Brian Jacques - Redwall #07 - Mariel of Redwall

"Righty-ho, got it all clear now. Me 'n' Rosie do the decoyin'; Thyme, you're the jolly old rescuer. When you've got a couple of slaves, make straight back to Redwall. The south wallgate is only bolted with a couple of dead twigs one good shove an' it's open. We'll keep these villains chasin' their own tails for a while, then we'll get back to the Abbey just before dawn. Keep a lookout for us from the north walltop, be ready with a longbow in case we're followed an' it's nip an' tuck. Good luck, old scout. Come on, Rosie. Bob 'n' tack, duck 'n' weave. You know the drill, wot!"

oo

Foul tempers predominated around the searat camp-fires. Graypatch sat apart, disgusted with the rest after their rout by five longbows on the flatlands, just as his fire-swinger plan was beginning to look as if it might work. The searat Captain lashed out at any rat that came near him, giving vent to his contempt.

"Slimesloppin', mudsuckin' cowards! Haharr, 'tis a pity that those longbows never took care of more o' you mutinous deckscum, then I'd only have meself to think of, instead o' a pack of seascabbed poltroons!"

The crew lay about sulkily, not answering because they knew Graypatch was looking to pick a fight and slay somebeast to slake his spleen.

From over to Graypatch's left a voice called from the shadows, "Hoho, matey, you did a fine jig with your foot afire. Shove it in yonder flames an' do us another 'ornpipe. Go on!"

Graypatch whirled his sword, dashing toward the

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rats who were lounging in the area whence the insult had issued.

"Yer lily-livered maggot, stan' up an' say that to me face!"

Next instant a voice called from the other side of the camp, "Maggot yerself, stinkbreath. We're takin' no more orders from you!"

Graypatch veered, rushing in the direction of the second voice. "Belay, I'll rip the tongue out o' yer mouth. Show yerself!"

Another voice called from yet a third direction, "Flop-nose! You couldn't rip yer mother's apron!"

Graypatch hurled himself on Deadglim and began throttling the unfortunate searat as he pleaded his innocence.

"Gwaaark! It wasn't me, Cap'n, I swear it. Gyuuurgh! I never said a wuuurgh!"

Frink was Deadglim's mate. He ran across to prevent Graypatch choking his friend to death, but Bigfang tripped him with a spear.

"Leave them be, rat. Deadglim might show a bit of fight back!"

Fishgill leaned across. "Who asked you to interfere, fatmouth!"

He slapped Bigfang across the head with the flat of his cutlass. As he did, someone else kicked Fishgill from behind.

"You leave Bigfang alone, fleahead!"

Fishgill turned and punched Lardgutt in the eye. "Kick me would you, weeviltail. Take that!"

Lardgutt drew his dagger, screaming furiously, "I never kicked yer! But you'll pay for that punch, snot-face!"

Within a short time the entire camp was in uproar as fights broke out all over the place. Clary and Rosie flitted about like two fleeting moonshadows, belting heads and roaring out in imitation searat voices.

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"Bigfang fer Cap'n, Graypatch is on'y a deckwal-

loper!"

"Avast, get stuck in, buckos. Poor Deadglim's bein'

strangled!"

Rosie whacked a passing rat on the back of his head with her lancebutt. "Take that from Kybo, you scum. I never did like you!"

With a screech of rage the rat grabbed a corsair's hook and went after Kybo yelling, "An' all these seasons I thought you was my matey!"

The fight was going splendidly until Hon Rosie could no longer hold back her laughter.

"Haharr, you durty decksweepin', take that! Whoohahahahooh! Oh, I say, this is super fun, come on, chaps, scrag each other harder!"

Instantly the fighting ground to a halt.

"Corks, Rosie, you've torn it now, old gel. Y'need to gag that giggle," Clary could be heard muttering in the firelight shadows.

Graypatch left off throttling Deadglim. "We've been tricked, mates. It's those hares! Get 'em!"

But saying was far easier than doing. The hares were up and gone through the night-shaded woodlands before the searats could assemble themselves to give chase. Thyme had gone also, and with him two young shrews from the oarslave ranks, but this would not be discovered until daylight arrived.

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Captain Flogga of the ship Rathelm was a hard and seasoned searat. He had served Gabool long and well, but the old Gabool was vastly different from the one he faced now. Flogga had taken no chances, keeping his crew fully armed and tight about him when he landed at Terramort. They had marched straight up to Fort Bladegirt and trooped into the banqueting hall Flogga knew there was safety in numbers.

Now, sitting in front of the Searat King, he was shocked at the change that had come over the Warlord of the Waves. Gabool was gibbering mad! He was a truly terrifying sight, his fine silk gear all stained and torn, rings and bracelets tarnished and bent; the golden emerald-studded teeth still gleamed, though the eyes above them were blood-red, caked and running from many sleepless nights.

The searat Captain was frightened. Mad and disheveled as he was, Gabool looked doubly dangerous, and there was always the risk: was he really insane, or merely playing at it for some reason best known to himself? Gabool's mood could switch from good humor to evil temper, from friendly camaraderie to murderous enmity, at the blink of an eye. Not for nothing was he feared by all searats, captains and crews alike.

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Still, Flogga was completely taken aback at the way Gabool addressed him.

"Haharr, Graypatch, I knew you'd come back someday. Well well, me old shipmate Graypatch back at Bladegirt with a full crew about him!"

The searat Captain shook his head. "Gabool, don't ye know me? It's Flogga, Master of the Rathelml"

Smiling craftily, Gabool waggled a claw at him. "Haharr, so you say, matey, so you say. But you can't fool me, Graypatch. I know who you are. Where's my ship Darkqueen, eh?"

"Darkqueen, don't mention that craft t' me. You've 'ad us chasin' our tails across the waves high 'n' low lookin' fer Darkqueen. I'm beginnin' to think it's all some kind o' game, like that treasure she's supposed to have stowed in 'er hold."

Gabool cocked his head to one side, both eyes roving up and down oddly. "Treasure y'say. Have you been talkin' to Saltar, matey?" "Saltar! He's dead!" "Dead? Saltar? Who killed him?" "You did, right 'ere in your own banquetin' hall." "Haharr, so I did, Graypatch, so I did. Listen matey, ferget Darkqueen. It'll be me 'n' you agin, just like in the old days, eh?"

"But I keep tellin' ye, I'm Flogga, not Graypatch ..."

Gabool winked slyly. "Nah, you can't fool me. Listen, about that treasure: it was never in the Darkqueen, I only said that to 'ave you brought back 'ere."

Flogga blew out a long sigh. He decided to humor the mad King. "All right, Gabool. So I'm back 'ere.

Now what?"

Gabool leaned close, whispering confidentially. "Hearken t' me, Graypatch. The treasure is here, right here in Bladegirt. Only me knows where 'tis. D'ye want me to show it t' yer?"

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Flogga suddenly became interested. "Aye, I'd like that, shipmate."

"Haharr. Well, tell this lot to stay here, an' come with me."

"Oh no, Gabool. What d'yer want to separate me from me crew for, eh?"

"Graypatch, I thought you was a brainy one, mate. We don't want t' share all that booty with this useless load of flotsam, now do we?"

Flogga stared at Gabool, uncertain of what he should do, suspecting the Searat King might be leading him into a trap, yet eager to get his claws upon the treasure. In the end greed won.

"All right, Gabool. It'll be just like the old days, fifty-fifty. Lead me t' the booty, mate, but 'earkenplay me false an' my dagger'll find yer throat afore you're much older."