The Rogue Crew

After the song, one of the sea otters, Garrent, chuckled as he chatted to Big Drander. “Wot sort o’ marchin’ song is that? Bit sissy, ain’t it?”

Drander kept his eyes front, muttering out the side of his mouth, “Tell that to Cap’n Rake. He wrote it.”

Kite Slayer, the tough ottermaid, scowled darkly. “Ain’t the sort of marchin’ song I’d be caught singin’. Would ye like to hear a Rogue Crew song? One Skor wrote?”

Trug Bawdsley nodded affably. “Jolly nice of ye, missy. Carry on an’ warble away.”

Without further ado, Kite launched into the sea otter tune.

“O there’s blood on the axe,

an’ there’s blood on the shield,

an’ blood on the swordblade, too.

An’ if yore a foe of our Rogue Crew,

there’ll be blood all over you!

Blood blood! Blood blood—”

Corporal Welkin interrupted before Kite could sing another verse. “Oh, well done, miss. What a jolly little ditty, a right pretty paw tapper, wot!”

A nearby sea otter nodded. “Aye, it’s brought a tear to many an eye, I can tell ye.”

Young Flutchers chuckled. “Indeed, old chap. I’d wager it’s brought more’n a bloomin’ tear to some. Wot!”

Lancejack Sage, who was up in the vanguard, called out, “Scouts returnin’ ahead!” Accompanied by Gil and Dreel the ottermaids, Buff Redspore loped up, saluting Rake and Skor.

“See that long ridge ahead, sah, sort of hillscape? The vermin ship has been there, anchored in the cove. But we’re afraid she’s gone now.”

Skor scratched at his bushy beard. “Gone, which way?”

Buff answered respectfully, “Wouldn’t like to make a guess, Lord. Mayhaps you’d like to judge for yourself? It ain’t far.”

From the ridgetop, Dreel pointed to the clear waters of the calm bay below. “It’s not deep. See the mudpatch on that clean sand beneath the water? That’s where they’ve been careenin’ marsh dirt off’n their hull.”

Her sister Gil explained, “That mud won’t move for a day or two. Ain’t much tide, water’s almost still.”

It was late noon when they explored the cove. Being an expert tracker, Buff Redspore ventured her opinion. “No wheelmarks in the sand, so Greenshroud never left the water. Only one beast came ashore—fox, prob’ly a vixen by the prints. But see here, there was already another over by the base of the hill. Looks like an old hedgehog.”

Skor stared at the tracker. “How d’ye know that?”

Buff produced a few greyish spines. “Old enough t’be losin’ these. The vixen took the old un back aboard the ship with her.”

Rake studied the twin tracks. “Tae get information out o’ the beastie, Ah think. So, where does that leave us?”

Buff shrugged. “She hasn’t gone inland, an’ she’s already been up north, so she must be sailin’ south.”

Ruggan Axehound mused, “If’n ye say the vermin wouldn’t attack yore mountain again, then wot do they want down south?”

Jum Gurdy, who had stayed in the background thus far, now came forward. The big Cellardog looked worried. “D’ye think they’re plannin’ on havin’ a go at Redwall?”

Captain Rake Nightfur stamped his paw down hard. “Och, aye! Ah’m a fool for no’ thinkin’ o’ that mahself. But why has the Wearat no’ gone inland tae do it? He has a vessel on wheels.”

Jum Gurdy told him why. “Further south, twixt here an’ yore mountain, there’s a river runs o’er the shore, Cap’n—’tis called the River Moss. Runs through the woodlands an’ dunes, over the beach, into the sea.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded. “We crossed o’er h’it on the fourth day h’outward bound, sah. I remembers it well, ’cos the water was sweet to drink, an’ fresh.”

Skor looked ready to march onward. He boomed impatiently, “Well, we’re losin’ time standin’ here chinwaggin’ about it. We should be marchin’ south t’find this River Moss!”

Jum Gurdy interrupted. “Could I make a suggestion?”

Rake forestalled Skor by saying, “Aye, please do.”

Quickly, Jum scratched out a rough map in the sand. “This is the coastline goin’ south. River Moss should be somewheres about ’ere. It flows out o’ the east. Where the path to Redwall Abbey is, there’s a ford o’er the water. So, if the vermin are goin’ to the Abbey, this is my plan, friends. Instead o’ followin’ the coastline south, we should cut inland now, on a southeasterly course. That way we’ll save time an’ we might even spot ’em.”

With a brief nod of thanks, Skor Axehound turned and began marching off, away from the sea, commenting gruffly, “Well, wot are we waitin’ for? We’re losin’ time!”

Following his example, everybeast fell in behind him. Within a short time, they had crossed some hills and were out of sight of the cove.