The Lutra - Jacques, Brian - Redwall 09 - The Pearls Of Lutra

"Death to Mad Eyes from Rasconza and the Wave Brethren!"

Flinging the sailcloth from him, he ran to the window and glared out at the hot tropic seas, peaceful and quiet in the early morn. "That makes four altogether in two days, all Monitors! Tell me, have the wavescum returned to the taverns?"

Sagitar shook her head decisively. “No, Sire, nor have they sought to board their ships; the whole harbor area lies deserted. The corsairs and searats have taken to the hills ..."

Ublaz pushed the Trident-rat aside with a snarl. "I know that, blockhead. They have food, supplies and arms that they took with them."

"Could we not hunt them down, Sire?" Sagitar suggested helpfully.

Ublaz whirled on her, his temper rising. "No, we could not. They are only waiting for me to leave this palace unguarded and they will be in here immediately! Go away, marshal all your Trident-rats and the remainder of my Monitors, place guards around the whole area and keep me informed of any movements out there. Leave me now, I must think."

Buckla the searat captain, Guja the steersrat and Groojaw the stoat captain had captured another Monitor. They had the lizard bound and gagged; he tottered ahead of them as they prodded him forward with stolen tridents.

Rasconza sat roasting a lobster over the embers of a campfire at the northwestern inlet of Sampetra. He nodded affably at the trio as they hurled the lizard to the sand.

"Haharr, another prisoner, eh, mates? Wot's 'appenin' down at our Great Emperor's palace?"

Buckla squatted in the shade of a rock, away from the sun's fierce heat, and took a swallow from a jug of seaweed grog. "Aaaah, that's better, ain't gettin' much cooler, is it? Ole Mad Eyes is forted up in 'is palace, afraid t'move out. We delivered the last Monitor like y'said, floated 'im in all pretty like. Sagitar took yore message up ter Ublaz. We caught this'n guardin' the ships on the jetty."

Rasconza prodded the glaring lizard with his swordpoint. "Don't you fret, matey, you won't 'ave to suffer such rough company as us much longer. We'll deliver yer back to ole Ublaz by nightfall, one way or another, eh, mates?"

The corsairs and searats lying about the camp laughed uproariously at their leader's crude jest.

"Do we deliver 'im back in a bit, or bit by bit? Hawhawhaw!"

Groojaw was not interested in the banter. “When do we take back our ships?" he said, scowling at Rasconza.

The fox smiled craftily. "When we're good'n ready, mate; that's wot Ublaz is expectin' us t'do, raid the jetty to get back our vessels. Hah! Ole Mad Eyes'd 'ave a plan laid to stop that, never fear. No, the palace is more important than the ships to us right now. We'll keep Ublaz 'emmed in there until he's ready to parley ..."

Guja looked quizzically at Rasconza. "Then wot?"

The fox drew his favorite dagger and licked the blade slowly. "Then we plays 'im false an' kills 'im.Pine martens ain't the only ones good at treachery, y'know."

Groojaw was still not happy. "But we need ships. What about our vessels?" he said.

Rasconza thought about this for a moment, then he stood and walked to the hilltop overlooking the cove. He pointed down at the vessel that had been scuttled there.

"Yer want a ship, Groojaw? See, there's Barranca's ole craft the Freebooter,she's only been scuttled. I'll wager a goodbeast like yerself with a decent crew could seal 'er up, bale 'er out an' drag 'er ashore at low tide. Once the ole Freebooteris seaworthy agin there ain't a faster craft in all the seas."

Groojaw took a crew down to the cove. When he had gone, Rasconza lay back and cracked the shell from his roasted lobster. "There, that should keep Groojaw 'appy. Besides, we could do with 'avin' a ship afloat that Ublaz don't know about, it'll come in useful."

As night fell Ublaz himself went down to the escarpment to view the body of the Monitor that had been dumped there by Rasconza's crew. Surrounded by an armed guard of Monitors and Trident-rats, the pine marten paid little attention to the dead lizard. He was more interested in the sailcloth that had been thrust into its mouth. Retrieving it, he stood to one side and read Rasconza's scrawl.

"We will talk together tomorrow. Ignore this and I will burn you out. Hoist a green flag if you agree to meet me, midday in middle of island. Rasconza."

Ublaz motioned Sagitar away from the rest, then he walked her out of earshot along the escarpment before whispering to her, "Bring six good archers to my throne room before midnight. Let nobeast see them and speak of this to none."

Ublaz smiled to himself as he strode back to his palace. He was once more back in the game. The fox would soon know he could not outsmart an Emperor.

Wavewormhad been free of the fog and ice for more than two days. She ploughed on westward as the weather grew more clement. The sun shone, although the wind was still cold and the seas were rough. Abbot Durral sat in the cabin of Romsca the ferret captain. He gnawed hard ship's biscuit and sipped at a beaker of none-too-clear water. Durral's mind was anywhere but aboard a corsair vessel; mentally he was back at his beloved Abbey, picturing himself pottering about in the orchard with his friend Rollo, or helping Teasel and Higgle with the baking. The old mouse wrinkled his nose, sniffing, and imagined laying a tray of hot scones, fresh from the oven, on a window ledge to cool. Smiling, he had a vision of several mischievous Dibbuns loitering near the scene, to see if they could liberate the odd scone. Durral actually wagged a paw, warning them off. Little rascals!

He was jerked back to reality by the sounds of steel upon steel and roars of conflict as paws stamped around the deck outside. Matters had finally reached a head; the fighting had begun. Either Romsca had attacked Lask Frildur or vice versa.

Pushing a table in front of the cabin door, Durral sought about for any other furniture that might block the entrance. Meanwhile the sounds of battle grew outside on deck, accompanied by the occasional scream and splash as somebeast went over the side. Pulling the grimy blanket from Romsca's bunk, the Abbot huddled in a corner. He wrapped himself tightly and sat miserably in the dim cabin, hoping that Romsca would triumph over the hated Monitor General. The sounds of fighting seemed to go on endlessly as day drew gradually to a close.

Durral closed his mind to everything, even thoughts of his own life or death. Eventually he fell into a doze, his mind lulled into slumber by the vision of a mousemaid singing sweetly to him.

"High o'er the hills, far o'er the seas,

Fly with the small birds, follow the breeze,

Go with your heart, where would you roam,

Back to the rose-colored stones you call home,

Where faded summers will echo again,

Brown autumn trees, or the spring's gentle rain.

Shadows are falling 'cross woodlands you know,

Rest, weary one, in the warm firelight glow."

It was fully dark when Abbot Durral came gradually awake. Creaking ship's timbers and the endless wash of waves against the vessel's sides were the only sounds he could hear. The din of conflict had ceased altogether. Holding the musty blanket around him, the old mouse groped his way cautiously across the cabin floor. With no light to guide him and the absence of his eyeglasses denying him clear sight, Durral fumbled his way forward until a table leg came into contact with his paw. At least the cabin door was still securely blocked, he thought. He sat with his back against the table, not knowing what to do next, longing for contact with some other living creature, providing that it was a friend.

Dawn came gradually, cloaked by gray skies and soft drizzling rain. It was warmer, though humid. Faint gloomy light began pervading the cabin from a small dirty window, too high for Durral to reach. A sound caused him to become alert somebeast was scratching at the cabin door from outside. Not knowing whether it would be friend or foe, but fearing the worst, Durral crept back to his corner and sat waiting, watching the door. The scratching gave way to a thumping noise, faint at first, but growing heavier. The Abbot of Redwall sat filled with apprehension as the door began to shake under the blows, then suddenly there was a sharp, splintering crack and a cutlass blade thrust its way through the rifted wood. Durral watched fearfully as the blade was withdrawn, only to slash through again a moment later. Shrinking down into his blanket, he watched, horrified, as the blade hacked and sliced at the quivering timber, splintering the door in its onslaught.