‘Well well, Timballisto and Fripple, when d’you plan on gettin’ that log to the bonfire pile, next season?’
Both mice were little better than three seasons old. They sat down wearily on the log, big round eyes imploring Luke.
‘’S too blinkin’ big for us, Luke. Will y’lend a paw?’
The Warrior mouse drew his ancient battlesword from its sheath on his back and swung it high overhead, bringing the sharp blade down to bite deep into the wood.
‘Righto, you two rascals, grab ahold of the swordhilt with me. We’ll see if it moves any easier with us three strong beasts pulling it. Come on!’
Heaving energetically, Luke tugged the lump of wood through the sand. He watched fondly as the two little mice pulled valiantly, each latched on to the crosshilt.
When they brought the log to the pile of timber, Luke allowed Fripple and Timballisto to help him loose the swordblade, though he could have easily done it alone. He passed a paw across his brow, winking at them. ‘Whew! Thankee, mates, ’twas a job well done!’
The little mousemaid Fripple took hold of Luke’s paw. ‘Please Luke will y’take me to your cave to see your new baby Martin please Luke?’
Luke could not help chuckling at the beseeching look on Fripple’s face. He tweaked her paw gently. ‘Of course I will, pretty one. What about you, Timbal?’
Timballisto scowled fiercely. ‘I’ll stay ’ere an’ guard our wood ’til y’get back!’
Martin’s cradle was a hollowed-out log, lined with soft moss and a woven blanket. The only family Luke had left in the world sat by it, his wife Sayna and her mother Windred. Crowing with delight, Fripple leaned over the cradle and took the baby’s paw in hers. ‘Oh my my, isn’t he a lovely likkle feller!’
Sayna held the mousemaid’s smock, lest she fall into the cradle. ‘Aye, he’s a good baby, no trouble at all. I think he will grow bigger and stronger than his daddy.’
Martin’s eyes watched solemnly as his father loomed over him. He raised a tiny paw, reaching for the hilt protruding over his father’s shoulder. This delighted Luke.
‘Hoho, look at this bucko, tryin’ to draw my sword!’
Windred hovered around the cradle anxiously. ‘Be careful, he might cut himself on that blade!’
Luke reassured the fussing old mousewife. ‘Oh no he won’t. Martin’s a warrior born, I feel it. Let my son hold the sword. It’ll be his one day.’
Sayna watched her serious-faced babe trying to wrap his little paws round the blackbound haft with its redstone pommel. She shivered slightly. ‘May the fates forbid that he’ll ever have to use it in war.’
Luke released Martin’s hold and stood up straight. ‘Don’t worry, Sayna. That’ll never happen whilst I’m around. Besides, I don’t think we’ll be bothered here, being this far north. We searched the shores an’ cliffs both ways. There’s nothin’ much to the south, an’ if you go further north there’s only some great tall rocks stickin’ up out o’ the sea about three days from here. Not a pawprint of vermin anywhere. Now, what about our son’s feast?’
Windred turned to the cave entrance. Out on the shore the mice of the tribe were setting out what food they had foraged by the unlit bonfire. Each had brought what they could afford to spare, but it was not much. Windred spoke. ‘Hah! Feast, you say? ’Tis a wonder we keep fur around bone on this forsaken coast. You’ve brought us to a cold an’ hungry place, Luke!’
Sayna checked Windred reprovingly. ‘That’s not fair, mother. ’Tis not Luke’s fault. Where the food was plentiful, so were our enemies. At least we have safety up here, and when spring comes we’ll be able to farm and plant the clifftop lands. Luke says there’s good soil up there. What about those berries old Twoola saw yesterday?’
Luke glanced from one to the other. ‘What berries? Where did Twoola see them?’
Sayna explained. ‘He took a walk last evening, north along the shore, and said he saw lots of berries growing in a rift near the clifftop. But there were great seabirds up there too, nesting. I thought it might be dangerous, which is why I didn’t mention it yesterday. Seabirds can be very fierce creatures.’
Luke patted his swordhilt. ‘Aye, an’ so am I when our tribe needs food. Leave it to me. I’ll take some good well-armed fighters with me, and Twoola can show us the spot. We won’t harm the seabirds if they don’t attack us, and I don’t think they will, for what need have they of berries? Seabirds live on what they can scavenge from the sea and the tideline. We’ll gather the fruit and uproot a few young bushes to plant on the clifftops back here. Now there’s no cause for worry or fuss. I’ll leave some warriors back here to guard our camp, and I’ll be back as soon as I can, with whatever we find up there. Carry on with the feast – the youngsters are expecting it. I’ll try to return before ’tis finished.’
Sayna placed Luke’s warm cloak about his shoulders. ‘You’ll need this. It gets cold out there at night. Bring me back a little blackberry bramble, and I’ll plant it so that Martin will be able to help me pick the berries in a few seasons.’
Windred adjusted the cloak around Luke’s sword. ‘Aye, and be careful out there. This is still strange country to us, Luke.’
With a score and a half of good mice that he could depend upon, Luke set out north along the shore. However, they could only travel as fast as old Twoola, and the ancient mouse hobbled along at a slow creaky gait. It was close to midnight when the foraging party reached the high crag where the berries grew. Twoola sat down wearily upon the sand, pointing upward. ‘That’s the place, Luke, but I ain’t goin’ up there. Some o’ those seabirds are big as eagles!’
Luke took off his cloak and wrapped it round the old fellow. ‘You did well getting us this far, Twoola. Stay here and rest – we’ll go up. Vurg, Denno, bring those ropes.’
By those who knew the coasts and high seas, one name was whispered with terror and loathing.
Vilu Daskar!
The pirate stoat was known by other names. Butcher, thief, torturer, murderer. But none more frightening than his own.
Vilu Daskar!
Captain of the biggest vessel ever to plough the main. A trireme, with three banks of oars, pulled by wretched slaves. Crimson red, from the pennants fluttering at its forepeaks, down through the four mighty sails to its gigantic keel. Always leaving behind it a thin red wake, from the dyes which oozed out of its timbers. Jutting out from the prow stood an immense iron spike, rusted red by long seasons of salt water. Such was the red ship, named the Goreleech by its master.
Vilu Daskar!
Evil was his trade, the red ship his floating fortress. Aboard it he could disappear into the trackless wastes of seas and oceans, materialising again to prey on the unwary. Coastal settlements, inland hamlets, even the island havens of other Sea Raiders and Corsairs. None were safe from the Goreleech and its bloodthirsty crew, a mob of wild cruel vermin. Mercenaries, assassins, cut-throats, the flotsam and jetsam of earth and waters. These Sea Rogues were ruled by two things alone: a lust for plunder and slaughter, and a blood-chilling fear of their lord.
Vilu Daskar!
He revelled in the dread his name instilled into all.
In the ’tweendecks of the Goreleech relentless drums pounded incessantly. Chained to the oars, masses of gaunt slaves bent their backs and pulled, straightening with a joint groan as they heaved on the long wooden sweeps. To the accompaniment of slave drivers cracking their whips and the ever present drumbeat, the red ship sailed into the waters off northcoast.
Vilu Daskar leaned against the stern gallery rail, his alert dark eyes watching constantly, like a snake about to strike. Unlike other seagoing vermin he was highly intelligent, well-spoken and modestly garbed. He wore a long red cloak, beneath which was a plain black tunic, belted by a broad red calico sash through which was thrust a long bone-handled scimitar. The only concession to finery was his headgear, a white silken scarf bound about his brow, atop of which he wore a rounded silver helmet with a spike at its centre. Tall and sinewy, he cut
a quietly elegant figure, unlike the crew under his command, all arrayed in a jumble of tattered finery and sporting heavy tattoos and masses of gaudy earrings, necklets and bracelets.
Evening light was fading fast over the cold seas when, from high on the mainmast, a searat called Grigg sang out from the crow’s nest: ‘Laaaand awaaaay off larboard, cap’n. I sees a light onshore, sire, to the north o’ that rocky point!’
Vilu flicked his eyes in the direction given, without moving his body. Akkla, the ferret steersbeast, held the ship’s wheel steady, awaiting his captain’s command. Even if it meant running the Goreleech on to rocks, he knew better than to change course without Vilu’s order.
The stoat spoke without raising his voice. ‘Sweep south and take her in behind that big rock point.’
Two other vermin stood waiting as Vilu peered hard at the faint glow, far off on the shoreline. He issued orders to them without turning, knowing they would obey instantly.
‘Reef and furl all sails, and increase the oarstroke to double double speed. We need to get out of sight quickly.’
Abruptly he strode off for’ard, where his bosun, the searat Parug, had a better view of the shore.
‘So, my keen-eyed bosun, what do you see?’
Parug scratched at his beribboned whiskers, plainly bewildered. ‘’Tis ’ard to tell, cap’n. Ho, that’s a fire right enough, an’ a good big ’un, t’be seen from this distance, sire.’
A thin smile hovered on Vilu’s lips. ‘But?’
The bemused bosun shook his head. ‘But anybeast’d be mad t’light a fire that big on northland shore. Wot are they up to, cap’n?’
Vilu lost sight of the glow as the Goreleech turned south, the headland blocking his view. ‘Well, no creature in their right mind would set up a signal beacon on that shore, so they are either out of their minds, or ignorant of the danger. Maybe that’s it, Parug, they might merely be simple beasts having some kind of celebration, eh?’
Parug’s dull face broke out in a grin. ‘Oh, like a kinda feast, y’mean, sire?’
The stoat’s paw strayed to his bone-handled scimitar. ‘Quite. Not very courteous of them. The least they could have done was to invite us!’
Parug’s grin widened. ‘So we anchors the other side o’ yon point, comes over the rocks, an’ invites ourselves, eh, cap’n?’
Vilu stroked the white bone scimitar hilt. ‘Exactly. We might not attend the feast, but the least I can do is present my calling card.’
Parug stared blankly at his captain. ‘Callin’ card? Wot’s a callin’ card, sire?’
With lightning speed the scimitar blade’s tip was touching the bosun’s throat. ‘This is my calling card!’
Parug’s throat bobbed nervously under the sharp bladetip. ‘Oh, er, I see, sire, er, haha!’
Vilu Daskar tired of the one-sided conversation. He put up his sword and strode off.
Darkness had fallen. Luke’s tribe laughed and sang around the bonfire, unaware of the big red ship anchoring the other side of the south point.
* * *
18
LUKE THREW THE first rope up into the darkness. A moment later he heard the wooden bar tied to its end clack upon some rocks. He tugged it, making sure the bar held in the rocks it had wedged itself among. Paw over paw Luke went up, whispering to Vurg, ‘Follow on with the other rope, mate, but be quiet. We don’t want to disturb any of those seabirds.’
Vurg climbed up after him, and they balanced together, lodging their footpaws in the sides of the fissure. Luke took the second rope and began twirling it, paying the coils out as he swung it wider before throwing it strongly upward.
This time there was no sound of wood striking stone, but the rope went taut. A gruff friendly voice called down in quaint speech, ‘Oi got et, zurr, oi’ll make ee rope farst whoilst ee-clamber up yurr!’
Vurg grabbed Luke’s paw in the darkness. ‘Sounds like a mole t’me. What d’you think, Luke?’
‘Aye, ’tis a mole sure enough, though what he’s doin’ up a cliff I don’t know. He sounds friendly enough, anyway. Come on!’
Both mice climbed until they reached a flat ledge, where there were several other moles and some hedgehogs to meet them. The mole who had hailed them took tinder and flint and lit a lantern, rumbling on in his curious mole dialect.
‘Burr, us’n’s doan’t be gettin’ mouseybeasts aclamberin’ up to call on uz, zurr, but welcumm to ee anyways. Oi be Drunn Tunneller, these ’uns be moi fambly, yon ’ogs be ee Tiptip brood, an’ that ’un be Welff.’
A friendly-looking hedgehog wife in a broad rough apron twitched her spikes and curtsied. ‘Pleased t’meet ye, I’m sure, but what be you goodbeasts a-doin’ up ’ere in the dark night?’
Luke introduced his party as they climbed up to the ledge. Then he explained the reason for their visit.
‘We came to take some o’ those berries an’ maybe some young plants whilst the seabirds were sleepin’, marm. I’m sorry, though, I didn’t realise they were your property.’
Welff brushed the apology aside cheerfully. ‘Oh, you take all the berries an’ shoots y’need, my dearie. Rain’s washed good soil into this crevice for many a season. We got raspberry, blackberry, all manner o’ berries growin’ ’ereabouts. Ole Drunn’s father tunnelled through to ’ere from the clifftops long ago. We’ve got a cave back there. Now don’t ye be afeared o’ the seabirds. We leaves ’em be an’ they don’t bother us a mite. Matter o’ fact, they makes good watchbeasts in daytime, warns us if’n Sea Rogues be a-comin’, so we can go an’ hide in our cave.’
Luke stared questioningly at Welff Tiptip. ‘Sea Rogues?’
‘Oh, lackaday, sir, ain’t you knowin’ about those badbeasts? Why, they comes to this northcoast often as not.’
Luke began to feel the first stirrings of unease. ‘But there’s nothing t’be had on northland coast. Why do they choose to put in here?’
Drunn Tunneller waved a huge digging paw. ‘Thurr be nobeast yurr to wurry abowt, zurr, so they’m cummin’ to take on fresh water, patch ee sails, repair ee ships an’ so forth. Burr, they’m all scum’n’villyuns!’
Welff nodded agreement with her molefriend. ‘So they are. We hides in our caves an’ stays well clear until those badbeasts are gone. Else we’d get slayed, or taken for slaves by ’em. Oh, Luke sir, what be the matter wi’ ye? Do y’not feel well?’
Though the night was cold, Luke felt suddenly hot and sick. ‘Further south, down the shoreline, my tribe have lit a big bonfire on the shore. We didn’t think there’d be any danger this far north!’
Drunn’s big digging claws took hold of Luke’s shoulders. ‘You’m must ’urry, zurr. Do ee take yore mouseybeasts an’ get ee back with all ’aste, dowse ee flames, an’ put out yon fire. Et be loik ee beacon to Sea Rogues. Oi beg ee, ’urry!’
Welff called after the party of mice scrambling down the cliff, ‘Good luck go with ye, sir Luke. We’ll follow ye on in the morn, with baskets o’ berries an’ wotever plants you may need. Aye, an’ Drunn’s moles will show ye how to hide yore dwellin’s from the sight of Sea Rogues!’
Welff’s words were lost upon Luke and his friends. They were already down and charging along the shoreline headlong, with old Twoola hobbling in their wake.
Dawn came wild and angry. Cold howling easterly gales swept the shoreline sand, piling it in buttresses against rocks and whipping grains widespread across the ebbing tide. Drunn Tunneller and Welff Tiptip led their little band along the beach, bearing between them the promised baskets of berries and young plants. Wearing cowled cloaks and mufflers over their noses and mouths they pressed on gallantly towards Luke’s encampment, heads bowed against the weather’s onslaught. To cover her anxiety Welff chattered feverishly to her molefriend.
‘Now if ’twere late spring an’ the weather milder a body would expect Sea Rogues visitin’ our shores. Anybeast afloat in stormy seas like we get this time o’ season is nought but a fool. I know ’twasn’t wise for Luke an’ his mice to light great f
ires in full view onshore, but I reckon mayhap no harm will’ve befell them, eh, Drunn?’
The mole was about to agree with her when a fierce gust of sandgritted wind caused him to turn his face seaward. He groaned aloud and dropped his basket. ‘Guhuuuurr noooo! Look yon, ’tis ee gurt redship!’
Through the fleeting spume of sand and seawater, Welff glimpsed the mighty bulk of the Goreleech, her crimson stern riding high on the main, red sails bellying tight as she sped westward out on to the deep. The good hogwife stood watching the fearful sight, tears mingling with the grit sticking to her face, and she moaned like a stricken beast. ‘Waaaow, lackaday, the redship! Fortunes an’ fates ‘a’ pity on those pore mice!’
Drunn grabbed her paw, signalling to his friends to follow. ‘Coom on, missus, ee beasts be needin’ our ’elp!’
Vurg was covered in swirling wood ashes from the scattered fire embers. He sat on the shore, lost in a dumb trance. Between them, Drunn and Welff shouldered his paws, steering him to the meagre knot of survivors who huddled forlornly in the mouth of Luke’s cave. Old Twoola was the only mouse who seemed able to explain what had taken place. ‘Friends, you come at a terrible time for us. Many graves will need to be dug in these bloodstained sands.’
Welff spoke softly to the old one. Now that she had recovered from her first shock, she was all business. ‘Aye, ’tis so, but first we must attend to the living. Drunn, will you light a fire in this cave and set water to boil? Our family will prepare food for you. Dig out any ole linen you possess – we’ll need bandages!’
As the moles and hedgehogs took care of the shore-mice, their dreadful tale came out piecemeal.
‘There was hundreds of ’em. We didn’t stand a chance!’
‘It was a massacre. Only those out lookin’ for firewood escaped. We could do nothing to stop those evil killers!’
‘Windred was lucky. She ran out on the shore with the babe, stumbled an’ fell. Her cloak was over them both, an’ the wind covered it with sand an’ hid them. ’Tis a wonder little Martin wasn’t smothered.’