25
The stream that Shogg and Triss were following took a curve into thick woodland. Both kept to the water, sometimes waist deep, other times paddling through the bank shallows. It was not easy going, trying not to leave signs that could be tracked. In the late noon they took a rest, sitting on a mossy ledge overgrown by hanging willows. The otter peered back up their trail.
“Luck’s with us so far, mate. I can’t see nor ’ear any sign of ’em, thanks to those Coneslinger squirrels.”
Triss stretched out on the velvety moss, tired and hungry. “Maybe fortune is favouring us for the moment, but we’d be fooling ourselves by thinking Riggan won’t pick up our trail sooner or later. Kurda won’t rest until she’s got us back in her clutches—you know that.”
Shogg slid back into the water. “Aye, yore right. Though if we can make it to the shore an’ get our ship back somehow, we’ll show em a clean pair o’ paws. A big clumsy Freebooter vessel like theirs wouldn’t keep up with us if’n we sailed close to the shallows an’ reefs. They’d find it ’ard to follow.”
Evening began falling over the tree-shaded stream as they plowed their way onward. Triss was wading alongside her friend when she began feeling a touch uneasy. Leaning across, she whispered in his ear, “I don’t like it hereabouts, but I don’t know why.”
Keeping his gaze straight ahead, the otter replied, “I don’t like it either, Trissy. I think somebeast’s watchin’ us. Keep movin’, maybe we’re just passin’ through their territory an’ they’ll let us go by. Don’t look around, keep goin’.”
Triss peered downstream and saw shadowy figures flitting about on the banks. “Don’t have to look around, Shogg, they’re up ahead.”
But the otter had already chanced a backward peep. “Then ’tis woe to us, mate, ’cos they’re be’ind us, too!”
The squirrelmaid felt her paws tremble. “As if we haven’t got enough trouble. What d’you think is the best thing to do? I’m too tired to think straight.”
Shogg halted, placing his back against Triss so that he was facing upstream. “We got nothin’ to lose, matey, so let’s brag it out. You any good at the braggin’?”
Triss faced downstream, glad of her friend’s back to lean on. “It’s worth a try, I suppose. You go first.”
Clenching both paws, Shogg shook them above his head and roared aloud to the unknown watchers, “Come an’ face a champion streamwalloper! Don’t skulk around like maggots in a rotten log! I’ve cracked skulls, sailed stormy seas an’ leaped o’er mountains! I ain’t got a foe in the world, know why? ’Cos they’re all dead!”
Gruffing her voice, Triss yelled out her challenge. “I was born in the thunder, I’m a warrior, the child of warriors! Stand in my way an’ I’ll tramp right over ye!”
There was a splash in the water as something dived from the bank. A moment later a large water vole’s head popped up, almost directly between the two friends. He shook his fur, bushing out his big hairy face, and smiled, addressing them in a slow rustic voice.
“Oi do berleeve we means you wayfarers no ’arm. Oi be named Arvicola. Me’n my voles allus been friendly wi’ streamdogs an’ treemouses. Hush ye now, though oi do berleev oi did enjoy lissenin’ to such good braggers as you be.”
Triss heaved a sigh of relief and held out her paw. “I’m Triss and he’s Shogg. We’re runaway slaves trying to reach the shore. Some very bad rats and an evil white ferret are probably on our trail. That’s why we stuck to the stream, to save leaving tracks.”
Other water voles popped up all around the fugitives, each one as big and bushy as Arvicola, who was nodding his head sagely as he digested the squirrelmaid’s information. He plucked a reed and began nibbling on it.
“Dearie me an’ lackaday, you creatures be in trouble greatly, no doubtin’ o’ that. We got families an’ babes nestin’ in these ’ere banks, can’t ’ave otherbeasts a-botherin’ ’em. Do ye follow us now, we’ll be takin’ ye down to the shores. Oi be thinkin”tis the best solution. Come you now, voles, let’s be helpin’ these two.”
Surrounded by water voles, Triss and Shogg continued their journey, with Arvicola pointing the way ahead. “Our stream splits an’ joins another up yonder, oi do berleev that will be a-takin’ you to the shorelands.”
Kurda was relieved when darkness fell. She beckoned Vorto to her side. “Vot you t’ink ve do now, Captain?”
Vorto answered, knowing he would be saving the Princess’s face by suggesting the obvious. “They could keep us pinned ’ere forever, yer ’ighness. Best thing is to back out an’ slip away. Then we can circle the trees an’ let Riggan find the slaves’ trail. Unless, o’ course, they’re still ’idin’ in there.”
A pinecone whizzed out of the darkened tree fringe, pinging off Kurda’s sabre blade. She began wriggling backward.
“Nah, slaves not ’ide in dere no more. Ve do like you say, yarr!”
Shuffling backwards on their bellies, the Ratguards retreated, still pelted by stray pinecones. When they were out of range, Kurda ordered Riggan to scout the area for signs.
Less than an hour later, the slavecatcher returned to make her report. “They left these trees, a bit round the other side, Princess. I found a stream close by. Runners always try to lose yer by takin’ to a stream.”
Kurda touched Riggan’s paw with her bladepoint. “You are de best. Ve vill go catch dem, yarr?”
The tracker led them off, giving the trees a wide berth. “We’ll lay ’em by the paws, never yew fear, marm!”
Vorto held the guards back whilst Riggan inspected the streambank. Kurda watched her closely.
The tracker’s keen eyes missed nothing. She smiled to herself. “Aye, just like I figgered, they went downstream, west.”
Kurda pointed her sabre. “You sure dey not go upstream? I t’ink dey go dat vay, east!”
Riggan waded a short way downstream and returned with a broken reed. She held it up for Kurda to see. “Yore a princess, marm, I’m a slavecatcher. This came from down yonder. It’d be natural for anybeast t’think they’d gone inland, but I knows me slaves. They always try an’ fool ye by goin’ the opposite way. ’Tis west, sure enough!”
Kurda and Riggan led off downstream. Vorto and the rest followed, marvelling at the tracker’s skills as she confirmed the route by noticing bent reeds, disturbed pebbles and bruised leaves hanging down from streambank trees.
Plugg Firetail had misjudged his landfall by anchoring too far north of Mossflower. Immediately after Tazzin and the runners arrived with news of Slitfang’s discovery, the silver fox had the Seascab under way, rousing the rest of his crew from their night’s sleep. With the recovered craft in tow, he sailed south down the coast.
Grubbage spotted the smoke and flame from the Stopdog shortly before dawn. He roused Prince Bladd, who was sleeping out, snuggled in rope coils on the afterdeck.
“Ahoy, mate, go’n’ tell the Cap’n we’ll be droppin’ anchor soon. Move yerself, Princeness, Cap’n don’t like t’be kept waitin’!”
Bladd, who had got used to being bullied by Freebooters, staggered upright, scratching his midriff. “I go, but den I take another shleep in mine nice soft bed.”
Grubbage, whose hearing had not improved, waggled a grubby paw in his ear and nodded. “I allus said you ’ad a nice soft ’ead. ’Op along now, mate!”
Slitfang ran down to the sea and waded in, shouting up to Plugg, who was standing in the bows. “This is the place, Cap’n, I found it. An’ I got three prisoners for ye, too!”
Two of the crew lowered Plugg down on a rope. On reaching Slitfang, he boxed the weasel’s ears soundly.
“Three prisoners, eh? Then why aren’t ye back there guardin”em? An’ why did yer let that ketch git burned down?” Stumping up to the burned-out campsite, he glared at Sagax, Kroova and Scarum distastefully.
“A streamdog, a stripedog, an’ a rabbit, wot good are they t’me? Why didn’t ye destroy them an’ save the ketch, instead o’ savin’ them an’ lettin’ the craft get ruined?”
The crew got out of Plugg’s way. It was obvious he was in a bad mood. Grubbage came up the beach, followed by Prince Bladd and the rest of the Seascab’s crew. A sudden thought struck Grubbage.
“Cap’n, ’ow’s the Princess an’ those Ratguards goin’ to find us again, now that ye’ve moved the Seascab down the coast?”
Plugg sighed. “I forgot about that lot.”
Bladd giggled. “I hope dey are losed forever, ’specially mine sister. I not vant to see her again, dat’s for sure!”
Scarum had been listening with interest to the conversation. The talkative hare could not resist taking part. “I say, old chap, that’s a bit heartless, wot, not wantin’ to see your sister again. I bet she misses you terribly!”
Plugg waggled his axe threateningly under the hare’s nose. “Who asked you, rabbit? ’Ere, Tazzin, gut these three an’ toss ’em in the sea fer fishfood!”
Tazzin twirled her knife, smiling eagerly. “Aye aye, Cap’n!”
Sagax decided it was time for him to speak up. “Only a fool would do that. D’you know who we are?”
The young badger tried to look as regal as he could, which was not easy, lying dumped and bound on the sand. “I am the son of a great mountain Lord. The hare, Bescarum, is from a very wealthy family. Our otter friend is the son of an emperor of sea otters. If you slay us, think of the ransom you’d miss out on.”
Scarum interrupted. “He’s right, y’know, old lad. Our families would prob’ly swap a jolly great shipload of treasure t’get us back. No sense in slayin’ us, wot wot?”
Plugg sat down on the sand beside Scarum. “Haharr, ’tis long seasons since I ’eld anybeast to ransom. Righty ho, rabbit, we’ll let you’n yore mates live, but you’d better ’ope yore rich pappas an’ mammas stump up plenty, or ye’ll be fed to the sharks, one at a time. D’ye unnerstand?”
Scarum shook his head in mock admiration of the Freebooter. “I say, sir, you’re a born genius, what jolly clever thinkin’. I’d shake your paw heartily if I weren’t tied up at the moment!”
Slitfang placed a paw on his hip and swaggered about, trying to imitate Scarum’s speech. “Ho I say, wot wot, jolly ole rabbit! Don’t ’e talk pretty?”
Plugg fetched Slitfang a whack that sent him sprawling. “That’s ’cos ’e’s a gentlebeast, not like you, slabnose. That there rabbit’s ’ad a h’eddication, more’n wot we’ve ever ’ad. My old uncle was a gentlebeast wid a h’eddication. I liked ’im. My old uncle could sing wunnderful h’eddicated ditties, too!”
Plugg whirled on Scarum, shoving his double-headed axe under the hare’s chin. “Kin yew sing h’eddicated ditties?”
Scarum gulped. “Educated ditties, sah, I was brought up on ’em, could sing ditties before I could talk!”
Plugg aimed a cheerful kick at the floored Slitfang. “See, I told yer, that ’un come from the quality. Go on, then, h’eddicated rabbit, sing us a ditty.”
Scarum bobbed his ears politely. “These ropes are pretty tight.”
The silver fox raised his axe meaningly. “Never mind tellin’ us the name o’ the ditty, just sing it!”
Scarum pulled a wry face at Sagax and Kroova, then launched into his song.
“O ’tis marvellous what an education does for a chap,
His eyes light up when he puts on the old thinkin’ cap,
His brain begins to whirr an’ click,
Ideas pour in fast an’ thick,
’Cos that’s what an education’s for!
If it takes one mole to dig a hole,
Ten seasons and a bit,
How many moles could dig that hole,
If they were fat an’ fit?
Then if two squirrels helped them,
As deep as they could reach,
If those two squirrels made a pair,
The answer is a peach!
That’s what an education does for a chap,
It leaves the blinkin’ duffers in a bit of a flap,
For learnin’ facts you may depend,
One spouts out answers without end,
So hearken now an’ I’ll astound you more!
If two sparrows had six arrows,
And set out to shoot a duck,
Just how long would it take them,
Before they had some luck?
The answer’s jolly simple,
As clever types will know,
To bag that duck they had no luck,
Because they had no bow!
If I had two an’ you had two,
And she had two as well,
If they had two, just like we two,
The truth to you I’ll tell,
If one knew far too little,
Those facts would be too few,
But if one had education,
One would find the answers, too!”
The Freebooter crew, who had gathered around to listen, sat slack-jawed with wonderment at Scarum’s rapid delivery of the song, for he had sung it at an alarming rate, without a single stumble.
Kroova could not help smiling. “Well done, matey, I’d clap ye if’n me paws was free!”
The hare sniffed. “Think nothin’ of it, old lad. Huh, you’d wait a long time expectin’ applause from these vermin oafs!”
Plugg swiftly cuffed a few ears and kicked some tails. “Come on, ye dimwits, if’n ye ain’t got a h’eddication, the least ye can do is to show the rabbit you’ve got some manners!” He strode among his crew, making sure they all cheered.
Sagax moved closer to Kroova and murmured quietly, “Good old Scarum. While he’s keeping them amused, they’re not talking about slaying us, eh, mate?”
Kroova looked at the cheering vermin, knowing that their mood could change in the blink of an eye, depending on their captain’s good or bad humour.
“Aye, mate, but it’ll only last as long as ole Scarum can keep ’em entertained.”
Sagax watched his friend. Scarum was launching into a funny story about a rhubarb pie fight between two frogs. The young badger shook his striped head.
“I know he’s the world’s worst glutton and we’ve had to yell at him from time to time, but we’d be in a bad way right now if we didn’t have him along. To think that our very lives are depending on Scarum keeping a crew of vermin amused.”
Kroova had to raise his voice to make himself heard above the guffawing crew of the Seascab. “Yore right, mate, I’ll never shout at ’im again for robbin’ vittles. If’n we gets out o’ this lot, ole Scarum can stuff ’is face to ’is ’eart’s content!”
Sagax shot the sea otter a warning glance. “Not too loud, mate. Keep your voice down—he might hear us!”