The Rogue Crew (15 page)

“Anyhow, whilst they're keepin' the fox an' his cronies busy, we'll get out of here. Snap off a few o' those branches an' get paddlin'. I'll rest awhile. I'm bone tired after pushin' this thing around half the night in cold seawater. Oh, er, who's yore pretty liddle friend?”

The hogmaid shook Jum's paw. “I'm Posybud, sir, but you can call me Posy. I was captured in early spring by the vermin. They murdered my pore ma an' pa.”

Jum caught the desolate look on Posy's face, so he quickly changed the subject. “Well, 'tis a pleasure t'meet ye, Posy— an' you, young Uggo. I thought for certain you was dead, drowned in that woodland pool back there, then washed out t'sea on the stream. So I followed the stream awhile, then I saw the smoke from the vermin fire an' spotted their den. I could see this log driftin' round in the shallows. So, figurin' there was too many o' those rascals to fight with, I thought up my plan.”

They were a fair distance from the seals and vermin now. Uggo smiled as he looked back at the scene. “I don't know wot would've become of us without you, Mister Gurdy, an' the seals, too.”

Posy was watching the performance of the big bull and his three mates. “See, the seals are tormenting the vermin, but Snaggs is afraid of taking them on in the sea. He must be furious that we've escaped.”

Jum continued helping to propel the log along. “Well, let's not give 'em a second chance, young un. Let's get out o' the way o' vermin, an' seals, too. We'll stay on this course until I see someplace to land. Mebbe I'll spot ole Uncle Wullow, then we'll get vittles, a fire an' a place to rest our heads in peace. Wouldn't that be nice!”

Uggo pointed to a dark cloudbank rolling in from the western horizon. “Looks like rain!”

There was a flash and a distant boom.

Posy nodded. “Aye, rain, and a lot more, if I'm not mistaken. It sounds like we're in for a storm!”

The bleached skull, which had rolled down the hillock, sat rocking gently in the sand, facing the hares with its hollow grin. Buff Redspore was trembling with fear.

“Did ye see that, sah? This Bloodripper territory must be haunted. Ooooh, I don't like it one little bit!”

Captain Rake Nightfur, however, was made of sterner stuff. He made straight for the skull. “Och, fiddlesticks, lassie. There's nought tae be fear't frae an auld vermin skull!”

Thrusting a claymore point through one of the eyeholes, he flicked the thing in the air. With a squeak of dismay, a small greeny-brown sand lizard fell out. It scrabbled about, looking for somewhere to hide.

Sergeant Miggory leapt smartly forward, trapping it neatly under his footpaw. He addressed it in a very sergeant-major voice. “Nah then, young bucko, stay still h'an I won't 'ave to squelch ye. That's the ticket, laddie, stand easy!”

The warning voice boomed out once more. “If ye slay a Bloodripper, ye will not live to see the sun set on this day. Be warned and fear the Mighty Bonecrusher. Aaaaaiiiiieeeee!”

Lieutenant Scutram's ears began twitching. He took a hasty look around, then whispered to Captain Rake, “Keep the blighter talkin', sah. I've an idea where he is. Chat to the rascal an' buy me a bit o' time, wot!”

Nightfur began a harangue with the unknown Bloodripper as Scutram crept off into the dunes.

“Ach, Ah'm nae scair't o' anybeast. Who d'ye think ye are, talkin' tae me in that uncouth manner?”

The mystery voice retorted angrily, “Fool, you would do well to fear the Bloodrippers. We will make you curse the mother who gave birth to you!”

The captain continued baiting the speaker. “Leave mah mother oot o' this, or mah blade'll find your gizzard. Aye, an' don't dare tae call me fool!”

Now the voice sounded truly wrathful. “Enough! The boldness of your tongue has brought down doom on ye—yeeeeeek! Gerroff! Lemmego!”

Lieutenant Scutram came marching out of the dunes with his prisoner.

Sergeant Miggory fell about laughing. “Hahaha. Where'd ye get that liddle maggot, sah?”

Scutram had a pygmy shrew by the scruff of its neck. It wriggled and kicked furiously, striking out at him with a huge megaphone fashioned from birchbark. Captain Rake brought a halt to its struggles by placing a claymore point to its tubby little stomach.

“Be still, ye wee ruffian, or Ah'll carve a bit o' the blubber from ye. Be still, Ah say!”

Scutram placed the pygmy shrew next to the small sand lizard. He upturned the megaphone and slammed it down, imprisoning both creatures beneath it.

Buff Redspore smiled sheepishly. “So that's all it jolly well was—a couple o' bloomin' runts, eh, wot!”

Always on the alert, Miggory spoke out the side of his mouth to the tracker. “There's more'n h'a couple o' runts marm, look around ye.”

The dunes were crowded from top to bottom with sand lizards and pygmy shrews, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The shrews were armed with bundles of what seemed to be reed javelins. Most of the lizards carried thin slings or spears tipped with pieces of broken shell.

Buff Redspore inched closer to Sergeant Miggory, gazing fearfully around. “There must be a horde of the blinkin' little fiends. What do we jolly well do now?”

Rake Nightfur sheathed both claymores, spreading his paws wide in a gesture of peace. He addressed the lizards and shrews in a cordial tone. “Mah friends, we mean ye no harm. Och, we're only passin' through here, on the way tae the north.”

An aged pygmy shrew came forth to speak. He was dressed in a woven grass tabard and carried a carved driftwood stick. His manner was terse.

“Ye have no permission to pass through that barrier of spears. Why did ye not make a request?”

Scutram could tell by Rake's erect ears that he was not about to put up with the old one's attitude. Sidling past the tall, dark captain, he remarked casually, “Sah, if you'll allow me, a touch of the jolly old diplomacy mightn't be out o' place, wot?”

Rake stepped aside. “Aye, carry on, Lieutenant. Buff, Sage, retreat guid an' slow now, then get ye back tae the column an' bring them here on the double, ye ken.”

As Buff and Sage backed slowly away, Scutram smiled disarmingly. “Apologies for our clumsiness, sire, but there didn't seem t'be any of your chaps about to, ah, put in our request to pass through your domain.”

A sharp little voice rang out from a dunetop. “It's my domain, not his! Me, Empraking Dibby Drampik! Hah, you should've asked me!”

A half dozen sand lizards scuttled to his side. They were towing a moss-cushioned chair, which slid along on broad, flat runners. The empraking sat on it, waving the lizards to proceed. They set the chair in motion downhill, jumping hastily onto the runners and standing to attention. Despite the comical idea of an armchair sliding down the duneside, the empraking retained his regal dignity. His retainers steered the chair-cum-sled to a smooth halt in front of the hares. He did not alight until several attendants dressed him in a colourful woven cloak and a ridiculously tall crown adorned with seashells, dried flowers and small bird feathers. A ceremonial mace, topped with a polished agate, completed the ensemble. He peered shortsightedly up at Scutram.

“I'm the one you ask! I'm emperor round here—king, too, an' ruling Bloodripper! So, what d'ye want? Speak out.”

Lieutenant Scutram saluted courteously. “Permission to pass through your territory, sah!”

The pompous little creature scratched his rotund stomach, paced up and down once, then sat back on his chair, waving a dismissive paw.

“Not today. Tomorrow maybe, I don't know.”

Colour Sergeant Miggory planted himself in the path of the chair, his jaw jutting aggressively. “Then ye'd better git t'know, bucko. Y'don't talk like that to h'officers of the Long Patrol!”

He was suddenly dragged down by a score of pygmy shrews, who were making stabbing gestures with their javelins.

Rake Nightfur sprang into action. With a bound, he was at the empraking's throat with both claymores, roaring, “Touch mah sergeant, an' Ah'll slay this wee braggart. Stan' ye clear o' him—Ah mean it!”

Through the centre of the melee came a pygmy shrew wearing a coronet. This was the empraking's queen, Dukwina, a dumpy little figure in regal garb, with a voice of earsplitting volume. “What's all this, what's all this? Gerroff that ole rabbet this instant! An' you, big black un, stow them swords or I'll make ye eat 'em!”

Everything stopped. Shrews and lizards threw themselves facedown on the ground in homage to the one who was the real power in Bloodripper territory. She stumped up to the empraking and seized him by the ear, twisting savagely as she gave him a public dressing-down.

“You're nought but trouble, Dibby Drampik. Now wot've you been up to, eh? No good, I'll be bound!”

She had the little empraking out of his chair doing an agonised dance as she tweaked his ear fiercely. He was squeaking pitifully.

“Owyeek, leggo! I wasn't up to nothin', Dukky darling. Those rabbets were tryin' to cross through our lands. Yaaaargh! Ooh! Yeek! You'll pull my ear off!”

Captain Rake noticed that though the shrews and lizards were still facedown in front of royalty, there was a good deal of giggling and mirth at the empraking's dilemma. His dumpy little wife was still berating him.

“Silence or I'll pull both your ears off! Huh, you never listen to what I say anyway. Is that wot all the fuss was, a few travellers passin' through?”

The older pygmy shrew with the carved driftwood stick spoke out hesitantly. “But, Majesty, they were intruders, trespassing on Bloodripper ground!”

“Shuttup, you dodderin' ole fool. Who asked you, eh?” She turned upon her unfortunate husband again. “I put that rule there for vermin—foxes, rats an' such like. Have ye got mud in yore eyes as well as yore ears? Do they look like vermin? Well, do they?”

With tears streaming down his face, her husband wailed, “No, no, my sweet Dukky dear. Owowow, my poor ear!”

She released him with a shove that sent him flat on his tail. Instantly her demeanour changed. The queen put on a polite smile, offering Lieutenant Scutram her paw.

“Sorry 'bout that. I'm Her Majesty Queen Dukwina Drampik, an' you are . . . ?”

Scutram flourished an elegant bow, kissing her paw. “Lieutenant Algernon Scutram of the Long Patrol at Salamandastron, at y'service, marm. These other hares”—he stressed the word
hares
—“are Captain Rake Nightfur an' Colour Sergeant Miggory.”

A female lizard attendant whispered something to Dukwina, pointing up at the sky. She nodded.

“Captain, as you can see, a rainstorm is due. May I offer you an' your friends our hospitality?”

Rake saluted gallantly. “Och, we'd be obliged tae ye, marm!”

The Bloodrippers' communal home came as a revelation. A short way into the dunes, it had been built in a clearing between four of the high sandhills, connecting them under a huge roof. Scutram was mightily impressed at the construction.

“Beggin' pardon, marm, but how's this all been made, wot?”

She called a shrew who was wearing an apron. He had thick crystal spectacles and a charcoal drawing stick behind one ear. “Burmboss, tell our friend what you do.”

Burmboss smiled over the rim of his glasses. “Mats, that's the thing, sir. Mats made out o' thick woven dunegrass, aye, big mats made by scores o' weavers. Sand then, good, sharp shoresand, limestone, ground down to powder, white wood ash an' fresh water. My workers makes it into a paste—cement, ye might say. Then 'tis plastered o'er the mats an' erected.”

He took Scutram to a section that reached the ground. Knocking his paw against the surface of the wall, he proclaimed proudly, “See? Tougher'n a hazelnut shell, but light. Warm in winter, cool in summer, an' 'twill last forever. Providin' the dunes stay where they are, supportin' it. Oh, an' with a final outer coat o'sand, it's invisible from the outside. Just looks like part of the dunes to those as don't know.”

There was a firepit at the centre of the dwelling, and there were several clay ovens. Queen Dukwina bade the guests sit on soft woven mats. They were given drinks.

Miggory sipped approvingly. “Hmm, tastes like wild fennel an' coltsfoot 'erbs—very nice!”

The old tabard-clad shrew took a message from a sand lizard and communicated it to Dukwina. “Majesty, there's almost a score o' rabbet—er, hares—proceeding along the dunetops toward us.”

Dukwina scowled at the empraking's counsellor, who was obviously in her disfavour. “Proceeding, ye say, Vigbil? Aren't they marching, walking or running, like any normal creature? Well, don't stand there thinkin' up more fancy terms. Go out an' meet them.
Proceed
them in here, if y'please, so our cooks can feed 'em.”