Martin drew his sword and marched the miscreants off. Gonff and the Guosim shrews had to bite their lips to keep from bursting out laughing.
Log a Log Furmo kept his face solemn. He patted the backs of the four miserable vermin heftily, then shook each one by the paw, with a grip that caused them to wince. ‘Lucky for you we came along, my friends, very lucky!’
One of the Guosim cooks whispered to Gonff in a voice that all could hear. ‘I ’opes they thanks the Chief – he can’t stand ungrateful beasts. Why, I’ve seen Furmo take ’is blade an’. . .’ Before the sentence was finished the vermin were gabbling aloud in panic.
‘Aye, lucky indeed fer us, sire, thank ye!’
‘Don’t know wot we’d ’ave done without ye, Chief!’
‘True, true, we’ll never forget ’ow you saved us!’
‘Thankee, thankee kindly, sir!’
Gonff gathered up the vermin weapons, tut-tutting like an old mousewife. ‘Nasty sharp things. Don’t fret, friends, we’ll take care o’ these lest you injure yoreselves on ’em!’
Furmo presented them with the piece of wood that Trimp had intended using. ‘Sorry about yore friend the fox. You can dig a nice restin’ place for him with this. Goodbye to ye.’
As they marched off down the beach, one of the vermin, a big skinny rat, kicked the sand ruefully. ‘Huh, why did we ever come ’ere in the first place, that’s wot I’d like ter know?’
Grimleg whacked him over the head with the piece of wood. ‘Ah shuddup, screwnose!’
Log a Log Furmo was delighted with the new vessel. He splashed about in the shallows, admiring it as the others clambered aboard. It was a long flat-bottomed skiff, with a single square midsail. Bluffed at the stern and pointed at the bows, fashioned from seasoned beech, elm and rowan wood, it had oarlocks and paddles, four to each side, plus a fine carved tiller and rudder. There was a stern shelter of canvas, stretched over a frame of willow, for cover in rough weather.
When Furmo climbed aboard he went beneath the shelter, then emerged crowing with joy. ‘Lookit, Guosim, a liddle stone hearth an’ a clay oven, an’ three good bench seats. I reckon this craft’d hold a score an’ a half of crew. I tell ye, mates, whoever built this vessel knew wot they were doin’, true craftsbeasts they must’ve been. A real beauty, eh, Gonffo?’
The Mousethief shook his head in amazement. ‘I wager ’twill go like the wind too. Where’d those ole badbeasts ever lay paws on a marvellous craft like this?’
Chugger swaggered about, now immersed in his new role as a pirate captain. ‘Us robbed it offa ole frogdad an’ boiled ’is tail for vikkles. Heeheehee!’
Trimp reprimanded him sharply. ‘That’s quite enough of that kind of talk, thank you, Chugger.’
The miscreant shot up the mastpole scowling darkly. ‘I norra Chugger no more, h’i a villyun, a orful bad ’un!’
Dinny went to sit beneath the stern awning. ‘Well oi bain’t a bad ’un no more, zurr, ho no, et ’urts moi face, ascowlin’ an’ a-snarlin’ all ee toim. Oi’m nought but a good ole mole, oi surpose.’
Tacking close to the shore they threaded northward. Furmo and his Guosim shrews were in absolute ecstasies about their new craft. Being great boatbuilders they could readily appreciate the skill and ingenuity which had gone into its construction.
‘I thought you were only travelling with us as far as the shore, my friend,’ Martin reminded the shrew gently. ‘Weren’t you supposed to return to your camp and tribe, once we were safely downstream?’
Furmo was sniffing the deck, licking the mast, listening to the prow timbers and rapping his paws experimentally on the carved elm oarlocks. He smiled absently at Martin. ‘Oh, y’mean goin’ back upstream t’the domestic life? Well I tell ye, matey, I’d get a right ole tellin’ off from me wife if’n I went back to tell ’er we lost the logboats an’ raft together. Huh! I might be a Log a Log, but my missus Honeysuckle, she’s the real ruler of our tribe. She’d skelp the ears off me if’n I went back boatless!’
Martin nodded his agreement. ‘So what are you going t’do?’
A crafty smile flitted across the shrew’s rugged face. ‘I’m goin’ t’stay with ye, ’til yore adventure’s done. Then you can sail back ’ome with me an’ explain to me darlin’ wife how you couldn’t ’ave done without me’n’my Guosim crew. In fact you’ll be so pleased with me that you’ll present me with this boat, t’make up fer the ones we lost. In return I’ll throw a smashin’ feast for you’n’yore crew, an’ we’ll top it all off by namin’ the vessel Honeysuckle in me dear wife’s honour. Done?’
Grinning broadly, Martin clasped Furmo’s paw. ‘Done, you golden-tongued rascal!’
* * *
13
THE DAYS THAT followed were sunny and uneventful, and good progress was made by the little ship Honeysuckle. She was ideally built for skimming the coastal waves, responding quickly to any vagrant wind, sliptide or rockshoal by just a touch on her tiller. Chugger was a constant source of amusement. The little squirrel had promoted himself to captain, still keeping up his new identity as a villainous sea rover. Folgrim and Trimp often had to stifle smiles and chuckles at his antics. Swaggering about the deck, armed with a stick for a sword, he growled out orders to all and sundry.
‘Gerra vikkles cooked, or I fro y’to a sharkers!’
‘Keepa tiller straight, mista Furmo, or cap’n Chugg make ya scrubba deck!’
‘All singa funny song, or I choppa tails off!’
Gonff saluted him smartly. ‘Cap’n Chugg sir, I’ve checked the provisions, an’ we’re runnin’ low on everythin’. We need more vittles.’
Chugger stroked his chin reflectively, as he had seen Martin do, then he waved his tiny paws irately. ‘Well saila ship to d’shore an’ get lotsa more vikkles. Hmph! Don’t ’nnoy me, mouse, I busy bein’ cap’n!’
Gonff looked to Furmo. ‘Well, we do need more provisions.’
The shrew Chieftain tacked the vessel artfully across two cresting rollers, watching the shoreline intently. ‘We’ll sail ’til evenin’ then put in t’shore. A night on dry land’ll do us good. Tomorrow will be time enough to send out a foragin’ party. Er, if’n the cap’n approves.’
Chugger was binding a coloured shrew headband around his brow to make himself look more dashing. He nodded. ‘Good good, dat’s wot we do. All ’ush now an’ be quiet. Cap’n Chugg gonna take ’is nap!’
By evening the weather had grown noticeably brisker. Folgrim pointed shoreward, to where the beach was sandy and rockstrewn, dotted with dunes and backed by grassland with stunted trees and bushes. ‘Best chance a landfall there, afore the light fades.’
Leaning on the tiller, Furmo sent the Honeysuckle skimming towards the beach. Wading ashore, the crew took up the ship’s bowline, waiting on Furmo’s word. Watching the incoming waves carefully, he yelled as a high one caught the stern. ‘Take ’er in, me hearties. Heave!’
Without any difficulty they ran the vessel up high and dry above the tideline, where it lay safe.
Dinny immediately trundled up the beach, pleased to be on dry land, calling back to them, ‘Thurr be an owd boat up yurr. Oi thort et wurr a rock!’
Upside down and half buried in the sand, the boat lay, long forgotten on the deserted shore. Folgrim viewed it wistfully. ‘Wonder who it belonged to?’
Trimp ventured closer, peering into the dark cavern formed by the upturned craft. ‘I don’t know, but it’d make a snug shelter for the night. We could get a fire going and make a decent meal with the last of our rations. Come on, it’ll be fun!’
Before anybeast could stop her, the hedgehog maid stooped and scurried under the wrecked hull.
‘Yeeek!’ She came scampering out hastily, with a huge redbacked crab chasing her, its claws open and extended aggressively. She hopped clear, but the crab stood outside on the sand, menacing them, protecting its shelter. It was joined by another crab of equal size and ferocity. Trimp was shaking like a leaf, and Chugger hid behind her.
‘
Yaaah! It a bigga spider! No, two bigga spiders now!’
Martin stayed Folgrim’s paw as it strayed to the axe he had taken from the vermin. ‘Easy now. Killing’s not necessary, friend. They’re not spiders, Chugg, they’re crabs, pretty big ’uns too. But not to worry, our Prince of Mousethieves knows how to deal with crabs, don’t you, O chubby one?’
Gonff bowed low, muttering to his friend, ‘Less of the chubby one, matey.’ He turned to Trimp. ‘Fear not, pretty one, crabs an’ I are ole chums. Furmo, build a fire over yonder an’ bring me two long pieces o’ wood, will you? Stand clear the rest of ye!’
Whilst Furmo and his Guosim shrews built a fire of driftwood, both crabs held their ground, never going forward or back, but scrabbling sideways with their fearsome pincers wide open, giving out danger signals to the intruders. Gonff took the two long wooden spars offered by a shrew and bound them at both ends with rags soaked in lamp oil, keeping one eye on the crabs.
‘These should do fine. Now watch this an’ remember, mates, a crab’s the daftest creature livin’. Once he latches on to somethin’ he won’t let go, unless ’tis food he can push into his silly mouth, an’ these poles ain’t food!’ He charged the nearest crab, with the pole held out horizontally, shouting, ‘C’mon, ole shellback, bite on this!’
Clack! The creature’s powerful claws seized the pole.
‘Now one for your ole pal there. Bite on this, stalkeyes!’ Gonff thrust the second pole at the other crab in like manner. Obediently the fearsome pincers grabbed it. Boldly the Mousethief stood a hair’s breadth from both crabs and turned his back on them to face the audience. ‘Y’see, they ain’t got enough brains between ’em to let go of those poles, an’ while they’re hangin’ on to ’em they can’t hurt us with their nippers. Now, they’ll stand there like that ’til the crack o’ doom if I let ’em. But here’s the best way to get rid o’ crabs. Watch!’
Taking a blazing piece of wood from the fire, Gonff raced nimbly round both crabs, touching the flames to both ends of each pole. Agitatedly the big crustaceans continued their sideways patrol, stalk eyes waving wildly in the firelights they were carrying, stumbling and tripping in dumb panic. The Mousethief advanced upon them, swinging his crackling torch.
‘You rock-backed oafs, go on, get out o’ here afore yore nippers get burned. Go on, into the water with yer!’
He chased them a short distance down the beach, until the crabs’ tiny brains realised the answer to their burning problem. They scuttled off sideways into the sea. Gonff skipped back up the beach, chuckling. ‘Ain’t got the sense they was born with, those two!’
Everybeast waited whilst the fearless Gonff went beneath the boat hull with his lighted torch. ‘Come on in, buckoes, the place is empty!’
Guosim cooks like nothing better than to improvise with their cooking. That night they did the crew proud. Barley broth with wild onions and dried watershrimp, hot mint and dandelion tea, and the pièce de résistance: a big pan, lined with thick slices of honey-soaked shrewbread, into which they placed all their dried apples and pears and hazelnuts, mixed with the last of their fresh berries – blackcurrants, strawberries and raspberries. The pan was covered with a flat slab of stone and placed on the fire. After a while, the aromas drifted temptingly around in the shelter formed by the upturned boat. Whilst Folgrim was not looking, Chugger emptied his barley broth into the otter’s bowl and sat happily licking his seashell spoon.
‘Cummon, mista Fol, eaty up all barley broff, or you don’t get no pudden. See, Chugg eat all his up, yum yum!’
The scarred otter tugged his friend’s bushy tail fondly. ‘Ain’t it strange ’ow a bowl can fill itself up agin? Yore a forty-faced liddle skinnamalinker, cap’n Chugg!’
The pudding was perfectly cooked, a triumph. Everybeast had their bowls heaped, and they tucked in willingly.
‘Mmmm, this is marvellous!’
‘Best I ever tasted, pipin’ ’ot an’ delicious!’
‘Burr aye, gurtly noice an’ turrible tasty et be’s!’
‘Any chance o’ second ’elpings there, cooky?’
‘If’n you wants to end up in the sea wid yore crabmates, Gonff, jus’ keep callin’ me cooky!’
‘Oops, sorry, O well-furred an’ beautiful Guosim Boss!’
‘Oh, all right, pass yore bowl ’ere!’
Outside the night grew cold, with a stiff wind driving sand spirals across the shore. Fortunately the shelter was in the lee of the wind, and they sat around the cheery fire amid the good food and banter. During a lull in the conversation, Trimp cocked an ear to the opening. ‘Listen. Can you hear anything, Martin?’
Martin listened. ‘Aye, like a sort of moaning.’
Furmo refilled Dinny’s bowl. ‘Prob’ly the wind.’
But Martin’s paw was on his sword. He leaned forward, alert. ‘That’s not the wind. Listen carefully!’
In the silence that followed they all heard the audible moaning from outside, eerie, ghostly.
‘Oooo oo ummmm, ooo oooo aaaahhhh . . .’
It seemed to fade and rise with the lonely wind out on the moonless stretches of coastline. Furmo shuddered. ‘Don’t sound like nothin’ livin’ t’me!’
This remark started off a lot of fearful speculation.
‘Mayhap ’tis the spirits of deadbeasts?’
‘Aye, mate, could’ve been the long-dead crew o’ this boat!’
‘They say strange things ’appen on ole lonely shores!’
‘I’ve ’eard tell o’ that, too. Bet they comes back on dark nights, to visit the spot where they perished!’
‘Ooh urr, us’n’s should’ve stayed aboard ee boat on ee sea!’
‘Hark, I can ’ear ’em singin’ words!’
Sure enough, the words came clear and distinct. Beneath the boat fur stood on end, paws trembled and creatures drew closer to the fire. They could not avoid hearing the wailing dirge, which rose and blended with the sighing winds.
‘Ooooo ooo ummmm! Ooooo ooo aaahhhh!
From the deep cold seas afar,
Spirits of the dead arise,
Rattling bones and sightless eyes,
From the deep mysterious sea,
Wand’ring lonely beach and shore,
We must walk eternally,
Wand’ring, seeking evermore,
When the pale moon sends its light,
Or in dark and starless night,
Roaming near and travelling far,
Ooooo ooo ummmm! Ooooo ooo aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!’
Trimp’s face was blanched with fear. Chugger was trembling like a leaf, and she hugged him close to her. The breath caught in her throat as a spectrally hollow knock sounded on the upturned boat hull – Whock! Whock! Whock! – followed by unearthly-sounding voices.
‘Leave the coast, desert our shore,
Or stay here for evermore,
Go by land or go by sea,
Heed these warning words and fleeeeeeeeeeeee!’
Martin looked at the terror-stricken faces around him. Drawing his sword, he turned to the only one, beside himself, who did not appear to be affected by the eerie chants. ‘Well, what d’you make of that little lot, Gonff?’
The Mousethief drew his dagger. ‘Don’t see how a ghost could be solid enough to knock its paws on a boat hull, mate. You stay here in case it’s some kind o’ trap – take care of these ditherin’ daisies. I’ll go an’ take a look out there!’
Gonff slid out into the night. A moment later he reappeared, a great deal faster than he had left. Martin gripped his friend’s paw as the dagger slid from it. This was not like Gonff, who sat ashen-faced and trembling. The Warrior gazed into his haunted eyes. ‘What is it, mate? What did you see out there?’
Gonff swigged down a beaker of dandelion and mint tea. He regained his composure slightly, though it was some time before he managed to speak. ‘I tell ye, matey, I never want to see aught like that again. Tall they were, very tall, with ’orrible faces an’ long white bodies that seemed to flutter’
n’float!’
One of the Guosim shrews recoiled in horror, his paw shaking as he pointed out beneath their shelter entrance. ‘Eeaaargh! I see one! There ’tis!’
A vague misty shape was gliding about outside. Martin sheathed his sword and seized a long paddle. ‘I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Let’s see what these ghosts have got to say for themselves!’ As the apparition drifted by again, Martin struck out with the paddle, giving it a good hard sweep.
The ghost gave a yell of surprise and collapsed into a heap. Martin grabbed the struggling mass and dragged it inside the shelter. Ripping off the flowing white cloth, he exposed a hedgehog on stilts.
The creature’s face was daubed thickly with some kind of white clay, and long seabird feathers were stuck into the clay. Blackened beneath the eyes and painted bright red about the mouth with plant dyes, it gave the hedgehog a fearsome appearance. It glared at Martin defiantly. ‘Arrah now, an’ aren’t you the bold ould Sea Rogue! Goo on now, cullie, kill me an’ get it over wid. That fine blade you carry looks fit t’do the job. You durty murtherin’ omadorm!’
Martin grabbed the hedgehog firmly by its clay-encrusted ear. ‘Listen, my friend, keep a civil tongue in your head or I’ll box your ears for you. We’re not Sea Rogues and we don’t go about slaying others willy nilly!’
A huge grin cracked the white-clayed face. ‘Muther of all the seasons, now ain’t that a mercy! By the spikes o’ me fat uncle, does that fine pudden taste as good as it smells? Could y’not serve me up a large morsel of the luverly stuff, an’ could meself not sit next t’that pretty darlin’ hogmaid whilst I show her the powers o’ me turrible appetite, sir?’
Martin was smiling as he extended a paw. ‘I’m Martin the Warrior of Redwall, and these are my friends, who no doubt will introduce themselves.’
The hedgehog shook the proffered paw vigorously. ‘An’ ’tis pleased I am to meet ye, Martin sir. I’m Murfo, son o’ Chief Dunespike, Allcoast Champion Spinetussler.’
Gonff immediately took to Murfo. Sensing in him a kindred spirit, he exchanged a wink with the newcomer. ‘Don’t y’think you’d better ask yore dad an’ the others in out o’ the weather, Murfo? They’ll catch their death o’ cold, stumpin’ about in long white nighties on a night like this. Go on, give ’em a shout.’