‘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 horizon. It was a great green single-masted craft, practically invisible against the sea because of its camouflaged colouring. 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 dogs. 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 bilge-dog?’
‘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 dogs, 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, ’e’ll ’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 angry-sounding than the former two. This time the sea birds 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. ‘Gam! 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!’
The rat raised his spearbutt threateningly. ‘Listen, addlebrain, I’ve said there ain’t no gr—’
‘Gurrad! Stow that gab and get over here!’
The rat broke off his argument with the ferret and scuttled across to Badrang’s side. The Tyrant scowled as he glowered at the clear blue sky.
‘Never mind what it is, there’s something about that’s scaring the sea birds witless. We’ll have to tempt them down on to the mouse with a bait they can’t resist. Bring a dead fish from the cookhouse.’
Hurriedly the fish was brought to Badrang. He took his sword and cut the cord holding up the weasel Lumpback’s ragged kilt. There was a snigger from the slaves as Lumpback stood grinning sheepishly with his only garment draped around his footpaws on the ground. Ignoring the weasel’s plight, Badrang tossed the cord to Gurrad.
‘Here, tie the fish to this and hang it round the mouse’s neck. That’ll bring hungry sea birds in to feed, eagle or no eagle.’
From their hiding place on the shore, Rose scanned the sky. It was clear and free of sea birds.
‘Thank goodness I won’t have to do the eagle call again, Grumm. It was beginning to strain my throat.’
‘Hurr hurr,’ the mole chuckled. ‘Oi be glad too, mizzy, ’twere a vurry froightenen sound. Oi didden loik et one liddle bit, hurr no.’
Grumm peeked over the rocky outcrop at Martin on the walltop. ‘Mizzy Roser, ’earken! Wot be they villuns a-doin’ to Marthen?’
The mousemaid began twirling her loaded sling. ‘I don’t know, but whatever it is we’ll have to stop them!’
Gurrad was trying to get the cord noose that held the fish over Martin’s head, but the young mouse was ducking and struggling wildly. The rat was losing his temper.
‘Hold still, mouse, or I’ll pin this fish t’yer with me spearpoint!’
Thwock!
Gurrad dropped the fish with an agonized yelp as the slingstone bounced off his paw.
Badrang did not see the stone. All he saw was Gurrad dropping the fish and hopping about sucking on his paw. The Tyrant stood up, knocking his thronechair backwards as he yelled at the unfortunate rat.
‘Stop playing the fool an’ get that fish round his neck before I come up there and batter some sense into you with it!’
As Gurrad bent to pick the fish up, Grumm fitted a sizeable
rock into the spoon of his ladle and whipped it off in the direction of the rat’s bent bottom.
Thwump!
It struck hard and true, knocking Gurrad from the walltop. He plummeted over and landed with a sickening thud in the courtyard below.
Badrang leapt forward, sword in paw, waving at the creatures around him.
‘To the walltop, quick. Somebeast’s hurling rocks!’
They piled up the broad wooden ladders on to the walltop.
Rotnose and Hisk were first up. They were immediately hit by flying stones. Hisk fell senseless, Rotnose crouched, massaging an aching breastbone. Badrang ducked another salvo as he went into a half-stoop, shouting at the others, ‘Where are the stones coming from, can you see?’
Skalrag stood upright, peering at the seemingly deserted shore. ‘Must be somebeast hidin’ out there, Lord!’
Below, at the corner of the courtyard where the slaves were grouped, the big squirrel Felldoh decided to take part in the action. He ducked to the back of the crowd, picking up several large pebbles as he went. With energy born of anger, he chucked a large rough stone at the back of Skalrag’s head. Many times Felldoh had bent under Skalrag’s rod; now was the chance to repay the sadistic fox.
The flying rock did not strike Skalrag’s skull, it narrowly missed, but took half of his left ear in the process, ripping it off as it whizzed by. Felldoh immediately flung two more stones, then keeping his paws at his sides gazed around in amazement as if some other creature were doing the throwing.
As Skalrag screeched in pain, Stiffear sprang up, pointing down into the courtyard as he shouted excitedly, ‘The stones are coming from inside our own fortress!’
Thwack!
A stone from the shoreside struck him square in the back.
Rotnose, still rubbing his chest, sneered at Stiffear, ‘Rubbish, they’re coming from the shore, I tell yer. I was hit meself. . . . Eeeyowch!’
A stone from the courtyard stung his tail. Confusion reigned on the walltop. Badrang and his creatures did not know which side the missiles were coming from. The Tyrant lay flat and raised his head slightly. He could not see the shore clearly but he had an uninterrupted view of the sea. His stomach churned suddenly and he began to curse at the sight his sharp eyes rested on. One more quick look to ascertain that he was not wrong sent Badrang scrambling for the ladder, calling hoarsely as he went, ‘Cut that mouse down from there and bring him with you. Get down into the fortress, quick!’
‘But, Sire, we think that there’s somebeast behind those rocks slinging stones . . .’
Badrang shot a venomous glance at Rotnose as he hissed, ‘Do as I say, scumbrain. We’ve more to worry about than a few stones. Tramun Clogg’s out there with the Seascarab, sailing on a direct course for us!’
Grumm was running out of good rocks to fit his ladle when Rose pointed to the wall.
‘Look, they’ve had enough, they’re cutting Martin loose and retreating into the fortress. Thank the seasons that we were able to help the poor mouse, eh, Grumm.’
The mole mopped his brow and sat with his back against the rocks of their hideout on the beach in the hot midmorning sunlight.
‘Yurr, boi ’okey, us’ns serpintly gave they vurmints summat to think abowt. Oi gave ’em billyoh wi’ moi ole ladler, hurr hurr!’
Rose could not help grinning at her faithful companion. ‘So you did, Grumm. That ladle comes in useful for other things than stirring soup with.’
But Grumm was not listening. Facing seaward, he was pointing straight out at the Seascarab, which was drawing closer by the moment.
‘Lookit, mizzy. Searatters an’ vurmints, oi’ll be bounden!’
A chill of fear ran through the mousemaid. Corsairs! They had seldom visited this coast, but the tales of horror and death that surrounded the raiders from the sea were legendary. Hastily they gathered their few belongings.
‘Let’s not hang about here, Grumm. Come on, we’ll lie low in the marshes behind the fortress.’
Cap’n Tramun Clogg was in high villainous humour. He cut an awkward jig, his dogs clattering noisily on the poop-deck.
‘Haharrharr! I reckernizes that flag flyin’ o’er yon place ashore. Ho lucky day, I knowed it, I could feel it in me dogs! There’s me messmate of bygone seasons Badrang, built hisself a stone castle, pretty as you please. ’Ow many pore liddle slaves would yer say it took to work on a place like that, Crosstooth?’
A wicked-looking fox draped in purple bandannas scratched his chin. ‘Hmmm, I’d say lots, Cap’n.’
‘Lots an’ crowds?’
‘Aye, lots ’n’ crowds.’
‘Which is most, Crosstooth, lots or crowds?’
‘Why bless yer ’eart, Cap’n, crowds, that means lots an’ lots!’
‘Haharrharr, well said, matey. Break out the weapons while I lays plans for a reunion party with me ole messmate Badrang!’
Martin stood swaying on swollen footpaws, his arms still bound. Badrang sat upon his thronechair, eyes narrowed as he watched the reprieved prisoner.
‘Hmm, like I said before; you’re not short of nerve, Martin. Hearken to me now, I could use a creature like you.’
From beneath hooded eyelids Martin watched the Tyrant as he spoke, the young mouse’s gorge beginning to rise at the stoat’s proposal.
‘How would you like to be a Captain in my horde? The best of food, slaves to command as you please, I’ll even give you a spear to carry if you swear loyalty to me as your master. Well, what’ve you got to say to that, young un?’
Martin made no reply. His paws were deadened by the tight bonds, but his rage was aroused and his jaws were strong. He launched himself in a flash upon Badrang, setting his teeth into the stoat’s outstretched paw and biting it savagely to the bone.
The Tyrant roared and bellowed in agony as Martin was set upon by guards, his jaws prised apart with a dagger blade as rods and spearbutts beat furiously at him. The young mouse went down on the ground as Badrang sprinkled blood about, shaking his paw in anguish as he gritted from between clenched teeth, ‘You’ll wish the gannets had got you by the time I’m finished with you, whelp. Oh, don’t worry, you’ll die, but not fast. Fraction by fraction until you scream to welcome death. Take him away and lock him up. I’ll see to him after I’m rid of Clogg!’
Inside the courtyard, slightly to the left of the main gate, was a prison pit, dug deep into the ground with a heavy grating on top. The cover creaked as it was slid to one side. Martin was hurled in, still with both paws bound to his sides. He fell through the darkness and landed with a cushioned thump on something soft. There was a grunt and somebeast was helping him upright whilst another untied his bonds.
A gruff voice spoke. ‘Martin, well at least you’re still alive. I’m Felldoh the squirrel.’
The young mouse rubbed his paws, grimacing as the blood began circulating properly. The squirrel rubbed and patted him until he felt able to move easily again. Martin recognized him, he knew Felldoh as a kindred spirit, another born rebel who had fallen foul of the vermin regime’s justice.
‘Felldoh, what are you doing down here?’
‘Awaiting the Tyrant’s pleasure like you, Martin. That rotten toad Stiffear saw me flinging rocks at him while he was on the walltop. Still, you saved my old dad and I did what I could for you, matey.’
Martin grasped the big squirrel’s paw in the darkness. ‘You are a true friend, Felldoh. Thank you!’
They both sat on the hard-packed earth floor. There was a movement to Martin’s right, and as he tensed a small quiet voice echoed hollowly in the pit.
‘What do you suppose Badrang’s going to do with us?’
Martin peered into the dimness. ‘Who’s there?’
Felldoh reached out and brought their paws together. ‘Martin, this young feller was here before I arrived. Meet Brome.’
‘So, Brome,’ said Martin
He was younger and smaller than Martin and Felldoh, and his voice sounded tiny and frightened. ‘I never did h
arm to anybeast. I was lost and blundering along the shore one night when the sentries on the wall saw me, and I was captured and thrown down here. Did they capture you, Martin? Will they keep us down here for ever?’
Patting his paw and ruffling his ears good-naturedly, Martin reassured the youngster. ‘You stick with us, Brome. We’ll get you out of here. While I was staked out on the walltop, Felldoh was throwing rocks from inside and your sister Rose chucking them from outside. She’s out there with a mole named Grumm. I owe them my life.’
Brome grasped Martin’s paw. ‘Rose and Grumm! Hahaha, good old Grumm, I knew they’d find me. With those two out there and you and Felldoh in here we’ll escape easily. It’ll be as simple as picking daisies!’
The joy and relief in the young one’s voice was so evident that Martin felt a wave of sympathy for him. Nudging Felldoh in the darkness, Martin spoke with a confidence he did not feel.
‘Aye, simple as picking daisies, eh, Felldoh.’
The squirrel was a kindly beast, he threw his paws about both of them, playing along with Martin’s bravado.
‘Right, lads. Three warriors like us and extra help from outside? Hah, the only thing Badrang’ll eat for dinner will be our dust when we scoot out of here. Friends together!’
Shortly after that Brome fell asleep, cushioned between Martin and Felldoh. Their eyes now accustomed to the gloom, they sat staring at each other.
‘Easy as picking daisies. Hmm, when was the last time you picked daisies, matey?’
‘A long time ago, friend Felldoh. Some of them were pretty tough to pick as I remember. But not impossible.’
‘Aye, with a little outside help we might stand a chance.’
Martin yawned and settled down beside Brome. ‘Sleep first. Being tied out on a walltop in a storm isn’t the most restful place around here. We’ll think of something later, friend. We can’t disappoint this young un.’
Felldoh sat listening to the soft snores of his companions. ‘Oh yes, let’s think of something later,’ he chuckled lightly to himself. ‘How to sprout wings, and defeat Badrang and his horde with outside help from a mole and a mousemaid. By my brush, why didn’t I think of those two good ideas before?’
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 3
