“So tramp tramp tramp, onward to camp,
we’ll both find somewheres t’stay,
o’er woodland an’ hill keep marchin’ until,
’tis the end of a long, dusty day . . . hey hey,
the end of a long, dusty day!”
Although it was a lively tune, Dandy had a dreadful voice. He sang off-key in a croaky tone.
Swiffo smiled politely. “Well, that was a lively ole song, an’ no mistake!”
One of the Guosim, Rawkin, murmured out the side of his mouth, so that Dandy would not hear. “Aye, there was nothin’ wrong with the song, mate—’twas the singer. Our Log a Log’s a champion dancer, an’ a great leader, but when he opens his mouth t’sing, it sounds like a score o’ frogs bein’ pelted with rocks!”
His companion, Banktail, agreed fervently. “I was goin’ to say that meself, but I didn’t want to ’urt the feelin’s of any nearby frogs, mate!”
It was twilight when they reached the navigable section of the stream. Dandy relented, allowing them to cook a meal on the bankside.
“Get a fire goin’ there, you cooks. See if’n ye can come up with some good vittles. We’ll eat here, then take the stream into the River Moss an’ lay up there for the night. Tomorrow we’ll be on our way to the ford by dawn.”
Even Uggo, who had spent his life eating Redwall fare, had to admit that Guosim cooks could serve up marvellous food. Hungry after the long day’s labours, they dined on mushroom and fennel soup and flatbreads baked with cheese and flavoured with wild parsley, followed by a chestnut and acorn roll stuffed with dried plums and apple. There was pennycloud cordial to drink, or some fine pale cider.
Dobble sighed, patting his stomach. “Aaaah, that’s the stuff t’feed the tribe!”
One of Dandy’s clogs nudged him lightly.
“Now, don’t ye think of takin’ no after-vittle naps. Douse those fires, mates. All aboard the boats, quick as y’like. I wants t’be on the Moss afore midnight!” As Log a Log, Dandy Clogs brooked no arguments. Shortly thereafter, the logboats were on their way along the stream as twilight turned to dusk.
Posy dozed in the stern of the back boat, but she was aware of the little flotilla entering the main river. The boats eddied in the swirl of changing currents and gurgling waters. Downstream changed to upriver. The paddlers dug deep, though the river was not running at any great speed. They had been travelling awhile when Dandy called out orders.
“String ’em together across the river. Rawkin, Swiffo, moor the lead an’ rear craft to those elms. Finished with paddles, mates. Make the most of yore shut-eye—there’s another hard day t’come in the morn!”
Roped together and secured to an elm trunk on either bank, the logboats bobbed gently on the darkened river. Within moments, all that could be heard above the waterflow ripple was the snuffling and snoring of exhausted creatures. Everybeast was so wearied that they gave no thought to guards or sentries. After all, what need of keeping watch in mid-river? They slept deeply, every last creature.
Greenshroud came out of the night like a giant predator. The river was wide enough for Razzid to order full sail; she caught the wind from the sea that she had enjoyed earlier that day. The current was gentle. Mowlag was taking a turn around the deck when he discerned the glimmer of a single lantern on the water. As the big vessel closed in over the darkened river, it became clear that several small boats were moored, stem to stern, across the water. It was but the work of a moment for Mowlag to rouse his captain and the vermin crew.
The Wearat felt a shudder of evil joy run through him. This was too good an opportunity to miss, defenceless sleeping creatures with no knowledge of what was about to happen.
Greenshroud struck the rope at its centre, the force ripping both ends from the elm trunks. This left the Guosim logboats trailing both sides of the big ship, being towed upriver. Bleary-eyed shrews, still half asleep, sat up in bewilderment as Razzid Wearat gave his signal for the slaughter to begin.
21
Though he had never been a great walker, Skor Axehound marched doggedly onward alongside Rake Nightfur at the head of the column. It had been a difficult trek; Rake could hear Skor breathing heavily. Accordingly he enquired, “D’ye no’ think ye need tae rest awhile, mah friend?”
The sea otter Chieftain replied gruffly, “I don’t need any rest. D’you?”
The hare Captain chuckled. “Och, no. Ah’m jist fine, thank ye!”
Skor replied stubbornly, “Well, I’m fine, too, an’ I can march just as good as you can, Nightfur!”
Knowing his friend was in a prickly mood, Rake changed the subject by casting a glance at the waning stars. “It’ll be dawn soon, Ah’m thinkin’. We’ll both rest then.”
He was about to say more when Sergeant Miggory called out, “Scouts returnin’, sah. May’aps now we’ll find ’ow far h’off this bloomin’ Moss River we h’are!”
Buff Redspore, with the sea otter trackers, Gil and Dreel, loped out of the half-light. Buff saluted.
“River’s through that pine grove an’ over a small rise, sah!”
Jum Gurdy nodded to Ruggan. “We’ll be there in no time now, matey.”
The fine golden mist of a new day touched the eastern treetops as they arrived on the broad banks of the Moss. Lieutenant Scutram inspected the scene. “No signs of comin’s or goin’s, I fear.”
Trug Bawdsley giggled under his breath. “Ships don’t often leave blinkin’ tracks, do they?”
Corporal Welkin Dabbs commented tersely, “When we want your opinion, young Bawdsley, we’ll jolly well ask for it, eh, wot!”
Jum Gurdy spoke his piece. “The young un’s right, though, Corp. We don’t know whether they’ve passed ’ere, though mayhaps they’ve not yet come this far upriver. Wot d’ye think, Skor?”
The burly sea otter leaned on his battleaxe before giving a verdict that everybeast was secretly glad to hear. “I think we should rest, camp an’ eat right here. No cookin’ fires, though. Then if’n they ain’t sailed by us, we’ll have to assume they’ve already passed an’ are someplace ahead upriver. Does that suit ye, Rake?”
The tall, dark captain unbuckled both his blades. “Aye, that suits me grand. Ah’m fair starved!”
Jum Gurdy murmured, “If I ever meets a hare who isn’t,’twill be a rare sight. . . .”
Rake overheard the remark. He stared at the otter Cellardog. “Ye were sayin’ . . . ?”
Jum replied neatly, “I was just sayin’, Cap’n, we ain’t had a bite to eat since last night!”
They breakfasted on a make-do assortment of bread, cheese, wild onions, some dried fruit and clear, sweet water from the river. The older creatures took a rest, sunning themselves on the bank. However, the two young sea otter trackers went straight into the water.
Skor smiled at their antics. “Just look at ’em, will ye—an’ after a full night’s march, wantin’ to swim. There’s no stoppin’ those two scamps.”
Dreel waved to him. “Alright if’n we takes a liddle swim upriver, Chief?”
Skor nodded. “Go on, then, but keep yore eyes peeled, an’ git back here afore we march on.” He turned to Sergeant Miggory. “I’ve got ten times their strength, but I wishes I had half their energy. Still, that’s the price o’ gettin’ older, eh?”
Miggory gave him a crooked smile. “Yore strong as h’a bloomin’ h’oak, sah. That’s why yore chieftain of the ’Igh North Coast.”
There was no time for him to say any more. Skor took off like an arrow when a horrified shout rang out upriver. Sergeant Miggory was knocked backward as Skor Axehound bulled past him. The chieftain roared as he plunged into the river, “That’s one of our scoutmaids!”
Ruggan and a half dozen sea otters dived in after him.
Rake Nightfur called to his Long Patrol hares, “Cover them from the bankside, quick!”
Almost everybeast arrived on the scene together; it was a horrific sight. The broken stern half of a logboat had been grounded in the shallows. Lying in it was a Guosim warr
ior, pierced through his middle by an oversized arrow.
Skor lifted his scouts, Gil and Dreel, away from the wreckage; he touched the treelike shaft of the arrow. “So, the filthy, murderin’ scum have already passed by this way. Rogue Crew, scout upriver—stay armed. Ruggan, see if ye can find anybeast still livin’.”
Sergeant Miggory stared grimly at the slain shrew. “Cap’n, this is a bad business!”
Rake issued orders to his sergeant. “Take half the column to cover the otters from the bank. Go with ’em, ye may be able tae help.”
By midday the bankside was littered with Guosim, both the dead and the living. Three logboats had been found damaged but intact. The haremaids, Lancejack Sage, Ferrul and Buff Redspore, were assisting Lieutenant Scutram, who had some skill in dealing with wounds. Skor’s crew formed the burial detail, digging one long grave on the opposite bank and ferrying the slain across in two logboats. Rake and Skor were listening to Tibbro, a Guosim maid, who had witnessed everything the previous night. With haunted eyes and a hollow voice, she recounted her ordeal.
“Our crews were all asleep in their boats, strung across the river, moored twixt two trees. It’d been a long, ’ard day, y’see. We was so done in that everybeast went straight t’sleep. Next thing I knows, there’s noise, vermin cursin’ an’ roarin’. Our boats got rammed by a great big ship, one wid sails an’ everythin’. I was flung into the river, but there was nothin’ I could do but get t’shore. Those vermin, searats an’ corsairs, an’ one wid a face like a bad dream, wavin’ a great fork, a trident, I thinks ye’d call it . . .” Tibbro paused, staring straight ahead, like one in a trance.
Rake had found a flask of pale cider floating on the water. He helped her to sip a few drops. “Aye, go on, lassie. Yore doin’ jist fine, tell on.”
She continued. “They were pullin’ our boats along, either side of their ship. The murderers, stabbin’ down with pikes’n’spears, an’ shootin’ fire arrows into the logboats. Log a Log Dandy an’ our Guosim warriors tried to fight back, but they didn’t stan’ a chance. Three of our boats were blazin’, smashed to bits, my friends floatin’ facedown in the river, stuck with arrows an’ spears. Then the rope holdin’ our boats together snapped. The big ship went past us, sailin’ upriver. I thought it was over, but then they started firin’ arrows, huge things, from a giant bow at their stern end. I could hear them jokin’ an’ laughin’ as those arrows hit our beasts who were tryin’ to swim away. One buried itself in the shallows just alongside o’ me. I lay flat amidst the reeds an’ waited. I think I may’ve passed out, ’cos next time I looked up, the big ship had gone, sailed off into the night. One of yore otters, a maid called Kite, found me stuck in the mud. She rescued me. That’s all I can tell ye!”
Skor Axehound wrapped Tibbro in his cloak. “Ye did well fer a young un, beauty. Rest now, an’ don’t fret. Those killers will cry tears o’ blood when we meet up with ’em. Ye have my oath on that!”
Sergeant Miggory came to Rake’s side in a crouching run, hissing a warning. “We got visitors, sah, comin’ up be’ind h’us!”
Wordlessly, Rake and Skor signalled their force to spread out and intercept whoever the intruders were.
Notching a shaft to his bow, Ruggan centred on a movement behind some foliage. He was about to loose the arrow when one of the wounded Guosim called out, “Wait, they’re friends! It’s the Freepaws!”
The tall, silver-furred tail of Rekaby emerged from the undergrowth. The old squirrel came forward with a look of shock and concern on his aged features. “Seasons of sorrow an’ disaster, what’s taken place here, Axehound?”
Skor explained briefly as he followed Rekaby amongst the wounded Guosim. The old squirrel listened as he inspected the injured creatures before turning his attention to Scutram. “Have ye seen to them all yet?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “Haven’t had much time, sah. Huh, ain’t got much to jolly well work with either, wot!”
Rekaby nodded. “Not bad work, friend, but ye can leave this to us now. Fiddy, Frudd, Keltu, Laka, get my herbal bag an’ see wot ye can do about some dressin’s. Search about. I need dockleaves, woodruff, pepperwort, angelica—oh, an’ some fumitory for binding an’ stitching.”
Rekaby addressed Captain Rake. “Have ye any more wounded?”
The tall, dark hare shook his head. “Jist what ye see here, guid sir.”
The old squirrel took a quick estimate of the shrews. “It must’ve been a terrible slaughter. There’s only just over half of the Guosim that I met with not long back. No sign of their Log a Log, Dandy Clogs, nor of the two young hogs I left in their care—”
Jum Gurdy interrupted anxiously. “Two young ’ogs, ye say? Was one of ’em called Uggo?”
Rekaby nodded. “Aye, an’ his little friend, Posy. I left them with the Guosim—they were goin’ to take them to Redwall. Swiffo went of his own accord.”
Skor strode forward. “Swiffo, that’s the name my youngest son give ’imself. Ye mean he went with the Guosim?”
Dobble, the Guosim scout, sat up, nursing a shoulder wound. “Aye, sire, Swiffo was with us, an’ both liddle ’ogs, but I don’t see ’em anywheres round ’ere now.”
Skor’s hefty, gnarled paw tightened around his battleaxe. “If anythin’s happened to my young un—”
Before he finished the sentence, his elder son, Ruggan, rushed into the river, brandishing his blade. “Yaylaho, Rogue Crew, let’s get after those vermin!”
Hurrying to join them, Skor called to Rake, “Got to go, Nightfur—they might have my young son!”
For a moment Rake looked undecided. There were still many Guosim lying on the bankside in need of help. Rekaby motioned for him to go.
“Nothin’ ye can do here, friend. My Fortunate Freepaws can deal with these shrews. Take two logboats an’ pursue those evil ones. Good fortune attend ye!”
The old squirrel took Jum Gurdy’s paw. “Ye’d best stay here, friend, in case yore two liddle hogs turn up. They could’ve escaped the attack, y’know.”
Jum cast a glance at the sea otter warriors, swimming upriver swiftly, despite the weapons they carried. He saw the Long Patrol, fit young hares, battle ready, launching the two logboats. Suddenly the big Cellardog felt heavy and burdened with long seasons. He sighed. “Aye, mate, yore right. Besides, I couldn’t show my face round Redwall without liddle Uggo, or at least some news of him. I’ll lend a paw here.”
The young squirrel, Laka, presented Jum with the mischievous babe, Wiggles, saying, “I’ll start makin’ dockleaf poultices. You ’ang on to this un, seein’ as yore partial to’edg’ogs.”
Jum smiled at the infant, chucking her under the chin. “Well, ain’t you a cute little thing!”
The babe glared up at Jum. “Ain’t a cute liddle fing. I’m a Wiggles, y’ole fatty!” She bit Jum’s paw, leapt down and sped off along the bank.
Laka nudged Jum. “Well, don’t jus’ stan’ there. Git after’er—an’ be careful, or Wiggles’ll bite ye agin!”
The big otter lumbered off along the bank, fervently wishing that he had gone with Skor and Rake. Wiggles shot up a sycamore trunk. She perched on a branch, just out of Jum’s reach, swinging her footpaws and giggling. “Heeheehee! Can’t get Wiggles, big ole fatty bottom, yore a lardy belly, that’s wot yew are. Heeheehee!”
Jum Gurdy began searching for a long stick to dislodge the imp with, muttering to himself, “I’ve certainly got me work cut out this day!”
22
It was toward evening when the breeze died away. Mowlag glanced at the limp green sails, stating the obvious to his captain. “Wind’s gone, Cap’n. We’re startin’ to drift astern with the current.”
Razzid leaned on his trident, replying with mock surprise, “Really? Is that a fact. Wot d’ye suggest we do, bucko?”
The searat took a backward pace, answering lamely, “Break out the paddles an’ get the crew t’work?”
Not dignifying the suggestion with a comment, the Wearat turned away. Brus
hing away a midge that was crawling close to his good eye, he stumped off wordlessly to his cabin. Mowlag sighed with relief, then began yelling out orders.
“Furl all sails an’ lower ’em! Break out the oars an’ git pullin’ ’er upriver! Can’t ye see we’re drifting back’ards? C’mon, shift yore idle carcasses!”
From the mast, the keen-eyed stoat on lookout yelled down, “Ahoy, do I stop up ’ere, or do I start furlin’ sail?”
Mowlag glared up at the stoat. “Git down’ere, right now!”
With no prior warning, the stoat came down to the deck, plunging from the masthead with an arrow through his throat.
“Yaaaah!” Jiboree yelled in horror as he left the tiller, rushing to Mowlag, who stood with the dead lookout lying next to his footpaws. “Yaaaah! All paws on deck—we’re under attack! All paws on deck!”
There was a confusion of vermin running about carrying long oars whilst others dropped from the half-furled sails.
Razzid Wearat stumped out on deck, brandishing his trident. “Wot’n the name o’ blood’n’Hellgates is goin’ on’ere?” He turned, his face almost colliding with Jiboree as the weasel continued bawling.
“Yaaaah, did ya see that? We’re bein’ attacked. Lookit that! ’E’s dead!”
Razzid blenched from the weasel’s foul breath as he pushed him aside. “Attacked? Attacked by whom?”
He grabbed Shekra, who was looking stunned. She stammered, “I dunno, but somebeast just killed the lookout, Cap’n.”
Roughly shoving the vixen from him, Razzid grabbed the unattended tiller, roaring out to both banks, “Come an’ show yoreself if’n ye wants a battle!”
Thunk! A slingstone whacked him on the side of his jaw. Clapping a paw to his face, he hastened back to his cabin, dribbling blood as he spat out a broken fang. “Jiboree, git yoreself back at the tiller! Mowlag, find who’s attackin’ us an’ rip ’em apart, d’ye hear me?”
Doing his best to look efficient, the searat tugged his ear in salute. “I’ll take a party ashore, Cap’n’.”