The Rogue Crew

Captain Rake stepped through the huge, ragged gap and shook his paw. “Well done, bucko! All charges dropped, Ah think, eh!”

Drander’s face lit up like a summer sunset. From flat on his back, where he had landed, he saluted.

“No more sleepin’ on duty for me, sah. Thank ye, Cap’n!”

With the crash of the broken wall, the rattling of weapons died away. There was an ominous silence from outside.

Queen Dukwina sniggered maliciously. “Get ready to die. My warriors are coming soon now, rabbets!”

The little empraking waved his paws in agitation. “She’s right, Cap’n. They’re goin’ to charge!”

The tall, dark-furred hare nodded. “Ah’ve nae doubt she is, mah friend. Right, Drander, Flutchers, lead off wi’ the lassies, if they’re fit tae go.”

Lancejack Sage took the paws of Buff Redspore and Ferrul.

“We’re all correct an’ ready for duty. Sah!”

Rake drew his twin blades. “Guid—then off ye go! Lieutenant Scutram, you follow ’em wi’ the stoat an’ they two wee shrews. No arguments now, Scutram, go!” He allowed both parties a few moments to get clear, then turned to Miggory. “Sarn’t, take the remainder o’ the column an’ back us up.”

Joining Corporal Welkin and Trug Bawdsley, Rake Nightfur gave final instructions. “Now, when Ah give the word, we three will fling this piece o’ stuff in their faces an’ get oot o’ here smartish. Are ye right? One . . . two . . . heave!”

Seizing the large, triangular fragment between them, the three hares hurled the thing into the foremost rank of the foebeast, yelling, “Eulaliiiiaaaaa!”

BOOK TWO

Enter the Rogue Crew!

13

Rigid with fear, Uggo Wiltud quailed under Razzid Wearat’s evil eye. He could feel the vermin’s foul breath on his face as Razzid hissed, “So, yore a Redwall creature. Don’t be afraid, I won’t harm ye. Tell me yore name an’ the name of yore liddle friend. She’s a pretty one, ain’t she?”

Uggo opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. The Wearat turned to his companions, chuckling. “Pore liddle’og’s lost his tongue.”

Jiboree slid out a curved dagger. “Shall I find it for ’im, Cap’n?”

From some untapped well, courage sprang up in Posy. She leapt up, shouting angrily at Jiboree, “You leave him alone! I’m called Posy, an’ his name’s Uggo!”

Razzid signalled the weasel to stow his blade. He seemed amused by the hogmaid’s outburst.

“Posy, eh? Ain’t that a pretty name. So, yore the one who does the talkin’, Posy. Then you tell me about this place they calls Redwall Abbey.”

She shook her head. “I’m not from there, so I can’t tell you anything, Captain.”

Mowlag pointed at Uggo. “No, but I wager ’e can.” Shekra joined in encouragingly. “But of course ye can, Uggo. Look at yore friend Posy—she ain’t scared to speak to us.”

Uggo found his voice then. He blurted out, “I’m not scared. Aye, I’m from the Abbey o’ Redwall, but Posy isn’t, she’s never even seen the place.”

The vixen gently moved Uggo away from Razzid. She whispered casually to the Wearat, “Uggo fears you, Lord, but I think he’ll talk t’me.” She turned back to Uggo. “I’ve heard wonderful tales about Redwall. Wot’s it like, liddle friend?”

Uggo caught a warning glance from Posy, so he went back to being silent. Shekra did not seem unduly bothered. She smiled in a friendly manner.

“Let me tell you about Redwall, then, though I can only say wot I’ve heard, ’cos I’m like Posy—I’ve never been there. They say ’tis a beautiful place, all built from good red stone, very big an’ old. There’s everything there a creature could want, orchards full of ripe fruit an’ berries, an’ a pond, too, teemin’ with fish.”

Uggo could not contain himself from correcting Shekra. “The pond doesn’t teem with fishes. Friar Wopple says there’s a few trout an’ mebbe a greylin’ or two. But they don’t catch one, unless it’s an Abbot’s feast. An’ we don’t eat birds, or their eggs, or any livin’ creature—er, ’cept watershrimp for otters’ hotroot soup.”

Mowlag pulled a face. “If’n ye can’t eat eggs’n’birds, an’ fishes, it don’t sound like much of a place fer vittles. Don’t think I’d like ter live there!”

Uggo spoke eagerly in his Abbey’s defence. “But you’d love the vittles, an’ there ain’t no better cook in all Mossflower than Friar Wopple. She makes pies an’ soups, an’ pasties, an’ cakes, an’ trifles, an’ tarts, an’ deeper’n’ever turnip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie for the moles. Best food you’ve ever tasted. . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw Posy’s shaking head, telling him that he was talking too much.

Razzid dabbed at his leaking eye, surprising Uggo by agreeing with him. “Pay no ’eed to Mowlag. Yore Friar’s vittles sounds good t’me, Uggo. Aye, Redwall, eh? All that fruit, a nice pond fer a dip on a summer’s day. D’ye know, that’s why I’d like to visit there, just t’see it all!”

Uggo merely nodded. All the talk of his home had brought a lump to his throat.

Shekra took up the thread in a wheedling tone. “That’s right. We just want to pay a visit to Redwall Abbey. Mebbe you could show us the way?”