Clary struck the tree with his paw. "Darn! I knew it'd come t' this, somehow."
"What does it mean, Colonel?"
Clary coughed and brushed his whiskers with the back of a paw. "Oh nothin', marm. At least, naught fer you to worry your head about. Leave it t' me. I'll have a word with my jolly old pals we'll sort it out. Tickety-boothat's the word, wot!"
Simeon groped about with his paw until he touched Mellus's cheek. "There was a lot of false bravado in what Clary said. I think he's worried."
Saxtus watched the lanky figure of the hare retreating toward the Abbey. "Yes, the more anxious hares get the lighter they seem to make of things, have you noticed?"
Mellus stared at the young mouse intently. "That's a shrewd observation for one so young, Saxtus!"
oo
In the dormitory allotted to them, the three hares sat upon the rush-matted floor. Clary had laid out a plan of the searat encampment with various bedroom articles. He placed a lantern squarely in the middle. "That's where the bally cage is, chaps."
They studied it, Thyme stroking his waxed moustache whiskers.
"Hmmm, difficult, extremely awkward, wot! But y'say they've all gone out killin' birds an' the like. P'raps there's a chance we could pay the confounded camp a visit now and make a surprise sortie?"
Clary shook his head. "No chance, old lad. Oak Tom went an' scared off all the game in the blinkin' neighborhood. There won't be a bird or a fish for miles.
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They'll prob'ly be back by now, roastin' roots an' burnin' apples an' whatnot. It's a rotten ol' standoff."
Hon Rosie shrugged. "No way outwe're stumped!"
Clary sighed. "There is one way, the only sure way. I knew it'd come down t' this eventually, as soon as I saw those searats in Mossflower country I felt it in m' bones."
They sat looking at each other awhile, then Clary sniffed airily.
"Still an' all, Lord Rawnblade wouldn't have us do anythin' else."
Thyme chuckled. "Rather, old Rawney'd have a blue fit if we didn't!"
Hon Rosie picked up her lance and began polishing it. "I say, then let's do it, just for a lark. Whoohahah-
ahooh!"
oo
Gabool the Wild did not bother covering up the pit anymore. He cackled madly as he gazed in at the loathsome sight of the huge black scorpion perching on the carcass of Fishtail, former ship's mate of the Seatalon.
"Haharrharrharr! That'll teach Catseyes t' send scurvy traitors spyin' on me. What d'ye say, Skrabblag?"
The glistening arachnid clicked and rustled balefully. Gabool strode out gesturing into the air as he conversed with himself.
"No need for Cap'ns when there's a King! I'll show 'em, badgers 'n' bells, ships 'n' searats, Cap'ns 'n' Kings. Haharr, round an' round they run, a-chasin' each other through my head, but Gabool will win in the end!"
He swept into the banqueting hall, where the assembled searats watched in astonishment as he stood, claws on hips, talking to the great tarnished bell which dominated the center of the floor.
"Go on, ring yer way out o' that one, hearty! Oh, you'll sing fer me one day. Ring, ring, Gabool the King!"
He whirled upon the two crews. "An' what're you all gawpin' at, pray? Nothin' t' do, nothin' to report?
"The Seatalon's been sunk in the cove!"
Not bothering to see which rat had spoken, Gabool dashed to the window. "Hellfires! That's two vessels in as many days, first Darkqueen an' now Seatahnl"
"That wasn't Darkqueen, Lord, it was Rathelm, Cap'n Flogga's ship."
Gabool stroked his long, unkempt beard. "Darkqueen, Rathelm, same thing. There's Waveblade, Nightwake, Crabclaw, an' Blacksail, all t' come in. Let me know the moment they anchor."
After he had left the hall the gossip ran rife.
"Gabool's crazier'n a scalded beetle!"
"Don't let him fool yer, matey. He could still recall what ships he's got out at seaaye, an' their names, too."
"I tell yer he's bats, chattin' away to a bell, pretty as y'please."
"Well, crazy or not, this is the place where all his booty's hid. Cap'n Flogga told me that."
"Aye, an' where's Flogga now?"
"An' Fishtail as well. I've seen nary a sight o' him since we came here."
"I say let's wait'll the rest o' the fleet's in, then we'll see what the other Cap'ns have t' say about all this rigamarole."
"Waitwhat else can we do but wait, shipmates? Both our vessels are sittin' on the bed o' the cove down there. Somebeast scuttled 'em; they're sunk!"
"Gabool's changed. See his eyes? They're red like blood. He's actin' strange, mates runnin' round this place filthy as some ol' tramp. That was never his way. I don't mind tellin' yer, I'm scared."
"Anyrat who isn't is a fool, matey. But we're stuck 'ere, so we better make the best of it. Any vittles in the kitchens, I wonder?"
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Tarquin kept for'ard lookout, Mariel took the stern, Rawnblade stood at the tiller, steering a course off-line with the little swallow's flight as it dangled on its thread beneath the awning.
Mariel left off scanning the horizon to stare at the impressive figure of Lord Rawnblade Widestripe. He resembled some giant stepped out of legend, clad partially now in helmet and breastplate, the sword Vermin-fate resting beneath one paw as he steered with the other. Spray glistened, dewing the shaggy fur, as his keen dark eyes gazed out across the seas, brows lowered as if he were pondering some mystery known only to badger Lords. This then was the creature for whom her father had cast and made the great bell; she could think of no nobler or worthier owner for her father's masterpiece. Her father, Joseph. The name meant everything to Marieclass="underline" security, love, guidance and a comradeship between parent and child that was more like having a best friend than a father at times . . . his humorous twinkling eyes and ready wit.
"I say, old gel, have y'gone asleep back there? Ships ahoy and astern!"
The sound of Tarquin's voice brought Mariel back to reality.
Three sets of sails had appeared on the horizon in their wake, and Lord Rawnblade gave swift instructions. Without questioning his authority, Mariel and Tarquin took up their positions whilst the badger Lord concealed himself in the cabin below.
The three vessels Nightwake, Crabdaw and Blacksail were traveling back to Terramort in loose convoy, though now they sensed Terramort was reasonably near they broke formation and began racing to see who could anchor first in the cove.
Captain Hookfin of the Blacksail held the tiller steady as they ran before the southwest wind, tacking occasionally to keep his craft on course. He cursed as
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the Nightwake drew level, with her master Riptung at the helm. "A cask of dark wine I beat ye back, Riptung!"
Riptung swung the tiller over recklessly, causing him to veer. "Haharr, not in that ol' tub y'won't, matey!"
With superb skill and daring, the corsair Grimtooth plied his craft between them both. "Hoho, I'll show ye how a real searat sails, mates, an' I'll drink that wine to teach ye both a lesson in searatship!"
The Nightwake was now closest to Mariel and the Waveblade as the three ships bore onward, all oars pulling and sails at full stretch.
Riptung wiped spray from his eyes and looked across. From the distance all he could see was a very small steersrat and an extra-lanky lookout, both decked out in the tattered finery of searats.