Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

Vizka was quick to realise this. He delegated each of his crew to act as group leaders. As tawdry as they were, the seafaring vermin looked superior to Brownrats, who were little better than primitive savages with their paint-daubed fur and stone-tipped clubs or spears. Vizka sent his crew among the horde, to order (not invite) all Brownrats to a meeting with him, in a clearing, west of the plateau.

Wielding the sword of Martin in one paw, and carrying his mace and chain in the other, he watched them file silently into the woodland clearing, they outnumbered his crew by at least six to one. The Brownrats seated themselves on the sward, whilst the Bludgullet's crew stood around behind them on the fringe of the gathering. The golden fox took the floor, smiling as he made his address, his quick eyes watching everybeast closely.

"I'm Vizka Longtooth, cap'n o' der Sea Raiders. I just seen yore cap'n, Stringle, killed by dat lot up dere. Bunch o' cowards, wouldn't come down an' fight proper, slayed pore Stringle wid an arrer from far off. Jus' when we'd reached an agreement!"

Vizka paced up and down, eyeing the silent rats, waiting for a reaction. They stared dumbly back at him. He put a

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paw to the side of his mouth, as if imparting a secret. "Aye, an agreement, an' ya know worrit was?" There was still no reaction, so he continued dramatically. "Dat we all join t'gedder in one big 'orde to defeat dat lot up dere. Me'n Stringle woulda commanded t'gether, but now dat yore cap'n's been merdered, youse'll have ta take orders from me. Unless ye've got anudder cap'n?" Sticking the sword point down into the soil, Vizka draped the mace and chain around his neck, allowing his gaze to range over the assembly.

A voice spoke out. "Worrabout Gruntan Kurdly, 'e's our chief, Stringle always waited fer him afore doin' anythin'." The speaker was a big, lean, tough-looking rat.

Vizka began moving through the seated throng toward him. "Wot's yore name, mate?"

The Brownrat met the fox's stare. "Gurba, me name's Gurba."

Vizka stopped in front of him. "Well, let me tell ya sumthin', Gurba. Yore Cap'n Stringle was waitin' on der big chief. Aye, waitin', while youse Brownrats was gettin' slayed by dose stripe'ounds an' shrews atop o' dat rock. But Stringle couldn't stand ter lose no more mates, 'e got tired o' waitin' fer Kurdly. Dat's why me'n 'im made de agreement, see!"

Something about the twist of the Brownrat's lip warned Vizka. He took a pace back as Gurba stood, holding his big, flint-tipped spear loosely, but ready for action. There was open defiance in his tone as he told Vizka, "I ain't agreed to nothin', neither 'ave the rest o' my mates. We'll wait for Gruntan Kurdly, an' see wot 'e sez!"

Vizka seemed to wilt in front of the bold, lean rat. He turned away shrugging his shoulders. "Fair enuff, if'n dat's 'ow ya feel...." He spun around without warning, Gurba was taken by surprise. A clank of chain and the whirr of the steel-spiked ball was the last thing the Brownrat heard. There was a sickening crack of metal on bone, and Gurba lay dead on the ground with a smashed skull.

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The golden fox stood smiling, his overlong fangs exposed as he toyed with the mace, flicking it with one paw, and catching the ball in the other. His tone was almost playful as he addressed his dumbfounded audience.

"We'll leave Gurba 'ere, to wait fer Kurdly. Jus' put ya paw up if'n ya wants ter join 'im ... anybeast?" Not a single paw moved, the Brownrat horde sat in shocked silence, staring in awe at their new leader.

Vizka nodded, then got down to serious business. Retrieving his sword, he pointed to the plateau. "Wot's up dere, a coupla score o' liddle shrews, one rabbet, a squirrel an' two stripe'ounds. Dat's all wot stands atween us an vict'ry. An' look at us, mates. A fine crew o' Sea Raiders, an' a full 'orde 'o fightin' Brownrat warriors. One good charge'd wipe all our foes out, a force our size couldn't lose. Nobeast but a few ole cooks an' a pack o' toddlin' babes would be left in dat Abbey. Jus' picture it, you'n'me an' Gruntan Kurdly, marchin' through der gates o' Red-wall t'gether, wotja say, eh?"

The Bludgullet's crew knew what to do, they took up the cry. "Aye, Cap'n, we're wid ya! Yaaaahaaarrr!"

Caught in the wild moment, Brownrats leapt upright, waving spears, clubs and slings as they roared. "Kurdly, Kurdly! Kill kill kill!"

Vizka let them carry on awhile, even encouraging them by waving both sword and mace. He allowed them to carry on until they began to sound hoarse, then he stood on a boulder, calling for silence. "Enough, all of ye, I knows yer all good beasts an' true!" He glanced toward the westering sun. "We'll camp 'ere for der night. Glurma, get some 'elp an' feed dis lot, git some cookin' fires lit. Rest now, me buckoes, look to ya weppins, eat'n'sleep, 'cos at dawnlight tamorra we got some slayin' ta do!"

Vizka wandered about, quietly contacting several from his crew vermin. "Ragchin, Dogleg, Patchy, Bilger, Firty. Set up a fire, away from dose Brownrats, I wants werds wid ya!"

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35

It was the end of a hot, dry, dusty day on the high plateau. Osbil and Barbowla walked around the rim checking on the sentries. They paused at the western edge to see the scarlet orb of the sun descending amid strata of purple and gray clouds, some with gold-tipped underbellies.

Barbowla sighed, "A pretty picture, Log a Log, but I'd much sooner be seein' it from the doorstep of my holt up-river."

"Aye, me, too, mate, but we're up 'ere 'til the party ends for better or worse."

Barbowla pointed to a glow some distance off. "That clearin' in the trees yonder, I think the vermin are campin' there, that light looks like their fires."

Osbil studied the glow. "About six, maybe seven fires by the look of it."

"Ah well, we might get a bit of peace seein' as the foe's camped down for the night. I'll warn the sentries to keep their eyes peeled in case any vermin tries an ambush in the dark."

Osbil and Barbowla reported back to Gorath, who was sitting with Salixa, Maudie and Rangval around a small, boulder-ringed fire.

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The big badger yawned. "I think you're right, those not on guard can rest tonight. Vizka will probably be having his supper and planning his next move."

A moan came from Rangval. Barbowla turned to him. "What's the matter with your face, rogue?"

Rangval stirred the flames with his dagger tip. "Ah, 'twas just the mention of supper ..."

Maudie prodded him. "Don't even think about it, sah, we don't want you goin' off into vittles raptures again, wot."

The rogue squirrel looked injured by her attitude. "Ye've a harsh tongue, me beauty, but 'twas Gorath who mentioned vittles, not meself. Ah well, seein' as me freedom of speech is forbidden, I'll just have to give ye a bit of an ould song, eh?"

Maudie smiled. "You warble away to your heart's content, old lad, a jolly good ditty might cheer us up, wot!"

Rangval sat up straight, making ready to launch into song. "Thank ye kindly, miz. I'd like to start with a little thing entitled, 'Please pass the plate of peach'n'pear pudden.'"

Osbil waved a clenched paw. "Oh, no you won't!"

Rangval swiftly changed his selection. "Oh, right y'are, sir. Well, how about, 'Don't chomp cheese while yore mother's chewin' chestnuts'?" Rangval saw several Guosim shrews glaring at him and toying with their rapiers. He took the hint. "Er, as me third choice I'll give ye a rendition of me ould auntie's favourite. It's called 'The battle of the boiled beetroot an' how d'ye slice strawberry soup.'"

Maudie dived at the rogue and got him in a headlock. "Righto, you bushtailed bounder, now you've got two blinkin' options. You'll either hear me sing one called 'How to strangle a senseless squirrel,' with actions to suit the words, of course. Or you can simply belt up an' go t'sleep. Take your pick, sah!"