice was a bitter snarl. “Oh, Razzid Wearat’ll be comin’, sure enough. Sometime after midnight, I reckon.”

Lancejack Sage looked dubious. “Beg pardon, m’Lord, but what makes ye say that?”

Testing his axe edge on a paw, Skor gave her a rare smile. “Ye’ve got a wonderful voice, Miz Sage, an’ ye sang my young son peacefully to his rest. I thank ye. I’ll tell ye why I’m so sure the vermin’ll attack late tonight. I’ve lived all my life on the High North Coast, an’ I know all about sea, wind an’ weather. That liddle breeze ye feel is a sou’wester, but by noon ’twill be startin’ to blow from the due west. By dark we’ll get rain, more as the night progresses. There’ll be clouds hidin’ wot moon there is. That’s when they’ll come.”

Abbot Thibb looked to Captain Rake, who nodded, confirming Skor’s words.

Thibb heaved a sigh. “I was hoping we’d seen the last of the vermin ship.”

Skor chuckled humorlessly. “Just wot ye’d expect a peaceful Abbeybeast to think, Father—no offence meant, o’ course. Rake, my friend, would ye like to tell him how they’ll come at this place?”

Drawing one of his claymores, the Long Patrol captain pointed straight out across the threshold.

“From yonder, with full speed, under all sail, right at us. Ah mean, Father, what better way tae do it, eh? A dark, moonless night, runnin’ with a west wind at his stern an’ thinkin’ ye’ll all be tucked up in your beds. Wearat could nae charge stone walls with fire blazin’ atop o’ them, so he’ll sail full tilt at Redwall’s front gates. They’re made o’ wood, d’ye see. Aye, a real surprise ambush, ye ken!”

Skor could not resist a smile of grim satisfaction. “Right enough, Father, but wot Razzid don’t know is that we’re here now, ready an’ waitin’ to welcome him an’ his crew. I won’t miss him a second time, I swear it!”

Recorder Fottlink had a question. “But if he rams Redwall’s gates, he’ll ruin his own ship, won’t he? Doesn’t seem to make sense.”

Lieutenant Scutram answered, “Put y’self in his position, old lad. What’d you sooner have, a ship or Redwall Abbey? I know what I’d jolly well prefer, wot!”

Skor patted the mouse Recorder’s head. “Don’t worry, old un. He won’t ruin either ship or gates, ’cos we’ll leave the gates unlocked for him, eh, Rake?”

The captain sheathed his claymore. “Aye, so we will. Ah want Razzid an’ his crew in here. We’ll lock the gates behind him an’ trap ’em within these walls. Now that’s what Ah call a canny plan!”

Abbot Thibb seemed quite upset with the wild scheme. “What, here inside my Abbey, a ship and its vermin crew? I . . . I’ve never heard of such a preposterous thing!”

Sergeant Miggory threw a friendly paw around Thibb’s shoulder. “Don’t ye fret, sah. We’ll take care h’of h’everything. Er, by the way, wot’s for lunch today, sah?”

Abbot Thibb looked totally bemused. “Lunch? You can speak of lunch at such a time as this?”

Big Drander coughed politely to gain Thibb’s attention. “Beg pardon, Father old chap, but every bloomin’ Patrol an’ Crewbeast is lookin’ forward to a spot o’ the famous Redwall vittles—at a time like this, or any flippin’ time y’care to mention, wot!”

The Abbot took a glance at the hulking hares and burly otters, all young, and all ready to eat at the drop of a crust. It was difficult not to smile.

“How about a big extended picnic luncheon in the orchard? I could have our good Friar run it on into afternoon tea.”

Big Drander’s ears waggled with anticipation as he added, “Mayhaps it could carry on through dinner, then into supper.”

Thibb chortled as he waved them down the wallsteps. “Aye, why not indeed, as long as you keep eating!”

Captain Rake patted Thibb’s paw sympathetically. “Och, ye braw mousey, Ah think ye’ll regret those words afore the day’s out, mah friend. These walkin’ stomachs will be eatin’ as lang as yer Friar keeps sendin’ more.”

Thibb shrugged. “That’s because they’re young and full of life. Don’t fret, Captain. We’ll feed ’em like heroes—’tis the least Redwall can do for those who’ll be defending our Abbey.”

Uggo Wiltud overheard Thibb. He piped up boldly, “Does that include me, Father?”

The Abbot shook his head. “No, I have other plans for you.”

The orchard lunch was up to Redwall standards—in a word, delicious! Sister Fisk sat sharing some apple and blackberry flan with Skor. The sea otter Chieftain interested her, and she plied him with questions as he did full justice to the lunch.

“Pardon my asking, sir, but doesn’t it put you off food, knowing that you’ll be fighting a war with the vermin soon?”

The big beast took a long draught of October Ale. “Why should it, marm? Warriors never give such things much thought.”

Fisk topped up his tankard. “Forgive me. I’m not a warrior, so I wouldn’t know.”

Reaching for bread and cheese, Skor touched her paw lightly. “Let me tell ye somethin’ about warriors, Sister. We always eat well and never worry, because tomorrow we may be hungry, or dead. It doesn’t do to dwell on the past or the future. Take me, now. Today I laid my young son to rest. ’Twas a sad an’ hard thing t’do. But I’m a chieftain—my Crew look to me. I can’t sit round for a season, mopin’, weepin’ an’ tendin’ a grave. There’s others to think of, my other son, an’ the Rogue Crew, an’ my friend Captain Rake, with his Long Patrol, d’ye understand?”

The Sister nodded. “Indeed I do, sir, but I just wish there was something us Redwallers could do to help you.”

Skor chuckled gruffly. “Feedin’ this lot is a big help, marm, but I’ll tell ye wot else ye can do. When the action starts, ’twould help if’n the Abbeybeasts stays out of our way. Lock yoreselves up in Cavern Hole, take care o’ yore babes an’ Dibbuns. Then after the battle’s end, ye can serve us with yore healin’ knowledge. I’m told yore good at bandagin’ an’ salvin’, eh?”

Sister Fisk smiled modestly. “So I’m told, sir. Thank you for your advice, and now perhaps you’d best take care of that great appetite, before your otters and those hares clear the board of every crumb!”

The feasting continued until early evening, when Sergeant Miggory whispered in Abbot Thibb’s ear. “H’it’s startin’ t’cloud over, Father. Captain Rake says the breeze is freshenin’ from westward, an’ ole Drogbuk’s just felt a spot o’ rain. No panic, Father. Get yore Redwallers inside, h’in a h’orderly manner.”