The Rogue Crew

His ferret shipmate put some of the cold skilly’n’duff on the fire to warm. He watched it sizzle. “I’m glad I’m a slopbin an’ not a fussbucket like yew. Complainin’ an’ moanin’, that’s all yore good for!”

Ricker pointed indignantly to himself. “Wot me, a moaner an’ complainer? Hah, wot’ve I got ter moan an’ complain about, eh? Sent off on an idjit’s errand, wanderin’ round inna dark, covered in stinkin’ marsh slop, an’ all because the cap’n wants ter git ’is paws on two stoopid liddle ’ogs. Ho, no, bucko, I ain’t complainin’. Lookit me—I’m ’avin’ the time o’ me life!”

Voogal prodded the mass on the fire with a twig. “Then whilst yore enjoyin’ yerself so much, ye’d best start thinkin’ of wot we’re gonna tell Razzid when we gits back t’the ship widout any ’edge’og prisoners, ’cos I can’t see ’ow we’re supposed t’find ’em in this neighbour’ood, kin yew?”

Ricker stood up. Shielding his eyes, he tried to peer beyond the fire into the darkness, calling mockingly, “Ahoy there, me darlin’ liddle ’ogs! Come on out ’ere. Me’n nice ole Uncle Voogal ’ave got vittles an’ grog for ye. Don’t be shy, now, come on out—graaaagh!”

He was tossed over backward as a huge, dark shape swooped on him, ripping the left ear from his head. It was Sircolo the marsh harrier.

Voogal had not fully comprehended what was going on. Hearing Ricker’s agonised yell, he leapt up, drawing his blade. “Ricker, are ye alright, mate? Wot was it?”

Apart from another screech of pain, that was as far as the searat got. Peeved that he had missed his quarry, Sircolo made a lightning turn, striking Ricker with both sets of talons and a savage beak.

From where he crouched on the other side of the alder trunk, the ferret watched in frozen horror as the feathered hunter despatched Ricker with swift savagery. The mighty bird lifted his prey bodily, launching off into the night air. Blood spattered Voogal as he stared upward. The mighty wings flapped, and both Sircolo and Ricker vanished into the darkness.

The ferret gave an unearthly yell. Taking to his paws, he left food, drink and the campfire deserted. Hurtling off willy-nilly into the marshy scrubland, Voogal ran as he had never run before. Brush and gorse scratched at him like attacking claws. He stumbled, breaking through the marsh crust several times, but scrabbling swiftly free, he continued his flight. Completely panicked, he blundered on, unknowingly following the path of the very beasts he had set out to pursue. The ferret’s only thought was to get out of the range of the giant winged predator.

Back at the Guosim streambank camp, a sentry was knocked flat by Voogal stampeding through the camp boundary. The shrew jumped up, calling the alarm.

“Logalogalogaloooog!”

The ferret was almost at the stream’s edge when Dandy Clogs, who was never a heavy sleeper, came sailing sideways through the air. Clakk! The shrew Chieftain’s clogged footpaws connected with Voogal’s jaw, knocking him senseless.

Immediately the camp sprang to life. Dandy bellowed orders. “Vermin! Arm up, Guosim, an’ check the area!”

It did not take long until shrew warriors began calling back, “All clear here, Dandy!”

“Ain’t no more of ’em—must’ve been only one o’ the scum!”

Uggo and Posy hurried to where Dandy was standing over the unconscious Voogal. Brushing off the side of one clog, Dandy commented coolly, “Just nicked the villain. He’s out cold, but he’ll live. Do either of ye know him?”

Kneeling, Uggo studied the ferret’s face. “Aye. I saw this un aboard the ship. I warned ye they’d come after us!”

Rekaby chuckled drily. “Lucky we met friend Dandy, isn’t it? I’ll wager he could lay a whole crew o’ those curmudgeons flat with those clogs o’ his!”

Dandy nodded. “Good job there wasn’t a full crew with him. Rawkin, sluice this rascal down with water ’til he comes round. The rest of ye, go back to sleepin’—we’ve got an early start in the morn.”

Posy spoke for herself and Uggo. “Can we stay and watch him, Dandy, please?”

The Guosim Chieftain shrugged. “As y’please, missy.”

Voogal spat water, wincing, trying slowly to rise. An ornate clog landed on his narrow chest, thrusting him back down. Dandy leaned over him, his eyes glinting like chips of flint in the firelight. He addressed the vermin in a flat, dangerous tone.

“Stay where ye are, muckface. I’ve got questions for ye.”

Seeing the big bird was nowhere about boosted Voogal’s courage. He snarled his reply. “Questions, eh? Wot makes ye think I’m goin’ to answer ’em, watermouse?”

Dandy smiled at Posy. “Listen to him. He don’t know the difference twixt mouse or shrew. A real thick un, eh?” He turned back to Voogal, still smiling. “You’ll answer, thick’ead, an’ they’d better be answers I like, or things might get a bit hot for ye. Rawkin, shove yore rapier blade in the fire, will ye?”

Posy put a paw to her mouth. “You’re not going to . . . ?”