Clinging to each other, they bobbed on the open sea, oblivious of the glory of the setting sun and the many-hued sky which reflected in the waters all round. Night closed in on the hare and the mousemaid.
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Two massive paws shot down into the water and grabbed them both, hauling them effortlessly out of the night sea and onto a heaving deck.
"Woodsorrel, I might have known it would be you!"
Semiconscious and shivering uncontrollably, Tarquin peered up into the huge striped face of Rawnblade.
"I s-s-say, m'Lord, d-d-didn't know you'd taken t' b-b-boatin', wot?"
"You young rogue, I suppose you've brought this poor mousemaid along with you just to get her drowned!"
"Quite the c-c-contrary, s-s-sir."
"Hmm, we'll discuss that later, after you're both fixed up."
When Mariel regained consciousness she was in the cabin of the Waveblade. A charcoal fire burned in the small stove, and she was clad in cast-off searat garments. Lord Rawnblade made her drink some heavy dark wine and eat a little dried fruit.
Tarquin was fully recovered. Mariel could not suppress a smile at the comical figure he cut, dressed in searat silks with a cloak of yellow chenille draped about him. Tarquin admired the daggers and swords he had stuffed into the wide-sashed belt of orange satin, and earrings and bangles jangled as he twirled about dramatically.
"Haharr, me booties, 'tis only I, Tarquin the Terrible!"
Rawnblade sniffed away a smile threatening to steal across his face. "I'd say awful was more appropriate than terrible."
The badger Lord turned to Mariel.
"So tell me, mousemaid, what were you doing bobbing about on the high seas in company with this addle-brained creature?"
Mariel sipped more of the wine, feeling its dark
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warmth comfort her. "Well, it's a long story, sir, but I'll start at the beginning."
Outside, wind keened the darkness, scouring the face of the sea as rain began to spatter the decks. Waveblade cut her course northward, her tiller lashed in position by the sodden Gullwhacker as the ship plowed on through the night, guided by a small metal swallow.
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Abbot Bernard watched the two young shrews as they attacked the Abbey breakfast board like hungry wolves, swigging pear cordial, stuffing plum and greengage tart and grabbing hot elderberry muffins dripping with honey.
"My word, Mother Mellus, those two young ones can put it away!"
"Aye, bless them, you'd think we were facing a ten-season famine."
Simeon checked the paw of one from reaching for acorn and rhubarb crumble. "How many more of you do the searats have?"
"Seventeen, I s'pose, or eighteenaye, eighteen countin' the squirrel."
Friar Alder turned his eyes upward, nudging young Cockleburr. "Dearie me, imagine another eighteen like that at breakfast!"
"Boilin' breadloaves, Friar. They'd eat us out o'
kitchen an' Abbey!"
oo
Clary sat in Gabe Quill's cellar, sampling the latest rosehip squash with Foremole as they nibbled cheese and beechmast bake to counteract the sweetness of the drink.
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"Ahurr, you'm say 'ee wants four of us'ns this comin' noight, zurr."
"Yes indeed, four stout mole chapsall good diggers, mind you."
"Hurrhurr, baint no crittur better at diggen than us'n molers. Oi'd say Dan'1, Buxton, Groaby an moiself. Aye, we'n's the ones."
"Righty-ho, Foremole sir. Meet us at the gatehouse two hours after dark."
"Doan't 'ee wurry, zurr. Us'll be thurr, boi 'okey us will."
"Good chap, knew I could count on you. Have some more of this rosehip stuff. Quite nice, but a trifle sweet, wot?"
"No sweeter'n rose'ips orter be, zurr. Fill 'er up iffen
'ee please."
Gabe Quill filled a jug from a polished cask. He set it on the table, sniffing righteously over the remarks being made about the sweetness of his rosehip squash.
"Try some o' this elderflower an' larkspur cordial iffen you likes a less sweeter drink. But while you're a-doin' that, tell me, Mr. Clary, why did you only free two slaves las' night?"
Clary sipped the new drink, raising his eyebrows appreciatively. "Well, Mr. Quill, it's quite simple really. More than two at a time would be rather awkward to cope with, seein' as how they've got to be helped every step of the way. After all, they are in chains, y'know; bein' oarslaves, they're still chained in twos, each creature to his galley bench partner. If we can manage more'n two, all well an' good. We'll see how many of the poor blighters we can bag tonight. Now, listen carefully, Foremole me old digger, here's the
plan ..."
oo
Graypatch had been all day making the searats' woodland camp secure against intruders. He sat on a log, checking out the new setup with Fishgill.
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"Tripwires hidden in the undergrowth all around the edges o' the camp, rope traps in the trees?"
"Aye, Cap'n. Me 'n' Frink an' Kybo rigged the rope traps. Anybeast sneakin' around out there at night'll find themselves suddenly hangin' upsidedown from a tree. The tripwires are all stretched tight an' well-hidden too."
"Good! Now these oarslaveswe'll hold 'em in the center of the camp, just to one side of the main fire. That way they'll be surrounded by the crew."
The evening fires had been lit. All around them, searats squatted, cooking whatever they had found during the day. Bigfang roasted dandelion roots and some small hard apples he and Lardgutt had come across, grumbling as he watched Kybo.
"Huh, what use is roots an' sour apples to me 'n' Lardgutt? We're searats; this woodland garbage wouldn't feed a sick maggot. Kybo, matey, how's about sharin' that great fat woodpigeon yer roastin', with a couple of old messmates?"
Kybo kept his eyes on the roasting meat, his claw straying to a long rusty dagger he kept nearby. "Get yer own rations, Bigfang. Me 'n' Fishgill an' Graypatch snared this one while we was layin' out tripwires an' you was lyin' round snorin' like a hog. You want meat, get out an' hunt it."
Lardgutt's eyes strayed to the roasting woodpigeon as he absently reached into the embers for a toasted apple, with the result that he scorched his claws. Bad-temperedly he flung the apple from him. "Yowch! That's it! I'll starve afore I eat that muck!"
Bigfang looked around at other searats who had not been fortunate enough to obtain meat. They were toasting, roasting and charring almost any kind of vegetation they could scavenge. Bigfang spat into the flames.
"Hah! Livin' off the fat o' the land, eh, buckos? Does this look like the berth we was promised? Landlords of Mossflowerlook at us! Grubbin' fer roots an' berries,
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scrapin' about an' fightin' with yer own shipmates fer anythin' growin' outta the soil! Why don't we attack Redwall agin, that's what I want ter know. Sittin' round protectin' some oarslaves like they was precious booty, where's that a-goin' to get us, eh?"
Murmurs of agreement arose around the camp. Graypatch strode over, carrying a heavy limb of dead oak. He threw it onto the fire, causing a shower of sparks. Bigfang and Lardgutt were forced to jump back, beating off the fiery splinters which landed on them, their apples and roots completely squashed and ruined beneath the wood Graypatch had thrown on the fire. The searat Captain prodded Bigfang viciously in the ribs with his curved sword.
"Always the thickhead an' the rabble-rouser, eh, Bigfang. I don't know why I keep yer alive. It's not for your brains, I can tell ye. Anybeast with half a grain o' sense would tell yer what I'm about. Last night taught me a lesson: if those Redwallers want to free the slaves, they've got to come an' try, see? Look at it this ways, they're goin' to no end o' trouble to rescue slaves who they don't even know. I've seen their type afore. Now, imagine how they'd feel if we captured some of their own? Haharr, that'd be somethin' now, wouldn't it! Us havin' Redwallers as hostages. It'd be like ownin' a ticket fer free entrance to their Abbey."