The Rogue Crew

The weasel who had come up with the idea of levering the wheels slid in the mud, falling flat. As the for’ard wheels rolled over him, snapping his spine, he screamed, wailing to the Wearat, “Aaaargh! Cap’n, ’elp me!”

Razzid, however, had problems of his own, which beset both himself and the crew. A colony of mosquitoes, formerly housed in the fork of the tree, had been dislodged. They fell upon the vermin in an angry horde. Greenshroud rolled on alone, ropes, mud, marshweed and paddles trailing alongside.

Cavorting and leaping about like madbeasts, the vermin crew waved their limbs about wildly, trying to fend off the vengeful insects as they wailed aloud.

“Yaaah, I’m bein’ et alive!”

“Gerremoff, I ’ates skeeters!”

“Yirkk! One’s gone down me ear!”

“Owchyowch! There’s millions o’ the liddle ’orrors!”

Spitting out a mosquito and pawing one from his bad eye, Razzid picked up his trident and took off after the runaway vessel. “Come on, move yoreselves! All paws aboard—’tis the only way we’ll git away from these things!”

Hastily they followed their captain’s command. It resembled some sort of crazy travelling dance. Still beating at themselves, the crew hopskipped alongside the moving vessel. Clumsily seizing the trailing ropes, they stumbled aboard.

A grizzled searat pointed back to the marsh, addressing Razzid. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Cap’n, but wot about Buppler?”

The Wearat smeared a mosquito underpaw. “Buppler? Who’s ’e?”

The searat sniffed. “Buppler’s me matey, Cap’n. ’E was the one who fell under the wheels. Must’ve been bad injured, pore Buppler—’e was still alive an’ callin’ for ’elp when you ordered us outta there.”

Razzid cast a jaundiced eye over the searat. “Anybeast stupid enough t’get hisself run over like that deserves wot’e gets. Don’t bother me, I got a ship to run. If’n yore mate’s’urt bad, then he’ll die, an’ that’s all there is to it.”

Jiboree slapped an insect flat upon his cheek. “Wot’s yer orders, Cap’n?”

Razzid tested the breeze on a damp claw. “Make all sail. Let’s get back t’sea. We needs to careen the muck off’n this ship o’ mine an’ clean it up. Good salt water’ll rid us of any mosquitoes still with us. Now, I needs two good trackers t’do me a service.”

Jiboree volunteered a pair. Ricker, a shifty-eyed searat, and Voogal, a lanky ferret, did not seem overpleased to be selected, but they could not refuse Razzid’s wishes.

He explained what he wanted. “Those beasts we were after, I want ye to trail ’em. Wot I needs is the two liddle’ogs, Posy an’ Uggo. Catch ’em an’ bring ’em back t’me if’n ye can. Take a couple o’ lanterns an’ tell the cook t’give ye enough vittles an’ grog to last ye. We’ll be somewheres south along the coast, prob’ly lyin’ at anchor ’til she’s shipshape agin. Any questions?”

Ricker saluted. “Wot about the other lot, those ’airy mouses an’ some squirrels? D’ye want them, Cap’n?”

Razzid waved his trident dismissively. “Slay ’em, roast’em, do wot ye want, just fetch me the ’ogs.”

It sounded like a task very suitable to the pair. They saluted eagerly. “Aye aye, Cap’n. Leave it to us!”

When they had departed, Razzid called Shekra to him. “The ’og called Uggo knows where Redwall is, I’m sure of it. If’n ’e won’t talk I’ll make his liddle friend weep a few tears—that’ll loosen ’is tongue. I ain’t givin’ up on findin’ that place, an’ you mark my words, vixen, it better be as good as ye say ’tis. I don’t like my Seer disappointin’ me. Unnerstood?”

Shekra nodded vigorously. “Trust me, Mighty One, ’twill be all ye desire an’ more. The omens never lie!”

17

It had turned midnight when Sircolo led them out of the marsh. A short stretch of heathland stood between the Fortunate Freepaws and the woodland fringe. The marsh harrier seemed anxious to be off.

“Yonder’s the trees, that way is south, t’other way north. So then, old silvertail, have ye got yore bearin’s now? I don’t want to eat any of ye, but I’ve got a hunger, so I must hunt for meat.”

Rekaby pointed back to the marsh. “Then don’t let me stop ye, y’ole savage. There’s vermin aplenty back there. I bid ye good night an’ good huntin’!”

As Sircolo swooped off, he called to Rekaby, “Find the stream. There’s Guosim camped there.”

Uggo watched the big bird vanish into the night. “Wot a good friend—an’ helpful, too, eh!”

Swiffo chuckled. “Aye, an’ ’twas a good thing we were with ye when he appeared. If’n he’d caught ye both alone . . .”

Posy shuddered. “Don’t even mention it. Sircolo looks capable of anything. Let’s find the stream and those shrews. I’ve heard them called Guosim before. Funny name, ain’t it?”

Swiffo replied, “Nothin’ funny about it. Guosim—the Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. First letter of each word. They live in logboats on streams an’ rivers.”

Uggo aired his knowledge proudly. “Oh, I knew that. They visit Redwall Abbey sometimes. Their leader’s called Log a Log.”