Bloodwrath kept welling up in Skor Axehound’s eyes. He hurled himself into the vermin ranks, regardless of the wounds he was taking in his attempts to reach Razzid. The sight brought fear to the Wearat; he started retreating through his crew. He was almost at the rear when Shekra appeared at his side, urgently tugging his cloak.
“Lord, look behind you!”
“Eulaliiiaaaaa!”
“Logalogalogalooooog!”
Long Patrol hares and Guosim swarmed down Greenshroud’s side, cutting off any escape. Razzid’s cunning now came to the fore. He scanned the gale-swept night, finding a way out. Grabbing a burly ferret corsair, he gave him his helmet and cloak. “Here, mate, put these on. Lead our crew forward. I’ve got a plan that’ll win this battle for us. I’ll reward ye special like when Redwall’s ours!”
Led by Rake and Dandy, the fighters fell upon the rear vermin ranks. Razzid tore himself loose from Shekra. Crouching down, he scuttled off toward the shelter of the orchard. The vixen stumbled and fell. Looking up, she found herself staring into the wrathful face of Trug Bawdsley.
Throwing away her blade, she pleaded, whining piteously, “Mercy, sire, mercy. Can’t ye see I’m unarmed?”
Trug swung his sword, gritting out the words. “Aye, I’ll show ye mercy, just as ye did to my young sister an’ her friends the night ye murdered them!”
The young hare’s words echoed in the Seer’s head. It was the last voice she ever heard.
Skor, Dandy and Rake were in a racing fight to reach the cloaked and helmeted figure who was now at the centre of the melee. The disguised corsair panicked at the sight of the battleaxe-wielding sea otter closing in on him. He turned, meeting Captain Rake, who was swinging his twin claymores like a drum major—it was a fatal mistake. The corsair dropped like a log under the whirling blades.
At the sight of the legendary Wearat going down, all fighting ceased for a brief instant. The iron-spiked war helmet rolled off onto the sodden grass as Log a Log Dandy bounded up to crouch over the fallen one.
“Blood’n’whiskers! This un ain’t no Wearat. We’ve been fooled!”
Mowlag took advantage of the lull. He grabbed Jiboree, not having heard what Dandy had said.
“Well, that saved us a job, mate. Quick now, we’ll split up an’ conquer the Abbey between us. Keep out the way o’ those madbeasts if’n ye can. Let’s scatter an’ regroup later.”
Vermin fled in all directions. The defenders gathered round the dead corsair.
Skor was whirling about in baffled rage. “Wot d’ye mean, not the Wearat? I saw Rake slay him!”
Dandy stood aside from the limp carcass. “Take a look for yoreself, bigbeast. That ain’t Razzid!”
Skor thudded his battleaxe blade deep in the wet earth. “Then where’s the bilge-blighted scum got to, eh?”
Lieutenant Scutram ignored him, calling out orders. “Get after the vermin! Stop ’em gangin’ up again before they try to break into the bloomin’ Abbey! Sergeant, take charge, will ye!”
Miggory bawled out commands in true parade-ground style. “Yew ’eard the h’officah—git movin’! Patrol, follow Cap’n Rake, h’otters go with yore chieftain. Guosim, go with yore Log a Log. Quick as y’like, now!”
Hearing the din of warfare outside, the screams of wounded and dying beasts, mingled with barbarous war cries, did not boost the composure of young Uggo Wiltud.
He paced back and forth, guarding the Abbey’s main door, trying hard to look fearless. Martin the Warrior’s great sword quivered in his paws, seeming too heavy to hold much longer. He was letting the blade lag when a light tap on his back caused him to jump. However, it was only his friend, the pretty hogmaid.
Uggo berated her shrilly. “Posy, you ain’t supposed t’be up here. Get back down to Cavern Hole with the Redwallers!”
Posy pushed him aside. Putting her eye to the door, she tried to peer through a crack near the hinges. “I only wanted to see what’s going on out there. Are we winning, Uggo?”
He pulled her from the door, his voice shaking as he tried to be stern. “You’ve got no business bein’ here. Guardin’ this Abbey door’s my job. Abbot Thibb left me in charge!”
Posy rapped the imposing oak timbers with her paw. “Well, there’s not much danger of vermin getting past this. What about the other doors an’ windows? Are they all locked up tight and secured? You should check.”
Uggo turned to continue his sentry duty and almost tripped over the blade of his sword. “Guard the door—that’s all Father Abbot said.”
Posy shook her head impatiently. “Well, I’m sure he never meant just this door. There’s lots more side doors and shuttered windows to this Abbey, Uggo. If they broke in anywhere else, you’d look pretty silly marching up and down in one place. Come on!”
Trying to maintain his dignity, Uggo strode off in an effort to outpace Posy. “Huh, suppose I’d better just take a look around.”
They were crossing the floor of Great Hall when Milda the volemaid came hurrying toward them. “Oh, sir, you’d best make ’aste. I think there’s somebeast tryin’ to break in. Come an’ see for yoreself!” She ran off, with Uggo and Posy close behind her.
The gale-force wind slackened off, and rain slowed to a fine drizzle as Razzid Wearat made his way through the dark orchard. Hearing the sounds of an affray, he threw himself down beside an overturned wheelbarrow. A fleeing group of about a dozen vermin had been overtaken by Ruggan and some Rogue Crew otters who had outrun them. They were dealing out retribution.
Though the vermin fought desperately, they were no match for their ferocious adversaries. Razzid watched as the otters backed their foes up against a bramble hedge. Battering his swordblade against his shield, Ruggan howled like a madbeast, “Bloody yore blades an’ send ’em to Hellgates, mates! Yaylahoooooo!”
Seething with rage, Razzid watched as his crewbeasts were slaughtered, though some escaped by crashing through the hedge. They fled off into the grounds, with sea otters hard on their tails, thirsting for vermin blood.
When they had gone, Razzid was about to rise, but somebeast flopped down beside him. He whirled his trident to deal with the intruder.
“Yaagh, don’t ’urt me, Cap’n—’tis only ole Badtooth!”
Razzid grounded the trident, staring at Greenshroud’s cook. “I thought you’d ha’ been long dead.”
The fat weasel gave a gap-fanged grin.
“Not me, Cap’n. I might be fat, but I’m too quick an’ greasy t’get meself slayed. I thought you was a goner. Wotcher doin’ round ’ere, stealin’ apples?”
Razzid ignored the joke, nodding toward the Abbey. “I’m lookin’ for a way to git in there. Any ideas?”
Badtooth shrugged. “Who, me? I wouldn’t know where t’start, Cap’n. Wait up, kin ye smell somethin’?”
Razzid sniffed the air as Badtooth answered his own question. “Cookin’, I kin smell cookin’. Smells nice, too.”
The Wearat nodded. “Yore right, the kitchens must be somewhere about. They must have a kitchen window or a door. That’ll be it—come with me, matey.”
Avoiding one or two other skirmishes between defenders and crewbeasts, they crossed the vegetable plots. Redwall Abbey loomed large through the damp night.
Razzid pointed with his trident at a thin, pale shaft of golden light piercing the darkness at about waist height. “There, see? Let’s take a look, mate.”
It was a shuttered window. Badtooth put his nose to the crack, sniffing blissfully. “New-baked bread, an’ scones, too, if’n I ain’t mistook. Mmmmm, they certainly knows about cookin’ in there, Cap’n.”
Razzid pulled him from the window, flinging him to the ground. “Shut yer slobberin’ gob an’ stay outta my way!” Inserting the prongs of his trident into the gap between shutter and stonework, he pried it silently wider.
Crouching, he put his good eye to the gap.
Badtooth sat up eagerly. “Can ye see anythin’, Cap’n?”
Razzid murmured, almost to himse
lf, “Not much, just some sacks an’ a stone wall. There’s stuff hangin’ from nails. Herbs an’ veggibles, I s’pose. No, wait, hush, somebeast’s comin’.”
Friar Wopple could be heard calling out, “Bring some onions, an’ a bunch of parsley, too, Brugg.”
A moment later a mole appeared, answering, “Bunions an’ parsee, marm, roight away.” Taking the vegetables, the mole went away.
Razzid whispered to Badtooth, “It’s a storeroom leadin’ out into the kitchen. Ye couldn’t find a better place to break in, eh, mate?”
The fat cook looked distinctly nervous. “Cap’n, mightn’t it be better if’n I waited out ’ere? I ain’t never done no breakin’ in—”
The Wearat’s claw actually pierced Badtooth’s ear as he dragged him close, gritting the words out. “You gotta choice, lardtub—either come inside with me or stay outside here, after I slit yore throat.”
The weasel cook gulped. “I’m with ye, Cap’n!”
Jamming the trident prongs under the gap between sill and shutter, Razzid began trying to pry it outward. It was a heavy oaken shutter and refused to budge. The Wearat had several attempts at the shutter, even having Badtooth prying with him, but it was a futile task. Removing the trident, he leaned on it, breathing heavily as he surveyed the window as a whole.
Badtooth was immensely relieved. “Ye’ll break yore trident on that shutter, Cap’n. Let’s go back to that orchard place. We could lie low an’ eat all sorts o’ fruit’n’berries.”
The trident butt struck him hard in the stomach, bending him double. Razzid hissed fiercely, “I’m goin’ to split that shutter through its middle. So stand clear, an’ keep yore slobberin’ trap shut!”
The trident prongs thudded into the shutter’s centre. Razzid began wresting it free, giving Badtooth an order. “Look through that crack at the bottom after I strike it. Tell me if’n the coast’s still clear, right?”
Badtooth peered beneath the gap. “Nobeast must’ve’eard anythin’. All clear, Cap’n.”
Razzid battered the shutter with his trident points several times. The wood began to splinter and crack.
Next time Badtooth went to look, he had something to report. “Hold on, Cap’n. One o’ those mouse things, a vole, I think, has just come in. I think it musta heard ye. . . . No, wait, now it’s gone away. All clear agin!”
Razzid dealt the shutter another shuddering blow, then crouched down to look for himself. He chuckled wickedly. “There’s a whole pile of ’em come to see wot the noise is about. Huh, cooks an’ kitchen skivvies, they look scared out o’ their wits. I’ll give ’em somethin’ t’be scared of. You keep an eye out for any wavedogs or rabbets!”
He attacked the shutter with renewed vigour, causing further damage as the old timber creaked and splintered.
Friar Wopple stopped her workers from crowding into the storeroom.
The mole Brugg looked anxiously to the Friar. “Hurr, wot’ll uz do, marm?”
Never having been faced with a vermin attack, Wopple was frightened. However, she tried to stay calm and reassure her helpers. “Stay back, please. I’ve sent Milda to bring a warrior who can deal with this. Oh, dear, look at that!”
The shutter trembled as it was struck again. This time three sharp metal prongs burst through.
Razzid went at it in a frenzy. Thud! Whump! Bang! Crash!
Between blows, he issued instructions to the fat cook. “When the shutter bursts, you get right in there. Kill the nearest one, then jump to one side. I’ll be straight in behind ye. Unnerstand?”
Badtooth saluted miserably. “Aye aye, Cap’n!”
Two more thunderous strikes, and the shutter collapsed, falling inward and leaving the window open to the night drizzle, with both vermin waiting outside. Razzid prodded Badtooth with the trident.
“Right, mate, in ye go!”
34
As the two young hogs followed the volemaid into the kitchens, Posy was throwing questions at Milda. “You say there’s vermin trying to get in. How?”
Milda waved her paws in agitation. “Through the storeroom window, miss. They’re bangin’ on it really loud. I’m sure ’tis vermin!”
Uggo was trying hard to feel like a warrior. He growled, trying to stem the fear welling up in his throat. “How many of the scum d’ye think there are?”
Milda looked distracted. “Couldn’t say, sir, but there’s more’n one makin’ all that din. Could be a gang of ’em!”
Everybeast crammed into the storeroom doorway moved out of Uggo’s way as with sinking heart he heard the hammering racket on the window and saw the shutter disintegrating in a shower of splinters and timber chips.
Behind him, Milda was shouting, “Leave it to the warrior! He’s carryin’ Martin’s sword. Stand clear an’ give him room!”
Even as the words left her lips, the entire shutter burst inward. Uggo was inching hesitantly forward when the big fat weasel, Badtooth, came bounding in. Martin’s blade slashed his throat as he landed on top of the young hog.
The sword went flying from Uggo’s faltering grasp, clattering against the far wall.
Then the Wearat scrambled over the windowsill, wielding his trident. He stepped on Badtooth, cursing as he stumbled.
“Serves ya right, ye fat idiot!”
At the sight of Razzid, kitchen staff fled screaming. It was like seeing a living nightmare. Uggo lay stunned beneath the slain cook, his head having been banged on the floor when Badtooth landed on him. The Wearat kicked Badtooth aside, exposing Uggo lying there.
Razzid wiped at his leaky eye, staring down at him. “Hah, the liddle ’edgepig who escaped from my ship. Well, yore runnin’ days are done!”
He stabbed down with the trident, spearing Uggo’s footpaw. Uggo screeched out in agony as Razzid pushed the weapon hard. The Wearat taunted him cruelly. “Now, ’old out yore other footpaw. I likes t’make sure o’ my work. Hahaaarhaar! This is gonna hurt ye!”
“You leave him alone, you dirty old Wearat!”
Razzid let go of his trident, which was still stuck in his victim’s footpaw. He turned, surprised that any kitchen lackey would challenge him.
Posy put her whole weight behind Martin’s sword. She lunged, with both eyes tight shut.
Razzid seemed to lose the power of speech. He stood stock-still, looking down at the venerable blade which had impaled his stomach. Time stood still in the frozen tableau. Uggo lying on the floor with his footpaw transfixed by the trident; Posy with a shocked expression on her face; the Wearat, glaring with his good eye at the sword of Martin the Warrior protruding from his midriff.
Then Razzid gave out with a wild roar. “Hayaaaar! Do ye think ye can kill me? I’m Razzid Wearat!” He staggered to one side, grabbing the trident out of Uggo’s footpaw. Still with the sword in him, he lurched at Posy, snarling, “Die, liddle spikepig . . . die!”
There was a deep bellow from behind him.
“Redwaaaaaalllll!”
Despite his age, size and weight, Jum Gurdy bounded through the open window, swinging his hefty stave. Before Razzid could turn, the Redwall otter dealt him a blow which broke both the stave and his skull. Razzid Wearat collapsed in a limp heap.
This time there was no doubt about it—the Wearat had been truly slain.
Uggo hauled himself into a sitting position. “Mister Gurdy, where’d you come from?”
Jum withdrew the sword from his enemy’s body. “My ole uncle Wullow can rest easy now. Eh, wot’s that ye say, young Wiltud?”
Posy repeated the question. “He asked where did you come from, sir?”
Jum wiped the blade clean on Razzid’s carcass. “I couldn’t travel as fast as you, bein’ in charge of the wounded shrews. We fetched up at the Abbey gates just a few moments back. Seein’ the state Redwall was in, I left those Guosim out on the path an’ came right in. Ran straight into a searat—huh, he dashed off. Well, I gave chase, an’ as I was comin’ by the kitchen window, I heard that Wearat roarin’ an’ shoutin’, so I came to i
nvestigate. Hah, just as well I did fer you two, eh? Seen ought of my sister Dorka? She should be pleased t’see her ole brother.”
Jum hefted the sword of Martin admiringly. “Hoho! I likes the feel o’ this blade. Tell Dorka, if’n ye see her, that I’m lendin’ a paw t’clear our Abbey of those vermin scum. Breakin’ into Redwall an’ leavin’ their ship on our property—the bloomin’ nerve o’ them!”
Brandishing the sword, he scrambled out of the storeroom window, roaring, “Look out, vermin. Jum Gurdy’s come ’ome!”
Both leaders of the remaining Greenshroud crew, Mowlag and Jiboree, found themselves deserted. Losing heart at the ferocity of Long Patrol hares and sea otters, the vermin had fled in all directions. Most found the open main gates and dashed out onto the flatlands. Faced with Skor Axehound and Captain Rake, the pair were backed up against the Abbey pond. They made one last mad charge, hoping to get by their enemies, but to no avail. Skor’s battleaxe and Rake’s twin claymores made short work of Mowlag and Jiboree. The pond crimsoned in the night drizzle over the place where they had sunk beneath the waters.
Dawn arrived, misty at first but clearing into a bright sunlit morn. Abbot Thibb threw open the Abbey door, allowing relief to the gallant defenders. Sister Fisk and her helpers went to assist the wounded whilst Friar Wopple sent out kitchen workers pushing trolleys laden with breakfast. However, there were other things to attend to.
Sergeant Miggory called briskly, “Form up in rank, Patrol, smartly now, no gossipin’, Miz Ferrul. Vittles later, young Flutchers, git in line!”
The Rogue Crew of Skor did likewise. All activity ceased as the lists were taken.
Corporal Welkin Dabbs reported, “Sah, Drander an’ Wilbee have fallen, I regret to say. Lancejack Sage, Trug Bawdsley an’ Lieutenant Scutram all sustained wounds, sah, but they’ll recover, I’m told. The rest o’ the column are all present an’ correct . . . sah!”
Ruggan Axehound saluted his father. “Rogue Crew lost Kite Slayer an’ Endar Feyblade. I ain’t counted the wounded yet, but there’s not many. Er, permission to go after the vermin who escaped out the west gates, Chief?”
The Rogue Crew Page 35
