7

The ketch Stopdog plowed her way merrily northward, westering a slight touch. Kroova, having shown Sagax the rudiments of tiller, ropes and sail, was taking a nap beneath the broad seat in the bows, which served well as a tiny cabin. Like a fish to water, the young badger had taken to the seafaring life. He enjoyed the freedom of wind and wave.

Scarum turned his back upon Sagax. Sitting on the bowseat, he began rummaging in the knapsacks, muttering to himself, “Nutbread an’ cheese an’ apples, wot wot. That’s the stuff t’put the twinkle in a chap’s eyes. I say, what bounder’s gone an’ scoffed all the blinkin’ apples, eh, wot?”

Keeping the ketch on a level keel, Sagax answered the hare. “You have, you great stomach on legs. What’re you doing rummaging in those packs again?”

Scarum looked up indignantly. “Doin’? What’n the name o’ perishin’ barnacles d’you think I’m doin’, eh? I’m makin’ a meal t’keep jolly old body’n’fur together. A chap can’t survive on fresh air, y’know!”

Sagax stared severely at his gluttonous friend. “That’ll

be your fourth meal today, and it’s barely noon. Go easy on those supplies—they’re all we’ve got.”

Scarum held up a wedge of thick yellow cheese. “Oh, right, well, I’ll just have a smidgeon of this to tide me over until dinner. Hawhaw! Tide me over, wot. Now, there’s a nautical expression for you, me ole heartie, me old seadog, me old barnacle bottom, eh, eh, hawhawhaw!”

Sagax quickly lashed the tiller arm to a sailrope. Bounding for’ard, he grabbed the cheese from Scarum’s paw and dropped it back into the knapsack. Then, taking both packs, he made his way aft and stowed them under the stern seat.

“You’ve eaten quite enough for one day, mate. I’ll take charge of the supplies. You can just wait until dinner this evening, like me and Kroova.”

The hare glared at him and flopped his ears indignantly. “You, sah, are a flippin’ grubswiper, a pirate! Huh, deprivin’ a poor young ’un like me of vittles. You’ll stunt my growth. I’m warning you, if I die, it’ll be your rotten fault!”

His friend chuckled. “If you can stay alive until dinner, there’s hope for you. But just put one thieving paw near these rations and I’ll bite it!”

Scarum scuffed the deck dolefully. “Does this mean I’m goin’ to starve t’death?”

The badger hardened his expression. “Aye!”

The hare’s mood changed in an instant. He became tough and resolute. Grabbing a coil of rope, he declaimed aloud, “Right then, so bloomin’ well be it! I’ll fish for me food, that’s what I’ll jolly well do. Oh yes, us old sailin’ beasts can get along spiffingly on the bounty provided by the briny. Fish, that’s the ticket, whoppin’ great fat tasty fish, wot!”

Tying an oversized hook onto the rope, Scarum searched about and came up with two apple cores, which he stuck on the hook. Whirling the lot around his head, he cast it out into the sea. “Right ho, come on, little fishies. No, on second thoughts, come on, big fishies, you little chaps stay put. Well, come on, you big chaps, take the blinkin’ bait. I can’t sit around here starvin’, y’know, so get a flippin’ move on!”

Wakened by the disturbance, Kroova came out on deck. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he took over the tiller from Sagax. “Wot’s ole Scarum up to now, matey?”

“Oh, him, he’s got to catch a fish before he dies of starvation.”

“Haharr, him die of starvation, that’s a good ’un. He ate more brekkist than both of us, an’ he’s scoffed two more meals since then. . . .”

“Three,” Sagax corrected the sea otter.

Scarum cast a jaundiced eye over their smiling faces. “Go on, laugh, you curmudgeons, but when I catch a whoppin’ great fish, you ain’t gettin’ any. Not a confounded morsel, so there!”

Kroova’s keen eye caught a large dorsal fin homing in on the line. He leaped up, yelling, “Pull that line in, quick! Heave it in, matey!”

Scarum defiantly tied the line to the bowsprit. “Shan’t! No point in gettin’ jealous an’ shoutin’ at me.”

He fell over backward as the line was snapped taut and the ketch took off like an arrow, with Kroova roaring, “Shark! We’ve been caught by a shark!”

Whipping out a small knife, Sagax dashed to the bow. He raised it to chop at the rope, but Scarum struck his paw aside. The knife dropped into the sea and sank.

Kroova came running. He grabbed the hare by his tunic front. “Ye blitherin’ fool, didn’t you ’ear wot I said? That’s a shark towin’ us, a full-growed shark, too, by the rate we’re goin’.”

Sagax dashed water from his eyes as the ketch set up a bow wave. “Aye, and the only weapon we’ve got aboard you just knocked out of my paw!”

Scarum fought free of the sea otter’s grip and sat down amidships. “Good old mister shark, wot, givin’ us a fine ride, ain’t he? I vote we let him tow us along for a league or two, wot. When he gets tired and packs in pullin’ us, we’ll heave him aboard an’ cook him up into a good big scoff. Super idea, wot?”

Bumping up and down, the ketch skimmed over the waves. It was difficult to stand. Kroova crouched close to the triumphantly grinning hare and berated him.

“Belay, ye flop-eared, pot-bellied, wire-whiskered buffoon! Yore trouble is that y’don’t realise we’ve caught a big savage beast ’ere, or rather it’s got us. We’re ridin’ the whirlwind an’ yore sittin’ there smilin’. You can’t see the danger we’re in! Ye don’t even know wot a shark looks like!”

Scarum twanged the taut line with a carefree paw. “Oh, don’t get your rudder in an uproar, old chap. I expect the jolly old shark’s enjoyin’ this as much as I am, wot? Huh, you two are just jealous I was the one who jolly well caught the fish. Anyhow, I bet we get to where we’re goin’ a blinkin’ sight faster’n we would twiddlin’ the tiller an’ tweakin’ those sail ropes. Our friend the shark’ll get worn out, you’ll see. Then all we do is pop the blighter aboard for dinner!”

Sagax clung to the stern seat, blinking spray from his eyes. Though he hated to admit it, he was actually enjoying the sensation of speed, never having travelled at such a rate in all his life. The young badger tried to calm his otter friend.

“Maybe Scarum’s right. No real need to panic, is there?”

Kroova’s head banged the for’ard mastpole as they shot sideways onto a choppy wave. Ignoring the pain, he yelled furiously, “I’m surprised at you, mate! That shark could turn any moment an’ smash this vessel to splinters, or it could suddenly dive an’ pull us all down with it. Hah, wait’ll it gets tired, then pop it aboard fer dinner? Don’t lissen t’that fool. If’n we pulled a live shark aboard without a weapon atween us, we’d be the dinner! It’d eat us alive!”

The danger they were in suddenly hit Scarum. His jaw dropped. “Oh corks, we’re in a bit of a bloomin’ fix, wot. S’all your fault, Sagax. Y’should’ve let me have a snack instead of makin’ me fish for it. What do we do now, chaps?”

The shark made the decision for them by slacking off for a moment, then going into a dive. The Stopdog’s stern began to lift clear of the water. Kroova had surmised right. They were beginning to be pulled under.

“Eulaliiiaaaaaa!”

Scarum made a dive for the rope, which was attached to the great seabeast. Frantically he bared his teeth and savagely tore at the rope fibres like some sort of mad creature. Sagax and Kroova could only sit flabbergasted at the sight of their friend, suddenly gone wild, roaring as he chomped away.

“Grrmph grrmph! Y’flippin’ foul fish! Chompchomp-chomp! You ain’t pullin’ us down t’the blinkin’ bottom! Gratch gratch! Can’t have my ma blubbin’ herself t’death! Grrmph! Chomp! Grumff! Grratch! Go an’ find your own dratted dinner! Grripp!”

Curling and twirling, the rope strands began to part. Scarum’s jaws began going fifty to the dozen, his large, white buck teeth moving like a blur as he attacked the fraying fibres. Finally there was a loud twang as the rope snapped. All three were thrown flat. The Stopdog splashed down onto an even keel.

Kroova was first up. He dashed over to Scarum, who was lying facedown on the bow seat, and pounded his back delightedly. “Haharr, ye did it, shipmate! Stiffen me rudder, I never seen anythin’ like that afore. ’Twas tremendous!”

Still with his head hard against seat timbers, face down, the young hare called out in a strange language, “Gow! Geggoff! Gon’t goo gakk!”

Sagax placed his head flat on the seat, level with his friend. Trying hard not to burst out laughing, he explained Scarum’s predicament to Kroova. “You’ll never believe this, but he’s got his front teeth stuck in the wood. Scarum must have been biting so hard that when the rope snapped and our vessel slapped down into the water, he was still open-mouthed. His teeth stuck right into the seat!”

The hare wailed, “Git’s nog gunny, an’ it gurts!”

Sagax patted Scarum gently. “I know it’s not funny and it hurts. Keep quite still now, mate. Let’s see if I can get you loose. Kroova, hold his shoulders.”

The sea otter braced Scarum’s shoulders. Sagax went to work with his powerful blunt claws. Loosening odd splinters carefully and pulling away the larger fragments, he freed the hare’s teeth. Scarum sat up and clapped a paw across his numbed mouth.

“Hanks’agax . . . mummff! My teemff hurth!”

He had to repeat the phrase until the badger understood.

“Oh right, you said, ‘Thanks, Sagax, my teeth hurt,’ correct?”

Scarum nodded his head gingerly and retired beneath the bow seat, where he lay nursing his sore mouth. Kroova was sympathetic.

“Never mind, messmate. Yore gob’ll prob’ly be painin’ ye for a while. But you’ll soon be shipshape.”

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, with the otter and the badger tip-pawing quietly about, so as not to disturb Scarum at his rest. In the early evening, Kroova put tinder to flint and made a small fire with charcoal in a deep stone bowl. Sagax rummaged through the rations and came up with wheat and barley flour, a jar of preserved damsons in honey and a few other ingredients.

Mixing them together with some water from their little water keg, he asked Kroova, “Ever had skilly’n’duff, mate?”

His friend’s eyes lit up with anticipation. “Ho arr, skilly’n’duff, ain’t nothin’ tastier. A sea otter’s favourite vittles, I’d say!”

Sagax baked the mixture to a soft doughy pudding, using the damson juice and honey as a sauce. It smelled delicious.

Kroova made his way for’ard and shook Scarum awake. “Grub’s up, matey. Guess wot Sagax made fer us: skilly’n’duff. Nice’n ’ot, with damson juice an’ honey sauce poured over it.”

The young hare crawled from beneath the seat and sat up with his head in both paws. He had turned a peculiar unhealthy shade. “Boat’s been goin’ up an’ down, up an’ flamin’ well down, all day. Ooh, my mouth hurts like the blazes. I don’t think I’ll be takin’ any supper this evenin’, thank you. Just leave me alone here so I can die quietly, wot.”

Kroova went back to the stern seat and accepted a bowl of supper from Sagax whilst he explained, “Ole Scarum don’t want no supper.”

The young badger was taken aback by the news. “Doesn’t want any supper? Is his mouth still paining him?”

Kroova spoke through a mouthful of the hot skilly’ n’duff. “Aye, but I knows the real reason. That creature’s seasick.”

In the gathering twilight, Sagax found it difficult to see Scarum’s face. He served himself a portion of supper. “Seasick, how d’you know?”

The sea otter chuckled mischievously. “ ’Cos he’s gone the colour of a toad’s tummy. There’s one sure way t’tell, though. Watch this.”

He called out in a jolly voice to the hare. “Feelin’ better, me ole mate? If the duff doesn’t suit ye, I’ll make ye up a tonic. Some cold water an’ oatmeal with a wild onion chopped in it, mixed up with a touch of beeswax tallow from a candle. That’ll put y’right, wot ye say?”

A moan escaped Scarum as he staggered to the side of the ketch and leaned over, retching and heaving. “Great rotten fat ruddered cad, that’s what you are. I’d sooner be scoffed by the shark than eat your foul concoction, wot!”

Kroova grinned at Sagax and helped himself to more supper. “Aye, our ole mate’s seasick sure enough!”

Sagax sipped at his beaker of water. “Poor Scarum. But with all the food he put away and that excitement today, plus getting his teeth caught fast, he has only himself to blame, really.

“While he’s laying around the deck like that, why don’t you go and give a good check round under the bow seat? I’ll search back here. There must be some sort of weapon, a knife, anything. I’d feel much safer if we had something better than a few wooden spoons in case of trouble. It’s important that we have at least one weapon.”

They lit two small lanterns from the fire bowl and set about their task. Scarum gradually moaned himself back to sleep again as night shades set in over the trackless deeps of the seas. In a corner beneath the stern seat, Sagax found a sling and some stones wrapped in a roll of old barkcloth. He was unwrapping them when Kroova returned carrying various objects.

“Lookit wot I found under a ledge by the forepeak—a sword, a dagger, an’ this old bow. Pity it ain’t got a string or arrers.”

The badger inspected the sword. “This is a typical searat blade, curved, with a cross hilt. My father has a collection of them in the armoury. Rusty blade, with a few nicks in the edge. Sharp, though. I’ll clean it up a bit and it’ll look just fine. Let’s take a look at the dagger there, mate.”

The otter tossed the knife in the air, catching it deftly by the blade tip. He turned it this way and that. “Good ole apple slicer, this ’un. Ain’t a mark on it. No, wait. . . . Aharr, this ’ere pattern burned into the ’andle ’tis the same as the signs marked on the stern o’ this vessel. Must’ve belonged to one o’ those searats I borrowed ole Stopdog from. Cast yore eyes over that, matey.”

Sagax took the blade. Holding the lantern close, he inspected the brand.

“Hmm, wonder what it means. Some sort of lucky charm, mayhaps?”

The otter shrugged as he tested the wood of the unstrung bow. “This ain’t much use. Nice bit o’ yew wood, though, ’twill do for a walkin’ staff. Wot was in yore barkcloth?”

Sagax indicated the sling and pebbles. “Nothing much, but look at this barkcloth. There’s more funny markings on it, not writings or a pattern.”

Kroova brightened up as he inspected the thing. “A map, me ’eartie, that’s wot it is! I reckernize this coastline, up north an’ east of ’ere, well beyond yore father’s mountain—that ain’t marked on it. But see, I know these bays an’ inlets from long ago. Take this ’un. If’n we was to sail due east at dawn, we’d prob’ly run right into it.”

Sagax held the lantern closer as he inspected the map. “There’s an arrow marked here, straight up a river that runs out over the beach from these tree shapes and dunes. Any idea where that would take us, if we were to find it?”

Kroova pondered. “Could be that wood’s called Mossflower, prob’ly, though I ain’t never been up that far.”

The young badger’s eyes lit up. “Mossflower! My dad and mum are always talking about it, most of the older Long Patrol hares, too. The Abbey of Redwall is supposed to be somewhere in Mossflower area. Have you ever heard of Redwall Abbey, Kroova?”

“Hah, who ain’t? Redwall Abbey’s supposed t’be a wondrous place, peaceful, ’appy, an’ I ’ear they’ve got the most marvellous vittles there. Expert cooks an’ the best of grub.”

Sagax rolled the cloth up carefully, though his paw was shaking slightly with excitement. “Then let’s make it the destination of the voyage. There’s a river runs across the shore into the woods, it says so on the map. Why don’t we sail up that way and pay Redwall a visit?”

Kroova grinned from ear to ear as he shook his friend’s paw. “Aye, shipmate, why not? I don’t think Scarum’ll object, d’you?”

The badger cast an eye over his friend’s sleeping figure. “The only way he’d object to a voyage was if there was no scoff at the other end. Once he’s feeling better he’ll jump at the idea. How far do you think this river is?”

Scratching his rudder, the sea otter estimated. “ ’Tis ’ard to say. We got dragged off course by the shark today. We’re a bit far west’ard. But I’ll tack ’er east an’ north. Then we’ll see where we are a few days from now.”

Sagax could not help shuddering with delight. “I’ve heard about that Abbey all my life, but now I’m going there to see it all for myself. Redwall, here we come!”