The Rogue Crew

Lancejack Sage, whom the queen had not previously noticed, called out eagerly at the arrival of the food, “I say, chaps, that scoff looks jolly scrumptious!”

Dukwina waved a paw at the haremaid. “Then we shall have to see that you get lots of it. Come and sit over here with us, missy.”

The food was excellent. There was a savoury cress and seaweed soup, as well as dishes of chopped acorn, hazelnut and wild celery garnished with a fresh late-spring salad. The bread was warm and crusty, with a hint of sorrel to it. Apart from hawthorn and buttercup cheese, there was a steaming whortleberry pudding with sweet arrowroot sauce. Cool mint tea was served constantly.

Drander, the biggest of the young hares, proclaimed after his second helping of pudding, “Oh, whacko! This is the stuff t’give a chap, eh wot?”

Flutchers, who was tucking in with a will, agreed. “Rather, better’n the flippin’ mess vittles at Salamandastron, I’d say, old lad!”

Seated beside the queen, Ferrul called to Flutchers, “I heard that! Did ye know that Mess Cook Sergeant Frawler is my uncle? Shall I tell him what you said when we get back, old lad?”

Dukwina smiled at Ferrul’s quick reply. She patted the haremaid’s paw. “Well done, my dear. Just look at the face on your friend now. . . .”

Still smiling, she turned her attention to the captain. “What clever young maids you have in your patrol. Perhaps you could spare them to join me at my court for a season. It would please me greatly.”

Rake Nightfur returned her smile, assuming that her request was merely a joke. He countered politely, “Och, Ah’m sure it’d please mah lassies, too, marm, but we’re on a mission, ye ken, an’ they’ve their duties tae attend.”

Dukwina’s eyes hardened momentarily, then she chuckled. “I understand, Captain.”

She waved an imperious paw at her minions.

“Some music, singin’ an’ dancing for our guests. Dibby, bring out my special wine for them—quickly, now!”

Drums began a slow, muffled beat as an octet of young crested newts danced sinuously. In the background, a pygmy shrewmaid choir hummed soft harmonies.

Corporal Welkin, who was seated behind Scutram and the captain, leaned forward, keeping his voice low. “I’ve noticed somethin’ since I h’arrived ’ere. The chaps are the ones who does all the runnin’ an’ servin’, bowin’ an’ scrapin’, y’might say. But the ladies, they just sits about enjoyin’ theirselves h’an givin’ out h’orders.”

Lieutenant Scutram put aside his platter. “Top marks. I’ve noticed that meself, doncha know. What d’ye think, Cap’n?”

The tall hare answered without taking his eyes off the dancers. “Aye, Ah think the same mahsel’. Yon wee queen’s a force tae be reckoned with. Weel, now. Here comes a dram o’ the special wine, an’ will ye look who’s servin’ et!”

Empraking Dibby waddled up bearing a tray with a crystal decanter surrounded by an array of beautifully crafted cherrywood goblets. Pouring out the first, he passed the goblet of purple-tinted liquid to the captain.

Leaning close, Dibby whispered, “Drink that an’ ye won’t waken for a day or two, rabbet, be warned. She’s out to steal your maids!”

Smiling cordially, Rake raised his drink, calling across to the queen, “A toast tae yer very guid health, Majesty!”

He murmured a swift aside to Miggory. “Dinnae drink this wine—pass the word on.”

Scutram lifted the goblet, watching keenly over its rim. “I say, look! There’s a shrewmaid servin’ the queen an’ her cronies from another tray!”

Corporal Welkin was equally vigilant. “Aye, an’ that queen’s servin’ our gels from ole Dibby’s tray. Oh, corks, h’an they’re suppin’ it, too, sah!”

Miggory made a pretence of drinking from his goblet. “H’aint nothin’ t’be done about that fer now, Corp. We’ll just ’ave to ’ope for the best!”

The choir began singing a tranquil song that was almost a lullaby, soothing and melodious.

“Hushed golden sand covers the land,

lazily swirling, by warm breezes fanned,

still summer noontide ’neath tranquil blue sky,

far, far away now, I hear seabirds cry.

Live without fear, shed not a tear,

a vale of quiet shadows awaits thee, my dear.

“Sleep now in peace, list’ whilst I sing,

nightshade falls dark as the black raven’s wing,

tired eyelids close as weary day dies,

flutt’ring and drooping like small butterflies.

Feel cares drift away in slumber’s broad wake,

fading as ripples o’er some moonlit lake.”

The drums beat softer, the choir subsided to a muted hum, the dancers folded gracefully into recumbent positions.

From beneath partially closed eyes, Captain Rake saw Buff, Sage and Ferrul curled up on the woven mats, fast asleep. Covering his lips with a paw, he spoke in an undertone to those closest to him. “Watch me. Follow mah lead.”

Stretching his paws, he blinked. Simulating a cavernous yawn, he apologised to Queen Dukwina. “Och, ye’ll have tae pardon me, marm. Ah’m fair wearied an’ feelin’ the need tae sleep.”