Chapter 27
Vilu Daskar was used to freak weather in tropical waters. When the storm struck, he ordered his oarslaves put to work. With no sails to aid them, they were forced to row double time as the drums pounded out and whips cracked. Daskar himself took the wheel, tacking the Goreleech skillfully on a direct westerly course. As the tempest began slackening, he swung the vessel due east, came around the far side of the Twin Islands and anchored a safe distance offshore, behind the easternmost of the two massive hills.
Savoring the night air, Vilu sat out on deck, sating his appetite on a plate of baked fish and a flagon of nettle beer. Akkla the ferret hovered nearby, watching the stoat pick his teeth with a fishbone. Vilu dabbed at his mouth with a silken kerchief and stood up. Akkla gazed anxiously at the remains of the meal, hoping Vilu had finished.
"Had anything to eat yet, Akkla?"
Edging eagerly near the barrelhead table, the ferret bowed cringingly. "No chance ter eat durin' that storm, cap'n."
Vilu held out a paw, as if inviting Akkla to finish the meal, then clouted the ferret's face sharply, knocking him to the deck. "Go and get your own food, famine-face!"
From below decks there was a bellowing roar which mounted to a screech, quickly followed by the thudding of paws up the companionway. Bullflay, the weasel slavemaster, assisted by some of his cronies, stumbled out onto the deck. He was pressing a wadded rag to stanch the blood from one side of his head.
Vilu could see he was in great pain. "Hmm, nasty injury. How did you come by that, Bullflay?"
The weasel's toadies took up the tale with relish.
"'Twas the black squirrel, sire!"
"Aye, the berserk female. Tore master Bullflay's ear off, sire, with 'er teeth!"
"She'd 'ave 'ad 'is other ear if'n we 'adn't rescued 'im, sire. Madder'n a shark that 'un is!"
"No use floggin' 'er, sire, two whips master Bullflay's broke on 'er. Two!"
Vilu sat back, a smile hovering across his eyes. "So, and what would you have me do with this berserk warrior, Bullflay my friend?"
The weasel's flabby jowls quivered with rage. "I wants yer t'let me kill 'er, sire, tie rocks to 'er neck'n'paws an' slide 'er into the water nice'n'slow. Let the other oarslaves watch 'er drown bit by bit!"
Vilu nodded under standingly. "You'd like that, eh, Bullflay?"
A drop of blood spattered the deck as the slavemaster nodded. "Aye, sire, I'd like it fine after wot she did t'me!"
Vilu dallied with the bone handle of his scimitar. "I've no doubt you would, but I'm captain aboard this ship, not you. I decide who lives or dies and that squirrel is not ready for death yet. Cut her food and water for a few days. That should do the trick."
Bullflay was about to protest when he saw a dangerous glint in Vilu's eyes. He saluted sullenly. "As y'say, sire."
Vilu smiled sweetly, perilously. "Precisely, my lard-bellied friend. As I say!" He beckoned to Akkla, who was still crouching on the deck, holding his face where he had been struck.
"Stop slobbering about down there. Get up! Take four crew and go ashore. Climb that hill, and mount a lookout for the ship that was following us. Report to me when you sight it. I'll lay an acorn to an apple that they'll do like any other vessel does when they come to Twin Islands. Parug, do you know what they'll do?"
The searat bosun shook his head. "No, sire."
Vilu closed one eye and squinted toward the channel separating both islands. "They'll sail straight up the middle of there, always do. We'll be waiting for them when they emerge from the channel mouth and meet them head on with our spike, eh, Parug?"
A quiver of evil joy shook the bosun. "Stick 'em like a gnat on a pin, sire!"
Vilu filled a beaker with nettle beer, passing it to Parug. "Like a gnat on a pin. What a quaint turn of phrase!"
Far below on the bottom deck of the trireme, Norgle the otter sat on the second row, staring in admiration at the back of Ranguvar, sitting alone on the front bench. Lash-marks scored and quartered the black squirrel's back, where Bullflay had done his best to flog her into submission. He had failedevery slave chained to an oar throughout the length and breadth of the Goreleech knew it. It brought fresh life and the spark of defiance into the hearts of even the oldest and most timid. Norgle heard the heavy pawstep of Bullflay descending and murmured softly to Ranguvar. "'Tis Bullflay, matey. Get yoreself ready for the worst. Like as not he'll slay ye for bitin' off his ear."
The black squirrel's eyes glowed with fierce battle light. "Hah! Not before I've bitten his other one off!"
"Silence down 'ere. One more peep an' I'll flay yore backs t'the bone, y'bilge scrapin's!"
A hush fell as Bullflay's whip cracked aloud. Still holding the rag to his ear, he strode up and stood by the drum. Raising the whip high, he glared at Ranguvar. "An' you'll be the first t'git flayed, squirrel!"
The eyes of Ranguvar bored into her hated enemy. "An' you'll be the first to die, lardbucket!"
Bullflay quailed under the berserk stare of Ranguvar. He let the whip fall and strode off, muttering, "We'll see 'ow bold yer are after a couple o' days without vittles or water. That'll cure you!"
However, when food was served up to the oarslaves, even though it was only a crust, one bowl of thin gruel and a cup of water, everybeast saved a small portion. When the oardecks were quiet, the food was passed from paw to paw until it reached the captive berserker.
Mid-morning of the following day saw Dulam, whose watch it was at the topmast, bellowing, "Laaaaaaand hooooooooo!"
Luke joined him at the lookout point. The high, humped hills of Twin Islands stood out fresh and green in the warm sunlight. He patted Dulam's back.
"Well done, mate. You'll get an extra portion at lunch for bein' the first to spot land!"
Dulam sighed mournfully. Luke was a warrior, not a cook. "An' will I have to eat it, too?"
Luke tweaked his friend's ear playfully. "There's gratitude for ye, after me slavin' over a hot galley stove since dawn, makin' skilly'n'duff for ye."
Dulam sighed wistfully. "My ole mum used t'make the best skilly'n'duff on the northland coast."
Luke chuckled as he climbed out of the rigging. "Well, I ain't yore ole mum. Mayhap we should've brought her along, Dulam."
"Aye, mayhap we will next time. She's as good with a ladle as you are with a sword. Dear ole mum, yore liddle Martin used to come 'round to our cave for her apple pies. Sweet apples, golden crust, steamin' hot, dusted with spices an' warm arrowroot sauce poured over 'em. I can taste 'em right now."
Luke helped Dulam down to the deck. "Well, let's hope she's still feeding my son, make him grow up big'n'strong. Now will you stop natterin' on about those pies, 'tis turnin' me off my own cookin'!"
"Huh, that wouldn't be hard to do!" Vurg remarked in passing.
Luke heard him. "What was that you said, Vurg?"
"I said the sky's far up'n'blue, mate!"
Luke glanced upward, remarking quietly to Vurg, "There's far worse cooks aboard than me."
Vurg cupped a paw to his ear. "What?"
The Warrior winked slyly at his friend. "I said, the sky's as blue as the sea."
Afternoon shadows were starting to lengthen as the Sayna lay offshore of the Twin Islands. Luke called up to the topmost watch, "Any sign of the red ship?"
Cardo shielded his eyes. "None at all, Luke!"
Vurg leaned against the tiller. "So what now, mate?"
Luke studied the Twin Islands carefully before replying.
"No good chasin' out into unknown waters with the Sayna in a bad state. No tellin' what might become of us. I think we should sail her into that channel which separates the two islands, 'tis calm an' sheltered in there. We could make the Sayna shipshape again, fix the mast properly, make a new jib an' sew up those torn sails. Sort of put everythin' to rights afore we set sail again, eh, Vurg?"