Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

The vermin crew were forced to sit glumly, enduring the prisoners' ribald comments.

Maudie sang out, "Oh, foxy, foxy, could you come over here please, whilst I kick your oversized choppers out?"

Emboldened by the vermins' lack of reprisals, Orkwil chimed in boldly. "Hah, I'm only little, but I can wallop weasels all day. Come an' try yore luck with 'orrible Orkwil!"

Rangval broke out into a raucous ditty.

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"Oh the only good vermin is a dead 'un, me dear ould mother used to say, she was always puttin' paid to rats an' ferrets, when they got in her way.

Ma was also very good at skinnin' weasels, she made all the babies winter coats, an' whenever we needed extra blankets, why, she'd go an' collar two fat stoats!

"So the only good vermin is a dead 'un, they're peaceful wid their paws turned up, an' they're wonderful for fertilisin' roses, but you mustn't dig 'em up.

We often had a ferret's nose to play wid, a liddle game that we called hunt the snout, and we had a sweepin' broom, made from a fox's brush, for dustin' the parlour out!"

Vizka began tying a knot into a rope's end. The slight about the fox had got through to him. "I need dem alive, but dat's all dey gotta be, alive. A taste of rope an' dey'll be singin' a diff'rent song!"

One of the stoats on sentry duty at the camp fringes interrupted Vizka's intentions as he hurried in to report. "Cap'n, dere's one o' der crew outside o' camp, 'e wants ter speak wid ya."

The golden fox continued knotting the rope's end. "Which one of der crew is it?"

The sentry, Dogleg, whispered confidentially, "Magger."

Vizka Longtooth's grip tightened about the rope he was holding, his eyes glinting icily. Then he changed suddenly; swinging the rope in a carefree manner, he called out jovially, "My ole shipmate Magger, I t'ought he wuz slayed. Bring 'im 'ere t'me if'n 'e's alive an' 'appy!"

Dogleg scurried off to get Magger, as Vizka sat smiling from ear to ear.

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The three prisoners were becoming weary of vermin baiting, nobeast seemed to be taking much notice of them. Rangval shouted out a final taunt. "Shure, the only difference ye can tell twixt a vermin's bottom an' his face is that his nose ain't got a tail sticking out of it!" The roguish squirrel gave up further efforts.

Maudie called out, almost halfheartedly, "Too right, old sport, I always say that if looks could kill, then vermin would never stare at each other!" The haremaid gave a snort of disgust. "Oh, what's the bally use? A blinkin' plum pudden's got more feelin's than that rotten lot, wot!"

But Orkwil was enjoying himself, he carried on with his insults, undeterred. "Yah, go an' boil yore mouldy ole bottoms, ye snipe-nosed, twiggly tailed bunch of frog followers!"

Maudie sighed. "I say, old lad, d'you mind leavin' off, wot, you're givin' me a flippin' earache!"

However, the young hedgehog was in full flow. "I could lick ye all with a single quill! Ye droopy-bellied, snotty-snouted, pongy-pawed, whiffle-eared scruffsacks! I'll bet yore grannies were all snigglety wooflers!"

Bonk! One of the guards sprang forward, and dealt Orkwil a stunning blow with his spearhaft, muttering, "My ole grannie wasn't no snigglety woofler, take dat!"

From where she was suspended, Maudie took a peep at her senseless friend. "He's not hurt bad, but he'll have a jolly red lump twixt his ears for a few days, wot. Anyhow, at least we'll get a bit of peace for awhile, what d'you say?"

Rangval shook his head. "A snigglety woofler, wot'n the name o' fur'n'feathers is that?"

The haremaid groaned as she tried to shrug. "Haven't a bally clue, but I'll be sure to remember it whenever I'm baitin' vermin. Hmm, snigglety woofler eh, I rather like that! Good grief, eyes front, bucko, d'you see what I jolly well see?"

Magger edged hesitantly into the camp. Every eye was

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upon the fabulous sword he had thrust into his belt. The weasel nodded uncertainly at Vizka, acknowledging him. "Ahoy, Cap'n."

The golden fox left his mace and chain on the ground. Waving the knotted rope, he greeted his former second in command affably. "Ho ho, Magger, welcome, mate! Sit ya down an' get a bite to eat. It ain't much, but 'tis the best we kin do fer now."

The weasel glanced warily about, staying on his footpaws, and disregarding the offer of food. His paw never strayed far from the sword, as he enquired, "Ain't ya mad at me, Cap'n?"

Vizka's face was the picture of astonished amusement. "Mad at ya, wot would I be mad at ya for, matey?"

Magger replied, having first got his story prepared. "When dose Brownrats attacked I wuz out, lookin' fer vittles ter feed der crew. By der time I got back, yew was all gone an' der camp wuz empty, Cap'n." He avoided looking at Vizka, staring at the ground, and scuffing a footpaw to and fro.

Enjoying Magger's discomfort, Vizka pursued his interrogation, but in a lighthearted tone. "So, wot did ya do den, mate, an' where did ya get dat big, pretty knife, eh?"

One lie followed another as Magger embellished the tale. "I tuk it offen a big Brownrat, Cap'n."

The crew of the Bludgullet watched the exchange in silence, knowing the outcome as Vizka chuckled.

"Ye tuk it, jus' like dat?"

The weasel shook his head stoutly. "No, not jus' like dat, Cap'n, wot 'appened was dis. I surprised four of der rats, layin' round a campfire dey was. One of dem 'ad stuck der sword in d'ground. Dey was restin', so I sneaked in, grabbed der sword an' slayed 'em all. I been lukkin' fer yew ever since, Cap'n."

Vizka began advancing slowly on Magger, all the time keeping his eye on Martin's sword. The weasel sensed he was in trouble, he dropped his paw until he was grasping

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the hilt of the weapon. Vizka stopped within a pace of him, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't do dat, Magger me ole mate. I left my mace on d'ground over dere. Wot could I do agin a blade like dat, I ain't armed, 'cept fer dis cob o' rope. Yew keep yore sword, messmate, ye deserve it after slayin' four Brownrats ta gerrit. Ain't dat right, mates?" The vermin crew nodded dutifully.

Magger looked around at them, relinquishing his hold on the sword. Stars went off inside his head as the knotted rope thudded into his eye. He fell backward with an agonised yelp as Vizka leapt on him, stepping on his sword paw and lashing mercilessly with the rope. Every stroke hit Magger's head, his eyes, jaw, snout, teeth, cheeks and chin. Vizka never let up the savage assault until he was certain Magger was finished.

The blade sliced through Magger's belt as Vizka pulled it free. Breathing heavily, he stood over his victim, bellowing with rage at the prone body. "Traitor! Turntail! Yew ran at the first whiff o' dose Brownrats! Ye deserted me'n'my crew, all yore mates! Now ya come runnin' back 'ere wid ya lies. Carryin' a fancy blade, an' thinkin' Vizka Longtooth is some kinda fool. Well, who's the fool now, scum-brain!"

The golden fox seized Magger by an ear. Raising the weasel's head he swung with the sword. The Bludgullet's crew stared, horrified, as Vizka held up the severed head. His warning was not lost on them.

"Ya see, Magger ain't tellin' lies no more. I can't stand a runaway, or a traitor. Remember dat, all of ya!"

Rangval and Maudie had witnessed the whole shocking incident. Maudie whispered, "As soon as Orkwil wakens, we'd do well to tell him not to mention the sword. Right, bucko, mum's the word!"

The rogue squirrel agreed readily. "Oh, right y'are, marm, 'tis a good job the fox never had that grand ould

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blade afore we started baitin' him. He might've tried it out on us, just for practice."

The haremaid murmured urgently, "Don't talk too bloomin' soon, old chap, he's headed over here lookin' rather like he's become pretty fond of head-choppin', wot!"