7

Grath Longfletch notched another shaft to her bowstring and waited for the next searat to emerge from behind the longboat hauled high above the tideline. From where she sat in the rocks the deadly otter commanded an uninterrupted view of the shore for miles around. She had slain five searats. Their bodies lay on the sands by the boat, each transfixed by a green-feathered arrow. Now only two more rats crouched behind the beached vessel.

Grath held the great bow firmly. Allowing its string to touch her cheek, she gazed down the arrow shaft, singing softly to herself as she waited for the quarry to materialize.

Sculrag the searat captain and his steersrat Karvil lay flat on the sand behind the stern of the single-sailed longboat that had once served as ship’s dinghy for Sculrag’s vessel, Sprayraider.

Karvil whined continually. “Lookit, the tide’s comin’ in, an’ we ain’t got a crab’s chance of gettin’ off this shore. Why’d you tell ’em t’pull the boat up beyond the tideline? Why?”

Sculrag hurled a pawful of sand at the steersrat, but the breeze whipped it away before it found his face.

“Because the tide would’ve drifted it away while we was lookin’ fer shellfish on those rocks, block’ead, that’s why! Oh, an’ while we’re talkin’ about rocks, who was the witless buffoon that ran me ship onto the rocks an’ wrecked ’er . . . You!”

Sculrag kicked out viciously, catching Karvil painfully in his side, and raged on at the hapless steersrat. “A good ship an’ two seasons’ plunder lost! Huh, steersrat? I wouldn’t let you steer a beaker round a bowl of grog! Twenty days in an open longboat, twenty days without vittles, livin’ on barnacles an’ rainwater! If I ever gets outta this mess I’m goin’ to ’ang you upside down over the sea an’ let the fishes nibble yore ’ead off, though they’ll be out o’ luck if they expects to find any brains in there!”

Quite unexpectedly Karvil kicked back, catching Sculrag square in his flabby stomach. The searat captain glared at his attacker as he fought for breath, and croaked, “Yer mutinous toad, ’tis the death penalty fer strikin’ a ship’s master!”

Sneering, Karvil avoided Sculrag’s flailing paw and drew a dagger. The fact that he had hurt the searat made him bolder. “Yore no ship’s master, slimeguts, you ain’t got a ship no more! I’m sick of takin’ orders from yer, see. Jus’ try strikin’ me once more an’ you’ll feel this ’ere blade!”.

Sculrag kicked swiftly, sending the dagger spinning out onto the sand. Karvil kicked back, but Sculrag grabbed his footpaw and bit it hard. The steersrat screeched in agony as he pulled away, grabbing for the dagger. Breaking free, he scrambled out onto the sand and retrieved his blade.

Sssssthukk!

Karvil fell backward, the green-flighted shaft between his eyes.

Desperately Sculrag looked over his shoulder at the incoming tide. The longboat was fully twice its length away from the tideline. Reaching over the aft end, he groped madly about until his paw encountered the stern rope. It was made fast to the back seat. Sobbing with relief and panting, the searat captain began dragging the longboat backward, toward the sea and freedom. It was tough going. He dug his footpaws into the sand, and still lying flat, he tugged the longboat, inch by painful inch, its flat bottom scraping the shore. For interminable minutes he sweated, puffing, tugging and heaving, spitting sand from his mouth and wiping sweat from his eyes.

Sculrag was fat, but he was strong. Rewinding the rope around his shoulders, he dragged hard, digging his footpaws deep to gain purchase until he felt the waves lap at them. Sculrag smiled then, the wreck of his ship and the crew that was lost on the reef all forgotten. Whoever it was up in those rocks, they would not be adding him to the list of the slain. He, Sculrag, would escape, and once the longboat was in the sea and he could hoist the single sail to catch fair wind, he was certain nobeast alive would catch him. One more tug, just one more! His footpaws hit something solid and he glanced over his shoulder. Sculrag’s blood ran cold as he stared into the vengeful eyes of Grath Longfletch.

Moonlight glimmered and danced across the restless waves as the longboat skimmed lightly south on the open seas. Grath was now captain of her own little vessel.

Every scrap of Waveworm’s canvas was stretched tight; she dipped her bows deep to the troughs of great waves. Spray hissed as she forged over the surface of endless deeps, leaving behind a silvery wake, like the track of a giant snail.

Bladetail the steersrat wiped seawater from his eyes. He leaned hard on the long wooden tiller to keep the vessel on course, east, always east, to where the sun rose each dawn. Romsca the ferret stood at the helm, eyes on the horizon. She had been Conva’s first mate; the Emperor Ublaz had promoted her to captain for this voyage. Romsca was as tough and fierce as any sea vermin, but she was under no illusions. She knew that she was dispensable. If Lask Frildur brought back the Tears of all Oceans, Ublaz would not bother what price had been paid to obtain them.

Romsca joined Bladetail at the tiller; glancing through the scupper slits, she watched the rate at which the waves passed by. “Well under way an’ makin’ good time, mate, like as if we’re in an ’urry t’rush to our deaths, eh?”

The steersrat glanced nervously around. “Stow that gab, there might be Monitors cockin’ a lug t’yer.”

Romsca smiled thinly as she shook her head, saying, “Not today, messmate. I may be feared o’ those lizards, an’ that Lask Frildur—every time he looks at me my blood runs cold—but I ain’t daft. We can gab away up ’ere an’ they won’t be bothered t’lissen in on us. Know why?”

Bladetail put a harness on the tiller to stop it wandering. “No, why?” he said.

Romsca tapped the side of her muzzle and winked. “Well, there’s two reasons, see. I figgered it out fer meself when we first took those lizards aboard. One, they’re lubbers, they been ashore all their lives an’ this is their first voyage. Two, lizards like them are born in tropical parts, so it stands ter reason, they can’t abide the cold. Now me’n’you an’ all the crew, why, we love the feel of a rollin’ deck ’neath our paws. An’ as fer weather, we’ve been through it all, foul’n’fair as well as ’ot’n’cold!”

Bladetail looked at her blankly. “I don’t see ’ow that ’elps us.”

The ferret explained. “Good job y’got me t’look after yer. I put the Monitors in the best cabins, up for’ard, hahaha, where they gets the real buck an’ pitch of the ship, up an’ down, up an’ down, night’n’day. If you wants ter see a sick green lizard, take a look in the for’ard accommodation. Lask Frildur an’ his gang are all laid out there, moanin’ an’ groanin’ like they wanna die.

“Now, as we sail further east the weather gets colder, it ain’t tropical no more. Ole Mad Eyes never thought o’ that, but I did. So, mate, we won’t ’ave no lizards bossin’ us about on this trip. No sir, lizards like them can’t stand the cold, take my word fer it!”

Bladetail thought for a moment, then the logic of Romsca’s words hit him, and the steersrat started to guffaw aloud.

“Ahawhawhaw! Yer a canny one, Cap’n, hawhaw!”

Romsca kicked his footpaw suddenly, muttering low, “Stow that cackle, ’ere comes ole Lask ’isself!”

The Monitor General’s skin, which was normally gray-blue, had a definite tinge of unhealthy green to it. Hauling himself painfully over the for’ard cabin coamings, he staggered, shivering and holding tight to the deckrails.

The big Monitor’s dull muddy eyes stared accusingly at Romsca. “It’z not good on waterz,” he said. “Me and my Monitorz much ill. How far to Mozzflower, tell me!”

Romsca paced the heaving deck nonchalantly, gazing up at the sky and testing the wind with a dampened paw. “Oh, I’d say quite a stretch o’ time yet, though if’n we lose this fair wind or run into proper rough seas, then who c’d say?”

“Proper rough zeaz!” Lask Frildur’s eyes glazed over, and his jaw sagged visibly. “You mean it can get rougher than thiz?”

Bladetail was enjoying himself. “Bless yer scales, Gen’ral, you ain’t seen rough water yet,” he said jovially. “Why, the sea’s as still as a millpond today, ain’t that right, mate?”

Romsca agreed wholeheartedly. “Aye, ’tis so, but don’t you worry, sir. The Emperor said to deliver you an’ yore Monitors to Mossflower shores, an’ I gave ’im me solemn oath that I would. The seas’ll get big as mountains an’ there’ll be blizzards with ice thick on the riggin’s, but don’t you fret yer scaly ’ead, we’ll get yer there one way or t’other. You take a seabeast’s advice now, sir, go an’ lay down in yer cabin. Let these gentle waves rock yer t’sleep. I’ll send Rubby the cook along later with yore dinner, some nice fish guts boiled in ole tallowfat . . .”

“Bloooaaargh!”

Lask Frildur clapped both paws to his mouth and staggered off miserably to his cabin, bowed and shivering.

Romsca and Bladetail leaned against the tiller, cackling helplessly.

“Wohawhawhaw! Fish guts boiled in tallowfat, that’s a good ’un!”

“Haharrharrharr! Follered by a cold pan o’ greasy skilly, that should bring the roses back to ’is scaly ole cheeks. Haharr!”