Log a Log stared at him incredulously. ‘You’re not still thinking of scuttling the Shalloo?’
Finnbarr was already slipping over the side into the inky seawater. ‘Course I am messmate! I ain’t leavin’ no searat ship afloat to come chasin’ after us. Pass me those tools,’ he said as he stretched out a paw.
With a grunt of resignation, Log a Log grabbed the implements and dived over the side into the sea. He bobbed up beside Finnbarr and passed him the heavy mallet. ‘You’re right, of course. Let’s get it done!’
As they swam off, the four boats hoved to on the seaward side of the Pearl Queen. Joseph seized hold of a rope that trailed down from the deck high above. ‘Come on, let’s steal ourselves a ship!’
Blaggut, boson of the Pearl Queen, was lying half asleep beside the mainmast, consoling himself with a flagon of seaweed grog. There were only himself and six crew left aboard whilst the others feasted and roistered aboard the Shalloo. Still, a ship had to have a watch and at least the bad-tempered Cap’n Slipp was ashore. He took a pull at the flagon. Wiping a grubby paw across his lips, he blinked twice – was that a mouse and a big rabbit just come aboard? Blaggut staggered upright. ‘Ahoy you two, what’n the name of fishes are ye do . . .’ Thunk!
Rosie’s slingstone collided with his jaw, sending him staggering backward. Tripping over the coaming, he fell into the hold with a loud bang. As the rest of the watch came pouring out on to the deck, disturbed by the shouting and the noise, Joseph shrugged. ‘Good shot Rosie, pity you never dropped him where he sat.’
Hon Rosie fitted another stone to her sling. ‘Sat? The blighter was standing. Look out!’
Joseph swung his loaded sling without letting go its stone, and caught a second rat neatly across the skull, dropping him like a log. Then the shrews swarmed aboard, rapiers clenched in their teeth, followed by Durry, Rufe and Foremole. Durry went down with a piercing yell as the flat of a searat cutlass smacked him across the back of his head. The rat stood over him, raising his weapon, about to strike when Rufe Brush came whistling through the air on a sailrope and booted him overboard. Rufe swung back and forth doing what the sea otter had told him to do – growl.
‘Garrroooaaarrreeeaaarrrrgghh!’
As he careered to and fro, Rufe’s bottom accidentally bumped another searat, who was perched on the ship’s rail, ready to dive on Foremole. The rat was knocked overboard into the sea. Still growling in his most ferocious manner, Rufe slipped from the rope, rendering another rat senseless as he landed with a bump on the unfortunate creature’s head. Throwing valour to the winds, the remaining two searats took one glance at the invaders and hurled themselves overboard.
Joseph sprang to the foredeck, gazing anxiously across the dark waters at the vessel Shalloo. Hon Rosie joined him.
‘Hi ho and away we go on our very own stolen ship! Come on, Joseph, you old stick-in-the-mud, what’s up?’
The Bellmaker nodded towards the Shalloo. ‘Look, our noise must have roused the searats, the ship’s swarming with ’em. Finnbarr and Log a Log are in trouble!’
Through the darkness the two creatures could barely be seen, swimming towards the Pearl Queen as searats hurled spears, arrows and slingstones at them. Joseph began shouting orders.
‘Get some ropes, throw them out to Finnbarr and Log a Log as soon as they get close enough! Archers, slingers, give those searats something to think about, keep their heads down so they can’t get our friends in the water! The rest of you, make ready to sail, stand by to slip anchor, get up in the rigging and loose the sails. Hurry!’
As the arrows and stones whined out over the sea, Rufe found himself scrambling up the rigging alongside Durry. They slashed at the ties holding the sails furled, both roaring. ‘Groooaaarrgharrr!’
A slingstone bounced off Log a Log’s head, stunning him. He was going down, his mouth and nostrils filling with seawater. Finnbarr dived and came up under him and, with the shrew lying across his back, the big sea otter struck out valiantly for the Pearl Queen.
‘I say, Finn old lad, catch this!’ Hon Rosie was her usual accurate self. She slung the rope, landing it neatly a pawsbreadth from Finnbarr. The otter latched on to it with powerful jaws. Next moment he was streaking through the waters like a great minnow, as Rosie and several others heaved the line in paw over paw.
‘Whoohahahahoo! Up you come, you two. Great seasons, look at the bump on old Log a thing’s bonce, righto, I’ve got him!’ The sails were billowing, blown out taut by the wind. Pearl Queen strained against the anchor rope like a wild animal waiting to be unleashed. Joseph, aided by Finnbarr Galedeep, heaved against the tiller, forcing the rudder around until Pearl Queen was bowsprit out, facing the horizon. The tideswell was lifting at its peak when the sea otter bellowed, ‘Cut loose your anchor cable!’
Foremole had found a ship’s axe, perfectly suited to the job. He struck the rope twice where it came through the for’ard port. Whack! Thwack!
Pearl Queen ran free, veering southwest into the heaving seas.
Cap’n Slipp was waist deep in the water, about to take the plunge and swim towards his ship, when he saw it buck from the anchor cable and begin heading out to sea. With a howl of dismay he hurtled forward into the waves and struck out for his brother’s ship.
Dizzy from roistering in the close confines of a hot and well-lit cabin, Cap’n Strapp shivered on deck, rubbed his eyes and peered into the darkness, demanding, ‘What’n the name o’ burstin’ bilges is goin’ on?’
Rappsnout, mate of the Pearl Queen, explained as best he could. ‘That bangin’ amidships Cap’n, it was two h’animals, otter an’ a shrew I fink, they musta been tryin’ to bore an’ ’ole in yer vessel, I reckon.’
Strapp peered anxiously over the side. ‘An’ did they?’ he asked.
‘Bless yer cockles, no, Cap’n, we chased ’em off,’ Rappsnout said, brandishing his cutlass. ‘But they swimmed o’er to yer brother’s craft, looks like them’n their mates ’ave took off with it.’
‘Avast the Shalloo, throw me a line!’
Strapp’s eyes were now accustomed to the night. He saw his brother swimming towards the Shalloo, and shouted, ‘Rappsnout, throw Cap’n Slipp a line.’
The dutiful mate grabbed a heaving line and hurled one end of it out to the figure in the water. Strapp chuckled wickedly. ‘Now throw him the other end of it!’
Rappsnout blinked and scratched his head in bewilderment. ‘Frow ’im the other end, Cap’n, are you sure?’
Strapp was already shouting orders to the two crews he had aboard. ‘Hoist yer anchor! Bring ’er about souwest. Unfurl all sail smartlike! Nip to it!’
He turned to Rappsnout. ‘Sure? Course I’m sure, mate. That’s if yer want to be Cap’n of the Shalloo. When we’ve captured the Pearl Queen, I’ll be master of ’er, I’ve allus wanted that vessel for meself, now’s the chance!’
A slow smile spread over Rappsnout’s dull features. ‘Ho I see! Yer a sly un, Cap’n. But wot about yore brother?’
Strapp felt the ship shudder as the anchor was hauled free of the water; he watched the sails billow out into the wind. ‘My brother, that stinkin’ bully! Cap’n of the seashore, that’s wot ’e can be if’n ’e makes it back to land. Throw ’im the other end of the line, Cap’n Rappsnout!’
Proud of his new appointment, the former mate tossed the line to Slipp, sticking his snout in the air, and ignoring the swimmer’s cries, in a dignified manner as befits a Captain. Slipp floundered in the creamy wake of the Shalloo, swallowing seawater as he watched the stern recede southwest.
‘Strapp, ye double-dyed villain, come back! Rappsnout, stop ’im matey! I’ll ’ave yore liver’n’lights fer this, d’you ’ear me! I’ll saw off yer tail an ’ang yer by it, you scum!’ Treading water and still grasping both ends of the useless line, the infuriated pirate shouted threats and insults until the Shalloo grew small in the distance.
Foremole thumped Log a Log’s back as he spat out seawater, holding a wet cloth to the swollen lum
p between his ears.
‘Thurr, you’m taken et easy naow zurr Log, we’m all safe!’
Finnbarr had relinquished the tiller to Durry and Rufe, whilst Joseph went below to check the ship’s supplies and weaponry. The sea otter tucked Log a Log in a blanket. ‘There now, shipmate, pity we never ’ad a chance to sink the Shalloo, but never mind, we got us the Pearl Queen. Our lads did a good job takin’ over. I ’ear young Rufe accounted fer four searats single pawed. Haharr, we got us a prime crew, no mistake!’
Rufe and Durry clung bravely to the tiller, holding the ship on course until further orders. They grinned fearsomely at one another and growled like old seadogs.
‘Gooarrarrarrurrgggg!’
Rosie found an unopened flagon at the foot of the mast, uncorked it and took a long pull.
‘Pthoowah!’
It sprayed out over several shrews. Rosie held the flagon at paw’s length, her face crinkled in disgust. ‘Whoa corks, I say, is this the stuff they call bilgewater?’
Joseph was passing by. He took the flagon and sniffed it. ‘No marm, this is the famous seaweed grog. It’ll come in very useful for lighting the galley fires. Now I can get a decent supper cooked.’
Wiping her mouth on a kerchief, Hon Rosie muttered, ‘That’s about all the blinkin’ stuff is any good for!’
The ship was well stocked and in excellent repair. Joseph discovered a good cache of cutlasses, knives, spears and archery equipment in her arms locker. A hot meal of biscuits and shrimp soup was dished out to the crew; they relieved each other in turns so they could all eat. Finnbarr sat under a stern awning with Joseph and Log a Log. The shrew was curious to know what course they were taking. Finnbarr licked a paw and tested the wind, saying, ‘We’re runnin’ southwest as I ordered, mate.’
Joseph watched the first streaks of dawn over to the east. ‘Southwest? I thought we were supposed to be heading south.’
The sea otter drank soup from the bowl, smacking his lips. ‘So we will, Bellmaker, take my affydavit for it, mate, we’ll be runnin’ due south the moment we strike Roaringburn.’
Joseph and Log a Log repeated the name simultaneously. ‘Roaringburn?’
‘Aye, Roaringburn,’ Finnbarr chuckled as he stretched out to take a nap. ‘It’s a current – narrow, deep an’ very swift, only ever runs one way, south. Mind, it’ll take some findin’, but the moment we hit it, we’ll shift like the wind!’
The shrew Bandle poked his head around the awning. ‘Then we’d best find it quick, the Shalloo’s hard on our paws an’ bearin’ down on us fast!’
They dashed out from under the cover and sure enough, there was the Shalloo with every scrap of canvas piled on, double crewed and coming after them like a hungry, windblown hawk.
Dawn also found Cap’n Slipp wandering the shoreline in a daze, completely unsure of how he had ever got back to land. Stumbling back to his position of the previous night he found the ashes of his fire. He crouched in the windtossed sand and blew on a glowing ember, adding sticks and dry grass to it until a small fire flickered. Miserably he perched by it, drying off and waiting for the sun to get up. Cursing and muttering the most dreadful oaths to himself, he scanned the stretch of beach left by the ebbing waves of the outgoing tide. The corpses of six drowned crewrats who had been his ship’s watch lay still, washed up with the jetsam of the previous night’s encounter.
Shivering and damp, Slipp stood up, turning his back to warm it by the fire. Then he saw it.
Blaggut, bosun of the Pearl Queen, was seated in a shrewboat paddling inshore. Slipp leapt up and down, waving to attract the other’s attention.
‘Ahoy there, Blaggut! Matey, it’s me, yer good ole Cap’n!’
Blaggut heard and acknowledged with a wave of his paddle. Leaping out into the shallows, he dragged the boat ashore and beached it, smiling and waving joyfully. ‘Cap’n, Cap’n, Slipp, matey, ’tis yerself!’
Laughing happily he ran towards Slipp, paws outstretched. ‘Ho Cap’n, y’don’t know ’ow good it does me ’eart t’see yore face, an’ a fire too! There’s a stroke o’ luck, I’m froze to the marrow an’ starvin’.’
When they met, instead of embracing his bosun, Slipp leapt upon him and began punching and kicking him. ‘Bosun eh? ’Ead of the watch? Keepin’ me vessel safe from invaders, was you! You . . . you . . . useless, gutless, brainless, spineless jellyfish!’
Blaggut pranced about on the sand trying to avoid Slipp, who punctuated each word with a hard kick to the bosun’s rear.
‘Leave a ship with you, lardbottom! I wouldn’t leave you in charge of a tadpole’s tail! I’ll wager you was full o’ grog an’ snorin’ when those shiprobbers came aboard! Brainless, bumblin’, bulbnosed buffoon!’ Slipp had Blaggut tight by the ear and his seaboot squelched every time he booted the bosun’s bottom. Blaggut howled.
‘Owowowow, Cap’n! Mercy, spare me! There was ’undreds of em, I was wide awake an’ at me post, I swear it. Ouchooch! They ganged up on me! Ow stoppit please! I fought like a madbeast! Aagh that ’urts! But they overwhelmed me. Honest, ouch! I remembers shoutin’, ’elp I’m bein’ whelmed over!’
Slipp flung the blubbering bosun face down in the sand. ‘What’s that thing yore paddlin’ about in, dogs-bottom?’
Blaggut kept alternately covering his head and his rear with both paws, in case the Captain felt like kicking again. ‘It’s a sorta liddle boat, Cap’n, I was paddlin’ up an’ down searchin’ for you, cross me ’eart I was. I found a big stream back yonder with fresh drinkin’ water, nice’n’sweet ’tis. D’you want me to show it ye, you can drink yore fill!’
Slipp drew his cutlass and whacked the bosun’s back, hard. ‘Up on yore paws, bubblebrains. Take me to it.’
Blaggut paddled the tideline with Slipp lying back in the boat, giving him the occasional cutlass prod. ’C’mon, put yore back into it! Where’s this stream, or does it just run through yore empty ’ead?’
Blaggut paddled harder. ‘Yowch! There it is up ahead Cap’n, see the sun glintin’ on it, good’n’sweet, just like I said.’
The morning sun warmed Slipp’s back as he bent and lapped streamwater. Blaggut brightened up.
‘You’ll like it ’ere, Cap’n, there’s dunes an’ probly fruit growin’ nearby, I can fish for us an’ we’ll live ’ere snug as two bugs in a rug. I’ll . . . Yaagh!’ Slipp gave the bosun a smack that sent him sprawling into the stream.
‘Froghead! Get in that boat an’ start paddlin’ upstream. It must lead somewheres, maybe there’s good pickin’s up there. Come on bulgebelly, stir yer stumps.’
By noon Blaggut had paddled the shrewboat into the fringes of Mossflower Wood.
11
DANDIN WAS FIRST to regain his senses. He wished fervently that he had not – his entire body was a mass of pain. The last thing he recalled was the three of them being dragged along the ground all the way to Castle Floret. Kicked, buffeted, bumped and scratched, until they lost consciousness. Somewhere in the background he heard voices.
‘Sourgall, look, one of ’em’s comin’ around.’
‘C’mon Fillch, we’d better go an’ report back.’
As the voices died away in the distance, Dandin sat up, trying to ignore his discomfort. One of his eyes was swollen shut; through the other he took stock of his surroundings. Mariel and Meldrum lay on either side of him, still senseless. All of their footpaws had been bound together by a thick rope. They were in a prison cell, its floor strewn with dry rushes and old straw. Four stout stone walls surrounded them; there was one high, barred window and a heavily timbered door, with iron studding and a small spyhole grill. Sunlight flooded in from the wide-barred window, lighting up the grimness of their dungeon.
Mariel stirred, her voice a hoarse croak. ‘Water!’
Dandin winced as, cradling her head on his lap, he scoured the cell with his one good eye. ‘Sorry, there’s not a drop in the place. Are you all right?’
‘I’m thirsty, that’s how I know I’m still alive. How’re you?
’
‘Still here, I suppose. Meldrum looks very still.’
The old hare lay prostrate with both eyes shut. He began muttering half to himself. ‘Want a full military burial, lots of fuss, medals, sad music an’ tears, that’ll do. Hmm, at the foot of a good oak tree, nice an’ shady, they can carve somethin’ fittin’ on it too. Now, me effects, let me see. I leave a nice mess jacket to Thurdale, hope he wears it with pride. About me rod’n’ line, young Foghill gets that, blighter’s always had his eye on it anyway . . .’ The Field Marshal’s finely attuned ears waggled. ‘There’s somebeast comin’, steady in the ranks thah. Lie doggo, make ’em think we’re still out.’
Locks squealed and bolts clanked as they were withdrawn, and the door creaked open. Nagru and Silvamord swept in, flanked by a dozen rats. One of them stirred Meldrum with his footpaw.
‘This is the beast who slew Captain Bragglin. We had the two mice cornered when he butted in. There were four, no five others, four young hares and a hedgepig.’
Nagru shoved the rat aside contemptuously, saying, ‘And they vanquished a full patrol of you!’
‘You should talk,’ said Silvamord, her voice heavy with scorn. ‘These three between them slew your wonderful Dirgecallers and more than a score of hordebeasts. Tell us about that again!’
The Foxwolf ignored her, but took his spite out by kicking Mariel. ‘I thought you said they were coming around, Sourgall. This one’s still senseless. Look!’
He kicked Mariel again and her eyes snapped open. ‘I’ll remember your face when the time comes for me to slay you, ugly one!’ she spat.
Nagru stood over her, smiling evily. ‘Well, well, tough words for a mousemaid who’s hardly in a position to slay anybeast. Listen fool, I am the Urgan Nagru, I could squash all three of you like so many bothersome gnats, and I will if you don’t answer my questions. What are you doing in Southsward? Where did the squirrels and otters go to? Tell me!’
The Bellmaker Page 9
