As the morning wore on, Orkwil somehow contrived to wriggle his paws until they became entwined in the alder twigs. Now he did not have to hang on, he merely hung there bemoaning his fate, and composing his own eulogy, revelling in his own misery.
“A fine young ’un gone, and all for what?
Some mouldy ole soup, an’ that ain’t a lot!
Alas an’ alack for pore Orkwil Prink,
stuck in a swamp without vittles or drink,
he hung there, brave beast, not darin’ to budge,
his head in a tree, an’ his bottom in sludge.
His last thoughts were of friends at the old homestead,
would they know that their young hog was dead,
and would they weep sadly o’er his empty cot?
Those bandy-pawed elders, the snotty-beaked lot!
Aye, Orkwil’s departed, but who’ll shed a tear,
who’ll blub on their salad, or cry in their beer?
And who’ll even notice one dark, stormy night,
a small, muddy hog ghost, a pitiful sight.
Will they say, friend Orkwil, come, welcome indoors!
Or, you filthy young wretch, have you wiped those paws?”
As the hot, noontide sun beat down on the swamp, Orkwil ceased his blubbering and fell asleep out of sheer weariness. In the early evening he was wakened by a cloud of winged insects trying to sample his head. Unable to stop them, Orkwil yowled piteously. “Yah, gerroff me, you horrible villains! Can’t ye leave a pore young creature to perish in peace? How would you like it, stuck in a swamp with midges gnawin’ at yore snout, an’ buzzin’ down yore ears!”
A short distance away in the woodlands, Codj and his party heard Orkwil’s protests. The stump-tailed fox drew his sword, pointing with it. “I t’ink it’s comin’ from over dere.”
The little rat, Firty, grinned smugly. “See, I tole ya sum-beast was shoutin’.”
Codj liked bullying anybeast smaller than himself. He rapped Firty’s paw with the flat of his blade. “Seein’ as yew ’eard it first, yew kin go in front, go on smart mouth, lead on!”
Firty ventured forth gingerly, registering his protest. “If ’twas Cap’n Vizka, ’e’d go first, I betcha!”
Codj pricked his tail with the sword. “Well, I ain’t Cap’n Vizka, so move yerself, or I’ll chop yer tail off!”
“Then Firty’d be a stumple like yew, haha!”
Codj wheeled on the party, who were shuffling behind him. “Who said dat?” He eyed the five blank-faced vermin sternly. “Cummon, own up, who’s insultin’ me be’ind me back, eh?” All five stayed silent, Codj waved his sword at them. “If’n somebeast don’t talk soon, I’ll make yez sorry. Now speak up, buckoes, who said it, eh?”
The standoff was broken by Firty’s squeal.
Codj turned to see him standing at the edge of the ferns. “Worra yew skrikin’ like an ole ratwife for?”
The small rat showed his muddy footpaws. “I ain’t goin’ in dere, it’s all squelchy!”
One of the party, an old stoat, called out, “Wotjer mean, squelchy?”
Firty jabbed his paw furiously at the fern bed. “I mean squelchy enuff to sink ye down over yore ears!”
Orkwil’s impassioned plea was loud and clear now. “Oh take pity on me, kind sirs, help me, I beg ye!”
Jungo, a fat weasel, who possessed a single tooth, giggled. “Huhurrhurr! Sumone t’inks we’re kind sirs, dat’s nice!”
Codj silenced him with a glare, then issued orders. “Spread out, but don’t go fallin’ in de squelch. See who’s makin’ all dat noise!”
It was Jungo who found Orkwil. “It’s an ’edgepig, ’e’s stuck inna squelch, I kin see ’im. Over ’ere, mates. Huhuhurrr! A likkle ’edgepig!”
Codj was first to locate the spot where Jungo was calling from, he glared to and fro irately. “Where in de name o’ blazes are ye?”
Orkwil’s voice rang out hopefully. “I’m here, sir, in the swamp!”
Codj slashed angrily at the ferns with his sword.
“I’m not talkin to yew! Jungo, where are ye, oaf’ead?”
The slow-witted weasel’s voice came from over Codj’s head. “Hurrhurr, I’m up in dis big tree, I kin see de ’edgepig!”
The rest of the foraging party arrived at the alder. Codj beckoned upward with his blade.
“Gerrup dere, yew lot, an’ don’t come down wirrout dat ’edgepig, de cap’n’ll wanna werd wid ’im!”
All of the Sea Raiders were skillful climbers. A solid tree was easier to scale than masts, spars and rigging on the open main. It did not take them long to lasso Orkwil with a length of rope. They heaved together, and he shot out of the ooze with a gurgle and a plop. The vermin swung him back and forth on the rope, releasing it when Orkwil was close to the alder trunk. He landed with a muddy squish, right next to Codj, who leapt aside, snarling, “Watch where yer splash dat squelch!”
The young hedgehog began unfastening the rope, which was noosed about his middle. “I’m sorry, sir, didn’t mean to splash you. My name’s Orkwil Prink, I’ve been stuck in that confounded swamp since last night. Thanks to you and your friends I’m safe now. Phew! I couldn’t have lasted much longer in there, I can tell ye!”
The fox’s footpaw stamped down on Orkwil’s stomach, knocking the wind from him, and stopping him from untying the rope. Codj put his swordpoint to Orkwil’s throat. “Gabby liddle ’edgepig, ain’t yer? So then, Orful Stink, where do ya comes from, eh?”
The other vermin had descended from the tree, they laughed at Codj’s little joke. It took Jungo a moment to catch on, then he guffawed appreciatively. “Huhurrhurrhurr! Orful Stink, dat’s a good ’un!”
The young hedgehog sighed. “That’s twice in two days somebeast’s not said my name right. It’s Prink, not Stink. Orkwil, not Awful. Orkwil Prink, if y’please!”
Codj sneered, pricking his captive’s throat with the swordpoint. “If y’please? Well, don’t ’e talk pritty. I asked yew a question, Orful Stink, where do ya come from? Ye’d better speak afore I starts carvin’ ya!”
Orkwil answered quickly. “I’m from Redwall Abbey, sir, but I was on a short trip, y’see, an’ I wandered into that swa…”
Codj hauled him upright sharply. “Redwall Abbey, eh, yore jus’ the bucko we’re lookin’ for. Vizka’ll want to talk wid yew! Lash ’im up good an’ fetch ’im along, mates!”
Orkwil knew it would do no good to protest, the vermin looked like a primitive and murderous crew. Moments later he was bound by all paws to a spearpole, and carried off, swinging upside down between two weasels.
11
It was dusk by the time they arrived back aboard the Bludgullet. Vizka Longtooth cast a glance at the mudcaked young hedgehog, who was trussed to the spearpole. He shook his head pityingly at his younger brother. “Dat’s der queerest kind o’ vittles I’ve seen in a while. Wot d’yer want luggin’ dat filthy ’edgepig aboard of a nice ship like dis?”
Codj flourished his sword, pointing it at Orkwil. “Jus’ guess where dis ’edgepig comes from.”
The golden fox wrinkled his nose. “A swamp by the smell of ’im!”
Codj nodded. “Aye, dat’s where we found ’im, but do yew know where ’e lives, eh?”
Vizka stared levelly at his brother and smiled. It was that dangerous smile, which Codj had come to know so well. Vizka reached for Gorath’s pitchfork. “I’m gittin’ tired o’ yore liddle games. Tell me, afore I does sumthin’ I’ll be sorry for later. Where does ’e live?”
Codj answered promptly. “Redwall Abbey!”
Vizka flung the pitchfork, it stuck deep into the mast, quivering. Grabbing his brother in a hearty embrace, Vizka pounded his back soundly. “At last ye’ve done summat right, Codj! Haharr, strike me anchor an’ gut me grandpa, a beast wot actually comes from Redwall Abbey? I knowed dat place was real, I jus’ knowed it!”
Bending down, Vizka brought his face level with the captive. “Wot’s yer name, liddle muddy matey?”
/> The young hedgehog replied wearily, “Orkwil Prink, sir.”
The golden fox threw back his head, roaring with laughter. “Haharrharrharrr! It suits yer well, Orful Stink! D’ye hear that, mates, the ’edgepig’s called Orful Stink!”
The crew laughed dutifully, nobeast dared not to, even Codj. Orkwil closed his eyes resignedly, not even bothering to correct his captor.
Vizka signalled to Bilger. “Sluice ’im down an’ clean ’im up, get rid of Orful’s Stink. Hahaharrr, that’s a good ’un, eh!”
The pails of river water which splashed over Orkwil were both clean and refreshing, he even managed to catch a swift drink. Vizka smiled his famous deadly smile, the long fangs protruding.
“Now lissen, mate, me’n my crew wants ter pay yore Abbey a nice liddle visit. But we don’t knows ’ow t’get there. Ye looks like a sensible young ’edgepig, so yew tell me ’ow, an’ I’ll take yore werd fer it, eh?”
Orkwil shut both eyes tight and clenched his teeth. The very idea of this barbarian fox and his evil crew going to Redwall did not bear thinking about. Though he was cringing with fear inside, Orkwil decided that no matter what happened to him, he would not divulge the location of the Abbey, which had suddenly become so dear to him it meant more than life itself.
Codj prodded the captive with his sword. “Ye’d better tell der cap’n wot ’e wants t’know, or yer name’ll be Orful Sorry.”
Nobeast laughed at Codj’s pun.
Vizka smiled, stroking his two long fangs as he viewed Orkwil’s show of resistance. “Lissen, ’edgepig, I knows yer can ’ear me. Tomorrer morn I’m gonna git the galley fire burnin’, good an’ ’ot, an’ I’m gonna stick a spit over it. Now I ain’t sayin’ no more, I’ll jus’ leave ye for de night, to t’ink about wot I’ll do to yer. Never fear, by der time Longtooth’s done wid ya, yore name’ll be Orful ’elpful. Haharr, ’ow about dat, mates, Orful ’elpful?”
The Bludgullet’s crew laughed obediently once more, even Jungo, who had not understood his captain’s joke.
Vizka issued orders to his brother. “Cut ’im loose, an’ chain ’im next to Rock’ead fer the night. Wake me early tomorrer, d’ye hear? Oh, an’ keep an eye on our ’edgepig through the night.”
When they came to cut Orkwil’s bonds, he kicked and fought furiously. Bilger, Firty and Jungo had to hold him still as Codj severed the rope with his sword. Between them they dragged Orkwil to the mast, where Gorath lay chained. The badger appeared to be either unconscious or dead. Codj was not about to check on Gorath’s condition, he stood with his sword ready, as Bilger and the others took a loop in the chain, and padlocked it around Orkwil’s waist. Gorath suddenly stirred, so they got out of the way speedily.
Codj beckoned to his messmates. “Let’s go an’ git some vittles an’ grog, the ’edgepig ain’t goin’ anyplace…unless the stripe’ound eats ’im!”
Jungo scratched his tail. “Do stripe’ounds eat ’edgepigs? I didn’t know dat.”
Firty gave him a playful shove. “Codj wuz only jokin’.”
Jungo thought about that for awhile, then called out to Orkwil as they headed toward the galley. “Don’t worry if’n der stripe’ound eats yer, mate, ’e’s only jokin’. Hurrhurrhurrr!”
When they had gone, Orkwil tapped the badger gingerly. “How did you come to be captured, friend?”
Gorath opened his eyes, his voice sounded hoarse and slow. “I’m from the Northern Isles, they burned my house, and slew my grandparents. The one they call Longtooth battered me down with a ball and chain. I woke up chained to this mast. I don’t know how long I’ve been on this ship, lost count of the days. My name is Gorath.” He held out a huge, workworn paw. Orkwil clasped it.
“My name’s Orkwil Prink, I’m from Redwall Abbey.”
The big, young badger suddenly became alert. “Redwall Abbey! I’ve heard about it, Orkwil, is it as marvellous as they say?”
The young hedgehog’s eyes filled with tears. “Even more marvellous, Gorath, I’ve come to realise that now. That golden fox, Longtooth, he wants to go there with his vermin. I’m sure they plan on attacking it. Listen, friend, we’ve got to get to Redwall before they do. Could you make it?”
The badger’s reply was tinged with bitter irony. “Why of course, Orkwil, but there’s a little matter of a steel chain and an iron padlock holding me to the mast. Only for that I’d love to go to Redwall with you. I see you’re locked up, too, how do you plan on leaving this ship?”
The young hedgehog inspected the padlock that held him to the chain, then he took a glance at Gorath’s lock. “Huh, that shouldn’t be too hard, mate, I’ve dealt with better locks than these rusty ole things.”
The badger seized his friend’s paw. “D’you mean you could open these locks?”
Orkwil winced. “Aye, providin’ you don’t break my paw, you’ve got a grip like a pike’s jaw. Find me somethin’ like a pin, or a nail, an’ I’ll have us free in a jiffy!”
They sat there, scanning the deck keenly, but there was no sign of anything useful. Then Orkwil pointed. “What’s that thing sticking in the mast?”
Gorath’s heart leapt as he caught sight of the object. “That’s Tung, my pitchfork. The fox must’ve forgotten he threw it. He walked off and left it there!”
Orkwil cautioned Gorath. “Keep yore voice down, mate…. Whoops!”
Being locked close to Gorath on the chain, Orkwil was suddenly swung into the air as the badger reached up and grabbed the pitchfork, which he pulled loose with a few good tugs. Orkwil hit the deck with a bump, gabbling out instructions to his big friend.
“Get down an’ lay low, hide that thing before anybeast comes up on deck, hurry!”
Gorath lay flat, concealing most of the pitchfork with his body. Orkwil kept watch, assuring himself that all was quiet above deck. He ran his paws around the mast, searching until he found what he needed.
“Now go nice’n’easy, friend, there’s a nail stickin’ out a bit, right about where my paw is now. Could you lever it out quietly with one o’ the prongs of your fork?”
Whilst Orkwil kept watch, Gorath probed at the nail-head. Getting the prong of his weapon beneath the lip of the nail, he levered carefully at it. The nail gave a slight creak, then it began to move, bit by bit. Gorath wiggled it from side to side, until it loosened. Putting the pitchfork aside, he braced himself. Gripping the nail in his big, blunt claws, he heaved away, yanking it free of the mast timber.
They both sat with their backs to the mast, as Orkwil took the nail and went to work. He twiddled it in the keyhole of Gorath’s lock. The badger watched anxiously, whispering, “What’s happening, is it opening?” He fell silent as the young hedgehog glared at him, wiggling the nail back and forth. Orkwil grinned.
“A good thief can open any lock. There!”
The padlock lay open. Gorath breathed a huge sigh as he loosed the chain from his middle.
Orkwil chided him, “Be still, bigbeast, give me a chance to get my lock off. Wait…wait…ah, there it goes, mate!” The chain clanked to the deck. Orkwil was about to rise, when he sat back down speedily. “Be still, somebeast’s comin’!”
It was Codj, coming to check up on the two prisoners. Halting where he knew he was out of the badger’s reach, the stump-tailed fox peered through the darkness at them both. He was surprised to see Gorath sitting upright, though he could not see that the captives were free. Codj turned away, heading back to his cabin, commenting aloud, “Still alive, eh, Rock’ead, huh, wot keeps ya goin’?” He half-turned as something sounded behind him, but Codj was too late. Gorath’s huge paws were around the fox’s neck, and he was whispering in his ear.
“I’ll tell you what keeps me going, the need to slay my kinbeasts’ murderer. Tell me again how you locked them in a farmhouse, and burned them alive. Tell me!”
Orkwil watched in horrified fascination as Gorath shook the already dead fox like a rag. He ran to the badger, tugging at his simple, homespun tunic. “Come on, mate, leave him, we’ve
got to get away from here. We must get to Redwall an’ sound the alarm!”
With the limp form of the fox still clenched in his paws, Gorath turned to face the young hedgehog. Orkwil gasped with fear. The badger’s eyes were blood red, his teeth bared like a madbeast. Gorath was in the grip of Bloodwrath. Then something very odd happened. Gorath dropped the carcass of his foe, picked up both Orkwil and his pitchfork and slid over the side of the ship, into the River Moss. By the time they reached the bank, he appeared quite calm. Orkwil attributed his friend’s sudden change to the cold riverwater.
“Which way to your Abbey, my friend?”
Orkwil pointed. “Go east, we’ll cross to the other bank when we’re safe out of this area.”
They set off into the nightshaded woodland, with Orkwil leading the way. He had been walking rapidly for awhile, when he noticed that Gorath was dropping behind. The badger’s pace was noticeably slower, and he was having to stop, leaning on the pitchfork, with his huge striped head drooping. The hedgehog waited until his friend caught him up, one look at Gorath was all he needed, Orkwil shook his head.
“Yore in bad shape, everythin’ is catchin’ up on ye. Rest, an’ vittles, that’s what y’need, matey. Sit down.”
Gorath slumped wearily to the ground. His head wound, thirst, starvation and cruel treatment had finally taken its toll. That, with his brief attack of Bloodwrath, had left him as weak as a Dibbun.
Orkwil scratched his headspikes, trying to think what to do. The answer came to him in a flash, he took command, issuing Gorath with orders. “I’ve got it! I know this neck o’ the woods, mate. Now you stay here, keep that Tung thing with ye, but don’t move, sit right here. I think there’s a big, ole bed of ferns hereabouts, stay clear of it, ’cos it’s a swamp. Someplace along the bank there’s a fat, greedy vole. That beast’s got two things we need, vittles an’ a place to rest. You stop here, I’ll come back for ye as soon as I can. Understood?”
Gorath rose with a grunt. “I’m coming with you.”