Brian Jacques - Redwall #07 - Mariel of Redwall

Hon Rosie shrugged. "No way outwe're stumped!"

Clary sighed. "There is one way, the only sure way. I knew it'd come down t' this eventually, as soon as I saw those searats in Mossflower country I felt it in m' bones."

They sat looking at each other awhile, then Clary sniffed airily.

"Still an' all, Lord Rawnblade wouldn't have us do anythin' else."

Thyme chuckled. "Rather, old Rawney'd have a blue fit if we didn't!"

Hon Rosie picked up her lance and began polishing it. "I say, then let's do it, just for a lark. Whoohahah-

ahooh!"

oo

Gabool the Wild did not bother covering up the pit anymore. He cackled madly as he gazed in at the loathsome sight of the huge black scorpion perching on the carcass of Fishtail, former ship's mate of the Seatalon.

"Haharrharrharr! That'll teach Catseyes t' send scurvy traitors spyin' on me. What d'ye say, Skrabblag?"

The glistening arachnid clicked and rustled balefully. Gabool strode out gesturing into the air as he conversed with himself.

"No need for Cap'ns when there's a King! I'll show 'em, badgers 'n' bells, ships 'n' searats, Cap'ns 'n' Kings. Haharr, round an' round they run, a-chasin' each other through my head, but Gabool will win in the end!"

He swept into the banqueting hall, where the assembled searats watched in astonishment as he stood, claws on hips, talking to the great tarnished bell which dominated the center of the floor.

"Go on, ring yer way out o' that one, hearty! Oh, you'll sing fer me one day. Ring, ring, Gabool the King!"

He whirled upon the two crews. "An' what're you all gawpin' at, pray? Nothin' t' do, nothin' to report?

"The Seatalon's been sunk in the cove!"

Not bothering to see which rat had spoken, Gabool dashed to the window. "Hellfires! That's two vessels in as many days, first Darkqueen an' now Seatahnl"

"That wasn't Darkqueen, Lord, it was Rathelm, Cap'n Flogga's ship."

Gabool stroked his long, unkempt beard. "Darkqueen, Rathelm, same thing. There's Waveblade, Nightwake, Crabclaw, an' Blacksail, all t' come in. Let me know the moment they anchor."

After he had left the hall the gossip ran rife.

"Gabool's crazier'n a scalded beetle!"

"Don't let him fool yer, matey. He could still recall what ships he's got out at seaaye, an' their names, too."

"I tell yer he's bats, chattin' away to a bell, pretty as y'please."

"Well, crazy or not, this is the place where all his booty's hid. Cap'n Flogga told me that."

"Aye, an' where's Flogga now?"

"An' Fishtail as well. I've seen nary a sight o' him since we came here."

"I say let's wait'll the rest o' the fleet's in, then we'll see what the other Cap'ns have t' say about all this rigamarole."

"Waitwhat else can we do but wait, shipmates? Both our vessels are sittin' on the bed o' the cove down there. Somebeast scuttled 'em; they're sunk!"

"Gabool's changed. See his eyes? They're red like blood. He's actin' strange, mates runnin' round this place filthy as some ol' tramp. That was never his way. I don't mind tellin' yer, I'm scared."

"Anyrat who isn't is a fool, matey. But we're stuck 'ere, so we better make the best of it. Any vittles in the kitchens, I wonder?"

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Tarquin kept for'ard lookout, Mariel took the stern, Rawnblade stood at the tiller, steering a course off-line with the little swallow's flight as it dangled on its thread beneath the awning.

Mariel left off scanning the horizon to stare at the impressive figure of Lord Rawnblade Widestripe. He resembled some giant stepped out of legend, clad partially now in helmet and breastplate, the sword Vermin-fate resting beneath one paw as he steered with the other. Spray glistened, dewing the shaggy fur, as his keen dark eyes gazed out across the seas, brows lowered as if he were pondering some mystery known only to badger Lords. This then was the creature for whom her father had cast and made the great bell; she could think of no nobler or worthier owner for her father's masterpiece. Her father, Joseph. The name meant everything to Mariel: security, love, guidance and a comradeship between parent and child that was more like having a best friend than a father at times . . . his humorous twinkling eyes and ready wit.

"I say, old gel, have y'gone asleep back there? Ships ahoy and astern!"

The sound of Tarquin's voice brought Mariel back to reality.

Three sets of sails had appeared on the horizon in their wake, and Lord Rawnblade gave swift instructions. Without questioning his authority, Mariel and Tarquin took up their positions whilst the badger Lord concealed himself in the cabin below.

The three vessels Nightwake, Crabdaw and Blacksail were traveling back to Terramort in loose convoy, though now they sensed Terramort was reasonably near they broke formation and began racing to see who could anchor first in the cove.

Captain Hookfin of the Blacksail held the tiller steady as they ran before the southwest wind, tacking occasionally to keep his craft on course. He cursed as

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the Nightwake drew level, with her master Riptung at the helm. "A cask of dark wine I beat ye back, Riptung!"

Riptung swung the tiller over recklessly, causing him to veer. "Haharr, not in that ol' tub y'won't, matey!"

With superb skill and daring, the corsair Grimtooth plied his craft between them both. "Hoho, I'll show ye how a real searat sails, mates, an' I'll drink that wine to teach ye both a lesson in searatship!"

The Nightwake was now closest to Mariel and the Waveblade as the three ships bore onward, all oars pulling and sails at full stretch.

Riptung wiped spray from his eyes and looked across. From the distance all he could see was a very small steersrat and an extra-lanky lookout, both decked out in the tattered finery of searats.

"Ahoy, Waveblade, where have ye come from?" Riptung called out.

The small steersrat indicated back across her left shoulder, but did not shout a reply. Riptung understood.

"South, eh. We wer down that way, must've missed yer. Are you on for a race back to Terramort, cask o' wine fer the prize?"

The small rat shook its head, jiggling the tiller and shrugging.

Riptung nodded. "Rudder trouble, matey? Where's Cap'n Orgeye?"

The lanky one on lookout pantomimed sleep, resting his head on the foredeck rail and pointing below.

Riptung laughed aloud. "Haharr, lazy ol' Orgeye, snorin' like a hog. Too much wine, eh?"

The lanky one did a stagger and held his stomach and forehead at the same time. Riptung smote the tiller, laughing uproariously.

"Scupper me, the drunken ol' blubberfish. Ahoy there, tell 'im when he wakes that he missed a chance o' winnin' a big cask o' wine."

3*7

The two searats waved back as the ships drew away, racing pell-mell for Terramort, Riptung shouting tidings of Orgeye to the other two Captains, who shook their heads with merriment.

Rawnblade's huge head poked out of the cabin doorway. "Have they gone?"

Tarquin blew out a long sigh of relief. "Aye, m'Lord, but it was a close thing. Any nearer to us and the game would've been up; they would have seen we weren't bally searats."

Mariel leaned back against the tiller, wiping her brow. "Whew! See that? It isn't seaspray, it's sweat. How they could ever have taken me and Tarquin for a couple of scurvy searats, I'll never know."

Rawnblade strode up on deck. "We'll furl in the sails and let them get in to Terramort well ahead of us. Up you go, Woodsorrel. I'm too heavy to be climbing masts, and Mariel's needed on deck."

Tarquin took a look at the swaying mainmast billowing with sail. He threw a paw across his eyes and staggered giddily.

"Oh, corks. Do I have to climb up that great swayin' thing an' fold all those windy old bedsheets? Do I really, sir?"

Rawnblade pointed a stern paw to the topmast. "Up, Woodsorrel, up!"