old weary earth in dusky silence lies,
a small lost dove doth mournful call,
its lone lament to darkling skies.
“Hark to its cry, poor little thing,
it rests with head beneath one wing, and breeze that wends through woodland fair,
passes it by with ne’er a care.
“Throughout the night in trembling fear and dread,
until the welcome light of gentle morn,
the little dove lifts up its downy head,
and soars into the heav’nly dawn.”
The sea otters and Long Patrol hares walked away then, leaving Skor and Ruggan alone to complete the burial.
Roogo Foremole broke the oppressive silence by calling from the walltop, “Yurr, zurrs, Oi bee’s a-seein’ summat yonder!”
Relieved to be doing something, Captain Rake sprinted up the wallstairs with a crowd of warriors at his heels.
Roogo was standing on the western threshold, with both paws shading his eyes, peering off to the horizon. “Moi ole eyes b’aint vurry gudd these days, zurr, but see far yonder? Wot do ee think that’n is?”
Rake’s keen gaze found the object. “’Tis the vermin ship, mah friend, nae doubt o’ that. Corporal Dabbs, can ye no’ see what they’re aboot?”
Welkin Dabbs, who was noted for exceptional clarity of vision, watched the distant vessel intently. “Some kind o’ maneuver, I’d say, Cap’n. She’s piled on all sail. Comin’ this way, if’n I ain’t mistaken. No, wait . . . now they’re tackin’ south an’ west. Can’t see much else, I’m afraid. She’s vanished o’er the horizon.”
“Testin’ the wind, that’s wot the vermin are up to!” It was the sea ottermaid Kite Slayer who had spoken. Rake continued staring at the horizon.
“How d’ye know, bonny lass?”
Kite leaned back against the battlements. “We’ve seen it lots o’ times, up on the High North Coast. Ships’ll do that if’n they want to sail in fast an’ launch an attack. They stands off, doin’ little trial runs, until the wind’s just right an’ strong enough. That’s when they come in, hopin’ to raid us. Hah, our scouts have seen ’em long since, an’ the Rogue Crew’s waitin’ for ’em. Lord Skor gives ’em blood’n’steel. They never come back for more, usually ’cos they’re all fishfood by the time we get done with ’em!”
Kite licked her paw, dabbing it on both eartips. She turned this way, then that. “Ain’t much wind today—it’s gentle an’ sou’west.”
Sergeant Miggory nodded grimly. “Ye know wot that means, sah!”
The captain nodded. “Aye, yon Wearat an’ his crew’ll be payin’ us a wee visit soon, eh?”
All talk stopped momentarily as Ruggan and Skor strode up the gatehouse wallsteps. There was something about the presence of the sea otter Chieftain which engendered silence. He began honing the blade of his mighty battleaxe on the side of a battlement, looking up to stare bleakly out to the western horizon. His voice was a bitter snarl. “Oh, Razzid Wearat’ll be comin’, sure enough. Sometime after midnight, I reckon.”
Lancejack Sage looked dubious. “Beg pardon, m’Lord, but what makes ye say that?”
Testing his axe edge on a paw, Skor gave her a rare smile. “Ye’ve got a wonderful voice, Miz Sage, an’ ye sang my young son peacefully to his rest. I thank ye. I’ll tell ye why I’m so sure the vermin’ll attack late tonight. I’ve lived all my life on the High North Coast, an’ I know all about sea, wind an’ weather. That liddle breeze ye feel is a sou’wester, but by noon ’twill be startin’ to blow from the due west. By dark we’ll get rain, more as the night progresses. There’ll be clouds hidin’ wot moon there is. That’s when they’ll come.”
Abbot Thibb looked to Captain Rake, who nodded, confirming Skor’s words.
Thibb heaved a sigh. “I was hoping we’d seen the last of the vermin ship.”
Skor chuckled humorlessly. “Just wot ye’d expect a peaceful Abbeybeast to think, Father—no offence meant, o’ course. Rake, my friend, would ye like to tell him how they’ll come at this place?”
Drawing one of his claymores, the Long Patrol captain pointed straight out across the threshold.
“From yonder, with full speed, under all sail, right at us. Ah mean, Father, what better way tae do it, eh? A dark, moonless night, runnin’ with a west wind at his stern an’ thinkin’ ye’ll all be tucked up in your beds. Wearat could nae charge stone walls with fire blazin’ atop o’ them, so he’ll sail full tilt at Redwall’s front gates. They’re made o’ wood, d’ye see. Aye, a real surprise ambush, ye ken!”
Skor could not resist a smile of grim satisfaction. “Right enough, Father, but wot Razzid don’t know is that we’re here now, ready an’ waitin’ to welcome him an’ his crew. I won’t miss him a second time, I swear it!”
Recorder Fottlink had a question. “But if he rams Redwall’s gates, he’ll ruin his own ship, won’t he? Doesn’t seem to make sense.”
Lieutenant Scutram answered, “Put y’self in his position, old lad. What’d you sooner have, a ship or Redwall Abbey? I know what I’d jolly well prefer, wot!”
Skor patted the mouse Recorder’s head. “Don’t worry, old un. He won’t ruin either ship or gates, ’cos we’ll leave the gates unlocked for him, eh, Rake?”