The Rogue Crew

Lady Violet came forward, sweeping off her warm cloak. She draped it about both the hares. Then, crouching down in front of them, she enquired in a calm low voice, “One thing at a time, young uns—easy does it now, take your time, try to speak slowly and clearly. Sage, make your report. What’s upset you so?”

Lancejack Sage, normally an ebullient haremaid, stared blankly into space. She spoke in a flat, halting, monotone. “We went straight out t’the south beach, to relieve the night Seawatch. I came back straight away with Trug. We left Ferrul an’ Wilbee with ’em. Not proper form, y’see, marm, leavin’ ’em alone like that. . . .”

Violet took the haremaid’s face in both paws, staring into her dazed eyes. “Left Ferrul and Wilbee with whom? Tell me.”

Sage’s companion, Trug Bawdsley, a hefty young buck, could no longer restrain himself. He shouted aloud, “Saw them in the mess yesterday, had tea with ’em. Now all four o’ the poorbeasts are dead! Gilbee, Dobbs, Dunwiddy an’ my sister Trey. They’re dead, I tell ye!” Here the sturdy fellow broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

Nobeast was swifter than the Badger Lady. Seizing a lance from a wall rack, she swung into action. “Sergeant Miggory, Lieutenant Scutram, bring a score of armed warriors and follow me! Major Felton, see these two are cared for. Fortify the gate and shutter all windows!”

It was a sad and shocking scene on the sands of the south shore. Four young hare cadets, the night Seawatch, lying mangled and pierced by arrows amidst the cold ashes of their fire. Ferrul and Wilbee, whom the lancejack had ordered to stay, were staring hypnotised at the ghastly tableau. Running in Lady Violet’s wake, Scutram and Miggory halted the rest at the badger’s command.

“Hold fast there until I can see what went on. Do you have a tracker with you, Sergeant?”

Miggory waved his paw at a lean haremaid. “Buff, go with ’er Ladyship, see wot ye can find.”

Buff Redspore wore the tan-hued tunic of an expert scout and tracker. She walked with Violet to where the four slain hares lay. Beckoning Ferrul and Wilbee to remain still, Buff ran a paw through the fire ashes. “Hmmmm. Burnt out long before dawn.”

She turned her attention to the dead hares.

“Look at these young uns, marm. Three of ’em crushed by somethin’, then shot by an arrow apiece, one in the chest, two in the throat, as they lay there. Now, see this fourth cadet—he escaped bein’ crushed an’ ran. Three arrows took him in the back, first one just near the nape o’ the neck.”

Lady Violet studied the evidence. “How can you tell, Buff?”

The tracker explained. “He’s clutchin’ at the shaft in his neck—that was his reaction to the first hit. Next two in the back finished him. Wasn’t crushed, though, Milady. No wheelmarks on him at all.”

The Badger Ruler interrupted. “Did you say wheelmarks?”

Buff nodded. “Aye, marm, wheelmarks. Those three never had time t’run. They were ambushed by some sort o’ big, heavy cart. Just mowed ’em down like reeds, pore things. Must’ve been archers ridin’ on the cart. Note the angle these arrows are leanin’ at. They were shot after bein’ run down. No need for it—they were already dyin’, marm.”

Violet spread her paws in despair. “But why? Run over by a big cart, then shot by arrows? It doesn’t make any sense, Buff.”

Picking up a stray arrow, the tracker pointed with it. “Way back up there in the dunes, that’s where the wheelmarks seem t’come from. Aye, straight down here at a pretty fast rate, I’d say. The young uns were on Seawatch, facin’ the water. They didn’t see it comin,’ all except one of ’em, an’ he was too late to escape.”

Violet shook her head in bewilderment. “But where is this big, heavy cart? I can’t see it, can you?”

Buff scratched her ear with the arrow she was holding. “No, Milady, though I can say this. It had iron-rimmed wheels, I think—look at those marks it made. Came speedin’ down the dune slopes, not makin’ a sound, hit the young uns from behind, then carried right on toward the sea. Left marks in the damp sand by the tideline. Passed that way just as the tide was on the turn.”

Violet blinked, scanning the Western Sea. It was fairly still, and overlaid with thick mist. “And you think this big cart went into the sea?”

Buff shrugged. “That’s what it jolly well looks like, marm. Who can flippin’ well say? The tracks are plain, an’ what don’t speak don’t blinkin’ well lie, as my pa used t’say.”

Lady Violet’s paw suddenly shot out, pointing northwest. “What’s that out there, off to the right, Buff? Something green, maybe—it’s not too clear, but it will soon be out of the mist. . . . See? It’s a ship!”

On the long prow of Greenshroud, Razzid Wearat, flanked by the searat Mowlag and his bosun, the mean-featured weasel called Jiboree, showed themselves in plain view. Razzid pointed his trident at the creatures onshore. “Let them take a good look an’ see who killed their little rabbets!”

Mowlag sniggered. “I wagers they’re wishin’ we was in arrow range so they could pay us back for wot we did.”