The Rogue Crew

There were actually about thirty vermin, mostly stoats and rats, with a few ferrets. Their camp was on the bank of a stream; both Gil and Dreel were bound to a willow trunk. The young otters did not seem unduly put out, as they had seen Ruggan and Swiffo spying on their captors. A cauldron was bubbling over a fire whilst the brigand vermin prepared food. Some were grilling trout on green twigs; others placed flatbreads on hot stones, whilst some broached a keg of nettle beer. Their leader, a patch-eyed overweight ferret, was discussing his prisoners with an old rat.

“Theez muz be der ones Lord Ketral was chasin’ after, ya!”

The old rat bared toothless gums. “Ayarr, but uz catchered dem, so worra we do, Viglat? Give dem ter Ketral, or roast ’em inta vikkles? I ain’t never et riverdog, ’ave yew?”

Viglat the patch-eyed ferret grinned. “Ketral won’t mizz two liddle uns like dem, wotja t’ink?”

The old rat sniggered. “Riverdogs fer brekkist tamorrer!”

“Ahem!”

The sound got the pair’s attention. They turned to see Sergeant Miggory leaning against a beech tree. He was unarmed and smiling rather simply.

“H’excuse me, friends, but could h’either of ye tell me the way to Redwall Abbey? I’m lost, y’see.”

A quick nod from Viglat brought the closest six vermin to surround Miggory. The patch-eyed ferret drew a rusty dirk from his waist sash, swaggering around the sergeant. “Lookit ’ere, mates. We got uz a rabbet!”

The old rat nodded eagerly. “I et rabbet once—’twas nize!”

To their surprise, Miggory showed no fear, but joined in amicably. “H’I don’t think ye’d like me, though. H’I’m a hare, not a rabbit. We’re tough, y’see.”

A nearby stoat poked him in the back. “Tough, eh? ’Ow tough?”

Rounding on the stoat, the sergeant knocked him out cold with a thunderous straight left. “H’is that tough h’enough for ye, scumnose?”

Viglat was about to thrust his dirk into the hare’s back when a commanding shout rang out. “Drop that frogsticker or yer a deadbeast!”

Sea otters, Long Patrol hares and Guosim shrews emerged from the trees on the streambank. Now that the position was reversed, Viglat found that he and his crew were surrounded.

As Skor Axehound was releasing Gil and Dreel with a few slashes of his axeblade, he consulted Lieutenant Scutram. “Have ye got a head count o’ these rascals?”

Scutram confirmed his total. “Aye, sah—thirty-two, all told.”

Skor nodded. “Right. Read ’em the rules, Lieutenant.”

The astonished Viglat was about to protest when Captain Rake kicked his rear end sharply. “Hauld yer wheesht an’ dinnae speak ’til you’re told. Carry on, Lieutenant.”

Scutram laid out the rules of engagement to the vermin. “Listen up now, you scabby bunch! This is a contest—we’ll match you beast for beast, wot. Now, all into the stream, quick as y’like. Come on, move y’selves, you idle vermin!”

Viglat and his followers were ushered roughly into the water by some sea otters as Scutram continued, “It’s t’be a jolly old scrap, a fight, actually. Thirty-two of our chaps’ll face ye in the water. Winner takes the feast. No rules, really—winnin’s the thing, eh, wot!”

Viglat finally spoke, in indignant protest. “Dem’s our vikkles—diz ain’t right!”

Captain Rake waved a dismissive paw. “Och, away with ye an’ quit whinin’. Ah’ll tell ye what. If ye defeat us, we’ll surrender to ye. That’s fair, ain’t it? Och, Ah’m fed up arguin’ with ye. Go to it, braw beasties!”

The thirty-two consisted of fourteen sea otters, an equal number of hares and four Guosim shrews, who were in the minority. Without further ado, they charged the vermin, roaring their war cries.

“Yaaaylahooo!”

“Eulaliiiiiaaaa!”

“Logalogaloooooog!”

Startled by the fury of the onslaught, most of the vermin scrambled deeper into the water and swam off downstream. The rest threw away their weapons, flinging up their paws in surrender. Sitting on the bank, Skor lifted up the keg of nettle beer and took a deep draught. He shook his great bearded head in disgust.

“Ah, ’tis a sad ole life, Rake, after havin’ to run away from vermin, we finally get the chance to fight ’em. Hah, an’ wot d’they do? Turn tail an’ run away! It ain’t fair!”

The hare captain sipped glumly at a beaker of nettle beer. “Aye, just so mah friend. Hoho, what’s this Ah see?”

It was Gil and Dreel lugging the patch-eyed ferret between them. He was groaning as they kicked his tail.

Skor chuckled. “Wot d’ye want with that worthless bag o’ fat, young uns?”

The answers came alternately from the young scouts. “We never caught him, Lord. The sergeant did.”

“But he gave this rascal to us—we’re allowed to punish him.”

“Aye, ’cos he was goin’ to roast us for brekkist tomorrow.”

Shaking water from himself, Miggory came out of the stream. “That un’s their chief, sah. I think ’e might know the way to Redwall, seein’ h’as ole Drogbuk don’t.”