Part 27 (2/2)
The fat Prince performed a little dance of delight. ”Diss is gutt, yarr! Captain, I go vit dem, I make a gutt Freebooter. Let me carry der rope, I'll set fire to de gates. I like playink mitt fire.”
Plugg tweaked the fat Prince's nose fondly. ”Right y'are, matey, we'll make a Freebooter of ye!”
”Er, er, Cap'n, will ye move away from the fire, sir?”
Plugg growled distractedly at Grubbage, who was behind him. ”Wot've you been told about interruptin' yore cap'n?”
Grubbage shrugged. ”I dunno about a tin cup for flap-pin', but yore tail's just fell off with the heat!”
Plugg rasped out of the side of his mouth, ”Sc.u.mmy, stick it back on, quick! Now then, Grubbage me ole darlin', come round 'ere where I can see ye!”
The deaf steersrat knew what was coming. Plugg forced him to bend over by placing the flat of his battle-axe on Grubbage's neck, then winked at Bladd. ”Let's see ye land 'im a good kick, me ole royal mate.”
Bladd obliged willingly. Grubbage staggered a pace or two, then turned with a grin to his captain.
”Bless 'im, Cap'n, but 'e's got some kickin' t'do afore 'e's as good a booter as you!”
From the battlements, Churk's keen eyes watched the activity around the fire. Without taking her eyes from the scene, the ottermaid called out, ”Is that oatmeal still 'ot, Triss?”
The squirrelmaid did not bother testing it. ”Aye, there's still a bubble or two popping on it, and you can feel the heat from this iron cauldron a good pawlength away. Anything going on up there, Churk?”
”Looks like they're startin' to make their move.”
Foremole popped up alongside Churk, squinting hard. ”Burr, oi doant see nuthin' excep' sum vermints a-dancin' round ee flames, marm.”
Triss came up to watch as Churk pointed them out. ”They're fannin' out two ways an' circlin' in toward our gates. See, there they go now, layin' low an' crawlin' through the gra.s.s an' heather.”
Triss followed the direction of Churk's paw. ”Ah, I see them now. Hey, Shogg, Prince Bladd fatbelly is with them, though I don't see Kurda or any Ratguards.”
Shogg was helping Skipper and Kroova place the carrying poles through the cauldron handle. ”Let's take care o' this lot first, Trissy, then we'll worry about the others. You still keepin' watch down there, Father Abbot? Tell us when the time's right.”
Abbot Apodemus was down behind the main gates with Malbun and Crikulus, peering through a gap by a lower hinge. ”I see them now, friend, but they've still got a way to come. We'll let you know when they arrive.”
Plugg and about six others were dancing a hornpipe around the fire, singing aloud: ”Ho plunder, by thunder! Ain't nothin' nice as plunder. An' booty, me beauty, An' loads o' loot to boot!
There's treasure, fine treasure!
Ye can count it at yore leisure.
All those not slayed an' thrown in graves, We'll trade 'em off as slaves!
Freebooters, we're looters! Slingstone an' arrow shooters. They sigh now, an' cry now, O mercy, woe is me!
Wid cutla.s.s, an' spears, We'll carve off tails an' ears, An' wid full sacks upon our backs, We deals out blows an' whacks!”
The silver fox got so carried away at one point that he pulled off his tail and whirled it above his head.
Slitfang's ugly head showed over the ditchbank. He stared up at the seemingly empty walltop. ”Come on, buckoes, over ye go!”
The Abbot saw Bladd scramble out onto the path, grinning wickedly as he blew on the smouldering rope end. Sagax looked down. Crikulus was standing on the lower wallsteps and waving wildly as he nodded his head. Skipper, Churk, Kroova and Shogg mounted the battlements as Foremole and his crew shouldered the poles, lifting the hot cauldron of honeyed oatmeal off the ground. Leaning over, Triss could see the Freebooters scurrying in pairs across the path, carrying dried brush, oil and tar. The four st.u.r.dy otters at her side leaned down and grabbed the poles, heaving the cauldron off the moles, then straightened up, lifting the cauldron above the walltops.
Crouching down close to the gate, the searat called Ripper splashed vegetable oil on the timbers. He started with shock as a cry rang out from behind a lower hinge.
”Yowch, there's oil in my eye!”
In the split second that followed, Skipper roared out loud and clear, ”Brekkist comin' over, sc.u.m!”
The four otters twisted the poles to turn the mixture over the wall, but the poles snapped and the lot fell, cauldron and all. Crikulus leaped back as hot oatmeal flooded under the gate. ”Malbun, are you all right, friend?”
The woodmouse was mopping her eye on an ap.r.o.n corner. ”No damage, just some vegetable oil in my eye.”
With his head ringing from the agonised screams outside the gates of his Abbey, the Father Abbot helped Malbun into the gatehouse and bathed her eye.
”A dreadful solution, Malbun. Listen to those wretched beasts.”
Crikulus entered, wiping oatmeal from the hem of his robe. ”Aye, Father, but the vermin could have saved themselves all that injury and agony by leaving Redwall in peace.”
Slitfang rolled in the ditch bottom, where there was a lining of stale water and mud. The Freebooter weasel screwed his face up, whimpering from the pain of the scalding honeyed oatmeal that had flooded over his back. Ripper and a searat named Blear fell in on top of him, avoiding a lively salvo of slingstones from the walltop. Slitfang booted them aside and staggered from the ditch. Reeling from side to side, he headed in the direction of the fire on the flatlands.
35.
Redwall Abbey's twin bells tolled out the close of day. It was a warm, quiet summer evening. The Abbot stood at the southwest corner of the high ramparts, discussing the day's events with his friends. Servers trundled trolleys along the walltops, dis.h.i.+ng out meals to the sentries.
Scarum halted young Furrel the molemaid. ”Marm, would you kindly push that trolley over here? Hmph! Coin' to make sure I get my grub this time, wot!”
The Abbot looked over the top of his gla.s.ses. ”Dear me, you mean to say you've missed a meal?”
Helping himself to salad, a wedge of leek-and-potato pie, cheese, bread, an apple turnover and a beaker of cordial, the hungry hare sniffed in annoyance. ”A measly ladle of oatmeal this mornm, that's all I've jolly well had. I was far too busy commandin' my troops most of the day, sah, dealin' with scurvy vermin an' whatnot. What really grieves a chap is how they disposed of the oatmeal. Whackin' good scoff it was, too, wot. Far too blinkin' good t'be fed to those scoundrels at the gate!”
Triss fetched him a bowl of rhubarb crumble. ”No, no, Scarum/ you've got it all wrong. We used the hot oatmeal to stop the vermin from burning the gates down. When Skipper and the otters tipped it over them, that oatmeal saved the day.”
However, Scarum was not to be pacified. ”Bloomin' waste of good tucker, if y'ask me. Now, if I'd been in command, 'twould have been different, marm, oh yes! Let me tell you how I dealt with those bounders at the east wall.”
A joint groan arose from the listeners. Kroova scowled. ”You've already told us ten times, mate, no need t'go on.”
Scarum ignored him completely and launched into his heroic narrative once again. ”Never wasted a crumb or a drop of scoff, officer trainin', y'see. Well, anyhow, I put an ear to the east wallgate, an' I heard that white ferret givin' her orders. h.e.l.lo old chap, says I to m'self, what a bloomin' spot o' luck. So then...” He looked around and found he was talking to himself. They had all moved off to the centre of the west wall. ”Ignorant bounders, you wouldn't know a hero if he fell on your confounded heads. Er, excuse me, pretty miss, don't go chargin' off with that trolley, I'm only on my first course, wot!”
Groans from the wounded and injured echoed around the vermin camp in Mossflower Wood. Kurda's pink eyes flashed contempt at the Freebooter Captain. ”So, you showed dem how to do t'ings de Freebooter vay, yarr. It vas clever de way you stole de hot oatmeal from de Red-vallers. You got mine brother killed, too, is dat how to do t'ings de Freebooter vay?”
Plugg snarled back at the Pure Ferret, ”You been bad luck ever since we took ye aboard, an' you ain't sheddin' no tears fer Bladd. Leaves the way clear for yew, don't it? Yore brother 'ad twice the guts you'll ever possess, 'twas just bad fortune an' a cast-iron stewpot got 'im slayed. Hah! I don't notice yore crew doin' any victory dances. I 'eard you was beaten by that big rabbit!”
A Ratguard was slumped nearby, nursing a broken foot-paw. The silver fox grabbed the injured limb and dragged the rat forward screaming. ”Tell us wot 'appened, matey, c'mon!” He loosed his grip, allowing the cringing beast to speak.
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