The Rogue Crew

Out at the western horizon, Razzid Wearat had kept all the Greenshroud’s canvas furled. Leaning on the tiller, he wiped his injured eye, watching night descend amidst dark, heavy cloudbanks rolling overhead. Rain hissed against the stern timbers, as further west lightning flared briefly, followed by a distant roll of thunder. Shekra stood sheltered beneath the aft stairway. She hurried forward as Razzid beckoned her with his trident. The vixen quailed as Razzid reached out, drawing her close. “So then, my Seer, shall I tell ye what ye see?”

Without waiting for a reply he continued, “A night for storm! For swift sailing! For blood an’ slaughter! For death! For victory! For Redwall Abbey, which will be mine by morning light! Is that what ye see?” His voice rose to a harsh roar; he shook Shekra until the teeth in her head rattled and her limbs did a crazy jig. “Is that what ye see? Tell meeeeee!”

The vixen could hear herself wailing in terror as the Wearat’s grip tightened on her throat. “Aye, Lord, aye! ’Tis as ye say, truly it is, Lord!”

With a burst of insane laughter, he cast her aside. Pointing the trident at his crew, who were gathered, rain drenched, amidships, Razzid bellowed, “Haul in the anchor cable! Put on all sail from stem to stern, every stitch o’ canvas! Let’s hear the storm singin’ through the ratlines! Jump to it, ye rakin’s an’ scrapin’s o’ Hellgates!”

Corsairs and searats clambered aloft, loosing all sail. Ropes were swiftly hauled through blocks and made fast to cleats and bollards. As the last vermin slid to the decks, a mighty gust of wind smote the vessel’s stern. Greenshroud lurched forward, sent on her voyage of evil by a mighty thunderclap and a sheet of lightning.

Razzid pointed his trident at Mowlag and Jiboree. “Haharr, attend yore cap’n, messmates!”

The pair approached him warily, saluting.

“Aye aye, Cap’n!”

He could see fear stamped on both their faces. Leering wickedly, he snarled, “Come here an’ stand by me!” Enjoying the distress he was causing them, Razzid tapped the tiller arm. “Git yore paws on this, both of ye!”

As their trembling paws rested on the tiller, the Wearat’s mood changed abruptly. He winked roguishly at them. “Stay true to yore ship an’ trust yore cap’n, mateys. Will ye do that for me, eh?”

The relief was so great that they babbled readily.

“Aye, Cap’n, we’ll stay true t’the Greenshroud!”

“We’d trust ye with our lives, Cap’n, we swear it!”

He grinned, nodding his head cheerfully. “That’s the spirit, mateys. Now you hold ’er on course, dead east. Hahaarrr, this time tomorrer we’ll be livin’ like lords inside Redwall. Waited on paw’n’tail, the finest o’ vittles, barrels o’ grog an’ soft beds to lay our heads on. Wot d’ye say t’that, mates?”

Together with the rest of the crew, Mowlag and Jiboree took up the cry. “Razzid! Razzid! Razzid!”

As the chant continued, Razzid strode for’ard, acknowledging their shouts by waving his trident.

Mowlag blew rainwater from his snout, exchanging looks with Jiboree. “The scabby-eyed fool don’t suspect a thing, I’m sure of it!”

Jiboree spat over the side bitterly. “Puttin’ the fear in us like that. Hah, just wait’ll that Abbey’s ours. He won’t live to enjoy it!”

Mowlag glared hatred at Razzid Wearat through the storm-swept night. “Aye, the length o’ my blade through’is gizzard is all our cap’n will get from me!”

Razzid had reached the big bow set up on the forward peak. He turned, leaning against it, staring back at the two grasping the tiller, his good eye unblinking, regardless of the wind-driven downpour.

As though fearing to be overheard, Jiboree muttered to Mowlag, “Keep chantin’, mate, ’e’s watchin’ us.”

As the mate and the bosun resumed chanting, Shekra, who was still crouching nearby, slid off silently. She had heard all that went on between her one-time conspirators.

Now Greenshroud’s sails were stretched tight, thunder boomed as lightning flashed overhead. The wheeled vessel sped east like a juggernaut, jouncing and lurching over tussock and hollow, timbers groaning, rain sheeting along its length as it clattered over the flatlands, straight for Redwall Abbey. Razzid ordered crewbeasts to load the big bow on the peak.

He crouched behind it, peering along the huge arrowshaft, murmuring to himself, “This’ll be a good way to knock on their door, though I don’t suppose there’ll be anybeast there to answer it. They’ll all be snorin’ in their nice liddle beds!”

Twangee, the young weasel nephew of the cook Badtooth, clambered nimbly down from the crow’s nest, where he had been posted as lookout. His paws slapped the deck wetly as he hastened to Razzid’s side to tell him the news. “Cap’n, Cap’n, I seen it, I seen the Redwall place!”

Razzid stared down at the bedraggled young weasel. “Are ye sure?”