Scarum managed to turn his eyes from the food. Wot, er, righto, me old messmate, me salty seadog, er, er, bow east it is, shipmate!
The otter sighed wearily as he retrieved the tiller from the jaunty hare. Yore ‘eadin’ out t’sea, bow east is the other way. Go an’ do somethin’ else, I’ll take ‘er in.
This did not diminish Scarum’s happy mood a whit. Do somethin’ else, right ho/ Cap’n. Shall I bail out the bilges or scuttle the masthead, wot? I say, perhaps I’ll lend a paw an’ help me old messymate Sagax with brekkers! The badger stowed the rations back under the bow seat.
Breakfast will have to wait until we make land, so forget your stomach and help me to look out for reefs.
Scarum’s long ears wilted. He sat in the bows staring down into the clear blue water, muttering, Forget about breakfast, the very idea!
First shark that comes along can have me. Huh, providin’ sharks like scoffin’ thin, sickly-lookin’ chaps!
As they drew closer to the coast, Sagax could feel excitement beginning to bubble up within. I can see a stream running out across the shore, coming right through those woodlands and out of the hills. Do you think we’ve reached Mossflower country, Kroova? The otter grinned triumphantly. I certainly do, mate! Scarum set the craft rocking to and fro as he leaped up and down on the bows in a victory jig.
Well hey ho and a nonny no, good old us, wot? We finally made it, chaps, the land of scoff’n’honey. Hoorah! Sagax grabbed the leaping hare by his tailscut. Keep bouncing about like that and you’ll capsize us. I’ll watch the water. If you want to use some energy up, go and furl the sails. Take them down completely and roll ‘em up. We’ll need them to make a shelter.
Scarum’s attempts at sail-furling were pathetic. He tugged the sternsail down on his head, enveloping himself. Sagax and Kroova exchanged winks as they watched the mass of sailcloth wriggling about.
They joshed him:
That’s the stuff, mate, fold it nice’n’neat now.
You can tell Scarum’s a trained seabeast. Wish I could furl a sail like thatÑyou’d think he was born to it!
The parcel of canvas sprouted lumps as Scarum tried madly to extricate himself from his prison. Yaaagh, gemme out, you fiends, it’s dark in here. Come on, you dreadful rotters, help a chap out. Don’t you dare make breakfast until I get m’self free of this lot. Gurrrr!
Midmorning saw the ketch Stopdog glide smoothly into the stream’s outflow. Kroova dismantled the bow seat, and together he and Sagax began paddling the craft upstream, across the shore.
Scarum had finally managed to extricate himself from the clutches of the sail. He folded it carefully, muttering darkly against life’s injustices. Might’ve bally well smothered in there, huh, a lot those two would care. Almost half blinkin’ well through the day and food hasn’t passed my perishin’ lips. Next time I go t’sea it’ll be with a fat duck an’ a jolly frog, wot!
The Stopdog’s keel ground to a halt on the sandy streambed.
Kroova shipped his makeshift oar. That’s as far as she’ll go until the evenin’ tide washes up this way an’ deepens these shallows. Away, boat’s crew mates, all ashore that’s goin’ ashore!
Sagax was first overboard. He took a deep drink from the streamwaterÑit was fresh, though slightly sun-warmed. He drove a stake into the sand and moored the ketch to stop her being washed seaward.
Kroova gathered driftwood from the tideline and set about lighting a fire with flint and tinder. Soon they had a camp pitched on the dry sands, with an awning of sailcloth and a concoction of supplies bubbling merrily away over the fire.
Sagax sat under the shade of the awning, facing landward. The warm umber sands gave way to high hills topped with grass and backed by thick woodland. It was a pretty sight on a bright summer’s morn.
They had relented and allowed Scarum the position of cook. He was throwing ingredients willy-nilly into the pot and gurgling happily.
Just wait’ll you chaps taste this. Ooch! It’s a bit hot right now, but delicious all the same, wot. Even though one says it oneself, absoflippinlutely delicious!
Headed by Slitfang, a score of Freebooter vermin wandered the coastline, looking out for the landmarks that Captain Plugg had described to them.
Tazzin panted as she climbed a steep sandhill. Is this the one Cap’n Plugg said ter look out for? Slitfang shrugged. Could be. We won’t know
‘til we gets to the top an’ takes the lay o’ the land.
The stoat Scummy gritted sand between his few teeth. Wouldn’t ye think old Plugg’d come an look fer hisself? Bet ‘e’s playin’ wid ‘is new likkle boat, ‘im an’ that fat white sissy Prince.
The weasel Stinky grabbed at a tussock of grass. It came out by the roots and he tumbled backward. Wiping sand from his eyes, he flung the grass away savagely. Yore right there, bucko, I don’t see the sense in traipsin’ up an’ down the beaches.’Tis a flamin’ vinegar trip if’n yew ask me!
Slitfang turned to face the complainants. Well, I didn’t ask yer, Stinky.
Vinegar trip, eh? That’s wot ye call carryin’ out Cap’n’s orders, eh?
I ain’t askin’ ye now, I’m tellin’ youse two. Shut yore gobs an’ stop talkin’ mutiny, or I’ll report ye to the Cap’n when we gets back. Now I’ve warned yer, one more wordÑ
Tazzin had reached the hilltop. She called out to Slit-fang, Ahoy, Slitty, come an’ take a dekko at this!
The weasel turned his back on the two crewbeasts and scrabbled his way to the top.
Below them the shores stretched south, broken only by the broad stream that flowed across from the woodlands. This was what they had been looking for, exactly as Plugg had described it. However, it was not the stream that caught most of the Freebooters’ attention.
A smile of villainous delight crossed Slitfang’s ugly face. Well, scrape me barnacles, will ye look at that. I swear, ‘tis the old ketch wot King Sarengo used to tow abaft of ‘is big ship. I remembers it from when I was young. Haharr, an’ there’s a camp alongside it, all nice
‘n’ cosy like!
By this time the others had climbed up and joined him. The rat Ripper licked the edge of a sharp sickle he carried.
Couldn’t be crewed by more’n ‘arf a dozen, an’ there’s twenny of us.
Wot do yer say, Slitty?
Slitfang spat on his paws and rubbed them gleefully. I say we takes a walk down there, nice’n’quiet, so as not ter frighten ‘em off. That fire’s burnt low, bet they’re ‘avin a peaceful noontime nap under that there lean-to. Now lis-sen, youse lot, I don’t want no killin’. We’ll take ‘em as prisoners back to the Cap’n. I gotta feelin’ Plugg’d want to ‘ave a word with ‘em. Foller me, an’ no noise.
Tazzin tossed her blade skilfully and caught it. Right y’are, Slit, let’s pay ‘em a visit!
Beneath the awning, Scarum was snoring gently. Something tickled his nose; he brushed it away. It tickled again, and he hit out at it. His paw struck something hard. Opening his eyes, the hare found himself staring into Slitfang’s grinning face.
The weasel was dangling a dagger over his nose. He winked at Scarum.
Wakey wakey, rabbit, you got visitors.
The Salamandastron hare came awake fighting. His longback legs shot out into the weasel’s stomach as Scarum shouted, Eulaliaaa! We’re being attacked, mates!
His companions leaped up, Sagax flooring a rat with a hefty blow. Kroova caught a ferret’s footpaws and sent him flat. Then the Freebooters swamped them. Fighting like madbeasts, the three companions tried to battle with overwhelming odds. Scarum seized their makeshift paddle and broke free. He batted the campfire with it, sending showers of hot embers at his foes. Sagax exerted his mighty strength. Grabbing the rat Ripper, he whirled him bodily over his head.