The Rogue Crew

by Brian Jacques

  He crouched behind it, peering along the huge arrowshaft, murmuring to himself, “This’ll be a good way to knock on their door, though I don’t suppose there’ll be anybeast there to answer it. They’ll all be snorin’ in their nice liddle beds!”

  Twangee, the young weasel nephew of the cook Badtooth, clambered nimbly down from the crow’s nest, where he had been posted as lookout. His paws slapped the deck wetly as he hastened to Razzid’s side to tell him the news. “Cap’n, Cap’n, I seen it, I seen the Redwall place!”

  Razzid stared down at the bedraggled young weasel. “Are ye sure?”

  Twangee waved his paws excitedly. “Sure, I’m sure, Cap’n—ye’ll see it for yerself soon. There’s liddle gold lights, like stars. That’ll be from some o’ the rooms upstairs, an’ if’n ye look ’ard enough, ye can just about make out its shape!”

  The Wearat patted Twangee’s head. “Ye did well. Now find Redtail an’ send ’im t’me.”

  Redtail the stoat was the ship’s official lookout; he had keener sight than most. Razzid ordered him up to the crow’s nest.

  “I wants ye to take a good look around, then come back down an’ report t’me. Look sharp, now!”

  Sensing the urgency of his captain, Redtail performed his task smartly, clambering swiftly back to the deck. “’Tis the Abbey, Cap’n, we’re on a course right for it. If’n this weather keeps up, we’ll be there in about three hours by my reckonin’.”

  The Wearat was trembling eagerly. “I wants this ship to hit those Abbey gates dead centre. Git back up there an’ make sure we stays on course, Redtail. I’ll take over the tiller, so there’ll be no mistake!”

  Mowlag and Jiboree were glad to be relieved of the tiller. They were soaked and wind battered from trying to hold the vessel on its wild, careering course. Tugging their snouts in salute, they slunk off toward the galley, where there was warmth and grog to be had. However, before they had gone a few paces, Razzid’s voice halted them.

  “Ahoy, mates, I’ve got a job for ye both up on the for’ard peak. Bein’ as yore such trusty beasts, ye can stand by, ready to throw that log bridge o’er the ditch when we reaches it. Git ye up on that forepeak now, cullies!”

  He watched them being driven for’ard by the gale, both cursing under their breath at the perilous task they had been allocated. One false slip at the crucial moment of bridging the ditch was a virtual death sentence. The Wearat laughed callously as he urged them on.

  “Jump to it, me lucky friends! Show our crew ’ow true to me ye are. Haharr, I wouldn’t trust nobeast to do it, except me ole shipmates Mowlag an’ Jiboree!” Casting a swift glance over the crew, he called four hulking ferrets to him, issuing them with orders. “Hearken t’me, bullies, go an’ arm yoreselves with long pikes. If’n Mowlag or Jiboree don’t stand fast an’ carry out my biddin’, then kill ’em an’ take their place!”

  The brawniest of the ferrets, a corsair named Lugsnout, narrowed his eyes viciously. “Leave it to us, Cap’n. If’n they moves a paw back’ards, they’re both worm meat!”

  As they went to get pikes, Razzid reached behind him, dragging Shekra forward by her tail.

  “An’ you, my Seer, you’ll be watchin’ the watchers. If’n anythin’ goes amiss, the job o’ bridgin’ the ditch’ll be yores. Unnerstand?”

  The vixen protested, “But, Lord, I’ve got a ruined paw. I couldn’t lift those pine trunks on my own!”

  Razzid winked at her. “You’d be surprised at wot ye can do if’n I comes behind ye with my trident. Go on with ye!”

  Whilst all this had been going on, Greenshroud had been rattling forward over the flatlands. Razzid pulled himself up on the tiller, peering ahead. He was rewarded by the sight of Redwall Abbey in the distance, its monumental bulk highlighted by twinkling lantern lights from dormitory windows. The Wearat shuddered with unholy joy.

  “I see ye now. Ye can’t run or hide from ole Razzid. I’m comin’—there’s nought ye can do to stop me!”

  Howling gale-force winds drove battering rain at the main door of the Abbey building. Fortunately, almost all the Redwallers were dry and warm inside. Friar Wopple and her helpers busied themselves in the kitchens, baking, cooking and preparing for the valiant defenders on the outer walltops. Sister Fisk and her assistants were hard at it in the Infirmary, readying supplies of bandages, poultices and healing remedies for the inevitable casualties of the coming conflict. However, the proudest creature in the Abbey was Uggo Wiltud, who had been ordered by the Abbot to guard the door against all comers. Armed with the sword of Martin the Warrior, the young hedgehog stood sentinel behind the huge oaken door. This was the greatest honour ever bestowed on him, and live or die, Uggo was determined to see it through.

  Outside on the ramparts, it was difficult to distinguish anything on the western flatlands. Corporal Welkin Dabbs and Kite Slayer, two of the keener-sighted beasts, were on lookout. Skor Axehound and Captain Rake Nightfur stood alongside them in an effort to keep watch. Blustering winds and driving rain, plus the heavily clouded darkness of the night skies, limited their vision drastically. Captain Rake turned his head aside, dashing rain from his eyes. “Och, can ye nae see anythin’ out yonder?”

  Welkin Dabbs blew water from his nosetip. “Alas, sah, not a bloomin’ thing, I’m afraid. What about you, miss? Your eyes are jolly much younger’n mine, wot?”

  Kite Slayer shielded her vision with a dripping paw. “Huh, waste o’ time tryin’ t’spot anythin’ in this foul lot!”

  Skor patted her back. “Keep lookin’, young Kite.”

  The other hares and otters sat below the walltops with their backs against the battlements, crouching hooded and cloaked on the lee side of the storm.

  Buff Redspore tugged the hem of Rake’s cloak. “Beg pardon, but might I take a peep, sah?”

  Sergeant Miggory shot her a reproving glance. “You’ll h’obey h’orders, miz. Keep yore ’ead down, like you’ve been told to!”

  Lieutenant Scutram cast an eye over the waiting warriors, dispensing some sound advice. “Steady in the ranks, chaps. Stoppin’ where you are gives us the element of surprise, y’see. I’m sure you’d all like t’be up on watch, but that’d let the vermin spot us. Don’t jolly well want that, do we? By the left, we don’t—it’d lose us the blinkin’ edge. Right, Cap’n?”

  Rake nodded. “Aye, that’s mah plan. Though if anybeast has a canny idea tae suggest, Ah’m ready tae listen.”

  A Guosim shrew piped up eagerly, “Wot about sendin’ up a pile of fire arrows? Then we’d be able to see the vermin.”

  Log a Log Dandy stared scathingly at the unfortunate shrew. “Fire arrows? How long d’ye suppose a flamin’ shaft’d last in this storm? Huh, the way the wind is blowin’, it’d come straight back at us. Fire arrows! Are ye crazy?”

  The Guosim ducked back under his cloak, murmuring, “Sorry, Chief. ’Twas just a thought.”

  Dandy softened his tone. “Never mind, mate, we’re all on edge.”

  Everybeast gave a start as a thunderous blast boomed out directly overhead. Then a prolonged flash of chain lightning ripped its way across the sky for several seconds.

  Corporal Welkin Dabbs pointed, roaring out frantically, “The ship! There they are! I saw the ship, sah!”

  Rake hastened to the corporal’s side. “Ye saw it? Where away?”

  Dabbs kept his paw pointing out into the storm-torn night. “Right there, sah, midway twixt us an’ the horizon, comin’ this way, sah!”

  Another fitful flash of lightning lit the land briefly. It was enough. All four lookouts saw Greenshroud clearly.

  Nothing could have stopped the vermin vessel. It was stampeding madly forward, every stitch of sail canvas stretched almost to bursting. Timbers cracked and groaned; rigging whistled a dirge in the gale. The four wheels jounced and banged over every hillock and rut as the ship careered toward the Abbey at an alarming rate.

  Skor was in his element. Bounding up onto the battlements, he whirled his huge battleaxe. “Come on,
wavescum! I’m the Axehound, Warchief o’ the Rogue Crew! Come an’ take our name to Hellgates with ye. Come on!”

  The lightning that crackled over the scene also allowed the vermin a plain view of Redwall. Perched high on the masthead, the stoat lookout took a swift bearing on their target. Scrambling to the deck, he informed Razzid, “Cap’n, I kin see that Abbey plain as a pikestaff. ’Tis dead ahead, an’ we’re bound to hit the door plumb centre afore too long!”

  The Wearat seized a stout coil of line, skilfully lashing the tiller into a fixed position. He grabbed his trident. “Thankee, Redtail. Let’s go up for’ard—I don’t want to miss any o’ this!”

  The searats and corsairs toward the prow were knocked roughly aside as Razzid bulled his way up to the forepeak.

  Shekra followed close on his paws, waving and gesturing. “Sire, we won’t need those pine trunks, at the rate she’s goin’—Greenshroud will jump that ditch at a go!”

  Pawing Mowlag and Jiboree aside, the Wearat stood out on the prow, grasping at staylines to steady himself.

  “Aye, nothin’ can stop us now. Mowlag, Jiboree, git yoreselves on that big bow. As soon as ye see that main gate clear, then loose one o’ those shafts at it, an’ don’t miss!”

  Relieved from a virtual death sentence of their former task, both beasts sprang smartly to obey the new order.

  Corporal Welkin Dabbs joined Skor and Rake on the threshold, waving and pointing. “I say, lookit the speed o’ that bloomin’ ship! Well, chaps, ’twon’t be long before they arrive here, eh, wot!”

  Skor bared his teeth savagely. “Hah, the gates ain’t locked. ’Tis only good manners to open the doors to visitors, eh, Rake!”

  The tall, dark hare drew both his blades. “Aye, let ’em come. But Ah’d no’ be surprised if yon ship doesnae get stuck in that gateway. Looks tae me like it might, d’ye think?”

  The big sea otter scratched his matted beard. “Mayhap’twill, but they’ll still have to face us. Right, let’s get down there an’ form a welcomin’ committee.” Swinging his battleaxe, he roared out over the storm, “Rogue Crew, all down to the gates. Yaylahoooooo!”

  Skor’s warriors needed no urging. They rushed to the wallsteps yelling bloodcurdling war cries.

  Long Patrol hares and Guosim shrews arose, ready to follow, until Log a Log Dandy shouted sternly, “Hold yore positions. Ye ain’t been told t’move yet!” They stared from the ramparts, spellbound, as Greenshroud burst out of the storm-tossed night. The vessel’s rattling wheels could be plainly heard now.

  Rake watched it come, calling to his warriors, “Hauld tight here until she strikes the gates!” He commented aside to Scutram, “Then Ah’ll know best what move tae make.”

  Young Kite Slayer was easily the swiftest of paw in the crew. The ottermaid was first down the wallsteps, arriving in the curved stone alcove of the main gates. Brandishing spear and buckler, she called to her comrades, who were still coming down the steps. “There’ll be a lot more notches on this shield rim afore the night’s out. Come on, ye stinkin’ vermin, we’re wait—”

  Her words were cut off as the giant arrow hit the gates dead centre. Both gates fell open, and the big shaft whizzed through, slaying Kite and whizzing on across the lawns. The Abbey’s main door shook under the impact as the shaft buried its point in the stout oak timbers.

  On the walltop, Sergeant Miggory bawled out a warning to the Rogue Crew as the Greenshroud shot over the narrow ditch. “Stan’ aside beloooooooow!”

  The otters hurled themselves to both sides of the long sandstone arch as the enemy vessel arrived.

  Thrust onward by the immense gale force, the ship rammed into the open gateway. Both gates were ripped from their hinges, carrying on with the momentum as they were cleaved to the sides of the foebeasts’ craft. With a cracking and snapping of timber, the masts hit the main arch, breaking like twigs as they struck the stonework. Some vermin were killed amidst the wreckage, crushed under falling timbers and rigging. Yet still the Greenshroud continued its wild rush forward.

  With the awful din singing in his ears, Razzid Wearat had fallen flat on the bowsprit. His good eye stared wildly about as he scrambled upright. Seeing the gateway wide open in his wake, he felt the ship still rolling across the Abbey lawns. Razzid grabbed his trident, bellowing jubilantly, “Ahoy, mates, we’re in! Now for the slaughter. Yahaaaaaar!”

  33

  The defenders on the walltop above the gates felt the rampart stonework shudder as the big ship was forced, under the storm’s momentum, right through into the Abbey. Skor and his Rogue Crew were already racing in pursuit of Greenshroud as it rattled over the lawns.

  Captain Rake hastily ordered the hares and shrews, “On the double now, down intae the grounds!”

  Inside, the Abbey walls became a scene of wild and stormy chaos. However, the only positive action of the moment came from Skor’s son Ruggan. Speedily he caught up with the ship’s stern, grabbing hold of a line, which trailed after it. With his sword clenched in his teeth, Ruggan hauled himself nimbly upward, finding holds for his footpaws as he went. The ship was on its set course, heading for the main Abbey door. The daring young otter had already noticed this. With a bound, he vaulted over the stern rail, almost bumping into a startled searat, whom he despatched with a swift sword thrust.

  Ruggan slashed the lashings, which had been holding Greenshroud on course. Gale-force winds caught the rudder, causing the tiller to swing loose so the vessel yawed, running off course. It heeled broadside on to the storm, slamming hard into a huge, ancient elm, which brought the ship to a shuddering halt. The crew were knocked flat but quickly recovered as Razzid hurried amongst them. He bellowed orders through the sheeting rain.

  “Loose the riggin’! Throw all ropes over the side—use’em to abandon ship. Quick now!”

  Searats and corsairs promptly obeyed, swarming down over the lines to the saturated lawns below. Skor Axehound and his Rogue Crew charged to meet the foebeast. They were far outnumbered by enemies, but Skor was of the opinion that one good sea otter was worth any five vermin.

  The Wearat, garbed in his iron-spiked helmet and a thick red cloak, stood at the centre of his crew as they fought to repel the otters.

  Rake sized the situation up before he threw his fighters into the fray. He formed a swift strategy. “Most o’ the vermin got off on the side which wasnae hit by the tree. So we’ll circle aroond an’ board the ship on the other side, eh, Dandy!”

  Log a Log Dandy smiled grimly. “Good idea, Cap’n. ’Twill put us up on deck so we can come down behind ’em! There ain’t too many came down on our side—about two to one, I’d say. Come on, me buckoes, let’s give the scum some steel!”

  It was no easy task, as the vermin had their backs to the ship’s side, facing Rake’s warriors. Hares and shrews knew enough not to warn the rest of Greenshroud’s vermin, so they fought without war cries, in savage silence.

  Rake went at it with twin claymores flailing. Behind him came Sergeant Miggory, who had picked up a fallen spear. Log a Log Dandy and Lieutenant Scutram attacked from both sides, fore and aft, with rapier and sabre flashing. Churned up by rain and fighters, the lawn around them became a welter of mud. Both sides battled for their very lives, with no quarter given as steel clashed upon steel.

  Lancejack Sage became surrounded by four of the foe. She took a knife throw in her shoulder as they closed in on her. A corsair ferret raised a scimitar as he leaned over the young hare. He snarled wickedly, “Haharr, time ta die, rabbet!”

  He was about to slash down at Sage with the broad curved blade when a long oarshaft swept across, breaking his skull. Ruggan Axehound, leaning over the ship’s side, swung the oar again, wiping out the life of a searat. Big Drander and Buff Redspore fought their way to the lancejack’s side. As Buff stanched the wound in Sage’s shoulder, Drander leaned over, shielding them both with his body. He winked at Sage.

  “Steady on, old gel. We’ll soon have ye up’n’about, wot!”

  The bre
ath was knocked from both haremaids when Drander suddenly slumped on top of them, a spear embedded deep between his shoulders.

  Lieutenant Scutram slew the spear thrower with a hefty sabre slash. The ferocity of Long Patrol hares and Guosim shrews was so swift and ruthless that the vermin fled willy-nilly.

  The shrew Chieftain chased after a corsair stoat; he despatched his quarry and divested him of his footwear, chuckling grimly. “Hahah! So this is the villain who stole my clogs!” Donning them, he skipped back to the ship, clicking both heels and sending sparks about.

  “Ahoy, Rake, lookit me! I’m Log a Log Dandy Clogs agin!”

  The tall Captain smiled momentarily. “Och, an’ so ye are, bonny lad. Right, all aboard, buckoes!”

  On the other side of the vessel, Skor Axehound and his warriors found themselves outnumbered and hard pressed. Razzid Wearat stood at the centre of his crew, urging them forward in a bid to wipe out the otters and gain entry to the Abbey building.

  Skor battled stoically on, ignoring minor wounds, the red light of Bloodwrath blazing in his eyes. Being outnumbered had never bothered the Warchief of the High North Coast. From where he stood, Razzid could see Skor. He was not anxious to cross steel with the big sea otter, so he drove the vermin hard, feeling that they could soon overwhelm the defenders. By then the heroic chieftain, wielding his mighty battleaxe amidst the storm-rent night, would doubtless be wounded many times.

  Razzid sneered as he imagined himself finishing Skor off slowly with the trident. However, the sight of his mortal enemy seemed to send Skor into a frenzy. He beckoned with his axe, bellowing, “Don’t hide there in the middle of yore crew, dribblesnout! Come an’ get yore ugly head chopped off. I’ll stick it on that ole pitchfork ye call a weapon. How’ll that do ye, eh?”