Razzid leaned on his trident, replying with mock surprise, “Really? Is that a fact. Wot d’ye suggest we do, bucko?”

The searat took a backward pace, answering lamely, “Break out the paddles an’ get the crew t’work?”

Not dignifying the suggestion with a comment, the Wearat turned away. Brushing away a midge that was crawling close to his good eye, he stumped off wordlessly to his cabin. Mowlag sighed with relief, then began yelling out orders.

“Furl all sails an’ lower ’em! Break out the oars an’ git pullin’ ’er upriver! Can’t ye see we’re drifting back’ards? C’mon, shift yore idle carcasses!”

From the mast, the keen-eyed stoat on lookout yelled down, “Ahoy, do I stop up ’ere, or do I start furlin’ sail?”

Mowlag glared up at the stoat. “Git down’ere, right now!”

With no prior warning, the stoat came down to the deck, plunging from the masthead with an arrow through his throat.

“Yaaaah!” Jiboree yelled in horror as he left the tiller, rushing to Mowlag, who stood with the dead lookout lying next to his footpaws. “Yaaaah! All paws on deck—we’re under attack! All paws on deck!”

There was a confusion of vermin running about carrying long oars whilst others dropped from the half-furled sails.

Razzid Wearat stumped out on deck, brandishing his trident. “Wot’n the name o’ blood’n’Hellgates is goin’ on’ere?” He turned, his face almost colliding with Jiboree as the weasel continued bawling.

“Yaaaah, did ya see that? We’re bein’ attacked. Lookit that! ’E’s dead!”

Razzid blenched from the weasel’s foul breath as he pushed him aside. “Attacked? Attacked by whom?”

He grabbed Shekra, who was looking stunned. She stammered, “I dunno, but somebeast just killed the lookout, Cap’n.”

Roughly shoving the vixen from him, Razzid grabbed the unattended tiller, roaring out to both banks, “Come an’ show yoreself if’n ye wants a battle!”

Thunk! A slingstone whacked him on the side of his jaw. Clapping a paw to his face, he hastened back to his cabin, dribbling blood as he spat out a broken fang. “Jiboree, git yoreself back at the tiller! Mowlag, find who’s attackin’ us an’ rip ’em apart, d’ye hear me?”

Doing his best to look efficient, the searat tugged his ear in salute. “I’ll take a party ashore, Cap’n’.”

Whirling around in his cabin doorway, Razzid snarled, “Stay aboard, fool. Don’t leave my ship unguarded!”

A searat named Dirgo answered, “But wot’ll we do, Cap’n? Yaaaaargh!”

An arrow zipped out of the twilight, pinning Dirgo’s left footpaw to the deck. The crew began milling about willy-nilly.

Razzid bellowed furiously, “Stand fast, all of ye! Mowlag, post six crew with bows’n’arrers to port an’ starboard. Shoot at anythin’ that moves! The rest of ye, pick up those oars an’ get us outta here! Those are my orders—now jump to ’em!”

The archers stood ready speedily, shafts nocked to bowstrings, but they were handicapped by two things, the onset of darkness and the lack of anything to direct arrows at. As the rowers began punting Greenshroud upriver with their long oars, a hail of slingstones rattled at them from the surrounding woodlands. A searat screamed as he was struck in the eye, another was knocked cold by a random head shot.

Mowlag grabbed a bow and arrow from a weasel corsair. “Right, where are they? Just let ’em show their faces an’ I’ll put a stop to ’em! Come out an’ face me, if’n ye dare!”

A chunk of wet wood, a broken sycamore branch, came boomeranging out of the dusk, cracking him across the shoulders. Mowlag’s bow accidentally discharged its shaft; it pierced the ear of the weasal corsair he had taken it from.

Shekra yelled at the archers, “Shoot! Loose those arrows, don’t just stand there with yore bows bent!”

As the archers fired, each in a different direction, the vixen was suddenly taken with an idea.

Drogbuk Wiltud was still sitting tied to the base of the mainmast. Shekra untied him. Forming the rope into a noose, she tightened it about his neck. Throwing the other end over a jib, she hauled tight, shouting at the same time to the invisible assailants, “You out there, we’ve got one o’ yores, a woodlander! One more arrow, slingstone or stick from ye, an’ I’ll hang this ’edgepig. D’ye hear?”

Drogbuk was squealing and sobbing as he teetered on tippaws, held there by the noose. “Mercy! Don’t attack or they’ll ’ang me—guuuuurgh!”

No more missiles came out of the darkened greenery. There was a mere rustle of foliage, then silence fell.

Shekra held on to the rope, smirking at Mowlag. “Hah, that did the trick, eh?”

Badtooth, the greasy weasel cook, ventured out of his galley. “Aye, it worked well enough, fox. But keep heavin’ on yonder rope an’ ye’ll finish that ole ’og off. Then where’ll we be?”

Razzid took advantage of the cease-fire, coming out on deck. “Smart thinkin’, Shekra. Ye did well, but Badtooth’s right, ye’d best loosen the rope afore that drunken ole fool dies.”

Drogbuk wheezed a gurgling sigh as his footpaws fell flat upon the deck, then he seemed to collapse in a heap.

Shekra called the cook, “Badtooth, keep an eye on this un.”

The greasy weasel sat down with his back against the mast. “Huh, ’e ain’t goin’ noplace. Looks arf dead t’me!”

The words had scarce left his lips when Drogbuk sprang nimbly up, ducked out of the noose, and jumped overboard. He went under and never surfaced. The archers shot a volley of arrows into the river, with no results.

Rizzad snarled at them, “Don’t waste shafts. The drunken ole sot’s prob’ly pike food by now. Stow those weapons an’ get on the oars with yore mates. When we’re clear of the area, ye can rest. Shekra, Mowlag, stay alert. If’n ye spy anythin’ that looks like a ford, report t’me.”

Probing the broken tooth with a blunt claw, the Wearat sought his cabin.

Greenshroud moved on upriver. Spitting water and trying to shake river mud from his rattly old spikes, Drogbuk staggered upright, shielded by reeds. He shook a clenched paw as the ship vanished round a bend.

“Gurrrraaah, ye murderin’ blaggards! Ye lard-gutted, stinky-bottomed, scabby-tailed, wall-eyed, dirty-lugged, misbegotten sons o’ hags—”

A sturdy young paw pulled him out onto the bank. “Yore frightenin’ the fishes wid language like that, Granpa. Give yore ole tongue a rest!”

Drogbuk gave Swiffo a curious stare. “Wot’s a wavedog doin’ round ’ere? Who are ye, eh?”

A Guosim maid passed him a pawful of dry moss to wipe his eyes clean. “We could ask you the same question, oldspikes. Wot were you doin’ aboard a vermin ship?”

Drogbuk began to explain. “I was tricked aboard. They said they was friends goin’ t’visit Redwall. . . .”

He broke off to gaze around the half score of beasts surrounding him before continuing stubbornly, “But that’s my bizness, not your’n. Er, ye haven’t got a drop of grog about ye? Me throat’s hurtin’ from that rope, an’ I needs grog to ease it off!”

Log a Log Dandy Clogs snorted scornfully. “Huh, I’ll wager ye do, but we ain’t on a picnic, so we’re not carryin’ grog. That ship’s wot we’re after, aye, an’ every scurvy vermin aboard of it. Once the ship’s sunk an’ everybeast of its crew knockin’ on the doors o’ Hellgates, then ye can drink grog ’til ye don’t know if’n ’tis summer or sumplace. Posy, Uggo, will ye watch out for this ole swillbelly?”

“Aye, this’ll do, Shekra. No tree cover, so we can see any attack comin’. Mowlag, set two lookouts at the masthead, two on the prow, an’ another two astern. Relieve ’em every hour. The rest can sleep awhile. Drop anchor!”

Jiboree sat sleeping, seated on a keg, with his head resting on the tiller. The watermeadow was a silent, fragrant area, dotted with waterlilies, bulrushes, sundew and pink flowering comfrey. Now and then the splash of a roach, or rudd, could be heard as fish flopped momentarily to the surface. Predawn birdsong trilled faintly on the still air. Jiboree snuffled, moving his head against the tiller, to seek a cosier position. The tiller arm yawled wide, leaving him sprawled on the deck. The weasel rose grumpily as the tiller came back the other way, knocking him flat once more. He grabbed the long wooden arm, expecting to steady it, but it swung loosely. Too loosely.

Mowlag growled irately as Jiboree shook him awake. “Wot is it now? Can’t a beast git no rest on this ship?”

The weasel kept his voice low. “There’s summat amiss wid the tiller, mate. Come an’ take a look!”

Mowlag pushed the unresisting tiller back and forth, noting that the vessel did not respond. He passed it back to Jiboree.

“Keep wigglin’ it back’n’forth while I takes a look.” Leaning out over the stern rail, Mowlag’s shouts roused the ship. “Blood’n’thunder, we ain’t got a bloomin’ rudder!”

Jiboree looked blankly at the mate. “Wotjer mean, we ain’t got a rudder?”

Mowlag roared in Jiboree’s face, covering him in spittle. “Wotjer think I mean, knot’ead? The rudder’s gone, we ain’t got a rudder! Ye’d better go an’ tell the cap’n!”

The weasel wiped his face with a grimy paw, then laughed drily. “Not me. Yore the ship’s mate—you go an’ tell ’im!”

“Tell him wot?”

They both turned to see Razzid bearing down on them. Mowlag gulped nervously, stumbling over his words. “Grudder’s on, I mean the rudder’s gone . . . sir.”

The Wearat tested the tiller before peering over the stern. “Gone? ’Ow could a rudder just go—where is it now, eh?”

“There ’tis, just off the port bow, Cap’n!” A searat called Dirgo stood on the midship rail, pointing. “Somebeast’s pushin’ it away—a riverdog, I think ’tis!”

As if to absolve himself, Mowlag jumped up alongside Dirgo, shielding his eyes with a paw as he sighted the rudder being pushed away through the watermeadow by Swiffo. “That ain’t no waterdog, it’s a wavedog!”

Razzid thundered amidships, dealing Mowlag a smack with the haft of his trident, which sent him overboard. “I don’t care wot sorta beast it is—stop it makin’ off with my rudder. Go on!”

He turned on the crew. “Get some bows’n’arrers. See if’n ye can’t get ’im afore Mowlag does. Look sharp now!”

Swiffo was forced to abandon the rudder as arrows began raining down on the watermeadow. He dived, swimming sleekly off underwater. Having no aquatic skills whatsoever, Mowlag was forced into an awkward dog paddle.

Shekra threw him one end of a long heaving line. “Tie this to the rudder so as we can pull it aboard. Grip it in yore mouth. Go on, you can do it!”

Mowlag spluttered, spitting out water and pondweed as he gasped, “I don’t know if I kin make it!”

Razzid called out a callous reply. “Either get that rudder or drown, ’cos ye ain’t comin’ back t’the ship without it!”

Swiffo shrugged ruefully. “I nearly made it. Still, it’ll take’em some time to get their rudder back in place. The ship’s too far off for us to do anythin’ at the moment.”

Log a Log Dandy clenched his paws, growling, “If only I had just one good logboat an’ a Guosim crew, I’d soon do somethin’ about it, on me oath I would!”

Tibbro climbed up into the low branches of a grey willow. “I think they’ve got a rope around the rudder. I can see ’em pullin’ it back to their ship. How long d’ye think it’ll take’em to fix it, Swiffo?”

The young sea otter shook his head. “Not long, matey. The rudder only slots through an iron pin. I took that out an’ flung it away. Soon as they get another they’ll be on their way back to the river.”

Uggo gnawed on some wild ramsons that he had dug up. “No sense in us makin’ a move ’til they do, I suppose.”

One of the shrews, a tough-looking beast called Frabb, fanned a paw across his nose to avoid the rancid odour of wild garlic coming from Uggo’s mouth. “Phwaw! If’n yew don’t stop chewin’ that stuff, I’ll chuck ye in the water, mate!”

Old Drogbuk took the stalks from Uggo and munched on them avidly. “Huh, yore a picknickerty sort fer a Guosim warrior. Nowt wrong wid ramsons, they’re good for ye—’ere, try some.”

Everybeast moved further down the bank, distancing themselves from Uggo and Drogbuk.

“Hold the rudder in place. Up a bit, now a touch port. That’s it—keep it still now, right there.”

He confiscated the spear that a nearby ferret was holding. Hefting the weapon, Razzid admired it. “Ain’t often ye see a full metal spear. ’Tis a nice piece.”

The ferret gazed anxiously at his prized spear. “Aye, Cap’n, ’tis solid bronze. Belonged to me ole father.”

With a final remark, the Wearat turned his back on the ferret: “It’ll make a good rudder pin.”

He leaned over the stern, tapping both Mowlag and Jiboree on the head with the bronze spearbutt. “Dolts, I told ye to hold the rudder steady. Now lift up a bit. Right, press inward. . . . There!”

He slotted the spear haft neatly into place.

“Shekra, try the tiller, wave it back’n’forth.”

The vixen obeyed dutifully. Razzid smiled.

“Good as new. Better, in fact—bronze don’t rust in water! Git aboard, you two, an’ get the sails rigged. We can’t lie about here forever!”

Having unsuccessfully tried to halt Greenshroud’s progress, Swiffo sat on the margin of the watermeadow with Posy and the small band of Guosim. The resourceful shrews had put together a makeshift snack from whatever they could forage from the locality. Uggo and Drogbuk were temporarily banned from the company, owing to the fact they were still munching on the malodorous ramsons. Posy was nibbling on some mushrooms and young dandelion buds. When she noticed that the shrew Chieftain was not wearing his famed Dandy Clogs, she commented on this.

“What happened to your nice shoes, Dandy?”

The Log a Log answered tersely, “They weren’t shoes, missy. They was proper Dandy Clogs, the sort champion dancers wears. I don’t know wot ’appened to ’em for certain, an’ I ain’t too bothered about it. Wot grieves me is the loss of so many of my mates.” His jaw tightened, and his voice shook as he spoke. “All them good Guosim warriors, ambushed, murdered, by those vermin scum. Well, I’ll even the score, I tell ye. We won’t rest ’til we can dance on their graves, every last mother’s son o’ the cowardly butchers!”

Uggo came wandering along the bank with some information. “Could see the green ship from where me’n the old un was. Looks like she’s movin’ off agin. Thought ye should know.”

Jumping upright, Dandy scattered food left and right. He seized a Guosim rapier he had found. “Movin’ off, is it? I’ll show ’em there’s noplace they can go without me on their tails. Come on, mates!”

“Hah, do ye think that’s the right way t’go about it, me bold bucko? Ye’ll end up chasin’ yore own tails!”

Drogbuk had ambled up. He stood shaking his head at Dandy. “T’aint the way I’d do it.”

The Guosim Log a Log brushed by Drogbuk, almost knocking him over. “Out o’ me way, ole rattlespikes!”

Swiffo held up his paw, halting the shrews. “Wait, let’s see wot the old un would do. Go on, mate, speak yore piece!”

One of the shrews, Banktail, muttered scornfully, “Huh, I wouldn’t pay no ’eed t’that ole grogsnout.”

Drogbuk drew himself up, eyeing Banktail haughtily. “Now, you lissen t’me, young blabbermouth. I’m a diff’rent’og now. Aye, I’ve sworn never to drink grog ever agin. So I’m thinkin’ clearer now, an’ I thinks I’ve got a lot more seasons’ wisdom about me than anybeast ’ere.”

Dandy swished his rapier impatiently. “Well, out with it, Granpa, let’s ’ear some o’ this wisdom.”

The ancient hedgehog gestured toward the vermin ship. “That’ll reach the River Moss long afore you do, ’cos it don’t’ave t’go round the long way, skirtin’ this watermeadow like us. Besides, if’n ye do catch it up, wot are ye goin’ t’do, eh?”

Dandy swiped at the grass with his blade. “We’re goin’ t’slay ’em, that’s wot!”

Drogbuk chuckled drily. “Brave words, friend, but the vermin outnumber ye about a score to one. Oh, I’ll grant ye could pick one or two off, like I’ve seen ye do. But these are corsairs’n’searats. They ain’t led by a stoopid beast. If’n the mood took yon Wearat, he’d track ye down an’ finish ye one by one.”

Dobble, the Guosim scout, called impatiently, “You ain’t told us yore plan yet, old un!”

Drogbuk snapped back at him, “Then give me a blinkin’ chance, fatmouth! Lissen now, we know the vermin are goin’ to try an’ conquer Redwall. So, if’n we can get there afore ’em, we can warn those Redwallers an’ be ready for the foebeasts when they arrive.”

Swiffo could not help cutting in eagerly. “He’s right, y’know! In a stone fortress, backed up by the Redwall beasts, we’d stand a much better chance o’ winnin’ agin the vermin. Wot d’ye say, Dandy?”

The Log a Log sighed. “Maybe so, but how are we goin’ t’get to Redwall faster than them? I ain’t even sure o’ the way widout a logboat, an’ they’ve got a ship on wheels.”

Drogbuk winked craftily. “Ahah, but I knows the way to that Abbey, I’ve been there a few times in my seasons. I knows a shortcut, too, if’n yore willin’ t’take the chance—”

Uggo interrupted. “W’ot’s so chancey about a shortcut?”

The old hedgehog shrugged. “Nothin’ if’n ye ain’t scared o’ snakes, toads an’ lizards—aye, an’ a band o’ foxes.”

Swiffo placed a paw about Drogbuk’s shoulders, exclaiming airily, “Hah, is that all? Then lead on, ole matey!”

The very mention of snakes caused the Guosim to hesitate, for the simple reason that most shrews fear nothing more than serpents.

Dandy shook a paw in Drogbuk’s face. “An’ yore certain that it’s a shortcut that’ll get us to Redwall faster than the vermin crew?”

A few spikes rattled onto the bankside as Drogbuk nodded. “Sure, fer certain, an’ that certain sure!”

Posy set an example by putting her best paw forward. “Well, that’s good enough for me, sir. I’m game to try!”

Swiffo grinned at the apprehensive Guosim shrews. “I’ope yore not goin’ t’be shown up by a liddle ’ogmaid!”

Dandy trembled as if fit to burst as he roared at his warriors, “Nobeast shows up a Guosim—we’re with ye. Up off yore tails, you lot. Let’s march!”

They set off with Posy and Uggo either side of Drogbuk in the lead.

Uggo smiled as he whispered to his pretty friend, “Well said, Posy. That moved ’em!”

Posy answered unsmilingly, “I hope I haven’t moved us into something that’ll see us as snakefood!”