The Rogue Crew

The effect of this was astonishing to see. Pygmy shrews and sand lizards dropped their weapons, flinging themselves flat on the shore and covering their heads with their paws. The lead otter strode boldly up to the barricade, treading purposefully on the foebeasts’ prostrate bodies. He was a barbaric sight, wearing a woven bark kilt, carrying a round shield across his back and sporting a chunky coronet of amber pieces strung through with silver.

He pointed a battleaxe at the hares in the trench. His voice bore no sign of welcome. “Who are ye, an’ where come ye from? Speak!”

Rake mounted the barricade, matching him eye to eye. “Ah know you, mah bucko. Ye’ll be Ruggan Axehound, son o’ Skor, the bigbeast hissel’. Last time I saw ye, y’were nought but a wee bairn huntin’ crabs. Ah’m Captain Rake Nightfur o’ the Long Patrol. Did yer daddy never talk o’ me?”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed Ruggan’s fierce face. “I recall he did. We’ll talk of this soon—give me but a moment, Nightfur.”

He turned to scan the shrews and lizards, none of whom dared look up at him. Ruggan spoke out, harsh and loud. “Who gave ye right to war upon the lands o’ my father? Ye live here only by the grace of Skor Axehound, mighty Warchief of the High North Coast! Ye skulking shorescum, where are your rulers? Send them here to stand before me!”

Trug Bawdsley pushed the queen forward. “C’mon, old gel. I think he wants a word with you, wot!” Lancejack Sage collared the empraking, who was trying to hide himself behind Drander.

“Up ye come. I think this jolly well includes you, sah!”

Drawing his battleaxe, Ruggan tested its edge. “Now, speak truly. How came all this to be?”

Captain Rake interrupted courteously. “Ah think it’d be mahsel’ should explain. Y’see, in a manner o’ speakin’,’twas us who were the cause o’ the ruckus.”

Ruggan nodded to a female sea otter. “Endar Feyblade, guard these two, hold them here. I will talk with them later. Nightfur, we will rest and dine in drier sand, by the dunes.”

One of the other sea otters turned to the vanquished army. “Did ye not hear my lord? Go you and bring the best of food an’ drink for his guests. Then stay in your dwelling until he comes to speak with ye!”

The seventh otter, who did not seem to be one of Ruggan’s warriors, came across to Miggory and pounded his back cordially. “D’ye remember when ye visited Redwall, we sat drinkin’ good October Ale in my cellars one evenin’? Sergeant Miggory, ain’t it?”

The sergeant shook the otter’s paw warmly. “By me scut, h’I do believe ’tis ole Jum Gurdy! Wot are ye doin’ h’around’ere, mate?”

Jum slumped down in the warm sand at the foot of a dune. “Oh ’tis a long story, Sarge, a long story!”

Bread, cheese, pasties, soup and cordial were served to them by a group of grovelling shrews and lizards. They rested and ate in the early noon sun whilst Rake narrated what had happened since he saw the line of skulls and hair strung out on spears. Ruggan listened intently to every word, then sent for Dukwina and the empraking to be brought before him.

He frowned at the pair. “So, ye disobeyed the Axehound’s rules an’—I make mention—not for the first time. What have ye to say?”

Dukwina and the empraking immediately fell to bickering.

“It was her—she wouldn’t listen to a word I’d say!”

“Hah, look at who’s talkin’. That’s all you ever did. Talk talk talk talk!”

“Wot, me? I wasn’t allowed t’get a word in once you started!”

Thwack! The battleaxe head buried itself in the sand between them. Ruggan’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“Silence—enough! One more word, and you’ll both be deadbeasts. I do all the talking from henceforward. When my father gave you settlement on his land, it was to rule jointly in peace. You, Dukwina, this is not the first time you have tried to seize all power for yourself, and you, Dibby, cowardly little worm, allowing yourself to be bullied. Hah, I think I shall slay ye both an’ put an end to all this argument. Endar, find me a log to use as a chopping block!”

The empraking and Dukwina threw themselves down, kissing Ruggan’s footpaws and sobbing pitifully.

“Oh, no, noble Ruggan, spare me, I beg you!”

“No, spare me—I was the one who helped the rabbets!”

Across their bowed heads, Ruggan winked at Rake. “What think ye, Captain Nightfur? Do they deserve to die?”

Rake returned the wink. “Och, Ah’ll leave the decision tae you, mah friend, though they are an awful wee pair.”

Ruggan beckoned to a serving shrew. “What name do they call you?”

The shrew tugged her forelock. “Wuzgo, sire.”

Ruggan nodded. “An’ have ye a mate, Wuzgo?”

She shook her head. “No, Lord. My mate died a long time ago. I’ve only got a friend, Luggi. That lizard over there.”

Ruggan looked from one to the other. “An’ what’s your position in this tribe?”

The little sand lizard, Luggi, flattened his tail in salute. “We serve an’ carry, sire, sweep floors an’ scrub pots.”