The Rogue Crew

The tracker was an excellent cook, as was Lancejack Sage. Between them, they produced a fine spring vegetable stew. Flatbread was baked on slates fixed over the fire. With a beaker of dandelion cordial, it made a very appetizing supper. At one point, young Ferrul gulped, holding her throat and coughing. Corporal Welkin glanced up from his stew.

“Oh, dear, too hot for you, miss?”

Ferrul pulled a wry face. “No, Corporal. I think I’ve swallowed one of those small grasshopper thingies!”

Welkin held up a cautionary paw. “Hush, now, or they’ll all want one, you lucky gel!”

After supper the hares dug out cloaks from their packs and lay down. There was much shoving to see who could get closest to the fire, until Captain Rake was heard to whisper loudly to Miggory, “Sergeant, tell those beasties sleepin’ nearest the fire et’s their duty tae keep it burnin’ through the nicht. They can form a rota tae gather firewood when ’tis needed.”

There followed a deal of scuffling. Suddenly there was ample room for anybeast to sleep near the flames. Miggory tapped the footpaws of two hares whom he had chosen for the task.

“Bawdsley, Wilbee, yore h’on firewood duty t’night. Lie easy, there ain’t much needed for h’a while.”

It was an hour or two past midnight when Wilbee nudged Trug Bawdsley.

“Er, I say, Trug old scout, d’you fancy goin’ out t’get some flamin’ firewood? That blaze is startin’ t’get low.”

Trug poked his head out of a fold in his cloak. “Go an’ boil your bloomin’ head, Wilb. You go—unless you’re scared o’ the dark.”

Wilbee jumped up indignantly. “Scared? Who said I’m blinkin’ well scared, wot! I’ll go an’ get wood, lots o’ the bally stuff. You just lie there an’ snooze your big head off, fatbrain!”

Wrapping the cloak about his shoulders, he swaggered off over the dunetops, muttering to himself. “Scared—what’s t’be jolly well scared of, wot? I’ll show that Trug that I’m the least scaredest of the entire bloomin’ Patrol. Huh, scared, the very idea!”

It was then that a hasty sequence of events occurred. Young Wilbee tripped over a reedy tussock, falling ears over scut into a shallow depression. He knocked over a dark shape of a creature who was trying to sneak up on a nesting corn-crake, which was sitting on a clutch of eggs in the hollow. The bird screeched harshly as both beasts fell in on it. The creature yelled out in surprise, and Wilbee squeaked in dismay as the corn-crake’s wing buffeted him in the eye and the shadowy creature kicked out at him. All three fled in a panic, the bird flapping awkwardly into the night, the strange creature kicking sand in Wilbee’s eyes as it scurried off amidst the dunes. Wilbee sat in the hollow, rubbing sand from his eyes and wailing aloud as he tried gingerly to climb from the mess, with a broken bird’s egg clinging to his scut.

Alerted by the noise, Buff Redspore, Sergeant Miggory, Lieutenant Scutram and Corporal Welkin Dabbs came running, with weapons at the ready.

Young Wilbee staggered up to them, jabbering, “I’m wounded! There was two o’ the blighters, one with big claws, the other was some kind o’ blinkin’ phantom. Scrabbled with ’em, of course, but they jolly well scooted off. After woundin’ me, that is.”

Scutram peered at the young hare. “Wounded, laddie? Where?”

Wilbee turned around, so they could see his injury.

“Er, in the confounded tail area, I think.”

Miggory took a quick look, dabbed it with his paw and sniffed. “Where did h’all this ’appen?”

Wilbee pointed over to the small depression. “There, Sarge!”

Corporal Dabbs crouched over the scene, sweeping something up in his paw. “Eggshell. It’s a blinkin’ bird’s nest.”

Scutram inspected the nest before questioning Wilbee. “There were two of ’em, y’say—one with big claws, eh? Was that the one that flew away?”

Wilbee was confused. “Flew away, sah? Er, I didn’t notice.”

The lieutenant was not in the best of tempers, having been awakened and hurried off over the dunes. “So, ye didn’t notice, young puddenhead. It was a bird, Wilbee, a corn-crake. Can ye not see it hoverin’ over yonder? As for your wound, ’twas nothin’ more’n a broken egg ye sat on. Shove some sand on the stuff. It’ll brush off once it’s dry. Bloomin’ buffoon!”

Buff Redspore interrupted. “Beg pardon, sah, but what about the otherbeast—the dark phantom thing?”

Corporal Dabbs chuckled. “Phantom beast, hah, piffle!” The tracker pointed to blurred trailmarks in the sand. She shook her head. “I think not, Corp. Hard t’say, but I’d guess that’s a vermin track, too blurred t’see what sort. Went that way, north through the dunes.”

Scutram peered in the direction indicated. “Hmm. Any chance of catchin’ the blaggard, marm?”