The Rogue Crew

The captain sheathed his claymore. “Aye, so we will. Ah want Razzid an’ his crew in here. We’ll lock the gates behind him an’ trap ’em within these walls. Now that’s what Ah call a canny plan!”

Abbot Thibb seemed quite upset with the wild scheme. “What, here inside my Abbey, a ship and its vermin crew? I . . . I’ve never heard of such a preposterous thing!”

Sergeant Miggory threw a friendly paw around Thibb’s shoulder. “Don’t ye fret, sah. We’ll take care h’of h’everything. Er, by the way, wot’s for lunch today, sah?”

Abbot Thibb looked totally bemused. “Lunch? You can speak of lunch at such a time as this?”

Big Drander coughed politely to gain Thibb’s attention. “Beg pardon, Father old chap, but every bloomin’ Patrol an’ Crewbeast is lookin’ forward to a spot o’ the famous Redwall vittles—at a time like this, or any flippin’ time y’care to mention, wot!”

The Abbot took a glance at the hulking hares and burly otters, all young, and all ready to eat at the drop of a crust. It was difficult not to smile.

“How about a big extended picnic luncheon in the orchard? I could have our good Friar run it on into afternoon tea.”

Big Drander’s ears waggled with anticipation as he added, “Mayhaps it could carry on through dinner, then into supper.”

Thibb chortled as he waved them down the wallsteps. “Aye, why not indeed, as long as you keep eating!”

Captain Rake patted Thibb’s paw sympathetically. “Och, ye braw mousey, Ah think ye’ll regret those words afore the day’s out, mah friend. These walkin’ stomachs will be eatin’ as lang as yer Friar keeps sendin’ more.”

Thibb shrugged. “That’s because they’re young and full of life. Don’t fret, Captain. We’ll feed ’em like heroes—’tis the least Redwall can do for those who’ll be defending our Abbey.”

Uggo Wiltud overheard Thibb. He piped up boldly, “Does that include me, Father?”

The Abbot shook his head. “No, I have other plans for you.”

The orchard lunch was up to Redwall standards—in a word, delicious! Sister Fisk sat sharing some apple and blackberry flan with Skor. The sea otter Chieftain interested her, and she plied him with questions as he did full justice to the lunch.

“Pardon my asking, sir, but doesn’t it put you off food, knowing that you’ll be fighting a war with the vermin soon?”

The big beast took a long draught of October Ale. “Why should it, marm? Warriors never give such things much thought.”

Fisk topped up his tankard. “Forgive me. I’m not a warrior, so I wouldn’t know.”

Reaching for bread and cheese, Skor touched her paw lightly. “Let me tell ye somethin’ about warriors, Sister. We always eat well and never worry, because tomorrow we may be hungry, or dead. It doesn’t do to dwell on the past or the future. Take me, now. Today I laid my young son to rest. ’Twas a sad an’ hard thing t’do. But I’m a chieftain—my Crew look to me. I can’t sit round for a season, mopin’, weepin’ an’ tendin’ a grave. There’s others to think of, my other son, an’ the Rogue Crew, an’ my friend Captain Rake, with his Long Patrol, d’ye understand?”

The Sister nodded. “Indeed I do, sir, but I just wish there was something us Redwallers could do to help you.”

Skor chuckled gruffly. “Feedin’ this lot is a big help, marm, but I’ll tell ye wot else ye can do. When the action starts, ’twould help if’n the Abbeybeasts stays out of our way. Lock yoreselves up in Cavern Hole, take care o’ yore babes an’ Dibbuns. Then after the battle’s end, ye can serve us with yore healin’ knowledge. I’m told yore good at bandagin’ an’ salvin’, eh?”

Sister Fisk smiled modestly. “So I’m told, sir. Thank you for your advice, and now perhaps you’d best take care of that great appetite, before your otters and those hares clear the board of every crumb!”

The feasting continued until early evening, when Sergeant Miggory whispered in Abbot Thibb’s ear. “H’it’s startin’ t’cloud over, Father. Captain Rake says the breeze is freshenin’ from westward, an’ ole Drogbuk’s just felt a spot o’ rain. No panic, Father. Get yore Redwallers inside, h’in a h’orderly manner.”

In a short time the Abbeybeasts had gone from the orchard, leaving only the Rogue Crew, Shrews and the Long Patrol.

Rake drew his twin blades. “Which d’ye choose, Axehound, the main gates, or walltops?”

Flexing both paws, Skor gripped his battleaxe haft. “We’ll come to the walltop with ye. Then when the vermin ship is sighted, I’ll take my crew down t’the gate. Agreed?”

Rake felt raindrops beginning to patter on the rising wind. “Agreed, mah bonny friend. Let’s get tae it!”

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