Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

The hefty ferret stared down at the tabletop, avoiding his captain's smiling eyes. "Aye, Cap'n, wotever ya say."

Without warning, Vizka dealt Grivel a swinging back

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pawed blow, which knocked him out of his seat, flat on his face. Vizka laughed, looking around at the other vermin in the cabin. "Pore Grivel, can't 'old 'is grog, if'n y'ask me!"

The crew knew what to do, they laughed aloud with their unpredictable captain, every one of them. Vizka issued orders. "When vittles is ready they'll be served up on deck. I want y'all to sit where dat stripe'ound can see ya. Watchin' yew lot eatin' might stir up 'is appetite. Look as if yore enjoyin' dinner, make Rock'ead feel 'ungry. Codj, you keep an eye peeled on 'im, I'll be in me cabin if'n ya wants me."

Grivel waited until Vizka had gone from the cabin before he picked himself up, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. A large, fat, one-eared rat named Feerog, who was Grivel's messmate, shot him a warning glance.

Codj headed for the door, calling over his shoulder, "I'm gonna keep watch on der stripe'ound." Vizka and Codj were very close, so the crew did not say anything until he had gone out on deck. Once the captain and first mate were not present, Grivel spat blood upon the floor.

"Did ya see dat, why'd 'e pick on me, wot did I say?"

Feerog supported his friend. "Yarr, sometimes der cap'n will belt ya jus' fer lookin' at 'im d'wrong way. It ain't right, mates!"

Grivel poured forth his grievances against the captain of the Bludgullet. "Aye, an' why'd we waste a whole season sailin' round der Northland coasts, wot's ter be gained there, eh?"

There were nods, and mutters of agreement as Feerog took up the cause. "Couple o' sacks o' veggibles an' some grain. Huh, an' a crazy stripe'ound. We coulda been in the southern isles, at least 'tis alius warm there."

A runty old weasel, Snikey, spoke his piece. "Cap'n must 'ave 'ad 'is reasons, any'ow we're sailin' clear o' the Northlands now, ain't we?"

Grivel's voice was thick with bitterness. "But we ain't bound fer no southern isles, are we? I'll wager der cap'n's

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got dis ship 'eaded for the Western shores, an' ye know wot dat means, don't ya?"

Feerog slammed his knifepoint into the mess table. "Aye, Vizka Longtooth wants ter do wot Windflin Wildbrush couldn't. Kill dat ole stripe'ound an' 'is rabbets, an' make 'imself king o' der mountain!"

Snikey shrugged. "I'd sooner live on a mountain than be stuck aboard dis tub all me life."

This was the chance Grivel had been waiting for. Grabbing Snikey, he head-butted the runty old weasel hard. Still holding Snikey, he kicked open the cabin door, and flung him, half-stunned, out onto the deck, growling at him. "We ain't gittin' slayed in battle, jus' ter make Longtooth famous. An' remember this, ya liddle sneak, one werd to Vizka or Codj, an' yore a deadbeast!" Slamming the door, Grivel winked at the others. "I caught 'im a good 'un, split 'is nose, stinkin' tale-carrier. I've never trusted dat weasel!"

A black rat, called Durgy, shook his head. "Ya did der wrong thing there, mate, everybeast knows Snikey's the cap'n's spy, 'is mouth'll 'ave t'be shut fer good, or 'e'll go blabbin' ter Longtooth."

Feerog pulled his knife from the tabletop. "Yore right, I'll see to it dat Snikey slips off nice'n'quiet-like."

Late afternoon found the weather still overcast, but calm. Gorath stayed huddled against the mast, where he had been since early morning. The pangs of seasickness had left him, and the pain in his wounded forehead had calmed somewhat. Nobeast had bothered him all day, though he was aware of Codj watching him from a distance.

Then the cook, a greasy, bloated ratwife, dragged a cauldron along the deck, halting where she knew the chained prisoner could not reach. Taking the lid from the cauldron, she began stirring it, yelling in a shrill voice, "Come an' get yore vittles, afore I tosses 'em overboard!"

The aroma of cooked food assailed Gorath's nostrils, and he realised how desperately hungry he was. The crew

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lined up with their bowls and dishes as she began slopping out steaming ladles of the mixture. Even Vizka attended, holding out a basin, and questioning the cook as she filled it to the brim with the mixture.

"Mmmm, this smells good, wot is it, Glurma?"

She gave Vizka a snaggletoothed grin. "Me own special skilley, Cap'n, carrots'n'turnips, oats an' herbs, wid lots o' shrimp an' mackerel in it!"

Vizka winked broadly at the vermin crew, who were sitting out of Gorath's reach, eating their meal. "Yarr, dat'll put der twinkle back in yore eyes, buckoes!" They made a great show of blowing on the hot skilley and scooping it up, some with their grimy bare paws.

Vizka knew just how far the chain would allow his captive to roam. Carefully, he placed the filled bowl out of the young badger's reach, and began coaxing him. "Come an' taste it, friend, ya must be starvin', eh?" Gorath uncovered his head and stared at the bowl, but he made no move for it. Vizka continued taunting. "Good vittles, shrimp an' fishes from der Northland coast, an' veggibles from yore farm, try some."

Gorath rose; he staggered forward to the end of the chain, reaching out. The crew laughed uproariously at his vain attempts to reach the bowl. The badger gave up, and went to sit with his back to the mast.

The golden fox dipped a paw in the bowl and sucked it. "Real good dis is, Rock'ead. Tell ya wot, I'll move it closer if'n ya speak ter me."

Gorath locked eyes with the smiling fox, but kept silent. Something in those eyes made Vizka feel nervous, the smile fell from his face and he snarled.

"Widout food yore a deadbeast. Speak!"

Then the badger spoke. "You will die before I do. You, and that other one." Here he nodded toward Codj. "And as many of these scum as I can take with me. So don't waste your time talking, I don't speak with beasts who are already dead to me."

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Vizka leapt up, quivering. "You'll beg me ta die afore I'm done wid ya!" He kicked the bowl, sending it into the sea. The golden fox strode back to his cabin, with Codj trotting in his wake.

"I told ya we shoulda killed 'im, Cap'n!"

Vizka shoved Codj into the cabin ahead of him. "Shut yore mouth, idjit, der crew can 'ear ya!"

Nobeast noticed Durgy sidle up to the rail and sit beside Snikey. The runty weasel was licking inside his empty bowl, when the black rat murmured into his ear softly.

"Did ya see dat? Waste o' good vittles, der way our cap'n kicked dat bowl o' skilley overboard. I coulda ate dat extra bowl, couldn't you, mate?"

Snikey stared into his empty bowl. "Aye."

"Den why doncha go an' gerrit, spy!"

Snikey fell backward into the sea from the rail, a look of shock on his face, and Durgy's blade between his ribs. Grivel and Feerog quickly filled the vacant space at the rail. Durgy nodded at the sea.

"Snikey's just gone ter get more skilley."

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6

There was not a single cloud on Maudie (the Hon.) Mugs-berry Thropple's horizon. The young haremaid did not even feel the weight of the haversack on her back as she skipped blithely along the dunetops. She, among all other hares at Salamandastron, had been chosen to go on this most important quest. Once more, she went over the instructions, which had been drummed into her by Lord Asheye and Major Mullein.

"Find a bloomin' badger. One who knows not his own strength. A beast from the simple life, who shuns armour, an' knows not the sword. Er, what else? Oh yes, he's got destiny marked on his blinkin' brow, an' er, what next?"

She paused on one paw, wrinkling her nose. "Er... er ... gottit! He walks with a banished one, an' a flame, that's it. Find him an' haul the blighter back to the jolly old mountain. Oh, well remembered, that, maid!" Still balancing on one paw, she took stock of her position.