12

Trimp was still feeling a bit sick and dizzy from her ordeal in the pool, but with Chugger about it was difficult to rest.

“Chugger, come away from that water. It’s very deep!”

“Ho, Chugg know it deep. I beena bottum of it!”

“Yes, well that’s where you’ll find yourself again if you don’t come away. Come on, this instant!”

“Yah, lea’ me alone, me an’ mista Din doin’ a job, see!”

The mole picked him up with one huge digging claw. “Oi can doo ee job on moi own thankee, maister. Naow, you’m do loik miz Trimp tell ee an’ no cheek frumm ee!”

A fox appeared as if from nowhere. Behind him were four roguish-looking vermin, an assortment of rats and ferrets.

The fox looked the wickedest of all five. He was obviously their leader, and wore big hooped brass earrings and tattered silks. Faded tattoos showed on the paw holding a sharp single-headed ax. He gestured at Chugger.

“Haharr, young ’un, you lissen t’yore elders an’ don’t be cheekin’ ’em. Avast now, cullies, wot ’ave we ’ere?”

One of the vermin sniggered. “Dinner, that’s wot we got!”

Shaking his head in censure, the fox growled, “Stow that kind o’ gab, Fribb, these ’ere are gentlebeasts—a mite grubby, but respectable. Ain’t that right, missie?”

Trimp had decided instantly that she did not like the vermin, or their leader, but her voice showed no fear. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Strutting insolently about, the fox rummaged through the salvaged supplies with his axblade. He chose an apple, polishing it on his ragged sleeve. “I could ask you the same question, me pretty.”

Trimp picked up a solid spar of raftwood. “I’m not your pretty, and ’tis usually considered good manners to ask before helping yourself to the food of others!”

Scornful sniggers echoed from the four vermin. Pausing with the apple halfway to his mouth, the fox grinned. “This ’un’s got me quakin’ in me boots, mates. Gut me, she’s a right mouthy liddle baggage, ain’t she?”

Trimp brandished her wooden spar, trembling slightly, but still game for trouble. “Aye, but you’ll find I can back up my words when dealing with bullies. Now who are you and what do you want here?”

Making as if to go, the fox sidled past Trimp. Suddenly he turned, knocking the spar from the hogmaid’s paw with a deft flick of his axblade. Dinny went for him with a deep growl, but one of the vermin tripped him with a cutlass blade. He tried to rise, only to find another one menacing his throat with a pike. Biting into the apple, the fox pulled a face and spat the piece out. He held the ax under Trimp’s chin, his voice hard and commanding.

“I’m Sholabar, lord of these coasts. See that boat out there? Well, ’tis mine. I patrols these waters an’—”

Trimp interrupted him sharply. “I don’t see any boat out there!”

Sholabar growled at one of the vermin. “Where did ye berth the boat, Grimleg?”

“Be’ind the point, like y’told me to, cap’n.”

The fox shrugged. “Well, no matter. Point is, missie, yore on my land. All around ye, far as y’can see, belongs t’me. Even this freshwater pool. So yore a trespasser, see!”

Trimp pushed the ax away from her chin and laughed in the bully’s face contemptuously. “Haha! Don’t talk stupid, nobeast owns the shores and sea!”

Shaking with rage, Sholabar raised his ax at her. “Snotnosed liddle spikeback, I’ll skin yer alive!”

Chugger bounded forward and sank his teeth in the fox’s leg.

“Yahowww! Leggo! Gerrim offa me! Yaaarrgh!”

The little fellow clung like a limpet, sinking his teeth deeper and growling fiercely. One of the vermin grabbed him by the tail. Trimp seized Sholabar’s paw, trying to stop him swinging the ax at Chugger. The fox roared, “Aaaargh! Stretch ’im out, Grimleg! Yaaaah! I’ll chop the liddle brat in two!” He shook his arm, trying to loosen Trimp’s hold, while Chugger’s little teeth dug deeper and deeper. “Fribb, get this brat offa me! Eeeyarrr! He’s bitin’ me leg t’the bone! Owowow!”

Before the fox could issue another yell, Folgrim came hurtling out of nowhere and struck him like a thunderbolt. There was an ominous crack. The fox’s head went backward at a crazy angle under the force of the otter’s blow, and he fell slain upon the sand. Taking one swift look at Folgrim, the four vermin fled for their lives. Martin and Gonff were rounding the corner of a nearby dune, carrying wild onions and dandelion shoots, and two of the fleeing vermin ran straight into them. Gonff butted one in the stomach, laying him out, gasping for air. Martin tripped the other one and grabbed him hard by the scruff. The other two vermin ran the opposite way, only to find themselves surrounded by Guosim rapier points.

Hauling the four vermin roughly along, the foragers arrived back at the poolside. Martin had to place himself between the captives and the scar-faced otter, who was trying to get at them with the dead fox’s ax. Martin spoke calmingly to him. “No more slaying, friend, they’ve had enough. You four, sit down there and explain yourselves. What’s been going on here? The truth, now!”

Grimleg the ferret managed a good act, whining pitifully. “We’re nought but porebeasts, sir, we roams the sands, lookin’ fer vittles t’keep skin an’ bones together, sir. Woe is us, sir, we fell foul o’ this robber band. We begged ’em for food but they attacked us. That liddle ’un tried to eat our cap’n, er, Sholabar, an’ yon ’ogmaid was goin’ t’brain us wid a club. Sir, ’tis the truth I tell ye. See that savage riverdog? That ’un slew our mate Sholabar fer no reason at all, sir. An’ that mad mole ’ad a sword ’e was goin’ t’kill me wid!” Grimleg picked up the cutlass he had dropped when he fled. “Aye, this is the very blade, I swears it on me mother’s eyes, sir. They’d ’ave murdered us if you ’adn’t arrived!”

Trimp noted Martin’s wink before he turned to her stern-eyed and demanded, “Is this true, did you attack these poor creatures? Speak!”

Trimp caught on immediately. Cringing and rubbing her paws nervously, she groveled on the sand, performing a passable imitation of a vermin lying its way out of trouble.

“Oh, ’tis true, yer honor, ’tis true, we ’ad a wicked upbringin’ y’see. But spare our lives an’ we’ll give up bad livin’, on me granma’s whiskers I swear we will. Kind sir, just let us sail off in our boat, that’s moored be’ind the south point, an’ you’ll never see ’ide nor ’air of us agin, on me oath!”

At the mention of a boat, Furmo exchanged glances with Martin. “So they’ve got a boat. What d’you think, matey?”

Surveying the wreckage of what had once been their vessel, Martin nodded, as if considering the matter. “Aye, it’d save us long days of walking, eh, Gonff?”

Gonff drew his dagger and stood over the four vermin. “Fear not, friends, justice has come to yore aid. These ruffians, the hogmaid an’ her crew that attacked you so wickedly, here’s how we’ll deal with ’em. My friends an’ I will confiscate their boat an’ take them with us as deck slaves for punishment. That way they’ll bother honest creatures like yoreselves no more. What d’ye say to that?”

Grimleg and his vermin companions were nonplussed. In one fell swoop they had been foiled of their prey, lost their boat and also their captain to boot. The ferret was about to object when Furmo drew his rapier and stood facing him, cold eyed. His voice, when he spoke, was like ice.

“I’d say ’twas a good idea. These honest beasts should make no objection, as long as the tale they told us is true. ’Cos I can’t abide a liar, y’see! Liars is worse than thieves or murderers, I always say. Show me a liar an’ I’ll silence his untruthful tongue forever. Gurr! I can’t stand liars!”

Gonff placed his paw on Furmo’s rapier hilt. “Put up yore blade, matey, these are honest creatures!” Grimleg and his vermin nodded furiously, trying hard to look poor but honest. Gonff pointed an accusing paw at Trimp and her friends. “Now this lot, they’re a different kettle o’ fish. They’ve got the look o’ savage murderin’ villains t’me!”

Folgrim narrowed his one eye and squinted wickedly. “Aye, I’m a bad lot, allus ’ave been. Ain’t ’appy ’less I’m slayin’ pore honest beasts wid me ax.”

Chugger bared his teeth and emitted a small growl. “Ho, we’s villings sure nuff, choppa tail off an’ cutcha froats us will. Gurrr!”

Dinny squinched up his snout and made evil gestures with his digging claws at all and sundry. “Burr aye, an’ stuffen ee tails up’n ee noses. Gurrurr!”

Trimp kicked sand at the seated vermin. “Hah! Gimme a sharp blade an’ a cookin’ pot, an’ I’ll show ye what I do to pore honest beasts. Yarrrrr!”

Gonff gave a shudder of mock horror. “Enough o’ that foul talk, ye blaggards! Off t’the boat with you an’ keep a bridle on those wicked tongues!”

Martin drew his sword and marched the miscreants off. Gonff and the Guosim shrews had to bite their lips to keep from bursting out laughing.

Log a Log Furmo kept his face solemn. He patted the backs of the four miserable vermin heftily, then shook each one by the paw, with a grip that caused them to wince. “Lucky for you we came along, my friends, very lucky!”

One of the Guosim cooks whispered to Gonff in a voice that all could hear. “I ’opes they thanks the Chief—he can’t stand ungrateful beasts. Why, I’ve seen Furmo take ’is blade an’ . . .” Before the sentence was finished the vermin were gabbling aloud in panic.

“Aye, lucky indeed fer us, sire, thank ye!”

“Don’t know wot we’d ’ave done without ye, Chief!”

“True, true, we’ll never forget ’ow you saved us!”

“Thankee, thankee kindly, sir!”

Gonff gathered up the vermin weapons, tut-tutting like an old mousewife. “Nasty sharp things. Don’t fret, friends, we’ll take care o’ these lest you injure yoreselves on ’em!”

Furmo presented them with the piece of wood that Trimp had intended using. “Sorry about yore friend the fox. You can dig a nice restin’ place for him with this. Goodbye to ye.”

As they marched off down the beach, one of the vermin, a big skinny rat, kicked the sand ruefully. “Huh, why did we ever come ’ere in the first place, that’s wot I’d like ter know?”

Grimleg whacked him over the head with the piece of wood. “Ah shuddup, screwnose!”

*

Log a Log Furmo was delighted with the new vessel. He splashed about in the shallows, admiring it as the others clambered aboard. It was a long flat-bottomed skiff, with a single square midsail. Bluffed at the stern and pointed at the bows, fashioned from seasoned beech, elm and rowan wood, it had oarlocks and paddles, four to each side, plus a fine carved tiller and rudder. There was a stern shelter of canvas, stretched over a frame of willow, for cover in rough weather.

When Furmo climbed aboard, he went beneath the shelter, then emerged crowing with joy. “Lookit, Guosim, a liddle stone hearth an’ a clay oven, an’ three good bench seats. I reckon this craft’d hold a score an’ a half of crew. I tell ye, mates, whoever built this vessel knew wot they were doin’. True craftsbeasts they must’ve been. A real beauty, eh, Gonffo?”

The Mousethief shook his head in amazement. “I wager ’twill go like the wind, too. Where’d those ole badbeasts ever lay paws on a marvelous craft like this?”

Chugger swaggered about, now immersed in his new role as a pirate captain. “Us robbed it offa ole frogdad an’ boiled ’is tail for vikkles. Heeheehee!”

Trimp reprimanded him sharply. “That’s quite enough of that kind of talk, thank you, Chugger.”

The miscreant shot up the mastpole scowling darkly. “I norra Chugger no more. H’i a villyun, a orful bad ’un!”

Dinny went to sit beneath the stern awning. “Well oi bain’t a bad ’un no more, zurr, ho no. Et ’urts moi face, a-scowlin’ an’ a-snarlin’ all ee toim. Oi’m nought but a good ole mole, oi surpose.”

*

Tacking close to the shore, they threaded northward. Furmo and his Guosim shrews were in absolute ecstasies about their new craft. Being great boatbuilders, they could readily appreciate the skill and ingenuity that had gone into its construction.

“I thought you were only traveling with us as far as the shore, my friend,” Martin reminded the shrew gently. “Weren’t you supposed to return to your camp and tribe, once we were safely downstream?”

Furmo was sniffing the deck, licking the mast, listening to the prow timbers and rapping his paws experimentally on the carved elm oarlocks. He smiled absently at Martin. “Oh, y’mean goin’ back upstream t’the domestic life? Well I tell ye, matey, I’d get a right ole tellin’ off from me wife if’n I went back to tell ’er we lost the logboats an’ raft together. Huh! I might be a Log a Log, but my missus Honeysuckle, she’s the real ruler of our tribe. She’d skelp the ears off me if’n I went back boatless!”

Martin nodded his agreement. “So what are you going t’do?”

A crafty smile flitted across the shrew’s rugged face. “I’m goin’ t’stay with ye, ’til yore adventure’s done. Then you can sail back ’ome with me an’ explain to me darlin’ wife how you couldn’t ’ave done without me’n’my Guosim crew. In fact you’ll be so pleased with me that you’ll present me with this boat, t’make up fer the ones we lost. In return I’ll throw a smashin’ feast for you’n’yore crew, an’ we’ll top it all off by namin’ the vessel Honeysuckle in me dear wife’s honor. Done?”

Grinning broadly, Martin clasped Furmo’s paw. “Done, you golden-tongued rascal!”