The big fish gave an earsplittin' squeak and shot a jet of water into Beau's astonished face. He sat back wiping water from his eyes, remarking to Vurg, "Pity that chap never had an auntie to teach him a few manners, wot. Spittin' seawater into a feller's fizzog, huh, very nice, I don't think!"
Bolwag flapped Beau's ears gently with his huge flipper. "Don't you go talkin' about my pals like that, matey. Kweekum an' his school 'ave been friends o' mine since I was a pup!"
While Bolwag held an unintelligible conversation, which consisted of exchanging varying degrees of squeaks with Kweekum, Beau whispered to Vurg, "Tchah! School indeed. Only school that chap ever attended was the school of spittin'. I'd give him detention or a few whacks of the cane if I was his schoolmaster, wot! Blighter can't even speak without squeakin' like a confounded seagull. I'll bet all the baby bottlenoses are a right shower of yahoos. Still, y'can't expect any better if you're brought up with a name like bottlenose, I suppose, wot wot?"
Over a score of dolphins were around the raft, propelling it along at an alarming rate. Every so often, an extra frisky one would jump out of the sea and leap clear over the raft. Vurg sat awake, excited and astounded by it all. Beau tried to sleep, stuffing a piece of bladderwrack in both ears, muttering to himself, "Fat chance of shuteye a chap's got 'round here. Great lump of a Bolwag, snorin' away like a thousand frogs on concert night, an' those pesky bottlenoses squeakin' like a pile o' rusty gates. Not the sort o' thing a Cosfortingham's used to at all. Indeed not. Good job auntie's not here!"
However, despite the intrusions, Beauclair Fethringsol Cosfortingham was soon adding to the din, snoring uproariously and chunnering on in his dreams through the night watches as the strange craft hurtled toward its destination over the sprawling main.
"Hmm, mm, wot? Pass the salad there, auntie, an' tell the cap'n to stop the boat rockin', will you? Mmm, mm. No thanks, old chap, couldn't touch another bowl of that bladderwrack pudden, foul stuff. Give it to old bottlenose for school lunch, will you? Sharks like that sort o' thing. Mmm mm, wot!"
Chapter 31
Bullflay cracked his whip over the heads of the wretched rowers chained to the decks of the Death Pit.
"Back water an' ship oars, you idle bunch o' land-spawn! Sit still there, not a word or a move, or I'll 'ave the hide off yore backs 'til yer bones shows through!"
Luke heard the anchor splash as he drew his oar inboard. Placing a cheek flat on the oarshaft, he tried looking through the rowing port, but it was a very limited view. Shallow clear water, a white sand beach and just a glimpse of heavily wooded rocks. Norgle the otter, who had his head bent in similar fashion, murmured to Luke, "I always hate makin' landfall. Makes me sick t'me stummick, thinkin' of green growin' things, firm ground under me paws, an' livin' free like I once was."
The otter flinched numbly as the lash descended across his back. Fleabitt the rat stood wielding his own personal whip, sneering at the chained Norgle.
"Then don't think, oarscum. Mister Bullflay told yer not to move or speak, now I'm tellin' yer not to think, see!" He turned as chains rattled nearby. Ranguvar was sitting up straight, her mad eyes boring into the rat.
"Try that on me, ratface. I'm thinkin'aye, thinkin' I'd like to get just one paw 'round your louse-ridden throat. Go on, swing that lash, see if y'can stop me thinkin'!"
Fleabitt wilted under the black squirrel's gaze and fled the bottom deck, following Bullflay without a word.
Vilu Daskar came out of his cabin, the silken scarf still bound around his neck, which was permanently marked from Luke's attack upon him. He cleared his throat painfully and beckoned to the two ferrets, Akkla and Ringpatch. They hurried to his side for orders.
"Break out the neckchains. We need watercask carriers and food gatherers. Choose a party, but only from the top deck. Take enough crew with you, so that you have two to each one slave. We'll lay over here two nights for provisioning. If any slave escapes, you'll answer to me with your lives."
Vilu stood waiting while two searats set up a chair and table on the stern deck. When a canopy had been rigged over the chair and food put on the table, he sat down. "Willag, Grigg, Bullflay, bring the mouse Luke to me."
Luke was freed from his oar shackles and fitted with a neckchain attached to paw manacles. Bullflay raised his whip. "Up on deck, mouse, move yerself!"
Luke smiled contemptuously at the slavemaster. "Bring that whip down on me an' I'll strangle ye with it!"
Bullflay's paw faltered, and he let the whip fall to his side. Sometimes he was not sure who he feared the most, the black squirrel or the Warrior mouse. Luke strode past him, head held high, giving a broad wink to Dulam and Denno as he passed them on his way to the stairs.
Vilu Daskar popped a wild grape into his mouth, chewing it slowly as he looked Luke up and down. "Willag, bring a chair for our guest."
The Warrior dismissed the offer with two words. "I'll stand."
Indicating the roast seabird, fruit and wine, Vilu said, "Suit yourself, Luke. Here, you must be hungry. Have some food and drink. It's goodI'm only served the best."
Though Luke's mouth was watering at the sight of the victuals on the table, he shook his head. "I don't eat food from the table of a murderer."
Vilu shrugged. "Have it your own way. I brought you up here because I want to hear more about this treasure you have hidden. Where did you come by it?"
The reply Vilu received was flat and harsh. "I've told you all, I'll take you to it, there's nothing more to say."
Vilu's bone-handled scimitar was out, its tip under Luke's chin.
"There are many ways to die: quickly, with a single stroke, or slowly, painfully, bit by bit. Now talk!"
Luke's chained paws rose, and he pushed the blade aside. "If I die swift or slow, you will never find the hiding place. Remember, murderer, I am the only beast alive who knows where it is. Kill me or my friends and you will never possess a single piece of my tribe's treasure."
Vilu stuck the bladepoint down into the deck timbers, and the scimitar stood quivering. He nodded and smiled. "You're a strange and reckless creature, Luke, different from the rest. A brave beast like you would go far in my crew, maybe even standing at my side, second in command."
Luke smiled back at him. "Aye, Daskar, then you could make me a real warrior, teach me how to plunder defenseless ones, murder innocent creatures and run away to hide aboard this red ship. You and your Sea Rogues would never stand up to real warriors in combat. Cowards, assassins and the scum of oceans, that's all the captain of the Goreleech and his crew are!"
A burly weasel named Clubface was working nearby and heard Luke's words. Thinking to gain the admiration of Daskar, he drew his dagger and leaped upon the manacled slave, roaring, "Nobeast talks to our cap'n like that an' lives. I'll gut ye!" The weasel was big and strong, but he did not possess Luke's speed. The Warrior mouse's pawchains rapped him hard between his eyes, and Luke grabbed the paw holding the dagger, twisting it inward. Clubface felt himself tripped, and fell backward. Luke slammed his weight down on top of the weasel, falling with him and driving the dagger deep into his attacker's heart. Like a flash, Luke was upright, the dripping blade in his paw, facing the pirate stoat. Daskar laughed aloud, thumping the tabletop with his scimitar handle, applauding.
"Neatly done, Luke, you are a real warrior. Come on now, you've got the dagger, try to kill me!"