‘Who, me? I never said a scringin’ word!’
‘Oh, didn’t yew? Let’s go an’ ’ave a look at those longears, ’e says. Me’n’you’ll pick out a nice fat ’un, ’e says. One of Karangool’s cap’ns told me they’re goin’ to the cookin’ pots tomorrer, that’s wot you said, blither’ead!’
‘Let me ’ave anudder go. I’ll turn the key!’
Stiffener signalled the next candidate for the line. ‘Come on, mate, move. Next one right be’ind – we can’t afford to ’ang about any more. Shift yore paws there!’
Bang! Thud!
‘Ahoy in there, git this rubbish out the lock’ole, or it’ll be worse for youse when we open this door!’
The banging of a spear butt against the heavy door timbers continued. Stiffener watched another hare disappear over the sill into the night, clinging tight to the rope. When he judged the hare was far enough down he quietly called for the next one. A loud groan of frustration sounded from outside.
‘Now lookit wot yer done, idiot, you’ve gone an’ broke the key off in the lock, yew senseless rat!’
‘Well ’ow was I t’know it’d snap, rusty ole key? Never mind, Rip, we kin batter the door down, eh?’
There were only three hares left in the cell now. Stiffener guided the next one on to the rope. An argument between the two searats was in full flow.
‘Batter the door down? ‘Ave yew got mud fer brains? Wot ’appens when the door falls off its ’inges, eh? I’ll tell yer wot, there’ll be two of us wid a spear apiece facin’ three score o’ beasts, ye slimebrained toad!’
There followed a scuffling sound and the clacking of spear staves as the pair turned on one another. Stiffener winked at Torleep. ‘We did it, mate. Come on, out ye go!’
‘Wot, oh, er, after you, old chap.’
‘Get a grip o’ that rope, Torleep, no time now for bowin’ an’ scrapin’. Out!’
The boxing hare watched the taut rope anxiously, waiting for Torleep to get far enough down it to let him take his leave of the hated prison cell. In the passage outside the altercation between the two searats continued.
‘Owow! Yew bit me tail. Savage!’
‘Well, you shouldn’ta called me a slimebrained toad. Fancy callin’ yore own brother a name like that. Look wot you’ve done to me skull! Split it, see, that’s blood that is!’
Stiffener vaulted on to the sill, took a firm grip of the taut line and began his descent, with the quarrel still going on.
‘Split yer skull? That’s only a scratch – there ain’t no blood at all, just a liddle bump! Doomeye, come back, where are yer off to?’
Doomeye scuttled off down the passage. He turned at the stairhead and stuck his tongue out. ‘Snagglefang!’
Stung by the reference to his single tooth, Ripfang brandished his spear and chased after his brother. ‘Right, that’s done it. There was no call fer that. I’ll crack yore skull good’n’proper when I get yer!’
Willing paws guided Stiffener to the ground, then Brogalaw was hugging him fiercely. ‘Good to see your ole face again, mate!’
The boxing hare looked about at his friends. ‘Thanks for yore help, Brog. I kept my promise to Lord Stonepaw. There ain’t a hare left on Salamandastron.’
‘Oh, ’tis so sad. Our home is nought but a vermin den now!’ Woebee wept into her apron.
Stiffener put a paw about her shaking shoulders. ‘There there, don’t take on so, marm, we’ll be back, I promise you. Sorry I ’ad to knock you out like that. ‘Ope it didn’t ’urt too much, marm?’
The old harewife dried her eyes and sniffed. ‘You did the right thing, sah. I was bein’ very silly, carryin’ on like that. If I’d had enough sense I’d have hit me for such shockin’ behaviour! Oh, isn’t it good that nice mister Brogalaw an’ his otters helped us like this!’
The sea otter Skipper bowed gallantly. ‘Thankee, marm, but may’ap we could carry on this discussion elsewheres. It don’t do to linger round ’ere. Durvy, take our friends t’the cave. Rulango, go with ’em t’see none get lost. Me an’ the rest o’ the crew will follow, wipin’ out our trail. See ye back at the holt, Stiff.’
With Durvy leading, Stiffener in the rear and the heron hovering overhead, the escaped prisoners scurried off towards the clifftops. Brogalaw and his crew began cutting bushy branches from the shrubbery growing out the rocks to erase the trail.
‘Don’t leave a pawprint showin’ anywheres, mates, or those bluebottoms o’ Trunn’s will be payin’ our holt a visit!’
One of the crew stirred the captured sentries with his paw. Bound and gagged tightly, they rolled their eyes fearfully.
‘Wot do we do with these two beauties, Brog?’
Brogalaw gnawed his lip thoughtfully. ‘I know they’re only vermin, but I ain’t never slayed an ’elpless beast afore an’ I’m not startin’ now. Leave ’em tied up ’ere. The moment we’re gone they’ll start breakin’ themselves loose. They can be Trunn’s problem – leastways that scum’ll know he’s not havin’ things all ’is own way when they makes their report. Right, let’s make a move, mates.’
The Hordebeasts wriggled furiously with their bonds, once Brog’s party had departed. But a sea otter knows his ropes. It would be some time before the prisoners could hope to be even slightly loose.
26
BROG AND HIS crew arrived back at the cave in broad daylight. It was a fine summer morn, with light breezes coming in from the sea. Stiffener and the hares had only just got there ahead of Brog’s party. The trek along the cliffs, after climbing down from a mountain top, had worn the older ones out, and Durvy had been forced to make a few rest stops along the way. Greetings and introductions were still being made as Brog entered the cave. He joined Stiffener and put a paw to his brow in mock despair.
‘Seasons o’saltsea, Stiff mate, couldn’t you ’ave left that ole Woebee creature be’ind? We got three of ’em blubbin’ now!’
Brogalaw’s mother Frutch and Blench the cook were being helped by Woebee to stir the chowder pot. All three were sobbing and sniffling gratefully for the hares’ deliverance.
Brog nodded to the two musical young otters, who broke out their small drum and whistle and struck up a song.
‘Now have ye been away far,
To tarry an’ to roam?
Well sit ye by the fireside,
Welcome to yore home!
The kettle’s on to boil,
Flames a-burnin’ bright,
No more you’ll sleep alone,
‘Neath those stars at night,
Take off yore trav’llin’ cloak,
Come put yore paws up ’ere,
Put a smile in my ole eye,
Take away this weary tear,
You’ve come home mate!
An’ in time for supper too,
So it feels just great,
To say welcome home to you!’
Frutch brightened up immediately. She kissed her son’s cheek. ‘Oh, Brog, you got ’em t’sing our song. Remember I used to bounce you on me tail an’ sing it t’you when you was just a liddle fat otterkit? Such a chubby smilin’ babe you were!’
The sea otter Skipper’s tail curled with embarrassment. ‘Mum, d’you ’ave to go on like that in front o’ everybeast!’
Stiffener patted his friend’s well-muscled back. ‘I wouldn’t complain if’n my mum was around to say things like that, mate. Let’s see if we can learn about wot’s goin’ on among the vermin inside Salamandastron from Sailears an’ Torleep. Might ’elp us to make a few plans, what d’ye say – me liddle fat otterkit?’
The boxing hare dodged a swipe of Brog’s rudderlike tail and led him over to where the two hares sat.
Later that night the fires burned low. Nearly fourscore hares had been found places to sleep and Blench was helping Frutch and Woebee to bake bread for breakfast. Stiffener and Brogalaw listened long and carefully to the two hares’ account of all they had heard and seen whilst in captivity. Then, allowing the pair to get some rest, they sat to
gether making plans.
‘So, that’s the lie o’ the land, Brog. What d’you think?’
The sea otter added some old pine cones to the fire. ‘One thing’s clear, Stiff – the bluebottoms are low on vittles. Feedin’ an army that size takes some doin’, mate. Trunn will have t’send foragin’ parties into the land ’ereabouts. D’ye catch my drift?’
Stiffener smiled grimly. A good scheme was forming. ‘Aye, I’m with ye, Brog. We don’t ’ave the numbers to go up against Trunn an’ invade the mountain. But we can certainly try to cut off the villain’s food supplies, eh!’
‘Right y’are, messmate, an’ this’s ’ow we’ll do it. I’ll post Rulango to keep a lookout from the air – he can fly well out o’ arrow range. Whenever he sees a foragin’ party set out, he’ll report to us which direction they’re a-goin’.’
Stiffener warmed to the idea eagerly. ‘Our crews can harass them, cut ’em off, steal their supplies, duck an’ weave, hit ’em when they’re least expectin’ it!’
Brog chuckled as he poked a stray pine cone back into the fire. ‘They say an army marches an’ fights on its stomach. Hah, let’s see wot those vermin can do on empty stomachs! Even if they tries to go seaward an’ fish we can hammer ’em. My crew was born in salt water – they knows more about the sea than any vermin from the land!’
Stiffener Medick and Skipper Brogalaw clasped paws.
‘We’ll teach ’em the art o’ war, mate!’
‘Aye, an’ ’twill be the ’ardest lesson they ever learned!’
Mid-morning sunlight shafted into the passage from the cell window when the door was smashed down. Ungatt Trunn stared blankly at the empty prison. After a moment, he strode inside and leaned on the sill. Fragorl, the guard captain and a patrol of Hordebeasts stood apprehensively in the passage, waiting for the wildcat’s wrath to descend on them.
Trunn removed his helmet, closed both eyes and massaged his temples slowly. When he finally spoke, his voice was a barely controlled growl with a high-pitched hiss behind it.
‘I don’t want to know who stole the key, nor who snapped it off in the lock. I don’t want to hear excuses or explanations from any of you. I don’t want to know how the hares escaped, or where they’ve gone. But before the sun sets today, I want to see threescore longears back here. Take your patrols, scour the countryside, send vessels to search the waters and coast north and south of here. But before you go, come down to the shore and watch what happens to four creatures who ate a few fish without asking. Then, all of you, ask yourselves this question. If the mighty Ungatt Trunn could have four beasts executed for a couple of mouthfuls of fish, what fate would he devise for the entire guard patrol of this level, who managed to let sixty valuable prisoners escape? Think!’
Captain in Chief Karangool came marching up as the wildcat emerged from the mountain.
‘Might’ness!’
Ungatt Trunn eyed him warily. ‘What is it, captain?’
‘Two soldiers, they find sentries who desert, at dawn!’
A sigh of relief almost escaped the wildcat, but he checked it. ‘Ah, the pair who deserted the night before last. Where were they found? Who were the soldiers who found them?’
‘They walk here, into main gate. Two soldiers on sentry round mountain were there.’
The wildcat spoke his mind aloud. ‘So, the two sentries who were supposed to be patrolling round the mountain all night spent their time idling in the shelter of the main gate, by the guard fire no doubt. They were wakened by the two other fools walking in, so they arrested them. Is that it?’
‘Ya, Might’ness!’
‘Where are the two deserters now?’
‘Sentries know Might’ness rules ’bout runaway beasts. They slay ’em for break of your law.’
The wildcat made a pawmark in the sand and stared at it. ‘Why am I surrounded by halfwits and dunderheads?’ he hissed.
‘Might’ness?’
‘Nothing, captain. Have the two sentries tied up with the four to be executed. Make certain Fragorl tells everybeast why they must pay the penalty. Sleeping on guard and shirking their patrol duties, and so on and so on. I’ve got other things to think about. Captain, before you sailed for me, what did you do?’
Karangool indicated a faded tattoo on his paw and the hole in his ear, where a big brass ring once hung. ‘Might’ness, I was corsair, long ‘go.’
The assembled Hordes on the beach stood watching their leader conversing earnestly with his Captain in Chief.
‘Tell me, did you ever come across a badger?’
‘One time.’
‘A male badger, in his prime, carrying a double-hilted war blade over his shoulder?’
‘Nah, Might’ness, old female badger I see, dead.’
Trunn suddenly lost interest in the conversation and stalked down to the execution site. Hordebeasts heard him muttering to himself as he passed them.
‘I cannot see your face, but I see you every night. Yet nobeast has even heard of you. But we will meet, ah yes, badger, we will meet. And then you’ll see what a wildcat looks like before you die.’
Noon sun had passed its zenith when Rulango alighted on a dune close to the cave. Brogalaw was waiting for him. He cleared a patch in the sand, to let the heron sketch out his report of what he had seen. Brogalaw stared tight-lipped as the drawing unfolded before him.
Stiffener came out of the cave with Frutch, munching on a slice of flat pastry with obvious enjoyment. Frutch carried two more pieces on a platter. Stiffener popped in the final bit, licking crumbs off his paw. ‘Beech’n’hazelnut slice, eh, marm? Yore own recipe, too. No wonder Brog looks well, feedin’ off vittles like yores.’
Frutch twitched her rudder at the compliment. ‘Our bird likes it too, y’know. ’Tis a mix of sliced nuts an’ plum preserve baked atop a shortbread biscuit.’ Nearing her son and the heron, Frutch called, ‘I brought yore favourite slice, fresh from the oven!’
Rulango stood on one leg and looked distant, while Brog hastily obliterated the picture from the sand with his footpaw.
‘Good ole Mum. Brought the raspberry cordial too, did ye?’
‘Land sakes, I’ll fetch the oven out an’ the table’n’chairs if’n you like, Brogalaw. Talk about chasin’ after an ungrateful son. Here, y’great lump, get this down ye!’
Brogalaw and Rulango set about their slices eagerly. Frutch stroked the big bird’s neck affectionately. ‘Bless ’is feathers, there’s a bird who never complains an’ knows wot’s good for him. What’s he been drawin’, Brog?’
The sea otter appeared suddenly absent-minded. ‘Oh, ’twas nothin’ for you t’worry yore pretty ole ’ead about. Ahoy, Mum, we’re thirsty. Where’s that cordial, eh?’
She trundled off down the dune. ‘I’ll go an’ fetch it.’
Stiffener tapped a paw in the sand. ‘So then, matey, just wot was yore bird sketchin’?’
Brog dropped his voice a tone. ‘D’you know wot that wickedbeast did to six of ’is own? Had ’em bound together with rocks an’ drowned in the sea. Aye, ’tis true. All the bluebottoms, whole hordes of ’em, was made to stand an’ watch the pore wretches, screamin’ an’ pleadin’ for their lives. Stiff, wot makes anybeast foller a master like that?’
Stiffener doodled sand patterns with his paw. ‘Who knows, Brog? Fear, wantin’ to be on the side of a conqueror who always wins. Maybe the vermin join ’is ranks ’cos deep down they’re as bad’n’evil as Trunn hisself.’
The sea otter Skipper shuddered and shook himself. ‘Time we started strikin’ back now, Stiff. Let’s take a look at this otter’n’hare crew of ours, see wot weapons they’re best suited to besides knives’n’forks.’
27
IT WAS NOON of the third day at the court of King Bucko Bigbones, time for the Fighting challenge. Spectators were packed tight around the arena; others sat on the hillside or climbed trees. However, there was no air of festive gaiety. This was serious business; the outcome would decide which hare picked up the crown.
The high bright sun presided over a silent and solemn crowd. A furtive whisper rustled about Bucko and his seconds as they made their way to the ring through the path which fell open before them.
The mountain hare had discarded his broad belt for the event, and a paunch which had not been visible before was now clearly evident. Creatures commented on it in hushed tones.
‘I say, whatever happened to the trim waist he had, wot?’
‘Too much scoff an’ not enough exercise if y’ask me!’
‘Maybe so, but ole Bucko still looks dangerous enough to do the job. I wouldn’t fancy facin’ him, no sir!’
‘Och aye, yon king’s a big braw beastie, near twice the size o’ the wee lassie. Ah’m thinkin’ ’twill all be o’er if he lands the bairn one guid blow!’
Bucko took the log barrier at a bound, his cloak swirling as he tossed it to his seconds. He jammed his sceptre between two of the logs, balancing the laurel-wreathed gold coronet on it. Then, grim-faced, he sat down to wait, acknowledging the presence of the bankvole referee with a curt nod. Glancing up at the sun, Bucko judged which would be the best position to take up without being dazzled. After a while some of the onlookers began whispering among themselves. Dotti had not yet put in an appearance. Bucko sat calm and motionless.
Lord Brocktree and his party led Dotti through the aisle of creatures which opened from the stream side. He and Ruff stepped into the arena, followed by Dotti and Gurth. The haremaid was simply clad in a short green tunic. She sat down on the logs on the opposite side to Bucko, giving him scarce a glance.
Waddling to the centre of the ring, the bankvole began his preamble. ‘Good creatures, h’attend meeeeee! Toooooday h’is the day o’ the Fightin’ challenge, an’ the rooooools h’are h’as folloooows. No weapons h’or arms can be heeeee—’
Bucko stood up and cut him short. ‘Och, awa’ an’ stop wearin’ yer auld gob oot. We ken the rules as guid as anybeast here. Let’s get on wi’ it!’
A roar of approval arose as the pompous bankvole fled the ring. Ruff winked at the haremaid as he and the others stepped outside the logs bordering the arena. ‘Go to it, missie. Remember wot you’ve got t’do!’