Part 26 (1/2)

The entire deck of oarslaves, conscious of the need for silence, shook with suppressed mirth until tears popped from their eyes and ribs began to ache. There was a scrabbling from the bulkhead and Beau appeared at the opposite oarport, still in Bogle garb, but with his face covered in flour and honey.

”What ho, chaps, Beau the Bogle baker here. I say, I hope you oarslave types aren't laughin' at my cookin', wot?”

A young vole, closest to the oarport, took Beau's paw and shook it heartily. ”No sir, even my ole mum couldn't cook a scone like you do. They're the best anybeast ever tasted. If we're laughin', 'tis because you've taught us how to. Some of us have been down 'ere for long seasons, treated harsh, too, with no reason t'smile. We're 'appy 'cos you've given us back a reason t'live, with yore bravery an' kindness, both you an' mister Vurg. May fortune bless yer both!”

The young vole was so overcome that his tears of merriment turned to real tears, which flowed onto the hare's paw. Beau the Bogle tried to make light of things, though his long ear dipped to wipe moisture from his own eye.

”There, there, young feller m'bucko, 'twas the least we could do, wot? Though if you want more scones I suggest you release my jolly old paw. You've washed it quite clean thank you, but all that oar pullin' has given you a rather powerful grip, an' you seem t'be crus.h.i.+n' me paw t'pulp!”

Ranguvar Foeseeker began to tremble with rage. Her voice shook as it echoed around the deck known as the Death Pit. ”All the prisoners aboard this red s.h.i.+p have strong paws through pulling long oars across heavy seas. But those same paws won't always be pulling oars. One day soon they'll be shaking off their chains an' taking up arms against Vilu Daskar and his Sea Rogues. Then we will take vengeance for ourselves, our families and friends and all the lost seasons of our lives. I give you my word!”

Beau took one look at the black squirrel's eyes, and said, ”I don't doubt it, marm, not one word!”

Chapter 33.

The Goreleech Goreleech plowed the seas, hours became days and days turned to weeks, the waters grew more tempestuous and the weather changed as the red s.h.i.+p sailed into wintry lat.i.tudes. Swathed in a soft cloak of light green wool, head protected by a purple silk turban, Vilu Daskar rested a paw on the scimitar thrust into his waist sash. Bracing himself against the for'ard rail, he gazed north over the gray spume-topped waves, narrowing his eyes against a keening wind. Akkla the ferret stood to one side, awaiting orders from his captain. plowed the seas, hours became days and days turned to weeks, the waters grew more tempestuous and the weather changed as the red s.h.i.+p sailed into wintry lat.i.tudes. Swathed in a soft cloak of light green wool, head protected by a purple silk turban, Vilu Daskar rested a paw on the scimitar thrust into his waist sash. Bracing himself against the for'ard rail, he gazed north over the gray spume-topped waves, narrowing his eyes against a keening wind. Akkla the ferret stood to one side, awaiting orders from his captain.

It had not been a good trip. Despite the whippings and beatings given to the crew, thievery on a grand scale had prevailed. Both Vilu and Akkla hoped it was not the Sea Rogues who were responsible, but the red s.h.i.+p's vermin were growing sullen, muttering among themselves about the floggings and the shortage of food. The pirate stoat knew that discipline and order had to be retained aboard s.h.i.+p, if he were to stay master, so he had enforced his will. Still superst.i.tious murmurings continued, dark tales of a Sea Bogle haunting the Goreleech. Goreleech. Even though he threatened, ranted and reasoned, Vilu knew he was helpless against the ignorant beliefs held by seagoing vermin. However, with the scent of treasure in his nostrils, he was not about to give up. One idea he pounded into the thick skulls of his crew was that they would follow orders or die. Knowing they were on a s.h.i.+p at sea, with nowhere to run, that and the fear of their murderous captain kept the crew in line. Even though he threatened, ranted and reasoned, Vilu knew he was helpless against the ignorant beliefs held by seagoing vermin. However, with the scent of treasure in his nostrils, he was not about to give up. One idea he pounded into the thick skulls of his crew was that they would follow orders or die. Knowing they were on a s.h.i.+p at sea, with nowhere to run, that and the fear of their murderous captain kept the crew in line.

Vilu spoke to Akkla without looking at him. ”I'm going to my cabin. Have the mouse Warrior Luke brought there, then return here and let me know the moment you sight land. Oh, and tell Parug to keep the crew busy. I want the mess deck, galley and accommodation scrubbed and cleaned from bulkheads to deckheads.”

Willag dipped a chunk of pumice stone into a wooden pail of cold seawater and began scrubbing half-heartedly at the mess tabletop, complaining, ”Huh, clean the mess deck agin. I've wore me paws t'the bone scrubbin' at this stupid table, must've scoured it more'n ten times o'er the past few days!”

Foulscale was on all fours, toiling away at the mess deck flooring, slopping icy seawater everywhere. ”Aye, an' it ain't as if there's any vittles t'put on that table, mate. Those sc.u.mmy slaves look better fed than us!”

Ringpatch the ferret, who had been rubbing the bra.s.s-work s.h.i.+ny with a mixture of ashes and fine sand, put down his rag and wiped a filthy paw across his brow thoughtfully. ”Yore right there, bucko. D'you think 'tis the slaves who've been swipin' our grub?”

Parug the bosun swung a length of rope, knotted at one end and stiff with pitch and resin. ”Oh aye, it has t'be the slaves,” he sneered scornfully. ”I can just see 'em, cookin' up pans o' skilly'n'duff in the galley, carryin' their oars over their shoulders o' course, wid their footpaws chained to large chunks of deck. You great blitherin' nit! 'Ow could slaves manage that? 'Ave yew got mud fer brains? Now get on wid s.h.i.+nin' those bra.s.ses. I wants ter see me face in 'em, or I'll feed yer a taste o' this rope's end!” Luke's paws were bound behind him, and he had a rope halter around his neck. Vilu Daskar sat on the edge of his cabin table, questioning the prisoner. ”So, my friend, do you know where we are?”

The Warrior met his captor's eyes fearlessly. ”I'm not your friend, but I do know where we arein the northland seas.”

”Oh indeed? I know that, too, but where precisely in the northland seas are we?”

Luke shrugged. ”Your guess is as good as mine. One wave looks the same as another out there.”

Daskar shook his head, a thin humorless smile on his lips. ”Still the Warrior, eh? Listen well, mouse, I did not bring you here to play games with me. How soon will I know exactly where we are? Tell me or I will stop all oarslaves' water rations. That would be easythere's little enough left for me and my crew. So tell me.”

As if ignoring the stoat, Luke shuffled past him and looked out of the cabin window at the icy heaving seas. ”Take a course east until you sight land, then steer north again. No doubt you will remember a rocky headland that's where you ma.s.sacred my tribe. Once you see that headland, send for me. I will steer your s.h.i.+p from then on, because only I know the route.”

The bone-handled scimitar flashed skillfully, grazing Luke's ear. There was no mistaking the menace in Vilu's voice. ”Sure enough, you will steer the Goreleech, Goreleech, chained to the wheel, with this blade at your throat!” chained to the wheel, with this blade at your throat!”

Luke's smile was wintry as the weather outside. ”I'll look forward to it, but don't make it too easy for me, will you?”

Vilu's teeth ground audibly as he snarled to the guards, ”Get this defiant fool out of my sight!”

As he was hustled from the cabin, Luke managed to put a chuckle in his voice. ”Defiant yes, but a fool . . . never!”

When they had chained Luke back to his oar, Ranguvar murmured out of the side of her mouth, ”When do we make our move? Everything's ready. I got word that the top deck cut their last chain while you were gone.”

Luke pondered the question before replying. ”Sometime tomorrow, maybe evenin', I've a feeling we may sight the headland by my old home. I'll be up on deck with Daskar probably. If my tribe see the red s.h.i.+p, they'll be ready for trouble, so we can count on help from them.”

Ranguvar had to wait while Bullflay walked past down the aisle, toward the oarslaves at the stern end.

”So, if yore on deck, how will we know, Luke?”

”Hmm, good question, mate. I know, we'll have Beau or Vurg make their way up near the prow. If they hear me shout 'Dead ahead,' that'll be the signal to take over the s.h.i.+p. But if I shout 'Veer north,' you must do nothing. I'll be chained to the s.h.i.+p's wheel by then. Sit tight an' wait until I get word to you.”

Ranguvar paused as Fleabitt strode sternward.

”Got it. If Vurg or Beau tells us 'Dead ahead,' the attack is on, but if the message is 'Veer north,' we wait!”

The two messengers in question were undergoing severe hards.h.i.+ps. Beau and Vurg were freezing and soaking from the cold weather and pounding seas. Huddled together beneath layers of stolen blanket and sail canvas, they clung grimly to the raft, which was lashed to the Goreleech's Goreleech's lower stern. The hare poked his head out of the wet jumble, catching the backlash of a big wave. He retreated back down, wiping his face on the damp blankets. lower stern. The hare poked his head out of the wet jumble, catching the backlash of a big wave. He retreated back down, wiping his face on the damp blankets.

”By the bally cringe, old lad, can't last much longer in these inclement lat.i.tudes, wot?”

Vurg closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but Beau persisted.

”My jolly old auntie'd say it's cold enough to whip the whiskers off a mole an' wet enough t'drown a lobster. Cold'n'wet wouldn't be so blinkin' bad if I wasn't flippin' well starvin' t'death. What would you sooner do, Vurg, freeze t'death, drown t'death, or starve t'death?”

The mouse opened one eye and murmured, ”You didn't say wot wot.”

”Wot wot? Why the deuce should I say wot wot?”

Vurg smiled sleepily. ” 'Cos you always say wot wot!”

Beau's ears stood rigid with indignation. ”I beg your very pardon, sir, I do not. Wot wot? I was merely speculatin' on our demise. I said, would you rather freeze t'death, or drown t'd”

Vurg interrupted him rudely. ”I heard what you said first time. Hmph! Freezin' drownin' or starvin' wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't already bein' nattered t'death. Don't you ever stop natterin', mate?”

Beau's indignation switched to injured innocence. ”Well, chop off m'tongue, pull out m'teeth an' sew up m'lips. I'll put a cork right in it an' quit a.s.saultin' your dainty sh.e.l.l-like lugholes, old bean. Far be it from me to try an' make companionly conversation with a friend facin' adversity. Not another word, m'lips are sealed!”

Vurg immediately felt sorry for his garrulous companion. ”Take no notice of me, Beau, I'm just feelin' sorry for myself. You carry on, wot wot!”

The hare chuckled and ruffled his friend's ears. ”Well of course you are, old mouseymate, that's why fate threw us t'gether like this, so I could jolly you up whenever y'feel down in the dumps. My dear old auntie taught me a song about such situations. I say, shall I sing it for you? Cheer you up no end, wot?”

Vurg turned his head aside and pulled a wry face. ”Oh well, seein' as I can't escape the sound of yore voice, I s'pose I'll have to listen. At least it'll scare any sharks away if they're hangin' about. Sing on, Beau.”

Needing no second bidding, Beau launched into his auntie's song, ears clasped in traditional hare manner.

”When you're feelin' down an' glum, Don't just sit round lookin' dumb, Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!

'Cos there's time for all that gloom, When you're dead an' in the tomb, Sing tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!