The Rogue Crew (13 page)

The stoat made a throwing gesture with his sling. “Aye, Snaggs, I kil't a big seagill wid one stone. Caught 'im swoopin' down an' slung me best pebble—smacko! Gorrim right in the eye. I left it outside.”

Snaggs waved the staff at Uggo and Posy. “Yew two, gerrout there an' git the seagill in the pot. Pluck all its fedders off first, though. Jonder, Vilty, go an' keep an eye on 'em. Make sure they don't get itchy paws an' try ta run.”

Yirji, the rat Uggo had butted, pulled out his knife. “I'll go, Chief. If'n dat 'edgepig tries ta run, I'll cut 'is paws off!”

Snaggs tripped Yirji as he rose, pinning him down with the staff. “Yew'll stay where ye are. If'n there's any paw cuttin' round 'ere, I'm the one wot'll be doin it. Startin' wid yew!”

Vilty was a young ratmaid. She untied Uggo's paws, roping him by his neck to the line around Posy. Having been marched outside, they were confronted by the body of a black-headed gull lying by the fire next to the cauldron.

Jonder lifted its limp head. “See? Right in the eye—blatt!”

Vilty saw the look of sadness on Posy's face. She matched it with a similar expression, mockingly. “Ah, dearie me, a pore dead bird, ain't dat a shame!” She flicked a knotted piece of rope at the hogmaid, her tone hardening. “Move yaself, snoutpig. Get dem feathers pulled off it!”

The distasteful task was difficult. Starting on a wing, they both found the feathers hard to pull out.

Jonder stood twirling his sling, watching them impatiently. “Didn't ya never pluck fedders off a bird afore? The way youse are shapin', it'll be winter season by the time yer finished. Gerrout the way!”

He kicked them both away from the dead gull.

“Vilty, move dat cauldron off the fire. This is the best way ta git the job done!”

Grunting and shoving, Jonder managed to get the gull halfway into the flames. He dusted off his paws. “Dat's der best way to git fedders off'n a bird!”

After a short while, the acrid stench of burning plumage filled the air. A breeze coming in from the sea blew the fumes into the tunnel. Hawking and coughing, Snaggs came staggering out, followed by the others. He yelled angrily at the hedgehogs. “Wot'n blazin' are ya doin'? We're gettin' choked in there by that stink!”

He raised the staff to hit Uggo, but Posy placed herself between them, shouting, “It wasn't us—it was Jonder, he did it!”

A heated argument broke out between Snaggs and Jonder. The other vermin began taking sides and were soon involved. Blows were struck as they yelled at one another.

For a moment, Uggo and Posy were forgotten. They found themselves backed up by the side of a dune.

Uggo murmured to his friend, “Wish I had a blade. If'n there was somethin' to cut this rope with, we could make a run for it!”

“Don't try anythin', young Wiltud. If ye run they'll catch ye. Stay where ye are for now.”

Posy stared at Uggo. “What was that you said?”

Uggo was mystified. “I never said anythin'.”

The voice, which seemed to come from the grassy dunetop, continued. “I said, don't try to run. Try to get t'the sea tomorrow. Look out for a log!”

Yirji, who had been hopping about on the edge of the fray, came running toward them, waving his rusty knife.

“Worra yew two yappin' about? Tryin' ter escape, eh? I been waitin' fer sumthin' like this!”

Before he ever got to them with the knife, Snaggs felled him with a hard blow from his staff. The fox stood over Yirji, breathing heavily. “I warned ya t'stay away from my pris'ners!”

The affray had ceased. Now everybeast was watching Snaggs. Sensing he was back in command, the fox bawled out orders. “Git that bird offa the fire afore we're all suffercated! No more fightin', or I'll give yez wot I gave 'im.” He tapped Yirji with the staff but saw that he had knocked him out cold with the first blow.

“Jonder, Wigga, carry this idjit back inter the den. Vilty, Blawd, cover that bird wid sand—it'll keep the smell down! The rest of ya, back inside. Cummon, yew two.” He gave the rope a sharp tug, muttering as he hauled the captives along. “Blood'n'guts, dat's brekkist tomorrer spoiled. I couldn't eat gull after sniffin' those fedders!”

The idea came to Uggo in a flash. “I'll get fish for ye, Chief—me'n'Posy, early in the mornin'. Round about dawn's the best time for fish.”

Snaggs eyed Uggo suspiciously. “Wot do ya wanna gerrup earlier an' go fishin' for, eh?”

Uggo smiled hopefully. “'Cos if me'n'Posy catches enough fish, there might be some for us, too.”

Posy nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, sir. I'll spit the fish on fresh reeds an' roast them nice for ye!”

The fox smiled. “Aye, I likes roasted fish fer me brekkist. Wot'll ye need?”

Uggo scratched his headspikes. “Er, two rods, some line, few stones for weights an' a few hooks.”

Snaggs ushered them into the tunnel, leaving Uggo's paws unbound, though he was still attached to Posy's rope. The fox snuffled distastefully. “I kin still smell burnt fedders in 'ere. Jonder, no more birds fer a while. Yew an' Wigga take the two 'ogs fishin' at dawn. Keep an eye on'em—they'll be gittin' fish fer brekkist.”

Seated back in their former position, Uggo squeezed Posy's paw. “Now we'll get to the sea an' look out for the log. At least it's a chance.”

Between them, Lieutenant Scutram, Captain Rake and Sergeant Miggory buried the remains of the old sea otter. They worked swiftly, marking the sandy grave with a charred piece of timber, which had served Jum Gurdy's uncle Wullow as a paddle. The stoat Crumdun was standing nearby, guarded by Corporal Welkin. Captain Rake beckoned him forward.

“Ye say ye seen nought of what happened here?”

The former corsair shook his head vigorously. “Nay, sir, an' by the look of wot was left o' that pore creature, I'm glad I didn't. On me oath, sir!”

The captain looked to Scutram, who nodded. “I'm inclined to believe the rascal, sah, 'pon me word. Though I can't believe that a livin' thing, vermin or not, could do such a cruel deed to another, wot!”

Crumdun stared at the grave, still shaking his head. “I'll tell ye, gentlebeasts. Razzid Wearat enjoyed doin' things like that. I've 'eard stories about that un as'd make yore fur curl. My ole mate, Braggio—d'ye know wot the Wearat did to 'im? Wait'll I tell ye—”

Captain Rake cut him off sharply. “No, ye won't, mah friend. Ah don't want tae hear another word about the murders done by yore Wearat master. An' mind, Ah forbid ye tae speak o' it tae any o' mah young Patrollers, d'ye ken?”

The stoat tugged his snout. “Aye, sir!”

The tall captain saluted the grave. “'Tis a sad end tae anybeast, but rest easy, mah laddie, an' know that your death'll be avenged by us. We'll make yon Wearat weep tears o' bluid, Ah swear et on these blades!”

Touching his lips to the blades of the twin claymores, which he had drawn to salute the fallen otter, Rake Nightfur sheathed them, turning smartly. “Sarn't Miggory, get the Patrol underway, if ye please!”

They marched off along the shore into the sunlit spring day, though gossip was rife throughout the ranks about what they had missed seeing.

“I say, why d'you suppose we weren't allowed one bally peek?”

“Search me. We've all seen deadbeasts before, haven't we?”

“Speak for y'self, Wilbee, I jolly well haven't!”

“Huh, must've been somethin' pretty dreadful, wot!”

The stern voice of Sergeant Miggory warned the speaker. “Somethin' pretty dreadful will 'appen t'you h'if ye keep on blatherin' h'in the ranks, laddie buck. H'an that goes for you, too, Miss Ferrul. Eyes front, now, an' pick up the pace. Left right, left right!”

Corporal Welkin called out to Miggory, “Only one thing t'keep 'em marchin' smartlike an' stop the blighters talkin', Sarn't!”

Miggory bellowed back to him. “Ho, an' wot's that, Corp?”

Welkin's reply came back equally loud. “Get 'em singin' an' slap anybeast who ain't singin' out 'earty enough on a fizzer, wot!”

The colour sergeant performed a maneuver which amazed the young hares. Twirling about, he began marching backward without breaking pace, keeping up with the column and roaring cheerfully at them. “H'I say, wot a spiffin' h'idea! Right, you 'orrible lot, h'I wants to 'ear you singin' like flippin' larks. H'every verse o' that liddle dittie h'entitled ‘The Barracks Bunfight'! An' woe betide h'anybeast whose tonsils h'I can't see wagglin' like the clappers. Corporal Welkin, will you lead off? The rest of ye, join in smartly now h'in yore best voices!”

The marching ballad Miggory had chosen was one to cheer their spirits and drown any curiosity and speculation about former incidents. Everybeast sang lustily, with even the officers joining in.

Captain Nightfur chuckled, stepping out jauntily. “Och, that's the stuff tae give 'em, Sergeant. Can ye no' sing ‘Hares o' the Highlands'? That's a braw ditty—an' ‘Long Patrol Laddies,' too. There's nought like a wee spot o' singin' tae keep the spirit up, the noo!”

They made good progress throughout the morning. Lunchtime found the column halted in the lee of some dunes. Last autumn's russet apples, cheese, oat bannocks and pennycloud cordial was the fare. There was no more talk of the early morning's events.

Lieutenant Scutram winked at the sergeant. “They seem jolly cheerful now, wot!”

Miggory brushed crumbs from his tunic. “Aye, that's as'ow h'it should be. Look out, 'ere comes the for 'ard tracker, back from scoutin' ahead.”

Buff Redspore came loping in, throwing a hasty salute. She ignored the food which was passed to her and went straight to the captain. “Wish to report, sah. Spears ahead,'bout half a league.”

Rake Nightfur gave a quizzical glance at her. “Ah think ye'd best explain. What spears?”

The tracker clarified her report. “Further north, sah, from the tideline t'the dunes, line o' spears, about twoscore. Stickin' up in the sand, with skulls an' tails decoratin''em. Looks like some kind o' warnin', sah. Couldn't see anybeast about but felt I was bein' watched. So I did a jolly quick about-paws an' came straight back to inform you, sah!”

The tall, dark hare snapped out orders. “Sergeant Miggory, Scutram, Lancejack Sage, come with me. We'll stick tae the dunes until we see how the land lies. Corporal Welkin, whilst we're awa' get them tae clean an' ready their weapons, an' stay on the alert.”

With Buff Redspore leading them as pathfinder, the four hares set off at a lope through the dunes. The rest of the column relaxed, seeing as the officers were not there. Corporal Welkin berated them in real parade-ground manner. “Nah, then, you idle lot, you heard the offisah. Get them blades clean an' sharp, no slackin' now, an' that means you, young Drander!”

The hulking Drander spat on his sabre blade, rubbing it moodily with sand. “Not much flamin' point sharpenin' weapons if a chap doesn't get the chance to use the bally things, is there, wot!”