The Rogue Crew

Skor thudded his battleaxe blade deep in the wet earth. “Then where’s the bilge-blighted scum got to, eh?”

Lieutenant Scutram ignored him, calling out orders. “Get after the vermin! Stop ’em gangin’ up again before they try to break into the bloomin’ Abbey! Sergeant, take charge, will ye!”

Miggory bawled out commands in true parade-ground style. “Yew ’eard the h’officah—git movin’! Patrol, follow Cap’n Rake, h’otters go with yore chieftain. Guosim, go with yore Log a Log. Quick as y’like, now!”

Hearing the din of warfare outside, the screams of wounded and dying beasts, mingled with barbarous war cries, did not boost the composure of young Uggo Wiltud.

He paced back and forth, guarding the Abbey’s main door, trying hard to look fearless. Martin the Warrior’s great sword quivered in his paws, seeming too heavy to hold much longer. He was letting the blade lag when a light tap on his back caused him to jump. However, it was only his friend, the pretty hogmaid.

Uggo berated her shrilly. “Posy, you ain’t supposed t’be up here. Get back down to Cavern Hole with the Redwallers!”

Posy pushed him aside. Putting her eye to the door, she tried to peer through a crack near the hinges. “I only wanted to see what’s going on out there. Are we winning, Uggo?”

He pulled her from the door, his voice shaking as he tried to be stern. “You’ve got no business bein’ here. Guardin’ this Abbey door’s my job. Abbot Thibb left me in charge!”

Posy rapped the imposing oak timbers with her paw. “Well, there’s not much danger of vermin getting past this. What about the other doors an’ windows? Are they all locked up tight and secured? You should check.”

Uggo turned to continue his sentry duty and almost tripped over the blade of his sword. “Guard the door—that’s all Father Abbot said.”

Posy shook her head impatiently. “Well, I’m sure he never meant just this door. There’s lots more side doors and shuttered windows to this Abbey, Uggo. If they broke in anywhere else, you’d look pretty silly marching up and down in one place. Come on!”

Trying to maintain his dignity, Uggo strode off in an effort to outpace Posy. “Huh, suppose I’d better just take a look around.”

They were crossing the floor of Great Hall when Milda the volemaid came hurrying toward them. “Oh, sir, you’d best make ’aste. I think there’s somebeast tryin’ to break in. Come an’ see for yoreself!” She ran off, with Uggo and Posy close behind her.

The gale-force wind slackened off, and rain slowed to a fine drizzle as Razzid Wearat made his way through the dark orchard. Hearing the sounds of an affray, he threw himself down beside an overturned wheelbarrow. A fleeing group of about a dozen vermin had been overtaken by Ruggan and some Rogue Crew otters who had outrun them. They were dealing out retribution.

Though the vermin fought desperately, they were no match for their ferocious adversaries. Razzid watched as the otters backed their foes up against a bramble hedge. Battering his swordblade against his shield, Ruggan howled like a madbeast, “Bloody yore blades an’ send ’em to Hellgates, mates! Yaylahoooooo!”

Seething with rage, Razzid watched as his crewbeasts were slaughtered, though some escaped by crashing through the hedge. They fled off into the grounds, with sea otters hard on their tails, thirsting for vermin blood.

When they had gone, Razzid was about to rise, but somebeast flopped down beside him. He whirled his trident to deal with the intruder.

“Yaagh, don’t ’urt me, Cap’n—’tis only ole Badtooth!”

Razzid grounded the trident, staring at Greenshroud’s cook. “I thought you’d ha’ been long dead.”

The fat weasel gave a gap-fanged grin.

“Not me, Cap’n. I might be fat, but I’m too quick an’ greasy t’get meself slayed. I thought you was a goner. Wotcher doin’ round ’ere, stealin’ apples?”

Razzid ignored the joke, nodding toward the Abbey. “I’m lookin’ for a way to git in there. Any ideas?”

Badtooth shrugged. “Who, me? I wouldn’t know where t’start, Cap’n. Wait up, kin ye smell somethin’?”

Razzid sniffed the air as Badtooth answered his own question. “Cookin’, I kin smell cookin’. Smells nice, too.”

The Wearat nodded. “Yore right, the kitchens must be somewhere about. They must have a kitchen window or a door. That’ll be it—come with me, matey.”

Avoiding one or two other skirmishes between defenders and crewbeasts, they crossed the vegetable plots. Redwall Abbey loomed large through the damp night.

Razzid pointed with his trident at a thin, pale shaft of golden light piercing the darkness at about waist height. “There, see? Let’s take a look, mate.”

It was a shuttered window. Badtooth put his nose to the crack, sniffing blissfully. “New-baked bread, an’ scones, too, if’n I ain’t mistook. Mmmmm, they certainly knows about cookin’ in there, Cap’n.”

Razzid pulled him from the window, flinging him to the ground. “Shut yer slobberin’ gob an’ stay outta my way!” Inserting the prongs of his trident into the gap between shutter and stonework, he pried it silently wider.