The young vole was so overcome that his tears of merriment turned to real tears, which flowed on to 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 crushin’ me paw t’pulp!’
Ranguvar Foeseeker began to tremble with rage. Her voice shook as it echoed round the deck known as the Death Pit. ‘All the prisoners aboard this red ship 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!’
* * *
33
THE GORELEECH PLOUGHED the seas, hours became days and days turned to weeks, the waters grew more tempestuous and the weather changed as the red ship sailed into wintry latitudes. 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 grey 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 ship’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 ship, if he were to stay master, so he had enforced his will. Still superstitious murmurings continued, dark tales of a Sea Bogle haunting the 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 ship 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 scummy slaves look better fed than us!’
Ringpatch the ferret, who had been rubbing the brass-work shiny 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 shinin’ those brasses, 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 round 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 are, in 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 humourless 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 easy – there’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 massacred my tribe. Once you see that headland send for me. I will steer your ship from then on, because only I know the route.’
The bone-handled scimitar flashed skilfully, grazing Luke’s ear. There was no mistaking the menace in Vilu’s voice. ‘Sure enough, you will steer the Goreleech, 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 whilst 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 ship they’ll be ready for trouble, so we can count on help from them.’
Ranguvar had to wait whilst Bullflay walked past down the aisle, towards 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 ship. But if I shout “Veer north” you must do nothing. I’ll be chained to the ship’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 hardships. 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 lower stem. 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 latitudes, 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 assaultin’ your dainty shell-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!
When ’tis rainin’ all the day,
An’ the skies are dirty grey,
An’ you’ve ate the last plum pudden off the shelf,
Jig an’ caper in the wet,
You’ll be better off I bet,
Than pullin’ faces, feelin’ sorry for yourself.
Oh tickety boo a fig for you, wot ho fol lah!
These few words will cheer you up an’ take you far,
Not like that old frumpy duck,
Or a frog who’s out of luck,
Or the little maggot who has lost his ma, ah ah ah ah aaaah!
If you laugh there’ll be no rain,
An’ the sun’ll shine again,
Then your dear old aunt will bake you apple pie,
So when hedgehogs learn to fly,
Fish will quack an’ wonder why?
Tickety boo a fig for you, never say die aye aye,
Aye aye, aye aye, aye aaaaaaaaaaaaa ye!’
Vurg threw himself on Beau, stifling his efforts. ‘What are you tryin’ to do, attract the attention of the entire ship’s crew?’
That put Beau into a sulk. He wrenched himself away from Vurg, working himself into a huff and muttering, ‘Huh, bouncin’ on a chap just as he’s reachin’ top note, jolly dangerous thing t’do, wot? An unexploded phrase might’ve backfired down m’neck an’ fractured me warbler. Little you’d care, though. An’ I still had another three verses t’sing. There was the line in the second verse about a toad losin’ his trousers up a tree, very movin’ an’ profound part o’ the ditty. But I ain’t goin’ to sing it now: What’s the use of one chap singin’ to cheer another chap up, if the other chap keeps jumpin’ on the first chap’s head? Bad form I’d say, ungrateful wretch!’
All that evening and throughout the night, the slaves were forced to row, though only at quarter speed in the wild northern seas, whose tides, rocks and currents had sent many a vessel to its doom. Fleabitt pounded his drum slowly, with a monotonous regular cadence, and Bullflay dozed fitfully, only striding the aisle when he felt the need to stretch his paws. Luke pulled the heavy oar alone, spray whipping through the oarport at odd intervals to wet his face. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind, now that he was near to his old home.
Thoughts of his son Martin raced through the Warrior’s imagination. He would be tall now, quick and strong, with the blood of a leader and a fighter flowing in his veins. Martin would know what to do, the moment the Goreleech was sighted. He would get the old and feeble, together with those too young to do battle, together. Having hidden them safely, Luke’s son would do as he had been taught by his father: gather together the strong ones, arm them and come to his father’s aid, wielding the very sword Luke had passed on to him. As the slaves broke loose and fought to gain control of the red ship, Luke would run her into the coastal shallows, causing the vessel to heel over. He would hail his son from the ship’s wheel. Once Martin heard the voice of his father, he would come hurtling through the shallows at the head of his fighters to board the Goreleech. Then Vilu Daskar and his murderers would pay dearly for their monstrous crimes.
Ranguvar Foeseeker’s whisper reached Luke, and he looked across at the fierce creature.
‘Are we close to the place where you left your son?’
‘Not too far now,’ Luke murmured as he pulled at the oar, ‘I feel it in my bones, friend.’
Grigg the searat gripped the edge of the crow’s nest. Leaning forward, he peered into the leaden rainswept dawn at a rocky point in the blurred distance. With all the agility of a searat he clambered down from the rigging to the deck.
Vilu Daskar was slumbering on a window seat, a charcoal brazier glowing nearby to warm the cabin. Parug the bosun gave a perfunctory rap at the door and entered. ‘Headland’s been sighted, cap’n, dead ahead!’
Daskar leaped from the seat. Grabbing his wool cloak and scimitar he dashed from the cabin, with Parug at his heels, bellowing to rouse the crew.
‘Land ho, all paws on deck!’
Daskar raced for’ard, wind whipping the cloak straight out behind him, calling to Parug as he went, ‘Get Luke up on deck here, quick!’
Wind thrummed the rigging ropes like harp strings. Daskar perched high in the bows, his eyes shielded by a paw as he noted the headland’s position. Jumping down, he gathered his cloak around him and hurried to the stern. Luke was standing by the wheel, bound and surrounded by six vermin. The pirate stoat smiled triumphantly at his oarslave.
‘So, ’twas as you said, the point lies dead ahead. A wise decision, mouse, for if you had played me false, then your head would be on the deck for sure! Bind him to the wheel, make sure the ropes are tight!’
Rough paws dragged Luke to the big steering wheel. He was tied to it securely by both paws and a rope halter was placed about his neck. Vilu held the other end.
‘Right, sing out, Luke, give us the course!’
Knowing it was too early to give the signal, the Warrior murmured, keeping his voice low, ‘Steady as she goes.’
Swinging on ropes, just below the stern gallery, Beau and Vurg strained their ears.
‘Wot wot, did y’hear what he said, Vurg?’
‘No, mate, but I’m sure he didn’t shout “Dead ahead”!’
Groaning, the hare slid down his rope. ‘Oh fiddlesticks, that means the attack ain’t on yet. I’ll go an’ let Ranguvar an’ the others know.’
Vilu tugged viciously at Luke’s halter. ‘Looks as if you’re sailing her close in to land. Why?’
Moving the wheel a touch north, Luke kept his eyes ahead. ‘Got to get my bearings. I’m not quite sure that’s the right headland. Don’t worry, Daskar, your ship’s safe. I’m not going to try anything with all those poor slaves chained below. Give the order to ship oars and take her to half sail. We’ll go forward nice an’ easy if you’re afraid.’
Vilu gave the halter another savage jerk. ‘I’m not afraid, mouse, just cautious. I’ve sailed northern seas before – they can be treacherous.’
/> Luke smiled fearlessly. ‘As treacherous as you?’
Vilu Daskar returned the smile. ‘Not quite.’
At midday the rain cleared, though the skies still remained dull and wintry. Luke was close enough to see the shore plainly now. His heart sank, as if a great boulder was forcing it down, causing a heavy ache in his chest. Before him the shoreline lay deserted, only seagrass and some tattered rags fluttering in the wind. Charred wood and broken implements, hoes and rakes, were half buried in the shifting sand. The caves, where once he had settled his tribe, had had the protective shields of driftwood and vegetation ripped from their fronts. They stood empty, like the eyeless sockets of a corpse staring out to sea. Martin his son, Windred and the rest of the tribe were gone from the place.
Sick with grief, he slumped across the wheel. Vilu Daskar was grinning slyly as he brought his face close to Luke’s.
‘What a shame, my friend. Has your plan gone wrong? What sort of fool did you think you were playing me for? I would have been stupid to let you sail my ship inshore where the creatures of your tribe could have helped you.’ Luke stared dully as his enemy laughed in his face. ‘Fool! I am captain of the greatest ship that ever sailed the seas. How do you think I did it? I learned to read the minds of others, to out-think those who thought they were smarter than me. I knew all along that you yearned for vengeance after the slaying of your tribe. All you have lived for is a chance to kill me!’
Luke nodded. ‘Then you must know there is no treasure?’ He felt hot rage sweep through him as Vilu patted his cheek, almost fondly. The stoat’s voice was wheedling.
‘The old double bluff, eh, Luke. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I know that every tribe, no matter how poor and lowly, has some kind of treasure. Right?’
Luke bit his lip, lowering his head as if defeated. ‘What beast could hide anything from you. But I hold you to your promise. If I show you the way to my tribe’s treasure, you must set me and my two friends free.’