Vilu closed one eye and squinted towards the channel separating both islands. ‘They’ll sail straight up the middle of there, always do. We’ll be waiting for them when they emerge from the channel mouth and meet them head on with our spike, eh, Parug?’
A quiver of evil joy shook the bosun. ‘Stick ’em like a gnat on a pin, sire!’
Vilu filled a beaker with nettle beer, passing it to Parug. ‘Like a gnat on a pin. What a quaint turn of phrase!’
Far below on the bottom deck of the trireme, Norgle the otter sat on the second row, staring in admiration at the back of Ranguvar, sitting alone on the front bench. Lash-marks scored and quartered the black squirrel’s back, where Bullflay had done his best to flog her into submission. He had failed – every slave chained to an oar throughout the length and breadth of the Goreleech knew it. It brought fresh life and the spark of defiance into the hearts of even the oldest and most timid. Norgle heard the heavy pawstep of Bullflay descending and murmured softly to Ranguvar. ‘’Tis Bullflay, matey. Get yoreself ready for the worst. Like as not he’ll slay ye for bitin’ off his ear.’
The black squirrel’s eyes glowed with fierce battle light. ‘Hah! Not before I’ve bitten his other one off!’
‘Silence down ’ere. One more peep an’ I’ll flay yore backs t’the bone, y’bilge scrapin’s!’
A hush fell as Bullflay’s whip cracked aloud. Still holding the rag to his ear, he strode up and stood by the drum. Raising the whip high he glared at Ranguvar. ‘An’ you’ll be the first t’git flayed, squirrel!’
The eyes of Ranguvar bored into her hated enemy. ‘An’ you’ll be the first to die, lardbucket!’
Bullflay quailed under the berserk stare of Ranguvar. He let the whip fall and strode off, muttering, ‘We’ll see ’ow bold yer are after a couple o’ days without vittles or water. That’ll cure you!’
However, when food was served up to the oarslaves, even though it was only a crust, one bowl of thin gruel and a cup of water, everybeast saved a small portion. When the oardecks were quiet, the food was passed from paw to paw until it reached the captive berserker.
Mid-morning of the following day saw Dulam, whose watch it was at the topmast, bellowing, ‘Laaaaaaand hooooooooo!’
Luke joined him at the lookout point. The high, humped hills of Twin Islands stood out fresh and green in the warm sunlight. He patted Dulam’s back.
‘Well done, mate. You’ll get an extra portion at lunch for bein’ the first to spot land!’
Dulam sighed mournfully. Luke was a warrior, not a cook. ‘An’ will I have to eat it too?’
Luke tweaked his friend’s ear playfully. ‘There’s gratitude for ye, after me slavin’ over a hot galley stove since dawn makin’ skilly’n’duff for ye.’
Dulam sighed wistfully. ‘My ole mum used t’make the best skilly’n’duff on the northland coast.’
Luke chuckled as he climbed out of the rigging. ‘Well, I ain’t yore ole mum. Mayhap we should’ve brought her along, Dulam.’
‘Aye, mayhap we will next time. She’s as good with a ladle as you are with a sword. Dear ole mum, yore liddle Martin used to come round to our cave for her apple pies. Sweet apples, golden crust, steamin’ hot, dusted with spices an’ warm arrowroot sauce poured over ’em. I can taste ’em right now.’
Luke helped Dulam down to the deck. ‘Well, let’s hope she’s still feeding my son, make him grow up big’n’strong. Now will you stop natterin’ on about those pies, ’tis tumin’ me off my own cookin’!’
‘Huh, that wouldn’t be hard to do!’ Vurg remarked in passing.
Luke heard him. ‘What was that you said, Vurg?’
‘I said the sky’s far up’n’blue, mate!’
Luke glanced upward, remarking quietly to Vurg, ‘There’s far worse cooks aboard than me.’
Vurg cupped a paw to his ear. ‘What?’
The Warrior winked slyly at his friend. ‘I said, the sky’s as blue as the sea.’
Afternoon shadows were starting to lengthen as the Sayna lay offshore of the Twin Islands. Luke called up to the topmost watch, ‘Any sign of the red ship?’
Cardo shielded his eyes. ‘None at all, Luke!’
Vurg leaned against the tiller. ‘So what now, mate?’
Luke studied the Twin Islands carefully before replying.
‘No good chasin’ out into unknown waters with the Sayna in a bad state. No tellin’ what might become of us. I think we should sail her into that channel which separates the two islands, ’tis calm an’ sheltered in there. We could make the Sayna shipshape again, fix the mast properly, make a new jib an’ sew up those torn sails. Sort of put everythin’ to rights afore we set sail again, eh, Vurg?’
‘Aye, sounds sensible, but what about the red ship, Luke?’
‘Well we ain’t in a fit condition to chase her right now. We’ll have to make up two days when we’re sailin’ again. Strange though, Vurg, I’ve got a funny feelin’ that red ship isn’t too far off somewhere. Hmm, mayhap ’tis just a fancy an’ it’ll pass. Right, head ’er in there, mates. We’ll make fast to the east channel bank about halfway along.’
Later that evening Akkla tapped nervously at Vilu Daskar’s splendidly carved cabin door.
Vilu put aside the charts he and Parug were studying. ‘Come!’ the pirate stoat’s voice called imperiously.
Akkla entered respectfully and made his report.
‘Sire, ’tis like you said: towards evenin’ a ship sailed into the channel an’ put in ’alfway up on the east side.’
Vilu could not resist a triumphant smirk at Parug. ‘Just as I predicted.’ He turned back to Akkla. ‘What manner of vessel is it?’
‘Like an ole Corsair barque, cap’n, but ain’t no Corsairs aboard of ’er, they’re all mice, tough-lookin’ beasts. She took some storm damage, sire – I think they’ve put in there for repairs.’
Parug drew his cutlass and licked the blade. ‘It’s dark outside, cap’n. We could come stormin’ up the channel like an ’awk on to a wren, jus’ when they’re least expectin’ us!’
Vilu shook his head despairingly at the searat bosun. ‘No no, my impulsive friend, why wreck a ship that’s in need of repair? Leave the mice awhile, let them work and sweat fixing up their craft, get it all good and seaworthy again. Then we’ll swoop on them and sink it, let them see all their efforts destroyed. Much more subtle, don’t you think?’
Parug thought for a moment, then his features creased into an evil gap-toothed cackle. ‘Haharrhahaharr! Yore a bad ’un all right, cap’n!’
Vilu adopted a modest expression. ‘Oh, I do my best to be the worst. Akkla, what was the name of this ship?’
‘I don’t know letters, sire, but Fleabitt does, an’ ’e said ’twas called the Sayna, I think. Aye, that’s the name, Sayna!’
To both Sea Rogues’ surprise, their captain poured wine for himself and them. Akkla and Parug sipped appreciatively at their goblets. Vilu Daskar’s wine was the best.
Vilu himself merely wet his lips as he mused, ‘Hmm, Sayna. What do you think, my friends, ’twould have been saner for Sayna to give Twin Islands a miss?’
Akkla and the bosun stared at him in dumb silence. Vilu put aside his wine and sighed.
‘That’s called a play on words, you bumpkins. Saner, Sayna, ’twas a pun, don’t you see?’
The pair stood in slack-jawed silence, trying to understand what their captain had said. He turned his back, dismissing the slow-witted crewbeasts. ‘Dimwitted idiots, get out of my sight before I lose patience with your thick-skulled ignorance. Begone!’
Akkla and Parug set their goblets down gingerly, not daring to finish the wine, and hurried from the cabin. Vilu’s former good humour had deserted him. He detested being surrounded by stupid witless vermin.
Slouching in his chair he began to focus his mind upon the Sayna and her crew. Why would a vessel of such small size be pursuing a ship as huge as the Goreleech? What possible harm could a score or so of mice inflict upon Vilu Daskar
, terror of the seas? They must be totally insane, or recklessly brave. Well, one way or another, he would soon find out. Hah! And so would they, the fools!
Vilu left his cabin and strolled out on deck, almost colliding with a searat called Drobna. His claws dug viciously into the rat’s cheek, drawing the frightened rodent close. Vilu smiled disarmingly at him. ‘Tell me, what chance does a minnow stand if it chases a shark?’
Drobna’s cheek was pulled awkwardly on one side, and spittle trickled from his lips as he blabbered out a reply. ‘Nuh . . . nuh . . . none, sire, minnow agin a shark’s got no ’ope!’
Vilu released him, patting Drobna’s cheek tenderly.
‘Well said, my friend, well said. Even a moron like you can solve a simple problem now and then.’
He strode on up the gently swaying deck, leaving Drobna rubbing a stinging cheek, completely baffled.
* * *
28
LUKE WAS ALREADY up, having taken last watch of the night. The Sayna lay moored on the east bank of the canallike channel running between Twin Islands. Luke leaned on the starboard rail, watching the day break still and humid, with leaden overcast skies. Cardo came out of the main cabin, bearing an old shield that he used as a tray. On it was a beaker of hot mint and dandelion tea, accompanied by a warm scone spread with stiff comb honey.
He winked at Luke. ‘Mornin’, mate. Here, get that down you. I was up awhile before dawn, so I tried me paw at bakin’ scones.’
Luke seated himself on a coil of rope, sipping gratefully at the hot tea and nibbling gingerly at the scone. He surveyed the islands’ two massive hills, which looked silent and oppressive with the heavy grey sky cloaking their summits in mist.
‘Hmm, wouldn’t surprise me if’n we had a spot o’ rain today, Cardo. Well, this scone tastes good, matey. Where’d you learn to bake stuff like this?’
Cardo stared down the channel to the open sea beyond. ‘’Twas a recipe Beau taught me. I miss that ole hare. He was a good friend t’me.’
Luke put a paw round Cardo’s shoulder. ‘Aye, so do I. Strange, but we never know the true value of friends’n’family ’til they ain’t with us any more. Come on, matey, buck up. I can hear our crew wakin’. Mopin’ about won’t help us. Best t’keep ourselves busy, eh?’
The crew of the Sayna had nothing but praise for Cardo’s good cooking, and it cheered him greatly. After breakfast Luke reviewed their position and gave orders.
‘Cardo, see if y’can cook up a lunch t’show us that breakfast wasn’t just a flash in the pan. Cordle, pick a couple o’ good patchers to help you repair the sails. Coll, Denno and Dulam, I want you to strip down the mainmast an’ bind it round tight with strong greased line. That willow never broke, it only cracked. ’Twill be good as new once it’s bound an’ tightened proper. Vurg, get yore weapons an’ come with me. We’re goin’ up that big hill yonder. Let’s see if we can find a decent piece o’ wood to fashion a new jib from. Right, off t’work now, crew, an’ keep yore wits about you an’ both eyes open. ’Tis strange territory.’
The hill turned out to be a complete disappointment. There were no proper trees with trunks and stout limbs growing there. Luke snorted in disgust as he swiped with his sword at one of the tall feathery bushes which grew in profusion on the slopes. Vurg picked up the branch his friend had lopped off and inspected it.
‘Huh, too thin an’ brittle. Wouldn’t even make decent firewood. Won’t find a decent jib spar growin’ ’ereabouts.’
Luke peered uphill into the warm humid mist. ‘Looks pretty much the same all over, Vurg. Why don’t we go back down an’ try searchin’ the channel edges for a good piece of driftwood? Might’ve been some timber washed up there. Vurg? What’s the matter, mate?’
Vurg was rubbing his paws together furiously and flapping them as if he were trying to fly. ‘Yukk! Some kind o’ filthy insects. Must’ve come off those bushes. Look, they’re all over me paws!’
Luke pushed his companion forward, urging him downhill. ‘Well don’t stand there flappin’ y’paws, mate, let’s get to the channel. Good salt water’ll wash ’em off!’
Further uphill than the two mice had ventured, Vilu Daskar’s spy patrol lay among the bushes. They watched Luke and Vurg hurry off down to the water. Ringpatch, the ferret in charge of the group, said, ‘If they’d reached the ’illtop they’d ’ave seen the Goreleech anchored below on the other side. Good job they never.’
‘Yah, they woulda never got past us,’ a small searat called Willag scoffed airily. ‘There wuz only two of ’em. We’d ’ave chopped ’em up fer sure!’
Ringpatch eyed him contemptuously. ‘Huh, what d’you know about it, spindleshanks? Those two mice looked like warriors to me. I wonder why they turned back an’ ran off?’
‘Said it was some kind o’ insects, least that’s wot I thought I ’eard one of ’em say,’ replied one of the patrol vermin.
‘Huh, insects,’ Willag sneered. ‘They can’t ’ave been much as warriors if’n they ran from insects!’
Suddenly, one of the patrol leaped upright, hitting himself left and right with both paws and dancing wildly. ‘Yaaaagh! Insec’s! I’m covered in ’em! Yeegh!’
Tiny moist brown slugs from the surrounding bushes were all over the patrol, writhing and crawling, sticking to any patch of fur they came in contact with. The vermin thrashed about in the bushes, beating at themselves.
‘Yuuurk! Gerrem offa me, I can’t stand insec’s!’
‘Uuugh! Filthy slimy liddle worms!’
‘Yowch! They sting too. Owowow!’
‘Sputt! One got in me mouth. Oooogh!’
Ringpatch dashed off uphill. ‘Patrol, retreat. Let’s get out o’ here afore they eats us alive!’
Stumbling and crashing through the bushes, they retreated over the summit, driven by the sticky slugs to seek a saltwater bath.
Vurg had just finished scouring his paws in the channel shallows when he cocked an ear upward. ‘Listen, did you hear something? Like a kind of high-pitched squealin’ noise? Came from up near the hilltop there.’
Luke stood still, cupping both paws about his ears. ‘Aye, I heard it, mate, though I couldn’t imagine anythin’ but insects wantin’ to live on this forsaken place. Prob’ly some seabirds, feedin’ off those horrible grubs.’
Vurg dried his paws in the coarse grass. ‘Well let’s ’ope they eat ’em all. I detest squigglies!’
It was noon by the time they got back to the ship. Denno was atop the mast, binding the last bit tight with greased line, and he saw them approaching.
‘Ahoy, crew, looks like Luke’n’Vurg found us a jib spar!’ Willing paws helped the pair carry a long stout limb of some unidentifiable wood aboard the vessel.
Coll inspected it, nodding his approval. ‘Tough oilylookin’ wood. Let’s strip the bark off an’ measure it agin the broken jib for size.’
It proved an ideal replacement for the old spar. By mid-noon they had it fixed. Rigging and fresh-patched sails were hauled, and Luke paced the deck, checking all was shipshape.
‘Good as new the ole tub looks, mates. I’m famished. What happened to that lunch Cardo was supposed t’be cookin’?’
Cardo popped his head round the galley door. ‘Go an’ seat yoreselves in the cabin. ’Tis about ready.’
The Sayna’s cook had triumphed again. Cardo had used most of the dried fruit to make a hefty steamed pudding, covered with a sauce made of pureed plums and arrowroot, and there were beakers of old amber cider to drink with it. Luke voted the meal so delicious that he proposed Cardo be made Ship’s Cook for life. Ladle clutched to his chest, Cardo bowed proudly as the crew applauded.
‘Hoho, good ole Cardo. More power to yore paw, mate!’
‘Any second ’elpings there, cooky me darlin’?’
‘Aye, an’ keep them scones comin’ for brekkist every day!’
‘Wot’s for supper tonight, matey, anythin’ tasty?’
Knowing he had a new-found power to wield, Cardo laid the law down
to them, shaking his ladle officiously. ‘So I’m Ship’s Cook now, eh? Then cook it is! But I ain’t washin’ dishes an’ scourin’ pots’n’pans, so there!’
To appease his touchy cook, Luke sided with Cardo. ‘Agreed! From now on everybeast washes their own dishes. We’ll take turns with the pots’n’pans. I’ll do first duty!’
A splatter of heavy drops pattering on the bulkheads announced the arrival of rain. Vurg opened the cabin door and slid his plate and beaker out on to the deck. ‘I vote that the rain washes our dishes tonight, buckoes!’
Soon, raindrops could be heard pinging merrily off the crew’s dishes scattered across the deck. Through the open door Luke watched a distant lightning flash, and he heard the far-off rumble of thunder.
‘Looks like we’re in for heavy weather, mates. Best batten down an’ lay up in this channel ’til it’s over.’
Rain continued into the late evening, but the crew were snug and dry in the cabin, glad of the respite from sailing. Cardo sat apart from the rest, his face gloomy.
Vurg tweaked the cook’s ear. ‘C’mon, wot’s up now, y’great miseryguts?’
Cardo shrugged. ‘Don’t know, Vurg, just got a bad feelin’ an’ I can’t explain it. Somethin’ seems wrong.’
Denno nudged Vurg, pulling a wry face at the unhappy cook. ‘Oh dearie me, just like the ole farm mouse, nothin’s right.’
Coll winked at him. ‘Which farm mouse was that, matey?’
Denno began tapping a beat on the tabletop.
‘There was an ole farm mouse, lived in an ole farmhouse,
Who always thought of a reason,
To rant an’ complain, again an’ again,
Whatever the weather or season.
If rain came down, he’d scowl an’ frown,
Shake a paw at the sky an’ say,
“Rains like these are good for the peas,
But they ain’t much use for me hay!”
Then if wind came along, he’d change his song,
Cryin’ out “Oh woe lackaday,
’Tis all I need, a wind indeed,