The Rogue Crew

She was leaning over the stern gallery, staring into the dark waters, when something hit the starboard side close to the stern. It was not a great impact, merely a gentle thud. Unhooking a lantern, Shekra moved around to locate the object.

There it was, rocking against the hull—a battered pine trunk, with two senseless little hedgehogs draped over it. Shekra quickly got a boathook, a long, pikelike implement. Using the point and the hook, she maneuvered the log easily along, until it was amidships.

The searat she had spoken to previously lurched out onto the deck. “Still a touch wobbly on the ole paws, are ye, fox?’Ere, take a swig o’ this grog, that’ll set ye right!”

Shekra declined the offer. “Put that stuff aside and help me to get these two creatures aboard.”

Razzid Wearat sat at his cabin table, staring at the two bedraggled young ones. They lay on the decking in a pool of water, still senseless. He touched Posy with his footpaw.

“Ye say ye found them adrift on a log? Now I wonder what two liddle ’edgepigs would be doin’ out at sea alone. They’re still breathin’—see to them, Shekra. If they come around, maybe they’ve got a tale to tell.”

The vixen had Uggo and Posy carried to the galley, where it was warm. She laid them on a worn rope fender in a corner. The cook cackled as he honed his skinning knife. “Brought ’em for the pot, ’ave ye, fox? I never peeled one o’ those spikybeasts afore. Still there’s always a first time, eh. Wot say ye, shipmates?”

The crewbeasts guffawed coarsely, commenting, “’Tis a while since we ’ad some fresh meat!”

“Huh, they’ll make skinny pickin’s, I’ll wager!” Shekra stood over her charges, snarling, “Git back, ye seascum. These two ain’t t’be touched or hurt—cap’n’s orders, so stay yore distance!” She whipped out a thin, keenedged blade, menacing them.

A slobbering weasel gave her a look of mock alarm. “Ho, deary me, ye’ve got us all frightened, marm!”

The vixen jabbed her blade, making him stagger back. “Better t’be frightened than dead, grogsnout. Then cooky would have t’cook you. Anybeast fancy weasel stew?”

Her remark appealed to the corsairs’ macabre humour and made the atmosphere more cordial. They began bantering.

“Ahoy, mate, ’ave ye ever tasted weasel stew?”

The fat greasy cook, himself a weasel, shook his head. “Nah, us weasels don’t taste nice. I bit me tongue once, an’ I tasted ’orrible!”

Even Shekra had to smile at that. Taking down a wheezy and tattered concertina, the greasy cook sang in a raucous tone a ditty he had composed.

“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,

pay ’eed now whilst I sing,

I’m a salty cove, give me a stove,

an’ I’ll cook anything!

“When I first went to sea,

’twas a long long time ago,

as second cook to an ole searat,

who taught me all I know.

An’ many’s the fox we fried,

an’ ferrets we flambéed,

’til I slew the cook wid a rusty ’ook,

wot a tasty dish ’e made!

“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,

pay ’eed now whilst I sing,

I’m a salty cove, give me a stove,

an’ I’ll cook anything!

“But I’ll tell ye, shipmates,

there’s nought like roasted rat,

an’ not a skinny, weedy one,

just roast ’im to a turn,

an’ serve wid skilly’n’duff,

all pipin’ ’ot, right out the pot

haharr, mates, that’s the stuff!

“Yoho, me hearties, hark t’me,

the fact is pretty plain,

once you’ve chewed at a roasted rat,

y’ll be back for more again!”

Several irate searats whipped out their blades. The cook hopped out of the galley smartly, shouting, “Wot’s the matter, mates—can’t ye take a joke?”

Uggo opened his eyes. Spitting seawater, he sat up gingerly, gazing around. “Where am I? Wot happened? Posy, are you alright?”

The pretty hogmaid attempted to rise but fell back. “Oh, my head. I feel awful, Uggo!”

Shekra hauled them both up. “Come on, you two. Now yore awake, the cap’n will want a word with ye. Come on,’tis not good to keep him waitin’.”

The vixen shoved them out onto the deck, still half dazed and bewildered. Uggo was looking up at the mainsail when Shekra chivvied him along. “Stop gawpin’ about an’ move yoreself, ’edgepig!”

Posy heard Uggo murmur to himself, “That sign on the sail—where’ve I seen it before?”

They were bundled roughly into the captain’s cabin. Razzid had his back to them but turned at the sound of their entry. The truth hit Uggo Wiltud like a thunderbolt. Before he could think properly, he blurted out, “I’ve seen you before, an’ that sign on the sail—a big fork with evil eyes starin’ through it!”

The Wearat hooked a claw about Uggo’s neck, drawing him close. “Where was it ye saw all this?”

The young hedgehog quailed as he gazed at Razzid. The burn-scarred features, the weeping half-closed eye and the other one, which bored into him like a gimlet.

He answered in a faltering stammer. “I—I don’t mean I really saw you, like now. It was in a dream I had at Redwall Abbey, sir.”

Owing to his facial wounds, Razzid’s smile was more of a wicked grimace. He pulled the young hedgehog closer. “Redwall Abbey, eh? I like the sound o’ that. We’ve got a lot to talk about, my friend!”