The Legend of Luke

by Brian Jacques

  Ranguvar immediately became alert. She looked to the oar port and saw a bewhiskered hare smiling in at her, holding a paw to his lips as a caution to silence. Ranguvar nodded. Pointing across to Luke, she murmured quietly, ‘Over there, first oar port on t’other side. Who are you?’

  ‘Formal introductions later, friend. Here, chew on this.’ Completely mystified, but grateful, Ranguvar accepted the big chunk of fresh bread packed with fruit salad. ‘Don’t eat so fast, marm, twenty chews to each mouthful now. Bye bye!’ With a wave the hare vanished.

  Ranguvar shook Luke awake by waggling the end of his oar. ‘Ssshhh! You’ve got a visitor, Luke. Look to your oar port.’

  Beau peeped in at Luke, his face a mask of mock accusation. ‘Why aren’t you dead, sah?’

  Luke shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why aren’t you?’

  ‘Far too hungry to let things like dyin’ interfere with my plans, old feller. Vurg’s alive too, y’know. Listen, I can’t stop t’chat. Here’s some food, share it about. Be back tomorrow night, keep y’chin up. I’ll see what I can do about bringin’ somethin’ to deal with those chains. Meanwhile, sit tight an’ smile, the rescue party’s arrived at last, wot!’

  When Beau was gone, Luke and Ranguvar took the hare’s advice. They sat tight and smiled, sleep forgotten, now that the first bright rays of hope had started to glimmer.

  * * *

  32

  THE VOYAGE TO the northern coast was well under way. Fortunately, the weather remained fair with favourable winds. Parug, the rat bosun, however, was not a happy Sea Rogue. Vilu Daskar had sent a command, through Akkla, that he was to report to the captain’s cabin. Parug was all of a tremble as he rapped hesitantly on the door. Vilu Daskar was sly and unpredictable – who could tell what he wanted to see his bosun about? Whip in paw, the slavemaster Bullflay opened the door to admit Parug. It did not bode well by the look on Bullflay’s ugly face.

  ‘Get in ’ere. Cap’n wants to see you.’

  Vilu was seated at a table, his wicked bone-handled scimitar before him. Parug came to attention in front of the pirate stoat, shaking visibly. Vilu Daskar sat in silence, his face betraying nothing as he stared levelly at the dithering bosun, who managed to gulp out a word. ‘Sire?’

  Vilu touched the silken scarf at his neck, extending the silence until it became almost unbearable, before he spoke. ‘There is a thief aboard my ship.’

  ‘A th-thief, sire?’

  ‘Yes, Parug, a thief. I have a dagger to match this sword, bone-handled, with a curved silver blade. Last night it was on this table, where it usually is, this morning it is gone.’

  ‘G-gone, sire?’

  Vilu got up and walked round the table. Halting behind Parug, he dug his claws hard into the bosun’s shoulder. Parug whimpered in pain and terror as the stoat hissed viciously in his ear. ‘Stop repeating everything I say, or I’ll slice the foolish tongue from your slobbering mouth. Have you been walking round this ship with your eyes shut? Other things are being stolen. Food, water, equipment, ship’s gear. Now I want to know the names of those who are robbing me. Do you understand, Parug? Speak!’

  The bosun knew his life was at stake. Words babbled from him like water pouring from a barrel. ‘Sire, cap’n, I’ve noticed it meself, all kinds o’ things are disappearin’, ’specially vittles an’ drink, sire. But on me oath, cap’n, I’m keepin’ a sharp weather eye out fer the villains, I swear I am, sire, day’n’night!’

  Vilu released him and went to sit back in his chair. ‘But you haven’t a clue who the thieves are, right?’

  Parug nodded miserably, unable to stop his head from bobbing up and down. Vilu glanced across at Bullflay. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any ideas about the culprits?’

  Shuffling awkwardly, the gargantuan weasel shrugged. ‘Can’t think o’ none, cap’n, unless ’tis like the crew sez, the Sea Bogle! Some of ’em even sez that—’

  Bullflay got no further. Vilu Daskar moved like lightning. Clearing the table at a bound, grabbing his scimitar as he did, the stoat laid Bullflay low with a resounding blow to his face from the flat of the glittering blade.

  ‘Enough! Do you suppose I am as big a fool as the idiots who serve me? Don’t dare speak to me of Bogles or phantoms! What need would ghosts have of food? You addle-witted moron, the thieves are living breathing beasts, with the same need for food and drink anybeast has! Out! Get out of my sight, both of you. Search the Goreleech from stem to stern!’

  Lined up on deck, the crew of the red ship were made to stand fast all morning as a search was made of their living quarters. Vilu Daskar sat beneath an awning, watching as each one was called out to accompany Akkla, Parug and Bullflay below decks.

  ‘Foulscale, yore next, step forward, lively now!’ The weasel Foulscale went with the searchers into the crew’s accommodation. They searched his hammock and the area around it, and he was then made to gather up his belongings and taken up on deck. Bullflay ordered him to unroll his bundle and display the contents. Then the slavemaster called out, ‘Righto, crew, take a look at this gear. Is it all the property of Foulscale?’

  A brass-earringed searat stepped forward, pointing. ‘No it ain’t, that belt’s mine. I’d know it anywheres, sharkskin, wid a green stone in a round brass buckle!’

  ‘I found it lyin’ by me bunk!’ Foulscale protested.

  Vilu Daskar strode over to Foulscale’s belongings. With his swordpoint he flicked the belt to its owner, then addressed Foulscale.

  ‘You stole the belt. Get over there with the others!’

  Ashen-faced, the weasel walked over to join an ever growing band of Sea Rogues who had been caught with the property of fellow shipmates among their gear.

  It was high noon by the time the search ended. Those who were innocent stood in line, looking greatly relieved. More than a score of vermin, who had been caught in possession of stolen property, huddled miserably around the mainmast, awaiting the consequences.

  Vilu Daskar delivered his judgement for all to hear. ‘I know you are not the thieves I seek. Somebeasts are plundering wholesale from this ship. Make no mistake, I will find them and punish them slowly to the death. There will be an end to thieving aboard my Goreleech. But you who have been caught, you are still guilty of stealing from your shipmates and must be punished. Thank your lucky stars I am in a lenient mood, and keep your paws to yourselves in future. Akkla, Parug, Bullflay, hoist them up by their tails and give them twenty lashes apiece, sluice them with salt water, let them hang there until sunset, then cut them down. The rest of you will witness the floggings as a reminder never to steal whilst aboard the red ship!’

  Vurg and Beau perched on their raft, well hidden by the overhang of the high carved stern. They could not avoid hearing the screams and wails of the miscreants as they were subjected to the whipping. Neither had any pity for Sea Rogues.

  ‘Makin’ more noise than a school of confounded bottlenoses, wot. That’ll teach ’em honesty’s the best policy!’

  ‘Aye, there’s only one thing worse’n a thief, Beau.’

  ‘Indeed, an’ what is that, pray?’

  ‘Two thieves!’

  ‘Haw haw, rather good that, Vurg.’

  ‘We’ll ’ave t’be more careful of a night from now on, mate. They’ll be watchin’ for us, y’know.’

  ‘Of course they jolly well will, so you do the stealin’ an’ I’ll keep ’em diverted in me Sea Bogle costume, eh?’

  Vurg chuckled. ‘Sea Bogle, wot a load of ole nonsense!’

  Beau fixed two horns he had made from dried bladderwrack to his ears. He waggled them and scowled fiercely. ‘Talk not like that of ye Sea Bogle, old lad, or I’ll put a spell from the dark murky deeps upon thee!’

  Vurg closed his eyes, enjoying the warm noon sun. ‘Pity you can’t put a spell on yore stummick, stop it needin’ so much food, y’great fat fraud!’

  ‘Steady on there, m’good mouse, us Sea Bogles need nourishment if we’re to perform properly. No selfrespectin’ Sea Rogue
’d be scared of a half-starved skinny Bogle. Er, any more of that skilly’n’duff left?’

  ‘There’s some in the bowl. Help yoreself, I imagine you’ll spirit it away without too much trouble. What are you writin’ there? The ship’s log of our raft, the Floatin’ Fender? Put me down as mouse mate, an’ you c’n be cap’n Bogle.’

  Beau was scraping away with a charcoal stick on a strip of canvas, his tongue sticking out at the side of his mouth. ‘Actually it’s a poem I’m composin’ about Bogles. Some of those ignorant vermin may be unaware of the tale, so I’m doin’ a bit of publicity for meself, doncha know.’

  Vurg winced as they heard the splash of water, followed by more agonised wailing from the upper decks. ‘Ooh! Must sting somethin’ awful, bein’ flogged an’ gettin’ salt water chucked on the cuts.’

  The hare was unmoved as he continued writing. ‘Prob’ly the only decent wash they’ve had since their dear old mothers used to scrub ’em in the tub when they were babes. There’s a thought, can you imagine a filthy beastly little pirate babe bein’ scrubbed in a tub? I’ll wager his language would frazzle his auntie’s slippers, wot?’

  In the crew’s accommodation that night the vermin who had been released sat nursing their hurts, whilst others swaggered about, displaying the treasured gear they had thought lost. The rest huddled around the mess table, playing an old searat game with shells and fruit pips. The entire crew jumped with fright as the cabin door slammed open. Parug staggered in as if his paws were made of jelly, grasping a long strip of sailcloth.

  The searat Willag helped him to a seat at the table. ‘Wot’s the matter, bosun? Y’look as if y’ve seen a ghost.’

  Somebeast passed him a tankard of barnacle grog. He drank the fiery liquor in one long swallow, and it was dribbling down his chin as he stared wildly about.

  ‘’Twas the Sea Bogle, mates. I saw the Sea Bogle wid me own two eyes, on me affydavit I did!’

  A chilled silence fell over the crew. Parug was quite a stolid rat, not given to silly imaginings. The tankard was refilled and Parug took a deep swig before continuing, ‘I jus’ came out to patrol the deck, searchin’ for a sign of any thieves. Before I could blink a glim it ’ad me by the throat. Long long arms it ’ad, like steel, I couldn’t move! I tell ye, shipmates, I’ll never be the same agin after seein’ the Bogle. It ’ad great big horns, three eyes, an’ a face that was all lit up, glowin’! Covered it was, wid ’orrible flowin’ weeds from the bed o’ the seas, all wet an’ drippin’. Ugh! ’Twas too terrifyin’ to describe!’

  Willag took a gulp from the tankard Parug had put down. ‘Why didn’t yer run an’ tell the cap’n?’

  Parug shot him a haunted glance, whispering dementedly, ‘Cap’n won’t ’ear of it, ’e don’t believe in Bogles. I couldn’t tell ’im, mate, ’e would’ve slayed me!’

  Foulscale temporarily forgot his stinging back. ‘Did the Bogle speak to ye, Parug? Wot did it say?’

  The bosun held up the canvas strip. ‘It never said nothin’, jus’ growled an’ gave an awful squeak, like a bottlenose dolphin. Then it pressed this sailcloth inter me paw, let go of me neck an’ stood there.’

  Foulscale shook his head in amazement. ‘So wot did you do?’

  ‘Do? Wotjer think I did? I ran off, fast as I could!’

  ‘Is it still out there, d’ye think?’

  ‘I don’t know. Go an’ look fer yoreself!’

  ‘Wot? Lissen, mate, I ain’t movin’ out o’ this cabin ’til it’s daylight an’ the sun’s shinin’, so there!’

  The crew nodded their heads vigorously in agreement.

  Willag picked the sailcloth from Parug’s shaking paws. ‘See, there’s writin’ on it. Wot does it say, Parug?’

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t read letters or words.’

  Grigg the searat beckoned to Willag. ‘Give it ’ere. I can read. Let’s see wot it sez.’

  Grigg read it out in halting tones. He could read, but only just. His voice echoed out in the awed silence.

  ‘From the dark and icy deeps,

  Where the dreaded Bogle sleeps,

  He’ll rise one night and climb aboard your ship,

  Bringing fear and deathlike doom,

  To your very cabin room,

  Beware the Bogle’s clammy vicelike grip!

  Aye, woe betide that crew,

  Sailing on the main so blue,

  And to those who don’t believe me double grief,

  When the Bogle takes a meal,

  You will hear a dreadful squeal,

  He strikes when night time falls, just like a thief!

  Aye, who of you can tell,

  Give him gifts and feed him well,

  Then the Bogle may slide back into the sea,

  But if gifts and food be few,

  Hearken now, for it is true,

  The Bogle may eat you, or even me!

  Crack some ribs or crush a skull,

  Stuff down hearts ’til he is full,

  Rip paws and tails off any poor seabeast,

  Lock your cabin doors this night,

  Shake with terror, quake with fright,

  For the Bogle may invite you to his feast!’

  Grigg was quaking so badly when he finished the poem that he dropped the canvas. Willag was the first to move. He dashed to the cabin door and locked it, calling down the long smoky cabin to his mates, ‘Bar those skylights, batten ’em down tight! Trim the lamps an’ clean ’em, we need it good’n’bright in ’ere!’

  Fleabitt and the ferret Ringpatch were on duty in the Death Pit. The slaves were sleeping, draped across their oars. Ringpatch, who generally worked on top deck of the trireme, took a quick glance around.

  ‘Hoi, Fleabitt, this lot won’t be no trouble fer the rest o’ the night. Come on, mate. Let’s go up to top deck, it stinks down ’ere. Walloper an’ Ching from middle deck’ll be up there, my mate Flanjear too. Top deck ain’t like this pest’ole – we got a liddle oven up there. Bet they’re makin’ skilly’n’duff an’ suppin’ grog.’

  Fleabitt coiled his whip over one narrow shoulder. ‘Skilly’n’duff! Why didn’t yer say, matey? Lead on, I’m right be’ind yer. Nothin’ like a bowl o’ the ole skilly’n’duff!’

  The moment they were gone, Luke and Ranguvar sat up. All through the bottom deck, oarslaves became alert. Luke’s orders were relayed from one to another.

  ‘Those closest to the steps, keep watch. Give the warning if y’hear anybeast comin’!’

  ‘Dulam, Denno, look to your oarports. Vurg will be along with food soon.’

  ‘Ranguvar, how’s that big staple coming along, nearly out?’

  The black squirrel looked up from her labours. ‘’Tis a big ’un, set deep an’ well rusted, but I’ve got it on the move, Luke.’

  ‘Good, but be careful you don’t splinter the wood too much. Bullflay usually stands near there, an’ we don’t want him to spot anything suspicious.’

  Norgle the otter tossed something across to Ranguvar. ‘All taken care of, matey. I’m mixin’ tallow with dirt from the deck, that’ll disguise it good.’

  Luke nodded his approval. ‘Great stuff, matey. See if y’can get more o’ that tallow, we’ll need it for the oar-chains.’

  As Luke talked he was busy with his own oarshackles, filing a deep groove into a link close to his paw. ‘Gricca, have you got those weapons stowed safe?’

  An old female hedgehog several rows back answered, ‘Aye, Luke, all safe’n’sound, they’re jammed in slits I cut on the undersides of these benches. Here, you have this’n, ’tis a fancy liddle toy that Beau found. Duck yore nut, mate, comin’ over!’

  Luke bent his head as something whizzed by and stuck in the upraised oarshaft. It was a fine curved silver dagger with a bone handle. He plucked it from the oar. ‘Well, this is a fine sharp gizzard slitter!’

  Ranguvar sniffed the air, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘I can smell hot scones dipped in honey.’

  Denno confirmed the squirrel’s statement. �
��So you can, friend. Vurg’s here!’

  ‘Ahoy, Vurg, where’d you get these?’

  ‘Ooh, they’re still hot from the oven!’

  ‘Pass that bag along, mates, share ’em out!’

  Shaking with laughter, Vurg passed another flourbag loaded with hot scones through the oarport. ‘Go easy, mates, don’t crush ’em. Pass the empty bags back an’ I’ll fill ’em agin. Luke, how’s it goin’ down here?’

  ‘Fine, Vurg, just fine. Where did all these scones come from? They’re delicious. I didn’t know vermin could bake as good as this. Did you’n’Beau steal all these? How in the name o’ seasons did you get away with ’em?’

  Vurg managed to poke his head partly through the oarport. He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘We never stole ’em, Luke, we baked the scones ourselves. Ole Beau the Bogle has the crew frightened out o’ their wits, an’ they battened themselves up tight in the crew’s accommodation, terrified. So, seein’ there wasn’t anybeast on deckwatch, we found the galley empty, stoked up the ovens an’ went to work. Beau sends his compliments!’

  The entire deck of oarslaves, conscious of the need for silence, shook with suppressed mirth until tears popped from their eyes and ribs began to ache. There was a scrabbling from the bulkhead and Beau appeared at the opposite oarport, still in Bogle garb, but with his face covered in flour and honey.

  ‘What ho, chaps, Beau the Bogle baker here. I say, I hope you oarslave types aren’t laughin’ at my cookin’, wot?’

  A young vole, closest to the oarport, took Beau’s paw and shook it heartily. ‘No sir, even my ole mum couldn’t cook a scone like you do, they’re the best anybeast ever tasted. If we’re laughin’ ’tis because you’ve taught us how to. Some of us have been down ’ere for long seasons, treated harsh too, with no reason t’smile. We’re ’appy ’cos you’ve given us back a reason t’live, with yore bravery an’ kindness, both you an’ mister Vurg, may fortune bless yer both!’