The Rogue Crew (26 page)

Dawn had already released summer's first fine day over the North Coast. Captain Rake Nightfur woke in the cleverly constructed pigmy shrew dome to find Colour Sergeant Miggory placing a welcome beaker of dandelion and comfrey tea before him.

The gnarled veteran hare saluted smartly. “Mornin', sah, an' a good sunny one 'tis. H'I brewed a drink—thought ye might like a sup.”

Rake glimpsed sunlight beaming through the entrance. Blowing on the steaming drink, he chanced a sip, noting that their captive stoat, Crumdun, was attached to Miggory by a line.

“Mah thanks tae ye, Sergeant. What are ye doin' wi' that wee fat vermin? Ah thought the otters had taken him for questioning.”

Miggory drew Crumdun closer to him. “So they 'ad, sah, but rememberin' that this un was h'our captive, h'an not theirs, I took charge of 'im. Just as well I did, sah. Those two h'otters, Garrent an' Bartuk, couldn't get h'anythin' from'im, so they was h'about to slay 'im. They objected, so h'I'ad to give 'em both h'a liddle boxin' lesson, sah. . . . H'I won!”

Rake rose and finished his drink. “Ye did right, Sarn't. We cannae have otherbeasts slayin' our prisoners. Och, weel, we'd best get ready tae march. We're seein' the Great Axehound hissel' taeday, Ah'm thinkin'.”

Corporal Welkin, who had just come in from guard duty, interrupted. “Beg pardon, sah, but we've no need to march any flippin' further, wot. Skor Axehound has been sighted comin' this way with a crew of his warriors. We should be meetin' them anon.”

Rake turned to see Skor's son Ruggan approaching. The sea otter was scowling wrathfully. He was accompanied by Garrent and Bartuk, each of whom were missing a few teeth. Ruggan halted in front of the Long Patrol captain, bellowing in his face, “What right has your sergeant to take that vermin scum away from my warriors? They say he beat them up to do it. Let me tell you, Captain. Nobeast strikes any of my crew and gets away with it. I demand satisfaction, d'ye hear!”

Rake did not seem at all put out as he replied, “Hauld yer wheesht, laddie, an' let's get a few things straight. For a start, the vermin was our captive an' not yours. Mah sergeant stopped those two bonnie buckoes frae killin' the wee stoatie. So they fell intae disputin' his right, an' Miggory disputed back an' taught 'em a lesson. Nae real harm done, Ah think. As tae satisfaction, mah friend, ye'd have tae face mah sergeant unarmed. Ah think ye'd come out on the losin' side against him.”

Ruggan immediately shed his weapons and shield; he was quivering with temper. “We'll see, shall we? Defend yourself, Sergeant!”

Instantly he swung a fierce kick at Miggory, who casually sidestepped it as he conversed with Rake. “Beg pardon, sah, but h'I don't like strikin' 'igh-rankin' h'otters. This young buck's h'a chieftain's son.”

Enraged by the fact that he was being ignored whilst attacking his opponent, Ruggan threw a volley of blows at Miggory's face. The sergeant evaded every one with slight flicks of his head, coaching Ruggan as though he was a novice. “Keep yore left up, sah. Clench those paws only when ye strike—h'otherwise, ye'll soon be tired h'out.”

Ruggan's eyes were red with temper. He swung, kicked, scratched, punched, butted, but all to no avail. Miggory seemed to sway and float, ducking and dancing with eyeblurring speed whilst continuing his instructions to the infuriated otter.

“Ye shape up better'n most, young sah, but don't leave yore chin h'open like that. 'Tain't proper form, y'see!”

Now Ruggan was puffing and panting. His paws had begun sagging when a gruff voice nearby addressed Rake.

“He's my son, but a courageous fool. The lesson will do him good.”

Skor Axehound had arrived whilst the contest was on.

Rake Nightfur called out to all the hares present. “Attenshun, High Chieftain present!”

Members of the Long Patrol, who had been watching the spectacle, came swiftly to attention, including Sergeant Miggory, who took a sudden punch on the chin from Ruggan.

The veteran hare smiled crookedly, waggling his jaw from side to side. “Good shot, young sah, but ye should've hit my bread basket to double me h'over first, like this.”

Miggory's right whacked into the otter's midriff. Ruggan doubled up, going down on all fours as he fought for breath.

The sergeant lifted him upright, massaging his back. “You alright, sah? H'I tried not to 'it ye too 'ard.”

Skor Axehound was all that a sea otter Chieftain should be. Garbed in a chain-mail vest, with a cloak of vermin hide down to his footpaws, he had a long shield tied by a thong to his shoulder. In one paw he carried a huge double-headed battleaxe, which any normal beast would have trouble lifting. Above his grey-streaked beard, which bushed out over a barrel-like chest, Skor's eyeteeth stuck out like fangs. He had two of the brightest barbaric green eyes.

Captain Rake Nightfur felt himself enveloped in the massive sea otter's embrace. Skor laughed boomingly. “Ho ho! Still the same old longears, eh? Slim as a rake an' dark as thunder. How are ye, my friend? Ye look as if ye haven't aged a day since we last met long ago!”

Rake returned the hug, extricating himself neatly. He held the huge beast off by grasping his paws.

“Och, Skor Axehound, ye bonnie old wardog. How d'ye manage tae stay so young lookin'?”

Skor patted his bulging but rock-hard middle, chuckling. “Hah! Young lookin'. Me? I leave bein' young to beasts like my son there, Ruggan. Hoho, ye never met a boxin' hare afore, have ye, son? Come on, now. Shake paws with an ole warrior who could've slain ye with a real blow.”

Ruggan gasped Miggory's paw, managing a weak smile. “My thanks for the lesson, friend. Mayhaps one day I could show ye a few tricks with sword or bow?”

The tough sergeant grinned. “H'I've no doubt ye could, sah, an' I'll look forward to it!”

A sizeable breakfast was served out on the sunwashed beach by their hosts, the pigmy shrews and sand lizards. Otters and hares dined on soft cheeses and flatbreads, fresh fruit and a honeyed coltsfoot cordial. Rake explained the mission that Lady Violet Wildstripe had sent him on, telling Skor all that had taken place to date. The chieftain listened intently.

When Rake had ended his narrative, Skor scratched his beard reflectively. “What ye tell me makes sense, my friend. I rue the day I never finished Razzid Wearat off for good, but I swear to you that I'll put that right before I'm much older. I saw the villain when he returned to seek vengeance on me. Hah, Wearat, he's the same as any coward or bully. Took one look at me an' my Rogue Crew, then turned tail an' fled.”

Lieutenant Scutram, who was party to the conversation, enquired, “We knew he was sailin' north, sah. Trouble is, where'n the name o' seasons has he jolly well gone to after turnin'? We've not caught sight of his vessel.”

Ruggan had a suggestion. “Mayhaps he's gone back to attack your fortress, Captain Rake.”

The dark hare chuckled briefly. “Ah think not, laddie. Since he was last at Salamandastron, our Badger Lady is on the alert. Yon Wearat'll no' get a chance tae sneak in an' murder our young cadets. Razzid isnae a fool. He wouldnae try tae attack the mountain.”

Sergeant Miggory posed a question. “Beg pardon, sah, but if'n 'e ain't h'interested in meetin' Lord Axe'ound agin h'an' 'e won't be h'attackin' our mountain, where does 'e h'intend going to? Sailin' h'off 'ome to his den, maybe?”

Scutram shrugged. “Who jolly well knows. Where else could the blighter go to, wot?”

Skor winked knowingly. “We'll know in a short while. I've had two o' my best trackers shadow the vermin ship since it turned away from the High North Coast. Kite, Endar Feyblade, go an' see if there's any sign o' Gil an' Dreel returnin'.”

Rake stood up, pacing about and scanning the sea. “Ah hope yore scouts have found where the green-sailed ship is. Bear in mind what I told ye—yon craft has wheels now. It can go by land or sea, which has me sair bothered, ye ken?”

Skor nodded in agreement. “Aye, it worries me, too. In a way I feel guilty. We've never had need o' ships—'twas enough just to defend our coast against enemies. I know your Badger Lady was hopin' sea otters had vessels. I want to help her, and I will, truly. Argh! But a ship that can sail on land or sea, that's somethin' I never reckoned with. Any sign o' those trackers yet, Ruggan?”

Skor's son scanned the beach both ways. “Not yet. We'll just have to wait, sir.”

And wait they did. It was late afternoon before the scouts returned. During the intervening time, Long Patrol hares and sea otters had a chance to be acquainted with each other. It turned out they were not so different, both being warriors. Sea otters, though, had a more ruthless code. Anybeast even resembling a foe or vermin was slain without question or pity. But like the hares, they greatly valued courage and honour. In the matter of weaponry, the Long Patrol were better skilled with swords, but sea otters were far superior archers, each otter being equipped with a bow and a quiver of arrows. Both sides were showing off their skills when the scouts returned. All activity stopped as they gathered to listen to the reports.

Gil and Dreel were sisters, slim and keen eyed. They had quite a story to tell, which they did bit by bit, one at a time. Rake and Skor listened in silence, questioning only when the report had been given in full.

However, it was Jum Gurdy who spoke first. “You say two liddle 'ogs escaped from the vermin ship?”

Dreel smiled. “Aye, sir, but they wouldn't have made it without help from the Whoomers. They were funny, I can tell ye, haulin' that ship around an' throwin' weapons back at the vermin.”

Jum seemed puzzled. “Wot's a Whoomer?”

Skor explained, “They're seals, bigbeasts, who don't like vermin. I rule the coasts hereabouts, but 'tis the Whoomers who rule the seas, really. That's why we don't need ships.”

Jum continued, “The two liddle 'ogs—they'll be Uggo an' Posy, I'm sure of it. Did they get away safe?”

Gil nodded. “Oh, they're safe enough, sir. They were found by the Freepaws tribe. Freepaws are goodbeasts. They'll keep the young uns from harm.”

Skor Axehound looked to Dreel. “Did ye see my youngest son, Swiffo?”

The scout answered respectfully. “We saw him, Lord. He is a tracker and scout for the Freepaws, an' still carries no weapons.”

The burly chieftain rested his chin on a big paw, sighing. “A son o' mine, an' he goes unarmed, along with that gatherin' of travellin' ragbags. I tell ye, Rake, it brings shame upon the name of Axehound.”

The dark hare captain tried to make light of it. “Och, away with ye. Your son's young—he's likely goin' through a wee phase. Did ye never have sich a time in your spring seasons, Skor?”

The huge sea otter Chieftain nodded reflectively. “Aye, I recall likin' flowers. Daisies, roses, bluebells an' buttercups. I carved 'em all over my shield, on my sword scabbard an' axe haft, sketched some on my arrow quiver, too. But nobeast seemed t'make fun o' me. Strange that, wasn't it?”

With much effort, Rake kept a serious face. “Aye, 'twas that, mah friend. So mayhaps ye might go easy on your young laddie for his odd habits, ye ken?”

Skor raised his shaggy eyebrows. “Yore prob'ly right. Swiffo will outgrow 'em, just like I did. Ahoy, Gil, where d'ye reckon this vermin ship is now?”

The ottermaid pointed south. “Someplace down yonder, Lord. She went landward for a while, then came back to sea, all muddied up an' stinkin' o' marsh muck. She headed out to deep water, but then veered south. Maybe she'll put in somewhere sheltered to careen the dirt off. Caked mud can slow a vessel down, y'know.”

Skor rose, hefting his massive battleaxe. “So, what think ye, Nightfur? We number three an' a half score—that's mine an' Ruggan's crew with yore Long Patrol warriors. Are ye game t'go up agin' a shipload o' vermin?”

Rake needed no second invitation. “Ye have mah paw, mah blades an' mah heart on it, Skor. Taegether we'll find'em. 'Tis guid tae be with a Rogue Crew again. Sergeant, form up the column tae march!”

Ruggan smiled coldly at Sergeant Miggory. “When we find 'em there'll be blood on the wind, friend!”

The veteran hare returned the smile. “H'or as we says at Salamandastron, sah, we'll let 'em taste blood'n'vinegar. Form up, column, we're goin' for a little walk, buckoes!”

 

Greenshroud
had rounded a hilly point. She lay at anchor in a pleasant little bay. Razzid Wearat would not abide idle paws aboard his vessel, so whilst he awaited the return of his trackers, he set the crew to work. Good silver sand showed through the clear shallow water, ideal for hull scouring. Teams of corsairs and searats waded almost chest deep, rubbing the malodorous slime from the marsh off the woodwork. Mowlag and Jiboree patrolled for'ard and aft, each swinging a knotted rope's end to chastise any slackers. Razzid had retired to his cabin in a foul humour. The entire craft seemed to be permeated with the smell of green mud.

Staying clear of her ill-tempered captain, Shekra went ashore on the pretext of looking for medicinal herbs. The vixen enjoyed the early summer day, paddling awhile in the shallows, then wandering farther along the beach. Tiring of the walk, she eased herself down behind a small sandhill, grateful for the chance of taking a short nap. She had just closed her eyes when scuffling sounds disturbed her. The noise came from somewhere behind where she was sitting.