Firty scoffed. "Hah, ya don't stan' a chance o' catchin' us! C'mon, try it, stupid!"
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Firty took off after his shipmates. Enraged by the impertinent little rat, Vizka scrambled out onto the plain and gave chase.
It was pointless. Fear lent speed to the crewbeasts' paws, beside which they began to split up, fanning out as they went. With the handicap of sword and mace weighing on him, Vizka soon gave up. He stood panting, tongue lolloping out over his two long fangs.
Firty halted, too, nimbly he skipped back a few paces, mocking his former captain. "Yore on yer own now, ya dirty murderer!"
For the first time, there was a whine of self-pity in Vizka's reply. "Firty, mate, wot did I ever do to harm ya?"
The little rat picked up a stone and slung it. He stood gritting his teeth as it fell far short of the target. Firty gave vent to all his stifled feelings as he replied to the golden fox. "Ya never did nothin' to 'arm me, apart from the kicks an' insults I put up wid from ya. But worrabout the ones ya killed ... ole Glurma, an' pore Jungo who never 'armed anybeast. Yer no good, Longtooth! Wot sorta cap'n sneaks off an' leaves all but five of 'is crew t'be slain by de enemy? An' yore a coward, too, ya ran 'cos yer frightened o' d'big stripe'ound. Well, yer on yer own now, ya murderer. An' I 'opes I never sees yer ugly mug agin!" Firty turned and bounded off without a backward glance, leaving Vizka completely deserted.
Vizka reviewed his position aloud. "Let der maggots run, dey was never any use t'me, ungrateful blaggards, leavin' dere cap'n widout a crew to sail 'is ship, how'm I supposed t'do dat?" Venting his rage on the earth, he stabbed at the ditchbed with Martin's sword, thinking back upon the Bludgullet's ill-starred voyage, and his subsequent failure to possess Redwall Abbey.
At the thought of his ship, it suddenly occurred to Vizka that he had left two of the crew to guard it. He could not recall their names, but that did not bother him unduly.
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Fortune had taken yet another turn for the golden fox. With himself and a pair of able-bodied vermin, he would manage to sail the Bludgullet.
Considerably cheered, Vizka briskly continued his journey, with a jumble of future plans revolving in his fertile imagination. Crewbeasts would not be difficult to recruit as his ship skirted the coastlands on its southern voyage. Vizka had two ways of bringing stray vermin into his service, the first of which was eminently simple: join my crew or die! The second method was for those he judged to be valuable as Sea Raiders. These he could flatter, offering them plunder, the good life and promotion aboard ship.
Vizka Longtooth could not resist laughing aloud, where were they now, his former crew, either dead alongside a horde of Brownrats, or deserters, running for their lives. He marvelled aloud at his own cunning and resilience. "I gotta fine ship, a good mace an' chain, aye, an' a sword like no other beast alive owns. Hah, a new crew? I kin pick dem up anyplace, me, Vizka Longtooth, der boldest sea raidin' cap'n dat ever strode a deck!"
Maudie trotted up front with Orkwil, Salixa, Osbil and Skipper Rorc. They had skirted the base of the plateau, and were now following Gorath's well-defined trail, northward through the woodlands. The haremaid observed wryly, "There's one jolly good thing, chaps, we don't need any blinkin' expert tracker, t'sniff the breeze an' look for bent blades of grass. Friend Gorath left a trail like a bloomin' pack o' stampedin' wolves, wot!"
Salixa nodded as she viewed the trampled and broken vegetation ahead of them. "I think he's back to his former strength. How far is it to the ford, Osbil?"
The young shrew was not sure. "Couldn't say for sure, bein' in the woodlands an' not on the path, miss. Wot d'you reckon, Skip?"
Skipper Rorc glanced up at the position of the sun. "Oh,
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if'n we keep goin' at this rate, we should see the ford come early evenin'. But why d'ye think the big feller's makin' for River Moss?"
Orkwil leapt over a half-flattened bush." 'Cos if'n Gorath's after the fox an' his crew, they're bound to get to their ship. Once they can make it t'the sea there'll be no catchin' the villains, right, miss?"
The badgermaid kept her eyes on the trail. "I only know what my dream told me, my fate is intertwined with that of Gorath, it's my duty to follow him."
Maudie merely shrugged. "As for me, I'm only doin' my duty under orders from a Badger Lord an' my commandin' officer. If I return to Salamandastron minus a blinkin' badger, good golly, one shudders t'think of it, wot, I'd be on a fizzer for the rest o' my bloomin' life!"
Rangval winked at her. "Don't you go frettin', me bold beauty, shure we'll find Gorath for ye."
Maudie sniffed indignantly. "Huh, these confounded heroic types, you'd think instead o' rushin' off to face their fate, they'd jolly well sit still an' let the Fate come to them, wot!"
Salixa smiled grimly. "A pleasant thought, but let's save our breath and step up the pace. There's no telling what we may find, if and when we catch up with Gorath."
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Just short of the actual ford, the Bludgullet lay at anchor in the tranquil waters of the River Moss. The two ferrets who had been left to guard the ship, Baul and Widge, had become accustomed to their life of happy idleness. Both beasts lay on the stern deck, sharing a flagon of ship's grog. Attached to their footpaws were fishing lines, Widge watched his float moodily, urging it to move.
"Bob up'n'down why don't ye, we ain't 'ad a bite all day."
His companion had fashioned himself a sun hat, from a large dock leaf. He pulled it down, shading his eyes. "I t'ink dose fish are like us, mate, too lazy t'move."
Widge yawned. "Go'n git another flagon o' grog, mate, dis one's empty, lookit." Sticking out his tongue, he upended the flagon, a single drop trickled out, landing on his nose. He tossed the empty flagon into the river.
His companion, Baul, closed both eyes, mimicking a snore. "Can't 'ear ya, mate, I'm asleep, git it yerself."
Widge halfheartedly threw the flagon cork at him and missed. " 'Tis yore turn t'go, I went last time."
Baul sniggered. "Aye, so ya did, but I can't go 'cos I'm der laziest beast aboard dis ship."
Widge decided to play the game, he shut his eyes. "No
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ya ain't, I am. If'n dis ship started t'sink right now, I wouldn't move. Dat's wot ya call real lazy."
Baul thought for a moment before replying. "Ya call dat lazy? Lissen, mate, I wouldn't even budge if'n dis ole ship went afire!"
A cavernous rumble sounded out, almost above their heads. Before they could stir, both vermin were pinned to the deck by the stout wooden handle of a pitchfork, which pressed down on their chests. Gorath the Flame leaned on the shaft, his deep, growling voice turning the blood in their veins to ice water.
"My kinbeasts weren't lazy, they were old and weak, so they couldn't better their way out of a burning dwelling, after sea-raiding vermin locked them in!"
Baul and Widge found themselves staring up into a pair of burning, bloodshot eyes, surmounted by a flamelike crimson scar. Panicked words tumbled from the ferrets' mouths.
"It wasn't us, lord, on me oath it wasn't!"
"We knew nothin' about it, sir, honest!"
"Aye, we're alius left be'ind ter guard der ship!"
"Cap'n Vizka ain't let us ashore fer seasons, ya gotta believe us, sir, please!"
The huge, young badger pushed down harder upon the pitchfork shaft. "Has Longtooth returned here yet?"
Grunting and wheezing as the breath was crushed from them, the crewbeasts gasped painfully.
"No, lord ... 'e ain't returned ... yet."
"We d-don't know when ta expect 'im ... uuuunnhh!"
Gorath released the pressure from their bodies. "Get up, quickly!"
They staggered upright, tenderly holding cracked ribs. As the pitchfork, Tung, was levelled at them, both vermin wept brokenly. "Aw, sir, ya ain't gonna slay us are ye, 'ave mercy!"