Cumarnee swiped playfully at them with his straw hat. “Arrh, away with ye, we did it ’cos yer grand beasts an’ we’ve takin’ a likin’ to ye. A Migooch doesn’t look for any reward from friends, at all at all!”
All the Migooches shook their heads and echoed the words. “At all at all, ah no, not at all!”
Mammee waved her ladle at them. “Faith, an’ will ye be after standin’ there all day, tellin’ each other wot fine creatures ye are, or will I go back to the tenty to cook dinner an’ eat it meself?”
The sudden mention of food to hungry workers sent them all trudging smartly back to the tents.
Sagax covered his eyes and groaned at the sight that greeted him on entering the tent. “Oh no!”
Snoring blissfully, Scarum lay amid a debris of half-eaten pies, breadcrusts, salad scraps, empty flagons and the remains of what had once been a large fruitcake. The hare’s stomach resembled an inflated balloon. His whiskers, ears and nose were liberally sprinkled with crumbs.
Some of the Migooch hogs regarded him with awe.
“Muther Nature, will ye look at him!”
“Ah shure, he must be a grand ould scoffer!”
“The bold feller must have t’keep up his strength after wrasslin’ an’ slayin’ all those sharks!”
Kroova and Sagax had never felt so embarrassed in their lives. Shamefaced, the otter averted his eyes from Mammee. “Marm, what can we say, after all yore ’ ospitality, for a friend of ours t’do this!”
The good hogwife patted his paw comfortingly. “Ah now, don’t be fussin’ yerself, ’twas not yore fault a hare has the appetite of a wolfpack. Wot d’ye say we do about it, Cumarnee?”
The Chieftain of the Migooches had the answer instantly. “Do? Is it me advice yer after askin’? Well, I’ll tell ye! We goes to yer sister’s tenty for dinner—she’s gotten more vittles than ye could shake a stick at. Arrh now, Mr. Sagax, an yerself, Mr. Kroova, if’n ye’ll permit me, ’tis meself will decide a penance for the bold Scarum. Now don’t be worryin’, I won’t go too hard on the ould beast. He can’t help bein’ a hare, after all.”
Sagax bowed respectfully to Cumarnee’s wish. “You can do what you like with the villain, sir. No penance could be too severe for a creature who abuses a friend’s good nature. We leave him in your capable paws.”
Mammee’s sister Roobee was a jolly fat sort, and the equal of her kinhog at cooking. They sat down to a spread of cabbage’n’turnip pasties, carrot’n’mushroom bake topped with cheese, wild beetroot soup, and Roobee’s special baked fruitloaf, with elderberry and plum cordial, or pennycress and comfrey tea for those who liked it. Roobee’s husband, Birty, thought Scarum’s gluttony was hilarious and kept remarking upon it.
“Heeheehee, curl me spikes, that Scarum Sharkslayer’s a real boyo. He’s got a belly on him like an ould stuffed duck. I wager his ma danced a jig the day he left home!”
Roobee noticed Sagax and Kroova’s silence at Scarum’s gluttonous acts. She nudged her husband none too gently. “Arrh, will ye shove some vittles in yer ould gob an’ give it somethin’ useful t’do, Birty. Eat up an’ hold yer peace!”
That night they all slept in Roobee’s tent, leaving the disgraced Scarum to himself.
Dawn came misty, with a light drizzle that would give way to brighter weather in the course of the day. Scarum slowly sat up, clutching his stomach, alone in the deserted tent.
“Ooooh, me poor old tum. I say, you chaps, just leave me here to die, would you? Tell my ma that the last words her sufferin’ son spoke were ‘no breakfast this mornin’ for me!’ ”
He groped around in the grey half-light and groaned. “Cor, sufferin’ icecakes! What sort of a bally good mornin’ is this, wot? A faithful pal lyin’ here with his head bangin’ an’ his tummy bustin’, and not a flamin’ beast around to comfort him. Rotters, I s’pose they’re all out fixin’ that blinkin’ boat, thoughtless lot o’ bounders!”
Staggering out of the tent, he spotted a firelight shining through the walls of Roobee’s dwelling. “Hah, now that’s more the ticket, wot. A jolly good fire to sit by whilst some good-natured hogwife fetches a chap a drop or two of herbal tea to bring him round. Splendid!”
Entering the tent, Scarum got quite the reverse of what he had been expecting. It was a makeshift court, with Migooch hogs sitting solemn-faced and silent. Cumarnee seemed to be presiding, with Sagax and Kroova standing stiffly either side of him. Scarum gave them a feeble smile, but received only stern glares.
“Er, haha, I say, wot. Bit gloomy this mornin’, ain’t it?”
The tribe leader’s voice lanced into his aching head. “Be it known to all the hogs of Migooch that this creature stands accused of idleness, slacking, laziness, vittle robbery and damage to pies, cakes, salads and other sundry eatables. What has the accused to say in his defence?”
Clutching his stomach, Scarum stammered and waffled. “Er, wot, er, steady on, chaps, can’t blame a young hare for havin’ a measly snack, especially a shipwrecked type.”
Cumarnee stamped his footpaw down hard. “Silence!” He approached the hare, pointing accusingly at him.
“Babes had to go hungry to their beds because of you! Hogwives were left weeping over their spoiled supplies because of you! Workers who had laboured hard all day, repairing your vessel, were left starving because of you! I want a show of paws. Do we find this hare guilty?”
Every paw in the tent shot up, and there was a loud shout. “Guilty!”
Pleadingly, Scarum looked toward his two cold-eyed friends. “Sagax, Kroova, my faithful old messmates, can’t you put in a jolly good word or two for a chum, wot wot?”
The young badger shook his head. “Sorry, it’s not up to us. The Migooch tribe’s laws have been broken; you must answer to them. The only advice I can give is, stand up straight like a Salamandastron hare and take the medicine Cumarnee dishes out to you.”
Scarum tried to straighten up, but his aching stomach kept him half bent. His ears drooped limply. He looked mournfully at Cumarnee and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Sentence me t’be slain, sah, it’ll put me out of my misery. Tell me dear old ma an’ pa that it was my stomach which caused all the trouble, not me!”
Cumarnee shook his head resolutely. “Death? Hoho, me fine buckoe, that’d be too easy. Your punishment’ll be to serve the Migooches as a slave for ten seasons, no, better make that twenty!”
Several hogs nodded. “Aye, twenty, that’s about right for the turrible ould glutton, twenty good long seasons!”
Scarum’s face was the picture of shock and misery. “Twenty blinkin’ seasons, that’s a bit jolly much, wot? I’ll be on a perishin’ walkin’ stick, old’n’grey by the time twenty confounded seasons have passed. O mercy!”
However, the stern, righteous faces of the Migooch tribe dashed any of the hare’s hopes for leniency.
The Stopdog bobbed at anchor, repaired and provisioned, straining at her bowline as high tide swelled, like a dog eager to be unleashed. Followed by all of the Migooch hogs, Sagax and Kroova waded out to the ketch. The pair climbed aboard and made ready to sail.
Cumarnee and Mammee exchanged paw shakes with them. “May the wind be at yer back an’ the sun not in yer eyes!”
“Thankee, marm, an’ our thanks for loadin’ us up with yore fine vittles. We’ll think of ye when we’re eatin”em!”
Sagax saw Scarum standing dejectedly nearby, ears drooping, tears dropping from his cheeks to mingle with the salt water. Cumarnee shook the young badger’s paw, passing him a secret wink.
“Weel now, me buckoe, I’m hopin’ ye find Redwall. Good fortune attend ye on yer voyage!”
Sagax made sure Scarum was not watching as he returned the Migooch Chieftain’s wink. “My thanks to you, sir. I’m just sorry that our visit was ruined by that hare’s unforgivable behaviour. I trust you’ll make him serve every day of his sentence and work him hard!”
Cumarnee stroked his headspikes pensively. “Ah now, I was meanin’ to mention that
to ye. Twenty seasons is a long time t’be feedin’ some ould gluttonfaced rabbit. Would ye not think of takin’ him back to do his penance aboard the Stopdog, afore he eats us out o’ spikes’n’home?”
Sagax shook his head firmly. “No sir, a glutton’s a glutton no matter where he is, on land or sea. He’ll never repent.”
Scarum knelt. With the water lapping his chin and his paws clasped beseechingly, he moaned aloud to his two friends, “I’ll change me ways, I’ll be good! Only take me aboard! I’ll do all the work, scoff’ll scarcely pass my lips, you’ll see! Don’t leave me here for twenty seasons with these spiky savages, oh, er, I mean dear little hoggybeasts. Sagax, Kroova, dear old jolly old faithful old pals, I’ll do any bally thing for you, just take me aboard!”
Sagax looked doubtfully at Kroova. “What d’you think?”
The sea otter tapped his rudder up and down. “Hmm, ain’t much of a catch, is he?”
As he was talking, Kroova was untying the bowrope from its rock mooring. “But I wouldn’t feel right, inflictin’ Scarum on our good ’edgehog friends for twenty seasons. Oh well, I s’pose we’ll ’ave to put up with ’im. Come on, you lopeared excuse for a messmate, git aboard!”
With a bound, Scarum landed on the Stopdog’s deck, playing his new role as beast of all work. “Now, sit back an’ put y’paws up, you chaps, leave this t’me. I’ll see to the wotsits an’ unfurl the hoojimacallits an’ till the turner—I mean turn the tiller, wot wot wot!”
With a twinkle in his eye, Cumarnee called out as he and his hogs waved goodbye, “Now, go easy on those pore sharks, an’ don’t slay too many!”
Evening sun reddened over a placid sea as the three travelers continued their course northward. By this time Scarum had taken on a change of mood.
“Huh, are you two blighters goin’ t’sit there forever with your paws up? Lazy bounders, a chap needs help around here. What d’ye think I am, a one-hare crew? Sagax, why don’t you take the tiller, an’ Kroova can manage those ropes an’ sails. I’ll make the supper. Ah, supper, what a jolly nice thought. All’s I’ve had to eat was a snack last night. Flamin’ famine-faced hogs, wot? That Mammee gave me a whack on the paw with a ladle when I mentioned brekkers this mornin’, flippin’ spiky old tyrant!”
Sagax reached out with a powerful paw and grabbed Scarum by the scruff of the neck. He had him half overboard in a trice. “One more word and I’ll make you swim back to serve your twenty seasons with those spiky old tyrants!”
Kroova smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Ole Scarum don’t change much, does ’e?”
Sagax was also smiling as he whispered in Kroova’s ear. “I wouldn’t want him to, would you? This would be a dull, boring trip with a well-behaved hare for company.”
20
Kurda pointed with her sabre at the rock sticking up in the distance, framed purple by the setting sun. “Vot is dat island called?”
Plugg Firetail had already seen it; he did not even turn to look at Peace Island. “That ain’t no island, ’tis nought but a big rock stickin’ up out o’ the main. A big lump o’ stone, that’s all.”
The ferret Princess kept her sword pointed at the object. “You vill sail over dere. I vant to see it, yarr!”
Slitfang was on duty as steersbeast. Plugg gave him a look. “Keep ’er steady on course, I’m the Cap’n o’ the Seascab.” He turned his attention back to Kurda.
“Yore daddy didn’t say nothin’ about stoppin’ ter look at rocks. My job is t’get ye to Mossflower country an’ catch those runaways if’n we spots ’em. Now, why don’t yer let me gerron wid me job. Go an’ lissen t’the crew entertainin’ themselves on the fo’c’sle ’ead. Run along now, there’s a good liddle missy!”
The Pure Ferret’s eyes blazed scarlet in the setting sunrays. “Von day I cut out your insolent tongue, Freebooter.”
Seething with rage, she strode off to the forecastle of the big ship.
Plugg grinned at Slitfang. “That proud liddle beauty frightens me t’death. Hawhawhaw!”
Prince Bladd was seated amidst the crew. Tazzin and Grubbage had their paws around his shoulders, teaching him an old Freebooter ditty:
“Ho ’tis nice t’be a villain, wot all honest creatures fears,
An’ terrorise the beasts for miles around.
Their scringin’ wails fer mercy is music to me ears,
Aye us bad ’uns loves to ’ear that mournful sound!”
A weasel twiddled the last two words on a one-string fiddle as the Freebooter crew echoed them soulfully: “Mawhawhawhawnful soooound!”
A searat with a ribbon-braided beard took the next verse.
“Lissen, mate, I’m tellin’ you, we’re a dirty desperate crew,
Each wid a cloud o’ flies around ’is ’ead.
Filthy Fox an’ Fatty Ferret an’ old Stinky Weasel, too,
We’re enough to fill an ’onest soul with dread! Wihhihith derrrread!”
He threw his paw affectionately around another searat.
“Lookit my old matey ’ere, we all calls ’im Ripper Rat,
Wid no tail, one eye, an”arf a greasy ear,
Burnt down ’is granpa’s ’ouse, now wot do ye think o’ that,
Just because ’is granny called ’im ’er sweet dear!
Sweeeheet deeeeear!”
Ripper smiled bashfully. Pointing at another crewbeast, he sang:
“Now you take this bully ’ere, Scummy Stoat’s ’is given name,
’E’s never ’ad a bath, ’e’s proud ter say,
’Til one day far out at sea, ’e fell in the watery main,
An’ the fishes all jumped out an’ ran away!
Rahaaan awaaaaay!”
Grubbage wiped away a tear and blew his snout on Prince Bladd’s embroidered sleeve. “Ain’t it luvverly? That’s me favourite ditty. Though I can’t ’elp sheddin’ a tear at the verse where old Scummy fell overboard, it breaks me ’eart, mate, every time!”
Kurda did not like what she saw. The Riftgard soldier rats were mingling with Plugg’s crew in a free and easy manner. She called their captain to her. “Riftun, get de guards down der maindeck. You vill tell dem to stay avay from de Freebooters. Make dem see to their uniforms an’ keep de spears sharp an’ polished!”
Keeping his expression blank, Riftun saluted with his spear. “I’ll see to it right away, yore ’ighness!”
Watching from the stern deck, Plugg nodded approvingly. “Now, there’s a maid after me own ’eart. It ain’t good manners t’make shipmates o’ those Riftgard rats, especially when we’re gonna slay ’em later on. Not nice, Slitfang, I don’t ’old wid false’ood.”
The steersbeast chuckled. “Yore a real gentlefox, Cap’n!”
The vast dark bulk of the Seascab plowed on into the night.
Next day was well advanced when Triss and Shogg took their leave of Peace Island. Bistort waited patiently by as they made their farewells to newfound friends.
Welfo stood paw in paw with Urtica, tears shining in her eyes. “Say you’ll come back one day, please!”
Triss was lost for words, but Shogg replied, “We’d be lyin’ if we did, you know that, mate. But no matter where we goes, you’ll be in our thoughts, you’n’Urtica. So both of ye, ’ave a good’n’appy life, an’ remember us fondly, that’s the best thing for all. Goodbye, friends!”
Bistort caught the otter’s glance and nodded. “Come now, else ’twill be dark ere you reach your ship.” He strode off swiftly, and they followed him without a backward look.
A long meandering fault in the rock ran from the crater rim down to their vessel, which lay hidden in a secret cove. There were pegs, a long rope and some rough steps at intervals. Bistort left them on the rim.
“Thy craft lies ready. I wish to thank thee for bringing Welfo to our island. She will be a wife to my son and a daughter to Downyrose and myself. Mayhap the seas will carry ye back this way one day, who knows? Speak no more now, but go. Let good fortune attend thee and may thy desires be fulfil
led, the earth needs good creatures like thee.”
No sooner had they cast off than the small craft was swept out into a swiftly running sea, even without the aid of a sail. Triss took the tiller as Shogg unfurled the sail and trimmed up the ropes. The sea made little noise. There were no crests of white foam on the grey-green waves, which moved with an alarming speed and smoothness. When Triss looked back, Peace Island was far away and rapidly diminishing below the horizon.
There was little time for talk or reflection as they hurtled along with the massive oily swells. Shogg relieved the squirrelmaid at the tiller, allowing her to prepare some food for them both. Triss glanced anxiously at the towering green walls of water as the ketch scudded from valley to peak of each one. There was hardly any wind, yet the current was running faster.
She enquired cautiously of her friend, “Are we still on course, Shogg?”
Staring dead ahead and clenching the tiller tight, the otter replied, “Can’t say, matey, we’ve even lost sight o’ the island to use as a point. I reckon we’ll do well just to stay alive in waters like these. Better reef in our sail, Triss, afore a wind springs up. It might come from the wrong direction, an’ these waves’d swamp us.”
There was no sign of the high seas abating as darkness fell. It was going to be a long and sleepless night. Taking a crust of bread and a flagon of water, Triss stationed herself in the bows, keeping a lookout for anything at all that lay ahead. She found herself gazing over desolate watery wastes every time they rose on the waveswell.
Shogg manoeuvred the tiller, hoping against hope that Triss might sight land. Dark cloud masses, muddy purple and smoky cream, began obscuring the stars as they boiled up over the horizon ahead. There was no hint of a breeze. Then suddenly an earth-shattering boom crashed overhead and lightning ripped the heavens into fleeting brightness.
Triss: A Novel of Redwall Page 17
