Brian Jacques - Redwall #01 - Lord Brocktree

Brogalaw looked around. Their party numbered twenty-two, counting himself and Stiffener.

"I thought sixty was enough t'do the job, mate. I was goin' t'say we 'ad fivescore, but that would've really been fibbin'."

"We could jolly well do with fivescore to carry all the loot we liberated from those rascals today," Willip complained as they turned back to the copse. "Ah well, at least we've got plenty of grub and weapons. What d'you think, Stiff? Should we blindfold the next lot an' make them tote the spoils back to our hideout? Save a lot of bloomin' wear'n'tear on our old carcasses, wot?"

Brog picked up one end of a spear haft, slung with haversacks. "C'mon, Willip me ole mate, git the other end o' this thing on yore pore ole shoulder, or we'll miss supper."

"Hah, d'you know, I suddenly feel young again, Brog?"

"Aye, I've noticed, every time I mention food, you ole lollop-eared grubwalloper. I thought sea otters could scoff until I watched hares sit down to vittles!"

A bright summer evening was drawing to its close. Ungatt Trunn stood on the beach with his Grand Fragorl and Captain Karangool, watching as Byle and his foraging patrol stumbled through the shallows onto the sands. They presented a very odd picture. Seawater had washed out the blue dye from their fur from tail to neck; only their faces and heads remained blue. Byle staggered up and saluted the wildcat, his body drooping with exhaustion.

"Mighty One, we were ambushed ..."

Ungatt's upraised paw silenced him. "Let me guess, Captain Byle. It was the Bark Crew again. How many of them were there this time? Fivescore ... ten?"

"Fivescore at least, Mightiness. The Bark Crew chieftain gave me a message to deliver, sire."

The wildcat's tail whipped from side to side angrily. "Don't tell me if it's merely insults. Get your patrol out of sight before others see what a pack of clowns you look!"

Byle bowed and saluted dutifully, then signaled his patrol to get inside the mountain.

Later, Ungatt Trunn sat closeted in his chamber with Fragorl and Karangool. He watched his spiders, while his two aides watched him, holding their silence and blinking in the thick smoke that swathed the room.

The wildcat pointed upward. "Young spiders never seem to get the flies, it's always the older ones. I suppose because they're more experienced, better hunters, wickeder, more ruthless, would you say?"

Karangool nodded. "Ya, is so, Might'ness."

Trunn turned his gaze upon the fox. "You're a ruthless creature, but I need you here. My mistake was in sending out well-behaved new captains. What we need is wicked onescruel, evil creatures who bend the rules to suit themselves. Searats and corsairs were always like that, eh, Karangool?"

The fox's normally stern face broke into a fiendish grin. "Ya, Might'ness. I sailed with bad ones in good old days!"

The wildcat stroked his whiskers reflectively. "I'll wager you did, my friend. Fragorl, those searat brothers I had stripped of their rank, tell the guards to bring them up from the dungeons. Fetch food from the kitchens, too. Good food, not fish heads and stewed grass."

Ripfang and Doomeye thought they were being brought in front of Ungatt Trunn because he had decided on a slow agonizing death for them. They kicked, bit and struggled with the guards as they were hustled into the wildcat's chamber. Nobeast was more surprised than they when Ungatt ordered their chains removed and the guards dismissed. Panting and rubbing their limbs where the manacles had been, they sat on the floor, their sly eyes flicking from the food to their ruler. Ungatt Trunn nodded toward the tray, which contained a flagon of damson wine and the last of Blench's fruit scones.

"You must be hungry. Eat."

They stared at him, openly suspicious. Karangool sipped from the flagon and bit off a piece of scone. "Eat, food not poison!"

Like a pair of ravening wolves the two rats fell upon the food, stuffing it down and slopping wine. Ungatt Trunn lectured them as they crammed the vittles into their mouths.

"By rights you should be dead now, both of you. Did you think I was fooled by your lies about Groddil and the other two? Maybe you did slay them and throw their bodies into the pool, but not because they insulted me, as you said. No, you killed them for some reason best known only to yourselves. I could have had you executed, but I chose instead to have you locked up and starved, until I decided what I should do with you both."

Ripfang looked up, a mess of chewed scone falling from his lips. "So yew ain't 'avin' us done away wid. Thankee, cap'n, er, I mean Yer Mightiness."

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank them."

Ungatt's paw was pointing up to the spiders. Doomeye grabbed the flagon from his brother and swigged at it. "Wot, does 'e want us ter say thanks to them things?"

Ripfang elbowed his slow-thinking brother hard. "Shut yer gob, wifflebrain! Yell 'ave to excuse 'im, sire, Doomeye ain't very bright. So, me lordship, wot is it yer wants us t'do for yer, eh?"

The wildcat assessed Ripfang. He was young still, but experienced and hardened to cruelty and death. Evil was stamped on his features, from the treacherous flickering eyes and scarred nose, to the unsightly single fang protruding downward from the center of his lipless mouth.

"I suppose you slew quite a few in your seasons as a searat?"

Ripfang snatched the flagon back from Doomeye and guffawed. "Me'n'me brother 'ere, we killed just about anythin' that moved, all types o' beasts, young, old, males or shemales. Harr, an' we slew 'em any way we could, an' a few ways wot don't bear thinkin' about, ain't that right, Doom?"

Doomeye dug foodscraps from between his blackened teeth with a dirty claw. "Aye, yer right there, Rip, any way we could, we murdered 'em!"

The wildcat sat back and purred. "Excellent. Now listen to me if you want to keep eating food like that and regain your rank as captains in my Hordes."

Brogalaw stroked the heron's neck. "Good job you found this other cave, Rulango. My ole mum was beginnin' to create an' kick up somethin' awful about all the loot we was bringin' back."

The cave was upcoast, slightly north of the sea otters' dwelling, a fortunate find indeed. Stiffener took a torch from its wall mount to light their way out. From floor to roof, the place resembled a well-stocked larder cum armory. Weaponry and uniforms lined its walls, while at the center there was an enormous heap of fruit, vegetables and edible roots. Plunder, taken from the foraging patrols by the Bark Crew. Outside they doused the torch in the sand and camouflaged the cave entrance with a dead sea buckthorn bush.

Trobee kept a branch to cover their tracks. "I say, let's get back an' see what luck old Durvy had today. Maybe his crew brought back some shrimp, wot!"

Brog's mother Frutch was in the process of giving Durvy and his crew a good dressing-down.

"Seasons o' seaweed'n'salt, what are we supposed t'do with all this shrimp, that's what I'd like t'know, master Durvy. There can't be a single shrimp left in the sea!"

Durvy dodged a swipe of the ottermum's ladle. "Belay wid that weapon, marm, I'm only doin' wot yore son told me to. You ain't supposed to biff members o' the Bark Crew wid ladles, that's takin' the side o' the enemy!"

Brog rescued the ladle from his mum and hugged her. "Wot's for supper, ye liddle plump battler?"

Frutch tugged at his whiskers. "Put me down, ye great ribcrusher, or I won't be fit t'cook anythin' for anybeast. Sufferin' sandhills, did any pore ottermum have t'put up with such a son!"

Brog's nose twitched at the two cauldrons which his mum, Blench and Woebee had perched on the fire. "Mmmmm, skilly'n'duff, me fav'rite!"

The three cooks denied it stoutly.

"We never did no skilly'n'duff, did we, Blench?"