Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

"Yurr, ee'm lost 'is senses, fallen aconshuss, if'n you ask oi, pore creetur!"

Rose joined Grumm, and together they watched the unconscious form sway slackly as the elements assaulted it. The mousemaid chose a hard round pebble and fitted it to her sling.

"We must help him to live, we must!" Her lip quivered as she spoke. "Ooh that Badrang, the cruel cowardly, heartless vermin..."

Grumm chuckled softly. "Noice wurrds fer a mousey maid, oi must say. Hurr hurr, him'n ull live sure 'nuff, iffen 'ee be arf as ill tempurred as 'ee, mizzy."

3

Dawn came pearly grey, shot with shafts of peach and dusky pink as the sun broke the eastern horizon in the wake of the night storm.

The sea was a dim shade of oily turquoise, with cream crested waves in the middle distance. Badrang the Tyrant had his carved throne chair brought out on to the courtyard, where he could watch the fun.

Gurrad the rat and Skalrag the fox stood along with two weasels called Lumpback and Stiffear, awaiting orders as the Tyrant stoat pointed to Martin's limp figure with his sword.

"He looks strong enough to have lived through a bit of wind and rain. Gurrad, go and wake the sleeping beauty. When he's conscious and wriggling about, the birds'll soon spot him."

Gurrad sniggered as he looked up at the circling sea birds that were beginning to mass above the fortress.

"Aye, Lord, that lot look in good appetite as usual, eh?"

Badrang nodded. "Never knew a gannet that wasn't. Ho there, Hisk!

Don't send the slaves to the quarry yet, parade 'em out here where they can see the sentence being carried out. It'll show 'em what happens to anybeast who puts a paw wrong in my fortress."

Gurrad slapped Martin around the face with a wet piece of rag until the young mouse revived. He held a beaker of fresh water to the captive's lips, chuckling as the prisoner drank greedily.

"That's the stuff. Drink up now, mouse. Those sea birds'll soon be down for breakfast. Hehee, look at 'em, big uns, ain't they? Great pointed beaks they've got, good as a knife fer rippin' an' tearin'. They'll enjoy n you...

Martin managed to spit the last of the water full into Gurrad's face.

The rat backed off, spluttering nastily.

"Tough, eh? Well, I 'ope they takes yer eyes first!"

Chancing a glance upwards, Martin could see a great gannet preparing to dive. Two other grey gulls were beginning to swoop low, and others rushed to join them in the descent for food. His paws were swollen by the wet ropes that held him tightly He struggled wildly, shutting his eyes tight after Gurrad's cruel remark.

All eyes were on Martin now, the horrified slaves, the gloating horde of Badrang, the hungry sea birds. Plus two other pairs.

Rose and Grumm were crouched behind a stony outcrop on the beach, the young mousemaid watching very carefully as she placed a paw across her throat and took a deep breath. The birds wheeled and dived lower towards the struggling figure bound between the posts on the walltop. Grumm nudged his friend urgently.

"Aow, do 'asten an' 'urry, mizzy. They burds be a goen t'peck Marthen to death. Aowurr, oi carn't lukk no moare!"

Grumm closed his eyes tight as the sea birds dived for the kill.

Badrang had forgotten to scan the seaward horizon that day, preoccupied as he was with Martin's death sentence. A sail appeared two points north on the eastern "Qrizon. It was a great green single masted craft, practically invisible against the sea because of its camouflaged coloring. Three banks of oars protruded to port and starboard, one atop the other, giving it the appearance of a monstrous insect crawling over the waves. It was Badrang's old partner in murder and treachery upon the high seas, a stoat like himself.

Cap'n Tramun Clogg of the great ship Seascarab , Clogg was a villainous sight, an enormously fat stoat dressed in stained and tawdry silks, wearing a massive pair of carved wooden clogs. Every part of his fur wherever possible was plaited and braided beard, eyebrows, moustache all over his gargantuan body. Plaits and braids stuck out of his ragged sleeve frills, spilled through rents in his shirt, coat and pantaloons, even curled over the tops of the oversized clogs. He gnawed on a half dead lobster as he slurped seaweed grog from a flagon, belching aloud and spitting shell fragments everywhere.

Throwing back his tousled head he roared up at the lookout, a ferret in the crow's nest.

"Boggs, any shape o' land out there yet, matey?" The keen eyed Boggs peered into the distance. "Naw, Cap'n, nary a glimmer o'...

Wait... aye ... land ahoy!" The lobster tail fell from Tramun Clogg's open mouth, to disappear down his open shirt front.

"Haharr harr, I knowed it! Where away, Boggs y' ole bilgedog?"

"Two points south, Cap'n. Aye, an' there be a liddle lump a stickin'

up, either a cliff or some buildin'."

Clogg gurgled happily. Drawing a broad cutlass from his sash, he began honing it on the sole of his left clog.

"Bring 'er about two points, Growch. If Badrang ain't there I'll eat me clogs, on me oath I will. Gritter, tell the crew to put some vinegar into their oarstrokes; 'urry now, matey. With this wind in our sails an'

a flowin' sea, we'll make landfall soon. Hohohoharrharr! Won't me ole messmate Badrang be pleased ter see 'is great uncle Clogg agin after all this time!"

At the wheel Growch gave a villainous cackle.

"Pleased, yer say, Cap'n. I reckon Badrang'll pop 'is cork!"

Clogg flung the empty grog bottle over the side. "An' if he don't, I'll pop it for 'im, haharr!"

Like a great green bird of ill omen, the Seascarab came about and headed for Marshank as Tramun Clogg mused aloud to himself.

"Iffen I knows Badrang, 'ell 'ave slaves aplenty, too many fer one beast to own. An ole matey like 'im won't begrudge enough fine slaves to row the Seascarab 'ell's teeth, I should say not. A pore lubber like me without a single slave to me vessel. Asides, tain't fittin' fer corsairs an' searats to row their own craft. So I'll just nip in nicely an' ask 'im

'andsome like to fit us out with row beasts. Badrang'll give 'em to me,

'e's a nice cove. An' wot if 'e don't, why then I'll just slit 'is gizzard an'

take 'em, I'll use 'is skull as me figurehead an' feed the rest of 'im to the fishes. Only fair, ain't it, Growch?"

Both pirates burst out laughing at the joke. Clogg liked a joke, but he was joking in deadly earnest this time. He hated Badrang.

The sea birds came diving in voraciously at Martin's unprotected body. They were within a hair's breadth of his head when a wild, ear splitting screech, halfway between a whistle and a cry, rent the morning air. Immediately, the scavenging birds swooped away and zoomed high into the air, shrilling anxiously and wheeling about willy nilly. Another loud screech followed, and the gulls and gannets milled about high above Martin, some of them bumping into each other in their apparent confusion.

Badrang gaped upwards in amazement. "What's the matter with

'em, why aren't they tearing him apart?"

A further screech followed, even louder and more fngry sounding than the former two. This time the sea sheared off sharply and dispersed.

The Tyrant stoat was furious. "What in the name of hellgates is going on?"

A ferret called Bluehide, who had lived in the far north, called out as he scratched his ears in puzzlement. "That's the huntin' cry of a great eagle, I've heard it afore!"

Gurrad shoved him scornfully. "Garn! There ain't no great eagles on this coast."

A small venturesome kittiwake who had just arrived on the scene took a swift dive at Martin. The screech rang out swift and harsh. The frightened kittiwake took off like a sky rocket.

Bluehide shrugged, eyeing Gurrad in a patronizing manner. "That's a great eagle's huntin' cry, I'd stake me oath on it!"