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It was the wrong thing to say, as Frogeye soon learned when Groffgut bit him on the nose and kicked him in the stomach. The gang leader waved his rusty scythe blade sword at the rest.

“Youse lot ain’t goin’ nowhere ’less I tells yer so, see! Are we a vermin gang or wot? Dose h’abbeybeasts stoled our h’eagle, ambushed an’ battered us, kil’t one of our gang an’ chased us ’til we ’ad ter jump inter a bog an’ ’ide from dem! Nobeast does that ter my gang an’ gets away wid it, ’specially not dat mouse who kept wallopin’ me wid a big pole. I’ve got dat ’uns name writ in me brain!”

Threetooth made certain he was out of Groffgut’s range before he popped the question, “So, worra we gunner do about it?”

The gang leader actually jumped in the air twice to emphasise his first two words. “Do? Do? . . . I’ll tell yer wot we’re gunner do! We’re gunner get revenge on dem, dat’s wot we’re gunner do! Cummon, we’re goin’ back ter that Wallred h’abbey. I’ll make ’em sorry dey ever messed wid our gang!”


8


Big Kolun Galedeep had ten small otterbabes, which was almost half of his family, aboard his boat, the Rustynail. The sails had been furled on his orders. He sat in the stern, twanging away at his banjotta. Leatho Shellhound sat beside him, holding the tiller steady as the little otters pulled away, two to each oar. Helping them to keep an even stroke, Kolun and Leatho roared out a lusty shanty. The Rustynail travelled at a fair clip around the bay, broken occasionally when one of Kolun’s small brood pulled too hard, missed the water and tumbled over backwards. They were learning not only to row but also to sing. They were raucous infants, missing some of the lyrics but coming in heartily on every last line.

“Hey now, hark belay there an’ listen ole mate,


Hear the high seas a-callin’, c’mon let’s not wait,


out there on the briny with no land in sight,


just the gold sun above ye an’ bright stars at night.


Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an’ blood!


In the kingdom of fishes they sport an’ they play,


the herrin’ the mackerel the fluke an’ the ray,


in bluey green deeps where the long seaweed grows,


there swims an’ ould dolphin they call Bottlenose.


Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an’ blood!


Set course by yore rudder an’ trim up those sails,


we’ll plough on forever through doldrums an’ gales,


bound for the red sunset far over the main,


an’ leave the landlubbers to roam hill an’ plain.


Ho barnacles binnacles bungtops an’ blood!”

The little otters thought it was all great fun. They went into tucks of laughter when their father and Uncle Leatho roared at them in colourful nautical terms.

“Heave away, ye tiny sea swabs! Bend yore backs an’ straighten yore rudders!”

“Hahaarr, buckoes, we’ll put muscles on ye like cockles! Haul on those oars, or ’tis over the side with ye!”

“Ahoy, can’t ye pull better’n that? Ye’d have trouble pullin’ yoreselves out of a pot o’ skilly’n’duff!”

Deedero, big Kolun’s missus, came bustling along the bayshore with a young ottermaid in tow. Both were waving and hallooing to get the Galedeep Skipper’s attention. When one of the otterbabes spotted them, she prodded her father with her oar.

Big Kolun scowled comically at the tiny creature. “Avast there, ye bold salty scoundrel, strikin’ yore cap’n with a paddle. Ye’ll be keelhauled for that!”

Leatho squinted villainously at his big friend. “Keelhauled? Shiver me tripes, yore gittin’ too soft with these mutineers, matey. Chop ’er up an’ chuck ’er t’the sharks, I say!”

The infant pointed a chubby paw to the pair onshore. “Daddo, it be Mamam, I fink she want you!”

Kolun waved to his missus, shouting, “Ahoy, me heart’s delight, just ye wait there, me ole treasure chest. We’re headin’ in to port full speed!”

As the boat scraped the shallows, Deedero tapped her rudder impatiently upon the sand. “Move yoreself, Leatho Shellhound, there’s big trouble a-brewin’. This pretty maid’s got a message for ye!”

The outlaw sea otter sloshed through the shallows to her side. He smiled kindly at the ottermaid. “Yore all out o’ breath, me darlin’, an’ ye’ve been weepin’, too. Tell me now, wot is it?”

The ottermaid, a slave called Memsy, scrubbed at her eyes as she sobbed out the message. “Oh, Mister Shell’ound, sir.’Tis Whulky an’ Chab. They was caught this mornin’ early, taken by the weilmark an’ that marten beast. Lord Felis questioned them about where they’d been, but they wouldn’t speak nary a word. Oh oh, ’tis a terrible thing, those pore creatures!”

Taking Memsy by the shoulders, Leatho spoke softly. “There now, don’t go upsettin’ yoreself, beauty. ’Tis nought the Shellhound can’t sort out. Do ye know where that wildcat is keepin’ Whulky an’ Chab?”

Memsy strove to calm herself, but she shook like a leaf. “Tied under the pier in front of the fortress, sir. Both their wives an’ Chab’s three little ’uns are there, too. Lord Felis says that if they don’t talk afore tomorrow morn, they’ll be dragged off to Deeplough . . . an’ . . . an’ . . . throwed in to Slothunog. Oooohhhh!”

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