36

Without Plugg to lead them, the Freebooter crew was hopeless. Huddling together at one end of the camp, they sat about, slack-jawed and dull-eyed. Kurda watched them as she discussed the next moves with Vorto and Riggan. The Princess had little else than contempt for the Freebooters, and she showed it openly.

“Tchah, look at dem, stupid bunch of mudbrains!”

Vorto was inclined to agree with her. “Aye, marm, they ain’t foraged for food, nor lit a fire. Scum like that are no use to anybeast, eh, Riggan?”

The slavecatcher was not so quick to condemn the crewbeasts. Riggan was a thinker, with a wide knowledge of animal habits.

“Mebbe they do seem in a bit of a mess, but look at our own Ratguards. They ain’t farin’ much better, are they? We’ve all ’ad an ’orrible shock today. They’re frightened, an’ wid good reason, too.”

Kurda respected Riggan’s advice, though she tried never to show it. “So, den, tell me more.”

Riggan explained, sure that Kurda would take her advice. “Well, first we needs to break camp an’ find somewheres where that bad serpent smell ain’t hangin’ about. Wot everybeast needs is a strong leader, like yoreself, marm. Settle ’em down in a new camp, get a good fire goin’—not two fires, but one good blaze for all. Post sentries, get foragers searchin’ fer vittles. Crack ’em back into shape.”

Kurda was nodding as she listened. “Gutt, gutt, go on.”

Riggan warmed to her scheme. “When everybeast’s lookin’ better, you got to make it clear that yore chief, marm. Don’t take no backtalk or nonsense from Plugg’s ole crew. Y’see, I know yore bound to ’unt that monster down an’ git yore crown back. That’s goin’ to mean a lot o’ deaths. So why waste the lives of me ’n’ Vorto an the Ratguards, when there’s a full gang o’ seascum fer ye to use?”

The Pure Ferret allowed Riggan one of her rare smiles. “Yarr, ve might even spare der liddle deaf ’un, Grubbage, to sail de Seashcab back to Riftgard for us, eh?”

The slavecatcher bowed her head briefly. “Yore idea is a good ’un, marm. Right, Vorto?”

The Ratguard Captain agreed immediately. “Good idea, marm!”

Kurda patted her sabre hilt. “All mine ideas are gutt!”

Nobeast objected to moving camp. Riggan chose a spot closer to the path, a clearing in a fir grove with a clean smell of pine. By nightfall things were beginning to look up; a large fire burned in a freshly dug pit and the foragers had brought in berries, roots and several fat woodpigeons. The weasel Tazzin and a female ferret, aptly named Fatty, were self-appointed cooks. They set about providing a meal for everybeast. Riggan played her part well, jollying both sides along.

“Ahoy, look at this, mates, the Ratguards just brought in fresh water an’ three nests full o’ coots’ eggs. Keep a good big fire burnin’ there, Freebooters, snakes don’t like fire. We’ll keep it goin’ an’ sleep round it tonight. Wot’s that you got there, Scummy?”

The stoat had been laboriously scratching away at a piece of slate with a shard of flint. He held it up proudly. “ ’Tis a poem I writ fer our good ole Cap’n an’ pore Prince Bladd, just to remember ’em by.”

Vorto could not help sneering at the stoat. “Hah, yew writin’? Rubbish. Freebooters can’t write.”

Riggan stamped on Vorto’s paw and glared at him. “Leave Scummy alone, of course ’e can write. I’ll wager ’tis a good poem. Come on Scummy, mate, read it out!”

The Seascab’s crew enjoyed the fact that one of their number had some learning. They encouraged him heartily.

“Aye, go on, Scumm, you show ’em, mate!”

The stoat stepped into the firelight and began reading his efforts, slowly at first, but gaining confidence as he rendered his eulogy to Plugg and Bladd.

“Cap’n Plugg ’ad an ’eart o’ gold,

He was good at lootin’ an’ slayin’.

Plugg could lay out some whacks, wid his battle-axe,

An’ laugh, just as if ’e was playin’.

Aye, but ’e was like a father to us,

Ain’t a single beast ’ere can say

They didn’t enjoy a kick from the Cap’n,

Once the Seascab got under way!

But I tell ye, mates, I cried salt tears,

When ’is tail fell off in me paw,

Robbed of ’is tail, by a foul sneaky trick,

Far from ’ome, on some foreign shore.

Whenever I thinks of dear ole Plugg,

The sight’ll haunt me mind,

Of me an’ Grubbage, fixin’ that tail,

Wid sticky stuff, to his be’ind.

But our Cap’n is gone, an’ everyone,

Must curse those ’orrible snakes,

An’ live in ’opes,

Plugg was tough as ole ropes,

An’ killed ’em wid stummick aches!

But ’earken, mates, to the tale o’ pore

Bladd, All fat’n’white, wid pink eyes,

Slayed by a cauldron of oatmeal,

Ain’t that an orful surprise?

Whacked on ’is royal ’ead, by a big iron pot,

Bladd liked oatmeal as much as the next,

But not the full lot, served up pipin”ot,

I’ll bet yer ’e felt rather vexed!

Aye, Cap’n an’ Prince, we ain’t seen ’em since,

Wot a sad gloomy story it makes.

One killed at lunchtime by brekkist,

An’ the other et up by snakes!”

Scummy took his bow amid fervent applause from both sides. Many of the Freebooters wept openly, tears coursing down their ugly, bewhiskered faces. Under Vorto’s watchful eye, the Ratguards bowed their heads, bodies shaking, as if racked by grief. However, they had difficulty controlling their laughter, as none of them had been particularly fond of the fat, spoiled Prince.

Kurda felt it was time to make her announcement. She stood by the fire, leaning on her sabre.

“Listen to vot I haff to say. No more do I go up against dat Abbey. Now ve must seek vengeance against der shnakes, der monsters vot slayed de good Captain Plugg! Hear me, tomorrow I hunt de serpints to der death, und you vill be at my side and make dem pay for our friend Plugg. Yarr?”

Slitfang emerged from behind the firelight and put the crew of the Seascab’s view bluntly. “We ain’t goin’.”

Vorto hurried forward, spear at the ready. “Silence! The Princess is the leader of this group now!”

Slitfang drew his cutlass and pointed it at Vorto. “Shut yore mouth an’ keep outta this. Leaders, eh? I’m the leader of the Seascab’s crew when the Cap’n ain’t ’ere, an’ I say we ain’t goin’ on no snake ’unt, see!”

Kurda curled her lip scornfully at him. “So, you are de coward now, you don’t care noddink about de Captain. Seascum, you are not fit to lead!”

Kurda was a bit taken aback when Slitfang laughed in her face. “Haharr, lissen to ’er, mates, she loved our Cap’n so much that she wants revenge fer ’im? Who do ye think yore foolin’, pink eyes, I ’eard you an’ Riggan talkin’ together when Plugg got taken. Vengeance, me eye, you saw the crown on the snake’s ’ead. Now ye know where the treasure lies, in the serpent’s den! That’s wot yore after, missy. Don’t lissen to ’er, mates, she’ll get the lot o’ ye killed!”

Kurda was trying to hold her rising temper under control. “All right, all I vant is de crown, an’ a pawring dat belongs to mine family. You can haff all der rest, shplit it like booty betveen you. It is mine command dat ve go, so obey!”

Slitfang was beginning to enjoy baiting the Princess. “Ho, we’ll go all right, first thing tomorrer, straight back to our ship. We’re Freebooters, not fools. I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, too: Don’t try an’ stand in our way. Right, crew?”

The Seascab’s company rose, cheering with him to a beast.

“Aye, we’ve ’ad enough, let’s ship out!”

“Yore givin’ the orders, Cap’n Slitty!”

“ ’Tis wot Plugg would’ve wanted!”

Kurda seemed to wilt under the weight of opinion against her. She lowered her sabre. Shrugging and smiling ruefully, she skirted the fire, her paw held out to Slitfang.

“So, you are a Freebooter who knows his own mind, yarr. Go if you must, no hard feelinks, eh, Slitty?”

The weasel chuckled. “Aye, an’ good luck wid yore snake ’unt, Princess.” Lowering his cutlass, he held forth his paw.

It was as if Kurda were back at Riftgard, chopping turnips in the armoury. Two lightning-swift strokes of the sabre, one across, one down. Tazzin reached for her dagger, but dropped her paw as a blade touched the back of her neck and Riggan whispered in her ear, “Just try it an’ yore a deadbeast for sure!”

Kurda stepped over Slitfang’s headless carcass, flicking his severed paw to one side. She nodded to Vorto. “Take diss out of mine sight!”

Later that night, Kurda lay down at the edge of the firelight to sleep. Riggan and Vorto spread their cloaks on either side of the Princess. She watched the flames reflecting off the pile of weaponry taken from the Seascab’s crew by her Ratguards. These would only be reissued at her command. The Pure Ferret sighed with satisfaction. “None of de Freebooters challenged me after I make de example mit Slitfang, yarr.”

Riggan half closed her eyes, ever watchful as she murmured, “None would even look yore way, marm, you was quicker’n any snake wid that sabre!”

Triss stood on the northwest ramparts, sipping a beaker of hot vegetable soup and watching a silver sickle moon peeking out from behind a small, fluffy cloud. Seated with his back against the battlements, Shogg yawned wearily and stretched.

“Didn’t come back, did they? I’m not complainin’. ’Tis good to ’ave a day’s peace after wot we’ve been through.”

Scarum slid his empty beaker on the walkway and picked up the otter’s half-full one. Shogg nudged him gently. “I saw that, mate. You go on an’ finish it, though. It might get yore ears out of their grumpy position.”

The young hare’s ears half rose, then fell back. “Grumpy? Who said I’m blinkin’ grumpy, wot? Stuck up here for the flippin’ rest o’ me life with nothin’ t’do. Huh, I volunteered myself for duty in the kitchens, an’ that bloomin’ Friar Gooch said he’d sooner have the vermin helpin’ out there instead o’ me. The nerve!”

Log a Log watched a moth hovering round the glint from his rapier blade. “Never mind, Scarum. I’ll tell young Furrel to pack ye an’ extra-big lunch tomorrow.”

Scarum nodded. “Friendly little molemaid, I like her. Lunch, did you say lunch, old lad? Why would she be packin’ me a lunch, am I goin’ anywhere?”

Skipper leaned over from his walltop perch and tickled the hare’s ear. “If’n the vermin don’t show up afore midmorn, we’re takin’ a scoutin’ party out t’see wot’s goin’ on in Mossflower woodlands. Are ye comin’?”

The hare tried to poach Sagax’s soup beaker and got a rap over the paw for his audacity. “Count me in, old scout, anythin’s better’n sittin’ up here like a caterpillar waitin’ to change into a bloomin’ butterfly, wot wot wot!”

Sagax gave Scarum his beaker, but it was empty. He smiled at his friend’s dejected expression.

“Oh, stop looking like a boiled bumblebee. I know you’re bored, we’re all bored, and it’s a long time until dawn. Come on, Scarum, entertain us. Give us that monologue about your uncle Gurdilo—I like that one.”

The hare sniffed. “It’s Burdilo, not Gurdilo, an’ all you’ve given me tonight is a flamin’ empty soup beaker. Shan’t!”

Triss picked up the beaker. “Oh, do it, please, I’ve never heard about your uncle Burdilo. I’ll fill this beaker with soup again if you recite it for us. Promise.”

Scarum rose stiffly. “You do know the way to a chap’s heart, miss, or is it his stomach? Same thing. Oh, all right, here goes.” The hare soon had them all chuckling with his comic poem.

“My uncle Burdilo was a chap that you’d like to know.

He’d paws like iron an’ a back like oak,

All in all quite a handsome bloke!

They say he scoffed his own weight twice,

In the space of a bloomin’ day,

An’ licked ten times his weight in foes,

At least that’s what they say, hey.

Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh.

That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!

His eyesight was so jolly good,

Do you know what they say?

He could spot a fly on an apple pie,

A score o’ miles away . . . even on a foggy day!

So strong and tough a hare he was,

D’you know what he did one day?

He stood in a pail an’ picked it up,

An’ carried himself away, hey.

Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh,

That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!

He’d swim wide seas with skill an’ ease,

And often for a joke,

He’d run so fast, as he sped past,

His footpaws puffed out smoke!

Y’know what they say, he raced one day,

Until his tail was burnin’,

He ran, of course, with such great force,

He met himself returnin’.

Beefer yoofer arfer deefer, eyefer elfer oh,

That’s how he spelt his name, y’know. My uncle Burdilo!”

During the laughter and applause that followed, Scarum bowed and flourished both ears outrageously. He flopped down beside Triss.

“Now, then, how’s about that beaker o’ soup, m’gel?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, that. No need for me to go dashing off to the kitchens—here come Foremole Urrm and Furrel with two big jugs of soup for refills.”

The hare’s face was the picture of outrage. “You knew they were comin’. Hoodwinker, charlatan! I’ll never trust a pretty face again, wot, you see if I bally well don’t, huh!”

Sagax pushed him playfully. “Oh, stop grumbling, it passed away a pleasant moment or two, didn’t it?”

Scarum held out his beaker to be filled, muttering, “Might have for you rotten lot, but it took quite a bit out of me, wastin’ my artistic an’ poetic talents on a pack o’ soup-guzzlin’ buffoons, wot. I say there, Furrel, you charmin’ young molemaid, keep pourin’. This blinkin’ beaker’s only half full—keep goin’, me pretty one!”

The molemaid wrinkled her snout. “Hurr hurr, you’m a gurt flatterer, zurr, h’oi can’t resist ee!”

Kroova whispered to Sagax, “I’m glad somebeast can’t!”

Scarum shot him an icy glance. “I heard that, y’know!”