28

Luke was already up, having taken last watch of the night. The Sayna lay moored on the east bank of the canallike channel running between Twin Islands. Luke leaned on the starboard rail, watching the day break still and humid, with leaden overcast skies. Cardo came out of the main cabin, bearing an old shield that he used as a tray. On it was a beaker of hot mint and dandelion tea, accompanied by a warm scone spread with stiff comb honey.

He winked at Luke. “Mornin’, mate. Here, get that down you. I was up awhile before dawn, so I tried me paw at bakin’ scones.”

Luke seated himself on a coil of rope, sipping gratefully at the hot tea and nibbling gingerly at the scone. He surveyed the islands’ two massive hills, which looked silent and oppressive with the heavy gray sky cloaking their summits in mist.

“Hmm, wouldn’t surprise me if’n we had a spot o’ rain today, Cardo. Well, this scone tastes good, matey. Where’d you learn to bake stuff like this?”

Cardo stared down the channel to the open sea beyond. “’Twas a recipe Beau taught me. I miss that ole hare. He was a good friend t’me.”

Luke put a paw around Cardo’s shoulder. “Aye, so do I. Strange, but we never know the true value of friends’n’family ’til they ain’t with us anymore. Come on, matey, buck up. I can hear our crew wakin’. Mopin’ about won’t help us. Best t’keep ourselves busy, eh?”

The crew of the Sayna had nothing but praise for Cardo’s good cooking, and it cheered him greatly. After breakfast Luke reviewed their position and gave orders.

“Cardo, see if y’can cook up a lunch t’show us that breakfast wasn’t just a flash in the pan. Cordle, pick a couple o’ good patchers to help you repair the sails. Coll, Denno and Dulam, I want you to strip down the mainmast an’ bind it round tight with strong greased line. That willow never broke, it only cracked. ’Twill be good as new once it’s bound an’ tightened proper. Vurg, get yore weapons an’ come with me. We’re goin’ up that big hill yonder. Let’s see if we can find a decent piece o’ wood to fashion a new jib from. Right, off t’work now, crew, an’ keep yore wits about you an’ both eyes open. ’Tis strange territory.”

The hill turned out to be a complete disappointment. There were no proper trees with trunks and stout limbs growing there. Luke snorted in disgust as he swiped with his sword at one of the tall feathery bushes which grew in profusion on the slopes. Vurg picked up the branch his friend had lopped off and inspected it.

“Huh, too thin an’ brittle. Wouldn’t even make decent firewood. Won’t find a decent jib spar growin’ ’ereabouts.”

Luke peered uphill into the warm humid mist. “Looks pretty much the same all over, Vurg. Why don’t we go back down an’ try searchin’ the channel edges for a good piece of driftwood? Might’ve been some timber washed up there. Vurg? What’s the matter, mate?”

Vurg was rubbing his paws together furiously and flapping them as if he were trying to fly. “Yukk! Some kind o’ filthy insects. Must’ve come off those bushes. Look, they’re all over me paws!”

Luke pushed his companion forward, urging him downhill. “Well don’t stand there flappin’ y’paws, mate, let’s get to the channel. Good salt water’ll wash ’em off!”

*

Further uphill than the two mice had ventured, Vilu Daskar’s spy patrol lay among the bushes. They watched Luke and Vurg hurry off down to the water. Ringpatch, the ferret in charge of the group, said, “If they’d reached the ’illtop they’d ’ave seen the Goreleech anchored below on the other side. Good job they never.”

“Yah, they woulda never got past us,” a small searat called Willag scoffed airily. “There wuz only two of ’em. We’d ’ave chopped ’em up fer sure!”

Ringpatch eyed him contemptuously. “Huh, what d’you know about it, spindleshanks? Those two mice looked like warriors to me. I wonder why they turned back an’ ran off?”

“Said it was some kind o’ insects, least that’s wot I thought I ’eard one of ’em say,” replied one of the patrol vermin.

“Huh, insects,” Willag sneered. “They can’t ’ave been much as warriors if’n they ran from insects!”

Suddenly, one of the patrol leaped upright, hitting himself left and right with both paws and dancing wildly. “Yaaaagh! Insec’s! I’m covered in ’em! Yeegh!”

Tiny moist brown slugs from the surrounding bushes were all over the patrol, writhing and crawling, sticking to any patch of fur they came in contact with. The vermin thrashed about in the bushes, beating at themselves.

“Yuuurk! Gerrem offa me, I can’t stand insec’s!”

“Uuugh! Filthy slimy liddle worms!”

“Yowch! They sting, too. Owowow!”

“Sputt! One got in me mouth. Oooogh!”

Ringpatch dashed off uphill. “Patrol, retreat. Let’s get out o’ here afore they eats us alive!”

Stumbling and crashing through the bushes, they retreated over the summit, driven by the sticky slugs to seek a saltwater bath.

*

Vurg had just finished scouring his paws in the channel shallows when he cocked an ear upward. “Listen, did you hear something? Like a kind of high-pitched squealin’ noise? Came from up near the hilltop there.”

Luke stood still, cupping both paws about his ears. “Aye, I heard it, mate, though I couldn’t imagine anythin’ but insects wantin’ to live on this forsaken place. Prob’ly some seabirds, feedin’ off those horrible grubs.”

Vurg dried his paws in the coarse grass. “Well let’s ’ope they eat ’em all. I detest squigglies!”

It was noon by the time they got back to the ship. Denno was atop the mast, binding the last bit tight with greased line, and he saw them approaching.

“Ahoy, crew, looks like Luke’n’Vurg found us a jib spar!” Willing paws helped the pair carry a long stout limb of some unidentifiable wood aboard the vessel.

Coll inspected it, nodding his approval. “Tough oily-lookin’ wood. Let’s strip the bark off an’ measure it agin the broken jib for size.”

It proved an ideal replacement for the old spar. By midday they had it fixed. Rigging and fresh-patched sails were hauled, and Luke paced the deck, checking all was shipshape.

“Good as new the ole tub looks, mates. I’m famished. What happened to that lunch Cardo was supposed t’be cookin’?”

Cardo popped his head around the galley door. “Go an’ seat yoreselves in the cabin. ’Tis about ready.”

The Sayna’s cook had triumphed again. Cardo had used most of the dried fruit to make a hefty steamed pudding, covered with a sauce made of pureed plums and arrowroot, and there were beakers of old amber cider to drink with it. Luke voted the meal so delicious that he proposed Cardo be made Ship’s Cook for life. Ladle clutched to his chest, Cardo bowed proudly as the crew applauded.

“Hoho, good ole Cardo. More power to yore paw, mate!”

“Any second ’elpings there, cooky me darlin’?”

“Aye, an’ keep them scones comin’ for brekkist every day!”

“Wot’s for supper tonight, matey, anythin’ tasty?”

Knowing he had a new-found power to wield, Cardo laid the law down to them, shaking his ladle officiously. “So I’m Ship’s Cook now, eh? Then cook it is! But I ain’t washin’ dishes an’ scourin’ pots’n’pans, so there!”

To appease his touchy cook, Luke sided with Cardo. “Agreed! From now on everybeast washes their own dishes. We’ll take turns with the pots’n’pans. I’ll do first duty!”

A splatter of heavy drops pattering on the bulkheads announced the arrival of rain. Vurg opened the cabin door and slid his plate and beaker out onto the deck. “I vote that the rain washes our dishes tonight, buckoes!”

Soon, raindrops could be heard pinging merrily off the crew’s dishes scattered across the deck. Through the open door Luke watched a distant lightning flash, and he heard the far-off rumble of thunder.

“Looks like we’re in for heavy weather, mates. Best batten down an’ lay up in this channel ’til it’s over.”

*

Rain continued into the late evening, but the crew were snug and dry in the cabin, glad of the respite from sailing. Cardo sat apart from the rest, his face gloomy.

Vurg tweaked the cook’s ear. “C’mon, wot’s up now, y’great misery guts?”

Cardo shrugged. “Don’t know, Vurg, just got a bad feelin’ an’ I can’t explain it. Somethin’ seems wrong.”

Denno nudged Vurg, pulling a wry face at the unhappy cook. “Oh dearie me, just like the ole farm mouse, nothin’s right.”

Coll winked at him. “Which farm mouse was that, matey?”

Denno began tapping a beat on the tabletop.

The crew were all laughing heartily when Cardo said, “What’s so funny? We were all farmers once.”

The laughter died on their lips. Luke patted Cardo. “Aye, yore right there, mate. Farmers we were, fightin’ the weather an’ seasons to put food on the table. We didn’t have much, but we were happy with our wives an’ families until Vilu Daskar an’ his red ship showed up. Now we’re seamice, rovers, fightin’ evil an’ ill fortune. Though I tell you this: one day, when ’tis all over, we’ll return home an’ pick up the threads of our old lives again.”

Outside the elements increased their fury. Thunder reverberated overhead, rain lashed the heaving seas and flaming webs of chain lightning threatened to rip the darkened skies with their ferocity. The crew of the Sayna, without guard or watch on the galeswept decks, allowed sleep to close their weary eyes.

*

Most of the night the storm prevailed. Three hours before dawn a strong warm wind blew up from the south. Driving the tempest before it like a rumbling cattle herd, it hurtled on northward. Peace and calm was restored to the seas in its wake. Humidity returned, bringing with it a dense foggy bank, which hung over the Twin Islands and their channel like a pall.

The Goreleech put out to sea, then Vilu Daskar ordered her turned about, a league out, to face the channel. An hour before dawn he gave the command.

“Bullflay, tell your drummer to beat out full speed. Don’t spare the whips. I want this ship to run up that channel as if hellhounds were chasing it. Stand ready, my scurvy Sea Rogues, there’s slaves to be taken!”