Sculrag was fat, but he was strong. Rewinding the rope around his shoulders, he dragged hard, digging his footpaws deep to gain purchase until he felt the waves lap at them. Sculrag smiled then, the wreck of his ship and the crew that was lost on the reef all forgotten. Whoever it was up in those rocks, they would not be adding him to the list of the slain. He, Sculrag, would escape, and once the longboat was in the sea and he could hoist the single sail to catch fair wind, he was certain nobeast alive would catch him. One more tug, just one more! His footpaws hit something solid and he glanced over his shoulder. Sculrag's blood ran cold as he stared into the vengeful eyes of Grath Longfletch.
Moonlight glimmered and danced across the restless waves as the longboat skimmed lightly south on the open seas. Grath was now captain of her own little vessel.
Every scrap of Waveworm' s canvas was stretched tight; she dipped her bows deep to the troughs of great waves. Spray hissed as she forged over the surface of endless steps, leaving behind a silvery wake, like the track of a giant snail.
Bladetail the steersrat wiped seawater from his eyes. He leaned hard on the long wooden tiller to keep the vessel on course, east, always east, to where the sun rose each dawn. Romsca the ferret stood at the helm, eyes on the horizon. She had been Conva's first mate; the Emperor Ublaz had promoted her to captain for this voyage. Romsca was as tough and fierce as any sea vermin, but she was under no illusions. She knew that she was dispensable. If Lask Frildur brought back the Tears of all Oceans, Ublaz would not bother what price had been paid to obtain them.
Romsca joined Bladetail at the tiller; glancing through the scupper slits, she watched the rate at which the waves passed by. "Well under way an' makin' good time, mate, like as if we're in an 'urry t'rush to our deaths, eh?"
The steersrat glanced nervously around. "Stow that gab, there might be Monitors cockin' a lug t'yer."
Romsca smiled thinly as she shook her head, saying, "Not today, messmate. I may be feared o' those lizards, an' that Lask Frildurevery time he looks at me my blood runs coldbut I ain't daft. We can gab away up 'ere an' they won't be bothered t'lissen in on us. Know why?"
Bladetail put a harness on the tiller to stop it wandering. "No, why?" he said.
Romsca tapped the side of her muzzle and winked. "Well, there's two reasons, see. I figgered it out fer meself when we first took those lizards aboard. One, they're lubbers, they been ashore all their lives an' this is their first voyage. Two, lizards like them are born in tropical parts, so it stands ter reason, they can't abide the cold. Now me'n'you an' all the crew, why, we love the feel of a rollin' deck 'neath our paws. An' as fer weather, we've been through it all, foul'n'fair as well as 'ot'n'cold!"
Bladetail looked at her blankly. "I don't see 'ow that 'elps us."
The ferret explained. "Good job y'got me t'look after yer. I put the Monitors in the best cabins, up for'ard, hahaha, where they gets the real buck an' pitch of the ship, up an' down, up an' down, night'n'day. If you wants ter see a sick green lizard, take a look in the for'ard accommodation. Lask Frildur an' his gang are all laid out there, moanin' an' groanin' like they wanna die.
"Now, as we sail further east the weather gets colder, it ain't tropical no more. Ole Mad Eyes never thought o' that, but I did. So, mate, we won't 'ave no lizards bossin' us about on this trip. No sir, lizards like them can't stand the cold, take my word fer it!"
Bladetail thought for a moment, then the logic of Romsca's words hit him, and the steersrat started to guffaw aloud. "Ahawhawhaw! Yer a canny one, Cap'n, hawhaw!"
Romsca kicked his footpaw suddenly, muttering low, “Stow that cackle, 'ere comes ole Lask 'isself!"
The Monitor General's skin, which was normally gray-blue, had a definite tinge of unhealthy green to it. Hauling himself painfully over the for'ard cabin coamings, he staggered, shivering and holding tight to the deckrails.
The big Monitor's dull muddy eyes stared accusingly at Romsca. "It'z not good on waterz," he said. "Me and my Monitorz much ill. How far to Mozzflower, tell me!"
Romsca paced the heaving deck nonchalantly, gazing up at the sky and testing the wind with a dampened paw. "Oh, I'd say quite a stretch o' time yet, though if'n we lose this fair wind or run into proper rough seas, then who c'd say?"
"Proper rough zeaz!" Lask Frildur's eyes glazed over, and his jaw sagged visibly. "You mean it can get rougher than thiz?"
Bladetail was enjoying himself. "Bless yer scales, Gen'ral, you ain't seen rough water yet?' he said jovially. "Why, the sea's as still as a millpond today, ain't that right, mate?"
Romsca agreed wholeheartedly. "Aye, 'tis so, but don't you worry, sir. The Emperor said to deliver you an' yore Monitors to Mossflower shores, an' I gave 'im me solemn oath that I would. The seas'll get big as mountains an' there'll be blizzards with ice thick on the riggin's, but don't you fret yer scaly 'ead, we'll get yer there one way or t'other. You take a seabeast's advice now, sir, go an' lay down in yer cabin. Let these gentle waves rock yer to sleep. I'll send Rubby the cook along later with yore dinner, some nice fish guts boiled in ole tallowfat..."
"Bloooaaargh!"
Lask Frildur clapped both paws to his mouth and staggered off miserably to his cabin, bowed and shivering.
Romsca and Bladetail leaned against the tiller, cackling helplessly.
"Wohawhawhaw! Fish guts boiled in tallowfat, that's a good 'un!"
"Haharrharrharr! Follered by a cold pan o' greasy killy, that should bring the roses back to 'is scaly ole cheeks. Haharr!"
Chapter 8
Bright spring dawn, with no traces of the night's gale, was scarce an hour old over Redwall when little Arven flung himself on Tansy's bed in the sick bay and began buffeting her with a pillow.
"Wakey up, Tanzee, sleepyspike, dozypaws!"
With a bound the young hedgehog maid was out of bed and attacking back with her pillow. "Dozypaws, eh, you little maggot! Take that, an' that!"
The pillowcase caught on a bedpost and ripped; downy feathers flew about like snowflakes in a breeze. They both fell back on the bed giggling helplessly amid the whirling cascade.
"So, this is how villains behave in my sick bay!" said Sister Cicely, standing in the open doorway, paws akimbo. "I was going to bring you both breakfast in bed. Silly me, to think that you were still sick and exhausted and needed rest."
Tansy was about to speak when a feather tickled her nose and she sneezed. "Ah, a, a, choooo!"
Arven smiled innocently at the indignant mouse Sister.
"I fink Tanzee gotta cold."
The good Sister's paw was wagging furiously at the miscreants. "That's enough of your impudence, Dibbun. No breakfast for either of you until this mess is cleared up! Arven, get a broom and sweep up those feathers. Tansy, get needle and thread, repair that pillow and stuff those feathers back into it, this instant!"
Cicely stood over them as they went to work, still scolding. "When you've done that, I want to see those beds made, properly! Oh yes, and while you're up here, you can shake out the rush mats at the window and dust the shelves and cupboard tops!"
She stormed out, slamming the door. Immediately Arven placed his paws on his sides and began imitating Sister Cicely. "Tanzee panzee brush uppa floor, worra mess I never see'd in my life! Dearie grayshuss, likkle villains!"
Tansy shook with laughter and sneezed until tears were running down her cheeks. Then a knock sounded upon the door.