The Rogue Crew

Buff Redspore fished out a third searat arrow. “Seems they didn’t have much blinkin’ luck. There’s no dead Guosim, or even bloodtrail on the banks. Anyhow, the Greenshroud’s left here, carried on back to the jolly old River Moss, if ye ask me.”

Skor scratched his matted beard. “Right, but where’ve the shrews an’ that son o’ mine got to?”

Rake Nightfur offered an explanation. “They’re bound tae follow the ship, but with nae boats, they’ll have tae go the long way around, by the bank.”

Skor waded ashore. “Yore right. I say we follow ’em.”

Sergeant Miggory nodded. “Good idea, sah. We might even catch up with the Guosim at the river. Then we could join forces h’an’ give those vermin wot for, eh!”

It appeared to be a good plan, with both hares and otters in agreement. They set off along the watermeadow fringes, following the trail, which began to lead inland. Instead of abandoning the two logboats, they took turns to portage them.

Trug Bawdsley murmured to Flutchers, “Actually, this don’t look like the way to the bloomin’ river t’me, wot. Where d’ye suppose we’re goin’?”

Corporal Welkin tweaked his ear from behind, reminding him sternly, “Yore bally well goin’ where the officers tell ye to go, Bawdsley, so save yore blinkin’ breath!”

Flutchers came to his friend’s defence. “I say, steady on, Corp. All old Trug was sayin’ was that if we’re jolly well headin’ inland, then there ain’t much flamin’ chance we’re goin’ t’bump into a bloomin’ boat, now, is there, wot?”

Welkin Dabbs tweaked Flutchers’s ear, though not too hard. “It’s a ship, Flutchers, a ship, not a blinkin’ boat. I’ll tell ye somethin’ else, laddie buck—it’s a ship with four wheels. So why shouldn’t we bump into it, eh?”

Trug came back smartly, “Because we’ve got three good trackers with us, an’ not one of ’em’s reported a single bally wheelmark, that’s why!”

Captain Rake saved the corporal’s face by upbraiding all three. “Och, will ye no’ stop janglin’ like two auld mouse biddies at a tea party? Eyes front, now, an’ lips sealed, ye ken?”

Trug and Flutchers replied as one. “Sah!”

However, in the light of what Trug had said about the lack of wheeltracks, the dark-furred captain was beginning to have his doubts about the scheme.

24

It was a hot, still afternoon. The Moss was at a point where it flowed sluggishly. Greenshroud crewbeasts poled lethargically against the slow current. The ship was hardly moving as searats and corsairs watched a variety of water insects skimming the surface in the more tranquil areas. Lacewings, dragonflies, alderflies and pondskaters moved gracefully about.

Redtail, a corsair stoat, pointed at a big green-and-blackbanded dragonfly hovering close to the prow.

“Ahoy, mates, lookit that un, ’e’s a big ole thing, ain’t ’e?”

Suddenly the water exploded as a huge green-gold fish powered itself out of the river, took the dragonfly in a lightning snap of its jaws and vanished swiftly back underwater.

Redtail was astounded. “Blood’n’tripes, wot was that thing?”

Dirgo, a lean searat, knew. “That’s a pikefish, mate. I’ve’eard ’em called the freshwater shark. Haharr! Ye wouldn’t like to go swimmin’ round ’ere now, would ye?”

Mowlag waved a rope’s end at the talkers. “This ship ain’t movin’ while yew lot are blatherin’ an’ watchin’ flies. So let’s see ye puttin’ a bit o’ paw power into things. Come on, now, don’t make me use this rope’s end on ye. Push! Pull!”

The crew obeyed. Greenshroud inched forward, then stopped. One or two beasts were pushing so hard that their oars bent and twanged back again.

Mowlag scowled. “Well, wot is it now, eh?”

Redtail shrugged. “I dunno—the ship ain’t movin, that’s all.”

Mowlag hailed Jiboree, who was steersbeast. “Is it that tiller agin? ’As it broke?”

The weasel tapped a paw upon the tiller arm. “Nowt wrong wid ’er tiller, mate. Why’ve we stopped?”

“Aye, why have we stopped?”

Razzid had come out of his cabin. Leaning on his trident, he glared from one face to the other, stopping at Mowlag. From the smouldering look in the Wearat’s eye, it was obvious that no excuse would be brooked. His voice was dangerously harsh. “Go an’ see why we’ve stopped!”

Mowlag hesitated, then went to the midship rail and peered over. “Er . . . er. . . can’t see nothin’ wot’s stoppin’’er, Cap’n. . . .”

The butt of Razzid’s trident hit Mowlag in the back, sending him into the river.

Razzid roared, “Now take a proper look! Why ain’t we movin’?”

Mowlag shot out of the water with panicked haste. He stood shivering, tugging his ear in furious salute. “Wheel, Cap’n. . . . Er, back wheel portside run afoul of underwater roots an’ rocks, Cap’n—it’s jammed, I think.”

Crewbeasts slumped against their paddles, one murmuring wearily, “Ships wid wheels ain’t no use at all.”

It was a searat named Dirgo who made the remark. He suddenly found himself the object of his captain’s attention.

Razzid looked him up and down, enquiring, “Do ye carry a blade?”