The Rogue Crew

by Brian Jacques

  “Heeheehee! No, no, not ’til ole fattydog comes up t’get me!”

  Jum shrugged at Foober. “The scamp knows I can’t climb trees. Leave ’er. When she’s hungry, she’ll come down.”

  However, Foober was made of sterner stuff. Passing Jum a bandage, she leapt up. “You carry on bindin’ this splint, Mister Gurdy. I’ll see t’that cheeky wretch afore she’s much older!”

  With a bound, the squirrelmaid was up the sycamore trunk, vanishing into the foliage. There was a sudden rustle of leaves, followed by squeaks of dismay.

  “Yeeeeek! Leggo a Wiggles! I only a likkle babe, y’know!”

  In the blink of an eye, Foober dropped from the lower boughs with Wiggles firmly in her paws. She was outraged at being captured so easily.

  “Leggo of Wiggles or I bite ya wiv me sharp likkle teefs!”

  But Foober had other ideas. Grabbing a pawful of bandages and a splint, she went to work on Wiggles.

  She liked the idea of the swing Foober rigged up for her on a low bough. But she soon began squealing when the squirrelmaid bound her to it with the bandages. Wiggles’s tiny paws kicked helplessly in all directions.

  “Yeeeek! ’Elp me—get Wiggles down, ole Rekbee, ’elp!”

  Rekaby took an extra length of bandage, shaking it at Wiggles. “One more squeak out of ye, liddle curmudgeon, an’ I’ll gag ye, an’ that’s a promise!”

  Wiggles took the threat to heart and hung there scowling darkly in silence.

  Rekaby watched Jum trying to bind the splint, smiling at his efforts. “Finish off that dressin’, Foober. Friend Jum’s a bit lackadaisical at dressin’s.”

  He took Jum to one side. “Can I ’ave a word with ye, mate?”

  The big otter nodded. “Have as many words as ye like.”

  Rekaby patted Jum’s back. “Good, now how’s this for an idea. I know yore still hopin’ that Uggo’n’Posy are still alive. So am I. So if’n they ain’t turned up ’ere, they’ve prob’ly carried on tryin’ to find their way to Redwall. Would ye agree with that?”

  Jum nodded. “Aye, I would, old un, but ’ow can we do anythin’ about that?”

  The silver-furred squirrel explained, “Well, it looks like everybeast is bound for Redwall. Sea otters, hares, mebbe any Guosim who escaped the slaughter an’ those vermin with their ship on wheels, curse their rotten ’ides! So, we’ve got a logboat left to us by Cap’n Rake. Why don’t we travel to Redwall as well? I’ll send Fiddy’n’Frudd for the rest o’ my bunch, we’ll rest up today an’ start tomorrow. I’ll load the worst-injured Guosim into the logboat an’ we’ll tow it from the banks.”

  Jum liked the idea. “Aye that’d work, an’ may’aps when we gets t’the Abbey we’ll find Uggo’n’Posy are already there.”

  Rekaby winked at Jum. “’Twouldn’t surprise me.”

  Foober looked up from her work. “Skor Axe’ound an’ Cap’n Rake might’ve found yore two ’ogs by now. I wonder if they’ve caught up with the vermins’ ship yet.”

  At that very moment, Skor was fishing a deadbeast from the river a league or two upstream.

  Lieutenant Scutram leaned out from the prow of a logboat. “Not one of ours, eh, sah?”

  The sea otter Chieftain heaved the carcass up onto the bank with his axeblade, commenting gruffly, “A vermin, dead stoat. Arrowshaft clean through his neck. Wot d’ye make o’ this, Ruggan?”

  His eldest son inspected the arrow closely. “Guosim shrew, I’d say. Good shot, from someplace up in a tree, judging by the angle.”

  Rake called from the prow of his logboat, “Yonder’s another, Ah’d say. Can ye reach him, Sarn’t?”

  Miggory trapped the second vermin with his paddle. “H’it looks like h’a searat t’me. Got no arrers in ’im, though.”

  Buff Redspore seized the searat’s tail, hauling it round so she could view it. Buff gave a prompt verdict. “Slingstone got this villain—right through the eye, wot!” She released the tail disgustedly. “Savages! Don’t they ever bury their slain comrades, wot?”

  Rake chuckled mirthlessly. “Och, Ah’d like tae see mair o’ the rascals floatin’ round. So, et looks like we’ve got some Guosim allies, eh?”

  Gil and Dreel, who had taken to the bankside, called out their findings. “Tracks here, Lord, looks like them.”

  “Aye, ’bout somewheres over half a score, mostly shrews, but there are two pair o’ hedgepig prints an’ one that belongs to a sea otter, sire.”

  Skor gave a great rough laugh. “Hohoho! That’ll be my young bucko. I’d wager he was the slingstone thrower, eh, eh, hohoho!”

  Rake motioned both logboats to the bank. “Buff, go with those two Rogue Crew trackers. We’ll bide here awhile. Find where the tracks go an’ report back tae me. Off ye go, now!”

  There was not even time to sit and enjoy a snack. The trackers returned in a surprisingly short time. Buff Redspore, who was by far the superior trail reader of the trio, made a prompt report to Rake and Skor.

  “Shrews must be followin’ the confounded vermin ship, sah. No signs of either, but by the condition o’ the ground thereabouts, I’d say there was a jolly old watermeadow not too far away. P’raps we’ll catch ’em up there, wot!”

  Rake helped Buff back into the logboat.

  “Aye, ’tis likely we may. Time tae get underway again.”

  Some of the Rogue Crew took to the water, whilst others trotted along on either bank. Sergeant Miggory stretched out in the stern of a logboat, trailing his paw in the river. “This beats marchin’ h’into a cocked ’at. C’mon, you layabouts, get paddlin’. Don’t stray h’into rough waters, now. Stay in the nice, smooth bits.”

  Big Drander splashed out with his paddle, soaking the colour sergeant. He apologised, grinning from ear to ear. “I say, Sarn’t, sorry about that, me jolly old paddle slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye?”

  Miggory held a paw toward Drander. “I dunno—tell me wot you think, big feller.”

  Drander stood awkwardly, reaching out to touch the sergeant’s paw. As he did, a quick flick from Miggory toppled him into the river. Miggory watched as his comrades rescued Drander.

  “Ho, sorry h’about that, young sah, me jolly h’old paw slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye, wot?”

  Drander was hauled aboard, muttering, “Couldn’t get much bloomin’ wetter, could I?”

  Corporal Welkin Dabbs winked at the big young hare. “A lesson learned is knowledge gained, doncha know!”

  They reached the watermeadow in the early evening. Trackers were sent out again as Ruggan scanned the surface. He picked up an arrow.

  “This is a vermin shaft, an’ here’s another. Looks like they were gettin’ a few shots off at the shrews.”

  Buff Redspore fished out a third searat arrow. “Seems they didn’t have much blinkin’ luck. There’s no dead Guosim, or even bloodtrail on the banks. Anyhow, the Greenshroud’s left here, carried on back to the jolly old River Moss, if ye ask me.”

  Skor scratched his matted beard. “Right, but where’ve the shrews an’ that son o’ mine got to?”

  Rake Nightfur offered an explanation. “They’re bound tae follow the ship, but with nae boats, they’ll have tae go the long way around, by the bank.”

  Skor waded ashore. “Yore right. I say we follow ’em.”

  Sergeant Miggory nodded. “Good idea, sah. We might even catch up with the Guosim at the river. Then we could join forces h’an’ give those vermin wot for, eh!”

  It appeared to be a good plan, with both hares and otters in agreement. They set off along the watermeadow fringes, following the trail, which began to lead inland. Instead of abandoning the two logboats, they took turns to portage them.

  Trug Bawdsley murmured to Flutchers, “Actually, this don’t look like the way to the bloomin’ river t’me, wot. Where d’ye suppose we’re goin’?”

  Corporal Welkin tweaked his ear from behind, reminding him sternly, “Yore bally well goin’ where the officers tell ye to go, Bawdsley, so save yore blinkin
’ breath!”

  Flutchers came to his friend’s defence. “I say, steady on, Corp. All old Trug was sayin’ was that if we’re jolly well headin’ inland, then there ain’t much flamin’ chance we’re goin’ t’bump into a bloomin’ boat, now, is there, wot?”

  Welkin Dabbs tweaked Flutchers’s ear, though not too hard. “It’s a ship, Flutchers, a ship, not a blinkin’ boat. I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, laddie buck—it’s a ship with four wheels. So why shouldn’t we bump into it, eh?”

  Trug came back smartly, “Because we’ve got three good trackers with us, an’ not one of ’em’s reported a single bally wheelmark, that’s why!”

  Captain Rake saved the corporal’s face by upbraiding all three. “Och, will ye no’ stop janglin’ like two auld mouse biddies at a tea party? Eyes front, now, an’ lips sealed, ye ken?”

  Trug and Flutchers replied as one. “Sah!”

  However, in the light of what Trug had said about the lack of wheeltracks, the dark-furred captain was beginning to have his doubts about the scheme.

  24

  It was a hot, still afternoon. The Moss was at a point where it flowed sluggishly. Greenshroud crewbeasts poled lethargically against the slow current. The ship was hardly moving as searats and corsairs watched a variety of water insects skimming the surface in the more tranquil areas. Lacewings, dragonflies, alderflies and pondskaters moved gracefully about.

  Redtail, a corsair stoat, pointed at a big green-and-blackbanded dragonfly hovering close to the prow.

  “Ahoy, mates, lookit that un, ’e’s a big ole thing, ain’t ’e?”

  Suddenly the water exploded as a huge green-gold fish powered itself out of the river, took the dragonfly in a lightning snap of its jaws and vanished swiftly back underwater.

  Redtail was astounded. “Blood’n’tripes, wot was that thing?”

  Dirgo, a lean searat, knew. “That’s a pikefish, mate. I’ve’eard ’em called the freshwater shark. Haharr! Ye wouldn’t like to go swimmin’ round ’ere now, would ye?”

  Mowlag waved a rope’s end at the talkers. “This ship ain’t movin’ while yew lot are blatherin’ an’ watchin’ flies. So let’s see ye puttin’ a bit o’ paw power into things. Come on, now, don’t make me use this rope’s end on ye. Push! Pull!”

  The crew obeyed. Greenshroud inched forward, then stopped. One or two beasts were pushing so hard that their oars bent and twanged back again.

  Mowlag scowled. “Well, wot is it now, eh?”

  Redtail shrugged. “I dunno—the ship ain’t movin, that’s all.”

  Mowlag hailed Jiboree, who was steersbeast. “Is it that tiller agin? ’As it broke?”

  The weasel tapped a paw upon the tiller arm. “Nowt wrong wid ’er tiller, mate. Why’ve we stopped?”

  “Aye, why have we stopped?”

  Razzid had come out of his cabin. Leaning on his trident, he glared from one face to the other, stopping at Mowlag. From the smouldering look in the Wearat’s eye, it was obvious that no excuse would be brooked. His voice was dangerously harsh. “Go an’ see why we’ve stopped!”

  Mowlag hesitated, then went to the midship rail and peered over. “Er . . . er. . . can’t see nothin’ wot’s stoppin’’er, Cap’n. . . .”

  The butt of Razzid’s trident hit Mowlag in the back, sending him into the river.

  Razzid roared, “Now take a proper look! Why ain’t we movin’?”

  Mowlag shot out of the water with panicked haste. He stood shivering, tugging his ear in furious salute. “Wheel, Cap’n. . . . Er, back wheel portside run afoul of underwater roots an’ rocks, Cap’n—it’s jammed, I think.”

  Crewbeasts slumped against their paddles, one murmuring wearily, “Ships wid wheels ain’t no use at all.”

  It was a searat named Dirgo who made the remark. He suddenly found himself the object of his captain’s attention.

  Razzid looked him up and down, enquiring, “Do ye carry a blade?”

  Dirgo touched the hilt of one which was stowed through his belt. “Just this un, Cap’n. ’Tis a dirk.”

  Razzid cast a glance at a ferret corsair. “Lend me that cutlass yore carryin’.”

  Wordlessly he accepted the heavy cutlass. His eye continued roving. “Anybeast got a good spear? Splitears, yores’ll do, give it to Dirgo.”

  The searat took Splitears’s spear and also the cutlass, which Razzid passed to him. Dirgo shook his head, a sob entering his voice. “Aaah no, Cap’n, please—not me!”

  Razzid levelled the trident prongs at his throat. “Git over the side an’ free that wheel.”

  Dirgo wailed pitifully, “But, Cap’n, there’s a giant pikefish in there. I seen it meself!”

  Razzid nodded, speaking reasonably. “But ye might free the wheel an’ stay clear o’ the pikefish. So wot’ll it be, take a chance with a fish, or get my trident through yer neck for a certainty? Mowlag, Jiboree, ’elp our mate Dirgo to git ’is paws wet in the river.”

  The pair grabbed the hapless searat and flung him over the side. He had time for only one scream, then went under. The crew crowded the rails, watching Dirgo, who could be clearly seen underwater. Making his way to the fouled wheel, he hacked at the subterranean tree root, which had somehow become entangled with the part where axle connects with hub.

  Dirgo strove at the task, cutting two deep slashes into the fibrous root before having to surface for a breath.

  Redtail winked at him. “Yore doin’ alright, matey, keep goin’. Ain’t no sign o’ the pikefish. Think it might o’ gone downriver.”

  Dirgo felt heartened. “I’ll soon git ’er free, Cap’n!”

  Razzid actually smiled. “Cask o’ grog for ye if’n ye do.”

  The searat dived back to his chore with a will.

  Nobeast saw the pike arrive; it hit Dirgo like a thunderbolt. The vicious serrated rows of the predator’s teeth locked fast in the back of the searat’s neck. It shook him like a sodden rag. Dirgo was totally helpless in the huge fish’s ferocious jaws. The crew watched the macabre scene from the rails, shouting out in horror as the water crimsoned with their messmate’s blood.

  Razzid however, seemed fascinated with the gory spectacle. He called to Shekra, “D’ye think that pikefish is the only one around?”

  The vixen turned her face from the awful sight. “It must be. A pike that size would rule this stretch o’ river, Cap’n.”

  Nobeast was expecting what came next. The Wearat cast off his cloak and leapt into the river, brandishing his trident, laughing wildly.

  “Hahaaarrhahaharrr!”

  He lunged at the pike, sending the three-pronged fork plunging into its flank. The fish released its prey, writhing madly, then went limp.

  Mowlag and Jiboree were standing by to help their captain aboard. He emerged dripping, a hideous grin on his face. “Haharr, I just caught meself a monster pikefish!”

  Shekra congratulated him. “Oh, well done, Lord. ’Twas a brave thing to do—no otherbeast would have dared it!”

  Razzid was still laughing as he shook water from himself. “Aye, but t’do somethin’ like that, ye need good bait. Ole Dirgo came in useful, didn’t ’e?”

  There was a shocked silence when the vermin crew realised that Razzid had deliberately sent Dirgo to his death.

  Donning his cloak, the Wearat continued callously, “Nobeast but me could’ve done that. Mowlag, send some o’ these layabouts down t’get my trident back, aye, an’ tell’em to deliver my pikefish t’the cook. I never tasted pikefish afore. ’Ave Badtooth bring it t’my cabin when it’s roasted. Oh, an’ get that wheel freed so we can get underway agin!”

  He retired to his cabin, from where everybeast could hear him laughing and imitating Dirgo. “Ships wid wheels ain’t no use at all—hahahaaarrr! Wheels or not, Dirgo, no ship’s any use to ye now, mate! Hahahaaarrr! Looks like I won the keg o’ grog!”

  None of the crew shared the joke. They hung about on deck, casting sullen glances at the captain’s cabin.

  Wigsul, a corsair w
easel, gnawed at a dirty pawnail. “Nobeast deserves t’die like pore Dirgo did.”

  Jiboree drew him to one side, whispering a caution. “Careful that Mowlag or Shekra don’t ’ear ye say that, mate.”

  A nearby searat’s lips scarcely moved as he interrupted. “Wigsul’s right, though, ain’t ’e? Sendin’ a crewmate t’be slayed like that, just so Razzid could eat roast fish fer dinner—it ain’t right, I tell ye!”

  Growls of agreement came from several others who had heard the searat.

  Jiboree nodded, then turned back to his tiller. “Stow it.’Ere comes Mowlag.”

  The mate joined Jiboree at the tiller, remarking, “Ole Cooky’s galley’s scarce big enough to roast that fish. The wheel’s free now. C’mon, buckoes, back t’yer paddles—there’s still a bit o’ daylight left.”

  Jiboree leaned close to Mowlag, lowering his voice. “Some o’ the crew reckon ’twas a wrong thing the cap’n did to Dirgo—”

  Mowlag enquired sharply, “Who were they? Wot’s their names?”

  Jiboree spat expertly over the rail into the river. “Couldn’t tell, really. Just a general sort o’ mutter.”

  Mowlag drew a dagger, pointing it directly at Jiboree. “Lissen t’me, bucko. We both serves Razzid Wearat, see? So if’n ye catch any o’ this crew mutterin’ agin ’im, then let me know sharpish, an’ they’ll be dealt wid as mutineers, an’ ye know wot that means?”

  Frowning seriously, Jiboree patted Mowlag’s paw. “Don’t fret, matey. I’ll tell ye if’n any o’ this lot even looks like they’re thinkin’ o’ mutterin’. Leave it t’me, I’ll sort ’em out!”

  Mowlag stalked off, glaring about at all and sundry.

  Once he was out of earshot, Jiboree nodded to Wigsul. “See wot I mean? We’ll have t’watch that un!”

  “Aye, if’n ye don’t, you’ll all end up as fishbait!”

  Startled, they turned to see who had spoken. It was Shekra, who had been eavesdropping. The vixen winked knowingly at them. “Easy, mates. I won’t give ye away, I don’t like the cap’n any more than you do.”

  Wigsul breathed a sigh of relief. “Does that mean yore wid us?”