Bigfang rubbed his ribs where the sword had scraped his hide. "How do we know they're goin' to come
back?"
Graypatch shook his head as if despairing. "Short on brains an' long on mouth, that's you, matey. Of course they'll come back. They're noble creatures, they couldn't leave poor slaves in the claws of us cruel sea-rats! But this time we've laid the traps, this time we'll catch them, an' I'll parade 'em in chains outside their Abbey. You mark my words, those Redwallers won't be so high 'n' mighty then. They'll be ready to listen to old Graypatch's terms, mates. Aye, short on brains,
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Bigfang, just like I said. You stick with me, matey. Let me do the thinkin', and one day we could be rulers of a whole slave army of Redwallers, hahah! Imagine that, they could be mercenaries, spearfodderwith an army that size we could build ourselves another fleet an' conquer Terramort for ourselves, kill Gabool an' seize his island. Then we'd be rulers of Redwall an' Terramort, mates!"
oo
Hon Rosie lay on her back a short distance from the camp. She twanged upon a tripwire as she listened to Graypatch lecturing his crew. Clary and Thyme sat with the moles, holding a whispered conference.
"Super plan, y'knowtripwires, springropes an' hostages. I'd give the scurvy blaggard an 'A' for alertness, wot?"
Foremole extended his powerful digging claws. "Oi knows wot oi'd loik t' give 'im, pesky searatter!"
Clary was busy undoing a tripwire. "Good effort, all the same. Come on, hares, let's undo this little lot an' set it up in a new location. Thyme, can you manage those rope traps?"
"Certainly, Clary old chap. I say, these searats are rather good at tying knots and whatnot, must be with all that messin' about in boats."
"I 'spect so. How're you mole chaps feelin', fancy a spot of diggin'?"
"Hohurr zurr, we'm frisky as frogs an' fitter'n fleas. Whurr do 'ee want us a-start, gaffer?"
Foremole trundled about muttering calculations, glancing from certain spots on the ground toward the rat camp.
"Gurr'm, let oi see naow. Root crossens thurr, thurr an' yon. Stoans a-layen yurr an' thurr. Reckernin' fer a swift 'n' easy deep tunn'l, oi sez us'n's be hadvised to start diggen roight yurr!" He scratched a large X on the woodland floor with his digging claws.
Dan'1, Groaby and Buxton went to it with a will.
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Sentries were posted all around the fringes of the camp. Graypatch settled down close to the fire, his one good eye searching the woodland edge for signs of movement. Bigfang and Lardgutt fought briefly over possession of a ragged blanket before ripping it in half, then each lay down, trying to cover himself with the skimpy remnant. Gradually the searats' encampment quietened down for the night, the silence broken only by an odd crackle of burning branches on the fires. Sentries blinked their eyes to stay awake, heads drooping as they leaned heavily on pike and spear.
Brigadier Thyme watched the scene from the low boughs of a sycamore some distance away. Finally satisfied that everything was ready, he climbed down and reported back to Clary.
"Operation Oarslave now feasible to commence.
Sah!"
"Good scout, Thyme. Right, troops. Forward, the Buffs. Oh, and Rosie, try to remember, will you, one whoop an' we're in the soup!"
"Oh, I say, Clary, jolly poeticone whoop an' we're in the soup. Not to worry, I've given up whoopin' for
the moment."
oo
A searat named Fleawirt lay asleep facing the main fire. It was difficult trying to sleep in open woodlands after a life of sprawling to rest in the swaying, rocking crew's accommodation of a ship. Fleawirt awoke. His face was scorched and burning with the fire, though his back was stiff and chilled to the bone by the night breezes. He turned grumpily over, placing his back toward the fire. As he did, a sharp twig stuck in his cheek. Fleawirt sat up, cursing silently as he rubbed his injured face. Then a very strange thing happened.
Sitting up, facing away from the fire, Fleawirt found himself looking at the oarslaves. They lay sleeping, chained in pairs, some whimpering in their dreams, others clutching each other tightly in slumber. Then
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there was a slight clink of chains and four oarslaves vanished into the ground!
Fleawirt rubbed his eyes and yawned, half turning to He down once more. Then the oddness of what he had seen hit him. He stood bolt upright as another two slaves disappeared into the earth!
"Cap'n Graypatch! Look, the slaves!"
Fleawirt's cries aroused the entire camp. Graypatch sprang up and began shaking Fleawirt.
"What's goin' on? Tell me!"
"The slaves, the ground, four of 'em, then another two, the floor, I saw it!"
"Stop babblin' like a fool. Now tell me what happened, properly!"
"Well, I was sittin' up awake an' all of a sudden I saw four of the oarslaves just vanish into the floor. I looked again an' another two went, right in front o' me eyes, Cap'n. I swear it!"
The oarslaves were wakening, yawning and rubbing at their eyes as the noise around them grew into a hubbub. Graypatch ran among them, scattering the thin bodies left and right, a flaring torch held high. Quickly he counted themtwelve, including the squirrel. Fleawirt was rightsix oarslaves had vanished, somehow. He stumbled as he stepped into a small pothole, which on closer inspection proved to be a tunnel which had been backfilled after the slaves escaped. Graypatch sank his sword uselessly into the loose earth, stabbing at it wildly.
"It was a tunnel! They got six slaves out through a stinkin' tunnel!"
Bigfang strode about, nodding his head knowingly. "So, a tunnel, eh, matesthat's how they did it. Prob'ly got some of those squirrels to do their diggin' for them. I thought so!"
Graypatch grabbed Bigfang by the nose. Digging his claws in tightly, he twisted with cruel ferocity.
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"Moles, muckhead, not squirrels! Moles, d'ye hear
mer
Bigfang pranced about, tears squirting from his eyes. Graypatch aimed a hard kick, which caught him in the rear and sent him sprawling.
"Now up on yer claws, the lot o' yer. Spread out an' get searchin'. They can't have gone far. I want 'em back, dead or alive!"
Clary, Thyme and Rosie appeared, just outside the clearing, "I say, slobberchops, you shouldn't've twisted the poor chap's hooter like that. He was right, we did use squirrels!"
"Get theeeeeemmm!" Graypatch's voice was somewhere between a roar and a screech.
The searats charged forward in a mob at the three hares. Then they hit the tripwires that had been carefully set anew. The hares melted into the woodland, being careful to travel in the opposite direction from Foremole and his crew, who were guiding the six slaves back to Red wall.
Graypatch and several others who had been at the back of the charge followed the hares, leaping over the sprawling heaps of rats who had fallen or tripped or been pushed onto the tripwires by the momentum of their dashing comrades. Graypatch looked back at them over his shoulder.