Badrang sensed something was amiss. "Gurrad, Hisk! Throw that otter out of the hole and take over!"

The two Captains scrambled to obey. Putting their rods aside, they heaved Tullgrew out of the excavation and began digging fast and hard under the Tyrant's hot angry eyes. All their questing paws found was earth and more earth.

They were almost at head height when Badrang snapped at them, "Get out of it, fools. Can't you see there's nothing there?"

As they pulled themselves out, Gurrad, the shorter of the two, slipped and fell back into the hole. There was an audible sn.i.g.g.e.r among the slaves. Badrang whirled round to face them. "We'll see how long you laugh doing double workloads tomorrow!"

Hisk helped the rat out and they padded warily behind the Tyrant as he swept out of the compound, his cloak billowing darkly against the noonday brightness. Tullgrew spread her dusty paws wide. "What happened to the weapons? They weren't there."

"By the seasons! I wonder where they went." Keyla's face was the picture of innocence.

Barkjon waggled a paw under the otter's nose. "You know, you young rascal!"

Keyla smiled mischievously. "Aye, I know, but Druwp doesn't. He watched Tullgrew bury them, and I watched him. When he fell asleep, I gently pulled Tullgrew and her bedding to one side. She was asleep too, weary after all that digging. So I just dug the weapons up and found a new hiding place for them."

Tullgrew shook her head in amazement. "But where did you put them, Keyla?"

121.

"Hah! Right in the center of the compound, there, where Badrang was standing when he first came in. Hee hee hee!"

Druwp was sitting among the remnants of his feast sipping the last of the wine when the longhouse door opened with a bang. Badrang entered, flanked by Gurrad and Hisk. Wine spilled as the flagon went flying against the wall. Druwp's chair was pulled from under him, and in a trice he was flat on his back with the Tyrant's footclaws against his quivering throat.

"You made a fool of me, Druwp." The stoat's voice grated with a rage he could hardly contain, "I don't like being made to look a fool. I should kill you, but I won't. You will continue spying for me. However, first you must learn a hard lesson!"

A sob rose in Druwp's throat as Badrang called to his Captains, "Bring me those rods, then guard the door so he can't run!"

The hot still summer evening was bringing the day to a close. Tramun Clogg's crew sat out on the sh.o.r.e grouped around cooking fires. The Cap'n would not allow them to be billeted in Badrang's "fancy fort", where they could be surrounded by the Tyrant's horde while sleeping- better the open sh.o.r.e close to the tideline.

Clogg had inspected the hulk of his ship at low water. There was a chance the hull could be towed ash.o.r.e and saved to rebuild upon. The corsair's clothing steamed as it dried on him by the fire. He gnawed on a toasted mackerel and swigged noisily at a jug of old seaweed ale.

He did not notice the strangely clad hare who was sitting beside him in the twilight until the creature spoke.

"I say, old lad, any chance of a nip at that seaweed ale? I'm very partial to a drop of the old beach water."

The unflappable Clogg hugged his jug close as he 122.

eyed the odd beast indignantly. "Git yer own ale, rabbit. 'Ere, you ain't one o' my crew?"

The hare nudged him cheekily and winked. "Should bally well hope not. Flippin' rabble, wot, wot?"

Tramun turned to the nearest searat. "Ahoy, Growch. Who is this cove? One o' Badrang's?"

Growch squinted at the hare. "Can't recall seein 'im at the fortress, Cap'n. Shall I run 'im through for ye?" He drew a long rusty dagger.

Ballaw, for it was he, suddenly shot his paw out at the fire. "I say, look!"

A huge column of green flame rose wreathed with yellow smoke.

The corsairs fell back from the fire. A chunk of fish fell from Clogg's open mouth to disappear down the front of his steaming shirt.

"Stripe me, a magic rabbit. 'Ow d'yer do that, matey?"

"Can't tell you, old top. Me throat's too parched for words."

Clogg pa.s.sed the jug of seaweed ale. "Then wet yer whistle wid this 'ere."

Ballaw scrubbed the rim of the jug with his paw then emptied it with one long gulp. The searats were totally amazed.

"Waste o' good ale, that was. Like pourin' it down a well!"

Ballaw leapt up straight and gave a piercing howl. "Owooooo!"

He fell flat on his back and lay quite still.

"Haharr, I knowed it," Clogg chuckled. "E's gone an' done hisself in from 'oggin' all that ale too quick. That'n's a dead rabbit, mates!"

"No he ain't, Cap'n. Look, the rabbit's comin' to life!"

Ballaw's long legs kicked out and upward, once, twice, thrice. He began moaning, holding one paw to his throat while he stuffed the other down his mouth.

Clogg squinted closely at the stricken hare. "Wot's 'e doin' now, Crosstooth?"

123.

"Looks like summat is stuck in 'is gullet, Cap'n. Oh, look out!"

The corsairs gasped in amazement as Ballaw began pulling a long ribbon from his mouth. It opened out wide and frilly. Out and out it came as the hare pulled faster, paw over paw, changing colors as it issued from his mouth-red, blue, pink, brown, green, purple, culminating in a vivid yellow with large black letters written upon it.

Ballaw sat up and read it aloud. " 'Cap'n Tramun Clogg' -why that must be your goodself, sir!"

Clogg scratched his plaited beard fiercely. "Aye, that's me name. 'Ow'd you know?"

Ballaw leaned close to Clogg's ear. "It'd shock you what us magic rabbits know, my good fellow. Here!" He presented Clogg with a rosy apple that he appeared to pull from the pirate stoat's ear.

Tramun clacked his clogs together with delight. He was immensely taken with his new-found friend.

"Gruzzle, Boggs, fetch wine an' vittles fer our magic rabbit 'ere. C'mon, matey, tell us yer name."

Ballaw bowed courteously. "Tibbar!"

"Tibbar, wot sorta name's that?"

"Why, it's simply rabbit spelled backwards, me old buckadoodle."

"Haharrharrharr! Yore a good un, Tibbar. Do more magic fer us."

Ballaw adopted a droopingly sad face. His ears flopped downwards. "Alas and alack, old mateyfriend, I must go. But would you like to see some more magic creatures? We could put on a show of legerdemain, a tale of unrequited love and skulduggery that would astound you!"

"Aye that we would, Tibbar matey." Clogg nodded eagerly. "When'll ye bring yer friends?"

"Tomorrow eve just after sunset, into the courtyard of yonder fortress, if I have your promise that none shall harm us."

124.

The Cap'n held a grubby paw to his stomach, which he valued far more than his heart. "Promise? You 'ave me oath as a corsair, matey. You an' yer mates is to be treated like queens an' kings made o' b.u.t.terfly wings, and I'll slit the gizzard of anybeast that looks the wrong way at ye!"

"Until tomorrow night then, sweet Cloggo!"

Ballaw flung his paw out at the fire. There was a puff of heavy purple smoke, a blinding white flame, and he was gone.

The corsairs stood in a hushed group around the fire, rubbing their eyes after the flaring white brightness.

Gruzzle shook his head sadly. "The magic rabbit's gone, shipped out in a flash. D'you think 'e'll turn up again like 'e said 'e would, Cap'n?"

Clogg fished about in his shirt until he found the chunk of mackerel. He nodded as he chewed on it. "Bless yer 'eart, Gruzzle, o' course 'e will. Tibbar's me matey. D'you 'ear wot 'e called me? Sweet Cloggo. Ain't that 'andsome!"

Ballaw trotted back into camp humming s.n.a.t.c.hes of a tune he was composing. Rowanoak's voice greeted him.

"Lookout, everybeast, it's Tibbar the magic rabbit, fresh from his corsair debut."

"Magic rabbit yourself, you old stripehound." Ballaw helped himself to a large wild cherry flan. "Well, chaps an' chapesses, the jolly old wheeze worked. We open tomorrow night in the main courtyard of Fortress Marsh-ballyank. Leave it to De Quincewold, eh wot?"

"Ballaw, you deserve three hearty cheers!" Felldoh shook his head admiringly.

The theatrical hare's ears stood up indignantly. "Stow the applause. I'd sooner have three hearty suppers and some decent cordial to wash away the taste of that corsair's seaweed ale. Dreadful swill! That Cap'n Clogg's chaps aren't goin' to last long drinkin' that stuff. Dearie me no, they'll end up warped or rotted. Take m' word."

125.

Under a quarter-moon on clifftops still warm from the day's sun the Rambling Rosehip Players rehea.r.s.ed for the following night's performance. Felldoh and Brome learned the business quickly. They had to.

126.

15.

More than a day's journey south on those same clifftops, Martin and his friends camped for the night. Unable to risk a fire in strange and possibly hostile territory, they sprawled wearily at the edge of a small scrubby woodland that grew up almost to the cliff edge.

Grumm ma.s.saged his ample stomach as it gurgled plaintively. "Hurr 'scuse oi, moi tummy's a-thinken moi mouth 'as fergotted 'ow to eat."

Rose propped herself up on two paws. "What I wouldn't give for a plain ordinary oatmeal scone spread with honey right now."

The scone hit Rose on the head, landing on the ground beneath her nose. She sat up, looking at it with astonishment.

"Where in the name of apples and acorns did that come from?"

Grumm picked it up and took a bite. "Burr, 'tis still warm an' spreaded wi' 'unny too!"

"Hoi! Can I have one too?" Pallum called out cheekily into the darkness.

No sooner had he spoken than a scone thudded on the ground by him. The hedgehog chuckled with delight, not questioning where the food came from. Pallum was a simple soul, practical too.

127.

"Go on, Martin. Have a go. Ask for one!"

The young mouse was standing alert and upright, Amballa's small sword in his paw. He peered into the darkness murmuring, "Yes, I'd like a scone with honey. Wouldn't mind something to drink too. Strawberry cordial would be nice."

The scone struck his footpaw. He did not see which direction it came from. As he bent to get it a voice called out of the woods, "You'm can 'ave the scone, moi dears, but oi bain't throwen moi gudd beakers abowt an' spil-len drinks 'ither 'n' yon. Hoo arr no!"

Grumm leaped up waving his ladle, which he had retrieved from the pigmy shrews. "Oi'd be knowen that speak. 'Tis a moler loik oi!"

A mole came plodding out of the darkness. She was dressed in an oversized mob cap and a huge flowery pinafore.

"Hurr, oi bain't nawthen loik you'm, maister. Oi be just loik oi, Polleekin."

She sat on the gra.s.s beside them, wiping her paws on the flowered ap.r.o.n and conversing as if they had always been there.

"Moi 'eart, 'twas an 'ot summer day t' day, et surely wurr. Oi was gatheren oop 'ee scones after coolen 'em off in 'ee shade, when oi yurrs sumbeast a-longen furr scones, so oi throwed him'n summ."

Rose laughed her merry tinkling laugh. "Oh you're so kind, Polleekin. Thank you!"

The mole stood up, dusting herself off busily. "Oi aspeck yore well 'ungered an' thursty too. Young uns allus are, partickly travellers. Coom on then, 'ome wi' oi."

They introduced themselves and told Polleekin their story as she led them to her dwelling in the wood.

Grumm looked up at it, hardly able to believe his eyes. "Moi seasons! A moler liven oop inna tree. Hurr!"

Polleekin did actually live up in a tree. It was an old 128.

dead oak that had fallen at a crazy angle against a tall rocky outcrop. The trunk was practically a stairway. They followed her up to a large comfortable room built between three thick boughs. It was floored with driftwood and cordage and roofed with the same material, tightly c.h.i.n.ked with moss, earth and leaf packing to keep out wind and weather. The walls were formed by the foliage of the surrounding trees, skillfully woven together. They sat on a low mossy branch broad enough to be a bed, listening to Polleekin chatter as she prepared their supper.

"Hurr, oi be all alone in 'ee wurld naow. Fam'ly growed, troibe gone, so oi do as oi loiks wid moiself, liven in 'ee tree, fearen n.o.beast an' given welc.u.mm to most, hurr aye."

The supper when it came was little less than spectacular. Strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock beer and hot mint tea. From a small stone charcoal-fed oven the homely mole produced a stew of carrot, turnip, peas and leeks, a large cottage loaf and a b.u.t.ton mushroom turnover garnished with parsley. From her larder came a dark heavy fruitcake with maplecream topping and an a.s.sortment of wildberry tartlets. She bustled about, laying them on the floor.

"Get thoi jaws round that liddle lot. Oi allus keeps vittles in plenty yurr, you'd be apprised at 'ee visitors oi gets, moi dears."

Conversation and talk went out of the leaf-screened windows as they applied themselves to the business of serious eating. Polleekin watched them, rocking back and forth on a springy bough and tapping her old digging claws together. Only when they had slowed down to the picking stage did she venture to speak.

"They creeturs you'm be a-looken for bain't pa.s.sed thisaways."

Rose sighed as she poured herself some of the fragrant mint tea. "I hope they're safe and well, Polleekin."

The mole closed her eyes, nodding slowly. "Ho, 129.

they'm safe enuff an' awroight furr 'ee moment, mizzy, never fret."

Pallum stared at her curiously. "How do you know?"