Brian Jacques - Redwall #07 - Mariel of Redwall

The Warlord's description fit every searat from the tip of his ragged tail to the point of his scarred nose. They were clad in motley rags, some wearing worn-out seaboots and threadbare frock coats, others dressed in the tattered silks of corsairs. Brass ear, nose and tail rings were much in evidence, eyepatches, skull bandages, missing ears and fearsome scars. But every searat was armed to the teeth; cutlasses, scimitars, straight swords, sabers, claymores, daggers, dirks, bodkins, spears and pikes bristled everywhere throughout the barbaric mob.

Gabool sat grim-faced on his throne, facing the great bell. All around, the banqueting tables were piled high with food and drink; nervous slaves stood waiting, ready to serve their savage captors. The searat crews crowded in. Those who could not find seating leaned against the walls or slouched upon the floor. Nobody touched a morsel of food. An expectant hush settled over all; the King of Searats was not his usual roaring commanding self. Claws settled upon weapons, ready to fight at a moment's notice, it was a taut and perilous situation. The Captains grouped together at one table, Orgeye of the Waveblade, Hookfin of the Blacksail, Flogga of the Rathelm and Garrtail of the Greenfang, They were joined by the masters of the three ships that were under repair, Riptung of the Nightwake, Catseyes of the Seata-lon and Grimtooth of the Crabclaw. Against these seven Gabool was facing mighty odds, their cold, quick eyes watched him mistrustingly even Garrtail, who now had his own ship and felt equal to other Captains. The threat of instant death hung heavy in the air.

Gabool's heavy sigh broke the stillness. He stood up, slowly drawing his curved sword. He dropped it; the

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bright blade clattered on the floor in front of him as he pointed to the nearest rat.

"You there, matey. You've got the look of a poor old searat who don't have two crusts to rub together. What's yer name, shipmate?"

"Weltskin, sire," the ragged searat said in a puzzled voice.

Gabool nodded. "Well, you pick up that fine blade, Weltskin. My sword belongs to you now. Go on, take it, matey."

The searat Weltskin picked up the sword, his eyes shining. No common crewrat had ever owned such a weapon.

Gabool faced the assembly. Throwing his arms wide, he appealed to them.

"Aaahh, shipmates, what's it all come to? Treachery, deceit an' lies, aye, that's the sad fact, mateys. A Cap'n who scorned me, Bludrigg, an' his brother Saltar out fer revenge, who tried to slay me when I was unarmed in me own home ..."

Gabool shook his head sadly. "Aharr, bad weather 'n' black days, lads, though I knew all the time those two searobbers was plottin' against me. Still an' all, I offered 'em welcome an' vittles in Fort Bladegirttheir crews too. Why, some of you was there an' ate the same food an' drank the same drink an' saw it all happen. Base traitors they were, messmates. I'd heard them whisperin' together; they wanted it allmy island an' your ships. You Cap'ns there, aharr, I wish you'd been here to see ityou would've sided with old Gabool, I know you would. Faithfulness always has its reward."

Gabool struck the side of the bell with a drinking cup. Twenty slaves bearing chests of plunder staggered in and turned out the glittering contents at Gabool's feet. Necklaces, stones, bracelets, goblets, silks and fine weapons cascaded out across the floor in a sparkling heap. Gabool's quick eyes noted the greedy glances the

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plunder attracted. He held out his claws to the seven Captains.

"Every bright star has seven true points. You, my shipmasters, my good an' trusty mates, come an' take what you want from this lot. What use is booty an' plunder if a rat ain't got friends he can trust?"

The Captains stumbled and tripped over other searats in their haste to grab what they could. Ripping silks and tossing all they could hold into makeshift carriers, the seven shipmasters bit, scratched and jostled silently as each strove to grab what he thought was more than his fair share. When they drew back, dragging their portions with them, there was still a large mound of loot upon the floor.

"Why, you greedy old plunderers," Gabool laughingly upbraided the Captains. "Snafflin' away without a thought for your crewrats. See if you can clear this lot away, lads. Come on, it's all yours!"

With a wild howl, the searat crews threw themselves upon the remainder of the booty. Scrabbling, kicking, screeching, clawing and ripping, they fought for baubles all over the hall. Gabool laughed madly as he plowed among them. He had won. The plan was working like a charm. Now he sowed the seeds of dissension as he roved among the crews, whispering, "Is that all you got, matey, a few earrings an' a dagger? If I was your Cap'n I would have give you first pick. Ah, but Cap'ns is Cap'nsthey was ever the greedy ones. Hoho, Halfnose, me ol' messmate, did you see that Cap'n Hookfin? He was a-shovin' an' a-pushin' your Cap'n Orgeye like he didn't want him to get his proper share. I'd tell Orgeye that if I was you, mate. 'Here, Shornear, what good is two earrings to you, eh? You 'ark t' me, shipmatethat Garrtail, he looked as if he were tryin' to grab everythin' for hisself, an' him only a new Cap'n. I'm sorry I chose him now. If I'd been thinkin' aright at the time, I'd have made you master

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of the Greenfang. Never mind, matey. There'll always be another day, eh?"

When the plunder had all been claimed, the searats threw themselves upon the food ravenously, each one mistrusting the other and all of them feeling more loyal to Gabool than to their own Captains.

The Warlord had yet to play his final card. He banged the bell for silence.

"Now, me lucky rats, I'm goin' to let you in on a secret, so cock yer lugs! There's another traitor, more black'earted than any, but he ain't here this day. What's his name? I 'ear you ask. . . . 'Tis Graypatchaye, Graypatch. There's a name for the Dark One's book. We sailed fair seas an' foul together since we was both liddle sloprats, an' now the foul blaggard has robbed the best craft in the fleet for hisself. Aye, the Darkqueen, Saltar's ship. Graypatch crewed her an' sailed off in Darkqueen behind me back, an' I trusted him like a brother. But here's the worst of it, ladsthat ship's carryin' three times the loot in her hold, on my affidavy it is, more plunder'n you could clap eyes on. . . . And I want Graypatch's scurvy head! You can do what you will with the bootyfirst one to it gets it allas long as you bring me back the Darkqueen with Graypatch's head nailed to the bowsprit. How's that fer an offer, you hellscrapin's?"

Tables were overturned, food scattered, furniture smashed as the Captains and their crews made a hasty exodus from the hall, jamming in the doorway, cursing and fighting in an effort to be first to weigh anchor and hunt down Graypatch and the Darkqueen.

"Hoist sail, Ledder. I'll be down straightways!" "Weigh anchor, Froat. We'll get 'im first!" "Get the crew aboard, Bullfang. Hurry!" "Come on, you wavescum. Stir yer stumpsthere's prize to be had!"

Weltskin was one of the last to leave, striding impor-

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tantly with Gabool's fine curved sword over his shoulder. Gabool called him back.

"Weltskin, matey, c'mere."

The searat marched back and saluted his King with the sword.

"D'you want somethin', sire?"

Gabool stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Let's see you swing that sword."

Weltskin swung the sword several times. Gabool looked worried.

"No, matey, no. That's no way to twirl a blade. Here, let me show yer how to use that sword."

Weltskin gave the sword to Gabool. He watched fascinated as the Warlord wove patterns in the air with the glittering weapon. Weltskin' s fascination suddenly turned to agonized shock as Gabool snicked the tip from his ear with the sword. Smiling wickedly, Gabool flashed the blade a little closer to Weltskin's throat.