The Rogue Crew

Skor, who had overheard, sat down on a felled spruce trunk. “Well, I ain’t trailin’ round behind a vermin all night. I vote we camp here ’til daylight.”

Waving a paw to halt the column, Rake joined him. “Ah’ll say aye tae that. Och, there’s always the morrow.”

Viglat turned, letting them see Drogbuk. “Izzent nobeast gunna ged this stinky ’og offen me back?”

Lieutenant Scutram wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Good grief, old lad. Fancy you callin’ anybeast stinky. The pair of ye smell like a blinkin’ mess midden on a flippin’ midsummer midday, wot!”

Skor nodded. “Aye, they’re a ripe ole pair, sure enough. Here, Endar Feyblade, Kite Slayer, take those two into the stream an’ see they get a good scrubbin’. I want t’see them come out smellin’ like daisies!”

The cold streamwater swiftly wakened Drogbuk from his drunken slumber. Both he and Viglat began screeching unmercifully as the two powerful sea otters went to work on them with vim and gusto.

“Owowyeek! Stoppit, ye’ll have all me spikes off!”

“Ohhouchaaargh! I’m bein’ murdered t’death!”

Endar had the ferret firmly by his ears. She scrubbed away remorselessly. “Oh, shuttup, ye great baby. A rubdown with dockleaves an’ banksand never killed anybeast!”

Amidst hoots of merriment from the bankside, big Drander rubbed his stomach. “One cob o’ flatbread an’ a drop o’ soup that near burnt the ears off me, that’s all I’ve eaten today, mates. Flamin’ rotten, ain’t it?”

Sergeant Miggory was about to reply when a sturdy hogwife emerged from the shrubbery close by. She was laughing so hard, the tears ran down her cheeks.

“Whoohoohahaha! Oh, good grief, I’ll wager that’s the first decent bath Drogbuk Wiltud’s ever had. Oh, dearie me, haha!”

The sergeant sprang up, facing her. “Beggin’ yore pardon, marm, but who might you be?”

Taking a blue spotted kerchief from her beautifully embroidered apron pocket, she wiped her eyes and sniffed. “Never mind me—this is my land. So who might you be, eh?”

The grizzled veteran saluted courteously. “H’I’m Colour Sergeant Nubbs Miggory of the Long Patrol, from Salamandastron, marm!”

The hogwife performed a mock curtsy. “Ho, graciousness, that’s fancy talk for a rabbet. Well, I’m Pinny Wiltud, an’ that’s one o’ my clan yore takin’ the hide off in the water. Huh, not that he doesn’t need it, filthy ole rattlespikes!”

Big Drander saw an opportuntity. He smiled winningly at her. “’Scuse me, O lovely one, but d’ye know where there might be a bit o’ food t’be found hereabouts, wot?”

She considered this a moment, then nodded. “I’ve been watchin’ you lot all day. Saw you scare those vermin off downstream, a job well done, I’d say. Now, do ye like proper, thick woodland stew?” She held up a paw before Drander could reply. “I mean real Woodland Stew, made to an ole Wiltud recipe. With every veggible ye could shake a stick at chopped up into it. Aye, an’ full o’ chestnut’n’acorn dumplin’s.”

Overcome by emotion, tears sprang to Drander’s eyes. “Chestnut’n’acorn dumplin’s, marm, it makes me weak just thinkin’ about ’em. Oh, my giddy granddad, where is it, marm?”

She silenced him with a glance. “If ye build a fire an’ lend a paw, I can make it ready for service just afore midnight—oh! Oooooh! Cover him up! Ooooh!”

Her kinbeast Drogbuk Wiltud had emerged from the stream without a single quill on his scrawny frame. They had either fallen or been scrubbed off by the vigorous bathing he had received. Pinny had meanwhile thrown her voluminous flowered apron up over her face.

Drogbuk hobbled about on the bank, not knowing where to hide himself. He was ranting, “See wot ye did? Great clumsy-pawed sea otters, how’m I goin’ to last out the winter like this? Plank-tailed oafs!”

Captain Rake grabbed the cloak which the ferret Viglat had discarded. He tossed it to the naked old hog. “Here, cover yersel’ up, ye auld sack o’ wrinkles. Och, ah’ve seen some sights that’d frit a duck, but never anythin’ like this!”

Skor grinned, shaking his huge, bearded head. “He looks like an ole pink cattypillar that never turned into a butterfly. Hahaha, I hope yore cloak fits him, ferret . . . ferret! Where’s that vermin got to?”

A hasty search revealed that Viglat was missing. Swiffo shrugged. “Must’ve slipped off durin’ all that din ole Drogbuk was makin’. Hope we can still find Redwall.”

Pinny Wiltud scoffed. “Find Redwall? Huh, I know the way to the Abbey like the back o’ my paw. But let’s get ye fed first. Some of ye get a fire goin’, the rest follow me.”

It was dark by the time Pinny’s woodland stew was ready. Everybeast had worked hard to help with it. True to her boast, the hogwife’s recipe worked superbly—it was rich, fragrant and delicious. They sat round the campfire on the streambank, each filling a bowl several times from the sizeable cauldron.

Drogbuk sat apart, wrapped in an old blanket, whilst Pinny busied herself, cutting and sewing the ferret’s cloak into a suitable garb for him. Posy and Uggo sat with her, gratefully downing the stew.