The Rogue Crew

The shrews were not difficult to find. After a short walk amidst the trees, they saw the glow of fires and heard a deep, gruff voice singing to the beat of two drums, a flute and a fiddle.

“Ho, rum-tum-toodle-oh, pardon me sayin’ so, but I’ll dance anywhere.

Round a boat from fore to aft, even all around a raft, well, I can cause a stir.

I could dance on floatin’ logs, in my good ole dandy clogs, they’re the best uns ever made.

Call me an’ I’ll answer, I’m a champion ole dancer, bright’n’sharp as any blade.

I always gets top marks, when I kick up lots of sparks I’m the Log a Log whose name is Dandy Clogs, the Guosim Chieftain that good ole Log a Log called Dandy Clogs!”

The source of the sound was a dancing, singing shrew. In the light of the campfires on a streambank where six logboats were moored, a quartet of musicians was playing, whilst an entire tribe of Guosim shrews were clapping and paw tapping. A handsome, athletic shrew was singing and dancing with breathtaking skill.

This was Dandy Clogs, the tribe leader; he was a sight to behold. From beneath a blue cap, decked with green lapwing feathers, he beamed a constantly twinkling smile through neatly waxed and curled moustachios. He wore a scarlet tunic and kilt belted with a broad brass buckle, which glinted in the firelight. However, it was his clogs which really caught the eye. Fashioned from highly polished golden bark, they were set with patterns of shiny steel sprig nails.

On spotting the visitors to his camp, he executed a dizzying whirl, ending in a display of sparks as he ground to a halt on a rocky slab. Seizing Rekaby’s paw, he pumped it vigorously.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome, on a fine spring night! Are ye friend or foe or just plain slow? Don’t answer that question. Ye ain’t too slow, an’ ye must be friend, ’cos if ye were foe, we’d have slain ye long ago!”

The old squirrel managed to free his paw, interrupting. “I beg yore pardon, but could I get a word in here edgeways?”

The garrulous shrew waved them to seats by one of the fires. “Of course you can, O weary but wise one. Here, bring vittles an’ drink for our guests. And now, good sir, kindly put in yore word—edgeways, I think you said!”

Rekaby was looking tired after the trek through the marshes, so Posy replied for him. “Sir . . .”

The shrew pointed at himself. “I’m not sir, O maiden fair. I’m Log a Log Dandy Clogs. Pray speak on, pretty one!”

Posy could not help but smile at his courtly poetic manner. She matched him with a pretty curtsy before continuing. “My friend Uggo and I escaped from a vermin ship. These good creatures helped us to escape; Sircolo guided us through the marsh and directed us to you.”

Rekaby added, “We are of the Fortunate Freepaws tribe.”

The Log a Log laughed. “Oh, that lot. We’ve seen you from time to time. Aren’t you the bunch who don’t believe in fightin’ an’ don’t bear arms?”

Swiffo defended his tribe stoutly. “Aye, that’s us, an’ how we choose t’live is our own business. Besides, I don’t see you carryin’ any weapons.”

A nearby shrew murmured in the young otter’s ear, “Our Log a Log don’t need swords or such. He could slay ye with a single kick o’ those Dandy Clogs, believe me.”

The shrew Chieftain clicked his deadly clogs together sharply. “Enough talk o’ slayin’. Try some of our shrewbeer an’ fried fruit flapjacks. Yore safe here with us. Oh, by the way, I don’t go in for longfalutin’ titles, so just call me Dandy, an’ that’ll be fine an’ handy!”

The fried fruit flapjacks were delicious, though the shrewbeer tasted rather strong. As they ate, Dandy discussed his plans for them. “Tomorrow we’ll get you back to yore Freepaw tribe. I’m sure they’re not far south of here.”

He looked pointedly at Uggo.

“As for you, young un, yore a long way from Redwall, ain’t ye?”

Uggo was surprised. “How’d you know I’m from Redwall?”

Dandy shrugged. “There was just somethin’ about ye, I suppose—a good guess, eh?”

The young hog nodded. “It certainly was. I came from the Abbey with an otter called Jum Gurdy, but we got separated. I don’t know whether old Jum’s alive or dead.”

Dandy winked at a tough-faced shrew. “Tell him, Dobble.”

Dobble was a typical Guosim warrior, spiky furred, with a coloured headband, kilt and broad-buckled belt with a short rapier thrust into it. He drew the rapier and began sketching in the bank sand.

“This is where we are—there’s the marsh, the dunes, shore an’ sea. I spotted yore mate Jum two days back, in company with a score of fightin’ hares an’ six Rogue Crew sea otters. They’re headin’ up to the High North Coast. Ole Skor Axehound rules the roost up there. So Jum’s alive an’ safe, though I don’t know when ye’ll meet agin.”

Uggo felt immensely relieved to hear the news of Jum Gurdy, though he could feel himself blinking back tears as he stared into the fire. “Without Mister Gurdy to guide me back to Redwall, I’m lost good’n’proper. I might never see my home, ever!”

Posy patted her friend’s back gently. “Don’t fret, Uggo, I’ll help you. We’ll find it together, you’ll see.”