Brian Jacques - Redwall #05 - The Legend of Luke

Vilu Daskar picked up a pawful of dry sand and watched the breeze carry it away, remarking to Grigg, "Huh, insults and threats, they're like sand in the wind to me, Grigg: here one moment, gone and forgotten the next."

Minus the use of oars, using only her sails, the red ship coursed south. Bullflay, the chief slave driver, and his assistants unchained all the galley slaves and herded them up on the trireme's high maindeck. The Goreleech'snew squirrel captives were shocked by the sight of the oar-wielders. Starved to emaciation, hollow-eyed and ragged, barely alive in some cases, the wretched slaves blinked against the bright afternoon. Bullflay cracked his long sharkskin whip low, pulling several of the slaves flat as it curled around their footpaws.

"On yer knees, ye worthless fishbait, don't yer see the cap'n's present?"

Ranguvar had been chained and covered with a weighted cargo net, through which she watched the scene.

A huge balk of timber had been attached to a rope reeved through a block halfway up the mainmast. Vilu stuck his scimitar into the mainmast at shoulder height.

"I've brought you thirty-six new oarbeasts, Bullflay. How many do you need?"

The big fat weasel saluted with his fearsome whip. "I'll take every one you got, cap'n Vilu!"

The pirate stoat signaled for some refreshment and a seat. Hurriedly four crew members brought his chair, a flagon of his favorite damson wine and a grilled fish. Seated comfortably, he picked delicately at the fish and sipped wine from a crystal goblet, watched by the hungry slaves. Wiping his lips on a silken kerchief, he nodded briefly to his chief slave driver.

Bullflay grabbed the rope which had been reeved through the block and hauled on it until the balk of timber was hoisted level with the scimitar sticking from the mast. "Haul the wood this high, or else!" He let the balk drop to the deck. The weary oarslaves stood in line for their turn to haul up the balk. Then he picked up his whip and cracked it over the new arrivals. "Come on, you lot, get below. We'll get yer chained up to an oar nice an' tidy like. Hahaharr!"

Getting the black squirrel Ranguvar below was an awesome task. Keeping her bundled in the cargo net, a score of vermin dragged her through the decks until she was at the front seat of the vessel's bottom level. Eight of the Sea Rogues suffered wounds and injuries, but they finally got the berserker chained alone to a long thick oar handle. Ranguvar sat relatively quiet. She waited until the other oarslaves were brought down and shackled into place at the sweeps. She questioned one, a tired old otter, who looked as if he had seen many seasons slaving.

"What was all that about up on deck, the timber an' the rope? Why did you have to haul it up, all of you?"

The otter blinked back a tear from his craggy face. "Didn't yer know, mate? Vilu Daskar an' Bullflay got to 'ave their bit o' fun. Thirty-six new oarslaves means they got to get rid of thirty-six old 'uns, so they finds the sickest'n'weakest by makin' us hoist the log."

"What happens to those who can't haul the log?" Ranguvar could not stop herself asking.

The otter's husky voice shook as he explained. "That's when the real sport starts, mate. They sails the red ship out 'til land's too far away for a fit beast to swim back to it, then they runs out a plank. Vilu gives the pore creatures their freedom, tells 'em they're free to swim back t'shore an' forces 'em t'walk the plank."

Ranguvar's fur stood up on the nape of her neck. "Do any ever make it, friend?"

"What d'you think? You saw the state of some o' those slaves. If'n the big fishes don't get 'em, the sea does."

Ranguvar turned and murmured softly, "Well at least you survived it. What's yore name?"

Bowing his head until it touched the oar, the otter replied, "Norgle's my name. My father's name was Drenner. He used to sit where yore sittin' now, that's his oars yore chained to. My ole dad was one of those who couldn't haul the log."

Slaaaash! Crack!

"Shaddup, yer scurvy bilge swabs!"

Slavemaster Bullflay swaggered up to his rail, directly in front of Ranguvar. He wielded the whip at Norgle, but the black squirrel sat up straight and took the blow. A big skinny rat positioned himself alongside Bullflay. Picking up a drumstick, he stood ready at the big drum which was used to keep the oarslaves pulling in time with each other.

Bullflay winked at him, nodding toward Ranguvar. "See that, Fleabitt? Cap'n Vilu said this squirrel's a real tough 'un. We'll 'ave ter pay 'er some special attention, won't we?"

Fleabitt's narrow frame shook with unconcealed glee. "Special attention, right, chief. We'll learn 'er!"

Ranguvar's piercing stare raked the rat scornfully. "What could I learn from you, cocklebrain?"

Craaack!

Bullflay's whip struck her. Ranguvar transferred her dead stare to him without even blinking.

"Is that the best you can do, barrelbelly?"

Choking with rage, the burly weasel flogged away at his new oarslave, using all his strength. When he finished, his stomach was heaving in and out, and both his paws were shaking violently with the exertion.

"You . . . you dare talk ter Slavemaster Bullflay like that! I'll flay yer to dollrags!"

Ranguvar, who had ducked her head to protect her face, raised her eyes. There was death dancing in them as she growled at Bullflay, "You big useless lump o' mud, one day I'll kill yer with my bare paws, even if'n I have to bite through these chains to get at yer. Remember that, weasel!"

Bullflay could not bring himself to answer or raise his whip again. Ranguvar's eyes had frightened him. He strode off down the walkway, laying left and right with his whip at the other oarslaves.

"Silence there, quiet! An' be ready ter row when my drum starts to beat, if you want t'keep fur on yore backs!"

Two hours after daybreak next morning, a searat called down from his watch in the crow's nest, "Away to the north, a sail, cap'n, a sail!"

Vilu Daskar leaned out over the stern of the Goreleech,shading his eyes, peering hard at the faraway smudge.

"Sail? Are you sure? What kind of craft is she?"

"Too far off t'tell, cap'n sir, but 'tis a sail fer sure!"

Akkla kept the tiller steady, awaiting Vilu's order.

Striding the afterdeck, the pirate stoat stroked the yellowed bone handle of his scimitar pensively. "Hmm, a sail, eh? How far off are the Twin Islands, Akkla?"

"We could make 'em by tomorrow midday wid all sail an' full speed on the oars, cap'n."

His eyes still fixed on the far-off object, Vilu replied, "Too fast, we'd lose her. No ship can keep up with mine under full sail and oars. Take her to half sail and tell Bullflay to set the rowers a steady beat. We'll let her keep us in sight, and that way we'll land at Twin Islands tomorrow night. Set your tiller south and a point west."

The red ship sailed off on her new course, with the whips cracking on all three decks below. Oars rose and fell, pulling the Goreleechthrough the waves. The fresh captives groaned miserably as they bent their backs under the lash.

Chapter 26

Vurg snuggled deeper in his hammock. Morning sunlight streamed through the cabin window, and he tried to ignore it, closing both eyes tight, but he could not close his ears to the raucous duet which the cook and his assistant were yelling from the galley. Other crewmice were already awake, hurling objects at the galley door, haranguing the singers within.

"You'll turn the grub sour wid that noise!"

"Aye, belt up, you two, stop that awful racket!"

"I thought somebeast was tryin' to squash a dozen frogs!"

But Beau and his assistant Cardo were in full cry and not about to give up for mere threats and insults.