The stoat pointed. “That ways, straight north.”
Trug Bawdsley, paw on swordhilt, kept trying to edge within blade distance of the prisoner. Lieutenant Scutram clasped his paw tightly over Trug’s, stopping him from drawing his blade.
“What the deuce are ye playin’ at, Bawdsley?”
Trug gritted his teeth with rage. “My sister Trey, she was slain by that vermin an’ his crew. Allow me to draw my sword, sah. I mean to kill him!”
Scutram released the young hare’s paw, shaking his head. “Carry on, by all means, Bawdsley. I’ll write it up in my report as an act of bravery. ‘Private Trug Bawdsley slays a foe in an heroic battle. The vermin, a half-starved stoat, was unarmed and held under guard on a rope halter. Bawdsley showed great courage by attacking him with a sword. The prisoner did not—beg pardon, could not—defend himself.’ There, young Trug, how does that jolly well sound, wot?”
Shamefaced, the young hare did not attempt to draw steel.
“Blinkin’ awful, sah. ’Twould make me sound like a coward.”
The lieutenant winked broadly as he patted Trug’s back. “You’re no coward, young un, anybeast could tell that. Wait, watch an’ learn, Bawdsley, an’ one day you’ll make us all proud o’ ye, eh!”
Trug squared his shoulders, saluting. “Aye, sah!”
Captain Rake Nightfur gave a tug on the prisoner’s halter. “We’ve been marchin’ the best part o’ the morn, ye rascal. Where are ye takin’ us tae?”
Before Crumdun could answer, Buff Redspore, who had climbed back into the dunes to scout the land, called out. “North an’ a point west along the shore, sah—can’t make out what it is. Shall I scout ahead an’ see?”
Captain Rake waved a paw. “Aye, do that, lassie. Sarn’t Miggory, go with her in case o’ bother.”
Miggory joined the tracker as she descended out of the dunes. Together they set off at a brisk run along the tideline.
As the column followed up at normal march pace, the haremaid Ferrul looked at Wilbee, who was trudging alongside her.
“Beg pardon, did you say somethin’?”
Wilbee pointed to himself. “Who, me? No, ’twas Drander.”
Drander explained mournfully, “I never said a word. It’s this bloomin’ belly o’ mine, growlin’ an’ beggin’ for scoff.”
Flutchers, another young ranker, grinned foolishly. “Y’don’t say? My tummy is, too. Listen, can ye hear it?”
He began making a noise out the side of his mouth, like a growling stomach speaking actual words. “Gwaaaa w w w , I want lunch! Kwuuuurrr! Gimme some grub!”
This caused general merriment amongst the young hares, who began imitating Flutchers.
“Bwuuurrr! Foooooood, I wan’ foooood!”
“Kwuuurrrrk! Scoffff, I need scooooofffff!”
Corporal Welkin Dabbs was down on them sternly. “Silence in the ranks, ye bellowin’ beasts! Don’t think ye can start playactin’ ’cos Sarn’t Miggory ain’t here. The next growlin’ gut I hear’ll be on half rations an’ double guard duty tonight! D’ye hear me, wot!”
Ferrul fluttered her eyelashes prettily. “We hear you, Corporal!”
Dabbs pulled a ferocious face at her. “Then pay attention, me beauty. I may only be a corporal, but I’m an ’orrible, fearsome corporal who’ll have your ears for breakfast, your scuts for snacks an’ your guts for garters! Wot’ll I have, Miss Ferrul?”
The pretty haremaid fluttered her eyelids again, replying in a soothing tone, “You’ll have the most frightful headache if you continue bellowing like that, Corporal dear.”
Welkin Dabbs glared at her, his ears a-twitch with wrath. “Watch that dressin’! Pick up your pace at the back there! Hup two, left right! Shoulders back, Wilbee. Eyes to the front, Miss Ferrul! Now march, you sloppy, straw-pawed,’orrible, misbegotten lot!”
From the ranks, an unidentified young hare sobbed mockingly, “Oh, dear. I wish our lovely old sergeant would come and rescue us from this cruel corporal!”
The object Buff Redspore had espied from the dunetop appeared as no more than a dark smudge above the tideline. Miggory’s paws drummed time with the tracker’s as they drew closer to their goal. The sergeant put on a spurt. Drawing ahead of Buff, he held up a paw, calling out a warning.
“Hold ’ard, marm. Let me take a peep first!”
Buff knew Miggory never acted without purpose. She halted but could not help querying his motive. “I say, Sarge, why do I have to stay here?”
Miggory’s reply was terse. “Just smelled somethin’ I don’t like. Stay put, if ye please, marm.”
It was a large mound of ash, black, white and grey, from a sizeable fire long gone cold. The grizzled colour sergeant stirred the debris with a swift paw. He crouched down, eyes roving over the area, shaking his head.
The tracker took a few tentative paces forward. “What is it, sah . . . ?”
Miggory whirled in her direction, his voice loud and strained. “Wot did I tell ye, Redspore? Stay back! Take yoreself off now, back t’the column. Tell Corporal Dabbs t’keep the young uns away. Send Cap’n Rake an’ Lieutenant Scutram t’me, quick h’as ye like!”
Buff hesitated. “But, Sergeant, what is it?”
Miggory’s bellowing sent her scurrying to obey.
“Don’t argue with me—just do as yore h’ordered!”
The column stood well off downshore as Captain Rake and Scutram crouched amidst the ashes with Miggory. Rake Nightfur’s eyes were blank with shock as he picked an object from the ruins.
“What manner o’ monster could do sich a thing tae another creature? Ah’ve never seen ought like et!”
Scutram surveyed the awful scene, leaning on a lance. “Aye, this has got t’be the work of a Wearat, sah.”
7
Young Uggo Wiltud soon found that Jum Gurdy’s bark was not serious, and his supposed bite was nonexistent. The young hedgehog knew that the otter, despite his forbidding size and appearance, was quite easygoing. Together they trudged off along the path, cutting across the ditch and travelling west through the area of Mossflower woodlands which skirted the vast flatlands. Midmorning saw warm sun seeping through the leafy canopy of oak, beech, elm, sycamore and other big trees. Soft, loamy earth was sprouting with grass, young fern, cowslip, primrose, silverweed, milkwort and alkanet. Birdsong was everywhere, echoing through patches of sunlight and shade.
None of this was of any great interest to Uggo, whose stomach had been telling him of his need for food all morning. Jum, who had been forging doggedly ahead, turned to the young laggard in his wake. “Are ye weary already, Master Wiltud?”
The reply was loud and swift. “No, I’m ’ungry, Mister Gurdy!”
Jum nodded at the sky. “Sun ain’t reached midday yet. That’s when we stops for lunch. Keep goin’ awhile yet.” He carried on.
Uggo followed, but not without complaint. “Huh, ’tis alright for you, Mister Gurdy. You ’ad brekkist back at the Abbey, but I never, an’ I’m starvin’!”
The otter leaned on the lance he used as a travelling stave. “Ho, dearie me, pore liddle ’og. Wot a pity ye can’t go sneakin’ off down t’the kitchens a-stealin’ vittles.”
Uggo stuck out his lower lip surlily. “Wouldn’t ’ave to. There’s always summat t’be ’ad round Redwall. You only’ave to ask nicely.”
Jum made a sweeping gesture with his stave. “An’ wot about ole Mossflower, eh? There’s plenty t’be ’ad around here without even the askin’!”
Uggo chanced a scornful snort. “Hah! Like wot?”
The big otter cast swiftly about, then pulled a stem with yellow buds adorning it. “Like this. Try it.”
The young hedgehog took the stem, sniffed it, then took a tentative nibble. “Tastes funny—wot is it?”
Jum shook his head pityingly. “You young uns are too used t’bein’ carried round an’ gettin’ vittles served up on a platter. That’s young dannelion, matey. I ate many a stem o’ that when I was yore age. Now, try some o’ these.”