The shrewmaid bobbed a quick curtsy. "Me name's Flib-ber, but youse kin call me Flib."
Buckler prodded the unconscious vermin with a footpaw.
"Pleased to meet ye, Flib. What did these two want with you?"
Flib shrugged. "Huh, I dunno. They jus' snucked up on me an' tried t'drag me off sumplace, dunno where!"
She took the knife from the weasel and the club from the scraggy fox, commenting grimly, "But they won't do it again--no blunkin' vermins will. Hah, jus' lerrem try, now that I've gorra few weppins meself!"
41
Diggs enquired, "What are you doin' out here on your own, missy? Where are you from, wot?"
She pointed the blade at him aggressively. "None of yer bizness, nosey!"
Diggs went off to get their supply haversacks, chunnering as usual. "Mind my own jolly business, indeed. There's flippin' gratitude for you. Lay two vermin low, save the wretch's life, an' that's all the bloomin' thanks one gets. If I hadn't made her my business, she'd be in a bally bad spot now, indeed she would, ungrateful liddle snip. Huh, young uns these days, wot!"
Buckler tried reasoning with Flib. "It wouldn't hurt to say where you hail from, Flib. What about your parents? I'll wager they're prob'ly quite worried about you."
It was all to no avail. She scowled at him. "Yore nosier'n yer pal, you are. Lissen, yew attend to yore bizness, an' I'll see t'mine, alright?"
Buckler turned away from her. "Suit y'self, miss."
Diggs, returning with their gear, was greatly cheered when his friend announced that they would camp there for the night. He promptly began setting up preparations for a meal. Flib feigned indifference, though she spoke to Diggs.
"Worra youse gonna do wid those two scum, eh?"
Diggs cast an eye over the two unconscious vermin. "Couldn't say, really. Er, what d'you suggest?"
The shrewmaid tested the edge of her knife blade. "Leave it t'me. I'll slay 'em wid this!"
Buckler swiftly wrested the weapon from her grasp. "You'll do no such thing! Vermin or not, they're helpless creatures, unable to defend themselves."
Not daunted, she grabbed her club and waved it. "Stan' outta me way, youse. They woulda slayed me!"
Buckler's long rapier sent the club flying. "You savage little murderer--keep away from them!"
Flib sucked her paw, scowling at him. "Yew two are daft.
42
Yer a right pair o' softies. Don't yer know that the only good vermin is a dead un? That's wot ole Jango sez!"
Diggs nodded as he chopped up a fruit salad. "I've heard that, too. Who's this Jango feller?"
She curled her lip contemptuously at him. "I've told yew once, mind yer own bizness, fatty!"
Buckler winked at Diggs. "If that's the way she wants things, mate, then let her be. She can sit apart from us and mind her own bloomin' business, for all I care!"
Diggs agreed stoutly. "Fair enough by me, old scout. She can sit alone in solitary blinkin' splendour, for all I care. Aye, an' she can shift for her bally self. I ain't givin' no supper to that ill-mannered little spitwhiskers, nor a drop t'drink, wot. I should jolly well think not, so there!"
Flib sat apart from them, her nose in the air. "I don't blinkin' well care!"
Diggs would not let it go. He retorted, "An' we don't jolly well care that you don't blinkin' well care, so yah boo sucks t'you, marm!"
The moment the two vermin began to stir and groan, Buckler took the rope halter to them. He bound the weasel and the fox back-to-back, tying both forepaws and foot-paws tightly.
Pretending that she cared little, Flib commented, "Worra ye gonna do wid the scum now, eh?"
Buckler answered without looking at her. "Don't know, really. Haven't made up my mind yet."
Shades of evening were streaking the sky as Buckler joined his friend by their little fire. "So, young Diggs, what've we got here for supper?"
The tubby young hare was a very good cook. He announced the menu aloud. "Some summer fruit salad, toasted cheese on oatcakes, slab o' fruitcake an' a drop o' the jolly old dandelion cordial t'wash it down. How does that sound t'ye, young sir, wot?"
His friend rubbed paws together, pointedly ignoring the shrewmaid sitting by with her nose in the air. "Mmmm,
43
just the stuff t'feed two Long Patrollers!" He bit into an oatcake, topped thickly with cooked cheese.
Diggs slurped down fruit salad as though he had lived through a famine season. Dipping fruitcake into the honeyed juice, he made loud sucking noises.
Flib suddenly slumped on the sand, allowing a strangled sob to escape.
Diggs looked up from his soggy cake. "I say, did you hear somethin'--sounded like a bloomin' toad bein' throttled, wot?"
Buckler replied conversationally, "Y'know, if I was a foolish little creature, a shrew, let's say, well, I wouldn't go about insulting those who helped me an' being an ill-mannered young grump. D'you know what I mean, Diggs?"
The tubby hare sucked juice from his paws. "Indeed, old top, I know exactly what y'mean. No excuse for bad behaviour, wot. I think I'd stop blubberin' an' beg chaps' pardons, show 'em I was civilized an' whatnot. Who knows, there might even be a spot o' supper left for the silly little swab!"
A moment went by then Flib took the hint. Rubbing her eyes, she shuffled to the fire. Staring at her footpaws, she murmured, "M'sorry f'bein' rude."
Diggs began milking the situation, holding a paw to one ear and calling out like an irate old colonel, "Eh, what's that y'say? Speak up, young un, out with it!"
Buckler heard the shrewmaid's teeth gritting as she sang out lustily, "I said I'm sorry f'bein' rude. I 'pologise for me bad manners!"
Diggs kept up his aged-colonel act. "Hah, did ye hear the little maggot, Blademaster Buckler? I s'pose she thinks that entitles her to some of our bloomin' supper, wot?"
Buckler nudged his friend hard. "Right, that's enough, mate. Apologies accepted, Flib. Come and sit here. Diggs, serve our guest with supper, please."
She ate like a madbeast, cramming everything in with all the speed she could muster.
44
Diggs passed her a beaker of cordial. "Whoa, marm, slow down before ye go bang! Here, take a sip o' this, slowly now. Sufferin' stewpots, how long is it since you last had vittles, wot?"
Flib chewed hard, swallowed, then sighed. "Caw, nothin' like vikkles when yer 'ungry eh? It's a couple o' days since I 'ad a feed."
Buckler refilled her beaker. "So now will you tell us what you're doing out here all on your own, bein' attacked by vermin?"
At that point, the scraggy fox, who was now wide awake, shouted angrily, "Untie us, I'm warnin' ye. Cut us loose right now!"
Buckler rose. Bowing to his supper companions, he drew his long rapier. "Pardon me a moment, please."
Crossing to where the vermin lay bound, he began assisting them to stand. "C'mon, up on your hunkers. That's the stuff, cullies!" Buckler the Blademaster circled them, swishing the air with his long, lethal blade.
"Cut ye loose, d'ye say? I'll cut you, ye hardfaced villains, though it mightn't be loose!"
The hulking weasel and the scrawny fox wailed in terror as he came at them with the whirring sword. Whip! Snip! Whizz! A few expert strokes shaved the whiskers from the petrified pair. Buckler chuckled grimly. "I'd hold very still if'n I was you. Don't want t'get in the way of my blade, now, do we?"
Keen steel slashed through the weasel's belt, causing his ragged pantaloons to fall round his footpaws. Ting! A brass earring was chopped neatly from the fox's earlobe. Swish! He lost a tail bracelet. Thwup! A shabby sleeve dropped from the weasel's dirty shirt. Pingpingping! This was the sound of three fancy bone buttons shooting off the fox's tawdry waistcoat.
Buckler surveyed his work, leaning on his sword hilt. "What d'ye think, Miz Flib. What next?"
45
The shrewmaid bellowed savagely, "Their ears, snouts-'n'tails, then their necks!"
The vermin collapsed on the sand, pleading pitifully.