“Never again, Skip, not if’n I lives more’n a thousand seasons. I’m done with sailin’, mate!”
The shrews were kindling a cooking fire. As Skipper watched them laying out huge quantities of food, he did a swift head count.
“There’s four paddlers apiece to each logboat, Tiria and meself, Urfa, Brink, an’ Dobra, an’ Pandion somewheres up there. So why are ye layin’ out enough vittles for an army? Does yore friend have a crew with him?”
Log a Log Urfa was scattering some stale shrewbread on the dunetop. It was already attracting seagulls. “No, Skip. My friend Cuthbert sails alone. He’s a real odd ’un. I’d be hard put to explain him to ye. So ye can judge for yoreself when he gets here.”
Coming down from the dunetop, the Guosim chieftain forestalled Tiria even before she asked the question. “Seabirds’ll come from afar for vittles. My friend Cuthbert usually sails these waters. Once he sights gulls flyin’ over this way, he’ll follow ’em. Cuthbert ain’t a beast to give up a chance o’ vittles lightly, miss. Ahoy, Dobra, git up on that other dune an’ give a shout when ye sight a sail out at sea.”
Pandion landed amid the gulls and frightened them off, so Tiria went and had a word with him. “You can’t stop here! You’re scaring the gulls off and making the Guosim shrews nervous.”
The big fish hawk glared hungrily about. “Yarraka! Then I’ll fish out on the sea. When shall I return?”
Tiria stroked the osprey’s lethal talons. “When you see me aboard a sailing ship, come down and land on it. Go now, my friend.”
Pandion soared swiftly off. Soon he was nought but a dark speck out above the waves, hunting for food.
Sunset had settled over the western horizon in a glorious riot of scarlet, purple and gold when Dobra shouted from his vantage point, “Ship ahoy, layin’ offshore!”
Everybeast climbed the dune to look. A vessel with one large, square sail, rigged amidships, was standing off from the shallows. Urfa identified it.
“The Purloined Petunia, that’s Cuthbert’s ship, shore enough. He’s waitin’ for floodtide—that’ll carry ’er up the rivermouth an’ across the shore close to these dunes. Come on, mates, let’s eat. Ole Cuthbert should join us soon.”
Guosim shrews could not be faulted as cooks: They laid on a feast fit for many warriors. There was a cauldron of beetroot, potato and radish soup; massive portions of summer salad, cheeses, breads and pastries; and a sizeable bowl of fresh fruit salad. Hot blackberry cordial and a keg of special Olde Guosim Nettlebeer completed the spread. Even Brink perked up, declaring himself fit enough to sit with the dining party. Tiria was curious to learn more about the creature who would be joining them, but Urfa was not very forthcoming on the subject, telling her to wait and see for herself.
At one point the ottermaid went up to the dunetop to view what progress the ship was making. It was halfway across the beach, with the floodtide behind it. She could not see the captain, but Pandion perched on the masthead, seemingly unbothered by anything. Tiria made her way back to the fire and sat by Urfa.
“Your friend’s not far off these dunes. He’ll be here shortly. What do we say to him, sir?”
The Guosim chieftain sliced a cheese with his rapier. “Don’t ye say a word, miss. Leave the talkin’ to me!”
As a half-moon rose in solitary splendour over the coast, their guest made his appearance. He turned out to be a big, capablelooking hare. But Tiria was surprised to see him dressed as a Guosim shrew, complete with coloured headband, kilt, broad belt and a rapier far too large for any shrew to wield. His body was crisscrossed with old scars, and he lacked half of his left ear. He loped silently up and sat by the fire. Then he began eating as though he had lived through several famines. Not a word passed his lips as he ravenously tackled soup, salad, cheese, bread and pastries.
Urfa rose quietly, beckoning everybeast except the hare to follow him. He led them to the shoreside of the dune and signalled them to sit. Tiria fidgeted impatiently, but Urfa waited a while before speaking in a low voice.
“Hush now, an’ lissen t’me, mates. No jokin’, though, I’m deadly serious. Tonight Cuthbert thinks he’s a shrew, so his name’ll be Log a Log Boodul. Have ye got that?”
Brink scratched his headspikes. “But I thought you said his name was Cuthbert somethin’ or other Bloodpaw. Why’s he changed his name all of a sudden?”
Urfa cautioned the Cellarhog, “Keep yore voice down, Brink. Ye call him Cuthbert when he’s a sea otter pirate, but whilst he’s a shrew his name is Log a Log Boodul. Understand?”
Tiria sighed with frustration. “No, I don’t understand. What sort of a game is he playing, anyway?”
Urfa stared out at the moonlit sea. “ ’Tis a long story that I don’t have time t’tell, but trust me. This hare is the bravest of the brave. At the mountain of Salamandastron, where he comes from, he’s wot they call a perilous beast. If’n he takes a shine to ye, then he’s loyal to death—there ain’t a more honourable or faithful friend than that hare. I don’t know the full story, but I heard he ain’t right in his mind anymore. That ’appened from all the wounds an’ knocks’n’blows he’s taken in battle. So play along with me, an’ I’ll see he takes ye to Green Isle, Tiria. Just leave it t’me, fair enough?”
The ottermaid shook Urfa’s outstretched paw. “Of course, sir, I trust you completely!”
They trooped back to the fire and sat down with the strange hare, who was still eating. Without warning he dropped his food, staring at them as if seeing them for the first time. He laughed happily.
“Well, sink me in the bay, if’n it ain’t Urfa Westbrook. Wot brings ye to these waters, ye bottle-nosed rascal?”
Urfa smiled and poured nettlebeer for them both. “Log a Log Boodul, good to see ye, me ole shipmate! These ’ere are me otterpals, Banjon Wildlough an’ his daughter Tiria. That other cove’s a Redwall Cellarhog, he’s called Brink. They’re good, trusty messmates.”
The hare did not even acknowledge them. He split open a pastie and packed it with salad, then wolfed it down in two gulps. “Oh, I knows about ’em. My eagle Pandion told me. Have ye met my ole eagle matey Pandion? Funny, that, ain’t it? Us shrews don’t usually take to eagles, but me’n’ him gets on ’andsomely t’gether. So then, wot can I do for ye, me ole logboat swamper?”
Urfa brought Tiria forward. “ ’Tis this ’ere ottermaid. She needs t’get to Green Isle, ye see. But nobeast has the guts to take ’er, ’cos of the big battle goin’ on over there.”
A wild light gleamed in the hare’s eyes. “Haharr, a battle, ye say? Can I take part in it, me darlin’?”
Tiria responded eagerly. “We were hoping you would, sir, knowing your reputation as a perilous warrior.”
Without another word, the hare bounded up and streaked off in the direction of his ship.
Tiria looked at Urfa in dismay. “Did I say anything wrong? Is he offended?”
The Guosim chieftain shook his head. “Nay, ye did just fine, gel. Wait’ll I see who he is when he comes back, an’ then take yore lead from me.”
They sat by the fire a while, picking at the wonderful food and puzzling over the strange hare. Long before they saw the hare, they could hear him. He was bawling out a sea shanty in a raucous voice.
“O shiver me timbers an’ swab me decks,
ye bullies to me hark,
Or I’ll gut yore tripes an’ dock yore necks,
an’ feed ye to the shark!
’Twas in the winter we set sail,
ye bullies to me hark,
in the eye of a storm an’ the teeth of a gale,
I fed ’em to the shark!
Their cap’n was a greasy oaf,
ye bullies to me hark,