The Rogue Crew

Twangee waved his paws excitedly. “Sure, I’m sure, Cap’n—ye’ll see it for yerself soon. There’s liddle gold lights, like stars. That’ll be from some o’ the rooms upstairs, an’ if’n ye look ’ard enough, ye can just about make out its shape!”

The Wearat patted Twangee’s head. “Ye did well. Now find Redtail an’ send ’im t’me.”

Redtail the stoat was the ship’s official lookout; he had keener sight than most. Razzid ordered him up to the crow’s nest.

“I wants ye to take a good look around, then come back down an’ report t’me. Look sharp, now!”

Sensing the urgency of his captain, Redtail performed his task smartly, clambering swiftly back to the deck. “’Tis the Abbey, Cap’n, we’re on a course right for it. If’n this weather keeps up, we’ll be there in about three hours by my reckonin’.”

The Wearat was trembling eagerly. “I wants this ship to hit those Abbey gates dead centre. Git back up there an’ make sure we stays on course, Redtail. I’ll take over the tiller, so there’ll be no mistake!”

Mowlag and Jiboree were glad to be relieved of the tiller. They were soaked and wind battered from trying to hold the vessel on its wild, careering course. Tugging their snouts in salute, they slunk off toward the galley, where there was warmth and grog to be had. However, before they had gone a few paces, Razzid’s voice halted them.

“Ahoy, mates, I’ve got a job for ye both up on the for’ard peak. Bein’ as yore such trusty beasts, ye can stand by, ready to throw that log bridge o’er the ditch when we reaches it. Git ye up on that forepeak now, cullies!”

He watched them being driven for’ard by the gale, both cursing under their breath at the perilous task they had been allocated. One false slip at the crucial moment of bridging the ditch was a virtual death sentence. The Wearat laughed callously as he urged them on.

“Jump to it, me lucky friends! Show our crew ’ow true to me ye are. Haharr, I wouldn’t trust nobeast to do it, except me ole shipmates Mowlag an’ Jiboree!” Casting a swift glance over the crew, he called four hulking ferrets to him, issuing them with orders. “Hearken t’me, bullies, go an’ arm yoreselves with long pikes. If’n Mowlag or Jiboree don’t stand fast an’ carry out my biddin’, then kill ’em an’ take their place!”

The brawniest of the ferrets, a corsair named Lugsnout, narrowed his eyes viciously. “Leave it to us, Cap’n. If’n they moves a paw back’ards, they’re both worm meat!”

As they went to get pikes, Razzid reached behind him, dragging Shekra forward by her tail.

“An’ you, my Seer, you’ll be watchin’ the watchers. If’n anythin’ goes amiss, the job o’ bridgin’ the ditch’ll be yores. Unnerstand?”

The vixen protested, “But, Lord, I’ve got a ruined paw. I couldn’t lift those pine trunks on my own!”

Razzid winked at her. “You’d be surprised at wot ye can do if’n I comes behind ye with my trident. Go on with ye!”

Whilst all this had been going on, Greenshroud had been rattling forward over the flatlands. Razzid pulled himself up on the tiller, peering ahead. He was rewarded by the sight of Redwall Abbey in the distance, its monumental bulk highlighted by twinkling lantern lights from dormitory windows. The Wearat shuddered with unholy joy.

“I see ye now. Ye can’t run or hide from ole Razzid. I’m comin’—there’s nought ye can do to stop me!”

Howling gale-force winds drove battering rain at the main door of the Abbey building. Fortunately, almost all the Redwallers were dry and warm inside. Friar Wopple and her helpers busied themselves in the kitchens, baking, cooking and preparing for the valiant defenders on the outer walltops. Sister Fisk and her assistants were hard at it in the Infirmary, readying supplies of bandages, poultices and healing remedies for the inevitable casualties of the coming conflict. However, the proudest creature in the Abbey was Uggo Wiltud, who had been ordered by the Abbot to guard the door against all comers. Armed with the sword of Martin the Warrior, the young hedgehog stood sentinel behind the huge oaken door. This was the greatest honour ever bestowed on him, and live or die, Uggo was determined to see it through.

Outside on the ramparts, it was difficult to distinguish anything on the western flatlands. Corporal Welkin Dabbs and Kite Slayer, two of the keener-sighted beasts, were on lookout. Skor Axehound and Captain Rake Nightfur stood alongside them in an effort to keep watch. Blustering winds and driving rain, plus the heavily clouded darkness of the night skies, limited their vision drastically. Captain Rake turned his head aside, dashing rain from his eyes. “Och, can ye nae see anythin’ out yonder?”

Welkin Dabbs blew water from his nosetip. “Alas, sah, not a bloomin’ thing, I’m afraid. What about you, miss? Your eyes are jolly much younger’n mine, wot?”

Kite Slayer shielded her vision with a dripping paw. “Huh, waste o’ time tryin’ t’spot anythin’ in this foul lot!”

Skor patted her back. “Keep lookin’, young Kite.”