The Rogue Crew

by Brian Jacques

  Log a Log Dandy spat on his paws, peering upward. “Looks like a fair ole climb t’me.”

  Young Swiffo laughed. “You ain’t scared o’ heights, are ye? Bet I could climb t’the top quicker’n you.”

  Dandy called back as he raced for the ash trunk, “Yore welcome to try, ye young pup!”

  Swiffo bounded to the ash behind Dandy. As the Guosim Chieftain placed his paws on the trunk, the young sea otter bounded up his back, jumped on Dandy’s head and went away up the tree with a great turn of speed. Dandy was right after him, slightly behind but doing his best to catch up. Everybeast on the ground began cheering them onward.

  “Hoho, go on, Chief, you can beat ’im!”

  “Come on, Swiffo mate, don’t stop t’look back!”

  “Try the other side o’ the trunk, Dandy—there’s more holds!”

  “Stick at it, Swiffo, yore winnin’!”

  As good as Dandy was, Swiffo had youth and fleetness of limb on his side. He vanished for a moment into the high, spreading foliage, then emerged on top of the tree. Leaning dangerously out, the young otter shouted, “Yore right, Pinny, I can see the belltower roof!”

  On a slightly lower bough, Dandy clung to the trunk. “Aye, me too, an’ I can see the weather vane stickin’ up!” What happened next was not clear, but Dandy, who was looking down, suddenly yelled, “Look out, Swiffo, there he is—look out!”

  Swiffo clutched his throat, gave a gurgling groan, then plunged headlong from his high perch. Dandy was scrambling down behind him, roaring, “It’s that fox, off t’the right! Grab ’im. Stop the fox!”

  Buff Redspore spotted the shadowy form slinking off amidst the trees. She pointed. “There he goes!”

  She raced off, with Ruggan Axehound at her side. Skor was bellowing like a stricken beast. “Yaaahaaarrr! My son, my liddle young son!”

  Swiffo lay in a heap at the base of the ash trunk. Sergeant Miggory had reached him first. He plucked a long, tufted dart from the young otter’s throat. One look from him to Captain Rake confirmed the worst.

  Miggory shook his head sadly. “H’afraid ’e’s gone, sah!”

  Skor picked his dead son up tenderly. Tears were streaming down his huge beard. Then he seemed to go rigid. Endar Feyblade and Kite Slayer took Swiffo from his paws.

  Skor Axehound threw back his head, howling like a wildbeast. “Heeeeylaaaahooooh!” Swinging his big battleaxe, he crashed off into the shrubbery like a runaway boulder.

  Captain Rake grabbed Miggory’s paw. “Come on, Sergeant, we’ll have tae stop him hurting hisself!”

  Lieutenant Scutram cast about, coming up with a very long, hollow reed and two more of the tufted darts. “This confounded thing could shoot further than a bloomin’ arrow, accurately, too. Poor young blighter didn’t stand a chance. These darts are poisoned.”

  Posy was sitting holding Swiffo’s head in both paws. She was weeping, rocking him back and forth. “But why, what was the reason, why did he have to die?”

  Lancejack Sage patted the hogmaid’s paw. “Who can say what’s in a vermin’s mind.”

  In his wrath, Skor had stumbled, thudding his head against an elm trunk. He dropped his battleaxe, kneeling with his head shaking. That was how Rake and Miggory came across him. Without a thought for their own safety, they threw themselves on the burly chieftain, restraining him. Skor struggled, weakly.

  “Free me or I’ll slay ye both, friend or foe, it don’t matter t’me. I’ve got to catch my son’s killer!”

  Captain Rake’s body was bobbing up and down as he tried to hold the big beast in a headlock. “Och, ye couldnae outrun a fox, mah friend. Those days are lang gone, ye ken!”

  Sergeant Miggory was blinking—a huge footpaw had kicked him in one eye. He clung grimly on to Skor. “Lookit, sah, ’ere comes Redspore. Hi, Buff, h’over ’ere!”

  The Long Patrol tracker, seeing the situation, leaned over Skor, shouting, “Be still, sah. Ruggan caught up with the fox!”

  Skor straightened, shrugging off his two captors with a couple of shakes. Forgetting the bark-splintered bruise which stood out from his forehead, he spoke in a dazed mutter. “Ruggan caught the fox? Where is he?”

  “Right here, Lord, an’ I brought this with me!”

  The fox’s head bounced dully off the elm trunk.

  Ruggan strode up, still gripping his axe. “I spread the rest of the murderer out amongst the trees, vittles for the carrion. See who ’e was, Cap’n?”

  Rake held the head up by its ears, gazing into the halfopen eyes. “Ach, ’tis Ketral Vane, Laird o’ the Hinterwoods. Though Ah dinnae think he’ll rule anymore, eh!”

  Buff Redspore could not take her eyes off the grisly trophy. “But how did he find us?”

  Ruggan pointed back the way he had come. “He was with another one—that ferret Viglat, who got away from us. Their paths must’ve crossed, an’ Viglat told him which way we were headed. Hah, he didn’t escape a second time, I’ll tell ye. That un’s fishbait now!”

  Back at the ash tree, there was an air of sadness over everything. Skor wrapped Swiffo in his cloak, binding him in tight. “We’ll lay ’im t’rest in Redwall Abbey.”

  He straightened up, wiped his eyes and addressed everybeast. “You lost a good comrade. I lost my youngest son. Now, ’tis hard I know, but we must go on an’ rid this land o’ the Wearat and his vermin afore they do serious damage to Redwall Abbey. That’s always been our task, an’ our friends, the Long Patrol Hares and Guosim Shrew warriors, are needed to protect Mossflower an’ its coasts. If we sat about weepin’ an’ didn’t carry out our vows, how d’ye suppose Swiffo would feel? What would he say, eh?”

  Captain Rake drew his twin blades. “Ah’m with ye. We’ll do it in honour o’ your son!”

  Suddenly sea otters, hares, Guosim shrews and hedgehogs were up on their paws, waving weapons as they yelled, “For Swiffo! For Swiffo!”

  Ruggan swung his bloodstained axe overhead until the air thrummed. “On to Redwall, mates, paw an’ heart!”

  They broke camp, thundering across the stream, splashing out into the woodlands on the far side. The pace stepped up, faces were set grim, weapons grasped tight. On to the Abbey of Redwall, and bad fortune to any foebeasts who dared stand in the way of such warriors!

  31

  On the Abbey’s walltop, the fire was still burning a red-gold warning against the night sky. However, it was a somewhat diminished blaze, owing to Ding Toller’s rationing of wood. Foremole Roogo had his back to the comforting warmth.

  Dorka Gurdy noted the blissful look on his face. “Wot’ll ye do when winter comes, huh, a-warmin’ yore back agin’ that fire on a warm summer night?”

  Foremole wrinkled his velvety snout, chuckling. “Hurrhurrhurr, Oi do loike a foire ennytoime, marm, be it warmish or cold. Boi ’okey, ’tis a gurt feelin’!”

  Fottlink had been dozing against a battlement. His head drooped forward, bumping against stone. He righted himself quickly, remembering he was on guard duty, then peered north up the path. The mouse Recorder became instantly alert. “Look, the vermin ship’s moving!”

  Abbot Thibb, who had been resting on the north steps, came running. “Moving, did you say? Which way?”

  Those on guard, the Abbot included, hurried to see. Dorka Gurdy shielded her eyes against the firelight. “Well, I never. They must’ve built some sort o’ bridge, ’cos the vermin are pushin’ it o’er the ditch!”

  Ding Toller hissed, “Get down, everybeast down! We don’t want ’em t’know we can see wot they’re doin’!”

  Everybeast crouched below the wall, leaving Ding to spy on Greenshroud.

  “The ship’s over on the western flatlands now. They’re hoistin’ the sails. Wot d’ye think, Father, are they goin’ away?”

  Abbot Thibb scratched his ears. “I hope they are, friend, but who can tell? What are they doing now?”

  The tall, sombre squirrel reported. “So that’s how they got over the ditch—six logs made into a bridge. Now they’re bin
din’ ’em t’the ship’s sides an’ takin’ ’em along. All the vermin are back aboard. I can see that Wearat at the tiller. I tell ye, it does look odd t’see a ship sailin’ along on wheels.”

  Dorka Gurdy prodded Ding’s back. “We know that! Which way’s the ship bound?”

  Ding pointed. “Straight into the west. She’s only goin’ along slowlike. There’s nought but a breeze to help ’er. But there she goes. It’s safe enough now. See for yoreselves.”

  Heads popped up all along the west walltop. Foremole Roogo shook a clenched paw after the vessel. “Goo orn, away with ee, durty ole vermints. Burr aye, an’ doan’t ee cumm back yurr no more!”

  Friar Wopple came trundling up the stairs; the old vole was in a panic. Thibb helped her onto the ramparts. “Friar, what is it?”

  The good cook was quite out of breath, but she did the best she could to explain. “I . . . I . . . was out in my liddle’erb patch behind the Abbey, pickin’ some fresh mint for brekkist tea, y’see. Then I ’ears noises from outside. There’s creatures in the woodlands at the east wallgate, Father!”

  Dorka thumped her rudder hard on the stones. “I knowed those rascals was up to somethin’. I could feel it in me whiskers, I swear I could!”

  Fottlink grabbed her paw. “What d’ye mean, marm?”

  The ottermum snorted, “A trap, a trick, that’s wot I mean. That great scummy Wearat was tryin’ to makes us think he’d sailed off. But he’s split his crew. I wager there’s a gang o’ the murderin’ scoundrels tryin’ to break in the back o’ the Abbey whilst we’re all watchin’ the front wall!”

  Ding Toller looked grim. “Aye, that makes sense. Good job ye heard ’em, Friar. I’ll sound the bells an’ raise our creatures!”

  Abbot Thibb halted him. “No, wait. Our bell sound carries a long way. The Wearat could hear it. Knowing we’re wise to his plan, he’d come back and attack us, maybe at the south wall, where there isn’t a fire burning.”

  Fottlink waved his paws in agitation. “Oh, dear, what’ll we do?”

  Thibb did not hesitate. “We’ll sneak over to the east wall and see how many vermin there are. Once we know that, I’ll be able to put some sort of plan into action. Come along, all of you, but go quietly as you can.”

  They crept off in a bunch along the north walltop. As they neared the northeast gable, Fottlink gave a squeak of alarm. “There’s somebeast on the battlements yonder—a rat, I think!”

  An indignant voice hailed them. “Rat yoreself, old mouseyface! Don’t ye know a Guosim Log a Log when ye see one?”

  Dandy Clogs hopped nimbly from the battlements and swaggered up to meet them. “Has everybeast at Redwall got moss in their ears? We’ve been knockin’ on that liddle wallgate for long enough!”

  Chuckling with relief and joy, Thibb held out a welcoming paw. “Guosim! Thank the good seasons for that. Do ye have some of your warriors with you, Log a Log?”

  Dandy clasped the outstretched paw warmly. “Oh, I’ve got a couple o’ Guosim with me, but our bunch is mainly a load o’ Long Patrol hares an’ Rogue Crew sea otters. They’ve only come along ’cos they’ve heard o’ Redwall’s fine vittles, so ye’d best warn yore cook. Right now ye’d do well to open that small wallgate, afore Skor Axehound decides to take his battleaxe to it!”

  Abbot Thibb was ecstatic as he saw the warriors crowding in through the wickergate. Captain Rake performed a smart salute with his blades. “Ah’m Captain Rake Nightfur, commandin’ a score o’ Long Patrol fighters frae Salamandastron. This is mah companion, Skor Axehound, Chieftain o’ the Rogue Crew from the High North Coast. We’re at your service, mah friend!”

  Thibb waved his paws excitedly. “Let’s not stand on ceremony, Captain. I’m Thibb, Father Abbot of Redwall, but I’m sure we’ll all become acquainted soon enough. Right now I’m sure you’d much sooner be enjoying our hospitality at supper. How does that sound?”

  Any reply Rake made was drowned by enthusiastic cheers. Abbot Thibb found himself hoisted onto the brawny shoulders of Ruggan and Big Drander, who bore him swiftly forward.

  “Point the way, Father, an’ send somebeast to warn the cook!”

  Dorka Gurdy spotted Uggo. She ignored his spikes, giving him a fond hug. “Well, well, look wot the wind blew in. Have ye brought my brother Jum back with ye, Uggo?”

  The young hedgehog shook his head. “No, marm, but last time I saw Mister Jum ’e was well enough. I ’spect he’ll turn up sooner or later. This is my friend Posy, but she ain’t a Wiltud.”

  Dorka smiled. “She’s far too pretty for that. Yore a lucky young beast, Uggo. Well, come along. I ’spect yore all ready to take a bite o’ supper.”

  All the Redwallers, even the Dibbuns, who had been wakened by the din, flooded into Great Hall to mingle with the new arrivals. Extra help was brought into the kitchens, and more trestle tables were laid out.

  Rogue Crew and Long Patrollers, who were experiencing their first visit to the Abbey, were overwhelmed by the sheer size and grandeur of the place. Friar Wopple soon had helpers scurrying out, filling the boards with food from their trolleys. Everything was in a glorious state of organised chaos.

  Abbot Thibb had a quiet word with Ding Toller, who carried the cloak-wrapped form of young Swiffo off to rest temporarily in the entrance chamber of the belltower. Thibb seated himself in the Abbot’s chair, with Rake and Skor sitting either side. Silence fell over the gathering as Thibb rose and recited a special grace.

  “Welcome to this table, friends,

  our greetings to you all,

  who offer paws and hearts so brave,

  in service to Redwall.

  But ere pale dawn lights up the earth,

  come, eat and drink for all you’re worth!”

  Skor raised a tankard of best October Ale. “Thankee, Father, I’ll drink to that!”

  Then supper commenced in earnest.

  Huge summer salad, garnished with hazelnut and chestnut cheese, sage- and thyme-crusted bread, leek and onion soup, mushroom and carrot pasties in gravy. Followed by plumcake and sweet arrowroot pudding with blackberry sauce, latticed apple tarts, mixed fruit turnover and meadowcream. All was washed down with a variety of drinks. October Ale, hot mint tea, dandelion and burdock cordial or rosehip and elderflower water.

  Whilst they dined, the Abbot listened to their journey account, then brought them up to strength on the latest news of Razzid Wearat and the Greenshroud.

  Rake held a short conference with Skor, then issued orders. “Sergeant Miggory, Ruggan Axehound, Ah’d be obliged if ye would take a score of our braw lads tae guard the walls. They’ll be relieved throughout the night. Ah want ye tae pay special attention tae the westward plain. Let us know if the vermin ship is sighted anywhere aboot!”

  Thibb placed his paw on Skor’s huge mitt. “I was sorry to hear about your young son, Lord. Is there anything we can do to aid you in this matter? Please don’t take offence at our simple offer.”

  The sea otter Chieftain stared at the tabletop. “No offence taken, Father—I’m grateful to ye. My son was more a creature of peace than war, but Swiffo was a fine young un. Is there a place to bury his body within your Abbey walls, somewhere quiet?”

  Thibb nodded. “Indeed there is. Just behind the belltower there’s a peaceful spot shaded by an old yew tree. I’ll make arrangements with our bellringer for tomorrow.”

  Some of the Dibbuns were curious as to who old Drogbuk Wiltud was. He pointedly ignored them as he stuffed his face with food. Guggle the squirrelbabe was trying to peer inside the garb which Pinny had tailored from the vermin cloak.

  “Pardin’ me, but wot sorta h’aminal are you?”

  Drogbuk pulled his outfit closer to his spineless frame. “Go ’way, ye nosey liddle wretch!”

  Murty molebabe chuckled, wrinkling his snout at Drogbuk. “Oi’m thinken you’m a blizzard or ee toadybeast, zurr!!”

  Kite Slayer took Murty on her lap, allowing him to nibble at her plumcake. “Nay, liddle un, he’s only a daft ol
e ’og wot’s lost his spines, ain’t ye, Drogbuk?”

  The ancient hog was reaching for a tankard of October Ale when Fottlink rescued it, pushing a beaker of cordial forward. “Drogbuk, eh? I recall that name—you’d be a Wiltud, the one who’s been banished twice from Redwall.”

  Dorka Gurdy wagged a paw at Drogbuk. “I thought I recognised ye, old un. Well, ye can stay, but keep yore rovin’ paws off vittles that ain’t yores an’ no ale or strong wine, either. I’ll be watchin’ ye!” Dorka turned her wagging paw upon Pinny. “An’ you too, marm. Yore a Wiltud. One false move whilst yore at our Abbey an’ out ye’ll go!”

  Posy smiled winningly at the big ottermum. “Oh, Dorka, don’t shout at Miz Pinny, please. She’s a nice, kind Wiltud.”

  Dorka sniffed. “Aye, missy. Well, she’s yore responsibility from hereon. Keep ’er out of trouble, y’hear!”

  Friar Wopple was called from the kitchens, shuffling her footpaws. She took a bow amidst the rapturous applause afforded her by the new supper guests.

  “I say, marm, well done. Top-hole vittles, wot!”

  “Aye, we ain’t got scoff anythin’ like this up on the coast!”

  “Indeed, marm, any chance o’ givvin’ us some of your recipes, ’specially the one for that jolly nice pasty with the gravy? That’d perk up some o’ the lads back at the mess in Salamandastron, eh, wot!”

  Wopple smiled shyly. “Wait’ll ye taste my breakfast tomorrow.’Twill be a treat for hearty eaters like yoreselves.”

  This prompted further cheers from the trencherbeasts.

  Later that night, when the guests had been shown to Cavern Hole, which was to be their sleeping quarters, a conference was held by those still at table.

  Lieutenant Scutram allowed the Abbot to replenish his tankard. “So, what d’ye make of all this kerfuffle with the Wearat an’ his vermin, eh, Father?”

  Thibb pondered the question before answering, “Well, as I’ve already told you, I think my disguise as Martin the Warrior, plus the bonfire we built on the walltops, was enough to put the vermin off attacking us. Now, earlier tonight, they went away, out across the flatlands. We’re rather hoping they’ve left for good. But I’m sure you know more about the ways of vermin, so I’d value your opinion, friends.”