The Rogue Crew

A skull, probably that of some vermin, ferret or weasel, was moving over the crest of the low rise. It halted, gave a despairing screech and tumbled down onto the shore not far from them. It lay there, bleached white, grinning through socketless eyes at them. The drums pounded out, increasing their intensity.

Early eventide saw the galley Greenshroud in sight of the High North Coast. She drifted far offshore on Razzid Wearat’s orders. He no longer desired to avenge himself on sea otters, knowing they were too warlike and on the alert for battle. Redwall Abbey was Razzid’s current desire—his crew were not relishing any coming conflict with Skor Axehound’s warriors. Neither, for that matter, was Razzid, but he could not afford to lose face in front of his vermin. In the light of this, he had planned craftily to gain his aims. Knowing that even from this distance, his ship had been sighted by the sea otters, he acted. Pacing the deck with trident in paw, he scowled landward, calling up to the lookout, “Ahoy, what goes on ashore, Splitears?”

The lookout, a weasel with both ears torn from tip to base, called back from the masthead, “Lights on the point nor’east, Cap’n. Looks like alarm beacons t’me!”

Razzid nodded to Mowlag. “Muster my crew—all paws on deck!”

Searats and vermin corsairs trooped onto the welldeck, glancing up at their captain, who stared down at them from the stern gallery rail. He pointed slightly south. “See yonder lights—look hard or ye’ll miss them. Well, do ye see?”

Shekra, who stood with the crew, replied dutifully, “Aye, Cap’n, I see the lights. They glint now an’ then. Ha, there’s one, just flashed.”

Razzid wiped at his bad eye, the good one transfixing the crew. “That’s sea otters, flashin’ the last o’ the sunlight off their swords an’ axeheads. We’ve been spotted sailing into these waters. They’ll be gatherin’ round those fires on the headland. Ain’t that right, lookout?”

Splitears was not about to contradict a Wearat. He called back, “Aye, Cap’n, right ye are. There’s fires all over that’eadland. That’s where they’ll be waitin’.”

Razzid made a sweep from the south to the far point with his trident, dropping his voice to a rasping growl. “Aye, that’s the enemy, waitin’ on us, an’ we’re headin’ in straight to war with ’em. I don’t care a barnacle’s blister how many fightin’ beasts their chief can face us with. I couldn’t care less how many axes, spears, swords, slings an’ fire arrows they’ve got. I’m Razzid Wearat, an’ I’ll fight ’em down to my last crewbeast, aye, an’ go down battlin’ myself. I tell ye, mates, the name o’ Greenshroud will be a name t’be remembered on the High North Coast. Haharr, that it will! Well, are ye with me?”

What he had hoped for happened then. There was silence from the crew. He banged the gallery rail with his trident haft. “Well, are ye?” The only sound was a shuffling of footpaws. Avoiding his eyes, searats and corsairs stared at the deck planking.

Razzid shook his head. He no longer sounded confident. “Does none of ye want to fight the wavedogs?”

Still no reply was forthcoming. He slammed his trident points down into the deck, scorn dripping from his voice. “I’ve been lissenin’ t’the talk aboard this ship. What ye want is to find the Abbey o’ Redwall an’ loot it.”

A few murmurs arose from the welldeck, but Razzid silenced them with a wave of his claws.

“Harr, ye can’t fool me, ye cringin’ seascum. Right, then, so be it, let’s have a show o’ paws. All those wantin’ to invade the Abbey place?”

There was an immediate mass show of paws—all but three. Razzid drew in a breath, which sounded like a sigh of despair. “Now, all those who wants to fight the wavedogs?” Mowlag, Jiboree and Shekra held up their paws.

Apart from the sound of waves and the creak of rigging, there was silence aboard the Greenshroud.

Razzid let them wait awhile, then wiped at his bad eye and grunted, “Mowlag, take the tiller an’ turn this vessel about. Set a course south an’ east.”

Turning abruptly, he stumped off to his cabin, slamming the door after him. Though nobeast cheered aloud, there was subdued chuckling from the crew.

Jiboree cut it short, hissing sharply, “Don’t start enjoyin’ yoreselves too soon, or the cap’n might want to make a few examples. It ain’t pleasin’ ’im too much, bein’ outvoted by’is own crew.”

As they dispersed silently, he winked at Mowlag and Shekra. “Looks like we’re ’eaded for the easy life, mates.”

Mowlag grinned. “Aye, ’twas a close-run vote, though.”

Shekra added a word of caution. “We’re not home an’ dry yet, friends. Does either of ye know how to get to this Redwall Abbey?”

They shrugged wordlessly.

The vixen spoke. “An’ neither do I!”

Uggo and Posy were kicked into wakefulness. It was just after dawn. The stoat Jonder and his ferret companion, Wigga, were still sleepy and irritable at having to rise early. Jonder showed them his long sling.