31

Sunshine and shadow dappled through the trees onto the stream’s surface. It was far more calm running in the woodlands. Shogg took down the sail and furled it. The others kept rowing and poling, with Scarum expounding his list of complaints.

“I say, my bloomin’ paws are jolly well sore, must be worn down to the flippin’ bones by now. Blisters on top of my blisters, that’s what I’ve got!”

Sagax poled stoically onward. “Should have blisters on your tongue, the way you’re yammering on there. Give it a rest.”

However, Scarum was not to be deterred so easily. “A rest? Jolly good idea, if y’ask me. A rest and a whacking great feed. We’re going to have to stop soon and eat, y’know. It’s not fair, a chap starvin’ to death, all because a few mangy vermin are chasing us. Can’t one of you bright sparks think of somethin’ to slow ’em up or put ’em off a bit, wot?”

Sagax snorted. “We could always chuck you overboard like we did those other two. That’d slow them up.”

Kroova stumbled as his pole hit a root.

Shogg peered through the crystal-clear water. “Look! See that root running across the bottom of the streambed? There’s lots of ’em from the trees on the bank. Just the sort o’ thing we need, mates.”

Picking up the broken oarshaft that he had used as a weapon earlier, Shogg felt the broken end; it tapered down to a blunt point. The broken oar was almost as tall as he was. “Kroova, I think we need two otters for this job, matey.”

They huddled together at the stern of the boat, whispering. Shogg had his knife out, whittling the broken end of the oar to a point until it began to resemble a sharp wooden stake. Kroova leaned over, peering steadily down into the stream.

“There, that’s the place. Come on, we got work t’do. Sagax, keep ’er goin’ upstream, don’t stop. We’ll join ye later, won’t be long.”

With scarcely a ripple, both otters slid overboard into the stream. Scarum glanced astern. “D’you think they’ve spotted a good fat fish? I’m famished—the jolly old tum’s making an awful noise, wot?”

The hungry hare was a constant source of amusement to Triss, who smiled as Sagax berated him: “Listen, twiddly ears, stop moaning about your stomach and get this vessel moving. We’re deadbeasts if those vermin catch up with us. You don’t hear Triss and me complaining all the time. Now, get on with it!”

Scarum poled away resentfully, chunnering to himself, “Huh, you don’t complain, ’cos you’re not a hare. We’re noble beasts, with bloomin’ noble appetites, too. Blinkin’ badgers an’ squirrels can live on a pawful of nothin’, but not this mother’s child. I need a good six square meals a day, at least!”

Triss whispered in his ear sympathetically, “I know they don’t understand you, but don’t fret. Keep working and I’ll personally see that you get a good big feed as soon as we get time to rest.”

As Sagax watched Scarum poling diligently away, he spoke out of the side of his mouth to the squirrelmaid. “Look, he’s stopped complaining. I could never get him to work like that. What did you say to him, Triss?”

“Oh, I just told him I’d get him something to eat as soon as we get the chance.”

The badger shook his great striped head. “You might be sorry you said that.”

The deck shook as Kroova and Shogg leaped aboard. Scarum noticed immediately that they had returned empty-pawed.

“Flamin’ bounders, I thought you were bringin’ back that big fat fish as a surprise for me!”

Shogg patted the hare’s back. “Sorry, mate, we left the surprise back there for those vermin to find.”

Plugg Firetail had the ship’s jollyboat speeding like an arrow upstream. His method was simple: The moment his four rowers showed signs of tiring, he sent them ashore to run along the banksides and chose four fresh vermin to replace them.

Princess Kurda sat stonefaced as the Freebooter harangued four of her own Ratguards scornfully. “Row, ye lily-livered swabs—come on, bend yore backs an’ pull those oars. Youse rats’ve had an easy life, yore all fat’n’lazy. I’ll show ye ’ow a Freebooter works. Row, ye slab-sided, bottle-nosed bangtails, yer not bowin’ an’ scrapin’ to a princess now, yore rowin’ a boat!”

Bladd giggled. He liked the Captain’s colourful curses. “Yarr, you row like de Capting say, bottle-nosed svabs! Yowch! Capting, Kurda pinch me vit ’er sharp claws.”

The Princess glared hatefully at her fat brother. “Shut your slobberin’ face, stupid, or I t’row you overboard!”

Plugg shook a paw at her, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Now, now, beauty, ye shouldn’t be usin’ language like that to yore dear brother. Come on, kiss ’im an’ make up.”

Bladd recoiled in disgust. “Yekk, she not kissin’ me!”

The silver fox rounded on the four rats at the oars. “Who told you idle scum t’stop rowin’, eh? Now put some energy into it, afore I chop off yore tails an’ make ye eat ’em. Row, ye pickle-pawed oafs!”

Oars dipped swift and deep as the jollyboat sped from the dune canyons into the sheltering shade of woodlands. Plugg reached up and snapped off a long green willow branch. “First one I spot idlin’ gets a taste o’ this!”

Vorto called across the bank to Riggan, who was trotting along the other edge, “Are we still on their trail?”

Plugg interrupted before the slavecatcher could answer. “No, matey, they’ve took to the sky an’ they’re flyin’ south like the birds. Idjit! This is the only way they can go in a boat. Huh, an’ I thought my crew was stupid!” He lashed out at the rowers with his willow withe. “We should be plunderin’ an’ loadin’ up wid loot, instead o’chasin’ a few lousy slaves. . . . Aaaaaargh!”

Without warning, the rowers had sent the jollyboat speeding straight onto the sharpened wooden stake that Shogg and Kroova had lodged tight between two roots on the streambed. It protruded upward at an angle, facing downstream, the point lurking fractionally below the surface. As the boat hit the stake, it smashed through the side of the prow like a huge spearpoint. Water came gushing in. Plugg’s agonised scream was not without reason—the stake had gotten him in the lower back, just short of his haunches.

Pandemonium reigned. Kurda seized two of the Ratguards who had been rowing, screeching at them as the boat rapidly filled up, “Get me to de shore, quick!”

The two of them bore her to the bank, with the other two carrying Prince Bladd, who was wailing in terror, “Don’t let me drop, I cannot svim!”

The crew of the Seascab hurled themselves into the stream. Cutlasses and hatchets crashed into the sinking boat timbers as they hacked wildly, striving to free their captain. Plugg had passed out with the pain, and Grubbage held the silver fox’s head above the waterline.

“Gerrim out, mates, ’urry, or the Cap’n will get drowned!”

Slitfang chopped away madly at the stake, which was holding Plugg in the boat. “Tazzin, lend a paw ’ere, bring yer dagger or we’ll lose the Cap’n!”

They freed Plugg and carried him up to the bank. Scummy the stoat and Grubbage, who both had experience in treating wounds, attended the fox’s limp, wet form, whilst the rest of the crew looked anxiously on. Without a captain, the Freebooters were like lost creatures.

Kurda watched them, a smile of pitiless cruelty on her face. “Dere is no need for de boat now, so I vill continue hunting der slaves mitt my Ratguards. Yarr, de fox does not have a lot to say now, does he? Tchah!”

She spun on her paw, only to find herself surrounded by Freebooters. Tazzin licked her dagger blade meaningly.

“Yew ain’t goin’ anywhere an’ leavin’ us wid a wounded cap’n. We all stays ’ere til Plugg’s ready to move, see!”

Vorto came hurrying up, with his spear at the ready. “Back off, seascum, yew ain’t orderin’ our princess about!”

Slitfang sneaked up behind and felled Vorto with a hefty blow of his cutlass hilt. Placing a paw on the senseless rat, he leaned across and hissed in Kurda’s face, “I’m cap’n while old Plugg’s out of action, an’ I says we stay. If’n ye wants to challenge my order, yer welcome to try. I’ll fix it so you an’ yore rats stays ’ere fer good, wid the insects to pick over yore bones. Well?”

Kurda dropped her eyes. There was no point in trying to argue with dangerous sea vermin. “Yarr, ve stay.”

Midafternoon found the five friends taking a cutoff up a sidestream. Shogg rested his oarpole and listened to the stillness hanging upon the quiet sunny air.

“Wot d’ye think, Kroova, did our liddle plan work?”

The sea otter leaped from the boat to the nearby bank. “I think it prob’ly did, mate. Don’t seem to be a sound of anybeast followin’. Can you ’ear anythin’, Triss?”

Bounding ashore, the squirrelmaid shot up the trunk of a tall elm. She was back down directly. “Not a move anywhere—I think we’re safe for the moment. Right, let’s get some vittles organised, I’m hungry!”

Scarum was at her side in the wink of an eye. “Well, thank me auntie’s pinny for a handsome gel with a bit o’ sense, wot, excellent suggestion, marm. Capital!”

They split up and went foraging into the woodlands, whilst Triss stayed behind to guard their boat.

Sagax was the first to return. He brought some wild berries and a few early plums, which, while sweet, were still quite hard. The two otters arrived next, followed by Scarum, who assessed the fruits of their search. He was, by turns, both critical and optimistic.

“Not bloomin’ much, chaps, is it? A few measly berries, some hard-as-rock plums, a load of roots, dearie me! Still, I suppose we’ll make somethin’ of them once I start cookin’, wot?”

Triss shook her head. “Sorry, no fires to give off smoke signals. Besides, what would you use for a cooking pot?”

Scarum’s ears drooped. “I thought you were on my side! What in the name of fiddlesticks d’you expect us to do, scoff ’em raw an’ drink streamwater? It’s not jolly well civilised.”

Sagax pulled the boat into the land and moored it to a tree. “Sshh! Listen, can you hear singing?”

The strains grew louder and clearer as they listened. From round an upstream bend, four shrew logboats appeared. They were packed with shrew families, singing at the tops of their voices to the accompaniment of drums and tambourines. Stringed instruments blended with the harmonious melody. The shrews did not appear to have a single care in the world.

“Summer, summer, what a lazy afternoon,

Music, laughter, sun a-waitin’ for the moon,

Twilight, my light, stream is all a-slumber, too,

Babes a-sleepin’, willows weepin’, skies so blue.

Nothin’ like a good ole river,

On a sunny afternoon with you,

Sittin’ in a dear ole logboat,

Plunkin’ out a tune or two.

We’ll sail off to a shady bower,

Kettle will be boilin’ soon,

While we sport an’ play, the livelong day,

An’ sleep beneath a golden moon.

I’ll find a place so filled with mem’ries,

Where the waters kiss the shores,

When yore ma an’ pa ain’t watchin’,

You’ll hold my paw in yours.

Then we’ll have a good ole picnic,

With such nice things to eat,

While the babes all go a-paddlin’,

Let’s dance to the ole drum’s beat.

Summer, summer, what a lazy afternoon,

Music, laughter, sun a-waitin’ for the moon,

Twilight, my light, stream is all a-slumber too,

Babes a-sleepin’, willows weepin’, skies so blueooooooooooh!”

Triss had never seen creatures so happy. There was no question of their being foebeasts. She dashed into the shallows, waving and calling to them, “Hello there, good afternoon to you, friends!”

A fat shrew wife in flowered pinafore and bonnet waved her parasol back at the squirrelmaid. “An’ the same to you, missy, that’s a luvverly boat you got there. Want to tag along an’ join our picnic? There’s plenty for everybeast, yore welcome!”

Scarum danced along the bankside, grinning like a buffoon and blowing kisses outrageously. “Profusions of thankfulness, gorgeous creature, we accept your wonderful offer gratefully, nay, jubilatorially!”

Shogg squinted one eye and scratched his rudder. “Jubila . . . wotsit? I’d better warn ’em not to go downstream, they’ll run into those vermin. Ahoy, marm, comin’ aboard!”

He dived into the water, vanished momentarily, then popped up on the logboat’s deck. “Beggin’ yore pardon, marm, but we’re bein’ chased by a pack o’ vermin. I wouldn’t go downstream if’n I was you.”

A stout old shrew touched his snout respectfully. “Thankee for tellin’ us, sir. Looks like we’ll ’ave to put about an’ go t’the water meadows. You follow us in yore pretty boat. Nobeast’ll find ye there, we’ll make sure o’ that.” He waved a paw back upstream. “Backpaddle, we’re goin’ to the water meadows an’ takin’ these goodbeasts in tow. Backpaddle, Guosim!”

Poling along behind, they followed the logboats along a series of cutoffs and backwaters. Scarum worked harder than his four companions.

“Keep up, chaps, don’t want t’get lost an’ miss the picnic now, do we? Stop dawdlin’ an’ move yourselves, wot!”

Scarum had a dreadful singing voice. However, that did not stop him from breaking out into an off-key warble:

“O I don’t wish to be rude,

But the very mention of food,

Is the nicest word I’ve heard,

Tumpty tumpty tum tum,

Lalalah deedly dee,

I’ve forgotten the next flamin’ word . . .”

Shogg chuckled. “Keep singin’ like that, mate, an’ they’ll banish ye from the picnic for frightenin’ the babes.”

Dragonflies hovered low over platelike water lilies, butterflies and gaily hued moths stood swaying on reed ends, bees droned to and fro with a leisurely hum. The water meadow was a haven of peace and tranquillity, fringed with bulrushes and backed by willows, splurge laurel and catkin-laden osiers. The Guosim shrews lashed their logboats to the small vessel, forming an island in the shallows that was hidden by reeds and treeshade. Food hampers and picnic baskets were brought out, lots of them.

Scarum could scarcely restrain himself. “Oh corks, I say, these shrew chaps don’t believe in stintin’ themselves, do they, wot? Allow me to help you with that heavy grub container, marm. Hoho, your little ones look fine and chubby—I expect you feed ’em jolly well!”

He flinched as the hefty paw of Sagax drew him to one side. The young badger’s eyes had a no-nonsense look about them. “Listen carefully to what I say, Scarum. If I catch you hogging food, or offending these good shrews, I’ll personally deal with you. No excuses this time—put one paw wrong and you’re on your own. Triss, Kroova, Shogg and myself will personally disown you, and our friendship will be ended. Now, did you hear me? Have I made myself clear?”

Scarum twisted neatly out of the badger’s grasp. He appeared quite indignant. “Me, are you talkin’ about me, old chap? Tut, pish an’ fiddlesticks, how you can say such things is beyond belief. You mind your own manners, sah!”

He stalked regally off to join the feast. Triss murmured to Sagax, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

The jollity, singing, dancing, drinking and feasting in the sunlit water meadow made Triss happy, but wistful. Mimsy, the kind shrew wife who had invited them, passed the squirrelmaid a leek-and-turnip pasty.

“Eat up, m’dearie, this ain’t no day for mopin’ about. What ails ye, little sad face? Have some raspberry fizz!”

Triss accepted her offer, forcing a smile. “Are your creatures always as happy as this, Mimsy?”

The shrew chuckled. “Only when we’ve got nothin’ t’be sad about—we’ve got our ups an’ downs, y’know. I can sense that you’ve not led a carefree an’ happy life, Triss, but try an’ be like us. When ye get the good times, don’t stop to mope about the bad ’uns. Enjoy yoreself while ye can.”

Scarum lifted his nose out of a high-piled plate to agree. “Well said, marm, that’s my motto too, wot. Even though I was reared poorly, often beaten an’ starved constantly. Crusts, roots an’ springwater, that’s what I was jolly well brought up on. Pale, thin little chap, that was me. Oof!”

Sagax, who had given the hare a playful buffet on the back, laughed heartily. “Plus being a terrible fibber, a great fat scoffbag, and the biggest bounder at Salamandastron. If your mum and dad could hear you talking like that! Pay no attention to the flopeared fraud, marm.”

Mimsy stroked Scarum’s paw. “Let him be. I like a beast who can tell a good fib—this hare is fun t’be with. Come on now, Scarum, I’m sure you can manage some damson crumble an’ cream?”

From behind the backs of Triss and Mimsy, the incorrigible hare made a face at Sagax, as he allowed himself to be pampered. “Seasons bless you, marm, I’ve never tasted damson crumble an’ cream in m’life. I’ve watched Sagax stuffin’ it down many a time, though. He’s the son of a mountain Lord, y’see, while I’m just a lowly peasant type. I say, that tart looks rather nice, wot!”

Mimsy carved off a large slice. “Oh, you poor beast, here, try some, an’ have some more raspberry fizz.”

Sagax looked on aghast as Mimsy and Triss plied Scarum with delicacies from every hamper. The gluttonous hare accepted everything coyly.

“Oh, I wonder if I’ll be able to eat a portion that big? I’m only used to nibblin’, y’know, but thank y’marm. I’ll certainly try my best t’get through it, wot.”

Kroova flicked an apple pip at the young badger. “You should see yore face, matey!”