The Rogue Crew

Rekaby watched Jum trying to bind the splint, smiling at his efforts. “Finish off that dressin’, Foober. Friend Jum’s a bit lackadaisical at dressin’s.”

He took Jum to one side. “Can I ’ave a word with ye, mate?”

The big otter nodded. “Have as many words as ye like.”

Rekaby patted Jum’s back. “Good, now how’s this for an idea. I know yore still hopin’ that Uggo’n’Posy are still alive. So am I. So if’n they ain’t turned up ’ere, they’ve prob’ly carried on tryin’ to find their way to Redwall. Would ye agree with that?”

Jum nodded. “Aye, I would, old un, but ’ow can we do anythin’ about that?”

The silver-furred squirrel explained, “Well, it looks like everybeast is bound for Redwall. Sea otters, hares, mebbe any Guosim who escaped the slaughter an’ those vermin with their ship on wheels, curse their rotten ’ides! So, we’ve got a logboat left to us by Cap’n Rake. Why don’t we travel to Redwall as well? I’ll send Fiddy’n’Frudd for the rest o’ my bunch, we’ll rest up today an’ start tomorrow. I’ll load the worst-injured Guosim into the logboat an’ we’ll tow it from the banks.”

Jum liked the idea. “Aye that’d work, an’ may’aps when we gets t’the Abbey we’ll find Uggo’n’Posy are already there.”

Rekaby winked at Jum. “’Twouldn’t surprise me.”

Foober looked up from her work. “Skor Axe’ound an’ Cap’n Rake might’ve found yore two ’ogs by now. I wonder if they’ve caught up with the vermins’ ship yet.”

At that very moment, Skor was fishing a deadbeast from the river a league or two upstream.

Lieutenant Scutram leaned out from the prow of a logboat. “Not one of ours, eh, sah?”

The sea otter Chieftain heaved the carcass up onto the bank with his axeblade, commenting gruffly, “A vermin, dead stoat. Arrowshaft clean through his neck. Wot d’ye make o’ this, Ruggan?”

His eldest son inspected the arrow closely. “Guosim shrew, I’d say. Good shot, from someplace up in a tree, judging by the angle.”

Rake called from the prow of his logboat, “Yonder’s another, Ah’d say. Can ye reach him, Sarn’t?”

Miggory trapped the second vermin with his paddle. “H’it looks like h’a searat t’me. Got no arrers in ’im, though.”

Buff Redspore seized the searat’s tail, hauling it round so she could view it. Buff gave a prompt verdict. “Slingstone got this villain—right through the eye, wot!” She released the tail disgustedly. “Savages! Don’t they ever bury their slain comrades, wot?”

Rake chuckled mirthlessly. “Och, Ah’d like tae see mair o’ the rascals floatin’ round. So, et looks like we’ve got some Guosim allies, eh?”

Gil and Dreel, who had taken to the bankside, called out their findings. “Tracks here, Lord, looks like them.”

“Aye, ’bout somewheres over half a score, mostly shrews, but there are two pair o’ hedgepig prints an’ one that belongs to a sea otter, sire.”

Skor gave a great rough laugh. “Hohoho! That’ll be my young bucko. I’d wager he was the slingstone thrower, eh, eh, hohoho!”

Rake motioned both logboats to the bank. “Buff, go with those two Rogue Crew trackers. We’ll bide here awhile. Find where the tracks go an’ report back tae me. Off ye go, now!”

There was not even time to sit and enjoy a snack. The trackers returned in a surprisingly short time. Buff Redspore, who was by far the superior trail reader of the trio, made a prompt report to Rake and Skor.

“Shrews must be followin’ the confounded vermin ship, sah. No signs of either, but by the condition o’ the ground thereabouts, I’d say there was a jolly old watermeadow not too far away. P’raps we’ll catch ’em up there, wot!”

Rake helped Buff back into the logboat.

“Aye, ’tis likely we may. Time tae get underway again.”

Some of the Rogue Crew took to the water, whilst others trotted along on either bank. Sergeant Miggory stretched out in the stern of a logboat, trailing his paw in the river. “This beats marchin’ h’into a cocked ’at. C’mon, you layabouts, get paddlin’. Don’t stray h’into rough waters, now. Stay in the nice, smooth bits.”

Big Drander splashed out with his paddle, soaking the colour sergeant. He apologised, grinning from ear to ear. “I say, Sarn’t, sorry about that, me jolly old paddle slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye?”

Miggory held a paw toward Drander. “I dunno—tell me wot you think, big feller.”

Drander stood awkwardly, reaching out to touch the sergeant’s paw. As he did, a quick flick from Miggory toppled him into the river. Miggory watched as his comrades rescued Drander.

“Ho, sorry h’about that, young sah, me jolly h’old paw slipped. Didn’t get too wet, did ye, wot?”

Drander was hauled aboard, muttering, “Couldn’t get much bloomin’ wetter, could I?”

Corporal Welkin Dabbs winked at the big young hare. “A lesson learned is knowledge gained, doncha know!”

They reached the watermeadow in the early evening. Trackers were sent out again as Ruggan scanned the surface. He picked up an arrow.

“This is a vermin shaft, an’ here’s another. Looks like they were gettin’ a few shots off at the shrews.”