Milda waved her paws in agitation. “Through the storeroom window, miss. They’re bangin’ on it really loud. I’m sure ’tis vermin!”

Uggo was trying hard to feel like a warrior. He growled, trying to stem the fear welling up in his throat. “How many of the scum d’ye think there are?”

Milda looked distracted. “Couldn’t say, sir, but there’s more’n one makin’ all that din. Could be a gang of ’em!”

Everybeast crammed into the storeroom doorway moved out of Uggo’s way as with sinking heart he heard the hammering racket on the window and saw the shutter disintegrating in a shower of splinters and timber chips.

Behind him, Milda was shouting, “Leave it to the warrior! He’s carryin’ Martin’s sword. Stand clear an’ give him room!”

Even as the words left her lips, the entire shutter burst inward. Uggo was inching hesitantly forward when the big fat weasel, Badtooth, came bounding in. Martin’s blade slashed his throat as he landed on top of the young hog.

Then the Wearat scrambled over the windowsill, wielding his trident. He stepped on Badtooth, cursing as he stumbled.

“Serves ya right, ye fat idiot!”

At the sight of Razzid, kitchen staff fled screaming. It was like seeing a living nightmare. Uggo lay stunned beneath the slain cook, his head having been banged on the floor when Badtooth landed on him. The Wearat kicked Badtooth aside, exposing Uggo lying there.

Razzid wiped at his leaky eye, staring down at him. “Hah, the liddle ’edgepig who escaped from my ship. Well, yore runnin’ days are done!”

He stabbed down with the trident, spearing Uggo’s footpaw. Uggo screeched out in agony as Razzid pushed the weapon hard. The Wearat taunted him cruelly. “Now, ’old out yore other footpaw. I likes t’make sure o’ my work. Hahaaarhaar! This is gonna hurt ye!”

“You leave him alone, you dirty old Wearat!”

Razzid let go of his trident, which was still stuck in his victim’s footpaw. He turned, surprised that any kitchen lackey would challenge him.

Posy put her whole weight behind Martin’s sword. She lunged, with both eyes tight shut.

Razzid seemed to lose the power of speech. He stood stock-still, looking down at the venerable blade which had impaled his stomach. Time stood still in the frozen tableau. Uggo lying on the floor with his footpaw transfixed by the trident; Posy with a shocked expression on her face; the Wearat, glaring with his good eye at the sword of Martin the Warrior protruding from his midriff.

Then Razzid gave out with a wild roar. “Hayaaaar! Do ye think ye can kill me? I’m Razzid Wearat!” He staggered to one side, grabbing the trident out of Uggo’s footpaw. Still with the sword in him, he lurched at Posy, snarling, “Die, liddle spikepig . . . die!”

There was a deep bellow from behind him.

“Redwaaaaaalllll!”

Despite his age, size and weight, Jum Gurdy bounded through the open window, swinging his hefty stave. Before Razzid could turn, the Redwall otter dealt him a blow which broke both the stave and his skull. Razzid Wearat collapsed in a limp heap.

This time there was no doubt about it—the Wearat had been truly slain.

Uggo hauled himself into a sitting position. “Mister Gurdy, where’d you come from?”

Jum withdrew the sword from his enemy’s body. “My ole uncle Wullow can rest easy now. Eh, wot’s that ye say, young Wiltud?”

Posy repeated the question. “He asked where did you come from, sir?”

Jum wiped the blade clean on Razzid’s carcass. “I couldn’t travel as fast as you, bein’ in charge of the wounded shrews. We fetched up at the Abbey gates just a few moments back. Seein’ the state Redwall was in, I left those Guosim out on the path an’ came right in. Ran straight into a searat—huh, he dashed off. Well, I gave chase, an’ as I was comin’ by the kitchen window, I heard that Wearat roarin’ an’ shoutin’, so I came to investigate. Hah, just as well I did fer you two, eh? Seen ought of my sister Dorka? She should be pleased t’see her ole brother.”

Jum hefted the sword of Martin admiringly. “Hoho! I likes the feel o’ this blade. Tell Dorka, if’n ye see her, that I’m lendin’ a paw t’clear our Abbey of those vermin scum. Breakin’ into Redwall an’ leavin’ their ship on our property—the bloomin’ nerve o’ them!”

Brandishing the sword, he scrambled out of the storeroom window, roaring, “Look out, vermin. Jum Gurdy’s come ’ome!”

Both leaders of the remaining Greenshroud crew, Mowlag and Jiboree, found themselves deserted. Losing heart at the ferocity of Long Patrol hares and sea otters, the vermin had fled in all directions. Most found the open main gates and dashed out onto the flatlands. Faced with Skor Axehound and Captain Rake, the pair were backed up against the Abbey pond. They made one last mad charge, hoping to get by their enemies, but to no avail. Skor’s battleaxe and Rake’s twin claymores made short work of Mowlag and Jiboree. The pond crimsoned in the night drizzle over the place where they had sunk beneath the waters.

Dawn arrived, misty at first but clearing into a bright sunlit morn. Abbot Thibb threw open the Abbey door, allowing relief to the gallant defenders. Sister Fisk and her helpers went to assist the wounded whilst Friar Wopple sent out kitchen workers pushing trolleys laden with breakfast. However, there were other things to attend to.

Sergeant Miggory called briskly, “Form up in rank, Patrol, smartly now, no gossipin’, Miz Ferrul. Vittles later, young Flutchers, git in line!”

The Rogue Crew of Skor did likewise. All activity ceased as the lists were taken.

Corporal Welkin Dabbs reported, “Sah, Drander an’ Wilbee have fallen, I regret to say. Lancejack Sage, Trug Bawdsley an’ Lieutenant Scutram all sustained wounds, sah, but they’ll recover, I’m told. The rest o’ the column are all present an’ correct . . . sah!”

Ruggan Axehound saluted his father. “Rogue Crew lost Kite Slayer an’ Endar Feyblade. I ain’t counted the wounded yet, but there’s not many. Er, permission to go after the vermin who escaped out the west gates, Chief?”

Sister Fisk stamped a paw down angrily, her voice shrill. “Haven’t you had enough of killing! Kindly take yourselves into the orchard so we can dress your injuries and feed you!”

Skor was about to speak when Rake interrupted him. “Och, the Sister’s right, ye bloodthirsty auld beastie. We’re all guests o’ the Father Abbot an’ these good creatures, so let’s abide by their rules!”

Thibb bowed solemnly to Rake. “My thanks to you, Captain. Please feel free to avail yourselves of anything Redwall has to offer.”

There was a moment’s silence, then Skor yawned, leaning on his axe haft. “Fair enough, so be it. I’m tired an’ hungry, too. Crew, put up yore weapons!”

Dorka Gurdy had a request. “When yore all fed an’ bandaged, mayhaps ye’d like to shove that filthy ole boat out of our Abbey. It don’t look nice, sittin’ there!”

Amidst general laughter, the warriors of the Long Patrol and the sea otters of the Rogue Crew went off to the orchard followed by a crowd of cheering Redwallers.