"Well, papa's not here now, so you'll dance-or we'll tell the Warden that you've been making fun of him!"

200.

Rose picked up Grumm's ladle and shook it at him in mock anger.

"Ho no, you'm wudden do a thing loik that."

"Oh yes she would!" Martin and Pallum chorused together.

Grumm stood up, shuffling his paws. "Hurr, s'pose oi better sing 'n' darnce then. You'm awful crool beasts."

Rose could see that the mole wanted to sing and dance. "Come on, Grummyface, do your party piece, the one about your old grandfather. I like that one."

Mole dancing is a curious spectacle and is invariably accompanied by singing. Grumm held up his digging claws and did a small hopskip, "Naow Granfer were a pow'ful mole.

Scratch a tunnel dig an 'ole, The moightiest eater, so oi'm tole, In all of all 'ee wuddlands.

You'm should've seen him eaten cake.

Granmum said, fer gudness sake, Oi'll start 'ee oven up to bake An' twelveteen cakes oi'll make.

If Granfer ate wun, him ate two, Ho dearie me, oi'm tellen you, Him ate those twelveteen cakes roight throo, Then went asleep till zummer.

An' when 'ee zummer sun did break, My ole granfer came awake, The gudd ole beast drinked all 'ee lake An' left 'ee fishes sobbin'.

Him'n story as oi've toald to you, Oi swears as every wurd be troo, Iffen you'm think oi tole fibs to you, Then go an' arsk 'ee fishes!"

Rose, Pallum and Martin were falling about laughing as Grumm took a bow. He was puffing from the exertion of song and dance combined.

201.

The Warden appeared as if from nowhere. He stared hard at Grumm and shook his head once. "Good at putting out fire, not at singing. Mouse Rose is the best singer. I know this. Sleep now! Dipper, you go back to your family nest!"

Sometime before dawn Martin stirred. Vague m.u.f.fled sounds had gradually wakened him. He lay awhile taking stock of their hostile surroundings. The m.u.f.fled sounds continued. Rolling over slowly, he checked the sleeping forms of Rose, Grumm and Pallum. They were deep in slumber, breathing peacefully. Martin's eyes strayed over to where the grey heron was lying. It was hard to tell in the darkness, but he sensed that something was not right. He peered long at the bird, his paw straying to the short sword stuck in the ground near his head. The Warden appeared to be rolling about in his sleep, making m.u.f.fled noises.

Slowly Martin rose until he was crouching. Placing his paws carefully among the damp gra.s.s tussocks, he edged over. Something slimy slapped him in the face as he reached the moving figure of the Warden. There were dark shapes all over the great bird, and it was moving more slowly and weakly As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, Martin saw that creatures he could not make out were strangling the grey heron, winding about its neck while others secured its legs and wings.

So that was what the m.u.f.fled noises were. They must have been attacking the Warden for some time because the big bird's struggles were very weak. Martin threw himself into the fray with a shout that wakened his three friends instantly.

"Yaaaaah, Maaaaartin!"

202.

24.

It was getting towards evening and shadows were beginning to lengthen on the sh.o.r.eline as Brome climbed down from the cliffs. Ahead of him he could see Wulpp, the searat who had taken Felldoh's javelin through his footpaw, limping along by himself. Suddenly Brome had an idea that might gain him entrance into Marshank. He padded silently up until he was almost level with Wulpp.

"Hi there, mate. You the beast they left be'ind?"

Wulpp sat down on the sand, wincing as he nursed his paw. "Aye that's me. What's yer name, matey?"

Brome sat down by him and began ripping a strip from his shirt. "Harr, I'm Bucktail. Cap'n sent me back for ye. I was walkin' along the clifftops when I saw you down 'ere. 'Old still while I binds that paw up fer ye, messmate."

Wulpp gritted his teeth as Brome worked. "Aagh, it 'urts bad, Bucktail. Wot d'ye think, will it give me a limp for the rest o' me life?"

"More'n likely, bucko." Brome nodded as he tied the improvised bandage off neatly. "You was lucky it didn't catch you 'igher, or you'da been a goner. Come on, mate, up on yer paws. I'll give yer a lift back to the fortress."

Hopping on one paw, the injured searat threw an arm 203.

about Brome's shoulders and leaned on him as they made their way slowly back. "Bucktail, eh. Well my name's Wulpp, an' I won't fergit yer fer the 'elp you've give me this day, messmate."

They entered the fortress as darkness fell. n.o.beast paid much attention to them both. The main center of attraction was the continuing feud between the two leaders. Clogg sat on the courtyard stones, surrounded by his crew as he tore ravenously at hard bread and dried fish, guzzling seaweed ale from an oversized tankard. Badrang stood on the porch of his longhouse, haranguing the corsair.

"Now let me get this right, one creature, a single squirrelmaid at that, killed three of your great hairy waverobbers and wounded another. Well, lack a season and lose a day!"

Clogg hurled a hard crust at Badrang. It fell short. "Harr go an' boil yer 'ead, stoatears. You was safe enough inside o' yer fancy fortress surrounded by yer lubbernosed 'orde!"

Badrang leaned over the porch rail, his voice mocking. "And what, pray, was the dreaded Cap'n Tramun Clogg doing while this dreadful slaughter took place? Hiding from the squirrelmaid?"

Clogg's nose glinted purple with rage as he spat out dried fish. "It weren't no squirrelymaid did the killin', it was those excaped slaves o' yourn throwin' javelins, an' by the way they could throw I'd 'ate t' be in yer shirt if they attacks 'ere!"

The Tyrant spread his paws appealingly to the listeners. "Why should they come back here after escaping? Strikes me they'd want to put as much distance between themselves and Marshank as possible. By the way, how's your ship refloating coming along?"

A slow smile spread across Clogg's villainous face. "Much the same as yer stone quarryin' an' field croppin', 204.

me ole messmate. 'Ave yer done much empire buildin' today, haharrharr?"

Stung by the taunt that had rebounded on him, Bad-rang pointed his sword at the corsair. "I'll remind you that you're eating my food, Clogg, and your worthless mob of seasc.u.m are filling their bellies at my expense too. But all that's going to change. From now on if you want to eat our supplies at Marshank you'll have to earn your food like any of my creatures!"

Clogg hurled the tankard. It smashed on the ground in front of Badrang as the corsair bellowed defiantly, "We ain't yer creatures, me an' my crew is seabeasts, rovers an' freebooters. We're 'onourin' you by takin' our meals 'ere 'cos you owe us that much, you boat-burnin' barnacle. We'd 'ave sailed off from this fort long since but for yer treachery!"

Brome threw a paw about Wulpp, steering him towards the walls of the slave compound. "C'mon, mate, let's find someplace for you to sit easy. We can't stand around listenin' to those two stoats jawin' each other to death while yer paw's injured bad."

They sat with their backs against the wooden fence. "Harr, 'tis rest you need, Wulpp." Brome spoke loudly on purpose. "A good deep sleep'd do you a power o' good, matey. Sleep, the best healer of all!"

Wulpp did not argue. He was weary and his footpaw throbbed relentlessly. Closing his eyes, he lay back.

"Right you are, Bucktail. I feel like I could sleep fer a season!"

Keyla had been listening to the two creatures on the other side of the fence. Curiosity overcame the young otter, and he was not long in climbing the timbers to peer over the top at the pair.

Brome made sure that Wulpp's eyes were closed and they were not being observed, then he swept the floppy hat from his head and grinned cheekily up at Keyla.

205.

Holding up a warning paw, he pointed at Wulpp, stroking the searat's head gently and crooning in a soft voice, "Sleep, matey. You need a long deep sleep, long an' deep."

Keyla understood. He gave a broad wink and disappeared.

Brome continued speaking soothingly to the half-asleep Wulpp. "Sleep, matey, that's all you need, sleepy sleep sleep ..."

Wulpp's eyelids flickered. He glanced at Brome and smiled lazily. "Bucktail, me ole matey, you looks like some kind o' mouse without yore hat on ..."

a.s.sisted by a mouse named Yarrow, Keyla popped up over the compound top. Between them they held a big improvised sandbag.

Whump!

Wulpp's head was a target they could not miss. The heavy object landed forcefully, knocking the searat out like a light.

"He's got enough on his mind to keep him asleep a good while," the irrepressible Keyla giggled. "Brome, what are you doing back here, friend?"

The young mouse clamped his floppy hat back on. "I've come to get you and the rest away from here, Keyla, though I thought you'd have escaped with the last lot."

The young otter shook his head. "I could have, but there's old ones and some babes here that weren't quick enough to get away. I couldn't hop it and leave them just because I was young and fast, now could I?"

Brome propped Wulpp's head on the sandbag as if it were a pillow. "You're a good otter, Keyla. Listen, here's the plan. We'll get them all out between us, tonight."

Gurrad watched as Badrang poured poison into a flagon of blackberry grog.

"Great seasons, Sire, there's enough in there to lay an army out!"

206.

Badrang shook the small vial to make sure the last drops went in. "Clogg could never resist a drop of blackberry grog. It'll be his last drop, laced with wolfbane and hemlock. There's not a creature born who could drink that and live to tell the tale." He pulled Gurrad close, his voice a sinister hiss. "Listen now, rat. Here's what you must do!"

The rat called Oilback threw his knife. It zipped through the air to bury itself deep in the driftwood spar set up on the beach. Cap'n Tramun Clogg grunted as he tugged the quivering blade free and returned it to its owner.

"Good throw, matey. I likes to see a beast who's skilled at slingin' a frogsticker. Do it agin, Oilback."

The searat twirled his knife expertly, closed one eye, sighted and threw hard. This time the blade went a third of its length into the timber. Clogg clapped his back heartily.

"Haharr, yore a murderer born, Oilback. Now c.o.c.k a lug, matey, an' listen to a liddle plan that I've arranged fer that stingy grubswipin' former partner o' mine .. ."

The moon appeared over Marshank, casting pale light and deep shadow over the fortress where three separate schemes were being laid, two for death and one for freedom.

Brome hastily rearranged his corsair gear. There was little difference in the ill-a.s.sorted rags worn by Clogg's pirates and those of Badrang's soldiers and in no time Brome looked every inch the hordebeast. Keyla did the same, improvising with Wulpp's tawdry rags.

Minutes later, two ruthless hordebeasts marched straight past the guards and into the slave compound.

"Stay at the rear and help any stragglers," Brome signalled to Yarrow. "Righto, listen friends, all you have to do is follow Keyla and me. If anybeast stops or challenges us, don't you say a word, leave the talking to me.

207.

Stay in the shadows as much as possible, don't hurry too much and above all, be silent!"

They set off towards the main courtyard with Brome and Keyla leading the group.

Badrang corked the flagon, shaking it well before he gave it to Gurrad.

"See if they're asleep, don't chance it otherwise. If everything is all right, then sneak up close to Clogg. He's usually sleeping near to the largest campfire. Place the flagon in his paw, or as close as you can get to it. That stupid plaited buffoon doesn't care what he drinks. When he wakes in the morning the flagon will be the nearest thing to him. He'll pop the cork and guzzle it right off. I know him of old. Go now. I'm trusting you to do the job right, Gurrad."

Swathed in a dark cloak, the rat left the longhouse.

Standing in the shadows at the side of the longhouse was another cloaked figure. Oilback held his knife by the blade, ready to throw. The doorway area was illuminated in a patch of moonlight. His paw trembled a little from the tension of waiting and the enormity of his task. It was not just any common crewbeast that got to kill Lord Badrang, the Tyrant of Marshank. No, it was he, Oilback, the best knife-thrower in all Cap'n Clogg's crew.

He heard the creak of the door as it opened. Tightening his grip on the blade, he closed one eye and took aim. A cloaked figure stole out, shutting the door carefully behind it. Oilback grunted with exertion as he hurled his weapon.

It was a good throw. The cloaked figure collapsed silently off the porch. Oilback hurried forward. Retrieving his knife from Gurrad's throat, he wiped the blade, giving a low snarl of dismay when he saw the dead features of the creature he had slain. It was not Badrang!

His footpaw struck something-a flagon of wine. Never being one to pa.s.s up a free gift, he rammed it 208.

into his runic and turned to run away. It was at that exact moment Brome was pa.s.sing with the slaves. Oilback ran slapbang into Brome.

There was a moment's silence as they confronted each other, then Brome said in a quiet but commanding tone, "What are you doing around here?"

Oilback answered hesitantly, thinking fast as he did. "Er, oh, I'm, er, gettin' rid of this dirty spy for Lord Badrang. He's one o' those corsairs. I caught 'im 'angin' about 'ere!"

Brome nodded. "Good!"

He was about to turn away when Oilback became suspicious. "Just a moment, mate. What are you doin' wid that bunch?"

Keyla stepped in boldly. "If it's any of your business, we're puttin' them in the prison pit. Lord Badrang doesn't want this lot escapin' like the others. He wants 'em down the pit where he can keep an eye on 'em!"

The corsair was slightly taken aback by Keyla's aggressive stance. "Oh, er, right. Well I'll bid ye good night."

Unfortunately they were both travelling in the same direction. Keyla and Brome were forced to walk along with Oilback, who was heading for the main gate, which lay in the same direction as the prison pit. They walked in silence with the slaves following.

Oilback glanced at the thirty creatures. "Yore gonna have a job on yer paws gettin' all them down that pit. They'll be standin' on each other's 'eads."

"Do em good!" Brome sniffed officiously. "We're not here to argue, we carry out our Leader's orders an' don't ask too many questions."

The searat nodded agreement. "Aye, that's all the likes of us can do, eh, mate!"

Though the gates of Marshank were open to the corsairs camped on the sh.o.r.e, there was still a sentry posted on top of the wall. It was the ferret Bluehide. He saw 209.

the slaves being led to the pit and called down, "What in the name of frogfeathers are you doin' down there?"

Oilback winked at Keyla and shouted back arrogantly, "What does it look like we're doin', takin' a swim?"

Bluehide shook his spear. "Leave that gratin' alone. All those beasts can't fit down there. Besides, there was three escaped from that pit!"

Brome sighed wearily. Placing paws on hips, he called out in an insulting manner, "It's none of your business how many slaves Lord Badrang wants us to put in the pit. And another thing, those three wouldn't have escaped if the sentry that night had been keepin' an eye on this grating. They broke out by movin' it."

Bluehide fixed his eyes on the grating, leaning his elbows on the walltop. "Well, they won't escape from there tonight while I'm watchin'."

"You weren't put up there to watch gratings, slop-head." Keyla called out in a stern voice. "It's your job to keep a close eye on those corsairs on the sh.o.r.e!"

Now Bluehide was completely confused. Keyla chuckled as he slapped Oilback heartily across the shoulders. "Ha ha ha! That showed him, eh, matey?"